Stillness, sting rays and canned peas

I could count the hours until this is over. In fact that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for days. Within 24 hours we will be in international waters, leaving the Bahamas behind for the hurricane season, heading for Ft Pierce and destinations further north.

It could be said we’ve taken 6 months of Bahamian island hopping bliss for granted and now it’s all about to disappear behind us in a blue haze…

But that’s not true. The truth is that I pinch myself (well not literally) all the time. The things we see, feel, and are surrounded by are simply amazing. It does not go unnoticed or unappreciated.

Yesterday the sky and the sea merged. They came together, enveloping us in an endless loop of blue. And I had to catch my breath. No buildings, no boats, no ripple on the water. Just us and blue heaven. Even the air was sucked away.

It was an eery calm that inspired deep thought. Thoughts about what we do with all the moments of our lives. Existential thoughts. And then peace. Hot, sweaty peace. Didn’t even crave a rum cocktail ;)

It was 36C in our saloon and our tiny cabin fans spewed out hot still air that landed on us and blanketed us with sweat.

We had just circled Sandy Cay in the dinghy – our home island for the last few days. 

We hopped in the 35C water to cool off. LOL. And then we had visitors. Wild sting rays who swoop gracefully between our slippery bodies, hoping for an offering. 

It’s been 6 months – this year alone – in the Bahamas, and I still cannot be calm when they come around. By now I should be petting them or at least taking them for granted. But no – if you want to see fast movement, watch me as two 6 foot wide stingrays make a beeline through the still water at me. Holli lounging in the deep water becomes giant splash-kick-splash and voila! Holli safely up in the dinghy.

These are the challenges I face. For now.

Hard to fathom that in 2 days my challenges will include traffic and homeland security bureaucracy and too many food choices!

Right now we are on an ‘inventory reduction diet’. The freezer is empty and there hasn’t been a vegetable onboard for 2 weeks. We had stopped in the island/town of Grand Cay (population somewhere between 200 and 300), in hopes of finding a cabbage or a tomato to sustain us through our last week. But no. It was a couple cans of soggy-sodium laden pseudo-veggies. The trade offs of life in paradise. Scurvy. Call us pirates.

So after a supper of ramen and canned mush we looked out at the utter stillness. And as the sun set, somewhere beyond all the calm, a pink sky developed. Took the place of the blue, and it reflected on the water and once again we were enveloped in something so natural yet so ‘otherworldly’. 

How can we leave this all behind and surround ourselves with honking car horns and pollution and shopping malls and fast food joints with their garish coloured road signs, screaming adverts at us constantly?

It’s a sailor’s dilemma. We need the things from shore. We need towns and stores. But out here, there is another world all together. A world everyone should experience.

Forget the mosquitos, no-see-ums, rolling anchorages, lightning squalls, dumb founding heat, cramped quarters, moldy cabins, culinary sparseness… forget all that because tonight, our little mattresses and pillows dragged up front, as we lie out under the stars and slowly drift off to sleep with meteor showers above us, nothing else exists.

Serena down - the reality of the ocean's power hits home

Just when my irrational sailing fears are subsiding and I am looking forward to each sail, the reality of the dangers come crashing into my face, in front of my face to be precise. There I was, innocently sipping a Diet Coke, surfing in some wifi zone, my face illuminated by my computer screen, when JW pointed out an article he’d found on noonsite. The 38’ sailing vessel Serena had been abandoned at sea off the coast of Spain….

It struck me with a sinking feeling in the stomach, that we know that boat, in fact the crew of Serena are good friends we’d last heard from when they set sail across the Atlantic, headed for Europe a couple months ago….

“Oh my god! Are they ok?!”

I read the article with quick breaths, looking for the key words, and found them – ‘rescued’, ‘safe’…. Sigh of relief. But they had suffered through a gargantuan storm and they had lost their boat, having been lifted into a helicopter and watching their home and precious vessel dwindling into the distance among the crashing waves below as they flew away….

It’s been on my mind for days. They were/are the sweetest people! They had already done an ocean crossing. They were so friendly and calm and knowledgeable. How could this happen to them?! To someone we know!

And the truth just sits there, like a quickly eaten warm donut in your belly. It is doughy and makes you uneasy as it’s hard to digest.

The truth is that this can happen to ANYONE on a boat. No matter how nice or what an expert you might be, a storm can strike and your lives can be in danger. Your life can change in an instant. And if you are lucky, your experience and all your preventative gadgets will be applicable, accessible - to help make the difference between life and death.

Luckily for Hentii and Arja, they were able to access their EPIRB, and help came. But it took the rescue team 8 hours. That is 480 minutes in 20 meter (60 ft) waves, clinging to the remnants of their boat, smashing, crashing, water washing away their dreams…. Terror unimaginable previously. But they survived.

They are not the only tragic story we have heard lately either. But they hold a special place in my heart, and so it was this story that hit me so hard.

Serena's salon table - set for supper

 As clear as if it were yesterday, I remember coming down into Serena’s warm homey salon. Arja had decorated and filled the boat with the cutest European charm, and the whole boat was filled with the aroma of her home-cooked creamy mushroom soup. And though the swell rocked us through supper, we laughed and ate and drank, and afterwards Hentii set up his microphone and amp and serenaded us and the nearby boats with his amazing Elvis renditions. It was a lovely evening. It’s unlikely I’d ever forget it.

Great food and great friends - supper on Serena

Elvis is in the house!

And as I sit here now, imagining Arja and Hentii in the aftermath of their disaster, soaked and possessionless, without passports or dry clothes, I wish we’d been there to lend a hand. And a hug. And just to let them know how brave and great they are.

And deep down my hug would mean even more. That it’s such a wonderful miracle they survived, and how they are an inspiration above the fear that their ordeal has generated.

It’s humbling more than anything else. We play and frolic in these waves, we call the ocean home. But we are truly small and powerless in the face of the unpredictable giant.

It’s easy to forget, when I peer over the edge of the boat into the clear turquoise that invites me to jump in and cool off.

But it’s a relationship of respect, admiration and forgiveness it seems.

I wrote to Arja this week and she explained that they are now living in a tiny apartment, fighting with the insurance companies, trying to find jobs. She is blogging... The search continues for Serena, which may be floating or beached somewhere along the coast of Portugal...

What could be the fate of Serena...

 But in their heart of hearts, the sailing dream is still alive. And one day, they will be out here again. Sailing the ocean blue.

Blue Eyes

There is something exciting and intriguing about meeting a young rebellious couple with adventure in their eyes and a definite wild side, who are sailing on a tiny hobie cat vessel, made from other people’s trash… hopping from place to place, without a care in the world like the Dick Brano duo.

There is something entirely different about meeting a couple close to the standard retirement age, who have quit their jobs, taken a few sailing courses, bought a sailing boat not much bigger than a dingy, and have sailed it 5 times across the ocean.

Little Blue Eyes is the tiniest sailboat out on the right side

 We were invited for ‘sundowners’ on a miniscule German boat called ‘Blue Eyes’ last night. All day, as we moved along the promenade of St Pierre, from laundromat to town square, to the mini market and back, I peered over at it, anchored in the bay.

We’d met the friendly couple who are both quite tall and didn’t seem extremists in any way, and I just couldn’t imagine how they lived on such a tiny vessel. At the time I didn’t even know about the 5 ocean crossings, but I was already confused and amazed. I couldn’t wait to get onboard for a ’tour’, or more like a lesson in how to stuff two live, moving bodies into a large coffin with sails. Not to mention where they could host 4 of us, making it cocktails for 6!

We arrived in one of the many small rain squalls to mark the evening. Dinghys tied on, we climbed into the cockpit. With 6 of us it was a tight squeeze, all knees touching, appetizers held in laps. Our host sat on his upturned liferaft while his wife sat on the entrance to the inner cabin. Rain whipped the tiny white tarp around us and trickled down our backs. But we laughed and sipped T-punch (straight rum, brown sugar and fresh lime).

We were offered the ‘house tour’ which consisted of peering inside, which held a tapering berth, and about 2 feet of floor room surrounded by small storage compartments, and lots of things which couldn’t find a place to go. I didn’t see a sink or a stove, so the conversation began, about how the basics of living were handled.

‘Blue Eyes’ has no sink, no shower, no toilet, no oven apart from a portable camping stove and drinking water is manually pumped at about 1 litre per 350 pumps. There is no fridge either. Yet it has been across the ocean many times.

Amazing.

We inquired about what foods made it across on the 30 to 45 day journeys they’ve done, and discovered that plain yogurt, butter and cheese all survive perfectly. Apparently a few tomatoes made it over 20 days as well! Canned tuna and veggies were of course staples, but through the whole lesson I just kept imagining trying to piece a meal together of any description in that space, or rather lack of it.

They mentioned that they didn’t eat much of their rations this time, as their last crossing was rough. Every day little Blue Eyes was thrown about, hour after hour.

There is no space to walk, no room to turn around or stretch or have ‘alone time’. No privacy as the toilet set up is a simple ‘bucket and chuck it’. Not glamorous. For me, not quite fathomable.

A week before we had visited another boat, this time a 44 ft  Lagoon catamaran, like ours, but that crucial few feet longer, which creates masses more living space. We came home to Shiloh with boat envy.

After our visit on Blue Eyes I laughed. With them for the sheer tenacity.  At us, for being silly the week before. Everything is relative. Shiloh is a mansion on the sea.

My captain onboard Blue Eyes, marvelling at the tiny circumference of the mast

What it really comes down to is what you are looking for. What you are trying to prove or escape, or what you really value. Living on a vessel that small proves that we don't need a 100th of what we think we do, not really. Happiness is not in belongings. 

And fears? Well if a boat this small can conquer the ocean many times, then most of us harbour silly fears.

If your boat gets you where you want to go, and if it is a home to you along the way, then it is good. Then you are on the right track. Happiness is in the journey. If your journey lacks a toilet and you are happy with that, then I say not only follow that dream, LIVE IT. 

What an inspiration!

The crew of Blue Eyes with us on a hike (on the left) - awesome, happy people.