One year since Nahanni V wrecked in St. Croix.
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| February 22, 2018 |
One year remembering our life afloat.
One year getting ourselves together to get back to sea.
One year of learning what's important...and what's not.
Friday, 22 February 2019
Tuesday, 5 February 2019
Becoming the WakaNahannis
After Christmas, we started planning how we were going to make our departure from the boatyard. We were tired of being cold, and dreamed of the days when we could shed our layers and bask in the sun. But we were nervous. Anxious about operating this boat, so new to us.
Finally, the weather brought us a warm, sunny day to lure us off the dock. Without intending to be dramatic, our maiden voyage took place on New Year's Eve.
We took several deep breaths before starting the engine and untying the lines. I was worried about hitting the shiny boats around us. I was wringing my hands about the current flowing past the entrance to the yard. What if the engine failed? I was still not sure how to work everything. It was was all so new. What if we forgot something important? Was it a dream that we were experienced sailors?
Just as we were ready to untie the lines, the yard manager happened to drive by. He helped us successfully swing the bow of Wakataitea around and into the waterway. We happily motored off!
To help you understand our angst in getting underway, I must clarify a few things. We have never sailed a boat like Wakataitea before. She is 46 feet long. Eight feet longer than Nahanni V. She is 25 feet wide, double that of Nahanni V. She has one 28 horsepower engine in between her two hulls which makes it difficult to maneuver in tight places. She can motor about 5 knots, whereas Nahanni's 80 horses could run at 8 knots and turn on a dime.
The unknowns of this boat and our fear in wrecking anything (especially someone else's boat) made leaving the dock feel like ripping off a very large and sticky band aid.
Our first epic voyage involved motoring six miles down the Intracoastal Waterway (better known as the ICW or The Ditch) to the town of Beaufort. We were all a little giddy to be underway. We found the anchorage off the Town Creek Marina and decided to anchor for the first time. After nearly t-boning another boat, we dropped the hook in gelatinous mud and prayed for little wind that night.
After the anchor was set, I started rummaging around to get our New Year's party underway. The kids wondered what I was doing, and I reminded them it was New Year's Eve.
"What?" they screeched. "Tonight?"
In all the hoopla of leaving the dock, they forgot we were bidding 2018 goodbye. Farewell. Adios. Nice knowing ya.
We brought the New Year in with yummy food, chocolates and bubbly. We played games and blew the air horn at midnight. The wind came up and we put the drag alarm on just in case the anchor did not hold. We crossed our fingers and tucked in, under copious quilts and comforters.
Three hours into 2019, the drag alarm began to blare, warning us we were dragging anchor. John and I fumbled for our warm clothes and found that we were looming closer to the large, shiny catamaran docked at the marina. Thankfully, the anchor caught again, but we decided to stay up watching the shore and monitoring our position for three more hours until daylight. (Well, John stayed up and I slept with my clothes on.) The sun came up, the wind changed direction, and we swung to a better location.
Welcome to cruising in 2019.
After being at anchor for two days without incident, we decided to brave our docking skills. John and I dithered for about three hours waiting for the crosswind to ease beside the dock. Finally, we called the marina, let them know we would need assistance. We weighed anchor.
I don't know if other sailors get this, but when we are going to do something new on a boat, I get this nauseous, dizzy, excited feeling. Plainly put, it's anxiety. To anyone watching, I look like I've had too much caffeine, or that I've got to use the loo. John tends to ignore me when I get like this and focuses on the task at hand. So while I was doing my pee-pee dance with the docking lines clenched in both hands, John was calmly bringing Wakataitea alongside the dock like he'd be doing it all his life.
We jumped onto the dock after the dock hand caught our lines. I almost hugged him. He just smiled at me as I gushed my gratitude. I imagined he thought, "this newbie cruiser should cut down on her java."
The next band aid we had to remove, was to get rid of the car. This trusty (and rusty) car had served her people well over the years, but she needed some work. We could not sell her in the US, and she likely would not have passed a safety check to sell in Canada. Sadly, it was to the wreckers for her.
You never know when the wave of grief is going to come and crash all over you, but getting rid of the car knocked Wavey off her feet for a few moments. We had spent a good deal of time in that vehicle on this leg of the passage and it was hard taking the car to its final resting place. For me, my feelings were mixed; giving up the car meant really letting go of our land life again (good thing), but also no-more-access-to-all-things-easy (bad thing.)
While John was settling the paperwork at the wrecker's, the kids and I were hacking bits off the car that would come in handy. For instance, we had been looking for 2 inch webbing to make new harnesses for the kids, and the seat belts were the perfect material for our project.
We returned to Wakataitea with our sights set south. We started studying for our next task: getting to Florida by heading down the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW). Then, off to the Bahamas.
Heading off again, we had to rethink who we were as a crew. We are the Nahannis, in spirit, but we no longer call Nahanni V our home. We are not the Wakataiteas, because that's Michael, Catherine, Enzo and Francesca.
Perhaps we could be the WakaNahannis?
Finally, the weather brought us a warm, sunny day to lure us off the dock. Without intending to be dramatic, our maiden voyage took place on New Year's Eve.
 |
| Ready to cast off |
Just as we were ready to untie the lines, the yard manager happened to drive by. He helped us successfully swing the bow of Wakataitea around and into the waterway. We happily motored off!
To help you understand our angst in getting underway, I must clarify a few things. We have never sailed a boat like Wakataitea before. She is 46 feet long. Eight feet longer than Nahanni V. She is 25 feet wide, double that of Nahanni V. She has one 28 horsepower engine in between her two hulls which makes it difficult to maneuver in tight places. She can motor about 5 knots, whereas Nahanni's 80 horses could run at 8 knots and turn on a dime.
The unknowns of this boat and our fear in wrecking anything (especially someone else's boat) made leaving the dock feel like ripping off a very large and sticky band aid.
After the anchor was set, I started rummaging around to get our New Year's party underway. The kids wondered what I was doing, and I reminded them it was New Year's Eve.
"What?" they screeched. "Tonight?"
In all the hoopla of leaving the dock, they forgot we were bidding 2018 goodbye. Farewell. Adios. Nice knowing ya.
We brought the New Year in with yummy food, chocolates and bubbly. We played games and blew the air horn at midnight. The wind came up and we put the drag alarm on just in case the anchor did not hold. We crossed our fingers and tucked in, under copious quilts and comforters.
 |
| Last of the Christmas chocolates |
 |
| Last of the sparkling grape juice |
Welcome to cruising in 2019.
 |
| Nice shiny catamaran we almost dragged into |
I don't know if other sailors get this, but when we are going to do something new on a boat, I get this nauseous, dizzy, excited feeling. Plainly put, it's anxiety. To anyone watching, I look like I've had too much caffeine, or that I've got to use the loo. John tends to ignore me when I get like this and focuses on the task at hand. So while I was doing my pee-pee dance with the docking lines clenched in both hands, John was calmly bringing Wakataitea alongside the dock like he'd be doing it all his life.
We jumped onto the dock after the dock hand caught our lines. I almost hugged him. He just smiled at me as I gushed my gratitude. I imagined he thought, "this newbie cruiser should cut down on her java."
 |
| Early morning at Town Creek Marina in the fog |
 |
| Last ride to the wrecker's |
While John was settling the paperwork at the wrecker's, the kids and I were hacking bits off the car that would come in handy. For instance, we had been looking for 2 inch webbing to make new harnesses for the kids, and the seat belts were the perfect material for our project.
We returned to Wakataitea with our sights set south. We started studying for our next task: getting to Florida by heading down the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW). Then, off to the Bahamas.
Heading off again, we had to rethink who we were as a crew. We are the Nahannis, in spirit, but we no longer call Nahanni V our home. We are not the Wakataiteas, because that's Michael, Catherine, Enzo and Francesca.
Perhaps we could be the WakaNahannis?
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The beginning of a new year always brings reflection of the year that's past; a gathering of memories, a collection of images. On New Year's Eve, and in the days that followed into 2019, our crew shared snippets of the funniest things that happened, the saddest moments, and what's been learned.
Here is the sum of our 2018 wisdom:
- Experiences are more important than things.
- You're tougher than you think.
- Loss brings change that takes you to unexpected places. You must accept it and move along.
- Tears are like farts...you just gotta let 'em out.
- Luck is everywhere, and on rare occasions, no where.
- People will surprise you with goodness and kindness.
- Long, squeezy hugs really do make you feel better
- Despite all that you plan, you never know what's going to happen.
Sunday, 13 January 2019
Onward to 2019!
After another safe drive down south to Beaufort, North Carolina, we rejoined Wakataitea on December 19, 2018. She was patiently waiting in the boatyard, just as we had left her a few weeks before. We quickly moved aboard and arranged her launch for December 21st at 0900.
On the morning of the launch, we were finishing breakfast when a group of guys from the boatyard arrived with solemn faces. They said that there was a problem. They could not bring the 50 foot wide travel lift to Wakataitea, because Olympus, a 92 foot classic motor yacht that was brought in at the end of November, was blocking the entrance to our yard. I thought for moment they were joking, but clearly they were not.
After a meeting with the boatyard staff about their oversight in planning for getting us out of the yard, they clearly laid out our options. We could wait until mid-January when Olympus would be launched (refit finished on time, of course,) or use a trailer to move Wakataitea 300 yards to the road where the travel lift could then pick her up and bring her to the water.
Using this trailer would mean picking Wakataitea up underneath on four points by her cross beams. The ropes lashing these beams to the hull would be supporting the weight of the entire boat. This was an operation we weren't sure was safe to do.
We contacted Michael at his west coast home. Despite the early hour, he was his usual chipper self. Michael wasn't sure if we could move the boat this way either. We were time pressed to make a decision, as the yard crew were leaving at noon for the Christmas break, and the boatyard owner was antsy to get 'er done. We were the last boat they were going to move for the year. There was a spark of tension in the air.
When John asked who would be liable if something were to go wrong, the yard owner had a full blown hissy fit, swearing and stomping out of the room, then slamming the door as he left the building. He was muttering things like "people pay me big bucks to move their @!":# antique boats all the time...".
We had to make a speedy decision. We certainly didn't want to live in this boatyard for another month. My mind reeled with options of where else we could go.
We quickly reached out to the people who could help. Michael had the good fortune to contact Hans, the builder of Wakataitea somewhere in Africa. The stars aligned further, as we were able to reach Hanneke Boon, the boat's designer in the UK. Both thought that this lifting maneuver could be done and would "probably be OK." With that tentative endorsement, we decided to proceed.
This trailer, which was operated by a remote control, was set up below Wakataitea. Using four posts, it carefully lifted at four points under the beams close to the hulls.
As the trailer slowly drove along, we watched the eight rope lashings that actually hold the boat to the beams being lifted. They were stretching, but not by much.
In several minutes, the boat was delicately moved to the yard entrance and carefully lowered onto blocks. The travel lift arrived, lifted and drove Wakataitea to the water, where she was launched. All was well.
Nothing is ever easy with boats.
Once she was in the water, we scrambled aboard Wakataitea. The jovial staff helped us to tie up alongside the wharf several meters away. We waved, "Merry Christmas" and they were gone. The yard emptied out. We were floating.
Once we were launched, our focus switched to getting south to warmer temps. However, we still had not unpacked and settled in. We also needed to do more shopping. While shoppers were getting last minute Christmas presents, we were buying carts full of canned and non-perishable food to fill up the boat for our Caribbean winter. There were last minute boat parts, school supplies, rubber boots, and mundane items like sunscreen and lip balm to bring aboard and squirrel away.
Christmas Day was one of the coldest days, but one of the brightest. It was just above freezing when the kids coaxed us from our warm beds to find the deck covered in a thick layer of frost. It was a good substitute for snow, and they got their white Christmas by making mini snowmen on the dodger top.
We are grateful for all the love and support we received in 2018...it has been a doozy of a year!
On the morning of the launch, we were finishing breakfast when a group of guys from the boatyard arrived with solemn faces. They said that there was a problem. They could not bring the 50 foot wide travel lift to Wakataitea, because Olympus, a 92 foot classic motor yacht that was brought in at the end of November, was blocking the entrance to our yard. I thought for moment they were joking, but clearly they were not.
 |
| Olympus |
 |
| Not enough room! |
Using this trailer would mean picking Wakataitea up underneath on four points by her cross beams. The ropes lashing these beams to the hull would be supporting the weight of the entire boat. This was an operation we weren't sure was safe to do.
We contacted Michael at his west coast home. Despite the early hour, he was his usual chipper self. Michael wasn't sure if we could move the boat this way either. We were time pressed to make a decision, as the yard crew were leaving at noon for the Christmas break, and the boatyard owner was antsy to get 'er done. We were the last boat they were going to move for the year. There was a spark of tension in the air.
When John asked who would be liable if something were to go wrong, the yard owner had a full blown hissy fit, swearing and stomping out of the room, then slamming the door as he left the building. He was muttering things like "people pay me big bucks to move their @!":# antique boats all the time...".
We had to make a speedy decision. We certainly didn't want to live in this boatyard for another month. My mind reeled with options of where else we could go.
We quickly reached out to the people who could help. Michael had the good fortune to contact Hans, the builder of Wakataitea somewhere in Africa. The stars aligned further, as we were able to reach Hanneke Boon, the boat's designer in the UK. Both thought that this lifting maneuver could be done and would "probably be OK." With that tentative endorsement, we decided to proceed.
This trailer, which was operated by a remote control, was set up below Wakataitea. Using four posts, it carefully lifted at four points under the beams close to the hulls.
 |
| Trailer underneath Wakataitea |
In several minutes, the boat was delicately moved to the yard entrance and carefully lowered onto blocks. The travel lift arrived, lifted and drove Wakataitea to the water, where she was launched. All was well.
Nothing is ever easy with boats.
 |
| Driving the boat out of the yard |
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| Beside Olympus |
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| Travel lift preparing to pick up boat |
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| Picking up boat |
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| Driving to water |
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| Getting ready to splash |
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| Floating beside our trusty car |
Once we were launched, our focus switched to getting south to warmer temps. However, we still had not unpacked and settled in. We also needed to do more shopping. While shoppers were getting last minute Christmas presents, we were buying carts full of canned and non-perishable food to fill up the boat for our Caribbean winter. There were last minute boat parts, school supplies, rubber boots, and mundane items like sunscreen and lip balm to bring aboard and squirrel away.
 |
| Stowing provisions |
Our other focus was to get ready for our first Christmas aboard Wakataitea. We found a plywood Christmas tree in a locker that someone had lovingly painted green, and the kids set about decorating it.
Christmas Day was one of the coldest days, but one of the brightest. It was just above freezing when the kids coaxed us from our warm beds to find the deck covered in a thick layer of frost. It was a good substitute for snow, and they got their white Christmas by making mini snowmen on the dodger top.
Hot chocolate kept our fingers warm enough to open the presents that fit under our tree. Our gifts were simple and geared towards learning, playing and creating at sea.
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| Simon's model replica of Wakataitea |
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| Thanks Grandma and Grandpa! |
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| Simon thrilled with electronic parts for boat building |
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| A replacement for my favourite game that got wrecked earlier this year! |
It's been a bumpy ride getting afloat again. There have been lots of challenges in the past year. We look forward to the many adventures ahead as we get to know Wakataitea and make her our home.
We are grateful for all the love and support we received in 2018...it has been a doozy of a year!
To all of you, we raise a toast to 2019!
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