It’s been a couple of weeks since I wrote, asking for help and support. I want to express our gratitude for the overwhelming response we got from you all. I don’t have the words to express how humbled we are by your generosity. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
With your help, we were able to “get our affairs in order” (ie, pay outstanding bills), and sail to the main island, rent a car and drive into the interior for a provisioning trip- as nice as Culebra is, it is a tiny island outpost, and the groceries available are sparse, expensive, and there’s not a lot of healthy choices. We were able to run in to Costco in Caguas and stock up on the healthier kinds of foods that we’ve been eating for the past year. I hadn’t realized how stressed I was becoming as I watched our pantry dwindle- it is a comfort to open a cupboard now and have ample choice. Gratitude abounds.
By now, we are rested up from our voyage down the east coast and across to Culebra. At the same time, we are still sorting out “What’s Next?”. It is proving to be a difficult course to plot- our compass needle is still swinging wildly between opposing desires. We have, however, set up a framework and initiated a dialogue to help dampen the swinging, and set a true course for the next leg of our voyage together. Stay tuned, we should have some news before too much longer.
Friends, this is one of the hardest things things I’ve ever had to do. I am swallowing my pride and standing before you, tin cup in hand, and asking for your support. In my head I’m hearing a judgemental voice screaming, “You’re BEGGING!”, followed by, “No, I’m asking people who know us and love us to support us.”
Call it whatever you like, we are in need of your help. We made a mistake, a big one, in our planning; we mis-understood the timeline for Kate’s Social Security Income to start. Since last summer, we have based all our planning and expectations on that income to start on 1/20/20. That’s right, tomorrow. It turns out we mis-read the notification, and that check will not arrive until FEB. 20! We only just discovered this a couple of hours ago- it’s only now that the panic has subsided enough to calmly write this.
Oh, here comes another judgemental voice- “You should have a CUSHION for emergencies like this!” No argument there, we should have. But we don’t- we put everything we had, physically, emotionally, and yes, financially, to making this trip. And now here we are, stuck.
I hope you understand that we are not asking for long-term support. We are both looking for work to supplement our SSI- our intention has always been to support ourselves in whatever way we can. I am writing this today because we are truly in a tight spot, digging for change under the sofa cushions with no other income for another thirty days. We just need a hand getting over this hump.
Please help as you are able. The Donate button below will take you to our secure PayPal account.
We are anchored out in Mayaguana, the last island in the Bahamas, furthest South and East. It was a bit rough and uncomfortable getting here, but Gabrielle is a stout little vessel, and true.
Our weather guy sent us an assessment that making Culebra by Christmas would be impossible. We were devastated. When I emailed him back, he reminded me that his assessments and sailing strategies were based on my previous assertions that “we are fair weather sailors, and do not want to be uncomfortable.” He then said, “it’s not impossible to make Culebra before Christmas, but it will be uncomfortable.” He said the winter trade winds have established themselves early and vigorously, so getting East and South is more difficult.
We just concluded a crew meeting, discussed all our concerns, and made the decision: We are bound for Culebra early tomorrow (Wednesday) morning. We have full confidence in our vessel, and although we aren’t looking forward to the discomfort, we are up for it and looking forward to making port in Culebra on Sunday or Monday.
We will spend the rest of the day preparing to depart: taking on extra fuel and water, checking the rig and sails and safety equipment. After a good nights sleep, we will set off in the morning.
I am quite remiss in blogging, but between new grandbaby visits and prepping to take Gabrielle offshore, writing is one of the things that has fallen by the wayside. I can either prep the boat, or write about prepping the boat, but if I’m writing, I’m not prepping. It has been a ton of work. I’m looking forward to getting to Puerto Rico and slowing down, having time to write.
Repairs have been completed, the mast replaced, the rigging tuned up by professional rigger. Safety equipment has been tested and set up. and provisions stocked. The crew has all arrived, and pitched in to complete the preparations, including provisioning and stowing. Every one of us is a good cook, so we’re going to eat well.
Zana is an old school friend of Kate’s daughter Kayla, and was one of Kate’s Girl Scouts when Kate was a Troop Leader. She is an experienced sailor, having decided one morning that she wanted to learn about sailing, and landing a berth on a sailing vessel before nightfall. She “hitch-hiked” across the Pacific for years, as crew and sea-cook. She is an absolute delight to be around.
Nola is my niece, and one of my favorite human beings. She has never done a sailing voyage like this, but she also has no fear, and has already pitched in with gusto- an avid rock-climber and mountaneer, she volunteered to go up the forestay to clean out some gunk that was preventing the sails from going up. She is also a delight to be around.
Ryan is Nola’s boyfriend. He must be a good one, to follow her on this adventure. He’s a big’un, tall and strong, which is good to have along. A quiet man, and reads a lot. I like the cut of his jib (I also love to be able to say that line un-ironically).
So today, as soon as we complete a few final errands, and as soon as the SpaceX Falcon Nine launch takes place (we can’t sail out of Port Canaveral until the launch is complete as there is a safety/security zone we have to sail through), we will set out for a two week offshore trip to Puerto Rico. I’ve hired the services of a weather forecaster/router, and he advised for us to get to the Bahamas as quickly as possible, and then hunker down and wait, because a big blow will be coming on Sunday. He expects it to die down enough to get back out there by middle of next week, so we’ll push on for PR as quickly as we can. I’ve always wanted to see the Bahamas!
So that’s it for now folks. Stand by, I’ll get back to ya in a couple of weeks from Sunny Puerto Rico!
It’s been awhile since I gave y’all an update, and lots of reasons for that. For one, I was falling into the trap of writing a travelogue, and that was never my intention. But it’s an easy trap to fall into if your are writing as you travel. Secondly, we have been pushing very hard to put miles under our keel- too hard, actually, as the fun/work ratio was becoming unfavorable- writing for the blog became one more damned thing I “had” to do, and it was one of the easiest to curtail while we pushed on. Actually, the work/fun ratio had drifted into the overworked/dangerous category. More on that in a bit.
As of yesterday, we are back in Austin TX for a few weeks, to visit friends/family, and to be introduced to this bundle of joy:
This is Iris Miloy Sanders, daughter of Kayla and Andy, Kate’s and my first grandbaby, and to my way of thinking, one of the cutest babies ever born.
Gabrielle is safely tucked away in a marina in Merritt Island, Florida (near Cape Canaveral). We are enjoying being away from the boat for awhile, and not having to push push push south. We’re going to rest up here, head back around Thanksgiving, where we’ll provision up, get our crew onboard, and head off for our final two week offshore trip to Puerto Rico.
We need the R&R- the last few weeks have been harder than we expected, and we pushed ourselves past the fun part, into the danger zone. Two weeks ago, we almost lost the boat, and could’ve lost more than that.
Back around the end of August I wrote a post called “Time Keeping”, where I talked about keeping track of time back in the old days, “Ships Bells”, and so forth. I recently became aware of some other ways besides hours and minutes that one can keep track of progress.
One way is to chart your progress on a map:
I love to play with Google Earth, and I’ve found all sorts of fun tools on it to play with. This is a map I did today, showing our progress down the East Coast since I wrote that Time Keeping post. From Bar Harbor Maine to Savannah Georgia in 48 days. I don’t know about y’all, but I’m impressed, if I do say so myself.
Here’s an odd way to gauge progress: I use the NOAA/ Nat’l Weather Service website for lots of weather info- one of the pages I use is here, if you’re interested: https://www.nws.noaa.gov/om/marine/forecast.htm
The part of that page I use every day looks like this, and when you click on one of the blue strings of code, it pulls up a text version of forecasts for that area:
As we have made our way south from Bar Harbor to here, it quickly became apparent that we were making progress to our goal by the fact that every couple of days, I’d have to switch to the next box down the list. Progress!
We started this summer in Salem, spending about three weeks finishing the major projects to make Gabrielle seaworthy. We left Salem in mid-July, comfortable that our floating home would keep us safe, and yet we still had lots of projects left to do, things to make our life aboard more comfortable, or handy, or attractive (Kate is up in the forward cabin as I write this, weaving a rug from old rope that the previous owners left aboard). As we cruised Maine, we had three or four big plastic tubs we called “Project Boxes”, with all the parts and pieces we needed to continue making upgrades to Gabrielle.
As we have knocked things off the list, Kate, in her role as “Queen of Stowage”, has continuously consolidated all the parts and pieces. A few weeks ago, she commented that we had whittled the projects down to being able to cram all the stuff into ONE plastic tub, which was progress of its own- and that has also given us more storage space, something that is always at a premium on a liveaboard boat. Progress on two fronts!
Similarly, our food supply is a good gauge. We made several big Costco provisioning trips before we shoved off- filled the freezer, and stuffed the dry goods and canned goods lockers to overflowing. I’m terrible at finding things (it’s the XY chromosome combo), so a common refrain early on was, “Kate! Where did you stash the <beef jerky/granola bars/pickled okra/etc.>?”
I don’t have to ask much anymore, and it’s not because I’m any better at finding stuff- it’s just that there’s a lot less stuff to dig through to find what I’m looking for (and it was a sad day when the last pickled okra went). To be sure, we supplement our groceries as we make our way, but the overall state of our food stowage plan is a good indicator of progress, even though we still eat out more often than we budgeted for when we set out.
Which brings up the last example of alternative ways to measure our progress- The State Of The Bank Account, but I think the less said of that, the better.
Right now we’re sitting on an inexpensive mooring at the City Dock in Beaufort, South Carolina. There’s also a Beaufort in North Carolina, which we passed on our way down here. They are pronounced differently, and a friend in Oriental set us straight on how to remember which is which: “South has the letter “U” in it, so you pronounce it “Byew-fert, SC”, whereas North has the “O” sound in it, so up there it’s “Bo-fert, NC”. You are now well armed for trivia night at the local bar.
From Oriental, we motored a little further south in the ICW, just to get further along without going offshore, because the weather wasn’t cooperating. We got as far as Wrightsville Beach, near Wilmington, and saw a weather window coming, so we rested up for a BIG hop the next day: 170 miles around Cape Fear and on to Charleston. If everything goes well, it can be done in 24 hrs.
The wind was great, and no rain, but a big storm all the way up in New England was generating some serious wave action, and it was like sailing in a washing machine. We pulled into Charleston thirty hours later, and we both felt like we’d been put in a barrel and rolled down a hill. We were exhausted- took us two days to recover. We have made the decision to only do daysails unless we have extra crew. Those overnighters take too much out of us, especially if the sailing is difficult.
I’d never thought about visiting Charleston before, and now I wonder how that could be. What a great place, and exceptionally beautiful. This old blacksmith loved that they are proud of and celebrate all the outstanding wrought iron work to be seen around town. Kate was impressed with the architecture- she pointed out to me that many of the old homes were only one room wide, built perpendicular to the street, with a full length side porch that was accessed by the front door facing the street, like this:
She did a bit of research and discovered that this is a style unique to Charleston, and is called “Single House”. Many of these homes had beautiful gardens or fountains in the side yard, much like the central courtyards in New Orleans architecture. It was lovely.
And if you are a history buff, you could spend a lifetime in Charleston exploring. We passed Fort Sumter on our way into the harbor, where the first shots of the Civil War broke out. We walked along the Battery, the public waterfron park facing Fort Sumter, where the wealthy Southern elites came down to applaud and cheer as the new Confederate Army shelled the Union troops stationed in Ft. Sumter. All over town were plaques and monuments to various historical events, and there was one in particular that really got to me.
We had opted to tie up to a dock rather than anchor out- we were tired and didn’t want to have to mess with the dinghy to go ashore. There was a major marina on one side of the city, and a smaller one on the other- I picked the smaller one (cost had a lot to do with it), and as we checked in with the office, they handed us a packet of tourist info. I was skimming through some of it, and this jumped out at me: the dock we were tied up at, where were living for the next day or so, was once known as Gadsden’s Wharf. It was the disembarkation point, and storage warehouses, for 90% of the enslaved Africans brought into this country during the time of the African Slave Trade.
For some reason, it really hit me hard that we were occupying the same physical space where so much human misery had been perpetrated only a few generations ago. The next day as we walked the city, and came across The Exchange Building and Auction Yard where these human beings were put on the block and sold like cattle, it hit me again. I thought about all that we had been seeing, the wonderful architecture, the gardens and fountains, and realized that all that beauty has a cost built into it that is still being amortized to this day.
And so to quote Forrest Gump, “That’s all I’m gonna say about that.” We left Charleston the next day.
Here’s some optional musical accompaniment to this post:
I know, it’s been a long time since I’ve written, but I can’t find it in myself to feel like I have to apologize for that, as we’ve been busy– living our lives (our best lives), cruising through some of the prettiest country I’ve ever seen.
We made it down the New Jersey coast overnight without incident, although we were exhausted from being woken by the Canadian boat the night before- didn’t get as much sleep as we needed . But we rounded Cape May, and then went across the mouth of the Delaware Bay to Lewes DE, where we had made a reservation for dock space. We got to hook up with my old bestie, Danny S., and spent the best part of a day hanging out, seeing the town, and had dinner together that night. He and his girlfriend had to head back to D.C. early the next morning, but it sure was good to spend some time with them.
From Lewes, we continued on south, traversing the DelMarVa peninsula on another overnighter. Again, without incident, and again, it exhausted us. I’m of an age now where overnighters take a lot more out of me than they used to. I’m out of ‘reserves’. But as Kate and I get used to making these jumps, we can relax a bit, leave one of us alone on deck while the other goes below and puts their head down for a bit. It’s amazing what a 20 minute cat-nap will do to refresh.
We made it to Norfolk VA. Not much to write about there- we anchored across from the US Navy’s Atlantic Fleet headquarters. There were about half a dozen aircraft carriers in port, and lots of helicopter traffic. It wasn’t really unpleasant, but we were not unhappy to leave.
Norfolk is the start of the AICW, the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway. I know the ICW well, from Texas. What I know of it from Texas is that it is extremely busy with tanker barges and commercial traffic, shallow, and ugly. I’ve had to be towed off sandbars twice before on the ICW in Texas. So we were not too keen on taking “The Ditch” (as it is known among cruisers), until we talked with a friend of ours who emphatically recommended it for traversing the Carolinas. “You won’t regret it,” he said, “it is beautiful.”
He was not wrong.
So we motored our way across the interior of North Carolina, avoiding the lengthy, and rough, offshore passages along the Outer Banks, and got to enjoy some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever experienced. We anchored in one little creek, with no sign of civilization around us, tall pines surrounding us, and the only way I could describe it is “heartbreakingly beautiful”.
And we ended up in Oriental NC, on the north shore of Pamlico Sound. The town has free dockage for a few days (first come first served), so we got in early, snagged a free dock, and settled in. We got lucky, there was a music festival that kicked off that weekend, mostly Bluegrass and Folk (“What kind of music do you have here?”- “Oh, we got BOTH kinds!”). What a place- we needed some groceries, so we started walking up to the Piggly-Wiggly (in Oriental, it’s a pretty small store, so they’ve nicknamed it “The Piglet”)
On our way back to the boat, a woman, headed in the opposite direction, made a U turn, came back and asked if we’d like a ride back to the town dock. “No problem,” she said, “We like to make a habit of helping out the boating community.” I found out the next day when I needed something else at “The Piglet” that all you need to do is ask the checkout attendant, and they have a shuttle that will take you back.
So as Kate and I sat back at the New Village Brewpub and listened to some excellent Bluegrass, it just hit me- I don’t want to leave this place. I’m not joking- it was STRONG, and I meant it. We discussed, very seriously, the idea of stopping right here, this weekend, and putting down some new roots.
In the end, the desire to finish what we started won out- we’ll get the boat to Puerto Rico for Christmas, rest up a bit, and then see where the wind blows us. If it is back to North Carolina, I’d be happy.
We have been anchored in Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey for the past five days, waiting for the wind and seas to cooperate with us on our southbound journey. We are not alone.
When we got here last week, there were very few boats in the anchorage. As time has worn on, more and more boats have arrived- it’s quite crowded now. It is obvious that every one of these boast is waiting for the weather window to clear the New Jersey coast and head south.
It has become almost festive- earlier this morning a guy sailed by in his dinghy, just killing time, and as he passed us, hollered, “Heading south tomorrow too? Gonna be a parade of boats heading out tomorrow!”
So we are prepped and ready ourselves. We hoisted our dinghy aboard and strapped it down to the foredeck, got our safety tethers made up and ready. Our course is laid into the chartplotter, and we had a fine dinner and tucked into bed early so we could leave before first light.
But we were just woken up by a boat dragging their anchor and crashing into us. There is a little bit of rain and wind happening, and the boat that was once upwind of us is now downwind of us. They woke us up along the way.
I cannot describe what a horrible feeling it is to be woken up by a crashing sound, a huge THUMP, followed by the grinding of two hulls sliding alongside each other, and then the running, naked, up on deck to see what the hell is going on… Fun times!
I’ll spare the details, because there’s not a lot of them. The Canadian boat upwind of us dragged down on us, and being Canadian, were extremely apologetic about the whole thing. We shined spotlights on the situation, exchanged names, and generally behaved like civilized beings, and then called it a night.
And the wind has already shifted. We are off to transit the New Jersey coast in a few hours!
This is not the best recording of this song, but the fact that it was recorded at Cheatham St. Warehouse is significant to me, and it came up for me and Kate tonight- this is what we’re livin’…