I had this map (below) as a kid and was transfixed by it when I poured over it. I’m sure I got it at a gift store in the Outer Banks of North Carolina one summer holiday. For those who don’t know, the Outer Banks are a long, very low-lying chain of barrier islands, with uncharted, shifting sandbanks offshore and occasionally fearsome weather (there’s a storm in maritime lore known as a “Cape Hatteras snorter” - what meteorologists might nowadays terms a “ weather bomb” (whic

Earlier this spring when we were getting close to launching this adventure, our initial idea was to make our way up the Salish Sea into Johnston Strait, up the Inside Passage, and then sail across to the beautiful lands of the Haida. This would allow us to test systems and have a short overnight passage across Dixon Entrance. It would also bring us to a place I have been lucky enough to visit a few times by plane; but this time would meet the people, waters and lands much m

Leaving is hard. Let me explain. We left our house in the care of fine people at the start of July Then we left the slip (for you land people, that’s a term for “boat parking place” in a marina). Only to then go to the government dock just outside the marina (covered in a post above about, well, leaving). Then we went to a dock in downtown Vancouver (to see Lou and buy some boat stuff - the start of a trend as you’ll soon see, and the trend of seeing and saying goodbye for

When I opened the hatch to step out into the cockpit for my midnight to four am watch, I felt for a bit the romance of the sea. Sputnik was sailing smoothly in the ocean swell on a starboard tack in about 12 knots of wind. Jud had the tiller secured and the windvane was steering the boat. It was dark with the glow of the chartplotter and most wonderfully the sky was bright with a canopy of brilliant stars. I had forgotten what they looked like, even though we live on an islan

At Sheringham Point in Juan de Fuca Strait (between British Columbia, Canada, and Washington state, USA) in thick fog/near zero visibility. Chilly and damp. Update. At Sheringham Point in Juan de Fuca Strait (between British Columbia, Canada, and Washington state) in thick fog/near zero visibility. Cold and damp. Kidding. We’re still about three miles distant from the point. 😂 But you’d never know it…so, thank you 20th c. navigation tech (radar). (As an aside, did you kn

When you are married to a sailor, you start to accumulate innumerable boat parts, many of which you don’t know the name of, nor even the use. We have built shacks and sheds to hold these precious items if they are not yet on the boat. We have a particularly interesting collection of anchors. I have no idea why so many- some for dinghies and larger boats, some perhaps intended for Sputnik for use during a big blow in a small anchorage. Not sure, but here one sits as a front po

I remember when I drove one of those big wapko trucks in a coal mine in Tumbler Ridge as one of my summer jobs while going to university. I was not built for those trucks so I sat on a large phone book in order to be high enough to see over the steering wheel. When I stood by the truck wheel I barely reached the midpoint - the trucks were that big. The job was pretty monotonous - driving the truck to a shovel to be loaded with coal or waste and then driving it to an area to

I have got to slow down more, I am thinking to myself as I am yet again running for a ferry. Rushing and trying to fit in all the things seemed to be a key feature of my regular work life and here not even two weeks out, the pattern continues to exist. Will we get through the long list of tasks before we set out? Who knows? Likely not. We will have to prioritize and let things go, put attention where it needs. What I want in this new stage is to allow myself to change rhythm

The view looking aft (toward back of the boat) from the galley. Yes, that’s our toilet seat lid. And some jumper cables (handy for various things), an autopilot control box, a steel tube for operating a windlass (winch for raising/lowering an anchor and its chain), a drill, even a very heavy lead diver’s weight belt: things not normally foind in proximity to a kitchen (“galley”, on a boat). There’s a reason for this chaos: almost nowhere else to store stuff temporarily whil

Well, it’s Easter morning, and who should pay a surprise visit during an unexpected (but planned) hydrocarbon transfer operation, but His Honour, The Easter Bunny. “What,” you ask, “is a hydrocarbon transfer operation?” Why, sucking all the many, many litres of toxic diesel fuel in your boat’s giant fuel tank into large barrels, spilling some of the stinky, oily fuel in the process, cleaning out the fuel tank, and then returning the fuel to your tank - all to ensure trouble-

It seems as if we have been preparing for this adventure forever. The one where you untie the lines and sail off into the sunset. The one that we have been thinking about for almost 30 years, ever since Sputnik came into our possession. The one where the seemingly endless replacing, repairing, sanding and scraping is finally good enough and we can untie the lines. We are not there yet. Not quite. Although Jud left his employ in December and has been working full time on