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Flower
Meg and I were coming back to our boat after spending time on a tiny island in the Bahamas where we could hardly walk. The setting sun, with our boat backlit against it, drove it home: this vessel is our everything. Our life support, our shelter, our being together, our way to go on.
Our new dingy
Getting ashore is always a problem for us. Here, at least, we had a new dinghy and a functional outboard.
The one you can’t reach
I have no idea what kind of bird this is—somewhere on one of the Gulf Islands. It looked so bloody cute.
With me for just a moment
Birds use our rigging the same way they use trees. I managed to snap this one by sticking myself out of the hatch.
Souvenir shop in Panama city
This little shop was a pleasant surprise — clean floors, bright relics made by various tribes of Panama. Apparently, Panama’s ancient arts are disappearing.
The way we lived before
Peggy’s cove in Nova Scotia reminded me of the times when people lived in small communities and alongside nature.
Meg’s old synthesizer has been through everything we have
I couldn’t ignore how beautiful the Christmas lights made the keyboard look.
Crossing Gulf stream
When conditions are unfavorable, our boat is terribly underpowered. Here we’re being carried off course while crossing the Gulf Stream from Florida to the Bahamas.
Beauty in the middle of hell
This lovely chunk of environment is actually Calgary. I couldn’t just pass it by.
Companions on our lonely jouney
On our way from San Diego to Panama, we ended up with a flock of boobies resting on our boat’s pulpit. It started with just one bird; in the end we had a dozen!
Draining isolation
Somehow sunsets in the Bahamas — like this one, unspeakably gorgeous — only intensified my loneliness. It was then I realized that a human can’t go on beauty of nature alone.
On dry land!
Meg and I are celebrating another day on land — up on the hard, in a boatyard — where we were refitting Flower.
