There is a certain kind of sailor that I am always in awe of: the single-handers, Jess Lloyd-Mostyn tells us…

From the storybook-like tales of Joshua Slocum, the steadfast determination of Robin Knox-Johnston and the romantic adventuring of Bernard Moitessier to the gutsy female role models of Ellen MacArthur, Laura Dekker and Jeanne Socrates, the people who choose to sail solo are a constant source of inspiration for me. 

Those are the big-name heroes of sailing, known worldwide for their bravery, capability and strength. They are an entirely different world and another league from what I and my family are doing. But, closer to home, there are many single-handers who go out cruising like us. Not racers trying to win prizes or glory. Just ordinary folks with an unshakable curiosity about the world and a desire to go and explore it on their own terms.

In Tonga we met a pair of brothers from the United States, each with his own boat. Both had wanted to sail the world, neither wanted to answer to another voice as captain. They would sail along similar routes, at more or less the same time, sometimes making vague plans to reunite and at other times intentionally branching off in opposite directions. They had a lovely form of camaraderie; each appreciating and understanding the various challenges that the other must have faced and we listened to the two of them swapping stories for hours.

We met Charlie in the Komodo islands. He was from Australia and had little money but used it on the best boat he could. He had gradually and steadily made his way up the coral coast, into the Louisiades of Papua New Guinea, and island-hopped westwards through Indonesia. He hadn’t come from a sailing background but was taking things slowly, learning what he could, minimising his risk by taking a gentle approach to his voyages.

Tony befriended us in Malaysia. He traded his tips on Thai island anchorages for a cruising guide to the South China Sea. He was from a military background and had set his boat up extremely thoughtfully and deliberately so that it handled perfectly with a lone crew. Like us, many single handers grow to love their windvane setups as they can be depended on much like an extra pair of hands. They can be the key to a more enjoyable solo cruise, more periods of rest and a steady course held while you work on deck.

And, whilst these sailors were approaching their time at sea with a ‘give-it-a-go’ attitude, eager to meet new opportunities and the challenges of utter self-reliance, all of us cruisers should move past the sense of awe or intimidation we might feel when encountering them and instead ask for their suggestions, as you never know when you might suddenly be forced to be a single-hander yourself.

Importance of Single-handed Sailing

Starting our family and raising our three children afloat has meant there have been many times when we have taken turns to sail alone, while the rest of the crew slept on. Certainly, there was always another person there if really needed but it is surely a good thing to hone independent skills and techniques for handling a boat solo. A sudden squall on nightwatch, an encounter with a fishing vessel getting too close, or a decision to tack were all things that both myself, and my husband James, learned to attempt by ourselves, in order to try out our cruising competence. Sometimes we’d rise to the challenge of tackling these experiments. On other occasions we’d fall short and struggle, pulling the sheets clumsily, trimming the sails awkwardly.

But still, even if you’re surrounded by plentiful helping crew hands, it’s always important to at least try single-handed sailing and to manage alone. After all, if James fell overboard, I would need to harness the skills to safely manoeuvre the boat back to him and get him back on. This was so much on my mind in the early days that we incorporated it into our mile-builder courses and RYA sail-training; knowing that for a life at sea ahead of us, there would be times when each of us might be trusting the other one with our lives. 

Perhaps the most crucial gift that any experience of single-handed sailing can give us is the psychological strength to reflect on and analyse what we are capable of. Even the most stalwart lone sailor relishes the companionship of swapping stories with other cruisers at the bar; even the most jam-packed family cruising boat should be made up of several capable solo sailors. Ultimately, we are all single-handed, or should at least learn to be.

Have you tried single-handed sailing yet?

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Sailing with Animals: Aware of being watched by uninvited guest onboard is something Jess Lloyd-Mostyn has got used to over time. She even finds they make good company!

Sailing with Animals

I am not alone. I sat down at my desk in our aft cabin intending to write on another topic altogether when I spotted a tiny figure peeking out at from the bookshelf. There is a small, speckled gecko who stopped, mid-movement, as soon as he realised there was a human sharing his space.

He is one of many little crewmates that we’ve unwittingly hosted onboard. Our very first batch of geckos arrived when we were sailing in Panama, and we rejoiced when we caught a glimpse of the odd one darting out to attack a mosquito. The mosquitos, also uninvited, are less-welcome additions. Their presence fluctuates according to whether we’re tied to a marina, or anchored too close to mangroves. Portlight screens and nets all help but a friendly critter, snapping them up with lightning quick reflexes, is a much more satisfying solution.

Wasps and hornets would also like to holiday with us. These insects are a more daunting prospect than their cousins in the UK, being much larger with extended mid-sections and longer, dangling legs. Many times we’ve had a glorious sail rudely interrupted by one of these giant buzzing beasties flying into my face at the helm. They are exceedingly curious and persist on flying in to explore the cabins below-deck, unfazed by the squeals of our children or our futile attempts at coaxing them out. Even worse are the potter wasps, that choose bizarre spots to try and build their muddy, clay nests while we’re out provisioning; on the binnacle ipad mount, the inside of the hatch surround, or fastened to a fishing rod holder. I promptly and unceremoniously knock them off immediately – no hitchhikers allowed!

At one anchorage, in southern Mexico, we left the boat for a few days while we travelled to attend a friend’s wedding. Once back we checked around the boat and found, with dismay, that a swallow had built a nest in our mainsail stackpack. This teeny structure had a clutch of four precious eggs inside and the mama bird was nowhere to be found. After waiting a day or two we sadly realised that we had to jettison it overboard – a fact made more traumatic by my fitful hormones as we were expecting our first child at the time. We raised anchor, and hoisted the sail, glancing forlornly back at the last fragments of the nest, bobbing on the water.

Fellow sailors who took in the Galapagos islands en route to French Polynesia all shared stories of the local sealions eagerly heaving their way on board. Every foray ashore or snorkelling outing would end in a return to their boats to find several stout sealions squatting happily in their newfound territory. Catamarans tended to be the worst afflicted by these large invaders as the swim steps on them made for easy access.

Our friends who are sailing in Cape Town have a similar sailing with animals problem with the resident fur seals. They already have an animal crew member, their ginger cat “Boots”, who was not at all keen on these impromptu interlopers, nor the distinctive stench they left in their wake. And, though their cat was unable to dislodge the seals, he had proved his worth on board many times over by catching countless mice, cockroaches and even flying fish (although the keen observer might note that they simply landed on deck by mistake).

We too have had several cats on our yacht unofficially. While in Malaysia there were a number of marina cats who sauntered down the wooden docks and nonchalantly hopped up to lounge in the sun on the aft deck as if they owned the place. These freeloaders were harder to shift than some as our kids would swoon and coo over their new crewmates, petting them lovingly while I was trying to shoo them off.

And then there are the marine lodgers, whose presence we are almost entirely unaware of until we try to clean the hull. There have been a series of large, grumpy and very territorial crabs that like to inhabit the large rectangular vent from our LPG locker, or fiercely guard the stainless-steel stock, where the skeg meets the rudder. When we dive down to scrub the hull they swim out and waggle their claws at us in fury for disturbing their piece and decimating their garden. Sorry crabs, but we need the extra knot of speed!

A small flurry of movement catches my eye as I look up from the keys. My little gecko friend has shifted and is gulping heavily and blinking. It’s nice to have company when I write sometimes, even if it is to the sound of bug swallowing.

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The post Finding Uninvited Guests Onboard: Sailing with Animals appeared first on Sailing Today.

“And what’s your occupation?”

The man at Heathrow Airport looks away from his screen and enquiringly into my face as I hesitate over my answer. For a moment my mind is blank, and I turn to look at my husband and family. It is, of course, a simple question. It’s just that my answer may not be quite the response he’s after:

“We’re adventurers”.

Back in 2010 I had never even set foot on a sailboat. I was working for an architectural practice in London, living with my boyfriend and enjoying the pleasures of city-paced existence. Things were good and we were happy so it’s strange to think that all it took was a trip down to Cornwall to change our lives forever. Yet it was during a wander along a seaside cliff path that I looked out over the water and murmured that it would be such a great idea to buy a boat and go off sailing.

It’s funny how quickly a wild suggestion can become a reality. Because, somehow or other, we did manage to do just that. We researched and viewed and eventually found exactly the boat we wanted. We also trained and practiced and convinced ourselves that we understood a thing or two about sailing. Less than a year after first even toying with the thought of it, we set sail from the UK. During the first year we learned so much and covered a lot of ground. We sailed the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay; hopped down along the coast of Western Europe to Morocco and the Canary Islands; crossed the Atlantic Ocean and then spent a year circling the Caribbean.

And then we decided to change the plan entirely.

We’d never said it categorically but my partner, James, and I had intended to live and cruise on our boat and sail around the world in “a couple of years”. And we had both assumed that upon our return from our boating adventures we would do all the normal things like go back to work, get married and start a family. But another notion had been seeded in us that first year at sea and, without realising, it had begun germinating at the back of both our brains. “What happens if we don’t stop?”. The two things weren’t mutually exclusive: we could still start a family while sailing round the world.

The old landlubber picture in my head of what our life would look like as we prepared to have a baby included maternity leave, decorating the nursery, buying adorable little onesies and seeing my family doctor for regular check-ups. The reality was that my pre-baby to do list included spending three months travelling over two and a half thousand miles from Panama to Banderas Bay, navigating a foreign medical system to find a birth centre in a language we were only just learning all while preparing our home for the onset of storms and hurricanes.

Our daughter, Rocket, was born in Mexico in 2013. But strangely we weren’t alone. The marina that we proudly returned to with our baby girl was a veritable social whirl of birthday parties, poolside barbeques, dock gatherings and pot-lucks all aimed at families. The cruising community there threw us a baby shower, the marina manager became a doting extra auntie, and we soon learned about several other families on yachts who’d just had or were expecting babies in the same year.

We were new parents, on the other side of the world from our family and home culture, adjusting to yet another aspect of this new lifestyle for ourselves with complete freedom to do so. There was no baby “gear” needed for us: no cot, car seat or buggy. What we had almost accidentally stumbled across was a way for us to both be with our baby all of the time, thanks to living on the boat. The yacht was remarkably baby-proof and suddenly had a dual purpose as it was now equal parts vehicle and family home.

That first year of cruising had made our already strong partnership transform into a solid and supportive team. We’d had to rely on each other’s strength and judgement in order to cover all those ocean miles and this new challenge was no different. The fluid nature of the daily boating rhythms meant that we could take turns with the baby, allowing each other enough time to take naps and breaks and anything else we needed to stay happy and balanced.

Fortunately, we were finding that we were having a lot of good days. In fact, it all worked so well, that we never even considered that the beginning of our family life might signal the end of our travels. We left the Pacific coast when Rocket was 8 months old and she sailed across all of the South Pacific with us, covering over 7,000 miles. We took on an extra crew-member for ocean passages in order to have enough hands on board for watches. But the everyday life, dawdling at anchor and exploring beaches, villages and towns inland, was much the same. Except of course that we were now greeted with the expansive smiles and exceptionally warm welcomes that babies elicit.

That South Pacific season was full of beaches, reefs and snorkelling. We saw whales, sharks and rays and cruised countless glorious atolls. It was full of major life milestones for our family crew too. We had our longest passage at sea, sailing 28 days non-stop from Mexico to the Marquesas; Rocket had her first birthday in Bora-Bora; we even got married in Fiji. And then we expanded the crew once more, this time in New Zealand with the arrival of our son, Indigo.

After 4 years at sea, tucked safely below the cyclone belt, we used all of New Zealand as our watery kindergarten. The Hauraki Gulf and the Bay of islands are easy cruising grounds: close enough to the hustle and infrastructure of the city to cater for all a family’s needs but also scattered with little uninhabited islands and secluded bays.

There was another voice to be heard now as we had someone else actively engaging with our cruising. Any sailing trip meant explaining to Rocket what we were doing and why we were doing it, all without it becoming an endless list of do’s and don’ts. The short hops, day-sailing and changing anchorages frequently in the islands helped us all to get into a routine. We live mostly at anchor so our trips ashore became a well-practiced sequence of getting the tiddlers in and out of lifejackets, smothered in sunscreen and hats, doused in bug repellent and with wetsuits to hand.

Indigo, in turn, was a lot more physical at a younger age than his sister had been, not content to cosy up while strapped to me at the helm. So we adopted harnesses and tethers for both of them whenever they were in the cockpit underway. This new practice was something that we hoped would come easily to Rocket given that it wasn’t a rule that solely applied to her. Plus, she now had a playmate, so if the two little ones were content to be downstairs and keep each other occupied during a passage, it could make things on deck much simpler for us. Sounds logical but most of us know that young children don’t necessarily think about things in those terms.

Nevertheless, we managed to steer a way through the murky waters of sailing with two little crew, so it wasn’t long before we started feeling the call of the winds and sea beckoning us out to further challenges. By the time cyclone season was over we were on the move again, sailing our most remote and uncommon route so far. We left New Zealand and cruised through Vanuautu, the Solomon islands, the outer atolls of Papua New Guinea and then onto Indonesia. It was a stretch that required entirely new techniques of navigation for us, using satellite imagery combined with a gps, as these weren’t the sorts of places that there are accurate cruising guides for.

We also had to trade for food. We’d offer items like rice, sugar, flour, fish-hooks, matches, soap, tinned fish, crackers, second-hand clothes, books and medicines. In exchange we would receive papayas, pineapples, coconuts, bananas, oranges, limes, plantain, soursop, starfruit, fish, squid, crayfish, chillies, watercress, cabbage, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, peppers, nuts and more. There were countless funny negotiations in broken English about whether both parties felt satisfied with the swap, if we’d got the amounts right. The kids got used to people canoeing up to our boat and presenting various items.

All too soon we arrived into the towns and cities of Indonesia and were thrown back to the more normal way of getting groceries. We were also dealing with entirely different weather systems, monsoon patterns and infamously changeable equatorial conditions. Big seas, inconsistent winds and sudden onset squalls may not have been our chosen order from this vast country’s menu but it’s what we were given so we had to find a way of coping with it in order to sail on to our next planned long stop in Lombok.

From there we staged a journey back to our native UK, a trip that we try to make every 2 years. Like our previous pauses, this location in Indonesia is unaffected by tropical storms so the yacht would sit quite safely while we visited the rest of the family back home. And on this particular trip the crew list would be added to yet again as our little girl, Autumn, was born while we were in London.

With three young sailors to think about, we’re suddenly outnumbered and don’t always have enough hands for everyone. It’s now that we appreciate the teamwork demonstrated by the older two, as they continually surprise us with how helpful they are with their baby sister. When it works it seems to work really, really well, which is of course balanced out by the times that it goes spectacularly wrong! Does any parent relish the times their baby is teething, fussy, grumpy or unsettled? Or how about young children shouting, whingeing or fighting? No. But, like any good sailors, we’re learning, we’re trying and it’s keeping us happy.

There are some tell-tale signs that you’re a ‘kid boat’: the nappies drying on the line, the pint-sized life jackets sitting in the dinghy and the netting around the guardrails. It’s also so much easier for cruising families to communicate, share and broadcast their lifestyles online. If you type ‘baby on boat’ into Google you’ll find a huge number of sailing blogs (including ours) that document how these families are making it work for them as well as sharing information and practical recommendations for products, systems or philosophies that help them do so. The reasons behind ‘why wait? why not go sailing now’ vary immensely and it’s even possible to continue to run a business, rent a property, or work for half of the year while on the move.

Certainly it’s more of a challenge, as we have to explain and discuss each move to an increasingly thought-provoking audience. Yet this engagement with our kids, and the holistic nature of our family life, is so far proving to be fulfilling and satisfying for all of us. It’s the idea of everyone on board taking pleasure from what we’re doing that has become the paramount goal of this journey – rather than circumnavigation as we had originally intended.

Sailing full-time while expanding our family has meant that we are all always together, 24 hours a day, while travelling and maintaining the boat. There’s been no maternity leave, childcare, no babysitters or grandparents to hand. Our approach for surviving has been to relax into it, embracing the non-traditional parenting that it allows us to explore, and simply not sweating the small stuff. It’s rewarding and gratifying to share this kind of adventure together as well as being just plain fun.

So, instead of saying all that to the man at Heathrow, instead of pouring out the story of all these amazing experiences from the years at sea, I chose to simply smile at him and say “I’m a stay-at-home mum”.

Which, incidentally, is also the truth.

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