"Quick, Mum, the sun's about to come up!" Beaming with joy, our nine-year-old Lotta wakes me up and reminds me of our early morning appointment on the foredeck. Shortly afterwards, she is armed with her camera and I with a hot cup of tea. As soon as we sit snuggled up in our blankets on the teak deck, it starts to sparkle: the sun rises from the sea on the horizon and makes the water shimmer golden. It's not the first time we've seen this spectacle, but it leaves us marvelling once again. It is one of those moments during our journey that is difficult to put into words.
We anchor for the third day in the Tobago Cays, which belong to the Caribbean state of St Vincent and the Grenadines. The typical north-easterly trade wind is blowing at a mild ten to twelve knots, and so we are moored with our "Lady Blue" quite calm directly behind Horse Shoe Reef. Around us, about a dozen other yachts are swinging at their anchors. We already know some of the sailors. With family crews, the route plan is often based on the plans of other sailing families.
Maths lessons on the neighbouring ship
And so, after swimming her usual lap around the ship, Lotta moves over to the "Nenya". Maths lessons are taking place there today. The fact that Linn, who is about the same age as Lotta, doesn't speak German and Lotta doesn't speak Swedish is no obstacle for the girls. They communicate with their hands and feet and in English. The advantage of this type of bilingual teaching is that there is no need for separate English lessons. We only have to make up for the German lessons later on board.
For our sailing adventure around the Atlantic, we obtained a year's exemption from school for our two older daughters Ronja and Lotta. While I wash the dishes - we don't have a rolling system with household tasks, but fixed roles: Christian cooks, I do the dishes, Ronja dries, and Lotta tidies up - Marla practises cutting out pictures and sticking them in her kindergarten book. She will return from our trip as a pre-schooler and wants to be kept busy like her sisters. Meanwhile, Ronja is working up and down maths problems, especially fractions. Finally, Christian gives her a task that has to do with our everyday life on board: We want to get new emergency water in canisters - for 5 people, the water should last for 5 days, 2 litres per person for drinking, 1 litre each for washing, rinsing and brushing teeth. Question: How many litres do we need, and how many of the canisters do we need to buy if one holds a gallon, which corresponds to 4.5 litres?
For us parents, this raises completely different questions: Where on Bequia, our next destination, are there such drinking water canisters? Can we reach the supermarket on foot? And how often do we have to shuttle back and forth with the dinghy until we have the canisters and family members back on board? It's challenges like these that determine our everyday lives.
The preparations took five years
Water is a big issue on board our "Lady Blue", as we don't have a watermaker. Although it was on one of our must-have lists in the run-up to the trip, it fell by the wayside somewhere between the idea for such an adventure five years ago, the purchase of the boat four years ago, the three major refits in the last three years, the addition of family member Marla, the specialist medical examination, the restructuring of our own medium-sized company, earning money and, most recently, the coronavirus pandemic.
This immediately leads to an important realisation from our long voyage: the list in our heads of everything we still had to do, organise, buy or learn before casting off was never finished. There is a great danger of never casting off. However, it helps to keep reminding yourself of the reasons why you should nevertheless embark on the adventure. First and foremost, the prospect of countless unforgettable experiences.
Of course, we didn't know in advance whether our expectations would be met. But we didn't have to wait long. Shortly after our departure from A Coruña in Spain in July 2021, we found our first paradise in the Bay of Ares, at Praia de Centeas. We sit for hours on a small white beach surrounded by thick boulders, looking out over turquoise-coloured water and watching the waves get closer and closer. "What's that?" exclaims our then four-year-old in amazement, recognising the phenomenon of high and low tide for the first time as her sand moulds float away. "There wasn't any water just now, Dad!" This is immediately followed by explanations from the older sisters, supplemented by comments from the parents. And as we don't have any "teaching materials" with us, the moon is simply drawn in the sand. We like this way of observing and learning, and so do the children. This is something we hope to do more often during our trip.
But the walk to the beach also shows us parents something else: how important it is to make agreements when it comes to safety. We haven't set any specific swimming rules yet. The two older girls are already confident swimmers, but Marla is not yet. And so we have to take extra care of her on this day.
Rescue manoeuvres are practised in advance
On board, however, we have a simple routine: as soon as the ship is moving, everyone, big and small, wears life jackets. This is to give us a little more time for a rescue manoeuvre, just in case. We practise this diligently right from the start, albeit usually unintentionally. For example, we regularly have to pick up various sun hats that have been blown away while sailing. Each of the manoeuvres required for this reminds us to be careful, to wear our waistcoats and to tuck ourselves into the safety lines as soon as we leave the cockpit. The deep, high centre cockpit of our old Contest 42 ketch was the main reason why we chose it in 2018. The whole family always feels safe in it, even in 25 knots of wind, high waves and on an upwind course. Our big girls can even practise steering in such conditions.
Christian and I take turns with the responsibilities on a weekly basis: one of us looks after the weather, ship and navigation, while the other takes care of the children, school, food and shopping. We are no strangers to these roles. I myself have been sailing since I was a child, and Christian obtained his sports coaster licence ten years ago. Before we started our long voyage, we also refreshed our theoretical knowledge on a Yachtmaster Ocean course run by RYA trainer Leon Schulz in Malta. Christian also clocked up his first long-distance nautical miles on his boat during a North Sea cruise.
Own safety concept and self-organised training
Finally, we organised a safety training course together in Bremerhaven. And with the support of Sailpartner, we drew up a safety concept for the "Lady Blue" and purchased the appropriate equipment. This enabled us to immediately fulfil the safety requirements of the World Cruising Club, as the "Lady Blue" was to sail across the pond as part of the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC). We opted for the ARC Plus version, which runs from the Canary Islands to the Caribbean with a stopover in Cape Verde and is therefore very popular with family crews.
Using a discarded life raft that is over 20 years old and old automatic waistcoats, we organise a safety training course for our children, all the children present in the bay and their parents at the start of our trip in the Rías de Galicia. After everyone has learnt how to check the cartridges, 13-year-old Justus from the "Hetoki" bravely jumps off the boat into the water. The kids are amazed when they see how the waistcoat inflates and keeps their mate afloat.
Despite its age, the life raft still works perfectly and is immediately conquered by the children. It's a good feeling for us parents to see that they manage to push it over the coaming without our help and then release it with the ripcord. The saying "You climb up onto a life raft, not down!", shouted at the top of children's voices, rings in our ears for days afterwards - and will hopefully stay with the kids forever. After all, it means that in an emergency, we stay on the big boat for as long as possible before getting on the life raft.
As soon as the island is in the water, the children switch seamlessly to playing. Meanwhile, we adults practise pulling each other into the raft. For some of us, this is a real eye-opener. In the days that follow, the safety equipment on some of the neighbouring yachts is updated once again.
"Spending days at sea is boring!"
From Spain, our journey continues to Lisbon. There we form a small flotilla with other crews and sail together first to Porto Santo, then on to Madeira and the Canary Islands. Although everything goes according to plan, we realise that neither we nor the children like long crossings of more than 48 hours. Initially, our daughters only make comments such as: "I think sailing is much nicer when you can see land." Or: "I hope we see other children again soon." Later, they become demanding questions: "Why are we doing this when everyone always spits?" Or: "You said we wanted to have a good time. But I'm always bored at sea for days on end!" And: "Do you only do an Atlantic crossing so you can say you've done it?"
Yes, we have brought up our children to defend their opinions. And now they do, with vehemence. We are starting to waver. We definitely don't want to go through with our plan just for the sake of it. But what are the alternatives? Back to the Mediterranean? A winter in the Canary Islands? Or go through with the transatlantic passage so that we and the children can look back on it with pride later?
In the end, we find a compromise that suits everyone: Christian sails the "Lady Blue" with a different crew to the Caribbean, where the children and I join him again. From Grenada, we continue our journey together. In hindsight, it was difficult for us adults - unlike the children - to come to terms with a new plan. But that turned out to be exactly the right decision.
Bay hopping in the Caribbean
In the south of the Caribbean island chain, the distances are short again. We all really enjoy this bay hopping; the days pass by with swimming, snorkelling, collecting shells, dinghy sailing - and boat schooling. We think up a licence for driving the dinghy so that everyone can practise using the outboard motor. Steering and accelerating quickly become quite easy, but starting the engine is a challenge.
These practical lessons are much more fun for Ronja and Lotta compared to the rather boring writing and maths exercises they have to do in the morning. However, the mutiny is usually limited, especially as they are rewarded with a swim at the end of the lesson. Sometimes, however, we have to hear that the subject matter is not the problem, but the teachers, i.e. Christian and me. They suggest that we could dress up so that they wouldn't see us so much as mum or dad. During some of the arguments that sprout up later about the lessons, I think we should have tried it.
Fortunately, such conflicts only make up a very small part of our family life. Back in the Tobago Cays, we are greeted by Mr Quality, a local trader who comes alongside with his boat. Today he has baguettes, UV shirts and, as always, an invitation to come ashore to eat lobster.
But first we want to go snorkelling. We discover turtles sticking their heads out of the water as if to greet us. "They always pop up three times, then back down again," Marla proudly reports her observation. Meanwhile, Ronja impatiently urges: "Yes, yes, but let's go and see where they swim around here." So we all jump overboard together and dive after the turtles. We watch them glide weightlessly underwater or eat seaweed on the seabed.
As Marla can't swim yet, she lies on a small swimming board with a life jacket and watches from above through her diving goggles. She's already great at holding her breath, so later on we dive with her again and again. Naturally, Marla also has to come along when we decide to snorkel Horse Shoe Reef from the Atlantic side in view of the wonderfully calm weather. There is a small dinghy passage.
Fantastic discoveries while snorkelling
For safety's sake, our neighbour Stefan accompanies us with his crew and dinghy. And then we dive down. The coral reflects the colours. We are surrounded by blue-yellow, red-black, white and grey, orange-coloured small and large, fat and thin fish. The children and we can't stop marvelling at this fantastic swarm. "It's like swimming in an aquarium," exclaims Lotta.
Despite our wetsuits, we get cold after half an hour and jet back to the boat. Stefan comes round later and brings eggs, flour, tuna and French spread from the jar. We are delighted. And also about the helpfulness of the sailing community. The neighbour had probably seen us throw our rotten eggs overboard and concluded that we were no longer particularly well provisioned. He wanted to make our Pancake Tuesday possible. This has always been a fixed ritual that we stick to on board.
The day in the Tobago Cays is drawing to a close. We cross over to the beach for sunset. The barbecue is being set up. The girls board the tree swing and romp around with the many other children, who communicate in a mixture of French, English, German and Spanish. If necessary, they use their hands and feet to help. Judging by their red cheeks and loud laughter, they get on really well. Meanwhile, we adults clink glasses with a typical Caribbean rum punch and savour the delicious lobster.
The return was easy for the children, but the parents still have to get used to it
I have fond memories of that day and many others. Our sailing adventure came to an end a few months ago and I can confidently say that the children in particular were back "home" in no time. Various overnight parties were organised in the very first week and there were many get-togethers with friends.
We were really pleased about some things when we returned. For example, the fact that we can close doors and retreat again. Ronja in particular had missed that. We can go shopping and get everything. Lotta meets her best friend every day, even in the morning on the way to school together. Marla is a proud pre-schooler.
But there are other things we still have to get used to. Rarely does anyone here just have time, stay for a coffee or drop by spontaneously. It was very different at the anchorages. And Christian and I now have our conversations in the living room instead of the cockpit. At the end of our journey, many questions arise: What is important to us? What and who do we want to spend time with?
Everyone around us seems to be scheduled for weeks on end, every single day is timed. Our family diary has also filled up quickly. Even when we go shopping, everyone seems rushed. Nobody sees the sunset, which is also glowing orange-red behind our house. There's even a bench. But nobody sits on it.
Text: Julia Pukelsheim
