On Passage-Making, Luck and What We Did Right

With our first long-ish passage behind us, I find myself reflecting on how successful it was and how smoothly it went, no small feat for a boat at sea for five days.  There are several reasons for this:  First of all (let's be real here), we were lucky.  I believe strongly that those of us who take to the sea depend on a fair amount on good old-fashioned L-U-C-K from time to time (don't we all?), and thankfully, it was on our side during this particular passage.  It is also my belief, however, that we create our own luck in the form of preparedness (anyone remember the "black box theory"?) - particularly at sea - and that the two, let's call them "dumb" luck and "created" luck, dance precariously in a yin/yang type of ballet.

We did a lot right during this passage; some of it intentional, some of it serendipitous... but here is what we learned and tips I can share based on our experience venturing offshore and covering eight hundred miles over the course of five days, non-stop:

1. Route Planning:  Scott poured over the charts and scoured the internet for information on our trip.  Unfortunately, there was not too much out there as a) most (smart) cruisers avoid passages completely to windward and b) most people who do make this passage start much further north, and much earlier in the season in order to take advantage of trade winds.  Despite the lack of info out there for our particular set of circumstances and coordinates, Scott and I read accounts of the trip and had a pretty good idea of what to expect.  Namely: lots of motoring, bashing headlong into easterly trade winds, and a potential puke-fest of epic proportions.  Fun, right?
2. Prepare fot the worst:  I know, this sounds pessimistic, but hear me out:  if you prepare for the worst, you will either be ready when the worst smacks you square across the face OR (the better option) you will be pleasantly surprised when it shows up at your door step like an innocent, water-logged kitten looking for shelter instead of the roaring lion it's shadow foretold.  We had read lots of accounts of strong easterly trades and mind-numbing upwind slogs complete with bashing into twelve foot ocean swells for days on end, and that is what we prepared our boat and ourselves for.  The fact that our trip wasn't that bad made it all the better, and because our boat was so well stowed and prepped, we enjoyed a nice, drama-free ride complete with evening sing-a-longs in the cockpit.  (Okay, not really).
3. Watch the Weather:  Scott watched weather for about a month before our passage; looking for patterns and trying to identify when the trades would lie down a bit and allow for some nice, easterly motoring.  The fact that a weather window presented itself just as our crew arrived was - of course - dumb luck.  You cannot plan stuff like that.  We also subscribed to a professional weather routing service which we utilized underway (via SSB) to alter our course and optimize our path.  This proved to be very useful.  
4. Know your Limits:  We had two volunteer crew aboard to help Scott make this delivery because initially Isla and I were not going to come (see #2).  We ended up joining the roster after all, and it was fantastic (essential?) to have four extra hands on board.  These days, my number one priority is being a momma to Isla and - truth be told - she is a handful (actually, two handfulls) when she's awake, making me a less than reliable offshore crew member at the moment.  Having a working crew of three guys with me as a mommy/floater/galley slave made this passage much better - for all of us.  The guys maintained a two hour on/four hour off watch schedule which was very easy and ensured everyone was well-rested.
5. Pre-make Meals:  Holy moly was this a lifesaver!  We ate incredibly well the entire trip and (wait for it.....) I am going to give myself a little pat on the back for this fact.  Actually, I am going to give myself a full-blown "whoop whoop" for my culinary efforts.  Me pulling off five nights of palatable boat meals is, in my little world, akin to Armstrong's first steps on the moon:  A small step for man,  a huge step for Brittany...or something like that.  Thanks to The Boat Galley Cookbook, a very large refrigerator and a couple days of slaving away in the galley pre-departure, I made six casserole-type meals in "bake-and-serve" plastic containers to keep and make underway.  Cooking on a boat (the chopping, the cleaning, the prep...) is challenge enough, cooking on a boat at an aggressive heel while bashing into 4-8 foot rollers is significantly harder.  All I had to do was pre-heat the oven, slide in the dish, wait 30-45 minutes and voila! warm, tasty meals for a hungry crew.  I also made sure there were plenty of ready-to-eat snacks - both healthy and junky - available as well.  We did not go hungry on this passage, that is for sure.  Another added bonus of pre-making meals?  Less garbage underway.  We only had one small bag of garbage at the end of five days.
6. Shake Down: This is where dumb luck came into play for us in a big way.  We had not planned a shake down sail but the weather ended giving us an opportunity to sail from Georgetown to Long Island and it was probably one of the best (unintentional) things we did.  It was a pretty aggressive sail: twelve hours in 15-20 knots of wind with seas in the 4-8 foot range.  Not only did this give us time to get into sync as a crew, it gave the new crew members a chance to learn a bit about our boat, how she handles and - most importantly - it gave our gear a chance to break before we headed offshore.  We lost our jib halyard at the end of the sail and fixing it in port was much, much easier than out at sea.  The two subsequent days we spent in Long Island were also great for crew morale and boat prep.  This turned out to be a key piece of luck that made our subsequent passage much smoother.
7. Quick Caffeine Fixes:  The Aeropress coffee maker is still my first love, but it is not the most practical percolator while sailing head-first into six to eight foot ocean swells.  Single serve instant coffee packets are the bomb, and they are your friend.  I bought a veritable boatload of Starbucks Via instant brews on my last trip home and - say what you will about the 'Bucks - it was good.  Really good.  And what's best?  It was easy.  I boiled a thermos full of water every morning and whenever anyone (i.e me) wanted a cuppa joe, all they had to do was grab a mug, tear open the pack and pour in the water.  Coffee snobbery has no place on the high seas people, sometimes you just gotta get your jolt and go.
8. Prep the Boat:  We went overboard prepping our boat.  The outboard motor?  Stored down below under the v-berth.  The grill?  Stowed in our shower.  The dinghy?  Lashed to our bow despite the fact that our awesome davits are rated for something insane like ten thousand pounds.  We checked oils, changed filters, topped of water and fuel and did all the usual visual checks.  Furthermore, the interior of the boat was given the "tip over" test - meaning I went through the cabin and imagined our boat on her ear, and anything that wouldn't stay put in an event like that, was moved.  I am happy to report our cabin remained clutter and catastrophe-free.  I also made lee-cloths for the crew which proved to be essential (and comfortable).
9. Pre-Medicate:  The only time I have ever been seasick - and I mean actually puking seasick - came after a night of five (count them, five) dirty martinis.  Friends don't let friends sail hungover, folks.  That still goes down as one of the worst days on the water ever.  No bueno.  But aside from that little blip on the radar - I don't really get seasick.  Despite this, I - along with the rest of our adult crew - slapped on a scopolamine patch the second we started our motor.  No need to be a hero.  Seasickness is not fun, especially if you'll be at it for days on end and we were prepping for a bouncy ride to windward.  The only bout of seasickness came from the one crew member who's patch fell off and was not replenished, otherwise - we were all hunky-dory.  Not too shabby!
10. Timing is Everything:  I mentioned that luck made it so our weather window arrived just as our crew stepped off their flights and onto Bahamian tarmac.  Dumb luck.  BUT - when we went looking for volunteer crew, one of the stipulations was that they had to be available from the 9th to the 23rd of May.  That obviously disqualified a lot of folks.  We were adamant on this point so that we could have a large window to allow for a healthy amount of wiggle room to wait for weather, make repairs, etc.  It worked out for the best, and - as luck would have it - we were even able to leave a day ahead of schedule because our crew was able to fly in early so that we could take advantage of the weather window as it presented itself.
11. Get Mental: No, I don't mean go crazy (thought we almost did for a hot minute there).  I mean mentally prepare yourself for the journey at hand.  Do you estimate it will take eight days?  Prepare for at least ten.  Visualize yourself on the boat, day in and day out, for that length of time.  Imagine the calms and the storms, how you will handle yourself, how it will feel.  Envision how you will pass the time and keep your mind occupied.  Picture the night watches, the day watches and visualize the smells, the sounds, the potential boredom, the motion, the monotony, the excitement...  Great athletes are famous for envisioning entire games before they are played and while we might not be scoring any points out here - there is something to be said for getting your head in the game. 

So that's our (very long winded) $.02.  What are your tips and tricks for long passages?  Please share in the comments so we all can learn!

Master Glockenspiel-er in the making

Our crew, off watch. 

The sea treated us to some spectacular panoramas!

A monster squall on the horizon 

Scott, downloading GRIB files via SSB 

Red sky at night?

Happy crew on the home stretch

Argh & Argh

That's "rest and relaxation" in old time pirate speak, in case you didn't know....we're in the BVI's, after all.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of good times soaked in fun, sun and rum.  In fact, we've unwittingly treated this recent landfall as something of a vacation; enjoying a couple nights in a full-service marina, indulging in meals out, and effortlessly falling right into step with the charter set by drinking too many painkillers and staying out way past our (9pm) bedtime.  It's been fun but - unfortunately - it can't be our reality for much longer or else we'll break the bank and pickle our livers.  Our wonderful crew mates left us this morning (we miss you AJ and Brian!) and while it's bitter-sweet, this "vacation" has ended and we are slowly getting back to normal.  The boat has been scrubbed from top to bottom, laundry has been done and we're transitioning the boat back to "cruising mode" from "passage-making mode".

It's easy to forget that we still have six hundred or so nautical miles to sail before we get to our end destination of Grenada.  Despite the fact that hurricane season technically begins June 1st we plan to arrive by mid July when Scott must report back to work.  That means we have about six weeks to (cautiously) enjoy island hopping down the windwards and leewards as we chip off the miles southbound.  The weather will be keeping us in the BVI's for at least another five days, however, so we're going to relax and enjoy it.  We're all a little exhausted from the rigors of the past couple of weeks and now's the time to settle back into our groove and chill out while we enjoy one of the best sailing playgrounds on the planet.

We Have Arrived

We have arrived.  Right now I am typing this post in the cockpit of our boat with Wilco playing quietly in the background.  Scott is sleeping at my side, AJ is on the stern talking to his girlfriend, Brian is catching up on email down below and Isla is taking her morning nap.  The sky is a perfect periwinkle blue and puffy white clouds float lazily over head.  We are surrounded by walls of lush, green hills and shores lined with gently swaying palm trees.  It is a quintessentially Caribbean scene.

It actually feels quite surreal to be here right now.  For so long this trip was a source of stress for me:  would we have a good weather window?  Would Isla and I join or not?  And if we did join how would she do at sea?  More importantly, how the heck would I keep her entertained at sea?  Would the crew come through or back out last minute? Would everyone get along? Would the boat feel too crowded? Would we be too late in the season?  Would I provision well?  Would our boat be up for it?....There were so many questions, so many unknowns that I just wanted to fast forward this part and be on the other side of it.  It wasn't an experience that I wanted to savor, as we were all expecting the worst, but something I wanted to just hurry up and get over with.

Boy was I wrong.

This trip was absolutely something to savor and enjoy.  As it turns out, all my worries were for naught.  We were very well prepared and we had a healthy dose of luck on our side as well.  This passage will forever be etched in the log of our minds as a milestone for us.  Sure, it was only five days...but it's successful completion has given us a huge boost of confidence in our abilities, our boat and each other.  Everything went more or less as planned which, for those of you who cruise, know this a rarity on the high seas.  We were all pleasantly surprised by the ease of this trip and to tell you the truth, I am actually a little sad it's over.  It was a charmed journey and we couldn't have asked for a better crew.  As we were sailing towards the twinkling lights of Tortola Thursday night, part of me wanted to keep the boat going and sail a little farther, extend the trip a few more days.  Bang a left and head for St. Maarten maybe.  "Let's keep going!" I exclaimed only partly in jest.  I think we all could have continued on.  I finally understand how Bernard Moitessier, after being alone at sea for seven months could head back out to the expanse of the ocean just as he was about to finish (and win) the first around the world yacht race.  "I'm continuing on to save my mortal soul" he had said.  Of course our trip was nothing like the legendary Moitessier's, but I kind of get it now.  Something happens when you stay at sea for days on end, surrounded only by wind and waves...it's like a little switch is flipped and suddenly your world is your boat.  All the outside chatter goes away.  Everything becomes so much more...simple.

Anyway, that's enough waxing poetic for today.  I have so many posts to write about our journey; how we prepared, how I kept Isla entertained, what we did right, what we did wrong...but they will have to wait.  We all had one too many Painkiller's last night and the fresh water pool is calling.

We were happy to have arrived!

Our amazing crew.  Brian, Scott, AJ, Isla and I.  Couldn't have asked for a better bunch!

On the Home Stretch

This boat moves. Up until yesterday, we had rarely dipped below seven knots, and at times saw eight knots or more. We are currently sailing on a close reach headed southeast towards Jost Van Dyke (is that a Painkiller I smell?) in fantastic conditions. The rolling ocean swells are about two to four feet, the bellies of our jib and main are full and we're cruising along at a respectable six knots. This is a welcome change from yesterday when we were nearly becalmed in light and variable winds. The sun is shining, and the wispy clouds look as if someone spread them across the sky with a butter knife. Again, we find ourselves alone out here and it's beautiful.

Some of you might have noticed our SPOT tracker is not transmitting (at least it doesn't appear to be on our end). We're not sure why, but rest assured - we're all doing great. So far, our only "problem" is the fact that we are almost out of diesel - but I guess that's to be expected when you motor-sail for five straight days. Good thing we're a sailboat! We have been enjoying excellent conditions out here, and our only deviation came two nights ago at sunset when we chose to alter course in order to skirt a monster squall that was about six miles long and three miles wide. This is where radar comes in handy (because we hardly use it otherwise): when we saw the dark, foreboding storm clouds approaching we turned to our radar to tell us how close it was (it is very hard to visually calculate distances out here). After seeing it was three miles leeward of us and sailing alongside it for almost two hours without any significant difference in distance, we determined it was going in the same direction as we were. I suggested to Scott we turn around and pass it on the back end, which is exactly what we did. We came completely about, and for a good long while sailed in the exact opposite direction than we wanted to, but - thankfully - our avoidance tactic was successful. We saw nary a drop of rain. That's the thing about squalls; sometimes they're all bark and no bite - but other times they can pack a real punch in the form of driving rain and winds in the 30-40 knot range, which - if you have been in those kind of winds - you know is no fun on a boat. We lost some ground going the way we went, but it's always better to be safe than sorry in our opinion.

After assessing our diesel situation yesterday afternoon the "old fashioned" way (with a dip stick), we realized our gauges don't quite tell the truth and we have a little margin of error despite the fact that both our tanks read "empty". Either way, we have decided to strictly sail for the remainder of the trip, and use our precious diesel only if it becomes a necessity. To be honest, no one misses the rumble of the engine through the boat - and we're all enjoying the peaceful sail. As such, we will not be making landfall this afternoon as we had previously calculated. If the 15 knots of wind we are seeing right now holds, we might arrive late this evening. If not, we'll probably arrive bright and early in the morning. In the meantime, we'll just continue to sail the wind we're in, with the promise of Painkillers urging us on...

It's true what they say, that after a couple days at sea you find your groove. We are getting in sync with the rhythm of the boat and the ocean. We all have our jobs yet work together like a well-oiled machine. It's been a great ride and I think I can speak for all of us when I say we're thoroughly enjoying ourselves out here. While I am very excited to make landfall after our longest passage yet, I think I *might* even miss being out sea a little bit. For someone who is usually very "connected", it feels incredible to unplug and just be. I didn't see that coming.

Position:
19.01 N
65.13 W

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Half-Way There

We left at 6am on Sunday in the dusky light of morning. I was down below fixing breakfast for everyone and as soon we headed out of the harbor I felt the waves. I popped my head out of the companionway hatch and then caught site of them. "Crap" I thought to myself, "This is gonna be a long ride". The rollers were easily 12 feet and the boat was getting tossed about like a toy in a bathtub. I must have had a look of concern on my face because when I looked at Scott, he looked back at me without the slightest tinge of worry and said, "Cape effect". Cape effect is when waves from the sea wrap around a cape, stack up in the shallows near the shore and then bounce of the land, making for a very confused sea state. I was skeptical, but I hoped he was right. Five to six days in seas like those would have been maddening.

About two hours later the rollers became more rhythmic, the boat found her grove, and we were motor-sailing along at over seven knots. We are now half-way to Jost van Dyke, British Virgin Islands and I don't think we could have asked for a better weather window. While we have had our motor on almost the entire passage thus far, we have also been able to sail with both our jib and main as well. The sea around us is flat save for the lolling rollers that gently raise us up and down, up and down. Right now the wind is almost nill so we are taking advantage of this and heading almost dead east. The weather that was predicted by Chris Parker for us is almost exactly what we are seeing, which is fantastic. Our crew mates have proven themselves not only to be incredibly useful, but great guys as well. We're a good team and having a great time out here on the water.

The meals I pre-made have been fantastic (thank you Boat Galley Cookbook!) and we've been eating well. Since the seas flattened out a bit yesterday, we even began to fish. We caught one beautiful Mahi Mahi but unfortunately for us he wriggled free from the hook just as we were about to gaff him and bring him aboard. Perhaps today we'll have better luck. There is very little traffic out here, so far we have seen only two cargo ships and one cruise ship. Isla has been a little trooper and is proving to be a natural at sea. I found some children's' chewable Dramamine and while it isn't recommended for babies under two, I made the decision to give her a quarter of a tablet every 6-8 hours. It has worked fantastically and she has yet to lose a meal. Hooray for small victories.

Scott, AJ and Brian have been maintaining a 2 hours on 4 hours off watch schedule and the waypoints that AJ and Scott plotted (about one a day) based on 6.5 knots average speed and the weather have coincided almost exactly with our track. Pretty incredible actually. When the wind began to lie down yesterday a couple of us even showered off the back of the boat, which is always a nice treat. After what we had all read about this passage; the accounts of crazy weather, bashing into waves, and fighting currents we were all prepared for the worst. We have all been pleasantly surprised thus far. Of course we have two more days to go but for now, we're just grateful that all is well.

That's about it for now. As I type we're gently motoring along a placid sea covered in tiny cats paws. It's a beautiful day. We will continue our easting in these very light winds, with the hopes of catching the Northeast wind tomorrow to make our turn south and start our downwind sled ride. Our expected arrival in the BVI's is Thursday early afternoon. Thank you for all your well wishes and thoughts, we appreciate them. We are all doing great out here and life is good!

Gotta go...FISH ON!

Okay, I'm back. It's fresh wahoo for lunch. Yum!

Position: 22.10 N 69.01 W

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Off We Go!

And....we're off!  Our predicted route is more direct that we originally planned.  We'll see how the weather pans out... but for now, instead of heading dead east out to the open ocean and then south we are planning on heading/motoring southeast along the Turks and Caicos at which point we'll take advantage of the predicted light and variable winds Monday and Tuesday to make our easting.  Typically, the trade winds are consistently out of the southeast this time of year but due to a cold front that is expected to head our way on Tuesday, the winds are predicted to clock around to the northeast, which is ideal for us.  We will head south if/when those northeast winds fill in and hopefully enjoy a nice sail right down to the islands.  Of course this plan has been made based on the imperfect art of weather prediction so we'll see what the wind actually does and I'm sure we'll make several game-day decisions on the water.  We're hoping to make landfall at Jost Van Dyke in five to six days, but again, we'll see how it all plays out with the weather.  We will be getting daily detailed weather routing via Chris Parker as well as downloading GRIB files so we should be well informed.

For those of you who would like follow our track over the coming week, you can see our progress via our SPOT tracker on our SPOTWALLA site.

Also, for those of you who have emailed, I apologize for the delay.  It has been very difficult for me to keep up with correspondence these days and this passage will certainly put me more behind than ever.  I really love hearing from you all and appreciate your emails more than you know and I promise I will get back to you when I can.  It might take a while though, so thank you for your patience!

Anywho...the preventer has been set, the dinghy has been stowed on deck, the outboard and grill have been tucked away under bunks, meals have been made, safety systems have been checked, gear has been prepped, waypoints have been added, iPads have been filled with apps and games, seasick meds have been applied, oil has been checked, water and fuel have been topped off, gear has been stowed, safety briefing has been done, float plan has been sent and we are as ready as ever.  We're excited, nervous, giddy, and grateful.  We have an excellent vessel, a fantastic crew, and a heck of a ride ahead.

Catch you on the flip side!

Splicey McSplicerton

The name of the game yesterday was splicing, which is the art of connecting a rope (or two ropes) by interweaving the strands.  It's nothing short of magic, really, and there is a reason people pay others to do this.  I mentioned how we lost our jib halyard on the trip here due to the worst splice job in history (see picture above) and fixing it was our first priority.

Of course there are no riggers on this island, so simply calling someone to help us and/or do it for us was not an option.  We had never spliced sta set x line and without any other choice but to learn, we did what every good cruiser does these days and hit the internet for instructions.  A quick Google search led us to explicit splicing directions which the boys followed and produced a pretty good splice.  I say "pretty good" because I would be lying if I said it was perfect.  The halyard is probably ten years old, super stretched out and splicing old line is famously difficult.  Nevertheless, after almost four hours of team work that included agressive pulling, "milking", coercing, pounding and generally man-handling the line, they got it done.  We celebrated on shore with drinks and the best fish tacos I have ever had.  Ever.  We will be replacing the entire halyard once we get to St. Maarten.  It's on the list.

Today the mood on the boat is great.  Our weather forecast is favorable and, while we will probably be motoring most of this trip, it will be into light and variable winds and it's looking like we might even have a nice sail south.  Of course there are anxieties and nerves intermixed with the anticipation, but the overall vibe is excited and ready.  We've got some final preparations to do, namely putting the dinghy on the bow and stowing our outboard motor and barbecue down below, and once those things are complete - we will be good to go.  We're currently blasting this wicked tune by Gipsy Kings, it captures the energy of the boat right now quite nicely I think.

We will be leaving bright and early tomorrow and will most likely not have internet again for another five or six days.  I will be posting when I can via SSB, but if you'd like to track us real-time, follow us on SPOTWALLA.

Scott whipped the end of the splice for added strength

A Little Adventure

Our passage yesterday was not uneventful.  We left with the rising sun and pointed our bow to the east.  The first four hours or so we simply motored which is never really pleasant on a sailboat, but a necessity more often than you might think when trying to get from point A to point B instead of simply sailing where the wind takes you.  New cruisers are often shocked at how little we are powered exclusively by the breeze.

We raised our sails as we began to head north up the coast of Long Island and enjoyed a pleasant ride in the lee of the land.  The motion was comfortable, the sun was shining and we were blasting along at over seven knots.  It was an exhilarating sail in a freshening breeze.

When we turned the northernmost corner of the island we were no longer protected by land and the seas grew to five feet or larger.  Definitely not terrible; but the motion of the boat became a little more erratic, a little more bouncy.  It wasn't a problem for any of the adults on board, but poor little Isla lost her lunch.  And her dinner.  Luckily for all of us, it seems that Isla is what I like to call the "puke and rally" type meaning that once she pukes, she's blissfully unaware of the mess she just made all over us and the cockpit and goes back to her happy, playful self.  She is too young for seasick meds but we will see what we can do to manage her tummy as we continue on.

As if baby vomit all over the place wasn't enough, we then lost our jib halyard.  I had just put Isla down for a nap, and came up on deck to see we were slightly overpowered and heeling pretty aggressively   We shortened sail a bit by reefing the main which straightened out the boat, and began looking at the jib.  Suddenly - as if the jib knew we were talking about it - we heard a loud POP!  "What was that?" exclaimed Scott from the helm.  A quick glance up the rig confirmed it, "We lost our jib halyard" I told him.  It's always something on a boat...

This was not a huge problem by any standard.  AJ and Scott went on deck to sort out the jib, we set our stays'l and we were back in action again in less than five minutes.   We were all grateful it happened when it did: in decent conditions with lots of daylight - and plenty of hands to help.  We'll go up the rig and sort it out later today.

As the last few hours of our trip slowly ticked away, we all became aware of a distinct change in the weather.  The sky had taken on a uniform gray color and it looked as if storms were brewing all around us.  Then lightning began.  When you are on a boat at sea, lightning is a most unwelcome spectacle.  While strikes are rare, they do happen.  At best, a direct hit to your mast will fry pretty much every electronic you have on board, at worst it can blow a hole in your boat and/or kill someone.  The lightning was no where near us as we sailed into the anchorage, but it became obvious as we dropped the hook that it was getting closer.  As dinner was being served, we were surrounded.

The storm system was a monster and, according to the radar, extended for miles and miles around us, providing us with the most incredible lighting show I have ever seen.  It was pitch black outside but the strikes almost constant, and each time a bolt shot from the sky the world around us would light up as if someone had switched on a bulb.  We have video footage, but a few screen shots will have to suffice for now as internet bandwidth won't allow an upload.  Nerves ran high for a bit as we looked all around us pointing out strike after strike from every direction, but the closest they got was no less than a mile away.

The wind continued to howl with gusts up to thirty knots and rain pelted the deck as the dramatic lightning show continued well into the night.  By morning, however, the skies had cleared and it's a new day.  With the passage of that giant system a new weather forecast has come in our favor.  It's looking like we will be setting sail from here for the BVI's Sunday morning.  The winds are looking good (for now) and we will continue to monitor the weather as we fix the few issues that presented themselves.

Morale is high, the crew is happy and all is well aboard the good ship Asante!

On the Move Again...And Stress.

What a difference a day makes.  Wow.  I wrote a couple days ago how the wind was out of my sails, so to speak, and I just didn't have the energy to blog.  Truth be told: we were stressed to the maximus prime.  We had a crew flying in, a million boat projects to accomplish, a baby that had suddenly taken to screeching when her needs were not immediately met (I mean, what is that all about?) and Scott and I were at each other's throats.

We might have been in paradise, but it wasn't pretty.

Stress turns things ugly in a heartbeat and just because we live on a boat in beautiful places devoid of work deadlines, nagging bosses and brutal commutes doesn't mean we're immune to it.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  this lifestyle is full of high highs, and low lows.  The highs make it all worth it, but the lows are about as un-fun as they come.

I tend to get overwhelmed.  I never used to be like this, but for some reason - on the boat - things pile up and I shut down.  Lists multiply, boat work beckons, things break, weather windows loom, and me?  I freeze.  I want to just crawl into a corner with a book and hide.  Scott is the opposite.  Super pragmatic and never phased by the tasks at hand, he continues to plug along and just get 'er done.  In this way, he's amazing, which is why he is an excellent captain. This matter-of-fact practicality of his, of course, makes me feel guilty.  Then, as if I needed another emotion to throw into the mix, all the unknowns of the situation at hand (namely this huge passage before us) cause me to worry about things out of my control like: weather, potential dangers, sea monsters...etc.  When I tell Scott about my worries he responds with something like, "There is no room for worry on a boat, only problems with solutions. We can only prepare as best we can and deal with problems as they present themselves" and then that very pragmatism I praised just a line or two earlier makes me want to strangle him.  Sigh.

So yeah, it was a rough couple of days here.  We were pouring over deteriorating weather charts, emailing back and forth with crew, rushing to ready the boat for voyaging again (no small feat, let me tell you), creating list after list, keeping a one year old baby at bay and the stress got the better of me...of us.  The pot boileth over.

Scott and I finally got back on the same page.  We kissed and made up. We talked it out and devised a plan.  But the stress?  It was still there.  Our reconciliation didn't finish the lee cloths, provision the boat, pre-make passage meals or stow all our items properly for being out at sea.  We had to divide and conquer, and divide and conquer we did.  We just needed a little momentum to do it.

Want to know something else crazy?  Yesterday morning as we were studying the deteriorating GRIB files and watching our weather window close, stress joined us for breakfast.  Our future became uncertain over a GRIB file and a cup of coffee as we thought out-loud:  Why are we doing this?  Why are we sailing to windward when we don't have to?  Why are we rushing south when we don't need to?  Doubt entered our minds.  We were tired, overwhelmed and we weren't sure what to do.  We started coming up with other options.  For about two hours yesterday we had convinced ourselves that we were going to turn the boat, point her north and spend hurricane season in the Chesapeake Bay.  No joke.  You thought I was kidding about the fact that plans are written in sand?  I was not.

Long story short, Scott and I looked at the weather again, weighed our options and decided we're continuing south.  We are not, however, going to sail offshore like we had planned.  The weather just isn't right for that at the moment and we need to move because hurricane season is right around the corner.  Instead, we'll island hop to the Turks and Caicos, taking advantage of the weather windows as they present themselves with the added security of knowing we can duck in some place if need be.  Our fantastic new crew mates have arrived and they are on board no matter where we go.  They're cool like that.  They trust our decisions.  They're just super stoked to be on a boat at sea.

Today, we sail for Clarence Town, Long Island. It's about a twelve hour trip and we will be there for a couple of days to wait for our next weather window which we hope to use to sail directly to the Turks and Caicos.  From there, we'll see.  Our final destination for this "trip" is still the British Virgin Islands, and our hopes are to be in Grenada by early July though I hate to say anything definitive as our plans change with the weather, as you well know by now.

If you want to see real-time tracking, be sure to check our SPOTWALLA page to see how we're doing.  I will keep you posted when and where I can, and will try to keep uploading images when possible to our Facebook Page.

Snug as a Bug in a...Lee Cloth?

Falling out of bed is something that, on land, is usually reserved to children under age five.  When you are at sea on a monohull with pretty agressive heel angles, however, the threat of falling out of bed is very real and knows no age limit.

Our two "bedrooms" - the forward cabin and aft cabin - both have self-contained beds that will allow the sleeper to roll from side to side without falling out.  Because we have two wonderful crew members here to help us on this upcoming passage we need to utilize other bed space in order to give everyone a place to sleep comfortably.  Namely, the two settees (the couch-looking things) in our salon area.  Unfortunately, the nature of the settee is to have one side open and as such, falling out can be a real probability depending the "angle of the dangle"...

Despite this, the salon (or "main cabin") is often the best place to sleep in a rough sea because the motion is the least in the center of a boat.  When sailing into the wind (as we will be), there are two predominant "sides" that we deal with almost always:  the high side, and the low side.  The high side, also known as the "windward" side, is where the wind is pushing from and the low side, or "leeward" side,  is the side where the wind is pushing the boat to.  Typically it's more comfortable to sleep on the 'low' side since gravity wants to take you there anyway but when you can't go low, a lee cloth is your friend.

A lee cloth is a piece of fabric (or mesh, or canvas) that is attached to the "lee side" of a bunk to keep the sleeper in that bunk.  One of my pre-departure jobs was to sew lee cloths for our two settees as well as rig up a type of barrier for Isla in both the v-berth and aft cabin.  I must admit, the temptation to just buy some lee cloths online was there.  But I persevered and decided to bust out my trusty Sailrite sewing machine and get my sew on.

Not gonna lie - there were a lot of incredibly frustrating moments in this process and a couple times I almost lost my marbles.  Expletives flew freely as I jammed my machine for the umpteenth time or ripped out bad stitches.  The fault, of course, was solely my own and due exclusively to operator error.  As usual I went without a pattern and just made it up as I went along (I mean, how hard could some simple lee cloths be?) which caused a few hiccups along the way.  Nevertheless, we have lee cloths - and pretty nice ones if you ask me.  Here's hoping they do what they are designed to do.

Particulars (skip this if you don't care about how I made these):  Because I am not a seamstress, I will leave the pattern-making to someone else out there in cyberspace.  But in case you are curious, I used phifertex vinyl mesh on the suggestion of a fellow boat mama for breathability and ease of cleaning.  Dimensions allowed for a one inch hem around the entire piece as well as ten inches to lay under the body with an eighteen inch height.  The hem was for added strength (these cloths will potentially hold a lot of weight) which I beefed up some more by adding facing along the top edge where the grommets would be.  I relied heavily on my Press-n-Snap tool to add grommets and snaps where needed.  Basically, I just eyeballed the whole thing and winged it.  Luckily, it worked.  Phew.  Here's the photo evidence that I actually did it:

My cockpit sewing area, not the most comfortable, but a nice view!

The Beast.  This machine is AWESOME

We mounted these pad eyes to bulk heads to attach either end of the lee cloth to.

These screw in button bases were SO useful.  This is how we attached the undersides of our lee cloths to the bunks.

Half the lee cloth is under the sleeper, snapped into place under the cushions.  This ensures a nice, tight fit.

Installing my first snap was way cool.  Not sure why, but it was. The Press-n-Snap tool made it easy.

Fixtures for easy in, easy out.  We have hundreds of caribiners on board.  Very useful. 

Here you see the super sweet pocket I added!  Plenty of room for a book, a phone, a camera, head lamp...etc.

She's not so sure how she feels about being contained in the v-berth.  She'll come around. 

The aft cabin lee cloth.  Technically, it doesn't need one - but if/when Isla and I co-sleep back there, it's necessary.