SO close!

The girls and I are currently in Toronto. We fly out tonight for the Azores - a direct flight! We are staying in an Air B and B right across from the marina where the boys will dock. Once they dock they will have to stay on the boat in quarantine until their tests come back negative. Even though they have all been fully vaccinated and have been at sea for well over 14 days; this is a procedure we may need to get used to when arriving on a new shore.

Jamie expects to arrive late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, so the timing is remarkable - though he may not feel that, just I. I in my clean smelling clothes, freshly washed hotel hair, and tightly packed bags (with a residual odour of Kamloops forest fire smoke). Everything in my life feels so carefully and tightly packed and organized; I've had the time - sort of. The girls and I packed up our house and filled an empty downstairs bedroom with our things, cleaned and prepared our house for a beautiful new family to live in for the year, packed up my school classroom, taking 8 boxes to my parents house for storage, finished my job for the school year, sold my car, ensured we had adequate medical travel insurance, reinsured our house, organized various banking details, bid my parents and brother and friends and wonderful neighbours farewell, and here I am now. In a cool, quiet hotel room in Toronto with two snoozing girls beside me, exhausted from the tumult of leaving our beautiful city and friends in the midst of a horribly scary fire storm, while we gad off to parts unknown.

We've all walked a very busy and at times uncertain journey to get to this point, yet our paths are about to blessedly converge with our favourite sailor. One who, Gaby describes as "getting his pirate look on" with the growth of a scruffy beard. So much feels so uncertain, yet we look ahead with excitement.

Day 17: Welcome to the Azores!

Thu Jul 01 2021

Well, we haven’t actually SEEN any of it yet, it the nearest island of the Archipelago, Flores Island, is about 30 miles off to port. One of our crew’s cell phones picked up a signal for a few minutes from the island. Tomorrow afternoon we should be within sight of Faial and Pico, but we’ll just be passing by on our way to Sao Miguel Island and the city of Ponta Delgada…
Update: as I’m typing this, a unified call of “Land Ho!!!” has just come from the crew out in the cockpit- and sure enough, just peering out of the clouds are the slopes of Flores! We’re all commenting on how exciting it is- even though it’s just some silhouettes barely visible through the heavy clouds on the horizon- that actually seeing land for the first time in well over two weeks actually is!

Day 16: Part 2 (read part 1 first...)

Wed Jun 30 2021

When night fell, it fell hard. Moonrise has been quite late in the night, with 100% coverage in thick dark clouds all around. Once the sun disappeared it became completely black out. The horizon was indistinguishable, so you couldn’t tell what was water and what was sky. The wind speed immediately began picking up quickly, and it started raining hard. The wind built to over 35 knots almost immediately, and all the sounds changed. Loud whistles through the rigging that I’ve never heard before, and the noise of the wind itself. The volume and intensity of the rush of water under the hull also increased. As the waves began to build bigger, the rush of foam as waves rolled past added to the sounds. Before my first shift was over, the chart plotter had registered peak gusts at 47.5 knots. Score: Star Weather Routing- 1 PredictWind- 0

The rain and the wind continued throughout the night. My second shift was a little brighter, as the half moon had risen somewhere up above the clouds. The waves had also gotten a lot bigger, you could see some of the bigger ones coming up behind us, because the cascading foam at the top of the wave would stir up the bioluminescence enough that you’d see a line of eerie green racing towards you through the darkness.

Throughout, Merdeka just calmly marched on through the waves. The bigger ones would pick us up and send us surfing down them at double the speed that we were otherwise travelling, but she held her course beautifully, being pushed a little aside by a wave, then the Hydrovane immediately brought us right back to where we should be. By first light, some of the waves were absolute (by my limited definition) monsters. A fairly rapid wind direction shift suddenly meant that instead of travelling with the waves, we were barrelling along sideways to them. After a couple threatened to push us a bit too far, we gybed to change direction. The wind shift then proceed to mix up the wave direction, so that for the rest of the morning we were sailing through a pitching, rolling confused sea washing machine.

By the end of the night watches, the wind was back down to about 20 knots, so the mainsail was unlashed and sent back up. The wind did build a bit from there, as we began our next huge undertaking: putting the Genoa back up in a rolling sea with a 25 knot wind at our backs. Eventually we got it done, and have been enjoying some very exciting sailing and surfing under some nice (finally!) sunny skies. Now it’s looking like we’ll hopefully get to sail the rest of the way into Ponto Delgada.

Day 16: The previous 24 hours were... Part 1

Wed Jun 30 2021

Exciting.
At this time yesterday, we were doing some pleasant sailing, though under very dark skies. We also had a lot of work to do, to prepare Merdeka, and ourselves, for what the night ahead had in store for us.

I have been getting a lot of my weather information out here from the PredictWind app, that is able to download information through an Iridium Go (a small satellite transceiver- the same way I am able to transmit these posts). The app shows the weather patterns around us, along with forecasts, and a suggested route for us to take; however, it is strictly a bunch of computer models using their own algorithms to come up with these forecasts and routes. Since this is my first offshore passage as Captain, Dina and I decided it would also be wise to employ the services of a weather router. A weather router is a real person based on land, with access to much better weather data than we can get out here, that takes that information and suggests a route to your destination. Enter: Trevor Richards of Star Weather Routing. I actually know Trevor in the real world, until he and his wife Liz retired this spring, they were owners and operators of Spring Cove Marina- where Merdeka has been moored the last couple years. Trevor has a vast amount of sailing experience, and has gone around the world on his own boat.

Throughout this trip, Trevor has been the one that has been giving me twice-daily updates on the weather to expect, and a suggested course to take to avoid some of the worst weather. For the most part, I’ve been following his advice fairly closely. So, onto yesterday. I had been downloading PredictWind forecasts twice a day, including yesterday. It showed we would be in for some stronger winds overnight last night, roughly 25 knots with gusts possibly as high as 35. That’s pretty breezy, but nothing to worry too much about. Trevor had some differing thoughts.
“We can’t steer you out of the way of this one, you need to prepare for a possible 50 knots tonight.”
Whaaaat??? As wind speed increases, the force on everything becomes exponential. The difference in force between a 10 knot breeze and 15 knots, is barely noticeable. The difference between 20 knots and 25 is a big jump. Above 35 knots, and every knot of additional wind speed starts to change everything. The effect on wave heights, with no bits of land to get in their way, is also huge. So, a discrepancy of 20 knots between PredictWind’s forecast and Trevor’s is MASSIVE. So, we decide to err on the side of caution, and follow Trevor’s advice- I’ve never sailed in 50 knots before, especially not in the wide open ocean.

Yesterday afternoon, we began our preparations. Taking advantage of a lull in the 20 knot wind, we completely brought down our big Genoa sail and brought it into the cabin. Even when not in use, it normally stays rolled up, ready for use, on the forestay. The result of having it accidentally unroll in a 50 knot wind would be catastrophic, so to eliminate that risk, it came down completely. The Bimini (sun shade cover in the cockpit) was also removed. Solar panels were lashed down. As the wind began to build in the late afternoon, the mainsail was reefed down to 1st, then 2nd, then 3rd reef points, before we finally dropped it altogether and lashed it down securely just before nightfall, so that we were being propelled solely by our small staysail. The four of us onboard have normally each been taking a 3-hour solo watch period each night. Last night, we doubled up: 2 on watch together for 3 hours, before swapping teams. 3 hours on, 3 off throughout the night.

(Continued in Part 2)

Day 15: All is Well

Tue Jun 29 2021

Nothing spectacular to report today- a group of Dolphins swung past for a quick visit, but I think they decided we were too slow to be interesting for long. Waves are building up a bit this evening, but we are now travelling downwind again- so, it’s a little rolly, but fairly flat overall, and much drier! Looking on the chart plotter, those islands ahead are starting to look much closer!

Day 14: Nothing Broke Today!

Mon Jun 28 2021

Today was a welcome day of relatively drama-free sailing. The wind has finally started to turn to come more from the west- that means we haven’t had to “bash our brains out” all day beating into the wind and waves. We are now on a “beam reach”, which means the wind is coming over the side of the boat, instead of from in front of us. Hopefully tomorrow it will swing around even further, and come from behind us to push us along on our final few days in to the Azores.

Every evening at 6pm, the four of us gather in the cockpit for “Captain’s Hour”. Throughout the night watches, and with varying personal schedules through the day, usually at least one of us is napping, cooking cleaning, trimming sails, etc. Captain’s Hour is the one time during the day that the four of us can sit and socialize for a few minutes. Tonight’s C.H. Was a special one. As many of you know, a few short weeks ago, those of us in the Kamloops Fire Rescue family lost a brother and a friend, in Captain Brian Lannon. He went missing while SCUBA diving in Kelowna, and was recovered several weeks later. Brian was my Captain for several years at Firehall #2, we spent a lot of time talking about SCUBA diving and sailing, and he even came out on our old boat for a brief trip through BC’s Gulf Islands. Brian Lannon also talked boats with Brian McIquham and helped him start construction on a steel boat BriMac was planning. Lannon was originally a welder by trade, so he used his skills to get BriMac started.

I’ve been thinking about Brian while we’ve been out here, along with his wife Jen back in Kamloops. So, tonight for Captain’s Hour, BriMac and I shared a drink of rum with Brian Lannon’s memory, and raised a toast to living out dreams- and to treating every day for what it is: a gift to be lived to its utmost, no matter what that may be that day.

Day 13: Lofty Ambitions

Sun Jun 27 2021

On the old tall ships, anytime they needed to change the sails, reef them smaller, or make them bigger again; it meant that the crew had to climb up into the rigging and balance themselves out on the yard arms, sometimes hundreds of feet above the water. They called this “going aloft”. They had to do this by day or by night, in all types of weather (especially in storms), pulling the sails up by hand. On modern boats, all those sail controls can be done from deck level, usually within the safety of the cockpit— unless something breaks.

At about 5am this morning, Brian was on the last of the night watches, first light was just beginning. The wind had eased off, so he let out some line to get the Genoa back to full size… and then it began sliding down completely. He managed to get it partly furled up again, so that it would not come down completely. There is a welded steel ring that connects the top of the sail to the halyard (rope) that pulls it up and keeps it up. The ring had snapped, so there was actually nothing holding the sail up. I didn’t want us wrestling with that big sail in this morning’s 20 knot wind, so I decided to attempt a mast climb in order to retrieve the end of the halyard and try to reconnect it to the top of the sail. I’ve done this a few times before on this boat, but never while underway at sea. We “hove to” (this is a method of basically putting the boat in neutral to stop it sailing, but with the sails still up for some stability) to smooth things out, and I got ready to go up. The plan was for Dan to manage a backup safety line that was tied off to my harness, while I climbed a second line. I was also wearing my inflatable PFD just in case I somehow ended up in the water, and I used it’s safety tether to keep myself secured to the mast. By the time I got past the first set of spreaders (about 1/3 the way up the mast) , things were getting… interesting.

The wind had picked up to almost 25 knots, and the waves suddenly got a lot bigger too. The rolling that is an annoyance at deck level, became a serious issue the higher on the mast that I went. The rolling motion gets amplified, and there were a few times I had to hold on for dear life in order to not get pendulumed out away from the mast, and then come crashing back in. I was now high enough that I could see the broken parts, but nowhere near high enough to reach them. It wasn’t easy to admit defeat, but the risk was getting too high. Back down I came, to the relief of the crew and myself. Just as I was climbing back into the cabin to put my mast climbing gear away and start formulating Plan B, the boat dove into a wave, and the ensuing slap of cold seawater targeted me specifically, sending a huge shot of water down on top of me and into the boat.

Once I had cleaned up the mess from that event, and put on some dry clothes, we began working on Plan B (that probably should have been Plan A all along). We turned downwind so we could use the mainsail as a windblock to keep the breeze off the Genoa, unfurled it, and pulled it down to deck level. We then used a spare halyard to raise the furler and sail back up again, before finally turning back on course.

Even Plan B was a little more complicated than how I have described it, but definitely much safer. It took half the day to get everything accomplished, but here we are, now back on course at a reasonable speed. It’s almost 3pm local time,… time to start thinking about something to have for breakfast…

Oh, and we are now finally at a point on this journey, where the nearest land to us is no longer the tip of Newfoundland,… the closest land is now Flores Island, the westernmost island of the Azores Archipelago— so, we’re getting there slowly but surely!!

Day 12, waiting for a figurative second wind

Sat Jun 26 2021

We’ve had good steady wind for the last couple days now. It’s still coming from ahead of us, which means we’re continuing to splash through the waves, heeled over onto our starboard side. Occasionally the bow dips right under, and everything forward of the mast temporarily disappears under a rush of water, spray, and foam, before the water goes pouring off on the low side of the boat. This is when the sea finds a boat’s weak spots. We had been dealing with a slightly leaking forward hatch, that we seem to have fixed now, but Merdeka has another quirk of design that won’t be quite so simple to deal with. The anchor normally sits out on the bow of the boat (I stowed it below for this passage), it’s chain runs through the windlass, and then down into the lower part of the boat through a tube called a hawse. The chain locker is inside the boat, down low in the bow, underneath the forward V-berth (bed). Every time the bow of the boat plunges down through a wave, some water is able to get into the chain locker. As I mentioned, we’ve been heeled over onto our starboard side for a couple of days now- unbeknownst to me, water had been building up somewhere in the bow on the starboard side in a place where it wasn’t draining back into the main bilge. Earlier today we “hove-to” so I could fix something on one of the sails, and this made the boat heel over onto her port side… suddenly the whole floor in the v-berth was a pool of water, as the trapped water sloshed out of its secret hiding places onto the floor. No, we are in no danger of sinking because of this… but what a mess!!!

All in all, “beating to windward” is an exciting, but much more physically demanding point of sail. With the boat leaned over, everything becomes more challenging. Even just sitting engages your core muscles as you hold yourself upright. Moving around the boat from one handhold to the next, cooking, eating, cleaning, fixing, using the toilet, and even sleeping are more time consuming and challenging than when the boat is flatter.

Anyhow, we know we have a couple more days of this, and then the wind is forecast to come back around from behind us and blow us the rest of the way in to the Azores. While this passage we are on is not an exceptionally long one- compared to some of the other routes out there across our watery planet- it is still a marathon. We still have a long way to go, but every day our destination gets closer. It’s too early to start thinking about the journey’s end, in fact fixating on the “miles to go” counter would be akin to staring at the clock hoping to reach the end of a long workday. It’s time for that “second wind” to kick in, and to get back to marvelling at how privileged we are to get be out here; taking in sights and experiences that very few on this earth get to take part in— all too soon we will have reached our destination and back to “normal” living. (Though I definitely AM very much looking forward to seeing my family next week- for the first time in over a month!)

Day 11, A Sporty Day, Going Like The Clappers

Fri Jun 25 2021

A little British lingo there,… so, last night we had a massive feast for our 1/2 way dinner: steak, shrimp, broccoli and roast potatoes washed down with some sparkling wine that was a birthday gift from a friend back in Maryland. Just before nightfall, we decided we had enough wind to get the sails back up. An hour after that, we were heeled way over, ploughing into the waves, pointed as far up into the headwind as we could go.

We sailed all night, trying to go east, but with the wind blowing directly out of the east. We attempted to tack, in order to try and get a little more to the north, but a weird cross current had us enroute back towards Newfoundland. So, southeast became pretty much our only option for the night.

By this morning, the wind had backed and was now coming more out of the north. We eased the sails a little and changed our heading— Now for most of the day so far we’ve been more or less aimed directly at the Azores. We’re still pounding into the wind and waves, we’ve taken a few bursts of spray that managed to drench the entire boat. We’ve reefed down the mainsail and the Genoa, but we’ve still managed to hit over 9 knots of boatspeed a couple times. It’s quite exhilarating sailing- though I’m not sure Dina agrees- we’re leaned way over, it’s wet, and the wind is loud. For anyone not familiar with sailing, the idea of “apparent wind” might be unfamiliar. To oversimplify it: if we have a 20 knot wind, and we are sailing the same direction as the wind at 9knots, then it feels like a gentle breeze blowing over the boat at 11 knots… if we turn around and sail in the opposite direction, against the wind, and manage the same boat speed- suddenly our gentle breeze becomes a noisy and somewhat intimidating 29 knots. As I type this, we have an 18 knot wind blowing at us at about a 50 degree angle to our boat, and that makes it feel like a 21 knot wind. We’re sailing at a speedy 7.5 knots, and have even gotten to over 9 knots a few times. Speedy, and wet. But at least we’re sailing, and even in the right direction!

Day 10, Halfway Day!

Thu Jun 24 2021

Well, there’s no point in turning back now— it’s officially further away to our start point, than it is to our destination. We crossed that imaginary line this morning, as I write this we have just over 1260 nautical miles laid down in our wake behind us, with 1163 nautical miles in a straight line between us and Ponta Delgada. We’ve been motoring through a calm since last night. The breeze does seem like it’s slowly starting to build, if the forecast holds, we should be sailing again by late tonight, hopefully the rest of the way in to the Azores.

At about 3pm, we stopped the boat, shut down the engine, and then Dan, Brian and I jumped in for a swim. David stayed on board to get some pictures, and as a safety spotter. We had to choose our “swimming hole” wisely, as there are Portuguese Man-O-War jellyfish everywhere out here, none of us needs a sting from one of those. The water was absolutely beautiful, so refreshing, and the most gorgeous blue colour that really can’t be described properly. It is a little surreal to look down into that deep blue, and to know that the bottom is over 5 kilometres away beneath us. I checked over the prop and the water intakes, we climbed back aboard and showered off, and now we are again powering our way through the gently rolling swell. I have been saving some filet mignon steaks in the freezer for tonight’s “1/2 way celebration”, so it’s time to get on with prepping dinner!

Day 9, Make Sail While the Wind Blows

Wed Jun 23 2021

The forecast is telling us we may be running out of wind soon. That’s one of the reasons we turned northwards a few days ago- to try and get up above a band of high pressure with no wind in it. Today, we have absolutely perfect conditions. A few more knots of breeze would be OK, but for the first time we have all of Merdeka’s canvas flying- a poled out Genoa, staysail, and mainsail trying to catch every bit of wind going by us. The waves are down today, it’s blue skies and sunshine. As I type this, BriMac (Brian McIquham) is out in the cockpit playing Dina’s acoustic guitar that we have onboard. He’s playing Tragically Hip songs, in accompaniment with Gord and the boys coming out of the boat’s stereo. We’re introducing the best of Canada to our two American crew mates. Tomorrow is likely to bring less wind, but for today it’s perfect.

Offshore sailing often boils down to resource management. If we didn’t bring it with us, can’t make it, or it isn’t already out here, then we can’t have it. “It” could be wind, diesel, electricity, food and water, or even,… coffee. Everything has to be closely monitored and used wisely, running out of something critical out here is no joke. I have to constantly balance the need to keep moving, with what our wind forecast holds and the amount of diesel remaining onboard. Merdeka has big tanks, but still nowhere near enough to just fire up the engine and power to the Azores. Patience is important, but at the same time, we can’t bob around out here indefinitely either. Of course, having fresh water onboard is also critical, and while we have plenty, no one wastes a drop of it for anything. We do have equipment on board to extract fresh water from sea water, but it requires a lot of electricity. Right now, the solar panels are generating all the power we need to run the lights, refrigeration, navigation electronics and the autopilot. Running the water maker would mean running the generator- and that uses diesel,… the same diesel that we may need to run the engine if we face a long windless stretch. Resource management.

To me, that’s all part of the stress, but also the joy and incredible gratification of being out here. There are few places left in the world where being 100% self-sufficient is not only required, but is the only option available. That’s a pretty awesome feeling.

Day 8, an eventful 24 hours

Tue Jun 22 2021

Though I’m calling it day 8, 16:30 today marked exactly 7 full days since we pulled out of Cobb’s Marina in Norfolk, Virginia. We’ve covered roughly 1000 nautical miles, with about 1400 more to go.
Yesterday, we began trying to head a bit more to the north, to try and stay out of a band of zero-wind, arriving over the next few days. In the late afternoon, we decided to return to our previous heading to tack advantage of a change in wind direction. Gybing, or turning our boat so the wind is coming from the opposite side, is a big process on a big boat. There are the sails, many many lines, and a large aluminum pole, that all have to be moved across, in order to be able to change direction. The wind had been getting inconsistent towards the end of the day, and the Genoa (the sail towards the bow of the boat) had been partially collapsing, and then refilling with a loud bang and a crash. This would also violently shake the long aluminum pole holding the sail out away from the mast. When we went to move everything over before gybing, it was noticed that part of the track that holds the pole to the mast had broken away. Then a line broke. Then a block that the lines run in almost lost it’s wheel when a bolt worked its way out.
All of this left us with the ability to fly only one sail overnight,… combined with a drastically reduced amount of wind, led to a miserable night. Inside the boat it was hot, humid, and stuffy- with a film of salt starting to cover many surfaces. Though the wind was gone, the waves remained. We rolled back and forth, side to side. Every creak clank, and crash woke me, as objects slid back and forth inside their lockers. We drifted along, covering about 10 miles in a 5 hour period under our one sail. Finally, at about 5am, the lift breeze disappeared so much, that we started up the engine. As we motored, I began repairing some of yesterday’s breakages- some of it a little “jury-rigged”, as parts stores are kind of difficult to access right now…
A couple hours after that, the wind began to build steadily, spinning off the remnants of a tropical storm that is advancing up the coast of North America. It’s currently a few hundred miles behind us on the coast of New England. Anyhow,long story shorter, today we’ve had plenty of wind, and we’ve covered a lot of ground by sail.

The girls saying goodbye to dadda.

Tue Jun 15 2021

Ok, here we go! In a few minutes we will cross over the Chesapeake Bay Tunnel Bridge, and we’ll be in the open Atlantic Ocean. Next stop, the Azores!

Day 2 has begun

The sun has just risen on Day 2 of our offshore trip to the Azores. It’s our first morning at sea, after a late afternoon start from Norfolk yesterday. We are currently motoring at about 5 knots, and keeping our speed down. There is a bit of a low pressure area that is south of us right now, and moving NE, so we are going slowly to hopefully let it pass by in front of us. Conditions here are pretty nice, a bit of a swell, but virtually no wind at the moment, so we are rolling a bit.

Day 3 Dolphins

Thu Jun 17 2021

We got into the Gulf Stream yesterday evening, and our speed over the ground was immediately boosted to over 10 knots. By this morning we had crossed all the way through, and unfortunately can’t stay in it to catch some free miles towards the Azores. We are continuing to stay to the south in order to let a weather system pass by us,… this has also meant that we’ve been running the engine almost constantly— it’s a good thing that we carry a lot of diesel!!! Hopefully by tonight we will be able to get the sails back up…
Early this morning we had a bit of a nasty looking little bit of dark stormy clouds and rain, with a little bit of thunder and lightning chasing after us, when all of a sudden we were surrounded by Dolphins playing in our bow wave. It’s beautiful to watch them zipping around in the crystal clear blue water under the bow. Anyhow, the little storm mostly went around us in the end. Now we’re rolling back and forth in the swell, just hoping for enough wind to put some stabilizing sails up soon.

Day 4, some frustrations

Fri Jun 18 2021

Last night we finally got some sail up again, as a squall passed over us the wind went from 9 knots to 19 in about a minute. We were soon rocking along at 8.5knots, and shut the engine down for the first time since leaving Norfolk. By this morning, the wind had gone very light, so I took the opportunity to stop the boat and dive under to check the propeller. If you haven’t experienced that deep blue open ocean colour, I’m sorry, I don’t have the words to describe it properly… Shortly after that, the wind picked up again to about 15 knots, and we got Merdeka doing the first real sailing she’s done with us- one reef in the mainsail (just because), and full Genoa— almost 9 knots of boatspeed, and so smooth. Everyone commented on how great the motion felt… but it was not to last long. We were soon down to 3 knots of wind, after receiving a forecast of at least 15. Back came the rumble of the big Diesel engine, and we spent the afternoon motoring again, while repairing the cockpit table, that had broken loose from the cockpit floor. Now, as the sun approaches the horizon for our fourth night at sea, we are still motoring, though the wi d is expected to pick up during the night. Potentially, we may have some very strong winds coming in the next few days- hopefully they’ll be from the right direction! In the meantime, I’ve begun keeping a close eye on our diesel tanks,… it’s a good thing we carry a lot, because we’ve certainly been using a lot. It sure is beautiful out here though. We saw a few Portuguese Man-O-Wars today, and the first few flying fish zipping out over the waves away from us.

Day 5, NOW we are sailing!

Sat Jun 19 2021

Who knows how long conditions will maintain for, but right now we are having some BEEEEAAUUUTIFUL sailing! 18kts true wind, we are romping along at 8 knots, Genoa poled out, main preventer-ed out (both to leeward). Hydrovane doing most of the steering, with a little help from the autopilot. Boat is flat, and zipping along nicely! 1 reef in the main, full Genoa. Can we arrange for conditions to stay just like this for the next 14 days or so?.. Oh yeah- and the solar panels are keeping the batteries fully topped up, without needing the engine so far.

Day 6, Part 1: all about the night shift

Sun Jun 20 2021

I had two rotations on watch last night, the first one was from 10pm until midnight. Before it got dark out, we had taken precautionary reefs in the mainsail and Genoa, the main was down to its third reef (its smallest size, besides taking it down altogether) and we had rolled up some of the Genoa to reduce the size of that too. Wind speeds were getting close to 30 knots from behind us, the waves were starting to build up in size, but Merdeka was doing great. It’s a pretty exhilarating feeling when a 50 foot boat that weighs 50,000 pounds manages to surf a wave, and it was happening frequently. Boatspeed sometimes hit well over 9 knots, a few times close to 10 (I think that’s pretty fast for this big heavy boat). I’ve been watching the moon grow bigger each night, we’ll see it go from a sliver when we started, to a full moon and on its way back down again, before we arrive in the Azores. The boat was totally under control, it was bright enough that the moon was casting a shadow of Merdeka on the port side, despite a mostly clouded sky. We’ve already had night conditions from completely clear with the Milky Way arched directly overhead, to dark and snarly with lots of lightning all around us.
Dave came on shift at midnight, I went below to sleep. About an hour later, I woke up to the boat “rockin’ and rollin’” pretty hard. I looked at the instruments in the pilot house, 33 knots of wind, but 4.5 knots of current flowing directly against the wind. Outside the boat now looked more like a top-loading washing machine- big steep waves coming from several different directions. I checked the sea temperature gauge, and sure enough it had gone from just below 26C to over 28C. A later download of the current chart confirmed what I suspected: we had stumbled into a “wrong-way” meander of the Gulf Stream. The Gulf Stream is a very strong southwest to northeast current in the North Atlantic Ocean. The main part of it is about 100 miles north of where we are now, but like a river, it has currents that “eddy-out” from the main stream, sometimes flowing in the completely opposite direction. We had found one of those, and for a few hours, it made for some unpleasant conditions with lots of rolling and pitching- lots of noise inside the boat. Despite that, again, Merdeka handled it well, by the time I came out for my second shift at 4am, the horizon was starting to lighten, and the sea state had returned to normal.
Now it’s about 10am, and we’re overdue to get some more sail back up and put some more horsepower into the boat, so, on with it!

Day 6, part 2 daytime

Sun Jun 20 2021

I’m starting to settle into the “offshore groove” now. Time definitely behaves differently out here. With the boat constantly rolling, sometimes unpredictably, everything takes longer to accomplish. Today we had lots more 30 knot winds, but also some big wind speed changes up and down. Every time the wind changes significantly, then the sails have to change too. A good part of the morning and early afternoon was spent in letting out the reefs in the mainsail from last night, and then putting them back in again as the wind built up in strength.
For dinner tonight, I decided to try and use up some of our fresh food that is starting to “turn south” after a week at sea. How about a big ol’ pot of pasta sauce with lots of goodies thrown in? Bad idea… once I really got into dinner production, I realized that a pot full of boiling water for the pasta, along with a cast iron frying pan for the meat, and then a pot full of pasta sauce— all swinging around as ingredients slide back and forth on the counter, as I try to hang on with one hand while using a knife with the other… not the best plan as we surf down 3 metre swells, occasionally rolling hard to port and starboard. Anyhow, in the end, I got it all made without burning or stabbing myself, and without having pasta sauce sloshed against the walls,… and the crew unanimously gave it a thumbs up (might have been two thumbs up, if everyone weren’t using their other hand to hang on), and I felt like an accomplished sailor for having managed to make it in these conditions. And now, he we are, already back into night watches. The wind is down a little, but the waves are still up, and it’s looking like it’s going to be a very dark night ahead. Tomorrow, some big jobs to change the way the sails are rigged so we can hopefully start turning more northward than the wind is currently allowing us to go, with the way we are set up tonight.

Day 7, last night was NOT in the brochure

Mon Jun 21 2021

We shifted to each of us taking a single 3-hour watch last night. It was a very dark, overcast, damp night. After some of the spray from a few of the waves that slapped us yesterday made its way into the pilot house, the floor is quite salty and sticky. The wind had eased off a bit, which meant we were wallowing around in the leftover waves. I rolled back and forth in my berth, hot and humid, as Merdeka leaned hard to Port and Starboard through the waves. There was some lightning off on the horizon that looked for awhile like it might be on a collision course with us- thankfully morning light arrived before that happened, and the storm dissipated and disappeared.

First thing this morning, once everyone was up, we gybed to begin heading further north. There is a lot of rigging holding everything in place on each tack, moving the sails and equipment from one side of the boat to the other can take awhile. The sails are now back up to full size, in about 15 knots of breeze. The waves have settled down again and become a bit more consistent. Today definitely IS in the brochure. It’s sunny and warm, with a pleasant breeze blowing over the deck. This morning was officially shower day, each of us got a turn to get ourselves cleaned up (this was my first shower since Sunday night LAST week- the runoff water looked a little muddy in the shower sump…). Now I’m sitting out in the cockpit, listening to the rush of sea foam past the boat. The boat is reasonably level, and I’ve just had a scrambled egg wrap, coffee and orange juice while enjoying the amazing view and ocean air. Brian is breaking out the card deck, looks like a game of hearts is up. Life is good!

In a few minutes the rim of the sun will finally peek over the eastern horizon from behind me as we sail southwestward.  I’m cold, a damp cold, and 1,000 nautical miles from land on the Pacific Ocean, though not quite south enough to be considered tropical sailing.  The gray light offers no warmth, but the promise of the minutes ahead does.  I have almost finished the last watch of the night, and soon enough I’ll be passed out in my berth below, recharging for a couple hours before my next turn on deck.  Before that happens though, the rituals of welcoming the new day begin.  From down below in the galley the first hints of the aroma of strong coffee percolating in the French Press waft up the companionway into the cockpit.  Soon enough, someone will venture out into the cockpit with a mug for me, with its steaming jet-black contents sloshing about in the half-full cup as we weave through the swell.  I’m helming (steering) the boat, so I time quick grabs at the mug with one hand, and a few brief sips to coincide with lulls in between the biggest waves.  At about the time that I finish off the coffee the light changes from gray to yellow with the sun’s debut above the tops of the waves on the horizon.

            As the objects around me begin to warm from the radiation beaming on to the boat, a new smell begins to build from below decks.  I can faintly hear the sizzling coming from the three-burner stovetop in the galley, and my anticipatory salivation begins.  The distinct greasy smell of frying grows stronger, and there is no mistaking which culinary delight will be arriving soon.  Of course, it’s the exact same meal we’ve had every morning, for over a week and a half now; yet, I look forward to it every dawn as if it were the finest meal I’ll ever eat.

            A few more members of the crew, still on their off-watch time, make their stiff, squinting way out into the cockpit to wake fully, absorbing the solar energy into their skin.  Plunking down throughout the cockpit they too have been drawn out by the sun, and the promise from the galley stove.  I haven’t perused the latest weather forecast yet, and the sky overhead does not give any definite answers of what the day will bring.  It has been a chilly and overcast passage so far, but without any extremes of meteorological note.  Today could end up clear and hot, or we might be in for more clouds and rain; neither really matters as long as the wind cooperates.  

            A disembodied hand belonging to the skipper (and exclusive galley chef) reaches up the companionway from below, balancing a couple of bowls that are eagerly snatched up by crewmembers sitting closest to the hatch.  Each bowl contains a fork embedded in a small mixed heap of its steaming contents.  The best offshore meals are always one-bowl affairs; whatever the meal may be, its ingredients are all piled together in a form that can be eaten with a single utensil.  Bracing your feet on something solid allows you to hold the bowl with one hand close to your mouth, and shovel its contents in with the other, with a minimum of mess or fuss.  Any meal requiring you to place a plate on a table, in order to use a knife and fork in tandem, is almost a guarantee that you will only enjoy half your meal as you pitch about in the waves, with your table heeled over at a 20 degree angle.  

 Minutes later, a crewmate finishes his breakfast and steps in behind the wheel to take over from me so I may too have my turn at the “breakfast table”.  Sure enough, a couple more bowls are on their way out to the cockpit, followed closely by the skipper himself, and now all six of us onboard are seated out in the fresh morning ocean air.  This moment and another quick gathering in the evening, before the start of the night-watches, will be the only time that the six of us can relax and chat together.  There are plenty of other times that we’re all on deck, but those are usually frantic sail changes, reefing the sails down in high winds, or fixing newly broken gear: times that are all business, with zero time for non-essential chatter.

The Red Sheila Crew in Victoria, BC, 2016 Vic-Maui Race.             

 - The Red Sheilla Crew in Victoria, BC, on the day of departure: 2016 Vic-Maui Race. - 

The bulk of the meal consists of fried shredded potato, and it is topped with a gloriously runny over-easy egg.  The egg’s golden yolk will act as a sauce throughout the bowl once my fork breaks into it, but the real enchantment of this concoction comes from its third ingredient.  It is a food product that, before this trip, I had scorned and avoided: a substance that I would condescendingly have derided as not fit for human consumption.  An item only worthy of being fed to an animal, or being made fun of in a Monty Python skit.  That’s right: Spam.  Fork-shredded and pan-fried Spam.

            Way over-salted homogenous, unidentifiable mystery meat that when being fried does not have the olfactory appeal of bacon or sausage.  In fact, the smell of it being heated can be rather unappealing.  It can sit in storage unrefrigerated seemingly indefinitely.  That is one of its primary reasons for being stocked on board a sailboat: that it can be loaded into some forgotten storage locker and will reliably be just as “fresh” as the day it was stuffed in there.  This is the magic and crucial third ingredient in the morning’s source of sustenance; glorious, salty, delicious fried Spam.

            Maybe it is just my physically taxed body crying out for electrolytes, maybe it is the breathtaking setting of partaking in the breaking of the fast while in the middle of the open ocean.  Perhaps it is just my associations with that meal as a part of welcoming a new day at sea.  Most likely, a combination of all those things is what created a special place in my heart, and in my stomach for this otherwise strange concoction.

            Now, here I sit, four years to the day since the start of what remains as my most epic ocean voyage thus far.  I am not in the galley, nor the cockpit of a sailboat.  I am at my dining room table at home far from the sea.  I had no sensible reason for buying a can of Spam at the grocery store last week; my house is close to the store and we have ample refrigeration.  Since I am not able to be at sea right now though, I suppose I am still suffering a salt-deficiency of sorts.  A steaming bowl of hash browns, Spam, an egg, and happy memories seem to be exactly what’s needed.

By: Jamie Chase

Today is the day: Sunday, May 3rd, is the date that we have been figuratively counting down to for the past 5 years, and that I have literally been counting down to since December.  On our fridge calendar, I wrote a small number in the corner of each day from January 1, 2020, counting down until today: “Day Zero”.  As I write this, I am supposed to be on an airplane, winging my way back to Solomon’s Marina in Maryland to reunite with Merdeka.  My three crew members will have all arrived by Wednesday, May 6th, and depending on the weather, we will have cut the dock lines by May the 9th, sailing for England via the Azores Islands.

Except, like most of the world, our plans have hit a hiccup… or more correctly, a virus.  Most of the worlds’ borders remain closed, including the Canada/U.S.A. border, so my crew and I are not going anywhere.  I have known for a month now, that Leg 1 of the Chase Family’s year-long adventure was going to have to be postponed or cancelled, so I’ve had some time to come to grips with it.

In the big-picture, I am thankful to have a healthy family, and to be living in a safe country, and to still have employment.  The bills are being paid, and we are carrying on.  Our plans are not dead, merely being altered…though planning out the future steps remains a challenge as the world changes daily.  We are REALLY hoping to be able to set off in July on an altered schedule, but there is also the possibility that we will be postponing everything for a further year.

A strange thing has happened to me over the last two weeks.  My brain knows that the first part of the trip is “off” yet, I keep getting waves of excitement, and even adrenaline, come over me in preparation for today’s departure.  I KNOW I’m not going, but I haven’t been able to stop myself from checking the offshore weather every day (which, of course, is absolutely ideal right now), from running through mental lists of scenarios, emergency plans, parts lists and provisioning (food) choices.  Despite being cognizant of the fact that the only thing I’m sailing right now is a keyboard, something deep within me is beginning this adventure already.  In reality, this adventure really did begin the day we signed the paperwork to purchase Merdeka in December of 2018: however, an interesting mental change has come over me regarding our boat, too.  

As soon as we took possession of Merdeka, the list of items to be overhauled and upgraded onboard grew by leaps and bounds.  Every trip from Kamloops to Annapolis, and then later to Spring Cove Marina in Solomons, Maryland, saw multiple pieces of equipment being repaired by me, and new lists created each time of additional items to be upgraded.  Getting a 50-foot long sailboat ready to safely transport me and my family across the Atlantic Ocean, and to be our home for a year, is no small project.  

Happy to be back with the boat working on the to-do list...just.one.more.time!

On March 5th of this year, I headed back out to Merdeka on what I knew would be my final boat work trip before this May’s departure.  A few sleepless nights preceded that trip, as I lay awake trying to prioritize a still lengthy list of tasks, but this time with the added pressure of knowing the tasks that didn’t get done, wouldn’t be getting done.  Every time I’ve returned home to Kamloops from one of these boat work trips, I’ve carried a sense of accomplishment at jobs completed, coupled with an immediate mental list of what needed to be tackled next time I went out.  Planning ahead to the next trip, and the next tasks, and that next list, has been my constant mental state for the past year and a half.

That orange flapping thing is our new Hydrovane!

This last trip was an interesting one, to say the least.  I arrived and buckled down, and while I worked, I often listened to CBC Kamloops over the internet.  The news from home was not good.  In early March in Maryland, not much had changed due to Coronavirus.  Sure, the stores were sold out of toilet paper, but other than that, life carried on as usual.  Meanwhile, back in BC, there were daily changes to recommendations and then more regulations put in place around social distancing.  Soon the Prime Minister was on the radio, telling me it was time to come home.  I had a choice to make: return to BC early, but leave Merdeka unprepared to cross the Atlantic, or stay and complete my work, but risk having the border shut down and all flights cancelled, possibly stranding me on the US East Coast.  We had already cancelled Dina’s flight out to Maryland (she was meant to join me during Spring Break to help with final preparations) because of the ever-changing conditions.  So, I stayed and pushed on with my jobs, but as my time in Maryland drew to a close on March 21st, it was looking very likely that not only would I be unable to get back to Merdeka anytime soon-- but that the May crossing to England was very unlikely.

Not to minimize the real plight of actual refugees, but as I cleared through airport security in a nearly abandoned Baltimore International Airport, I felt like I was catching an emergency airlift out of what was soon to be a war zone.  (I feel a special connection to Maryland, and we have made some very good friends there.  In hindsight, I am glad to see they seem to be weathering the Coronavirus storm well, with some good State leadership, but as I was leaving things were not looking good at all.)  Once I had safely arrived home, the answer to what the immediate future held quickly became clear.

I had a fantastic crew arranged to accompany me across the Atlantic.  While Dina and the girls would be finishing up the school year, three fellow sailors would be joining me and Merdeka to help sail across the Atlantic.  Brian McIlquham is a retired Captain from Kamloops Fire Rescue, and an accomplished sailor.  Marco Coda, a Paramedic with BC Ambulance Service in Vancouver, is also a Sail Canada sailing instructor.  Rounding out the “All-Emergency Services” crew was Alfy Vince, a police officer with the RCMP, as well as a long time live-aboard sailor and YouTube Vlogger.  Alfy contacted me to let me know that beyond his control, all leave had been cancelled for RCMP members across Canada, at least until summer.  Marco was immediately thrown into BC’s “Ground-Zero” as a first responder in the Coronavirus pandemic, while both Brian and I were officially sealed in behind a closed Canada/US border.  The trip was officially cancelled.  A mere two days ago, I received a refund on my airfare from Kamloops to Baltimore.  It really sunk in when I reflected on the fact that it had been a one-way ticket; the true beginning of the journey after all these years of dreaming, scheming, scrimping (at home) and spending (on boat materials) had been within a few days of coming true.

Perhaps it is because so many projects were accomplished onboard Merdeka, perhaps it is because I am now unable to go but, the past month has seen me in a new mental state for the first time since we purchased her.  Since I have returned home, I have not thought about the tasks that still must be completed.   The endless list of jobs to-do are not all completed... they never are. There will always be improvements to be made: there will always be new things breaking, seizing, and wearing out, items that could be stowed or mounted better, upgrades that could still be contemplated to make our lives onboard easier.  Despite those outstanding issues, my mind is at peace. Merdeka is ready: she’s been outfitted with essential navigation and safety equipment, the sailing hardware has been installed, the engine overhauled and is purring beautifully.

I picture Merdeka in her slip at Spring Cove right now, waiting patiently, yet also gently tugging at her lines, leaning forward to the horizon like a dog that’s been kept in the house all day, waiting for her family to get home.

Perhaps the greatest impetus for me to do more than just dream about making this trip has been an intimate and personal understanding of a very simple truth: life is beautiful, fragile, and unpredictable.  That’s the very irony about this cancellation that I have been spending a lot of time pondering over the last few weeks.  In my friend John Kretschmer’s latest book, he begins my favourite chapter with a couple of profound quotes taken from others’ writings:

It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it.  Life is long enough, and a sufficiently generous amount has been given to us for the highest achievements if it were all well invested.  But when it is wasted in heedless luxury and spent on no good activity, we are forced at last by death’s final constraint to realize that it has passed away before we knew it was passing.  So it is:  we are not given a short life but we make it short, and we are not ill supplied but wasteful of it…   Life is long if you know how to use it.” 

 Seneca, On the Shortness of Life

Dwell on the beauty of life.  Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.

 -Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

To which I will add a quote from that same chapter:

None of us gets out of this life sentence alive, and only by framing life with death can we realize the value of our days.  Deep ocean sailing takes us to the very edge of time, to a natural place where time matters profoundly and where our own borders are not defined by length and beam, but by our imagination and zest for living.  

John Kretschmer, Sailing to the Edge of Time

Not only are our days on earth finite, but we cannot know how many of them there are.  Ever since the premature passing of my Dad, and later, my Mom; along with being an eyewitness to so many other lives cut short, in my duties at work; I have tried to remember to make the most of my days.  This is one reason why we as a family have dreamed of taking this journey and are doing it now.  Who knows what the future holds? 

Therein lies the irony.  This trip that we want to make, partly because of the unpredictability of life, has been put on hold because of the unpredictability of life.

I believe there will be many silver linings to this cloud that the world is passing through right now.  My hope is that perhaps one of the greatest is the number of people around the globe that have suddenly and collectively been brought to new realizations.  I am inspired by the number of people that I see re-evaluating their priorities and hopefully, like me, waking up to the idea that life is a precious gift not to be wasted, but also that we live in an interconnected world where we actually do need one another.

In our efforts to “Carpe Diem” in this time of limited options, we’ve been getting a lot of projects around the house completed, continuing with our preparations to leave.  As another silver lining, I have a little extra time to get even more done at home than I otherwise would have.  Right now, we are still looking forward to a possible July departure on a modified voyage that would still see us living and exploring onboard Merdeka for a year.  Most everything we have planned and worked towards has been geared towards leaving, so that is what we still hope to do.  We have a few more weeks to come to a conclusion, so we will wait and watch the status of international borders.  Plan “C”, which we still feel blessed to have as an option, will be that we postpone everything for one more year, in which case our “2020 Vision” will become a “2021 Vision”.

Out for a rip!One of our favourite things to do to blow off a little steam is to burn around in the dinghy. Is it sad that we rarely ever achieve such exhilarating speeds while under way?

By: Jamie Chase

We are Jamie, Dina, Aria, and Gabrielle.  I (Jamie) am a full time, professional firefighter in the city of Kamloops, British Columbia.  My wife Dina, is a full-time high school teacher and photographer.  Our daughters Aria and Gabrielle are in the last year (Aria) or two (Gabrielle) of elementary school.  Between us, our interests have spanned from music and dance, to just about every sport out there (except hockey… despite being proud Canadians, not one of us seems to have an affinity to hockey beyond casually interested observers during the playoffs and Olympics… sorry Canada!).  Dina’s great passion has been photography for many years now.  My obsessions have ranged over the years from skydiving to mountain biking, from whitewater kayaking to scuba diving; until that fateful day when I found a new obsession that has altered the arc of our lives a little.

In the spring of 2012, we visited Victoria, BC for a few days on a “staycation” for the Victoria Day Long Weekend.  Sailing was an activity that I had always been curious about, but had never actively tried.  A series of events in our lives (more on that later under “Why?”…) had compelled me to “get on with it”, so I booked the four of us on a four-hour sailing charter aboard a skippered sailboat out of Oak Bay, BC; just to try it out.  At the time, both daughters were pre-schoolers; despite (or perhaps because of!) light winds out on the water, all four of us had a wonderful cruise.  I, in particular, was hooked.

Being out on the sea filled me with joy, watching my family enjoy themselves exponentially increased my happiness.  I was fascinated by the magic of a boat being propelled silently through the water, using only the energy moving through the air around us.  “This could be the one sport that appeals to me, that we can all do together as a family!”, I thought to myself.

And so it began.  Now, seven years later, we are on our third family boat- each getting progressively bigger, more capable, and located further away from Kamloops, than the last.  The first, “Boomer” was a 1962 New Horizons 26′ that barely managed to stay afloat on the usually docile waters of Shuswap Lake.  Late in the summer of 2013, “Mirage” a 1979 Dufour 31′ entered our lives, she became a fixture of our summers for the next five years.  Mirage was moored in the Vancouver area, and in Pender Harbour on BC’s Sunshine Coast.

Leaving SummerA tranquil harbour in British Columbia's Gulf Islands.

Our current boat, “Merdeka” is a 1999 Celestial 50′ that we purchased in Annapolis, Maryland.  She is waiting for us at Spring Cove Marina, in Solomon’s Island, Maryland; getting ready for our grand adventure next year.

So here we are, slightly more than seven years have passed since that fateful afternoon in Victoria.  As a family, we have gone from bobbing around in the sunshine for a few hours at a time on Shuswap Lake, to sailing and exploring the Pacific Northwest coast from as far south as Seattle, Washington; to as far north as Johnstone Strait on the BC Coast.  Mirage was our home for weeks at a time as we explored tiny coves and anchorages, hiked forested mountain tops, fished, whale watched, and pounded our way through some nasty sea conditions as we gained experiences- and experience.  In my quest to gain more sea miles and knowledge, I have also sailed (with crews other than my family) around the “outside” of Vancouver Island- my first exposure to the open ocean, sailing far from the sight of land, and my first taste of what days of seasickness are like.  From there, I went on to crew on a few longer-distance sailing races, culminating in a 16-day epic from Victoria, BC (where it all began!) to Lahaina, Maui in the Hawaiian Islands; a true offshore adventure halfway across the northern half of the Pacific Ocean.  In 2016, I was fortunate enough to get to sail on a passage from Chesapeake Bay, Maryland, to St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands; with the legendary John Kretschmer.  Now I find myself owning a boat located in the very same marina where I departed for that trip, preparing to cross oceans on our own boat.

Seven years is a record for me- seven years of a passion for a sport/activity/way of life, that has not waned.  I feel like I’m just getting started with sailing,…  in fact, that start line is still waiting ahead, at the end of the school year in June 2020…

See some inside photos of Merdeka here:  https://tinyurl.com/wmcoysn

         : copy and paste into a new browser window)
 

So what exactly is it that we are scheming?  Dina and I have been dreaming about, talking about, and finally planning for this adventure since before we even had kids.  We wanted to take our family abroad for one year of travel.  The options came down to either: 

a) travel around the world for a year via planes, trains and automobiles; an extended backpacking trip to places across the entire globe.  

Or, b) focus in on a region of the world that we could explore by sailboat.

“B)” only became an option after the time we spent exploring the British Columbia coast on Mirage, and we discussed (for several years) whether it would be an option.  Of course, I loved the idea of sailing for a year; however, Dina was initially not quite as enamoured at the idea of spending a serious amount of time “living at 30 degrees” (sailboats lean over when underway- a sensation that can take some adjusting to, especially when you have to live that way for days or even weeks at a time).  She loved the exploring and living that we were doing onboard Mirage, but wasn’t totally sold on the actual act of sailing.  Through our experiences sailing as a family on our little 31′ boat, we discovered some hard truths about sailing:  Dina and Aria, in particular, are prone to the “mal de mer” (seasickness).  Rising and falling relentlessly on large ocean swells has caused me to “feed the fishes” as well, but Dina would often begin feeling unwell with far less motion-induced provocation.  As a family, we also learned that riding out strong winds, driving rain, pounding choppy seas, and waves crashing into the cockpit isn’t exactly what most landlubbers dream about when they fantasize about life in serene tropical anchorages.  Drying out clothing, bedding and cushions soaked in seawater that somehow still managed to leak in through tightly dogged hatches– after finally making our way into a safe harbour– was a salty taste of the reality of life at sea.

So why even consider it?  The idea of being able to travel and explore while based in our own mobile home was one of the greatest appeals.  To be able to have a space to call our own, that we could truly make into our home while exploring foreign lands was an idea that we all liked.  To be able to discover places that are often only accessible from the water, away from the often fast-paced tempo of life ashore.  And of course, that whole notion that a well equipped sailboat could turn its bow towards any corner of the planet and travel there using nothing but that that mystical, magical (yes, I do understand the physics of how a sailboat works, but I still prefer to see it as pure magic) concept of harnessing the wind to propel us where we want to go.

I don’t know what the final deciding factor was, but sometime in early 2018 that decision was made.  I powered through multiple trips from Kamloops to Vancouver, in order to repair all those little issues on Mirage that I had always wanted to fix, and got her into the best condition she’d been in during our years of ownership… and then promptly listed her for sale.  (If you are interested in what Mirage looked like, here’s the link to the YouTube information video I made at the time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GXPLfQOjWo&t=11s )

Once Mirage was sold, “things got real”.  That was the first step towards actually turning our dream into a reality.  I will write more in other posts about the road to our acquisition of “Merdeka”, but in December of 2018, she became a part of our family, and we become officially and totally dedicated to our “2020 Vision”.