Favourite quote from the passage: “Mum, I wish you spent more time with me.” “But Braca, I’m with you all day long.” “Yes, but I miss you when you go on night watch.”
We have just spent twelve days at sea without sight of another vessel for over 1,200 miles. Without any comms, we’ve had absolutely no contact with the outside world and no interaction with another human other than the four that inhabit this 44’ space. That kind of confinement and isolation is a mindboggling concept for all but hard-core prisoners in solitary confinement and the slightly eccentric trans-oceanic cruisers Why do it, city folk may ask. The answer is simple. But I’ll leave you to figure it out from the clues left in the entries that follow.
Take two, Scene one. Rewind to Wednesday, 26th April, 2017. The expiry date on our permit was up after a three-month tour of the Maldives and we needed to prod Atea onwards; not only because that is the natural course for a cruising vessel, but also because we had a date with an aeroplane bound for Heathrow in just over two weeks that we hoped to board. Given a small window of time to make it, we had no luxury of waiting for wind. We departed Gan that balmy afternoon with a light breeze and strong currents against us. Our strategy was to cut a path due south until we got out of the strong easterly currents, then head west until we arrived in the Seychelles. In doing so we would add approximately 200 miles to the journey but we hoped to gain time by not fighting against strong currents. We would test our theory in route to see if we made the right call.
Meanwhile, we settled into life at sea. Ironically, the first day on the water always seems to be the most taxing. For one, provisioning and preparing the ship for passage is always a demanding period, filled with long and busy days. Then there is the adjustment to the movement of a boat at sea and an ever-oscillating environment around you: You have to hold onto the toilet seat to take a pee and pray you aren’t launched when leaning forward to wipe; you learn to balance a pot over a burning flame with one hand while chasing your veggies around the chopping board with a knife with the other, keeping one eye on each to avoid slashing your finger or burning your arm; you eat your meals with your plate and cup wedged between your thighs while working your hand-eye coordination to make sure what is balanced on you spoon actually makes it to your mouth. During the first few days you train your body to cope with shifts and disrupted sleep patterns, as we run the ship on a four-hour night watch routine, and you mentally and physically shift from active and social to sedentary and solitary.
The first quarter of the trip served us variable winds and strong currents against us, a good indication that our strategy to drop south as quickly as possible was a good one. On the 27th of April, the log reads: “02° 00 S, 73° 27 E, Log 85, DTG 1216: Strong current pushes us east and we’ve ended the day further from the Seychelles than when we started.” For three days we slowly slipped southeast and we watched the days tick by as our total distance to go changed little. Being concerned about the flight deadline, John ran a speed/time/distance calculation daily to graphically display our progress, or lack thereof. We passed the intertropical convergence zone on the fourth day. The current eased and the winds filled in, and we were finally able to make some westing. Excitement ran high as we turned course towards our intended destination.
Friday, 28th April: 02° 47S, 72° 53E, Log 165, DTG 1158: Today was defined by more motoring in very light winds and continued current against us. Chagos lies 70 miles off in the near distance, harbouring all our cruising mates from the Maldives. Ah, how nice it would be to pull in for a surprise visit!
Passing the northwest rim of the Chagos archipelago marked the start of the second quarter of our journey. We held 30° degrees off the rum line in order to get well south of the ITCZ and we were anxious to see if our strategy had paid off. Until that point, we’d predominately motor-sailed; with a thousand miles of sea stretched before us we knew we would push the limits of our diesel reserves unless the wind filled in at some point in the passage. The next log entry reports:
Saturday, 29th April: 03° 56S, 71° 59E, Log 255, DTG 1070: Weather brings nothing but light winds, grey skies and intermittent punch-less squalls. Another firking bird on the solar panel. The forward water tank is half empty, indicating we have three weeks remaining on our water supply at our current consumption rate. Real shame that the watermaker membrane collapsed two weeks before departure, but at least we had a test run on rationing our fresh water before it became a necessity. Water is now reserved for cooking and to fill our drinking glasses; otherwise, all washing – body, dish and boat – is done in salt water. The forks are beginning to rust and my hair is a tangled mess but it has cut our water consumption in half. A dip of the fuel tank shows 300 litres diesel used so far, our remaining range under power is about 1,100 miles – almost exactly the distance remaining to Seychelles, so here’s hoping for some better wind soon!
As the seabirds graced us with their company, we tried diligently to sabotage the 
relationship by frantically hooting and screeching them off the wind indicator and from the solar panels at full volume, madly waving and rudely gesturing on deck. They fully ignored our ridiculous, benign efforts. It looks like we will have to replace yet another wind indicator and scrub a lot of poo off our decks.
Sunday, 30th April: 04° 42 S, 70° 38 E Log: 249, DTG 958: Pancakes in the morning and another damn bird on the Windex. Finally, a steady breeze arrives and with it long periods of fast sailing. Relief!
Finally the winds filled in, the engine got a rest and we began to watch the DTG log (distance to go) start ticking down the miles. With it, our attitudes became more playful. 
At one stage King Neptune honoured us with a visit, marking the equatorial crossing we’d actually done in the Maldives but had been too distracted to give proper celebration to at the time. This time King Neptune Junior presided over the ceremony, blessing the family and our ship for a safe passage onward in the Southern Seas. Our passage notes over the next few days read:
Monday, 1st May: 05° 26 S, 68° 58 E Log: 462, DTG 848: Great sailing throughout the night and clocked 102 miles in 24-hours, but winds gone by midday. We motored the rest of the day but broke the tedium with a visit by King Neptune, marking Braca’s fourth equatorial crossing. Rum dashed on the deck and down my belly…thank you Cap’n Morgan!
Tuesday, 2nd May: 06° 08S, 67° 26 E, Log 564, DTG 748: Winds strong and great sailing throughout the day. Progress is good and the boat surges through the water so quietly. Not a rattle in the mast or a creak in the hull– the silence below deck is both reassuring and unsettling!
Pointing our bows west marked the half way point, and we felt that we were finally bound for the Seychelles rather than Antarctica. When averaging 3.5 knots a day with over 500 miles ahead, days slip quickly into a routine and the hours start ticking by with the slow countdown of the miles behind us. For the next three days Atea charged forward at an average of 6 knots, and we were finally enjoying some good progress. We’d been right to drive south and extend our miles; in doing so we saved ourselves an additional two days at sea and 400 extra miles on the engine. The ship’s log reports:
Wednesday, 3rd May: 06° 33 S, 65° 07 E, Log 706, DTG 598: 140 miles over the past 24-hours – hooray! We finally turned due west as we have enough wind right here so no need to drop further south. Our strategy has paid off and I’m ready for a beer to celebrate! Today also marks our half-way day, with 700 miles behind us and 600 left to go, so I just might have to follow the first beer with a second.
But the favourable conditions weren’t to last. The following day the winds died and we had to resume under engine to keep up our required 3.5 knot average to ensure we reached the Seychelles in time to make our 15th May flight. Tracking progress on the DTG graph allows us to have a couple of hours rest from the engine noise each day since we know we are slightly ahead of the curve. The next two log entries read:
Thursday, 4th May: 06° 50 S, 63° 47 E, Log 791, DTG 519: 91 miles over the last twenty-four hours. Fairly windless, and the engine has started making quite a lot of smoke. Must check the piston rings. Keeping fingers crossed. Speaking of fingers, I’ve cut each of my ten digits throughout the day, bleeding out a continuous stream of red permanent marker for Dr Braca.
Friday, 5th May: 06° 43S, 62° 14 E, Log 882, DTG 427:
The last twenty-four hours yielded a 85-mile slog. We could be optimistic and say at least it is an increase over the day before. Nothing much to say, it is all a bit Groundhog Day by now. Windless, and so ever sweat-in-my-butt-crack hot. To make the most of the heat we held Desert Day onboard, with Ayla dressed up as a coyote, Braca as a snake, myself as camel and John (yes, there is a story here) as a dung-beetle. Games and activities all supported the physical melting conditions onboard.
Onboard Atea, there are two adults who run the ship around the clock and there are two children who run themselves around the ship. It might seem that a confined space would be the most taxing on a three and five year old, but they have the undeniable advantage of an overactive imagination. 
We’ve taken to calling our days out not by the day of the week, but by the theme of the day. On this passage, we celebrated Desert Day, Medical Emergency Day, Doctor Day (because fixing wounds was so much fun), Tropical Reef Day, and Oh-My-Graciousness-We-Are-Almost-There Day. Creating themes is a good break from routine for all of us and allows each of us to stretch our imaginations by creating outfits, scenes and objects to suit the occasion. As for coping with confinement as an adult, there is no better way to keep entertained than to get lost in the imaginary world of a young mind. It is fun to see just how much child bubbles to the surface when void of the business and preoccupation that plagues so much of our adult lives.
But it is not all play and no work on the good ship Atea. We’ve also settled into a routine with Braca’s home schooling, something we’d failed to do while wrapped up in the constant activity presented by the Maldives Rally. We focus on different skills in three to four sessions a day and it has been fun to see Braca progress through the two-week intensive course. The next test will be to see how well we do on holiday, but we all know how that typically goes.
Saturday, 6th May: 6° 19 S, 59° 02 E, Log 1075, DTG 236: Another cause for celebration! We crossed the 1,000 mark today, leaving us with a little over 200 miles to go. John stocked the fridge with beer in anticipation, and we accidentally cracked the seal on one… whoops! We’ve lost all wind but gained one tuna. Not a fair trade.
We’ve watched the seas over the past several days, unable to identify what is causing eddies to run a line just off our port side. Our best guess is that the disturbance marks the boundary between the west-flowing equatorial current and the east-flowing counter current. In addition to the water, we’ve also watched the sun set on the horizon each evening and I am awed by the beauty and diversity of nature. Some evenings the horizon is clear and the sun a blazing orange orb, 
others the sun is screened behind a line of moody squalls, casting dramatic rays of yellow, orange and red across the sky. I also watch the moonset with equal awe – sometimes a bright, clear disk and at others cloaked in a shroud of cloud. Over the course of the past two weeks we’ve sailed through nights so black that every imaginable star shines brightly overhead and shooting stars periodically blaze a path overhead, and we’ve watched the moon fill in and blanket out the stars, brightening the sky and the water below it. I guess it feels different out here because there is nothing but you and the environment; there are no buildings or street noise or smog to mar the view. There is no quick, distracted glace towards the horizon before a distraction pulls you away. It is you, the sea and sky, and all the time in the world to sit and absorb it. Or maybe it is just too much time on our hands…
Monday, 8th May: 5° 35S, 57° 33.9E, LOG 1172, DTG 176: Cleaning Day – let’s get the chores done before we get in and arrive in a boat that is semi-respectable. Water supplies have held up nicely so we splash out (ha ha) and use fresh water.
Tuesday 9th May, 11:00am, Log 1268, DTG 50.
After 1258 miles at sea and no outside contact, within five minutes a large dolphin sweeps across our bow, a flock of terns fly overhead, a boat is sighted on the horizon and behind it – Land Ho!
Tuesday 9th May, 21:30pm, Log 1318, DTG 0. We arrived into the customs anchorage at 9:30pm and after so long with the beating engine in our ears, the silence is deafening. Bliss.
We have now motored a fantastic 200 hours out of a 310-hour trip, for all intents and purposes turning our majestic sailing ship into a punch-less ocean tug. We are a veritable motor launch with sails as functional as broken wings, but regardless of the method Atea has again delivered us safely across a large expanse of ocean. Again, my imaginary city-friend pipes up, “Why do you do it?!” 
We do it because cruising isn’t a holiday, it is a lifestyle. It comes with all the ups and downs of everyday life in its own unique forms: The long hauls, the slow miles, the late nights, the growling storms balanced by the travel, the adventure, the discovery and the freedom. Is it all worth it? I know my answer.
The following day we cleared in and were issued a month permit for person and boat. We fly out in four days so it wasn’t an issue for us, but Atea will need extension papers before we depart. At custom’s the officer berated us: “Why do you leave so soon, you just got here! I don’t understand. Why come to the Seychelles if you are about to fly out in an aeroplane? Don’t you want to see the Seychelles? You should have flown out from the Maldives!” Clearly, a proud national. This was our first taste of the expressive and exuberant French-African culture after the more reserved, respectful tone of the Maldivians. With my excitement brimming all I can say is bring it on!
Images of ghost ships emerged from the haze around us, visible only within a three-mile radius. I sighed a farewell to the open ocean as I took a gulp of carbon monoxide and we drove Atea into the haze. If it was this thick offshore, I feared the industrial minefield that lay ahead of us. We entered the busy channel that lead into Kochi harbour and already the assault had begun. We bobbed past gigantic tankers and cargo ships that came in and out of view by only a small margin of error, past dredgers churning up the thick mud and fishing boats chasing us down for a packet of cigarettes. Either by distraction or camouflage, we sideswiped Atea into a large red channel marker masked behind the reddish tinge in the air; we were certainly out of our element for such a tactical error to occur. We needed to change our internal gears quickly from the quiet peaceful isles of the Maldives to the energetic fervor of India – and fast. This was going to be an entirely different experience and I held apprehension and excitement in equal measure.
I was wary of an extended trip to India. It was a country in which you had to train yourself like an Olympic athlete for an event: you had to sharpen your senses, dull your sensitivities, harden your gut and learn to blend in like a chameleon. I was my sharpest and strongest as a young woman and I knew I didn’t have the mental or emotional strength to take it on. Yet here we were, on a whim, sailing towards her shores with several sets of valid and invalid visas stamped in our passports. I was about to open my eyes to a country I’d long held a fear-driven reverence for.
Rather than the congestion of a featureless concrete city, the old colonial town unfolded itself with a lit promenade, a line of Chinese fishing nets in front of historical seafront buildings. Bridges crossed the waterways that ran into a network of canals and everything surrounding it was lush and green. People milled along the walkway and little ferryboats ran people between the scattered islands. My excitement boomed. What lay before us defied every preconception: Kochi was a beautiful port city and I couldn’t wait to get ashore to explore.
After an issue of incomprehensible instructions, extended periods of silence and long pauses between statements while trying as best we could to exude friendliness and confidence through the volley of questions and repeated reviews of our documentation, they finally backed away as a launch containing another boatful of officials arrived. I’ve never before been so pleased to see customs and immigration. We eagerly waved them onboard and made way for their hundredweight stack of paperwork. We spent the next two hours smiling, bobbing our heads and signing the multitude of required forms. By 8PM we all agreed that all remaining forms (we were still only half way through) could be completed the following day and we handed over our passports – a fundamental mistake – and bobbled our heads in agreement that we would meet first thing in the morning.
It was a poetic introduction to India as we sat in the leaking dugout with a wizened old man in a mundu and watched him paddled us furiously against the current with bent back. As we pulled up to the jetty we were greeted by our hired strong-arm, Nasar, and a small fleet of police who refused us landing without a tourist card. Not only did we not have the requested permit, we couldn’t even hand over our passports as we’d unwisely surrendered them over to immigration the night before – a rookie mistake for any seasoned traveler. And so we sat trapped in our wayward raft in the building heat while Nasar – a man who stood in the middle of the boxing ring for us and we’d not even introduced ourselves to yet – and the head policeman verbally duked it out. The comedy of events was on its last string as our representative won the fight and we were guided literally ten paces across the street and into the immigration office, Police officer’s hand on one shoulder and our guide’s hand on the other.
There we were greeted by India’s small collection of cruisers – a fleet of four. While past history realized a more vibrant cruising scene, difficult bureaucracy and shifting cruising circuits draw in fewer visiting yachts. Not that the marina could have held more than a half dozen boats given only its outer berths draw more than two and a half meters; the rest of the twenty-odd berths sit on a large bank of mud. We nestled Atea’s keel in this sludge and we all settled in. This was to be our home base while we were in India and at first sight it was a welcome one.
We were warned of this and told we would quickly tire of the constant barrage of noise but I delighted in the exchange of smiles it brought. Kochi ranks first in the total number of domestic tourists visiting Kerala and this was obvious to us without even leaving the marina – boats full of curious onlookers would pass by in a continuous stream throughout the day. We would first hear the blare of loud Indian music, then a few dozen faces would pull into view, cameras attached, then blink, smile, click in or direction. I would send the kids running to the rail to wave enthusiastically and we’d invariably receive the same in return. Smiles begetting smiles – who wouldn’t choose it? My favourite times were when the boats of would-be Bollywood dancers would pass us, all hands dancing at full throttle, often the party already going hard at 8AM in the morning. 
The energy, festivity and playfulness of it were contagious, even if I was only into my first cup of the day. I also enjoyed the constant movement of fishing boats that passed by us, some with a single or pair of men in a traditional wooden dugout and others with an entire family floating on a small reed sphere. Sitting on the deck we were able to watch the drift of local life drift past us, and on occasion were able to pass on the odd toy or teddy to a raft with young child balanced in it as their parents worked hard to pull small fish from the water or crab from the mud.
A week after arrival we were asked to cat-sit while the owner flew off to South Africa. We took the job on eagerly. Not only did we want the cats as close to our defenses as possible, but it was also a reasonable job for an enthusiastic three and five year old to contribute to. Unfortunately, the arrangement didn’t turn out so well as both charges disappeared under our care. Not only had we lost the marina’s most successful ratters, but we spent the next month berthed directly next to the owner. Fortunately, he took the loss with grace and didn’t punish us for negligence.
The hotel staff soon recognized us as long-term guests and accepted us as temporary adoptees. One evening Ayla and I were socializing in the on-site girls dormitory – a series of bunk beds, a television and a communal closet – when we found ourselves locked in past curfew at the ripe hour of ten past nine. To get home, I had to scale a fence and then haul Ayla over the barrier. It won us novelty points and firmly seated the friendship. A few days following this, the young women took me shopping for local attire. It was fun to get swathed in silk and rolled in cotton, again delighting and entertaining the staff, and it was fun to be surrounded by the laughter and feel casually entwined in the culture.
In short time we found a few drivers that we connected with and they became a central part of our experience. Not only were we there to explore the city and surrounding areas, we also had a list of boat jobs to do. So, tucked into the back of a three-wheeled rickshaw, we got a good dose of back alleys and out of the way spots that are off most tourists radars. We became close to two drivers in particular: the first was our heavy-weight customs ally, Nasar, and the second was the delightful Binu – in personality on as opposite sides of the scale as you can get. Binu was relaxed and polite, hard working and punctual, and most importantly, not a liability on the road. Nasar was heated and temperamental, erratic and inclined towards road rage, but he was well m
eaning, had a big heart and included us open armed into his family. By nature of driver and vehicle safely, we tended to opt for one or the other depending on the task at hand. For local trips we chose Binu because he lived close by and for extended journeys we picked Binu because he would get us there safely. Out of loyalty, we chose Nasar. Nasar’s most common phrase was “it is no problem in my country,” which took us a while to understand he didn’t mean India in general but his neighbourhood specifically. We put him to the test a number of times and invariably he was correct – it was either cheaper, available or achievable in his country every single time. For all things that requited covert execution, he was our go-to guy.
He drove to the backwaters where we took an old punting boat through an intercostal network of waterways that extend 900 miles up the length of state. He drove us on multiple trips to the customs and immigration offices for visa extensions and together we established a regular route between the marina and local hospital for a series of blood tests and treatments for Ayla. Methodically, Nasar and Binu and their rickshaws wove themselves into the fiber of our life in Kochi.
the diversity of the state and the warmth and vibrancy of its people. It is a region that defies all my expectations of India with its network of rivers and lagoons, highlands and lowlands, dense forests and backwaters and beaches. For me, its charm was in the physical and the constant assault on the senses: Our ears were filled with the pop of fireworks from the churches, the crackle of firecrackers from the temples and the chant echoing out from the mosques. Our eyes were filled with flutter of colourful saris, fruit piled in street side carts, the cast of the fishing nets on the water, and beautiful colonial Portuguese and Dutch architecture spread throughout the city. And of course, our mouths, filled with the spicy sweet taste of southwestern Indian cuisine. But top of my list are the people – warm and welcoming, energetic and engaging – forever putting a smile on my lips.
I’ve seen a small section of the country and have been blown away by its beauty. Both John and I felt sad to come to the end of our time and sail away, neither of us feeling we’d gotten enough time in India. Our farewell, however, turned out to be an unexpectedly short one and less than twenty-four hours later we were back in India, sadder still, due to engine failure. Again, we had the pleasure of a lengthy clearance process but by then we were familiar with the faces and knew the ropes. We counted the days absored in Indian bureaucracy. Collectively, we’d spent nine out of forty-five days in the company of the Indian officials:
The quote that resonated throughout the process was “the moment you shout is the moment you loose,” and we felt this particularly valuable advice. Don’t loose your cool or you have just dug yourself a deep, deep hole. We’d spent six weeks with our keel in the mud and felt we’d spent enough time in the hole. After our unexpected two week extension, we and our engine were finally ready to say our goodbyes and set Atea free to the wind.
We spent a week of hassle getting the appropriate visas re-issued, after the hassle a week prior of getting them issued in the first place — an effort that not only cost us money, but precious time. We were headed to the northern atolls in the Maldives when we discovered the visas we had on hand were only valid for arrival by airplane; entry by boat required a different category of visa. The only place this was issued was in person in Mále, so after a number of far-flung impractical ideas we turned the ship around and headed back to where we’d come from. 
or one, we departed the Maldives on the 21st of December and Christmas was quickly descending on us unawares. Quite unlike my fellow associates madly scrambling to stockpile presents and negotiate parents and in-laws, we were at St. Nick’s countdown and hadn’t even hummed a holiday tune. While we were delayed, we were also prepared. We’d sent the kids out prior to departure with a bucket to fill with shells and I’d found a suitable sick of driftwood that was now safely stowed on deck. It wasn’t going to be a recognizable effort to anyone outside my clan, however inside it was the makings of a very traditional Christmas. 
Of new traditions, this year we began giving the kids a passage present on their first day at sea for any offshore voyage. It works well to build their excitement and has become quite a fun ritual. This time the kids delighted in an assortment of treats: a magnet set, a storybook, an origami book and a mini basketball and hoop. Championships may take some time to come, but indoor practice is a good say to burn off some energy.
Wind came in the night, and we finally put Lucy [the engine] to rest and raise the sails. There is such beauty in the silence, and the gentle roll of the waves. We now have a dead slice of tree tied to our maststep bedecked in broken shells and the incessant tune of Jingle Bells in our ears. The jingle of the bells must have called in the birds, as a large seabird somehow managed to swoop through our aft hatch and now sits in our cabin. Let’s hope it doesn’t leave us its own White Christmas.
Four birds invade our cabin throughout the day, comfortable as guests. The last is insistent and re re-enters as quickly as I take him out. He perches on our Christmas tree, content. Not until he drops a little poop on our floor do I decide to move him out again, for the fifth time. But he returns, this time to the forward cabin. I slide my finger up to his belly and he hops on, as if he and I are old friends. I carry him out again; he knows the routine. This time he changes tactic, and flies into the steering wheel as if to say, “I’m the one who owns this ship.” If he stays in the cockpit, I’m happy with the deal.
miles distant, isn’t visible. The sun is shrouded in haze and the sky is covered a murky light. I pop up on deck 10 minutes later to check our surroundings and the tanker to our port is now invisible to us, hidden in the haze. It is busy today; the normal 15-minute check is down to 5 as ships and fishing boats appear in in patches with much more regularity. Fishing boats chase us down out of curiosity. All hands crowd the rail to wave hello, and after pleasantries they slow their speed and the distance spreads.
I was greatly surprised, therefore, when we sailed into the entrance and a green colonial city unfolded itself in front of us. Chinese lanterns swung and lights glittered in the trees as people strolled down the promenade under them, crossing over small walking bridges that laid across narrow canals that lead back into the city. Old Chinese fishing nets of yesteryear lined the waterfront set against centuries-old Portuguese buildings. As we sailed deeper into the harbour entrance I was buzzing with excitement, eager to explore the beautiful city that lay before us.
Five years and two ANAK ANAK later, we’ve learned the value of simplicity and the importance of urgency as cruisers. I’ve seen too many prospective cruisers delay ad infinitum, “next year” being the one that dreams would be realized. Each year the same boat sat in the same slip, and the same bum sat behind the same desk. I’ve seen too many boat owners delay because they’ve overcomplicated their end goal – to cast lines and set sail. “Just one more [X], and then we’ll be off…” played over again and again. This is further compounded with additional family members, each having their own ties that need to be severed before starting to plot the chart. When it comes to cruising with kids, we try to follow two simple concepts: do it now, and do it simply.
And we did it. We brought both baby and boat together. We bought a sailboat the same week we found out we were pregnant, moved onboard and three months later we were started our first cruising season. We departed New Zealand bound for Tonga at sixteen weeks pregnant. We have now sailed through two pregnancies and have two children onboard and I couldn’t have planned it any better. To be a mother and father cruising with kids is the best of both worlds.
When it comes to the topic of cruising with children, there is debate about the appropriate age to take a child to sea. I’ve often held the gaze of a parent in disbelief at mention of the long ocean passages we’ve taken with our children onboard or the length of time we’ve been away. Our son was six months old when we took him to sea for the first time, his first voyage being a ten-day passage from New Zealand to Vanuatu. Our daughter started cruising at nine months off the coasts of Thailand and Malaysia. Yeah, we’ve spent some time cruising with children onboard and I have to say, it is a pretty fantastic way to raise kids.
To many who are removed from the reality of cruising it may seem an implausible concept: big seas, confined spaces, young children and no external escape. I have to confess I prefer raising children at sea to raising them on land. With one full time parent caretaking home and child, and the other absent parent entrenched in the corporate grind, shore life brings a significant separation in time, routine and responsibilities. Research points to the importance of parental engagement in the first years of life and there is nothing that amplifies that time together better than a family afloat. We wake together and remain together every hour of the day, seven days a week. The children get equal time with both parents and the parents get the support of a true partnership in parenting. We get to travel, explore, and discover and at the same time appreciate the full experience of family and parenthood. What shore-based environment can beat that?
While there are great opportunities given to children that go cruising, there is also an inherent risk that is often overlooked. As would-be sailors start to scheme their ocean travel and plan their exit strategy, they may look at their children and contemplate the much-debated topic of age. The question they ask shouldn’t be “Are they too young?” The question they should ask themselves is “If we wait, will they be too old?” There have been many cruising plans foiled by teens that cannot adjust to the shift in lifestyle; either the teens resist so much that the parents never pull out of port or the family makes all the sacrifices and get away only to be thwarted by teenage sabotage. My recommendation for those who don’t want to wait for retirement and want their family to go with them, the sooner you cast off lines the better.
I We opted to travel with an ANAK onboard: simple plans, simple structure. I hung a netted bag from the aft rail and towed all things soiled behind the boat for a few miles. Afterward, I would plonk the solid-free garments in a bucket with some laundry detergent, rinse with fresh water and hang in the sunshine to dry. Presto! However you go about managing routine, the point is this: there is complication, and there is simplicity. When traveling with kids I can immediately think of my winning choice.
On a yacht, things slow down. Time that may be taken up in play dates, technology, outside obligations and internal preoccupations ashore becomes less fragmented and more focused. You experience a tunnel vision of sorts, where the outside clutter filters out and you hone in on the important things: Your family, unfiltered. Now, when I talk about keeping things simple, I am familiar with how complicated life can be regardless of design. With a two-year old born with a congenital hand condition and a four-year old T1 diabetic, we aren’t cruising on a silver cloud. We have had a number of crises thrown at us that could have crushed our dreams had we succumbed to the pressure. However, we value this lifestyle for its purity and beauty, its intensity and its simplicity and have held onto the bigger picture through life’s sharper edges.
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