Author: equinoxgardens@gmail.com

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…)

Yesterday at one point when I was in the yard office, Rand, a worker I’ve come to know a bit, asked me about Jessie’s time with me. “Did she think she was coming here for a vacation?” he asked nervously.

“Um, sort of… a working vacation?” I answered, explaining that we got to play in the early days of her time here, and then I needed her help for a few ‘two man jobs’ for closing up, as well as moving the boat around the Abacos in general. “Sheesh, remind me not to say ‘yes’ if you ever ask me to go on vacation with you!” was his response, laughing himself away. “You never stop!” It’s true at the yard, for sure. We ‘Chickadeeans’ tend to put our heads down and go for it, as opposed to the slower approach to most boat owners there. Do a couple of projects a day, take off for the afternoon, come back the next day to work a bit more, and so on. The difference? They’re all retired, and we have only a finite amount of time to play AND get the boat in and out of its storage mode. My goal for the last days here on Green Turtle was to work hard and swiftly, so that I could actually spent a day puttering around the island and enjoying my favorite bits before I head north.

After hauling on what was a grey and gross Tuesday morning, I can happily say that as of yesterday afternoon, the boat is completely put to bed, and ready to lie in wait for a long summer and fall before we see her again. Jessie left in the early afternoon, and I am whooped, but satisfyingly so. Today my plans flit between a visit to the settlement, a walk on the beach, and a nap by a pool before coming ‘home’ to read in a shaded swing chair to absorb all of the goodness of this year’s time here.

A completely different look to our trip this year, but wonderful nonetheless. Having our family time to form new memories together (I keep thinking of Violet’s “Geez, it smells like… hot” when I walk along the sea grapes and love vines baking in the sun, for one..), and then having both solo time onboard AND a chance to introduce someone dear to something dear was a true gift.

SO many lessons learned this winter. To start, FaceTime sessions with my family have been necessary part of the physical separation. How have the girls grown up so much in the short time we’ve been apart?! Seems impossible. I now understand the weight of full responsibility of keeping the boat in safe and working order in a way that I hadn’t shouldered before. (Those trips to the beach aren’t as relaxing when you’re thinking about your boat at anchor in a harbor on the opposed side of the island, you know?) I know what it’s like to ‘moisturize’ my hands and arms in the stank of bilge water (although if I’m being honest, I knew that before, I just mostly tried to avoid it and pass it off to you-know-who/previous captain), and the dozen other little challenges and tasks that all add up all day every day? They gave me a deeper connection to the boat’s systems, the Abaconian waters, my self-confidence, and the very strong network of wonderful people in this part of my life. So much to reflect upon with intense gratitude.

In short, it’s been turtley awesome, and I can’t wait to do it all over again very soon.

Chickadee’s first all-female crew is having a great go of it, despite the less-than-pleasant sexism that pervades this sport and lifestyle. (Enough of “Be so careful!”s and “Your husband isn’t with you?!” to make my ladyskin crawl, but it’s also easy enough to set aside, because… turquoise waters and vast sand beaches and also, they can get over their garbage thoughts on the matter already.. I’ll be over here enjoying the scenery from the helm.)

We spent a couple of days in Hope Town, where ‘thoughtful tour guide me’ thought it’d be fun to rent bikes and see Elbow Island from tip to tip, not quiiiite taking into consideration the freshly arrived’s lack of acclimation to the heat and sun of the day, especially when biking up and down the baking hills. (I maaaay have said that “There’s only one hill!” for the pump-up pre-game, and she maaaaay have mentioned “having hate in her heart for me” as we made our way back at the end of the day. Tons of fun!

We had a great sail leaving Hope Town, enjoyed a quick but torrential rain cloud wash down, and then saw the creepiest of water spouts not too far away. Our rain cloud didn’t have winds with it, so where the spout cropped up I do not know, but wowza, it was eerie. It looked like a boiling cauldron, and we could see the funnel of water above it shooting skyward as it traveled (away from us, thankfully). We watched it hit the shore of Guana with crazy explosive force, and after the bulk of the water shot up into its core, it dissipated quickly. Fingers crossed that I’ll never have to experience one any closer.

We anchored off of Guana, walked to the beach, dipped in the pool on our way back to the boat, and woke to ’round the Whale’ yesterday morning. Two really pleasant days’ journeys, even though the knowledge of heading back to the barn is sinking in with no small amount of weight.

As the primary photographer in the family, I often jokingly think that once I’m gone, any historian looking at our family will think “What a nice man Andy was to adopt those children and raise them by himself!”, but now that Jessie’s aboard, I have some choice shots to add to our albums. My favorite, perhaps of all time, is the one below. The backstory (and I may have mentioned this years ago) is that at one point when we were in Miami waiting for a weather window to cross the Gulf Stream my father called. “A weather window?! Who needs a weather window? We never thought about such things!”. My response had the obvious “We want our children to be safe.”, etc. underpinnings, but it was a funny thought I had whenever we mentioned watching the weather for any crossing. Fast forward however many years, and he sent me the story of a single-handing German man who had gone missing, only to be found off of the coast of the Philippines seven years later, his boat floating, and his body perfectly mummified (from the salt air, theroretically) at the nav station, where they theorized he had had a heart attack. Accompanying the shared story was my dad’s commentary: “This goes to show that you can sail even when you’re dead! You think he was worried about weather windows?!”

Fast forward to me always thinking about that when planning for a trip, and then also having photog Jessie help me plan my PSA poster for keeping things in perspective. (Also, sorry about the gross dead person photo.)

We’re now tucked into White Sound on Green Turtle for a windy weekend forecasted (it’s certainly begun), where we’ve started the winding down process and will work on the pre-haul duties. The end is near! And while that in and of itself holds its usual annual sadness, I will be very ready to be with ALVio again.

It’s safe to say that I’ve fallen very comfortably into the routine of being here alone. It’s so quiet and peaceful, and the day spans out further than usual, it seems, since my periods of productivity are so much more efficient. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you aren’t stopping to tend to things such as… other people. I miss them, of course, but it’s been so fun to experience the boat this way, and to go about the daily doings myself.

Andy and I are a great team onboard, and the division of labor is not entirely rigid, but pretty much set based on our individual habits and interests. Knowing that I was about to take on his ‘particular set of skills’ as well, you’d have thought that I’d have wanted to do so while he was here, to ensure I had the motions down. (For some things I did, but others, I thought that I should enjoy his assistance while I had it.) Now, of course, it’s all me. Though I’m not sure how long it would take me to start talking out loud to myself (I think a while, but family members weighing in say it’d be imminent), I do give myself a little chuckle every time I have to do something (rotate the solar panel, for one) that was one of ‘his tasks’ and I think, to no one, “I’ll get it!”, in the mock-exasperated tone of my imagination.

Three days in and they’re all securely my chores, and I enjoy most all of them. (Ask me where this status stands if and when I have to replace the macerator pump at any time, as it’d be bound to change.) As mentioned earlier, I’m also really enjoying the productivity level, and I’ve worked my way through my to-do list pretty quickly. I’ve also had time to talk some nice walks on the beach, I’ve read with the waves lapping at my ankles, I’ve lounged by the pool (got to get that ‘shower’ in!), and I’ve done admittedly as little socializing as possible to achieve ‘good neighbor’ status while also not really having to talk to people. (I can see our retirements years already – Andy, leader of the various harbor social clubs and me, holed up down below happily playing solitaire.)

Solo routine found, and now today is the day my girlfriend arrives, which is actually perfect. A friend of ours did a solo Atlantic crossing years ago and spent something like twenty-days at sea before coming into port. A few minutes at the bar had his skin crawling with the experience of human interaction, and made him realize that perhaps he had grown a little too comfortable being alone. While I’m obviously not anywhere near that situation, I can see myself going there very quickly and easily. (And here I thought it was Lily who wanted to be a hermit and live alone in the woods- maybe it’s been me all along!)

But really though, the next phase of fun begins, and I’ve been planning around the forecast to give us a fun series of places and activities to enjoy between here and Green Turtle. I kind of feel like a kindergartener at Show & Tell, so I hope I don’t overwhelm her with the “And this is another favorite, and this, next we should…”.

I’ll get a ferry to go meet her later this morning, but first I’ll finish a sewing project and tend to the daily chores. And someone needs to adjust the solar panel. I guess I’ll get it!

Whelp. Here I am, all by me onesie. In the early light in my cockpit perch with my coffee and book nearby, things are wonderful. Watching my family zoom away on the ferry yesterday while I stood on the dock, feeling drained of all of the important things, the further away they went? Less wonderful.

The emotional shell that I was came home and wept at the space that was so big now, the space that should have been filled with their things, their crumbs, their arguments and giggles, their hulking bodies in tight spaces… Chickadee has never known a time without us all, save for Andy’s first work trip in the yard before she was launched and actually, before she was Chickadee.

It turns out that a big part of my separation anxiety was having my people traveling all day. Every time I got a text that they had landed at the next airport, I breathed a bit easier. Three cheers for Flightradar24, and staying up until 1:30am making sure they’d made it home safely.

For distraction while they moved up the coast, the pragmatist in me shortly thereafter dried the tears and got to work. I took laundry in, scoured the galley, and ticked off a number of chores on my list. The kicker is this: I cleaned and swept the boat around noon, and it’s still clean. It’s a crazy thing, really. Every time I got back into the bunk and did my routine wipe-the-bottoms-of-my-feet-so-as-to-not-get-sand-in-the-sheets, there was nothing on them. I could get used to this!

The morning news catch-up these days has been rough, as we all know. Guilt from where and how [safe] we are is emphasized again and again as we read the headlines of the horrors happening in Ukraine. I keep thinking about families fleeing from their homes to the relative safety across borders, about innocents dying senselessly, and how we as a global community sure have a way of letting evil keep rearing its head again and again. A busy harbor has a great way of bringing the blood pressure back down for that second cup of coffee, and this morning is no exception. People dinghying their pets in for their morning walks (I have plenty to say about that, but I’ll save it for now…), ferries starting their first runs, hearing the waves hit the beach, and who we’re pretty sure is Jacques Cousteau on the boat behind us, weathered and stooped, and dressed like he’s prepared for an arctic expedition (it’s 73 degrees) while fixing something on his mizzen boom. Really brings me back to my current ‘reality’.

While it generally takes a few days to settle into the various routines onboard, over a week in, and we’re all now grooving in them. From sleeping positions for maximum comfort in a v-berth world, to the dance we do in the head while jockeying for position to brush our teeth, we’ve shrugged it all back on like a comfortable shirt. And then the sad realization that it’ll all be over so soon hits even harder. Andy and the kids are on their very short countdown, so it’s been a matter of getting all of the favorite things in, and feeling gratitude in that easy comfort, knowing we’re getting the most out of our shortened timeframe.

Less time for all of us has meant some significant changes to said routines, all certainly for the better. This year (until this point, at least), we’ve completely slacked off of the ‘keep the cabin tidy for efficiency and Susan’s mental health sake’ piece, which has given us more time out and about. Bunks are still made (we’re not animals, people!), and the galley stays clean, but we all kind of keep walking past the piles of books, games and clothing that clutter the salon and nav station every day. Another change is that schooling has also been a non-existent component on my end, since the girls are only missing one week of school (last week was their break), and they’ve worked things out with their teachers independent of me. They are doing what they need to do to keep up, but minus the heartache of arguing with me about it. A wonderful new twist!

While a large part of me can’t imagine being onboard without them all, the excitement of my time after they head home is building in increasingly specific ways. It’ll be so EASY to keep the boat clean all day with only my body and my things crashing about, and the dishes? Simple! (I’ve already mentioned to them that I’ll probably just eat popcorn every solo dinner I’m here for, because why not?)

I have four days that I have already mentally filled with all of the projects and things I want to do, and then a dear friend flies in to join me and start Chickadee’s first Girls’ Trip, another leg I’m gleefully looking forward to. Though this is one of my oldest friends who is perhaps the most easy-going roommate I’ve ever known (sorry, Andy!), she’ll also be Chickadee’s first houseguest, and the nervous and excited anticipation of ‘chartering’ again has me planning and prepping in ways I haven’t done in decades. (Although I’ve asked her to bring a pony brush and dustpan set, since we can’t seem to find one down here, so I’m setting the bar for thrill quite low: underpromise and overdeliver, right? (And also don’t forget to sweep the companionway a few times a day, or you’ll have sand in your bed!))

For an itinerary update, we had a great couple of nights in Man O’War with old friends and new, and also met up with another boat of friends while there. Had a great snorkel at a reef a couple of miles north of the island (octopus sighting- you’d be proud, Jacques!), checked out town and the harbor, and Andy even had a nap on the beach, which, considering his hatred of sand, felt like a great obstacle overcome.

We said goodbye to land-based Man O’Warians, and both boats then came here to Hope Town. A day at the marina’s pool for lunch (complete with manatee), an afternoon walking in town to see the updated sights (the rebuild changes are drastic from last year to this; they are going gangbusters all of a sudden), and cocktail hour next door with friends before movie night at home. Full, wonderful days.

As ALVio’s exit looms, we’re planning on filling today with bike-riding and island exploration here on Elbow Cay (and likely plenty of Uno, Qwerkle and Mexican Train). Play in the sand, meet people, eat good food, locate a fresh water pool for the daily ‘shower’ and play games. I could rinse, lather and repeat that for a long, long time.

Ice, charging, devil-may-care attitude about lights being left on.. that’s us!

(Just kidding- still quite stingy with precious resources!)

The great External Regulator Bypass of 2022 was a massive success, and we’re back in charging business. Andy’s stress level has decelerated for the moment, and I don’t have to live out my dad’s old story of sailing in the Gulf of Mexico with no refrigeration a million years ago: “Two days out (approximately a day and a half after the ice was gone), you couldn’t even remember WHAT a cold rum and Coke tasted like, and you didn’t miss it!”. To that oft- mentioned memory I’ve often thought: likely story. Now, thankfully, I won’t have to confirm or deny the experience.

We cheered for our mechanical engineer Andy, and then anticlimactically had to sit and wait for the tide to flood enough to be able to leave the harbor. Plus we wanted to wait for it to gust higher and start raining, so we could really nail our exit in extreme comfort. (Kidding again!)

Though quite damp and gray, we ended up having an easy passage across ‘the whale’, and while I then tucked into what turned out to be an almost five hour board meeting, we landed on the dock in front of a friends’ winter home on Man O’War to a warm reception. We haven’t been back to the island since Dorian, and while the island itself has had a very slow recovery, our friends and their cottage appeared unchanged, save for the dock, which.. could be a water slide. Secure enough to tie up, however, so here we sit.

The sun came out and the family went up the hill to join in on a larger gathering of cruisers and ex cruisers, including a family who we met four years ago on a remote beach about 20nm south of here. Big world, small circles!

After a quick rain shower this morning, the sun is up with gusto, and we’ll make our way up and out to check out the post-Dorian town scene, and likely a beach here and there. (Or, as the mother mentioned, we can just let the kids roam as feral island children for the day and call it good.)