Love Every Day Until the End

We say that a sailing life promotes an attitude of reflection, but never more than when something truly tragic occurs.  What comes next in our lives?  Did we appreciate this day that we had— enough? At the end of our lives (and will we even know that day when we stand on the final precipice?) what will we be thinking about?  The people we’ve loved, no doubt.  The work that we’ve done.  The adventures, certainly.  Hopefully, we’ll be grateful for the good life we have shared. 

The Beach at Bluff House, Green Turtle Cay

We met a number of wonderful people after arriving in Green Turtle Cay…..several sailing twosomes, of course, but many more Bahamians who have been helping us in a variety of ways.  Many, many lovely people and when I say lovely, I do mean, inside and out.  Sometimes the Bahamian accent is a bit difficult to understand, but the smiles and warmth are not.  I wish that I had photographs of so many of the people—I do not.  They are people that we meet every day, in various capacities.  

Bluff House marina dock

There was the handsome and agile young man who helped us into the marina the first time.  Unbeknownst to me he leapt onto our boat to handle some lines while I was fussing with another line, and when I realized he was alongside me, I was astonished that he was able to jump on so easily AND that Jax had not challenged his right to be there!  “No problem, man.  No problem”  he smiled.

Jax, protectorate of NORTHERN STAR

There was the tiny lady, barely 5 feet tall, at the sparse grocery that she operates out of her home in the little town, New Plymouth.  I was immediately struck by her beautiful wide smile framed within her dark face.  The absence of a few teeth did not detract from her warmth.  I wanted to stay longer just to hear her speak, “I make da coconut cake—it very good.  In de oven now.  Everyone, dey like it very much.  You come back—one hour.”

Some little stores are within people's homes

Primary school-aged Bahamian children walking home, riding bikes, playing basketball, and running cheerfully along the narrow streets— they too have been friendly, and courteous as well brought up children tend to be.  “Thank you, ma’am.”  “No Sir.” 

After school fun

And the reason for this post at this time — a very special person, a large Bahamian man that we have seen several times since our arrival.  My husband’s first encounter was as the man finished cleaning the men’s bathroom.  Undeterred by that scenario, the man made a point of introducing himself,  “Hello, my name is Dominic.”   And this was accompanied by a firm handshake and a big smile. “Welcome, welcome.  How are you today?  It’s a beautiful day, yes? Enjoy, enjoy!”  

Photo of us taken by Dominic

I first met him a day later, when my friend came to visit us on Green Turtle Cay.  He came out to meet us as we were talking excitedly on the deck over the beach.  We asked him to take a picture of us and he added to the revelry of the moment.  “Oh, oh, Ardys, I got you to smile.”  Unbeknownst to me at that time, Dominic was the chef at Bluff House.  We had eaten delicious food prepared by him and had no idea that we had him to thank for it.  

Tranquil Turtle with Sea of Abaco beyond

A few days after our arrival, we were invited to share in Dominic’s birthday celebration on the beach alongside the beach bar, The Tranquil Turtle.   His 40th birthday.  He invited everyone, it seemed, old friends and new—everyone was welcome!  It was a patchwork of white and black faces, blending together—all obviously happy to be present.  It was a glorious evening to be sure.  Our small group of cruisers arrived at the beach unfashionably early— 6:00.  Hah!  We soon came to understand that the party would not be in full swing until 9:00.  Bahama time!  There would be 5 DJ’s playing music, a huge buffet table of foods and an open bar (small table) set up out on the sand to serve us whatever we might want,  “When dis food is all gone, aroun’ 3:00 or 4:00, den we make da souse* to sop up de rum.”  “Three or 4:00, in the morning?” I asked.  “Oh yes, we party all da night. De Bahama way.” 

The Tranquil Turtle, site of Dominic's 40th birthday party

Carl and I were entirely dazzled.  Only a few days in the Bahamas and we’d been invited to a real Bahama beach party by a man whom we had only known for a few days.  Under a beautiful full moon, we sang “Happy Birthday” twice to Dominic who true to his innate character, was graciously welcoming everyone.  “Eat, eat—all you want.  The bar is over there.  Enjoy!”  The music was loud and enervating. The birthday boy danced with some of the guests.  The bartender displayed his bar skills.  “Would you like to try a gullywash?”  “A gullywasher?” I asked.  “No gullywasher.  Gullywash.  Be careful.  It can be addictive,” he winked.  Indeed it was.  A combination of coconut milk, evaporated milk and rum.  Delightful.

Dominic circulated among all the guests shaking hands, kissing the women on the cheek and receiving congratulations from all.  Alongside him was a woman carrying a large pan of a very dense, rum-laden cake, the likes of which I had never enjoyed before!  Carl and I took a little stroll out onto the pier to better absorb the reality of this magical evening—the moon, the music, the food and drink, laughter.  I told my husband, “you know, this is going to be one of the most memorable evenings of being in the Bahamas.  It’s almost too perfect a night to believe.”  And, I added, “And, it’s kind of romantic.”  I giggled as if we’d been plopped down in paradise and I believe we had been.

From the deck of The Tranquil Turtle

 The remainder of the evening lurched horribly downward.  I was summoned because  

“you’re a medical something, aren’t you?   Dom fell down on the floor inside.”  Medical social worker, to be exact, but years ago I taught CPR and I was trained in seizure response, so, not knowing if there was anyone else in the crowd with any of those skills, I figured I could lend a hand.  As I threaded my way through the crowd, I was thinking—‘maybe he had a seizure.’  I’d seen Dominic on the dance floor only minutes earlier.

Dominic was flat on his back.  Limbs splayed.  No visible signs of convulsive seizure activity.  Eyes partially open.  Unresponsive.  I couldn’t find a pulse!  Nothing.  I felt for breath with the back of my hand and then with my cheek—nothing.  I thought surely it was my ineptitude.  There had to be a pulse.  Dominic was a big man, overweight; perhaps I just couldn’t find the pulse.  Another cruiser we met that evening arrived at his side at the same moment that I did.  He took charge of the situation after he stated that he was trained as a rescue medic.  Mountain climbing rescues, that sort of thing, I learned later.  Surely the medic would find a pulse—he did not.  

The medic directed someone to find an AED** but there were none to be found.  He told someone to call the EMTs and to ”tell them to bring an AED.”  He began chest compressions, saying, “No, we don’t give breaths anymore.”  Another man also knew CPR and the two of them traded off with the exhausting job of compressions.  They were delivering approximately 100 compressions at a depth of 1 1/2 to 2” on our generous guest of honor’s sternum. I found my niche immediately.  The vigorous compressions caused Dominic’s head to bounce on the wooden floor with each compression.  It wasn’t much, but at least I could place my hands between the floor and Dominic’s head.  His airway was obviously open.  I could hear the air being expelled as they worked on this barrel-chested man.  I thought of those who loved him standing around us watching in disbelief.  They at least, might find a tiny bit of comfort later, in recalling that one of the helpers tried to stop that cruel sound of his skull making contact with the floor.  A dentist in the crowd recognized that our patient was without oxygen, and said that he did need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation which she then initiated.  I could help to position Dominic’s head with chin elevated, forehead back to keep the airway open.

As the minutes passed, it sank in that Dominic was not going to recover, and yet we could not, would not stop until someone with authority told us to do so.  We worked together in that manner for approximately 20 minutes or more.  The EMT’s then arrived in an assortment of trucks and cars and with the precious AED in hand.  Shocks were delivered several times over the next 40 minutes. Dominic was gone, however—perhaps had been gone from the moment I first saw him and could not find a pulse nor breath.  

What thoughts and feelings were swirling around for me and the other cruisers who barely knew this lovely man?   There were the isolated sobs heard, the kind that get caught in the throat, amongst the guests, and then more silence.  As though even speaking in a whisper could be obstructive to the intense hope of the surrounding family and friends  We questioned our presence perhaps, at this most intimate moment of this man’s brief life.  And yet, we were invited to celebrate his life with him, and indeed we had..  Fabulously!  We’d enjoyed his hospitality and the pleasure of his company.  And now, the surreal quality of the moonlit night, now so still, but for the sound of the EMT’s and the talking AED.  What were the last moments like for this generous, gracious man?  Did he have time to think about his family, to let go of his life?  To be frightened?  To suffer pain?  Was there a peace in his last moments?  I hoped so.  Would he have had awareness that he would be missed by so many?  How quickly life happens.  It happens and then is over, like flicking off a light.  Without warning, without announcement.  The end just rudely shows up when it will.  

One of the resort guests caught this photo of Dominic dancing with one of her friends, only minutes before he died.  I hope that it somehow finds its’ way to his family.  I hope they take some comfort in that Dominic was enjoying his life right until the end of it.  I hope they will know that I for one, and my husband as well, felt honored to have been included in his celebration of life.  I hope that I remember to celebrate at least a little, every day of mine.

*Souse (pro. more like sauce) is a very flavorful, healthy broth made from boiling all the bones of whatever chicken or pork they ate.   Supposed to help with the effects of too much rum, recovery from a cold and stomach distress. http://www.bahamasgateway.com/recipes/souse.htm

**AED (Automated External Defibrillator) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Automated_external_defibrillator

A Bahama Welcome

Bluff House Marina slips

After our first night’s anchorage in the Bahamas at Great Sale Cay (pro. key) we sailed to our intended location in order to go through Customs at our first available point.  It was another ten hour day's journey.  We chose to clear in at Green Turtle Cay for two reasons:  it’s a fairly common place for cruisers to go through Customs and we are planning to have guests visit us there in a few weeks so we wanted to go there and get the lay of the land beforehand, so to speak.   Our guests would be staying at a place called Bluff House Marina and Resort on Green Turtle Cay, so we made plans to spend the night there and Carl would go through Customs next morning.

One of the "first-responder" dinghies

We entered the narrow channel leading to White Sound, where Bluff House and Green Turtle Cay Marinas are located.  It was a beautiful late afternoon with calm seas.  We were looking forward to some food and Jax was studying some potential trees on shore.  Then wham……we were aground.  Our boat was clearly within the marked channel.   We saw depths of 6’8” as we were coming in and with a boat that draws 6’5” we were apprehensive, but were told that the channel was dredged to 7 feet.  Our depth sounder now read 5’5”.  We were definitely aground….HARD aground.  

NORTHERN STAR aground in the channel to Black Sound

Nothing brings out the best in sailors than seeing a fellow cruiser in some sort of plight on the water.  Within a minute we had attracted the attention of a power boater that threw us a line and gave a very determined try to pull us off the sand, where we were so firmly seated.  I think the boat might have budged a bit.  Hard to be certain but it seemed that we were no longer in the middle of the channel, which seemed like a good thing.  On VHF 16 we heard those around us talking about the sailboat stuck in the channel—the marina attendant, two passing sailboats, other sailboats on mooring balls nearby and soon we had three isolated dinghies surrounding us.  We heard the marina assure another sailboat passing us that "the sailboat aground must be out of the channel" and that they should not be concerned.  “Just pass on port.”  They did.  The next sailboat, however, passed us to starboard.  No, we were definitely dead center of the channel.

One of the dinghies tried to weight down the starboard side with 5 gal water jugs.

Our plan was to try something which had worked in the past.  Of course, we have never been aground in this boat before, and certainly never to this degree on Lake Superior.  We raised our sails and tried to get the wind to help us by heeling and therefore giving us a shorter draft.  The wind was frankly not all that helpful on such a calm day.  The three dinghies tied off onto our bow and working together, tried to pull the boat to starboard along with the weight of the mains’l on starboard.  I think we did move a little…..briefly anyway.  It was promising for a moment or two.  We thanked the helpers and told them we would wait for the tide to rise in a few hours when we could then slide off the sand.  Clearly disappointed that they had not rescued us from our little predicament, we were alone once again, now significantly heeling to starboard.  

The coordination of the dinghy crews

Not to be outdone, we were then approached by three different dinghies with a new coordinated plan in mind.  They were courteous to be sure, this being our boat and all, but they definitely wanted a shot at the title of “those guys that got the sailboat out of the channel.”  It would be coveted notoriety, to be sure and we hated to deny them the opportunity.   Sailors love a good story as much as the next guy.  

Halyard is attached to dinghy.  Now to back up, back up.  

Our rescuers asked for a halyard* and proceeded to attach it to the dinghy with the most powerful motor.  They took the halyard wa-a-y out to starboard and gunned the engine.  Another dinghy tied on to the first and two other dinghy’s occupants pushed against the bow in an attempt to get the boat to heel further, and thereby slide off the sand.  We were assured that the depth in the channel would increase significantly once we got past that one point.  The boat continued to heel farther to starboard.  Yes, definitely leaning more now than before, maybe as much as 30 degrees, but no forward progress.   “Are you sure you don’t have a wing keel**?” one of them asked……twice.  “No, it’s a fin keel.”  A helpful sailor carried a smaller anchor out off to port for us and dropped it, so we wouldn’t drift more to starboard when the tide did come in.

Paired dinghies powering backward to heel the boat.

From shore, it must have been a great photo opportunity.  Not like those pesky sailboats that sail away from you while you are trying to capture a good shot.  Nope, we weren’t going anywhere.  One of the  boaters in a dinghy pointed out jovially that this would be a great opportunity to scrub the port side of the hull.  Heh heh.  Truthfully I wasn’t feeling very jovial.   Once again, we assured our helpers that “that’s okay, we’ll just wait for the tide to rise in a few hours when we can slide off the sand.”  Granted, it would be dark by then, but we would latch onto a mooring ball for the night and go into the marina tomorrow.  

Jax said "thank you" 

Sailors hate to give up but at last they did.  Two of the helpers that showed up were our old friends from S/V Radio Waves, that we’d met coming down the ICW.  They joined us for a beer in our heeling cockpit.  Almost like sailing….but not.

*Halyard — A Mains’l halyard is a line that comes out of the top of the mast and when attached to the sail, will raise the mains’l to the top of the mast.

A helper took this BxW photo of two dinghies coming to our aid.  

**Wing-keel — There are several different shapes of keels on sailboats.  The keel is the heavy lead weight that keeps the boat upright.  Ours is a simple fin keel which is shaped kind of like a pectoral fin on a dolphin.  A wing-keel, however, is shaped like an upside down “T” which means that if one runs aground, the boat is sitting as if on a platform.  Very difficult to pull a wing-keel sideways off of the sand or mud.

Later that night, from across the mooring field, we could see a lit up Bluff House.

16 Hours to Great Sale Cay

Palm Beach to port

Our long awaited weather window having arrived, we were eager to get across the Gulf Stream.  We arrived at our desired departure location the night before, the port of Palm Springs located at the Lake Worth inlet from the Atlantic Ocean. We had provisioned THREE times awaiting our “window.”  Each time we added more to our store of items that we knew were going to be either extremely expensive OR perhaps impossible to get in the Bahamas; the biggest three on our list being all paper products, American beer and cuts of beef.  We had 140 gallons of potable water in our tanks and another 10 gals in two blue jugs, reasoning that if our tanks ran dry, we would have that buffer to hold us over until we could find a place to fill up again.   We were aware that we would be paying for water in the Bahamas.  Our diesel tanks were full and our holding tank empty. 

NORTHERN STAR on Little Bahama Bank

The night before departure, we tackled the last minute details…everything that could be secured behind doors or within bungees was secured and locked.  Carl attached the jacklines* to the port and starboard sides of the boat.  We dug out the tethers that attach to our sailing harnesses for humans and canine alike. The dinghy was firmly tied down and chained to the davits and the stern of the boat.  There were multiple sandwiches made, so that I wouldn’t have to spend much time in the galley on the crossing.  Carl plotted our course on the iPad which was then uploaded to our chart plotter.  “Data” (the name we had chosen for our autopilot) would be following that course whenever there was no human at the helm.  Carl filed our float plan** with a sister and one of our children.  We were ready to cross.

Sailboat on the horizon.

We raised anchor at 0400 and headed out through the Lake Worth inlet.  By VHF we knew there were three other sailboats departing from the inlet at about the same time—S/V Nemo behind us, S/V Cross Winds to our port side and S/V Celine (sp?) ahead by a couple of miles.  We could see the lights of all three sailboats and talked with them briefly, acknowledging the presence of each and traded our planned destinations.   It was a bit of comforting camaraderie in the darkness.  The winds were very light and the seas had some left over rolling swell from the previous heavy winds. We proceeded under power alone initially.

Sailing at last!

As the sky began to lighten ahead of us, the wind picked up just a bit, between 9 and 13 knots, so that we were able to raise the main with some effect on our speed.  We anticipated a very long day on the water and determined that whether by sail or by motor, we would try to maintain a speed of 6 to 7 knots in order to reach our intended evening anchorage within a reasonable time frame.  

Water temp reached 74.4 mid Gulf Stream

I found it fascinating to watch the water temperature rising as we entered the Gulf Stream, knowing that the water was the deepest there between the U.S. coast and Bahamas, and yet the warmth of the Gulf was pushing north beneath us. 

Astonishingly aqua blue water on Little Bahama Bank

After several hours, some distance ahead of us, perhaps a 1/2 mile or more, we could see a horizontal line of bright aqua water, the Little Bahama Bank.  On the charts, it is identified as an enormous body of shallow water, 12 to 28 feet deep.   In person, it is a brilliant shade of blue punctuated by swaths of deeper blue green which are floating or submerged grasses.  Being able to see the bottom nearly all of the time on the Bank is astounding!  

Jax refreshed after water and a few trips around the deck. 

As is customary for Jax, he wore his life jacket throughout the ocean passage, although he showed very little interest in going up on deck to do his “business.”   When the seas roll, he prefers to stay low in the boat, close to our feet.  He is not interested in food or water.  We can only assume his tummy feels a bit “off”.  We gave him small ginger doggie treats to help with that at the outset.  

Utterly silent seas.

As the seas continued to flatten, Jax seemed to be more and more contented although until we shut off the engine and sat still in the water for a bit, he would not drink, nor empty his bladder.  Therefore, later in the afternoon, we picked a spot somewhere on the Little Bahama Bank and just sat in total silence for several minutes.  The quiet and calm was rejuvenating.  Meanwhile, Jax drank lots of water, made his rounds on deck and then we were off once again.  

Sunset behind us

Crossing the Banks the waters become nearly flat by the end of the day’s voyage and the winds all but nonexistent.   We followed our course as planned, which took us to the southwest side of a small inverted J shaped island, called Great Sale Cay (pro. “key) where we put down our anchor in 12’ of water.   Beyond us were the lights of 5 other sailboats and one trawler, similarly at rest on the water for the evening.  We were in the Bahamas at last.

The first of many stunning sunsets in the Bahamas.

*Jacklines—sturdy, non stretchy lines that are attached tightly on either side of the boat, extending from the stern to the bow.  When a sailor needs to go forward on deck, a tether is clipped onto the sailor’s harness (part of the inflatable life jacket) and also clipped onto the jackline.  In the unlikely event that the sailor gets tossed off the boat, the tether and jackline keep him attached to the boat.  

**Float Plan—a detailed plan about the intended destination and timeframe within which the boat is expected to arrive.  The plan is “filed” with someone on land who has an interest in knowing of our safe arrival.  In other words, it is NOT filled with the Coast Guard or any other formal entity, but rather a family member or close friend.  The plan also gives the recipient of the float plan detail about the boat and what they can do if they are concerned that the boat has not arrived as planned.

Vero Beach AKA Velcro Beach

I can’t believe I’m saying this.  I— LIKE—VERO—BEACH!

Neighborhood next to the Vero Beach City Marina

If I were to actually live (on land, I mean) in Florida, I have decided that it would have to be someplace with at least one Live Oak tree in my yard.  And if one, then why not several? Now that I’ve seen entire neighborhoods in which the Live Oaks play a major role, I cannot conceive of any reason to live in Florida without these unruly giants nearby.  

Live Oak tree limb bent low

We’ve been here in Vero Beach for two weeks (waiting for our weather window) and I still cannot walk through the area without gawking up at the trees as I go.  Old, gnarly and gangly limbs twisting this way and that, and frequently bowing so low as to nearly touch the ground.  Perhaps many would have, if not trimmed by some misguided soul who wanted to mow the grass.

Spanish Moss

Anyone who has ever seen a Live Oak tree has seen that dusty blue-green tinsel of Spanish Moss hanging from them.  I was introduced to Live Oak trees in the same way that many Minnesotan children of my generation were— at the movies, in “Gone With the Wind.”  I remember thinking that the Spanish Moss was part of the Live Oak tree.  Of course, it is not, but rather an epiphyte, a plant that takes its’ nourishment from the air rather than soil.  It is an entirely independent plant from the Live Oak and does no harm to the tree. 

Voluntary Orchid on Live Oak tree.

Other flowering plants of one kind or another also live on these Live Oaks including orchids!  On the grounds of the Vero Beach City Marina, there are more Live Oak trees than any other species!   Yes, there are palm trees, and a few Strangling Fig trees (which I will talk about more in a minute) but it’s the Live Oaks that are the show stoppers.  

Plant life growing on the Live Oaks

I learned today that the land on which the neighboring elementary school sits has the last piece of natural forest remaining on this barrier island between the Indian River and the Atlantic Ocean.  

The palm tree inside the Strangling Fig is all but hidden from view.

The Strangling Fig tree.  I was doing my usual “tree gawking” while waiting for my husband outside the bath facilities when I latched onto an unsuspecting gentleman walking past who looked as if he might know a thing or two.  Indeed he did.  The Strangling Fig wraps itself around another tree and ultimately envelops it until the tree within is all but hidden from view.  

These little lizards move fast--hard to catch them.

As the Strangling Fig establishes itself, it sends down epiphytic roots from upper limbs which eventually reach the ground and may take root in soil.  The knowledgeable gentleman also pointed out the small berries on the tree which are edible.  Not especially flavorful but nevertheless a source of nutrition for Native peoples on the coast.  He knew somebody that had cut the berries with some other fruit and made jelly with it. I discovered that the Strangling Fig tree is a predictable place to find little olive green lizards darting around, up and down the sides.

I never tire of the variety of plant life.

Live Oaks notwithstanding, in the sailing community, Vero Beach is known as a desirable place to spend time waiting to cross to the Bahamas.  I can understand where the nickname, “velcro” comes from.  The marina has an enormous mooring field and the nightly fee for a mooring ball is only $13!  Best deal we’ve come across anywhere!   There are more people living aboard here than we’ve seen anywhere, consequently there is a lot of dinghy traffic back and forth to shore and a lot of traffic between the boats, as well.  Meeting for morning coffee, to discuss the upcoming crossing or for sundowner drinks.  At dusk, somebody or other always blows a baritone conch shell, followed by another conch shell in more of a tenor range. 

More plant life on Life Oaks.

The marina has comfortable shower facilities, and is the only marina laundry we have come across with lots of both washers and dryers.  Reasonably priced as well.  The largest and nicest dog park I have ever seen is next door.  With upwards of 30 dogs or more there at one time, we have remarked to each other about how cheerful the dogs tend to be in that large space; and how well-mannered their two legged partners are as well.  

The beach on Vero Beach.

Within walking distance of the marina are beautiful beaches, a number of restaurants,  a very nice Art Museum in the park and the coup de grace—a bus stop at the dinghy dock.  We can dinghy to the dinghy dock, walk 100’ and get on a free city bus that takes us to a grocery store, West Marine, dive shop, Home Depot, Walgreens or any other store one might need in the city, all free!   Not to mention the free view of the forest of Live Oak trees!

Marina grounds

The weather window as predicted for this coming weekend seems to be holding firm for now.  The weather models predict a good opportunity to cross the Gulf Stream on Friday through Saturday.   Thus, time to peel away from Velcro Beach and move on down to West Palm Beach to be ready for the jump.  Fingers crossed that all remains good for a calm crossing.  

Speaking of "jumps".  Jax is the master of that.

How is Our Galley Like Your Kitchen?

Spoiler Alert:  This is not an exciting topic--read at your own peril.

Upright edges or fiddles surround edges of counters

Twiddling my thumbs—waiting on a weather window to cross to the Bahamas in a week—maybe.  There are questions that pester some of our family and friends.  Q- “What do you do about food when you’re sailing?” (A- “We eat it, by mouth”).  Q- “How do you get groceries?”  (A- “We pay for them.”)  This topic deserves better explanations than those, so I’ve taken pictures to help explain how our galley is very much like your kitchen on land, and to allay any concerns about us eating a balanced diet aboard NORTHERN STAR. 

Open fridge.  Freezer is closed, on the left.

First of all, we have all the integral features of a regular kitchen:  refrigerator and freezer, stove with oven, and sinks with running water.   Our refrigerator and freezer, however, open from the top instead of the front.  They are two separate boxes, well insulated and with very heavy doors; if one of them fell on a head or hand, it would do major damage.  To prevent that from happening, we hook the door up with a chain while we dig around inside.  It’s a bit more difficult to get at all of the refrigerator’s contents than it is at your home (I’m making an assumption here) because it’s so deep.

Freezer space

On the plus side, it is quite large and can hold a lot of food.  We put foods on the bottom that we don’t use very much, or that are duplicates and store well, such as several pounds of butter and cheeses to last many weeks.  Also, a LOT of beer fits down there.  Because refrigerators operate more efficiently when they are full, we do our best to keep it that way.  The beer helps.  

Fridge set at 45 F and freezer at 5 F.  

We have something which you don’t have with your home fridge and freezer—digital gauges tell us what the internal temperature of each is at all times.  If we notice the temperature start to rise in either one, we know immediately and can take action to address the problem. 

Storage below oven.  Stove balances on gimbals on either side of stove. 

Our stove runs on propane which I prefer over electric stoves on land or water.  It has one large burner and two smaller burners.  The oven is smaller than a home oven, so some of the baking dishes I used on land won’t fit in our oven.   The oven works well; it reaches the appropriate temperature and maintains it, but with one important caveat—if the burners are in use, the oven has to compete with them for the propane. 

Small metal box above serves as our toaster, used stovetop.

Consequently, we have to choose—stove top cooking?  Or oven?  We can’t do both at the same time.  We store a few metal baking pans inside the oven.  They don’t rattle around because the stove is gimbaled so it can swing freely when we’re under sail.  I have baked brownies and bread while sailing.  

Safety bar extends across stove.

Another feature that is absent on a home oven is a hip/waist high safety bar across the front of the stove to prevent the cook from falling into it as the boat moves. In fact, our boat came with a large “hip sling” that hooks onto the safety bar to prevent one from falling backwards while cooking as well. 

Purified water on left.  

We have two stainless steel sinks.  One of the faucets is purified water which we use for drinking only.  The other water tastes good, too and we use it for everything else onboard.  Although our boat can carry 140 gallons of water in two large tanks, we still try to conserve water as much as possible so we don’t have to fill up so often.  We have hot and cold water.  

Found great sprayer in gardening section.

We make hot water when the engine runs and when we’re plugged into electricity when we’re in a marina.  There are several ways to be water conscious.  We never fill the sink when it’s time to wash dishes.  Rather, we’ll half-fill the largest pan that we used for the meal and wash dishes in that.  Rather than rinsing soap off with the sprayer at the sink, we fill a 1/2 gallon pressurized spray bottle with hot water and rinse with that.  Works really well. 

Only essential utensils come onboard

Space conservation is essential.  Before anything is brought onto the boat, it is evaluated to ensure it is truly needed, and ideally, everything we have can serve more than one purpose.  Our pots and pans are a set of nesting cookware by Magma.  The handles and covers are interchangeable.  Although the pressure cooker doesn’t nest, it can hold a set of stainless steel bowls inside which come in handy when we’re prepping food for the pressure cooker. 

Getting canned goods out from under our bed is a two person job.

Several kitchen items are made of silicone which means they are 1) heat resistant, 2) don’t rattle and 3) they can bend to fit in tight spaces.  No space goes wasted.  That means that some of our food supplies are stored in places outside of the galley.  Even under our bed is a large space just the right size for canned goods.

Oddly shaped cupboard required creativity.

   Food storage is a bit different than on land.  Square containers are far more space efficient than round so that is what we use for the most part.  Cardboard does not belong on a boat.  For one thing, the paper becomes moist which isn’t good for the contents, secondly it apparently attracts bugs (which we thankfully have not experienced), and the packaging takes up space.  When we bring anything onto the boat, we first strip away all the cardboard and extraneous packaging.  Dry goods are put into air tight containers.  Square Lock ’n Lock

Lock 'n Lock and Hefty brand boxes with 4 latching sides.

containers work great for all cereals, rice, pasta, flour, cornmeal, crackers, nuts, etc.  We use small ones for things like table butter, brown sugar for our oatmeal—you get the idea.  Long term food containers should not have metal covers.  I had to get rid of some small spice bottles because they had metal covers that started to rust.  Table salt 

Cupboards above counter on either side of stove. 

really does not like living on a boat.  To have any chance that it will shake out, we have to keep grains of rice in the shaker to absorb moisture.  A salt grinder seems to work best.  Many foods do not have to be refrigerated which I did refrigerate living on land. 

Eggs stored safety on top of canned goods on starboard side.

Eggs, for example; just use them within a week or so.  Many condiments do not need to be refrigerated—ketchup, mustard, pickles, jams, relish, soy sauce, etc. and we keep a supply of cartons of milk that do not need refrigeration until they are opened.  The milk tastes great.  About glass bottles--if I am worried about a glass bottle breaking, I slip an old sock over it.  Stops any clinking anyhow.  

French drip method.  Coffee stays hot all day!

We do not carry some of the common household appliances.  We tend not to use things that have to be plugged in for cooking.  Some boaters do, but we plan to spend most of our time at anchor which means we won’t be plugged into 30 amp power.  Our solar panels provide enough power to keep the fridge, freezer and lights running, on sunny days.  We make coffee by pouring boiling water over grounds in a filter right into a wide mouth thermos.  Makes great coffee and it’s faster than a coffee maker.  We don’t have a toaster, but can make toast using one of those 

metal boxes that are used over a campfire.  Our propane grill is mounted on the stern which is really handy when we don’t want to heat up the boat.

Dinghy dock (crowded "parking")at Vero Beach, FL

How do we get groceries?  When we’re at anchor or marina, we walk or take a bus.  We have taken a taxi and rented a car a time or two for larger purchases.  We have a two wheel pull cart which we take along sometimes for heavy things.  Our garbage goes with us to shore, and groceries back from shore. 

Garbage tucked away below sink.

Our dinghy is our “car” on the water.  We have lots of sturdy, water resistant grocery bags, and some large dry bags, too, in case we have to transport in the rain. In short, we can do almost kind of cooking and enjoy nearly any food on the boat that you would have at home.  Bon appetit from NORTHERN STAR!