Living in Twenty Three Feet
Photo of Meadowlark by our friend Cindy Holmes from Vela
1/9/24 Intro:
The blogging definitely took a backseat after the first two posts, as the first two were only joined by a third when we made it to Juneau. We apologize for not writing more to those who were invested and interested in reading. We realized we were so overwhelmed with new stimuli in the beginning, spending a lot of time on figuring out this new way of living, reading tide tables and planning around currents, locating a spot to anchor for the night, and taking in all the scenery, etc. that we really just didn’t have much space for blogging. It began to feel like homework when we really just wanted to disconnect and be on our own program. Soon it just became so much easier to sort of forget about the blog and update the instagram here and there with stories and with a few posts. We’ve been home since the end of August, and we’re slowly sorting through photos and videos, putting words and even a presentation together so we can share our experience. You can imagine it takes some time given that our trip lasted just over 90 incredible days and we traveled 2,327 nautical miles. I (Becca) am revisiting words I wrote while out there that were intended to be shared on the blog, but I never got around to finalizing and posting. The following is one of those pieces of writing, with only a few edits from today. We hope you enjoy!
7/1/23
As I start typing this, we are en route to Prince Rupert, British Columbia. A plentiful promised land of provisions with a Safeway and a Walmart! I am snuggled up in the cabin staying warm and dry while Weston sits at the helm, motoring us north. It has been a gray morning, drizzling and raining. When we arrive in Prince Rupert we will be at 812 nautical miles on our chart plotter, and we left home nearly six weeks ago. This is our last stop before we cross the border into Alaska!! We have had so many experiences and grown so much since we set out from our house in Colorado, it feels as though it has been many months instead of a month and a half. To sum up our experience thus far, it has been mind blowing in the best, most incredible way. Every single day we learn something new, we are challenging ourselves, learning about our environment, meeting amazing people, growing in our partnership and teamwork, and witnessing the grandeur of our surroundings.
The daily routines of life on a sailboat and near every day travel are becoming second nature and requiring less brain power. We wake up (after a couple snoozes of the alarms), pull the anchor, put the kettle on, try to make breakfast and brew coffee with the aeropress while it’s calm (instant coffee if we’re rocking or rolling), sails go up when we have wind, motor stays on if we don’t, and sometimes we do some combo motor sailing. Usually we keep moving through lunch, making it as we are sailing (an exciting activity if we are heeled over or in any significant sea state) but occasionally we have found a nice spot to drop a “lunch hook.” Usually we get into our next anchorages in the evening, but always before dark as it doesn’t get truly dark until 11:00pm. Which is also why we end up eating dinner around 9:00pm many nights, finishing up dishes and going to bed around midnight. And then unless we have rapids we’re trying to time to run at slack or current we’re trying to take advantage of, we tend to sleep in a little later. Even on the early mornings getting up at 5:30am we still aren’t up early enough for the sunrises, but we’ve seen every single sunset!
To our surprise, we have the smallest sailboat we have seen this entire trip. Which explains why any marina we are at, people stop and look at our boat, and ask us a million questions. We hear a lot of “Colorado?! How’d you get out here?” And “where ya heading in that?” And “is that a Ranger?” Take a small boat on a big journey, it’s a great way to meet people! Our boat is 23 feet long, with an 8 ft beam at its widest. Most folks seem very impressed that this is our vessel of choice to sail to Alaska, but we just don’t know any other way. I’m sure there are the few who think we are a bit off our rockers. We usually invite people to take a look inside the boat - there’s no point in offering a whole boat tour as you can see the entire living area from just poking your head into the companionway. Some have bravely ventured into the 4ft 4in head room cabin, bending over as we call out to them “watch your head.” They shuffle over and sit down on the bench/couch on the starboard side, as the port side couch is only accessed once you swing the table out of the way. They take in the 49 square feet of living area in the cabin, usually wide eyed. We excitedly show off the one burner Origo stove with the custom gimbal and cabinet Weston built, the sink with the faucet and in-line water filter, the storage space behind the bench’s backrests that are stacked with bins, and the shelves we installed into the existing cabinets. We open up the fridge - the size of a cooler, it doubles as a step below the companionway. The v-berth in the bow is piled with three duffel bags, a travel sized guitar, our pillows, and a few other small bags, and has just enough head room towards the aft where we can crawl into it at night, after we shuffle the bags to the benches. Weston generally tells our guests about our two 100 amp hour lithium batteries and our two 100 watt solar panels, things boat people are always interested in! Our visitors have all been very kind and enthusiastic towards our journey, usually imparting bits of wisdom and encouragement, telling us how well we have our boat set up. When they leave we again tell them to watch their heads and stay low until they clear the solar panels that stick out over the cockpit from the hard dodger. It is always a joy to show off all of Weston’s hard work and his accomplishment in turning our stripped down race boat into a liveaboard.
Over the past weeks we have developed a particular flow to living in a tiny sailboat. We bump into each other and step over one another so often I think we say “sorry” to each other at least 20 times a day. We say we are glad we’re married and we like each other because living in this space requires a certain level of physical intimacy - no personal bubble around here! When we’re both in the cabin cooking, one person sits next to the sink and the other next to the stove. I’ve learned most efficient thing to do is get out every single ingredient before starting, digging underneath the lockers under the bench, pulling out the food bins tucked back in the “cubbies” on the aft side of either bench, and laying everything out on the table. The person sitting next to the stove inevitably gets things out of the fridge, does all the stirring, gets out the utensils, and applies all the spices. The person sitting next to the sink is closest to the table so does the cutting, prep, and assembly work, and keeps up on cleaning any dishes that come through. It’s a dance that requires partnership in handing each other things and sometimes stopping in the middle of doing something so the other person can get in to do what they need to do. Sometimes it can feel easier to just cook by yourself! Even the easiest meals can take an hour with only having the one burner. We have been fine tuning recipes into one pot recipes which makes dishes easier and the entire meal quicker. Dishes can be cleaned either sitting next to or kneeling in front of the sink.
At night we do “the shuffle” - moving the bags from the v-berth to the benches. We crawl into bed one at a time, contorting ourselves into a small shape, then extending our legs out towards the bow and tipping our head into the corner with our pillow. Once we both get settled, there’s quite a bit of space between us - until we get to our knees and feet, and then we occasionally argue for more space. The v-berth is like a triangular cocoon, cozy and warm, and relatively dark even with the windows near our heads. Some days, especially after a long day, and especially if it's raining, it seems an insurmountable challenge to crawl out of the cocoon into the cold cabin and shuffle everything again. But day after day, we emerge, and we move onward!
While we love living on our little Meadowlark, and we have our systems pretty dialed in now, we also have noticed we do take most opportunities to avoid cooking and eating in the cabin. We have the grill when the weather is nice, and we prefer to be outside on the deck and in the cockpit if we can. When in town we find ourselves visiting the local restaurants. And when we meet fellow cruisers and they invite us over for a meal, we have quickly learned not only is it polite to accept the invitation, but we love going in sailboats that you can stand up in! And the best part: we establish new friendships with incredible, kind, hilarious, adventurous, like-minded people.
Reaching this northernmost outpost of coastal British Columbia in our small sailboat is like crossing one of many a finish line on this journey. We have traveled through some of the most remote and challenging stretches of the Inside Passage, with no shortage of beauty or wildlife. We have spent 41 days living aboard our 23 ft sailboat, with all its quirks and interesting trials, and we are grateful for every single day!
When we got into Prince Rupert we realized it was Canada Day! Happy Canada Day to our Canadian friends!
Hunched over in that 4’4” standing head room, finishing some lunch prep for the next day.
Jib only sailing somewhere along the B.C. Coast
Cooking dinner while underway
Cozied up in our v-berth cocoon.
Washing the dishes- very grateful we brought a standard gardening knee pad!!
Weston’s Dad, Eric, helping out with dinner prep when he stayed with us our first two nights of the trip.
You can see him sitting on our ICECO fridge that does triple duty as step and seating area!
Weston playing some guitar on a break from driving!
Emerging from Grenville Channel south of Prince Rupert
Keeping my skipper supplied with coffee while I wrote this blog post!
