That's what we call it when we are sitting somewhere, ready to leave, but prevented from doing so by bad weather ahead of us. We are anchored at a place in the middle of Panama called Ensenada Naranjo. I have no idea why it is called that because there are no oranges that I can see and nothing colored orange, either. (Naranjo means orange in Spanish.)
Over the past few days, we have encountered some weather issues. Our original plan when leaving Isla Jicaron was to stop here. But when we were sailing towards here, we ended up in a squall that was blowing so hard from this very direction that we were prevented from entering. (We also learned that collecting rainwater during a squall is a good idea, but not necessarily when you are underway. We took a wave over the bow when the water tanks were open and now our water has a bit of salt water in it. It isn't enough to make it undrinkable, in fact I can't even taste it. But Mike checked with our water checking device and discovered it. So from now on our collecting rain will be limited to when the boat is not moving.) So we decided to just keep on sailing directly for the Bay of Panama. That also was not to be.
In order to enter the Bay of Panama, one has to sail around something called Punta Mala, which means Bad Point and trust me, it is aptly named. We were unable to even get close to it, as the wind and waves were against us, blowing so hard and kicking up such high seas that even with our engine we could not make any headway. It was like running in place, or swimming laps in one of those current pools. As we were struggling with it, a boat came from the direction we were trying to go. They had the wind and waves in their favor, but were still getting beat up. They called us on the radio and told us it was only going to get worse the further we went. So we turned tail and headed back the way we came. After an entire day of sailing, we ended up here after all. This time the weather allowed us to enter. It is a nice anchorage, and well protected from the waves and swells. It isn't strong winds that cause most of the problem in anchorages, it is the waves or swells. Wind makes noise and makes things uncomfortable, but waves and swells that are too big will cause the anchor to come unset and then you will drift. Usually into rocks. That is what happened with our second anchorage here in Panama, Isla Montuosa. The swells were so large the boat was rocking rather violently from side to side, making it impossible for us to even lie in bed without rolling around. And the anchorage itself was surrounded by large rocky reefs, and if we had come loose, there was a good chance we could be driven onto the rocks.
So here we sit. We got on the SSB radio and downloaded some weather information that indicates this current pattern of high winds and swells is not going to lie down until Monday. Funny, we are only about 24 miles from the problem area, but there is nothing here. It would be so tempting to give it another try, but we know better. We might be able to leave late Sunday afternoon, we will just have to keep checking the weather reports. It is pointless to go out, wasting our time, energy, emotional well-being, not to mention diesel fuel, just to have to turn back again. When you have to do that, you end up losing days of time. It is frustrating, but there is nothing to be done about it. We are using the time to good advantage - we went through our food cupboards again and cleaned and cleaned, making sure there were no open packages of food that the roaches could live off. You would be surprised how often the packages just come undone - a problem with third world groceries. But I think we are winning the battle - between us and our geckos, we will keep fighting until the end. I have never hated anything so much as I hate those roaches. I mean it.
While we were sailing along on our way to this anchorage, we had fishing poles out, trolling along. We know when a fish hits because Mike sets the lines so they make a clicking noise as the line spools out. SO here we were, eating dinner in the cockpit, enjoying a nice evening, when all of a sudden, with no warning whatsoever, the entire fishing pole AND the rod holder itself flew off the boat and disappeared into the water. It happened so fast and so hard that it left the boat before even spooling any line. The metal rod holder was sheared off. We can only imagine the size of the fish that took the pole. Too bad, it was an expensive pole and Torino reel. We do have more poles and reels, so it is not the end of the world. I am pretty glad we didn't have to deal with that fish!
THere are two other boats here in the anchorage with us. One of them has three men from Chile on it. We met them last night and shared the last of our beer with them. I felt like that was a good way to use up the last of it, rather than hoarding it and rationing it. We had a great visit. Two of them did not speak any English, but Carlos did, and between his English and my Spanish we were able to communicate no problem by just mixing the languages. Later that evening they came by again and invited us to dinner, but we had already eaten, unfortunately for us! But they had been spear fishing and gave us a fish, which MIke promptly cleaned and filleted and will be our dinner tonight. We are not sure what kind of a fish it is - maybe some variety of trigger fish, which we ate in Mexico in the Sea of Cortez.
As I was sitting here writing this, we heard a dinghy pulling up, and there were our new friends with another fish for us! This looks like a tuna variety or a jack of some sort - I guess we have two nights worth of dinner now!!!!
We discovered a new way to shower to save water. We wet ourselves down in the shower, then turn off the water and soap and shampoo up. Then, covered with soap and shampoo, we run from the bathroom to the cockpit and then jump into the ocean and rinse off. THen we get back in the shower for a quick fresh water rinse. It does save a lot of water, as rinsing the soap off is what uses the most. Especially with hair as long and thick as mine. Plus it is fun.
I do have one thing to ask here: If either of my sisters reads this, would you please send me an email at WDF5496@sailmail.com? I didn't bother to write down your email addresses, just having them in the google gmail address book, which is inaccessible to me as I have no internet and just work off the SSB radio. I have a favor I need to ask, so I am hoping to hear from one of you. Thank you in advance!
So that is it for today. Although we have plenty to do here to keep ourselves busy, I am hoping that the weather data we are looking at is right and we will be able to head out Monday. Once we get past Punta Mala, it is only a day or so to the Panama City area. Then we can start to fix the stuff that has crapped out on us. I am so tired of things breaking and so is Mike. But that is a post for another day.
(No quote for today, I am too lazy to look one up.)
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Friday, March 29, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Thunder and Lightning, Oh Yeah
I grew up in Wisconsin, where big summer thunderstorms happened on a regular basis. And I always loved them. I loved the booming, and the flashes of light that lit up the entire night. Sometimes I'd get up with my dad and we would go and sit in the garage and just watch the storm. My youngest sister was afraid of them, and arranged a deal with my middle sister that when youngest sister got scared, she would knock on the wall and middle sister would come in her room and sleep. But I was the only one who woke up with the knocking, so I'd go in there. I never minded. I just wanted her to love the violent weather like I did. (As far as I know, she no longer fears thunderstorms and at one point handled my son, who is terrified of them to this day, with admirable aplomb.)
My husband is another story. He has on two occasions been so close to a lightning strike that he was knocked down. That would sour me a bit. But things have changed completely and now when I hear distant thunder or see distant lightning, my stomach flips and all reason flies out the door. See, getting struck by lightning in a boat is no laughing matter. It has happened to several people we know. All of your electronics get fried, and we are talking maybe ten thousand dollars if you have a nice system like we do. I know, I know, we do have insurance for this sort of thing, and we know from our acquaintances that insurance is very good about this stuff. Nevertheless,I have no desire to undergo that drama. Anyway, this whole rant is based on the fact we had a thunderstorm last night, filling me with anxiety and impeding my already fragile sleep patterns. However there is a bright side to it - thunderstorms are usually accompanied by heavy rain, so we did get to add to our water tanks. And everyone knows I love drinking rainwater. So we deal with it. Not that there is any choice in the matter.
Anyway, I will catch up on what I have been up to for the last few days. After leaving Isla Parida, we sailed for about a day to another island about which we heard marvelous things. It is tiny, and out of the way, not being visited by very many cruisers. I heard about it after putting out a call on the radio for any suggestions about anything really special that should not be missed. So we set off, and motored most of the 30 miles or so because there was no wind. (We hate motoring and feel like it is cheating.) The is;and itself was beautiful, verdant and jungle-y. There was a little camp of some sort on the shore. We sat in the cockpit and had a beer, admiring the scenery and planning to take a dinghy expedition the next day. The anchorage was a bit rolly, but I didn't think it was that big of a deal. We were anchored in sort of a slot between two rocky reefs. We had dinner, went to bed, and a few hours later were almost hurtled out of our bed by the boat rocking violently from side to side. I had to jump up and start moving things around as things in the cupboards were banging away. Keep in mind we had just been underway and I had things battened down pretty well already. So we went back to bed, but it just got worse. Finally, at midnight, Mike decides that we need to get out of there. I agreed. Of course, getting underway with a rocking boat and in the dark is stressful and no fun. But we did it, and the ride while underway was much more comfortable than being in the anchorage. Plus there was no worry our anchor would break loose and we would go onto the rocks. So we sailed until we were well out to sea and then out the boat into a heave to (a way of sort of stopping the boat by making the sails and rudder work against each other) and went to sleep.
We then came to our next recommended stop, Isla Jicaron. Again, an incredibly beautiful island with no one on it. The anchorage was fine, so we stayed for two days. The island itself is covered in such heavy jungle we could not have hiked it without using our machetes to cut our way through. So we walked along the beach area, picking five fine coconuts for ourselves. We brought them back to the boat, and Mike hacked them open with his machete. This is a difficult job - you have to hack through inches of tough husk before you get to the nut itself, and we discovered something in the husks stains the decks. It sort of looks like blood stains, actually, and I know about that because of cleaning fish on board. But it was awesome to pick, process and eat our own cocos. A word to the wary, however, coconuts and their milk appear to have mild laxative qualities. Today we plan on leaving here and sailing about 50 miles to another anchorage, a place called Ensenada Naranja. It is on the mainland, right before you round a big scary point into the Bay of Panama, wherein lies Panama City. We need to get there as our depth sounder decided to stop working, and that is not a good thing. We can get it fixed (or replace it) in Panama City. We would have preferred going straight from here to Panama City, a multi day sail, but the weather is going to get dicey adn we want to hole up in a protected anchorage and wait for the blow to be over, rather than getting beat up in heavy seas and winds.
I have also been put in charge of using the cruiser nets on the SSB radio. I am getting good at it, and yesterday I had to help relay information between a sailboat and the net control. (Net control is the person who is organizing the net.) They could not hear each other but I could hear both of them. That happens a lot, and because we have a really good radio, we can hear almost everyone even when they can't hear each other. At first I was intimidated, but now I am really enjoying it. I am even thinking about getting a ham license, if I could pass the test. I have a book to study, but it isn't exactly the sort of thing I am good at, understanding the technical stuff. I hope I can learn it. I like talking on the radio, and maybe after some more practice I will try my hand at net control.
So anyway, that is it for now. Just another day in paradise.
"Our interest is on the dangerous edge of things." (Robert Browning)
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My husband is another story. He has on two occasions been so close to a lightning strike that he was knocked down. That would sour me a bit. But things have changed completely and now when I hear distant thunder or see distant lightning, my stomach flips and all reason flies out the door. See, getting struck by lightning in a boat is no laughing matter. It has happened to several people we know. All of your electronics get fried, and we are talking maybe ten thousand dollars if you have a nice system like we do. I know, I know, we do have insurance for this sort of thing, and we know from our acquaintances that insurance is very good about this stuff. Nevertheless,I have no desire to undergo that drama. Anyway, this whole rant is based on the fact we had a thunderstorm last night, filling me with anxiety and impeding my already fragile sleep patterns. However there is a bright side to it - thunderstorms are usually accompanied by heavy rain, so we did get to add to our water tanks. And everyone knows I love drinking rainwater. So we deal with it. Not that there is any choice in the matter.
Anyway, I will catch up on what I have been up to for the last few days. After leaving Isla Parida, we sailed for about a day to another island about which we heard marvelous things. It is tiny, and out of the way, not being visited by very many cruisers. I heard about it after putting out a call on the radio for any suggestions about anything really special that should not be missed. So we set off, and motored most of the 30 miles or so because there was no wind. (We hate motoring and feel like it is cheating.) The is;and itself was beautiful, verdant and jungle-y. There was a little camp of some sort on the shore. We sat in the cockpit and had a beer, admiring the scenery and planning to take a dinghy expedition the next day. The anchorage was a bit rolly, but I didn't think it was that big of a deal. We were anchored in sort of a slot between two rocky reefs. We had dinner, went to bed, and a few hours later were almost hurtled out of our bed by the boat rocking violently from side to side. I had to jump up and start moving things around as things in the cupboards were banging away. Keep in mind we had just been underway and I had things battened down pretty well already. So we went back to bed, but it just got worse. Finally, at midnight, Mike decides that we need to get out of there. I agreed. Of course, getting underway with a rocking boat and in the dark is stressful and no fun. But we did it, and the ride while underway was much more comfortable than being in the anchorage. Plus there was no worry our anchor would break loose and we would go onto the rocks. So we sailed until we were well out to sea and then out the boat into a heave to (a way of sort of stopping the boat by making the sails and rudder work against each other) and went to sleep.
We then came to our next recommended stop, Isla Jicaron. Again, an incredibly beautiful island with no one on it. The anchorage was fine, so we stayed for two days. The island itself is covered in such heavy jungle we could not have hiked it without using our machetes to cut our way through. So we walked along the beach area, picking five fine coconuts for ourselves. We brought them back to the boat, and Mike hacked them open with his machete. This is a difficult job - you have to hack through inches of tough husk before you get to the nut itself, and we discovered something in the husks stains the decks. It sort of looks like blood stains, actually, and I know about that because of cleaning fish on board. But it was awesome to pick, process and eat our own cocos. A word to the wary, however, coconuts and their milk appear to have mild laxative qualities. Today we plan on leaving here and sailing about 50 miles to another anchorage, a place called Ensenada Naranja. It is on the mainland, right before you round a big scary point into the Bay of Panama, wherein lies Panama City. We need to get there as our depth sounder decided to stop working, and that is not a good thing. We can get it fixed (or replace it) in Panama City. We would have preferred going straight from here to Panama City, a multi day sail, but the weather is going to get dicey adn we want to hole up in a protected anchorage and wait for the blow to be over, rather than getting beat up in heavy seas and winds.
I have also been put in charge of using the cruiser nets on the SSB radio. I am getting good at it, and yesterday I had to help relay information between a sailboat and the net control. (Net control is the person who is organizing the net.) They could not hear each other but I could hear both of them. That happens a lot, and because we have a really good radio, we can hear almost everyone even when they can't hear each other. At first I was intimidated, but now I am really enjoying it. I am even thinking about getting a ham license, if I could pass the test. I have a book to study, but it isn't exactly the sort of thing I am good at, understanding the technical stuff. I hope I can learn it. I like talking on the radio, and maybe after some more practice I will try my hand at net control.
So anyway, that is it for now. Just another day in paradise.
"Our interest is on the dangerous edge of things." (Robert Browning)
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Thursday, March 21, 2013
Back in Cruiser Mode
Our plan is to leave this anchorage and head for another island tomorrow am. This new island, Isla Montuosa, is remote, and not on the main cruiser route through these northern Panamanian islands. We heard about it on the cruiser's net on the SSB radio the other day, after I asked if anyone could recommend any place special. This island and another one sounded especially nice. Interestingly, we have less specific information about anchoring here than we ever have had in the past.
You see, cruisers (a lot of us anyway, especially in the beginning) rely heavily on cruiser's guides, books that list anchorages, marinas, and generally act as a guidebook for sailboats. And some areas of the world have more detailed guides than others. Mexico has several very detailed guides, and when you combine both of the most popular ones, it is as though someone is holding your hand the entire way. The guides for this area are less specific, and the island we are going to next has no specific information at all. So it will be a little more challenging to anchor there. We are looking forward to it. Isla Montuosa is about 40 miles from here, and it could take a couple of days if there is no wind.
Our watermaker is broken down again - this time it is something new, of course. Luckily we had the tanks full before it crapped out, but it still sucks. Mike thinks he know what is wrong and believes it can be repaired in Panama City. If not, he thinks he can replace the broken part without too much trouble. It is always something, isn't it? I would be a lot more upset about this if it wasn't for the fact that our saga of boat drama is no different from anyone else we know out here, whether the boat is brand new or an old heap. It will always be something, and once you fix and/or replace everything, the first thing you fixed will start to break down. It is nature of the harsh marine environment.
Tonight we are having out second lobster dinner since we have been here. The guys showed up the next day as promised, and wanted some soda in return. We had none, but they were happy with some powdered gatorade. Today they came by, and gave us five little lobsters and two large conches in exchange for a gallon of gas and three cans of beer. We ended up throwing the conches back, because the preparation is daunting, and we just didn't feel ready to wrestle with them. SO lobster again tonight!
I spent most of yesterday and a good portion of this morning repairing our big genoa sail. When I went to fix the parts we knew about, we found more areas that were rips and tears waiting to happen, so I shored all that up as best as I could. The sail itself is fine, but the canvas covering was coming off. I used an awl and big thread and a big needle and got it all done. It was really satisfying to be able to do something for the boat besides cook and clean. I think this will last until we either professionally repair or replace the sail.
We have been fishing, but no fish. I don't really care, I just like being on the water. Plus, the more I learn about fish and spend time watching them, the less I feel like catching them. I mean, I love dorado, but I feel kind of bad about catching a fish that mates for life. However, the ocean is still full of tuna, and there are few things better than fresh sushi quality yellowfin. I won't stop eating fish, but we do plan to become strictly subsistence fisherman, never taking more than we are going to eat, and no sportfishing. Of course, I say all this, and the next thing you know I will be posting a picture of some monster fish we caught. Right now I just want one for the pan.
So anyway, that is it for today. TOmorrow we sail again.
"The things you think are the disasters in your life are not the disasters really. ALmost everything can be turned around: out of every ditch, a path, if you can only see it." (Hilary Mantel)
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You see, cruisers (a lot of us anyway, especially in the beginning) rely heavily on cruiser's guides, books that list anchorages, marinas, and generally act as a guidebook for sailboats. And some areas of the world have more detailed guides than others. Mexico has several very detailed guides, and when you combine both of the most popular ones, it is as though someone is holding your hand the entire way. The guides for this area are less specific, and the island we are going to next has no specific information at all. So it will be a little more challenging to anchor there. We are looking forward to it. Isla Montuosa is about 40 miles from here, and it could take a couple of days if there is no wind.
Our watermaker is broken down again - this time it is something new, of course. Luckily we had the tanks full before it crapped out, but it still sucks. Mike thinks he know what is wrong and believes it can be repaired in Panama City. If not, he thinks he can replace the broken part without too much trouble. It is always something, isn't it? I would be a lot more upset about this if it wasn't for the fact that our saga of boat drama is no different from anyone else we know out here, whether the boat is brand new or an old heap. It will always be something, and once you fix and/or replace everything, the first thing you fixed will start to break down. It is nature of the harsh marine environment.
Tonight we are having out second lobster dinner since we have been here. The guys showed up the next day as promised, and wanted some soda in return. We had none, but they were happy with some powdered gatorade. Today they came by, and gave us five little lobsters and two large conches in exchange for a gallon of gas and three cans of beer. We ended up throwing the conches back, because the preparation is daunting, and we just didn't feel ready to wrestle with them. SO lobster again tonight!
I spent most of yesterday and a good portion of this morning repairing our big genoa sail. When I went to fix the parts we knew about, we found more areas that were rips and tears waiting to happen, so I shored all that up as best as I could. The sail itself is fine, but the canvas covering was coming off. I used an awl and big thread and a big needle and got it all done. It was really satisfying to be able to do something for the boat besides cook and clean. I think this will last until we either professionally repair or replace the sail.
We have been fishing, but no fish. I don't really care, I just like being on the water. Plus, the more I learn about fish and spend time watching them, the less I feel like catching them. I mean, I love dorado, but I feel kind of bad about catching a fish that mates for life. However, the ocean is still full of tuna, and there are few things better than fresh sushi quality yellowfin. I won't stop eating fish, but we do plan to become strictly subsistence fisherman, never taking more than we are going to eat, and no sportfishing. Of course, I say all this, and the next thing you know I will be posting a picture of some monster fish we caught. Right now I just want one for the pan.
So anyway, that is it for today. TOmorrow we sail again.
"The things you think are the disasters in your life are not the disasters really. ALmost everything can be turned around: out of every ditch, a path, if you can only see it." (Hilary Mantel)
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Tuesday, March 19, 2013
At Peace
I really couldn't think of another title for this post because that pretty much sums up how I feel right now. Just peaceful. We have been here for two days now, and plan to stay for about two more before moving on to another anchorage.
I haven't sewn the sails yet, but I have been busy with laundry - back to the bucket and plunger method. I had kind of a lot, because we had to bring some dirty laundry with us when we left, which we usually don't do, and because we were sailing for eight days and got more clothing dirty than we usually do while underway. After I finish this batch, I plan to do what I did while we were anchored in the Sea of Cortez summer before last - do laundry every two days or so, when there will be only a few things. I actually don't mind this - I never minded doing laundry whether I had a machine of my own, went to the one in my building, went to the Laundromat, or did it this way, basically all by hand. I like folding the clean clothes. I like how cloth feels in my hands and I like how the clothes go on dirty and come out clean. I always thought it was sort of like getting presents, or new stuff.
We also did a bunch of little chores that were nonetheless important - fixing a valve on the toilet, reconfiguring some winches, re-rigging our reef lines, doing some fishing (no luck), and simply enjoying being out here. Our power situation is wonderful - we have all we need with no need to use the generator or turn the engine on the juice the batteries. This means we can stay out at sea and in remote places longer because we don't need diesel or gasoline to keep the batteries charged. And in eight days of travel, we used the engine for an average of 1.3 hours per day. We have to do that while underway because there is less power being generated then when we are at anchor. This is because the sails are up when underway, and this necessarily blocks some of the sunlight. Still, our numbers are really good. And we do not have to deal with civilization until the first of next month, when we have to obtain internet access to do our taxes. At that point, we will hit Panama City, anchor or moor off there and get this stuff done, then off to the islands in the Gulf of Panama. We are in the western part of Panama right now. It is hard for me to think of Panama as running more east and west than north and south. I have been heading south for a long time now. It is also my first time residing in an Eastern time zone. I am on New York time, pretty strange. Half the time I have no idea what time it is anyway and I really do not always need to know.
So that winds things up for today. Tomorrow we definitely plan to get those sails done, then we can loaf around again. My favorite pastime.
"The art of the sailor is to leave nothing to chance." (Annie Van De Wiele)
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I haven't sewn the sails yet, but I have been busy with laundry - back to the bucket and plunger method. I had kind of a lot, because we had to bring some dirty laundry with us when we left, which we usually don't do, and because we were sailing for eight days and got more clothing dirty than we usually do while underway. After I finish this batch, I plan to do what I did while we were anchored in the Sea of Cortez summer before last - do laundry every two days or so, when there will be only a few things. I actually don't mind this - I never minded doing laundry whether I had a machine of my own, went to the one in my building, went to the Laundromat, or did it this way, basically all by hand. I like folding the clean clothes. I like how cloth feels in my hands and I like how the clothes go on dirty and come out clean. I always thought it was sort of like getting presents, or new stuff.
We also did a bunch of little chores that were nonetheless important - fixing a valve on the toilet, reconfiguring some winches, re-rigging our reef lines, doing some fishing (no luck), and simply enjoying being out here. Our power situation is wonderful - we have all we need with no need to use the generator or turn the engine on the juice the batteries. This means we can stay out at sea and in remote places longer because we don't need diesel or gasoline to keep the batteries charged. And in eight days of travel, we used the engine for an average of 1.3 hours per day. We have to do that while underway because there is less power being generated then when we are at anchor. This is because the sails are up when underway, and this necessarily blocks some of the sunlight. Still, our numbers are really good. And we do not have to deal with civilization until the first of next month, when we have to obtain internet access to do our taxes. At that point, we will hit Panama City, anchor or moor off there and get this stuff done, then off to the islands in the Gulf of Panama. We are in the western part of Panama right now. It is hard for me to think of Panama as running more east and west than north and south. I have been heading south for a long time now. It is also my first time residing in an Eastern time zone. I am on New York time, pretty strange. Half the time I have no idea what time it is anyway and I really do not always need to know.
So that winds things up for today. Tomorrow we definitely plan to get those sails done, then we can loaf around again. My favorite pastime.
"The art of the sailor is to leave nothing to chance." (Annie Van De Wiele)
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Monday, March 18, 2013
Panama!!!!!!
Well, we made it here and had the anchor dropped almost eight days to the exact hour we left El Salvador. That is the longest sail we have had yet, and I was in no hurry to stop! I could have done three times that with no trouble, and we will have to do that and possibly more when we cross the Pacific. I have decided that I like the long sails. It takes 72 hours to get into a routine where (barring something problematic of course) we are both sleeping at regular times and eating somewhat regular meals. After that, it gets more fun. Those first 72 hours can be difficult.
I am so, well, UP after this trip. I did a lot of helming, and am feeling pretty confident. We no longer get upset and freak out of the boat gets turned around, as happens in light winds. I also discovered helming is easier when you are going faster - the boat is more responsive. And the more I helm this boat in different conditions, the more I understand how she responds. Duh. But I have been so afraid to helm - afraid of causing some horrible accident - that I kept putting it off, not really trying to learn. I was too scared to even try. But now I look forward to doing it, and MIke has said I am ready to practice when we hit some heavy weather. He has had to helm on occasion for hours at a time because the auto pilot wouldn't hold - and now I can learn to help in those situations. Not that I am looking forward to heavy weather! In fact, that is sort of a problem. No one in their right mind purposely goes out during small craft warnings and situations like that just to practice sailing in bad weather. I suppose there are people who actually do it, and we did see some hard core race boats out practicing maneuvers when the weather on the bay was acting up, but that was it. So learning to sail in heavy weather is something you end up learning by doing, I guess. My day will come, I have no doubt.
I have forgotten twice now to tell about the most exciting thing that happened on this trip. For almost an hour one day, there was a 30 foot whale literally playing along side us. It was not a pilot whale, and we are pretty sure it was not a California Grey. Mike thinks it was a Right Whale (which of course had me talking about right and wrong whales for three days) but we will be sure when we get internet again and can look it up. But he just swam all around the boat, looking at it, looking at us, and admiring our fishing lure we were trolling. MIke tried to take pictures, then cursed himself mightily because he had the camera on the wrong setting and nothing came out. So now we have no proof of this, but it was really amazing. He was really gentle, and not at all interested in causing us any problems. He went all around and under, then surfaced and just looked at us. His mouth was sort of on top of his head, with his eyes in the middle. He had some barnacles on his back, and some remora fish as well. We are calling him "he" because he was by himself, not with a pod, and young judging by his size, so we pegged him for a young bull. I did not name him, but had he stayed longer, I would have.
Mike thinks he heard one of our geckos the other night - I hope they survive and live to kill more roaches. The roach population is down, we are starving them out by cleaning like madmen and not leaving them any food, and them getting eaten by geckos. They are no longer found in logical places, but are starting to turn up in strange places, probably in a desperate search for food. I feel sort of bad at how I delight in killing as many of them as I can - real glee on occasion - but I hate them and want them GONE. If we do not hear or see any gecko sign by the time we haul this boat out, we are going to tent it and fumigate it. Or at least bug bomb it to death. I hate these roaches more than I have ever hated anything. I am ashamed to have anyone visit the boat in case one of those awful creatures decides to join the party. I do plan to booby trap one locker by putting boric acid in there - there aren't any geckos in that area.
Today our plans include taking down the big genoa jib and mending a couple places where the canvas sail cover is coming off. These sails (except the main, which is pretty new) are probably the ones that came with the boat in 1982. We will have them professionally mended as soon as we can, and then will likely look into replacing both the genoa and the staysail. I want tanbark - a red color that looks amazing.
So that is is for today. I have no internet connection, so I can only be reached by mail via the SSB radio. Emails sent to WDF5496@sailmail.com will reach me. It's almost time for the Pan Pacific Cruiser's Net on the radio - time to wake up Mike!
"The machine does not isolate man from the great problems of nature but plunges him more deeply into them." (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
----------
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I am so, well, UP after this trip. I did a lot of helming, and am feeling pretty confident. We no longer get upset and freak out of the boat gets turned around, as happens in light winds. I also discovered helming is easier when you are going faster - the boat is more responsive. And the more I helm this boat in different conditions, the more I understand how she responds. Duh. But I have been so afraid to helm - afraid of causing some horrible accident - that I kept putting it off, not really trying to learn. I was too scared to even try. But now I look forward to doing it, and MIke has said I am ready to practice when we hit some heavy weather. He has had to helm on occasion for hours at a time because the auto pilot wouldn't hold - and now I can learn to help in those situations. Not that I am looking forward to heavy weather! In fact, that is sort of a problem. No one in their right mind purposely goes out during small craft warnings and situations like that just to practice sailing in bad weather. I suppose there are people who actually do it, and we did see some hard core race boats out practicing maneuvers when the weather on the bay was acting up, but that was it. So learning to sail in heavy weather is something you end up learning by doing, I guess. My day will come, I have no doubt.
I have forgotten twice now to tell about the most exciting thing that happened on this trip. For almost an hour one day, there was a 30 foot whale literally playing along side us. It was not a pilot whale, and we are pretty sure it was not a California Grey. Mike thinks it was a Right Whale (which of course had me talking about right and wrong whales for three days) but we will be sure when we get internet again and can look it up. But he just swam all around the boat, looking at it, looking at us, and admiring our fishing lure we were trolling. MIke tried to take pictures, then cursed himself mightily because he had the camera on the wrong setting and nothing came out. So now we have no proof of this, but it was really amazing. He was really gentle, and not at all interested in causing us any problems. He went all around and under, then surfaced and just looked at us. His mouth was sort of on top of his head, with his eyes in the middle. He had some barnacles on his back, and some remora fish as well. We are calling him "he" because he was by himself, not with a pod, and young judging by his size, so we pegged him for a young bull. I did not name him, but had he stayed longer, I would have.
Mike thinks he heard one of our geckos the other night - I hope they survive and live to kill more roaches. The roach population is down, we are starving them out by cleaning like madmen and not leaving them any food, and them getting eaten by geckos. They are no longer found in logical places, but are starting to turn up in strange places, probably in a desperate search for food. I feel sort of bad at how I delight in killing as many of them as I can - real glee on occasion - but I hate them and want them GONE. If we do not hear or see any gecko sign by the time we haul this boat out, we are going to tent it and fumigate it. Or at least bug bomb it to death. I hate these roaches more than I have ever hated anything. I am ashamed to have anyone visit the boat in case one of those awful creatures decides to join the party. I do plan to booby trap one locker by putting boric acid in there - there aren't any geckos in that area.
Today our plans include taking down the big genoa jib and mending a couple places where the canvas sail cover is coming off. These sails (except the main, which is pretty new) are probably the ones that came with the boat in 1982. We will have them professionally mended as soon as we can, and then will likely look into replacing both the genoa and the staysail. I want tanbark - a red color that looks amazing.
So that is is for today. I have no internet connection, so I can only be reached by mail via the SSB radio. Emails sent to WDF5496@sailmail.com will reach me. It's almost time for the Pan Pacific Cruiser's Net on the radio - time to wake up Mike!
"The machine does not isolate man from the great problems of nature but plunges him more deeply into them." (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
----------
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Sunday, March 17, 2013
Almost to Panama
Right now, as I write this, we are rounding Punta Burica, which divides Costa Rica from Panama. We are about 50 miles or so from our first planned Panamanian anchorage. (In a very little while we will take down the Costa Rican flag and replace it with the Panamanian flag. In many countries, it is considered polite, and some places it is a legal requirement [enforced with more or less zeal depending on the country] that visiting yachts fly a courtesy flag of the country you are visiting. We have all the flags between the US and Ecuador. You keep the US flag up to, of course.) We have to sail slowly, as we don't want to arrive at night. We never like to come into a strange anchorage after dark. We'd rather float around out here for an extra night than do that, and tonight we just may do that.
Yesterday (the 15th) was one of the best sailing days we have ever had. We had a consistent, fresh breeze off the bow quarter, and sailed along merrily on a close reach, one of our strongest points of sail. That means we sail really well when the wind is in that particular position in relation to our desired course. The speed is good, the ride is smooth, and it is just one of the best feelings in the world. We went all afternoon like that, and well into the evening as well, although it did of course die down at night. Last night my biggest challenge was trying to keep the sails from making too much noise since there was no wind to keep them filled and not bouncing around. The result was that I was pretty successful, and Mike got a good night's sleep. My other task was to keep taking fixes on ships in the distance, keeping tabs on what they are doing.
One thing I probably forgot to mention is that our AIS system is not working right now. That is the system that tracks other ships and displays information about them on our display screen where we see all our other data. Big commercial ships are required to have AIS on board, and recreational boats like ours can get it too. When a ship comes near, I can see an icon on my chart plotter showing me where it is. I click on it, and I can find out where it is, where it is going, what its name is, and best of all, how far away and how close to me it will get if we both continue as we are. It is really a good thing to have. We are not sure what is wrong, but we will get it fixed. So since we don't have it anymore, when we see a ship, we need to cut a fix on it, i.e. measure the angle from our boat to the ship using a compass reading. We do that over a period of about 15 minutes, and those compass fixes tell us if the ship is going to be a problem for us or not, and whether we need to move. I am almost not sorry, because otherwise I would not have learned to take and interpret these fixes. That is what I meant before about being really dependent on my electronic nav system. The other thing is that we discovered the absolute best way to get a clear signal on the SSB radio is to turn off all electronics while using it, including the nav systems. So last night while Mike was using the radio, I hand steered for about 30 minutes without a hitch. Not only hand steered, but was guided by the compass rather than following a track on the chart plotter, somewhat like playing a driving video game. I am starting to like taking the helm. Really like it. I was sort of disappointed when he told me he was done and the system was coming back up. I feel as though I have regained all my previous sailing knowledge, and am acquiring new knowledge at a faster pace. Things just seem to fall into place sooner.
Today I noticed that when we anchor, I am going to have several days of laundry to do, back with the old bucket and plunger method. And do you know what? I am looking forward to it.
"You are alone, yet not alone. The others need you, and you need them. Without them, you would not get anywhere, and nothing would be true." (Bernard Moitessier)
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Yesterday (the 15th) was one of the best sailing days we have ever had. We had a consistent, fresh breeze off the bow quarter, and sailed along merrily on a close reach, one of our strongest points of sail. That means we sail really well when the wind is in that particular position in relation to our desired course. The speed is good, the ride is smooth, and it is just one of the best feelings in the world. We went all afternoon like that, and well into the evening as well, although it did of course die down at night. Last night my biggest challenge was trying to keep the sails from making too much noise since there was no wind to keep them filled and not bouncing around. The result was that I was pretty successful, and Mike got a good night's sleep. My other task was to keep taking fixes on ships in the distance, keeping tabs on what they are doing.
One thing I probably forgot to mention is that our AIS system is not working right now. That is the system that tracks other ships and displays information about them on our display screen where we see all our other data. Big commercial ships are required to have AIS on board, and recreational boats like ours can get it too. When a ship comes near, I can see an icon on my chart plotter showing me where it is. I click on it, and I can find out where it is, where it is going, what its name is, and best of all, how far away and how close to me it will get if we both continue as we are. It is really a good thing to have. We are not sure what is wrong, but we will get it fixed. So since we don't have it anymore, when we see a ship, we need to cut a fix on it, i.e. measure the angle from our boat to the ship using a compass reading. We do that over a period of about 15 minutes, and those compass fixes tell us if the ship is going to be a problem for us or not, and whether we need to move. I am almost not sorry, because otherwise I would not have learned to take and interpret these fixes. That is what I meant before about being really dependent on my electronic nav system. The other thing is that we discovered the absolute best way to get a clear signal on the SSB radio is to turn off all electronics while using it, including the nav systems. So last night while Mike was using the radio, I hand steered for about 30 minutes without a hitch. Not only hand steered, but was guided by the compass rather than following a track on the chart plotter, somewhat like playing a driving video game. I am starting to like taking the helm. Really like it. I was sort of disappointed when he told me he was done and the system was coming back up. I feel as though I have regained all my previous sailing knowledge, and am acquiring new knowledge at a faster pace. Things just seem to fall into place sooner.
Today I noticed that when we anchor, I am going to have several days of laundry to do, back with the old bucket and plunger method. And do you know what? I am looking forward to it.
"You are alone, yet not alone. The others need you, and you need them. Without them, you would not get anywhere, and nothing would be true." (Bernard Moitessier)
----------
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Friday, March 15, 2013
Hurray Hurray We're Underway!
We left El Salvador six days ago. Since it has been awhile since I wrote here, I will catch up on what has been going on.
Our last two weeks or so at Bahia del Sol were really nice. Once we got our water pump and got it installed, it was just a matter of waiting for the proper weather window. We had plenty of time to get the boat in shape, and we were more prepared for being underway than we ever have been before. While we were waiting to leave, I went to Santos's home and spent the morning with his mother, learning to clean and cook some different kinds of fish. All of the fish were kinds that normally aren't considered that good tasting, but I have now learned to make really good tasting fish out of them. And when we pulled out, the staff at the hotel got on the radio to say good bye and to wish us luck. It was hard to say goodbye to our Salvadoran friends - especially Santos and Rogelio. We will really miss them.
We had no trouble at all getting out of the estuary - and it can be tricky. But we had a really nice day to do it. On fact, most of our trip has been wonderful for actual sailing, not just drifting along or using the motor. We have learned more effective sail handling, including when to use the staysail to really push things along. Because we luckily chose our weather window well, we missed any of the really bad local wind conditions that can develop around here without much warning. We did have some winds in the 15 to 25 knot range, but things mostly stayed in the high teens and we were able to keep things going. We did haul some serious ass - it is great and really exhilarating to fly across the water at 6 and 7 knots. I only had one bad night, and there was really no reason for me to be scared. I have discovered that things are really different when they happen at night versus when they happen in daylight. I was starting to get scared, because the wind was picking up, and I knew we would have to reef the sails. That is no big deal for us, but when it happens on my watch (2 am on til morning) I have to get mike up to help me. I can't reef by myself yet. I hate to wake him up - he always misses out on sleep while I get plenty under normal circumstances. I feel so guilty when he has gone to bed at two and I am waking him up at 3:30 because things are changing and I am not sure what to do. Now don't get me wrong, there are plenty of things I can handle. I can trim the sails for optimal performance, I can make course changes when necessary, and I can take bearings off other boats to determine if they are on a collision course or not and if we have to take evasive action. I am able also to unreef the sails by myself if things calm down and reefs aren't necessary. I have more trouble with less wind conditions that with higher wind, actually. There are more options for handling higher winds than lower winds, except of course that winds can become too high, whereas you will only die of boredom with no winds. With really light or no winds, you lose your ability to steer the boat. Which is always a bummer.
Anyway, as I am writing this we are off the coast of southern Costa Rica, heading for Panama. Our first stop is to be a little island called Isla Parida. We will anchor there for as long as we enjoy doing so, then we will continue south to other parts of Panama. This will be the longest trip we have taken so far.
It was sort of strange to start sailing again when we realized that we hadn't sailed for 11 months! We traveled a lot, but the boat sat there. We had some relearning to do, but other than being a bit sick for the first two days (not really bad, I just felt sort of crappy)and being covered with bruises from being clumsy and not having my sealegs completely back, things have gone really well. I have learned a lot more about navigation, and have also come to realize that I (we, actually) are waaay to dependent on our electronic navigation system. I am determined that we learn to use sextants and that I get better at interpreting my compass data. Probably by the time we get really good at all this we will be too old to do it any more. But this stuff will be terribly important if we are serious about crossing the Pacific next year. (By the way, my helming is getting better and better and I am actually starting to enjoy it.) One thing I have discovered is that if I am thinking about something and trying to figure it out, I do better when I pretend I am trying to explain it to someone else. Some of this navigation and charting stuff just does not seem intuitive to me. For example, longitude lines run vertically up and down the globe, and latitude lines run horizontally. That should mean the longitude measures north and south, and it so labels, but it really measures your east/west progress. I have a really hard time with that one. And then there is the whole things with degrees of direction, just like in geometry. (Which, by the way, I did poorly in.) For example, east is 90 degrees on the compass and south is 180 degrees. You have to look at the degree your boat is heading (or where you would like to be heading) and then consider the degree of the wind, in two different ways. You consider the wind strictly in relation to the direction of your boat and the direction the wind is coming from. Only then can you really determine a proper course, and often as not you will have to choose something as close to what you want as you can get, because the wind will prevent you from being able to do what you really want to. I stand there, watching the wind gauge, waiting for the tiniest little change so I can send the boat one more degree in the direction I really want to go. I push it and push it, but if I go too far, the boat will end up stalled and that can be a huge hassle. Luckily for us, our boat does really well going into the wind.
Well, since this is going out via SSB, I need to end it now and not ramble on and on. I will try to write another post while underway, I can do that as long as the seas are relatively calm. And who knows when that will be?
"It isn't polite to get into strange beds naked." (Jean Riley)
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Our last two weeks or so at Bahia del Sol were really nice. Once we got our water pump and got it installed, it was just a matter of waiting for the proper weather window. We had plenty of time to get the boat in shape, and we were more prepared for being underway than we ever have been before. While we were waiting to leave, I went to Santos's home and spent the morning with his mother, learning to clean and cook some different kinds of fish. All of the fish were kinds that normally aren't considered that good tasting, but I have now learned to make really good tasting fish out of them. And when we pulled out, the staff at the hotel got on the radio to say good bye and to wish us luck. It was hard to say goodbye to our Salvadoran friends - especially Santos and Rogelio. We will really miss them.
We had no trouble at all getting out of the estuary - and it can be tricky. But we had a really nice day to do it. On fact, most of our trip has been wonderful for actual sailing, not just drifting along or using the motor. We have learned more effective sail handling, including when to use the staysail to really push things along. Because we luckily chose our weather window well, we missed any of the really bad local wind conditions that can develop around here without much warning. We did have some winds in the 15 to 25 knot range, but things mostly stayed in the high teens and we were able to keep things going. We did haul some serious ass - it is great and really exhilarating to fly across the water at 6 and 7 knots. I only had one bad night, and there was really no reason for me to be scared. I have discovered that things are really different when they happen at night versus when they happen in daylight. I was starting to get scared, because the wind was picking up, and I knew we would have to reef the sails. That is no big deal for us, but when it happens on my watch (2 am on til morning) I have to get mike up to help me. I can't reef by myself yet. I hate to wake him up - he always misses out on sleep while I get plenty under normal circumstances. I feel so guilty when he has gone to bed at two and I am waking him up at 3:30 because things are changing and I am not sure what to do. Now don't get me wrong, there are plenty of things I can handle. I can trim the sails for optimal performance, I can make course changes when necessary, and I can take bearings off other boats to determine if they are on a collision course or not and if we have to take evasive action. I am able also to unreef the sails by myself if things calm down and reefs aren't necessary. I have more trouble with less wind conditions that with higher wind, actually. There are more options for handling higher winds than lower winds, except of course that winds can become too high, whereas you will only die of boredom with no winds. With really light or no winds, you lose your ability to steer the boat. Which is always a bummer.
Anyway, as I am writing this we are off the coast of southern Costa Rica, heading for Panama. Our first stop is to be a little island called Isla Parida. We will anchor there for as long as we enjoy doing so, then we will continue south to other parts of Panama. This will be the longest trip we have taken so far.
It was sort of strange to start sailing again when we realized that we hadn't sailed for 11 months! We traveled a lot, but the boat sat there. We had some relearning to do, but other than being a bit sick for the first two days (not really bad, I just felt sort of crappy)and being covered with bruises from being clumsy and not having my sealegs completely back, things have gone really well. I have learned a lot more about navigation, and have also come to realize that I (we, actually) are waaay to dependent on our electronic navigation system. I am determined that we learn to use sextants and that I get better at interpreting my compass data. Probably by the time we get really good at all this we will be too old to do it any more. But this stuff will be terribly important if we are serious about crossing the Pacific next year. (By the way, my helming is getting better and better and I am actually starting to enjoy it.) One thing I have discovered is that if I am thinking about something and trying to figure it out, I do better when I pretend I am trying to explain it to someone else. Some of this navigation and charting stuff just does not seem intuitive to me. For example, longitude lines run vertically up and down the globe, and latitude lines run horizontally. That should mean the longitude measures north and south, and it so labels, but it really measures your east/west progress. I have a really hard time with that one. And then there is the whole things with degrees of direction, just like in geometry. (Which, by the way, I did poorly in.) For example, east is 90 degrees on the compass and south is 180 degrees. You have to look at the degree your boat is heading (or where you would like to be heading) and then consider the degree of the wind, in two different ways. You consider the wind strictly in relation to the direction of your boat and the direction the wind is coming from. Only then can you really determine a proper course, and often as not you will have to choose something as close to what you want as you can get, because the wind will prevent you from being able to do what you really want to. I stand there, watching the wind gauge, waiting for the tiniest little change so I can send the boat one more degree in the direction I really want to go. I push it and push it, but if I go too far, the boat will end up stalled and that can be a huge hassle. Luckily for us, our boat does really well going into the wind.
Well, since this is going out via SSB, I need to end it now and not ramble on and on. I will try to write another post while underway, I can do that as long as the seas are relatively calm. And who knows when that will be?
"It isn't polite to get into strange beds naked." (Jean Riley)
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Monday, March 4, 2013
El Salvador Retrospective
I wrote this first part of the post and sent it to the people who organized the rally to show other people what the rally has to offer them. Here it is without any changes:
I just wanted to put down a few thoughts about our stay in El Salvador this year and our participation in the rally. This was our first experience with an organized rally, and we ended up really enjoying it. We met truly fascinating people, and formed relationships we never imagined having. We ended up staying for eleven months.
I just wanted to put down a few thoughts about our stay in El Salvador this year and our participation in the rally. This was our first experience with an organized rally, and we ended up really enjoying it. We met truly fascinating people, and formed relationships we never imagined having. We ended up staying for eleven months.
Although our plan was to remain in El Salvador for only a couple of months, we quickly realized it was a wonderful opportunity to explore other areas of Central America. We spent a month each in Chiapas and the Yucatan, Belize, Honduras, and Guatemala. We also spent time exploring El Salvador itself, which turned out to be a wonderful treat, with its own beach communities, Mayan ruins, volcanoes to climb, beautiful lakes, and most of the other attractions that Central America is famous for. The anchorage itself is located in an incredible mangrove forest area, and we spent many many hours exploring in our dinghy, observing the abundant bird life.
We were able to safely leave our boat at Santos Marina on a mooring ball for months at a time with no worries. Santos also provided wonderful woodworking, stainless steel, and other sorts of boat projects in a timely fashion for very reasonable prices. Besides excellent services for our boat, Santos showed us around the area, and introduced us to aspects of Salvadoran life we never otherwise would have had an opportunity to experience.
The staff at the Hotel Bahia del Sol literally became like family to us. And our driver, Ernesto Martinez, provided us with reliable transportation and became a friend as well. It is hard to say goodbye to a place that has become like home.
That is where I ended it. But I decided to expand on it for the blog, because this has been a really interesting year in many ways, good and bad.
Although we left San Diego in late November 2010, making it two years since we have been living like this, it seems like only now am I starting to look at things in anything other than a sort of crisis mode. We were just learning the boat - we only sailed it maybe twice before we took off. I had just left work, and was feeling even more rudderless than ever. We went back to the US the first year for almost two months, from March to April 2011 which delayed the feeling that I no longer live there. We last went back to the US - to San Diego and my son - in November 2011, but only for a week. It took well over the first year to stop anticipating another crisis and to just begin to enjoy ourselves. It is still hard to figure out sometimes what is a crisis and what is merely an annoyance of some varying degree. Part of that is (in my opinion anyway) Mike's tendency to treat everything that goes wrong with the same degree of gravity, so I am never sure what to get upset about and what is not really a big deal. The longer I am on board, the easier it is for me to make that determination for myself. There have been times when I was able to prevent Mike from going into full blown crisis mode by calmly pointing out that whatever it is is really not a huge problem. Actually, that in itself is a pretty big deal.
I am also coming to grips with the fact that I really don't live anywhere other than where I am. In fact, when people ask me where I am from, I have to ask a few questions to figure out what sort of "Where are you from" is being asked. Do they mean "Where were you before you were here?" Do they mean "where were you born" or some other way of determining your nationality? Do they want to know where you grew up? Or is it where you get your mail? I have different answers for each of those questions, so that is why I have to determine what is actually being asked. In law school, we called it determining the call of the question. (I actually learned all about the call of the question when I worked in customer service at the court and at a health plan. It means that you first have to figure out what the person in front of you [or on the phone] is really asking for. Only then can you fashion any kind of a decent response. And most people don't always ask for things clearly. They tell you what they THINK you need to know, not what you actually need to know.)
The other thing is having people come and go from your life on a regular basis. Just as you are getting to know someone, one or the other of you leaves. Although you do keep in touch through things like email, the SSB radio and the cruisers nets, and Facebook, it isn't the same as being together on a day to day basis. It also means that couples spend an incredible amount of time together alone. That was especially difficult for us, I am ashamed to admit. Truthfully, Mike and I have always had a difficult relationship in many ways. And I did not leave my job until just before we took off. Although I was sick of working and wanted a change, I loved my job. It was pretty solitary, and I liked having eight hours a day to myself. I only had to interact with my coworkers when I wanted to. So when that changed, I was irritable, and Mike was also irritable, and it caused a lot of unpleasant moments that first year. But bit by bit, I think we have both come to understand each other better, and have learned to understand ourselves better. While I (of course!) think most of the problems we have had were not altogether my show, I know that I certainly at the very least have a starring role.
I have also had to address and face the fact I do have problems with depression. I felt like admitting it would be allowing myself to become a stereotype, even within my own family. But denial won't change anything, and being depressed all the time is no fun. So now I am trying to learn different ways to deal with it when it flares up. I can't stop taking the medication. And there is nothing wrong with just taking a deep breath and repeating the Serenity Prayer to myself, or some other helpful slogan like that. (AA has millions of them. AA needs to have a Crazy People Anonymous or something like that. I'd go.) I am just lucky that my prescribed antidepressant works really well, as long as I take it regularly.
I began to think hard about all this stuff recently when we finally got all the stuff we needed and were finally ready to take off. Then the weather started acting up - big wind events - so we have to wait for a "weather window". That left me with time on my hands, and also started me thinking about the last two years. This next part of the adventures seems to me like more than just another step on the voyage - it is a start to what is in some ways a new life. I am feeling really optimistic, adventurous, strong, and capable. Who knows what might happen? I can't wait.
"I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work." (Thomas A. Edison)
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