Pre Departure

Our plan is to chase the sun.  As we travel north, each change in latitude will bring us a longer day on our first trans-Atlantic passage.  

When Michael and I got engaged, we couldn’t wait to be married.  When we were married, we couldn’t wait to have a baby.  When we decided to cross the Atlantic Ocean on Gerty, we couldn’t wait to do that either!  We are inpatient and it suits us. 

Dates on a calendar don’t matter here.  Weather is everything.  The GRIB maps are showing two lows that should pass to the north, and the easterlies have picked up into the near future.  If we can stay south of the lows and north of the elongated high, then we should be able to avoid the doldrums in the horse latitudes and make our way safely and swiftly to the Azores.  Let’s go!

But not before Michael goes up the mast to check the rigging.

And not before Jill breaks out the sewing machine to repair everything that has torn in the last three months.

And not before one last hike on St. John to see the petroglyphs.

And not before we scrub Gerty’s bottom, clean and paint the speed transducer, stow the paddle board, hang the lee cloth, run the water maker, set up the running backstays, send the sail plan, check the ditch bag, take up the carpets, buy produce, cook, call the family, check the Epirb, coordinate with work, buy gas, fill the propane tank, fill the co2 canisters, do laundry, stow the dinghy, and it’s motor, rig the Happy Sail, check the engine oil, and the sail drive oil, and finally, check the weather again, and again, and again.

The prep work went well, except for one thing.  Cloudy saildrive oil meant that the seal had been compromised.  Sea water leaked into the oil.  Gasp! I thought this sounded terrible, but it’s not.  Michael exchanged the old oil for new, and we plan to get it fixed on the other side.

We take our very last dip in the Caribbean sea, snap a departure photo, and we’re off. “Only 2,370 miles to go!” Michael says with a goofy grin.