Six months ago we arrived back in Anacortes after a trans Pacific journey that took us from Canada to Mexico to French Polynesia to Hawaii to Alaska and back to Washington, a journey upwards of 13,000 nautical miles. A week ago, we stood on a grassy knoll in Washington Park and contemplated whether we could manage the five mile trek to James Island, which we could see from our perch, right there in front of us. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Tom half-joked.
But it was time to get back on the horse, so to speak. Six months to the day from the moment we returned from our long sailing trip, and almost a year to the day that Tom left Mexico for French Polynesia, we departed Skyline Marina and took the 50-minute trip across the Rosario Street to James Island. It was a victory.
Yes, we were rusty. Yes, we made amateur mistakes. Having forgotten to unplug the power cord from the binnacle where it has to run through the steering wheel, we found that the wheel wouldn’t move when we needed it to as we backed out of the slip. I forgot to bring up the fenders until we were midway across the Rosario straight, which is the sailing equivalent of having toilet paper stuck to your shoe all day. I brought a spatula along to make sure I could flip pancakes in the morning, only to find that there were already three spatulas aboard. Having lost their sea legs momentarily, the kids both got a few head bumps. And they did have to be reminded of a few basic rules they had conveniently forgotten: life jackets on deck when we’re underway, no camping out in the companion way, and no toys on the stairs lest you want to hear the wrath of the captain.
Yet despite our rustiness, the short voyage was still a victory. In more ways than one. It was a victory to get off the dock in the middle of winter. It was a victory to re-discover our own watery backyard. And it was a victory to pull the kids away from their ever-present screens and get them exploring again.
More than anything, though, it was a victory of spirit, over the forces of frustration and depression and mental health demons. For all that we were happy to arrive home six months ago, it has been a difficult reentry as we have all struggled with our identities and relationship to the boat and to boating. Korvessa and Tom did everything they could to get us home with a failing transmission and semi-functioning bilge pumps. With no slips available in the area, we put Korvessa up on jackstands in a boatyard, where she received precious little attention from us, dirty dishes from the final voyage still festering in the sink. Attention had shifted instantly to work and school with no transition in between. I made periodic trips to the boat to retrieve things and to make sure the wind wasn’t wreaking any havoc, but there was little time or ability to do anything else. And Tom’s sporadic visits to Korvessa in between his long work stints in Arizona had resulted only in strong emotions and paralysis.
So once the transmission had been rebuilt and reinstalled, it was a victory for us all to get back to the boat, to start sorting through what was there (expired cat food and green salsa, anyone?), to start figuring out what still works (the fridge!) and what doesn’t (the forward heater), and to start the process of turning Korvessa into something that resembles more a boat and less a foreclosed home abandoned in haste.
We fell into rhythm with the small waves and hum of the engine. The surface of the Rosario Strait was glassy and smooth. The Olympic Mountains rose snow-capped in the distance to the south. The San Juan Islands layered different shades of gray to the north and west. Dylan wanted to learn to steer Korvessa, and he navigated us through the current as the strong ebb pulled us south. Andy immediately reverted back to his habit of playing Legos at the upper dinette table. Tom and I stared out at the water and the islands just enjoying the moment. At James Island, we explored beaches and hiking trails. We excitedly started a campfire with a long-expired flare and roasted hot dogs and sausages over the embers. We didn’t sleep well, having lost our familiarity with the rocking of the boat, the pitter-patter of the rain, and the constant knocking of sticks and debris against the hull. But it was beautiful. A beautiful, green and gray, Pacific Northwest victory.
Perhaps we were once mighty. Perhaps we have fallen. But if we were going to fall anywhere, I’m glad we fell here.
I think you guys look great. No fallen great ones that I can see! Very excited to read about the next episode in the York family saga. Cheers!
So pleased to read your update, I miss reading your updates.
Yes, returning to “normal” is always a transition.
Whether we escape for a short time or a longtime returning has always been difficult for me. In your case, your readjustment and navigating your loved ones through theirs.
Keep sending your blog
Thanks, Jeannette! Yes, transition back to “normal” is always hard, especially when “normal” doesn’t exist anymore. What a strange experience for all of us. I will keep writing blog updates, I promise, even though most of my writing these days is getting the book manuscript done. I’m making progress with help and encouragement from a great group of fellow memoir-writers.
This sounds like you all again! So glad you got back in the boat! Those boys look happy! More adventures to come. Keep us posted.
Hi Anne –
Yes, the boys were very happy to be back on the boat. In some ways, it is still home to them for all that they are looking forward to getting back to our “blue house” in a couple months. Andy realized he had spent half his life aboard the boat. He has so few memories of his previous house, so for him, the boat is as close to home as he can get. Their faces show their experience now, as they didn’t 3 years ago, but that is growing up and experiencing the world. Take care!
Love this post! So glad you’re getting back out there. We plan to bring Dogbark back from Alaska this summer. Then maybe we can meet up in a local harbor. 🙂
Excellent, Janna! Yes, stay in touch, and let us know when you’re headed south. It would be nice to meet up in a local harbor since we just kept missing each other in AK last summer.
So glad you are back in the water!
Also glad the fridge is working. I have vague memories of installing the new compressor about three years ago.
Hugs
Hi Ian –
Yeah, we’ve had to do a bit of work on the fridge since then. Hm… a couple times. Which is why we were so surprised to find it working! Anyway, hugs to you all, too!
Great to hear from you . I’m the Ham who caught you just as you were getting to Hawaii (500 miles away I believe) calling CQ, and I’m with the Chubasco Network. That was an amazing journey and story, I’ve been following since you left Baja. Mike N6GRG
Hi Mike! Thanks for following us. Man, Tom loved tuning in to the Chubasco net and connecting with you all. I think he misses it. Maybe one of these days he’ll try to reconnect with Chubasco. Hope all is going well! Life is hectic here, and there is a large part of us all that misses Mexico as much as we’re happy to be back up north. Take care, and stay in touch.
Maybe beached – not fallen.
Thanks for sharing this adventure in the Northwest. The pictures are wonderful! You all look great!
Hahaha! Beached, not fallen. Diane, that’s exactly it. We’re okay being beached for a while. 🙂
Wonderful to get an update and to know you are back on the boat and doing some sailing, even if it is close to your land-based home for now. I’m a Pacific NW native – born in Seaside, OR, raised in Astoria. Did some moving around for about 15 years pursuing a career then settle in Seattle for 25 years before retiring to Orlando, FL 3 years ago. My Dad and Step-Mother had a house on the bluff up above the ferry landing in Anacortes for several years. Love following sailing blogs, including yours, of PNW sailing families. Thanks.
Thanks, Gayle! We know those bluffs that overlook the ferry landing here – what a beautiful place for your in-laws to have had a house. Thanks for following us and our story! I can understand your pull to warmer climes. This winter here has been pretty soggy and windy. We’ve enjoyed the cold and the wet, but after two winters in Mexico, we’re having fantasies of places to escape to when the winter gray sets in. Florida is a lovely place to be (I spent 4 years there as a child), though I will always prefer dry desert heat over the humid tropical heat. Thanks for checking in!
Not just the voyages, there was the Mexican experience. You have had a hectic 3 years. Not forgetting the difficulties of life surrounded by Covid! The mighty did not fall, they just took a well earned break. So you are now back ready for some gentle family summer boating. Good job!
Hugs
Hi Lizzie! Yes, we are so looking forward to some gentle family summer boating. This past weekend was a good start, even if it was cold. At least we’re back on the horse an ready to do some more. Although with the prediction of all the crowds again this summer, it might be spring and fall boating instead of summer. If Canada is still closed this summer, the San Juans are going to be packed. We’ve talked about exploring south Sound a bit, though no decisions made at this point. Hope you’re doing well!