Old world charm

Arriving in the warmth of Florida sun was such a relief, Gabe and I got instantly giddy and chipper despite the fatigue. Once inside Jacksonville inlet the wind died and we were soon peeling layers of clothes off, arms and legs relishing long forgotten taste of sunlight. Our minds, on the other hand, relished the serenity of being hemmed in by lush, exotic shorelines of the Florida ICW. Low tree canopies stooping over waterfront properties with droopy moss strewn among their branches, casting an air of mystery onto the lawns below. Then the enthusiastic palm trees bursting into the blue skies above. And everywhere graceful white herons soaking their wiry feet in shallow marshlands. We were captivated. To have arrived in St. Augustine in the afternoon was a cherry on top an already delightful cruising day. This XVI century Spanish settlement is a historic gem studded with beautiful buildings, eclectic shops and restaurants, and scores of museums. Not to mention the churches. Spanish inspired architecture predominates the downtown core where pedestrians plod along narrow, cobblestone alleys, taking in the old world charm. We fell in love instantly. 
Our first night ashore turned out to be the night of the most celebrated festival in St. Augustine. The British Night Watch Parade commemorates the British rule over the city between 1763 and 1783. The most memorable part of the British Night Watch is the Grand Illumination. In the olden days, the city of St. Augustine was secured every night by guards marching by lantern light to lock gates. On special occasions or holidays the night watch was made into a festive event. Just like then, today citizens participate and carry a lantern or a candle in the parade. We witnessed the folk of St.Augustine gather at Governor's House to listen as he summons them to rejoice in the Christmas spirit. Many of the people gathered were dressed in period costumes and almost all carried lanterns or candles. Then the parade, lead by a colonial army marching band, proceeded around town's central boulevard and back towards Governor's House. 
All weekend St. Augustine was teeming with activity. We spent most of Sunday wondering around the picturesque alleyways, peering through windows of old taverns and boutiques. Most of the buildings in town centre have a distinct colonial flair. Painted wood beam soffits carry fiery red, clay tile rooftops that overhang bright stucco walls. Broad arches lead into cool, shaded courtyards and gardens. Every bit of soil bursting with rich vegetation. A very palatable place indeed, and we enjoyed every bit of it well into the night. Guided by an events post in a local paper we ventured into Fisherman's Wharf Lounge, a local hangout, that advertised an open mic night. We sat in low patio lounge chairs, sipped on cold drinks and got a taste of some real good local talent before returning to Rodeo for the night. St. Augustine was just the kind of thing we set out on this journey to find, an unexpected little treasure of a place that we hope to encounter more of as we carry on. 

The Hoist

We've died and gone to heaven. Its name is Florida. After chugging along the North Carolina ICW for a few days we felt like we would never get here so last Wednesday, when the forecast called for moderate seas and favorable winds, we decided to take advantage of the weather window and made a quick run for it offshore. The first 20 miles of the passage were still inside the ICW until we got to Beaufort Inlet, where the strong river currents challenge tides advancing from the open ocean. The narrow channel that lead us out to sea was churned up and foaming with fury. It looked rough out there. We charged at the confused channel knowing that the seas beyond were calm, but the spanking we got getting through sure made us wish we stayed on the ICW. At one point Rodeo took a nose dive between two enormous waves, forcing the one ahead to break over the deck, drenching the entire boat with a loud, hissing splash. We braced ourselves for the impact and ducked under the dodger to avoid getting soaked. What we didn't expect to see is a spray of salt water rushing inside the boat. Gabe jumped down below to see how the water managed to get in there and found our v-berth hatch open. It was very negligent of us not to shut it before we left and we paid for the oversight with a flooded floor and a wet mattress. Thankfully we got nothing but sunny skies and fair winds for the rest of the leg and Rodeo recovered in no time.
We intended to go as far as Hilton Head Island, SC, where we would spend a few days exploring. It's my old stomping ground. I spent a year working on the island 11 years ago. I would have loved to show Gabriel the restaurants I worked at and the spots where I hung out, but the going was so good, we couldn't pass up the opportunity to make an extra 140 miles of progress. This meant another full day and night at sea and we were already feeling weary after two overnights, but we knew that the headway was worth the effort so we pressed on. As the wind clocked from NW to N it slowly began to nudge the waves at our stern, creating the kind of rolling seas that challenge my body and my sanity. I wasn't alone. Gabe was not feeling too stellar either. The problem was that we didn't have enough wind to help us over the waves, not enough for the main or the head sails to do their job anyway. The only option would be to fly a spinnaker, but ours has a few holes in it and needed repairing. Not a big problem. I dusted off my trusty Singer and began patching up the parachute-like fabric of the spinnaker sail. Our Frankenstein was ready to go in no time. We rigged and hoisted it up, watched as it filled with wind, ballooning at the bow, beautiful and proud....then ripped in half just above my stitching line. What a bummer. On top of that, the upper half of the parted spinnaker was left dangling mast high on the halliard. It had to be retrieved, which meant someone had to climb the mast to grab it and pull it down. But what's a mast climb in 6 foot seas to old salts like us? Gabe got suited up in his climbing gear and went for it, slowly clambering up, fighting with the swing of the mast as the boat rocked side to side. Being able to scale the mast proved impossible and we decided that he would hoist me up on the main halliard instead. With two free hands I would not only be able to stop myself from swinging away from the mast, but while at the top I could deal with the flapping remnant of our spinnaker which had now wound itself around the mast. Ascending up it in rolling seas was an interesting trip. Gabe put a preventer around me and the mast to keep me from swinging out, yet l couldn't help but straddle the girth of it all the way up. By the time Gabe lowered me to deck, my thighs were sore and my nerves in shreds, but I still feel like a champ. One more lumpy night later, after an exhausting 3 day/3 night stint from Oriental, NC we were finally headed for land. We rocked into Jacksonville, FL on 10 foot rollers on Saturday morning, ushered into the inlet by a pod of dolphins playfully surfing the giant swells in our path.

Down the Ditch

Just when I got done whining about the literal ups and downs of offshore sailing, I get smacked upside the head with the monotony of motoring through the ICW. So far it's been a drag, and I find myself itching to get out of the restricting shallows of the channel and back into the open. The going on the ICW is painfully slow. Rodeo treads through the swampy waters of North Carolina at a dizzying speed of 5 Nautical Miles per hour, so we're making our way forward in short increments of 55NM per day. 
The ICW route is a series of creeks, rivers, bays and sounds strung together with a dredged channel at their heart. The channel snakes along existing and man-made waterways, joining them to form the 1,090 mile stretch from Norfolk, VA to Miami, FL. Current part of the ICW is carved into barely inhabited wilderness. Walls of cedar trees bound to each bank, and patches of tall marshes, encroaching on the water before them, stage the backdrop. We go past an occasional settlement or slide under a busy bridge that trails off towards civilization, somewhere beyond the tree-line, but for the most part the ICW is a quiet and lonely place. The way is not lit and therefore treacherous at night, which means we can only cruise it during the day. It makes for slow progress, but restful nights and a proper home cooked meal at supper time. Our first night out of Norfolk, on American Thanksgiving, I cooked up some turkey legs, butter carrots, served up with potato salad from the day before, and even managed to bake a pumpkin pie for dessert. It's not so tough out there for a skipper, after all. Another perk of slowing down to drop anchor every night is enjoying spectacular sunsets. Arriving at a scheduled anchorage in time to use the last bit of daylight to maneuver around shallow inlets, and then watching the sun drip down from the wounded sky, sinking in the murky waters, along with our anchor. 

ICW

I can't decide what's worse, getting pounded on the nose or slapped around from behind. Head winds and opposing seas deliver a punishment that repeatedly jolts the boat up and down and back to front, as it crashes into the waves. Following seas, on the other hand, create a roller coaster-like effect inside the cabin, with a centrical movement that tugs the body in all sorts of directions. Each motion induces a different kind of ill. The former is more tiring on the body. Hard blows of the hull against rising waves are more difficult to brace against, and the noise produced in the process makes it hard to relax anyway. With wind at the back, however, the boat is propelled into a nauseating tango with the seas that in the beginning rendered me dysfunctional, at best. My tolerance for the abuse is growing, however, and I'm beginning to weather it quite well. Maybe the masochist in me is waking up.
Actually, I can see how sailing, despite its demands and challenges, becomes an addiction for some. It's thrilling, rewarding and very liberating. But I'm not addicted yet. We've just entered the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW), and we won't have to contend with the elements in the same way we did out in the open waters. And for now I'm relieved. For us the ICW began in Norfolk, VA, a Navy town that Gabe calls Halifax on steroids. 
It really is. The shores of Chesapeake Bay and Elizabeth River, which runs through the city, are flanked by Navy and commercial shipyards. We didn't get to explore any of the city the short time we were there. We came in from a 36h run from Atlantic City, exhausted, hungry and in desperate need of a proper shower. This time we knew better than to be sneaky. We arranged for a slip at the Waterside Marina in the downtown area. There we had access to power, showers, laundry and a shuttle to the grocery store in the morning. We took full advantage. That night we also treated ourselves to all you can eat wings at Hooters, which we spotted just at the edge of the waterfront. As we entered we were greeted by a 14 year old hostess and were promptly seated opposite the bar/open kitchen, amidst a kindergarden, it seemed. At what point did Hooters become a family restaurant? The atmosphere in there carried non of the provocative, subversive ora I was expecting. It was disappointing. But the grub was good, so a pitcher of Sam Adams later, when we had our fill of wings, we cheerfully made our way back to Rodeo, for a full night of warm and comfortable sleep. 

Sucked in

I've never been as happy to leave a place as I was to leave Atlantic City. The Atlantic City harbour is an atrocious little whole that literally sucks you in. We hoped to bypass this port altogether and head straight for Cape May out of Sandy Hook last Friday, but by mid afternoon, when we reached the area, we were making very slow progress in opposing winds and Atlantic City seemed like a good place to call it the day. Especially that Edgar and Ginette were already in there. They went ahead and turned towards the port for a scheduled stopover, while Gabe and I tried to make more headway south. Having made very little ground in hours, we decided to join Pegasus in the city that's "always turned on". 
The skyline of it exploded out of the dark sky like fireworks. Buildings illuminated with shades of purple, orange and green flashed on the horizon, drawing us in like a beacon. It was obnoxious. And very distracting. I called Ginette to let her and Edgar know that we will be meeting up with them after all, and got a few words of caution from them concerning the port entry. Ginette told me that they ran aground, 3 times, coming through the main channel, where channel marker lights and traffic lights from the streets on shore merge into one messy blur. As we pulled in closer and closer, we were not surprised that crew might be steered wrong in these waters. Some of the channel markers were not showing up on the GPS and in the dark it is hard to judge the distance between them and the boat. But with Edgar's guidance we were able to avoid making the same mistake, and shortly joined them at the State Marina dock, where they were already tied up and calming their nerves with cocktails. 
Having spent a restful night at a dock, where we could plug into shore power and enjoy the comforts of electric heaters, we felt rejuvenated and ready for more adventure. And boy did we get it. 
We snuck out of port and back out to sea before office hours. What we save on marina fees we contribute directly into the sauce fund. I'm not trying to brag about being a freeloading lush, but this lifestyle definitely comes with a few benefits. But back to our story. Despite discouraging weather forecasts, we decided to make a run from Atlantic City to at least Cape May, but the going was slow and tedious just like the night before and we turned back. Being cheeky as we are, we pulled right back into State Marina, tied up and got away with it for most of the day, until the dock master informed us around 5PM that we had overstayed our welcome. With no other place to go, and no room for their expensive fees in our cruising budget we had no choice but go to anchor. The only anchorage lay in a shallow bay at the top of the main channel and, this being the weekend, was riddled with small fishing boats buzzing all around us. It was hard to get into and hard to stay put. Winds coming from the south and the tide ebbing east made the boat unstable. After half hour of being bounced around we chose to get back into the marina, preferably unnoticed. Making our way through the treacherous channel again we came up on a mud bank. That was unexpected. With a few hard revs of the motor in reverse we were able to break loose of the mucky bottom, but while swinging around towards our destination we got stuck in another mud bank. This time for good. We raised both sails to try to help lift the keel out of the mud, but it was no good. The thick silt engulfed the bottom of the boat and as the tide went down, it sucked us more and more into its sloppy entrails. That's what we get for trying to be sly. 
Unable to get ourselves out we called Tow Boat U.S., a towing service we purchased as a precaution before departing Canada. Nearly 2 hours later Captain John showed in a small tug boat, secured a few lines to Rodeo and gently pulled her to freedom. He then escorted us to a fueling dock nearby, where Gabe filled out some paperwork and was on his way out shortly after. We spent the night tied to the fueling dock, hesitant to go anywhere else in the dark. It was already late and we've had enough thrills for the day. After arranging to make another tandem passage along Pegasus, we were out of the ominous shallows of Atlantic City a day later. Its bright carnival of lights, still turned on, appeared dampened by the morning mist and as we motored away we were glad to see it fade into the horizon behind us. 

Vagabonds

We left New York City alongside another Canadian vessel. Edgar and Ginette, a retired couple from Quebec on route to their winter home in Florida. Getting out of Hudson River and into the New York Bay was a big deal for them, because it marked their first salt water passage. They had come to New York by the way of Lake Champlain and the Erie Canal, and had been anticipating this part of the voyage. They said they were relieved to know that they can follow in the footsteps of 2 experienced sailors. Ha!!! I certainly don't think of myself as an experienced sailor, but hearing them say that boosted my confidence just a tad. We proved to be most adequate guides with the fair winds and sunny skies on our side, and shortly before dusk both boats were safely anchored in the protected harbour of Atlantic Highlands on the Jersey side. 
Here we spent 3 productive days making improvements to the boat and re-provisioning. We hated losing time, but staying put meant we could tend to a battery issue that has been puzzling us for some time now. We installed a new battery bank four months ago, but as of late it wasn't holding the charge for more than a few hours. The wind generator and solar panel just couldn't keep up with our power consumption and we have had to run our engine a few times a day to keep the charge topped up. A new set of batteries should certainly hold for at least 3 days while we're on anchor and not connected to shore power, but ours were not. Something wasn't right. We purchased a battery tester at a local hardware store, and sure enough ours were flat. They were back to the state we found them in after they got flooded in the big storm, corroded and just looking sad. Drying and cleaning the terminals proved a lost cause. There was no other choice but to purchase new ones. We got lucky and bought a set from a local dealer that was willing to drive them over to the marina where we were anchored. 
We spent all of the following day hauling the old ones out of the bilge and setting the new ones in. Of course Gabe did all of the heavy lifting and dirty work, while I helped prep cables and handed him tools as needed. It reminded me of helping out my dad when I was a little girl. My dad is a bit of a McGiver, just like Gabe. They're both very handy, Renesainse men, who know a little bit about everything. Back in Poland, my dad used to build and repair sound systems, tinkling around with transistor radios and amplifiers. Whenever he worked I hovered over his station, watching him dissect all sorts of electronics. I remember the bright, focused light of his table lamp and the solder smoke emerging from the glittering guts below. I like to think that everything my dad tried to teach me somehow made me better suited for this vagabond lifestyle, where every bit of skill comes in handy. By the end of the day we had finished everything that needed to be done before the next leg of the trip. Repairs - check, full water tank - check, diesel - check, new bottle of Baileys for the morning coffee - check. We were set to go. 
Stealing past the fishing boats nodding off in the marina, we set course for the southern Jersey shore at 5 AM on Friday. Following closely behind us were our new friends, Ginette and Edgar.

Go big or go home

I like big cities. I like the anonymity of being in a big city and how you can just get lost in it. I love the energy of all the other lives trapped within it and the way each little part of town is a small universe all its own. That's how we found New York. 
We spent the first evening in town with Donald, a family friend, who was holding onto a package my parents sent us. They're so sweet. They packed a box full of Polish treats and kaszanka, a blood sausage that my parents know we love. Donald told us of some new Broadway shows to check out if we got a chance to score cheap tickets, but we decided to spend the next day roaming around town. The weather was warm, so we took advantage and set for Central Park. It was teeming with people walking, running, cycling, taking row boat rides in the pond. A sea of New Yorkers and I was floating in it with a big grin on my face. It made Gabe happy to see me enjoy myself. He worries sometimes that I'm disheartened by the challenges of the life "on the road". I admit that since we left Halifax the going's been tough at times and the conditions get to me, but arriving at a place as stimulating as this and feeling it lift my spirits, makes it all worth while. 
You know what else makes up for the hardships? (no pun intended) A lunch at Katz's. One of the oldest and most popular delicatessens in the city. It's where Harry met Sally, and she had the thing that the old lady at a table next to her wanted to have, too. The Katz's experience took up most of the afternoon, but it was a blast. First we waited outside in line with a few dozen other folk. A hefty bouncer was letting handfuls of people in at a time, dispensing order tickets as we trickled in. Inside steel barricades hoarded patrons into separate lines. Those who wanted self serve advanced toward a store-long counter where they shouted out orders and handed in their tickets. It looked like a trading floor at the stock market. We watched the conveyor belt of people flooding in and out of the place while we waited for service at a table. Bundles of salami dangled overhead on the wall behind the counter, where busy staff prepared fresh rye bread sandwiches and fished out delicious pickles out of tank-size barrels. A plate full of those and pickled green tomatoes arrived at our table shortly after we placed our order. We couldn't get enough, and the best part was still to come. People around us were gobbling down pastrami and corned beef sandwiches stacked with meet so high it could barely be contained by the thin slices of bread. The meal delivered to our table was a lot more than we bargained for. I got a football sized Reuben sandwich, with corned beef, cheese and sauerkraut. Gabe's was a hot open faced roast beef sandwich with a side of fries and coleslaw. We shared the two meals and washed them down with pints of Brooklyn Lager. It was heaven. We wobbled out of Katz's and toward the subway in a food induced stupor, but I wasn't completely satisfied. A neat little gelato shop, disguised as a chem lab, situated right next door lured us in, and we gave in to a double scoop of plum and coconut icy delicacy. That did it for us. Food didn't even cross our minds again until the next morning. We grabbed a quick breakfast and prepared to sail down the Hudson toward Sandy Hook, where we would wait for the next weather window to depart south, toward Virginia, this time in the company of another vessel.

Approaching NYC

Ahhhh, so close and yet so far away. We had to spend 3 nights out in Manhasset Bay at Port Washington, just barely out of reach of New York City and managed to only catch a glimpse of the skyline. We couldn't make it across Hell Gate any sooner than Saturday due to poor weather. What else is new? We are now 14 days behind schedule as we linger here and there, waiting for favourable conditions. But every bit of the slow and sometimes aggravating passage to New York has been rewarded by the stunning views of the city, at our approach from the East River. Gabe has come this way with Rodeo before so for him, this time, the thrill was in watching my reaction to the scenery as we flowed down the river in a canyon of the Upper East Side high-rises. It was loud and quiet all at the same time. Bustling and calm at once. Gliding along the shoreline, we saw it all go by so close, so tangible, but we watched it like a scene in a movie. The opulence of it seemed a bit imposing, compared to the simple ways I've become accustomed to since living on a boat, yet I found it familiar and comforting. Once we approached lower Manhattan, the Statue of Liberty came into view beyond the Brooklin Bridge. I've been to New York before, and it sure made an impression, but to see it from this perspective was a real treat. Dodging the water taxi and ferry traffic we steered North to head up the Hudson, where we were scheduled to moor for the next few nightss. The West views of the city were just as spectacular and the setting sun behind us cloaked the city in a rusty hue that intensified its mesmerizing effect. We motored slowly along the busy harbour front and pulled into the 79th Street Boat Basin, located right at Riverside Ave. It felt like we scored front row seats to the Big Apple experience. We couldn't wait to dinghy to shore and dive right into it. 

Fog

Fair winds are a blessing when making a night passage. The boat moves slowly, but purposefully ahead with a gentle rocking motion that gives the sleeping crew member a real chance to get rest. Calm seas are also easier to handle, so the person on watch doesn't get exhausted at the helm. This really works for me, because I'm still not completely comfortable handling the boat on my own. Smooth sailing conditions come at a price however, and this became apparent to us just as dawn broke last Wednesday morning and we got engulfed in a fog as thick as New England clam chowder. The still, windless air was saturated with moisture that absorbed the world around us. We could barely see 50 feet ahead. When out in open waters this may not be a huge issue, but we were nearly through the Long Island Sound and closing in on the narrows of Throgs Neck near New York. This is a major commercial route and the traffic was beginning to pick up, only we couldn't see it. While Gabe steered the boat, carefully monitoring the radar and GPS, I stayed at the bow with a fog horn in hand. All around us, across immeasurable distances, we heard signs of boats that were not showing up on the radar. One came so close we could hear the crew on board before we saw the faint outline of the boat headed in our direction. We were petrified. Navigating into Throgs Neck in these conditions was going to be impossible, so we decided to anchor by a small island nearby. This plan proved to be just as tasking as maneuvering in a busy bay. We couldn't see the shore and had to trust our instruments to guide us in the shallow waters. All the while I was at the bow, projecting short signals with the foghorn, when suddenly we heard a rapid fire of signals coming in our direction from somewhere very, very close ahead. We still couldn't see anything, so I signaled another 2 short beeps and one long one. Before I even got through the pattern, the response came back, blaring 2 short and one long beep directly at us. We didn't know what to make of it, until we saw a ghostly outline of a building materialize from the foggy air. The large compound before us was an old prison and the signal we heard was an echo of our own foghorn bouncing off its tall brick walls. What we could make out of the scene in front of us wasn't inviting. The building was derelict and it bore a large "keep off" sign on the waterfront wall. A tall smoke stack towered above it. Enveloped in fog, the whole island looked eerie and intimidating, but at least we could see something and we took comfort in knowing that we were in a sheltered cove, away from the busy bay and its shipping lanes. We anchored for a few hours, had breakfast and rested, waiting for the fog to lift. The coast didn't clear till mid afternoon, by which time it was too late to follow the current into Hell Gate on the East River. We had to find a place to stay overnight and try again tomorrow. New York would have to wait another day. 

NYC bound

Cape Cod Bay has released us at last. We made a slow but steady run across it late Sunday, over still, moonlit seas. After the hostile treatment we received from the ocean last week, we were relieved to be treading it under very little wind. We had to motor most of the night, but the steady pace got us into the Cape Cod Canal just as the tide turned and we didn't need to fight the current getting through it. Once on the other side, in Buzzards Bay, the winds picked up. They came right on the nose so we were beating into it, plowing through 4 foot waves, but enjoyed every bit of it nonetheless. 
So did Rodeo. She carried herself so gracefully. Every time we collided with a wave, she stirred up a fizzing white foam below. Like a lace train, it flowed around and away from the boat in a quiet whisper. Until we bashed into the next wave, and my tranquil musings got drowned out by the hollow pounding of the hull against the water and the hiss of spray. The only one of the crew members that was uneasy during this passage was our cat Pickle. She pops up on top of the v-berth mattress and crawls under the duvet, where she bounces up and down as if on a trampoline, every time the seas get rough. It's the worst place to be when the boat is pounding the waves like that, but I can't seem to explain that to her. She feels safe there so I leave her be. Poor thing, she puts up with so much. 
Tacking back and forth to get the most out of our wind, we were able to sail all the way into New Bedford, where we were scheduled to clear customs. They couldn't clear us in Provincetown, where we first made landfall in the midst of the epic storm, so the officer we've been keeping in touch with came out to the boat in New Bedford instead. She was extremely nice, filled out all of the paperwork necessary and was on her way within 15 minutes. She gave us a cruising license, so that we don't have to check in and out of every port in the US. It will be one less thing to worry about. 
We got ourselves ready to pull out of the transient slip and into the deep by 6 the next morning, just to be met by more strong, opposing winds and seas rougher than the day before. We hadn't expected that. The forecast underestimated the wind force, and we saw that it was only going to get worse. After little over an hour of putting up with the abuse, we turned back inland to wait on anchor for a gentler passage. There we treated ourselves to one of the yellow curry preserves I canned before leaving Halifax, and tucked in for a quick sleep before leaving the anchorage at 3 AM. We were finally New York bound, under a bright moon, on a beautiful, serene night. 

Now it's personal

Mother Nature: 6 - Rodeo: 0. Six lost days, that's how long we have been hanging around Provincetown, due to unfavourable weather conditions. We tried to make it across the Cape Cod Bay and into the Cape Cod Canal on the opposite side yesterday, but we met with some resistance from the choppy seas and winds gusting right on the nose. Progress was slow and uncomfortable, and by the second hour out we realized we had a slim chance of getting into the canal with the flooding tide at 4:30 PM. Besides, we didn't like the idea of being pushed around by the elements any more than we already had in last week's storm. So we turned back into the comforts of MacMillan Wharf, where we had spent the four days prior preparing for this crossing. 
Mother Nature has been working against us, it seams, since last Saturday, and I'm starting to take it personally. It's getting colder and colder by the day, and our already slow progress is being further impeded by capricious weather shifts. I guess that's part of the limitations of a cruising life, having to play it by ear and waiting for a good weather window if we want to make a safe passage. But the benefits of leading a leisurely existence when there is nothing left to do but wait really make up for the inconvenience of it. Having nothing better to do while back in port we catch up on reading, knitting, visit local galleries and enjoy spectacular pizza at George's. Last night, after the disappointing venture we devoured a large Buffalo Chicken pie with buffalo sauce, bacon and onions, all topped with gorgonzola. What a treat. 

Tightrope

Sailing to me is still like walking a tightrope. A balancing act which, based on my observations, requires complete dedication, control and skill, if it is to be performed safely and effectively. Oh, and bloody courage with nerves of steal. Not to mention confidence and instinct to help overcome moments of uncertainty and hesitation. Both of these acrobatic feats have got to be, arguably, the slowest, most exhausting and most challenging way to get from point A to point B. When underway, we measure our progress in small, meticulous increments plotted over a chart. These plotted points become the line which separates us from one safe harbour and the next. We carefully maneuver over the line in our wobbly ways, giving in to some forces while resisting others. At times with shaky knees and dizzy heads, we inch forward focusing only on the current position and the demands of the immediate conditions. Like our lives depend on it. Because our lives depend on it.
Today point B is Provincetown, MA. We arrived here Sunday morning on 20+ foot waves, ushered in by the unseasonably early arrival of the Northeasterly winds, as they're known in the region. We battled the high seas and strong winds for hours before getting here wet and exhausted, but safe and relieved. The weather quickly turned around and in the last couple of days we have been able to clean up, dry up and re-provision for the next leg of the trip. We'll be off and on our way to Rhode Island tomorrow morning, wandering down the long stretch of New England coast before we arrive in NY some time after Sunday. 

On the Rodeo again

It has been over 4 months since we first came to Nova Scotia. The Bedford Basin Yacht Club and it's community have been very kind and generous to us. We got to explore the area and sample local fare. We also made a few lasting friendships and got a great taste of the famous east coast hospitality. We are eternally grateful to all of Haligonians for embracing us and making us feel welcome. But adventure beckoned, and we had no time to waste as the days grew shorter and temperatures began to drop. After a few weeks of repairs, upgrades and provisioning we were ready to set sail again, this time for the Caribbean. We had set a tentative time of departure for late October to dodge the hurricane season and it is only by a stroke of good luck that Nova Scotia got a beautiful long and warm autumn. We only hope that it will hold out a bit longer. Finally, on Oct 24, 2011, with copious amounts of diesel on board and caffeinated blood streams we pulled out, for the last time, from our secure and comfortable slip of the yacht club and into a milky unknown. In these early morning hours, below us lay a smooth sheet of black basin waters. Like a freshly tarred roof it was casting swirls of steam into the foggy air hanging low above our heads. As we make our way south and pass Halifax, we watch our surroundings appear and disappear while the harbour breaths patches of thick fog around us. Within a few hours we're clear of the busy waterfront and on our way into the open Atlantic.

waking up to Halifax

Whoever said that hell is a pit of fire was a fool. It is a pit full of water! Violent, unforgiving, disheartening water, with traces of our vomit floating on the surface. And yep, we've gone through it again. 
After a week hiatus in Shédiac, NB we crept slowly but steadily towards Canso Strait and the open Atlantic beyond it. Another work week was approaching, and we still haven't made it anywhere near Halifax. We had no choice but to press on, despite severe weather warnings and poor visibility due to fog on Sunday morning. What's a crew to do? We braced ourselves for a few rough days of sailing, and resigned to the miserable state of relentless seasickness. The sea convulsed with mad determination for over 18 hours, by the end of which, if we weren't sleeping, we were sitting around with vacant expressions on our faces. Having left the remainder of our lunch from the day before overboard, our stomachs felt a bit more settled, but the discomfort of having our brains scrambled in the constant tossing persisted. Time, in a traditional sense, almost ceases to exist when you're under such extreme conditions. Your body and mind fall into a rhythmic pattern of their own, regulated by the frequency and intensity of the waves. Your ability to move, see or even think and speak are determined by the movement of the boat on the water. Sometimes it's hard to do much more than sit still and contemplate the body's ability to withstand such abuse. But it does, sometimes more gracefully than others, but it does. The human spirit has an incredible ability to tolerate adversity, especially when the end of it is scheduled to arrive with the first light of day. Once we cleared the Cape of Canso and turned westerly along the Nova Scotia coast conditions improved. By midday Monday the seas beneath us calmed, winds veered in our favour, and we looked forward to a smooth sail into the night and the following morning. At 3 am, just as the first sign of daylight seeped in from the East, the glow of metropolitan Halifax appeared in the West, like a second sunrise. It seemed like a dream. We reached the harbour around 8 am, and by midday we crossed Bedford Basin, where we pulled into the Bedford Basin Yacht Club, our new home for the summer. 

So far so good

After the last engine hiccup was behind us, and showed no signs of making a comeback, it was smooth sailing. We got some great winds that Friday night and an unforgettable display of northern lights. It was a first for me, and when I saw the iridescent curtain of hazy light I was astounded. Standing there, staring with my mouth wide open I was grateful Randy pulled me out of sleep to see it. With that and the next few great sailing days that followed, I began to forget all about the horrible shake down from days prior. All was right with the world again. My friend Melissa says that sailing is much like raising children. You relish the best and endure the worst of what the experience has to offer, often at the same time. When things are going great, you marvel at the beauty and the magic of it, and when the going gets tough it is overwhelming and scary. But you grow through it all, learning about yourself and your surroundings and take the good with the bad, as it all becomes worth the effort in the end.
We continued to press forward running before favourable winds, with the sails wing on wing at one point. This, according to seasoned sailors, is the epitome of sailing. You get the most out of your sails, the boat runs balanced, and let's face it, it looks damn cool. 
Then just before we slowed our pace and entered Shédiac Bay, where lied our next port of call, we spotted Humpback whales off the starboard side. They surfaced in the distance spewing hissing cascades of water that we heard even before they materialized. It was another beautifully choreographed ballet of giants. Again we watched in awe and anticipation of the next appearance, until they disappeared for good. And that, we felt, was the perfect way to crown this leg of our journey. Next came Shédiac and another parting. 
Shédiac, NB sits at the southwest edge of Shédiac Bay and at the very tip of Chéne Bank, just a few miles outside of Moncton. Since we couldn't make it to Halifax before Monday, we had to stop somewhere along the way, in proximity to it, so that Randy and Brittany could get back to Toronto, and Gabe could get to work. Shédiac was the place to go. One of Gabe's new coworkers lives in Moncton and was able to pick up the crew Monday morning to take them to the Halifax airport. Britt and Randy went home, and Gabe started his first week as an aeronautical engineer for the maintenance crew at the airport. Perfect. But what about me? I was stuck in Shédiac.

Night and Day

So much for no stopovers. With a storm brewing at our backs, we bounced our way into a marina in Cap a l'Aigle our first night out of Quebec city. Wednesday morning we plugged away for Rimouski to shower, provision, refuel and grab a great old breakfast at a local greasy spoon that dolled out painfully generous portions of eggs, meat pie, toast and fresh fruit. Just what the doctor ordered. Now that we were back in proper seaman shape, we set an ambitious course that would take us into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, pass Gaspé Bay, through the Northumberland Strait and into Shédiac. This could take a while. In fact, it is a 350 nm stretch, that would take us 72 hrs to cross, without stopping. Given our optimistic nature and zeal for the task at hand it didn't seem too unrealistic. But our engine had other plans for us. For the second time now it choked up on water and ceased. It happened around 2 a.m. on Brittany's watch while we were motor sailing through some unfavorable winds. The night was already dreadful and had dulled our spirits long before the engine failed. The confused seas pressed against Rodeo from all directions, shifting everything on board this way then that way. Sounds of strained rigging and sliding contents send reverberating noise throughout the cabin. Rodeo was like a drum and the sounds were unbearable. We were taking 1 hr watch shifts at night and trying very hard to sleep in between them. It was a strenuous and trying night both physically and mentally. I felt trapped. Trapped at sea, trapped on a cold, damp boat and trapped in my own head. My brain and my insides felt like they were in a blender. Nothing could sooth the discomfort except for sleep, which only came briefly and infrequently, violently interrupted by one wave after another. I wanted to die. No, I wanted to go home. I began to wonder why I agreed to partake in this insanity. I also wondered what the appeal of sailing might be, considering the discomforts and dangers. What's so glorious about putting yourself through such an ordeal? I really couldn't figure it out. Though I tried. I reasoned with myself, tortured myself really with reservations and doubts, until sleep finally relieved the trepidation. I'm not sure how the rest of the crew felt. We all suffered in silence, accepting the hardship for what it was, part of the experience.
The light of day came as a relief, though the seas were still rough and my body tormented. The sun hung bright in the sky and it felt good to be outside. While I slept Gabriel and Randy made plans to stop in St. Anne de Mont to take a good look at the motor. Thus we attempted another docking without an engine, and perhaps, due to our extensive experience in the field, this time we eased into our mooring without unnecessary antics. The harbour master in St. Anne de Mont was extremely courteous and helpful, as were other marina residents who helped us with our engine repairs and gave us a ride to a gas station (thanks Vergine) so we could replenish the water-tainted diesel Gabriel drained out of the motor. Once we finished up, cleaned the boat and organized her shambled contents, we treated ourselves to a mound of magnificent roadside poutine and a nap. By 5 p.m. it was time to hit the seas again.

Out of the Blue

It has been a different trip altogether since we said goodbye to Renato (Papa) and Fernando and welcomed Randy and Brittany on board. Upon leaving Quebec city we began to vacate the narrow confines of scenic St. Lawrence and advanced towards more open waters at the river mouth, nearing the ocean. With every nautical mile convenient marinas and anchorages became more scarce and we embraced the idea of moving ahead without stopping overnight. Oh, and did I mention it was getting colder by the minute? 
Gaining ground was still dictated by the tides, which we played to and made the most of the currents that carried us. Some 8 hours outside of Quebec we decided to anchor for a while to wait out the rising tide, which was inhibiting our progress forward. Just as we cozied into a quiet bay, and reveled in the serenity of our surroundings, unassuming and graceful beluga whales began to break the surface of the water, some 100m away from the boat. We freaked, quietly of course. Springing up and out of the water, their snow white backs and fins gleaming in the setting sun granted us with a stunning spectacle. A helpful young man that worked a marine shop in Quebec told us that if we tap on the boat we could entice them to come closer. Beluga whales apparently are curious creatures and would pop out near the boat to check out what was going on. He also told us we're likely to see Humpback whales come up to feed in the rip tides and shallow waters. He demonstrated this by spreading his arms, opening his mouth and with a dull yowl he swept his head right to left, imitating a surfacing whale. Being of a larger stature, the plump man did the sea creatures justice. Or at least we imagined it might look something like that. We remembered the advice and laughing at the precision with which he mocked the whales we tried getting their attention, but to no avail. 
Bobbing gently on the waves in that cove, surrounded by the trappings of a world so distant to us just a few weeks ago, we celebrated embarking on this leg of the journey together. The change of scenery contributed greatly to how we experienced the next leg of the trip. But even more so it was the change of crew that was paramount to our success during our first atlantic passage. With a more focused company we were able to fall into a stoic existence aboard Rodeo, allowing the boat to carry us on, through hell and high water. And boy did we got a taste of both.

la belle vie

Following a night at anchor in Batiscan, we closed in on Quebec by early afternoon on Sunday, June 4. Long before the city came in site the steep shore lines became peppered with arresting cottages, churches and waterfront resorts. Then the approach to Port de Quebec granted us spectacular views of the Citadel and Chateau Frontenac. We were enchanted. Rodeo had a spot waiting in the well sheltered Marina Port de Quebec and we eased into it in awe of our surroundings. 
The old Quebec lay at our feet and we wasted no time getting on land. We strolled through the narrow, cobble stone streets for a while, peering into windows of shops and galleries, now closed for the night. Then for a pit stop, Chateau Frontenac. Spending a little time taking in the intricate decor of the hotel interior, we made our way through the lobby and into the lounge, where Fernando treated us to a bottle of Champagne. How awfully civilized. We sipped on the bubbly and glanced out the full height windows overlooking the river. And though this gesture was in stark contrast to our simple boat life, the moment was something to be savoured and we toasted it. We were proud of ourselves and applauded each other for good work and great team effort. The celebration was bitter sweet, as our time with the transient crew members Renato (aka Papa) and Fernando was drawing near. But what a time it has been. These two colourful characters had brought heaps of energy and laughs into our daily lives. The week and a half we spent together seems more like months, we've grown together so much. We will miss having them around. 
To give us a hand in absence of the old crew, our friends Randy and Michelle offered to fly down to complete the open ocean part of our journey. Michelle was unfortunately unable to make it, but we were lucky enough to get our friend Brittany on board. She and Randy flew in on Monday and after spending the day picking up supplies and provisioning we prepared to part ways with Gabriel's dad and Fernando. They were set to leave on Tuesday, June 6 to go back to Brazil, but they wouldn't go quietly. As a final gesture of their inexhaustible generosity and appetite, the boys threw a BBQ of Brazilian proportions. There were racks of ribs, sausages, steak and wine, lots and lots of wine. We had so much food the neighbouring party of boaters got in on the feast. 
The festivities continued aboard Rodeo as we slowly settled in for the night. We had 6 crew for the night and only 5 bunks, which meant someone had to sleep outside. That arguable pleasure was all Randy's, who nearly froze to death in the cockpit. Poor guy. I did offer him a heater, but he decided to tough it out, at least until early morning, when Papa and Fernando bid us farewell. The rest of us were ready to depart Quebec shortly after as well, and so back with the river we rolled. 

Kicking Around

We never made it to Montreal. We docked at a yacht club across the river, in a small town called Longueuil. It was late when we came in, there was nothing to do but rest and wait to see if the weather improved in the morning. It didn't, so we left the boat for the day and ventured into Old Montreal via metro. Towards the end of the day we killed some time at the Casino, though neither Gabe, his dad, nor I are very enthusiastic gamblers. But it was something Fernando was looking forward to, so we indulged him and mulled about between slot machines while he tried his luck at Roulette and Black Jack. Big spender had some wins then suffered a few unlucky hands, reluctantly cut his losses and we made our way back to the boat. We planned to set across to the other side in the morning. Once again, easier said than done. Even though the winds had died down and we only had the river currents to contend with, those proved to be too strong for our Rodeo. We couldn't get her moving against them so we turned back towards the east shore and stayed in Longueuil for another day. The little town turned out to have big character, and we enjoyed a perfectly sunny day exploring it. Gabe and I grabbed lunch at Chez Parra, a french bistro with impeccable service and a mouthwatering menu. A liter of Sangria later we were ready to go provision shopping for the next leg of the trip: port of call Quebec. 

Locked and Loaded

Next stop Montreal. Or is it? Despite our best efforts to keep the events of our sailing day to day on the down low, steering clear of sticky situations continues to be an uphill battle. Perhaps that's a perpetual state of existence for a crew. Weather conditions, as well as moods can change abruptly, and these shifts can sometimes catch us off guard. Getting used to changing weather conditions as well as each other took some time, but now, in the wake of our last stretch before Montreal, we feel like we have become a part of a well oiled machine. 
After spending a quiet night in Saleberry de Valleyfield, a quaint little waterfront community, we set out for the second set of locks on Wednesday June 1. There were warnings of gale winds for that day, which got pushed back to the evening, so we decided to set out early and make our way down the river to get through the locks as quickly as possible. We should know better by know than to count on things to go smoothly. We had to wait nearly 3 hours at Beauharnois Locks to allow a slew of commercial carriers to pass through before us. These guys pay big bucks to move back and forth across the locks, therefore get the right of way. So we waited. Once on the other side we were on Lake St.Louis. We got lots of open water and increasing winds to play with so we let out the small genoa and sailed. It was great. The wind came from behind and despite choppy waters we enjoyed a smooth ride. Gabriel was teaching me that because of the wind coming from astern, we got what's called "following seas". The waves came running after the boat pushing the stern of the boat to the side. This made the bow swing in the opposite direction, so whoever was steering the boat had to compensate for the movement. This is hard to do, because you have to make sure that the boat doesn't tack from side to side as you're fighting the waves. But that's exactly what happened to me. The wind gusted, filled the sail, and before I knew it the boat went with it. It turned fast and hard, heeling right over and made a 360 turn around, nearly dunking poor Gabriel in the water. The boys hassled to roll the sail in before I could wreak any more havoc and we continued on our way, motoring through the rest of the lake. 
We had one more lock to go through and the winds kept picking up. So much so that when we got to the waiting dock of the next lock, we could hardly tie off Rodeo. The gales have come untimely and unwelcome. On top of that we were set back hours waiting at this and the following lock, as they resolved technical problems. Night had fallen, and though we were just across the river from Old Montreal, St.Helen's Island stood in our way. In order to get to Montreal Marina we would have to round the island and approach the city against the river current and against the gusty wind. We had no chance of making it over there under such conditions...

Nice n'easy

After spending a productive Saturday on engine repairs and cleaning we were once again ready to take on Lake Ontario. We set out before dawn, with the engine running perfectly, and confidently made our way out of Oswego harbour and into a foggy lake. That day the gods decided to take it easy on us, and we delighted in an easy day of slow motoring over very still waters. A steady boat allowed us the luxury of barbecuing a fabulous pork tenderloin, marinated in a garlic-mustard sauce which we enjoyed with rice and chickpea salad and beer, of course. With time, as we pushed forward and into the Thousand Islands, the sun came out, the fog lifted and we got our first glance at the beautiful scenery of St. Lawrence River. We went along the winding shorelines admiring great waterfront homes that seemed to just keep getting bigger and more spectacular as we went deeper into the region. Once we chose our next mooring destination, we pressed on to get there before night fall. We have all been up since 3 a.m. and were looking forward to a shower and (another) good meal. One of the side channels of the main river that would lead us to Trident Yacht Club was intercepted by a small ferry that seemed to be pulled from shore to shore by two cables, submerged under the surface. As soon as we realized that we became concerned with being able to pass over the cables without getting caught. We tried to raise the ferry operator on the radio, but got no response. We decided to chance it and float over the cables with the engine shot off. Holding our breaths and our fingers crossed we glided across the path of the ferry. Nothing. No snags, no noise, no pulling, we made it across without a hitch. When we pulled into the Trident Yacht Club some time later, we were greeted by a set of helping hands. Another club member came onto the finger we were approaching to help us tie off. We exchanged a short conversation about Albergs (the gentlemen was also an Alberg owner), got a short introduction to the layout of the club and the amenities, and after securing the boat we made our way over to the club house for showers and a hot supper. Tired but full and happy we settled in around 9 p.m. just as the fog began to descend over the river again, rewarding us with a striking scenery.

Rock Bottom

The stretch between Trident Yacht Club in Gananoque, ON and Morrisburgh a day earlier had been so uneventful and relaxed we easily fell into a slack routine again on Tuesday. The sun was scorching as we zigzagged between the little islands and shoals invading St. Lawrence waters. Autopilot was doing its thing, so we were free to lounge about in the cockpit, getting tanned, getting complacent. Life and the joy of it seemed so simple. Before we knew it things got awfully complicated for us. We hit rock bottom and nearly keeled over. (I love being able to use these idioms and not even be exaggerating) First there was shouting, as our navigating crew realized what was about to happen, then a single, hollow thud followed by a series of violent thumps while the keel of our boat slid along the rocks forcing it on its side. In a moment that felt like eternity the boat had heeled by 45deg. and rested motionless on the rocks below. By that time I had jumped below to hold in place everything that got dislodged from the jolt and to check on Pickle. She was buried under the covers of our v berth, shooting accusing looks in my direction, to let me know she was displeased with being woken up in such a matter. Typical. I picked up what was scattered on the floor of the cabin and listened as the boys yelled for help across the water. A few boaters came by to see what they can do. Gabriel explained to them that if they secure one of the mast halyards to their boat and pull on it, we have a chance of getting the boat completely on its side. This would force the keel out of the rocks and the hull could float free of them. Easier said than done, but after a few good tugs, Rodeo dragged across to deeper waters, rolled back over and happily bounced right side up. Rattled but relieved we then proceeded to argue about the irresponsibility of our actions prior to hitting the rocks. We missed a buoy de-marking a shoal and came aground on it. Not cool. But these things happen, and we're lucky enough to be onboard a great little sailboat, that's been very forgiving to its sloppy crew. 

Detour

Oswego. Getting into a harbour without a motor alone is tricky. Getting into a harbour without a motor at night is somewhat of a daredevil act. But that is exactly what we had to do. Our motor ceased Friday mid day and despite his best efforts Gabriel couldn't revive it. We had to decide between pressing forward, against the wind, to find a place to dock or anchor overnight within the Thousand Islands, an area none of us are familiar with. Or head SW, with the wind into Oswego, a harbour that Gabriel has been to and had a vague idea as to its layout. We believed we had a better chance at a safe approach in Oswego, so that's where we ended up. We made good headway under sail, but the wind died just as we approached the city. Gabriel tried to mount the small outboard motor meant for our dinghy to Rodeo, to propel her forward with whatever power the small engine would afford us. Now, for those of you who know Gabriel this next part will not come as a surprise. He hung overboard trying to hang the little motor at the stern, while Fernando held him in place by wrapping his big arms around him.  He was practically up side down yanking on the motor line to get it running. Unfortunately, because of the waves, the small propeller would only work when we came up on a swell and it would lift right out of the water each time the bow dipped down. We slowly made it out of the open lake and into the harbour where the light wind disappeared altogether. This was a problem. We weren't moving and we still had to make it down the channel and into the Oswego Marina. I'm not sure how any of you would remedy this situation, I sure as hell didn't know what to do. But Gabriel, true to his Kamikaze form, lowered the dinghy into the water, remounted the motor, jumped into the inflatable boat and began to dance with Rodeo. His intention was to push the boat with the force of the dinghy behind it. It took a few daring maneuvers, but he finally got the boats going in a straight line and down the channel we went. We made slow but decent progress, and we felt quite happy with how well we were doing until we had to pull the boat up to a docking wall in the marina. We had no way of slowing the boat, now that we got her going, so we hoped that she would slow down enough for us to jump off and tie her off without crashing. Unwilling to leave Rodeo to her own devices, Gabriel pulled out his dance moves again. He bounced the rubber dinghy off the giant hull of our boat, until she got into position and submissively approached the docking wall at a sensible speed. With hearts pounding and adrenaline encouraging our every move, we hurried off to tie up all the lines and forced her into a complete stop. Sweet Lord have mercy. We spent a good five minutes high-fiving each other and reliving the excitement of it all. Then we celebrated our victorious arrival at Oswego Marina with a glass of Cytrynowka, a lemon infused vodka my dad made for us. With emotions rained in and Rodeo safely docked, we settled into a good night's rest after our first 36 hours out in the open waters. 

Lake Ontario: 1, Rodeo: 0

The second day out, Friday, May 27,2011 has been a miserable one. Not only have we been battling head winds, it has been rainy and cold. We all look green with seasickness, much of which is due to the constant beating Rodeo is taking. Though I suspect that Thursdayʼs wine tasting might have something to do with the state weʼre in. Despite the reason, weʼre all feeling awful and making little headway with these NE winds. Even the engine struggled against the constant waves, until it decided to give up altogether that is. After spending 3 drenching hours working on the engine and the diesel supply, Gabriel found a problem with the fuel pump. Weʼre under sails now, and long ways from any safe harbor on route. We decided to divert our course and head for Oswego, on the south-east shore of Lake Ontario. It is our safest bet, as we get to go with the wind and get a chance to reach land before midnight. Sailing all night long within Thousand Islands without a motor just wouldnʼt be smart. Oswego is a significant detour, but we have a good shot at finding a replacement pump there tomorrow so that we can make repairs and be back on our way as soon as possible.

Departure

Departures are always bitter sweet. All the feelings of excitement and anticipation of new adventures contend with those of sadness and uncertainty over leaving the familiar behind. Today was no different. We set out from Cathedral Bluffs Yacht Club on May 26, 2011 where we had spent the last couple of days before departure. With a little help from some friends we made final improvements to the boat and provisioned for the first leg of our passage. I couldnʼt help but cry when we hugged Michelle, Randy and Brittany goodbye, then watched them grow smaller as we pulled away, leaving the foggy docs behind. It has now been 12h since we left Toronto and so far Rodeo is getting along beautifully. Gabe had to wrestle with the autopilot for a bit, but otherwise it has been a day of leisurely activities. We started off with a wine and cheese tasting, followed by some fishing, then reading. Then back to wine tasting accompanied by a simple supper. Finally a few games of "Black Jack" to complete the evening, followed by another round of wine tasting. Not altogether bad. Finally, just after midnight, we rolled through a small storm and Rodeo lived up to her name, taking us on a bit of a ride. Our transient crew members, Papa and Fernando, however, had no trouble snoring in between their night watch shifts.

The going away thing

The Saturday of May 21, 2011, day of our going away party, turned out to be a superb day in every respect. It was sunny and warm, contrary to what we have become to regard as normal weather this spring. It has been raining nearly every day since the beginning of March. Everyone I know has been feeling down from the perpetual gloom, so the sun-drenched day did wonders for our soggy spirits. Gabriel and I enjoyed a leisurely cup of coffee and read in the cockpit for most of the morning. Around lunch time we made our way ashore, grabbed a quick bite at Mustachioʼs in St. Lawrence market and set out to pick up beer and food for the party. Back at the Toronto Island Marina, the boys put picana (a Brazilian delicacy) on the BBQ and with over 30 friends, who trekked across the lake in a marina tender to join us, we indulged in revelry well into the night. It was one of the most memorable evenings. We couldnʼt have asked for better weather or for better friends. We feel very blessed to have been surrounded by such a great bunch of people. We hope to see them again soon.

Inching Away

After much preparation, a hefty chunk of which has been undertaken by Gabe, we are slowly creeping towards the east coast. True, we haven't gone very far yet, but we're happy to call the Toronto Island Marina home for the next few days. We have a great view of the Toronto skyline from here, that gets more and more staggering and entrancing as the evening draws darker. I am going to miss this city and everything that it has offered me. I will miss all the things I failed to take advantage of even more. At least I get to take its vibrant, vile and infectious energy in for a few more days, while we camp out on the Island. We will be hosting a going away shindig here tomorrow, and I don't mean a "Rapture Party". Come hell or high water we will celebrate new beginnings with our closest friends, and say our teary eyed goodbyes to everyone we've grown so close to. But adventure beckons. And even though I'm really excited to be embarking on a new one, it warms my heart to think that while we spend some time in Halifax we'll only be within a short airplane ride away. I guess that's why it hardly feels like a goodbye.

Renewable Energy

The weather has certainly not been very nice.  Today is only 6C and drizzling did I mention its mid May? It just does not seem to get any better any time soon.  I sucked it up, went outside and worked on the cold and rain to get the wind gen mounted.  I think I will cut about a foot of the tower so it's a little more accessible if needed be.  
We are now counting the days until we leave.  Only 10 more days.  Please weather turn around...

It's been a while

Well, it's been over two months since I last posted on here. Monika was supposed to be taking over so you guys can give her crap for not updating.  Alot has changed since our last post.  We finally got the boat uncovered, and slowly brought her back to sailing form.  We have been working to get most of our projects accomplished.  Monika designed a solar panel arch and I did all bends and mounted panel and integrated to boat 12v system.  I'm currently working on mounting our 200W air breeze wind generator.
Monika has done a fenomenal job with the companion way doors and well as the table down bellow (shortened by 8 inches).  She's currently working on sowing a few pieces to cover our hatch.
We are hopping to get underway on the 26th of May, currently waiting for the arrival of my dad and his friend Fernando who will crew with us all the way to Halifax.

More to follow

First of many

Well as I sit here and write this I get more and more butterflies in my stomach.  Its March 14th and in 15 days Monika will be living aboard Rodeo and our adventures will finally begin.  After planing and saving for the last 5 years it's almost time to say goodbye to good friends and good people and get out to see the world all from the sea.  
Spring is just around the corner and we are both excited to get some more projects done and get the boat ready for it's ultimate voyage. 


Let the dreams begin...