How racing cured one woman’s fear of sailing
Issue 70 : Jan/Feb 2010
Ever since I was 11, my goal has been to sail around the world. A few years ago, when I was 29, my husband, James, and I bought our first boat, a C&C 27. I had never sailed before, but with this as a goal, not liking sailing was not an option. I was going to learn and I was going to love it — no matter what. James had never sailed before either, but he shared my dream and was as determined as I to learn.
“She’s a good boat,” was a common reaction from folks around the yacht club who heard we had bought White Caps. They were to be comforting words to me over the course of the next three summers; I would frequently think back to them as I sat huddled in the cockpit, scared stiff, on many of our first sails.
During the first summer we had the boat, Lake Ontario was uncharacteristically calm. Many times when we motored out of the channel into the lake, there was not even a breath of wind. The lake was crystal clear and as blue as the sky. On days like that, we motored out just a mile or so and didn’t even need to drop the anchor. We’d fire up the barbecue, turn up the music, and swim and suntan all day long. Those days were idyllic and stick in my memory as some of the best ever.
Not all of our days on the lake were idyllic, however. It was during our third or fourth time out that I began to be afraid of sailing. It was an iffy day to begin with, but we didn’t know enough then to be concerned. Besides, a lot of other boats were out that day. The wind was probably blowing about 15 to 20 knots and the sky was gray and looked a bit ominous to the southwest, so we didn’t venture very far. We noticed on our way back to the marina that the waves started to get bigger closer to shore and the wind had picked up a bit.
Knew no better
As we sailed toward the lighthouse at the entrance to the channel, we noticed that all of the other boats were heading in as well, but under bare poles. Not knowing any better, we had both main and jib up and were moving at a pretty good clip. We were heeled a bit, but our rail was nowhere near the water. As neither James nor I had ever experienced heeling before owning White Caps, neither of us was accustomed to it at that point. Suddenly, a big gust of wind came up out of nowhere and knocked the boat on her ear.
“We’re overpowered!” I cried. “Get the jib down!” James released the halyard as I scrambled up to the bow to pull down the hanked-on jib. I knelt in the wet folds of the sail and hooked my elbow on the bow pulpit. The bow was rising and falling with each swell. I had to hold on tightly to avoid being thrown overboard. I grabbed a handful of sail and fed it back into the open hatch behind me. I crawled across the slippery deck to close the hatch. As I made my way back to the cockpit, it started to rain.
Through the rain we could see the entrance to the channel, but there was still a lot of water between that safe harbor and our boat. The lake had turned murky. I could see waves breaking on the beach in the distance. James fired up the engine while I pulled down the mainsail in the pouring rain. Once I had secured the sail, I skulked below in the warmth and safety of the cabin. I was scared. And I would be scared every time we went sailing thereafter.
No real reason for fear
Thinking back, I realize I had no reason to be afraid. My husband, his brother, and all three kids aboard that day were happy, excited, and having a great time. Other than at the time of the knockdown, I was outwardly calm. It was important to me that the kids not be afraid of sailing. Today they aren’t afraid at all. If only I could have said the same for myself!
After that day, the thought of going out for a sail would both excite and terrify me. I loved the water and couldn’t wait to get out on it. I tried to not let on to James how scared I was. I was tired of hearing about how much scarier the ocean was going to be and how did I expect to sail around the world if I couldn’t even handle the lake?
The drive to the marina took 40 minutes, so I had lots of time to think about what could happen to us on the lake. If the Edmund Fitzgerald could sink on one of the Great Lakes, then what about our tiny sailboat?
As we drove closer and closer to the marina, the knot in my stomach would twist tighter and tighter. I would look out my window and anxiously scan the sky for signs of clouds. I would scrutinize every tree branch, trying to judge how windy it was. As soon as we got on the boat, I would flick on the VHF radio and listen to the robotic voice announce the weather for the day. What size were the waves going to be? What direction would the wind be coming from? How fast was the wind blowing? No amount of reassurance from my husband would unclench the knot in my stomach. I wouldn’t calm down until I was on the lake and could see that it was calm. Then I could relax and enjoy myself.
Still afraid
“What’s the worst that can happen?” James would ask if I begged him to turn the boat around if I saw anything but a flat lake at the end of the channel.
What was the worst that could happen? What was I so afraid of? I loved the water. I had a good, solid seaworthy boat. Was it my inexperience? Possibly, but even after two summers, my fear did not recede at all.
When people on the docks heard of my fear and my determination to overcome it, they inevitably suggested I try racing. James had gained a lot of experience crewing on other boats over the course of two seasons, but I just couldn’t work up the nerve. At least when we were on our boat, we could always turn around and head back in if the lake was too rough. Turning back was not an option on race night, especially on someone else’s boat.
By our second season, we’d decided to move White Caps to Lake Erie to be closer to our new house. Lake Erie is much shallower than Lake Ontario, which means more waves. Also, in our corner of the lake, the prevailing winds are from the southwest, making for consistently choppy water.
“You won’t see many fair-weather sailors here,” was a comment I heard frequently on the dock. That was a good thing, I thought. If I wanted to sail this summer I would have to bite the bullet . . . just get out and do it, waves or no waves, good weather or bad. But even after another season of sailing, my fear remained strong.
What was wrong with me? I desperately wanted to love sailing, but I was terrified of it.
A breakthrough
Then I started racing.
“She’s a fast boat,” people often said when we told them we had a C&C 27. She had been raced by two of her previous owners and so was already rigged for racing. We never planned to race White Caps, but when the crew of another boat was displaced after the owner of their usual raceboat decided not to launch his boat that season, we decided to give it a try. The crew was pretty tight-knit; these sailors had raced together for several summers. James had raced with them a couple times and enjoyed their style of racing. They were serious and competitive, but fun was their number-one priority — after winning, of course.
I knew I was in good hands from the first race. The waves were 3 to 4 feet and the wind was blowing 20 to 25 knots. These were conditions in which I normally wouldn’t even think of heading out, but here we were motoring past the lighthouse straight into some of the biggest waves I had ever been in. As White Caps’ bow slammed down off the wave crests, my crew continued to laugh and talk and move around the boat as if the lake were fl at and the wind were calm. I searched their faces and saw not fear, but joy, exhilaration, and exuberance.
As we motored out to the racecourse, I felt my fear subside. These guys are loving this, I thought. What’s to be afraid of? I have a life jacket and insurance. What’s the worst that can happen? Slowly I began to relax, laugh, and talk, and — amazingly — I found myself wishing the waves were bigger!
A personal victory
We didn’t win the race that day; we didn’t even come close. But it didn’t matter to me. I won my own victory. I was well on my way toward getting over my fear. Over the course of the summer, something changed inside me. I saw my little boat prevail in what I thought was some of the worst weather she would ever be out in. I saw my husband and our crew confidently handle her and bring her back safely to her slip again and again. I realized that the weather I feared was the same weather that a lot of sailors (racers, at least) love the most. It is the weather that I now love the most!
After the first Wednesday-night race, I continued to crew with James, Joe, Steve, and Martin. The season culminated with our crew taking a second-place finish in a regatta that saw us racing in 8-foot swells. With my fear behind me, I’m thoroughly enjoying this year’s racing season.
Leah Warankie grew up between lakes Erie and Ontario but didn’t discover sailing until age 11 when she read All in the Same Boat by Fiona McCall and Paul Howard. This book led her to declare that she wanted to sail around the world. She and her husband, James, are planning their first cruise — to the Caribbean — in a few years.
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