UN-seen

My image depicts me and a group of nine others gybing through the wind, navigating the cool Maine waters in a thirty-foot Baltimore Boat. The beaming expressions of excitement and focus can be found on everyone’s faces (kind of). I am squatting ready to grasp the mainsail at a moments notice, ready to wrestle the wind. The salty froth is streaming up the side, stinging out sunburn-clad skin from the harsh and inhospitable sun. We are all clearly exhausted from long, physically-demanding days. We caught some sleep at the most random moments, especially when we were under-weigh, like in the picture. There is no other boat traffic around us. We were very much alone for a long period of time. Us, the boat, and the sea. Our only navigation was a simple map, a leg divider, and a compass.

What is unseen, beyond the expression of sheer joy, is the feeling of terror, as this is my very first experience sailing a boat. Would we capsize, what if I led us into to shallow water, what if we became caught on a lobster pot? In fact, I had met these strangers just two hours ago, and I was alone 400 miles from home. And yet none of my thoughts came true. It neglects to see the way in which each of us relied upon each other to survive on this thirty-foot boat: sleeping, cooking, and bow watch. The trip was miserable but fun in its own unique blend. Wet and moldy clothes were inescapable. The blisters on my hands throbbed after the days of rowing on windless days and sheeting the sail on the days with sporadic fits of wind. I had learned the skill of resilience throughout our three-week expedition in the unknown.