How to Live Full-Time on a Sailboat - Adjusting to Life at Sea
/Living full-time on a sailboat for a year was challenging and rewarding and provided opportunities to travel to more than 12 countries on four continents. But it required some major adjustments from my typical land life.
I wrote this article while we were sailing across the Atlantic in February 2019 for a contest with SisterShip Magazine. I’m thrilled to announce that it was selected to be included in the SisterShip Press anthology of stories about Women on the Water and their struggles with Changing Places (from land to sea and from sea to land). I’m proud to share this article with you..
By Michelle Segrest — How to Get Your Sea Legs
I began to notice all the many bruises and cuts and scrapes that had tattooed my limbs—early battle scars that were telling the story of my new reality.
We hadn’t even left the dock yet and already our bright orange, steel ship, Seefalke, was beating me black and blue.
The main cabin became an obstacle course as I tried to maneuver my way through a new version of everyday life that could not have been further away from anything I had considered normal for the past 51 years.
Seefalke was moored at her home port in Stralsund, Germany. We were in the final stages of preparing her for a 6,000 nautical mile voyage that would take us across the Atlantic and back home to Plash Island in Gulf Shores, Alabama, USA.
Every time I climbed the four stairs that led from the main saloon to the cockpit, I banged my head on the companionway opening. My captain just chuckled and reminded me, “That’s still there. One day you will learn to duck.”
My legs and arms looked like Rocky Balboa’s face after a few rounds with Apollo Creed. But I soon learned that if you nurse every wound you get while living on a sailboat, you will spend all your time nursing wounds. I realized it’s best to just blurt a four-letter word and move on.
Our entire 43-foot ship is smaller than my spacious living room in Gulf Shores. The narrow walls of her steel hull were closing in on me as we littered the deck and cluttered the cabins with equipment and provisions.
Living Full-Time on a Sailboat Requires Body and Mind Adjustments
My body and my mind were trying to make the adjustment.
This had been a dream for the past five years. We had been carefully and strategically planning the voyage for more than a year. I was there by choice and without regret. But some days were pure torture.
I didn’t know it at the time, but Seefalke wasn’t beating me. She was preparing me to work my way through the obstacle course that would become even more difficult to maneuver as we sailed our way through formidable offshore bodies of water. I would soon learn that life on land ,or even life in port, is nothing compared with life at sea. Once in motion, we would be sailing at 5 to 6 knots with 20-plus force winds and 3-to-4 meter swells pounding us in all directions.
I needed to be battle ready.
We sat in port with our two Beagle pups, Cap’n Jack and Scout, for almost three weeks before we set sail on August 19, 2018. We had planned to depart on August 1, but I soon learned that a schedule is the most dangerous thing a sailor can have on board.
I was frustrated that we were continuously delayed. I have lived my life with strict deadlines and organized schedules. Traveling often for work, every airplane has a distinct departure date and time that you can count on. I would strategically schedule every meeting, every phone call, even casual lunches with girlfriends. At sea, departures, routes, and destinations depend on things out of your control—the weather, the conditions, and sometimes the fitness of the boat and the crew.
Finding Balance While Living Full-Time on a Sailboat
I needed some sort of order to balance the chaos and newness and soon began to long for some of the small creature comforts that I had taken for granted for half a century.
I missed the good strong Internet signal I enjoy while on land. My reality of sailing includes continuing to work a full-time job. I am a journalist, so this should be easy enough. I can work from anywhere—all I need is a laptop, a phone, and access to the World Wide Web. Finding that third component became a daily quest as I ventured to any cafe that would let me sit and work for several hours each day with the pups leashed at my feet.
Working while underway is impossible for the most part, so I must work double-time while in port. Each stop becomes a game of catch-up-then-get-ahead. This also can delay departures and affect the schedule, as I would soon learn.
I missed taking a shower every day with an unlimited supply of hot water. Instead, I was either rushing through a deck shower with rationed amounts of cold water—usually about 2 liters per shower—or I was going into the marine shop after hours to use the mechanics’ shower. The walls and floor were covered with a thick layer of oil and grease, but at least the water was hot.
I missed ice. We only have a small cooler for refrigeration. I’ve seen beer coolers on the beach in Gulf Shores that are larger than our cooling system, which is only big enough to store milk, eggs, butter, and cheese. There is no freezer for meat, ice cream, or ice.
Living on a Sailboat with Dogs
The pups also had to make a transition. The leisurely daily walks we enjoyed while on shore would be eliminated on long offshore passages. We began the onboard potty-training experiment and tried to find a routine that would incorporate some form of onboard exercise for our energetic two-year-old Beagles.
I think the pups’ transition was easier than mine. After a few days of roaming the cabins, sniffing every corner, and maneuvering the onboard obstacle course, one day they just looked up at me and kind of shrugged their shoulders as if saying, “I guess we live here now.” I’m convinced now more than ever that dogs just want to be with their humans. It doesn’t matter where.
It was a bright, sunny Sunday morning when we finally untied the lines and set sail into the amazing Baltic Sea—waters we know well.
In just a few short hours, the Baltic made us pay for our rushed departure with choppy waves and gale-force winds that left me over the side of the rail for six hours and then hugging the head for another three. I was paralyzed on the cabin floor—too weak with queasiness and dehydration to make my way back to the cockpit.
Watch the video to come along for the ride as we battle the Baltic Sea in our first week at sea
Living on a Sailboat Offers Many Challenges
I was starting to reconsider my dream of living onboard and sailing forever. I didn’t want to quit, but I didn’t want to move forward either. The desire to not give up and to continue to pursue the dream won that emotional battle.
We made our way through the Baltic, through the Kiel Canal, across The North Sea and The English Channel and into Camaret sur Mer on the northwestern coast of France, at the entrance of the Atlantic Ocean.
As I wrestled with my fear, seasickness, excitement and every other possible emotion, I also noticed that I began to glide through the cabin like a monkey swinging from tree to tree in the jungle.
Living on a Sailboat Means Living Life Sideways
When you live at sea on a sailboat, you learn to live on at least a 20-degree tilt. You sleep on a tilt. You cook on a tilt. You walk on a tilt. You pee on a tilt. It’s a constant balancing act.
You are just sideways—all the time.
At times I feel like I’m in one of those old black and white movies where the room is rotating while the actors dance on the walls and the ceiling.
It can be uncomfortable and frustrating, but just like with anything else you do every day, muscle memory begins to take over. Your body and your mind begin to make the adjustment until walking sideways just becomes the way you walk.
On land, your house is optimized and standardized for human use. It sits still as you perform daily tasks that seem simple. Humans were not meant to live at sea. It’s a very hostile environment for people. Your floating home is what keeps you alive. You must adapt to the boat’s movements and its tight layout.
On land, you are stabilized. At sea, the boat is moving, the air is moving, the water beneath you is moving, and the direction of the movement can shift at any time. To accommodate the motion, your movements become more calculated. I often feel like I’m moving in slow motion just to keep the balance. This must be what astronauts feel like when they walk on the moon.
You have to remember the general rule of safety at sea—one hand for the ship and one hand for yourself—and you have to apply it with every task you perform. For example, this means you can’t carry two plates of food to the table at once. You must make two trips, a lesson I learned the hard way.
Watch the video to see how I battled seasickness and made my way through the infamous Bay of Biscay
Once we had made our way across the dreaded Bay of Biscay and into A Caruña, Spain, I looked down at my battered limbs. Even though I had been continuously tossed around the cabin like a martini for two months, most of the bruises and scrapes on my limbs had begun to heal and fade away, along with the memories of how they got there.
I could only remember the amazing sunsets and the dolphins playing on Seefalke’s bow. I soaked in the fresh salt air and the freedom that comes with living with no schedules. I no longer missed long, hot showers, or ice, or Internet.
Mostly I missed my family and friends. That’s the transition I don’t think I will ever completely make. I’ve learned that you can make a new home somewhere, and still be homesick.
Life on a Sailboat Means Learning to Live in Isolation
It can be isolating out there at times.
With a two-person crew, we spend one or two weeks at sea at a time and will often sail on these passages without ever seeing any other ships or any other human beings except each other. The lack of daily human contact is one of the biggest transitions a sailor must make.
On land, we are all surrounded by other humans. We may not speak to any of them, and sometimes we probably don’t even notice them because seeing other humans is just part of our everyday fabric. You step outside and see people walking around or passing in cars. You venture into your routine and are surrounded by people while standing in lines or in shops or restaurants or offices.
As we sailed along the Spanish Atlantic Coast, around the coast of Portugal, and into Morocco, we still had our sights set on Alabama. But we began to realize that another form of home was pulling us in many directions. Alabama had now become a brief stop we will make on our way to somewhere else—destinations yet undetermined.
We settled into life on Seefalke—our bright orange floating home away from home.
Watch the video to see what lessons we learned with crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a sailboat
Living Onboard Means Throwing Away Schedules
As I write this, we are sitting in the middle of the Atlantic. We just crossed the Equator and entered the waters of the Southern Hemisphere. We are on our way to Ihla Fernando de Noronha—a remote island I had never heard of until two weeks ago. Then we sail into Cabedelo, Brazil—another destination that was not on our original route.
Our well-organized, carefully-planned course from Stralsund to Gulf Shores has been cast away with the wind. We will get there eventually, but there is too much to see and explore along the way. I no longer feel crippled by a schedule.
While in the Canary Islands, we met a couple of Swedish sailors who were headed to Greece but wanted to sail through Norway on the way. I suppose they inspired us to toss aside any kind of route that makes geographical sense. They will eventually get to Greece, perhaps around the time we get to Alabama.
Adjusting to Life Onboard
Seefalke still tosses me around the cabin at times. I still blurt four-letter words daily, but I no longer become distracted by the bruises. I still battle seasickness with every passage, but it’s just another part of my new normal of living life sideways.
Most days are mundane and uneventful. Some are filled with engine trouble at sea or filthy maintenance chores. Other days are downright scary, difficult, and uncomfortable. But it’s worth it.
It’s like riding the most terrifying, fast, swirly roller coaster that makes your heart pound and your stomach drop. You hang on for dear life and can’t wait until it’s over.
Then you get right back in line to ride it again.
Watch the video to see our amazing eye-to-eye encounter with a whale while sailing to the Canary Islands
Sailors are blessed with short memories. When you see landfall after a grueling Bay of Biscay passage, you don’t even remember the past four grueling days of gut-wrenching seasickness.
When a whale swims to the side of your boat, turns on his side and looks you right in the eye, you don’t even remember the hard, scary, difficult or mundane days. You just treasure those special moments.
Every day I marvel at the fact that we’ve been to all these places all over the world, covering more than 5,400 nautical miles so far, with many more interesting places yet to discover.
And we never left home.
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