Co-Captain's Log, Vol 3, Iss 4: 7 Truths About Your Adventure
As published in Latitude 38 magazine
October 29, 2023
Marsden Cove, North Island, New Zealand
Truth 7: Your adventure will have its skeptics.
December 30, 2017
Springfield, Missouri
37º10’17” N 93º15’3” W
It’s Andrés Jacobo’s first Christmas in Missouri with my family. He and I are sitting together at the kitchen table in my childhood home. Christmas wreaths adorn the frosted kitchen windows. Plates of leftover holiday treats cover the counters. The fire blazes on the hearth behind us. My mom, dad, sister, and brother are sitting with us around the table, all staring at us expectantly. “We have something we want to tell you,” was the only information we’d divulged when we called them together.
We’re nervous. I’m picking at my fingernails. Andrés Jacobo is trying to gulp enough water to stop the anxious coughing.
Finally, Mom breaks the silence. “You’re pregnant.” She’d correctly guessed we weren’t around the table to share what she would consider good news. With us not being married, or even engaged, she didn’t have to get too creative to figure out what news we might be breaking.
“No, I’m not pregnant,” I replied before taking the lead. My family, my responsibility to tell them what’s up. “Andrés has had this dream since he was, like, 20 to sail around the world. And we didn’t know if it was possible, but we’ve done the research and looks like it is. So….we’re going to buy a sailboat this year and try to sail around the world.”
Shock.
There was complete and utter shock on their faces. In land-locked Missouri, they couldn’t even conceive that someone might do this. Only my brother breaks into a smile before turning to hold up my mom so she doesn’t pass out on the kitchen table.
Silence hangs in the air until finally she blurts out the only thing she can think of to say:
“Are you sure you’re not just pregnant?”
The Entertainment
While I’ve liked all the sailing we’ve done…okay, maybe not all but most…I’ve LOVED all the snorkeling we’ve done. I’d never snorkeled before we set off on this adventure. Right before we set sail for Mexico, my mother-in-law treated the family to a day of snorkeling in Key West and, when the captain asked his boat full of tourists, “Is it anyone’s first time snorkeling?” mine was the one hand waving in the air. That trip taught me ignorance is bliss. Apparently the conditions were dreadful - no visibility, freezing cold, and 2-foot waves - but I knew no better. I saw 3 fish up close and found the experience magical!
From there, we saw actual coral and more than a handful of fish in the freezing waters and ocean swell of the Mexican Pacific coast. Then we swam with turtles in the Northern Sea of Cortez. We pass-snorkeled with sharks in French Polynesia. We explored the humongous coral reefs fed by the nutrients pushed up from the Tongan Trough in Ha’apai.
Snorkeling opened up a world much bigger than our tiny 34-ft boat. On the days full of conflict, we could jump in the water and all aggression and tension would swim away with the tide.
Truth 6: Your adventure will include disillusionment.
February 27, 2023 (Day 8)
The middle of the Pacific Ocean
9º47’43” N 118º31’28”W
‘Hey, let’s go ahead and do the nightly deck check so you can go to bed. I see rain clouds up ahead and there’s no reason for you to be out here in the rain.’
What a kind wife, an incredibly naive wife I am.
We never saw rain clouds in the Sea of Cortez. Six days ago we sailed in rain for the first time since arriving in Mexico a year ago. The light rain felt refreshing though more so for Ana Maria than us.
I am ready tonight for a bit more rain, my foulies zipped up tight and ready to keep me dry.
Uh oh.
Was that lightning? I think so. But pretty far off.
About an hour into my first night watch, it starts to rain. Pretty light but there’s that pesky lightning.
Lightning to the east too. And behind us. Oh, and in front of us.
And then the wind which has kept me moving at a steady clip is suddenly overpowering Ana María. 15 kts apparent. 18. 20. 23!!!
Is this…is this a squall??
No. It can’t be. Squalls are in the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ). We’re not in the ITCZ yet. …or wait, are we?
I try to orient myself, figuring out where we are versus where I thought the ITCZ would be, but it’s impossible to concentrate. Lightning strikes keep filling my peripheral vision.
Winds calm down a bit before spiking once again. I catch a glimpse of our Course-Over-Ground. These heavy winds are changing our course. If this is a squall, then it’s taking us with it wherever it is headed…which right now looks like Japan.
It’s only 2 hours into my shift so I hate to wake up Andrés Jacobo but I don’t know what else to do. Can we protect ourselves from a lightning strike? I don’t think so, though I do remember hearing we should put our phones in the oven so we don’t fry all our electronics if we are hit. But what about the wind and our course?
‘Hey bud? Can you come up here? I think I need your help,’ I call into the cabin below. Andrés Jacobo is understandably frustrated to be awoken but he pulls on his foul weather gear and comes out to the cockpit. I can tell he thought I was being a wimp, but a look at the instruments and the lightning around us tell him we’re in a pickle.
We try to come up with a fix, but we’ve been clearly caught with our pants down. It’s obvious now we’re not just getting hit with one squall but a train of squalls. The sky indicates there’s a lot more where those came from.
As the rain from the next squall begins to pelt us, he suggests ‘You go down below and get some rest. I am awake now and there’s no reason for us both to get wet.’ I crawl below, dry off, and climb into the warm berth and sleep about an hour before I hear a calamity outside. I get out of bed, pull on my foulies, and step into the cockpit where I see Andrés Jacobo battling with the whisker pole.
I check my tether and move to the side deck, clipping into the jacklines as I go out to help him. Once the whisker pole is no longer banging around uncontrollably, we meet back in the safety of the cockpit.
‘Sorry I woke you up. I saw a 40 kt squall. The squall was carrying us towards Alaska so I thought I could furl the genoa and bring it over to the leeward side of the boat and head south. But when I furled it, the whisker pole came loose and started bouncing everywhere.’
‘It’s okay,’ I assured him. ‘Next time call me up. I am glad to come help.’
We turn on the radar and see squalls surrounding us. Not a big surprise, really, given what we’re experiencing. We brace ourselves for the next one we already see developing on the screen.
Sure enough, the torrential downpour begins and there’s nothing to do but ride it out.
We sit in the cockpit and realize our foul weather gear has lost all its waterproofness. Instead of keeping water out, it is not only letting water in but collecting water inside. We’re sitting in puddles of water.
Disillusionment hits and hits HARD. What are we doing out here, thousands of miles from land, soaking wet, and scared to death of a lightning strike???
A touch on my bare foot brings me out of my reverie. Andrés Jacobo is holding my feet, caressing me.
That simple touch calms my fears a bit as I remember: I am not alone here. We’re in this together.
The Wildlife
Our top 3 wildlife experiences:
Sailing through the whale migration off the coast of Oregon. Read: The Good. The Bad. The Uncertainty.
The most boisterous and joyful dolphins in the Sea of Cortez. Watch this Instagram Reel
Swimming with humpback whales in Tonga. Read: Swimming with humpback whales.
Truth 5: Your adventure will include delightful surprises.
“Do you think that’s a resort on that island right there?”
“I mean, looks like it but I’m not sure.”
“This old cruising guide says it is. Says to call the resort on Channel 18. Let’s see if we can eat dinner there tonight.”
I pick up the VHF to hail the Mala Island Resort. When a man with a thick (Russian, maybe??) accent responds, I ask, “Yes, we are the sailboat anchored right in front of your resort. We would like to come to dinner tonight. Do you have space?”
“Well, you see, we’re not open yet for the season, but my wife Olivia is making dinner at 5:30. You come and she will make you food.”
At 5:15 we find ourselves in a peculiar spot. Do we take a chance and risk eating whatever it is his wife is going to make for us? Or should we be flaky Americans, bail, and stay here on the boat to eat the rice and beans I had planned?
Oh, what the heck! Let’s just go. If it’s terrible, we can always come back and eat cereal.
We paddle to the beach in the kayak. From 50 yards out, we can see a man scurry down on a barely visible path in a break in the trees. He rushes to meet us on the beach, and before I can protest, he’s taken the handle of the kayak to lift it up out of the water. “Oh hi, yes, I called earlier about possibly having dinner here,” I stammer to his back.
He sets the kayak down, whips around with a huge smile on his face and his hand outstretched to me. “I am NASHA! Katherine, Andrés, I am so glad you have come! Come, come, my friends!” In the short walk up to the main house, we hear a brief version of his life story. “I am Serbian. I am like you a sailor. I sailed here from Cabo San Lucas in the 1970s. I loved Tonga so when I met a beautiful waitress, I married her, and stayed. Come meet our 3 kids.”
We step up to a spacious veranda, surrounded with a canopy of trees that frame postcard-worthy views of the beach below. There are two tables set with white linens, plates, silverware and stemware. Strings of lights twinkle above us. One table has 2 Australian tourists, but Nasha leads us to the table so carefully set just for us. Thank goodness we actually showed up!
Pretty quickly after we’re seated, Nasha’s beautiful teenage daughters bring out shell-shaped plates full of salad. We munch on the salad while making easy conversation with the Australian tourists and tamping down panic that this salad may be the full dinner.
As we talk, Nasha sits on a chair at the edge of the veranda, chain smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. He clearly knows his role as a host requires him to be barely seen and not heard, but when we hit on a topic that interests him, he just can’t help himself. He pops out of his chair, steps close enough to interject with his thought, idea, or experience, then cowers embarrassed back into his seat.
We’ve just finished the last bite of our salad when Olivia, with Daisy the dog following at her heels, comes out of the kitchen carrying plates heaping with a fresh chicken curry. Before she can escape, we ask her a couple questions about where she’s from, how she met Nasha, how she came to live on a private island then we dig into our scrumptious meal.
We’re quite full from the main course, but Olivia returns with a glimmer in her eye and the offer, “Nasha splurged and got ice cream. Do you want some with your cake?” How can we refuse? She returns to the table with our dessert and announces “I’m going to take my dessert with you.” She must have felt our warmth toward her because she pulls up a chair and talks to us as if we’re her newest yet dearest friends. She shares all about her siblings, her childhood in Vava’u, the challenge of running a resort in Tonga, the struggles they had to survive after the 2022 tsunami. “We haven’t always had Daisy. We used to have another dog, but she bit every guest we had. Daisy swam all the way to this island. She is so sweet. She never bites nobody so we kept her.”
As Olivia clears the plates, I step over to Nasha to whisper, “How much do I owe you for dinner?” “Oh no, this wasn’t a restaurant. You just ate what our family ate. But if you want to give a tip to Olivia since she cooked, go right ahead.” I slip the biggest tip I’ve ever left into Olivia’s palm as we say our goodbyes. The children, Daisy, Olivia, and Nasha all want to escort us down to the beach. We paddle back to Ana Maria as all of them wave an enthusiastic goodbye. We can still hear Daisy barking in our direction when we reach the boat.
What an evening - an evening we could never have planned using Yelp or TripAdvisor!
The Lingo
We’ve become “cruisers” on this adventure. You know you’re a cruiser when…
…you’re going to a fancy dinner so you wear your least stained clothing.
…someone asks, “Can I come visit you?” and you respond, “Yes, if you bring me two suitcases of boat parts from the US.”
…you throw all your food scraps out the window.
…you dream of a 5-minute, hot shower with good water pressure.
…you look at the weather forecast at least 4 times a day.
…you wash and reuse Ziplock bags 5 times before you pitch them.
…a glass of ice is the mark of a luxury dinner.
Truth 4: Your adventure will change your worldview.
June 2022
Isla Estanque, Baja California, Mexico
29º3’51”N 113º5’41”W
We’re tucked into the tiny anchorage of Isla Estanque, one of the most remote and picturesque anchorages in the Sea of Cortez. From Ana María we spotted a rustic trail to the top of the hill on the northeast end of the bay so we’ve kayaked to shore to check it out.
Thanks to the seclusion of this anchorage, we see tons of fish as we kayak and tons of birds once we land on the beach. We scramble up the sand and gravel to the trailhead, follow the curve in the path, and come upon a sickening sight.
Here is this gorgeous environment, this haven for wildlife. And right in the middle we see piles and piles of plastic bleach bottles and batteries disintegrating into the sand.
It’s not the first time we’ve seen this. We’ve seen many of these piles around the remote fishing camps. But whether it’s the first pile of single-use plastic you come across or the seventeenth beach littered with plastic that will take centuries to breakdown, the sight never stops making you sick to your stomach. Just think of all that plastic, all that battery acid, ending up in the stomachs of these beautiful birds and magnificent fish.
In landlife, it’s easy to pick up a plastic bottle at the supermarket, use it, pitch it into a recycling bin where it may (or may not…) get recycled, and move on with your day. Here, so close to the pristine beaches turned plastic graveyards, you can’t help but feel convicted.
“When we’re on land, no more single-use plastic for us, okay?” I propose to Andrés Jacobo. He, of course, has held this conviction for years. But it took me seeing the impact of my thoughtless actions to call me to repentance.
The Galley
“No matter what anyone tells you, boat cooking is different from cooking ashore.” - The first line of The Boat Galley cookbook
“How in the world am I going to keep Andrés Jacobo fed on the boat?” This was one of my biggest worries before we moved onto Ana María. Turns out, it was a valid anxiety. One of our most persistent challenges in cruising has been provisioning. It’s also been an area where we’ve grown, developed skills, and gained agility. Andrés Jacobo would tell you one of the ways he’s changed most while cruising is he’s become less “picky.” I’ve felt my paradigm shift as I’ve approached provisioning less like a weekly trip to Kroger and more like a treasure hunt. Turns out there are food treasures all over the world and, yes, you can even eat decently well for 5 days from an Oxxo convenience store during a hurricane.
I nearly always walk out of the supermarket with a nagging, panicky voice in my head, “You may need more food. What if you run out of food?!? Go back and buy more food! ” Yet, our cruising life has been not marked by a sense of lack of food, but of abundance. Here are 5 culinary experiences our tastebuds will always remember:
Fresh shrimp and fish tacos at the El Estadio stand in La Paz
Seafood paella made on a beach bonfire on Taunga Island
Ropa Vieja, cold champagne, and chocolate açaí bites to celebrate crossing the Equator
Plucking clams from the seabed then eating them in pasta with sv Hiraya and sv Lusty
Gorging ourselves on the fresh bananas and mangoes on Fatu Hiva
Truth 3: Your adventure allows you to taste triumph.
October 20, 2023
Whangārei Heads off the coast of New Zealand
35º46’42”S 174º42’54”E
The sun is about to come up over Ana María’s port bow. As the pink light fills the sky, I catch a glimpse of the Marotere Islands that guard the entrance to Bream Bay, our safe harbor.
LANDFALL!!!
Jubilation bubbles up in my spirit. We did it! We really did it!
This passage from Tonga to New Zealand is rightly one of the most feared passages cruisers make. And yet, here we are less than 8 days after departing Nuku’Alofa, barely even tired from the passage. Good winds, good seas, little rain. It couldn’t have been better.
But really this trip took a whole lot longer than 8 days. This safe arrival is the culmination of 10 years of dreaming, 2 years of striving, and 3 years of sailing. All those hours spent planning, all those days spent fiberglassing and running cable and varnishing. All those hours strategizing our weather routes. All of it has been building toward this crescendo.
Andrés Jacobo had a dream and shared it with me. We made it our dream and then we made it our mission. We have been singularly focused as we made this mission our reality.
It feels like someone should be handing me a Super Bowl trophy right now. This must be how the winning Quarterback feels. I mean, we did it. We ACTUALLY did it!
With the taste of triumph in my mouth, I radio “Whangārei Port, Whangārei Port, Whangārei Port. This is sailing vessel Ana María. We have safely arrived at the channel entrance and request permission to enter…”
The Challenge
Besides photos, we have few mementos of this great trip. I can’t think of a single souvenir we’ve purchased, but there is one item we have onboard that represents so much more than meets the eye: Our yellow notebook.
We have experienced serious decision fatigue for the past 2 1/2 years. We make decisions every day then remake those decisions when the weather forecasts change. Unlike the decisions we make at home, these everyday decisions carry serious weight and serious consequences. “Where can we sleep safely tonight?” “How can we avoid the coming hurricane/cyclone/storm?” “How can we get to the next port without hurting ourselves or the boat?” “When should we leave the safety of shore to cross the Pacific Ocean?” Most experts these days tell you to automate as many decisions as possible. Good idea, but it doesn’t work when the conditions change so drastically and frequently.
Every decision requires communication which is where the yellow notebook comes into play. It’s a cheap notebook we bought at a grocery store in Loreto, Mexico, a notebook kindergartners probably use to practice their letters. We pull it out every time we need to make a decision or plan together: when we need to decide on a good sailing weather window, when we need to figure out how to float our anchor chain so it doesn’t wrap around coral, when we need to decide how to shock our water tanks with bleach to keep me from getting sick again.
The cheap yellow notebook now has hundreds of scribbles and tables and diagrams and math equations and weather forecasts covering each page. No one could look at it and decipher anything of value, but it represents hours of discussions, discourse, arguments, disagreements, consideration, communication, and good decisions we have made together.
Truth 2: Your adventure is best shared.
We’re sitting at a table in the corner of the restaurant celebrating our safe arrival in New Zealand. I’ve just devoured a ribeye steak and Andrés Jacobo’s finished a lamb curry - both dishes a nice change from the freeze-dried food on passage! They had no big bottles of champagne, so instead we’re ordering the small bottles like most people order beer. “Yeah I’ll have another cold one!”
We’re waiting on dessert when he asks me, “Did you read my last post on the PredictWind tracker?”
“No, I didn’t have time to read it before we made landfall.”
“Well then I have something to read you.”
He’s barely started to read his post, when my eyes fill with tears and my heart with gratitude for this man, my Captain, and this adventure.
“…The conclusion of this challenging but rewarding passage puts an end to our Pacific Ocean crossing journey. Many years in the making, it has been an odyssey we have worked tirelessly to achieve, and will no doubt remember for the rest of our lives, whether on land or on the water.
Before we close this chapter of our sailing lives, I wanted to briefly write about two things that made this journey not only possible, but thoroughly enjoyable even if we have to put up with foul weather more than we would have liked to.
Firstly, there’s Ana María herself. For a 34’ (and a small 34 at that) boat built 3 decades ago, she’s put up amazingly well with the brutal abuse that an ocean-going yacht must endure. When we’ve made mistakes, she’s been incredibly forgiving, keeping us safe while waves and wind pummel her hull without mercy. Designed by the late Bill Crealock and built in Southern California, Ana María comes from a family of sister ships that have circumnavigated the world many times over, sailed through tropical cyclones, and hove-to in southern ocean storms. She has been listed by many renowned sailors as one of the most deceptively capable sailboats when the barometer starts to go south. After sailing her for 5 years with Katherine, I can tell you firsthand: Ana María lives up to those expectations. She is a sailor’s boat. She wasn’t built to entertain at a dock or at anchor. She’s tiny and narrow. She wasn’t built to race around cans after work. But put her far away from land in King Neptune’s dominion, and she will happily sail to the end of the ocean and back, rain or shine, gale or zephyr. To windward or to leeward. She has been good to us after all.
There’s only one being that’s been more instrumental to our success in sailing than Ana María: Katherine. Katherine has been there every step of the way to make this a reality. It’s hard to describe how essential she has been to our sailing career. Her advice during our passage planning stage is always invaluable and has helped us avoid a serious catastrophe more than once. Her skills in provisioning have allowed us—in tiny Ana Maria—to eat much better than most landlubbers for months on end in the most remote places on earth. She is an excellent crew aboard Ana Maria competently taking on all the challenges involved in sailing her, even at 2 in the morning beating into near-gale winds as the waves wash over the deck. After arriving to a new port, she puts on her official customs and immigration hat to deal with all the formalities that would drive me crazier than a single hander on a steel boat. And she’ll do it in English or French—quite convenient in the South Seas. She’s always there to suffer with me through every scary, life threatening moment we were stupid enough to get ourselves into, or those we didn’t sign up for like the unexpected storm-force winds and gelcoat-removing rain we experienced in the Tuamotus. Or boat projects, which has been medically diagnosed to be a leading cause of depression and suicide as even the simplest of tasks can turn into a multi-day, unbelievably expensive ordeal. And last but not least, she’s also there to share the amazing moments we’ve had in this adventure. I wouldn’t be half as fun without her.
Now where was that bottle of champagne???”
The Mainsail
Hands down, the best part of this whole adventure has been that I’ve gotten to share it - all the bad, the great, the scary, the elation - with Andrés Jacobo.
Truth 1: Your adventure will one day come to an end.
The Horizon
It’s been a tough week. While we are unbelievably relieved to be in safe harbor, tied securely to a dock, snug inside watertight Ana María as cyclone Lola rages across the South Pacific, we are grieving. Our safe arrival in New Zealand marks the end of our adventures on Ana María. We will do a month of work to get her in ship-shape before listing her for sale.
Andrés Jacobo brought up this adventure the very first day we met on the ski bus to Mount Baker. Since then, we’ve spent an inordinate amount of time dreaming, planning, slaving in the boatyard, sailing, and exploring.
Now that it’s over…
What will we talk about?
What will we work towards?
Who will we be if we aren’t sailors?
Truth is….we don’t know. But we do know it’s time for this adventure to end and the next - whatever that may be - to begin.
We’re sad and thankful, thankful we actually got to live out this incredible adventure so many people only dream of.
It has been my privilege and my joy to bring you along for all of our adventures. Thank you for being such encouraging and loyal supporters. Even on the toughest days I’ve thought, “Well at least I have a story to tell in the next Co-Captain’s Log!”
With that, my friends, I wish you fair winds and following seas wherever your adventures take you,
Katherine