Wednesday morning was my last morning in the cockpit. Bittersweet, as always. Just the day before the boat so swiftly went from cozy home to torn apart workplace, so the thoughts of our sweet beachfront rental with its gargantuan king bed and full-sized refrigerator (easy cheese*!) were appealing enough to savor my perch with more gratitude than sadness.
After leaving Spanish Wells on Sunday we had a long but beautiful day crossing north to the Abacos. Our final day of fishing was yet another bust, although we did manage to snag a plastic sheet and lose our cedar plug to a mahi we saw flinging around behind us. With all of the money we’ve spent on gear this year (replacement donut reels, new skirts, etc. etc.) we realized that we probably could have just bought three whole mahi and called it good. The plastic we picked up made us feel better, a kind of ‘net zero’ to the length of line that poor marlin probably still has attached to him.
We stopped in Hope Town for the night, and thanks to our charging issue, we needed to plug in. We’ve apparently become ‘marina people’ for this last phase, which, once we remembered the amazing pool at the Hope Town Inn & Marina, didn’t bother us one bit. We met up with friends there, had a meal in the cockpit while enjoying the view of an over-the-top birthday party (and it turns out, marriage proposal) at the marina restaurant, complete with fireworks. The next morning we dragged our departure time out, just to soak up the relaxing scenery.
Every year we figure new tricks for a swifter exit. We’ve stopped at the Green Turtle Club to decommission and clean lines, gear, etc., but I’ve also already laundered and stowed a number of our linens while here at ‘ground’ level, as opposed to schlepping it up and down the swim ladder while hauled out. I also had all of our bags packed with things leaving the boat before we hauled, meaning we took our giant duffels off of the ‘down the ladder’ list as well. I’ve meal-planned through the end of the trip, so we’re left with what we need to feed ourselves until we fly out, while also eating down as much of our stores as possible (always a favorite logistical and culinary task- how many of these dry goods can we fit into ‘x’ many meals when combined with what fresh produce we have left?).
While at the dock, we met yet another wonderful family, as if our fully-packed season of introductions to dear people deserved its end cap. (Which it did!) Andy was taken fishing for the afternoon, and came home with a face sore from smiling- clinging tight while pounding into growing seas on a 30-something foot center console and not catching any dinner (has anyone noticed a pattern here?) was truly his dream afternoon. (Meanwhile, I sat at the pool with the rest of our family parts, chatting about books and living my own.)
Our haul and ‘put away’ was as efficient as ever, partly because we were so anxious to be able to maximize the time in our amazing rental. ‘Our’ house wasn’t available, so we are currently in the sister house next door, and our previous assessments about not being able to top that place were wrong, wrong wrong. This house is the one I’ll dream about forever and always. And, added bonus of all bonuses: Wild Bobby came back to us, and he’s as funny (and hungry) as ever. Both mornings I’ve gotten up at sunrise, and have seen him walk up to the house, checking the scene. He’ll circumnavigate it, crowing his rooster crow under the windows (the girls’ warm feelings toward Wild Bobby are cooling with not a small tinge of exhaustion), and I’ll stuff him full of peanuts and cereal just to keep him as quiet as possible until everyone is up. He is also our mostly companion at cocktail hour on the dune deck. Win-win?
The weight that usually crushes me when thinking about leaving has lessened to an extent I wouldn’t have thought possible, based on previous years’ exits. Granted, I still don’t want to go home, I’ll gladly admit that, and I greatly look forward to the years that the cruising portion of our years is more in the four to five months range, but I don’t feel like I’m going back to a world of total chaos for once (excepting, of course, the global pandemic that still rages on…). I’ve undergone a large shift in my work life while onboard this year, releasing a massive time responsibility in a certain position I left, and shifting to a certifiably less-financially stable, but massively more sane and healthy rhythm of only taking care of my own businesses. Which is plenty of work to keep me busy, while also possibly maintaining a family at the same time. While my list-making continues in a serious way and the items are hefty, involved, and some might say risky, they are all exciting, things I love to do, and they are mine. Thinking ahead to our next Chickadee trip means a certain freedom of movement I’ve never had, which in turn feels like I’m not leaving something precious behind as much as looking forward to an even better version of it. Of course, with Lily going into high school this coming year, our timing will likely look a bit different, but that’s for a later planning period. For now, savoring the last moments of this year’s journey is the task at hand.
Chickadee is covered and ready to heave a big sigh, we have bid adieu to the yard and its wonderful workers, and now we play (well, after school and a bit of work, anyway..). We will swim our last 2021 Bahamian swim, check the beach for sharks, rays and sea glass, swing in the hammocks, and luxuriate in this luckiest of cruising/adventurous world we have made for ourselves.
*When people have complained that it’s so cold in Maine while we’re living a lovely tropical life, I try to even the field by pointing out how hard it is for us to access cheese in our fridge, a task that is necessary to perform often for the sake of obvious cheese needs. (We have to lift three separate interlocking bins out, hope there’s room on the counter or companionway steps to put them without them sliding about, and fold one’s body in half to get that low into the refer. THEN you choose your cheese, and put it all back together without anything spilling out. Having the ability to simply open a door and grab some of anything, really?! That’s the dream. (And is also how catamaran-dwellers live, but it’s still not enough of a reason for me to want one.))
