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Art Vandelay

Member Since 23 Nov 2005
Offline Last Active Today, 03:07 AM

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In Topic: Rebel Heart, rescue underway

10 April 2014 - 11:58 PM

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BTW, I'm very happy these folks are safe, some folks just don't understand how the hubby might have missed an opportunity that won't come again....soon, pending insurance and the goodwill of the moral internet folks that send them a check....


So 1000 miles out of Mexico in 15 days.  1700 to go to Nuka Hiva downwind-ish.  Wife and children safely with the Navy doctors and they would heli-evac to San Diego if needed, so I'm thinking my kid is ok and in good hands.  He's been solo sailing this boat anyway...

Now he's got 1700 miles downwind to sail to Nuka Hiva alone, no family?  He's thinking yahoo! I mean let's be real.  I've sailed to Nuka Hiva and it's amazing. Those of you that have kids and love them very much, and love your wife, still need some time alone....So a month solo on a well provisioned boat, sailing downwind to Polynesia solo?  Hell ya!  Sign me up!  She's happy, she's home having Starbucks and attention, he's happy doing what he loves, sailing....


This is not a hard concept....

Have you never seen Dadholes?  It explains a lot, think of the dad here who has 3 kids...would he sail solo to Nuka Hiva? yes he would....might even quit smoking too!




In Topic: Rebel Heart, rescue underway

10 April 2014 - 07:29 PM




From the interview above of the great hero's that jumped, and stayed with the family on board:


"small amount of water...took 3 mins twice a day to pump out...not a issue, they could have brought their boat back to shore..."


"no steering problem...boat was fine"

In Topic: Rebel Heart, rescue underway

05 April 2014 - 03:17 AM

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Pacific Crossing – Day 11, March 29, 2014

Monday, March 31, 2014 at 11:34

Two days ago we bingo’ed on the avocadoes. The day before that, the zucchini, and the day before that, the mangoes. Not worried though. We still have plenty of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, potatoes, and cabbage. The pears are almost gone, but a vast pile o’ apples awaits us. We also have bags of prunes and plenty of canned veggies too. I report this because there is not much else to report. We continue sailing west. The wind finally came back a few days ago and we’ve been making miles ever since. The first few days the wind was accompanied by an incredibly awful sea state. It had each of us in a foul mood. There were tears (on my part). There were bruises (not from each other, geez), but from getting knocked all over the cabin. When I woke up this morning my back muscles were tight from the constant rocking you can’t escape at night, and the way your body responds too it even subconsciously. Lyra and I are having the hardest time sleeping, she because she is so tiny that a single roll of the cabin in one direction could roll her 1.5 times in one direction, and then back the same amount the other way. We finally wedged her baby seat on the port side of the salon table, facing aft, where it couldn’t slide from side to side with the motion of the ocean (isn’t that fun to say?) We tucked pillows in on either side of the front and back of the seat (so it wouldn’t rock aft or forward) and voila! A little reclined lounge chair that has allowed her to sleep like a champ. Cora sleeps just forward of her on the salon cushions, her body amidships to lessen the impact of the rolly seas at night. Eric also sleeps on the salon cushions, just aft of Lyra and her baby recliner, his body generally curled in a giant, masculine comma on the largest cushion around the salon table, or sometimes he extends his legs and sleeps on his back, knees bent, feet resting on the floor, his head lamp and gloves always beside him on the table for a quick wake up if not his watch. I feel a bit like the main character in the Princess and the Pea, or more aptly, the Commoner and the Sea. After trying every conceivable place to sleep, including on my back on the floor amidships, on my belly on the floor amidships, every cushion around the salon table, and forward and aft in the quarter berth, it seems the only way that will let me get anything resembling rest is on my belly, facing aft in the quarter berth. It is the darkest, quietest part of the boat, and the white noise of a nearby Camfrano fan, plus ear plugs, and a strategically placed belly pillow help me from rolling too much. Hull slap awakens me, frantically, sometimes, but other than that, I get the best sleep there, and I use ‘best’ euphemistically. Trust me, you want my blog posts to be boring. The best kind of passages like this are boring. Nothing dramatic, nothing crazy, or dangerous, just plodding along, boring. Everyone safe, healthy, and happy. The boat working, the winds doing their thing to help us. Eric and I look forward to two moments each day, Lyra’s nap, and the kids’ bed time. Lyra’s nap means either I can nap too, or Eric if he needs it more. Or it means we can get stuff done, since Cora doesn’t need constant supervision, or it means we can put Cora in front of a movie in the cabin, and we can go up to the cockpit for adult time. I will let you be the judge of what adult time means. After Lyra’s nap, we try hard not to look at the hours tick by until bed time. I like when it hits 4:00pm because that means it is time to start dinner. In spite of the enormous quantity of snacks and treats we brought along for this crossing (nothing like sugar or salt to lift the spirits!), Eric and I have both lost weight. Neither of us are complaining. The sheer amount of calories expended to create each meal and each snack, every day, is impressive. Every time we prepare food it is an acrobatic juggling act of fighting against waves, of keeping food and utensils from flying, from cooking food, doing dishes, and making sure Lyra doesn’t take a tumble, and that is just making the food. By the time the meal is prepared and we are all assembled in the cockpit, Lyra in her tiny high chair, stripped down bare, and the rest of us up there, with all our plates, utensils, cloth wipes, etc, well, by then it is 5:00pm and dinner starts! And by 5:45 or so, I’m cleaning off Lyra, Eric is doing dishes and managing Cora’s bedtime routine, and then, by six, blessed, o’clock, it is time to get the girls in bed. Thirty minutes of bottles, stories, and books, and another thirty of the girls playing around, giggling, and being told to go to sleep, and by 7:00pm they are asleep. You see, if we can make it to four o’clock each day, we’ve made it through another daytime in this passage. The girls start off the evening sleeping in their quarter berth, and when Eric and I are ready to pass out, generally around 10pm, we move the girls out to their positions around the salon table and so begins the passing of hours at watch until the girls wake up again, usually around 6:45am and we do.it.all.again. Like I said, boring. Exhausting, draining, repetitive. I am dreaming of long runs, my back soaked from the sweat and exertion, my feet curving around the shape of sand on the beach I’m running on. I’m dreaming of sweet coconut water. I’m dreaming of French baguettes. I’m dreaming of family hikes up scenic trails. Day 11 done. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.


In Topic: Rebel Heart, rescue underway

05 April 2014 - 02:35 AM

Day 6 gets interesting...

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Pacific Crossing – Day 6, March 25, 2014
Wednesday, March 26, 2014 at 10:05

Six days at sea. In six days I can’t possibly describe the range of emotions I have felt so far: anger, joy, sickness, exhaustion, exhilaration, wonder, awe, contentment, peace. When we were backing out of our slip in La Cruz, we four stood in the cockpit waving goodbye to friends. Cora shook her head and furled her eyebrows, sighing, “I’m going to miss Sacha.” “I’m sure he’ll miss you too, buddy. You’ll see him again.” “I’m going to miss Sacha so much. And Diego. And Michelle (Michelle Williams, if you are reading this!) I hope see Appa out there when we are crossing the ocean too. I like them. They are my best friends.” The kid just melts me. Today at lunch, she bit into a pickle and did the same thing, a deep, resonant sigh, and then, “I miss Sacha. And I miss Colin, too. He is my friend.” And then she perked up and grabbed her tuna melt. “But I like this trip mommy, I like it a lot.” “Well, that’s good, because we have a long way to go still.” Lyra is absolutely the most challenging part of the trip. And Lyra, if you are reading this someday, know that we don’t mean you were a “bad baby,” or anything of the sort. You’re a wonderfully active, happy, ingenuitive (ßis that an actual word?) child. You are vocal, and curious, and BUSY, just as you should be. WE are the nutballs who decided to set to sea with you. Trust me, we have no one else to blame for bringing a 13 month old to sea than ourselves. I keep telling myself that Bora Bora will be worth it, worth what I’m now calling ‘extreme parenting.’ Getting email messages from friends and family who have our boat email is a daily treat. Please, if you have that email, write to say hello anytime! I wish I could go for a long walk. Why haven’t they invented shoes that would let you walk on water? Like snowshoes, but for the ocean? Could someone get on that? It has got to be doable. I’d even settle for a giant hamster ball at the moment. Bobbing around while I ran my pants off would be amazing. Oh, work out endorphins, I miss you. This random blog post has been brought to you by a 34 year old woman floating across the ocean with her husband and two adorable kids, somewhere near 16 degrees 49.942N and 100 degrees 46.768W. PS – Sturgeron FTW, periods FTL


In Topic: Rebel Heart, rescue underway

05 April 2014 - 02:29 AM

Her Day 4 Blog:

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Pacific Crossing – Day 4, March 23, 2014
Monday, March 24, 2014 at 7:05

Today started out shitty too. It is so hard to keep a positive outlook at sea when you feel awful. I was hoping that by day four my nausea would have subsided (and NO, I’m not pregnant, so stop wondering that now J My options were to take Bonine, feel sleepy, and have an awful, dry mouth, but at least the nausea would subside, or take nothing and feel sleepy and nauseous. It was a crappy choice. And then Eric suggested Sturgeon.


We both had forgotten we had a box on board. I only took 1/5 of a pill as an entire pill is strong enough to knock out a horse or a chimp or something. Within 45 minutes my entire outlook improved. By the end of the day I made dinner, cleaned up the interior cabin, and was able to actually read without feeling even more seasick. This.is.awesome. We aren’t sure when to take another dose (the info isn’t included on the medication), but at 8:00pm tonight we’ll be checking in with the nightly SSB radio net and will ask fellow mariners on there. I’m certain someone will know.

Basically, if I don’t feel well, I HATE sailing. If I feel well, it’s pretty great. Still tough, but I actually find many things about it enjoyable. Here’s to feeling well.

Lyra – within a day’s time she has mastered climbing up onto the salon cushions and running amok in an area that had been previously out of reach. Dang it. Un-paused (ß is that a word?) by her latest feat, she has now re-taken to climbing the companionway stairs. She is unstoppable and her dauntlessness is both awe-inspiring and relentless.

Cora – there was about a 30 minute window of very calm seas and light wind today. Cora noticed immediately and began racing and leaping up and down the main hallway. Back and forth, over and over, running and leaping as high and as fast as she could. Lyra and I cheered her on. Spend all that energy, kid. Yell, and holler, hoot and jump.

Eric – The man has been jonesing to fish. Between getting his groove with sail configurations, a seasick wife, and daily chores on a boat with two kids, he hasn’t been able to, until today. I felt better, and we were in the perfect conditions to toss a line behind the stern. He didn’t catch anything but just getting out his fishing gear made him jauntier.

Me – We all took showers today. We have no pressurized water on board (so no hot water either, other than what we heat on the stove.) We use a camping solar shower and string it from the boom when it is over the cockpit, then we shower al fresco in the cockpit. The whole scene felt very Laura Ingalls, as we bathed first the girls, and then me, and lastly Eric made-do with the small amount of warm water left. Eric held the bag from swinging wildly as I bathed the girls, and then as I bathed myself, Eric genteelly looked out to sea, portside. We may share almost everything, but it is nice to have some privacy every once in a while.

While shaving, my teeth chattered as a Pacific breeze danced around the dodger and I apologized to Eric, “Sorry, but you’re just gonna get what you get with this shaving job. Hard to get my legs smooth when I have goose bumps.”

“Charlotte, I think you are the only woman to shower outdoors in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and shave her legs, much less worry about the quality of the shave.”

“You think so?” I scrunched up my eyebrows and rinsed my razor in the pitcher I also use for blending food with my food processor wand. “Nah, I bet plenty of other women have too.”

“I doubt it,” Eric responded, still looking out to sea. I thought about the 2,000+ amazing women I know from Women Who Sail (www.facebook.com/groups/WomenWhoSail/) and shook my head,

“No, I’m definitely not the only one.” ----- Before dinner we were all happily ensconced in the cockpit and Cora asked to play a game. Eric suggested the word-association game, a game we both love to play on road trips to pass the time. It’s a little different when you play with a three year old. It sounds like this: Charlotte: Mujahedeen Eric: Operation Desert Fox Cora: Cake Charlotte: Anorexia Eric: Bulimia Cora: Wind vane Charlotte: Africa Eric: Racism Cora: Ice cream

We would all bust up laughing when it came to Cora’s response (good-naturedly of course); even little Lyra laughed hysterically when we all did. It was pretty awesome to get a glimpse of what it will be like to hang out with Cora as she gets older and can participate in more intellectually challenging games with us.