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wondertime

Our story

Last November marked five years (five years!) since we sailed into New Zealand, dropping Wondertime‘s hook in the dark Bay of Islands waters. A lot has happened since then: trips to the US (some long, some short), motoring around New Zealand, a Tongan interlude, settling down (for now), getting a naughty boatcat, finding our way back to our roots … on the sea.

But all of that pales in comparison to the eighteen months we spent voyaging from Seattle to New Zealand. That journey across the Pacific Ocean will always define us: it changed us, it made us grow, it stretched us in unimaginable ways. Those months cemented our family together, bonds that have since been tested (and will no doubt continue to be) and held strong. Our daughters are begging to continue exploring this world; they know how big it is, and how small. Remembering how scared shitless, bored, frustrated, stressed, nauseous I was at times keeps me going when I want to give up because I know I’ve got this, and bliss is right around the corner.

Sometimes I’d hop onto our website, read old trip entries. And though I swear I can remember everything, reading our stories was often like reliving it all over again. One thing sure is clear: the Johnson family who left Seattle were not the same people who arrived in New Zealand. What defines a voyage, really. Recently, I gathered the best of the entries, cut out the boring bits, edited and formatted them just for us to read. To hold a physical book in our hands, the story of how we got here, of how we came to be who we are today.

Then I thought, maybe someone else would like to read it too, either again or for the first time? So here it is: our story.

But don’t worry: it’s not over yet. It never is.

(If you do decide to buy and read a copy, please let me know what you think, either through a book review, email, or blog comment. As always, we’d love to hear from you!)

Goodbye, Dear Friend

No Voyage

by Mary Oliver

I wake earlier, now that the birds have come
And sing in the unfailing trees.
On a cot by an open window
I lie like land used up, while spring unfolds.

Now of all voyagers I remember, who among them
Did not board ship with grief among their maps?—
Till it seemed men never go somewhere, they only leave
Wherever they are, when the dying begins.

For myself, I find my wanting life
Implores no novelty and no disguise of distance;
Where, in what country, might I put down these thoughts,
Who still am citizen of this fallen city?

On a cot by an open window, I lie and remember
While the birds in the trees sing of the circle of time.
Let the dying go on, and let me, if I can,
Inherit from disaster before I move.

O, I go to see the great ships ride from harbor,
And my wounds leap with impatience; yet I turn back
To sort the weeping ruins of my house:
Here or nowhere I will make peace with the fact.

~From New and Selected Poems, Volume One

 

120414_lastlook

Whitecaps

We had motored away from Sidney Spit in a dying westerly breeze. An hour before I had tucked away everything below, expecting a romping beam reach but now that we were underway the wind had decreased to…nothing at all. But once we were out of Sidney Channel and into Haro Strait we found our wind.

Forecast wind today in Haro Strait: 15-20 knots southwesterly. A fine wind to make our way south again towards Victoria, then west out the Straits this weekend. We raised our full mainsail and the genoa. Ten minutes later someone opened the faucet and more wind came pouring across the Sannich peninsula, then even more. Wondertime careened to port and all that I’d overlooked tucking away came hurtling downwind as well. I checked on Holly napping in her bunk, then Leah playing in our protective bunk. I told her that she’d want to stay in there for a while and she told me no problem and went back to playing her Leapfrog.

Back outside, we reefed the mainsail down all the way, furled the genoa and unfurled our tiny staysail. Michael went below to check the chart and I was alone with the whitecaps.

With less sail up, Wondertime only heels slightly. The autopilot steers the boat easily and her motion is smooth and even. The waves are choppy with the opposing current but we slice right through most of them. Even so, when the wind comes like this, I shiver and grit my teeth. I am afraid: of more wind, of something breaking, of not knowing what will happen next. The wind howls. Wondertime cuts through a wave and the spray is thrown into the cockpit. I duck behind the dodger a little too late and taste salt. This does not help the shivering.

More wind comes pouring over us. I can hardly believe it. Paradoxically my nerves calm as I see we are only a few miles from the sheltered bay we will anchor at tonight. (When we arrive, we check the buoy reports and find it’s 34 steady, gusting 40 just south of us outside of Victoria). We are also tucked behind the lee of the land and the waves have gotten smaller. Wondertime continues to jaunt along close-hauled at 6 knots like she’s pleased as punch. All the wind being hurled at us seems a bit silly now. We can do this.

More gusts, higher gusts. Wondertime shimmies, she skirts around like a filly trying to shake off a bit. She seems…uncomfortable, restless. Michael and I furl the staysail until it’s the size of a hankie.

Then the boat is satisfied again, and continues on her merrily way south. I am satisfied too. I trust we’ll make it.

Video: Sailing to the San Juans

Sailing to the San Juans under staysail and mizzen in ~20-25 knots. We love the easy motion of our home underway, even when it’s breezy. (As often happens while sailing, both girls fell asleep below. Another nice benefit of cruising under sail!)

This is Wondertime.

She is a good little ship, and always tugging at her docklines.

wondertime at anchor

One day, a man had a dream of building a small stout boat that had a nook for everything and neat tidy bunks. She would have a ketch rig that was easy to sail and a center cockpit that was cozy and dry. His little ship would be simple and true.

lines

So, Meridian Passage was born one Spring day in 1978 on Bainbridge Island, Washington and was carried over land to her new home in sunny Southern California.

0904_girlsdinette

Over the next years, she would be fitted out with a galley for cooking and a dinette for gathering and eating aft, a sea berth, a double berth and a head amidships, and two little bunks in the bow (perfect for — unknownst to him — the two little girls who would one day sleep there).

0903_leahbunks

Two stout masts were added and sails and an engine for when the wind wasn’t blowing and one fine day she was launched into the sea.

ketch rig

Meridian Passage enjoyed many years of sailing in the sunshine to the California islands then destiny took her to the Columbia River where she explored fresh water nooks.

sailing

One day a small new family happened upon her and knew she was the ship they’d been searching for: not too big and not too small, not too simple and not too complex, not too old and not too new. This lovely ship sparkling in her slip was just right for the little girls who would soon dance on her decks and their parents who would sail them near, and someday, far.

leah inspecting

So Meridian Passage was sailed northward up the sea to the sound where she was born and nestled into her slip in the crook of the sound.

calm motoring up the coast of washington

The family took to her and loved her right away and knew that she was their true home. Her little girls loved her too, and were filled with wonder every time they visited.

leah's port

And that is how Wondertime found her new home.