Shiver Me Timbers, I'm Sailing Away

As Jon wrote in the previous blog, we depart Cairns in the morning for Indonesia, the next leg of our journey. Amid our last week of making preparations, we escaped one day for a trip to the Daintree National Park where the rain forest meets the Great Barrier Reef. We enjoyed a river boat tour where we saw baby crocodiles in the wild (and their mothers too) and did some bird watching.

Most certainly the hardest part about leaving is saying goodbye to Jon's cousin Danielle and her family. Though they had never met before our arrival last November, familial bonds were quickly established and we have shared many family stories, photos, letters and even a recorded interview of their grandmother, Oma Oma. The sorrow of goodbye is only eased by the expectation of future visits and the knowledge that we are only a Skype call away.

Taken on Mother's Day.
David, Adrienne, Justin, Danielle and Adam

While Jon described the art of leaving in more scientific terms, for me it is better described in emotional terms. It was with some melancholy that I returned to Cairns last month after a 3 week home visit. I miss my family. I miss my friends. And I miss my community. I feel conflicted about leaving some issues back home still unresolved. And, I was terribly disappointed that the Somali pirates caused us to re-chart our course away from the Red Sea and to head instead around South Africa. But at the end of the day, I want to complete this journey Jon and I have set for ourselves. I want to complete a circumnavigation by sea and am willing to persevere.

In 1971, Tom Waits wrote Shiver Me Timbers. Bette Midler, who has recorded it and performs it often, sings my favorite version of the song. Perhaps it best captures my feelings as we prepare to go back to sea.

Shiver Me Timbers

I'm leavin' my fam'ly and leavin' my friends

My body's at home and my heart's in the wind

Where the clouds are like headlines on a new front page sky

My tears are salt water and the moon's full and high

And I know Martin Eden is gonna be proud of me

And many before me who've been called by the sea

To be up in the crow's nest and singin' my say

And shiver me timbers I'm a-sailin' away

The fog's liftin' and the sand's shiftin' and I'm driftin' on out

And Ol' Captain Ahab he ain't got nothin' on me


So come on and swallow me, don't follow me I travel alone
Blue water's my daughter and I'm skipping like a stone


So please tell my missus, tell her not to cry
My goodbye is written by the moon in the sky
Hey, and nobody knows me I can't fathom my stayin'
And shiver me timbers I'm a-sailin' away


And the fog's liftin' and the sand's shiftin' and I'm driftin' on out
Ol' Captain Ahab he ain't got nothin' on me
So come on and swallow me, don't follow me I travel alone
Blue water's my daughter and I'm skipping like a stone

And I'm leavin' my family leavin' my friends
My body's at home but my heart's in the wind

where the clouds are like headlines on a new front page sky

And shiver me timbers I'm a-sailin' away

The Art of Leaving

In college, we were required to take a number of courses in our freshman and sophomore years, including two courses each in calculus, physics, and chemistry, so I became acquainted with the many physical laws and properties that define our universe.  As we prepare to leave Cairns after an unexpectedly long hiatus in our circumnavigation, I found myself reflecting on several of these basic laws of the universe, notably Newton’s first law and the chemical property of ‘activation energy.’

We began our trip in December of 2009, leaving our home port of Annapolis for the port of Fort Lauderdale, where we would complete our preparations, and, in January, left US waters for Panama, the South Pacific, Australia, and points west.  We arrived in Australia on schedule, just as the southern hemisphere’s cyclone season was kicking off.  We expected to leave Australia on or about April 1 to make our way westward to the Mediterranean.   However, an unfortunate combination of international and domestic events caused us first, to re-consider our route, and second, to delay our departure.  The escalation of pirate activity in the Gulf of Aden – marked by the tragic death of fellow sailors on board the sailing vessel Quest – led us to the decision to re-route our voyage to the Cape of Good Hope, and to postpone our long-dreamed Mediterranean and Red Sea sailing adventures to a later chapter in our lives.  Some family issues – none serious, all resolved – led us to delay our departure.

But there’s an underlying emotional reality to these delays:  it’s hard, once one gets into a comfort zone, to leave that comfort zone.  Here, in Cairns, we have enjoyed our time spent with my cousin, Danielle, and her family.  We have internet access from our boat.  We have shops and libraries, and for all our complaining about the prices here, it feels like home, unlike the exotic island cultures we became accustomed to as we sailed the South Pacific.  Back in 2009, prior to our trip, we were also in a comfort zone of family, work, friends, and community.  It took a real act of will to shut down our lives, leave our comfort zone, and embark on this journey, and the critical strategy we employed was to PICK A DATE. 

Every cruiser’s memoir we read emphasized the importance of PICKING A DATE.  Ours was January 1, 2010, and while we missed it by a few weeks, we needed that pressure to make the decision to leave.  As Newton put it many centuries ago, “Every body persists in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by force impressed.”  For us, the force impressed was a combination of willpower, the resignation of a job, the renting out of a house, and the commitment to a date

It takes a lot of energy to move out of one’s comfort zone – emotional energy, physical energy, spiritual energy.  In the world of chemistry, most reactions require an external source of energy:  gasoline and air won’t combust without a spark.  This concept, identified by the scientist Arrhenius, is known as ‘activation energy.’  In our voyage, this activation energy takes various forms. Recently, we were motivated to action by a series of near-collisions as we lay at anchor.  First, our anchor came loose from the bottom, and we drifted down, narrowly avoiding a channel marker.  The next morning, another boat’s anchor came loose, and narrowly missed us.  Finally, when we lifted our anchor, we pulled up another, abandoned anchor, its chain, and some metal debris.  It took an hour or so of arduous untangling to free ourselves, but at the end, our inner energy spent, we had received a external jolt of ‘activation energy’ – fear -- to move us to the marina and make preparations for a departure to Indonesia.

Leaving a state of rest for a state of motion always requires energy; leaving the comfort and safety and community of a first-world port for the uncertainty of Indonesian customs officials, a shallow sea with strong currents, and, ultimately, the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean takes a substantial commitment of willpower, of energy.  I’m a bit out of practice in the art of leaving.  I find myself lying awake at night, going over the things that we might want to do before we leave … marginal improvements in safety, in comfort, in preparedness, in contingency plans … subliminally listing reasons to stay a few extra days.  This is what happened those last few days in Florida … the frantic shopping for this or that, the last-minute calls and emails … until, finally, the noise in my brain settles down … allowing the activation energy level to rise to a point where the body at rest can become a body in motion.

There’s always something in the rationalizing mind that justifies delay, postponement, the putting off of a decision or a job change or an overdue apology or, in our case, the decision to leave port.  We've fallen out of practice in the art of leaving after six months in one place, and it’s good to recognize and acknowledge this human – this universal -- tendency for a body at rest to remain at rest.  I've also found that the other half of Newton’s law also often applies – a body in motion will stay in motion.  But I'm finding out that what was easily accomplished in the many ports we entered and departed during our South Pacific crossing, where we were always in motion, is not so easy here, after six months at rest.  I'm out of practice.

 My daughter Kate once gave me a lovely picture of a boat, at anchor, lying astride an iceberg. Its caption?  “A boat is safe at harbor, but that’s not what boats are for.”  In a similar vein, one of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets closes with the couplet:  “We all have reasons for moving; I move to keep things whole.”  In a final note, a perhaps apocryphal story from my college graduation: I recall the President of the school giving me a bit of "personal" advice as he handed me my diploma.   With students streaming up and off the tiny platform, pressed for time himself, he said to me -- and likely every other student, as he handed us our well-deserved diplomas:  "Keep moving."

It’s time to move on.  We leave Monday, ready or not, for the waters of Indonesia, the country of my father’s birth.  Once in motion, we stay in motion, God willing, for the next 14 months, as we make the southward turn at Bali for South Africa, and from there, in the new year, the northward turn to the Caribbean and then, to our home port of Bodkin Creek, just north of Annapolis.  God speed, ile de Grace.

Austral Winter

It's been downright cool these past few mornings -- a welcome respite from the 17 months of tropical heat and humidity.  We've had to close the boat up at night to keep the chill out, as the temperatures have plummeted to the mid 70s ... it's coming on winter time here in Cairns, and Jennifer is enjoying the weather.  The nights are clear, the days sunny, and the near-daily rains of the November-April wet season have disappeared.  Now it's the dry season here in Cairns.

The other morning we woke to what felt like a crisp fall morning in Washington DC, with the air dry and cool.  Lying in our bed, with a light cotton comforter keeping away the chill, we began to reminisce about other fall mornings in far away places:  waking up together in Princeton the first year we lived together, and the sense of possibility we'd feel each fall as our kids got ready for another school year.  You'd think that spring would be the time of new beginnings, but as we talked, we started to see fall and winter as the time of our new beginnings. 

The moon is waxing as well, so the tidal currents are running strong.  These times of the lunar cycle, the tides can run 8-10 feet here in Cairns, which means huge volumes of water entering and exiting the inlet.  Our boat responds quickly to the shifts in tides, and we swing four times daily, tracking the changing current.  I had some time to myself today, as Jennifer went ashore for a Sunday lunch with my cousin Danielle's family (the wind was freshening, and with the strong tidal currents and the slippery bottom, I needed to stay on board in case we dragged anchor), so I wrote a poem that captured the essence of our early-morning conversation.

Austral Winter

Swinging back and forth on the diurnal tide,

We face north and then south, the sun rising abeam,

First port and then starboard, back and forth,

Waking and sleeping, we move with the current.

The austral winter approaches. A white moon waxes

As we linger in this harbor, aware of the shifting season,

The night skies becoming clearer, the mornings cooler,

A flat pink light washing the sky each dusk and dawn.

What difference between waiting and doing nothing,

At anchor, mid-life, swinging back and forth

North to south, you to me, past to present?

Here we recall other winter harbors, other cities,

Long ago mornings in Princeton, and Washington,

And now, in Cairns, a month at anchor, everywhere

Waiting to start, doing nothing, preparing together

For winter’s coming, planning each of these beginnings:

The start of a new semester, the letting of an apartment,

A child’s birth, new jobs, and, now, a passage to Bali,

This tidal metronome swinging, then to now, then to now,

Clicking a cadence of autumnal memories, then to now,

As if we have always been waiting for this moment

When doing nothing reveals how all our beginnings

Have brought us here, to Cairns, on this winter’s eve,

Prepared to ride the tide and resume the journey.

Lost

When we were back in the States, we weren’t much for television.  There were a few series we were addicted to … notably Weeds and The Wire ... but for the most part, pop cultural phenomena passed us by.  Before leaving, we did manage to put a number of movies and well-regarded TV/cable series on a dedicated hard drive, and from time to time, in anchorages here and there, we’d settle in for a night of video entertainment on a TV monitor mounted in a corner of the salon, where we spend most of our time.  When we’re settled into an anchorage for a period, we usually turn to a series, since it provides multiple nights of distraction.  We watched most of the extremely well-written series,
Friday Night Lights (FNL), while in Tahiti and, thanks to iTunes, we have kept up to date with the addictive Mad Men.  FNL rang true to Jennifer, who grew up in a small town in Texas, where the high school football stadium seated 18,000 (!).  Mad Men resonated with me in large part because of a brief professional stint at a political PR/lobbying firm, where many of the same tools – audience identification, message development, creative, etc. – were part of the firm’s workflows.  Truth be said, that line of business --  politics + PR -- still has more than a little bit of the good old boy culture as well, well after the putative end of the misogynistic Mad Men.

Lately, with an extended hiatus here in Cairns, Australia – the result of needing to sort thru a number of  issues back in the States – we’ve turned, perhaps inevitably, to the multi-year TV series Lost.  We missed this entirely on its network run. I’m not sure I was even aware of it as it was running … the years 2004-2010 were a whirlwind of kids graduating, job changes and challenges, parental health issues and the passing of my Mom and Jen’s Dad, the purchase of ile de Grace, the pursuit of a musical/songwriting/performing/recording dream, and the shutting down of our land-based lives.  One of the ways we’re passing the time here in Cairns as events in the US unfold at a glacial pace is to visit the local library.  I happened to spot the first season of Lost in their DVD section, and, curious, and attracted at least in part to its length (the nightlife here is as quiet as it is expensive!), picked up the case and brought it back to the boat.

For those who have not seen or heard of this series, it defies easy description, but suffice it to say it’s a story of a group of passengers whose plane crashes on a mysterious island in the Pacific, with the “spirit” of said island itself becoming one of the “characters” on the show. The dramatic tension centers on the desire to leave the island, juxtaposed against reasons to stay or return. The show’s plot, as well as its reliance on flashbacks and flash forwards set it apart from the usual “Castaway” genre, and, while it does get a bit self-referential and obtuse, especially in the later seasons, it’s proved to be a welcome distraction from our waiting.

Not surprisingly on an adventure of this length and remoteness, we’re facing some distinctly non-nautical challenges relating to family needs, health issues, in addition to the Somali pirate concerns.  Nothing we could have planned for, and nothing we can avoid.  Truth be told, we’ve had to consider the possibility of suspending our trip and returning home, but we seem to have dodged that bullet.  After a lot of sorting out, and the passing of time, we now plan to leave Cairns in a few weeks, day-sailing our way up the northeastern coast of Australia to the Torres Strait, and from there to Indonesia.  We expect to reach Bali in mid- to late July, and from there, to sail southeastward to Cocos Keeling, Mauritius, and then South Africa.  We will be leaving the Cape of Good Hope in early January, God willing, and then across the Atlantic to the Caribbean in time for our son’s wedding in May.  We expect to be back in the States with our boat in the summer of 2012, as originally planned.

Until then, we have a few more things to do … we await our visas for Indonesia; we’ve ordered a spare headsail for the rough seas of the Indian Ocean; we need some provisions.  We’ve already done the necessary engine and boat maintenance – oil changes, repairs, etc., and our life raft has been serviced professionally.  We’ve got Kit Kats and Crystal Lite to last us for a few months.

So, for another 10 days or so, we’re in the world of Lost … stuck on an island, recalling the many little adventures it took to get us here, and looking forward to, yes, getting off this island.

Hokitika Wild Food Festival

For about the last twenty years, the small town of Hokitika (population approximately 4,000) has hosted a Wild Food Festival. It is an opportunity to be different, audacious, bold and perhaps even a bit nutty. The venders compete for prizes in most outrageous food and costumes, and the people who attend try to be outrageous in their costumes as well. Needless to say, a fair amount of beer is consumed, making the various dishes go down a bit easier--at least initially.

There was also live music all day. Jon and I particularly liked a band led by a Maori who sang covers by Willie Nelson and Steve Earle. He also did an original version of Katy Perry's I Kissed a Girl, with the last stanza going, "I kissed a sheep and I liked it." It was a fun day, even though Jon and I refrained from trying anything too creepy and we stayed quite sober throughout the event.

This vendor sold a BBQ sauce for game meats.

Festival attendees.

A chef cooking White Bait.

Yes. These women are selling desserts may from the unique
dairy product, cow colostrum.

Made us chuckle.

Jennifer has some Elderberry Tea from
Max of Where the Wild Things Are.

These goat ladies were selling goat cheese.
Not too risky to eat, but loved their costumes.

Cricket Hors d'Ourves

Chocolate Crickets

Fried Grubs. Yum!

Entrance to Hokitika's Beach

Kiwi Kalua

A Young Party Girl Dancing to the Music.

Mandolin Player in the Maori guy's Band

How to make a healthy milkshake!

Gut Rot Moonshine.
All tasters we saw did not handle it well.

Enough Said.

She was adorable.

Two PM and already a full day.

Wild Game Salami

We call them Rocky Mountain Oysters in America.
Here, the vender just shouted, "Sheep's Baaaawlls."

3 Rockin Women
Covering 60s Motown Songs.

The most outrageous...Stallion Semen Shots.
Too gross.

But this lady was very encouraging.

Happy butterflies.

White Bait (look like minnows) in pancake batter.

These worms look almost appetizing.

South Island, New Zealand

New Zealand's South Island is far less populated and the landscape seems far more rugged. We began our exploration on the northern peninsula at Abel Tasman National Park. The shoals along this coast go out so far that at low tide boats simply rest aground, or, the locals use tractors and trailers to pull their boats ashore. Certainly a new experience for us, but it allowed us to kayak up the coast and be ferried back to our campsite.

We also got to see the "pancake" rocks at Punakaiki, a cool geological formation of eroded limestone, the layers of which were created by immense pressure on alternating hard and soft layers of marine plant and animal sediments. We visited the funky town of Hokitika and its Wild Food Festival (see blog posting). Finally we went to the Franz Joseph and Fox Glaciers and took a helicopter tour of other smaller glaciers in the region. Totally cool.....

This tractor is hauling our outboard boat to shore.

Low Tide. No apparent worries.

The Abel Tasman shore at low tide.

A cormorant sunning himself.

Jennifer kayaking from the bow.
Jon always has my back!

Lunch break on the shore.

Pancake Rocks at Punakaiki.

Punakaiki

Hokitika Beach

Sunset on Hokatika beach.
Later we saw the young girl in the buggy with her
father and a group of friends night fishing. Their house backed
up on this beach. Nice life.

Glacier touring.

NZ's mountains are young and still forming, thus
they are really steep. Hopefully this photo gives
a sense of the topographical grade.
It would be a very difficult climb, except for mountain goats.

Helicopter view of
approach to Shackelton Glacier.

Shackelton Glacier

These crevices can be 80 feet deep.

Franz Joseph Glacier

Franz Joseph. You can see hikers to the lower left of the glacier.
It's the end of summer here, and ferns are growing
from where we took this photo.

Fox Glacier; about 15 miles south of
Franz Joseph Glacier.