Change for Change Sake

We are quickly realizing that this life afloat breeds indecision. Not sure if it's the fact that as sailors we're ruled by the vacillations of weather, the constant up and down of tides and the highs and lows of waves. Or if not having a lease or mortgage encourages shallow, if any roots, but either way we're in a constant state of up and down, high and low, back and forth. When all it takes is to untie a few lines and kick up an engine in order to move your home the options begin to feel endless.

We were told a while back by a seasoned sailing cruising that you live in 6-month horizons. There's little if any long-term planning when it comes to boats and travel. And life as a liveaboard here New England, this couldn't be more true. Here in the Portsmouth region options are limited for marinas to live at and this only adds to the 6-month horizon lifestyle. Not to mention that for 6 months of year you're the envy of many and for the other six your the crazy friend/son/daughter/sibling living on a boat! 

As Summer of 2013 folds into Fall 2013 the changes around us are palpable. The marina goes from bustling with action to silent. The dockside cafe closes. The marina staff hours cut back. The parking lot empties. The slips around us start to clear out. And the sense that it's time to move on becomes stronger and stronger. Couple that with the natural transition occurring in the environment during autumn in New England plus a natural propensity for change and a couple of gypsy souls and you've got the recipe for a tumultuous few weeks. Welcome to the crew of the Zephyr's last month. 

We started out in mid-August looking at liveaboard marinas in Boston. Thoughts of big city living and change drove us to explore this option. But then logistics of costs, cars, lifestyle and our love of open spaces (especially Toby's) stopped making sense. We then headed north, though not in support of our end goal of heading to points south where the latitudes get smaller we'd always been drawn to the city of Portland, Maine. The music, the food scene, a few very rad friends, the familiar but difference to Portsmouth. We checked out the one marina of liveaboards in the Old Port. It was a GORGEOUS late-August day, the stuff of summer dreams. 

Minds whirled all of September - Portland or Kittery? Kittery or Boston? Winter rental on land (for a very brief second)? We came to a decision - Portland. We tried that decision on, felt it out for a while. Just like trying on clothes I've always 'tried on decisions'. When I was deciding on where to go college I was at a fancy cocktail party for my dad's work in NYC. Every person who asked where I was going I'd respond with a different school - St. Michaels, Trinity, Fairfield, Loyola New Orleans - just to see how it felt to say and also what their reaction was. New Orleans always, always got the best reaction, obviously! 

So we told our friends and families we were moving to Portland. Always incredibly supportive they were happy and sad at the same time. And all the while the decision was still not 'fitting right' entirely for either of us. We were feeling overwhelmed, stressed and there were a lot of 'heart hurts' as we thought about leaving this city we've called home for the last 7 years. Not to mention the marina in Portland was not responding to our request for a rental agreement so nothing was falling into place. Add to that our good friends and fellow liveaboards, Justin and Kim made the decision to stay aboard their boat in Kittery for the winter - neighbor friends on the dock! 

As all our awesome Portsmouth friends gathered to celebrate Jill's birthday on Monday night the decision became clear - we are staying. Changing for the sake of change when nothing else is really drawing you to change is not the healthiest way to live. Last year was our first winter aboard, everything was a lesson, everything was new, this year we have the opportunity to learn from our mistakes, improve upon on lives and if we go and mix that all up by moving we may lose that clarity. Our end goal is not to move north it's to move to points south and the decision to stay will help us stay on target to do that. Eyes on the prize as my mom always tells us. So, we'll be in Kittery, Maine again this winter and this time without the incessant construction noise from the Memorial Bridge - we can walk downtown! 

Hopefully the Badger's Island Swans will return this year - the Piscataqua River is an infinitely
endless source of fascination

A Stormy end to 2012

I'm not sure what the old adage is for December, I know April showers bring May flowers and March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb but since we're in New England I'm going to venture to say no adage truly fits anyways. The adage for our first December aboard is December winds bring sleepless nights & nervous frights. The past 2 weeks brought lots of good cheer, holiday celebrations, family time and LOTS OF WIND, SNOW & COLD. Within a week we were slammed by two big storms. One wasn't even named and it was BAD! The other was a 'classic New England Nor'Easter'.

The first storm struck on Friday, Dec. 21st. The winds were directly out of the south/southeast which means the winds were funneling up the river and churning up the waters of the Piscataqua. The winds and waves caused our boat to "hobby horse":

Though when a boat does it it's not nearly as fun as a this 2-year old. It's more like the boat CRASHING back and forth and every time your heart ends up in your throat and you question the strength of those nylon dock lines. For whatever reason our boat got the brunt of the waves and wind. 

This video was taken earlier in the day on Friday and doesn't barely do it justice. For the first time since we've moved aboard both Tim and I felt a bit queasy and seasick. As you can tell from the video, Toby wasn't digging it either. We left the boat for a while (saying our prayers to the dockline gods), had lunch with old friends who were in town, did some food shopping and when we returned around 3pm things had progressed far worse than earlier. 

Our boat stern is marked by the smaller mast after the white wrapped boat

The waves were MUCH bigger and were crashing up over the docks, slamming on the stern of our boat. Tim and I were SOAKED from waves almost sweeping us off the dock as we ran down to check lines. It was too dangerous for Toby to go down on the docks and we had some laundry some do (and for full disclosure, we weren't too keen to go back aboard a hobby horsing, crashing boat) we took refuge at a friend's house who was away on vacation (Thanks Needles!). All ended up OK. The docklines held, the boat was ok and our neighbor Toralf clocked wind speed at 45 knots. It's still amazing to us how our 'neighborhood' can go from frightening, dark, unsafe one day to calm, beautiful and peaceful the next. 

Our boat is on the left with the 2 masts of lights

We enjoyed a wonderful night of wine & cheer with our boat neighbors the night after the storm. Amongst them they have over 35 years of liveaboard experience. They wanted to know how things were going for us on our first year living aboard and we all laughed at their first year experiences. Our neighbor Tim said, "you wouldn't believe the stupid stuff we did our first year - don't worry, you'll learn!" It was fantastic to share our stories with them, get roused for bailing in the storm, get advice, tips and laugh about it all. 

Christmas was spent with our families down in South Shore Massachusetts, it was lovely and very special as we don't know where the seas or life will find us next year. It was full of great, utilitarian, boat gifts, including a wrench set, head treatment and a grill for the stern pulpit (SWEET!). 

No sooner did we arrive back aboard then we were walloped by a Nor'Easter. Luckily the winds were coming from the Northeast (hence the name) and so the hobby horsing did not occur this time. But the winds were STRONG and the sound of the crashing halyards and the wooshing through the stays, the jerking of the boat off the docklines is just too unsettling to sleep. The three of us clocked a max of about 20 minutes of sleep that night. We were at the ready for any lines snapping or fixes that might need to be made. This we're told is pretty typical for boat life so we are anticipating many more sleepless nights. 

We were proud of ourselves for riding out our first Nor'Easter and allowing the fear to come in and deal with it. We awoke that next morning tired but victorious in our own resolve to continually gain more comfort with our boat, with our dock lines (till one snaps) and our own capability to handle whatever might come our way. 

This week is the first bitterly cold period we've faced. Last night it was down to 9 degrees. We were still warm and toasty aboard Zephyr thanks to our little heaters and a new electric blanket. 

As we welcome 2013 we are so grateful for this opportunity to live a less ordinary life, we're thankful for brains that are like sponges constantly open to new things and learning new ways of living, we are proud of what we've learned so far, we are excited about the future of this dream and...yes, we are dreaming of tiki drinks, beaches and warm summer breezes filling our sails! :) 

"You'll Learn"

I'd love to say the reason we haven't written in a while is because we've been too busy sailing the high seas but the reality is life has been VERY busy! Work commitments, family commitments, friends visits and a 32nd birthday for Jill have all been taking up our time. Not to mention life aboard as the temperature is dropping and the fall rainy season commences has been QUITE the learning lesson. The marina is thinning out around us, every day there's less and less boats and people. This past weekend was full of folks off loading their boats gear for winter storage - long faces of folks who are sad to see the season over. 

For us, it's just beginning. With the arrival of fall means the arrival of the need for heat aboard and with heat comes the dreaded word that is the bane of every liveaboard's existence - condensation. You may remember this concept from high school physics - when the air temperature outside is colder than the air temperature inside and heat rises and creates moisture it will create condensation also known as rain inside the cabin! Boiling water for pasta, moisture in the bilge, even Toby panting (which he does a lot since he's rather nervous when the boat sways) can add to the problem substantially. 

Now we'd been dealing with the dripping windows above our bed for a few weeks now (nothing like waking up to a cold drip on your face at 4am), naively thinking it was just wet at night and then it would dry out in the day once we opened up hatches - silly us! Because what does condensation cause when allowed to fester in closed spaces? MILDEW! This weekend as we were preparing the boat to go sailing on a GORGEOUSLY warm sunny Saturday we lifted our aft cabin mattress to find horrendous mildew stains, Jill's bottom pillow was 50% black with mildew, the walls around the window hatches had spores of mildew...it had attacked us! Granted it had rained for 6 days straight, we'd been forced to keep hatches closed and we were heating at night causing warm air AKA condensation. But still it wasn't good. We quickly realized this had to be dealt with and fast. Jill's allergies + a dank smell + just plain nasty = a Saturday spent bleaching, airing out, sunning, bleaching some more.

The contents of our bed laying out in the sun drying

These now appear in every corner of our boat

This is when we realized the rub of being liveaboards as opposed to just owning a recreational boat. If we had a house to go home to then upon realizing we had a mildew problem we'd say, "Well, let's go out for a sail and we'll deal with it later." And then happily we'd go sailing, come back in, work on it some then go home to our non-mildew bed and come back the next day and work on it some more. BUT as a liveaboard we don't have another 'non-mildew' bed to sleep on, we don't have a 'non-mildew' kitchen to cook in, what we have is all we got - a stinky, wet boat that has to be dried out and bleached. We must have spent $50 in quarters at the marina laundry washing and bleaching all the covers from the cushions and another who knows how much in buying "Damp Rid" buckets and bleach. 

We have been posting and reading the volume of opinions and tips on the message boards - as I said this is the bane of every live aboard's existence. The options range from completely gutting the boat to install insulation between the hull and the inside walls to setting off a "mold bomb" and vacating the vessel for days. 

What we have realized is that it is an intricate combination of insulation, moisture prevention AND ventilation. The boat needs to breathe! And like it or not it truly is a constant battle. Quick fixes like opening the companionway hatch when we cook and lifting up the mattress off the bed when we get up in the morning to more involved (read: expensive) things like installing a dehumidifier and mattress mats are now in the works. 

Bought this book today

Our mantra the last month (it was 1 month ago today that we arrived home to New Castle in our new home) has been, "You'll learn". We say it to each other as we rub the new egg on our head from bumping the passage way ceiling, neighbors say it us as we practice docking, we say it to Toby as he struggles up the companionway ladder. It truly has been our mantra. And this experience with the dreaded M-word is no different - we will learn! 

But there's something great about that - it seems like in modern adult life it's often rare that we are learning something new ALL THE TIME. Or rather we don't give ourselves the chance to do it, we don't allow ourselves the vulnerability to try something new, something we're not good at, something that we struggle at, something we could risk failing at. We are trained to master everything - our positions at work, our skills at home, our abilities in life. We don't often open ourselves up to failure but it's in inviting that vulnerability that we end up succeeding far more than if we hadn't. So Tim and I have really opened ourselves up here, we are very much living life with the "trial by error" mentality and hoping it doesn't result in disaster or frostbite! 

Any condensation tips? We are sponges right now - both literally & figuratively! 

Reasons Why Wednesday: She carried us through the storm

Reason Why #7: She carried us home safe

So here we sit aboard safely in a slip at the gorgeous Wentworth Marina, bellies full after a homemade dinner from the galley, Jimmy Buffett on the radio, glasses of red wine and another "project" in process. Last Saturday seems like a lifetime away but when we stop for a second and think about what we went through the fear still shudders through us. 

Lists, Lists & More Lists

So, flashback: we arrived in Portland last Friday afternoon with the biggest smiles our faces could contain and excitement abounding. We hit up the marine store with lists and longer lists to outfit our boat for the weekend's trip, picked up Jill's cousin Chris, our crew, at the Greyhound station, provisioned our galley and cracked the first boat drink aboard. 

Before stepping aboard our boat for the first time! 

First Boat Drink on our very own Boat - rum & diet with
Portland's Old Port in the background

After some delicious beers at Novare Res in Portland we made back to the boat for a good night's sleep to prep for the trip south in the morning. Around 4am the wind had picked up a lot and Tim went out to secure another line to the dock. At 7:30 Tim's parents and the last member of our crew, Tim's brother Andrew arrived to the docks. The sky was grey and the wind was strong. Fog had come down the Fore River and the outlet from Casco Bay to the Gulf of Maine was barely visible. It was cool and VERY breezy. We listened to the NOAA weather forecast over the VHF radio over coffee - "Small Craft Advisories" were issued for Casco Bay and Saco Bay but it sounded like Sunday was going to be worse so we made the decision to head out - we had the crew, the provisions and the excitement. 

Casting off the dock for the first time in our new boat!

As we left the Fore River and entered the Gulf of Maine we went into a fog bank. A huge cruise ship was appearing out of the fog. Eerily there was no other boat traffic heading out. The waves were choppy and the winds were blowing around 15 knots - perfect weather for sailing our boat. 

Cruise Ship appearing out of the Fog at the mouth of the Fore River

Skies were ominous... 

Portland Head Light in some light choppy waves

We raised the sails and were cruising between and 6-7 knots, already very impressed with how Zephyr handled in heavier winds and waves. The waves were starting to build. The forecast we'd listened to hours earlier had said it was 4-6 foot seas with 10-15 knot winds. At this point it was consistently 5-7 foot seas and the gusts were topping 15 knots. Spirits were high and our boat was handling the heavier seas masterfully. Plowing straight through those big rollers without being turned or tossed. We passed Kennebunkport, our original planned stop over. The Sunday forecast we'd heard hours before had made us think that the next day was going to be worse and so we decided to push on south and try and make Portsmouth by nightfall. Still there were no other boats out and channel 16 on the VHF was eerily quiet. This is when things started to turn... 

A video before things really picked up - Zephyr mastering the 7 footers!

First, our side shroud, one of the cables that holds up the mast lost its pin and disconnected. A screwdriver and some electrical tape was a good, quick fix. The waves built some more, now consistently above 7 feet. The winds were topping 18 knots. We still felt good about making Portsmouth by sunset. Then our mainsail ripped off the boom. It's a self-furling main so there is no "dropping the sail" it must be furled in. The furling didn't quite wrap tightly and we ended up having the sail rip back out slightly as the winds were now over 20 knots and the seas were hitting 9-10 feet. This was not good. We turned towards to shore hoping for a safe harbor in Perkins Cove, Ogunquit, Maine. Fear began to take over on the boat at this point. Waves were 10 feet, the boat was heeling at 60 degrees and as you sat on the high side you could look down from the crest of a wave at least 15 feet to the trough of the oncoming wave. Still, our boat rallied through, never letting her bow get buried or being tossed broadside to waves. She was simply amazing in those seas and winds. Her heavy displacement, lead keel and incredible build proved to us that she is capable of handling most anything Mother Ocean throws her way. 

Words cannot describe the calm and control that the helmsman, Cousin Chris, exhibited that afternoon. Among the huge waves and winds and whipping main sail Chris piloted the boat with a smile on his face and a demeanor that calmed the crew. As we approached Cape Neddick, York, Maine we received a cell phone call from Tim's parents who'd been following our trek south in their car. They'd run into a local sailor, Peter Hughes, who warned us not to anchor in Cape Neddick. In the waves and wind we'd end up dragging anchor right into the seawall. He urged us to continue on just a little further south to York Harbor. The thought of spending even another 5 minutes in the seas and wind was not something we'd wanted to do but we turned back out, rounded Nubble Point Lighthouse which had at least 75 onlookers who'd come down to watch the giant waves and made for the red nun marking the entrance to York Harbor. Tim's parents said the gasps and the "what are they doing out in these seas" cries from the onlookers at the lighthouse riddled them with fear as they watched our boat disappear behind 10 foot troughs of the waves. Peter Hughes assured them that we were OK and though we were getting tossed around a lot we were going to make it to safe harbor. I'm glad we didn't have to hear the gasps of fear, we had enough fear on board amongst ourselves. 

Chris masterfully guided us into the York River and up the channel and within 2 minutes and a few hundred yards it was dead calm. We truly understood the meaning of "safe harbor". We tied up to the fuel dock at York Harbor Marine and thanked God, Poseidon, Buddha, St. Brendan, the patron saint of Mariners, karma and whatever else we could think of for delivering us to safety. We especially thanked our boat, Zephyr. She was as strong as we could have ever imagined. Her issues with the sail and shroud were user error and a result of deferred maintenance, not something wrong with her. She took those waves and wind and carried us over and through it without once showing any sign of being overpowered. Mr. Perkins, her engine, exhausted himself to give us enough speed to plow over the waves rather than be crashed into by them. Our trust in Zephyr grew exponentially that day. 

Peter Hughes (thank you to the spirits above for connecting him to us that day) spent an hour helping us untangle the mess that had become the main sail. There are a few holes that were ripped, not bad considering that sail flapped in 35-45 knot winds. We'd expected there'd be strips of fabric left. Sailors say that every patch in a sail is a story. We certainly have a good story for the couple of patches we'll have to get. We cracked open the best tasting beers we've ever had, I cooked up homemade jambalaya and as a crew we relived the afternoon, the fear, the exhilaration, the craziness. We commended eachother and thanked God and those we love in heaven who watched over us that afternoon for keeping us safe despite our poor judgment in going out that day. We learned a lot! Small craft advisories = do not go out. Consistently increasing winds + waves = turn back. There are no safe harbors for our size boat between Kennebunkport and York. When there is forecasted waves from an offshore Hurricane = don't go out. CHECK EVERYTHING IN YOUR RIGGING BEFORE HEADING OUT!

Capt. Tim taking her home on Sunday

The next day was drastically different. Calm seas, light breeze and a short 1 1/2 hour sail south to our new home port at the Wentworth. We were so much more appreciative of the weather because of what we'd been through the day before. A harbor seal greeted as we approached the entrance to New Castle and monarch butterflies flew next to us as we turned towards home - It was a perfect moment. We were greeted by our families and friends who were cheers'ing and clapping as Tim came into the slip. We disembarked, hair matted, eyes dry, muscles sore from being so tense for so long the day before. We were different, we felt stronger and also so humbled by what we'd come through. We'd learned the inconsistent and powerful nature of Mother Ocean and the steadfast strength of our boat. We'd also learned a lot about ourselves, we'd cheated disaster, we'd rallied through with many surface bruises from being tossed around on deck but with a strength and trust in ourselves that can only be achieved when you conquer something like we did. 

Coming into Little Harbor on Sunday

 So now we have some fixing to do to our girl - sails to be patched, shrouds to be secured... but it feels like an honor to be able to fix this boat that did so much for us on Saturday. She got us home safe and now it's our duty to be sure she is at her best before we ever challenge her like that again. 

"Confronting a storm is like fighting God. All the powers in the universe seem to be against you and, in an extraordinary way, your irrelevance is at the same time both humbling and exalting."

- Franciose LeGrande