“Buddy-boating,” or making plans to travel together, is a common practice among sailing cruisers. On a grand scale, rallies like the Salty Dog, in which dozens of boats leave from Hampton Virginia at the same time each fall bound for the Virgin Islands, are a kind of buddy boating en masse. And on the other end of the spectrum, every year in Marathon, the white board in the boater’s lounge fills up with people looking for someone with whom to cross the Gulf Stream.

There is a myth, I think, with buddy-boating, that there is strength in numbers. While that may be true in bad neighborhoods like the Northeastern coast of Africa, I’m not sure it works on ocean passages, where circumstances that endanger one boat likely endanger another boat that tries to come to the rescue. At best, traveling together offers companionship and someone with whom to celebrate upon arrival. Once reaching the cruising grounds, however, buddy-boating takes on a whole new look. Now a few boats band together and hop islands, chatting on the radio about pot-luck dinner dates and beach days, group-snorkels, and game nights. This is common practice among kid-boats, for obvious reasons. Frequently, the desire to congregate dictates the cruising schedule, and departure decisions are as affected by who’s-going-where as by the weather.

Being free-thinkers and having a large social group of our own (self-sufficient in all things!), we have often avoided this type of groupthink, fearing that we would lose our precious independence or be caught in bad weather by herding from one island to another. At the same time, we are not anti-social, and we love to get together with other boaters, so we frequently find ourselves accidentally travelling with other boats, and surreptitiously hoping to see so-and-so at the next anchorage. I think that has changed in the Virgin Islands.

We are a bit late in the season for a Florida-to-Caribbean run, so we find ourselves more alone than usual. The large group of southward boats we met in George Town seems to have spread out considerably, some stopping in the Dominical Republic for the hurricane season to finish the transit next fall/winter. Others are far ahead of us, well on their way to Grenada, and still others behind us in Puerto Rico. What we find in the cruising grounds here are charter boats—lots of them. With a 7-10 day itinerary, they are on the move, staying one night in each lovely spot before moving on. And so we find ourselves on the slow track with but one other boat: s/v Abby Singer.

We met Andrew and Summer and their two girls in the Exuma Land and Sea Park in mid-March, and met up with them again around Easter in Black Point, and left George Town on the same day in April. We arrived in St. Thomas the same day in May and have been hanging out off and on since then. They are a delightful family, and we have enjoyed getting to know them. Paige (13) and Sky (10) fit right in with our crew, playing games, doing art projects, jumping off the high dive, and playing music. (They even have dedicated cups that sit in the lineup with the other color-coded kid-cups.) The grown-ups sit in the cockpit and talk boat projects, philosophy, drink recipes, and provisioning. We have dinners together, go snorkeling, play cards, watch movies, go to the beach, and plan excursions. In short, we who have eschewed the practice in the past, are buddy-boating. However, because both Jay and Andrew remain fiercely independent in their decision-making and weather-planning, we frequently leave anchorages on different days, parting ways and rejoining elsewhere, allowing all of us to keep our individuality but also enjoy fun times with friends.

Over the course of our family’s snorkeling career, we have dived on the wrecks of several planes and ships. The most recent of these is the wreck of the RMS Rhone. The Royal Mail Ship Rhone sank off of Salt Island, BVI, in 1868 during a hurricane. Another mail ship, the Conway, also sank in Drake Chanel in the same hurricane.

As it sank, the metal steamship broke into two sections. The bow section fell in 80 feet of water, and is largely intact. The stern section sank closer to shore, in 25 to 70 feet of water, and broke into even more chunks. The largest piece, the very rear of the ship, is in 30 to 45 feet. Clearly visible in the wreckage is the gear box, drive shaft, rudder, and huge bronze propeller.

We were anchored nearby, and decided to check it out. We dinghied out to the wreck, laden with snorkel gear, and tied up at one of the numerous moorings over the area. We were joined by some friends on Abby Singer, who also wanted to see the wreck. We swam towards the buoy, looking for the debris of the sunken ship. We found nothing but rocks and a school of squid. It wasn’t until an enterprising young diver (me) decided to search in the other direction, did we find the stern chunk.

I made several dives over the main section, looking for the captain’s silver tea spoon, which was, according to our diving guide, resting on the gearbox. Unfortunately, I never found it, but I did find a large number of colorful corals and reef fish. I swam on to view other pieces of the wreckage, including the ship’s disco (with checkered tile floor intact), and the engine. The side of the engine was laid bare, revealing the barnacle-encrusted crankshaft and pistons as large as myself. It was weird to imagine that these rusted and overgrown pieces of machinery once operated smoothly.

The coolest thing though, was the prop cavity. Twenty feet deep, the area where the broken propeller used to spin left a cave that led under the hull and out the other side. The inside was coated in a dense layer of multi-colored sponges. There were also large schools of little brown fish with forked tails and bulging eyes, and five or six grouper.

I swam down and inspected it, weighing my odds of success if I went through. It wasn’t that far to the other side, only 15 feet or so, an easy distance (for me). But what if I can’t hold my breath long enough… Nah, I’ll be fine. I swam in. It was weird, the minute I went underneath the hull, the urge to breathe lessened, allowing me to leisurely swim through the prop cavity and up to the surface. I made several such dives. I don’t know why it’s so fun to swim under things, but I sure get a kick out of it!

The next day, Andrew on Abby Singer and I went back to the wreck, him because he wanted to get video footage of the ship, and me because I always want to go snorkeling. I swam through the tunnel a few times, and once again searched in vain for the Mystic Spoon. This second trip to the wreck no-doubt contributed to my advanced condition of TMF (Too Much Fun), but it was so worth it. The Rhone was even better the second time! Visiting it was one of the coolest snorkeling trips ever.

We anchored in Pond Bay in Virgin Gorda. Fortunately, it had nice beaches. Unfortunately, there were nudists on the beach in front of us. Fortunately, there were two beaches. Unfortunately, we had to dinghy past the nudists on the way to the other beach. Fortunately, they were behind a bush. Unfortunately, the bush was small. Fortunately they were far away, and fortunately I had a great time at the beach. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), we didn’t take any pictures that day.

We spent Christmas Eve 2014 with our friends Kimberly, Michael, and Ally on their 34’ Gemini catamaran Ally Cat. This was special for two reasons: one, a family of seven almost never gets invited onto someone else’s boat for a meal, and two, these are good friends we met at the Capital Yacht Club in Washington DC that September, and we didn’t know when we would see them again. They were on their way to the Caribbean, and for the couple of weeks they were with us in Florida, it was wonderful.

With the crew of Ally Cat, we had traipsed all over Washington DC on field trips to museums and memorials. We set out every morning, walking down L’Enfant Plaza with our combined six, singing like the Von Trapps on an excursion. Ally is a bright girl who loves to play games, make music, and do art projects—a perfect companion for Sarah. Together, they colored mandalas, played jacks and mancala and backgammon and cards by the hour, and played music together and laughed and talked.

At Christmastime, Ally blended in seamlessly with our family as her parents provisioned, cleaned, and repaired their boat for the trip across the Gulf Stream and into the Caribbean.  We baked and frosted cookies and made Christmas decorations and sang carols. We did a girls’ outing to see the Nutcracker. And on Christmas Eve, we all crowded onto their boat for bowls of steaming tortilla soup and homemade cornbread. A few days later, they were gone, and little pieces of our hearts with them.

Some friends we meet at the beginning of their journey, others we meet at the end, on their way back to a land-life. Occasionally, we get to travel for a while with another family and become especially close. We treasure them all and what they have added to our cruising life. It was bittersweet when Ally Cat set off—we were happy to see them sail toward a distant horizon, and sad that we were staying behind to re-rig Take Two instead of cruising together.

One can imagine my delight as we watched the tracks on our Inreach devices slowly converging in the Bahamas this spring. I couldn’t wait to hear about Ally Cat’s cruising experiences, and Kimberly and Michael were looking forward to some fun in the Bahamas with old friends. The tracks finally crossed the first week of April. We had caught a Mahi on the way to George Town, and we shared fish tacos that night aboard Take Two and got caught up. While we were there, we had a beach day near Chat n’ Chill, letting the kids swing through the trees while the grown-ups chatted in the shade.

We did a mom’s day out provisioning in George Town, with four boat moms and all their groceries aboard Take Two’s 13-foot inflatable!

Rachel got her “date” with Kimberly aboard Ally Cat while Sarah had girl time of her own with friends and the boys and their friends hiked up Monument Hill. We shared a beach fire (and s’mores) with Ally Cat and Abby Singer, sang and played ukulele together at the St. Francis resort cruiser’s music night, and spent a day taking copious notes on their trip through the Caribbean.

And now, we have come full circle. I sat with Kimberly and gave her my notes and cruising guides for the Bahamas before their trip, and she has returned the favor. We find ourselves visiting beautiful places I had read about on Ally Cat’s blog, using notes I took from Kimberly’s trip to find good spots to anchor or kayak, and generally taking a little piece of our friends with us on our trip. This is what is best and worst about our transient way of life: time with friends is often short, but there’s always the promise of meeting up in beautiful places somewhere down the path.

We have finally left Palmas del Mar marina in Puerto Rico, where we had been staying for the last three weeks. We took the first weather window after ten days of rain and squalls to motor to Vieques in the nearby Spanish Virgin Islands. The passage was rough, but fortunately short, only a few hours long. We dropped anchor in a creek leading to Puerto Mosquito, also called Bio Bay (so called because it is supposedly the bioluminescent capital of the world).

We waited until the night was sufficiently black, and then kayaked down the creek into the bay. Even in the creek, our paddle strokes created small swirls of light. Pretty good by our standards, but that was nothing, nothing, compared to what we found inside the bay. It was like we had crossed a magic line. The minute we entered the bay, the bioluminescence was multiplied a million-fold. The slightest motion evinced huge scintillating clouds of green light. It was most excellent.

I was dared by a certain reader to do two things: to jump into La Mina falls in El Yunque rain forest (man, that water was cold), and to swim in Bio Bay. We have now done both. Needless to say, I was the first one in the water. Despite what I expected, it was not creepy to slide into the pitch black water, but exhilarating. Each movement turned the water around me into green fire.

During the day, Puerto Mosquito is calm, shallow, and very murky. In other words, it’s your typical mangrove bay. The bay provides sanctuary for a number of species, such as pelicans, snook, mullet, mangrove cuckoo, herons, and rays. But by far the most well-known inhabitant of Bio Bay is Pyrodinium bahamense. It is a unicellular plankton with two whip-like tails, called flagella, that aid in movement. When agitated, this tiny life form emits a bright green flash of light, creating the glow in the water known as bioluminescence.

We have noticed bioluminescence in our wake before, but never in this volume. The reason for this concentration of glowing dinoflagellates results from several factors, which have conspired to create the perfect environment. Such factors include salinity, water depth and temperature, solar radiation, and slow circulation. The underwater fireflies have taken advantage of these perfect conditions, and multiplied. There are over 600,000 organisms in just one gallon of water.

After swimming for almost an hour, we got back in the kayaks, and paddled slowly home, some of the bioluminescence still clinging to our skin. It was one of the coolest experiences we have had on this trip, and certainly was the best night swim ever!

I knew I was going to like Puerto Rico. We had vicariously followed our friends on Jalapeño a couple of years ago and drooled over their Puerto Rico pictures from a thousand miles away. And I knew there was a Costco on the island, where I could replenish depleted stores and stock up for further travels (and redeem my cash-back certificate). Plus rain forest hikes, waterfalls, beaches, caves, and good fishing. But when I saw that mountainous island rising out of the sea—I knew why they called it La Isla del Incanto! It is indeed enchanting. It has all the conveniences of home—shopping, US post offices, cell service, and fast internet—and all the charm of an Old-world Spanish colony.

I am amused by the mixture of two cultures all around me—the distances on road signs are listed in kilometros, but the velocidad maxima is in miles-per-hour. They have Walmart, McDonalds, and Office Max, but if you go into one of these stores, be prepared to see only signs in Spanish. Burger King is La Casa Del Whopper. The Costco was as I expected—mostly familiar items, but also local fare, like plantains, Puerto Rican coffee beans and, of course, rum. The people are warm and friendly and completely bilingual. It’s a perfect place to practice your Spanish, but if you find yourself out of your depth, you can switch to English and be understood. And in Old San Juan you will find five centuries’ worth of history packed into a square mile, accessible by foot or by U.S. National Parks’ free tram. You can enjoy a meal of Puerto Rican specialties (like empanadillas or mofongo con churrasco) or go next door to a Wendy’s for a familiar square hamburger.

My favorite parts of our weeklong-stay at Palmas del Mar Yacht Club in Humacao (East coast of P.R.) were our forays into the interior by rental car. My mother-in-law, Mary, had flown in from Florida to spend some time with our family. Together we hiked in El Yunque National Forest and swam in the pools of La Mina River waterfalls, toured the caverns and sinkhole of El Rio Camuy Cave Park, and drove through the Cordillera Central with its zig-zagging mountain roads and breathtaking views. Mary and I went to Casa Bacardí for an informative tour and spent some time watching Rachel swim in the beautiful pool at the yacht club, with views of the Caribbean Sea and Vieques (Spanish Virgin Islands) in the background.

Puerto Rico has met and even exceeded my expectations that it would be like a piece of the United States in the Caribbean. Cool breezes, tropical foliage, rich history, and friendly people combined with easy access to life’s necessities and comforts make Puerto Rico live up to its name, and it will likely be a place we visit again.

On our last evening in Elizabeth Harbor, there was a music jam at the St. Francis resort on Stocking Island. The atmosphere was relaxed, the music an eclectic mix provided by cruising musicians, and the crowd encouraging. I have never let lack of talent stop me where enthusiasm can compensate, and this was no exception. After a gin-and-tonic and a kick in the seat by Kimberly from Ally Cat and Julie from High 5 (who offered to accompany me and lend moral support), I played my ukulele and sang in public. I played a parody I wrote on our last passage (Rudder Cay to George Town), using America’s I’ve Been through the Desert on a Horse with No Name. I may never be as popular as Al Yankovic, but the crowd seemed to like it and even sang along on the la-la-las. Afterward, Eli and Aaron brought the house down with their face-melting rendition of Black Sabbath’s Iron Man. They have real talent on bass and guitar, respectively, and it makes a mom proud to see them play in public for the first time.

For those who would like to try it out, my parody can be played using only two ukulele chords, E minor and D6.

I’ve Been on the Ocean on a Boat with Five Kids

FIRST VERSE:
On the first part of the voyage
I was looking at all the life
There were fish and birds and waves and things
There was wind and sea and sky
The first thing I did was to say a prayer
For a journey safe and sound
The kids were hot and the water was cold
But the sails were full of wind

CHORUS:
I’ve been on the ocean on a boat with five kids
And I’ll never be quite the same
On the ocean, you should try not to complain
I just hope I don’t go insane
La La La La La La La La La La La La La
La La La La La La La La La La La La La

SECOND VERSE:
At first things went along swimmingly
We read our books, kindles, and magazines
We ate olives, crackers, and snack-y things
We played music, movies, and video games
But a few of the kids were turning green
And the clouds began to rain
It was the first day of our passage
And the crew began to complain

BRIDGE:
After two days on the ocean, we started to get bored
After three days of the motion, we just wanted to go ashore
And the thoughts of land and villages made us dream of an ice-cream store

CHORUS

THIRD VERSE:
After a week at sea, I let the kids run free,
‘Cause I’d started to lose my mind
I was tired of fish and birds and waves
I was tired of sea and sky
Now, the ocean is a special place
Where you learn who you really are
You’ll be tested and if you pass the test
My friend, you will go far

CHORUS

On April 2, we caught a thirty-three inch Mahi-mahi on the way to George Town, Exuma. It was the first really big fish besides Barracuda that we have ever caught. We were trolling with a cedar plug, which is a piece of wood with a led cap on the front end. It is made especially for catching Mahi. When we got to George Town, we invited friends over for dinner to help us eat our fish. We still have half the fish for another meal.

On our way into Puerto Rico this week, we caught a second Mahi and what we think was a Tuna using a couple of squiddy lures. Although the Tuna broke the line, we managed to reel in the Mahi and ate him fried that night for dinner as a celebratory meal for arriving in the Caribbean. I plan to try to catch more delicious fish in the near future.

People have always left their mark on the world. It seems to be part of our nature, to try to leave something behind that lasts longer than our own lifetimes. It’s why we write, paint, invent, and raise children. We have cave paintings and tools from the earliest civilizations, pyramids, burial mounds, marble columns, statues, and pottery. And trash. Lots of trash. The reality of life among “civilized” humans is that our hunt for food, comfort, shelter, and recreation leaves a trail of debris thousands of years long. I was struck by this recently in two juxtaposed images on the same hike: ruins on Hawksbill Cay in the Exuma Land and Sea Park that date from the 1700s and piles of wind-and-wave-strewn plastic garbage on the ocean side of that same island. The difference, of course, is that in one case, all that is left of the hilltop village is a few rock-and-mortar walls, a pile of conch shells, some cloudy glass bottles, and rusty implements, all returning slowly to the land; while on the beach, one finds hard hats, shoes, baskets, water bottles, oil jugs, fishing nets—the plastic detritus of a civilization that has figured out how to make things last!

To view a pristine environment and then to see it destroyed over time by litter gives one pause. Now, I am not guiltless in the manufacture of garbage, but neither am I thoughtless about waste. I am proud to say that I was using cloth bags at the grocery store before it was cool to do so, that we had stainless steel water bottles while everyone else we knew was using plastic. My babies wore cloth diapers and played with wooden toys. I refuse to shop at dollar stores (where everything is destined for the landfill), and I try to buy whole raw foods and foods that use minimal or biodegradable packaging. I use glass jars and containers for food storage and leftovers. But still—as we travel, sorting our garbage into biodegradables to be chopped and thrown overboard, paper items to be burned if an opportunity presents itself, glass to be recycled or broken over deep water, and plastics to be disposed of when we get ashore, I notice that we are still making plastic waste. Meat comes wrapped in plastic, as do chips, crackers, and some vegetables, condiments come in plastic bottles, and the list goes on. The more I make from scratch, the less garbage there seems to be. But some compromise is hard to avoid. It makes me complicit.’

The first time I saw a garbage-strewn ocean beach, I felt such profound disappointment. I had been picking up small pieces of trash as we walked the trail (as I habitually do when going for a walk), but when I came over the dune and saw what looked like the town dump—on an island with no town—I nearly cried. Who could clean all this up? Certainly not me. A few months later, back in Florida, where there are trash and recycle bins every few meters, I was going for a walk with Sarah, who was 5 at the time. I walked by a Coke can on the sidewalk. Apathy had set in. Like Holden Caulfield, I had grown disillusioned with the attempt to erase all the foul things in the world.

A few steps later, Sarah said, “Mommy, you didn’t pick up that trash!”
“What’s the point?” I responded. “I can’t pick up all the trash in the world.”
“Yeah,” she replied, “But you could pick up that piece of trash.”
I receive such profound instruction often from my children. Needless to say, we picked up the can.

And this is why I take pictures of trash, bag it, burn it, recycle it, and write about it. Because there is something we can do about it. Until we view ourselves as responsible for it, we can walk by and say, “that’s such a shame.” But we made the mess, and we can clean it up. Of course, I personally didn’t throw a laundry basket or a pair of flip-flops into the ocean, but I have bought a plastic basket, and shoes with plastic parts. If you have not seen “The Story of Stuff,” go on YouTube and watch it. It might just change your buying habits. Plastics, the chief offenders, last nearly forever, end up in our oceans, and eventually break down into microplastics, which enter the food chain as endocrine disruptors, cancer-causers, and reproductive havoc-wreakers. We must use less of it, and try to remove larger pieces before they break down.

Aside from buying less stuff, one of the things we can do is leave things better than we find them. The old adage, “Take only pictures. Leave only footprints,” is outmoded and underwhelming. I say instead, “Take responsibility! Leave less of a mess than you found!” If you are part of the human race, you are responsible. Take as much trash as you can carry—when you go to a park or a beach, on a walk or a paddle or a hike or a camping trip. And though the complicated question remains where exactly to put it once you pick it up, you can help keep it out of the ocean and out of the few wild and beautiful places we have left.