When we sold Bumfuzzle, the Grand Banks, a few months ago I agreed to deliver her up to Puerto Rico after hurricane season had blown through. So for the past couple of weeks we’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on Caribbean weather. I even paid Chris Parker (the Caribbean weather forecaster guru) to keep a second set of eyes on it for me. I wouldn’t normally do this, but because I was going to need a minimum of three days heads-up on a weather window for the crossing it seemed like a good idea.

I’d need three days because I’d have to book an expensive flight at the last minute, and the shortest flight from Puerto Vallarta to Aruba was a three-leg twenty-nine hour affair. In addition to that, I would need the boat taken out of storage, and put in the water, which they couldn’t do until I was physically there.

Anyway, I saw what I thought looked like a great weather window. I emailed the weather service to see if they were seeing what I was, and they agreed that the winds and sea state looked pretty mild, but that there was a LOT of squall activity. Ali said to me, “Well, they must have better weather information than you do.”

I let that sit for a couple of days, watching the window go from six days out, to four days out, all the while still looking perfect to me.

I told Ali that if this were any other passage, and we hadn’t hired a weather guru, we would 100% be taking this window for the 400-mile trip. I emailed the weather guys and told them I was going to take off. They agreed with me about the seas and wind, and just cautioned me I’d probably get hit by a couple of nasty squalls along the way. They also said if I didn’t take this window I’d likely be waiting at least a couple more weeks for another one.

We spent the afternoon scrambling to get my flight booked, and the next day I was on the plane.

I woke up at home one morning, flew to Phoenix, caught a red eye to Miami, woke up on a bench in the Miami airport, spent a few hours in the airport lounge, flew to Aruba, and a day and a half later found myself staring out this window across the street from the closed marina with a promise that they’d have me in the water first thing in the morning.

I grabbed a taxi to the grocery store, bought enough bread and sandwich meat for three days at sea (crossed my fingers I wouldn’t need any more), and then tucked in to one last meal in Aruba.

The next morning I walked down to the marina to find the water looking like a sheet of glass. This is literally the first time I’d ever not had at least a 15-knot wind blowing on my face in Aruba. It is always blowing here. This was a good sign, though I could see squalls off in the distance.

One of the dock dogs there to see if I had any snacks in my bags. My luggage was just a bunch of empty bags.

There she is.

The boat was a bit dirty, and the varnish was in rough shape after a few months in the sun, but inside she looked just like the day we left her.

Once in the water I fired up the engines, which always start as if they were just shut off five minutes earlier, and flicked a few switches to turn everything on. The first problem was the stabilizers weren’t spitting out any cooling water. This is common enough. After a haul out the water in the lines drips out and when put back in the water we end up with air in the line. A quick bleed usually solves that, but this time nothing was happening.

Sweat was pouring off of me in sheets as I scrambled around the engine room trying to figure this out. I was not about to cross the Caribbean without the stabilizers. I grabbed my amp multimeter and began testing voltage from one end of the water pump’s line to the other. I found an in-line fuse I hadn’t known existed before and thought I’d solved the problem. Replaced the fuse, but still nothing pumping. I continued along the wiring and found an old-style wiring butt connection. Full voltage coming in one side, but 5 volts coming out the other. Snipped that out, reconnected, and boom, water was flowing and I was off.

Second problem I discovered was the autopilot. This boat has two autopilot stations, and the one upstairs was flickering, beeping, and constantly resetting the system as if it had been turned off and on again. I crawled behind the unit and unplugged the one wire to disconnect it. The wire was a little grungy and I’m guessing could have been fixed with a shot of WD-40, but I was on the weather clock and with the unit downstairs still working perfectly, I continued on my way.

First stop, fuel dock. Aruba’s government sets the fuel prices and wouldn’t you know it, the day before was the last day of the old prices. I was the first one at the fuel dock to lock in this month’s price, which was now a full $1 per gallon more. Four-hundred gallons at close to $7/gallon, I was back out on the water, headed to my last stop, customs and immigration.

Customs and Immigration were gracious, and quick with my papers. They were a little unhappy about me arriving there with a full family onboard, and leaving by myself, but a quick check of their systems showed that the rest of the crew had flown out of the country months ago.

That done, and with my zarpe (clearance paper) in hand, I was headed off to sea. I’d get four hundred miles more with the Grand Banks before I had to let her go.

One last selfie to Ali and the kids as I pulled out of cell range.

Dolphins are always a good sign when starting off on a passage.

Day one’s weather was great. Flat seas and only a tiny swell. Cruising along at nearly nine knots.

I got lucky with the moon. There’s nothing better on a passage than a full moon rising as the sun sets. Absolutely ideal. Cruising under a full moon is almost like cruising in daylight.

Lay on the couch upstairs, set an alarm on the kitchen timer for 25 minutes, and go to sleep. Technically twenty-five minutes is enough time for a ship to steam over the horizon and have a collision, but I’m the kind of guy who spends my life weighing probabilities, and the probability of a ship being just out of sight when I go to sleep, and then being on a perfect collision course with me, is so minute that I really don’t worry about it at all.

Day two dawned bright and blue. Lots of clouds, but no storms.

The only ship I’d see while crossing the Caribbean.

My second day at sea passed easily. The boat, as always, ran perfectly, and the weather cooperated nicely. Wind, waves, and swell all increased a bit, but not enough to slow us down. By the middle of the night I did have to go inside to sleep, though. The seas were 30 degrees off the bow, and the wind was strong enough, that every ten minutes or so I’d dip into a swell just right and have spray blow right over the top of the boat.

I continued my 25-minute sleep schedule and woke up rested one last time to find this joker trailing me. Doesn’t matter where you are in the world, the US gov’t will find you, and your “rights” as a citizen will cease to exist.

I am not a fan, at all, of their “mission”.

Found my little hitchhiker hanging on to the back railing. This boat has had a gekko onboard for at least three years now, and I don’t think it’s always been the same one, though if it is, I’d like to thank him for keeping the boat clear of little bugs.

For an hour or so the US government spent a few thousand dollars watching me pee off the back of my boat sixty miles from the nearest landfall. They had no markings on the boat, and never tried to call me, but I knew I’d hear from them eventually.

A few hours later the cavalry arrived. As far as I’m concerned, there is no legitimate reason for the government to board an American flagged vessel at sea without probable cause. None. But my opinion on the matter doesn’t matter, and like so many others who are forced to give up their rights to authority, all I could do was comply.

Here we are, an entire boat full of football-lineman-sized soldiers demanding that I slow to six knots so they can point machine guns at me and jump aboard my boat with giant black boots and zero regard for my vessel or my belongings.

What a waste of time and money. Not to mention they are risking their life to get on my boat instead of just radioing me and asking me a few questions. One quick background check on me would tell them there is zero reason to suspect me of drug running.

Ugh, sorry, I get worked up over this subject. I hardly recognize the “America, land of the free” thing any more. The US has for years felt more like a high-tech police state to me.

Anyway, taking a deep breath now…

Surprise, I wasn’t carrying a load of cocaine. And a few hours after shaking my customs tail, I was docked in Puerto Real, Puerto Rico.

Gave the boat a wash and she was good as new. I’m going to miss this Grand Banks viewpoint.

After getting some sleep my first night in, I spent the next day taking the new owners through the boat from bow to stern, as well as cruising around a bit and showing them how to dock. They are a super nice couple and were thrilled to be jumping into boat-ownership at the deep end.

Sort of bittersweet saying goodbye to this boat. I really did love this one. It was beautiful, strong, and reliable. For Caribbean cruising I think it was hands down the best choice for the money. If we weren’t setting off around the world again, I would have taken it right through the Panama Canal and up to Mexico where I probably would have just kept it forever. Alas, grand plans require moving on. Lot of great memories taken from the last few years aboard the Grand Banks, though.

Looking and feeling a bit salty as I get ready for a two+ hour drive to San Juan to begin the long journey home.

Puerto Real isn’t the best place in Puerto Rico to drop off a boat and get around the island. My “car service” minivan didn’t include a ceiling, a dashboard, or a #3 cylinder. But he’s a nice guy and I remembered him from our last visit to Puerto Real when he took us to the grocery store in an 80s Chevy.

Spent a night in the Condado neighborhood of San Juan before catching a flight to the States in the afternoon. Spent a night in a chair in Phoenix, and finally arrived back to the boat about 60 hours after leaving the other boat. I do not recommend flying from one vacation destination to another vacation destination. Flights to and from Puerto Vallarta are designed to take off from cold miserable places, not from tropical places.

Back home again.

So, a few weeks back we decided that as long as we were here for a while we may as well go get our permanent residency for Mexico. Because our kids were born here it is a very simple process, and once we have it we will have it forever. Permanent Residency is different from becoming a citizen, but it does allow us access to a lot of the same things that citizens have access to. For instance, medical care. Because the US system is so terrible for people like us—people that don’t live in a house, in America, all year around—we haven’t had medical coverage in twenty years. Here we will be entitled to coverage, and can also pay a small amount for supplemental insurance (a pittance compared to insurance costs in the States). We can work, open a bank account, buy a car, get a driver’s license, Mexican insurance, and we can stay as long as we want without worrying about a six-month tourist visa. The list of benefits to residency go on, so we wanted to finally get it done.

A few weeks ago that was easy. I could go into the office around noon, and a couple hours later my number would be called. I went in, got the paperwork and went home. The next time we went in with paperwork in hand, it turned out we had missed one piece and we’d have to return another time. Then there were holidays, and then I took off to the Caribbean, and by the time I got back it was mid-November. That meant that all the gringos had arrived. And the gringos from Canada and the US that come here in droves in November and are working towards getting their permanent residency have to go through a four-year process that involves checking in with this office right after they arrive.

Suddenly I couldn’t stroll into the office at noon any more. I couldn’t even show up 3 hours before the office opened. No, now if we wanted to get a spot in the day’s line I needed to arrive the night before. At ten p.m. to be exact.

This is me, first in line. By 3 a.m. there would be no more spots for the next day.

Fortunately, we had all our paperwork in order this time and by about three o’clock the next day we were the proud owners of Mexican Permanent Residency. It’s a place we’ve pretty much considered home ever since our kids were born, and it’s the place we expect that we’ll settle down some day, so it feels like an honor to us to be accepted this way.

Back at the office.

It was a crazy couple of weeks, but feels great to be done. We also got the Wanderlodge sold during this time. Now that we’ve cut all our old ties, we can focus on getting ready for the next adventure.