“So hope for a great sea change on the far side of revenge. Believe that a further shore is reachable from here.”
These mental images of the sea by the Irish poet Seamus Heaney explore themes of struggles and hope. My husband, Gerry, and I left Dublin in
1986 with our baby daughter and an ambitious spirit to make a better life in Brooklyn, N.Y. Our immigrant journey would have an imprint on every other life choice we would make, including our notion to cross the Pacific, many years later, in our Nordhavn 43.
Our cruising life began in America in 1990 when, with no sailing experience whatsoever, we met a fellow Irishman who had crossed the Atlantic in a 27-foot Westerly Centaur. He told us the same model was for sale in City Island, in the Bronx. She was in rough shape and needed a considerable amount of work, but we bought her anyway and went to work on the weekends to make her seaworthy.
When we felt the boat was ready, we braved the East River, cruising through the treacherous currents of Hell Gate and into Bay End Marine in Mill Basin, where friends met us with champagne to celebrate her maiden voyage. It was the first of many sea passages. Over the years, we sailed near our home port in Brooklyn, often just an evening event out in Jamaica Bay and under the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge to see Coney Island lit up from the sea, or overnight at Breezy Point.
We became more adventurous with our next boat, a Maxi 95, and frequently cruised to Greenport on the North Fork of Long Island for summer weekends. Twice, we chartered a Beneteau 50 in the British Virgin Islands to get a taste for sailing life in the Caribbean and the favorable trade winds.
Finally, we started to consider a life beyond work after our careers had been going strong for nearly 35 years: I was an elementary school principal, and Gerry had built his plumbing business into a reputable brand. We wanted to spend a good portion of our time cruising. Enter the Irishman who first turned us onto sailing, and Nordhavn Yachts. We saw long-range capability, but without having to trim sails and zigzag to a course.
We researched and decided the N43 would be the right model for us. We found one for sale in Mobile, Ala. After she passed muster with a marine survey, we bought her and had a captain deliver her to Brooklyn. We christened her Celt.
Then, Covid hit. Gerry was designated an essential worker, but my school closed its doors. We opted to stay on the boat in Gateway Marina in Brooklyn, and I created and monitored an online school, visiting 43 virtual classrooms daily.
We retired early in 2021, moved down the East Coast to Marathon, Fla., and then carried on to the Bahamas and Caribbean, spending extra time in Grenada and Bonaire for hurricane seasons. We forged great friendships, not surprisingly with European sailors who inspired us with tales of having crossed the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. And we enjoyed all the comforts of the Nordhavn: air conditioning, washer/dryer, walkaround engine room, the big Stidd helm chair in the pilothouse, and especially the stabilizers, which made the trips feel so much smoother than the heeling over we were used to.
It was early January 2022 in Samana, Dominican Republic, when we received the unimaginable news: We had lost our 33-year-old son, Peter. We retreated to a 15-acre farm we had bought in Arcadia, Fla, sold our home in Brooklyn, and put our beloved Celt up for sale. During that same year, Hurricane Ian made landfall right over the boatyard where Celt had been hauled out for repairs. Miraculously, she survived unscathed, so we decided to keep her for the time being.
About a year later, we felt strong enough to start spending time aboard Celt again. We had so much pain; we thought that, perhaps, going back to the cruising lifestyle might help us.
That purpose soon became an ambition: to transit the Panama Canal and cross the Pacific Ocean. We followed in the footsteps of other Nordhavn owners and spent months preparing the boat for the lengthy passage. Part of the plan would be to carry three fuel bladders (a total of 275 gallons) to supplement Celt’s 1,200-gallon capacity and extend her 3,000-nautical-mile range. Gerry made sure we had spare parts for everything. We got new anchor chain, batteries, lines and fenders, and we made sure all our electronics had backup systems. We added Starlink to our Iridium Go. We also updated our navigation software for the South Pacific islands. We joined an online group for information from other cruisers, and we hired help from New Zealand for our weather routing.
We cast off lines from Jacksonville, Fla., and crossed the Gulf Stream to the Bahamas without incident. The next part of the journey, the Windward Passage to Colon, Panama, would prove difficult, with 10-foot swells and 25-knot winds for six days. One of the stabilizers leaked and had to be shut down, making the ride uncomfortable. Unsecured objects flew around the salon.
But eventually, we arrived safely at Panama’s Shelter Bay Marina, where we made new friends on Kariwa, a Nordhavn 62. Not long after that, we were through the first set of locks, tied up to a side wall. We carried on through the beautiful Gatun Lake as huge container ships passed alongside. It was stressful, but also fascinating. When we saw all the spectators and the gates opening in the Miraflores locks, we knew we had been a part of a special experience.
After a month of rest and preparations on the Pacific side of Panama, Gerry and I, along with Ellie, our 9-year-old Yorkiepoo, were ready for the hefty voyage: 3,900 miles, only stopping for 20 hours to top up fuel in Galapagos.
The boat certainly lived up to its reputation. Instead of reefing sails, we baked Irish tea bread and watched television for 26 days. There were no mechanical or weather issues as we cruised at 7 knots and 1600 rpm. We had a 2-knot current in our favor, saving us a lot of fuel. We still had 500 gallons when we arrived.
During the crossing, we had about a dozen boobies join us on the bow. They added entertainment, especially for Ellie. In the Galapagos, three sea lions frequently visited our swim platform to gorge on flying fish and squid, leaving quite the mess to clean up. The sunsets and the night sky were spectacular.
As of this writing, we are at Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas. With our European citizenship, we have no plans to leave. We also don’t know what our next passage will be.
It was a long time for the two of us to be at sea, but to be honest, the Pacific was one of the easier passages, as life goes.
This article was originally published in the May/June 2024 issue.
