Sailor’s Insight: Sailing is my light in an otherwise darkening world by Karl Haines

“I was a young teenager when I first heard the words that would shape the rest of my life: you have an eye condition that will take your sight away.  Retinitis Pigmentosa. A degenerative retinal disease with no cure. Growing up with dyslexia, it wasn’t even a word I could pronounce, let alone spell. Eventually, after years of tests, they identified the variant. Passed down from mothers, affecting only sons. 

But that only left me with questions that cut deeper than any diagnosis. Why me? Why not my brother? What did I do wrong? 

A cloud settled over me, anger, fear, worthlessness. And in typical fashion, I coped by pretending it wasn’t happening. Hospital visits kept telling me things were “stable,” and I clung to that word like a lifeline. It let me live in denial for years. 

I built a “normal” life. I learned to drive. I enjoyed my teens and twenties with the freedom everyone should have. Only close family and friends knew about the ticking time bomb in my eyes. When symptoms crept in; struggling in dim light, missing lamp posts in the dark, stumbling more than most. I brushed it off. I was still “normal,” and that illusion kept me going. 

Then came the day I always knew would arrive but hoped never would. COVID lockdowns meant I couldn’t see my ophthalmologist, so the decision fell entirely on me. I surrendered my driving licence, not because someone told me to, but because I no longer felt safe. The fear of hurting someone was unbearable. But giving up driving wasn’t just about driving. It was admitting I couldn’t do something anymore. It was the first real crack in the facade. 

As my sight continued to fade, something unexpected happened: my passion for sailing ignited. 

It began with a taster session at my local club, Tamworth in 2021. I bought my first dinghy and threw myself into learning the Laser/ILCA 7, racing every weekend. Club members were incredibly supportive, inclusive and patient. They knew my peripheral vision was failing and gave me that early starboard shout so I knew they were there. Sailing was good to me. But I knew singlehanded sailing wouldn’t be sustainable forever. 

That’s when the GBR Blind Sailing team entered my life. 

They were training at Draycote Water, and my wife encouraged me to go. I nearly didn’t. Not because of social or sailing nerves, but because I wasn’t ready to face the word blind. I was fragile, angry, grieving the life I thought I’d have. But I went, and they welcomed me. I learned. I laughed. I saw visually impaired sailors competing fiercely, living fully. For the first time in a long time, I felt hope. Hope that even with no sight, I could still sail. I could still compete. I could still live. 

Sight loss has taken so much from me, but in its own twisted way, it opened a door I never would have walked through otherwise. The GBR Blind Sailing team isn’t just a team; it’s a family. One I’m proud to belong to. They’ve given me experiences I never imagined possible. 

By the end of 2025, I found myself in Oman at the World Sailing Inclusion Championships. It wasn’t just a competition; it was a reminder. Inclusion matters, disability won’t hold me back. I met extraordinary people—athletes, dreamers, and fighters. I competed at the highest level, driven not by what I’d lost, but by what I still had. I came home with medals and memories that will stay with me forever, unlike my sight. 

None of this would have happened without losing my vision. I wouldn’t have found this community. I wouldn’t have found this purpose. I wouldn’t have found this version of myself. 

What once felt like darkness has somehow made space for new light.” 

-Karl Haines