Watery Roots

Thoughts on home and reciprocity with the ocean whilst sailing Latifa 2900nm from Hawaii to Washington.

August 2024

Outside it’s bright, foggy and very cold, I would never believe this is August. We’re rolling gently downwind, 12 days into our passage from Hawaii to Washington state. A few days ago the closest land mass was Unalaska Island of the Aleutian Isles, Alaska. We haven’t seen the horizon for almost a week now, we live in a grey dome of varying degrees of brightness, it’s both eery and strangely comforting. It’s as though someone is turning up and down the dimmer on a lamp hanging in the clouds above us. When the lamp is on full power everything feels nice, the decks are dry, the sky hangs lighter and we feel at peace in our strange little world. When the lamp is turned down it turns bitingly cold and bleak, the air heavy with moisture, grey ocean, grey skies; we put on so many layers we can barely move and hold cockpit dance sessions to warm up and boost morale.

It’s an odd juxtaposition to be in such a huge expanse of space and ocean, but to only see a few hundred metres around you. Your world always gets smaller at sea, confined to only the boat and crew. This may sound claustrophobic being physically stuck onboard, but your mind often wanders out to the horizon, and on and on and on. This fog feels different, it’s as though it naturally leads us inward. I feel peaceful in this bubble. Somehow it manages to feel both small and expansive; I know there’s an ocean around me and sky above me, even if I can’t see they’re there.

Passages like this leave no shortage of time to think. Since we’ve made it into this high pressure band, the wind has settled and the seas are relatively calm; easy conditions to cook, do whatever jobs need doing and get enough good sleep (bundled under as many duvet’s and layers as I can find). For the first time ever whilst at sea I have enough headspace and energy left over to attempt putting pen to paper and thoughts on a page.

My mind wanders to thoughts of home - something I expect every sailor has done since humans first put out to sea. Although for me, rather than dreaming of homeward shores I’m pondering the concept of home itself and whether it’s even a physical place for me anymore.

‘Home’ draws many things to mind; the Wiltshire countryside where I grew up and my family still live, the coast of Cornwall where I carved out my own life and met Jasper, our old boat Morwenna, winters moored up the river beneath the oak trees and summers spent at anchor catching mackerel for our dinner.

There’s also Galicia on the Northern Coast of Spain and our little house on the cliffs, a project sitting waiting for us, a home waiting to happen. Then of course, there is Latifa; a home that has unlocked adventure and lead us to the South Pacific where we discovered our dreams.

Even as I write this we are on our way to a new place, on a new continent, somewhere we will likely grow to feel at home, even if just for a while.

We are well practised in making a home wherever we are, but I wonder; where do my roots lie? Are they somewhere I have left and will one day return to? How often do these roots need watering? Am I yet to find the ground where I can take root? Does it even matter? What privileged questions to even ask…

Living in the South Pacific I’ve been surrounded by the proud and ancient culture of the Polynesians and admired their strong connection to the land ‘fenua’ and sea ‘moana’. In these beautiful islands the trees are abundant with fruit and filled with flowers and healthy underwater ecosystems are still able to thrive. I learnt so much through being surrounded by this culture; their humble way of being with each other and with nature.

I also felt a little envious of their sense of belonging.

In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes “It was through her actions of reciprocity, the give and take with the land, that the original immigrant became indigenous. For all of us, becoming indigenous to a place means living as if your children’s future mattered, to take care of the land as if our lives, both material and spiritual, depended on it”

There is so much wisdom in this. She speaks of a balanced relationship with the planet and how in order to grow enduring roots somewhere we need to tend to our home; we have a duty of care. I had never thought about the word ‘indigenous’ in this way, I had thought it was something one either is or is not, rather than something that can be cultivated.

Perhaps I am growing to be indigenous to the ocean. Spreading my watery roots.

Water has been a guiding force all my life, and blessed me with so much I hold dear; it breaks my heart to see what’s happening - over fishing, pollution, acidification, deep sea mining. Out here in the middle of the Pacific, thousands of miles from anywhere not a day goes by without seeing fishing gear and other plastic waste floating past. For me Kimmerer’s quote puts words to a growing urge for action that has been mounting inside of me. I know that now is my time to give back. I don’t know exactly how yet, but I want to put my skills, energy and love towards the good of the ocean and all that depend on it. To take care of the ocean as if my life, both material and spiritual, depended on it - because it does.

A life on the water is a privilege. I am so grateful to be able to travel the world by sail and experience truly wild places. Gratitude incites a cycle of reciprocity, and I need to find what gifts I can offer the ocean in return for the home she gives me.