New Friends and a Floridian Solstice

We came to Jacksonville looking for an affordable marina where we could install an arch and solar panels, as well as perform some other routine maintenance on the boat. A trip to Disney was also part of the plan while in Jacksonville. The right marina wasn't difficult to find, the trip to Disney was a blast, and the projects got underway as soon as the right materials were delivered. What we didn't imagine or plan for was the number of friends we would make.

The Ortega Yacht Club Marina proved to be a great community. We were especially fortunate to meet and befriend Dena, Shari, Myron, Fred, and Paul. This great group of people not only gave us a warm social context for the last 6 weeks, but also helped quite a bit with the most complex project we've done on the boat.

The arch was delivered as a collection of aluminum tubes shaped and cut to roughly fit. It didn't take much effort to assemble it and park it in its planned position. Enter the Devil to take care of the details and make the experience interesting... the job took 6 days.

The captain hanging from the newly-installed arch. Those bolts can take a lot tension!

Then came the solar panels. Myron answered a few questions that helped me understand the electrical connections between panels, charge controller, and batteries; the connections themselves were easy. I'd always known the more complex part of the project would be to mount the modules on the arch.

Lucky me, I had 3 experienced engineers watching over my shoulder. Fred, Myron, and Paul were constantly ready to answer questions and lend a hand. One afternoon, when the design I had in my head didn't quite agree with the real measurements I was taking, Paul came around shrouded in a halo of kindness. He offered to drive me to his place and help me drill a few holes using his drill press. That made the job of bolting panels, mounts, and arch much easier.

Natalia unpacking the 2 solar panels. 270 Watts each!

Ernesto (left, squatting) working under Myron's (centre) and Fred's supervision.

Lining up the mounting structure on the arch.

Hurry up! The Sun is blasting those panels and their cables remain unconnected; wasted amps...

One morning Paul, who is the marina's resident diver, was cleaning the bottom of a 17-foot sailboat. Peter, the boat's owner, was standing on the dock while Paul worked. I happened to walk by on my way to I-don't-remember-where-so-it-must-have-been-of-utmost-importance, when Peter started the typical boater conversation. Much like parents in a playground, boaters stand around on the docks and talk about their babies. Within minutes, Peter had offered to drive us around if we needed supplies, and invited us to a meal in his place.

Peter's casual invitation turned out to be a full day affair. He picked us up at the dock in his power boat, whence we went to his house on the Ortega River. Peter's wife, Laura, and his son, Zac, were equally welcoming and interesting. After a few burgers and some excellent Casillero del Diablo cabernet sauvignon, we piled up on Peter's power boat again, this time to go tubing. Fun, fun, fun.

Tubing in the Ortega River.

Matias at the helm on Peter's boat.

The winter solstice is now past. The solar panels are quietly and tirelessly producing most of the electricity we consume. We are thankful to Ra for exciting the electrons in just the right manner. And we are thankful to our new friends for their company, their kindness, their humanity.

Three-Week Medley

Offshore Hop

The overnight passage we did from Charleston to Cumberland Island was nothing less than glorious. We left Charleston harbor in the dark and hove-to for a couple of hours a few miles from the Saint Mary's inlet to wait for slack water before heading in. Managing a boat at sea is a life-long dream of mine, and this first experience, small and simple as it was, just made me want to spend more time at sea.

We saw dolphins! Many of them! They came to play in our bow wave, swimming back and forth and showing us their wise smiles.

Dolphins approaching Taia's starboard bow

Before dawn, and after leaving Charleston harbor behind, everything was mostly dark. There was some glimmer from the moon filtering through the cloud cover. The sun showed up and with it the water around us changed color from almost black to an enticing greenish blue. The kind of color that makes you want to dive right in.

Atlantic Ocean, 20 miles east of Georgia

During the day life aboard went on uneventful. The grown-ups spent most of their time in the cockpit, tending to the boat, contemplating, talking. The kids watched a couple of movies and roamed around the boat. Whenever dolphins came (and we had several different pods that came to visit) everyone took turns to go up to the bow, where it almost seemed like we could extend our arms and touch them.

The weather forecast called for 20-knot winds starting at midnight, so we tucked in 2 reefs in the main right before sundown. The 20 knots of wind never materialized and we had no more than 8 knots throughout the night. Natalia and I did 3-hour watches.

The main stayed up constantly to counter the swell-induced roll. We didn't see much wind at all, so we motored most of the way. This was our first offshore hop and we wanted to keep it short and simple; floating around like a cork in the swell was outside mission parameters this time.

The sun setting somewhere beyond Georgia

We entered Saint Mary's inlet, the border between Georgia and Florida, 30 hours after weighing anchor in Charleston harbor, and anchored in front of Cumberland Island, Georgia.

It was a great first experience at sea in the dark, one that we will always remember.

Cumberland Island

After squaring the boat away we piled up in the dinghy and rowed ashore, to Cumberland Island and the national park occupying it. The beach on the ocean side seemed like a graveyard for horseshoe skates. There were hundreds of carcasses strewn around in the sand!

The island is famous for its wild horses, and we were lucky enough to spot a glimpse of one.

Trail to the ocean side

Scruffy captain looking full of himself

Cumberland Island wild life

Jacksonville

We knew the weather was expected to deteriorate significantly 2 days after we anchored in Cumberland Island. A cold front was going to bring freezing temperatures and 30- to 40-knot northerly winds. The anchorage in Cumberland Island is well exposed to the north, so we had to move on. Fernandina Beach is right across the river from Cumberland, but we wanted to keep moving south and cover more distance.

After looking at our options, we decided to take advantage of the last day of fair weather and the fact that we were anchored right next to an inlet that is easy to navigate. We decided to do another offshore hop, from Saint Mary's inlet to Saint Johns inlet, in Jacksonville. After a relaxed day at the beach on Cumberland, we went back aboard and got the boat ready to go to sea early the next morning.

It was an easy 9 hours from Cumberland Island to downtown Jacksonville, 6 of those hours at sea, the rest of them motoring up the Saint Johns river.

There's a city-run marina in downtown Jacksonville that is free for up to 3 days. We took good advantage of this unheard-of privilege and shared the 50-slip marina with 1 other boat. Yes, it's free and it was deserted. Very strange.

The cold front came. It was cold. It was windy, angry windy. But we were safely tied up to a sturdy concrete floating dock.

While there, we met Beth and Carmine. Beth is my cousin Ceci's sister-in-law. Carmine is Beth's husband. Excellent people. We had them over for dinner aboard and the next night they took us out to a great restaurant. We're still in Jacksonville and will be seeing them again for sure.

Cold front in Jacksonville

Disney and Kennedy Space Center

While in Jacksonville we took a 5-day road trip to Disney and the Kennedy Space Center. It was lots of fun for everyone.

What's next?

Jacksonville has been home for almost 3 weeks now. We've ordered an aluminum arch and 540 watts' worth of solar panels to attach to the arch. Having these will allow us to spend more time at anchor and use the diesel generator less, maybe not use it at all. As soon as we're done with this project we'll head south again. The Bahamas beckon...

Momentous Times

It feels like this whole year has been a long string of momentous occasions. We wrapped up our land life by selling our house, our cars, and most of our stuff. We said goodbye to family and friends in Canada. Then we moved aboard, worked hard to get the boat ready, and, finally, after so many years of dreaming and planning, we started cruising. A string of momentous occasions. A long string filled with excitement, stress, sadness, happiness, achievement, frustration, and every emotional colour under the sky.

Today we gathered momentum for another momentous experience: we got ready for our first overnight passage. It's a tiny passage by anyone's standards, only 160 nautical miles. Nothing more than a sneeze for the old salts, this passage will be etched in our memories forever. We are ready to make mistakes and learn from them. Tomorrow we take the first tangible step to becoming mariners.

We picked our weather window carefully. So carefully, in fact, that we'll probably motor the whole way through. There's very little wind in the forecast.

The plan is to exit Charleston harbor at 0600 tomorrow morning and maintain the necessary velocity to arrive at the sea buoy to St. Mary's Inlet no later than 1300 on Tuesday.

Luck, as always, will plays an important role tomorrow. But we've done everything we can to minimise its influence. Everything is stowed in its place, the life raft and ditch bag are easily accessible, jacklines and tethers are ready, spirits are high and anxious at the same time.

You can wish us luck regardless. It's always good to have it as a friend.

Change on the fly

This is a very intense life we're living. Every day is different. We get up when the sun rises, usually in a different place than the day before. We were never early risers but there's something to be said about seeing the sun rise while you lift the anchor and head to a new destination.
Sometimes we have beautiful and easy days of motoring (there are few opportunities to sail on the ICW). Some other days we have very busy and, at times, stressful days.

Every night we plan what we want to do the next day. That involves listening to the weather forecast, planning the route we'll follow, finding out the state of the currents and tides for the area so we know what time we should leave, and, lastly but not less important, finding a well-protected anchorage. But route planning is the easy part! The hardest part is the execution. Some times the day goes as planned, sometimes we need to adapt as we go.

Just the other day, as we were approaching Shallotte Inlet (in southern North Carolina), we started hearing all these calls on VHF Channel 16 from boats running aground in that area. With 6 feet of draft and at low tide, we didn't want to risk it. People were running aground in 5 feet of water! The problem was there weren't many options for dropping anchor before getting to the problematic area. And when I say there weren't many, I mean there was just one tiny place. Fortunately, we were able to get to that place and spend the night there. The next morning we crossed the inlet at high tide and avoided the drama and stress of motoring over skinny water.

Another example of this last-minute change of plans happened a couple of days later when we were on our way to Georgetown, South Carolina. We were a little bit tired so we wanted to have an easy day. We planned to only do 25 nm and get to Georgetown. But as we got closer, the day was so nice that we decided to skip it  and head closer to Charleston. So we quickly planned the routes on the computer, imported them on the chartplotter, and kept going on our merry way.

As we got closer to Charleston the next day we almost had to change plans quickly too. We had to cross a bridge with a charted 65-foot clearance, and our mast rises 62 feet over the water. Most of the bridges have height charts at the bottom, indicating the current clearance. Being extra cautious as we are (enter chicken clucking sounds), we always check the height charts because the tide obviously affects the clearance of a bridge. The problem is, not all the bridges have height charts. And when they do, they're not that big and therefore are not easy to read, even using binoculars. As we were approaching a bridge at high tide, we started rapidly evaluating alternative plans that would avoid crossing that bridge. The height chart seemed to read 61 feet of clearance. We almost turned back to wait for low tide. But after getting a little bit closer we saw the clearance was in fact 63 feet and we were able to cross the bridge without any issues.

I was always used to having to adapt to changes quickly at work. But never have I applied it to my personal life as we're doing now.

Here it's how it goes: We see a bridge far away, and start looking for the clearance charts.

The bridge gets closer and sometimes we still haven't read the charts.

There it is! Couldn't they have make it a tiny bit bigger????

Not mistaking the clearance now as we pass by. But even if we know this, sometimes we pass it thinking at the same time  "OMG! OMG! OMG! We're not going to fit!!!!" It looks tight from down below.

ICW: Day 1

OMFG! I can't believe how naive I was about the ICW! This is the image I had in my head: Lazing around in the cockpit, passing through beautiful marshland and watching wildlife, with the occasional bridge to clear, and letting every other vessel pass us; the kids pointing every which way in amazement as they saw osprey, bald eagles, and alligators. All that with the shiniest grins on our faces.

Let me repeat the opening phrase: OMFG! The first day on the ICW was nothing like what I had imagined!

We left Hampton early in the morning (early for our standars: 7:45). Unfortunately we had to see Norfolk and Portsmouth from the cockpit (it's getting cold and we need to get moving south). We saw one aircraft carrier and all manner of navy vessels, including a blinding white hospital ship. Did I mention the aircraft carrier? Beautiful behemoth. Too bad humanity is building those, but they're still impressive machines.

After the navy base, the traffic started. Tugs pushing all sorts of vessels, wakes that put those of weekend power-boaters to shame, small craft, big craft, everyone knowing where they were going but us. Overwhelming? Nah...

Navy shipyard?

Waterborne traffic subsided as we left the port and shipbuilding areas. But then the bridges started. Railroad bridges and highway bridges and county route bridges and bridges that seem to be there just to kill that tranquil image I had of the ICW. The railroad bridges, thanks be to Gaia, are "usually open," meaning that boaters don't necessarily need to contact the bridge operator to request an opening. We lucked out on all railroad bridges, especially on the first one, which was closed not 10 minutes after we passed under it.

Some bridges are closed unless an opening is requested. They open on a schedule, typically every hour or half hour, only if requested to do so. The bridge operators were courteous, curt, patient, and annoyed; the whole gamut of human moodiness. Most importantly, they did their jobs and we were able to motor on with minimal wait. We lucked out there too, because, even though we were told to control our speed and arrive at the bridges on their scheduled openings, we found the exercise tiring (whiny as we are) and decided to roll the dice and play it by ear. And it worked out too!

There are also fixed bridges. We motored under one that is 65 feet high. The tip of our mast is 62 feet off the water. It was tight. From the cockpit it looked like we were going to scrape the bottom of the bridge's deck. Fortunately, we didn't. This boat has gone through the ICW before without hitting any bridges. And we measured the mast specifically for this purpose. We should be fine...

The first few hours it seemed like there was a bridge every 10 minutes, leaving very little time for lazing around and bird-watching. Fingers quickly mucking with the chart plotter to make sure we were getting to the same bridge we were reading about on the cruising guide; eyes going frantically from chart plotter to other boats around us to the cruising guide to day markers to the bridge; brains on the verge of implosion. Frantic, incessant activity. It was interesting. Enjoyable, not so much.

We also experienced our first lock, called the Great Bridge Lock (and not to be confused with the Great Bridge Bridge!). The lock is there to move boats between the different heights of the Virginia Cut and the Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal. We entered the lock, tied up to the south wall, the gate was closed behind us, and a few minutes later the gate in front of us was open. I think we were floated up about a foot. An easy lock, fortunately, given our nil experience maneuvering Taia into and out of locks.

Great Bridge Lock

The Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal is a man-made canal, and empties into the North Landing River. This river winds through marshes and forests. It is beautiful. The 2 or 3 fishermen we saw, people who look like they just walked out of a Cold Mountain set, add to the character of the river. We're anchored in a bend in the river, just a few miles north of the Virginia-North Carolina state line. The wind is quiet. We trust the stars are there but neglect them in favour of staying warm in the cabin.

Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal

The ICW is nothing like I imagined it. The first 30 miles of it require a little more work than I expected. It's the only place of its kind that I know. It's unique.

Goodbye Chesapeake Bay

We're currently anchored in the Hampton River, smack-dab in downtown Hampton, VA. It's taken us 8 days to get here. Of those 8 days, we only sailed 6 days (mainly motor-sailed, actually, since the wind and the weather in general haven't been the most cooperative).

Our impression of Chesapeake Bay is mixed. We liked it, but have become convinced that we've experienced it on the wrong boat (too drafty for these shallow waters) and with the wrong weather (it's been coldish and rainy). We'll be back for more; of that there's little doubt. The bay is like a cradle of United States history, starting with the early settlements of the seventeenth century.

In a couple of days we'll be sailing across Hampton Roads and into the Elizabeth River. Norfolk and Portsmouth sit at the confluence of the Elizabeth and the James rivers. Also, the Intracoastal Waterway has its mile 0 marker in the Elizabeth River. That's where we're headed.

The scenery will change for us and hopefully the weather will get warmer.

Winds of Change

We think Taia is ready and so are we. We're going to start sailing as soon as we come back from Pittsburgh. And things will change for all of us.

Up until now we've been at a marina. We still had a car. Life was still easy. When we come back from Pittsburgh, we won't have a car anymore and our daily routine will change.

The plan is to sail the Chesapeake Bay and get to Norfolk, where the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) starts. We'll motor through the ICW (you can't really sail much because it's pretty narrow) and eventually get to Florida. Along the way we might do a couple of offshore overnight hops to gain some experience.

We think we will be sailing an average of 5-6 hours a day (weather permitting, of course). There may be days where we don't sail at all, though,  if we want to check a place out or wait for better weather. As we go, we will need to keep track of a few things:

1. Weather conditions. Monitoring the weather and what mother nature throws at us is going to be a constant in our lives from now on.
2. Tides and currents. This is, probably, one of the biggest changes for us. Having only sailed in lakes before, we never had to deal with any of these.
3. Water depth. Taia's draft is 6 feet. That means we need at least that much water or we run aground... This was never an issue for us in Lake Huron. Chesapeake Bay is shallow and so is the ICW. 
4. Bridges. We'll need to cross under a few bridges on our way to Florida. That means we need to know what the bridge clearance is (Taia's height is 62 feet) and then contact the bridge operator to request an opening.
5. Traffic. There's a lot more boat traffic here than what we are used to in the Great Lakes. I already started reviewing all the rules of passage I learned a while ago!
6. Route planning. Every day we'll need to plan where we want to go, check if the weather conditions are suitable for that trip and find a nice and protected anchorage to spend the night.
7. Water consumption. Taia has 2 water tanks totaling 300 gallons that we use to drink, cook, bathe and anything else that requires water. We have been measuring our consumption and we believe that will last us about 2 weeks. At that point, we will need to go to a marina and re-fill our tanks.
8. Diesel. Taia has 2 tanks totaling 130 gallons. We still haven't measured how much that will last us but with the new tank level monitor we installed it will be easy to know when we need to drop by a marina for a refill :)
9. Propane. We have two 20-pound bottles of propane that we use to cook or barbecue. As soon as the one we're using runs out we switch bottles and start looking for a place to have the first one refilled. Each bottle should last about a month.
10. Electricity. We have 10 batteries, totaling about 1000 amp hours. Once we start sailing, all our electricity will come from that. So we need to watch it. We have measured our consumption and we think we're going to be using about 250 amp hours a day. Fortunately the boat is equipped with a battery monitor and a diesel generator to charge the batteries. Once we get to Florida we'll install solar panels to reduce our diesel consumption.

To prepare for all this, we have been doing a lot of research. We have bought the latest electronic charts, paper charts, and guides. We also follow a few blogs written by people who have cruised the areas we'll be visiting. We also talk to people that have done this or are about to do this. 

Another change that is happening is the goodbyes. As we prepare to sail south, we are forced to say goodbye to people we have met in the last year. With some of them, we have became very good friends. Some of them we'll see again in the islands of the Caribbean. But it's never easy to say goodbye. I really hate farewells. But, hey, I'm already used to them. After all, 13 years ago, I migrated to Canada...

We're Ready! (are we, really?)

About an hour ago we tightened the last bolt for the last project on our must-have-before-we-leave list. Every project we set out to complete by mid September is done. Yes, you read that correctly, mid September. We wanted to be out of the marina by then. Without wanting to point out the obvious, let me state that we are behind schedule.

It appears that being ready for cruising is like being ready for parenthood: you're never really ready and in the end you'll do what you think is best and can do. What's best is not always doable, so we learn to adjust our expectations or live in a constant state of neurotic disappointment. Not that we've had to adjust our expectations too much. We're lucky to have awesome kids and an awesome boat.

In our inexperienced opinion, Taia is ready to go. What about the crew? We're chomping at the bit! Two out of four butt holes aboard are tightly puckered up, but we want to get started. We dream of quiet anchorages, marine wild life, interesting towns with great people, and beautiful sunsets at sea. On the flip side, we fret about inadequate navigation and boat-handling skills, bad weather, sea monsters, and mermaids. Everything will come, the good and the bad. Everything will come sooner rather than later!

Ironically enough, we'll be taking a 4-day break from boat life next week. We're driving to Pittsburgh to spend a few days with family. After that, ready or not, we go. And we enjoy.

Our new routine

I talked to my grandma the other day and she said: "Aren't you tired of doing nothing all day long?". I laughed. Although is not the first time we were asked that same question. It's a common misconception to think that, because we're no longer working, we don't have anything to do. Well, believe it or not, we do!

What do we normally do?

I already covered in my previous post all the boat projects we've been working on. That usually takes up most of the day for Ernesto. He's always busy: fixing something that is broken, researching the best way to fix another thing, looking where to buy a spare part and finding the best price for it, etc. Even now, for example, he's replacing our cabin lights, while I write this post.

I, on the other hand, teach the kids school every morning. Ernesto will eventually join us too, but for now, that's entirely my responsibility. And I have to admit I enjoy it.
The rest of my time is spent doing mundane things: grocery shopping, laundry, preparing launch or dinner, cleaning the boat.

But every day we also try to do something fun together. Be it going to the swimming pool, playing a game together or going to a fun place. This week we finally decided to buy a kayak. The kids are super excited about it. And the grownups too :)

On the Vicissitudes of Shitting Aboard

We have a manual head, which translated to English means "a toilet with a handle that needs to be pumped vigorously ten to fifteen times to ensure that the bowl's contents are safely pushed through a 12-foot long hose and into a waste tank." As a side note, I'd like to add that nautical terms aren't entirely whimsical; they can pack plenty of meaning, as you can gather from the preceding example.

Around the muscle-enlarging pump there are two valves: a flapper valve and a joker valve (I'm not sure those terms are exclusive to the marine world). The flapper valve opens on the up-stroke of the pump, and thus the bowl's contents, be they shit, piss, Lego™ pieces, or toilet paper, make their way into the pump. On the down-stroke, these Lego™ pieces and their friends are shoved through the joker valve. This valve is a piece of rubber that looks like a ping-pong ball that grew a bill (like a duck, not like the ubiquitous yet hard- to-earn money). The bill has a slit that, upon pressure exerted by the user through the pump, is violated open to allow Lego™ pieces through. The idea is that once anything goes through the joker valve, nothing comes back into the toilet.

The joker valve often gets tired and fails to keep its bill shut.

What happens then?

Yes, you imagine correctly: Lego™ pieces flow back into the bowl. To be fair and truthful, it's only liquid that makes it back to the bowl. Brown and odorous and pungent liquid. A pleasure to perceive while you're having breakfast less than 2 meters away from the head (remember, a boat's head is its bathroom).

The solution, of course, comes through a pleasurable few minutes of pump disassembly, water of questionable provenance dripping all over your hands, and careful inspection of parts that are mostly covered in brown, slimy goo. If a part looks like it might cause trouble, it needs to be replaced. We like to avoid trouble.

Natalia and I have reared two children, so we're no strangers to having Lego™ pieces slathered over our hands or some incredibly cute baby pee sprayed on our faces. We are not grossed out by our own bodily fluids. We deal with bad joker valves like we dealt with diapers: it has to be done and we do it with a smile on our faces. After all, we live on a boat. That makes us happy.

Two Months

Here we are at last. Finally living on board Taia. Finally with some time to start this blog.

It's been a long road. We purchased Taia (previously known as Liberty) in May 2012 in Virginia, USA. We then sailed her to a marina in Maryland and hauled her out in August 2012. She remained on the hard until July 25, 2013, when we finally got here.
Up until then, it was a really busy time for us back home in Canada. Leaving a life on land is not as simple as it may sound. There's just a lot of decisions to make. And of course, having the boat more than 1000 km away added a bit to the complexity.
We sold our house and the cars, sold or donated most of our stuff, we packed those things we wanted to keep and moved them to my in-laws's house. On top of that, there was a lot of paperwork to take care of in order to be able to go south.

We've been at the marina ever since we got here on July. We planned to stay at the marina for 2 months, easing into the new lifestyle and getting the boat ready for cruising. Living at the marina is easier compared to anchoring, although more expensive. While at the marina, you don't have to worry about electricity consumption (the boat is plugged to shore power all the time) and the marina has a some nice facilities that you can take advantage of: laundry room, a nice swimming pool that the kids love, a playground, etc.

Here's a non-exhaustive list of the projects we've been working on:

• Have the refrigeration system replaced. The old one was not energy efficient and it broke down.
• Replace leaky engine exhaust pipe.
• Fix engine muffler.
• Remove old (and smelly) holding tank and hoses. Install new ones.
• Replace shower sump pump. We realized later that this wasn't necessary; the problem with the discharge was elsewhere... doh!
• Replace head pump.
• Install a new water filtering system in the galley. Canister filter and dedicated faucet. Our boat water tastes better than the tap water we used to drink in London.
• Install new stereo. This wasn't high priority until we realized how much we missed our own music library.
• Replace old incandescent navigation lights with LED's.
• We had our main sail cover repaired and had the genoa inspected and fixed.
• Make sunbrella covers for all the hatches and the dinghy outboard.
• Bought a new dinghy. Ouch! That one hurt because it wasn't in the budget, but it was necessary.

On top of that, we also started home-school for the kids back in August. I really wanted to have the routine established before we started sailing. That is going quite well and the kids like it. We do school in the mornings and then in the afternoon we work on the boat while the kids play.

We have two last projects to finish before we start heading south in mid October. We want to install gauges for the water and diesel tanks (it's just going to make our lives easier to know much of any of those we have left without using dip sticks or guesstimations). The last must-have project is replacing the genoa sheet footblocks. That last project has been underway for a few days, and we should be able to finish it within the next couple of days.

But it wasn't all just work. We try to find a balance between work and fun, because that's why we are doing this and also to keep the kids happy. So in these last couple of months we managed to go to Texas to visit family, went to Washington, DC and Annapolis, got some visits from family and friends, visited local museums, parks and beaches. It has been fun :)

That's enough for a post, I think. Here are some pictures of us during the last couple of months.

Ernesto on top of the mast, replacing the anchor light... 17 meters high.

Camila and Matias learning how to drive the dinghy.

Visit to Washington, DC, with Ernesto's parents. US Congress at the back.

Matias inside Jefferson Memorial.

The National Mall with the Washington Monument

US Naval Academy in Annapolis

Annapolis City Dock

War of 1812 battle re-enactment.

Matias in 1812 attire.

The kids made 1812 like toys.