The Voyages of Threepenny Opera

Cienfuegos to Trinidad - "No es Posible"...."pero"...

2012-05-31T17:48:00.000-04:00

“No es posible” (that is not possible) is one of those generic phrases that everybody who spends any amount of time in Cuba learns to take in stride. In fact the answer to many questions often begins with “no es posible” but the experienced Cuba hand quickly learns that the objective is to maintain the dialog long enough to arrive at the word “Pero…” (but…). If you are dealing with familiar persons, then “pero…” arrives quickly, often in the same sentence as in “no es posible” to take the local bus, pero most drivers will not say anything if you just walk on and drop your money in the box.

When dealing with strangers however, there is a ritual verbal dance which must be performed that in some cases can last quite a long time. For example if one inquires where they can buy some of the excellent local bulk rum (bring your own jug), you might hear “no es posible” because you must have a ration book which is only for the Cuban people. If an overpowering desire to buy a 1.5 liter pop bottle of silky smooth rum for $1, causes you challenge the response by saying something like, we have friends who bought it last week and it was very good, the conversation will likely come to an abrupt end. If however you say something like, ”yes it is difficult for everybody these days” accompanied by an appropriate sigh, you might get to “pero” or you might get another reason why it’s “no es posible” requiring another tangential non sequitur with the requisite sighs to keep the conversation flowing. Only when you demonstrate that you are sympathetic and more importantly safe to talk to will you get to “pero” I have a cousin who doesn’t drink but would be willing to part with his rum ration.

If a cruiser were to accept “no es posible” as gospel every time they heard it, they will never leave their boat and eventually they will leave the country completely frustrated, having missed much of what the country has to offer. And so it was armed with this deep knowledge of Cuban culture that Pat and I became acquainted with the harbourmaster in Casilda, a small fishing village next to the UNESCO heritage site of Trinidad in Sancti Spiritus Province.

It was shortly after 7:00PM and I was feeling pretty mellow after having downed a very large rum on the rocks in the cockpit of Threepenny Opera as she swung gently at anchor in Casilda harbour. Pat and I had arrived about 2 hours earlier after an extremely rough passage running down the coast from Cienfuegos in 6+ seas ahead of a tropical system. On several occasions I had considered turning around, but since we had already spent 10 days in Cienfuegos, we were itching to see something new. Furthermore the swells at the entrance to Cienfuegos would have been in the 10 foot range and bashing into them didn’t seem like a lot of fun, even though the worst would have only lasted about 15 minutes.

The warmth of the rum and the gentle rocking of the boat was lulling me to sleep when a deep voice reminiscent of Lorne Greene came over the VHF calling for the “moto valero” (motor sailer) in Casilda Harbour. Since Pat and I usually travel alone, and we run our engine often while traveling, we have come to recognize that a call to a “moto valero” usually meant it was for us. Dutifully I grabbed the cockpit mike and responded with my best “Buenos Tardes El Capitan eso es La Valero Threepenny Opera” and as I said it, I could hear the Homer Simpson voice in my head say ”Doh!!” as I realized the purpose of the call.

There is loose rule in Cuba that when there is a marina in the area a cruising boat is expected to use the marina rather than anchor in the open. Our 1999 cruising guide did not have many good things to say about the local Marina Cayo Blanco so we had made a conscious decision to avoid it and drop the hook near where the local fishermen anchored. As it turned out that was a bad decision on two counts, firstly the local authorities are sticklers for the rules (mentioned in the guide) and secondly we were too close to an unguarded shore where anybody could have swum out and climbed aboard. I was just about to smack my forehead with the palm of my hand when I heard the dreaded “no es posible” through the speaker informing me that anchoring was forbidden.

We were not in a good situation. It was about 20 minutes before sundown, we were in an unfamiliar and very shallow harbour with charts that did not show the channel to the marina and the captain was half asleep in a rum induced fog. We’ve all heard the expression “it was the alcohol talking”, but in this case the alcohol was not talking but rather yelling a belligerent “no es posible ir” (it is not possible to go) There were no non sequiturs uttered, no sympathetic sighs, just a ham fisted and likely grammatically incorrect invitation to face off!

I will never know if a more diplomatic approach could have changed the outcome but after 5 minutes of partisan “no es posibling” in increasingly louder tones, a hazy memory of uniformed soldiers holding billy clubs swam into my consciousness. I don’t know if Lorne Greene could have called in the cavalry but suddenly the rum fog lifted and instead of continuing to yell, I acquiesced with OK OK OK we’re [expletive deleted] moving. I’m not sure how much English the harbour master spoke, but it was either the OK or the VHF license revoking words that brought silence to the airwaves. Pat could tell that I was more than a little perturbed as she handed me my PFD in preparation for engine start.

By the time the engine was started and our anchor had been pulled it was about 10 minutes before sunset and the marina was at least 20 minutes away. As I pulled back into the main shipping channel, I ran the throttle as high as I dared to cover as much distance as possible in the failing light to get to the approach into the marina before it became too dark to see. As the sun dipped below the horizon I edged Threepenny Opera out of the main channel and pointed towards a marker about a mile away on the other side of a now invisible shoal of mud and sand. Earlier I had seen a catamaran exit the marina on approximately the same track so in the absence of any other information I attempted to create a reciprocal path.

Pat was maintaining a bow watch as the twilight deepened around us. By now the marker was only about ¼ mile ahead of us and we were gliding slowly with about 1 foot of water under our keel. Suddenly Pat pointed to port of the bow, and then she pointed to starboard and started yelling Stop! Stop! Stop! Instead of stopping, I found myself stepping away from the wheel to see what she was pointing at when Threepenny Opera, like an obedient pet stopped all by herself as the engine rattled and stalled. By the faint glow of sunset in the west and the light of a rising full moon, I saw the line of floats streaming away on either side of the boat. I had run into fish net and we were caught like a fly in a spider’s web.

It was too dark to go into the water and after several attempts at using our Spurrs line cutters to free ourselves it became obvious that we were not going anywhere. My greatest concern was that our transom pointed towards the prevailing wind which meant that a squall during the night could easily flood our cockpit and possibly drive water down the companionway into the salon below. Fortunately sinking was not a concern as we were almost sitting on the bottom anyway.

I was growing agitated as I contemplated going into the dark, and possibly crocodile infested water with a flashlight and a knife. Pat and I were discussing our options when I heard a small knocking on our hull. I looked up to see an old man and a teenaged boy, possibly his grandson standing in a small wooden rowboat. The old man was pushing down on the top of the net with his oar while the young boy reached into the water and used a rusty knife to saw away at the net. I stood and watched in stunned silence as I shone my flashlight into the water so the young man could see where he was cutting. After about 10 minutes of cutting, the old man retrieved his oar and made a shooing motion with his hands as Threepenny Opera began to swing into the breeze.

The next morning in dead calm conditions I went over the side and in short order I managed to cut about 20 pounds of fishing net free from our prop. With the remnants of the net piled on our swim step we pulled the hook and motored the short distance into the marina anchorage where we were to remain for the next 7 days as torrential rain from Tropical Storm Alberto drenched the area and caused widespread flooding.

In a country where “no es possible” is the order of the day it is the simple things that stand out. Two strangers who came out of the night to offer assistance without exchanging a single word and then gliding into the night when their efforts were successful is just not something that happens in more “civilized” parts of the world. I have never figured out who they were, but their act of kindness will always be remembered. And it is because of this and other simple acts of kindness in the face of “no es possible” that Cuba will always have a special place in our hearts.

After our week of drenching in Trinidad, we headed off for the Jardin de la Reina. The adventure contines.

Have a great week, I know I will

Addison

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The South Coast Part 1 - Broke but not poor

2012-05-21T00:17:00.000-04:00

You like to see Monkeys? came the question in halting English. Pat and I were in our dinghy returning from a wonderful snorkeling trip on the ocean side reefs south of Cayo Campos in the Archipelago de los Canerros when we spied a small battered wooden runabout with two men aboard. At first we dismissed them as local fishermen, but as we drew closer together I noticed that the runabout was equipped with an outboard motor.

In the Bahamas or in the US, it would have been perfectly normal to encounter a small boat equipped with an outboard motor, but this was Cuba and outboards are as rare as hen’s teeth. I became concerned as the runabout turned and the two men aboard began frantically waving their arms at us. For a brief moment a flash of fear spread across my chest as I played through scenarios of being mugged by pirates in a deserted anchorage, and then by equally disturbing images of being interrogated under white hot lights by over zealous Cuban Guarda Frontera officers protecting their shores from Imperialist invaders.

Meekly Pat and I waved back and I slowly headed our dinghy towards the approaching runabout. As they drew closer we saw that the two men aboard looked more like the Tom Hanks character in the movie Castaway then they did pirates or Guarda officers. Sporting ragged shorts that might have at one time been swimming trunks and bare chested, both were deeply tanned from the relentless sun. I let out a silent sigh of relief when I realized that they were smiling and the arm waving was merely a friendly gesture in the enthusiastic Cuban style.

After the Monkey question, we were asked if we spoke Spanish and when I replied “un poco” (a little), I was rewarded with a machine gun burst of Cuban Spanish that rapidly overloaded my fledgling linguistic neurons. Slowly with a lot of gesturing and requests to repeat from both sides, we established that the two men were the custodians of the monkeys on Cayo Campos and they had seen us enter the reef and anchor in the shallows inside the reef apron. Since they did not get a lot of visitors they came out to invite us to visit their compound and to see the monkeys. When they saw that no one was aboard, they decided to make the best use of their gas and check the fish traps that they had set on the reef apron, which was why I originally thought they were out hunting for us. From this awkward first meeting Pat and I were about have one of the most memorable experiences of our 6 month visit to Cuba.

Cayo Campos is a 4 mile by 1 mile lump of coral surrounded by reefs in the Archipelago de los Carnerros. Located about 25 miles east of the southern tip of Isla de la Juventud or in English, The Isle of Youth, the Archipelago is a string of islands which extends for 75 miles to the east. Forming a boundary between the relatively shallow waters of the Golfo de Batabano and 1000+ fathoms of the Caribbean Sea, the archipelago is one of the best cruising grounds in all of Cuba. The water is crystal clear and the beaches and reefs are clean and unblemished by the garbage and floating detritus that seems to accompany civilization. Cruisers who are both adventurous and hardy come from all over the world to sample the pristine beauty of the region, and for those who are really in the know, they also come to visit the Cangrejero monkeys.

Originating in Asia, the monkeys of Cayo Campos are one of two troops found in the Archipelogo de los Carnneros. The other troop is a different species and is found on Cayo Cantillies a further 30 miles to the east. On Cayo Campos the troop is mostly wild and members are left to roam freely about the 4 square miles of scrub brush and mangroves. How the monkeys came to be on the island is a bit of a mystery. The official line is that they were cargo on a freighter that was shipwrecked in a storm and the original monkeys were survivors that made it to shore and settled. The survivors bred and subsequently there have been two generations of new additions and the population today is in the hundreds. As part of a nature preserve program in the Archipelago, the Cuban government has established a feeding station and placed a permanent staff of four on the island to attend to the well being of the troop.

The less official and highly speculative explanation is that the monkeys of Cayo Campos and the genetically different group on Cayo Cantillies, are there as part of a secret Cuban research program to create agents for biological warfare. We were offered little evidence to support either story, although we did find it surprising that in a country where the basic necessities for human life can be elusive, that the government would appoint custodians who were charged with a twice daily feeding the monkeys with specially formulated high nutrition pellets laced with anti-biotic and anti-parasitic drugs. In the end the how and why the monkeys are there, is far less important to the cruiser then the fact that they and especially their keepers are simply there.

The next morning Pat and I awoke after a restless sleep to gray skies and light rain showers. The anchorage was very rolly, which accounted for our less than perfect sleep and for a brief time we considered staying aboard and skipping the shore visit. In the end however I was not motivated to exit the reef in the surging conditions so we were stuck until the weather improved; consequently we decided to brave the short but likely very wet trip to shore. At the appointed hour of 8:30 we approached the rickety dock in front of the monkey keepers house in our dinghy and were greeted by our hosts for the day, Felix and Dariel.

The two of them were part of a normally four man team assigned to look after the monkeys, but one of their members was away on a course and the other was back home on Isla de la Juventud because of an abscessed tooth. There are two teams and each team is posted to the island for a period of 4 weeks and during their stay they are completely isolated except for visits from fishermen and a few passing cruisers. All supplies must be brought in when they begin their rotation which means a fairly simple and limited diet as there is no electricity except for a single 75 watt solar panel used to recharge a battery that powers a single 12 volt fluorescent light and a small AM radio. Given the very limited power supply, refrigeration on the island was out of the question. Dried foods such as beans and rice, supplemented by whatever could be coaxed out of the sea was the diet for the month.

After touring the facilities on the island, which consisted of a single 4 room building that housed the sleeping quarters, kitchen, common room and privy, Pat and I headed out for a walk on some of the trails that criss-crossed the island, with the hopes of observing the monkeys in the wild. As luck would have it however the gray skies unloaded and we turned back to the keepers house in a driving rain with no monkey sightings to report. Felix met us and invited us to stay for lunch and wait for the afternoon Monkey feeding where we would be certain to see at least a few members of the troop.

As we discussed the possibilities of lunch and monkey sightings several small fishing boats tied up to the dock. The fishermen, one of whom was Felix’s neighbour back on Isla de la Juventud, often used the monkey keeper’s dock as a place to tie up and rest when they were not tending to business. In a matter of minutes the invitation to lunch turned into an impromptu pot luck with Pat volunteering to make rice and beans and the fishing crews pitching in fish and lobster. To provide their contribution, the fishermen started to dig out a pair of battered wooden oars and prepare their dinghy for a trip out to the reef. Thinking that they were heading out to the reef to pull a trap and fetch a few lobsters I offered the use of our outboard equipped dinghy as it was easily ¾ of a mile each way.

In a flash, three burly guys in wet suits jumped into my dinghy and headed exactly in the opposite direction from the reef and disappeared around the corner. Hoping that I hadn’t committed some linguistic faux pas and inadvertently given my dinghy away, I looked at Felix who began to laugh when he saw the expression on my face. Apparently lobsters prefer shallow, calmer water and are found closer to shore rather than out on the more turbulent reef apron. The big males hide on the reef, but the smaller more tasty ones are nicely herded up in “apartamentos” (lobster shelters made up of scrap metal, old pallets and bits of plastic tarp) that the fishermen have thoughtfully built in the turtle grass beds on the sheltered side of the cayo. Felix said the three guys were just going to get the lobsters the easy way and that I needn’t worry about my dinghy.

About 20 minutes later the dinghy rounded the end of the cayo and I immediately noticed that it was riding very low in the water and the three amigos in wet suits were kneeling on the tubes with one leg dragging in the water. I had been having a problem with one of the inflation valves and I started to feel guilty that I had sent them off without providing a foot pump to keep the boat inflated. As they approached the dock however, I could see that the problem was not with the tubes but rather the fact that my dinghy was absolutely full to overflowing with lobster. I figured that in about 10 minutes the three guys had loaded about 300 lbs of lobsters into my little Walker Bay. When combined with their weight and the 100 lbs of outboard motor, my 500 lb capacity dinghy was loaded with over 1000lbs. It was a miracle that it still floated!

Lunch was magnificent, everything was hot, fresh and tasty, and despite the simple one dish, one utensil table settings, the company and camaraderie made it one of the best meals we have had in Cuba. We learned that Felix was a trained surgical nurse who had decided that working out doors was more to his liking. Dariel had a daughter who was in medical school and Duarte, the leader of the three amigos who caught lunch, owned his own boat and kept his 30 year old single cylinder Yanmar diesel running with “Cuban ingenuity” and a little prayer. We gained more insight into the lives of the average Cuban over lunch than we had in the previous 3 months.

After lunch, Felix suggested that I move Threepenny Opera closer to their dock so that we would have a more comfortable anchorage. When I replied that I would love to, but that I didn’t have any charts to maneuver across the sand bars, Felix flashed another of his dazzling smiles and offered to show us the way before the arrival of the monkeys for the afternoon feeding. Perhaps it was the contentedness of lunch or perhaps it was peering into the drizzle across to the rolling and pitching mast of Threepenny Opera, but either way I decided to take the plunge and move the boat rather than risk another sleepless night on the reef.

From the moment I said OK lets do it, Felix took charge. He deputized Duarte and in minutes Pat and I along with our new crew boarded our now freshly washed dinghy (somebody had rinsed out the lobster bits and weeds while we were having lunch) and motored back out to the Threepenny Opera. The closer we got to the boat, the more obvious it became that moving was the right decision, as a freshening breeze was now generating a pretty healthy 2-3 foot breaking chop on top of the swell over the reef. Once aboard I started the engine when Felix motioned to the wheel and suggested that he drive while he sent Duarte up to the bow to act as a lookout.

Looking across at the choppy water passing over the featureless white sand I agreed to let Felix drive indicating to Pat that she should stay very close by while I went forward to help Duarte with the anchor. It hadn’t occurred to me up to that point, but most Cuban’s haul their anchors by hand, so when I pressed the foot pedal to begin hauling our chain with the windlass Duarte pressed his thumb and first two fingers together and started to kiss his finger tips as he looked up to the sky. Once the anchor was up, Duarte with a big grin on his face pointed toward the direction we needed and Felix who had an even bigger grin on his face slipped the engine in gear and we began to move.

Threepenny Opera is equipped with a full suite of modern marine electronics. There is radar, chart plotter, AIS-B, redundant GPS, redundant electronic compasses, auto-pilot and multiple computer back-ups, but here were two guys, who only hours earlier were ready to row out to catch lunch, driving my boat with only their eyes and experience to guide them. Despite the chop and the drizzle, Duarte pointed and Felix steered us unerringly across the sand bars into a deep but protected anchorage about 100 meters from their dock. When it came time to drop the hook, Duarte genuflected, looked to the sky and pressed the down foot pedal for the windlass and Felix backed on the chain as if they had been on the boat for years. It was a humbling experience.

After the boat was secured we all piled back into the dinghy and headed for shore as we could hear Dariel banging on a gong to call the monkeys to dinner. As we approached the dock we could see that what looked to me like small bushes from a distance were actually small groups of monkeys huddled close to the ground, stuffing their faces with the food pellets that were being distributed by Dariel. There were hundreds of monkeys, some old and solitary, others younger and many were females carrying their babies. It was an incredible sight for someone who had only ever seen monkeys in pens and cages at various zoos. After about 30 minutes of almost frenzied feeding, the monkeys sated with their evening meal, dispersed and headed back towards the trees.

With only a few tails still visible in the scrub bush, Pat and I prepared to leave and as we walked back towards the dinghy, Felix came running up with a gift for us. To fill his time during his month of the island, he would gather small shells and glue bits together to form sculptures and collages that he would then take back to Isla to sell to the few tourists that came to the area. The pieces that he had were not very large, but each would have been sold for about $2 a very large sum relative to the $15 per month he was paid by the government for his month of monkey keeping. We were touched, and as we rode back to Threepenny Opera in silence, I reflected on the amazing generosity of the people we had met. They had very little to give, yet they were perfectly willing to go out of their way to share what little they had with total strangers. Those who look at Cuba from afar or from behind the gates of a 5 star resort will often comment on how poor the country is, but from this cruisers perspective they may not have a lot of money, but in other ways they are richer than many of us in developed nations have been for a very long time.

We will leave here in the morning to continue our journey down the archipelago before heading north east across open ocean to the city of Cienfuegos. From there we will re supply and start on the last quarter of our circumnavigation of Cuba.

Have a great week, I know I will.
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Cabo San Antonio to Isla de la Juventud - Hurry up and wait!

2012-05-01T12:16:00.000-04:00

Cuban Fuel Dock

Pan pan, Pan pan, Pan pan…. I thought I was hearing things at first so I continued to listen to my VHF when the call was repeated. Now, having heard it clearly, I waited for approximately 30 seconds to see if anybody responded. When it became apparent that nobody was answering, I called the vessel sending the Pan Pan and received an immediate response from a man who advised that he had just struck a reef and that he was taking on water. For somebody whose vessel was in danger of sinking the fellow was remarkably calm, certainly he was much calmer than me as I fumbled to find a pencil to copy down his position.

The Hinayana was a 15 meter aluminum hulled, French flagged sailing vessel with a family of 6 persons aboard. They had been sailing along just off the reef line after an overnight sail from Isla de la Juventud enroute to Havana when they struck something hard enough to puncture a hole in their hull. Once I plotted their position on my computer, I realized that although they were still out of sight from our present position in the Marina Los Morros at Cabo San Antonio, they were only about 3 miles away. Since the authorities were not answering his call I told him that I would leave the radio and go ashore to alert the local authorities in case a rescue effort needed to be mounted.

A frontal system was moving into the area and outside the wind was blowing a steady 25 knots with gusts into the mid 30’s and spray was breaking over the dock covering everything with a slippery layer of salt. I walked sideways with my back to the wind over to the security guard on duty and tried to explain to him that there was a vessel in distress and that the coast guard needed to be informed. I was greeted with a huge smile and a cheery “no problem” in English but it didn’t take very long to figure out that he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. Fortunately I knew that our dock mates were a French couple who spoke multiple languages so I banged on their coach roof and enlisted their help.

Lysiane who had been a UN NGO prior to her cruising life, and could glide effortlessly between a handful of languages, explained the situation to the security guy. As he began to comprehend what was happening his big “no problem” grin changed to an “I have no idea what to do” frown. His job normally is to sit on the dock and watch the boats so his total marine skill set revolved around being able to stay awake, endure the weather on the dock and not fall off his chair as he leaned it on the back legs. Anything outside of noting who came and went was outside of his job description. In Cuba when the limit of authority is reached, the rule is punt!

Security guy scampered off to get his superior who was the dock master. The dock master arrived a few minutes later and Lysiane repeated her explanation of the situation and the dock master’s expression changed from one of appropriate official concern to a deer in the headlights helplessness when she told him that the boat was in danger of sinking and they might have to mount a rescue. Rescue requires a boat and apparently the local authorities did not have one. Hinayana was on her own.

When I returned to the radio, the French skipper, although still calm was clearly getting very concerned about his predicament as he asked me what the shoreline was like if he had to beach his craft to prevent it from sinking. I provided my 2 cents worth about shoreline conditions based on the information I had on my electronic charts and added that he was very close so I gave him a heading and the coordinates to use to find his way to the marina entrance. I also told him that I had notified the authorities the best I could, but that there was very little that they could do. If they were truly in danger of sinking, I was ready to untie Threepenny Opera and go after them, so it was a huge sigh of relief when he told me that they were still taking on water but that they were managing to keep up with the flooding, so unless things changed they would be able to make it into the marina.

Relieved that I didn’t have to leave my cozy spot alongside to mount a one boat rescue mission, I went topside to inform the now growing crowd on the dock that the vessel was not going to sink, but was inbound to the marina. Los Morros Marina is actually a single stone jetty with about 50 yards of useable length. The north east side is totally exposed to the prevailing winds and waves and is useable only in flat clam conditions. In the current conditions it was awash with 2 meter waves and everybody standing on the dock was getting soaked.

The side we were on was relatively calm, but with our 42 footer and two other vessels already alongside, it was full. There were excited discussions in French, English and really fast Spanish on what could be done. Several options were shouted over the howling wind but quickly the decision was made to raft the in coming vessel to the marina’s charter catamaran. By now the distressed boat was coming around the point and was only about a mile away.

The wind had risen into the 30’s and was gusting over 40 knots so silent prayers were being said as the distressed boat approached the side of the catamaran. The mast was about 10 degrees off of vertical and it was difficult to tell if the angle was due to listing from the flooding, or heeling from the wind. On deck two teenaged girls scampered about rigging dock lines and cast them over to the many hands that were lining the outboard hull of the catamaran, and with the gentlest of taps the skipper brought the boat to a stop alongside as if it were an everyday event.

A woman stuck her head out of the companionway to see what was happening and then quickly disappeared below for a few seconds before returning to throw a bucket of water overboard. Once we realized that she was bailing, some of us jumped aboard and formed and impromptu bucket brigade. Others remained on the catamaran and with the help of the two teenagers secured the boat against the now steady 40 knot winds. In the meantime the skipper had jumped over the side with a mallet and with his t-shirt and a wooden plug sealed the hole from the outside. Within 20 minutes of entering Marina Los Morros, the emergency was over and everything was secure.

It turned out that Jean-Yves, his wife Laurence and their 4 children were heading back to France to end a 4 year circumnavigation. Some of the calmness during the emergency was explained by Jean-Yves’ training as both a fighter pilot in the French Air Force and as an airline pilot with many thousands of hours in heavy transports, but much of the favorable outcome was due to the seamanship of the entire crew and the closeness with which they coordinated their efforts. They had survived two roll overs and a dismasting in the southern ocean, so a relatively small 2 inch hole in the hull was a pretty simple challenge.

It was only afterwards that I realized that the only yelling came from the shore side. Within a few hours they had dried the boat, restored the salon to normal and were hosting an impromptu cocktail reception aboard, complete with freshly cooked plantain chips. It was during the reception that we learned from one of the Cubans that likely what they had hit was the engine block from an uncharted wreck. Certainly the damage to their hull, which was a near perfectly round 2”hole punched through 8mm aluminum, was consistent with striking a pipe or other metallic protrusion from a wreck. If anybody is interested you can put an X at 21°56.215'N 084°56.527'W, the charts show a shoal at those coordinates but with otherwise sufficient water to permit a 6 foot draft to pass safely.

And so began our week of sitting in Los Morros Marina waiting out the weather. Because the marina is at the extreme western end of Cuba and the prevailing winds are mostly easterlies, almost every boat that passes through Cuban waters heading west ends up here. If the winds are very high then everybody who is trying to remain in Cuban waters gets stuck as it becomes an almost impossible to travel towards the east.. During the 6 days we were stuck here, the anchorage as well as the docks were filled to capacity as vessels came in and found that they couldn’t leave. Ironically the beach on the leeward side of the cape was flat calm so Pat and I would walk the beach thinking that we could leave, only to return to the boat a find unacceptably high winds. For the first couple of days it was a novelty to go ashore after being chased away from land by the Guarda, but one can only take so many nature walks, or drink so many Mojitos in the marina bar.

The gray skies, high winds, spray on the docks took their toll on crew moral so when the weather broke there was a mass exodus into less than ideal conditions. Ordinarily Pat and I would have waited for a longer window, but it did not appear that there would be anything longer than 48 hours of acceptable conditions in the foreseeable future so on the morning of the 6^th day, we cast off our lines and headed around the Cabo San Antonio bound for Isla de la Juventud. The wind had dropped from the mid 20’s into the high teens and was forecast to drop even more as the day wore on. By 1:00PM the wind had dropped to below 10 knots and I started the engine for what was to become a 600 mile motor trip across the south coast of Cuba.

Have a great week, I know I will.

Addison

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Leavin’ Varadero – Assault on fortress Cuba.

2012-04-11T12:05:00.000-04:00

I’m not sure if it was the acrid smoke from the burning sugar cane fields or the scratching of the cleaner shrimp as they scoured my hull for their breakfast that woke me up. The awakening was both physical and psychological. Time to get out of Dodge I thought as I stumbled into the galley to make coffee and turn on the SSB for my morning dose of Chris Parker weather and the daily chat with my Ham radio buddies.

It has been pretty easy to get comfortable in Varadero. After-all the marina was fairly modern, and unlike most other marinas in Cuba the water was potable, delivered with decent pressure and the electric power was clean and stable and the docks were well maintained and solid. The cruising community was very friendly and like us many had been there for several months, and in some cases even several years, so the docks were beginning to feel a lot like home. Between the nightly gab sessions over cocktails at the picnic table and the readily available supplies of wholesome fresh food, it was easy to forget that our original plan was to circumnavigate Cuba. There was always mañana.

Sure we had been boat sitting for friends and we had also committed to other friends to tour the interior of Cuba but it was now the third week of March and Pat and I had been in Varadero since early January we returned from our Christmas trip to Toronto. Threepenny Opera had been there even longer as we had originally entered Cuba with the boat in December. We could easily find other excuses to stay, but the chewing noises of the cleaner shrimp reminded me that if we found those excuses, Threepenny Opera would begin to look like the barnacle encrusted permanent residents that had drifted in years earlier for just a single season.

Once the decision was made to leave, we began to prepare the boat for departure. Even though we hadn’t really gone anywhere by boat we found that much of the preparations that we made when we launched in November had to be repeated. The hull needed to be scrubbed, batteries needed attention, fuel was boarded, the engine got its once over and the larder needed to be filled. Of all the prep, the one item we obsessed over the most was the latter, as eating well is an absolute must aboard Threepenny Opera. Whenever possible we avoid cans, instant or prepared foods and with the cornucopia of fresh produce and meats in Varadero we had become spoiled.

Our provisioning strategy was to carry enough fresh food aboard to last about 2 weeks so that we would have a bit of a buffer between provisioning opportunities to ensure a constant supply. Fortunately Pat had honed her food handling skills to a fine edge and we could routinely keep fresh veggies and eggs for 2 weeks without trying hard. Little did we realize that we would test our provisioning plan and Pat’s skills to the limit as we started our journey west.

Our first stop was Marina Hemmingway outside of Havana, which was, like Varadero a reasonably modern facility with good docks and acceptable water and power. At first I was horrified to see the marina electrician wire a 30 amp receptacle to accept my shore power connection without shutting off the power, but once everything was connected, the power was a steady 120v and A/C and water heater ran without protest. When I mentioned to the dock master what the electrician had done, he assured me that the electrician was very good at his job. When I said that even the best can make mistakes with live wires, he smiled and told me that they had several electricians on staff. I’m not sure if his glibness was to tease the gringo or if he was serious? I’m hoping it was the former, but I suspect it’s the latter.

Havana is the nation’s capital. All of the rules and regulations that affect cruisers originate here, and here is where all of I’s are dotted and the T’s are crossed. Even though we were arriving from within Cuba, the procedures were every bit as thorough as our initial international arrival and in some respects even more so. For example we had to surrender all of our flares and all hand held electronics like the GPS and VHF. The latter were placed in a baggie that we supplied and sealed with tape from customs. The flares however were meticulously inventoried and removed from the boat for safe keeping, to be returned upon departure. The bright side is, I now have a detailed list of every star shell, parachute flare and smoke canister aboard, the downside was that it took the young guarda officer about 45 minutes to count and itemize everything…we have a lot of flares! I’m pretty sure that we had more officials on the boat arriving and departing from Havana than we did coming into Cuba in the first place.

Leaving Havana after very pleasant 4 day stay we had managed to maintain and even augment our stores, particularly in the luxury foods categories. We were able to find large bottles of Rum that were not available in Varadero, pretty decent Spanish potato chips, and be still my heart, we actually found fresh albeit slightly dubious in appearance, ground beef for sale. At $4.00 per pound it was perfectly affordable until we remembered that the average Cuban only earns about $15 per month. It’s no wonder that only foreigners eat beef.

Little did we know however that once we left Havana with the exception of a single package of very expensive soda crackers we would not be able to resupply until we reached Nueva Gerona on Isla de La Juventud ( Isle of Youth) almost 3 weeks later. For the next 250 miles until the marina at Cabo San Antonio, where the aforementioned crackers were acquired, we did not go ashore except for a brief walk on the beach of a deserted cayo. It was not from lack of trying but there was no way that the Cuban Guarda Frontera would allow us to go ashore.

We had heard rumours of the Cuban prohibition of shore visits, but we figured that surely with enough determination and guile that we would find a way to get to ashore. Our first attempt was in Puerto Esperanza a small fishing village about 40 miles west of Havana. We had tied up to the fishermen’s dock after a 2 mile dinghy ride in from our anchorage and were pretty smug in our belief that we had found the hole in the costal defenses. The moment I stepped out of the dinghy we were greeted by a young Guarda Officer who in his rumpled uniform shirt and flip flop shod feet looked more like a high school senior than a guardian of sovereignty. Accompanying him was the biggest obviously male German Shepherd, I have ever seen, and it did not look like a high school senior.

The Guarda officer shook his head to our request to go ashore for food and water, but he indicated that we should go to Santa Lucia, a port about 20 miles farther west. It only took one look at the shiny canine teeth of his companion and we left without further protest.

About 3 miles from the entrance to Santa Lucia Harbour, our VHF came to life with a Spanish voice asking us to identify ourselves and our intentions. Clearly we had been spotted approaching by the local Guarda watch tower. Feigning a lack of understanding, I replied very crisply but pleasantly that we were inbound to Santa Lucia for food and water. “No es possible” came the answer to which I continued to repeat in cheery English that we were inbound to Santa Lucia for food and water. After several repetitions of the cycle, the voice called another station and after a brief conversation in Spanish, the voice that had answered eventually called us to say in broken English that we could not stop in Santa Lucia.

In my head I thought, “in for a penny, in for a pound”, and despite the protests from Pat, I repeated my intention to come ashore at Santa Lucia for food and water. By now we were at the entrance to the channel leading into the harbour, and I interpreted the silence on the VHF as capitulation. I was wrong.

We dropped the hook at the edge of the turning basin under the watchful eye of a group of kids sitting under a tree at the shore. As they watched I loaded a couple of water jugs into the dinghy as well as our documents and knapsacks . I had said repeatedly while feigning complete ignorance of Spanish that were coming in for food and water, and in my mind having a couple of water jugs was absolute proof of our bona fides.

Approaching the shore, a young Guarda officer motioned for us to approach the sea wall with a clip board he held in his hand. When we reached him we could see he was not smiling as he stepped in front of the bollard to prevent me from tying up. I clung to the chest high seawall, as an old Russian army jeep pulled onto the dock and four soldier types wearing helmets and carrying large white billy clubs disembarked and assumed a parade rest stance about 20 feet away.

One look at the potential beating awaiting me, my confidence melted and I reverted to a babbling pid’gin Spanish to repeat my desire to come ashore for water and food. By this time I was stuttering and fumbling with my document pouch to pull out my cruising permit and my passport as if a few flimsy pieces of paper would prevent a whopping from occurring. The Guarda officer knew that his reinforcements had arrived so with a slight smile he reiterated that we could not come ashore, however he said that he could provide us with water from a pipe on the dock if we would pass him our jugs. I meekly handed them up and another young man in civilian clothing but wearing baseball cap bearing the Guarda crest began to unwrap what appeared to be a strip of old bed sheet that held a wooden plug tight to the end of a rusty iron pipe.

As the wrap came off, water started to leak from the end of the pipe and before the plug was fully removed the spray had thoroughly soaked the young man and splattered more than a little bit of water onto his superior. I started to feel guilty as the deception to go ashore was causing some poor SOB a lot of grief and even worse, I still was not allowed to go ashore. It took about 10 minutes to coax the water into our water jugs instead of spraying all over the dock and during those long 10 minutes the fellow with the clip board meticulously copied every detail from the front of our passports as I clung to the dock.

Despite being thoroughly soaked the young guy who had filled our jugs brought them over to the edge of the dock and gently from a kneeling position lowered them onto the floor of the dinghy. We offered money, which was refused; we offered some soft drinks that we had brought as an incentive which were also refused, and so ever mindful of the billy clubs 20 feet away, I pushed off and headed back to the boat. As I pulled away the two Guarda officers were spraying water everywhere as they struggled to put the wooden plug back into the pipe.

The north coast of Cuba is closed as far as cruisers are concerned. While foreign vessels are free to travel along it, stops which involve going ashore, with the exception of a handful of marinas along the 600 odd miles between Cabo Maisi in the east and Cabo San Antonio in the west, are not permitted. If one stops, one is expected to remain aboard, although launching the dinghy to explore seems to be acceptable so long as one does not come into contact with Cuban nationals. The exception appears to be near the tourist resorts of Cayo Coco and Cayo Levisa where depending on the whim of the local Guarda it may be OK to beach the dinghy for an expensive cervesa in a tourist bar. Outside of that however, any contact with Cuban nationals is strictly discouraged if not out right forbidden.

Thoroughly humbled by the Santa Lucia incident, and reinforced by Pat’s I told you so, I resigned myself to keeping to ourselves until we rounded Cabo San Antonio and moved onto the less bureaucratic and more laid back South Coast. We were going to try the south coast, and if it was as tough to get around as it was on the north coast our fall back position was to head to either The Caymans or Jamaica. We are optimistic however that we will have a better experience than we have had to date.

In any case have a great week, I know I will….despite the threat of billy clubs!

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Cubans eat too! – Some hints to provisioning in Cuba.

2012-03-07T12:54:00.000-05:00

Where is Mister Big Finger?? Like swimmers riding the surf, Pat and I strained our necks and urgently surveyed the swirling mass of faces before us as we were swept by a wave of humanity into the farmers market in the town of Santa Marta. A boom box was blasting out a distorted din of salsa music that despite its obvious lack of audio quality exuded an energy that seemed strangely appropriate as the soundtrack to the organized chaos of the weekly market. There were no scientifically designed, buying behavior enhancing Musak tracks here!

Our favorite butcher, Mr. Big Finger was nowhere to be seen.

Moving in the opposite direction was an equally impressive tide of shoppers who had already made their purchases for the day. An old woman, clutching a paper plate bearing a large chunk of cake and icing stopped in mid stream to lick icing off of her forearm as she was jostled in the crowd. Men pulled various wheeled contraptions ranging from milk crates tied to baby carriage wheels, to more orthodox bag carriers, all of which were laden with fruit and vegetables. Others, perhaps less well equipped but no less game, approached with elbows up and an assortment of plastic bags and straw baskets containing everything from fresh meat, bottles of raw un-pasteurized honey and trays of eggs, all hanging from their forearms.

Young and old, black, white or brown, able bodied or in scooters and wheel chairs the townspeople of Santa Marta, a suburb of Varadero, came out in force to partake in the weekly ritual of grocery shopping Cuban style. Many of the youngest were paraded about in their finest clothes by doting parents who used the occasion as both an opportunity to fill the larder and to socialize. And more than one person used a few shuffling Samba steps to approach and greet a friend with hugs and air kisses. In a country where organized religion is less prevalent and 6 day work weeks are common, the weekly Ferria as the market is known, is both a necessity and a celebration of the things ordinary Cubans find important. Family, food and friends.

Dressed in our boat clothes, wearing tired Tevas and sporting our obligatory cruisers back packs, Pat and I stood out as the obvious extranjeros (foreigners) that we were. Still we have been back in Cuba for over a month and our weekly forays to the market have given us a sense of how the chaos works. Unlike a sterile walk through the freezing cold aisles of a supermarket back home, shopping in Cuba is a participation sport that can be played either as an individual or as a team. For the crew of Threepenny Opera, Pat and I have discovered that the best tactic is to divide and conquer, she with the fruits and veggies and me with the meats.

Instead of relying on colourful packaging and labels to identify the contents of processed food products, the food here is real. There are no little Styrofoam trays with UPC labels identifying the type and size of cuts of meat, nor are there helpful tags with suggested serving directions around the stalks of strange fruits whose names have not yet found their way into our vocabulary. In Cuba you buy food with all of your senses and your instincts and not just your intellect. Each trip to the market is an expedition and an exploration of both the familiar and the new, and for Pat and me, is the highlight of our week. For those who find that trying a new flavour of store brand frozen pizza is a walk on the wild side, Cuba may prove to be a worthy challenge.

Despite the throngs however there is an order to the madness. A shopper is entitled to walk up to a vendor's stall and examine the merchandise in anyway they see fit. Examination can include handling the goods, prodding, poking, smelling and even requesting a taste if so desired. Often samples are offered by the merchants without being asked. Sometimes the offering is part of the sales process and other times it is just a neighbourly thing to do. Pat came home with a basket full of tomatoes a couple of weeks ago because the tomato sauce vendor wanted her to see the goodness of his raw materials. He asked for nothing in return and sent Pat on her way with a friendly wave. The tomatoes were delicious and since then his recycled 1.5 liter water bottles full of rich home made tomato sauce have been added to our list of ship’s staples. At a dollar apiece they are a bargain.

Once the decision to buy is made however, the shopper is required to inquire who is the ultimo, or the last in line and take their place at the end. “Quien es El Ultimo?” It doesn’t seem to matter how bad our Spanish is, the unspoken rule is that the crowd sorts itself out and you are accorded your proper place in line. Likewise you have to keep you ears tuned to the next shopper who inquires Ultimo? As you will have to raise you hand to show the newcomer where they must go.

What is not guaranteed however is that the merchandise you originally selected and motivated you to stand in line will still be available by the time you are served as the goods are sold on a first come first served basis. More than once I have lined up for a choice cut of pork, only to have the customer ahead of me scoop up the very piece that I was eying. In that case I can leave the line and move on, or I can take my time re-selecting another. Nobody complains if I take my time!

Hey Chino! Mr.Big Finger has picked me out of the crowd, and is furiously beckoning me to his stall which this week is in a different aisle than usual. He spotted me before I saw him likely because I have become a regular customer for his best cuts and also because a 6 foot Chinese guy, is a little obvious in the crowd. Being called “Chinaman” back home might have gotten my hackles up, but here it is the way it is done. There are no undertones of racism and the name only expedites identification, and I've learned to embrace it.

Pat coined the nick name Mr. Big Finger because he has hands like a bunch of sweet bananas. His short thick fingers can grab his macha [sic], a dangerously sharp cross between a meat cleaver and a machete and confidently whack rough yet deliciously familiar cuts of meat from the hog carcasses in his stall. Pork chops in Cuba, as they do everywhere start as part of a whole pig, the difference in Cuba is that the pig probably walked to the market under his own steam earlier that morning. The first time I went to the market I was alternately fascinated and horrified at the scene; fascinated because here was fresh food presented in all of its organic glory and horrified at the thought of actually having to eat the hairy, fly swarmed pieces of soft slightly warm flesh.

He pointed his macha at one of the carcasses that has been split so that the loin end was exposed. Some days the loin is too big, which means tough dinner plate sized chops, other days it is too fat which means a lot of trimming waste. Today the loin is perfect, a nice balance of meat on either side of the T-bone. Using a motion familiar with butchers everywhere, he hefted the carcass in his right hand and leaned forward to push the meat in my face, as if to assure me that the quality I saw at a distance was just a good inches from my nose. I gestured with my hands to indicate the size of the piece I wanted and with two whacks, I am presented with a jiggling chunk of meat that once back aboard Threepenny Opera, I will trim into tender and flavourful center cut pork chops.

It’s true you have to work a little harder here to buy food, but there is plenty of food available to buy. Cubans eat, and they eat well. For our efforts we are rewarded with the freshest most additive free food we have enjoyed in years. Ingredient listings are not needed here! To eat the same way back home, if it is even possible these days, would require an equal or greater amount of effort to seek out the boutique organic merchants. And the bill would be astronomical and out of reach on a continuous basis for all but the wealthiest and finickiest foodies. Our weekly grocery bill here has never exceeded the Cuban peso equivalent of $20 US and to-date our freezer full of frozen meat from Florida remains almost untouched.

I chuckle at the warnings in the cruising guides on Cuba that exhort cruisers to plan for a voyage to Mars, to expect a paucity of everything, and to anticipate stores filled with dusty and empty shelves. While there may be some remote corners of the island where this might be true, nothing could be farther from the truth in any of the ports we have been in. There is plenty of food, but what is lacking sometimes is selection. A couple of weeks back every produce vendor had Bok Choy for sale, we ate the stuff with almost every meal until it was coming out of our ears but we haven’t seen it since. I’m told that another crop is coming ready shortly so I expect to see the delectable stalks on our dinner plates very soon. The downside of eating truly garden fresh is that when its picked, its gone!

Some of the foods we’re used to however are hard to come by. Ice cream for example is available as an inexpensive treat everywhere, yet fresh milk has totally eluded us. Apparently it is rationed for the young and those with a “medical” need. Beef is even more elusive than milk. To date the only beef we have found available in retail outlets is in the form of 8 oz tubes of soy extended Chilean hamburger. While it is tasty enough for a chili, it would make a pretty gristly and gamey tasting hamburger. Beef is strictly controlled and despite the large herds of very healthy looking Angus and Brahma cows found in the interior, unless one is staying at an all inclusive tourist resort, “Where’s the beef?” might apply in Cuba.

Gaps in the supply chain however are often filled by a vibrant and pervasive black market. Dealing only in hard currency convertible pesos, unlike the national peso vendors in the Ferria, the underground vendors are able to provide everything from $15 Single Malt Scotch to Uruguayan or Canadian beef, to Italian Parmesan, and anything else a gourmet first class hotel might need to satisfy their foreign guests. A few weeks back, vacuum packed 3lb slabs of Nova Scotia smoked salmon were making the rounds at $10 apiece, and whole beef tenderloins were $18.

Participation in the black market is highly illegal and will result in jail time for the vendors if they are caught. Foreigners might have their purchases confiscated and in extreme cases there is the possibility of a substantial fine, so the risk and reward equation must be evaluated by every participant. If the answer is to proceed however, a few discrete inquiries within the cruising community, or to the barristas and bar tenders in local establishments will usually result in a clandestine tap on the shoulder from an interested vendor. Getting to know “some guys” is a personal decision, but if however you figured out how to buy pot in high school, you’ll be fine down here!

At the end of the day, wherever you acquire your groceries; you will not starve in Cuba. Pat and I always have some reserve supplies, but almost anything we would normally buy in Florida or Canada can be found here, although the brands might be different. One could theoretically show up here with empty lockers and be able to completely re-supply for a very reasonable sum. As I put the finishing touches on the blog, it is Sunday morning, and as soon as I close the lid on the PC Pat and I will be off on our weekly foraging trip. We have a rough idea of what we are looking for, but the end result may be very different from our original intentions. All we know is that we will eat well this week and if you are what you eat then we must be in pretty good shape too.

The weather is warming up and the cold fronts are getting weaker and farther apart, so for the next few weeks, Pat and I will be doing a little bit of land touring to the interior of Cuba. Places like Santa Clara, Ciego D’Avila, Spiritus Sancti and Pinar Del Rio are on the itinerary. Whether we cover them all this trip, or save some for the next remains to be seen, but whatever happens we know it will be a grand adventure. When we get back sometime towards the middle or end of March, we’ll cast off and head west for our circumnavigation of Cuba. There will likely me more cruising stories to tell and new cruising friends to meet so stay tuned for more news as it develops.

Have a great week, I know I will

Addison

P.S. The internet, the utility that we have all come to take for granted is still in its infancy in Cuba. We are paying $8.00 per hour for bandwidth approaching that of dial up and we have to use the internet terminals supplied by ETECSA the Cuban telephone company. So far this post alone has cost me about $16. I’ll post more when we hit greener and less expensive internet pastures but in the mean time enjoy what I’ve managed to get up. If you are planning a trip to Cuba and want some tips on provisioning, feel free to send us an e-mail.

Year Four – Tread softly and enjoy the voyage

2011-12-22T22:15:00.001-05:00

Threepenny Opera is tugging gently on her lines as the wake from a passing fishing boat reaches into her slip at Marina Darsena in Varadero Cuba. It is early December and it has been 3 weeks since we left Vero Beach and the land based life of rental cars, air conditioning and shoes. Pat and I are loath to dwell on it, lest we jinx the good vibes that we feel, but the both of us has silently noted first to ourselves and then more vocally to each other that we seem to be unusually prepared and organized as we set off on what will be our fourth year of cruising.

Our lazarettes actually seem to have space in them, unlike the jack in the box stuffed entities that we have lived with in the past. Everything has a place and so long as we remember where that place is, we can actually open hatches and locker lids without having flying objects landing on or pinching, crushing, stabbing etc. various unsuspecting body parts. Even though Double jointed maneuvers worthy of Harry Houdini and chess grand master like forward planning of our stores consumption 2-3 months ahead are still required in order to make best use of our finite space aboard, the phenomenon of crawling over the corn flakes to retrieve the Allen wrenches seems to be much less common these days.

Pat has been cooking even more gourmet meals than she has in the past. We have always eaten well onboard but the major milestone this year has been her forays into the baking realm. Now we can have an endless supply of wonderful multi-grain loaves so long as our flour and energy supplies hold out. While we might miss being caromed around in the subway rush hour like crowds that crush the counter at the local bakery when the racks of bread come from their ovens, we know that this year the experience will be by choice and not necessity.

Even the sailing itself has gotten better and seems much less frantic these days. While respect for the weather is still and will always be paramount, our minimum weather limits are broader and our ability to react to changing conditions has improved significantly. For example we broke our main sail furling line on our trip from Lake Worth to Fort Lauderdale a couple of weeks back. Instead of triggering a panic attack at the thought of an uncontrollable flapping piece Dacron, Pat and I tied off the clew as best we could, found an acceptable anchorage and made the requisite repairs. I shudder to think how we might have handled the same situation in the past, but this time, it was a non-event.

Our trip across from Marathon to Varadero saw us leaving Boot Key Harbour with a forecast of moderate winds and 3-4 foot seas north of the gulf stream with a freshening breeze and 3-5 foot seas on arrival the next morning. Our planned route was about 30 miles longer than the 92 mile rhumb line course so that we could keep the ride as smooth as possible by transiting the gulf stream perpendicular to the current. Our strategy worked as the gentle seas allowed Pat to go below and whip up one of our favorite cruising meals of Italian Sausage and Penne before sunset. The trip itself was pretty benign as a nearly full moon lit our way across the Straits of Florida towards our destination.

Things were progressing so well that by 3:00AM we were starting to slow the boat down so that we would not arrive at the harbour entrance before day break. As luck would have it the freshening breeze that was forecast arrived on schedule but with a little more intensity than expected. Once the moon disappeared behind the clouds of the approaching cold front, we found ourselves down to a postage stamp main and no head sail as we ran downwind in 25 knots of wind. Somehow Pat still managed to make coffee, although drinking it without spilling scalding hot liquid all over our chins was more difficult. By the time we arrived at the harbour entrance the seas were somewhat higher than forecast and the 4 meter high channel markers were disappearing under the breaking waves.

Conditions were not forecast to improve and there was no real alternate so our challenge was to time the breaking waves so that we could transit the outer markers and enter the relatively calm waters between the breakwaters before getting pooped or broached by a following wave. The rhythm was 2-3 8 foot waves, followed by 5-6 smaller 4-5 foot waves, so I maneuvered in idle as close as possible to the outer markers with the seas on the beam until we were rolled by the big waves. As Threepenny Opera regained her footing, I swung the wheel sharply, hit the throttle and put the bow between the markers. We were almost between the breakwaters when the next set of large waves hit our stern and pushed us around to a heading of 70 degrees off the centerline of the channel. I was cranking the wheel from stop to stop trying to maintain our position in the channel and given the amount of control I had, the experience was more like white water rafting than sailing, but in 30 more seconds we were through the entrance and into the calm water of the canal.

And so begins our fourth year on the water. It seems like yesterday that we waved farewell to our friends, family and regular pay cheques. One of our challenges this year will be to remain humble about our abilities and respectful of the sea as we continue our adventures. As the saying goes there are old sailors and there are bold sailors, but there are no old bold sailors.

I am writing this post from my sister's kitchen in Toronto. We are home for the holidays but in the New Year we are flying back to rejoin Threepenny Opera in Varadero Cuba. Our cruising plans are pretty open at the moment but generally we will attempt to circumnavigate Cuba and move towards the Exumas and Abacos as the weather warms up. Apparently there are man sized lobsters on the south coast of Cuba, so my spears are sharpened in anticipation. All in all we hope it will be an interesting year and hopefully we will find enough internet out in the boonies to share our experiences with you.

Have a great holiday season with your friends and families and of course have a good week. I know I will.

Addison

P.S. The pictures that accompany this post are of our summer road trip. We started in Vero Beach and drove to Toronto and Montreal via Atlanta, Lexington KY and Cleveland. On our way back we stopped in Dayton, Memphis, Mississippi, New Orleans, Pensacola and the Forgotten Coast of Florida. It was 6500 miles of land touring that while lots of fun, really gave us an appreciation of how fortunate we are to be visiting new places from the comfort of our own boat. Hotels, no matter how nice and restaurants of the highest caliber are no substitute for home sweet home. The pictures are largely captioned so I hope you enjoy them.

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Cuba to The Abacos - Two different worlds only a few miles apart!

2011-08-09T11:30:00.001-04:00

Huevos, huevos, uh huevos? Pat and I ran around the stalls at the Sunday market in Santa Marta like demented chickens whispering the Spanish word for eggs in hushed conspiratorial tones. We were greeted by the merchants with reactions ranging from shoulder shrugging indifference to amused curiosity to total confusion. After all why would a fruit seller have eggs? But we asked anyway because in Cuba one finds that goods are not always sold by the expected merchants. In other provisioning forays we found very good quality Chinese soy sauce at the service station, cheese at the bakery and eventually eggs at the local snack bar.

We were unsuccessful in our quest for eggs that morning, as the last tray was being sold by the time we had figured out where they were being sold that day. Obviously eggs were in scarce supply, not necessarily because they were not being produced, but because the egg sellers had chosen to go elsewhere that morning. On the other hand foods such as pineapples, mangos and beets were plentiful and cheap. The concept of the 100 mile diet is gaining some traction in North America and elsewhere as a way of healthy eating; with limited storage facilities and less than ideal distribution systems in Cuba the 100 mile diet is probably more like the 20 mile diet. Eating local is not a fad, it is a way of life and the Cubans have learned to make do with what is at hand that day.

For Pat and me learning to shop for food in Cuba was sort of like learning to sail our boat in the early days. We knew basically what needed to be done, and we knew technically how to do it, but the execution left a lot to be desired. We are amazed however at how much meaningful communication can take place with a vocabulary that is limited to a handful of words, most of which were nouns or verb infinitives. It probably speaks volumes for the Cubans and their desire to accommodate, than it did for our critically inadequate language skills, but in the end we were able to re-fill our fridge and freezer with all sorts of goodies as we prepared for our exit from Cuba.

Pat found herself being led into a secret warehouse where she was offered 10lb bags of black market potatoes for $1, when other cruisers were shut out of the highly sought after tuber. Potatoes are a rarity because the local production is reserved for the resort hotels that cater to the “all inclusive” crowd. Perhaps it was her smile, her natural charm or perhaps it was the confidently uttered “pappas” that ruled the day, but she proved that where there is a will there is a way to get the job done! We even found our coveted eggs a few days later at, of all places an egg stall where they were being sold for $1.80 per 30 egg tray.

In Cuba there are two parallel economies. One is the convertible peso or hard currency economy, and the other is the Cuban peso or monada nacional economy. As foreigners we are almost always charged for goods and services in hard currency and usually we are expected to shop at hard currency establishments, the one exception being the procurement of food. While there are ample opportunities to buy imported food stuffs in hard currency, there is no prohibition for a foreigner to shop in local markets and pay for their purchases in national pesos. Indeed it is important to ask specifically in what currency items are priced, as a few unscrupulous merchants will try and trick a foreigner into paying 1 CUC (convertible peso) when the actual price is only 1 MN (monada national peso) 25MN = 1CUC

Most agricultural food items in Cuba are priced in Cuban Pesos with a few notable exceptions such as cooking oil, coffee and butter. Items that are priced in national pesos are by Canadian standards amazingly cheap. We were able to score bargains such as 5 pounds of onions for $1.00 and a gallon container of organic cherry tomatoes for $.30. We weren’t able to determine if the prices actually reflected the cost of production, but I doubt that even a socialist would sell goods at a loss.

We were able to fill our larder with the essential meats, eggs, fresh veggies and bread for 2 weeks of cruising for less than $20. On the other hand we also bought some beer, rum, soft drinks, potato chips and coffee at a hard currency shop and managed to spend an additional $90 for the frills. In short if you are prepared to go Cuban, you can eat very inexpensively, but the moment you try to be “first world”, the dollar signs start to spin pretty quickly, although not as quickly as they might back home. For example top quality coffee is $ 7 per pound, Rum is between $3 and $8 per quart and honey is $3 for 500 gms.

The month flew by as our departure date, timed to coincide with the full moon approached. Our objective on this trip was to scout out the country and to see if it was worthy of further exploration. And the answer is a resounding yes. Plans are already hatching to spend an even longer period of time in Cuba next season with the objective of refining our language skills and discovering other parts of the country.

Our route back to the Bahamas will be a non traditional one, as our plan is to depart Varadero in the morning and make a land fall on the Cay Sal bank the same evening. While the 65 mile trip will technically put us back in the Bahamas, the Cay Sal Bank is a patch of shallow water fringed by small cays near the very center of the triangle formed by Cuba, Florida and Andros Island. It is definitely the path less taken, but Pat and I are beginning to stretch our explorer reflexes and we are anxious to apply our newly found multi-day voyage skills. The pics that accompany this posting are a visual treat for an area that very few people see.

Enjoy and have a great week. I know that I will

Addison

Addendum: We arrived back in the Bahamas after a 36 hour cruise up the Gulf Stream from the Cay Sal Banks. The winds were coming from ENE instead of the forecast E, so we ended up pinching as high as possible along the Florida coast for most of the night. It is truly a growth experience to sail past the mouth of Miami Harbour at 4:00AM surrounded by multiple inbound cruise ships, and dodging departing tankers and container ships. Our Class B AIS system earned its keep that night as we were both able to hail, and be hailed by ships to sort out the various collision avoidance maneuvers. I would definitely not leave home without it!

Once we were back in the Abacos, we were in familiar territory and the heightened senses of passage making, rapidly dulled to the laconic pace of the live aboard warm climate cruiser. The days ran together, and the anchorages, although each different, blended into a composite of sun, sea and fishing. The notable events of the summer were as always about the people. We reunited with our long time cruising friends Bob and Mary Ann from Queen Angel, and we met and spent some quality time with the crews of Eagle, Aroha and Kennel Up.

A broken tooth forced us to cut our stay in the Abaco short. Even though the nurse in Grand Cay provided me with pain killers and anti-biotics which controlled the symptoms, the thought of more eye watering pain was enough motivation to force a reluctant retreat. Despite the pain however, I managed to keep diving and practicing my new found swimming skills. It was a personal milestone this year, that I can actually jump into the water with a a snorkel and spear and go hunting fish. The water wings and supplementary flotation devices of the past, are now gone! The training wheels are off and next season will be even better.

I am writing the addendum from our kitchen in Vero Beach. The stock market has crashed yet again, London is burning and the world appears to be going collectively mad. Even though I won’t buy a newspaper, and we don’t watch the news, the hew and cry is loud enough to penetrate our sensory defenses. I am longing for the solitude and the truly “ignorance is bliss” life aboard.

We have been back in the USA for about 2 weeks and it is a little odd to be wandering around 3 floors and driving everywhere, but when in Rome….. Threepenny Opera will be hauled out at the end of August for a bottom painting and since it is hurricane season in Florida, we may well leave her on the hard until November. In the meantime, we will be looking for land projects and activities to keep us busy…..maybe a road trip….hmmmmmm?

Have a great week, I know I will.

Addison

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Double click on the picture for the captions, run the slideshow to view the pics full screen. if you do not see any pictures below, make sure you have Adobe flash player installed. To install flash copy this link into your browser http://www.adobe.com/products/flashplayer/

La Vita to Varadero - Downhill sailing at its very best!

2011-05-09T12:54:00.001-04:00

I could feel the sides of my reel getting almost too hot to touch as I struggled to slow the furious peeling of the braided line off of my heavy duty salt water fishing gear. About 75 yards off the transom of Threepenny Opera was a man sized mahi mahi, or dorado as they are known in Cuba. It was the biggest fish I had ever seen that was not mounted on a wall over a bar.

Normally when one hooks a fish there is some give and take in the amount of line played out as the fish begins to tire with the fisherman gaining a few yards by cranking hard as the fish regains its breath. In this case however there was only take, as the very angry fish on the other end of my line conducted an aerial dance of cirque de soleil proportions. The best I could mange was to momentarily stop the screaming outflow of line by pinching the line between my gloved hand and the rubber of the fishing rods grip. I was alternately fascinated and horrified as I watched the show before me, all the while wondering if I was going to lose my grip on the rod and have the whole works disappear into the sea.

As suddenly as the fight began, it stopped. The giant fish gave one more flip of its tail and disappeared beneath the rolling waves. My hands were trembling as I began to breath again alternately feeling relieved and disappointed at my loss. The warm light of the setting sun highlighted the column of the Cayo Confites light house about a mile astern of Threepenny Opera as I slowly reeled in my line to see if the giant had left me any of my lure and leader. Our one sided fight had only lasted 20 minutes but echoes from Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea resonated in my head as my surprisingly intact tackle came back over the side.

Pat and I had left the mouth of Bahia Neuvitas earlier that morning, with the intention of making a 250 nm nonstop run to Varadero. Originally we had planned to day hop along the Cayos of Northern Cuba, but the tedium of checking in and checking out at every stop gave us the impetus to stretch our sea legs and make the downwind run without any further interim stops. The clearing process was not complicated, and the authorities attempted to accommodate our schedules as best they could, but it required us to be much more organized than we preferred. Perhaps our next trip we will make the coastal cruise our objective, and spend more time exploring the cays.

The Cuban military maintain a very watchful eye on the sea traffic along the north shore so while stopping is permitted, one needs to inform the Garda Frontera very specifically about ones intentions. There was no doubt in my mind that they would know we had deviated from our intentions because on several occasions we had been contacted via VHF the moment we deviated from our course. It seems that they were monitoring our AIS transponder so we made it easy to track our movements, although off the coast of Cayo Coco in the middle of the night we were hailed by Maritime Traffic Control as the vessel at a specific set of coordinates.

It was comforting to know that our progress was being monitored although the unidentified radar blips patrolling parallel and just outside the 12 mile limit, were a little eerie. For Pat and me this trip was our longest sail to date. Previously our longest trip was the 30 hour motor sailing run across the Gulf of Maine on our journey south, so the approximately 60 hour journey to Varadero represented a pretty significant increase in trip length. As an initiation to blue water passage making the sail down the coast was perfect. We experienced winds up into the mid 20’s and seas of 6 feet, but Threepenny Opera rose to the challenge and gave us an exhilarating ride of over 9 knots as we surfed down the face of some waves. Apart from some minor course changes to accommodate oncoming traffic and a flotilla of oil seeking hydrologic survey vessels, the trip was uneventful.

The arrival in Varadero seemed that it would never come because we sighted the tip of the Hicacos Peninsula, which forms the west side of Cardenas Bay just after daybreak on our third day out. Likely we were still 15 miles out as our land fall was more precisely the sighting of the upper floors of one of the larger hotels in the area and the entrance to the marina was another 13 miles beyond the tip of the peninsula. It was closer to 2:30 in the afternoon before we finally slipped in between the breakwaters of the channel leading up to the Marina Darsena which was to be our home base for the next 2 weeks or so. After a very perfunctory visit from the local Garda Frontera and Customs officers to stamp our cruising permit, we moved into a slip and went on to the docks to join our fellow cruisers for what was to become the nightly ritual of sun downers and conversation. We have been in Cuba for almost 2 weeks at this point and the vibes are great. We can’t wait to explore this part of Cuba and compare it to our travels in the eastern portion of the country.

There are tons of pics that have no captions, particularly those of the caves near Matanzas. I apologies for not being able to remember all of the details of the scenes, but Cuba is visually so exciting that I was on over load most of the time!

Have a great week. I know that I will.

Addison

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On to Cuba - The forbidden fruit

2011-04-30T11:42:00.002-04:00

The digital time display on my chart plotter showed 2:58AM as I walked forward by the light of the waning gibbous moon to pull the hook from our Raccoon Cay anchorage. The wind was a steady 17 knots out of the north east so Pat really had to goose some power to drive Threepenny Opera up on her chain. Although it was the first time we had pulled the anchor in the dark, it was really a non-starter as the moon was bright enough to cast shadows. Nevertheless I took a deep breath as Pat headed our bow towards open water because the winds were slightly higher than forecast and we were venturing out on unfamiliar waters heading for an unfamiliar country. The date was April 20 and it was our 32nd wedding anniversary!

Our plan was to have the hook off the bottom by 3:00AM so that we could make the 79nm hop across the Old Bahama Channel and arrive in Puerto La Vita Cuba during daylight. By 5:30 the sky was starting to brighten and the winds were steady at 17 knots as we approached the southern edge of the Great Bahamas Bank. In the next 30-45 minutes we would pass from the relatively sheltered waters of the banks into the deep ocean, where the depths would plunge to over 6000 feet. Practically we were floating on the surface, but psychologically the thought of being more than a mile off the bottom out of sight of any land was a little intimidating.

Although Threepenny Opera felt surefooted and stable in the quartering winds, there was a fair amount of green water splashing across our decks as periodic waves slapped on our sides. In the increasing daylight we could see that the waves were about 6 feet high but the sea appeared to be running from multiple directions resulting in triangular shaped waves, a few of which crested over our decks. Fortunately we were able to keep warm and dry under the protection of the dodger as we wedged ourselves against the coamings to prevent our coffee from spilling too much. Cuba which had seemed just a word until now, was about to become a reality.

Our point of no return was 10:30AM and as the hour approached the boat was locked onto the rhumb line to La Vita like a freight train on rails. The seas had become less confused as we moved away from the turbulence caused by the deep ocean meeting the shallow banks and the knot meter was holding steadily above 7 knots. There were still waves splashing the decks, but overall the ride was bearable, however Pat who normally has an iron stomach started to feel the effects of the sloshing, likely falling victim to a short night and an empty stomach.

Most of the morning was spent hanging on as the boat pretty much sailed herself and by early afternoon the faint smudge of Cuba appeared on the horizon. At first it looked like a series of islands, but as we drew closer it became apparent that what we had seen initially were the tops of some fairly substantial hills. Shortly after 2:00PM we entered Cuban waters and made our first radio call to the Cuban Guarda Frontera to announce our arrival.

Our guide book had suggested we contact Guarda Frontera, or failing that the harbour master or El Capitania. As I tried to wrap my tongue around the foreign syllables it was hard to not giggle. Although I knew that the business of contacting the border authorities in a communist state was not a trivial matter, the image of a couple of cigar smoking guys in military uniforms huddled around a radio trying to decipher the babble of an obviously confused gringo was too much to take! Fortunately our calls were met with silence, so either the guys with the cigars didn’t hear me, or they too were rolling on the floor laughing.

After several attempts at calling we were eventually rewarded with a response from a heavily accented voice that identified itself in English as Marina Vita, followed by a series of phrases in lightening fast Spanish. Pat and I looked at each other and shrugged. Having no idea of what was being asked of us; I announced our boat name, our destination and the fact that we were Canadians. We must have been close to the mark in our responses because the next question was “How many people in boat” I answered that we were only two on board but I was met with silence. In the absence of any further communications or instructions, we continued our drive towards the coast.

The channel leading into the harbour at Puerto La Vita is well buoyed and impossible to miss, as it is marked by a 130 foot high light house. As we entered the channel a different English voice came over the VHF instructing us to turn right at the bifurcation buoy and follow the channel past the last red marker to drop my anchor in the open area away from the channel. When I radioed back for clarification I received the same instructions verbatim, after moment it dawned on me that I was being presented with a written script.

As my anchor went down I had my fingers crossed hoping I had interpreted the directions correctly. After a couple of minutes a small runabout with two men aboard approached our swim platform. The passenger asked for permission to come aboard in perfect English. He introduced himself as the doctor for the port and informed us that it was his duty to inspect our vessel and its crew for health and sanitary condition so that we could land on Cuban soil. Pat and I were asked a series of perfunctory questions regarding our general health and when he was satisfied that we were not carriers of tuberculosis or cholera he asked to inspect our refrigerator and freezer. After a quick sniff of our refrigerated stores, he went back to our salon table and filled out a rather impressive looking form granting us a certificate to release us from quarantine. We were welcomed to Cuba with a handshake and as he got back into his boat he told us to take our “Q” flag down and head into the marina.

While we were going through our quarantine inspection the wind had piped up into the mid 20’s with gusts approaching 30 knots so needless to say I approached the marina with more than a little trepidation. To make matters worse I could tell from a distance that I was expected to turn the boat and back into a stern tie Mediterranean mooring. As I entered the marina channel, I almost turned around fearing that attempting a stern tie in gusty winds would over tax my boat handling skills, when suddenly the wind dropped to below 10 knots. Apparently the marina was set into a cove that was sheltered from the wind by a high embankment, and although the wind was still howling as it did every afternoon at that time, the area by the docks was in the lee of the embankment and almost dead calm. I am still patting myself on the back as I slid Threepenny Opera between the mooring buoys and secured the lines as if it were an everyday occurrence, even though it was my very first time.

Within minutes of shutting down the engine a team of uniformed officials trooped down the dock towards our boat. The unofficial leader of the group was the Guarda Frontera officer who spoke the best English and on behalf of the other officials asked for permission to board our boat. As they climbed down from the seawall to board Threepenny Opera, each official took the time to remove their shoes and boots in a comic gymnastic dance and shook hands with Pat and me before going below and seating themselves around our salon table. To Pat and me, it felt more like we were inviting guests into our home than submitting to a border inspection.

In the vein of entertaining company Pat offered cold drinks which were gratefully accepted and for the next 30 minutes or so I provided answers to questions on the forms proffered by each government department. Unlike other countries however, the officials filled the forms out on our behalf and presented them to us for signature at the end of the interview. I signed documents for immigration, customs, veterinary inspection, pest control and a cruising license. The entire process was conducted with the utmost in professionalism and courtesy. Once the forms were completed each official gathered up his work and welcomed us to Cuba with another handshake, and reversed the dance of putting on shoes and climbing back up the seawall onto the dock. In all the formalities took about 1 hour, but it was a completely painless procedure that left a very positive impression of the country. Perhaps the US Homeland Security dept could take note, but that might be too much to dream for!

We are safe and we are legal! Next we need to go into town to get some Cuban money, so we can pay our various fees totaling $100 to the different departments, but that will take place manana….now it’s time for a cold beer! We have arrived!

Have a great week, I know I will!

Addison

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The Jumentos - Fishing and Flashing...green flashing that is!

2011-04-19T18:03:00.000-04:00

I felt my sphincters constricting as I silently repeated the mantra of I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…..unlike the Little Red Engine that could however, Pat and I were on the verge of becoming the Catalina Sailboat that couldn’t. Up to this point everything was going perfectly, we had timed our departure from Georgetown to coincide with the tides, the weather was benign and apart from a finicky chart plotter everything on the boat was working. Now exactly 3 hours after leaving the safety of Georgetown Harbour, I found myself staring down the twisting swirling, almost dry maw of Hog Cay Cut.

Hog Cay is a non descript chunk of rock that marks the southern extremity of Little Exuma Island. The cut which bears its name is the gateway to the west side of Little Exuma and must be traversed by any vessel wishing to explore the wilds of the curving chain of Cays known as the Jumentos and Raggeds. It is a narrow 100 foot wide S shaped pass that hosts a roaring current at all times except for a few minutes at slack water. At the western end of the pass is a coral bar that carries just enough water for our 5 foot keel to pass over it if we didn’t find the odd rock or two that were sticking up. Once over the bar, there is another 3 miles or so of absolutely featureless and uncharted shallow water. The alternative to going through the cut was to take an extra day going to Long Island and then back tracking through a less threatening pass known as the Comer Channel.

Since friends whom we respect as sailors and navigators had traversed the cut recently and provided us with a series of GPS waypoints which we could use to navigate the bends, we decided to time the tides and make the attempt to get through. Of course the GPS chartplotter which had been acting up, but still functioning following a software upgrade, decided to quit working the moment we crossed the threshold into the cut. Suddenly instead of following GPS way points we were now committed to eyeball navigation with Pat standing on the bow pulpit as the lookout scanning for toothy rocks. The depth sounder numbers decreased steadily and rapidly until it showed a mere 2 feet under the bottom of the keel as we came out of the last turn and approached the coral bar. Pat was calling back steering instructions as the depth sounder dropped under 1 foot of clearance. As I held my breath, I kept telling myself that many others had made the passage without mishap, otherwise the banks of the channel would be littered with the hulks of broken boats.

Reason however has little place when your home is suddenly less than the height of a beer can off of a rocky ledge and the current is sweeping you along at several knots despite the engine being in idle. And then we were over the bar. The bottom turned back to sand, but the depth sounder stopped changing at about .9 feet and now there were only miles of smooth white sand in front of us. At least if you hit sand, you won’t break anything so I breathed a little more slowly. Fortunately I had noted a heading to steer during the planning stages of our trip and now I reverted to blind faith and pilotage as I followed a dead reckoning course towards deeper water. After what seemed like an eternity the depths slowly rose and we found ourselves on the banks heading towards our first landfall in the Jumentos.

Unlike the Abacos and the Exumas, the Jumentos are unpopulated with the exception of the small fishing community of Duncan Town at its southern extremity about 100 miles from our current position. Annually not many more than 100 cruising boats pass through the Cays in search of the clearest water in the Bahamas and the absolute solitude afforded by very few other locations on the planet.

For Pat and me the trip into the Jumentos was a logical stretching of our skills. The Florida Keys was the beginner class, the Abacos were the intermediate and the Exumas were the advanced class. By traversing the cut we were off the grid literally and figuratively as we were going to be completely untethered from any land based support for the duration. In fact the only outside contact we had during our time in the Jumentos was via SSB and HF radio back to Canada each morning.

Since few make the trip, the islands are completely deserted and the beaches are largely untouched. Most importantly however the water is crystal clear and the fish and conch are teeming in the waters. On Flamingo Cay, which is our favorite spot to-date, it was possible for Pat to pick conch in knee deep water and for me to hunt fish by walking off of the beach with my spear. We have also discovered the delicacy that our fish books call Queen Trigger fish but the Bahamians call Turbot, a fish that is as tasty as it is pretty.

As our supplies started to run down, we were slowly making our way towards Duncan Town where we had hoped to replenish our onions and eggs. The plan was to pick up a few supplies and return to the solitude of the islands for another several weeks, but serendipity marks the life of the cruising sailor. One evening I was dialing a frequency on my SSB to call a friend who was heading north. Instead of making my intended contact, another familiar voice popped on line and inquired what our plans were for the summer.

I explained that our cruising license for the boat and our tourist Visas for the Bahamas would need to be renewed by early in May, so our intention was to stay in the Jumentos until then and then either head back to the US for a day, or cross over to the Turks and Caicos and then return to the Bahamas to restart the clock on our documents. The voice on the other end of the radio said “why don’t you consider Cuba, it’s actually closer than any of the alternatives and you’ll be amazed by the warmth and hospitality if the people. And yes you can replenish your eggs and onions for a fraction of what you would pay in the Bahamas.

The light bulb in my head illuminated with loud click as my brain began to evaluate the logistics of making the 75 mile hop across to Cuba. In the end I’m not sure if it was my stomach or my sense of adventure that clinched the deal, but suddenly we found ourselves securing the boat and staging for an over night trip across to Cuba. The surprising thing was that the decision was made, the plans were finalized and the departure date was set in a matter of a few hours. It seems that the confidence Pat and I have gained from living off the grid in the Jumentos has kicked our cruising reflexes into high gear. I guess we have made the grade so Cuba here we come!!

Have a great week, I know I will!

Addison

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Georgetown - Summer Camp in Winter

2011-03-31T14:30:00.000-04:00

I knew we were in for a different kind of an experience when one morning The of Riders of the Storm by the Doors started coming out of my VHF speaker. As the music faded, it was replaced by a smooth FM easy rock type of DJ voice exclaiming “Gooood Morning Georgetown” in a cadence and volume that would do Robin Williams proud. And so began the morning VHF cruisers net, which was the electronic village square for the 300+ boats anchored in Elizabeth Harbour. All the gossip and all the news packaged up in a consistent format to help cruising veterans and newbies alike to plan their day.

Pat and I were beginning our third year of full time cruising and this year we chose Georgetown as our venue. In the previous two years we had spent most of the winter in Marathon down in the Florida Keys, so this year we decided to go a little farther afield to “see what it was all about”. Our plan was a simple one, deliver the boat to Georgetown, fly home for Christmas and then rejoin the boat in February after we had finished with our condo reno’s in Vero Beach. With the exception of a missed flight due to a closure of I95 between Vero Beach and FLL, the plan went off without a hitch and we found ourselves back aboard Threepenny Opera on February 8, 2011.

During our two previous winter seasons in Marathon we met several cruisers who had braved the transit of the Gulf Stream during the cold front season. We were regaled with tales of organized volley ball tournaments, dinghy races, food shortages in the local supermarket, long line ups for fresh water and of course good weather and crystal clear water. What became apparent was that everybody had an opinion about Georgetown, some were very positive and others were of the dead rotten fish variety, but nobody was indifferent. Of course Pat and I had to see for ourselves.

What became apparent after arriving in Georgetown at the height of the season was that many people had been coming to the same harbour for years. We heard people announcing their arrivals for their 10th, 20th and even 30th seasons of boating in Georgetown. It was a little intimidating at first to be surrounded by folks that had been cruising when we were just finishing school. In fact it felt a little like my freshman year in university when I arrived on campus unsure of what to expect and getting swept up by the waves of upper classmen hell bent on making their presence known through bluster and bravado.

In Georgetown however the the upper classmen were the committees and chair persons who volunteered to ensure that activities were well organized. Unlike school however, the bravado and bluster was replaced by mature enthusiasm so that nobody was left behind. The volunteers went out of their way to welcome the newbies and made a point of trying to include everyone that wanted to participate. The rumours we had heard about cliques and closed societies were greatly exaggerated and anybody that stayed out did so largely by choice. In fact the real challenge was to pace yourself so that you don’t get so over extended that a Black Berry is needed to run your schedule.

After spending two years in Marathon, where the biggest activity of the day was either going to Home Depot or to Publix and the highlight of the week was the arrival of the Winn Dixie flyer, the list of activities in Georgetown was overwhelming at first. Gradually however it came to pass that Pat and I found ourselves drawn into the fabric of the Georgetown cruising community. Partly by volunteering to help, I repaired a lot of faulty SSB installations, and partly by following our friends Chris and Divya aboard the Maggie M, who made our time in Georgetown so memorable. Thanks to them, Pat played the part of Zeus’ daughter Persephone in a play and I helped design and build a sailing inflatable dinghy.

For many Georgetown is as far as the cruising experience goes. For some it represents an opportunity to continue being young by acting young as they relive their youth and for others it represents the physical extent of their cruising range when faced with constraints of time and budget. Pat and I are fortunate in that despite approaching birthday’s we do not have to make an effort at staying young, and we have the luxury of time so that we can continue to explore over the horizon. Georgetown is a great place to spend the winter. The weather is good and the water, despite the swelling of boats during the season remains clear enough to swim in. After 2 months however it is time to see what is beyond the next Cay. We are off to the Jumentos and Ragged Islands next where only the hardiest and most self sufficient cruisers dare to venture. We hope we are up to the task.

Have a great week, I know I will

Addison

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We are going home for Christmas. Yeahhh. – But the road is long!!

2010-12-26T23:37:00.007-05:00

That will be $25 to check the bag. Do you want to pay cash or use a credit card? The question may as well have been asked in Martian as I stared at the Continental gate agent with a blank look on my face. Today was my first real flight in almost a year, the puddle hopper from Georgetown in the Bahamas to Fort Lauderdale not withstanding. The look of “oh brother” on her face brought on a flush of frustration to my cheeks. She was just barely professional enough to not roll her eyes! But just barely.

Luggage should be free, I screamed, in my head. Smiling counter agents should take all the luggage presented without question and priority tag it to the final destination came the echo. And where is the concierge that would direct me to the lounge for a cup of coffee and perhaps a quick snack before boarding our flight??? Instead of verbalizing my thoughts, I meekly inquired if everybody had to pay, and she pointed to a sign behind her that indicated VIP travelers were exempted from the fees. With a furious flurry of keyboard touches, she told me that her records indicated that I was no longer a preferred frequent flyer. A very brief flicker of sympathy crossed her face followed by what I imagined to be a demonic chortle as she sentenced me to the purgatory of the waiting room. Now I know what it means to be a fallen angel!

Since our last posting in August, Pat and I have been the closest we have been to civilization in a very long time and yet we were way off the grid in many respects. Our week in the Riverside Boatyard of Fort Pierce, to repair the damage to our rudder caused by the unfortunate squall off of Arthur’s Town, turned into a protracted stay in Vero Beach. At first it was because we were resting up from our ordeal in the boat yard, and then it was because we were pet sitting for friends, but for what ever the reason, we fell into a routine of going for morning walks and riding the free public bus to the Publix supermarket to visit the food.

Vero Beach is a very livable community. There is decent shopping, a real mall and a community theater that would rival the facilities in larger towns. Despite the hard economic times, people still manage to smile and carry out their daily activities with an energy that belies the double digit unemployment rates of the local economy. The one blemish on what is an otherwise perfect community is the plethora of for sale signs lining the streets. And it was because of the abundance of homes for sale that our curiosity got the better of us and we began to study the real estate listings.

There is an element of serendipity in a cruiser’s life that becomes part of the way of life. Every day is a new day and every day brings new challenges and opportunities that keep things fresh. One quickly learns that there is no such thing as falling into a rut if you are a full time cruiser, after all there are no ruts on the water! If someone had told Pat and me, a few months ago, that we would be buying real estate in Florida, we would have thought them to be verging on madness. Yet as unlikely as it may have seemed we ended up buying a little investment pied a terre in Vero Beach. So who could have predicted that one night in a less than desirable anchorage would result in a 1500 square foot condo?

After we finished the condo transaction, we closed up shop and headed back to the Bahamas via the wilds of Titusville, where we attempted to be first in line for a space shuttle launching. I think the crew of the Shuttle Discovery are really sailors because the launch date was constantly being delayed to handle maintenance issues. After a week of hanging around the word finally came through that the launch would be further delayed by at least a month and likely longer, so we took that as a sign that we were now clear to head for the Bahamas.

The pictures that are attached to the blog will chronicle our voyage across but the accomplishment worthy of mention is that Pat and I made it from Miami to Nassau in one fell swoop. In approximately 28 hours we went covered what would normally have taken us at least 2 days. Even better, I managed to survive a night passage without holding my dinner in the palm of my hands. Yee hah, I’m slowly but surely getting over the sea sickness monster. We arrived in the Bahamas in mid November and the boat is now safely entrusted to the care of Bob at Kevalli House in Georgetown until our return from Toronto via another short stay in Vero Beach to finish our reno.

Toronto is home but....I am hiding behind a column in the Fairview Shopping Center in Toronto as the waves of humanity trying to complete their last minute Christmas shopping course around me like a stream around a rock. Unlike the rock however, I am not immovable, and I am starting to hyperventilate at the thought of stepping out of the lee of the column and being washed back down the main concourse by the flood of faces. There are more people in this structure at this very moment than there are in the entire Exuma chain at anytime. If it weren’t for the joy of being with family and friends, I would gladly trade the loot from 100 Christmas stockings for the peace and quiet of the Bahamas

So it has come to pass that Pat and I are no longer feeling like novices. We are now firmly into our third year of living aboard and remembering life before cutting the dock lines is becoming a little more difficult. Of course memories of our new and old friends and fun times are much easier to pull from the cobwebs of land life, but it feels much more natural to be “on the boat” Even the relative calm of Vero Beach seems to be a little too claustrophobic after the seemingly endless living space of the boat. It is a paradox that we can feel completely at ease aboard Threepenny Opera in less than 200 square feet of living space, and yet feel crowded, even crushed in our 1500 square foot condo or the endless miles of corridors in the Fairview Mall.

The next year will bring all manner of wonders. Some events will be good, others will be challenges, but all will be enriching in their unique way. The known world is that we will return to Vero Beach after the holidays and finish the work on the kitchen and do some painting. Also we have arranged to move the contents of our storage locker from Mississauga to the new condo, so that we will have some basic furnishings in place. Our priority however is to dispense with our land duties ASAP so that we can rejoin Threepenny Opera and continue our exploration of the Bahamas and points as yet unknown. We may find ourselves in the Caribbean, and we may just hang in the Bahamas for awhile. We have the luxury of time and the freedom to use it as we see fit, so there is no urgency to formulate anything other than possible outlines of a plan.

As I type the final words of this post, I am at my sister’s kitchen table in Toronto, surrounded by the people I love and who love me. Boats, Condos and new places are wonderful, but nothing beats the glow of being content with where you are at the moment. I revel in my good fortune and wish that a little bit of it will rub off on all who have taken the time to read this far.

Have a great week! I know I will.

Addison

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This post is dedicated to our friend Milan – who tragically left us far too soon. Fair winds and following seas.

Little Farmers to The Abacos – The cycle starts again but we are older and wiser.

2010-08-19T13:50:00.001-04:00

Oh S**T we have got to get out of bed before we get thrown to the deck. My head was banging against the mast as I lay in bed and the glasses in the galley were rattling and threatening to fall off the shelf. Pat and I were on the hook off of Arthurs Town in Cat Island, but it was as rough a sea condition as we have experienced since we left Toronto nearly 2 years earlier. Reeling like drunken sailors we clung to the handholds as we pulled ourselves the 6 feet into the main salon from our forward cabin.

At about 5:00AM I had been awakened by a change in the motion of the boat. The forward hatch was open so I got up and looked outside to see that the wind had swung 180 degrees from where it was when we went to bed. The waves were short and choppy and the boat was bobbing vigorously, but not uncomfortably so. In the distance I could see a low cloud bank that contained the odd flash of lightning. Since it was still dark and the anchor was well set, there really wasn’t much to do except to close the hatches and go back to bed.

Twenty minutes later the first few drops of rain began to hit the coach roof. Within 5 minutes the squall was upon us and the deluge began. We were dry and relatively comfortable, but sleeping was out of the question as the wind shrieked and the thunder rolled around the boat. About 20 minutes into the storm, the surge began. At first it seemed like a heavy wind blown chop, but the up and down oscillations began to grow in amplitude and frequency and within 5 minutes the waves forced Pat and me to leave our bed and move to salon to avoid being tossed onto the floor. There were jarring crashes of waves against the hull and we were tugging and jerking against our anchor snubber as the boat hobby horsed. Combined with the wind and thunder and the noises from the chain there was a Perfect Storm sort of feel to things. At least we were dry and still felt safe. Less than 10 minutes later the squall passed and the conditions calmed as if a switch had been thrown

By now the sky was starting to lighten and a look outside revealed that the squall was rapidly receding into the distance and the sea although foamy from the surge, was settling down. In all the excitement had lasted for about 45 minutes. We dozed on the settees in the salon for about an hour before making coffee and preparing for our departure to Eleuthera about 30 miles of open sea away. Everything seemed normal until I went forward to pull the anchor and called back to Pat to turn the bow to port. The wheel would not turn! It was frozen into place and no amount of tugging would budge it.

I got my mask and snorkel and went over the side to investigate. I had expected that perhaps the squall had somehow wrapped a piece of line or other debris into the rudder and that cutting it loose was the solution to freeing the rudder. I was perplexed when I went under the boat and found the rudder appearing perfectly normal. Puzzled I went back on board and began emptying the lockers to make my way to the bottom of the steering quadrant, now surmising that the squall had jarred something loose and that it had fallen and fouled the steering cables, rendering them immobile. Again the quadrant appeared normal and nothing was amiss?

Thinking perhaps I might have missed something under the boat, I again donned my mask and snorkel and once I was in the water, I positioned myself to try and kick the rudder free. It was then that I noticed that the trailing edge of the rudder was touching the hull and binding, where previously there was a 1 inch gap. I used my knife and pried away at the trailing edge of the rudder where it met the hull and a small piece of fiberglass broke away.

The rudder would still not move but I went back into the cockpit and tried the wheel again. There was a slight movement, but not enough to steer the boat so a further trip below and a little more scraping removed enough fiberglass to allow about 15 degrees of rudder deflection if one really leaned on the wheel. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to allow some limited maneuvering of the boat. Since the nearest haul out facilities were in Spanish Wells about 120 miles to the north, and we were planning to head in the general direction anyway, we decided to haul anchor and head out into open water. All the while we kept our fingers crossed praying that our damaged rudder would not fall off.

We had been anchored in 10-12 feet of water over a sandy bottom. When the squall came up, the ensuing surge drew the water away from the shore. As the boat pitched up and down in the rising waves, the rudder bounced off the bottom as the water level dropped. The fact that our rudder, which is about a foot above the bottom of the keel, slammed into the bottom, indicates just how violent the pitching was. The sandy bottom absorbed the impact allowing the rudder to remain intact, but the pressure on the rudder post caused it to bend aft, resulting in the binding. The lesson here is that if an anchorage doesn’t look right – leave!

It has been a little over a month since that fateful night. I am sitting in the cockpit of Threepenny Opera as she rocks gently on the ferry wakes of Marsh Harbour. Last year when Pat and I came to the Bahamas for the first time, Marsh Harbour seemed to be a remote outpost where it was possible to buy basic groceries and have a dinner out. Compared to the hustle and bustle of Florida the surroundings seemed pretty austere indeed. Today however Marsh Harbour had grown in our eyes to be definitely the “Big” city of 5000 people. There are cars, traffic lights and even two types of lettuce in the supermarket.

Since our last blog posting our sense of time and space has begun a paradoxical shift in that time for us has both sped up and slowed down dramatically. As I write, it seems like our last posting was only a few days ago, yet a check of the log shows that it has been two months since my last update. The change in time horizons has significantly affected our traveling patterns in that we now tend to arrive in an anchorage and set up shop. In the past, a long stay was 2 days, but today anything less than 3-4 days seems like rushing. Our ten days in Conception seemed to rush by, hence the paradox. There has been a definite shift towards quality from quantity in terms of the experiences we are collecting.

The zen like shift is not something we could have foreseen in the days before we started cruising. We felt that life had slowed down when we were full time liveaboards in Marathon’s Boot Key Harbour, but we retained some of our land reflexes in that everyday had to have a purpose. Although we were much less fussed about schedules, we maintained the habit of to do lists and time tables however relaxed…..today was grocery day, tomorrow is laundry day and the day after will be the day we polish the stanchions and so on.

These days we tend to do what the mood strikes and perform needed chores only when the need arises. Surprisingly, our clothes, at least the few that we wear, are clean, there is no shortage of gourmet meals aboard and the boat is still neat and tidy. Maybe we have been doing it wrong all these years, or maybe we have just fallen into the cruiser’s groove? Fortunately for us the cruiser’s groove also helped us rise to challenges in a much more serene manner because I’m relatively sure that previously we would have been much more “freaked out” had we awoken to find our rudder bent and jammed to the point of immobility.

Our evolving time horizon has allowed us to spend over a week on Conception Island which is a totally deserted island in the Out Islands of the Bahamas. We explored isolated coves by dinghy, beach combed and horrors just stayed on the boat grabbing a few rays and reading. In the past it would have seemed like a prison, these days it was a real pleasure. We enjoyed Spanish Wells and Harbour Island, spending nearly a week in these places, exploring as the mood struck and hibernating when it did not.

Now we are heading back to the US to replace the rudder as I decided after consultation with Catalina that a repair, while feasible, would always leave me wondering if the fix was going to fail. It has taken the factory about 3 weeks to build us a new rudder, but we are installing the new, improved and much heavier version of the C42 rudder. To make the best use of our time back to the States we will also replace our refrigeration system with a more powerful and efficient one, as the Adler Barbour system installed by the factory system is severely taxed in the high air and water temperatures of the Bahamas. Best of all we get to visit with our friends Richard and Connie.

Georgetown, Long Island, Great Exuma, Conception, New Bight, Rock Sound are just a few of the place names in our log book since our last posting. Each of them have their memorable individual charms, but on the whole, they are blending into our new cruising diaspora. Until now it was always about the destination, but we are now more attuned to the voyage. We are looking forward to adding more place names into the log book, but there is no substitute for just being content with where you are at the moment.

Enjoy the pictures, they are really the chronicle of where we have been, and have a great week, I know I will….wherever I am.

Addison

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Marathon to Little Farmer's Cay Exumas - Escape from the Boot Key Triangle

2010-06-03T23:34:00.003-04:00

I am sitting in the cockpit and the air is almost still. Pat is below putting dinner together and I will set the table for a quiet supper al fresco. There is just a whisper of a breeze, but it is sufficient to bring the temperature to a very pleasant 80 degrees. A full moon is rising out of the dim shape of Highbourne Cay and the water in our anchorage is so clear that the bottom is visible 20 feet below. I have heard the cliché about water so clear that it is difficult to tell the difference between the sky and the water, but I never believed it until now.

Tonight is the reward for the last few weeks of the trials and tribulations we had to overcome in order to get away from the US. When we were in Marathon, we often heard about people who came for a month or two and were still there after several years. Sometimes it happens because Marathon is just a really laid back place to hang ones hat, and other times it happens because the boat is in need of repairs and either the lack of funds or the maybe tomorrow attitude conspire to create terminal sloth.

For Pat and me, we arrived in Marathon last October with the intention of spending the winter before heading towards points south. It was a good plan because the winter of 2010, was one of record cold temperatures and generally unpleasant weather conditions. Our hearts go out to the minions who were on fixed schedules, and who had to get their cruising itch scratched within the confines of a single sailing season. I’m sure they eeked out some satisfaction, but not without incurring some serious challenges along the way. As we listened to the frustration building from the sabbatical crowd, Pat and I were smug in the fact that we had the luxury of time, and that we had a plan to wait until everybody left before we headed out.

Cruising as we have found out is one of those activities where patience is usually rewarded and type A do it now type behaviour can create some serious problems. It took us awhile, but Pat and I have both weaned ourselves from wearing wrist watches, preferring instead to glance occasionally at a ship board clock or just relying on our inner clocks to give us an approximation of the time. After all when one is sitting on a mooring ball in Marathon, the only really important time of the day is sundowner time at sundown, and one does not need a watch to figure out when that occurs.

The downside of losing track of time however is that one forgets how long it actually takes to get things done. Since we had a plan to leave after the end of the cruising season, we really didn’t do much to prepare the boat or ourselves for leaving until early April. I had several major boat projects to knock off the list prior to departure, but since none of them would take more 3-4 days at the most, I could afford to wait until April and still have plenty of slack. I was wrong!!

Perhaps in a perfect world where projects unfold as they do on do it yourself TV shows we could have made our schedule, but as we all know perfection is only a goal, it is never a true state of being! Once I got started on my list of refrigeration improvements, solar panel retrofits and electronics rewiring, it became obvious that things were going to take a little longer than previously planned. For example, the refrigeration upgrade, which entailed adding insulation to the inside and outside of the box, turned from a simple glue a piece of foam to the underside of the lid, into a full fledged fiberglass and gel coat construction project. I learned a lot about working with these essential boat building materials, but instead of a couple of days, the project took over a week to complete. The climax of that project, was the injection of closed cell polyurethane into the hull spaces behind the refrigeration box.

Injecting foam looked pretty easy to do in the U-tube instructional video provided by the foam manufacturer, but I quickly found out that watching a professional do it, and doing it myself was a completely different matter. Although I followed the prep stages to the letter, or the picture as in this case, I did not figure that foam spraying nozzles could slip off the end of the injection tubes, causing a geyser of chemically hot, and very sticky green foam to spray all over me and the galley. Thanks to some quick action by Pat, I was saved from becoming a permanently green foam covered bunny rabbit. I wish I could say that all of the stains have been removed but I would be stretching the truth if I did. At least the refrigeration is working more efficiently and I now have a steady supply of cold beer to help me forget.

The plague of problems continued as I moved into the other phases of our pre-departure projects. When I got to the electronics, it seemed that the pretty pictures in the Raymarine catalogues were stage props. Nothing seemed to work right, until I started over with a new wiring harness. It seems that when you are working with small voltages over very fine wires that the tolerances are very tight. Even small imperfections in wiring can cause electronics to not work, or even worse, work only intermittently. Who knew that Raymarine would design electronics that were only marginally water and humidity resistant?? All it took to overcome the challenge was 150 feet of wire and about 10 days or crawling and cursing!

As we stamped out the gremlins out one by one, our energy levels dropped. It seemed that the end would never arrive, and the smugness that I felt earlier in the year, turned into the same despondency I heard from the sabbatical sailors. Let that be a lesson kids on not gloating at others expense!!. The coup de grace occurred just prior to our setting sail, when Pat and I awoke to find that our dinghy had disappeared during the night. A subsequent search of the shoreline of the harbour by several boats revealed nary a trace. As much as I hated to admit it, it seemed that Threepenny Opera had fallen victim to petty thievery that seems to occur during periods when the harbour is emptying for the season.

Serious Kudo’s need to be given to Drew Robertson and his team at Robertson and Robertson Yacht Insurance in Toronto, because a single telephone call set the wheels in motion. The service received from Robertson was nothing short of legendary. Consider the following time line. Our dinghy was discovered missing on Sunday morning, a claim was filed on Monday AM, by Wednesday PM we had a new dinghy and motor, and by Friday the claim was approved and paid. If it were any other company, we might still be in Marathon trying to get our affairs in order.

For one last kick at the can, the dinghy that arrived so promptly on Wednesday afternoon, turned out to be a lemon. By Saturday, four days after receipt, the transom started to fall off and it appeared that the tubes were in danger of splitting at the seams. Again the vendors came to the party, and agreed to repair the transom to ensure safe operation as they sourced and shipped a new dinghy from their distribution center. While I would have preferred to have avoided the problem all together, I cannot complain about the service we received once the problem was discovered. The new floating chariot has performed wonderfully, so I'm cautiously optimistic about long term satisfaction.

It took an extra 10 days to sort out the dinghy situation from start to finish, which was extremely frustrating, but in the end it gave us time to catch our breath, so that we actually felt ready leave. When we finally put the Boot key channel markers behind us on May 18, 2010 we ready to go both physically and mentally.

We are in the Bahamas! It seemed like it would never happen, but here we are sitting on the hook in Little Farmers Cay. Our tans are evening out, and we have bee supplementing our food supply with fresh fish. In the past 3 weeks we have only spent 3 nights in marinas, and then only because there were no other practical alternatives. The cruising reflexes are starting to rebuild, and while we no longer feel like the neophytes we did when we first left Toronto, we are still firmly in the learning new skills mode.

Good things come to those who wait, and the nights on the anchorages looking at the moon rising out of the water is payment for those with the patience. From here we are heading to Georgetown for a few days in a fancy Four Seasons/Sandals resort to celebrate Pat’s birthday, and then it is back to the wild! I can hardly wait to see the largest breeding flock of Pink Flamingos in the world on Great Inagua Island. Few cruisers make it there because it is so far off the beaten track. It might take us awhile to get there, but Patience is a virtue, and I’ve been taught a very valuable lesson about gloating.

Enjoy the pics and have a great week.

I know I will.

Addison

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Cruising Just Happens. Our youngest Cruiser was just 14 months...our oldest was just...old

2010-02-24T11:24:00.006-05:00

It’s boat show season, which means that the weather is freezing cold up north and sunny and warm down south; or at least that is what it usually means. The winter of 2010 will be remembered by many as the coldest in recent memory as the Florida Keys were swamped with masses of arctic air that took our temperatures down into the 40’s for days on end. When Pat and I returned to the Keys after our Christmas visit to Toronto, we had packed shorts and T-shirts into our precious carry on space so that we could do the airport quick change upon arrival in Miami. Sadly we found that not only was Miami cooler than normal, we were quite comfortable wearing the same clothes and outer wear that we wore in Toronto.

The good news however is that cold weather causes our northern friends to start searching the internet for flights to places where the likelihood of shoveling is somewhat reduced. Perhaps it was the aligning of the required planets, or some other phenomenon of nature, but the month of February has seen a veritable horde of folks from home descending on Marathon. We like to think that they all came down to see us, but it was more likely the fact that just looking at a palm tree will make you feel a little warmer.

They came by land, sea and air, they came in all age groups and they came with very different ideas about what constitutes a good time. On a couple of occasions, Pat and I had to split up in order to accommodate everybody who came to visit. The funny thing about the visitors is that virtually every body paid a visit to the local West Marine store. Somehow they found WM, when other essentials like supermarkets and even liquor stores eluded them. I guess WM to a boater is like an elephant is to water.

PCYC cruises are legendary on Lake Ontario, as we tend to arrive in armada strength, with the logistical organization worthy of a UN Peacekeeping mission. For most of us cruising is as natural as the wind in our sails or the ice in our drinks. Therefore it should come as no surprise that if there is more than one PCYC boat within VHF hailing range of another, the old cruising reflex takes over and a cruise just happens. If we throw in a couple of retired VC’s who no longer need to maintain decorum and add a pinch or two of spirits, the cruise goes into hyper-drive.

The PCYC fleet in Marathon this year consisted of Tecumseh, Cakaro, Con el Viento and of course Threepenny Opera. Each boat rose to the occasion to host our friends from home. I think the record was a group of 12+ who gathered on Cakaro for dinner one evening. The funniest thing was meeting Meg and Ron on the dinghy dock the next day as they brought two large green garbage bags stuffed with the remains of the previous evening. As the saying goes, “A good time was had by all”, even if it means they slept until noon….

Here’s a new concoction for the Chart Room that is guaranteed to liven up a gloomy post boat show winter afternoon. Take 2 parts diesel, 1 part jet fuel and a sprinkle of gasoline, shake it well over a few thousand miles, garnish with northern gales 40 and serve with a dash of Blarney and you have the Warm-up Winter Cruising special. Maybe we’ll see you next year!

Have a great week, I know I will

Addison

P.S. Let us know you are out there by subscribing to the blog. Click on the “follow this blog” link, just below our profile photo.
Double click on the picture for the captions, run the slideshow to view the pics full screen. if you do not see any pictures below, make sure you have Adobe flash player installed. To install flash copy this link into your browser http://www.adobe.com/products/flashplayer/

The incoming Marathon Class of 2010 - Will you be part of the class of 2011??

2010-01-20T10:44:00.009-05:00

Pat and I were in our dinghy heading to shore when we saw him. He was standing on the deck of his shiny new sailboat, his shirt was off and he posed with his hands on his hips as his eyes scanned the broad expanse of Boot Key Harbour. The sun darkened head and the white body of someone who has been outside but bundled up, was the dead giveaway of his newbie status in the South of Florida and of his entry into the Marathon class of 2010. By spring the colour of his belly will match the colour of his face. Every year there is an exodus boats making the trip from colder climes to the warmth of the promised land in the southern states and this year, despite all of the prognostications of economic doom and gloom, is no different.

I remember sitting on my boat at anchor in Pryners Cove, at the junction of the Upper Gap and Adolphus Reach on Lake Ontario, thinking that I could really get used to this boating lifestyle. (The moment is captured in our blog ID photo) It was nearing the end of our annual three week sailing vacation, and in a few days we would be back into the world of business attire, airports and incessant meetings. Perhaps it was the wine, the perfect sunset, or perhaps it was the relaxing effects of three weeks without a hard schedule, e-mail or cell phones, but whatever the cause I broached the idea of sailing off into the sunset to my wife Pat.

It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed my mind, but dreams have a way of getting paved over by too many years of mortgage payments, raising a family and annual performance reviews. Instead of getting the “are you crazy” look, she responded with several practical questions that needed to be answered. Who will look after the kids? What will we do with the house? Do we have enough money? What if we don’t like it?

The questions were indeed practical and important, and answers were not immediately at hand, but the important thing to me was the fact that she didn’t outright refuse to consider the possibility nor did she ask me if I was “nuts”, although I’m sure the latter question must have crossed her mind. For me it was cathartic just to get the suggestion out into the open, and so our journey to become live aboard full time cruisers began. Perhaps even more importantly the basis for a successful cruising relationship was laid, because with the exception of handling the boat in an emergency when debate can be fatal, unilateral decisions ultimately tend to lead to grief when you are living within the confines of a boat.

It has been several years since that day in Pryner’s Cove, and from that first conversation we watched our youngest daughter graduate from university, we emptied the contents of a four bedroom house into a 42 foot sailboat and an 8x10 foot storage locker. We have put over 4000 miles under our keel, and in the process learned that there is a real difference between making a living and actually living. We have also made more new friends than since we started elementary school. Friends that go beyond an entry in a contact file, but people with whom you share a common bond and with whom working to get to know better is a genuine pleasure.

Over the past year we have enjoyed experiences that will last us for the rest of our lives and yet I cannot help but feel a certain melancholy. The sadness is not for ourselves but for the friends and family who are still toiling away doing the things that they feel they must. In the past 12 short months we have received news of friends and colleagues who are no longer with us and of others who are fighting for their very lives. Our hearts go out to them, and we pray that they, and their loved ones will see the light at the end of the tunnel.

As I write this, I’m sitting on an Air Canada flight from Fort Lauderdale to Montreal, and despite the minus 18C temperature that awaits Pat and me when we land, we are excited to be on our way to visit with friends and family over the holiday period. It seems like an eternity ago, but December 20, 2009 marked our entry into the Marathon class of 2009. When we return to the south we will be equally excited to meet and greet the Marathon class of 2010. Not a day goes by when we do not count our blessings for the fact that we have been fortunate enough to make a break from the ordinary into the extraordinary. Hopefully somebody who reads this will become part of the class of 2011.

Have a great week, I know I will.

Addison

I was camera challenged over the last few months. My Nikon D300 met with some unfortunate contact with water so I was out of commission for awhile. As a result there aren't as may photos as usual, but it's all good now!

P.S. Let us know you are out there by subscribing to the blog. Click on the “follow this blog” link, just below our profile photo.
Double click on the picture for the captions, run the slideshow to view the pics full screen. if you do not see any pictures below, make sure you have Adobe flash player installed. To install flash copy this link into your browser http://www.adobe.com/products/flashplayer/

Cape Coral to Fantasy Fest, It's Hot Hot Hot - the weather that is

2009-10-27T12:38:00.007-04:00

I was on my hands and knees struggling with an air conditioning strainer that was completely plugged with barnacles. Of course it was one of the hottest days of the summer and despite wearing only a bathing suit, I was absolutely drenched with sweat. The daily high was forecast to be in the mid 90’s all week so not getting the A/C back in working order was not even remotely an option. Ironically, before we left Toronto, I had looked longingly at the premium space occupied by our 18,000 BTU compressor and almost decided to pitch the thing overboard in order to gain valuable storage space. In the end I’m not sure if it was laziness or prescience that made me put the wrenches and wire cutters down, because on the West Coast of Florida in the summer, a non air conditioned boat would become a totally uninhabitable oven.

We were tied to an end dock in the Cape Coral Yacht Basin, which is where Pat and I headed after our return from China to await the delivery of our friend’s Connie and Richard’s new boat. They had contacted us while we were in China to ask if we would help them bring their new baby from the dealer in Palmetto over to her temporary home in Fort Lauderdale for outfitting. Of course we were honoured to be asked so we jumped at the chance to take a squeeky new IP 485 out for a 400 mile cruise around the tip of Florida. As luck would have it however, the boat was not quite ready, so instead of hanging around Cape Coral for a week or two, we ended up there for almost a month.

When one is living on a boat, home is where the keel is so it really shouldn’t matter too much where the keel is lying. Well a very substantial challenge to this theory would be offered up by anybody who is stuck in Cape Coral during the dog days of summer. I am fond of calling the place the suburb without a city, because it is an amorphous blob of housing, without a real center. Since the mortgage meltdown the community, which during the boom years was the fastest growing city in the USA, has become a ghost town of bank owned homes and shuttered store fronts. On our 2 mile walk to the nearest supermarket, it was not uncommon to make the entire return trip without passing another person on the street.

In some ways the quiet streets and lack of people reminded us of our days in Mississauga, when during the dead of winter, the cold and snow often kept people indoors except for brief forays out to accomplish necessary tasks like go to work or to buy food. The big difference down here however is the fact that when the weather becomes more comfortable, there won’t be people coming out because many of the residents have left the area permanently. Fortunately we have good friends Bob and Mary Ann here, who checked in on us regularly to see if we hadn’t died of boredom, and their visits helped Pat and I maintain our sanity. Needless to say we couldn’t wait to get away from Cape Coral.

When “Sea Salt”, Connie and Richard’s IP 485 was finally ready to go, Pat and I were chomping at the bit to get going. We would have been ready to deliver an Optimist across Lake Ontario at this point, so it was decidedly luxurious to be given towels and our own queen sized berth in a private cabin with en-suite head and shower. The trip around the coast was uneventful apart from a few thunderstorms that generated waves large enough to put 6 inches of water in the cockpit before the scuppers drained it away. I discovered however that I’m still not over the sea sickness that comes with sailing after dark, so once I went below after my stint at the helm, the nausea took over. I’m determined however to beat this thing so I won’t have to live in the cockpit when we decide to take longer passages.

It’s funny how time flies once you start to get busy. We arrived in Marathon on October 1 by way of a visit to Naples FL, and a night hanging on our hook, 3 miles offshore from the Everglades. In Naples I had a chance to reconnect with my friend Vince S, who I had worked with during the high tech part of my career. It was great to catch up with Vince, eat in a restaurant that used table cloths and play tourist by visiting the local zoo. Most importantly we were underway again on our own boat and moving towards cooler weather and cleaner water.

Threepenny Opera desperately needed a new coat of bottom paint because the Micron CSC paint that we put on in Port Credit had been completely over powered by the nutrient rich 90 degree water of South Florida and the Bahamas. When we finally hauled the boat, it seemed that around the waterline the barnacles had set down roots. Even sanding with 80 grit discs did not remove all of the little spots of natural adhesive that barnacles use to hold themselves to the hull. If one could figure out a way to bottle the barnacle spit, they might find themselves onto a new IP 485! Thank goodness for the assistance of friends Mary and Wilger because without them Pat and I would have spent at least an extra day in the boat yard sweating under the now cooler 85 degree sun.

It will be several more weeks before Pat and I return to our normal colour, but every time I look at Threepenny Opera, I know that all of our efforts were worth it. She has held up extremely well over the past year, and when we had a surveyor came aboard, the only deficiency requiring immediate correction was the lack of a written waste management plan. Once we get around to writing down and signing a policy specifying who has to take out the garbage, we will be in total compliance, not bad for a 10 year old boat that has seen a few miles under her keel.

We spent the past weekend in Key West for the beginning of Fantasy Fest 2009 and next weekend we will be in Fort Lauderdale for the boat show. The weather is getting cooler, and the hatches are starting to catch some decent breeze. The harbour in Marathon is starting to see the first arrivals in this season’s new crop of cruisers, and we can still get $1 tacos and $.25 wings at the local hang outs. All in all life is pretty good.

Have a great week. I know I will

Addison

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What did you do this summer?? - We followed our roots!

2009-08-25T20:20:00.015-04:00

It was a cold morning in February of 2009, when Air Canada informed me that I would be demoted from their top tier of frequent flyers at the end of the month. In many respects it was a relief that I no longer kept a bag packed, and I was now eating more meals at home than in hotels and restaurants. My finger nails were intact, and the obsessive checking of my Blackberry had finally stopped. Seriously the phantom vibrations of imaginary messages haunted me for months after I stopped working. All good things aside however, the note from Air Canada put me into a sudden panic.

One of the hidden benefits of my work was that I accumulated huge amounts of frequent flyer miles. There were enough miles for Pat to meet me in exotic locales for the weekend and my kids always flew to and from school on dear old dad’s Aeroplan account. Now that I was getting kicked out of the frequent flyer club, the miles I still had in my account were about to become seriously devalued because non top tier Aeroplan customers have to compete for the very few reward seats, or be willing to pay 2-3 times the published number of miles to secure a seat closer to their liking. As a top tier flyer for a few more days, I could claim virtually any empty seat on an Air Canada flight so I became obsessed with the idea of spending as many miles as possible before the end of the month.

China seemed to be a logical place to go. It was far enough away to soak up a good chunk of miles, and I had a brother living in Shanghai so I had a place to land. When I considered that Pat had never been to China, despite having traveled extensively, the decision was clinched. And so as a result of a marketing e-mail from Air Canada extolling the virtues of becoming one of their second tier frequent flyers, a plan was hatched to spend the summer traveling throughout China. I would have a chance to show Pat a little of my heritage by visiting my father’s village, and the two of us would get to explore the wilds of Tibet. As an added bonus, I also decided do bring my mom along with us to act as a tour guide in the villages.

The pictures speak for themselves so I won’t waste many words describing the trip. Our itinerary was Florida to Toronto and then onwards to Shanghai. We spent a week in Shanghai resting up and playing tourist, and then we headed for Beijing, Tibet and Xian before returning to Shanghai. We stayed in Shanghai long enough to rest up from Tibet, do our laundry, complete some last minute shopping and then we headed south for Guangzhou and Kaiping. The final part of the trip was a weekend in Hong Kong, where we had a chance to play tourist for a few more days before our nearly non stop run back to Florida. I’m not sure what is more tiring, a 200 mile sail crossing of the Gulf of Maine in October, or 14 hour first class flight over the North Pole followed by another 3 hours in a commuter jet?

Anyway we are home after being out of the country for 6 weeks. We covered over 20,000 miles, using planes, trains and automobiles. We went from sea level to over 15,000 feet, and we visited places where the flies moved out because of the dirt, and we stayed in 6 star hotels. Since our return we have been holed up in Cape Coral Florida catching our breath and visiting with our friends Bob and Mary Ann whom we met in the Bahamas. They have been our saviors! Next week we will be off to help friends Richard and Connie, whom we met while going down the St. Lawrence River, deliver their Island Packet 485 home to Fort Lauderdale from the dealer in Palmetto. Pat and I are really looking forward to the trip. I just hope I don’t get boat envy and blow the RRSP for 4 or 5 more feet!!

The load of pictures in this posting is substantial. My advice is to take your time and not look at all of them in one sitting, or you might be a little overwhelmed. I apologize in advance if the albums look a little bit like a family outing, but in many respects that’s what this trip turned out to be. If you have any questions please ask.

Enjoy the pictures and have a great week!

I know I will!

Addison

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Toronto to Shanghai

Shanghai Shopping and Cruising

Beijing

Solar Eclipse to Tibet

Xi'an - Land of the Terracotta Warriors and more

Guangzhou to Kaiping - Roots

Hong Kong - Home Stretch

South of the Whale - Good Friends and Fresh Fish!

2009-06-12T09:26:00.005-04:00

The singing of the drag on my fish killer rod an reel was pure music to our ears. The combination of an ocean rated reel, a 12 in lure with massive four razor sharp hooks on it and 100 lb test made it no contest for whatever took a hit. We weren’t sure what was on the end of the line, but Pat and I had whatever it was, filleted and grilled before we even saw our catch. We developed a real appreciation for fresh fish during our crossing from Florida when I nicked my first Tuna, so naturally when the opportunity presented itself we went looking for more.

The Sea of Abaco is divided into two portions, with Whale Cay acting as the dividing line. The Whale as it is known locally is a source of wonder awe and fear for boaters in these parts because it forces any boat drawing more than 3 feet ot head out into the open Atlantic in order to transit from the Northern Half of the Sea of Abaco to the South. For this reason many boaters, even the locals tend to stay in their half of the “Sea” and not cross into the other side of town.

Because of the separation, the two halves are similar in geography but very different in character. When we left Green Turtle Cay, we crossed the Whale and wondered what the fuss was all about? Apparently during the winter months, NE winds can whip the shallows along the ocean side of the reefs into a boiling surf known as a rage. While I have seen some pretty impressive photos of rages, this time of year the only activity is caused by left over surge from storms at sea. The 4- 5 foot swells with the occasional 6 footer was no worse than the passage out of the bay of Quinte back home on a typical day.

Most of the development in the Abaco is concentrated in the Southern part. Marsh Harbour is the largest size town in the Abacos, and it provides cruisers with a convenient place to reprovision before heading back out. The town itself is rather non-descript, but it is large enough to support a well stocked supermarket and a hardware store that would rival any in the Florida Keys. The myth that the Bahamas are undeveloped and scarcity is common has its orgins in days gone by, but is no longer the caset.

It’s true that some items such as ice cream and beef are more expensive, (try $12 for a quart of ice cream) but not prohibitively so as they are also plentiful and seem to be consumed in large quantities by the locals. There are pleasant surprises like fresh snow peas at lower prices than in Florida. For anybody coming over here, it is always prudent to stock up, but the provisioning should not be viewed as a mission to Mars! The only thing I would suggest stocking up on in larger than normal quantities is Beer.

Boating supplies are readily available and for those who need parts shipped in, the Bahamian Govt. has reversed a ruling requiring duty to be charged on all boat parts. As of June 1, vessels traveling under a Bahamian cruising permit can have power train and safety items shipped in duty free, providing the shipper indicates the cruising permit number on the manifest. Of course as luck with have it, Threepenny Opera required a set of windlass parts and we received them two days before the new rulings came into play. When we tried to “negotiate” a rebate, the very pleasant Bahamian customs officer smiled and said, you win some you lose some. Thanks!

As one moves away from the center of the universe in Marsh Harbour, the level of development starts to decrease but it is very obvious that the wilderness of old is gone forever. The cruising sites have developed to suit the market which at this time of year is largely bare boat charters from the Moorings/Sunsail base out of Marsh Harbour. For a boater that comes down for a week, the anchorages are nicely spaced so that one can stay up late, sleep in, and still make it to a new destination for some water based activities, before heading ashore for the sundowner. On the subject of the sundowner, beware of the concoctions known as the Frozen Nipper or the Frozen Grabbers served from their respective establishments on Guana Cay. One of these drinks will leave you numb and two can bring on incipient Amnesia….now what was I talking about???

A visit to the Bahamas is not complete without spending some time snorkeling or diving on the multitudes of reefs. We were extremely fortunate on this trip to befriend Bob and MaryAnn from the sail boat Queen Angel. They are both fish people and are as comfortable in the water as out. Bob is a natural diver and he can hold his breath for an incredibly long period of time. He scared the heck out of me, because I was spotting him from the dinghy as he hunted a reef off of Lynard Cay, and disappeared for what seemed to be several minutes. I had visions of him bonking his head on a rock and laying unconscious underwater. I was about to muster enough nerve to go in after him, when he triumphantly surfaced with a very strange shovel nosed crustacean on the end of his Hawaiian spear. Dinner that night was freshly grilled shovel nosed crustacean. We hesitate to call it a lobster, because those crustaceans are not in season at the moment.

Time has passed incredibly quickly and our time in the Abacos is almost up. Despite a little grousing about the number of boats around and the level of development, the anchorages are still pretty nice and the gentle rocking on the hook with a cool evening breeze is still spectacular. As is often the case when we are getting ready to leave a place we like, the weather is improving and we have forgotten the two weeks of incessant rain. As we turned around and headed north from Little Harbour, we decided it was a great opportunity to score some fresh fish, so we headed outside of the reef and try our hand again at fishing. Certainly there were tons of fish in the marine parks so how difficult can it be to hook something in the open ocean?? It took most of the day to get a hit, but what a hit it was.

Pat and I worked like a well oiled machine and while I reeled, she brought the boat into a gentle turn to make it easier to bring the fish in. When I got the beast alongside, Pat fired a stream of cheap vodka into his gills and he was still alive, but at least he stopped trying to tail walk away from the boat. The fight took about 20 minutes, and within 30 minutes a 38” Cero Mackerel was posing of pictures, just before being filleted. We were to meet up with our friends Bob and MaryAnn who had elected to stay on the inside for the trip back north, so finally we were able to make a contribution for dinner.

Today we head north of the Whale. We expect to be back into Florida within the next 4-5 days and we will head up towards Punta Gorda to tie up the boat while we get ready for our trip to China. Who said retirement was slow and boring?? Stay tuned. Although we are back in travel mode, we still expect to see some interesting sites between here and the West Coast of Florida so we try and post again before we head for Toronto and the Orient.

Have a great week. I know I will.
Addison
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Marathon - The Abacos. A whole year of cruising experience in one week.

2009-05-22T18:08:00.004-04:00

We are on the hook at the entrance to New Plymouth Harbour on the south end of Green Turtle Cay – (pronounced Key) I think I just saw a large rounded ferry boat go by loaded with pairs of animals and being steered by a white haired bearded old guy carring a shepherds crook …. Just kidding, it wasn’t Noah but given the intensity of the rain in these parts, it’s no wonder that the residents of Green Turtle Cay here in the Abacos gather rainwater in cisterns beside or under their homes as their drinking water supply. In the past 12 hours we have received almost 4 inches of rain. Oh well, the locals love the rain, because up until this week, the area has been very dry and the cisterns were running empty, forcing the residents to line up at the marinas with jerry cans to lug R/O water at $.30 per gallon.

To get into the spirit of the locals I had rigged up a funnel over the fill spout of one of our water tanks to supplement the output of our trusty water maker. When I got up this morning, the funnel had fallen over so all of the precious rainwater that could have been filling our tanks was sluicing down the deck instead of being directed into the tank as intended. Now it’s only about 3 feet from the cockpit to my starboard deck fill, and it was already pouring buckets, so I figured that I could go out there, make a quick adjustment and be back below deck in a flash. It seems that flashing was the order of the morning because just as I crawled out from under the side panel of the enclosure, a dinghy with two very wet but wide eyed tourists from a nearby charter boat came barreling out of the rain. I not sure who was more shocked, me who hadn’t expected any intelligent life form to be out in a torrential rain, or the two fools in the dinghy being mooned by a gangly chinaman.

Every person with a boat should make the pilgrimage to the Bahamas at least once in their life time. It is sort of a final exam and senior grad trip for developing all of the pilotage skills one needs to be truly comfortable on the water. In the past week, Pat and I have experienced some of the most incredible natural beauty on the planet, and we are just getting started.

What has become obvious to us is that there are many self appointed experts about sailing these waters, but in reality there are very few who have spent enough time here to provide more than just an opinion. As a devotee to the Ports Guide to Lake Ontario, I had expected other guide books to at least be equally precise if not as eloquent and entertaining as the “Ports Book” We have several Bahamas cruising guides on board and while they are in general agreement about issues like avoiding hurricanes and not running aground, none provide more than a potentially dangerous illusion of precision on how to successfully cruise the Bahamas. I guess it is sort of like raising kids, there are lots of books, even more free advice, but only you and your significant other can pick a path that works.

Navigation in the Bahamas is by sight. Your eyes are the only things that can really keep you out of trouble, or get you out of trouble if you stray into tricky waters. It takes a leap of faith to trust your instincts but after a few hours of picking through shallow water the difference between sand, grass and rock becomes pretty easy to discern. It took me a little longer to tell how deep the water is, but if in doubt I head for the softest option available! Please take that with a huge grain of salt, but it has worked for me. I have only been aground a couple of times so far, and I don’t think anything is broken!

If one develops the confidence to read the waters, the reward is something that many people will only ever fantasize about. There is something completely satisfying about picking your way through a rocky shoal and finding a secluded, protected lagoon of 100 foot horizontal visibility water, surrounded by miles of white untouched sand. Such was the scene that greeted Pat and me as we dropped the hook on Sandy Cay which is located in the middle of an area known as Double Breasted Cays in the Northern extremes of the Abacos. The guide books describe the anchorage almost as a footnote but perhaps their authors are trying to keep the best for themselves.

Our feat of the week was doing the anchor dance in +25 knot winds with a broken windlass. We had arrived at Green Turtle Cay during a pretty decent squall, so by the time we had negotiated the very narrow and shallow channel to get into the harbour, we were pretty anxious to get to hook down and take a warming shower. As it happened there was no room at the inn, because lots of other people apparently had heard the same weather forecast and had filled every open spot.

We tried valiantly to find a place where we could both set the anchor and also have enough scope to handle the even worse weather that was to come. I drove through two of the sets and Pat drove to 2 further attempts….The driver had the easiest job, because squinting and steering was much less difficult than sitting on the foredeck hauling up our 55lb Rocna and 40-60 feet of chain by hand. I wouldn’t describe hauling anchor by hand, in very tight quarters, while being lashed by high winds and rain as fun, but it is certainly unforgettable.

By the fourth attempt we had had enough so instead of expending what was left of our energy to try a fifth time, we headed back out into the open water outside of the harbour. Since we really couldn’t see where we were going, we headed for a space that didn’t have any boats in it and threw the hook in with 120 feet of rode out. It must have worked because we’ve been here for 3 days now and we’ve not moved in the constant stream of 30-40 knot squalls. Hopefully the skin will grow back on my knuckles before too long!

The operative word to truly enjoy the Bahamas is patience. I would hate to be the guy that spends thousands of hard earned $$ to come down for a week of bare boating, only to find that the weather isn’t good, or that a chosen anchorage turns out to be too crowded because every other bare boater read the same book. Doing things in a hurry, or expecting to do things in a hurry will only lead to misery down here, so we are learning to turn down the volume from even the relaxed pace of the Keys. Right now I am trying to eke out a WiFi signal so I can post this installment of the blog, but it seems, at best, to be like trying to milk a bull. You get all the right noises but when the moment of truth comes, you aren’t getting what you thought you would get. I could get in the dinghy and go into town for a free hook-up but that would mean more physical exertion than I really want to make….Well maybe if I can time it with Happy Hour over at Pineapples beach bar?? My multi-tasking habits die hard!

At the end of the day however it’s all about the sailing and discovering. Gentle day long beam reaches on emerald green water, mixed in with howling 40 knot squalls, flat seas and ocean swells all lead to a destination that suits the sailor. In the Southern Abacos, you can marina hop, or you can go from one isolated anchorage to another with about the same degree of effort. Whether you are looking for the latest in local rock bands or a deserted island with naked women on the beach…(and no I am not kidding, just check out the pictures), The Bahamas seems to have an abundance of all sorts of experiences to suit every taste.

It’s Better in the Bahamas is only a corny TV tag line until you actually get down here and see it for yourself. Now if it would only stop raining, I would go sailing! Have a great week, I know I will!

Addison

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Growing Roots!!

2009-05-09T01:24:00.004-04:00

It was about 12:30AM on Saturday morning and I was sitting at the nav station huddled over my laptop putting the finishing touches on my pictures for the latest installment of the blog. The atmosphere was reminiscent of the all nighters that I did many many moons ago, trying to complete term papers before the already extended deadline was to expire. The circumstances surrounding the all nighters were then, as they are now, just a matter of getting the priorities straight.

Back in the day, there was always something getting in the way of sitting down and completing assignments. Listening to a friend commiserate over opposite sex woes, or gathering at the pub under the guise of a study group or maybe straying into amateur theater, all those activities seemed to be higher on the priority list than sitting down and grinding out 1500 words for Dr. Ross. These days it seems that issues like helping a friend move his boat, or going to a cool tiki bar to hear the latest in music, or serving as the harbour computer geek seems to get in the way of sitting down and telling the folks back home about what I am doing. Instead I am just doing it!

I get asked by some, who haven’t yet embraced the cruising lifestyle, about what I’m going to do when the vacation is over. The first couple of times I was asked, I would mumble some non sequiturs about letting nature run its course. The reality is that cruising is not a vacation, it is a lifestyle choice. And by making the choice we embrace the blessings of new and interesting people. New and interesting places and new and interesting sights to see. We also accept that normal everyday tasks that would take 10 minutes to accomplish in a land life, can take all day in the cruising life.

Laundry for example, often becomes an all day affair. I have to admit that the closest thing I got to doing laundry in my past life was to not miss the hamper with my underwear but these days a team effort is required to get the job done. Food shopping is yet another chore that in the cruising life has actually become a past time. When your family car is a dinghy and a pair of folding bicycles, it is really important to make a list, check it twice and make sure that what you buy us really needed.

The pay off for the seeming inconveniences is that we have had the opportunity to meet, and really get to know people from all over the world. Whether it be the result of a conversation struck up in the laundry line, or a chance meeting waiting for the propane truck to show up, friendships start much more easily than they do in the more guarded land lifestyle.

The past few months have flown by. It seems just yesterday for example that folks for PCYC (Trevor and Eva, Jane and Paul) and my friend Randy from New Brunswick came down for a visit. Yet it has been over a month since the last one went home! By the pictures in this installment of the blog, you will see that there a many more pics of the social side of cruising. From cockpit gatherings to full fledged dinner parties, the ability to create a party never ceases to amaze me. In the Daytimer, Outlook Meeting Maker world I used to live in, it was a major endeavour to get 2 people in a room, never mind 10 or 12. These days a chance meeting or a quick call on the VHF can get crowd gathered in no time at all.

We have not been to as many places as we originally planned, but we are certainly getting to know more about the places we have been. Time is governed by the events as opposed to events being governed by the amount of time available. When I sat down to write this installment of the blog, I was at a but of a loss as to what to say because we haven’t moved off of our mooring ball since Feb 1.As I reviewed the pictures however, I realized just how full the past few months have been. Tomorrow we are off to the Bahamas and the voyaging part of cruising will begin again.

Look for another installment before the next quarter is out. In the meantime enjoy the pictures and have a great week, I know I will.

Addison

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Marathon East to Marathon West

2009-02-20T13:54:00.003-05:00

Greetings to all from Marathon! I have to apologize to our followers for not updating the blog for such a long period of time, but in our defense we have only just realized that we have been here for 2 months. We thank all who wrote, and for the stream of concerned e-mails wondering if we were still on the surface. Rest assured we are still here, and are living in a world where the saying “My how time flies when you are having fun!” is a mantra for life.

Once a cruiser reaches a particular destination, there is a tendency to stay put for a while. Everybody begins with the intention of cleaning up the boat, re-provisioning and setting off again, but there is something hypnotic about Marathon that causes people to stay much longer. It is perhaps one of the paradoxes of cruising that I have heard repeated over and over from many hardcore long term cruisers, a group in which Pat and I are still novices. So despite the fact that cruisers are adherents of a nomadic lifestyle, there is a tendency to plant roots very quickly. Certainly that was the case for Pat and me, because after arriving in Marathon Harbor on December 21 we have moved maybe a total of 12 miles. And most of those 10 miles were used to exit the harbor and take care of little household chores like flushing the holding tanks 3 miles off shore!

The mark of how long a boat has been here is by looking at the amount of sea scum that has built up on the water line of a moored or anchored boat. The fresh arrivals show up with waxed hulls, clean dinghies and clear boot stripes. The long term residents however keep their dinghies looking appropriately scruffy, so they are less theft prone and their water lines resemble a reef. Most make an effort to keep their vessels looking tidy, but there are always a few that are like the suburban neighbor who never mows his lawn, and let their vessels decay to a floating Dog Patch. The intermediate residents like Pat and me only have a thin layer of slime on the water line and the slightest hint of barnacles at the edge of the bottom paint. The bottom of our unprotected dinghy however is an entirely different story, and will require a trip to the beach with paint scrapers to get clean again.

In some respects our cruising life really only began on Feb 1 of this year. On that date, we moved onto a mooring ball in the Marathon mooring field from our fully serviced slip located behind a million dollar home on the very toni Sombrero Boulevard. We have now been on the ball for nearly 3 weeks, and during that time, we have been making our own water and electricity on our own self contained off grid island. Since our plans are to go farther a field, getting some practice in how to balance the systems to make the best use of our resources is very helpful. Between our solar panels, and a small gas generator, we are able to make water, have hot showers, watch TV, surf the internet, toast bread etc. in other words all the comforts of home provided we don’t overdo it.

The mooring field here is one of the largest in the US and holds hundreds of boats. In addition to the “official” moorings, there is also space for those who prefer to sit on their own ground tackle for free. Speaking of free, it is entirely possible to live down here for next to nothing. While every cruiser has their own sense of what “next to nothing” really means, I am convinced that there are people in the harbor who survive on only a few hundred dollars per month. For $140 per month, one can anchor in the harbor, have a place to dock their dinghy, a place to park your bicycle, free showers, and a weekly pump out of the holding tank. Food in the Keys tends to be a little pricier than it is elsewhere, Pat paid $1.20 for a single potato the other day, but with some judicious shopping a couple of hundred dollars spent on basics, supplemented by a few hours a week with a fishing rod can provide a pretty decent diet.

At the other end of the spectrum, there are many million dollar homes, with million dollar boats parked in front of them. For the uber rich crowd, Marathon offers amenities like a private 103 member golf course, an airport with plenty of parking space for your Gulfstream or Challenger, and perhaps most importantly for some, the ability to disappear into the crowd, like the Chinese emperor who dressed as a peasant to get closer to his subjects. Unless you are extremely observant it is not possible to tell the princes and paupers apart. Last night for example, a former member of the Clinton cabinet, was plucking his banjo as back-up to one of the local bar singers.

At the end of this month, we will leave Marathon for either the Everglades or we will continue down the Keys towards Key West. We are fortunate enough to have the choice and the time in which to exercise it. Several of our friends have contacted us to let us know they are heading this way, so we are looking forward to meeting as many of them as possible. I can’t promise that I will post every week like we did coming down here, but I will make an effort to be a little more diligent in providing news and pics than I have in the last month…or is it two???

Have a great week, and stay warm!

Addison

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Vero Beach to Marathon - Could this be Margaritaville???

2008-12-26T15:27:00.009-05:00

There were 4 guys standing at the bar who were well into a couple of jugs of draft beer. They were engaged in a very animated conversation about the day of fishing they had just returned from. There were loud descriptions about the number of tuna that had surrounded their boat out on the reef, but for some reason refused to take the live baits that were offered. They stopped their rising crescendo of colorful expletives just long enough to greet a large man, wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and covered in tattoos, who had walked in carrying a small terrier like a baby in his arms. The terrier was appropriately dressed for the season in a Santa suit complete with fur trim and a tasseled hat. Accompanying Mr. Tattoo was his woman friend who was carrying a drink that she brought in with her from outside and smoking a cigarette.

On the stage a solo singer piano player with a pony tail was belting out a country rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer as a man in a full Jack Sparrow pirate outfit, complete with tri-cornered hat, 2 stepped with his Pirate Jenny girlfriend. I’m pretty sure he was also wearing eye liner, but maybe it was the lighting, or maybe he just had very striking features? A couple of clean cut prep school types wearing designer board shorts and flip flops and sporting Oakley sunglasses on top of their heads were huddled together completely oblivious to their surroundings.

Pat and I had just returned from a day trip by car to Miami to pick up some solar panels and we were sitting in the aptly named Dockside bar on Tuesday evening waiting for our food to arrive. Both of us were pretty tired because we had arrived in Marathon late on Sunday evening after a 5 day nearly non-stop journey from Melbourne and then almost immediately turned around and driven back to Miami. Perhaps it was fatigue, and perhaps it was the tortoise shell cat sitting on the bar but there was something decidedly surreal about our surroundings. Could this be the fabled Margaritaville?

As his friends fussed over the dog in the Santa suit, one of the fishermen made eye contact, and he walked/staggered over to introduce himself as Tony. He shook our hand warmly and welcomed us to Marathon. He was just passing through, but he had already been there for 6 months, and he had no specific plans for leaving. It seems that he had left behind a stressful life in Chicago and was on his way to Panama aboard his 50 foot catamaran. As he started to describe his journey, our server arrived with our meals, and he politely excused himself and invited us to visit him aboard his boat when we got settled. His beer hazed speech and the Ralph Lauren shirt stained with fish guts were a stark contrast to the elegant way in which he excused himself from disturbing our meal, leaving us wondering just what he did before he became a sailor on a 50 foot cat in the Keys.

Perhaps Tony’s story is an anomaly, but judging by the number of graying pony tails sported by both men and women who are as old or older than Pat and me, I have to believe that the Keys is one of those places that can draw you in and lull you into a satisfied stupor. Perhaps it is the retirement community for aging hippies or perhaps it is the true fountain of youth, but there is something about the air in these parts that just seems to re-adjust one’s notions about time.

The pace of Marathon is a welcome change and a relief from the pace of the past week. Last week, when Pat and I left the anchorage in Vero Beach we knew we were in for a week of dawn to dusk traveling if we were to make the Keys in time for Christmas. As we were caught up in the moment, once again I neglected my rule about being in a specific place on a specific date. Now when you are underway and operating under a self imposed deadline there are two things that a sailor does not want to hear. The first thing is a very loud bang coming from the engine and nether regions of the boat, and the second is the total silence that ensues.

We were approaching St. Lucie Inlet following a channel no more than 150 feet wide that was surrounded by very shallow water. According to the charts the area we were in was very prone to shoaling due to the currents from the inlet and the main channel depths were well below the ICW controlling depth of 12 feet. Furthermore the water outside of the dredged channel was left to go native and was reported to be less than 5 feet deep. Understanding that we were in precarious waters I paid extra close attention to the channel by carefully back sighting each mark to ensure that I was not drifting out of safe water. Suddenly there was a loud bang and a shudder from below and then total silence.

I was like a deer in the headlights because the information from my instruments could not explain what had just happened. The chart plotter showed we were in the middle of the channel, the depth sounder showed close to 10 feet of water, and the speed log showed we were still moving forward at a decent clip. Pat nailed the problem right away when she yelled over that we had hit something floating in the water and that our prop was fouled. As I cursed all crab fishermen, I managed to restart the engine, but as soon as I put it into gear, it would stall so I shifted the focus of my cursing to the company that manufactured my prop line cutters. I managed, after several attempts of putting the engine into forward and reverse, to create a substantial cloud of debris that looked like a mix of tree branches and bits of canvas. The engine would run while in gear, but the vibrations that ran through the hull felt as if the engine was going to come out of its mounts.

I had visions of bent prop shafts, fried engines and broken transmissions, so I shut everything down. There was not enough wind to sail and the engine was of no help, so we allowed the boat to drift and as we moved into the shallow water off the channel Pat went forward to set the anchor. A call to Tow Boat US on the VHF and help was on the way. Within 20 minutes we had a Towboat alongside and were on our way to the Marriot Resort at Hutchinson Island where a diver would meet us and check out our problem. It turned out that I had hit a submerged construction tarpaulin like the type that is used to cover the load in a dump truck. It seemed endlessly long as I took the edge from the diver and pulled it from the water.

In the end the engine was fine and we were none the worse for wear. It cost us about 2 hours out of our schedule and $50 to cover the cost of the diver. It could have been much worse, but in retrospect what was impressive to Pat and me was that the experience we had gained over the last few months came into play, and apart from my initial surprise, we handled everything calmly and correctly like we had been doing this all of our lives. Kudos to Tow Boat US for being so responsive and many thanks go out to the staff of the Marriott for providing safe haven for sailors in distress, but in the end it was Pat and me that kept a bad situation from getting much worse.

It was a shame that we had imposed a deadline on our traveling because the next 4 days took us from anchorages in Jupiter Inlet to Fort Lauderdale and to the strangely named but beautiful Long Aresenicker before arriving in Marathon. Each of the stops could have easily been expanded into much, longer stays, but there is always next time.

We have arrived in Marathon, where we were met by Bruce and Esther of Con el Viento fame who produced last years cruising blog. Bruce has appointed himself as the unofficial dockmaster for Canadian boats, and he has gone above and beyond the call of duty to ensure that Pat and I feel comfortable and welcomed. The holidays were welcome quiet time, but a little lonely because the usual hustle and bustle of family dinners were missing this year. Still Pat managed to put together a great Turkey dinner for the two of us

This week will be dedicated to scrubbing several months of grime off of Threepenny Opera and catching up on boat chores that have been neglected for awhile. One of the best chores will be to pack away all of the cold weather clothing that we had been living in up until about three weeks ago. These days dressing up means putting on a shirt with a collar and somewhat cleaner shorts.

Marathon is extremely cruiser friendly and both Pat and I are looking forward to integrating ourselves into the community. We are prepping for the next stage of our travels, but the current plans call for a stay in Marathon until the end of January…. Who knows, maybe we will be like Tony the fisherman and we’ll find ourselves propping up the bar and introducing ourselves to next seasons fresh faced arrivals.

Have a great week. I know we will here in Margaritaville!

Addison

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St Augustine to Vero Beach via Montreal

2008-12-17T20:24:00.004-05:00

I am warm again! After our overnight crossing from Beaufort SC, Pat and I were greeted by glorious sunshine and more importantly the real heat that comes with it. It was such a huge treat to be able to wander around the historic town of St. Augustine in shorts and a t-shirt. In fact it was the first time since we left Canada that Pat and I have been able to do so. I guess Florida is living up to its tag line of being the sunshine state. Many of the locals are still complaining about the cold, but for Pat and me anything above 55 degrees is warm and once we cross the line into the 60’s we are positively into tropical territory.

Maybe it was the heat and maybe it was because we have been town hopping on the boat but St. Augustine was one of those towns that we hated to leave. Our overnight stop turned into two, and then we added a third day just for good measure. The time that we gained by going offshore from Beaufort, was reinvested into a more quality experience in St. Augustine. It is very charming and obviously set up for a booming tourist trade, but unlike other communities that derive a good part of their livelihood from tourists, the town was not the least bit tacky. It may sound a little odd, but we were actually motivated to visit tourist attractions because they were not very touristy. And so it came to pass that we found ourselves in the Alligator Farm, the farmers market and the St. George Street pedestrian mall.

One of the other benefits of warmer weather is that we have been able to stay on the hook for several days at a time. In the real cold weather, the Espar heater draws down the batteries more than my little 80 amp alternator can replenish without running the engine an inordinately long time. When we were preparing Threepenny Opera for our cruise, I made the conscious decision to wait until we got to Florida to install solar panels but in hindsight I should have done it sooner. If I were preparing another boat for this voyage, I would definitely have my solar installed prior to departure because the lack of supplemental charging has forced us to spend more nights in marinas than I had originally planned. The savings that I would have gained by buying my solar in Florida has been more that used up on extra nights in marinas. Again hindsight is proved to be 20/20.

Threepenny Opera is actually a very good cruising boat and we proved it by leaving St. Augustine, and then staying off the grid until we reached Melbourne on our third day out. We had good anchorages in Daytona Beach and another great anchorage at my namesake Addison Point. The beauty of the last anchorage was that we were within 5 miles of the Vehicular Assembly Building, where the space shuttle is prepared for flight. It was also line of sight to the two gargantuan launch pads, so if we can figure out a way to do it, maybe we might come back up this way for the February shuttle launch. I can’t think of anything cooler than to sit on my own deck sipping on a good cabernet and watching history unfold.

It was somewhat ironic that once we reached Melbourne in, we left the boat to fly back to Canada for the annual cookie baking session with the family. While it might sound a little strange to fly several thousand miles to bake cookies nothing could be farther from the truth. One of the things that Pat and I have come to realize is that changing our lifestyle is not the same thing as changing our life. We are merely living it in a different venue and perhaps at a different pace. The importance of getting together and spending quality time together cannot be underestimated when we are out cruising and since we had not seen any family for several months, Pat and I approached the trip home with the same excitement as we did for the 4 day power weekend get aways that we used to take when we were both wage slaves. The good thing about flying home for a family get together while we are out cruising is that we did not have to fly back and go to the office on Monday morning!

As excited as we were about going home for a few days, it was still a huge shock to the system when we walked out of the airport terminal in Montreal into -13 degree temperatures. I was walking around in shorts and sandals only 5 hours earlier and now I found myself being congratulated by the local Hertz representative for being fortunate enough to get the last car that was not too frozen to rent. What the Hertz guy did not tell us was that the deadline for mandatory snow tire installation was the date I was returning the car, and since the car they had for me was to be retired from service on that date, snow tires were not installed. It did not take us long to discover that all season radials do not work very well after a week of snow, freezing rain and more snow. For once I was thankful for heavy Montreal traffic because at least I wasn’t going very fast.

Originally the ginger snap cookies and Swedish Spritz Shortbread were baked by Pat’s mom. She had passed the recipe on to Pat’s sister Ann but during the transition the hand written recipe that Pat’s mom used was torn and a couple of key ingredients were missing. It has taken us several years of reverse engineering and experimentation, plus dozens of bottles of wine and other spirits to try and discover both the missing ingredients and their correct proportions. Over the years we have produced concoctions that could rival titanium for hardness and concrete for density, but this year we finally got it right. If it weren’t for the persistence of Ann and nieces Stephanie and Karine to figure out the right formula, Pat and I would stll be buying our Swedish cookies at Ikea. Maybe it was part of Nanna Oscarson’s master plan to tear the recipe and force us to get together to figure out the mystery. In the end the cold and slippery roads only seemed to make the weekend that much better.

Pat and I are back in Florida, and it feels great. I actually put on a bathing suit for the first time and got down to the business of washing off 5 months of cruising grime from the deck of Threepenny Opera. It was not a pretty sight, and no I am not referring to me in the bathing suit. She has had a first washing to remove the big stuff, so when we get to Marathon, we will be able to get down to the business of making her shine again. Today we are rafted three abreast on a mooring ball in Vero Beach. As luck would have it our ball mates are Ken and Heidi from Rising Tide and Ron and Dawn from Dawn Treader. By this time next week we should be approaching our first stage destination of Marathon Florida. I can hear the Jimmy Buffet tunes already!!

Have a great week, I know we will.

Addison

P.S. Let us know you are out there by subscribing to the blog. Click on the “follow this blog” link, just below our profile photo.
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Charleston SC to St-Augustine FL. – Overnights…Second Time is the charm!

2008-12-04T14:37:00.006-05:00

Traveling the ICW for Pat and me has been a front row seat to help us understand the values that makes the United States what it is today. From the secessionist manifesto of the Rhett family in the late 19th century to the ever present reminder of America’s military might (not a day goes by without seeing the Navy, Air Force, Army or Marine Corp in action); from the tacky kitsch of Myrtle Beach to the refined modern chic of Charleston; and from the crews of the multi-million dollar mega yachts to the humblest of floating homes, we have had the privilege experiencing first hand modern American history by passing up close and personal most of the original colonies.

The ICW is an amazing piece of engineering and a testament to the notion that a good idea will rise above all. To even exist, it has over the years surmounted and continues to surmount the challenges of economics, politics, geography and weather. It is the Highway 66 of the cruising community and the slice of American Civilization that is served up as one travels the system of natural rivers and man made canals, cannot be rivaled. Perhaps preserving it as a national heritage site would be a way to obtain the funding needed to adequately maintain the system?

As an added bonus, Pat and I were invited to join several other crews from the cruising community to celebrate the American Thanksgiving holiday. While we all agreed that going out for dinner was not exactly the same, the logistics of large crowds on small boats dictated that some concessions needed to be made. We are truly thankful that we have made the acquaintance of Chris and Divya from s/v Maggie M, Ron and Dawn from s/v Dawn Treader, Jim and Ann from s/v Ubiquitous, and especially to Mike and Georgie from s/v Alcyone, who made the effort to seek us out to extend the invitation.

Pat and I enjoyed the experience so much that we had an impromptu repeat of the experience aboard Threepenny Opera the following night with Bob and Debbie from the s/v Valissa with whom we had crossed the Gulf of Maine over the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend in October. If it were not for the confidence we gained from following their lead, Pat and I may not have ventured out onto the Bay of Fundy alone, and we would still be much further to the North and much colder as a result.

We had not seen Bob and Debbie since the crossing but we have often wondered where they were; so it was through pure serendipity that Debbie heard me speaking to another boat and realized we were nearby. I was equally surprised and delighted to be hailed by the long lost Valissa, but that is the way things work on the ICW. It took a stretch run in approaching darkness and rain to make the anchorage, but Pat managed to get the hook down at dusk, and cook a turkey with the trimmings by 6:30. She is a miracle worker on a boat.

Despite the richness of the cultural experience however, the ICW has a tedious side that is found in the numerous uncharted shoals, the bridges that force one to adapt to their rhythm and the tidal currents and flows that can make planning a relatively simple trip into a complex stochastic modeling exercise. Pat and I entered the ICW early in November and after almost 4 weeks of relatively short day hops we were ready to get on with the business of going south. Perhaps we were motivated by the uncharacteristically cold temperatures, or perhaps it was due to the confidence that one builds from spending the last 4 months on our boat, Pat and I decided to leave the ICW in Beaufort SC and head out into the open Atlantic for an overnight passage to Jacksonville FL.

The decision to go “offshore” was accompanied by some trepidation of course, but in discussions with other more experienced sailors the feelings are normal and very common. While only a fool will do anything unsafe, anybody, no matter how experienced who voyages away from the protection of safe harbours, can only do so with the permission of Mother Nature. We have been sent to the principal’s office more than once for not heeding her lessons, so naturally we were a little apprehensive that this time we had learned our lessons well.

No doubt there will be more advanced lessons, but for newbie cruisers like Pat and me the 135nm mile passage from Beaufort SC to the mouth of the St. Johns River, which leads to Jacksonville FL, is a great mid-term test of skills. If one passes, then longer and more complex passages are within reach, but if one needs remedial tutoring, there are many less challenging day sails on the open Atlantic that one can make to gain additional experience. Unlike our first blue water night passage, this time Pat and I were traveling solo. We were in communication while enroute with other boats via VHF and SSB but the trip planning and execution were based solely on our efforts so it was comforting to know that others were also out there with us, even though they were unseen.

In the end we went to the Palm Cove Marina in Jacksonville Beach FL because the Jacksonville Marina was under repairs. The total distance was ~140 Nm and we covered the distance in just under 23 hours. For the first 15 hours of the voyage we enjoyed perfect beam reach sailing on relatively flat seas. Our biggest challenge was to slow Threepenny Opera down so that we would not arrive before sunrise. For the last 8 hours of the trip the wind died so our challenge was to try and speed Threeepenny Opera up so that we would arrive before sunset. We finally gave up at 4:30AM and fired up the iron sails to motor the last 30 odd miles. Most importantly I managed to keep my dinner down, so I am hoping that I have started a trend for future night passages….mommy I’m a big boy now!

Today we are in St. Augustine after a very short 28 SM hop from our marina last night. We are looking forward to visiting the city, but even more importantly we are looking forward to going to Montreal in a week’s time for the annual cooking baking party that Pat’s family puts on. In the meantime we will enjoy a little more of the Florida ICW which looks a little different than the parts of the ICW further north. I think we have earned our intermediate cruising badges because Pat is busy with the charts and guides planning an overnight passage so we can get as far south as possible before we take our break.

Have a great week. I know we will!

Addison

P.S. Let us know you are out there by subscribing to the blog. Click on the “follow this blog” link, just below our profile photo.
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