Salvio Sails!

After a day and a half of gale-force winds (a fellow boater’s assessment-our anemometer isn’t functioning, and Andy remarkably turned down my offer to be hoisted aloft during the blow to fix it), today’s 20kts is relatively calm and quiet. Monday night’s ‘rest’ felt like we were underway, since we were swinging on the mooring and heeling over with the more violent gusts so frequently. We kept joking about who was holding watch, because they must have been having a hell of time at the helm. The frontal system stretched from Honduras to Maine, so while our Mt. Desert Island family and friends were the recipients of snow and then rain (aka the “Coastal Classic”), we were pummeled with wind and temperatures that tested our long-sleeve packing choices.

Despite the ‘breeze’, we were able to connect with another kid boat here in the harbor, who much to our luck and thrill, have two girls the same ages. We parents fell into easy conversation on a nice long beach walk (on the leeward side things were a lot more reasonable, and the kids are always happy with good surf anyway), and the girls bodysurfed and generally tried to see how much of the beach they could bring back to the boat in their hair. They’re headed on the same general path that we are, so we’ll be lucky to spend more time with them again soon. Proof once more that we’re never too far from new friends with shared interests; such a comforting part of this cruising racket.

The remote schooling sessions for the day have ended, so we have left our Hope Town nest to see what the Sea of Abaco looks like on our way down the chain. Violet just had a virtual field trip with a ranger at Acadia National Park where she (we- it’s a small boat) learned about the bats of Acadia (and beyond). When we weren’t sure that she’d be able to make it onto GoogleMeets this afternoon, I told her that I could improvise with a presentation that would consist largely of me gagging and focusing on my ability to try not to think about bats in a general sense, she politely declined. In the end I was very grateful for Ranger Lisa and her actual presentation, and my interest in the hairy, toothy, leathery, unfortunately white-nosed things was indeed piqued.

The winds are settling, as will the seas, and I imagine we’ll have a great sail this afternoon, landing somewhere near Little Harbor for the night. That cut will be our jumping off point to move down toward the Spanish Wells/Harbour Island area for the weekend. As the winds die down it appears as those tomorrow will be a motor-sailing kind of passage, but we shall see what the day brings.

Most importantly, there is ballyhoo in the freezer, awaiting tomorrow’s [hopeful] mahi catch!

In continuing on our southbound movement toward the Exumas, we’ve pit-stopped in Hope Town to wait out another blow early next week. The constant dance of following frontal passages and their fair and advantageous winds for travel, and then finding a safe harbor to tuck in for the next one is the ultimate schedule that guides us. Lucking out in great places to hang is the alluring side effect that keeps us loving this pattern. Weather window to weather window, that’s our game.

After doing a massive grocery shop via car from Treasure Cay before we left, we realized that we had missed a few things, and had square inches of storage space left (Must. Fill!). That meant leaving Treasure Cay, and then stopping in Marsh to drop anchor for an hour while we walked back to Maxwell’s and ‘topped up’. Weighed anchor and ran here to Hope Town before nightfall, a much-preferred harbor to Marsh.

Hope Town has come a long way in ten months. They finally have power on the island, so it’s quieter here in the harbor without all of the generators running 24/7. Fewer blue tarps as roofs as well, and things are markedly cleaner and tidier on the ground in addition to the serious amounts of construction underway and also completed. Like Green Turtle but perhaps more so, the speed of advancement here is largely due to seasonal homeowners and their donations. The workers are here, the materials are here; they’ll have their winter escapes as soon as possible, and they’ll throw in a new school while making that happen. Win win!

Loving a good outing with a purpose, we rented bikes in town and headed south to Tahiti Beach, one of our favorites here. Pre-Dorian the sand extended out toward Lubber’s Quarter in one giant swooping arc, and the kids loved following it out as the tide fell, making way for a massive sand bar for creating worlds on. Dorian shifted the sands in such a way that the ‘swoop’ is gone, but the outer bar still exists, so we waded out and they showcased their ‘hot tub’, their tree (an old palm trunk they dug out of the bar), and apparently their dinner (a live conch). Different shape, same plan- it’s nice to know some things can remain the same.

An afternoon at Hope Town Inn & Marina’s pool (freshwater means free ‘bath’!), dinner on board with some Chutes and Ladders (apparently I really like slides- I’m not sure I made it above the second row the entire game), and our Saturdaying was Saturdayed. Now on to Sundaying.. who has the bloody Marys?

Starboard side cockpit seat, leaning forward (backwards for me, but toward the bow- we’ll THAT’S confusing!) against the companionway, if you’re ever wondering where I spend most of my sitting time. EsPECially in the mornings (the ‘shelf’ just outboard is where my coffee cup hangs out), and often in the evenings as well. Out of the wind, out of any weather, and the view is ever-changing as we swing on the anchor. Nested bliss.

We left the yard on Tuesday and anchored off of the settlement (New Plymouth) on Green Turtle for the night to be able to get out of Black Sound on a high tide and in the daylight, as it’s a tight squeeze winding one’s way out. That way we were able to weigh anchor early to cross the whale, which was quick and easy and with only gentle swells. By 11am we were here in Treasure Cay, and by 1p Andy was ashore running around the joint chasing down a part he had ordered. (There’s a great transport company in Ft. Lauderdale that we can have things shipped to, and then they fly it in and can get things to us on various islands. This time they overshot and sent it to Green Turtle on the ferry, so it was a matter of waiting for the various ferry captains to communicate to see who had it and who was up for bringing it back. Island life fun! Makes me realize how mental I’d become if I were trying to build/rebuild a house here, waiting for various materials and parts to arrive.)

We had some rain showers while Andy was gone, so as soon as the patented Chickadee rain water collection system was set up, the girls did their schooling and I did some work work, all while Mother Nature worked on filling our tanks. We had a new cockpit awning made this year, and we discovered that its new side flaps are helpful for channeling the water on each side. This year is a ‘set the bowl and forget it’ kind of collection, rather than the less dignified ‘milking’ of the awning that had to happen before. (We also plug the scuppers and open the tank caps, so after an initial rinse, we let it flow right into the tanks themselves.)

Once reunited with both Andy and the sun, we all went ashore for a walk/splash on the beach, where we also introduced our new drone to the Bahamas. We bought one for the family this Christmas, and while Andy thought for a brief moment that we should leave it at home, he realized pretty quickly that he’d kick himself a thousand times over if we didn’t take the opportunity to get shots of these beautiful spaces from above. Being pretty anti-drone myself, and having to tamp the knee-jerk reaction of finding a nearby rifle and learning how to use it before shooting them down each time I see one, you can imagine my own conflict. Seeing them buzz in or near my space makes me want to scream, but wow, the technology is so incredible, as are the photos. So.. internal conflicts aside, and with the intention to not pester anyone, the drone is here, and I haven’t begun target practice. (Yet.)

A few more minutes of reading time remain before I must unfurl myself from Position A and rouse the troops. Despite Treasure Cay still looking like a bombed out shell of its former life a year later, Miss Lorraine of the ‘Most Amazing Cinnamon Buns in the World’ is back in business, and we will make it our duty to be that business, at least this morning.

Yesterday was successful on many fronts- the boat was launched, and our Day 5 COVID-19 tests were completed (and negative). And NOW we can begin this year’s journey in earnest! We’ll have to stay within reach of some form of service for the next eight days, as we are required to complete personal health surveys each day for the first fourteen of our time here in the Bahamas, but that should be manageable. (They email us each morning. It’s really quite amazing how locked-in their pandemic plan is.)

Today is for filling water tanks, renewing our cruising permit, a quick shop here at Sid’s in town while we still have the golf cart, returning said golf cart, moving out of the rental house (one last dip on the beach after lunch before we tear ourselves away), and generally continuing to stow and square things away onboard. Add in a few remote classes for the girls and getting the paddle board inflated and ready for a Black Sound ‘cruise’ later this afternoon, and we’ll call it a day. (Violet is dying to take “Sparky”, her kayak, for a spin, so we’ll make ourselves a merry band of misfits in our various vessels. Good fun for poking in and around the mangroves.)

Our cruising plan starts with crossing the ‘whale’ tomorrow (the seas look settled, so it’ll be an easy passage), and then tucking into Treasure Cay’s harbor to wait out a blow coming on Thursday. Friends of ours are working on a house there, and I have to make good on my promise to help assemble IKEA products until my eyes bleed from the instruction manuals and my hands are permanently formed around a set of Allen keys. Nothing like a relaxing Bahamian adventure…

I can’t remember a day in the recent past where I have done so little. It felt glorious in the moment, but pathetic upon reflection. I read my book for the majority of it, cooked meals for part of it, started phase one of my ukulele self-instruction (yeah, ‘you’re welcome, world’, for that boat purchase) for an hour interlude, swept the water off of the sun porch a number of times (it was found to be the low point of the property, and unfortunately the landing spot for our giant bags), and then wandered outside as soon as the skies parted to meander down the beach in my sweatpants to find a few pieces of seaglass.

I did a bit of work when the WiFi permitted, but really, my main goal was to stay awake, for whatever reason. (A nap would have made perfect sense, if I hadn’t been so well-rested from my night of blissful rainy sleep!) The girls were equally as lounge-y with movies and games while Andy braved his way to the boatyard, complete with a cottage poncho and trash bags of parts. His day was shorter than usual but still productive (he rewired some faulty fitxures in the salon), and we all reunited to watch the kids plaster themselves in sand on the beach before washing up and playing our new favorite/least favorite game, Ubongo! It’s a throwback to the days of Tetris for those of us of a certain age, but some of those of us of a certain age dislike any game that is timed/a race, so… a hit for half, but not for all. Regardless, Lily and I have played a LOT of rounds, and occasionally we pressure th’others into a few as well, ‘charming’ as we are.

My feet are finally drying out after a full day of being damp from sopping up porch water, walking on floors that have been slopped by feet walking through porch water, or the foolish act of simply going outside in the sand, end-capped by the foot bath on re-entry. So tending to the levels of foot moisture was clearly another big activity. Phew, it’s amazing I was able to get it all in.

Today is for work. All of the kinds of it. The girls will do laundry at the yard in between some schoolwork (their school is off today, but we need to make hay while the WiFi shines), Andy will finish his project list, and I’ll start bringing the bulk of what’s left aboard. We’ll get the dinghy pumped up, shined up and the davits rigged, we’ll test the engine and I’ll start loading some of our groceries. Somewhere in there I’m sure we’ll steal a trip to town for errands (but really just ice cream), and back to the house in time to enjoy it for our last night. (We extended our stay at the house by a day, since our washout day threw us for the loop that we lazily cocooned ourselves into instead of properly marching on with our plans.)

And we’re off!

It’s safe to say that the island’s cisterns are overflowing this morning. We fell asleep to gentle ocean breezes, and woke to a persistent downpour, hammering on the hurricane shutters propped up over each window. Not much wind was involved, so instead of the need to bustle around to secure things near the open windows, we were able to relish in our dry comfort to fall asleep to the din. The incredible volume of the rainfall woke me about four times throughout the night, which led to the repeated glee of having my favorite soundtrack for falling asleep. Cheap thrills, I suppose. (And an even cleaner boat!)

Before it was a rainy kind of evening, it had been a sharky kind of day. I only worked on the boat for a couple of hours in the morning to allow for the girls to swim off of our beach, which they were very excited to do. They played on the skimboard, bodysurfed, and created a beach habitat for a very confused ghost crab for about an hour, while I dipped my toes and read my book. A sharp cry brought my attention to the shore, where a little (about 4 feet?) shark had made its way to the girls, who had very swiftly exited the water. It was a little unnerving to see it there, in a literal sea of nothing but blue, but once it realized that ‘child’ wasn’t on its menu du jour, it started trolling along the beach. We followed along for about a half mile, and in the crest of the waves saw that it was a small black tip (not exactly known for their loving demeanors). It was really eerie to see how shallow it was (it seemed as though each crest of the waves would threaten its beaching), and as it swam over coral it virtually disappeared in camouflage. Yeesh. Gives one a bit of pause about standing knee deep to cool off. It’s lucky that they’re so starkly contrasted against the white sand where we usually swim and play, and that you can see so far out, but it was also a good reminder that vigilance is key.

Our house came equipped with bikes, so we spent the afternoon tooling around the island, landing at the Green Turtle Club for a drink and a dip in their pool. Not that we’ve been exactly whizzing by in our golf cart on previous island outings, but it was nice to take an even slower route, checking things out in detail out while huffing and puffing on our one-speeds. (Having that drink as our carrot was helping for the huffing and puffing part, I’ll admit.)

On a beach walk before dinner the girls saw three more sharks trolling along the shore, and I’m wondering how quick they’ll be to get back in the water after their shark-filled day. It’s a good thing they’re still interested in making beach ‘houses’, beach-combing and sea-glassing. (While the shells are fading away with the health of our oceans, we can always seem to count on the boating drinkers of the world to cast their bottles overboard.) Plenty still to do on these beautiful beaches.

In Chickadee’s quiet realm, things are coming along quickly, and technically we could move aboard any time, if we weren’t so enjoying this house. We’re also really relishing the organized order of bringing things to the boat only when they’re needed, and not beforehand only to be tossed in a pile that eventually becomes a tangled mess of “Where did I put that, anyway?”. Bag by bag we’re adding parts and amenities, cleaning spaces ahead of their stowing and/or installs, and the lack of overwhelming piles only lends more to our general sense of ease this year. The new Chickadee world order!

Today looks to be a washout, so we’ll turn to our clerical ‘to dos’ and spend the rest of a lazy Sunday playing games and eating, two things we Allens really excel in. Especially the eating part. Happy Sunday, all!

Yesterday’s boat day was an eventful one, if not too exciting. It’s amazing how manageable the pre-departure boat projects seem this year in comparison to last’s three page list of overwhelming fixes and replacements. Of course, there are always projects that we’ll have, ranked loosely in columns of necessity, upgrade, cosmetic appeal and just plain want, but the bullets to tick in order to get the boat launched are few this go round.

Andy did a bit of fiberglass repair in the bilge, which required grinding, though thankfully in a very small tent-able area, and I spent the day washing the boat down so we’d have a clean space to air things out, and then cleaning rooms and turning them back into spaces of intended use.

Without a sugar cane factory pumping ash out two to three times a week (a downside of our Indiantown storage) and with good air flow so close to the water, the boat was in great shape. No mildew, no film of ick, no flies on the fly tape!, not much to even clean, really, other than the dust created from a tarp that met its maker in the Bahamian summer sun.

Not only our we less frenetic in our work, but the entire boatyard is quiet and still. Last year at this time the travel lift was launching boats all day, grinders, sanders and cranes stepping masts created the background noise to our work, and people, makeshift workbenches and boat parts were scattered about everywhere we looked. This year, as far as we can tell, we’re the only people in the yard, which is wild. There are so many Canadian cruisers here in a normal year, and their lockdown measures are still largely in place, with any travel outside of the country being discouraged. It probably should be for us as well, but I’ll admit feeling relief that we were able to come. (Our day five COVID tests on Monday will further cement that relief if they’re negative.)

The girls’ school was off yesterday, but they spent it catching up with work missed on our travel days, and they’re both now so regimented about their responsibilities I feel superfluous in the schooling game. (Time to hang up my School Marm pinafore?) I have some projects planned for us once we’re in our actual rhythm, but it’s a major relief to know that they’re safe, occupied and productive here at the house while we’re working on the boat. I’m also hoping that it’s a precursor to our entire schooling winter, as the schoolwork arguments and stresses bouncing between us are the only things I dread about these trips. A school marm can dream.

I came back to the house for lunch to find V living her best life on the beach (they know not to go swimming without an adult here, but they happily take over the dry parts), with her shades, water and book. I delivered her a sandwich and christened her ‘Magda’. (She had slathered herself in sunscreen, but all I could picture were those foil sun reflectors, since she was set up like beach lounging was her new career.)

The afternoon consisted of finding our cottage’s collection of bikes, touring a friend’s post-Dorian home build, a trip to town, and some delicious ice cream. All in all, a wonderfully relaxed kind of day in this welcoming place.

Today the boat calls, but so do the waves. We’ll spend a bit of time on the beach with the kids so they can revisit their skim-boarding skills before seeing how much sand they can accidentally bring into the house. Ahh, the ‘troubles’.

Whelp, I’ve officially inserted myself in the visions that have been sustaining me for months. Hot coffee, comfortable seat on the dune patio, waves lapping, sun rising. If only the no-see-ums weren’t threatening my sanity along with the epidermis of my ankles, I’d gold star this moment.

Yesterday was a very relaxed day of entry, as they all should be. A leisurely morning in the airport hotel, a clear and picturesque flight over, and lucky timing for air arrival, ferry schedules and meet-ups.

We had our favorite ‘taxi’ driver drop us for errands on the way to the ferry dock, where we learned that due to COVID they aren’t allowing children under the age of 16 in the grocery store. Aside from that being a brilliant plan for any parent (I tried to feel pity as my new Marsh Harbour orphans glumly slumped away from the entrance to wait outside, but it was hard to muster, and I most definitely skipped my way in), Maxwell’s lost about 30% of our ticket by not allowing unnecessary snack and menu idea cart add-ins.

It was so nice to see so many familiar faces on the ferry, and it struck me that we’ve left one small town on a small island to come to another, though this one even smaller. Any thoughts on how small the next one will be, Gilligan?

The house is as perfect as we remember, and we spun around it in glee before zipping to the boat yard to see Chickadee in her AYS (Abaco Yacht Service) home. It was the end of the work day, but we were able to see Eddie, smiling as always, who greeted us, and we uncovered the boat enough to peek down below, see that things looked great, and to set a bug bomb off before we start work tomorrow (no sign of anything, but from horror stories we’ve heard, it’s better to be safe than to find stowaways down the ‘road’).

Cracked conch for dinner and falling asleep to the sound of the waves crashing. (And then waking in the wee hours to a sound that made me smile- Wild Bobby or his 2021 stand-in, crowing his little head off, and needing a proper clock.)

Time to unpack our bags and map our day of Chickadee prep!

Global pandemic. Inauguration Day. Approximately three hundred loose ends to tie up, with more things unraveling as we furiously shoved things in bags. Seems like a great time to travel!

I was looking around at the sea of masks on the plane and thinking about our trip down to the boat last year, and how blissfully unaware we were of the events that would unfold to change everything so dramatically. Last year we were anxious thinking about the state of the boat, the destruction of the islands, our friends’ livelihoods. For that we had bags packed full of supplies, energy with which to tackle projects, and the knowledge that we were healthy and safe together.

This year, the intensity of my fear of one of us contracting COVID-19 en route just about eats up all of our available anxiety points. Counterbalancing those brain-devouring thoughts for days has been a montage of the gifts we have to look forward to: a boat not ravaged by a hurricane, a return to the beloved cottage we found at the end of our stay to kick off our Green Turtle days, and the assurance that the crystal clear waters lapping onto the white sand beaches will be there to comfort us with its persistant ‘shhhsssshhh’.

We haven’t left Maine since March; we’ve barely left our tiny island town, and trips out of our house for anything other than hikes or walks have become big events. For someone who was “born with her bags packed”, as my mother has long told me, it’s amazing how the tides turn and how quickly we adapt to change.

Airports have always been some of my favorites places in the world. The designs, the planning involved in the management of moving so many people, the people watching, the plane watching, the newsstands for the logic problem books… all of it. I’ve spent nights in a few, raced around many more in a frenzied panic, lost my bags in some, but still, nothing has diminished my adoration. Fast forward to today’s world, where I just want to get out of them. I’m flummoxed as to how we’ve gotten this far into a pandemic with people who still don’t understand how and why masks work, I’m thirsty and hungry because there have been too many people nearby to feel comfortable unmasking to partake, and mostly, I’m finding myself just mad at the air, which makes me feel terrified and crazy all at once. Let me just say thank goodness for the distraction of logic problems.

BUT! The anxiety tide always ebbs, as well. The boat! Green Turtle friends! Warmth! And I’d be remiss not to mention our excitement for seeing our favorite rooster, hopefully still in residence at our cottage. I’m not sure the chances are great that Wild Bobby is indeed still bopping around, but the possibility has us excited. (Distributing our dog and cat to loving wintertime caregivers is the hardest of our pre-trip ‘to dos’. Clearly Wild Bobby is one of many stand-ins along the way, although decidedly less cuddly.)

Next photos: turquoise waters!

Since our yard times are getting more and more dialed in with each passing year, our enjoyable time allotment for our last few days has grown to allow for a proper festive exit. This year we hustled to button Chickadee up while the girls were entertained with new friends on walks, in pools, exploring mangroves, and rolling in the waves. We adults were also able to spend time with new friends, and had the chance to relax just the littlest bit in an effort to stem the tide of anxiety pouring out of every news outlet.

As a very worthy assist this time around, we stumbled onto/into a rental cottage that made me ache to leave behind this morning. Built in the 50s or 60s and funky with a very Hereshoff feel, its high-glossed Abaco pine on open studs was only one piece of the appeal. We fell asleep listening to the waves crash ‘at our feet’, and I got to sit amidst the casuarinas on the dune deck this morning to watch the sunrise. To really seal the deal, it came with a ‘pet’, and after bonding over our shared love of Tostitos and Doritos, he was christened Wild Bobby and was swiftly added to our menagerie of loved ones.

What a whirlwind to end with. While I can say with complete honesty that a two week quarantine upon arrival home is the greatest gift I can imagine (Heck! Let’s make it three, and let’s enforce it every year!), everything else is just so overwhelming. Data points upon data points, news of dwindling grocery supplies, editorialized shaming for just about every activity mentioned (including travel, so let us have it, world!), the sheer quantity of all of it coming at us from every direction. That cottage on the beach never felt such adoration.

We’re on the ferry to Marsh Harbour now, having just started our northward climb into the unknown. What was brilliantly pointed out to me by Ruach yesterday are the parts we DO know: cruising has prepared us so well for what so many seem to already be struggling with. Spending confined, extended time with your kids? Check. Homeschooling? Check. Making healthy meals together with limited resources? Check. I will say, the toilet paper was never an issue on the boat, so that might be our challenge? Hmm. Still kind of doubt it.

So. A goodbye to our sweet Chickadee:

Thank you for another joyful season, and enjoy your rest. Stay strong for hurricane season, old girl; we know you’re tough, but no more storm ‘kisses’ if you can help it. (A non-profit shop on Hope Town had things stamped “Kissed by Dorian”, to which we chuckled that our poor boat had been not kissed, but instead kicked in the face..)

Once again you gave us a winter of invaluable time with our girls, new adventures, comfortable routines and restorative time away. We miss you dearly and will use the memories and the countdown to 2021 to get us through our most chaotic moments.

Ever grateful,

SALVio