Looking at these photos, one might never guess that the first 24 hours of our two-month voyage took place in the summer. The sunshine wasn’t quite ready to appear that day.

But the captain couldn’t wait any longer—not even for his beloved sun to shine. He had to set sail. We had to beat the weather.

As we left the small bay and marina, both of which protected us while we prepared for this voyage, I wondered if I would survive.

I wasn’t hoping I’d enjoy this voyage—my senses were begging me to not go out on the water. I was on this sailboat out of loving obligation.

Nobody else could go with the captain. I was the backup crew. And I felt so bad for the captain—stuck with me as his crew. He deserved so much more.

So I attempted to make myself smile and laugh. I knew the science behind that effort might ease my fear.

The captain was somehow still grateful I was there, chuckling, while reassuring me I’d survive—as long as I did as he said, so he could focus on safely sailing the boat.

Why didn’t that reassure me?

I had no boating skills. I had no sailing skills. I didn’t even really like water activities.

Some might think this an odd combination, he and I, but I absolutely love supporting someone in doing what they want to do—and I’m totally okay doing something else at the same time.

Everyone needs independent time. No two humans can love all of the same things.

Also, when I was about five years old, taking my first formal swimming lessons, I thought the instructions for water activities were optional.

I could already swim (well enough). I could already float (endlessly). I was only taking formal swimming lessons because all children should take official swimming lessons.

I truly didn’t like the chaos that happened in the water.

So we set sail.

I sat in calm silence, smiled and laughed, and witnessed my fear. The captain did his utmost to support me, to help me feel as safe as possible.

Towing his old beloved handmade dinghy and wooden oars from his dear mentor, we passed other boats, some with pretty sails. Hints of a blue sky tried to show itself.

Within a couple of hours, to the captain’s (and my) surprise, I began exclaiming that I loved to sail and that we should now sail all the time. The captain grinned from ear to ear.

I then felt genuinely guilty and began apologizing to the captain for spending the last ten years trying to avoid sailing whenever possible.

After a few more hours, navigating under a low bridge (we just fit), past islands, and through ferry boat traffic, we tied up to a buoy in a bay that’s typically calm.

Until waves from passing ships hit like rolling logs.

Tossed from one side of the hull to the other, all through the dark of the night and into the early dawn, I think I retracted every positive statement I’d said about sailing.

I might have even said sailing was “expletive expletive and why would anyone do this?!” I began witnessing my fear again.

The captain kept apologizing (which made everything okay). The view of the mast through the hatch above our pillows brought smiles.

In the morning, after drip coffee for the captain, tea for me, plus breakfast, we prepared to head out on our second day.

That’s when I was asked to complete a new task—to read the fuel gauge so I could relay that data to the captain when we next fueled up (my inabilities documented below).

Then the sky pried itself from the sea, where wildlife and more beautiful islands appeared.

The First 24 Hours of Our Voyage