Landlocked!

Admittedly, we've been terribly remiss in posting this blog entry. Cielo has now been out of the water for just over a month. After our diversion to Beaufort, NC, from our intended destination of Norfolk, VA, we spent a weekend in Beaufort before continuing on. Kyle left us in Beaufort and flew back to New York, and Lizz and I had an uneventful sail the last 200 miles around Cape Hatteras and up to Norfolk. We met up with Lizz Sr. in Solomons, MD, and had a two day glorious spinnaker run up the miraculously powerboat-free Chesapeake Bay. We arrived in Havre de Grace at the end of May and Cielo was comfortably resting "on the hard" two days later.

We'll be traveling around visiting family and friends until mid-July, at which point we'll be spending as much time as possible attending to Cielo's exceedingly long project list. Cielo will be back in the water the first week of October, at which point we'll start the journey south again. This winter's plans include the Bahamas, a country that rhymes with "tuba", and the southwestern Caribbean. We won't bore you with project details, so there probably won't be much to report until October. Instead of checking the website, might I suggest you use the link to the right to subscribe to our Feedburner version of the site. If you enter your email address, our next post will be delivered to your email inbox as soon as it is posted. Thanks for following along with us!

Posted by: Kevin

The Long Way Home

Cielo and her crew departed Culebra on Thursday, May 8th bound for Norfolk, 1300 nautical miles to the North-Northwest. Eight and a half days days later we ended up in Beaufort, NC, a full 225 miles short of our destination. Though the official reason for ducking into Beaufort was a storm brewing off of Cape Hatteras, the crew's desire to exchange strong winds, high seas, and cold soggy gear for dry land and a stiff drink may have also factored into the equation...

Thursday, May 8th - Departure Day

After spending two full days getting Cielo ready for the passage, we motored out of Culebra around 7 a.m. We bid a fond farewell to one of our favorite islands as we worked to set our spinnaker in 10 knots of air. With the wind behind us, the air was warm and Cielo's crew sunbathed on deck and settled into an easy routine and watch schedule. All was perfect until around 2:00 p.m. when Kevin looked up from his book and uttered one of his two favorite phrases, "what's that sound?" (in case you are wondering, his other favorite is "what's that smell?"). We quickly identified the sound as coming from the bow and specifically from the spinnaker (our big light air sail). The fabric of the large sail had gotten caught over the bow pulpit and was starting to tear. Not good at all. Kevin rushed forward but not before the bottom two inches of the spinnaker ripped off and began dragging in the water. Sitting in the cockpit, Lizz was sure that the entire sail was going to rip away, leaving us with no means of propulsion (other than the engine) in light air. Fortunately, the "rip stop" fabric of the sail lived up to its name and the damage was contained. We imagine we may have looked a little funny flying our misshapen jagged sail, but since we were all alone in the middle of the ocean, we didn't much care.

Friday, May 9th - Fish Tale

Day two of the spinnaker run. The motion of the boat was so comfortable we started calling it our "magic carpet ride". We were able to hang out below decks, prepare food with ease and miracle of miracles, get some easy sleep whenever we weren't on watch. We were also able to drop multiple lines in the water for fishing. At about 2:00 in the afternoon, the reel on the fishing rod started screaming. The reel has a drag and a ratchet on it, and when a fish strikes the reel lets the line out with resistance, and makes a loud "vvrrzzzzz" sound. The difficult part is that our cheap reel is grossly undersized in terms of resistance and line capacity, and as such we've got a history of losing big fish. Our only hope when we get a strike is to get the boat stopped in a hurry and start fighting the fish before he empties the reel of line and swims off with an oh-so-unfashionable necktie consisting of an expensive lure and 300 feet of fishing line. Stopping the boat when sailing downwind with our behemoth of a spinnaker set isn't easy, but with the three of us working together we managed it just in time. Kyle fought the fish in, Kevin gaffed it (a gaff is essentially a VERY large fish hook on the end of a 4' handle), and aboard comes a 25lb spearfish - our biggest fish yet! Less than an hour later we were enjoying sushi in the cockpit, gliding along the open ocean under the spinnaker as the sun set in the west and the moon rose in the east.

Saturday, May 10th - Here's to Swimn'

Saturday brought a continued 5-10 knots of air and we continued sailing under the spinnaker. We were thrilled with the motion of the boat and the progress we were making, but less excited about the heat. Since we were moving exactly with the wind, we basically had no breeze and everyone pretty much spent the day lounging around and avoiding the sun. As the day wore on, the smooth, glassy ocean started to look too cool and refreshing to resist. About 5PM we decided to take a dip in the ocean. We snuffed the spinnaker, brought the boat to a standstill, and into the water we went. Nothing that we could write would convey just how incredibly cool it is to swim in 15,000 feet of clear blue ocean water. The water is so blue it looks fake, like a blue version of the green screen they use in television. The water has a depth and clarity that are unimaginable. We dropped a penny, and you could still see it 60 seconds later as it tumbled down into the abyss. From below Cielo looked like she was floating in air. It was absolutely incredible, definitely one of the coolest experiences of our lives.

Sunday, May 11th - Calm Before the Storm

By Sunday our wind had was no longer from right behind us, so we dropped the spinnaker and began motor-sailing in light air. Since we were listening to the weather reports daily over the SSB, we had at least some notion that Sunday would be the last day of totally settled weather for the trip. As such, we decided to take full advantage. We enjoyed a nearly perfect day of smooth motor sailing, sunbathing, took another fabulous swim in the ocean, and grilled our freshly caught fish for a dinner of fish tacos. As we enjoyed a glorious sunset over our grilled dinner and a cold beer, Kyle joked that in the movies, the perfection of our day would have foreshadowed disaster to come. "It was the last time they'd see the sun..." he intoned in an overly dramatic narrator's voice. Pretty much, he was dead on.

Monday, May 12th-Barf-o-Rama

"What a difference a day makes"....this phrase was the title of Kyle's first guest blog and the first words Lizz uttered to him as she climbed into the cockpit on Monday morning to relieve him from watch. The flat seas and light winds from the previous day had been replaced by wind of about 25 knots and a steadily building sea. Kevin and Lizz were used to this weather and the rocking motion of the boat that came with it, but Kyle, not so much. By 9:00 a.m. he'd already barfed a few times and was looking increasingly green. He quickly agreed to apply the scopalamine patch that he'd turned down for the first few days of the trip and after a few more leans over the side and a long nap, he began to feel better. Unfortunately, the wind and waves continued to build, making the motion on Cielo less and less comfortable. In addition, we were taking heavy spray into the cockpit and occasionally, into the boat. We switched out our bathing suits for foul weather gear and braced for what was to come.

Tuesday, May 13th - The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Had we known how crappy Tuesday was going to be, we would have appreciated Monday more. Our Monday morning weather forecast had called for significant moderation by Tuesday. Instead Tuesday's sunrise shed light on our first gale, with 30 to 35+ knots of wind and 15+ foot seas. Yep, you read that correctly. The wind continued to back from the west around to the north, forcing us to sail north and east, AWAY from our goal. Adding insult to injury, the seas were from the North-Northeast, and so we were pounding directly into them. Unfortunately tacking would send us to the southwest, even further from our goal, so we needed to hang on to this tack as long as possible. At about 9AM, with Kevin on watch and Kyle and Lizz napping below, things started to get out of hand. A series of particularly large seas and strong gusts culminated with Cielo plunging her bow through the face of an exceedingly steep wave. Twelve inches of green water washed over Cielo's decks from stem to stern, gallons of which found their way below decks, including about three gallons that landed on Lizz's head as she slept on the settee. Lizz came bursting topside, dazed and drenched, to find Kevin furiously trying to reef the sails down further and come about to the opposite tack. In the process of tacking, we damaged the staysail cover and the furling line for the genoa, (temporarily) which left us with a significantly reduced sail plan. We would spend the next 24 hours sailing slowly and uncomfortably, and in largely the wrong direction.

Wednesday, May 14th - Moderation

By Wednesday, the wind and seas finally began to moderate. Cielo was again moving fast, but with the wind still out of the North, she was still heading North-Northwest. The weather forecast for the next few days was starting to solidify, and it wasn't looking good. Two more low pressure systems were going to move off the US east coast in quick succession, both packing gale force winds. The second one was what really concerned us however. It would bring strong gale force winds out of the north on Friday night, around the time we would be rounding Cape Hatteras, landing us right in the middle of something called a "North Wall Event"***. Our only option was to sail hard and fast for the Gulf Stream and divert into Beaufort, NC before the storm. Under the best of conditions we would have a margin for error of just hours. Unfortunately, we were not forecast to get anything remotely resembling the best of conditions. By nightfall our wind was supposed to die completely for a 24 hour period, then build rapidly to gale force from the Southwest. By 11PM Wednesday, we were motoring into adverse current, desperately looking for the Gulf Stream.

Thursday, May 15th - A Little Reprieve, and a Really Big Fish. No, Seriously.

Once again, what a difference a day makes! By Thursday morning the sea was glassy and calm, and there wasn't a breath of air. Motor time! With an eye on both the clock and the fuel gauge, we motored on in continued search of the Gulf Stream. Unfortunately we couldn't seem to buy favorable current, and it appeared we were stuck in one of the eddys that runs counter to the Gulf Stream. We thought we could still make it to Beaufort, but it was going to be tight. About 10AM, Kyle yelled something from up in the cockpit. "FISH! FISH ON!" Kevin had dropped the fishing line in the water at daybreak, and the drag on the reel was screaming under the load of something big. Kyle got the boat stopped quickly and Kevin grabbed the rod. Thirty minutes of exhausting fighting later, we finally brought another spearfish alongside the boat. This one was a monster. Somewhere between 60 and 80 lbs, we had to use a spare halyard to lift him aboard. It took Kyle and Kevin three grueling hours to clean and steak him.

Friday, May 16th - Shots Across the Bow & Can't This Thing Go Any Faster?

About 1AM Friday morning the wind began to fill in from the Southwest, as forecast. Twenty-five knots quickly became 35, and we'd finally hit the Gulf Stream to boot. Good thing too, because we needed to average a record (for us) 7.75 knots over the next 12 hours to make it into Beaufort before dark. If we failed it would mean spending a night hove-to, riding out a nasty gale within striking distance of land, but helpless to do anything about it. In short order the seas built to catch up with the 35+ knots of wind, and we were flying along at 8+ knots through the water with a double reefed main and just a scrap of headsail flying. As we caught one wave just right you could feel Cielo accelerate as she surfed down its side and the SOG (speed over ground) jumped up to 15.2 knots!! At about 7:15AM, as Kevin was listening to the weather forecast, the VHF crackled to life, "This is US Navy Warship 72 conducting live fire exercises in the vicinity of...[coordinates]...request all vessels maintain minimum 12 nautical mile clearance." Kevin was focused solely on the weather and didn't digest the coordinates, but Lizz uttered "Crap..." from the cockpit. US Navy Warship 72 and their live fire exercise were directly in our path, and we were already six nautical miles inside the 12 mile exclusion zone. What's more, diverting around them would have added 20+ nautical miles to our trip, and would have meant there was no way we would make it into Beaufort before dark. Kevin got on the VHF and hailed US Navy Warship 72, the USS Vella Gulf, a 567 foot long Ticonderoga-class guided missile cruiser.

Kevin: "US Navy Warship 72, this is the sailing vessel Cielo, we are approximately 6 nautical miles SSE of your position. Please advise. Over."

Warship 72: "Roger, Captain. Request you continue SSE rapidly and expand your distance to 12 nautical miles."

Kevin: "Sir, we are headed NNW, to Beaufort, not SSE. Over."

Warship 72: "Request you head due East and expand your distance to 12 nautical miles immediately, Captain."

Kevin: "[pause]. Negative, sir. We have a crew member aboard who needs medication. We can not divert. What is your minimum safe clearance distance? Over."

Warship 72: "Three nautical miles, Captian. Any less than that puts you right in the danger zone."

By this point, we were 2.25 nautical miles away and closing fast. We gybed over to the other tack to give at least some clearance distance. Suddenly, a fighter jet screamed overhead at low altitude. Within five seconds, we heard a slow, growing whistle coming from above us. Lizz looked up to see a bright red bomb hurtling through the sky, close enough that she could make out the fins on the tail. Apparently it was just a drone that they were using for target practice. There was no explosion, and we never saw it hit the water, but it sure scared the hell out of us. Explosives or no, it would have been a decidedly bad thing for a several hundred pound drone to have hit us at a few hundred miles per hour. Immediately thereafter, Warship 72 started moving towards us at 30+ knots, and gave us a friendly escort until we were clear of the danger zone. We were very grateful.

At 6:15PM that evening, we entered Beaufort Inlet. By 7PM Cielo was settled into a slip at a marina for the first time in months, and her crew was headed off to the nearest bar. Kevin hadn't lied about the crew member who required medication. Kyle was in desperate need of a beer.



***North Wall Event - The Gulf Stream is about 50-75 miles wide, moves at up to 4 miles per hour, and can be 10-20 degrees warmer than the surrounding water. Just north of Cape Hatteras the Stream takes a sharp turn to the Northeast. The northern edge or "wall" of the Stream is very clearly defined in this area (see picture at right) and the warm, fast, northerly flowing Stream is separated by as little as a quarter mile from the cool, still waters of of the North Atlantic. As low pressure systems move off the US east coast they frequently create gale and storm conditions. In the western half of these systems the wind and seas flow from north to south. When these south moving winds and seas hit the warm, north flowing Gulf Stream it creates incredibly steep, nasty seas and extremely aggravated weather conditions. This is a big part of what makes the area off of Hatteras and the Outer Banks the "Graveyard of the Atlantic".

Knuckle Down

Glancing down at my red, scraped knuckles as I type, I am reminded of the hard work Cielo’s crew has to been putting in to get her geared up for the 1300-nautical mile passage that lies ahead.

Up until yesterday, my time on Cielo seemed more like a vacation on a floating hotel complete with first class drinks made by Kevin, the best bartender in the Northern hemisphere and snacks whipped up by Lizz, who’s evidently been apprenticing Betty Crocker.

Within the last 36 hours, this feeling of vacation has been replaced by the serious work that is required when preparing for an extended off-shore passage.

We spent all day yesterday prepping for our journey: ferrying food and fuel from town to the boat, boat maintenance including changing the fuel filters, preparing provisions and tweaking our planned sailing route.

The most physically intense thing I’ve done since coming aboard is clearing Cielo’s hull of growth. The longer a boat sits in the water, the more slimy hairy growth and barnacles she accumulates. Surprisingly, just a small amount of growth can impede our speed through the water by a knot, which would cause us to lose 24 miles of distance every day. 24 miles is a lot of distance when you consider that an average 24-hour run for Cielo is 150 miles. So, with this in mind, we all donned our snorkel gear, grabbed our scrapers and brushes and got to work.

At first blush, scraping the hull may not seem like a big deal, but I can assure you…. it’s a bitch! The process involves extended breath holding, high aerobic activity, slicing up your hands and taking the occasional gulp of salt water. After about 3 hours of work, Cielo’s hull was clear and I felt very proud of all that our hard work had accomplished.

After showering off, we capped off the day by grilling half-pound burgers and sipping some cocktails while watching the “Best of the Colbert Report” on DVD. Despite the cuts and scrapes, it really was a perfect day. We worked hard and accomplished most of what we needed in order to prepare ourselves for the eight or nine day journey ahead.

Today we will finalize our route, get the last of the diesel we need and finish off the food prep, since I’ve been told that it can be very tricky to cook anything while underway. If all goes according to our current plan, we should be heading home as of 7 a.m. tomorrow morning, These days of preparation have, for me, finally taken this long sail from a theoretical idea to an imminent reality. I feel like I am at the precipice of an adventure that I cannot fully grasp, but am excited to engage.


posted by kyle

Brunch Guest

So, Lizz and I were enjoying a perfectly pleasant brunch at our favorite spot in Culebra - Mamacita's - when we had an unexpected guest. Check out the pics.

Best Way Back

Coming up for air and coughing up salt water that had made its way down my snorkel from the waves crashing on the reef, it was pitch black and we were disoriented. “Do you think is the best way back to the boat?”, Kevin asked.

Several hours earlier, when Kevin asked me if I wanted to go lobster hunting on the reef near our anchorage, I immediately agreed. Despite that searching for lobsters required snorkeling in the dark in up to 30 feet of water, I was excited for the adventure. After a sunset snack on deck, we started gearing up for the trip around 7:30 p.m. Though we’re in a tropical climate, the air and water temperature drop at night and with just my board shorts, I realized I was going to be a bit chilly in the cold dark water. With no spare wet suit on board, I improvised by throwing on my fleece grabbing the snorkels, fins, and spear gun and jumping in the dinghy to motor over to the reef.

After arriving at the reef we set our anchor, Kevin taught me how to use the spear gun and we plunged into the dark Caribbean Sea. Our waterproof flashlights cut a narrow beam illuminating an otherwise pitch-black underwater environment. As our light hit the reef it exploded in color and texture. Sea life would dart in and out of the crevasses of the reef.

The goal was to find a lobster for dinner that night. We searched all over the reef, both snorkeling on the surface and diving below whenever we felt there was a particularly good hiding spot for lobsters. After about an hour and a half of hunting we’d seen exactly zero lobsters. The only good news was that my improvised wet suit was keeping me warm.

As this was my first time at both night snorkeling and hunting lobsters with a spear gun, I was a bit apprehensive. However, Kevin is the type of guy that knows everything about everything and on top of that is an experienced lobster hunter, so I completely trusted him. As the night wore on though, I kept thinking that we were getting farther and farther from the dinghy based on the dimming of the light we’d set on the stern. Eventually, we surfaced to talk over the scenario and decided that we had inadvertently swam much further from the dinghy than we had intended. We could faintly make out the stern light in the distance.

In order to get back to the boat we had to follow the reef to a gap, which we could swim through to arrive back at the dinghy and safety. As the waves crashed forcefully on my back, Kevin turned to ask me, “Do you think is the best way back to the boat?”. At this point, I was a bit concerned. I began to conjure images of us being washed out to sea and devoured by some ominous sea creature with no one around to hear me scream. I am a guy however, … so instead of voicing my concerns, I gave my best estimate of the proper direction. Thankfully, Kevin agreed with my estimate and after about fifteen minutes of swimming hard along the reef, we finally spotted the anchor line that led to the dinghy. Home sweet home!

We arrived back at the boat empty handed, without having spotted a single lobster. We spent the rest of the evening enjoying cold beers, a loser's dinner of cheese tortellini and marinara sauce and planning our next lobster hunting adventure.

Posted By: Kyle

What a Difference a Day Makes!

What a difference a day makes.


I had a drastic lifestyle change in the 24 hours from 9:00 p.m. on Friday to 9:00 p.m. on Saturday. I went from sitting on the rooftop at my luxury high-rise in the Financial District in Manhattan, to sitting on a boat of the coast of Culebra a small Caribbean island.


It all started with a March 29th text from Lizz.

Lizz: Dude… any interest in coming down to the Caribbean and sailing back to the states w/ us?

It took me a few days to sort out the details, but I had a ticket from JFK to San Juan Puerto Rico for April 26th within a week and sorted out work to allow for about a month on Cielo. Friday I moved into my new apartment in the financial district and had a small get together with friends and took off for an early flight to San Juan.


Kevin and Lizz met me at the airport and we ran some errands in San Juan before jumping on an hour-long ferry to Culebra – a small island off the cost of PR. When we were in the dingy on the way out to Cielo, it was pouring rain, so we were completely soaked by the time we boarded the boat.

We met a cool couple from L.A. – Eric and Priscilla – in the best pizza joint in Culebra and they joined us on our trip to Culebrita. On our way to Culebrita, Kevin caught a tuna. Culebrita is an uninhabited island with a killer beach. We all spent the day snorkeling, throwing frisbee and drinking beers on the beach. For dinner we ate the tuna that Kevin caught in a delicious sauce. There is something very primal about catching something from the sea and eating it that night… I promise it tastes better.

That evening Eric and Priscilla went to bed and we stayed up to watch the worst George Clooney movie of all time… The Perfect Storm. This is a film that had the potential to insight fear in a group of people that will be sailing the Atlantic for an extended period, such as the crew on Cielo… but fortunately for us the poor writing/acting made it more comical than fearful. The cool thing about watching the movie is that we were on a boat in a storm… so we were in a full sensory experience viewing of The Perfect Storm, including the rocking boat, lighting flashes and thunder.

Life on the boat is slow and ultimately relaxing… I am making the adjustment, but what a difference a day makes!

The Grenadines

Two days ago we arrived in St. Croix so we're now officially back in US territory. We covered the 370 miles from Union Island in 53 hours, and Cielo had her fastest 24 hours of sailing yet (averaging over 7 knots and traveling nearly 180 miles). Prior to heading north, we had spent two weeks in the Grenadines, the chain of small islands between St. Vincent and Grenada. It's beautiful there, and we were lucky to be able to spend ample time swimming, hiking and making new friends over many sunset happy hours. We thought we'd do another photo essay of sorts, and let the pictures speak for themselves.

Bequia








All of the cruisers we met had raved about Bequia and when we arrived, it was clear to see why. There are wonderful beaches, good restaurants, friendly people and good hiking. We were able to take in a bit of all of it and even managed to put in a little work on the boat, spending one afternoon scrubbing 5 months of grime off of our dinghy.

Mustique

Mustique is the only of the Grenadines that we visited where we didn't get any pictures. The reason is that we arrived right before sunset and left the next morning before the sun came up. The anchorage was just that miserable and rocky. However, anyone thinking about visiting by land should check out the Firefly hotel where we treated ourselves to an amazing evening of dinner and drinks: http://www.mustiquefirefly.com

Canaoun










We took a beautiful hike around this island and got lots of great views. We also got sore butts from all of the steep hills we had to climb to get around the island.

Mayreau









We anchored in Salt Whistle Bay and it was gorgeous. Palm trees, clear water, beach front bar, the whole nine yards. We anchored so close to the beach we were able to swim in for an afternoon cocktail. Kevin also spent time perfecting his coconut hunting and gathering technique. He now has a machete and everything. Don't think I'll ever drink coconut water from a can again!

The Tobago Cays









The Tobago Cays are a group of uninhabited islands in the southern Grenadines, each no more than a square mile in total . Parts of the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie were filmed here and it's easy to see why. Except for the sailboats at anchor, there's little to suggest whether it's the 1800's or the 21st century. Nothing but palm trees, white sand beaches and aqua-marine water for as far as the eye can see.

Union Island












The last stop in our travels south, we anchored in Union Island for two nights. Kevin finally found a goat to cuddle with and we also found a bar called Happy Island created out of a pile of conch shells out on the middle of the reef that surrounds Clifton Harbor, the main anchorage.

Moving On Down

Herewith, highlights from the last week, spent in St. Lucia and in Bequia (pronounced beck-way), part of St. Vincent and the Grenadines (don't feel bad, a year ago we didn't know where it was either).

St. Lucia - Rodney Bay

To be quite honest, we weren't big fans of St. Lucia overall - of course to be fair, we spent the majority of our time there at one anchorage - Rodney Bay - which can't accurately be used to assess the entire island. Rodney Bay was touristy (a Sandals Resort and cruise ships galore), it was under construction (both the dredging of the channel and the building of cookie-cutter vacation "dream homes"), and there were apparent tensions between locals and visitors (the first island where we really felt that vibe). The bottom line is that after 5 days, we were anxious to move on. Luckily, we decided to anchor for a night at the Pitons, two monstrous peaks at the south end of the island before we sailed on to Bequia.

St Lucia - The Pitons

We could use every explicative in the book to describe how steep and tall these peaks were, and how sore our butts were the days after we hiked them, but hopefully the pictures will do them justice. We actually only hiked about 3/4 of the way up Petite Piton (ironically, the taller of the two peaks) as we only had enough $EC in our pockets to pay our guide for a portion of the trip - but we still managed about 600 of the 750 meters of the climb (for those of you not on metric...silly Americans...that's about 1950 out of 2450 ft). Our guide for this trek was a local St. Lucian who had the distinction of being the first to accost us when we arrived at the start of the trail. Keyston stood a whopping 5' and minus his dreadlocks, may have been outweighed by our basset hound Annabelle. As we started the climb, we were a bit unsure about our decision to hire a guide at all (we hadn't used one for any of our hikes to date) and to hire this guide in particular, what with his pungent odor and frequent stops to call out "BLESSING", which he did anytime we got anything from a view to a mild breeze. As we scrambled higher grabbing roots and rocks, it became clear that a guide for this particular hike was well warranted. Keyston also turned out to be super nice and much less gnarley than the shoeless and toothless guides we encountered with other groups on our way up. Honestly, who, other than a mountain goat, climbs a 2500 foot mountain with NO SHOES??

Can we eat it? (or...Food, glorious food)

Since arriving in the Caribbean, we've been seeking out opportunities to try new foods--most of which we've really enjoyed. In the last few days, three instances of something new stand out: the first was the eating of the first loaf of bread ever baked by Cielo's captain and first-mate. I know it doesn't sound that daunting, but considering that the dough of the first loaf resembled wallpaper paste in color and consistency, we were pleased that the second attempt was edible, and some may even say, tasty. Next, we sampled what I like to refer to as snot-fruit, since that's sort of its consistency. Other people in the Caribbean call it Sour sop or Guanabana and despite its off putting appearance (the outside looks like green spiky alien spawn) and consistency (snotty), it's actually rather yummy...sort of like a sour apple Jolly Rancher. Finally, on the trip from St. Lucia to Bequia, we ended our fish-catching cold streak and landed a nice-sized barracuda. We've heard from others that barracuda has deliciously firm white flesh, but have read that barracuda can carry the neurotoxin ciguatera, which can cause attractive side-effects like numbness and debilitating gastrointestinal problems. We decided that since the potential for a good dinner was high and the potential for poisoning low, we'd go ahead and eat it. Minus the post-consumption fear, it was really, really good and neither of us was the least bit sick.

Blame it on the rain

Though the rainy season doesn't start officially down in the Caribbean until June, it seems that "April showers" are the norm down here. We've been increasingly below decks or inside bars watching hours of rain drench the islands. This rain has been a great excuse to catch up on our movie collection and attend to our taxes, which is another sad reality heralded by April.

From here we'll head further down the Grenadines chain, and will decide in the next week how far south we'll go before turning around and sailing north.

Good People

Yesterday we said goodbye to our friends Marina & Marcelo. Their departure, like the friendship itself, was completely unexpected and took us by surprise. Over a month ago they made an offer on a boat in Antigua, and the owner finally decided to accept. One moment they were planning on sailing back to the US with us on Cielo, the next they were buying plane tickets to Antigua. We expected to spend the next two months with them, and suddenly we had to say goodbye.

It is a different and fantastic lifestyle we live on the boat - the only life I can imagine where the following could have happened: We met Marina & Marcelo in St. Maarten, where they were crewing on the last boat we looked at before looking at and buying Cielo. That boat was purchased in Rhode Island and sailed down to the Caribbean and we ended up anchored right next to it in St. Maarten. That crewing arrangement didn't work out for Marina & Marcelo and just a few weeks after meeting them, we invited them to move aboard Cielo for a couple weeks until they found a more permanent crew position. We got along so well and enjoyed each others company so much that we all agreed they should just stay aboard until we got back to the states where they would look for their own boat.

It is impossible to describe what a joy they were to have aboard. We hiked, fished, sailed, lobstered, cooked, did yoga, and looked at boats. In six weeks of close quarters living there wasn't a single ill word uttered among us. Everyone shared tasks evenly, willingly, and happily, from cooking to cleaning to working on the boat. It had been a seamless transition from two people to four on a small boat. From Marcelo's ubiquitous wake-up call of "Good Morning, Good People" to Marina's endless production of wonderful items from the galley, they became a wonderful and loved part of our daily lives. In six short weeks, they had become family. Then, a mere 24 hours after the surprising news, we were saying goodbye and I was ushering them into the dinghy hoping they didn't see the tears in my eyes.

More than anything else, they represent what we love about our lives living aboard - the wonderful people you met and friendships you forge. We are sad to see them go, but happy that they have found a boat and can begin making it a home. We hope to see them again this fall, but for now, goodbye, good people. We miss you terribly already.

Posted by: Kevin

Contem-plaint

As I sit in the one bar in Le Marin (a lovely beach side town on the south east coast of Martinique) that has a free internet connection, I am forced to contemplate what's most annoying....is it the older guy to my right yammering to his friend in the states (in a heavy NY accent) about the boat next to him and the naked German lady who was doing laundry outside all day yesterday? Or perhaps it's the teen-aged French kid to my left screaming (and slobbering) into the mic on his computer in the vain hopes that the person on the other end can make out what he's saying. No....wait...I've got it... it's the stereo blaring classic hits like "Pump Up the Jam" throughout the bar....but I digress...

We've been in Martinique for about a week now and though we've enjoyed our time here, I have to admit, I have nothing terribly new to report at the moment. The island is beautiful, the baguettes delicious, and the sailing to get here and to get around has been pleasant. We took a six hour hike yesterday complete with stunning vistas and fresh cantaloupe picked right from the ground. Two evenings ago, we strolled around Anse Mitan (another beach side town) and found yet another fantastic gelateria (may I suggest a scoop of double dark chocolate and a scoop of rum raisin in a waffle cone next time you’re unsure of what to eat for dinner?). The bottom line here is while I have nothing exciting, scary or otherwise noteworthy to report, I have absolutely nothing to complain about...OK, except for maybe my loud bar mates....and well, maybe there's something else too. It’s not a complaint exactly, but more like a slow realization that when our time in the Caribbean is up (in just over two months), I will be ready to move on to the next adventure. Not that our travels over the past 8 months haven’t been amazing—they truly have been. It’s no wonder there are folks we've met who've been cruising the Caribbean happily for years and years. The islands are relatively close together, so you can avoid overnight sails most of the time, the islands themselves are beautiful, the weather is fantastic and the rum is ever-flowing. But I think for the longer term, both Kevin and I are looking for something more--or at least something different.

When we first planned this sailing adventure, I was adamant that under no circumstances did I want to complete a circumnavigation. While I could see bumming around the Caribbean and possibly Europe via sailboat, the thought of challenging ourselves, our relationship and our boat to take three years to sail around the world just didn't appeal. I didn't relish the thought of multi-week passages, challenging weather (or worse) and remote corners of the world where we'd truly have to practice self-sufficiency. In fact, when we were still living in CT, Kevin was e-mailing with a fellow cruiser who'd just completed a three year around the world sail with his wife. I remember that this guy was relentless with his harrassment that we think big and trade the yacht clubs of the Caribbean for something more aggressive...namely, the kind of trip that he and his wife had just completed. At the time, I'll admit, I thought the guy was kind of a jerk and that he couldn't possibly understand how scary a trip like that would be for someone with no sailing experience.

Fast forward eight months and I'm leading the charge to begin a circumnavigation via the Panama Canal starting next February. Given the numerous schedule changes to date, I suppose it's more than possible that this latest plan will evolve in a manner previously un-thought of, but I can say with certainty that whatever we decide to do, it won't be to spend another season down in the islands. Amazing how quickly things change.