Billet de l'équipier : Hanna

There's only one first time on board

« From Spain to Belgium on board a 12m-or-so long sailing boat. » That is pretty much everything I could say about where I was going to put myself into a couple of weeks ago. Given that I had never laid a foot on a sailing boat before, it's no surprise that I had no concept of what was waiting for me.

In my imagination I had painted both rosy pictures of sunny days spent in a bikini on the deck as well as horror images of 10-meter high giant waves eating the boat in the midst of a hurricane-like weather.

A good way through the adventure I've seen neither of the two take place. I've seen the real thing instead, eyes wide open and the mind dazzled with amazement.

The first days on board were arguably among the most bizarre of my life. Loyal to my Nordic origins, at our arrival to Vigo, Spain, I offered a polite but half-cautious handshake to the elements that were going to constitute the two-week experience. A boat that looked comfortable enough, relative to the challenge I anticipated ahead. A team on board that relaxed me to the safety and fun that undeceiving skill and good humour brought along. Everything was so new – what to do, where to put myself, what to make of everything I vitnessed around me.

The noise of water and wind, the hard wood and metal in the decor that lend places for a firm grip to counter the waves, the smell of salty humidity in the small but highly practical cabins. All the elements surrounding us were new to my body and mind. My spirit felt free but the rest of me was faced with un unavoidable challenge of learning and adaptation.

Luckily I happen to be a fan of learning. I love challenges that call for the creation of new connections between my brain cells. I'm in for everything that offers itself up to be understood both at the level of feeling and the intellect. Knowing the world around me helps me navigate the universe inside of me.

Navigation skills are indeed my absolute focus these two weeks. I learn countless new French words that I never knew existed but that denominate the most important tools for survival right now. I learn about measurements that haven't ever had any meaning in my life but that determine our every move now. I learn what a strange feeling of both freedom and doubt it is to have nowhere in sight a piece of ground that I've always taken for a fixed element under my feet.

One of the craziest things I learn is that standing steady on a boat that jumps on the waves while almost laying on its side is nothing dangerous but totally normal. And that there is nothing difficult at having everything you need in order to live comfortably in a space that is absolutely limited to a few m2 and that transforms itself to support every vital activity necessary. It comes as a surprise, too, that holidays can be a good deal about action and organization while still offering great relaxation.

I learn about this uncommon environment and about mastering myself as part of it.

Because even I, a total beginner, know that the sea will never let itself be mastered. I can learn to master myself and my boat but it'll always be us who adapt to the will of the sea. I'm ok with that – actually I quite like the break it gives me from trying to control everything. I need not waste effort in trying to mold the conditions to match my liking. Instead, I let my body move with the waves, I add an extra layer of well-knitted fabric to keep myself warm, and I observe the changes the captain makes to the sails.

I'm really starting to see that sailing is an art of adaptation. It's a constant effort to organize oneself to best match the surrounding conditions. At the end, there's no room for egos and force here, only for flexibility, responsiveness, and extreme alertness.

I've also seen that the sea is a great school for learning to utilize the surrounding conditions to our advantage. If we're alert and in a constant movement to tune ourselves and our tools to best correspond the ever changing conditions, we'll ride merrily on the waves.

As important as this kind of flexibility, is of course keeping close count of the direction we're heading to. Our goal is the only thing we keep fixed. It's the only constant factor. We keep heading towards it, adapting every other parameter on the way. We keep to it until we reach it or until a better goal presents itself.

Surely the sea decides here, too, and often small detours and pauses are necessary along the way. We've been adjusting our route a few times, which has allowed us to visit places like the cute Brittany port of Aberwrac'h. Home is where we go, although with what rythmn and pace, that's up to the sea. What it wants us to learn and experience along the way is a surprise and I'm sure that all it wishes for us is that we take all we can to learn better and better ways to keep ourselves on course.

I'll take this lesson with me when our feet will be securely on ground again. The right kind of resistance is staying flexible, alert and adaptive while heading toward a goal. In order to advance, we need to make the best of the surrounding conditions by observing them well and then applying our skills with feeling, keeping firmly in mind where we're headed.

Our adventure is slowly reaching the point where we'll head home. I'm happy about my first time on board. I'm glad I got to do this for two weeks at first try since that's been a perfect time for me to get acquainted with it all.

« From Spain to Belgium on a 12m-or-so long sailing boat » is a stranger no more. Now it carries lots of feeling and a rich meaning. No more polite handshakes, now's the time for much friendlier greetings. And lots of new adventures and lessons ahead.

Hanna Kuikka