“It’s just different… you know?” A cackle from the wood stove intercepted my conversation. Cleo curled up at my feet as we absorbed the warmth from the flames while chatting with Ruth from SV Rediviva over the phone. It had been seven months since we last saw Avocet, which meant it had been about eight months since we had been with Ruth, her husband Garrett, and our other friends (known as the “Left Overs”) in our beloved town of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle. Fortunately, we had reunited with the pair, as well as our friends Max, Karen, Jay and Kenna back in October here in the States. Our matching Lusty tattoos nearly tingled with the joy of togetherness. 

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Adapting to land life wasn’t necessarily hard, but it did—and continues to—come with challenges. Here at Runaground Ranch, it takes about an hour to drive to the nearest city (Clovis/Fresno), which means we plan our trips off the mountain strategically, reminiscent of going to shore from the boat. We’ve learned that house projects are never-ending, much like boat life, but thankfully nothing is moving, and everything remains at a glorious 90-degree angle. Land-based activities such as mountain biking, hiking, snowboarding, wakeboarding, and camping are readily available in our backyard, thanks to our location on the backside of Yosemite. It has allowed us to reconnect with our younger selves, who spent so much time immersed in that lifestyle before Avocet came along. So although life on land seems swell, the challenges I face tend to be more in the realm of isolation.

You see, here in our neck of the woods, there aren’t many people our age (at the time of writing this, 27 years old). And if they are, they either have kids, are about to have kids, or don’t necessarily align with our on-the-go, fast-paced lifestyle. We don’t have typical 9-to-5 jobs; we do whatever we can to maintain our freedom. Unfortunately, I’ve realized that this makes some people incredibly envious and misunderstanding of our lifestyle choices. To them, sailing may seem like a constant vacation—a life filled with endless sunsets and cocktails on deck. What they don’t see are the physical and emotional ups and downs that come with living in a small space, being at the mercy of the weather, and having to meticulously plan every aspect of your day based on wind patterns, tides, and your current location. They don’t understand the stress of unexpected repairs in remote locations, or the loneliness that can come from being so far removed from the traditional idea of home. The cruising community, however, has always understood.

I stared out the window, watching the wind dance through the trees, the golden leaves swirling in a slow, graceful rhythm. My phone sat in the corner, Ruth’s face occupying the screen while I listened to her chat and fed the fire more wood. The stove and Ruth’s voice filled the room with warmth but the lingering emptiness of disconnection was hard to ignore, which sprung our next topic of conversation. I have tried befriending various people (particularly women) here in the mountains, but each time I’ve fallen short of forming deep friendships due to fundamental differences. Is it really so hard to be stoked for someone and their wins? Or sit by them during their lows? The shared experiences, the sacrifices, the triumphs and failures—none of it seems to resonate with those around me in the same way it does with my cruising friends. There is a disconnect, an invisible chasm that separates our realities.

Our gorgeous piece of the rock

These ladies are PEAK definition of female friendship

“Me too, girl. Me too,” I responded to Ruth, who had just shared her similar feelings about making friends back on terra firma. Like me, she grew up and continues to have close male friendships, simply due to the fact that we both find ourselves in male-dominated fields. Speaking for myself, I have always been blessed with fantastic male friends from high school, my snowboarding days, and now sailing. It is sailing, though, that brought me female friends whom I cherish with my entire heart. How precious is it to finally find friends who not only relate to the lifestyle but also understand what it means to be a woman within it?

I am learning to embrace the reality that the deep connections I have with women on the water may never be fully replicated here on land. And that’s okay. What I have is special, and I cherish it deeply. Instead of longing for what may not be, I am choosing to remain open—open to the possibility that more incredible female friends will find their way into my life, whether by ways of wind, snow, dirt, or water.

In the meantime, I hold onto gratitude. Gratitude for the friendships I have built, for the adventures that have brought me here, and for the memories that continue to shape who I am. Life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it, and I trust that the right people will come into my life at the right time. Until then, I will keep the fire burning, both in my hearth and in my heart, waiting for the next gust of wind to bring a kindred spirit my way.

Cheers, Ruthie!

An hour went by in a blink as we chatted over the phone, filling each other in on our land struggles while reminiscing about sailing and planning for the future. It was nearly 2:00 pm, and Chris needed my help out in the shop. So, we hung up, and I fed the fire another log from the cedar rounds that Chris and I had just processed a week earlier. Our wood stack on the front porch was deplenishing with each cold day that passes, reminding me of all of my friends that are currently sailing somewhere warm. Although my space was filled with silence minus the occasional cackle from flames, I wore a smile on my face and felt the warmth in my soul. My “Seasters” have a way of replenishing my spirit like no other, and for that, I am grateful. Although at times I may feel alone on our beautiful five acres, I am reminded that I am connected to some incredible women, woven from the same fabric, bonded by salt and wind.

Thanks for the call Ruthie <3 

There are tall ships and small ships, and ships that sail the sea, but the best ships are friendships, and may they always be.

Fair winds,

Marissa