My view as I write this month’s post is not what I envisioned back in June as we imagined sailing on the East Coast. A gigantic Carnival cruise ship is directly across the channel from Far Away, intercom announcing to passengers that they should pay attention to the safety briefing, followed by four blasts of a blaring horn, indicating that this is just a drill. Then the 80s music comes on. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

In my last post we were crossing the Florida-Georgia line, after having learned some lessons and having gained some confidence. Not surprisingly, this has not changed. We learn more and become better sailors every day. Or perhaps I should say, we become better liveaboards every day, because not much sailing has happened yet.

Brunswick, Georgia was our first stop after leaving Florida. We planned to anchor in front of the marina where our California friends, Jeff and Kelli, were working on getting their own boat ready to cruise. It took 4 tries to get our anchor to hold, which we thought might be why there were no other boats anchored there. Later we learned that the marina frowns upon boats anchoring there because their owners often try to come ashore and use their facilities for free. Even though we were visiting friends, two marina representatives motored over to kindly let us know that they would happily give us a 50% discount on the first night if we would like a slip. We accepted their offer, not wanting to cause trouble for our friends. In exchange, Arno asked if he could be introduced at their happy hour to promote his international health insurance business. He handed out a few cards and we enjoyed free wine and beer, showers, and laundry for a few days in a bougie marina with our friends.

I was securing the galley in preparation to leave Brunswick for our next overnight sail to South Carolina, when suddenly Arno came tearing into the salon, rushing down the stairs to our cabin. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Where’s the fire extinguisher?” he replied, looking around wildly. “It’s right there on the wall by the door! You ran right by it!” He came back up and grabbed it off the wall, running out the door with it. “There’s a fire on Andy’s boat!” I looked out the window and saw several of our dock neighbors running down the dock with fire extinguishers and a thin stream of grey smoke coming from the catamaran 3 slips down from us. I grabbed my phone and went up to the bow to record what was happening. The smoke got heavier and blacker, and as I watched, they quickly untied the lines and let the boat drift into the fairway off the dock and away from the other boats. Then I saw orange flames bursting out from under the canopy. My recording showed 2 minutes had elapsed. In a matter of minutes our neighbor’s catamaran was fully engulfed in flames. At the 4 minute mark, I heard the fire department sirens. I felt the intense heat and worried about burning embers blowing over to our boat. We had just filled our water tank, and Arno handed me the hose, which I left running at my feet as I continued to record. Thank goodness the wind was blowing away from us! We watched in shock as a boat just like ours burned to a skeleton and ultimately sunk right in the fairway. We were obviously not going to be leaving that day. It was heartbreaking to know that our dock neighbor had lost his home and everything on it. He and his wife (who was not there at the time) had just sold their house and planned to move aboard and go cruising permanently. He got off the boat with his phone and his life, but it was devastating. I’m sure the incident made everyone on that dock take a good hard look at safety protocols, us included. It was likely electrical, and we’re very glad we hired a professional to bring all our electrical up to code before we left Florida. I hope insurance takes good care of them. Surrounding boats had minor damage from the heat, but we were spared.

The next day a crane on a barge lifted the remains of the boat and hauled it out of the fairway, so we were finally able to leave. We said goodbye to Georgia and our friends, and left for an overnight sail up to Port Royal Sound, South Carolina. It was a calm passage, and Arno and I took 3-hour shifts at the helm on watch while the auto-pilot drove at a steady 6.5 knots. We kept an eye on the chartplotter for the little icons that showed other boats and ships in our path, and occasionally checked our radar screen for smaller boats and thunderstorms. At one point, Arno slowed Far Away down to let some thunderheads pass in front of us. Technology is such a godsend at night!

In Port Royal Sound, we got fuel at a local dock (without hitting the dock-yay!) and anchored out in the Stations River. Finally some nature! Our anchor held right in the center of the river, despite the strong current and swinging tides. We got nervous when the tide came in, it was a full moon and high tide swung us pretty close to the riverbank. But our chart showed it deep right to the edge, so we held our breath and watched the depth meter. Then we held our breath again as a giant thunderhead we could see on our weather app headed right for us. We put our iPads, iPhones, and laptops in the microwave, which apparently makes a great Faraday cage in case of a lightning strike. As the sky lit up around us and the wind slammed us against our anchor chain, I had to get my phone out to record some of it. We have never experienced lightning like that in California! We didn’t breathe much that night. The storm eventually passed over us, taking with it any air that was left to cool us off. It was a hot and sultry night, but the storm kept the bugs away. In the morning a pair of dolphins snorted as they came up for air right off Far Away’s stern.

Our next stop north was Charleston, South Carolina. I’m sure it is a fabulous city to visit, but we had no intention of going ashore. We found a quiet anchorage outside of town with a view of the enormous bridge, shared with one other catamaran and a whole pod of dolphins! We had fresh grilled Spanish mackerel for dinner, which Arno had caught off the back of the boat trolling. Our freezer was now full of delicious King and Spanish mackerel caught in-route.

From the Charleston anchorage, we continued on to an anchorage near Georgetown, South Carolina right off Cat Island. In selecting this anchorage, I had studied our various navigation tools and found a one-star review from May of 2023 titled “BEWARE…Large creatures!” The reviewer described anchoring here and being awoken by invisible creatures at 1 a.m. These creatures made “large-chested, deep, growling” sounds. The reviewer thought perhaps the creatures were “having a territorial debate over their boat” and hoped they “stayed out there in the water.” How could I resist? We were the only boat in the anchorage, and I could see exactly where such creatures could live amongst the trees lining the shore. I was disappointed that they didn’t visit us overnight, they must have gone on vacation. We were, however, visited by more snorting dolphins feeding around the boat.

We pulled up anchor at sunrise, and 12 hours later we crossed into North Carolina and the picturesque fishing village of Southport. As we approached the fuel dock, we got a text from our friend Dave. “I see you!” He had found a live video cam on the roof of a waterfront restaurant in town and got a screen shot just as we passed by. Leave it to Dave! Dave has generously agreed to be our safety officer and keeper of our float plan. He’s doing a stellar job stalking us. We had reservations for a slip, and Arno managed to weave between the mega yachts and shimmy sideways into our slip without hitting anyone! I had the roving fender out just in case. We got off the boat for the first time in 5 days. Southport had an enjoyable, relaxing vibe and we did a lot of much-needed walking around. We saw our first alligator swimming around near the marina, and managed 6 miles in one day of walking in this little beach vacation town. So far this stop was my favorite.

Our next stop required another overnight sail to Beaufort, North Carolina, where we would rest up for our longest overnight sail – getting around Cape Lookout and Cape Hatteras to finally arrive at the Chesapeake Bay. First, we had to sail around Cape Fear and Frying Pan Shoals. It was pretty freaky seeing breaking waves 10 miles off shore! We stuck to the pink line showing the course I had drawn on the iPad, sailing 20 miles off shore and just out of range of Starlink and cell service. We arrived in Beaufort by 7 a.m. the next morning, tired and ready for a nap. As we rounded the corner to the marina, Arno suddenly asked me, “What’s the clearance on those power lines?” What? What power lines? Peering ahead at the formidable power lines cutting across the channel, I scrambled to find them on the confusing chart while attempting to call the marina on the VHF radio, but it was too early and nobody answered. Arno freaked out and did a quick 360º turn into the oncoming current and went the opposite direction toward an anchorage we had seen. I finally got an answer on the phone from the marina manager, who assured me that our 74’ mast would clear the 84’ power lines. And he’d see us in an hour when he started work. We had already anchored up and taken a breath to calm our nerves, and decided we were just fine in the anchorage. Time for a nap. Later we changed our reservation and divided our time between the anchorage and the marina to save some money.

We explored the town of Beaufort, home port of Captain Blackbeard, and went for a walk at Rachel Carson Preserve. We marveled at the masses of fiddler crabs that crossed the trail in front of us and the deafening sound of the cicadas in the surrounding trees. We saw evidence of the wild horses that live on the island, but none appeared.

We boarded the dinghy to return to the mother ship, and Arno decided I should drive for practice. We pushed off the bank and I lowered the outboard into the water. No pull cord, all I had to do was push start the motor, put it in gear, and give the throttle a turn. I started it up and gripped the handle, and immediately the motor went to full throttle. The dinghy swung around wildly as I tried to steer us, my arm at an awkward angle and the throttle at full volume, completely out of control. “It’s very sensitive, don’t give it so much throttle!” Arno says. I let go and try again, this time headed into the channel and still out of control. “There’s something wrong with this, I can’t control it!” As we headed drunkenly toward an oncoming sport boat in the channel, Arno yelled, “Watch out for that boat! Put it in neutral! Let go- I’ll drive.” I switched places with him, on the verge of tears. What the hell is wrong with me? I thought. I drove this thing fine back in St. Augustine. I was frustrated and pissed. “I'll see if I can figure out how to make the throttle less sensitive,” Arno said, always the problem solver. We got back to Far Away safely, and Arno studied the outboard. “Oh hey! It looks like there’s a ring here on the handle that tightens and loosens the throttle! It was all the way loose. This should make it work better!” The stupid thing was so loose that every time I gripped the handle to hold on and steer, it would turn to full throttle. I guess I needed a tighter grip than him just to swing the tiller and steer. So it wasn’t me. Why can’t everything just work properly?

After we moved to Homer Smith Marina in Beaufort, we made use of the complimentary van to run errands. Arno picked up various boat parts, I got a much-needed nail appointment, and I even found a Weight Watchers workshop to attend. I’m not giving up just because I’ve made a slight adjustment in lifestyle! I’ll need that support now more than ever, since I can’t just get off the boat and go for a 6-mile hike every couple days. With that in mind, we decided to untie the kayaks and take them out for the first time. We soon discovered that those also needed some maintenance. Arno’s rudder had a broken pin, and my steering handle was so stuck I could barely steer the kayak. What is it about me and steering boats?! Then we hit ground, not realizing it was low tide and everything around us was super shallow. We didn’t get very far, returning to the boat with a few more tasks on the to-do list. That’s boat life.

After exploring the town of Beaufort for a few days, we pulled up anchor to spend one day at Cape Lookout Bight before our big 36-hour journey around Cape Hatteras. The Cape Lookout anchorage was a huge, calm bay right in front of the lighthouse. We were disappointed that the lighthouse, which has a striking black and white diamond pattern, was completely covered in scaffolding and missing its top. We went ashore to explore the beach though, because Arno insisted he had to swim in the Atlantic Ocean for the first time. I wandered around a bit in the hot sun and found sea turtle nests surrounded by yellow ribbon and posted warning signs, protected by the park.

That evening back on Far Away, I prepped food for our long journey around the capes and the Outer Banks. Burrito mix for microwaveable burritos would suffice so I wouldn’t have to cook under way. Arno checked the oil in both engines, and we went through our pre-departure checklist. Sailing at night is pretty straight forward, as long as all your technology is working and your sails are ready to go. We left at the crack of dawn and motor-sailed all day, getting around Cape Lookout and Cape Hatteras before dark. Then it was all night and most of the next day to Virginia and the Chesapeake Bay. And this time, we sailed almost the entire night! There was plenty of wind and it was so nice to turn off our two engines. The sails and slapping waves actually make quite a bit of racket, but its still easier to sleep than with engine noise. When we sail at night, one of us sleeps on the deck table converted to a bed, right next to the helm. We wear our life jackets all night and we read, listen to podcasts, check our instruments, and make notes in the ship’s log. We also do a fair bit of stargazing. There is a basket at the helm with headlights, granola bars, water bottles, our Kindles, a range finder, and the log book. We hand our Garmin InReach nearby and turn on the tracking so everyone can follow along, including the Coast Guard. This time we even needed a light blanket! Could the weather finally be improving? In route I received a message on my No Foreign Land app from another cruiser, saying that they and two other boats were buddy-boating right behind us. We could see them on the maps, and it was nice to know that we were all traveling together on this famously dangerous route. South Carolina is called the graveyard of the Atlantic, made famous mostly by pirates and colonial traders in tall ships who didn’t have the technology we have today. Conditions were absolutely perfect for our journey, but I’m sure it can get nasty.

Once the sun came up, I relieved Arno from his watch and he went below for a nap. While he was napping, I noticed a tug towing a barge in front of us. The chartplotter showed it would be .25 nautical miles from me in 20 minutes. A quarter mile seemed reasonable. Pretty soon the tug captain hailed us on the VHF. "This is sailing catamaran Far Away, I copy.” “Yeah, captain of Far Away, just want to be sure you see me. I’m towing a barge. Just don’t want you to come between me and the barge,” the tug captain said. “Copy that. I’ll alter course 10 degrees, is that good?” I replied. “Well that depends on which direction Captain.” “Oh, I’ll alter course 10 degrees to the west,” I responded. The tug captain thanked me. A minute later, “Captain of Far Away, this is the tug again. Um, we’re on a collision course.” Oops! “Copy that, I’ll alter course another 10 degrees.” The tug replied, “No, no, stay your course. I’ll alter my course to avoid collision.” “Copy that, I’ll stay my course.” I guess a quarter mile is too close. He must’ve been thinking, WTF, she has the entire ocean and can’t stay clear of a tug towing a barge?

We arrived at the Chesapeake Bay Bridge later in the day, having decided to continue on rather than stop where we had originally planned. We wanted to get to a destination and stay a bit. We chose Portsmouth for its historical value and proximity. And because our Florida neighbor (the one we ran into) had stopped there, and we figured if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for us. Later we learned he only went there to meet up with family. It was a nerve-wracking entrance to the Elizabeth River, with behemoth container ships and tugs pulling barges traveling both directions and passing us. We surfed huge wakes at a 45º angle so as not to beat up the boat, skirted into the shallows to let them pass when they hailed on the VHF, and threaded our way down to the anchorage in front of the historical town of Portsmouth. The anchorage is blanketed with crab pot floats, making it difficult to find a spot clear enough to swing on anchor. We found a spot, and thankfully our anchor set easily. Our neighbors had a more difficult time getting their anchor to set.

So here we are, looking out on one side at the Carnival cruise ship, umpteen Navy ships, the battleship Wisconsin (now a museum), and every industrial ship and crane and building imaginable. The big city lights of Norfolk are impressive. On the other side, the view shows a handful of boats at anchor in front of the Navy hospital and a very historical looking waterfront of colonial-era houses. Their porches are decorated with colorful flower boxes, and the streets are lined with pink and white crepe myrtle trees. Multiple church steeples poke out above the trees. There’s a small crab boat with two fishermen lifting and re-setting crab pots. It looks like they’re bringing in a haul! The juxtaposition of this place is not lost on me. It’s time to plan some less-peopley anchorages, and I hope the wind is blowing in that direction!

It’s been 3 weeks since Arno and I moved aboard Far Away to start our new life on the water. We’ve been making mistakes…I mean learning new skills…every day. We are still so green, and we point this out to everyone we meet, lest they think we’re just dumbasses.

To be fair, our starting point was not an easy one by any stretch of the imagination. We bought a boat docked far back on the New River in Ft. Lauderdale. We had to go through 5 draw bridges to get from our dock to the inlet channel, each with its own schedule. The river is lined with mega-yachts and traveled by all sizes and shapes of water craft. Being a salt water river, it also has a 3-foot tidal swing.

Our first solo adventure without the help of a captain was to bring our boat from the boatyard to our dock. We had done this during sea trial with a captain, and Arno got it back to the boatyard with a captain. He felt pretty confident he could find his way back to our dock. As we came to each bridge, we had to know its name and hail its operator on the VHF radio to pretty please open for us. We learned: Hovering while waiting for the bridge to open as the current pushed us one way and the wind pushed us the other is stressful.

Continuing down the confusing river, we came to an intersection where we questioned which direction to go. We really wanted to avoid having to turn our 24-foot wide cat around in the narrow river. Arno decided to follow what he was pretty sure was a previous track on our electronic chart plotter, and thankfully we ended up at our dock. We learned: Electronic navigation is actually quite useful once you figure it out. So figure it out in advance.

Once at the dock, Arno did a great job turning the boat 360º and backing it into our spot, but I was fumbling with the giant fenders and trying to figure out how to tie them onto our skinny lifelines in the correct position, so I wasn’t ready for him. We learned: We should prepare the lines and fenders long before we get to the dock.

We eventually got tied up, but it took both of us to figure out how to tie up to a piling and shimmy our boat against the dock in the right place. Apparently cleats aren’t a thing on the river. It would have been great to have some help on shore, but our dock was deserted. After a sloppy job of tying up, another huge catamaran arrived and proceeded to sideways-park his giant boat in between us and the catamaran two spaces down the dock. With inches to spare and no bumps. How on earth?? The very nice captain later showed us how to tie up properly to pilings. We learned: We should ask for advice at every opportunity.

After our initial foray into the wild, we stayed put for two weeks. We did not have a cushy marina with a bathroom, showers, and a bar with happy hour every night. We did have shore power and water, which meant air conditioning and showers on the boat. I stayed inside and went to work furiously organizing and putting stuff away. My sore lower back can confirm that I worked non-stop for a week on this. Meanwhile, Arno worked his butt off in the scorching, oppressively humid heat outside, organizing and putting away all his tools and boat supplies. I love him! I learned: Be supportive and make food for the one who has to work outside.

We made about 24 supply runs to Target, Home Depot, and West Marine, and a few grocery runs to Publix. I don’t like Publix very much. I miss Sprouts and Vons. We did find a Whole Paycheck…I mean Whole Foods, nearby. We learned: Starting over is expensive).

Eventually we were moved in and feeling pretty comfy, as long as the AC was running. Then, we were asked to move docks because ours was not technically a live-aboard friendly dock. Our new spot was directly across from us on the opposite river bank, but we needed to back in next to another new-ish sailor in a catamaran similar to ours. This is called a Med-Moor because it is commonly used in the Mediterranean. You tie up from the back and use a plank to exit your boat. While maneuvering our 17-ton boat backwards into our new spot, Arno accidentally throttled backward instead of forward (you know that challenge of rubbing your tummy while you pat your head? That’s what its like to steer a boat with two engines). I will not soon forget the crunching sound of us hitting our neighbor’s boat, while he stood on his stern waiting to help us tie up. We were horrified and embarrassed, and so distraught that it happened to the first cruiser friends we were going to make. In the end, it sounded worse than it was (as confirmed by the surveyor we paid to inspect it for damage), and I still can’t believe how nice they were to us afterward. It was stressful for them, I am sure. They had just finished an expensive haul-out and didn’t need another one to delay their departure. In the end, we made friends after all and are still in contact. We learned: Sailors are nice. Keep this in mind when someone accidentally runs into us in the future.

We half-heartedly celebrated America’s 250th birthday with strangers. Our nice dock neighbors had left already, but a boat captain living in the house we were docked at had friends over and invited us to join the party. Coincidentally, the party included the former owner of our boat as well as the captain who took us on the sea trial. It’s a small community! We invited them all to watch fireworks from our rooftop lounge. The former owner did a walk-through with Arno on some of the systems he had installed and is still in contact to answer questions. A stroke of very good luck! We learned: The boating community is small – better be nice to EVERYONE. You never know who might be your saving grace when something goes wrong!

We soon discovered that all of these little lessons were nothing compared to what we were about to learn from our friend Captain Heather Richard, who joined us to spend a week on board Far Away. With Heather on board, there were no slackers! She had us reviewing safety gear and protocols, creating pre-departure checklists, practicing line handling, fixing dinghy motors, modifying janky rigging, making shopping lists for replacement parts, trouble shooting engine problems, and checking the radar for thunder storms. She babysat us on our first overnight sail, and held our hand through every stressful situation. Heather challenged us to be better sailors and we were in awe over how much knowledge she had to share with us. From sail handling to docking techniques to tightening up the lifelines, there is nothing she can’t do. We learned: The learning curve is steep, but so much easier when you have someone experienced to guide you in real time. Hiring Heather was one of the best decisions we’ve made!

We are on our own now and much more confident that we can do this! We’ve successfully docked in various conditions, picked up a mooring ball, anchored out in different depths and currents, and planned our routes according to weather and tides. So far the worst that has happened is our generator quit. No air conditioning is almost an emergency! But wouldn’t you know it, the former owner of our boat had a contact who talked Arno through fixing it over the phone! Yay!

We’ve crossed the Florida-Georgia Line and are headed north toward unknown adventures and undoubtedly more mistakes to learn from.

“Land Shedding” is a term invented by our cruising coaches (see below). It’s the process of converting from life on Terra Firma to life on Mother Ocean. Part of that process involves getting rid of all your stuff. Whether you live in an 800 square foot apartment, or a 3,000 square foot house, you have a lot of stuff. Too much stuff. “But we like our stuff,” one of my friends remarked. Us too. That’s why getting rid of most of it (OK, maybe I should say “some” of it) was hard. What made it easier was giving it away to friends! As I emptied out my cupboards and closets, I invited my friends over in waves to take stuff they could use. It was tricky though. “Wait, you gave that to Lucy? I thought I was getting that!” (Names have been changed to protect the guilty.) My best idea was to give a lot of art out to friends for “babysitting”. I just couldn’t see putting beautiful art in storage where nobody would set eyes on it again for years. It makes me happy knowing my friends are enjoying it. The people we love all have a little piece of us, and somehow that feels like we aren’t completely losing ties to our community. They promised to give it back when we return, but I forgot to get it in writing. The stuff we kept went to a 40-foot container for storage, and the stuff we didn’t keep or give away went to Goodwill over multiple trips.

What is a cruising coach, you ask? They are our hired question answerers and extremely smart advice givers. I’m pretty sure they use different terms, but that seems the most accurate. Jamie and Behan Gifford (find them at Sailing Totem) are friends and mentors who have been sailing the world for 30+ years or so. The Giffords raised their family on a boat and have an incredible wealth of experience and technical knowledge to share. They are our consultants and have provided us with access to a community of sailors in almost every part of the world. We can contact the Giffords with any question, no matter how small. They advise us (as well as many other sailors) on every part of cruising and will Zoom with us from wherever they are (currently Japan). Let me assure you, having them on our fairly green team does wonders for our confidence!

“How will you get mail?” people wanted to know. Another land shedding task is getting a virtual mail box. The house will be rented, but we still need a physical address for various reasons. So we kept our physical residence address and added a virtual mailing address. The virtual mail service receives our mail, scans it, and uploads it to our online mailbox. From there we can ignore it if its junk, save the file to our computer if it’s important, or have it forwarded if we need the physical item. They will send it to a marina or local UPS store wherever we happen to be anchored at the time. Before we even left, we set this up and received mail. Arno even received some checks that he was able to print at home and then mobile deposit.

“How are you going to live just the two of you crammed together on a boat? What if you have a fight?” This question cracks me up. I married my soul mate, we don’t fight. Oh alright, sometimes we get grumpy. We have two extra cabins, a salon, a back deck dining area, a roof-top lounge, and a foredeck lounge with a trampoline. Isn’t that enough space for two people to find alone time? I’ll let you know.

“What if there’s a storm?” Everyone is afraid we will get caught in some terrible storm and have to be rescued. I mean, it happens. It even happens when there isn’t a storm. Modern sailors are much better informed these days about weather. We have a lot of technology and even hired weather specialists who help you plan routes based on the forecast. We take all the information available and make safe routing decisions with the help and advice of other experienced sailors. The best plan is always to avoid the storm, so we will be checking the weather constantly, all day, every day. There will be days when the forecast is wrong and we’ll sail in rough conditions. I promise to write about it once I recover.

“Are you going to sail back to California?” It seems very logical, but no. We don’t plan to bring Far Away to California. That would involve going from the East Coast to the Caribbean, then through the Panama Canal. If we go through the Panama Canal, we most definitely will not be making a right turn to go against prevailing winds all the way to California. Instead, we will make a bee-line for French Polynesia. Duh!

“Where are you going park the boat when it’s nighttime?” My dears, we park the boat with an anchor. A very big and heavy one. For free. We set anchor alarms on our phones in case the big heavy anchor is smaller and lighter than the crazy wind and it doesn’t hold. Sometimes we have to tie up to a mooring ball that is already anchored (not for free), and sometimes we will pay big bucks to get a slip (a parking space) in a marina because we are tired of taking a dinghy back and forth and we need a break, or because we have to leave the boat and fly home to see you.

“How are you going to get any exercise?” I knew someone was going to be worried about this. Can’t we finally just lay around the boat all day drinking cocktails and looking out at the amazing turquoise water while eating charcuterie? We’re retired! No, I guess not. I mean, running a boat is exercise. Hoisting, adjusting, and changing sails is a workout. Having to launch the dinghy every time we want to go ashore, walking miles to the grocery store or the hardware store, carrying all our supplies in a water-proof backpack and hefting it up to the boat is exercise. But no, you’re right. It’s not enough. We did bring hand weights and stretchy bands. And kayaks. I’ll get back to you on this topic when we figure it out.

“Aren’t you afraid of pirates?” Yes. So we will avoid areas where pirates are a problem. Like Disneyland. And Venezuela. And many places that are not necessary to sail to if you’re afraid of pirates. The wonderful thing about the sailing community is we have many other sailors to connect with and get intel on pirate activity. The answer to the other half of that question, the part where you want to know if we are taking a gun for protection, is No. We do not want to end up in a foreign jail for taking illegal weapons into a foreign country. There are other ways to stay safe, a topic for another post.

“For how long do you plan to sail?” I will end with the biggest question. The one we have no answer for. I used to say a couple years. Arno used to say at least 5 years. But our adventure took on a life of its own. Have you looked at a map of the world lately? Have you ever zoomed in on the Bahamas? The Caribbean? French Polynesia? Indonesia? There are so many places to sail to with so many little islands and atolls to explore that it is mind boggling. Our best answer to this question is, for as long as we enjoy it.

But don’t worry, I’ll be sharing the good and the bad, so you’ll be the first to know if we get tired of this new lifestyle.

Arno has been looking at boat listings since he was 12. His short list is…short. He knows what boats he likes. On the other hand, I know nothing, but I have a lot of opinions when I look at pictures. “You guys need to come to Florida and get on some boats,” insisted our broker, Nate. “There’s no catamarans in California.” We’re teachers. We can’t just take a week off to go boat shopping! So we flew to Florida for the weekend to look at boats. We were sure none of the boats on the list to see were “our” boat. But what the hell, we figured it would be an educational experience. Armed with a DIY survey checklist and the advice of our cruising coaches, Jamie and Behan of SV Totem, we spent an entire day in the Florida heat climbing around on catamarans. By the end of the day, we had a good feel for what features we liked best, and one of the boats looked much better in person than on paper. We returned home, crunched some numbers, made some comparisons, met with our coaches again, and decided to make an offer on a boat! Which meant we had to fly out to Florida again, same weekend turnaround, to do a sea trial and survey. We got a taste of what its like to thread a 44-foot catamaran through the narrow waterways of Ft. Lauderdale, lined with mega yachts, tour boats, sailboats, and pleasure craft of all shapes and sizes. On one engine. We also learned about opening bridges with a radio call. Five just to get to the boat yard for haul-out. It would be cool, but we won’t be sailing the Inter Coastal Waterway with a 67-foot mast – too many fixed bridges that don’t open. It was a chaotic day laced with a bit of drama, but we learned what we needed to and went home to wait for the surveyor’s report. After some negotiating over various necessary repairs and replacements, the sellers agreed to our offer! What?! Which brings us to today: after a video walk-through, escrow has officially closed. We are the proud owners of a Fountain Pagot Helia 44 catamaran, soon to be christened Far Away. We are going to become live aboard sailors in about 3 weeks. What?! As my son Gavin would say – Full send! I hope ChatGPT has good instructions for how to conduct a sailboat naming ceremony, breaking champagne bottles and all that.

I’m discovering that becoming a live aboard sailor requires an unbelievable number of decisions. After the obvious first decision to make our dream a reality, the second major decision was monohull or catamaran? Every online sailing group has this heated debate with no clear winner. It required some research on our part, but after chartering a catamaran in the Sea of Cortez, a decision was made. Catamaran it is!

Fast and furious

The decisions came fast and furious after that. What size catamaran? What brand? Do we need a broker or not? Where will we start our journey? What will we name our boat? What virtual mail service will we use? What insurance company is best? Where will we store our stuff? What stuff will we take with us? Will my espresso machine fit? Who will take my chickens?

The decisions keep coming. We are making them thoughtfully with as much research as possible. We hired experienced cruising consultants to help us with some of our decisions, which gives us so much more confidence in making them.

Is there room for indecisiveness on a boat?

In a way, I think this might be training for boat life. I’m not sure there’s room for indecisiveness on a boat. If something goes awry, the captain needs to assess the situation and decide what to do. I don’t mean hastily, but thoughtfully and decisively. When the weather forecast turns out to be wrong, you can’t discuss it all day and decide what to do tomorrow. You have to make a decision to adjust sails, adjust course, or heave-to.

Speaking of decisions, I made one today. I’ve changed the name of my newsletter to Far Away, because that’s what we’ve decided to name our boat! Now, should it be Far Away, Faraway, or FarAway? We haven’t decided.

November 15, 2025

I think this is really going to happen. We are going to buy a boat and sail away. And by “away” I mean…away. The home of the red, white and blue has become intolerable, and the political pollution here is suffocating. We need a break from this reality.

“Away” didn’t exactly happen suddenly though. This plan to sail off into the wild blue yonder has been percolating for some time. When Arno and I first became romantically involved, he mentioned to me that he always had a dream to travel the world on a sailboat. “So why didn’t you do it?” I asked. “I sort of tried when the kids were little, but it didn’t work out. It ended up being kind of a fiasco.” I replied, “If that’s what your dream is, then we should do it!”

Why those words came out of my mouth is a mystery. I had never set foot on a sailboat, nor had I ever considered it a possibility in my future. My experience on boats mostly consisted of getting seasick on fishing boats and kayaking around Mission Bay. But little by little the idea began to charm me. “I’m just going to warn you right now,” I said to Arno. “Once I get an idea in my head to do something, I’m going to follow through with it. So you’d better be sure you want to do it!”

That was about 8 years ago, and here we are. A lot has happened since that initial conversation. We spent some time on sailboats. We sailed alone and with friends to Catalina a few times. I learned about the Scopolomine patch (my miracle drug). We took sailing lessons together in the Sea of Cortez and got our ASA certifications. I attended a women-only sailing course, also in the Sea of Cortez. We followed YouTube sailors and joined sailing groups on social media. We went to boat shows to promote Arno’s international health insurance side-gig. We got married, we moved, we had health issues, we had family tragedies. And through all of life’s chaos, our sailing plan continued to fade in and out of my consciousness like a dream.

And now, it seems like our dream might actually become reality. We’re going to make this happen! I’m not dreaming.