Optimism and positive thinking are almost universally regarded as things to strive for. Nobody wants to hang around a pessimist or Debbie Downer, and everybody tries to view the glass as half full, not half empty. There are many books out there (one popular one is called The Secret) that teach people how to think positively, and that positive thoughts will cause the universe to reflect positive energy back on your life, which will lead to desired results. In the context of sailing, we think all these concepts are dangerous and should be filed away under the “bullshit” category in one’s brain. We will explain.

If you’re taking off in an airplane there’s no sense getting too concerned about the small possibility of a plane crash – optimism here that everything will be OK, despite the tiny chance of a crash, is harmless. That’s because there’s nothing you can do to affect the success or failure of the flight – it’s beyond your control. But the pilot is in a much different situation, and if his optimism and positive thinking causes him to underestimate a risk, skip a safety check, ignore a wind instrument, or relax his concentration on the belief that positive thoughts lead to desired results, then the airplane really is in danger. It’s critical that the pilot understands his actual circumstances so he can evaluate risk accurately and respond in the most appropriate way. That ability, to evaluate risk and respond in a way that’s appropriate, requires, not optimism, not pessimism, but the unsung hero called “realism”.

If you go sailing a boat across oceans, your situation is much more like that of the pilot than of the passenger. You’re in an environment where you’re constantly evaluating risks and making decisions that affect your safety. This is particularly true when difficult weather conditions are a possibility – a crossing can be made very safe or very dangerous depending on the strategy you use to plan your crossing and the tactics you use along the way. Preparing the boat for a passage, deciding when to leave in light of the forecast and seasonal weather patterns, choosing a route to sail, deciding when to reduce sail area, heave to, or deploy a sea anchor as conditions deteriorate… all these critical decisions require the most accurate assessment of your surroundings that is humanly possible. Judgment errors, whether caused by optimistic or pessimistic thinking can both be dangerous, but more often it is optimism that puts people into hopeless situations, like being stuck in the middle of a storm without the proper equipment and no easy way to reach shelter. History hasn’t been kind to skippers who’ve tried to “positive think” a set of storm sails into existence, or used “optimism” to relocate a 25 ton boat to a safer place several hundred miles to the north.

So we’ve now fully rejected these fluffy notions about positive thinking, and as we head into the next three months of more challenging sailing between here and the Australian coast, we’re comforted only by our own sense of reality… that we have some understanding of the risks, a realistic grasp on our own capabilities and weaknesses, and that we understand, based on the experience of others, what works and what doesn’t. We’ve planned our itinerary to arrive in Australia by the end of November to avoid the dangerous cyclone season, but in this unpredictable part of the world, the weather doesn’t always obey human concepts like dates and defined seasons. We leave Bora Bora today after three days on the anchor with heavy gusty winds and again head west into long stretches of open ocean – the forecast looks good for a speedy westward passage. We know we’re generally heading for Tonga 1400 mikes away, but our specific route and possible intermediate stops will depend on conditions as they develop. The weather related risks out here are still low at this time of year, but we’re preparing for big weather anyway, and will be practicing emergency tactics at sea if we come across even moderate weather we can use to simulate a storm. We prefer this practical approach of practice and preparation to the more simplistic and easier one of thinking positively n’ stuff.

If you ask any American high school student who discovered America you’ll get the same, although wrong, answer almost every time…. “Columbus”. If you ask a French student who discovered French Polynesia, we suspect you’d get an equally consistent, and equally wrong, “Bougainville”. These answers tell us more about the writers of history books than they do about actual historical facts. It was, of course, the Amerindians (Native Americans) who came across the Bering Straights from Asia to discover North America, and it was the Lapita voyagers from the Philippines or Taiwan (some debate remains) who migrated east to discover all the islands of the South Pacific. The writing of history books is a privilege that goes to a place’s most recent conquering force, and that explains the absence of Polynesian and American Indian names from the title pages of today’s history books.

By comparison to their Asian counterparts of thousands of years prior, the European explorers seem risk averse and even a bit wimpy. The ancient Polynesians left Asia in small outrigger canoes powered as much by human paddlers as by the wind, and headed into the abyss without the help of any navigational equipment other than their own human senses – waves, clouds, wind patterns, and the stars were their only navigational aids. Their ability to find land and slowly populate all the islands of the South Pacific is a maritime accomplishment, and a symbol of courage, that has no match in any time or place of human history. From where we are now in the Faaroa River area of Raiatea, Polynesians launched successful voyages to the east, north, and west, eventually populating Easter Island near South America, the Hawaiian Islands, and even New Zealand…. all of it using rudimentary outrigger canoes, coconuts, and not much else. It’s unknown how many voyages ended in the death of the entire crew, but with land covering less than 1% of this enormous South Pacific Ocean, survival was probably a matter of extraordinary luck.

Over the past few days of exploring around the gorgeous reefed islands of Raiatea and Huahine (now 20 miles to our west), we’ve had constant reminders of French Polynesia’s fascinating voyaging history. This is because outrigger rowing is still such a deeply engrained part of the culture here, so countless outriggers fill many of the bays in the late afternoons when the sun falls of its high arc. Like dolphins, they enjoy surfing on our wake as we motor through, and we love having these Lapita descendants by our side. It’s been an easy way for us to make some new friends and practice the few words of Polynesian we’ve learned…. we doubt there is a more friendly and welcoming native people anywhere we’ll go.

We’ve also been spending a lot of time exploring the reefs by dinghy and walking around the Polynesian villages that line the shores of all of the Society Islands. A highlight for us was a two mile dinghy ride up the Faaroa River…. the only navigable river in all of French Polynesia. Even though there’s an occasional small cruise boat around in some of the larger anchorages, we’ve found almost no other tourists anywhere we’ve been, and that’s a big part of what makes these unspoiled islands so special.

Our next stop will be Tahaa, just north of Raiatea and so close that the two islands are surrounded by the same barrier reef. Then we’ll be heading west to our last and most anticipated, French Polynesian island, Bora Bora.

Life in a modern western metropolis is easy, safe, and comfortable. Buildings keep us sheltered from the rain and sun, concrete on the ground keeps the rocks and dirt away, climate control keeps the hot and cold outside, cars save us from expending our own energy, restaurants and grocery stores eliminate the hazards of hunger, a city agency makes sure animals stay off the streets, laws keep almost everything orderly and civilized. We’re always well fed, normally well rested, rarely wet or cold, almost never in any significant danger….even smelling something foul is unusual. We take for granted that these features of modern city life are good things… that the safety and comfort makes us happier. We’re starting to reconsider all this.

Imagine for a moment a futuristic way of life where safety and comfort are even more perfected than in modern cities. Imagine you can work from your perfectly stable climate controlled home through your computer, avoiding the need for a commute. Imagine that food and groceries are delivered to your front door by robots, and prepared for you by advanced kitchen appliances. Imagine you can use virtual reality goggles to interact with friends and family anywhere in the world, and simulate any other “worldly” experience you want for free, but of course without the slightest danger or discomfort of the real world. Owning a car, taking a subway, putting on a jacket, or even going outside would become totally unnecessary because you could do everything inside from your home. A worthy aim for the next century might be the total elimination of every imaginable inconvenience, discomfort, and danger using innovation and technology – a perfect human way of life.

But there’s a problem with this theoretically perfect imaginary world. It’s missing something….. something difficult to describe, but something big. And the more perfect the imaginary utopia becomes, the more the idea becomes an obvious and epic failure. Exactly why is difficult to put into words, but It’s got something to do with being a human.

When we moved out of the city 18 months ago and into a 56 foot plastic tub, we gave up many of the “desirable” features of a city life. We often find ourselves sweating from heat, dripping with saltwater, chilled from a storm. The wind blasts us, the sun burns us, the waves rock us, mosquitoes bite us. We walk for miles, lift heavy objects, hitchhike, kill fish on the back deck, knock our heads on low beams, scrape our bodies on coral, pick fruits from trees, bang things with hammers, change oil, repair toilets, snap ropes, and climb masts. Our feet are always filthy, our toenails even get ripped off from time to time. Mold is a problem in our lives, and things around us often stink.

So the funny thing about this damp and smelly life of inconvenience, discomfort, and danger, we’ve found, is that nothing seems to be missing …. we’re happy the way it is and we wouldn’t change a thing. Exactly why isn’t clear, but again it’s got something to do with being human. All of our senses are fully engaged every day, we face real risks, we’re in contact with the earth, the sea, the weather, and the elements, and perhaps experiencing all this is part of what drives our human spirit.

These were some of the thoughts that went through our heads today as we hiked deep into the interior of Moorea, one of French Polynesia’s most scenic volcanic islands just 12 miles from the big island of Tahiti. After three days in Papeete (Tahit’s capital city) doing repairs and provisioning, we were glad to be back onto a lesser developed Polyenesian island where things are a bit more dangerous and uncomfortable, but also much more beautiful and “real”. As we crossed the dusty crater floor, sun blasting from above, sweat dripping from our eyebrows, we asked ourselves whether the whole concept of modern city life might have gone too far, and we think, perhaps, it has.

We’ve got one more day to explore Moorea before we resume our march westward to the “leeward islands” (the most downwind islands) of the Societies. We’ve got just a little over a week left in French Polynesia and four more islands to go, so we’ll be keeping up our usual high pace.