Roaches: You Can’t Live With ‘Em

Let me get two things out of the way.

  1. We do not currently have roaches and haven’t for awhile.
  2. I will not be posting any pictures with this post.

Before we moved aboard, I had read the horror stories on other cruising blogs and shuddered at the posts in the Facebook sailing groups. I was warned that in tropical climates with high humidity, like southern Florida and the Caribbean, roaches are more or less a fact of life. And I said to Aaron, like the novice cruiser that I am, “That will never happen to us.”

The truth is, sometimes, roaches happen to clean people.

It is with the beaten down soul of someone who was forced to face a real phobia that I admit that Clarity developed a cockroach problem. First, let me clarify that ours were of the German variety. Not the giant, small-rodent-sized black abominations that I witnessed in college in Baltimore. These were much smaller – but what they lacked in size, they made up for in resilience. They are the most difficult type to exterminate, which we learned after repeated defeats.

Likely, we gained these unwanted visitors in south Florida right before we crossed over to the Bahamas, when I did my three-month provisioning runs. Over the course of two or three days, I bought hundreds of dollars of food, and I meticulously repackaged it all. I got rid of all cardboard and used so many plastic bags that I should have bought stock in Ziploc. I rinsed and sprayed all produce. I took the labels off of every single can, wiping them down with solution and getting off as much glue as I could.

It seems that perhaps, I wasn’t quick enough. Or maybe it wasn’t from my provisioning at all – maybe when we were still at the dock in Fort Pierce, a few wandered over from another boat and climbed their way up our lines. We’ll never know. But all it takes is two, either fully formed or eggs, to make a problem.

I noticed one in our galley shortly after we arrived in the Abacos, and truthfully, as I mentioned these were much smaller than what I’m used to, we weren’t sure what they were at first. Not that we didn’t try to kill them right away – we did – but we thought a few beetles had found their way in through the hatches. When they kept appearing, not every day, but every few days, we investigated further to determine their identity. And then I died a small death.

There are a few other points of clarification I feel the need to make, now that everyone is imagining us living life with creatures scuttering about. First, they were localized to the galley and my side of the aft cabin, which is right off of the galley (lucky me). They were never anywhere near Claire’s room. Second, they are nocturnal. Aaron and I experienced them (oh joy), but Claire never did. Third, we never had a full-on infestation. But really, is any number of these okay? I think not.

The problem got worse before it got better, because as our lines of defense failed, their population grew. Another fun fact about roaches – they eat anything. Crumbs. Dust particles. Dead skin cells. And if it comes down to it, each other. Over the course of three months, we tried Raid, roach motels, a Borax and sugar solution, poison tablets, other natural remedies. Everything. Finally, we found a gel here that I had to apply in every single nook and cranny of the boat. Hours and hours of applications over the course of two days – because cruising boats are praised for their endless storage areas.

The problem was significantly reduced after that first round, but not completely solved. (Another fun fact I learned about pest extermination – even with the most effective treatments, you have to do at least two rounds, to make sure you’ve killed any juveniles that have managed to hatch after the first round.) So a few weeks later, I repeated the process all over again. And finally, success.

There’s an even more effective gel available in the States, the Advion Gel Bait – it’s the absolute go-to line of defense – and when our friends visited us in Georgetown, I had them bring us a package as a precautionary measure, as we will be heading further south into the tropics. Never again will I worry about being too cautious.

My compulsive approach to cleaning the galley has just become a way of life now. I spend as much time every day cleaning the galley as I do cooking in it. I wipe down the stovetop after every single use. I never let any dirty dishes sit in the sink – ever. Every time I do the dishes, I wipe the sinks dry, since roaches are attracted to moisture. I clean the countertops so many times during the day that it may be bordering on obsession. I check the cabinets for crumbs every few days, even though all food items are double-bagged at the least. Sometimes, I don’t even realize I’m wiping down the floors again until I’m halfway through doing it.

In my closet, I still have my clothes in large plastic bags on the shelves. Even at this point, with no reason to worry, I shudder at the memory that a few had been crawling through my clothes. I’m just not ready yet to put them back out. Also, going through every skein of yarn I had stored near the bed to make sure they were bug-free will forever be on my list of least-fun afternoons.

I continue to live in a constant state of paranoia. That black speck on the counter? Has to be a roach. That shadow at the corner of the floor? Roach. The breeze rustling my hair across my upper arm? Roach. The sudden loud noise from the other room? Aaron must have killed another roach. I’d like to say that these scenarios are unfounded fears. They are not.

I suppose, if there is a silver lining in this, it’s that I was forced to face my phobia. I tasked myself with applying that gel, knowing full well what I would inevitably find as I did my best to account for every last square inch. At the end, I didn’t scream for Aaron’s help every time I saw one. I dealt with it; I moved on. I do, however, look forward to finding other ways to challenge myself.

We have heard time and time again that the first year of cruising is the hardest. It certainly does seem like any and all obstacles are being thrown at us. But what can you do but work through them?

Livin’ the dream! That’s been our tagline these days. What – a minor roach problem isn’t part of your vision of living the dream? Ours either.

On the flip side, now that that issue is out of the way, Aaron and Claire are dealing with a bout of poisonwood – yay! But we are putting plans together for our departure from Georgetown, likely this weekend, heading south to the Turks. Getting out into open water, filling the sails and slicing through waves at a comfortable heel – that is truly the best medicine, and always a soul-fulfilling reminder of why we do this.

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.

On Our Way

Clarity's address for the week

Clarity’s address for the week

This past week brought a lot of firsts for Clarity and our cruising life: my two longest sails yet, my first overnight sail, my first night squalls, our first time on a mooring ball.

Two months of hard work behind us, we’re finally starting to enjoy some of the unparalleled perks of this lifestyle.

After a month-long stay at Fort Pierce, we finally cast lines and sailed to Port Canaveral, about 60 nautical miles north. It was a lovely 12-hour sail. Though we had to motor-sail in the beginning, for the last two-thirds, we were able to shut off the engine and truly sail the rest of the way, and all four of us (three crew and boat) said a collective, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh.”

It was only our second sail on the new boat, and Claire and Clarity were in their element. Aaron and I brought the boat into port at high tide, around 12 a.m., while Claire was sound asleep, and tied the lines at the yacht club. We also learned at 4 a.m. how to properly tie the lines to account for five feet of fluctuation between tides :).

Port Canaveral was a huge change from where we’d been. It was lit up like a Christmas tree at midnight with expansive docks for cargo ships bustling through the night shift. A steady stream of container ships, fishing boats and cruise ships shuffled through the channel during our two-day stay.

The highlight was our visit to the Kennedy Space Center. Aaron had been there many years ago as a kid and I had never been. We were absolutely blown away – truly an awe-inspiring and humbling experience. Claire was a trooper during the long, hot day. She’s shown an interest in space in the last few months, a sponge for information on planets and astronauts and outer space. Her excitement when she saw actual rockets and strapped in for a launch simulator filled our hearts.

When we cast lines again on Thursday morning at around 8 a.m., the general plan was to head north to New Smyrna, another 60 nautical miles north, and another stop on our mandatory trek over state lines to Georgia for tax and insurance purposes. Aaron and I had talked about making the run all the way up to St. Augustine, another 40 miles north of New Smyrna, but hadn’t committed to it. A few hours into our sail, we decided, let’s do it.

The 100-mile run would mean that we would have to sail overnight – something Aaron has done many times before on the Race to Mackinac, among others – but something I had never done. It would mean that we would sleep/sail in shifts throughout the night, allowing each other some windows to recharge. As we tucked Claire in at around 8:30 p.m. and prepared for the evening, I was excited. We had both sails out and the winds had been steady. I took the first shift and it seemed like it would be fairly straightforward, albeit tiring.

It wasn’t quite as simple as that. We had checked the radar when we departed and the forecast looked good. But as can always happen, some unpredicted storms developed along the shoreline in the early evening that eventually crept out on the ocean as they intensified. The long and short of it is that Aaron and I wound up sailing through two squalls in the middle of the night. Lots of lightning, strong gusts of winds from all directions, rain coming in sideways. Aaron manned the helm, as the confused winds and seas were too much for the autopilot, and I ran around securing things down below and helping up top when I could.

Overall, the boat did great, we were perfectly safe, and Claire slept through it both times (?!!) – but it was exhausting, and going through a storm like that in the dark, with no horizon or shoreline to focus on, was disorienting, not to mention a little frightening. Adding insult to injury, during the squalls, we made no progress north and had even drifted backward a little.

The storms passed by around 2:30 or 3 a.m. and Aaron sent me down below to grab some sleep. We switched at around 4 and then he came up to join me at 6, when the first few signs of light were starting to show on the horizon. We watched the sun come up over the Atlantic together – an experience I’ll never forget and can’t wait to repeat – and by 7:30 a.m., Claire was up, ready to face the day.

The rest of the sail was lovely, as it had been the day before. Aaron and I rested a bit here and there, but for the most part, the adrenaline of finally getting to St. Augustine was enough to keep us plugged in. Aaron navigated us through the tricky inlet at around 1 p.m., and by 2, we were safely docked in our slip for the night. Utterly wrecked, we were also so proud. That sail felt like such an accomplishment, to both of us. Proof that we could do it, even if unforeseen conditions arose. Further proof that we were a good team, and that we could trust our boat. And also that Claire did so well, happily playing, getting good rest, excited for the adventures in the next port. Needless to say, we all fell asleep early that night and slept a LONG time.

St. Augustine has been a much-needed breath of fresh air, as so many people told us it would be. History, architecture, and endless places to explore. After our first night at a slip, we moved the boat to a mooring ball. It’s essentially like anchoring, except you hook your boat onto a fixed ball. Your boat swings 360 degrees with the tide and current, and you have no electrical or water hookup. It is as close as you can get to how we will be living the vast majority of our time cruising, without having to worry about the anchor dragging.

We signed a week-long contract, and it’s been incredible seeing the fruits of more than two months of work to make sure the proper systems are in order to live off the grid. Our solar panels charge up our batteries quite nicely, with plenty of power for all of our outlets. We filled up both water tanks before we left the slip and have plenty to accommodate showers, cooking, drinking and whatever else we need. Our dinghy takes us to shore each day, and last night when we got back to the boat, we kicked on our generator to run the air conditioning and cool down the boat for sleeping. We even picked up a few free local digital channels on the TV in the aft cabin. The only system we haven’t tested yet is our water maker, but we have a few months left to get that in order.

Life is good. Our hearts are full, our batteries are recharged. I’m starting to really believe that we can do this, and realizing that at the same time, we already are.

Permission To Board

Some throw pillows here, some new linens there, and some craft projects everywhere, and a boat slowly but surely becomes a home.

We were blessed to have close friends come and stay for a few days last week (what a treat!), and as I was getting things in order down below, it dawned on me that the condition of the boat, without tools everywhere and storage compartments torn open and beads and Legos staging a coup, was a rarity.

These are certainly not expertly staged, professionally shot photos. I had poor light and inexperience with capturing confined spaces. BUT – what I did have was a clean and tidy boat, and that seemed cause enough for documentation :). I threw in some pictures of the marina, too, since we spend as much time outside as we do down below.

Once we are truly settled, I will take more photos and make sure they’re up to snuff, including shots of the topsides. Until that most glamorous photo session, here’s a sneak peek of home sweet boat.

First Family Sail

DSCN2682There were times in the last month that I thought, we are never going to leave this dock. Our boat is literally putting down roots in this slip. Projects will weigh us down and drown us before we ever fill her sails.

But she sails. Beautifully. Comfortably. This floating home and her crew are finally finding their bearings.

After a very busy and exhausting month, all the way through the night before departure, we cast lines on Thursday morning and guided the boat out to the Atlantic Ocean. We had tested and readied as much as we could with the engine and other critical systems, but truthfully, we weren’t completely sure how the day would unfold. Would the engine quit? Would there be problems with the rigging? We haven’t developed the trust in this boat yet that we had in the Pearson. But this first family sail was the beginning.

With a slow but steady breeze from the east, we put up both sails and made our way north with some aid from the engine. Sure, hoisting the main took more effort, since the sail is older and baggier and doesn’t slide easily through its track. And yes, it was really choppy through the channel out to the ocean Claire and I both started feeling it and once we were out, though the waves were minimal, there was a steady swell. But once we got the sails hoisted and the boat flattened out, so did our tummies. A bit out of practice, we are reminding ourselves how to best tackle these longer day passages. We didn’t need a perfect sail; we needed an uneventful one, and we got it.

We made it to our slip in Fort Pierce at dusk, exhausted but renewed, and have been exploring town the last few days with some boat projects thrown in. The plan is to leave tomorrow for Port Canaveral, roughly 60 nautical miles north.

The vast to-do list is still there, the challenges and adjustments to our new life continue, but finally with some forward momentum, it feels as though a huge weight has been lifted.

It’s funny – we’ve been at this a little more than a month now, and looking back, we’ve already come such a long way, earning our stripes as we go.

 

Getting There

Aaron troubleshooting the fridge, with Claire keeping her worker on task.

Aaron troubleshooting the fridge, with Claire keeping her worker on task.

I’ve been struggling for awhile with how to write this next post.

Life transitions are hard – that’s not news – but how much should you share? Who wants to read something negative? But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve reminded myself that positive or negative, people just want to read something honest. So here’s the truth.

This has been really, really hard – much harder than we anticipated. It’s for reasons that we know are temporary, and circumstances that we know will improve – but day to day, we just keep hoping for more wins than losses.

When we moved aboard three weeks ago (almost four now, wow!), we unknowingly moved ourselves onto a boat that needed a big refit. Issues that we knew needed attention turned into bigger projects, new systems quit on us, problems that we thought we had fixed reoccurred. I say we, but Aaron has taken the brunt of this. As much as I need and want to learn all of these systems, right now, there isn’t time for him to be both teacher and engineer/mechanic. So he focuses mainly on executing, while I focus mainly on the daily running of the household.

Just to name a few “challenges,” our new air conditioning quit on us multiple times. The refrigerator quit with a full grocery shop of food. The freezer seemed to be a lost cause. The shower didn’t work. Outlets were miswired and non-functional. We had a small water leak in the engine room, a fuel leak in the generator. The list goes on.

For those of you who have lived through remodeling your own home, it’s like that – except that every time you need to fix or work on anything, you have to rip apart your entire living space to do it. With three people living aboard, it gets really cramped really fast. Imagine eating dinner in your woodshop, or working on the engine to your car in your bedroom.

The previous owners left bins upon bins of old and replacement parts, leftover fabrics and materials, and more in the catacombs of storage under Claire's v-berth. The only way to know what we had, what we needed, and what we could toss, was to haul it all out, one bin at a time.

The previous owners left bins upon bins of old and replacement parts, leftover fabrics and materials, and more in the catacombs of storage under Claire’s v-berth. The only way to know what we had, what we needed, and what we could toss, was to haul it all out, one bin at a time.

Once we pulled out the bins, we dragged them out to the dock and went through them piece by piece before cataloging it, repackaging it and hauling what was left back in.

Once we pulled out the bins, we dragged them out to the dock and went through them piece by piece before cataloging it, repackaging it and hauling what was left back in.

And it means that any free time that we don’t intentionally assign to down time gets sucked away just with solving problems – not to mention work deadlines, making meals, doing dishes and laundry. You know, life. We have never earned our sleep more, and never slept harder.

The other part of the equation that’s been increasingly frustrating is our location. We absolutely made the right decision to stay here – we were 100% not ready to move the boat anywhere – but Riviera Beach has not been an easy adjustment, especially since we returned the rental car. There’s nothing within walking distance, and strangely enough, there really isn’t much within dinghying or biking distance either. So even when we find a window of opportunity to take a break, the options have been limited. It’s made the transition from our prior life to this one that much more extreme.

If I’m being brutally honest, there have been moments when I’ve wanted to throw in the towel and just go back to what’s easy. Just moments, though.

Our silly goose, having a tea party with her toes in our aft cabin while we make some progress on boat projects.

Our silly goose, having a tea party with her toes in our aft cabin while we make some progress on boat projects.

I don’t mean to paint this all as doom and gloom – it’s certainly not. It’s funny – at least a few people have asked, “How is Claire doing with all of this?” The best of the three of us, by far. The weather gods have been quite grumpy the last few days, and I just realized this evening that she hasn’t been off the boat, except for right on our dock, in two full days, and you’d never know it with how happy she’s been. Sure, she’s used to someone playing with her all the time, be that classmates at school or friends during playdates, so she wants constant attention, and we are working on that. But for the most part, build that kiddo a fort and put out tea for her stuffed animals and she’s content.

I’m trying to keep a positive attitude and remind myself that this is not what our life is going to look like. We will always have work that needs doing, it’s the nature of owning a boat, but it won’t be all-encompassing. For me, the impetus of this life change was the adventure, traveling, meeting new people, taking to the sea! We haven’t even tossed the lines once yet. But we will, we will. We will get there.

Slowly, the wins are starting to overcome the losses. The fridge and freezer are now working, the shower is finally working, leaks have been fixed. The air conditioning is running smoothly and we are just now getting to the point where we can put down-below projects on hold for a bit while we get the topsides ready for sailing.

Our month here is up in a week and a half, and then we’ll cast lines, fill the sails and make our way up to Fort Pierce. Somehow, I just know that once I feel the wind on my face and the waves on our bow, I’ll be recharged, ready to tackle whatever comes next.