24 x 7 Spouse

 

When we first told people we were moving aboard a sailboat, an acquaintance seriously questioned our sanity. “Let me get this straight! Just the two of you…on a boat…all the time. Are you nuts?” Quite honestly, how many people could say they’d survive a life of 24 hours, 7 days a week with their partners. After all, there is “too much of a good thing”.

For nearly 14 years, David and I have done just that. Living aboard Nine of Cups is sharing tight quarters. Even a “spacious” 45-footer provides limited living space ... under 800 square feet to be exact…about the size of that small studio apartment you could barely afford right out of college. “How do we cope with constant togetherness?”, we're asked frequently.

The key for us is sensing and respecting each others' need for space. If the subtle art of sensing doesn’t work, then a more direct “I need some space” comment is usually effective. We’ve each managed to stake out a private area that is inviolate when “alone time” is needed. We’re quick to admit that initially the requirement for being alone was often met with a reproachful look from the other partner. Not any more though. Time apart, if only a few feet, can make all the difference in the world in a healthy attitude and we’re all for that. David usually chooses the cockpit or his nav station. For me, I set up a small work area on the saloon table or climb on our bunk. Most often a couple of hours is all that’s needed to restore good humor.

Alone time can also be accomplished by simply working on the boat or a project. There are a myriad of tasks that are ever-present. Varnishing, polishing stainless, mending, cleaning, repairing … whatever needs to be done. Simply performing these mundane activities allows an escape when needed. We each have different hobbies that we pursue. David works on intricate knots, rope work, carving and electronics projects. I spend hours writing about our travels, doing blog posts, editing and cataloging the endless number of digital photos I take. We share the results, but the period spent performing the activity provides an outlet for creativity and well as time in solitary thought.

Being together isn’t usually about finding ways to be alone, however, but rather finding new ways to enjoy each others' company. We play cards and games. We read a lot…sometimes aloud to each other. We spend lots of time in the water when we can, diving and snorkeling. Beach combing is a favorite activity whenever the opportunity presents. We like to watch movies and cook together and make plans for the next adventure. Land travel is tops when there's time and the budget allows.

We constantly strive to learn something new that we can share with the other. We didn’t know much about the stars, so we invested in star charts and learned together. What a thrill to be able to share the sighting of the Southern Cross for the very first time. Most singlehanders we’ve met complain that what they miss most is the companionship of someone with whom to share exhilarating moments: sighting whales, watching dolphins play in the bow wake, spotting iridescent squid that illuminate the night ocean or gazing at stars so dazzling and profuse, that it's nearly overwhelming.

There have been times when though we’re together, we actually miss each others' company. On longer passages, we take three-hour watches and other than eating together, one partner is usually napping or resting while the other is on watch. By the end of the passage, it’s as if we’ve been apart and it’s so good just to spend some time together again.

We certainly recommend that prospective liveaboards like each other…a lot! There’s more time alone on a boat than most people can imagine. As for us, after nearly 30 years of working, sleeping and eating together, we’re looking forward to enjoying the next 30 … together.

Are you a full time liveaboard couple or crew? How do you handle the “togetherness”?

Beachcombing

 

One of our great pleasures when we're anchored off a beach is to spend hours walking along the shore and beachcombing. We let the water tickle our toes as we wander up and the down the beach for miles, looking for distinctive shells and stones and whatever else the tide might have washed up on the beach.

It seems that each time we walk the beach … even the same one ... the offerings change depending on the direction we're walking and the state of the tide. The more remote the beach, the more interesting the search becomes. The wrack line, the highest point the tide reaches, is usually a bit smelly, but renders lots of good and interesting booty.

Though we've beachcombed a lot over the years, there are a few expeditions that were so special, they stand out more than all the rest. The first was a beach on the west end of the island of Mayaguana in a more remote part of the Bahamas. A yellow coral shelf dominated the long, deserted beach and huge, unbroken shells lay waiting for someone to pay them some attention. Thank goodness we were there.

Another memorable beach was actually a series of beaches on the little islets of Chesterfield Reef in the Coral Sea between Australia and Vanuatu. Few people visit this remote area belonging to New Caledonia. Spider conch and nautilus shells were found here and it was a thrill to find them. The shells are quite large and deciding which ones to keep was a challenge.

We've beachcombed everywhere we've traveled from Captiva Island in Florida ... great for shells, but lots of competition from other beachcombers … to remote islands in Tonga and beaches in South America and South Africa. Each beach has something special to offer. It's not just shells, it's sea glass, sea beans (aka drift seeds), driftwood for carving, pieces of coral, odd bones and unlikely debris that washes ashore like parts of washing machines.

We've spent many a day doing clean-ups on beaches that seem to be magnets for plastic bags, bottles and flip-flops. We found a raft one time and wondered what the story was behind it.

We're well-prepared for these excursions. We stuff net bags into our pockets so that we can rinse the sand and debris out of the shells. We're careful to make sure there are no critters inside. Nothing smells after a week or two like a rotting hermit crab inside a shell. We have small ziploc bags for anything special and out of the ordinary like beach sand samples for friends back home. We wear reef shoes, hats and slather up with plenty of sunscreen. We find that just after low tide is the best; the earlier in the morning the better.

Now what to do with all those shells and other booty we collect. Admittedly, I keep some, but David's tools trump shells, so I have to be careful...the waterline is already in jeopardy. I have an excellent shell identification book aboard. We save the most distinctive findings as souvenirs. Others are kept for jewelry making and other uses aboard like napkin rings. Some we bring home for gifts. We've found that having a story to go with any gift makes it special, so I make sure to mark the shells as to where they were found.

People wonder if we'll ever get bored on the boat. Probably not until we've walked all the beaches.

Getting There...Planes, Trains & Automobiles...Canoes, Mules & Outriggers

 

When we're on land, we take for granted fast travel. At 70 mph (112 kph), you can really put some miles behind you. In a sailboat, not so much. We consider 150 nm an overnight trip on Nine of Cups, a distance covered in two hours in a car on a highway.

We get back and forth from Cups to the States via jet ... average speed 500 knots (575 mph/925 kph). We always figure the distance that's taken us years to cover by boat is reversed in a matter of hours … 13 years to get to Australia by sailboat… 30 hours to return from Oz to the States by plane. Wow … talk about undoing what you've done.

We've taken trains in Ecuador, Peru and New Zealand to see the sights. Sometimes we sat in seats; sometimes we rode on top; and sometimes we just hung off the side.

We rode mules in the Dominican Republic to get to the top of Pico Duarte, the highest point in the Caribbean.

We shared a dugout canoe with new local friends, paddling up the Rio Mogue in the Darien Jungle of Panama to get to a remote village.

On Lake Titicaca, highest navigable lake in the world, we visited the floating island of Uros where we took a ride in a boat made completely of totora reeds as was the island itself.

We've ridden on chicken buses (literally lots of chickens ... and pigs, goats, whatever) and Executivo coaches in our travels around South America. We certainly rent cars when it makes sense and fly when we're trying to get there in a hurry, but alternative forms of travel seem to be more appealing and certainly more interesting.

In the city of Iquitos, on the banks of the Amazon, motos, three-wheeled motorcycles, were the norm. We still consider Iguazu the “loudest” city we've ever visited. Motorcycles and scooters, in general, are popular in South America because people are poor and cars are expensive. We've seen whole families on little motor scooters out for a family drive, kids hanging precariously off the sides or clinging to their moms for dear life. There were manual pedal-versions of the motos, like trikes, in Ecuador, where the locals did all the work for 50 cents.

On the Amazon River itself, we traveled in “collectivos”, thatch-covered, long, wooden boats that ferried people up and down the river.

In Sydney, ferries were the travel mode of choice to get around the harbor.

And, of course, there's our indispensable dinghy aka RIB (rigid inflatable boat) which gets us from Nine of Cups to shore.

Mostly though, we prefer walking when it's a reasonable alternative. We see more. It's cheap. It's good exercise and though slow...we get there just the same. Walking from Australia, however, just wasn't reasonable. The bridge hasn't been completed yet.