The Rose

25 June 2015 | Futuna to Vuda Point, Fiji
25 June 2015 | Futuna to Vuda Point, Fiji
23 June 2015 | Savu Savu to Futuna
23 June 2015 | Savu Savu to Futuna
27 May 2015 | Cobia Crater, Ringold Islands, Fiji
25 April 2015 | Horseshoe Bay, Matagi Island, Fiji
24 April 2015 | Naigani Island, Lomaviti, Fiji
22 April 2015 | Naigani Island, Lomaviti, Fiji
11 April 2015 | Vuda Point Marina, Viti Levu, Fiji
11 April 2015 | Vuda Point Marina, Viti Levu, Fiji
10 October 2014 | Vuda Point Marina, Viti Levu, Fiji
24 September 2014 | Yasawas, Fiji
24 September 2014 | Fiji
21 September 2014 | Bligh water, Fiji
21 September 2014 | Bligh water, Fiji
28 August 2014 | Ha'apai, Tonga
14 July 2014 | Vava'u, Tonga
13 July 2014 | Yanuca, Budds Reef, Fiji
27 June 2014 | North Bay, Matagi, Fiji
15 April 2014 | Vuda Point Marina, Viti Levu, Fiji

The Rose Sailin'

25 June 2015 | Futuna to Vuda Point, Fiji
Patricia Gans
Yo ho! Yo ho! The sailor�'s life for me.

The whales are leapin�'

The Kraken�'s creepin�'

The flying fish so free

The sails pull strong as we skim along

O�'er the boisterous sea!

Yo ho! Yo ho! The sailor�'s life for me.

Bananas a swingin�'

And squall rain a stingin�'

The swells slap us with glee

The Kraken attackin�'

His tentacles smackin�'

As fierce as fierce can be.

Yo ho! Yo ho! The sailor�'s life for me.

A patch of blue

The sun shines through

The sea she shines like gold.

A day so fine

We�'ll make good time

So get those sails unrolled!

Yo ho! Yo ho! A sailor�'s life for me.

The Rose--Dreams and dreams...

25 June 2015 | Futuna to Vuda Point, Fiji
Patricia Gans
24 June 2015 Tadra dreams Tadra ca bad dreams

Dear Friends and Family,

We slipped into Futuna as in a dream sailing softly to the steep volcanic shoreline lushly carpeted with rainforest disappearing upward into thick mists and behind that a brilliant sun rising. Anchoring in the narrow south facing harbor, we jumped into our dinghy and made for the customs dock where we saw a rust eaten ladder extending down into the water from the high dock used for supply ships. The wind was projected to be building to 25 knots by noon and the swell was already rolling into the harbor impressively so we got straight to work tethering the dinghy to the tire hanging beside the rusty ladder and clamoring up onto the rough dock then making our way walking the kilometer along the shoreline to the gendarmerie which serves as immigration. They were friendly and checked us in and out in one stop. We made our way back to customs who did the same. Then we thought we could squeeze in a quick visit of the island but on inquiring customs assured us no cars were available but there were lots of churches and we would probably hitch a ride in the back of someone's truck. We started walking and soon found a supermarket of sorts, more like a convenience store by U.S. standards but having the French cheese John sought. After a look around we gathered 2 cheeses and a bottle of French wine only to find that our paper Polynesian Francs were last year's model and were no longer accepted. Pawing through our substantial supply of change we managed enough for one cheese but nothing else. The storekeeper only shook her head in response to my questions in broken French about exchanging old money for new and also about the location of a bank so we continued on our way. On exiting the store we noticed the bank was directly across the street but it looked vacant or at least uninhabited and without hours posted. It seemed although we were willing, Futuna would have none of our money.

Continuing on we stretched our legs walking about the bay to the far side where we had noticed a high steepled church. Inside it was simple, well worn traditional Catholic but spacious with a capacity ironically to hold more people than we could imagine on this entire island. Accompanied by an ever changing variety of neighborhood mutts, we tromped through many muddy puddles on the narrow cement road heading back to the boat and passed a procession of cars apparently on the way to a feast of some sort for the pickups were loaded with taro leaves and a live pig lying subdued on his side all four feet tightly bound.

By 11:00 we had made our way back to The Rose with a steep and lively swell now near breaking into the harbor. We hoisted the dinghy onto the foredeck and secured her well, stowed anything else which might shake off a shelf or fly from a cupboard, brought home the anchor and set off on our way back to Fiji. As predicted, the wind was building fast and we found ourselves crashing along with 25 knots on a close tack, lines straining and groaning and swells slapping us this way and that. We double reefed the main and soon followed by rolling in about a third of the jib but still the boat leapt and surged and we had to hold on to stay upright even in the cockpit. At tea time the gimbled stove was flinging itself wildly from one extreme to the next and unfortunately often came up hard to a sudden stop on its extreme range sending everything including the tea water abruptly off onto the galley floor. The boiling water splashed all over me and down into the nooks and crannies of the wildly swaying stove, streamed down into her bowels and out onto the floor beneath. The floor was now wet and slick despite my attempts to dry it. Every time I reached under the stove to soak up the puddle she would lunge at me attempting to catch my arm between her corners and the floor. I generally enjoy cooking on passage but my usual limit is when I must hold the pots over the fire by hand in order to get the meal cooked. The next step is to tie oneself in to a grab bar along the front edge of the stove. I have happily cooked on passage while literally repelling from one ingredient to the next. But on this occasion the chaos of the swell made the movement below sickening. The sharp edge of the stove swung up against the grab bar in a fashion which would have made a great amputation device. What a plan, put the grab bar right where the sharp edge of the heavy gimbled stove swings and makes short work of any fingers there clinging! Why am I doing this I wondered? In the midst of changing into dry clothes-a feat in itself as the floor launched me this way and that-- I caught a passing thought reminding myself to put on clean pants and my best undies in which I would want my body found when it washed up on the beach. Later I looked about the disarray of the dinette area and again the thought snuck in about what all this would look like floating in a half sunk sailboat on salvage. Ridiculous! The boat was in no distress. The wind was less than 30 knots mostly, the sea only two meters and she was handling it with ease. This is what fatigue does. All the great manipulators of history know this and use it. Fatigue makes us vulnerable to suggestion and fear follows creeping into any dark corners even when it is not at all warranted. This is important to notice and remember.

There are two general categories of jumping horses-- hunters and jumpers. Hunters take obstacles with ease and grace, strides long and neck stretched forward. Hunters are all about style. Jumpers on the other hand jump high, classically with head up, eyes bright, ears perked forward, fighting the bit, legs pounding against any restraint like pistons before hurdling themselves straight up over the highest obstacles. I've always been partial to the jumpers. That is the way The Rose was handling the steep swell. She seemed to power up to the waves like a freight train and hurl herself over them. Sometimes the steep waves would fall away beneath her as she cleared the apex and then she seemed to free fall down the other side often into the unfriendly arms of the next steep swell which would pummel her soundly before releasing her on her way.

As darkness slipped in, we changed to our smaller staysail and reefed her by a third to prepare for the night. All night the wind blew and all night the seas crashed and all night we sailed onward never-endingly. John managed her alone before my watch while I tried to catch some sleep and found myself abruptly left midair over the bed and crashing back to the mattress every several minutes accompanied by the sound of waves spraying and water running like rivers down the deck. He took the brunt of it and I didn't envy him. My watch from 11pm-5am was a bad enough dream of darkness and howling and blowing wave and rain and crashing sounds which seemed an eternity. Wave after wave sprayed over the cockpit and the air was full of water. When I scanned the horizon for traffic I had to grip the dodger structure tightly with both hands to prevent slipping on the slick cockpit cushions while the boat swayed and jolted dauntingly and staring into the churning dark sea as it roared by I knew if that happened it would be the last of me. In the midst of all this angry torrent I happened to rest my eyes on that roaring darkness and to my surprise noticed large chunks of shimmering bioluminescence dancing past. Also pulses of bright light shown deep like a lightning storm in the depths of the sea itself. In that moment, these lights were like angels reminding me that in that great incomprehensible balancing act called life, despite appearances, all was right in the world. And so in the midst of all that tumult I smiled. As Hafiz wrote: "I am but the flute the Christ's breath blows through. Listen to this music!"

I was tired and nauseous or perhaps hungry but too tired to eat. Finally I dug from my hiking pack a granola bar and crunched on that. I slept in 15 minute increments between checks leaving my harness and epirb on against disaster and dragging a synthetic fleece blanket over my damp sticky feet to chase away the chill. With the arrival of morning I felt better but the situation was unchanged except for the light filtered through the heavy cloud cover. John came on watch and I slipped off to sweet sleep. Shortly thereafter we began to come into the shadow of the Fiji islands some 35 miles distant to the south and enjoyed some protection from those steep and sloppy seas. By noon the sky had cleared to blue and the wind reduced to the high teens and low twenties. The night seemed as far away as another lifetime.

Now we are sunning ourselves in the cockpit after lovely omelets and tea successfully delivered without incident. The boat is rolling along easily. The sunlight is twinkling on the sea ripples as the merry breezes playing horse and cart take turns drawing us onward and Fiji though not yet within our sight is nearing. By tomorrow morning we should be rounding the northwest corner. We may need to slow down in order to have the light requisite for discerning the tricky reefs along that northwest corner but that will only ease our night's passage which presently promises to be a different temper from the last. Perhaps tonight I shall practice playing Bridge on my Ipad. We are almost home. All is well, Pat and John s/v The Rose

The Rose--resting

23 June 2015 | Savu Savu to Futuna
Patricia Gans
24 June 2015, 03:55 a.m. 14 deg 29.5 S, 178 deg 14.93 W

Vakacegubreathing, resting, peace.

Dear friends and family, Just when I thought I would surely scream and was already silently shrieking inside because my skin hurt and my teeth hurt and my hair hurt and the tiny hair cells inside my cochlea which transmit the frequency of the engine to my auditory nerve and thence to my brain were completely frazzled, just at that moment, the breeze came up from the west. We are traveling north so this westerly breeze crosses our port beam which is perfectly delightful. And the seas smoothed down to almost glass. And the stars came out to play! And the few scattered lights of Futuna are twinkling on the horizon. And although it is certainly not yet twilight, dawn already suggests itself to the underside of the clouds. You must understand we are sailors and we love the wind. When that wind deserts us it is as though the sun went out or all the petals fell from a lovely blossom. But now she is back and carrying us silently and peacefully on toward our goal which will surely be within our reach by first light. The lines creak. The sea bubbles past. The sails swish gently. The engine rests and so do I. What a delicious moment. Always, Pat

The Rose--Until we meet again...

23 June 2015 | Savu Savu to Futuna
Patricia Gans
The Rose-Mercy 19 June 2015 WananavuAmazing!

The Rose is on the mooring ball at Waitui Marina in Savu Savu waiting for the weather to calm down. The wind is howling but the sun is shining today which is an improvement over the last few days when sheets of rain sporadically dowsed us turning the pristine waters of Savu Savu bay to mucky brown with run off. Perhaps in response to the sunshine today the town is full of life and I noticed many double scoop ice-cream cones dripping down arms and faces despite the cool winter weather. This last week the 1000 foot US Hospital Ship "Mercy" was here like a giant white city anchored in the middle of tropical remoteness surrounded by tenders and a helicopter busy from dawn to dusk transporting patients and supplies to and from shore. Sailors, marines and pilots packed the three blocks of sidewalks and restaurants in the tiny town and the town's people were doing their best to keep up with the demands for home made ice-cream, fresh cooked meals and souvenirs. After weeks of humanitarian work here, the Mercy departed early this morning sailing for Papua New Guinea but two sailboat rallies and the formidable weather are keeping the bay jammed with boats. Every morning the weather like a broken record repeats the reports of 40 knot winds and steep 10 foot swells outside and we all hunker down another day to wait.

It is "Crime Free Festival" week in Savu Savu and the marching band keeps us smiling every day as they strut the street with big brass tubas swaying and the upbeat music making its way out across the water to the boats despite the constant wind. In the evenings the blaring fair music is interrupted by an intermittent pattern of shrieks emanating from the Ferris wheel area the frequency of which is in direct relation to the path of each car as it reaches the apex of its upward journey and commences the drop back into gravity. The entire local population must be packed into the school yard festival area and they do know how to have fun.

We are spending our days visiting long time cruising friends similarly anchored here waiting out the weather and also preparing for our eventual departure to the French island of Futuna approximately 260 miles to our northeast. We foray out in the mornings just to replace our stock of a few fresh things as we consume them or to savor a cappuccino or similar treat. The afternoons are too windy still for our final preparations which require a trip up the mast to replace a light and check rigging so we have finally settled into books and art projects resigning ourselves to relaxation in lieu of struggling over things beyond our control. Perhaps over the weekend the weather will grace us with enough sunshine for a rainforest hike or visit to the waterfall. At this time it looks like Monday will be our earliest possible departure date.

24 June 2015 Sota tale Until we meet again

We departed Fiji Monday as anticipated after an early morning visit to the open air market for a few fresh things and the MH "Supermarket" for whipping cream for our coffees and a painless visit to customs to fill out paperwork and obtain our stamp of approval for departure. The weather calmed some though it has remained grey and squally. The first night was a bash with wind right on our nose all the way and big steep rolling swells lifting The Rose teetering high before dropping her again with a slap. Still we made good time and were able to slow down when the going was rough and enjoy a sparkling show of bio luminescence in the dark of night. That darkness of night was wrapped like a black shroud about us. The stars were obscured by clouds and the horizons blurred from black above to black below. Even calling them black is too light filled. It was the absence of light which was most striking. We traveled north through many reefs partly along tracks we had laid down previously but finally moving into new territory. John had thoroughly checked the route by satellite photo and chart giving us reasonable security that the way was clear but traveling through reef at night without light is still a nervy occupation. The one reef which supports a tiny bit of land called Naqelelevu is supposedly marked with a light but I found no trace of it until we passed the far limit of the reef and I was struck by a huge sustained amber light in the expected region but which in no way matched the marking light description of 2 seconds every 12. This light had more the look of the prism glass encased candles secured to the foremasts of early exploring sailing ships-dark amber and steady. I had heard ghost tales and spirit stories of the area from locals and I was hard pressed to dampen thoughts of ships sunken on the treacherous reefs long ago perhaps still haunting the region on such dark nights as these. The light burned strong and large only a few minutes before completely disappearing suddenly as though only visible at a very specific angle which was also odd since one would expect the reef marking light to be visible from all seaward sides.

I was at a loss to explain the strange occurrence until the second night when a repeat performance along a serendipitously clear horizon proved the amber light to be the setting moon. This night it was a perfect amber sliver formed by the lower aspect of the moon facing upward like a cup or like the hull of a boat completely unoccluded by the deep grey squalls of slanting rain to all sides and it settled gently upon that window of horizon as though the hand of God set it carefully afloat. It touched seeming to rock as the swells heaved and then settled slowly down into the sea until just a corner remained in view-a bright corner like the steady light of the previous evening. There is plenty of magic and spirit in the world but one must be careful to find the real magic unstained by expectations. The real magic lies in the moon itself which is not to be missed and needs no assistance from ghost stories to magnify its majesty. Still it was a playful moment with an old pirate song rattling about the darkness�...

Now we have been over 37 hours powering steadily into the wind with only our mainsail up to steady us but providing little assistance and the sky and seas grey by day and darker by night. My body tires of the constant rattle of the engine but it makes us go. The winds are mostly only useful with passing squalls which bring brief episodes of 25 knots from the full compass of directions before passing on and leaving us to chug our way into 8 or 10 knots on the nose. You can't sail dead into the wind and we have no time to make the long tacks required to use that light wind. This crossing though short is notorious for rough and boisterous weather so we are content to plug across as we are. We should arrive at the harbor in Futuna with first light and hopefully before the return of enhanced southeast tradewinds which will quickly make the harbor untenable and our return trip spirited. We hope for a quick glimpse of the island, a peek inside a church or two, a walk on a pristine white sand beach and a taste of French cooking before it's time to sail back.

It is 12:12 at night and I am on watch within my little halo of light crossing the dark sea. I check the horizon for lights, check the sail and wind--(yep eight knots on the nose and five of those by our engine), stare out into the hungry darkness, watch the radar at four, eight and sixteen miles for contacts which might be ships, reefs or squalls, check the engine, check our course on the chart plotter, write a few sentences and start it all over again. We fly back to the States in a mere eight days and before that must get the boat back to the far west side of Fiji, hauled out of the water and stripped bare for cyclone season. These are the thoughts cluttering my mind and juxtaposing the empty night. It is too brief a time for me to feel I have said goodbyes to these lovely islands and their people. All is well, Pat and John s/v The Rose 14 deg 45.38 S, 178 deg 22.76 W.

The Ballad of Yanuca

27 May 2015 | Cobia Crater, Ringold Islands, Fiji
Patricia Gans
The Ballad of Yanuca Or "The return of Willy"

The Bukarau family Was far from their home To birth baby Albert To Labasa they roamed.

Many months they had lingered While the baby grew strong When Willy decided They'd been there too long

***CHORUS: Yanuca Yanuca! My heart lives in thee. Yanuca Yanuca My home always be. ********

Their family they missed them "Willy Willy!" their hearts cried Yanuca Yanuca Bring them back to our side!

So Willy found a sailboat The Rose was her name. Safely she carried them Wind and sea she would tame.


The Angels were watching They agreed with the plan They smoothed the sea waters Gentle breezes they fanned.

Little Albert was smiling Brother Alex stood tall While Betty and Willy Watched over them all.


When Yanuca was sighted Cheers they did roar Hearts almost bursting to stand on that shore!

Across those smooth waters The sun's golden rays streamed They sailed through the reef line When the fishing line SCREAMED!

With gusto: That sailfish he ran hard! The pole flexed-They stared! While he danced on his tail fin And he leapt in the air.

Now Willy stood steady Just reeling him in Then down in the water He wrestled with him.

His sail flashed like bat wing His eyes fiery glared Willy's knife cut in so deep The life left that stare.


The sun it was setting Right into the sea And Willy's homecoming Was good as can be!

His family was smiling The Angels agreed They'd sent enough fish The whole village to feed!

Now home in Yanuca Willy's family will be May the Angels keep watch o'er Their whole family!

***Chorus one more time!

The Rose--Waiting for Wisdom

25 April 2015 | Horseshoe Bay, Matagi Island, Fiji
Patricia Gans
Dear Friends, 03 May 2015 Vaka vukuThe way of wisdom

One of many lessons I am apparently doomed to practice repeatedly in this life has to do with the balance between waiting for wisdom and making things happen. While I am waiting for the wisdom to appear I try to keep my mind quiet and notice what comes but of course actually my mind is very busy and very clever in the way of making me believe that perhaps it has the sought after insights already in hand. By nature, I am usually more than ready to jump up and act on these thoughts which may be true wisdom or something else masquerading as such. And since the nature of these thoughts is almost never actually clear to me, I try to sit and wait a little bit longer hoping to become sure. But what I usually become sure of is that one could sit around and wait forever and never make anything happen and perhaps just watch life pass on by missing every opportunity to make a difference or become the master of one's own destiny. At this point I am reminded of a quote," And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was greater than the risk it took to bloom." Anais Nin. So then I act. But having been through this process a myriad of times, after I act, I watch to see what happens and what I can learn from it. And yet all of this remains for me an enigma. How to chart a better path through it all eludes me. Perhaps I must just accept whatever happens as the perfect outcome and seek to appreciate that perfection--Not to nullify my own ability to effect outcome but rather to accept without judgment the ultimate complexity of interacting elements.

Twice this week I was reminded to be quiet and wait for the wisdom. John and I found a wonderful secluded blown out caldera anchorage between two small islands, Qamea and Laucala, on the eastern side of Fiji. It is actually the caldera which separates the two islands which presumably were once long ago one big volcano. The caldera is large and blown out narrowly on two sides allowing some tidal flow but also creating a deep and well protected lagoon. The area is almost completely uninhabited except for a village on the western shore discreetly tucked into the jungle foliage. We were anchored along the eastern shore where the caldera wall is steep and thickly covered by trees and vines hosting an abundance of wildlife which earned the anchorage the name "Jurassic Park" because of the odd trills and grunts emanating from the unseen creatures inhabiting the nearby shore but completely obscured by the overgrowth. We were the only boat in the bay and we luxuriated in the relaxing privacy of our new-found Eden for several days. Outside the bay the wind was blowing solidly over 20 knots and the swells were whipping the reef line white. We enjoyed the fresh wind as it swooped up and over the caldera lip and then accelerated back down to the water's surface and our boat while the swell was completely subdued by the surrounding reef.

After several relaxing days soaking in the beauty of it all, I felt the need for some exercise and suggested we swim the quarter mile to the mangrove shoreline and back. John paused thoughtfully. I smothered my impatience and breathed. We were sitting in the cockpit playing cribbage. It was later in the day than I usually swim but there was plenty of light. Just then as John opened his mouth to reply, we heard a swish and a splash in the water and both turned just in time to see a mid-size shark charging powerfully and purposefully on the surface straight toward our boat. Of course our boat is high enough that we were in no danger but it was strikingly odd behavior for a shark. He may have been making a dash for fish on the surface though we didn't see any. The water was deep and not particularly close to the shallows so it was odd he was in the area at all let alone at the surface. I broke into a grin as John quickly replied that he wasn't actually much in the mood for a swim at that moment. Neither was I any longer. But I did chuckle to think that in another minute or two I probably would have impatiently dived into the water and started my swim alone even though the water was a bit murky and the light a bit shadowed and then what a different scene would have ensued when John, watching from the cockpit, noticed the odd behavior of the shark on one side of the boat and me swimming a short distance away on the other.

The next day, rather than swimming I thought I might go for a row in the dinghy. It was breezy but I thought the mangroves along the concave curve of shoreline were probably sheltered enough for a nice exploration. I asked John if he wanted to go for a dinghy ride and do a bit of exploring and he paused a moment to think. Just then a blast of wind descended from the caldera lip hitting the boat at over 25 knots and sustaining its force for several minutes. A raincloud hitched a ride and slipped into place directly over us dumping down sheets of windblown rain. I decided the message was pretty clear that I needed to stop doing and start listening. So I went back to my book and a couple more days passed uneventfully.

This morning I carefully and timidly suggested perhaps we had been relaxing in this beautiful bay long enough and since we were unlikely either to row or dive here, it might be nice to sail to another bit of heaven nearby where I knew the snorkeling was good and where we had last year thought it would be interesting to explore some coral crevices with SCUBA gear. The weather was calling for strong wind all week but this afternoon, in addition, the rain was supposed to set in for a couple days. The area we intended to sail through is strewn with reef which requires good light to visualize and thereby avoid becoming a shipwreck icon on the chart or having a reef named in one's honor. Though the grey clouds were starting to move in and pile up, the light was still good enough, but if we didn't leave now, we would be unable to leave until the rain stopped and the skies cleared a bit which would mean at least two days. I thought I could enjoy rain today if I had already been for a lovely and spirited sail and I thought I could continue my enjoyment through tomorrow if I knew great diving was waiting for sunshine tomorrow afternoon. Still it seemed odd to strike out into the howling wind from our protected anchorage. We were lazy and tempted to stay, and, punchy as I was from my previous experiences I was watchful and cautious. We each invented several excuses to stay before finally we decided to go.

It was a beautiful sail with sunlight and grey and lively wave action on the reef churning and crashing and aerosolizing into vapor and falling back to liquid. The wind was strong and behind us most of the way and we rode the swells that lifted us gently forward as the sails pulled us briskly along. Though the grey rain clouds continued to thicken, we seemed to have our own sunbeam following us like a spotlight and illuminating the reefs in pale turquoise so we could pick our way through without concern.

The wind intensified at the entrance to the little horse shoe shaped bay I had in mind and we thought perhaps we had been mistaken in our endeavor. Wind waves were making quite a tantrum on the point and the wind was right on our nose and blowing in the high 20's with unpredictable roaring gusts known as "williwaws" from several different directions. As soon as we passed inside the entrance, however, the sea calmed. We quickly found a place to anchor and just as I finished attaching the bridle and buttoning up the windlass, the rain descended on us giving the boat-- and me and the sea turtle who swam over to welcome us --a nice fresh water rinse.

We are all tucked in now and yes it is raining and will most likely continue raining tomorrow but we are enjoying the showers as background to our book reading. And after that some lovely diving is on the schedule. So you see, it's hard to know when to wait and when to make it happen. And though the timing worked to our advantage on all the scenarios I have just conveyed, I have no idea how to ensure that next time. Sometimes life is like walking through a candy store while other times it is a mine field. It's just hard to know. But one thing that is clear to me is that each of these tiniest of decisions can change everything in ways we don't even consider and cannot foresee at the time and may never understand. Yet if we are to progress, we must make the decisions in faith and move on, witnessing our ever evolving destinies as they continue to take shape.

And for now�....All is well. Pat and John s/v The Rose, Horseshoe Bay, Matagi Island.
Vessel Name: The Rose
Vessel Make/Model: Kelly Peterson 46'
Hailing Port: Colorado Springs
Crew: Pat & John Gans and Mr. Sushi the pug

Who: Pat & John Gans and Mr. Sushi the pug
Port: Colorado Springs