Our flights to Richmond were very straightforward, and we arrived at our hotel without event before heading across the street for some good old Southern cooking. Fried food is the local delicacy in these parts, and spicy fish is particularly good. Always one to stretch our culinary boundaries we even tried Budweiser’s new brew – a pale ale – which I’m almost ashamed to admit was really tasty!

Thursday was thanksgiving and we woke up to a ghost town, not unlike Christmas morning only one shop open on main street, few cars on the road. Realising that dinner prospects in Deltaville were almost non-existent we called ahead to the B&B and arranged some food there – lovely roast dinner as it turned out. A peaceful afternoon followed as we chilled in their lounge, walked along the docks, and reading cruising guides to the Inter Coastal Waterway and Bahamas. We tried to get to bed early that night to prepare for a big day, but we were both over-excited and lay awake chatting and pinching ourselves, and each other.

On Friday morning we headed to the boat yard at 9.15 to spend some time inspecting the boat before our surveyor arrived at 10 to head out with us for a seatrial. We were both really wound up, a mixture of complete excitement and anticipation, coupled with the memories of Rhode Island and an awareness that this boat also had the potential to disappoint. We met Jonathan and Ann, the husband and wife team who run the yacht brokerage, and got onboard the boat for our visual inspection.

Much to our relief the boat was great. We’re buying a 1985 boat, so it’s not going to be in perfect shape, but what we’re looking for is a robust platform from which we can build a boat that really works for us. Janus was just that. The electrical system, water and fuel tankage, galley (that’s the kitchen for all you landlubbers) and rigging were key areas for the inspection, and they all functioned well. The boat doesn’t have much by way of navigation systems or other electronics, a fantastic excuse for me to spend some cash, but the things that were there were adequate.

The seatrial was where we got to see how the boat handled. Don joined us for this part, and we headed out of the marina with Jonathan at the helm – partly because we didn’t own the boat yet, and also because he had previously entertained us with tails of customers who had phoned 5 minutes after leaving with their new boat to say they’ve just run aground just outside the narrow channel!. Kel had her eyes peeled incase we had to do this ourselves in future. We got out into the Chesapeake Bay, a stunning cruising ground, and hoisted the sails to get moving. The sun was shining, we had 15 knots of breeze, and we our breathing had returned to normal. It was wonderful.

Then we got the bad news. While travelling on Wednesday I had received additional pictures of the boat by email, one of which showed a substantial amount of rust on the keel at the joint between it and the hull, something Don had noted this in his survey. This was a high priority during the seatrial, and as Don and Keli inspected the bilge as we were under sail it became clear that the boat was taking on water. Kel and I had suspected that the rust was more than just a surface issue, and Beneteau’s steel keels are prone to this problem. 

We motored in to shore having checked over the instruments, engine, water system, and the faulty keel; to sit with Don and talk through the rest of his survey. Overall the boat was great. A good price, a lot of boat for our budget, and a layout and accommodation that we were happy with. It was a simple platform to build from and had better sails than we had expected. Don left us to think things over and headed home to finish writing the survey.

Over the weekend, with help from our broker Ian, and Jonathan and Ann, we agreed to split the cost of fixing the keel with the seller and have bought the boat. It’s amazing news, and we’ve been beaming from ear to ear all day. Both of us were starting to get a little stir crazy in Vancouver, and the snail’s pace approach to boat buying had placed strain on each of us. We’re both quite action-orientated, so sitting at home talking about boats, instead of being out there doing boats, didn’t quite suit our style. We’re breathing easier today!

And so tomorrow marks the start of a new phase of our life, our first boat and one less excuse as to why we’re not in the Bahamas already. It will take a day or two to swap over the titles on the boat and transfer the money, but we should be floating home owners by Wednesday. In the meantime we’re going to be busy pricing the keel job and other maintainence in two boat yards in Deltaville and one in Oriental, deciding where we will get the work done, and getting moving.

It feels like the blog will at last have some worthy content, and we will have no legitimate reasons to feel lazy or bored! People get your diaries out and book your holidays, this puppy has twin aft cabins and sleeps 9. Nearly enough space for the Lowly Knights!

We’ll keep you posted.

It’s hard to take in, but we’ve actually said goodbye to friends and family, and to our city for the last time. I’m currently sitting in the upper atmosphere reflecting on our new status:

Travellers
Unemployed
Homeless

(it’s important to me to note that these are priviledged labels for us to adopt because we are choosing them, and that in our ability to choose them our experiences are wholly different to those who are nomadic, unemployed or homeless without the luxury of choice)

Pursuing journey, not destination.

Much was left undone, once again we’ve tested the generosity of friends and family and are deeply grateful for their resilience. Special mentions to the Frys for a home, Tim for late night muscle; and mum, dad, Neil and Claire for accepting a chaotic ending.

Time created by air travel feels frustrated, 8 hours to transition into our new lives, interrupted by Ginger Chicken and films that must have went straight to tv.

I dont quite have the resource for this yet. In 6 hours I’ll be back in a city I love, but back in a different way than before. Not quite a tourist, neither a resident, Vancouver is base camp for final preparations.

Each step this far has felt small and managable. Sell the house. Resign from work. Say goodbyes. But somehow the magnitude of actually buying a boat, and the cavernous unknown that it evokes brings butterflies deep inside.

Belfast has felt less homely since this dream was birthed. One suggested I’d created distance to diminish the pain of leaving. Perhaps that’s true, although it hasn’t been coscious. Cultivating new passions certainly provided fresh distractions and perhaps greener grasses blossomed?

But in the closing weeks the warmth of friends illuminates what we’re leaving behind. Tuesday nights will not be the same, two-wheeled adventures and Saturday markets will certainly have a new complexion. All will be missed for their contribution to my person.

I play things close to my chest when it suits me. Tears are few and far between, but there were tears today. This was a perfect week. Golf with dad, breakfast with mum, dinner with Neil and Claire. Spaces selected to convey affection, deep respect and interdependance. Should I not return I have not withheld my care and have no regrets.

At a recent family funeral the minister reminded the congregation that funerals were a time to reflect on ones relationship with God and ensure that they were prepared for their own death. To me this felt like a complete over-looking of the value and significance of our humanity, and also an intrusion into the private grieving of those gathered to remember the life of a treasured friend.

As I talked with Keli about it afterwards I was struck not by the need to prepare for an arrival in the next life, but rather a departure from this one. That taking time to cherish these short sacred moments with those around us is of a much higher importance than second guessing a way to the next life. I’m convinced that experiencing humanity to the fullest is actually the truest and fullest response to the divine in ones life.

It needs some refining, but this perhaps best describes my sense of vocation around the sailing adventure. Probing significance without traditional structures like employment and outside the mono-culture of Northern Ireland.

Exploring new lands and peoples to develop greater empathy and awareness of the richness of humanity.

Physical challenge and the risk of propelling ourselves across the fluid surface of the planet.

Creating space for new ideas, new responses to the world, and new vision for living.

A dear friend advised us that “good endings make for good beginnings”. I feel content to say I took her advice and leave Belfast with a sense of achievement, nourishing friendships, and strength to endure the physical, mental and emotional challeges ahead.

Keli and I are both endebted to the wisdom and words of John O’Donohue, Irish poet, author and mystic, who died tragically at the beginning of this year. John’s insight helped create a language for my own belief, and we decided to name our boat Beannacht, blessing in Irish, as a recognition of the inspiration he brought to us, and of our connection to Ireland. More than anyone John helped me understand the value of our humanity and of how the pursuit of faith is actually a very grounded human experience.

And so I begin this adventure feeling profoundly optimistic about endless possibilities, extremely grateful for the opportunity, and having prepared to exit without regret should something unexpected occur.

I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be, nor could i wish for better, more nourishing and supportive friends and family.

I’m lucky, mum would say I was born lucky. But I’m also extremely thankful.

I don’t expect to be the same again.

After what feels like a month of goodbyes we’re finally at the night before the big trip.

This is without question the boldest, maddest thing i’ve ever done, and yet it feels so right. It is risky, challenging, and pure fun. I feel fully ready to jump off onto the unknown.

Can’t wait!