S.V. CAMBRIA: Reflections on Cruising

Thanks for the Memories

Friday, October 14, 2016TheCambrians

Leaving Bishop Bay* and sailing down Princess Royal Channel, the stretch of water that separates the island of the same name from the mainland, we struggled to find help from the current despite the fact that it was supposed to be in our favour. Our destination, Bottleneck Inlet off Finlayson Channel, laid 55 miles away and the going was slow, sometimes dropping below four knots. But even after nine hours of motor-sailing, we weren’t quite ready to call it quits.

One of our favourite cruising grounds along the Inside Passage is Fiordland Recreational Area which sits 20 miles to the north of our intended anchorage. When coming down Heikish Narrows, the last channel before reaching Finlayson, we couldn’t help but feel drawn. And although we didn’t have the weather window to spend much time there we did have enough of an opportunity to make a short trip into Mussel Inlet to revisit what we believe is the most beautiful and impressive waterfall in coastal British Columbia. After the amount of rain we’d seen over the past few days, we were sure it would be impressive so, at the last minute, we decided to turn left instead of right and made our way up Sheep Passage to Windy Bay for the night.

In the morning, we upped anchor and rode the tide up Sheep Passage to Lizette Falls. On our way, I couldn’t help but think how beautiful it is here and that we sometimes grow complacent in its beauty. The Inside Passage can be a constant barrage of the senses, and it’s easy to fall into a trap where you tune out some things in favour of others. Like today, to our port I noticed a striking cloud-capped mountain cut by a long cascading waterfall. Two, in fact. And I had to remind myself that people pay thousands of dollars for the privilege of such a view. It’s only the foolish who ignore it. And I was nearly a fool.

Drifting in front of Lizette Falls, I think the reality that we’re going to put Cambria on the market and what that means finally hit us. David was the one to put words to it by saying, “It’s hard not to get emotional when you think about it all. We’ve seen some phenomenal things.” He’s right. We have. We’ve travelled back in time and glimpsed the earth in its rawest form. We’ve witnessed things through the eyes of great mariners like Vancouver, Cook and the First Nation coastal bands who call the rainforest home. We’ve followed bears as they forage the shore for food. We’ve frolicked with whales, bathed in waterfalls, kayaked off the face of tidewater glaciers. And more. So much more. But have we been good stewards of our time here? Have we been grateful enough? Or have we taken this all for granted?

It’s not that we aren’t excited about our next adventure. We are. And we’re also ready to move on. It’s just that for the last eight years, we’ve been living in one of the most beautiful places in the world. We’ve had experiences most people can only dream about. And it’s really difficult saying goodbye to all of that. But that’s what the cruising life is at its heart – saying goodbye and moving on. It’s just that it’d be a little easier if we weren’t also saying goodbye to Cambria at the same time.

* From Friday, 02 September 2016

British Columbia Gardner Canal Inside Passage

Saying Goodbye

Tuesday, October 04, 2016TheCambrians

We have an affinity for remote anchorages and are drawn by the seclusion and the need to be self-reliant that they offer. Leaving one behind can be difficult, as is the case with Chief Mathews Bay, but it's time.* It's late in the year and lingering too long would be a mistake. There's clearly been a change in the weather over the last few days and it won't be long before the first major storm of the season arrives. So, we reluctantly upped anchor Monday morning and rode the tide 30 miles back to Europa Bay.

We made the trip to Gardner Canal for one reason: To take the opportunity to try to absorb the splendor of British Columbia's most beautiful fjord one last time. I can't say that we accomplished our goal. There's simply too much to take in. But between the two of us, I'm the lucky one. I'm the one who takes the pictures and writes the blog and, because of that, the memories are more clear in my mind than they are in David's. Even still, they don't compare to the reality and I couldn't stop myself from turning back for one last look as we slowly motored away from one of the most amazing places we've ever sailed.

We got to Europa Bay late in the afternoon and it was a completely different day from the one when we first arrived last week. The clear skies and sunshine had been replaced by clouds and rain the perfect conditions for soaking in a natural hotspring. It's funny. It was only a few days ago that every hatch in the boat was open and I was wearing shorts and a tank top, but it seems like a lifetime away. Now the boat's 58°F in the morning, the portlights are dripping with condensation and the heater's turned on all day.

We hadn't had a VHF signal for a week and were well beyond the limits of Environment Canada's three-day forecast, so we were anxious to get outside the boundaries of Gardner Canal and left the following morning. We now know a cold front is moving through the area, along with a trough, but everything should clear out by the weekend. In the meantime, we'll be able to make our way south, one step at a time, starting with Bishop Bay . . . and more lovely hotsprings.

We decided to wait out the worst of the weather there, and we weren't alone. Bishop Bay continued to be busy not only with boats, but with whales. They didn't come all the way into the anchorage, stopping short in the outer bay, but we could hear and see their blows in the distance as the rain fell. This morning, with the conditions having cleared for the most part, we quietly dropped our mooring line and carried on our way, escorted by a mother and calf. And just like that, our time in British Columbia's beautiful North Coast has ended, most likely for good, a reality that weighed heavily on our minds as we slowly motored south . . . saying goodbye is never easy.

*From Monday, 29 August through Thursday, 01 September 2016

dragging anchor Gardner Canal Inside Passage

What a Drag | the Realities of Cruising

Friday, September 16, 2016TheCambrians

There's an old nautical saying that goes something like this: There are two types of sailors. Those who have been aground, and those who lie about it. I'm pretty sure the same can be said about dragging anchor. Surely it happens to all of us at one time or another . . . or maybe I just like to think it does.

It was another beautiful day in Gardner Canal*. We'd spent the previous night tied to a mooring in Europa Bay but were ready for a change, so we rode the flood tide down to Owyacumish Bay truly one of the most stunning places we've ever stayed. But anchoring there can be a little tricky; it's steep-to and shallows very quickly near the head of the bay. On our first try, we ended up a little too close to shore so we hauled in the anchor and had another go. Our second attempt was successful and we spent a spectacular day surrounded by high, sheer mountains, listening to the thundering waterfall and exploring the river by kayak. The wind picked up a little in the late afternoon, but only to about five or six knots, and we had a quiet evening aboard. That all changed around 10 o'clock.

Here's what David wrote about it in the ship's log:

I was caught without one of my key senses once again, this time at 10:00 pm when it was pitch black and there was no prospect of a moonrise during the night. I took a quick look-around the anchorage and something wasn't quite right. I couldn't put my finger on it but the niggling in the back of my head just wouldn't go away . . . .

I turned the instruments on including both GPSs and radar with eyes out the window, trying to make shapes out of shadows buried in the blackness. The faint, vague silhouette outline of a mountain . . . were we moving? I wasn't sure. I set a "Reference Check Waypoint" on the GPS. To the best extent that I could visually make out, this didn't appear right . . . it looked as if its aspect was changing. The GPS showed a speed 0.2 kts, but I've seen more than that before while swinging at anchor. The GPS then showed 20 feet to the check-point. Eyes out the window. Not much help. I couldn't get a good range fix on the navigation light across in the channel. The depth meter read 0.00 metres. No alarm present so it was clearly reading the freshwater surface outflow, not uncommon in areas of concentrated glacial runoff, though the fact we've experienced this before doesn't help in a situation such as this where every scrap of data is significant in making good decisions. Regardless, I was unable to rely on depth meter or depth contours for positioning.

Stephanie got up and I advised her of my concerns. The GPS was still showing 0.2 kts and the depth meter still showing 0.00 metres. The GPS showed 60 feet to the check point . . . then 100 feet. Okay, there was no doubt the anchor tripped for whatever reason and we were drifting.

I reset the GPS waypoint to the Brim River approach we were close to a half-mile away from the waypoint "Brim River Anchor" set in 2014. So, there was absolutely no question . . . we were drifting into the channel, probably under the influence of the outflow current from the waterfall. Quietly, but drifting steadily nontheless.

The anchor had to come up . . . but I needed a much better fix on our position, and the problem is that unless the boat is moving 1 to 2 knots, the chartplotter GPS does not "recognise" movement and therefore does not update the vessel's position.

I reset the GPS to the "Reference Check Waypoint", now showing a distance of 150 feet. The depth meter was still reading 0.00 metres. This was a bit nervy so for a plan of action we continued to drift on or reasonably close our present course, presumably, while we retrieved the anchor, then turned under power in the direction of the channel a turn to port of between 120° and 180° at best initial assessment, established an accurate position as soon as possible, reset the GPS waypoint to Brim River Drop before turning back towards the anchorage, proceeding carefully at between 2 and 2.5 knots the minimum speed in the conditions to maintain steerage control.

Stephanie stood watch at the bow with a spotlight, and me still waiting for a response from the depth meter, which finally appeared well within 0.2 miles of the shoreline. All of this was accomplished while essentially blind in particular, the blind approach directly towards the shoal areas near the shore was fairly unsettling, demanding absolute focus, and, although it worked out well and according to plan, the waterfall outflow current presented enough of a problem on the first attempt to force a necessary withdrawal to re-establish our position and regroup, eventually anchoring successfully in roughly 25 metres depth on the second run in. I set a new "Reference Check Waypoint" on the GPS at this position. It is now 02:20 A.M., a little over four hours after first becoming aware of the problem, and over two hours since setting the new check waypoint, and although we've moved around a little, we're currently sitting within 18 feet of the reference point. So we're all done for the evening, I think. Finally!

Postscript: It's 3:00 AM and I'm still a little uncertain about our holding the boat motion is "unusual" and I'm not certain why, so all instruments turned on again. Per the GPS, although we've "sailed at anchor" during the past hour moving about 160 feet in total, we're still currently sitting within 7' of the last refererence check waypoint. The sky is beginning to lighten allowing a better assessment of our surroundings and the boat's relative positioning, and we look good. A couple of minutes thought and reflection and that's it! I'm satisfied. So really all done for the day now and time for a few hours of rest. All told, an excellent illustration of efficient crew performance under difficult circumstances and one which I think we could have both done quite well without.

Although written days afterwards, my recollection of the night is similar to David's. For me, it started shortly after 10 pm when I was woken up from a sound sleep by the sound of the windlass. I quickly got out of bed and came out to see what was going on were we dragging? or was David just letting more chain out as a precautionary measure? It was the former.

While he was working off the Reference Check Waypoint he'd set, I pulled out the iPad and loaded Navionics. The screen was zoomed in to show Owyacumish Bay, but there was no sign of the boat. Where the heck was it? I zoomed out and found the red icon situated a half a mile or more away from the spot where we'd anchored yes, we were drifting. David started the engine and I moved to the bow with a spotlight. All of the working lights were turned on the deck light, steaming lights and navigation lights but there was nobody around for miles to see them. We brought in the anchor and a quick look in the chain locker reminded me that we had at least 60 metres (close to 200 feet) of chain out. So, why did we drag? We had a good set earlier. Currents and freshet off the waterfall, presumably.

It was pitch black outside and we couldn't make out the sillouttes of the mountains that were surrounding us, which made the task at hand all that much more difficult. The spotlight was of little help and it wasn't until we'd been motoring back towards the anchorage for what seemed like hours (but was really minutes) that I finally saw what looked like shoreline to our north. Without the help of my vision, my other senses were working overtime. I could hear the waterfall in the distance and then I could smell it . . . the scent of musky earth. We were getting close.

David gave me the command to get ready to anchor and we started the drop, only to pull out within a minutes to back away, turn around and try it all over again. I'm not sure what caused him to pause; but we had to get this right and, without being able to see, were placing 100% confidence in our equipment an unsettling prospect. The second time was a charm and we got the anchor to set in 25 metres of water. After a short time, I felt we were fine and went back to bed while David stayed up and kept an eye on things.

The next morning, I woke up early to find the boat exactly where I would've expected her to be as if nothing had happened. And as much as I know that I'll miss this incredible place called the Inside Passage and Cambria after she's sold, nights like this I'll be happy to leave behind.

*From Wednesday, 24 August 2016.

Have you ever dragged anchor? And why can't we say 'drug'? Wouldn't that be more interesting? To 'drug an anchor'? But what I really want to know is why do these things always happen at night?

British Columbia Inside Passage North Coast

Reflecting on the Water

Thursday, September 08, 2016TheCambrians

Despite the fact that we really enjoy Jim and Laurie’s company, we didn’t come to Bishop Bay just to see them . . . nor did we come just to pick up spare seals for the raw water pump. We could’ve done that in Shearwater, saving ourselves 125 miles in the process (each way). And despite the fact that we love natural hot springs, we didn’t come to Bishop Bay just to soak in them. These things played a role in our decision but, more than anything else, we came north to make one last trip up Gardner Canal – British Columbia’s most beautiful fjord.

But first the hot springs.

Bishop Bay is another favourite anchorage of ours, but it’s a popular spot and boats come and go regularly throughout the day, even late in the season. And while it’s fun meeting new people at the tubs, our preference is to have them all to ourselves – something that requires a watchful eye. In our experience, there’s a period of time each day when the anchorage is empty, and that’s when we pounce. This visit was no different and we managed two or three good, long soaks without another soul around.

By Tuesday it was time to move on, so we left Bishop Bay around noon and motored 29 miles north and west to Europa Bay in Gardner Canal. Like Bishop Bay, Europa has a natural hot spring pools to soak in, but it has a couple of problems. The first is access. The tubs are on a steep shoreline and at low tide they’re a little difficult to reach. The second is the water is temperature. It’s pretty hot and on a warm day, can be downright unpleasant.

And then the wildlife.

It was close to 5 o’clock when we arrived and very warm outside. . . hot, in fact. Too hot for a bath, so I opted for a paddle around the anchorage in my kayak where there wasn’t a breath of air. I’d hoped to see a bear but it was too warm outside. The salmon were jumping and there’s a stream at the head of the bay, but I wasn’t able get back there myself. Despite the rising tide, the water wasn’t high enough. But later that evening, I caught a glimpse of what I was looking for – a large, beautiful black bear making his way down the shore before disappearing creekside. It was only a fleeting moment, but my first bear sighting of the season.

That night, I was woken up by a strange noise at 4 o’clock – a whale was blowing in the channel. I couldn’t remember where we were and had to work my way backwards before I realized we were tied to a mooring in Europa Bay. I got out of bed to take a look around. Even in its diminished state, the moon lit up the night, throwing the mountains into silhouette. Stars filled the sky and there wasn’t a breath of wind on the water. I stood in the cockpit and waited, listening intently, and then it broke the surface again and blew. I was too far away to see anything, but it was a powerful moment nonetheless. One that left me with the following thought: Now that we’re planning to sell the boat, opportunities like this will be a thing of the past – precious, stolen moments that belong only to me . . . and a whale . . . or a bear. The thought lingered as I struggled to go back to sleep and the reality weighed heavily on my mind. I’ll miss this amazing place and everything it’s given us. But more importantly, I’ll miss Cambria and all of the incredible places she’s taken us over the years.

*From 21 August – 23 August, 2016.

Living Aboard a Boat Ramblings From the Dockside Reflections on Cruising

Dreams for Sale

Friday, July 15, 2016TheCambrians

“We’ve moved on, haven’t we?” It was another one of those random questions I like to pull from thin air and throw David’s way, one that was attached to no particular conversation. But he knew immediately what I was asking, and I knew what his answer would be: “Yeah, we have.”

We were sitting in the cockpit chatting about the day or whatever topic happened to pop into our heads. I was looking around the bay, taking in the view and feeling bothered by the fact that I wasn’t motivated to move on to our next anchorage, or any other for that matter. Something was wrong and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until the question escaped my mouth. And now that the answer’s out there, maybe it’s time to finally fess up and make our plans be known.

David and I have decided to put Cambria on the market. It’s time for our home of 13 years to belong to somebody else . . . to be somebody else’s dream. We don’t want to go offshore again and she belongs on the open-ocean, sailing fast and free. It’s only fair. We’re still going to finish our season – one last hurrah re-visiting our favourite anchorages and friends along the Inside Passage – but expect it to be our last. It wasn’t an easy decision, but we’re ready to move on to our next adventure and have started taking steps to make that happen.

Where do we want to go?

I’ve written about this before and alluded to the fact that we’d already made our decision, which we had, but the reality is just starting to hit home. Before it was something we said we were going to do and now we’re actually doing it. Cambria’s not on the market yet, but we are laying the groundwork for that to happen . . . and soon.

Our plan is to move back to the UK and explore the canals of England and Wales on a narrowboat. I’ve already picked out the name of our next blog (From the Towpath) and have saved it on Facebook and Wordpress. We’ve been researching information and looking at boats for sale online (we know what we want but haven’t found it yet). But David did something the other day that set me back a little bit: He contacted a friend of ours who’s a boat broker.

We’ve been down this path once before. When we moved back to the States in 2007, there were so many things we wanted to do but felt we couldn’t because we didn’t want to leave the boat unattended for long periods of time. And then we got an idea: What if we sold the boat? We’d be free! So, we sat down with a broker in San Diego and talked about our options. By the time the meeting was over, both David and I had tears in our eyes and knew we couldn’t do it. We loved Cambria; she was our home and we weren’t ready to part ways. But now we are.

What’s different?

We are. We’ve been doing this for 15 years now and we’re ready for a change. We’re also ready to go “home”. It’s been 40 years since David left England and he still has family living there that we want to spend time with. So, after a lot of thought and consideration, we decided that travelling the canals would be a great way to accomplish that and more (like adding another dog or two to our family). But what if we don’t like it? The answer is simple: We’ll go back to cruising aboard a sailboat . . . just not this one.

That doesn’t mean it was an easy decision to make. It wasn’t. And it took me, personally, a year to get on board but, after carefully weighing our options, I eventually came to the same conclusion as David. So, here we are once again, staring down the face of another abyss – one that requires selling just about everything we own, packing up the rest, and moving half way across the world to start all over. Sound exciting? It is . . . but it’s also scary and a little overwhelming.

The first thing we want potential buyers to know when they come down the companionway steps is that Cambria is well-loved and our heads spin in 100 different directions whenever we think about how to make that happen, especially while still living aboard. And then there are the questions: What stays? What goes? How do we market the boat? Where do we market the boat? But we’ll get there in the end. We always do.

What’s a narrowboat?

A narrowboat is exactly what it sounds like: a boat that’s narrow, 6’10” wide to be exact, and purpose-built to fit the canals of England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland which were created to transport goods from town to town on barges pulled by horses walking along a towpath. In the mid-1800s, railways began replacing the canals and they eventually fell into a state of disrepair. One hundred years later, people started to see the potential for recreation on the waterways and began the process of bringing the system back to life. Today, there are over 2,000 miles of canals in use and more are being renovated and reopened every year.

At this point you might be thinking, “Six feet and 10 inches, how can you live like that.” Easy. Lengthwise. Not only are narrowboats narrow, they’re long and we’re in the market for one in the 58 to 62 foot range with a owner’s cabin forward, a bathroom with a tub (if possible), a main living area, a walk-through galley with a breakfast bar and an office that seconds as guest accommodation so we can kidnap David’s brother and sister-in-law for long periods of time.

What does this mean for the blog?

Well, it means that I’m going to bring you along for the journey of selling a boat, the ups and downs of it all. This isn’t our first rodeo; Cambria’s our third boat together, but she’s been our home for the last 13 years and we have a lot of blood, sweat and tears invested in her . . . along with a lot of memories. Saying goodbye and letting go is going to be one of the most difficult things we’ve done as a couple. But it’s not something that’s going to happen quickly, I’m guessing it’ll take 18 months for Cambria to sell. So, in the meantime, it’ll be more of the same: summing it up on Sundays whenever I can, information on anchorages along the Inside Passage and blogs about whatever subject happens to catch my attention (like this one). But now that the proverbial cat’s out of the bag, at the very least, I can be more open and honest about what’s happening aboard the good ship Cambria and why.

In 2007, David and I spent 7 weeks in England visiting his family and had the opportunity to spend an afternoon on a narrowboat with his brother and sister-in-law. The photos from the trip are (01) David standing aboard "Longmead", (02) Derek, D's brother, and David at the rudder, (03) me, with about 20 inches less hair, in the companionway, (04) our sister-in-law, June, at the dinette, and (05) David working the locks.

Have you ever sold a boat that was your home? We’d love to hear any advice you might have. Join the conversation below in the comments section or on our Facebook page.

Alaska Reflections on Cruising

Alaska by the Numbers

Friday, May 06, 2016TheCambrians

What does it take to cruise from the Seattle area to Southeast Alaska in your own boat? Miles. A lot of miles. Most of which will be done under motor. And to go along with those miles, you’re going to need a lot of time and patience.

You probably won’t need as much time as us. We’re pretty slow when it comes to cruising and we like to take our time, enjoying stops along the way. We dropped our lines on the first of April and didn’t tie up again until the end of October. That’s the total number of days you’ll find listed below, but the actual amount of time we spent in Alaska was three months with about two weeks of travel on each side (i.e. four months altogether). I should add that some of the days we spent waiting for the weather to clear, it would've been safe for us to be on the move. However, one of the reasons we went was to view the scenery, a lot of which was hidden by rain and low clouds.

Our daily distance number below doesn’t represent the whole story. Towards the end of the season, we spent several weeks in and around the Gulf Islands (British Columbia) where the distance between anchorages was often less than ten miles. A more accurate number for passages on our way north and while we were cruising Alaska was approximately 50 miles or more (which means we were underway 7+ hours most travel days).

Cambria motoring up Tarr Inlet in Glacier Bay National Park.

The Inside Passage runs in a northwesterly direction and the wind generally comes from that quadrant during the summer months. It is, however, light. That coupled with narrow inlets and channels means the opportunities to sail are few and far between. Over the course of seven months, we never raised our mainsail and threw out the jib for a downwind push only a handful of times: Motoring, unfortunately, is the norm.

*this number includes time for anchor up/down, oil changes, and maintenance.

Brrrrrr!!! It's cold in Alaska . . . even in July!

It’s difficult to imagine cruising in the Pacific Northwest without a heater aboard, especially in the higher latitudes. Ours is a hydronic system that’s fueled by diesel and consumes about a third of a gallon for every hour of use. The boiler is located behind our berth and wakes me up when it cycles during the night, so we only run it during daytime hours.

Our energy needs were primarily filled from three sources: alternator output, the solar panels, and a portable generator. The fourth source, shore power, came from the few nights we spent tied up in marinas.

For a closer look at David's handy-dandy graph, click on the jpeg.

As you can see from the numbers, spending a season in Alaska can be costly in terms of time, miles, and fossil fuels consumed. If we could sail there and back, I think we’d both be happy to make the trip again – we saw and did some amazing things, after all. But the chances of that happening are pretty slim, so we'll just have to content ourselves on sights a little closer to "home" this season, starting with British Columbia's Gulf Islands and see where the wind carries us after that.

Reflections on Cruising The A to Z Challenge

Z is for Zooming Ahead: What’s Next?

Saturday, April 30, 2016TheCambrians

During the month of April, we're participating in the Blogging From A to Z Challenge where every day (excluding Sundays) we'll be posting to the blog . . . alphabetically. The overall theme we've chosen to tie all the entries together is living aboard a boat and cruising – things we've learned along the way: our thoughts, reflections, and tips for those just starting out or who are interested in this lifestyle.

Cambria sailing up the coast of New Zealand (photo by Eleanor Bates).

What’s next? It’s a question we ask ourselves often and, until recently, it’s been an easy one to answer thanks to an overall plan for cruising the Inside Passage – biting one section off at a time. And now that we’ve completed our final major season in the Pacific Northwest (the one where we sailed to Southeast Alaska), we need to make some big decisions.

Do we make a run out the Strait of Juan de Fuca and turn left, making our way down the coast to

Mexico

and across the South Pacific back to

New Zealand

where we have residency? From there, we could spend six months in the summer and head north to the islands during the winter to explore

Fiji

, New Caledonia and

Vanuatu

, all places we missed the first time around. I have a strong desire to spend more time offshore and this option would fulfill that longing, but it was a choice we had available to us nine years ago and passed on (mainly because we had a dog aboard and there are strict quarantine regulations in New Zealand).

Or do we make our way through the Panama Canal, to the Caribbean, over to Bermuda, the Azores, and on to the Mediterranean? That was our thinking nine years ago when we had Cambria shipped to the Northern Hemisphere from

New Zealand

. But after spending so much time cruising in the wilderness, this plan has lost a lot of its appeal. If nothing else, the last eight years have shown us that we prefer dropping our hook in secluded anchorages where it may be several days before we see another boat, if at all. With improvements in technology, the oceans have become more accessible and a larger number of people are living on the water now which means one thing: more crowded anchorages along the sun-belt and prime cruising destinations.

If remote anchorages are what we’re looking for, there’s always the Northwest Passage and every now and then David mentions it as a possibility. It would certainly accomplish moving us east and open up a new world of cruising – Greenland and Northern Europe. There’s no doubt it would be the experience of a lifetime, but the cost involved in preparing Cambria and ourselves for such an expedition would be very high. She’s an ocean-going vessel built to Lloyd’s standards but she wasn’t constructed with high-latitude sailing in mind . . . and honestly, neither was I (not that high anyway).

We could truck Cambria to the Great Lakes and do the Great Loop and Intracoastal Waterway before crossing the Atlantic. Like harbor-hopping up the West Coast of the

(which we did in 2008), it’d be an extraordinary way to see the country. To make it a little more interesting, we could always attack the Great Loop via the Caribbean before crossing the Atlantic, taking the opportunity to see

Mexico

Guatemala

El Salvador

Costa Rica

and

Panama

as we do.

If inland waterways and touring countries from a unique perspective are what we’re looking for, then maybe it’s time to try something completely different and buy a canal boat in

England

. David’s British and still has family there so it’d be a wonderful opportunity for us to spend time with them and to see his homeland, particularly the historical sites. We had the chance to do a short trip on one when we were in

England

several years ago and fell in love with the experience. It’s easy for me to picture myself walking alongside the boat with a dog by my side as David putters slowly by. And he doesn’t have a problem seeing himself ending the day with a trip to the local pub to taste their wares.

The adventure wouldn’t have to stop there. After

England

, we could tour the canals of Europe,

France

in particular. I don’t have a “bucket list” per se, but my major area of study in university was French and for as long as I can remember I’ve dreamed of living there and the canals would be one way to accomplish that. Canal boating clearly has something to offer both of us but would mean reconnecting with the outside world on a level I’m not sure I’m comfortable with. But, more importantly, how would it compare to sailing? And would we be able to make the transition from a life where we live independently for months at a time to one where we would be connected to land on a daily basis?

These are all good questions, ones we’ve given a lot of time and consideration to. At the end of the day, the prospect of leaving this place we’ve come to know and love is daunting. After all, where else in the world can we sail deep into spectacular fjords lined with rugged mountains and hanging glaciers? Jump into our kayaks and watch bears forage along the shore? Sail amongst waterfalls? I know other places like this exist, each with its own unique cultural experience, but we’re already here and the idea of turning our backs on what we have isn’t an easy one.

So, what’s next for us?

New Zealand

? The Caribbean? The Mediterranean?

England

? It’s a difficult question and one we’re not quite ready to answer, not publicly anyway. But we do know what we’ll be doing this coming season: Tomorrow, we’ll untie our lines, slide out of our winter slip and slowly make our way north. We have no idea how far we’ll go or what anchorages we’ll visit along the way . . . that depends on the wind and which direction it decides to blow.

Thanks for following along with our first (and hopefully not last) A to Z Challenge. It’s been fun!

Note: A version of this article first appeared online at Three Sheets Northwest.

Thanks for the Memories

Saying Goodbye

What a Drag | the Realities of Cruising

Reflecting on the Water

Dreams for Sale

Alaska by the Numbers

Z is for Zooming Ahead: What’s Next?

Welcome Aboard

Follow Us on Facebook

Blog Archive

Blog Categories

Featured Post

Why Sail to Southeast Alaska? Ten Reasons You Should Go

Popular Posts

We Survived!