Josh, shut off the water!” my wife, Heidi, yelled up to me from the galley.

Huh? What water? I thought as I wheeled around and caught a horrific view of the problem. Our 1-year-old had hopped off his potty in the cockpit and was hosing down the entire brunch buffet, spraying a little additional pee on his mother through the companionway. I grabbed him as quickly as I could and directed the stream overboard, but the damage was done. Were we really going to make a go of the cruising life with gremlins aboard?

A little over a decade ago, Heidi and I set out on a grand sailing adventure. We were newlyweds, and invincible 20-somethings, so the idea of taking a few years to sail the fabled waters of the South Pacific from Hawaii to Australia aboard Tiny Bubbles, an engineless 24-foot sailboat, seemed fairly reasonable. We would follow the trades and frolic in the crystal-clear waters off Kiribati, Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, Vanuatu and other specks on the chart.

People’s reactions ranged from “OK, you two are nuts” to “Yep, get it out of your system while you’re young and kid-free.”

We both survived, and three years later, in Australia, we realized that Heidi was not feeding the fishies because she was seasick. No, she was feeding the fishies because “kid-free” was about to change.

Fast-forward a couple of years, and a couple of kids, to a mostly land-based existence, hunkered down on an island off the coast of Maine. All was well, albeit a bit chilly, but a sailing itch had returned, and my wife and I decided it was time to raise sail again and introduce our brood to the dream. We purchased a cutter-rigged Shannon 28 to serve as our summer digs. Tiny Bubbles II had all the bells and whistles our previous boat lacked, namely an engine, a head and a galley.

My wife’s wish was for our two boys (Kai, 4, and Cove, 1) to have a comfortable, well-nourished introduction to sailing, the likes of which we had never known. We went to Whole Foods and provisioned with the goal of utter decadence. There was creamed honey; lox with bagels and cream cheese; melons; exotic fruits and their juices; and other expensive tidbits to tickle the taste buds.

We moved aboard Tiny Bubbles II and promptly set sail for Monhegan, the quintessential Maine island. Arriving just before dark, after a smooth sail, the restless crew was eager to get some shore leave, but we tucked them in with promises of sand castles, pointy sticks, other little people and treats in the morning.

We all awoke early to get our perfect day started. Heidi busied herself in the galley, slicing the melon, toasting the bagels and lining the cockpit with a breakfast buffet to remember, while I read books to our 1-year-old as he sat on his potty on the cockpit sole. After finishing a book, I turned for a moment to put a couple of items into the dinghy, and that’s when our brunch buffet became a urinal.

“Aaaaaargghhhh, here!” I grunted, handing Cove down the companionway hatch to Heidi so I could attempt a salvage job.

Bagels? Terminal. … Creamed honey? I’ll try to pour the pee out of the jar. Can I just rinse the melon in some fresh water, Heidi?

At about that moment, our 4-year-old yelled up to us, “Uh, Cove’s doing something naughty!” We both peered down and saw the brown trail of footprints leading across all of our bedding — starting at a stinky pile on Kai’s berth and ending at the laughing 1-year-old standing on our berth.

Sailing presents certain challenges, and laundry is one. Our perfect day was transformed in seconds into a grueling ordeal consisting of bagging up all the bedding, ferrying it to land and lugging it to the laundry dungeon.

This reality was, well, parent­hood. We decided not to throw in the towel, and after five summers of cruising Maine’s waters, we’re ready to go full-time cruising again. Did I mention we have three sons now? And Zev, our third son, is ready to potty train.

The Holloway family is currently cruising the U.S. East Coast. Follow along at www.adventureswithboy123.blogspot.com.

The post Setting Sail with Kids appeared first on Cruising World.

After a couple of months cruising in the Caribbean, I watched no fewer than three laptops bite the dust. The experience served as a prescient reminder that personal electronics are not designed for the rigors of sailing life. Laptops, tablets and smartphones take a beating in the marine environment.

Whether we use them for navigation or Netflix, the creeping convenience of these devices has forever changed our lives afloat. This makes it all the more important to ensure they’re in good working order. While ideally we’d all exclusively rely on marinised electronics, most sailors bring their nonmarinised landlubbing gadgets aboard, often because they cost less or simply for convenience. Fortunately, there are several inexpensive ways to prolong their life, from storing devices with silica gel packs to applying anti-corrosion sprays. With a bit of time invested and a trip to the hardware store, you’ll be well on your way to protecting your favorite electronics aboard.

Why Do Electronics Break Down on Boats?

Splashes and Submersion
In principal, pure H2O won’t harm electronics; it’s the impurities in water that do the damage. When certain polarized minerals are present, water acts as a conductor. So when your cellphone goes for a swim, the water bridges various ­circuits and fries the device.

Humidity and Corrosion
Even if you’ve never splashed or submerged your ship’s computer, chances are it’s dying a slower, more-insidious saltwater-­related death. Salt water in the air finds its way into the device, corroding the protective seal and eventually the electrical connections. This can result in glitchy equipment with the potential to short out and produce a fire. This corrosion occurs regardless of whether the device is powered on or off at the time.

Bashes and Bumps
It’s a hard-knock life for ­electronic devices aboard (e.g., flying off a shelf, crushed in a locker, or dropped 7 feet into the dinghy), and generally manufacturers do not design them to withstand the abuse (particularly devices with ­moving components like ­spinning disk drives).

Tips for Protecting Your Electronic Devices

Now that we know what we’re up against, let’s look at several ways to combat splashes, bashes, salt and humidity.

Bag it: Your first line of defense is to cover, pad and, ideally, seal electronics. Sealable bags and containers are a great way to keep moisture out when storing electronics on the boat. For transporting devices in the dinghy, a dry bag is a must. You can easily line your dry bag with camp foam for added bump protection when carting around your laptop or electronics with delicate moving parts.

Foam is your friend: Keep a supply of foam on board for stowing and protecting devices. We chopped up the sleeves and legs of an old neoprene wetsuit and furnished ourselves with excellent protective foam tubes for an array of devices (not to mention a couple of beer koozies).

Put a plug in it: USB, FireWire, and other ports on your devices make it easy for water and particulates to get inside your electronics. You can either buy port plugs (amazon.com is a good place to start) or try making your own with two-part custom earplug putty (use a little mineral oil to prevent sticking).

It’s all in the wrist: So many innocent devices could have been spared misfortune with the proper application of a wrist strap. If your device didn’t come with a wrist strap, grab some string and add one.

Quick Tip: If you’re purchasing a new laptop to use primarily on your boat, consider upgrading to a solid-state drive, which can withstand shocks and vibration better than mechanical drives.

Zip ties: This tip comes from a submariner who noticed that onboard cables (e.g., USB, phone chargers, etc.) would break down where the wire meets the terminus, resulting in cracked protective coating and frayed wires. Create a 2-inch loop at each end of your cable and zip-tie this loop in place so that any shock in the cable is absorbed 2 inches down the wire, where it’s less susceptible.

Dry with desiccants: Put a couple of silica gel desiccant packs (the little bags you find in packing boxes) in your sealed electronics cases. The pack will absorb moisture in the air, thereby limiting corrosion in your device. Ask your local sports outfitter for their leftover desiccant packs from shipping, and they’ll often give you a whole bag for free. You can also rejuvenate packs by warming them in the oven.

Spray on a corrosion inhibitor: There are several corrosion-inhibiting sprays on the market that can be applied to your device circuit boards to help prevent corrosion and reduce the potential for short circuits (e.g., CorrosionX, TurboCoat, Boeshield T-9). They work by creating an insulating film that displaces water by either having a lower surface tension than water or through a process known as polar bonding. If you are considering this approach, contact the equipment’s manufacturer first to check for recommendations and to see if this will void any warranties.

Ruggedizing your ­electronics for the marine environment will not only save you money, but it will also increase your peace of mind. You can then get back to enjoying your favorite ­gadgets on the water and know that they’re protected.

In 2015 Fiona McGlynn and her partner, Robin, left Vancouver in their Dufour 35, MonArk, and are sailing to the South Pacific.

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After a day on the water, nothing beats relaxing down below, whether for a meal, drinks with friends, or cozying up with a good book in your bunk. To this end, you want warmth and good ventilation, well-placed lighting, and perhaps a high-quality set of speakers for tunes during sundowners.

Climate Control

What you need to stay comfortable aboard depends on your planned destinations, the size of your boat, and your cruising style. Looking to venture to higher latitudes? You will want a robust cabin heater, such as a hydronic system from Webasto, which can heat the entire boat and your hot-water tank too. If you’re staying in more temperate areas, a bulkhead-mounted unit like those offered by Sig or Dickinson may suit your needs. And for tropical cruising, particularly if you’re planning to spend some time in marinas (or have a robust genset), an air-­conditioning unit will be ­welcome on humid nights.

Lighting

Decent lighting can completely change the atmosphere aboard. Modern LED lights, such as those from Imtra and Hella, are much more energy-efficient than their incandescent or halogen counter­parts and come in a range of colors. With a dimmer switch installed, it’s easy to go from light that’s bright enough to work and read by to a warm glow during dinner. White LED lights are rated by the “temperature” of the color in degrees Kelvin. Choose from the warmer end (around 2800K) for interior lights and cooler tones (6400K) for exterior lights.

Ventilation

No one likes a stuffy boat. Airflow is key not only for ­comfort in the cabin, but ­also for keeping mold and that dreaded “boat smell” at bay. To get air, your boat needs ­adequate hatches and opening ports, dorades or solar vents, and several fans throughout the cabins, heads and saloon.

Music

Long gone are the days when you needed to keep a CD collection aboard to have tunes while hosting friends. Between stored digital music files, satellite radio and online streaming services, an onboard music collection can be almost limitless. You can keep it simple with one of the many portable Bluetooth speakers that are available, or you can install a complete system. With a “black-box” unit from Simrad called the ­SonicHub, all controls are handled on a compatible display, so you can even do away with a traditional stereo face.

The Fusion StereoActive is a cool portable Bluetooth ­speaker that is made for the life ­aquatic. Not only is it water-resistant to IPX7 standards, but it also floats, has premium sound, and can be securely attached in your cockpit, on the dinghy or even on a paddleboard. There is a secure space for a flash drive to play digital music files, or you can pair a device and stream music. Don’t want to stream tunes? The ­Stereo­Active also has an AM/FM and marine weather receiver.

The post Quick Tips for Easy Living appeared first on Cruising World.

Magnifying glass

A good-quality magnifying glass with an LED light is often overlooked. Use one to inspect ­metal for hairline cracks or simply to see better when you are working on small objects.

Pocket Multitool

A good multitool such as the Leatherman Wave is indispensable. Always close at hand, it can be used for opening shackles, slicing line, filing corrosion and oh so much more.

7-inch polisher with polishing kit

If your hull needs a polish and wax, a good polisher does a better and quicker job than rubbing with rags.

Magnetic LED light

Many spaces in a boat are dark. A bright LED light is a must-have in many situations — preferably one with a red option and a strong magnet. In engine-room spaces, the light often can be placed on the motor to keep both hands free for working. The magnet can also fish out the nut or wrench that just fell out of reach.

Oscillating Electric Multitool

With a variety of blades and sanding pads, a tool such as the Fein MultiMaster can make small, clean cuts and sand in tight corners.

Retrieval claw

Things fall into inaccessible ­spaces on boats all the time. A quality magnetic-retrieval claw with a light can save the day.

The post Must-Have Tools appeared first on Cruising World.

One of the French words for “memory” is souvenir — and my wife, Carolyn, and I have collected plenty of both in the 47 years we’ve cruised together. One of our major sources of joy while sailing around and around the planet is collecting small bits of art and oddities, mostly at the affordable $5 to $20 level. In one sense, this makes us floating art collectors; in another, it allows us to visually manifest our cruising adventures in the coolest, most stylish manner possible.

Obviously, display space is limited on a boat. Weight is a factor. And, of course, our cruising funds are precious. Nonetheless, these international artifact hunts ashore are great fun, and the interior of Ganesh is breathtakingly unique.

Here’s how we do it: We find cheap or free stuff ashore that wows us, lug it back to the boat, and nail it to a bulkhead. Simple, eh?

Or, I should say, that’s how we did it on Wild Card, the $3,000 Hughes 38 that we circumnavigated aboard twice.

“Wait!” a visiting guest protested as I was about to tack another tiki figurine onto the main bulkhead. “You can’t! It’s a boat, not a curio shop!”

“You’re wrong.” I smiled. “Wild Card is much more than a boat. It’s our home, and just as much of a reflection of its inhabitants as any dirt dwelling ashore. Why not House Beautiful Afloat, Fatty-style? We like being surrounded by beautiful things. Our whole lives are spent aboard. We’re not camping, for heaven’s sake!”

“But,” the guy blubbered, holding up his hand in the universal halt gesture, “it will hurt your vessel’s resale value!”

I slapped my forehead in disbelief. What kind of a bean-counter did he take me for?

“I’ve never admired a yacht interior that looked as impersonal as a hotel room,” I said as I forcefully drove the bronze nail into the varnished mahogany bulkhead. “Besides, Carolyn and I want our home to be a reflection of our lifestyle: totally nuts and utterly bizarre!”

We had no master plan on Wild Card. Everything — each item, its attachment and its location — was random. The end result was, to our eye at least, beautiful, with 20-some years of world cruising displayed harmoniously on a boat that cost less than the stereo in my ­daughter’s car.

However, we’ve gone about the recent interior decoration of the new-to-us Ganesh, our 43-foot French ketch, in a slightly different manner, because 1) we were starting fresh, and 2) the sloppy plywood work on Wild Card cried out for distraction, while the stunning custom teak ­joinery of our Amphitrite 43 does not.

Plus there was the matter of continuity. We had a new boat, but we were still the same people. So we wanted Ganesh to look the same and yet be totally different.

Another key to our design philosophy has been that each item has to have its own tale. I’m a story guy. Words are at the core of who I am. Thus, something has to be visually beautiful and have its own unique account of geo-acquisition to earn a spot aboard Ganesh.

Splendid watercolors of Anguilla’s native sailing craft worked extremely well on Wild Card. Ours featured the famed Eagle and its West Indian builder, Egbert Connor. I’d raced aboard these exciting traditional boats and had visited Egbert’s modest boat shed for what it was: a shrine to Caribbean maritime history. Plus, they were cool paintings by the French watercolorist Ms. Curt. They instantly instilled tranquility. And as an added bonus, they perfectly illustrated the beauty of our Caribbean home to our many shipboard visitors around the world.

For Ganesh we considered another painting by the same French artist, but really wanted a watercolor from Caribbean artist Antoine Chapon (yes, French again). Sadly, we couldn’t afford one.

Then, one day soon after buying Ganesh, I happened to stumble upon Monsieur Chapon strolling down the streets of Marigot in French St. Martin. I’d admired his work for over a decade, and thus approached cautiously. Suddenly he whirled and cried, “Fatty Goodlander, at last!”

Soon we were in his studio, tossing drawings right and left, searching for the perfect image. We found it: a wide watercolor of an Anguilla sloop named Alma. With some judicious framing, we engineered it to fit our bulkhead space perfectly. Just to gild the lily, I added a (nearly) hidden low-light 12-volt spotlight for night illumination, so the painting glows at dusk.

Now, dozens of times a day, I glance at this anchor of our interior design and think of our Caribbean home isle of St. John, West Indian racing, Caribbean maritime history, the Lesser Antilles, international art, and our new friend Antoine Chapon. Everything displayed aboard Ganesh stirs up a similar number of memories.

Since we are always traveling, our shipboard visitors are interested in our Caribbean home and our adventures, so a 12-volt illuminated globe is the second focal point of our main cabin.

We can afford to buy more art than we end up displaying, since we are paying such small amounts for our acquisitions (small to us — often not so small to the artist), so we also give away almost as much art as we buy. This is a win-win-win — for the artist, for the honored recipient of the unique gift, and for us.

We love kids and often have them aboard. I have dozens of tall tales that go along with each tiki figurine to tell children (ages 6 to 60) about our sailing adventures. These vary according to the culture, sophistication and age of our visitors. (And yes, we have “modesty dresses” we put on certain of the ruder carvings when we have young visitors.)

Of course, on a boat, everything has to do double duty — even the artifacts on display. Thus my father’s World War II sextant resides on a bulkhead, not in its box. I still occasionally shoot a noon sight just to keep my skills up in the ­celestial game. Some items are more trouble than others. My displayed collection of opium pipes really interests U.S. Coast Guard boarding parties and their canine sailors. Since I play guitar, often on the beach at sailor jams, I have a collection of portable percussion instruments aboard. These are usually a struggle to clear into New Zealand. (“You’re attempting to smuggle in Mexican seeds in those maracas,” one overly strict customs official in Whangarei observed.)

Are there carved collectibles to avoid? Sure. Anything with rope or fabric is hard to clean, soon looks dirty, and eventually rots. Check carefully for termites. Obviously, pictures have to be framed well, as water-resistant as possible, and hung securely in a dry spot. (While we’d prefer glass, we opt for plastic in the name of offshore safety.)

Our grandkids love our larger figurines and carvings in particular. Many of our artifacts have crazy outfits Carolyn has sewn for them, and loony hats too. These provide an endless source of entertainment. Freaky Tiki, for example, hates it when the boat heels and his hat falls off. Six-year-old Sokú Orion immediately screams, “Freaky Tiki lost his hat!” at the top of her lungs, and then she and her sister, Tessa Maria, dash into our aft cabin to replace it.

Here’s the bottom line: Everything about our cruising lifestyle is a reflection of Carolyn and I, and our vessel most of all. I have zero use for fashion, but I’m totally enthralled with style regardless of the medium of artistic expression. Just because I’ve lived aboard for 57 years doesn’t mean I treasure my art collection any less than Andrew Mellon’s descendants (who happen to be wealthy enough to use the National Gallery as a well-lit high-security storage area). We have less space, true, but we luxuriate in our eclectic collection just as much.

Our payoff is simple: the glowing faces of our shipboard guests. “Everywhere you look, there’s something amazing to see,” one told us recently.

“Just like the whole world,” I replied.

The Goodlanders are sailing the coast of South Africa, keeping their eyes peeled for souvenirs special enough to decorate Ganesh.

The post The Art of Living Aboard appeared first on Cruising World.

While simply nailing or screwing objects into place works, this crude method scars the boat and makes revarnishing difficult. Thus we’ve developed a number of different methods of artifact attachment over the years. My favorite features tiny brads or small brass finishing nails.

First, we clip off the heads and pre-drill tiny holes to the correct depth in the wooden artifact to accept those ends. Only slight tapping with a small hammer is required. Then we place the item on the bulkhead exactly where we want it, and gently press to mark where to again pre-drill. Done right, these items 1) easily pull off the bulkhead, 2) never fall off, and 3) are easily mounted or remounted, perhaps with a dab of white glue on the brads. The tiny microholes in the bulkheads can ultimately be varnished over to become nearly invisible. We also use string and thread in creative ways, along with double-sided tape and clear silicone sealant.

We’ve never found anything worth displaying that we couldn’t artfully attach — even our famous (and much-admired) Tongan war club.

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Boat Party

The evening is abuzz with talk of favorite anchorages, the next passage. As Kyle Hopkins and I organize the food, we have time to chat. She and her husband, Doug, arrived in New Zealand’s Bay of Islands after spending two years sailing their 32-foot cutter, Astrala, from Connecticut via Pitcairn Island with two youngsters on board.

“I never guessed how social our lives would be when we set off cruising,” Kyle comments. “First new anchorage we sailed into, folks rowed by. I invited them on board, then realized we didn’t have spare coffee mugs to offer them.” From etiquette to expectations, entertaining afloat was an unexpected part of Kyle’s cruising education.

As Kyle found out, work and community commitments no longer dictate how you spend each hour of your day when cruising. This leads to the opportunity and need to entertain far more than many people expect. But ask returned voyagers what they miss, and the vast majority will say “the easygoing social life.”

Easygoing is the word to remember. Entertaining afloat does not have the same constraints or expectations that often leave shore-based hosts exhausted. On the other hand, the casualness of this new lifestyle may hide potential pitfalls for unwary hosts.

Socializing afloat tends to break down into five categories: 1) row-by, come aboards; 2) casual, just happened because someone came by to trade books; 3) planned invites for fellow cruisers; 4) planned invites for folks from shore; and 5) potlucks.

The quiet of morning lures you out into your cockpit. Someone rows by and says, “I like your boat.” A conversation ensues and you learn that cruising social life can be like a throwback to those days when folks used to sit on the front porch and greet neighbors as they walked by. Refreshments for these row-bys are simple: an offer of whatever it is you’re having — coffee, a cookie or a piece of toast.

When folks come to trade charts or ask how to fix something, I like to offer a drink. Because many folks do not feel comfortable refusing alcoholic beverages, I offer coffee, tea or fruit juice, along with wine or beer. Since these get-togethers usually have been planned, I often set out popcorn or any small nibble that lets me avoid the appearance of having spent a lot of time prepping for what is intended to be an easygoing, relaxed situation. This is important, as just like ashore, cruisers can feel the pressures of “keeping up with the Joneses.”

In each situation, it’s also important to remember that onshore, homes have separate kitchens, so one partner can easily entertain a friend while the other continues with his/her project of the moment. Afloat, this is usually not the case. It definitely pays to find ways to help both partners enjoy visitors on board. “Mary loves this full-on social stuff, but my privacy is out the window as soon as we get to port,” is one complaint we’ve heard. “John loves it all; I get all the work while he sits and pontificates,” is another.

Over the years, Larry and I have set up some protocols to help keep the balance. Situation: Larry is in the cockpit reading, while I’m below writing. Someone from another boat rows by and they chat for a while, and then Larry says, “Hold on while I see if Lin is decent.” He pokes his head into the boat and I have a chance to say quietly, “Invite him on board.” Or, “Not right now — invite him for later.”

Once on board, it’s the responsibility of whoever did the inviting to get the coffee or drinks. Since I do the majority of provisioning and cooking, we decided long ago that any spur-of-the-moment invitations to join us for a meal are my decision. We have a prearranged signal system that lets me know if Larry would like visitors to stay for a meal. It’s then up to me to invite them or to suggest another time to share a meal with us.

We also have prearranged time-to-end-the-gathering signals. One of these is to ask our guest to sign the guestbook. British sailors recognize this as a farewell timer. But for others, it is up to the inviter to find an opportune moment to say, “Let’s adjourn to your boat or ashore so Lin can finish her project.”

Entertaining fellow cruisers with a meal can be easy. They understand the challenges of life afloat. If cooking problems make me want to delay a gathering, I feel comfortable asking Larry to row over and tell the invitees to arrive an hour later than originally planned.

There are other tricks to make an evening like this flow well. Never tell anyone what you plan to serve. If you aren’t locked into a set menu, a scorched pan of rice can be tossed and potatoes substituted without your feeling like a failure. Above all, keep your menus simple. This is not a game of impress-the-boss — it’s an excuse to have some laughs and be with people of like mind. Have nibbles ready before your guests arrive, but only put out half at first. If there are two or three different starter items, bring them out one at a time. This lets you extend or shorten the time spent waiting for your dinner to be ready. An important rule of etiquette is, please, don’t leave your SSB radio or VHF on and expect guests to converse over the noise.

One of the nicest ways to thank folks you meet onshore is by inviting them onboard for a meal. Through the years we’ve entertained people as divergent as shark fishermen in Mexico and the oil-baron owner of a 2,400-acre estate in the south of England. Almost every invitee reacts the same way when they come aboard.

They shower us with questions, have a few awkward minutes figuring out how to climb below, then turn from near-strangers to “amigos” in an amazingly short time. For these folks, I always try to make a simple meal that they can identify as North American. A choice that has proven universally successful is hamburgers. I bake hamburger-style rolls using my standard bread recipe, then I put out a platter with slices of tomato, lettuce, cheeses, pickles and onions, plus condiments such as pickle relish, mustard and ketchup. With or without potatoes, salad or side dishes, this always makes a hit.

Shore-based guests may be unfamiliar with the customs of life afloat, and also with getting into and out of the dinghy you used to ferry them from shore. When dinner is over, I say something such as “Be sure to let us know as soon as you feel like going ashore. We’ll row you there any time you wish.” If we feel the wind rising, we have sometimes suggested going ashore to a local café for dessert rather than risk staying until the ride ashore could be potentially scary for people who may already find it a major adventure to cross the bay in an 8-foot dinghy.

Most people you invite for meals will offer to bring something in order to share the cooking load. Unless you have a very specific menu planned, accept the offer, then tell your guests candidly what you would like them to bring. Why not share the load and thus make entertaining — financially and workwise — easier for everyone? As several New Zealand sailors told us when we first arrived here, “Of course, we always potluck. That way, we can afford to have more parties!”

Through the years, dozens of onshore potlucks created some of the most specialmemories of our wandering life. We shared a catch of fresh salmon with 80 Canadian sailors after watching the full moon rise near Desolation Sound; we savored a bushel basket full of oysters and mussels with local fishermen on the banks of the Ría de Arosa in northwestern Spain. But since customs differ, we’ve learned to ask if those hosting the potluck are providing plates and cutlery. We also check to see if we are expected to bring our own meat as well as a side dish (as is the case at many New Zealand potluck gatherings). A good rule of thumb is to make enough of your chosen dish to feed about eight people. If you have some very special recipe that always has guests looking for seconds, it’s appropriate to double the quantity. Add some kind of meat or fish to any salad that you take, thus letting it double as a main course. (The usual shortfall at potlucks is with meat or fish dishes.) If you plan a potluck ashore in an anchorage shared by half a dozen yachts, be sure to extend an invitation to every crew. That way, your party will not disturb anyone — nor will anyone feel left out. Invite everyone to bring along any musical instrument they may have on board. Many special memories come from singing along while someone strums a battered guitar and finding that people worldwide seem to know the words to “Bobby McGee.”

A difficult problem can occur when the weather starts to deteriorate as you’re sharing a meal ashore or afloat. Unfortunately, the security of your boat must always come first. We were anchored in Port Eden, just north of Australia’s infamous Bass Straits and a perfect place to shelter from strong northerly wind, when we met an interesting couple onshore. Larry invited them to join us for breakfast the next day. By morning the wind had shifted to the south. Before he rowed ashore, Larry had said, “I’ll row them out, we’ll have a nice breakfast, then we can move to a safer place after they leave.” Unfortunately, the wind kept rising. Our guests were completely unconcerned as the boat began to buck a bit. By the time we felt it was gracious to take them ashore, Larry had a hard time rowing back to the boat. By the time we got the anchor chain straight up and down, the swell was up to four feet. The jerking on the anchor rode before it broke free was enough to bend the anchor shackle. The bent shackle shook our trust in the chain, which led to the expense of not only replacing the shackle but also having the whole chain tested in Tasmania. It would’ve been far wiser and less costly to be candid with our guests by apologizing and canceling the breakfast invite.

Even with the open schedules of cruising, each of us has times when reality strikes. You need time to do maintenance jobs or handle outside commitments, or one of you just wants some downtime. You’ll have to learn that it is fine just to say no. A few years ago we planned a rendezvous with Evans Starzinger and Beth Leonard in a quiet anchorage in the Canadian Gulf Islands. Their 47-footer, Hawk, was at anchor when we sailed in. Evans came out in his dinghy to greet us. “Beth is really seriously into her project,” Evans told us. “I suggest we don’t disturb her until 1600, then she’ll feel good about her day.” I was very impressed with his desire to make us feel welcome, and at the same time to encourage Beth. Our slow-paced rendezvous was full of laughter, good food and time for all of us to get our own projects done too.

Like all of the best things in life, entertaining afloat takes some discipline, some planning and a sense of adventure. But, as Kyle Hopkins and the band of cruisers who danced that evening away reminded us, it’s one of the greatest pleasures of cruising.

With her husband, Larry, Lin Pardey has sailed over 180,000 nautical miles and circled the planet twice on engineless boats the couple built themselves. They are the authors of nearly a dozen books, including The Care and Feeding of Sailing Crew, 4th edition, from which this article is excerpted. This article appeared in the June 2014 issue of Cruising World.

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Go back in time with me for a few paragraphs. The year is 2006. I am pregnant with Elias and reading every speck of information I can find about sailing with infants. Unfortunately there is hardly anything written on the subject, and yet I am certain others have gone before us because I have read articles by the Martins and the Poncets. But their stories are about travel and adventure and they don’t address the daily grind of sailing with babies. But this was exactly what I was looking for: I wanted to know how to wash cloth diapers at sea and I needed an answer to the question that everyone seemed to be asking us, “But what if your baby gets sea sick?”.

And then I found a small paragraph in the sidelines of an old sailing magazine in which a very salty mother said that children younger than age 2 don’t get seasick. At least that is my memory – very possible that I am a bit fuzzy on it, as I was in my third trimester. So, right or not, I held on to that ‘fact’ during the nights that worry kept me awake. Again and again, I returned to the idea that babies under age 2 cannot and do not get seasick. I loved that idea – it fit with our life plan to sell the house, quit the jobs, and start sailing. And Elias, bless him, lived up to that ideal in every storm and rough weather passage all the way from Alaska to Australia – turning two in Tonga and still not being sea sick. He earned the name, ‘Little Salty’, and to this day he has stronger sea legs than any of the Galactic crew. Lucky boy.

Eric. Well, Eric kind of broke the mold. If Elias had reacted to sailing the way Eric did, then I am fairly certain we’d have stopped sailing. Eric vomited every time the wind was forward of the beam, regardless of wind strength. It was a huge worry when we were sailing along the CA coast south to San Diego with our newly acquired Galactic. What would happen when we sailed to the Marqueses and Eric was too young to medicate? That passage was stressful because poor Eric vomited profusely for the first 3 days. Thankfully on day 4 he found his sea legs. But on almost every passage since then, Eric has vomited multiple times. It is common for him to say things like, “Mommy do I get to eat dinner tonight since I didn’t throw up once today?” to which I reply, “Yes, but only if you eat it in the cockpit”.

So what to feed queasy kids? How to keep them hydrated?

• Juice becomes part of our daily routine. Normally our kids just drink water or milk, but on passages they get lots of juice, homemade lemon/limeade or Milo.
• Applesauce
• Fruit: fresh or tinned
• Plain pasta with oil and salt Warmed tortillas, hold the cheese.
• Crackers: saltines / pilot bread/ plain crackers
• Ginger: candied ginger or gingersnap cookies
• Jello – the kind that wiggles and jiggles (not the Australian jello, which is jam or jelly)

Other families have told me they like to have rice cakes around, but ours always end up going stale before we open them. So when the French sailor who was about to begin ocean passages with his little girls asked me for advice on what food to buy, I gave him the above list. It is sadly bland and void of olives and brie cheese, but really the idea is for them to drink a lot of fluids and then eat foods that will let them keep the fluids down. If/when Eric starts to throw up, it’s a big routine to rehydrate him for the next few hours. Best avoided.

And I want to end this post in the Here and Now. Eric has become a good sailor, despite his battle with mal de mar. He’s tried everything under the moon medication-wise, and he’s always so resilient when he does get sick. After throwing up, he says “That’s all right, I don’t care, Mommy” but I know that everyone hates that feeling and I know he is just being super tough. During our most recent passage from South Georgia to Cape Town we had the kind of conditions you’d expect: we hove-to for 3 gales and there was a steady 4 m swell running all the time as background music to the wind waves and chop. And on this particular passage Eric did not get sick once! Of course, he was taking medication, but often the medicine does not work. He felt nauseous at times and so our routine was for him to sleep alongside me on the cabin sole each night, and to spend ALL day in the cockpit drawing pictures. We went through a lot of paper on that passage!

Eric recently turned 6 and his ability to think problems out is improving all the time. He has not quite reached the ‘age of reason’ but he is already talking to me about the upcoming passage. He quietly mentions that he doesn’t like passages because he doesn’t like to be sick. I can’t blame him one bit. But as morale officer, I don’t miss a chance to remind Eric that he’s doing better and better each time. I tell him that he’s already sailed our hardest passage – that steady gales and ice bergs are behind us. When I talk to Eric about the upcoming wind and swell conditions that await us, he gets excited for the tradewind sailing that is on our horizon.

We all are.

If I have missed any foods that work for another queasy kid, please let me know and I’ll make sure I buy it before we sail for St. Helena later this month!

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