The Sothams take to the water...

What an amazing day! Today, we got checked out to captain one of our sailing club's 19-foot O'Days, pictured below.

It was a simple test: run upwind, round a couple markers, sail back downwind and dock. Just one hitch: no engine! Oh, and a fickle breeze blowing through the little bight we were sailing in. Still, after a few extra tacks than more masterful sailors would have needed, we made a fairly smooth docking, got the blessing of the club instructor, loaded kids and cooler aboard, and pushed off again. There ensued five mostly peaceful, thoroughly satisfying hours on Gulf waters during which all four of us alternated manning the tiller and the sails. Turns out our kids are natural sailors. I think they're going to take to this life just fine.

Sailing this little boat, in my opinion, was far harder than sailing our 30-footer, and not just because it lacked the mechanical assist that our sneezy Atomic Four engine provides us in light air. It seems like little boats are more subject to the various forces that act on any vessel on the water: wind, current, waves, wake, movement aboard. In light air, as we had for some parts of our trip today, that makes for particularly challenging sailing. But we learned. As I told the kids, anybody -- truly -- can take a boat out, throw up sails and figure out how it works by trial and error....if I turn this way, I go faster; that way, slower. Many a sailor learned this way, including some that go around the world. The challenge is learning enough to be safe and efficient. I'm certain our trip wouldn't have been five hours if we had done some things differently, but I'm ok with that. I would rather spend the time now learning the hard way on my own than having an instructor tell me each move to make. I'm a tactile learner (some might argue a slow one too!), and it's going to sink in so much more this way.

The real comedy of the day came when we tried to anchor. Now, we can count on one hand the times we've anchored a boat ourselves, so proficient we are not. Our plan was to anchor just off shore, have some lunch and then snorkel a bit before heading in. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men... We got the anchor out, untangled the line, came up with our approach and deployed said anchor. But we could never get the boat in the right position and spent a more than few crazy minutes bobbing in circles while we experimented with which position might actually take us in a direction that would set the Danforth in the sandy bottom just 10 or so feet below. I'm sure we were a source of amusement and happy hour stories for the jet skiers and boaters who passed us as we thrashed about. After 30 minutes, we decided we didn't need to anchor after all -- we could simply dine underway in a freshening breeze. I thought the kids would be really disappointed, but they were so focused on the sailing, they didn't seem to mind.

Of course, being a foodie, I had packed a small Styrofoam cooler with lunch for all of us. But when we brought it into the cockpit, the lid promptly blew off over the transom and started riding waves into the distance. MAN OVERBOARD DRILL! With Evie at the tiller, we executed a perfect retrieval and had a jubilant celebration. We had done it! We saved the man in the water -- well, the top of our cooler, but the principle is the same. Considering our dismal failure with the anchor, this was a welcome change of fortunes.

Cooler lid back aboard, we had lunch and set our course to return to the dock. This became increasingly challenging as the wind died down just as we approached the narrow channel we had to traverse to get back to the dock. A steady stream of power boats of all size and configuration were coming and going, so we needed to be sure we could get through without obstructing the right of way. We spent some time sculling -- working the tiller back and forth to propel the boat until we could catch some air -- and some time paddling, and even still, we found ourselves pushed by the current and shifting wind toward a dock. In our haste to keep ourselves away from it, we lost a pair of sunglasses overboard, but we managed to gain some speed, regain steerage and tack through the channel. Once in the bight, we had to repeat the sculling and paddling when the winds completely fell out, but we made it back to our dock, heroes in the eyes of our kids. They were proud of us, and proud of themselves, too. They're looking forward to sailing lessons at the club this fall, and I'm looking forward to seeing them grow in skill and confidence, and knowing the choice we've made to be here is part of the reason they can.

When John and I first hatched this crazy idea, I was afraid to tell the kids -- or anyone else for that matter -- much about it. I didn't want to create an expectation I wasn't sure we had it in us to fulfill. After all, there are several leaps of faith we had to take to get here. Once we started talking about it and they became interested, I felt a responsibility to deliver on our promise, to show them that their parents could take risks, could do what they said they were going to do. I didn't want to be the parents that were always planning something for "some day." Today we did that. They -- and we -- see our future much more clearly after these first two weeks here. We're anxious to get our genoa (sail at front of boat) back up and working so we can start practicing on Kinsale. And we've set two goals to keep us moving forward.

First, by Christmas, sail to Bahia Honda State Park about 20 miles back up the island chain and drop anchor for a few days. It's a good first attempt, but there's a lot we still need to know and practice, including navigation. It's amazing how hard it is to discern landmarks and way points just a few hundred yards offshore. Then, by this time next year, sail with a another boat or group of boats to the Dry Tortugas, about 70 miles West of where we are now. I'm told it's a great sail and an awesome place to visit, although there are no amenities, so we have to haul our own water and food in what would be our first real cruising experience.

Before we do either one, we have to make it through our to-dos -- mechanical, technical and personal. But it helps to have the marker in place. Otherwise, we'll just be "running over rough ground," looking down to make sure we don't stumble and not seeing what's in the distance.

Tomorrow, we head back to Miami for a bit. I have a week of meetings, and John has some projects waiting for him. The kids and I will return next Sunday; John the Sunday following, after a week in which he trades in his five-day beard and fishhook necklace for the life of a tight-assed colonel. I will have to actually wear shoes, make up and a bra. We're both dreading it. We don't want to leave the life we've created here, even for a short while, and I suppose that's a good thing. If we hated it already, I imagine we'd be excited to leave. That being said, we're about 5% thrilled to be sleeping on real mattresses in real air conditioning, but I'm going to miss the sway my equilibrium has acquired these past two weeks and the view out our companionway:

I've no doubt the kids will be glad to have real TV and their "stuff" around them up at the Miami house, but I know they'll miss the daily snorkel trips and lobstering (for practice, right now) and other treasures from the sea:

(Partial conch shell found under the Boca Chica Channel bridge on a recent kayaking trip.)

I don't know many kids who would be as content as they are to do without TV and toys and reliable air conditioning. Yet we managed to have fun even in this small space, playing board games and musical instruments at night:

They, more than anything else, make this adventure possible with their great attitudes and flexibility, their trust in us and their embrace of our less-not-more philosophy. I hope we're worthy of their admiration; they are certainly worthy of ours.

 More pictures from the Key West Sailing Center: