With various parts of our boat strewn across Whangarei and a new arrival in the family we thought that it was time to check in with the folks back in England.

Flying for over 30 hours with a 2 year old and 6 week old infant in tow is no easy move, I'll admit. But our two boat babies did us proud, sleeping well and being generally truly lovely to everyone on the two long flights it took to get us back to blighty. They got in on London time straight away and have really been on very good form.

We, however, are still struggling with the jetlag (perhaps we've grown used to moving at 5 knots instead?) so will be laying low until further notice. So, the scene at our place looks a little like this:

The New Zealand winter and having a new baby crew member meant that we weren't going to be sailing on the boat for a little while. This makes for a perfect time to haul out and do some routine maintenance as well as address any niggling issues that have popped up along our travels.

We haven't hauled out the boat since setting off in 2011 as we've done all our hull-cleaning in the water and had copper coat on the bottom which supposedly reduces the amount of hull growth. So, we took her out and cleaned her down to begin checking for any issues, both known and unknown, that could be made good whilst we're in such a well-equipped cruising country.

Our main reason for hauling is to investigate whether the osmosis has returned that we had treated in the UK before we left. It seems that the hull is riddled with new blisters so hopefully we get can this sorted once and for all. James also removed the rudder to fully investigate the corrosion in our rudder stock, first noticed when getting ready to leave Pacific Mexico in March 2014. Thankfully it proved to be only surface and some grinding and filling was all it needed to be repaired. We've even pulled out the mast and removed the rig in order to tackle the issue of some deck compression.

So the boat is in bits but it makes for some quite interesting images.

Sailing is no longer an isolated venture. Every cruiser seems to have a blog, a Facebook page or an Instagram account that can broadcast their breath-taking images of picturesque settings, sending them worldwide in a second. And why do we do it? To share, to transfer some of that boating magic back homewards with the adage of “wish you were here” and to further validate that this way of life, our way of life, is so special.

But the pictures are only a snippet of the reality. Sailing’s greatest mysteries and wonders lie in the un-captured moments; the times you lower the camera and set it down on the chart table; those great occasions when you can’t stomach the separation that the lens would create. My favourite images from our cruising adventures so far are the ones that only exist in memory.

One such encounter was when we were motor-sailing and the water was a still and clear bright blue, which is how we saw the grey shape appear so distinctly. A lone humpback whale, extending the entire length of the boat, drew up alongside us. Our crewmate was asleep, I had our infant daughter strapped to me and James was at my side in the cockpit. I don’t remember which of us saw it first but I can still feel the joint intake of breath as we both gasped at the sheer, immense size of this creature. That first sight held exactly the same thought for both of us: would the whale hit us?

But then, any fear evaporated and what took over, made us sigh with pleasure and consciously choose to not grab for the camera, was the pure grand and humbling feeling of witnessing so large an animal swimming next to us. He span around, exposing his big white belly and then rolled again, blowing water. The salty, fishy smelling spray misting our faces made us laugh at being “kissed by the whale”. We continued to stare at him gliding along, diving and surfacing, until he left an hour later and we felt nothing but awe.

Sailing at night is one of my favourite things about boating life. It always strikes me as wilder, giving a sharper awareness of the speed of the boat and the hiss of the water as we cut along. But we’ve never been able to capture the stars that we’ve seen. Out on the ocean, thousands of miles from light pollution, you see stars in such great densities that you actively feel your eyes widening as they try to take them all in. Every turn of your head reveals another shooting star, a cluster of the Milky Way or a brightly shining planet. And there you are, on a tiny little boat, bobbing about in the water below.

Other shots that never made it to my camera include the super-pod of dolphins, jumping, leaping and spinning as they played around us. Then there was the giant manta ray that rose up from underneath us while we were snorkelling. I remember sitting and marvelling at the dramatic flashes and forks of far-off lightning, blazing against a rapidly darkening sky or the loud roar of sudden tropical rain, instantly rendering our surroundings white.

There are sights that no technology can really communicate, like the bio-luminescence in the water. I love that the strength of light relates to the speed of the motion and you can only distinguish what is creating it by reading the activity of the lights. Fast-moving animals, like dolphins, create glittering zigzags whereas eagle rays dance in the water, only their tails and wing-tips edged by the glow. Shoals of fish are a mass of shimmering sparkles and individuals are reduced to splashes in the darkness, leaving bursts of light hanging in the water. Even our own boat creates a show as luminous waves explode against the hull and our wake becomes a fast-fading jet path of bright green light. I’ll never forget how we dangled our legs over the sugar scoop at the stern, kicking our feet in the river and stirring up millions of tiny glowing fireworks beneath the water’s surface.

I’m so glad we’ve avoided countless bad shots with bits of fin sticking out from dark water or endless blurs of light, smudges of stars or phosphorescence that would rob these moments of their magic. No matter how fancy the camera, some things are best described by the reaction that they arouse in you, rather than recording what is seen.

And the very best bits, well, you’ll have to come here to find them.

For those of you who have been eagerly awaiting some news on this page, we just wanted to let you know about the safe and sound arrival of our son, Indigo Halyard Lloyd-Mostyn on July 16th, here in New Zealand, just four days after Rocket's 2nd birthday.

He was born at 2am, in the bath, at home (not on the boat! We're actually house-sitting at present) entirely naturally at just over 42 weeks and weighing in at a not over cooked 6lb 12oz / 3kgs. We had a fantastic midwife who was supportive and encouraging of our choice to have him at home.

Here are some early photos, including the siblings' first meeting when Indi was barely 6 hours old and Rocket woke up to a baby brother.

Everything is very well with all four of us and we're completely smitten with our baby boy.

A few months back, before our epic roadtrip, we did a series of photoshoots for our good friends at gDiapers. Neither of us is new to photography, however it was our first experience in professional product shoots, producing images that were to be used in their advertising campaigns, social media, merchandise and product packaging.

We shot for five new nappy gPant designs in total, over a few weeks, in many locations, just the three of us. James and I took turns in front of the lens and directing each shot, with Rocket keeping us continually on our toes and surprising us with her ideas on the creative process.

Here are some of our personal favourites from each design we shot for - not necessarily ones that are being used as the company's chosen ones, but the images that we loved the most.

Enjoy! x

Some ruefully call cruising “mending your boat in exotic locations” or say B.O.A.T. stands for “bring out another thousand”. However, despite an element of maintenance to sailing life, it needn’t be a discouraging amount of work or expense if you can embrace keeping things simple. What about a freezer, a generator or a much bigger boat? It could make the difference between enjoying the cruising life now or never.

Our boat is the first one we’ve owned and between purchase and throwing off the docklines was only four months, surely some kind of record. In retrospect it makes me laugh how little I knew about boats at all. I had dreams about how the yacht should look cosmetically and babbled on at James with my wish-list, “Can we retrofit a teak deck?” “What about re-painting the hull dark blue?” and, my most ridiculous, “Do we really need all those winches on the mast?”. Yet time and budget dictated other priorities and I was swiftly educated away from my starry-eyed view by realising that upgrading seacocks, batteries, standing rigging and overhauling the engine were the only ways of getting equipped for our plans.

Buying a yacht for liveaboard sailing means choosing one with a lot of cruising kit onboard or factoring the additional cost of it into your budget. There is a balance to be struck; getting tunnel-vision, endlessly upgrading, spending out or simply tinkering further postpones actually getting out on the water. Besides, no matter how new or how ready, you’re kidding yourself if you think it stops there as you’ll still need running repairs to keep the boat in good condition once you go.

Because of the seasons for crossing both Biscay and the Atlantic, had we not left when we did then we would have been delayed an extra year. The work that the boat needed had surprised us, leaving us feeling that we were haemorrhaging money; sometimes not even knowing the name for parts until our mechanics reported to us they’d broken. So we took the plunge and mended things en route. We still managed to make improvements to the boat but spread out over our sailing time in many different countries: a wind generator in St Martin, new sails in Panama and replacement solar panels in Mexico.

Our fridge was constantly breaking so we went without one for 8 months. When coastal sailing it’s easy to get hold of fresh produce and keep topping up a coolbox with bags of ice. However, for some of our friends, this was a step too far. “You mean you don’t have a fridge or freezer? No ice for your cocktails?” remarked one astonished American cruiser, “How, um, retro”.

I once met a chap who boasted proudly “I use my autopilot for everything. I only switch it off when we’re turning back into the marina”. His wife happily chimed in “We had to steer by hand once, for 15 miles! It was terrible”. I nodded, silently thinking to myself what on earth would happen if their electrics failed? We hand-steered our first 11,000 miles largely because our autopilot wasn’t reliable. Some would be appalled but we learned so much about sail-trim and balancing as a result that it now makes using our Hydrovane incredibly easy, making short-handed sailing with infants a possibility rather than agony.

And no visitor to the boat was able to avoid carrying a suitcase crammed with boat gear in all shapes and sizes. My mother-in-law’s bag was so stuffed full with a replacement oven top, a new head pump, fan belt and Racor filters that she only had enough room for two changes of clothes! Even our own trip back for Christmas one year was combined with lugging a new electric windlass on a transatlantic flight, along with lots of puzzled looks and raised eyebrows from airline staff.

Yet, our greatest upgrades have also taught us the most, as we’ve opted for doing all installations ourselves, saving money and learning more of the systems onboard. We realised there are always ways of upgrading gear, making additions or even trading up your boat once you’ve already set sail. Spreading both the cost and the work over time or being strict with yourself about what kit counts as vital could get you going sooner. Had we rejected keeping things modest and perfected everything we’d probably still be in the boatyard now. And doing it out here on the water is a lot more fun.

While in Wellington on our recent travels we were able to pop into the Phil & Ted offices and finally meet our supporters there face to face. They provided us with both a highchair and playpen to experiment with on our journey as a sailing family.

They're also interested in us sea-trialling a couple of their baby carriers. More on that soon on our 'Mothership' page.

Check out: https://philandteds.com/news/2015/05/welcome-to-the-mothership-bloggers/

as well as the Phil & Ted entry on the 'Mothership' page for a full write up of our meeting with them.

Plus, for all interested parties, there are some good bump pictures on there too!

Enjoy! x

10 weeks.

Our 'little' roadtrip all over NZ became an epic 10 week exploration - and we didn't even see much of the North Island!

We had our first autumn for 4 years, had snow down in Fiordland, slept in the van at -3 degrees, met distant relations in Christchurch, visited towns and cities, camped on farms, near waterfalls, by beaches, and in woodlands.

It's a truly beautiful country and we'll soon have some images up to share with you just how stunning it is.

But, for now, it's great to be back on board. And not a moment too soon.

T-minus 6 weeks for our new little anchor baby....

While on the road I had an article published in 'The Natural Parent' Magazine.

One of the other contributors to this magazine was lovely enough to reach out and get in touch with us, offering us any help she could as we are new to New Zealand. We made contact and she said we should come round for dinner or even stay for a night or two...

11 days later we finally left!

This post is simply an acknowledgement to the supreme generosity, warmth and all round amazing-ness of the Batsford family, who not only welcomed us into their home but entertained our daughter with their three delightful children, showed us the best places to explore in Wellington, introduced us to the wonders of cronuts, ice cream for breakfast and the best Mexican meal we have ever had (and we lived in Mexico for a year, folks!) but gave us endless good conversation and encouragement with all our aspects of parenting and adventuring.

Here's to the joys of the people you meet en route and the great rewards of opening yourself up to opportunities.