Moving aboard your floating home

There is no “right” way to move aboard and go cruising: the books and blogs are full of different stories that reflect individual approaches and circumstances. Our story is based on a joint dream, years and thousands of miles in our starter cruising boat before buying Totem, delaying our move aboard until shortly before departure, and introducing our plans to most mostly to ourselves until a couple of months before we left.

We might have been a little busy re-configuring down below

By the time we cut the docklines, we had logged so much time in the Salish Sea between the two boats that our little family felt very much at home afloat. What we nearly missed, though, was making sure our boat really felt homey.

It took a little knock upside the head for me to realize how important this was, too. During the couple of years before we each left to go cruising, every now and again my friend Toast and I would duck our day to day responsibilities and sneak off to talk Boaty Stuff together. We were both counting down our timelines for embarking on the cruising life, and since I wasn’t terribly public about our plans, it was invaluable to have a friend to chew through whatever pre-departure questions or challenges loomed largest.  So we’d head for our favorite Thai hole-in-the-wall, and hash it out.

I remember talking over pad sie ew one afternoon about a recent experience she and Dr C had. They we joined another family of prospective cruisers on a daysail on their boat to talk about mutual plans to head south and frolic in warm water for a while. After a few hours together it was her assessment that they weren’t getting far. Cruising is a partnership, but it was clear that the partnership was not in accord on the game plan. The marker? A sterile boat that had all the charm and personalization of a band-aid.

It made me think: what effort was invested to make Totem into home? Our land-house was full of personalization- in the room colors, the artwork, the custom pieces or family that made it unique and special for our family. But Totem… Totem had none of these things.

She nailed something I hadn't considered. Maybe it’s because Jamie and I both come to cruising from a racing background. Fitting out a cushy cruising boat was a bit of an adjustment! Some families, like the very interesting looking Anasazi crew, make stripped down racing boats work. More likely, though, it's because we were so  focused on functional specs and adaptations. Jamie reconfigured the aft cabin berth (so our bed could accommodate snuggly little co-sleepers without getting too cramped). He rebuilt the portside seating, so we could fit five people comfortably without having to extend the table to the starboard side (which blocked all through traffic to the forward cabins). Somehow in the midst of all our improvements we were missing an essential element: you can’t make a boat into a home on practicalities alone. And the truth was, I simply hadn't thought about it.

We found our way, of course. Some very personal artwork. One of our antique maps. Pretty fabric in cabins, new settee covers in the same color scheme.

We figured it out: familiar art, stockings from home, tinsel from Mexico

Of course, more things come over time- I love looking at the gorgeous nautilus shells we found in PNG, the triton we traded for, the pandanus mats on the cabin sole. You’ll add things over time: artwork from places you’ve visited- I love looking at Ceilydh's collection in their main cabin.

With 20/20 hindsight, thank goodness for being prodded to remember the softer side of moving aboard, and thank goodness for Girlfriend Time.

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Keeping the peace

This month's raft-up topic looks into relationships on board and asks the question: how do you make a relationship work on board?

Exhibit A: the happy couple... or are they?!

Among the more common questions we get asked by non-cruisers is how we manage to live together in such a small space. At 47 feet, Totem is a middling-to-somewhat-above average size for cruising boat- but it's smaller than the master suite in our land home, and carved up into three sleeping cabins, two heads, and our "main cabin" area. It's snug by many standards.

This is a sign that the creature in the V-berth probably needs her space for a while

I suppose that the truth is different for every couple, for every family, based on individual personalities involved. Maybe we're lucky, but the transition for us from sprawling house to compact boat was pretty easy. If we weren't suited for this kind of life, we probably wouldn't be here- and one of the big reasons we're out cruising is because we wanted more time together as a family. But meanwhile, I think that the occasional relationship tension or family problems that crop up have pretty much nothing to do with the fact we live on a boat. They'd almost certainly happen if we were back in suburbia, too- just with different window dressing.

Jamie and I have joked that cruising adds dog years to a partnership. With more time together, the opportunity to figure out how to make things work- or not- happens faster than it might otherwise. We've seen some partnerships weaken, and others grow stronger.... just like we would have at home. It's a mistake to think that going cruising can resolve relationship problems. It's not an antidote for a troubled relationship; the work to fix it still has to happen.

We all need different things to keep our souls at peace. Expecting harmonious togetherness all day, every day, isn't a realistic expectation. I need girlfriend time and exercise, so long walks with my friend Diane from Ceilydh before we left Mexico in 2010 were a helpful place to vent any emotional or physical steam of pre-Pacific crossing stress. When we were living at home on Bainbridge Island, my dear friend Tracey would have been the one to help me re-center on one of our morning runs: we worked through everything but world peace in those misty trots. Ultimately, though, being able to talk to your partner about issues, and understanding when they need space, is an important skill weather you live afloat or ashore. Jamie loves to get off the boat for some spearfishing. I love to tag along and try my luck, but realize this is sometimes a fun thing for him to do "away" with friends as well.

Jamie and Mike bringing home the fish-bacon, South Pacific style

Does it help that we all have space we can retreat to when we need alone time? Maybe. There's not a cabin per person on Totem, we share three between the five of us, but anyone who needs a quiet corner can find it. I know there are bigger families in smaller boats, but three cabins was our magic number: the girls share one, Niall has one, and Jamie and I have one. It means that when someone needs a little alone time, there's usually a place to disappear for a while and find some peace. When we're passagemaking, we actually see less of each other, since we divide keeping watch- but that's only a small fraction of our time.

Living together in a small space may have changed the way we communicate and interact. We haven't lived ashore since early 2008, but in 2009 we left Totem for a couple of months during the hurricane season and drove around the US. In my parent's spacious summer home, I remember noticing that we often stayed bunched together, or at least in the same room/area, when there really was no reason to be within touching distance- especially with all the fun and games on offer at the spread, from sandcastle building to hammock swinging or going for a walk to see the horses. So maybe, the bigger question for us will be how we'll manage to live together if we move back ashore someday.

Overwhelmingly the root causes come down communication, and aren't boat specific: being able to listen, being able to share what you need, and working through any differences.

Once upon a time on some pretty Polynesian beach, I asked my friend Christine from Stray Kitty how she and her husband managed to avoid relationship tension while working together in the consulting business they had before cruising. We'd already been cruising for a couple of years at that point. Really, from someone who spends all day (and night), seven days a week, in shmushed togetherness with her family- what was I thinking? Sorry, Chris!

Boat jobs are colorblind

It’s raft-up time again, and this month a handful of cruising bloggers are talking about the division of labor on board- specifically, how we split responsibility along “pink” vs “blue” jobs, or  “kid jobs” for those of us with children aboard.

Just hanging out looking manly, wondering what blue jobs to do

Confession: I think this is a crock. It bothers me that “pink and blue jobs” rates as a theme to address. Then again, step near the toy aisles of any mass merchant, and there is an alarming degree of color coding that leaves no room for speculation over which row of froth is intended for girls, and which row of action is intended for boys. Ridiculous.

Shouldn’t we have outgrown all of this a very long time ago? Why do areas of responsibility have to be drawn along gender stereotypes to such an extent that without any listing on my part, you imagine exactly which jobs are supposed to be pink and which jobs are supposed to be blue? Shouldn’t we be talking about individual strengths? About what we want to do, and what we want to learn?

So, I’m not going to talk about it at all, but I will do more than just rant that the discussion of labor division on board should be reframed, and gender/color coding needs to go the way of the dinosaurs.

It is inevitable that tasks in running a household, whether it floats on water or sits on soil, will be divided for efficiency and economy. Whoever can handle a given area of responsibility faster or better is probably going to be doing it 90% of the time: we play to our respective strengths, regardless of gender.

If we want to examine the division of labor on board, there are a few more important questions to consider.

Is it divided fairly in terms of effort required? If one crewmember feel they carry too much of any one burden, it could foster resentment.

What happens if one crew member is incapacitated? It’s clearly a problem if there are tasks that only that person knows how to do.

Do you appreciate the work your partner tends to do? Make sure you swap responsibilities around now and then, not only to make sure there is baseline capability on both sides, but to understand what’s involved for a task that one person tends to do. We might all make assumptions about what is hard (or not) from the outside.

Are there things you should both do together? Do you want to learn jobs that are your partner’s expertise? What are things that either of you can do, that you should make sure you trade off?

One of my cruising mentors is the awesome Nancy Erley, who I took training classes from back in 2005. She’s circumnavigated twice, as captain of her boat, with all women crew- if we need any reminder that "blue jobs" are an artificial distinction. One of many things I learned from Nancy is that if there is something on the boat that I cannot do based on my physical size or strength, the limitation is not mine. It is not necessary to default to the larger / stronger man on board to handle that job. The real problem is the boat needs to be modified so that I can accomplish the job.

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But where is the soy sauce?

After anticipating cruising for years, you'd think we have plenty of time to optimize space used in Totem's various lockers, shelves, and other stowage areas. We'd know exactly where to store those things which fill out the essentials of life afloat, along with plenty of the extras which make life fun.

Hah! Even after four plus years, we still have a long way to go to reach storage Nirvana. I'm skeptical of any cruiser who claims to have it nailed, although there are many who may combine an OCD tendency with fewer complications than the Totem crew (*cough* IT'S THE KIDS, REALLY *cough*) to achieve such exalted status.

The thing is, we still have too much on board.

Despite massively purging the "stuff" in our lives, we still have too much kicking around. Keeping things organized and, well, findable is a constant challenge. I was told by a long term cruiser once that the basic rule was that for every item brought on board, something had to be taken off. That sounds great, and it's a good principle, but often not really practical.

Then, there's the little matter of finding what we need, when we need it.

I have an Excel spreadsheet I use as a guideline for provisioning. Columns along the row of each staple listed identify where I've stored the many things on the list. And you know what? Some of those items actually are correctly stored in the coded location. The problem is that storage is dynamic. We'll move things as one locker gets empty to avoid things banging around, or find we need to shuffle items to accommodate something of a particular size. Somewhere along the way, the tidily noted location on the spreadsheet becomes meaningless. At the moment, I know we've got soy sauce on board somewhere. I know it in my heart, I really do! But darned if I can find it. Call it spreadsheet fail...I've looked everywhere. How does a 750ml bottle of Kikkoman get lost on a boat?

There's a lot of context needed to name essentials.

Before personal preferences throw all rules out anyway, the differences in short vs long term cruising and provisioning options in different parts of the world and priorities of the crew make a "top 10 essentials" the stuff of cute glossy magazine articles but not practical reality. What we needed when we left Bainbridge Island is different than what we needed when we left Mexico, which was different again from when we left Australia. When we cleared out of Queensland in September, we dedicated an insane amount of space to items for trading and giving away for our months in Papua New Guinea. It really was essential for the last few months, but certainly not something we had not needed to do previously.

Our priorities, and our biggest space splurge, reflect our family's specific interests and needs. Because we have three children ranging from 8 to 13 years old, that means resources that support their learning as we travel, and the things that are special or important to them.

We have a ridiculous number of books, from my childhood set of Little House in the Prairie stories to the set of encyclopedias. I think we must have a few dozen different field guides, from the coffee table variety you can get lost in learning from, to the quick references that help us make the most of identifying the plants and animals around us. The advent of ebooks, something we didn't really have available when we left, has helped us cut down a lot- although I still have a preference for flipping through the traditional printed versions of my well-thumbed guides. But all those digital books mean I have a deep stash of appealing reading available anytime (I won't pretend to have any fancypants taste, but I cannot get into the book exchange mainstays of sci fi and Patterson). I no longer need to stash the physical version to avoid getting twitchy. But still, it's hard to let go of the Patrick O'Brian set, even if we *do* have them all in ebook formats.

And then there's the space we take up with things we collect. We love beachcombing and have a large locker full of finds. Do we *need* these things? My goodness no! But we cherish them. I can look into a storage bin and picture the very beaches we found different treasures. I've got a big bag of shells waiting to be hot glued onto fairy lights...for three years and counting. Arrowheads, a dessicated swordfish spear, endless bins of shells.

Well, it is December. Maybe it's time to tackle those shell-covered lights.

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Reflections on provisioning

Public market, Zihuatanejo, Mexico

People everywhere have to eat.

This is a lesson I seem to need to re-learn periodically. A lot of provisioning, I believe, is really just the result of over thinking things from a fear of scarcity- and as a result, buying far more than necessary.

On the other hand, this is coming from the person who has a very large spreadsheet to organize provisioning needs (and cross reference items to their stowage location on board)- so you can take that with a grain of salt. But I think almost everyone we know coming across the Pacific had unused food confiscated by Quarantine upon arrival in Australia or New Zealand, and I'll bet that like ours, a lot of it had been on board since Mexico.

But the thing is, I really do love to eat. We all do on Totem. Food isn't just something that sustains us, it's something that inspires us and creates memories. So living on rice and beans between opportunities for provisioning isn't going to happen, either.

One way to think of provisioning is to break down your ports into a three rough categories.

1. The Rice Category. First, there are the little village shops, which fundamentally are the same whether you're in the sparsely populated coastline of Baja, Mexico or the remote atoll of Fakarava, French Polynesia. Most goods are packaged for long term storage. Many may have been on the shelf for a long time. The selection will mostly be national staples (is there any place you can't find rice?), but nothing so unusual that you can't base your diet on what's available.

2. The Ooo, Peanut Butter! Category. Then, there are the small towns: the places like La Paz, Mexico or Neifu, Tonga where you can find a public market for fresh produce, and a few grocery stores that will also have some refrigerated and frozen goods. This is where you can find a larger variety and a few imports - like peanut butter, which as the children get bigger, we seem to need in increasing quantities.

3. The I'll Have Sushi Category. These are the major provisioning centers where you can source nearly anything you want and extensive imported goods, although some may come at a price. Puerto Vallarta, Papeete, and Brisbane ultimately had pretty much anything we wanted- from wasabi to quinoa. We might not have wanted to pay the price of that foie gras at the Carrefour in Tahiti, but it was there; meanwhile the brie and baguettes were fabulous.

So don't do what we did four years ago, when I hauled multiple carts out of the Trader Joe's in San Diego as if we'd never see proper food again. The local food in Mexico was so fresh and delicious. It was much more fun to seek out the market in villages down Baja (meeting people and finding adventures along the way) than dig into the freezer for another steak. And don't do what we did two years later, we bought enough rice and beans to take us around the world. It was embarrassing and a little depressing to hand that over to Quarantine in Oz.

Think of provisioning as an arbitrage game. Stock up on things you love where they are cheap. Get those things you well and truly can't live without (my Irish Breakfast tea!) in bulk, but worry less about staples. You'll find those between ports, but meanwhile, you will have all of those little things that can make your day that much better...from your morning cuppa to sundowners.

In many cases our storage space has been better used for specialty items. We did manage to run out of peanut butter, but have arrived at that level 2 port just in time to resupply. Meanwhile, it is pretty fantastic to be able to sit in the cockpit here in North of Nowhere, Papua New Guinea, watching the sun set while nibbling on a little Camembert and good olives.

I've got a handful of other ruminations on provisioning in the blog- get em all here: http://sv-totem.blogspot.com/search/label/provisioning :

- Long term provisioning approach on Totem
- Stowing: finding space, tricks for making fresh provisions last
- French Polynesia: what's good, what's available, and costs
- Favorite provisions on Totem
- Local help with provisioning in Mexico
- Mexico to Australia: what we over provisioned
- Mexico to Australia: what we were really glad we brought

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Afraid of the dark

Plenty of people worry about plenty of things when they consider the prospect of cruising. Looking in from the outside, the fears we hear voiced from those who wonder about cruising are centered around a few themes. We mostly hear about about pirates and storms.

Jamie driving off Cape Mendocino. Gales never look as bad in the pictures

Shortly those two factors is the questionable security of some countries or regions we visit. What do we think about these risks? What did we plan do to address them?

None of these have ever played significantly in our fears. They are factors that we address, but they're not fears per se. If you accept headlines from sensation-oriented media, then yeah, any one of them seem pretty freaky. But practically speaking, careful planning keeps them from being part of your reality (fingers crossed that never comes back to bite me). The short version is that we avoid regions with pirate activity and make conservative routing choices based on weather. It isn't rocket science, and I don't expect to feel more in danger on the ocean than I do on a highway. Highways...now, that's more rationally scary!

So what am I afraid of? It depends on the timeframe.

Leading up to our departure into cruising, the one thing I worried about the most was the education of our children. I grew up as an academic traditionalist, and breaking out of the mold was scary. How can I make sure that they grow up as empowered individuals: sure of themselves, loving to learn, and willing to tackle whatever path their heart desires? How can I not screw up my kids?

I'm not even going to address that except to say- ha! Why was I worried? Taking our children out of the mainstream and giving them this opportunity has felt like the a great set of stepping stones on the path in fulfilling those goals for future.

My fears today are different.  The biggest one can be summed by this image.

Argue all you want about who is at fault...it happened. Source: Seaworthy

Many of our cruising miles have been through open ocean, far from shipping lanes. Outside of a "tuna-for-cake" trade with friends a couple of hundred miles off Mexico, we saw exactly one other boat on the nearly 3,000 miles to French Polynesia. But much of what we do is coastswise, with abundant local traffic. And shipping lanes can be hard to avoid, because they're following the same clear path you probably want to be on. The rules of the road are nice, but COLREGs are immaterial if the guys on the bridge aren't paying attention.

Just a few months ago, a cruising boat we met in the Marquesas was hit by a bulk carrier off Australia. Riga was aware of the vessel, but unable to make contact with them over the radio. It seems that the bridge not only weren't paying attention, but inexplicably altered course to continue a collision course toward Riga. Unsuccessful in their effort to avoid collision, Riga was dismasted and suffered substantial damage - but thankfully, no serious injuries.

We can't avoid shipping lanes, and we can't fix stupid. So instead, we'll arm ourselves with information, resources, be alert, and then hope for the best. Then, we have to make sure we don't let fear rule us. It is kind of interesting that so often, people who want to talk about our different way of life, focus their questions on these fears and disaster scenarios. It's not our nature to live in gloom and doom. Being optimistic for us is also a function of rational thinking, but ultimately, it's a choice: life is far to short to filter through your worries instead of your dreams.

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Totem's boat swag

Our cruising mentors had helped us internalize just how important your boat name will be as a part of your cruising life. That name is your identity. Cruisers you meet- you will know them better in a day than the people you lived next door to for years, but odds are that they will never learn your last name. Nope. They’ll just know you by your boat name. Strange as it may seem, this name is who you are to most of the cruising community that you will meet...and how you represent and share that name is more important than you realize as a pre-cruiser.

Totem's logo. We wanted the Haida orca as a reminder of our home. Korum Bischoff designed this, even incorporating our children's faces into the image. It is perfect for us, and I truly adore it. Which is good, because it's on our transom, our boat cards, an official stamp...and probably more to come.

So no pressure, right? Choosing the right name not only has to be memorable to your fellow travelers and sundowner mates, it must also be radio-friendly (not too long!), internationally pronounceable (it’s clever, but how many of you can pronounce passepartout correctly? And if you happened to take your boat into a country that doesn’t speak English, will pronunciation of your chosen name be easier or harder? And god forbid the situation ever arises, but will search & rescue wherever you happen to be in the world recognize and accurately repeat that name over static and chaos?), and now- that name must also encompass your ethos. Sure- nooooo problem.

Now tack onto that name a brand identity. I’m sorry, but I worked in marketing for too long, and this how my mind works. Like it or not, you are a brand. What does your boat’s name and/or iconography say about you?

Given my background in marketing and work in (shhh!) advertising, it’s odd and maybe a little sad that it hadn’t occurred to me should make how I share this branding in a more concrete manner with my fellow cruisers a priority before we left.

It took our neighbor at the Harbour Pub marina to point this out. Kurt and his family had lived and cruised on their boat, Gumbo Ya-Ya, for years. He works in professional imaging, and his son Korum- a former cruising kid- is a talented designer who created our Haida-style orca icon for Totem. As our cast-off date approached, Kurt asked tactfully what we had planned in the way of boat cards. “Nothing,” our blithe reply. Geez, didn't he realize we had more important things to deal with- like getting that HF running and making sure our autopilot spares worked? Well- bless him, he did, and Kurt also showed up at our going-away with a box of 500 cards with our name, key contact details, and the beautiful orca logo as a parting gift. He knew from experience, in a way that we could not yet appreciate, that these would be important.

Blow me away. And you know what? This has been such an extremely useful vehicle for us. Yeah, you can share and collect boat cards to help stay in touch with the people you meet. Even in our very digital age, we keep parts of our life relatively analog. We aren't toting smart phones around teh overhwelming majority of the time- it's not practical or necessary. Boat cards are a concrete reminder of good times with other boats and people you have met, and have helped us connect and stay in touch.

Next year, we’ll be in Southeast Asia, and I’m looking forward to getting beyond the card with our boat swag. I’m expecting printing to be more affordable there than it is here in Australia (where everything seems to be expensive). Friends of ours have cool tanks or tees or other articles with line drawings and boat names or logos: they make great gifts and are fun for them to wear, too. Honestly, if I’d appreciated this sooner I would probably have had a bunch printed up before we left. It’s a great gift for someone you have gotten to know in a place, where you want to leave a little part to remind them your time together.

Death, taxes, and laundry

Laundry is still laundry...but hey, you're in Bora Bora

Sometimes it really does feel that way: like one of the guarantees in life! August’s raft-up topic is about handling clothes and laundry on board. It's a good subject for the group, since it's a big question for pre-cruisers and based on questions we've had, I think a lot of people wonder how we manage this on a boat. With a busy family of five (and a pact not to use dry cleaning), we probably did a load of laundry every day when we were living more conventionally on land. It seemed daunting to me, too.

Like everything, you simply adjust to a new reality. Being in the tropics helps a lot: we just don't wear as much. The cruising lifestyle also lends itself to casual dressing. "Didn't you wear the same shirt yesterday?" -said no cruiser, ever.

For doing laundry, there are a bunch of options. Here's how they shake out for us.

Washer/dryer. Some boats have washing machines (and a few even boast dryers). I don't think we ever will. They can be very low water use, which sounds fine; we have a low-output watermaker, and are pretty good with conservation. They require dedicated space and some plumbing, which I am going to get hedgy about (giving up space which could be used for essentials like pesto or rum? I don't know...). The showstopper for me is the additional power need. I don't ever want a generator or to have big power generation needs... we are not that kind of boat.

Laundromats. We've had access to laundry facilities relatively infrequently. For the last month here in Australia, we've had easy access to affordable washing machines at the city-run moorings. They aren't sexy, but they are great for quickly getting a large amount of clothes clean. When we untie our lines tomorrow, there won't be a dirty sheet or dish towel on board.

Laundry services. When reasonable services are available onshore, I am happy to avail myself of the services. The lavanderias in Mexico were a dream! Almost everywhere else so far, it's been DIY.

And... old school: bucket laundry.The MO on Totem is washing in a 5-gallon bucket, with a dedicated (well it better be) plunger. Exhibit A at right: Niall looking a little less than enthused about his role in the bucket laundry process. Kid, you're in Bora Bora, don't complain!

The plunger and bucket method work fine for us. A little soap, a little jiggling around with the plunger or a ride on the aft deck in a seaway. Sea water is fine to wash and to rinse out soapy water, then precious fresh water is used for for a final rinse. Clothes are hung on our (spectra) lifelines to dry.

I love the smell of line-dried clothes.

Thanks to the virtues of a "swap / giveaway" corner in a marina, we now also have one of those egg thingys, manual washing machines you crank by hand. So far, it lives up to the reputation of having a completely inadequate support frame but we'll rig it up to be functional. Based on about six months of use, it's markedly more effective at getting clothes clean than the ol' bucket. Hot water, sealed inside, builds pressure that just gets the grit out better. It does take a chunk of space, but nothing like an installed washer- and we can stow it in a lazarette, out of sight.

A peek at the Brisbane laundry facilities for boats at the Garden Point moorints. This is actually a pretty nice setup compared to many marina facilities. For one thing, the machines work.

A few "been there done that" thoughts:

• Wringer. I wish we had a wringer and truly I covet Ceilydh's. Wringing out the saltwater is tough on hands, and you need to get as much of that water as possible out so you can effectively rinse it without wasting fresh water.
• Clothes pins. People think they need plastic clothes pins because they'll last. I'm going on year 5 with the same wooden pegs, so think about giving that cr@ptastic plastic a miss. Bonus, wooden pins float, so if you do drop one you've got a shot at retrieving it.
• Detergent. It can be hard to find laundry that meets our standards for 1) sensitive skin and 2) environmental friendliness, so although it's something you can find almost anywhere- consider if you want to stock up. Ingredients that have been outlawed in the US for a reason are still found in Mexican detergent, and no, you do not need "Joy" to wash in salt water. 

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Sailor or Traveler?

It's raft-up installation #2...bringing different opinions from cruisers connected around the world. What we're thinking about this month is where we stand on the spectrum from sailor to traveler. Who is cruising because living aboard a boat and voyaging are core to their being? And who is cruising via sailboat because it is a means to and end- a way to satisfy wanderlust, and just happens to be by boat?

I know Jane wants us to take a stand, but I'm kind of going to straddle this one. Really, though, it has simply been (like so much of life) a journey: from my roots, to my present.

Sailing is part of who I am. 

I find great joy being on any vessel, large or small, powered by the wind though water.

I fell in love with sailing as a teenager. It was the ideal escape from summer boredom or teenage angst to simply take off in our little Sunfish, point straight out from our cottage into Lake Huron and find peaceful solitude on the water. I mastered the art of sailing the little boat from a fully reclined position, nudging the tiller with a toe, browning in midwestern sun. It followed me through college; it was how I met Jamie. There may be some family history at play: my parents had their first date on my father's sloop. I can't imagine life without sailing.

Being on the water makes me happy. Full stop.

Traveling is part of who I am. 

Finding those moments where you cross an invisible bridge into another culture are some of the keenest experiences of really living I can think imagine.

This probably stems from my family's move from San Francisco to Taipei when I was in high school.  Travels though the island coupled with school trips to Indonesia, Singapore, and Hong Kong infused me with wanderlust. A truly great teacher helped me peel back the layers to find the common bonds and shared humanity between vastly different cultures. For more than two decades have I collected travel guides, many for places I have yet to experience. I can't imagine life without traveling.

Traveling is the gift to see those far corners of the world

So which is it? Sailor or traveler?

For years, these two loves developed on parallel paths. In my early 20s, my sailing world revolved around racing. Jamie was racing, too, but he cracked open the door to a life of traveling by sailing. He introduced me to Robin Lee Graham, and to Joshua Slocum. And even more important, he brought our cruising mentors, the Jessies. Through their actions and their support, I learned how these loves could be intertwined.

There are external factors that have glued sailing and traveling irrevocably together in creating this life I love. It is not just because I love to sail, or because I love to travel. It is the desire to live a more simple life, a place apart from the gross consumption of the modern first world. The desire to teach my children respect for our fragile planet by living with a light footprint. The desire to embrace live in the now, and not postpone it for an amorphous "someday." And to give my kids crazy fabulous childhood memories, like the time they held a tiger cub.

Siobhan and a small friend- Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

I am a sailor, and I am a traveler, and most of all- I am so incredibly lucky to just be here, making my dream a reality.

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What do cruisers do all day?

What do we do on board, to keep busy and have fun?

Does this get boring? Well...no. Navadra Island, Fiji

It's an understandable question from someone who hasn't yet had the chance to dip into the cruising life. The way spend our days shifted radically once we started living on the boat. There were a few brief months of living aboard and continuing our "normal" life of work and school routines, but really, it's because the move aboard coincided with departing on our cruising adventures.

Many days, what we do is driven by meeting basic needs. What needs fixing (and how urgently)? Do we need food? Do we need to do laundry? These deceptively simple questions can become complicated and time consuming tasks on a boat that's far from the streamlined shopping cart at home.

I think when non-cruisers ask this question about "what do we do?", this kind of mundane life maintenance is mentally pushed aside- it's an expected part of everyday life fabric, which disappears into the mesh of busy days...and is facilitated with easy power, water, laundry machines, dishwashers, supermarkets and handymen.

Really, though- we do have a lot of time. When Maslow does not press us with urgent demands, we usually choose to explore the world around us: especially, the world underwater.

Niall looking for a moray under a coral head - French Polynesia

I find it hard not to set out on foot, with anyone I can convince to come in tow, and see what lies beyond that ridge or far point.

My most avid pre-cruising hobby was knitting, which fell completely by the wayside. I still love to knit, I just found it hard to get motivated to work with yarn and wool in a tropical climate.

This hat for Laureen's baby girl Aurora as we sailed south to meet her in San Francisco is one of the last things I made... until we reached Australia, where a cool winter in Sydney inspired me to pick up the needles again.

For our first years as cruisers, the children were usually a less involved in the "maintenance" aspect of life- although that's changed as they've grown. 

Siobhan helps rig netting on Tintin. Sydney, Australia

Pre-cruising, we had an ample suburban home with  a playroom for the children that was about the same size as the boat...packed with more games, puzzles, space-takers and noise-makers than were at all necessary, but which crept up on us. 95% of it went away and isn't missed. For them, much daily life has been exploring their world with friends.

They have encyclopedic knowledge of the sea and its creatures

We have found it valuable to keep a myriad of materials for projects and crafting on board. 

Mairen makes a shade for our cockpit light with papier-mâché

A few good books to help with recipes and ideas for things they can make bring it all together.

Mixing up a batch up Flubber, from a favorite crafty "cookbook"

One of my favorite projects with them has been to build a beaded necklace that traces our journey. Each day is a bead, and charms mark special events (here, sailing through the Golden Gate Bridge at the beginnign of our voyaging).

And... what about sailing? Arguably, sailing was our single biggest pastime as a family. It's still an experience of pure joy, and a favorite way to spend leisure time. 

Niall with friends from s/v Whisper in a borrowed tinker dinghy

We had a recent getaway from our parking spot on the Brisbane river, and spent a few days out in adjacent Moreton Bay. The sea breeze coupled with protected flat water made for an exhilarating sail, one that was over all too quickly. And how, then, did we relax in the anchorage later- what did we do?

We rigged a dinghy, and went sailing. Why not?

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Drawn to the Ocean

What is this irresistible pull we feel for the sea? Where does it come from?

Going for an evening swim - Makemo atoll, Tuamotus, French Polynesia

Half a lifetime ago, I lived for a while in Bali. My Balinese family was fascinated by the attraction of the coastline for all the tourists. For Balinese, it’s the realm of fishermen… who usually don’t even know how to swim. Not really a local pastime. We had much discussion over why it was appealing for all these people to hang out on the beach and splash in the sea.

Here's how they explained it. First, you need the context that rivers in Bali wash waste into the sea. Until plastic became widespread 30ish years ago, that wasn’t much of a problem… you just hucked your plant-based garbage over the walls of the family compound to a ravine below. Those ravines- they’re everywhere on this big cone-shaped volcanic island. Water runs through them from the peak to the shoreline, sweeping refuse out to the ocean and away.

In Balinese culture, when a baby is born, the placenta and umbilical cord are buried in a sacred place at the entrance to the family compound. It’s done to ensure that children will always find their way home again. In modern western countries, babies are usually born in hospitals, not homes. And what do hospitals do with their waste? Incinerate it, of course, but my Balinese family didn’t know about that. They applied their frame of reference and assumed that the hospital waste (and thus, the placentas and umbilical cords for all those babies) were washed down a ravine, and into the sea.

My family's theory, then: all these visitors from outside… they are irresistibly drawn to the sea by the syren call of their collective placentas and umbilical cords… drawing them back to the place where these precious parts of life have been swept. Their reaction? Between amusement and pity. All those poor souls, unable to find their way home.

I love that explanation, but I love this quote from JFK even more.

I really don't know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea, except I think it is because in addition to the fact that the sea changes and the light changes, and ships change, it is because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it we are going back from whence we came.

At the end of the day, they aren't terribly far apart.