A northerly had set down on the British Virgin Islands with 5- to 6-foot seas and 25 knots of wind. That’s not exactly a gale, but it felt like one to Frank and Cori on their bumpy ride aboard a chartered 42-foot Sunsail monohull. It was their first “solo” sail together. They first abandoned their track to Anegada, then bailed on Jost Van Dyck, then gave Cane Garden Bay a miss, and finally ran to hide in the lee of Tortola.
“I’d lost the joy and light in the eyes of my ‘next chapter’ crew simply because I’d chosen a place on the chart,” said Frank. “I wasn’t enjoying any of it myself.”
Frank was bitten by the cruising bug long ago, and since then, he’s sailed countless miles with me as crew on charters and deliveries all over the world preparing to untie his own docklines someday. He’s good crew with a great attitude even as he feeds the fish, which he does often. His girlfriend, Cori, has joined us on a few charters, and over time, Frank became hopeful that she would become the crew on the “next chapter” of his life, spent blissfully cruising on a boat of their own.
I suggested they take a trial run on their own in the BVI and armed them with anchorage and routing information as well as shortcuts to the sites even as I worried about my chicks leaving the nest for the first time. Frank knew he had to bank goodwill on their first outing to sell Cori on the idea of retirement at sea, and for a few days it worked—until it didn’t.
“At first, life was spectacular and everything I was hoping for,” he remembered. “I really needed to start the week off with a win, and it was awesome until the wind hit and I lost all that I had banked over three days in just 15 minutes.”
Cori is a new sailor and had only been on catamarans up to that point. Heeling was an eye-opener.
“I prefer getting rocked forward to backward vastly more than side to side,” she said initially but then added, “OK, I am being kind to myself. I sobbed. Bawled my eyes out. Mildly hyperventilated. Full-on panic. I swore bloody murder and needed a nap after my near-death experience. I’m not sure if it was because it was just the two of us or the 12-foot waves, but I wasn’t having it. Later I was told they were 6-foot waves.”
A few itinerary changes later and a wise move to zig when he thought he’d zag, Frank came out the winner as he told his sea therapist (me) what he’d learned about sailing on a schedule.
“My mindset is a bridge I will need to learn to cross in order to get to the next chapter. I am one of my own barriers to Zen,” he said. In the end, his goodwill account grew exponentially that week judging from Cori’s description of their last night aboard.
“That evening we made grouper, fried potatoes, and boxed Kraft Mac & Cheese, and that may have been my favorite dinner ever,” she says. “Here I was on a boat with my best friend, deeply in love, with rain pouring down in the twinkling marina lights. Perfect.”
Reading their very honest trip summaries was bittersweet. On the one hand, they had dropped the docklines and untied the apron strings, and I was sad that they’d flown the coop. On the other hand, I knew we had many more miles to sail together and that I had contributed over the years to this hard-won graduation. When we spoke, Frank seemed unfazed by all the islands and anchorages they had missed. Then came the words my ears were delighted to hear.
“There’s always next time.”
April 2025
