I Needed to Remember That a New Day Would Arrive - Blog by Cara Lauer
Before I joined the Oceans of Hope crew, I thought about the boat’s name as an inspiring message about possibility and the freedom of sailing. The color, I thought, was a vibrant orange, the symbolic color of MS awareness and a striking contrast to the blue waters. The Danish are known to be design-savvy, and the newly-painted hull was a great example. On the dock in Atlantic City, however, I learned that Oceans of Hope is not simply “orange,” but the “saffron” color of Eos, the Goddess of Dawn. What a lovely image, simultaneously peaceful and powerful. We would fly away together into a new day, and our day would be determined more by the prevailing winds than the prevalent diagnoses.
My first two days of sailing were personally challenging. The first day we had rough seas and I was the first (though not the only) to lose my lunch overboard. The second day I had a terrible migraine, so while the rest of the crew passed through Hell Gate on the East River, I was curled up below deck, waiting for the pain to pass. My cabin-mate, Chris, reminded me casually that it could be any of us, that we all have bad days with MS. She checked on me periodically, but mostly she just let me rest. As I was literally carried through one of the gates of hell, I had some doubts about whether I was up to this task. Then it dawned on me (forgive the pun) that oceans of hope were available to me. I needed to remember that a new day would arrive, that it would be full of possibility, that it might even be spectacular.
My newfound hope was richly rewarded the next day. We ate our breakfast on deck in the sunshine, visited by a beautiful swan—the national bird of Denmark, I am told. I got to take my favorite seat in the bosun’s chair as we changed the main sail in preparation for our grand entry into Manhattan. While most of the local sailors seem to have flown south for the winter, we sailed through a mild, gentle, sunny afternoon. We watched the sunset over the New York City skyline before returning to Oyster Cove for the night. I will sleep soundly and look forward to what tomorrow will bring.
Report from Bosun Bertram:
Sunset sailing and sunrise frost are the words these days. We have fantastic sailing around the bays of Long Island, and when we get up in the morning we have started to find thin layers of ice on the dock. We are ready to go south! But not before we have been to New York City! We are leaving Oyster Bay this morning at 10:00, to make our way down East River, so that we are through Hell Gate in time. Tomorrow the incredible forces of opposing current will keep us from making it in time to North Cove, so instead we use the following currents of today, and find a nice marina in New Jersey, where we can do our final preparation to our grand arrival on Manhattan on Tuesday!
Local time is 08:44 and our current position is 40°52'695N 73°31'654W.