Life aboard a sailboat has a funny way of flipping the script. One moment you’re sipping coffee while dolphins dance alongside your bow, and the next you’re elbow-deep in the guts of your Autopilot, channeling your inner McGyver.
When you live on a boat, it’s never a question of if something will break. It’s when. This time, it was the Autohelm 2000 throwing a fit—again. I’d already shared in the last episode how it failed us mid-sail, and after scouring online forums and obscure parts diagrams without any luck, I started bracing myself for the inevitable: buying a new unit. That, of course, led to the next dilemma—where to ship it, or which remote Spanish chandlery might carry one in stock.
But here’s the thing about sailing with someone like Nike: her curiosity rivals mine, maybe even beats it. While I was wrestling with shipping logistics, she dove into an old manual she’d dug up and found a repair suggestion that felt too simple to be true. “You know,” she said, “maybe all it needs is a good clean.”
Skeptical but out of options, I cracked open the casing. Inside, it was all contact plates and dust—years of use, a dash of corrosion, and just enough grime to kill a connection. I cleaned the contacts, pieced everything back together, and… click. Just like that, it was humming along again. Flawless since. Turns out, old-school mechanics might just outshine new tech in their stubborn reliability.
That kind of day is what real sailing life is often made of. Not the dramatic crossings or epic storms—though those make for great stories too—but the quiet victories, the fixes that save the day, and the moments in between.
After the McGyver win, we shifted anchorage just a bit, edging closer to the cliffs outside Lloret de Mar. The Costa Brava unfolded in rugged, windswept beauty, and we found ourselves with the perfect excuse to stretch our legs—our furry crew was eager for a walk ashore. A hike through the backcountry, tangled in Mediterranean pines and stone trails, reminded us why we love this rhythm. It’s slow, grounded, and full of serendipity.
We spent the evening watching the horizon, debating the next move. Should we hug the Spanish coast, make a stopover in Ibiza, or maybe even point the bow south toward Morocco? Back then, we hadn’t decided yet. Sailing plans, as you know, are best written in the sand at low tide.
So here we are, somewhere between destinations, anchored in possibility. The Autohelm works. The dogs are tired and happy. And despite the perpetual list of boat projects, life feels beautifully whole.
Until next time—stay curious, stay salty,
Floh