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April, 2011:

Our Favorite Island

Apr 19th, 2011
by Sara.
1 comment

Holly has declared that Hope Island is her favorite island. Of course, just this morning she grabbed the stool the girls use to reach the head sink and declared “this is my favorite stool” so I think that she may be using the term generously. Nevertheless Hope Island really is our favorite south Puget Sound island destination. The entire island, over 100 acres, is a State Park accessible only by boat. There are mooring buoys on the west and south sides but the anchorage is so easy that we prefer to drop our hook. If you anchor on the NE side, between Hope and Squaxin Island, both shores surrounding you are devoid of any buildings or evidence of human existence; it feels like a glorious British Columbia anchorage much farther north. (Watch out though for the current here; it runs swiftly. Set your hook well.)

Breakfast on Saturday was a dutch baby smothered in maple syrup, which warmed our bellies and the aft cabin from baking in the toasty oven. We piled in our dinghy for a trip ashore. We’d barely set foot on the sand and the girls were already captivated by the tide line ripe with sea stars, hermit crabs, sea urchins and all sorts of interesting rocks and shells. Our pockets quickly filled and we coaxed the girls into the trees for a hike around the island. An easy 2-mile long trail circles Hope Island and we set off into the brilliantly spring green woods. As usual, we saw no other humans on our trek; even in the height of summer the island is never crowded and we were all alone exploring our very own island wonderland on this visit. We eat our snack by the caretaker’s cabin which is set upon the island’s original homestead, near the perpetually empty campground. Continuing on the loop path, Leah says hello to our old friends Face Tree and Onion Tree. Our trail meanders through towering douglas fir and cedars; it looks like it was mowed by fairies through bright green moss. We arrive back to the beach where our dinghy awaits and another Hope Island circumnavigation via foot is complete. We return to Wondertime for a late lunch and spend the rest of the day lounging around our true island home.

After a long night’s sleep on moonlit millpond waters, Sunday morning arrives. We are always a little sad on our last day of a weekend getaway but we are determined to enjoy the day before thinking too much about the return sail back to our marina and another work week. The sun is actually shining in a brilliant blue sky. It is glorious. Another hearty breakfast and we are off to the beach again. Michael and I watch as the girls run around the beach gleefully, throwing rocks in the water, climbing on logs, finding raccoon prints, turning over rocks to watch crabs scamper around. We draw out the easy morning as long as we can.

We eat our picnic lunch on the beach, then return back to the boat to put Holly in her bunk for her afternoon nap. Exhausted from her beach adventures she falls fast asleep.  We tidy up below then Michael begins cranking in our anchor chain. With a light north wind blowing it’s the perfect chance to unfurl the genoa and start sailing home. So I do and Wondertime is on her way. The wind is perfect all the way back to Olympia, we zoom down Budd Inlet with 15 knots pushing us the whole way. It’s bittersweet though, the returning to port, when it doesn’t really feel like home anymore. Home is where the heart is and our hearts are definitely “out there” already.

(Hover over photos for a description, click for full-size.)

Anchor Down, Hope Island

Apr 16th, 2011
by Sara.
5 comments

When we woke up this morning, I knew at once we were swinging on our anchor. I knew this because the sun was shining and a square of it swung across the cabin top above our bunk in a graceful arc. At anchor feels nothing like being tied to a static dock. Here, the boat dances always, even if just tiny little steps at a time. Her bow bobs gently up and down in the wind waves, she swings slowly one way, then the other, gliding with the currents. Out here, there is always, always motion.

We spent the better part of the past week putting Wondertime back together: re-stitched headsails on, rigging tightened and tuned, cotter pins in, toys put away below. We cleared the cockpit of the piles of clutter that had gathered the past seven months we’ve been tied to the steadily unmoving dock. The forecast this weekend is for temperatures in the low 50s, light winds, partially sunny and only a few rain showers. It’s the best weather we’ve had since October: time to sail.

Yesterday, Friday, we loaded groceries onboard, took down our Shade(rain) Tree cockpit cover, tied the dinghy to the stern, piled sail covers in the shower, started the diesel and — the most difficult part of any trip — tossed the docklines aboard. We reversed out of our slip and found ourselves doing what had seemed impossible with the boat is such disarray just last week: floating free. Out in the inlet, once clear of the shoals, we hoisted our new Lee main and mizzen sails for the first time. We only had about 5 knots of wind ruffling down from the north but with only the mainsail up, Wondertime heeled a bit and was already sailing.

Engine off, we glide along under low clouds and fog. We are sailing at 2.5 knots through heavy mist; soon the water builds up on the sails and booms and it is not long before it feels like a full-on rain to us. It does not matter though: it feels so good to be moving towards our destination with free wind. We huddle under our dodger, coming out only to tack a few times. Holly naps cozily below and Leah and Xena are snug in their cockpit nest of pillows and blankets. I escape below to boil water for hot cocoa.

Three hours later we are just south of Boston Harbor, 4 miles as the crow flies from Olympia. We are soaked and cold and hungry but are giddy with having made our way under sail. The sails are rolled in and flaked and we make our last mile under power to Hope Island. As we come upon our favorite beach, Michael readies the shiny new Rocna anchor at the bow. I slow the boat, neutral, then reverse and he drops our virgin anchor into the murky green sea. We slowly drift backward and the Rocna grabs immediately (and immediately we are in love; we are used to dragging backward for meters before our CQRs finally set).

We tidy up on deck, put out our cockpit anchor light, then go below for our regularly scheduled Friday pizza and movie. Afterwards, we tuck the girls into their beds and talk about our plans to hike and explore our favorite island the next day; despite their reverberating excitement they fall asleep the second we turn out the light. At home, at Hope Island.

My invisible crewmember

Apr 11th, 2011
by Sara.
1 comment

Can't lose this medical ID overboard

I wrote a guest post recently for Six Until Me and am totally honored that it was posted today. Kerri began her SUM blog over 5 years ago, writing about her life with type 1 diabetes which she was diagnosed with at six years old. Her blog is now the most widely read T1 blog ever, filled with years of laughs, tears, frustration and (yes) joy of blood sugars, insulin pumps, highs, lows, and giving birth to and being a mom to her first daughter. I have been able to relate to each and every word she has written as I too have been living with type 1 diabetes for nearly 25 years.

It’s not something I’ve written about on our little blog here, until now. Maybe it’s because I was diagnosed at 11 and I still have uncomfortable twinges of feeling “different” that haunted me those early years with diabetes as a teenager and tend to want to keep all this stuff to myself, hidden. But it’s such a big part of my life, maybe even the biggest reason why I choose to live this crazy life on the sea. I need to share these stories too.

Head over to Six Until Me to read about my invisible crewmember, now visible.

(And if you arrived here from SUM, welcome! I truly hope you enjoy our stories about our family’s life on the sea.)

The Ship’s Cat

Apr 7th, 2011
by Sara.
6 comments

Over 12 years ago, Michael and I were spending a Saturday morning browsing the cat department of the Seattle Animal Shelter (always a dangerous thing to do) when this small, brown and white tabby striped kitten reached her little snowy paw out of her cage, hooked Michael’s arm with her delicate claws, looked up at him and mewed.

We named our new cat Xena and she settled into our small Fremont apartment rather well, joining our other cat Precious (who was not entirely thrilled about the new family member but soon grew fond of her anyway). Our small warrior cat proved to be quite the adventurer: we would find her clinging to the tops of doors on a regular basis and she could leap nearly five feet into the air to catch a toy birdie.

So when a few months later we moved aboard our first boat, Jenny P, Xena was in cat heaven. She took to boat life right away, loving all the fresh sea air, bird watching, cozy spots to snuggle into and nap, soaking up the rays of sun on deck, and plenty of leaping and climbing. Sure, we’ve lost her a few times (like when she ran off the night before we left for Alaska and we finally found her the next morning three docks away) and she’s gone overboard too many times to count. I’m pretty sure Xena is living her current life on credit but she’s still here with us, now aboard Wondertime and no doubt looking forward to adding more stamps to her passport.

On the other hand, we have not been so sure. Having a cat on board, and a geriatric insanely talkative one at that, is a lot more work than, well, not. You throw in two small children and you pretty much have the potential for mind-reeling chaos at any moment. There is cat litter, food, shots, vet visits to deal with. Hairballs. Yowling. There is being awakened at 5 am by a whirling snarling hissing sound up on deck, which is what happens when the neighbor cat down the dock tries to sneak aboard and Xena finds out. When we are sailing, Xena insists, without fail, that she be sitting upon a human’s lap. She is growing more and more nervous in her old age, taking to pacing the boat, yoooooowling. My pillow is her favorite place to sleep but it’s also her favorite place to clean her butt. She has invented this game which she must call Travel Around the Boat Without Stepping Upon the Floor (basically leaping from table to counter top to stairs and back again) but she is just not as agile as she once was and there are claw marks everywhere where she has tried to save herself from, gasp, touching the floor.

Besides the day to day annoyances of having a boat cat, there is also the question of what we’ll do with her when we want to travel inland in Mexico and elsewhere. It would sure be nice to not have to worry about procuring a catsitter. If she is still around when we sail to New Zealand, we are just not convinced it’s worth paying the thousands of dollars it currently costs to import a foreign cat — and likely a 15 year-old one — onto Kiwi soil.

A month or so ago we made the final decision, after hemming and hawing for months, that this time we’d be sailing cat-free. We had started talking with some friends and family members and had a couple possibilities for a nice quiet place for Xena to stay to live out her senior years. It really was the sanest, best decision.

Then just a few days ago, the girls and I were walking down the dock back to the boat after an outing. Xena came running out to meet us and started rolling at our feet on the dock in greeting. Holly leaned down to give her a hug, and in her adorable 2-1/2 year-old voice said: “I love you Xena!”

My heart darn near burst.

Well, that’s it then. We are suckers for our furry friends as always and as inconvenient as having feline crew is, Xena is part of our family and our girls simply adore her and Xena adores them. We can’t imagine not having her along. She’d be pretty upset if she found out we were heading for the sun, anyway. Mexico was always her favorite country.