Almost Not Going

They say the hardest part of any voyage is untying the dock lines. I used to think that was just something sailors said. Now I know it’s true.

Our new life officially started in September 2020, when we left our careers and our home of twenty years in Nunavut. But really, it started about ten years before that, with our first boat and a dream that slowly grew into a plan.

Our last fall in the north, September 2020

Starting in the Middle of a Pandemic

We flew south to Sidney, BC and saw the boat that would become our second boat, Anuri. We bought her in October 2020. Then, in true COVID fashion, we had to leave her almost right away.

We drove across Canada to Ontario, where we spent the next few months decompressing from leaving our jobs, and quietly wondering whether we had made the right decision. When our belongings finally arrived in January, we sorted through everything: what to keep, what to give away, and what would actually fit on a boat. Then we packed the truck again and drove back across the country to Sidney, a two (2) week trip.

In February 2021, we finally moved aboard Anuri and started getting to know her.

Anuri in Cowichan Bay, BC, our first winter aboard

Five Years of “Just One More Thing”

Anyone who owns an older boat knows how this goes. As we settled in, we kept finding systems that needed upgrading or replacing. One project led to another, and that work took five years.

We didn’t just sit at the dock during that time. We sailed to Alaska and Haida Gwaii, and those trips were stressful, challenging, and rewarding in their own ways. We had to plan every leg around weather, tides, and currents. But they were day trips. We always knew where we’d be that night.

Looking back, I think part of us was also stressed about, and maybe afraid of, the big jump: leaving Canada. Don’t get us wrong, we have done ocean sailing. Rob and I crewed for a delivery from Key West to Bermuda, then Rob crewed for two different deliveries across the Atlantic: one from Antigua to Italy, and the other from Martinique to Sweden. But all the upcoming passages and multi-sailing nights would be on OUR boat; we had to rely on and trust each other, and trust Anuri.

Top L: Sailing the northern British Columbia coast; Top R: Anuri anchored in Daajing Giids, Haida Gwaii; Bottom: Finding a few brown bears in Alaska

Fear

As the year unfolded and our departure date got closer, my stress grew. I kept checking the weather. I kept checking weather routes. I talked to other sailors who had already made the jump south. Many told us we could simply harbour-hop down the Pacific coast to San Francisco, doing day trips just like we had at home.

Nothing calmed me down.

Rob noticed how stressed I was and told me we didn’t have to leave. We could keep sailing here in Canada, around British Columbia, until I felt ready.

When we checked into the US in Port Angeles, it hit me: this was really happening. And my stress and anxiety went through the roof.

Why? Fear.

Fear of the unknown. Fear of something happening. Fear of not making the right decision. And fear that if we didn’t do this now, we never would.

“You Got This”

That night, I texted my sister (younger, but wiser than me). She phoned me instantly and talked me through it. She told me we can break it into smaller pieces. But the best thing she told me was simple: “You got this.”

I won’t pretend it made me feel much better. But I clung to it.

Neah Bay

The next morning was our departure day from Neah Bay. I couldn’t even eat breakfast. I couldn’t even drink water. I was that stressed.

Once again, Rob told me we didn’t have to do this. We could turn around and go back to Canada. No big deal.

But I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I didn’t want to disappoint myself. I also felt that if we didn’t do this now, we never would. Fear has a way of taking over. It makes staying put feel like the safe choice, when really it’s just the easy way out.

So we left, and the adventure began!

Leaving Canada (Victoria in the background) and heading off onto our next adventure

One Moment at a Time

Once we were underway, something shifted. I think my brain switched into a kind of no-return mode. There was no point worrying about the whole passage anymore. It was one day at a time, and sometimes one moment at a time.