Life at a Heel

Amara made landfall in the Marquesas Islands on 17 March 2018 after 17 days at sea. That’s 435 hours living on a sailboat that is yawing in following seas, pitching in confused seas, rolling in swell and bouncing in surface waves. That’s 26000 minutes living on a sailboat on (almost exclusively) port tack, heeled over at a consistent 10-15* in 10-20 knot winds and knocking down to 25-30* in 10-15 foot swells.

Life at sea I love; life at a heel I endure.

Sailboats heel under the power of the wind. The boat leans to leeward; the center of buoyancy shifts away from the center of gravity; the waterline lengthens; the bow wake and the stern wake merge together; and boat speed increases. A sailboat heeled at the optimal heel angle approaches maximum hull speed.  Heel -> Speed.  Would I trade the speed for a more balanced ride?  Not likely!

Living at a heel, one hand (or hip or shoulder or whatever you can get between yourself and the closest surface) is always for balance. Two-handed tasks like pouring a glass of water or pulling up your pants bangs your hip or shoulder or face against whatever counter or wall you’re standing in front of. Washing the dishes, I bounce from belly against the sink in front of me to butt against the garbage compactor behind me, back and forth until every last dish is washed and dried. I yearn for paper plates.

Living at a heel, basic life functions are adjusted. I lie perpendicular on my vberth, head on the windward (high) side, feet braced against the wall on the leeward (low) side. On the settee in the salon, I sleep plastered against a lee cloth hung to prevent me from rolling onto the floor. The stove in the galley is gimbled to remain level with the horizon, but there’s only so much swing the gimble can handle before boiling water splashes over and breakfast sausages slide onto the floor.  Luckily the crew’s head on Amara is on the starboard side and we were primarily on a port tack on the long passage, so the heel kept us safely seated without getting smacked in the back by the toilet seat with each wave. But to get the water down the shower’s port side drain, we have to wait for the water to slosh back to port after each wave. Splish splash I was taking a bath, all about a quarter to starboard.

And then there are the activities that keep us sane on land and nearly drive us loonie underway. Brenda’s and my friendship was consecrated over yoga mats poolside in Bonaire last year. We’ve practiced together on the docks of Santa Marta Marina in Colombia, on the beaches of San Blas Islands in Panama and the boardwalk of the Galapagos Islands in Ecuador. Of course we would practice together underway on our Pacific Ocean crossing. As one of our favorite yoga instructors says, “You’re Alive. Why not try?”

Yoga on a heeled over sailboat is a full contact sport. The floorboards fall out from under you. The bulkhead attracts your head. Either you wedge yourself into a tight passageway and bounce back and forth against the walls as the boat rocks port and starboard, or you hang tight on every handhold, table edge and companionway stair you can grasp to maintain your balance as the boat heels under you. I was launched from downdog on the floor to boatpose on the settee by a single swell. Forward fold brought my forehead and the fire extinguisher together by one wicked wave. Extended side angle requires a wall plastered to your belly and face; warrior three needs hands extended out front onto companionway banisters. Child’s pose is an intense core exercise. My favorite core class’s instructor says, “You wouldn’t do it if it were easy. Come on!”

We’ve taken yoga back to land for the next few weeks as we island hop around French Polynesia. By the time we’re ready for our next big passage, I’m sure the bruises will have lightened and the muscles will have atrophied just enough so that yoga at a heel seems like an excellent way to spend every morning.