Long, over-night passages like crossing the Gulf Stream are, for me, cause for celebration. With the other kids conveniently sea-sick and incapacitated, I can do whatever I feel like. I have (fortunately) never (so far) been afflicted with sea sickness, air sickness, space sickness, or motion sickness of any kind. Even so, three-to-five-foot seas severely limit what I feel like doing. During long passages, I mainly spend my time in my cabin reading science-fiction (currently 2010 Odyssey 2), sitting in the captain’s chair doing nothing, or playing video games. What better way to appreciate Mom’s decree that there will be no school on passages, than to spend uninterrupted hours in front of a screen flying F-15s and driving T-90s? With no competition for the computer, and Mom safely napping off-watch, I get to play as long as I want.

This time was no exception, even though the seas were more like two-to-four-feet. As usual, we attempted to catch some kind of fish, and, as usual, we failed miserably. After the sun went down, Aaron and I kept Mom company while she was on watch. Being on watch is easy. All you have to do is make sure the autopilot doesn’t hit anything. Also, don’t fall asleep. The penalty for sleeping on watch is public flogging, or hanging, depending on whether the autopilot hits anything. Nah, not really.

The next day was more of the same, although Sam overcame his seasickness enough to provide competition for the computer. That evening we watched a movie. We watched Captain Ron instead of carrying on the tradition of watching The Swiss Family Robinson on night passages (although why we would want to watch a movie about a shipwreck is anyone’s guess).  Except for a light rain, the night was uneventful.

The next morning, I woke up and we weren’t underway. We had anchored at Chub Cay to check in to the Bahamas. I was also late to breakfast. Again. While we ate, Dad dinghied ashore to check us in. A few minutes later, he returned. It turned out that we needed to take the boat to the dock for some reason. It also turned out that we had to pay $100 check-in fee, or buy $100 worth of fuel. It seems like a ridiculous trade, but we didn’t mind. We got the fuel. We then proceeded to do nothing for the rest of the day, while we waited for good weather. The next morning, we weighed anchor for Highborne Cay, or the Island of the Over-Priced Landing Fee (coming soon to a blog near you).

This is the best passage we have ever made. Aside from finally perfecting the medication for kids who usually get seasick (after all the natural remedies failed to prevent misery), we had great sailing weather. Not that this was the predicted pattern—we were supposed to have a boring motor- crossing of the Gulf Stream. Instead, we sailed most of the time, even utilizing our spinnaker and new code zero. Of course, sailing weather means rougher seas, but also shorter passages. We dropped our mooring ball in Marathon at 4:30 pm on Thursday and dropped anchor in Chub Cay at 4:30 am on Saturday.

After resting up and going ashore to check in, we enjoyed a celebratory steak dinner (probably the last for a long while, as there are no cows in the Bahamas and only skinny little frozen strip steaks at island markets). The next morning, we sailed from Chub to Highborne Cay in a record 10 hours, averaging 7.3 knots! Again, this was supposed to be an easy day across the banks, but the wind cranked up so that we had to sail with a reefed main and switch the code zero for the jib at the half-way point. We arrived in light gale conditions and felt grateful to find a little cove to snug up in out of the wind and waves.

This trip also marks another turning point for our kids: all of them took a watch. Eli and Aaron stayed up late with me the first night, enjoying their first cups of on-watch coffee. Sam and Rachel stayed up the second night, sharing the captain’s chair, and Sarah manned the chair during many daytime hours. All of them participated in record-keeping, something at which we have historically been very bad. Our logs are in a disgraceful state, something we don’t really notice until we try to remember where we went when and how long a certain trip was. Of course, in the event of an electrical problem, you’re supposed to write down latitude, longitude, heading and boat speed so you could do dead-reckoning if necessary. Complete dependence on electronic charts and navigation equipment does not demonstrate good seamanship. To counteract our bad habits, I have printed up a log sheet to make keeping records a little easier. I submit a few samples so the reader can fill in what he might see when looking at the map of our passage.

Name Aaron                      Date 3/3/16                        Time 2130           

Sail Jib                      Motor Port     

Wind Speed/Dir 15kts ESE Wave Height 2-3 ft     Depth 600ft

Heading 90°        Course (COG) 85°             Speed (SOG) 5.6 kts

Latitude 24° 41.3’N          Longitude 80° 39.7’W

Notes Cruise ships everywhere. Raised jib to sail. Tricolor not working, so we’re using the steaming light.                                                                                                                                                                

Name Eli                              Date 3/4/16                        Time 0000           

Sail Jib                      Motor                                     

Wind Speed/Dir 23kts SE Wave Height 3-5 ft        Depth >600ft

Heading 90°        Course (COG) 85°             Speed (SOG) 7.5 kts

Latitude 24° 43.9’N          Longitude 80° 30.4’W

Notes Sailing in Gulf Stream. Seas rougher. Took an unusually large wave over starboard bow. Salt water leaked in master cabin, waking the captain. Also splashed in galley, flooding countertops.        

Name Tanya                      Date 3/4/16                        Time 0545           

Sail                            Motor Port          

Wind Speed/Dir 10kts W Wave Height 2-4 ft        Depth >700ft

Heading 90°        Course (COG) 70°             Speed (SOG) 6.7 kts

Latitude 25° 36.9’N          Longitude 79° 50.9’W

Notes Due to rough seas and wet bed, Jay and I are taking naps in cockpit in short shifts (2 hours).         Waning moon. Seas becoming more comfortable.                                                                                    

Name Aaron                      Date 3/4/16                        Time 1200           

Sail Spinnaker       Motor                 

Wind Speed/Dir 12kts W Wave Height 2-4 ft        Depth >700ft

Heading 85°        Course (COG) 85°             Speed (SOG) 5.5 kts

Latitude 25° 13.0’N          Longitude 79° 13.7’W

Notes Land sighted (South Riding Rocks. Sunny and pleasant. Fishing with squiddie. ETA on Great Bahama Bank around 1220                                                                                                                       

Name Sarah                       Date 3/4/16                        Time 1445           

Sail Main/Code Zero          Motor                 

Wind Speed/Dir 9.5kts WNW Wave Height <2 ft Depth 13ft

Heading 77°        Course (COG) 69°             Speed (SOG) 3.8 kts

Latitude 25° 17.3’N          Longitude 78° 58.0’W

Notes Calm, sunny day on the Banks. Mom playing ukulele. Dad making power and water.                                                                                                                                                                                              

Name Tanya/Eli                                Date 3/5/16                        Time 0030           

Sail                            Motor Stbd     

Wind Speed/Dir 30kts E Wave Height 2-4 ft          Depth 13ft

Heading 96°        Course (COG) 85°             Speed (SOG) 2 kts

Latitude 25° 28.3’N          Longitude 78° 12.1’W

Notes Squalls and rain. Got Jay up early because of weather. Almost to waypoint. ETA at Chub Cay 0430.                                                                                                                                                                  

Name Sarah                       Date 3/6/16                        Time 1230           

Sail Main/Code Zero          Motor                 

Wind Speed/Dir 15kts NE Wave Height <2 ft        Depth 70ft

Heading 117°      Course (COG) 117°          Speed (SOG) 9 kts

Latitude 24° 59.7’N          Longitude 77° 32.1’W

Notes    Chub to New Providence. Sailed across the tongue of the ocean. Sunny, cool, gorgeous day. Sam using a flying fish as bait for trolling. Just arriving on banks—depth went from 7000ft to 70!         

Name Tanya/Rachel                       Date 3/6/16                        Time 1630           

Sail Reefed main/Jib           Motor                 

Wind Speed/Dir 25kts NE Wave Height 4-6ft        Depth 21ft

Heading 120°      Course (COG) 115°          Speed (SOG) 9.7 kts

Latitude 24° 44.9’N          Longitude 76° 58.2’W

Notes New Providence to Highborne Cay, Exumas. Screaming fast “sporty” sail. Seas becoming                 uncomfortable. ETA Highborne at 1730. Teatime with Jay in the cockpit (thank you, Megan!)              

We were seventeen. We had just had dinner at The Dock at Crayton Cove, Old Naples. We held hands and walked the docks in the marina in the cool evening air, talking about all sorts of things—what we were reading, what we would do after high school, the trouble with parents. Jay pointed out different kinds of boats and explained what they were and what he liked, or didn’t, about each one. He had sailed throughout his childhood on his dad’s catamaran and crewed on racing sailboats on the weekends. I had sailed maybe once in my life at that point—a thrilling but not altogether pleasant experience. But I loved the water, and I loved the idea of sailing away, and I loved that young sailor.

This was to be the first of a series of date nights that stand out in my memory as being important because we were not just talking, but laying plans for our future. We knew that sailboats would be a part of that future, but we were just beginning to imagine what that might mean. Over dinner and drinks through the years, we have plotted our escape from normal life, planned cruises, solved parenting dilemmas, made lists of boat projects, done marriage maintenance, and dreamed up new ideas for our future.

Sometimes, the questions we discussed were pivotal. Over dessert and coffee at Café Intermezzo in Atlanta: should we buy the bigger house in the nicer neighborhood, or should we sell our suburban starter-home and move back to Florida, with the goal of getting back on the water?

When Jay bought Blue Bear, the baby-blue Ranger 22 we day-sailed on Tampa Bay, he waited for a perfect day to take me out on the boat for the first time. Jay’s mom kept the kids (bless her), and Jay took me sailing. It was a chilly February afternoon, but sunny and breezy, a dazzling day on the water. Smart boy, he wanted to make sure I had an experience that I would want to repeat.

Once, Jay came to dinner at Columbia in Clearwater with pens and paper and an assignment: write down every marketable skill we possess that could serve to either make money while traveling or help us live aboard and cruise.

At our favorite little French place, Le Bouchon, we made a list of things we could do to help us live more simply and prepare for life aboard: wash dishes by hand, give things away, homeschool the kids, turn the air conditioner off (we lasted until mid-June), and take sailing classes (which I did).

Last year at Harbor Cove, we made a list of the places we still want to go and what it would take to get there. Two weeks ago at Herbie’s in Marathon, we worked on our go-list as we prepare to set off again, chasing new horizons.

For many years while we had small children and nursing babies, Date Night was a rare and cherished treat, reserved for birthdays and anniversaries. Now, with teenagers in the house, Date Night has become a regular part of our week. Despite the fact that we are living in the castle we built in the clouds so many years ago, we still have decisions to make and problems to solve, and getting off the boat and out of our wonderful-but-chaotic home environment helps us to look at things more objectively and focus on our relationship. Like the song says, it takes two to make a thing go right.

One of the most important milestones in our home is the day a child learns to swim. This, of course, is so that we don’t have to worry so much about little people going outside and falling into our front yard. Rachel has been in the water since she was days old—her swim lessons started with the teaching of survival skills, like floating on her back. When she fell off the dock last year, she did not panic, but popped to the surface and waited for help (only seconds away in that case). Since then, she has been a lot more careful on docks, and we have been pushing the swimming. By age two, she had all the requisite skills: floating, kicking, holding her breath, forward motion using her arms—but she had not put them all together. She would jump in the water, swim underwater until she ran out of air and we’d fish her out, spluttering. This summer, she added “coming up for air” to her repertoire. We’ve had access to a pool for the last couple of weeks, and her swimming has really improved. She’s comfortable jumping in the deep end and getting herself back to the ladder. I can tell you, we’re all celebrating that achievement and will sleep a little easier knowing that she’s joined our amphibious crew.

Jay and I are both hard workers, and come from families that value hard work, but this value doesn’t appear to pass to the next generation through the genes; work has to be taught, and to people who really would rather lounge around and play all day with toys someone else paid for, eating food someone else prepared, wearing clothes someone else bought in a home that someone else keeps tidy. But to enter into the life of a family one has to do the work of the family. And real life doesn’t reward sluggards, either. To the best of our ability, we will raise people who can leave our home able to do a myriad of jobs, efficiently and with expertise.

One way we do this is with the chore chart. People ask us how we can have five children on a sailboat, and one answer is that everybody has to pull their own weight. Of course, a 3-year-old “helping” with the dishes is hardly the same thing as a nearly-13-year-old scrubbing down the cockpit, but the principle is the same: if you don’t work, you don’t eat.

A lot of training is required to get the kids to be actually helpful, so that Jay and I don’t feel the need to go around behind them “fixing” things. For a while at least, it is harder to help a kid learn a chore than to just do the chore yourself, but doing it for them or cleaning up after them would be shooting yourself in the foot long-term. A kid who is given a token chore will quickly learn to slack off—if they know you’re going to go back and do it better later, why bother doing it at all? But teaching a kid to do a task and requiring it to be done to your satisfaction is an investment that pays off pretty quickly. I read recently about the Amish expectations of children: a child is a net “loss” for the first six years, but a seven year old “breaks even” (contributes as much as he costs) and by ten, an Amish girl can do all the tasks her mother can, a boy can work a full day on the farm, and they are giving back to the family—a net “gain.” We’re not Amish, but we do have high expectations for our children—we‘re banking on the principle that early training equates to later independence.

A crew member on Take Two gets his or her first official duties at three years old. Rachel just made the chart for the first time. She helps with groceries, sets the table, washes windows, folds kitchen towels, and puts away forks and spoons. The older kids are used to hard work at this point, although they still complain from time to time (complaining usually earns them an extra job). They vacuum the whole boat, do dishes, load and unload the dinghy, take trash ashore, scrub decks, set up for and clean up after meals, and stay on top of the laundry. One would think that I would have time to sit in my hammock more often now that I have such able helpers, but actually, their taking some of the cleaning chores frees me up to do other tasks, like reading with Rachel and schooling Sam, making homemade tortillas or baking bread, writing, or helping Sarah with her quilting project.

For years we have used a monthly rotation with each person getting four or five jobs (some require teamwork) because we found that a month is long enough to get really good at a chore, but not long enough to grow bored with it. We’re doing an experiment this summer with quarterly chores; the kids had more input as to which chores they like to do and I got to assign some chores according to who is the most capable at each task. We’ll have another family meeting in the fall to decide if that system is working.

If someone shirks a chore, there are real and immediate consequences. A chore half-done must be re-done, a chore forgotten costs one a “reminder fee” of 50 cents, and a chore done with a bad attitude earns one more chores. We do offer a monthly allowance to teach money management, but that assumes that the kids are meeting expectations—keeping their cabins tidy, folding and putting away their own laundry, helping with meals, and doing assigned chores “immediately, cheerfully, and quickly.”

Another of our favorite sayings is “Work hard, play hard.” When the work gets done quickly, there’s time left over for skating at the park, snorkeling on the reef, surfing at the beach, riding horses, kayaking, and lots of other adventures, the natural rewards of a job well done.

It is Tern mating season. Here in the Keys, we have Lesser Terns, and their “hotel room” of choice is the yellow E or J bouy that marks the extremity of the mooring field, usually off of one of our sterns. Imagine trying to teach astronomy or Greek mythology and being constantly interrupted by a sound not unlike squeaky bedsprings—my lessons are relegated to basic “birds and bees” biology.

We’ve had lots of time to observe mating behavior as we homeschool in the cockpit on these lovely spring mornings. Their routine goes something like this: the male and female bird stand side by side on the poo-encrusted buoy, bobbing wildly in the wind and chop and fishing-boat wakes. They begin by bowing politely and singing a squeaky little song back and forth to each other. Then the male bird disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a small bait-fish (still wiggling) in his beak, which the female bird tries to grab, but which he successfully keeps just out of reach. They then bow and chirp a few more times, after which she ruffles her feathers as a sign of assent and he responds by flapping wildly and trying to balance while reenacting that timeless dance of love—getting her to hold still by offering the fish at just the right moment. It lasts mere seconds, and then he flies away. She cries disconsolately. (Pardon my anthropomorphism, but doesn’t it sound familiar?)

But this is not the end of it! She continues to call for him, and, sure enough, he comes back—with another fish in his maw, which he offers this time without requiring anything in exchange. He does this not once, but over and over and over again. One morning we noted a male who came back to his sweetheart with a dowry of 19 little fishes before they flew off together, ostensibly to their waterside nest somewhere to start a family. Now here’s a strange wooing-in-reverse; usually the male must prove his worthiness before the wedding night, not after!

One morning, as we watched the process for the umpteenth time, Rachel looked at me sadly and said, “Why did the daddy fly away?” I was startled by her response, but Jay’s recent travel schedule has made her sensitive to separation. She was on the verge of tears, so I had to come up with a reassuring answer quickly. “He’s not gone-gone. He’ll come back in a minute with a little fish. Just wait and see.” The relief was visible in her face when, just as I promised, the daddy came back and offered his prize. I asked her, “Doesn’t your daddy fly away on the airplane? And doesn’t he always come back with money to buy food? He’s just like the daddy bird.”  Satisfied, she toddled off to play with her Legos while we continued with school and chores. If only all of life were that simple.

The Grass is Greener on the Other Side of the Hill: a Poem for Jay's 39th Birthday

You’re at the peak of the hill,
You’re at the top of your game.
And after the climb,
I still feel the same:

So much to look back on,
So much still to do,
I’m right where I should be,
On the hill-top with you.

No regrets lurk behind us
No fears lie ahead—
(We made it this far!
We did what we said.)

No matter what the future holds,
Be it joy or sorrow,
I’ll gladly go down-hill with you
On into tomorrow.

Making a passage is like hitting the “pause” button on my life. It’s very hard to write in my Day-Timer: “sit in the cockpit and do nothing.” But sometimes that’s really what I should do. Feel the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, the weight of a child on my lap. Relax the rules that keep me sane during my quotidian life because this is not my quotidian life. Even rough passages, which are not very pleasant, have a way of making one sit still and appreciate life (large waves will do that). Overnight passages have the feel of a holiday—a holiday that you dread and anticipate at the same time. The passage we just made from Ft. Pierce to Biscayne Bay was in many ways typical of our other overnight passages. Here’s a peek into our life afloat:

9 AM A friend from the Keys texts us (again) wondering where we are and why we’re freezing our butts off in Ft. Pierce instead of heading south to hang out with them.

10 AM I abandon the attempt to make a big Sunday breakfast and feed everyone granola instead as Jay and I discuss using the weather window to head south.

11 AM  Having decided to “just do it” we figure out what’s on the short list to prepare for departure. I will head to the library to drop off books, to a friend’s house to say good-bye and drop something off from my kids to hers and to the store for last-minute provisions. Jay will prep the boat for travel.

3 PM Hours later, I return with said provisions and we eat a late lunch, unpack groceries and run the engines.

4 PM We get fuel and water and do a pump-out at the marina. This always takes longer than we think it will. Debate ensues about whether we should go now or have a burger at the marina restaurant and wait until morning. We decide to use inertia and just go (“a boat tied to a dock stays tied to a dock; a boat in motion stays in motion). Good friends come down to see us off; it’s so nice to have someone to wave to (though we'll miss them before we're even out of the marina).

5 PM We head out the Ft. Pierce inlet, not into, but away from, a beautiful sunset. We make no commitments to really go until we see how the inlet looks.  A blessing: the tide is running out and the seas are calm, the winds fair. We head south, hugging the coast to stay out of the north-flowing Gulf-Stream. We say a prayer of thanks and ask for safe travel. Then we toss Oreos into the sea and say, “May these be the last cookies we toss on this voyage!”  (See previous post “Traveling Traditions.”)

6 PM We hang out in the cockpit and do nothing. Rachel falls asleep in my lap.

7 PM I make a quick dinner of tomato soup, goldfish crackers and applesauce and set up the kids’ traditional passage movie: The Swiss Family Robinson.

8 PM The wind is out of the southwest, but we can close-haul. We unfurl the jib and boost our speed, motor-sailing at about 6 knots. At this rate, we will not reach the entrance to Hawke Channel for 14 hours. A long, but calm trip. More wind would mean a quick trip, but also rougher waters. No one tosses cookies—YAY!

9 PM  Moonrise: a beautiful orange pumpkin-shaped waning gibbous, perfect for a night sail. Jay plans our course and plots waypoints for Larry and Otto (a.k.a. Lowrance chart-plotter and autopilot) and heads to bed to get some sleep. I make a pot of coffee and get ready for my night watch. Kids eat Christmas candy and finish their movie. Rachel goes to her cabin, and the older boys head to theirs. Sam opts to sleep in the salon, and Sarah insists on bundling up and sleeping in the cockpit. No rules on passages.

10 PM Motor-sailing. I’m the only one up, enjoying my coffee, my snacks, my book and my choice of music. My favorite part of passage-making, even with the fluky wind (sheet in, ease out, furl, unfurl) and the nerve-wracking lights—is that a sailboat? A big ship? A beacon? No, an incoming airplane. It keeps me awake.

2 AM Jay comes upstairs to investigate the flapping sound (me furling the jib). He makes us roast beef sandwiches. I make a cup of hot cocoa and go back to the “hot seat.” Jay goes back to bed for another hour. (Long night watches mean we feel more rested the next day. We used to do three hours on/three hours off, but it leaves us feeling ragged, especially if we have multiple days at sea. We now do six-on/six-off at night and take turns napping during the day.)

3 AM  Jay comes on watch and I go down below for some much-needed sleep. I was beginning to nod off in the captain’s chair despite the cold wind in my face. I set snooze alarms for myself at this time of night so that I will look up every 10 minutes in case I’m reading with my eyes closed.

7 AM Snuggle-time with Rachel. She informs me that the waves are not scary. They are just rocking her gently.

8 AM I get up and make a pot of tea and instant oatmeal for anyone who wants something quick and warm. We sit in the cockpit and do nothing. We’re approaching shipping channels at Port Everglades so we’re keeping a close watch.

9 AM  Jay goes down below to nap. Everyone else reads or does nothing. Aaron, Sarah, and Sam split sunflower seeds and spit shells overboard, a favorite activity while sailing. Cleaning up sunflower seed shells off the side of the boat is a not-so-favorite activity when we get where we’re going.

10 AM Eli takes a watch so I can go make egg-and-ham-and-cheese sandwiches for hungry people.

11 AM Jay comes upstairs to eat something and take the wheel. We pass Port-of-Miami uneventfully. We sit in the cockpit and eat animal crackers. I notice Rachel yawning so we go down in my cabin and read books until we fall asleep.

12 PM The kids play electric guitar (Rocksmith).

1 PM I come upstairs with Rachel to make some lunch. The kids are still playing the guitar. We’re sailing along nicely, and thinking of heading into Biscayne Bay since we don’t motor in Hawk's Channel at night (too many crab pots). I make a snacky-lunch of hummus and veggies, olives, apples and peanut butter, and tortilla chips and crackers for dipping. Everyone loves this kind of lunch, and we only eat like this on a passage.

2 PM We motor into Biscayne Bay and play Farkle in the cockpit (a dice game to which the crew of Sea Hunt IV introduced us last year—thanks!).

3 PM Still motoring and doing nothing. We pass stilt houses and see people canoeing and paddle-boarding. Kids play guitar again. I play a memory/matching game with Rachel.

4 PM I make the kids put down the guitar and they play LEGOs on the dining table instead while I go out on the foredeck for some late-afternoon yoga. I discover that while I cannot do “Tree Pose” on land, I manage to balance on one foot without wobbling on the deck of a moving boat. Hmmm.

5 PM We pick a place to anchor for the night and I start dinner. The kids fish off the back of the boat.

6 PM The sun sets a fiery orange and we open a bottle of wine. We eat a dinner of pasta carbonara, broccoli, and garlic bread. Everyone is in a good mood, laughing and talking.

7 PM We look at The Stars book (by H.A. Rey) and I come up with a star-gazing challenge: who can find the Great Hexagon of bright stars in the Eastern sky? (The stars are Sirius in the constellation Canis Major, Procyon in Canis Minor, Pollux in Gemini, Capella in Auriga, Aldebaran in Taurus, and Rigel in Orion.) We find it, but cannot see the Milky Way because of light pollution from Miami. 

8 PM I read Wind in the Willows aloud and then the kids go to bed.

9 PM  I do dishes and head to bed for a peaceful night’s sleep on the calm waters of quiet Biscayne Bay. The rest of the trip falls into the "Island Hopping" category, so the long part is over.