I drink hot chocolate just about every day, either as a substitute for morning coffee or a dessert later at night. We learned about cacao cultivation in Panama and have grown a deep respect for this amazing plant product. The jazzed up version is heating cacao with milk, honey, and cardamom.
We compromise on stowage space for clothes and keepsakes in order to have room for sewing, knitting, pasta making, and wood working supplies. This keeps the boat feeling like a workshop, rather than an overstuffed closet. Our cat also brings fun and connection to the everyday. I can't imagine this journey without her.
Yes, I do! I have felt safe walking around, driving the boat, running errands, and figuring out various side quests like replacing broken parts, taking buses, and going to health clinics. Countless people have answered questions, pointed out my destination, and offered help. I have found my appearance and demeanor to be disarming for the most part.
I do have to navigate an additional hurdle of cycling hormones, but have mostly figured out how to shift my days to use this to my benefit. I do get the occasional sexist comment or assumption that my husband does everything, but I've been getting better at turning these into an educational moment.
The myriad of skills required to sit watch on a sailboat alone. Trimming the sails, talking on the radio, and reading the charts, radar, AIS, and weather instruments. I've passed some of my best hours on earth looking out at the water and up at the sails. This hasn't always been relaxing, and I'm proud of the incremental confidence boosts to get there.
I had lots of examples to aspire to when we first moved onboard seven years ago. Many of my friends lived aboard and I could see how they didn't seem to skimp on storage for the things that mattered most to them -- sewing supplies and pasta makers to name a few. There are also many great books out there with tips on living aboard like water conservation, cooking in a small kitchen, and troubleshooting electrical, plumbing, diesel engine, and other mechanical facts of life on a boat.
We tend to be more cautious, and especially after nearly two years of travelling while living on the boat. We avoid sun exposure and stay hydrated and well-fed. Getting drained from the elements is a daily threat when living in the heat without AC. We use many different weather models to avoid sailing in risky conditions. Once we crossed out of the Pacific, we hired a weather routing company for added expertise. We aim to make the easy option the safest option. This goes for where things are stowed onboard, and practices like always handing off a lifejacket when we switch who is on watch. Like people living on land, staying fueled, hydrated, and aware of our surroundings goes a long way.
The toughest was leaving the dock in Alameda, CA. We had to contend with a mountain of projects to make Azimuth ocean-worthy, say cya someday to deep friendships, and conquer, or at least quiet, any fears of our inadequacy. Looking back, I'm amazed we found the gumption to do this in April 2021.
There have been many pivotal docks and anchorages after that -- carrying on from La Cruz and La Cruceita, transiting the Canal, crossing to Cartagena and back into Mexico. Each of these required asserting ourselves and making the boat ready for its next test at sea.
My most satisfactory accomplishment is how I've stepped into my own, in a way. I am much stronger at problem-solving, navigating uncertainty, and accepting support. I'm most proud of the two (three with Cypress, four with Azimuth) of us for getting this far, and of me for having the care and capacity to share about in weekly writing.
Living aboard has made time in nature the default, rather than an outing. Even when inside, we feel the conditions of the wind and water as the boat sways or stays still. The temperature sticks close to the climate with only a few fans for cooling. Rain causes us to close all the hatches and hunker down, or embrace it as an impromptu shower. In Panama we learned more about rain water catchment and felt a big sense of gratitude for the weather after a while in the desert. There we used a desalinator that runs on diesel power and had to be more conscious about water use.
For me, this has brought the cycles of the days, months, and seasons to the fore.
Paying attention to the tide when deciding when to go sailing made me consider the moon in a new way. The phases from new to full and back again have been a steadying observation for seven years or so. I start projects on the new moon, create until the full, and clear things away until we get to new again. I found this helpful even when I was working a desk job, and even when I didn't feel as tapped into it spiritually. As the practice compounds over the years, it feels like following the moon keeps my life flowing and fresh. As I get older and move back to a place with seasons, I'm looking forward to digging into the longer cycles of the seasons and the whole wheel of the year.
I've also been able to have lots of animal and plant encounters across biomes. This has helped me see humans as just another species, rather than the hierarchical view that seems standard. I've had the freedom to decide my spiritual beliefs for all my life, and for now have landed on some blend of noticing, following, and trusting the processes of nature. Thanks for asking!
Has this voyage made you feel younger or older, or a mixture of both? And do think you will do another long sailing journey in your lifetime? And if so, what's your shortlist?
I crossed the threshold of 30 on this trip and suppose I feel about my age. The late twenties feel a little amorphous, and especially passing through them during COVID. My age mates are all in very different stages of life -- clustering around career, beginning families, or more frequently both. We're all trying to figure out what to do when, with less rules and role models than previous generations. I guess I feel my age in the increased confidence in my path.
One benefit of the journey has been making lots of inter-generational friendships. There are eighty year olds and eight year olds out here on the high seas. We are often the youngest at happy hour by a few generations, but this hasn't made me feel particularly young. I'm inspired and bolstered by these people making the dream happen, achy knees and all.
I hope to do another long journey and possibly go the whole way around the world. Rounding Cape Horn is a dangerous prospect, but I would love to continue getting to know "The Americas" after having just experienced the top of South America in Colombia. Seeing culture, accents, climate, and more shift between regions has been fascinating and rewarding. In the near-term, I'm looking forward to weekend trips on the Chesapeake and using the boat on paid time off to get to Maine or the Bahamas.
We adopted Cypress from a shelter inside a Petsmart in San Diego after meeting a few other boat cats during the trek from San Francisco. These other cats and their caretakers filled in the blanks on everything from preferred litter box to swim lessons. We saw them thriving in a small space, and decided to make the commitment. Cypress was a year old at the time and she adjusted quickly to life on board. She loves watching birds go by and exploring on land wherever we stop. People are often delighted to see her marching down the dock in her harness and gracefully leaping aboard. Although she has snacked on fresh Mahi Mahi caught while sailing, her favorite is Whiskers chicken souffle.
We stayed on land for several months in Panama, and there she learned to climb trees, befriend dogs, and hunt geckos. I'm amazed by her ability to roll with changes and find rest and play no matter the conditions.
Thanks for asking! And for your early writing training and inspiration.
Yes and no. We avoid most dangerous conditions by looking at multiple sources for weather, but sometimes the conditions are not as forecast or simply tricky due to other factors. Being a couple hundred miles offshore is decidedly dangerous and usually only a few feet makes a difference between safely on the boat, and overboard in need of rescue. We are strict about safety gear like life jackets and tethers. The first rule is to stay on board.
Here's a post about our scariest incident - taking on water in choppy waves and windy conditions:
The boat only moves at 5-8 miles/hour, so danger tends to come on with some warning. If needed, we can arrange the sails in a way to stop moving and rest up. We have seasickness medication and have gotten somewhat used to doing maneuvers while feeling nauseous. There have been many times where the sea conditions have felt scary, but the solution was straightforward. The more nerve-wrecking element for me has been the relentlessness of a long passage or maintaining the boat. This voyaging thing asks a lot of the sailor, but usually in small, consistent doses.
We have never felt at risk while on land in Mexico, Honduras, Costa Rica, Panama, and Colombia. As my Spanish and cultural understanding has improved, we've felt more comfortable, relaxed, and connected.
One of the neatest things has been seeing the night sky change as we sailed south from latitude 38 to 7. Sometime in Mexico the Southern Cross was visible. It was exciting to anticipate it and eventually spot it while on a passage. We've noticed more satellites in the sky than when we were kids. In Panama, we were the furthest away from light pollution and could see the Milky Way brightly whenever there was no moon and little cloud cover.
My favorite shift on passage is from 3 - 7 AM because it shifts from the darkest sky to morning so slowly. It's really magical!
I will miss having this type of freedom over my time and moving with the seasons and elements. I used to rush frequently between meetings and tasks and obligations and fun. On board, I have the ability to bop between chores, books, journals, and off-boat activities as it suits me or the moment. This has really re-calibrated my urgency meter, and I'm curious to see what it's like transitioning back to a more scheduled life.
I'm looking forward to the solidity provided by living on land. This may sound cheesy, but it's a bit like a plant cutting growing in water compared to rich soil. It can grow in water, but eventually the roots need some space to spread out and diversity of nutrients. I look forward to being a solid part of things -- the lives of friends and family, work projects, volunteering, a water polo team. This journey had a long lead-up of saying no to things to save money or complete boat projects. I'm excited to say yes, to integrate what I've learned at sea into a new chapter, and to continue writing.
I love the idea of "recalibrating the urgency meter"! That's a good thing for all of us to aim for. Sounds like this journey has yielded a lot for you, and you have a lot of cool stuff to integrate into your upcoming chapter.
Copying in a question from LinkedIn:
What were some of the little pleasures to make life on the boat more enjoyable / "little luxuries"?
I drink hot chocolate just about every day, either as a substitute for morning coffee or a dessert later at night. We learned about cacao cultivation in Panama and have grown a deep respect for this amazing plant product. The jazzed up version is heating cacao with milk, honey, and cardamom.
We compromise on stowage space for clothes and keepsakes in order to have room for sewing, knitting, pasta making, and wood working supplies. This keeps the boat feeling like a workshop, rather than an overstuffed closet. Our cat also brings fun and connection to the everyday. I can't imagine this journey without her.
Copying in a question from LinkedIn:
Did you feel safe as a woman?
Yes, I do! I have felt safe walking around, driving the boat, running errands, and figuring out various side quests like replacing broken parts, taking buses, and going to health clinics. Countless people have answered questions, pointed out my destination, and offered help. I have found my appearance and demeanor to be disarming for the most part.
I do have to navigate an additional hurdle of cycling hormones, but have mostly figured out how to shift my days to use this to my benefit. I do get the occasional sexist comment or assumption that my husband does everything, but I've been getting better at turning these into an educational moment.
Copying in a question from LinkedIn:
What were some of the best skills you learned?
The myriad of skills required to sit watch on a sailboat alone. Trimming the sails, talking on the radio, and reading the charts, radar, AIS, and weather instruments. I've passed some of my best hours on earth looking out at the water and up at the sails. This hasn't always been relaxing, and I'm proud of the incremental confidence boosts to get there.
Copying in a question from LinkedIn:
How did you manage risks and learn about living on a boat?
I had lots of examples to aspire to when we first moved onboard seven years ago. Many of my friends lived aboard and I could see how they didn't seem to skimp on storage for the things that mattered most to them -- sewing supplies and pasta makers to name a few. There are also many great books out there with tips on living aboard like water conservation, cooking in a small kitchen, and troubleshooting electrical, plumbing, diesel engine, and other mechanical facts of life on a boat.
We tend to be more cautious, and especially after nearly two years of travelling while living on the boat. We avoid sun exposure and stay hydrated and well-fed. Getting drained from the elements is a daily threat when living in the heat without AC. We use many different weather models to avoid sailing in risky conditions. Once we crossed out of the Pacific, we hired a weather routing company for added expertise. We aim to make the easy option the safest option. This goes for where things are stowed onboard, and practices like always handing off a lifejacket when we switch who is on watch. Like people living on land, staying fueled, hydrated, and aware of our surroundings goes a long way.
Copying in a question from Facebook:
What do you view as your toughest hurdle, and most satisfactory accomplishment?
The toughest was leaving the dock in Alameda, CA. We had to contend with a mountain of projects to make Azimuth ocean-worthy, say cya someday to deep friendships, and conquer, or at least quiet, any fears of our inadequacy. Looking back, I'm amazed we found the gumption to do this in April 2021.
There have been many pivotal docks and anchorages after that -- carrying on from La Cruz and La Cruceita, transiting the Canal, crossing to Cartagena and back into Mexico. Each of these required asserting ourselves and making the boat ready for its next test at sea.
My most satisfactory accomplishment is how I've stepped into my own, in a way. I am much stronger at problem-solving, navigating uncertainty, and accepting support. I'm most proud of the two (three with Cypress, four with Azimuth) of us for getting this far, and of me for having the care and capacity to share about in weekly writing.
How does your time aboard the boat or in nature influence your spirituality, if at all?
Living aboard has made time in nature the default, rather than an outing. Even when inside, we feel the conditions of the wind and water as the boat sways or stays still. The temperature sticks close to the climate with only a few fans for cooling. Rain causes us to close all the hatches and hunker down, or embrace it as an impromptu shower. In Panama we learned more about rain water catchment and felt a big sense of gratitude for the weather after a while in the desert. There we used a desalinator that runs on diesel power and had to be more conscious about water use.
For me, this has brought the cycles of the days, months, and seasons to the fore.
Paying attention to the tide when deciding when to go sailing made me consider the moon in a new way. The phases from new to full and back again have been a steadying observation for seven years or so. I start projects on the new moon, create until the full, and clear things away until we get to new again. I found this helpful even when I was working a desk job, and even when I didn't feel as tapped into it spiritually. As the practice compounds over the years, it feels like following the moon keeps my life flowing and fresh. As I get older and move back to a place with seasons, I'm looking forward to digging into the longer cycles of the seasons and the whole wheel of the year.
I've also been able to have lots of animal and plant encounters across biomes. This has helped me see humans as just another species, rather than the hierarchical view that seems standard. I've had the freedom to decide my spiritual beliefs for all my life, and for now have landed on some blend of noticing, following, and trusting the processes of nature. Thanks for asking!
Has this voyage made you feel younger or older, or a mixture of both? And do think you will do another long sailing journey in your lifetime? And if so, what's your shortlist?
I crossed the threshold of 30 on this trip and suppose I feel about my age. The late twenties feel a little amorphous, and especially passing through them during COVID. My age mates are all in very different stages of life -- clustering around career, beginning families, or more frequently both. We're all trying to figure out what to do when, with less rules and role models than previous generations. I guess I feel my age in the increased confidence in my path.
One benefit of the journey has been making lots of inter-generational friendships. There are eighty year olds and eight year olds out here on the high seas. We are often the youngest at happy hour by a few generations, but this hasn't made me feel particularly young. I'm inspired and bolstered by these people making the dream happen, achy knees and all.
I hope to do another long journey and possibly go the whole way around the world. Rounding Cape Horn is a dangerous prospect, but I would love to continue getting to know "The Americas" after having just experienced the top of South America in Colombia. Seeing culture, accents, climate, and more shift between regions has been fascinating and rewarding. In the near-term, I'm looking forward to weekend trips on the Chesapeake and using the boat on paid time off to get to Maine or the Bahamas.
Tell me more about Cypress the cat. ^_^
Of course!
We adopted Cypress from a shelter inside a Petsmart in San Diego after meeting a few other boat cats during the trek from San Francisco. These other cats and their caretakers filled in the blanks on everything from preferred litter box to swim lessons. We saw them thriving in a small space, and decided to make the commitment. Cypress was a year old at the time and she adjusted quickly to life on board. She loves watching birds go by and exploring on land wherever we stop. People are often delighted to see her marching down the dock in her harness and gracefully leaping aboard. Although she has snacked on fresh Mahi Mahi caught while sailing, her favorite is Whiskers chicken souffle.
We stayed on land for several months in Panama, and there she learned to climb trees, befriend dogs, and hunt geckos. I'm amazed by her ability to roll with changes and find rest and play no matter the conditions.
Were there any times where you were nervous about your safety or the safety of the boat during this journey?
Thanks for asking! And for your early writing training and inspiration.
Yes and no. We avoid most dangerous conditions by looking at multiple sources for weather, but sometimes the conditions are not as forecast or simply tricky due to other factors. Being a couple hundred miles offshore is decidedly dangerous and usually only a few feet makes a difference between safely on the boat, and overboard in need of rescue. We are strict about safety gear like life jackets and tethers. The first rule is to stay on board.
Here's a post about our scariest incident - taking on water in choppy waves and windy conditions:
https://cloudsformoverland.substack.com/p/confused-seas
The boat only moves at 5-8 miles/hour, so danger tends to come on with some warning. If needed, we can arrange the sails in a way to stop moving and rest up. We have seasickness medication and have gotten somewhat used to doing maneuvers while feeling nauseous. There have been many times where the sea conditions have felt scary, but the solution was straightforward. The more nerve-wrecking element for me has been the relentlessness of a long passage or maintaining the boat. This voyaging thing asks a lot of the sailor, but usually in small, consistent doses.
We have never felt at risk while on land in Mexico, Honduras, Costa Rica, Panama, and Colombia. As my Spanish and cultural understanding has improved, we've felt more comfortable, relaxed, and connected.
I live in the city and rarely get to see the stars. What is it like seeing the stars living afloat? I bet it's lovely witnessing the sky so openly!
Yes, we've seen many shooting stars!
One of the neatest things has been seeing the night sky change as we sailed south from latitude 38 to 7. Sometime in Mexico the Southern Cross was visible. It was exciting to anticipate it and eventually spot it while on a passage. We've noticed more satellites in the sky than when we were kids. In Panama, we were the furthest away from light pollution and could see the Milky Way brightly whenever there was no moon and little cloud cover.
My favorite shift on passage is from 3 - 7 AM because it shifts from the darkest sky to morning so slowly. It's really magical!
What do you think you'll miss when you're back on land, and what are you looking forward to about life on land?
I will miss having this type of freedom over my time and moving with the seasons and elements. I used to rush frequently between meetings and tasks and obligations and fun. On board, I have the ability to bop between chores, books, journals, and off-boat activities as it suits me or the moment. This has really re-calibrated my urgency meter, and I'm curious to see what it's like transitioning back to a more scheduled life.
I'm looking forward to the solidity provided by living on land. This may sound cheesy, but it's a bit like a plant cutting growing in water compared to rich soil. It can grow in water, but eventually the roots need some space to spread out and diversity of nutrients. I look forward to being a solid part of things -- the lives of friends and family, work projects, volunteering, a water polo team. This journey had a long lead-up of saying no to things to save money or complete boat projects. I'm excited to say yes, to integrate what I've learned at sea into a new chapter, and to continue writing.
I love the idea of "recalibrating the urgency meter"! That's a good thing for all of us to aim for. Sounds like this journey has yielded a lot for you, and you have a lot of cool stuff to integrate into your upcoming chapter.