Re-homing one of nature’s most ferocious beasts is no easy task. Add to that the effort to do so while cruising up the east coast of the U.S. with a compressed timeline, and the task becomes akin to dropping your kid off at school by slowing the car to 10 mph in the carpool lane and throwing him/her out the window. Luckily, Honey Badger landed on her feet and is ready to contribute to society.
Continue reading “Honey Badger’s New Home”
Finally, Wild Rumpus is out of the Bahamas and working its way up the east coast of the U.S. on its way to New York City. In honor of Wild Rumpus heading to the city that spawned me, taught me how to parallel park, fight, and evade the police on foot all in one incident, that smells of a mix of aging pee and sumptuous hot dogs cooked in water older than its purveyor, where America’s pizza craze kicked off, and the last bastion of big fat eggrolls that smell of burnt oil and taste like the best parts of my childhood, the title picture for this post is the kids’ table at my Bar Mitzvah from 1981. You’re welcome — you deserve it if you made it through the last sentence!
Continue reading “And We’re Off!”
For much of my life, I’ve been told that close is only good enough when playing horseshoes or throwing hand grenades. Why, oh why, didn’t anybody mention that it also applies to lightning!!! (That title pic is just a random lighting pic, not one of mine, and not the actual lightning at the heart of this post.)
Continue reading “Shocking News”
Like the A-Team of 1980s fame, we, a rag-tag group of middle-aged oddballs (superpowers include mushroom foraging, spotting flowers from a distance, coding, snoring, and making lists), put together a somewhat hair-brained scheme, engaged in some prep (well, maybe a lot) boarded the ocean-going equivalent of a tricked-out van and managed to pull off a seemingly impossible task. We are indeed heroes in our own minds, and if this were the real A-Team, I’d be a middle-aged Mr. T (except for the white, fat, soft, and ain’t nobody anywhere afraid of me part).
Continue reading “Love It When A Plan Comes Together”
The definition of “doldrums” is “a spell of listlessness or despondency.” Yup, listlessness captures it nicely, except it missed the constant rumble of the diesel, the distinctly un-rhythmic weee/waaaw of the auto-pilot, and those damned space pirates!!!
Continue reading “Sweat, Diesel Fumes, and Space Pirates”
No biggie – ho hum, just another 2000 miles of sailing in the open ocean. We did evolve from pollywogs to shellbacks and observed all ceremonies and honors to Neptune. Along the way, we saw some wildlife and ate some wildlife.
Continue reading “Equator Crossing”
Not much renders me speechless. In fact, until Fernando do Noronha’s wildlife had me staring like a toddler at an aquarium, the only other time I was genuinely unable to speak was when an old friend, who apparently lost her mind, introduced me to the 250-pound pig she keeps in her house in New York City with her family. Sorry, I digress . . ., the sheer beauty of Fernando De Noronha, together with its most abundant and well-protected sea life I’ve ever seen, was truly mesmerizing. Unfortunately, this also reveals a significant bit of blogging malpractice.
Continue reading “Fernando De Noronha — Where Sea Life Actually Rules the Sea”
The best way to learn advanced coastal cruising skills is to sail the coasts of the lovely Caribbean Islands. And, if you are going to sail the Caribbean, then Wild Rumpus is the boat to do it on under the gentle tutelage of yours truly!
Continue reading “Learn Advanced Coastal Cruising on Wild Rumpus!”
Our departure from St Helena marked several transitions. We left behind a crew member, the remaining crew was far more familiar and comfortable with Wild Rumpus, and the temperature gradually transitioned from chilly to biting-into-a-freshly-microwaved-hot-pocket, noon-on-a-sunny-day-inside-a-roadside-porta-potty HOT.
Oh, and one of the crew decided we had too many damned stanchions.
Continue reading “Stanchions? We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Stanchions”
Wild Rumpus performed like a champ crossing heavy seas as we departed Cape Town in winter heading to St Helena. The beating we took showed the boat to be solid and the crew capable (if a bit nauseated), and it also revealed a couple of flaws. However, those flaws did nothing to diminish our excitement at visiting St Helena — one of the most remote spots on earth. The novelty of isolation, remoteness, beautiful landscapes and virtually no internet, plus Jonathon, a 190-year-old tortoise — the oldest living mammal — made this visit 100% worth the effort.
Continue reading “Rode Hard and Put Up Wet . . . Literally (And Visiting Napoleon’s Island of Exile)”