Next phase for Rhapsody, it's the pits

Cyclone season is back, and cruisers everywhere in the South Pacific are scrambling to make their grand exit. Most pack up and head south to New Zealand, others west to Australia, and then there’s a small group of us who stay put in Fiji. Last year, we rolled the dice, kept Rhapsody close to a “hurricane hole” (or as close to one as you can get in the Pacific), and decided to try our luck. Cyclone Mal stopped by for a brief visit, (you can read about our experience here) but otherwise, we enjoyed quiet anchorages, empty marinas, and zero races to the best anchoring spots with other boats.

This year, we decided to do things differently. After eight years of calling Rhapsody home, it’s time for a break. As much as we love living on a floating house that requires constant tinkering we’re ready for a land-based “vacation.” So, with dreams of a little less rust and mildew, we’re swapping bilges for hotel bathrooms, trading in weather forecasts for travel plans, and saying farewell (for now) to our trusty floating life.

Our plan? Fly to Singapore for a quick stop to see a friend, then hop over to Thailand, where we’ll mix a bit of medical tourism with some actual tourism. We’ve heard good things about Thailand’s affordable, quality healthcare, and after spending a few years away from affordable quality healthcare, it seems like the perfect time for some overdue checkups.

After waiting all day, Rhapsody is finally hauled after sunset

Leaving Rhapsody behind for cyclone season has been a project all its own. Instead of a cozy slip or mooring, we’ve opted for the grandest accommodation possible: a cyclone pit. Yes, a pit. Picture a hole in the ground lined with old tires, just big enough to nestle a 49-foot sailboat. In a pit, there’s no risk of sinking if something goes sideways, and it’s certainly more secure than a dock or  leaving her at anchor.

The pit. Rhapsody’s new home. 

 Preparing her for this adventure has been no small feat. We took down the Bimini and dodger, secured the mainsail, and removed the jib. Water tanks? Emptied. Food? Out. Every single surface inside the boat has been liberally wiped down with vinegar, our best attempt at a “mold-be-gone” charm. Here’s hoping that works — because there’s nothing like opening up a boat to find every surface has sprouted a fine layer of green fuzz.

Getting the tires set for Rhapsody to be lowered onto. You can see the worker down in the pit getting the platform ready for Rhapsody’s keel.

With Rhapsody finally settled in her pit, we handed things over to a trusted boat watcher who’ll keep an eye on her while we’re gone. We’ll monitor the weather from afar, of course, but we feel confident she’s in a good spot to ride out anything short of a worst-case scenario.

Coming into the marina in anticipation of getting hauled.

So, with a mix of excitement and some reluctance, we’ll leave Rhapsody to her four months of solitude, to wait patiently in her tire-lined pit until we return and reverse the whole process. Here’s to a season on land, and to a few months free from battery checks, mildew wiping, and general boat maintenance.