Nine Months In...

(Happy cause we caught lobster to put on our flatbread.)

We're 9 months into our 1 year cruise and this vessel has taken us far in many senses. We've seen and done so much that it already feels like our efforts have been rewarded with more than a year's worth of wondrous living.

Our time afloat seems to flow into different chapters; spaces of time streaming from one segment to the next, always bringing something new to our horizon. There were periods of time when we were focused on making miles - just passing through, on the move like nomads. Other times we chose to drop anchor and stay awhile - big chunks of time when we felt like we really settled in, where we were embraced by the community and became a part of the local scene. Some times we felt like we were on a gold-star vacation - when we landed somewhere fantastic beyond belief but couldn't stay as long as we wanted. It's a sign of a true holiday when you feel a ping in your heart the moment you arrive because you already know it's going to be so hard to leave. All we can do is savour it while it lasts! There have also been multi-day passages at sea which were physically demanding and mentally exhausting with technical issues added in for kicks; some rough days and long nights where we just wanted it to be over and done. But we always came through those chapters no worse for wear. And other times still, we were idle - stuck somewhere waiting for things beyond our control to happen. Which is the least reliable: engine part manufacturers, mechanics, UPS or the weather? We really don't know - all of them have made us wait longer than estimated (but at least the weather never made any promises). Everything always gets sorted out in due course, or if it doesn't, we adjust. 


The quality of life is abundant. We may not have all the conveniences of land life but there's freedom in the limitations. We just make it work with what we have. Wherever we go we fall into a pleasant daily routine and a new normal is quick to set in. That's just human nature. Dave and I are pretty much always within 34 feet of one another. We haven't been apart for more than 3 hours at a time since last September. Weird? Nah - it's just normal...for us...now. We've also been in summertime weather for well over a year. Life without winter conditions sure isn't a hard adjustment! (Dave insists he misses skiing.) We're used to our home rocking at times, used to dinner blowing off our forks or plates, used to living in our bathing suits, used to waking up and needing a moment to remember, geographically, where we are. We're simply used to living onboard, as anyone would be after all this time, with all its quirks and quarks!

Since September 2017, we've covered around 4000 nautical miles. Our hair is lighter; our skin is darker. I don't even want to think about that damage. If I look like a well-worn leather bag down the road, be kind, I've been outside! Our clothes are wearing out as well. T-shirts and shorts are no longer the same colour they were when we left and it seems I'm always reaching for the sewing kit to repair something or other: boat canvas, the hammock, sandals, clothes, flags... Our US courtesy flag is so tattered but I'm determined to keep it flying until the end of this journey. I'm sewing and patching it like a true patriot! 

Repairing the main sail cover. 
If you want good results - don't get me to do it!

My next sewing job: Dave ripped his shorts lifting himself from the
dinghy up a concrete wall.  A hole in shorts?  I really don't see the issue.

Dave has blown out a pair of flip flops and me, two pairs gone in 1 week! (With no stores around to replace them.) In a shoe shop in Charleston, a vendor asked Dave "Are those Birkenstocks? I've never seen them in that colour before!" (Dave and I exchanged glances as we'd just been talking about how his Birks so badly need a dye job.) Uh, yeah man, it's a special cruiser's edition. Achieving this shade takes a lot of time. You need to expose the leather to an intensive mix of sun bleaching, salt water staining and sand-blasting from the beach. The rusty buckles complete the look. 

Forget "no shoes, no service", we've seen so many signs at the business door
saying "no sandy feet"!  Staff be tired of sweeping.

 

Onboard, our Mason jar lids are corroding and certain metal zippers no longer care to cooperate. The oxidization is real! Some of our dishes have gotten chipped (tolerable and I won't switch to plastic). Like any cruiser, we've lost things overboard too - a mat, a mug, sunglasses, countless bolts, clothes pins and Dave's bike to name a few. (Bike was recovered.)  Always in these situations the mind instantly weighs the consequences of jumping in after the lost thing.  The dish scrubby is halfway to Africa by now. Since last week, my good camera no longer recognizes one of its lenses and just yesterday my lesser camera took a wave and is now manifesting its outrage by intermittently blurring shots. Marine life is rough on stuff.

Oh come on Camera!  Focus!

 

I'm happy to note that our fully stocked First Aid kit has remained that way - completely unused except for bandaids. (The eye wash solution was needed once but that came from a moronic move rather than a cool sailing story. I had 'room temperature IQ' for an unfortunate moment.) Bumps, cuts and minor burns are regular annoyances due to living and working in tight quarters onboard. Dave thought he had a broken toe for awhile but it was forgotten about.  He might have gone to emergency but they charge by the foot.  

We can't keep track of the date nor the day of the week half the time (but when it comes to the tide schedule and marine forecast, we can give you a detailed 5-day outlook. Marine nerd alert!) Asking a stranger for the time is a non-issue but ask someone for the day of the week and, oh boy, suddenly you're the biggest weirdo on the street. It's not like I need to know what year it is. (Me to stranger: "Is this...the future?") One time when talking with new friends though, I was like "it's April and...(*suddenly I was stuck with self-doubt)...wait...it is April...right?"

When it's good - it's amazing.

People back home sometimes think of our year off as a vacation. And it has been that, for parts of the time, thank God. Living on a boat for a year and thinking the whole thing would be a vacation would be misguided expectations for sure. It's not always fun and it takes a lot of work to keep the ship going but we knew this going in. We'd feel pretty useless and unfulfilled if our time was spent perpetually beaching. Our year of sailing has provided a good balance of splendor and torment! We never know what life will throw at us; there's always something being cooked up. On the water it seems like the ups and downs are felt tenfold (and not just because of the swell). There's a hot/cold intensity to everything that our lukewarm society just doesn't include in each day. And all this is a part of what defines an adventure.

Workin!

Working underway! (barf)

Life is hardest when there's nowhere to put down your drink.

 

It has been so easy to embrace the new and not look back. We've talked about our land life very seldom since we left. But "re-entry" is now looming and thoughts about our return are beginning to creep in. (Like, where are we going to live?!) The way many people put it, we'll soon be going back to "real life". The way we see it, this time off is what real life is all about; real living! We're happy we made it happen. And it's not over yet! (I definitely know which month it is now, don't worry!) We have three months to continue our way North with still a lot to look forward to. Next stop: Charleston, South Carolina! 

Hi from a happy place!

 

Bahamas: Sun, Sand, Drink in Hand

There are many common sailing routes to the Abacos from the USA. A stranger in No Name Harbor gave us his "this is what you should do..." input and we went with it because it was different than what we did last time and the reasons seemed logical. (We've since overheard someone comment on this route saying "why would anyone go that way?!" Haha! Whatev.) We left Miami and headed for Green Turtle Cay by way of Great Sale Cay.

FYI - in case you're interested, Great Sale Cay, Bahamas is currently for sale. An island is a great gift for that special someone who seems to have everything. Asking price is $9,900,000.00. Or you can sail there and enjoy the surroundings for free, which is what we did.

We caught 3 Mahi Mahi along the way though one was a juvenile which we released. At one point we had bites on both our lines simultaneously which I though was pretty wild until Dave reminded me that Mahi travel in schools. He schooled me. The larger of the two, however, managed to get itself off the hook before meeting its maker. We caught something else too but while we were reeling it in a barracuda swam up and snatched it away with a chomp. Fair enough. So there was lots of action on the line in the Gulf Stream and great meals ensued. Now that we've caught Mahi, the last catch on Dave's fishing-wish-list is a tuna. Hopefully he gets the oppor-tuna-ty.

The only hiccup on the crossing was that we made better time than estimated. Instead of arriving at a pass through coral heads in the early morning light as we'd planned, we reached the area at 2am. We reluctantly determined that the safest course of action was to wait, so we hove-to and passively drifted through the night at 1.5 knots. Now that we've done the pass we'd say it's straightforward even at night but since we weren't sure at the time, it was better to be overcautious than do something regrettable. At daybreak we exhaustedly resumed our course and the water turned a brilliant new hue - Bahamas blue!

A second little 'botheration' occurred when Dave dinghied over to customs to clear us in at Green Turtle Cay. Entry fees are only accepted in cash...and we had insufficient funds...and there is no bank on the island. Cruiser problem #37: when you can't get into the country because you're $17 short. Seeing as we were in Bahamas, which is as accommodating as a country gets, it was no biggie - they let Dave be on his way like they'd never seem him. We stayed calm and carried on, flying our Q-flag, eventually making our way to another port of entry with a bank and a customs office.

The speargun photo-bombs the picture yet again.

Abacos

Most people in Abacos are either on vacation or Bahamian, so the vibe is generally happy and relaxed. For boaters it's a real ocean playground. There are cute little villages, fab beaches and lots of bays that offer protection no matter which way the wind blows. Many of our cruising friends come here and spend the whole winter without feeling any motive to move along further south. It's very cruiser friendly - easy, safe and comfortable with all the services and perks boaters like to find. We had been forewarned that the Abacos can get pretty crowded with boats but since we were here rather late in the cruising season (in May), we didn't feel cramped at all. Whether we felt social or solitary, there was a shoreline or bay to suit our fancy.

On the fourth of the month, a friend emailed us saying "May the 4th be with you". Then on the fifth, we got an email wishing us "Happy Cinco de Mayo". As sailors, however, I must say we're not big on Maydays.

Elbow Cay

For awhile, a sand bar was our hang out spot of choice. When the tide is low, Tahiti beach on Elbow Cay becomes a little hub of activity. "We live here right now!" Dave said one day, smiling ear to ear. We still get stunned, now and then, by the awesomeness of the moments. (We also still get stunned, now and then, by the lousiness of some moments so, when everything is sublime we appreciate it through and through!)

 

Our neighbourhood outside Hope Town on Elbow Cay.
The weather was grey and unsettled for a week.

The streets of Hope Town, just wide enough for golf cart traffic. 

Peaches is watching people eat their ice cream. 
Her owner Roy gave us tomatoes and basil from his garden. 

Tahiti Beach. 
The only thing missing was a beach bar...

...and then a bar showed up!
  That's Dave on the left and that's not me on the right!

It's great when the restaurant parking lot is a dock.

While exploring the island, we checked out a boatyard and found a boat we know!
Modaki says hi.

We chatted with an American couple who told us they decided not to store their boat at a boatyard in Florida known for its popularity with Quebeckers. The woman told us "They all speak Canadian at that marina! I wouldn't understand a thing!"  Lesson #1: Canadian isn't a language.  (Or wait, maybe it is?)

Green Turtle Cay
I'll first address the question on everyone's mind: is Green Turtle Cay really full of green turtles? Answer: Yes, yes it is. Heads are constantly popping up to catch a breath and a glimpse. The water is so clear we have also been able to see nurse sharks (who loiter near the fish-cleaning stations hoping for scraps), sting rays and on one occasion a huge spotted eagle ray glided right underneath where we sat on a dock. 

A reasonable effort was made to point at the starfish for the photo. 
It's 15ft down!

Our breakfast nook.  Slow mornings are the best!

Behind bars on Green Turtle Cay.

Tranquil Turtles

Since our time in the Abacos felt like a vacation segment in this journey of ours, we did as the vacationers do: we hit happy hour. And as many of the bars here have a pool, we've grown fond of having our cocktail in the water. Forget Spearment Gum, THIS is doubly refreshing! But in White Sound, because our boat was at anchor and not at the dock, we weren't officially marina guests ("not officially" as in not at all) so we hesitated to use the pool at the club. I "subtly" inquired about the situation and the bartender said "Just do it!" We were welcome to use the pool anytime - and so we did nearly every day thereafter.

The first sip of a Tranquil Turtle at the Ballyhoo can cause a "whoa!" reaction but one quickly acclimates to the stiffness of it. When it came time to return to the boat, we reached the dinghy dock and realized the tide had risen but our dinghy's line had not - it was snagged on the piling several feet underwater. The loop in the line that we needed to loosen was deep down beyond our reach and using an oar to pry the line free wasn't working. In a situation like this you do what you gotta do; Dave dove into the water and unsnagged the line. Because he didn't want to soak his clothes, he did this in his skivvies. Seeing as we were at a proper marina dock near a nice patio where people were dining, I would have just kept trying with the oar; I credit Dave's boldness to the Tranquil Turtles. When he climbed back into the dinghy he was slipping and sliding around in his underwear like our dinghy was a wet banana. He grabbed a low rung on the dock ladder for stability but his lower half pushed the dinghy out and he wound up horizontal between dock and dinghy. I watched this spectacle from the dock - dying to laugh yet concerned he was going to injure himself. When Dave regained control of his balance, I lowered myself into the dinghy but my shorts caught on a nail and ripped a hole in the tail end. Luckily we were under the cover of night and the lunacy of the scene didn't draw attention. Cruising problem #42: when getting in the dinghy is way more complicated than it should be. 

En route in the dinghy, sometimes I get splashed; sometimes I get so soaked it looks like I swam there. Dave usually stays dry since I serve as his human shield.

Pig Beach
It's not like we were too busy to visit the pig beach at No Name Cay. Plus it was far enough from our anchorage in White Sound (Green Turtle Cay) to test the endurance of our Torqeedo (the dinghy's electric motor). On the return leg, with Kianda in sight, we seriously thought we might have to break out the oars and row but we juuuuust made it. The current hadn't helped our cause. For the last five minutes the indicator had shown a battery life of 0% remaining. Good to know there's life beyond battery death.

The pigs on No Name Cay are living a good life. There's not much to squeal about. They get lots of food, have a fresh water cistern, they have plenty of shade and ocean swims to cool off so they're not bacon in the heat. Many visitors also come to see them so their days are never a boar. And having piglets is clearly on the things-to-do list as well.

We brought coconuts as a treat which were a big hit with the piggies as well as with the other tourists. We were constantly asked "How did you open those?" by people astonished as if we'd done it with our bare hands. We have a machete of course!

We focussed our attention on the little babes. The big mamas can get a little forceful, plus there was this sign... 

 

Ignoring the sign.

Also ignoring the sign.

The Gift of Time...

After spontaneously adding Grand Cayman to our schedule in February, we really thought we'd run out of time for Bahamas on this year of sailing. But we ended noodling around the Abacos for 32 days! How'd that happen?

My favourite evening ritual.

 

The Sky's the Limit!

Of course there's beauty in the sky no matter where on Earth we are, but only when we're out on our boat are we ringside spectators on a daily basis.  In 'regular life', whether it be because of buildings or busy schedules, obstacles get in the way of sky-gazing.  Out here, however, we can always see the entire sky, unabridged.  We've got a floating home with a view and time on our hands to appreciate the show - not to mention when you live at the mercy of the weather, you need to pay attention.  Here's to the ever-changing ceiling of our world.

 

"The sky broke like an egg into full sunset and the water caught fire."

-Pamela Hansford Johnson