Ashore to All Aboard...Sailing to the Northern Star: 2017

“Now—bring me that horizon.”

-Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Carribean

Coordinates: 57°30' 11.9988 N 134°35'2004 W

There can only be one maiden voyage for a ship, and all firsts must come to an end. The Northern Star now floats in a small harbor nearly a thousand miles away from where it started. Truly, this family is about a thousand miles away from where we started too. Not even a year ago, not one of our crew could have imagined owning a 42’ sailboat, let alone sailing it—let alone sailing it almost 1,000 miles. It started with an idea, was kept alive, led, and guided by God, and has turned into something we could never have predicted.

Where it started is hard to say, but our search for a ship began in a little farmhouse in Utah, looking tentatively through online ads. We read about boats from Sicily to Mexico to San Diego, and almost without realizing it, we made decisions that would eventually lead us to the Northern Star. We wanted bright, big windows and a nice, hard cockpit to keep off the sometimes constant Alaska rain. But most of all, we wanted plenty of room to be together. I could not count the yachts that we turned down because there wasn’t room for all of us. Such it was that when we stepped into the unknown and finally sighted the Star, we knew she was all we could want, and promised wonderful, beautiful things--together. And through the last ten days of sailing into the unknown, she fulfilled her promises.

This is one reason we love, love Alaska. It is a place where the horizon is not limited, and surprises even less so. The storms will rage, waves will toss, and the danger is there. But so is the wild, wonderful creatures, places and people we’ve grown to love in our time up North.

To those who have gone on this voyage with us, some just reading hundreds or even a thousand miles away, know it has made it more special for us to share it with you. Some of you we’ve heard from, some we haven’t. Some are new friends we made as we sailed our way up the coast of two countries, and some have been our friends for years and years, and hopefully years to come. So thank you for adding to our lives, past and present. The whole crew salutes you.

Now the Star is floating in a small, beautiful harbor, and for the next year or so, she’ll be the one to watch the days grow short and the nights grow long. Snow may fall on her deck—rain will surely run off her mast—while she waits for new horizons too.

Because in Alaska, there’s always a new horizon, and chances for new beginnings. So I won’t call this the end of a voyage, but rather the start of a journey. So the Star will wait in her harbor, but we won’t be standing still. Just like we did when these green sailors were even greener, we’ll hit the books again. Already Alyssa hauled home on the plane Sailing for Dummies, Ocean Knots, Alaska Wildlife—and as the cottonwood leaves turn gold and fall, and the snow flies white outside the windows, in Utah this crew will be tying knots, memorizing sailing terms and bending over charts, just as if we were on the Star again.

Because we know one thing is certain. Adventures are coming again, and all we can do is make sure we’re ready to meet them. Many things we have learned, but maybe the most important is this: God gives us new horizons because he loves us, and when He charts our adventures, they’re bound to be beyond our imaginations.

Not to say there weren’t problems. We got bruised, suffered minor concussions, missed our anchorage and drove all night. We lost sleep, braced ourselves, and often fell into our bunks totally spent.

But now we know how it feels to watch the sunset from the bow. To face into the wind when it cuts across the sea, and trust the Star. Some things we’ve seen in the last ten days, we will never see again, and the sight will have to live on through Sissy’s pictures and our memories.

As one nutty Captain Sparrow once said, “What a ship really is, is freedom.” A ship means we can turn our backs on the horizons we’ve seen, and turn our bows to the ones we haven’t. We’ve seen Icy Strait, Zarembo Island, Otter Cove and Baranof. But already our eyes and ship’s wheel are turning to the horizons we haven’t seen. Some reading this, I know will see it with us, and feel the waves beneath the bow. We’ll need a ship’s log then too, so we’ll keep this blog open, waiting for future windy days.Until then, we’re looking to new horizons and unmade memories with those we love. Though the sails are furled now, they’ll flap free and fill before we know it. Guessing at our next adventure, as I once said before, I can’t wait to find out all that I’ve been missing. Can you?

Skipper Krystal

Photo credit: Alyssa Bauer; sister, thanks for who you are and all you do. I love you Sissy, and was so happy to live all this with you!

P.S. There are so many pictures we couldn’t share in other posts, so if you will indulge us, we want to share a bunch that are very special to us, including more friends we made along the way. So get ready, here goes!

Thanks to our whole family: Captain Gary, Dad, and helmsman. The boat literally would have fallen apart without you, and we would too. First Mate Kris, Mom, and jack-of-all-trades, cooked on a four-by-two foot kitchenette, plotted the course, and generally kept everything running, including our sanity and happiness. Jason climbed the mast, fixed the bolts and washers, outfitted the Star and helped make the dream come true. Cap’n Jack took the classes, was there for our first sail and was the first to try out the V-berth—back when it was stuffed with cushions and more cave than bed. April dreamed, looked over the boats, slept in the bunks, and put in her two-cents. Sissy took the pictures, worked the electronics like some kind of magical, chart-plotting fairy, and may just have been the reason we got there at all. This and so much more this family gave to help a dream come through, some knowing they’d have to miss her maiden voyage in the first place. But your time is coming all, and I love every one of you guys. Until next time.