Joan E Engst

My Exceptional Friend I met Joan in the 1970’s when we were in high school. We bonded in that cauldron of peer pressure, boys and teenage angst. Slowly our lives took their separate paths but in 2009 I connected with her again through Melissa’s Facebook page. It was like meeting a sister again – we hadn’t missed a beat. We talked for hours – sent very long emails back and forth and generally got caught up in very short order. She sent me her story, “Warana’s Storm.” Below are some excerpts that I think illustrate how tough, caring and determined a woman she was. And helps to explain, to us mere mortals, how she not only got through adversity in her life but rose above it. I’m so grateful for having her in my life. She was an exceptional friend. Cathy Nicol Excerpts from Warana’s Storm My husband Len and I headed out the Straits of Juan de Fuca on Monday, July 28th 2008 in our 42' ketch, Warana, with the idea that our next stop would be San Francisco, California. This was the start of a journey we had worked towards for ten years. When we pulled away from our slip in Ladysmith I was torn between extreme excitement and absolute despair. Here I was leaving family, friends, work and all the things we took for granted to venture out into the unknown. Once the sun had set the winds increased, the seas increased, the clouds closed in and the rains came. The seas and winds continued to build and it became increasingly difficult for me to remain upright. Then just after sunset Len became extremely ill. He took some medication but it was too late and his seasickness increased until he was completely prostrate. He vomited for hours and was whiter than white. All he could do was stay down below and hope to sleep it off. Being unable to leave the cockpit to help Len was the worst feeling of helplessness I have experienced. It was pitch black and although my eyes went from the front windscreen, to the radar and to the compass in a never-ending circle, essentially, I couldn't see anything out of the front windscreen. Thankfully, the radar, set at its furthest limits, was not picking up any other shipping. I could, on occasion, see white caps and the phosphorescence kicked up by our hull, but mostly it was just blackness upon blackness. An eerie feeling. The cold rain lashing all around with the winds shrieking in a deafening but all-encompassing roar had reduced my world to the few square feet of the cockpit. We would heal over at more than 45 degrees to port only to be caught by another swell and tossed over at more than 45 degrees to starboard. My hands clenched the wheel to help keep me from being pitched around and my knees and back took the shocks as we were tossed from side to side and my arms and shoulders began to feel as if they were overheated and my wrists were on fire. At one point I was sitting on the helm seat and the next moment found me launched up over the wheel to become wedged between the companionway door and the lazaret. I have no recollection of having been tossed there or of being air borne. I scrambled to my feet to grab the wheel and then began to assess the aches and pains. As far as I could tell nothing was broken but I had taken a good beating. All night as I stood at the helm, I kept saying to myself, "Just let the winds die down, just let the winds die down." I don't know who or what I was saying this to, but I have heard that there may be no atheists in a fox hole, while I am convinced there are no atheists in a storm at sea. Being up and awake for more than 30 hours doesn't sound challenging but keeping Warana on course and myself erect was taxing my strength reserves to their limit. Neither of us could stay at the helm for longer than 15 minutes before arms, necks and backs were screaming. All our muscles ached and we were completely used up. Len was still very weak and I was fading quickly. When not manning the helm, we would sit hunched over on the lazaret steeling ourselves for the next stint at the wheel. There was no conversation between us and on the rare occasion we made eye contact there was only resolute determination to succeed, as the alternative was unthinkable. With the passage of time, I think back to those two days and nights and find it easier to evaluate them from the distance of time. While I fought the helm, the sea and the weather I learned many things. I learned things about Warana and more importantly things about myself. I learned that she is exceptionally well built and able to handle what the seas have to offer. I learned that regardless of what you believe, individuals have more hidden strength and stamina than they give themselves credit for. When there is no choice, you find the strength within and you go on. Len and I both learned that we could endure physical and mental hardships over an extended period of time when necessary. It took weeks for the aches, pains and strains to ease off and for the bruises to fade, but the lessons learned will remain forever. We went on to sail to the west coast of Mexico and the Gulf of California (Sea of Cortez) and we know we are better sailors than the day we ventured out of Juan De Fuca Strait for the first time. Better sailors, wiser sailors and far more patient sailors.