Looking forward

It’s been a while. Cold, dark winter days, life on land, and our summer on board Carina seems a million miles away. But we are beginning to emerge from hibernation. We’re looking forward to the longer, brighter days ahead, and many more sailing adventures to come.

Since November we have been living on the outskirts of Exeter and Carina is on a winter mooring at Teignmouth. Julian visits her every few weeks to check everything is in order. He empties and changes the moisture traps, runs the engine, checks for mould, and generally makes sure that her hibernation isn’t doing her too much damage.

The weekend before last we joined Julian at the boat yard. Lily hugged herself tight against the cold when I made her pose with Carina in the background. We all want to be back on board as soon as possible, but the cold that day gave us a jolt of reality.

Over the weeks, Julian has been removing items from Carina that are in need of some attention. Our life-raft is currently being assessed in Southampton to see if it’s more cost-effective to have it serviced or to buy a new one (or a ‘newer’ one). We should hear the verdict today. Shortly after Christmas Julian began working on the removable teak. The boards from the cockpit floor have received a first layer of teak oil, and he’s sanded the large aft-seat/fender board and the tender seat. But he’s been stalled by the cold weather, as he can’t give them the layers of varnish they need until it warms up.

With the children growing, the emergency grab-bag needs to be re-stocked before we move back on board. Clothes packed for the girls are now too small and with Katie making every effort this week to use the potty, those nappies hopefully will be excess to requirements by the time we move back on board. With the family away all last week, I was left at home to my own devices and couldn’t resist stealing a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk from the grab-bag. Guess I’ll have to replace that too. And…what an oversight. When I organised it last year, I neglected to pack any clothes for Julian. Oops.

I have a to-do list of storage items that I want on board, that I think will improve our comfort and ease of access to the necessities. I’m gradually getting hold of everything I need. We’re also purchasing non-perishables now and again, when we come across particularly good bargains in the supermarket, and have a little supply building up in the cupboard under the stairs.

Materially and psychologically we are preparing ourselves for our return to the water. The girls talk about Carina all the time, and seem to keen to get back ‘home’. We don’t yet know where we will go or what we will do. We aim to be back on the water by the first week of May at the latest. And after that? Well, the world is our oyster.

2012 Highlights

We’ve almost reached the end of another year, and some of us may already be regretting giving ourselves over to mince pies and mulled wine so early in the Christmas season. It’s a time of year to reflect on what’s past and to look forward to the future. I’ve picked out ten of my highlights of the year – in vague chronological order:

1. Lily’s Birthday, Dawlish

March 27th on the beach at Dawlish

Lily’s third birthday was celebrated on the beach at Dawlish. I took the day off work, packed a picnic lunch and our swimwear, and we spent the day playing, building sandcastles, splashing in the waves, and generally having big big fun. What could be better than a day on the beach with my two favourite people?

Strolling in Lanzarote

2. Easter in Lanzarote

We spent Easter in Lanzarote with Julian’s mum and my mum. What a week. Sun, sea, swimming pools. Two grandmothers to spoil the girls, leaving Julian and I free to go SCUBA diving for the first time in almost five years. What bliss to be under water again.

Moving Day

3. Moving Day

On the 9th of May we said goodbye to dry land and moved aboard Carina. Land-lubbers no more. Only thirteen months since that fateful Good Friday in 2011 when we decided to give it a shot, and here we were living on our own boat. I was filled with excitement, pride and joy on what we had achieved and what we hoped to achieve.

In lieu of a Falmouth photo I give you twenty toes

4. Cosmopolitan Falmouth

For five days we berthed at Falmouth Yacht Haven. The place was a United Nations of bohemian self-sufficient live-aboards in fantastically equipped home-made or altered sailing boats. Each day we met interesting neighbours from Germany, Italy, Canada, Ireland, the US, newly sailed in from Ireland, Bermuda, the Mediterranean. Lone sea-farers, couples with young children, boat-loads of friends. What a treat.

View from the highest point of Tresco

5. Tresco – twice

We visited the Isles of Scilly twice this year, mooring either side of the delightful island of Tresco. Azure seas, golden sandy beaches and bizarre rock formations formed our backdrop and our playground. We swam, we explored, we played, we ate good food, we met Dick Strawbridge! I can’t sing the praises of the Isles of Scilly highly enough.

The Bull and the Heifer

6. The Cork and Kerry coastline

West Cork and South Kerry have been a part of me for as long as I remember. Holidays with family and friends bring back so many good memories. But I never saw them from this angle before. Wow. The cliffs and islands as one turns into Glandore/Union Hall, and again at Baltimore; majestic Mizen Head; delightful Crookhaven; The Cow and The Bull and The Heifer. This awesome coastline lifted my spirits and filled my heart with wonder.

7. BOLT!!!!

On a warm summer’s evening in August, Julian and I went to the pub in Baltimore, leaving the girls aboard Carina with their granny. Shortly before 9.45pm, the revelers out on the street packed into the pub. About 200 people were squashed together, standing on tables and chairs, all eyes on the small television mounted on the wall near the bar. We screamed, we yelled, we clapped each other on the back. We hugged complete strangers. And for 9.63 seconds we all belonged to each other and a lanky cheeky Jamaican belonged to us all. I’m welling up just remembering it.

View of Sherkin Island from Lott’s Wife

8. Horseshoe Bay, Sherkin Island

On a warm September day, Julian rowed the girls and I from our anchorage in Horseshoe Bay to a small deserted stony beach. The only access to the beach was by boat and ours was the only boat in the bay. The girls played, I read a book, we collected rocks. In late afternoon, Julian re-joined us, and I left him with the girls while I rowed back to Carina, made dinner and transported it in pots and pans back to the beach. It was one of those perfect sunshiny days that stay with you forever.

Certainly no Royal Navy photos…anyone going shopping?

9. Royal Navy

Let me first say I’m a pacifist, and no fan of the military. In early summer, as we were departing Plymouth, a Royal Navy frigate overtook us with all hands on deck standing to attention. It was a magnificent sight. But when they saw our little girls waving at them, the entire crew – I don’t know – 100 sailors – all waved back. I was touched. As we sailed back into Plymouth in late September, three Royal Navy high speed inflatables overtook us. All the sailors waved at us. But the crew of one inflatable diverted from their course, and sped in circles around Carina to the delight of both the girls and us. Simple, thoughtful gestures that made our children happy.

Lily and friend at Hallowe’en

10. Hatton Country World

My final highlight of the year was a trip to Hatton Country World in Warwickshire with Lily, Katie and my father-in-law, Barry. What a great place. The very best soft play in the whole world – for adults and children; goats, sheep, pigs, guinea pigs, reindeer, a donkey all to feed and stroke, and more indoor and outdoor activities for children than your mind could comprehend. My only complaint – one day was not enough. We might have to go back again over Christmas.

Wishing you all a peaceful and merry Christmas, and best wishes for a 2013 filled with joy, love and – what else? – adventure xxx

Ashore once more

Our maritime adventure is over for this year. Last Thursday we packed our bags, locked up Carina and said goodbye to her until spring. Well…almost. She’s currently berthed on a pontoon at Teignmouth in south Devon, waiting for her winter mooring to become available, which could be any time in the next few days. She’ll get some much needed care and attention over the winter months to get her ready for next spring and, hopefully, our permanent move aboard. We, in the meantime, are staying with Julian’s mum in Leamington Spa, about as far as one can be from the sea in the UK. In fact, around the corner from my mother-in-law’s house there is an oak tree with a plaque proclaiming it to mark the exact middle of the country. We are in a state of limbo, awaiting the take-off of our winter plans. Hopefully, within the next few weeks we will have settled down to some job or other, and can then proceed with preparing Carina for warmer, bluer, deeper waters in 2013.

We have learned so much in the past six months. What a steep learning curve it has been, and we still have a long way to go. Perhaps the most important thing we have learned is that we love this lifestyle, we love living aboard our boat. And it has been a tough summer for that kind of love. The wettest summer on record in the UK and Ireland. When we planned this summer adventure along the south of England and across to Ireland, I had imagined endless days of sunshine, long lazy days on the beach, eating our meals in the cockpit under the warm summer sun. I worried about not having enough sun screen for the girls and for the state of my own fair skin. I need not have worried. I imagined doing most of my own laundry, handwashing our shorts and t-shirts and hanging them out to dry in Carina’s rigging. Alas, none of this was to be. We had the occasional warm (or even, dare I say it, hot) day, when we dashed to the nearest beach. But the rain fell far more often than the sun shone. The boat was constantly damp and mildewed, and I had to resort to almost always using expensive launderette facilities (and bringing Moby aboard in the course of one such trip). On those rare warm, dry days we raced to open all the hatches and lockers, and air the bedding, in a futile attempt to dry Carina out (she sounds like a bit of an alcoholic!). There were times when high wind and driving rain prevented us from leaving the boat for days on end, and we struggled to keep the children occupied and entertained. If it was winter, or if we had embarked on a long trans-oceanic passage, we would be prepared for such things, but we had not expected such endless wet, windy and cold weather during the British and Irish summer.

But despite all of this – or perhaps because of it – we have discovered that we love our life afloat; we love Carina; and we enjoy each other’s company in confined spaces for extended periods of time (I hesitate to use the word ‘love’ for this experience, but being together all day every day has certainly been no endurance trial!).

And so, it is with somewhat heavy hearts that we have moved back ashore for winter. But this was always our plan, and we are filled with excitement for what is to come. We have learned a lot, and can now begin to put it into practice. We have both compiled lists of things we need to procure – mine concern improved food storage and waste disposal and educational entertainment for the girls; Julian’s concern the engine and sails and renewable energy sources. We have learned lessons through our own trial and error, and also from talking to other people and learning how more experienced sailors and live-aboards do things more cannily than we do.

We have learned how to deal with Katie’s tendancy to sea sickness and over the summer months we have gradually reduced the number of times she has been ill. I don’t think her tolerance for pitching and rolling has increased, but rather our skills at preventing the sickness from happening and spotting the signs early on have improved. We’ve learned the best sleeping arrangements for the girls under various sailing conditions; we’ve learned how to cook and bake our favourite foods with just a few minor adjustments to take account of our lack of worktop and cooking space. And we’ve learned to sail. Perhaps not very well, but we are more confident of our abilities having covered 1000 nautical miles in all sorts of weather conditions, and having developed our skills at mooring, anchoring and berthing.

We have so much still to learn and discover, and are already hatching plans for next year and a much more extensive adventure. My blog will continue throughout the winter as I look forward and look back.

Life at anchor

Carina anchored in Tralong Bay west Cork

It’s been a while. For the past couple of weeks we’ve been living mostly at anchor and without mains electricity or internet access. Amongst the many things on my wish list are an inverter to charge my laptop from the boat’s battery and the satellite technology to be instantly online wherever and whenever. But that wish list is long and contains many items far more critical to the smooth running of a live-aboard cruising yacht. I look at other boats with some envy – wind-vane steering, solar panels and wind turbines. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I would be envious of such items, but life aboard a yacht changes one’s dreams and hopes and needs. We have a solar panel, but setting it up currently lies quite a way down Julian’s priority to-do list. Along with the maintenance and repair that came with Carina when we took possession of her, new jobs constantly crop up to be added to the list – resealing hatches so the interior doesn’t get wet when it rains or when we lean; a tear in the main sail; ongoing issues with the temperamental outboard motor; and general wear and tear all over. Maybe next year we will reach the point where instant internet sits at the top of the priority list. Maybe not.

The lack of internet access and shore power has its advantages. I’ve read more these past few weeks than I have since my job ended and I lost the luxury of a 35 minute train commute each day. Since moving on to anchor I’ve finished reading Barack Obama’s Dreams from my father, and am currently reading two books simultaneously – Des Ekin’s account of the 17th Century sacking of Baltimore in west Cork, The Stolen Village, and Stefan Helmreich’s wonderfully written ethnography of marine microbiology, Alien Ocean. Oh, and in between all the reading, we’re getting some sailing done!

Falmouth to the Isles of Scilly

We departed Falmouth on the morning of July 21st, sailing west. Our destination was Newlyn, but as we were unable to contact the harbour master, we sailed to Penzance instead. Early on we were joined by two dolphins, and then three, and for about an hour they played close to us, sometimes leaving us and then returning again. As we got closer to Penzance the majestic monastery on St. Micheal’s Mount came into view.

St. Micheal’s Mount.

The tiny harbour at Penzance is only accessible at high water, after which time the harbour gate closes. We rafted against a lovely large wooden boat, which in turn was rafted to a large working boat. It was an adventure getting the girls across the boats to shore, but well worth it for a walk along the promenade to watch lots of swimmers racing in the crystal clear waters. The next morning the water was flat calm and the scene was enchanting.

Penzance Harbour early morning

Early morning

Because of the restricted opening of the harbour gate, we left at 8am, but merely went around the corner and picked up a mooring buoy, sitting in the morning sun enjoying a cooked breakfast under the watchful eye of St. Micheal’s Mount.

Early morning St. Micheal’s Mount

Following a hearty breakfast we set sail for the Isles of Scilly. It was one of our best days sailing yet. Good winds and a hot sun shining down on us. The coastline along this final stretch of mainland UK is beautiful, with quaint villages such as Mousehole and golden sandy beaches dotted all along. Just past Lands End we passed a basking shark – yet another wonderful animal to add to the girl’s wildlife spotting book.

After a great sail the Isles of Scilly came into view.

The Isles of Scilly from the deck of Carina

We moored in New Grimsby, between the islands of Tresco and Bryher. There were a few other boats around, and we enjoyed dinner in the cockpit, watching the sun set and a new moon rise.

Lily at sunset

The next day was spent in glorious sunshine. First we went to the beach and swam and played. And then went exploring the beautiful island of Tresco.

New Grimsby Sound from Tresco

Moored yachts in New Grimsby Sound

We went exploring along the coastline, Katie in the back carrier, and Lily being a wonderful explorer, battling her way through ferns that were taller than she was!

Carina moored under Cromwell’s Castle

We walked from Cromwell’s Castle to King Charles Castle, the highest point on the island. The scene was awe inspiring and the castle was the perfect playground for the girls.

View from Cromwell’s Castle

We departed the Isles of Scilly early next morning – destination Ireland. But that’s a story for my next post!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fantastic Falmouth

We departed Fowey on Tuesday, and made our way along the south Cornish coast, with its bright green fields on top of rugged cliffs. After a pleasant 25 mile passage we arrived in Falmouth in late afternoon, executing our smoothest arrival yet, as we berthed on the pontoon at Falmouth Yacht Haven. What a wonderful place. It’s the smallest marina we’ve yet been to, but the most cosmopolitan and interesting. We arrived to the sound of an Irishman playing a violin, a Swedish family with their three small children about to set out on a night sail, and others from Germany, France, Denmark, Holland, the US. Over the past few days I’ve spoken to people who have arrived from places we currently only dream of. The Irishman moved off and his place was taken by a yacht full of German sailors, on a passage from Sardinia in the Mediterranean to Kiel in the Baltic Sea. Tonight we’ve been rafted by a Swiss couple who have made land for the first time in nine days at the end of a passage from the Azores. Every boat is unique and amazing. None are shiny or sparkly; all are customised, well used, and well loved. These are boats that people live in, with their wind generators and solar panels, wind vane steering, and clothes hanging out to dry on make-shift lines strung across rigging. The sharing of stories and advice and equipment warms my heart. A couple of nights ago a young woman asked if she could borrow our hose pipe so she could fill her water tank before departing. That led to a long conversation that carried on after dark. This evening Julian went in search of a grease gun so he could finish servicing the windlass. Someone loaned him theirs and he got the job done.

Not only are our neighbours wonderful, but the setting is beautiful. Alas, my camera has died, and so this post is photo-less, and I lack the poetry to describe the beauty of the setting. The buildings in this ancient port town are tall and narrow, tightly packed together with long narrow windows, and steep stone steps connecting the streets close to shore with those uphill. It’s a wonderfully quaint and old-fashioned town, but with incredible restaurants, pubs, delis, book shops, and everything else. The National Maritime Museum houses Ednamair, the dinghy in which the Robertson family survived 38 days in the Pacific after their yacht was sunk by whales in 1972, and made famous in Dougal Robertson’s brilliant book Survive the Savage Sea, as well as an exhibit of artefacts from the Antarctic expeditions of my fellow Kildare-man Ernest Shackleton.

After much detective work, Julian located the source of the leak into the bilges. The floor of the gas locker wasn’t sealed properly and so, not only was water coming in when we leaned to starboard, but gas was also leaking into the bilges. It can’t have been much, because our bilge gas alarm has never sounded. We’re in some disagreement as to whether gas or water in the bilge is most dangerous. I think the former, because at least you can bail water out, but if gas causes an explosion, well there’s not much you can do. So for the past two days, he has been working on sealing the floor of the gas locker, and it is now secure. He’s also serviced the windlass, in preparation for anchoring over the next few nights, and he’s fixed cabin lights, port holes and various other bits and bobs.

To facilitate all this (!) I’ve taken the girls to the beach for the past two days. And boy have we had fun!! People talk about the turquoise waters of Cornwall and I’ve finally seen them for myself. We’ve played on sandy Gyllyngvase beach, and splashed in the water. My only regret was that I was there on my own with the girls, because I longed to get in for a proper swim, and was very envious of all the other people swimming far out. The beach is populated by a lot of impossibly beautiful people – young, healthy, athletic men and women, with perfect bodies and golden tans, sun bleached hair and that certain laid back air that only the very beautiful can get away with. Those mere mortals of us can only look on in awe as they run down the golden sand with their paddle boards under their arms and paddle out to sea, all good genes and expensive dentistry!

Tomorrow we move on again. We plan to spend tomorrow night at anchor either in the Helford River or in Mullion. The forecast is good, the days are warm…maybe summer is finally here?

Life without a garden

When we embarked on this lifestyle change over a year ago, one of my primary concerns was raising children without a garden. I was born and raised in the countryside, with a big garden and fields all around, and for most of my adult life I’ve chosen to live in houses that at the very least have a garden, but preferably are in the countryside too. When Julian and I finally bought our own house it was an ex-farm labourer’s cottage, with a 100 foot by 45 foot garden, surrounded by fields, and half a mile from the lovely village of Boxworth, in Cambridgeshire. I equated a garden with safety and privacy, a place for children to play and grow, a place to sow vegetables and flowers, maybe have a pet. When we bought our house in Boxworth, we even entertained the idea of keeping hens and having our own fresh eggs every day.

So giving up a garden, and the idea of a garden, was a difficult one. But now that we’re living aboard, most of my concerns were unfounded. Spending winter in a first floor flat with a front door opening onto a busy road was difficult at times with two small children, but living on a boat is an entirely different situation. Without even leaving the comfort of our boat, we are immersed in nature – cormorants diving for fish right beside the boat, seagulls cracking mussels open on the pontoon, a resident swan in the marina here in Plymouth. In Torquay, the flash of a mullet swimming underwater would catch the eye to reveal ten, twenty or more fish close to the surface. The clouds, the rain, the sun, the weather in all its moods is there for us to experience, because life on a boat is less sealed off, more lived in the world that it is in a double-glazed, centrally-heated house. And that can be uncomfortable, but it’s there and it’s enlivening, and the girls are learning about the world around them all the time.

But of course much of our life as live-aboards is not actually spent on board. And I’ve discovered that raising children without a garden is fun and rewarding – for them and for me. Even during this summer, the wettest since UK records began, we have been having a lot of fun. Living by the coast means there is always a beach close at hand, and my girls can spend hours getting themselves wet and sandy, collecting shells, pouring water, investigating rock pools. They’re quite self-sufficient when it comes to playing on the beach, I like to keep an eye on them from a distance and just let them get on with exploring and playing by themselves. And there are public playgrounds, and other places to play.

We’re spending quite a bit of time these past few weeks visiting zoos and aquaria. The National Marine Aquarium in Plymouth and Living Coasts in Torquay are educational and entertaining, and the Aquarium has become a home away from home for us this past year, thanks to the entry ticket that’s valid for a year for as many visits as you wish. We find endless entertainment in everything from visiting museums to strolling along the street and watching the world go by. I’ve discovered that life without a garden is different, but it’s certainly no less rich and no less rewarding. Rather than losing an enclosed garden we have gained an unbounded garden that’s as big as the world and as unlimited as the imaginations of small children.

Cutting the ties

We’re car-less. Car-free. De-motorised. The six-year car ownership interlude is over. One final long journey, and that was that. On Wednesday we drove up to Leamington Spa, deposited the girls with their grandma, and on Friday morning drove down to the Beaulieu River for Julian’s cousin’s wedding. We had a lovely time. The wedding took place in a beautiful country church and the reception was held in a yacht club on the river, near St. Leonards. The bride and groom arrived at the reception by boat, and we celebrated with good food and wine and music on the banks of the river. We camped at Holland’s Wood, near Brockenhurst, in the mud and rain and wind – splendid camping conditions!! Back to Leamington on Saturday, where we cleared out the car, Julian cleaned it from top to bottom, and we handed the keys into the safe-keeping of my mother-in-law who, by now I am sure, has passed them on to their new owner.

We walked out of the house yesterday morning, bags and children in tow (or on backs), and travelled back home to Torquay on public transport – a bus, a coach and three trains! I won’t say the journey was bliss, but it wasn’t bad either. But there’s a nice weight lifted off the shoulders with not owning a car any more. It’s cheaper. And I don’t feel quite as much of an ‘Enemy of the Earth’ (a private joke, that’s not even very funny).

It felt good to be back aboard Carina again. That was our first time away since we moved aboard, and I got that lovely that coming home feeling as I stepped on board. And now she’s no longer just our home, she’s also our only mode of transport! The pressure is on, Carina!