Changing Tacks: Plans are Written in Sand

It is often said that a cruiser's plans are written in sand.  It's oh-so cliche but very true; our agendas often change like - and with - the wind.  One day we'll be planning on sailing to an island to the east and, due to an unexpected wind shift, we decide to head to an island further south.  We might expect to stay in a place for only a few days, and end up staying months.  When you ask the question, "Where to next?" it is not at all unusual to hear, "We don't really know, but we're thinking that we might..."  It's a luxury of this lifestyle to have the freedom to change our minds and roam as we please.  Plans are written in sand.  At low tide.

You see where this is going right?

Yep.  We're changing tacks.  A few days ago I wrote how Scott and a crew of two volunteers would be sailing our boat offshore from here (Georgetown, Bahamas) to the British Virgin Islands, where Isla and I would met them.  I must admit, I was never comfortable with this arrangement and every time I talked about it, I felt a little uneasy.  A little cowardly even.  Scott and I have sailed almost 6,000 nautical miles together.  We've been crossing cruising milestones off our list one by one, and we have done it all together.  We're a team.  This dream was as much (if not more) mine than his and for me to sit out our longest passage to date?  Well, I didn't really like the thought of it.  If I am to be honest, I had even been harboring a little healthy jealousy.  How could I let him embrace the challenges, the sites, the sounds, the monotony, the lessons, the zen, the revelation and the chaos of a long ocean passage without me?  I mean, an eight to ten day non-stop voyage is a pretty big deal.  It's not crossing an ocean or anything, but it's nothing to shake a stick at either.  Scott and I have been equals all this time, and now he'd be getting a leg up on me.  Not that we're competitive with each other (because we're not), but I couldn't let that happen.  Call me selfish, but I wanted to experience it, too.

So after that post, I started thinking.  I thought and thought and thought some more.  I consulted with fellow cruisers.  I posed the question to a Women who Sail group that I am part of to get their advice as cruising women and mamas.  The wheels were turning.  When I had made up my mind, I sent the following text to Scott: "Should Isla and I join you guys on the passage? I am tempted to go and with the crew's help, I think we'd be fine..."  Scott's immediate response:  "That's not a bad idea!!  I'd love it!".  And so began a series of texts going over the pros and cons of us coming along, with Scott spontaneously texting excited pleas for us to join in between.  The decision wasn't that hard, really.  We're going.  I mean, if we plan on being a sailing family we've gotta do this eventually, right?  No time like the present.

Of course I had to email our two wonderful volunteer crew mates and let them know what we were thinking.  After all, when they signed on to crew it was not with a baby aboard.  Whether or not you sail I know that most people can understand that having a baby on the boat is a major game-changer.  I needed their blessing.  So I wrote them asking what they thought, and - thankfully - both were not only totally supportive of the idea, but (dare I say it?) even a little excited at the prospect of having us along.

For the most part I will be on Isla duty.  For those of you who are parents, you can appreciate how much work it takes to keep an incredibly active one year old entertained and at bay.  I will help out in other areas where I can, but my main focus will be Isla and keeping her happy and safe.  It will be a challenge.  Imagine, if you will, being in an RV for eight days non-stop with a toddling infant who loves to climb and walk.  Then take that RV, and rock it side to side, sometimes violently, for hours and hours at a time.  Throw in some storms, a little car-sickness, and non-stop banging and clanking.  Nope, there are no pit stops.  It will be interesting and we will learn a TON about our boat, sailing with an infant, each other and offshore passage making.  As usual I will write and tell you all about it and we will be posting updates as frequently as we can (sans photos) via SSB.

We are so stoked, giddy even.  There are, of course, the nervous worries that creep into my head late at night when I lay awake in bed: will Isla get seasick? How will I keep her entertained?  Will we encounter horrible weather?  Will she keep the crew awake?  Will the crew get along?  Will all our systems run as planned?  What about rogue waves, submerged shipping containers, sleeping whales, etc... Nerves, for me, are inevitable.  And I believe they are healthy at sea.  They indicate a level of respect that is mandatory for the ocean and nature.  The understanding that - no matter how prepared we might be - we are not in control.

Scott comes home tomorrow (excited scream followed by happy dance).  Now begins the time to mentally prepare ourselves and our boat for this passage.  We'll keep you posted!

Where to Next? Out and Down I-65

"Where to next?" is a common question I field these days.  We've gotten pretty cozy here in the Bahamas but the fact of the matter is we need to head south.  It's getting late in the season (hurricane season technically begins June 1st) and we need to make some serious tracks if we want to be back in Grenada by July... so the short answer to that question is: we're going "out and down".

In order to cover as much water as quickly as possible, we hatched a plan to move our boat from Georgetown, Bahamas directly to Tortola, British Virgin Islands in one fell swoop - offshore.  We've sailed the famed "thorny path" to windward two years ago but this time around, we simply do not have the luxury of time to casually island hop all the way to the leewards.  So... we're going to skip a bunch of islands in the middle (see photo) to make up for lost time.

What this means is an approximately eight day, off-shore, non-stop passage.  Not the longest voyage for a cruising boat by any means, but the longest for us by far.  This trip will also be unique because we are starting further south and much later in the season than most boats, so there isn't a whole lot of information out there about the route we're taking (most travel this passage starting from somewhere on the East Coast and typically do it between December and January).  Neither of these factors are huge deals - they just mean we'll have a different set of winds and challenges than our predecessors.

In a perfect world, this passage would consist of two very long tacks: one out to the North East (to avoid sailing directly into the prevailing easterlies), and a turn South down "I 65" (65ºW is historically where the southerly trade winds kick in).  Of course, this is not a perfect world so it most likely won't work like that, but here's hoping.  There's one thing we know for sure: the entire trip will be a beat to windward, against the trade winds and into the prevailing current.  For most cruisers, this is pretty much the most unpleasant point of sail that exists, into wind and waves.  Then again, we could get lucky, have bengin conditions and enjoy a nice, uneventful motor-sail the whole way.  We don't know.  We're prepping for the worst and hoping for the best.  Lucky for us we have a boat that carries 200 gallons of diesel, because we're probably going to need it.

After much discussion with delivery captains and professional sailors who have sailed this passage countless times before, it has been decided that Isla and I will sit this one out.  Eight days at sea in good conditions is a lot for most people...eight days at sea in what could be a very rough and uncomfortable conditions is, in our opinion, too much for a toddling baby.  We want her to love sailing, after all.  So - while it pains me to say it - her and I will skip this voyage and reconnect with our boat in Tortola.  (Side note: If anyone out there has a place for Isla and I to stay on Tortola, let us know!)

So where does this leave Scott? Well, there was no way I was going sleep at all with him single-handing 800 nautical miles to windward (though I'm certain he could've), so I put out a "call to arms" on our Facebook Page looking for willing and able unpaid delivery crew.  The response was awesome.  We got a flood of sailing resumes and offers to join from some great folks.  After careful consideration, we selected two (very cool) fellow sailors who will join Scott in sailing Asante to the BVI's.  They fly in to Georgetown May 9th.  The hope is to make landfall in Tortola between the 20-23rd, where Isla and I will greet them at the dock with a blender full of painkillers. Mmmmmm...painkillers....

From there, we'll resume as "normal" and island hop down the Windwards and Leewards until we reach Grenada.  We have a lot of prep work to do before this passage, so we're going to be very busy the next couple of weeks.  As usual, we'll keep you posted!

PS.  Happy Birthday to me! How amazing is my hubby for surprising me yesterday?  So awesome.  Best birthday present EVER!

Guest Post: DR to PR

Fishing on Rasmus!

Sometimes, one has to act without plans, even if it is into the unknown. As a frequent reader of Windtraveler, I noticed on April 29th that Brittany and Scott were about to leave Luperon, DR for staging for the Mona Crossing to Puerto Rico. Having read their description of traversing the north shore of the DR and the Mona Crossing, and then looking elsewhere at what they faced, I sent them a short email - Subject: "Wild Idea".

Having been on the Rasmus for an earlier "exciting" night at sea going from Hilton Head to ST. Augustine back in December, I thought - well, why not the Mona? I also thought I might be a little help as the Mona crossing was going to be a two-night trip. Much to my delight, back came a message - "we'll meet you in Samana - day after tomorrow". A couple of hours later, I bought a ticket to Santa Domingo, DR and got a hotel reservation in Samana to await Scott and Brittany's arrival from Luperon.

As you read in the post "The Thorny Path" - while they had a challenging trip along the North Coast of the DR to Samana, they did it with only one five hour stop thereby arriving in Samana ahead of me by a half day. Upon check-in, there were Scott and Brittany, in the lobby relaxing, and both on their computers - Windtraveler does not hot happen by accident.

Scott and Brittany had read the books on how to best do the Mona Crossing, and Scott, with guidance from the weather guru, Chris Parker, plotted the weather, particularly how to play the night lees of the coastline of Samana Bay and eastern DR concluding we should leave after nightfall on Tuesday, May 3rd - which we did.

My first watch was the second watch of the trip - midnight to 3 am. I was fully instructed by Scott (aka Captain Bligh and my God son) and Brittany, that: a) no one leaves the cockpit without another person present, b) one must wear a PFD unless below deck, and most important, c) if the watch person sees, feels, hears or otherwise senses anything strange, wake someone up. I took these "orders" to heart, when at about 2 am, I woke Scott to the sight of very unusual light - out there in the water ahead of us. After our conversation about what it was, Brittany woke too and joined us, promptly dubbing it a UFO - Unidentified Floating Object . For more on the UFO, this post on Windtraveler.

I also enjoyed a "Columbus" experience when, 23 hours later while on watch at 5 am Thursday morning, I sited "land ho" - the first sighting of Puerto Rico - 33 hours after leaving Samana.

The conditions going across were almost exactly as predicted by Chris Parker. Seas were 4-6 with a few higher waves, and winds were mostly 15-20 except for a couple of squalls that came off the Puerto Rican coast which Brittany steered us around.

Having crossed fairly quickly, rather than stopping in Mayaguez or Boquerón as planned, we continued around the southwest coast of Puerto Rico rounding Cabo Rojo, and sailed another dozen miles or so on the southern coast to a fishing village - La Parguara. We anchored in the lagoon in front of the village, ready to go ashore - in my case for a burger and a cold beer. However, we were not permitted to check in with Customs there, and thus, were confined to the boat. I settled for a warm beer and one of Brittany's wonderful grilled cheese sandwiches - followed by wine and cheese as we had movie night on the Rasmus. I also experienced my first harbor/deck shower where you jump in the salt water, suds up with soap - and get a fresh water rinse.  Different, but good.

Because of the fast crossing, I then got to sail the entire south coast of Puerto Rico stopping at Ponce, Salinas and finally at Palma del Mar on the eastern Puerto Rico coast, where I unfortunately had to depart. Some of the highlights of the trip for me included:

Samana

• Seeing Scott and Brittany already there when I arrived. 
• Eating goat for the first time. 
• Almost killing my horse on the visit to the El Limón waterfalls. 



Al on a Moto-taxi!  Does he look scared?

• Almost killing myself when Brittany insisted on returning to the marina during a rainstorm in a motor scooter pulled rickshaw, rather than a real taxi, on rain slickened streets in a place with no traffic rules and of course, they have never heard of seat belts (pictures on Facebook). 

Mona Passage

• Getting across without getting sick - aided by a diet of saltines and lollipops. 
• The Unidentified Floating Object in the middle of the first night. 
• Sighting a beautiful double-tailed comet, but when I said "WOW", the sound brought Scott out of a deep sleep in three seconds to see what was the matter with the boat. 
• Being on watch for the first land sighting. 

Puerto Rico south coast

• My first "harbor/boat deck" shower. 
• Guavete- where I was offered a taste of a roasting pig, only to be given a large piece of pig skin. I tasted it, then not knowing it was the best part, gave the rest to a street dog, hoping I did not offend anyone. For more details, see the Windtraveler blog post "Puerto Rican Pig Roasts". 



Al eating fried pig skin!  YUMMY!

• Salinas - a wonderful town with lots of cruisers and truly warm and welcoming local people. It was here where one evening, that Brittany fell in love with a dog, a local 3 year old boy and Scott beat all the locals at the pool table. 

All in all, a great 260 nm trip on the Rasmus with two great people. If anyone out there in Windtraveler land ever has a chance to sail with Scott and Brittany, do everything you can to do so. Do not wait for it to fit your schedule (they essentially have none), and while it might not be luxurious, a trip with them on the Rasmus is far better than luxury - it will be a trip to remember forever.

Uncle Al

Now known as "Juan Valdez. "

True Blue

We’ve done it. We have sailed almost 4,000 nautical miles and we’ve made it to the Virgin Islands. According to many, we are now “officially” blue-water cruisers. We’ve sailed down the East coast, crossed the Gulf Stream, cruised the Bahamas and the Turks & Caicos, traversed the difficult northern coast of the Dominican Republic, crossed the Mona passage, cruised the south coast of Puerto Rico and - eight months after we began - we have made it to the Virgins via the “thorny path”. 


We have graduated.

It feels good. It feels real good.

Our plan is to continue heading south to Grenada where we will be keeping the boat for hurricane season. We are heading back to Chicago for my brother’s wedding in June, which we are both standing up in, as well as the wedding of one of my best friends.  Next season we plan to head back up the island chain to see more of what we missed.

From there, who knows...but we’re liking the sound of Baja, Mexico a lot.

We shall see!

 Love,

Brittany & Scott

The Mona Passage

Several of you have asked about our passage across the Mona. Before I begin, I would urge you strongly to follow our Facebook page as well - as it is supplemental to the blog, there are pictures, miniature updates and more. I wrote a bit about our crossing there, but I will expand here...

As I mentioned before, the Mona Passage is not to be taken lightly and is one of the most difficult passages in the Caribbean due to currents, shoals and frequent storms spinning off the mountains of Puerto Rico. To say I am relieved it is behind us would be an understatement.  Our crossing was, by all accounts, uneventful, thanks to a great forecast by Chris Parker.

Our strategy was to leave Samana at night fall to sail along the coast of DR in the “night lee” (this is when a land mass causes a sort of bubble of calm weather around itself). As we exited the Bay of Samana, seas had built to about 6 feet and we rolled along the coast with our main reefed.

Due to the north east wind, we headed offshore just north of Cabo Engano to get around the hour glass shoals. We watched as a line of squalls passed to the North - and had to make one tack completely out of our way to avoid them. However, as Bruce van Sant so often says in his book; “sometimes you gotta go north to get south”.

The seas were large for our first 24 hours - so much that it made cooking down below a very unpleasant prospect - so we dined on saltine crackers and lollipops. By 36 hours the seas had calmed and our last 12 hours was spent enjoying a beautiful sail in the lee of Puerto Rico.

One thing that made our passage so wonderful was the fact that we had Scott’s godfather, Al, with us. He’s a former sailor who has been with us before and knowing that we had someone at the helm we could trust for a shift was a huge gift. We maintained a watch schedule of three hours on, six hours off which meant that all of us were fresh and well rested. Any significantly long passages we do from here on out will have at least three aboard, it makes a huge difference.

All in all - it was completely uneventful and - other than this incident - not very interesting which is why I didn’t blog about it. 

Hopefully this satisfies those of you who wondered!

There's This Drink...

Sip, sip GIVE my friend!

Scott and I were perusing a little trinket shop in Luperon when the sales lady came up to us and said, "Can I help you?  You need necklace, ring?  We have many beautiful things...we have shells, marijuana..."

Scott and I stopped in our tracks and looked up at the smiling sales clerk, then at each other.  She had this big smile on her face, as if she had no idea she just offered us illegal drugs.  We had heard Luperon was different, but we didn't realize your run of the mill sales girl could openly pimp pot.  That was too weird.

"Excuse me?" Scott said.

"We have shells, mamajuana..." she repeated, still beaming.

Oh!  MAMAjuana.  Not marijuana.  She walked over to a shelf and procured a recycled wine bottle with a bunch of bark in it, soaking in a deep, burgundy colored liquid.

"Dees is mamajuana" she told us as she grabbed a shot glass off the shelf and poured us some, "eets good for love...ees an aphrodisiac.  Pour rum or wine in the bottle and drink".  Scott took the glass, shrugged, took a sip and handed the latter half to me.  We know the drill.

I am telling you - with the number of aphrodisiacs in the islands - lotions, potions, flowers, drinks, roots - it's a wonder why the whole world is not populated by Bahamians and Caribbean Islanders.

The mixture is one of bark, herbs, and honey soaked in rum and red wine.  The drink is thick and the taste is very similar to a port.  Dominicans use mamajuana for everything from colds, to digestion, to...er...love issues.

While we didn't buy any - we enjoyed our little taste.  As for it's aphrodisiac qualities - well, we'll never tell.  You'll just have to get some yourself.  But remember, if you can smoke it - you got the wrong stuff.

Love,
Brittany & Scott

UFO Sighting

I mentioned in a previous post about the beauty and magic of sailing through the night.  Despite the darkness - there is a lot to be seen amidst all that black.  All one needs to do is look up and worlds upon worlds open up...Shooting stars with magnificent tails that slice across the darkness, tiny satellites that move so fast (seventeen thousand miles an hour!) you can actually follow them across the solar system, blinking planes, twinkling constellations...they are all there for your eyes to devour.

Even the water can provide ample entertainment if you watch it closely...unmarked buoys, tires, sea life, bioluminescence, fishing nets, and general flotsam and jetsam are always there...but every now and then you see something you have never seen before...something that you can't quite put your finger on...We call those: UFO's.  That's right, unidentified FLOATING objects (you thought I was going somewhere else with that, didn't you?).

It was around 2am and was down below sleeping when I heard Scott and Al talking about a "mysterious light" in the water.  I heard them rustle through the charts as they tried to identify it, "That is definitely not on the chart" I heard Al say.  "What the heck is that?" Scott continued, "It's, like, glowing...".  And that is when I had to come up and see for myself.

Just as I popped through the companionway hatch Scott made the decision to tack away from it - whatever it was.  And good thing he did.  Because that's when I saw it.  A distinct, huge (bigger than the boat), neon green something floating just under the surface of the water.  It was creepy and it was weird.  The three of us strained our eyes as we ghosted past it trying to catch a glimpse of any telltale feature that would give it away.  There was none.  Finally, I came up with what we think is the only plausible explanation:  a whale sleeping just under the surface, surrounded (thankfully!) by the phosphorescent light of the tiny sea creatures around it.  Whatever it was, we are glad we didn't hit it!

So - moral of the story is this:  while you can look up into the sky and look for unidentified flying objects, don't forget to look down at the water once in a while as well - lest you meet with an unidentified floating object!

Love,

Brittany & Scott

The Thorny Path

Cape Samana at sunrise

If I am to be honest, I was dreading the passage from Luperon east...I had read enough articles, blog accounts and heard several first hand cautionary tales about just how “thorny” this route is. I wasn’t scared - no, that wasn’t it. We’ve cut our teeth, earned a few stripes and been through enough weather to learn that our boat is stellar in rough seas and we’re pretty good at guiding her through them. No...the emotion was dread. I knew it was going to be rough, I knew it was going to be unpleasant and I knew it was not going to be ‘fun’ - after all, they don’t call it the “thorny path” for nothing - and I just wanted to get it over with.

Those of you out there who wish you could be on an 'endless vacation', who long to lounge on a ‘yacht’ and sail off into the sunset...you need to also know that where there is yin, there is yang. I venture to guess a large percentage of you would have said “no thanks” to a life like ours had you been aboard Rasmus from Luperon to Samana...

We left Luperon at night, in what is referred to as the ‘night lee‘, when the island of Hispaniola causes a bubble of calm around her. As we departed the harbor mouth - the seas grew from three to five to eight feet. By the time the sun set, taking all traces of light with it, our boat felt like it was in a washing machine. “Some night lee” I muttered as I saw the wind climb to 25 knots. For the first time in my life, I took a dramamine. This was going to be a long night. 

Scott took the first three hour watch as I tried to get some sleep. Tried being the operative word. Sleeping in a boat when it’s bucking and rearing like an unbroken horse is not easy. You get five minute increments here and there, and try to rest as best you can, but it does little to rejuvenate the body or mind. It can be downright maddening, in fact.

Though I had prepared two meals to be heated up - they went uneaten. The seas were so large, so unruly and so confused that even warming a dish over the stove was not only impossible, but worthless - neither of us had any appetite for anything anyway. This was going to be a grab and go “snack” passage. Oh joy!

By the next morning, despite the forecast*, we were still motor-sailing into 20+ knots of wind and pounding headfirst into ocean swell that was anywhere from six to twelve feet. Every now and then we’d get hit by a misfit wave on the beam and our boat would angrily sway from left to right, left to right - a very unkindly motion in a monohull. Both of us were tired, we were cranky and we wanted to get there. There was an anchorage called Escondido. Exhausted and worn out, we had decided we would pull in there for a few hours, eat a hot meal and get some much needed sleep. We had estimated we would arrive by about 4pm, but the wind and seas refused to subside - and our boat speed suffered. At times we were motoring at 1800 RPMS and only making 2 knots. Most of you can walk faster than that.

The sun began it’s quick descent at 7pm and we were still an hour out of Escondido - an impressive, unmarked, unlit and unfamiliar anchorage that is tucked between towering cliffs and sheer rock faces. Coming into a place like that in the pitch black (there was no moon) is incredibly unnerving (and not recommended). “If at any point this seems insane we’re going back out and we’ll just continue through the night” Scott decided. Despite longing to stop the godforsaken motion of the boat and desperate for sleep, I agreed. Scott took the helm and I manned our search light. Our radar was on to reaffirm where our charts told us where land was, but when all you see are ominous black silhouettes of cliffs rising into the dusky night sky - nothing instills confidence. 

How far away are they? Can we really trust the radar? Are those breaking waves I hear? What was that little blip on the radar? What’s the depth? What if we run onto the rocks? This is one of those moments where things can go terribly wrong... The mind quietly and silently runs through the what if’s.

There were no other boats in the anchorage, no navigational lights or buoys (in fact, we’ve pretty much forgotten all about those!), not even a single shore light to provide perspective. We were on our own as we inched our way into the dark abyss that we hoped would be our temporary haven...

We dropped our anchor in thirty feet of water about 500 feet from shore. I set about cooking and Scott set our anchor alarm - dragging in this harbor would be very bad. We made the bed and collapsed, physically and mentally exhausted. It was then we noticed the swell. Every ten seconds a gentle rolling wave would hit the beam of our boat and we would roll from side to side, side to side - making sleeping sound impossible. Was there no escape from the movement?!? Not tonight.

Our guide book told us we needed to round Cape Samana by day break (any later and the wind and seas pick up, making a two hour passage potentially much longer) so we awoke - still exhausted - at 3am. I made some toast and tea, we started the engine, raised anchor and drifted off, back into the night and the open ocean...we arrived at Samana at 9am.

While I do (typically) paint a rather rosy picture of a life at sea - it is not without it’s blemishes. Luckily for Scott and I - we knew this going into it. We had prepared to take the good with the bad. What fun would cruising be if it was all smooth sailing? How satisfying would anything be if everything went exactly how we wanted it? What if there were no surprises or challenges? Would we appreciate it? Would we learn anything? No. So we take the good with the bad. After all - there would be no rainbows if there was no rain. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it in the moment...

* We did not make this passage with the guidance of our new sponsor, Chris Parker of MWC, just FYI. This was all on our own doing.

Passage Making

A lot of you wonder what we do when we sail from place to place.  It's not so much what we do when we are sailing, but what we do before we set sail.  A lot of our preparation has to do with the length of the journey (anywhere from 6 to 48 hours, so far) but in general, we adhere to standard procedures that have become almost second nature to us.   Our next passage will, mostly likely, be a long one (48+ hours) - so we will prepare in the following ways:

1.  We check the weather:  Weather is the single most important aspect of passage making.  We learned this lesson the hard way.  It can, literally, make or break your trip.  If you plan on doing a passage that is 24 hours or longer - it becomes even more critical that you find an adequate "weather window", or a few days of decent seas and favorable winds, in which to move.  We get our weather a variety of ways - via websites (when we have internet), and through our SSB (single side band long range radio) where we are able to download detailed weather maps or "Grib" files and interpret them.  Thanks to our latest sponsor, Chris Parker of the Marine Weather Center, this is going to be much easier for us now!

2.  We prepare meals:  Even the slightest wave action can make cooking down below a real chore, so prior to weighing anchor, I create a meal plan and get everything ready.  I chop the vegetables, cook the rice, get snack foods handy and try to get meals arranged to that all I need to do is warm them up over the stove.  Not having to chop, rinse, clean, get ingredients, open cupboards and lift seat cushions makes life at a 20 degree angle while pounding into a head sea much more pleasant.  I boil water and fill our thermos so we always have hot water available for tea and I pull out a few Red Bulls so that they are within arms reach.  Popcorn has become a recent snack of choice, so we'll make this as well.

3.  We spot check the boat:  Prior to leaving on any passage, we go through the entire boat and check the gear.  We check lines for chafe, we inspect our shrouds and chainplates for any cracks or loose cotter pins, our boom vang fittings and shackles for any wear and tear...The sea is an unforgiving place and if you don't monitor your gear it can (and most likely will) fail you when you need it most.  Hearing a "snap" in the middle of the night in the pitch black darkness is not something we want to experience.

4.  We spot check the engine:  After having transmission problems back in the beginning of our trip, Scott and I have become pretty ridiculous about maintaining our engine.  Before every passage we check the transmission fluid and the oil, check the belt tension and coolant and generally, just investigate our pretty iron jenny for anything that looks amiss.  We are sticklers about regularly scheduled maintenance and perform all the required oil and filter changes as needed.  While we are a sailboat, our 53 hp engine is one of our greatest safety features.

5.  We ready the inside of the boat:  Because we are going "the wrong way" south we are, more often than not, pounding into some pretty serious waves that can be anywhere from five to twelve feet.  While our boat can handle this no problem, we need to make sure all her insides can as well.  We are very good about keeping our boat "ship shape" most of the time anyway, but prior to leaving we make sure that nothing below can become a projectile; we stow all our loose gear and make our home nice and tidy so nothing crashes, falls and/or breaks.  Cleaning up a pound of flour that has found its way from the counter to the floor, for example, would be hell underway.

6.  We make sure all our head lamps and spotlights are charged:  As much as I don't enjoy pointing out the blatantly obvious, night sailing is very dark.  Unless there is a full moon, typically you can see nothing beyond the bow of your boat.  Lights are necessary to see what is around you and check the sail trim.  We have two very powerful LED spotlights that we use (one is back-up) and we have learned (also the hard way) that we must make sure they are charged prior to leaving.  I also make sure our personal head lamps have batteries and are good to go.

7.  Lay out all necessary clothing:  You may or may not have gathered that getting items from down below while underway can be difficult.  It is for this reason we try to have everything out that we will need.  We ready our foul weather gear and have a few layers of clothes handy.  Typically, we won't change clothes the entire time we are out - but we will add or remove layers.  This makes the shower upon arrival all the more gratifying.  Sigh.

8.  Prepare the lee cloths:  On our boat we have what are called "lee cloths" or swaths of fabric that you can clip up alongside a bunk so that you don't roll out of bed when the boat is at an angle.  We have several good sea berths on the boat, and depending on our point of sail - I will set up that bunk so that whom ever is "off watch" can easily climb in and hit the hay.

9.  Get out safety gear:  Our jack-lines (webbed lines that run from the front to the back of the boat, on either side, onto which we "clip in" whenever one of us goes forward of the cockpit) are always run, so all we need to do is get out our inflatable PFD's (life jackets) and tethers (we use these).  We wear our PFD's without exception during night sailing.  Each of them have a harness, a whistle, as well as a mini strobe light.

10.  Secure the dinghy and dinghy motor:  Trailing a dinghy behind the boat is not a very wise thing to do when passage making, so we raise ours onto the davits and secure it with a web of ratchet straps and lines for minor passages - for longer passages, however, (like an ocean crossing) - we will deflate it and bring it on deck.  In addition, we remove our outboard and lash it to a motor mount on our push-pit so that it won't go anywhere either.

11.  Get rest:  Long passages can be very, very tiring for two people.  Scott and I maintain a three hour watch schedule at all times, meaning someone is on deck and "on watch" 24 hours a day - for three hours at a time.  This sort of schedule, despite what it might seem, is very exhausting, so Scott and I try to get as much rest as possible before setting off.  We also mentally prepare ourselves for how ever long our passage will be.  There is nothing worse than thinking you are shoving off on a "three hour tour" only to end up bashing to windward for two days.  Ask Gilligan, mental prep is key.

The theme here is preparation.  You must always be ready for anything when heading out to sea.  Making sure we have all of the above taken care of prior to leaving means we are better equipped if and when the unexpected rears it's (usually ugly) head.

Love,
Brittany & Scott

Heading to Hispaniola!

Hispaniola - the name of the island that contains the two sovereign states Haiti and the Dominican Republic - rolls off the tongue and just conjures up Caribbean goodness. I don't know too much about this place other than it is the second largest island in the Caribbean (after Cuba), it is incredibly green and lush, was the location of the first of Columbus's colonies in the new world, and is rumored to be wonderfully cheap.

We like cheap.

After spending a week at the dock here in the Turks and Caicos (we spent more here than we have in 3 months combined!) we are ready to continue on our journey south and head out back to sea...

This next passage to Dominican Republic will also mark our official entry into the "thorny path". We will be travelling against currents, against trade winds and against a pretty unforgiving shoreline along the North coast of DR. We are sure to be tried and tested. Our cruising guide has this to say:

From Luperón going East, the north coast is an extremely difficult. The waters of the Atlantic are rough and when the trade winds are blowing or a “norther” comes down from the United States, the North Coast is beyond difficult; it can be outright dangerous. There really is no place to stop east of Luperón that is safe and when the wind is from the NE or from the E with seas from the NE, the entirety of the North Coast is not tenable. You will find yourself riding big seas on a windbound coast. To transit the north coast one needs to be an experienced sailor.

Luckily for us, we have a Lloyds of London rated boat, a sound and experienced crew and a desire to move on, take our beatings, and see what lies ahead! We will be departing our beloved South Side Marina today and will be heading to Luperon tomorrow. We might be out of touch until then (and may or may not blog via our SSB), but we'll try to keep SPOT up and running so you can see where we are!

Love,

Brittany & Scott