Most cruisers that I know love to "talk boat"—talk about your own boat, your friend's boat, that awesome boat in the harbor, something you saw on YachtWorld—you get the picture. I am no exception. I also love boat shopping (for myself or others). I'll use any excuse to spend some time poking around a boat, new or old. And since I won't be in the market for another boat for a while, I thought that I would relive the experience and share what brought us to choosing our boat.

My husband, Green, and I cruised to the Caribbean years ago (B.K.- before kids) on our 1965 32-foot Pearson Vanguard, Egret. She was a great boat, and we had a blast with her. But, after four years of living aboard Egret, I knew that I wanted something bigger when we had kids. I almost hate to say it, but when we started looking for the boat that we would live aboard and cruise on as a family, I wasn't looking at the sail plan, tankage, construction, or electronics (well, at least that's not where I started). No, I was looking at the interior layout, which seems trivial but is, in my opinion, paramount to successful and happy family life aboard.
Lyra is a Reliance 44 that was laid up in 1975 in Montreal, Canada, finished by the first owner, and then splashed in 1980. She has a ketch rig, pretty lines, a low cabin house, and a flush foredeck. These are the features that immediately stood out when I came across her listing on YachtWorld in the spring of 2008. But it was her layout that really had me. Since we already had one kiddo at the time that we were boat shopping, and were planning on adding another in the not-too-distant-future, the boat needed to have enough space for four people. I also wanted the kids to each have their own bunk and personal space. And in this area, Lyra is perfect. The girls (number two came along after we lived aboard for a little over a year) share the aft cabin, which has a quarter berth on each side. The quarter berths are bright and spacious and have loads of storage, which is rare. The aft cabin also contains the main head, and there is a door separating the cabin from the main saloon (great for early bedtimes!).
The main saloon features a (small) u-shaped galley with the double-sink on the "island," the nav station desk, port and starboard settees, a pilot berth (which we use as storage and a bookshelf), and a centerline table. The space can definitely feel small at times, especially when we let it get cluttered (remarkably easy with a toddler), and the galley would be more user-friendly if the only usable counter space wasn't also the lid to the fridge. But, overall, the space works well for us. Up forward there is another head, hanging locker, drawers, the V-berth (also with awesome storage), a sail locker, and a chain locker.
One thing that we love about Lyra is how safe she feels down below while under sail. There are so many handholds and places to wedge yourself in that it makes daily tasks like cooking and whatnot easy and comfortable. There are also high fiddles on the counters and table, which come in handy.
Now that we've had Lyra for about three years, I'm happy to say that we love her even more now. She sails well, and the ketch rig has been fun to experiment with. The cockpit is deep and comfy, the wide side decks are easy to maneuver on, and the spacious foredeck is great for lounging. We've also done loads of projects, which I'll detail in future posts, that have contributed to easier life aboard.
Tips for your boat search
In case you're in the market for a family cruising boat, here are my tips, mostly from experiences learned the hard way...
• Use a yacht broker to help you with your search. if you find a good one, they will make your experience so much easier
• Location matters. Unless you can afford to travel to look at the boat, try to stick to ones in your area, or just a day trip away. If you buy the boat, you'll have to still get it home, and if your experience is anything like ours, you'll be making multiple trips to the boat during the buying process.
• Ask lots of questions, and try to get lots of recent pics before traveling. We once drove more than eight hours to see a boat we thought was the one only to see it and find out that it had been flooded (including the engine), mostly gutted, and the hull and ceiling were covered in avocado-green carpeting. This was before online listings and digital pictures, so things are definitely easier now, but you still need to make sure that you are looking at recent photos of the boat.
• Look at as many boats as possible. If you're fortunate enough to live in an area with lots of boat yards, take a look though them and start to get more of a feel for what you are looking for. If you see something you like (even if it's not in your price range) call the broker or owner and ask if they can show it to you.
• If you have kids, try to involve them in the boat search as much as possible.
• Throughout your search, stay organized. We used to keep small files about each boat that we looked at which would include info on the boat, contact info, pics that we took, and our likes/dislikes.
• Buy a copy of Don Casey's Inspecting the Aging Sailboat and read it before you look at a boat. It's full of great info and will help you know what you are looking at when you are going over the boat's construction, systems, etc.

I often think that the world would be a much better place if everyone had the opportunity to go sailing, the longer the better. After my husband and I returned from our own cruising adventure when we were in our 20s, I came home with a new set of eyes through which to see the world. If you've done any long-distance cruising, particularly to countries that are less developed than the U.S., you know what I'm talking about. My first trip to a grocery store in Florida after being away for a while was overwhelming. I believe I actually choked up—we just have so much. Of everything.

Over the weekend, I read an article about how much water Americans use each day. The scope of the piece was actually much larger than that, but what I took away from it is that, in general, we consider unlimited, clean, running water to be a given, so much so that basically it's become invisible in our lives. We take it so for granted, that we don't even think about it. The article states that on average, Americans use 100 gallons per person per day, and that this rate of consumption is unsustainable.
Between this story and news about the famine in East Africa, water consumption has been on my mind. Being a liveaboard sailor, consumption is on my mind frequently, but this article really made me think. Cruising sailors are, in general, a conscientious bunch. When your lifestyle is contained in a small floating home that is more or less off the grid, you tend to notice how much electricity you use, how long your water tanks last between fill ups, how much diesel you burn through. This awareness is something that I feel sets cruising sailors apart.
On Lyra, we spend the summer months away from the dock. So no shore power, and filling up the water and diesel tanks requires a trip across the harbor—definitely not a hardship, but more inconvenient than, say, having a hose right there at the slip. This inconvenience (not to mention the astronomical price of diesel) helps keep us from being too wasteful, especially with our water, and since we rely mostly on wind and solar to charge the batteries, we try not to be wasteful there either. Our boat holds 200 gallons of water, which is a nice amount for a family of four and actually lasts us about two to three weeks without really trying. And that's for everything (showers, drinking, cooking, cleaning) except laundry.
Overall, when we (cruisers) are not tethered to a dock, we are responsible for our water, electricity, and waste. We know where it comes from and where it goes. We know how much we use and are always looking for ways to use less. Long before green was the "in" thing, cruisers were catching water from passing thunderstorms and making electricity from the wind and sun. Conservation, awareness, making do with what you have, saving money, respect for others and the environment, self-sufficiency and accountability—these are all things that are a daily part of the cruising life. I'll even admit that I get a little bit of a thrill when my older daughter asks (on a day when the wind or sun weren't enough to help out the batteries) if she can watch a movie on the laptop, and I have to say no because we don't have enough electricity to charge the laptop right now. Sure, I could turn on the engine and put some juice in, but what would that teach her? Besides, playing with toys, reading a book, or even swimming off the boat are way better. Whether they like it or not, conservation will be part of my kids' genetic makeup. They live it.
What if, for most people, conservation was more than just rhetoric, but was part of daily living with direct, immediate consequences for waste? Wouldn't the world be a better place?

Like most South Floridians my age, I was raised in a very air-conditioned world. The thought of not having AC on a hot, muggy day in August (or even February for that matter- Florida weather can surprise you with crazy temps any time of year) just seemed awful. (Like I've said, I was a little sheltered). When my husband, Green (yes, that's his real name), and I moved aboard Egret, our Pearson Vanguard, it didn't have AC, which we remedied by fitting a room air conditioner in the forward hatch while we were at the dock. We
could make the cabin so pleasently cold that the outside of the hull would actually sweat with condensation.
But then we went cruising, and we definitely couldn't take the AC with us. But I was ready to let it go, and I haven't lived a day with AC since (not including visits and vacations ;) Of course, I no longer live in Florida, so that's part of it, but we've also learned a few tricks along the way to help us keep our cool aboard when the mercury's rising.
One of the best things that we've made for our boat is our wind scoop. I've actually wondered why I don't see more cruising boats use some sort of wind scoop since they do wonders for air flow down below. Our wind scoop that we use on Lyra (check out the picture) is a cool design with years of liveaboard R&D behind it (thanks to my husband's parents!). It can catch a breeze from any direction and send it down the hatch, which is an awesome feature when you aren't pointed into the wind due to current or being tied up at a dock. It also seems to catch just about any inkling of a breeze. We used ours daily while cruising in Florida and the Bahamas.
Our boat actually came with custom-fit canvas awnings that we put up when we know it's going to be a scorcher. Keeping the sun off of the deck and from shining down the hatches is a HUGE help in keeping the inside livable. The only drawback to our awnings is that they can't be left up if the wind picks up; however, I think that there are commercially made boat awnings, like Shadetree, that can be left up in fairly stiff breezes.
Fans- we love our fans. Currently we are using the Caframo "Bora" fans. While they're definitely not cheap, they've been worth the money and they look nice. I've also heard that the Hella fans work well. A cheaper solution is to buy an automotive fan—they're usually between $10 - $20 and run on 12v, but they draw more electricity and don't last as long in a marine environment.
Also, never underestimate the power of a cool shower or swim or a cold drink. And if all else fails, go out for ice cream :)
So, what do you do to keep cool on board?
(under the awning, in the hammock-- the way to ride out a heat wave!)

Well, the Irene brouhaha has come and mostly gone here in Rhode Island, and we're none too worse for the wear and tear, for which we are very thankful. Being liveaboards who've had some experience with hurricanes, we take them seriously. Days before the storm, we moved Lyra from her mooring and staked out our claim at our chosen hurricane hole. We took down all the sails and canvas and put out four anchors, and then the girls and I jumped ship. (I'll also be writing a future story on hurricane preparations for an upcoming issue of CW.)

One of the worst aspects of a hurricane (besides the aftermath), I have always felt, is the waiting. For days you watch the forecasted track and the radar images of the swirling beast coming at you. Is it going to hit? You prepare, stress out, and then wait. Maybe stress out a little bit more. Then the weather starts to deteriorate and the air feels heavy and close. Like impending doom. And then there's not much to do other than wait it out and hope for the best.
We stayed on shore at a friend's house, which was great, and once the power went out, I had plenty of time to reflect on how oddly nice it was to not have power. Without our electronic doodads distracting all of us—no TV, computers, and very limited battery left on the iPhone—we actually talked. And in the evening, after the wind had subsided mostly, we cooked dinner on the grill and camp stove and chatted with neighbors. As the sun went down, we lit candles and a fire in the fireplace (the air temp had cooled down considerably) and played Scrabble. It was a lot like evenings while cruising, really (except for the fireplace!).
In the morning, friends and neighbors were out helping one another clean up, and everyone was desperate for coffee and looking for news of when the power might return.  (Want to hit New Englanders where it really hurts? Board up all the Dunkin Donuts!) It was a bit of camaraderie that isn't seen too often in neighborhoods these days, but is normal for cruising sailors. Living off of the grid aboard a boat definitely has a benefit in this area.
I have always found it to be a little funny how people can live next door to each other for years and never speak, and it takes something big, like a natural disaster, to bring people out of their houses. It's also a little funny that during these times the "old" ways of getting news trump the "new" ways. With no service on the smartphones, no computers, and no TV, things like friends dropping by with news, the radio, and, gasp, the newspaper were the sources of info. Again, oddly similar to cruising.
So as life, both on shore and afloat, starts to return to normal here, we are all thankful that we weathered the storm without much damage (and our thoughts are with those in Vermont, who are dealing with catastrophic flooding, and the extremely storm-battered Bahamas), hopeful that the next storm churning out over the Atlantic will stay away, and appreciative for the perspective that can be gained when the winds howl and the lights go out.
* In the photo- The calm before the storm—literally—in Lyra's hurricane hole.

"I'm dancin' in the clouds
With my feet still on the ground
I couldn't say a dream could get much better
And as you watch the sun go down
You wake up to the sound
Of changes in the weather"
- Barefoot Truth
So I'll admit that I've been a little lax on the blog posts lately. Blame the end of summer madness, vacations, school, kids, family visits, work, boat shows -- you get the idea. Life has a way of getting in the way sometimes, even—make that especially—when you live on board. But things are slowing down now, and for that we can blame (or thank?) the coming of winter.
It's easy to lament the change of the seasons (especially if you're not headed south like the sane cruisers do), but I find that embracing Jack Frost is easier than denying him (or being grumpy for his entire stay). Maybe it's because experiencing the seasons is still somewhat new for me (remember I am a Florida transplant), or maybe it's seeing how happy snow and Santa Claus make my kids. I think, however, that the real reason is that winter is a time to slow down. To snuggle in warm blankets, drink hot cocoa, visit with friends that we don't see much of during the busy summer. And I'll admit that Lyra makes a cozy winter abode (thanks to an awesome diesel heater!).  Not to mention that winter also means that we're back at the dock, which after a busy summer on the hook with two kids is a welcome respite (toting kids, groceries, laundry and stuff between the car and the mothership via a long walk and an even longer dinghy ride will even wear Supermom down eventually).
So while I'm OK with the coming of old man winter, there's plenty I'll miss about summer life in Newport Harbor such as stargazing, hammock time on the foredeck, weekend cruising, swimming off of the boat, the view, the weather, and the late sunsets. The photo here pretty much sums it up and serves as a nice reminder to me that when I slow down and take the time to enjoy the view, life aboard—even when it's crazy and hectic (call it character building)—still beats the alternative.