The bee in the Candy Jar

Thursday 2^nd December

Following another day that ended at 3am, we were up just after 6am and pulling away from the boat dock at 7:20am.  I took photographs as they opened the Queen Emma Bridge for us, and we headed out to sea.

As usual when leaving Curacao the sea was quite choppy and Daisy was rolling around doing her fairground thing, with all my carefully stowed possessions crashing and banging about below.

Fortunately the waves smooth down a little, the farther you head out.  The weather was lovely, and there was no rain, which was a very pleasant change, although I could see gray skies forming over the interior of the island, it looks as though they are in for another day of rain. This past month has been the wettest in Curacao’s history.

It wasn’t a pleasant sail for me, despite the furling gear working like a charm, it seems as though every time we head out now I become less and less confident and more and more easily scared.

We had an occasion where Bob headed up to make an adjustment to the sails, and the boom started swinging violently back and forth and all the lines were thrashing crazily around and I panicked.  I think because I have been told so many horrific tales of disasters at sea, I now see every little glitch as a possible imminently major disaster, and I seem totally unable to respond with anything resembling sensible seamanship.

I am growing more and more concerned with regard to our crossing to Cartagena, and seriously question whether I will be able to do it.  If I break into a panic and come unglued so easily over something as simple as a crossing from Curacao to Aruba, how on earth am I going to cope with three and a half day’s at sea on one of the world’s renowned worst crossings, and I get that little tit bit of information from sailors I have spoken to who have made the crossing.  Everyone has a tale of horror that they seem unable to refrain from sharing with me.  No one has anything good to say about the crossing, or at least no one I have spoken to.

It’s difficult to describe my fear, how do you clearly define or even understand an irrational reaction? Unfortunately because the majority of the people I come into contact with are sailors, and love sailing, none of them understand my fears.  I know they all think I’m just a pussy, well maybe I am but it doesn’t take away from the fact that I am a nervous wreck and getting worse each time I set sail. When you love something you naturally expect everyone else to love it, and if they’re scared of it that just doesn’t make sense.

Since I started this adventure 4 years ago, the majority of my sailing experience has been in the BVI’s, which, let’s face it a 5 year old could sail there, the waters are so calm, even in bad weather (hurricanes excluded).  It was a great place to learn to sail, as it offers no real challenges!

Considering my life long fear of water, my confidence with sailing has grown tremendously over the last 4 years, because I really have had nothing to frighten me, or difficult or rough conditions to cope with.  But as the years have passed I have undertaken more and more passages that I would previously never have considered, and I have to wonder considering my more recent frequent attacks of abject terror, just how much more of this I can stand.  

I love the benefits that come with living on a boat, the friends I make with all great people I meet, the fabulous places I get to see, the freedom of the lifestyle, everything is great it’s just “the getting there” bit!  Bob is all about the journey; while I’m all about the destination.

I keep telling myself “this time it will be OK, this time nothing bad will happen”, my fear is irrational and I just have to learn to manage it, and everything will be OK.

I’m like a child who wants candy from the jar, but there’s a bee in the jar, so each time she puts her hand in the jar she gets stung, but she wants the candy so she keeps putting her hand in the jar!  How many stings can she stand before she learns to stop taking the candy?