Fish out of water

Like a bird without wings, like a snail without a shell, like a teenager without a cell phone, we yanked our poor boat right out of the water.




Well it has to be done occasionally and we figured it was time. We'd been spending an inordinate amount of time cleaning off the seaweed, barnacles, crabs, and little sea lice that were creating their own ecosystem on the hull of the boat. Fascinating as the life is, it slows the boat down and can cause more serious problems with watermakers, fridges, and the hull itself. When we'd scrape them from the hull, the creatures would scramble for any shelter they could find. This usually would be us. The sea lice would cling to your body, sometimes stinging or biting like an underwater mosquito. Often I'd pull little crabs out of my ears after cleaning the hull. No, bottom cleaning is not a fun job. I'd much rather change diapers and clean a baby's bottom than clean the boat's bottom. Well there are sailors out there with infants doing both...poor souls...but back to our haulout.

We spent the week before lining up paint and painters. Sailors are a sucker for the promise of not having to clean bottoms. "Oh, this stuff costs 3 times as much, but I won't have to clean the bottom at all for 2 years?...I'll take 4 gallons please." Kaching! There's one like me born every minute.

We found some painters who did a great job and were expensive by local standards, but still cost a fraction of what we spent on paint. Then while we were out of the water, I got to focus on all the other little maintenance items that are hard to do in the water, like changing zincs, cleaning thru-hulls and lubing the prop.

This haulout was more like a railroad train than the usual travelift. In a travelift there's a big tractor with beams and two huge straps they hang under the boat which they lift you out and drive with you in the sling until they set you on your keel with a bunch of little jackstands to keep you from tipping over. This setup, by contrast has a short length of railroad track going down into the water and a railcar that they lower into the water using a system of blocks and cables and a 20 HP electric motor. Then you drive the boat into the car...kind of like pulling into a slip. You tie off securely to both sides, your keel rests on the floor of the car and they pull you up with the elctric motor.

There we sat angled a bit backwards for two days while doing all the work. We even lived on the boat sitting strangely still at this odd angle of repose. The kids had fun going uphill or downhill while walking the length of the boat. But it didnt' feel natural and the boat feels much happier now back in the water. It did turn out to be a good way to haulout. There were no straps or jackstands to mess up the paint, only a few spots on the bottom of the keel that we couldn't paint. Well, those little spots should be all I have to clean for the next two years according to my paint salesman.

The Remarkable Water Highway

We are on a mooring just a water balloon throw away from the channel into the famous Panama Canal. You know the ... "a man, a plan, a canal ... Panama," one of the Seven Wonders of the World, the remarkable water highway linking the east with the west. The majority of the tankers transiting the canal come from the United States and China, but there are a number of others. We just saw a ship from Cartagena, Columbia pass through. Unfortunately, it left behind a horrid dark plume of smoke in the air.

From our current home, we can see all the tankers make their way under the Bridge of the Americas, the beginning or end of the canal, depending on which way they're heading. These huge ships are the same tankers that I fear encountering at sea. They're the same ships that when I see them on the radar when we're sailing, I panic a little, remembering our close encounter more than 15 years ago when a tanker came within 20 feet of our stern. I'll never forget looking up at its bow towering over us and debating whether it was time to jump off our boat to avoid being crushed. Instead, I gunned the motor veering us to safety. But that was a long time ago.



All of the Caribbean bound ships anchor in a line of sorts in Panama Bay while their captains await their call from Flamenco Signal. Between 30 and 40 ships go through the Canal everyday, making a total of about 14,000 per year. It takes the tankers ten hours to pass through the 50 mile highway. Sailboats take two days and overnight at Gatun Lake in the middle of the Canal.

Once given permission to proceed, the ships motor obediently past us making their way through the green and red buoys and under the Bridge of the Americas. That's as far as we can see. From there they go through the first lock, Miraflores. The three water locks, Miraflores, Pedro Miguel and Gatun, serve as staircases, enabling ships to climb and descend a hill of water via gravity. The gravity part occurs in the locks. Think of filling up your bathtub, floating to the top and then getting out at higher level. Sounds simple, the only problem was moving the dirt to construct the pathway. That's where the ingenuity came in as well as the yellow fever, malaria and landslides.

Tankers from the Caribbean side also motor by us. Shortly after the ships pass at all hour of the night, a 20-foot motor boat, zooms by us leaving a huge wake behind and bouncing our boat in many directions. Surprisingly the big tankers don't leave any wake. This small boat brings supplies, and picks up and delivers people before the ship proceeds into the Pacific. The Canal saves a ship traveling from New York to San Francisco 7,872 miles, plus the ship can forego the often brutal seas at the tip of South America.

This scene has been our home for the past four days and it feels like we're on the sidelines of machinery in motion. As I look at the containers full of stuff, I wonder whether most of it is really necessary. Then I think about our recent purchase of expensive paint for our haul-out tomorrow which arrived via a ship from Florida and through the canal. Some of it seems necessary.

Interview with Birthday Kai

Kai, where are you now?

I’m some place at sea in Panama. We’re sailing all the way to Panama City.

What was the highlight of your visit in Costa Rica?

Seeing the monkeys was my favorite. And the canopy tour where we did the zipline and the tarzan swing. I liked doing that with Poppy.

It’s the beginning of the rainy season. How do you like the rain? How often does it rain? Do you try to catch the rain?



Yes, I like the rain. Sometimes it rains all day, but usually its only a few hours. Maya and I put buckets on our head and catch rainwater. When it rains fast, we catch about one cup in five minutes.


What did you think of night diving in the clear warm water in Isla Secas, Panama?

It was great. It was like diving in the day, but I had a light. I could swim really close to the puffer fish.

How long can you hold your breathe underwater?

About a minute.

Have you caught any fish lately?

Yes, we caught an albacore tuna when we sailed out of Costa Rica.

How did you like sailing Kaela Rose, the sailing dinghy that belongs to our friends Lea Scotia (Trevor, Karissa and Kiera-yeah another kid boat!) who were with us in the northern/western islands of Panama?

It was fun. We sailed it in Isla Secas. It sails well … it’s a sailing dinghy with a jib and it also rows well. I wish we had one.




So you’ve been to all of the Central American countries, Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Honduras, Costa Rica and now Panama, which one do you prefer?

I don’t know. Maybe Guatemala is my favorite. They have lots of neat art and I really loved the little puppies at Elizabeth’s house in Antigua. They also had good food there.

How do you keep track of the different money in each country?

I have samples of them. There are dollars in El Salvador, Limperas in Honduras, Colones in Costa Rica, Cordobas in Nicaragua and Quetzals in Guatemala.




What have you been reading lately?

I have been reading lots of Calvin and Hobbes and Tintin, Narnia and Percy Jackson and the Olympians. I recommend all of them. Percy Jackson and the Olympians is kind of like Harry Potter, but it’s still a good series.

Something special is happening this Monday, June 8th. I forgot what it was, can you tell me?

You forgot? You wouldn’t forget it. You just want me to say it ….. it’s my birthday of course!

Happy Birthday Kai! You're 8 years old and it's such a privilege and a wonder to be your mom and have you with us on our adventure. I remember our trepidation as we sailed out the Golden Gate Bridge in September. We were worried that you would be seasick, and we kept saying that if you didn't like sailing, Oma would come get you. You overcame seasickness fast and are now talking about crossing the Pacific Ocean. Not only can you sail and understand all the complicated electronics, but you have also become a talented musician, unicyclist and swimmer. You can hold your breath underwater for such a long time. You read constantly, love being read to and you have a heart of gold -- especially if you're playing bridge when hearts are important (are they important in bridge?). I need to watch out when you have the squirt gun...as I may get wet. Seriously, you are someone who everyone would want on board a boat or in any demanding situation as your calmness,intelligence and strength (remember when you started the engine on the dinghy when I couldn't?) is a huge asset.

Fountain of Youth

Location Gulfito our last port in Costa Rica. As I reflect on our time in this green fertile country filled with monkeys, macaws, agoutis and furious rain, I wanted to share Poppy's (Tim's Dad) words because it details one of the benefits of boat life.

Poppy and Memaw -- our affectionate grandparent names -- met us in Playa Hermosa in Northern Costa Rica where they had to practically swim to Kamaya. We journeyed together to Monteverde rain forest, lounged in the hot springs near Volcano Arenal and then sailed more than one hundred miles to Punta Arenas, an old port town in the center of the country. I was a little nervous about having my in-laws visit. Nervous not because of personality conflicts but because Tim has a habit of pushing his Dad to do extreme things, like ski black diamond runs at Snowbird, Utah or swing through the rain forest on a tarzan swing and I wanted to make sure that Poppy who will turn 80 this summer returned home in one piece. We succeeded beyond expectations.

Here's a portion of what Poppy wrote in our guest book on May 21, 2009. Poppy, I hope its ok that I share this?:

Dear Tim, Ruth, Maya and Kai,
When Moni and I arrived 10 days ago for our visit with you aboard Kamaya, I was dragging, mentally and physically. I was apathetic and in a kind of fog, and I was perpetually fatigued, lacking in energy. I felt old. Now, after our ten days with you, I feel rejuvenated. I am more alert, more focused, more energetic, more curious. I feel more -- well -- as if I've gotten younger. You all and your boat have done this for me. What a charming and inspiring life you have! ...
Love, Poppy

There is something about living at sea, where you are constantly in motion and your surroundings continually change, that might be one of the key ingredients to the Fountain of Youth. If only Ponce de Leon had figured that out!

MMM Reporting

This is MMM (Mom, Moni, Memaw, the “other” grandmother) reporting from Kamaya about 25 miles offshore from Puntarenas, Costa Rica. My husband, Bob, and I have been guests aboard for eight days now and have just a couple more to go.

Because we lived and cruised the Atlantic and Mediterranean with another couple aboard our jointly-owned sailboat for two years back in the early nineties, this sailing experience revives many long-stashed memories. The cautions, like “don’t waste fresh water” and “watch your step on the companionway ladder”, of course, but also the solitude and beauty of a quiet night watch, when the wind fills the sails perfectly and the boat moves along with the stately dignity of Cleopatra’s barge on the Nile. People often ask us if we don’t miss the sailing life since we hung up our deck shoes years ago, and I generally say, “No, I’m too much too grateful to have a solid, steady roof over my head on a stormy night.” But now I know I was wrong. There are many parts of sailing that I will always miss.


Watching Maya and Kai complete their morning math and writing lessons; read and laugh together again and again over ancient copies of Calvin and Hobbes and Tintin; respond quickly with attention to the appropriate sheets (ropes) when mom or dad says, “Ready to tack”; swim and play on the beach for hours with two girls from the neighboring boat; and almost never complain that there is “nothing” to do, makes me realize that you CAN take kids back to a simpler life. Of course that “simpler” life may not be so simple for the parents who are doing the arranging. Both Ruth and Tim take the time to turn anything they’re doing into a lesson, one that the kids generally seem eager to accept.

“The genny is luffing,” Ruth declares, looking up from a book in which she was apparently lost in until some slight alteration in the sound or feel of the wind through the sails caught her attention. With a turn of the crank and a slight course alteration she goes back to her story, content that we aren’t wasting a single puff of the wind that is coming our way. Sail slowly, if you must, but don’t crank up the motor unless it’s ABSOLUTELY necessary is the Kamaya rule. Both Tim and Ruth are such competent sailors that it’s hard for us to find cause to worry about them, even though they are ferrying our precious grandchildren from here to who-knows-where.

Now, as Kamaya sails on to further ports of call and we head back to our solid home in Virginia, we have a much clearer picture of what our grandchildren are likely to be doing each day. There may actually be a sensible upper age limit for this kind of adventure which we have just exceeded, but we’re awfully glad to have had this peek into their life at sea.

Parting Shot: Poppy holding up our recent catch - an Albacore Tuna, breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next few days.

Trying to be an Epiphyte

“An epiphyte is a way of life,” explained our naturalist guide, Maria as she pointed out the bromeliads in Costa Rica’s Monteverde Rain Forest. She continued to tell us that an epiphyte lives on a host, usually a tree, and doesn’t take any of the nutrients from the tree but just hangs out together, collecting water and making oxygen. The epiphyte is like the good neighbor, who plans the block parties and always has cookies for the kids.

In contrast, the parasite nibbles away at the host's nutrients, often damaging its existence, more like the nasty noisy pesty neighbor who has loud parties, steals your water to mow his lawn or builds a house that blocks your view. You know the one that you can't stand and want to scratch away.

Walking through the lush rainforest, Maria whistled to different birds. She sounded just like the feather friends (epiphytes?) and they called back to her, hoping she would fly through the air with them. She fooled an exquisite shimmering green and coral red Quetzal bird with its three foot long tail, and we are now amidst the privileged folks who know true beauty.

But as I inhaled the thick oxygen of the rain forest, I started thinking: isn't man more of a parasite rather than epiphyte? Shouldn’t we stop being pesty parasites that destroy our host, the earth? Shouldn’t we hang out and behave more like the epiphytes? In a sense, life on the boat where we produce our own electricity with our solar panels, make water from the ocean and move with the wind is closer to being an epiphyte than a parasite. Maybe that's a good excuse for our adventure in lieu of spending the year as a gas guzzling parasite.

Oh, maybe I have been inhaling too much oxygen. After all I've been living on land for the past few days in the rain forest where forty percent of the world’s oxygen is produced. I've also been whizzing through the thick trees with Poppy, my 79 year old father-in-law, on the canopy ziplines.

Though I wasn't fast enough to photograph the Quetzal, I did photograph the naturalists on board:

Here's naturalist Kai documenting the forest:


Here's Memaw, Tim's mom, and Tim looking at a bird. Notice their expressions -- I think they're on the verge of becoming epiphytes or maybe they see a UFO:



And biologist Maya wanted to see first hand so she crawled into a strangler fig tree that started out as an epiphyte, but eventually took over its host. Is that a message about what happens when someone is too controlling.



All in all, the cool rainy rain forest with its epiphytes and parasites and thick canopy of trees is an amazing place.

Parting Shot: Maya swinging through the jungle with her friends the howler monkeys.

Breakfast

When Oma took a shower at the marina bathroom in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua, put on her same smelly clothes and exclaimed, “I feel so clean,” I knew she had become a true cruiser. Oma recently spent 17 days with us, joining us on our journey out of El Salvador to Nicaragua with a stop in Honduras. Not only did she see three countries, swim in the crater of a volcano, sail the overnight watches, drive the dinghy, and play continuously with Maya and Kai, but she also got a dose of life on Kamaya.

She says breakfast was her favorite time and in some ways it might signify one of the biggest changes of boat life versus our land life. Back home in Hood River, mornings were rushed. Mornings were my least favorite time of the day. Tim usually left the house at 6:30 to teach and that would leave me to lure Maya out of bed and to school by 7:30. I usually let her sleep as long as possible and that was probably a mistake as then I would hand her an English muffin with peanut butter for her to eat in the ten-minute car ride to Mosier. She was usually late for school despite our many futile attempts to change. She even went to bed wearing clothes, but her night owl habits continued to make mornings challenging.

After leaving Maya at school, I would drive back home and get Kai up and to school by 9:00 o’clock. He had a more leisurely morning, including a fifteen minute scenic drive through the countryside to New Vision School. For me, mornings meant lots of driving, rushing, and going back and forth and little time for a good relaxed breakfast.

In contrast, boat life for Maya and Kai means that they usually wake up when they have finished sleeping. Kai opens his olive eyes around 8:00 in the morning. He routinely rolls out of his bunk, walks up the companionway, goes outside, pees overboard (something he and Tim relish about boat life) and then plunks himself back into the main salon and announces that he’s hungry. Sometimes he claims he’s starving. Maya usually stays in bed and reads her book before her stomach starts to grumble. Then she leaps out of bed and makes her way -- a whole ten feet -- to the breakfast table.

Breakfast is a slow affair. When we’re not at sea, we gather around the main salon, talk about whatever is on our minds, play a quick game of boggle, yachtzee or cards. I make crepes, oatmeal, sourdough pancakes or Tim prepares French toast or egg in the holes. Maya likes her eggs firm and Kai likes them runny.

“It’s always a Sunday breakfast!” Oma remarks.
Boat school starts around 9:00 and I don’t have to shuttle the kids.

It's Monday morning - music