A white-hulled sailboat glows in a sunbeam as a dramatic black cloud dumps a column of rain directly behind it.

Power is in the House!

Salinas was a deeply useful stop. We anchored and paid the marina a modest fee to have a month’s access to (clean) showers, a place to leave our trash, and an address for packages. It was time to finalize the LiFePO4 house batteries plan, wherein we would change battery chemistry and location. We’d been lugging the battery cells themselves around since Red Hook (St. Thomas, USVI) but got stopped up on the installation design. They were in their forever home, which is under the nav station seat slash diesel engine start battery home on the Baba 30’s original plans. Instead of a single group 24 starting battery, though, we would use that area for eight 3.2 volt, 230 amp-hour lithium cells. Four cells wired in series makes a nominally 12 volt battery bank so we were creating two 230 amp-hour battery banks, either of which supplies 184 amp hours of usable power. That compares very favorably to the 255 amp-hour 8D AGM that was doing duty as Battery 1 because, after 17 years in service, the voltage was cratering before the state of charge (SOC) got below 80%. That means we’d been living on about 50 amp hours per bank, and the new system would explode our capacity from our point of view. Once we’d drawn up the system and identified what parts we needed, we placed a bunch of orders from across the boatersphere and started the rounds of reprovisioning, cooking, cleaning, and showering that kept us busy until the shipments could arrive. There were so many aspects of this project that were hard to measure, literally. Getting a tape measure to tell the truth about the complex curve inside a sailboat hull is like getting a cat to stay out of a project that he can’t help with.[…]

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James at 62

When I was 22 years old, a very good friend of mine cried when I told her I could see no reason to live past the age of 31. Yeah, I was a dick. I did not die at 31 and I gotta say, I’m glad I didn’t. Of course, I very well could’ve. By the time I reached the ripe old age of 31, I’d been a rock star for 4 years. I owned a 24/7, 8 track/32 channel analog recording studio, a pirate radio station and had a healthy (?) appreciation of illegal substances. My life was on fire and I had no intention of putting that shit out. It was 1995, I’d been around the world on mainstream music’s dime, I was the center of the independent media scene in the Pacific Northwest with a 75 watt mobile micro-radio station, I rode a bike through the rain drenched hills of Seattle, I was sexy as a motherfucker so I said, “burn, baby burn!” Then something profound happened…Love and Life. I believe if life is viewed through greed, you will make money and perhaps that will make you happy for a while. If life is viewed through ambition, you will succeed, and that can be thrilling. But if life is viewed through love and adventure, you will fall in love with life and never want it to end. I somehow sloughed off the chains of greed and false ambition and ended up viewing life through the wide angle of love and the adventure that brings…through travel and cultural observation…through the love of life as viewed through a partnership. And I never want it to end! And here I am, 40 years after my own personal doom-foretold, on another boat (S/V SN-E Cetacea), thirty-thousand nautical miles and almost 30[…]

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…with following seas

Patillas kept us interested for far longer than we expected, with green jagged hills and thin beaches, plenty of birds and a little bit of water wildlife. We were into letting the propulsion battery charge and not rushing out to the next port, but mostly? We liked it there. We were a couple-few days in when we realized we were running out of some basics. The town beach was about a half mile east-southeast, but the only convenience store was much closer to the north. It would save us both rowing and walking if we could just… James spied something that looked a lot like a concrete staircase up the hill on the north side and, sure enough, we were able to beach the boat and get up to the two-lane highway that serves the area. Yeah, this is fucking awesome. The walk was not long but it was nerve-wracking as highways without edges tend to be. We picked up some groceries and I (Dena) tried to charm the guy running the place with my Spanish. The shopping was more successful than the charming. A tree ripening a thousand mangoes had let some go in the wind and we picked the least damaged up to bring back to the boat with us. Unfortunately, the convenience store was a real one-stop-shop and had more space dedicated to plumbing parts than pills and James can’t do without his old-man-prazole. We dedicated ourselves a few days later to stretching our legs again, this time heading into Patillas proper for some drug store and supermarket action. It was three and a half miles into the green hills TOTALLY AWESOME SHOPPING COMPLEX and I am so glad that we remembered to bring water. Once we got past the winding coast road to the straightaway that[…]

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The mainsheet block backlit by sun against blue water and blue sky separated by a thin layer of land

Four Months Later…

We left Esperanza, on Isla de Vieques (one of Puerto Rico’s three inhabited islands), at a reasonable hour but the wind remained east and even north of east instead of veering southeasterly and, even worse, it never filled in the way the forecast had, well, forecasted. Ghosting on airs so light that a wave can surge the boat ahead of the whispering wind, we watched the sun dip and fall. The 30-mile trip would not be completed during daylight, but the wide-open bay that was our destination shouldn’t be too hard to navigate in the dark. It’s the thoughts that carry you away at a time like this. Thinking about what we’re really doing here. Thinking about why it’s been four months since I (Dena) quit my job in Red Hook (on St. Thomas in the USVI) and we’re just now approaching the Big Island of Puerto Rico. Thinking about what it means to have an electric motor and knowing we can’t just steam from fuel dock to fuel dock. The hook these thoughts are hanging on is slow. We’re not new to being slow. On Nomad, in 2017, we formed a loose association of sailors with folks heading down the ICW, absolutely laughing at the idea that we’d remain close to the Garcia 47 (sailor-besties Kris and Steve, amazing people) or even the Gemini, a 35′ tiny-cat narrow enough to fit in the slips meant for Grand Banks-type powerboats. When we switched from Nomad to Cetacea, losing 2 feet of deck length but gaining 2 feet of sparred length and 3 feet of beam, we also had to relearn to sail. It wasn’t just the different hull shapes – we went from a slender sloop to a beamy cutter. We learned and learned, and we are sailing this boat[…]

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Beluga Greyfinger sticks his tongue out at James who is photographing him with a phone while I photograph the whole scene

Disengaging from Red Hook

The day after my last day, it rained. Mostly softly but also with some vigorous downpours. My satisfaction with that situation reminded me that it’s important to decompress after an intense work experience. This job was more like Krohne and Hamilton Marine than like the Three Mile Harbor debacle or the horrifying Windham Falls unethical quagmire. I mostly like the people I worked with and, while I have a heavy dose of judgement about how the bosses handle their business, I’m not rooting for their misery. At the same time, I always wondered whether I would be able to support the catamoron charter industry. This kind of crewed charter, meals included, is so far outside my experience and so opposite from my dearest desires that it seemed likely that I’d pick up a paycheck or two, holding my nose the whole time, and then flounce out with my opinions intact. Instead, I ended up with a group of men (some sooooo young that I couldn’t help blinking with puzzlement at them sometimes) who were up to the task of boarding these shitty boats from pitching dinghies in ridiculous chop and acting as the experts in plumbing, electrical, engines, aircon, rigging, and so much more. It’s hard to be snooty when these guys were coming to me for the float switch and then going back out there, in all kinds of tropical weather, with their strippers and crimpers and butt connectors and all the same things that have kept me and James and Beluga Greyfinger alive and safe for so long. So many of us were liveaboards and not a one was on a catamoron. They’d seen the shoddy construction of these floating palaces and, perhaps I’m wrong but, I think they had higher standards than gaining expansive spaces that become[…]

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It’s so worth it!

So, we’re settling in on the Island of St. Thomas here in the Caribbean Sea on what is commonly known as the US Virgin Islands. Dena has set her mind to doing a job for the company she works for and I (James) have dedicated myself to getting the boat ready for a run at the Northwest Passage as soon as we can make that happen financially, psychologically and physically. The yacht management company that Dena works for has given us a mooring (as a perk?) very close to her office so the commute is as simple a row as we’ve ever had. As a matter of fact we’ve never had a row in from a mooring field or anchorage that has been as easy on us as this one, no matter the weather. Now granted, we’ve had better looking neighborhoods than the one we’re in today but it’s so calm back up in Vessup Bay that it will give me the opportunity to get all the work done that needs doing on S/VSN-E Cetacea. The first order of business is aesthetics. Our working systems like the sailing rig, the electric propulsion system, the pumps, cooking and lighting systems are all in good working order so getting the boat looking good gives me a chance to get a much closer look at every inch of the vessel while at the same time making her look and feel ship-shape and ready to go. The scum-line around the entire boat between the bottom and the rub-strake was a serious eyesore after our voyage from the Canary Islands to Africa’s Cabo Verde Islands. The reason it got so bad was because of all the travel we did in the shipping lanes. When sailing amongst the big ocean going freighters and tankers on the[…]

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