An audio and video podcast of my trip hitchhiking around the world by sea.

There are moments you wish you had your camera and there are moments you are glad you didn’t… I’ll start with one I wish I had.

Every country has it’s own system of transit. In Europe there are trains, in Thailand- tuk tuks, and in the Dominican Republic you have motorcycles or gua guas. A gua gua (pronounced gwa gwa) is basically a mini van that runs between cities, and there are a lot of them. To catch a gua gua simply stand on the side of the road and the a car is sure to stop to pick you up. In fact, 90% of the time a van will stop or honk even if you are not looking for a ride. That’s the easy part. The hard part: getting on.

To begin, everyone squeezes into the car like a poorly funded high school sports team. One guy taps the side of the car to notify the driver everyone is in. The driver proceeds a few kilometers to until spotting someone else on the side of the road. Dan and I got the hang of traveling by gua gua and despite the initial discomfort, it’s actually kind of fun.

But there is one ride that sticks out. We were headed back from sight seeing on a different part of the island. We climbed in and instantly knew we were in for something special. Dan gets in first, then I pull in and comfortably park quarter cheek on the same seat. We look back to a sea of eyes staring at us. Both start counting. “How many did you get?” Dan asked. “18, I think!”

Minutes later- helper taps side, driver honks and gua gua pulls over. Man on-19 total passengers. Moments later- same thing, but two people. 21 total passengers. Amazing! 21 people in one car?! Then tap-honk-stop, we pull over to a group of 4 young guys. Impossible! Well maybe if the door is shut. But easy if 5 guys are willing to hang on to the side with the door open. Total passenger count: 25 (plus a few bags of luggage).

We finally reached our destination one hour later, put our joints back in place, and held our heads high-proud of what had to have been some kind of record.

Then there are the moments you’re not so proud of. This time we were headed to the mountains. 27 waterfalls and a tour that requires you to wear helmets and life jackets sounded like a “must do”. But first you have to get there. Fortunately, this place wasn’t too far from where our boat was docked, so rather than the gua gua, we went with the less expensive option: motorcycle.

The motos are small-mostly 150 cc or less, but we’re in the Dominican Republic, where the idea of three grown men on one little scooter makes perfect sense. So once you sort out your securities, the first decision is who gets middle. “I’ve got the backpack…” Dan shrugs. I roll my eyes and climb on. Then Dan climbs on ensuring there is no extra space between driver and I.

The good new is when there’s no room to move you don’t really have to “hold on”, so I rest my hands the only place they make sense- on MY legs.  Then Dan realizes the opportunity at hand. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and see Dan’s arm move past mine to poke the driver. The driver turns his head and looks out of the corner of his eye.

Not having time to think of something witty, I just sit silent… Then Dan does it again. Driver looks. Derek remains silent. Naturally things were getting awkward so the next time I was ready. Dan reaches. Derek blocks. Dan grabs Derek’s hand and shoves into driver’s side. Driver swerves slightly and again looks back…

I’d like to say it stopped there but Dan was just having too much fun (never mind the awkward bond between the driver and me). So after a few subtle pokes Dan changes his strategy to the ol’ bump n push. You know where with every bump in the road the guy on the back pushes the guy in the middle closer to the guy in the front.

Needless to say the waterfalls could not come soon enough, and I’m guessing the feeling was mutual judging by the speed we were going.  Not exactly the “motorcycle diaries” I was hoping to be a part of. You’re kind of at a disadvantage when you are the meat in a Derek sandwich on a Dominican moto. So despite the threats to knock Dan off the back, the driver continued to get casually assaulted all the way to our destination.

Normally, when you reach your destination you can bargain the price of transportation. But today? Today our driver got full price and no doubt still felt cheated. Luckily the waterfalls were awesome and couldn’t have been more fitting-feeling a little dirty from a dusty moto ride. Oh yeah the ride back? It was nice day, so um yeah… we walked.

“No hablo espanol. No intendo. Pero intendo “Loco” y tu no es loco…” I spoke softly to the old lady who was too ashamed, embarrassed, or injured to leave the small wooden shack in which she sat to visit the clinic. Holding my hand, she continued to speak as though I understood every word. She paused only to swallow hard the lump in her thoat that accompanied her tears.

My friend, Jessi, who works for the orphanage asked me moments before to leave the team of nurses and follow her. There was a lady who could not (or did not want to) leave her house. We walked a short distance on a dirt road walled with sugar cane. We approached a small wooden shack, roofed with palm leaves, a smoky tinge crept from its walls.

Jessi invited me in where she began to inspect the woman covered in soars. I watched as the woman, at first hesitant, explained something to Jessi. She would point to her legs as though indicating some type of pain running through them, then her voice would increase a she pointed toward the village. I sat in the background watching, trusting my eyes to translate what my ears failed to understand. After a short time we left and returned with some medicine.

The woman continued, this time to me. Now I softly held her hand and she communicated. I understand very (VERY) little Spanish. So instead I stood and listened. Jessi was heading back to the group of American nurses she was overseeing at the one day clinic set up for this small village. “You can stay here if you like,” she said. I stayed.

I stayed only to listen. To smile on occasion. To search this woman’s eyes for a connection deeper than language. One human. And with the little Spanish I knew tried to explain that I didn’t understand her, but knew she was not crazy (as she was apparently accused of being-that through translation). Before I left, I knelt down, told her she was beautiful, and kissed her on the cheek. It was the highlight of my day.

This was the third day in the Dominican Republic. It was a beautiful day. Most of the villagers who visited the make shift clinic had nothing wrong. Mothers would bring their children and explain to the nurses various ailments their children were experiencing. Stomach aches, headaches, coughs. Often phantom symptoms, most likely from a savvy mother making the most of a rare opportunity. Of course there were some legitimate cases of scabies, flu symptoms, high blood pressure, but fortunately nothing serious.

Nothing too eventful either, but not at all lacking in inspiration. For me it came in my shared moments with the villagers. The elderly woman was one. Another occurred at the end of the day as I chatted briefly with a kind blind man (through a translator). He used to work for the sugar cane companies managing the production numbers. Then about 10 years ago started to lose his vision. Now he can only decipher light from dark.

I told him sometimes in life there are images you hope always to carry with you, a sunset, a moment at the beach… I wondered if he carried any images with him. Snapshots of life. He paused for a moment, then answered it was hard for him to remember. I asked if I could take a picture with him so I could always remember this moment. He smiled. Once for yes. Once for the camera.

Otherwise, I was clinically useless so I spent most of the day smiling at people and just looking generally good. I can only assume the villagers agreed, as I’m not sure what else so many people would be talking about as they watched the gringo. We packed up and bounced back into town. Next up: the children.

After you’ve experienced true sailing as I explained in my previous entry, a lot of your fear fades. Those sudden gusts. The random side-swell. The wave crashing over the side of the bow. You begin to trust your vessel more. It’s a good feeling and allowed for some solid rest. In fact, when I woke 5 hours later, I could almost taste the Dominican Republic.

I think I was tasting something else because when I crawled back into the cockpit I found we were sailing the wrong direction. While I slept the wind continued to change and Dan had to change course. Another cross roads. The forecast now called for a solid Easterly wind of 15 knots and growing into the afternoon. We were OK on gas but not great and we needed to go East in order to position ourselves for the Dominican Republic.

Our new dilemma: We had to get to the other side of the Turks and Caicos. Either we go back up to Providence, refuel and wait another 3-4 days for wind. Or we go South around the tip of the bank and then tack Northeast to our launch point. OR we motor into the wind across the bank dodging coral and hoping our gas held up. Dan steered the boat to a small island where we would decide.

As we approached we saw another sail boat. It was Diva- a couple from Alaska who had already taken Dan and Morning Glory “spider hunting” in December while in the Bahamas. They had anchored there overnight and were headed across the bank. It was just the inspiration we needed, so Dan got the way points (the latitude/longitude points to cross) to hopefully avoid most of the coral. Without even anchoring we were back in position.

Can I just tell you that when two days earlier you lead the boat into about five coral heads, the idea of 25 miles of coral head, sailing into the wind simply sucks? Because it does, but if we didn’t get across the bank we’d be stuck-again. I perched on the bow as my anxious blood flowed through my tense body. Left to right we tried to avoid coral and stick on coarse as much as possible. We motored through adapting our sails to the wind. But we moved slow. As in 2-3 knots slow which poised another problem: daylight. The race was on. The sun was falling, the wind rising, we were burning through our gas and now to cap it off our motor instruments had stopped working.

At last we saw the island in the setting sun. Diva, whose motors at least twice as fast as us radioed to check up. Already anchored they told us of a couple nasty heads to keep an eye our for as we approached. Somehow we made it. Our anchor dropped 15 minutes after the sun did. We were low on gas, and low on functioning instruments. Diva invited us over for the tastiest dish of spaghetti and conch salad and sold us 10 more gallons of gas to get us to the DR.

The next day, Dan noticed the sink was leaking slightly and had corroded the wires to the instruments. So after fixing that we once again set out for the DR. 80 plus miles to go, the wind had picked up, the swells accompanied. The biggest I’d seen. We sailed five hours before deciding we needed to go back. Our timing was off we were going to arrive too late to navigate into port. So we tacked and headed north again.

Dropped anchor on a sand bar. Slept a few hours. Had breakfast and left again-76 miles to go. This time bigger seas and more wind. But after 17 hours of sailing in 30 mile an hour winds, 15 foot swells, and the boat on tilt the entire way, we arrived. Lush mountains. The smell of vegetation. Smiles bright as the morning sun! We made it!

I’m not sure how to look at. On the one hand we were having terrible luck-running into reef, knocking out our rudder, running out of gas, beating into the wind no matter which direction we went. On the other hand everything was working out. The rudder we were able to fix. Twice the only boats we saw in need were both boats we knew and were willing to help us out. We were anchored in a peaceful harbor. Tired but happy.

We walked the town. Dominicans blaring music, playing dominoes, watching the gringos. Then we returned hours later to the boat. We would visit the orphanage tomorrow, but tonight… tonight we would sleep!

When you’ve just had your rudder knocked out from crashing into the reef, then decide to go spearfishing where you’ve just seen a shark (nursing or not!), then have a race from the sharks you imagine chasing you to the shelter of your boat, all you can do is chuckle as you sit breathing and dripping heavily in the Bahamian sun. Dan sliced the fillets off his fresh catch. I watched the sharks below, circling, searching for the source of blood they so quickly picked up.

It’s amazing how quickly a shark will show up when there’s blood in the water. And it’s amazing how quickly your boyish mind starts swimming with ideas when you’re standing on the bow watching. There were sharks in the water, fish carcass in the boat, and fishing line still tied to the back of the boat: A + B = C.

With our tiller working again we trolled this time OFF the bank rather than over it. The fish carcass swam casually 50 feet behind the boat. Meanwhile I sat armed with my camcorder and dreams of dorsal fins. We trolled for a while, stopped to slap the top of the water like ringing a dinner bell for our toothy friends, then continued trolling. With in moments we hear splashing and see a school of tuna jumping out of the water. Moments later…the fin.

A massive white tip raises out of the water, then disappears as smoothly as it appeared. We stop the boat and keep the cameras rolling. Dan grabs the baited fishing line and pulls it in close to the boat. I pan the crystal waters for shadows. Bit by bit the shark circles closer to our fish, deciding just how interested it is. This is the shark that swims in my imagination. Probably 10 feet long and according to our Atlantic Sport Fish book ranging up to 350 lbs. It circles and circles and on occasion bites but eventually decides it’s not interested. I can only assume it was maybe expecting something a little bit longer, whiter and skinnier. Still we were pretty stoked.

After eating our reward we motored into the sunset. A warm cup of tea and a fresh packed pipe (totally legal of course) Dan and I both agreed- today the real adventure began. This was “The World by Sea”. Running on reef. Losing your rudder. Trolling sharks. It felt like the beginning. And it was, as we would soon find out over the next 4 days of sailing to the Dominican Republic.

According to the weather forecast we only had so many hours of trolling weather before the impossible Easterly winds returned. We needed to get to the other side of the Turks and Caicos Islands if we didn’t we faced the possibility of being stranded again on the wrong side of a passage. By morning we faced a new problem-gas or lack there of. It’s true a 25 horsepower, two-stroke engine is fairly fuel efficient, but when you only have a 20 gallon tank “efficient” can only get you so far. We were fast approaching our limit and would have to make a decision soon…

We could motor to the closest town which reportedly has gas “sometimes” and hope to refuel. The problem: we lose 10 or more hours and probably our window. OR we keep sailing south, get to a position to cross another bank. The problem: you need gas to cross a bank filled with coral heads. OR we head north and hope to get far enough to use the Easterly through the passage we needed. The problem: if we didn’t and with the amount of gas we had (we wouldn’t) we would be trapped with no place to anchor and have to back track. Enter the solution: Prudence.

We spotted another sailboat shortly behind us and radioed back. Turns out it was a couple of cruisers on sailing vessel Prudence who left Georgetown the same day we did. They sold us 5 gallons of gas and even through in some homemade ginger snaps to keep us going. I also inform our readers that on this day I became a man! Don’t be perverted, I just speared a fish. Yep, after going on two months “spearfishing” with no fish, I got one on my final day, at our final anchor in the Bahamas. Thank you-you can email your fan letters by clicking the “Contact Me” button on the left hand side.

We kept sailing. Dan’s adrenaline finally wore off from the reef hit shark troll and at 5:00 pm he cashed in, leaving me with just the tiller and my thoughts. Already a breeze was picking up and I watched the final hours of calm disappear with the daylight. The next 8 hours were magic. For the first time I found the true love of sailing. I’ve never really played an instrument, and never been much of an painter but in these euphoric moments, I understood what it meant.

There comes a moment after years of practice, strumming your guitar, stroking your canvass, when you finally know your art. And for the first time with instrument in hand you create. You compose the music in your soul. You paint the image in your dream. And when you step back that emotion translates perfectly through your art. I can’t say that happened to me and sailing, but I can say I understand what it means.

Everything seemed to happen at once. It’s hard to explain but as I sat there in the cool air, with the tiller in hand and the moon painting scenes in the clouds, I connected with the boat. I was able to lighten my grip and rather than fight the waves, I glided with them. I knew as the wind clocked I needed to ease the main, so the mast could cup the breeze just so. I knew the jib was too trim and the traveler was to leeward. And I knew how to fix it. This was the dream every person has when we speak of sailing. It was the first time I had it and it was beautiful.

I sailed until 2 in the morning when Dan finally peeked his head out. The moon had set an hour before and I was using the stars to navigate. I’ve never been so content on the boat, so I handed over the tiller and nestled in the bosom of my new friend. (Not Dan, you sickos… I’m talking about the boat.) The rest was good and just what I needed because the next 3 days would be the hardest sailing to date.

One major downside to being at sea is you can neither blog nor journal very well. Blog because of the obvious lack of internet availability. Journal because while yes, you do have a LOT of time on your hands, the time you do have is spent concentrating on the simple things in life. Such as not breaking things, falling overboard or tossing cookies. Suffice to say I have some catching up to do.

Before I do, allow me to comfort our faithful readers and concerned followers who sent plenty of emails over the past week and a half wondering if we were still alive. We are. We made it to the Dominican Republic and after kissing… nay spooning the precious ground for a few awkward moments, we pulled everything out of the boat to begin the drying process. Already I’ve had the chance to tour the orphanage village and it is amazing. But that’s still a few stories away…we first need to get you out of Georgetown!

While I was typing my last depressing entry, Dan was hard at work with a new piece of steel he found, applying support for our endangered mast. Somewhere between the internet and the dock, everything changed. I radio’d Dan, “I’m all done here.” Dan radio’d back, “Me too. The mast is ready. Tomorrow we sail!”

I could write an entire blog on the next 48 hours: Beating into the wind (except for the occasional squall which stole our wind and spun us around a time or two). The 40-degree angle we functioned at as the boat sailed heeled through the waves. The 60 miles progress we made sailing nonstop for 48 hours. But I’d just assume forget it. Instead I’ll jump to Day 3: the day we ran into reef.

On day 3 we learned the southerly wind we were expecting was not coming after all. Instead there would be no wind. Which means when sailing you can either sit and float, waiting for an occasional breeze or you can drop sails and power up your 20 horsepower beast of an engine. We opted for the later.

When you are a sailor (and no I’m not making any bold claims right now) there is a sense of defeat when you have to motor so we decided would fish in attempts to salvage a bit of our manhood We tied two lines to the back of the boat, trolled a third on a rod and veered toward a small island right on the cut of the ocean. Small. Remote. Perfect for huge fish.
Also perfect for huge uncharted coral heads. As Dan guided the boat closer to the island we thought we were going over a large sand bar until we noticed the coral. Titanic towers of razor sharp coral ascending just below the surface. At first we admired, but within moments it dawned on us that coral doesn’t just grow on the side of the boat.

“Derek, I need you on the bow.” I ran to the front of the boat. Tippy-toed, I spanned the calico water. Interesting how fine a line there is between beauty and horror. There were coral heads everywhere! “Right!… Now left, LEFT!” I would yell to Dan. “Now right!” We were actually doing it. Turn after turn we timidly zagged between the sleeping giants. Then the worst case scenario.

Like a good chess game, you try to think at least three moves ahead. But when you are out numbered eventually your opponent surrounds you: Check. I guided the boat, best I could through the heads, barking out orders to Dan. Until I realized we had entered a room with no exit.

My heart beat through every vein.  “Dan, we’re surrounded!” I shout. “There might be a small passage to your left, but it’s REALLY narrow and turns to the right.” There weren’t many alternatives so we tried. CLUNK! The whole boat shuttered in the water. CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! We were hitting coral on every side.

Between my futile yells, I whisper, “God, get us out of here…” as I can only imagine the water that’s poring through into the hull beneath my feet. CLUNK! This time the swell rolled us back. Dan lost control of his rudder. “We’ll have to walk it out,” Dan called out. “I have not control of the rudder.” And then somehow we were through. Maybe another swell, who knows, but by the time I had gotten to the back of the boat we had floated through the coral.

I dropped the anchor and Dan walked through the cabin to check for water. Good news-we weren’t taking on water. (PHEW!) Now, for the rudder. We still had no control of the rudder (and I still have no idea what I’m doing) so Dan got on his snorkel to take a look underneath. After a quick shark check (only one small nursing shark) Dan goes down.

“The rudder is knocked out of place… I’m going to try to hold it into place and you pound on the back of the tiller (the stick used for steering the boat).” Ok. A very long story short we finally get it. Who knows how good, but the tiller was moving the rudder. Very good news!

Now just one more thing. In Dan’s dive, perhaps while looking over his shoulder for sharks, he noticed there were some nice sized fish down there. Our pride now suffering more than ever, Dan asks if I want to do a little spear fishing before we get going. “With the sharks you just saw?” I felt a fair question. “Yes.” “No, not especially,” I reply as I grab my fins and snorkel.

Dan’s in first. I’m right behind him and just as I am pulling away from the boat I see him dive down. I take a breath and right when I dip my head in, Dan is speeding to the surface. That’s all I needed to know.  10 seconds later, I’m trying to figure out how to climb a ladder with flippers, Dan has already figured out how to jump out of the water onto the boat with a speared fish.

Success! Alas a small ounce of pride restored. We gaze over the side to the location of spearing and that leads me to my next post… the sharks! Yes… another shark story (and video!).

Hello friends.

You might have sensed the frustration building among Dan and I from that last post.  We  continue to wait for that right wind to blow so we can get on our way to the Dominican Republic to help out with the orphanage. We’ve been in Georgetown, Bahamas since January 1…waiting.
Georgetown is filled with cruisers almost entirely over 55 years. There are very few “young” sailors like Dan and I. I used to think it was because they were simply boaters were who had careers, worked, retired and then bought a boat. But after 11 days waiting for wind, it dawned on me that might not be the case. I’ve started wondering if these sailors were once young just like us, headed around the world, but then got to Georgetown and have been waiting ever since.

Well two days ago we decided we had waited long enough. Wind or no wind we were going to sail! We pulled anchor and set off into the wind. Just having the sails up again was invigorating.  We were moving again. Not very fast, but moving. To sail into the wind you have to tack- basically zig-zag back and forth at steep angles into the wind. Well after a good 15-20 miles of sailing it was clear we were not making any ground. So… back to Georgetown.

But everything happens for a reason, right? When we got back to our little colony of boats, Dan had to replace a light at the top of the mast. He got suited up and shimmied his way up. Fixed the light and came back down. “We’ve got a problem,” he said. “Look at this…”

Dan handed me the camera he carried to the top of the mast. I looked at a couple strips of metal. “Now zoom in…” The picture he took was of the metal strips that hold the “stays” or support lines for the mast. As I zoomed in, the crack became clear. It was split all the way through. If that piece gave, the support lines would have come down and if the sail was up the mast would have too.

Count your blessings I guess. Yes we’re stuck here in Georgetown… but better here than in the middle of the ocean. At least here we have a community of retirees to do yoga, play volley ball or Texas hold ’em with. Now the hard part: finding a piece of metal, reinforcing the support and getting all of that done in time for the winds that are predicted to clock around over the next couple of days.

Keep your fingers crossed would ya? For the parts, for Dan and I… for the children. 🙂

I’ll keep you posted.

The adventures of sailing continue. When we dream of sailing, we imagine standing at the helm, wind at our backs, sails full, gently rocking to and fro as salted sea mist glistens our brow. It’s beautiful picture, and it’s true! I’ve seen it… a couple times. But to be honest there are a few things they don’t tell you. That’s why you need a guy who will be totally honest with you. A guy who is completely unbiased, untainted with extensive sailing background. A guy like me.

The first thing “they never tell”, I’ve already shared. That whole 6 mile-an-hour top speed thing. The second is a little more obvious but not one I that had fully sunk in until recently. When sailing you are wind dependent. Makes sense. But when you are in an area with 700 islands and even more coral reef, you are severely limited. I never realized just how much waiting was involved!  And that is why with grand dreams of changing the world Dan and I are STILL in the Bahamas. With any luck our winds will change and we will be on our way. We are anxious to get moving, but at least we continue to have adventures.

One came after days and days of relentless wind and rain. Dan, Morning Glory (Dan’s visiting girlfriend) and I climbed into the dinghy ready to take full advantage of the sun by doing a little spear fishing. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it before or not, so I will now: sharks love murky water. This fact according to one legendary sailor Bernard Moitessier who himself declared, “ Personally, I won’t swim unless the water is clear…” However, I’m not sure Moitessier has ever been rained in for three days on a 33 foot boat with the Capitan and his girlfriend. When you have, you somehow feel more inspired.

We trolled toward the “cut”, where the ocean cuts through the islands. Stop the dinghy and gear up. That’s when my inspiration drops a bit. “Has anyone seen the clip to my flipper?”  “Did you check the bag?”  “Yeah, nothing…”  “Hmm…” Yeah, hmmm we think to ourselves, as Derek suits up with one fin and a snorkel that makes you earn the air you receive. Into the water we go. Dan and I swim along the reef, Morning Glory staying close to the dinghy to make sure it doesn’t get sucked out to sea.

It could be that we were snorkeling in split pea soup and just couldn’t see. It could be that fish are also aware that sharks like low visibility. Or maybe there was something about Derek’s one finned dolphin swim that scared them off. Whatever the case, there were NO fish. So we keep swimming, and I keep an eye out for fish, Dan and sharks. I’m cruising along the reef starting to settle with Dan at my 9:00, when suddenly I hear him yell: “Meeripphniick! Rahhhbxsnnerrrr!” Simultaneously, I feel a sharp pain in my quad.

My finned leg starts kicking. I thrash my way to the surface, looking for Dan and trying to figure out just what the frick was going on. Upon locating the surface and the air that accompanied, I my eyes begin to dart. First to the leg-no blood-good. Then to the threatening surroundings-no sharks-good. Still no fish and no idea just what had inflicted the throbbing pain in my leg. Finally I turn my focus back to Dan, who surfaces and yells again more coherently, “Lobster!”

I never did see the lobster, despite the next 20 minutes digging around the coral reef. Dan says he saw it and tried to spear it, but there was no good way to pull it out of the hole it was hunkered down in. Eventually we return to the dinghy, some more gracefully than others. Others more gratefully than some. The rain started by the time we climbed back in the ding. We returned to the boat empty handed. But there’s nothing like a cold wet dinghy ride and a throbbing welt on your leg to make you appreciate your cozy vessel. And really isn’t that what life’s all about… appreciating what you have? Even the unidentified sea welts.

I worked for the Grand Canyon Railway for about 10 years, at least 4 of those years were actually on the train. When everyday you are carrying cokes up and down the aisle you develop what we call “train legs”. I’m not exactly sure how Webster puts it but I’m imagine it’s something like:

train legs. plural noun
1. the ability to walk naturally on a train that is in motion without falling, pouring or dropping something into the lap of an elderly lady trying to enjoy her ride.

Train legs. And if I can say so without sounding immodest I had a pretty good pair. However… while similar, train legs are NOT sea legs. Let’s be honest- 33 feet of fiberglass floating on 6 foot swells is not easy to walk on. And when comparing Dan’s ability to swiftly move up and down the deck to my ability to step, pause, wait for wave to drop, step… and so on, it’s easy to find the guy with OUT sea legs.

Occasionally, I’ll come crashing into something to which Dan simply replies, “Light feet, Derek, light feet.” Right, right-light feet, I know. Well one particular day, when the swells were particularly large, I had to get something from underneath. So in I go. Step-pause. Step-pause. You know the drill. Anyway, I get whatever it was I was getting and am heading back when I forget either to step or to pause. I’m not totally sure which, but the boat dips and ol’ twinkle-toes Derek comes smashing into a table. A table that Dan spent hours making out of a sentimental map of his hometown Seattle. Dan peeks in… Glance-pause. Glance-pause. Then finally musters out, “The important thing is that you didn’t get hurt…” AKA: “Why did I EVER invite you to come? Next time you fall make sure it’s off the boat…” “No, I’m ok… thanks.” I reply.

Well the table gets fixed, but a few days later on a cloudy-uncomfortable day, Dan comes out of the boat as I’m steering and says, “Let’s practice some man overboard drills.” Now I’m not saying it’s related, but when you see a ship mate pirouette body slam himself into a table, there maybe some concern for your own safety. Whatever the reason, I have to admit it’s not a bad idea.

Dan goes first. He throws a cushion into the sea. “Man OVERBOARD!!!” My heart starts pounding as if this cushion’s life was about to be lost. Dan releases the sails, turns into the wind, pulls in the genoa (sail), starts the engine and steers toward the “man” overboard. “That took longer than it should,” says Dan. “Your turn.” Nice.

Dan tosses the cushion and I, voice cracking like a prepubescent teen, yell “MAN OVERBOARD!”. Ok… let’s see. Release the sail. Turn into the wind… no INTO the wind. Pull in the genoa. Start the engine. Oh yeah find the guy who drowning and steer the boat next to him… miss him, circle around… repeat, miss, repeat… aaaaaand TIME CHECK! Wow. Dan and I both agree there is sufficient need to practice again. We do and after I finally get it down, Dan suggests that maybe we try it while I’m in the boat. Hmmm wonder where that came from?

The good news is, without breaking anything else I bravely scrambled to deck, pulled sail, found and saved the poor cushion. And hopefully, we all slept a little more sound that night. I know I had no trouble, mystery bruises and all. Now let’s just hope I never have actually use that skill.

Seth, one of my best friends, and I sat down for lunch at our favorite sandwich shop in Flagstaff. It was time for me to make a decision: take a job in Portland/ sail around the world. We tossed the pros and cons back and forth. Sailing around the world would be the adventure of a lifetime, but I’ve always had this burning in the shadows of my soul to do something more, something humanly worthwhile. It’s the voice that asks after a long day of work, while you lie in the quiet of your bed unable to sleep, “What have you done? What really matters…”

I explain this to Seth as one of the cons to sailing. To get involved as we move along. Stop somewhere, build a house, school, whatever. Seth, who understands I know as much of carpentry as I do of sailing, logically responds something to the effect of, “ So stop somewhere and help do something they know much more about than you?” Kind of like me helping Dan sail. The reality is it takes Dan more time to stop and try to teach me what it means to sail, then how to sail, before I can ever be of help. Good point.

Still the decision to sail the world was a decision to follow my dreams. I have two significant dreams: 1. See the world. 2. Change the world. 1, as it turns out, is easier than 2. But hopefully one will lead to the other. So when my friend and I were designing theworldbysea.com, the idea came to me: What if as people follow along and as we stop to do something worthwhile they can give to the cause? They’ll be able to not only give, but to see exactly what they are giving to. To watch their very dollar work. And I can blog about every step.

That’s why one of the first things you see when you sign onto theworldbysea.com is a “Donate” button. Before I left, I approached another friend who started a nonprofit company, Lampstand, so he could do that very thing: know where his donations were going. We opened an account specifically for theworldbysea.com, so every dollar that is donated by people will go not to me, or Dan, or sailing, but to helping people along the way. And not only that, since it goes through Lampstand, Lampstand writes a receipt and it’s tax deductible! Every dollar you give we will use for a cause along the way, and you can write it off. We just have to find the right place to give.

Now the exciting part. As we were letting everyone know of our adventure, we heard from a friend that we both knew from college who lives in the Dominican Republic. At the time, Dan and I didn’t know our route, but when we realized we would be close to the D.R. we asked our friend Jessi, where she lived. Turns out she’s just a few miles from the coast and works with at risk children through an organization known as “Kids Alive International” (kidsalive.org). We sent Jessi an email asking what they were doing and if there were things they needed, clothes, dental hygiene things, etc.? Jessi responded as follows:

We are doing loads of construction for new classrooms and bathrooms and furnishing them with desks and supplies, etc. We’re good on dental products but could use hygiene products, especially spray deodorant, soap, etc…but again, with money those things could be bought here. Let me know anything else I can help you with. When are you thinking about being here? Can’t wait!

Dan and I both agree it’s better to not just throw money at a need, so instead we will take money donated and purchase the supplies they need first hand. It’s a vision Dan and I shared from day one, and one we daydream about daily. We just never imagined it would happen so soon! And now the goal: Dan sat across from me composing his “proposal” to all of his contacts. “What should we shoot for?” he asked. “What $500? $1,000? Let’s do a $1,000!” So there it is. We’ll get to the Dominican Republic probably the second week of January, giving us about a month. Ambitious, I know. Especially for the first “go round”. But if you’re gonna change the world, you gotta shoot for the stars.

It’s always strange to ask for money, so I think I’m just going to tell you what we are up to. If you feel inclined, you can give and I’ll blog about everything we do. Meanwhile, Lampstand will send you receipt if you want to claim it on your taxes.

I have no idea how much we will make. Dan thinks people will give more cause it’s Christmas, which sounds good to me. Either way if it’s $10, $100, or $1,000, we will take what we have and buy some supplies for this orphanage in the Dominican Republic. At very least, we’ll get our hands a little dirty. Whatever happens, it’s a step. Even as I write this I have a smile on my face. As one friend put it, “Ripples. You’re making ripples.”

Please feel free to email with any questions you might have about our ideas, Lampstand, Kids Alive International, anything. Drop us a note and we’ll get back with you. If you want to give, just click on the “Donate” button to the right. Anything helps and EVERYTHING will go toward the “cause”. We won’t take a penny for ourselves. That’s a promise. If you want to give specifically to Dan or I (as has been asked), drop us an email and we’ll talk. Frankly though, I think we’d both assume you just donate to the cause. Unless you have a dinghy that doesn’t leak air… we’ll take that for ourselves. 🙂

Thanks, and we’ll keep you posted.

You just mention the word “shark” and suddenly that’s all people talk about. Well, as commenter “J-money” once said, “Give the people what they want!” So sharks it is. There are a few stories, so I’ve split this entry into 3 Acts.

Act I.

We arrived the Bahamas at sunrise. Docked. Checked in. Got the passports stamped and set out immediately to do some spear fishing. I should explain just what I mean by “spear fishing”, because if you are like me you imagine Tom Hanks standing on a rock next to a blue lagoon effortlessly stabbing unsuspecting trophy winners. While that may happen in real life, our version is a little bit different.

First you have a spear. A 4-5 foot pole with a sharp tip on one end and an elastic loop on the other. Holding onto the elastic tubing you slide your hand up the pole as far as you can, grip and upon release the sharp tipped end shoots toward your respective dinner. Furthermore, you are not standing on a rock waiting for fish. Nay, to catch a fish you must become a fish. Swim among them, dive with them, see eye to eye with them.

Day one. Dan says to the crew, “We must live like the people. We don’t catch—we don’t eat.” Yes… live like the people. We nod agreeably, snorkel up and get in. Bear in mind there are a LOT of fish in the ocean. Some you eat, some you don’t eat. Some you spear, some you don’t spear. I studied a sheet of “gamefishes of the Atlantic” before getting in, but you learn quickly that unless it’s Nemo or a jellyfish, they all kind of look the same when you’re in the water.

So there I was. Take a breath, dive down about 10-15 feet, look around and come back up for air. I see the ledge of a sand bar where the sea grass drops off to a deeper ocean floor. Perfect for prey. Gasp and dive. Bit by bit I inch closer to the suspecting ledge. Noticing an overhang, I swim towards it. Locked and loaded, I see an opening, walled with a gray flesh. My heart speeds. “Oh man, this is a massive fish! Live as the people live!!!” As I approach, heart beating, I am thinking through that list of nondescript fishes… I stretch my spear-hand forward toward the victim. I pause, hesitate, run out of air. Better pass on this one.

Good call. Dan later asks if we saw the shark. That evening we are reading a popular sailors book advising there are only a couple places a man can effectively spear a shark, otherwise it will be provoked and then… THEN you are in trouble.  LIVE as the people live, not die as the people die!

Act II.

Dive number two. Due to the poor return of our last dive, we dinghy to different location further from shore. Deeper means bigger, so we find a coral lift in a deeper section off shore. Snorkels on, masks down, in we go. Unfortunately, this location had less fish than the last. One curious barracuda trailed a steady 20 feet behind us as we bobbed a long the reef line. But he was more inquisitive than imposing, so we kept moving. We swam along never seeing anything worth preparing a spear for. Well after a short time of seeing only little guys, I bore and turn my eyes toward the sub horizon. It takes 2 seconds for my eyes to adjust and 1/2 second to spot a solid 8-12 foot shark (8-12 because underwater you can’t really tell…but it was longer than I was). “Hoh Crap!” bubble I through my snorkel. Surface and yell “shark, SHARK!” to the other two.

Rob, the friend joining us for a week, later admitted he initially doubted my claim, until seeing the great fish moments later. I know he saw it however, because even though he had 1/2 the fins Dan and I had, he was first to the dinghy. Dan casually swam still looking for fish, and later told Rob and I, the shark was a “nursing” shark, which he claims has a very distinct look.

I can tell you one thing, Rob and I both agreed: shark = shark. And teeth or no teeth I’ll have no shark “nursing” on my leg.

Act III.

I’ll go ahead and calm your precious pittering hearts by telling you in advance this next act contains NO close shark encounters (at least that I know of). After a couple more successful dives and no seen shark, Rob had to catch his plane back home. We sailed back to the Bimini dock and anchored just off a canal. This time we swam with a different objective: lobster. Most of the water was 3-5 feet deep, the canal was about 20.

One sweet thing about the Bahamas is that the lobsters have no pinchers. The plan was to float along the canal wall looking for the antennae poking out. When you spot a lobster, you swim up current to the antennae, then quickly reach in and grab the shellfish before it has a chance to hunker down.  We spent 45 minutes drifting down the wall and eventually we (Rob and Dan) catch a couple lobsters. I use the term lightly because our “catch” looked more like the offspring of a lobster who fell in love with a crawfish, spawning what we would call dinner.  Another term I use lightly.

The next morning we drop Rob off and as Dan and I walked the streets looking for a new snorkel to replace the one I somehow lost after our first dive, we bump into a young guy who works for the “shark lab”. Turns out the very area we were bobbin for lobbies the day before is a breeding area for Lemon Shark, who stick around for 6-9 years before moving on. We also learned from our local expert there were some bull shark (most aggressive) in the area, though not usually there and that the place to be most cautious are around the reefs while spear fishing… Nice. Nursing shark my butt! I have a feeling that sea monster we spotted days before would have loved a long tender piece of white meat. To which I fit the description beautifully. Long. Tender. And very white.