About the book
After her marriage of twenty-five years ended badly, Linda Kenyon was determined to never put herself in the way of a broken heart again. But then she met an extraordinary man, and in an act of great courage — or foolishness — decided to sell everything she owned and sail across the ocean with him. Sea Over Bow: A North Atlantic Crossing is the account of that journey. It takes readers to the middle of the ocean, a place most people have only imagined. It describes the trail of sparkling blue-green light that traces their path across the water at night. Curious dolphins who frolic around the boat. The rising sun that shines through the yellow and green stripes of the spinnaker and bathes the cockpit in soft warm light. Throwing up in a pail. Eating Dinty Moore stew straight from the can when the sea is too rough to even attempt a meal on the gimbal stove. Hurricane force winds and safe harbours.
Along with the challenges of nature is also the time to think, and dream, and make sense of life. Sea Over Bow is ultimately a love story, the story of falling in love with a man, and of falling in love with the simple life on board a small craft in a large ocean, surrounded by the beauties of the natural world.
About the author
A writer of short fiction and creative non-fiction, Linda Kenyon lives full-time on a 43-foot sailboat with her husband Chris Hatton and has sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and back. Linda worked as a communications professional at The University of Waterloo before retiring to sail and write full time. Stories about her sailing adventures appear regularly in Grand Magazine, the premiere lifestyle magazine in the Waterloo Region. Her short stories have been published in Canadian literary journals, including The New Quarterly, Room of One’s Own, and Canadian Fiction Magazine and included in the Norton anthology of short Canadian fiction Reading/Writing Canada. She has published two flash fiction chapbooks, You Are Here (Trout Lily Press) and This is a love song, sort of (Stonegarden Press) as well as the non-fiction book Rainforest Bird Rescue: Changing the future for endangered wildlife (Firefly Books), which won a Canadian Science Writers Association Science in Society Journalism Award.
It seems quieter now, or maybe we’ve just grown used to the howling wind, the slap of water against the hull. The boat still rolls and rights, rolls and rights. Chris holds me tightly and we both drift off to sleep.
What light there was in the cabin has faded by the time I wake up. I slide out from under the blanket and, clutching the handles on the ceiling with both hands, monkey my way over to the nav station and sit down at the desk. I turn up the volume on the VHF radio, listen to make sure the hailing channel is clear, pick up the microphone.
“Sécurité, sécurité, sécurité. This is the sailing vessel MonArk. We are hove to at—” I read out the latitude and longitude on the GPS in front of me, then listen. No response, not even a bit of static.
Suddenly a big gust of wind heels us over. Surely it’s at least fifty knots. Maybe more. The boat rights itself, and I can hear water streaming out through the scuppers. We’re okay. For now. But the gale isn’t letting up. And it’s getting dark. And we’re alone out here.
But I’ve never felt less alone.