It’s 5 am, and the roosters on shore are crowing so ferociously they sound like stadium crowds.  Like it’s the 4^th of July in New Jersey and Bon Jovi is opening for the Boss.  Roosters are a big deal here in the Bahamas and ooooh baby, don’t they know it!  These sassy birds are not caged, they strut around on every street, yard, and alleyway looking fabulous and giving ‘tude. And when they perform their raucous wake-up extravaganza, it’s like they’re telling us, in no uncertain terms, “Hey, HUMANS. It’s MORNING. Get UP. And today, as you go about your business, don’t you forget…this here is ROOSTER COUNTRY.”  From the tiny v-berth on our floating home, I can tell you that the sunrise island crow-off isn’t a bad way to start the day.

     A week ago we finally left the Abacos (loved it there but it was time to GO) and headed south. The seas were calm and we had a good 55 mile crossing, leaving at 6 am and arriving just after 3.  On the way, Trav & Hud caught a giant, neon green and yellow Mahi-Mahi, an absolutely gorgeous creature, fighting and bobbing beneath the waves as the boys reeled her in. But just as Trav was about to haul her up on the deck, she wriggled free and got away. Hud, the ardent fish-taco enthusiast that he is, practically cried.  But our spirits were lifted when we arrived here, the island that is officially (for the time being) our new favorite place…ELEUTHERA. Just the name gives me chills.  Oh man, I’m in love with this island.  It’s a gorgeous amalgam of all things we love.  It’s covered in flowers, it has a slightly European feel (The cliffs!  The crumbling churches!), the people pride themselves on being the friendliest in the Bahamas, and there are unexpected surprises around every corner, like spooky caves and funky surf shops owned by wacky island characters.   Most of all, it just feels good to be exploring someplace new, because wanderlust fuels this Moxie crew, big time.  It is a serious thrill when we drop our anchor, take our dinghy (named “The Flying Pig” by Hud after his favorite boat at sailing camp) to shore, and explore each little town by foot.  Every day is radically different, most mornings we wake up and happily wonder, “What intriguing/irritating/exciting/confusing/awe-inspiring adventures will today present us with?”

 

     We do not take any of this wonder for granted, especially lately.  As we travel, life goes on in the places we call home, Maine and Telluride.  Our hearts have been torn as we’ve learned of the battles fought by many of our loved ones, the tragic losses of friends and family members.  Most recently, we mourn the passing of Corey Leadbetter, son of our beloved sister-in-law Kellie Julia.  When I first met Kellie, more than 25 years ago, I was immediately struck by two things: #1 her insane, enviable beauty, and #2 her passionate devotion to her child.  Through the years I watched Kellie with admiration as she would celebrate, honor, and nurture Corey in a multitude of ways, by encouraging his artistic talent, providing him with invaluable travel experiences, sharing his many successes with pride, always listening with empathy. Kellie and Corey shared real, immeasurable love.  To Kellie, Dawson, and Kyli, please know how loved you are by all of us.  

Until next time, Moxie readers.  xo     

       

Lesson #5,743 learned on this trip so far:

We are not in charge. The ocean is in charge.

We are still in the Abacos.  This was not our plan.  Months ago, we guessed that by now we’d be far from here, most likely south of the Dominican Republic.  But what we’ve learned is that when and where we sail is just not up to us, and we have little say in it.  The wind, the waves, the tides, the currents—we are ruled by these things.  About a week ago, we learned this in a very big way.

            It was kind of a last minute decision to make the 55 mile crossing to Eleuthera.  We had a favorable weather window, but we weren’t fully prepped the way we usually are before a big sail. By “prepped”, I mean that all the food we’ll eat during the journey is prepared and ready, everything that moves is properly stowed and locked down in the cabin—we hadn’t done those things.   Also, our toilet had stopped working the night before and there was an ominous burning smell when we flushed it.  But at 6 am we decided to go for it, figuring that the 55 mile trip would take us about 10 hours and that we’d just use a handy bucket for our bathroom needs. (Why did this seem like a good idea to us? Oh, Sweet Jesus, WHY?)   

            The next big mistake we made was that we didn’t give the kids their Dramamine until we were already underway.  The wind was fair, only about 10 knots, but the waves were big, and the boat was rolling UP and DOWN, UP and DOWN, like a puker ride at the fair. We’d been sailing for about 30 minutes and the kids were awake and rolling in their bunks. Hud came up to the cockpit and announced that he felt sick. About 20 minutes later the seasickness had fully set in, and poor Hud was filling a bucket.  By his second miserable hurl, my sweet boy was crying and screaming, “WHY DID WE BECOME SAILORS???? I WANT TO GO BACK TO TELLURIDE!”. At that point, we decided to turn the boat around. 

            The Captain and I were totally exhausted and sailing back took us the entire day. 

            And then it got worse.

The Abacos are notoriously shallow and Moxie draws a lot of water, nearly 6 feet.  We rely on our instruments to give us depth readings so we know where we can sail safely and places we should avoid. We learned that day that our GPS depth readings are not always accurate.   Around 2 pm that afternoon as we made our way back to Elbow Cay, I had just successfully dumped a full bucket overboard (remember, the toilet was broken?) The same bucket Hud had puked in earlier was now being energetically filled with other human products, and I had made several cautious trips with it up the steep companionway stairs to dump and clean it in the sea.  All of a sudden, the boat lurched and then stopped, fast and hard.  Moxie heeled over dramatically to starboard, and the kids screamed out below as they found themselves at a crazy 90 degree angle in the salon.  We were aground.  “What the hell?!? The GPS says it’s 11 feet here!”  Trav screamed.  But the GPS was wrong.  It was low tide, the water was only 5.5 feet deep, and we were really, really stuck. To complicate matters, we were afraid that we were surrounded by even shallower water that we could potentially drift into, making it even harder to eventually float out.  Trav snorkeled down and measured the depth around us in every direction with a paddle.  Luckily, we were in the most shallow spot, and it was a bit deeper around us.  We tried to move the boat by raising the sails and trying to heel her over even more, by doing so hoping to budge the keel, but that didn’t work. All we could do was wait for the tide to lift us.  So we waited.  For hours. And finally the tide came in and lifted us enough to move.  By the time we limped back to Hope Town all the mooring balls were taken so we anchored nearby and were all asleep by 7 pm. 

We had wanted to be in Eleuthera but the ocean had other ideas for us.  So we’re still here, and you know what?  We’re fine with that.  We’re waiting for another weather window and we’ll get there when we get there.  This family is learning (often the hard way) to live in the moment, to be truly present in the here and now, and not to have our heads constantly asking “what comes next?”  Just like everything else we’ve learned so far on this trip, getting the hang of this latest lesson is more difficult than it seems, but we keep hoping we'll get it eventually.  This is a test you can't cram for.  All we can do is study.

By the way, we’re having a blast.  We’ve made some amazing friends (The Potter Family—we love you so!), and we keep exploring and discovering new things because there are dozens of islands all around us and every single one is different.  We had a surprise visit from some Telluride friends and it was a crazy, hilarious, not-quite-24 hours of laughter, eating, learning about the stars and drinking too much rum.  The adventures keep coming and I right now I feel like I could just go on like this forever, following the wind and letting each day happen as it comes.  Every morning when I wake up I wonder what’s in store and I’m telling you, it’s exhilarating.    

But there's one more story I want to tell you, it's kind of upsetting-- see this boat?

We discovered this sad boat washed ashore on the rocks on an uninhabited island.  The owners had written on her in marker in the cockpit, "THIS IS OUR HOME, WE ARE COMING BACK FOR HER.  PLEASE DON'T TAKE ANYTHING". It was a heartbreaking wreck. The boat was full of these people's personal possessions, and much of what they had was ruined. It was obvious that they were cruising on a budget, the boat was simple and they didn’t have much.  Trav had checked out the boat early in the morning and we all went back later in the day.  Trav tried to be helpful to the owners by pumping out water and tying up the sagging sails.  While he was doing so, he noticed that a bunch of gear (a jerry can, lots of spare parts, etc) that had been there before were now missing.  Despite the impassioned plea made by the owner someone had heartlessly stolen things from these people.  And it didn’t take long to figure out who—while Trav worked on the boat, a guy we had met earlier who was anchored nearby pulled up in his dinghy.  He called out to us, “So, are you guys taking things, too? We got a TON of stuff earlier!”  I was shocked and furious. “No, we’re not taking stuff!” I said sharply. “Did you read what it says on the boat???” I gave him serious hate-eyes. The guy, realizing he’d just asked the wrong the people the wrong question, started back pedaling pathetically. “Umm, no! I didn’t read what it says, oh my gosh, how terrible, blah blah blah….” he lied through his teeth.  Travis immediately cut through his BS and told him that he expected he and his friend to put back the things they had taken.  “Oh yeah, of course, we will, absolutely,” the guy said.

The next morning, we saw their boat pulling out of the anchorage.  We had been watching them like hawks and they hadn’t returned anything.  So Travis got on the VHF radio and announced loudly to every boat in range, “HEY BEN AND DAN, YOU GONNA PUT THAT STUFF BACK YOU STOLE FROM THE WRECK BEFORE YOU TAKE OFF?”. Sheepishly, the guys radioed back, “Umm, yes.  We were just about to do that.”  We watched through our binoculars as they sailed back, dinghied over and returned most of the stuff. They kept the jerry can and Trav called them out on that, too. “HEY BEN AND DAN, ARE YOU PLANNING TO MAIL THE OWNER OF THAT SAILBOAT A CHECK FOR THE JERRY CAN YOU KEPT?”  It was super tense and totally amazing.

The bad thing is we keep running into these guys everywhere we go.  They're like a bad rash.  Every time we see their boat we get angry all over again.  Hud and Viv refer to them as “The Stealers.” 

Until next time, Moxie Adventure-followers!  Thank you for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for caring about us.  It’s so much fun to share our stories.  Much love. xo