The good bits of life

Life really varies. And it seems, as I sit here on anchor, listening to the wind howl, feeling the boat shake, and hoping the anchors hold, that (in contrast to current emotional state) I get a lot of delight from life.

Let's catch up with a few high points....

To start with, Cynthia walked into the marina in Palm Beach as I tied up to the dock. Perfect timing! We sailed out with a good wind and fairly large waves, some perhaps six feet, as we crossed the Gulf Stream. A band of clouds gave us a sprinkle of rain and we worried we would be unable to see the SpaceX launch at 9:19pm, January 6.... but it cleared enough that Cynthia got to see her first launch... AND said it was worth waking up to see it. Sure was nice getting that greeting hug and sharing a rocket launch!

After two nights offshore under a full-moon, including about 18 hours under power, we sailed into New Providence mere hours before the strong predicted east winds, and spent some extra $ to use Lyford Cay Marina, a convenient and very fancy port of entry, to clear into the country. With our rough boat, dinghy, kayak, etc, we felt like the Beverly Hillbillies in the marina, but the staff and Customs/Immigration officers were delightful and friendly. Once cleared, we dashed to Clifton Bay, a very well sheltered inlet on the west end of the island.

Relaxing for days at anchor, waiting for the winds to become more favorable, Cynthia and I installed the sole (flooring) in the galley. I had pulled this about two years ago in order to deal with wet and decayed plywood below it; finally solved the moisture issue; Cynthia prepared the material by sanding off plywood, decay, and glue; and we both installed it in a nice bed of epoxy on well-sealed plywood backing. Very pleasing to walk on nice flooring again.... and we now have more storage space free... and I love doing projects together.

After a few days, the wind diminished and we had a small weather opportunity to head to Eleuthera.... but after an hour or so, Cynthia caught a beautiful yellowtail tuna and we heaved-to in order to calm the boat's motion and clean it quickly. I suggested we head back to our anchorage to get more ice and give away some excess fish, so we did. Nothing like giving away sushi-quality tuna to make friends! And Cynthia used the head and bones to make stock for a fine fine chowder!

After Cynthia flew back to MI, I waited a couple days for a weather window, then set sail for Eleuthera again. Huge swells met me as I left the shelter of the bay, some crashing in shallows, others simply humping up into great glassy slopes over the deeper shoals I needed to cross. Torn between continuing and turning back, I sought the deepest water, navigating by chart and water color, taking the 8' waves sideways (to stay off the shoals) and depending on my sails to prevent wild rolling.... until I made it out into deeper water and the open deeps. Here the wind waves were tiny and the swells lifted and lowered me gently, the peace of sailing all the sweeter by comparison with the enforced period anchored and the "interesting" exit from Clifton Bay.

The next day I reached a calm anchorage near Spanish Wells, anchored and snoozed a bit, then headed south, through Current Cut, and across the shallow waters of Eleuthera Sound under light winds. The waters here sounded at 12' to 25' deep, contrasting with those I'd sailed the night before... more like a mile or so deep. Once the sun set and wind died to a breeze, I glided along with my running lights. At some point, I heard loud puffs of breathing and knew dolphins were pacing me, but couldn't see them. It seemed they were avoiding my rather blindingly bright running lights, so I turned them off....and, within a minute, shining dolphins with sparkling comet trails sped around the boat in twos and threes, playing around the bow, leaping into the air, and ducking under the keel, putting on a wonderful show in the moonless darkness. I watched and did a little yoga until they departed. Dolphins in phosphorescent water on a dark night delight me.

I can't help wondering: I've read that we have a happiness setpoint, a level of happiness to which we gravitate. Does this mean that more delight means more misery.... and, in a less gloomy light, experiencing downs leads to more delightful upswings? Or, to put it another way, "that was a long, painful, dark, noisy night.... And now the sun is rising.... how nice!"

The rocket's … orange glare?

As a child, I recall watching the Apollo count-downs and listening to the noise from the TV set as they lifted off. And once, driving across Wyoming, I stopped into a town, population about 15, walked into the bar, and watched one of the early shuttle launches. I even heard a loud and long rumble as I sailed north past Cape Canaveral last spring and looked around too late to see what probably looked like a slow-moving spark in the darkness. But I never saw it in person... until recently... TWICE!

I mentioned watching the SpaceX Falcon Heavy on the 21st. At about 7:10 I noticed a bright orange light, like those nasty sodium vapor lamps, in the south-east. Then, as I looked, it slowly gained height and I realized it was the launch I hoped to see! After the first stage burned out and separated, the second and far dimmer second stage flickered to life and I could see it climb further. Binoculars showed some sort of halo around and preceding it, like the halo of a comet. The powerful sound of the liftoff, traveling lazily toward me, didn't reach me for nearly a minute after liftoff and it felt quite surreal watching the violence proceed in silence.

I remained in the Cape Canaveral and Titusville area for a few days, enjoying good anchorage well away from the biting insects nearer shore. And, one morning after I had moved to a more sheltered spot near a main bridge to Canaveral, I noticed a LOT of early traffic. Rush-hour? I heard honks of cars and could see the heads of people on foot and on bicycles crossing the bridge, silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky. I, too, was out, enjoying yoga while the sky lightened.

And then I heard a cheer and looked about to see a bright light rising in the east. I took several photos in hopes one or two might come out well, as the rocket climbed,

the roar arrived, the rocket went out and then reignited,

See the rocket on the other side of the mast?

and the light of the sun struck the high and rising clouds of steam from the exhaust.

Memories like this get filed under "Very, very, very sweet".


Current situation: anchored slightly north of Vero Beach City Marina, ordering loads of stuff, shopping, and getting lots of work done on the boat (rebuilding some of the engine room, building a propane locker, and creating better storage space... and maybe working on a decent deck bed so we can comfortably sleep out under the stars). In a day or three I SHOULD be at a point where I can clean the boat and no longer itch from sawdust... and will be able to put things away!

On the 6th, Cynthia arrives... and I hope we can slip out to the Bahamas between strong weather fronts, but it looks pretty iffy. If we must, we will simply remain here or sail south on the ICW and await better conditions for crossing.

Hmmm....I hear there is another launch near midnight tonight. I'll have to look...