What A Difference A Day Makes

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It is usually me who is affected, nervous and withdrawn.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

"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

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

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.