by Caitlin – Page 2 – A Year and a Day

Hawaii to Alaska, part 1

DAY 1 6/11/19

—Caitlin
Simply a gorgeous day to go to sea, though that doesn’t keep any of us from feeling a little unsettled. We weighed anchor at 1000. Arlo flaked down the chain, and libations were poured into the sea to appease Neptune/Poseidon and to ask for safe passage for Debonair and her crew. The shell horn from Mexico was blown. We all raised sail—mizzen, main and jib–showing Maddy, our newest crew member, the ropes.

Though the sailing was perfect, there was a bit of a swell running and several members of the crew were feeling seasick. By the time they emerged on deck from their afternoon naps the island of Kauai was gone. If all goes as planned, we won’t see land for another three weeks or so.

DAY 2 6/12/19

–Arlo
Today was our first full day at sea. I am feeling a little less seasick than yesterday, which is good, because we still have a lot of passage time ahead of us. I am already low on reading material so I will have to spend a lot of time fishing. In addition to fishing, I have been reading up on archery in a couple of books I have on the subject.

Right now we are motoring, as there is not enough wind to sail on. The wind died out several hours ago partway through my afternoon watch. The weather has stayed mild and we are leaving all of the port lights open, and the slightly open forepeak hatch sends a nice breeze through my cabin. The wind and seas, according to the weather forecast, should stay calm and light through the weekend, then according to one forecast model, the North Pacific high should begin to develop. The other forecast says it won’t, but you never can tell with these things.

My mom is in the galley making the next great installment to the growing list of of delicious dinners that we have underway. Tonight I believe is a Chinese noodle soup dinner, and I’m starving. It would be good with a little fish but unfortunately that is not available because I haven’t caught any yet. I’ll have to fix that.

–Jason
Last night Caitlin spotted a black footed albatross. This afternoon it was back. As Caitlin said, you know the albatross when you see it. Its wingspan of up to seven feet sets it apart from all the other birds out here. It’s giant. At the same time it’s amazingly graceful, gliding just above the water, banking and leaning and trailing one wingtip just right at the water without touching, that wingtip bobbing with each ripple and wave. The combination of great size and grace makes the bird seem so majestic (to use another of Caitlin’s words for it). Just as we were watching it this afternoon in the lowering light, one, then another, then a third giant tuna leapt from the water. They were so big they looked like porpoises, and at first my brain couldn’t figure out I was seeing. Big as porpoises, but the shape was all wrong. They came clear out of the water, their sharp fins distinct against the light behind them, then smashed back down in the water and were gone. Sometimes this vast ocean can seem so blank and empty. The sudden flash of those tuna made it feel like it was full of life, hidden from us, just waiting to leap out.

DAY 3 6/13/19

Onward to Alaska

We’re writing from the beautiful Hanalei Bay, on the north shore of Kauai, Hawaii. We arrived here after an easy overnight sail from Oahu and were joined this morning by our friends on Dogbark, who are are anchored nearby under the rainbow that has formed in the mist. Our friend Maddy will be arriving on the beach soon to join the crew for our passage in a few days to Alaska. From where Debonair is anchored, we can count five waterfalls.

Let’s sail to Kodiak island! Pilot charts show the likelihood of experiencing a given wind and sea state each month across every ocean.

It’s been a a long time getting here. There’s been the planning. We’ve studied pilot charts and read cruising guides, made timelines, crossed them out, decided to pull the kids from school a few days early. We’ve written project spreadsheets and provisioning spreadsheets and ordered spare parts. A lot of spare parts. We hauled the boat out of the water not once, but twice this spring. The first haulout saw Jason and Caitlin completing a week of annual maintenance, mostly lots and lots of painting. The second time Jason was on his own, repairing a problem with the external ballast we discovered following the first haulout. He spent most of the week on his back under the boat drilling up into it or in the bilge with 4’ drill bits drilling out of it. All is well.

In addition, we’ve bent on a new working jib and added new jib sheet tracks, bent on a new mizzen sail, installed a heater in the cabin, replaced the shore power charger, made the decks seams more watertight, installed a new prism in the fore peak hatch, bought lots of warm clothes and swapped our South Pacific books for tales from Alaska. We’ve loaded hundreds of pounds of food into the boat and recorded the storage location of each can and jar.Work projects and provisions come together.

I’d say we’re ready, but we’re never ready. Huge thanks to Becky and Serge, friends in Honolulu, for their aloha and for accepting piles of boxes we shipped to their house and especially to Jason’s brother, Chris, who joined Jason in Oahu for a week of work projects.

The new heater Jason & Chris installed. Thanks, S/V Dogbark for such a cute heater!

The weather this year is unsettled. What the wind and seas are doing will determine just about everything in our small world over the next few weeks, so we’re thinking about it a lot. But if you aren’t so interested in this unsettled weather, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. Here’s the short version: in order to get out of Hawaii before the hurricane season here, but after most of the big North Pacific gales, most boats bound to Alaska tend to leave Hawaii mid-May through mid-June. The rhum line to Kodiak is almost due north. Most summers, boats would sail slightly west of north out of Hawaii on the northeast trade winds, then bend slightly east again when entering the Westerly winds that dominate the North Pacific summer. But this summer the high pressure that usually establishes itself in the eastern part of the North Pacific has so far failed to do so, probably, we’re told, because of El Nino conditions. This means that all the regular weather patterns dictated by that high aren’t present. Most notably for us, the Westerlies haven’t established themselves, gales are still crossing toward Kodiak, and there’s a lot of light and variable winds between here and there. The high may yet establish itself. Until then, we spring for the more expensive weather forecasting subscription.

Chris, Arlo & Alma walk the reef edge on Oahu.

We’re sad to be leaving the tropics for a lot of obvious reasons, but of course we’re excited about what lies ahead. We’re looking to taking our departure from Hanelei Bay by early next week and expect the passage to Kodiak Island to take about three weeks, if all goes as planned. Thanks so much for reading and keeping up with our northward progress. We’ll keep you posted!

Landlubbers again

This is likely the last post for a month or few. Read Arlo and Caitlin’s thoughts on returning to California and check out all the pix (and a video!) that we finally have the internet to upload.

From ARLO:

Well, we’re back. Coming back to Alameda itself wasn’t such a shock. We had spent three weeks in Hawaii adjusting to Western culture, and then another week on the East Coast before returning home. And now that we are back, we have easy access to many things we didn’t have on the boat, such as wifi, refrigeration, burritos, bagels and more. And I am very relieved to have all of those items back.

Yes, my folks took a “back to School” photo.

But I have been noticing some things I am missing too: less stressful days, a less intense schedule, and there’s more stuff happening to make my life busier and more complicated. I have also been missing all the fishing that we did on the boat. Living on the boat gave us lots of fruit and lots of fun. I gained the confidence to stand a watch alone, to talk with strangers in languages I’m not very good at, to swim with sharks, to try new foods, and to appreciate other ways of living. I have many friends that I like in Alameda, and I would miss them if I weren’t living here, but I find that on the boat, in an environment with fewer friends, I am happy as well.

I feel like the choice of where to spend my high school years could use some more thought. There are still some questions that I would like to think more about before I commit fully to one place or another. What about friends? What about school? Could I learn what I need to learn in high school on the boat? I just know for sure that life on the boat is appealing in a lot of different ways, and that I am going to be excited to go back there in the spring.

———————————————————–

And from Caitlin:

In mid-January the four of us walked toward our gate at the Honolulu International Airport, quiet mostly. We’d just left Debonair after a year aboard, and we were sad. Alma piped up, “Debonair feels more like home than our house does.”

We have had mixed feelings about going “home.” Watching an evening sky a few months ago, I told Jason that if the only thing we took from this voyage was seeing as much sea and sky as we saw this year, the voyage would have been worth it. But there’s so much more. Observing sea and sky was just the beginning of the year we spent watching and seeing the natural world around us.

There are the people we met–the other cruising families, the voyagers we met who were older or younger than we are–and how often at home do we have such mixed-age friendships? The sailors we met–from so many countries–were all people who took the initiative to make the life they wanted. They were good and interesting people, as were the many Mexicans and Polynesians whose graciousness and enthusiasm made our year so rich. Our friends on Ua Pou, and Nuku Hiva and Huahine are people we will carry in our hearts even if we don’t see them again. And you never know.

Of course, there is our ever growing love for Debonair–for it was beautiful Debonair who kept us safe across oceans and gave us a home in amazing places. She doesn’t maneuver well in tight spaces, but she sails like a freight train. She taught us so much about sailing. So little broke, so much of our planning was right, there are so few things about her we would want to change.

A beautiful South Pacific day as we approach the equator heading north.
Sailing on the lagoon in Fakarava.
Caitlin cleans the bottom for a speedy passage to Nuku Hiva.
Jason went up the mast to check the rig.
Everything on DEBO is strong. We had these 1/2″ Lexan storm windows made up just before we left California. (Thanks for weighing in on that one JT and Joel!)
We installed these job sheet winches on new winch pads made by our friend Josh before we left. We used them every time we sailed.
Everything on DEBONAIR is strong. This bronze chain plate we installed, one of 14. Connecting the shrouds to the hull, the chain plates are critical links in the rig that holds up the masts.
Bungs. Thanks to friends for getting us these little teak plugs for Jason to install in the deck. It’s all about keeping the boat watertight.
DEBONAIR is strong. This is the 77lb Spade anchor we used every time we anchored. With 300′ of chain, it held in big wind. Note the stainless and bronze on the caprail to protect it from the chain.
JT on watch as we take our departure from Nuku Hiva.

But really the point of this year wasn’t to become better sailors, to meet other people or see cool places or even to watch the sky. It was to become more who we are by voyaging under sail . . . .through meeting interesting people, by seeing remote places and watching the sea. It was about finding space for each of us to grow and for us to grow together. We were scared sometimes and frustrated sometimes, but we were never overbooked, and we were never a family leading four separate lives. Everything we had to do–checking the anchor before bed, researching the next island group, making bread, varnishing the caprail–had a direct impact on someone we loved and so life was truly less complex than on land.

Despite living in 40′, we had room to stretch, and we stretched. The personal growth was most evident, I think, in Arlo and Alma–for each of them, the challenges this year became a real coming of age. But Jason and I have also learned so much. We’ve seen the sea and the sky, but also each other and I’ve come to appreciate the members of my family anew. Arlo’s focus, generosity and sense of humor, Alma’s lovingness, ability to learn and meticulousness, Jason’s curiosity, competence and capacity to love.

Three weeks home now, we are being cautious. We appreciate the warm welcome from neighbors and friends and family as we make the adjustment to more separate lives, to cell phones, to living in this consumer world. It’s not that we don’t like the lives we can live back home, but we’re reminded of the effort it can take to live here with integrity.

We sailed out the Golden Gate with ti leaves given to us by our friend Carter–a few were hanging on when we arrived in Hawaii where we were given this beautiful ti leaf lei.
This is me at Farmland Foods in Honolulu. Is this for real?

We just ordered the Coast Pilot for Alaska. Come May, Debonair will set sail again, bound from Hawaii for someplace north of 60*N, possibly Kodiak Island, and we’ll spend the summer there. We look forward to “a year and a day” becoming “a year and a day and a summer and maybe some more summers after that.” Thank you again for the ways you’ve sailed with us in our adventures. We’ll keep you posted once we’re back aboard.

For now, we leave you with a few final pics of the lovely DEBONAIR, from the last couple months of the voyage and from re-entry —

Refueling directly from the weekly supply ship in Fakarava. Here, you can see DEBONAIR tied up to the ship, the Cobia II. Caitlin’s in the foreground, returning from paying for the fuel.

Tourists in Fakarava–200 year old coral block church.

We picked up crew in Nuku Hiva. Okay, actually we brought him to Nuku Hiva too.

This is how we re-fuel in Nuku Hiva. Yellow jerry jugs full of diesel.

Practicing Morse code with JT on the passage to Hawaii.

The ITCZ, otherwise known as the doldrums. Perpetual bed head at sea.

Washing dishes while heeling. Alma is leaning on the galley belt made by our friend Oliver.

As the seas got bigger, the forepeak became less habitable. A & A lowered the dinette table and moved into the main cabin. Note the lee cloth between them and the lantern above them, secured to the right of Arlo’s knee.

Rolling toward Hawaii

In the lee of the Big Island–a Hawaiian song bird takes a break on DEBONAIR.

Be glad the camera isn’t any closer. Jason’s hand after 20 days at sea.

Aloha!

Late Sunday night we slipped into Waikiki beach and dropped the anchor in 30 feet of water under the first quarter moon. The ten-hour crossing of the Alenuihaha channel on Saturday night saw the worst weather we’d experienced this year and we’d barely slept since then. When we woke up this Monday morning at anchor we were overwhelmed by the view of the beautiful mountains of Oahu as well as by the reality of the busy-ness that would await us ashore.

We raised anchor and motored into the Ala Wai Yacht Harbor where a cruising family we’d connected with caught our lines and welcomed us back to the United States with bananas and beer. Perfect.

We’re still catching up on sleep and cleaning up the boat. Today customs and immigration cleared us in and after tomorrow morning’s agriculture inspection we’ll be able to go grocery shopping. Thought of an American grocery store is exciting and overwhelming.

We don’t seem to have any working cell phones yet, so if you are trying to get in touch with us, please send us an email.

We’ll post pictures from the 20-day passage in the coming days. Thank you all for sticking with us on this journey!

So close! Third update on the passage to Hawaii

DEBONAIR is (still) on passage from Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas bound for Oahu. This is the third update from members of our crew.

12/8 Saturday (Day 12)
Sailed due north at 6.5 kts. Retarded clocks 30 minutes to Hawaii time—UTC 10.

12/9-Sunday (Day 13)
Overcast. Continued due north to get ahead of big northeasterly sea and wind forecast. Bashing into a north sea so that we’ll be able to turn west when the forecasted big northeast seas arrive tomorrow.

12/10-Monday (Day 14)

from ARLO–
The big seas that were forecast have arrived—now mostly out of the northeast. We’ve made our westerly turn and are now steering 270*m, and we are only 670 nautical miles east of the Big Island. It is fun being in the big seas when you are on deck, watching them come rearing up behind you, and then feeling the rush of speed as you surf down them, only to have them pass under you and go roaring off. It is so cool to look out at the sea, at first only seeing 200 yards or less and then seeing for miles and miles as Debonair lifts up over a swell. Right now at 2005 (8:05 p.m.) we are under the smallest sail we have ever been under at sea, staysail and single-reefed mizzen, and we are still roaring along at 6.5 knots.

I finished my knife lanyard, and boy is it handsome. It attaches to my belt loop and then the 6-strand sennit part of it runs down to my pocket where it clips on to my knife. Tomorrow it’s back to schoolwork.

From ALMA–
Today has been a down day. There are 15’ swells and I have been seasick all day. But I had a letter [ed. note—family and friends sent us of with a sheaf of letters marked to be opened on particular days] that said, “Alma, perhaps open this after a storm or just a challenging day.” So I opened it, and it put a big smile on my face. I had been saving the letter waiting to see if a worse day was coming. It had been tantalizing me. I was so curious about what was inside. But I decided that today was the day and it really improved my day. In it was a note and a pin of a boat. The boat looks like it’s going down wind, and it’s very intricate.

12/11-Tuesday (Day 15)

From CAITLIN–
The seas are big enough to be impressive without being frightening, and Debonair, with her full keel and heavy displacement, is handling them beautifully. Our windvane steering mechanism, on the other hand, isn’t as good at handling the big following seas, so we’re steering by hand and I spend the hours of my daylight watches watching the ocean. Like fire, the seas are dynamic, always moving, but they have the solidity of a landscape. When we are on top of a sea, we look upwind across a bowl-shaped valley of water up to the next sea rising on the far side of the valley.

There are a couple of wave trains, each coming to us from its own enormous gale far north of Hawaii. At first the north swell predominated; now we are sailing on a broad reach before a northeast swell. There’s still a bit of a north sea coming through though and sometimes the two wave trains are superimposed on each other for a bigger, steeper sea.

Today is the third day of this weather; we probably have four to go until we get into the lee of the Big Island of Hawaii. That’s a lot of days of watching these seas. And listening to them.

The waves are fractal: the big seas are covered with smaller waves, each of which has miniature waves racing across its face. In addition to the splashing and rushing of water running by our hull, there’s the waterfall roar as the tops of the tallest seas tumble and break. And there’s the swoosh of small waves playing out on the longer seas. But my favorite ocean sound now comes from the white foam that streaks across all the bigger seas—it is the constant hiss of bubbles popping—zillions and zillions of bubbles, to be technical.

Down below it’s quieter, until we get a good roll, and then all kinds of items—despite our best efforts at stowing—clatter and clank. Toothbrushes in their holders, books on the shelves, a headlamp hanging on a hook—each thing makes a tiny noise and together the tiny noises are so loud. We are all dreaming of the still, quiet nights in Hawaii.

FROM ARLO–
Talk about crazy. Today I spent surfing down huge (10-15’) swells, reading up in Bowditch [ed. Note: Nathaniel Bowditch’s Practical Navigator is the classic and complete reference for all things navigational] and calculating the distance form Hawaii. (The equation 1.15√h, with h being the height of eye or height of the object off the water will give you the distance away you can see an object in nautical miles.) The top of the Big Island should be visible at 128 nautical miles away. As of 1000 this morning, we had only 585 nm to go before we get under the lee of the Big Island.

Early this morning we struck the staysail and mizzen, and raised the jib, and surfed down waves at over 10 knots. But then we decided it was too much so we switched the jib for the staysail. Remember yesterday’s sail configuration? Today we went for 6-8 hours under staysail alone, making 6+ knots. This afternoon we raised the fore t’gallant topsail with one reef. Just kidding. We actually raised the reefed mizzen to keep our speed up.

Dinner tonight was the highlight of the day, though. It was “confit de canard,” or, as I call it, duck in a can. It was incredibly good, especially when eaten over mashed potatoes and sauteed cabbage, as we had it.

Finally, this evening I saw a shooting star as I was reclining in the cockpit brushing my teeth. Ahh . . . life on a boat.

12/12—Wednesday (Day 16)

from ARLO-
I stuck my head up on deck this morning to talk to my mom, who was on watch. She asked me, “Do you have any ideas for breakfast or should I give you mine?” She suggested I make scones. We doubled the recipe, which called for 8 C of flour, and I made two trays worth of fat scones. We ate them hot with butter and pamplemousses on the side. It was incredible, which I can say even though I had a hand in making them.

We began the day under staysail and mizzen and at lunch, Alma announced that we had made our best day’s run yet of 155 nautical miles. In the afternoon we wanted a little more sail, so we raised the trysail on a broad reach, which worked surprisingly well. The trysail is made of neon orange and white stripes, and looks great when it’s flying proudly.

All in all, today was pretty good, if a bit slow. I’ve been working on a design for a tool to measure latitude. I’ve also been doing math, and I find that math lessons tend to make a day slow.

12/13—Thursday (Day 17)

from ALMA–
Tomorrow morning we might be able to see the Big Island of Hawaii. Then it will be about two or three days until we get to Oahu, but we’ll be in sight of land the whole time. Seeing land will make it seem less like we are in the middle of nowhere. Being in the middle of nowhere does have benefits, like the night being so dark that you can see a whole sky of stars—that feels magical.

But now we are thinking of going back home. It seems crazy. School, cars, internet, everyone speaking English, not so many stars. Wow.

from JASON–
Lunch today was chili soup and quesadillas. We eat so well, despite the absurd conditions. In the galley making lunch today, Caitlin had to contend with a deep roll. She could mostly predict that, even work with it, moving to starboard on a starboard roll and port on a port roll. The roll wasn’t entirely regular though, with multiple wave trains combining to make Debonair gyrate as she rolled and sometimes abruptly lurch as she came down off a bigger wave and shouldered into a smaller one. In the midst of this she had a hot pot of soup on the stove, had to ladle that soup into five bowls, and manage those bowls once they were full. Nothing was lost this time though, and she called for help to fireline the bowls, napkins, spoons and the tray of quesadillas up on deck. As the boat heaved, we passed the bowls, tilting our arms and hands first this way, then that, to keep the soup in. We held one others’ bowls to allow us to maneuver into strategic eating spots in the cockpit. We settled into our nooks, and pressed our feet against the binnacle, the mast, the opposite seat to wedge ourselves into place. Then we swayed our torsos to the swaying of the boat, and held our bowls close to our chins to try to prevent the soup from blowing downwind onto our neighbor. We weren’t entirely successful, but we were all wearing foul weather gear, so we cleaned up well enough. I risked balancing a quesadilla on my knee, and was quickly spooning my chili, when we all heard the familiar sound of a larger than usual wave swelling up to meet us and slapping up against the side of the boat. We hunkered our shoulders down involuntarily, conditioned from the last few days of bigger wind and sea. The water flew straight up and the wind caught it and blew it right over us. It caught me full in the back, running straight down the neck of my coat as it always does, spraying my chili with a salt water seasoning, and washing my quesadilla down into the cockpit well where it bobbed around like a little boat. It ended up under Alma’s feet and I called “Alma, grab it!” but of course she didn’t know what I was talking about. I got the quesadilla back before it was too soggy. It was fine.

Despite all the complications of eating, we enjoy our meals out on deck in the weather. The view of the constantly moving ocean and the ever-changing sky are endlessly interesting. Shearwaters and petrels circle, swooping and diving along the valleys and crests of the waves hunting for fish with incredible dexterity that makes me feel how out of place we are here terrestrial creatures staggering around our lurching boat with our chili bowls. When we finished our lunch, Arlo read us another chapter of Farley Mowat’s “The Boat Who Wouldn’t Float.” The humor in the book is almost as uplifting at Arlo’s obvious joy in that humor.

As much as we like making passages, we’re all looking forward to just sighting Hawaii after about two weeks at sea now. Today, in his noon report, Arlo calculated the time tomorrow when we might see the big island. Depending on our speed and the visibility we could see it as early as mid morning and as late as, well. . . I suppose if it’s cloudy again we might not see it tomorrow. We’re excited about it in any case. It’s such a massive island compared to anything else we’ve seen. At nearly 14,000 feet, the two cones of Hawaii are higher than most of the Sierra Nevada, and are about three times as tall as anything else in the Pacific that we’ve seen. In ideal conditions you could see it from about 125 nautical miles away. In addition to being a grand sight, that massive island creates its own weather in a number of ways. We’ll enjoy getting a break from the wind in the lee of the island.

Life out here very much follows routines. Arlo is on watch now. I’ll relieve him at three and will be on deck through dinner, when everyone will join me around sunset. It’s a spectacular time of day, and the dining challenges and entertainment are enhanced by the difficult visibility in the low light.

12/14 (Day 18)

From Caitlin–
The sea is somewhat diminished today, as is the wind, so we hoisted the mainsail or the first time in many days. We spent the late afternoon and through the night on a broad reach with double reefed main and staysail, making 7 – 8 knots, often making ten+ knots down the front of seas.

The seawater is still warm enough that we are all still barefoot in our foul weather gear, but we slept under a comforter last night for the first time since March. Now I’m looking forward to being in sweater weather someday again!

12/15 (Day 19)

This morning we rounded the southern point of the Big Island. As the wind wrapped around the point, it intensified and we were screaming along before a moderate sea. Arlo and Alma joined Jason on deck at 0500 and each took an hour at the helm. It was moving to see these capable sailors wrestling the wheel to steer us down the face of the seas.

And then the wind died. We’re motor-sailing in the wind shadow of the Big Island, heading north toward Oahu. The seas are smaller and the sun is out, so we are hanging damp laundry and generally cleaning up the boat after the week of boisterous weather. There’s still quite a ways to go, but it’s all in relatively protected waters. We’ll let you know when we arrive.

2nd Update from the Marquesas-Hawai’i Passage

12/2

from Caitlin:

The wind has veered a bit just abaft the beam and the sailing is easy. The seas are small, and we are enjoying all the things you enjoy in lovely weather at sea–sky, clouds, stars, flying fish, sea birds, sunsets and sunrises, phosphorescence, shooting stars galore. Seriously, until the hours I’d spent on night watch this year, I didn’t realize how many kinds of “shooting stars” we can see. There are fast ones, super slow ones, ones that seem to flare up. There are short ones and ones that seem to arc across half the sky. And there are so many—on a clear and moonless three-hour I’ll often see 6-8 shooting stars, even without watching for them.

We celebrated crossing the equator back into the northern hemisphere last night with an offering of rum to Neptune and an offering of a linzertorte decorated to look like a globe for us mortals. Near the equator here, we can see the quintessential northern hemisphere constellation, the Big Dipper, ahead of us and the Southern Cross astern.

This morning we are doing our usual stuff–washing dishes, downloading weather reports, handling sail changes, changing the rags in the forepeak that soak up the somewhat-diminished leaks. There’s always someone on watch, often someone in the galley, usually someone napping. Right now Arlo and Alma are working on Spanish and math respectively, as bigger seas and higher winds are forecast in a few days.

From Alma:

Last night I dreamed that we got to Hawai’i. We were in a wide bay with a narrow entrance. This morning we were getting the boat cleaned up when my mom said, “Alma, it’s time.” I woke up and realized I had been dreaming. We are still on passage and right then I had to go on watch. Bummer. What did happen last night though is that we crossed the equator. I didn’t end up getting up for it which is fine with me. I was really tired this morning anyway. But I was definitely awake by the time the linzertorte came out for breakfast! It was delicious. I don’t know if I have ever had one before, but it is definitely competing for the “Alma’s top five desserts” award!

12/3

from Alma:

Still sailing along.

We are more downwind today.

Days are shortening.

12/4

from Arlo:

Nights at sea are interesting. We usually eat dinner in the cockpit, and then we will read aloud from our book. Then either my dad or JT will go below to do the dinner dishes, while my sister or I will stand by to dry the dishes, because you can’t leave dishes out to dry at sea. Then I will go on deck to brush my teeth and floss. Then depending on the time, I will either read and then go to bed, or just go to sleep immediately. If I wake up in the night, I will occasionally go give the person currently on night watch some company, because I only stand the dawn watch and an afternoon watch. We are still pretty fished out, and although we had a can of mackerel for lunch today, we are still not fishing today. We finished our last bananas, and of the 100-200 that we had on board, we only lost a few. That’s a lot of bananas to eat in one week. My sister and I are cramming in as much school work as possible, because after the next few days, we will have bigger seas all the way to Hawaii.

12/5

from Jason:

0015 hours. Still on Marquesas time, ½ hour ahead of Hawaii. The wind went light and so far South of East that the roll was shaking the sails more than the wind was driving them. We looked at the weather forecast after dinner and after lots of deliberation, we struck everything but the main, double reefed the main and fired up and steamed due North. So here we are now, the wind light and behind us, the main prevented out to starboard, just barely held full by that little tailwind and running along at 2200 RPM’s and traveling five to six knots. We’re solidly into the ITCZ now. I think we were at about 6 degrees 30 minutes Norrth when we made the sail change. At 0030 hours, just now, we reached seven degrees North. It’d be great to steam straight through this ITCZ and get going in the Northeast trades.

Arlo’s done a couple after dinner readings of Farley Mowat’s “The Boat Who Wouldn’t Float.” Mowat’s way of exaggerating and making his language mock eloquent is great. Arlo’s reading of that too. He’s got good dramatic tone and gets really into it at the funny parts. His voice accentuates the characters and their emotions and he speeds up a bit as if he’s got to go faster to get it all out before he cracks up.

12/6

from Arlo:

This morning I cut up two huge pamplemousses for breakfast to go with cereal. We still have around 20 pamplemousse at least, plenty to get to Hawaii on. We have some bigger seas coming our way and some accompanying heavy winds. I mentioned this in the previous musing, but we have been watching the weather files that we get through the satellite receiver, and it still looks rough, and although I have never been in seas like that I am interested to sea (Ha-ha!) what they are like. I also will not have to do much school work if any at all, which will be nice. We just made it out of the ITCZ yesterday and luckily for us it only took about 12-18 hours of motorsailing to get through it. We got several rain showers, from the frequent squalls, and we all took the opportunity to wash some clothes, and ourselves. My sister and I have moved from the forepeak for more comfortable sleeping places in the big seas, and hopefully that should make sleeping a bit easier.

12/7

from Jason:

It’s about 2PM. It’s a popular time to try to catch a quick nap. Arlo’s on watch. I’ll relieve him in a second. We’re under double reefed main and staysail and are flying along at six to seven knots. We’re a day and a half into the Northeast trades and moving North fast now. We plan on riding North for a few more days to be upwind of Hawaii when the wind and seas increase. That will put us in position for a roaring broad reach down to Hawaii. We’ll see!

We’re at that point in the passage now, 11 days in, where the days all fly by and run together in one big memory of constant motion of sea and sky. Our only company is an occasional tropic bird circling the boat, or petrel speeding along the waves. We’ve gotten to that place where it feels like we just do the same thing again and again and eventually we’ll be there.

Homeward Bound, part I

Tuesday, 11/27
Day 1

Caitlin:
Our last day in French Polynesia we were anchored in the long, narrow Baie Hooumi. We spent the day preparing to go to sea—anchors secured, propeller cleaned, bread made. We rowed five half-mile round trips to the beach to fill jerry cans with spring water to fill Debonair’s tanks.

In the late afternoon we went ashore for the last time. Walking through the village of a few dozen houses, we admired the mangoes hanging from huge trees. We discussed the skinniness of the horses tied along our route. Arland Alma took advantage of a long hill and ran up it. On our way home, a man called afer us: “Ka’oha! Parlez-vous francais?” So we turned back and met Patrice and his grown niece and nephew, and when we left their family compound we were carrying a large stalk of bananas (it would become the third one hanging in our cabin), a bag of mangoes, a bag of limes, and a bag of guavas. These were not small bags. “It is not good to refuse, madame.” We are no longer surprised by this ubiquitous generosity.

We sailed from Nuku Hiva under gray skies this morning. This will be a relatively dark passage—the moon is about half full and waning. It won’t rise tonight until just before midnight and it will rise later and smaller every night this week. The days will get shorter as we sail due North into the Northern hemisphere’s winter. Both my watches will be dark ones.

But there will be fruit!

Jason:
Underway from Nuku Hiva! Three nap below. Arlo’s got the deck watch and the helm. I’m on the high side looking down to Nuku Hiva as we sail over her eastern, windward shore. The final northeastern point is sliding off astern. It’s all gray all around today. Ua Huka is just visible in the clouds off to the East.

Wednesday, 11/28
Day 2

From Arlo:
Yesterday, 10AM, we departed Hooumi, Nuku Hiva, Marquesas bound for Hawaii, three weeks away. This morning we caught a smallish Mahi-Mahi, which we turned into an excellent poisson cru for lunch with cucumber, onion and lime juice. Now it is 4:30p.m., and we just raised the staysail, so now we have all four sails set: mizzen, main, staysail and jib. Some large dolphins came and went. Now it is just us cooking along with just enough wind to keep us at five to six knots. We have been on a beam to close reach since Nuku Hiva, so we can keep some portlights open, but, sadly not the forepeak hatch because of the spray. There were 2.9 meter seas heading towards us from the north predicted, but so far they haven’t showed up. Knock, knock.

Today I have only eaten five bananas, unlike yesterday’s eight, and nowehere near my record nine from the pacific crossing from Mexico. I am going to have to pick up the pace. Now the sun is setting over an empty horizon, and I have to watch it go.

From Alma:
All four sails are up and we are charging along. I read for a couple hours until I was called on deck to see the dolphins. There was only ever one at a time and they all had very blunt foreheads. That was cool. I can’t believe that we will probably be in Hawaii in about two and a half weeks! I’m excited.

Thursday, 11/29. 0200 hours Marquesas time
Day 3

Jason:
We’re going to miss the Marquesas.

We’re close reaching under single reefed main and working jib and are just in a groove. All day yesterday and all through the night, Debonair has just been charging along. There’s a forecast for a big swell from the North that could slow our progress, but it hasn’t materialized yet and we’re roaring along while we can.

Friday, 11/30
Day 4

Jason:
The Southeast trades are treating us well—good fair wind on our beam ever since we cleared Nuku Hiva, and we’re steadily sailing straight north along the 140th meridian west. This morning at 10am we were at 03 degrees 02 minutes south, and 139 degrees 40 minutes west and easing along at about five knots. In the last day or so the wind has breezed up to nearly 20 knots and has eased off to as low as about 10 knots. We’ve carried all sail, in the lighter wind—jib, staysail, main and mizzen, and have reduced sail to just double reefed main and jib in the heavier wind. Through all that we’ve kept our speed between five and six knots, with the occasional runs even faster.

We caught a good sized skipjack tuna yesterday. It’s maybe a bit bigger than we can manage, but we’ve dedicated ourselves to eating it. Arlo and JT marinated and baked some last night for dinner. This morning Arlo made a great poisson cru for breakfast. (Poisson cru, the raw fish, lime, onion, veggies and coconut milk specialty of French Polynesia, became a favorite for the fish eaters aboard. Like the locals, we enjoy it breakfast, lunch, and dinner.) We’ll have fish salad sandwiches for lunch. We think we’ll take a break from fish tonight, and will cook the rest of the fish tomorrow and plan on finishing it by Sunday. With all this fish, accompanied by papayas, mangoes, guavas and bananas, we feel like we’re really having a final Marquesan celebration.

Just this moment, the wind is light enough that the forward deck has dried. I’ll go see if I can putty the seam between house and deck where water is coming in and making Arlo & Alma’s forepeak a little swampy. It’s been so wet on deck lately that we couldn’t do the work, and so we’ve been taping up towels to keep the salt water from soaking everything. Every morning we hang the towels out to dry and replace them with dry towels. Between little projects like that, and the work of just keeping the boat going, and everything working right, the days fly by. We just finished our poisson cru and it’s almost time for skipjack salad sandwiches!

Windward Passage Notes

On Thursday, November 15 we headed out the south pass of Fakarava in the Tuamotu with friend JT aboard, bound for Nuku Hiva, back in the Marquesas. Although the weather window was not ideal, we needed to get moving again as Hawaii is beckoning and she’s 2400 nautical miles or so from the Marquesas, where we plan to re-fuel, take on water, do some final provisioning, and check out of French Polynesia. And anyway, sailors’ superstition has it that you never leave on a passage on a Friday, so we had to go.

We made landfall in Nuku Hiva two days ago, after a week at sea. We thought we’d been posting updates from that passage, but learned on arrival here that our blog was down. Here are those notes.

Weather permitting, we’ll leave next week for Hawaii. We hope to keep you posted along the way, and we’ll update photos at that point. As always, it’s lovely to think of you reading our words as we write. Thank you.

11/15 – Day 1

From the ship’s log: 0800 Departing Fakarava, bound toward the Marquesas.

11/16 – Day 2

From Alma: Happy one-third birthday Arlo, we’re going to the Marquesas! Day two, we’re heading to windward, so the forepeak [ed: where Alma and Arlo sleep] is uncomfortable. I’m a little sick of the pitching. If you’re not lying down, you feel sick in the forepeak. But other than that, things are going well (knock on wood). On deck it’s nice with the wind. We are headed for Nuku Hiva (New-koo heave-uh). It will be the third island that we have returned to. The first one was Toau (Tow-aaa-ooo) and the second one was Fakarava. I enjoy being able to picture what it will be like. And I think that I will enjoy returning to Nuku Hiva.

From Arlo: JT’s back. We are currently heading from the Tuamotu to the Marquesas, where we will pause briefly in Taiohae, Nuku Hiva and then continue on to Hawaii. So far it has been all upwind, which means forepeak hatch is shut, and pounding into the seas. But at least there is no rolling rail to rail. My sister and I have changed from our watch of 6-9am, to a morning watch of 5:30-8am, and I am also taking a solo 12:30-2 or 2:30pm watch. At least I get to fish again on passage, although I have not caught anything since the Great Barracuda in Apataki. Earlier during watch, I spent a lot of time using the exercise bands. These bands are great for passing the time on watch.

From Jason: After lunch. Arlo and Alma on watch and Alma singing and chatting. The aft cabin is a greenhouse. Here in the main saloon it’s cooler with the portlights open. Sailing to windward is work! It takes such patience. The boat is so much slower when we’re close hauled. All the sails are strapped in tight and we’re just slogging into a headsea. Each drop from the peak of one wave into the face of the next feels like it stops us. We fall off and everything feels heavy and inert until slowly, slowly we gain way again. When we’re moving again, we lurch off another wave, plow heavily into the next and are stopped again. Over and over, with a leaden feeling that makes me really feel the weight of the boat. And all this slow and slogging is all in the wrong direction! Will we travel half again as far as the rhum line course? So slow in the wrong direction. It takes a whole different mindset to have that kind of patience. You have to settle into the passage and really get into that passage making mode of just doing the best you can every moment to just keep her going, and not worrying about how long it will take. You have to take the long view. I’m getting there, but I’m not there yet. Just getting some miles behind us helps, but this windward work is so uncertain.

11/17 – Day 3

From Arlo: Fish! Fish fish fish fish fish fish fish! Today around midday I caught a good sized Skipjack Tuna. We cleaned it immediately and then marinated and baked it for dinner. It was delicious. In other news, this morning while washing dishes I spilled the entire tub of soapy water across the counter after a larger than usual swell. The weather has been mostly fair all day, except for two squalls of rain in the morning. We ran out of my favorite brand of sunscreen, so now I have to use the only other kind we have. We just fired up the engine again, because the wind just died. Just like we have been since we left Fakarava 2 ½ days ago: sailing when we can and steaming it when we can’t. With Nuku Hiva still four or more days out, we could use some favorable winds, not from dead ahead as they have been.

11/18 – Day 3

From Caitlin: The eastern sky is paler as dawn approaches. It’s taken a couple of days to get back into the rhythms of being at sea. First, the watch schedule starts to feel like a natural cycle: Jason hands DEBONAIR to me at sunset, JT takes her at midnight, Jason’s got the mid-watch, and I am on deck by 2:30am. Arlo and Alma take over at sunrise, and Arlo is on again after lunch to facilitate naps for the rest of us.

Then there are the daily rituals: the “noon report,” prepared by Arlo or Alma, is a highly anticipated accounting of miles covered and miles made good in the last 24 hours. Jason and I send for weather and update our strategy at 7am and 7pm. After dinner, in good weather, I read aloud to the whole crew. We’ve gotten through half a dozen books this way over the year—right now we’re reading The Last Navigator, by Stephen Thomas, about traditional Micronesian navigation. Sometimes it’s lighter fare.

The routines are kept interesting by the constant changing of weather and by the work to respond to that weather (genoa down, yankee up, yankee down, genoa up again, shake a reef in the main), by the maintenance work and galley chores. There are also moments each day that provide punctuation: the enormous ice crystal halo around a gibbous moon our second night out. Or yesterday afternoon, when I sat on the coach roof, leaning against the overturned dinghy and looked to windward in the perfect light of the late afternoon. Arlo and Alma and JT were working below on calculating wind speed based on the rotations of a Sprite bottle spinner the kids made. Jason was below too, replacing the water filter in our fresh water system. I only felt selfish for a moment as I watched the light on the water, on the varnished wood, on the sails, on my toes. And it seemed then that not only was this a perfect moment, but that this moment had another dimension, connecting me across years to each of the other late afternoons I have spent looking at the sea in the perfect wind and the perfect light. Those moments appeared to me all at once, unbidden: when I was six on my family’s first boat, when I was in high school mid-Atlantic, and on a schooner I worked on in my twenties.

My 3 a.m. watch this morning began under a clear sky. The moon had set already and the stars were extra bright. The milky way, which is easier to see in the southern hemisphere, glowed and Jason pointed out the “Magellanic Clouds” that are actually other galaxies. And then we sailed into squall after squall, some with wind, some with rain that came down so hard I could barely see the surface of the ocean. Some with both. By the time the sun came up, the squalls were moving past us and the clouds were shot through with rainbows in every direction.

I’m tired and also tired of going to weather. But I know how lucky I am.

From Jason: Today over lunch (Skipjack-salad sandwiches for the fisheaters) in the cockpit, Arlo gave the noon report. He told us that it was 14,300 feet deep. That’s 2.7 statute miles! (Or 2.4 nautical miles.) That’s a lot of water. We all thought about all that water down there. JT suggested picturing a column of water under DEBONAIR, 44 feet long and 12 feet wide and 14,300 feet tall and imagining all the life in that column. Mindboggling.

I’ve gotten into the upwind groove. It still takes way more work and attention than all the rolling downwind we did on our way here, but we’re keeping the boat moving in the right direction. I’ve acclimatized to the slower speed, and if we can keep her going four knots I feel OK. Five’s better, but four’ll do for now. I’ve relaxed enough to see the endless beauty of the sea all the way around us, and the sky above. The sea and sky are always changing, the sun playing through the clouds and over the water. Last night it was clear. Once the little waxing moon set, the stars were brilliant.

We’ve been out sailing all year—long enough to notice the slow movement of the constellations and planets across the sky. On our way South, from the Marquesas to the Tuamotus back in early July, just after sunset Mars was rising over the Eastern horizon, big and bright orange. It was so bright that I mistook it for the light of a ship until it rose higher and higher in the sky. Now, in mid-November, heading back to the Marquesas, Mars is right up overhead at first dark. The Southern Cross that used to stand vertical at sunset now rises on its left side in the wee hours after midnight, pivoting up a bit before disappearing at dawn. Just seeing the sea and sky, watching them constantly and continually and infinitely changing every day all year has been such a surprising pleasure for me.

11/19– Day 4

from ALMA: Home seems so far away, and it is. And yet our trip is almost over. Just over a month left. It is sad to leave this place, yet it is also nice to come home. As we get closer to leaving for Hawaii from these little towns on the French Polynesian Islands,, it is seeming crazier to come back to busy civilization

11/20—Day 6

From ARLO: 9:00 a.m. Fishing line deployed. Breakfast cooked. I made eggs, toast, and pamplemousse (pomelo). Yesterday we calculated the amount of water under us as we passed over a 16,400 foot deep spot. The amount of water under us was 3,837,600 cubic feet—although it would have been more if we had calculated it at our record depth of 18,040 feet deep.

This whole going to weather thing that we have been doing this passage definitely has its downsides, such as using the engine sometimes, and a couple of now-apparant leaks in the deck.

10:00 a.m. “Fish!” J.T. yells. I come up on deck and start heaving in the 300 lb test handline. The fish has been getting dragged through the water for a few minutes, but it still has plenty of fight in it. 90 seconds later we have a 3.5’ wahoo alongside. I had the leader in my hand while JT grabbed it and swung it aboard. Dad and I cleaned it and half an hour later we had four large plastic containers and one plastic bag in the fridge, packed with fish. Wahoo steaks for dinner tonight. And the next night and maybe the night after that too.

4:00p.m. (1600) My watch again. Dolphins sighted. They played under the bow, leaping from the water, the evening light making rainbows in the spray of their blowholes. All in all, not a bad day.

11/21—Day 7

We sighted Nuku Hiva around 0700. Spent the day trying to make easting in a confused sea. Around sunset, the seas calmed as we got cover under the southeastern point of the island. We ate lentil soup in the cockpit in the dark. Eventually Alma went below to read in her bunk and then sleep. Later that evening, we nosed our way into Taiohae harbor and anchored by the light of the almost full moon.

Notes from the Galley

First, a quick note on other topics . . .

We always love getting your comments and notes and never more so than the thoughtful words you sent after Chauncy’s passing. Thank you for your stories, your wisdom and your kindness.

A few of you have expressed concern about our safety in light of all the hurricanes currently swirling across the oceans. Pilot charts graphically represent weather data as well as information about seas and currents by area and by month–in essence, they show us weather probabilities. We spent a lot of time with pilot charts while planning our voyage as we have a strong desire to avoid hurricanes. Luckily, hurricanes (called cyclones here and typhoons in the Indian and Western Pacific Oceans) are fairly predictable. We’re in the southern hemisphere now, while the hurricanes are in the northern hemisphere. Come the end of October, we’ll begin to work our way east again toward the Marquesas, and we’ll leave the southern hemisphere by the end of November, not crossing to Hawaii until December, when hurricanes would be extremely rare. Then we’ll leave Hawaii late spring before the summer hurricane season begins there.

So no hurricanes, but the past couple weeks have been marked by many days of strong winds. After a plague of flying insects descended on us in Raiatea one night and proceeded to lose their wings by the million on our boat (we are hoping they were anything but termites), we headed to Taha’a, the island that shares Raiatea’s lagoon.

Despite the winds, we circumnavigated the island, visited an off-lying motu, climbed inland, and hitchhiked a lot.

The hitchhiking has turned out to be a way to meet some wonderful people, from the English teacher who invited us to go paddling with her va’a team on Raiatea, to the vice-mayor of Taha’a who opined about the delicate balance between economic growth and traditional life on the island.

Jason left for the States yesterday, and Arlo and Alma and I are thinking of him, Nancy and Chris in Connecticut. We wish we were there, of course, but we are spending the time in Raiatea well. In addition to doing some exploring, we’ll be catching up on a bit of schoolwork and tackling some projects we’d been putting off.

Arlo and Alma are transforming a “pearl farm buoy” into an accurate globe.

Alma and I wrote the following blog entry together—Part I is Alma’s take on eating aboard Debonair, while Part II follows up with my thoughts on shipboard cooking. Enjoy–-and send us a comment if you have the chance.

PART I: EATING

–byAlma

If I could go home for 24 hours, one of the first things that I would do is go to our favorite taqueria and get a burrito. Then, I’d go get a bagel, and finally, I would get lots of cold grapes and berries. I haven’t had any of those things for almost a year. Food on the boat is different from home, but it’s great, and when we get back home, I’m sure I’ll miss baguettes and pamplemousse too!

There are hundreds of baguettes baked daily on many of the islands, though you often have to get up early to buy them.

Hiking in the Society Islands with a baguette snack.

The differences between eating on the boat, and eating at home vary depending on where we are. For example, in Mexico we ate more guacamole than we do at home. In the mountainous islands of French Polynesia, there’s a lot more fruit than at home, but fewer vegetables… and not an avocado in sight!

The beautiful breadfruit leaves frame the bright green breadfruits perfectly. Breadfruits are a little chewier than a potato, but taste similar.

In the Tuamotus, we ate less fruits and vegetables than we did at home. And in general, we have been eating more canned stuff, such as canned beans, canned pineapple, and canned chicken. My mom is great at using these new ingredients to make something new and wonderful every day!

Some of my favorite foods on the boat are rainy day popcorn, piles of fruit, pasta, and baguettes. When it’s rainy, and we huddle up down below with popcorn… I love it! On the other hand, when it’s hot outside, and there are piles of fruit on the table, I love that too! My favorite fruits have been papaya and pineapple.

Every time we walk ashore in the Societies, we return with fruit. Here, breadfruit, bananas, plantains, mangoes, and mystery tuber, whose Tahitian name sounds like taro, but isn’t taro, which is purple.

When it comes to pasta, I’ll take it any way! On baguettes, I like to put Nutella, butter and jam, or poisson cru!

So it’s all different and it’s all good. Eating on the boat changes from place to place. We have gotten to try many different types of food, and I have liked most of it! All of the food on the boat is good, and most of the food ashore too!

I have recorded some of our food recently. Here it is:

2 Days in the remote Tuamotus:

	Day 1	Day 2
Breakfast	Walnut pancakes Raspberry whipped cream Applesauce	Scrambled eggs Toast with butter and jam Canned pineapple
Lunch	Tomato-bean soup Homemade bread with butter	Bread and cheese, with Bean Spread optional Cucumber slices Corn Nuts
Dinner	Homemade pizza with caramelized onions Cucumber and cabbage salad	Pinto bean soup topped with salsa and cabbage Corn Bread
Snack	Cashews Coconut	Crackers and almond butter

2 Days in the Societies

Breakfast	Homemade yogurt Apricot bread Fresh pineapple	Baked eggs Toast Papaya with lime
Lunch	(At a restaurant) Poisson Cru (raw fish salad, a bit like ceviche) Fish burger and Fries Ice cream parfait	Brie/Tomato sandwiches
Dinner	Homemade Mac and Cheese Coleslaw Ratatouille	Pumpkin/Tofu curry Black rice Chicken
Snack	Bananas	Bananas popcorn

PART II: COOKING

–by Caitlin

We left Mexico loaded with food—a refrigerator full of cheese and vegetables, as well as all kinds of snacks and staples. And loyal readers will remember the saga of the 220 green bananas. Then four and a half months passed before we stepped into a supermarket again. How did we feed ourselves over weeks at sea and months in the remote Marquesas and the Tuamotu with no freezer and enough electricity to keep the fridge cool only about half the time? Let the Great Galley Challenge (GGC) begin.

Of course, there’s been lots of fish, and in the Marquesas we bought, gleaned and were given great quantities of fruit. But grocery shopping has been limited to a few corner-store style magasins in the Marquesas and a few smaller, dustier versions thereof in the Tuamotu.

The shelves of well-stocked magasin in Fakarava.

There’s room on these shelves in a smaller magasin on the island of Kauehi,
Tuamotus.

Outside the Kauehi magasin: piles of copra drying. The coconuts are split and turned upside down to dry before the meat is removed to be sent to Tahiti for oil.

A stone fishing weir on the island of Huahine, Society Island Group. Once the fish swim into the end of the stone channel, they are scooped up or speared.

Anything that comes to these remote islands is brought by supply ship from Tahiti, which means the stores are well-stocked for a day or two but then can go a couple weeks without replenishment.

Two supply ships cross path in Taha’a, pne of the busiest islands we’ve been to in months.

Because of the French influence, you can often find canned paté, canned butter (actually from New Zealand and remarkably good), and baguettes. To my disappointment, there’s not much cheese besides brie, sometimes a little expensive gruyere, and a Velveeta equivalent. And the small Tuamotu stores emphasize white rice, sunflower oil, corned beef and flip flops.

Before we left Alameda, my friend Laurie and I canned and pickled many pounds of vegetables. Then I hit Costco to stock up on canned beans, canned chicken, canned corn and canned pineapple as well as a can opener, which we didn’t previously own. We filled 6 shopping carts with olive spreads, bruschetta, dolmas and other fancypants items form Trader Joe’s. I ordered powdered cheeses, powdered buttermilk, and powdered eggs from a camping supply store, and gallons of freeze dried vegetables and quick-cook beans from a website that may be catering to survivalists. Arlo liked the catalogs that started appearing at our house featuring ammo alongside emergency food supplies.

I have a deep pressure cooker that I use most days on the boat. The locking lid helps keep the food in the pot at sea, and the mountains of dried beans and grains we eat cook relatively quickly. Actually, lids are an important theme in our galley—in addition to the pressure cooker, I use bowls with lids and keep big silicone lids that will cover our frying pans. Hot oil and ocean swells are a bad combination.

Of course, onions, potatoes, and garlic keep for weeks or months. And it turns out that most condiments–loaded as they are with delicious salt, vinegar and sugar–don’t need refrigeration. Mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, soy sauce, hot sauce, most salad dressings, jam and chutney, nut butters, vinegar, oil and honey live happily on a shelf, even in the tropics. Yes, I did say mayo.

Although we buy bread when we can, I’ve baked a lot of bread and gotten good at it. My other pioneer cooking skills are a little more uneven—sometimes the sprouts grow, and I’ve gotten a few thermoses of yogurt to set. But pickled hard boiled eggs are the best.

Meals got creative at times during the GGC. We’ve had to work within our limited resources, but sometimes I do better with limited choices. Add limits to a bunch of words and you get a poem, after all, and without limits a river becomes a flood. Limited ingredients have generated new dishes aboard Debonair – the taro “potato” salad, the mahi mahi “tuna” salad, the plantain “banana” bread, the green papaya “coleslaw.” It turns out that corn bread made with masa harina is especially light, and egg salad stretched with UHT tofu is creamy. Arlo has learned to cook fish many ways, and I’ve incorporated coconut—coconut milk or grated coconut–into any number of dishes.

Yes, we do bake birthday cakes in our galley.

A few weeks ago, after a two-day sail from the Tuamotu to Huahine in the Society group, we picked up a mooring in the town of Fare to visit the beautiful supermarket. So much produce! Salami! Frozen everything! Acres of eggs! A maramu, the strong wind from the south, was forecast to begin that evening, and we had about two hours to shop before we had to head south of town to find a secure spot to ride out the wind. Everything went into the cart. Bok choy, fresh ginger, New Zealand apples, frozen chicken, five dozen eggs, papayas, bananas, breadfruit, many wedges of brie, tomatoes, cilantro. We inquired about the hundreds of tiari flower buds packaged for sale in the refrigerator case. They are not for eating.

Baguettes are delivered in the Society Islands!

It’s all wonderful–the bounty of the Society Islands, the limited ingredients of the GGC, learning to cook and eat and live a little bit differently. We have to get ashore early in the day to buy baguettes. We’ve learned to love breadfruit every way you can eat it. We haven’t seen a refrigerated egg since we’ve left the States, and we don’t miss it yet. Like Alma, I’ll be happy to pick up take out burritos again when we get home, but I have found so much more that will be missing from my kitchen.

Tuamotu Photo Round Up

We arrived at the beautiful Island of Hauhine two days ago after a mild 2.5 day passage from the Tuamotuan atoll of Toau. I’m sitting in the town hall in the village of Haapu where we have found wifi. Here are a few more photos from the Tuamotu.

We continue to feel ridiculously lucky to be here and to be in touch with you.

Arlo became an enthusiastic and then accomplished spear fisherman in the the Tuamotu. Here he hunts reef fish from the side of the boat.

The leeward side of an atoll (here, Tahanea) often has very little land visible above the water. You can just barely see a little surf hitting the reef top in this photo.

The windward side of every Pacific Island we’ve been on is strewn with plastic washed ashore. Toothbrushes, shoes, polypropylene rope, and endless bottles and bottle caps .

So much beauty underwater. This is the top of a “bommie” that rises up from 70′ of water, a column of life in the middle of an atoll lagoon.

Taking underwater photos is tricky, but the swimming is great. Both Arlo and Alma easily free dive to 25′ to see fish and coral. Neither is worried when sharks swim nearby. We’re not in Alameda anymore, Toto.

Typical boat lift, Rotoava Village, Fakarava

Even the five dollar bills are beautiful.

Arlo, always happy to be able to run again.

On the shelf in the magasin, Kauehi Village

So many roofs are woven palm fronds. This is looking up inside a house.