Balancing the visceral joy of sailing with its mental toll – Nikki Henderson

The sea is usually our happy place. But when it isn’t, factoring in recovery – both mentally and physically – is part of good seamanship

Do you find a sense of belonging at sea? A deep intuition that it’s the right place for you? Dare I say it, but sometimes being offshore can oddly feel more emotionally comfortable than being in my own home.

Life at sea is so sensory that the experience is incredibly visceral. The wind on your face, the movement of the boat, the sounds of waves, the distinct smells of human life down below – it’s totally immersive. And that’s why the memories of sailing linger so vividly. I sometimes find I can feel the memory. During the Covid pandemic, I remember putting my head out the window on a windy day and feeling immediately comforted.

I suspect many of you will agree: sailing is healing. Even in tough conditions, its call for your presence pulls you entirely into the moment. It’s not unlike a long distance trail run or a cold plunge; your body and mind are exhausted – and at the same time invigorated. But, with big highs come big lows. Sometimes as sailors we can pay a high price. And, this is a side of sailing often overlooked.

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Watching famous freeclimber Alex Honnold scale a skyscraper on television recently made me realise that our sports sit in similar territory. Sailing, climbing, alpinism, long distance hiking, biking – all carry real, inherent risk. That hit home in January with the sombre report of the crewmember on Walross 4 who was injured during the RORC Transatlantic Race and later died. I doubt anyone involved with that incident would view that voyage as healing. And the wounds left by that death far exceed just the casualty.

Yes, sailing can be deeply healing, but we also need to acknowledge its potential long-term psychological cost.

On the final day of last year’s Middle Sea Race – the day we crossed the line in first place – I experienced a harrowingly close call when the mainsheet clipped a crewmember’s neck. Thankfully, they survived without any lasting physical injury. It was a near miss and nothing ‘bad’ happened in the end. Yet, in the weeks that followed, I struggled to get over it. Once the symptoms worsened enough, I investigated and realised I was suffering from PTSD. And, not for the first time.

I recognised the emotional turmoil from earlier in my career, when I arrived in Fremantle during the Clipper Round the World Race after sailor Simon Speirs had died on another boat. Again, nothing had happened directly to me, yet the psychological impact was long lasting. In fact, after over a decade sailing professionally, I’ve now realised that rescues I’ve been involved in, the ‘close calls’, and tragedies I’ve witnessed have all left their mark.

I’ve since seen many sailors affected by experiences others might dismiss: severe seasickness, rig failures, bullying or major conflict, minor injuries that were millimetres away from lost limbs or worse… Near misses and scary moments at sea can stay with us in unexpected ways. And, we need to talk about this more.

That isn’t about being a killjoy – quite the opposite in fact. Awareness of risk does not need to diminish our love for the sport – it’s essential to sustaining our love affair with sailing.

Last year author Dave Kilmer interviewed me, as he has done with dozens of other skippers from superyachts to super-tankers, for his book The Way of the Captain. He shared with me how surprised he was at how often mental health had come up in conversations with skippers without him directly posing the question. The emotional load of command and general life at sea, it seems, is a commonly experienced but under-acknowledged challenge.

When Dave asked me how I’d dealt with my own mental and emotional struggles as captain, I realised that despite feeling a deep connection to the sea, I no longer think going to sea is always an appropriate way to heal wounds. Not when I’m the skipper, carrying the responsibility for others. Not when what I’m trying to process was caused by a sailing experience. And not if I’m in such a challenging spot that I can’t keep my emotional state in check.

Sailing gives us extraordinary highs, mental space and lasting positive effects. But, it also asks a lot of us mentally.

Loving sailing means understanding not just what it gives us but also what it can take.

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