FROM THE HELM

By Mike Benjamin, SV Exodus, President SDSA

This month, many of our members are preparing for the Fall Rally and are taking advantage of the SDSA’s extensive educational programs including boat prep, weather, navigation, medical coverage, provisioning and pet issues, just to name a few.  But there is another very important aspect of Rally prep that is not well covered – your mental state/attitude.  Voyaging offshore is an adventure with inherent risks and rewards, and whether you are a world class sailor or a newbie, pre-rally anxiety is real.  This month I’m turning “the Helm” over to my wife Ronna who is uniquely qualified to write this piece, not only because she is an accomplished writer, but because she is well versed in anxiety - both causing it and experiencing it!

PASSAGE ANXIETY:  THE OCEAN IS BIG, BUT YOU'RE NOT ALONE

By Ronna Benjamin, SV Exodus

You signed up for the Salty Dawg Rally to the Bahamas or to Antigua months ago — probably with a lot of excitement, maybe with a little liquid courage, maybe both. But now it’s real. It’s happening. You’re doing it.

And suddenly, you realize:
Your tiny boat = a speck.
The ocean = vast, dark, and scattered with random floating objects.
Your emotions = somewhere between “YAY” and “What did I get myself into?!”

Whether this is your first big passage or your fifth, the lead-up can feel overwhelming. Honestly? It’s terrifying. Also, totally normal.

Before our first passage to Antigua with the Dawgs in 2017, I’m not sure I slept the entire week before we left Hampton. I didn’t know what I didn’t know.  I worried about health issues, safety issues, crew issues, seasickness, boat issues, weather issues, boredom, provisioning, fuel consumption, rogue waves, waterspouts, and about the 10,000 engine parts that could fail at 2 am.  I was afraid of starting the trip overtired… which made me more anxious… which made me more tired. You see the spiral.

Our longest passage before that had been three nights. And I clearly remember staring out sailing into a moonless, pitch-black sea — the kind of black that feels like you’re sailing through printer ink — thinking: Why am I doing this?  Do I want 12 days of this? Who does this anyway? Am I insane? Are we all out of our minds?

Spoiler alert: We are not insane. (Mostly.) Everyone’s just like you. We are prepared, vigilant, adventurous people with dreams, charts, and a stash of ginger chews.

I was (and still am) scared of big winds, high seas, broken parts, and bad forecasts. But here’s what I’ve learned: fear doesn’t mean you’re not ready — it just means you’re paying attention.

A Little Magic Happened in Hampton

A few days before that first passage in 2017, I was walking down the dock, and I caught myself mindlessly singing. Not humming — singing.
The song? “I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here,” from Annie.
I stopped in my tracks. Who was this woman suddenly feeling... hopeful?

What had changed?
That morning, I’d gone to the Salty Dawg Women’s Roundtable.

At that session, I sat with a mix of seasoned sailors and first-timers like me. Some had logged tens of thousands of miles. Others, like me, were still wondering if we packed too many cans of chickpeas or too few cans of tuna fish.

There’s something deeply comforting about being in a room full of smart, salty, slightly nervous women who are willing to say:
“Yes, I’m scared too.”

No bravado. No judgment. Just real talk.
We talked about everything — from our deepest fears, to whether we could find decent crackers in the islands, to what to do when you want to throw your husband overboard.
(Answer: Have a secret stash of dark chocolate, and don’t forget the Marriage Savers.)

One woman asked if we’d exercise during the passage.
The collective response: “No way.” (Though someone did say, “chair yoga… maybe.”)

And then there was the woman with a very strong British accent who gave us this excellent advice:
“During the passage, take an hour and go below and have sex!”
Wait, what?!
I swear she said “sex.”  Turns out, she actually said, “a rest.” (Sorry, Mike. My bad.)

Yourfellow cruisers?
They get this life.

They don’t bat an eye when you say you live with your spouse on 45 feet of fiberglass.

They talk openly about sacrifice, resilience, joy, and the crazy adventure that is boat life.

And over the course of the rally, they become not just friends, but lifelong sailing soulmates. They’re not replacements for your land friends – but they are the kind who’ll help you troubleshoot your chart plotter and pour you a stiff drink when your holding tank backs up. (Ask me how I know.)

But the emotional roll coaster is real.  

Just when you think you’ve got your nerves under control, someone (probably a well-meaning seminar presenter) will explain about “heaving to in 50 knots,” or “Rudder failure” or “Gulf Stream eddies,” or “deploying a sea anchor.”

And boom.
Good mood: gone.
Anxiety: back, big time.

One minute you’re journaling about personal growth, the next you’re calling your family to say goodbye and “I love you,” just in case. All totally normal.

So… What Can You Do About It?

1.  If you are a newbie and have a mentor, use them!  Call them up.  Talk about everything!  
2. Whether you are leaving from Newport or Hampton, go to social events. Come early, leave late.   You will find like-minded souls.
3. For all the women who will be leaving from Hampton, come to the Salty Gals session on Tuesday at 2:00PM.   We’ll talk openly. We’ll laugh. We’ll vent. You’ll get real advice from real women who’ve been there — and you’ll realize that you are far from alone.  Also: wine.  Lots of wine.  (Note that men are not invited since there is an event scheduled at the Brewery later that afternoon).

Final Thoughts from a Once-Nervous, Still-Often-Nervous Dawg

Yes, this whole thing is big.
Yes, it’s hard.
Yes, it will test your patience, your stamina, your relationship, and your wardrobe.

But also: it is so damn rewarding.

You’ll arrive with salt in your hair, stories in your back pocket, and a spark in your eye that says, “I did something brave.”

And that… is worth everything.

See you in Hampton, 

Ronna
The President’s Wife (No, not that one. The salty one.)

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