Éidín Griffin: Something about that boat trip to Kinsale helped me overcome my fear

Kinsale-based writer and performer Éidín Griffin tells Helen O’Callaghan about a sailing trip that had her feeling utterly helpless and very scared — yet ultimately it has made her less fearful and more ready to embrace adventure and new learning experiences.

Éidín Griffin by the sea at Kinsale Boatyard. Picture by Noel Sweeney

Thu, 02 Jul, 2026 - 20:00

Helen O’Callaghan

I lived in South Africa for 25 years, in the mountains, three hours from the sea. I’d never gone sailing until I moved to Kinsale in 2019 and started making friends with people who sailed.

By 2021, having done small sails — mild, lovely outings out of Kinsale Harbour — I offered to help crew a yacht from Carlingford Lough to Kinsale. We were three women: the skipper, Lisa, American, very enthusiastic — and Mel, German, an experienced sailor.

Lisa wanted to get her boat back to Kinsale before flying to the US three days later. She needed crew and took me on. We set off up north to bring the boat back on a non-stop voyage.

I had no concerns. Lisa and Mel were experienced, very relaxed, organised. It seemed like a good adventure. I’d no idea of the time frame, the intricacies of navigation — or the potential weather.

We left Carlingford with the tide, at midnight. Incredible — inky, velvet black, you could see the stars. It was very still, just the engine sound, no sail – there was no wind. We were motoring along. I should have rested but I was enjoying it too much.

Éidín Griffin at Kinsale Boatyard. Picture by Noel Sweeney

Seeing the sunrise I’ll never forget. You could see land, but we were quite far from it. You feel you’re in another dimension… It didn’t feel scary until later. We were heading into a South-West wind. As it got to dusk, down past Wicklow, Wexford, the waves were building. We’d been going not quite 24 hours… the boat sumping into the waves — like being on a horse galloping uphill, uncomfortable, not easy.

Weariness was kicking in; I hadn’t slept well. I realised I wasn’t able to help, couldn’t be trusted with the boat. I could be left on watch, but not on my own to steer or helm. Lisa and Mel, very competent, were talking about how to reef the sail — and I was making tea, trying not to get in the way.

Fear, as the night went on. I found myself crouched in the cockpit, holed up. Up and down on the waves, I could see their white tips as they went past — they felt very close.

I wear hearing aids, which shouldn’t get wet, and glasses, which were misted with salt water… this level of not being able to see or hear things… I’m not generally a panicker, but I did begin panicking. I realised I was taking these long, sucking breaths, like Lamaze breathing when you’re giving birth — unconsciously trying to calm my nervous system. Thinking what am I doing here? What will my family think? I have a son. Why am I risking my life?

By now Lisa had told me to lie down below. I was curled up, trying to stay warm, glasses clutched in my hand. I did some praying, bargaining — ‘if I get through this’ — a lot of ‘everything is fine, we’re in a bubble of light’… I’m a useful, practical person, I don’t normally feel utterly helpless, but I did then. I couldn’t help with the boat — not being able to help the two women was the worst.

It hit a peak when Mel came down too, got sick, and climbed into the bunk opposite. Lisa was on her own. I thought I couldn’t let her up there alone, I’m useless, but I’ll try, so I joined her… Off Hook Head, just pounding through these massive waves, the sea this huge grey block of water. Kinsale a good 15 hours away, Lisa made the decision to come into Dunmore East — she was getting tired, Mel was a woman down, I couldn’t have taken over…

Éidín Griffin by the sea at Kinsale boat yard. Picture: Noel Sweeney

Once we were against the stone wall of the harbour, I was able to scramble up, tie the lines. Suddenly everything was calm, solid ground… joy of a hot shower, being able to sleep, and eat. At that stage, I was never getting on a boat again, thinking ‘sailing’s for fools, we must have been bonkers’… But Lisa was checking the weather report, saying it seemed to be clearing — we’d rest, head out again.

My heart dropped: I knew I couldn’t bail — it’d have felt very cowardly to leave when the journey wasn’t finished. We set off that night into very similar seas. But now we were rested, had eaten, and looked after ourselves. Looking out to sea, the boat lumbering through big waves, I didn’t feel so scared. I felt some excitement, and I was more balanced, I had a feeling for it now. I wasn’t clinging but holding…

We’ve sailed together since that trip — to Scotland and Norway. I don’t think I’d have leapt towards other adventures if I hadn’t done that trip. I’ve always been quite physically cautious with myself. There was something about that Carlingford Lough to Kinsale trip which helped me overcome a fear of many things.

I was in my mid- to late-40s. When you hit midlife, you have a choice to retreat — ‘I’m getting older, must take care of myself’. That experience opened my mind: There’s a lot more excitement if we disregard the thinking that we must be more settled, minimise adventure, mind ourselves, not do what would be seen as ‘foolhardy’.

Becoming a beginner again in later life was huge. It led to opportunities. Without it, I wouldn’t have sailed to Scotland, Norway, seen 50 basking sharks two summers ago or a baby dolphin at the Skelligs.