A Sail of Two Idiots

by Renee Petrillo

  We had prepared for Tropical Storm Erika in our usual way, with two anchors and a lot of heavy metal hanging off the anchor chain. When we brought it all up, we noticed that our 40-pound kellet had disappeared through a hole in the mesh bag that was responsible for its safekeeping. Someone would have to dive into the water and look for the kellet. But what about the shark? The hunting shark. You go—no you go—no you! Rock, paper, scissors … Michael got in the water for all of five minutes and then came back with goose bumps on his arms. He just couldn’t do it. I, of course, saw this as a challenge, so I decided to make the attempt on my own while he was at work. If I chickened out, who would know?

  I knew I’d have to swim back and forth in the area where the boat had swung during the storm, and I knew that the kellet would be too heavy for me to bring to the surface. The plan was to find the kellet, affix a rope with a floating fender, swim back to the boat, get the dinghy, motor back to the fender, and then haul the thing up (similar to what we did when the splice came apart). No problem.

  I tied the fender/rope to my wrist and took off swimming. Every time the fender bounced off my leg, I panicked, thinking it was a you-know-what, and swallowed a lot of salt water. Shadows in my peripheral vision made me jittery too. Although I didn’t see any predators, I did see three cannons from an 18th-century wreck. I also eventually found the missing metal.

  I went to free-dive to the sunken kellet and then realized that it was in over 20 feet of water; and my line for the fender/marker wasn’t long enough. Sigh. I let go of the fender (it headed for shore) and dove to grab the rope attached to the kellet, taking two very sinus-popping dives before I succeeded. Now what? I had to drag it back to the boat.

  Jacumba was probably only about 60 feet away, so I figured I could do it. I would lie on my back, tighten the rope, and then kick wildly, moving the 40-pound kellet across the sea bottom inches at a time. It then occurred to me that splashing attracts sharks, and I got myself all worked up again.

  I was determined, though, so I kept at it until I got to the bow of Jacumba and tied the kellet rope to the bridle. I climbed back on board and then hoisted the kellet from the seabed while standing on deck.

  I let the kellet sit on the trampoline like a trophy until Michael came home and noticed it. To his credit, he gave me a huge smile and a hard high five (ow!). He was so relieved that he didn’t have to jump in again.

  Our Last Boat Bottom Scrubbing!

  Although happy to be done with this three-hour chore, I would miss our marine buddies (well, not the shark). We were on our umpteenth generation of squid, so the barracuda was still lurking around. In fact, Mr. Barracuda had become so comfortable that he no longer scurried away when he saw us. In fact, he came closer … and closer … Hey! I got the jeebies when he got about a flipper’s distance away from me, so I backed away and came aboard. Maybe he was just trying to say good-bye. We were so attached to our little squid friends that once the boat sold, we moved it away from them so the new owner (a fisherman) wouldn’t kill them (squid make good bait).

  Our Last Deck Scrubbing!

  I would not miss the gnats that swarmed us at night and dropped dead in the morning, leaving a mess on the deck. Or the termites and their sacrificed wings. Or the pink Saharan dust and the Montserrat volcano ash. Or all that metal work.

  Our Last Intruder!

  One night we came aboard to find scuff marks and handprints on the sides of the boat. Nothing appeared to be missing, so at least theft wasn’t another “last.”

  Our Last Peeping Toms!

  I had been nude on the back of the boat a total of two times during our entire adventure. The first time I was standing in our doorway taking off my shrimp/lice-covered wetsuit and was just getting ready to run inside to grab a towel when I noticed tourists on the road not far away taking pictures. Wave to the tourists and smile for the cameras!

  The final time was during our last two weeks. We had just gotten back from a beach in semidarkness (there was still some light on the horizon) and were covered in sticky sand. I yanked off my bathing suit and went at all my … crevices, determined to remove all the sand, and then ran inside to put on my jammies. I hadn’t even gotten to the cabin when Michael nervously asked if I was dressed. Um, no. Well, there was a boat coming at us slowly from the shadows, so now might be a good time to throw something on. That done, I came back on deck in time to see the Coast Guard turn their lights on and get ready to board us.

  If I had wondered whether they had seen my … show, the fact that they wouldn’t look me in the eye pretty much answered that. Had I known I had an audience, I would have been a little less enthusiastic about my … administrations. Erotic it wasn’t. Sheesh.

  LESSON 103: YOU ARE NEVER ALONE Many times we would think we were anchored off an uninhabited island or beach and really sing our hearts out (loudly) only to go ashore in the morning and find hidden huts or fresh signs of campers. Oops! Sorry about that. Boats snuck out of the shadows. We’d hike to isolated places thinking we might be the first ones to have stepped foot there only to run into a huge group of people who had ATV’d up a different trail. Not only was it hard to be a pioneer, but there always seemed to be someone sharing our solitude (and we theirs). Oh well, I’d like to think we were entertaining. Others usually were.

  Our Last Boat Payment!

  This would be one heck of a payment, and we were going to have a difficult time making it. At the last minute we discovered that we couldn’t do a wire transfer of funds from our bank to the escrow agent to pay off the remainder of the loan. Our bank wouldn’t transfer more than $10,000 without us being there in person.

  Several smaller amounts wouldn’t work either. The escrow agent held an account at the same bank, but because I was transferring to a business account, it was a no-go. I’d never heard of such a thing. Our mutual fund had its own limitations. A credit card advance was too slow. I ran into snag after snag before I was finally able to get the bank that held the boat loan to do several deductions from our savings account until the loan was covered (for $200 in fees).

  LESSON 104: KNOW YOUR BANKER Before you leave home, have a face-to-face meeting with whoever holds your money, run through various situations, and learn what needs to be on file to release your funds should you need them. Are you approved to do wire transfers? For how much? To whom? Will the bank send checks? For how much? To whom? And how fast? Consider giving a general power of attorney to someone you trust, just in case.

  A final letter to the Coast Guard and that was it. Jacumba was no longer ours. We had just concluded three amazing years sailing our amateur butts up and down the Caribbean, had made some fantastic friends, learned a lot about ourselves and each other, and had found an island to call home—with job and all. Everything had gone as planned, and for less than $50,000 a year we had lived a life we couldn’t have imagined. Despite all the whining, we were going to miss that boat. Jacumba, we take back every bad thing we ever said about you! Well, most of them.

  Our Last Night of Lasts

  We enjoyed our last night on the trampoline under the stars; our last night surrounded by nothing but cliffs, listening to the sound of goats bleating; drank our last sundowner on board; ate our last barbecue while enjoying the twinkling lights onshore; and tossed our leftovers over the side one last time. No more nights rocked to sleep by the waves (or woken up by them either).

  We packed up the last of our stuff, taking just about everything except the dolphin dishes that had been on board since Jacumba’s maiden crossing (something blue for the new owners?). And, finally, we took our last dinghy ride to the dock.

  Home at last!

  45

  Where Are We Now?

  I finished this written account of our Jacumba saga a year to the day we closed on the boat, September 30, 2009, and started a new chapter in our lives.

  Do we still love St. Kitts? Yes. We like where we live and have made good friends. We still get to see our boater pals as they go up and down the ch
ain between hurricane seasons. It took a while to fit in with the islanders, but not too much time really, considering there’s a large Canadian and British population here.

  Michael is still with the same developer he started with. In addition to writing this book, I’ve done bookkeeping for a beach bar owner and started a blog about island living called www.islandbabble.blogspot.com. I run in the morning, watching the sun come up over the ocean, and pass monkeys playing in the street on my way back.

  We have two new kitties, Jack and Zura.

  We have our favorite beach bars and our favorite beaches and have settled into a comfortable routine. We have also gotten off-island to St. Martin and Puerto Rico to go shopping, drive fast while there, and remind ourselves upon our return why we chose St. Kitts (no traffic!).

  Sitting on our balcony, sundowners in hand, we watch sailboats float past. Instead of wondering what their lives are like and dreaming of our future afloat, we smile at each other, remembering the days when our roles were reversed. We are excited for them and will forever be fond of our days and nights on Jacumba (despite the hardships). Good times.

  We have so many fun stories to tell, have a great kinship with other boaters, and had such an amazing experience overall that we have no regrets. Knowing what we know now, we’d still have taken the journey, but we would have done things much smarter and would have taken more time off the boat, giving ourselves a break from all the work that came with the lifestyle. Who knows, if we had applied all our lessons and tips, we might still be out there exploring the western Caribbean.

  We’re happy for now, but we haven’t yet cured our wanderlust. Do we have a plan? Maybe the Pacific. Will it be on a boat? Never say never; we have learned our lessons, after all!

  Now It’s Your Turn

  46

  Time to Take the Plunge

  Still wanting to get out there and see what you can do? Well, do it then! No more excuses. Got kids? We’ve seen people out there with toddling twins. Too young? Too old? There’s no such thing. No money? Well, that might be a bit of problem, but we’ve seen boats not much larger than bathtubs with their captains making rice with the sun’s rays. It can be done. It just depends on how badly you want it. Alone? With someone else? Sounds good to me! Male. Female. Whichever, just know your limitations and prepare for them.

  What’s important to you? Remember, Michael and I weren’t sailors and didn’t initially want to become sailors. We’d simply sail as long as our cash would allow, visiting all the islands until we found The One, learning what we needed to learn in order to get us where we needed to go. And we did!

  There are many ways to be a boater. You may decide that a motorboat or a trawler is a better idea than a sailboat. Or you may want to be weekend sailors. Or maybe you’ll just be seasonal sailors, sticking to the same sailing grounds part of the year while staying “home” the rest. You might become a liveaboard and never leave the dock. You might move on board and travel far and wide, staying in marinas along the way or anchoring out. You might fall in love with one area or go around the world (maybe several times!). You could be out for a year or the rest of your life. You may morph from one type of a boater to another. There are a lot of options, so just take your own pulse and see which option puts your heart in “the zone.”

  If you decide after reading this that the life isn’t for you, then for the price of this book you just saved yourself a huge hassle and a lot of money. There are many other ways to find satisfaction, so don’t despair if you’ve discovered that cruising isn’t quite what you thought it was. Other adventures await you; just keep looking. Just don’t settle for an unfulfilling life. Life is too short.

  The rest of you crazy people who grinned through the whole book thinking that all these hardships and adventures are right up your alley, start planning your getaway immediately. Whether the final exit from the dock occurs next month or five years from now, you’ll be in for one heck of an experience—that I can guarantee you!

  Sailing is the realization of an adventurous spirit. And it’s a desire to experience different cultures and different ways of life simply because they’re out there. It’s about discovery—of a world unseen and your own hidden capabilities (and limitations). Just do it! Don’t be afraid to make mistakes or look dumb. Life, and boating, are more forgiving than you think.

  Remember, if we could do it, so can you. Fair winds and a following sea, everyone!

  47

  Observations and Lists

  Are you still reading?! Boy, are you a glutton for punishment! Okay then, get ready for some nuggets of Renee wisdom.

  General Thoughts

  Why do people choose this lifestyle?

  Because some of us don’t know any better! If a woman knew how painful childbirth would be, would she have kids? If she then forgot how painful childbirth was, would she have more kids?

  Because some of us aren’t cut out for the lifestyle of a practical job, two kids, a house, two cars, and a dog. Or we’ve had those already. We’re lucky to be from a first-world country where we’re actually bored by those things and need something else to make us feel alive and challenged.

  Because there is no other way to see so many countries and mingle with the locals while still being surrounded by your own stuff and by other folks like yourself (even if they’re from different countries, they’re boaters, and that makes them one of you).

  Because you discover that no matter how bad you thought you had it in the States, people elsewhere probably have it worse and yet seem to be happier. There’s a lesson in there.

  Because even though it’s harder and harder to find a “secret” or private spot to drop anchor in order to sing karaoke and sit naked on the trampoline, those places still exist, and it’s paradise when you find them.

  Because if you want to live “on the water,” living on a boat means you’re usually away from mosquitoes, no-see-ums, and flies. There’s usually a breeze. If you own your boat, this is the cheapest “real estate” you could have (maintenance will take a nice chunk of your pension money, though).

  Because if you “live” near a loud bar or a bad area, you can move the next day.

  Because it’s the only setup where you can be unemployed, spend half your time reading, quit shaving, and run around in soiled/ripped clothing and nobody thinks you’re lazy and pathetic.

  Because with so much waste going on in the world, it’s nice to leave a smaller footprint.

  Because it’s the only place you can walk around in various states of undress in front of a whole bunch of other people without being arrested for indecent exposure.

  Because diving, kayaking, and snorkeling in crystal clear waters teeming with life are different from doing the same thing on a day trip out of the city or on a weekend vacation from your stressful career.

  Because there’s nothing like lying on the trampoline and naming cloud formations, or finding star constellations, or counting shooting stars. It’s also fun to rinse your dishes in water full of little glittering bioluminescent beings.

  Because when people come to visit, you can take them to several exotic locations and they have to unpack only once. A bonus is that you can put up your sails and impress everyone even if you’re doing it all wrong.

  Because no two days are the same. You can’t predict anything (other than that you will be fixing something).

  Because you find out what you’re made of. You realize that your survival genes are in perfect working order and you are humbled by the fact that you are just a tiny speck in a big ocean.

  Because you’re not working for someone else who’s probably pursuing this lifestyle him/herself using your sweat and blood to get there. It’s nice to take a break from rush hour, crowded malls, home repairs (ha!), and the humdrum routines we create. It’s also nice to come back to some of those things (which is why I suggest having both a house and a boat, alternating to keep both experiences fresh).

  Because it’s refreshing to discover that people
still care about one another and you can call for help at any time and half the harbor will assist you before you can finish saying Mayday. Many boaters are entertaining to hang out with, particularly if you share their need for novelty.

  Because you learn to be self-sufficient, which builds confidence. You listen to that inner voice and discover that it was smarter than you gave it credit for.

  Because no matter how bad you tell people it is out here, you’ll always be considered a maverick, even if you drop anchor and never move again. If everyone is starting to look the same in your world (same nose job, same boobs, same color hair, and same house, and wants the same things), it’s nice to stand out.

  Because sometimes all the conditions (winds, waves) are just right, and you have the perfect sail, and you feel as though you belong out there.

  Just like raising kids, this lifestyle is an amazing, indescribable experience mixed with shockingly painful moments. Were the good moments worth it? How can you say no? But even many parents with the “best” kids still do a little jig when the last one leaves home and their lives become their own. We were at that point too. We willingly sacrificed a lot for the boat and the life that came with it. And even though we did it to be “free,” the adventure redefined that term for us. That in itself made it worth it.

  Tips

  Ah, where to begin. This whole book has been a tip, hasn’t it? Well, let’s just summarize then.