Introspective Retrospective

Here we are, a full year since we moved aboard. And what better way to celebrate it than to bore all 3 of our blog readers with some stats, some thoughts, and some remarks? Buckle up, readers, this is going to be riveting!

In the words of my 30-year-old self, I can say, without fear of overstating, much less of being wrong, that this past year has been pretty fucking awesome. Honestly, that phrase sums it up. And although at 41 I should be able to come up with something more sophisticated, maybe even literary, when it comes to total and absolute bliss and happiness I'm hard pressed to find better words. Think about it: I'm living a dream that was born in 1988 after reading Robin Lee Graham's Dove; my wonderfully loving and caring and understanding wife has not only embraced but also appropriated the dream; and my kids continue to frequently state that "this is the best day ever." We're all thriving, we're all learning, we're all happy.

The uneasy and somewhat nervous smile in October/2013, replaced by a more relaxed attitude and posture in the cockpit while sailing in July/2014

We have sailed over 2,600 nautical miles in the last 12 months (for the nautically challenged, that's over 4,800 km; and for the metrically challenged, that's over 3,009 statute miles; and this is where I stop translating units). It's a modest distance, considering the current state of transportation technology. But we've seen so much and learned so much while travelling that distance! From the Chesapeake to Florida, on to the Abacos, the Exumas, the Jumentos and the Raggeds, and back to Florida. We've covered that distance at such slow speed that we've had ample opportunity to get to know the places we've seen. Our average speed for the 12-month period is approximately 0.3 knots (0.55 km/h or 0.34 mph).

Our anchoring platform has seen its good share of use and abuse. The anchor has plowed the bottom in 88 different locales. A few more if we count the few quick stops we made along the way, places where we didn't spend a night (the beautiful beach in Pelican Harbour comes to mind). By the way, don't forget to check out our map of anchorages if you want to see all the different places where we've anchored and slept.

Beach in Pelican Harbour, looking east from Sandy Cay

When we look back to our first few weeks after leaving Spring Cove Marina in Maryland, we are amazed at how much we've learned. Every mile we sailed, we learned something new about the boat, about the waters we were traversing, about ourselves. And when we went ashore we learned something new about the societies that inhabit the places we visited. It's the multiple whammy of learning while travelling!

Obviously, not everything has been picture perfect. The boat requires constant attention. Our watermaker stopped working in the Abacos and we had no idea what could be wrong with it. Out came the manual, out went a couple of emails, and within a couple of days we had the issue more or less figured out. It wasn't a big deal, but at the time it felt like a major annoyance. We have been mostly diligent with boat maintenance and fortunately our onboard systems have performed flawlessly. The few things that broke weren't crucial and we were able to fix them promptly.

Then there's the lack of space. There are 4 of us living aboard Taia; spaces get tight. Sometimes all 4 of us need to be in the galley, either getting something or on our way to the cockpit. If people could see us when that happens they would laugh hard at this family of lemmings, bumping into each other and completely tangled up.

It's been a good year. For me, happiness is a fleeting concept: once you find it, it evaporates easily. It needs to be nurtured constantly. Now is the time to be happy. I am ferocious and voracious in the pursuit of happiness.

Looking back, it's been a wonderful first year

Of Squalls and Lessons in Seamanship

It had been a couple of weeks since we'd started looking for the right weather window to sail from the Abacos to northern Florida. We would passage through over 300 miles of ocean and estimated it would take us somewhere around 60 hours to do it. With the rainy season well upon us, we were seeing squalls every day, so we became convinced that we would be hit by one or more while at sea; no matter how well we chose our weather window.

We sailed back and forth in the northern end of the Sea of Abaco, from Green Turtle Cay to Allens-Pensacola, stopping in Spanish Cay, Coopers Town, and several other cays along the way. It was fun and interesting, but our focus was on the weather and on being ready. Natalia prepared meals that would be easy to eat underway while I prepared everything on deck.

Finally the right window presented itself and we decided to stage our departure from Fox Town, Abaco, in the northwest corner of Little Abaco Island. We had about 60 miles of easy sailing ahead of us in the Little Bahama Bank. After we left the bank, we agreed that we would maintain 5 knots of speed, even if it meant starting the engine, for the remaining 250 miles.

The weather pattern we had been observing was quite easy: no wind in the morning, variable wind in the afternoon, with squalls sweeping by between the afternoon and the evening. A nice 15- to 20-knot wind was expected to fill in from the south to southwest that evening. And it was expected to hold for the next couple of days. Perfect sailing wind for us!

The Bahamian flag is in tatters after flying on our starboard spreader for 5 months

An early morning departure gave us some relaxed, though slow, sailing in the bank. We had planned to get to the Gulf Stream by 2100 but didn't exit the bank until 2300. By 0100 the next day we were different sailors than the ones that had lazily weighed anchor in Fox Town the previous morning.

Mr. Squall and his best buddy, Mr. Lightning, were posed to give us an interesting passage. They loomed angry to our west. During the day we could see Mr. Squall's obvious approach. And yet the first time he came to pay us a visit, we weren't entirely ready. Thus came the first casualty of the passage: one of the side windows of the cockpit enclosure was ripped open while I furled the jib in 30 knots of wind. Normally one of us pays out and controls the sheet while the other furls the sail; that way the sheet doesn't flail violently. But Natalia was busy getting a meal ready, so I decided to let out the sheet entirely and furl the sail on my own. The sheet was angry! It flailed and snapped and ripped while I furled. It hit the window and ripped it open.

The young crew got a surprise gift while underway

Except for that first squall, the first afternoon and evening went by quietly and slowly. But then Mr. Sun went to bed and Mr. Squall could sneak up on us under the veil of darkness. Wait a minute! We have radar! We can still see Mr. Squall coming! Unfortunately, our skipper decided to keep the radar off during his first night watch of the passage.

Of course, Mr. Squall approached fast and ready, taking advantage of our skipper's naiveté (he actually thought he'd be able to see Mr. Squall coming in the dark!). And this is how we learned that the good ship Taia will gladly take 35 knots of wind with full jib and a single reef in the main. To the skipper's credit, he took the helm and kept the boat under control while Mr. Squall buffeted us. There was no crazy heeling, no sudden lurching, just the natural pitching of a 46-foot sailboat doing 6 knots in 6-foot seas (that's a lot of sixes!). Unfortunately, the jib, which the skipper allowed to flail a little, lost some of its stitching on the leech. Nothing major. Second and last casualty of the passage.

The night watches went by and the second day at sea arrived. The 15- to 20-knot winds that had been forecast were actually 20 to 25. The conditions were slightly rougher than we'd expected, but we were moving fast! Thanks to the higher-than-expected winds and the Gulf Stream we were doing 8 or 9 knots.

On the second night I found my groove. It was blissful. The 3-hour watches felt shorter than the night before, and when I came off I fell asleep instantly. And it was good sleep! The first night I'd half slept and half thought about the boat, our progress, the conditions. The second night I slept and had dreams and rested.

I've read many times that experienced sailors prefer longer passages because it takes a couple of days to acclimatize to the conditions and adjust to the routine. I agree wholeheartedly! (Although a 54-hour passage hardly counts as a "longer passage").

Because the ride was bumpy, Natalia's hard work of preparing meals for the passage was somewhat wasted. Once we left the bank and entered the Stream, where conditions were rougher, we ate a lot of crackers and jam, sitting on the cockpit sole. But that's ok, we got a chance to enjoy those awesome empanadas and everything else she made, when we got to Florida.

Great crew!

The crew was in their best behaviour. After the first night, which is the roughest time we've had at sea, Camila woke up and asked if we'd had "good sailing" the night before. Obviously she slept soundly and didn't realize that the boat had pitched and rolled quite a bit.

It was a good passage and I'm hungry for more.

Land ho!

We arrived in Fernandina Beach on the afternoon of the third day. The obligatory squall of the evening hit us right after we set the anchor in the Bells river. The next day we checked into the United States and motored a few miles on the ICW to get to Fort George Island. While visiting Kingsley Plantation on the island, our friend Paul showed up on his powerboat. He'd motored all the way from Jacksonville! It was a great welcome to the US.

First day back in the US. Florida heat!

After visiting the plantation, we weighed anchor and motored to Jacksonville. Paul, also known to other cruisers as Auto Paul, took the helm and steered all the way while Natalia and I sat around and chatted (except for the part where the skipper was at the helm and ran aground, Auto Paul steered all the way). What a great welcome and a great way to cruise. Thanks, Paul!