The Dinghies

We brought along an 11'6" inflatable Avon, and a little 10' sailboat. While cruising, the dinghy is our car, and we use it to go to the grocery store in town--just over a mile away. We also use it to go buy water, and of course when we're anchored out we use the dinghies to get to shore. We also enjoy exploring the island via the dinghies.

Some friends of ours here, Steve and Michelle, loaned us their Walker Bay 10' sailing dinghy, which is exactly like ours, so we have been able to race each other and play sailboat tag. It's always more fun to sail against another boat.

Our marina is an a protected lagoon, so each afternoon, when school-work is finished, the boys go out and race each other.

At first I could sail faster than both William and Henry, but they have become competant sailor's and can both beat me. I'm still a little faster than Lora, but probably not for long. Pauli and Warren are getting sailing lessons, and soon they will be able to sail on their own. Parker loves going for dinghy rides

Requiem for a Sultana

I’m trying to read under a Mexican palapa, but I’m distracted by the giant catamarans—like nautical space stations—powering by with paying passengers searching for something pretty to write on a postcard.

These cats fly neither jib nor mainsail, they’ve been reduced to tricked-out tourist conveyance traps—twenty-five bucks for a quick snorkeling trip. Technology has brought change to the tropics where all the new high-speed ferries are catamarans that bring a fresh batch of tourists from the mainland every 30 minutes.

I watch the masts of my Cheoy Lee, 50’ away, sway in the undulating wakes. My wife, Lora, and I are sailing for a year with our five boys aboard our boat Boisterous—hoping to augment their home-schooling with some third-world perspectives. The oldest is 14, the youngest just 3. Right now, two boys are inside the boat doing schoolwork. One is in the cockpit, and another is hanging in a hammock reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Lora, and the youngest are paddling a pink kayak toward a rusty steel wreck on a nearby reef.

Every hour I move my Adirondack-back chair a foot or so to stay in the palapa’s shade. I can see four or five boats anchored out in the Isla Mujeres harbor--about 7 miles offshore from Cancun. A black bitch and her two pups sleep under the dock, and several blue-green needle-fish dart about in the shallows. Overhead majestic frigate birds hover, looking like prehistoric pterodactyls with sharp elbows and split tails.

One hundred yards away the wood-planked Sultana Del Mar sits sadly against a dilapidated dock, her paint peeling and rust streaking down her sides like teary mascara. But in her youth, she too ferried tourists in her belly--tourists with pockets full of paper pesos--tourists diligently searching for a t-shirt to take home to Toledo, Ohio. In her heyday, the Sultana served as Hollywood’s whore, starring in the 1984 feature film, Against All Odds with Rachel Ward and Jeff Bridges. But that fact is lost on today’s Play-Station generation.

This is my sixth trip to this coconut island; three times I’ve arrived under sail--sunburned and salt-stained. Twenty years ago when I was a college student, the Sultana first ferried me from Puerto Juarez--her proud bow plowing turquoise waves. She conveyed schools of children on field trips, honeymooners and hippies, peasants and paupers. Back then a hotel room on Isla Mujeres was a mere $7—no phone, no pool, no pets; there were fewer taxis, tourists, and t-shirt vendors.

So there she sits, mostly rotten and utterly forgotten—all her memories and secrets soon to slip quietly into the sea. Later some of her planks might be scavenged to reinforce a tar-paper shack. Ah, but once starlets and directors trod upon her decks, where now only the dung of pelagic birds sits steaming under a tropical sun.

Rest in peace, Sultana, and thanks for the rides.

Isla Mujeres

Playing in the water is one of the nice things about spending time on an island. Give a bunch of boys a pile of sand, and they can play for hours, digging holes, burying each other, and making sand-castles.

At Marina Milagro Del Mar the owners provide kayaks, and it's nice to go paddling just before sunset. Each night there is a spectacular sunset.

There are several hammocks and palapas that are great for lounging and reading. The boys sometimes do their schoolwork there.

One of our boat neighbors, Christopher, generously loaned us his Hookah dive compressor. The boys watched several instructional diving DVDs, and then we practiced in the shallow water off the dock before taking the rig out in the dinghy and diving off the north end of the island. William and Henry loved sitting on the bottom in about 15' of water and watching the colorful fish dart in and out of small caves in the reef.

Harvesting Sea Turtle Eggs

Isla Mujeres is a breeding ground for three or four species of turtles, and there is now an effort to help them survive. Because of a number of predators (humans, dogs, fish, birds, raccoons, fishing nets) only about 1 out of 1000 turtle eggs hatch and live to reproduce.

Turtles can remain under water for up to five hours, and they can sometimes slow their heart rate down to about one beat per minute. It takes them 25-30 years to become sexually mature. Some species can live 80 years and can weigh over 1000 pounds.

Lora, William, and I volunteered to help harvest turtle eggs. We arrived on the beach late one stormy night and waited in the intermittent rain until one large female white turtle (white on the underside) slowly worked her way up the beach where she herself was hatched decades ago. With her flippers she started digging a hole, but she soon hit rock. She abandoned this hole and went down the beach 100 feet and dug another hole around 30 inches deep.

She straddled the hole and then sort of went into a trance while she laid 140 eggs. As she laid the eggs, we crawled up to the hole on our bellies and reached in to pull out the eggs two or three at a time. The eggs were placed in the backpack of one of a young volunteer, Jesus Ismael.

The eggs are slightly larger than chicken eggs, and they were a little soft. All of the eggs were put into a backpack. Later they would be taken to the turtle farm where they are buried in the sand in little wire cages. After the hatchlings emerge they are kept in tanks for a week or two and then released on the same beach where they were laid. The farm is not allowed to keep the baby turtles for more than a few weeks for fear that if feed, they will not be able to survive on their own.

It was quite an experience to watch this turtle lay her eggs on the same beach where she was born. There was something timeless about the fact that these turtles have been doing this for thousands of years, and that they have overcome huge odds in order to reproduce. Some sea turtles have a keen inner-compass that allows then to accurately navigate thousands of miles. It looked like the turtle was crying as tears rolled out of her eyes while laying the eggs, but apparently this is how she gets rid of excess salt.

Hurricane Highlights

Hurricane Dean Tracker – weather.com
Storm Path:
Date: Aug. 21, 2007
Time: 5:00 a.m. ET
Winds: 165 mph
Strength: Cat. 5
Direction: Moving W at 20 mph
Latitude: 18.7 N Longitude: 87.8 W


Dean, a rare category-five hurricane, as big as Texas, made landfall on the Yucatan peninsula early this morning. It carried sustained winds of 165 mph with maximum gusts up to 200 mph. Only a handful of category-five hurricanes have ever hit land. This is believed to be the tenth-largest hurricane ever. The eye hit about 80 miles south of us, so we were spared the worst of it.

Back in Houston, our original plan had been to sail straight to Cartagena, Columbia, so that we would be out of the way of hurricanes, but we know what often happens to the best laid plans. It took quite a while to get Boisterous ready to leave, and then we never really got our new weatherfax system or single side band radio to work properly despite weeks of tinkering with it.

After arriving in Mexico we were hesitant to cross the Caribbean without being able to get weather information. Plan B was to stay in Isla Mujeres, do a few repairs, get supplies, get clearance from the port captain, customs, and immigration, and then head for the safety of Lake Isabal up the Rio Dulce in Guatemala. Unfortunately, the Rio is a rain forest and this is their rainy season. They get around 20 inches of rain per month. We were also concerned that all the marinas might be full. Since the Rio is 40 miles inland, we wouldn’t get a breeze, and without the electricity of a marina, it would be uncomfortable.

Plan C was to go to marina “Puerto Isla Mujeres” in case we couldn’t get out to Rio Dulce quickly enough. Puerto Isla Mujeres is a resort inside a lagoon and is considered the best hurricane hole for hundreds of miles around. They have strong floating docks which have survived two or three previous hurricanes. The other marinas, though much cheaper, use inferior wood for their pilings, and they don’t have floating docks, so lines have to be tended as the water rises or recedes.

As soon as it became evident that tropical storm Dean was developing (about 11 days before its arrival) we began getting ready to leave for the Rio Dulce. We went to Cancun to buy supplies and malaria medicine. We did laundry. We bought food and water. We studied the charts and programmed way-points into our GPS. Meanwhile, tropical storm Erin brought us a lot of wind and rain and made leaving impossible. Although forecast to slow down, Dean kept moving toward us very quickly.

Our route to Guatemala, about 350 miles away, is against the prevailing currents. There is also a sand bar at the mouth of the Rio Dulce which measures 5.5’, and our boat draws 6’, so we would need to cross at high tide. In checking the tide tables, the highest tides would occur in the middle of the night. Having never been there, the last thing we wanted was to try to find a narrow channel in the dark. Furthermore, if we had problems with wind or with our motor we would be in a vulnerable position.

By the time we were ready to leave, because of Erin, and because of Dean’s speed, we had five days before Dean’s arrival. It would take three days to sail to Guatemala, and half a day to clear-in, and most of another day to motor up the river, and this just didn’t leave enough of a margin for safety, so we decided to move to the other marina.

Puerto Isla Mujeres drastically raises their rates during hurricanes. But about two weeks before Dean, Lora and I went there and met the dock-master who gave us a tour of the world-class facilities, and he gave us a rate-sheet. As soon as Dean became category one, we casually went to the marina stating that we wanted to stay for a month, making no mention of the hurricane, and were given the normal rate of about $29 per day, versus the hurricane rate (for our size) of $136 per day!

The luxury yachts from Cozumel and Cancun all come here for hurricanes, and the boys have been eyeing some of the boats here like a 60’ Alden ketch. There is an 85’ Azimut, and several huge Hatteras. The boat right behind us is a 126’ Atwood. We got to go aboard a sleek Swedish Swan. At 41’ I think we’re the smallest boat here

This marina is a beautiful place with manicured landscaping. There are banana trees, and coconut palms, and bright red flowers. There is a large pool with swim-up bar and a kiddie pool which Parker loves. Although we are in a protected lagoon, the marina also has a beach club on the Cancun side. The boys are most interested in all the iguanas here. Although almost vicious-looking, they are actually vegetarian. We feed them carrot and celery, and enjoy photographing them.

Once we got into our new slip, four days of hard work began. We removed all the sails; we took down the bimini and dodger; we dismantled the wind-generator, and solar panels. We took down our radar reflector. We stowed jerry jugs, and the outboard motors; we removed our dorade vents; we tied off the halyards. We deflated our inflatable dinghy, and we took our sailing dinghy ashore and tied it to trees. We removed the anchor from the bow, and put out 14 lines (we usually have 6) and chafe protection. Our dock was crisscrossed with lines so that we practically had to do the limbo to get to our slip.

There are seven sailboats here with American cruisers aboard, and we helped some of our new friends, who couldn’t get a slip, move their boats into the mangroves. There is always a strong sense of community and mutual help among cruisers. One friend was asked to move from his spot in the mangroves because he had tied to some pilings that someone owned. He said he wouldn’t go unless the authorities asked him to move. An hour later the Mexican Coast Guard came, and so we helped him move to another spot. We loaned him an anchor and helped him kedge out some lines.

It seemed to us that many waited until the last minute to prepare. Two days before the hurricane hit, there were long lines of people trying to buy water and Coke. The night before Dean arrived, people were finally boarding up windows. Fortunately the Mexican government makes it illegal to buy, sell, or consume beer during a hurricane. There were also curfews in place to minimize looting.

We also made arrangements to stay in a two bedroom apartment over the small LDS branch on the island in case conditions warranted leaving the boat. We decided that Lora and the four youngest boys would go to the apartment, while William and I stayed behind to look after the boat. Had the hurricane been a direct hit, we would have all gone to the apartment.

At the marina we have cable access to CNN, so we had almost continual coverage and could see where the storm was heading thanks to satellite images. Sunday afternoon we took food, water, bedding, and some valuables to the apartment, and on Monday Lora and the younger boys moved there. The boys were excited about sleeping in a hammock for the first time.

As the hurricane hit, William and I watched a movie and ate Cheetos. The radio broadcast emergency instructions in the Mayan language, in Spanish, and in English. At the marina the wind increased from 15 to 30 and then to about 45 miles an hour steady--with gusts to maybe 75 mph. In the marina some trees were knocked down, and we lost electricity for a few minutes at a time, but aside from that, thank goodness, the worst damage was sustained by the bag of Cheetos—by morning it was almost gone.

We are very happy to report that we sustained no damage whatsoever. Yesterday, after the hurricane passed over, it was breezy but beautiful. The boys went swimming and fed iguanas.

Setting Sail

As we begin our year-long adventure, motoring out of Clear Lake and then sailing from Galveston Bay out to the Gulf of Mexico, I’m filled with concerns: Did I forget anything? Will our equipment work? Will we have mechanical problems? Will the weather hold up? It’s cloudy, and it rains intermittently, but everyone is in the cockpit and a little quieter than usual. Perhaps they are all deep in thought too. The motor hums along nicely. We’ve had so many minor problems with motors in the past that Lora and I are both a little paranoid. Anytime there is a variation in RPMs we both panic for an instant. Usually it just means someone bumped the throttle, sometimes it means that the fuel filter is clogging, but it could mean something serious.

Since we’re all very prone to sea-sickness, this time we are prepared: we’ve brought along Dramamine, Bonine, Transderm Scopolamine, and even suppositories for nausea and vomiting. We also have special battery-operated wrist-bands that deliver a little jolt of electricity to the inside of the wrist which helps minimize sea-sickness. There are five settings. I usually wear it on one. Lora is usually at two or three. At five, most people will cry uncle. In addition, Lora has packed ginger snaps, and ginger ale--reported to help with mal de mer.

Once in the Houston ship channel we hoist the main and motor-sail with the autopilot. We dodge tankers and freighters, and about five hours later we reach the long Galveston jetties. The waves are steep and scary and mean. We’ve never had such a rough ride. The boat is pitching and yawing and rolling but no one says anything. The black clouds look ominous, menacing. We’d be more wet if it weren’t for our new dodger and our big bimini.

No one is hungry, no one is talking, and in these conditions I know someone will throw up soon. That honor goes to nine year-old Warren, and he is followed by his younger brother Pauli. Though usually active and talkative, three year-old Parker lies quietly in his bunk. We unfurl the genoa and set our course for Cartagena Columbia about 2000 miles away. On deck we have strapped down six jerry jugs of extra diesel fuel (around 70 gallons), two jugs of water, and one jug of gasoline. In addition, the boat holds about 40 gallons of fuel and 100 gallons of water. Our 10’ Walker Bay sailing dinghy is strapped down on the cabin top which makes visibility difficult. We also have an 11’6” Avon inflatable in the cockpit locker. On the stern rail we have a 15 hp outboard motor and a 2hp outboard for the dinghies.

Although Lora and I had talked about William and Henry helping us stand watch at night, After about 11 p.m. everyone is asleep, and I’m left to stand watch alone. There are oil rigs all around us, and I scan the horizon every 15 or 20 minutes. It is exhausting, even though for decades I have stayed up late. The wind is around 15 knots, and we’re sailing along at about 7 knots. At dawn Lora comes on deck and relieves me, and I go below to get a little sleep before all the boys wake up.

I’m sea-sick for two days, but fortunately I don’t vomit. William doesn’t throw up either; everyone else does. On the morning of day three, I feel better, and am ready to eat. By the fourth day, I’m reading novels, and William is also well enough to eat. Pauli and Warren vomit the most. Lora gets sick a few times, but much less than on other crossings. She is using the electric shock watch, Dramamine, and the ear patch. After the second day there is less wind, and we often motor sail. At one point, our fuel filter clogs, and when I change it, there is a layer of gunk 1/4th inch thick which worries me. But after that one dirty filter, we have no more problems though we are consuming a little more fuel than we had anticipated. The next two days there is almost no wind. The sea is glassy calm as we motor along slowly burning up our fuel. On our three prior crossings we’ve either had no wind, wind on the nose, or too much wind. This trip is also falling into that pattern.

During the sea-sick period, William writes in his journal: “I promise myself, if I ever have a sailboat I will never go offshore. There is nothing fun, adventurous, cool, relaxing, romantic, or exciting about sailing offshore.”

Lora is often busy with Parker, and so William has really taken over the role of first mate. He helps me raise and lower sails, and he stands watch during a great part of the day. One memorable and miserable night our mizzen sail rips, our genoa sheet breaks, our main halyard jams, our windvane starts banging against the hull, and our running lights short out. We deal with it the best we can and then motor under bare poles. It’s 3 a.m. before William and I finish securing things.

When we left Galveston, we saw a cruise ship named Ecstasy also heading out. We could actually smell their dinner cooking. Four days later we saw the same ship heading back to Galveston after visiting Progreso. We later learned that when these ships are close by, you can usually get your cell phone to work.

I’m a little discouraged at our progress, and a little disappointed with myself for not bringing more fuel along, but then in the afternoon, a school of dolphins comes alongside swimming and jumping and seeming to enjoy themselves and our company. We all go to the foredeck to watch these graceful creatures, and after their show we are all cheered. And then the wind picks up. After that, the pattern is 20 knot winds at night, and 10 knots during the day. Unfortunately the wind is from the direction that we want to go; we’re low on fuel, and we have some things to fix on the boat, so after some discussion, we decide to alter course for Progreso, Mexico, about 130 miles west of Isla Mujeres, but even on this heading we can barely sail our course.

One day William and Henry try fishing, but after only catching Sargasso seaweed and after loosing one of our precious lures, they both retire. Too bad, fresh fish would be a nice change from cup-o-noodle, granola bars, or peanut butter and jelly. One night Lora actually fired up the stove and made macaroni and cheese, and that was a huge hit.

One pleasant surprise is that a $200 autopilot that I bought at a nautical swap-meet has worked flawlessly. We’ve hardly had to touch the wheel. These units retail for $1200, and although we had one on a previous boat, it often gave us trouble, especially under sail, but this one has worked so well that we haven’t even bothered using the Monitor windvane that we installed prior to departure.

It was usually hot and humid inside the boat, and during a calm when Lora opened an overhead hatch, Parker said, “Oh good, the AC is on.” William and Henry who sleep up in the v-berth got their bunks soaked through a dorade vent—that’s discouraging. Although we rebedded most of the port-lights, some of them still leak.

Our new roller-furler has worked perfectly. The Single Side Band radio however was a big expense, and so far it has been a disappointment. We hope that later someone can help us find the problem so that we can use it to get weather information while underway.

After seven days, we arrive at Progreso at dusk. Most of our clothes and bedding is dirty or wet. The boat is covered with salt. We’re out of vegetables and fruit, so we’re eager to set foot on land. Instead the boat hits bottom in the channel going in the small jetties, and then about 100’ from the fuel dock at the marina we run hard aground again. Odd, because we’ve been here on two previous occasions, but it turns out that we have arrived during a very low tide. An hour or so later, a guy in a powerboat takes a line from our boat to the fuel dock, and we are able to use the sheet winch to pull ourselves to the dock. Whenever there is a lull in the wind, we have to swat mosquitoes.

The next day we go in search of a marina, and it is the busy season so we have trouble finding a slip. The immigration people come to our boat and we clear in after paying the fees at a bank in town. The boys quickly go in search of marine-life to terrorize, and soon they come running back to the boat to show off a big crab that they’ve caught.

The marina has no electricity at the docks, but they have wonderful restrooms, and a warm shower feels great. We take a “combi” van into town and have dinner at one of the oldest restaurants. Lora and I do e-mail, and then we walk to the beach. On the way home we buy groceries. We’re all craving fresh fruit.

The boys are wide-eyed as they see how some of the locals live. Although there are a few nice houses, we see many shacks and huts, some made out of tar paper and some made out of sticks. The roofs are probably made of palm thatch, and there is a lot of trash everywhere. We see several families of four riding on one rusty scooter.

While in Progreso, William turns 14 years old. Ironically, 10 years before he turned 4 in this same town, so we take him to the same pizza place, and he says he remembers it. Back then I had bought him a cap gun which he enjoyed. It would be nice to stay a few more days, but the marina is expensive, and we still have a lot of miles to sail, so after three days we sail to Isla Holbox where we run aground trying to get into the lagoon. We just throw the anchor over the side and spend the night in 4.5 feet of water. Our boat draws 6 feet.

Next installment: Isla Mujeres.

Who, What, Where, When, Why, How

What: A year-long sailing sabbatical in the Western Caribbean.

Who: The Guajardo family: Paul & Lora, along with William 14, Henry 12, Warren 9, Paul 8, and Parker 3.

Where: Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, Panama, and Costa Rica.

Why: A decade-long dream; a unique educational experience; family fun; life-time memories; write a book; escape the city, and get closer to nature.

How: On less than $1000 a month (after fixed expenses). Aboard a 41’ Cheoy Lee ketch called Boisterous.


BACKGROUND
Lora and I met and fell in love at the University of Washington, Seattle, in 1989 and were married in 1991. Via the Washington Yacht Club, we sailed around the Puget Sound and the Gulf Islands of Canada,

Prior to setting off on our current trip we crossed the Gulf of Mexico six times with children. We cruised to Mexico’s Isla Mujeres on two occasions. We coastal cruised the Louisiana and Texas Coasts and the Florida Keys. We also sailed the British and U.S. Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, Turks & Caicos, and the Bahamas.

Our boat is a 41’ Cheoy Lee ketch, built in Hong Kong in 1977 and launched in 1981. We’re told that the boat once belonged to the New York Knickerbockers. We bought it from Nick, a friend from the marina whom we’d known for about 10 years. One of the things that we liked about the boat is the circular settee and all the bunks--four singles and two doubles, so technically it sleeps eight.

We’ve had a number of sailboats before this one: 21’ Sea-Pearl cat-ketch, Blackwatch 24 cutter, Balboa 26, Southern Cross 28 cutter, Freedom 33 cat-ketch, Columbia 36, Morgan Out-Island 37, and a Formosa 51 ketch. In addition we’d had a fleet of small boats, Sunfish, Laser, Force 5, Widgeon, Puffer, Dolphin Senior, Omega, Capri 14, Daysailer, Pirateer, McDinghy, Snark, Walker Bay, and a number of other small sailing boats.

Lora and I have been thinking about this trip for more than a decade. As an English professor, after getting tenure a few years ago, I became eligible for a sabbatical. My options were: one semester off at full pay, or two semesters off at half pay. We chose the latter, and with a summer at either end, we have a little over a year. Of course the purpose of the sabbatical is to write a book, but with a laptop and the web, that can be done anywhere these days.

My job is rewarding. I get to teach minority literature, Mexican-American literature, British literature (the Romantics, Victorians, and Moderns), the British novel, poetry, autobiography/memoir, and literature of the sea. Right now I’m working on a book about the art and artifice of autobiography.

PRELIMINARIES
When I meet sailors who have circumnavigated, or crossed an ocean, or taken an extended cruise what impresses me most, is not so much their sailing prowess--though certainly admirable--it is merely the fact that they were able to leave. In my opinion, leaving is the hardest part. Getting the money for the boat and buying all of the necessary equipment, getting it installed, figuring out what do about your job or business, deciding whether to sell or lease the house (and finding a buyer or tenant), for us these were the most difficult aspects of taking off for a year.

In preparing to leave, we rented a mini-storage unit, so that we could start clearing out our house. William, Henry, and I built huge shelves in our unit so that we could stack boxes up to the ceiling. We built three big shelves 4’x 8’ and four tiers high. The boys got a lot of experience cutting wood, drilling holes, and driving screws. These shelves allowed us to use practically every square foot of space in our 11’x 25’ unit.

We sold most of our furniture on craigslist, but we traded a few pieces to my brother Daniel for a laptop computer and a digital video camera. He also stored some of our nearly 20 bikes (William and Henry each have four bikes: road, mountain, track, and folding). Right before we left we sold our cars, so that at the end we rented one and also relied on friends.

Since hurricane season runs from June first until November, we were eager to leave as soon as I could turn in grades after the semester ended at the beginning of May. September is the worst month for hurricanes, and June is the most benign, so I wasn’t super worried—Lora doesn’t always share my optimism about the weather. At home, Lora dealt with the younger boys, packed up the stuff that we had decided to keep, shopped for food and supplies, and painted most of the house. Wills, Henry and I worked on the boat, often until midnight.

Wills, for example, installed mast steps up to the spreaders so that we can watch for reefs in the tropics. This entailed drilling four holes per step, tapping threads into the mast, and then putting loc-tite on the bolts. Once a step was installed, he would stand on it, and install another.

We called Henry “the screw guru” because he kept our hundreds of screws, nuts, bolts, and washers carefully organized. He was also good at drilling holes and mounting hardware. Because he is smaller, I sometimes had him crawl inside a lazarette to hold the nut while I turned the bolt. The boys helped install the solar panels, windlass, the self-steering windvane. William helped run wires for our single side band radio which required going up the mizzen mast a few times. They fetched tools and extension cords and countless cups of water.

We are greatly indebted to several friends especially Bill Boyher who worked on our electronics, radio, and software. He made us a box for our propane bottle. He loaned us his drill press, compressor, pressure washer. With his truck we ferried diesel fuel aboard. He ran to the chandler, hardware, and electronics stores numerous times. He downloaded manuals from the web and made us CDs. We can never repay his generosity and kindness. Enoch Sears and Merrill Ballantyne stopped by regularly and were always willing to lend a hand though they had boat projects of their own. Heather Griffin and Auntie Beth made dozens of DVDs to keep the boys amused. Nan Rasor loaned us her car for a few days, and on a number of occasions she baby-sat the younger boys. David Haskett loaned us a portable generator which ended up being very useful. George Calderon is a mechanical genius—the kind of guy who can make or fix anything—and he was always a wealth of advice and help. Other friends brought food or encouragement, and we’re grateful to them all.

Our to-do list was several pages long, and each day a friend or slip neighbor would stop by the boat to ask when we were going to leave. At first we felt that we needed to give a date, so we picked May 15. Later that changed to June first, and then June 15th. Later yet we would say, “next Monday,” or “in a few days.” Eventually, that question got very tiresome. Obviously we couldn’t leave until the boat was semi-ready, and in truth we had no idea when that would be. Sometimes seemingly simple job turned into long tedious project because of difficult access, a broken bolt, the wrong part, incompetence, or bad advice.

Meanwhile our house was up for sale. The Cash family put a contract on it, and we had a closing date. We worked hard to move out and clean, and then the day before we were to close, the bank called and said that the Cash family did not have enough cash (their credit was iffy ), so the sale was off. We were supposed to sail off in a couple of weeks, and now we had no buyer. So we went with plan B—leasing our house. We posted an ad on craigslist.org and soon heard from some new college graduates who were going to do Teach for America in Houston. They signed a year-long lease, and we crossed our fingers. We had a plumber replace toilets and washers, and we also had an air-conditioning guy check our system so that we would have no worries while gone. We also hired a fabulous property manager, Dina Salazar, with Platinum One Properties.

The night before we left there was a huge display of fireworks on Clear Lake bidding us farewell. I guess word had gotten out that we were finally leaving. We sailed out of there on the morning of July 5th.