Capsized

The sky was blue as far as my eye could see, and there was not a smidge of white to tarnish it. It was the kind of day that you would see on a picture postcard in the tourist shops around the port of Marseille, where I spend my summers. The lure of the sea beckoned me with its undulating cerulean and viridian waves. All I could think about was getting out on that water.

My instructor checked our boat and ensured that it was set up correctly, and then we set sail. My partner, a boy my age named Enzo, was a very nervous sailor. We were sailing for about half an hour, headed out to sea when I noticed a distinct drop in temperature and a sudden increase in the strength of the wind. Having been born in Marseille, I  knew about this wind, a wind so strong that it had been given a name—the Mistral. The Mistral is so famous that poems have been written about it, and it is strong enough to make people cancel their plans. It howls through the cracks in walls and under the doors; it screams outside the windows, pleading to be let inside.  This wind is a cold banshee, barreling straight down from the Alps. Experiencing the Mistral at sea is even worse, making treacherous conditions even for an experienced sailor. I looked over the horizon and saw ominous clouds, grey as soot, rolling in fast. Darkness quickly usurped the sky, engulfing the perfect day in frigid doom.

My partner saw it, too, and he began to panic. Calling over our instructor, Enzo insisted that he could not continue in our boat. He climbed into the instructor’s boat, leaving me alone. I assured them both that I was all right and that I could manage on my own. Part of me was scared, but a bigger part was somehow thrilled. My instructor hesitantly left me to attend to another boat of scared kids. 

At first, I tried to fight the wind, wrapping the ropes around my little arms to steady the sail. Salt spray blew in my face, stinging my eyes. The waves were rocking my small boat, splashing freezing water over me. The strong winds made the water very choppy, and one big gust was all it took to capsize my boat. The boat flipped, throwing me into the churning sea, the hostile water that had been so calm and enticing to me just earlier that morning. 

The boat began to drift away from me, triggering in me a wave of fear followed by one of intense focus and determination. I found it difficult to stay above water, even in my life jacket. I frantically tried to get back to my boat, but it kept moving farther and farther away. Suddenly, there was a lifeline, literally. I spied a rope trailing from behind my overturned vessel. I was able to get a good grip on it and pull myself toward the boat. I used all my body weight to slip the boat right side up again and hoisted myself back in. Frozen to my core, the fierce wind pummeled my wet skin like icy knives. I knew I did not want to get knocked back into the water. I decided I had to try something different. 

 I needed to use the wind this time, leaning into it rather than fighting against it. I knew I could not beat the sea, so I tried to remember how much I loved how the waves carried me when I swam and how peaceful and calm the water could make me feel. As long as my boat was floating with me inside, I knew I would be okay. I connected with nature in that moment of fear. I harnessed the wind, letting it pull my sail, my small boat cutting through the waves. I stayed calm and focused my attention on what I needed to do, not on what I was afraid of. I listened to what the wind and sea had to teach me, working with nature, not against it. I arrived back to shore, shivering but proud.