Bryce expresses in image the crew’s feeling of leaving Ventura Harbor after a year and half of delay, Santa Cruz Island in the foreground, the autopilot set for Marina Del Rey.
In 1990, a different crew of mine and I had planned to sail out of Ventura Harbor aboard Getel, my uncle’s 32-foot sailboat, for the Marquesas in French Polynesia, where I was to conduct research for my thesis study. The date we chose was February 9th. Having waved good-bye to family and friends, we motored out of the marina with the intention of “swinging our compass” (calibrating it). The seas proved too rough to perform the operation so we returned to execute the maneuver inside the marina. Once complete, we felt it too late to head back out so we spent one more night in Ventura, aboard Getel. We left pre-dawn, after I made a pay phone call (remember those?) to wish Leslie a happy birthday. With calmer seas, we successfully departed and 25 and half days later, arrived in Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas.
Flash forward 25 years, my mate and I planned to leave Ventura Harbor for Marina Del Rey on the 9th of February, initiating our “slow start” to our world cruise. The morning of our planned departure, with better technology available, we could read that the seas were high, 10-15 feet, and that a Small Craft Advisory was posted, warning smaller boats like ours of the challenging conditions. Taking advantage of the forecast, seeing a window of benign weather for the next day, we postponed our departure one day, leaving again on Leslie’s birthday.
My cousin-in-law, Scott Landry, not one for coincidences, believes we contrived this circumstance in order to create an interesting blog post. He would not be convinced otherwise. That’s one of the take-aways I find so interesting about the cruising lifestyle: it provides an abundance of unbelievable stories, events that are difficult for non-cruising families to fathom. Delaying our trip the one day, having just delayed it two days because of a forecasted rainstorm (which came as predicted), brought great disappointment to the crew. Bryce and Trent moaned when they heard the news. Leslie was incredulous when before dawn I told her we’re not leaving. I had to prove my case, offering NOAA weather forecasts, real-time weather buoy data, and the red-lettered small craft advisory atop the NOAA Marine Weather Forecast page. Then there were the sneers from yacht club members who felt that if we couldn’t handle uncomfortable conditions for a brief, 10-hour trip to Los Angeles, how could we expect to handle the rigors of the open sea, across much longer passages? There was significant peer pressure to leave that drizzly morning, with the sound of waves breaking over the detached breakwater, the barrier of stout guano-covered boulders that protects Ventura Harbor’s entrance. But I held my guns, which leads me to the other take-away I get from the blue-water cruising lifestyle: philosophical perspective development.
This past year, one lesson keeps popping up time and time again: whether to live a life of avoidance or a life of purpose. A cruising sailor can plan routes to avoid hurricanes, or he/she can plan to arrive during the region’s prime weather windows. It’s a subtle but significantly different approach. The first means a sailor is willing to skirt the bounds of the worst weather, knowing they can survive what’s in between. The second means a sailor is aimed at enjoying the experience, knowing full well that difficult, unforeseen circumstances can occur. The difference is that the former, in avoiding disaster, is willing to survive the experience of cruising, whereas the later, seeks benignity, accepting the unforeseen hardships that inevitably arise with any venture. Sailors know that even though regions close to a hurricane belt may not experience the full force of 70+ mph winds with enormous surge and seas, they will experience stormy weather with winds of 50 mph, heavy rains, and thunderstorms (lightning): an unpleasant experience at best. I can’t afford that. If I want to sail around the world, I have to manage two things: 1) our costs; we spent well over our preparation budget, pulling from our cruising kitty, potentially shortening our trip, and 2) our enjoyment; if Leslie, Bryce, and Trent aren’t having great experiences, they’re not going to want to continue. So, if I want to sail around the world with my family, I must find inexpensive ways to create positive experiences. One simple principle is to allow weather to dictate your schedule. It is often said among cruising sailors that the single most dangerous threat to the wellbeing of a vessel and her crew is a schedule. Keeping a schedule, trying to depart from or arrive at a particular location at a specific time is what gets most cruisers into trouble.
On the first day of our voyage, I didn’t want to knowingly create an uncomfortable experience for my novice crew, sailing against a small craft warning. Let the negative come unforeseeably. I choose instead to take the peer pressure and depart under a favorable weather forecast. I’m glad I did. Our first of hopefully many more sojourns to come was a benign one. Leslie awoke the next morning, happy and excited for the cruising life we’ve begun—my birthday present to her, but even more so, to myself. I can’t control the weather, I can control when we leave. When possible, I prefer leaving within a good weather forecast window to a questionable one, choosing thriving o’er surviving.
Our first stop, the Del Rey Yacht Club Guest Dock. Note how Kandu is tucked between DRYC mega-yachts and the Ritz-Carlton to the background on the right. This isn’t Ventura any more.
So, if postponing departure for but one more embarrassing day makes for not only a ‘thriving’ experience, but also an historic coincidence, then so much the richer the event, so much the sweeter the story, so much more important it is to follow one’s truer purpose.
Now we’re ready to leave. It’s a little like having a baby; the mother is uncomfortable enough that she forgets to be afraid to go through with the birth, she just wants the baby out. In a similar fashion, I am no longer worried about missing my family and friends, not being quite enough prepared, or feeling trepidation for the unknowable future at sea. I’m psychologically ready to leave behind life as I’ve known it and face what is ahead just to get going on this long-awaited adventure.
Lately, in the dark early evenings walking down the dock to our boat, I’ve been looking up at the sky to see the constellation Orion clear as a bell shining down on me. Growing up, I remember only searching for the Big Dipper and Little Dipper, constellations of Earth’s northern hemisphere. But now I only have eyes for Orion, the warrior hunter constellation located on the celestial equator – thus visible throughout both hemispheres. Somehow he feels like a familiar friend that, during our travels, will become much more close. I wonder which other constellations I will stare at during night watches, what friends await me in the southern hemisphere. I have a fantastic app on my mobile phone that shows the constellations from every angle. I’m looking forward to studying them on calm nights. Maybe I should download information about them now while I still have access to the Internet.
I’m also looking forward to researching about the countries and sights we will soon be exploring…learning opportunities for the boys, as well as for Eric and me. I’m looking forward to learning and practicing more Spanish. I’m looking forward to sharing my love for language with Bryce and Trent, especially French. I’m looking forward to practicing my sailing skills, building upon the skills that I learned through last racing season’s Wet Wednesdays. I’m looking forward to living the dream that we have talked about and planned for during these last 25 years. It was 25 years ago this February 10th when Eric departed Ventura for the Marquesas Islands with brothers Nick, Curtis and Uncle Bill – 6 months after that when I joined the crew in Hawaii. Somehow this last year’s ups and downs led us here to this momentous turning point – departing again 25 years later – a year after we moved on the boat.
I’m looking forward to reading great literature, to treasure hunts, to meeting new people, to hiking, to fishing, and actually sailing too. I’m looking forward to living with even less, as crazy as that sounds.
Kandu and sunrise at Ventura Yacht Club
So in a few days, after the rain passes, instead of severing the umbilical chord, we’re casting off our Ventura dock-lines…like true Vagabonds, carrying everything we could imaginably need…including 2 kitchen sinks!
A couple weeks ago a photographer named Marc Brown came over to talk about my dad’s cameras and recording equipment. He got me really exited about GoPro cameras. The difference between other video cameras and GoPro cameras is that GoPros can go in the water. They’re small and can attach to everything with a mount. After Mr. Brown left, I thought that we could use my dad’s GoPro 3+ and GoPro 2, but my dad didn’t want us to use his GoPro 3+ because he was afraid we might damage it or lose it. So my brother Bryce and I had to share the GoPro 2. I was really mad when he said that, so I decided to buy my own GoPro. My dad did research on GoPros and showed me GoPros I could buy for a price of $200 or less. There was the GoPro Hero for $130 and GoPro 3 white for $200. I wanted to get the $200 one because it’s better than the $130 one. The white is better because it makes it so you can see what the GoPro sees. At this point I’m keeping it a secret from my brother, Bryce, because he would want to get the same thing as me, or better. A couple days later my dad and I were going to go to Cosco to buy my GoPro. When my dad said he would make a deal with me. He said if I give him my $200 he would give me the GoPro 3+ black that he already had. The GoPro3+ black is better than GoPro 3 white. I wasn’t sure if I should accept the deal and, my dad said I didn’t have to take the deal. My dad offered the deal because mom wouldn’t let him buy the GoPro 4 black because it costs $500. After that we went to Costco and the only GoPro there was the GoPro 3+ black and Hero. They cost $350 and $130. Dad said the GoPro 3+ is basically the same as GoPro 4, not the black. But the GoPro 4 can take videos in the dark and faster 4k frame rates. We returned home empty handed. When I went to bed I told dad that I would take his deal. The next day we left Ventura to drive up to Northern California to see Nani and Papa, my grandparents. When we were half way there, I told my brother the deal I had made with dad. He was mad because if he bought a new GoPro, I would still have the better one.
After spending 3 great days at Nani and Papa’s house in Oakland, we went to the Lima’s ranch in Watsonville. Philip, a professional quad-copter video guy that my dad knows, was there to show us how to use our quad-copter drone, the Phantom 1. He put his GoPro on the drone. After a couple hours of flying lessons, Bryce and I started skateboarding down the hill of their driveway. I went to get my GoPro 3+Black, and that was the first time I used my GoPro.
When I got home I really wanted to go to my friend Charlie’s house at Faria Beach. I really was exited to see what kind of GoPro he had. Guess what? I had a better one than him. He had the GoPro Hero only. A couple days later, Charlie and I went into the water with our GoPros and were videotaping all the nice wave barrels at his house. After a little while Charlie went back to his house but I waited for the sunset. A couple minutes later, I was walking back to his house on the beach when the sunset happened. It was beautiful. I took a couple pictures of the sunset and went back to his house.
The next day, Bryce and I were so pumped up with our GoPros we wanted dad to install a plastic mount on our surfboards so we could take really good videos with our GoPros while surfing. One day my dad arrived with a whole bunch of additional equipment for our GoPros. I asked him if I could buy some GoPro accessories. Dad bought me a GoPro storage box so he could have his box back. I said, cool dad, thanks for the box”. The next day he was working on the computer, and he said” Trent do you want to order anything? Bryce asked, “Hey, do I get to order items too?” Dad said, ”Yes”. We got a whole bunch of equipment like Bryce got a bobber, a box Dad’s original GoPro HD (he has the first GoPro too, a standard def one.), and plastic latches. I got aluminum latches, a chest mount, and a helmet.
The worst thing ever happened. I was so excited to try out my new stuff, that when I switched my floaty-back with a regular back cover, I didn’t see that it was a back with holes. I didn’t even know they made them that way. When I took it surfing, I checked it and couldn’t get it to work. When I brought it back to the house, it was full of water. My mom washed it off with freshwater and alcohol, like my dad told her to do. He wasn’t there. He was working on the boat. My dad said I had to wait two days to let it dry. I waited. Two days are long. When I turned it on, it didn’t work. I learned on a YouTube video how to test the batteries with a meter my dad has. Only one battery was charged. The camera came on, but it said, “No SD,” which means it wasn’t seeing the SD card. My dad told me to check the SD card in our computer. It worked, so that meant the GoPro was broken. I was very sad. My dad told me to find a video that shows us how to open it up, and that he’d try to fix it. So I did, but we didn’t have screwdrivers small enough so my dad said, “Get in the car,” and we went to Fry’s. I picked out the mini screwdrivers and we went back to the boat to try and fix the GoPro that night. When my dad opened the back, he showed me the salt that the ocean water made. He said mom didn’t rinse it enough, but now we know how much we have to rinse electronics if they get dunked in saltwater. Dad had a spray called Corrosion X. It’s supposed to eat rust and make electronic stuff work again. The Army uses it. So he put some on a toothbrush and cleaned all the salty parts. It looked new again. We got to see inside the camera. Dad showed me the imager and said nothing can touch it, no dirt, dust, fingerprints, or spray. After three times of taking it apart and cleaning it, we still couldn’t get the SD card reader to work. Everything else worked, but the SD card reader. It was late, so I went to bed. Dad said he would try one last thing, to get the card reader off so he could clean it better. I prayed that he would fix it. I spent all my money on it and I couldn’t buy another one for a long time because we’re leaving the country really soon. The next morning, I asked dad if he fixed it. When he said “No,” I cried. I really loved my GoPro. Now I’ll have to share with Bryce dad’s old GoPro.
We just got news that our one-year extended-stay visa for French Polynesia was approved. And a French Polynesian yacht agent, a niece of a friend, will offer her services gratis to arrange in Papeete our immigration and customs affairs. Happy Birthday to me.
We initiated the process to get a 90-day, three-island cruising permit. We don’t plan to be in the Galapagos much longer than 20 days, which, were we to stay on only one island, entry fees would cost about $1350. But Leslie feels that since we’re there, and that it’s not likely we’d get another chance, might as well try to see more of the islands and make the experience as extraordinary as we can. All in, permits and fees for all three islands will probably come in south of $2000. This will perhaps be the most expensive stop in our multi-year journey. Because of the high cost, most cruisers skip it, so Happy Birthday to me.
After some technical reading and some help from Sailmail tech support via email, I figured out how to get our HAM/SSB radio working well. We can now drive the radio remotely through an email/weather fax application. Leslie and I also attended a webinar on marine SSB radios, giving an overview of the equipment and how to take full benefit of having a radio on board. Joseph from Horizon helped me navigate the software on our laptop to drive the radio. He also showed how to use a couple other handy navigational applications, extremely helpful. The radio, Pactor modem, USB GPS, and laptop are all working well together. I was so happy about it that I couldn’t sleep. Happy Birthday to me.
Leslie received all the medical supplies from our list. Germs don’t stand a chance on our boat. Happy Birthday to me.
After a couple of weeks of price adjustments, Leslie sold our 13-year old Toyota minivan. We did a lot of living through that van. Sad and glad to see it go. Now, only the Prius remains. Happy Birthday to me.
Talking with Dr. Dave and the Maritime Institute of San Diego, I’m thinking of taking the two weeks and spending the $1000-$1200 to get my Federal captain’s license before we leave for Mexico next month. Online courses, in-person teaching support, a physical, drug test, background check, a couple of photos, an exam and an application, and I’d have it. We’ll see, but Happy Birthday to me anyway.
Dan and Lydia on Amadora invited us over for a wonderful dinner, while offering us advice on places to moor Kandu and how to get around Puerto Vallarta, a place with which they are very familiar. They even told us which busses, shuttles, and taxis to take to get to Costco and Walmart, our last stops for provisioning before sailing to the Galapagos. Happy Birthday to me.
After having lived aboard Kandu for exactly one year, we leave Ventura West Marina for the Ventura Yacht Club tomorrow. Although we’re not leaving Ventura Harbor for a few days, psychologically it’s feeling like the preparation phase is transitioning into the departure. Of course, our departure is the grandest birthday gift of all (apart from a healthy and happy family of course). Our stay at VWM has been wonderful. The office found us a slip closer to like-minded live-aboards, allowing us to stay as long as we needed. VWM is a clean and well-run facility. If you’re looking for a place to live aboard your boat in Ventura Harbor, we highly recommend you consider it. Best of all, you’ll meet the families, couples, and persons who we’ll forever carry in our hearts, people who have been emotionally and physically constructive in the preparation of our departure. Their advice and encouragement helped our family through many challenges. We leave, sad to know it will be a while, if ever, before we meet them again; a phenomenon that will play out for the next several years as we make and leave friends all around the world. Happy Birthday to them all . . . .
Yesterday, wiring up for our new SSB/HF radio, I was frustrated. I’m tired of working on Kandu. Sick of it. Mixing metaphors, it’s like sand collapsing around the tunnel I’m trying to dig, covering the light at the tunnel’s end. More money, more mess, more solving a couple potential problems en route to knocking out the current one, and more delays on our departure date. While Leslie and the boys are enjoying a little extra leisure time with the grandparents in Palm Springs, I’m all “asses and elbows” trying to get the wires in for the new radio. Nothing goes as quickly as I think because, like a pregnant lady forgetting how painful the previous delivery was, I forget how long other tasks took. I only recall the high-level overview of the tasks and the feelings of accomplishment that follow it. The forgotten nitty-gritty takes time, more than my memory seems capable of retaining. Instead of three or four days, it takes seven or eight; a very deflating feeling. I sometimes wonder if I’ve enough air left in my ‘optimist’ balloon. Unlike some sailors, I can’t just drill holes and pull the wires through the ceiling, or through two hanging lockers (closets) and several compartments to get them to their intended destination and call it a day. Noooo, . . . instead I have to complicate things and label all the wires in case I have to solve a problem in the future, so as not to forget where each wire goes. I have to make sure the cables are all dressed neatly, even though only I or the next technician or person who owns this boat will ever see it. When selecting and installing a solution, I’m compelled to consider ergonomics, about future expansion, about servicing the units. This all takes time, adding to the installation time and delaying our departure, and yet I won’t do it differently. I believe that the extra effort I’m making now will help me in the future, adding evermore to the “delayed gratification” side of the fun scale equation. I should win a prize for delayed-gratification. But even if I did, it wouldn’t make me happy or less frustrated. I want to play. I want to have untempered fun. But it’s not like I can quit. After all this, could you imagine? I can’t. Not possible. So I keep going. Keep making progress, one small step at a time. Annoyed. Looking for a better day.
And then it happens . . . .
This cold Sunday morning, while finishing up my eggs Benedict and orange juice at the Ventura Yacht Club (my favorite breakfast), a club member introduces himself, says he can’t make my talk on Friday (I offered to give a presentation, describing some of Kandu’s systems. Yacht clubs appreciate this kind of thing, listening to how someone preparing for a circumnavigation solved some of the problems associated with such an undertaking. It’s a way to give back to the sailing community that is so helpful towards its vagabond ilk), but wanted to know about our planned route. Turns out, Dave and his wife, Desiree, are physicians who’d sailed Gone Native with their two young sons around the Med for several years before sailing across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, and eventually transiting the Panama Canal before returning back to Ventura: four and half years. They had a wealth of information about cruising and getting visas, and, as practicing physicians, offered to help us set up our medical kit tomorrow evening, review our medical books, and recommend some apps for our smart phones and tablets. As he spoke, I could actually feel a weight lift from my shoulders, my upper-body tingled with the release of long-held pressure. He said that they would now be our first call (or satellite text) should we ever have a medical issue, and to know that they will pick up. I couldn’t stop smiling. As much as yesterday was a turd of a day, today was turning into a gem. While David spoke to me, Desiree spoke to Leslie and their two sons, Ryan and Wesley, now 18+, spoke to Trent and Bryce. The boys heard first-hand of the young men’s adventures, how they attended a French school, caught lobsters and all kinds of fish, and learned to surf. Trent said, after hearing them speak with such enthusiasm, he thought that this trip might actually be a lot of fun. What a great way to start the day!
Then when I got back to Kandu, I met up with Joe, who was patching up the gelcoat (a thick, paint-like material for fiberglass) on Kandu’s dodger (the windshield enclosure that surrounds the front half of the cockpit). Asking how he patches and paints gelcoat, he kindly gave me a lesson and showed me how, listing all the supplies I’d need and where to buy them. I learned so much, and he was such a great teacher that I feel confident that I will be able to patch up Kandu’s gelcoat when the time arrives, provided of course I buy and stow the supplies before we leave.
Both of these experiences happened before noon today. I am rejuvenated and happy again, so much so that I took the rest of the day off, not wanting to return to the challenge of the wiring job just yet, but choosing instead to savor the feeling of satisfaction and gratitude that filled me. Later this evening, my aunt, Annie, threw us a “Non-Voyage” party, celebrating our eventual departure–just not yet. What a difference a day made, from a ‘two’ to a ‘ten’ in the matter of a few hours. As the early 1970’s kitten poster proclaimed, when at the end of your rope, just “Hang In There, Baby!”
Iconic 1970’s inspirational poster.
Educational Alert; some background about the radio: Among the cruising community, the high-frequency (HF)/single-side band (SSB) radios are often called “HAM” radios after the land-based amateur radio community that supports their use. To use the radio in the HF radio frequency bands, an operator must pass an FCC test to get a license. To use the SSB frequencies, a ship must purchase a license that then resides with the ship–no test. Internationally, this license is required for the commonly used very high frequency (VHF) radios that sailors employ to communicate with port authorities, safety personnel, and other boats within the line of sight. It’s signals don’t travel as far as the HF and SSB frequencies can. I passed the test and also purchased a license for Kandu.
The radio that came with Kandu was a great radio in 1987, the best model available. I thought that it would be fine, until I tried hooking it up to our other modern equipment and learned that this radio would not be supported by the email provider if there was a communication failure. Today’s radios marry with computers; the two talk to each other. For email, the computer can automatically drive the radio to search the various frequencies provided by the software and find the station with the clearest and strongest signal for our given location at that time, and then automatically send and receive the ship’s email. There’s even an “Email” button on the face of the radio. For weather, various weather services broadcast a variety of free weather faxes, each providing a specific type of view, forecast, or analysis for a given region. With newer radios, crew can schedule their laptop to automatically drive the radio, capturing the preferred faxes onto the laptop. With the older radio, the operator must manually tune the radio and antenna to the scheduled frequency. One miss-pushed button or forgotten step, and there are many on the older radio, the signal is rendered inaudible or unusable and the window for capturing that day’s information is lost. The new ones automatically tune the radio and tuner, with better filters and noise reduction, thus increasing the likelihood of receiving the day’s information. And it’s easy to set up the night watch to capture it, just turn on the radio and the computer. The rest is automated. Email and weather data were not available to cruising boats when I last sailed across the Pacific 25 years ago. Today’s blue-water sailors have grown accustomed to these services, which during a long passage are the highlight of the day. I want our adventure to be as pleasant and enjoyable as possible so that the crew (especially mama) will enjoy the experience. Email and weather reports will help this cause. And so, I go through the trouble of upgrading our SSB/HF radio.
Soon Leslie and the boys will be posting their observations, providing a broader perspective of our family’s journey. But for now, it’s still just me. On Christmas Eve, after hearing my views regarding our upcoming trip, a female family friend asked, “. . . and what does she think?” referring to Leslie of course. A husband puts himself at risk when he dares to speak for his wife, but I’m obviously a bit of a risk-taker. You’ll hear directly from Leslie soon. In the meantime, here’s my take on my better half’s feelings at this, the most difficult stage of the adventure.
“We gave up everything for this trip” was her expression last week. “We left our careers; vacated our house; and stored, lent, sold, or gave away our possessions. We left our family and friends, and pulled our boys from school and their friends. We pulled them from their activities: piano, choir, Rock Stars, soccer, basketball, swim team, and Boy Scouts. We moved into an inconvenient lifestyle: a cramped, low-tech, maintenance hungry environment. We’ve spent more money than expected and are taking more time than planned to get ready for this thing.” She’s concerned that at the spending rate of these past two years, we’ll be out of money in another two or three years; thus ending our trip.
Some people, when they ask us when we’re leaving, say it with a knowing tone, implying that we’re either over-complicating the process, or overly concerned about unimportant things, or too inexperienced to leave. “So, what’s the new departure date? Got one yet?” This embarrasses Leslie and the boys.
Last week, dropping Bryce and Trent off at school for what could be our last time for many years, Leslie succumbed to an overwhelming feeling of having to bear alone the responsibility of their educational futures, “You’ll be working on the boat, leaving the burden of their education to fall on me. You won’t do it, so I’ll have to, and I don’t feel capable of providing that type of education that I had without the help of the school system. It’s overwhelming.”
Leslie makes clear tasks take 40% greater effort to perform on a boat as compared to the same task on land. Doing simple daily chores such the dishes and the laundry require much greater effort. Just flushing the toilet is a workout. The living space so small (250 sq.ft.), anything left out quickly makes the whole space a mess. The family will have to be trained to immediately put their things away, contributing to the 40% boat-burden factor.
Some days, Leslie struggles to hold it together. She wants me to have my dream, but considering the high emotional, financial, and professional costs, wonders whether it’s reasonable.
“This is the hardest part of the process,” I remind her. “We’re paying the lion’s share of the cost upfront, with no appreciable benefit experienced. Once we get going, the daily costs drop and the benefits begin to flow inward. The longer we’re out, the less each year costs as the expense of today becomes amortized over a greater period. If we return in two years, then this was stupid. If we return in 10 years, then this was brilliant.” She thinks about it.
“You are never expected to handle more than you are able. You are not alone. I am here. You need to communicate your concerns, your fears, and we’ll find a solution . . . together. I didn’t know of your concern about the boys’ education until now. First of all, we’re not going to worry about the homeschooling process. We’re going to focus on teaching them how to work, how to problem solve, and how to plan and manage the process of sailing a boat around the world, working within the confines of other cultures. Secondly, we’re going to have them study every country prior to arrival, building their awareness and anticipation. Then we’ll have them report on the reality of what they discover. We’ll help them create a presentation, Power Point and all. And we’ll post it on our website for others to see. We’ll teach them to document in words and in video their experiences: cultural immersions, adventures, and nautical life; which we’ll also share with our audience.” I continue, “You’ll teach them music: to play instruments, to sing, and to understand music theory. And yes, we’ll have them work on their math, science, and English exercises—self-paced. Whatever academic/theoretical skills they’re missing when we return they’ll quickly make up in adult-education or community college. Technology is getting more intuitive, not less; so whatever technological solutions are in fashion at the time, they’ll easily pick up. So let’s not worry about homeschooling. We’re taking it off the table—for now.” She remembered that we were planning to do this all along and after hearing it again, her relief was immediately visible.
“I don’t buy the notion that we ‘gave up everything.’ Except for getting back our exact careers, we could get back just about everything else within a matter of a few weeks; back into our house with a refrigerator, dishwasher, and washing machine; place the kids back in school; sign them up for activities; and find jobs for ourselves. So what then have we really given up? That’s like saying we gave up everything to go to college and grad school, to get married, and to have kids; none of which are economically sound endeavors; but all of which enhanced our lives; just like this trip is going to do.”
I went on to say, “For nearly two years, we’ve paid the price without receiving any of the benefit. The ‘delayed-gratification’ equation is burdensome at this, the most difficult stage—the transition and preparation stage. No one we know who has sailed around the world has mocked us for our wanting to get the boat ready to our personal satisfaction. Only those who have never planned or prepared a five-year voyage have belittled our delay. I reject the criticism of those who talk without knowledge or understanding, treating this venture as if it were a six-month journey. What we’re attempting takes much planning and preparation, with the safety of our family ultimately at stake, and I have enough experience to know what’s needed to support a comfortable and safe experience, with the added ambition of documenting and sharing the adventure.” She relaxed.
Leslie is a hard working, courageous, caring woman. I am blessed beyond words to have her as my life partner, but then I knew this within weeks of meeting her 25 years ago. It’s no accident that we’re doing this together. She loves travel and adventure. She trusts my abilities and knows I’ll do everything within my being to make this a wonderful and safe experience for her and the boys. Their growth, happiness, and well being are paramount. I will not fail. These past couple years have been tough on me too. I’ve devoted all my available time to this goal. I near exhaustion about every fifteen days. But I feel this quest is part of my life’s purpose. Everything I’ve done so far, most every decision made since a teenager, has been in preparation for this trip. I cannot control the circumstances that confront us and I cannot control the attitude of others; but I can navigate toward favorable circumstances and I can shape the attitude of others by providing a positive example.
I don’t truly know what Leslie thinks, but I do know what I think . . . that I’m very lucky to have her in my life. Having two awesome sons is my preverbal ‘icing.’ We’ll leave when we think we’re ready.
Many types live aboard their boats, of varying sailing ability and experience. An odd thing about boat owners: live-aboards or otherwise, most infrequently, and some never, take their boats out for a sail or a motor. Rare is the sailor who leaves the dock monthly. This includes Kandu. We went nearly 2 years without leaving the dock. Too few untie their dock lines. Live-aboards with extensive cruising are rare in a marina because they are typically sailing the blue yonder, or they’ve moved land-bound. Far more boats capable of cruising the world sit tied to a dock than sail the seas. As live-aboards in a marina, households (or perhaps more appropriately, “boat holds”) live nearly side-by-side, closer than mobile homes in a mobile home park. With many live-aboards being retirees, marinas in some measure take on the feel of an adult community. As such, we appreciate that many prefer children be “seen and not heard.” Non-liveaboards still working, having worked all week, like to spend a weekend sleeping in on their boats, bathed in seaside sounds while gently rocking. They don’t want to awake to kids playing near, and certainly not on, their boats. For this reason, some marina’s don’t allow live-aboards with children or large pets. Kids wake up early, either for school or for play. Fortunately, Ventura West Marina (VWM), where we’ve lived for nearly a year, allows both.
To offer a little more privacy, VWM staggers non-live-aboard boats between live-aboards. When in September we gave our required 30-day notice of departure based on our intention to leave with the Baja Ha-ha Cruiser’s Rally in late October, we gave up access to the live-aboard slip we’d occupied until then. In an effort to help us find a temporary home, the marina management asked and received permission to place us in-between two live-aboard boats.
Something of which some sailors may not be fully aware. A crew in final preparation for a multi-year long-distance voyage, as compared against a typical marina-bound boat, is significantly more active. From morning and into the evening, we are in and out of our boat, bringing on equipment, testing it, modifying it, and testing it again–add to the mix two active boys–et voila, ruckus aplenty. As compared to a more mature, perhaps sedentary neighbor, we are considerably more animated and thus relatively “loud.”
After only two weeks of this temporary arrangement, marina management informed us that one boat left the marina because of our higher noise generation and the boys’ handling of their boats, with even more boat owners threatening to give notice. “Noisy children” was the main reason given for the complaints. Ironically, none of them spoke to us directly about their issues, chosing instead to have others speak for them. Now, we’re not up too late. We’re in bed by 9:30 p.m. and up around 6:30 a.m. (I’ve been waking up around 4:30 and working on the computer). To abate the exodus, management moved us to another location, a slip with only one adjacent live-aboard, someone younger than me. When asked by other live-aboards why it was that we were moving so much, we’d tell them, “‘Cause we’ve been told we’re too loud.” They laugh and say we’re not. Some say they’re louder than us. But none of these people live directly adjacent to us or others for that matter. We hoped that management’s plan would work. After the first weekend, two days spent working with the boys, doing such things as filling water tanks, sorting sandpaper by grade, and showing them how to repair a polyethylene kayak (welding a narrow plastic rod to close small holes), hacksawing bolts of a Secchi disk (a device to measure phyto-plankton density), management notified us that they had received yet another noise complaint; this time from our new and only neighbor. Previously it took two weeks to have someone complain. This time it curiously only took two days. Although only feet away from each others “doors,” and having seen our new neighbor several times enter and exit his boat, he like the others, preferred to make his concerns known to “the office.”
Although for some über sailors it may be easy to prepare a twenty-eight year-old, 42-foot sailboat for a five-year circumnavigation with one’s family; and during the final two weeks of preparation have no one walk in and out of the boat, or talk or use tools, . . . for me, with or without a teenager and a pre-teen as crew, it is not. Understanding the unusual nature of our circumstances, we appreciate how the more typical, less-active of our live-aboard neighbors could be easily annoyed by our higher than normal activity. We are saddened that our neighbors find it difficult to appreciate our circumstances, that they feel uneasy discussing their concerns with us, electing instead to approach us through management. Management says we must leave their marina by November 30, the Sunday following Thanksgiving. Fortunately the Ventura Yacht Club is ready to receive us then, and another marina in Marina Del Rey after that. Some adventures start with a whimper, others with a shout. I suppose ours is starting with the preverbial door hitting us on the way out. It’s all good, for Leslie and I are making terrific progress, while Trent and Bryce find great ways to enjoy their time in pictoresque Ventura.
Post Script:
Several days before the required Nov. 30 departure, Ventura West Marina management offered and we accepted to stay in a newly vacated live-aboard slip, through the date of our choosing–Dec. 20th. On this, our national day of Thanksgiving, we are grateful for their thoughtfulness and the convenience it provides our family and effort.
Trent, Sunday evening, enjoying a little twilight bodyboarding after working on Kandu. Bryce catching waves in the distance.
To prevent galvanic corrosion, boat owners strategically install “zincs” between proximate metals, objects that share the same saltwater (electrolyte) space. Zinc metal is used because it more readily gives up its electrons (anode) than most other, more stable metals (cathode) such as bronze and stainless steel, metals which are prevalent underwater on boats. Zincs thus protect bronze from being depleted by stainless, and one type of stainless from another type. In this arrangement, zinc is what is commonly referred to as a sacrificial metal. Over the past two years, the notion of “sacrifice” has often come up in conversations. More recently, my mother-in-law suggested I ask too much of Leslie and the boys: the hardship, the lack of convenience, and time away from family and friends.
Exclusionary Sacrifice: Last week, Dina Pielaet, our media partner, interviewing me for our future YouTube channel, asked me to describe the sacrifices we’ve endured in preparation for our adventure. As I spoke, my words seemed hollow, almost winey. “Well, to save for the trip we didn’t travel as much, we didn’t visit our friends in Europe or my brother in Australia. I didn’t join Leslie and the boys on their extended visits with friends and family. We didn’t purchase fancy new cars, or RV’s, or vacation homes, . . . .” On reflection, I rarely, if ever, missed a family event, and did pretty much what I wanted. We had everything we needed and most of what we desired: nice house in a nice neighborhood close to work, great job with great benefits, good public schools and multiple after-school activities (sports, music, scouting), dependable transportation, scheduled professional house maintenance, frequent entertainment (dinners, movies, plays, operas, concerts, museums), and we vacationed in Hawaii, Tahoe, Palm Springs, and the San Francisco Bay Area. What, then, did we really give up? This type of sacrifice is more about choice than about living without. We experienced the stresses and strains that come with living dense and full lives.
Choice being one of two truly owned ‘possessions’ (attitude being the other), when making a choice, the options not selected become the sacrifice. Picking rocky-road over any other flavor sacrifices the other 30 ice cream flavors. In short, the sacrifices I’ve experience before moving from Los Angeles have been that of exclusion, the things I didn’t experience as a result of the choices I made, a result of my preferences. Selecting one experience minimizes or excludes my ability to experience other compelling options. After career, family, health, and working toward the goal of our trip; there was little time left to develop friendships or volunteer as I would have wanted, had I the time. But I made choices, and in the big picture, I liked what I picked. The demands surrounding our adventure minimized my time with friends and my ability to volunteer with the boys’ activities. These were my sacrifices up until the time we moved from Los Angeles. Now moved aboard Kandu, we are giving up everyday comfort and conveniences in exchange for a constant state of disrepair in a cramped space with few conveniences.
Transformational Sacrifice: Leaving our home of 16 years, parting with possessions long-owned, and packing the more sentimental ones was a monumental effort, both physical and emotional. Uprooting Bryce and Trent from their routines and dropping them into new circumstances of school, nomadic housing situations (not knowing where we could live or for how long), and relationships was dramatic; more so for Leslie than for the boys. Parting from her hard-earned dream career having performed 12 years with Los Angeles Opera, including a coveted role in an upcoming regional opera, was heart-breaking for Leslie. Seeing the toll it was taking on Leslie was difficult for me. I tried to find the silver lining. Leslie and the boys made terrific new friends and she enrolled the boys in wonderful activities in Ventura. Bryce had his picture in the paper within the first month and earned a lead in a professional Christmas Spectacular. Trent loved his new teacher and school, and made several friends, the best friends he ever had. Acclimating helped a lot, but did not solve the problem. Leslie wanted to be “going.” Every month we were delayed upset her. She gave up a lot to go, and go she wanted. But as she also states, the moving, the letting go, the adjustment to boat life are all part of the journey. “Although we haven’t left Ventura, our adventure has truly started.”
The sacrifice associated with the transition phase, leaving land life and preparing our boat for a five-year nomadic life at sea and aboard, is likely the hardest part of the entire journey–super-strength sacrifice. We’re gambling that once the boat is ready and we’re sailing, the intended benefits will infuse our lives, making all the work and frustration worth it. Still, along the way of transition, we’ve been blessed. The boys have been active in surfing, Ripstick and skateboarding, basketball, Kendama play, choir, wood shop, clarinet lessons, and performing on stage. We’ve been blessed to spend time with friends in Ventura we’ve known previously and with the friends recently made. We’ve been blessed by the generous help and advice offered by well-traveled live-aboard neighbors (other people who live on their boats in the marina), several who have sailed long distances for many years, including one couple who has sailed around the world a couple times. The many problems I’ve been forced to solve has taught me much about our boat, and what is needed to maintain our lifestyle. It has built a foundation of knowledge that brings with it a greater confidence. In eighth-grade metal shop I learned that when steel is heated to a near melting red-hot temperature, then dipped into carbon powder before being plunged into a cool water bath that sizzles and crackles with the dramatic temperature change, the process creates hardened steel, capable of doing more than it could have prior to exposure to extremes–the metal was transformed into something greater than its origins. In large part, I feel the same is occurring for us.
Sacrifice of Proximity: Postponing our trip has allowed us to experience some important family events. These past two weeks afforded multiple opportunities to participate in important family events: a rare reunion with my three brothers and our families with our dad; a cousin’s wedding with friends and family from around the world; the engagement announcement by my youngest and closest brother; and the loss of a friend to cancer. Had we left on the Baja Ha-ha rally as planned, we would have missed these events. Appreciating our circumstance, we relished more intensely the experiences. The culmination of these family events makes clear all that will be missed when we leave. I’ll miss several weddings of people important to me. I’ll miss annual holiday gatherings with family, birthday celebrations and graduations. I’ll miss hearing the details about the joys and sorrows of friends and family. Their triumphs and tragedies will be bullet points in an email or text. I won’t be there to share remembrances of those close to me who will pass on. Absence will be our sacrifice each week we’re away, the flavors we will not savor. But what of the flavors we will enjoy; the weddings and birthdays and holidays we will celebrate with new life long friends, remarkable people from around the world; building an intense family bond with our sons, imparting confidence and skills and memories to last a lifetime. We’re temporarily trading experiences with those who have been geographically close to us for many years for those persons and families who will be close to us as we travel–relationships of proximity. The shared adventure, the daily delving into foreign realms, the bond with nature, and so much more; these are the flavors we will taste as we sacrifice our ability to share experiences with our California family and friends . . . absent not forever, just for now.
Mettle: Will the experiences we will have gained by trip’s end have been worth all the various forms of sacrifice paid? Leslie and I wouldn’t accept these sacrifices if we thought it would not. It’s a reasoned choice, we argue. I have deep faith that the adventure on which we are about to embark, and truthfully have already started, will be the single greatest gift we give ourselves as a family, that it will establish how we interact the rest of our years together, giving the boys the confidence and the know-how to determine their dreams and achieve them, building an intense strength of spirit that should enable us to forge ahead despite difficulties, like hardened steel. Just as I appreciate the sacrifice of electrons which occurs beneath our boat, I whole-heartedly and fully welcome the strengthening effects of our ‘sacrificial mettle.’
Leslie’s Kitchen
Leslie’s Galley
Post Script: Last week, we attended our young cousin’s wedding. I spoke there because I wanted to share some marital advice with those who might marry in my absence. Although I didn’t say everything I wanted that evening, I’d like to include as a post script an outline I’d said there:
Key Traits to Successful Marriage
Communication
Regularly throughout the day
Listen
Two ears, two eyes, one mouth
If a communication is crucial, repeat the other’s communiqué in your own words to the other’s satisfaction
No individual owns the truth
First seek clarity and understanding, over acceptance
It’s not a competition
Seek humor, laughter, and humility over winning/being right
The tone of communication is remembered more than the words.
If angry, wait 24 hrs. before responding; never insult or use derogatory language toward each other.
The written word carries more weight than the spoken.
Shared Values
Money, differences have marriage killer potential
Family, friends, and children
Free Time
Compassion and forgiveness; especially yourself
Romance > Sex
Weekly date night, flowers, scented candles, soap notes on the mirror, picnics, wine and chocolate.
Recall the best, “I’d rather be me looking at her than her looking at me.”
Foster a comfortable relationship, a sharing friendship with each other. A reclining chair in a living room may not be as exciting as a stool in a singles’ bar, but it’s a heck of a lot more satisfying.
Humor
Pursuit of Happiness
Declaration of Independence
U.S. forefathers, ahead of their time, chose to tout the “pursuit of happiness” over Locke’s “property.”
It’s one’s civic duty!
Supporting each others purpose
Twain, “The two most important days of a person’s life are the day they are born and the day they discover why.”
Quickest way to happiness is helping another achieve theirs, service to others
Having an advocate for your happiness is powerful
Gratitude
Happiness requires effort. Misery comes automatically.
Make many purposeful “happiness” deposits to help offset the unintentional, but inevitable, “misery” withdrawals.
Everyone has a good excuse. Excuses are like rectums, we all have them and they all stink.
Half full or half empty matters less than if there’s any water in the glass. If so, then game on!
Live each day with intention.
Maintain good friendships in addition to your spouse
Sacrifice
Choice and attitude are the only things we truly own.
Possessions possess us. Memories are our only true treasure. Build beautiful memories.
Today, as secure and comfortable as most Americans are, sacrifice is more about choice, not about the loss of life essentials.
Even a trip to Disneyland requires sacrifice, examples: money, time, physical effort, and crowds.
These past 18 months, I’ve learned how difficult it is for me to learn a lesson of humility–Life decides what circumstances happen and when; not me. I get to react: make choices/decisions, pick my attitude. I don’t get to create my climate. The water that travels under Kandu and the winds that blow above her are not of my making. Although I may try to navigate toward favorable possibilities, in the end, nothing is certain. What was a circumstance a hundred times before, may no longer be when we arrive, for better or worse. The friendly gendarme that typically may have extended visas before, may require boats to leave the country in 72 hours. The bay noted for theft may hold the friendliest family, with whom we remain lifelong friends. Obvious, right? So why do I find myself still behaving as if I make my own circumstance? How many times will I pick a departure date, assuming that everything that needs to be done, will be done by that date, that no other events will arise, by our own choice or by chance, to interfere with that date? We signed up to depart with a 125 other boats, figuring this would force our hand to have to leave. We spent money, in other words, bet that we would leave on that date. Well, we lost that bet. When we realized we couldn’t make that date, what did we do? We set another date. And what happened with that date? We realized we couldn’t realistically achieve that one either. Are you starting to see a pattern here? What’s the saying, “If you want to make God laugh, make plans,” or “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”? If this were an experiment, we’d question the premise.
What perspective would align us more with reality? We have experience preparing a boat for long distance cruising. Why has it been so difficult to set a date certain with this trip? What’s different?
1) The Boat: On the other three long-distance trips that I experienced, we left on my uncle’s boat, the boat that he built and maintained regularly. He knew what needed to be done to prepare Getel, his 32-foot ferro-cement cutter; the list was short and the surprises were few. For this upcoming trip, we purchased a 25 year-old boat that was built in a boatyard in Taiwan and had been owned by two unrelated parties. Having no history with Kandu, we had to make the discoveries, seeking professional advice as needed. One discovery would lead to another and often many others. The process was constant, and often discouraging, but the end result left us with greater knowledge and needed experience. Had we purchased a newer boat, we would not have had as much work. We would have been ready sooner and had spent much less in preparation. We would have had to spend nearly triple the amount of the initial purchase, but after the cost of all the improvements to the older boat, we would have been close to the price of the newer boat. The biggest differences are: a) putting all the money upfront versus a three-year “payment” plan, b) having a newer boat that would likely fetch a better resale value, and c) having the education of knowing every inch of your older vessel and how it was put together. Both options have their merit. Out of habit, I picked restoring an older boat, knowing I had the benefit of my uncle’s expertise, his time, his network of experts, and his desire to work on a boat. I now know Kandu nearly as well as if I’d built her. I know her plumbing and her electrical. I know a lot about her rigging, and picked every piece of equipment installed in her. I have an intimate relationship with her that I need in order to feel comfortable navigating her. I can feel her, if that makes sense. But this feeling comes at a cost, financial and in delay and frustration.
2) The Voyage: the other three cruising trips I experienced were relatively shorter in distance and duration than what we’re planning now. Instead of sailing to French Polynesia, Hawaii, and back over 10-20 months; we’re planning a five-year circumnavigation. We’re going to be out longer, away from the conveniences of home. We’re going to be subject to a greater variety of conditions: geologic, meteorologic, and cultural; not just the volcanic, coral-ladened islands of greater Franco-American Polynesia. Consequently, I want to be prepared for these broader variables. This has required greater research and additional equipment.
3) The Crew: On the first two previous trips, I was crew, my uncle was captain. The first trip was to Hawaii and back when I was 14 years-old, a 4-month, relatively brief and austere trip, as cruising goes. The second trip was with his family, wife and two young daughters. I was 16-17 years old and we were away for 20 months, again with few luxuries (the one head (toilet) barely worked). On the third of my cruising voyages, I was captain and my youngest brother, Nick, was my first mate, and the head worked. There was no refrigeration. We were joined at various stages of our 10 month voyage by his workmate friend, another brother (Curtis), Leslie, and my uncle. For this upcoming trip, the crew is my family; Leslie, Bryce (13), and Trent (11). Employing what I’ve learned from my past experiences and what drives my family, in order for this longer voyage to work, I’ll need to make the boat comfortable (well ventilated, fresh smelling, and accommodating (refrigeration, electronic communication, water-making, microwave, etc.) and fun (fewer boat projects and more options for adventure). We’ve installed 10 solar powered fan vents and purchased three shade canopies. I’ve spent much effort in odor abatement, addressing the foul smells that typically emanate from the bilge, engine room, and heads. And we have added many daily comfort features both big and small. I am an admitted safety freak, and have installed many safety features including an AED that my brother, Nick, purchased for us. Working to get the boat as ready as we have will hopefully provide fewer requirements of time away from other, more fun adventures with the family. Were the family’s initial cruising experience to be that of waiting for me to frequently install or repair something, tearing up the boat and strewing tools about the cabin sole, they would feel that the promised transition from preparation to adventure were false; that working on the boat at the level we’ve been over the past year were not just a period of preparation, but a normal part of everyday living, then they would quit/mutiny. It’s important that I leave with a smile on my face. For fun, Leslie and I got the boys involved in surfing and they love it. They each have two boards, plus a large soft-top and Boogie boards. We purchased a tethered underwater diving apparatus that allows us two to explore the nooks and crannies of the surrounding seabeds. We have two folding bicycles and an electric scooter for land-bound exploration beyond public and pedestrian transportation. We have a tandem kayak and an inflatable stand-up paddle board for water-bound exploration beyond our boat and dinghy. For entertainment beyond our library of books, we have a multi-system television capable of receiving local broadcast from any country we visit and a region-free blu-ray and DVD player capable of playing discs from almost any country, along with the 300+ movies we’re bringing. And the boys have their Xbox and iPads with their games aboard. We also have a keyboard. It’s vitally important to the success of this venture that the family enjoy the first year. If not, I risk a premature return to California.
Based on the experience of the last year and half, it seems arrogant to believe I can set a date for such a complex event as that which we are about to embark. Why have I have had such difficulty putting this principle into effect? Every time I think I’ve learned the lesson, that I don’t get to decide when and what life events will occur, I find myself frustrated that events aren’t going as I have planned them. In practice, I only own the rudder to my life (and barely); the water that flows around it belongs to God. A paradigm shift is occurring. No longer bound by the constraints of the Baja Ha-ha’s schedule, recognizing that the pressures of schedule are self-inflicted and that going with the flow makes for a more harmonious process–when asked about our departure date, we reply, “We’ll know when we’re going to leave a week before we leave–no sooner.” I hope I can learn and live this lesson, the humility of circumstance.
Surfers in Ventura, and probably elsewhere, use the word ‘quiver’ to denote the group of surfboards that a surfer owns. It’s not unusual for avid surfers to stock a dozen or more boards in their quiver. Some have 50 or more and drive large cargo vans. Waves at each location differ from waves at other locations, at any given time, the particular waves at a given location differ depending on weather and sea conditions. This phenomenon of uniqueness, of only-here-only-now, is what makes surfing so compelling to many surfers: every location is unique and no wave is the same as another. This characteristic is something Robert Weiner, the acclaimed surfboard maker, expressed to us when we purchased two more of his world-renowned surfboards. Bryce and Trent’s surfing abilities have improved over the fall, causing them to want smaller, 5’6″-7″ boards. Smaller boards are more maneuverable than larger, but also less stable. They are easier to duck dive under waves, but not as fast to paddle. Robert warned the boys to not be discouraged by the difficulty they would experience as they learn to control these shorter boards. He said, if they give up, they miss the opportunity to enjoy surfing even more than they already do.
Robert advised Bryce and Trent on their choice of some great used five-finned boards (with five fin boxes at the tail end of the board, surfers have many fin configuration options to choose from, depending on the type of surfing they want to do). Trent picked out the Get-Up G board recently surfed by professional 16-year-old surfer, Nolan Rapoza. Bryce picked out a similar shaped board, a Black Punt, one inch shorter and tad thicker than Trent’s, but no art work. Robert taught Trent how to peel off the stickers Trent wanted removed and how to clean up the left over adhesive with Goof Off. He then instructed Bryce how to prepare and paint his board, if that’s what he wanted. He even offered to paint it for him if he wanted. It’s apparent that Robert wants children and their parents to be excited and comfortable with surfing. He wants surfing to be a positive experience in a teenager’s development. With all of Robert’s hands-on help, Bryce asked if it might be fair to state that Robert was sponsoring him. In response, Robert said that ‘because they only surf Roberts boards, and that he helped them with their boards, they now represent his shop, and as such are responsible for making his brand look good by treating other surfers with courtesy and kindness.’ The boys nodded approvingly. He told them that their upcoming sailing adventure would bring them great wisdom and awareness of the world and other people. He wants from the boys a full report of the best surf spots when they return. I asked if he’d mark up a map for us, letting us know some of the great surf spots that he knew of around the world. He graciously agreed and we returned home to show mom the new boards we just bought.
Although we don’t have a lot of space on the boat, Leslie and I feel the boys’ passion for surfing warrants the effort to find a way to transport the boards. Besides being physically demanding, surfing might inspire the boys to seek out remote beaches around the world, an adventure for the whole family, and provide them instant entree into surfing communities that exist locally, all around the world.
The next day, Bryce drew a design on paper for his board. I read an article on the Internet and went off to buy the supplies. We found them all at Michael’s craft store and headed back to the boat to prep and paint his board. It took nearly all day, but the board turned out great. We just need to add three layers of clear coat to finish the job and we plan to do that today. Working with Bryce to make his vision of what he wanted his board to be allowed me to take time away from working on Kandu. Painting the surfboard provided a great excuse to work with my son and show him how to paint something, a skill he will soon need for Kandu. Painting a surfboard is something I would have never imagined doing, and wouldn’t have done had it not been for the excitement and desire Bryce so earnestly expressed. His eye for color and design impresses me.
While I taped up Bryce’s design on his board, Trent practiced duck diving his new board in the marina in front of Kandu. He loved how much easier it was than with his first board. The last few weeks of surfing brought large waves. Not able to duck dive his large board because it’s too buoyant for his weight, the surf beat Trent up, concerning him that he may drown. He wanted a smaller board that he could duck dive under the waves. It was Trent who first wanted to add a smaller board to his quiver (well, one board may not qualify as a quiver, but anyway . . . ). So after an hour of practice, Trent was ready to try his skill. We reminded him of Robert’s warning, to not be discouraged if surfing the new board wasn’t fun at first, and off he went to Mondo’s Beach, the Waikiki of Ventura. The waves were not large, but Trent’s desire to master his board was. On his first wave, he popped up and away he went, turning and maneuvering like he’d had it for months. Trent’s athletic abilities impress me. His ability to put into effect the training he receives is remarkable.
The boys want Leslie and I to surf too, so I guess we’ll find some room to bring our long soft-top beginner board too as the Kandu family prepares to stock a quiver of memories.
Bryce’s Design Represents His Country and His Board MakerTrent on Rapoza FireMade for Nolan Rapoza by Robert WeinerRobert Weiner on his board before selling it to Bryce, Bryce’s first board.
You must be logged in to post a comment.