Still in the Danger Season By MichaelVAVA'U, TONGA

The international terminal at Nadi, Fiji is filled
with orchids, hundreds of individual pots.
That's Frances in the background.

We’re back in Tonga, back home aboard Del Viento. Our 38-year-old girl held up in our absence. Alone on a mooring, she weathered two cyclones (Ula and Winston). The only damage she sustained was to the man-overboard pole which we keep mounted in a bracket on the backstay. How we completely stripped our boat bare and forgot to remove that pole is beyond me, though I remember we were scrambling in the days leading up to departure. Anyway, that pole snapped in half. We have both pieces though, so I will try to repair it. 

For the past 10 days we’ve been working to put Del Viento back together. I’m reminded that breaking camp is easier than setting camp. Also, when you’ve not broken camp in years, doing so exposes faults that are easy to ignore in the course of packing up, but have to be dealt with upon next setting up. So, that’s what we’re dealing with now: the dodger zippers and snaps that failed upon tear-down, the frozen shackles that had to be cut off our back-up anchor rode so we could use that rode as secondary attachment points to our mooring, the aluminum solar panel bracket that broke during dissassembly. Also, we’re tackling jobs that we put off long ago, but won’t allow ourselves to ignore now, not when the boat is bare and getting to everything is easier than ever. So, that 1-inch Starboard I bought in Alaska to replace the rotten teak pads beneath our davits? That’s moved to the top of the list. Having someone come aboard the boat to weld struts to attach to the stainless steel arch that supports 3 solar panels? Scheduled.

We’re cleaning out lockers that are normally hard to empty and access. We’re having all kinds of canvas work done. I need to retrieve our primary anchor and 300 feet of chain from the bottom, where we secured them to our mooring before departure. Next week we’ll go collect our dinghy and kayaks from the island where we left them. Eleanor has to change the oil. There is still a lot of mold to deal with. All the while we’re monitoring nearby cyclones (two so far) that remind us we’re still in the danger season here.

It doesn’t sound much like cruising, does it? Well, it is and we’ve no complaints. We’re in Tonga for goodness sake. We are working together like a team, like a family. We’re all healthy. My girls are happy. We’re having lively conversations about where we’ll head next. It doesn’t get much better. I was reminded today that it was a year ago that we left Mexico. It seems to all of us (and not in a bad way)  like at least two years have passed.

--MR

Still the Nadi terminal. We were there, like this, for 11 hours.
There are worse terminals to spend 11 hours.

Home! 45 hours after leaving SFO--though that includes 1 night in
a Nukualofa hotel.

Reunited for beers with good friends in Neiafu, this was taken
before we even got back to the boat, about 1/4 mile away.
Tina is in the black shirt, her husband Shane in the grey
shirt, they are from Vagrant. In the white hat is Tawn, of Palarran.

This is my father-in-law, Paul, back in San Francisco. He is
a master furniture refinisher and restorer. He mostly works on very old pieces,
but here he is pictured with a table from an old, storied 1929 yacht: Pat Pending.

Easy Money for Cruisers By MichaelVAVA'U, TONGA

Sorry, no pictures this post, I just want to share a gift from the Federal government.

Late last year, Windy and I joined the U.S. State Department’s Junior Diplomat Program (JDP). This is the greatest thing since roller furling--and they’re looking for more cruisers to participate. In addition to a stipend each month ($230, or $115 times two) for our participation, the State Department reimburses any additional costs we incur to obtain Internet access for reporting purposes.

According to the State Department website, the JDP seeks to, “leverage and promote goodwill by U.S. citizens abroad, obtain information that can be used to help resident, in-country ambassadors allocate funding to improve relations, and better understand foreign nationals’ perceptions of the United States from a man-in-the-street point of view.”

We simply complete a form each month online, kind of like a survey. After the basics (where we traveled during the month) we check off the types of interactions we had with foreign nationals (retail, restaurant, hotel, other) and then provide a few details about select interactions.

For example, in the notes section of the report we submitted in December, I reported that I talked to a Tongan welder about the U.S. political race and how folks in the U.S. are pretty divided. I indicated that the welder agreed with my assessment and seemed to dislike Donald Trump. Yesterday I received feedback from a State Department employee indicating this is a perfect example of the kind of anecdotal accounts they are looking for. They said the few junior diplomats they have enrolled today who travel the world on boats are prized because, “they tend to have interactions with people and businesses that are very different from those experienced by casual, short-term travelers.” He urged me to spread the word.

So, I’m letting you all know. Click to access the U.S. State Department Junior Diplomat Program (JDP) Enrollment Form and to get more information. Participant counts are restricted by region, so hurry! (And please forward to others who may be interested...)

--MR

Women and Cruising By MichaelWOODACRE, CA

Check out the Del Viento crew on the Women and Cruising site. Posted yesterday is an interview I did for them accompanied by a wide range of photos old and new.

If you're not familiar with Women and Cruising, it's worth checking out. The site is intended for the fairer sex, but it's a great resource for anybody interested in cruising. And if you are a woman and you have something to say, it's a great place to submit a story you think will be of interest to other cruising women (just send an email to kathy@forcruisers.com).

Meanwhile, we are a frantic bunch about now. When you've been someplace three months, you've kind of moved in. So we are busy moving out and packing up a mountain of boat parts and the spoils of North American life to schlep all the way to Tonga. We leave in less than 48 hours.

At this time, sailing to Tonga is seeming easier--and maybe only a bit slower--than returning by plane. From San Francisco we take a short flight on Virgin America to LA. We arrive LA about 9:30 at night and then depart for Fiji on Fiji Airways at 11:30 p.m.. By the time we reach cruising altitude, it'll be the next day. Several hours later we cross the date line and it's another day gone. When we land in Fiji, it's about 5:00 a.m. and the start of our 11-hour layover in the Nadi terminal. Early that evening, we board a much smaller Fiji Airways plane for Nuku'alofa, Tonga. But we don't arrive in time for the last REALTonga flight north to Neiafu, so we crash in a hotel. The next afternoon, we get on a smaller plane and skip over the waves for about 90 minutes. After we land for good, take a cab to the waterfront, commandeer a dinghy, and reach Del Viento, it'll be dinner time.

I'm so excited to return, I can hardly stand it.

--MR

http://www.womenandcruising.com/sailing-family-del-viento.htm

Wanna Write a Magazine Article? By MichaelWOODACRE, CA

In kindergarten I was tasked with making a shoebox diorama that showed me engaged in my future vocation. The little cardboard me I cut out wasn't playing a professional sport or fighting a fire or walking on the Moon. Instead, Mini Me sat solo in the empty Vans shoebox, in a tiny cardboard chair, behind a tiny cardboard table, in front of a tiny cardboard typewriter. It wasn't a dream I chased very far. At some point growing up I was dissuaded by pragmatism. Having learned that I stood the same chances of becoming a successful writer as my kindergarten classmates did becoming a professional baseball player, I steered clear of ever being caught playing the dreamer.

Nearly five years ago--almost four decades out of kindergarten--we left to go cruising and I was suddenly rich in time. I decided to start writing in earnest. I began selling my writing.

Now, I'm proud and eager to announce a new book filled with all the knowledge I've gained: Selling Your Writing to the Boating Magazines (and other niche mags) (2016, Force Four Publications).

I hope this book gives aspiring writers the knowledge and confidence to get published in their favorite magazines.

Jen Brett, Senior Editor at Cruising World magazine, wrote that Selling Your Writing to the Boating Magazines, "Should be required reading for anyone looking to break into freelance journalism."

Following are additional early reviews I'm pleased to share:

“From now on when I get queries from sailors wanting to know how to get started as writers for the sailing press, I’ll recommend this book. It’s not just the book editors have been waiting for, it’s the book long awaited by every sailor who hopes to make a buck while pursuing his sailing dream.”
—Karen Larson, Publisher of Good Old Boat

“Concise, useful and encouraging for any aspiring magazine writer, not just those in the sailing field.”
—Lin Pardey, author of more than 400 magazine articles

"Michael Robertson has done a great job composing a primer of practicalities for freelance writers. His clear advice is reinforced by having been widely published himself, allowing him to cite numerous useful examples from his own efforts."
—Tim Queeney, Editor of Ocean Navigator

"If you’ve ever thought about sharing your passion by writing about what you love, you need this book. Michael Robertson has put together the ultimate toolkit for launching your freelancing dream."
—Beth A. Leonard, freelancer, speaker, and author who supported herself for two decades writing from her boat

If you're interested, ask your local librarian to order Selling Your Writing to the Boating Magazines, or buy a copy at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Kobo.

--MR

Hot Showers and All the Rest By MichaelWOODACRE, CA

Less than one year away from actual teen
age and we already have a blue streak.
(courtesy Bryce Cannon)

Maybe it was in Passage to Juneau, maybe it was in Coasting, but someplace writer Jonathan Raban related this idea that island dwellers have a different relationship with the sea than their continental brethren. He wrote that islanders see the ocean that surrounds them as a path to other places, a gateway or a highway, whereas the people who inhabit continents see the ocean as a boundary, the end of their beloved roads.

Del Viento is our tiny island. We do most of our eating, sleeping, schooling, and living aboard that 40-foot fiberglass hole in the water. It's home. And while she's a small home, we don't feel bound. Aboard Del Viento we are surrounded by paths to other places. I think this islander perception does something to a person's psyche. Not good or bad, but something.

I'm a regular guy who has spent the better part of my life living the conventional American land-based life. I'm not ignorant of nor immune to the allure of the lives we left. I'm not a Moitessier-like seafaring gypsy who can only find peace on a boat far from land. Yet, we've lived unconventionally for the past four-and-a-half years. Now, having been continental people since Christmas, I realize I've been changed by our lives aboard Del Viento.

I've experienced a range of emotions and reactions since we left Tonga and I think I can distill it all down to one word: struggle.

Here in the regular house in which we are staying, hot water flows freely from a showerhead whenever I want it to. I don't have anything like this on Del Viento. Sure, if the stars align and I have the solar shower filled and the sun shines all day and the night is cool, I can haul that bag up on a halyard and enjoy something like a hot shower. But the stars don't often align in this way. Along with not seeing good friends (like Jana Price), I've long-considered the absence of frequent hot water showers a drawback of life on my tiny island. I've said the same about having to lug jerry cans of fresh water aboard. About perpetually slow or non-existent internet. About good beer and ice cream being hard to find.

I no longer think the absence of these luxuries is a drawback.

When we first landed on the continent, the hot-water-showers-on-demand gave me tremendous pleasure. But now that feeling has almost disappeared and there is nothing to replace it.

Losing my appreciation for the shower isn't the problem. I think the problem lies in the absence of a longing that seems to enhance life and mark the days. I like that aboard Del Viento I can remember the few days that culminated in being naked on deck beneath the stars and a hot solar shower. I appreciate those showers like the hot showers I get here, but I never stop appreciating them. In the same way that even after schlepping the 5-gallon jerry cans of water aboard, the delicate and fickle systems on our boat never allow me to take for granted the availability of that water at the tap. The same way that a whisper in American Samoa that bitter ales could be had in Tonga was a catalyst for anticipation. We've grown accustomed to celebrating the basics. I don't know how to write it so it doesn't sound dramatic, but I think it ties into the idea of feeling rich with comparatively little.

In two weeks we return to our island, surrounded by an ocean that is a path to other places, perhaps a gateway to the next hot shower, good beer, faster internet, and all the rest. But definitely not all at once, and maybe none at all. I can't know what's over the horizon and if I catch myself bemoaning that fact, I'll remind myself that I prefer it that way.

--MR

It's been nice to witness the rebirth of California wildflowers
with the rains that have been so long overdue. The mighty
oaks are happy too. (courtesy Bryce Cannon)

Another lesson from returning home is that you don't have
to travel to remote parts of the world to find beauty.
(courtesy Bryce Cannon)