A First Mate's Rules of The Road

Lessons From Abaco

2011-08-26T09:38:00.001-07:00

Top Ten Reasons Hurricane Season is Like Christmas 10. Decorating the house (boarding up windows) 9. Dragging out boxes that haven't been used since last season (camping gear, flashlights) 8. Last minute shopping in crowded stores 7. Regular TV shows pre-empted for "specials" 6. Family coming to stay with you. 5. Family and friends from out-of-state calling. 4. Buying food you don't normally buy . . . and in large quantities 3. Days off from work. 2. Candles. And the number one reason Hurricane Season is like Christmas . . . 1. At some point you know you're going to end up with a tree in your house!

I know exactly what the people in the Abacos are doing today. They're sweeping up, fixing up, and "manning up". They sure aren't waiting for some government agency to come and help them or tell them what to do. They already know, they've done it before. On their own…with a little help from their friends.

Six years ago I was living on my sailboat in the Abacos, Bahamas when Hurricane Francis decided to pay a visit. I'd never been through a hurricane before and I'll admit this girl from Kansas where tornadoes wreak their havoc, usually in the middle of the night with little advance warning, held some disdain for a storm that announced its arrival well in advance. One of the first questions you encounter when you decide to live on a boat is "What are you going to do if you find yourself in a hurricane?" so you read everything you can get your hands on about the subject in the hopes that you'll never have to use that knowledge. But there I was with a hurricane bearing down so now it was time to put the disaster plan in action.

We were in Marsh Harbour at the time, at a little marina called the Port of Call. Hurricane Frances was still about a week out and in all probability would veer from its expected path and miss us all together. And there was a big party planned at Baker's Bay that everyone, and I mean everyone was going to. For a change, the cap'n and I decided to listen to our heads instead of our livers and decided to skip the party. You see, we weren't supposed to still be in the Abacos. We were supposed to have been long gone from that chain of islands and be clear down in Venezuela waiting out hurricane season somewhere south of latitude 12. Alas, the tides of friends and parties had kept our docklines tied firmly to the Abacos and now we found ourselves without a prearranged hurricane hole to "hole-up" in. We knew we didn't want to stay at the dock, we'd seen enough videos of marinas during a hurricane on the weather channel and we didn't trust the holding well enough to anchor in "Mushy Harbour". Luckily, we managed to score the last mooring ball available in Hope Town on Elbow Cay and instead of putting off the inevitable for one more day (or two or three depending on the severity of our hangovers) we skipped the party and started making our boat hurricane ready. We used the information we'd gleaned from years of reading about the upcoming momentous event and more importantly we listened to others that had been through hurricanes before.

We moved the boat to the safe harbor of Hope Town while all of our friends were moving theirs to Man-Of-War cay which was considered to be safer. We had waited too long to secure a place over there. We took all of the sails down and stowed everything that was possible down below. If it could move, it was tied down, if it could chafe, it was wrapped. With Francis still a couple of days out, we found ourselves sitting in our bare cockpit with nothing left to do but worry while all of our friends were still scurrying around moving their boats and making ready. We watched as self-appointed harbour masters shoo'd late-comers desperately seeking shelter from the storm back out of the harbour entrance. Only a handful of boats were allowed into Hope Town and we were lucky to be one of them. We finally accepted that there was nothing more we could do and what would happen would happen and decided to take the ferry back over to Marsh Harbour and our friend's house where we would be staying even if it was two days before Jeanne was supposed to arrive on the scene. That decision was just another lucky happenstance since the ferries which had been assuring everybody that they would be running the next day, all of a sudden had the keen insight that maybe they ought to secure their own boats, and announced the next morning that they would not be running after all.

I won't go into the details of the hurricane itself because I've already been long-winded enough and that's a whole 'nother blog about the plight of a house full of old boaters marooned in a house during a four day hurricane and the desperate measures they take when the booze runs out. Just envision "Lord of the Flies". LOL. Truthfully, we relished the luxury and good food and wonderful company provided by Patty and Bob at Blue Dolphin in our hour of need. Patty practically had to show us the door to get rid of us.

I've found that a boat is a lot like life. If you take care and protect it, it will return the favor. Some of life's lessons are hard to learn and there were lessons which that bitch Frances taught me that have helped me weather other storms whether they be storms that Mother Nature bestowed on me or storms I have brewed up on my own. Here they are in no particular order:

1. Find a safe harbour. One where the holding is good and you are protected from the brunt of the storm. No matter how rough that safe harbour gets, no matter how much it tosses you around and leaves you sick and feeling like you might die, don't sail back into the storm. Ride it out. The storm will eventually pass over your harbour but if you cast your lot with the storm you can't know how far she will carry you from safety or to what depths she will drive you.

2. Surround yourself with people that are concerned for your safety and will help do whatever is required to help you get secure because they know that if you are not secure, you could break loose in the storm and drag into them, doing damage that could cause them to sink or lose their own safe holding causing both of you and whoever is in your path to end up broke and battered on the rocks. Don't let other boats that could be a threat to you in your safe harbour.

3. Listen to the advice of the people that have weathered storms before. You may receive different and even conflicting advice but listen and discern which advice is applicable to your situation and your "boat" and then apply it. It's great to read and listen but it only works if you do the work. All of it. No skimping and no half measures allowed, because the storm will find any weakness you have left unprotected and that's where she'll take her opportunity to destroy everything you've tried so hard to fortify.

4. Use every lifeline you have, even if it's a little frayed.

5. Stow or get rid of anything that could become a missile and cause a hole or do damage to your "boat".

6. The friends that stick with you through the storm will be there afterwards to help you clean up and will be there to guide you away from or see you through future storms.

7. When the storm has passed, stick your head out and assess what damage it has wrought and then get off your ass and start cleaning up and rebuilding. Find the weak spots and make them stronger so they can withstand the next storm, if it comes. Don't wait for someone to do the work for you, your friends are there to help but it's your boat and it's up to you to make it seaworthy again.

Our boat made it through the storm with no damage and was as dry as a bone inside. Although it did look like someone had picked her up and shook her real good and not everything I though was stowed securely was. Several of the boats that crowded into Man-O-War dragged and damaged each other. A couple of weeks later, Hurricane Frances was hovering on the scene and while the weather forecasters said she was not going to be a threat, we were skeptical so we kept everything stowed and tied and sure enough she swept in. Once again the boat did fine but I learned another lesson.

8. There are always more storms on the horizons, you have to watch out for them and keep your defenses in place.

So today I'm out there doing my best to check my defenses for signs of fatigue and sending out my karmic lifelines to my friends in the Abacos even if some of them are a little frayed.

Sunday Morning Dreaming

2011-07-24T14:36:00.001-07:00

We'll see the sun come up on sunday mornin'

And watch it fade the moon away

I guess you know I'm givin' you a warnin'

'Cause me and moon are itchin' to play

I'll take you on a trip beside the ocean

And drop the top at Chesapeake Bay

Ain't nothing like the sky to dose a potion

The moon'll send you on your way

Moonlight feels right, moonlight feels right

From the song Moonlight Feels Right by Starbuck

I've long dreamed of a parade of convertibles with their tops down winding their way down a southern east coast interstate. We're the only cars on this lonely stretch. It's 2 am and the full moon is lighting our way. I'm in the lead car and my friends are following behind. A cool southern rock station is playing on the radio, the cap'n is at the wheel and I've got my feet up on the dash and my head layed back, counting the stars and singing along with the radio in the sultry night air. At about 4:30 am we pull into some all-night greasy spoon for some "joe" and red-eye gravy and grits then hit the road again. As the dawn is starting to lighten the sky we pull off to the nearest beach. Hatteras, Outer Banks, Wrightsville, Folly…we'll hit them all. We pull old blankets and picnic baskets out of our trunks and head over the dunes. The seabirds are awake and wheeling out to sea and there are still some stubborn stars and the waning moon hanging around when the first sunrays start to turn the lingering indigo of the night sky to lavender and pink. The lights on the shrimp boats are winking on the waves. When the sun peeks over the horizon my friends pour wine and toast a new day while I watch with my arms wrapped around my drawn up knees. Perfectly happy. The morning show is over too soon and we jump back in our convertibles, tired and no longer alone on the lonely road. Before long we pull into an old 60's style motor inn and sleep the heat of the day away in the blissful arctic air of our window air conditioning units. Later, as the sun is bidding adieu we venture out of our cocoons and head for Shem Creek in search of a crab shack where we'll wash our crabs down with ice cold beer and dance barefoot on its rickety docks until the clock strikes midnight. Then we'll hit the road again. Wanna come?

Today all my dreams seem like possibilities.

So today I'm out there doing my best to dream up new possibilities.

Home Sweet Home

2011-06-11T16:00:00.001-07:00

Before we left Mexico a month ago, a friend of mine gave me an assignment. You see, she knew I was beginning to feel the pressure to move to Mexico full time. The cap'n is getting tired of working full time and would like to retire completely. I can't blame him. Thanks to him, I basically retired fourteen years ago. Unfortunately, while we could live like kings in MX on our retirement income, we can't continue to support two households (plus that freaking boat). So the time for making a choice is drawing near. I'm not ready. So my friend gave me the assignment of writing a blog of why I love my home in Colorado.

Several of the reasons are simple:

1. The ease of living in my own country. The familiar language and laws. And if you are an expat from Mexico, the cleanliness and the plethora toilet seats.

2. The music. No, not the stuff coming out of the radio, although I do miss that, too. I miss the gurgle of our stream, the chatter of the squirrels, the scolding of the blue jays and the whisper of the wind through the pines. Mexico has its own music, beautiful and exotic. It's just not my music… yet.

3. The smell. The early dawn air scented with woodsmoke after a fresh snowfall. The musty perfume of sun warmed pine needles on a summer afternoon.

But the BIGGIE, the main reason is harder to explain, but I'll try.

My Grandmother died when I was very young. Lucky for me and multitudes of cousins, we had Aunt Irene and Uncle. Aunt Irene and Uncle Paul had no children of their own but they helped raise hundreds. Their modest country home was a monument to continuity. Through all the years I visited, with the exception of new photographs of great nieces and nephews taped to the glass front of the china cabinet, it never changed. The same pictures adorned the walls, the coloring books were always in the same drawer, the toys were in the closet in the first bedroom and the cookies were in the same Dutch Girl cookie jar on top of the refrigerator. More importantly, the rituals remained the same. Mornings started in the kitchen breakfast nook with the toaster on the table amid an array of homemade jellies and jams to choose from. The day was filled with trying to catch rabbits or fish or each other as we played hide-and-seek in the cornfield. When the stars came out the grown-ups would be on the front porch watching as we chased fireflies. I'm sure I complained many times of being bored but I loved that house and the people that peopled it. There was solace in knowing there was one place in my ever changing, growing-up world that would remain the same. A place where I could expect the expected.

That's what I want for my children and grandchildren and, possibly, their children. I want my cabin in the mountains to be their haven from this frenzied world. I want them to know the comfort of coming up the drive and know that there will be a welcoming fire in the woodstove. The coloring books are in the buffet, the old favorite board games are in the closet in the first bedroom, and the fishing rods are leaning in their corner of the living room. Mornings will start with hot chocolate out on the deck. The days will be filled with trying to catch chipmunks, fish or each other as they play hide and seek among the bristlecone pines. When the stars come out the grown-ups will warm themselves by the fire in the fire pit while the young ones roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories in the night shadows of the forest.

Idealistic? Probably. But more than possible because I've already lived it . I just can't see Mexico with all of its strangeness and its distance fostering these kinds of memories. I worry that it will always seem an adventure instead of a homecoming.

But I'm greedy. I want them both. Good thing I have tonight's winning lottery tickets in hand.

Warning About Foster Dogs

2011-06-04T14:32:00.000-07:00

They are robbers and they are thieves, these helpless pets that you take in. They steal your heart. In early March there was an urgent plea for someone to take in a dog or else she was going to go to a shelter in 3 days. This was not a no-kill shelter so you could pretty well predict what her fate was going to be. I only live in the Yucatan until May but I and another part-time resident down there, El Nido, decided that between the two of us we could extend her time until mid-June. Surely by then we would be able to find her a good home. Daisy came to live with me within a few hours of me saying yes. I hardened my heart and tried to keep my distance but Daisy would have none of that. Although at first, very timid and docile she soon began to show her playful and affectionate side. Don't think you're going to quit petting her until she is ready for you to. The vet said she was never a street or beach dog, somebody owned her. She is housebroke and spayed and has all of her vaccinations. She loves any human being of any age and she is good with other animals. She tolerated our blind bichon pestering her endlessly and recently she has been keeping house with a newborn kitten.

But now it is mid-June and Daisy has yet to find a permanent home. All of the snowbirds have gone home and the permanent residents are up to their eyeballs with foster dogs. I would have loved to have taken her home with me but the airlines are not very sympathetic and it would cost over $700.00 to fly her back and forth. El Nido and I are more than willing to time-share her and take her back under our roofs when we return next winter. We have only a week left before Daisy's fate once again will be either as a street dog or waiting out her few days left in a shelter. (All of the no-kill facilities are at capacity). Please pm me if you can help.
***Warning to those who are considering fostering dogs! You may be giving them a few months of comfort that they never would have experienced but in the end you may just be delaying their fate and returning them to a life that they are now not well equipped to live.

BREAKING NEWS! Daisy has found a home. Her other foster mother, Kay, found her a wonderful home with 3 young kids a yard and a pool. Thank God. I was making preparations to ship her here to CO and I have to admit I'm a little disappointed because I'm going to miss her but this is a much better solution. Good Luck Daisy! We love you.

NOB (North of the Border) Brain Disorder

2011-05-17T12:48:00.001-07:00

I've been back in Colorado for a few days now and I'm having to re-learn everything.

"Now where do I keep the toaster and which drawer is the silverware drawer? " I can't even ask myself, "Now where would Gaby, (our girl Friday in Mexico) put this?

"Oh look! I have a dishwasher!" (Clapping hands excitedly).

I've finally remembered where the button is that rolls down the window in the car but the one thing I can't seem to retrain my brain to do is turn on the hot water in the kitchen. It should be easy. It's just one of those simple faucets with a handle that swivels to the right for cold water and, of course, swivels to the left for hot water. What's the problem? This is universal, isn't it? Umm…not necessarily. You see, after I had our plumber/electrician guy (they are often one and the same in Mexico) hook up our new kitchen faucet, I found that he had hooked them up the opposite way. If you swivel the faucet to the left you get cold water. If you swivel it to the right you also get cold water… for about twenty minutes at which point the water instantly turns boiling point hot for, again, about twenty minutes then it turns cold again because you have depleted the 5 gallon hot water tank. For some reason our house has a bathtub you could almost swim laps in. I have no idea why. It would take me until the next Olympics to fill the thing. If you are asking me why I didn't just call the plumber/electrician guy and have him come back and re-plumb the faucet correctly, you've never lived in Mexico.

Monday morning:

Me: "Hola, Miguel. Como esta?"

Miguel: "Bien. Bien." (Miguel is thinking, "What does the gringa want now?")

Me: "Miguel, there seems to be a problema with the faucet. Could you come by sometime today and look at it?"

Miguel: "Si. Si. (Miguel is thinking, "Posible, I will have time on Thursday.")

Me: "What time?"

Miguel: "9:00" (Miguel is thinking, "Why do they continue to ask me this stupid question?")

Me: "This morning?" (Disbelief)

Miguel: "Si. Si. " (Miguel is thinking, "These gringos, they will believe anything.)

Same Morning, 11:00 am

Me: "Hola Miguel. Where are you?"

Miguel: "I am on my way. I will be there in 15 minutos." (Miguel is thinking, "Posible I will have time on Friday.)

Me: "Okay, because I have to be somewhere at 1:00 pm"

Miguel: "Si. Si." (Miguel is thinking, "So what?")

Same day, 3:00 pm:

Me: "Hola Miguel." (I'm not even going to ask.)

Miguel: "Lo siento, Senora. I will be there manana." (Miguel is thinking, "If she would have stopped calling me, I probably could have made it on Sabado.")

So instead of being held captive in my own home for a week, I decided that I would just wait until the next time I had to call "Miguel" for another more urgent problem and then I would corner him and not let him leave until he fixed my faucet. In the meantime I would just learn to use the faucet the way it was wired, I mean plumbed. Not! And I have the scald marks on my hands to prove it.

I swear up until the minute I left, I continued to make the same mistake so why now that I am back in the states has my mind finally decided to rewire itself and start working the way I wanted it to in Mexico?

Oh, I get it. It was waiting for manana.

"Ow!!! Damn that water's hot!"

P.S. The pic above is some of our workers not waiting for manana.

Starfish Throwers

2011-01-19T16:30:00.001-08:00

I was walking our stretch of beach this morning and I decided to poke around a new batch of rock that was uncovered by the uncommonly low tide. The cap'n I used to do this regularly in the Bahamas and after the hurricanes we found old coins and all kinds of assorted treasure. (Don't tell the Bahamian government). My treasure hunt didn't turn up any bootie but I did find a starfish that had been marooned on the beach by the low tide. It was still alive so I picked it up and flung it back into its salty home. It reminded me of a story the priest told at my mother's funeral. He said Mom was a starfish thrower. Many of you have probably heard this story but it's a good re-read.

Once upon a time, there was a wise man, a scientist but also a poet, who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work. One day he was walking along the shore. As he looked down the beach, he saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself to think of someone who would dance to the day. So he began to walk faster to catch up. As he got closer, he saw that it was a young man and the young man wasn't dancing, but instead he was reaching down to the shore, picking up something and very gently throwing it into the ocean.

As he got closer, he called out, "Good morning! What are you doing?" The young man paused, looked up and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I guess I should have asked, Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"

"The sun is up and the tide is going out. And if I don't throw them in they'll die."

"But young man, don't you realize that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it. You can't possibly make a difference!"

The young man listened politely. Then bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea, past the breaking waves. "It made a difference for that one!"

His response surprised the man. He was upset. He didn't know how to reply. So instead, he turned away and walked back to the cottage to begin his writings.

All day long as he wrote, the image of the young man haunted him. He tried to ignore it, but the vision persisted. Finally, late in the afternoon he realized that he the scientist, he the poet, had missed out on the essential nature of the young man's actions. Because he realized that what the young man was doing was choosing not to be an observer in the universe and make a difference. He was embarrased.

That night he went to bed troubled. When the morning came he awoke knowing that he had to do something. So he got up, put on his clothes, went to the beach and found the young man. And with him he spent the rest of the morning throwing starfish into the ocean. You see, what that young man's actions represent is something that is special in each and every one of us. We have all been gifted with the ability to make a difference. And if we can, like that young man, become aware of that gift, we gain through the strength of our vision the power to shape the future.

And that is your challenge. And that is my challenge. We must each find our starfish. And if we throw our stars wisely and well, I have no question that the 21st century is going to be a wonderful place.

I am so fortunate to know so many starfish throwers. If I tried to list them all I know I'd miss someone but you know who you are. Thank you for all you do and keep flinging those starfish no matter what.

Chelem Christmas Dreams Toy Drive

2010-10-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

I have a big favor to ask but it's not for myself. As some of you may know, I have become very involved in the Chelem Christmas Dreams Toy Drive. It's part of my "giving my all" to my new home. Last year we gave away 875 bags of toys. For most of the kids these were the only toys they received. Toys are very expensive and poorly made in Mexico but for us to try to ship toys down from the states is very expensive. If any of my friends would like to donate a toy and ship it to me, I will figure out how to get them down there. I will also take gently used toys. While we had several Barbie dolls donated last year, we didn't have enough to go around. It was heartbreaking to see the faces of the little girls that didn't get Barbies. Every little girl should have at least one doll. So if you have any gently used (or new)Barbies, Barbie clothes and accessories, or other dolls send them my way. Of course, we can also use boy toys (action figures)and baby toys. We also take money. We have a Paypal button on our website but, of course, Paypal has to make money too so they take a chunk out of the funds we receive. If you are kindhearted enough to send a toy please keep in mind that I will have to "mule" all the toys down in suitcases and we're weight limited. Please visit our website. http://chelemchristmasdreams.com/
If you have a little gambler blood in you, you can check out our online raffle http://chelemchristmasdreams.com/raffle/ If you win it will give you an excuse to visit our new neck of the woods. If you're interested in giving (and I know you will be)send me a comment down below with your email address. All of these comments go to my email first and won't be published here. I will respond with my shipping address.

I apologize to my facebook friends that have already seen this. Facebook automatically publishes anything I publish to my blog, http://firstmatemary.blogspot.com/. That's where all my long-ass posts on fb come from. You're welcome to visit and read my other blogs about living in Mexico, living on a sailboat, living in Colorado, and I guess just living.

P.S. Hey, I'll lower myself to begging if it's for a good cause. That or a Jack and Diet Pepsi. Thanks, all

You Can Go Back Home

2010-09-29T11:32:00.001-07:00

I'm back in Kansas, the place of my birth and the following 40 some years. And while the cap'n cringes when I say this, it feels like home. It's hard to explain but it just feels like there is some kind of recognition deep in my DNA. My heart beats more sure. I know the smells and the feel of the air. The way the sunlight slants on an autumn afternoon is a touchstone for all other afternoon suns. I can tell what the day will be by the light that shines in my morning window.

I was born with wanderlust though. Always dreaming of faraway places and the unfamiliar. A wishful restlessness. And so I wander. To distant shores and lands that are as different as imaginable from where I came from. I'm not sure what it is I'm looking for but I haven't found it yet. I'm a little afraid that it's back here where I started. But it could be in Mexico. I had forty plus years to let Kansas seep into my marrow. I've been in Colorado for six "half" years and it's just starting to feel like home. I'll give my new home a fighting chance.

The cap'n is starting to sweat bullets while he reads this. Don't worry cap, I'm not ready to put the house in Mexico up for sale and move back to Kansas. Not even! I'm excited about our new life down there and the undiscovered possibilities. But just like anyone that moves on a boat or to a new place, foreign or not, I sometimes feel nostalgic for "home". That's okay. That's normal. But it's easy to mistake that homesickness for unhappiness with our new surroundings. It takes time and effort for strangeness to evolve into familiarity. It's scary, especially if you don't speak the language. And it's so tempting to surround yourself with only the familiar and do only the things that you already know how to do. But where's the fun in that? You have to confront the things that scare you, if you don't you are not giving yourself or your new "home" a fair chance. You will always ask yourself if you did all you could. Most importantly, recognize if it is yourself or the place you are unhappy with. If you are not happy or comfortable with yourself, no place is going to provide those things for you. (How was that for a Zen moment?)

However, if you have given your all and you've given it all the time you think you can spare, it's okay to say, "This isn't what I want." It can be heartbreaking to admit that the dream wasn't what you thought it was going to be. Plus, when you leave a "fringe" community like the boating or the expat community, you may feel or be made to feel that you've failed. You're abandoning ship. This is so not true. You tried. By God, at least you tried, which is more than most people do. It is more important that you recognize that you are genuinely unhappy and do something about it. If that means leaving and trying something else, so be it. Life's too short. I stayed on the boat longer than I should have. I waited until the cap'n admitted he was unhappy. I squandered some precious years and tinged a lot of happy memories with resentment.

Move on. Go back home if that makes you happy or keep searching until you find a place that feels like home. It's okay. You have my permission.

Desperately Seeking Fellow Yucatecans

2010-08-17T16:33:00.001-07:00

The cap'n and I were paying our tab at a Mexican Restaurant in Great Bend, KS the other night when I noticed a large map of Mexico hanging on the wall. The map was faded and several cities and towns had been penciled in.

"You don't have Progreso or Chelem on there," I pointed out to the cashier.

"You know Progreso?" he said, obviously surprised.

I explained that we had a casa in Chelem, which is very close to Progreso, and that we spent our winters there.

"There is another couple that lives here in Great Bend that has a house in Progreso", he informed us.

"Really?"

We were incredulous. We know of only one other couple from Kansas, Steve and Mary from Salina, that has had the good judgment to buy property down there. If this kept up the Kansans might be able to steal the expat majority title from those blasted Texans.

"What are their names?" we demanded.

"I don't know", replied the cashier, "but their son, Joel, works at Verizon."

The next morning I set off for the Verizon office with all of our important contact information in hand. Email address, stateside telephone number, Mexican phone #, Magic Jack #, stateside address, a hand drawn map to our house in Chelem. I even included illustrations of all the notable landmarks along the way. The Glorietta (that's what they call a roundabout in Mexico. It sure sounds prettier), the police checkpoint manned with friendly policemen armed with not-so-friendly looking guns, the big piece of rope laid across the road that is used as a speed bump, the coconut stand, uh make that the dozen coconut stands, The Modelo cervaza store, the little red tienda at the turn to our house. There use to be a pole with a rag tied to it and that's how everybody found the way to our house. But in the hot Mexican wind the rag frayed and eventually disappeared. Now sometimes even the cap'n and I miss the turn but that's usually when we're coming from Las Dunas or Playa de Chelem, two of the local drinking establishments.

It was a very nice map. I would have written out our address but I didn't have enough pages of paper for that and they'd never find it because Mexicans have very little regard for street signs. No Necessaria, the locals already know where everything is.

So I went up to the Verizon counter and inquired if they had an employee named Joel. The young man at the counter said, "Yes, but he is with a customer right now. May I help you?"

"No," I said, "I need to talk to Joel."

The young man and his other 14 yr. old counterpart shot me a quizzical look but they assured me that Joel would be just a few more minutes and left me wander about the displays of IPODs, and Blackberries, and other strange devices while the two of them tittered behind the counter trying to figure out whether I was Joel's long lost birth mother or a "cougar" he picked up in a very dark bar while a very inebriated state. Courtney Cox, I am not. Damnit!

Finally Joel finished with his client and I cornered him as he returned from walking her to her car.

"Joel, um, you don't know me and this may seem crazy…um, but do your parents have a house in Progreso?" I blurt.

Blank stare looking back at me.

"Progreso, Mexico? " I offer a little desperately.

Enlightenment dawns on his face.

"My parents have a house in Yoomah,"

"Where is Yoomah?" I ask thinking of all those strange Mayan names on the highway signs. All those unpronounceable "Dz" towns.

"In Arizona," he replies, "Yuma, Arizona. Is that close to Progreso?"

"No," I mumble. I ramble some explanation about a guy at a Mexican restaurant that gave me his name and said he might know someone. It's beginning to resemble a drug deal gone really wrong and Joel is starting to get that deer in the headlights look.

"Here," I shove my map at him, "If you're ever in Progreso, look me up." The guys behind the counter snicker.

I scuttled out to my car, jumped in and busted out laughing at myself.

If you've ever been in the Walmart in Merida desperately looking for an item and have been rescued by a fellow gringo who knows the lay of the land a little better and knows that in Mexico the baking soda is kept in the pharmacy not in the baking aisle, you understand that previous scenario. And you know that by the time you and your savior part ways you will have shared all the information mentioned and probably more. We expats band together, we're brothers and sisters in arms so I guess I was looking to reconnoiter with some fellow soldier

Just for fun, for the next week, I parked in the Verizon parking lot and waved and winked at Joel as he scurried back and forth to his car.

P.S. Dave, I hope you don't mind that I "borrowed" a picture of our sign. I owe you a cervaza if you ever cross over the bridge.

Another Day, Another Park

2010-07-12T11:57:00.001-07:00

In my transient lifestyle, I found myself wandering the paths of another park. This one was not littered with the refuse of humanity but that was okay because I was feeling pretty bottom of the proverbial garbage pail about myself. It was one of those weeks when I had found myself to be embarrassingly human and even though the bruises weren't readily observable to the human eye, I was feeling pretty tender from the ongoing onslaught I was inflicting on myself.

The cap'n kept trying to reassure me that I was a good person, a nice person, a kind person but….he has to say that because he loves me and he was desperate because it ain't fun living with me when I am in this state of mind. So I didn't believe him.

So I'm on this path early one morning and I see an elderly gentleman ambling toward me. He has the rolling gait and the vacant stare of a Parkinson's patient. I am really in no mood for any kind of encounter but my good manners kick in and I smile and say, "Good Morning."

The man's vacant eyes light up, and he says, "Not everyone is friendly. I just passed a couple and said Good Morning and they didn't say anything back." He says, "I speak to everyone."

I go a few more steps down the path and dissolve into tears. I know that man was Jesus.

P.S. Please don't write and tell me I'm a good person, that's not the point of this little article. Instead I challenge you to stop yourself today every time you tell yourself that you're stupid, fat, ugly, weak…..You're human and you're doing the best you can!

Borrowed from my friend, Marlee
"Dear God, Please help me see the truth about myself no matter how beautiful. " - Alan Cohen

JESUS DON’T LIKE PIZZA

2010-07-01T07:34:00.001-07:00

Years ago we were stuck in St. Augustine, on the boat of course. But as far as cities go, St. Augustine is one of my favorite ones to be stuck in. I had gotten into the habit every morning of jumping on my bike and pedaling over to Café St. George for their wonderful ham and cheese croissants. My trek took me over the paths of one of the city parks and past several of the city's citizens that lived in the park, or at least slept there. Now the Sisters of Divine Torture from my Catholic school days had always taught me that every person is God's child and when you help a stranger you could be helping Jesus. I think we even used to sing a song that went something like…"When I was naked, you gave me clothes, When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat" Well, something like that. We always giggled when we got to say naked in mass because we were six years old and it was the sixties and naked was still a "dirty" word to six year olds.

Anyway there were a lot of Jesus' maybes lying around in the park and I could feel the steely finger of Sister Irene drilling into my back as I drove past them. So of course I picked up a few extra croissants at the bakery, after all it wouldn't be right to offer Jesus a lowly bran muffin while I hate hot flakey croissants. As I made my way back through the park I sniffed past the bundles of humanity and kind of threw the greasy sacks of croissants at them. With my final sack in hand, I approached the last of my lucky beneficiaries. I had to force myself to go up to him. He scared me. I had seen him lurking around the marina and he was one of those guys that stared at you with these spooky eyes but if he caught you looking at him he skittered away. He was wrapped up in a dirty parka and had a stocking cap on top his nest of snarls and mats. I slowly extended the bag to him and he took it just as slowly and said a very quiet "Thank You". I rode away.

A few nights later I wheeled back to St. George Street in pursuit of the best pizza in the world which is to be found at Pizza Alley. Their Garbage Pail Pizza is twelve big slices of paradise right here on earth. I was riding through the park inhaling that heavenly scent when I saw two of my favorite Jesus' waving at me. Fart! Oh well, sacrifice is supposed to hurt. I steered their way and offered them two slices. They smiled their beatific gummy smiles and proceeded to propose to me. And I think they planned to be married to me at the same time because I had a feeling these two did a whole lot of unsavory things together. Relieved, I was able to explain that I was already married and that's a good thing because as every man that has every dated me can attest I am easily convinced. All two of them.

I was headed for the exit when I spotted my scary friend huddled on a bench. I sighed and went over to him.

"Would you like a piece of pizza?" I gently asked.

"I don't like #%*&ing pizza," he snarled.

I jumped back and wagged my finger at him.

"No more #%*&ing croissants for you, Jesse!"

Then I rode away to try to explain to the cap'n what happened to those other slices of pizza.

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholden

2010-06-18T10:29:00.001-07:00

The birds have spread the word that we are back and our feeders are busy this morning. I took my first wander up the mountain but I didn't make it as far as usual because my lungs haven't quite made the adjustment from sea level to 10,600 feet of altitude. It was one of those glorious mornings when the air is crisp and the sun is shining and you break a sweat even though it hasn't broke 40 degrees Fahrenheit yet. I took a deep breath and looked around and for about the millionth time congratulated myself on living in a place most people only dream of living.

And then I thought of our other home, Chelem,Yucatan, Mexico. Just a tad bit different. We had guests stop by for a short visit there a few weeks ago. They were on a cruise ship that made a stop in Progreso so they thought they'd take a gander at our new digs. We picked them up at the Mercado….. and then took them on a drive down the Malecon and then by the nicer homes of Progreso. It was a short tour. Then we crossed the Yucalpeten Puente (bridge). The weather was playing nice that morning and the sun speckled waters made the boats in the marinas look shiny and new or at least seaworthy.

We drove them by our favorite watering holes, our favorite place to grab a taco on the square, our favorite hardware store, Tocha, where we go first before we head off to the Mecca of Merida and her box store temples. Our guests were polite. They made nice noises. They actually oohed and ahhhed when we drove by a little tienda all freshly painted white with its bright red recumbent Coca-Cola bottle displayed on the side of the building. They said nothing about the trash that lurks in the corners and escapes across the dusty roads or the air of neglect that seems to permeate a good number of the buildings. They didn't have to. We knew what they were thinking. We knew because we think the same thing every time we take a drive. Why are we here?

The answer is always the same. The beauty.

The beauty is found in a crumbling bar at the table of a disparate band of expats struggling to figure out ways to make the burdened lives of the people of their adopted home more congenial without forcing their own ideas of "better" upon them.

It's there in a hot summer night with the sound of foreign and native laughter mingling in the joy of a child's first birthday.

It's there on an early morning beach in the shy smile of a sea worn fisherman as he offers a beautiful shell to the gringo lady he has seen devotedly combing the sands much in the same way he searches the seas.

They are both treasure seekers.

Beauty is that nugget of hope that if we look deep enough, work hard enough, and dream high enough, we will find the treasure.

P.S. I've added a link down on the left for one of the "nuggets" we have going in Chelem, The Chelem Christmas Toy Drive. Take a looksee.

P.P.S. Well fart! I guess we can't link facebook pages. Check out Yucatan Coast Animal Aid and Chelem Christmas Toy Drive on facebook. There is also a Toy Drive in Chuburna and several programs that support the local schools and there is so much more that needs to be done. So if you were wondering, that's what all of us loafers do down there all day....when we're not in the middle of construction projects.

Jimmy Buffett Laments the Fouling of his Paradise

2010-06-10T06:06:00.000-07:00

Well, it took a monumental natural disaster to get me off my ass and start posting again. And for this post I'm cancelling my moratorium on cussing. You might have noticed that the title of this blog is "Jimmy Buffett Laments the Fouling of his Paradise". Oh Thank YOU, JIMMY! Read further along on the Margaritaville site and you will see that Jimmy is actually lamenting that the opening of his new hotel in Pensacola might be delayed. In the words of the Great Man Himself, the fucking fucker is fucked! Jimmy, your songs used to be the anthems of my life. Then I watched you singing at that TYCO party in Greece ($250,000 is probably small change for you). Cancel your Vegas concert and get your ass down to Mobile and hold a free concert for those eleven men that lost their life on that rig, the rig workers that are now out of work, the shrimpers, the oystermen, the waiters, the hotel housekeepers, the guy with his guitar case open on Bourbon Street.

Start being the man you sing you are.

Until then I'm holding a personal moratorium on anything "Jimmy Buffett" I will no longer drink from a Tin Cup Chalice, I will never buy anything with the Margaritaville logo including the mixes and the mixer(Hello? Who were you marketing to? The people who are rich enough to buy this shit would never wear that logo and the people that do buy it are probably up to their eyeballs in debt. I've been there. You?). I will never again coax bar crowds to go search for lost shakers of salt, I will never again win every trivia question having to do with you at the Schooner Wharf Bar in Key West. Do you remember that place and that bar? I think you used to have a studio right behind there. I went through a hurricane with my sailboat tied to the docks there. You? Your books sent me off on an adventure. I've lit the fresnel lens at the Elbow Cay Lighthouse, I've seen G.E. doing its best while sitting at anchor at Cane Garden Bay, and I've skated for 14 hours during a Labor Day Jerry Lewis Marathon when I was 12 years old and "Come Monday" was on the charts.

I will not be buying " A Pirate Looks At 70" because I don't see you as the same guy that bought his Dad an Oyster Po'Boy at the Mobile docks.

My friend, your Grampa has his hand on the starboard rail and he is just shaking his head at you. He doesn't recognize you. Neither do I.
Ever so humbly, Mary Kay

P.S. Always a PS. The cap'n only has two requests for his funeral: One is that I play "It's been a Lovely Cruise" the other is that I don't bring a date to his funeral. Of course, I will honor one request. Which one?

Escape From Reality

2010-02-18T05:39:00.000-08:00

This is my new place to go to escape from reality. And it's just up a flight of stairs. This is the dome/cupola at our house here in Chelem. Before it was just naked old white big round thing at the top of the house. Then along came Jim Grafsgaard and it became a tropical wonderland. If you want to check out more of Jim's art his website is http://www.jimgrafsgaard.com/ Thanks Jim! If you guys down here see a long lock of blonde hair hanging out the window of the dome, please come rescue me. The cap'n probably locked me in.

Midnight at the Oasis

2010-02-14T10:28:00.000-08:00

We had been diligently following Dave's "Driving to Mexico" Brownsville to Merida coastal route http://www.quadro.net/~shirley/Brownsville-Merida/ today's drive had taken longer than expected and dark was beginning to fall when we hit the outskirts of Minatitlan. We went in search of the only "excellent" hotel in town but after several rounds around busy downtown Minatitlan, and probably countless passes right by the "excellent” hotel we gave up. We had spotted the "Oasis" as we turned off hwy. 145 into town. We turned back toward it.

We paid scant attention to the razor wire adorning the high walls of the compound as we pulled in because...Hell, almost every place has razor wire in Mexico. I'm thinking of winding twinkly lights arounds ours next year for Christmas.

The clerk rushed out of the building to greet us. "The people are just so darn friendly and helpful down here." I thought to myself once again.

Did we want a room? She inquired.

"Si."

"Do we require anything "special"?"

"No, just someplace soft and warm to sink into." replied the cap'n.

"Si." the clerk nods knowingly.

"Cuanto cuesta? (How much?)" inquires the cap'n.

The clerk replies with an exceedingly reasonable amount.

"Boy, they weren't kidding when they said things were cheap down here," I think to myself once again.

It takes a minute for our sluggish brains to translate. She'd said per hora not por dia! Per hour not per day! We look at each other. Disgust and dismay are racing across my features while a salacious grin is blooming on the capn's.

We've landed at one the notorious hotel de paso. "A Love Hotel!"

"We'll take it!" the cap'n announces.

We park outside our assigned den of iniquity. Because we're hauling a trailer full of treasures for our new home, we can't fit into the attached garage. It doesn't matter. Because instead of sneaking in and out of this place like their usual client the cap'n is strutting around like a rooster for all to see.

I hurriedly run in to throw back the bedspread and check the sheets. Why the hell do I do this? If you could see the "critters" I'm afraid of catching, nobody would ever catch them. I can't imagine a conversation like the following ever takes place.

"Um... I notice you have quite an infestation going on down there. But what the heck? You only live once right? Let's go for it! C’est la Vie!"

The cap’n is now inside admiring the dance pole. My evil twin Kary May would have loved it. For my my uninformed amigos in Mexico, Kary May doesn’t dance with men because they spin her too fast and dip her too low. She only dances with trees and poles. Sadly, she still manages to fall down. Thank God I left her behind on Guana Cay in the Bahamas.

While I’m checking out the bathroom, the cap’n is busy surfing the channels.

“I’ll be damned! Four! Count them! Four adult movie channels!” Talk about a kid in the proverbial candy store. I can almost see the smoke billowing from the remote. At least they don’t require subtitles.

I’m starved and am relieved to find a printed room service menu taped to the wall over the phone. When I place my order, I am informed that it would be delivered via the little turnstile in the wall. I really didn’t understand why we had to be so secretive about a dang hamburguesa. But when in Mexico...

Let’s just say an hour later when my order was delivered, my Cuarto de libro, doble carne was not quite what I expected. I later found a full color brochure in drawer of the nightstand that illustrated the other “las especialidades de la casa”. Do people really buy that stuff or do they rent it? Por hora? Ewww!

No wonder there was a notable silence when I replied to the clerk’s inquiry,

“Nessecita el condons?”

“Si. Mas ketchup.”

Obviously, she hadn’t been asking if I needed condiments.

With all my appetites effectively killed, I fell asleep while the cap’n click, click, clicked away on the remote.

The next morning I’m showering in the see-through plexiglass shower while the cap’n click, clicks, clicks.
“Sweetheart, do you remember what channel the weather channel is on?”

“Yeah, right.”

I wonder what’s on the breakfast menu.

Happy Valentines Day!

GOING COMMANDO IN MEXICO

2010-02-05T16:52:00.000-08:00

You can take the girl out of the ship,

But you can't take the ship out of the girl.

So I guess that means I'm still full of ship!

When I lived on a boat all my friends back in KS used to say, "Ooh la la! You live on a yacht." And of course I did nothing to dissuade them even though there was nothing further from the truth.

So now I live in Mexico and all my friends in the states go "Ooh la la! You live in Cancun!" But when I try to explain the difference between living in Cancun and living in Chelem they look at me as though I have frogs coming out of my mouth.

So in the quest for total honesty in my new life I'm going to present two scenarios and let you decide which one the "real" Mary starred in.

Scenario #1: Mary is stuck in a bathroom at a resort in Cancun

Mary glides into the marbled mirrored lavatory at the Pinche Fresa Temple Resort. She opens the stall to the gleaming fully assembled toilet and perches on the rim of the seat that is, of course, "down". Mary finishes her business. She delicately wrinkles her nose as she daintily disposes of her tissue in the receptacle (you don't flush TP in Mexico) making sure to avert her eyes so she doesn't see anything "unsightly" (shudder!). She stands and straightens her clothes and moves to leave the stall. The latch won't budge.

"Oh no! What will I do now?"

A tiny worry line creases her forehead.

"This is so mortifying," Mary cringes.

"Uhmm, Conchita?" Mary whispers.

"Si Senora. Esta bien?" replies the attendant, attentively stationed at the door.

"The latch seems to be stuck."

"De nada, Senora," Conchita replies. And with a quick sleight of hand opens the stall door from the outside.

"Oh dear!" wails Mary as she diligently scrubs her hands in the shiny gold sink.

"I think I've chipped a nail!"

Scenario #2: Mary gets stuck in a bathroom in Merida

Mary and the cap'n have just arrived in Merida on the late flight from Miami and have been transported to the rental car agency in downtown Merida. Mary waits in the vehicle while the cap'n goes to negotiate and arbitrate the pre-arranged rental contract. As usual this takes longer than expected and Mary needs to use the facilities.

No problem, right?

Every rental car agency has a bathroom and so does this one.

So what if it doesn't have a door.

So what if the doorway faces the glassfront of the agency.

So what if this rental agency is on a very busy street in downtown Merida.

So what if the rental agency shares its parking lot with an OXXO convenience store.

So what if the parking lot is teeming with people chatting and strolling and HONKING.

So what if it is 1:00 am. T.I.M. (This Is Mexico).

At this point I'm getting desperate. I don't care if the whole Mexican National Football Team shows up to watch. The manager of the rental agency however is a little concerned about this possibility. He's not the one with a bladder the size of Texas. He quickly employs his employee to accompany me to the little corridor between the agency and convenience store which conveniently houses the facilidades necesarios. However, (there is always an however) it cost 5 pesos to open the gate.

Do I have 5 pesos? No.

Does the attendant have 5 pesos? No.

"De Nada. Not to worry," says the attendant ( I think).

Apparently if you jiggle the gate just right it will open.

So we jiggle. We wiggle. We jimmy and we shimmy. Hell, we're doing the freakin' la cucaracha with it. The cabrona ain't budging.

My bladder is now the size of the Louisiana Purchase.We walk back into the rental agency.
Does the cap'n have 5 pesos? No.

Does the manager have 5 pesos? No.

The manager and employee now engage in an animated conversation that I am praying will develop into a solution of my problem. But the real translation probaby goes something like this.

Manager: "It is fun to watch the gringo lady squirm, is it not?"

Employee nods fervently, "Si, Senor Jefe."

Manager: "See how her eyes are starting to bulge. She will not last much longer. She is no longer young and her bladder grows floppy."

Employee nods fervently, "Si, Senor Jefe."

Manager: "Uh oh, she's crossing her legs. You better hurry before we have a mess to clean up. Do you still have the key?"

Employee nods even more fervently, "Si, Senor Jefe.

Employee heads for the door.

Manager: "Just one more thing. Did you remember to remove all the toilet seats and toilet paper?"

"Si, Senor!" Nod. Nod Nod.

After a quick sleight of hand the employee opens the gate. Relief is at hand. I am unprepared for the lack of clean up accessories as usual. After several minutes I decide air drying is not an option in this humidity and pull up my pants. I move to unfasten the latch. De ja vu! The cabrona ain't budging.

I survey my options. Correction. Option. Yep, looks like there's only one way out of this predicament and it's through that 6" space under that 12" wide door. ( You know that measurement dyslexia problem us girls suffer from swings both ways. Some days it's longer, some days it's shorter. It just depends on how you treat us.).

Time to go commando !

Now I just want you to picture this in your mind's eye for a minute. A blonde gringo chica whose most apt body description is ample is down on her elbows with belly on the floor of a Mexican toilet stall that is built for the very petite Mayan people. And she's trying to wiggle her way out. And she's wearing white. Of course.

So did you guess which one is the true story? It was the chipped fingernail that gave it away, wasn't it? You all know I'm a biter. I don't have any freakin' fingernails.

As the Cap'n used to say:

"You can dress her up, but it doesn't matter what country you take her to, she's going to end up crawling around on the floor at some point."

Adios & Vaya Con Dios!

P.S. Sorry to disappoint all my pervert friends who thought this article was going to be about the other kind of commando. Maybe next week.

A HEARTBREAKING DANCE

2010-02-03T10:27:00.000-08:00

I am going about my usual business this morning, listening to the news on the TV with about a half an ear and an even lesser percentage of my mind when the newsperson announces,

"A roadside bomb killed three U. S. soldiers this morning,..."

Everything stops!

"Where?"

"Where?" my mind screams, now on full alert.

"in Northwestern Pakistan," the announcer continues.

"Oh good," my mind thinks. "Far away from Iraq or Kuwait where Matt is."

A few seconds later my heart catches up and I realize for thousands of soldiers' loved ones the hell of this day is just starting.

Every Mom and Dad wonders if one of the fallen soldiers is their son or daughter.

Every wife and husband wonders if one of them is their husband or wife.

Every daughter and son wonders if one is their Mom or Dad.

Every sister and brother wonders if one is their brother or sister.

Every grandmother and grandfather wonders if one is their grandaughter or grandson.

Every boyfriend and girlfriend wonders if one is their girlfriend or boyfriend.

Every friend wonders if one is their friend.

For most of us the day will end with relief, elation and a little guilt that we feel this way.

For the loved ones of the three heroes, their everlasting heartache is just beginning.

And this is the dance we do.

Everyday.

Vaya Con Dios
Go With God.

P. S. The above picture is my son, Matt, who is currently serving in the Air Force in Kuwait driving supplies through Iraq, my grandson, Landon, and my daughter-in-law, Chantel. Chantel is also in the Air Force and was stationed in Afghanistan last year.

Alive and Loving Life SOB (South of the Border)

2010-01-16T19:18:00.000-08:00

She's Back!!!! I can't believe it's been so long since I've written. I have been busy and I've got a lot of catching up to do. But guess what? I'm going on vacation back to the Abacos. I can't miss Pete's Birthday Party down at Pete's Pub. If you want to read a modern day Swiss Family Robinson story just google Pete Johnston or his father Randolph Johnston. If my math is right this is Pete's 15th annual 50th birthday party. But just so you know I've been busy, here is a link to check out what I've been up to and after more than a year of doing this blog I've finally posted my pic. The people that know and love me will recognize me right away. Just to see how well they know me, let's ask them what's in that glass. Here's the link to the Chelem Kids' Christmas. The guy that did this video did a fantastic job. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xQeYlW8eKgw

Survival 151

2009-10-20T09:59:00.000-07:00

How did two 80+ year old nuns end up sitting in their lawn chairs, wearing their bathing suits and drinking Kalik at Baker’s Bay?

Now remember, what happens in Abaco stays in Abaco. No calls to the Vatican, please.

I am about to share with you my most valued advice. A treasured piece of advice I share with only my closest confidants. It is………………………………………………..

How to throw a great party in the islands.

What?

You say you’ve heard that all you have to do is make an announcement on the radio and people will come from islands unseen just to party.

Damn! Somebody must have leaked my secret.

The cap’n and I had been hiding out at Baker’s Bay for about 3 weeks and were running dangerously low on the essentials of life like coconut rum, anejo rum, spiced rum, dark rum, light rum and just plain old rum. We were contemplating doing something desperate like pulling up anchor and heading to civilization and I was looking forward to putting some clothes on when the cap’n came up with one of his brilliant ideas.

“Let’s have a party!”

“Honey, remember how we just discussed the fact that we don’t have any booze. Can you tell me how many bottles of booze I’m holding up?” I patiently ask my obviously sun-addled cap’n.

“Uh…, Zero?” guesses my proud cap’n.

“Exactly!” I sneer. “Which is exactly why we can’t have a friggin’ party!”

The cap’n waggles his finger at me and raises a diabolical eyebrow.

"Just watch."

He picks up the VHF mike and makes our distress call.

“Party at Baker’s Bay at sunset.”

Later that afternoon I’m dessicating in the cockpit and contemplating which finger I’m going to prick to suck life-saving sustenance from. The capn’s finger, of course. His blood has gotta be at least 90 proof. I’m licking my cracked peeling lips when a mirage appears on the horizon. White billowy, puffy things shimmering on the waves. I lift my weak skeletal arms and give out a pitiful croak.

“What the hell?” “They’re real!”

I jump up and holler down at the cap’n.

“Put some clothes on, for Chrissake!”

We’re saved.

An hour later there are close to 40 dinghies pulled up on shore. There is live karaoke, thanks to our best friend Tom on sv Becky Thatcher, there is meat sizzling on the grill and best of all there is rum.

Glorious, makes-life-worth-living, rum!

And that is how two 80+ year old nuns ended up in their lawn chairs, wearing their bathing suits and drinking Kaliks at Baker’s Bay.

Mary and the Cap’n got thirsty.

P.S. We weren't sure if the cap'n was channeling his inner Elvis in the lower pic or if he was having some sort of seizure. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

P.P.S. These pics are stolen from the website of Patrick on Synchronicity. I'll make you get in touch somehow, Pat.

Paradise Lost

2009-10-05T10:32:00.000-07:00

“Memories are the playground of the mind.”
(From a fortune cookie given to me by a very special someone.)

From the log of Agur’s Wish:

January 6, 2004

As we approach the deserted beach we spy structures peeking through and, occasionally, towering above the dense foliage. We pull up to the abandoned dock. Alongside are the remains of pens that we imagine used to house winsome sea creatures forced into captivity for the pleasure of the inhabitants of this deserted stretch of island. Legend has it that one of these charming creatures escaped after being abandoned and left in the pens to die after the former occupants disappeared and never returned. Now locals tell how on sunlit days they catch glimpses of her and her offspring frolicking in the sparkling turquoise water that is their rightful home.

We creep our way into the dense jungle. The tall casuarinas filter the sunlight into shadows and their needles muffle our footsteps on the well worn path. The only sounds are the calls of the birds and insects and the roar of the ocean crashing on a beach we have yet to discover.

“Wow!” the cap’n whispers.

Before us is a huge amphitheater built with rough hewn logs. What did they use it for? Ancient rituals? Human sacrifices?

As we continue along the paths we come upon more ruins. Large open air structures perhaps used for communal meals and celebrations. A large tower that may have been used to spy approaching enemies or to send signals to neighboring islands. Rusting modes of transportation including a cart on a rail that might have been used to transport the weaker members of the tribe.

Eating and cooking utensils are strewn about. It looks as if they left in the middle of a big party. Where did they go. What happened to them?

“We could just settle here.” says the cap’n. “We could live off the sea and the land like Brooke Shields and Chris What-ever-his-name is in Blue Lagoon. We’d never have to put a stitch on!”

I actually consider it for a moment…until I swat my 457th no see-um.

And always that distant roaring ocean is calling us. We look for a break in the verdant overgrowth that will allow us access to this elusive beach but can find none.

We head back to the beach to see if we can find a path there. We come across two more settlements. These are small and rudimentary. Obviously camps for transient tribes in search of shelter and sustenance for a short time on their voyage to somewhere else. Each has left his mark. Their homelands are far-flung and their destinations unknown.

Finally we come upon another path. We wind our way through mangroves and past a tree adorned with an array of moldering footwear.

Finally we reach.

Endless beach and ocean greet us.

A beach that is unblemished except for what the ocean has cast upon her shores.

We are full-up with the wonder of that majestic ocean. She made this island and the reefs that protect it. She and her creatures are the only true stewards of this place.

But for awhile we’ll make it ours.

We were very blessed to have called that place our own for a time. Of course, we shared it with a lot of people who also thought of it as their own. Times change though. And now that place is just a fabled memory for those of us that loved it.

Remember though, even if we can’t call it ours anymore, we still have the responsibility to act as stewards to it and places like it.

Yes, there are still magical places out there.

NOW GO OUT AND MAKE SOME MEMORIES!

P.S. Jumping off my soapbox now. Can anybody guess where in the world Agur’s Wish was on January 6, 2004?

Later On

2009-09-03T17:49:00.000-07:00

And back to my true vocation in life. The one for which I don’t get paid.

Now where were we?

“Cinnabar, Cinnabar,” a sultry voice beckons across the airways. And so our day begins in Spanish Wells, Eleuthera, Bahamas.

We jump off the back of our boat and walk to shore to take Stanley, the killer bichon for his morning rounds. No, we haven’t become so sanctified that we can now walk on water, we’ve only been here a couple of weeks, after all. Nope, it is just that tide is way out and as you know we’ve been there before (Somedays you watch the show. Somedays you are the show). However this time we are not alarmed since we are tied safely to a mooring and aren’t trying to slog our way through the mud in our usual means of navigation. We just have to walk sideways on the boat until the tide comes back in. Why don’t we move to another mooring in deeper water? Maybe later on. We kind of like being able to walk to shore.

Later on in the morning, Bradley Newbold, aka “Cinnabar” and the owner of the mooring we are tied to, stops by to say “Hello” and deliver a fresh baked loaf of Bahamian bread from his wife of the sultry voice.

Bradley said his wife was encouraging him to retire. Bradley is the other side of 80 so I assume his wife is of a like age. They must be living right in Spanish Wells. Bradley was also our pilot through the Devil’s Backbone when we finally decided to leave. Devil’s Backbone is a series of coral heads and reefs that is as bad as it sounds. And since I’ve detailed in several blogs, the magnetism that “skinny” water holds for us, we thought we’d save ourselves the mortification and repairs for once.

Later on we’ll wonder into town and head to “Teen Planet” our favorite lunch spot. The name reflects the fare of burgers, pizza, and, best of all, the first tacos we’ve found in the Bahamas. Not quite what you consider authentic Bahamian food? After awhile you get tired of eating grouper fingers, fried conch, and yes, even lobster. (Don’t hate me!) And let’s just say, Spanish Wells is not quite like the rest of the Bahamas. It is authentically unique.

The regulars at the Teen Planet include us in their idle island gossip as if we know who they were talking about. Why not? We’ve been there for all of two weeks.

Upstairs from Teen Planet is a theater where we attended a live, I swear to God, a real country music concert. It was a novel experience for us. It was the first time we’d ever listened to country music without the benefit of beer. The music was actually very good but it was lacking a crucial component for us. If I didn’t mention it before, Spanish Wells is dry. No beach bars, no tiki huts, no icy sweet umbrella drinks sweating in your hands. It was whispered to us though that there was a lady that sold it out her back door or you can dinghy across to another island that has a liquor store, or you can catch the ferry/towboat that makes regular stops there. You knew there had to be a way if the cap’n and I stayed there for 6 weeks.

Later on we wonder through the town down to the park by the bridge. It has a beautiful pristine pink sand beach, but best of all it has public bathrooms with showers. As we stroll the lanes lined with tidy houses and well kept yards, the locals call out greetings and wave as they whiz by in their cars of golf carts. Why not? As I said we’d been there two weeks.

Later on we make tracks for Tom and Jean’s for the nightly cocktail gathering and meanwhile I’ll browse for any new books that might have been dropped off at their book exchange that is housed in the living room of their house. Tom and Jean are former boaters (actually, they still have a boat moored out in the mooring field) that pulled in and fell in love with the place. This is a well known hazard to navigation. They now open their home to wayward sailors and other souls for nightly rounds of prohibited libations and ribald chat.

Later on we wind our way back down to the waterfront which is lined with groups of locals sitting and chatting in the twilight. They murmur goodnight as we pass by.

Later on we’ll loose Agur’s Wish from the mooring and sail over to ‘Briland (Harbour Island) and hang out with Mick and Cher.

Later on…..

As I’ve said before, I don’t make this stuff up!

Spanish Wells, Eleuthera, Bahamas

SCUM ALERT!
I was receiving some really weird comments so I've had to add the word verification for comments. Hopefully, the creep can't read or it's been an automated response. Please don't let this stop you from commenting, I love to hear from you.

Sorry for Neglecting You

2009-07-27T15:22:00.000-07:00

I am back in the land of work, busy ridding Great Bend, KS of appendixes, gallbladders and uteruses (or uterii). This is what I did for 20 yrs. before I moved onboard a boat. And no it is not just like riding a freakin' bike. Anyway, I'm ready for a little comic relief too, so when I quit having nightmares about dropping the baby during a C-section I'll be back blogging.

"Skeeter" Gets Swatted By Mother Nature

2009-07-11T12:32:00.000-07:00

This picture was taken early in the day. The grandkid now swears he's never going sailing again! The morning of "Skeeter's maiden voyage started out benign enough, as a matter of fact it was downright boring. We'd raise the sails get a few good puffs of wind then the wind would disappear and we'd start the motor, then the wind would pick up and we'd raise the sails, then the wind would...Oh hell, you know the routine. We tucked into a few little crannies and let the grandkid swim and grinned like idiots when we grounded the boat and pushed her off by ourselves.

Pookah hailed us on the VHF and welcomed us to High Country sailing while we lamented the lack of Mother Nature's natural propulsion source that day.

"Just wait," replied Pookah, a little ominously I thought.

We didn't have to wait long.

Pretty soon a frisky little wind started to build and we raised the sails again and Skeeter was galloping along. Then...right when we were coming about...

BAM!

The wind decided it didn't want us to come about and whipped the lines out of our hands and into the water. The boom slammed and the grandkid screamed, or maybe that was me. Skeeter tried to rid itself of its contents but we held on tight

Boats aren't supposed to do that! Bad Boat! My old boat never did that! My old boat displaced 39,000 pounds and that was without all of our crap on it.

Just like the early part of the day, the wind died, we started the engine and we limped back to the mooring field where of course the wind picked back up as we tried to pick up our mooring.

Okay, Mother Nature had put us firmly back in our place. So what if we'd sailed a big sailboat on a big ocean, she could still kick our ass if she wanted too.

I wanted to echo the grandkid's declaration to never go sailing again, but I'd said it too many times before.

Some Days You Watch The Show, Some Days You Are The Show

2009-06-24T16:03:00.000-07:00

As I reported in my last blog, we eventually did leave Abaco.

On an early morning breeze we sailed out of the Bight of Old Robinson and through the Little Harbour cut to islands unknown.

The voyage was not a memorable one (always a good thing) and we coasted into the Royal Island Harbour by early evening. We toasted ourselves on our escape from the nirvana of the Abacos.

The next day we explored the ruins of the W.P. Stewart compound. As we walked the paved roads, sat at the bar of the main house, and admired (and tried to pry up) the beautiful ceramic tiles throughout the buildings, we tried to imagine how somebody managed to build all of this back in the 1930’s. Then we wondered how they managed to leave it all behind. Sadly we some of the last ones to walk it’s paths. Helicopters were already circling above, their occupants planning their grand ideas for this beautiful island.

The next night was the capn’s birthday. As usual, we had already made the acquaintance of several other boaters. There was no way this popular anchorage was going to be a “nekkid” one so we were playing it nice.

So, let the games begin. In our case, you can take the boat away from the party or you can take the party with you. At some point during the party, the birthday boy thought the wind generator was making too much noise. So he decided to stop it. No, he didn’t use the handy-dandy safety cord. Why mess with the middle man? No, instead he went straight to the source and grabbed, or tried to grab, a blade. The offended blade took a big old boat chomp (all those little toes stubs and head bumps are piddly little boat bites) and kept on spinning. Leaving something barely identifiable dangling from his hand.

Now don’t get to excited, it wasn’t as bad as it looked, we hoped. After cleaning up the blood, we wrapped up the shredded digit and partied on. We weren’t going to scare our guests off that easily. You can’t let a little thing like a severed thumb ruin a good party. If only there would have been a Wendy’s around.

The next morning the cap’n dragged me out of my bunk and thrust a needle and thread into my clammy shaky hands. Without the aid of liquid courage on my part but a healthy shot of lidocaine for the cap’n (when we’re not sailing and drinking this is what we do for a living. Scarey, huh?) I think I did a pretty darn good job of darning his thumb. He still has it.

One day for recovery from the surgery and the birthday party and we were off to Spanish Wells, which is dry (kinda). Thank goodness! We were ready for some rest and recovery.

"Honey, do I need to make ready for sea?"

“Nah,” comes the capn’s ready reply, “I can see it from here.”

Although we can see the entrance to Spanish Wells once we leave Royal Island’s harbour the cap’n goes ahead and hooks the GPS up to the computer so we can make sure the boat knows where it’s going.

Soon we can see the entrance markers. However, unbeknownst to us we are actually looking at the second entrance marker. We missed the first one while we were watching the little boat thing follow the mythical, and in this case, inaccurate path on the computer. But now that we are using our spare, secondary navigational aids, our eyes, we see that not only did we miss the first marker but as usual we’re on the wrong side of it. We crank the helm sharply to the left. We’re just feet from the channel when we hear that familiar “Thud” and all forward progress stops. You guessed it. We’re aground. Again. http://firstmatemary.blogspot.com/2008/09/hitting-rock-bottom.html We wiggle and waggle our butt end but as usual we can’t climb off that undersea mountain.

“Not to worry,” says the cap’n. “Tides coming in, it’ll float us off in no time.”

Of course, we haven’t escaped the notice the attention of the dozens of boats coasting up and down the channel that is right off our nose.

The radio crackles to life.

“Captain Ignoramus on the fat-bottomed sailboat on the obvious wrong side of the obvious channel, are you aground?”

Hey, who’s calling who an Ignoramus. Obviously, he can’t recognize the obvious either.

“Do you need a tug” comes the inquiry.

“No thanks,” the cap’n replies, “We’ll just wait until the tide comes in.”

An undignified snort comes from the other end of the airwaves and I’m pretty sure we hear guffaws in the background.

“Ahem, Captain you’ll be waiting quite awhile then. Tides going out”

About this time we start to notice a noticeable lean to port.

That damn computer! It had gotten the tide tables wrong….again. It had to be the computer’s fault, it couldn’t be some lingering sluggish (or downright dead) synapses from the birthday party or the previous year and a half in Abaco.

At least we were fortunate that Spanish Wells had a tow boat. What we didn’t know that the tow boat was in all actuality it’s ferry boat. And, of course, it was full of locals and tourists that were more than eager to delay their travel to help a vessel in distress.

And take pictures….

And videos…

Videos with audio.

Oh, Boy! Aren’t we lucky!

We thought we had reached the heights of our humiliation. If we only knew. It was about to get worse and worser.

The little tugboat that thought he could….couldn’t. No matter how hard he huffed and puffed. And passengers on the stern clicking and recording and asking us to smile were really starting to piss me off.

And of course, all the experts on all things of sailing nature were holding a symposium and buzzing around us in their dinghy’s like gnats. Rubbing their whiskers and espousing wisdom.

“Looks like your stuck.”

Duh!

“If you’d just gone on the other side of those markers u da been fine.”

Double Duh!

We even met up with our old friend Rick , from s/v Callaloo, who we hadn’t seen since we left Titusville two years ago. (A First Mate's Rule of the Road #256: Just like when you go to the grocery store without make-up, hoping you won't run into anyone you know...you will. And when you do something stupid on a boat and hope that no one you know will be there...they will.)

“What ya’ll been up to?”

“Uh, Rick, this really isn’t a good time for us. Can we catch up with you and Connie later?”

By this time one of the members of the dinghy council made the motion that we attach a line to the mast and pull her over. A vote was taken and the “Ayes” had it. I think they were just excited by the fact that although they had heard of this being done, none of them had ever seen it. Now, they were going to be a part of sailing history. And they had the pictures to prove it.

So a line was attached to our topping lift and one of the sturdier little boats took it and began to pull Agur’s Wish over as the tug/ferry boat tugged us toward the channel.

Slowly and surely, inch by inch Agur’s Wish slid her ass down the mountain and into the channel.

Cheers erupt and glasses are raised.

Problem over!

You think?

Now that the show is over, the passengers of the ferry/tug boat are eager to be about their way but…..the cap’n can’t get the line untied. So he hollers at me to go below and get a knife. (Why does he never wear that leatherman I got him?)

I go below to total devastation. Silverware on the floor, books in a heap….That’s probably what happened to that damn bell we’ve never been able to find.

I’m rooting around in the mess trying to find a sharp implement when I hear someone yell,

“Hey, you idiots, someone needs to be driving the boat!”

Okay, he didn’t actually say idiot but we knew who he was talking about.

I popped my head up the companionway to see that our boat was now free and headed right for the breakwater. The cap’n is still on the bow and giving me the evil eye. I surmised pretty quickly that I was the idiot that was supposed to be driving the boat .

We didn’t hit the breakwater. It was the only thing that went right that day. A little while later we were secure on our mooring and the cabin was put back to rights.

And Boy Oh Boy, did we need a drink!

P.S. You know there's always a P.S. We were moored next to the artist of the map of Spanish Wells along with his beautiful wife and young daughter. Spanish Wells is a very special place and I'll have more to say about it.

Since we have cleaned off the boat I am anxious to go through our old pics and the ones we have on the old computer and hopefully add them to my blog. That way I can quit stealing from others.

Our New Home Port: Lake Dillon Colorado

2009-06-16T18:28:00.000-07:00

We launched her today without incidence. And we've come up with a name. Since we live up Mosquito Gulch her names gonna be "SKEETER", of course.

I Lied

2009-06-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

Sorry guys, I lied. I didn't get the new blog done, but almost. We're launching our new "little" yacht today at Lake Dillon. Say some prayers that I can actually back the trailer down the ramp in a somewhat straight manner and that the mast doesn't topple over after we step and rig it. All new experience for us. As I said we're going backwards. Our motto is start out big and go small. Hmm..actually that is my own personal physical strategy. Day 5 of no carbs, no caffeine, and, horror of horrors, no booze. It's getting ugly around here!

Once again, I digress. I'm taking suggestions for names for the new boat. And I think we should paint the hull red, the cap'n doesn't.

I saw a white boat and I want to paint it red.

Miracle Bread on the Mountain

2009-06-15T13:18:00.000-07:00

I've been afraid to try the Artisan Bread in 5 minutes recipe http://firstmatemary.blogspot.com/2009/03/artisan-bread-in-five-minutes-master.html way up here at 10,600 ft. but then I decided, "What the heck? It's only flour and yeast." After a lot of tweaking I finally got it.

If anybody else is crazy enough to live up here in the nosebleed section here's what I did different from the original recipe.

I used cold tap water for the dough (my tap water is really cold)
I halved the yeast to 2 1/4 tsp.
I added an additional teaspoon of salt.
I let it rise for 5 hrs and then punched it down and put it in the refrig overnight.

The first time I tried it I baked the bread at a lower temperature but it turned out gummy even with extra baking time. The next time I baked it at the temp in the recipe and it was perfect.

I did cinnamon rolls/sticky buns this morning and they were wonderful the cap'n said. I wouldn't know because I'm not eating my experiments because I'm on my perpetual diet that doesn't work. It's difficult but like David Carradine, I'm into self-torture. I lived on a boat didn't I?

I won't give the cinnamon roll recipe away because if I ever write a book I'd like to make some money and not have somebody put what's in it on the internet for everybody to read for free but.....use what ever cinnamon roll/sticky bun recipe you have but use your already made dough. Put your topping in your baking pan, Tear off a hunk of the dough, roll it out, fill it, roll it up and cut your rolls. Put them in the pan and let them rise for an hour and bake. It's so easy and fast!

Okay, now back to boating business. I promise I will have the blog about our very eventful trip to Spanish Wells on here by tonight. And we're going to try to launch our new "yacht" tomorrow. So I'll have lots to say about that but I'll probably be traumatized for a day or two.

Hazard to Navigation

2009-06-05T17:07:00.000-07:00

We are in the midst of hauling, packing and throwing away 12 years of living on Agur's Wish. It is poignant but also very rewarding to look back and know we lived all of this. Found this old article for all of you that said we never left the Abacos.

The voices on the VHF were foreign to us. Their melodious tones exotic. Who did they belong to? We were thrilled and excited but also a little afraid. We were in a foreign land for the first time and although the voices were strange to us, in fact we were the strangers. What would we find here. There was so much we didn’t know.
That was over a year ago and we’ve discovered it’s not actually docklines that you keep you tied to one place, it’s heartlines. This unwillingness to leave our friends and loved ones and the comfort of the familiar doesn’t just happen before you start cruising, it can happen at the beginning, in the middle, and finally at the end.

We cleared into the Abacos December 24, 2003. Almost a year and a half later we were still there. What happened? You might say a sort of metamorphosis took place. We came in as cruisers and at first we bonded only with other cruisers. We visited each other’s boats and shared happy hours that lasted long past the happy hour. We traveled in bands to the bars, the grocery stores and the laundry mats. We were our own community and other than to spend a little money we didn’t really have to interact with the local community.

After a few weeks we gathered to plan the next leg of our journey south. Our first going away party was in February of 2004 when a friend of ours who was a former cruiser and now was a local took us out for lunch. Steve had already fallen into the same trap we were about to find ourselves caught in and I think we can lay most of the fault at his door. We had met Steve and his former girlfriend while waiting out a storm on the ICW in North Carolina. As I remember, they were headed to the Virgin Islands. Imagine our surprise when we cruised into the Abacos five years later and heard their boat’s call sign, “Who Cares”, on the VHF. It seems they had sailed in and never left. They had become locals and they knew lots of other locals. Most importantly they knew the right kind of locals, the ones who own bars and the ones who patronize bars and they were happy to introduce us to them, for a dollar apiece. Obviously, Steve didn't value their friendship that much.

I had always told the captain that when I retired I wanted to be like Norm on the TV show Cheers and find a place where everybody knew my name. It looked as if I’d found it. We stepped out of our circle of cruising friends and rubbed elbows with the locals and when our cruising friends moved on, we stayed put.

Through out that spring and summer new waves of cruisers washed into the Abacos and we took them under our wing. They were in awe of our impressive stores of knowledge such as where to go for “two-fer” happy hours and who had the best free appetizers. But they all managed to move on while we stayed put.

About this time we were getting a little bored with just partying all the time (hard to believe, but true) so we began to look for something else to fill our time. Opportunities to volunteer abound in the islands. Whether it’s manning the desk at a museum or library or picking up a paintbrush or hammer at one of the schools or churches, if you let someone know you’re willing, they will put you to work. Volunteering opened up a whole new branch of people for us to get attached to.

Probably, the event that was most instrumental to us growing a reef on our hull, was when the captain volunteered to help anchor the Abaco Cruiser’s Net. Many cruising communities have cruising nets but, thanks to Patty Toler the organizer of the Abaco Cruisers Net almost fifteen years ago and the head honcho in charge, the Abaco Cruisers Net is one of the best organized and most entertaining ones around. It has been the model on which many other nets have been based. In Abacos, the net is the foundation of the day for most cruisers and many locals.

I remember way back when we first arrived, the Abaco Cruiser’s Net “anchor-people” held a sort of fascination for us and our band of cruisers. We all wanted to put faces to those voices that ruled our world every morning. Now Jeff had joined this brotherhood of "rich and famous radio personalties" and our lives in the Abacos were forever changed. You must keep in mind that most cruisers have limited media access so we’re pretty desperate for entertainment(Keep in mind, I wrote this back in the dark ages of 2004). Dinghys would pull along side our boat, usually when we were in our skivvies, and say they just wanted meet the man behind the voice. They usually regretted it. Restaurant and bar owners that advertised on the net treated us with a little more respect than when we were just sailor-trash bar bums there to gobble up their free appetizers, although we really hadn’t changed all that much. We still could never get a free drink, though and they still sat us in the corner of the dining room if we were wearing our cleanest dirty shirts. Once again, we were becoming more and more enmeshed.

Then the forces of nature turned against us. Summer had crept up on us bringing hurricane season with it. We were supposed to be so much further down the islands. We convinced ourselves that it was better this way. At least we knew people and we had resources. So again we stayed put.

The summer wave of cruisers came in and we welcomed them but they were an established pack and we weren’t able to infiltrate their ranks very deeply. That was okay because we were getting tired and we had our own pack. When they moved on and we waved good-bye it was with a weary relieved feeling that we shared with the locals. “Ahh! We’ve finally got the place to ourselves.” The population of boaters fell to a brave or perhaps foolhardy few.

Then Hurricanes Frances and Jeanne blew in and our brave little band of boats banded together to secure ourselves and our boats. We went to shelters or the homes of kind strangers and friends. We weathered the storms but emerged to find our adopted community ravaged. It was time to repay a part of the debt we owed.

November rolled around and more familiar voices returned to the radio. Our cruising friends were coming back. We couldn’t leave now. So, again we stayed put.

By now nobody believed we would actually leave and we were the butt of more than a few jokes. Of course, the attendance at our going-away parties didn’t drop off. Cruisers love any reason to party. And there’s always a reason. Christmas, New Years, Superbowl, Groundhog Day, Whit Monday, Full Moons and we stayed for each of them again.

Finally our cruising friends were already planning their return trips to the states when we decided we had to go. We couldn’t wait around another year for them to return. So one early morning, without fanfare, we slipped away.
And now….
The voices on the VHF are foreign to us. Their melodious tones exotic. Who do they belong to? We’re thrilled and excited but also a little afraid.

P.S. I think this is somewhat appropo for what our future holds

P.P.S. In full reporter's honesty, we only stayed away for 6 weeks. We were in rehab in Spanish Wells just to let our livers recover (Spanish Wells is dry but you can dinghy across the harbour to the liquor store and we heard there is a lady there that sells it out her back door) and when the propagation was good we could call into the cruisers net just to let them know we were safe and still around.

Agur's Wish Homesick Blues

2009-05-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

It is snowing here in Colorado tonight and I am thinking I should be in Abaco. I should be swaying on the hook on Agur’s Wish in Hope Town Harbour tonight. Not just because it’s warm there and it sure as heck isn‘t warm here tonight.. No, I should be spending the last few of Agur’s Wish’s nights in Abaco with her, she might need me. She’ll be leaving the place she has called home for more than five years in a few days and I’ve been there, and I’ve done that.

I know she’s going to miss that gorgeous gin clear water.

I know she’s going to miss the sound of laughter in her cockpit.

I know she’s going to miss her friends at the dock.

I know she’ll miss friends stopping by just to say “Hi”

I know she’ll miss seeing old friends come into the harbour.

I know she’ll miss seeing new friends come into the harbour.

I wonder if she’ll miss that grass skirt we let her wear.

I know she’ll miss the hum of a lone predawn fishing boat cutting across the harbour heading to the sea.

I know she’ll miss the hues of morning racing each other across the sky.

I know she’ll miss the voice of the island as it goes about it’s work day.

I know she’ll miss the peal of church bells at the noon hour.

I know she’ll miss watching the colors chase the sun into the water at sunset.

I know she’ll miss the evening’s song and laughter.

I know she’ll miss the quick fall of dark.

I know she’s going to miss that shining beacon flashing through the night.

I know she’ll miss a sky so full of stars you can’t make out the black of night.

I know she’ll miss the bump of the turtle’s shell and the slap of the stingray’s wing as they glide beneath her.

I know she’ll miss the gleeful play of dolphins all around her.

I know she’ll miss that perfume of salt, sand, beauty, strength, grace and abundant joy.

Man, is she ever going to miss all those smiles.

I know she’ll miss the watchful eyes that looked over her when we couldn’t.

I wonder if she misses us and worries about how we’re doing.

I know she’s weeping tonight.

Fair Winds and Calm Seas, Agur‘s Wish,

I’ll see you in Annapolis.

P.S. Once again, I wish I made this stuff up. This ain’t a fairy tale, it really is out there, go out and live it. So why are we giving this up? My first response tonight? “Beats the hell out of me!“ Second response…Who says we are? Just a new chapter for both us and Agur’s Wish. As the cap’n will tell you, I reread my favorite books over and over and over again. And you know what? She is still ours. I hope I’m just adding more characters.

The Family Car: The Diabolical Dinghy

2009-05-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

I have another confession to make. I swear I haven’t made so many confessions since I graduated from the Sisters of Perpetual Punishment High School.

I can’t drive the dinghy!

No, that’s not quite right.

I WON’T DRIVE THE DINGHY!

I used to drive it. When she was brand new, I ferried our guests and Stanley, the killer bichon, to and fro from the dock and beach…all by myself.

Then she began to get fickle. She’d take you to the beach without complaint but then she’d refuse to leave. She’d start up without a whimper while tied to the side of the boat and wait until you were exactly half-way between the boat and your destination to sputter and die. You learned to rely on the kindness of strangers to get you home. You know it’s bad when you start giving a holler out to the anchorage to put the other boats on alert every time you want to leave the boat.

The straw that broke this admiral’s back came when we were clearing into beautiful Walker’s Cay, Abaco, Bahamas. She’d been acting even more temperamental than usual and refused to start unless you gave her a hard and swift kick in the gas. At which time she would roar off uncontrollably in every direction until you got her under control.

I was calmly sitting in the dinghy which was tied to the dock while the cap‘n was ashore clearing us in through Customs and Immigration.. At the time I believed I would be immediately extradited back to the U. S. if I so much as set foot on land before the cap’n got us cleared in, and it had taken us way too long to get here to risk that. Since then I have found that this practice varies from island to island (let me clarify that the law does not vary) and many times the officials don’t care…unless you get caught. Are we clear on this?

Before the Hurricanes of ‘04. Walker’s Cay was a beautiful resort area with the fishing boats moving in and out while the locals and tourists strolled about or sat talking with each other on the benches that lined the waterfront. I was busy minding my own business and pinching myself that we had finally “arrived” when suddenly a fishing boat decides he wants my spot on the dock. He was a lot bigger than me and let’s just say he wasn’t leaving any room for discussion. He assumes I can drive this dinghy…well, I’ll show him!

I deftly untie the painter and begin to glide smoothly under the dock to the space on the other side. Of course, I haven’t started the boat, I’m doing this by grabbing on to anything I can. I make it successfully to the other side and just as I’m reaching for the painter to tie her to the other side of the dock, the fingers on my other hand lose their tenuous grip on the barnacles encrusting the pilings (if you’ve read my earlier blog “The Shoes I’ve Lost and The Places I’ve Been, you know I have an affection for barnacles, including the cap’n.) and starts to drift lazily across the harbour. Lazily or not it is headed right for those aforementioned fishing boats.

I pray to the goddesses of carburetors, fuel injectors or whatever else could be the culprit to show some mercy, and give me a smooth start but they must have needed a good laugh that day.

I do everything right. I squeeze the bulb until it’s firm just like the cap’n showed me. He even made me practice multiple times, on and off the dinghy. I pull the lawnmower starter thing….sputter…sputter….silence. I give it a little more gas….splutter. …splutter….silence.

I give it a Lot More Gas.

VRROOM!

I jam it into forward. It rears back and we’re out of the gate. I’m hanging on to the painter for dear life. This pony is headed for the finish line. The only problem is the finish line is the dock. I’ve now caught the attention of the fishing boats at the dock and they are hurriedly untying their lines. The benchwarmers are jumping up running for safety.

The dock looms. I duck my head. Round and round the pilings I go. You think Kentucky Derby jockey Calvin Burel can weave in and out of tight spots, you should have seen me. Somehow I shoot through the other side with my head still intact…so I decide to use it. Why don’t I pull that nifty little safety bracelet thing the cap’n makes me wrap around my wrist, for good reason it seems. I pull, the key disengages from the switch…sputter…sputter…silence.

Yee-Haw!

So there’s the reason I wouldn’t drive the dinghy. But this year I’ve decided to face my fears and confront my demons and get back in the saddle again.

Fair Warning and I’ll give a holler out to you anytime I attempt to leave the boat.

Post Script: May 10, 2009
I did drive the dinghy this season. Only because the cap’n managed to have it both running and steering all in the same season. I will admit I didn’t drive it as often as I should have, I’m lazy and I kind of like being chauffeured. Our last day on the boat, I took the cap’n out for a last harbour cruise. He decided he kind of liked being chauffeured too. Good thing I didn’t let him get used to it.

Now the practical non-fun part of the blog. Just a few tips.

Tip 1: Get you dinghy engine serviced every year. Seem like a no-brainer, huh? The problem we were having was from varnish that had set up in our gasoline. It seems gasoline likes to clump like mascara if it sits to long. Plus we all know how kind the boating environment is to all moving parts, so keep ‘em greased.

Tip 2: Do make yourself drive the dinghy. It will give you so much more independence and enjoyment. You won’t have to listen to the cap’n grumble when he has to roll out of the cockpit to take you to the early morning yoga or pilates class or just a solitary walk on the beach. You may say this is another no-brainer, but there are a lot of admirals like me that spend years being chauffeured around and you can bet it was because of one bad incidence. For those admirals, get back in the saddle!

For those of you that have managed to read all this way. We bought another sailboat! More about that later.

Dinghy Drift Hope Town

I Want To Be 5 Again

2009-04-26T19:26:00.001-07:00

My editor (the cap’n) says I’m way past my deadline. I keep reminding him I don’t get paid for writing this blog and he’s not my editor.

I’ve had the privilege of spending the last week with my 5 year old grandson, Landon. Poor Landon, he doesn’t have one of those grandmas that packs him up to Disney World. Nope, she drags him to Great Bend, Kansas to keep her company while the cap’n works. Not exactly the inspiration for a kid’s dream vacation.

But you know what? He doesn’t seem to mind. Life is fun for him wherever he is. I’m envious. I want to be 5 again.

I want to:

Turn on cartoons when I wake-up and laugh first thing in the morning.

Have my biggest decision of the day be whether I have Captain Crunch or Frosted Flakes for breakfast.

Think that Kraft Mac-and-Cheese is way better than any gourmet meal without worrying about what it’s doing to my arteries or waistline.

Spend hours performing magnificently goofy jumps into a swimming pool without worrying about what anyone watching might think.

Spend hours running back and forth kicking a soccer ball without getting winded or having my knees hurt.

Run away shrieking and screaming when the lion roars at the zoo.

Make a flag out of a stick and be my own parade marching down the street.

Love rain because that’s where mud comes from.

Consider everyone I meet a potential friend.

Read “Curious George” at bedtime and laugh last thing at night.

Dream dreams that make me smile while I’m sleeping.

I want to be 5 again!

My editor said this wasn’t funny, so I stuck my tongue out at him!

New Casa in Chelem, Yucatan, Mexico

2009-04-17T05:47:00.000-07:00

Hola!
I thought I'd share some photos of our new adventure. It will be up for rent or we'll swap time in other beautiful places (I guess we better wait until we close next month though). The Yucatan is one of the safest states in Mexico and there are tons of expats down there. Within the two blocks of our house there are 8 American owners, 4 of them are Texans. I'm not so sure that's a good thing. Just kidding. One couple is from the capn's hometown of Sherman, TX. We used to say we did boat work in exotic locations, now I guess I'll do housework instead. By the way, rentals down there are very reasonable as is the cost of living. Come visit us!

To All My Listeners In Radioland: VHF Etiquette

2009-04-09T15:36:00.000-07:00

Foreword: I know a few of you know that the cap’n and I have made a difficult decision and have decided to put Agur’s Wish up for sale. It’s time for a new adventure. Thanks to those of you that wrote and ask that I continue the blog since I was wondering if I would be a pertinent voice for fellow First Mates if I no longer had a boat. But I decided I have 12 years of boat experiences I still want to write, bitch, laugh and cry about, and as long as the cap’n will have me, I’ll always be his First Mate on whatever voyage we choose. Now back to the business at hand. Oh, I have to mention that the cap’n is already trying to talk all of our new neighbors down Mexico into buying radios and starting a net.

Rule#1 Don’t Read the Mail!

If you’re new to the cruising life, you’re probably asking,

“How the hell do I even get my mail?”

I’m not referring to the traditional form of mail. What I’m referring to is the practice of listening to a boat hail another boat on a hailing channel and then you, with your twitchy little fingers, turn the dial or mash the little button to follow their traffic just so you know “what’s going on”. Okay, I admit I’m guilty of this on occasion. Hell, if I’m really bored, I’ll eavesdrop on people I don’t even know or care about. (I do it in restaurants all the time). I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, everybody does it, go ahead and do it but you need to get really good at acting like you don’t.

Some people are brazen, there was one boater I knew who would break into discussions about plans in which the boater wasn’t included and would ask if there was room for one more. I would say he had balls, but he was a she. Be warned! This is a big no-no and just about sounds the death knoll for any future cruising social life. Some groups of boats establish secret channels and when they want to have “private” conversations they just request that the other boat go to the secret channel.

This is a real VHF conversation:

“Agurmeister’s Wish, Agurmeister’s Wish, this is vessel Who Cares.”

“Who Cares, Agur’s Wish here. Channel 74, Steve?”

“Everybody hear that, we’re going up to Channel 74. Channel 74, everybody got that?”

Up on Channel 74...

“Who Cares this is Agur’s Wish”

“Who Cares here. Is everybody else here?”

Multiple clicks of the mikes lets us know our audience is listening.

“Hey, Who Cares how that medicine I gave you working?”

“Huh?” Who Cares replied, a little slow on the uptake.

“Is that drip starting to clear up?”

“Yeah, but it still burns like hell,” Who Cares replies, in the game now.

That’s when the cap’n made me get off the radio.

A few words of warning…Don’t say anything that you don’t want anyone overhearing. The VHF radio is a lot like a party line and people are listening.

If you decide to read the mail, prepare to get your feelings hurt--you might hear something you don’t want to hear, like your best friends are having sundowners on their boat and you’re not invited. When you run into them later you’ll have to wipe that hangdog look off of your face and act like you don’t know that they’ve ostracized you even though they know you know. Confused yet?

Rule #2 Don’t Become the Radio Police

You don’t need to attend an academy and no uniform or badge is required. All you need is a “need” to control traffic on the radio..

Everyone recognizes VHF channel 16 as the official hailing channel and for the most part it is respected. Every once in awhile an over excited fisherman or an over-served tourist will forget and has to be gently reminded to move their traffic to another channel. This is really no big problem and rarely happens on channel 16.

It’s when other channels are designated as spare calling channels that the problems start to occur. Don’t get me wrong, the practice of establishing spare calling channels is a great idea. It takes the load of social calling off of 16 and frees it up for businesses and emergencies. I’ve been in areas where there was no spare calling channel set up and channel 16 was a nightmare to try to get a call through on.

So what’s the problem?

These unofficial calling channels sometimes become a little bit like small unincorporated rural towns. They don’t have a mayor, a city council, or law enforcement so a self-chosen few appoint themselves to be all three.

Here is a common scenario on VHF channel 68, which is the spare calling channel in the Abacos…

The radio has been dead silent all day when all of a sudden…

“Desperately Clewless, Desperately Clewless calling vessel Severely Tackless”

“Severely Tackless back to Desperately Clewless”

“Severely Tackless, Admiral Clueless and I were wondering what you guys had planned for tonight?”

About this time you start hearing the desperate clicking of about a half-dozen distant mikes. Finally, one of them wins the contest and an authoritative voice booms across the radio waves.

“Gentlemen, please be advised that channel 68 is a hailing channel in the Abacos. Please move your traffic to another channel.”

The problem I have with this is, not only was Tackless not given the opportunity to tactfully remind his accomplice, Clewless, that they needed to switch channels but now I’ll have to get off my lazy derriere to read the mail. If they’d just been allowed to chat a little longer I could have decided whether it was worth it to get up and change the channel. So all you Barnie Fife’s out there, show some restraint and put the bullet back in the shirt pocket. Is there some sort of reward ceremony out there at the end of the year for the one that gets the most collars?

Rule #3 Don’t Dial Drunk

My Dad used to say his telephone bill always rose in accordance to his liquor bill.

If you feel a binge coming on, do everybody a favor and dismantle the radio in such a way that you will not be able to figure out how to put it back together again after you’ve had a couple.

If you choose to ignore this advice, you will be the only one within radio distance that doesn’t realize you are drunk, slurring, and completely unreadable, in other words, doing your best Foster Brooks imitation probably on one of the main hailing channels.

…And don’t be surprised when the whole anchorage shows up at your boat the next day for the cocktail part you forgot you invited them to.

Rule #4 Your Radio Has An Off Switch, Use It!

If you are not entertained or are totally disgusted by drunks who can’t find their boat or are just feeling lonely in the wee hours of the morning, turn your radio off before you go to bed. Unless you are an emergency responder or there is really horrible weather you really don’t need to leave it on. Unless, of course, you can’t sleep at night from worrying that somebody might be conversing on an unofficial hailing channel and you won’t be there to advise them to move their traffic.

Rule#5 The Easiest and Most Important Rule

I already said and I’ll say it again. Do not say anything on the radio that you don’t want everyone to know. No matter what channel you are on, even those sacred secret channels.

First Mate Mary is clear.

Eileen Quinn Music: Friends

2009-03-22T19:24:00.000-07:00

Hi guys I have found a link to the song that always makes me cry "Friends". This site lets you listen to a lot of her music but you'll want to get the CD's so you can listen to her in those secluded anchorages. Ahh...I'm missing my friends.

http://www.stumbleaudio.com/#quinn4/12

Ooh, and look I found the "Anchoring Dance" too, which I think causes more aborted cruises than anything else. There's actually a real dance which Eileen's husband does with great rhythm.

http://www.stumbleaudio.com/#quinn/1

Artisan Bread in Five Minutes Master Recipe: Boule Recipe

2009-03-22T09:37:00.000-07:00

I love to bake bread and most of all I love to eat fresh bread, but I have always struggled with getting it to rise on the boat and the mess it makes on the boat. Here is a simple, no-knead, almost no mess basic bread recipe from the book Artison Bread in Five Minutes a Day. I'm providing the basic and white bread recipe but I really encourage you to buy the book and yes, you can find it down there in the Amazon section of my page. Of course, I downloaded it to my Kindle, but I've found the Kindle is not ideal for this something about using my sticky fingers to turn the page doesn't seem like a good idea. You won't believe the number of recipes you can make from this simple process using different flours and slightly different techniques. The real challenge will be seeing if this works when I get home to 10,600 feet in CO. I'll keep you posted.

The 5 minutes a day title is kind of misleading because it does not include the "resting" and baking times.

I'm going to try to post a link to a video showing the authors of the book going through this process at the bottom of this blog. Keep your fingers crossed.

Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day

Basic Boule Dough Recipe

(Artisan Free-Form Bread)

Makes 4 1 lb loaves. The recipe is easily doubled or halved

You can store this dough up to 14 days in your refrigerator in a plastic lidded (non-airtight) container

3 cups of lukewarm water
1 ½ Tablespoons of granulated yeast (1 ½ packets)
1 ½ Tablespoons kosher or other course salt
6 ½ cups unsifted, unbleached, all-purpose white flour, measured with the scoop-and-sweep method (scoop your measuring cup into flour and sweep off excess with a knife with out pressing or compressing the flour into the cup)

1. Warm the water slightly: about 100 F.

2. Add yeast and salt to the water in a 5 qt bowl or preferably in a resealable, lidded (not airtight plastic container. Don’t worry about getting it all to dissolve.

3. Mix in the flour all at once with a wooden spoon until the mixture is uniform. Don’t knead.

4. Cover with a well fitting, non-airtight lid (I place plastic wrap over the bowl without sealing it). Allow the mixture to rise at room temp until it begins to collapse, approximately 2 hrs. Longer rising times up to 5 hours will not harm the results.

5. You can use the dough at this point, but it is extremely wet and sticky. It is better to refrigerate if for 3 hours, or even better, overnight to make it easier to work with (it’s still very sticky compared to other bread dough)

On Baking Day…

5. The gluten cloak: Don’t knead, just “cloak” and shape a loaf in 30 to 60 seconds. Here’s how. First, prepare a pizza peel (I use any flat thing I have, right now I’m using a piece of tile, you could try a cookie sheet) by sprinkling it liberally with cornmeal ( I can’t find cornmeal right now so I’m using flour but the bread does not slide off easily on to the baking stone) to prevent your loaf from sticking to it when you slide it into the oven.

Sprinkle the surface of your refrigerated dough liberally with flour. Pull up and cut off a 1 lb (grapefruit size) piece of dough, using a serrated knife. Hold the mass of dough in your hands and add more flour as needed so it won’t stick to your hands. Gently stretch the surface of the dough around to the bottom on all four sides, rotating the ball a quarter-turn as you go. Most of the dusting flour will fall off; it’s not intended to be incorporated into the dough. The bottom of the loaf may appear to be a collection of bunched ends but they will smooth out when baking. This entire process should take no more than 30-60 seconds. (I actually don’t get how to do this part, I just kind of roll it around in my hands adding a little more flour until it’s not as sticky and shapeable.)

At the bottom of the article there is a link to a video of this process.

6. Place the shaped ball on the cornmeal-covered pizza peel or other flat thing. Allow the loaf to rest on the peel for about 40 minutes (it doesn’t need to be covered). Depending on the age of the dough, you may not see much rise during this period; more rising will occur during baking.

7. Twenty minutes before baking, preheat the oven to 450 F, with a baking stone placed on the lowest rack (I’m using a ceramic tile until I can get back to the land of available baking stones). Place an empty broiler tray, or any shallow pan that will hold a cup of water, on any other shelf that won’t interfere with the rising bread.

8. Dust and slash: dust the top of the loaf liberally with flour which will allow the slashing knife to pass without sticking. Slash a ¼ inch-deep cross into the top using a serrated bread knife.

9. Baking with steam: After a 20-minute preheat, you’re ready to bake, even though your oven thermometer won’t yet be up to full temperature. With a quick forward jerking motion of the wrist, slide the loaf off the pizza peel onto the preheated baking stone. (Using flour, I have to more-like scrape the loaf off onto the stone/tile and then hurriedly reshape it on the hot baking stone/tile) Quickly but carefully pour about 1 cup of hot tap water into the broiler tray and close the oven door to trap the steam. Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the crust is nicely browned and firm to the touch.

10. Allow to cool completely, preferable on a wire cooling rack, for the best flavor, texture and slicing.

Crusty White Sandwich Loaf

Makes one loaf

1 ½ pounds (cantaloupe-size portion) Boule dough
Neutral-tasting oil for greasing loaf pan
* You must use a nonstick pan; they work well but still require a light greasing. Wet dough, the kind in this recipe, sticks horribly to traditional pans.1. Dust the surface of the refrigerated dough with flour and cut off a 1 ½ lb portion. Dust with more flour and quickly shape into a ball as described above.

2. Lightly grease a 9x4x3 inch non-stick loaf pan with a neutral-flavored oil.

3. Elongate the ball into an oval and drop it into the prepared pan. You want to fill the pan slightly more than half full.

4. Allow the dough to rest for 1 hour and 40 minutes (or just 40 minutes if you’re using fresh, unrefrigerated dough). Dust with flour and slash the top crust lengthwise.

5. Twenty minutes before baking time, preheat the oven to 450 F with an empty broiler pan on any shelf that won’t interfere with the rising bread. A baking stone is not essential when using a loaf pan; if you omit the baking pan you can shorten the preheat to 5 minutes.

6. Place the loaf on a rack near the center of the oven. Pour 1 cup of hot tap water into the broiler tray and quickly close the oven door. Bake for about 35 minutes, or until brown and firm.

7. Remove the loaf from the pan and allow to cool completely on a rack before slicing.

Here's the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ce3k5uRkEPI>Artisan Bread Making

Boat Etiquette 101: Clothing Optional Anchorages

2009-03-16T12:49:00.000-07:00

Imagine your cap’n and you are anchored in a secluded bay, there’s no one around for miles and you’re doing the Brooke Shields and Chris What-ever-his-name-was Blue Lagoon thing. You haven’t put a stitch on for days and you’re starting to get a little sore on your tender parts. (From sunburn, you perverts). You just came up the companionway with two more cold ones when you spy something on the horizon.

“What the hell is that?”

“It kinda looks like a boat,” the cap’n replies.

Dismay starts creeping in…

“Surely they aren’t coming in here.”

“There’s plenty of room. We’ll probably never even see them.” the cap’n offers magnanimously.

An hour later the crew of the other boat wave and holler out greetings as you scramble to put on clothes. They pass by so close you’re afraid they are going to ask if you happen to have some “Grey Poupon”.

Your horror grows as you watch the first mate move to the bow and commence doing the “Anchoring Dance”*. You don’t even have to get out the binoculars to watch them.

There goes the neighborhood!

I have been asked to share some rules of cruising etiquette with you newbies and you not so newbies who should know better. Just consider me the Miss Manners of the cruising world. The scenario above is the subject that comes up most often on the irksome scale. It seems that most capn’s didn’t really want to go explore the world when they convinced you to move aboard a boat, they just wanted to get you naked.

Rule # 1:

If you sail in to a secluded anchorage and there is another boat there, give them their space. Believe me, they are not going to be enthusiastic about an impromptu raft-up. By all means go and meet them but have the decency to respect their indecency by giving them a shout out on the radio or waiting until they go into the beach, if they have clothes on. If you fail to heed this advice, we….uh, I mean they can’t be held responsible for what you’ll encounter. And believe me again, it ain’t always pretty.

And for God’s sake stow the binoculars, or at least use some stealth when using them. There is nothing more embarrassing than to be caught spying through your binoculars to find a pair (binoculars, you pervs) staring back at you.

Rule #2:

On the flip side. Know when to keep your clothes on. You’re members of a community now and not some charterer who’s jumping naked off the Willy T with a cap’n you’ve never seen before in front of people you’ll never seen again. (Those were the days!). The locals of most islands are very religious and conservative, and besides that there are cameras everywhere and do you really want little Johnny Googling his grandmother and seeing that?

If you’re in a harbour and within viewing distance of restaurants or boats keep your clothes on. And please don’t engage in questionable calisthenics on your catamaran’s trampoline. The men are gonna love you and the women gonna hate you. It causes unnecessary tension and eyestrain.

A bathing suit is fine on the boat and beach but cover up when going to town. If you don’t look good in a bathing suit it’s bad enough and if you look good, again…the men are gonna love you and the women gonna hate you.

That being said, if I had the goods I’d be strutting them to heaven and back.

P.S. When I started this article I was gonna write one article about all of the etiquette issues cruisers encounter but I found there was just too much to say. Ya’ll know how wordy I get. It must be the southern in me, his name is Jack Daniels. Just joshin’ ya! Wink wink nod nod. Anywho, this has become a series of smack downs, the next one being about the radio.

* I want to give credit to Eileen Quinn for the term the Anchoring Dance which I stole from one of her CD’s that I own. She has provided us with a lot of laughs and a few tears through the years with her music. I have links to two of her CD’s that have this song on them way down yonder in the Amazon area of this site. And yes I do get a little money if you buy through me, but not enough to buy you a beer in the Bahamas. If you’ve never heard her song “Friends” your missing the anthem about what cruising is all about.

Leaving On A Jet Plane: Medical Emergency

2009-03-01T09:34:00.000-08:00

Hi all!
I’m sorry that I’ve been delinquent in posting but I have a really good excuse. About a month ago, I jetted the Cap’n out of here on a turbo-prop to West Palm Beach.

It started out as a normal day with the cap’n not feeling too good which we just attributed to the fun the night before. Throughout the day he felt worse and worse, I didn’t learn until later when he confessed it to the doctors that he’d been having tightness in his chest for 10 days. I finally convince him that we call BASRA (Bahamas Sea and Rescue Association) http://www.basra.org/. This is a totally volunteer organization that receives no funding from the government that needs and deserves your support. You never know if your going to be next one calling them so here is their website, if you’d like to assure that they are there for you. I am not implying that they won’t help you if you don’t donate, they help everyone in need, but like everybody in these trying financial times they need your support. This story is easier told by saying things we were fortunate in doing or having and things we wish would have had in place or done differently.

We were lucky that we were in a familiar harbour with established friends and contacts available. We were able to hand Stanley, the killer bichon, off immediately to trusted friends, Phyllis and Neil on Chapter X . I had never even considered what I would have done with a pet in the case of an emergency like this. I had barely hung up the mike from calling BASRA before a dock friend, Mads was there with assistance and an offer of a defibrillator from his boat (thank God we didn’t need it) and within minutes a member of BASRA, Chris Prewitt, whose sailboat was moored right behind us was knocking on the hull to transport us to the main dock where the boat that would transfer us to Marsh Harbour was waiting. We were fortunate they were already responding to another emergency and were at the ready. I thank God that we were not at some uninhabited cay with no one around.

It was unfortunate that we did not have an emergency bag ready just in case this should happen. Even so, I thought I did pretty well, throwing in passports, all the cash we had, (including the money our friends on Exit Strategy had given us to relay to their mooring ball owner since they were leaving for a few days), our wallets, checkbook, cell phones (but no chargers) and 3 pairs of underwear apiece. The cap’n managed to throw in a couple of packs of cigarettes. Unfortunately, I forgot extra clothes (that was solved by a scarey, creepy public bus ride to a Dollar store 5 days later. Who but sailor trash goes to a Dollar Store to shop in West Palm Beach?), cruising permit, which caused us to have to buy round-trip airline tickets when we were lucky enough to fly back to the boat. And scariest of all I forgot my make-up and toiletries. After we got back, our friends Amy and Pete, from Double Vision told us they always keep a ditch bag ready, even though they no longer live on a boat, great idea for everyone.

We were fortunate that we had established friends in Marsh Harbour who met us at the clinic and helped hold me up. Chris and Tara from OII (Out Island Internet) stood by and made Cola runs for me and used their own personal cell phones to call our family to let them know what was going on because my fingers wouldn’t work to dial and they also started to arrange a charter for us out. In the end this was unnecessary because the doctor said the cap’n would require a Medevac. Brenda from Tupps Wine and Liquors, who was worried about losing her most loyal customer (just kidding, Brenda). She gave us immeasurable support and even told me I looked great even though I knew different. And to our magical friend Patti Toler who did things that I’m sure we’re not even aware, plus she loaned me a hairbrush and some lipstick.

We were fortunate that Dr. Schwerna and his staff were on duty that night. Under their hands the cap’n became stable and I became less afraid. The emergency staff at West Palm Beach were very impressed with his treatment. We are thankful to Dr. Boyce for loaning a necessary medication from his private clinic and for his staff for bringing it over on what was now becoming a late evening.

We were unfortunate, that we did not have Medevac insurance. In fact, I have actively pooh-poohed it on several message boards, saying , “Who would want to wait 8 hrs. for a Medjet to arrive when you could charter a plane in minutes. . There was no way I would have been comfortable flying alone with the cap’n on a charter that night. He required medications and constant attention, and while a charter might be okay for a fracture, it was not appropriate for this situation.

We were fortunate that we had enough credit on our credit card to pay for the evacuation ($8,400.00 plus change) because it is required upfront. I don’t know what they do if you don’t have the money to pay. I strongly suggest you sign up with http://www.medjetassist.com/ or http://www.diversalertnetwork.org/ or another like service. The plane was Beech B-1900 with two pilots, a doctor and two EMT/nurses. They also arranged transport by ambulance to the hospital. The eerie thing is I had just asked the cap’n during our last flight over that I wonder what they do in reference to customs and immigration when you are flown in on a medical emergency. Now I know. In our case, we first had to land in Fort Lauderdale to clear in because West Palm’s customs had shut down. I was right about waiting for a jet for 8 hours, it was now the wee hours of the morning and the ordeal had started about 3:00 pm. All of us except the patient and one nurse disembarked from the plane and walked across the tarmac to the immigration office. As always there was no hurry and another Medevac plane was clearing in at the same time. There was some problem with the manifest and no one seemed to be concerned that my cap’n was having chest pains out on the tarmac. We finally cleared and then the nurse that had remained with the cap’n had to go in and clear. I was able to present the capn’s documentation for him. Finally, we were back in the air on the way to WPB.

We were fortunate that we had changed our international medical insurance (which required us to be out of the US for 6 months of the year) before we got back on the boat this year. When I couldn’t find other things to keep me up nights worrying, I worried about this requirement since we hadn’t been able to fulfill it last year due to my dad’s illness. Turns out I was right to worry.

We were fortunate for the good care at Good Samaritan Hospital in West Palm Beach. We were fortunate that the cap’n did not have an MI (heart attack) but an arrythmia that was able to be treated with meds and a change in lifestyle. We were fortunate that the docs insisted on a heart cath because we were coming back over here and they didn’t want a repeat perfomance. We were fortunate that the heart cath showed no damage and that it, according to the doctor, “looked a hell of a lot better than it deserved to” given the capn’s lifestyle. After the capn had been off cigs and rum for a week., we were fortunate that there were still a few nurses willing to take care of him.

We were fortunate to have the support of our friends who called or sent flowers when we were in the hospital and when we returned to Hope Town , several of whom were on the dock to greet us with applause and hugs.

Yesterday, we were fortunate to volunteer at the Hope Town Fire and Rescue Fair, http://www.hopetownfirerescue.com/ who shares its funds and people with BASRA.

We are very thankful to The Great Navigator upstairs for a wake-up kick in the head. I can’t brag that our new leaf has remained completely turned over. I myself, as some of you know, have never been a poster child for moderation and the cap’n is my worthy counterpart, but be reassured we are trying and will keep on trying. Believe me, it's harder than it looks.

Sorry, The Great Navigator does not have a website...

So go on up to high power now, if you feel like it, and keep us in your prayers

Boat Best Friends: Pets on Boats

2009-02-20T06:47:00.000-08:00

I'm woosing (?) out again and pasting an email that was sent to me from a very good friend who lost her best friend about a month ago. The email happened to be very timely because some other friends on the boat "Second Look" lost their mate "Mandy" last week. I keep trying to think of a better term than "lost" but none of them fit. And after all, maybe lost is the most appropriate term since we hope we will find them again someday. Thanks Patti, Matriarch of the Abaco Cruiser's Net.

This explains why I forward jokes:

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead.

He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up."

The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.
As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

"Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you have any water?"
"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in."
"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"There should be a bowl by the pump."

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.

The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree.

"What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is Heaven," he answered.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's hell."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind."

Soooo...

Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us without writing a word.
Maybe this will explain.
When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes.
When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.

When you have something to say, but don't know what, and don't know how, you forward jokes.
Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you get?

..... A forwarded joke.
So, next time if you get a joke, don't think that you've been sent just another forwarded joke, but that you've been thought of today, and your friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile.

You are all welcome @ my water bowl anytime

I have a lot of things ping-ponging around in this old noggin of mine right now. We went to Mexico to explore an alternative winter residence and found the most gorgeous house at an obscenely low price (compared to the Bahamas)and then we came back home to our friends and an unbelievable 50th birthday party for our friend Doris on "Exit Strategy" and the next day met up with one of our best friend couples, Janet and Gary of "LeeAnn" and we are wearing ourselves out trying to decide. House or Friends? In today's economic climate I think I'd rather invest in friends. I'd love to hear from friends that gave up boating to see what they think. Norm and Ami?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Boat for sale

2009-02-12T17:02:00.000-08:00

No it's not mine, but we have extended our visit here in Mehico for a couple of extra days just to look at additional winter accomodations. Notice I said additional, not alternative. I just can't get away from the tortillas and frioles and cheap beer.

Some friends of ours have turned into CLOD (Cruisers Living On Dirt)and are looking to give away their boat to a good owner. JUST KIDDING! Whooee! I bet Pat blew some blood vessels on that one. Some of you might have sailed with Pat (Paco) and Dori over the years, if you have you won't forget them. They are now selling Sol Y Mar. They are the only owners and I can vouch that you won't find a better maintained boat. I know she just got new batteries, like last week and they are now in Bequia waiting for a window to bring her to the states. Anyway here is the link for all the info. Hey Paco, do I get a finder's fee?

http://www.sailboatlistings.com/view/11648
It seems blogger no hablas English. It keeps saying,"No se encuentra el blog que busca" so let me know if you guys can't link to the site. And hey swab, bring me another Mohito.

2009-02-11T13:12:00.000-08:00

Hi guys,
I've jumped ship! But just temporarily. We are taking a short vacation from the boat to visit Jeff's brother in Playa del Carmen, Mexico. We have been having a blast exploring Mexico and I can't wait to tell you about it. If you think there is no more undiscovered beachfront in the Western Hemisphere, you're wrong. We found a place with gorgeous untouched beachfront on the gulf and they are only using it to to beach their fishing boats. Can you believe it? The locals kept asking us how we found the place, at least that's what I think they were saying. We were the only non-Spanish speakers in the whole village.

But before I blog about our trip, one of my new readers, Mike from Ohio, wants to know how we (I'm including the rest of you first mates and captains in this)jumped the hurdles to go cruising. One of his questions is about health insurance and since, as our fellow cruisers in the Abacos know, we had to Med-evac the cap'n out a couple of weeks ago to West Palm for an all-expensive, no frills stay at the elite Good Sam hospital, I have a few suggestions. And I hope we get some suggestions from others. Thanks for getting me back on track, Mike. When I started this blog the purpose was to answer and get suggestions from other first mates but my readers appear to be shy. Now keep in mind, I know quite a few of them and they're not shy at all. I still want to know how to keep my dishrags from stinking to high heaven since I can't just throw them in the wash machine if any of you have a suggestion.

Hopefully, I'll be back chewing your ear off on Monday.

P.S. We really need to import good tortillas to the Bahamas.

All Creatures Great and Icky! : Boat Critters

2009-01-30T13:11:00.000-08:00

We arrived back on our boat after our Christmas vacation in the land of paychecks. Agur’s Wish was pulling gently at her docklines and all looked to be well. We extracted our key from the top secret hiding place that everybody on the dock and quite a few people in the settlement are aware of, just in case someone needs to save her from sinking or burning to the waterline. Or, God forbid, there might be a real emergency like a shortage of rum, in which case the residents of the dock and town know we have enough emergency rations of rum to “float” a small island nation for the foreseeable future.

We descended the companionway into the gloom of the shrouded boat. As we uncovered the hatches, we gasped in horror. Strewn about the boat were remnants of cigarettes chewed down to the filters. The strings of fake plastic limes and lemons that I had hanging in the galley had multiple bite marks in them.

The cap’n and I looked at each other. Which one of our nicotine fiend, tequila deprived, lime-sucking dockmates was to blame? It could be anyone of them.

“I smell a rat!”

Yeppers, in our absence a transient hobo-type critter of the rodent kind had set up camp and was now plotting to hold me prisoner on my own boat. Think Nicole Kidman in the movie “Dead Calm” or Melanie Griffith in “Pacific Heights”. This intruder was hell bent on incessantly teasing, taunting and torturing me.

There was the night I was laying on the settee reading a book, listening to Stanley, the killer bichon, chomping away at his dinner in the galley. But wait a darn minute, Stanley was laying right beside me. That’s what I call teasing and taunting.

Trapping a rodent phobic, incurable insomniac with frequent nocturnal urinary urges in her bunk all night….that’s what I call torture.

Luckily, the cap’n wasn’t as easily cowed and he set to work setting a trap. Later on that night, let’s just say, our uninvited guest found himself in a sticky situation. The cap’n gave him the old “heave-ho”.

And now Mickey, the Mouse, sleeps with the fishes.

Although no worthy first-mate, except me, would lay claim to having such commodious quarters for the formerly described unwanted guest, rodents are actually your common, garden-variety type of vermin that might be found on your boat. Now let’s talk about some of the more exotic varieties that may take up lodging.

I was introduced to one such creature on a bright sunny afternoon while I was diligently cleaning the cockpit and the cap’n was diligently throwing back lethal adult beverages at the Jib Room at the Marsh Harbour Marina..

I was busily scrubbing away, whistling a happy tune when I happened to open a cockpit locker. Staring back at me from the depth of the locker were two bulging yellow eyes.(I swear he had yellow eyes). A viperine (look it up, as Sister Irene used to say) tongue darted at me. There squatting atop the debris was a big, fat, slimy, day-glo lime-green frog.

“Rrrribbett”, it said.

“Eek!” said I, as I slammed the lid and awaited the cap’ns return from his arduous duties on shore.

Once again the cap’n gave the old “heave-ho” and the culprit swam merrily to shore.

Unfortunately, now my fear of opening the cockpit lockers is akin to my fear of highway rest stops. You see, for some reason every time I go into a highway rest stop I fear that I am going to see an amputated body part floating in the toilet. I try to not even look in the toilet. I have no idea where this gruesome irrational fear came from. Believe me, I’ve never seen an amputated body part floating in a toilet. Maybe I’m a little bit crazy. Normal people don’t think about things like that at rest stops. Do you? Ha! Ha! I bet you will now. Gotcha! Anyway, that explains the sorry state of my cockpit lockers.

Both of the previous experiences pale in comparison to what happened to our friends on the s/v Just Dreaming. This happened a couple of years ago and I wrote about it on some of the cruising boards, so if you’ve already read it I apologize. This is what happened.

We received an interesting vessel in distress call to us via VHF yesterday afternoon. I don't know why they thought we could help them with the nature of their distress except it happened to be one of those rare days when the water in Marsh Harbor was clear enough to see the interesting array of nature on our bottomsides.

It seems that the admiral of the distressed boat had been diligently (Ah-ha, a fellow member of the diligent cleaner club) scrubbing the head when she noticed what she thought was algae poking out from under the rim. She immediately armed herself with toilet brush for the attack and the enemy beat a hasty retreat. She decided to flush the area for more traces of enemy insurgents and sure enough more little legs poked through.

Dispersing with the usual regimen of interrogation she went straight to the torture stage and started gingerly tearing off limbs. When the captain and admiral had torn off a respectable amount limbs without gaining any useful intelligence they decided to call us. They now had their own little P.Y.N. (pinch your nose) camp set up in the intake of their head and they had removed all means for their prisoner's escape. You think the Abu Gahraib (sp?) scandal caused a stink.

My captain had indulged in his usual breakfast of Kalik's followed by a nutritious brunch of Rum-N-Ade’s and for some reason couldn't come up with a solution. I muttered, "You suck." My captain replied, "I besh your parshon!" I replied, "Tell him to disconnect his intake hose and apply suction." Sure enough, after just a few seconds of militia strength ShopVac to intake hose and the enemy lay legless and quivering on the floor.

A 3-4 inch slimey Jabba the Hud squid in his last throes. Of course, my captain took all the credit for the successful mission.

So, if some dark, .dark night you find yourself on the throne trickling and you feel something tickling....... Sorry Denny and Diane this one's going 'round the world wide web.

Whatever You Want To Put In It Pop-overs

2009-01-20T12:15:00.000-08:00

I took these over to sundowners on JilliQ the other night and was told that I have to put the recipe in my blog and in return Jill will add her made-in-the-pie-plate pie crust recipe. Jill, you are within dinghy distance now and I can come over and wring it out of you. Actually, the pop-overs start with a basic cream cheese pastry that is very easy to work with and you can do anything you want with it. First the pastry recipe (Not for the lite-hearted diet types)

Cream Cheese Pastry

1 8oz. pkg of softened cream cheese
1 cup of softened butter
2 cups of flour
1/2 tsp salt

1. In large bowl cream together cream cheese and butter

2. Slowly add in sifted together flour and salt.

3. Shape into two balls, wrap in plastic wrap and chill for at least 3 hours.

4. Roll out to desired thickness (1/4 inch or so for me) cut with desired size of round cutter (I use a Guana Grabbers cup which is about 3 inches diameter).

5. Fill pastry round with about a tablespoon of filling (sample fillings down below) if your using the Grabber cup, fold over and seal edges. Crimp sealed edges with a fork.

6. Place pop-overs on greased cookie sheet and bake at 400F until nice and golden brown. In my oven you never can tell how long this is going to take and I'm still usually crouched down next to the oven beast with flashlight in hand 15 minutes after happy hour has started. I also usually have to turn them over to brown them on both sides. So do them the day before and reheat.

Fillings I have used:

Italian:

Slosh some olive oil in a frying pan and heat, drink a glass of red wine, add a brick of cream cheese, drink a glass of red wine, add chopped onion, green pepper, pepperoni,mushrooms, or whatever you have, and drink a glass of red wine. Heat until the mixture and you are toasted and bubbly.

Mexican:
Same as above except use hamburger and Sangria.

*This pastry also makes a delicious quiche pastry. I have used it for mini-quiches by lining regular sized muffin pans with the pastry dough and filling with an egg mixture of eggs (duh), heavy cream (or whatever dairy product you have onboard), scallions, shrimp, asparagus, and swiss cheese. Just bake until pastry is brown and egg mixture is set. Yummy! And can be frozen and reheated later.

Bon Apetite! Slosh! Slosh!

Reefer Madness: Boat Refrigeration Gremlins

2009-01-15T08:02:00.000-08:00

That title should garner some interesting hits to my blog. (*Note to self: Look up the definition of “garner”)

The captain and the boat are driving me crazy today. Or maybe it’s just the captain on the boat and it’s not the boat’s fault at all. Yeah, that’s probably it. Anyway this is kind of like one of those letters you write when you’re afraid to tell your spouse he’s doing something that drives you crazy so you put it in a letter to an anonymous newspaper column hoping he’ll read it and recognize himself. Then he’ll recognize how ridiculous his behavior is and beg your forgiveness and swear to change his evil ways. My problem is the captain doesn’t read those columns and the other problem is I’ve told him repeatedly, sometimes loudly and profanely, every little thing that he does wrong and he keeps on doing them.

You must understand that the cap'n didn’t develop these annoying little habits only when we moved on the boat. He’s always had them. They just seem amplified in the limited space and magnified expanse of time we spend together on the boat.

Now which one is my very least favorite? The one that has me gnashing my teeth and muttering words that would have my mother washing my mouth out. Hmm. Let me think. Ah yes, that’s the one. The diabolical refrigerator or to be more specific the captain's neurosis about anyone opening the door to get things in or out of the refrigerator.

As I said, he’s always had this particular neurosis. The kids and I used to time him and it usually only took about 2.8 seconds after hearing the refrigerator door open before the captain would espouse the same wise words.

“It’s not a TV. Get in and get out,” he’d bellow.

This isn’t such a big deal when you have a side by side with about thirty shelves and see-through bins.

Since buying the boat his repertoire of sage refrigerator advisories have grown. Let’s see there’s…

“What are you looking for?”

As if just by the act of answering this inquiry the sought after item will magically levitate through the layers of jumbled containers and decaying produce to the top of the refrigerator.

Oh and then there’s…

“Do you need a flashlight?”

Let me think. Not unless it has an x-ray beam that can see through the questionable contents of those jumbled containers and decaying produce.

There’s also this one…

“You know the cold just pours out when you use the front opening instead of the top one.”

Since I can’t get to the bottom compartment without using the front opening I guess I could stop storing food in the bottom compartment but with the captain's penchant for provisioning for a non-stop round the world cruise every week, that’s out of the question.

Here’s my favorite.

“You need to organize it better.”

I would be overjoyed to do this if I could have at least twenty seconds in the fridge to put things to rights and then another five seconds each time I put something in it to put it in its place. The current practice of gathering all the refrigerated items together, opening the door, throwing them in, and then slamming the door doesn’t lend itself towards organization.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot this one…

“Is that the freezer running again?”

Which translates into, “You’ve been in there long enough. Get out!”

On most sailboats power conservation ranks right up there with water conservation. You don’t have to be planning an ocean crossing to be concerned about conservation. A week of gunkholing can put a serious drain on your batteries, especially if your trying to get away from it all and swearing off civilization and marinas, or if you just dread docking like this first mate.

On a sailboat without a generator the production of power is limited to solar panels, wind generators, or your engine’s alternator and a reliable battery bank. Solar panels and wind generators are great adjuncts to your engine’s alternator regenerating capacity but they cannot be relied on as the primary source of electricity for most modern boats. Eventually you’re going to have to run your engine to recharge your batteries. This unfortunately increases your engine hours along with wear and tear on your engine. The longer you can manage your power usage with just your battery capacity, the better off you are. So what does all this have to do with the previous diatribe on marine refrigeration? Refrigeration is a big consumer of electrical power and that is the reason for the involuntary sphincter reaction of most captains I know every time the fridge door is opened. But there’s help on the way. Here are some tips that might help keep the air in the refrigerator a little colder and the air between you and the captain a little warmer.

Tip One: If you’re an American or just can’t abide the thought of drinking a warm beer, keep a separate ice chest with your favorite beverages in it. This saves space in your fridge and saves multiple trips in and out of it. Ours fits right under our salon table so it’s out of the way. Of course, you still have to buy ice which can be expensive.

Tip Two: Do try to keep the fridge somewhat organized. I try to keep routine items in the same place every time. You’ll also have to layer your foods according to their squishability. Meat and cheese and hard vegetables and fruits will survive on the bottom of the heap but more vulnerable fruits and veggies that bruise easily will have to go on top. I also keep my bread products in the refrigerator because out of the refrigerator bread products don’t last more than a couple of days for me. The squishablility theory applies here also. Pizza crusts and tortillas go on the bottom with loaf bread and hamburger buns on top. Remember though, no matter how well you accomplish this you’re still going have to do some excavating when you’re looking for items but at least you’ll know which way to tunnel. It also helps to keep a list of what items you have in the refrigerator and freezer because, as mentioned, things can get buried. Of course, this only works if you mark off items as you use them.

Tip Three: Cut a piece of foamed plastic insulation to fit over the top of the refrigerator/freezer area. When my captain suggested this I fought it tooth and nail. I didn’t want to have to remove some ugly piece of silver insulation every time I got into the refrigerator. As usual, I lost and he did it anyway. And boy, it was ugly! Thankfully a friend, that has all the decorating genes I was born without, suggested covering it with contact paper or wallpaper and it actually turned into an attractive workspace. It is lightweight really not all that inconvenient to take on and off.

**I promise all first mates that if you make this suggestion to your captain he will be eternally grateful and then he’ll immediately claim it as his idea.

Tip Four: Buy smaller containers of products. I’m not a big believer in keeping food products that say “refrigerate after opening” out of the refrigerator. I figure there’s a reason for that warning and it’s probably because someone died or got really sick. I know there is lots of literature out there that says if I use a clean spoon in my mayo every time or if I turn my eggs every week I don’t need to refrigerate them. Well, if you saw some of the water conserving methods we use to wash dishes on our boat you might question the cleanliness of that spoon and if there ever was a universal inexpensive food it has to be eggs. Why would I risk salmonella because I forgot or was too lazy to turn my eggs one week. You can probably tell I’m not a big fan of food poisoning although I have considered it as a diet alternative. Seriously, I would rather throw a questionable item out then risk it. I also buy smaller containers of my favorite condiments even if they are more expensive and keep them in the refrigerator after opening rather than larger containers that won’t fit in the refrigerator. I‘ve found that even when I refrigerate larger containers of perishables I end up throwing half or more of the product out because I don’t use it fast enough and lose faith.

Tip Five: My captain should probably patent his latest “keep the cold air in and keep the first mate out of the refrigerator device”. It is a kind of thermal blanket for the freezer. Hmm…a blanket for the freezer. It didn’t make a whole lot of since to me. He couldn’t find one, go figure, so he had to design it himself. He bought a small silver tarp and some bubble wrap. He then made a template of our freezer using newspaper and using this template cut two patterns out of the silver tarp and two out of the bubble wrap. He placed the bubble wrap (with bubbles together) between the tarps and glued it all together with contact cement. It now resides on top of our frozen goods. It manages to keep me out of the freezer because it is a little unwieldy to get the “blanket” in and out so usually I just grab the first thing I feel under it. “Oh look, lobster again. I wonder how all those little buggers got to the top of the pile?” The captain swears it has noticeably reduced our refrigeration running time and, for once, I’ll admit he’s right. Ouch ! That hurt.

Tip Six: Almost any book about cruising (ECGIER) will have tips on how to reduce your refrigerator’s power consumption. Find the ones that fit you and your boat and use them. Every little bit helps.

Final Tip: I saved the best for last. This is the one that works best for me. If you find you really do need to get into your refrigerator for some mundane reason such as sustenance, plan ahead carefully. Figure out everything you need out of the fridge and its approximate location then boldly make your move. Just make sure the captain is off the boat.

Epilogue: I wrote this article when I actually had refrigeration and my most heart-felt back-thumps to you that live without it. I went all last year without it and the only good things I can say about doing without it is that I helped the Bahamian economy by eating out a lot, and buying a lot of stuff that I would have to throw out and replace on a day by day basis. Oh, the other good thing was that the cap'n didn't yell at me every time I opened the refrigerator (hatch,door??? what do you call it?).

Whadda Ya Do All Day?

2009-01-07T08:22:00.000-08:00

I just got back from Pilates class on the beach (actually it was on a concrete slab behind the Hope Town Methodist Church, but beach sounds more romantic) and the cap'n is out racing on a friend's boat. Life is wonderful and idyllic. Actually some friends had to pry our lazy asses off the boat.

Life is one big circle. We spend our first few human years with nothing to do but learn the basic skills of walking and talking and controlling our bodily functions. All of this happens rather naturally without much effort on our part. The rest of this time is spent, well, just playing. This too comes rather naturally and without much effort on our parts. Most of us probably spent countless hours banging on a metal pot with a spoon. We didn’t spend a whole lot of time worrying about what we were accomplishing or contributing to society. Life was simple.

And then they ruined it! They sent us to school. Our life became a routine. 8:00 a.m. first bell. 8:15 a.m. time to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. And on it went. Even recess was organized play and as we got older the recesses got shorter and shorter until they finally disappeared altogether.

Most of us endured this for at least twelve years. A lot of us suffered even longer. Why? So we could get a job! That’s right, after years of forced routine and learning, we traded it in for more routine and even shorter vacations. For what reason did we endure another 20, 30, 40+ years of enslavement? In order to make enough money to go back and do what we were doing all those years ago. Play.

So now you’ve been on your boat for a few months and ….

“Waaah! theres nothing to do!”

Snorkeling and fishing all day were a blast when they were a once or twice a year event but they lose some allure when you do it every day. I know you won’t believe me but you can get real tired of a steady diet of fish, even lobster.

You don’t want to admit it but your bored out of your mind. Try admitting that to a working person and you won’t get a whole lot of sympathy but lament to a fellow “first mate”and believe me they’ll know where you’re coming from. We all started out with great expectations of the nirvana of the cruising life. Water of unbelievable beauty and all the activities that go along with it, perfect weather, beach barbecues, nights under endless stars…and it’s all out there, the only problem is it doesn’t seem to be enough. All those years of routine and learning and accomplishing have altered us. We want to be doing something. We want to be challenged.

Okay, so you’ll learn new skills. You’ll paint or write. But you may find if you haven’t used these skills since high school or college you’re bound to be rusty. You can learn on your own but you’re going to have to be very self-disciplined and not give up after your first disappointing efforts. Channel your inner child, you know the one that picked up a crayon without any concern whether the result was going to be a masterpiece, and just have fun. The good new is that in some of the larger harbours there are organized painting and writing circles that readily welcome newbies. And where there's internet, there's a way, or at least an online course, either for fun or for college credit. One friend of mine taught herself oil painting (and she was good at it), how to play the flute and sax (and she was good at it), she also wrote a book, and, in her spare time, she monogrammed clothing for friends on a special sewing machine she brought on her boat. All of this in four months. Oh, I forgot to tell you she also jogged every day. She had retired from the military and was obviously very self-disciplined. I hated her.

So have I finally convinced you to give up on the idea of sailing off into the sunset and living happily ever after? I hope not. You don’t have to become unhappy and bored but you have to be prepared to prevent it. You have to realize you’re not going to be happy for long with nothing to do everyday but walk on the beach or snorkel in crystal clear waters. I know this is hard to buy when you’re in the middle of a fifty- hour work week with additional children and grandchildren obligations to top it off, but take my word on it. Unfortunately, all those years of routine and productivity can’t be wiped from our subconscious right away. You’ll find that you miss routine. You’ll find that you miss having something you’ve got to get done and deadlines. That’s right we creatures of habit need routine. The good news is now we get to be in charge. We get to say when and what we’re going to do and how. Oh yeah, and we get to put recesses back in the schedule. The only problem is we’re going to have to learn to play again but we’ll discuss that later.

Let’s get started.

Step One: Don’t enforce the routine the minute you cast off the docklines. Do take a vacation. Spend the days like you dreamed. Walk the beaches. Find some shells. Do nothing! You’ve missed a lot of recesses. You deserve it. You’ll know when you’re getting a little restless. Then you’ll be ready to add a little routine. It took me about four months to start feeling restless but a lot longer before I did anything about it.

Step Two: Decide what your routine is going to be. That’s the beauty of it. It’s entirely up to you. Most of us spent our working careers with someone else engineering our days. Now we get to do it ourselves. The routine you create will depend on how much you want to accomplish and how much time it will require. I am not a very regimented person. I like flexibility. Instead of planning my routine on an hour to hour basis, I like to make lists of the things I want to accomplish each day and the approximate times I intend to dedicate to them. My list looks something like this:

Sample List: Write 2 hrs.
Exercise 30 min. (Maybe…probably not)
E-mail 30 min. (Actually it’s more like 3 hours but I steal it from my exercise and boat chores time)
Boat chores (laundry, cleaning, varnishing …) However long the chore takes. Boats are a lot smaller than houses and you can get a vast amount of work done in an hour.

(Sorry! Can't make the friggin' tab work on blogger. AARRGH!)

Never mind! Blogger was smarter than me as usual. Mea Culpa, Blogger

I don’t usually schedule more than four hours. I feel like I worked enough 8+ hour days to deserve a lesser work schedule. This is enough for me to feel like I haven’t become a beachbum or cockpit potato. Some of you will want more and some of you will be more regimented. Once again, it’s up to you. Just don’t forget to make time to play. I like the daily list so I can tailor it around where we are and what boat activity we might be doing that day. Plus I love crossing things off of the list so I feel I’ve accomplished something that day. In my former life I was an over-achiever. As you can see, I expect a lot less of myself these days. It’s amazing to what depths of laziness you can sink on a boat.

Step Three: What are you going to include in your routine? This is probably the most difficult and important step. The best time to figure this out is before you slip those docklines. Most of our former lives were centered on our jobs and families. We didn’t have time to figure out what we’d really love to do. I’d always known I wanted to write and had written articles for various magazines before we moved on the boat. I had done research on writing and publishing while I was still a dirt dweller so I had a few tools in my toolbox and I knew it fulfilled my need for productivity and creativity. Many women I met brought art supplies or musical instruments. I did too. We carried a guitar around for two years before we gave it away and I still can’t play a tune on my harmonica. I am just a little more proficient at my pastels. I consider these my “play” things and I don’t devote a whole lot of time to them. Mostly because I don’t believe I have the gene to surpass my painfully embarrassing level of talent in these skills. I can still have fun playing with them though. If you wish to spend a “routine” amount of time in developing this type of skills, then by all means do so.
However, if these skills do not have enough substance to fulfill your need for productivity you might want to investigate “real” jobs you can perform from the boat. Internet access is pretty much accessible in all areas of the world and many people are working from their boats. You may even be able to bring your old job with you. My friend, Joan, on “Joan Marie” tried to retire from her job as medical laboratory technician instructor at a medical college in California but they wouldn’t let her. They still employ her as a consultant and she contributes to several textbooks in the field. Any of these jobs may require additional learning and skills that would be much easier to acquire while still on land. And, of course, lots of people in the computer sector are going about their business as usual. If I can talk to a guy in Timbuktu about my computer problems, why can’t I talk to a guy in George Town, Exumas. So while making future preparations for the boat in planning a long-term cruise don’t forget to make a few preparations for yourself.

An additional activity many cruisers take part in while in paradise is volunteer work. This may seem difficult to plan if you’re moving around frequently but you’ll be surprised how simple it is. Almost any church or school on an inhabited island will be very grateful to find something for you to do. This might range from picking up a paintbrush to reading to a group of children while the teacher spends a little extra time with an individual student. Most volunteer jobs require no special skills although if you do have applicable special skill they are also always very appreciated. Another “Joan” friend of mine on the boat “Ola B” was waiting out a hurricane at a school when she happened to mention to the principal that she had been a psychologist in her former life. Well guess what? She’s now counseling a couple of kids a couple of times a week and she loves it. Here in the Abacos there are many requests for volunteers with any building skills for many of the non-profit organizations there that receive no aid from the government. Believe me, if you put yourself out there some one will put you to work.

If there aren’t any opportunities make your own . If you happen to be on an uninhabited island, take in a couple of trash bags and pick up the debris that litters the beaches and haul it to the next settlement that has a trash pick-up. If there’s more than one boat in the harbor invite everybody to do the same thing and make a party out of it. It may not seem like much but every little bit counts. Another fellow boater, Niels on Westwind, organized a shore clean-up in Marsh Harbour and it has now become a yearly tradition with both boaters and locals involved.

Step Four: Convincing the captain to cooperate. Although some of these activities can be done together, you will have to put your foot down and insist on some time for yourself. Probably before you even get restless you’ll notice that the captain is starting to get on your nerves. Most couples have never spent as much time together before going cruising, much less in the close confines of a boat. In my experience it seems that this sudden aversion to your spouse occurs earlier and much more frequently to the boat’s first mate than it does to the captain. Probably because the captain is just so doggone happy to be on his boat. And that is where you get your edge. Remember he really wants you to be happy on the boat. He doesn’t want you to make him sell his boat. You don’t have to hold this over his head 24-7 but it sure does make a good bargaining tool when you want something to go your way. This really isn’t a big deal. Discuss it with him when you’re at the “ Setting the Rules of Our Cruising Life ” stage and it won’t be a big surprise to him when you demand your space. Discuss with him how much time you need and when you want it if it is going to be on a regular basis. Remember to be flexible. If you’ve just sailed into a new anchorage and he really wants you to go explore it with him, by all means go and put off your plans for a few hours. But if you’ve been lazing around in the same harbor for a week or two and you’ve become locals let him go off on his own to snorkel or fish. It will do both of you good.

Step Five: Oops! Sorry the bell just rang. It’s recess time. Let’s go play!

For Evelyn

2009-01-01T06:40:00.000-08:00

I wrote this article several years ago. Since then my father has died. I was honored to have spent the last months of his life with him. I held his hand the night he died and prayed to my mother to release him from his suffering... and she did. He was 76 and had truly lived his life. He was not a great adventurer or a traveling soul, he liked his front porch and a drink in his hand and his friends. On the other hand, I got an email yesterday from a friend about a friend. A daughter of close friends of ours was killed in a car accident yesterday while returning to her home after visiting her parents over the Christmas holidays. Miranda Hale, 25 years old, daughter of Mike and Kathy, sister to Justin, and mother of Kyler. It just reminded me of how quickly things change and how if you have dreams, you better live them now. Here's the article.

I lost a friend today. Too suddenly. Too young. And before I had a chance to really know her. I didn’t know her dreams. What did she really want ? What did she want to be? I know she had plans for someday. “Someday” when the kids are grown. “Someday” when she and her husband had saved enough money. I last saw her two days before she died. She had eight children at home, six of them adopted. They had just moved into a beautiful home. She wasn’t ill. She didn’t have the time to prepare herself or her family for this unexplainable loss. None of us were prepared. Since her death, I’ve wondered if she could have known what would she have done different. She was 31 years old and gone overnight. Her “somedays” are spent. Her dreams untouched.

Death causes us all to take stock of our own lives. An unexpected death lends a sense of urgency to this contemplation. A fear of being cheated of all life has to offer us. “Did I live my life the way I wanted to?” is a question all of us will have to answer someday. Almost daily someone approaches me and says “I wish I could do what you’re doing.” I’ve given up assuring them that they can do anything they want to do because they will not be convinced.

All of us that have decided to go off and live on a boat have had hurdles to bound. It requires sacrifices and, most importantly, compromises to live the life we want. Believe me, when the captain first started talking about living on a sailboat, I tucked that notion away very securely in the “future” file. After all, it just wasn’t possible. I had sons in high school who were not going to be convinced to give up their social life to go live on a boat. I also was the child that had lived closest to my father since my mother died. And let’s not forget our jobs and our bills.

Stubbornly, the captain kept pulling the dream out of the file. He didn’t want to get too old to live his dream. As health care professionals, we had witnessed too many times the scenario of the retiree who waited too long and was not healthy enough to enjoy what he had worked for all of his life. So we started jumping those hurdles. My sons already lived with their father for six months of the year which would allow us to live the dream at least part-time. My father is a pretty independent old cuss who really doesn’t need his youngest daughter fawning over him. Besides, without me being so conveniently located maybe the rest of the kids would come around more often. We sold the big house and most of the stuff. We quit our jobs and bought a boat.

There are still times I question if we’ve done the right thing. My father fell and broke his shoulder a year ago and I wasn’t able to get there right away. I’d like to see more of my youngest son’s football games and I miss my family and friends but the captain compromises with me by letting me fly back home when I feel the need. This keeps everybody happy. Although we’ve been lucky with employment so far, we always have to cross our fingers when it’s time to come back to Kansas for our six months on the hard that we’ll be able to find work. Currently the captain drives 80 miles one way every day to work. That is sacrifice!

But today, when I learned of my friend’s death, I felt so fortunate that we’ve decided to live our life as we do. There will always be other places I want to see and more people I want to meet, but I am so very thankful for the dreams I have realized in the places I have seen and the friends I have made.

We all have a choice in how we live our lives, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves that we don’t. Live the life you want now—before “someday” is out of reach. What are you waiting for?

Lastly, take a moment today and everyday to treasure the warmth of the sun, the energy of the wind, and the majesty of the ocean—for Evelyn and Miranda. And drink some cheap whiskey for my dad, Joe.

Happy New Year! Go Out and Live It.

Shopping 'til I Drop

2008-12-28T11:07:00.000-08:00

I spent the weekend in Houston with my sister and my wonderful, smart sister-in-law who would sweep the gold if shopping was an Olympic event. Unfortunately, or fortunately if you're the cap'n, I couldn't buy anything because we're heading back to boatland tomorrow and I have no way to tote it and I have no place left to store it (except for that secret drawer I mentioned in "Personal Orifices"). So I thought I would shop vicariously through you my loyal readers. Don't panic! I'm not turning this into a commercial site, it's just that once I started I couldn't quit. There's so much useful stuff out there and some really cute stuff too. Wouldn't you rather wear rainboots with bumblebees on them instead of those ugly foul weather boots. Oh shush you old salts, a girl knows that looking good is more important than not sliding off the boat. The two cookbooks are the only ones I have on the boat since I tend to save space by cruising the internet for recipes but the one by Kay Pastorius is the one that has my sourdough starter recipe in it and a lot of great recipes. The Cruising Chef has lot of great stories and info about using local ingredients.

The one item I definitely, recommend is the hook and go. We have had one or two of these aboard the boat since we've been aboard. It will hold as many bags as you can hook on it and it has a really wide wheel base so it has never tipped over. Plus it folds up to nothing. Boaters and non-boaters that have seen us using this strange contraption have asked us where we got it. Now you know.

And of course, there's my beloved Kindle but you've heard enough about that.

So thank you for indulging me in my round of guilt free shopping and tell your cap'n your just looking, not buying. Then show him the Nigel Calder book.

First Mate Mary's Peanut Brittle

2008-12-27T06:27:00.001-08:00

I took this peanut brittle over to Concerto that night at Grand Cay. I also made it for the Hope Town Christmas Caroling. It is simply the best peanut brittle I've eaten and I'm not just sayin' that because it's mine. I'm sure I stole the recipe from someone but I don't remember who. So whoever it was, Thank You!

FIRST MATE MARY'S
PEANUT BRITTLE

3 c sugar
1 c corn syrup
½ c water
4 Tbsp butter
4c peanuts (I use cocktail or Spanish peanuts)
1tsp salt
2tsp vanilla
2tsp baking soda

Combine sugar, syrup and water and bring to a boil over med-high heat, stirring constantly. Reduce heat to medium and heat to 230 F. Add peanuts and heat to 300 F, stirring constantly. Stir in butter, salt, and vanilla. Remove from heat and stir in baking soda until mixture is foamy. Pour onto buttered cookie sheet. Allow to harden. Crack by banging cookie sheet against a hard surface (like the capn's head).

O' HOLY NIGHT IN THE ABACOS

2008-12-24T08:19:00.000-08:00

We are off the boat and back on the Mother Land for a bit of work this Christmas. We will be spending our Christmas in a motel in Bay City, Texas. As we pulled into this hard-scrabble dusty south Texas town, I thought to myself, “This is where I’m going to be spending Christmas?” At that moment I was thrown back to Christmas Eve 2003 on Grand Cay, Abaco, Bahamas. My first day in the Bahamas, and I bawled my eyes out.

We had been working toward this moment ever since we bought the boat. We had been restricted to the East Coast for our previous sailing years because of family and custody requirements but since my youngest had graduated we were free to reach further. We had spent the summer and early fall readying the boat for passages south and attending two of our sons’ weddings and one grandchild’s birth. Shortly after Thanksgiving we made our way south toward West Palm Beach. We did our time in Purgatory at Lake Worth waiting for that elusive weather window. We became the pilot boat for the whole anchorage. Every morning the other boats would watch us pull up anchor and head out the inlet. They would then wait with bated breath, and coffees or Bloody’s until they saw us come back and do the anchoring dance again. Maybe tomorrow…

Then came the big day. December 23rd, 2003. We went out early a.m. as usual aaannnd came back, as usual. Put the anchor down and settled in until the next morning but waddayuno right in the middle of our brunch of stale bread and green tinged bologna we noticed a mass exodus of boats out of the anchorage. The cap’n , grateful for any excuse to throw his sandwich overboard, jumped up and hollered, “Haul Anchor”. And away we went.

I don’t remember if we motored or sailed but at about 11:00 pm that night we were on the banks and we were exhausted and decided to put down the anchor. The fact that the passage was not memorable is a good thing. We could see three other mast lights out there in the vast nothingness. We had left with 30+ other boats. Against the cap’ns wishes I lit the Christmas lights and blasted Bing Crosby across the ocean.

At about 4:00 a.m. the wind was piping and we pulled anchor and headed towards Walker’s Cay. It was Christmas Eve. We arrived at our anchoring place at about 10:00 a.m. I won’t call it an anchorage because we were way out in no man’s land because of our 6.6 foot draft, but that’s okay because there were three other boats stuck out in the aqueous boondocks with us. The first boat came back with great news. “Easy clear in. No problem”. We made ready for a landing. Unfortunately, we ended up being the last of the fleet. Unfortunately, it was the first year that the Bahamas had increased the cruising permit fee. Unfortunately, we were preceded in the clearing in process by a disgruntled Norwegian?, Finnish? Danish? One of those Viking type sailors who decided to wage his battle against the Bahamian government on the only customs agent on the island. Unfortunately, the agent took afront at this and walked out. She did return….an hour later. Unfortunately, we bore the brunt of her anger when she charged us $150 for a fishing permit that was supposed to be included in our cruising permit and that we only needed for two days, but as usual that’s another story. Thank you Ma’am. Have a Merry Christmas.
So four hours later we head back to the boat. Unfortunately, we are in an unprotected non-anchorage. Unfortunately, there is a storm brewing. So we haul anchor….again and head for Grand Cay

Grand Cay. Hmmm. Grand Cay. What can I say about Grand Cay? We were anchored about 2 zillion miles out. At least that’s the way it seemed to me. Keep in mind, I was sleep deprived, I might as well have been 2 zillion miles away from my friends, my kids and my Dad. I saw our future in the Bahamas as a boat on the horizon staring hungrily at the lights of an unreachable civilization. I could hear the hounds of trash island calling to me. (Anybody that’s been to Grand Cay knows what I’m talking about). I may have been PMSing also, maybe that’s why the hounds were howling. Let’s just say I made the cap’ns life a veritable hell that night which is my sole purpose in this world. Happy, Happy Christmas, Baby.

Christmas Day! We’re up early and head to town. Either my chakras are more balanced or my eyes are too swollen to take in the whole picture, but Grand Cay is looking better this am. Not good, but better. It’s Christmas Day though, so will we find anything open?
Good news! Grand Cay is not only open but it’s right out there on the street. Every inhabitant is either parked in a chair along the main street, (men on one side, women on the other) or, if they are of the younger variety, whizzing down the road on shiny new bikes or skateboards. The only population that is inside are the ones shooting pool at Rosie’s. I always thought Rosie was a petite older black woman….not! On all accounts…not!

We walk by the house/store fronts and ask the women sitting out front if they are open for business.

“Sure, Sweetie, What you want?”

We fall in love with the two cuties with matching hair ribbons and dresses, all dressed up and holding hands as they skip down the road.

We cheer wildly for the young daredevils racing their new bikes down the main drag.

We wince at the plethora of Styrofoam containers in use and disuse at the same time we sniff appreciatively and wonder where they got the contents..

Later that night we are aboard the S/V Concerto with our first new friends in the Bahamas, June and Geoff. This friendship continues today, even if they haven’t reciprocated in years, we still love them. We were joined by that disgruntled Dane, Hans and his Yankee wife, Joy. Hmmm…Joy?….Christmas?…..She was joyful and so was he away from the customs office.

My message? Don’t judge a book by it’s cover or an island by it’s refuse. Instead judge it by its’ people. You won’t be disappointed and you might just fall in love. Islands are like a box of chocolates and as Forrest Gump says “You never know what you’re gonna get.”
They all taste different, but they’re all good.

Merry Christmas from mine to yours!

P.S. My thanks to AwayTeamAbaco for the beautiful picture of the Hope Town Lighthouse (actually the Elbow Reef lighthouse)all decked out in holiday splendour. Our thanks also to the Hope Town Harbour Rats that worked so hard stringing the lights.

Chicken Souse

2008-12-17T16:34:00.000-08:00

Last night we went caroling in Hope Town. This is a yearly tradition here. The locals, visitors, and boaters meet up at the Post Office dock and we wound our way through the streets singing the traditional songs. Several people carry handheld VHF radios so the caroling can be broadcast over the VHF radio. It was a lovely night, it had finally warmed up and we were able to wear shorts. Afterwards we were rewarded with bowls of hot chicken souse. Souse is the Bahamian remedy for the dreaded hangover, and in my opinion a lot better than Menudo. While chewing on piece of tripe from a bowl of Menudo in Miami, I turned to the cap’n and said, “If I were eating steak, this would be the part I would spit out.” Of course, hair of the dog ain’t bad either. The first recipe is a little more authentically Bahamian, the second one is for us that are neophytes to Bahamian cooking.

Chicken Souse Recipe 1

Ingredients
5 lbs portion chicken wings
1 onion
8 lemon/Lime "big sour" (your desired amount)
1/4 lemon Juice
pepper (your desired amt)
all-spice (your desired amt)
1/2 tspn salt (your desired amt)
1 carrot
1 stick of celery
2 Irish potatoes (if desired)

Directions
Clean portion wings in vinegar and warm water.
Place wings into pot containing and 8-10 cups of water. (this will ensure that all remaining oils and other particles are removed) let wings boil for about 5-8 minutes.
Remove from pot and place into a bowl containing cool water, rinse well with water and lemon juice. Place wings into pot with about 8-10 cups of water or until wings are completely covered.
Slice onions, pepper, celery, carrots, and potatoes. Add salt, onions, celery, lime , pepper, lemon juice and all-spice seeds. (Boil for about 45 minutes). Add potatoes and Carrots.
Boil for another 15-20 minutes. Serve with home made bread or Jonny Cake if desired.

Cooking time: 1 hr 30 min
Serves: 8

Chicken Souse Recipe 2

2 lbs of chicken (preferably wings or drumsticks)
4 chopped potatoes
2 sticks chopped celery
1 or 2 diced onions
1\2 cups allspice
1 or 2 bird peppers
salt to taste
2 limes cut in half

Cooking instructions:
In a large pot bring chicken to boil for approx 10 minuets, then strain. Return chicken to pot, fill pot half full with water and return to boil. Add potatoes, celery, onions, bird peppers, allspice, salt, lime. Boil until potatoes are done, stirring occasionally.
Final cooking time 30-35 minuets.
Prior to serving add more if desired. Serves 4
Try a Tropical drink with your meal

PLACES I'VE BEEN AND SHOES I'VE LOST

2008-12-09T07:43:00.000-08:00

I was sitting here contemplating my gnarly old arch deprived feet the other day and I thought about the people that would be envious of me and my barefoot lifestyle. You know, the “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem” kind of life. The truth of the matter is….I don’t have any friggin’shoes left.

I don’t remember the first time I lost a pair of shoes. It was probably somewhere up north. Maybe in Block Island at the tiki bar at Champlin’s Marina. Probably the same night I learned to do the hand jive from some little girls that were sitting outside the bar’s entrance, the same night we couldn’t find the boat for a couple of hours. Hey come on, there were 1200 boats in the harbor.

There are a few times I do remember, though. Like my favorite pair of “Candies” sandals. (I admit, I never was a Manolo Blahnick kind of girl and anybody that knows me knows that.) They now rest in a watery grave at the Las Olas Marina in Fort Liquordale. We’d started our happy hour at Blondies on the corner of Las Olas Blvd. and A1A. Of course, Blondies’ happy hour starts at 10:00 a.m. and goes until. This is one of the cap’n’s favorite bars. He says it’s because of the scenery. Blondies is smack dab across the street from the beach which sports many signs that say nude sunbathing is not allowed under which numerous young nubile bodies are blatantly disobeying these public sanctions and the authorities are turning a blind eye but risking the other just for a peek. The cap’n went inside for some freshers and conversed with one of the patrons leaning tiredly against the bar.

“I’m so drunk. I really need to go home but I just can’t tear myself away from the view,” says the patron as he eyes one of the sun worshipers who I hope only had to pay for the half of the bathing suit she is wearing.

“Come on, man,” says my noble cap’n, “They’re obviously fake.”

“My complimentsh to the shurgeon,” drooled the bar patron.

Later on that night after bar bouncing down A1A with the cap’n and four other guys, (Mary’s a lucky girl!! One of them even looked exactly like Steven Segal, but his shirt was wrinkled and he lived in a cinder block house so I don’t think it was him.) we ended up back at the boat for a nightcap (like we needed one!). The tide was out, waaay out, and I was faced with a little 6 ft. hop down to the deck of the boat. I decided to do my best Baryshnikov impression and leapt…and missed…again. Instead of partaking of the assistance offered by my four handy male companions, I decided I’d retain what was left of my dignity while floating around with the skirts of my very short dress swirling about me and climb aboard myself. No, not by using the ladder. The cap’n never puts it down. I guess he doesn’t want it to get wet. Instead I’ll use the barnacle encrusted piling to which the boat is tied up. I’ll just use the barnacles as foot and handholds. Just like one of those climbing wall on those fancy cruise ships. Not a good idea, as my oozing scraped up arms and thighs would attest to in the weeks following. I did eventually make it back onboard but alas my poor “Candies” didn’t.

Marsh Harbour Marina and Jib Room Restaurant, Abacos, Bahamas. It was a dark and stormy night. I don’t remember what kind of shoes they were but I’d lived aboard long enough that I’m certain they were of the moldy variety. I can’t even blame it on too many Bilge Burners or any of the other lethal adult beverages that Steven, the bartender at the Jib Room, serves up. We hadn’t even gone into the Jib Room, instead we’d had a nice quiet dinner with some friends who lived across the road. Just a couple of glasses of wine. When the evening wound down, we made our way down the death defying steps of the Marsh Harbour Marina without mishap and proceeded to the dinghy dock to continue our passage home. Did I mention it was raining? For some imperceptible, idiotic reason I chose this night to abandon my usual “old lady, ass slide” into the dinghy and leapt feet first. And I made it! At least my feet did! The dinghy lurched one way, of course I lurched the other and with arms windmilling I ended up in the drink….again. By the time I sputtered to the surface, whatever shoes I had on were permanently embedded in the muck of the bottom. Another innocent pair of shoes left behind along with a pretty good chunk of my scalp on the dock. Thanks, Cleatus. Whooee! Those scalp wounds sure do bleed! Fins to the left, fins to the right. And I'm the only bait in town!

So this year before we got on the boat the cap’n refused to invest anymore capital into my shoe inventory. “Nothing but thongs,” he pronounces. I presume he meant the shoe kind. Have you ever tried to find flip-flops in Colorado in the winter? So here I am shoeless. But you know what? If shoes are required, I don’t think I want to go.

Potluck 3: Sourdough Starter and French Bread

2008-11-24T08:18:00.000-08:00

Back on the boat for 4 days now and nothing is working (batteries are crapped out and the alternator is likewise) but this always works as long as you feed it and pamper it as prescribed. This makes a very hard crusty bread but delicious when you break through, kind of like the cap’n. Just mixed this up yesterday so it should be ready to bake by Thanksgiving, in time for the potluck we have planned here at Hope Town Marina. This is from the cookbook Cruising Cuisine by Kay Pastorius. I have been doing this sourdough since we moved aboard the boat.

SOURDOUGH STARTER

1 pkg. active dry yeast
2 cups tepid water
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1.In a clean, rigid-covered container, dissolve the yeast in the water and stir in the flour. Don’t use a metal spoon--use a wooden spoon or chopstick.

2. Leave uncovered in a warm place (80 F to 90 F) for four days to a week, or until mixture bubbles and has developed a sour odor. Stir the mixture daily. If it smells bad or becomes discolored, discard and start again (also pertains to the cap’n)

3. You can begin using the starter or store it in the refrigerator. If stored in the refrigerator, allow it to come to room temperature before using.

4. You should feed you starter every week. Always save 2 cups of this mixture for an ongoing starter. If you have your original 4 cups of starter, either give half away or use it in baking. To the remaining 2 cups of starter, add 1 cup of unbleached, all-purpose flour and 1 cup of tepid water. Allow the starter to ferment and bubble overnight at room temperature, then use or place in the refrigerator.

5. You can also freeze the starter for 2-3 months. Thaw at room temperature for 24 hours, feed it some flour and water and it should start to bubble. If it doesn’t add a teaspoon of active dry yeast and let it ferment overnight.

6. If a gray liquid accumulates on top of the starter, pour it off. Wash your starter container every week with soap and water, then rinse and dry it. (also pertains to cap’n)

7. To use the starter in any bread recipe: 2 cups of starter equals 1 pkg of dry yeast and dissolving liquids in the recipe.

SOURDOUGH FRENCH BREAD

1 ½ cups room temperature starter
1 cup warm water
2 tsp of salt
2 tsp of sugar
4 cups flour

1. Mix together all the ingredients. Knead on a floured board until the dough becomes smooth and elastic. Add more flour if dough is sticky. ( I usually have to add quite a bit more)
2. In a warm draft-free area, allow the dough to rise in a greased bowl covered with a cloth until doubled in bulk. Punch down and allow to rise another 45 minutes.

3. Shape the dough and place in a greased loaf pan. (I usually just shape it and cook it on a cookie sheet) Allow to rise again.

4. Bake in a preheated 375 F oven for 45 minutes (usually takes my oven on the boat longer) until crusty and brown.

Lots more sourdough recipes to follow! The capn says to write something funny so I guess I’ll have to invite Kary May over. Thank God the liquor order is coming over on the afternoon freight boat.

An Island Anthem

2008-11-17T21:35:00.000-08:00

I must be getting homesick but at least I 'll be on a plane heading that way tomorrow morning. I'm a huge Jerry Jeff Walker fan and just found this song by him that made me think of down there. For those that don't know, Jerry Jeff is the person that wrote Mr. Bojangles. I just saw him a month or so ago at Red Rocks. Of course, he had that tag-a-long Willie Nelson with him. Click on this.
http://www.intothesouth.com/media_h-i-j/JerryJeffWalker-CowboyBootsAndBathinSuits For some reason this won't come up as a link tonight but I'm tired and have a flight to catch in the am. But please check out the song because to me it is what the islands are all about. I'm going to listen to it one more time. Goodnight!

I freakin' give up!! Just google Jerry Jeff Walker "Cowboy boots and Bathin' suits. It will be worth it. At this point don't make me come after you!

Okay, I tried it again this morning and it decided to work. I don't know why, maybe Blogger was drinking to much Merlot last night.

Diet Ads

2008-11-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

I don't understand why all these diet ads are showing up. I guess the google crawlers are trying to tell me something. I wish I could click on the ads myself (against the blogspot rules) and maybe I could figure out how to lose this last 25 lbs before I get to the boat in 3 days. Could somebody just email me how Rachel Ray's diet works or those 2 steps to a flat stomach or put it in the comments. And why are my before and after pictures in the wrong order? I'll talk to you when we get there.

Communications: Skype

2008-11-11T11:50:00.000-08:00

I am busy trying to tie up loose ends before we get to the boat and I just wanted to mention Skype. I know most boaters already know about this wonderful service but for those not in the know skype is a voice over internet protocol phone and messaging system. The service is free if you are using computer to computer calling or text messaging and it only cost $.02 per minute if you are making a computer to traditional phone call. Go to skype.com and check it out. The days of getting away from it all are over and I know it because I see all these sailors with laptops in hand searching for hotspots everywhere. I would love to have all of you fellow skype usernames so we could chat or if we're in the same harbour we could call each other without those curious VHF listeners knowing our dastardly plans. The way this website works is that I review every comment before it is posted, so if you want to share your skype username with me post it to comments and I will respond with my username but nothing will be published to the www. or this website. Looking forward to chatting with you!

Potluck 2: Stromboli Recipe

2008-11-11T11:25:00.000-08:00

Stromboli Recipe

Stromboli
This is so easy but looks great and is always a hit at potlucks. Plus you can make it ahead and heat it up and it's finger food so it's easy to eat during passages. For my dough I usually use my own sourdough bread recipe but I don't have the recipe here, since trying to bake bread at 10,600 is usually disastrous. I will post the sourdough recipe next week when I'm back on "da boat". I brought this to the big potluck that Grabbers(on Great Guana Cay, Abacos, Bahamas) has every Wednesday and Jimmy the manager ordered 100 for the next day. Of course I didn't deliver, I was too hungover.

Stromboli

1 Pillsbury French Loaf or home-made bread dough

2.Whatever fillings you want or whatever you have on "da boat". It's a great way to get rid of veggies that are going south faster than you are.

Instructions:

Find the seam in the Pillsbury French Loaf and unroll dough (this is easier to do if the dough is well chilled) or roll bread dough to a 11"x13" rectangle. Do not roll dough too thin.

Then just layer desired ingredients. Your are going to flip this over so make sure that the ingredients you want at the top, like cheese, should be the first layer. Place ingredients in the middle of the dough with enough dough on edges to fold over ingredients. Don't over stuff. Fold over sides and ends and flip the stromboli over. Brush top with olive oil or butter and sprinkle with grated Parmesan, maybe some rosemary...it's all up to you. Cut ventilation slits in top of stromboli and bake at 350F until crust is brown and cheese is bubbling through slits. Slice and serve Here are some examples with ingredients in the order I layer them:

Italian Stromboli
Cheese (Parmesan, Cheddar, Mozarella)
Vegetables (Mushroom, Onion, Green Pepper, Olives)
Meat (Pepperoni, cooked ground beef or italian sausage or both in your favorite sauce)

Chicken Alfredo

Cheese(Mozzarella, Parmesan)
Vegetables (Broccoli or Asparagus),
Meat (Chicken or Shrimp in Alfredo Sauce)

The possibilities are endless, Mexican, Vegetarian....

Personal Orifices or What the Heck Do Personal Orifices and the Kindle Ebook Have In Common

2008-11-04T11:01:00.000-08:00

It’s my secret spot. One that I don’t dare tell anyone about. A mysterious niche undiscovered. A treasure cave unplundered. I must guard it. Protect it. Man will fight to claim it. He would fill it with his tools of manhood. I must be strong! I must withstand his persuasive ways. I must hold on to the final thing that is mine and mine alone.

It’s the last empty drawer on the boat and I’ll be damned if he’s going to put his socket wrenches in it.

I can recall a time when our boat was new and the storage seemed endless. Two hanging lockers for clothes, an extra cabin for guests, deep wells of storage behind the salon cushions and cavernous cockpit lockers would be darn near impossible for us to fill. We carefully planned where everything would go. We even made diagrams and lists of what was where. We divied up our personal space. The galley, of course, was for galley stuff. Pots and pans, dishes, and, hopefully, edible things would reside there. The nav-station was for navigation stuff. Although I thought it was tacky to have a radar screen, numerous radios, and fathoms of cords in my salon, I held my peace as long as they stayed where they belonged. A place for everything and everything in its place.

It was almost unnoticeable at first. The intertwined cords of the nav-station seemed to reproduce overnight and before I knew it they were tumbling with wild abandon out of their cubby holes and onto the shelves of the salon. The tools started to metastasize into the galley. The fenders found their way down the companionway into the aft cabin. The solar panels, dock lines, and boom vang soon followed. I mistakenly let our bread bin go empty one day and returned from the store to find if full of spare oil filters. .

So now the aft cabin has become the garage, whose contents have to be transferred to the salon when any of our guests insist on sleeping there. After three nights of sleeping in the cockpit, they’ve seen enough stars! The wet locker is the storage shed and the hanging lockers have so much junk, excuse me, “crucial boat equipment” in them we can’t get to our clothes. Our cockpit lockers are still cavernous but it takes a major excavation to find anything you need in them.

When I approached the captain about this problem, he agreed wholeheartedly that there is definitely a shortage of storage space. His solution? Get rid of the food! Make sure and keep just enough galley space available for rum and beer. Then get us some good multi-vitamins. They don’t take up much room. Oh yeah, get rid of all the clothes too, he leared.

So much for seeking logical advice from a boat addled mind.

You would think after twelve years, there would be nothing left to take to the boat but it seems year after year we find more offerings that she would appreciate. And of course, my lockers there mirror my closets here in our dirt dwelling. Both of them are full of clothes that I’m going to get back into next year. This year however, I’m being selfish. Don’t worry, I’m planning on doing my part to pay homage to the boat. I’ve bought a sewing machine and bolts of material to recover her salon cushions. The only problem is, I’m going to have to teach myself to sew. I’m sure by the time I’m done with this project it will qualify as a sacrificial bloodletting and when you drive by the boat the person speaking in tongues will be me as I try to wind a bobbin or something as equally perverse to me.
.
But back to being selfish. I’ve just got to share with you other feverish readers the treasure I’ve found. It is the Amazon Kindle. It is an ebook device that does so much more. It operates wirelessly through Sprint’s Whispertel network. When you are located in the Whispertel service area you can purchase and download books from the Amazon Kindle store to your Kindle within minutes if not seconds. Best of all, if you are not in an area where Whispertel is available you can download the books to your computer and then transfer it to your Kindle using an USB cord. You do not have to subscribe to Sprint and the wireless delivery is free. You do have to register your Kindle with Amazon and set up an account. You can even subscribe to newspapers and magazines. Best sellers usually go for about half price and, of course, you can shop for less expensive books or go to the internet’s various free ebook sites such as http://www.freekindlebooks.org/ or http://www.gutenberg.org/wiki/Main_Page The books must be in mobi format.

You can also download audio books and music. If you are in a Whispertel location you are able surf the net and send email which is experimental and free at this time.

The device holds about 200 books and once you have purchased a book from Amazon it is always there in your account if you decide you want to download it again. You can save any non-amazon books to a separate memory chip to save storage room on your device

There’s always a downside so… The initial purchase is an expensive $360.00 but I figure it pays for itself in my enjoyment and the amount of time I won’t waste reading books from book swaps that I never would have read unless I was desperate. The backside of that is you can’t share or swap books you like.
Also, you can’t take advantage of free ebooks from your public library because of the format.

I now have about 80 books downloaded and free shelfspace on the boat. I have had no problems with it and a friend on another boat dropped his and they actually sent him on free of charge. The bad thing is that another friend tried to order one and there was a 13 week wait.

Now all I have to do is figure out what to do with all that book space I’ve freed up. Of course, I’ll have to guard it from the cap’n but the good news is Nigel Calder’s books are also in the Kindle format too. Imagine all the space that will provide.Check it out at http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=afimasruofthr-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B000FI73MA&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr14 days until the boat

CONFESSIONS OF A MASS MURDERER

2008-10-28T21:04:00.001-07:00

This is such an exciting time of year for us boaters. Everybody’s buying new gadgets (I’ll tell you about mine later). And ,of course, we’re stocking up on those cheap items we can find in larger ports before we head off to the boonies. I just have one piece of advice. Okay, I have a lot more than that but I’ll limit myself for now.

CONFESSIONS OF A MASS MURDERER

(THE SERIAL ROACH KILLER CHRONICLES)

Glossary: ECGIER=Every Cruising Guide I Ever Read

Today’s topic is how to prevent roach infestation. As is explained in ECGIER roaches are proliferate in tropical climates. Which, by the way, is where most of us dream of cruising so here are a few helpful hints offered in ECGIER.

Tip 1: ECGIER said that roaches love to lay their eggs in the glue of cardboard boxes and canned good labels. The solution is easily apparent. Never, ever, ever, ever bring these items aboard your boat. So the easy solution is to take those four grocery cart loads full of non-perishable goods that ECGIER told you to get and push them down to the dock. Then, before stepping foot on your boat remove every non-perishable item that is stored in a cardboard box, which is about 48% of the non-perishable food that ECGIER told you to buy and place it in a non-disposable, sealable plastic container. Don’t forget to label and include cooking instructions. Next take all the canned goods which make up about 50% of the non-perishable food items ECGIER recommended you purchase and remove the labels. Don’t forget to label and include cooking instructions and expiration dates although ECGIER says expiration dates don’t really matter unless the cans start to bulge or emit noxious fumes, kind of like the cap'n. The most important thing is to get rid of the roach eggs. That’s good because by the time you complete this process the expiration date on most of your items will have passed anyway. Okay so now we’re left with 2% of the non-perishable food items that ECGIER recommended you purchase that you can transport directly onto the boat…unless they have a label or happened to touch a canned good or a cardboard box. And you never know where those things have been before they became yours. Truthfully, I skip this step and I have never, ever seen anybody sitting out on a dock doing this but every cruiser I have met swears they never bring cardboard on a boat.

Tip 2: It’s about a week later and you're finally ready to bring your provisions on board the boat. There’s just one more thing that ECGIER recommends. It seems that roaches also like to lay their eggs in the adhesive of paper bags. No problem, right? You sacked all your groceries in plastics bags. Your out of the woods except…..Doesn’t flour come in paper bags? Red alert! Red alert! Some roach eggs might have fallen into the flour. So now you need to take that fifty pounds of flour ECGIER recommended you buy and put a bay leaf in every sealed plastic non-disposable container. Then for good measure freeze if for a week. If you have a freezer.I guess if you don't have a freezer you're doomed to live among the enemy.
By now your boat should be a roach free happy environment until the next time you go to the store except……ECGIER didn’t take into account that in the tropics some of the roaches have wings. So what it if they call them Palmetto bugs. They are not cherubim and seraphim of dearly departed formerly earthbound roaches. Nope they’re real roaches and they are free to fly about your boat.

Tip 3: ECGIER has their favorite roach bait recipe (Which makes me a little suspicious that the authors may be sneaking cardboard or labeled items on to their boat). They all have the consistent ingredient of Boric acid with assorted mixers ranging from sugar and water, sweetened evaporated milk and even dog food. I’ve tried them all and it seems like the dog food works best, just make sure Fido can’t get to it. Just dump a healthy dose of Boric acid in bowl and add mixer until you have a thick paste like consistency ECGIER recommends that you make little patties out of the stuff and then let them dry out on wax paper before placing them in the places roaches like to hang out but we like to serve ours up in used rum bottle caps of which we always seem to have plenty. Overnight you should start spotting some of those good roaches. The dead ones. Just pray they haven’t laid eggs.

Tip 4: How to spot a roach egg. This is pretty simple if you look in a locker and you find spilled pepper and you don’t happen to store pepper in that locker, you have found your roach eggs. They are little black specks that look just like pepper. There may be just a few individual ones or you may find clumps of them in the corner of the locker. In the early days I didn’t really even worry about eggs. I never saw any. Of course, I didn’t really know what I was looking for. I only worried about damage control when I found the live proof of infestation. Then out would come the Boric acid and the commerical traps. I’d find a few corpses and think my job was done. Then a few weeks later I’d see these tiny little beetle like things with wiggling antennae crawling around or doing the backstroke in the dog dish. They didn’t look like roaches. In fact they were kind of cute. Kind of like how pit bull puppies are cute. Well, don’t get attached to the things because now’s the time to strike before they have time to mature enough to mate and expand their family tree. You don’t want your boat to become their ancestral home. .

Tip 5: Give ’em Da Bomb In truth, I’ve really only had one invasion and having lived aboard on and off for eleven years, most of them in the tropics, I consider myself lucky. Unfortunately, the one infestation got out of hand because I kept trying the various aforementioned remedies and each generation got a little more resistant to my various potions. I knew when I saw them doing reps with my barbells (at least someone was using them) it was time to try something else.I happened upon the bombing solution when we were leaving the boat for a period of time in the Bahamas. The local that was going to be looking after the boat while we were gone came on to familiarize himself with our systems and noticed our growing colony of unwanted “guests”. He volunteered to take care of the pests for us also. While we were gone he set off a couple explosive devices and we have not had any return visitors for many years. It probably helped that most of the food was off of the boat at the time. Or maybe our guests finally figured out that I wasn’t going to feed them any more of the delicacies I had been concocting for them and went off to find a more gracious hostess.

Tip 6: Skip Tips 1-4 and go straight to Tip 5 at the first sighting of these sneaky creatures. Show no mercy! None of this hand to hand (more like hand to mouth) combat. Go straight for da bomb. Of course, follow the manufacturer’s instructions on the deployment of all weapons in your artillery.

Tip 7: Please make sure you have no open flames on the boat when you set a bomb. The first time we were in St. Thomas there was a guy and his friend on his boat that set off a bomb and then went up on deck and were promptly blown into the wild blue yonder. One of them survived, one didn’t Apparently, the owner had left a pilot light lit on his stove.

I'm off for a good Chianti and some fava beans.

HAVE A GOOD DAY!

Potluck: Chicken Tortilla Soup Recipe

2008-10-23T17:03:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here way up in the Rockies, the temp is dropping, the wind is picking up, and there's white stuff on the ground. I'm ready for something hot but since I still have 27 days to go before I'm back on the boat in the Bahamas I guess I'll have to settle for soup. I fixed this for potluck one night when we were all waiting out a storm at the Alligator River Marina in NC. This is easy to do on the boat because all the ingredients for the basic recipe are usually on the boat or you can substitute like items, plus it's one pot, and you can have it ready and just heat it up when everybody's ready to eat. Darnell, here's a recipe like you asked for and I hope others will add more.

Chicken Tortilla Soup
2lb of cooked chicken cut up into bite size pieces, or 2 cans of chicken breast meat
2-3 cans of chicken broth
1 can of Rotel tomatoes
1 can of chopped green chiles or jalepenos
1/2 medium onion diced
1/2 green pepper diced
4-8 oz of cream cheese (I use cream cheese in place of Sour cream on the boat because it keeps better)
1 can of corn (optional)
1/4 cup of uncooked rice (optional)
Cilantro chopped (add right before serving or use it as an optional topping if you or your guests don't like cilantro

Toppings

Tortilla chips (put 'em on the bottom or top, whatever your preference
Cheese
jalapenos
avocados
Guacamole
Sour Cream
salsa

Just throw all the ingredients in a large stock pot and let simmer all day or if you don't have all day just heat until cream cheese is melted and rice is done if you added it. Add cilantro right before serving. Top soup with whatever you like and enjoy.

Fantasy Fest Survival

2008-10-17T15:08:00.000-07:00

OMG! I almost forgot what time of year it is. It's Fantasy Fest Time. Yeah, I've been, Nah, I didn't get a total body paint, Yeah, I got me some beads, wampum,...and I still couldn't get me a drink. Here's the story.
We happened to be in DC at Gangplank Marina on 9/11, we happend to be scheduled to fly out of Reagan that morning back to Kansas and home, obviously, that didn't happen. The Potomac was closed and we were stuck, but I have to say what a profound time to be there and we wouldn't trade it for the world. However, 3 weeks later the Potomac opened up and the cap'n says "I'm going to Fantasy Fest!" Not even stopping by Disney World, he was going to "Fantasy Fest!" And as he likes to say, "I've been to two pig pullin's and three county fairs but I ain't never seen nothin like that. Well, if you're going to go take some advice from me.

FANTASY FEST SURVIVAL GUIDE

“Get dressed up and I’ll take you out tonight,” the cap’n said.

I could hardly believe my ears. What would I wear? A little short slinky number or something more sophisticated? Where will we go? A nice, quiet restaurant or a lively bar? I’ll go all out. I’ll put on make-up and even style my hair. Of course, I’ll have to do it under the hand dryer in the marina bathroom.

This was all before I found out the cap’n’s idea of dressing up was an itsy bitsy bikini top and a long, but tight mermaid skirt.

“Uh, I don’t think so!”

Not with this forty-something, never-met-a-food-group-I-didn’t-like body. Now I don’t mind indulging the cap’n’s sordid imagination on the rare occasion. But in the privacy of our own boat, for Chrissakes! Not out in public! Not on your Buster Browns!

“Where in the world did you think you were going to take me dressed like that?” I implored.

“To Fantasy Fest,” the cap’n replied.

“I can’t go in that get-up,” I cry. “I’ll be horribly over-dressed!”

For the few unfortunate and unenlightened souls out there, Fantasy Fest is a yearly event in the Conch Republic of Key West. Every year in October thousands of people converge on this small island to dance, go naked, get painted, and get plastered.

A lot of us think this is fun!

A few tips before you go though:

Have a designated place to meet if you should get separated because amidst a throng of 70,000+ bodies, you will get separated. And when you do get separated the cap’n should at least put up a plausible act of trying to find you. Unlike one cap’n I know very, very well (right down to a certain special place where the angels kissed him) who, when his first mated finally located him at 4:00 a.m., said ,”But Honey, I stayed in the same spot where we got separated the whole night so you could find your way back to me.” The fact that he was finally located a half a mile from that spot was damaging enough. The numerous pictures of numerous pairs of female protuberances in front of numerous different bars sealed the verdict. Busted!

Make sure each of you has your own money. I witnessed one poor abandoned mermaid who had gotten separated from her cap’n who didn’t even have the fare to pay for the water taxi back to her boat, much less any money to buy herself a drink. I did have one very nice older man that kept offering me a ride on "their bus" back to the hotels that I had to convice that his bus could not take me back to my boat on a mooring in Garrison Bight. I did manage to borrow the 15.00 water taxi fee from him, now if I could only find the water taxi. I should have had a counter on for how many times I walked between Duvall Street and Schooner's Wharf. Now for those of you that choose to undergo a total body painting you’ll have to be a little more imaginative in stashing your cash. A“fanny pack.”perhaps.

The cap’n advises that you take your dog with you, in case you get separated from your first mate. You’ll need some companionship. No, Dummy, not from the dog. You use the dog as a chick-magnet. Apparently it works because Stanley, the dog, got more beads I did and he didn’t even have to humiliate himself to do it.

Buy your first-mate lots of beads so she won’t feel rejected if nobody asks to view her feminine attributes. Not that she would show them if asked. Would she?

Have Fun! And by the way, if you see some poor, lost, bedraggled mermaid wondering around, buy me a drink, darn it!

Aw!! Stanley looks so young then, he's older now, wiser, and blind. The same could be said of me.

Going Off: Intracoastal Waterway vs. Offshore Passage

2008-10-13T05:21:00.000-07:00

Howdy everybody,
It's that time of year again. Everybody's stocking their boats up and getting ready to head south. There's just one question, do you do the ICW or do you bite the bullet and go offshore. Here's my take on the issue. As usual, it's completely unbiased.

I’ve decided to come out of the closet. I’m stepping forward and declaring my true feelings. I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. I’m a little nervous but I am unashamed for I know there are others like me out there. I know this because they’ve told me. Muttered under the breath confidences while surrounded by “normal” sailors. Somebody has to be the first to make the admission, so here I go.

“I hate offshore passages…..especially offshore passages at night.”

Already I hear the collective horrified gasps of the “don’t ask, don’t tell” sailing community.

“Infidel!”

“Perversion of sailing nature!”

I know. I know. Believe me I’ve suffered a guilt complex for years. It took forever for me to admit even to myself. Years of doing it but never really liking it.

So what is a sailboat’s first mate of a different persuasion to do? Well, for the last three years the cap’n and I have been fortunate enough to sail the eastern coast where there is a very handy solution to this problem. It’s called the Intracoastal Waterway. It has great scenery and the social possibilities abound with its parade of sun seeking boats. There are great places to dock or anchor. The best part is if you get into trouble you can pull in somewhere without having to call the coast guard to come out and get you. As a matter of fact, I feel it’s downright unpatriotic not to use the ICW. It took a lot of men a lot of years to dig this ditch for us. I guess somebody else didn’t like offshore passages either. We owe it to them to use it as often as we can.

So what’s the problem?

The cap’n hates it!

Okay, I admit it does get a little skinny here and there and it’s a little humiliating to have all your new friends hearing you hail Sea Tow on the VHF. These are probably the same friends you spent the night before espousing sailing wisdom to. But it’s only mud and as they say on the ICW and just about every other body of water, “If you haven’t run aground you’re either lying or you never left the dock.”

“I just can’t relax if I have to watch the depth gauge all the time,” the cap’n whines.

Relax? Oh yeah. Let me describe a relaxing overnight passage we did across the Chesapeake to Norfolk, VA. Yeah, I know it’s not offshore but it was doing a damn good impersonation that night. A fluke of nature? I don’t think so since it repeated itself a few days later on a true offshore from Wrightsville Beach to Charleston. All of you of the offshore persuasion can read on and reminisce.

It was a beautiful, clear starlit night. There was no wind, of course, and NOAA was predicting waves of one foot. We all know NOAA has a tendency to lie. The cap’n defended NOAA. He says the waves really were 1 foot or less it was the swells that were seven to ten feet. So it was just like one of those wonderful offshore nights. You know one of those nights where it feels like some demonic grandmother has lifted you up and is rocking you madly to and fro until you throw up. You dutifully pull your watch but even when you’re off watch there is no rest for the weary. Instead it seems you’re at the hands of some amateur magician who keeps levitating you of your bunk just to drop you a few seconds later. And he just won’t give up, he keeps trying over and over and over again. Of course, your stomach is levitating and dropping right along with your tired body.

So let’s compare. The previous described relaxation versus going aground in soft mud and sitting back and tossing back some cold ones until Sea Tow comes to rescue you. Seems like a no brainer to me.

The cap’n won’t give up.

“It saves time,” he argues.

That’s a good argument but consider the following scenario. The story you are about to hear is true and not even the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

See the cap’n and I and our friends, Larry and Joan, at Point A discussing our sail plans over sundowners. The cap’n is adamant and a bit superior in his plans to go offshore to Point B. Larry and Joan demurely state that they have decided to do the ditch. See Mary (me) look enviously at Larry and Joan.

The next morning:

See the cap’n and I wave regretfully at our friends as they head down the ditch and we head out the inlet. It will probably be awhile before we meet up since we’ll be so far ahead of them.

Two days after departure:

See the cap’n and I drop the anchor at Point B. We are so exhausted we barely make it to the bunk before we crash. We sleep the whole day away.

Three days after departure:

See Joan and Larry wave gaily as they anchor next to us at Point B. See the cap’n scrubbing saltwater stalagmites that have formed over all outside, and some inside, surfaces. See me resecuring and restowing escaped stuff in preparation for our next relaxing offshore leg.

See Larry and Joan get into their dinghy to go explore town and get a bite to eat. Our dinghy is deflated and secured.

See Joan smile happily at Larry.

See me shoot daggers through my eyes at the cap’n.

The next morning:

See Larry and Joan heading back down the ditch.

See the cap’n and I following right behind them.

THE END!

38 days 'til back on the boat

By the way GW is getting pretty lonely down there as my only other first mate and I'm getting my feelings, but hey, it's not all about me, wait a minute, I guess it is since I haven't heard from the rest of you. You know being Catholic, I've got plenty of guilt to spread around.

Paying Homage

2008-10-06T10:29:00.001-07:00

So now you've bought the boat and every waking hour thought and talk is about the boat. Get used to it 'cause it never goes away:

Paying Homage

We’ve all been through it! Our significant others decided to go live on a boat and take us with them. We took a look around and queried, “But what are we going to do with all of our stuff?” The answer was quick and flippant. “We’ll sell it! After all, it’s just stuff.”

So we, the reluctant partners, began the painful process of divesting ourselves of our prized possessions. We even felt a little guilty if we got emotional over our Grandma’s cherished silver tea set or the kids’ grubby Teddy bear. “How could we be so materialistic?” we derided ourselves.

Then in the midst of packing and tagging, what should pull up to our curb? A UPS truck? What’s this? Doesn’t he know we bought a boat? We’re selling things, not buying things. We have broken the unholy chains of materialism. Amen! Allelujah!! The doorbell rings…

I throw open the front door. My loins are girded for the battle against this dark angel of temptation whom I used to welcome with open arms. Of course, that was in my unenlightened days of catalog and internet shopping orgies. That was before I found my salvation in “The Boat”.

Chin jutting forward, I stated, “You must have the wrong address.”

“Is this number 10 Easy Street?”

“Uh, yeah, but…” I sputter.

“Just sign here, lady,” he directs right before he yells over his shoulder, “Hey fellas, start unloading.”

Wait a minute here! My eyes zone in on the dollies of boxes bearing a litany of names like West Marine, Boat US, Marine Electronics…. An ugly suspicion begins to form. My narrowed eyes search out the captain who has been cowering in the corner.

“But, Honey, it’s for “The Boat”, he stammered.

That’s when I had a revelation. For the captain, the boat had become a sort of goddess. He devoutly believed that we had to surrender all our worldly goods and make enormous donations to “The Boat”. In exchange, “The Boat” would provide for us a life of happiness and well-being. The captain believed our only path to salvation was to follow “The Boat’s” commandments. By doing this, we would keep “The Boat” happy and never suffer her wrath which could include such calamities as; dead batteries, high engine temperatures, and bad head smells.

For you poor unenlightened souls “The Boat’s” commandments are:

Thou shalt love “The Boat” above all other boats, and just about everything else except for your mate, although in some cases even the mate can be considered sacrificial.
Thou shalt never take “The Boat’s” name in vain.

Thou shalt honor “The Boat” by weekly pilgrimages to the nearest West Marine Store.
Thou shalt not covet another’s “Boat”.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against “The Boat” by blaming her for mishaps that were really your fault.

Thou shalt give testimony to “The Boat’s” glory by speaking endlessly and exclusively about “The Boat”.

Thou shalt not leave “The Boat” for a house, condominium, or RV.

Thou shalt fervently treasure the hardships “The Boat” bestows upon you such as limited water, limited electrical capacity, and plentiful head smells, for these are the things that make you strong (in more ways than one). Do not congregate with those persons who would try to convince you otherwise.

Thou shalt not bring shame to “The Boat” by poor navigation, sloppy sail trim, or mortifying anchoring techniques.

Last, but not least,Thou shalt subscribe to every boating magazine available. Thou shalt go from port to port spreading their words of wisdom, thus increasing sales and the editors' cruising kittie.

*You also earn special graces from “The Boat” if you fall on the floor, contort your body, and speak in tongues while changing her oil filter.

I’m sure you’re asking if I have been converted. Alas, I’m afraid not. This year I brought aboard one box containing books and a video. Nothing to offer up to the goddess. The captain had thirteen boxes of offerings ranging from a new GPS (I guess she wasn’t happy with the three we already had ), countless shackles (before we had the boat, I was aware of only one use for shackles, but I’ll exercise ”restraint” and not go in to that),. I’m sure a sacrificial lamb is tucked in their somewhere. Is there hope for deprogramming the captain? About as much chance as that snowball had in hell. You can learn to live in harmony, though. It’s all about compromise and respecting each other’s different beliefs and callings. Remember my Grandma’s tea set? Why don’t you come on over to “The Boat” for tea and then we’ll do some penance by going shopping—for “The Boat” of course. Wouldn’t she look better with me in that cute little outfit I found.

Emergency Medications for Cruisers

2008-09-30T15:06:00.000-07:00

I sent Kary May back to Great Guana Cay where she is probably busy picking splinters out of her thighs. Which reminded me that I probably need to restock our medical bag for the season.
A surgeon friend of ours was good enough to make us a list a couple of years ago and I thought I'd share it with you before you start heading out.

EMERGENCY MEDICATIONS FOR CRUISERS

INFECTIONS such as severe sinus infections, diverticulitis, appendicitis, prostatitis (men only duh), travelers diarrhea (from contaminated water) use Levaquin 500 mg. 1 pill every day for 10 (ten) days or Avelox 400 mg. 1 every day also for 10 (ten) days. Septra DS (Bactrim DS) 1 twice a day is also good. For skin infections from cuts, abrasions, burns, coral bumps, etc you can use Levaquin with the dose above or Penicillin 500 mg every 6 (six) hours. Penicillin is cheap. Levaquin is not but you should have it aboard for the more serious infections. Use your on board antibiotics only when a medical facility is not readily available. For a tooth abscess use Penicillin or Avelox. Penicillin has always worked best for me but if you are allergic to Penicillin, Levaquin or Avelox are OK to take. Urinary tract infections (burning on urination with possible blood or pus) can be treated with Cipro 500 mg. twice a day or Levaquin or Avelox in the dosage above. After a course of antibiotics, diarrhea (yellow stools) may occur. You may need Flagyl 500 mg. Every 8 (eight) hours for 10 (ten)days. Downside to this is that you can not consume alcohol. Bummer !

PAIN CONTROL For minor pain use Tylenol, Advil or Aspirin. For severe pain use Ultraset 37.5/325 mg. 1 tab every 12 (twelve hours) or Tylox (Oxycodone) 5/500 1 or 2 (one or two) every 6 (six) hours. These are potent narcotics and you should seek medical help soon. Most of these meds will require an RX from your Doc. as serious liver damage has been reported. . Check the label of your meds for contents.If you drink more than 9 (nine) drinks a WEEK , (not per day) you should NOT use Tylenol or Acetaminaphen

BURNS For minor burns (stove bites, 2nd degree sunburn or anything that blisters the skin, etc) use Bacitracin cream or Triple Antibiotic cream. Apply as directed and have an assortment of bandages, Telfa pads, Coban dressings and gauze dressings aboard. For severe burns when the skin is charred (fire, electrical fires or spark) use Silvadene Cream. Apply liberally, bandage and seek medical help fast. CHEST PAIN Carry aboard Nitroglycerin (not the explosive) tablets. Place 1 (one) tablet under the tongue and allow to dissolve every 5 (five) minutes up to three tablets. Start an Aspirin regimen of 325 mg daily ASAP. Seek medical advice faster. For preventative measures take one baby aspirin, 80mg per day

YEAST INFECTIONS (Women only, duh) Use Monistat (available over the counter OTC) vaginal suppositories or cream and apply as directed. You gals may have to take Acidophilus to replace the lost vaginal bacteria when using antibiotics.

ACID REFLUX DISEASE / ULCERS You can use Nexium 40 mg. Or Protonix 40 mg each 1 (one) daily. Consult your physician before beginning this regimen.

NAUSEA /VOMITING For your guests that may be not acclimated to the bouncing, rolling and pitching of boats, we use Dramamine or Meclazine both OTC. Scopolamine patches are also now available. For severe N/V Phenergan Suppositories work well.

MISC. For colds use OTC cough and cold drugs. Sudafed is good for runny noses and congestion. Benadryl 25mg OTC is good as an antihistamine and anti itch. Carry some sterile eye wash, antibiotic eye ointment, ear antibiotic and a bee sting kit as precaution. You should carry a 3 (three) month supply of medications along with whatever meds you routinely take and have prescriptions or copies of prescriptions for all drugs aboard your vessel.

And since most of us are cheap ass cruisers remember to ask for generics.

Kary May's Sexy Guide to Buying a Boat

2008-09-29T13:38:00.000-07:00

I’d been in the Bahamas for several months when I noticed a strange phenomenon kept occurring. I’d introduce myself to someone and they’d say “I already met you over in Guana. Don’t you remember, you were dancing with that tree.?” It took a little investigation but I finally discovered that I had an evil twin that lived on Great Guana Cay. Her name is Kary May and she dances with trees and poles because, unlike men, they don’t spin her too fast or dip her too low but somehow she still manages to fall down.

Unfortunately, Kary May showed up last night and these are her ideas on how to buy a boat….

I’ve been racking my brain all week on how to help my cousin, Mary Kay, help you all figure out what kind of boat to buy. I pondered all of the advantages and disadvantages of every kind of boat and how to steer you towards the boat that was right for you. Power vs. sail, mono hull vs. multi hull, 2 heads vs. 1, propane vs. alcohol…

And then, as it is prone to do, my brain turned to the subject of sex. I tried to turn it back to task--think sail trim, think bow thrusters, think self-tailing wenches, but it all brought me back to “SEX”. How in the world is buying a boat at all akin to “SEX”.

And then it came to me.

All of the four main boat types that we encounter in our boating life share attributes with various suitors we have encountered or would like to encounter. We’ll call them Monohull Mike, Multihull Mario, Trawler Tom, and Powerboat Paulo.

Let’s start with Monohull Mike since he’s the one I’m more familiar with. He’s the kind of guy you take home to Daddy. Mike’s got clean strong lines and he comes from a respectable yard. He’s gonna get Daddy’s little girl home safe at night and he’s not gonna run out of gas on the way. He’s stable, he doesn’t move too fast and he’s got plenty of storage for his prophylactic safety devices.

Unfortunately , he only as room in his heart for you. He’ll gladly double date for an evening but only if it’s "dutch". He truly believes three is a crowd. His cockpit may be teenie but his heart his huge.

Multihull Mario: He’s the bad boy of the sailing world. The Monohull Mikes say he is unstable and doesn’t have the staying power. Mario says he likes being a little off balance and if he needs a little more thrust, that‘s what his jugs are for. He’s a party guy and his big cockpit will accommodate all comers. After you’ve multihulled you can try out the trampoline out front. Yee-Haw !!!

Trawler Tom: He’s the comfort food of boats. Just like a slice of Mom’s apple pie he’s a yummy piece of home. He’s got the back porch to rock away a lazy day with a good book. He’s got comfy chairs and real lamps. In his former life he might have been a Mike or Mario but he doesn’t want to work that hard on trim anymore, he just wants to get there. Lucky for us, he’s not in a hurry so he waits for the perfect moment, making the passage smooth and comfortable. And since he’s usually plugged in to a slip, you know what position you’re going to be in each and every night.

Powerboat Paulo: Ah…the elusive dreamboat that surges through our sodden dreams. He’s aloof and definitely high maintenance. Paulo may not know his way around a stuffing box, but what the heck, he’s got others to do the grunt work for him. He’s so sleek and sophisticated, we’d be happy just to polish his doorknobs. Ahh….but for most of us he is just a dream.

So there you go, Kary May’s guide to boat buying. It’s just so hard…uh, I mean difficult to choose. I think I’ll take one of each.

Is my mind in the bulge, uh, I mean bilge or do a lot of sailing terms have sexual connotations? I can think of dozens. How about you? How about sharing them with us by posting them under the comments tab at the bottom of this post.

Rule Four: Home is where the heart is

2008-09-21T18:55:00.001-07:00

I know , I know, I know!
The Annapolis boat show is coming up and your cap'n is lathering to get out and get a boat. A word to the wise, read my article "Smitten" on this blog to see what happens at the Annapolis boat show. Believe me they all look good! And I promise next week's blog will be about what boat will suit you. But for now, I have one more thing you need to discuss before you even buy the airline tickets to the boat show. By the way, it's probably too late to get a room.

This topic may not seem significant but it will influence what kind of boat you buy and where you choose to sail and, once again, the cruising kitty. Better to get it out of the way.

How often will you travel back home?

This may not be of much concern if you are living aboard part time and spending the rest of the time at a land-based home that is conveniently located for trips to your favorite F&F’s(friends and family). You must keep in mind though, emergencies and important events that you will need or want to attend will sometimes happen. To illustrate this during our first year and a half of living aboard full-time four out of our five children got married, one parent died, one parent broke his hip and we’ve had two grandchildren. We made it back for all of the weddings, the funeral, and one grandchild's birth. However, we were either in FL or the Bahamas which is a 1 or 2 day flight to anywhere in the US. These are just the big events. With the high cost of travel this subject needs to come up in the arguing, I mean “setting the rules” stage of planning. Don’t forget to include trip expenses in the cruising kitty. Be prepared for the emergencies and be honest about the non-emergencies you expect to attend back in that other life. I can’t count the number of fights, I mean discussions, the cap’n and I have had over about what constitutes an emergency worthy of a trip home. How does this affect what kind of boat you're going to buy? Well, if you are going to stay in easy reach of F&F's you probably don't need a bluewater cruiser. Which is what the cap'n and I bought because we should have done all of the Caribbean and crossed to the Med by now. Instead, we found a place just 90 miles off of FL that some ski jets have made it to on one tank of gas and we fell in love. We've been there for four years but in our defense we've stayed at a different cay every year. By the way cap'n say's we're going further south this year. All of our boater friends just laugh.

Okay I'm getting tired of getting no input from my fellow first mates, I'm thinking of starting a roll call just like in school:
Dori (Sol y Mar)
Doris (Exit Strategy)
Cindy(?) It was one of those nights
Jill (JillyQ)
Pattie (Blue Dolphin)
Phyllisx2 (Chapter X and Mollie 2)
Marie (Typee Mistress)
Susan (Perpetual Motion)
Lynn (Boomerang)
Susie (Blue Jacket)
Ami (Mon Ami)
Ruthie (Galena)
Mary (I love that name) (Who Cares)
Linda (Ciganka)
Cat (Catherine) (Highland Wanderer)
& Many Many More
Hey gals,
All you have to do is click on that tiny comment tab on the bottom of this post and say "here". I know none of you are shy. I've danced around poles with you.
.........

Love you all!
Safe sailing

Mary

Hitting Rock Bottom

2008-09-15T13:32:00.000-07:00

They always say the first step toward recovery is admission. We made our own painful admission in one of those all too common, smoke filled rooms where lost souls gather for comfort and that shaky support that helps people like us to keep going in the face of momentous adversity. We sat uneasily in a darkened corner of the room, interlopers amidst the familiar crowd. Finally someone spied our shrinking forms in the gloom and started toward us. As he neared and glimpsed our ravished faces his eyes widened in sympathy.

“What the hell happened to you?” he roared.

The room quieted and all eyes riveted to us. Next to me, the captain cleared his throat and muttered, almost inaudibly, “We, uh, hit a reef.”

A murmur rushed through the room. Arms were thrown about our shoulders, beers were thrust into our clammy hands, and we were welcomed into the fold. The meeting place was a funky little bar called “Coconuts” in St. Thomas and the injurious reef will remain anonymous since we don’t know the statute of limitations after hitting a reef. With the captain sprouting two fresh black eyes and me, the first mate, sporting a sutured hole in my bottom lip (before the stitch job, the captain observed that I was the only woman he knew that could close her mouth, pinch her nose, and still breathe) we spent the evening being regaled by stories and stories of boat mishaps. Each story grew in grandiose stupidity. That was our first bare boat charter. You people who consider putting your boat in charter, remember this. I wish I could say we’ve never run aground again but we continue our active membership in the “Bottom Dwellers Anonymous Club”. Luckily since the reef incident our groundings have been on friendlier bottoms in our own boat and none have required trips to the boat yard or emergency room. We even have our favorites! Lets see…..

There was the time we were headed out of the Chesapeake City anchorage. Concerned about the current pushing us starboard, we fought to stay in the middle of the channel when you could say we found “higher ground”. After several attempts to get off this mass of earth smack dab in the middle of the channel, we decided to kick back and have a couple of cold ones and wait for the tide to rise. Hey, why didn’t we think of that before we pulled up anchor? Since we were the morning’s source of entertainment for fellow boaters and the patrons of the restaurant off our stern, we decided to partake in some of our own side-poking. We especially enjoyed the smaller powerboats that would buzz by us in the channel, slow down and quizzically circle the boat and then question the obvious.

“Are you guys aground?”

“Nah”, we replied, “We just got tired and thought we’d stop and have a beer”.

That was about 10:00 a.m. and three hours later the tide finally lifted us off and on our way.
And then there was the time coming out of Annapolis. It was a gorgeous late September day when we left our dink tied to the mooring and headed out with two non-sailing guests for an afternoon of sun and sail. Shanna and Danny from our land locked hometown back in Kansas. had come out to visit us and see what a bay looked like. The captain was at the helm (although the captain disputes this, claiming our friend Shanna was at the helm, but that’s not the way the rest of us remember it). I was assisting Danny in raising the main and putting out the headsail. The wind was light. The bow dipped then rose to crest the foam and then…..
“Oh, sh--!” was heard from the cockpit (this indisputably from the captain) as the boat came to a graceful stop. Once again our fellow boaters displayed an uncanny grasp of the obvious. Most astute was the captain of the water taxi who helpfully told us,

“If you all get on the other side of that big white marker (obnoxiously noticeable off our port bow), you’ll be fine.”

Apparently he was not observant enough to notice we were not moving. Tow-Boat US to the rescue. Thank God we had the insurance!

Our latest mishap happened right south of the Carolina Beach Bridge. We were following a boat that we had noticed bumping bottom several times in the course of the morning trip down the ICW. Yep, that’s right we were knowingly following this boat. Now there could be several explanations for this: (A) We thought they might dredge a channel for us, (B) The Pied Piper Syndrome, where we are inexplicably drawn to one of “us”, and imminent peril, or (C) sheer stupidity. Luckily, we had sort of planned on another “occurrence” and had arranged for alternate means of rescue. Obviously we’d had this kind of trouble before. This time we had our own personal towboat following a few miles behind us. Tow- Boat “Next”, a 40 foot Sea Ray and her crew John and Justine, had befriended us months before in Block Island and had served on and off as our “scout” and rescue boat since. We highly recommend this arrangement. Once again, we provided entertainment for the passing rubberneckers.

In closing, I’d like to offer a bit of advice. Next time you’re chuckling at another boater’s misfortune remember, “There but for the grace of God, goes you”. And for all of you thinking it was sheer stupidity that landed us in the last predicament, believe me there were plenty of “followers” that we had to frantically direct to the real channel instead of the one we had just made. I won’t mention their names since anonymity is a right of the members of this non-exclusive club.

Our numbers are great and growing all the time. Just remember, we’re your neighbors at the dock, we’re the couple you met in the laundromat, we’re the boat you’re following right now…..Oh, Sh--!!!

Rule Three: Living Your Boating Lifestyle

2008-09-14T16:13:00.000-07:00

Now that we have a breather from hurricanes. Let's get back to "Rules". I know your captain is getting anxious to get out there and buy a boat but there are a few more things to discuss.
One of them is what kind of lifestyle do you envision if you decide to take the plunge.

Just as you don’t spend all of your time in your house on the land you won’t spend all your time on your boat. What environmental conveniences or entertainment do you think will be necessary for your happiness and well-being on a boat? The standard (dirt-dweller’s) impression of cruising is sailing from one isolated paradise-like anchorage to another, spending everyday frolicking in the sand and water. Truthfully, there are many boaters that pull into a dock, plug in the electrical cord and don’t leave for months. They meet regularly for bridge games and drinks. They play tennis. They form yacht clubs. There is a myriad of lifestyles to choose from. Some are more expensive than others but inexpensive doesn’t necessarily mean deprived. One of the basic lifestyle decisions is where you want to cruise. Does he dream of Arctic endurance trials while you’re dreaming of tropical indulgence? Are you on the same time table for your cruise. Does he want to push on to a new port every night getting to some unnamed destination while you want to spend time enough to get to know the locals and maybe even become one? Do you require a daily hot shower, coiffed hair and manicured nails? While many hard scrabble cruisers may scoff at these needs, if they are important to you you’d better let it be known. Believe me there are well groomed people out here too, author not included, so it can be done but once again you have to plan for it by choosing a boat that can supply the electrical and water capacity necessary, or a dock and location that provides the necessary services. Do you live for golf or tennis or whatever? Once again it can be done but make sure you cruise where these things are available. These are just a few of the lifestyle questions that need answered because it will influence what kind of boat you buy. It will also influence the cruising kitty needed to live the lifestyle that is acceptable to you. It's better to make your needs known now before you end up with a boat that cannot provide them or a budget that won't support them. And remember...you can compromise but do not cave in.

As always, I'd love to hear from other First Mates or First Mate Wanna Be's on this topic. Please!
Just click on the comment link on the bottom of this post. You no longer have to register. Just click Name/Url and put it your name.

Also you can email any of my posts to friends by clicking on the envelope.

Also,Also,I have been trying to get the advertisements more relevant to this site and it doesn't seem to be working on the main page but if you click on the "Link" on the bottom of the posts those advertisements seem to be more for the boating stuff we or our captains love.

One more thing.... I have added links to my favorite boating websites and blogs on the left side of the page under "About Me"

Oh yeah, if I get lucky enough to actually have readers that follow this site, I'd love to know who you are. You can register in the Fellow First Mates section also on the left side of the page underneath "My Blog Sites. Don't be shy.

Have Fun!

Fender Dockline Shuffle: Docking the boat

2008-09-09T14:16:00.000-07:00

The cap'n said to lighten things up a little:
Nobody told me that when we bought a boat I was supposed to magically transform into some kind of superwoman. You know, the “able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and stop runaway freight trains” kind of gal. Except in my case, I was expected to spring onto rickety old docks from a moving boat and stop our fifteen ton boat from crashing into said dock with its attending fleet of shiny boats and their very interested crews. This is a pretty tall order for a girl who’s adolescent athletic prowess consisted of a fervently whispered, “Please don’t let the ball come to me. Please! Please! Please!” In fact, the only thing I like about long trips is the fact we don’t have to dock. If the cap’n didn’t insist on docking every now and then to get fuel, we probably would have already completed a couple of circumnavigations.
Before we bought our boat we had never had the opportunity to practice docking. We had taken several charters and while they never explicitly said we couldn’t dock their boats, the fact that they drove their boats out of the dock at the beginning of the charter and then came out in a launch and brought the boats back in at the end of the charter was a big hint. We didn’t mind, we liked it that way. Now if we could just get somebody to do that with our own boat.
It doesn’t help that my docking history has a rather auspicious beginning. It should have been simple! It was slack tide and we were told to tie up at the end of a
T-dock. It was even slack water. Perfect for a first-timer. I was nervous but eager as I stood at midships with bowline in hand. I kept my eyes trained on the dock of which we were slowly coming along side.
“Closer.”
“Closer.”
“Not yet, just a little bit closer”
“NOW!!”
I took the leap. Gracefully (I’m sure) I arced to the dock. Softly I landed on the balls of my feet. I wobbled. I stepped back with my left foot (We’ll have to take points off for that.). The right foot soon followed and found nothing but air.
“Too much momentum,” I muttered as I dangled from the bowline on the other side of the dock. Although I despaired of ever winning the gold medal in the docking olympics, the ever present observers of all things asinine bestowed upon me the honorary title of “Lady GoDiving”. I would like to clarify that I was wearing clothes that day.
Early on in our sailing days we were assured by old salts that docking would be no problem because of those “omnipresent” dockhands. We soon found out that their presence is only felt between Memorial Day and Labor Day, and it seems they are bestowed with the same passive-aggressive sense of humor that you usually find in bridge tenders, but that’s another story. You know the routine. It goes something like this:
About an hour away from docking…
“Marina Anywhere, Marina Anywhere. Agur’s Wish…”
The answer comes quickly and clearly.
“Vessel calling Marina Anywhere, this is Marina Anywhere. How can I help you, cap?”
After you state your desire for a prestigious spot at their beautiful marina, you are soothingly assured that your request will be granted if you just call back when you get a little closer.
Fifteen minutes away from the marina…
“Marina Anywhere, Marina Anywhere. Agur’s Wish…”
Dead silence…
You repeat, “Marina Anywhere, Marina Anywhere. Agur’s Wish…”
Faintly you hear, “Vessel “crackle, crackle”. This is “static, static, garble, garble”.
“Marina Anywhere, this is Agur’s Wish. We have reservations tonight at your marina. Can you give us directions to the dock?”
With handheld plastered to your ear you can barely hear,
“Keep going on your current heading until you reach “crackle snap pop” dock. Your slip is the “static, static” dock on the “crackle, buzz” side.
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Could you repeat what you said?” you implore, a little desperately.
“You’ll need a “crackle, crackle, snap” side tie up.”
“Will there be somebody there to help us with our lines?”
The response is clear this time.
“Oh, yeah. There’ll be somebody there to, “snicker, snicker” help you, alright.”
Now the real fun begins. You dash for the binoculars and frantically begin searching for either a sign from God or a guy in khaki shorts and raybans nonchalantly waving his handheld at you.
Finally you spot him, (not God, the guy in the raybans). He summons you forward casually indicating your intended dock. He watches coolly as you race to tie dock lines and attach fenders. Just as you finish securing the last fender, his lips curl in a cruel little smile.
“Oh by the way this is a stern in only dock”, he says.
As the captain tries to explain to the unconcerned dockhand that your boat doesn’t drive well in reverse, you frantically race to untie and retie dock lines and detach and reattach fenders. Meanwhile the captain is busy trying to convince the butt end of your boat that it’s supposed to go into the slip and as usual it’s acting like the stubborn ass it is and is instead heading for the bowsprit of the boat in the next slip
All the while the evil guardian angel dockhand is keeping watch with his benevolent smile. Finally, much like a cat with a dead mouse, he tires of playing with you.
“Oh, alright, I guess you can come in bow first”, he relents.
Once more you do the fender/dockline shuffle while he guides the captain to bring the bow in closer….closer…keep coming…Crash!
“Whoa! Perfect!” he exclaims.
Finally the catastrophe is over and the boat is miraculously tied up safely for the night. The captain and you are settled in the cockpit with potent sundowners. Suddenly a hapless sailboat comes rushing in on the current. The panicked expression on the first mate’s face is easily recognizable. Your head swivels and you spot the same dockhand sauntering toward the last empty slip which just happens to be right next door. The captain and you look at each other. You know what you have to do. You jump off the boat and race to the empty slip, ready to do what you can to save your comrades from the evil grip of the dockhand, or at least minimize the damage to your boat.
Of course, the whole time I’m thinking…
“Please, please, please don’t throw the dock line to me!!”

P.S. To all dockhands every where, I have realized that the “evil dockhand” is a psychotic hallucination brought about by a fear of docking. The perceived evilness rapidly disappears the minute we are safely secured at the dock. Past and future “Muchas Gracias” to those that prevent imminent peril to life, limb and boat if us boaters were left to our own devices.

Sailing Into A Bigger World

2008-09-09T13:12:00.000-07:00

I talked to a friend of mine yesterday who has just bought a house in Galveston. Just like me, she is from land-locked Kansas and is having to pay attention to hurricanes for the first time in her life. The tornadoes that are inherent to our landscape didn't allow us the priviledge or frustation of a week or more of guessing and second guessing. Maybe that is why I have little understanding of people that have ample warning and still choose to stay. That being said...I listened to reports of mandatory evacuations in Cuba this morning and wondered, "Where will they go?" I've looked at pictures of the continuous devastation of Haiti and wonder why these people are allowed to suffer the way they do and I knew that my friend Bill on s/v Blue Rondoe was probably headed down there to help. While watching as the storm turned away from the northern Bahamas and our boat, I read the reports from Inagua and wondered which of my friends' family members have been affected. Our boat has exposed me to a larger world and caused me to invest in its people. It's risky, but worth it. So, if after watching these storms, you're thinking that owning a boat is just not worth it, think again. Let's continue to offer prayers and crossed fingers for our family and friends in the Gulf.

Hurricane Rules: How to prepare for a hurricane

2008-09-02T09:16:00.000-07:00

Since Hurricane Hanna is about to bear down on our boat in the Bahamas I thought I would write a blog to keep my mind off of what might be happening to our boat, Agur's Wish. There are numerous strident and usually contradictory instructions on how to prepare the boat for a hurricane so I'm not going to get into that here. Instead I'm going to shared some lessons the cap'n and I learned about preparing ourselves after experiencing both Hurricane Frances and Jeanne in the Bahamas in 2004.

"Early" is the key concept in hurricane preparation.

Rule 1: The minute you clear customs in any new country register with your country's embassy in the country you are traveling in. This will let offials know where you are and if there is any kind of emergency, natural or political, they will know you are there and what kind of aid to render. This is a simple procedure and can usually be done over the internet or phone. For U. S. citizens go to www. usembassy.gov which will give you a list of countries. Click on the country your are visiting to view information pertinent to that country. The Bahamas even has a section on hurricane preparedness.

.2. Have a hurricane hole secured early. If you know you are going to be sailing in a specific area, you should have a secure hurricane hole picked out months before hurricane season arrives. For the past four years we have rented a mooring ball in the same harbour that the boat rode out Frances and Jeanne. Many boaters we know pay for these moorings for months while they sail the nearby islands just so they will have a place to run in case of a storm. Please note that all moorings should be dove on and checked by you personnally and you will have to add additional lines and chafe gear according to your own beliefs (I promised I wouldn't go there). If you decide to anchor out, once again the key is to get there "early"! Everybody will be running for the hurricane spots so you'll want to get there first to find a good spot. If you are there early you will be able to watch the mooring techniques and storm preparations of the boats that come in after you. If you deem that their preparations are inadequate you have two choices: you can jump in your dinghy and steam over to their boat and demand they move their boat and adhere to your strong suggestions (not likely), or you can offer to help them get their boat ready for the storm, giving you some damage control, literally. Believe me, most people are more than happy to accept help and suggestions when faced with the momentous task of getting a boat ready for a hurricane if approached in the right way. If the cap'n balks, ask the first mate if she/he needs help. She'll be more than glad to have you help the cap'n get the sails down while she secures things down below. Lastly, after seeing what was left of the Marsh Harbour docks after the hurricanes, I would never recommend leaving your boat at a marina dock. The pictures speak for themselves.

3. Have the boat and you ready early. You should allow at least three days for hurricane preparations and that is after you have moved the boat to your hurricane hole. Luckily, hurricanes give us plenty of warning as long as we are not laying bets on which way they might turn. Always assume they are going to turn in your direction. Once again I am not going to dwell on how to get the boat ready, there is plenty of literature out there for that. A couple of things I do want to mention though is to make sure you are topped off with water and electricty. Water will keep your boat heavier in a blow and plus it may be the only source of fresh water available after the storm. Electricity speaks for itself. After Frances and Jeanne, I felt superior to the dirt dwellers for the first time knowing I had fresh water and electricity on the boat when the people living in the fancy houses on shore didn't. Instead I want to dwell on how to get yourself ready to leave the boat. Even if everything you own is on the boat, you can't take it all with you. First of all, if you go to a public shelter they won't let you bring it in. Second, if you had good enough friends that helped you haul all that crap off your boat and up 26 marina steps and into the private shelter they are sharing with you, after days of being cooped up with you and all your crap, I promise they will not help you haul it back to your boat. Just remember that mantra you kept telling yourself when you sold all your belongings to move aboard "It's only stuff!" So.... early, way before a hurricane heads your way, make a list of things you will be taking with you off of your boat. You don't need a ditch bag because you should have plenty of time to gather these things. The list should include:

Most importantly, papers i.e. passports, boat insurance, greenbacks, cruising permit, immigration documents, pet papers, medical records and prescriptions, health insurance.....you can never have too many papers.

Clothes for a week. For some of us that amounts to one pair of shorts and a t-shirt but remember in the places that we cruise electricity and water may be shut off for long periods of time after a hurricane. After Frances and Jeanne it was close to month before we could find a laundromat open in the Abacos. Also remember you may not be able get right back to your boat, assuming you still have a boat to get back to.

Food and water. Whether you go to a public shelter or secure a private residence, you will have to bring enough food and water to sustain you through the hurricane. Most of the food should be non-perishable (don't forget to pack a can opener). If you are in a shelter you will probably not have facilities to cook or refigerate it and even if you are in a private home these luxuries may be short lived. The Red Cross advises that you bring one gallon of water per person per day. This may not be possible, but do try to tote as much as you can. That's another good reason to make sure your tanks are full. Remember to remember your pet's needs also. Oh yeah, don't forget the emergency, only for medicinal use, recreational beverages. I know, I know, I know! They are not on the Red Cross Emergency List and they are not allowed in shelters (another reason to avoid public shelters) but this is my blog and the Red Cross has probably never been stuck for five days with boaters who have been enjoying nightly happy hours for years when the liquor runs out. I have and it ain't pretty. I've even heard of covert operations raiding nearby, unoccupied, dwellings for a cache. Unfortunately, the liquor cabinet was locked.

Communication devices. Cell phones will eventually start working again. Computers and internet access will eventually start working again, besides it has all of your photos on it. So take them with you. The cap'n and I have had an Iridium satellite phone since we started sailing full-time. It has never failed us and even in the height of the hurricanes I was able to call back home and let family know we were alright . We were also able to help other boaters and locals call their families that were "off-island". Satellite phones can seem expensive but they are usually less expensive than trying to use your state-side cell phone. Our satellite phone costs about $1.00 per minute where our cell phone costs almost $3.00 per min. You can also rent satellite phones. To check out prices for renting or buying check out http://www.gmpcs-us.com/ or http://www.satphonestore.com/ . Another popular satellite phone is Global Star but I have heard a lot of complaints about calls being dropped. One of the boaters that stayed with us during the hurricanes had a Global Star and experienced this.

Okay, now you can take you other valuables. Your jewelry, your gold coins, your stock certificates...oops, those belong with the papers your taking off the boat.

4. You don't have anymore line or rope left to secure anything else and the boat is looking like something out of a bondage fantasy. You've even used your last pair of shoelaces. Your sitting in the cockpit in the glaring sun with your meager possessions because you've taken all the canvas down and there's no room for you down below. Now, where are you going to go? Of course, "now" is not the time to start thinking about it. Once again, whether you've made your preparations "early" is going to be the key to the comfort in which you ride out the hurricane. Almost every place is going to have shelters available. The things to consider when considering a public shelter are:

Do they take pets? If they do, are the pets required to be crated?

You will have to take enough non-perishable food with you to last through the storm.

Sleeping accomodations may be rudimentary.

Bathing accomodations may be rudimentary.

Lavaratory facilities may be rudimentary.

Privacy will be minimal.

I don't mean to sound completely negative about shelters. In fact, I know several boaters that really enjoyed staying in the shelter they stayed in. In general, you can judge the conditions of the shelter by the conditions of the community. That's all I'm going to say about that.

Another option is staying at a resort or hotel since they have usually evacuated their guests. But since they have evacuated their guest, they probably don't want you there either.

Finally, you can seek out a private home. Many locals are very generous in opening their homes to boaters, especially if you have made yourself part of the community, and lots of times even if you haven't. If you are fortunate enough to have this option, please respond graciously and be an exemplary guest. Cook that meal, wash that pot, grab that mop! Believe me, you don't want to be voted out of the house in the middle of a hurricane. You want to be invited back next time, which happened to us when Jeanne followed Frances by only two weeks. If you don't receive an invite and you don't want to go to a shelter you may be able to rent a house during the storm. Many homes in cruising grounds are second homes that are rented out. They usually have caretakers that are on-island that you can contact about renting. Just ask around. Several boaters usually get together to rent one house.

5. Last, but most important. Get off the damn boat!! You'll notice I didn't even mention staying on the boat as an option and I know I'm going to get some grief from some boater friends about that. But really, a boat is just a boat, and is replaceable. You're not. Your cap'n is not. Your crew is not. Your pet is not. And the person that has to risk his life to rescue you is not.

Rule Number Two: To Live-aboard full-time or part-time

2008-08-29T14:27:00.000-07:00

Okay, you've stomped you foot, you've shook your head, and ...
Now that we’ve got that out of the way. Maybe you’re actually considering it. Hmmm…It could be fun. He’s pumped you up. He’s talked about exotic ports and romantic nights under star studded skies. It’s sounding pretty darn good. Just the two of you.
Whoa, Nellie! Hold on a minute. It’s time for a reality check here. First for very few of us is it “just the two of us”. There’s the aging parents. There’s the kids and grandkids. There’s the brothers and sisters and most of us can find at least one person that will claim us as their friend.
I remember conversations with our loved F&F’s (friends and family) before we moved aboard full time. When the question of how long we were going to stay “out there” came up the cap’n would very confidently say “Oh, four or five years.” When the heads would swivel to me, I’d hem and haw and say “We’ll see.” Secretly, I was going to give it my best for two years. I remember one of our sons telling me, “Mom, you and Jeff need to talk. He was right.
It is unfair and most certainly a recipe for failure to enter into this great adventure giving your partner false expectations by not advising him honestly and unwaveringly of your own expectations. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve known each other, he can’t read your mind and in this instance he probably doesn’t even want to try.
All couples are different and have their different priorities and expectations. The following subjects seem to be some of the more common ones that come up for argument. Uh, I mean speculation. All of these will definitely contribute to what kind of boat you end up with.
Up first!
To live aboard full time or not. It seems to me that most cruising guides I read before moving aboard were based on the full time liveaboard. In my own experience though it seems that the people living aboard full time are the minority. Most cruisers still have a land based home in which they reside at least half of the year. For our first three years as boat owners the cap’n and I lived aboard our boat for six months of the year and went back to our house in our hometown to work for six months. I really enjoyed doing this. If I was getting sick of work and the routine of dirt dwelling I could see an end in sight. On the flip side if I was getting sick of the inconveniences of the boat and homesick for a hot bath, in-house laundry and the F&F’s, again, there was an end in sight. This seems to be the ideal solution for many cruisers. It, of course, requires the financial capability to pay for and/or maintain both the boat and the house. If you are having any doubts about life aboard full time it would certainly be prudent to try this arrangement, at least temporarily, before you sell your home and most of your belongings. If you decide to do this there are some steps you can take and sacrifices you can make before hand. For most people their biggest land based expenses are their home mortgage and car payments. In 1997 the cap’n and I went to the Annapolis boat show swearing we were only looking-not buying-and then came home the proud owners of Agur’s Wish. We truly hadn’t planned it this way. The big escape was supposed to be somewhere in the very distant future. We were working more than full-time in the medical profession, living in a 4000 sq. foot home and had three vehicles. We could have afforded to keep the boat and pay all the bills but we would still have to work full time. When would we have time sail? So we did what seemed logical. We mixed ourselves a drink. And then we mixed another. And as usually happens, in inebriated oblivion the impossible became possible. Fortunately, when we woke up the next morning it still seemed possible. We sold the house and moved into a duplex we already owned. We sold the good car and drove the other two until they were beaten and battered but still refused to die. We took extra call shifts and worked overtime to pay off our bills and build the cruising kitty. It wasn’t always fun but it was worthwhile knowing we were making our dream a reality. Finally, we were able to take off for our first six months of cruising bliss. Because we were only planning to cruise for six months, we were actually able to do this within nine months of buying the boat.
Another advantage of this arrangement is that it does give you time if needed to
work for a period of time to replenish the kitty. The cap’n and I are fortunate to work in the medical field which is rife with shortages guaranteeing us employment when we need it. I know several part-time cruisers who work in retail (Did someone say West Marine?) or construction or whatever they can find just to go cruising again. As I write this we are anchored next to a two masted schooner whose captain does day charters on his boat in the states for six months of the year so he can bask in the sunny islands the rest of the year. Where there’s a will there’s a way.
The cap'n and I did finally move aboard full-time for four years. After about three years I was growing a little disenchanted with the boat-life (read majorly depressed) and had serious house envy of anyone we visited. It took him about one more year, a summer spent dirt dwelling, a return to the Hot! Hot! Hot! Bahamas in September and a boat breakdown before he cried "Uncle!" I just cried "Hallelujah!" and opened up the laptop to the real estate sections. You might wonder why I waited a year of being unhappy before insisting we give up full-time boating. There are several reasons. First, and foremost, we had made so many friends where we were that I didn't want to leave. Second,I could tell he was ready also but hadn't admitted it to himself. Fortunately, he did finally admit it but some captains never do want to leave the boat or at least they never admit it. Why is that? There is very strong feeling in the boating community that to give up boating is just that. Giving up! Woosing out. Failing! And if you have spent years planning this wonderful adventure and it didn't turn out, it's pretty hard to swallow. But you know what? At least you tried it. At least you left the dock. Life is too short to be unhappy just so you don't have to admit you were wrong. Or you can be like a lot of us. Just part-time losers and part-time boaters.
See you out there.

Smitten (How Our Boat Found Us)

2008-08-10T13:50:00.000-07:00

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The Other Side of the Boat
SMITTEN

Let's back-up and start at the beginning...

Oh, the sweet, sweet joy of irrepressible, illogical love—whether it be for the “well-beyond-our reach” homecoming queen or the “well-beyond-our-funds”(and insurance capabilities) cherry-red sports car. We’ve all felt it. Reveled in it! We’ve all said, “To hell with the consequences!” andtaken the plunge. It seems like only yesterday…

It was on a crisp, bright autumn morning in Annapolis when across the boatyard I spotted a brawny, broad-shouldered brute of a boat. My heart tugged me and I tugged my husband Jeff across the yard and up the ladder. The exterior was craggy with experience-worn teak decks. Its noble bone structure personified toughness. But along with that bad boy exterior came a heart of gold, and this one was 18 carats. At the bottom of the companionway steps I took a look over my shoulder into the saloon. “This is the one!” I hollered up at my husband.
Always the voice of caution, he replied, “We’ll see.” And as if I were a headstrong teenager, the more words of caution and reasonable alternatives I heard, the more stubbornly enamored I became.

To really understand the dynamics of all this you have to understand the events that brought about this bonding of woman with boat. My husband and I had taken an active interest in sailing two years before our current boat hunt. This was extremely difficult, considering we lived in landlocked southwest Kansas, where the biggest body of water for 300 miles is the municipal swimming pool. After several charters, we decided to reconfigure our lives and spend more time on the water. But first we had to find “the boat.” At about 2,000 miles away, Annapolis was the closest shopping place and the October boat show was the queen of the sailboat malls.
Of course, before we headed east, we pinned down exactly what we wanted in a boat—strength being at the top of his list, beauty at the top of mine. And we made a solemn vow: We were only looking, not buying! As a woman who has come home too many times with too many shopping bags full after making the same vow, I should have known better.

During the show we climbed on and off of hundreds of boats. While he exclaimed over engine space, I compared leather to printed chintz and admired the decorative ferns. Every boat was beautiful in its own right, but not one called out to me. Finally a boat dealer at the show, having heard our requirements, steered us to a used boat that fit every one of them.
It did nothing for us! But, it was from the deck of this boat that I spotted my true love, a 1987 40-foot Tashiba. It was kind of like being set up on a blind date and falling for your date’s best friend.

I guess I should explain what my requirements for our future boat were. First and foremost, I had to have a scoop-end swim platform. We had chartered a boat once in the Caribbean that had only a short boarding ladder on the side, and I discovered the only way I was going to be able to haul myself out of the water and on to that boat in anything resembling a speedy (forget graceful) manner was if a hungry shark suddenly chose me as his mid-afternoon snack. Even then it was going to take an act of God. Other items on the wish list included a spacious aft cabin (with a queen-size berth) and a nice roomy cockpit in which to entertain all the new boat friends we would be making.

So how did this hunk of a boat with its decidedly round stern manage to turn my head. For the first time in days, when I ended my climb down the companionway I knew I was on a boat. The timeless woodwork and the heavy brass portholes told me so. Absent were the ferns and designer fabric I had thought so important, and in their place was the tried-and-true style of protective close-knit spaces and gracious curves. It just kept whispering, “I’ll take care of you.”
Meanwhile, up on deck, my husband was cautiously rejoicing with fingers tightly crossed, for the boat had everything he had dreamed of. A full keel, lots of weight, a cutter rig and that canoe end—everything he knew would protect us well during whatever cruising we decided to do.
Oh, I forgot to tell you—he was loaded, and I appreciate that in a male of any type. I’m talking about the boat now, not my husband. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know boats are traditionally female, but not this one.) The boat had been outfitted for extensive offshore cruising by a lawyer who took a two-year hiatus from work. He sailed around for two years and then put the boat and everything on it up for sale. The equipment included would have taken us years to purchase if we’d had to equip the boat ourselves. The guy had back-ups for his back-ups.

In order to finalize the deal, we hired a crusty old surveyor, who acted as though we were doing him a disservice by asking him to come survey our boat. He was truly confounded that we had come looking at the first boat and had ended up with this one. Dumb luck, I guess, and I know he would agree. He merely rolled his eyes when we talked of refinishing the teak deck (which we learned later had merely mellowed to a healthy gray and required no refinishing at all). He grumbled when we mentioned getting rid of all the unsightly bric-a-brac on the stern end (which turned out to be our wind generator mount and a steering system). But he just couldn’t control himself when we allowed as how we’d have to get rid of those ugly red sails. “Who would ever pick that color?” we asked. Slowly and patiently, gritting his teeth, he explained that “tanbark” was the traditional sail color. (I really wish I was making all this up.)
After, two days of the surveyor’s mutinous banging around on our hull and sniffing through lockers, we were finally ready to take the boat out for its sea trial. “I suppose you’ll want to get the sails up,” the surveyor inquired, obviously annoyed at the thought and hoping we would be too embarrassed to show anybody those “ugly red” sails. But we insisted, and he ended up grinning the whole time as the heavy boat heeled over smoothly and, to our amazement, made an easy seven knots.

Once again he scoffed at our naivete, “What did you expect? After all she’s a Bob Perry design.”

Whoever he is. We had no idea at the time.

Needless to say the boat passed the survey with flying colors and became ours. And two weeks later we sacrificed an already booked charter in the Caribbean to sail our new boat on the Chesapeake. We snagged our first crab pot, ran aground a couple of times, and the dinghy motor crapped out on us. We loved it so much we came back six months later and spent the next six months discovering the Bay. From Langford Creek where really big things (skates) went bump in the night, to Dobbins Island for our first thunderstorm and dragging, to Baltimore’s wonderful Inner Harbor to countless secluded anchorages and charming towns, we fell in love with the Bay while falling more in love with our boat.

Since then we have stretched our sea legs a little and have sailed as far north as Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket, where there is no such thing as a secluded anchorage and boaters have a really peculiar notion of anchoring. (“What do you mean I’m dragging in forty feet of water, I’ve got eighty feet of rode out!”) And we’ve gone as far south as Key West which is just plain peculiar and proud of it! And are currently exploring the Beautiful Bahamas. I’m happy to say the love affair lives on. My first impression of our boat has held true and he has loyally protected us from wind and wave and, more frequently, ourselves. And of course compromises and adjustments have had to be made along the way—as in any relationship. The captain bought me an extended ladder so I can exit the water gracefully should any hungry sharks come cruising, and we’ve always been able to make more room in the cockpit for new friends. Although a nice rear end with a scoop swim platform can still turn my head, I’m standing by my boat.

Next Blog: Back to The Rules: A little more practical way of picking your boat

BOYS AND THEIR TOYS

2008-08-05T08:49:00.000-07:00

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BOAT

BOYS AND THEIR TOYS

They say Christopher Columbus made his voyage to the New World
with just some ships, a compass, and the stars.

No Way! He was a guy, after all.

"Honey, next time you go down.. . . ."
What follows is usually a plea for something necessary to sustaining life
as we know it.. .like a beer. And "next time you go downn means within the next
30 seconds, please.

When I look up from my once again interrupted novel, the cap'n pleads,
"I would but I'm driving the boat."

As I descend the companionway, I look back at the cap'n. Yep, he's
behind the helm, alright. His eyes are busily scanning. Only one thing's missing
in this little scenario. His hands aren't on the helm. That's right, he's not really
driving the boat. Otto, our trusty autopilot is responsible for the steering of this
boat because the cap'n has become much too busy for even this task.

In response to my profane mumble he explains, "Someone has to be on lookout. Oh, and while you're down there. .. ."

As I finally start to arise from the companionway, I do a quick scan of the
horizon. As suspected, not a boat in sight. Just to confirm this, I confer with the
brand new radar, you know the one that sounds an alarm should anything even
think about coming close to your boat. The radar concurs. There's not a darn
thing out there. Which brings me to my point.

What the hell do they stare at all day? Lots of things actually. Did I say he was scanning the ocean or the sky? No. Instead he is scanning multiple neon electronic screens. I don't want to
mislead you, the cap'n still believes that even with all the modern gadgets, sailing
still requires constant vigilance. After all, it takes constant searching for markers
and buoys just to convince the male brain that the GPS really does know where
we are. The funniest thing is the cap'n continues to be incredulous every time
it's right. Which, luckily, is pretty often. But the cap'n remains skeptical.
So now tucked into the corner of the cockpit is the laptop computer with a
display strikingly similar to the one on the GPS. There's that little boat thing
following the little line thing. "Honey, "zoom in" on the computer," comes the command from the cap'n who is seemingly encased behind some invisible shield that prevents him from
moving from behind the helm. Or maybe it's just all the stuff crowding the
cockpit that keeps him imprisoned.

The computer and the GPS agree about our lattitude and longitude but
the cap'n is still not convinced. So just to make sure he consults the paper
charts strewn about the cockpit. "I'll be damned, they're right!" he exclaims.
Boating used to be so simple. I remember when we were thrilled and,
admittedly, sometimes surprised to reach our planned destination with just paper
charts and a compass. Later our little handheld GPS became a reassuring
addition. Then things kind of snowballed. When we bought our own boat we
bought a bigger GPS, even though the boat had it's own and by that time we had
acquired a total of three handhelds. (Don't ask me how that happened. I don't
understand it myself). Our new boat also had a radar, which we never had
before. It never really worked that well but at least we did wait until that one
cratered before we bought a new one. Still the cap'n hauled the old one around
on our deck (I wouldn't let him bring it down below) for a month, convinced that it
had some value or could be used for spare parts. It took three uninterested
dealers for him to be convinced that the only job it was suitable for was as an
anchor.

Our latest navigational aid venture, but I assure you, not our last, is
computerized charts. Of course this wasn't really the cap'ns doing. It seems
one of our friends forced him to download all of these charts on to our laptop
(which was primarily put on board for my use), and use up all our hard drive
space. So now sailing has become a quagmire of navigational aid consultations.
Long before time to set sail, the cap'n plots and plans and plugs in waypoints.
Constantly checking, consulting, comparing, and rechecking. All to make our life
a little easier he says. Ahhh.. . Sympathy stirs for the poor cap'n beleagured by
all of this. But then, just as my foot hits the top rung of the companionway ladder.. .
"Honey, before you come up.. . ."