Sailing with a two-year-old in the Florida Keys
Issue 47 : Mar/Apr 2006
These days, when Noah is playing with his toy sailboats, he can pick out the boom, the mast, and the keel. Then he points to the deck at the bow and says, “That’s where we sit and watch the dolphins.”
Our bareboat charter trip to the Florida Keys last spring has influenced our 2 1⁄2-year-old son in many ways. Five months after the fact he vividly describes the details: the color of the water (green); the members of the dolphin family that played with us one afternoon (particularly the baby and grandma); and the important differences between the water where we anchored (“It’s cold and you have to wear your PFD.”) and the warm, shallow water on the beach (“The beach water with the slippery green fish.”). Noah knows firsthand that ocean water is very salty (so no drinking it!), and baths now receive a sprinkling from the salt shaker so he can fl oat in the tub better.
Some of the imagery floats into our daily conversations in that beautiful way that only toddlers can get away with, such as when we were at the park the other day:
Noah: “What does the sign say?”
Me: “It says, ‘No swimming in the pond.’ ”
Noah: “And, ‘Don’t let the tarpons nibble your fi ngers.’
We live in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where briny sea creatures are pretty scarce, especially in the city parks. But when we hang our puppet stage in the doorway, the ocean comes alive for us as Mr. Seaturtle, the octopus, the dolphins, and their pinniped pals re-enact some of our heeled-over moments on Southern Light.
A little apprehensive
She was a 1982 Morgan 32 with more amenities than we had anticipated. Still, we were a little apprehensive about living aboard for a week with our imaginative-but-intense toddler. After we addressed all the safety concerns, there were still fears such as, “What if he screams all evening in a quiet anchorage?” or my worst fear, “What if we run out of ways to occupy him?”
As spacious as this boat was, there was a finite number of toys and activities we could pack in our luggage. And we didn’t know exactly what the storage situation would be on the boat, so we packed spartanly for Noah: a few art supplies, some books, and of course Mr. Seaturtle.
Thankfully, none of our fears were realized. The ocean and its beaches were a wonderland for him (and us), with no lack of interesting ways to occupy him. All children love and respond to nature, and Noah is no exception. The fish, stars, waves, the sailboat itself — each encounter with a new experience became rich play material. Plus all the fresh air and sunshine meant early bedtimes and quiet evenings at anchor.
One favorite play reenactment refers to the day the dolphins decided to glide over to our boat to display their awesome gymnastic talents. We were sailing toward Marathon, Florida, when my husband, Joe, spotted them in the distance. Noah and I joined him on deck and watched while at first four or five — and then about 20 — dolphins swam toward us. This breathtaking scene inspired Noah to sing to them, while they somersaulted, spun, flipped, and torpedoed around our boat. Some of them lost interest in us, but the seven or so performers that stayed would dive below out of sight, and then, as if on Noah’s singing cue, pop up from the waves, twirl around, then splash back down to their hiding place beneath the boat. To Noah, this seemed like they would come to him only when he sang his special dolphin song. The Performing Troupe cooperated, bursting from the waves when their conductor, Noah, signaled with his song.
One long day
Our happy, eventful trip did include one long day of beating to windward in 4- to 5-foot waves. The Southern Light was due back to her owners the next afternoon, and we were still 15 miles from our intended anchorage. After hours of long tacks with very little forward progress, Joe made the wise decision (over my puritanical, sailors-should-use-sails protests) to start the engine.
The monotony of motoring directly into waves for eight hours really wore us out: sore necks, constant spray, and a nervous impatience to get to our anchorage before dark. But thankfully, Noah didn’t pick up on our vibes. Every dousing of the cockpit was hilarious to him (“Look, Daddy’s all wet!”), watching the dinghy we were towing leap crazily toward us was endlessly fascinating and funny, and by the end of the day he and Mr. Seaturtle were still wearing big, salty, wet smiles. Noah proved to be the real sailor that day.
This charter was also in some ways a test for our family. We are restoring a 1964 Pearson Alberg 35 sloop with the intention of living aboard and cruising when she’s ready. Of course, a week on a sailboat is quite different from living aboard, but we needed a glimpse into that life. It may be a few more years before we, our boat, and our wallets are ready to cut the docklines. Our Alberg hasn’t seen water for four years and our little Lake Michigan daysailer, a Bristol Corinthian, is hardly preparation for living and raising a child aboard. Bareboat chartering helps us keep an eye on our dreams.
If bareboat chartering provided Joe and me with a tiny dose of what it’s like to live aboard and cruise, it also gave Noah a small taste of Moitessier’s poetry, a bit of St. Exupery’s vision, and all of the wonder the natural world has to offer.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
