April 16, 2023
Today, almost two weeks after setting sail from Darwin for Indonesia, I feel like I’m waking up from some kind of strange, ambulatory coma. It’s just now that I see the state I’ve been in for the past several months. I felt like it was possible I was dying: having reached 65 years old, my body had enough and was ready to shut down.
For me, our entire time in Australia was difficult, with a very low reward to misery ratio. Back in October while still in Queensland, I had a severe attack of vertigo that might only now be subsiding. This made every movement difficult for me. Then there was the heat, made worse by the fatal nature of swimming anywhere in Oz, with deadly jellyfish, sharks and salt water crocs constantly looking for the other white meat. Then we got to Darwin.
Darwin was a different level of heat. We spent almost all day, every day, huddled inside Legacy with the air conditioner running full blast. I didn’t mind not getting out so much as there really wasn’t much I liked about the town or the marina. Yeah, there was some good food here and there, but it was hit and miss. It was too hot to get any exercise. Walking was out so rental cars and Uber were in. I think I can see now that this extreme inactivity brought on by both the heat and my lack of enthusiasm for the town really took a toll on me.
Just today, I recalled the difficulty I had when I was a kid on the occasions when I’d laze around in bed very late on a Saturday morning – until Johnny Quest came on TV. I’d feel depleted for the entire weekend as a result. My body just doesn’t seem to do well with inactivity. (It doesn’t really like exercise either, at least not for exercise’s sake alone, but moderate, entertaining activity is what keeps my gears turning.) Life in Darwin was extreme inactivity.
I think what added to my poor relationship with Darwin was not all its fault. We arrived around Christmas during their wet season. Shops and restaurants close for up to two months. The marina was totally dead. There’d be no cruising community here. It reminded us of Covid-19 lock-downs. There was nobody on the docks and none of the restaurants or shops around the marina were open for business. More cause for inactivity.
But now there are signs that I’m waking up from my own personal zombie apocalypse. Today, as we got ready for a 50-mile sail, I found myself happily attacking chores that I’d been ignoring. I cleaned up the chart table. I dug out the bin with the spare plumbing fittings to get a new hose nozzle out. I tended to some pending tasks on the computer, and now I am feeling inspired enough to write these words. Noticing this activity helped me see the declining daze I’ve been in for the past months.
There are other signs I’m coming back to life. Sitting in the cockpit a few minutes ago I noticed the amazing neon green color in the waves made by the reflecting sun through my polarized glasses. It’s silly but I kind of fell in love with that color and it pleased me so much it almost tickled.
Before, I forced myself do only what was absolutely essential. Now I’m taking on tasks without giving it much thought. I even filed our taxes yesterday—surely a sign of recovery!
We’ve always known that in cruising, as in “normal” life, there are up periods and down periods. We’ve had some moderately low lows but they have always been short-lived. This time, my low stretched on so long that I often asked myself if perhaps I was done with cruising. Nope. I can tell you that for sure after today. I’m glad I stuck it out.
I asked Cyndi to read this and she said she would in about twenty minutes as we were about to sail into a big squall. Sure enough, it rained buckets and the wind gusted to 27 knots. Even with the stinging-hard rain, Cyndi and I played in the cockpit like children frolicking in sprinklers on a warm summer day. I think I’m back.
-Rich
