This post came from our (10-page!) application to participate in the 2024 Race to Alaska. We’re sharing snippets in a 3-part series to introduce you to Team Sail Like A Mother.
> Read about Captain Katie here.
I have enough experience on the water and in the wilderness to know that the R2AK is a questionable way to spend my summer vacation. But this particular adventure has called my name since the race began in 2015. It combines my favorite things: DIY adventures, the Pacific Ocean, mountain views, sailing and wildlife watching. Add in a dash of my least favorite things—being really cold and jigsawing between giant ferries and freighters—and the R2AK is simply irresistible, like that last slice of chocolate cake I promised not to eat.
My dad taught me how to sail in Southern California, which inspired me to take sailing courses (for college credit, no less!) while attending the University of San Diego. When I moved to Montana for graduate school in 2002, I wept buckets of tears at the thought of leaving boats behind. But lo and behold, a friend of a friend needed someone to caretake his 26’ sloop on Flathead Lake, the largest natural lake west of the Mississippi. I sailed Spindrift all summer for 6 years, teaching myself and many landlocked Montanans how to safely rescue any seat cushions or beers jettisoned from passing jet boats.
In 2012, I told my boyfriend that I was quitting my job to sail across the Pacific. He said, “Sounds fun. Let’s move in together to save money.” We got married, sold most of our stuff, and then hitchhiked from Panama to the Kingdom of Tonga from 2013-2014. As crew aboard 7 different sailboats ranging in size from 28’ to 53’, we navigated 6,000 miles, braving squalls, boredom and one giant orca that (literally) stared us down 1,000 miles from the Marquesas. While living aboard a sailboat in Tonga, I got pregnant (oops), prompting us to return to Montana to start our family.
Our kids, now 5 and 9, have learned to deal with their parents’ addiction to exploring new, remote, wild places in small, underpowered crafts. We canoe-camped for a week in the Everglades with crocodiles close at hand. We’ve sailed a 20-foot Sea Pearl in the Exumas islands for a week, getting chomped on by noseeums as we slept ashore each night. We backpacked off-trail in Montana’s mountains for days at a time, chasing off bears and scouting for mountain lions. We boated to a cabin on an uninhabited island 40 miles from Wrangell, AK to spend a week salmon fishing and porcupine-stalking. We sailed 35 miles across Yellowstone Lake—the largest high-elevation lake in North America—with no motor in order to anchor for several days at the spot that’s farthest from any road in the Lower 48. And for the past 4 years, we’ve spent 2 months each winter living aboard a sailboat in the Bahamas after crossing the Gulf Stream, usually anchored dozens of miles from civilization where we snorkel with as many sharks as possible.
As for other qualifications that make me a good fit for enduring the R2AK: I’m happiest and much more pleasant company when I exercise at least two hours a day. (Which is why I’ll gladly pedal plenty in the R2AK when there’s no wind!) I’m a yoga instructor, which leaves me limber enough to wedge into Wild Card’s tiny cockpit. I lift weights 2-3 times per week, and can totally benchpress both my kids. Depending on the season, I also hike, mountain bike or cross-country ski a few days each week on the many (stupidly steep) trails near our home in Missoula, Montana. And as a tango and salsa dancer, I’m comfortable putting my body in tight quarters with people who aren’t related to me.
My sailing resume also includes a half-dozen week-long bareboat charters over the past decade (3 of them with SLAM teammate Katie) in the San Juan Islands, the Caribbean, and the Gulf of Mexico. I also sailed with a friend from Petersburg to Ketchikan aboard a Newport 30 in 2010. Note: We totally nailed the Dixon Entrance, but we had to dive overboard near Wrangell to pull bull kelp out of the engine’s intake while the boat spiraled in a tidal whirlpool amidst pea-soup fog.
So, yeah, I’m no stranger to risk, adventure or exposure. We call it “Type 2 fun” and, for some reason, I prefer it. Type 2 fun is basically defined as “when shit goes sideways”. Like the time our mainsail ripped while we were sailing close-hauled in a non-motorized skiff in the Bahamas and we had to do a controlled shipwreck (I just coined that term) on a sliver of sand amidst sharp coral to avoid getting pulled out to sea in a ripping 10-knot current (did I mention our 3-year-old was napping in the cockpit that whole time?).
Or the night my husband and I were captaining a little power boat to deliver a half-dozen drunk Tongan friends back to their remote island village when a gale rolled in and rain was blowing sideways (seriously, up my nose) and we had to turn back and sleep in a storage shed on the dock.
Or the time we were trekking between villages in northern Myanmar when a “little war” broke out just as my husband became desperately ill (read: feverishly squatting behind tea bushes every 20 minutes) and we had to walk several miles past skeptical rebel soldiers brandishing automatic rifles.
Or the time on Yellowstone when a squall kicked up nasty swells and we had to paddle our Catalina 22 through a tiny creek to anchor in a protected pond. And don’t get me started on all the times our engine has died, our prop has fouled, the electrical system has fritzed, a rope has jammed, and shit has just generally gone awry at the worst possible moment—usually right around 2 AM. Some of these (mis)adventures have been published in magazines or newspapers, since I work as a freelance writer to support my Type 2 fun habit.
When things get hairy, I’ve learned to deal calmly. To think carefully over potential next steps. To rely on the various skills of any friends or family beside me. And most importantly, to abort when our combined skills are no match forthe problem at hand. As a woman and a mother in her mid-40s, I have two legs up on most men when it comes to making sound, safe decisions in risky situations (except, of course, any men reading this right now…). Living is always preferable to winning.
And speaking of winning, I’d like to state clearly that Team SLAM has no intention of doing so. Even though the steak knives would look lovely beside my set from Goodwill, we don’t want ‘em. All we want is to finish the race in one piece, still (mostly) smiling at the end. I have full faith in my team’s dedication and qualifications for finishing this race, to suffer cheerfully along the way, and to grow wiser as we do so.
R2AK is our midlife growth spurt. It’s our way to prove that we are a trio of brave, tough, still-fun moms who are willing to choose dumb summer vacations. Also, we really want to see some whales.
