I tend not to write much when there are boat projects underway. I don’t think many people are interested in reading about them, and I’m too mentally occupied to write about anything else.

Tanya says I need to write more, so I figured I’d at least give a high-level run-down of what has been changed on the boat recently. I could write a big post about each of these, but I probably won’t. So use the Contact page if you want more details.

Air Conditioning – This project was actually finished last spring, but I don’t think we ever talked about it. We pulled out the old split-gas system and put in 5 separate combo units. We have a big pump in each stern and use relay boxes for the units to demand water. The pumps feed manifolds that have valves to isolate each unit, and dedicated ports so I can circulate acid occasionally. The return manifolds have eductors which use the Venturi principle to suck the condensate water out of the pans. I put little float switches in the pans to sound alarms in case they back up. The units themselves are installed in semi-airtight boxes so we can filter the air. It’s amazing how much dust we generate.

Instruments – We took a phased approach that was ongoing for a long time, but is now complete. I chose Simrad/B&G because I was excited about what they were doing with FMCW radar, the sailing features in the Zeus chartplotters, and their reputation for autopilots. We also replaced the instrument displays, the VHF, and added an AIS transceiver. Everything is native NMEA2000. The indoor and outdoor chartplotters are networked together, so they can share charts, waypoints, and the radar; and networked with the rest of the boat, so we can view and control them from Wi-Fi tablets. I expect to rest better when I can open one eye and see a mirrored chartplotter display from my bunk.

Mainsheets – We used to have a 14-foot mainsheet traveler across the back of our cockpit. I originally viewed that traveler as a mark of awesomeness, but living with it was another matter entirely. It had a continuous-line 6:1 adjustment that was hard to use, the cars were noisy when the wind was light, and I’d been worried for years that the thing was going to take a kid’s fingers off. We continued to use it, but usually with the addition of a preventer to “triangulate” the boom. The final straw came when we began to reimagine the cockpit for better seating and enclosure. I removed the traveler and replaced it with dual 3:1 mainsheets. I decided to have dedicated winches available for both the main and spinnaker sheets, which necessitated a little winch rearrangement am still in the midst of.

Hardtop – We built a hardtop to go over the cockpit. The structure we built a few years ago was designed to support a hardtop, but initially we only covered it with fabric laced to the edges. Even with fabric, this ranks as one of the best all-time improvements we’ve made to the boat. The new full-solid top radiates less heat, looks better, allows rain catchment, and provides for attachment of better curtains to help keep the elements out of the cockpit. But it was A LOT of work.

Bowsprit – I’m planning to update our sail inventory with something in the asymmetrical off-wind category. While it may not be strictly necessary, I decided I wanted a bowsprit. For $100 in materials, $100 for welding, and $100 for painting, it was surprisingly easy and inexpensive. I still have to install the padeyes in the bows for the guys that hold it down.

Rigging – The big ticket item has been the mast re-rig. This was just maintenance, but very important. You want to fix it before it fails. We replaced the standing rigging that holds the mast up, the electrical wiring, antennas and conductors, stripped all the hardware off of the mast and repainted it. The only real changes we made were trimming down the step for the old radar, and adding a small crane to the front of the masthead to support a spinnaker furler. We also replaced the plastic sheaves in the boom for some with ball bearings to try and eliminate an annoying squeak when we’re under sail.

There have been a lot of other little things done, but those are the big ones I can think of off-hand. Of course, we have more on the drawing board.

New Sail – The code zero/gennaker/screecher/spinnaker has already been mentioned. This will be on a furler on the end of the bowsprit. We currently have a symmetrical spinnaker in a sock. I expect the new sail to eminently more useful and usable, which should translate into more sailing.

Stern Protection – Our sterns are constantly being bashed by docks and dinghies, and I often envy the protective cages you sometimes see on the back of workboats. I’ve got a design and very reasonable quote from the local welder to add some reinforced tubing around our sterns. It would also provide handholds for people in the water and attachment points for fenders and towables. I love the idea, but I’m always hesitant to make a major change.

New Dinghy – Our 12-foot RIB and 25hp 2-stroke have seen some hard years. Sam and I took them fishing this past week. The motor was initially very grumpy (but got over it) and a fish managed to puncture the dinghy in two places. I applied my first patches ever, and they seem to be holding. But there’s a very “tired” feeling coming from them. I also think we should go up a size. A 13-footer with a 40 sounds about right.

New Watermaker – We’ve outgrown our Spectra. Spectras are great machines, but they’re built for high-efficiency, not necessarily endurance. We spend about $1,000/year keeping ours running. We’ve had an expert out to check our install, and the consensus appears to be that we’re just running it too hard. We have to run it about 5 hours a day to make our water quota, and being in coastal water doesn’t help any. We may squeeze another cruise out of the Spectra, but we’re eventually going to switch to a higher capacity high-pressure design that can make our daily water during the generator run.

New Batteries – This one has been on the table for a while. Our Lifeline AGMs are nearing their end of life. We are definitely going to switch to Lithium, which I am very much looking forward to. It’s the kind of project that has to be done proactively and probably while at the dock.

Cockpit Redesign – The cockpit has to support the functions of operating the boat when we’re underway, and regular life when we’re not. It doesn’t really do either very well. We’re trying to think outside the box about the cockpit design, even to the point of questioning the necessity of a helm seat. I think the kids sit there more than I do.

This list might seem overwhelming to some, but boat projects sustain me. I’d be bored without them. My only regret is that I have to keep making money to afford them.

We typically like to keep our life a mix of moving and sitting, and our ratio is a little skewed right now, but that will get straightened out eventually. We have to find something to do with ourselves this summer, but we’re gearing up for a bigger trip in the fall.

A big part of our life aboard involves learning to be self-sufficient. We make our own power and water. We carry tools for fixing engines, sewing canvas, grinding grain, and catching fish. We do school at home, work at home, and travel at home. We make things from scratch. But one thing we don’t do well is grow our own food. While we can eat fish (assuming we can catch them), having a garden or raising livestock isn’t really possible. Despite the limited deck space, we’ve tried a few gardening experiments. Sarah has the most interest in growing things and has made several attempts—one year she grew carrots and an aloe in pots on deck, and another year, she gave me a window-sill herb garden for my galley. These efforts have not been entirely successful. The pots on deck don’t appear to appreciate the Florida heat or salt spray. The windowsill herbs end up over- or under-watered. We’ve spent lots of money at garden centers with very little to show for it.

This spring, we decided to give it one more try and bought an Earthbox. It’s reputed to be a fool-proof way to grow a lot of produce in a very small space. It has a special reservoir for watering from the bottom, but it drains well, so it’s supposed to be self-watering. It came as a kit, with calcium carbonate to condition the soil and a year’s supply of fertilizer to feed the plants. It has a reflective plastic cover to keep heat (and salt) out and moisture in. Basically, you set it up and it takes care of itself. Since we like to use fresh herbs, we started with an herb garden, growing, like the song lyrics: parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. While we couldn’t hope to feed 7 people out of one Earthbox, if the current experiment is successful, we could get additional boxes to grow things like tomatoes, strawberries, peppers, and salad greens to supplement our trips to the grocery store and farmer’s market. Even if the attempt is ultimately unfruitful, we will have helped a kid to pursue a worthwhile hobby and enjoyed the effort. Better to have tried and failed than to never have tried at all.

Recipe: Meatloaf with Fresh Herbs
Prep time: 1 1/2 hours Makes: 2 loaves (1 1/2 lbs.)

1 pound ground turkey (pastured is best)
2 pounds grass-fed ground beef
2 eggs
1 cup bread crumbs
1 small onion, finely chopped
3 cloves fresh garlic, peeled and minced
2 teaspoons fresh chives, minced
2 teaspoons fresh parsley, minced
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
2 teaspoons rosemary leaves, minced
2 teaspoons fresh sage, minced
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons deli mustard with horseradish
2 tablespoons organic ketchup

Combine all ingredients and mix well, using hands to knead until you have a consistent texture. Divide into two loaves and bake at 350° for one hour or until internal temperature reads 160°. Slice and serve with ketchup.

Going to a boat show was an important part of our lives when we were dreaming of sailing away. Before we bought Take Two, I remember driving with Jay and his dad across Alligator Alley to the Miami Boat Show and carrying 9-month-old Sarah (now nearly eleven) in the baby backpack. I crawled on and off boats all day, went to inspiring seminars, talked to authors and bought their books, and looked longingly at all the vendors’ booths, selling things we would need “someday,” the names of which were part of a mysterious and romantic lexicon: foul weather gear, roller furlers, gensets, spinnaker snuffers, snatch-blocks, and drogues. These words have lost their luster through common use, and I recently discovered that the boat show holds no more magic for me.

We drove to Miami for the Strictly Sail part of the Boat Show last weekend and found the whole experience to be a bit disappointing. Aside from the purchase (at those fabulous boat show prices!) of a WinchRite, to make winching a cinch, and a few conversations with vendors like Winslow about re-certifying our life raft and Force 10 about what an oven replacement might look like, the whole show had a been-there-done-that feel to it. Jay was able to talk to several sailmakers about what kind of reaching sail we need to have made and whether it needs a sock or a furler on a bowsprit, but he could easily have done that without the family tagging along. The kids, who used to look forward to a Boat Show like the circus coming to town, looked extremely bored, surrounded by booths full of sailing gear as familiar to them as a toothbrush or a spoon. The highlight of the day, actually, was having a nice lunch out with “Skipper” (Jay’s dad), who had driven over to talk to the Moorings Company about their boat, which comes out of charter this year.

Sitting in Liza Copeland’s “Cruising in the Caribbean” seminar, I had an epiphany: I should be standing up front instead of sitting in back. I’m not boasting when I say I have now achieved “expert” status in areas like: Provisioning for the Bahamas, Organizing and Stowing Gear on Your Boat, Taking Small Children Cruising, Transitioning from Land-lubber to Full-time Live-aboard, Making Offshore Passages with a Family, Boat-Schooling, and What it Means to be a Good First Mate. There are plenty of things about which I have a lot left to learn, and Liza’s talk and slide show helped psyche me and the kids up for what is likely to be our next big adventure, but on the whole, we are in a different place than we were the last time we went to a boat show. We are, in effect, the people we used to look up to.

After lunch, we ran into some friends we met in the mooring field in Boot Key Harbor last year. Christina reminds me of myself not so long ago—pushing a toddler in a stroller out in front of her pregnant belly. I know what she feels like, at the beginning of the journey, still trying to figure out what raising a family on the water will look like, not sure how to proceed, but willing to take a shot at an unconventional life. The boat show crowd is full of retirees and childless couples with time and money to pursue their sailing dreams, but I feel excited when I see young families there with children in tow, hoping to break free.

While I have not lost my nostalgia for past boat shows that served to inspire us and help us reach our goals, and for the people we met there who have become close friends, I recognize that going back was a mistake. What we need to boost us into new adventures will not be found inside a tent, so perhaps going back for us should mean giving back—thinking seriously of what we could do to inspire more families to get out there and do it.

Part of the beauty of homeschool is the ability to design it according to your own priorities and principles. One of our principles is “life is school”. This means two things to us. One, that education isn’t only found in books and classrooms, and two, that learning opportunities can be found in daily life if you have the flexibility to recognize and take advantage of them.

We love it when these opportunities come from people outside our family. Because of our transient lifestyle we get to know of a lot of interesting and talented people, and occasionally they’ll take an interest in sharing their knowledge with our kids.

This has numerous benefits for the kids. It allows them to learn about things that we can’t necessarily teach. It allows them to form independent relationships with other people, and be themselves away from the influence of their family. It allows them to learn about work.

Fort Pierce is lacking in a lot of things, but it is rich in these kinds of learning opportunities. While we’re here, we’ve dedicated one day a week for what we call “work study”, where the kids go off and pursue their own interests.

Eli is taking flying lessons. All of the kids have spent tons of time on Combat Flight Simulator 3, which has pretty realistic flight dynamics, and is one of our few approved video games. Eli is studying and collecting hours in the air with an instructor that he can use to qualify for a license when he’s 16.

Aaron goes to work with a friend of ours who is a marine mechanic/engineer. Some days Aaron just fetches tools or sweeps out the shop, but other days he’s genuinely helpful. On those days he comes home extremely dirty but also very happy. But every day he learns, and every day he gets to hang out with real working men, and not just his sits-at-a-computer-all-day dad. We like to envision it sort of like the barber shop scene in Gran Torino. I meet people now who know me as “Aaron’s dad” and tell me about what he’s fixed on their boats.

Sarah helps out at a horse ranch. She loves horses and enjoys just being around them. She feeds them, bathes them, and shovels out their stalls. She’s approaching the point where her help is valuable enough to trade for her riding lessons. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she has a job working with horses.

Sam joins the older three for private kickboxing lessons volunteered from a friend. Jim works them hard and they’re learning fast. Apart from the physical skills, they’re also learning the discipline and respect that is typical in martial arts training. I often go just to watch.

We’re all about exploration, growth, and progress toward a vaguely defined goal. These kinds of activities help us feel like we’re still moving forward, even while the boat is tied to the dock.

Two days ago, I was fishing off the back of the boat. A couple of minutes later, I had a mangrove snapper on my line. It was twelve inches long. I ate it for dinner!

We learned a long time ago that PVC fenders and Florida sun do not mix. They get gummy and attract dirt. In addition to looking terrible, they also smear the sticky mess on the side of the boat and it is nearly impossible to get off. As with PVC dinghies, the solution is to keep them covered.

Initially, we used the fleecy kind from Taylor Made (the maker of the fenders). These worked okay to protect the fenders, but the fabric was not up to the rigors of the sun or being constantly ground against the dock. Eventually they began to look ratty and Tanya decreed they must be replaced.

I found some that seemed to be made from better material, but it was still a fuzzy “blanket” type of material. Tanya wouldn’t hear of it. They must be made of Sunbrella for durability and to complement our color scheme. I couldn’t find any made of Sunbrella, and I didn’t want to make them myself. We deliberated on this for a while with our old nasty fenders a daily reminder. Finally, Tanya declared she would make them.

Now, Tanya is not a girl with a lot of free time on her hands. She still undertakes the occasional project, but usually at the expense of something else. She once volunteered to edit a friend’s book and we didn’t eat for a week. So I was dubious about her making the covers. I thought it would be cheaper to buy them pre-made (at twice the cost) than suffer the disruption of her making them, but I dutifully ordered the material.

The fabric arrived and sat in the cockpit untouched for several days, people stepping over it to get in and out of the boat, without any mention of when this was going to get done. It was bothering me, but I knew better than to ask. I was willing to do it myself at this point, but I couldn’t offer either. Any pressure would be received as lack of appreciation for all she does for our family, and this is seriously unwise (and untrue). A hint was required.

So one evening she “caught” me measuring a fender. Of course, I had measured them before I ordered the fabric. That did the trick and the next day the fender cover factory went into full gear. She knocked out seven fender covers, each better and faster than the last.

There is a certain satisfaction in doing something yourself, a kind of joy in making something. And for as hard as it is to get a project started, it’s almost as hard to stop. We call that the First Law of Projects. Tanya was still in a full-blown cover-making frenzy when we ran out of fenders. She began to eye the neighbor’s coverless fenders. People were going to be getting fender covers for Christmas. Fortunately it passed before things got out of hand.

Now we have great looking fenders again. The Sunbrella should last a very long time in the sun and stand up much better to abrasion from the dock. They are louder, though, creaking as the Sunbrella rubs against the boat, and I’m not sure how well the boat is going to stand up to abrasion from the Sunbrella. Time will tell.

A few days later I was down in one of our lazarettes, the one where we store the fenders, and saw… way in the back… an eighth fender.

Take Two’s latest piece of electronic gadgetry is an AIS transceiver. This broadcasts our name, position, course, and speed for others to see. We’ll appear on the navigational displays of vessels equipped to receive AIS and they’ll be notified if our courses converge. They’ll be able to hail us on the radio by name, or by “dialing” our number. There are even base stations that receive the AIS information and publish it on the internet.

For years, we’ve been content to only receive AIS data from others and had no interest in transmitting our own. Typically I prefer to be anonymous, but recent experiences have shown me a few reasons to transmit.

In August, we were off Cape Canaveral when a big thunderstorm rolled off the coast as two cruise ships left the port. Visibility was zero and our radar display was just a big green blob. Fifty knot gusts were kicking up a nasty chop, and our best option was to run with it. I would like to think that the ships could see us on radar, but if ours couldn’t see a cruise ship, how could I be sure that theirs could see a sailboat? It was too loud to call and ask. Knowing they could see us on AIS would have greatly reduced the stress of that situation.

When entering Chesapeake Bay in the middle of the night, we were hailed by Virginia Pilots as “sailing vessel approaching the north tunnel”. There was a ship behind us heading for the same tunnel crossing that we were, and Virginia Pilots wanted to make sure we saw it, and were not going to be in the way when it got there. It was a very pleasant exchange, and I was grateful for the call, but also somewhat chagrined that they felt it was necessary. Had we been transmitting, I think they would not have been concerned.

On our 5-day passage back from the Chesapeake, we were in the company of a boat named New Moon. We very rarely saw them, and then only as a light or a sail on the horizon. But because they were transmitting AIS we were aware of their presence. I actually found it comforting that they were there, experiencing the same conditions we were. Tanya called them once on a lonely night watch hundreds of miles from anywhere, and I think they were surprised to learn of our existence. The camaraderie we felt was totally one-sided.

Somewhere off Georgia, we were hailed by the US Navy with “sailing vessel in vicinity of 30 degrees 49 minutes north, 79 degrees 22 minutes west, this is Warship 59”. They had to repeat this several times before I figured out they were talking to us. The coordinates they were giving were not very close to our current position and it wasn’t immediately apparent if we were “in the vicinity”. I think the Navy receives AIS, but generally does not transmit for obvious reasons. If they had our AIS information, hopefully they would have hailed us by name. Incidentally, Warship 59 was clearing a box so they could play with their guns and wanted us out of the way.

Originally, I only saw AIS as information for my own navigational use (and entertainment). I wanted to see everyone else, but didn’t want anyone to see me. That position forced us to act defensively in every situation, and also denied others the use of our information. Now I see that there are advantages to transmitting, even if they don’t benefit us directly. Transmitting AIS data makes us part of a community, and in any community there is a give-and-take. We are giving up some anonymity, but the more vessels that transmit, the more it benefits the community as a whole. Eventually, some kind of EPIRB or AIS transponder will probably be mandated for anyone going offshore, but we’re choosing to transmit now voluntarily, despite the extra cost, in the interest of better navigational information for everybody.

Heavy seas
A wave breaks
Sending shards of broken water
Onto the decks
Scattering early morning light
And leaving a rainbow of mist
Where the wave used to be

In the trough
A valley forms between two emerald hills
The fleecy foam like sheep
Dotting the smooth hillside

At the peak
A mountain landscape opens up
Snowy summits as far as the eye can see
Treeless and stark as the top of the world

A slide to the bottom
A thrill ride, a wind-made ski slope
The roar and rush fill my ears
And overflow into the other senses:
I see the roar, smell the rush, taste the crash

To my right
The next wave builds
In its translucence,
I see a sudden shape, a silhouette—
A lithe, sleek body, curved back, tapered tail
A fin breaks the surface
A submarine skier
Slides down the slope, leaps into the next,
And circles back around to take
Another sweet run
Like a ram on the Matterhorn,
The dolphin is at home in these mountainous waves

A wave breaks—
An alien in this liquid landscape,
A mere visitor from terra firma,
I’m transfixed and mesmerized—
My fear dissipates like the spray

No trip into the Chesapeake would be complete without a stop in the York River. Easily accessible and picturesque, Yorktown is a perfect place to start a history field trip. We did a 2½-day passage from Charleston and stayed a few days at the York River Yacht Haven, directly across the river from historic Yorktown. The marina has a good restaurant, swimming pool and very nice ship’s store, and is only a ten-minute dinghy ride away from Riverwalk Landing where you can dock your dinghy for $5/day and either walk around town or ride the free shuttle to see the sights.

Yorktown is one corner of the so-called “Historic Triangle,” connected by the beautiful Colonial Parkway to Colonial Williamsburg and the historic Jamestown Settlement. There are so many things to see and do in this area that it would be easy to get sucked into the triangle—we spent a few days in Yorktown alone, then rented a car to take the children to Jamestown Settlement (not to be confused with the National Park, Historic Jamestowne, that sits on the actual site of the 1609 settlement). We went to Colonial Williamsburg later, at the tail end of our trip, while waiting in Hampton, Virginia for good traveling weather. One recommendation I would make for visitors headed this way: figure out what you’d like to do ahead of time and buy combination tickets.

In Yorktown, there are three must-see stops: the Yorktown Victory Center, a museum and living history park, Historic Main Street, capped at its eastern end by the eye-catching Yorktown Victory Monument, and the Yorktown Battlefield (a National Park and the scene of the pivotal battle in the Revolutionary War). There was something very special about seeing Revolutionary War cannons in place on fortifications that were built so long ago. We had lunch one day on the waterfront at “The Carrot Tree,” a local favorite, and walked across the street to the Ben & Jerry’s for cool treats.

Jamestown Settlement has changed a bit since I was there as a kid. The outdoor sites, the Indian Village, Fort and three historic ships at the Riverfront are just as I remembered them, peopled with guides in period-dress who answer questions and explain life as it once was. But the new indoor museum exhibits almost dwarf the exterior living history ones. The enormous, air-conditioned building tells the whole story of Jamestown, from its days as a private business venture to its role in the American Revolution, with more artifacts and information than one could take in in a single perusal. I was very happy we took the extra day and rented a car—the kids got a chance to see, in a sense, where the whole American story began.

By the time we visited Colonial Williamsburg, the kids had ceased to be amazed by living history museums and hundreds-of-years-old buildings that had been preserved and restored. Too bad, really, because Williamsburg really is amazing, if only because of its size and scope. The town exists as it did on the eve of the Revolutionary War—period costumes, furniture, re-enactments, the whole bit. On the recommendation of a friend, we decided not to buy admission tickets and simply see what we could for free. We parked at the Visitor’s Center and watched a free film there on the Revolutionary War (very good) and got on the free shuttle bus which makes a circuit around Colonial Williamsburg and stops at important places where you can hop off/on. We walked around the 1774 town and peeked into windows and watched a demonstration of Revolutionary War cannons. We even got to hear a rousing speech given on horseback by the Marquis de Lafayette himself! Lunch, of course, is never free, but we found a great sandwich place (the Cheese Shop) and had a lovely picnic on some park benches. Given more time (and more enthusiastic traveling buddies), I would spend the money to go inside the historic buildings and the folk art museum, but with the time and energy we did have, I felt like we got a great idea about what life was like in the colonial era just by walking around Williamsburg.

Taken individually, each site has something valuable to offer, but as a trio, one gets a clear picture of how what started as a small band of English colonists became, over time and with much struggle, the United States of America. On that note, I might suggest an order for visiting the Triangle: start at Jamestown, then go to Williamsburg, and end in Yorktown. Plan to spend at least a day in each place, but be warned—you may start reading plaques and get lost in the Historic Triangle!