Life In The Out Islands

Cosmo, the black kitty here who lives around the Hope Town Lighthouse, most definitely operates on island time.

Cosmo, the black kitty here who lives around the Hope Town Lighthouse, most definitely operates on island time.

When most people (myself included, until a few months ago) think of life in the islands, simplicity comes to mind. Ease. Life without worries. But when you start realizing the complexity of sustaining these small, remote communities, getting on “island time” is as much of a necessity as it is a luxury.

First, a definition. The Abacos are considered out islands of the Bahamas. Out islands are any of the hundreds of islands that are “out” from Nassau on New Providence Island (the biggest city in the Bahamas – home to around 80% of the Bahamian population). Marsh Harbour on Great Abaco Island is the biggest city in the Abacos and serves as the heart of the island chain, from where all goods and services flow, to the even more remote islands, the out-out-islands, like Man-O-War Cay and Great Guana Cay.

Stores on the more populated islands are open Monday through Saturday and most of them close for lunch from 1 to 2 p.m. every day. Stores on the out-out islands are open more or less at the whim of the owner, and nothing is open on Sundays.

The out island grocery stores get shipments in by ferry from Marsh Harbour, and Marsh gets supplied primarily by Nassau, which is primarily supplied by the U.S.  Not many things grow successfully on these islands, and attempts at sustaining livestock have mostly failed. Given the song and dance required to get a gallon of milk, you begin to understand the pricing.

I snagged these massive carrots at the grocery store in Hope Town. They were supposed to go to one of the restaurants on the island, but the deliveries got crossed. Also, no fresh fruit available, so time to get creative with canned guava! Turns out guava pureed with yogurt makes a pretty tasty popsicle.

I snagged these massive carrots at the grocery store in Hope Town. They were supposed to go to one of the restaurants on the island, but the deliveries got crossed. Also, no fresh fruit available, so time to get creative with canned guava! Turns out guava pureed with yogurt makes a pretty tasty popsicle.

While staples like dry goods are consistently stocked, other items, like fresh fruits and vegetables, and dairy, are happenstance. If you see something you want in stock, buy it, because they might get something completely different the following week. Sometimes, the shipments to the restaurants and the grocery stores get mixed up, and you just make do with what’s available.

And when there’s inclement weather, cold fronts, kicked up seas, etc., the shipments are on hold. When we visited the grocery store on Green Turtle Cay the second week of January, their shelves were low, as a boat hadn’t come since before Christmas.

It may not be obvious, what with rainbows of shimmering blue in every direction, but drinkable water on the islands is a precious commodity. There’s no immediate fresh water source, like rivers or lakes, so most islands use reverse osmosis and also catch rain water in cisterns. In almost all restaurant restrooms, there are signs to use the water sparingly.

Mail is also very much weather dependent and processed on “island time,” and the post offices run on a whimsical schedule.  The small office may or may not be open, and if it is, your mail will make its way down to the mail boat pickup whenever it does. Once the mail boat picks up the outgoing mail, it’s off to Marsh Harbour. But even there, it gets sorted when it gets sorted. The same goes for the reverse. Friends that we met in Man-O-War in late January were still awaiting a Christmas card that had been sent to them in early December.

A side note regarding addresses: In the out islands, a car is a rare siting. Most everyone travels by golf cart. But some also live on archipelagos where there simply aren’t roads, their dwellings accessible only by boat. Which also means that streets are absent in their addresses, and as such, their properties all have call names. “Sue Jones, Sunset Splendor, Dickie’s Cay, Abacos.” Sounds as magical as it does remote.

Each island that has residents has a bank  – or, I should say, they have a building that serves as a bank. In Hope Town, for example, the bank is open only on Tuesdays, and only for four or five hours. A representative from the Royal Bank of Canada handles the needs of the islanders, but the transacting is more rudimentary. For instance, we needed to get more cash and ATMs on the island do not exist, including at the bank, even when it was open. We queued on the Tuesday we were in town for 15-20 minutes and then Aaron requested a cash advance on our credit card – the only way we could get the paper money we needed.  The bank did not charge any transaction fees, other than what Visa charges us, and it was a rather easy affair.

With views like these from your porch, why would you be in a hurry to get anywhere else?!

With views like these from your porch, why would you be in a hurry to get anywhere else?!

Islands with more residents have health clinics, though these are not the emergency walk-in facilities frequented in the States. They are staffed mostly by nurses, with doctors who visit on specific days of the week to assess specific cases. Like the stores, these clinics are open Monday through Saturday, closed on Sunday, and if you visit the building as a walk-in, you may see a sign on the door that the staff has gone to do a house call and will return later. There are no emergency numbers to call for after-hours consultations.

Communication also works a bit differently in the islands. Given that the islands are all very much maritime communities, much of the correspondence between friends and businesses is done on designated channels on the VHF radio – including for those who live on land. Work also does not happen at the nail-biting, life-or-death pace that courses through our veins in the States. If you call a business to inquire about inventory, or getting work done, they may or may not call you back the same day. They may or may not respond to email. And if you have a verbal agreement for them to come out and assist, they may just get too busy that day. “It will get done.”

When we first arrived in the Abacos, I initially saw all of the negatives in this less-structured framework. What if I need groceries on Sunday, and what if they don’t have what I want? What if I can’t make it to the clinic before 5? Should I even bother to send postcards? It took me awhile to shed the heavy burden of immediate gratification in all things.

But the longer we’re here, the more I develop a calmer rhythm, and I respect, as I should have all along, that all people, including business owners, should be able to spend Sunday at church or with their families. Having certain businesses, like banks, only open one day a week has made us both more intentional about our schedule and more relaxed.

With a complete absence of convenience, I’m redefining “need.” I’m becoming more adaptable, more flexible, more resourceful.

Island time…. I think I’m just about there.

Man-O-War: A Photo Journal

Man-O-War is a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, heritage and community, that is the essence of island living.

Roughly 300 people live here year round – some work on the island, but most take the ferry to Marsh Harbor daily to work on the mainland. There’s a tiny little library next to a tiny little schoolhouse next to a tiny little post office, like a box of pastel crayons.

The houses are just as cute – yellow, purple, turquoise – with coconuts and conch shells lining the properties and golf carts parked outside. Water is sourced from cisterns that catch and store rain water.

Walk the main street off the marina and you’ll pass by friendly neighborhood cats, ducks quacking at the piers and swimming alongside turtles, cotton trees bobbing in the breeze, and shops that may or may not be open, depending on the owner’s plans for the day. You’ll most certainly meet at least one Albury – the family has been on the island almost from the beginning, generation after generation of boatbuilders, sailmakers and master woodworkers. It is a maritime town to its core.

As you head northwest on Queen’s Highway, the island narrows and at The Low Point, a slip of road and a picnic table is all that separates the Sea of Abaco from the Atlantic Ocean.

The air is fresher here in Man-O-War, the pace slower. Life is simpler and more vibrant, and pleasures come easy – like the slick of salt on your top lip from the spray of the steady ocean breeze.

Green Turtle to Great Guana

The most beautiful princess and her Great Guana sunset

The most beautiful princess and her Great Guana sunset

Finally, we are getting on island time – taking a deep breath and allowing ourselves the opportunity to enjoy where we are, even if it means putting a few non-essential projects on hold.

Due to a cold front that made traveling further south with Clarity impossible, we spent two weeks in Green Turtle Cay, but it turned out to be such a blessing. We tucked into a cozy little anchorage in White Sound that was surrounded by gorgeous resorts and was a short dinghy ride to town. Just a few days in, we met another cruising family that’s spending the better part of the winter in the Abacos on Wild Child, their Beneteau. Their daughter, Marleigh, is Claire’s age, and the two became fast friends, running like kitties along the beaches and setting up coconut stands.

Amazingly, a few days after that, we spotted Dark Horse anchored just off the island. Just a month ago, we celebrated Christmas in Florida with a couple of cruising families – one of them being Dark Horse, an incredible force of six (four kids aged 8 months, 2, 7 and 9) who have been living on their schooner for three years. We guided them into our anchorage in Green Turtle, and like that, our community grew again.

We explored the island together and the kids climbed trees and put on magic shows while the rest of us bathed in the warmth of adult conversation – heightened by healthy doses of wine, rum and moonshine. We took our dinghies over to No Name Cay to feed the wild pigs. The men convened to share charts and review forecasts.

And when the weather window did lift, we caravanned down to anchor off of Great Guana Cay together, spending the next three days doing school and work on our respective boats in the morning and meeting in the afternoons for snorkeling, diving, fishing and sandcastle-building.

Finding this, a “family,” friends for Claire and for us, was one of the things I was most worried about when we decided to leave all that was familiar in Chicago. To have found a taste of it this soon was an unbelievable gift.

As another cold front was bearing down, the three of us parted ways to find safe harbor – Dark Horse to Marsh Harbor, Wild Child to Hope Town, and us to Man-O-War Cay. We hope to meet again before our paths further divide. Dark Horse plans to leave the Abacos sooner than we will, as their draft prevents them from comfortably cruising the southern cays here, and this is the end of the road for Wild Child, heading back to the States in another month or two.

For now, we’ll enjoy the next week on our mooring in Man-O-War as our cozy little community of three.

The Case of the Three-Thousand-Dollar Black Bean

Claire in her "hospital costume," as she called it, right before they put her under.

Claire in her “hospital costume,” as she called it, right before they put her under.

To say that the last week was a rough one would be putting it mildly.

After striking out Monday at the local clinics and waiting out the national holiday on Tuesday, Aaron and I caught the ferry Wednesday morning with Claire, rented a car (from Big Papa, because in the out-islands, everything is family run) and drove to the clinic in Marsh Harbor.

We were so hopeful, but after multiple attempts to get the bean out, we had to come to terms with the realization that true medical help was not only necessary, but a plane ride away.

Claire, happy as can be in her pillow fort, in our hotel room in Marsh Harbor.

Claire, happy as can be in her pillow fort, in our hotel room in Marsh Harbor.

Sitting in our hotel room that night in Marsh Harbor, waiting for the flight Claire and I would have to catch the following morning to go to the hospital in Nassau, Aaron and I were in bad shape. Totally defeated. We just couldn’t catch a break, it seemed.

“Do you want to quit?” “…Do you?”

Honestly, we didn’t know what the other would say.

You see, the bean was the cherry on top of two weeks that have been equal amounts stressful and wonderful. Yes, there have been amazing anchorages, gorgeous beaches, swimming and snorkeling, and great friends.  The other half of the story is that, shortly after we crossed to the Bahamas, our batteries stopped holding their charge and would die overnight. Our watermaker all of a sudden started functioning at 50% the output we had when we brought it online in Florida. One of the windows of our hard dodger shattered, showering our entire cockpit and parts of our salon with glass.

Our Wi-Fi for tethering to our phones, which we need for work, wouldn’t load properly, even after hours of troubleshooting. Bugs started cropping up in our galley at night. And a prolonged cold front came through that not only brought temps too chilly for swimming, but also winds and a sea state that made getting further south impossible until it lifted.

And then, Claire stuck a bean up her nose – “tree trunk,” she named it shortly after it took up residence in her left nostril. So you see, we were already pretty run down.

Planes, trains and automobiles - all because of a little black bean

Planes, trains and automobiles – all because of a little black bean

In a really big way, we were lucky. Though we had to get the bean out as soon as possible, Claire’s “ailment” was not painful. But it was extremely traumatic for her, not really knowing what was going on, with Aaron and me trying to hold her down and doctors she didn’t know shoving tools she didn’t understand down her nose.

The biggest contributor to the decision to fly to Nassau was that she simply wouldn’t lay still. She just couldn’t calm down, even with a shot of Valium to try to ease the anxiety. With each attempt at the clinic in Marsh Harbor, her fight got stronger, and it became less and less safe to try to get the bean out. So, alas, a flight to Nassau, where she could be safely put under, was in order. If it’s any indication of the state she was in when we got to the hospital, even the sight of a nurse walking in with a pen would send her cowering behind me, poor thing.

The staff at Doctor’s Hospital in Nassau was fine. We went straight there from the airport and were registered in the emergency room almost immediately. Shortly thereafter, the doctor on call told me he was working with the ENT and the anesthesiologist to determine a plan.

Keeping spirits up in the waiting room! Markers make everything better.

Keeping spirits up in the waiting room! Markers make everything better.

What I didn’t know, though, and I wish the doctor in Marsh Harbor had told me, is that to put Claire under safely, she needed to have fasted for at least six hours. I had given her snacks on the 1 p.m. flight, so we had to sit and wait until 7 p.m. for them to treat her, Claire getting more and more hungry and antsy as the minutes wore on.

Finally, when it was time, I think Claire was so excited to finally leave the waiting room we had been in for hours that she took it like a champ, happily putting the hospital gown on, smiling, joking with the nurses. She gave me a thumbs up while they wheeled her away in her bed – it was as far as I was allowed to go – and they sent me out to the waiting room. It was an absolutely horrible feeling.

The infamous black bean

The infamous black bean

But 20 minutes later, it was done. The bean had been successfully removed, she was waking up and I was allowed back up to see her. “They found tree trunk,” Claire said in a sleepy stupor, and as I called Aaron with the news, relief washed over us. We flew back the next morning, took a cab back to the ferry dock, made the 20-minute trip across the Sea of Abaco, and were back on Clarity by 11 a.m.

So let’s talk money. The ferry for Aaron and Claire to get to the mainland on Monday ($21 round trip per person) and the cab to and from the Cooper’s Town Clinic. The ferry back to mainland for the three of us on Wednesday morning, the rental car to drive to Marsh Harbor ($75), the hotel stay ($150), as we’d missed the window to get back for the last ferry. Then on Thursday, the flight for two (round trip – $300 for the 30-minute flight, thanks to last-minute booking), the cab to the hospital, the cab from the hospital to the hotel, the cost of the hotel stay in Nassau ($260, the cheapest we could find), the cab from the hotel to the airport on Friday, the flight back, the cab for Claire and I back down to the ferry stop ($85), and the return ferry trip. And that’s just travel.

The first two clinics – Green Turtle and Cooper’s Town – didn’t charge us anything, and for all of the effort of the doctor in Marsh Harbor and his staff, and the medicine they used, the total was only $115. At the hospital, however, there was the emergency room charge ($500), for simply registering and sitting in the waiting room for more than four hours. Then the substantial charges really began, because to have her put under, she actually had to be admitted. And with that comes the cost for the ENT, the cost for the anesthesiologist, the cost for the nurses, the cost for the bed. We had to put down an additional deposit of $2,500 for them to even treat her.

We don’t have the final bills yet, but the charges for the hospital visit alone will be more than $2k (they could be more or less than the required deposit – we have no way of knowing until we get the bill).

Of course, you do what you have to do. We never hesitated, each step of the way, in getting Claire the care she needed. In doing as much as we could together, then Claire and I flying ourselves to Nassau to save the flight fee for the third person. In trying as best as we both could to swallow our frustrations and exhaustion and keep Claire in good spirits.

Kids are so resilient; it always amazes me. The same day she and I made it back to the boat, she was out playing at the beach with her friends, supremely happy. No pain, no residual symptoms, nothing.

I slept 12 hours that night. I still feel tired.

We’re trying our best to not let these things kill our spirit. Aaron was able to isolate and fix the issue with the batteries and we have a plan for troubleshooting the watermaker. With fastidious cleaning and a military approach to crumbs and food waste, the bug issue seems to be dissipating. We’ve found a place in Marsh Harbor that can replace our shattered cockpit window, we have a workaround for the Wi-Fi, and the seas should finally lay down enough in the next day or two for us to head south.

Above everything, though, Claire is healthy and back to her happy self, running face-first into the waves and setting up coconut stands on the beach with her friends.

I’m sure six months or a year from now, I’ll look back on the story of the black bean and laugh. Right now, it’s still just a bit too soon.

Crash Course in Island Healthcare

whiningfeeHave you ever wondered what you’d do if you stuck a bean up your nose in a remote location?

No?

Us either. Turns out, we should have.

We’ve been in the Abacos for almost two weeks now, and we’ve already had some amazing pinch-me moments.

But one thing to remember – we are reminded every day – is that we are not on vacation. This is our life. And with that comes the expected tasks (laundry, cooking, cleaning, school, work, boat projects), and the unanticipated ones.

On Sunday morning, as I was preparing some meals for the week, Claire asked to see a few of the dried black beans I had out. And then she proceeded to stick one up her nose.

“I wanted to see what it would feel like.” I don’t know what else to say about the act itself. For the longest time, we thought she was joking. But that’s a pretty specific experience she put together. Turns out the joke was on us.

Now, in the States, I’d just throw her in the car and take her to the nearest walk-in clinic so they could suck it out and we could be on about our day. (We tried and tried and tried all of the obvious ways here on the boat to get it out.) But in the out-islands of the Bahamas, when you live on a sailboat, things work a little differently.

We are fortunate that the island we’re currently at (Green Turtle Cay) is developed enough that there’s a clinic – however, it’s only open Monday through Friday and there’s no after-hours emergency line to call. So, Monday morning, we piled into a golf cart rented by another cruising family we’ve come to know here and headed to town.

“Oh, no. We can’t fix that here. It’s way up there? No, we don’t have a tool for that here. You’ll have to go to the mainland for that.” (Keep in mind that I had gritted my teeth and paid for the expensive call to the clinic when it first opened that morning to explain the problem and make sure they’d be able to see us.)

Well, the ‘mainland’ is the northern part of Great Abaco Island, across the Sea of Abaco from where we are, and we had two options: Cooper’s Town and Marsh Harbor. The former is a smaller town but still with a government clinic allegedly more well-equipped than the one at Green Turtle Cay. Marsh Harbor is the third-largest city in the Bahamas, with robust medical facilities, but farther away (i.e. more expensive for travel). And with a cold front that has settled in the Abacos like a cold that won’t quit, the seas are kicked up and we don’t want to move the boat out of our protected anchorage.

So, luckily again, there’s a ferry from Green Turtle across to Treasure Cay on the big island. From there, we’d have to cab it to either location – with the ride to Marsh Harbor being twice as expensive.

Early Monday afternoon, Aaron spoke with the staff at the Cooper’s Town clinic, who were very friendly and helpful on the phone. They gave us the names of specific doctors in Marsh Harbor who could help, but right as we were about to make the decision to head straight there, realizing that we’d never make it back to Treasure Cay in time for the last ferry of the day and would have to also pay for a hotel room there, they said, “Bring her here to Cooper’s Town. We think we can get it out.”

Off Aaron and Claire went on the 3 o’clock ferry (I stayed back to save the ferry fee and also make some progress on a work deadline). By 3:30, they were in a cab and by 3:45, the doctors were taking a look at her. “Nope, we can’t get that out. Too far up there.” It didn’t help that Claire was flinching and crying anytime anyone tried to get a good look up her nose.

Back in the cab, back on the ferry, back to the dinghy, back to the boat, $115 poorer and still with that damn bean firmly planted up Claire’s left nostril.

The thing is, if it had been anything else – a viral infection, a jellyfish sting, a weird bug bite – they likely could have treated it here in Green Turtle, and definitely in Cooper’s Town. But this is now bordering on internal medicine.

Oh, and another kicker – today is a national holiday, so everything is closed.

So tomorrow, we have an appointment with a specialist in Marsh Harbor at 2 p.m. We’ll have to hop in the dinghy to shore, get the ferry again, rent a car and drive to Marsh Harbor. If the specialist can’t get it out, either because Claire won’t settle enough for him to make a good attempt or because it’s lodged in too far, we’ll have to take her to the emergency room, where they’ll likely have to put her under to get it out.

Hopefully, we’ll make it back to Treasure Cay in time for that last ferry at 5 p.m., though likely not. So, add the price of a hotel room to the tab.

One thing I will say, though, is that so far, the costs of this debacle have all been travel-related. The medical professionals haven’t been able to help us so far, but there also wasn’t a wait at any of the clinics, and no fee just to walk in the door and be seen, unlike in the States, where the five-minute visit at each location would have been $100 or more, with or without resolution.

Yes, such an amazing and exciting life we lead as cruisers, with the swimming and the snorkeling and the sailing. And the planes, trains and automobiles required to hopscotch back and forth across the Sea of Abaco, all because our delightful, intelligent, inquisitive daughter decided on a whim to jam a bean up her nose.

Address: The Abacos

It’s hard to believe that a few years ago, we’d never even heard of these islands. These unbelievable islands where the water is so clear, it’s a window to the colorful creatures below, the sand so white that it glows at night almost brighter than the moon. Countless stars, like glitter tossed on black paper. And so many shells! Enough to weigh down the boat properly with Claire’s and my collections combined.

What the Abacos have in beauty, however, they lack in consistent Wi-Fi. More to come soon on how daily life has shaped up for us, but in the meantime, here’s a look at Spanish and Nunjack Cays.

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
   

Time To Go

Our last trip to shore for a few final provisions before we set sail this evening!

Our last trip to shore for a few final provisions before we set sail this evening!

It’s been a lifetime of dreaming, years of planning, months of moving and refitting and working, and days of waiting to reach this point. Today is GO DAY!

Finally, the southwest winds have returned for a big enough window for us to cross to the Bahamas. We leave Riviera Beach tonight and sail across the Gulf Stream to reach the northwest edge of the Bahamas just after sunrise. Then, we’ll head to Great Sale Cay to anchor for the night before continuing to Green Turtle Cay in the Abacos the next day to clear customs.

The dropped pin shows Green Turtle Cay, where we will clear customs.

The dropped pin shows Green Turtle Cay, where we will clear customs.

I am like a kid on Christmas morning. I am like a Hallmark card, friends. Goals that seem a million miles away can be reached. Dreams can become realized. This life is a blessing.

We’ll see you on the flip side!

Hurry Up and Wait

Clarity at anchor just off of Peanut Island

Clarity at anchor just off of Peanut Island

And now, we wait.

On Saturday afternoon, we finally made it back to Riviera Beach, Fla., where we started this crazy thing five months ago, almost to the day. And because we’re nuts, that same afternoon, we had a technician on board bringing our watermaker online. Miraculously (if you’ve been following along with our luck regarding this boat’s systems), after a few filters were sorted, it worked! We are officially ready to cross.

Perfectly positioned at anchor just inside the Lake Worth Inlet, we wait for that desired combination of south-southwesterly winds and moderate seas that will make crossing the Gulf Stream as comfortable as possible. According to the marine forecast, we’ll definitely be here through Friday. I’m hoping for a Christmas Eve or Christmas day crossing – what an amazing memory that would be!

With the colossal (immediate) to-do list shortened for the first time in months, I finally have the mental bandwidth to think about how much has changed since we started, how far we’ve grown and what we’ve learned. Back when we hatched this plan and explained our decision to friends and family, our desire to “live a simpler life” was a regular part of the chorus.

Ha! There is nothing simple about this life.

It’s hard work – mentally and physically. It’s long days, sometimes unforgiving days, and “the weekend” doesn’t exist. It’s to-do lists that change, but don’t diminish. It’s constant learning, continuously adapting to new surroundings and new challenges.  As Aaron and I have worked and worked and worked to get this boat and ourselves ready to head to the islands, there are any number of times that I wished I could just have one day where I was sitting in an office, going to meetings, taking client calls.

What this life absolutely has been, though, is a shift in focus back to the basic needs. How much food does a family of three need for three months? How can I make it last as long as possible? How can I provision most affordably?

How can we make sure that we’ll always have enough power while on the hook to run our systems? Can we trust our solar? If we have a string of cloudy days, how can we best conserve our power? Has the generator been serviced? How much redundancy do we need, and do we have all of the parts to troubleshoot and replace when one system stops working?

Getting our water maker up and running

Getting our watermaker up and running

I’ve also never before had a clear understanding of just how much water a family uses in a week – but it becomes a critical calculation when you bring or make your own water wherever you go. We have two water tanks that combined hold a little more than 100 gallons. With full-time use, including drinking water, cooking, washing dishes, showers, cleaning, everything, we empty the tanks in just shy of two weeks – and that’s while we’re mindful of making every cup count (short showers, boiling water doubles as rinse water for dishes, etc.).

Luckily, our watermaker takes salt water and creates four to five gallons of fresh water per hour, allowing us to travel freely without worrying about our tanks running low. As long as it keeps running. Of course, we have the full complement of replacement parts for this, too.

Food, power, water. It doesn’t get more basic than that. But then again, we make our own power. We make our own water. There are countless other systems, too, that I won’t get into here, all allowing us to “live the simple life.”

I’m also aware, though, that this refit phase that we’ve been in since we moved aboard should slow down significantly now, with the big hurdle of getting the critical components squared away behind us. Also, our expedited timeline has been 100% self-imposed, our desire to just get out there and go already! Many cruisers spend a year or more getting their boats ready.

Checking the rig

Checking the rig

I suppose I’m not selling it very well – this time here waiting has allowed the exhaustion from the recent months to set in – but I’ve written before about the reasons we’re doing this, the freedom we’re seeking, this traveling lifestyle and the desire to get out there and see the world. It’s all still 150% true.

But here’s another thing I know now. We certainly aren’t solving the world’s problems, but at the end of each day, there’s a satisfaction that I didn’t feel previously, when we were living in our condo in Oak Park. The things that we do, the tasks we accomplish, directly impact our quality of life. They make it easier, better, more comfortable, more efficient. There’s an immediate result. I slide under the covers in our aft cabin each night, waiting for sleep to wash over me, and truly feel like I’ve earned it.

When we are playing on the beach in the islands, or snorkeling through the reefs, it will be with the certainty that our boat is safe and sound, waiting for us, equipped with everything we need, our own little island that we’ve created and sustained. There. Is. So. Much. Power. In. That!!

When we moved on board five months ago, I had never sailed on the ocean before. I had never done an overnight sail or spent the night at anchor. Those are the obvious things.

I also had no real knowledge of what the basic needs of a family amount to in watts of power, gallons of water, pounds of flour – things I blindly took for granted during life on land. Sitting in our condo the final weeks we were packing, I made a point of recognizing the luxuries that would be left behind – my dear, sweet bathtub, how I miss you! But I also shed a lack of accountability and ownership that I’m embarrassed to realize I lived with for as many adult years as I did.

All if this isn’t as sexy as saying we’re sailing off into the sunset to beaches and palm trees and warm breezes. I’m just realizing now, finally, that it’s equally as important.

rope-swing

Where there’s a rope, Claire makes a swing

For the rest of this Christmas week, we’re making the most of our time here, relaxing and indulging in “tasks” we didn’t have time for before (like Aaron getting his PADI cert to dive). Though we’re hoping for a holiday crossing, there are definitely no guarantees when it comes to weather, so if we’re not in the Bahamas come Christmas morning, perhaps by New Year’s.

Whenever that window opens up, our next chapter begins.

Two Weeks Until the Bahamas

claires-assistance

My little helper, practicing her letters and numbers by labeling my boxed wine. #MomOfTheYear

If all goes to plan, roughly two weeks from now, we’ll be in the Bahamas. Even typing that seems so crazy to me! It feels like we’ve been working toward this goal for so long, and at the same time, a year ago, we didn’t even have our condo listed yet. Time is a fascinating enchantress.

With our impending departure, our to-do list has been supersized and expedited, both with Aaron tackling projects himself and us scheduling technicians to come out and help. One of the huge tasks I’ve been handling is provisioning Clarity with everything we’ll need to eat (and live) comfortably for months at sea.

How can you plan meals for two adults and a 4-year-old with an endless appetite? How do you keep meals interesting and delicious with shelf-stable staples, as our refrigerator and freezer space is limited? And where the heck do we put it all?

Luckily, plenty of people have done this before and documented their tips and tricks, so I’ve been reading a lot of blogs and articles to better direct my efforts. We used three months as an arbitrary but practical period of time to plan for. Likely, by that point, we will have stopped in a big port with a sizable grocery store, where I will provision again. We met plenty of cruisers who spent the entirety of hurricane season watching for sales and stocking up on mass quantities of canned goods and other items. To my fault or success, I’ve managed to tackle our provisioning needs in roughly a week, with a few loose ends remaining.

Here is my master provisioning list. I’m pretty proud of it – many, many hours and beers went into the crafting of this document. Here’s how it all came together.

Believe it or not, people do eat in the Bahamas! But we plan to be at anchor the majority of the time, so we want to both limit how much our cruising plans are dictated by stopping at a port where fully stocked stores are available, and also keep the loads we haul back to the boat on the dinghy minimal. We also plan to pick up fresh produce and proteins here and there at the markets on the islands.

Here are a few of the considerations of what to buy:

  • Stores at the major ports have great inventory, but there are still some things that you just can’t get over there (like gin and cheap beer!), so we stocked up on our favorites.
  • Most everything there is more expensive, though the upcharge on some things is higher than others. We save a lot of money by bringing as much as we need with as possible.
  • Shelf-stable goods are key, as we have limited space in the fridge and freezer, but enough storage throughout the boat to stock up for months. We are now living in a floating world of cans.
  • Stocking up big time on basic items, like flour, rice, beans, etc., allows me to make more from scratch, which saves us money and extends how far our groceries will reach. Bye-bye, most prepared foods, hello homemade everything!
  • Staying realistic with what we’ll actually eat. I’m just not going to eat canned green beans or Spam. Ever. So though they are appropriate shelf-stable items, they will not be making the journey with us.
  • We’ll be celebrating Christmas and New Year’s in the islands (fingers crossed), so I got us a few special treats, like two bottles of Champagne and a bottle of sparkling grape juice for a toast to the new year!
Bags and bags completely filled - just with the excess packaging that I removed.

Bags and bags completely filled – just with the excess packaging that I removed.

I have never racked up grocery bills this high in my life. I might frame the receipts. All in all, including toiletries, medicine and first-aid needs, and more, we’ll easily be at $1k in cost. But the buying of the things was only part of this enormous job. Next was the repacking of the things. Here’s what had to be considered for this part:

  • Cardboard on a boat is the devil. It attracts moisture and bugs. So all cardboard had to come off immediately. And I mean all. Even the Ziploc bags were repacked into a bigger Ziploc bag.
  • Out with the cardboard goes any preparation instructions, so these must be written out in Sharpie on the Ziploc bags.
  • The paper labels on cans and the glue used to adhere them are also big no-nos. (Roaches like to lay eggs in the glue. I’m disgusted that I know this.) So off come the labels, and the contents need to be written on top, bottom and sides, so they can be seen no matter where/how the cans wind up being stored. Every single can also got a wipe-down to remove any excess freeloaders.
  • Though we bought some items in bulk, they needed to be repacked into small quantities. That way, if one of the packages spoils or is compromised, the rest of the packages are still in play, rather than the whole thing being ruined.
  • Dry goods, like beans, rice, flour, etc., are all double-bagged. In addition, bay leaves are added to each package to prevent weevils.

cansAnd finally, the storing of the things. One of the amazing things about this boat is all of the storage it affords us. It truly was designed with this lifestyle in mind. Having countless storage areas requires thoughtful planning of what goes where. What things should be most easily accessible? What can remain in the deep gallows of the boat for a few months? And how can we package tightly so that bottles and cans aren’t clanging every time the boat rocks? Everything had to be meticulously documented, from quantity to specific location within each storage compartment (ex. Canned black beans, salon, center compartment, starboard).

Again, behold my magical master spreadsheet! This will allow me to not only keep track of what we have, but also go “shopping” in a month, two months, and grab what I want fairly quickly.

Believe it or not, we still have a few loose ends to buy before we shove off, and plan to rent a car this weekend for one last run to the stores, but we’re nearly there. Weather-pending, we will be leaving the dock here in Fort Pierce, Fla., on Dec. 15 and doing a daysail down to anchor near the Lake Worth inlet. From there, we’ll do another daysail down to Port Everglades, where we’ll take care of a few final things before waiting for a weather window to cross to Bimini.

With each major task like this accomplished, we get closer and closer to making Clarity a truly self-sufficient world, to visiting remote islands where there are no grocery stores or markets, to the freedom of going wherever we want, whenever we want, and doing so comfortably.

This life! I’ve already learned so much, and we haven’t even yet left.

Cruiser Christmas Carols

Image c/o RumShopRyan.com

We are used to Midwest Christmases – piles of snow, Santa coming down the chimney, mugs of hot cocoa and hot toddies, cuddling up by the fire… This year will be our first Christmas in the islands, and I’ve been having a hard time visualizing what that will be like and how I can make it as special for Claire as possible.

One of the things she loves to do is sing, so breaking out the Christmas carols seemed like a good place to start getting her (and us) excited for the upcoming season. The only problem is, many of them reference those same idyllic cozy winter settings we’ve enjoyed years past.

So, I reached out to the lovely ladies of the Women Who Sail Facebook group and asked them to help me rewrite some popular holiday tunes. While I wouldn’t dare change a thing in “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” (Claire’s absolute favorite), I think we’ve come up with some great renditions. If I can just get Aaron to strum along on his guitar, I know we’ll be singing these for months – hopefully on a sandy shore with a refreshing rum cocktail.

Cruiser Christmas Carols

12 Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Twelve starfish sparkling
Eleven crabs a-crawling
Ten turtles trolling
Nine sharks a-swimming
Eight whales a-whirling
Seven dolphins diving
Six waves a rolling
*FIVE GOLDEN SHELLS*
Four moray eels
Three clownfish
Two anemones
And a coconut in a palm tree

 

Walkin’ in a Sun-Filled Wonderland (c/o Sandra Montgomery)

Halyards ring, are you listening?
On the waves, sun is glistening.
It’s a beautiful sight, we’re doing alright,
Basking in a sun-filled wonderland.

Gone away, is the cold wind
Here to stay is the warm wind
It’s a comforting breeze we live life with ease
Basking in a sun-filled wonderland.

On white beaches we will build a castle
And pretend that it is our new home
We will ask our friends to come and join us
Together on these lush lands we will roam.

Later on we’ll retire
with a rum by the fire
The stories we’ll trade, of memories made
Basking in a sun-filled wonderland.

 

Sail Together (Sleigh Ride)

Just hear those halyards jingle-ing
Ring ting tingle-ing too
Come on, it’s lovely weather
For a sail together with you

Outside the fish are playing
And friends are saying “Yoo Hoo”
Come on, it’s lovely weather
For a sail together with you

Giddy-yap giddy-yap giddy-yap
Let’s go
Let’s look at the view
We’re sailing in a wonderland of blue

Giddy-yap giddy-yap giddy-yap it’s grand
Just holding your hand
We’re gliding along with the song
Past the ribbons of warm pink sand

Our cheeks are nice and toasty
And comfy cozy are we
We’re snuggled up together like two
Birds of a feather would be

Let’s take the course before us
And sing a chorus or two
Come on, it’s lovely weather
For a sail together with you

 

Bright Christmas

I’m dreaming of a bright Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the blue waves glisten and children listen
To hear, sleigh bells on the bow

I’m dreaming of a bright Christmas
With every lantern that I light
May your days, may your days, may your days be filled with delight
And may all your Christmases be bright

 

Deck the Hulls

Deck the hulls with boughs of holly
Fa la la la la la la la la
Tis the season to be jolly
Fa la la la la la la la la

Don we now our suit and snorkel
Fa la la la la la la la la
Troll the ocean’s ancient coral
Fa la la la la la la la la

See the steady winds before us
Fa la la la la la la la la
Santa’s sleigh is sure to guide us
Fa la la la la la la la la

To an island filled with cheer
Fa la la la la la la la la
And our friends and family near
Fa la la la la la la la la

 

Let it Blow

Oh the weather outside is frightful
But your cabin’s so delightful
And since we’ve no place to go
Let it blow, let it blow, let it blow

It doesn’t show signs of slowing
But the rum down here’s a-flowing
The lights are turned way down low
Let it blow, let it blow, let it blow

When we finally kiss good night
How I’ll hate going out in the storm
But if you really hold me tight
The whole dinghy ride I’ll be warm!

The waves are slowly dying
And my dear, we’re still goodbye-ing
But as long as you love me so
Let it blow, let it blow, let it blow.