Two cities with the same name, but not the same pronunciation, were our endpoints of our offshore trip when we left the ICW. Our only regret in Beaufort NC (pronounced BoFort) was that we didn’t take any pictures. We had been there last year, so the sights were not new, which gave this lovely town a homey feeling. Hoping that the pot luck supper at the local wine bar was still a happening thing, we ventured over with our hot pot of stew. Happily, we found the same folks setting up the spread on the long counter. We were welcomed like long lost siblings, and enjoyed a fabulous meal of excellent food and even better conversations.

Eager to move along, we headed out the cut two days later and found ourselves in the company of two boats we already knew, Kismet and Allegria. They had departed a few hours ahead of us, from Point Lookout, which is a piece of land jutting out near the entrance and is known for spectacular wildlife. Another year… We were also greeted by friendly dolphins who stayed with us most of the day.

This trip was a downwind run with gentle small seas. Sounds like a time to just sit back and read, right? Wrong! Always sumpin on a boat. First, I noticed a sound. My hearing is not great, but I always seem to find the weird sounds. It was a clunking in the aft cabin and I was sure we had a steering problem. Bill, my fixer-of-all-things hero, had just replaced our steering cables and surely nothing could be wrong already! My ears and my hero didn’t let me down; Bill finally found the tiny source: a hydraulic piston was a bit loose. After taking apart the aft berth and diving head first into the deep bilge there, he tightened the bolt and Voilà, silence.

Again my ears detected a problem. A bit later, in the dark, on my watch, I was startled from my reading. The mainsail became surprisingly quiet. It had been thwapping as we rolled gently. The makeshift preventer and Walter Brake tried to keep the boom in place. This is a nearly useless apparatus that is supposed to work like a boom vang which pulls the boom down toward the deck, disallowing the wild upward motion resulting when the boat rolls and the wind tries to fill the sail when the boom is 90 degrees to the centerline of the boat. Quiet. Uh oh. No moon. No visibility. Get a bright head lamp (ask Bill how much I hate that thing!).

I tried to draw a picture of what the sail SHOULD look like. The sail is supposed to be behind the spreaders at all times, but with a big roll, the sail and boom flopped upward, giving the sail a big “belly”, and somehow, the top part of the sail snuck in front of the spreader. And the batten, a stiff fiberglass “board” to flatten the sail, was keeping it stuck there. Releasing the Walter and the preventer, I tried to bring the sail toward the centerline of the boat as I steered more upwind. No luck. I was sure the sail was going to rip as it was getting sawed by the sharp wire stays. Time to wake up my hero. Groggily, Bill came into the cockpit and took the helm. I went forward to the mast (yes, I was tethered to the boat!) to drop the sail, but of course it wouldn’t fall; it was hanging by the spreaders thirty feet up. Luckily, those same seas that caused the problem, gave us another roll and just as he headed straight into the wind, with the sail trying to pull straight back, it popped out of its jam. Sure that I’d find a huge tear, it looked fine. Weird. I bet not many sailors have had this problem, or have been able to get out of this jam without climbing the mast. And climbing a mast in the dark while the boat is rolling around is a bad idea. Problem two solved.

Problem three: maybe my hero is sometimes a bit too “strong”. He and his brother, Ben, have this theory: “when there’s a problem, just get a bigger hammer” . This comes into play when we go aground. My instinct is to back up to get back to deep water, while Bill’s instinct is jam the throttle forward to power your way through. So this time using the bigger hammer caused a failure. We were raising the cruising gennaker which is a beautiful light fabric sail that looks like a spinnaker. It comes in a sock (or condom!) that has to be raised to release the sail. So we got the sail up, the sock holding it tight to the forestay. Raising fifteen feet was smooth, then it jammed. Bill tugged. Then harder, then harder…RIP. Uh oh, down with that sail. Back to the heavy genoa in these light airs.

 

 

This lovely downwind two day sail to Beaufort SC (pronounced BewFort) was punctuated with excitement, but entering into the St Helena’s channel luckily was not exciting. We had heard that hurricane Matthew had rearranged sandbars throughout the southern US coast, and that the channel markers may have been blown off course or need to be moved to highlight new sandbar locations. Heaving to (a method of sailing where you set your steering and sails to cause you to drift very slowly) to await daylight, we arrived just at daybreak enabling us to see the unlit marks. No buoys in this entrance have any lights. We hurried in, as the current was about to build to be strong, hampering our progress.

Traveling up the Coosaw River, we saw countless accounts of Matthew’s destruction. So sad. Some say that the river needed “a cleaning up; let the riffraff get pushed ashore” but my heart broke every I saw a damaged boat or home.

Pulling into Factory Creek to drop anchor, we saw Moondancer, who we had sailed with last winter throughout the Western Caribbean. A nice welcome! Staying in Factory Creek a few days allowed us to enjoy time with Steven and Linda on Moondancer, Molly and Dee on Allegria, and the many folks involved in the Lady’s Island Marina.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friends also came almost five hours from Atlanta to visit which topped off our stay in Factory Creek. We met Tracy in 1985 and have never let miles keep us apart! She embodies the cruiser spirit, even though she is not a sailor herself. She travels the world every year for work and pleasure but takes every opportunity to reunite with old friends. We enjoyed biking, dining out and dining in, and exploring new beautiful places around our anchorage as well as their rental home on a creek. Normally Tracy and Marty would have stayed aboard, but one of their two dogs would have been traumatized by the dinghy ride and any Alembic time.

We are sad to leave Tracy and Marty, Lady Island, and Beaufort SC, but the southern waters are calling us. And Lindsay is about to arrive at Jacksonville Airport. We are eagerly looking forward to a few days with her!!

Two hundred miles in the waterway and we are ready for an exit! Most sailors have a love/hate relationship with this beautiful stretch of water. Sailing is often impossible due to the tight canals and tricky maneuvers around huge power boats, but the scenery ranges from amusing to breathtaking, and when we do hit open bays, we rejoice with a refreshing sail.

We arrived at mile mark zero, Norfolk, after dark, having made a spontaneous stop to see our Swedish friends on Blå Ellinor. Passing so many Navy ships was spectacular. It seems like a lifetime ago that we both were engineers at Bath Iron Works where some of these were built.

Waking up at anchor in the heart of Norfolk was surreal. You could hear the water slapping at our hull and the birds overhead much more clearly than the surrounding sounds of ships, trains, cars, trucks, and cruise ship bow thrusters. After years of my mama voice saying “look both ways before you cross the road”, we were looking both ways before crossing the chaos of this river in our tiny dinghy with its wimpy 6 horsepower motor.

Safely across, we ventured into the city. Norfolk is huge but everything we needed was a short walk from the river.

First, a new phone to replace the one that proved to me that iPhones don’t float, then to a cafe for some internet to update its function. Playing tourists was fun too, as we admired the many mermaid statues and the Navy museum.

Leaving Norfolk at 4pm, only allowed us to get through the locks and tie up at Great Bridge free docks, about 12 miles down the ICW.

Here, we squeezed in between another sailboat and a trawler. There was about 45 feet left of the pier for our 42 foot sailboat. Moving Alembic sideways is impossible without a bow thruster, but luckily, two gentlemen jumped off their boats to catch lines and pull us sideways into the pier. I like to think they were kind, but others might say they were protecting their boats from being sideswiped as we parallel parked in a tight spot.

It looked like rush hour with all of us untying from the pier and lining up to go through the first bridge opening at 8 am. We cruised together for most of the day, waiting at each bridge, and carrying on again until we finally hit open bays and spread out. Finally dropping anchor as the sun set, we enjoyed a quiet night.

Thousands of mosquitoes were either dead on deck or hovering in lethargic swarms in every piece of shade they could find. They left disgusting green stains all over Alembic’s fiberglass, sails, and flags.

Bill’s efforts to clean was kinda gross with the tea water he scooped out of the ICW. After hours of scrubbing and swatting as we motored along, we were still covered in green polkadots.

A few more days of motoring, sailing, and anchoring in Belhaven, Oriental, and Beaufort NC, and enjoying the wildlife, canal life, and anchorages, we were ready for an exit out to the ocean.

Having 17 days in a row of guests put us in a new mindset. Our visitors, Cay, George, Kenny, and Jenna all live in Maine, and spending time with them caused us to happily wrap our hearts around being back home there with them and all the other people and places we love. So, as soon as we finished our planned inland trip to San Ignacio, we set off for home.

While on our way north 45 miles to San Pedro to clear customs and leave Belize, we heard some of our OCC friends on the VHF. They were wishing Mary, on Echo, a happy birthday. Of course we jumped in on this and also sent her radio greetings. During these conversations, we learned that Shamal and Echo were going to be staying at Cay Caulker that evening. Oh, so quickly our plans change! We figured one more night in Belize couldn’t hurt, so we dropped anchor there too.

Celebrating Mary’s birthday was wonderful. Pelican, the restaurant, was excellent, and the company of Echo and Shamal was even better. We put our heads together to figure out when it was best to head north, and what route to take. All six of us had our hearts set on stopping in Mexico to see the country and to have one last OCC party when Suzie Too returned from the UK the following week. We considered all of the information we had gathered over the past week, regarding the high costs to clear in and the upcoming cold front, and decided to skip Mexico this trip. We all resolved to visit Cozumel, Cancun, and Isla Mujeres next year.

Our next challenge, was to figure out how to get through a cut in the reef that protects Belize like a strong fortification. This reef runs north to south with only a few breaks large enough for Alembic. The problem was that the wind was pretty strong from the East; excellent for a brisk sail north, but terrible for the cuts. When we went up to San Pedro by water taxi, we zoomed by the cut there, and saw boats trying to get out. The waves were so steep, causing the boats to pitch up and down violently, preventing any forward momentum. We watched them turn around and come back into the anchorage, giving up the hope of passing through there.

Echo and Alembic made plans to head south thirty miles to the ship channel, passable in any weather because it is wide and deep. This was the exact wrong direction for our destination, but the right decision for our safety. Shamal decided to wait another day for the seas to calm down. We knew a cold front was coming in a few days and that we had to be hunkered down in the Dry Tortugas or Key West by Wednesday afternoon, so we sailed north in time for this plan. This cold front would provide much wanted north winds, after the squalls passed, for our trip from Dry Tortugas to Miami, a course that usually has east winds, right on the nose, for weeks on end. While the seas were choppy and confused, we had a great sail, riding the currents which ran as much as 3 knots on parts of our three day passage.

Just a few hours earlier than Chris Parker, our weatherman had indicated, the cold front hit on Wednesday morning at 1 am. On my watch, I lay on my back reading my kindle, oblivious to the spike in wind. Bill came up the companionway, bleary-eyed from sleep, asking “what’s going on?” My book must have been engaging, because I hadn’t realized a squall was upon us. We quickly doused our big genoa and the mizzen and double reefed our main sail, just in time for the squall to finish. We only clocked 31 knots and this only lasted fifteen minutes. We sailed easily into Dry Tortugas, arriving that afternoon. Unfortunately, Shamal and other OCC friends on Blå Ellinor and Mad Romance were hit pretty hard by much stronger squalls a few hours later.

The Dry Tortugas was beautiful and sheltered many species of wildlife that I wanted to explore. Unfortunately, the rough weather made dinghy riding, snorkeling, and swimming unpleasant, so we just lounged around and visited with Echo and other boats in the anchorage. Legally, we were not allowed to go ashore anyway, since we had not cleared customs and there is no place here to do so! We stayed only two nights, waiting for the calmer weather, and set off Friday morning for a long day sail to Key West to clear through customs.

Home at last. Not quite. Actually, far from it. First, the customs were giving us such a hard time over the phone. Phone! Our Verizon phones had a signal! This was the first time we used those in a long while. I mentioned it was Friday, right? And that it was a long day sail? So we were arriving at about 6pm. Calling them while still offshore at 5pm, they told us they were about to close their office. For the weekend. And that we had to clear in within 24 hours. They suggested we clear in at the Miami office. That couldn’t work. We couldn’t, or wouldn’t, get there in 24 hours. UGH. Finally they indicated that we had a clearance number, by this call, and that we could maybe clear in at the airport the next day.

Another reason we were far from home was that Key West is nothing like Maine. Wild. Loud. Crowded. I had fun, though, visiting with Shamal that night at a packed noisy bar. They had skipped the Dry Tortugas and came in to Key West the day before, having been kicked around a bit in the stormy weather. Bill couldn’t wait to leave this busy spot, so we left the next morning and sailed through the night to the upper Keys, traversing Jewfish Creek, a skinny mangrove opening we had discovered thirty years ago on Wings, our Westsail 32.

Spending Mothers’ Day at Boca Chita and Sands Key, just north of the creek, was a real treat. We have many fond memories here from when we chartered catamarans and taught our kids to snorkel. I can still feel Lindsay’s hand in mine, as she watched a huge Spotted Eagle Ray swim beneath us when she was only about seven. And I can hear Erica’s sweet voice singing as she danced on the heavy decorative fence around the Boca Chita lighthouse. I smile with the memory of Kenny begging to go spear fishing again in the cut between the islands. Miami could wait. I was savoring these moments here for the day.

Raising the anchor, heading into Miami late that afternoon, was anticlimactic. After squeezing through a few bridges, and ducking out of the way of far too many wild speeding power boats, we dropped our anchor in a safe spot. Most of the traffic here was just jet skiers, who couldn’t produce much of a wake, thankfully.

Miami seemed so different from how I had remembered it. We lived in the Miami Beach Marina on Wings for two years before the kids were born. The marina is now packed, very fancy and expensive, as opposed to the unfinished facility that we lived in. South Beach has turned into a lively scene, packed with vacationers, where what I remembered was a wide open beach for us to ride our ten dollar yard sale beach bum bikes. We felt like strangers in a place we once called home; helping us to keep up the desire to keep moving to our actual home in Maine.

Next trip, Ft Lauderdale, only twenty-five miles north, was our next adventure. Arriving here was surprisingly pleasant and peaceful. We picked up a mooring in a tiny cove with only a few other boats. Our mooring neighbors hailed from Canada, France, New Zealand, and the Netherlands, making us feel like we were in a foreign port again.

Visiting with Paul and Ann was the highlight of this stop. Almost twenty years ago, they welcomed us warmly to York Maine, and helped us to settle in to that community. In like fashion, Paul and Ann went above and beyond to help us enjoy our five day stay here, as we waited for better weather to head offshore again.

Seeing Blå Eleanor and Mad Romance safe in Fort Lauderdale was a relief. They were hit quite hard by a very brief, but dangerous storm cell on their way to Key West. Asa mentioned recording 57 knots before their wind speed instrument went blank. They tore sails and their bimini pole became dislodged, pinning her to the wheel. Asa shared the details of this event with her heavy Swedish accent and her unshakable positive attitude. “The storm was so beautiful: everything went black at mid day, then the lightning created the most beautiful show”. Mad Romance experienced the same wind, along with the wild darkness and lightning. The instruments on both boats have been acting wacky ever since. It’s possible they encountered proximity lightning strikes, without the more dangerous direct hits. All were in great spirits, enjoying the protection of a safe harbor, and making plans to fix things so they could head out again for more extended adventures!

This trip home has become a wonderful blend of past and present. Combining old favorite places and people with new places and friends makes my world jell. We are transitioning back to Maine, warmed by the many events in our lives, from long ago to today, that make me smile.

Going inland was a blast. Next cruise, we will plan more inland excursions. A completely different set of wildlife, human culture, and climate was found. Leaving Alembic was disquieting. I was convinced that the bugs or rats would invade my galley, while Bill was more concerned with safety and security. The day before we left Alembic, we saw a huge dead rat on the dock that didn’t help my state of mind. I coached all the trolling iguanas to guard Alembic, and fed them compost scraps as payment. They didn’t let me down. Maybe Bill had coached the many wandering dogs and the nearby parrot to patrol our floating home, because all was well upon our return.

Our rental car, with 120,000 miles, ran flawlessly and survived without a scratch from the passing speeders on the 200 mile trip or the aggressive wildlife surrounding the inland parking spot beside our cabana.

Midas was the perfect getaway, with sweet tiny cabanas nestled in the forest packed with birdlife. Each morning, I enjoyed watching the parrots, toucans, hummingbirds, flycatchers, seed eaters, warblers, tanagers, woodpeckers, hawks, and falcons interact. This hysterical flycatcher kept sweeping his body up and down our windshield while pecking at his own image. I later realized that we had parked right under his nest, and he was attacking the “predator”!

Lindsay had lived in San Ignacio for a few months five years ago, and she gave us specifics about the hot spots. We visited the same mayan ruins and caves that she had, and as we wandered on foot every day throughout the town, my heart warmed to think about Lindsay passing through the same areas.

I’m certain we even met some of the same people. This town has some tourists, and many expats, but the bustling town was predominantly folks whose families have been here for generations. Teak plantations were evidence of long term plans and hopes for generations to come. Endless acres with carefully planted teak trees surrounded the town. Farmers have to wait decades before the wood is harvestable. Most who plant these trees will not live to reap the benefits, but their grandchildren will appreciate the efforts.

The first day, we walked from our cabana to the Cahal Pech “Place of the ticks” ruins. This is one of the oldest Mayan sites in Belize, yet it was discovered relatively recently. It is believed to have been settled in 1200 BC, abandoned in 900 AD, and discovered around 1950, with excavations occurring from 1988 to 2000. The forest had overtaken the site, hiding the evidence of its civilization for centuries.

The next day, Oscar picked us up at Midas and took us to the ATM caves, for an amazing tour. Oscar was the perfect tour guide. He mixed humor with depth of Mayan knowledge, always respecting the spirits, the ecology of the site, and our needs. He was the only guide who insisted on turning off headlamps every time we stopped to hear his instructions or Mayan details. Darkness gave us a feel for how the cave felt for the mayans who came in for ceremonies and rituals. Traversing the cave required swimming, hiking, squeezing through tight spots, and lifting our bodies up over slippery steep rocks. It’s staggering to think of the Mayans making this trek with torches, heavy pots, sick people, and often while intoxicated!

The third day was a trek to Xunantunich “Stone Woman,” only 20 minutes by car. This site was thought to have been settled around 600-300 BC, abandoned around 1000 AD, and first explored by a British officer in the 1800s. We opted to skip the guide and to climb and discover the site on our own. I marveled at the complexity of the architecture and culture and now am eager to read more about the customs and sophistication of the Mayans.

Having such a small taste of inland culture barely whet our appetite for understanding the depth of Latin and Mesoamerican culture. Living and traveling along the coast has given us a flavor for the pirates and seagoing folks, but the civilizations living on the land have a completely different story. I’m ready to begin reading.

Scrambling to transition from one set of guests to the next, with only a couple of hours in between, seemed crazy. Bill left for the airport in a water taxi before Cay and George left Alembic. I took Cay and George to their water taxi a few hours later, shopped for food, brought everything back to Alembic, washed the produce, discarded all cardboard, and stowed everything just in time to receive the VHF call from Bill saying that they had arrived and were ready at the dinghy dock. Yay!!!

As soon as I saw Kenny and Jenna, I dissolved into tears. Family. At last. Here in Belize. I’m beyond blessed.

They looked tired (much more tired than I was) and hot. First up: cool water, and naps in the cockpit for Kenny and Jenna while Bill and I went back to the dinghy dock to pick up the laundry at Marie’s (a local woman who does laundry for a small fee), get dinghy fuel and twenty gallons of water in jerry jugs. With these final chores done, we could raise anchor at any time. We were ready for another week of showing off our new home-away-from-home. Since it was nearing dark, we decided to stay in Cay Caulker one more night. Strolling around the sweet little island, browsing into all of the food establishments, we chose Haberneras and had a fantastic Belizean meal.

The next morning, after watching dolphins frolic all around the anchorage, we raised our anchor and headed south. Bluefield Range was 33 miles south with a strong breeze to take us there swiftly. Patch reefs around Bluefield Range were only mediocre; our plan was to build up the magnificence slowly. Jenna chose not to snorkel this day; the water was deep and we were far from shore.

Our second day, alone at Rendezvous Cay, Jenna braved the underworld. We walked right into the magical reefs from the calm white sand beach. After this introduction, Jenna was unstoppable! She swam deeper and farther each day, to the point where I was not sure we would get her back on the boat some days. One day, a turtle lured her away from us. It kept looking back when she went to the surface for a breath, waiting for her to plunge down again and follow him out to sea. I think he thought she was a mermaid.

We had many excursions on land, visiting romantic island getaways and simple beach retreats. Coco Plum Island Resort is set up for honeymooners and anyone who wants to celebrate romance. They have dinner tables under palm canopies out at the end of piers and eighteen private cabanas with high end furnishings.

The staff is funny, helpful, and ready to make your stay idyllic. I think Kenny and Jenna are ready to book it for next year! A much simpler venue, Reef’s End, was a tiny place where we celebrated both of their birthdays! We were more than a week late, but birthdays are always worth celebrating!

Every day was full of smooth sailing, reef explorations, and Belize beer and food. We ate most meals on board, but sampled the offerings ashore when that was an option. Spending a week with these two was such a gift. In Maine, we see Kenny and Jenna often, but usually only for day visits. Having this opportunity to blend our lives for an extended visit brought the affinity to a new level.

You see new sides of people when you’re together from those first groggy morning moments, through the exhilarations or challenges of the day, and on to the final exhaustion of the late evenings. As a mother, I now can say that I am completely convinced that my son is in the right place in life. Kenny has found the perfect person to spend his life with. Jenna completes him, makes him laugh, and cares deeply for him. There is a peace in my heart that makes me want to shout for joy and rest quietly at the same time. And I know this is rare.

I am Kenny’s mom, but I also feel a deep sense of connection to Jenna that extends beyond her marriage ties to our family. She has a soul that reaches deep into me with her sensitivity and honesty. What she values, I value, what she hopes for, I hope for. I look forward to traveling alongside Jenna on her journey as she opens doors and makes this world a better place.

Thank you, Kenny and Jenna, for coming to see us in Belize, for spending a full week with us, and mostly for being the wonderful humans that you are. See you in Maine!

Bill and I were looking forward to Cay and George’s arrival for months. Sharing this journey with family and friends makes everything more real, more special. I must admit that I was a little concerned that they would find Alembic too small, too salty, too rolly at sea or at anchor, the food too limiting, or the challenges of using a marine compost toilet too gross! You’ll have to get their honest reactions, but from my perspective, it was all perfect!

Cay had only been sailing twice; once on Alembic for a few hours in Maine, and once on another boat for a day trip. She didn’t really know the first thing about how anything worked or fit on a sailboat, let alone how to walk about without hurting herself. George had more sailing experience, but mostly on very small daysailers. Both have plenty of ocean experience on kayaks and skiffs, and their seamanship was evident.

George took over the galley for both production and clean up, and Cay did her best to try to keep up there as well.

Every task that involved sailing, from removing covers to raising and adjusting sails, steering, anchoring, and dingy hoisting and deployment, was mastered by both Cay and George by day 3.

Most fun of all, was their eagerness to snorkel. Our days were spent seeking the next site and reading the books to learn the names of everything we saw. I learned more during the ten days with Cay than I had in the last few decades of snorkeling.

When we returned from a snorkel excursion, Cay immediately dove into the books (not enough on board) to learn the names and behaviors of each new creature and shared her new knowledge with all of us.

 

We sailed every day, many long days, and Cay and George both smoothly got into the rhythm of running around to set sails, then lounging and enjoying the passage.

We were blessed with perfect weather, so we could go anywhere we wished, as long as there was daylight to read the coral heads under our keel. We managed to go significant distances yet have energy for immediately plunging into the water to explore the underworld.

Our friendship with these two strengthened as we blended our daily lives and shared dreams and hopes about our futures in retirement. All four of us have had careers that we loved, still love, and are somewhat perplexed about how to proceed without the identity, salary, and structure that these professions have provided. We all have many projects and intentions that we are pursuing and I enjoyed the camaraderie around these conversations.

Saying goodbye was sad, but I knew we would soon carry on with adventures together when we return to Maine. Seven weeks is not far off!!

Leaving Utila in the dark was scary as hell. Bill was up at the bow, with his ever trusty head lamp, cleaning off the thick mud from the anchor while I headed out through the anchorage, hoping not to collide with any boats. Many boats have no lights on at night, and I had to go by where I remembered them to be. The lighting from my instruments destroyed my night vision, but I needed them to know the depth and direction, or I could really end up in trouble. And Bill’s headlamp gave me flashes of lightning as he moved about on the bow. Once I cleared the harbor, and passed through the entrance reef, I breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, I am more scared in a harbor than out at sea. The large waves that welcomed us, along with the steady breeze, were simple to navigate compared to all the hazards of the shore.

We were again sailing with Ocean Rainbow and Arkouda, and I looked forward to their company in the night. I get bored on my night watches, so chats on the VHF always perk me up. This night was no exception. Just before midnight, we could see a large freighter heading on a perpendicular course, and possibly a collision course, about seven miles away. First, we picked it up on our AIS, where a little green triangle shows up. Clicking on this symbol reveals all sorts of information about the vessel. We learned its name was Jan, its length width, depth, exact location, heading, speed, destination, and my favorite: TCPA. TCPA, or time to closest point of approach, is really a nice way of saying time till collision. It does also give CPA, closest point of approach, which will give you the closest distance the vessel and your boat will be. Being a former Geometry teacher, I love to calculate these things, using vectors, but time isn’t always one of your available resources, so this gadget helps anyone do their Geometry quickly. It takes your speed and direction, the other boat’s speed and direction, and figures out how close you’ll get if you continue. You usually want a mile for your CPA when it comes to large freighters. This allows for drift, minor course changes, leeway, wakes, and other surprises.

His CPA was about 0.02 miles. Not good. I actually look forward to these situations. Weird. It gives me a reason to call the ship, chat about course changes, and make some more calculations in my head. James beat me to the VHF. “Jan, Jan, this is sailing vessel Ocean Rainbow on channel 16”. “To the vessel calling, this is Jan, please switch and answer channel 10” We all switch to 10. “Jan, Jan, this is Ocean Rainbow. We are on a collision course. Can I have your assurance that you will not hit me??” “Ocean Rainbow, this is Jan. I cannot see you on AIS (neither of us transmit AIS signals) but I see you on radar. I will not hit you” Five minutes later… more VHF calls from Ocean Rainbow to Jan. This struck Bill and I as ironic. James was a General in the UK Army. We’ve seen pictures, James standing in full uniform, next to the Queen of England. He was important, and often in danger. How different this must be, a little boat on a big sea.

I finally got a word in edgewise on the VHF. After the formalities of introduction and moving channels, I said “Hello Jan, I see you on AIS and one or both of us needs to alter course. I will turn on my mast head strobe so you can see me, and I can turn ten degrees north and go to your stern. Are you comfortable with a passing at 0.5 miles?” “Yes, Alembic, I can also speed up three knots and alter course ten degrees” “Thank you, Jan, Alembic standing by on 16”. Twenty minutes later, Jan passed safely by both sailboats. I again got on the radio: “Jan, this is Alembic. Thank you for a safe crossing. Have a good night.” These conversations with other ships are common for me; I always suggest a plan, they usually say they can’t alter speed or direction, so I make the changes, and I always thank them and say good bye after. They can’t see us well, so I like to assure them that we are finally out of the way.

Another ship approached and we repeated this round of communications, and again, the ship passed us safely. More concerning to me, was the third vessel that came toward us with lights on, but no AIS signal. Without AIS, I didn’t know the name of the boat, so I didn’t call it on the VHF. Ocean Rainbow and Alembic sailed close together so that any possible pirate would go elsewhere. And elsewhere they went. It was probably just one of the many fishing boats off Honduras.

After a rough night with almost no sleep (well Bill slept most of the night, but I couldn’t, as usual) the sun began to rise and we could see the faint outline of Glover Reef, our destination. We were a bit ahead of schedule and didn’t want to pass through the reef strewn entrance without good light, so we slowed down. Finally, at 7:30, we decided that the light was high enough to see the coral heads that rose up to five feet from the surface from thirty foot depths. We came through the pass, and dropped anchor at the deserted small island.

Ahh, there’s nothing like the feeling of your anchor digging in and your boat coming to a quiet stop. Bill had felt gross all night, so he was feeling tired, despite his many hours of dozing, and I was exhausted from my hyper alert state that plagues me at sea. “What’s that sound?” “and that?”… while the boat crashes around in the mixed up seas. Little things like spice jars rattling, tea cups knocking, the ladder squeaking, the bilge pump coming on (this is perfectly normal), the sails slatting, a loose line plinking the mast or deck, the water gurgling down the scuppers, the genoa sheet creaking in the winch, whatever, I hear it. I’m never nervous, but I can’t seem to turn off the volume. Each new sound has to be heard, evaluated, placed in the “that’s fine” category just in time for the next one…

Some of the sounds that I missed were those of the main sail chaffing and failing. We discovered that we had broken a slide (plastic piece that slides up the mast and carries the sail up), worn through the webbing stitching holding another slide to the sail, and chaffed through an area of actual sail. This is frustrating because this sail was new in October. It shouldn’t be failing so soon. Luckily, I have spare slides and can sew the webbing back on and patch the sail.

Glover Reef was much too beautiful to delay explorations. We tidied the boat, launched the dinghy off the bow and the outboard motor off the back deck, donned our bathing suits, and headed out for some snorkeling. Napping and sail repair could wait. What a spectacular spot! We would have stayed at Glover Reef another night, with our Q flag flying, but Chris Parker, our faithful weatherman, foretold of a norther blowing through the second night. Our anchorage offered no protection from the north or west. We sailed toward the mainland, and anchored at Tobacco Range which has excellent protection from north winds.

Tucked into the mangroves, we didn’t even take our dinghy off the boat, so we explored by swimming. A local guy, George, was on his dock and invited us to see his place, the only bit of man made structure in sight. Great set up: home with a few bedrooms set back on land, while the kitchen and porch, built on the water’s edge, is just a short walk away. George came over to Alembic for breakfast in exchange for oodles of local knowledge about where we’re allowed to fish, how these Belizean fisherman operate, where to find Manatees, and other important details.

We sailed away, to get a bit closer to the mainland. We had to check in to Customs, but not just yet. Our Q flag was still flying, and nobody seemed to care. Technically, we hadn’t gone to shore, only swimming on reefs and stepping on George’s docks. Almost twenty miles south, at Lagoon Cays, we were reveling in the fact that we were completely alone for a second night, no boats to be seen. Just as we said this, a Charter boat pulled in and dropped anchor right beside us. A captain with four women in their fifties; made me think of the Winn Dixies, The Winn Dixies are ten women, myself included, who have traveled together every fall for decades, to beautiful natural places. I think we should charter a sailboat in Belize one of these years! I’ll have to find one that sleeps ten!

Early the next morning, we saw a manatee lazily swimming in the lagoon. Quickly, Bill launched the paddle board, and I grabbed my snorkel gear. We tried to find him again, Bill looking at the water’s surface, and me looking below. No luck, but the early morning exercise was energizing.

Today was check in day, so we sailed ten miles southwest to Big Creek, just south of Placencia. Following the Cruising Guide, we motored up the Creek, dropped anchor. I dropped Bill off at the shore, but he was quickly shooed away by a guard. Another guard, farther down the pier, said he could come ashore if we paid $100 to land at this pier! No way! Back to Alembic, motoring down the Creek, we marveled at how many changes have already taken place since the Guide Book was written in 2007 (and updated 2013).

Once anchored in Placencia, I dropped Bill off at the dinghy dock, he took the Hokey Pokey water taxi and a land taxi to the exact location we were at up Big Creek! What a hassle! During the time Bill spent to check us in, I shopped for food and for a Belize Simm card. Now we were set for our guests.

Cay and George arrived the next day, just after a heavy but brief rainstorm. Seeing them was wonderful. It seemed to make this journey real. Lindsay visited us for Thanksgiving, but the Bahamas were blowing a hoolie for her four days so we never sailed. Since her visit, we have traveled to unknown places with unknown people. With so many new experiences, it has almost been like reading someone else’s fairy tale. Now we were anchored in our own true life, not someone else’s. We quickly set to planning our ten days of adventure together….It felt perfect.

Utila is a tiny island, the third and last of the Honduran Islands as we headed west, after Guanaja and Roatan. We left Roatan in the morning, ready for a bouncy ride. Sailing alongside Ocean Rainbow,with Claire and James aboard, brought us great comfort, and knowing Cynthia and Sean were sailing nearby on Arkouda, was icing on the cake. Many people say you shouldn’t travel in these waters, so close to the Honduran mainland, without buddy boats. But I love the company for other reasons. It’s fun to take pictures, chat on the VHF, and get excited for new landfalls with others.

Arriving in Utila was easy. Coming around the reef was obvious with the crystal clear water. Many dive boats, tied to mooring buoys or anchored, revealed to us where the best spots to snorkel were. We made our plans to drop anchor and dinghy over for our own adventure. We were not disappointed.

Hippyville was my name for this town. Everyone looked young, happy, relaxed, and ready for adventure. Tourism was nonexistent here except for the typical backpackers. Most of the islands and mainlands we have visited on this journey have many backpackers. This term in New England is usually reserved for those on the Appalachian Trail or some other mountain climbing adventure. Here, in the Western Caribbean, it is used for folks who arrive with heavy backpacks, find super simple living arrangements on boats, in tents, or in hostels, and float through streets looking dreamy and happy. Many are looking for kite surfing and scuba diving. Here, the many dive boats would be their day homes. And the hammocks near the docked boats would be their siesta sites.

Somehow, Bill and I just melted here. We glided down into a rooted calm. Maybe it was the fact that the anchorage was quiet. No 40 knot winds, no reef right on our bow, no fast ferry boats buzzing within ten feet of Alembic every fifteen minutes. Whatever it was, we liked it. Getting water was simple and cheap; just 4 cents per gallon at the dinghy dock (or drive up in your big boat). Restaurants were plentiful and catered to the backpackers who have only pennies to their name.

Our favorite restaurant was this tiny shop where a French guy has been making crepes for nineteen years. You can choose sweet, savory, eggs, meat, or veggies to top them. We had eggs, tomatoes and avocados and were sold on this being our favorite stop.

Sunsets were idyllic, taxis were hilarious,

the grocery store was simple and well stocked,

and the other shops were tiny buildings with goods flowing out onto the streets.

People, bikes, dogs, and three wheeled golf carts shared the streets with no particular pattern. No cars, no rules, no “stay to the right”, just a bunch of wanderers meandering in swerving paths. Nothing posh, anywhere. Just the way we like it! It made me realize that Bill and I are truly happier with simple surroundings and relaxed rules. Getting dressed up and doing anything fancy only adds stress.

Wandering down a street, Bill said “let’s get haircuts!” so we headed into the shop with a Barber Shop pole. Unfortunately, the guy who cuts men’s hair never showed up, so Bill had to rely on my trimming his hair on Alembic later. Looking around the shop, I was comforted by the simplicity. No products, just water in a spray bottle, no magazines, no fancy hairstyle pictures anywhere, just family photos on the wall, no blow dryers. Not even good communication, because she only spoke Spanish and I haven’t gotten to the “haircutting” chapter of my Spanish learning. But, I was thrilled with my new short cut!

Reluctant to leave, we set out at 8pm to weave through a few boats and prepared for an overnight crossing to Belize. Cay and George would be arriving in a few days and we had to get there ahead of them. As much as we looked forward to Belize and their visit, we also longed for more time on this sweet island. Another year…