Sitting in Windfola’s snug interior, I’m staring at a hole in my roof as I write this. It’s a glaring sign of the major work we’ve undertaken since returning to Tauranga three weeks ago, and perhaps the most obvious reason why we’re not sailing right now. Windfola’s mast has been craned out of its through-deck home, and along with her mast have gone all of the cables that hold it in place.
When it comes to our rig — all of the wires and fixtures that hold up the mast — I’ve known for the last 18 months that we were on borrowed time. I’ve done all I can to take it easy while we cruise, never pushing too hard and always reducing sail early when the weather pipes up. I’ve lovingly sat outside in downpours of heavy rain so I could scrub the swages at the ends of the wires, and after letting them dry in the sun, soothed them with smelly, thick Lanacote grease, akin to balm on a baby’s bum. But even the best of TLC could not negate the fact that Windfola’s cables were 17 years old, and that is seven years of hard use beyond their recommended lifespan. They were a ticking clock. And it stopped ticking a week and a half ago.
I’d intended to limp on a bit longer with our mast’s cables, because we have big sailing plans ahead that I hoped would draw a sponsor to fund replacement. I decided to do only one expensive project now: haul Windfola out of the water. To start our upcoming sail we need to be able to travel from port to port on the North Island of New Zealand, but invasive species cling to the bottoms of boats with depleted anti-fouling paint. It had been 16 months since our last bottom repainting in San Diego, and New Zealand harbors won’t permit a boat to enter with a paint job more than six months old (unless they receive a monthly pressure washing). If we wanted to sail on, we had to haul out and repaint.
Fortunately/unfortunately, a rig inspection while we were out of the water revealed that a wire in one of the cables was broken. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when, other wires and cables would break, leaving the mast unsupported in time of need. I made the difficult decision — made easier by a kind price break from a local rig shop — to go ahead and replace all of her wires. I finished her bottom projects, and we dropped a freshly-painted Windfola in the water. The kind and competent folks at Bridge Marina Travelift immediately craned out her mast and rig, and on that rainy morning, I motored her vulnerable, naked body back to a slip in the marina.
I’ve placed blue tarps like giant Band-Aids over the holes in her deck, and now we wait together, unable to sail, while all of her new cables are fabricated. It’s strange how the moment she’s disabled by a project like this, the itch to cast off the dock lines and fly free engulfs my whole body like an allergy-induced rash.
I’m grateful for the kindness here, to be in this community while we undertake such big projects, but I long for the open water and the wind in my hair. I long for freedom. I long for choice. And I mourn their loss, a mourning that unites my heart with those of so many others throughout the world, navigating unanticipated changes that have brought on new and frustrating limitations.
And so, I recenter myself on what I can still do. I can still wake up every day. I can still tell my friends I love them. I can still set goals. I can still dedicate this journey to a purpose: to raise awareness about and hope for foster kids.
Since we can’t safely leave New Zealand, I’ve decided to take a detour in our global circumnavigation by taking on a smaller — but still majorly challenging — circumnavigation this summer, and use the trip to fundraise for a foster care organization. Once Windfola is pieced back together, we’ll set out on this new endeavor, and I couldn’t be more excited for the demanding sail ahead. Setting a goal that will enable us to carry on making a difference has brought me hope in this time of loss, given me purpose when it was all too easy to feel I didn’t have one anymore.
My wish for you right now is that you might center yourself on what gives you purpose in these times, and set that as both your anchor and your light on the horizon. We are in this together, and there is so much we can still do for ourselves and for one another. Turn toward that light, and don’t lose sight of the horizon.
xo & fair winds,
elana, zia, and s/v windfola ⛵️💕25 August, 2020; Tauranga, New Zealand
