Tranquility rests in the wide anchorage, dressed in her full cruising gear, hanging from a 22lbs Bruce anchor clawed into the seabed. Bed cushions, laundry and anything that would benefit from the touch of the hot Bahamian sun and the fresh airs are out on deck or hanging from the lifelines. The wind-scoop (a spoon shaped nylon chute) hovers on top the front hatch funneling the breeze into the cabin, while the boom tent increases the shade surface on the deck and shields the cockpit from view.
The wind generator spins happily, replenishing our motor’s battery bank. At its side, the solar panel chugs the photons that hit its surface and sends them down below, where our electronics line up on the chart table to receive the precious juice. Charles Vane, our faithful wind vane self steering apparatus, hangs folded up on the stern. He is off duty, and probably dreams about the times when he was a feared pirate. The white dinghy bobs around in the wavelets just few feet off the stern, secured to the mother ship by a black painter line.
This is a typical scene that recurs every time we reach a new anchorage where we plan to spend few nights. We are in Allen’s Cay (or Allan’s Cay, depending on who you ask), a beautiful island in the Northern Abacos. The reason for our stay, beside the obvious experience of the marvelous nature in this uninhabited island, is a dab of strong easterly winds that are supposed to blow for a couple of days with peaks at 25 knots. Allen’s Cay is well sheltered from all the weather coming from the Eastern quadrant, so it checks both leisure and safety boxes.
We are traveling SE so every time the weather shows its angry face either from the E or the S we have to take a knee. Tranquility is happy to beat upwind. Us not so much, especially when the winds exceed 15 knots. We can handle and endure everything below that but we don’t put ourselves voluntarily into the business of making upwind progress when the breeze is too brisk.
Because of stronger winds we have to stay put for a couple of days and we would have to do the work of snorkeling, forage for conch and fish as well as taking care of never ending repairs and upgrades.
This waiting time is filled with interesting activities. We dug out our entire food supply for inspection, cleaning, inventory and organization purposes. We finally learned what we hoarded in weeks of constant access to groceries store. We are well off for a long time and we just need to get few perishables along the way and harvest the rest ourselves from the ocean.
Kate also caught three small fishes, which I quickly cleaned, scaled and cooked. They appeared to be small Whitebone Porgies and they were delicious. It reminded me of the simplicity of the life I was living in Venezuela and Panama, where most of the commodities where scarce, but where very little was needed at the same time.
A little more than one week ago we were at anchor in Cumberland Island, enjoying the warm weather and the gentle wind. Mornings are still chilly this time of the year in these Southern lands and seas, but when the sun shows up they climb quickly and make it a wonderful place to be.
We anchored in the north side of Cumberland Island, by the ruins of Cumberland Wharf. Right in front of the stumps left from the old pier the water is deep enough for us to be still floating at low tide. Unfortunately it is a not very protected anchorage and can only be used with wind from the E or the S. That prevented us to stop here in other trips, but this time weather was with us and we had a pleasant day and night on the hook.
Kate wanted to take a stroll in this particular area of Cumberland Island to see the first African Baptist Church, built in this settlement in 1893. A beautiful forest, with many trees down from recent tropical storms, surrounds the Settlement, so thick that it is almost impossible to cross out of the only road that is built in the area. We disturbed peaceful armadillos, looked at wild horses from a safe distance, picked up juniper berries, while walking through the forest.
There is a need for loneliness and remote areas that has a profound effect on me. It must have something to do with my feet, which are my main form of transportation right now. In quiet an unobstructed places early mornings became my treat retreat. No internet connection means freedom from constant feed and social media. It calms my urge to express quick and shallow thoughts.
Places like this have a restorative effect. There is nothing wrong with people, but I don’t particularly like what is built for people. Roads, parking lots, concrete surfaces, they all bring clutter and negative vibes. They all serve a purpose: take you fast and comfortably to a place where you can spend money.
In the morning I usually take some time before making coffee to write whatever comes out of my mind, without a specific aim. Then I make coffee and continue with writing or reading as I wait for Kate to wake up. It is my only private moment aboard Tranquility. Kate usually enjoys the same privilege at night when I crash earlier than her.
There is an article about Tranquility’s refit coming up in the May issue of Good Old Boat Magazine. I’ve been in touch with the editor working on few details of the story and pictures. It makes me feel a little like a professional, the exchange of information back and forth, the check coming into the mail, the editing process. I am trying to read and write better, with more intensity, and focus. I am not sure if I could ever make a living out of it, it should be nice indeed. Writing itself stabilizes my mood. I become cranky and distracted when I don’t do it enough. So you won’t get rid of me so easily.
After Cumberland Island we sailed with a clear blue sky and enough wind to move consistently toward our destination: St.Marys. I am rather pessimistic when it comes to estimate our progress, especially when we have to use our slow motor. It might not be very powerful but is indeed perseverant, and we sailed quicker than expected to destination. There we reunited with our friend Bill and other people we got to know when we were in the boatyard for a month of hard work. We visited and saw their progress, indeed slow but perseverant. If you keep moving you eventually get there.
Saturday the strong Northerlies kept us at anchor. We tried to make it to Fernandina Beach in the afternoon but the effort was not successful, we couldn’t make way in a bend of the river, where the current and the headwind brought us to a dead stop. We retreated a few hundred feet back and dropped the anchor again, then we waited for the next day when the wind dropped, and started to move timing the tides, ebbs and flow, trying to get to the inlets at low tide to use the next flood.
Again, with the use of sails and motor we did remarkably well and we darted through the marshes of Florida’s barrier islands, a journey made of dolphins encounters, birdwatching, fighting the currents and the shoals. My mind that usually see the darker picture, predicted that we would have to stop in Amelia Island and wait for the next tide the following day. Instead, winds, currents and a little help of the motor when needed, put us all the way past the Talbot Islands to a free public dock in Jacksonville, right before the St.John’s River. There we celebrated, with delicious food and with a dose of spy movies to be precise.
With this unexpected progress, we arrived earlier than I thought to Palm Cove Marina, so Kate could go easily to her doctor’s appointment.
Why am I so pessimistic? My mind often wanders about how to build faith. Not in the religious term, or maybe so, but for me faith means a deep motivation and sense of direction. It’s possible that my interest in psychology comes from a desire to know deeper why faith is so volatile, why, basically, the mind gets in the way of your everyday life, with worries, negative thinking and other sort of anxiety-driven doubts.
Every reduction of this problem to a mechanistic view never really answered my questions. What’s the role of bad thoughts, of second guessing, of self pity? Is it something we can dismiss easily as just wrong or unadaptive or something to cure and eliminate? Is being happy and have a positive outlook to be normal?
These are some big philosophical questions, big crevasses that are hard to fill by knowledge. Depression is real, and it is no joke. It affects everybody, but in peculiar individuals, particularly sensitive ones, it takes an enormous toll and becomes a struggle.
I recently read a little more about one of my favorite authors, David Foster Wallace. He was clinically depressed. And he was one of the most successful writers of his generation. Eventually he could take no more and committed suicide. I am sure he experienced extreme happiness, an perhaps extreme boredom. I can imagine his life was intense and full under many points of view, with vertiginous highs and bottomless lows.
Looking at people with severe clinical depression makes me withdraw from my self pity and negativeness. I don’t consider myself depressed. I have indeed my moment of darkness, boredom, laziness, cowardice and so on. Still, I look to people that show profound faith and hope with a bit of envy, as an example, or maybe as a myth, because we tend to share only our nice part with others. The undesirable thoughts and behavior are hidden by a curtain of shame. Even there, I look for faults. It seems that people obsessed with Positive Thinking go in a downward spiral because it’s so hard to really be positive all the time. Showing just the positive and shiny parts, they hide the dark ones.
Robert M. Pirsig, who also suffered from severe depression, wonderfully put it in words in an article he wrote for Esquire called “Cruising Blues”:
You can be sure that the same mechanism that makes depression unavoidable also makes future elation unavoidable. Each hour or day you remain depressed you become more and more adjusted to it until in time there is no possible way to avoid an upturn in feelings. The days you put in depressed are like money in the bank. They make the elated days possible by their contrast. You cannot have mountains without valleys and you cannot have elation without depression. Without their combined upswings and downswings, existence would be just one long tedious plateau.
I found that moving slowly, a little bit like Tranquillity, gets you out of any situation. Keep moving slowly and things will get better.
Another disturbance in these day of rest, is the role of fear and attraction. There is a common saying that you fear what you desire. My current fear is thinking about sailing the northern route across the Atlantic. At the beginning of all this it was like a fun idea that Kate and I created once we started our boat project. The scary part at this point is that we might do it. When you start considering that a thing may happen Fear shows up, and it can be paralyzing.
There is this stretch of ocean between Newfoundland, Canada and Iceland called Irminger Sea. Named after a Danish explorer, this part of ocean that borders the East Coast of Greenland is considered one of the windiest of the planet. It is studied by oceanographer because of its peculiar oceanic currents, that sink and resurface, and play a fundamental role in the nutrient cycle of the Atlantic Ocean.
Is that scary? Yes, but it is also exciting, daring, emotional. It’s a place where not many people go. But somebody did, in many different crafts, with the more diverse crew.
Geronimo St. Martin, an Argentinian physician made it solo in a 20 ft fiberglass production sailboat, named La India. He later made it to Norway, Spitzbergen, and the Arctic circle, before turning around to reach Cape Horn, on the opposite side of the Atlantic Ocean.
A family of 5 who call themselves the Coconuts (two adults, three kids, now four with the last delivered while wintering in Iceland) made it on a racing boat in October, not exactly the “right” time of the year.
These examples don’t mean that this is an easy and comfortable trip. But it’s possible.
So why this fear? Because I am scared I am not disciplined enough to cope with potentially severe conditions? Because I think that my body is not strong enough to endure the trouble? That my mind will resolve to panic in a difficult situation? Because it is a place so remote that emergency responder may not get to? For sure, all the above.
Human mind assumes it is more likely to face death attempting that route rather than another one. It may be true but calculating the odds could not be that simple or possible at all, and death has very humorous ways to get to you. Fearing the Irminger Sea is both wise and stupid. Wise because it puts you in the face of a very hostile environment. It’s stupid because any Sea or Ocean is worth respect, and we as sailors should pay the same attention, awareness and preparation every time we go out at sea.
But I am also attracted by novelty, and at this point of my life a tropical beach with bar, wi-fi connections, crowded anchorages, fine dining and warm clear waters is not something that intrigues me anymore. Remote and rugged, quiet and isolated are all adjectives that sound more attractive. There is eternal beauty that waits to be discovered. Even cold assumed a new desirable meaning. The only thing I still can’t go over is cold water. I have a natural, visceral fear and avoidance of cold water. In this Kate is much braver than me.
So what am I really fearing? I am fearing the effort, the amount of preparation it takes, the awareness, and the bare thousands of miles in cold water, fog, strong winds? The fear of failure, that comes from the judgements of others?
I can’t make my fear shut up. Fear is energy. Fear is useful. In this case fear is telling me not to underestimate the task and to be prepared for it. And there is only one strategy that doesn’t work with fear. Avoidance. When you avoid fear you bring it with you for the rest of your life.
The last post of the delivery trilogy was holding up my writing and creativity for too long, and writing it was like a big let go. There was also something else occupying my resources: our wedding re-enactment in front of family and friends. We called it “Family blessing and feast” because technically speaking we are already married.
We didn’t have a public celebration when we walked in the Woodbine Courthouse a little more than one year ago, just a handful of witnesses who had a free day and a secret but lovely suprise party from local friends when we got back. Even if for “The Law” we are a family we felt important to celebrate our union in front of our kin people and also to check if our families were somehow compatible. We had some good vibes about it but you are never sure until you try so why not try to organize a family blessing and feast in La Cialvrina, a wonderful resort in the Lys Valley?
Kate and I have been busy planning a destination wedding for 80 people in the Italian Alps, with guests traveling from all over, one of those things I loved but that I really hope I would not have to do again. We were in Italy for a month to give us enough time to put something together for the people traveling and to try to make that a vacation for them. The amount of stress and work involved grew as we approached the event, and beside some invaluable help and support from our friends and family (and the amazing staff at La Cialvrina!) we did it all by ourselves, planning, executing and improvising. And we did a darn good job!
Kate is a terrific planner and organizer and I like to work with groups of people, especially leading tours and organizing transportation. But that should be a well-paid job because it’s a lot of work that really wore us down. I understand now why people who get married do honeymoon… We really need a vacation! Unfortunately our honeymoon will be delayed to Spring 2016 and between here and there there is a big chunk of work to be accomplished. We hope it will coincide with our departure on Tranquility, the original project that exists since before we decided to get married.
So now we are back in Brunswick, with the jetlag gone trying to pick up life right where we left it before the “Italian affair”. The restoration projects on Tranquility need a restart and this time of the year the priorities are set by the weather: because of the frequent thunderstorms passing everyday over the Golden Isles I must do a good job in waterproofing the last leaks on the boat. A boat with dry interior is a luxury we are ready to pay the price for, even if it’s hard to stop leaks under huge rainfalls.
But it’s not just that. We now live on land, in a nice house with a wonderful and popular roommate, a band of happy animals, a backyard a bathtub and many other luxuries. Over time we got used to certain comforts and we also accumulated junk to store and maintain. The plan to go back to a full time living in a 29ft. boat requires a re-downsizing and re-organizing of our life and this takes some serious work too. Not only muscular work but also mindset work. Luckily we did it once already.
We are trying to figure out “how” but the important step is that the “what” is pretty clear. As happened during past endeavors planning, executing and improvising will happen if we keep our eyes on the goal, and the holy energy emanated during the “blessing” is the fuel we need to get us there. I promise to post a little more about the how when I figure it out myself a little better.
It took a while to get back to the regular rhythm of life at sea. The storm created a big, rolling swell that we admired for hours. Slowly we put more and more sails up as the wind decreased, not too quickly, as if we had no energy for more trips to the mast nor for operating halyard and winches.
We sat there.
Everybody onboard was exhausted so we bobbed a little more without pushing the boat and ourselves. It felt like I was washed out, my belongings scattered and damaged. Like formatting the hard drive of a computer. My watch was also missing. It was a beautiful watch that my dad gave me as a present. Boats are very good in swallowing objects, so I thought I would see it again at the end of the trip when we would unpack and repack into our suitcases.
The worst part of the storm was the damp interior and the lack of dry clothing left behind. Before leaving Ft.Myers we meticulously washed all the beddings and clothes to have a comfortable passage to Houston. With no change of clothes and no dry bunks for sleeping we still had to sail for more than 450miles. There is nothing more miserable at sea than a damp boat. Patiently we arranged the cabin the best we could to have a little comfort, but our hearts were as heavy as a piece of waterlogged driftwood.
As night approached so did thunderstorms. I couldn’t watch any more lightning on the horizon without fear and stress. I stood by the Radar display on the alert. Luckily this time it was only rain, even though we would die for some dry weather to help containing the moisture level onboard.
The winds decided to blow directly from Houston so we put the boat on a motor-sailing duty and we stuck on that, but our progress was slow. We played with the revs and the autopilot and the mainsail but nothing could un-stuck us from a wretched two knots of speed over ground.
Mississippi or Loop Current?
It was obvious that an adverse current had its hand in it, but without a knot-meter we couldn’t calculate how strong it was. Thw Gulf of Mexico proved to be a tough stretch of water, more than we expected. The adverse current did not ease for another day. All kind of hypothesis thronged our conversations: at first we believed it was the influence of the Mighty Mississippi mouth even if we were at least 100 miles south of it.
Then we considered the Loop Current influence. This warm water current could sometimes extend far north into the Gulf, before circle back and slip in between Florida and Cuba creating the Gulf Stream that heads north through the Atlantic.
We couldn’t check our hypothesis and when we had a chance we called a distant ship on VHF to ask if they knew anything about it. The captain was annoyed by the current as well but he was apparently ignorant of the phenomenon or maybe he was just aware that he could not do much about it.
When passage planning for the Gulf of Mexico portion of this trip I considered and decided to sail south of the Oil Rig extension for as much as we could, before turning NNW and head for Galveston. The Coast of Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas is disseminated with platforms of any size and shape, and any work conditions.
Before the trip many people told me how some of them aren’t active and not even lit during the night. Obviously no one could prove this rumor personally without hitting one.
After being swept by a furious storm and barely progressing against the Mighty Mississippi current or whatever it was, the idea of shortening the trip by more than a 100 miles taking a direct cut through the jungle of platforms was a siren song we could not resist. We plotted a straight course to Texas that brought us in the heart of the Gulf of Mexico drilling operations. At the beginning it was heart bumping, but after a while we took confidence sailing through oil rigs and all the related marine traffic.
People are often concerned about traffic and maritime operations while offshore sailing. In theory this is a concern that only a singlehanded sailor should have, as there are going to be times when nobody is standing watch on deck and he or she should adopt strategies to minimize risk of collision.
A well manned vessel with crew standing watch all the time should be able to avoid any collision. The truth is that the Ocean is not as populated as we think it is, and the congested areas are very few and it’s usually where sailors pay maximum attention and further aids are offered (like buoys, pilots, etc.).
Still, the Gulf can be pretty busy in terms of marine traffic. Facing an area with high density of marine traffic and miscellaneous obstacles can be a source of stress for the crew of a small sailboat with limited instrumentation.
But after a little time to get used to the new horizon, sailing through the oil rigs was not bad at all, and we were lucky not to end up on one of the infamous unlit platform that allegedly populate the area.
What bothered us most was the not cooperation from the wind, very light and mainly adverse, and with a 13,000 lbs displacement boat our only option to get to the completion of the trip was to motor. Motoring through oil rigs was just a boring and repetitive task. The inboard diesel proved to be very frugal but we were growing anxious about the lack of wind and the possibility to run out of fuel. That’s why we started talking about an on-the-go refuel stop at one of the oil rigs!
First we picked that card as a last resort dictated by fear. Even when we put down the math and realized that the fuel onboard was just enough to get to destination, we still wanted to try the new experience of asking for fuel to an oil rig.
After we located our target, it took few attemps to get somebody answering our VHF call, and then few extra efforts to explain what our intentions were. We realized that passing fuel to cruisers was not an everyday task for the workers on the rig who were definetely surprised by our request as they kept looking for a supervisor who could authorize it.
Finally somebody on the phone gave the consent and we started the operation: at first a line was sent down from a bridge to collect our empty jerry cans. At the end a piece of paper with two words: trade please. The lack of wind and waves made the operation easy even though the vicinity of the huge metal pilings was haunting my concentration during the manouvre.
When the jerry cans came down filled with diesel we had nothing to trade but some cold cash and a thank you note. I believe booze was what they were looking for, but this is just speculation.
Refueled and happy for the help from our new friends we resumed our course to Houston and during my evening watch even the wind started to blow and turn South. I opened the jib and staysail, trimmed the main, adjust the windvane autopilot and started playing with the revs to see if we could finally turn off the engine.
The wind was light tough, probably too light for a boat like the Southern Cross, but I was ready to trade the lower speed for the quietness of sailing. The boat moved at 5+ knots, which was a surprise and made for a very smooth ride. This time the Loop Current was our loyal escort as we caught the Westward eddy flowing towards Houston. At dawn we entered Galveston Bay and reached Clear Lake City, where the owner proudly docked the boat in his slip.
There Roberto and I spent an extra day helping the owner and his wife to empty, re-organize and clean the boat, plus we made few repairs and improvement that we identified during the trip.
Unfortunately my watch never re-appeared, joining my phone and few other belongings in the casualty list. In 14 days trip we left Georgia, sailed south in the Atlantic, cut across the middle of Florida and spent some intense days in the Gulf of Mexico.
Despite the fatigue and the effort we were happy to succeed and glad the new owner could enjoy the boat close to home. He got himself a sturdy and safe boat that went through some serious tests keeping the crew safe during a very demanding trip.
I like boat deliveries. It’s one of those sailing jobs where you are actually paid to sail. Sometimes when skippering private or charter boats I end up sitting somewhere doing maintenance and waiting for guests that undertake short trips, mostly day trips in protected waters. Nothing wrong with that but when it comes to sail a boat and squeeze miles out of her, deliveries are my favorite because you are on the clock and your customer satisfaction depends on how quickly you can move the boat from point A to point B. Even if it’s not a race, and the safety of crew and vessel are of the utmost importance you can’t simply take it easy, you have to keep going and sail as efficiently as possible to destination.
Deliveries are good learning opportunity as you have to sail different boats, try different designs, gear and equipment. When the owner of a Southern Cross 31 was looking for skipper and crew to move his recent purchase from Brunswick, GA to Houston, TX I immediately felt like I wanted to jump onboard. I found the route interesting as I never sailed the Gulf of Mexico (never been to Texas either) and I was curious to see inland Florida through the Okeechobee Water Way. On the other side, the reputation of the Southern Cross 31 as a very seaworthy boat was another attractive feature of this project.
Designed by Thomas Gillmer, the Southern Cross 31 is a stout, double ender cutter. Her full keel and heavy displacement of 13,600 lbs (for a 31 footer) suggest that she is not a bolt and that her windward ability may lack some efficacy. The cutter rig however allows for a generous amount of sail area and flexibility in terms of adjustments to various sailing conditions and wind force. The SC31 is also known to have a very comfortable motion in high seas, and being relatevely roomy and able to carry supply make a boat for sailors that intend to go long distances.
As other designs built with the same philosophy (which can be dated back to the pioneeristic work of Colin Archer) such as Westsails, Allied Seawind and some of Bob Perry’s designs, this type of boat is often considered as the ultimate bluewater boat, for the extreme sturdiness and quality build, the conservative sail plan and hull shape above and under the waterline.
While I am not a great fan of the design, this delivery was a great opportunity to test my opinions first hand. It’s incredible how dogmatic and opinionated you become as soon as you start sailing, and it’s good to remind myself how little I know about boats and how much to learn is out there. I have to admit that even if I developed preferences and opinions about designs and outfittings, I like almost any boat. It’s hard to explain but there is something interesting in all of them!
To help me in this trip I once again had the luck to have Roberto, that helped me before with leg one and leg two of Tranquility’s trip. He helped me very much in assessing the boat conditions, making all the adjustments we needed and offering solid manpower during the hardest parts of the trip. He is the kind of person I’d sail anywhere with, and I am glad I could share another trip with him.
First Leg: Brunswick to Ft.Pierce
The first part of the trip was harder than I expected. Not only did the crew have to learn how to properly set up a boat that’s been filled with the latest equipment and accessories but never really sailed hard, also the weather didn’t cooperate. Since the beginning we had our share of hard work trying to make South and East against a moderate southeasterly breeze.
Just after leaving St.Simons Sound we had to steer clear of the shoals out of Jekyll and Cumberland Island, and that took us almost 20 miles to the East, and very little to the South. That same evening Coast Guard issued a severe thunderstorm watch, with a whole set of damaging winds, torrential rain and lightning strikes. We listened to the advisory on the VHF radio and having lived few months on the coast of Georgia I experienced how most of the times those advisories resolved in a bluff, much ado about nothing, and we were hoping to get a bit of a favorable blow from the W to finally start to make progress towards our destination. We furled the jib away, took one reef in the main and left the staysail up with blind optimism.
This time USCG predictions were accurate and the first hit of the squall sent the boat on her side and as I was taking the tiller from the hands of the Monitor Windvane, Roberto had to run to the mast and reef the mainsail down to reef number three. Lightnings were all around the boat, very loud and creepy and in just few minutes we were completely soaked and shivering. After the first violent blow we managed to stabilize the boat and put her on course for maybe half an hour before the wind died again and turned from the South, leaving us wet and with little progress done.
To try to put miles behind us we spent the night motorsailing and the same happened the next day. Luckily we had a reliable inboard Yanmar diesel engine and we didn’t hesitate to crank it up when necessary to make progress to point B. Again, 24 hours later, off Cape Canaveral we had severe thunderstorms but this time we were well prepared and we anticipated the downburst and kept a good control of the boat during the squalls giving also the owner the opportunity to be at the tiller on a fresh broad reach in near gale conditions.
Light breeze the next days put our arrival time in Fort Pierce for late night and after tackling the inlet channel riding a strong incoming tide we made a sneaky approach in the dark and tied up in a marina with the plan to refuel in the early morning and continue to Mile 0 of the Okeechobee Water Way in Stuart, Florida.
Second Leg: Okeechobee Water Way (OWW)
Loaded up with fuel we began the long motoring days of the OWW through the St.Lucie River. The calm waters and little traffic allowed us to reorganize the boat and make the necessary repairs and upgrades.
Despite thousands of dollars spent in equipment and gear (including enough spare parts for a couple of circumnavigations), this boat had been sitting on a dock in Brunswick for several years and never sailed anywhere. A sad story heard before, the dream of long distance sailing vanished and the boat moved in different hands a couple of times. As often happens during deliveries this was more of a sea trial that pointed out the condition of the boat. Thinking back to our experience on Tranquility and other boats I am starting to understand how you need a passage of at least 500 miles to really put a boat through a minimum test. Few systems that worked perfectly when the boat was tied up to a dock started to fail, the brand new sails were not properly hoisted, the fridge failed and the AIS stopped transmitting.
As we were steaming around the inlets of the East Coast of Florida, we found and removed some seawater inside one of the lockers under a bunk that was not there before the trip. We used all our brain cells to try to unfold the mystery, with little success. The occurrence did not repeat so we put our mind at rest.
The crazy freshwater-macerator-holding tank system for the boat’s head failed almost immediately but Roberto was smart enough to MacGyver a fashionable repair that allowed us to use the head again, even better than before. Then the fridge stopped working, so I had to start pulling out feasty banquets of meats and perishable food to avoid the spoiling of our provisions. The spirits were high when we moored in Indiantown, FL at the local marina (obviously after working hours) where we also enjoyed the company of other cruisers and a load of fresh beddings from the laundry.
Not all evilcomes to harm, and so do the failures onboard. During the trip the new owner had the chance to assess the boat and to have an idea about what he really needed onboard and what were haute couture sailing accessories. His desire was to undertake an offshore passage and learn more about sailing. Instead of waiting on an armchair for his boat to be delivered, he bravely decided to be part of the trip despite a recent injury that limited his mobility. Together we formed a cheerful trio that endured the difficulties and discomfort of long distance sailing.
The rest of the trip on the OWW depended on locks schedules. Divers doing extraordinaire maintainance on Port Mayaca locks messed up our timing and progress, as we had to wait for two hours tied up to dolphins. Once they let us pass, the crossing of Lake Okeechobee was like an offshore passage, as in some portion of it no land was on sight. We chose the Route #1, directly across the lake, as it is the most direct way. We encountered hostile armies of mosquitos when we anchored out of Moore Haven after missing the last opening of the lock by 5 minutes. The clutch and the throttle failed right there during anchoring operations, so we had a nice repair project to deal with. Luckily it was no big deal so we enjoyed a quiet afternoon, spotting birds and alligators and eating more chicken.
Ft.Myers signed the return to civilization, and busy life. After a comprehensive provisioning at the local supermarket, refueling and deserved showers, we checked online weather forecast that stated no hazardous weather was on our trajectory for the first part of the trip. We also found a solid block of ice to keep our provisions fresh.. Everything conjured to make a prompt departure the very next morning.
Mountain wilderness has always fascinated me, long before the ocean did. The Alps are just at a stone’s throw from my hometown in Italy, and most of my growing up memories are related to walking in the woods, swim in mountain lakes and climb rocky peaks.
When it was time to figure out where to travel for our New Year’s Holidays it wasn’t difficult to pick the mountains. Kate and I needed a change of scenario from Coastal Georgia and the Blue Ridge Mountains north of Atlanta were the closest available option. Relatively close, I have to say, as it takes almost 7 hours driving to get there from Brunswick.
Even if life is sweet in the marshes of Glynn I felt the need to look at a different landscape. It takes some courage to find the time and the determination to do it, to subtract it to social life, work and money and general everyday schedule that ends up trapping our lives. It so much rewarding to be able to leave and go, and see what you haven’t seen before, and I am so lucky to share this attitude with Kate. We can say that we took our souls on a date.
With the burden/blessing of a multiple course feast we had for New Year’s Eve and tired by the consequently cooking and clean-up we jumped on the car the very first day of 2015 and started the journey. We killed two birds with one stone (I am practicing stone’s related idioms) visiting Kate’s siblings in Atlanta. It was nice to spend holiday time with family. Atlanta is so close yet so far there are not many opportunities to do it in the course of the year, when the Schedule reign.
After the Atlanta stop we drove up the mountains to a cabin in Chattahochee National forest. The forecast for the weekend was heavy and non/stop rain. Leaden sky, misty and grey, a true Appalachian atmosphere. We had to make a change in our plan, from hiking to sight seeing, using our car to explore the scenic roads of the Blue Ridge mountains.
UNICOI STATE PARK
Nestled in the Georgia Mountains, Unicoi is a state park that surrounds the 53-acre Unicoi Lake on Smith Creek. Kate dragged me to see the Lodge, which is a fancy building that serves conference groups, families and individuals with guest rooms, meeting space, restaurant and catering. We had no business there but to get a bit of free wi-fi to continue our planning of the visits. Nonetheless the staff was very welcoming and allowed us to walk around freely and to visit the building. They also gave us a straight forward advice: if we are interested in booking a room during low season we should just bypass the reservation area of the website and call the lodge: when the season is low they are always willing to meet your budget for a room in the lodge. Forewarned is forearmed.
HELEN, GA A FAKE ALPINE TOWN
Economic development strategies are to be judged by their effectiveness and the one that transformed Helen, GA into a touristic destination was a very successful one, even though bizarre. Once a logging town, Helen suffered a severe economic depression until a group of businessmen decided to invest and create a replica of a Bavarian village in the Alps in the 70s. Even national franchises as Huddle House and Wendy had to surrender to the style imposed by the zoning authority. Today Helen is a popular destination, with many restaurant and shopping areas.
We were unimpressed by Helen (as you see no pictures were taken), which is a bit disgusting for the kitsch style and the obvious inauthentic architecture. We had to take at least a stroll through the city and dine out. Thanks to Kate who is always able to extract local knowledge from store employees, we found the best restaurant in town, which obviously is not Bavarian and it doesn’t even have a Bavarian-style building. Bigg Daddy’s proved to be an authentic non-german restaurant and we still remember with pleasure the Jumbo Wings with lemon pepper hot sauce!
ANNA RUBY FALLS
The twin waterfalls lie in the hearth of the Chattahoochee National Forest and can be reached after a short and pleasant walk from the parking lot, the ideal condition for our rainy day. So when we hit the road to our NW route to McCaysville we made our first stop at the falls, where we had a wet little hike, some moment of meditation in the mist and a curious encounter with a pine-needle/spaghetti worm.
Visiting the Walasi-Yi Interpretive Center at Neels Gap was like a pilgrimage for us, as the site is an important crossing of the Appalachian Trail. In 2012 Kate and I took a summer trip to Maine and we visited Baxter State Park and Mount Katadhyn, the northern end of the AT. We were fascinated to learn about the AT and dreamed that one day we could hike it.
Walasi-Yi is a Cherokee word for “big frog” and it’s the original name of this area at Neels Gap. The native american people used to have a village very close to the actual position of the building, but they had to leave through the infamous “Trail of Tears”, the removal of the Cherokee Indians and other native tribes from their life long home in 1838. According to eyewitness John G. Burnett, “… many of these helpless people did not have blankets and many of them had been driven from home barefoot. […] The trail of the exiles was a trail of death. They had to sleep in the wagons and on the ground without fire.”
The actual stone building was built in 1934. Through the years it served as restaurant and dance hall, and today it houses a Hostel and an Outfitter shop right on the Appalachian Trail, which passes through the building, marking the only covered portion of the trail’s 2100 plus miles.
Our itinerary was designed around a specific appointment. We wanted to go and visit Hank, a man we met exactly one year ago in Cumberland Island. He was very interested int Tranquility, sitting at the dock by the ferry and we started to chat. After few words, we were all sat in the cockpit eating nuts an talking about sailing, and life afloat. He offered to trade his mountain cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains for our boat. We felt very tempted but we sticked with Tranquility. When we decided to go up in the Blue Ridge Mountains we called him, to see if he was still around, and he invited us to meet him in McCaysville, where he lives.
Hank took us on a tour of the area, first crossing the border to Tennessee, where we visited the abandoned copper mines in Ducktown. The scars of the mining is still evident, but trees are starting to grow back and repopulating the area. For Kate this was the sign of a profound legacy with her Pennsylvania ancestors who used to work in a mine town.
The second point of interest that Hank showed us was the system of dams on the Ocoee River. TVA manages the dams to produce electricity and to control the river flow for recreational purpose. The whitewater course on the Ocoee River was created for the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, and it is dependent by the water control system of the dams. In Spring, when they open the water, a group of kayakers and whitewater rafters gather to run the first wave down the river. Sounds like great fun!
Weather improved the following day so before driving back to the lowcountry we stopped in a gorge-ous place. Tallullah Gorge is a set of waterfalls that flows in a steep little canyon. The interpretative center give tons of informations about the history and the nature of the Appalachian Region, and the trails around the waterfalls are easy and accessible.
Walking around the gorge on a finally sunny day gave us the opportunity to discuss some of the plans we have for 2015. After a static 2014, where we consolidated our situation after leaving New England in a hurry, we expect to start travelling again. There are plans to point Tranquility’s bow on a northern route later in Spring/Summer, to explore the great crusing grounds of New England. There is also a plan for a family meeting in Italy next August, in the beautiful scenario of the Alps. Quod erat demonstrandum, I live on the Ocean but I belong to the Mountains.
Public libraries are the best places in the whole civilized world. You may think I am exaggerating here, but the service they provide is invaluable, and I am very happy to visit public libraries wherever I roam. They have always been a friendly place for me, where I can entertain myself or do some hard work, or simply pass time. In fact, during my travels they serve as refuge and nomadic workplace.
You can really enjoy libraries only if you have spare time, a luxury that few people in the world can afford nowadays. For this reason children and kids are natural inhabitants of public libraries, as well as elder people. Public libraries are one of the few last public spaces in this privatized world, you can walk in even if you have no money, and you are not invited to buy stuff. A wide range of services are available: a collection of media for any use, free access to the internet, toilets, water fountains, comfortable seats warm/cool place to rest. All for free.
I experienced libraries from different point of views, throughout my life. As a little kid in Limbiate, my hometown in Italy, I was an avid reader of Game books and mystery novels, expecially the Alfred Hitchcock presents seires, the one with the three little detectives. I clearly remember walking to the library every Saturday morning, listening to my walkman, and swap books. I was a better reader then than I am now. When the wastrel era of adolescence arrived, the library became the perfect spot to meet friends and to squander time that could have been more profitably spent studying. I was quenching my thirst of knowledge wandering around the shelves without a plan, and absorbing what was catching my attention. I have always had this feeling of wonder when facing a wall of books, with my eyes and my legs following the succession of titles. I was also there few years later when studying was not an option anymore and I had to pass exams while attending university. In the library I would feel more concentrated than at home and the presence of peer students with a common destiny reinforced the motivation to study. Finally I also realized one of my dreams: after being an user for many years I had the opportunity to work for Limbiate’s library, and there it’s where I started to deal directly with users.
Because libraries don’t make distinctions of age, race, mental and physical ability, class or income, the users of a public library constitute a rich and heterogeneous group. And that’s where a good librarian has the most arduous task. Managing the human relationship in such a diverse environment is no joke. Sometimes I think that the job of a librarian incorporates the one of a social worker, a cop, a psychiatrist, a nurse. He/she is not only a person who knows how to catalog media and knowledge and where to find what you are looking for (an incarnated Google). Librarians also have to deal with the humanity that finds refuge in this last outpost of public space.
Libraries are free public spaces but this doesn’t mean they don’t have rules. The most important rule, which is the fundament of this institution, is to be quiet. I find this truly amazing. You can’t have this in Starbucks or any other secular place. Everywhere else, there’s violent chatter, loud speaking on the phone, blasting music. What’s better than having the right to say <<Shh!>> to people who threaten your concentration and peace?
Beside this very important one any library has its own set of rules, which are often very different. Anyway after reading some of the Rules and regulations found online there are common (and sometimes funny) rules. Sleeping is usually forbidden and enforced by staff (as I witnessed in Savannah, GA at the local library). Now I consider myself lucky that nobody kicked me out for sleeping with my head on a book more than once during my hard study time. It probably makes a difference if you are holding a book or a newspaper, or if you simply crash in an armchair. But there are lucky exceptions. In Boulder, CO Public Libraries, it is forbidden to “down, doze or sleep in any library facility except this rule shall not apply to children“. Rules of Common Decency are requested to all visitors everywhere but some libraries gets very detailed as it happens in New York Public Library “you must wear clothing and shoes in the Library, and your body odor must not be so offensive that it disturbs others.” Lakewood Public Library, OH prohibits “loitering in the Library without making use of its materials is not acceptable. Aimless wandering through the building or anywhere on the grounds is likewise prohibited“. I wandered too without making use of the materials, and more than once, but maybe I looked like I was in search of a book.
There are so many funny rules out there, if you want to read some here is a link.
Today, in the era of Internet and E-books, public libraries are facing difficult times, as some people may think they are becoming obsolete. However there is a great difference between server stored digital media knowledge and libraries. A library exists inside a physical building, often a fine example of architecture. It has bones and muscles, but it also has heart and blood, the real people that keep alive this important institution. We surely can keep studying and reading books even without libraries, using screens instead of book pages. But we would be terribly alone, isolated and lost in a digital void. That’s why, whenever I have a chance, I go to public libraries. We all should support them.
“Confined on the ship, from which there is no escape, the madman is delivered to the river with its thousand arms, the sea with its thousand roads, to that great uncertainty external to everything. He is a prisoner in the midst of what is the freest, the openest of routes: bound fast at the infinite crossroads. He is the Passenger par excellence: that is, the prisoner of the passage. And the land he will come to is unknown—as is, once he disembarks, the land from which he comes. He has his truth and his homeland only in that fruitless expanse between two countries that cannot belong to him.”
Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason
“Che i sogni siano un rifugio? Una fuga dalla realtà? Può essere, ma non riesco a fare altro, né so che altro fare”
I wrote this sentence in a notepad about five years ago. Soon it’s going to be five years since I left Italy, soon my niece is going to turn five as well. The moment I told my mom I decided to leave is still so clear in my memory. It happened in the waiting room of the hospital, my sister was in labor delivering Melissa, and I cried a little because I felt that my decision was taken. Less than two months later I moved to Venezuela. I was 27 and leaving my former career of psychologist. In that moment I let the dreams rule.
It was a jump in the unknown, an hazardous move. I also tried to sabotage my departure telling my father to drive me to Malpensa airport while instead I was leaving from Linate. Both airports serve the city of Milan but they are quite distant from each other. That morning I forced my dad to a race through highways and traffic, and l took that first plane for a matter of minutes. Not even my unconscious could avoid it.
Along these 5 years I continued to be a moving target, crossing boundaries of different countries. All this happened without a specific strategy. Kate would say this movement is “Planktonic”. Similarly there is not a particular reason why now I am in Coastal Georgia. If the current pushes towards unpredictable destinations, the fil rouge of this drifting seems to be the condition of apprenticeship.
When I left for Venezuela my mission was to manage the operation of a charter yacht. I never did such a thing before. For my biased mind sailing was an activity for snob and rich people, and I carefully avoided it. So when I approached this job I was completely unexperienced. I had to learn everything on the field, find help and learn how to be helped which is not exactly something foregone, expecially when you don’t speak the language.
When you are in such a situation you feel like an idiot most of the times. It is hard to linger in this state of constant awareness of your own deficiency. Sometimes you don’t have a clue and at the same time you have to endure the fatigue of being far from your own comfort zone. It also true that any success it’s worth the double and it’s easy to get enthusiatic. During my first self-taught apprenticeship across the ocean I seeked for the help of a professionl coach in understanding how my role was changing and that was a great support.
After being an apprentice charter manager I had to be an apprentice sailor, then an apprentice captain and now I am an apprentice restorer of old fiberglass boats. Even if it seems the trajectory of this growth belongs to the maritime world, the change of scenarios and tasks keeps me grasping for some prior knowledge to sustain my efforts, and it’s hard to predict what is coming next. I moved so much in the last 5 years but it seems I didn’t get anywhere in terms of seniority.
How long will this condition last? Will I ever master anything? Sometimes I wish I had arrived. If you ask where I probably won’t be able to give an adequate response, but the feeling remains. The narratives of reinvention usually portray people in their second-half of life who distance an established position because it no longer satisfy their needs. It is the broken dream of a corporate life, where too much stability and benefits, and maybe a too narrow task build into a state of boredom and lack of sense. In this case the reinvention pass through a reintegration of a solid knowledge into something more meaningful.
I wonder how to put two and two together, how to reintegrate the constant conflict between the discovery of something new (and being unprepared) and just do what you know and be firmly attached to something valuable. Maybe it has something to do with becoming middle-aged and this eternal apprenticeship it is a social trend that affects my generation.
But there is also some active research for new objects thst propels the movement. This dilemma was well described by Michael Balint, a psychoanalist who defined two personality types, the “Philobat” and the “Ocnophil” in his theory of Object Relations. In simple terms the Philobat enjoys thrills, adventure and the unknown, avoiding to get trapped by a specific object. The Ocnophil has to get a firm grip on something, or a situation to avoid possible danger and the fear of getting lost in the void. It seems that I qualify as a Philobat and I keep looking for something new to leanr and experience, even though there is a certain grade of Ocnophilia that protest against this chaotic wandering. In life there is not such thing as pure Ocnophil and Philobat, they will be chained in some asylum.
A long apprenticeship brings together the ghosts of never grow up, the persistance of a state of deficiency and the difficulty of accepting the gap between what you are and what you are going to be. It surely has a positive side, expecially because it allows to be receptive to new ideas and knowledge and to discover things I like and I do not like, which usually come after trials and errors. I feel that the challenge now is to balance and weave together experience and new knowledge and to find continuity in change, which translated in a simple language sounds like “sit down, relax and enjoy the journey”
A white explorer in Africa, anxious to press ahead with his journey, paid his porters for a series of forced marches. But they, almost within reach of their destination, set down their bundles and refused to budge. No amount of extra payment would convince them otherwise. They said they had to wait for their souls to catch up.
I’ve survived a two days zen retreat last weekend. Being a beginner I had no clue how hard and disciplined a retreat in a Zen monastry can be. My longest sitting has always been 1h30minutes once a week and being in a meditative modality for two entire days it was like climbing a mountain without an adequate training. But I did it! Thanks to the perfect leadership of the Zen Providence Center’s staff, to the pure energy of the Teacher Nancy and to the presence of many beginners like me I survived this hard test.
I bring home countless insights and a renewed energy from the retreat and also a very beautiful image that has the power to describe exactly the effect that Zen meditation has on me.
In one of the rare breaks during the retreat I started to read a book of Zen Master Seung Sahn. It was about the letters he exchanged with many students in the years of his teaching. In one of these he uses a wonderful metaphor. Seung Sahn says to a student that we are like a scale that has a natural balance in the zero, the end of the scale. When we weigh an object the needle reaches the position corresponding to the weight of the object. When we remove the object from the scale the needle returns to zero. Zero is the position of peace and perfect balance before thinking, that is, when we are free from delusions, situations and suffering. Whenever we go through a situation, an event, an emotion the pointer moves to indicate the weight. If other thoughts and emotions are added before we unload the scale may break. Practicing meditation helps to go back to this state so we are able to face new challenges and hassles without breaking down.
Panamà is a small country. But for a strange reason in its 75,515 km2there are several and different interesting sites to visit and live. I took the advantage of a break in Andiamo’s schedule part of the country.
When you leave Panama City you have the impression there’s nothing out of it. Maybe it’s because I grew up in Milan, where you can’t notice many differences in landscape while driving out of the city. Italy is over constructed and over populated and Panama is (for the moment) kind of virgin land out of the capital city.
At one hour and fifteen minutes (Panamanian time) by bus you arrive in San Carlos, the capital of omonimous district. I decided to take some surf lessons here in El Palmar, one of the last free beaches in the Area (big resorts all over) and perfect spot for beginners like me, due to reasonable dimensioned waves and for the perfect sandy bottom with no dangerous obstacles. I never been on a surf board before and always thought surf is for lazy californian teenager (or lazy young-looking adults). But if you live on the sea like me you should know how to use the resources (wind, waves & similar..) to have fun and do your workouts. Everyday there’s a lot and nothing to do at the same time.
El Palmar, San Carlos
I booked two classes with Flor Villareal, owner of Panama Surf School that was recommended to me by Andiamo’s guest Mariano that also learned surf in El Palmar. The first day I was taught by Nino, San Carlos native instructor working with Flor for more than 5 yrs. I started with a long soft board, practicing stand ups and wave catching and helped by Nino for timing and pushing. When I kept practicing alone I was not able to catch one single wave and really exhausted. Surf is for sure funny but is also damned hard work! I had all my muscles hurting and abrasions on knees for board friction but the sensation of control when I rode my first wave was so exciting that I’m motivated to go further in this activity. Next day I was with Flor on the other side of the beach, this one with more stones but nothing dramatical. After sun salutation to warm up the body I worked with her on timing and paddling. I did some progresses and started to think about turning as well. In the afternoon I practiced alone and rode three waves and that gave me lots of satisfaction.
Friday was really bad for waves so I decided to take a bus to El Valle de Antòn, a town that sits in the crater of a dormant volcano. Before going I knew that was a good site for hiking and thermal baths and also a very fertile land. Once I was on the road to the village I started noticing some characteristics: wood and flowers, green all around, water.
And water on ground and from the sky, heavy rain all over me while visiting the surroundings, climbing small mountains, visiting waterfalls, slipping from muddy rocks. I rented a bicycle just to go faster in between sites and to run in the middle of the lovely village now sadly littered only with rich people mansions while the locals moved up in the mountains due to the increasing cost of land. I visited la India Dormida Mountain (with the profile of a lying indian woman), bathed in thermal waters an climbed up to a mirador (but really poor visibility).
Exhausted after cycling and hiking when I get back to La Casa de Juan (cheap and warm hostel) I was involved in the pizza baking for dinner. All the guests of the house gave a strong hand for the preparation, a nice way to know each other and enjoy good food under the sight of Juan (hostel director) who promoted the event with genuine generosity.
Back to the city next day I was surpised how fast I got back to the apartment (2hrs and a half in total, with 2 buses change and 1 taxi). I’m sure this combo is perfect for weekends and days off, quick and effective, and two destinations to see for any travellers in Panamà.
After Berlin underground crossing it’s time of U.S. in a trip that since its starting was very long and became even longer.
Landed in Miami on July 21st I stayed in Fabi’s house in Ft. Lauderdale for one night to be ready to leave for Panama on Friday night. Fabi is my boss’s friend, a friendly and nice woman who helped me a lot in Ft. Lauderdale.
After an entire day visiting around to wait for my late flight already checked in and already at the gate I received the bad news from the airline: plane had mechanical problems so is not leaving
General panic and fights always ready to start between passengers and staff and between passengers! I used all the skills trained in italian post offices to conquer one of the first places so I got quickly my hotel room and my ticket for next day. One more day in Florida that passed by taking advantage of the comforts of my hotel room and going out for dinner with Fabi.
I have few and confused images of me in a car with Mitzy, the boat manager, and his brother driving through the incredible buildings of Panama City. Not more than three hours in the apartment and I’m
on a 4×4 that carries Kunas and their provisions from the city to the “Comarca de Kuna Yala”. The road is a tarmoil ribbon that flows trough the jungle and I ignore completely where I am only noticed I am stuffed in a vehicle that is collecting people all around. Finally I get to the “embarcadero” and jump on a lancha that takes me to the SV Andiamo, my new experience, in the unknown surrounding of San Blas Islands.