Packing and Preparing for a Transatlantic Sailing

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

 

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.”

 

John Masefield, Sea-Fever

 

Transatlantic Travel Preparations

 

Travel insurance purchased. Flight booked. Transit to the airport arranged.

 

On paper, the essentials are straightforward. A short list of confirmations and receipts that suggest readiness and confidence, or at least the appearance of both. In reality, the day before departure rarely feels easy or calm. Instead, it races past as a kind of disarray, where each small task leads to another, and the excitement of leaving builds up in the background.

 

This time, there is even less distance between decision and departure. And that is saying something - especially for us.  Last year we made the choice to go to sea 3 days or 72 hours in advance – this year we returned that to 36 hours – from reservation to preparation to flight to embarkation. 

 

Planners we are not.

 

As such, a single afternoon to prepare and set off, we are packing for fourteen nights and fifteen days aboard Wind Surf, along with the transit to get there and whatever comes next once we reach Europe. That last part remains unresolved and unplanned, as it often does for us. A trail will likely follow, but we are open to what we might have to do at that time.  Once again, we are not great at advance planning. So in addition to packing for a voyage, we have to prepare our camping and hiking gear as well, without precisely knowing what we will ultimately need

 

Packing for these voyages – whether Wind Surf or Queen Mary 2 - has never come easily to us.

 

We are, at heart, more suited to long-distance trails, wild camping and time in nature on our own than to ships. On the Trans Canada Trail, and across the pilgrimages in Europe, everything we needed was reduced to what we could carry on our backs. Each item had a purpose.  A sleeping mat, a sleeping bag, a tent, a cooking kit, a couple of sets of clothes and cameras – that was it.   Each choice was tested daily against necessity, need, and durability. Over time, that way of moving in the world becomes instinctive and natural. You learn what matters, and more importantly, what does not. 

 

Preparing for a voyage at sea – whether on the world’s last ocean liner or a sailing yacht asks something different.  Here one must look the part and keep up appearances, which can be a tall order for two Royal Canadian Geographical Society explorers and a member of the Explorer’s Club who spend more time in a tent than a home.

 

Even now, after crossings aboard Queen Mary 2, journeys north to Alaska on Queen Elizabeth, and more recent time voyaging beyond the Arctic Circle in Norway on Ambience, there is still a moment of hesitation when we begin to pack. Not because we do not know what to bring, but because the logic is no longer as simple.

 

On a trail, you pack for distance, endurance and movement. On a ship, you pack for time.  You pack to swim.  You pack for formal dinners.  And you pack for deck BBQs or Gala Nights.  Put another way, on the trail you dress in a means to get through each day, on board a ship, you dress to impress (or try to at least fit in). 

 

Beyond the suits, ties, and dresses (yuk) there are also the expected items. Travel documents, US and Euro currencies to be purchased, medications carefully portioned into small containers. Gravol and sea sickness tablets – just in case and as a precaution rather than out of need yet. Camera equipment, cables, chargers, adapters, each one necessary, each one easy to forget if not checked twice. A book for the flight, and perhaps another for the evenings, though experience suggests that time at sea has a way of casting aside any intention to do more than relax.

 

And then there are the layers that still feel unfamiliar – even after years of presentations, giving lectures or talking in formal forums.  Polished dress shoes, dress heels (yuk), and refined touches.  All of which are pieces of clothing and accessories chosen not for durability or weather but for spaces that existed entirely within the ship – the dining rooms, the lounges filled with elegant piano playing, venues filled with classical violin playing or blues music, and evenings that follow different routines than we know on the trail. 

 

Don’t get me wrong, we understand why they are needed and how we are expected to look.   And if truth be told, we do enjoy the opportunity to periodically dress up and enjoy an evening.   Beyond which – believe it or not - we have worn such clothes before in the actual world, both of us having taught in Universities, been professionals, and given many presentations to nature groups, classrooms, and politicians.  And yet, each time, packing them feels slightly at odds with the rest of what we carry and how we think of ourselves deep down.

 

And perhaps that is what sits at the heart of these moments – dress clothes simply don’t fit with how we think of ourselves or how we think of our travels.  Yet we repeatedly find ourselves in these environments because we love them and the journeys they offer us the opportunity to enjoy.

 

New Perspectives at Sea

 

And so, beyond the reservations, tickets, passports, and necessary clothes, perhaps it is a shift in mental set that is also required when setting out - especially on a transatlantic voyage. It is not only the bags that have to be repacked, but you also have to head out with the right mindset. On a trail, we are used to forward motion. Each morning has a purpose that can be measured in kilometres, weather, food, water, and the condition of our feet. Progress is tangible. The body knows what to do. The day begins, the pack goes on, and the route slowly unfolds beneath us.

 

There is no trail to follow, no town to reach by evening, no daily distance to measure ourselves against. Once the ship leaves port, the journey is no longer something we can shape through effort alone. We have to surrender, at least a little, to weather, wind, sea, and time. A crossing asks for something different. It requires us to step away from the habits of land and accept a slower, wider rhythm.  It asks you to settle into a routine that – if accepted for what it is – can be energizing.   That sounds simple enough, even romantic in retrospect, but it takes adjustment. Our minds do not always release their grip on plans, worries, responsibilities, and unfinished things the moment we walk up the gangway.

 

Perhaps that is why the preparation for a voyage feels so unsettled. We are not only trying to remember adapters, cameras, medications, and clothes that feel slightly foreign to us. We are also trying to prepare ourselves to be still and step back. To let the ocean do what trails have so often done for us: strip life back to essentials. A transatlantic crossing asks us to trade momentum for presence. It asks us to stop measuring the day by achievement and begin measuring it by light, horizon, conversation, and what is in the moment.

 

That may be the true packing list for going to sea. Not only passports and shoes and dresses, but patience. Openness. The willingness to be between places for a while. The ability to let go of land before the next shore appears.

 

Packing, Preparing and Setting Off

 

Ultimately, however, at its core, all packing – whether for a trail or for crossing an ocean is a process defined less by certainty and more about ensuring readiness.

 

Items laid out, repacked, reconsidered. Bags opened and closed repeatedly as we try to account for every possibility while still keeping within the limits of what we can reasonably carry. There is a slow but inevitable negotiation amid the process - between bringing too much and not enough, between planning and trusting that what we have will suffice for unknown conditions.

 

We have done this more times than I can count.  And yet, each time, it feels as though we are learning it again.

 

Perhaps that is because no two departures are ever quite the same. The logistics may be familiar, but the circumstances are not. This voyage, more than most, has come together quickly. There has been little time to come to terms with the decision and to prepare for leaving.

 

Yet… even after years of travel, countless times preparing and making these same choices the most consistent part of packing is the flurry which it gives way to – that is always the same.  It is at these moments, with only a few hours to go before we set off, that the idea of travelling once again becomes real. 

 

Very soon, we set off to leave for Sint Maarten in the Caribbean – and from there, once again, we go to sea to take the long way.  To sail across the Atlantic Ocean.

See you on board.