Currents

It was our old friend Stewart who spotted the sea turtle: A green lump, drifting asleep on the ocean’s currents. The girls all rushed to the side of the boat to watch it as we sailed past. Maia was awed. “Maybe it’s the one I released,” she whispered.

The idea that this turtle was the same one she set free from the Yucatan last year is improbable. But as we say goodbye to friends who are sailing off to the South Pacific, to their Land of Beyond, I want her to believe in the improbable.

One of the first things we taught Maia about goodbye was, if it really matters to you, goodbye will somehow, someway be followed by hello. “The world is round and that means we’ll meet again,” is a phrase that was given to me when my tears came at a long ago goodbye. So it’s a phrase I’ve passed on to Maia, to help her through the hardest moments in cruising.

She holds those words tight. And amazingly this week (one of huge and heartbreaking goodbyes as Maia, Mairen and Siobhan go different ways) has been the week where the phrase came to life, and our round world brought us old friends from unexpected places.

Coral was born when we were all sailing in Mexico last time. Her parents were two of our favourite people, always ready to offer help, or a laugh. They’ve stayed in our lives through the years, drifting in and out unexpectedly. And if by magic, Coral and her dad, Stewart (and his lovely new family) turned out to be holidaying in Mexico this week.

So we went sailing, and during that sail we told Stewart about another, even more improbable connection. We met a nice couple, Karl and Andrea (and their two boys), at the marina. We discovered that they too had cruised before the kids came along—a few years before us in fact. They were on a Westsail 28, they said. We knew people on a Westsail 28, I responded: Todd and Steph on Mangoe. We loved them, I explained, but lost track of them after they had their first babies in New Zealand and we moved back to Canada.

It turns out Karl and Andrea had sold their old boat to Todd and Steph, and Andrea said they are still in contact with them. So now, we are too. Which is how we learned from Steph that they are still in New Zealand and have four kids now. “The last one- you'll never believe- named Ceilyh ( no D- just too much.)" she wrote, "Cuz we've always loved that name and of course there are great memories associated with it.” (Our last boat, a Fortune 30, was also called Ceilydh--so there is a baby named after our boat!!)

And this morning, on the day we’ll say a few more big goodbyes, another friend arrived. This one doesn’t go back as far, but for Maia, she may be most significant of all. Amy, from Third Day is here.

There was a moment, when the turtle drifted past us, while old stories were being exchanged, when Maia began to believe that the currents that carry nomads apart can also bring us back together. And she made a pact with that turtle, to keep an eye out for him on the ocean, and to say hello again someday in the future. “The world is round,” she told him as he drifted out of sight.

Boat Part or Bludgeon?

An hour or so out of San Diego the actuator arm of our auto pilot stopped working. After cursing it a bit, we put a spare on and sailed on toward Ensenada. Autopilots are one of the more important pieces of equipment onboard— and as romantic as hand steering seems—no one does it. Monohulls use windvanes for long distance sailing but multihulls (which can’t use windvanes) are stuck with finicky pieces of electronics, built by crap-ass companies, which have a tendency to get uppity about everything from being near salt water to the running of a single side band radio.

Despite the temperamentalness of the things—we love ours.

All four of them. 

Just because we love them doesn’t mean we trust them...

Our newest (and favourite) autopilot is the one that broke (unlike children it’s perfectly okay to favour one piece of electronics over another). So when my parents visited we sent the actuator home (it had salt water corrosion) with them for warranty repair.

They, being the type who pack light, stuck the arm in their carry-on luggage and went on their merry way.

Until they hit security.

The actuator may look like a boat part to us, but to the TSA it is a bludgeon. And the old folks, who look like typical tourists to my eyes, were clearly terrorists.

 terrorists

Terrorists with bludgeons are not treated well by the TSA. So after being thoroughly searched, having their luggage shredded (they had to tape it back together), and barely making their flight, they thought it was important that we mention to people that boat parts really belong in checked luggage.

Who knows what the TSA would make of watermaker filters or VHF radios…

Blog Guilt

 I'm feeling blog guilt.
I follow a few blogs and when I check in after a few days and see nothing new, I wonder what's up. What's up with us is my parents are visiting and we're spending our days being tourists: riding buses, eating in restaurants, shopping in tiendas... I've barely even had the camera out. And with deadlines looming, most of my writing has been the money earning type.
But today we're boat bound. We're battening down the hatches and waiting for another wild weather system to blow through. I haven't got any great stories to share, but I do have a TED talk. We knew about TED, vaguely, before we left. But since we started travelling TED talks have been a constant on the Ipod (along with our favourite CBC podcasts...)
Podcasts make all the difference on night watches. My three hour shifts are less lonely (and I'll admit, less anxiety provoking) when I have something fascinating to listen to (and distract me from spooky night time sailing noises). Whenever we're in port, and have a decent wifi connection, we head to itunes and start clicking. I usually download a few hundred podcasts at a time.
I'm not a big forwarder or sharing type--but if you love the ocean, this TED talk  by Sylvia Earle is a must (if you don't have 18-minutes now, save it for later). She was one of last year's winners of the TED prize, an award that gives the recipient $100,000 and the opportunity to make a wish to change the world. What would you wish for if you could change the world?
Earle's wish is to expand a global network of marine protected areas. The stats she gives are shocking: we've killed half the coral reefs and eaten most of the big fish. But her message is hopeful--and her presentation is gorgeous--although on night watch we turn off the pictures to save our vision (so we can see other ships, and I can get all anxious about them running us down).

Fix, Pray, Sail

Leaving seems to happen in slow stages. There’s the getting ready, the goodbyes and then the sinking in.
The getting ready and the goodbyes were almost the easy parts. Getting ready took focus and dogged determination, but then it was done. And the goodbyes, because we’ve done it before, we know those are temporary.

No, the hard part is the sinking in: The slow realization that we’ve arrived in our life, that this isn’t a one or two year voyage with a predictable conclusion, but a capricious journey that could take us anywhere. I’ve been slow to get to the acceptance part. The trip down the coast pretty much sucked, in many respects. We set off with that smug feeling of knowing exactly what we were getting into and were proved wrong.

It’s hard to be terrified.
It’s hard to have stuff break and wonder if we did something wrong or simply had bad luck.
It’s hard to wonder if we made a huge mistake giving up our home.
It’s hard to hear Maia say she’s lonely.
It’s hard to know there really is no easy way to turn back.

But then there are always those next moments. The quiet contemplative ones that make up everyone’s cruising fantasy--watching the moonrise over a calm anchorage, exploring the beach, sailing in perfect conditions and spending time with good friends, old or new, in beautiful places.

Sarah has been sailing with us twice. When she arrived in Newport Beach before Christmas we had spent almost three weeks just hanging out fixing stuff--happy to stay put. But then the three of us were tentatively ready to go sailing again and she was there to help us along.

We’re not religious but, as I’ve mentioned before, when it comes to setting out on a big ocean in a small boat I’ll take all the help I can get. So Sarah, who’s recently back from Israel, brought help. With a small prayer, she affixed a Mezuzah to the door (we figured it would be okay to put it on the inside seems how the outside would be kind of exposed.) Then for good measure she brought a Hamsa, which is supposed ward off the evil eye and bring us good luck, as well as a very special t-shirt for Maia.

And luck seems to be with us – or at least the evil eye has gone elsewhere for a while. San Diego has been good to us, fellow cruisers (but total strangers), Rick and Sue from Panacea responded to Evan’s online plea for technical help with our Pactor modem and drove out to our marina to trouble shoot the modem, then spent the afternoon driving us around so we could stock up on things for Mexico (we’re filling the lockers with specialty items--appetizer foods, favourite treats, wines, hard cheeses rather than staples). Maia is meeting new friends and is loving her home-based pen pals. I am managing to find some balance in the working while traveling lifestyle. The sun is shining. The boat is in good shape. We’re almost ready to head south again.

We’re out here doing it.

San Francisco Days

 If you’ve ever traveled with a child you’ll know there are certain magical moments that come when you find a place that causes them to fully engage and leaves them wonderstruck. It’s in sharp contrast to those other moments, the ones when they are hungry, thirsty, tired, bored, cold, hot, have sore feet or want to buy that tacky souvenir and that one too.

As parents, we kind of aim for those sublime moments of fascination, but the trick comes in knowing where to find them and what will leave them awed (which I guess is why Disneyland was invented). The whole thing gets even more fraught when you want to show them a place you’ve been and that you loved. Because if you loved it, they probably won’t enjoy it.

The thing is, despite the fact we raise her and influence her heavily we still don’t really understand Maia. She doesn’t quite see the world the way either Evan or I do. She’s constantly surprising me by being fascinated by things that confuse me,  by being bored by the things that enthrall me and by being left cold by the things that move me. And she likes Brussel Sprouts...

 So when we got to San Francisco and started choosing what to do and where to go, Maia had her own ideas – and a chocolate factory (which I pointed out didn’t actually give tours and only had a retail store selling regular priced chocolate) was inexplicably at the top of her list. Riding on the cable cars barely rated, she didn’t like the hills. And the other options only got a shrug.

 The thing with kids though, is even if they don’t like the stuff you like, it's easy to learn to love the things they are fascinated by. There is something about that moment, when time slows down and every thought they are thinking is pure and clear on their face, that lets you know you’ve been privy to a moment of enchantment.

 It’s worth searching for – even if it takes you to places you never meant to go. And makes you speed through the places you really thought you would linger.

For those wondering about our rig, we moved to a dock in Alameda this morning. We're really pleased to have arranged for Glenn Hansen to be our rigger (and equally thrilled that our dollar is doing so well for when it comes time to pay him!) Glenn will be taking apart the cap shroud that failed and will let us know what happened to the damn thing. Then we'll get to be a sailboat again!!

Take 2

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It was 14-years-ago that Ev and I were doing our first shakedown on little Ceilydh in preparation for heading south to Mexico. It seems a bit like deja-vu as we anchor in these same islands, thinking the same southerly thoughts, saying goodbye to many of the same people.

The difference is in the years that have past: The Coral years.

When we headed south last time we left later in September than we should have. We got pasted in a storm that rocked our confidence and made us want to quit. So we slunk our way into the first safe harbour on the Washington coast. While there we met the crew of the Running Shoe – Dee and Stew. Dee talked us through our fears and became one of those friends that will last a lifetime. A few months later, in Mexico, her daughter Coral was born.

Kids mark time for us. I think it would be really easy to ignore the fact we’re getting older – if it weren’t for these magical creatures who grow from sweet bundles to long legged beauties in what seems like too few years. Coral’s first year was spent in the Sea of Cortez – her solemn eyes watching as friendships formed over long slow days in the sun.

More kids have come along since Coral but she is still the reminder of the miles we’ve sailed and the distances we’ve come.

Another post-mexico reunion this time with the off-spring of Chris and May (Klee-Wyck)

It would seem like our life is nothing but fun.
How could you not love sailing in a brisk breeze past gorgeous scenery while sipping boat drinks?

But when you've gotten used to doing everything in a rush, and skip smelling the roses because it's not on the to-do list, it can be hard to kick back and play - even when that is what your life is supposed to be about.

Last time round we did a pretty good job of loafing - but what we almost never did was sail for fun. Our boat was both our home and our car. It wasn't something we took out for a joy ride.

But then one day we realized that the vary thing that made us decide to go offshore sailing (that love of sailing thing) had become a bit of a drudgery. It was the way to get from one adventure to the next, but was rarely the adventure itself.
The best way we've found to remind ourselves how much we love to sail is to take guests out.
So, to mark our first week anniversary of being liveaboard cruisers, we went sailing with eight guests.
Just for the fun of it.