S/V DreamKeeper Blog

The Last Legs

2011-06-25T01:10:00.001+08:00

Nicole is a complete disaster. We are planning on leaving tomorrow for a long day trip to Half Moon Bay. The following day being the last of this voyage as we sail back into San Francisco Bay. Emotions are heightened and my girl is a mess. Me, I don't think it has really sunk in yet. I keep feeling like it's just another tough bashing long daysail where we once again wake up before sunrise and motor-sail into the wind and seas until the sun goes back down. Just another crappy passage making miles north. It's crazy what you can get used to and this has been our routine for a long time now.
I'm still hanging in there, but I'm sure I will have my breakdown soon enough.

But this is really IT. We are almost there. Almost finished. DK will soon be pulling back into the barn where she started out and the journey will be complete.
And, yes, we are selling DreamKeeper. We have a little work to do to clean her up and put her on the market, but that's just the reality. We just don't want to keep such a great boat sitting in a slip not being used for what she was meant for, even though it will be super hard to let her go. Hopefully someone great will buy her and take her out for another loop around the globe. She is still ready to go and nothing would make us happier.

So, even though we both are going to seriously miss our boat, this adventure, and the whole journey which has been our life now for almost 5 years, we are also ready for the change. But first we have to finish it off and what better way then back under the Golden Gate Bridge, in our opinion the coolest bridge you can ever ever sail under. It will be a crazy reality.

Currently we are in Monterey Bay. This place is just sweet. Yes, it is full on tourist season, but all for a reason. It is a great town with a beautiful marine environment setting. I mean...where else in the world are you greeted by 4 sea otters floating on their backs pounding clams on their bellies for breakfast when you slip through the fog and enter the breakwater to the marina? And not only sea otters, but California sea-lions and harbor seals run this place. They haul out on anything and everything possible and claim it for their own. And, last but not least, the water here is almost crystal clear, and this in northern California. As you can probably guess, we've been to quite a few marinas around the world, and we can honestly say that this one has the cleanest water we have seen. You should come. You won't be disappointed.

Backing up a bit...after Nicole wrote the last blog at the Coho Anchorage before Pt.Conception, we had a little shut-eye and were hoping for a mellow night with the winds laying down and us motoring around the two windy points at 2 in the morning.
But, of course, we should have known better.
At 1 a.m. we both woke with the wind whistling and the boat pounding through the wind fetch. I peeked outside and looked at the compass and wind instrument....what the??? the wind was blowing 25+ from the EAST and we were getting pulled back close to the kelp bed and the lee shore, where two sailboat carcasses were high and dry on the rocks. It felt like we were in a bad movie, the fog was so cold and thick that we couldn't see more then a couple of boat lengths away and the waves were starting to break over our bow. What a fun way to wake up.

We dressed in all our layers muy rapido and went into auto-pilot "time to deal mode". Within 15 minutes we had the hook up and were beating into the gusting winds and seas until we could safely raise our main, turn downwind and actually SAIL?!! Yes, there was something positive that was happening...with a reefed mainsail and my eyes glued to the chartplotter and radar screen, my only perspectives in the thick fog and black night, we sailed around Pt. Conception and Pt. Arguello. And then, a couple of hours later, the wind completely died and we were back to motoring. And that's what we did for the next day and a half, motor through the fog. The only highlight being surrounded by a pod of 15-20 whales, type unknown. Once again another special marine mammal experience.

One last dinner in town, one last warm shower, and we are bedding down for a super early morning departure. The weather isn't looking great, but could be worse, and we are hoping to make decent miles to arrive in Half Moon Bay before sunset.

Wish us luck and thanks again for all the love from our fans!

So Long SO Cal

2011-06-21T04:47:00.001+08:00

We can't time all of our cape transits perfectly. This is our last one and we will be leaving Southern California in our wake. Today was just one of those days. Showing up to round Pt. Conception at sunset is a bad idea, even on a forecasted light wind day. The seas kicked up and the winds held steady at 18-20 gusting to 22. And that was 10 miles before we got to the Point. So, lucky us, there is an anchorage just tucked in behind the point where we rerouted to to wait for the wee hours of the night when the winds will hopefully lay down.

The last two days have been pretty mellow until this afternoon. The nights are cold and wet. A marine fog layer hangs low and limits our visibility. We've been lucky though, at least in So Cal, the marine layer has been burning off by noon or so and the sun peeks out for a little while. Playful bounding sea lions do tricks in our wake and wide-eyed seals make my heart melt. Today in the Santa Barbara Channel we passed though what seemed like a sea of dolphins, numbering most likely 700 or more individuals. Big males jockyed for prime position at our bow and smaller ones accompanied us at our beam. It is really something to see so many of these incredible animals appear seemingly like alchemy from the sea. We never cease to delight in their visits and are grateful for each return.

I am tired and words are hard to come by. Gar is snuggled into the port sea berth already and I long to crawl into my own, on the starboard side. The winds are beginning to settle down and we are rolling in the swell. Two old skeletons of unfortunate sailboats lie awash on the shore. Kelp waves in the shallows, creating a slick of calm. A sea lion is barking somewhere nearby. The orange sun sinks behind the giant oak-like trees onshore, leaving them in silhouette. We're off at 2am to round Pt Conception and hope to get to Monterey Bay or beyond before the wind again diverts our progress.

Back in the land of Yanks

2011-06-19T04:44:00.001+08:00

WE'RE BACK!

Yeah, crazy crazy crazy feelings happening. Emotions are riding the roller coaster. Even though we aren't officially finished, being tied up in San Diego and having the Baja Bash finished are both big mile-markers for us on this last stage of the journey.

Yesterday we had a sweet day. The winds backed to the southwest and the seas were mellow. We flew along at 6-7+ knots the whole way and actually passed Pt.Loma and sailed into San Diego in the late afternoon. Checked back into the US by the grumpy customs officials and tied up next door at the municipal docks by 5 pm. Sweet. We thought we'd maybe get there by midnight and we were more then ready to be done.

But there's no rest for the weary as a hole is still open heading north around Pt.Conception that we feel we should take. It is bittersweet. If we don't go now we don't have any idea how long we'll be hanging in southern California and even though it sounds fun to reconnect with some friends and chill out, we also are ready to finish off the journey in SF and celebrate the adventure properly...something we really haven't done yet at all.

So we are both tired and ready for a break, but we are going for it again. Heading out the barn tomorrow morning after topping up the diesel, we plan to head straight on the rhumbline through the Channel Islands towards Pt.Conception. Looks like maybe a 3 day window so we hope to either get to Monterey Bay or Morro Bay before holing up again and waiting for the strong northerlies to blow through.

We'll keep on rolling the BLOG. Thanks to all our people for the love and support!

The Last Leg

2011-06-17T04:09:00.001+08:00

When the boat heaved, shuttered and stalled again yesterday, with green water sloshing over the decks trying desperately to escape through the scupper drains, I really had to ask myself what we were doing out here. We were hit again and again for hours with walls of green water, beating into big seas and not going anywhere fast at 2 knots. My heart sunk as I imagined the worst, that it would take us another week of this maddening pounding just to reach San Diego.

Everything is a challenge when it's like that. We don't eat and if we do its crackers or a bar or a cup of tea. Going to the bathroom is a chore in and of itself. Where else does one have to sit on the pot holding onto a handrail with one hand, and bracing with a foot under the toilet and one on the wall. Meanwhile you have to flush in the middle so nothing sloshes out.

Then a few hours later, after leaving the currenty Canal Keller behind us, the face of our world changed again and we were free. The seas became more predictable and the walls of water became mere hills rolling beneath us. The wind backed and we were able to clear our hazards so we were pointing and making miles again. We had a decision to make. To go on the outside of Isla Cedros Island reaping the benefits of a better sail angle later with the possible challenge of crappy seas and stronger winds or go the easy run along the lee of Isla Cedros setting us up with a harder beat and confused seas on the north side. Things were looking good so we stuck with it and gambled on the outside.

It turned out to be a good call even with winds up to 20 and some sloppy seas. We averaged 5 knots and came over the top of Isla Cedros with a great wind angle to cross Bahia Vizcaino. The weather files were right; it was a good as it was going to get, 10-15 out of the NNW, with occasional winds pushing 20. The Bay is the last spot after Cedros where there can be really nasty conditions. We got off easy, even with the seas kicking up and an extremely frustrating 2 knot counter-current.

Last night brought the coldest temperatures we've had so far. Everything was damp and chilly. We sit day and night in our foulies, thick socks, fleeces, and sea boots, sipping tea and nibbling cookies to keep warm as much as pass the time. The wind bites through our clothes and we are grateful to crawl into the warm sea berth of sheets, blankets and sleeping bag when off watch.

By morning we were well past the hardest parts and on our last legs to San Diego. It's impossible to tell what time it is with this cloak of gray clouds covering the sky. The light has been sucked out of the once brilliant blue ocean replaced by a sharp graphite gray. We have had many visitors in the last 24 hours. Sea lions barrel through the waves, spinner dolphins race and leap over the swell and some kind of large whales, possibly fin whales, spout and dive.

We've got just over 120 miles to San Diego. We're still fighting a counter-current but are hoping on making it to California sometime tomorrow night. The last of the light disappears with the hundred dolphins that just crossed our bow.

Half Way to the USA

2011-06-15T00:56:00.001+08:00

Dolphins cruise in lazy circles around us as we bob restfully next to a kelp bed in Turtle Bay. The sun has broken through the cloudy marine layer and the wind has even settled down, allowing a quiet peace to envelop us for a change. It's 4 in the afternoon California time. Yeah, that's right, California time. It's been 4 1/2 years since DreamKeeper has been back in this time zone and for us, it's just one more conscious connection about how close we really are to being back in the USA.

Today is a much appreciated day. We were ready for a break and Turtle Bay has been kind to us.

Yesterday afternoon was a total contrast. We had made good time in the early parts of the day and I even saw a few whale spouts and a big fluke of a diving gray behemoth, most likely all gray whales. But then old man northerly wind decided to perk right up and let us know who 'el jefe' was out in these parts and that the bash was definitely not over yet. As sunset grew closer, we pounded and pounded into the steepening spicy seas and the 25+ knot wind decided it was time to put us in our place once again. We tacked back and forth trying to allow DK to gain some momentum and raise our speed above 3 knots before we would slam her nose into another neck-jaring steep wall of water which would stop us in our tracks completely. Of course, our autopilot wanted nothing to do with these conditions and let us know it was done for the duration. Between some hand-steering and old faithful, Monitor, however, we persevered.

And then there was the back-of-my-mind thought wondering if we would have enough diesel to make it. We were burning almost twice as much as normal pushing the revs on the Yanmar to punch through some of the seas to make headway. We knew it would be close, but did we actually have enough? Would we actually make it into the Bay or were we going to hear the second tank dry up in the middle of the night and that would be it, under sail alone from there on out? Just another factor playing out in the constant game of our bash strategy reality.

It went on like this until almost midnight and believe me it was no better trying to rest in the sea birth as every steep wave would throw you up into the air from the coffin-like nest we made for our frigid bodies down below. There were some shut-eye times only to be awaken rudely like a slap in the face not knowing if you are in the dream world or something less gentle and kind, which we were.

But a little after 11 the wind relented and we could once again point back towards our waypoint and our oh so close destination of Turtle Bay. We crept into the bay after midnight with a full moon piercing the marine layer of clouds and illuminating the guardian rocks at the entrance where the familiar sounds of our seal friends called out to each other. We dropped the hook on the outside of the anchorage and it wasn't long before we were tucked in until morning, except for Nic and her craving for toast at 2 am before joining me in the non-rolly, non-slamming, warm duvet-covered bliss in our V-berth.

So we are a bit over half-way to San Diego. We are fueled up and rested. We took a cockpit shower this morning and scrubbed our disgustingly stinky bodies clean with hot water. Now, we are ready to take on the next leg of the Baja. We raise the hook tonight again at midnight and for the next 24 hours or so will be bashing north into what should be the last difficult section of this coastline, out and around Cedros Island. After that, the weather files are showing everything mellowing a bit more and we are hoping for an easier last 2 days travel north as we finish off the last of our Mexican journey.

Making Miles

2011-06-13T04:06:00.001+08:00

It's always hard for us to leave an anchorage at night. There's something I dread about leaving our cozy nest to pull the hook up and set out into the cold, dark, windy, night. For us it's much easier to leave on the dawn of a crystal clear, beautiful blue bird day. But leaving Bahia Santa Maria, we started our journey around a cape and here on the outside of the Baja the winds and seas generally die down at night. So at midnight we were off.

We have heard from more than one seasoned captain the golden hours for travel along this coast are from 2300 to 1100 hours. So far we have found this advise to be true. It's 0345 as I write this and it's blowing 9-11 knots. We can't sail exactly on our course but we are making 4.5-5.5 knots even with a counter current running against us. A fishing boat just passed us. The air smells like squid eggs, pungent, sweet, and briny. Dark clouds cloak the sky and fly swiftly towards the southwest. They have revealed the glowing moon to me only once with a swift swipe of the clouds. She hung rounded side down, just over the horizon of rolling seas. She is getting bigger.

Today the winds have been kind to us. Although it is now the sunset hour and the seas and winds are kicking up, slowing our good progress. We pitch up and down but the boat is strong and we are cozy and dry.

The water is getting colder. Long whips of sea kelp float aimlessly in this stretch of ocean. Some kind of gull rides the troughs of the swell. A thick band of high cumulus clouds bows above us.

Today has been a good day. We have 134 miles to go to Turtle Bay. Here's to hoping the winds lay down with the sun's departure.

Onward to Turtle Bay

2011-06-12T02:14:00.001+08:00

This morning we awoke to terns calling and I got my first hit of real sadness. Sadness that this journey will be over soon and we will be leaving this life. Anchoring in stunning places and being part of the place is something we have absolutely loved. We haven't been able to do enough of it lately so this one is bittersweet. This is the first actual location we've returned to. It brings back so many memories, surf landings, crabs on the beach, sand dollar frisbees, lobster pasta with new cruiser friends at Xmas time, and delightful local fisherman. Like we've said before, we're ready for a change but there will be so many things we will miss.

The cruiser tribe that was here all left early this morning. This is one thing we won't miss. We haven't been around the cruising community much in a while and didn't think about how big of a deal the Baja Bash is to so many sailors. We have been sitting here with 10 other boats in the anchorage and the VHF chit-chat has been almost non-stop about the weather and when and how boats will leave. Even more annoying, our 18 channel on our VHF bleeds over to 16, so when boats switch to 18, which they have been doing constantly, we can hear their conversations too. At times, we smile and are cheaply entertained but at other times we've had to switch off the VHF entirely just to have some peace.

Don't get me wrong...it's not that we are better then all these other cruisers. We are just different. We've almost never wanted to be part of these circles where everyone is always sharing plans and buddy boating along together. It's just not us, and takes away from the adventurous and independent side of the cruising life which has always been our way. When a certain boat here in the anchorage is calling for a "cruiser net" in the morning and evenings for all the boats here to check-in and share weather data, we opt out. A "cruiser VHF net" in Bahia Santa Maria? It's a bit much for us.

On a positive note, the VHF is an helpful and important tool. Just yesterday a boat was calling looking for a barometer for their clipper route (offshore) passage to Oregon and a boat in this anchorage swiftly responded with one. We have seen this thing happen again and again. The cruising community really is amazing most of the time. We all would do anything to help another one of us. Out here with people we may never have befriended in another world we would automatically go out of our way to help them if we could, and most other cruisers would do the same. It is a special thing to know you have a community that you can depend on.

We have spent the last two days cooking soups and baking cookies and banana breads, watching movies, catching up on TIME magazine articles, and going through old photos. Returning to Bahia Santa Maria and reflecting on where we came from and where we've been, we realize we've come a long long ways since when we arrived to this bay 4 1/2 years ago. We were pretty green back then. And even though we chose not to buddy boat or join a group of cruisers south to Mexico like the Baja HaHa, we hadn't done that many overnight passages together on DK and we were nervous. Now that's all changed. Even though the Baja Bash isn't fun nor easy with all the beating into the wind and seas, by no means is it that tough. Being smart with planning and patient with weather windows helps a ton. And then accepting the reality of motor-sailing for 2-3 cold nights in a row is part of the deal. Thankfully this is isn't the southern ocean with big storms and massive seas nor is it filled with
possible potential pirates. This is still Mexico and there are places to anchor, hide, and actually escape from the winds and seas if you need to.

We'll leave tonight about midnight and hope the boats ahead of us are fairing well and the VHF chatter isn't floating too far on the airwaves. The weather forecast looks good and we're hoping we can get to Turtle Bay in a couple of days, do a quick refuel, and continue on. All rested up and ready for Leg 2 to begin.

200 Miles Down. 600 To Go

2011-06-10T04:56:00.001+08:00

It wasn't long after we posted our last blog when the late afternoon wind piped up into the mid-20's. Then the seas built to 6-8' with occasional steep 10 foot sets pounding our hull. We were still hugging the coast, only a few miles offshore, and it seemed prudent to switch tacks and start heading out to sea. But, of course, the wind backed directly where we wanted to point so we patiently waited and ran further up the coast. We struggled to make 2-3 knots and continued to get smacked by the big ones stalling any forward momentum we were making. Water poured over the decks as DK shook each tremor off and plowed onward. It was a long afternoon and early evening, and our dinner consisted of a few saltines and another couple Stugeron pills, the best remedy for seasickness we know of.

Chingitos were still in effect and we hoped for the usual overnight wind die-down period. Thankfully, we weren't disappointed.
10 pm and everything started mellowing. The winds clocked around more to the north, the gusts were only in the 15-18 knot range and the bigger seas less and less consistent. We finally changed tacks, pointed a few miles off of Punta Tosca, the southern cape of Mag Bay, and started making miles again.

Supposedly the best time to make northerly miles on the Baja Bash is from 11 pm to 11 am. So far we are believers.
The Yanmar hummed and the reefed-mainsail did all she could to keep us from rolling too much as we punched through the choppy seas and worked our way around the Cape and up the edge of southern Magdalena Bay. With even better luck, we actually had a positive northerly current pushing us along as we have had almost the whole way from Cabo Falso. We would take anything we could get and were just hoping that the winds and seas would stay sleepy until late morning. They did.

The watermelon slice of a half moon got swallowed by the sea by 0200 and the stars glittered in the cold clear skies. Even though the winds layed down a bit, it was still cold. I think yesterday was the last day for barefeet. We have covered our brown toes with thick socks and sea boots. We both snuggled deep into our fleeces and foulies last night, tucking ourselves under the dodger on the leeward side, as far away from the wind and cold as we could be while on watch.

It really feels like we are headed homeward bound now. With the cold water and air come familiar sea friends. Ancient pelicans fly in formation, skimming the tops of waves. Cormorants sit seemingly comfortably in the heaving seas and scatter, their black webbed feet kicking off wave trains gracelessly as we plow through their domain. Spinner dolphins visited us once again and everything looks crisp and clear. The light is different here where the sea and desert meet.

Golden windswept and barren hills contrast dramatically with the teal green sea. Mt. San Lazaro hovers above us, creating a barrier between the Pacific Ocean and Santa Maria Bay. It seems like yesterday when we tucked in here right before Christmas of 2006.

We dropped our hook this morning at about 1100 in a mix of 10 other sail and motor yachts headed north. Some have been here for over a week waiting for better weather. The chilly north-westerly wind funnels through the notch reminding us of our old friend, Hurricane Gulch in the San Francisco Bay. We'll see how long our hook stays planted here. For now it is good to be warm and cozy.

Up the Outside Day 1

2011-06-09T00:23:00.001+08:00

Chingitos is my new favorite word. It means fingers crossed in Spanish; it also has something to do with monkeys that I don't understand. So far chingitos has worked. We're off and on our way north.

Yesterday, after waking up early and planning on a leisurely day of projects and lazing about we checked the weather and re-checked the weather, tuned into weather guru Don Anderson's report on the HF radio to no avail, and then, finally, made a decision. Leave San Jose del Cabo pronto.

Being able to completely transform our plan for the day of our passage always fills me with such appreciation and joy. Throughout the years, again and again, we have morphed ourselves by clicking into our wondertwin powers to 'form of' something and then responded.

Yesterday was a bit of a whirlwind, but in a good way. I powered out another fresh food shop and Gar did a few final boat projects. By the end of the day food was stored, soup was made, projects were done, shade tarps were stowed and we even got to relax for an hour. We had a really thoughtful evening thanks to Captain Jim Elfers, the author of the 'Baja Bash' books and the marina manager for San Jose Del Cabo. Jim kindly hosted a dinner for three circumnavigator boats in San Jose del Cabo, SV Magnum, SV Carmen Miranda and Us. Thanks Jim.

At 10 pm, we slipped out of the marina leaving under starry skies and a grinning moon in 12 knots of head-wind and bumpy seas. Motoring through chop and light 12 knot winds I prayed to all of the spirits I belive in and that my chingitos were working and the wind would behave when we rounded the notoriously windy Cabo Falso. The journey up the Baja is not generally known to be an easy one and is referred to as the Baja Bash for a reason. There are 5 windy capes we have to round, often with increased winds of 10-15 knots above wind speed as well as long stretches of windy headwinds often building to steep fetch. Patience, strategy, and perseverance, along with a pinch of luck, are required for a safe and successful passage north.

Last night Lady Luck was with us. By midnight our winds were down to 5-10 knots and rounding Cabo Falso was a gratefully graceful beginning. We raced along, motor sailing throughout the star sprinkled night in light winds making 5-6 knots throughout the night. Dawn broke with chilly dry desert air licking my cheeks and bare toes. The mountains turned the color of the flesh of nectarines for a moments before the sun splashed the sea with glittering diamonds. Pelicans dove nearby and two pangas raced into the horizon behind us. Three pods of spinner dolphins have come for a visit, their groups each over a hundred strong.

DreamKeeper is greeting the increasing winds and swell like a champion. Green water washes over our decks intermittently now as it becomes late afternoon and we are grateful we chose this weather window. I struggle to type as we hobby-horse up and down and side to side. The rig groans in weak protest and she powers on. Eighty nine miles till Bahia Santa Maria where we hope to wait for a better weather window before continuing homeward bound. Chingitos.

Welcome Back to Baja

2011-06-05T18:30:00.002+08:00

We slept in today until the late hour of 8 am. For us that is late late late. We slept like the dead.
Our friends with babies tell us that our sailing passages are good practice for dealing with new-borns. Sometimes we just don't sleep or if we do, it's in cat-nap segments always waking in the middle of REM during some crazy dream as the boat crashes down into another big wave. On these nights, to me it feels like we are mostly dreaming, with small snippets of time connecting with the real world, whatever that is. The illusion.

But anyways, two nights ago we had one of those sleepless nights. Even though we only saw a max of 20 knots for 24 hours, the waves picked up and were steep and forceful. Of course we were beating and slamming right into them taking wave after wave across our deck along with the many unlucky squid and flying fish who ended up as casualties (we actually had 2 unlucky flying fish get stuck and plug up our scupper drain). It was very reminiscent to us of our northern Red Sea experience, tough, loud, and lots of work, but thankfully, without the sandstorms. And thank you bilge pump for being fixed. But, no thank you autopilot, that does not like these conditions. It went out again and again and we finally just hooked up the Monitor windwave, which seems to work fine even when we are motor-sailing. Thank you windvane!

It took us only about 48 hours or so to travel from Banderas Bay to the Cabo area of Baja. Not bad considering most of it was a beat. We are once again grateful to be another almost 300 miles closer to home.

Yesterday morning, after talking with some boats on the HF radio and one boat in Cabo on the VHF, we sat in the lee of Baja, 10 miles from Cabo and processed our options. Should we do a quick fuel in Cabo and then take off at midnight to round the notoriously windy Cabo Falso and head up to Mag Bay, 150 miles away on the outside of Baja? The weather forecasts were all saying the wind would fill in to 20-30 about half-way up to Mag Bay timing wise for us. We knew we could get there, but also knew it would suck and then we would be stuck in Mag Bay for possibly 4-5 days minimum until another possible hole appeared. We pondered it for an hour and watched the sun warm up the day on the Baja desert landscape.

We finally made a decision. As much as we wanted to keep going, we weren't ready for another tough 2 night passage beating into most likely much bigger seas on this stretch and then being stuck in Mag Bay for a long time. So, after a final deliberation, we took option 2 to go hole up and wait for the next weather window. The new marina of San Jose del Cabo is 17 miles from Cabo San Lucas, much cheaper, less crazy, and a good fit. We turned back to the east and headed in while Nic went down below to finally get a couple of hours shut-eye.

In the lee of Baja, the wind was dead and the seas were small. I had already seen a big mahi jump and some other big fish on the surface that morning. With the Pacific Ocean and Sea of Cortez waters all meeting around this point and with massive underwater canyons below, this area is a renown big-game fishing spot. The little sport-fishing boats were out in force all around us doing what they do every day of the year. It was time to fish again.

I put 2 of our hand-lines out and gave my buddy, Billy, a ring in the US. We were having a good chat when within 10 minutes I looked back and saw a big splash and one of the bungees on my hand-line go tight. Fish on. Sorry Billy, gotta call you back, time to deal. I cut the engine and brought the other hand-line in. I could tell it was a big fish the way it was really pulling and going back and forth. I had to wake up Nic. She needed to be my gaff-girl. Sorry sleepyhead. She wasn't happy.

I fought the fish hand-over-hand for about 20 minutes. It was strong and I had to keep letting it run. In hindsight I should have drug it with the boat a little longer to tire it out. Oh well, it was more fun this way and I love the simplicity of a hand-line. It keeps me humble and connects me more with my primordial self. I need that sometimes.

I finally pulled it close to the side of the boat and a big pile of 200 lb. line at my feet. I saw it for the first time. A beautiful massive wahoo, maybe 5 feet long with girth. It was by far the largest wahoo I had ever seen in person. The water here is clear blue and the fish was gorgeous swimming beside the boat in it's liquid world. I pulled it a little closer and that was it for the fish, it dove deep and I had to let it run. With the slack in the line the wahoo finally threw the lure and was free. It deserved it's freedom and Nic cheered it on from the side. She always cheers for the fish.

Wahoo is my favorite fish. Wahoo on the bbq for dinner had me almost salivating, but this one was not meant to be. It was enough just to witness a big beauty that welcomed us back to the Baja. I smiled.

I caught two more skipjacks on the way in. Both of them small and I tossed them back. No other big pelagic graced us with it's presence.

We pulled into the marina and waited behind a sport fishing boat to fill its massive fuel tanks while some kids in dingy sailors tacked around DreamKeeper. We topped off our fuel and pulled into our slip, next to our friends on Magnum; our sheltered home for the next bit until a new weather window allows us to begin the real bash up the outside of Baja.

Day 2

2011-06-04T02:24:00.001+08:00

Back to living on the walls. It's been a while since we were beating and bashing and plowing into the seas. Little reminders of the Red Sea but without the sandstorms.

Even though only 90 miles to Cabo where we will at least have respite for a night, we are slowly adjusting to another salty passage, making miles against both the seas and chilly Pacific winds streaming out of the west.

Not much to do but embrace the ride and try to keep pinching to the west as we near the Baja Peninsula. DK keeps punching her bow into the waves, the decks are awash, and one of us curls up into the leeward cockpit nook under the dodger with a blanket and book. Me, I'm once again totally sucked into the page-turning novel of "Shantaram", one of my favorite stories I've read in the last decade. Nic has already consumed two books and copious amounts of warm tea. She is hunkered down below in the lee cloth.

This is our world. We are back on the ocean and working for our northerly miles. Still unsure if there is a hole to continue up the Baja or if we will hunker down on the Cabo Peninsula and wait. We will see tomorrow.

At Sea

2011-06-03T01:03:00.001+08:00

Our world is shades of blue and white again. The light wind whistles familiarly through the boom and along the rigging. It feels good to be back on the sea.

With blessings from friends and a wish of our own we left Puerto Vallarta around 9 am this morning. We changed our head sail to our 90% and tucked our well loved 130% away. With dolphins as an escort and cooling northerly winds for company we are on our way. We sip fresh chamomile tea and nibble luscious pluots from California as a snack, both of us curled comfortably into the leeward cockpit again.

Magnum has just passed us and there is a strange absence of birds for company. We still have no answer for Gar's breathing issue but he's better today and we'll take this one like every other, one step at a time. For now we make wishes on the wind and urge our faithful steed along. Two hundred and forty miles to Cabo.

Happy New Year

2011-01-04T02:15:00.001+08:00

As they say in Grenada,
'Much love Mon' and 'Much Respect' for the New Year!

Unfortunately, a quick jaunt through the Caribe for us, but it's time to head west again to meet our families in Bonaire, about 390 miles away.

Nicole did, however, just manage to spend some hours on old faithful, her MacBook Pro, processing her hundreds of new images.
Links on our homepage website will take you there!

www.svdreamkeeper.com

Landfall

2010-12-30T17:00:00.001+08:00

We had a sweet landfall, literally sweet. We had grand visions of launching the dingy, checking in and having a lovely meal on shore to celebrate our safe passage and Christmas. Instead, we struggled with finding our balance and allowing ourselves just to stop. This always happens to us after a long passage. We are tired but can't sleep. Awake but not enough to really motivate to do much of anything, can't even read. Excited about where we are but somewhat antisocial and need a day to get back to ourselves before we have the juice to interact with other people. It's not that we're cagey or freaked out, although we'd be the first to admit we do feel a little strange after so long at sea. In some ways we just have to take the time to slowly adapt without all of the stimulation landfall brings.

Dropping the hook in the back of the pack of over 200 boats in Port Elizabeth in Bequia, we assumed we would slip in anonymously and sort ourselves out. While we were resetting our anchor (we were a little closer than we wanted to be in gusty squally conditions) we waved to one of our neighbor boats, one of the few Americans in the anchorage, Tim, on Osprey from Portsmouth, RI. Once we were settled again and sitting in the cockpit watching our new world, boats zipping back and forth, guys selling "Lobsta", charter boats having issues anchoring, and boatloads of people zipping here and there, Tim sped over with a delivery. Pumpkin Pie! This sealed the deal, we were definitely staying on board for the night. What a kind gift on Christmas, "Welcome home," he said with a smile. We were again in the Americas, and what a better way to acknowledge it in our post passage stuper than to stay on DK and celebrate our homecoming with a gift of Gar's favorite, pumpkin pie. A sweet landfall indeed. Thanks Tim and family!

So, after a celebratory meal of mahi mahi, the last of the wilted cabbage and sprouting carrots, and pumpkin pie, we fell into a fitfull sleep. I woke up with every wind change, gust, and squall, and Gar rolled around throughout the night. At 5 am I cracked open my eyes and gave thanks for a full night in bed with my love. By 0700, the dingy was pumped up and the engine lowered. Wouldn't you know it, after letting the sun climb higher into the sky we took off and our engine sputtered for fuel just minutes after leaving the mothership. It wasn't the first time the outboard has given us grief. It is the carburetor, always the carburetor. After an hour of wrenching and cleaning, Gar got him purring again and we were off (yes, a new carb is finally on order).

Zipping to one of the many piers in Bequia we were absolutely overstimulated. There were people everywhere. The dock we chose, in the center of town was also the dock for the cruise ship passengers coming and going all day. There were security guards with mirrored sunglasses, perfectly pressed uniforms, and nary a smile, rasta-men just outside the gates with long ropey dreadlocks hanging down their backs or sitting under their handcroched tams (hats), local women swished by with tight lycra dresses and old ladies paraded past like peacocks in their sunday best, wearing hats with feathers and veils, high heels and suits and floral dresses. Cars and taxis painted in wild colors putted past and tourists were everywhere. The colors though, perhaps those are always the most shocking. Greens popped out from the bushes and trees and flowers glowed orange, fuchsia, and yellow. There seemed to be more colors in the world than I last recalled. There was a faint smell of earth but not the intently rich smell of land I remembered from the Marquesas. I couldn't smell it from the sea as I have so many times before.

Our legs remembered how to work without difficulty and we climbed above the anchorage, weaving on upper roads, passing flowering mango trees. The colors were brighter from there and we could see the shallow and deep parts of the anchorage clearly, aqua running into deep blue. We took a side road down and strolled some more. Check in was easy. With only one form to fill out and both customs and immigration in the same office, it was a breeze.

Everything is easy in the Caribbean, simply sweet. There is a Rasta fresh fruit and veg stand at the end of town and they sell whatever is growing in St Vincent, not much is productive on Bequia after the hurricane. Passion fruits, mangoes, papaya, bananas, green beans, ginger, avocados... The three or four grocery stores all stock something different and they seem to have everything for a price. And then there are the restaurants. Our first meal was lobster salad and a snapper burger. We could have followed that with lobster pizza and grilled pork ribs but instead we wandered to gingerbread (a quaint cafe with a delectable selection of sweets), gingerbread among them, coffees, teas, and beer. Beside it was another great place, Marianne's, a homemade ice cream shop. In addition Marianne sells fresh yummy yogurt and local honey. We took two quarts of yogurt and and to pints of honey.

After a couple of days of sleeping, wandering, and eating our fill of fresh food we were we were off. Like I said, things are easy here in Bequia. We could have had Daffodil Marine pick up our laundry, deliver ice, fill water, or fuel but for a very high price, $6 US a gallon for diesel. Instead we motored to the fuel barge and had the easiest fueling we've ever had. After half of an hour our tanks were topped up with 110 gallons for only $3.35 a gallon, the cheapest diesel since Egypt 7 months ago. We rose the mainsail, unfurled the jib, and followed the gusty trade winds out of the harbor. We were off to the Tobago Cays.

Land HO HO HO

2010-12-25T22:39:00.001+08:00

DK dropped her hook among 200+ other sailboats on Xmas morning in Port Elizabeth, on the island of Bequia in the Grenadines!
Pretty surreal to finally be stopped. We are stoked. Did we really just sail across the Atlantic Ocean? Feels like a blur.

Our Xmas present to each other this year is our landfall. That's plenty. Nothing else wanted.

Thanks again for all the love and support!!

Merry Xmas to you all from the Caribbean.

Day 24

2010-12-25T01:21:00.001+08:00

random Xmas Eve notes from the captain...

i changed my t-shirt the other day. yeah, i know, my last one was pretty stinky, it was definitely time for a change.
i have now been wearing my favorite Thailand cliche' t-shirt with the saying on the front, "same same", and on the back, "but different"...all of you globetrotters who have been to Thailand know it well.
but i like it, with it's message meaning everything and nothing at the same time. it's pretty much fitting for our last few days on this boat.

so, in the theme of the t-shirt, some thoughts:

SAME SAME: dark gray skies have once again decided to descend upon our world. squalls blow through from time to time bringing buckets of rain and erratic wind. when the squalls leave, so does the wind. we continue to roll back and forth with the seas and our faithful diesel propels us westward. our sail continues to slam from side to side...bam...bam...bam...

SAME SAME: we still have a current against us. not nice. the ocean currents this season don't seem to be doing what they're supposed to, at least not for us anyways. global warming? la nina? not sure...

SAME SAME: how do we continue to spend our time, you may ask? same same...staring at the mighty sea for hours on end. attempting to find comfort in the rolling boat wedging 3 or 4 small cockpit pillows into the cockpit corner for a semi-ergonomic position. read read read (i think nic and i have both finished about 12 books now). turn on the ipod and escape to some music or more podcast stories about life outside of our floating bubble. sleep. eat. sleep some more. eat some more. and, once in a while, we escape into the laptop, nestled in the seabirth while we sweat and enjoy a dvd movie.

SAME SAME: another pod of dolphins just came to visit. always a good thing...Nic usually has a perma-grin for at least an hour after she sees them. these ones were dark gray and big, possibly "rough-tooth" or maybe "common Atlantic". they swam with DK for 1/2 hour or so and were clicking away to each other the whole time. one of them, the Alpha we presume, was huge, maybe 8-10 feet long, and dominated the best position to ride our bow-wave almost the whole time. they would roll on their side and look up at us.

SAME SAME: we still have some carrots, but they're growing hair.

SAME SAME: we have a few apples, but they're mealy and will be saved for a cobbler.

SAME SAME: we are still in the fresh air, but all we can smell is diesel exhaust.

********

BUT DIFFERENT: Land Ho! yes, we are currently sailing 5 miles past the northern tip of Barbados. the low-lying island is completely covered in gray clouds as the rain and tropical squalls are omnipresent lately. regardless, it's great to get a glimpse of an island and our first of the Caribbean. we wish we had time to stop everywhere, Barbados is supposedly pretty cool, but, alas, we have a deadline to meet family in Bonaire on January 8th...so only 9 days or so in the Caribbean before another 350 mile passage west. the Caribbean adventures will be short, but hopefully sweet.

BUT DIFFERENT: i took my head wound steri-strips off today. healing. yeah, i know, us Taurus bulls never learn. at least no stitches this time.

BUT DIFFERENT: ok, i need to clarify nic's update the other day. when she said it was 85 degrees and hot, she meant to add it was this hot "in our cabin". sure we have these tiny little DC fans that help...but let's just say it's easy to lose some pounds of sweat inside on those days. outside it was probably 95 degrees F. in the sun. today, cloudy and cooler. respite.

BUT DIFFERENT: with all this motoring, we have had plenty of energy to run our watermaker. which means, plenty of water and plenty of showers. in the last few days we have been showering off on deck 3-4 times in the day. of course, once you shower off you immediately start sweating again. we are definitely back in the tropics!

BUT DIFFERENT: a bobbing coconut just floated past

BUT DIFFERENT: our cruising friends on the boat, Magnum, dropped their hook on the island of St.Lucia last night. they sounded elated on the radio last evening as they have had some boat issues, including the latest a few days back when their watermaker quit working. their fix-it list is long, but they are finally across the pond and can have a merry xmas and forget about all the boat stuff for a while. Kara is thrilled to be there so Santa can find her for Xmas morning.
Congratulations Anne, Uwe, and Kara!

And there you have it, me hearties, 92 miles to go for DK and her salty crew.
We will definitely be celebrating Xmas 2010 with the closure of this long sailing passage and tonight we will keep a good lookout for Santa and his reindeer as he does the present delivery to all the kiddos in the Caribbean.

Thanks to everyone who has been writing for your thoughtful and caring emails.

Merry Xmas Eve and much love to you all!!

Day 22

2010-12-23T02:42:00.001+08:00

The sky disappeared, smothered by a cloak of clouds. We were surrounded as the ceiling closed in and squalls hit us again and again for 24 hours. By the afternoon, I sat for two hours circled comfortably in the cockpit, absolutely dry under our dodger and bimini, sipping jasmine tea and loving this rain. There was something beautiful and peaceful in it's presence. It wasn't the torrential downpour Gar had on more than one of his watches. No, this was the pitter-patter of rain, without the energy of wind, effortlessly falling in large, well spaced drops. I was more soggy than soaked and content to watch the gray swell of the ocean heave across the horizon. Low clouds clung to the moisture, not greedily, just enough to control the rain. The clouds lingered for a few more hours and broke slowly last night, offering new colors to our world other than shades of gray, blue, and white. Fire pink exploded through the layers tinged with orange and touches of gold. The clouds stayed longer; they broke apart and reconvened throughout the night.

By this morning there was only a swipe of clouds in the east, a mere reminder of what yesterday had been. The wind has deserted us and by mid morning the sky is a brilliant cornflower blue with a hint of periwinkle. We are motoring and the seas are quiet.

It is hot today, 85 degrees fahrenheit in the cabin and the humidity clings to us. We've already rinsed three times. The cold water against our skin brings relief until we are almost dry. And then we stay that way, almost dry.

We had a little drama with Gar's head today. It isn't the first time he's split it open. Always a Taurus, as a bull he often leads with his head. Sometimes I wish he had horns to cushion the blow. He hit the galley cabinet hard coming out of the freezer with roasted chicken and sausages. He's got a good gash and a robin's egg sized bump on this forehead. Thankfully we still have steri-strips and tincture of benzoine. With a constant slick of sweat on our bodies it is a bit challenging to coax the steri-strips to stick. Tincture of benzoine is the trick, the perfect medical glue.

By mid afternoon it is so hot we do not want to leave a toe or finger lingering in the sun, it is that fierce. Within minutes, I am on fire. Cumulus clouds have gathered again, stretching along the horizon. Watching rain fall in squalls around us again, I almost beg for a visit or steer towards them with the hope of some relief from the searing heat.

It is now evening and the sun has all but left us, taking the suffocating heat with it. Cumulus clouds climb higher still and to the south it is raining a rainbow.

We have 341 miles to go.

Day 21

2010-12-21T17:47:00.001+08:00

Some morning random thoughts from the captain:

-let's see...now that the sun is up, maybe the massive dark gray rain squalls that hammered us all night long will finally dissipate. (A quick glance on the horizon and the radar)...huh, looks like the answer this morning in a definite, NO.

-If a rain squall is about 5 miles away and traveling towards us at 1 mile or so every 5 minutes, that would give me plenty of time to go make some oatmeal, right? Of course, boiling water on the stove in the disgustingly hot humid cabin will be a bit of sweaty work, and having to hold the pot of water the whole time so that DK's incessant rolling doesn't throw it off the stove. Hmmm...10-15 minutes down below...worth it? ok, what else can i have for breakfast?

-nic hasn't moved a muscle since she bedded down an hour ago. she is by far the lightest sleeper i know...must be really really tired today.

-what's that smell? more flying fish casualties on deck? no, just my shirt. when was the last time i changed it? hmmm...must be 5 days now. wonder if it will make it until xmas? :)

-and why does my head itch so much? well, let's see, when was the last time i took a proper shower and scrubbed my head? Cape Verdes, 11 days ago i think. last time showering on deck and scrubbing my head using the cockpit hose?? hmmm...must be 4 days now....ahh, so that's why my head itches. i'll make a note of it.

-i'm enjoying my cup of black tea (with 2 bags in, of course) this morning while watching the rain squalls build and the sun's "God's rays" filter down behind. sure is beautiful, but, man, i sure am missing a cup of coffee. wonder when i had a cup of good coffee last? oh yeah, the Cape Verdes, 11 days ago, and the only one i've had since we left the Canary Islands 21 days ago. sure wish i didn't feel seasick if i drank coffee on passage. wonder if they have eggnog in the Caribbean? oh yes, i do love some good 'nog'. what a Xmas present that would be...a cup of dark roast with some eggnog in it. i'll let ya know...

-these booby birds sure are fun to watch hunt for flying fish. but, boy are they stupid birds. they are still the only seabirds who have circled and dove on our fishing lures in the past 4 years of sailing. plus, it was a booby who actually did decide to circle, contemplate, then, yes, land on our spinning wind generator in the Pacific Ocean. expecting a blood bath of booby parts, we were elated to see that the wind generator wasn't spinning fast enough and instead only threw the booby into our mainsail where it lay for an hour, stunned, unscathed, and just stared at us with this perplexed look saying, "wow. that wasn't what i expected. where am i again?" An hour later it flew away, thankfully, with no blood residue left behind all over our boat and sail.

-here comes the wind again. (watching my instruments while i write this i see the wind jump from 15 to 25 knots). the boat heels over. outside it is black again. rain squall coming. better head out to the cockpit, trim the jib, put on my raincoat, remove all books and pillows from the cockpit, put companionway boards in to protect the cabin from getting wet, and go deal again. let's see, how long has it been since i just did this....30 minutes...not bad, not bad.

-nic said she might have seen a glimpse of the full moon eclipse last night. very red, just a slice of moon peeking out from the layers of clouds above. bummer it wasn't a clear night, last night was our cloudiest in 21 days. guess we are picking up the rain vibe from the western US, as it sounds like everyone is getting wet this Xmas.

-the dolphins sure were cool 2 nights ago. after not seeing a pod in almost 2 weeks, we had visits from 2 different pods in an hour. the first was a smaller group of very large (7-8') "roughtooth dolphins". big, mellow, dark mottled-grey with lots of scratches...they came and hung with us for an hour surfing our bow-wave and just saying hello.
then, the spinner dolphin pod came at sunset. i could see them coming from all directions at one, springing 10 feet out of the big rolling 10-15 foot waves, and racing to our boat. they reminded me of a big pack of ecstatic tail-wagging golden retrievers, so excited to come play and visit. and play they did. there must have been hundreds of them, all around our boat. 20 of them often vying for position at the bow-wave at front and the rest launching out of the waves sometimes 10-15 feet in the air in two's and three's and four's. so fun. you couldn't help but have a perma-grin just watching them through the last minutes of twilight.

-should i even say this. ok, knock on wood, the captain is super pleased...DK is holding up really well on this passage. yes, we have had some issues with reef lines chafing through, our Monitor wind vane temporarily not working, needing to re-set and program our Balmar charging regulator to work properly, and, of course, some small glitches with our Raymarine instruments (imagine that)...but, we are so thankful that is it. DK is holding up amazingly well considering the miles we are putting under her keel and the constant wear and tear of the ocean.

-unfortunately, our friends on the boat, Magnum, who are only 100 miles in front of us and whom we speak to on the HF radio every evening, aren't doing as well. Anne is battling with seasickness still....this is the rolliest she has ever been on the boat before, she says. also, their steering cable has now broken twice. Uwe has it held together with clamps and it seems to be working right now. their whisker pole to mast attachment broke yesterday, so no 'poling out the jib' for them anymore. and, they drained there first fuel tank and plugged up the fuel filter with algae. not a good sign, means that at least that particular tank has a thick covering of algae in it. a big job for later. bummer.
but they are hanging in there and thrilled that they are on the 3 day count down. they should drop the hook in St.Lucia on Xmas eve day.

-only 500 miles to go until landfall in Bequia, in the Grenadines of the Caribe. Looks like landfall on Xmas morning if all goes well....only 3 more full days after today.

So, Happy Solstice everyone! On the shortest day of the year, Nicole and I wish you all more light to bring good health and good energy for the new year!
Thanks for all of you who have been reading our words, writing us emails on passage, and/or for just sending us positive vibes for a crossing! We feel it.

out
el capitan

Day 19

2010-12-19T23:46:00.001+08:00

We got lucky, at 0300 this morning the wind filled in, 14 knots out of the ENE, steady and building. By 0900 puffy cumulus gathered around the horizon in a layered belt floating by with fluffy tops and rounded undersides. The sea turned from violet to indigo and back to that deep sea blue I love. The wind kicked up to 18 knots and the seas were slowly building.

What a contrast from last night. A big moon crossed the sky transforming the sea into liquid silver. It was so bright, I could almost read by moonlight. The horizon was clear with a slow rolling swell and the thin puffy cumulus clouds glowed throughout the night. The sails were set with a light 8-9 knots in them and small seas so all was quiet below. Then at 0200 the vhf crackled to life. "DreamKeeper, Dreamkeeper this is yacht 66," a British voice hailed on channel 16. I had been watching a bright steaming light approaching for the last couple of hours and was wondering how close they would come. The voice on the end of the radio informed me their CPA (basically interception) was quite close but they were keeping a sharp watch and monitoring me closely. I was grateful for their call, an hour later they ghosted past, within 500 feet of us, quite close for a huge ocean. It appeared they were a huge luxury sailboat, without sails (they're too big to slam back and forth in the se seas). Time is different out here, for the next 40 minutes I watched stern light slowly disappear over the horizon.

By 1200 today the winds kicked up a decent wind chop of 4-6 feet from the east and the ocean swell is coming out of the northwest at a lazy 10-13 feet. We are slamming around a bit as we skate down the face of the wind swell and get tossed about by the sea swell, still banging every now and then but nowhere near what it was just a day ago. Now the boat creaks and groans once in a while as she sways back and forth in an awkward slow dance with the gusting wind and building seas. No fishing today but we did get lucky yesterday.

The hand-line, looked strange, taught against the bungee but almost imperceptibly so. "Gar, did you put these lines way out there," I asked, my head poking down the companionway hatch. "No, why?" he asked, lifting his head from the pillow he just lowered it onto. "Feels funny, maybe we've got a fish on," I replied as I began taking the line in hand over hand to check. "Fish!" I yelled. Usually we need two of us, one to pull in the line the other to gaff it. Flashing brilliant peacock blue, emerald green, lemon yellow and lime green turquoise and midnight blue again and again our prize mahi for the day came to the surface in all of her beautiful glory. It is so hard to kill these fish both for their beauty and their symbolism. Their colors flash to me in that moment as a final death flag, fighting, releasing everything they've got in the stress of the moment, which we aimed to end swiftly. Mahi Mahi supposedly mate for life. As Gar finished pulling in the fish, he checked the water for a mate and found none. Dinner for sure. Gaffed and on deck, she flashed for a final time and we gave thanks as we watched her brilliant colors quickly turn gray and muted within moments of her death, even the turquoise spots splashed along her flank lost their luster.

It is with the mahi that we are even more aware of the choice we are making in choosing to eat meat. There is no way around seeing something so graceful and stunning and watching it change so quickly to the color of death. And yet it is a choice, eating meat and we have chosen it for now in our lives. There is no fresher or purer form, than fresh live wild food. We are meat fisherpeople and take only what we will eat. Always respectful and reverent but this time this fish was even more of a gift. Gar just finished reading 'Four Fish', by Paul Greenberg, where, among many things, he learned mahi mahi are so wild they cannot be bred for aquaculture and will ram themselves to death before adapting to life inside of nets or cages. So we are lucky enough to once again be eating some of the ocean's wild food. She was lovely and we harvested 12 great fillets from her flanks. Our bellies are full and the freezer is holding what we could not consume last night or today.

The forecast is calling for more wind tomorrow, 15-20 which likely means 25. And wind for at least another half day after that. So if all goes well we should put some good miles under our keel in the next couple of days. As of 16:45 today we have seven hundred and forty four miles to go.

Day 17

2010-12-17T23:03:00.001+08:00

Well, we are finally down to our last 1000 miles of our passage, over halfway from the Cape Verde Islands 9 days ago. The winds have again mellowed to less then 10 knots and the banging of the sails has begun again.

Sailing can be a very peaceful way of travel, but let me tell you, when you are out on blue-water passages on the mighty oceans, there are rarely days with small seas and light winds where you sail along peacefully. The Hollywood romantic vision is that when the wind dies you put up your sheets and slip through the ocean, with barely a whisper drinking some refreshing rum punch. Ha Ha! The reality is most often in light winds the seas roll you from side to side and all that canvas you have up slams back and forth...back and forth...violent, chaotic, and oh so not peaceful. Motor-sailing sometimes helps a bit keeping the forward momentum going and counteracting some of the rolling. But not always and not for us right now.

And so welcome to our peaceful sailing world for the last 15 hours or so. Bam...Bam...Bam...feels like the rig will come crashing down at any minute.
"So why don't you take your mainsail down", you may be asking, thinking we are just crazy whacked out salty dawgs and didn't even think about just dropping our sail. Well, let me tell you about taking your sail down....
With your sail down in 8-15 foot seas rolling underneath you and nothing above to counteract the rolls, your boat will soon be going from toerail to toerail back and forth...back and forth...and throwing everything in your boat off the shelves and onto the floor, including yourselves. To put it simply, it just makes the rolls exponentially worse. There really is no "fix it" solution except to be patient, put some earplugs in, and wait for the wind to arrive again.

But, overall, even with the slamming of our sails and rolling of DK, we are good. Like I said, we are now on the countdown and looking at possibly a landfall on Xmas Eve Day or Xmas Day...which would be pretty sweet for our last year of this journey.

The fishing lines are out again, but no luck lately. I've seen only 1 pod of dolphins, and those were at night, and no whales since leaving the Cape Verdes. We see other sailboats from time to time, but none closer then a few miles. Basically, we are pretty much alone out here...just us and the hundreds of flying fish we see skimming the ocean's surface when big scary DK comes too close.

Nic and I are still reading voraciously. We are each on our 8th or 9th book already. Nicole just finished the last "Twilight" book in the series. She's been saving it for this passage. It was worth it, she says. Good sappy chica reading...better her then me. She read it in a day.

One thing we are appreciating is the moon getting bigger and brighter. It is getting closer to full and definitely nice to light up our world at night. It changes everything. We both love the new moon times too when the stars pop and take over our beings, but the big bright moon at night allows you to really see the world and capture the essence of all the waves and movement around you.
It's still a mystery to us whey we have seen so many shooting stars in the last week. Meteor shower??? Amazing. Sometimes they really explode and light up the whole sky.

Please send your good vibes to the ocean mamma to bring us more wind. Bam...Bam...Bam....

Deep

2010-12-16T23:35:00.001+08:00

Zen poet captain thoughts for Day 16

blue water
blue sky

Day 15

2010-12-15T23:54:00.001+08:00

Today is just one of those days. Everything seems to be in slow motion and we are just here. Here in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean at 16. 06N, 39.35W, with light winds of 10-12 knots sometimes puffing to 14 sailing as best as we can dead down wind, between 3.5-6 knots.

We've got our sails pulled out on both sides with a maze of lines everywhere still. That's the great thing about being in the trade winds, even if they are light. We don't have to do much sail trim, just reef the gib in and out and sometimes switch sides. The main has been solid with a reef tucked in since we left the Cape Verdes. I suppose if we did a bit more sail trim we might squeeze a little more speed and grace out of our faithful DreamKeeper.

The seas have been building again slowly out of the north about 6 feet now and still coming on our beam. That means, with these lightish winds we bang, rolling sometimes violently from side to side. When we've got 14 knots we're sailing well but any lighter and it sounds like shots going off in the cabin. The boom cracks, the sails, slap, pop, and bang and it all funnels down through the mast. We could change our course a bit too but then that would add more miles on . We'll take it while we can and as long as we feel Dk is holding up well.

The clouds have come back today. Cirrus sit like a net over the sky, blocking out almost any hint of blue. In some ways this is good as it cools us down. It's definitely getting warmer. We trolled hand lines again today but no luck with the fish. Ate the last of our mahi in fish tacos for lunch. Maybe better luck tomorrow.

We've definitely been on DK a while as we both greeted the morning with kinks and aches in our necks and backs. DK rebelled yesterday needing a little attention to chafe on the lines and such. She's doing great now. I am rambling today. It's the kind of day it is lazy, nondescript, and dreamy in it's own sort of a way.

We passed two sailboats last night. And for the last couple of nights we've had a wierd occurrence, maybe someone knows what it is... We have seen a bright flash, just once, so bright it lights up the sky and then we see something streaking across the sky almost like a comet or a rocket or something. Anyone know what we're seeing? We heard there is an eclipse in the US on the 20th of December. Hope it will be clear for those of you who may be able to see it. We'll be staring at our sky to see if we can see it here.

Until tomorrow.

Rest from the Rolls

2010-12-15T01:13:00.001+08:00

The wind left us today. We were ready for a break. Not so much from the wind, but from the wind-driven swell and northerly rolling seas that have been with us for this past week. Sometimes you just get tired of living on the walls.
We had a choice: bob around in the 1-5 knots of variable winds and try to work the sails all day long
or
turn the motor on, proceed west at 5 knots/hour, fully charge the batteries, make water all day long, and put the fishing lines out, FINALLY.
Can you imagine what we chose?
The sailing purists out there will shake their heads, but we really don't care, in our book sometimes a little motor-sailing can be a good thing.

And not only have we had a relaxing enjoyable non-rolly day today, but we have succeeded in topping up the batteries, filling our water tank, and, guess what, yes, after only 4 hours total in the water in the last 5 days, we caught a fish! Nice! The small black and purple jet-head lure was the winner.

"Fish on", I yelled to Nic as she was napping in the sea-berth. I turned the Yanmar off and started pulling in the 200 lb.test hand-line. It was a smaller Mahi Mahi for us, only about a 2-footer, but definitely not a baby and a perfect size for a couple meals for us on passage. No need for the gaff, I pulled it on board with my hands and said my blessings to the fish and the fish gods. Nicole never stirred.

I was just getting ready to fillet the fish when I noticed Nic's eyes open..."hey, we just caught a mahi". "No way", she said, and woke with a smile and a start. A happy start. She had her earplugs in.

Tonight, fresh Mahi Mahi marinated in a Jamaican Rum sauce with an Asian cabbage and carrot coleslaw with rice. Tasty.

The lines are back out for a couple more hours of daylight, so who knows, maybe another fish will hit before sunset.

In the meantime, we are continuing to enjoy our non-rolly rest day as the trade winds and seas are supposedly coming back around this evening and should last for at least the next 6-7 days. We're not complaining, so far our passage has been pretty smooth sailing and hopefully the next 1400 miles will be the same.

Day 13

2010-12-14T01:24:00.001+08:00

We're loosing our trade winds a bit and rolling with the sea. The sails are slapping and banging violently as we wallow down the face of decreasing swell with the wind at our butt and our sails still wing on wing in 10-13 knots of wind. If this keeps up we'll have to change them. Our muscles and minds are getting used to the movement and everything isn't quite as challenging any more.

Fluffy cumulus clouds crossed the sky throughout the night. When the moon was up they loomed above us on our port side like eerie oversized fake clouds on a movie set. They are still with us today and have gathered their ranks and started kicking up some squalls. Not too long ago we had one on each side of us and one in front. The wind puffed and and pulled us along for awhile, now we're left with just a bit of it.

It's amazing how many colors of blue and gray there are in our world, even white. We had 2 more flying fish casualties on deck this morning and Gar gallantly saved a huge stinky one that flopped onto the stern in the wee hours. One of the interesting things about these fish is that we can usually smell them before we can see them or hear them flapping desperately to get back into the sea.

It's still too rolly for us to muster the desire to fish and actually prep and clean it if we catch anything so we're having tofu stirfry tonight. Surprisingly, our green beans have lasted 14 days in the fridge along with the red peppers. Green scallions keep growing themselves on the counter if they still have roots and carrots should last in the fridge for a month or so. The stove is gimbaling away with a pot of brown rice.

The squalls have passed and searing lines of white sunshine slice the horizon line. A sail boat is slowly passing us 6 miles to starboard. One thousand, five hundred, twenty seven or so miles to go.

Day 12

2010-12-13T03:19:00.001+08:00

The sky awoke, icy blue and lingered stretching briefly to a light shade of chartreuse and then quickly to a pale lemon yellow. Gray cumulus clouds, licked lilac, hung amidst it all. The sky stayed suspended in pale lemon for what seemed like forever until the sun at last burst through. Three more flying fish on deck this morning, seas irregularly slap our hull, and we have a school of what look like few orange fish that jet along our hull. They've been with us for two days and we now fondly consider them our pets.

We've definitely found the trades and it looks like they'll be sticking around. Winds today were 15-25 and big seas continue to roll under our keel, sometimes sending us banging from side to side. I am wedged into the navigation seat, with my right foot firmly pressed against the wall as my body sways back and forth trying to match DK's jerky rhythm.

Many of you wonder if we get bored out here and what we do all day. Today was project day. This afternoon the seas simmered down to 8-10 feet, just mellow enough for Gar to hang off the stern and fix our Monitor Windvane. He climbed over the edge and and wrapped his legs around the windvane mounted on the stern. His feet and legs dragged in the water and I kept a look out for any ferociously big waves that might threaten to throw him from his perch, all the while willing him to stay firmly attached to our moving home. After removing the pin and paddle, it was a relatively quick repair of replacing a snapped bolt and realigning a spring into it. Then it was back to the sea again to reinstall the paddle and get a lower body bath from the Atlantic. "Warm water," he said with a smile once safely back on board. Gar fixed the solar panel which wasn't changing properly and is still working on making our regulator perform as it should.

It's 19:00 and it's black out with a cheshire moon. We're sailing wing on wing now, resembling our own interpretation of a webbed butterfly. Fresh pineapple, green pepper, and chorizo pizza for dinner. I'm ready to tuck in for the night and hope for an uneventful day tomorrow. We've decided if we're ever bored on passage it's a good thing.

Sailing in the Trades

2010-12-11T18:07:00.002+08:00

Puffy cumulus dot the sky and break up the uniformity of another bluebird day. The 10-15 foot seas continue to roll in from the northern Atlantic which DK climbs up and over like rolling foothills that stretch into the horizon. The wind blows from behind at 15-20+ knots, a nice broad reach sail, pushing us to the west just like Columbus and the old clipper ships did for centuries as they headed for the Caribbean and the Americas. Our Monitor windvane holds the course and our newly replaced KISS wind generator spins effortlessly trickling the energy juice into our batteries. We have finally found the trade winds.

It's the morning of Day 11 for us since leaving the Canary Islands. We are indeed back in the tropics. Clothing is minimal, sunblock liberally applied, and a cold drink always appreciated. Dead flying fish lie as casualties on our deck from last night's starry ride, a thick layer of salt covers our dodger, and lines seem to web through our boat in every direction connecting sails, blocks, and our telescoped whisker pole standing ready for action off our starboard side. The main is reefed, the staysail taught, and our genoa partially furled up, all in sync to find the perfect balance of comfort and speed.

We did manage a quick stop-over at Mindelo harbor, in the dramatically beautiful Cape Verde Islands. We sailed in the morning of Day 8 and after circling the fuel dock for 4 hours waiting in line for diesel, we finally squeezed in between 2 100'+ mega-yachts to top up our tanks. The luxury mega-sailing yacht in front of us put in over 6000 liters (1500 gallons), which took over 3 hours to fill and almost caused a riot with all the small boats like us trying to do a quick fill of 100-300 liters each so they could slip out and away quickly. No luck, and some boat captains were fuming. The whole ordeal was painful, but by the mid-afternoon we were successful, yet exhausted and sun-baked, and tied up safely to the marina dock for an early restful night's sleep.

The Cape Verdes...a French protectorate, but more of it's "own" country, similar to "Hawaii" in the U.S. The people are mixed African and speak a local creole language. The landscape is jagged and raw, volcanic in nature, with beautiful verdant hills and peaks rising up from the sea. Cinder cones dot the landscape and clouds hang motionless up in the heights with lingering rainbows and fog settling overnight in the valleys.

There is life here. The islands are sparsely populated and much subsistence living occurs. Even though pretty poor, the people seem friendly and in our quick, less then 24 hour stay, we felt very welcome. In the Sea, there are abundant fish and they still have sharks. Big sharks. Unfortunately, times are quickly changing, as we sailed away we saw two big Japanese long-lining fishing boats coming into the harbor...so the fish and sharks are probably on their way out.

From a water-man perspective the Cape Verdes are a gem. The islands are compared to Hawaii for it's legendary surf breaks, the kite surfing on some of the islands is supposedly world class, and underwater scuba diving you can see just about every big pelagic in the ocean.

It's a shame that we can't do these islands justice. It's the only place we have stopped for such a short time, but one of those special spots you are happy to have discovered. We'll keep it on the radar for another time and day.

We untied the dock lines in the early afternoon, along with our friends, Uwe, Anne, and their daughter, Kara, on the San Francisco-based sailboat, Magnum, who were tied up right next to us. We spent the morning with them perusing the local open air market filling up once again with some fresh green spinach, fragrant fresh cilantro and mint, carrots, a papaya, and more bananas. We enjoyed a tasty coffee (my first since the Canaries) and had a local lunch together of a Cape Verdean mix of spiced rice and chicken at a downtown cafe. Big early Xmas hugs all around, as we are heading to different islands in the Caribbean and most likely won't run into each other again until Panama, a couple of months down the road.

Nic and I have decided to make landfall at Bequia, in the Grenadine island chain of the southern Caribbean. As I write this, we have 1850 more miles to go and we have already travelled approximately 1200 since leaving the Canary Islands. If all goes well we should arrive on either December 23, 24, or on Xmas day. In the meantime, we'll keep spending our time watching the ocean, thumbing through another book, and eating and sleeping the hours away.

Day 7, Decision Time

2010-12-07T21:51:00.001+08:00

Cumulus clouds march by in orderly rows. Their heads are fluffy and light, their bellies flat and gray, the color of sharkskin. Scallops of cirrus clouds line the sky to the west. We have finally stopped rolling over running hills of tall water, 15 foot swell pushed down here by a big low pressure system in the North Atlantic. The wind has all but deserted us, sucked up by the system in the north.

The ocean has changes colors again from a deep murky green to steel gray and at last to the color I love, that screams deep ocean. Deep sea blue that only shows itself when fathoms of water lie under our hull and the sun penetrates just right. It is the color of late twilight, just before darkness swallows the last tinges of blue from the sky.

Gar is tired today, yet unable to sleep. The sails banged throughout the night as DK rolled from side to side. At latitude twenty-three degrees it is hot. The cabin temperature is 80 degrees and we both have a thin layer of sweat permanently clinging to our skin. We are happy to be returning to the beloved tropics but it will take some adjusting to.

A mahi struck one of our new lures yesterday and sadly took it with him, flashing blue and yellow until he disappeared. While it rarely happens, it sickens me every time; hopefully he will be able to loose the hook.

Our mung bean sprouts our ready again, perfect for a lunch of hippy salad: quinoa tabouli with fresh mint and parsley, cucumber, and garbanzo beans with bean sprouts and feta and a slice of yummy german bread with creamy avocado on the side. We've eaten 20 mandarins and 10 apples. Our cilantro is gone and mint following close behind. We still have two avocados, green and red peppers, carrots, a few stalks of celery, and two heads of cabbage.

We've used about 40 gallons of diesel already and have decided after a bit of waffling that we will tuck into Mindelo, in the Cape Verde Islands to refuel, get some freshies, and see a bit of the place (depending on when we leave; the trades are supposed to kick in again in a few days). Our lives are dictated by weather and the functioning of the boat and her crew. While it is tempting to continue onward to the Caribbean without making landfall, it seems prudent to stop and top up our fuel supplies. This year is a strange year with weather patterns in the Atlantic and we aren't willing to bob around at sea for an extra week or two making two knots and hour if the wind deserts us for days. Some may say we're not pure sailors; it's the choice we make and we're ok with it.

So I'll be casting aside my romantic vision for a 25 day passage and replace it with a welcome night or three of uninterrupted sleep, full diesel tanks, an abundant fresh food again. Mindelo tomorrow morning if all goes as planned.

21 27'N, 18 23'W

2010-12-06T00:29:00.001+08:00

Where else in the world can one be in the presence of such grace and beauty? Motor sailing last night at sunset through glassy lilac seas we spotted a pod of what we believe were Short-finned Pilot Whales. Their squat rounded fins sliced the surface and their bubbles spun patterns of circles across the mirrored surface. It was so calm we stopped, turned the engine off and waited. About 15-20 fins and backs bobbed on the sea, reflecting the sinking African sun. More fins broke the surface and the pod came closer. Three spy-hopped, peering curiously at us, permanent smiles spread across their faces. Their bumped heads were instantly recognizable. We spun slowly around in the current and were surrounded, the pod moving in for a better look.

Exhaling with deep fffuffs, a light sea mist puffed from their breathing holes. We had front seats to our own private show. Fffuff, Fffuf, Fffuff, listening to their deep relaxed breathing was as incredible as seeing their smiling faces peek out when they broke the surface or their graceful fins arch by. Words don't describe the beauty or the feeling of gratitude and respect we feel.

Darkness came quickly and I was too wound up to sleep, lying in the sea berth at 19:30 I breathed deeply with my new found friends and somehow managed to sleep. Twenty two hundred hours came too quickly. The horizon line had vanished with a belt around the sea. It was so black it was impossibly to separate water from air. Warmer still, we no longer wear our foulies on watch and are still gratefully barefoot.

Dawn came slowly, a dull mauve sky stretched along a thin veil of cirrus clouds. Today has been a lazy day of sailing on the beam in light winds with some motor sailing. The seas have begun to build and roll lazily by. They're up to 8 feet now and expect to be 12-15 by midnight. No fish on the lines yet. Here's to hoping and being grateful for what we've got.

Peace on the Atlantic

2010-12-05T00:00:00.001+08:00

Last night we sailed under a bowl full of stars. The clouds finally departed and left me staring at the night sky and wishing on two shooting stars. There are few times I can recall that it has been as clear as it was last night. The moon is all but a sliver and can only be seen in the wee hours. I think Jupiter, Mars and Venus are out and the Milky Way is pure magic. There are so many stars it is difficult for me to identify many of the constellations as they turn slowly seemingly in layers upon themselves. Absolutely clear, brilliant and beautiful.

The wind decreased throughout the night and we found ourselves spellbound. Sailing slowly in light winds, silently slicing through the Atlantic with stars for company and dolphins returning to give me the pleasure of a double feature of dancing comets. It was so peaceful we were content to sail at 2-4 knots, soaking in the calm that settled around us. It went on all night. It was easy to succumb to the gentle roll of the boat and slap of the tiny swell. Both of us refused to break the spell.

Venus glimmering on the surface of the sea in the wee hours while the moon winked at me before setting. The sun rose leisurely, kissing the sky pink and orange, slowly turning the belly of gray clouds lemon yellow before rising in golden glory.

We are back in the living seas. Yesterday we saw three killer whales blow, yes, killer whales (Gar being a native Northwest kid with lots of killer whale sightings had no doubt as to their identity). I did, only because I could not believe the towering fins and misty blows I was seeing were killer whales, my first sighting ever, and in the Atlantic. Today we have been visited by three pods of dolphins; one over a hundred strong. Three different species of sea birds have been diving over the diminishing swell. And we just saw waving fins of something, a sunfish or a ray most likely.

It is in these moments I absolutely love this life. Our fishing lures are out and our shoes are off. We had a festive lunch of nachos and are hoping for mahi for dinner.

Lighting out across the Pond

2010-12-03T22:15:00.001+08:00

Surfing down the tumbling two meter seas with a fresh wind from the ENE, DK is loving the ride for we are making miles south. It's day 3 on our passage across the Atlantic and already we are over 300 miles south in only 50 hours since leaving the busy Las Palmas Marina in Gran Canaria.

Of course, we had some drama leaving, it is a big passage after all and nothing seems to ever go smoothly when we leave the comforts of the barn. Thankfully all 3 issues were because of me and were fairly easily dealt with, but not without some stress and a couple more gray hairs before leaving.

After the usual getting the boat ready to go in the morning, we tried to slip away smoothly from the marina dock we were med-moored to. We've only done this a hundred times now, and usually it is pretty painless. Usually we have only 1 stern line on, DK liking to be nose-in to the dock for our privacy and so we can actually "get off" the boat when we want to. Well...here we had 2 stern lines tied up and I forgot all about one. Hello?!! We backed up out of the slip but I couldn't go any further as the line had tightened and then started to slingshot us back in directly towards our neighbors boat. Nic, thankfully, could fend us off enough and I could eventually slip off the line and let it sink before backing up again. We were pretty lucky we didn't get it caught in our prop or hit our neighbors home-built Dutch steel boat. Disaster averted and we motored out of the marina.

We raised the sail right outside the marina and turned towards the open Sea but then the engine overheating alarm started sounding. I did a quick frantic search of the engine, but couldn't see anything so we quickly dropped the sail and motored slowly to the adjoining anchorage next to the marina while we kept monitoring the engine room. Thankfully it wasn't nearly as packed anymore and we dropped our hook right on the periphery in 40 feet. I had just done a major service on the Yanmar, including flushing out the coolant, so figured maybe the thermostat was sticking. I popped it out and put a new one in. We turned her back on, but after a few minutes, no luck.

We have 3 ways to add coolant to our engine and additional heater that runs with coolant loops. I had already checked the heater box and it was full. Also, the clear reserve tank was full. So I assumed the main engine block was full too. Wrong. I opened it up and it was almost dry. For some reason the coolant from the reserve wasn't siphoning into it. I added a few liters of water and we were in business again.

Up went the anchor and we headed for the barn door again. But then I noticed part of our instruments weren't working. Nice. We turn around again and headed back to the exact spot and dropped the hook once more. Half hour later I figure out the issue, an issue I created when I was back there tinkering a couple of days prior with some NMEA wiring trying to link our instruments to our computer. Oops. So with that all settled, we crossed our fingers that we were finally free of the Gran Canaria gremlins and were allowed to leave. We were.

For the last 2 1/2 days it's been all about utilizing the wind to make as many miles south as possible. We have had some pretty consistent winds from the ENE and NE from between 15-30 knots and our broad reach has been pretty sweet sliding along at boat speeds from 6-9 knots even with some decent size seas plowing into our port beam and splashing the cockpit from time to time. The weather is still cold and gray and we are bundled up outside in our foulies and even socks and shoes/boots at night, but with no complaints as we are extremely happy we escaped the Canaries and the continuous assault of nasty low pressure systems that keep coming from the west, not a usual occurrence this time of year.

Nic and I are both just getting into passage mode and our 3 hour on/3 hour off all night watch schedule that takes some days to get used to. Plus, because we are sailing so fast our boat is definitely not a stable platform for doing much of anything right now except for laying in the sea birth or wedged into the cockpit with a hot cup of tea and book in hand. Book being optional depending on seasick potential. Strangely I've been doing ok but Nic is in the "I can't read or I'll puke stage right now", which means more time staring at the waves and sky or slipping some earphones on for a good podcast story.

We had a bit of magic last night. It's now a new moon and very dark outside in the wee hours, especially with the clouds. But what's so cool is that even though we haven't seen much of the stars, the milky way has been transformed in the Sea. For many hours we traveled through the solar system slicing DK's hull amidst flashing phosphoresence brilliant glowing massess, and incredible blasts of light. It was truly amazing and Nic swore that on her watch it was the most gorgeous night of phosphoresence she has EVER seen! I had an even better gift. The dolphins came and torpedoed right along with us. All you could see was a glowing comet slicing so fast through the water with little bright glowing explosions around it. Sometimes 3 or 4 of them would shoot by surfing the waves like liquid shooting stars. Another little gift from the sea.

So we continue south only 60 miles from the western African coast for another day and then our course will change and we'll start heading more SW towards the Cape Verde Islands as the big low-pressure storm systems passes north of us. We'll let ya know when the shoes come off and the mighty sun glows in the sky for us again.

Let the Passage Begin

2010-12-01T01:34:00.005+08:00

Well amigos e amigas, it's finally time...

We're finally off tomorrow, December 1, to start Leg 1 of our passage across the Atlantic Ocean!

As you can see in the weather file, there is another nasty low-pressure system rolling in later this week (the more color, the stronger the wind/seas). We are going to follow the route I laid out by the arrows and head south down the African coast to attempt to avoid the strong southerly winds...and then start heading west towards the Cape Verde Islands. We may have a quick stop-over in the Cape Verde's if we need diesel or just want a break. Then, it's time to head the next 2000+ miles towards the southern Caribbean Sea. Maybe we'll even make it by Xmas.

No internet for us for the next 3-4 weeks while we are out in the ocean, but we'll try to blog here as much as possible and fill you in with some stories.

Looking forward to finally getting underway and connecting with the big blue once again!

Send us positive energy whenever you think of us floating around in our little boat.

Much love to all of you from the Salty Dawgers

Italia

2010-08-21T09:51:00.001+08:00

Ciao!

Team DK is chilling on the island of Sardinia.

Because we have more internet access this summer/fall in the Med, we won't be "blogging" as much on this site, but instead we will keep uploading stories and images on our website.

We are trying not to be such writing slackers anymore and will do our best to keep it happening.

www.svdreamkeeper.com

New story on Sicily just posted.

Enjoy and Happy Summer to all our people.

slackin'

2010-08-12T22:01:00.001+08:00

Hey friends and fans

Sorry we haven't been blogging for a while, but sometimes we just get lazy writing like the best of 'em.

However, if you never check our website, you should, as we did just recently post a little story with photos about our time in the Greek Islands with our crazy Aussie mate, Hardy.

If you haven't been there before, here's the link:
www.svdreamkeeper.com

We are getting ready to shove off from Sicily in the wee hours of the morning and hoping to slide under a steaming volcano in the Aeolian Islands (just north of Sicily) by tomorrow night. We are gaining weight quickly eating too much gelato and pizza in these parts....time to keep moving...

Much love to you all from the salts

Ciao!

Then He Smiled

2010-07-23T20:22:00.002+08:00

God laughed at us again and then he smiled. The morning we left Marmaris Bay, Turkey, July 14th, to head to our jumping off point for Greece, we sailed beautifully close-hauled sometimes on a beam reach in 15-18 knots of wind. Then we were ready to round the corner---the wind was pumping, gusting to 35, the seas were rough and confused and we asked ourselves, why? We didn't need to go around the corner, and really, we had just wanted to see our friends who were anchorages behind us and, we, well I, really didn't want to have to beat into it and stay at a potentially screamingly windy anchorage for two nights before the wind lay down again.

Gar took one look at me and knew I'd rather run. So we headed back in search of our friends Anne, Uwe, and Cara on the sailboat Magnum, hoping to share a lovely anchorage, swim and a beer. We met them right in front of the anchorage to turn in after a fantastic downwind sail. Anchoring in Turkey we have learned is an adventure as I mentioned before. This day was no different.

Once we were properly hooked and our stern was tied off to two rocks Gar went to help Magnum. I watched as the wind continued to pipe up, side-gusting the tight anchorage at times to 33 knots or more. Sometimes one of our stern lines would go slack and it seemed we were moving perilously close to the underwater boulder downwind of our keel. I mentioned it to Gar but I often have a poor sense of depth and distance. Finally, two hours later after numerous gusts, while he was climbing back onboard after trying to help Magnum anchor, he saw it too.

He scrambled up the ladder, yelling to me to start the engine and release the lines. "Get a knife, get a f-ing knife," he urgently yelled. We were within two inches of our keel hitting the boulder when he got on board. Time was running out. Ahh, this is one of those times we should have had our knife in the cockpit. I dug through drawers and came up empty handed for the reliable knifes we use especially for times like this. Instead I brought up our sharpest and best kitchen cleaver to do the job. Our twelve strand mega-braid line blew apart on the end from the pressure and the cut. We were free, DK pulled away from the rocks unscathed and we were a bit shaken. We thought our anchor was bomber, but the ferocious side gusts must have slowly dislodged us.

So, there were two laughs in one day. We were too worried about the gusts to think it was wise to stay unnecessarily in the anchorage and wanted a peaceful night so we sailed back into Marmaris Bay from where we had departed early the same morning. We had a full day adventure out from sunset to sunrise, wind-whipped, sun-baked, and exhausted from it all.

We spent two nights deeply dug into mud and sea grass while jet skis did donuts around us and we got boat projects done.

July 16th and he smiled. We were at last in Greece, Simi harbor. Check in was easy. There were tourists and mega yachts and fishing boats and sailboats and motor yachts from all over Europe anchored in the tiny harbor. We were reminded again of how much we love Greece. The little towns with quaint buildings tumbling down to the sea, the narrow cobblestone alleys, leading us to other gems, the old ladies selling herbs of chamomile, thyme, rosemary, and oregano on door stoops, and the views from the choras. We could see through the tourists and the commercialism of the height of summer and embrace our return to Greece.

Our two days in Simi we wandered around on foot and motor bike, sampling drinks at sunset, and mezzes for lunch, fish and calamari for dinner. Winding our way along the island roads we were often hit with sweltering hot gusts of air and scorched by the sun on our backs. We searched for swimming spots and found many stunning ones tucked along the undulating rocky coast. We talked to goats and soaked in the Aegean Sea.

For some reason, this sea reminds us of a lake. It is clear, deep blue and cold, less salty than the oceans we're used to and so refreshingly inviting. Without it the Mediterranean would be miserable in the summer. With it within reach almost at all times it feels like a delicious summer.

We are now at the island of Kos, anchored in Kamari Bay and awaiting the arrival of our friend, Hardy, from Sydney, Australia. He'll be with us on DK for a week. We're hoping for favorable winds, lots of buffoonery, good talks, laughs and random adventures.

Course change

2010-07-13T14:41:00.002+08:00

Diving into the arms of the Mediterranean Sea, I smile before concentrating at the task at hand. We are in Turkey and most of the anchorages here require dropping the hook and swimming a line to tie to shore. It has been windy these last three days and our anchoring technique is improving daily. It goes something like this, Gar maneuvers DK into a good spot to drop the hook (over mud and sea grass), once it's dug in he deftly keeps her as straight as possible, a bit more of a challenge in reverse than in the light fiberglass boats or on a larger cruising yacht with bow thrusters, as DK likes to kick her stern to port. But he manages to do a good job and keep us safely off the rocks while I plunge through the clear blue sea and search, slightly frantically, for a good spot to tie our stern.

I know I don't have much time because if a big gust comes we will be in the wrong place with severe consequences or Gar will have to gun DK forward and out of harm's way and we will have to repeat the process again. There are black sea urchins, and sharp limestone boulders and horns, lying below the surface like giant crocodile teeth, and standing like sentries along the shore like mini mountain peaks. I seem to choose the biggest ones and usually use all of our 30 foot line to wrap the the girth of the rocks before Gar can tighten the stern line and finish the process.

Someone once told me, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans." I'm not a religious person but in this circumstance this quote seems entirely appropriate. You see, we never planed to coming to Turkey. Our plan was to leave Israel and check into Simi Greece, 4 days later. We had a surprisingly nice sail for three hundred and some miles. It wasn't DreamKeeper rebelling against our route with some broken part, or the fierce Meltemi winds driving us to the Turkish coast, but our own physiology that forced us to detour and make landfall at Finike, Turkey.

We have been lucky so far. We carry a first aid kit big enough to treat most diseases, viruses, infections, and small traumas. We are both trained in wilderness medicine. For four years we have responsibly re-upped on our 15 or so prescriptions and been lucky enough to dig into our kit only for simple things: band aids, bactroban, and advil. This time, our first aid kit was of no use. Twice in two and a half days Gar had intense pain in his upper abdomen that spread to his chest and severely reduced his breathing. Both times he called me into the cockpit gasping for breath and clutching his stomach and chest worried he might pass out. Gar never calls me for anything. This was intense. When it happened the second time and we were 18 miles past Finike, Turkey, we turned the boat around and ran for the marina.

I was scared, we both were. We were lucky to be so close to shore the second time and to be able to pull in. We have to give props to Osman, the marina manager and his team, who were great at expediting our paperwork, escorting us to the community hospital, and helping us in any way they could. By the following morning we were checked into Turkey and booked on a flight to Istanbul, headed to the American Hospital for tests and an appointment with the gastroenterologist.

The doctors and care at the American Hospital couldn't have been better. Within three hours Gar had seen two doctors, had blood work and results back, an EKG, Ultra Sound, and x-rays and was scheduled for an endoscopy the next morning. We can't imagine how long it would have taken or how expensive it would have been to get those tests done in the States. Thankfully all of Gar's tests came back normal and he hasn't had another incident since off shore Finike. Sometimes happy accidents really do happen.

For the last couple of months Gar and I have been struggling a bit. Our life is sometimes dreamy like most people imagine, yet sometimes the reality of it comes crashing in and it is like life anywhere else. The truth is, we were both fried on the boat, taking each other for granted, and kind of going through the motions of our life without the joy and passion we usually bring to it. It all shifted when the stability of our lives was challenged.

Turkey reinvigorated and revived us in a way we desperately needed and didn't realize we did. Everything shifted. Our senses were heightened and everything was good. We could see through the crowds of Turkish gulet boats and tourists and loved our little nooks of anchorage spots despite having two to five neighbors. The landscape welcomed us like a familiar friend, hills climbing out of the sea, layered in limestone rock and identifiable trees. The sea was invigoratingly chilly and friendly, reminding us of dips in Lake Tahoe. A giant green sea turtle visited me on my birthday.

We are reviling in summer. We splurged on ice creams from the ice cream boat. We're loving going on lazy swims in picturesque anchorages, suckling sweet peaches and painted apricots, having late dinners and early mornings and celebrating life and summer long days. We are lovingly embracing life again with our eyes and hearts wide open.

Days of our lives in Israel

2010-06-24T14:58:00.002+08:00

Time is really strange when you are traveling on a sailboat. Sitting at anchor for days waiting for a weather change, sailing on an overnight 24 hour passage that would only take you 2 hours driving by car, and the hours it takes to just get the simplest jobs done in a new port is all such a different reality then most peoples day to day lives. Having come from a country that is based on a set of cultural beliefs of working long hours, eating fast food, and making money to achieve the American dream and buy the newest coolest stuff, life cruising on a sailboat seems almost a paradox. There is no doubt about our continued struggle with this reality. Nicole and I have it in our genes and from our American upbringing to be hard-working and active, but living on a boat you sometimes have to let go and just learn to accept a slower pace of life.

When we first got to Israel, we were our usual busy busy beaver-selves.
Trying to get all our broken parts sent out and fixed, attempting to tackle cleaning DK of the layers of dirt from the Red Sea , and also doing our best to make connections with Israeli family friends who knew we would be soon arriving in their country. And we did all that at first running here and there and seeing people and dealing with our boat. And then we CRASHED. We didn't realize how tired we were mentally from the trip up the Red Sea. With all our constant boat problems and dealing with the subconscious anxiety all the way from Oman, it finally hit us that we needed to stop for a bit and not be social and not be busy and not try to fix anything on the boat, at least for a while.

We have been in Israel now for a month and we are so thankful we chose to chill out. Right now we are staying in Nicole's family friends', Hemi and Anat, work apartment in downtown Tel Aviv and loving it. Having a place off the boat in the middle of this hip city with AC, fast internet, a good shower, and a cozy bed is total luxury for us. We can walk to the beach in about 1/2 hour as well as walk outside our door to sample all the great hip Israeli cafes, falafel joints, juice bars, and shops in this part of the city. We've been enjoying our time catching up on photos and writing, taking long walks, eating great food, and settling into the long summer hours of life in the Med.

Not only have we had some quality chill out time in Tel Aviv, but we have also managed to be good tourists. We spent a couple of days out in the Negev desert, crossed the border into Jordan and explored the ruins of Petra for 3 days, bobbed in the most salty buoyant water on the planet in the Dead Sea, trekked up at sunrise to the sacred ruins of Massada, and spent 4 days in the holy city of Jerusalem exploring this crazy fascinating city. The history and current reality of this country have been extremely interesting and are deserving of a couple stories soon to be written on the website.

On the boat reality side of our life, we have also managed to fix and clean up DK to an acceptable level again. After dealing with the most disorganized courier company ever, FedEX Israel, with over 12 hours on the phone to at least 10 different customer service personnel over a two week period, we finally managed to get both our wind generator and charging regulators sent to the U.S. for repair and back in our hands in Israel again, all working. That really sucked. But thankfully after over 3 years sailing all over the world, this is the first time we have had to deal with a company like this in sending parts back and forth. Hopefully also the last.

So DK is starting to look good again. Charging system is fixed, watermaker membrane replaced and working, wind generator up and running, all our sails are newly stitched up and a new panel replaced on our torn mainsail, instruments are all up and running, autopilot hopefully working now, chafed lines swapped out, yanmar engine serviced, new antenna replaced on our satphone on deck, and Nic, the winch cleaning superstar, meticulously took apart all 8 of our winches and serviced every part of them in about 12 hours of work. Coated with dirt, grime, and Red Sea sand, they were all in awful shape coming into Israel.

We are almost outta here. We will be back on the boat still with a few last projects to do before we take off sailing again enroute to the Dodecanese Greek Islands. Hopefully, with a good weather forecast we will pull out of our slip on Monday, June 28, top up some diesel, and head north towards Rhodes, Greece. By that time we also should have some stories of Israel and our photo albums uploaded as well. Enjoy!

A New Sea

2010-06-23T14:48:00.003+08:00

It was already noon as we sat in our sunny cockpit tied up to the Ismalia Yacht Club in Egypt. Three other pilots had already come to take the other cruising boats up part 2 of the Suez Canal, but no one had come for us. The yacht club manager was not on our side. He said we were supposed to check in with him the night before if we wanted to leave. Of course, we were never told this, but this being Egypt and all, we figured it was just another ploy for him to make another days profit from us sitting and waiting at his dock. Whatever...after waiting patiently all morning we were fine sitting another day. We were tired and it was nice to have an excuse to rest.

We started putting the boat back to bed and geared up for a walk around town, when, behold, a pilot shows up on the dock with our agency. He looked to be kind and happy and was definitely ready to go. Isn't it too late, we asked? Won't we be in Port Said after dark?? No no no, they all said, you will be fine. Nic and I did a quick check-in and decided we should just go for it because who knows if anyone will even show up tomorrow. So in a matter of minutes our new pilot jumped in DK, we cast off the med mooring lines, revved up DreamKeeper's engine and we were off.

Once again we had scored. Our pilot was truly a warm and friendly pious Egyptian man, competent and easy to be around. He took the helm and hand-steered up and out of Ismalia bound for the Mediterranean. I wish I could say it was an uneventful trip, but knowing us lately, it just wouldn't be so.

Within an hour while checking the engine, I noticed our charging regulator was off, meaning no battery charging. I checked the wires. All ok. So I figured we have a new regulator problem, one of many we have had recently, so I decided to switch it out underway. Out comes my electrical tool box and all my tools. With the Yanmar cranking and intensely hot already, I started taking it apart and reinstalling a new one, one I was hoping actually worked. After a while it was ready. I tested it. Nothing. Then I started testing wires all the way from the batteries to the cockpit engine key. I tested circuits, looked for loose wires, and poked and prodded everywhere I could. Meanwhile, our pilot hand-steered and Nic tried to give me positive encouragement the best that she could.

For at least 3 hours I tried to fix the problem. I was totally stressed out, tired, soaked in sweat and also worried that we might have a big problem and need to stay in Port Said to sort it all out. Not what we wanted at all considering the baksheesh we would have to pay and the hassle of dealing with another pilot when we wanted to leave again.

I finally took a break and sat in our cockpit next to the pilot, both of us shaking our heads. Then, I glanced over to the instrument panel and noticed the key. It was turned to the "off" position and not the "on" position like it should be. No f-ing way, I thought. I flicked the key over, opened the engine compartment and glanced at the charging regulator. It was on. Classic. I couldn't believe it. Nothing was broken, it was just a stupid mistake on my part to not think through the problem well enough. In my defense it's so easy to forget on a marine diesel engine that the key doesn't turn the engine off but will turn the electricity off to the regulator if not in the correct position. It had only been bumped. Unbelievable. I think this little episode pretty much summed up where I was at in dealing with all DreamKeeper's problems and mentally just being exhausted with all of it. Thankfully this one had a happy ending and we were still 'good to go' to head out into the Med.

After another long day through the man-made canal at sunset we had made it to Port Said, our last Egyptian port. After giving our pilot the mandatory baksheesh and some extra cigarettes to his greedy little pilot boat friends, we waved farewell and took over DK's helm as we motored out through the city and into our first glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea at dusk. We raised the mainsail, unfurled the jib, and fell off on a starboard close reach towards Israel zigging and zagging through the fishing buoys and busy shipping lanes.

Even though we were really tired, we were also so so relieved to put closure on the Red Sea, Egypt, and the Suez Canal. It was pretty surreal. One of those times when you can't actually believe where you really are.

Nic and I settled into our night watch routine as we plodded along through confused seas and light winds navigating through the oil platforms and fishing boats. We managed to rig the Monitor windvane to actually auto-steer for us most of the night, even though we had only a little wind and had the motor on. Relieved to not be glued to the helm for hours at a time, we could actually lay back and relax a bit and take a leak when we needed to.

At dawn the Israeli Navy was already calling us on the VHF. Over and over we repeated answers to their many questions. We knew security there would be tight and we expected a thorough questioning, but it seemed to never end.

We were told to stay 20 miles from land and 5 miles from the gas platform offshore so we changed our course and plowed into the swell and wind to make amends. By mid-afternoon we were finally ready to turn towards shore right when the wind piped up in the high twenties and the seas increased. Good timing. If it would have happened earlier we would have been spending another tiring night out hove-to, awaiting a morning arrival. But the Mediterranean sea gods were on our side and we fell off onto a broad reach flying along at 7-8 knots towards the port of Ashkelon.

A little while later we were met by the Israeli Navy in a gun boat performing tight circles around DK while hailing us on the VHF. I answered all the same questions once again while Nic hand-steered down the seas and the Navy fixed it's massive guns on us at close range. After 20 minutes or so, we were cleared in and they motored away. Little did we know at the time but the first "Aid Flotilla" from Turkey was almost to Israel, the one with the violent ending that most of you probably read about in the news. Security in Israel is always tight, but even more so when there is the possibility of conflict. Thankfully, we managed to slip right into the harbor before all the news happened, tied up to the customs dock, dealt with more security officials and then melted into our beds in a new land, in a new sea.

God Willing

2010-05-24T18:41:00.012+08:00

At last, the Red Sea gave us a window to escape. For three days we watched the wind push storm clouds of dust running across the desert, swirling over the nearby mountains and out over the sea. We kept our eyes on the small fishing boats at anchor and laughed with the locals, shrugging our shoulders and shaking our heads about the sand storm and wild seas. Peering out our portholes, we were grateful we were on DK and not on one of the many fishing boats tossing at anchor with their shade-cloths billowing up and down like unwieldy circus tents.

On May 20, at 06:00 we upped anchor from Ras Abu Zenima. The wind still howled at us us but the seas were manageable. By nine am, the wind continued to build and the seas reared up and threatened to stop us in our tracks again. We had learned our lesson and tucked into Ras Malab at 29.12.1998N, 32.55.814E after a surprisingly blustery but gentle 12 miles north. We gratefully celebrated our wise choice when the wind picked up at noon to 30 knots and we were bouncing around again at anchor. Mentally exhausted, we declared the rest of the day a holiday and lounged around, baked cookies, and watched a matinee. All day the wind picked up, surging past our hull and licking us with salt spray. By 19:00 we were humbled by its strength, blowing constantly at 32 knots, often gusting to 37, the strongest we’d yet seen in the Red Sea.

For those of you who don’t know boats, when it’s this windy it’s really loud. Secured lines bounce, rattle, and buzz. The anchor snubber moans in protest against the wind, and the boat, even when protected from the seas by a shallow reef, continues to roll like we are on passage in moderate but sloppy seas. Here conditions were too raucous to get any sleep in the V-berth in the front of DK (our normal bed), even with one of us wedged horizontally across it. For the first time ever, we made two sea berths in the salon that night. Well into the wee hours the seas slapped us and tossed us around, our hopes dwindling that conditions would allow us to leave by morning.

On May 21st we awoke with our alarms at 05:00 to blustery conditions. Resigned to be stuck another day, we tucked ourselves back into our cozy berths for a couple more hours. But by 07:00 the wind seemed manageable and we again headed up the coast, hopeful we could make the 15 miles to Ras Sudur before the wind barred our passage again. Successfully, we made it by 13:00 in strong winds but decent time. We tucked in at 29.35.135N, 32.41.231E in 16 feet of water next to a pod of resting dolphins. The wind predictably kicked up again within a couple of hours and we were glad we were learning to be patient.

We had twenty five miles to go to Pt Suez Yacht Club, our entrance to the Suez Canal. At 05:30 on May 22, we greeted the chilly morning bundled again in our foul weather pants and jackets. The captain even wore a wool hat. It was dead calm, eerily so. A few fish broke the surface and terns dove overhead. By 10:00, the sun was merciless again. Spinner dolphins escorted us the last 10 miles through swarms of purple jellyfish and into the Suez Harbor.

By noon we were ecstatic and relieved to have made it to Pt Suez, the mouth or the tail of the Suez Canal depending on how you look at it. Our journey up the Red Sea was at last behind us. Kar Kar, the marina man and, Sayed, our agent from Felix Maritime tied us to our mooring. Within minutes Sayed had our paperwork completed and said that “Insha'Allah, (God willing) we could head up the canal the next day if it wasn’t too late for the measurer to come and there were no warships transiting in the morning.” Then we would be lucky and we could proceed north. “Maybe yes, maybe no” he said. “Insha'Allah.”

God was willing. By 16:00 we had been measured, and after some back and forth, Gar and the measurer agreed upon the calculations for our tonnage and canal transit price. The next morning, we rose to crisp clear skies, calm winds and the promising possibility we would be heading north up the Suez Canal. After calling our agent numerous times to no avail he showed up at 9:30 with our bill. Of course it was higher than we had agreed upon with the measurer. This is Egypt after all. After some stern talks and haggling over the difference, we reduced the fees to what they should have been. In the end, we were charged $288 dollars for our canal transit, port and agent fees, $21 dollars for our night on the mooring balls and an extra $5 dollars here and there for baksheesh (bribes, greasing the wheels, Egyptian custom, whatever you want to call it) along with a couple of boxes of cigarettes (on board specifically for this purpose) and our broken VHF.

I had the bonus of having a very sweet old man do my shopping for me at only a moderately inflated price. Freshies abound again on DK and our pilot will hopefully be happy with a feast for lunch including green beans, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, melons, eggplant and fresh Egyptian bread among other things. The best part about my grocery resupply was that it came from an adorable old man with a stunning smile and a winning sales act. I received many kisses, a promise of him as my second husband, and a belly full of laughter before we agreed on a shopping list and a price. If only dealing with all Egyptians were as delightful as this.

At 10:25 our canal pilot took the helm. DreamKeeper’s rpms were revved to a fast but easy 2500 and our pilot steered us on up to Ismalia, adding another run to his 15 years of canal piloting. He is serious and scholarly looking with round frameless glasses, a long face, and tightly cropped hair and beard. The dark callouses in the middle of his forehead mark his dedication to prayer and Allah.

It is wild to think of our journey up the Red Sea coming to a close with the final miles through the man-made canal that is Egypt’s lifeline to the rest of the world. The work to create the first canal that separated Africa from Asia and connected her to the Mediterranean was first recorded in 610-595 BC. For a few hundred years numerous Egyptian rulers and conquerors worked to build and maintain the original canal running through a different and more complicated route that was later abandoned. In 1859, the excavation of the current Suez Canal was begun and in 1956 Egypt fought and won control over the rights and ownership of it.

The Suez Canal is now the one of the most heavily used shipping lanes in the world with over 20,000 ships a year transiting its waters. It runs 167 km in length from Port Suez to Port Said, running through a few large lakes and a waiting basin and yacht club in Ismalia. In some places it is wide enough for a large ship and a small one like ours to squeeze closely passed one another but not wide enough for two large ships to pass each other at once. So there are specific transit times for northbound and south bound boats. The cut off time to head north from Port Suez is 11:00. At 10:30 we were one of the last small northbound boats transiting the canal. Our pilot Mohammed Ebrahim Ali was excellent. He was competent and courteous and hand steered our boat with constant attention to the conditions. He skillfully navigated the canal and passed 28 gigantic ships heading south on our way north to our mooring for the night in Ismalia.

By 17:30 we were med-moored stern to in Ismalia to the entertainment of a large family of Egyptians watching just feet away from our cockpit. We’ll likely spend a day or so here. The weather looks like it will be favorable in the Med in a couple of days and we’ve got diesel runs to do and a re-provision before we leave. Hopefully, the last leg of the canal transit will be smooth and we’ll kiss Egypt goodbye in a couple of days.

Schooled by the Suez

2010-05-19T13:24:00.003+08:00

We're rubbing grit out of our eyes and sand out of our teeth. The Red Sea is still spitting at us these last 180 miles as we claw our way north. The powers of the Red Sea have pushed us into Ras Abu Zenima anchorage at 29.02.5N 33.06.8E. We're rolling among oil platforms and fishing boats of all sizes. The desert licks the shore and showers us with sand even though our feet haven't touched the earth in 5 days.

It's wild what happens on a journey like ours. Some days just suck. Like life anywhere. We cannot be bound by deadlines and dates, our hopes and even our own sheer will has little power in a place as raw and relentless as here. Everything is unpredictable and changes all the time. Right now it is all up to fate and what the world dishes out to us. Lately it seems we've been in a shitstorm of sand.

Let me start from the beginning. We left Hurgada Marina (May 15th) with full water tanks and a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables. The wind was light and we hoped it would stay that way. We knew the last 180 miles of the Red Sea up the Gulf of Suez might not be so easy.

Lately our adventure seems to start with a challenge and linger with it like some kind of ominous warning. Casting off our lines, I felt the familiar nervousness and excitement that comes with leaving the safety of the marina and heading out to the unknown world; one we knew would likely not be easy. It quickly turned to dread as Gar put the boat into reverse and we heard a strange thumping sound. Out of the slip and not wanting to be stuck engineless trying to maneuver back in between the two boats, we headed out to the bay to assess the problem. Lifting the engine hatch on the cockpit floor and peering into the engine room we both groaned. I think I could hear our spirits sinking. Seriously, this could not be happening.

Our shaft seal looked to be cracked and sea water was gushing into the boat. Hovering in neutral facing into the wind and looking out for hazards, I held my breath and prayed for some divine intervention. After all, we had been visiting the gods of Egypt and paying respect to their temples.

The problem: the dripless shaft seal that goes around our propeller shaft and keeps sea water from flooding into our boat shifted somehow and the seal venting line hose was wrapped around the shaft. The sea was pouring into our boat fast and we couldn't use the engine. Gar grabbed tools, scrunched himself into the small engine compartment, and straddled the revolving shaft. "Don't put the boat into gear," he warned. I knew all too well his toes and fingers could be sacrificed if I gave him no warning. Swiftly he unwound the venting line, re-attached the rubber seal and tightened the hose clamps and then re-inspected the seal. Thankfully there was no damage and it stopped leaking. The flood was over and as our pulses returned to normal we thanked the boat and our guardians for allowing us to leave Egypt. We could have had to have hauled the boat out of the water, waited for parts, and been stuck on the hard here for a year. Not something we had on our "To Do" list.

DK always keeps us on our toes. The rest of the day was a good one. The desert winds were lighter than anticipated and the seas stayed small. We felt lucky and grateful and had a long an uneventful motor sail 42 miles north. Honestly it felt good to be home. We dropped the hook at Marsa Zeitiya, 27.49.7N 33.35.0E, in 32 feet of water and hard packed sand just before the sun slipped beneath the sea.

Waking as the sky turned from black to violet we motored out of the anchorage by 5:30. It was a sweet day. We crossed the shipping lanes quickly on a fast beam reach without trouble and pushed the boat 20 miles past our proposed anchorage at El Tur to Shab El Hasa 28.35.4N 33.11.5E in 16 feet of sand. Sailing up the Red Sea is still a game. We are playing chicken with the winds and seas and take all we can when we can get it.

The next morning threatened to scorch us with temperatures predicted in the hundreds and the winds likely building. Again we were off early, sipping tea in the inky darkness and freshening wind. Within an hour the desert sands shifted along with our luck.

The seas grew mountainous and the winds pummeled us. Perhaps pushing on was foolish on our part but we were still making 4-5 knots headway. Motor-sailing with a 30-40 degree angle to the 25-32 knots of wind and the standing and sometimes breaking steep 8-10 feet waves, we pushed on. The autopilot quit as usual and we hand steered, punching through waves and wind constantly soaked by the sea cascading over the dodger. The deck was awash in green water and the drain scuppers were working overtime. Again and again we were soaked in sea water and swiftly licked dry and coated with sand by the building winds. The boat rebelled and our angels grew weary.

We lost a scupper screen and the alternator regulator was starting to go out which means our charging system was again at risk from overheating or not getting enough power. Water splashed through our sealed dorade vents onto the salon cushions and we found leaks in places we didn't know existed. Thankfully, at least, our new hatch and window seals are working flawlessly.

By 1300 hours we were within a few miles of an anchorage and debated pushing 12 miles on. The boat was still making good time but we were tired, salty, and concerned about pushing DK too hard. Gratefully, we dropped the hook in 54 feet of water behind a fleet of fishing boats and in front of an oil tanker. The sun seared through our decks while sand danced over the sea. Our cabin temperature was a debilitating 87 degrees. We hunkered down and welcomed the relief of the departure of the sun.

By 0200 the winds had laid down and we woke out of a deep sleep to a "SLAM" on our port side. We bolted out of bed and ripped the sleep from our eyes. A wooden fishing boat at anchor and tied to another had swung into us, hitting us broadside. Frantically, we rushed to put the boat in gear and grab a fender to place in between the boats before we hit again. Twice we hit hulls before we could move away from the boats. We yelled and yelled; surprisingly, no one was on board. Then our depth sounder went out. With patience, attention to the light winds, and swinging of the other boats, we were able to maneuver around both fishing boats and eventually lift our anchor. Steering cautiously and paying our rode in and out in a delicate dance, we avoided crossing anchors and further impact.

With light winds and adrenaline pumping through our veins we could have left in the dark stillness of early morning to move north but our depth sounder was out and we wanted it working. So we collapsed into bed again after a swift re-anchoring, well beyond any fishing boats.

The next morning (May 18th) we woke to light winds and we hoped we could escape this anchorage. Immediately, Gar went to work on the depth sounder. Then the entire Sea Talk system went out; we lost all of our instruments. We can't wait until we can replace our autopilot control head. Thankfully we had internet and while he was working on the unit I sleuthed around and got some good insight. It took all morning to get most of it working again. Then, at 10:30 we foolishly tried to leave.

Pounding into building waves and wind was a stupid decision. Making only 2-4 knots in what appeared to be rapidly building seas we weighed our options. Then our bow-sprit teak plank broke from too much sun and heat and half of it came floating towards us like a depressing souvenir. After 20 minutes of bashing into the steep massive breaking waves we acknowledged our defeat and turned around in the towering seas and hoped we wouldn't get pooped. Once again, back in our anchorage we dropped the hook in deeper water in effort to avoid another collision with a fishing boat.

The anchor windless jammed. I couldn't control it and cursed as chain rattled out of the locker reeling, dumping all 280 feet of chain. Only when the shackle that connects the bitter end jammed in the plate did the chain stop. I raced to put a backup on the chain. Thin strands of rope that we pulled up that morning wrapped around the drum of the windless and jammed the clutch plate. It was blowing 25-30. Thankfully we could get a snubber on it to take the pressure off while Gar cut away the thin tangled strands of rope that wrapped around our anchor drum and clutch plate.

It probably seems like I'm spinning a good yarn for your entertainment but all of this is true. We felt like crying.

Before lunch yesterday, Gar dove back into the boat again, trying to diagnose the charging regulator. It is broken, the second to have gone out in a few months. Thankfully we have one last working spare and it was easily replaced. By noon the sun climbed to his full power and scorched us from the inside out. We napped in a restless stupor.

Sand swirls around us, coating the deck and collecting in small piles in the corners of the boat. A thin layer sticks to Gar's foul weather coat. In attempts to keep it from invading every crevice of our beings we shut most of the port holes and hatches. But the heat is relentless even in these strong winds. The cabin temperature soars and we are listless and grumpy. Every counter and floor is covered in a thin layer of sand.

It is easy to understand why the desert people wear long robes and cover their heads and faces with large scarves. We feel like we are breathing fire and eating dirt even in the comfort of the boat. Desert people in Africa are tough and resourceful.

Today (May 19th) we slept in until 07:00. Since there is nothing left to fix today we cleaned the dust from the counters and floors and relish is the cooler temperatures. The wind is relentless and howls through the rigging. Gusting to 35 in the anchorage, we are happy to be securely anchored and out of the brunt of the seas. We will patiently await the abating winds and settling seas before departing again. Until then, the desert will make her mark. Our skin is weathered and wrinkling and the desert sands are again beginning to settle in our home.

Website Updated

2010-05-12T15:42:00.001+08:00

Nicole and I are back on DK and prepping to leave for our last part of the Red Sea, the Gulf of Suez.
We just returned yesterday back to Hurghada Marina after an amazing trip up the Nile River and to Cairo with Nic's folks, Bob and Michelle, and we are both feeling reenergized to be back on the boat. Thanks to Bob and Michelle we will now have a working VHF and watermaker again. Our mainsail is also repaired and we hope will last a bit longer until we can get it professionally stitched. The autopilot is still broken and the wind generator is still dead in the quarter berth, but overall we are happy with what is currently working. Wish us luck nothing new breaks on this final leg.

We've been trying to catch up on the website and are pretty close to it finally, with the exception of all the recent Egypt adventures.

So, take a peek when you feel like it: www.svdreamkeeper.com

Much love to you all

Welcome to Egypt

2010-04-26T13:15:00.004+08:00

The morning rays cut through the surface of the lagoon illuminating the dancing fins that broadcast their arrival. We both smiled.

We loaded up super dinghy with all the essentials: snorkel gear, weight belts, wetsuit tops, cameras, dingy anchor, an emergency VHF, and a dry-bag full of tools for those constant outboard repairs we have been making on the ill carburetor. And then we were off...jogging around the shallow coral bommie heads and making our way to say hello again to our special friends at the other end of the lagoon.

We plunged into the refreshingly chilly tropical northern Red Sea and swam slowly towards the pod. We stopped when we could make out their dark silhouettes in the distance and waited. The pod consisted of over 50 individuals, made up of males, females, and 7 mommas with their babies, many of them clicking and chirping away to each other as they swam in effortless graceful patterns towards us, around us, and under us. We were mesmerized. Once again it felt like we were dreaming. We were swimming with the dolphins.

Sataya Reef in Southern Egypt, also called Dolphin Reef, named aptly for the pods of spinner dolphins who often come to rest here during the daytime is special. The dolphins are definitely used to people with all the live-aboard dive boats that come here to scuba dive and to also hopefully catch a glimpse of these special creatures. But this isn’t a theme park and nothing is a given. The dolphins may not want you around and will swim away or keep their distance if they choose to. But today we were extra lucky. We were the only ones here and the pod was, how should I say, extremely active.

As we swam, dove and spun with the pod, we were in awe that we were witnessing the mating rituals. Small groups of males would swim and chase the females, and then right in front of us, sometimes only arm-lengths away, male and female would join as one and rhythmically dance the oldest of dances together. The mommas and the babies were kept together in the big pod made up of the majority of dolphins, while these mating groups of 3-5 dolphins splintered out on the edges chirping, clicking, and vying for position. We were shocked. We truly couldn’t believe what we were seeing and actually allowed to see. We knew how rare it was to witness this at such close proximity. As the mating went on, sometimes one or two individuals from the main pod would swim next to us as well and we would dive and spin circles together looking into each other’s eyes only inches away. Surreal.

Nicole and I have seen dolphins in the water many times, but always at a distance and never never this close up, nor allowed whatsoever to witness something this special. At times we felt like such intruders, but knew that if they didn’t want us there, it was so easy for them just to thrust their tales a few times and they would be away from us in only seconds.

As the minutes turned into almost an hour, our bodies were becoming stiff with cold and we knew it was time to head back. Sadly, we said thank you’ and goodbyes to our friends, and swam back to the anchored dinghy. We couldn’t even speak to each other for a long time. Our perma-grins said it all.

But now I need to back up as I realize we have been blog slackers...
A week earlier, on April 11th, when the 20-30 knot northerly winds finally subsided, we pulled out of the Taila Islands and threaded our way north through the shallow inside channel butting Dunganub Bay. We uneventfully motor-sailed in hot sunshine until getting visited by a small pod of Bottlenose dolphins, our first in the Red Sea. Not long after our dolphin visit, one of our fishing hand-lines went taught and we had another fish on. I hand-over-handed the 200 lb. line in on our port side and, once again, we had caught a 2 1/2 foot great barracuda, our 13th barracuda in the Red Sea. We have heard mixed reviews of barracuda in the Red Sea possibly having the fish disease, ciguatera, so have chosen to play it safe and not try our luck by eating them and with the possibility of getting extremely sick. This fish was hooked really well, unfortunately, and I needed to use our big long adjustable pliers to reach down into the water and free the double-barbed hook without getting my fingers sliced by the barracuda’s razor sharp teeth. Free again, the worn out barracuda slipped slowly down into the blue deep to live another day.

Another hour went by and I noticed our other hand-line limp and acting strangely. I pulled it in to check it to be met only with a frayed 200 lb. stainless steel lead with no lure on the end. The last of our favorite Hawaiian lures, a big resin-head squid jig that we have caught so many big fish on and have had to change skirts for at least 8 times, is finally gone. For something to bite through this stainless lead itself could only mean one thing, a really big shark. Probably better that it took the lure rather then try to deal with releasing a creature like that, but still a sad day nonetheless.

We anchored in the Wreck Recovery Anchorage that night tucked in between a tight circle of coral reef and slept well. The next morning we were off again rounding the point of Ras Abu Shagrab in calm conditions and headed into the swell protected anchorage of Khor Shinab. A Khor is a bay indented into the mainland that is reached by a narrow reef-lined channel coming from the Sea. Khor Shinab is one of the largest in Sudan with over a 2 mile winding channel approach opening up into a couple mile diameter bay ringed by coral, muddy flats, and barren hills. The Red Sea Pilot, the sailor’s bible in these waters, says this anchorage is many “yachties” favorite in the Red Sea, and even though we weren’t that impressed, it was still a good spot to be.

With no wind that day, the sun was so hot we had almost melted to the deck of DK. We managed to pry ourselves off the boat and putted the ailing super dinghy over to a nearby beach where we laid in the cooling water next to the many blue-spotted stingrays that called this place home.

The wind picked up overnight and by the next morning was blowing close to 30 knots. We hunkered down and I hemmed-and-hawed over trying to get the kite up. With winds at around 30 and gusts 30+ and a flailing dinghy outboard, I decided against it. Bummer. I just can’t seem to find the right kiting conditions and I am getting frustrated. The reliability of our outboard is a major factor, considering if I get in trouble, Nicole will have to rescue me with the dinghy, and right now it is very unreliable. Once again we are so remote and truly “on our own” that we are our only help if something happens. Even though we are playing it safe, it still sucks.

The next morning the wind is lighter then expected and we decide to try to head north to one of the next marsa or khor anchorages. After a couple of hours of motoring in calm conditions, the wind all of a sudden pipes up from the north and before we know it, we have 25 knots and building 3-5 foot seas that stop us in our tracks. We beat into the weather for another hour and then realize it is not worth it only traveling at 2 knots and getting hammered. We swing DK to port and head into the closest anchorage, Marsa Hamsiat. Another tight little reef-lined channel opens up into a little muddy bay where we drop our hook in 30+ knots of northerly winds and huddle downstairs again. Too windy to even get our dinghy in the water safely, we are once again boat-bound. I think by this time we have each read 6 books in the last week and watched plenty of “Lost” , “The O.C.”, and “Battlestar Galactica” TV series episodes.

Thursday, April 15th, and the weather has let up. We motor out into the Sea again and head north another 20 miles to Elba Reef. We pilot DK through the narrow reef entrance into the big lagoon to join two other boats we know, a Dutch boat ‘Alexandra’, and a Kiwi boat named ‘Quo Vadis’, who are also here. The reef is big and pretty clear water and we drop our hook amidst a sand and coral bottom in 40 feet of depth. A great barracuda decides to take up permanent residence underneath our keel.

We are both itching for a swim and head over to the pass where we immerse ourselves into the undersea world and bond with the schools of snapper, sweetlips, and curious trevally that inhabit this little section of Elba. The snorkeling is nice for exercise and always good for our spirits, but we are spoiled and have yet to be extremely impressed by the underwater world of the Red Sea so far. Granted, we have not been able to see some of the best dive and snorkel sites that this region offers because of weather conditions and the reality of traveling on our own sailboat with no support, so we only judge what we have been able to see. As much as we have tried to find another sailboat with motivated scuba divers onboard that wanted some real diving adventures with us, we have not been able to do so. It’s been one of the big bummers for me these past few weeks, but I guess we just can’t have it all.

We finish the afternoon with a thorough cleaning of DK’s underwater hull and some wine and pu-pu’s on Alexandra with the 6 of us cruisers at sunset.

Another weather window and we were off on an overnight passage (April 16) hopping around Foul Bay to Dolphin Reef, about 150 miles to the north and crossing the border into Egypt. We had a fantastic southerly wind of 20-25 knots all day that lasted until midnight and also an added bonus of a 1-2 knot current with us, pushing us along sweetly at 7-8 knots boat speed with only a full-main sheeted out....our best day sailing in a long time! Like all good sailing days in the Red Sea, ours came to a halt at midnight with the reversal of the southerly winds backing to the north and bringing 20+ knots against us. The motor came on and we sheeted the main in tight, motor-sailing close-hauled and beating into the relentless short and steep seas until 9:00 a.m. until our arrival the the reef entrance of Dolphin Reef. Phew, another overnight passage over and success at arriving at our intended destination, one we have been looking forward to.

We spent 3 days at Dolphin Reef enjoying the beauty of the lagoon, resting, baking, writing, and snorkeling. Our two swims with our spinner dolphin friends were definitely one of the highlights of our whole Red Sea adventure so far. We wish we could have been in the water more with them, but they aren’t always around and we are just thankful for the time we did share.

Everyday we watch the weather closely in the Red Sea. We get morning buoyweather and GRIB file reports and usually listen in to the I/O SSB radio net to hear how other boats are doing to the north of us. It’s extremely important out here to be on your game and make good decisions regarding the weather, otherwise you will pay severely for your inadequate planning. Weather files looked good for a 2 day window beginning on April 20th. We decided to go for it and left a bit earlier at 5 p.m. on April 19th, hoping to gain a little extra time to make it the 210 miles to Hurghada without getting our butts kicked or having to turn around.

We were choosing to do this longer passage because we now have a deadline with Nicole’s folks coming to see us at the end of the month. One of our stresses has been the very real possibility of getting stuck somewhere with strong northerlies lasting a week or two and no chance of us making it to the marina where we need to tie up and safely leave DK. Most sailboats choose to stop at Port Ghalib, which is only about 110 miles from Dolphin Reef and an easy place to check-in to Egypt, but we were worried that we might not make it to Hurghada if we did that. So off we went, crossing our fingers that the weather forecast would hold....

For the first part of the trip we mostly motored in light variable conditions, but wouldn’t you know it, at midnight of April 20th, only 30 miles out, our window closed. Along once again came the strong northerlies rising quickly to 20-25 knots and gusts over 30. The seas kept building until we were once again bashing relentlessly into the boat-stopping walls of water. To top it off, our ill autopilot wouldn’t hold the course and kept turning off, so we were having to take turns hand-steering throughout the night and morning, attempting to hold our course and slowly make 1-3 knots through the water and getting coated in cold saltwater in the process. All morning we were anxious watching the building winds and seas and realizing that we may not make it, even though only less then 20 miles out of port. We plowed onward as the day wore on.

A late morning sail and rig check and I notice our mainsail is torn. Very torn at the top of the sail from luff to leach. Total bummer, a really bad place as we can’t even reef the main to use it at all. Down comes the main and out goes the staysail, while the Yanmar rumbles at 3000 rpms sucking diesel like an old crusty sailor guzzles cheap rum. We are bummed. Add fixing the mainsail to the huge list of boat repairs needed before heading north. We say silent prayers to the marine diesel motor god that our Yanmar will hold up, otherwise we are really screwed.

Thankfully, by mid-afternoon we crawl into the greater bays of the sprawling resort world of Hurghada, a major winter tourist destination for mostly Russians. Diveboats and day-trip boats everywhere, and we duck and jive between the shallow reefs, sandbars, and boat traffic to get to the entry port. ‘Said’, one of the friendly marina helpers, comes out in a skiff and ties us up to a small fishing boat mooring outside the entrance and in front of a huge mosque being built with only it’s skeleton intact. We hope the mooring holds, In’sha’allah. We will be here until our entry paperwork is completed, and then allowed into the marina proper.

The wind howls, DK rolls back and forth in the rolly swell, and the new smells and sounds of the busy city overwhelm us. We made it. Now it’s time to transition back into the other world again...a story in itself.

The Winds of the Red Sea

2010-04-11T21:38:00.002+08:00

The Red Sea is infamous for its challenging sailing conditions. High pressure systems from Siberia and from the Atlantic push against each other often causing strong winds in the Red Sea (interpreted by some as the valley between the two coasts, Africa and Egypt and Saudi Arabia). There are often days, if not weeks, of strong winds of 20-30 knots or more out of the north to northwest, the direction we are traveling. If the head wind is not enough to stop our progress the seas will. They usually accompany the strong winds, building quickly to standing waves, often 3-6 feet high or more and steep enough to stop us in our tracks. From what I understand, the wind is also affected by the land; often as the heat of the day increases so too does the strength of the wind. In the night when the temperature drops the wind usually follows.

Leaving Marsa Fijab early in the morning on April 6th, we lit out for the Taila Islands, 45 miles to the north. Throughout the day the wind and seas increased and the last 15 miles before the Taila anchorage we motor-sailed close-hauled tacking back and forth across the increasing winds. As usual, they rose faster and higher than predicted. Eighteen to twenty-three knots out of the north, directly where we were headed. The swell continued to rise and slapped our hull. The decks were awash with green water. The only benefit was that the sea did one job for us, removing the red dust of Africa from the decks and carrying it out through the scuppers.

By the afternoon we were firmly anchored in 20 feet of clear deep blue water nestled in a protected lagoon in sand between coral bommies. The wind howled for days just as the weather files predicted. Dreamkeeper waltzed back and forth across the wind tirelessly. The wind piped up; blowing 25-30 plus for two days. Still, the sun still shined startlingly bright and illuminated the reef and shallow water in stunning shades of aqua.

For three days, we strolled along the thin ribbon of land that separates the north reef from the southern lagoon where we are anchored. On one end it is wider and has some bushes clinging to the sand, their roots exposed in places like soggy tendrils of something dead.

Resident ospreys perched on scrubs and twigs. Looking closer we realized the twigs were osprey nests. We found five empty nests, neatly arranged in huge disk shapes with layers of woven twigs, plastic ties and discarded pieces of rope of various colors and thicknesses. The ospreys allowed us to us approach surprisingly close before rising into the air, their white bellies painted a light shade of aqua from the reflection off of the water.

At the western tip of the small island, orange-billed terns took flight only when we had gotten too close. They circled around us agitated and squawking until they landed a short way down the island. We discovered 4 nests, each with two large beige and brown speckled eggs sitting in 5 inch round sand dishes on the only reliably dry sand on this 6 foot high island. Lying beside one of them was a skeleton of a small hawksbill turtle, her skin stretched taught over her face deepening her ancient frown. Sadly, the shell had been removed hinting that she likely was killed for its value; I could see the sand through her white ribs.

When not wandering on the island or staring at the wind we entertained ourselves by trying to cross items off the numerous "to do" list. Unfortunately, our watermaker is acting up for the first time. We've unsuccessfully tried to fix that, worked on the carburetor on the outboard engine some more, written some articles for submission to a couple of sailing magazines, cleaned dust from the walls, surveyed our provisions, processed photos, cooked soups and baked brownies, made popcorn and watched movies and read books. We've also just plotted a serendipitous visit with my folks in Egypt in a few weeks and outlined a plan to rendezvous with some friends in the Med in the early fall.

The last day at Taila, we visited with our new fisherman friends and said a final farewell. A couple of days ago we traded a hat and smokes for a fish. Yesterday we gave them some water. I now realize when people here are excited it sounds like they are yelling. Our friend with the skinny head and wide grin gave us an Arabic lesson from his boat in what sounded like angry tones until we realized that he was trying to teach us some words.

It is amazing how lovely the people are here. We were invited to tea on the beach or in their boat. They wanted to give us something for the water. Because we did not want another fish they tried to give us aspirin, anything they could think of in return. We ended up with a few cardamom pods which are tomam (good) in tea and also some fresh incense, along with deep grins and memories to last a while. We haven't tried burning the incense yet but we can smell its urgent pungent odor seeping through the tinfoil we wrapped it in.

The winds mellowed overnight. We returned early this morning (April 11) for one last walk on the beach. It feels like a different place without the wind. By 9am we retraced our track out of the entrance and headed north 25 miles up the inner channel around Dungunab Bay, to our new anchorage at Wreck Recovery.

Light winds came directly out of the north at 4-6 knots for most of the day; the last hour we had a nice 8 knots from the east. We could easily spot the reefs glittering beneath the deep sapphire blue water. We caught three fish today, a small trevally, a three foot long great barracuda, and a 30-35lb red snapper. A few terns flew overhead and gulls crisscrossed our stern. A turtle lazily poked her head out of the sea just feet from the boat. The highlight of the day was getting visited by a small pod of Bottlenose Dolphins; our first in the Red Sea.

The sun is finally sliding back below the horizon and taking the relentless heat with it. We are anchored in a basin, almost surrounded by shallow reefs. The winds are predicted to be mellow for another day. We hope the forecast is right and plan to leave early tomorrow morning for a quick 32 miles to Khor Shinab, heralded as one of the most beautiful anchorages in the Red Sea.

A Slice of Sudan

2010-04-07T19:26:00.001+08:00

We slowly motored our way through electric koolaid blue milky water, followed by a small red sailing dhow, her white cotton sail, full in the light breeze. The water became lighter in color, even more surreal as buildings crumbled along the entrance of the port. We were entering what resembled a movie set, real life to those that made Port Suakin, Sudan, Africa their home.

The streets were paved in a fine brown dust, the same that licked our rigging, lines and mast, painting them a dirty shade of brown. Here the dirt lingered, scattered only by the hooves of excited goats and transport donkey carts. It clung to the old men's white robes, their hems brown from walking the streets and too little water to wash with.

Their weathered brown skin soaked up the fierce African sun, the color of roasted coffee beans and their dark eyes held stories we would never know. Plastic bags of every color clung to the few bushes that survived in this arid land like tattered flags, reminding us what would be left when we had all gone. A few women swirled by wrapped in colorful thin cloth from head to toe. They seemed unnaturally bright in a world of dust and a landscape of brown, black, and white.

We are still on a grand adventure and here I feel as if I am watching a movie. Strong men young and old walk through town armed with 3 foot long swords in their belts. They wear short vests over their white robes, full of pockets. Goats wander through town freely and donkeys bray in the background. Paint peels off large wooden doors while men sitting sidelong steer donkey carts through streets pulling water barrels, baby lambs, and other goods.

We are welcomed to town by a group of young and old men at the local tea shop. Beckoning us to join them we confer and slip into the corner bench, painted the same unnaturally vivid sky blue color as the plastic foot stools they bring us to place our drinks upon. We settle into our seats attempting to look comfortable, hoping to hide how utterly out of place we feel. The four young men sitting beside us have impossibly white teeth. After we have ordered a Turkish coffee for Gar and tea (shai) for me one of the young men is brave enough to practice his English. We smile and try to understand each other.

Within minutes an older man, lighter skinned with a thin black mustache shouts loudly to us, stopping the conversation were having, "Hey listen to me," he demands. "Baby finished?" He asks. "We're still practicing," Gar replies, with a smile, that does not get one returned. Here in Sudan, a woman's worth is determined by how many children she can have. Already in Islamic societies women have little value, now I really have none here. We "listen to him" a bit more and answer a few more questions hoping to return to the pleasant interaction we were having before he interrupted. He wants us to buy his "friend's fine sword with genuine silver."

An old man in a tattered, patched robe with a face that has seen ten thousand suns steps forward and removes his sword out of its patchwork leather scabbard. He hands it to Gar to appraise it. Heavy in his hands we see a symbol of the moon inscribed on one side at the base of the blade and a star on the other. The hilt is wrapped in intricate silver waves. If we ever wanted to buy a sword this is it. But who knows what blood it has spilled. We compliment the sword and return it to its disappointed owner. Our interrogator tires of us and thankfully walks out into the dusty street.

The guys next to us linger over their empty glasses. Sipping sweet mint tea and thick coffee, we explain we are from the United States and sing Obama's praises and our obvious dislike of Bush. It is only smart to reply in this manner but our words are genuine. I am mostly quiet as the guys just want to talk with Gar. After more attempts at conversation and many hand shakes and smiles I ask to take their photo with Gar. They are thrilled, some of the rare few who are willing to oblige a photo. I am surprised; they also would like one with me as well. The guys smile approvingly while peering at the screen on the camera, even the cook comes out for a view.

Everyone is smiling. When we ask to pay for our drinks, they wave us away. In this dusty poor place, we are again surprised and touched by the welcoming kindness of strangers.

We wander around a few booths of vegetables in the market. All of the produce coated in a thin layer of dust and try to pick the freshest ones: carrots, green peppers, chili peppers, limes, tomatoes, oranges, bananas, onions, potatoes. Leaving the vegetable booths we pass the meat market. Late in the day there is half a goat still on the rack and black flies buzz disturbed by our passing. A pudgy man speaks Arabic to us and beckons us to his barred window, offering a very red cut of the meat or possibly liver. It is hard to tell. We smile and shake our heads no.

Completing the circle, arriving again at the entrance of the market we meet a man standing beside a donkey-less cart. He has a curly bushy afro and a huge wide smile with spaces between all of his teeth. He is a brilliant salesman, grabbing bread while flashing his sparkling eyes and a winning smile. Of course we want 15 puff breads shaped like small frisbees.

Our three days in Port Suakin are spent on boat projects, returning to the market for freshies and my failed attempts at getting some brilliant photographs. There are very few times I wish I was a man but here I do. In many ways it would be much easier. Most of these people do not want their photo taken and when asked their smiles turn into a scowl. I am not good at sneaking photos and have stopped asking and put my camera away, choosing instead to keep my memories in my mind rather than on paper. It is a hard decision.

We spent a day in Port Sudan and visited a few specialty shops searching for cheese with little success. We ate lunch at the Palace Hotel an oasis for ex-pats and a source of cheap internet. There we saw voting observers from the EU. Sudan was suppose to be having their first free election to vote on the separation of north Sudan from south, making the south a new country. Sadly, it seems there is much corruption and the opposition party has pulled out claiming it will be an unfair vote. Hopefully this will not upset the peace agreement that has been in place for the last 5 years.

Our last day, we wander through the ruins of the crumbling buildings in the old city, stop for cups of shai at our favorite tea shop, and drink in the grit that is in this outpost in Sudan, Africa.

Three days after leaving Port Suakin, a thunderstorm sits upon us and the rains come, carrying the dust from our rigging onto the decks and bringing with them rough seas and strong winds. We are stuck in Sanganeb reef, staring at the water that tosses us uncomfortably at anchor.

It is amazing how quickly everything can change. Just two days ago, we were free diving off the point. Schools of hundreds of yellow-lipped sweetlips swarmed us. Twenty-three big eyed trevally swam directly at us in procession coming in for a closer look. With their toothy mouths agape, giant marbled grouper peered at us suspiciously from below reminding me of old men. Pink and orange anthias rise and fall around us like confetti. A ball of small jackfish surrounded Gar and moments later a huge school of hundreds of barracuda passed by. Blue fusiliers flickered in and out of the deep appearing and disappearing like an illusion.

We decided to abandon our hopes of scuba diving and visiting Jacques Cousteau's research station at nearby Shab Rumi, as the wind is fresh, blowing at 18-20 knots and the weather reports suggest it will be building within the next few days. We don't want to get caught out in the exposed reefs in 30 or so knots of wind. Here the dramatic change in weather greatly influences comfort level and fun factor and thus our choices, so we set off to Marsa Fijab for the night. Sadly, on the way our faithful resin-head squid lure got munched off by something big yesterday. The two hundred pound stainless lead did nothing against this creature's sharp teeth. We pulled the hand line in, the end looking like an exploded piece of wire, wildly unraveled.

It is 09:50 and we're motor sailing close-hauled, hoping to arrive at our next anchorage, Taila Island before the wind and swell threaten to stop us in our tracks. We are trailing two smaller squid lures and slightly bucking the swell. The water is a sparkling shade of dark blue and the sky is overcast and bright white. Thankfully the wind is clocking to the north east while it builds. We can see mainland Sudan; the hills roll by, beige with dust. We will likely settle into Taila if the winds blow strongly from the north as forecasted and hope to have some new adventures there.

Smiling Again

2010-03-28T18:38:00.002+08:00

My electric toothbrush died today. I'm not smiling. Yeah, not a big deal and not that I need one anyway, right?? I only bought it because I have a poor history dealing with fighting cavities. The cavities usually win most of the battles and, hey, I thought, every other American has an electric toothbrush and they all say they really "do" help fight cavities, so I thought, ok, I'm not "that" old school, I'll get an electric toothbrush too and my teeth will be extra happy. And that's what I did before we left Sausalito 3 1/2 years ago and started this journey. And, to tell you the truth, I kind of grew to like it. Until today. Now it's dead and I'm back to old school tooth brushing. More my style anyway I think.

But the reason I bring the toothbrush up is because something much more important to us died the other day, our Yamaha dingy outboard. Yeah, not cool, old school or new...having a good reliable outboard for your dingy is just kind of paramount out here. Especially if you want to get off the boat when it's windy and you can't row safely anywhere. Or if you want to "do" something fun off the boat like hiking on shore, or snorkeling, diving, or kite-surfing. I mean don't get me wrong, Nicole and I can hang tough on DK like any good cruisers: reading, doing boat projects, watching a good TV series on the laptop, baking bread or cookies...we do it often, hunker down and live simply on our boat for sometimes days or weeks without touching our feet on land. But it's really really nice to have the choice, especially if we are in a sweet cruising area like the Red Sea; a place that beckons to the adventurous. And, must I remind you all, we are super remote and also in a very poor country. We are still days away from a town, any town, and even when we are there, do you think there will just be a reliable and competent Yamaha mechanic there? You never know, right, but I wouldn't count on it.

Hanging in Khor Nawarat bay (March 25), just across the border into Sudan from the country of Eritrea, we were off on another snorkeling adventure. Nic and I took along a couple of our Dutch friends from the boat, Halfskip, and we were off to visit "fish town" again. After an hour or so of exploring the reef full of schools of sweetlips, rainbow colored parrotfish, and the assorted cornucopia of tropical reef beauties, and me unsuccessfully poking around the coral heads in search of a lobster dinner, we loaded back into super dingy and started back across the outer reef channel towards the anchorage. "Weeeeyyyy," goes the reved up engine with no power as I try to accelerate. I look at the prop and search for the telltale tangle of an old fishing line or other foreign object stuck around the blades. Nothing. "Weeeeeeeyyyyyy," it goes again. Oh Shit. We look at each other knowing full well we have at least a mile to go and need to cross two reefs and a current-swept channel.

I put it in forward slowly and it moves us forward, but no more then 1-2 knots. Phew, at least we can move. 45 minutes later and we make it home. Nic and I raise the engine and I start on the process of diagnosing the new problem. Prop looks fine, so it must be a "gear" issue inside the engine itself. Lower unit, I think. Turning our cockpit into my workshop begins. Tools come out, old greasy work towels get spread out, and the dismantling begins. Attempting to remove a couple of seized on bolts from the water pump housing creates a whole new problem. Two of them snap inside their tapped holes. Nice. Now my project has doubled...welcome to the world of boat projects.

For the rest of the day and all the next one, this is my world. I have taken apart all of the lower unit of the outboard, drilled out old broken bolts, stripped the threads, and then attempted to use some JBWeld to fix my disaster. JBWeld doesn't work too well, part of it breaks off and I have to re-tap a hole with a size bigger bolt to make it work. Thankfully I have a bolt that will work. Lots of gasket-sealer, sweat, and cursing later and, hopefully, I get the water pump issue fixed. Remember, this is only the second problem, I still haven't figured out the main one yet.

We have both our Dutch boat friends from the yachts "Halfskip" and "Alexandra" onboard for sundowner drinks that night, and Hans on Alexandra tells me about his exact same past issue. It's the prop, he says. No way, I say, the prop looks fine. He shows me how the interior bushing will break apart from the prop itself when the prop hits something or too much force is generated. It makes sense, but I never would have been able to understand or see it without him explaining it to me. I am utterly relieved. Hans is my new best friend! I start to smile.

I email my dad. He has been on a mission for me in Washington State to talk to the outboard guru's in the shops close by he knows of. He comes back with the same prognosis and we are both relieved that at least we have hopefully figured out the issue. Thanks Dad!
Now I need to put it back together again.

We left Khor Nawarat yesterday morning at sunrise (March 27) heading north to our present anchorage, Long Island, at the beginning of the Shubuk Channel. The wind and seas were up and we left the protected group of islands in some big 2-3 short steep seas and around 15-20 knots of wind, thankfully still from the west. Motor-sailing out the pass with Halfskip in the lead we made our turn to the north and took off under full sails on our 45 mile day hop. The day cleared up nicely and blue skies and a warm African sun graced the sky. The winds kept clocking to the NNE by early afternoon and we ended up making good time, dropping the hook at the southern bight of Long Island before 3 p.m. Halfskip came in safely a couple of hours later.

Long Island looked pretty enticing from the deck of DK, but because it was windy and the outboard still not together, we stayed onboard for the evening and watched the sunset over the mainland of Sudan in the distance. Osprey's fished the bay close by and we could see egret's fishing the shallows on shore. Tuna jumped in the distance and we crossed our fingers that the next morning I could get the Yamaha back on its feet.

This morning (March 28) after a tasty cup of Bali coffee, it was back to work. I successfully reconfigured the lower unit of the outboard and the new spare prop and gave it a go. Success!! Oh man, can you believe our relief.

We celebrated by having a nice walk around Long Island exploring the place and enjoying the numerous osprey's fishing, yellow and pink sea crabs scuttling around the mud flats, and watching small brown-dotted sting rays swimming through the shallows. We were on a search for the flamingos that supposedly reside here when in season, but no luck there.

After our walk we went out on a snorkel adventure on the SE side of Long Island with our friend, Joost, on Halfskip. The water was murky and the coral and fish ok, but nothing special. Nic got cold and we dropped her off on DK and then Joost and I took our spear-guns out to a pass a couple of miles away. We dropped in to the much clearer water and poked around while drifting the pass a couple of times searching for big edible fish and lobster, but no luck. Turtles, small barracuda, and the usual reef fish were in abundance, but no bigger pelagics or schools of red snapper we were searching for, nor a single lobster to be seen.

On the dingy ride back surfing the wind-waves at full throttle I was once again super thankful that at least one current boat project has been successful. In the last month we have had our autopilot go out, our VHF stop working, our wind generator die, and, today, my toothbrush. But having the outboard up and running again is, by far, the most important of the lot.

A mile from the boat, Joost and I watch a flock of birds in V-formation coming towards us from the west. They look different. When they fly directly above our heads we can clearly see the pink color and the long curved necks. 9 flamingos are arriving to Long Island.
I am smiling again.

Welcome to Sudan

2010-03-24T17:29:00.001+08:00

It was gray and damp out. We were mole-eyed and really didn't want to be up so early but we set off again. Our destination, Khor Nawarat, Sudan, Africa, 165 miles. Another overnighter. This time it was strange, very strange; it was unexpectedly relaxing, uneventful, and pleasant.

We started the day under gray skies and they sat overhead until late afternoon. Surprisingly, the wind piped up around noon and we sailed on a super comfortable beam to broad reach in one to two foot swells until about 9pm. It was really dark and we felt like we were ghosting along. We didn't see another boat for two days. We caught 6 fish, three fish each day, but sadly they were all barracuda. Barracuda often are known to have a toxic poisoning called "ciguatera" so even though we caught two small and one big one, three feet plus, each day, we returned them to the deep.

Small gray torpedo-shaped common dolphins jumped to join us numerous times through our one and a half day journey. They remind us of happy dogs, excited to see us, doing tricks and just as quickly happy to play somewhere else. They always put a smile on our faces.

And then we were here. Navigating the channel was straight forward. Our charts were still correct and the light was good. Wind was still pumping through from the E-SE so we dropped the hook off of a sandy, windswept scrubby island in this protected lagoon. It is calm here, wind but no swell, perfect for kiting if there is enough wind. Gar went out yesterday. Unfortunately, the wind was still a little light so he needed a rescue from the dinghy, but he had to give it a go. While we were waiting for the wind to pipe up we were visited by the military. All nice guys although a bit intimidating. They had a boat load of snapper and offered us one.

A good sign. So today we went spear fishing. We scouted a few reefs and finally found one close to the boat that had decent visibility and a lot of fish. We had found "fish town". Over 40 long-finned spadefish gracefully swam by. Surgeonfish bigger than your large fluffy housecat cruised in and out. We spotted two huge grouper, one as big as a fat sheep. Super cool and rare for us, 5 snubnose pompanos did three swimbys, their yellow tails and fins flashing at us. A huge lobster tap-danced under a rock while schools of snapper passed by. One was unlucky. Gar got his hunt on. Dinner tonight, barbecued snapper.

Just to remind you where we are, I will sign off with our most recent wildlife sighting, two camels on the beach. One of them belly deep in the sea.

More Surprises

2010-03-21T19:54:00.001+08:00

On our second night at Shuma Island, in that moment after the golden globe sinks beneath the horizon and the sky turns deep blue before the curtain of night falls we heard voices. Loud unmistakably foreign human voices. They were disturbingly close. The two tourist boats had departed in the morning and we thought we had Shuma Island to ourselves. Peering out our galley porthole we could see a big wooden dhow, heavy with passengers. The battered boat putted close to DK and men yelled, leaving us with nothing to do but respond. Gar, quickly, removed his sarong (almost like a skirt) and changed into some shorts (perhaps trying to puff up into a more manly specimen).

Our practice is to welcome strangers with greetings and friendly waves. Tonight was no different even though we were sorely and uncomfortably out numbered. As I pressed slunk into the corner of the galley and peered through the porthole between Gar's legs I counted about thirty men. We had heard about gun smuggling and human trafficking between Eritrea and Yemen and this definitely was no fishing boat. The guys waved back and shouted in Arabic. It is in these times I wish I was fluent in every language of every region we travel through. We resorted to charades and they wasted no time in clearly making the universal sign asking for food. Being outnumbered, we got some of our best stores to bring them. I threw a bag of rice, some mangoes, three rolls of biscuits (cookies for you Americans), and a box of cigarettes in a plastic bag for good measure. Gar handed over the delivery to the guys who were clearly in charge. They looked over the stores and asked for salsa, (universal language here too, tomatoes with something hot). Not wanting trouble and feeling it much easier to give them food and hopefully make them happy I threw together a second bag of goodies. Three big tomatoes, two onions, 5 limes, a head of garlic and spicy canned chipolte chilis. With this one, they were what seemed like happily satisfied and one of the guys who spoke a handful of English explained they were going to Yemen tomorrow at 6am. He also invited Gar to visit them on the beach.

When they swung their boat towards shore , I waved from the cockpit. Smiling, I was met with thirty reciprocal waves and smiling faces. We heaved a sigh of relief as they putted to the beach where we assumed they would spend the night. Our hearts were beating loudly in our chests, but it was dark, there was no where nearby we could sail to and they seemed friendly. So... we settled back into our evening and crunched on nachos, with an ear out for the return of our new friends. Surprisingly, as the stars were blinking across the sky and we began to relax we heard the unmistakable put put of the dhow's smoky engine, very close yet again. Little lights blinked on and off as the men spoke to one another rapidly in Arabic. "At least they aren't trying to be sneaky," we whispered to each other as we again stood post at the galley porthole. Shockingly, they dropped anchor less than a boat length away. Way too close.

It was an easy swim to our boat from theirs and we had a stern line out. We talked in hurried whispers the strain in our voices rising when we realized there was no choice but to ask them to move. They were bedding down for the night but at least we had an excuse, the stern line. Gar again slipped on his shorts and armed with a spotlight and a smile yelled across the narrow space between us. "Hello my friends, hello. You must move." No response. "Please my friends go go." Shit, we wish we could speak Arabic. And then he remembered the stern line, "You see anchor, we have an anchor" and he shined the spotlight on our stern anchor. "Anchor, anchor," they replied and slowly turned on their engine. We sighed with relief as they put put putted three boat lengths away and dropped their anchor again.

In reflection it is really pretty cute. We think they just wanted to anchor close to us. We've heard stories of trucks camped in a huge desert and then more vehicles will come and camp beside them even though there is an entire desert for the taking. Perhaps it was the same with our lagoon. We fell asleep last night secure in our safety. We woke only once, at 6am to wave our friends goodbye.

Again we were alone. The morning looked promising, shades of baby blue hinted at a clear day as the morning layer burned off. The wind died and for the first time we could see the sandy bottom below. By 10 am the sun was high and we were ready for another adventure. We squeezed into our neoprene tops and plunged into the shallow water. Cruising slowly with the current we were shocked to see relatively healthy coral gardens in 1-4 meters of water with a little algal growth and some crown of thorns damage, but mostly intact reef. Immediately upon entering the water Gar spotted two giant barracuda 1-1.5 meters long. Their tails waved back and forth. Three giant trevally came in for a look. A turtle spooked beneath us and a huge spotted eagle ray flew by. The reef fish exploded with color. We were seeing so many new species of fish, we spit our snorkels out every few minutes to ask if each had seen the angle fish with the yellow band or the sweet lips with the butter yellow body and brownish freckles, what about the brown parrot fish with blue lipstick? We swam over a huge stingray and were gratefully surprised to see two juvenile 1 meter black tipped sharks cruising by. What a happy surprise, we weren't even in waters renowned for their healthy reefs.

At 7am this morning (March 21) we bade farewell to Shuma Island and the two cruising boats that pulled in yesterday and headed to our current anchorage Sheikh al Abu, 45 miles to the north. It was a little eerie out here as the sky was heavy with clouds, so thick we couldn't tell what time it was. We spotted low flat, sandy islands specking the horizon in strange random looking patterns. The wind came from the North to North East and then shifted directly north on our nose. Hundreds of small tuna leapt out of the water, feasting on small fish. Flocks of terns and boobies followed the schools of fish, feasting themselves along the way.

Our game is on again. We caught three fish today. A small barracuda and small skip jack both of which we returned to live another day. Sadly, our last fish was no so lucky. It looked to be a good sized tuna. But when we reeled in the handline we were shocked to see merely a head and a third of its tattered body. The rest had been chomped off within minutes by a shark. We scrambled to get the tuna off the lure before the shark took it as well as our precious lure. Surprisingly the fish was still alive. We returned what was left of its wounded self to the deep as an offering to the sharks that we are so grateful still reside in these waters.

Into the Red Sea

2010-03-19T16:30:00.002+08:00

As dawn's first light illuminated the horizon, DK gracefully carried us into the gateway of another world. The wind was light for these parts at only 20 knots, and the seas only 1 meter, as we speedily approached the busy shipping channel under a port tack broad reach. We turned to starboard and slipped along the restricted zone of Yemen's Perim Island before committing to crossing the shipping channel to the northwest. We were now officially sailing through the infamous, "Straits of Bab el Mandeb", often referred to as the "Gate of Sorrows" or "Gate of Tears", the very narrow section of water that joins the Red Sea to the Gulf of Aden. Winds often funnel through this area at 30-50 knots and if the current is against the wind, huge standing waves can be common. We have heard that sunrise is the best time to transit the Strait, and so we find ourselves luckily crossing the shipping channel with only 20-25 knots of wind at our back, a favorable 1 knot current, and a dreamy African sunrise.

We are now officially out of the Indian Ocean and into the Red Sea!

We left Aden, Yemen, yesterday at about 1 p.m (March 15). Aden turned out to be mixed blessing for us. The people and the culture we experienced there were amazing. Yemen now ranks up there with having the most genuine welcoming and friendly people we have met anywhere. That says a lot considering all the places we have been on this journey. The history of the land and the culture there are a huge piece of the history of mankind and this is one place we really felt like we were truly "in another world". Yemen is definitely high on the list as a place I would return to for an adventurous 'off the boat' travel experience someday.

The reason, however, Yemen was a mixed blessing is because we were both mentally exhausted from our convoy experience and our boat projects were long and grueling. I had my worst filling diesel experience ever there, my worst engine sea water impeller change, and after almost 12 hours of energy attempting to fix our KISS wind generator, it still doesn't work. Then there was the VHF issues and the autopilot issues, a loud nightclub directly in front of our boat that blasted Yemeni music until 5 in the morning when the hundreds of "call to prayers" from the mosques start up to bring in the new day. We still did our best to have a balance of seeing Aden, taking care of business, as well as mentally recovering for our next leg

The first day coming through the Straits of Bab El Mandeb we rode the winds and waves throughout the day and night further north along the coast of Eritrea, a small country directly to the east of Ethiopia. As the morning turned into mid-day the winds and seas had built pushing from behind at 30-35+ knots and 2+ meter seas. We were making some of our fastest speeds on DK yet, surfing the waves with just a double-reefed main at 8-10 knots and feeling totally comfortable. Dolphins greeted us in the afternoon and once again exhibited their love for surfing as we watched 5-8 at a time elegantly riding the 6-8 foot backlit breaking waves right behind our stern.

We sailed on into the night enjoying the strong breeze and appreciating the fact that even though there were some other sailboats not far away, we were on our own and not accountable to anyone else again. Delta One was liberated.

The next day (March 17) the winds mellowed and we ended up having to motor-sail to make it to our intended anchorage in Howakil Bay before dark. As we neared the group of islands around Umm Es Sahrig in Howakil Bay, our intended desert island anchorage, the sea became alive. Flocks of thousands of boobies and terns spun circles around us and our fishing lures, huge schools of fish leapt and splashed on the waters edge, and large chalky-colored jellyfish pulsed underneath the surface. We haven't seen so many seabirds since the west coast of Mexico and big smiles came over our faces. We were loving it and all the stress and frustration of the last few weeks slipped away.

We dropped our hook in sand in the lee of the small limestone desert island in 20+ knots of wind, but with almost no swell, cracked open a cold beer and melted into our new world.

The next day (March 18) we were off at sunrise with the destination of a place called Shumma Island, about 45 miles north, which we had read is a beautiful spot. The lures were put out, earl gray tea in hand, and the day had begun. It wasn't 30 minutes later that I looked back to see us dragging a fish. It must not be too big, I thought, poor little guy. We slowed the boat down and brought our hand-line in until I had the fish next to the boat, gaff in hand. What first I thought was a mahi mahi, turned out to be something altogether new and different. It had the general shape and head of a mahi, but with a cool strange spotty pattern, and fins like a tuna. It was also pretty big; a few feet long and maybe 20 lbs. or so. We weren't sure what it was and decided not to keep it as we didn't want to kill it if we didn't even like the taste of the meat. I reached down and wiggled our flashy spoon lure out of it's lip and it slipped away into the depths to live another day.

The wind died and changed directions to 5 knots to the NE and we motor-sailed along all day once again enchanted by the thousands of seabirds and huge schools of bait fish. It was early afternoon and Nicole was busily doing sink-full after sink-full of handwash, since our engine and watermaker were constantly on, when I noticed a large shape on the water's surface just 30 feet away. I yelled to Nicole and she hustled up to the cockpit just in time to see a huge neck and shell break the sea's surface. We could see it perfectly, our first ever endangered Leatherback Sea Turtle! All of you who know Nicole can imagine her excited response when she becomes ecstatic with joy over something she cares so much about. She made me smile for hours.

As we approached the narrow pass through the coral reef to enter the protected lagoon of Shumma Island, another fish hit. Nic and I were both winding our hand-lines back in when all of a sudden Nic yelled and I looked at her face intense with concentration and arm muscles flexed fighting to hang onto the hand-line plastic spool. Only 25 feet out or so while she was reeling in the lure a tuna hit. Carefully she passed me the spool and I tied it off as a back-up before starting to hand over hand the line in along our starboard beam. I gaffed the tuna and pulled it onboard as Nic took some photos. It was a perfectly-sized 15 pound skipjack tuna, a fish which we hadn't caught in ages.

We slipped in thru the pass easily in good afternoon light, with Nicole high in the spreaders looking for shallow coral, and dropped our hook in the lagoon of Shumma Island. Two other boats were anchored not far way, at first we thought they were fishing boats, but later we saw they were actually tourist boats from nearby Massawa, Eritrea, doing an overnight trip camping along the shore. Tourist boats from Eritrea?? We were kind of shocked on that one.

We were stoked. Dolphins swam by at dusk as the golden globe sank into the mainland of Africa only 20 miles away. We enjoyed a peaceful evening under the stars eating some freshly caught tuna.

It's now March 19th and we are still anchored at Shumma Island. Last night the NW winds picked up (we knew they were coming) and a swell entered the lagoon (but we didn't expect that). DK rolled from side to side most of the night and we barely slept. Groggily we woke and had a light brekkie and tea before taking super dingy to shore for our first walk on African soil.

The land is limestone, filled with embedded fossils and huge shells lie scattered all over the scrubby surface. Big umbrella-like desert trees dot the land and thorny bushes and shrubs grow through barren substrate. The air is hot and the sky is desert-hazy. There are animal droppings everywhere: donkey? camel? goat? We're not sure, but it looks like there are definitely four-footed creatures tromping around somewhere on this 2 mile diameter low-lying island.

We walk the sandy beaches and find a hermit crab convention and heaps of seaweed at the water's edge. The big discovery of the day are the beautiful "venus comb" shells, brittle, barbed, and gorgeous, only to be found in Africa. We find many of them, but most of them with a resident. One is vacant and Nicole is ecstatic.

After our walk we put DK's stern anchor out to keep our bow pointing into the swell so we can actually sleep tonight. The tourist boats leave and we find ourselves all alone. Nic made a big egg and potato brunch and now we are catching up on our writing, enjoying the tranquility of this new place and extremely excited for the next Red Sea adventures to come.

Home Free

2010-03-09T19:14:00.001+08:00

Day 6 and it's all over:

Local Date: Tuesday, March 9
Local Yemen Time (3 hours ahead of GMT): 14:10
DK Position: N 12 47.502', E 44 58.733'
Anchored in Aden, Yemen

We're 15 miles out of Aden when the huge stepped desert cliffs materialize out of the dusty haze. Stucco and whitewashed structures are perched on the cliffs. A sandy tongue of sand slithers through the valley between two peaks lapping at the sea with the look of an Arabian glacier. A big fish launches out of the water and brown booby birds do fly-bys.

Joost, Alpha 1, our leader, gives his final talk on the VHF congratulating our group and we all thank him for his valiant effort and energy making this all happen. He did an amazing job and I am sure he is just as exhausted as we are.

The last 10 miles we take turns calling Aden port control to tell them our boat details and then finally we dismantle the groups and follow each other into the harbor in single file. We take the back. We know the anchoring will be chaotic and we are happy to just chill out at last and take in our surroundings in our own sweet time. I finally turn off the VHF and don't plan on turning it on again for days. It's been non-stop and I am exhausted by it.

We are finally here!! We drop our hook in a tightly packed little anchorage now filled with not only our 17 boats from our convoy (3 of our French boats have kept going up the Red Sea), but also the "Vasco de Gama" Rally of 12 boats that just came south down the Red Sea. We needed a shoehorn to fit in here, but thankfully the other convoy said they are leaving in a few hours, so we will actually soon get a little space.

We are extremely glad this one is over. We feel success at having all made it here safely and intact. I don't feel the "I am so psyched" feeling I get after certain accomplishments, but more like, "I am so f**ing glad that is over!"

This convoy thing was no easy task. We recognize the effort that it took for everyone to stay together. There were many frustrating experiences, some really selfish people, and for us, some very scary near-miss collision situations. Most people were tense, nervous, frustrated, and exhausted more than once. Yet, everyone chose to follow the pack, try to communicate, and stick to together. This took a lot of patience, effort, and dedication.

Thankfully, regarding pirates, we saw, nor heard of any pirate attacks along the way. Did a pirate boat see us?? Were they deterred to attack us because of our convoy?? We will never know the answers but we do know that we are here safe and sound.

Nic and I just decided not even to go to shore to check in today. We just need to decompress, relax, watch a movie, and get some real rest. Plus, a break from the pack will probably let some of the bad memories slip away and we will be in a more positive mood tomorrow.

So we would like to thank all of you for your support, your love, and your positive energy thinking about us along our journey. We appreciate all of you and feel blessed that we have so many people who care about us and what we are choosing.

"Delta One, Over and Out"

Save Us From Ourselves

2010-03-08T17:00:00.001+08:00

Day 5 in the Gulf of Aden:

Local Date: Monday, March 8
Local OMANI Time (4 hours ahead of GMT): 12:45
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 5.2 knots
Wind: ESE 12-15 knots
Seas: 2-3 feet from the SE
Distance to Aden, Yemen: 130 miles

I wake up to the startling blast of our horn and the boat hard over to port. I lurch up the stairs and hear Gar reporting a
sailboat coming head on through our fleet. Gar is shaking, scared, angry, and confused about what happened. It is clear a boat
from Alpha turned into the fleet to raise his mainsail without notifying the fleet or turning masthead or deck lights on. This
is maddening. We too would like to sail but we signed on to go at convoy speed without compromising our maneuverability with
sails. Once again, a very near miss, I can see his stern lights and the outline of his sails clearly. He was seriously only
feet from our starboard side. At night this is one of the scariest things to see. That makes three.

Everyone is rattled. There have been too many close calls, too close. Gar is trying to identify the boat so they know what they have done. Once the boat is identified Delta 5 is swearing insultingly at the "Crazy" French man. I am embarrassed by the
American's response and appalled at the selfishness I have seen out here. Close calls make everything more intense. I am happy
to be alive and in love. The captain will not take responsibility nor apologize and again we have another night on edge. Our
eyes are acutely sharp as we watch the entire fleets movements closely. We monitor real time with our eyes, the radar, and chart plotter. We are overly cautious. Gar is clearly freaked out. He asks the Delta fleet to give him space, a lot of it. Delta 4 respectfully agrees to a minimum of 800 feet from our stern. At last, they are far enough away I can no longer see them in their
nav seat.

I slip back into bed, wrapping myself up in my sheet and blanket like a burrito. i try to calm myself down. I am grateful for
another two hours where I do not have to watch this world and be responsible for our group and what happens in it. Sleep does
not come, my heart is racing, my stomach is in knots and I am dreading another night of this. Also, our instruments went out
again yesterday afternoon for a couple of hours so my hearing senses are acutely focused. I am listening for the alarm that beeps when they go out. Gar has been on watch for over 13 hours as he wanted to monitor the instruments. I am worried about him too.

Most of my watch is quiet. I came on at 22:00 as the big dipper climbed higher while the southern cross sat on our port side. I am trying to hold our position in the fleet but Charlie has slipped back again and Bravo is still behind us. My watch gets
trickier. I now have to watch Alpha in front and the Bravo and Charlie Group in addition to the rest of the Delta group from
behind.

There were more changes yesterday. Charlie 5's engine went out. He is a big 30 tonne mono hull. Some heartening things
happened here. The convoy slowed way down in order to give Charlie 5 time to fix their engine. The conditions were terribly
uncomfortable for traveling under reduced sails. We were making 2 knots in 3 foot swell and 16-20 knots of wind. Delta 5
called to tell me I could do my laundry we were pitching and rolling so badly. We were in the agitation cycle. Surprisingly
everyone in the fleet slowed down and waited. Almost no one complained as we all moved very slowly for hours despite the fact
that our Tuesday arrival seemed to be slowly slipping away from us. They got the engine fixed and then it faltered again. Fixed
and faltered. Selflessly, Bravo 1 volunteered to give them a tow. Towing can at times be very hard on the tow boat, strain on
the engine and the boat is very common. By nightfall, Charlie 5 agreed to a tow and they were towed by Bravo 1 to Alpha 2's
position. Their new names are T1 and T2. Charlie 5 moved with their engine assisting the tow throughout the night from 4.7 to
5.7 knots. Good speed. This act, gives me hope in humanity and this convoy.

Two hours into my watch I saw a boat from Alpha 1 move across the fleet and out to starboard well away from everyone.
Thankfully, they were moving out rather than towards the fleet. I made contact but with the wrong boat. Two hours later the
boat was still falling behind. At 02:35, four and a half hours into my watch, delta five contacted me asking about the boat that
was just crossing his bow and coming my way. He was out of his formation and coming into our Delta convoy, very close to Delta
5. It all happened too fast. I made contact but Delta 5 jumped in. "I don't care about what's best for your sail angle or your
speed, You are in my space, you cut across my bow. You f**king crazy Frenchman. What is wrong with you f**king crazy
Frenchman... and on and on. I was seething, my heart was racing. Embarrassed by Delta 5's attack on another nationality (Delta
is now definitely the A**hole American group), but also pissed that this French yacht thought that because he was "in control"
of his own yacht as a professional skipper with thousands of miles of experience and years on the sea it was ok for him to
maneuver into our fleet risking a possible collision.

It is amazing to us how different people are in this convoy. Some are selfless and completely willing to sacrifice for the
benefit of the group and others are selfish and continually want to do what's best for themselves. Thankfully this morning and
afternoon all has been quiet. We have a nice wind and are motor sailing comfortably at 5.2-5.8 knots. Thankfully our Tuesday
arrival is most definitely within reach now. The air is crisp and clean. A little bird has visited 3 boats in the Delta fleet
and has put a smile on everyone's face. (I hope it comes to us next.) We have seen no pirates, only two fishing boats at a far
distance. The radio in our large fleet is refreshingly silent and we hear no talk of pirate attacks by the warships in our area. If all goes well for the next 24-30 hours we will be safely in Aden and will likely have become our own worst enemies in these waters.

In Peace,

The Admiral and her Captain

Day 4 in the Gulf of Aden

2010-03-07T17:36:00.001+08:00

Local Date: Sunday, March 7
Local OMANI Time (4 hours ahead of GMT): 13:40
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 4.2 knots
Wind: NE 15 knots
Seas: 2-4 feet from the SE
Distance to Aden, Yemen: 244 miles

"Bravo Five, this is Delta One", at 01:00 in the middle of the night, I call out on the VHF over and over.
"Alpha Six, this is Delta One, looks like we have a sleeper coming our way."
"Roger, Delta One, let's watch him closely so we don't get run over."

Bravo Five has fallen asleep on watch and gone off course. We were already within 1/4 mile from them before they peeled out of their convoy and started heading towards us. Nice.

Alpha Six and I continue to try to hail them on the VHF to no avail. When they are within shouting distance of us, we pull out our signal horns and blast them. It works. They wake up, groggily respond on the VHF that they weren't asleep (yeah right) and head back to their group. No apology, no "sorry we won't do it again". Everyone is tired, but some boats have really had trouble keeping good watches and keeping their VHF radio's on. Pretty irresponsible and dangerous in my book.

Another hour goes by, but the excitement never ends. At 02:00, a fishing boat is spotted on radar by the fleet and heading our way. It looks to be a traditional dhow closing in fast with a speed of 10 knots. The chatter goes around the VHF for everyone to pay close attention and get ready to try to get out of the way, that is, if you even can. The boat approaches Alpha Five on the upper right triangle of our convoy still going 10 knots. Everyone's breath is held and the VHF is totally silent. All of a sudden it turns south suddenly and begins crossing just off the bows of the Alpha Group, the lead boats in the convoy, close enough to almost touch and still doing almost 10 knots. The Alpha Group slows down fast and barely misses the fishing boat, then the dhow turns and runs down the width of the convoy along the side of Bravo Group.

Bravo Group collapses in towards the middle of the convoy, a couple of the boats come within a few hundred feet from me, extremely close in the night, one of my eyes fixed on their green and red running lights and one fixed on the radar screen. A lot of confusion is happening in the group and then I notice a sailboat from the Alpha Group doing a 180 heading after the Dhow, just missing Bravo One, the lead group of Bravo, and looking totally out of control.

They finally stop and do a 180 with the realization of what just happened. Mark, the captain, gets on the radio sounding totally confused trying to make sense of what just happened. What happened was he had to wake his crew to take the helm while he dealt with an emergency VHF call from a coalition boat down below. His crew, still asleep and hand-steering, all confused from the Dhow fishing boat, thought the Dhow was Alpha One, the lead boat in our convoy, and pulled out of the convoy to follow it. They didn't realize what was going on until almost colliding with Bravo One. The Dhow fishing boat speeds away having no idea what kind of scare and chaos it just created.

It very well could turn out that we are our worst enemies in these waters.

We mentioned already that our convoy is made up of 20 boats. Our leader is a Dutch boat named, "Halfskip". Joost, the Captain, has really been doing a great job trying to manage this lot. There are a few other Dutch boats, a boat from Belgium, a few French boats, some Kiwi's, and the rest split between the UK and the Americans. As you can imagine, we are all very different sizes and styles, ranging from a 32' monohull, to a 65' catamaran, not to mention how different we all are as far as being sailors. All of us have 2-3 people on board, the ones with 3 definitely have it easier with the amount of intensity directed towards keeping a tight course and very attentive watches.

This morning another shift in the ranks. Charlie Two, an American boat, asks permission from his group leader and Alpha One to change to our group, Delta Group. He has been having trouble with Charlie One, the group leader, for days. Charlie One and Charlie Two don't really see "eye to eye" with where they should be in the convoy position, and to Charlie Two's credit, I have to agree with him. The Charlie Group have a tendency to wander all over the place, sometimes drifting a mile away from the convoy and sometimes way slower. The group leader almost always thinks he is in the right place, however, and as you can imagine, leads to some frustration among the group members.

So now Delta group is back to 5, all the Yankees in the same group. Funny, yeah? Put all the loud Americans in the back of the pack. Besides Delta 5, our new addition is one of the most talkative in the convoy. Now they are right next to each other.

We are only two days out from Aden, but now in the very real infamous stretch called "pirate alley" where most of the commercial boat hijackings happen that you read about in the news all the time. Even though only 1 sailing yacht has been taken in this area in the last 2 years, the commercial boats and tankers are chased and often boarded weekly by the Somalia pirates.

The coalition convoy is closely monitoring us but they are also watching and patrolling the "corridor" just south of us. The corridor is a U.N. patrolled shipping lane where all the commercial tankers and cargo ships transit from and to the Red Sea. Right now on our AIS display, I can see 35 boats, from 40 miles to 200 miles away. Just 50 miles south of us at this very moment I can see a commercial/tanker ship convoy of boats in tight formation, just like we all our here. There are 23 boats from 400 feet to 1000 feet long right next to each other traveling at 11 knots. They are smart. Most likely they also have the protection of a battleship or some sort of security force.

Like I said, we are now officially in the "high risk" zone.

The winds have come and we now have 15 knots right on our tails with the seas picking up to 2-4 feet. It is rolly. Really rolly. The direction of the wind and waves is all wrong for us little sailboats. Stuff is slamming around in all the cupboards and I am starting to get seasick trying to write this. Overall, however, we are holding up ok. Everyone in the convoy is tired and definitely holding anxiety, but we are doing ok, happy to be nearing the end of this and grateful for our continued safe passage so far.

Big love and many thanks for all the support out there.

"This is Delta 1, over and out for now"

Captain Chuck

almost 1/2 way Day 3

2010-03-06T15:37:00.001+08:00

Day 3 in Team DK world:

Local OMANI Time (4 hours ahead of GMT): 11:35
Local Date: Friday, March 5
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 6.0K
Wind: NE 6K
Distance to Aden, Yemen: 383 miles

Deep thoughts from Gar, "You know, this convoy thing is really pretty smart."

Especially around 07:00 when 4 small fishing boats came over the horizon. And then later, when 9 larger fishing boats came
cruising through our fleet so close we could wave at the fisherman and see the expressions on their faces. It was a bit spooky. We decided with the first entry of fishing boats we would practice our defense tactics. So we went through the exercise, practice for pirates, tightening ranks and closing in on Alpha. We learned a lot of things. Many of them old. The most obvious and well known is that the slowest boat should not be in the back. Saroni is the slowest boat, except for the lead boat. To get into tactical position, we have to wait for our convoy to catch and tighten up. It took us 11 minutes to tighten up and head toward Alpha group. Way too long.

What to do? The only real solution is to move Saraoni up in front. The problem is the way the groups were organized- in order of when the boat signed up. We signed up last so we are the back of the pack. Playfully referred to as "pirate bait". No one wanted to switch to come back with Delta except someone willing in Charlie but it didn't really solve the problem so now Saraoni is up with Alpha and we have one less boat to manage. We are now traveling in a diamond formation.

There is never a dull moment in this convoy. Alpha 1 called for an engine check stop for 10 minutes. All boats stopped in
formation except one. A Delta rogue, Delta 3. They are now positioned directly behind our stern and with a tighter formation (recommendation from what we learned with our earlier exercise). You guessed it, they just missed slamming into us at 6 knots. Our angels have been busy. Thank You! Please keep the positive thoughts flying our way. We can use all we get.

Few, we are exhausted. Managing this group is a constant job. It is almost ridiculous. Seriously, I go to the bathroom with the hand held VHF. On watch, I do nothing other than watch the boats around me, manage our track, and look for ships and boats on the radar and the horizon.

Smart? Smart. We wouldn't really want to do it any other way. It is the best offense we can have other than a warship. Hopefully it will be worth it. We both have back aches, more grey hairs and bags under our eyes. I am wearing patches on my shoulders to relieve the tension and Gar should put one on his lower back but he doesn't want a wax.

The sky is a cloudy shade of blue and the sun is bursting through. It is hot but good to see some brightness in our days. Birds feed on the surface and sargasso sea weed floats by.

"This is Delta 1, over and out for now."

Admiral "Patches" and Captain Chuck (Norris, that is)

Day 2

2010-03-05T19:10:00.001+08:00

Day 2 in Team DK world:

Local OMANI Time (4 hours ahead of GMT): 15:05
Local Date: Thursday, March 4
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 04.3K
Wind: NE 4.7K
Distance to Aden, Yemen: 475 miles

The VHF crackles to life again. "Delta 1 this is Delta 5, I think you are in danger of being taken over by your group, over."

It is obvious. It's 05:13 and it's still dark. We run with deck lights aft and stern to avoid being seen at long distances. I can see green and white and red and white lights coming directly up my stern. It is tricky, we should stay .5 miles behind Alpha 1, the lead group and .25 from both of our flanks. Controlling speed and course is challenging to say the least with 20 boats traveling at different speeds and with different approaches.

At 00:13 hours a large wooden dhow fishing boat cruised quickly through our convoy, uncomfortably close. When they left I could
smell the stink of animals on the wind. He must have been transporting cattle.

It is a bit eerie out here, no wind, almost a reflective sea, silver skies and a light peach sun. O'Flo, our friends with the
fuel issue reconnected with us at sunrise this morning.

Everyone listening to us must be chuckling. Rendez Vous Kay and Saraoni are at it again. Bickering over their speed and
position. I think it might be a game for them now. They are amiable this morning.

We needed something exciting to happen. No wind and flat seas and a lot of miles to go. This afternoon Gar gave the fleet
something to talk about. We were being pinched on both sides buy the Bravo and Charlie group and were trying to get back into
position. Talking through it on the radio with the groups we were trying to problem solve so we could slip back in. Anyone who
knows Gar knows people who seem selfish and stubborn rub him the wrong way. I never should have given him the radio. He got
rubbed and took the bait. Gar lost his cool and played the ugly American card. This guy was been playing the pompous sailor.
Things have cooled down and Gar apologized as did this other guy. The group is back on track and we have returned to our proper
position within the fleet.

A huge school of dolphins just crossed our bow. Also, super cool and really comforting, the Coalition Forces who have been
tracking our progress sent an Australian chopper for a fly by today. The chopper cruised low and circled around all of the
boats. It's good to know they're watching out for us. We'll keep on moving. Hoping for a Tuesday am arrival.

Onward.

We're Off

2010-03-05T19:07:00.001+08:00

Day 1 in Team DK world:

Local OMANI Time (4 hours ahead of GMT): 17:05
Local Date: Thursday, March 4
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 04.5K
Wind: NE 4.7K
Distance to Aden, Yemen: 569 miles

"Delta One, this is Alpha One, what's your etd?"
We are Delta One, the leaders of the Delta group, the back of the pack.
We left this morning under cloudy skies at 09:48 following the convoy of a total of 20 boats. We travel with four other boats at our flanks and our stern flanks. There are four groups of five and we travel in diamond formation. Conversations with one of the American boats goes something like this...

"Delta assault leader this is Delta four." -Rendez Vous

"Go ahead Delta four" -Gar

"How do you want our ranks?" -RV

"It would be great if everyone can tighten up once people get sorted with their sails." -Gar (As some of you might know, five boats turning into the wind to raise sails in tight quarters is more than challenging.)

"Can I call you Chuck Norris?"-RV "If you must." -Gar

This is only the beginning. After 5 days we will have some quality quotes we are sure. The other boats are already annoyed with the American chatter and we are trying to find a balance. We are supposed to maintain radio silence which is proving to be a challenge.

Our travel plan is to travel within a half of a mile or so from each of the big groups during daylight and a mile separation at
night. There is no wind and we are in glassy seas so it hasn't been to difficult yet. It is really hot. We sailed through a
huge pod of dolphins at around 1300 hours and motored through a big pod of pilot whales for over an hour. Their fins are huge
when they slice though the water.

Our friends, some young Brits on O'Flo had to turn around to 740 liters of incorrect fuel when they discovered it was diesel when their outboards stopped working. We plan to wait for them and have them catch up in the night.

More tomorrow. Thanks for keeping us in your thoughts.

Across the Arabian Sea

2010-02-28T00:27:00.005+08:00

On our last day in Uligan, manta rays once again graced us with their presence. After a morning swim, some tea onboard DK with our new Maldivian friends, Hussein and Imad, and a thorough lashing down of everything onboard, we lifted DK's 55 lb. Delta anchor and slipped through the shallow coral bomies heading towards the Arabian Sea. We were underway.

This was our first passage not submitting position reports and also our first going stealth through pirate waters. To our families and a few friends we emailed daily position reports and a little synopsis or our world. So, seeing that much has already been written, some of you may find it an interesting read.

Day 2
Local Time (5 hours ahead of GMT): 07:45
Local Date: Thursday, Feb. 11
Position: 08 15' N, 071 45' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 322 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 5.8 knots (1 knot current with us)
Wind: light to none from the North
Distance to Oman: 1161 miles

We left yesterday at about 12:15. Two other boats left the day before, and 3 on the same with us, so there are 6 of us within 24 hours of each other. 2 of them are single-handers and 1 is a fast catamaran. Not a single boat is left in Uligan and at least 20 underway towards Oman that we know of.

Not much wind or else all the wind on our nose, so we have been motor-sailing since we left. Weather looks like we will start to get nice 15 knot NE in a couple of days to hopefully have some nice sailing. Today light clouds making it a gray morning.

Went through one of the shipping lanes last night. No problems except ALL the boats now have their AIS systems turned off, making our cool new instrument useless. Weird to be in a Sea where every boat, big and small, is being cautious of the pirate situation. In case some of you haven't read it, we recently posted a BLOG on the pirate situation on our site if you want to
learn a bit more.

So all good with us. Nic is sleeping and I am having my double bag of black tea on my first day off coffee again. blah. I so want a nice cup of french roast right now, but coffee and new passages don't mix well for my seasickies.
Nothing else to report. Mellow so far....

Day 3
Local Maldives Time (5 hours ahead of GMT): 08:15
Local Date: Friday, Feb. 12
Position: 09 55' N, 069 46' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 305-315 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 6.5 knots
Wind: NE 12-17
Distance to Oman: 1011 miles

Looks like we went about 150 miles yesterday. Wind started picking up about 17:00 hours and clocked to the NE, thankfully. We've been scooting along all night and morning at 6-7 knots on a beam to broad reach. Nice. Seas still pretty small at 3-6 feet, so a little rolly, but overall no complaints as we are making miles fast.

Only bummers have been our wind generator stopped working and our toilet is plugged up, again. Yeah, I know, you can pretty much imagine my temperament dealing with taking the toilet apart and the head hoses off while on a rolly beam reach. Especially after the huge toilet job I just did in Langkawi not many months ago. Right now I have some muriatic acid soaking some of the head hoses, hopefully that will do the trick...

And, of course, now that we have great wind for generating power with our wind gen, it needs a big overhaul with new bearings and such. Basically, a fairly big job I need to do while at anchor that will take some hours to replace all the internal parts. Of course, what would a passage be without some things breaking and a list to fix once you arrive to the next port?? But the timing....uggghh...boats...

We were stealth last night with no lights on. Went through some more shipping lanes and also Nic piloted through a group of 6 fishing boats. No problems. We are still pretty far away from where most of the pirate activity usually takes place, but we are being careful.

Not much out here. A few birds and flying fish, but pretty benign right now. We're not fishing as it's pretty rough and we are still pretty stocked with wahoo and mackerel from the Andamans.

Slowly getting into the passage rhythm again...

Day 4
Local Maldives Time (5 hours ahead of GMT): 07:45
Local Date: Saturday, Feb. 13
Position: 11 11' N, 067 58' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 300-305 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 6.5 knots
Wind: NNE 10-15
Distance to Oman: 882 miles
Distance traveled last 24 hours (approximate): 135 miles

Wind stronger last night with more pushy seas at 15-20+ knots and seas breaking along our boat at 6-7 feet. Wet in most of the cockpit and waves constantly on deck. We reefed and slowed down a bit and just sat in the darkness rolling and bucking along.

Ships around from time to time, but no fishing boats. Sometimes when we get too close to a big ship we put our tricolor mast light on and they return by turning on their AIS for a bit. We both can see where we are better and our intended course. Then we pass each other and return to the darkness. Most of the big ships keep some navigation lights on though, but turn off their
AIS.

Good news on the toilet. After about 4 hours straight yesterday morning dismantling the "whole entire" unit in the rolly seas, it is now fully-serviced and working the best it ever has. Thank the Gods (for all you "Battlestar Galactica" followers)! Yeah, you could picture it right, me, waking up in DK being pitched from side to side, no coffee, and back into the head for a really fun mix of greasy tools, poop water, and small delicate brass parts to put together in exactly the right way while the boat is throwing me and everything else all over the place. Fun. The good thing is that it is over with.

But, of course, a new problem now. Instruments and autopilot still on the fritz. Sometimes they just decide to stop working. Nice. Thankfully with our new chart-plotters that have GPS built in, we are still up with that system with our chart, plotting, GPS, and radar. The things that go out are our electric autopilot, wind gauge, speed and depth. We don't "need" that stuff out here, but sure would be nice if i could finally figure that one out. Right now it is back on and i am testing it to see if it will work again for a while. Last passage it worked great for a few days, then all of a sudden, on the fritz for a day with it turning itself "off" every 5 minutes or so. Then, it decides it is working again, and does great for the next 5 days straight in all weather and sea conditions. Go figure.
Our monitor windvane is working great, though, and is doing most of the auto-steering anyway. As long as there's wind, we'll keep the monitor steering.

Still lumpy out so not exactly "peaceful", but at least we are making miles and getting closer to the home-plate.

Day 5:
Local Maldives Time (5 hours ahead of GMT): 08:10
Local Date: Sunday, Feb. 14
Position: 12 27' N, 065 41' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 300-305 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 6-7 knots
Wind: NE 10-15
Distance to Oman: 729 miles
Distance traveled last 24 hours (approximate): 155 miles

Not much to report today. As they say in Thailand, "same same but different".

Winds still from the NE and moving from 10-20 knots. Last night on the stronger side with some pushy wet seas. This morning gray skies and seas and wind down a bit, but still moving along at 6-7 knots boat speed. We are always happy when we are making miles.

Toilet good and autopilot hasn't needed to be on since our windvane has been doing all the work. Our friend, Jim on SV Cardea, who is in Sydney, just emailed us about the autopilot. Seems he used to have the exact same problem and so have many other sailors he knows. The problem is with our Raymarine ST6002 control head which controls the brains of the system. It has issues. Nothing we can do about it now until we can send the unit back to Raymarine for a fix, but at least we know what the problem is. It's been like this ever since we left Palau when we put this new unit in. The funny thing, or not so funny to us, is that we replaced our autopilot because our old one would randomly turn itself "on" and take over the wheel. Not good when we have our windvane on as the 2 systems fight each other. But now our new autopilot likes to randomly turn itself "off". Classic. I just love marine electronics.

No other boat problems, just in our routine of sleeping, eating, reading......

No boats around for the last 24 hours which is good too. Almost half way to Oman and happy for it.

Day 6:
Local Maldives Time (5 hours ahead of GMT): 08:15
Local Date: Monday, Feb. 15
Position: 13 35' N, 063 17' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 300-305 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 6-7 knots
Wind: NNE 13-18
Distance to Oman: 573 miles
Distance traveled last 24 hours (approximate): 160 miles

Gray skies this morning and cold cold cold. Weather has really changed at night these past couple of days as we get further north. Putting the layers on at night just like the old days sailing in California. Strange to actually be up this far north again, our first time since Mexico when we were at this northern latitude. Pretty sure we will have some chilly nights in the
Red Sea coming up too as it is full-on winter in the Med right now.

All good with us. Just plugging away the miles. Not much boat traffic in these parts and the wind has been pretty consistent from the NNE and NE at 12-20 knots average. We still have about a 1 knot current against us, otherwise we would be averaging around 7 knots/hour instead of our usual 6 lately. We are over half way there though, and happy for it. Weather is indicating stronger winds and bigger seas in the next couple of days, so we will get ready for a wet and sloppy ride with our beam reach point of sail.

Day 7
Local Maldives Time (5 hours ahead of GMT): 08:25
Local Date: Tuesday, Feb. 16
Position: 14 38' N, 060 59' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 290-295 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 6-7 knots
Wind: ENE 13-18
Distance to Oman: 425 miles
Distance traveled last 24 hours (approximate): 150 miles

Did we mention that it is cold yet??? :) Foulie bottoms on at night for the first time since ???maybe 2 years ago in New Zealand, I think. Nic, of course, has at least 2 more layers on then me. Both of us are still holding out for shoes. We haven't worn shoes on this boat since, I know for sure, 2 years ago in New Zealand. Chilly in the wee hours of 0-dark thirty, but so worth it not to slip on the boat sneaks. We love being barefoot.

We are both still doing well. The highlight of the night was a phosphorescent dreamy episode on the sea. There was a couple of hours where all the whitewater from our boat and the breaking of the waves glowed a beautiful bright green from the abundance of little phosphorescent critters. With a new moon, and pretty much a black sky, the sea was still lit up from the amazing show. Never seen it so beautiful. We definitely get our fairy dusty phosphorescent nights, but the magnitude and luminosity of this one was over the top.
One to remember.

Besides the change in temp (which, btw, makes for great sleeping)and the dreamy glowing waves, we are still just in the zone. Nic is on her 4th or 5th book, and I am on my 3rd. Cooking still sucks in the galley with our point of sail and still the rolly swell where we are living "on the walls", but overall, no complaints as we are on the home stretch and still have great wind for sailing.

Salalah is supposedly a nice little compact anchorage and we think there must be over 30 boats there now. We tried to time our arrival right after the first big convoy of boats leave (20+ boats at once) on the 18th. Looks like our timing will be perfect for arrival on the 19th, as long as everything continues well.

Day 8
Local Maldives Time (5 hours ahead of GMT): 08:10
Local Date: Wednesday, Feb. 17
Position: 15 29' N, 058 32' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 290-295 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 6-7 knots
Wind: ENE 15-20
Distance to Oman: 275 miles
Distance traveled last 24 hours (approximate): 155 miles

Sleepy morning as us not having changed back our clocks to Oman time has caught up to us. We are keeping Maldives time until landfall and now it is dark at 07:00 in the morning and, yes, cold. We have definitely been loving the cooler weather for sleeping though and really really enjoy not soaking our sheet in a pool of sweat every time we lay down.

Wind picked up most of the night to a pushy 20-25+ knots and bigger seas at 7-10'. We're on a broad reach so not too bad except for the occasional breaking wave high along our hull that splashes everything in the cockpit. It's called "getting pooped" in sailor lingo, and basically it just sucks. Just when you are warm and content wedged into the one dry corner of the cockpit, along comes a big 10-footer and crashes onto the transom sending a soaking wet deluge into our little world. DK is now thoroughly covered head-to-toe in a thick layer of salt on EVERYTHING, including ourselves. Sailing-wise we just reef-down and DK's been surfing the waves as we continue making 6-7 knots over ground.

Nic mentioned this morning before she tucked in that this is the first passage where she has really been counting down the days. Both of us just ready to finish this one off. Maybe the combination of us just having had a big passage and also that for the last 7 days we have been on this rolly heeled-over starboard tack where most things are difficult to do besides laying down or curling up in our pillow-protected corner of the cockpit under the dodger with the ipod or a book. We know it could be a lot worse, and really not that bad, but, honestly, we are just ready to be done.

Day 9
Local Maldives Time (5 hours ahead of GMT): 08:15
Local Date: Thursday, Feb. 18
Position: 16 20' N, 056 05' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 290 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 5-6 knots
Wind: NE 8-12
Distance to Oman: 124 miles
Distance traveled last 24 hours (approximate): 150 miles

Ahhhh. The wind has turned more easterly and at last we are on a comfortable broad reach headed down wind. We had a great night surfing along at 6-7 knots even with reefed sails and a counter current. At last we could see a horizon line and our hands in front of our faces again. The sky was so clear the stars were piercingly bright. The sky was full of twinkling friends and we were both grateful for their company. Familiar constellations are slowly making an appearance again although at 10pm the big dipper looks ridiculous resembling a vertical lollypop.

We spent all night acutely aware of ships. Back in heavy shipping zones again. They travel without their AIS on and we are still traveling stealth and dark. The ships are really courteous though and turn their AIS units on around 5 miles away from us. We're not sure if it's a regulation or if they are just being kind. We respond by illuminating our tricolor mast head light until we're sure they've passed us or seen us or switched off their AIS again. This exchange always makes me smile for some reason. Then we go dark again and peer into the darkness for any other little ships that are trying to be invisible as well.

Saved three flying fish last night after hearing them "thwap" against our dodger and behind the cockpit. They are really uncooperative and flap out of grasp. The worst part about it is their wings you kind of have to pin them down to get a good hold on them, then there's their scales that come off with a really slimy glue. Then there's the stench. I've washed my hands numerous times and I can still smell them. Hopefully they're grateful and they actually manage to survive.

We are still holding out. Barefoot in the chilly darkness and all day. I did break down on my 4-7am watch and put on a hat.
Happily our toes are still free.

We should smell land tomorrow night and have our hook down sometime tomorrow after first light.

Day 10
Local OMANI Time (4 hours ahead of GMT): 12:05
Local Date: Friday, Feb. 19
Anchorage Position: 16 56' N, 054 00' E
COG (Course Over Ground): 0 degrees Magnetic
SOG (Speed Over Ground): 0 knots
Wind: NE 5
Distance to Oman: We're here!!!
Distance traveled last 24 hours (approximate): 130 miles

Land Ho! We're here! After a lovely peaceful day of sailing we had to fire up the faithful engine by afternoon. The seas were flat calm and the wind was nearly dead. Gar had to do a quicky fuel filter change underway without mishap, thank be the gods. Put put putting along we passed cargo and tanker ships headed every direction into the Red Sea, India, Oman... We motored all
night at low rpms against a one knot current. Normally we don't welcome a counter current but this was perfect for our am arrival. We kept company with stars and passed a sailboat (turns out it is a cat with 5 younger folks on board). At one point the sea was so calm we could see the reflection of stars on the surface. A bit eerie but a perfect way to end the passage.
MELLOWLY!

This morning we were welcomed to the Middle East by 3 big pods of dolphins (love them), sea gulls, terns, and little birds that sit on the surface of the water and tweet tweet and scatter when we approach. The big orange sun rose directly astern and the light is different. Everything is a bit hazy, brown, beige and bleached bone dry. We are definitely in the desert and happy to be here.

We followed a container ship into this tight port. Now we're med moored with the help of a Kiwi boat and an American. There are 12 boats here now after having 27 leave yesterday in the first big convoy. Seven more are leaving in convoy in a couple of days. We'll work on our repairs tomorrow. Get a solid night's sleep and maybe even eat a big meal tonight.

My lids are starting to droop as I missed my am nap I was so excited to be here. Will write more when words come smoothly.

************

And so we find ourselves in Oman, our first Middle-Eastern country filled with a rich history, an abundance of camels, and some of the friendliest people we have met anywhere! Our life has been the usual balance of doing boat projects, hanging with some of the other cruisers, and exploring the town of Salalah and the fascinating countryside.

We are here until March 4th when we will depart with 19-20 other boats on a big organized convoy heading through "pirate alley" to Aden, Yemen. We are a designated "group leader" boat along with a Kiwi boat and two Dutch boats. The convoy should definitely bring about some quality stories. :)

Will write more about Oman soon

On Pirates

2010-02-06T18:47:00.001+08:00

Said to be one of the oldest professions outside of prostitution and practicing medicine, piracy has been and still is a reality on the high seas. Famous buccaneers such as Blackbeard, Sir Henry Morgan, and Jack Sparrow, have now been replaced by modern stealthy automatic weapon-toting outlaws that prey upon the massive numbers of marine vessels laden with oil, cargo, and passengers destined for ports around the world. There is, of course, big money involved if you can rob and, most often, hold ransom a commercial boat that will possibly bring the brigands millions of dollars. For in certain parts of the world, there is little security and armed enforcement of the law on the high sea, coupled with poverty and lawlessness in certain countries, there you have the makings for a pirate-culture, outlaws driven to risk their lives to make their fortunes.

Nowadays there are some "hot spots" for pirate activity, just like there were during the "Golden Age" of piracy 300 years ago in Northern Europe, the Red Sea, and the bulk of famous stories coming from the West Indies of the Caribbean. Today, the majority of pirate attacks take place in the South China Sea, Venezuela, the Malacca Strait, and by far the majority, the western Indian Ocean and the Gulf of Aden leading to the Red Sea. Most of you have probably at least read one recent news article about the Somalia pirates hijacking a commercial ship or 2 or 3 recently...it's big sensational news and, as we all know, especially in the U.S., anything that can be mentioned with the word "pirate" sells.

What do you do about pirates? This is the question we are most often asked. As much as we try not to think about the possibility and make light of the situation, we are also trying to be knowledgeable about the reality and will do the best that we can not to be a target. We are now beginning to sail into an area of the world where there are pirate attacks and hence this blog to inform our people about the facts as well as our personal situation. I realize this is pretty factual, but it felt like it was easier for me to write out this way to make sure I didn't miss anything.

Pirate Facts in the Indian Ocean/Gulf of Aden:

1. Somalia pirates are a problem and are to be taken seriously.

2. Somalia pirates most often target commercial vessels (over 99% of the time), but, yes, have at times hijacked small sailing yachts.

3. Somalia pirates most often attack ships in the "pirate alley", a stretch of water between northern Somalia and the coast of Yemen, where boats who transit the Red Sea must travel through. However, as the Somalia pirates become more successful and more bold they are venturing further out and some attacks do occur as far south as the Seychelle Islands, Madagascar, and the northern Indian Ocean south of the coast of Oman.

4. Somalia pirates usually hijack vessels and crew, and then pilot the ship to one of the Somalia ports where the pirates live and work. Then they hold the ship and crew for ransom. Many commercial vessel companies pay millions of dollars to the pirates resulting in the ship and crew's safe release.

5. Sometimes the international navy force intervenes on the ocean resulting in modern-day shoot-outs with mixed results. Just recently we heard on the BBC that a Danish navy vessel freed a hijacked commercial ship with over 20 crew on board. Yeah! However, sometimes the pirates get away and sometimes, although very rarely, the commercial crew and captains are killed.

6. Many of the Somalia pirates travel first on traditional Dhow fishing boats, their fast "pirate" zodiac boats hidden on deck under tarps or nets and then only launched when the target is in sight. They have fast engines, maybe traveling at 20-25 knots, and all carry automatic weapons like AK-47's. Most of them are professionals and some of them have made big money in this profession. They know what they are doing.

7. In 2009 a transit corridor for merchant ships was set up approximately 70 miles offshore of Yemen through the Gulf of Aden. This is patrolled by a multi-international group of battleships. Protected ship convoys move together based upon boat speed from 12-20 knots. Some cruisers (especially those not in a yacht convoy) choose to travel alongside the corridor even though their speed is much slower. Some of the time they are alongside a convoy and other times the convoys pass them by and they are alone until the next convoy catches and passes them again. The convoys have in the past never gone at a slow enough speed (5-6 knots) to protect a group of small sailing yachts like us. This corridor is meant for the thousands of commercial cargo/oil ships heading to and from the Red Sea.

8. And lastly, there are hundreds of small sailing yachts that transit these waters to and from the Red Sea safely, each year, with no problems at all. Listening to the radio net every morning, we already know of at least 30 boats ahead of us from the Maldives to Salalah, Oman, who have had an enjoyable and safe passage in the last few weeks. We also know of a few who have already formed small convoys and made it safely through pirate alley to Aden, Yemen.

So with all that being said, here's what we'll do:

1. Starting with our passage from the Maldives to Salalah, Oman, (in a few more days), we will be checking into a radio "net" with around 30-50 sailing yachts taking part at any one time. Every morning we take each other's position (in code so as not to give GPS coordinates over the radio), be available as a community in case there are problems (outside of a pirate attack), and to give/receive any pertinent information to each other. This radio-net doesn't offer us safety from a pirate attack, but does keep us all informed of each other's location and so we all know if there was/is an issue.

2. We will do everything we can to be stealth. We will travel at night with no running lights or mast-head lights on. We will turn off our "sending" AIS signal (If you don't know what this is, you can read the 'Boat Electronics' page on our website). We will keep the VHF on, but not use it unless an emergency. Also, we have pertinent phone numbers in case of a problem loaded into our satellite phone.

3. We will not be posting our usual "position reports" on the Pangolin Yotreps site that you can link thru our 'Where 'O Where' page of our website. This is a precaution just in case the pirates are checking that information for yachts locations. None of the other boats we know of are doing the same, not posting until safe in the harbor of Oman or Yemen. We will send out daily position reports via email only to our families (just so they can sleep at night).

4. Team DK does not carry weapons. In our perspective, do you really think a small sailing yacht can fight off a boat of 4-10 people that goes 5 times our speed and are all carrying automatic weapons? Plus, we have a fiberglass boat, not steel, meaning it wouldn't take much to shoot up the hull of our boat and put us underwater. We believe pulling out a weapon on a group of pirates will probably just escalate the potential for violence.

5. But, the most important thing we will do when we arrive safely in Salalah, Oman, is to be part of a "convoy" of other boats. There have already been small convoys of 3-4 boats that have safely made the passage. Currently there are a couple of large "super-convoys" already being formed with 20 or more boats involved. We are planning on being part of one of these super-convoys in the beginning of March organized by a boat who has led the "Vasco de Gama" rally from the Med to the Red Sea for many years, knows the countries and officials well, and knows how to organize a large group of boats to safely travel together.

6. The convoy will likely be from Salalah, Oman, to Aden, Yemen, through "pirate alley", a distance of around 550 nautical miles. We will be split up into groups of 4-5 boats all staying close together (this will, I'm sure, lend itself to some good stories based on the challenges and frustrations of this reality), traveling along the Yemen coast 10-15 miles offshore. Despite the fact that most of us feel better in convoys, the simple fact is that if one yacht is attacked other yachts nearby cannot really do anything to help. Therefore the hope is that there is safety in numbers and a group of yachts close together will not appeal to the pirates - especially since this has been not been within their normal method of operation. So far, almost every small sailing yacht that has been attacked has been on their own and not part of a group ("convoy") of other yachts. We will hope that the statistics stay true and that we do not have any problems.

7. Lastly, there is recent talk of an Italian battleship escort for small yachts this year. This is in the works and may possibly be a reality. If it happens then we will most likely be part of whatever "convoy" of boats is choosing to be led by this battleship, most likely in the same time frame at the beginning of March heading through pirate alley.

Well, there you have it, hopefully most of your questions are answered regarding pirates and how we will deal with that possibility. For those of you wanting more information regarding pirates around the world, sailing yachts and convoys, recent pirate attacks, and current news regarding the Somalia situation, a very informative website is: www.noonsite.com, with many links you can follow from there.

For those of you that know us, you know we strongly believe in being optimistic and putting out good energy. We know there is a slim chance we could have problems, but we feel there is always a much stronger chance to have problems when you turn that key in your car's ignition and drive to work each morning, then what we have to deal with out here. Regardless, please keep sending us positive vibes and keep us in your thoughts and we will hopefully have only good experiences getting to the Red Sea!

What A Difference A Day Makes

2010-02-03T14:16:00.002+08:00

What a difference a day makes. Literally. The ocean has moods that change like the wind. Sometimes she is calm and coy, cajoling, beautiful, and serene. Yet she can change over night aggressive, boisterous and raw, bucking, ugly and fierce. We often mirror her moods with our own.

Departing the Andamans under grey skies and 20-25 knot winds we hunkered down in the cockpit, clinging to the coming and bracing our feet against the boat at odd angles while we tried to maintain some sense of balance and hold onto our breakfast in rolling and confused seas. Squalls hit us regularly for the first 22 hours, blowing wind into our sails and just as quickly sucking it away. Wet and uncomfortable we peered through the grayness searching for the ships that passed us heading for Colombo, Cochin, and other parts of India. We stared at each other blankly and again out to sea. Asking ourselves silently why we have chosen this life and grateful for the simple things, the samosas we snacked on with tea in the afternoon and the tandoori chicken we ate for dinner.

The first day is always difficult for both of us. We turn inward, fully aware of our insignificance. We ask our bodies to move as one with the boat as she pitches uncomfortably though the slop. We alter our mindset, knowing everything is unpredictable and we will be called upon to respond. We rally our bodies to sleep and wake at odd times and for too little. We resolve to work together with each other and with the boat, reacting to the conditions the sea sets before us. There is nowhere to go and nothing else to do but move forward.

Gar carried a grey cloud with him for three days. Not even the settling of the seas or gentle light airs nor visits from dolphins at the bow could dissipate it. Being stuck between 4 fishing boats at night doing circles around us did nothing but annoy him. Our conditions contributed to his mood with the sails slamming and snapping and the gooseneck cracking. The wind was fickle and we jibed and kept changing course, trying to keep the wind directly off our ass. Our frustration built; I sat gently on eggshells waiting for us both to break.

It is usually me who is affected, nervous and withdrawn. I forget that not only is the passage a strain for both of us but Gar is going through withdrawal. He stops drinking coffee cold the day of departure. Sipping tea seeped with two bags of Earl Grey is no substitute for his vice. But he knows seasickness is more likely to strike if he keeps to his traditional morning ritual. Sometimes I forget. Next time I will remember. It will make it easier for both of us.

Day 4 dawns, the horizon is licked pink, the crisp pale blue sky is wrapped in thin white glowing gossamer clouds. Three hundred and forty miles under our keel and we are both finding our rhythm. Our bodies react instinctively to the slight roll of the boat, our muscles always working even while we sleep. We are moving slowly with the full main up, aided by a slight current carrying us with it. It is peaceful and we feel rested and balanced.

Day 6 and the highlights are quiche and fresh sourdough English muffins for brunch and visits from dolphins as the wind clocks around and we alter course. Our instruments are acting up, the heading is lost and the autopilot resets itself. We are both so frustrated, a nervous feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Gar is seething and at a loss of what to do. We have been plagued by autopilot problems since leaving California and now we've got a new system and the problems still linger like an annoying habit.

We are more than half way there. The nights have been clear. Only the brightest stars wink at us. The moon is growing bigger and the sea is kind. We leave a milky way of glitter in our wake as we slowly make our way west.

Day 7 and we find our selves navigating our course through big tankers and cargo ships. Our course heading seems to be found and our autopilot is working overtime. We love our new AIS system. We can identify ships, their exact course, speed, and where they will intercept our course. Also, we transmit so they can see us. It seems to be working as they alter course before we think to, miles away. Tanker Green Park, an average size ship at 497 feet with a 79 foot beam and a 31 foot keel crossed astern 1.2 miles moving at 22 knots. Normally this would freak me out but I can see it clearly. We headed for the traffic separation scheme where we transited a safe zone avoiding the big ships bypassing Sri Lanka and the ones headed there. It also kept us free of fishing boats and nets.

We found wind, a 2 knot favorable current, and calmer seas thanks to the island of Sri Lanka blocking the swell. Riding fast at a maximum speed of 9.7 knots and average of 8.4 all evening we greeted first light 5 miles off Galle, Sri Lanka, under smoggy skies and a breeze stinking of garbage, smoke, and sandalwood. It was the first time we passed land within 5 miles with the option of stopping in a harbor. It felt strange not to tuck in rest and see another incredible part of the world. Instead, we accepted the help of the current to take us onwards, past the port of Galle and to Uligan, Maldives.

Day 8 and we're lucky. We made it through another 60 miles of dense shipping lanes in daylight. The wind is licking our sails and we're happily moving at 6.3 knots with 15 knots of wind. It's twilight and we battle predictably about double reefing the main before darkness as our weather forecast is for 20 knots crossing the Gulf of Mannar.

Usually I get a niggling thought that just won't leave. Tonight is no different. Our conversation usually goes something like this. "What do you think about putting a second reef in the main (note we are sailing beautifully right now)?" "We're sailing great," Gar annoyed but willing to acquiesce. "I know but the gribs said it was going to pick up and everyone always has 20-30." This goes on and on. I am stubbornly unwilling to compromise our sail plan right now because it is working and I know Gar doesn't want to change it. He knows I won't sleep unless we do but wants me to be the one to make the decision to reef. We go back and forth for about 15 minutes and predictably put the second reef in.

Good decision. Within three hours the wind is up to 25 knots the seas are 10-12 feet. The boat is flying smoothly across the ocean like she was built to do at 7-8 knots. The moon hangs high illuminating the swell in silver, highlighting the frothy white spray on the heads of the breaking waves. Some invade the cockpit. There is only one dry spot on the boat. One of us sits in it at a time for a day and a half, curled cozily on the port side under the dodger our feet curled beneath us.

The ocean is big powerful and commanding of respect. Today we feel part of it, like Neptune's children born of the sea, part of the sea. This is what we love about sailing. It is raw and beautiful and we are sailing across the Indian Ocean just half way around the world from California. Something shifts for us both. The feeling is almost indescribable. We are fully alive, glowing, at one with the boat, with the ocean, and the wind. We revel in our motion and salt that clings to our skin and the wind that sings through the rigging. We celebrate that feeling of being alive fully aware of our own power and what we are doing.

By afternoon on Day 10 the wind has mellowed to a comfortable 12-15 knots, the moon is fat, the sea is sparkling and we are still riding fast. It is almost like a dream and the memory of the Gulf of Mannar begins to fade, as we are lulled into a dreamy state of calm. The sky is so bright we can see for miles. The boat is quiet as she slices across the sea smelling landfall; we push on.

Under a bright full moon and clear sky we soak up the last hours of our passage before we navigate through the islands and turn towards the mast lights glowing like welcome beacons in Uligan's harbor. By three thirty in the morning we have dropped anchor in 75 feet of water sure we have avoided the coral heads we cannot see. All of a sudden we stop. The boat rolls gently from side to side with the slight swell. We sit on deck basking in the moonlight before showering and toppling into bed together excited for what tomorrow will bring.

Back in the Game

2010-01-21T17:47:00.002+08:00

"We're back in the game"
- Says Gar after catching a Spanish mackerel while sailing between islands under a blue-sky day. Andaman Islands, India

What game you might be asking? The game of life, of living the dream. Relaxed, bliss... We are feeling what many of you think we feel all of the time.
These last couple of days have been just that, the idyllic sailing dream of a life. The air smells like salt, the sky is a rare color of impossibly clear blue with cotton ball clouds floating by, fish are jumping beside the boat and no one is here. We are anchored in front of a deserted island with a stunning beach. The sand glows white, startling white and shells are strewn at the high tide line. The water lapping at her shores is the aqua blue of an island fantasy. Heat rolls off the beach carried by the wind, screaming the tropics. There is always fresh fish to eat and we are slowing down. We revel in this easy lazy life while we have it, snorkeling and spear fishing, reading novels, snacking on the last of the pineapple and the first of fresh sprouts. We are alone, naked at first and last light, sun kissed and glowing.

We awaken here again to savor our cups of hot goodness and slowly start our day. Searching for clear water we spot a large school of bumphead parrotfish feasting upon the corals in the shallows. Large schools of snapper swim lazily past. I spot my favorite long beaked filefish, an orange an aqua cutie that usually travels in pairs and makes me smile. A snapper becomes dinner and we return to the boat with the wind carrying the stifling heat from our home and wind generator slowly trickling juice into our batteries. I am content for now to swim, read and watch this world, savoring it today.

I may shatter your dream and tell you honestly that we were out here in the Andaman Islands for over a week and this is the first time we have felt this way. You see, we came from Thailand on a rough and uncomfortable passage, tired and antsy. Knowing we had a to do list that was longer than it was shorter: dreading the varnish we had to do and the leaky portholes that we crossed our fingers we could repair, along with the engine maintenance, fixing the water tank venting system again, fixing the autopilot wiring again, doing loads of hand wash and hauling the water to do it. All days are not lazy or dreamy on Dreamkeeper. Unfortunately we've had a lot of rolly sleepless nights even at anchor out here and everything always takes three or four times longer than expected and nothing is ever fixed forever.

But it's all part of the game. It's now days later and we've left the islands behind. We've caught a total of four fish in the Andamans; these are our first since April last year. Gar speared a snapper and a grouper, then we caught the two and a half foot Spanish mackerel, and on our way back to Port Blair we landed a 4 plus foot 45-50 lb wahoo. Our freezer is full and our fishing luck has changed.

I wanted to share a few unique things that occur during the days of our lives. Where else does the Coast Guard call just to say hello, to see if we needed anything and ask if we remembered him? Not only that but we were given emergency numbers and email addresses for the Indian Coast Guard with directions to call them anywhere in Indian waters all the way until we reach the Maldives for any emergency or help we may need. You may think it's a bit creepy that we have to report our position and intended movement twice a day or that the Indian Navy has done three fly-byes in ten days but once we got used to it we decided they were taking care of us and watching their backs.

It's not so simple trying to anchor in Port Blair though. The first time when we entered the harbor we were dropping our sail when Port control called and repeated we could not anchor in the position we were in. We patiently tried to explain we were "dropping the sail". Something got lost in translation but in the end after explaining we were taking down the sail in as many ways as possible the controller understood and told us to proceed to the anchorage. On our return from the islands, while we're trying to drop the hook Port Control called asking us if we have anchored. We are sure they can see us out their window with me on deck dropping the anchor. What can we do but smile? Maybe it's the head wiggle, the smile in their eyes and the accent. I don't know but it makes me smile. The people here are so endearing we don't feel like big brother is watching us when we call for our final time to give our anchoring position and itinerary plan to remain in Port Blair until check out.

Now that we're back and my idyllic sailing dream has been transformed again into the logistics of life. We are again playing the game. Whether it is peaceful and beautiful or busy and challenging. We've added more to our list and it's almost checked off. Yesterday we took the day to site see in Port Blair. We visited the anthropological museum, the infamous cellular jail (where the Bristish held all of the prominent Indian men who threatened their rule), a rubber plantation, a scientist research station and the countryside. Long shadows spread across the fields as women in red saris took their cows home. My belly is still full of butter paneer, chicken masala, vegi briani, chapattis, and chai tea. My spirit is happy having communicated with women and children with whom the only common language we shared were smiles. And I feel so grateful to our new friend, Ravi, the agent who isn't an agent, for taking such good care of us.

This morning dawned blue and we began checking off our final to-do list at 6 am. Another two loads of hand wash are hanging on the lines drying, Gar is running around town checking out with the port officials, a quiche is baked, bread is rising, 60 eggs are washed and stowed, fresh cinnamon sticks are drying in the sun, garbanzo beans are soaking and fish soup is being prepped. I am making my list for the rest of the freshies we will buy before departure and hopeful Gar is almost done with the run around. We will scoot around town again stopping again and again at the best and (cheapest) places Ravi knows for bruja mix, yogurt, fresh paneer cheese, the fruit market, the vegi market, the samosa stand, and the bakery for anything else we might desire.

Another first; I usually love when this happens but not so much today. It is the first time I have ever shopped and purchased potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, limes, spinach, green beans, onions, garlic, ginger, carrots, eggplants, cucumbers and curry leaves, cilantro and mint (or anything for that matter) from under the sticky feet of cockroaches and the darting eyes of mice in broad daylight. It took all my will actually buy the freshest of the fresh these little pests have been roaming over. Don't worry (mom) I washed each any every one of my 50 limes, 25 potatoes, 8 cucumber, and 30 tomatoes with bleach. I just hope the little sneaky roaches didn't hitchhike back on to DreamKeeper somehow. Don't think I can wash the 12 heads of garlic or the 22 red onions if they're going to keep a month or longer.

Departure tomorrow is scheduled for 0800 hours. We'll be at the dock with passports in hand to meet immigration for our departure stamps and Ravi for our delivery of freshly roasted tandoori chicken at 0600. We'll give hugs, receive our last head wiggles and be on our way across the Indian Ocean. Maldives here we come. We're back in the game.

Andaman Showers

2010-01-08T20:03:00.001+08:00

We have been showered with good luck since we've been here. Check in was smooth, taking only 24 hours. All of the officials, sans one were really great. We've been gorging on Indian curries and samosas and smiling at women swirling by in saris of every color of the rainbow. We were definitely overstimulated by the buzz of the city of Port Blair, even with cows in the middle of the road.

Buckets of rain have been falling and our decks are clean. We left the city behind and now we're anchored at Havelock Beach #7. It is a long stretch of beach lined with stunning tall old growth trees and Indians and tourists frolicking in the water, some with more clothes on than others. Indian women and some men swim fully clothed.

Another squall should be rolling through soon. We're anchored stern to weather now since the systems have been spinning around us. Tired and a bit groggy this morning, we set the anchor for a different wind direction after a full night of rolling rail to rail under the rainy skies. Gar unfortunately gashed his head open on the solar panel when the swell lifted the dingy and put his head exactly where he directed the 6 pack crew to avoid. No worries, he's patched up with steri strips and will have another scar to add to the collection. Much to his dislike, nurse Nikki is banning swimming and spear fishing for at least day or two.

We spied a turtle this am and an elephant walking on the beach with tourists perched on its back. Bread is in the oven and we're happy for the excuse to relax.

Lucky 2010

2010-01-02T04:25:00.001+08:00

Fireworks are everywhere in Thailand. As the brilliant moon rose glowing behind a horizon of beautiful round granite boulders, we discussed the possibility of seeing them the last night of 2009. Probability, 99.99%. We were not disappointed, even out here in the Similan Islands, 69 miles from Phuket, the 9 dive boats in our anchorage came stocked with them. We were counting on them to wake us to ring in the new year and they did not disappoint. At midnight, we were jolted awake by explosions of light and me joyfully screaming "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, happy new year!" You see, I have a superstitious ritual that I hopefully succeed with every first day of every month, the first of the New Year being most important. I have to say and Gar has to say and any one else around me has to say "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit," before saying anything else that morning for good luck for the month or in this case, the entire year. Thankfully, Gar woke enough to respond with a sleepy chorus of "rabbit, rabbit, rabbit". Now we're sure to have good luck for the entire year, fingers crossed of course.

This year we could use it. We've got a short 360 mile hop to the Andaman Islands (leaving tomorrow morning), two 1400 mile ocean passages across the Indian Ocean, a journey through "Pirate Alley", and 1000 miles up the Red Sea to the Mediterranean. In the next 6 months we've got a lot of sailing to do and a lot of places to see.

We started the year off strong with what we hope will be the first of many new returns back into the ocean world we love. After having a hike around the island and spotting potential good snorkeling sites, we took off in 'Super Dingy' to see what lives here. Slipping into clear blue water with damsel fish fluttering around the surface like fairy glitter and spying old friends like masked angel fish, giant parrot and unicornfish, and silly round puffers reminded us we were home. Swimming beside boulders awash in the sea's swell we spied a 4 foot moray eel visiting a cleaning station. Mouth agape, he looked a little like he was smiling. Gar spotted some jacks, snapper, and grouper in deeper water, a little taste of what we might be dining on if we're lucky fishing in the Andamans. I watched a gigantic puffer dance with a cleaning wrasse and remora.

It's the first time in way to long we have stuck our faces in water we could actually really see through and it made us realize how much we missed it and how excited we are to be able to be snorkeling and hopefully diving a lot in the next four months. Each part of our journey up to the Mediterranean will have it's challenges. Perhaps most difficult will be to remember to enjoy the journey. We realize if all goes as planned we will have less than a year and a half to soak up each and every aspect of our sailing adventure before completing the circle under the golden gate bridge. I want to appreciate the officials who may take 3 days to check us into the Andamans. I want to love flying across the ocean under a cloak of stars for days and days no matter how uncomfortable the seas are. I want to remember what it feels like to be exhausted and to have arrived safety in an atoll that may be under water in 50 years. I want to be able to safely pass through pirate alley and be grateful for our luck and rabbits. I want to be able to see the desert glowing in all of her stark glory and wake up early to drink it all in. I want to appreciate earning every mile that we may have to fight against headwinds for up the Red Sea, not only to arrive at our final destination but also to take time to appreciate the stunning reefs and landscapes along the way. We are so lucky and I want to feel that way when things get hard and exhausting as well as when things are beautiful and easy.

We wish you a spectacular year filled with grace, health, beauty, laughter, good friends, deep love, and good luck.

Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit.

Sa Wat Dee Boat Lagoon

2009-11-15T18:15:00.003+08:00

After 3 weeks solid of working on DK in the boatyard here in Phuket, Thailand, we are back in the water again!

Tomorrow we are heading out the channel and will launch into some "fun" time exploring the Thai islands, sampling some limestone sloper climbing moves, and hopefully getting out on the kiteboard.

The website stories and photo galleries are long overdue, we apologize, but we have finally started working on those again too.

Hopefully you know where to find us:
www.svdreamkeeper.com

Already updated are:
Malaysia Log
Thailand Log

And coming soon:
Singapore Log
Singapore Photos
Malaysia Photos
Thailand Photos
Cambodia Photos

Much love to our people out there!

Sending love to the Victims

2009-10-06T23:00:00.002+08:00

A big THANK YOU to all our people writing to check in on us after hearing about the earthquake in Sumatra. We are fine. Thank you for thinking about us and sending your good thoughts. Right now we are tied up in the Tanjung City Marina in Penang, Malaysia, awaiting one of Nicole's best friends, Heather, to fly in tonight. We are very close to Sumatra, but the earthquake hit on the Indian Ocean side, not in the Strait of Malacca where we currently are. Malaysia was not affected. But, let me tell you, it's very real here and we think about the possibilities of earthquakes and tsunamis all the time now. Let me remind you all that we are just coming into the region where the massive tsunami hit a few years back killing hundreds of thousands of people and shattering whole towns and communities, including many sailors.

There have been some very intense and tragic natural disasters this past week. An 8.0 earthquake that created a tsunami just hit the south pacific island group of Samoa and the northern islands of Tonga. Pago Pago in American Samoa bore the brunt of it. Included in the massive wreckage were many sailboats and one sailor lost his life, an extremely sad story.

The San Franciso-based sailing magazine, Latitude 38, has some write-ups if you are interested: http://www.latitude38.com/lectronic/LectronicLat.lasso

The Philippines have also recently been hammered by typhoons and floods. Typhoon Parma and Tropical Storm Ketsana have killed hundreds and evacuated hundreds of thousands of locals.

Nicole and I realize these "disasters" happen all the time around the world. But, like anything, when you have personal connection to it, you are more affected by it. When you travel and spend time in these places, you meet the people, you eat their food, you share space, smiles, laughs, and sometimes even tears. Many people around the world live in places that often have earthquakes, floods, typhoons, etc., and they deal with it when they happen. It's not easy, but for them, it's just life and you do what you can to move on after the fact.

Being a global-sailor we are more connected now then ever before. We know local people and sailboats currently in Tonga and Samoa. We have friends in the Mentawi Islands in western Sumatra on a sailboat right now who were fairly close to the Indonesian earthquake. We know many boats who were with us in Palau who traveled to the Philippines not long ago and a couple may still be there (hopefully their boats and they are ok...we still haven't connected with them yet).

And here we are, almost to western Thailand where the 2004 Tsunami devastated so many peoples worlds, not so long ago at all.

We have chosen to live on a boat where typhoons, hurricanes, cyclones, and tsunamis are very real. We know there is always that possibility we could find ourselves in one of these same situations. We certainly hope not and try to do our best to plan ahead, watch the weather closely, and think about the "what if" scenarios. But you never know, that is life.

As we send our blessings and love out to all the affected people in Sumatra, the Philippines, Samoa and Tonga, we will continue to appreciate our health and opportunity to be on this planet, in these bodies, and to lead full lives, because we never know what the next day will bring. Please do the same.

Orangutan Friends

2009-09-19T16:21:00.008+08:00

For all you orange ape lovers, you will be happy to know we are starting to upload some shots from Borneo, soon to be followed by a story...
http://svdreamkeeper.com/kumaiborneophotos.php
http://svdreamkeeper.com/indonesialog.php

Just finishing up some boat work and website updates, then time for new adventures in the big city of Singapore, starting with the celebration of our 6 year wedding anniversary tomorrow!

Much love to our people!

--Gar

goodbye southern hemisphere

2009-09-14T10:02:00.002+08:00

We crossed the equator for our fourth and final time today. Some things never change here. The heat and humidity sit upon us like heavy wet hot towels, not the welcomed kind you might get in a nice Japanese restaurant but the kind you get when you are sick and have sweat through your cold washcloth. At the equator, the heat is strange, it just kind of stays with you. We sweat all day. A strange kind of sweat in that beads of sweat do not form on our upper lips and foreheads but the kind that just is always there like a slick, a sweaty, sticky, damp slick that forms a thick layer on our skin. Only after the sun slinks below the horizon leaving us in darkness for another twelve hours do we feel a little bit of relief. After we go through the ritual of showering and scrubbing ourselves with soap we feel momentarily fresh and clean, until the wind dries the water left on our skin and our fans can work no harder to cool us. We begin the process again, sweating through our sheets to greet yet another grey morning.

The sun has been predictably veiled by haze for the last 500 miles stretching 100 miles S from Borneo and supposedly reaching as far as Singapore. It is caused by the burning of forest to clear for palm oil plantations, gardens. or peat moss bogs that burn for months. Thankfully we have only smelled the ash on two occasions but it does not bode well for the animals in the forest or the people who live around them. Perhaps it is thanks to the wind that the ash hasn't settled thickly on our boat or in our lungs.

We have been lucky this crossing of the equator. With consistent SE winds at 8-22 knots the miles have passed quickly under our hull. We think the wind also has kept the lightning storms away. Thankfully, we have had only one night with a few flashes that were very far away. This will soon change, as we are less than a hundred miles from Singapore, notorious for its lightning storms.

Cruising is always fluid and our plans have changed again for Singapore. Since the yard manager kindly informed us it has been raining everyday for the last two weeks we opted to skip doing our inspection and haul out there. Instead we will make it to Phuket, Thailand before the end of October to get our survey done and complete our yard work. Now our time in Singapore is flexible and open to anything. We will stay at One Degree Fifteen Marina until our life raft is repacked or until we're ready to move on.

So it is with great thanks that we say goodbye to the southern hemisphere, where we have visited some of the most stunning islands in the world, made friends who have permanently made it into our hearts, and learned some of the many faces of the ocean that have given us the skills and confidence to sail on. Land Ho.

--Nikki

Dancing with the Big Boys

2009-09-12T03:10:00.002+08:00

It's the morning of Day 3 of our passage north towards Batam Island, our last stop in Indonesia before crossing the crazy shipping straits to enter Singapore. Already over 300 miles traveled since we left the muddy river in Kumai, Kalimantan, Borneo, and around 275 miles still to go.

Our Kumai adventure spending time up in the rainforest with the Orangutans, fireflies, crocs, and Probiscis Monkey's was amazing! It ranks up there as one of the highlights of the DK sailing adventure so far. It will be better told as a story illuminated with photos on our website when we can can update again in a week or two. So for now, just know that our brief, yet powerful experience with some our closest relatives, the very orange, hairy, extremely personable orangutans, has left us feeling mixed emotions of joy, respect, but at the same time sadness, as they are pretty much doomed to live much longer in the wild because of loss of habitat.

We have had to move a bit quicker lately, having set up a haul-out appointment in Singapore to have an insurance survey done, and while we're at it, some new bottom paint and a repack of our liferaft. It was a toss up between doing the work in Singapore or Malaysia (prices almost awash), we have opted to just "get 'er done" sooner, rather then later so we can be finished with that business. This means that we will be holed up in Singapore for a likely 2 weeks or so.

Our passage so far has been pretty easy, considering we have been around boat traffic ever since we left the river. Yesterday and the last two nights have been extra exciting, as we have found ourselves in the main shipping lane for transiting cargo ships heading north/south between Indonesia/Australia and Singapore/SE Asia. Back in the Pacific Ocean days we used to be pretty concentrated on just one ship on the radar in our vicinity, paying close attention to it and making sure we alter course if we need to avoid a confrontation with a gigantic steel beast. But now, in the Java and South China Seas, we have gotten used to 5-10 ships on our radar, plus the smaller Indonesian fishing vessels that dart here and there (or are sometimes just anchored), that often don't even show up on the radar. Not to say we don't sometimes get our blood pressure pumping and the hair standing up on the backs of our necks when we are getting to close for comfort. But, like anything, you just get used to it and it becomes less stressful, like driving a car in Bali. The difference is that I started really liking the thrill of driving in Bali, but dodging container ships is just annoying and tiresome.

Nicole has confirmed with me on this passage that we WILL be getting new chart-plotters with an AIS system sometime in the next few months before heading across the Indian Ocean. AIS is an electronic monitoring system that all "large ships" have and now many smaller ones, that lets you receive, or send/receive, your boat information such as course steered, speed, vessel name, captain's name, etc. It reads the information from all boats in your VHF radio vicinity and allows you to monitor the ship's around you. Many of our cruiser friends have this system hooked up now and none of them regret it. It's just one more modern tool you have available nowadays to feel safer around the big boys. But for now, we deal with what we have: our eyes, ears, and our good friend, the radar.

It's now blowing 20 knots from the SE. And the really cool thing is that its BEEN blowing 10-20 knots from the SE ever since we left Kumai. We have read many old cruiser blogs of their experiences up this stretch of water in almost no wind. Motoring, motoring, motoring for days. We think traveling in the beginning of September has helped us out, still on the cusp of the monsoon changing and the transition period beginning. We have also been lucky with no thunderstorms yet. I won't hold my breath on that one, but we are only 90 miles away from the equator and still dry. For those of you that don't know, the area around Singapore is one of the most notorious for huge lightning/thunderstorms in the world. Not to be taken lightly, and super scary as a sailor. We'll cross our fingers and do our best to not offend the weather Gods...better look into that.

Nic's asleep and I have to keep poking my head outside to check the radar for ships. The sky is a white haze and it's so hard to see any vessel unless it's within a few miles, hence the importance of radar. Onward we head to the northern hemisphere again, DK dancing to the music of the Java Sea.

--Gar

Crossing the Java Sea

2009-09-03T06:33:00.002+08:00

After almost 2 months tied up in Bali, we are finally sailing again. Our time in Bali was just what the doctor ordered: fun, interesting, easy, and a perfect place to gear up for the next adventures. We spent almost 5 weeks messing around on the island and additionally pulled off a 2 week surprise visit to the U.S. to see our families. Both adventures so needed to replenish our energy and take a break from the boat for the first time in a year.

So here we go again...

We left Benoa Harbor, Bali, a few days ago, en route to Kalimantan, Borneo, 450 miles to the north.
Once you exit the reefs you are back in the gamut, fighting against the intense southerly currents of Selat Badung channel, as you attempt to head north. Within the hour we had 5 knots against us as we struggled to make miles and the daylight waned. We realized quickly there was no way we would round the eastern tip of Bali before sunset and this would put us in the midst of the hundreds, possibly a thousand, Balinese "spider" sailing canoes launched from the cliffy beaches at nighttime. We didn't like the reality of that for our first night out, thought it over and decided to change course for the touristy island of Lembongan, just across the channel, in hindsight a great decision.

We fought the current for a couple of more hours and then pulled into Lembongan and grabbed a mooring next to our new Italian friends boat, Falabrach. They stopped by to say hello and tell us stories of the surfing adventures, followed by our friends on Magnum, whom we hadn't seen in over a year and had just come up from Australia. So fun to actually see boats we know again and enjoy a bit of cruiser social life after being on our own for so long. It's definitely going to be a real change this year from last, as we are now back on the very traveled cruiser road again.

The next morning we left at sunrise, cup of Bali coffee in hand of course, and motored across the channel towards Bali. We hugged the coast as the wind started piping up and the current intensified. Hours later at the eastern tip we fought the 3 knots against us with 30 knots of wind on our tails, generating some pretty big standing waves. DK kept plugging away and soon enough we were further north away from land with the current diminishing to only 1 1/2 to 2 knots against us. The sun was out and seas were small again and we said good bye to the volcanoes of Bali blurring in the distance.

For whatever reason that first night we found ourselves in a confused mess of water. Swell was coming at us from two directions and with the wind directly on our butt. We were rolling around in a disgustingly agitated way with everything banging and creating some sour-looking glum faces on the both of us. Sleeping sucked and so did the reality that there were fishing boats everywhere.

But thankfully by afternoon the next day the swell and wind were both consistent from the SE and we had a sweet mellow sail on again. As we passed through the small islands north of Bali and entered the Java Sea, we were in the mix of fishing boats, fishing outrigger canoes, and very large ships. Welcome to the Java Sea. At first it was a bit much and was pretty intimidating to be around so many boats, but we realized as time went on that the fishing boats mostly keep their distance, and its only the big ships we really have to worry about. We've heard about how many boats are out in these waters but now we are actually experiencing it, learning to deal with reality of changing course often and having 5-10 boats on your radar at one time. So far so good and sometimes it's not bad at all as all we are really seeing are the small sailing outrigger canoes that scoot around like little flying fish and don't give us any trouble.

So here we are in the middle of the Java Sea, we are almost truly in the "middle" of it now, and the depth is 200 feet. What a trip that is!! We are in a major body of water, at least 150 miles to the nearest land mass of any size, and it is only 200 feet deep. So strange and interesting this archipelago of Indonesia.

We have had our hand-lines out most of the way baited with some cool new lures I ordered from Hawaii, with zero luck. Not even a bite, not yet anyway....only a few fish caught in Indonesia to date, so sad compared to the reality of fishing in the Pacific.

Tomorrow we should arrive to the Kalimantan, Borneo coastline and begin our journey up towards the town of Kumai, the entrance to Tanjung Puting National Park, one of only a handful of places in the world where the orangutan lives. We plan on dropping our hook in the muddy river at Kumai and taking a local klotok Indonesian motorboat up river for 2 or 3 days to visit the various camps and also to see the rainforest. We've been told by many people its a highlight of their whole Indonesian adventure, and I'm sure we won't be disappointed either. I mean really: jungle cruise on a local boat, orangutans, crocodiles, thousands of mosquitos, what's not to like!

That's it from the DK blog station...We'll do our best to get back into our "blog rhythm" again...

Stay tuned for some upcoming Borneo monkey stories...

Big Love from Team DK

--Gar

Finally updating website

2009-07-06T14:28:00.002+08:00

Team DK is in Bali. For the first time in many moons we have fast internet access again. That means we are madly sorting and processing through thousands of photos and trying to put them all together for the website.

We should have some new "Journey" stories and many pages of images uploaded within the week.

Rinca Adventures

2009-06-25T04:49:00.002+08:00

We have walked back in time. This landscape is stark, dramatic, and a keeper of hidden life. Hills climb and roll, covered in knee high golden grasses that bow in the wind. Scrubby bushes push their way through the dry earth with leathery green leaves shimmering in the blistering heat. Stark white rocks with ribbons of red stand regally amidst the golden hills, looking like something should be crouched upon them. Long-tall palms reach high into the cornflower blue sky, shedding their skin of old brown jagged leaves as they climb up, up, up, towering at least a hundred and twenty feet high. They rattle when the wind caresses them.

Walking through the nearly dry riverbed in search of dragons we look through the heat, listening. It is never quiet here in daylight. Lizards rustle in the dry brown leaves and scurry from beneath our feet, voles dive into holes upon our approach and a brown long haired wild pig lopes awkwardly away once it senses our presence. Seven komodo dragons lounge in the sun lazily opening and closing their eyes waiting.

The largest of them are over three meters long and weigh as much as 9o kilograms. Their scales resemble armor and their camouflage is so perfected we almost walked into one nestled in some downed logs. These creatures are the largest dragons in the world. They sense their prey with their good eyesight and long yellow snakelike forked tongues. While in this riverbed they look docile and awkward, yet they are good hunters.

They are waiting in the riverbed for the huge water buffalo they attacked to die of its septic wounds inflicted by the bites from the dragons. Once they have bitten their prey, depending on how many bites the animal has and how big it is it will take a week to two weeks to die of its bacteria infested wounds and the dragons will wait to feast. The dragons can sprint on their muscled hind legs lifting their gigantic tails and look like an over pumped steroid filled body builder swaggering like they know they dominate. They can smell blood from 5 kilometers away. And they can swim, not that far but they can swim.

We sat in the riverbed in late afternoon, below 3 dragons lazing on the hill and 5 buffaloes sitting up to their necks in the last pools of water in the riverbed. We sat not 50 feet from one buffalo peacefully listening to him snort and chew. Missing his two lower two front teeth he was almost comical despite his long curved horns and gigantic bulk. Hundreds of small flies circled his head and he responded by dipping his horns gracefully and tossing water about his head. It was really special to be able to sit so close to two species of very powerful animals.

We climbed out of the riverbed back up into the dry hills reveling in the use of our legs again and the stunning views that stretched forever past the hundreds of skinny trunked big leaf headed long-tall palms and over the hammered gold hills to the undulating islands beyond.

Long-tailed macaque monkeys hung above us, eating the fruits of the female palms. The leaves rattled and our sweat dried with the wind. Our guide gambled and asked us if we wanted to walk further to try to find the wild horses if we were lucky. We had wanted to do the 9 k walk this morning but the price for the non-regulation hike was a ridiculous $35 dollars in comparison to $5 for the 5 k hike, so we declined as it just seemed like too much of a scam. We both got lucky. We went for the horses.

Walking quickly through waist high grass, we stumbled over small iron red rocks and past groves of low scrubby trees. We heard the pounding of hooves before we saw 15 black buffalo heading away from us, dust rising from their hooves. They settled under another grove of trees and we watched them while deer bounded through the grass. The sun was sinking and with its descent the dew began to make its appearance. The sharp pungent odors of the grasses and trees revealed themselves as the temperature dropped and the light faded. With the sun in our faces we looked toward the hills to see the elusive wild hoses. Two of them stood regally under a scraggly tree.

There was something magical about that moment, perhaps because we had found them, but likely because we were out in the hills of the park with no one else around, the sun igniting the grasses like fire and our senses fully involved. But we were running out of time.

Navigating through the high grasses strewn with rocks and boulders in deepening twilight in near silence we were reminded of another time in our lives. My thoughts were intermittently interrupted with our guide saying "hati, hati" (careful, careful) after he stumbled on a hidden rock or root. As darkness settled upon us, the big dipper hung above us in the northern sky and more stars began to twinkle. We weren't following an established trail and we likely would have been sleeping under the stars had we had to find our way back to the ranger station alone. After another half hour of slowly heading down hill we made it to the main trail. Thanking our guide and walking back to the boat landing under the star-studded sky we reveled in our tired legs and the longest day of the year, giving thanks that animals and places like this still exist.

Labuanbajo

2009-06-25T04:30:00.002+08:00

With our usual ADD tendencies, we woke up, poured a cup and pulled the anchor. It was only 12 miles to the town of Labuanbajo and we were restless to get there, re-provision and move on to Komodo National Park.

Overnight the wind had died and we woke to glassy conditions and a hot ball of sunshine. We motored past and around close to fifty varying sized fishing boats anchored or drifting over the shallow shoals in the bays. Small closely-knit fishing villages sat perched on stilts on the edges of the sea. The waters colors were distinct deeper greens and aqua blues depending on the depth. The hills were covered in thick brown grass and rich volcanic rocks dotted the landscape. Palm trees sprouted intermittently throughout the valleys and draws.

In a couple of hours we were weaving our way through the myriad of islands surrounding the mainland town. We steered clear of the main boat anchorage, choosing instead to anchor 2 miles south of town in front of a little resort called the Bajo Komodo Eco-Lodge, a place we had read about from other sailors, who said they were friendly, accommodating, and helpful to visiting boats. We had also read that the harbormaster in town wasn't always too pleasant, hassling sailboats for extra paperwork and extra rupiah dollars. The town anchorage itself was said to have some petty theft problems. We chose to avoid the harbormaster and town altogether, figuring we'd had enough officialdom for a while and as long as we could stay under the radar outside of town we would be fine.

We dropped our hook in 20 feet of thick sandy mud, the shallowest we have anchored in a year. We have gotten so used to having to anchor in deeper water, often 70-100 feet in Palau and Raja Ampat, dropping in under 50 feet nowadays feels extremely shallow! For all you sailors, our waypoint in front of the resort is: 8˚31.1' S, 119˚52.1' E
There's room for heaps of boats here.

We dinghied in and introduced ourselves to the girls managing the hotel. They were all extremely friendly and very happy to have us around. We were the first boat to have visited in 2009, but when the SailIndonesia rally comes through in July/August they do get many boats anchoring in front of the hotel. Sidenote...Since leaving Palau we have only seen one other sailboat and that is our German friends on the boat, Alk, who left Palau a week before us. We last saw them in Sorong over 2 months ago and since then not one other sailboat.

The hotel was happy to do our laundry, serve us dinner, watch our dinghy on the beach at night, and help us out with getting some diesel. The guys who do maintenance/landscaping working there even shuttled us up one morning to the local fresh food market a bit out of town on their ojeks. On top of all the help from the resort, the anchorage itself was very peaceful, not rolly, safe, and quiet at night. We really couldn't have asked for anyplace better.

The town of Labuanbajo itself is an eclectic little fishing village, weathered and crumbly, but with character. It was fun to walk around and check out the thousands of fish that we think are sardines drying on big nets in the sun on the waterfront. There are a few good shops to get some fresh food, but the fresh food market up the hill is really the way to go. It is great. We went on Saturday morning and it was busy with packs of people and hundreds of stalls set up. Most of the people are Muslim but seemed genuinely happy to have two white tourists poking around their world, bartering for fruits and vegetables, asking funny questions in broken Bahasa Indonesia and taking some photos. Once again we stuck out like sore thumbs and were constantly stared at and followed around, but in a non-threatening way. Overall the people in the market were extremely friendly.

Even though Labuanbajo is a bit of a tourist town, because it is the gateway to Komodo National Park for boats and charters, we think most tourists don't go to the local market, hence the interest in us being there. After an hour, we were loaded up with fresh food for our next adventure to Komodo.

After 2 days we were ready to move on. We had looked into going diving with a boat from town, but the 3 hours each way through the rough currents and winds sounded dreadful. We decided that we were more in the mood for long walks on land rather then more time on boats and in the water. There is a place on north Komodo called Crystal Rock and Castle Rock we still may get to dive on our own. We'll see.

We picked up our clean clothes, said good-bye to all the great people working at the hotel and shoved off for Rinca Island in Komodo National Park.

A Beauty of a Passage

2009-06-24T23:56:00.002+08:00

Passages come in every flavor. Some are dreadful; you are never comfortable, never dry, or never warm. Fighting currents, wind, dodging fishing boats and floating debris and massive squalls, you are constantly on alert and you don't get much rest, let alone time to pull out a book.

But some passages are gifts from the gods. These are the ones you remember, the ones you cherish. These passages make up for all the bad ones and keep the balance, making sure you remember why you chose to go sailing around the world in the first place. This most recent passage from Ambon to Flores turned out to be one of these, a real gem.

After clearing the Ambon entrance currents once again, this time with nowhere near the confusion of standing waves and squally rainy conditions when we arrived, we set a SW course with a reefed main and unfurled our full 130% Genoa. For the first two days the wind was fairly consistent at 12-25 knots from the SW to the SSW and we had a nice beamish reach with seas only 2-4 feet, our Monitor windvane holding the course easily. Fluffy high-pressure cumulus clouds danced around the sky and the mighty golden orb of the sun kept the heat on in the day. At night it cooled off considerably, our first time reaching for the cockpit blanket to curl up with on watch since, I think, the passage from New Zealand to Fiji over a year ago. At night the stars beamed revealing Saturn, the Southern Cross and Alpha and Beta Centauri, and the huge constellation of Scorpio off to our southeast. The waning moon rose late but had plenty of light still for half the night to illuminate the liquid world we sped through.

Our passage lasted 4 ½ days and was roughly 520 miles in distance. The last half of it we traveled more west then south, heading along the northern coast of Flores, passing through another time zone and entering more of the local fishing areas. The wind grew more spotty and we chose to motor sail off and on, but the seas stayed small and made the trip downright comfortable no matter what our sail plan. We each read two books and listened to plenty of "This American Life" podcasts, great stories to sink into when you can't stare at a book page any longer, especially in the middle of the night.

The last night was our busiest with fishing boats. They seemed to be everywhere and I even had to change course around a set long line with blinking lights everywhere for the net's marking poles. An hour later I was on a collision course with a small fishing prahu boat that was too small to pick up on our radar. We got to within 500 yards of each other and I turned on the spreader lights to light up our decks and show them we were a sailboat, sailing, and instantly he stopped and changed course. Unfortunately, this technique doesn't work with the freighters.

The last day the wind came up strong at 20-30 knots, but we were fighting a 2-knot current against us as we watched the daylight hours tick by trying to arrive at our intended anchorage. In the early afternoon we fought through the even stronger currents to enter the passage through the reefs, but once through, everything mellowed. The winds dropped and the current was nearly flat. We had just rounded the western point of Flores and were now piloting around a group of islands just offshore from the mainland, an arid desert-looking landscape of dry grasses, sandstone and volcanic rocks, and big white sand beaches. Many small fishing villages dotted the shoreline and fishing outriggers and prahus were tacking all over the water.

We rounded the corner in the lee of Pulau Sabibi, anchoring at 8˚22.1' S, 120˚01.0' E in 45-50' of water surrounded by coral reefs and in front of a large sandy beach. A couple of fishing boats were tied up to mangroves close by and another dugout was spearfishing the reef off the point. We were told monkey's lived on shore but we didn't see any.

We had arrived in a whole new world. Dry, hot, and cool at night, not a squall on the horizon. In fact, we didn't see a squall the whole passage and not a drop of rain! So strange. We are so so so very used to getting hammered by at least one thunderstorm or massive rainsquall every day or two, sometimes all day long, that with the absence of that reality, it feels like we have left the tropics. It's sure nice to stay dry and be able to keep our hatches open, but the downside is our boat is coated with a layer of salt and we can't catch rainwater anymore. The latter being the big bummer.

We are happy to be here, ready for new adventures in a new region of Indonesia. Blessings to the sea gods and cold Bintangs for the kids as we stretch out in the cockpit and watch the heat of the sun sink away into the western Flores Sea.

Officialdom in Ambon

2009-06-24T04:24:00.001+08:00

We sailed out of the protected anchorage of Bandaneira and watched the volcano, Gunung Api, slowly slip into the sea. Pulau Run could be seen a few miles away. In the hey-dey of the spice trade, the miniscule island of Run was worth a fortune because of the nutmeg growing on it. In 1667 the British actually traded it to the Dutch for North American's island of Manhattan.

We were officially on passage again, but a short one, only 120 miles to the city of Ambon. A steady SE breeze filled in and the seas were only a few feet, overall it looked like it would be a nice sail. Then our instruments went out. All of them. Fun fun fun. For the next 2 hours I tore everything apart where our electronic "sea talk" connections are located. I pulled and looked at every wire. My head was in the bilge, under the steering column, and in the lazarette. It didn't take long for me to feel seasick. Blah. First day out and in the rolly seas and my heads in the bilge, not where I perform the best. Finally, I pulled a larger connection on the autopilot "brain" and 5 minutes later things are working again. Phew! We crossed our fingers and hoped it wouldn't repeat itself. Thankfully it didn't.

After a pleasant sail through the night with clear starry skies we arrived to the current-swept entrance to Ambon harbor where the huge rain squalls awaited us. It was 7 a.m. and Nicole just finished her watch and went below to sleep. I poured a big cup of coffee, bundled up in full raingear and donned the Ipod in its waterproof case. I piloted DK through the chaotic standing waves while the reggae dub beats synched with my morning coffee buzz. The rainsqualls hammered us incessantly and the small prahu fishing boats zigged and zagged around us dragging for tuna as we surfed the currenty standing waves. Finally we rounded the cape and were met by almost glassy conditions in the lee of the Ambon peninsula. It had been an exciting morning. I looked down below at Nicole; she had slept through it all.

An hour of motoring inside the bay while listening to some new NPR's "This American Life" our friend Marit hooked us up with in Misool (Thank You Marit!!), we dropped our hook in front of a small community called Amahusu. About 7 km SW from the main city of Ambon, Amahusu is nice and mellow and there is a beach and hotel there for easy access to shore. It seemed like a fine anchorage, at least at first.

A few hours later I found myself on the back of an ojek (Indonesian motorbike) heading for the harbormaster's office. Once again, long pants, collared shirt, shoes, shaved face, and my officially looking bag carrying all our paperwork, ship's stamps, and rupiah money (for the, just in case, "greasing the wheels" possibilities).

My first taste of Ambon. Much larger then Sorong, our only other Indonesian city to this point, Ambon was bustling with movement and energy. People were everywhere and traffic was busy. Not being much of a tourist city, once again everyone stared, smiled, and yelled "Hello Mister" as I rode by.

Kota Ambon is the capital of the Maluku islands in Indonesia with a population of almost 400,000 people. Most recently, from 1999-2002, unfortunately Ambon was the epicenter of inter-communal violence between the Christian and Muslim people. In 2001, it is said the city looked similar to the 1980's Beirut, torn apart and battle-scarred. Nowadays, the city is once again bustling with life, economic activity, and the religious tensions have eased.

My first trip to the harbormaster was easy. I chatted it up with some of the young office staff, dropped off my paperwork, and then headed to Quarantine. It was dumping again, but luckily I remembered to bring an umbrella and so I plodded onward in the rain. After a few missed attempts at finding the right office, I was directed correctly to an obscure building on a side street where I clomped in wet and muddy. The office workers were all very friendly and after I was shuffled between 5 different officials, all stamping forms or typing papers, I was finished. No one spoke much English and my Bahasa is still poorly inadequate, but we all stumbled through our conversations and I left smiling and thankful that I only had one more stop to make.

I hailed another ojek, my preferred transportation of choice, as they are so much fun and efficient weaving through the crazy streets and busy traffic. Plus, for 5000 rupiah, or about 50 cents, they will take you anywhere in town right away. If you ride the Bemo's, which are the little mini-van's that shuttle people around, they mostly have set stops and routes and, although cheaper at 3000 rupiah, can take 2-3x as long. Plus they are boring.

We zipped through the streets and up the hill on the other side of town to the Immigration office. As I walked in the front door, I crossed my fingers. This was our last "officialdom" hurdle. The only reason we even came to Ambon was to come to this particular office to renew our passport Visa.

Let me just take a minute to explain what we had to do "to even come" to Indonesia. The following explanation may be a bit boring to some of you, but I think it's interesting to note what we have to deal with to visit some of these countries. It all started month's ago, in January, when we were in Palau--

To sail your boat in Indonesia you need 3 things. First is a boat permit called a CAIT. To do this you need to send in the appropriate paperwork and money to an organization that does this service. We used Bali Marina. This takes between 1-2 months. Next you need a sponsorship letter. We also paid Bali Marina for this. Once you have received these two papers you can apply for your passport social visas. To do this you need to send your paperwork, including your CAIT and sponsorship letter and passports, to an official Indonesian Embassy. We FedEx'ed all our papers to a service in San Francisco who deals with Visa's and delivers the paperwork to the Embassy. Sending your passports overseas is pretty scary, hence the use of an agency in the U.S. and using FedEx. Once all this is finished you are "supposedly" allowed to enter Indonesia (it took us about 3 months).

But that's not all. All of these "Visa's" only last so long. Our CAIT is good for 3 months, and then it needs to be extended again, for a maximum allotment of 6 months. Our passport Visa's are only good for 2 months, then need to be renewed each month. To renew our passport Visa we are supposed to have a new sponsorship letter; someone or some organization who is kind of looking after us.

Talk about ridiculous, but here is where it even gets crazier. In 2004 a new Indonesian law was passed stating that sailing yachts were considered luxury goods and needed to have a "bond" of up to 45% of the yacht value placed in an Indonesian bank for the boat to be in this country. At your first Indonesian port you are supposed to pay this fee and when you leave Indonesia you are supposedly to get this money returned in full. There are many problems with this law. First of all, there is no central banking system that you can use to deposit and withdraw from in different parts of Indonesia. Indonesia is huge! There are over 17,000 islands in this country and so many ports to arrive at and leave from. Let's say, for example, we are checking into Sorong in the West Papua region. We should, by law, have to pay our "bond" of up to 45% of the boat's value. A lot of money for us. Then, 6 months later we check out of another part of the country a thousand plus miles away and need to have our bond money returned, but, wait, the "same" bank is nowhere to be found, and even if it was, Indonesia is not known for it's secure and honest methods of dealing with money. Catch my drift??

But here's the deal. Most ports in Indonesia have not been upholding the "bond" law, until this year. Now it seems like many of the "busy" ports like Kupang, in West Timor, and even Benoa, in Bali, want this money. The reality is no sailing boat is crazy enough to pay it. This is creating quite a stir this year in the sailing community. Because of the complexities of Visa's and the bond law, most sailboats coming to Indonesia do so through a rally. The largest one, Sail Indonesia, which leaves from Darwin, Australia, in the middle of July hosts over 100 boats with another 50 or so on the waiting list. They deal with all the Visa's and also put on a number of cultural performances and parties at different stops along their traveled path through many of the islands in this country.

In our case, coming from Palau and entering into Indonesian waters at Sorong, West Papua, joining a rally wasn't an option, nor would we want to join anyway. To each their own, but we can't imagine being with a group of 100 plus boats sailing to most of the same anchorages. Even if the boats do split up a bit, most of the main anchorages still get very busy. For example, the anchorage at Rinca Island in Komodo National Park, where we just came from, is small and tight for a handful of boats. When the rally boats are around this area, supposedly there can be 20 or more boats vying for an anchoring spot in this little wind-swept bay. When we were there it was just us. The reason, however, that most boats, in my opinion, join the rally, is to have it easier with all the Visa's and official paperwork. Many boats are afraid to "do it on their own" or just don't want to spend the time and energy to sort it out themselves. The rally isn't stupid. The bureaucratic mess of paperwork and Visa's in Indonesia really keeps their numbers up and they have a nice little business going. For to join the rally you have to pay a substantial fee as well.

Our first port of entry in Indonesia was Sorong. We gambled checking in here. Because only a few boats a year call on that city, we were hoping they didn't even know about the "bond law". For us, that was the case. Thankfully no one even asked about it and we checked-in with zero problems.

So, back to the present, our last official hurdle: getting an extension to our Visa in Ambon, a place we heard rumors it was possible, but no concrete evidence. The reality was if they wouldn't or couldn't renew our Visa we didn't know what we would do. Nicole maybe would have to fly to Bali with our passports or maybe we would just have to sail straight to Bali and pay big extra fees for being late on renewing our expired Visa's.

I was met at the counter by a few officials, one of them named, Army, who took me under his wing and told me "no problem", we could renew our Visa's there. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

When I asked Army about whom would "sponsor" us, another unresolved possible obstacle, he said, "you can sponsor yourself". Hello, are you kidding??!! What a concept. For a much smaller fee then what we paid Bali Marina to sponsor us before, about 1/3 of the price, we could just be responsible for ourselves. This is how ridiculous it all is. Army helped me fill out paperwork and told me to come back the next day with Nicole to get our pictures and fingerprints taken. No worries.

We arrived the next day on the back of two ojek's weaving through the rain. This was Nicole's first time off the boat in many days as she'd been sick from the flu. Army met us with a big smile and within an hour we had our pics shot, fingerprints taken, and money delivered, about $40 each for everything. Army told me he could hand deliver our passports that night or in the morning in Amahusu, where we were anchored, as he lived in the village too.

Nicole and I jumped in a Bemo and went to the crazy fresh food market on the waterfront. Wandering the tightly-packed alleys and streets we perused the thousands of colorful stalls filled with things like drying fish, live chickens with their legs bound, cartons of quail eggs, and hundreds of recognizable and not so recognizable fruits and vegetables. Sandwiched between the hordes of people, bicycles, ojeks, and cars, we weaved our way through the masses and periodically stopped to purchase some fresh goodies. Our favorites being the large tasty local avocados. Everywhere we stopped to look closer at the produce, a group of people would gather around us and watch our interactions, curious at the white western people and what we were buying at the market. Everyone was very friendly and within an hour we were weighed down with bags of produce including a few large green coconuts hanging from our fingers. Nicole was exhausted, her first day off the boat and right into this chaotic tumble of energy. We hopped on a couple of ojeks and away we went.

At 7 p.m. that night Army called and said he was at the hotel on shore. I took the dinghy in to the beach, met Army, looked at our new Visa extensions on our passports, shook Army's hand and slipped him some extra rupiah, and we both left with big smiles on our faces. Relieved and so appreciative at how smoothly that had all gone.
Back on the boat, it wasn't so smooth. The swell had managed to wrap itself into the bay and the currents and winds were coming from different directions making our boat roll profusely in every way possible. Bad rolling equals no sleeping.

In the morning I was extremely grumpy having not slept well for the last two nights. We debated what to do as we still needed to officially "check out" with the harbormaster and tomorrow was Friday, which superstitiously is a day you can't start a passage on and we now abide by. If you care to know details about this experience you can read back on our webpage journal "Pacific Passage" from Mexico to the Marquesas for a little story about what happened to us then.

We decided to move the 7 miles of so into the inner protected harbor on the northeast side of Ambon and find a peaceful non-rolly anchorage. We lifted our hook and motored past downtown Ambon and through the narrow passage into the big protected bay. As we passed the Navy station inside the bay, alo and behold, a Navy boat sped up to us with 3 men on board, more like teenage boys wanting to know what we were doing. They spoke broken English and we communicated the best we could where we were going and that we had already checked in with the harbormaster in Ambon, etc. We really didn't want these guys poking around our boat and kept trying to tell them everything was ok and we were just anchoring in the bay because it was so calm. Finally we gave them our mobile phone number and some copies of our paperwork and they left smiling and happy to have had contact with a western sailboat. We dropped our hook in the shallow muddy bay in an area lined with mangroves and small fishing platforms around us. It was a great spot, peaceful, no rolls, and no people except for some fishermen in their dugout canoes traveling to and from their bamboo fishing rafts. We sat out in the cockpit and had a cold Indonesian Bintang sunset beer when, yes, the Navy called. I couldn't understand pretty much anything he said, but in the end he explained to call him "if we had any problems". We both laughed and I said thank you. Nic and I got a total kick out of that. I think they just wanted to call and talk to us. We both slept like the dead that night.

The next day Nic dinghied me over to the shoreline a couple of miles away and I walked up to the road to catch another ojek into town. Zipping along through the Ambon hills we eventually dropped into the densely packed city and I once again returned to immigration to get our clearance paper. It only took half and hour and another ojek ride took me back down to the port to officially check out with the harbormaster. This took a little longer, but within an hour or so I was finished with all our Ambon officialdom business. Phew! A stop at the supermarket and another at the outdoor fresh food market found me with full backpacks, bags, and a carton of eggs. Another ojek ride back down to the lagoon and I was on the beach calling Nic on the handheld VHF to come pick me up. All of it only had taken a few hours. We chilled out the rest of the day, baked bread, made some passage food, read and relaxed in the peaceful lagoon.

Saturday morning arrived and after a leisurely breakfast we lifted the hook, raised our mainsail, and motor-sailed out of the bay. Good Bye and Thank You Ambon. We were now on our way to the island of Flores, 5oo miles to the SW.

The Flavor of the Bandas

2009-06-13T06:43:00.001+08:00

We came to the Bandas Islands to see the old spice trees and remnants of the old spice wars left over from the Dutch and English East India Trading Companies. They fought wars during the 16th and 17th centuries in the remote Bandas Islands for control over the spices: nutmeg, mace, cloves, cinnamon, and peppercorns. We have stumbled over some old canons casually strewn on the side of the street seemingly waiting to be picked up and used later aide from the slick layer of moss that coats them. Stepping through the crumbling doorways of old forts we find it hard to imagine the old days. But on the hook in the stunning natural anchorage with the smoking volcano, Gunung Api and beautifully still bay I can see trading vessels and warships at anchor and can see the town bustling with action. Almost all of that is gone but for some crumbling old buildings and the hope tourism will come back to the Bandas.

Not only are the Bandas an attraction for the historical value and what little spices are still grown but also for the pristine coral reefs and clear waters off many of the islands. Through rainstorms we have snorkeled beside dried lava flows and along Hatta's coral shelves and even along the pier. We have seen some special things but we are also very spoiled and have quickly lost interest in the mandarinfish and pretty waving soft corals.

Mostly, we are appreciating the warmth and kindness of the people here. I have already made friends with three special women I can barely communicate with. A Muslim 18 year old girl who bravely approached me while I was sitting alone on a lava rock beach and proceeded to tell me about her soul mate love and sing me American love songs (the only one I recognized was "Titanic") with an angelically high pitched voice. The rest of our time together we practiced English and Indonesian and we were smiling the entire time. One woman I met at the market buying weird lemons from her (you know the kind with the warts on them that are very sour?) she taught me to say sampai jumpa (my favorite new phrase, meaning see you later), now we see each other in town
daily and I love her. We always depart with each of us laughing and almost shouting, "sampai jumpa" with huge grins on our faces. And then there was the woman in Banda Besar. We met her wandering through the old nutmeg and almond forest where she was collecting almonds, machete in hand barefoot. We came to her through a rainstorm. Then she took us walking through the forest and got us stunningly fresh nutmeg and glowing rose apples. She walked us to the village and wanted nothing. Instead we asked her for lunch and I photographed what I think were her nieces and her mother. We ate an omelet, rice and msg noodles and then had the excuse to pay her for her time. She walked us down old rock steps holding my hand and smiling the entire way. Lucky me.

The remainder of our time in the Bandas has been spent farming out our laundry to Abba's wife Dilla at the Mutiara Guest House and eating scrumptious meals with them, hanging out with our new Italian tourist friend Claudio, doing boat jobs, teaching two abysmal classes of English (remind me to take an ESL class if we ever do this again) and recovering from a nasty flu. We're leaving here with our fist's full of nutmeg, a fully stocked fridge, and a joyful heart.

Springtime Balance

2009-05-24T06:48:00.003+08:00

Written at Misool Eco-Resort, Southern Raja Ampat, West Papua, Indonesia

DK rolls around madly while the southeasterly lumpy swell enters full-force into our tight current swept channel we are residing in next to the dive resort. The wet gray cumulus clouds hang low and the rain falls intermittently fluctuating between a light pitter-patter and downright squally dumps. It was like this all night. We didn't sleep much.

It sure feels like spring here in Raja Ampat. But wait, we are south of the equator again now, only at 2 degrees south, but still south. That means it's autumn. The SW monsoon is starting in Indonesia bringing squally wet conditions to this area and strong consistent SE trade winds more south where we are soon headed. We don't mind the rain, but what does suck is having to close all the hatches and portholes on the boat so that we bob around in our sticky humid sweatbox of a cabin. Without some good airflow we can really feel the dense moisture-filled air we reside in. But with all the rain, our water tanks are sure happy.

On these days it's difficult to appreciate our world. Living in the present is absolutely my most difficult piece to learn in this life. There is no doubt about it. I am one of those people that wants to be everywhere at once, always itching for that greener pasture on the horizon, almost never content with what is. Maybe that's a good thing sometimes to keep my mind awake and to keep me always striving for new challenges. But it sure is tricky sometimes when we are living a very fortunate life on a journey that most people will only dream about. Don't get me wrong. I am very appreciative of my life, of where we are at, of being together with Nicole, of choosing this path. But this time of year is one of my most difficult because it's spring/early summer back in the western U.S. and this has always been my time for mountain and desert adventures. Man, this year I sure do miss Yosemite. I miss the connection with my climbing bro, Billy, and our dirt-bagging weeks we would spend getting spanked on the granite walls of the valley. I miss the rawness, the gripping fear of potentially taking a huge fall halfway up El Cap, the relief and wonder at the end of the day sitting on our porta-ledge scraping cold beans into our mouths with freshly torn-up hands. I miss the deep fresh green of a wet El Cap meadows and the mighty Merced River cleansing the forest and bringing the freezing cold alpine water down from the snow-packed high country.

Or cragging in Joshua Tree with a group of compadres. Living simply in Hidden Valley campground, telling stories around the campfire while the coyotes howl in the nearby rocky outcrops. The wildflowers are popping and the cool nights are perfect for sleeping soundly under the stars. Sinking my digits into the jagged cracks of Illusion Dweller or having an all day Wonderland adventure out at the Big Horn Sheep Mating Grotto. And, of course, wrapping up the day with some cold Mexican cervezas at the monkey-like Gunsmoke Traverse until your trashed fingers just can't take the sharp monzonite anymore. Oh, J.Tree...what a special place.

It's springtime and just so hard for me to resist California mountain and desert dreaming...

And, lastly, I miss our people. Our little tribe of friends we connect with, sharing adventures, laughs, and stories. Springtime has always been about creating some form of active outing with a close friend or a whole group of rascals---coming out of the contemplative wintertime and rejuvenating our spirits with some form of outdoor camping gathering. Yes, all of you out there are missed. You know who you are.

But this year we find ourselves in southern Raja Ampat, a true gem of a spot as well. Since leaving Sorong harbor and our whirlwind checkout and reprovision process, we took almost a week to make it to this special little eco-resort/conservation center. It seems we left the slicks of trash behind in the northern Raja Ampat islands thankfully, and island hopping down in this area has only brought more gorgeous limestone rocks, dry, yet seemingly jungly landscapes, and more green nutrient-rich water filled with the most beautiful soft corals, huge schools of reef fish and fusiliers, and some very special little underwater critters we have seen no where else.

The parrots, cockatoos, and sea eagles still fly over our mast and have been joined by the occasional hornbill and kingfisher. This area is a special place and it is no wonder why Andrew and Marit, the managers of this little dive eco-resort, have chosen to set-up shop here and help protect this area from all the illegal fishing that threatens to gobble all the amazing underwater world here up. The resort has an agreement with the village who owns these islands and water around them, to build and run this small resort for so many years, as well as to protect the area from the stealthy long-liners that show up at night in the nearby waters. The resort employs over 40 staff, almost all who come from the villages that own this area, so it truly is a very win/win situation for all. For the local people, for the lucky tourists who get to spend time here, for the managers who get to reside and work here, and for the wildlife and fish that now have a chance.

We, of course, feel lucky that we have chosen and have been allowed to hang here for a while, tying up DK on their mooring and allowing us free run of the place in and out of the water. We have slowed down again, spending time underwater blowing bubbles with the critters, chatting and eating delicious Thai food with Marit and her staff, swimming laps over the shallow coral reefs, taking photos, writing, and putting some new coats of varnish on the cockpit teak. We aren't in much of a hurry right now, so it has been nice to just "be" here for a while.

So we find ourselves in the tropics for another spring, I mean autumn, and the balancing act continues...continuing the work of being awake in our present surroundings, yet still appreciating those special places and people back home that we love and miss dearly as well.

We Got Lucky

2009-05-23T04:00:00.002+08:00

We got lucky. We made it in and out of Sorong in 24 hours. We have never succeeded in fueling, checking in and out of a city, hung out with new friends and reprovisioned in one day. Like I said, we got lucky.

Passing rusty dilapidated wrecks, Philippine fishing fleets with outstretched arms, and local dugouts equipped with the familiar "putt putt putt" of a very powerful lawnmower engine we motored into Sorong's outer harbor following our friends' waypoint to the "fuel barge" on Sunday. We passed a village with over a hundred people lining the beach and searched for the rusty black wreck across from the fuel barge that was supposed to be our marker.

A man lingered in the doorway of a very new white vessel with what looked like barrels on deck, so we did a drive by. "Bagi. Solar?" I enquired hopefully. "Solar," (diesel), the man pointed across the shore. We motored to what we thought was the fuel barge. "Solar, hari ini?" Today, I asked hopefully. "Ya, Ya," came the response as more and more young men poured out of the barge onto the deck. The sky over Sorong city darkened as cumulus clouds began to ascend higher and higher yet somehow they never reached the scorching sun above us. Boom, Boom, the thunder roared. Still we were cooking.

Our friends had gone through this routine a couple of weeks ago and warned us it would be a really messy fuel because of their high-pressure hose. But it was cheap at 6000 rupies a liter equaling about $2.40 US a gallon and we needed to top up. So after using our rudimentary Bahasa and consulting with one of the young guys working at the barge we negotiated the price of 6000 rupies a liter, communicated we wanted 270 liters (giving us 5 extra gallons of space for overflow with the high pressure hose), found a small hose fitting to work with our deck fill, got to inspect the amber clean looking diesel and then, finally, fuel. The guys were thoughtful, making sure Gar knew the meter was at zero when they started and they did an excellent job making the connection between huge fuel hose and our tiny one. Within 20 minutes, after 15 guys participated or watched the process, we were fueled without spilling a drop, had photos taken of us by them and the other way around and paid with a receipt to prove it.

Next on the list was where to berth for the night. We called our new friends, Dave and Din on Shakti, a live-aboard boat, hopeful they were in town and wouldn't mind moving, or on a charter and their mooring was free. Again we got lucky. Dave's crew moved Shakti to a steel mooring and we took her oversized plastic one. Visiting Shakti later that afternoon we learned we might have fueled from an illegal fuel barge owned by an illegal logger. Well, there was a police boat side tied to it. I guess that doesn't mean much. OOPS. Even when we try to be conscious maybe we aren't. The extra bonus was that we could hang out with our new friends and also a friend I originally met in Palau years ago who now lives in the Bay.

Monday morning started at dark thirty when we woke with the sickeningly sweet putrid smell of fish mixed with oil flowing past our hull and the loud "putt putt putt" of local boats motoring close by. We rocked in their wakes and dressed for the officials. Gar and I were wearing long pants, shoes and button down shirts for the second time in less than three weeks. This time we got smarter though. We motored super dingy directly in front of the harbormaster's office, swirling past plastic, fish, and coconuts and side tied to an old engineless boat. I wished Gar luck while I sat in the sun guarding the dingy and watching kids playing in the water while waiting for his return.

During the hour I waited for Gar the local kids entertained me. Shanti was the bravest. After about twenty minutes of me smiling and all of them staring at me directly or out of the corner of their eyes she finally approached, sticking her wet belly out and shaking her curly hair so I could see the water clinging to her Papuan curls. "Good morning my friend," she blurted out in English and readied to return to her 6 friends watching from a safe distance. "Good morning my friend", I replied. "What is your name?" "Shanti," she said through sparkling white teeth. And then, just like that, we were friends. She sat next to me or did jumps off the pier always looking back for a thumbs up. The boys got braver and started sidling up beside me and we talked about the tiny dried shrimp that sat beside us getting smaller and smaller in the baking sun. Well, we didn't talk really. They talked in Bahasa Indonesian and I talked in English. It worked though and before long Gar returned.

I knew we were good when Gar strode down the dock smiling with a big thumbs up. He narrowly escaped the all day run around to Immigration, Customs, and Quarantine and to play host to the harbormaster on the boat. This was the third harbormaster he had met in Sorong and he wanted to send Gar to do more paperwork and to see DreamKeeper. Luck was still with us as Gar managed to smile a lot, make jokes, sit relaxed in his office and tell him he was welcome to the boat but it was all the way down the harbor. Instead, the harbormaster signed and stamped our exit papers and were clear to leave without more officialdom.

Only two more things on our list: Fill the gas jerry jug for super dingy and provision. We were doing great, it was only 10:30am. Gar sauntered down the pier to the petrol station and returned within minutes. We said goodbye to my new friends after they helped us untie Super Dingy and we were off to find a pier closer to Saga, the supermarket and DK to drop me off on.

Cruising past large fishing boats packed together like sardines, put put boats, and large ferries we found a dock peeking out of it all that had a ladder leading up from the sea. I hoped I could find Saga and return to the same pier with all of the groceries. You see there is nowhere to safely leave the dingy so I was alone on this mission and my sense of direction isn't my strong point. Walking through thirty men lingering on the dirt side road saying "Bagi," morning to all I almost made it out without conversation until a man stopped me and smiled. We shared morning pleasantries and then I asked him where Saga was, hopeful I might be able to walk. Left right right he motioned with his hand. And I was off.

Navigating over pot holes and bamboo poles, passing a motorcycle shop, beauty salon and shops selling everything made of plastic I was distracted, waving to kids in uniform, who shouted, "good morning mister" or "good morning misses" from across lanes of traffic smiling and waving frantically. At last I made it to the salmon pink building that was home to Saga. Shopping was uneventful except they didn't have eggs. Well chicken eggs. They had spotted brown and beige quail eggs and some pinkish eggs and some big blue eggs but no chicken eggs.

By noon I was calling Gar from the back of my taxi on the VHF. He heard me and asked if I was on the same pier. I don't know who was more surprised that I was, Gar or me. The backup plan was that he would just cruise the waterfront looking at all of the piers. No need. So after getting severely ripped off from the cab, two dollars, with help to lug all 12 bags of groceries out of his van we debated returning to town for eggs.

We decided leaving Sorong was much higher on our list. We b-lined it back to Dreamkeeper and a little after noon we were free from our mooring and headed out the channel with the tide. Goodbye Sorong.

Another First

2009-05-16T10:35:00.002+08:00

Written at Pulau Wagmag, Southern Raja Ampat, Indonesia

It was another first. In the last 2 1/2 years cruising on DK we have had a full cornucopia of adventures. But every so often something brand new and randomly exciting happens. Today was one of those days.

But first a little background...Anchored at the northern Raja Ampat island of Wayag, almost everyday was about exploration. The island massif and surrounding mushroom-shaped rocks surfacing from the sea are equally dramatic and beautiful. Sandy beaches line the shores of the reef-encircled small bays and lagoons and the channels are alive with thick nutrient-rich currents that support the tremendous amount of life that exists here. This small area in West Papua, Indonesia, is considered to have the greatest coral reef biodiversity of its size in the world. Even though the secret is out and more and more tourists venture here, mostly on live-aboard dive boats, the reality is that Raja Ampat is still seldom visited and only a select few actually spend the money and time to journey to these islands.

There has been a rather sad downside to this gem of a region. Even though we have been at least 40-120 miles away from any significantly sized city, like Sorong, we have seen more trash in the water and on every beach we have visited than anywhere we been in the Pacific Ocean. Slicks of plastic, foam, steel balls, flip-flops, and all sizes of wood and bamboo are pushed and pulled by the strong currents. Every beach we have walked on is practically covered with rubbish and when we do put our fishing lures out in the open water trying our luck for Spanish mackerel or tuna, we mostly just catch plastic. It's been a full time job just pulling in our lures to remove the pieces of trash we hook, not to mention keeping a sharp lookout that DK doesn't ram into a huge log or scary steel whatever. Some locals say the trash is from the live-aboard dive boats and others have told us they think it is the huge fishing or container ships that are heading to Sorong but don't want to pay to have their trash brought on shore, so these boats just dump it before getting close to the harbor. This is all possible; we really don't know where it comes from or why it is so bad. The happy side to this reality is that it sounds like most of the time there hasn't been this problem with trash, but, unfortunately, while we were visiting trash everywhere was our reality.

Back to the present...Nicole and I took off in Super Dinghy for an around the islands exploration tour in an attempt to find a "shady" beach. Did I mention it is really really hot here at the equator? Zigging and zagging through the coral-studded channels of the inner lagoons we soon found ourselves on the outer reef skimming along the top of a shallow hard coral reef. "There's another turtle," I pointed out, one of probably half a dozen we had already seen that day. But as we got closer we could tell something wasn't right. The turtle was clearly struggling and kept surfacing in the same spot. We slowly approached and could finally see the problem. The turtle was trapped in an old fishing net with it bound tightly around 3 of the turtle's flippers and completely around it's neck. Our hearts dropped. This is what you read about; the thousands of old fishing nets and plastic 6-pack rings that float around aimlessly in the oceans entangling anything that gets in their way. But this situation was our first time actually observing this sad reality.

But now wasn't the time to be sad and introspective. It was time to act. 'Bummer', Nic and I thought. No knife. No mask. And we were miles away from DreamKeeper. I looked at the turtle coming up for air and immediately attempting to dive and swim away unsuccessfully. It was scared and it was really stuck. Then I remembered we "did" have a knife with us. A fishing knife I left yesterday under the dingy seat when I was out hunting for lobster. We almost never keep a knife in the dingy, well we didn't, but we all know now that will change.

I jumped in with the knife and struggled to hold onto the turtle. It was a green sea turtle, fairly large and heavy, possibly 2 1/2 feet in diameter and weighing at least 300 pounds or more. It didn't want anything to do with me. It struggled and kept diving down while I attempted to find some purchase with my bare-feet on the hard coral that I could just barely touch beneath me. I finally got a good hold on the turtle's shell and managed to cut a few pieces of the net off. Then the turtle slipped away again and down it went. My fear was that I would cut only part of the net away and the turtle would take off with some of it still wrapped tightly around it's flippers or neck only t0 be killed by it at a later date.

Nicole was circling in the dingy yelling for me to be careful and not to hurt the turtle or let it get away. She was clearly rattled and was just trying to voice her concerns, but for me, as she well knows, it was better to just tune her out and focus on the situation.

Finally I managed to pull the turtle close to me again and this time I held on tightly to it's shell while doing my best not to drag my "white-man" bare-feet all over the sharp coral my toes were clinging too. Thankfully the turtle was tiring and I was committed this time. I carefully slipped the blade between skin and net and slowly freed each limb. I was nervous about the neck, but as I worked the turtle seemed to relax a bit and eventually I cut the last of its bonds. I released my firm grip and the turtle finned fiercely, dove deep, and was gone. It all happened in only a few minutes.

I bobbed in the water and appreciated the moment.

The trash we had been seeing finally had a more real connection. Of course the net probably wasn't just thrown overboard by a live-aboard dive boat or container ship coming into Sorong, but it was "trash". An old fishing net lost at sea wrapping up everything in its path until it becomes caught on a coral reef, beach, or boat prop. In this case it snagged a turtle.

For whatever reason we came upon this situation, it was a first for us, and thankfully, had a happy ending.

The Four Kings

2009-05-08T06:58:00.002+08:00

Written and sent from Uranie Island, North Raja Ampat, Indonesia

Raja Ampat was always one of those mythical places we had only heard reverent stories about. Fittingly, the name is the stuff of legend and means "four kings". It is now well known because of the tremendous species diversity that resides here both above and below the water. Raja Ampat's reefs have been referred to as "a species factory."

Even the rocks are alive in northern Raja Ampat. Jagged sharp limestone islands are undercut by the consistent presence of the sea all around them. Trees cling to whatever soil and rock their roots can find on the seemingly inhospitable earth. As the swell gently rolls in, the rocks breathe, gurgling loudly with the intake of water and hiss violently as it is caught in air pockets and pushed back out.

Under the islands' lips hundreds of fish gather in the nutrient filled water. Currents meet here, bringing with them vast amounts of nutrients. This is why there are hundreds of sweetlips big enough to be on steroids staring at use with pursed lips, while schools of bumphead parrotfish move as an organized unit, gorging on the abundance of coral. Juvenile turtles and sharks patrol the reefs and butterfly fish the size of salad plates lazily meander by.

It because of these currents and this life we chose to visit Kri Island and eco-resort to dive. We motored 40 miles north of Sorong past fishing boats with long arms, through pods of leaping spinner dolphins, maneuvering through boiling currents and whirlpool eddies to arrive in the early afternoon with a current pumping against us at 2.6 knots. We passed back and forth in front of the resort searching for a shallow spot. Yet, we were told to anchor in 35-45 meters (110-135 feet) 250 meters off the resort, really deep for us. We debated trying it or abandoning our diving plans for Kri. We searched for anything shallower and found nothing.

So we committed and dropped all 280 feet of our chain attached our 300 foot piece of mega braid line and let 100 feet of that out and waited. The current was racing past DK's hull and I stared wide-eyed finger on the line hoping she would hold while Gar backed down on her hard. We'd never anchored this deep before or in current this strong. She held. The anchor jumped a few times against the bottom and then stuck, the line quaked as the sea rushed by if it was mirroring my own nervousness.

We stayed and swung for four days back and forth on our anchor in front of the channel leading to the resort where we were welcome to make our new home. Diving three times a day and eating scrumptious meals in between at Kri eco-resort we returned to DK only after dinner and the tide would allow us to escape from the channel we parked super dingy in. Did I mention how lucky we are.

If you look carefully through the nutrient rich water there are wonderfully beautiful and startlingly ugly creatures that make Raja Ampat home. Nudibranchs of every size, color, and pattern imaginable can be found on sand flats, in the arms of branching Acropora coral, and under the edges of rocks. I saw a baby pink scorpion fish the size of my thumb and we have seen three species of pygmy sea horses, stealthily camouflaged in sea fans. Mantas appear literally out of the blue like phantom angels. Walls are plastered with corals, tunicates, sponges, fans, and sea whips with colors and patterns so wild they would make Dr Seuss grin.

Leaving Kri we headed north back across the equator and to the islands that first called to us up in Wayag. The surface of the water glows in an otherworldly aqua green and quickly changes to midnight blue as we search for anchorages beside the deep craggy islands. A sea eagle has just stretched her white wings and landed in a snag above us while red parrots pass by squack squaking until they find a good spot to roost. Small birds tweet tweet tweet in the mornings and evenings and something whack whak whaks early in twilight of morning.

We spend our days getting up early to sand and varnish DK's weathered teak and try unsuccessfully to hide from the heat of midday. In the afternoons, at high tide we slip into the sea to search for whatever she is willing to reveal. Swimming through a sea of mirrors, schools of thousands of silver blue sardines and fusiliers we see blue spotted rays munching on critters hidden under the fine white sand. Spanish Mackerel, barracuda and giant trevally make elusive quick passes hinting at what lives deeper in the channels. After hours in this other world we return to Dream Keeper water logged.

At dusk the rain starts. It is not a normal rain as no none hits our deck but one that bubbles up from the sea. A constant gentle pitter patter of rain drops begins reliably at dusk and continues into the night even when the sky is cloudless and sparkling with the stars of the southern cross, Orion and the dipper. Fish really are everywhere in Raja Ampat; the rain comes from them feeding on the surface.

But all is not well with the Four Kings. While there is incredible species diversity here and it has been recognized by some big NGO's and the Indonesian government as a marine hotspot well worth protecting it is not immune to human impacts. Thick trails of trash ride in on the currents and a nickel mine is planned on one of the northern islands. Illegal logging threatens to choke the reefs and gas and oil prospectors visit the region searching for liquid gold. Let alone the pressures from local subsistence fisherman cyanide and blasting the reef and international fishing fleets that threaten to leave this kingdom destroyed and empty.

With hope to be recognized as a World Heritage site and efforts being made to protect the 3,500 square miles of newly formed marine protected areas we hope the crown jewel can be defended and will remain sacred so that Raja Ampat will not only be remembered in myths.

Farewell Palau

2009-04-27T12:53:00.001+08:00

Our passage was a gift that lead us to an even grander one here on Helen Island. We sailed under double-reefed main and alternately with a reefed jib that unfurled to its full 130% as the wind continued to decrease by the end of the passage. Leaving Koror after a swift check out our sails were filled with wind from the NE at 20-30 knots. The first day and through most of the first night we flew across the ocean on a broad reach sailing at 7-8.5 knots. The swell was small and the squalls sparse. Perfect ocean sailing. The moon filled the sky and threw light across the empty horizon almost as if it were twilight all night long. As the wind decreased we learned to appreciate slowing down as we had to arrive at Helen Reef in good light and favorable tide to clearly navigate the reefs. We have never really appreciated moving at 2-4 knots an hour but riding with perfectly set sails and a small swell with the moon shining through gossamer clouds and the squalls steering clear of us we did. I can't remember loving sailing this much or having a passage so peaceful.

It was a perfect way to come into Helen Reef, 350 miles away from Koror. After being guided through the maze of patch reefs by the Helen Rangers we fell in love with the place and our new friends. The light reveals Helen Reef in all of her beauty; reefs glow from the depths shimmering turquoise from the shallows, terns fly by the hundreds and turtles are everywhere. We spent our days fishing with the rangers who we are now grateful to call our friends, feasting on their catch, walking the beach searching for turtle tracks and watching the light change over the water. When night falls on Helen Island we listen to the black noddy terns and spent hours talking story and sharing meals with the guys, waiting for turtles to come ashore to lay their eggs.

We settled into a comfortable rhythm with David, Hercules and Paul and the island. They quickly became our new friends and the island our home. I could have stayed there for months it felt that good. And then it was over, we were overdue to arrive in Sorong with only 60 days to our visas and the weather looked good to go. It was with tear filled eyes we followed our track through the maze of patch reefs and let Helen slip into our memories.

Watch for a longer update with photos once we have internet connection again. (Unfortunately, it may be months)

***Sorry these last 2 blogs are out of order***

Selamat Datang Di Indonesia

2009-04-26T03:12:00.003+08:00

Let me be blunt, sailing a yacht around the world is nowhere near as dangerous as riding in a taxicab in Indonesia. It took us a whole 2 days since we placed our feet on Indonesian soil for us to be involved in our first "agro" taxicab race. Let me set the scene...

Picture a bustling, garbage-strewn, fish-stinking small oil and shipping city flowing with all types of Indonesian peoples. Short black-skinned Papuan locals share the spaces with more lighter-skinned taller Indonesians who have migrated here from Ambon, Timor, and Java. Ghetto shanties mix with concrete first-world shops, temples, and banks, all connected with muddy pot-holed roads and sidewalks trenched by the thousands of sandaled-feet who have trod the muddy paths through the trash and what once could be called grass. Taxis and motorbikes flow into a continuous smoke-belching river of chaos where the only unspoken rule is to go as fast as your vehicle will allow and obey only the signs you choose.

We are on our way to the supermarket, Mega. I'm in the front seat of the little mini-van taxi, torn vinyl seats, windows too low to see well out of, and scratchy Indonesian music blaring from the bad speakers. Nicole is in the very back seat with 2 other women sandwiched in next to her. Our driver guns the engine and attempts to pass another taxi. The other taxi decides that no way is he going to let our driver pass him. We are on a smaller side street with cars and motorbikes coming directly at us. We have to pull back behind the other taxi with inches to spare from hitting his rear fender. Our driver is furious. We try again, same thing. He is livid. We turn the corner and he guns the engine again, do or die it seems. We are neck and neck, inches separate the two steel bodies and the oncoming traffic is forced almost into the ditch. All of a sudden a bigger car is coming right at us, no room, and we are going at about 40 miles an hour now on a busy little 2 way street with no room for error. No way our driver will back down now because he is a winner...he pulls in front of the other taxi, scraping our steel panels together just in the nick of time before we end up in a head-on accident...did I mention I am in the front seat with, of course, no seatbelt. Seatbelts, in Indonesia, what are those??

We pull over to the side of the road. Our driver leaps out and goes over to the other taxi yelling curses with fumes coming out of his middle-aged nostrils. I look back at Nicole and we share an unspoken sigh of relief. Good thing Indonesian culture is mostly non-violent. No fight ensues, our driver returns, and off we go again at top speed. Time for us to change taxis.

So we made it to Sorong, Indonesia. It wasn't easy traveling south from Helen Reef in Palau. It only took us a few days but we had one night of junk full of large confused waves, 30 plus knots of wind, and massive squalls dumping buckets of rain all night long. We intelligently chose to hove-to and I ended up sleeping on the cabin floor in the bouncy conditions for a few hours until the sunrise brought a welcome change of weather and we set sail due south for the equator.

Motoring in zero wind on our last day we crossed the 25-mile stretch of water that separates the island of Pulau Waigeo from the Papuan mainland where Sorong lies. We came across a huge school of dolphins and a few fin whales surfaced nearby before the water slowly started getting more trash-filled and turning brown.

We dropped our hook and backed towards the concrete wall in front of a building in the northern section of the harbor. Our German friends, Harry and Heidi, on the yacht, Alk, were waiting for us. We side-tied next to them and they caught us up on their welcome to Sorong adventures.

A couple of day's prior, Harry had his go at checking in with all the officials: the harbormaster, customs, quarantine/health, and immigration. They gave him the full run-around and it ended taking him over 12 hours and having 8 guys from customs and immigration searching every cubbie on their boat for an hour at 7:00 at night. He had to pay a guy to be his "agent" and ended up forking out around $70-80 to get all properly sorted.

My day took roughly 6 hours, with a few of them spent in taxis and on the back of motorbikes searching for the various obscure offices I needed to find. I spent many hours just talking story in my broken Bahasa Indonesia and their broken English, chuckling, and smiling as I sat in their offices and filled out forms. Only one customs officer wanted to actually walk on our boat and it was clear he wasn't really into it. Total cost for all of it, $15. After that we were officially cleared in and I could take off my sweat-soaked collared shirt, pants, and close-toed shoes I wore to make a good impression. I had even taken out my earrings and shaved my WHOLE face. Nicole was pretty happy about that (but don't get used to it, girl).

We are alone now; our German friends have headed south. DK bobs in the brown, stinky trashy water with a constant parade of on-lookers on the bulkhead 30 feet away from us. The men stare for hours and the kids yell, "Hello Mister", every few minutes. We are truly a spectacle here in Sorong, as this is neither a tourist town, nor a "yachty" place at all. Our boat sticks out like a sore thumb surrounded by Chinese style junks and humungous Philippino outrigger fishing boats. On one side of us the oil tankers dock and on the other side the enormous "love boat"-style ferries tie up that shuttle the masses to Papua New Guinea every few days. In another day we will be off to Raja Ampat, our time in Sorong being the price we pay to get to experience the beauty of our next destination.

Yin and Yang

2009-03-29T02:51:00.002+08:00

We just returned to town from the Rock Islands. Again. Our fifth and final pilgrimage to such a beautiful gem of a place. After three weeks of responding to the boat's problems in crisis mode we finally switched the energy and went to find some peace. But even in the remote islands of Palau, we are still connected to our tribe of people. We choose this. We want this. We haven't chosen this journey to "escape" from the world, from society. We miss our friends and family and want to be part of their lives even if it means we most often can only type an email. It still helps and keeps the connection real.

We went to the rocks to take a break, to have some peace. But when our friends and family struggle, we try to do our best to support them, even from Palau. This last week we have been riding the wave. Sometimes deep inside that glassy orgasmic tube and other times heading face first over the falls looking at that shallow reef approaching. We have had some beautiful moments of connection with our underwater friends and time to appreciate where we are. This past week we got to dive and swim with a zebra shark, a gigantic eagle ray, hawksbill turtles, huge Napoleon Wrasse, heaps of gray reef sharks, and even got to see a school of spinner dolphins swim by underwater.

Other times are minds have been distant, putting energy into the ones we love back home, trying to support their process and sending them our love. Having the tools like a satellite phone and an email connection on the boat allows us this luxury. We feel so fortunate to have this opportunity to create this grand adventure we are on, but also that we have the modern day tools to stay in touch, especially when it really matters.

Over a couple of Red Rooster Ale's at Sam's bar last night, I was talking with our Norwegian friend, Lars, who is single-handing his boat, Luna. He and I connect well and often have deeper talks then the usual, "how is your latest boat project?" and "when are you leaving for the Philippines or Indonesia?" etc...cruiser talk. Lars is an anthropologist and he is also a searcher. Searching for simplicity, searching for substance and understanding. We got talking about writing and putting out in the world our thoughts and feelings, about the act of making this happen even when it's not part of your "job". I told him about what Nic and I do with our website and how it all started as a way to tell our stories and show images to our close family and friends. We wanted to stay connected and felt almost an obligation to keep them updated on our lives. Lars, on the other hand, doesn't have email connection on board his small yacht and doesn't write at all. His journey, he says, is for him, and he doesn't feel like he needs to be in the limelight at all, he wants to be "on his own" and not feel like he wants any pressure put on him about writing.

Talking with Lars I felt like I was peering at a reflection of myself 10 years ago when I lived out of a truck and backpack and traveled around the western United States working as an instructor for various Outdoor Education schools, most of the time for Outward Bound. This was before most people had cell phones and personal laptops. Before email took off. I had chosen for about 7 years of my life a very nomadic, non-conformist lifestyle where most of my time was spent working with students in the wilderness of America. When I had time off from working courses I would still choose to be out rock climbing in Yosemite or J.Tree, skiing powder in Colorado or the Sierra's, or backpacking through the ancient Anasazi ruins of the deserts of Utah. I lived simply and frugally, with no savings account and usually only a few hundred bucks to my name stashed under my truck seat. I didn't want to stay very connected and I didn't want to write very much, let alone take photos. It was a simple life I chose and I desired to connect to nature and my own inner-self on my own terms. I was a searcher and much of who I am today is because of those formative and powerful times in my life.

My point of this story is two-fold. First of all, us "cruisers" out here in the oceans are a very mixed lot and we each have a different story to tell and varied reasons for choosing this life. Some of us are truly "escapists" and only desire to be left alone and be detached from the average societal worries and pressures. Other cruisers want every piece of technology available on their boat and want to be plugged in to every current event happening in the world. We are a small little tribe in the sailing community, but even in this little niche we are vastly different.

Second of all, Nicole and I choose to keep up on this blog and website because we feel it is important for our people to hear our stories and glimpse our world. Since it's conception 2 1/2 years ago, our little website has really grown and I now get emails from people reading our site from around the world. We are humbled by that, but also flattered. Having to feel a bit of an obligation to write and spend the time processing and posting images isn't a bad thing. In fact, for someone who needs to have "structure" to keep it happening, like me, it is a good thing. If no one cared, if no one was reading this, would I really keep it up? I don't know. But I do know that we are glad we can, that we have the means to email, take good images and process them onboard. We are grateful for the means to stay connected to the ones we love and to keep them hip on our little world out here in the blue, as well as to support each other when we struggle.

This last month has been a mix of soft and hard. Peace and turmoil. Ease and struggle. Yin and Yang. Nic and I are back in the town anchorage looking at our last 9-10 days before we leave Palau and go on passage to Indonesia. Our boat projects are finally getting checked off, our computer's and alternator are finally working again, our passports just arrived back from the U.S. where we got our Indonesia Visa's processed, and our boat is slowly getting filled back up with new food and supplies for the next year's adventures. We are grateful we can share our story with all of you.

Keeps on Giving

2009-02-18T14:12:00.001+08:00

Palau keeps on giving. Last week our new instruments arrived. Dreamkeeper is getting a few upgrades. Gar successfully installed a new wind gauge and anemometer and tri-data giving us speed, wind, and depth, and he got to know our boat even better with his valiant but unsuccessful installation of our brand new autopilot. Why did we need new instruments? Sadly, neither the anemometer nor the autopilot can be fixed again. Both were serviced but without success and we like to be in control.

Our anemometer has been off and getting progressively worse. It must have been at least 7-10 knots low in high winds. So we apologize to all of you sailors we thought were telling tall tales with wind speeds of 38 knots rounding Tahuata, and, Far Niente, we definitely saw over 30 knots in the Pacific. What will I do now when I know the true wind speed? A wise man said knowledge is power. I hope he is right.

We have to get the gremlin off of our boat. The autopilot is possessed. It has a habit switching course 180 degrees at will or taking over completely when the wind vane is on. An out of control autopilot is dangerous let alone maddening. We replaced the old fluxgate compass and the "brains" were diagnosed once and they couldn't find anything wrong so we broke down and bought a new one. Unfortunately, after hours of trouble-shooting Gar finally called the service department and got one more test to do, nothing. This one's brains aren't working right either. So, they've been returned to be fixed or to be replaced by a new one. We're sitting on our hands. Fingers crossed.

It's been raining all week. We've both been on the Internet ordering last minute parts and goodies before Gar's parents arrive. I helped Gar run wires and a new topping lift when the clouds broke. The most rewarding part of my week was getting the satisfaction of winning the fight on mold on our salon cushions after soaking them in seriously magical Nappy San and scrubbing them with a soft brush. I don't think Nappy San exists in the States but you've got to find something similar maybe Oxi Clean comes in second. The stuff is magic on mold and is reputed to be good with wine too. Our cushions look brand new. Now I'm merely battling mold everywhere else it grows: on the fiberglass, our lines, the wood... The sacrifices of living in the glorious tropics.

Nothing is ever fast but we feel really lucky we are here where things are easy. It can't get much better. Sam's offers free moorings, free dingy dock, free mail service, free water, fuel and internet right at the end of the dingy dock, a bar to quench our thirst or dull the frustration and tasty eats to fill our bellies after a long day, let alone dive boats to take us away. Don't misinterpret, we haven't turned into bar flies yet.

We consistently broke our days up by paddling or swimming under rain-studded skies. One day we paddled around the headland of Pincher's and found 10 black and white banded sea snakes cozy in their holes. Usually we don't mess with nature but when we saw a baby sea snake being eaten alive by a crab tail first we had to do something. Paddling further around the undercut island we found a few more snakes tucked into holes in the sharp limestone cliffs. The consistent patter of rain was only broken by the swell being sucked under the cliffs and spit out gurgling.

We celebrated the end of our week with a day of diving with Sam's at Ulong channel and Siaes Corner. Slipping into the water everything seems to float away. These days when we go diving I feel like we are returning to see old friends and yet we consistently see something new on every dive or snorkel as long as we are looking at the world with open eyes. This time we saw 7 juvenile grey reef sharks no longer than 2 feet long. Also we spotted juvenile Pompano's, a silver fish with streamers we have been wanting to see since entering the Pacific. Turtles swam lazily beneath us and a juvenile spotted eagle ray flew by at the end of our day. Like I said, Palau keeps on giving.