Category: Sailing (Page 1 of 3)

The Tipsy Taxi and Other Dinghy Misadventures

January 22, 2017 / renchapman

This picture is completely unrelated to the post but features Ani asleep at the wheel.

It took one season, and not even a whole season, for our first dinghy to die. The dingy was an afterthought anyway. It had been folded up and stored away in some random warehouse for an undetermined amount of time. It’s sedentary lifestyle did not deter us, in fact we were looking forward to breathing life back into the crappy ‘ol PVC raft. Plus we were just grateful to have been given a tender at no cost to us. It was probably this cavalier attitude and our endless demands that killed the girl. The dinghy didn’t appreciate being ripped out of retirement just to be put back to work.

In the first months of our maiden voyage, a slow leak started in the dinghy, planned by her I’m sure. Being the clever (vindictive) girl she was, our tender waited until we were deep in the Bahamas (no dinghy life support), two miles from our sailboat (no first responders), and full to the brim with freediving gear to start sinking without the slightest shred of integrity! You may think I’m being dramatic but you were not there! You didn’t have to scramble to find a line long enough to sloppily tie the bow and sides up, connecting the boat together at the stern with 1” of free board between you and the water. And you didn’t have to limp home her lifeless corpse with your tail between your legs.

And each time, Jackie looked on from the upper deck of the Breeze with a smile. Sometimes smiling at our obvious success, sometimes with a smirk at the thought of us actually hitting the drink. One of these days…

Another unrelated picture but come on! You’ve gotta be impressed with Ani’s apple eating style! Is it obvious that the author is her Mom?

You would think that the previous encounter would be enough to teach us a lesson. Prevent us from being cheap…ahem…as resourceful when a tender is concerned. You are thinking, surely they saved their pennies and sprang for something reliable. You’re thinking of the wrong couple! Do not get into the habit of overestimating the author and her husband. Our next hand me down, dug out of retirement dinghy, was the infamous Tipsy Taxi. Because of her crappy…ahem…unique design, the Tipsy Taxi earned an actual name. The name was coined by a friend of ours and one of the proprietors of the cruiser friendly, Long Island Breeze. Being a Louisiana girl, Jackie Higgins has a quick wit although the Tipsy Taxi was low hanging fruit for her! She watched us get in and out of the ever rolling 7’, round bottom, fiberglass junker each time managing to board our not-so-trusty steed, clutching our hearts in utter disbelief that once again, we had eluded the inevitable roll and plunge. And each time, Jackie looked on from the upper deck of the Breeze with a smile. Sometimes smiling at our obvious success, sometimes with a smirk at the thought of us actually hitting the drink. One of these days…

The Tipsy Taxi managed to bowl through the Bahamas to Jamaica, Honduras, Belize and the Florida Keys. It’s crowning moment was undoubtedly proclaimed when she found herself floating (barely) our 210 lb. buddy Bruce, his 6’6” brother Logan, an obliviously fidgety Ren and a very pregnant me, perched atop the Taxi, an unlikely bow maiden. We were rowing to shore, and why were we rowing? To add insult to an already humiliating situation our small outboard motor decided to sprout legs and leave us in Honduras. I hope that if the engine was that unhappy with us it found a better, more dignified post with another family. Engine, if you are reading this, we are sorry and trust your new family needed you more than we did.

After our return to the US it occurred to us that the Tipsy Taxi never once threw us. We never once suffered a wet fate at her hands. So we gave her the most fitting retirement we could imagine. We placed her, upside down of course (she wouldn’t have wanted to be a mosquito breeding ground) on the banks of the Cape Fear River, at the bottom of the hill where Ren’s mom lives. There were hopes of her someday becoming a flower planter or bench. I have no idea where she is now. She disappeared one day and my hopes for her are that she’s scaring the crud out of some other poor souls every time they step over her gunnel.

Ren’s Bird Obsession…Sometimes Pays Off

January 16, 2017 / renchapman

Ren loves birds and wants us all to. It’s easy to understand why when you see the bald eagle in flight.

If you don’t jump, you’ll get “the look”. The, “I seriously doubt your connection to the natural world” look.

A few years before Ani was born in a time we now refer to as W.W.H.T.A. (When We Had Time Alone), Ren and I embarked on our first trip through the Caribbean. When we hit the Bahamas one of the first things we noticed as distinctly Caribbean besides the clear water, the coral reefs, the sudden upending of our role as the white majority was the call of the smooth billed ani.

Ren’s Dad is a trained ornithologist. Because of this Ren grew up with a healthy obsession of birds. He knows all the birds and wants you to as well. He probably doesn’t know all the birds but he sure knows more than I do (and probably you). Ren has no hesitations pointing out a bird and having you rush out of whatever precarious situation you might be in to check it out. He definitely expects you to shake it off, pants around your ankles, toilet paper in hand just to catch a glimpse of the 1,000th bald eagle of the day. If you don’t jump, you’ll get “the look”. The, “I seriously doubt your connection to the natural world” look. You’ll get this look despite over 20,000 miles of sailing, 8 years freediving and spearfishing together, and over 11 years of everything else. One mis-step, just one time ignoring his frantic emergency calls, deciding to wipe before pouncing up the companionway stairs and you blew it! All evidence that you don’t actually HATE bald eagles is out the door. You’re back to square one with the guy and just exposed your flag (although unknowingly) as a maniacal bald eagle murderer just waiting for your chance to pick them off one by one with the gun you don’t even own.

When the bald eagle lost his luster the new fixation became the white pelican. They’re huge, by the way.

Now I need to address all of you who are in solidarity with Ren, the Nature Boy. You know who you are because you are probably harassing your own family somewhere over a sea gull or two. Bald eagles are not that rare. And guess what else? They’ve had white heads and white tails EVERY time I’ve been commanded to look at them. I say, unless the eagle lands on Jade and starts reciting poetry, just let me regard him at my own pace. But I digress…

Because of Ren’s relentless bird education fetish the unique call of the smooth billed ani was immediately apparent to me. I, for once, pointed the bird out to Ren (who had already discovered and researched the bird during a previous trip to the Bahamas I was not there for). When he told me the name of the new bird it was exciting. Since the ani is not found back home the modest black bird’s song was a symbol that we had arrived! Years of planning were over and our liberation had begun. Ani, we decided, would be an awesome name for a kid if we ever decided to have one. Turns out, it’s the best!

Our favorite bird! The Ani bird relaxing in her hammock.

Ani's job as the Comandorable is to be on constant lookout for pirates. So far, so good.

Mom’s Fear of the Ocean

January 14, 2017 / renchapman

Flying the kite, headed towards the unknown.

I’ve come to realize that the fear of the unknown is better than what you already know can kill you.

Sometimes my Mom finds it necessary to remind me that we’re in the middle of nowhere. This sentiment is usually expressed after our decision to leave the safe confines of the Intercoastal Waterway (ICWW) for the dangers of the ocean. She tells us this in response to her fear for us on the big blue. The thought of her little family sailing on the ocean conjures images of a plywood heap, barely floating with her half starved crew dodging pirates, sex trade minions and the temper of King Neptune himself. It’s a miracle we survive!

Ani’s job as the Comandorable is to be on constant lookout for pirates. So far, so good.

What she doesn’t understand or get to see is that the Waterway is exhausting. Sure a few hours or even days on an especially beautiful stretch of the waterway such as the Low Country of South Carolina or even northern Florida can leave you rejuvenated, grateful for the chance to observe creation. But we all know intrinsically what lies just south of rejuvenation…exhaustion. Like the first piece of pie, the proverbial icing on the cake, those first few days on the ICWW leave you feeling satisfied without being too full. However, splurge on a second or third piece and you’ll never be as satisfied as if you would have stopped at one. You’re now left feeling heavy, unmotivated and in a sugar coma. Ah, the Waterway after day four. The monotonous hum of the engine (like nails on a chalkboard to a sailor), the physical demands on the captain to stay on the stick hours upon hours and days upon days without the option to “set it and forget” in the vastness of the ocean, and of course trying to occupy a tenacious three year old with extremely limited physical outlets stretching your imagination to the brink of it’s shelf life. It’s enough to suck the life out of anyone. Especially me.

Fatigue can set in when you’re constantly on watch in the ICWW. The Captain and the Comandorable take turns keeping watch for dolphin.

Despite the hardships associated with the ICWW (first world problems, I know) another much more critical reason to reach for the high seas comes to mind. Just turn on the news….get it? King Neptune’s wrath does not hold a candle to to psychosis we get to dodge at sea. The motion of the ocean can illicit fear at our most basic level, survival. The discomfort and fear felt at sea is the kind that heightens the senses and makes one feel more alive and connected to both the natural world and God at the same time. I welcome this emotion. The fear and discomfort illicited by Dylan Roof, John Wayne Gacy or Charles Carl Roberts IV is unnatural, terrifying and unconscionable. Sea monsters are no match for the real monsters that prowl the Ft. Lauderdale airport or even sleep next door. The abuse and disregard for human life is enough to keep me at sea forever. I understand that this is a selfish state of mind at best. Why do I reserve the right to run and hide, sheltering my family from the inhumanity? The short answer is that I don’t. Life is best lived in the trenches. But sometimes we’re offered an opportunity for a break. A chance to refuel before jumping back in the mud with everyone else, with the unthinkable. I’ve come to realize that the fear of the unknown is better than what you already know can kill you.

A Look Back Before Looking Forward

December 6, 2012 / renchapman / 0 Comments

Our two year plan:
1.Conquer the world. If that fails…
2.Dedicate the next two years to freediving and sailing around in Nila Girl.
After two years:
1. Figure out if we want to go back to life on land, 8 hour work days, traffic jams, television….

A LOOK BACK BEFORE LOOKING FORWARD

12/6/12

As the first installments of the next set of Nila Girl blogs let’s start with a factual account of last years accomplishments, pitfalls, experiences and observations.

Tracks from Nila Girl’s first voyage. Highlights included…well…everywhere but especially Cuba.

Total Miles Traveled: ~3,677

Countries Visited: 4

Communist Countries Visited: 1

Crew Along the Way: 3

Failed Marriages Under the Pressure of Confined Space: 0!!

Plane Tickets for Oreo: 2

Freediving World Records Earned: 3

Fish Harvested While Trolling Under Sail: 9

Lures Lost: 2

Bags of Stacy’s Pita Chips Consumed: 4

Bottles of Cuban Rum Drank: 2

Gallons of Diesel Burned: 70

Bottles of Sriracha Consumed: 2

Rolls of Toilet Paper Used: 30

Adventures Left Un-adventured: Too Many

Unforgettable Moments: Infinite

Looking forward to catching you all up on this seasons’s adventures. The newer adventures will likely include more about our freediving exploits as our new two year plan is all about freediving and living free!

Brief Thought On Cuba

July 21, 2012 / renchapman

“As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.”
-Thoreau

A farmer in the rich Vinales Valley of Cuba. The crew (including Nick) enjoyed traveling the countryside.

Cuba, Briefly

Nick, Ashley, Ren and our two guides behind our trust steed, rojo caballo. The car did not have first gear so we pushed it to get it going through the hills.

I cannot motivate myself to write a play by play of our adventure in Cuba. I do, however, think about the trip often and of the lasting impressions it has left on me. The simplicity of the life there was appealing to us, as Americans. As people who are not forced by our government to work in a cigar factory, drive a car, or own a grocery. Although the underlying impression was that the people lived frugal lives we never encountered a moment where they seemed oppressed or poor for that matter. This does not mean they are not oppressed, because they are. But how can someone be poor if they have a place to live and food to eat. The Cuban people are not hungry, we cannot always say the same for the people in our Country. Because they are censored, they do not have access to the latest styles or TV shows, but then again, who needs either of these things anyway. Distractions. We occupy our time with meaningless interests just to pass time, or because everyone else is doing it.

Everyone should come to freedom on their own terms, I do believe this. The Cuban people should find freedom when they are ready. But, they should also be ready for “freedom”. They should be ready to vote for Presidential candidate, who will in turn seem ineffective. They should be ready to have their lives bogged down by a convoluted Democratic process. They will stand by and watch as “freedom” builds hotels across the green mojotes of Vinales. “Freedom” will clip their horses and buggies with rearview mirrors as new, improved cars race by. Be ready Cuba. This being said, I am writing this at a comfortable kitchen table and will upload to the internet without censorship, hassle or restrictions. THAT is beautiful!

What else is beautiful? Toilet seats!

Ashley and Ren with some local spearos.

Later, as I recounted the story of our Cuba adventure over and over I realized that I was glossing over an integral element of the country and it’s people. When people asked, “Are they really poor there?” I would answer with a dismissive, “It’s all in the context, “ and launch into a lecture about lifestyles, materialism and the decline of our culture, family orientation and core value system. I conveniently omitted any mention of the fact that toilet paper is a luxury in Cuba or that there are no toilet seats in most places. A little piece of porcelain or plastic that is, no doubt, not completely necessary. When asked about the toilet seat the people would either doge the question or answer with, “No se.” “You don’t know,” I asked back with confusion. How could they not know that toilet seats are an assumed luxury in America. Actually, the toilet seat is never considered a luxury. It’s a part of the toilet, a part that is always there, faithfully waiting for its next customer. Furthermore, how can they not know why toilet seats are absent from the servicio scenario?

Freedom comes at a cost but it’s one I’m willing to assume. As for the Cubans, they will find their breaking point soon enough. Whether it be a breaking point with a Communist regime or whether it be a breaking point with a new Capitalist system. Hurry and see Cuba now, before it’s not anymore, the land that time forgot.

The author passing time during a passage with a book. A great time to catch up on your reading list.

The Worst Part of Sailing

June 11, 2012 / renchapman

The Worst Part of Sailing

Saying goodbye to friends and six months of awesomeness…

I am grateful that it is raining as we depart from Fort Lauderdale. It will be way harder for Ren to notice that my uncontrollable sobbing is punctuated only by brief calls back to reality, a look at the depth sounder, a glance around for boat traffic. The tears are not even leaving streaks down my face because the rain is washing them away too quickly. Down to the cockpit floor and out the drain. The tears become a perfect illustration of the impermanence of the sailing life.

As with everything good in life, anything worth mentioning, the parts of sailing that are so great area also the parts that make it so terrible. A perfect yin and yang relationship. Where there is light there must also be dark. Impermanence means seeing new places and meeting new people, a life of adventure. Impermanence also means you must leave and say goodbye. Goodbyes are not all created equal. There are those you leave with a smile. You smile and laugh thinking about beers with these people in the cockpit of a boat. Sailing stories and maybe even a night swim…clothes optional! “Fair winds,” you say as you bid adieu. “Catch up with you down the road,” a half-hearted side note. Not because you do not want to cross paths again. It is just a little unlikely in this great big world with so much to explore, besides, you are a sailor. You are no stranger to goodbyes. Then why do some goodbyes feel like you just swallowed a golf ball, lodging it about halfway down the throat. You try to choke it back, swallow it, for two or three days but only time will push it down to your gut…which feels empty. You try to fill your empty gut with food but that does not work. These goodbyes leave you feeling lonely, isolated.

As we travel North, I look to the left. The buildings are perfect tall rectangles. Like towering stacks of Lego blocks they stretch down the South Florida coast as far as I can see. There must be a million people over there, working, eating, playing with their kids. But just offshore, Ren and I are on our own little island. Both of us are bittersweet that we are saying goodbye to an adventure that has lasted six months and led us to two World Records, a communist country, a religion of our own, full moons in the middle of nowhere, two crew members, new friends and even a little money along the way. We are bittersweet. I look to my left, where the rest of American lives and I feel nothing except the damn golf ball in my throat. It has always been hard for me to say goodbye. I have a knack for sensitivity, thanks Mom!

Today I say goodbye to a six month chapter of our lives. Six months where we lived more and lived closer to the earth than some people live in a lifetime. I will be able to swallow the golf ball eventually. It will happen, it always does with a little time and immersion in a good book…or two, depending on the length of the passage. But distractions are few on a boat. With nothing but miles of open ocean to focus on. That and your own thoughts, a daunting proposition for most. Part of you does not want to heal, not yet. It is like the sweet pain after a good workout. The pain becomes a physical way to measure the intensity of your workout and to mark your progress. You know, by the very existence of the soreness that you are better for having worked out at all. Your future left just a little brighter.

Seven hours later

I took my own advise and decided to avoid myself with distractions. Five episodes of “This American Life” and two chapters from “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” and I look out at the glassy ocean and feel at home again. The overwhelming lights off the Florida coast have faded into a thin sparkling horizon and my throat does not hurt…right now. Yin is creeping back in and is ushered by momentary peace. My body, finally, relates again to the passage, the lonely night watch, the ocean, and reminds my mind to cooperate. Maybe now I can wake Ren up and take my turn with sleep.

Ren taking a little nap on the starboard side of Nila Girl's settee.

Journal to Jamaica Day 2

April 6, 2012 / renchapman / 0 Comments

A journalized account of our non-stop sail through the Windward Passage from Long Island, Bahamas to Port Antonio, Jamaica.

DAY TWO:

PRE A.M. (2:00 A.M.)

Ren and I just switched watches. After a four hour fit of no sleep I am sitting in the cockpit with Oreo under a waxing full moon, completely exhausted but resigned to my watch. We passed the “night necklace” we wear while on water like the baton in a relay race. Dangling from the necklace is a whistle and a strobe…just in case. However, we mitigate the risk of falling overboard at night by staying in the cockpit at all times. Never leaning over the lifelines, not even to urinate. If one of us must go forward, escaping the safety of the cockpit, they must first wake the other person and wear a harness. The harnesses are made of strips of purple webbing that wrap around both legs and arms, joining up in the middle with a clip that attaches to the jack lines. The jack lines run the entire length of the boat and are only on deck when we are traveling. Ren made the harnesses for us before we left. This precaution may sound like overkill to the sailor already well seasoned by salt but losing each other…well…that would be devastating to say the least and this kind of accident is mostly preventable.

I just sat back down from tweaking the sails. Ren’s approach to keeping watch includes constant vigilance to the sails’ shape, our direction and speed. He is always trying to bring the boat back to a homeostatic condition, pulling in one sheet, relaxing another in his constant attempts to gain speed and efficiency. It is this commitment to Nila Girl and our ETA that makes Ren a great captain. Personally I find the tweaking tiresome. I prefer to view my watch schedule as four hour appointments with myself where I can read, write, type up this blog entry, or spend time with Oreo. Tweaking sails is a minor inconvenience to the true purpose of watch keeping. My myriad of activities must also be interrupted-every fifteen to twenty minutes-by a visual sweep of the horizon and radar if we are using it. So far, no boats on this particular watch. I could really get some serious things done around here if it wasn’t for all the sailing.

Oreo is faring well but like me, takes a day or two to get adjusted to the new sleep, or rather, non-sleep patterns. It has been almost twenty-four hours now since we have parted Salt Pond and he still refuses to pee. His bladder will give in, it always does, maybe even sometime later today. Let’s hope he’s not lying in his bed when it decides to throw in the towel.

A.M.

We are all sitting in the cockpit watching the sunrising overhead. I have always preferred the sunrise to a sunset. The sunrise, if awake before dawn, is a welcomed friend, come to bring promise of a beautiful and full day ahead, unlike the sunset who is always trying to turn the lights out. Also, I gain a sense of accomplishment from watching the sunrise. Any schmuck can catch the sunset but it takes another level of commitment to be up for the sunrise. This morning, the pressure is off, literally off Oreo’s bladder as he had decided to urinate, finally. We just did the math and we made about one hundred and two miles from yesterday AM through the night. We are averaging over five knots, we are making great time.

All three of us are tired this morning. We will spend the day partly lethargic, sleep tonight when its is our turn and then we will be in the groove tomorrow. We will feel better rested and in turn healthier by then. I have failed to mention that I have a set of workouts to be completed every day while traveling. We made a lot of progress reaching depth at Dean’s Blue Hole. Diving almost every day I was able to become more and more comfortable with the world record dive I will be attempting…soon. Since we will not be able to dive for the next few days because we are sailing, I have a daily exercise schedule. Yesterday included two stretching sessions and a series of eight breatholds called a “breathold table”. The table was successfully completed and the stretching was great. Today, two stretching sessions and an arm workout, yum.

MIDDAY

The morning, in one word, sweaty. Ren caught another dolphin, a bit smaller than yesterday’s, but just as beautiful. I made tuna salad with the remaining tuna, which turned out excellent (mayonnaise free for all of you training athletes out there) so we kept the dolphin, as previously planned. Ren fought the fish up to the bow and back down the starboard side of the boat passing the rod around numerous obstacles, shrouds, sails, the stern railing. Each time he passed the rod around something from one hand to the next, he also had to be careful not to drop the rod or let the dolphin rip it from his hands. Fishing off of a sailboat is a real challenge. No fighting chairs, harnesses, or wide open sterns to secure fish from. Just a bunch of rolling from side to side and nowhere to stand. After finishing his lengthy dance around the boat Ren pulled the yellow and green fish out of the water and stabbed a knife into his brain, killing him and alleviating the suffering. He finished pulling the fish all the way into the cockpit, our living quarters, blood everywhere. We promptly laid a black rag over the dolphin’s eyes to reduce the chances that he would freak out and thrash about if he decided to come back to life. We watched in amazement as the fish turned colors from green and yellow to stark white and a brilliantly bright light blue color. His light blue dorsal fin was tipped in black like it had been dipped in ink. I am not sure if there is an evolutionary advantage to the color change but the radiance of the spectacle is unparalleled Although, the rapid color adaption of the octopus is a close second only trumped by the vibrant colors of the mahi.

We are now less than forty miles from Inagua where we will be making a turn to the West to head through the Windward Passage and deeper into the Caribbean. I will not conceal the fact that thoughts of pirates flooded my sleep deprived brain last night. My only distraction from the thought of six men with semi-automatic weapons ripping our boat apart only to find what we already told then we had, nothing, was the inspired cadence of Mark Twain.

P.M.

The wind has picked up and I have the first shift 9:00pm to 1:00am. Before the shift starts we decide to watch just one episode of our TV series du jour, Pushing Daisies. Ren and Oreo cuddle up in a corner of the cockpit and I arrange the computer and external speakers so that we can both see and hear the show. I stay in the cabin while Ren stays in the cockpit to keep a watchful eye on passing ships. The show if full of really interesting cinematography. The colors are vivid and the plot and characters almost fantasy-like. It is an entertaining show.

Watching such a benign program with my little family helps to dry the tears a bit. They have been pouring out in fifteen minute bursts at unpredictable times. There must be something hormonal going on with me because, although we are leaving comfortable territory for the unknown, I still have Ren and Oreo with me. We are still living a dream. I predict a combination of emotions, both controllable and incontrollable are at fault here. Brewing a pot of emotional instability just for me. Ren is very patient with me right now. He understands that there is nothing he can do to fix the problem. His patience is not beyond asking me once, “You still like me don’t you?” It will pass in another day, whatever it is. In the meantime, “I want my Mommy!”

After the show I settle in for my watch and am interrupted within the hour by Ren who cannot sleep. Nothing surprising there, it’s hard to sleep here right now. He takes the first watch from me and I sleep for one hour and toss for another two. It is comforting for Ren to take the wheel. When he is on watch I am exempt from making decisions which is great. When he take the wheel I can lie down confident that everything will be fine. The rough seas are going to leave me exhausted.

Oreo boy awaiting landfall, which it turns out he could not enjoy. Jamaica has a strict "no rabies" rule.

Journal to Jamaica Day 4

April 6, 2012 / renchapman / 0 Comments

A journalized account of our non-stop sail through the Windward Passage from Long Island, Bahamas to Port Antonio, Jamaica.

DAY FOUR:

A.M.

Port Antonio, Jamaica. This port would come to be one of our favorites due to the afternoon showers and fresh food right around the corner.

There was a nice surprise waiting for me this morning at shift switch, and no, it was not a severed head. We were scheduled to do three hour shifts. Mine ran from 9:00pm to 12:00am then on again at 3:00am to 6:00am. Ren woke me for my 3:00 shift at almost 6:00! This means we were further along when I woke up than expected, a welcomed surprise indeed. The sun is rising right now which is huge for the mental component of the sail. Waking up tired at 3:00am is a lot different than waking up to a rising sun at 6:00am. What this really means is that I got to sleep through the night, for the most part. I am not sure if I ever entered the deep sleep phase of the sleep cycle but I definitely dreamt for the first time since being on this passage. I think this is the first time I have had time to dream. To really stretch my sleep legs.

My Mom and I were walking through a dusty little town. The place had an Eleutherian feel. This vision must have been the product of the time we Ren and I just spent in the Bahamas, no doubt. Actually the town looked exactly like the part of Georgetown, Exuma you have to walk to get to the community trash receptacle. I only walked there once. Funny how even the most insignificant details imprint themselves into your subconscious. Eager to be considered important, worth recalling at a later date. Imagine all the information that must be stored in our brains if only we could recall the stored bits of data on demand. Wow! I’m blowing my own mind here, and I digress.

Mom and I were walking through this town during a small festival. We were trying to get a handle on the local flavor. We wore big smiles and talked to everyone. We attempted conversation but were readily rebuffed by the locals. Their noses turning up at the site of us, or maybe at the sound of our voices. We walked into a big ping government building to get a drink of water. A tall white woman with bright red hair, green eyes and a green sequined evening gown hung up a sign advertising her newly missing dog. The big grin on her face did not match the anxiety she should have been feeling over her lost companion. Her smug smile in sharp contrast to the sympathy she tried to elicit. Dream sequence ended. Suggestions?

Kids playing soccer on a beach during our entry to Jamaica.

Oreo greeted me with a lot of tail wagging and rolling over on my feet this morning. Amazing how such a small mammal who contributes nothing to conversation or the necessities of the household can make you feel so loved. It is kind of like the alcoholic brother you have living on your couch. You can be damned if he is going to send a few bucks your way to help with rent. He is not going to get up early and whip up some breakfast for you before you’re off to work. But the guy is funny and you love him because he is your brother. Anyway, Oreo greeted me happily and I responded happily especially when I learned that we only had sixty eight miles to go. As of right now we have fifty eight nautical miles left and are averaging almost six knots. It looks like the end is in sight. As a matter of fact, I think last night was my last night shift. We should be in Jamaica in about 11.6 hours, roughly 6:00pm, and this is a conservative estimate based on only five knots average. I cannot believe we have managed to shrink a six day passage down to four. Where there is a will, there is a way.

MIDDAY

Another hot, hot, day, another nap (two hours), and another dream this afternoon. I will spare you the details of this dream but let’s just say this, we were traveling the world by horseback. A white horse with a blue trimmed saddle. I woke up mad at Ren for having gotten two tattoos without even mentioning it to me first. The worse of the two being a hug snake covering half of his back. In real life neither of us have tattoos. In real life, as in my dream, a huge expensive surprise tattoo will not be a cause for celebration.

I awoke to only thirty two miles to go. This should put us in Port Antonio at dusk or just after dark. Jamaica does not acknowledge daylight savings time so we are gaining an hour of travel time. Imagine that, they do not amend Time to fit demanding work schedules. Sounds like a bunch of backwards people huh? I bet they say, “hello” when they mean “goodbye” and I bet they walk on their hands too. We shall see.

Ren is fishing again, hunting mahi. He has been having a great time as we have been traveling the perfect trolling speed. This is the hottest part of the day. Usually we try to sit as still as we can and read, fish a bit, write something, anything non-physical. Any workouts or chores to be done must wait until at least 3:00. At this time, not only is the heat starting to subside a bit, but our stomachs are perfectly settled from lunch too so we get pretty productive. No worrisome digestion getting in our way. Training for this record has made me intensely aware of the digestive process. It takes thoughtful schedule management to make sure breakfast has had time to digest before the dive. If the digestive schedule is considered, the dive is much more comfortable and a lot easier as the body is not wasting valuable energy on a process it could have taken care of earlier. This principal works for anyone, not just freedivers. Avoid midmorning indigestion or unpredictable evacuations by eating on time and slowing down. Do not eat on the way to work, eat well before you get there. Chew your food, a talent inspired by our friend Lance on EZ. I’m still working on this one. The body already knows what to do, learn to use your body properly and will not leave you feeling used.

P.M.

This place is lush and green…and mountainous! We cannot wait to explore Jamaica and take lots of pictures. More to follow…

Journel to Jamaica Day 1

April 5, 2012 / renchapman

DAY ONE:

A.M.

I woke up to the gentle rub of a familiar and rough hand on my back.

“Come on Ash, time to get out of here,” as Ren tried to coax me out of bed. I whined, and whined and whined, until he had to ask me again. Not so gently the second time around. We stayed up too late last night saying goodbye to Jeanette and Brian from Puff. It’s likely the last time we’ll see them for a few years, unless I get sponsorship to go to the Vertical Blue competition in Long Island this coming November. Hint, hint. 5:30am was not in my useable vocabulary this morning. The only thing that was may have been, “this sucks.” However, when it’s time to go, it’s time to go. No amount of bitching on my end was going to change the fact that we have ten days to get from Long Island to Jamaica in the forecasted light winds. Ren thinks it will take at least six days to cover the four hundred mile distance, again, the winds are forecasted as light.

I ripped the covers off of myself and stomped around with a sour frown on my face. It was dramatic, especially considering I had to make my point in the confined space of our cabin. All the while Ren is humming and dancing about. He is more of a morning person than I am. It’s a quality I love about him. He bounces out of bed and spreads his contagious good cheer song and dance by little song and dance. I immediately felt bad for making a tough situation worse with my crappy attitude. We worked together to haul the dinghy onto the bow of Nila Girl. By carrying the dinghy on Nila Girl instead of towing her behind us we will gain up to one knot of speed. We only tow her on shorter, one-day excursions. Ren, engine already warmed, pulled Nila Girl up to the government dock in Salt Pond where we have been beating around for the last month. Oreo was awarded one last land pee and I threw away one last bag of trash. Reluctantly, Oreo and I, answering Ren’s whistle, walked back over to Nila Girl after out ten minute land break. Ten lousy minutes to last us six days on the boat. I was looking on the voyage with trepidation. We neglected to say our goodbyes to Mike and Jackie at Long Island Breeze. We did not say goodbye to the donkey, Grey Boy, who we made friends with, visiting him nearly every day. We taught him how to play tug of war with a piece of rope in lieu of nipping at people for affection. I suppose that’s the nature of the sailing life. Unparalleled experiences, new friends, landscapes but leaving a wake of farewells behind you. You are always saying goodbye. As the captain pulled us away from the dock I said my silent goodbye, shed a tear, straightened the cockpit for travel and went back to bed.

MIDDAY

We ate leftover lobster and garlicky rice from the previous night’s “goodbye supper” for breakfast. On the side, some of the homemade blueberry jelly my Grandma canned. The rice was made garlicky by adding a pickled mixture of whole garlic cloves and gardenier mix Ren’s Mom helped us can. The mix is perfect to add a punch of flavor to anything or to eat straight, as an appetizer. The day is hot, sunny and the water a deep purple. I cried once at the thought of leaving a month’s worth of routine and new friends behind. Not to mention, the most perfect freedive training alongside world record holder, William Trubridge. We dove every single day almost, great preparation for the feat ahead. I always cry when it’s time to move on but the tears dried as Ren reminded me that we are on our way to Jamaica. The anticipation of the new adventure creeps into all the empty spaces in my heart leaving Long Island has left. I am ok again. Oreo is hot this afternoon and may get a haircut tomorrow. It is particularly hard to keep him comfortable during a passage but it is hard on all of us. Now back to “The Autobiography of Mark Twain.” Thanks Mom and Dad…and Corey for bringing it over for me!

P.M.

Oreo waiting patiently for his supper, which was rarely just dog food.

We caught a skipjack tuna about midday. Oreo had a supper of tuna, including the roe while we had lightly seared, but slightly overcooked tuna steaks on a bed of pasta. We also caught a dolphin but readily released her since we had meat already. The tuna is going fast so we will keep the next mahi we catch. The sunset was brilliant but foreboding. Anxiety was starting to creep in as the sun hung lower and lower in the sky. I always dread the first couple of nights watch. Everything is intensified at night when veiled in a cloak of darkness. The wind blows harder, every bump against the hull is deafening as I imagine the boat twisting in half and breaking apart between waves. All of this teamed with a little sleep deprivation should be a torture technique. Tonight could be a long night punctuated with tears as I tend to get homesick while at sea. No distractions, just your thoughts and a lot of time.

Journal to Jamaica Day 3

April 5, 2012 / renchapman

A journalized account of our non-stop sail through the Windward Passage from Long Island, Bahamas to Port Antonio, Jamaica.

DAY THREE:

A.M.

My A.M. shift ends at 7:00. I have been at the wheel since around 2:30am and have done my fair share of hand steering. Usually we just set Duane the Wind Vane and he steers for us. This frees up our bodies and minds. Having to hand steer takes a lot of mental fortitude. Looking ahead a the deep blue nothing, staying on course, occasionally fighting oncoming waves, staying awake…for hours.

A cockpit shave job. Only the best for Ren!

Ren took over at 7:00am and I went straight back to bed. Before my morning nap I had slept one hour the previous night. My nap tacked on almost four additional hours of sleep. Usually we get eight to ten hours of sleep per night, uninterrupted. Change this healthy pattern to maybe five hours per twenty four hour period, not a consecutive five either. Five hours taken in one to two hour increments, not healthy. We are both extremely tired. The lethargy can be blamed partially on the oppressive sun.

I woke from my nap sweating. The waves have turned into a lake and the wind is non-existent. Not even a breath of it to dry my sweaty body. We have resigned ourselves to firing up the ol’ “Iron Jib.” We hate to do this because running the engine both wastes fuel and costs money. However, we cannot spend the day going nowhere either. I have a flight to catch from Montego Bay to Fort Lauderdale in a couple of days to try to hustle us some money teaching freediving. Also, let’s look at the numbers. Since we have left North Carolina we have only had to purchase fifty nine gallons of diesel. Fifty nine gallons and we run the engine whenever we need to. This means, we have not been exceptionally frugal with our fuel. Back home, Ren’s F-250 Ford diesel pickup held thirty eight gallons of fuel. He would burn a whole tank of fuel per week on average, running around town. This does not account for out of town trips, the diesel for his tractor, or the diesel for my car. Our little Perkins is nice and efficient. Today she will run to keep us on track. She is currently running 6.3 knots with some help from the mainsail and spinnaker with only one hundred and forty four nautical miles to go to get to Port Antonio.

MIDDAY

The wind is so calm that we had to take down the spinnaker to keep it from flapping around. The engine is making sure that we maintain a respectable speed. Today is really going to affect our overall trip average which stinks because we made such great time the first couple of days. Besides the breathold tables and arm workout I will do later, when it is cooler, my goal is to dry out a bunch of my cold weather gear that got soaked during the more turbulent weather of the last couple of days. Nila Girl still has some leaks, a problem I am hoping we can completely eradicate this summer. When water leaks into the boat usually when we are heeled over pretty far or taking waves over the bow, it leaks mostly in the v-berth area. This means that our freshly laundered sheets and some of our clothes have become tainted with sea water. The tainted items will never dry. The salt in the sea water hold water in, keeping things feeling damp. I can hang the affected items out and get them crispy in the sun but there are still two problems:

1. Salty, crispy clothes itch.

2.When the items contact moisture again, even just the humidity, they feel as wet as when you first found them doused in saltwater.

We will have to rewash everything when we get to Jamaica.

P.M.

A beautiful end to a beautifully calm day. We just ate supper in the cockpit under the nearly full moon. I seared up a piece of mahi for Ren and made a cold pasta and pea dish. My belly was craving something without a lot of seasoning and I wasn’t in the mood for any meat tonight. Oreo had fish and cheese.

Speaking of Oreo, his spirits were exceptionally high today, as were mine and Ren’s. Since the seas was so calm and the winds were down we had to run the engine through the entire day (it is actually still running now). This means that we had a calm day on the ocean. The kind of day where we were afforded the opportunity to accomplish some goals. I dried out all of the salt tainted clothes and bedding described before. Ren re-glued pieces of our dinghy that were causing air to leak. I made Banff Brownies, a recipe passed on to us from Banff on Pavana (see earlier blog entries for Banff description). The brownies are sugar free, for all of you athletes in training out there. Oreo walked all over the boat, going out on the gunnels anytime he wanted. We relaxed and enjoyed the calm. I was able to do another breathold table and stretching session today. My arms are really sore from the workout yesterday, I love the feeling of soreness earned through physical exertion. It is good for the mind to push the body to hurt.

We still have not seen anything notable in the water. No turtles, dolphins or anything, except the beautiful fish we caught. We are now only ninety eight miles from Jamaica. I am looking forward to exploring a strange new world. I am also looking forward to the trip back to Fort Lauderdale. It will be sobering to see some old friends again. I also look forward to the prospect of making a bit of money. It feels good to line the pockets with a bit of cash.

Category: Sailing (Page 1 of 3)

The Tipsy Taxi and Other Dinghy Misadventures

Ren’s Bird Obsession…Sometimes Pays Off

Mom’s Fear of the Ocean

A Look Back Before Looking Forward

Brief Thought On Cuba

The Worst Part of Sailing

Journal to Jamaica Day 2

Journal to Jamaica Day 4

Journel to Jamaica Day 1

Journal to Jamaica Day 3

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