Two-year old travelling

We used frequent flyer tickets to get from Oz to the States, which meant that we had a less than ideal itinerary: Brisbane-Auckland-L.A.-Washington Dulles-Cleveland. Thirty-six hours from first take-off to final landing. So of course we were wondering how the One of Us Who Is Two would handle it all.

Well, he handled it great. Slept a lot, ate his airplane meals more or less competently, got a big kick out of putting his hands over his ears when we flushed the airplane toilets.

The problem came when we were off the plane.

We put him to sleep at 8 the first night in Cleveland, then went to sleep ourselves at midnight. At midnight-thirty Elias sat up and announced, "I'm all done sleeping!". No amount of cajoling or soothing would get him to give up his insistence that he was ready to play. So he got up that night and played, and ate a full meal at 2 am, and finally went back to sleep at 3:30.

The next night, the same.

The night after that, the same.

It turns out that the mental effort that adults expend to get over jet lag just doesn't work for little people. They stay on their old schedule until their bodies get tired of it. Alisa and I, meantime, would find ourselves beginning each of these night time sessions exhausted and willing the little fellow to sleep, but as the wee hours ground on his jet lag would become infectious, and we'd soon be wide awake ourselves.

After four nights Elias was getting over it. But then we went to Alaska, and when we came back to Ohio we were again four hours off of schedule. The first night back, I just gave in and watched TV with Elias until 1:30 in the morning...

Alisa and Elias in Aunt Noe's convertible during our 8-hour layover in L.A.

Home

We’ve just returned to my folks’ house in Cleveland after a ten-day visit to the Great Land. The highlight of our trip north was the return to Kodiak, two years to the month after we left the island on a twenty-five year old boat with our ten-month old child, determined to sail across the Pacific Ocean.

Before the trip, Alisa and I were full of the suspense of finding out how our identification with Alaska had weathered the last two years. Would Kodiak seem hopelessly provincial after we had roamed such a wide swath of the Pacific? Would the consistently foul weather of the northernmost Pacific seem no longer supportable after we had tasted a year of living in our swim suits?

The first four days of our visit featured the rain and fog and cold that we expected to find in early June. The sky was low and gray, the rainslick trees were black. Even in the middle of the day the sunlight was muted enough that being outside suggested the experience of ongoing depression or creeping blindness. A significant minority of our friends seemed to bring the conversation endlessly back to the question of whether living in Kodiak was “worth it”.

But… there was also the excitement of the new summer in town. Friends were leaving for remote cabins where they would gillnet salmon for the season, or they were getting boats ready to head out for the grounds. We slipped effortlessly back into the feeling of belonging to a community, of being in a town where we couldn’t walk a few minutes in any direction without coming to a house where we would be welcomed at the door. The daylight, though generally dim, was nearly endless, with sunlight or nearly-as-bright twilight for 20 hours a day. I remembered the elation and release that the superabundance of daytime used to bring to me after traversing the dark months of winter, and I marveled at our situation of not having seen winter in two years.

The weather cleared towards the end of our stay, and I took the chance to walk up Old Woman’s mountain above the airport. Getting out of town, I came home. Slowly stumping up the trail on my sailor’s legs, I stopped to remind myself of the names of the singing birds, and I re-discovered the ineffable peace that comes from being out in the country in Alaska. Really, the only other thing that I have ever found that can compare with walking on a mountain in Alaska is sailing for weeks out of sight of land on a small boat. And, for all the social irregularities that come with living in an isolated small town, and the spells of bad weather, and the expense, I realized on that hike that Kodiak is still home, and that we really don’t need anything in the long run that we can’t find on that particular Pacific island.

So. That’s good to know.

The view from Near Island, about 150 m from downtown Kodiak.

Vortexed

I always maintained that when you drove into Anchorage, Alaska, you could hear a giant sucking sound on the outskirts of the city - the sound of all the jobs that pulled people in from elsewhere in Alaska, and kept them from moving away. The "Anchorage vortex", I called it.

Well, we've discovered a similar phenomenon in Mooloolaba.

"How do we end up spending time in places like this?" I asked Alisa.

To see what I mean, check out these two views of Mooloolaba taken from Pelagic.

Now compare with our view in Iluka.

Much more our style.

But, it must be said that Mooloolaba is very convenient for taking care of life chores. And it's also an easy place to keep Elias entertained, with a great beach and a veritable cornucopia of nearby playgrounds. So we've been taking care of a few life chores, and boat chores, and making the best of it.

Tomorrow (Monday) we will have been here a week. We will finish up with our chores for the moment, and on Tuesday we'll be free to hop up the coast to the nearest reasonable cruising, in the Great Sandy Straits. And, spot on schedule, on Tuesday the gentle southerly winds that have been blowing are forecast to be replaced with 20-30 knot northeasterlies, making a run north to the Great Sandy Straits unlikely.

So, we've been vortexed. No sailing for us for a while, just more time in this unlikely harbor.

Mooloolaba Again

We finally left Iluka on Saturday, though I still wasn't over being sick and Alisa and Elias both had watered-down versions of the same bug. After negotiating the swell in the Clarence River entrance, we settled into our old sailing routine. It was a treat to see how complex sailing tasks came back to me instantly, like setting up the windvane to steer us on a broad reach or getting the spinnaker pole rigged for sailing wing and wing. Also very satisfying to see how immediately Elias settled into being on passage again after a break of four-plus months. There was none of the antsiness that he gets when he's cooped up on the boat at anchor. He just shifted into sailor mode, entertaining himself with what was available on the boat. And the four months of growing up since he last sailed made it much easier for him to be in the cockpit for long stretches while we sailed, which meant that we could all be upstairs at once. This was especially helpful for Alisa, who for some reason was a little more queasy than normal; instead of watching Elias below decks, and getting more seasick, she could stay in the cockpit and take solace in the fresh air and open horizons.

I was engrossed in the sailing, and being on the ocean again. I watched the swell that was constantly catching up with us and swinging Pelagic from side to side. I watched the little shearwaters that were dipping their wings to the water as they flew circles around us. I took care of all the little tasks of improving the sail trim and correcting problems of chafe and plotting our position and keeping us on course. In my free moments from all that, I just stood in the cockpit and watched the boat sail.

In order to avoid the strong south-setting current along the coast we sailed only a mile or so from shore, much closer than we normally do, and it was great to watch all the beaches and headlands spooling by us as the day progressed.

I stayed on watch until two am. Boats hate to sit still, and our four months of stasis had taken a toll that was reflected in a series of little things that broke during the first day out. Little bits of the electrical system fizzled, an obscure piece of running rigging gave in to age and wear. While Alisa and Elias slept I kept myself occupied by jury rigging a new stern light.

Elias woke me a little before dawn, calling out from his bunk, "I'm all done in here!" All three of us sat in the cockpit and watched the sun rise, and we were reminded together of the magic progression of dawn at sea: feeling the boat move in the pre-dawn half light, then watching the waves slowly grow from leaden undefined shapes to brilliant beaten metal as the light grew, then eating breakfast in the cockpit with the knowledge that we had ahead of us a whole day at sea to enjoy.

A few hours later we had a great biological overlap moment off the Queensland coast. An albatross (we think either a yellow-nosed or a black-browed) wheeled around the boat for a few minutes, an inhabitant of the Southern Ocean who was north for the winter. And then, an hour later, we saw flying fish, sure signs that we were in a tropical water mass.

Alisa stayed queasy through the day so I cooked dinner as we were coming into Mooloolaba at dusk. We entered the harbor just after dark, about 33 hours after leaving Iluka, and we wondered at our different pace on the way south - last spring it took us three weeks to get from Mooloolaba to Iluka.

We were keen to keep moving north, our appetite whetted by the bit of sailing we had done, so we planned to stay in Mooloolaba for just a couple days to take care of various chores. But then we looked into our options for marinas up the coast where we could leave Pelagic during our upcoming visit to North America, and for transport back to Brisbane where our international flight commences.

What a bummer! We're used to moving at the combined dictates of weather, tide and whim, so that it always seems strange to revisit the standard travel world, where you're asked to choose between fixed departure and arrival times weeks in advance of actually travelling. That's a tough mix with travelling by sailboat, as we hate to commit to a schedule when the vagaries of weather can so easily delay us in some out of the way spot. And then there's the cost of non-yacht travel. A couple days' sail north, which costs us exactly nothing aboard Pelagic, would incur a surprisingly steep charge for three airplane tickets to get us back and forth to Brisbane.

So, our delightful 33-hour sail may be all the passagemaking that we do for a while, and Mooloolaba, which is a short drive from Brisbane, may turn out to be Pelagic's home while we fly back for my sister's wedding.

And that's (mostly) what's up with us.

May 2nd

"Alisa."
"Yes?"
"Tell Elias how much I loved him."
No reaction.
"I know you'll take good care of him."
No reaction.
"I just want you to know that I was never alive until I met you. Everything good in my life is because of you."
No reaction.
"Never forget me. But I want you to promise me you'll marry again. Life is for the living."
"Mike, stop talking that way."

I was pretty sure I was dying. So I figured I might as well get some mileage out of the situation.

I got sick five days ago. Since then it's been occasional fever spikes, the sore throat to end all sore throats (like, too sore to drink water), lots of sleeping and no appetite. I felt good enough yesterday to run a few errands, and I learned that the jokes I've been sharing with Alisa about being Australia's first case of swine flu weren't very funny to other people. Then it all spiked again last night, and I thought I was going to die for the second time.

It's so bad that I think I'll finally let Alisa drag me to the GP tomorrow.

And, of course, that's five days that I haven't been finishing up the last bit of work on Pelagic before we head up to the reef for the winter.
~~~
On a much brighter note, yesterday was Alisa's birthday. When queried beforehand, Alisa said that all she wanted was "a happy day". It did indeed turn out to be a happy day, and one of the things she enjoyed was the time I watched Elias so that she could finish up annual maintenance on one of our primary winches. Cruising dudes of the world, continue to eat your hearts out!

I managed to turn out a serviceable cake.

And her big gift, a photo book of our trip across the Pacific, was a hit.

Brother-in-law

We had the great pleasure of a visit from Chris Gill last week, the bloke who is going to marry my sister in June. He had a business trip to Melbourne, then added a couple days in Iluka to his itinerary. We've had vistors twice before Chris came, and both times the weather was horrible. Luckily, Chris beat the odds and we were able to show him Iluka in its glory. The first night we went out to Woody Heads for a barbecue. Could you beat this scene for a family visit?

I like this next picture because Chris looks so happy to be visiting, and because it's the only picture that I have of Alisa holding a beer.

Little Salty enjoyed the beach, as always.

We took Chris and Andrew, the brother of a friend of ours who rang us up at exactly the right time, out for a sail on the Clarence River. It was a great sunset cruise, and a good chance for us to make sure everything looked good before we set off for the trip north along the coast.

Chris stayed on the boat with us, and did great with the enforced intimacy that involves. He hit it off really well with Little Salty. Perhaps the highlight of the trip for me was to waking in the morning and hearing Chris and Elias talking quietly across the saloon from their bunks, instead of starting the day at 0555 with Elias shouting to Alisa and me that he is all done sleeping, which is the normal course of things.

I like this next picture mostly for the depth of field.

We were truly sorry to see Chris leave, which is the best complement that any guest can get. Jenny, we approve!

~~~

We are now counting down the final days until our departure northwards. So much is coming together - we have new house batteries for the boat, two of our anchors are freshly galvanized, Alisa has serviced some winches that have given us their all over the last year and a half, we have moved a pile of junk that we never use to the house of friends, where we will pick it up in the spring (thanks guys!), the forward rail re-seal job is nearing completion, the pesky deck leak that had me baffled for years has finally been tracked to a dorade and fixed, routine engine maintenance is nearly done, etc. etc. And, well, we're really excited to go sailing again. I'm even really excited for the next month of just traveling up the coast - "Imagine!" I say to Alisa. "A whole month of just sailing!"

The Mighty Clarence

Over Easter weekend we picked up the hook and took a cruise up the mighty Clarence River. Here's a shot of the lower Clarence as seen from the east.

The Clarence River is navigable for forty miles by sailboats. We just went 14 miles or so, a little past Maclean, the little burg that advertises itself as "the Scottish town in Australia", even though our Scottish friend Catriona says that she still has to repeat herself to be understood there. While we were anchored off Maclean there was all kinds of bagpipe music being played in observance of Easter. And, just because I was on Google Earth, here's a shot of where Iluka is (the red anchor) if anyone out there is still wondering.

Looking at this image, I noticed that I centered it on the Tasman Sea, rather than Australia. So you can see where my perspective lies these days.

Little Salty gave me all kinds of help with the tricky river navigation. In spite of that help, we went aground twice during our first day on the river. The first time we went aground softly, on a mud bank, and it took us a half hour of rapid effort in the face of a dropping tide to free ourselves. The second time we went aground very hard, against a rock. That time we just bounced off, and were free immediately. Twice aground in one day, after going aground exactly once before that during the five years we've owned the boat!

Alisa was below with Elias when we hit the rock, and the shock of the three-knot impact (much faster than it sounds) made her feel ill. "What are we doing in this river?" she said to me. "We should be offshore."

She also regularly says things like, "We don't need a bigger boat."

Cruising dudes of the world, eat your hearts out.

On the way up river we passed the Harwood sugar mill.

And we went under the Harwood Bridge. You can see the center of the bridge lifted up for us in this shot. The main north-south highway in Australia runs over the bridge, and it felt a bit funny for the highway to be shut down just because we wanted to go up the river for no good reason at all. But that's how it works - you ring up the bridge operator a day in advance, then he makes the hour-long drive from his house to be at the bridge at the appointed time and stops the traffic to let you though. Too easy.

While we were anchored off Maclean, Alisa and Elias decorated Easter eggs.

And welcome swallows landed on the bow pulpit. They were welcome, of course, but that's also the species name, "welcome swallow".

Then we went up the river and dropped in on Gary and Sue, friends of friends of ours. Gary and Sue have been cruising since 1983, though they've taken the last 8 years off. Inside the green shed to the left in this shot is an exquisite 45 foot foam-core fiberglass sailboat that Gary is building. Gary and Sue are planning on setting sail this September for a two-year sail to Alaska and back with their two sons. After all the half-assed owner-built boats that I've seen, it was really inspirational to see Gary's project, and to see pictures of the last boat that Gary and Sue built. They're big, light, strong, fast boats, done to standards one step above the professional. Incredible to see how much they're able to get done - in the eight years they've been in this spot, Gary has built the house, built the shed, gotten his own boat to the point it's only a couple weeks from launching, and completed two projects for other people - finishing a 40-foot sailboat from a bare hull, and doing a complete refit on another boat. Plus he's totally relaxed to be around... I am not worthy.

So now we're back in Iluka, enjoying our "regular" life. One of the things we like to do is go out to the main beach at the end of the day for a little yoga.

Elias is generally thriving. Really, you are depriving your children if you're not raising them on a sailboat.

And this was me last night, getting after our old nemesis, the leaking caprail. We've been doing lots of work on the boat, and she's feeling ready. Only a couple weeks until we go sailing!