Sailing Luna: The Dream Begins
Port-Cros, France — The Maiden Voyage part 1
The midday sun illuminated the rugged cliffs of Port-Cros National Park as we secured Luna to mooring ball GU1, the water so clear we could count the fish darting beneath our hulls. After 167 nautical miles of overnight sailing from Canet-de-Roussillon—our new catamaran's inaugural passage—we'd arrived in this protected Mediterranean paradise just southwest of St. Tropez. At precisely 11:59 AM, as the mooring line snapped tight against the cleat, Hugh shot me that triumphant grin I know so well. His noon arrival prediction, made hours earlier when we were still battling leftover swells, had proven dead accurate.
The day prior, July 25th, had dawned with purpose. We moved like synchronized swimmers— Me darting back to the hotel to collect our mountain of luggage while Hugh attended the systems briefing, both of us rushing back to handle the final provisions and load the bikes. By 4 PM, with everything stowed and the weather window holding, we exchanged glances that said what we both knew: it was time.
That first night at sea tested all our preparation. Luna shouldered through 8-foot swells with the confidence of a much larger vessel, her motion surprisingly comfortable despite the conditions. Without crew to share watches, we fell into an easy rhythm—three hours on, three hours off—our weeks of weather study paying off as the predicted wind shift arrived right on schedule.
At dawn, as the seas calmed exactly as forecasted, I found myself at the helm with a quiet smile on my face. "We nailed it," I said to Hugh. I was talking about the years of planning, the careful weather watching, the countless decisions that had brought us here. He couldn’t agree more. We did it. Our dream came true.
A full circle moment for Hugh was the moment the flags went up, years of dreaming crystallized into our new reality. The crisp French courtesy flag rose first on our starboard spreader, its tricolors bright against the Mediterranean sky. Then came the weathered “NYC” Nieue pennant from Wayfinder, Hugh's beloved old boat - its faded fabric a tangible bridge between our past adventures and this bold new chapter. As both flags snapped to attention in the morning breeze, I caught Hugh's expression: that particular mix of pride and wonder I'd come to recognize whenever Luna exceeded our expectations.
This was Luna's maiden voyage in every sense - our first sunrise at sea (5:30am, recorded in the logbook with still-sleepy handwriting), our first meal cooked in the galley (chicken with onions and broccoli, eaten with the ravenous hunger that only a day of boat preparations can bring), our first time testing safety gear when the bilge alarm sounded at midnight. Even the mishaps - the spilled soap, Hugh falling off the stern - were rites of passage.
Nightfall in Port-Cros
That first night at our first mooring, we slept like the dead. The exhaustion of our nonstop preparations—the final sleepless night in Canet, the marathon of last-minute errands, the adrenaline-fueled crossing—finally caught up with us as Luna swung gently in the water. In the protected cove of Port-Cros, with only three other boats scattered across the bay, the world shrunk to the rhythm of waves lapping against our hulls.
I remember lying in our master bedroom for the first time, every muscle humming with fatigue, yet acutely aware of the new sounds surrounding us—the soft creak of the mooring line adjusting to the tide, the distant song of insects, the occasional splash of fish breaking the surface. Hugh was already snoring lightly beside me. The boat's gentle rocking felt like the earth itself was cradling us, that particular lullaby unique to a vessel securely moored in calm waters.
We'd left hatches open to the night air, and the scent of pine from the nearby island mingled with the faint saltiness of our bedding. No dock noises, no marina generators—just the pure silence of a wilderness anchorage, broken only by the occasional cry of a night heron. When dawn came, filtering through our cabin windows, I surfaced from sleep to find the most stunning sunrise. I woke Hugh up and we went the the bow to capture the moment. I could see our mooring line still holding true, the morning sun turning the water around us to liquid gold. Hugh squeezed my hand wordlessly. This was the peace we'd dreamed of during all those years of planning—not just the spectacular destinations, but these quiet moments of perfect tranquilly in our floating home. I could live in this place forever.
This was the opening paragraph of our new life story, written in every mile earned, every challenge met together. We’re here. After years of dreaming, planning, and preparing, Luna is finally ours, and our sailing adventure has officially begun.
Some fun First Moments Aboard Luna
First Sunrise: 5:30 AM, painting the sky in gold as we took in the reality of our new life.
First Spill: Shay managed to spill hand soap while refilling the dispenser—thankfully, an easy cleanup!
First Alarm: 6-8 foot waves sent water into the engine vent, setting off the bilge pump. A reminder that the sea demands respect.
First Mooring: Ile de Bagaud, mooring number GU1—our first stop in this stunning national park southwest of St. Tropez.
First Meal: A humble but satisfying PB&J during the hectic walkthrough, eaten in sheer hunger.
First Cooked Dinner: Chicken with onions and broccoli—simple, but tasted like victory.
First Champagne: Toasted with glasses from Jeff and Lauren’s wedding, celebrating not just their love but ours, and the start of this journey.
First Time Using Life Jackets & Tethers: Testing safety gear when the bilge alarm went off—better to be prepared!
First "Man Overboard": Hugh, at 7:30 AM on 7/27, reaching for coffee on the stern steps. A harmless dip, but a good reminder to stay clipped in!
Next Stop: Genoa for our solar-powered AC installation
