'Til the butter melts

Pursuing the cruising dream in 32' of sailing ketch

Still crazy, after all these months

3 Comments

Believe it or not, we’re still here. Not “here”, as in”on the boat”, but here as in still alive, still kicking, still working toward getting back to cruising.

The current plan (written in the sand at low tide, as they say) is a return to the boat in Florida in January, 2020, get her back in shape (we’re mighty worried about what two summers in the Florida sun may have done to her), and get her launched, then begin moving her – and us – back to Maine.

It seems unlikely that we’ll be able to make it to the Bahamas this time around, and the way things are shaping up in those islands, we may have missed our chance entirely. Fees are multiplying, anchorages are disappearing, Disney is buying up entire islands, and the whole country is sounding way too much like south Florida all the sudden.

In any case, the little house is taking all our energy, time and money for the rest of the summer, and then – with luck – we’ll at least get a chance for some extended boat time while we bring her back to the most beautiful cruising grounds in the world; The Penobscot Bay.

In other boat news, I (Keith) did manage to hitch a ride on one – as crew aboard a friend’s boat headed for Halifax, Nova Scotia. It was my longest passage to date – 46 hours underway from Rockland Maine to Lunenburg, NS – and then an additional 10 hours the next day over to Halifax.

On that trip I learned that the Atlantic Ocean is COLD, even in July; that having an autopilot aboard a sailing vessel is a total game changer when doing overnights, and that Nova Scotia may be the most beautiful, friendliest place in the known universe.

I’d go back in a heartbeat. Next time with Nicki, and on our own boat.

That’s called “foreshadowing”.

Stay tuned!

Advertisements

This gallery contains 7 photos

Tucked in for the Summer

8 Comments

Note: This post was written in May, just after we arrived back in Maine for the summer, but for reasons that are unlikely to be made clear in the near future it disappeared shortly after it was published. You may note that when I wrote it, we still intended to return to the boat in the fall – but that plan changed abruptly in June.

Meanwhile the rumors are flying. Even had some friends call and say “We just heard you’ve given up Cruising!?”

No.

No, we are not done cruising, but there are some things that need to be accomplished ashore before we venture out again. It’s quite possible that our future cruising will look very different than before, but we and Sionna are very definitely headed out again.

Anyway, this blog is – at best – mired in my shore-side lethargy. The unknowns of the situation, and my discontent with how things stand, have sapped my will to write, and you, dear reader have had nothing to read as a result. My apologies.

So consider this post a flashback to a simpler time. Meanwhile I’m a one-handed carpenter as I recover from shoulder surgery, Nicki’s new business in Real Estate Investment is developing slowly, and the house we are rebuilding in Maine is progressing, albeit slowly now with my shoulder…

Life happens when you make other plans.

It always feels like a mixed blessing, this seasonal cruising thing.

On one hand, Sionna is tucked away in a safe place, securely tied to the ground and well inland. She’s as safe in our absence as we can make her.

On the other hand, our home and magic carpet of nautical dreams is alone, baking in the sun, while we are waiting for summer, layering clothing, and looking for work.

And here we are, in “the most beautiful cruising grounds in the world” (as we were told by some folks in the British Virgin Islands) with no boat. It feels strange, and disjointed, and not a little disquieting.

But of course, this last season wasn’t without it’s challenges and down days. The two months we spent in Maine for eye surgery meant that we got to experience a real slice of winter again – a very good reminder of why we decided to do our cruising in the south in the first place. Being away from it made the whole season feel really disjointed though. We’d just about got used to being on the boat, the pace of the day, and then packed everything up and moved ashore. Then moved back…

So naturally we’re looking ahead, wondering how to arrange our next season aboard, but more immediately we’re trying to line up our summer work, so that we can afford to HAVE our next season on the boat.

There are uncertainties. There are concerns and quandaries, and choices to be made. Our trip back north took 7 days, and included a visit with my (Keith’s) brother and sister-in-law at their new home in a clothing-optional community in western Florida – a very new but surprisingly comfortable experience for us – as well as visits with three sets of cruising friends in three separate cities. It was a social whirlwind from which I think I’m still recovering, but it sure was nice to see those folks again. It reminds us why we cruise.

Oh, and the sunsets, of course. We do miss those sunsets.

This gallery contains 5 photos


Leave a comment

Overwhelming Thanks!

Certainly Sionna isn’t the only boat that’s taken a turn toward a spell on land! Here’s another one.

CreeksideMusings

Have you ever completely upended your life to try something completely different?

We call that a Leap of Faith, and we’ve done it twice. This past summer we moved from a boat in Florida to a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Talk about a life change, but it has all worked out.

It’s hard to express how thankful we are for all of the blessings we’ve received. We have a sweet new home complete with peace and serenity. We bought a new car, new clothes (didn’t have winter wear), even a new fridge. We sold the boat and put some money in the bank. We’ve got great kids, all grown up and doing well. My grandkids will be coming to visit very soon.

We sit on the porch and watch the creek babble by, amazed by our new life and good fortune. Truly this is a time to…

View original post 101 more words

Book Review Time

Leave a comment

Recently I was asked if I’d be interested in reading – and then reviewing – the work of a friend and fellow cruiser. Quite apart from the honor of being asked, I was tickled at the opportunity for a view inside the mind of another writer, and someone I’ve shared snacks aboard with, to boot.

I said yes.

The book is called “Learning from a Uke”, written by T. J Akey. Tim and his wife Deb have been out there aboard the s/v Kintala doing this cruising thing for a goodly time – something I respect a great deal. Add in the fact that they are just genuinely nice people, AND former pilots like me and, we’ll, it’s a good fit.

The book is short, as books go, but there’s no lack of pith if you’re the sort who’s willing to read a book for what it offers you, rather than just to have read it. Akey’s unlikely subject is a blue soprano ukulele, perhaps as unassuming an oracle as you’ll ever find, but if that instrument could speak…

The idea of Ukulele-as-mentor would not have occurred to just anyone, I’m sure. Certainly it has not occurred to me, and yet the parallel is sweetly apt. Some tasks or skills invite us to delve deeper, to think harder, to explore dark corners of ourselves that we’ve avoided before, and certainly learning to produce music – simple or complex – offers room for the occasional epiphany.

Tim Akey’s journey is reminiscent of the writings of Richard Bach, that well-loved philosopher pilot who’s musings entertained and provoked a generation of novice metaphysical thinkers. He teases out meaning and significance where we least expect to find it, and entertains us along the way. A short book, yes. But the first step in a long journey of connections.

If I’ve piqued your interest, take a walk over to Amazon and pick it up. It’s a little book, with a big message.

This gallery contains 2 photos

My life as a home-wrecker

4 Comments

Here are a few photos to add to the mystery of our existence. If you’ve been wondering what the crew of the good ship Sionna is up to, (and of course you HAVE been wondering, because the doctrines of narcissism demand it) these should give an idea.

Stay tuned. We’ve got nine months to turn this place into something a bank would smile upon!

This gallery contains 5 photos

A Letter To a Cruising Boat

5 Comments

Dear Sionna,

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and now – at 2am with the temperature falling – I need to tell you so.

We’d planned it out so carefully. Worked out the mileage, the time allotted, and how we’d make the pilgrimage from there, to here, and back.

This sudden shift has come as a shock, I know. When we left you there – jacked up, tied down, stripped of everything that made you a home for us – we were coming right back. We spoke as we packed of our return in the fall, and though you couldn’t hear it, we talked as we drove north of logistics. We’d do a bit of work on the car and then drive down ourselves in late October, store the car there where you’d spent the summer, finish those projects we’d started and this time – this time by God – we’d point your pretty bow east toward the islands. We’d make the Bahamas, like we’d promised we would, and drop the hook in foreign sand at last.

But it hasn’t happened that way.

I know we said we’d be right back. “Just six months”, we said, and we’d be together again. How could we know the wanderlust would fade? Who knew that adventure would lose its shine, in an instant, like the turn of a page?

You took such good care of us, and now it feels as though we’ve failed you. Abandoned you to the hurricanes and possible thieves in the boatyard, and the even more subtle thievery of time and heat and rain. You deserve better than our faithlessness.

I want you to know, it’s not your fault. You’ve done your very best and kept us safe from harm and risk and our own mistakes more times than I can count, and it tears my heart, sometimes, to see what has become of the plans we made together. You’ve done all that we could ask, and more, and done it very well.

I hope you can keep faith better than we, and know we’re trying. Somehow, someday, we’ll bring you home. Keep your spirits up and your bilge dry, as best you can, and wait for us. I swear, I’m not ready to swallow the anchor yet.

May my promise not sound as hollow to you as it does to me.

This gallery contains 1 photo.

Getting comfortable

1 Comment

Now that I’ve accepted the idea that we’re not going back to the boat this winter (now that I can say that out loud without choking up) I’m suddenly discovering other cruisers who’re doing the same – or at least a similar – thing.

One of those is Ed Robinson and his wife, Kim.

Ed is a writer of some merit, and his book (I’m not sure if Kim helped – maybe “their book”?) “Quit Your Job and Live on a Boat” was one of many I read as inspiration and grist for my personal idea mill. For quite a while they maintained a blog, then called “Leap of Faith”, and now – after their move back to land – called “Creekside Musings“.

No, it’s not a cruising blog, but I take some comfort in the realization that it’s ok to take a break – even from something you love.

The future is never carved in stone.

This gallery contains 1 photo.