Robbed! Or why monohulls are better than catamarans

Incompetence isn’t a quality I appreciate in most people, but thankfully the thief who boarded our boat last night might want to consider keeping his day job. If he has one.

Despite traveling through some very poor countries, theft isn’t something we worry about very often. Like most cruisers, we’re aware our home can look like a floating department store to some people. So when we’re in a region is known for petty theft, we close our hatches and keep surfaces clear of easily-seen, easy-to-grab high value items like phones, cameras, tablets and cash. On occasions we even lock up the boat.

the closest locals to our boat are these guys--two baby herons

The kind of theft we tend to expect is opportunistic theft; like when our unlocked dinghy was stolen by drunks from the dinghy dock in Brisbane, or when tools were grabbed from the side deck in Mexico. What we don’t expect is to be boarded by a swimmer while we’re sleeping, have a thief enter our cabin and then rummage through our stuff. Not only is that sort of freaky—but I always assumed we’d hear if someone climbed aboard. Or that Charlie the guard cat would attack intruders, or meow or purr loudly in warning…

There aren't many signs of theft in town--just lots of signs that indicate people take fish into inappropriate locations

None of that happened though.

While Port Victoria on Mahe used to have a poor reputation, in recent years it's been pretty safe. But at some point late last night someone swam to our boat and boarded using our back steps. Then he came into the cabin (and missed the camera, laptop and tablet) but grabbed my phone, backpack and a couple of Maia’s bags. After taking the bags back into the cockpit and quickly rifling through them (finding Maia’s change purse but luckily missing my wallet—which would have been the jackpot considering I went to the bank yesterday) he took his little bit of loot, and our dinghy, and headed into the anchorage where he hit at least one other boat—grabbing a backpack and stealing a laptop and iphone from an Austrian catamaran.

Cats have a lot of great qualities (the two hulled, not the purring ones) and being easy to board and having wide open cabins are usually counted as bonuses. Except being easy to board and having wide open cabins also makes them attractive to thieves. My own informally gathered statistics seem to indicate that catamarans are hit more often than monohulls—and the fact the three boats that were robbed in this anchorage (including a French boat two weeks ago) are all cats reinforces it.

The second (that we know of) boat to be robbed last night woke up when the intruder left. He blew his airhorn (which we slept through) and then lost sight of the thief and our dinghy. This morning we were woken by a local guy who watches a couple of boats, and who noticed our dinghy wasn’t where it should be, but was instead on an empty catamaran. He and a friend brought the dinghy back to us and at that point we noticed the pile of bags in our cockpit.

A short while later the coastguard came by. It was nice to see how seriously the minor theft was taken and how mortified the locals were. Two locals helped with a search on the island beside us—with the hope the thief had stashed all our stuff for retrieval later. We also tried to call my phone—but just got voicemail. Later in the morning the Seychelles land police also came out to the boats—the locals who brought our dinghy back to us had called them and arranged for the visit. Finger printing is next. Seriously.

When we commented that is seemed like a big reaction to minor theft the police officer let us know any problem we have is a big problem--and in the Seychelles, they don't like theft.

Victoria is a peaceful moderately affluent town

In our case we were lucky. My phone was a cheap one that was due for replacing and the internet data that was on it was easily transferred to a replacement phone. Maia was bummed to lose the change purse that was given to her by dear friends in Brissie (Desire, she’s so sad…) but she was happy it only contained a little bit of money.

For the most part the theft was more of a lesson than a violation. We travel in a very trusting way—and we have no intention of changing the belief that most people we encounter are not out to get anything from us. But our belongings are equally (if not more) valuable to us as they are to potential thieves. And being an easy target is something we can easily change with a bit more diligence—especially with Comoros and Madagascar coming up.

From now on we’ll be pulling our dinghy up at night. The other cat that was boarded and robbed had their main cabin door closed, but the thief went through a window—so we’ll be closing our door and locking our hatches in their ‘ajar’ position (fortunately nights are cool here—the idea of needing bars on hatches is really unappealing). We’ve tried pressure mats before, but the cat tripped them, though we have heard some boats have had good success with motion sensors—so we’ll check out that option. Finally, we have personal alarms in the bedrooms. These are little self-activated alarms I picked up in Brisbane that I thought I could use if I heard someone board us—unfortunately I sleep better than I thought.

For those who have prepped their boats for high theft areas—any tips for us?

Will Sail for Food

Shortly after we dropped anchor I saw a shrimp trawler pull in. We’d been waiting for this moment. Ever since cruising friends gave us a tip: go with a bucket, they told us, and $20 in small bills. Then after shooting the breeze for a bit—it’s lonely being a fisherman on the remote Queensland coast—ask how much shrimp your money will buy. $5 bought us a generous kilo of enormous prawns. We could have had more—but our fridge was too small for the pre-measured packages that were flash frozen as soon as they were caught.

Maia is becoming a great bread baker

A drinking coconut

And the kilo would be perfect for a celebratory meal at to top of Australia (which coincided with our anniversary). The menu: prawns, risotto Milanese and sautéed broccoli followed by chocolate mousse. Not bad for a meal that came on a trip with a month between grocery stores.

I recall visiting maritime museums as a kid. It was always the food that was displayed in the galley’s of old sailing ships that fascinated and appalled me; tins of butter, potted meat, ships biscuits. Everything was serviceable and simple—as though food was fuel and not sustenance.

Twenty years ago, as we prepared to sail off on little Ceilydh, the books I read that told me how to outfit my galley seemed to take a page from those old ships. They offered up undemanding recipes made from bland ingredients, potted meat, it seemed was universal. Serve it over potatoes (powdered or tinned were both acceptable options) with tinned peas; you could finish with cling peaches or fruit cocktail for dessert. If you wanted to be fancy (or change it up) add curry powder or an onion.

Dutifully I bought a case of canned ham (I couldn’t bring my self to buy spam). We ate one and decided there had to be a better way.

the food should match the extraordinary journey

There are two types of thought when it comes filling the pantry of modern cruising boats: 

1) Food is everywhere, because everyone eats. So don’t over shop.

2) Buy everything you can before you leave because not everyone eats what you want to eat.

Food is everywhere. But often we look for it in the wrong places. The dusty grocery store in Seisia, where green beans cost $12 a kilo and we’ll buy them anyway—because over a lifetime of eating green beans they probably only bring up the overall cost by a fraction, isn’t what we’ll remember when we think about food on this coast. Nor will it be the well-stocked grocery stores in Cairns and Airlie beach.

Percy Island fruit became gorgeous marmalade

What we’ll recall are the foods we’ve stumbled across—the fruit that was piled into my arms by Kate, a homesteader on Middle Percy Island, the coconuts Maia climbed for, the fish given to us by friends on Arjenta, the bush tomato relish we found in Cairns, and those prawns. We sail to experience the riches of the world around us; to find the flavours and textures of each new place. 

We’ll leave the potted meat for someone else.

Gambling With the Suck to Fun Factor

Maia's dream beach

Ever have one of those days that starts out warm and sunny, moves into a perfect sail, and then brings you humpback whales? Not spouts in the distance. But a mama resting on the surface a few hundred meters away and a curious baby who decides to come and visit?

Baby heads over to see us with mama close behind

But then the day turns—your main motor doesn’t start, so you use your outboard. And when you sort out the main motor’s problem the outboard hops off the back of the boat and falls into the ocean (thank-goodness for that safety line). And then you tip the mocha flan that you made, to soothe your sad soul, into a dirty sink and the pickle jar explodes over the floor, where you notice a trickle of saltwater from a seeping thru hull (and you just hauled out…). And none of the good—not the sail, not the whale, can make up for the fact that some days just suck.

I think cruisers must be bad gamblers at heart.

abandoned rail track

Roo prints on the beach

Those perfect days, where you wake with the plan of sailing on but a quick morning hike shows you’ve stumbled upon an abandoned resort with a perfect beach and clear warm water, are the ones that keep you sailing from country to country, endlessly searching for the combination of magical elements that feel like a row of cherries in the slot machine.

our morning turtle

But mostly we plug coins into the slots, taking the little payoffs; the turtles, the sunsets, the clear water and empty beaches. They’re our reward for the endless repairs.
Endless repairs.

abandoned train

 

The good days though? They are so good. Yesterday we planned to travel. But I wanted to see shore before leaving Brampton Island. Evan needed to finish flushing the outboard so after communing with a huge, wise-looking turtle Maia and I headed to shore on our own. We set off down an overgrown rail track the lead us past shy kangaroos and outgoing butterflies and into an empty resort.

There was a Christmas tree in a window, a pool table with cues and balls, an ancient banyan tree and sailboats for guests. There were linens on the beds and furniture in the dining room. And it was empty except for two other cruisers. We learned the resort was abandoned after a 2010 cyclone. Eerie and perfect we thought Evan should see it.

So we spent the day on abandoned lawn chairs, drinking from coconuts, cooling in the blue water and exploring the resort. In the evening we joined newly arrived sailors on the broken jetty to watch the sun drop into the sea.

the only guest

what the resort lacked in bar service it made up for in ambiance.

 And today we’re sailing on, gambling that someday soon we’ll have another day as good as yesterday.

We Made Vanity Fair

 

I'm used to writing about other people and, at times, ourselves but being the person who is written about is a new experience. Several weeks ago I had a wonderful conversation with Greta Privitera a writer from Vanity Fair Italy. While writers and reporters in the US were up in arms over the rescue of Rebel Heart (I was interviewed for both radio and TV and felt like I needed to defend our lifestyle) Greta was simply curious about how we made our dream come true.

Six-year-old sailor

It was a lovely and refreshing conversation. I'm not sure if it was cultural--but her concern wasn't for Maia's safety, but for Maia's own dreams and happiness. How do we know boating is still the right thing for her as she grows and changes?

life aboard

I don't speak Italian and google translate is a very imperfect thing, but the parts of the story that I could read made this whole cruising thing sound incredibly cool. I sort of love Italian us:

"Quando Diane parla della sua scelta di vita, l’opinione pubblica si spacca in due: «Che famiglia fortunata» e «Ma siete pazzi?».
Diane Selkirk e suo marito, due canadesi di Vancouver, sono quel tipo di persone che come tutti avevano un sogno, ma che come quasi nessuno hanno scelto di seguirlo. Sognavano di prendere una barca e girare il mondo, e l’hanno fatto: Messico, Costa Rica e Nicaragua, Salvador, Australia, Polinesia Francese, Stati Uniti.
Hanno solcato gli oceani in lungo e in largo, prima come coppia e poi come trio, con Maya, la loro bambina. Questa scelta di vita, e quella di altre 10 mila famiglie che in questo momento si trovano per mare, fa discutere l'opinione pubblica."

pin the sailboat on the voyage--dreams of a circumnavigation

Nineteen days without seeing land. "You would think" what a bore. " Not so. Every evening, on our catamaran, is a party. We cook special things, dance under the light of the stars and read together. In our travels we have seen thousands of whales, dolphins, sharks. We made all kinds of adventures and met people from every continent. We feel as if we are living in a 5 lives. It's a priceless feeling. "

Countdown to Departure

Our beautiful home--for one more month

It’s official, our time in Brisbane is coming to an end. In four short weeks we’ll be untying the lines for the last time and motoring our way down the Brisbane River into Moreton Bay. Or plan is to sail north to the Whitsundays and skirt along inside the reef to Cairns and then on to Darwin. If all goes as planned we’ll make it to Darwin before August 23 and join the Darwin to Ambon, Indonesia rally. If not we’ll get to Ambon on our own time.

Sail maintenance--and Charlie doing his bit

Getting ready has gradually become more real. We’ve been to the travel clinic to update our typhoid shots and to get jabs for rabies. We’ve bought Permethrin for treating our mossie screens and updated our safety equipment and medical kit. Evan’s to-do list is down to its final few items and his job is wrapping up in two weeks. Meanwhile Maia is in her last term of circus and school; she’s got new shoes (to grow into) and a stack of new school text books. I’ve been downloading podcasts, comparison shopping for maple syrup, buying tinned butter and trying to decide how much kitty litter we’ll need.

And that’s the easy part.

Taking a couple of Maia's friends for a weekend sail

The tough part is saying goodbye. Over the past 2.5 years we’ve fallen in love with our little city and it’s sad to think our time here is coming to an end. We’ve made friends we hope to keep—even when we’re far away. We’ve added Aussie lingo to our speech and Aussie memories to our ‘best moments’. We watched Maia and her friends grow from young girls to young teens.

Saying goodbye is the hardest part of cruising. It’s more difficult than all the bad weather and bad moments put together. In the weeks to come we’ll start to look forward and dream about what’s next. But for a while longer we’ll soak up the things we love about this place we landed by chance: the little school that made us feel at home, the circus that fed Maia’s dreams, our river community where there’s always a friendly smile, our neighbourhood park which is filled with wondrous creatures.

We’ve been lucky to call many places home and many people friends. And as we break our hearts a little with this goodbye, I have to recall that taking the time to ‘get to know and be part of’ was the whole point of our slow journey around the globe.

Adventure vs Danger

When kids are involved we choose safety over danger--but I wonder if we lose the adventure? (Newborn Hector's Dolphin btw)

With the recent hubbub over how dangerous it is to take kids blue water sailing I’ve been reflecting on how SAFE sailing is these days. Absolutely sailors run into trouble out there now and again. But I think it’s the relative safety of it; the fact that most of us only lose the odd rudder, blow the occasional sail, lose a mast now and again, and rarely run into unanticipated storms, that highlights how different it used to be.

Technology has made it really easy for new sailors to become seasoned sailors without ever going through anything challenging. We’ve had friends sail around the entire world without hitting bad weather. The entire world. Which, by the way, is how I’m hoping to do it…

Maia dreams of having adventures like Cook did but worries they've all been used up

Contrast that to sailors who did the same trip 20+ years ago (pre technology such as GPS chartplotters, satphones, AIS, EPIRBs etc). Back then it was pretty rare not to have something go wrong and usually it was a whole lot of things. And as I was listening to a fabulous interview on ABC in Australia, by former boat kid Glenn MacFadyen about his childhood trip that included nearly starving, two shipwrecks and imprisonment in Africa (he characterized it all as exciting…) I realized we’ve become so risk adverse that we even want our adventures to be safe.

My heroes have always been adventures. And a large part of their appeal was how they coped with adversity. I love hearing tales about people who have gone through the toughest of moments and emerged triumphant after patching together damaged boats and dampened spirits. I love the fearlessness of it all—the idea that when the wind howls you roar back.

How safe should life be?

I think the whole Huck Finn aspect of cruising is what first drew me to it and made me want to share it with Maia. And as we add yet another piece of safety equipment (this time an uber cool MOB radio that allows us to zero in on someone who’s fallen overboard) I question just how safe we can make living before we’ve squeezed the life out of it.

Easter Traditions

Our Easter tradition-for now

They say with kids that if you celebrate the same holiday the same way twice, it’s a tradition. With boat kids, and a nomadic lifestyle, doing anything the same way twice is a feat. And doing it three times is unheard of.

Before we left we tried to streamline our core holiday traditions so that they’d be easy to replicate anywhere. What we never took into account is just how unpredictable ‘anywhere’ can be. Seasonal holidays don’t work that well for distance sailors. For one—our seasons tend to by ruled by cyclone and hurricane seasons—which is why many an Easter and Christmas are spent at sea. And if you travel far enough, the seasons are upside down: favourite dishes aren’t as tasty in the heat (if you can even find the ingredients) and even hiding Easter eggs is a challenge in high temperatures (sandy, melted chocolate anyone?)

 

Ceildyh and Mangoe -- anchored together again after 17 years

This year though was our third Easter spent out in the islands of Moreton Bay. Each year the effort has become more casual—the first included a big land-based Easter egg hunt and fancy dinner (bless power boats with air con). Last year we moved the Easter egg hunt to Ceilydh’s foredeck and timed our dinner with Convivia to coincide with a big-as thunder squall.

This year, with a busy schedule leading up to Easter, I was happy to throw a few chocolate eggs and groceries into the boat before heading head out. And after an evening of catching up with our friends on SV Mangoe (little SV Ceilydh and Mangoe were last together in the La Cruz anchorage in 1997—how cool is that?) the kids all curled up to sleep in the nets and the Easter Bunny made an appearance sometime before dawn.

 

watch out Easter Bunny

Some time after the Easter Bunny arrived, but before the kids woke, Charlie the cat realized we had been boarded and was concerned for the kids. So the brave kitty attacked Maia’s treats and knocked them overboard. I think this could make a cool Easter tradition but Maia disagreed. Fortunately I had chocolate eggs on hand for our now tradtional foredeck hunt.

Hunting for eggs--before they melt

See those pink spots? Those are the kids...

 Then after a day of snorkeling and sandsurfing—we convened on the foredeck and celebrated Easter supper with a not so traditional meal of home made carnitas and pakoras.

The Great Pumpkin in Oz

If you asked Maia, she’d tell you Halloween is the hardest holiday to be away from home for. It’s the one night of the year (plus the week or two leading up to it) where you can delve into your imagination and become anything you like. Then, with your alternate persona firmly in place, you head out into the spooky streets en mass and find what’s out there beyond your normal boundaries. The discoveries are quite splendid: I recall learning things like where that cute boy at school lived, that a favourite teacher had just moved down the road (and she had a husband!), and that the forbidding lady on the corner was actually really nice.

 

The first pumpkin the kids had ever carved.

Last year's pumpkin came with a safety briefing.This year we got printed directions.

Here, Halloween isn’t quite like that. The celebration is occurring, but on a smaller level, despite Aussies holding a few misconceptions about the day. The belief that it’s an American day of excess and commercialization, which is rooted in evil and gore, is hard to shake. And it’s kind of hard to sell an evening where kids dress in black and go begging lollies off strangers.

 

Getting ready is the same in any country.

It’s not surprising, I guess. If my only exposure to Halloween was through movies and TV I’d know nothing of the feeling of the holiday. It’s kind of hard to describe to people what’s it’s like to take to the streets of your neighbourhood in disguise; the excitement of passing each other in the dark, trying to sort out who you’re seeing while being disoriented by fireworks and scary displays; the fun of being warmly welcomed by neighbours you normally only see at a distance and getting to peak in through their front doors…

 

Memories of home.

An effort to bring the fun here: witches fingers and a pumpkin cheese ball.

So for my Aussie friends who asked: Halloween’s roots are found in the Gaelic harvest festival of Samhaim and the Christian festival of All Hallow’s Eve. The traditions, like everything in North America, are a mash-up of cultures and ideas (Maia used to get treats that ran the gamut from Japanese rice sweets, to Turkish delights to Latin American sugared skulls). Trick-or-treating is reminiscent of souling (where kids went door to door for soul cakes) and the symbols (carved pumpkins, apples, spooky skeletons) reflect the season’s transition to the darker months of the year. After that, it’s refining the details. Costumes can be spooky or aspirational (Halloween isn’t a theme…) and the more creative the better. Socializing is important but spending a fortune is not.

Our Halloweens in Oz have been spoockacularly charming small-scale versions of the holiday at home. The stores aren’t filled with elaborate costumes (they’re overflowing with Christmas stuff instead…) so most kids wear simple DIY efforts. Pumpkins are imported and very expensive, so decorations are DIY as well. Urban myths of poisoned Halloween treats (which never actually happened) have never reached Oz, so kids happily accept unwrapped lollies, or eat a chunk of chocolate offered at the door (less plastic waste). And because only a handful of people participate—the kids do a lot of walking to earn their treats.

But the feeling? It turns out that’s the same. The kids dress too soon and then jitter with anticipation while they wait for it to get dark so they can head out. And once they’re out it’s just pure fun.