Captain's Log: Change is in the Wind

Stinkpot lying at anchor, as captured by a neighbor vessel, Edna's Secret

We’re at anchor in the lowlands of Georgia, just south of St. Andrews Sound. We were hoping to get further today, but with the punishing wind that came up after we got underway, we encountered seas uncomfortable enough to turn us around to find a safe (hopefully gentle) place to stop.

​Since I last wrote here—which was some time ago when we were on the west coast of Florida—much has happened. We have put miles under the keel, eaten wonderful meals, and spent time with treasured friends. Stinkpot remained anchored in Treasure Island for a full month while we attended the St. Pete Boat Show, the Seattle Boat Show, and spent time with our friends and fellow cruisers, Sean and Louise on M/Y Vector.

​On February 10, we got underway, running as far south as Fort Myers before crossing the state via the Okeechobee Waterway. We turned north on the ICW in Stuart. Visited with friends Steve and Leah, as well as their son Alex and daughter-in-law Adina, in Fort Pierce. We made our way to St. Augustine, where we represented Argo Navigation at the South Sea Cruisers Association Gam. Then we made our way toward and up the St. Johns River to Astor where we spent a week visiting with friends, and where my son, Kieran, flew down to join us for some family time. Our generator fritzed on our way there, and I spent some time in Astor getting it shipshape again. We left there heading back north, spent two days in Jacksonville before heading into Georgia yesterday, where we find ourselves now enduring a gale that pegged our anemometer early-on with a 61 MPH gust, prompting us to seek shelter for the day.

So here we sit with the wind howling around us, bouncing the boat around like a toy boat in a bathtub with a tantrumming toddler, with nothing to do but wait for it to let us pass to the north and consider what is to come. Naturally all of this had me considering that I should write an entry for this blog. Frankly, I have been working on one for some time now—2500 words of blow-by-blow from Treasure Island all the way to St. Augustine. I was reading back over it to continue the tale when I realized something.

This is boring. It is.

It’s exactly what I set out to do when I started this blog in 2022, but the formula is that of a travelog. I guess I set out to make something boring. Sorry about that.

​There’s certainly nothing heady about the format. It’s just two people on a boat—and yes, we’re living our best lives out here. I’m sure some of you have hung on every word and photo in these missives and wish you were here, but I find myself wanting something more for this space. What I have been contributing here is nothing more than “we went here and ate this”; there is nothing inherently interesting about that unless this is a lifestyle you aspire to, and to those people I say, “Do it. This is fun.”

It also can be stressful. Of late, I have had another gastritis attack, much milder than the 2024 attack that nearly hospitalized me—and now I can identify and treat the symptoms when they arrive—but through most of the last couple of months it has been warning me to watch my diet. I do try, but every new location comes with restaurants we want to try, and that has been my undoing. The last week has had me eating gentle foods aboard, and enjoying a veritable buffet of pills and potions to try to get my gullet back into fighting form. Like with an ulcer, stresses make such situations worse, and so my diet has been reduced of late to toast, bananas, applesauce, and pills.

These are the moments that the cruising magazines don’t mention or ever prepare you for. We sold the house five years ago—half a decade of nomadic life changes how you approach life entirely. Our year of cruising the Great Loop was certainly no preparation for life without a home base—especially with regard to healthcare. We’ve since found that we need insurance that can travel with us. An HMO that requires we use a doctor in a specific city or state just won’t cut it. At this point we rarely form relationships with providers like “landed gentry” do. We need to make heavy use of virtual visits, so selecting insurance that provides them is a priority for us. If we need medical care outside our “home area” we need coverage that will allow us to use the doctors who are wherever we are. If one of us gets sick, that’s a lousy time to be figuring out flights to visit our PCP.

We need the ACA—it’s really the only affordable option for staying insured at our pre-Medicare ages, but choosing well is not always obvious. It takes a lot of study, considering tons of variables, and also means that we need to be our best—and sometimes only—advocate when looking for care. Tools like ZocDoc become almost as essential as the right insurance, allowing anyone to find the specialists anywhere. There are no real consistent standards with regard to individual medical care. All providers have opinions and biases, and when I find myself at odds with their advice, I need to become my own best advocate. Sometimes the only doctor available could be struggling under the influence of decades-old, debunked data. In those cases I need to speak up or vote with my feet. Nomadic healthcare is informed healthcare. I know my body. I know what’s best for me and ask specifically for it. I don’t take medicines I’m offered without knowing the side effects. Doctors are only human, and to err is human. I find a dose of informed skepticism is the correct prescription at all times, and I’m always grateful when my needs and my healthcare provider’s ethos mesh.

In answer to the inevitable questions the above may elicit, I am feeling much better now. The drugs are clearly working, and my gastrointestinal tract will be accepting pizza again in no time.

It’s all part of the journey—and speaking of the journey, and to finish off this missive, that’s the most important part. So many of the people we encounter out here are very destination focused. That’s not the important part. It never is. This is our lifestyle. This is our life. A destination is a hole in the ground—the “dirt nap.” Giving up tethers to normal life and taking a nomadic perspective teaches you that it’s all about the journey. That’s because it is.

Stacey bought this hat for herself, and people have indicated and interest in having one. If you're one, email [email protected] to join the list: $20