Month: January 2023

We flew the coop yesterday, and had a very uneventful trip (the best kind!) from Green Turtle to Treasure Cay via Don’t [Hit the Giant] Rock Passage. Pouring over charts and seeing the shallows and coral heads marked makes things feel so obvious that it’s easy to forget that once you’re out there, it’s all just shades of blue. Being able to properly read the waters is an important thing here, as winds and tides shift the sand so often. And then of course it’s really only easiest to do with the sun directly overhead and not a cloud in the sky nor a ripple on the surface. Since that doesn’t happen too often, we end up putting a lot of trust into our navigation for ‘first routes’, and then tend to rely on our routes set for return visits to certain areas. That then allows us to gain confidence in reading the same waters from different weather and sun angles, adding to the mental database. (It’s chaos up here in at least THIS brain!) What’s extremely helpful is a very obvious above-the-surface point of reference, such as Don’t Rock itself. Kiiiiind of hard to miss. (Although there was a fairly large cabin cruiser stove up on a reef not far from there, and I would have thought that THAT would have been hard to miss, too.)

Anyhoo, we steamed through with ease and tied up alongside friends, whose boat makes our lil’ Chickadee seem even smaller than it’s starter to feel.

One of Treasure Cay’s many beautiful beaches is only minutes away by foot, and with the company of said friends, bikes, paddle boards and an outdoor shower on the dock on hand…waiting for a part to arrive from Florida will have never been so easy.

Post note: our electrical gremlin DID show up en route yesterday. I think we have to give him a name. (And more on that saga at a later date…)

A steamy wake up after a dousing last night, but the sun is out and hopefully it’ll burn off the lingering no-see-ums that seem to be finding me for breakfast.

We had quite a lazy Sunday (I write with serene nostalgia of the day Violet and I had as Andy recalls his hours replacing the external regulator and wiring harness on the alternator while also equalizing the house battery bank). SOME of us had a lazy Sunday, anyway?

We took advantage of the morning temperatures and took a nice walk in the neighborhood before breakfast, and V and I read in the breezy shade before dinghying over to White Sound so we could hit up the pool at the Green Turtle Club and continue to lounge for lunch.

We came home, I swapped Andy for Violet as my dinghy companion, and a harbor putt putt to check out cruising boats commenced. Perusing Yachtworld is almost a part time job for us, dreaming of cruising the world in a boat that works for our various needs, and it’s fun to see options right in front of us for inspiration.

We dinghied into town for dinner at Sundowners, one of Violet’s favorites (and what was a very steady post-Dorian option, with their tarped-up deck and frozen pizzas as some of the only food and accommodations in New Plymouth to start). We planted a Wild Acadia sticker amongst the sport-fishing boat stickers, so people could sit and wonder where Trenton, Maine is as they sip their rum, and then waited out a series of downpours before hopping in the quite-damp dinghy home.

Overall the day brought a elephant to reside on my chest, weighing down the levity of my own surroundings that was so clearly on my plate right in front of me. Lily is fully in the transitional phase of being completely overwhelmed by her situation. New house, new people to live with, new language, new cultural traditions (including late meals and long visits), and the nerves of starting school today. I know in my rational brain that it’ll pass, she’ll gain a comfort and confidence that will at first be manageable, and will turn to ease, but it’s just so hard to see your kid sad, especially so far away. Which then becomes hard to focus on anything else at all.

She IS still very much her hilarious self when reporting on various situations, which brings relief. Her family was visiting another family at one point, and we asked when we’d get a chance to FaceTime. She couldn’t get a handle on how much longer they’d be there, and finally just gave up. “Europeans like to do things for a loooooooong time.” (In the end they had a seven hour visit. She wasn’t joking! (Also do they have fewer people diagnosed with ADD/ADHD? Seems likely.))

So today we head out of Green Turtle, taking a new-to-us route not ‘around the Whale’ but behind it on a line called Don’t Rock Passage. Previous to Dorian the waters were far too shallow for us to pass, but the storm dug out a new, deeper trench for crossing. Perhaps that elephant will lighten up a bit while focusing on not hitting coral heads?

Sometimes I wonder if Andy and I will be able to stay strong and agile enough to live aboard in our retirement. And then I make up one of the bunks, and am reminded that it takes flexibility, upper body strength, lower body strength, a strong core and rock solid mental fortitude to get the damn bottom sheets on, let alone the smooth blankets that Type A-me insists upon having as an end result. And then of course the climbing in and out of the dinghy all day, the winching of everything, the contortions getting in and out of the refer (or any other storage compartment).  The septagenarians and octagenarians we see happily living their retirements on board in every harbor are not only physical able, most of them could probably kick our butts.

We’re all in the phase of muscle soreness that comes from using our bodies in completely different ways, not to mention the cuts, scrapes and the eternal bleeding. We always forget how easy it is to waste a bit of skin on a boat part, and boy, am I getting good at that. Half the time I don’t even know WHAT’S bleeding or why, but only find out when I start dripping on a freshly-washed something or other. Getting the dinghy engine onto the boat the other day, Andy’s wound started dripping on MY arm, which was a new and disgusting twist. Band-aids and wraps are the first priority in these first weeks, and then as we slow down on projects, we start to heal and enjoy our scars as battle wounds for wars we don’t really remember having.

(Now that my PSA for boat living is over…)

We said goodbye to our Bahamian Harbour Cottage yesterday morning, and moved aboard Chickadee, who will sit on the dock at the boatyard for the weekend as we wait for winds to die down to head out.

While we still had use of our golf cart, Violet and I hit up a great hydroponic farm nearby for some fresh greens. Anything darker than romaine is a rarity in the vegetable department in the Bahamas where we cruise, so we’re thrilled to have some other options.

Andy added a second solar panel to our davit frame, which should almost double our charging capacity. It looked to be a swift process, and with perhaps only minor bleeding it’s off and running. He then replaced the battery bank manager, and hit a wall. Installing it was one thing, but setting it to our system is a bear of a process, and our wifi router kept blinking out all day, compounding an already-frustrating process. Add in the fact that lights and fans that were previous working were now NOT, a faulty hose clamp on a head line, and it became time to throw the towel in on a ‘nothing works on the boat’ mentality, and save it for another day with a rested brain. (Apparently my PSA continues!)

Violet and I snuck off to the beach, where I learned that while I am not a good replacement for her sister when it comes to swimming on what I think of as a chilly day, SHE is a good companion for reading in the windy sunshine.

Here’s to a day with light bleeding and things working!

So apparently having a kid living a separate life across an ocean just means that you have to learn to live with a dull ache in your chest. No one told me that, although now that I write it down, it seems more than obvious. But… ooof. I’ll be going along as normal with my day, and then BLAMMO! the recognition of not all of our parts in one place nestles deep into my sternum. Making sure that I outwardly honor that while not letting it override Violet’s experience as a newly-singular kid is my goal. She most definitely misses her sister, but she’s also quite enjoying reseting her daily schedule to shape her new situation. (A girl cut from a similar cloth, loving lists and schedules!)

Yesterday was busy, and also not. My jobs left on the boat are mainly stowing things that are either still in our rental with us, or unable to be stowed until Andy’s final projects are completed. We did have to run a new halyard down the mast, since we somehow pulled one out in the last two years (we didn’t rig the main for our short trip last year, so never noticed). That involved me hoisting Andy aloft, where he dropped a weighted fishing line down the top, which I fished out of outlet hole (I’m SURE there’s a better/yachtier name for said hole, but it’s escaping me now) toward the bottom of the mast. I then rigged a mousing line to the fishing line for him to pull back up. Once he was down, he then ‘chased’ the mousing line with the actual halyard, and bob’s your uncle. (Nothing is easy on a boat, remember?!) While Andy checked the rig on his veeeerrrry sllllooooow trip up the mast, I tried not to have a heart attack from the winching, as those muscles haven’t been used in quite some time, and also I dreamt about hydraulic winches and when I would acquire one.

We launched in the afternoon, checked all of the parts necessary to remaining afloat, and then I left Andy to his projects while I came back to hang with V. We took a beach walk (it’s been overcast and chilly enough to not want to swim yet), and collected sea glass. I should have had her at my side for all of these years- young eyes! We made off with a haul of impressive Day One Collection measures. We then came back to read in the gazebo on the water, before Andy dinghied home from the yard.

Lily was collected by her host family in the afternoon, and while remaining cool about it all (at least via text), it was overwhelming with both the change of scenery, the language, and her jet lag and complete exhaustion from her past three days. (STERNUM CRUSH.) It’s now at least nice to know that when I wake with a start in the early morning hours wondering how she is, I can text her and she’s awake and already bopping about her day.

The weather this weekend doesn’t look TOO conducive for going around the Whale, but Monday the winds shift and things look to be dying down. From there, southbound we’ll be!

The yard this year is fairly empty of boats, which is good to see. I hope that it means healthy people taking new or properly patched-up boats back to their more normal routines. It seems that most of the retirees come to fetch their boats in November, and spend a month or so getting ready before they launch. Our experience with a full house was just post-Dorian, where everyone was still on the hard, learning how to patch fiberglass, straighten bent rigging components, and working on personal meditation to best manage the waiting, waiting waiting of the part-ordering process. Either way, we seem to be an anomaly even in the ‘get the boat in the water lickety-split’ category. One day of prep and organizing before launching was an aggressive plan, but thanks to few projects and a very tidy boat (ahem, yours truly put it away last spring, remember?), we’ll be ready to roll/float with ease.

Andy replaced the starting battery and starboard side lettering (our ‘Chickadee’ on that side bakes in the sun all summer, and it was definitely time, as last year it had started a real ‘Chikade’ vibe). He rigged the halyards and we got the dinghy down off the bow and I cleaned it up. I pulled things from storage and cleaned every hold, locker and surface down below, made immensely easier by the fact I was so dorked out in my organization last spring. It’s also amazing how one can blaze through any activity with the assist of a good podcast or two.

The weather fell apart later in the day, so we came home to V, who had been catching up on school work missed for our travel days. It was nice to tuck in for the night after a long day of work. We’re staying at the Harbour Cottage (how fitting), the last of the three cottages owned by the family who first rented to us four years ago. Only the second family to own the property that spans the ocean beach to the inner harbor of Black Sound, it was bought by the Queen of England in the 1940s as a retirement gift for Winston Churchill’s private pilot. He built two houses on the beach, which we adore, and this one on the harbor, which is the smallest, but has great harbor entertainment views, and a dock to boot. The interiors feel like a boat with their high-gloss varnish of the Abaco pine build, and the owners have thought of every last amenity. They’re comfortable, charming and clean, and the caretakers are wonderful, and a lovely part of our stays each time. We’re here for one more night, so we may bring the boat to the dock this afternoon, and really have it all right here at our fingertips!

The best topper to the day was a FaceTime with Lily, who as expected is having a great time. She’s had a full schedule touring the city with the group of other exchange students, and today her host family will pick her up and take her ‘home’. She had a chance to sit and talk with the year-long exchange kids, and had a lot of questions answered about expectations, customs, etc. As always, she seemed calm, adjusted, happy to have met new friends, and open to adventure. And it was so good to see her face.

Clouds to start the day, but probably for the best, as our pasty northern skin appreciates the slow start to the melanin shift. Our resident rooster (who Violet has named ‘Crow’) just walked up to the screen door and did his thing at an unholy volume, so I imagine Andy and Violet are soon to rise. Time to get farming, I suppose!

Here begins another Chickadee cruise, amended once again for the 2023 version: minus one child, and back to the full two months of sailing. At what is becoming our routine ‘first night back dinner spot’ here on Green Turtle Cay, I had a particular drink and thought of our OG cruising buddies on Ruach, which had me reflecting nostalgically on what an evolution our winters have been.

Starting in Florida, with tiny people barely filling spaces on the boat (though making a valiant attempt to with the number of stuffed animals packed), we now begin and end in the Bahamas, this time with Violet standing alone (at 5′ 5″, mind you- where she once barely took up a step in the companionway, she can now stretch the whole length), with practically only her school books and art supplies in tow.

Our journey south included dropping Lily at one airport to fly to a semester in Spain, while we continued on to another to make our way here. A whole fun park full of roller coasters of emotions for THAT, but to spare you the specifics of my journey of pride, sadness and excitement (and did I mention sadness?), I’ll just say that between the time change from her to us, and everywhere-but-the-USA using a 24 hour clock, I’m basically going to spend most of the next five months subtracting 6.

Violet is having her own adjustment not only in being an only child, but also living a Chickadee life without her mostly companion. I’m sure it won’t be easy, but some solo time for her will also be a great thing, and in just a day and a half I’m already noticing some subtle differences in her affect. It’s also worth mentioning the realization that she’ll get the entire bunk to herself. Pure gold!

Back to the work part of our trip beginnings, we are scheduled to launch tomorrow, so today will be a busy one. Cleaning, stowing, unwrapping and so on to get ourselves started, and then another day of setting up our onboard lives before we leave our rental on Saturday. All doable, even WHILE calculating what time it is in Seville. (It’s almost noon! Wonder what she’s up to…)