Life after I quit my job to sail the world on a 27-foot boat
One year ago, I quit my tech job and bought a small sailboat to fulfill a long-held dream of mine: sail around the world.
The funny thing is, I didn’t really know how to sail, and I certainly didn’t have a lot of money. I had only been working for a few years, so even modestly sized boats were out of the question. So, why did I quit my job to go sail the world?
It’s a good question, and to many, it seems irresponsible. To others, it seems downright crazy. To my mother, it’s probably going to kill me. But to me, it’s an adventure that had to happen now.
The reality is that none of us know how much time we have. All I knew for sure was that I was healthy enough to do this now, and maybe that wouldn’t be the case in another 10 years.
The other reason I had to do it now, and not later, is that our planet’s coral reefs are rapidly disappearing, and may become all but extinct in the coming decades. They are the most diverse ecosystems in the world, they are the reason many South Pacific islands still exist, and they are absolutely beautiful. I knew this is something I wanted to see and share before it was too late.
So, I made a compromise. I would adjust my expectations, and get a smaller boat. One I could afford with my modest savings, but that could still take me around the world, and that’s how I found Tarka.
Tarka is a 1973 Albin Vega 27. Though modest looking, she’s a capable little boat. She has even already once circumnavigated in the 80s. Other Vegas have also made notable passages, including an expedition to Antartica and a non-stop sail around the Americas.
Since over 3,000 Vegas were produced, and also because of their small size and simple construction, they tend to be real bargains. To me, this meant that I would have more money to sail, and wouldn’t end up tied to a dock, stuck working to try and finance my adventure. The first step though, was to learn how to sail.
When I bought and moved aboard Tarka in St. Martin, I had only sailed a 21-foot boat a few times on a lake. I had done no serious sailing, and certainly no offshore sailing. Suffice it to say, this was going to be a challenge.
Luckily, the beginning of my voyage was relatively simple. I would island-hop down the Eastern Caribbean, and hide from hurricanes when I arrived in Grenada. As a novice though, every passage was a learning experience, and every squall that hit me had me questioning what I was doing.
Though moments like these were tough, they taught me a great deal about sailing. The inevitable mistakes I made were tempered by the forgiving nature of my small boat. I still wouldn’t call myself a good sailor, but I am certainly better than when I started.
However, the real challenges have had nothing at all to do with sailing. Living on a small boat is hard work. In many ways, it’s a lot like camping in that you have limited resources, limited space, and you’re probably going to get wet if it rains. Moreover, when something breaks, you can’t escape it — no, it has to be dealt with now, and you’ll be sleeping next to that overheating engine, or that clogged toilet of yours.
Yes, the grass is always greener, and the water always bluer, and for me, that means that the things I miss most are probably the things most of us take for granted: hot showers (or showers at all), access to fast and reliable internet, a normal social life, and the freedom, time, and space for hobbies other than sailing. This lifestyle of constant adventure has a price that isn’t just about the money. I’ve paid for it by sacrificing a great deal of freedom and the opportunity to pursue other interests.
Like anything though, there will always be ups and downs, and the quality of those ups are sometimes measured by the depths of the downs — that’s not the case here. Despite all the hardship, sacrifice, and truly miserable moments, there have also been many moments of absolute wonder that stand for themselves.
Almost daily, I am treated to postcard-worthy sunsets and the coming night brings its own beauty. Sailing under a moonless sky, with a black canvas above painted by the Milkyway, and the sea in Tarka’s wake a glittering blue of bioluminescent plankton, is one of my favorite experiences, and sailing the oceans is just about the only way to experience it.
My social life also isn’t in shambles. Indeed, I’ve met some very interesting people in my travels and I think there’s something about sailing that brings people together. In contrast, I’ve spent years living in apartments in the US where I never once met my neighbors, but on Tarka it’s unusual to go more than a few days without meeting my neighbors when I’m on anchor.
I have even found love along the way, and maybe that’s part of the appeal to sailing the world on a small boat — to the outsider, it sure seems romantic. With nothing but the wind in my sails I can go anywhere, and always be “home” when I arrive. But then again, I’ve had to learn how to use a toilet 3-feet from the woman I love.
When I quit my job one year ago to sail the world on a tiny boat, I had many expectations as to what it would be like. In truth, my voyage hasn’t always met those expectations, but it has at times exceeded them. I have been to some truly beautiful places, have gained a greater appreciation for the basic luxuries most of us take for granted, and have learned a lot about myself and the world around me, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
For now, Tarka’s adventures continue, and will continue until the money runs out, or until I get sick of the liveaboard lifestyle. The current plan is to wrap things up in the Caribbean, and begin the long crossing of the South Pacific to Australia. The first leg of that passage is 30-days at sea, and that is only a third of the distance!
If you want to follow along with Tarka’s adventures, then check out Tarka’s blog and YouTube channel.
