Our first med moor experience was in Guadaloupe |
Conch shell pile in Carriacou |
Chloe waiting patiently for the Grenada vet |
We quit the rat race in 2017 and embraced a life of travel. Join us on our adventure as we experience the world. Viewing format is: He-said (Lance=left align) She-said (Shawna=right align)
Our first med moor experience was in Guadaloupe |
Conch shell pile in Carriacou |
Chloe waiting patiently for the Grenada vet |
May 5th marks 4 years we've been with Minerva. Sometimes it feels like a hundred years ago that we were responsible homeowning adults commuting to work every day. Sometimes it feels like yesterday.
We've met many amazing people on the water. Some we run into again and again in our travels, some don't stay on the water for long. Not everyone is cut out for this lifestyle. I've noticed that those that stick with it for the long term have perfected the art of bending without breaking. The folks that must control their environment quickly learn that this is not the life for them or learn to surrender some control and work within the limitations of the day.
The volcano at St. Eustatius (pronounced Stay-Sha) holds court over the anchorage |
Our friends Janet and Joe in Oriental NC introduced us to the concept of the No Plan Plan at a time when we were coming completely undone by our first year of Minerva maintenance failures. I still struggle with the No Plan Plan. I am a control freak. I make plans and expect to stick to them.
But sailing doesn't work that way. The wind won't cooperate. The parts are unobtainable. The professional you hired doesn't show up on time and won't return your phone calls. The skies won't cooperate - it will surely dump rain the day you booked the welding work. Medical situations pop up at the most inconvenient moments. Boat insurance policies place seemingly arbitrary limitations on your travel plans. Bureaucracy and politics in general often place obstacles in your way. The mail won't work where you are, or it's prohibitively expensive. You can't get the groceries you want. You can't find the type of food you want at the local restaurants or they aren't open today despite their printed hours. The internet and phone connection is sometimes a challenge. You can't use all the fresh water you wish. You can't always get to an airport, a rental car, sometimes even getting to shore is impossible. You can't access the friends and the family that you want. The basic freaking high-count thread cotton sheets that you want don't exist in any of the islands you've approached - and you've looked in every home goods store you found for the last 6 months.
Cannon at Brimstone Hill Fortress in St Kitts |
The sailors that can move past these things and laugh anyways have become the true masters of flexibility. We're not there yet but we're learning.
Can't talk to your best friend? Wave the bag of ice you just bought at the strangers you just met and invite them over for a sundowner. You can't consume all that ice before it melts anyways so share the wealth. They dinghied past you to check in with the customs agent, they look tired and their boat probably doesn't have an ice maker either, they also probably just came in from a long sail. Make the crew a cocktail. Listen to their sailing stories. It might be not the sister or the best friend whose company you are missing; new friends are cool too.
The Grand Parade at Carnival St Maarten |
Can't go where you want? Go where the wind takes you. Or stay where you are. Or fire up the engine and bash into it. Whatever plans you concocted yesterday don't have to be written in stone, you can change your mind to follow today's weather whims. An experienced sailor told us "when it's time to go, I just go, and I can be really quite rude about it". This conversation happened just a couple of days before he failed to show up for the dinner we cooked for him in Annapolis, and we found out days later he had caught a weather window to Maine.
Mural facing Marigot Bay, on the French Side of St. Martin |
Lance had some foot medical drama to deal with, best done in California by the specialists that already know him. Somebody needed to stay with the dog and the boat. So we sailed Minerva back to St. Maarten where friends and resources are plentiful, access to boat supplies is easy and the technicians are top-notch. I worked through some big projects we were going to hire done in Trinidad anyways. Lance is getting back on two feet, Minerva got some big projects done a little earlier than planned and we (hopefully) play more/work less this hurricane season. We'll have to high-tail it to Trinidad so it's not the lovely slow tour of the Caribbean we had planned, but that's OK, we'll catch the things we missed on the way back up. I'm learning to surrender the plan and work within the day's limitations. There is peace in surrender.
Chloe loves to frolic on the beach at every opportunity |
We had the most amazing sail back from St. Kitts to St. Maarten, and we both hold that memory close until we can share the next perfect sailing day together. That's the other side of this coin. Good preparations often make for smooth sailing, and now and then the most perfect moments are gifted to the persistent sailor. There are days when the wind is cooperative, the waves are minimal, the breeze is cool and the clouds or stars mirror the water so you and your vessel seem to float together in a magic bubble, outside of the rest of the world. Sometimes there are dolphins. Sometimes there are jaw-dropping views to sail past. Sometimes the water explodes with bioluminescence, trailing fireworks behind the boat's wake.
Those moments reward the struggle.
Shiny new standing rigging - done! |
Typical bounty from a morning shore run to the French side of St Martin |
Chloe the super sailor dog in Philipsburg |
Quick Haul - it's always unnerving to see your boat mid-air but the guys at Bobby's Mega Yard made it look easy |
Sidewalk crepes on the main drag in Marigot |
We sailed out of Curacao under a stiff wind, almost exactly on the nose. Somehow, impossibly, just like we came in.
The first night we lost track of our boat buddy Bliss in a squall. Sometime later in the night we noticed the mainsail was shaped weirdly because the foot of the sail was working its way out of the boom track, before we had a chance to fix it the outhaul shredded and snapped loose. The big winds and steep waves made it just too much to attempt to solve any of it safely in the dark and so we decided the best course of action was to take down and secure the mainsail until we could get some sunshine on it and make a plan. The beauty of a ketch is that in high winds she often performs better with just the headsail and mizzen sail, ketch sailors call this "running jib & jigger" and Minerva is quite comfortable this way. I clipped to the jacklines, crab-walked/crawled out to the mainmast, pulled the sail down and secured it while Lance watched from the wheel, calling out warnings for the bigger waves so I could pause long enough to cling to the mast or boom until it was safe to take one hand off again and resume sail wrestling. Sail secured, I crawled back to the safety of the cockpit, unclipped and passed out until time for my watch. The morning light revealed a half dozen problems with the mainsail and boom, all of which would have to wait for a calm day at anchor before being addressed.
On the third day the wind shifted a bit behind us, we flattened out the boat and flew into Christiansted like a rocket, our Curacao flag still flying because it seemed too unimportant to hassle with in the rough conditions, short-handed as we were with the manual steering. It was somewhat shredded from the season and the long ride in. We didn't take it down until Minerva was resting on her anchor alongside our buddy boat. Our American flag at the stern was every bit as shredded.
There were already a couple of other sailboats anchored with Bliss. One of them was a beautiful charter boat named Kai. Shortly after we had settled the bureaucracy, removed our tattered Curacao flag and hoisted the USVI flag, the crew of Kai came over and gifted us with some fish from their freezer. Rather than let it thaw while getting some work done they shared the bounty. This is the cruiser way.
The happiest view - finding your long-lost buddy boat at your destination
They told us they had been scrabbling to figure out our Curacao flag, wondering what far away lands we had sailed in from, and how they were hoping we would anchor our "real sailboat" out by them so Kai and her crew could share the anchorage with the other "real sailors".
When they said those words I looked around and it took me a moment. "Oh... you mean us? Real sailors?
Our hair and skin is salty. Our mainsail is secured tightly, obviously done on the fly but done properly nonetheless (not to mention one-handed while often airborne). The dog is still wearing her life jacket and anxiously eyeing the frozen fish - she recognizes the way they zip-seal her favorite meats in the Caribbean. We are yawning but nonetheless going about our business settling Minerva after a long passage; tidying lines, securing sails, checking the chafe guards on the anchor bridle.
They're talking about us. I scratched my salty eyebrow and blinked the resulting salt from my eye. I suppose we are real sailors.
Goin' to shore for the first time after a long passage - this is the face of a very happy sailor dog |
The island is just large and modern enough to offer up most everything we need. There's been a refreshing diversity of snorkeling, restaurants, groceries, and boat supplies. We were quickly welcomed into the cruising community and after we moved into the marina we formed our own sub-community there and freely shared rides to events and markets, tools, and windfalls such as the night we split the giant tuna the local fishermen gave us when they couldn't find a way to stuff it into their cooler. That fish fed several cruisers on A dock that week.
Much of Willemstad is covered in murals and this is one of my favorites. |
We imagined we'd be doing lots of scuba diving off the boat when we got here, but the tanks haven't escaped their locker much. Mostly it's a logistical issue. Moving the boat requires permission from the government and a small fee paid each time, getting to the government office is a hassle. The diving is not where the boat is, which means loading the gear into the car or hitching rides with others for long dinghy slogs, and there always seems to be something else to distract us from making all that effort. Someday we'll anchor Minerva where the diving is and fall off the boat and dive there. Wherever that is.
We found respite from the heat in regular snorkeling trips and afternoon cooldown swims at the local beach. Adding this to our routine became something we looked forward to each afternoon. |
We arrived with a long To Do list for Minerva, and tackled it with fervor, making every effort to balance out the laptop work with the boat work and a healthy dose of fun. The ungodly heat definitely threw a wrench in the schedule though, carving out hours in the middle of the day that defy any action at all aside from laying on the floor and just trying to breathe. Although we didn't get everything done, we did get the important things done. A dive boat captain in Monterey once told me "it's not IF something on the boat is broken, it's WHICH of the broken items needs to be most urgently fixed that is the real question." Wise words from an experienced captain I respect; I put the rest of the To Do sticky notes away for another day and will do my best to suppress the shame of not conquering it all before departing.
Another great mural in Willemstad |
The Winter 2023-24 lineup |
"I am going to FINISH one of these projects TODAY" Lance shouted as he slid the boat hatch door closed and marched up the dock. I could only shake my head and commiserate. We've been banging our heads against the wall on this simple dinghy upgrade for way too long; what should have been an afternoon project was now dragging into the 5th day.
The rest of the "to do" sticky notes mock us from the wall, waving in the breeze.
The statue of Curacao's first Prime Minister was taken down for refurbishment. Locals watched nervously until he was safely on the ground.
It's been over a year since her Maine spa treatment and Minerva is demanding some attention. We knew we'd wash up here for hurricane season and postponed much of the work as we were expecting a big air conditioned workspace at the marina resort. As it turns out, there isn't any sort of clubhouse at the resort, air conditioned or otherwise. Fortunately locals have kindly offered to share their personal workspace with us for the larger projects such as the genoa sacrificial cover, which will involve spreading the huge sail out flat. The smaller projects are being tackled on the salon table next to Minerva's air conditioner.
Curacao is an island of the Dutch Antilles and the primary language is Papamiento (a blend of English, Dutch, Spanish and Afrikaan). We find that most folks also speak either English or Spanish. The projects involve lots of small parts which are requiring effort to source. We felt bad about constantly hitching rides with our cruising buddy and knew the more abstract items would require some significant legwork to track down; in the end we leased a car for the remainder of the season so we have some hope of getting it all done before November without monopolizing our neighbor's time and car.
Lance, Ken and Apollo teamed together to scrub bottoms of all three boats |
Shopping for obscure parts (like an industrial sewing needle) is one of those things most people just don't do daily any more. If I were in the USA, I'd visit no more than 2 local stores before just ordering them directly from SailRite or Amazon and have them delivered right to my door. Shipments like this in Curacao are a lot more complicated, and either can't be done at all or require third party help from the USA at additional cost and delay. So we've been driving around to all the likely shops asking if they have what we need or will order it for us - it's like a throwback to shopping in the 80's - lots of driving, lots of talking to a lot of people (with a lot of hand signals or Google intervention when we encounter language barriers), and lots of incomplete directions to that "other store, I can't remember it's name".
Franko Maps reveal the hidden gems |
Last weekend we took a day off and went exploring with A dock neighbors. All eight of us and Chloe piled into two cars and drove to the other end of the island to an obscure dive/snorkel spot discovered on a FrankoMap, then we finished up the day at an indoor/outdoor Thai restaurant. Ventures like this keep me from screaming out loud when we reach the next project roadblock. It's all about balance.
Cruiser dogs join the party at the hamburger joint |
On Tuesday night we were invited to cruisers' night at the local hamburger joint. There was an excellent turnout and Chloe roamed freely through the crowd. Before long she fell in with the pack of boat kids running around the property; their friendship hastened and forever secured by shared French fries.
Upon leaving the USA we discovered that the rest of the world communicates on WhatsApp for texting, phone calls, and video calls. Businesses run on it also and if you make a phone call with your regular phone it isn't likely to be picked up by anyone except through WhatsApp. Here in Curacao we use it to chase parts with businesses and have embraced the group chat function of the app to keep in constant contact with the cruisers on the island.
The SuperMoon Rises over Minerva |
Last weekend a dinghy float was organized under the SuperMoon which ended with a dozen boats tied together drifting along under the beautiful night skies and a gentle breeze. We pull together everything from scuba adventures to beach parties, lost and found, shared rides to stores, laundry and propane, requests for tools or help, and share windfalls. I found a hairdresser to give me a haircut on the stern of her boat last week. A cruising sailboat at anchor was struck by a drunken party vessel who then fled the scene, and within 24 hours it was all sorted out. Word got out of a disabled boat approaching the dock, so cruisers were waiting to help catch him as he limped in to the dock.
We are a tight community.
Tethers are kept handy in the cockpit and our policy is to clip our lifevests to the safety lines on the boat whenever leaving the cockpit for any reason |