A (Salty) sailor's guide to an epic weekend with no boat in sight.

Go somewhere far enough removed that time becomes irrelevant.

Make sure you're with people you enjoy the hell out of. 

If things get intense, keep your head in the boat...err...on the trail.

When the hard work is over, take a deep breath and enjoy the view.

Prepare for the elements.

When the elements leave you cold, wet, and windblown, love it anyway because you're there.

Swimming Bear Lake, Olympic National Park, WA.    

I think it's only appropriate that after a day and a half of clear skies and gorgeous views, an unexpected storm blew up through the valley from the sea (probably just dropped in to say hello) bringing some very exciting 50kt+ gusts, a generous soaking, and a substantial rainfall companion for the hike back out on Sunday. 

And coming back to a San Fran-esque southerly blowing through the Puget Sound after an amazing weekend in a beautiful place?

Priceless.

Chainsaws and teddy bears!!!...this one's for Ray.

Raymond John: Musician extraordinaire except in his own humble opinion (Seriously- check out the band!), rigger, sailor, smile-inducing, hilariously quotable, multifaceted individual and crew member...and true friend to whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude for sharing something very special with me that I'll never forget.

Until our Nefarious journey South my Seattle-appropriate foul weather gear included a set of rain pants from the little kids' section at REI, among other things. It was a hodge-podge assemblage of inexpensive goods that I had been using to get by with for quite some time with the help of those nifty chemical handwarmers I've come to love (and rely on in my boots, omg they're so freaking awesome) so much.

Ray, having been sailing just a little bit longer than I, had the foresight to assume my current garb may not be necessarily appropriate for the famous winds of the San Francisco Bay, and kindly offered up an entire collection of foul weather gear which happened to A) be in his possession, B) fit me perfectly, and C) had belonged to his little sister, whom I hadn't ever the chance to meet, who also worked pit, and whose memory lives and shines so brightly in Ray's eyes he could steer a ship home through the night from across the Pacific.

So, right. They're just foulies. I get it. But it wasn't. They weren't. They're not. Losing a fellow sailor, a sibling, and a best friend in one fell swoop is unimaginable. I knew every thread meant a fond memory to Ray, and his generosity meant something to me beyond the stretch of my own vocabulary to properly express.

It's pretty great to be dry.

I wore them all the way through the Farr 30 North Americans/Aldo Alessio and into the Pre-Worlds of the World Championship. It was as if I had started this journey a caterpillar in a cocoon of legacy, and together we traveled to the next level while I came into my own.

The first day of the world championship, I bought my own set of gear before leaving the dock in the morning. It felt right. I had drawn on the courage and strength of something much bigger during a period of naïveté and growth to wake up that morning feeling a gentle shove. I had been carried this far- it was up to me to do the carrying now.

I had emerged. I was winged. And I'll carry the memory on the water with me every time.

So, Ray- thank you.

Hurricane Salty.

I often think about how my life has evolved as if at some point I had decidedly, unavoidably and unalterably, opened my arms and allowed a hurricane to blow through knowing only that I would survive, but having no idea where I'd land.

And sometimes (probably more often than not) I get the feeling I'm actually still swirling around in the wind and the water, that it's become a part of me and I have welcomed it- not unknowingly, but not consciously- perhaps, merely, necessarily.

I know it was the right choice. Not any one choice in particular- the hurricane itself. The thrill. The risk. The blindness. The sense of self that came with letting myself to to the mercy of the elements while all of my pieces up until now have been abruptly whisked away to scatter and eventually find their way back to drift calmly into place.

And what, exactly, do I hope will come of all of it?

I can hope nothing and only live- except that maybe I'll find a quiet moment in my wanderings for a nonsensical smile to find it's way to me at just the right time to confuse a fellow human into one of their own. Maybe even for the first time.

In the wise words of advice from a dear friend which I have not forgotten, 'Run true my dear sailing queen- give them hell and beyond.'

And so I shall.

Self-realization #487 (in the last 3 hours.)

You know you're a salty Seattle girl when you realize those four Advils just went down with beer...but it was a Lagunitas IPA, thus allowable by any logical standards.


And it could just as easily have been noon.

How the hell did I get into this hot mess, anyway?

A riddle! Well, kind of. I just like riddles. So I'm turning it into one.

Name a single question which fits the following criteria:

It can be traced back so far as to have been the exact moment during which an epic journey began.

It can be asked to a sailor...but not a lady.

I heard it while standing at an after-party in Port Townsend, halfway through the STYC Race to the Straits doube-handed regatta, with a beer in one hand and a beer in the other, by a guy who'd realized he was 130lbs from the Farr 30 weight limit, one crew short from going to the world championships, and about to introduce himself in fine fashion using these 5 classy words.

The same question has since been circulated incessantly amongst the Neffy crew.

The circulation of same said question amongst the Neffy crew was halted abruptly at 11am on September 7th, 2011.

I know what you're thinking...but you're wrong. "Wanna get me a beer?" was said many times after Sept. 7th. Don't imagine that'll be retired anytime soon...good effort though.

Neffy goes to Portland!....Wait...What!?

Because it's all about baby steps.

Except when it's about trucks breaking down while you're trying to tow a Nefarious Farr 30 800 miles and you're on mile 150, otherwise known as "almost to Portland."

And sometimes, it's about a truck breaking down while towing Neffy, that was borrowed from a guy (thanks Jim, you're awesome!) who spends all week towing boats with it.  Much heavier boats.  Lots of them.

Case Study:  a 'for instance', if you will.

Truck & Neffy leave Seattle on Tuesday, August 23rd (early morning hour too hideous to warrant mentioning) carrying 4 people:

• Dan (skipper & purveyor of making things happen...and of lost clipboards.)
• Andy (mast man, team big brother & laundry folder extraordinaire)
• Ray (jib trimmer, most quotable of all time & AMAZING musician)
• Myself (pit girl & team cheerleader.)  I can't help it.  I just get so excited. (!!!!!)

Truck & Neffy stop for gas:

10 feet wide.  13 feet tall.  70+ feet long.  And oh so pretty.

 Hmm...truck doesn't seem to want to start...?

Luckily, this cool dude gave us a jump.  Thanks cool dude!

Whew!  Okay, onward!!  ....wait....uhh...errr...truck kicks the bucket about 20 minutes later.  No juice. (Seriously?)

Teamwork in action!

And of course, in fine Ray fashion, Ray spends about 30 seconds making phone calls to find "a guy who can solve all our problems" while Dan arranges for towing.  As in, tow trucks.  Plural.

 One for the truck...

 

....and one for Neffy, aka the 'largest and weirdest object' the tow truck driver had ever encountered.   She shall live on even by word of mouth in the Northwest towing circuit. How is that not awesome.

And speaking of awesome, not only did Ray's 'guy' actually come through and 'solve all our problems,' (Hellooooo shout-out to Northside Trucks, thank you!!!!!)  THIS place was across the street:

This is not an airport.  Think harder.  Pretty clever actually.

Alas, however, it was decided that enjoying the sun at the nearest place with sailor accommodations (read: beer and a patio) was in order and at the end of the day, it was pretty difficult not to have had it be a great one albeit one with a slight (ok, pretty huge) delay.

 

Also pretty sure I'm not aware of any other way to wait for a truck repair.

There was even time to get excited about tractors, because, why not?

omgomgomg it's a tractor does everyone see the tractor it's big it's yellow it's exciting omgomgomg take our picture

Go team Neffy!

Just to pre-funk a little.

Before I delve in to the Nefarious account of our own shenanigans in San Francisco, here's a little taste of just how freaking awesome the conditions were on the Bay:

Rolex short video montage: makes my heart race, especially the awesome wipe-outs of the second half.  At exactly 3 minutes, there's a quick helicopter shot of our worst wipe-out (blue spinnaker.) Wooo!





Not to mention excellent (read: holy photographer skills, Batman!) photos taken by Meredith Block throughout the entire Farr 30 world's.  Amazing photos.  Seriously.  Here's an example:

One of my favorites...breathtaking!

And here's the link: 
Media Photos from the Farr 30 World's

Hot Russian Visits Seattle.

Seriously, you can't tell me this is one damn fine sexy ship.  She even came packed full of hot Russian sailors in official hot Russian sailor garb.  The 354ft long tall ship "Pallada" is named for the Greek goddess of wisdom Pallas Athena.  Like I said.  Sexy.  Oh and she's the fastest sailing ship in the world.  Right.  18 knots.  Eat your heart out.

So cool.

Built in the 1980's in Poland and operates as a sail training ship with a crew of about 200 cadets and teachers.

Note aforementioned garb donned by sailor on the left. 

Tall ship?  Where?  In Seattle?!  On the waterfront?  Are you sure?!  So awesome.

The Prologue.

Rule of Thumb:

When asked, "Would you be interested in competing in a world championship?" (While doing something you love?)

The answer, is always, yes.  Yes!

YES.

Because, seriously, the inability to answer as such would likely result in my own inability to relate to an individual on any level pertaining to the length of our time on the planet versus the amount of fun things that can be squeezed into it.

Maybe it's only fitting that this is the year my life turned upside down.  The year I threw caution to the wind and decided to just be myself.  To question everything and assume nothing.  To live with intent yet without expectations.  It's a process- isn't it always?   So in essence, perhaps it's every bit as much about allowing space for things that really matter, sometimes beyond rhyme or reason, as it is about sailing.

Except, of course, it is about sailing.  It's the part of yourself that stays on the water which you just can't seem to figure out how to take with you when stepping off onto the dock.  It's not the fairweather sailor in all of us- it's the foulweather sailor in a few of us.  I'm learning.  Slowly.  Surely.

I digress.  Again.  (Shocking, I know.)

My point is this:  sometimes, when you're pretty sure you have a passion in life, something happens to solidify it in such a way that it becomes unquestionably real and equally as profound.  For me, it happened in the last three weeks, on a Farr 30 named Nefarious, on the San Francisco Bay, with a bunch of ridiculously awesome people who figured out a loooong time before I did there's nothing like racing a sailboat.  I'd like to share it here.  I'll do my best.

Showin' some love to the (spotless) girl.  Our skipper's level of impeccable upkeep is inspiring. 

(and speaking of serendipity, in particular...)

Came home from the 2011 Farr 30 North American Championship on the San Francisco Bay to this handy reminder that exactly one year ago, it was a dream of mine that I could not have imagined would be realized so soon, and under such extraordinary circumstances.  Go team Neffy!

Hi Friends!

Ahhh....the virgin post.  A blank slate of endless wordsmithery potential.

I started this blog because I've come to realize that sailing, and racing in particular, is not for everyone.

Concomitantly,  it IS.  For.  Me.

Yesterday, I arrived back home to Seattle after competing in the 2011 Far 30 world championships in San Francisco, CA.  I walked back into my world with the exhilaration and thrill of having just officially advanced my confidence, ability, and enjoyment of racing to a level beyond my own imagination- not to mention having an entire week to learn from the best sailors in the world, including a lesson in good sportsmanship I will never forget and can only strive to live by on and off the water.

Alas...sharing an experience like this one while being generally outnumbered by a community of people who would picture themselves on a boat with a cocktail on glassy waters, instead of finding themselves screaming for wind and speed...is nearly unachievable.  And, well, totally understandable in the same way I have no desire to own a horse, or ride one with any more frequency than 'sparingly.'  (Like a sunny, windless day, for example.)

I digress.  Therefore, my only solution is a medium through which my audience is everyone or no one, the few and feverish or the curious masses, the laymen or the experts (of which I am not), the sailors and the skeptics.

Welcome.  Onward.