Nearly anyone can recall that special moment, in a field with a friend, lying in the tall grass, gazing up, watching clouds roll by.  “Look, a panda!  No wait, a horseman galloping.   No way, it looks like an embryo.  What’s an embryo?  Ask your mother…”
I have always loved clouds.  How they make a sunset.

Yes, yes, I know.  I have used this photo before, taken at Shirley Heights in English Harbor Antigua.  For me, it’s about the best place on earth, or at least the best part of the world that I have visited.  To watch the sun and clouds at sunset.  Clouds bring the sky alive.  Without them, the sky is just a Pantone color sample, I’m going with “Etherial Blue #15-4323, yes that’s the color. Pedestrian, unless a tropical long-tail happens by.  Then it gets a bit more interesting. Enter an interesting cloud and then you really have something. If you have followed this blog over the years you know that I just love sunsets and have posted photos of them more often than I can ever justify.  Perhaps my love of sunsets is equal to how I feel about clouds.    Particularly the big puffy kind that always make me think of those times laying in a field trying to decipher what they are trying to tell me.    I can’t admit what this one reminds me of.  You decide… Or this one taken off of Miami.  The sheer magnitude and so often, gone in a moment. What’s not to love about clouds and how they affect a sunset like this one on Eggemoggin Reach in Maine. The “picture” changes from moment to moment in ways that defy words.I find sunrises and their interplay with clouds endlessly entertaining and is why I always choose the “dog watch” from 04:00 to 08:00. This shot taken on an offshore passage to Antigua. Who can resist the thrill of a full moon rising through the clouds on the first day at sea.  This was taken as we approached the Gulf Stream on another passage to Antigua.  Look hard to see the sailboat in the distance, the last sighting we had of another boat for the rest of the trip.  Without clouds, this sunset shot with a shrimp boat on Albermarle sound near Ocracoke on the ICW would not be nearly as interesting.
There is no end to the shear majesty of clouds offshore.  And that’s a good thing as there’s just not a whole lot to look at when you are 500 miles from terra firma.
Amazing from one moment to the next. A view like this makes you wonder about majesty of forces behind everything in our world.  Seeing a moment when rays shoot toward the heavens from behind a cloud always reminds me of that iconic moment when God speaks to Arthur in Monty Python’s  Holy Grail movie.   Arthur!…Clouds are not always so dramatic.  Take these “clouds”, early morning fog shrouding islands in Maine.  Fog is clouds or is it “fog are clouds”?  Hmm…Along with sunsets and sunrises, I have always been smitten by clouds which brings me to the real message of this post.

I am a “joiner”.  I love being with what you might call “like minded people”.  Whether it is the Salty Dawg Sailing Association, my current number one time sink, the Seven Seas Cruising Association or a recent additions to my “club addiction” the Ocean Cruising Club or my favorite the Royal Naval Tot Club of Antigua & Barbuda.  Yup, I’m a member of that one too.

Yes, there is a club for everyone.   Have a particular passion or interest?  There’s most assuredly a club that will help you scratch that itch.  For many years, Brenda and I were members of a group dedicated to Cape Cod Catboats.  Remarkably called The Catboat Association.  We even served on the aptly named “steering committee”.

The folks in the UK are big on clubs and beyond my favorite Tot Club, they have many other obscure clubs.  Love traffic circles?  Yes, believe it or not, there is a club dedicated to roundabouts as they call them, the UK Roundabout Appreciation Society, dedicated to you guessed it…

There are literally  an endless number of clubs and societies that you might join.  How about the “dill pickle club“, formed in 1914.  Sadly, they were dissolved in 1933.  I guess that their members felt that they had became “soggy and past their prime.”

So, how does the whole issue of clubs and clouds relate?  You guessed it.  There’s a club for cloud lovers.

Recently I was listening to a podcast from the New York Times, The Daily, and heard about yet another not at all obscure club, The Cloud Appreciation Society. It’s a charming recounting of the group and is worth listening to.  Prefer to read the article that the podcast is based on and learn now the group came to be?  Check out “The Amateur Cloud Society That (Sort Of) Rattled the Scientific Community” a group that now boasts more than 54,000 dues paying members.

This photo, from the times article of the founder, Pinney, from the Times article.  He TOTALLY fits the part.  I joined, of course, and my membership number?  54,749.   Who knew that there could be so many that loved clouds.

Among their many benefits, they send out a daily photo, usually submitted by a member.   I have to say that it is fun to get a photo every day of something that I love.  This was my inaugural cloud-of-the-day, submitted by Amy Steinkraus, member #54,121.    Wow! Amy’s member number is not far from mine?  We’re practically related…So, there you have it, another rambling post but hey, I got to use a bunch of cloud photos and it proves that I’m not only about sunsets.

And, with apologies to Skippy Peanut butter, “if you love clouds, you’ll love The Cloud Appreciation Society”.

 

As I sit here in chilly New England, I can’t help but think about missing Carnival in Martinique that will kick off in a few weeks.  Having said that, it’s hard to imagine how an event that draws nearly every resident of the island to Fort de France, for days of riotous (but in a nice way) partying and parades each year, can possibly be safe in the pandemic.

Pre-pandemic, Brenda and I joined in the fun last February when we visited Martinique.  Days of parades passing by for hours beginning in the late afternoon. We enjoyed the events along with a number of other Dawgs but I’ll admit that it really feels like a thousand years ago.   After nearly a year in the clutches of the pandemic it feels like a different lifetime.  And, as I look back on our days in Martinique during Carnival, and think of all  the crowds, it’s  a bit frightening to consider what might have been.

Carnival ended on February 26th and Covid-19 was first detected on the island on March 5th, a little more than one week later.  Given the massive crowds we experienced, I can only imagine what might have happened if the virus had appeared even two weeks earlier.

Martinique has had 44 deaths from the virus as of January which is about 1/10th of the death rate of the US.   If our death rate per capita was equal to Martinique, we would have had about 44,000 deaths, a fraction of the 400,000 that we have to date.  However, had the virus been prevalent during Carnival, I shudder to think of what might have happened.

But back to Carnival.  It’s hard to understand what a multi day party of this scale is rally like but this video, posted by Playbox Limited, a developer of high quality videos I understand (I have to give credit where credit is due) gives a pretty good feel for what it was like to be there with day after day of celebrations in the street.    It was indeed a hoot! The history of Carnival in the Caribbean is interesting, arriving with colonialism, apparently originating with the Italian Catholics in Europe, and later spreading to the French and Spanish who brought pre-Lenten tradition with them when they settled in the Caribbean.  The first island to begin the practice was Trinidad in the late 18th century and it remains the largest celebration in the Caribbean.

In Martinique the celebrations take place during the days leading up to Lent and reach a climax on Ash Wednesday night with a massive bonfire in which “King Vaval”, constructed out of reeds, wood and other flammable materials is burned as an effigy in celebration.

Life in Martinique effectively comes to a standstill during the celebration as the island develops “Carnival Fever” with parades making their way through nearly every village, with the largest celebration reserved for the capital Forte de France.   The sophistication of the costumes reflects the months that go into their construction and great efforts are made to keep the details secret until the day of their unveiling.

Every day has a theme and for Saturday and Sunday everyone dresses as they wish.  It is not uncommon to see the same reveler appear in several different costumes over the days of the celebration.   We were particularly struck by this guy.  He had a lot of flair. Another day, another costume.  By the second day, dare I say, we developed a bond.  No, perhaps not. Brenda and I had a funny moment when we saw him, out of costume, sipping a cup of espresso early one morning.  He looked, well, different.   I so wish we had said hello and I had aske him to pose for a photo with Brenda.  Perhaps next year.

Monday is the day of the “Burlesque Weddings” with men dressing as brides.  Based on the enthusiasm that guys bring to this spectacle, it’s pretty clear to me that many/most guys, deep down inside, want to dress up as the fairer sex.

Some were pretty convincing.  Well, sort of.  I guess you had to be there. Some, well a little less so.  No, yes, no…  Last time I saw such high heels, was the First Lady.  And, some not quite so convincing.  Perhaps that’s the point after all. . Perhaps it was the week long stubble that gave it away.  Seems a bit heavy on the testosterone.  And the cross-dressing wasn’t limited to those in the parades.  Bystanders totally got into the moment. Tuesday is the day of the devil with everyone dressed as the devil, in red and black.    Remarkably elaborate “devils” paraded by for hours. Everyone working hard to outdo…I’ll admit that I am still a bit fuzzy on this theme, with everyone slathering themselves from head to toe with molasses, mixed with ashes.  The smell of sweet sugar fully enveloped the downtown area.  Imagine what the tropical heat mixed with sticky sugar felt like.  Good thing that the beach, and a bottle of beer, or two, or three, were only a few steps away. No rush to get cleaned up.  They didn’t rinse off until after hours of parading through the city. And devil or not, my favorite…  If it’s not obvious, her costume is made up almost entirely of beer can pulls and caps.  Forget a glass of chardonnay.  She makes me want to drink more beer. The celebration ends at the beginning of Lent, leading up to Easter, marking a period of fasting and abstinence.  Tradition dictates that one does not dance or listen to music and all weddings are postponed during the period.   After experiencing Carnival myself, I’ll bet that it takes that much time, and more, for many of them to fully recover.

Carmival Martinique isn’t the only thing that makes cruising the islands from Antigua to Grenada special but it ranks right up there as a “must” event to put on your cruising calendar.

Yes, Carnival is schedule to run this year but with the threat of pandemic everywhere, it seems like a big risk.  However, next year, I sure hope that we, and other Dawgs of course, will again have an opportunity to experience the join in celebrating this remarkable tradition.

You just can’t miss Carnival in Martinique.

Fingers crossed, Pandora, crew and perhaps you too, will be there.

Brenda and I were in St Lucia, aboard Pandora last winter when virtually every island in the Caribbean suddenly shut their borders with the arrival of  the COVID-19 pandemic.  Some cruisers abandoned their boats in the marina where we were and flew home within days but we were unwilling to leave Pandora in the hurricane zone, with no idea when we would able to return.

Recently we shared our story with members of our local yacht club.  There is a link to a recording at the end of this post.   This is a clip of the presentation title page. So there we were, in St Lucia and day by day, our crew options were evaporating, leaving us no option but to sail Pandora home alone.  Brenda is not a blue water sailor and while we have been sailing together since the 70s, she had never done an ocean passage beyond a few hundred miles and the realization that 1,500 miles of ocean lay between us and the US was a daunting prospect for her.

When we left St Lucia in late March, the only islands between us and the US that remained open were Antigua and the USVI.  Our first stop after being locked down for weeks in St Lucia, was Antigua, a 200 mile overnight run and we arrived on the very last day before they too closed their boarders.

Our initial thought was to make the 400 mile run directly to the USVI but reports revealed that hundreds of cruisers had already descended on the islands and that restrictions on additional arrivals were feared.   We had been hearing about cruisers that headed to countries only to find that they were turned away upon arrival leaving them with few options but to look elsewhere.

After weeks locked down and forced to stay aboard Pandora in Antigua, we headed 200 miles to the USVI where we took a mooring in St John. There we again waited several weeks before heading for Florida, a route of 1,000 miles that would take us south of the Bahamas, north of Cuba and to Florida.  We opted to take this route because we expected this to be an easier downwind sail verses the direct run north to New England and home.

As a member of the board of the Salty Dawg Sailing Association, I thought it best to take advantage of the near 20 shoreside coordinators helping with what was to be known as the “Salty Dawg Homeward Bound Flotilla” to smooth our return to the US in addition to the near 200 other boats that participated.

In particular, we thought that we might need to stop in the Bahamas on our run home.  That country was completely locked down and were not allowing arrivals.   Fortunately, the support team for the Flotilla was able to negotiate an agreement with the Government of the Bahamas that would let boats in the Flotilla to anchor in Bahamas waters if needed.

As we approached Great Inagua, Bahamas, the half way point of our 1,000 mile leg, tropical storm Arthur was developing off of Mexico.  Our weather router, Chris Parker, suggested that we stop and allow the low to pass, so we decided to stop, anchor and wait for better weather.

After several uncomfortable days anchored in near constant wrap-around swells, we continued on.   We had to watch our speed, staying at about 3.5kts, as instructed by Chris so that we would not enter the Gulf Stream too soon and collide with Arthur’s prefrontal squalls.

To keep our speed down in brisk winds on a broad reach, we furled the jib, put a third reef in the tightly sheeted main and towed a sturdy bucket which finally slowed us sufficiently.

Then, as so often happens, the forecast changed, and we had to quickly speed up, passing the Cay Sal Banks on a reach in 20-25kts of wind. In Gulf Stream where we were hit by squall after squall with sustained winds in the 30s, one particularly nasty squall stayed with us for more than 8 hours.

Waves slammed again and again, against the hull, washing over the decks, terrifying Brenda, who had never experienced such conditions.  At one point overnight there was a loud crash as a wave slammed into the boat and I  went below to confirm that something hadn’t broken or caved in.   It hadn’t.  Later, again in the pitch dark, a wave slammed into us with such force, we were certain that our cockpit enclosure was ripped away as water flooded across the back of the cockpit.  Fortunately, there was little damage.  Nearby, an unlucky 40’ catamaran was pooped with waves breaking through their cabin doors and  washing into their cabin.

In spite of everything we entered the channel to Ft Lauderdale safe and sound, although in the middle of a torrential downpour making for a dicey entrance.

While Brenda will not soon forget the experience, the allure of the Caribbean remains and I am already making plans to take Pandora to Antigua next fall.

Recently, Brenda and I shared our experience in a presentation on Zoom.  Follow the link below to hear the story of our trip home, short handed,  an experience we are not anxious to repeat any time soon.

Over the last 40 years Brenda and I have cruised much of the US East Coast from eastern Maine to Key West, the Bahamas, Cuba and for the last few years the eastern Caribbean.

While many sailors are familiar with the Virgin Islands, from years of charter vacations, many are not familiar with how much the islands to the south have to offer.

Several years ago, when we first headed to Antigua we did not know what to expect.  Based on our travels, we have become convinced that the SE Caribbean, Antigua to Grenada offers the best mix of cultures, beautiful landscape and consistent easterly winds for a winter of cruising.

Recently, I hosted a presentation highlighting what a season of cruising the islands from Antigua and south to Grenada might look like and some of the must-see places and events that await.  This presentation was the first of 40 being organized by the Salty Dawg sailing Association, focused on many aspects of preparing for blue water voyaging.

In spite of the widespread Covid-19 pandemic, SDSA was able to hold their annual fall rally to the Caribbean with 50 boats safely making their way south for the winter season.   Most of these boats headed to Antigua and upon arrival participated in more than a week of events.

This photo, taken by SDSA member Ralf of SV Flora, shows many of the boats that completed their run to Antigua.  Thank you Ralf. Over the years, I have put on many events and given talks about the areas that we have cruised and have often been asked if these events were recorded.  Until now, with the widespread use of Zoom, this was not practical.  Now it is and I am able to share our experiences more broadly.

This presentation highlights of what a “normal” winter of cruising the eastern Caribbean is like and it is my sincere hope that the winter of 2021-2022 will once again offer the opportunity to visit the many islands of the southern Lesser Antilles.

A special thanks to Ralf as well as Bill and Maureen of SV Kalunamoo and Lynn and Mark of SV Roxy for the photos that they supplied for this presentation. While Pandora is on the hard this winter, I am hopeful that I will be able to, once again, participate in the Salty Dawg Rally to Antigua next fall.

As I mentioned, this was the first of some 40 webinars on many topics related to blue water sailing.  Click here for a full list of coming topics at the Salty Dawg Sailing Association.

I hope that you enjoyed this program as much as I enjoyed telling the story.  Please feel free to reach out to me via the comment window.   I look forward to hearing from you.

Here I sit, finishing up this post on the very last day of 2020, wondering what the coming year will bring.  By any measure, 2020 has been one that will go down in the record books, perhaps as the most unsettling and challenging in our lifetimes.  It’s hard to imagine a year that would include a once in a century pandemic killing countless thousands here in the US, many in their prime of life, nationwide racial strife and unprecedented government disfunction.   I, for one, will be happy to close the books on this year.

2020 had a very uneventful start with Brenda and me ringing in the new year together in English Harbor, Antigua.  When the clock struck midnight we sat on Pandora’s deck and watched fireworks explode over the old fort, following a wonderful dinner at the Admiral’s Inn.  I’ll admit that the dinner was one of the most expensive meals ever for us but it was a wonderful way to close out the year and ring in the new. Aside from a failing refrigeration compressor that dogged us for months before I was finally able to fly in a replacement from the US, there was nothing on the horizon suggesting that the year would be any different than others we have spent aboard Pandora for a winter of cruising. 

Later today, with our son Christopher, his partner Melody and their dog Mila, and the only person outside of our four walls that is part our bubble, our friend Craig, we will celebrate the end of the year and look forward to 2021 being more, dare I say “normal” 2021.

Many share an annual “holiday letter” with friends and family at this time of year.  These are most often heartfelt tributes to family but there is also the occasional letter sounding more like a “brag book” of the year’s accomplishments and victories, sometimes detailing legal cases won, a “who’s who” of celebrities met and accomplishments made that you surely must wish you had.  Not to be left out of the “can you top this”, I had a lovely lunch with Raquel Welsh years ago.  It’s totally true, but that’s a story for another day.  And, when I was in high school, where I also met Brenda, I worked in a hardware store and once sold a bird feeder to Dustin Hoffman.   So there, top that!

2020 was indeed a year that has changed everything.  Happily, our family has been spared much of the unhappiness wrought on so many.

My mother died recently but her passing was the natural progression of a life well lived. The nursing home where she lived for her final years, was spared all but a few deaths by the virus, a remarkable achievement and a testimony to their  remarkably effective infection control.  While I miss her terribly, as I do my father who died in 2013, I feel good about the wonderful life that she lived and the graceful way that she left us.  I won’t repeat any more here as I wrote at length about her passing in my last post  if you missed it.

It is no exaggeration to say that 2020 has been a year that changed just about everything in ways that we could never have imagined.   I still remember how awkward I felt the first time I wore a mask in public earlier this year and now, I’d feel terribly exposed without one.  That moment was in St Lucia, where we were, when the virus arrived in the Islands.

We had to make due with what we had on board, with Brenda hand sewing a mask out of an old handkerchief, a bilge “diaper” normally used to sop up oil, and some very stylish green ribbon.  It was a pretty good mask but it was quite uncomfortable in the tropical heat, especially as I stood in long lines trying to buy increasingly scarce provisions.

Forget finding anything that resembled an N95 mask, much less hand sanitizer or denatured alcohol.  Of course, the local rum, some varieties, plenty stiff at 85% alcohol, would do the trick in a pinch and a lot more pleasant than injecting bleach.Our world is very different now and the risks are real.   At this point we are doubly focused on staying safe with only a few months ahead of us until we hope to get the vaccine.  I guess being in the over 65 crowd does have some benefit.

As just one example of how being responsible can hold the virus at bay, this fall, the annual Salty Dawg Rally to Antigua was successfully completed with 50 boats and crew heading south.  With strict quarantine, testing and safety measures in place, there was no illness among the 200 skippers and crew.

Last year’s “normal” arrival in Antigua seems like a different world, everyone cheek to jowl, sans mask.  Indoors or outdoors, imagine being shoulder to shoulder with so many now.   Being in groups maskless is sadly still the norm, especially in “red states”, but not in our  little “bubble”.
In normal years, day after day for more than a week, we attended parties, without a care in the world.  How I long for that freedom again. We jammed down below on Pandora for loud parties with friends.  Imagine doing that now?  Not likely. Last season, after ringing in the new year and after the strong Christmas Winds began to die down in mid January, we began our annual pilgrimage down island, working our way south, visiting many islands along the way.

Life was easy, with days shared with friends sightseeing on the islands and evenings aboard toasting the sunset with friends.

We visited Fort de France during Carnival, the largest annual celebration in that country, rubbing elbows with literally thousands.  It seemed like everyone on the entire island descended on the capital for day after day of parties and parades.  The crowds were just staggering. Then, less than two weeks later, the virus struck and in the blink of an eye, “open” became “closed” and everything changed.  I recall reading a quote from Dr Fauci, in the early days of the pandemic, where he marveled at the unprecedented rapidity with which the virus enveloped the globe.  In a single month, the virus was literally everywhere and in a world where suddenly every encounter with another person was a possible threat.

Imagine if the virus had arrived in Martinique, during Carnival.   Fortunately,  It didn’t and surely thousands were spared, perhaps including us.  One skipper who had participated in the fall rally last year, a retired physician, contracted the virus while in St Martin and became so sick that he had to be evacuated from his boat,  flown to Guadaloupe and ultimately to Florida where he died a few weeks later.

Even the closest of friends became potential “foe” and from that point on we never set foot on any boat except our own.  For a full two months, Brenda only went ashore a single time.

And, in some cases, this forced isolation caused friction with friends who viewed the threat as questionable, “it’s just a bad flu”, and the local governments’ total lockdown was overblown.   We still did some socializing but at a distance kept reasonably safe by the constant trade-winds. In reality, the risk in the islands was quite low but only because of the aggressive steps taken by local governments to isolate even a single case.  Quarantine was never voluntary and those who broke it, were fined or worse.  That approach worked well and most islands can now point to infection rates far less than the US and other “developed” nations.

To that point, the fatality rate in Antigua is about 1/20th per thousand than it is here in the United States, where things have been everything but “united”.  The current death rate here is now approaching 4,000 per day with estimates predicting that another 100,000 may die in the next few weeks alone.  That’s particularly sad given the fact that a vaccine is now available and on the near horizon for many.

Given the ongoing problems with Pandora’s refrigeration we had made plans to put Pandora in a marina for a week in St Lucia, while we waited for a new unit to be shipped from the US.  The compressor assembly finally arrived and less than a week later, when we were still in the marina, Covid-19 arrived and shut down the island.  Our week long stay stretched to a month and during the height of the lockdown even the “essential” businesses were closed.As soon as things began to get dicey, some of our friends left the island on the next available flight, fearful that if they didn’t go NOW, they would not get out.  With only a day or two of preparation, they tossed their food, shut down systems and made arrangements for someone put their boats into storage.

Others opted to stay aboard and hunker down, ultimately remaining in the marina for the entire summer, unable to head elsewhere with every other island closed.  As they were now stuck in the “hurricane zone” they followed the progress of every tropical storm with trepidation, wishing and hoping that the storm would not cross “their” island and destroy their boat, their home.

Resorts emptied out as vacationers scrambled to return home.   One after another, commercial flights were canceled and some friends chartered small planes to fly them to Puerto Rico with the hope that they could connect to US bound flights.  At least one couple ended up having to fly from the islands to Canada and finally home to the US after a circuitous route that took what seemed like forever.

After regularly scheduled flights were history, others booked seats on “repatriation flights” at double the normal rate, $500 or more, per person, one way, to Puerto Rico where they connected to the US.  Planes arrived completely empty and left without an open seat.

Another cruising couple, who had left their boat in Antigua to fly home for a family ski trip in Europe, right before the pandemic struck, were unable to return to Antigua.  They had to pay over $17k just to insure their boat for the summer as as Antigua falls right in the middle of the “hurricane zone” and is deemed a big risk by insurers.

In “normal” years I had crew, who would fly into Antigua, to help bring Pandora home.  Getting crew has always been fairly easy but suddenly, those who had signed up to make the run were unwilling to get on a flight.  I’ll admit I too was concerned about crew arriving, appearing to be “safe”, only to become ill once aboard.  And the thought of having to wait two weeks once they arrived, just to be sure everyone was well, meant that crew signing up for the run home would have to commit up to a month onboard and that assumed that nobody got sick.  That would be a tough request to make of anyone, especially when so much remained uncertain at home.

In the end, Brenda and I decided to make the run to the US together and I won’t repeat all that as I have written about the trip in nauseating detail in past posts.  It was a challenging trip spanning several months and one that we have no interest in repeating.

The virus has indeed changed everything and even more so given a president that continually preached/tweated “hoax”,  he himself became a “super spreader” and by some definitions, “the viruses ‘best friend”.    Whether you think that the virus is a hoax or not, entire industries have been laid flat, countless thousands have died and nearly 4,000 are now dying every day as we close out the year.

Video calls, long a staple of movies about interstellar travel, are now routine, Zoom entered our lexicon, and what was once science fiction has become the default way to keep in touch with groups of family and friends for millions.

Overripe bananas, once relegated to the trash, are no longer tossed and are now a vital ingredient needed to make banana bread with everyone stuck at home and plenty of time on their hands.

Wine consumption is up just about everywhere with endless Zoom happy-hours to break up the sameness of each day.  Home life is beginning to look a lot like the cruising lifestyle on small boars, with daily sundowners in your own tiny spaces, virtual or not.

And that’s nothing compared to y0ung parents trying to juggle work with the demands of child care.  To that point, we have hardly seen our three grandchildren in months.  Thanks to Facetime, we have “seen” them nearly every day but it’s just not the same.

Boating, after years of decline, is booming with marinas full to capacity and boat brokers struggling to find enough inventory to satisfy customer demand.  Everyone suddenly decided that being on the water is safe with others fleeing the city for the “country”.  Even here in our little town, here in eastern CT, home prices are up by double digits after years of stagnant prices.

2020 has indeed been a year to shatter norms with everyone forced to revaluate their lives and what is important to them.   It’s hard to imagine that after decades of “remote work” being talked about, it’s now here and perhaps will be with many of us forever.

And, speaking of work, a number of our friends are now contemplating retiring in the coming year.  They are taking seriously the adage we have often heard from fellow cruisers that “you will never be any younger or healthier”.    A travel editor for the New York times recently encouraged that we resume travel as soon as it was safe as there is no way to know if by delaying we might find ourselves in the clutches of yet another pandemic when we finally decide it’s time to broaden our horizons.

Whatever good will arrive with the new year is darkened by the reality that in 2020, there have been so many deaths, many unnecessary.   So many have died from the virus and in staggering numbers, with more than a death every 90 seconds, 24 hours a day for the year.   It’s hard to wrap your head around numbers like that and it is particularly pathetic that the US, long the envy of the world leads with more deaths per capita than nearly any other nation on the planet.

So, here we are, on the precipice of the new year with everyone struggling to see what that future holds.  How quickly will we receive the vaccine?  How long will the vaccine keep us immune from infection?  Can we eradicate the disease?  How many will avoid vaccination, clinging to conspiracy theories, viewing the virus as a hoax?  So many questions.

like so many others, I am focused on what cruising will be like for next year and am excited about being part of a post-pandemic Caribbean where travel between islands will once again be as simple as going into a T-shirt shop in Guadeloupe, filling out information on a computer kiosk, paying 3 Euros and heading off to buy a nice bottle of French wine, cheese and, of course, a warm baguette.

Here in CT, it looks a lot different than the Caribbean where an early snowstorm blanketing everything recently.  The snow is gone now, save a small pile or two, but it was sure fun while it lasted.  Melody and Mila, who had never seen a real snow storm just loved building a snowlady, running in the snow and doing a bit of sledding.I cling with hope to what Dr. Fauci is right and that most of us will have been vaccinated by the middle of next year.   Fingers crossed.  I can hardly wait.

With some luck, next summer will begin looking something like “normal” again.  Although, I am struggling to imagine exactly what normal will be like.   For sure, I can’t wait to eat out again with Brenda or go to the Club for a drink with friends and stand around the bar talking boats.

After enduring the last four years of, conspiracy theories and crazy stuff about how the virus is just going to disappear I am looking forward to once again living in a country where science is fact.

In a somewhat depressing way, all this sort of sums up a year with so many believing that somehow they could not be harmed by a virus that has claimed so many lives.

I guess all of this should not be much of a surprise when you think about the quote often attributed, probably incorrectly, to the famed circus entertainer P.T. Barnum who is said to have uttered “no one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public”.

The big question is what will be learned from all this and what will the “new normal” look like?  Time will tell as it always does.

Recently, with the hope of better understanding the science behind the virus and vaccine, I watched a fascinating presentation by Dr Denison, at Vanderbilt University Medical Center.  Dr Denison is a prominent and leading researcher who has spent the last 35 years studying Corona viruses and is perhaps the world’s leading authority on the subject.  He talks about Covid-19, why it is so dangerous and the remarkably fast development of an effective vaccine against a virus that has spread to every continent and country, a feat unprecedented in recorded history.  It’s worth watching but I warn you, it’s quite detailed and runs an hour.Well, that’s about it and later today we will close the books on 2020, a year that even those of us that were spared the worse, will not soon forget.

Let’s hope that when we think back on 2020, the year that changed everything, that much of what has changed will be for the better.

I had better signt off now as I have to punch down Brenda’s sourdough.  Yes, she, like so many others, is baking up a storm.   We are even baking with those overripe bananas.

Happy New Year!

We deserve it.