Boat Tales

I get a lot of cool email thanks to the blog: I’ve heard from people we’ve met in passing; been given ideas about places yet to come; we’ve been given tips and kudos; and occasionally even been told off; I’ve heard from people who know of my ancestors; and people who think they might be related; I’ve been asked for boat advice, cruising advice, parenting advice and writing advice (and been given loads of the same); and I’ve loved reading them all. But possibly my favourite letter so far came from the grandson of the man who originally built our boat:

“Have I found my granddad’s boat—Dreamtime?” the email from Ireland started.

Learning the history of a boat can be a tricky thing. Being mobile, rename-able, paint-able and in our case completely renovate-able—it’s easy to lose track of a boat’s history. Especially once they’ve sailed through a few owners.

Ceilydh--shortly after buying her

We knew a few things about Ceilydh (ex-Dos Cerveza (sigh), ex-Dreamtime). We knew she had been built in a small yard on Gabriola Island and launched in 1987. We knew she cruised to Alaska at some point in her early life. Then we knew the owner died at some point and the person who bought her tried to charter her as a party boat to indifferent success. By the time we found her in 2004 she was mossy, mouldy and a refuge for wasps.

moss and heaps of 'stuff' showed her neglect

but the pretty varnish (old settee area--now main bunk) showed she'd been loved

 As we brought her back to life we learned things—we met Richard Woods, her designer and consulted him on our modifications (he suggested the cabin was too boxy—we agreed, but we’re tall). We met Grey Davis—who worked in the yard where she was built and learned about the construction methods and materials.

All excellent stuff.

But if you’ve ever owned a boat you know they are so much more than systems and construction techniques. You know that the galleys hold the memories of meals cooked underway, and celebratory dinners when you hit that special anchorage. The settees hold the echoes of tall tales and stories told. The wheel holds the imprint of white-knuckle moments and sublime bliss. The decks hold the stamp of hard work and quiet contemplation.

"My Granddad’s passion was sailing - more specifically - he loved Catamarans. He knew Richard Woods from his time in the UK - and that's why he chose the Meander design. Before Dreamtime - he owned a 25 foot Cat.

I remember being shown home movies of the launch of Dreamtime. The launch was at a place known locally as "The Brickyard" on Gabriola. Roads had to be closed to enable her to drive the short distance from Grey's yard to the launch site.”

 Her first big voyage was to Glacier Bay, Alaska. My Granddad, Nan, two cousins and myself all set sail for a 3 month trip. (A trip I hope to repeat some day with my wife and 3 kids!!!)

I have some wonderful memories of my time with my grandparents on board Dreamtime. I know when you found her she was a little sore on the eyes - but when my Granddad was alive - she always looked great.”

While these memories might somehow be part of the boat, I think things like the echo of long-ago laughter is usually mistaken for wind in the rigging. It takes being told the stories for a boat’s past to come back alive.

 “You may notice a little damage on the Starboard Dagger Board - this was caused by an error in navigation - and a 4 hour wait until the tide came in (my Granddad's excuse was that the chart was out-of-date!!!!)

Does the fresh water erupt like a volcano when you fill it up? - Apparently this was due to no breathing holes being present in the tanks - it was always a good joke to let someone fill her with water and watch them get a good soaking!”

Working hard

 Perhaps I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic, but it makes me feel good that we rescued Dreamtime and gave her a new life. And I love the images I now have of her early days—of three cousins and their grandparents on a life changing trip to Alaska…

Curious how many people know the histories of their boats? Any stories out there?

Sailor or Traveler

This month’s raft-upquestion is a good one, if a little self-indulgent;) Was I a sailor or a traveler first? Jane asked us to take a stand so I will, sort of.:

The answer is cruiser—I think I’ve always been a cruiser.

There is a chance I may not have been either and sailor or traveler.  But when I was five and was walking the docks at Comox Harbour with my dad I discovered a different future. Most of the dock was taken up by fishing boats; their wooden hulls bright white, their trim painted in jaunty contrast. Here and there were little sailboats. It was those we stopped for most often. “Sweet lines,” I remember hearing, when we stood in front of one just a little longer than all the rest.

The one with sweet lines seemed nice, but there was a different boat that really caught my eye: Strong and long and dark, where the others were light and graceful. I sounded out the hailing port as a question for my dad: Hawaii. With his explanation I understood that small boats could cross oceans. And as pretty as my little town was; with her mountains, winding river, white sand beaches and dense forests, I knew in that moment I was destined to leave.

17 years ago we set sail on this little boat-- after eight years away we came home with a baby

I’m not the first in my family to suffer from wanderlust. Family genealogists place Alexander Selkirk (the ‘real’ Robinson Crusoe) in our lineage. But no one else in the family (at least in the modern bunch-I’m a 6^th generation Vancouver Islander) is a sailor and most are confirmed homebodies. That day at the dock was more than likely the result of my mum kicking me and my dad out of the house so she could vacuum, than any real desire on my dad’s part to look at boats.

But the result—the planting of a dream—is one that most sailors can relate to. Every cruiser (and wannabe) can tell you about a moment, a book, a boat, or a sailor who opened up the world of possibility to them.

Where Did Cruisers Come From?

Knowing that cruising exists is different than packing up your life and moving aboard a boat though. And I wonder if part my answer lies in the fact that so many of the cruising pioneers have Canadian roots: Joshua Slocum who circumnavigated the world between 1895 and 1898; John Voss who sailed the Tilikum from Vancouver to England in 1901; Miles and Beryl Smeeton; Larry Pardey, who along with his wife Lin taught us simple boats and small budgets weren’t a barrier to cruising; the Copeland family, who inspired couples with children to set off.

Or perhaps my inspiration came on a school visit to the Maritime Museum in Victoria when I saw the Tilikum on display. Maybe seeing this small voyaging boat somehow colluded with my glimpse of that first tantalizing boat from Hawaii--and rather than setting off on a practical path (which would eventually result in a land-based home and a decent retirement fund) I was compelled to follow in Voss’s rather riskier wake.

I might credit Voss. But Voss credits Joshua Slocum’s three year circumnavigation for prompting his own 40,000 mile trip. Slocum set off alone from Boston in 1895 in Spray, a “rotting old oyster sloop” that he had rebuilt. His achievement, becoming the first man to sail around the world single handed (and for the fun of it) brought him fame. And the book he wrote, Sailing Alone Around the World, encouraged throngs of small-boat voyagers and adventurers to set sail.

 I went on to learn to sail. Initially it was just so I could race. Then I learned more so I could teach. But the plan was always to follow in the wake of those early sailors—to ghost into a village at dawn; to meet people in their homes, not at tourist attractions. I never actually left my little slice of the North West until I sailed off. The furthest I’ve ever travelled has been while under sail.

Dana asks if my view on travel and sailing has changed at all since I started? My answer to this is no, it’s as magical as I expected. And yes, I could never have imagined what it would truly be like to be on a small boat in the middle of the ocean before we actually did it. 

Travelling this way has always been all I ever hoped for and now it's even more as it expands to encompass our daughter.

Check out how the other raft-up members answered and are answering this question

Dana svnorthfork.blogspot.com

Jane morejoyeverywhere.blogspot.com

Steph sailblogs.com/member/nornabiron

Behan www.sv-totem.com

Jessica mvfelicity.blogspot.com

Tammy ploddinginparadise.blogspot.com

Jaye http://lifeafloatarchives.blogspot.com/

Diane http://maiaaboard.blogspot.com.au/

Lynn www.sailcelebration.blogspot.com

Stacey http://sv-bellavita.blogspot.com.au/

Dana svnorthfork.blogspot.com

Is Australia Expensive - only if you're Canadian

The prices for a recent skating trip on a very wet (like 1/2" deep puddles) open air, small skating rink set up downtown.  Thankfully Di got a Groupon coupon so Maia and I skated for only $20.  That was for a 45 minute session only. But imagine if you were a family of 4 and wanted to rent an orange plastic seal for your little one- for an additional $10.

And Maple Syrup is about $7.95 for 250 mL.  But we grit our teeth and buy it anyway. It's hard to be Canadian here :)

Canada Day in Brisbane

Winter Solstice

 Walking to the bus to meet Maia I was going through solstice plans in my head: Orange food, candles, sunny music… And I was thinking back to a time when the winter solstice marked the point where even if I worked a few minutes overtime I would still have some chance of seeing daylight during the days to come (yes, when you come from a place where winter daylight hours number about eight—this is an issue…)

Though this is technically our second winter in the southern hemisphere—it’s the first wintery winter we’ve had in more than three years.  Though I have to admit a winter where tomatoes can still grow in the garden is hard to classify as real winter. But there are only 10 hours and 24 minutes of daylight here these days.

misty solstice morning

 I was thinking a mash-up of these thoughts when I stopped at a crosswalk and started eavesdropping on the two guys ahead of me:

“This cold snap is killing me,” said the first.

“Yeah, last night I forgot to close my bedroom window and when I got up this morning I could see my breath,” said the second. “I had to go back to bed. It was too cold. I was 45 minutes late for work.”

Too cold means it’s sunny and about 24 C  (75 F) during the day and 10 C (50 C) overnight. Chilly, yes (well sort of—I know it sounds like Vancouver’s summer…). But late for work chilly?

To be honest—I followed the guys further than I should have just to hear the conversation—I figured I’d just hunt Maia down if I missed her at her stop. I was just a bit mesmerized by someone being so shocked at the sight of seeing their breath. I had to wonder what he would think if he found his underwear frozen to the side of a drawer… That’s when you know it’s cold.

“Did your boss mind?” asked guy number one.

Would you mind if your employee couldn’t make it to work because he saw his breath and had to climb back into bed? I think I’d mind. But I’ve actually put on icy underwear that I had to pry out of a drawer—so what do I know?

His boss didn’t mind. In fact he suggested later hours until the coldsnap eases—so the guy doesn’t have to get out of bed before 7am—which is when the sun rises and warms everything.

I collected Maia. She made a lantern and we cooked our dinner of ginger carrot soup, winter squash, sweet potatoes and cheese cake with a sun of mandarin oranges. And we talked about our solstice memories: of bundling up for lantern walks and Morrismen, of warming ourselves at bonfires and watching in awe as fantastical creatures called for the sun. And we talked about those harsh winters that settlers to Canada endured—the ones some never made it through. Solstice so often marked the beginning of the starving time. But the midwinter celebrations: the potlatches, and yules, and festivals of light saw most people through the long dark.

It’s nice to have seasons again. Even if this season wouldn’t really count as season in our homeland. But Maia did find a fallen red maple leaf the other day. And we saw our breath this morning. And in the days to come the sun will shine longer and stronger. And we’ll shift from winter to spring.

Life Aboard in Brisbane

 

A few times in the past few weeks I’ve been asked roughly the same question, “Where exactly are you? I mean I know you’re in Brisbane but how does that work? Where do you LIVE?”

If were to tell someone we lived in bungalow in one of Vancouver’s urban neighbourhoods most people would get a picture in their head—trees in the yard, garden in the back, contrasting trim, short walk to the grocery store, park down the street… But when I tell folks we’re on the pile moorings, beside the botanical garden, and the city centre they get nothing—no image. I don’t even get as far as saying the grocery store is four blocks away. They’re still back at, “Pile moorings? Is that a marina? Are you still on the boat?”

morning view shortly after our arrival in Brisbane

 Still on the boat?

This question threw me the first time I was asked. But then I realized most people think of boats as recreation vehicles—and as far as they’re concerned we’re living in a trailer, albeit a double wide. And technically if you’re not actively camping, you should move out of the trailer and into your real house. But the question also helped me explain where we’re currently tied up. ‘Think of the moorings as a trailer park,’ I said.  ‘For boats.’

Being beside the Botanic Gardens means we get lots of visitors.

View of Brisbane from the Story Bridge--you can see a ferry in the midground and the moorings on the far left. The green foreground is our potluck park.

Most people are familiar with marinas—they’ve walked docks and peaked in through the windows of the boats. Mooring fields and anchorages are also pretty common and easy to visualize. But pile moorings like we’re in—where boats are suspended bow and stern between posts—are a bit unfamiliar.

The logistics work like this: we are tied to one piling behind us and one in front and we take our dinghy a short distance back and forth to a dock—where in the basement of a posh hotel we have a laundry room and showers. We also have garbage and recycling bins, and place to keep our bikes, and that grocery store I mentioned (as well as the big downtown with malls, museums and libraries a short walk away).

the city has a great mix of old and new

Regular ferry service and seven bridges give us lots of options for crossing the river.

 In some ways life in the moorings is not as convenient as a marina; we need to catch rain water or carry it to the boat in jugs from the laundry room faucet, we only have the power we generate from our solar panels and we need to take a dinghy to shore. But for us these minor inconveniences are more than made up for by the fact that it’s cheap (we pay $280 a month) and that we’re in a really cool location: Southbank--the site of expo 88' is across the river from us and about a 20 minute walk away, we have several farmer's markets to choose from each week and we have a huge park as our yard.

Fireworks for some occasion or other--we have front row seats...

 We also have an interesting and ever shifting cast of neighbours who range from your standard trailer park residents in semi-derelict boats, to professionals living aboard before setting off cruising, retirees, world cruisers who have recently returned, and transients cruisers who stop for a while to enjoy living on the edge of a city.

View Larger Map
The pile moorings are found at the foot of Edward Street. Dockside Marina, where friends are located, is visible around the bend of the river.

Life Aboard--how we keep busy

Charlie needs hobbies too--he's taken up knitting

 I’m late on this—late on most things this week… But the good ship Ceilydh has pulled into the raft-up a bit behind everyone else and is now eager to share our thoughts on the topics as they come up.

This month’s question was about hobbies. Dana asked us: “With limited space and often a lack of ability to get supplies what do different boaters do for fun? What do you carry on board? Are these the hobbies you had at home? Is sailing a hobby?”

we wish this was how every day was spent--but it tends to be the exception...

 How we spend our days is often a factor of where we are. I think you could say our primary hobby is travel. Our main goal is to get ourselves to as many interesting locations so that much of our time is spent off the boat exploring: hiking up hills, visiting museums, swimming with sharks. To support this hobby we carry a plethora of guide books and other literature. We have the Lonely Planet books for the world and we collect up whatever else we can find that applies to the location we’re visiting.

But that’s sort of what we all do. What I think the question was really getting at is what we do aboard? On those stormy or grey days where shore doesn’t hold much allure or when we’re making a passage from here to there--what have we got aboard the boat to keep us happy:

making sundried tomatoes in Baja

 Cooking—We all love to eat and enjoy cooking and when we had a home I spent summers preserving, baked gifts for Christmas and had weekly dinner parties. So while I know many people strip down their kitchen contents when they move aboard, we didn’t. I still have most of my cookbooks, I have a huge spice rack, we have loads of pots and pans and we really don’t skimp on ingredients.

Truly there is nothing cooler than being in an isolated anchorage somewhere and being able to whip up a batch of English Muffins (and pull out a jar of preserves), or cook up a complex Thai dish or show up at a potluck with something that is more than “a jar + a box + a tin = our contribution”.

Maia and Carolyne wearing the dresses they made (and fetching laundry)

 Crafts—I’m not hugely crafty, but Maia has always loved to build and create, so we keep a variety of supplies aboard. Some are simple craft store items, but as she gets older she’s interested in creating things that are more durable and long-lived. So she’s learning to knit and sew, and we’re trying to integrate the places we travel into the hobby by buying local materials: hand spun New Zealand wool, bula fabric from Fiji, pearls from Tahiti. Some of the supplies (too much of it if you ask Evan) are stashed away for future inspiration, but I know the tapa rolls I bought have a purpose we just haven’t thought of yet.

nothing beats having a few decks of cards around

 Games—When we first left home, Maia was seven and her board game skills were just developing—so we brought (and have since parted with) a few simple games. Most of our games are more oriented to group play—the three of us rarely play on our own, but games days and games nights were a big part of our crossing, our days in Mexico and weekend afternoons in Australia. We find games that suit a variety of ages, numbers, and skills work well. We love: Apples to Apples, Mexican Train Dominos, Make and Break, Boggle and Clue. Games for two are also important and these come out mostly on passages, when one of us is sleeping and the other is entertaining Maia. Stuff to take ashore gets less use—but a volleyball and bocce set do make appearances.

Entertainment comes in all sorts of forms

Media—At some point early on in our cruising we were given access to a hard drive with hundreds of movies and TV shows on it. Initially I had been collecting up DVDs but quickly realized they took too much space and only 7-year-olds really love watching the same movie over and over. With the hard drive came movie night. The trick though is figuring out the family friendly movies when all you have is a title—when we have access to internet we check them in IMDB. But sometimes we need to guess. Must admit Maia’s gotten the odd unintended eyeful and earful…

meeting the ukulele maker in Tahiti--nothing like getting a useful souvenir

Music—Both listening and playing. One of the real losses I feel while cruising is being cut off from new music. We make a point of downloading Q (a fantastic CBC program that highlights new musicians, which over the past few years got me hooked on Adele, the Decemberists and Florence + the Machine) but it’s not as organic as listening to the radio or heading out to gigs with friends—it takes work to keep up. Maia and I are also (slowly) learning to play the ukulele. Seems like we should have loads of time and be good at it by now but I’m undisciplined...

choosing pearls for future projects in the Tuamotus

Learning Something New-I must say that I've probably spent more time trying other peoples hobbies, and learning a few new skills, than I've spent pursuing my own. We've dyed clothes, learned to bead, learned how to cook new things, made jewellry from pearls and so much more since we've been out. I think if the boat had been filled up with hobbies of our own I would have been less quick to try something new--but we left a bit of room for this.

Sailing—I love sailing. And there was a time where going for a day sail was an enjoyable pursuit. But these days when we take the house out for a whirl—mostly it’s because we’re going somewhere. The funny thing is when we do actually sail for fun, it’s fun; It’s this wonderful reminder that sailing isn’t just transportation. Mostly though—it’s transportation.

The funny thing with all our hobbies is how little time we have for them. It seems like most of the time we’re on the go—exploring, doing chores, socializing or simply soaking it all up; so most of our hobbies really are saved for the rainy Sunday afternoons of our life.

The Transit of Venus, Cook and Us

In 1769 Lieutenant James Cook traveled to Tahiti to observe the transit of Venus which occurred on Saturday June 3 rd:

“This day prov'd as favourable to our purpose as we could wish, not a Clowd was to be seen the Whole day and the Air was perfectly clear, so that we had every advantage we could desire in Observing the whole of the passage of the Planet Venus over the Suns disk: we very distinctly saw an Atmosphere or dusky shade round the body of the Planet which very much disturbed the times of the contacts particularly the two internal ones. D r Solander observed as well as M r Green and my self, and we differ'd from one another in observeing the times of the Contacts much more than could be expected.”

The goal was to take measurements that would be used to calculate the distance of Venus from the Sun--which would then lead to knowing the distances of the other planets from each other. Unfortunately the instruments of the time were not fine enough for the effort and the measurements were too rough to be useful. But Cook’s voyage of discovery continued and he continued on in search of the “Terra Australis Incognita” in the South Pacific Ocean and discovered and charted the east coast of Australia.

 We learned this (and much, much more) after making landfall at Point Venus in Tahiti, anchoring where Cook did. It was part of what Maia called, “Sleeping where Cook slept. Can we stop now? Cook is getting on my nerves… I’m ready for a new topic.”

Point Venus though intrigued her. The low, sandy peninsula covered with ironwood is where Captains Wallis, Cook, Bligh (and us!!) landed after anchoring their (our!) ships behind the reef. Cook built a platform on the black sand beach near where a creek cuts the peninsula in two. It was here that he waited for an inky spot to glide across the sun. Small, dark, almost perfectly round, it was no ordinary sunspot—it was the key to measuring the size of the solar system. Or so hoped the Royal Academy, which sponsored Cook’s Voyage.

These days Point Venus is a park. And its highlights also include Tomb of King Pomare V and the phare (lighthouse) that was built by Thomas Stevenson, one of Scotland's famous lighthouse engineers and father of the author Robert Louis Stevenson. The park is steeped in the kind of history that’s impossible not to feel and not easy to shake off.

Point Venus

 And it came seeping back when we learned that Venus is transiting the sun, tomorrow. Not as dramatic as an eclipse—but much more rare, perhaps the best reason to watch the transit is a historical one. Already I can recall the heavy scent of tiare flowers, the weight of warm humidity, the feeling of black sand between my toes and that mysterious feeling of being linked to a memory I can’t quite recall.

Tomorrow is the transit of Venus. Check it out--just likeCook did 242 years ago. If you miss it the next one won’t happen until 2117.

Nothing is Easy on a Boat

Maia and I were laden with groceries and started to load the dinghy as quick as we could before more rain hit. Just down the dock a neighbour was scooping water from his dinghy with a coffee cup—I offered our bailer but he said he was fine and would just lift the dinghy and tip out the water. Before I could suggest he was making a mistake he tipped up his dinghy into the current, ferry wake hit, the 3+ knot current swept into his boat, filling it, sinking it and washing it under the dock.

“Why is this never easy?” he asked me as we both pondered his predicament.

Have you seen those memes going around? The ones that describe different peoples’ perception of a lifestyle? Well the one for cruising might look a bit like this:

  Sure—there are a lot of pretty moments; but to get anywhere, to do just about anything, it’s just not easy.

It started to pour (soaking his freshly cleaned laundry) as we tried to get my neighbour's dinghy free from the underside of the dock (pulling didn’t work, pushing didn’t work, setting it free didn’t work). We talked about the living aboard learning curve and about all the little things you never think of when you’re dreaming about being one of those boats at anchor in an exotic location.

My neighbour explained he was transitioning to living aboard (and now his sole means of transport was trapped under the dock…) How do you stay ahead of the mildew he asked? Ah, the mildew—I think we can watch it grow right now. Seriously—in a matter of hours it blooms. We’ve been told again and again we’re having an unusually wet winter (and it is only four days into the season) but constant humidity and relative warmth is a recipe for growth--all you can do is keep wiping down and hope for sun.

Then he explained this ‘weird’ thing that happens every time he starts a simple project (like bailing a dinghy), “I get into it and realize ten more things are involved. Rather than taking an afternoon—three days later you realize the whole boat’s disassembled.” So I explained ‘project creep’ (this is how fixing a leak can lead to rewiring a light by way of replumbing a sink drain...) and the correct way to predict how long something will take (double the time and take it up to the next unit—so a three hour project will take six days, a two day project four weeks and so on.)

It rained harder and we decided his dinghy wasn’t going to come free until slack water. So Maia and I made our (wet) way home and he headed off for coffee—thinking when he got the dinghy free he might need a new cup for bailing.

We saw him later—rowing home. He commented his lifejacket was gone and he couldn’t swim, so if I saw the dinghy float by without him would I go have a look? Then he surprised me. “That was a great afternoon,” he said. “You convinced me that living aboard is definitely the way to go. Thanks.”

Healthcare for Cruisers

It’s one of those questions that comes up again and again—‘are we covered by health insurance, if so which insurance, what does it cost, and what does it cover?’

First off a caveat—we’re Canadian so our worst case scenario is even if we have been out of the country long enough that we’ve lost our healthcare coverage (this varies from province—but the cut-off is typically 183 days per year with some provinces allowing you to be out longer as long as you have an intent to return) our coverage will resume after a waiting period (typically three mos—but there are provinces with no wait period).

cruisers need to take preventative measures when it comes to staying healthy--rescues are hard to come by

That said, this is what we’ve done:

US West Coast—We were insured beyond our basic Canadian insurance. Our Canadian insurance reimburses costs up to what it pays in Canada—which comes no where close to the US cost of healthcare, so we decided ages ago never to be in the US without some sort of additional coverage—we always have visitors insurance for the US no matter how brief the visit might be. On the trip down the coast we didn’t need to use it.

Mexico—We maintained our Canadian coverage but had no supplemental coverage for Mexico. We had one bad experience in Mexico—we needed to update vaccines and in Santa Rosalia the Doctor offered to get us them—charged $80 in advance, then failed to get the vaxes or to reimburse us. But this was an exception.

Mexico is one of the countries that is considered great for routine healthcare (others we've heard raves about include French Polynesia (we got free vaxes in Nuku Hiva), and Malaysia). And both La Paz and La Cruz are popular for check-ups. Typically treatment was excellent and modern—my skin cancer checks (I went for two, Ev had one) were accurate and affordable ($125 for a full screen and biopsy). Treatment for pneumonia was straightforward--two doctor visits ($30, $50), x-rays ($25), inhalers ($50).

During our 18 months we also visited local dentists every six mos—basic cleanings were around $30, fillings another $30 and Evan needed a root canal which ended up in the $600 range. Keep in mind Mexican dentists rarely use x-rays and rely on physical signs of decay. So our rule of thumb is to visit the same dentist at the same time as another family. If too many cavities are found we know we’ve hit on someone who’s too enthusiastic with the drill and we all move on.

Between preventative care, prescriptions, two eye doctor visits and glasses and contacts for Ev (we got Maia's glasses in Canada), skin-cancer check-ups and a root canal, treatment for pneumonia our expenses were about $1200 for the 16 months we were in Mexico. We could have squeezed in check-ups on a visit home the first year, but we were confident enough in the Mexican system that for preventative care and day-to-day follow-up care we were happy.

Crossing the South Pacific we carried Dan evacuation insurance. This insurance can evacuate us to a place we can be treated—but it doesn’t cover treatment costs once you’re there—so having a plan about where to go is vital. We did get some prescription drugs—anti-malarials in Vanuatu ($20), cream for a skin infection in French Poly $30.

In Australia we have bought basic insurance (ranges from $150/per month per family up). Dental is out of pocket—Ev and I went to the school and had checkups for $60 each, Maia went to a local dentist and her check-up and cleaning was $200 and a filling was $210. I’ve had a ‘well-woman’ check-up $110 and a skin check for $185. Evan saw a Dr. for sore knees which came to $75 plus $133 for x-rays (should get some of these expenditures back).

So all this said—there really is no one medical insurance answer. It varies according to how long you are away from your home country and where you spend your time while away. Our basic plan is to keep up to date on all preventative healthcare—we vaccinate for whatever the locals are vaxing against (assuming we may be even more susceptible), we take our anti-malarials or whatever preventative drugs are needed, we get check-ups, we don’t let things linger (too long…)and we buy insurance when we're in more expensive countries.


Staying on top of things is vital to staying healthy though.

Why is my Cruising Boat So Slow?

It's probably because of the junk cruising boats carry. When compared to weekend cruisers who carry enough to be comfortable, or racing boats that carry the bare essentials, long term cruising boats are overloaded.  REALLY heavily overloaded. We're carrying pretty much our worldly posessions around with us. Let's look at what Ceilydh carries, when compared to a typical short term cruising boat.

• 3 scuba tanks, BCs, regs, and weights
• scuba compressor
• big heavy RIB dinghy with a 15 HP instead of a small inflatable with a small outboard
• about 300 books for our daughter. (Yes she has an ebook too)
• 2 inflatable kayaks, 1 surfboard
• spares. Lots of spares. a case of fuel filters, watermaker filters, engine oil, outboard oil, spare outboard props, alternator, electrical black boxes for the outboard, fans, pressure water pumps, yes even a spare depthsounder and VHF, VHF antenna, GPS, shortwave radio. That reminds me I've got to pick up a starter motor for the diesel.  Yes spare parts are heavy and expensive but damm do I feel clever when I say "no worries honey, I'll just get out the spare XXX".
• 3 anchors and rodes
• extra snorkeling gear for guests
• extra big fenders for rough docks
• tools. Wow do I have tools. Power tools like sanders: big orbital, small orbital, detail sander, drill, jigsaw, router, angle grinder, heat gun. Hand tools are pretty standard, but I have a nice little set of specialized bicycle tools (we don't carry bikes but did buy cheap second hand ones here in Brisbane). "Nice to have" tools like a big torque wrench or gear pullers. More esoteric tools like a one sided pull saw, or a 100' tape to measure rigging and sails, 
• pipe wrenches to uhh I don't know - I used it on the last boat to tighten the stuffing box but I have a dripless shaft seal so don't need a big wrench like this. At least it's aluminium.
• cameras. I wrote a blog post about how many cameras we have. It adds up, 2 DSLR bodies, multiple lenses, tripod, flash, a big Pelican box to store them, big camera backpack.
• clothes for winter in BC or summer in the tropics and everything in between
• solar panels and bigger batteries
• extensive paper charts

All this adds up to 1000's of pounds of stuff aboard. It helps to do an annual purge to get rid of junk aboard. I think I'm gonna get rid of that aluminum pipe wrench....and we haven't been using the double inflatable kayak very much...

Ev