Where does one start when writing a novella about their experiences on the Indies Trader? For me, I can only describe this experience as one of the best six months of my life thus far.

When I found out that I had the job, it was a blustery night in Chamonix Mont Blanc. I was holding an end of season party at my apartment, and the waiting was killing me (it had been ten months since I first made contact). I snuck into the stairwell of the apartment block and called the USA. All I can remember from that conversation was "well you had better get yourself to the Bahamas then". What an excuse to celebrate. I was to be the host on the greatest surf exploration vessel of our time.

A week later I packed away my beanies for bikinis and set off to the Bahamas. I had arrived there a few days before the Trader was due to arrive and used it as a good opportunity to get some much needed sun - (the only colour I had was the archetypal seasonaire's goggle marks).

I skipped out on the touristy areas, hired a scooter and made it to Jaws Beach. I think I fell asleep there. But when I awoke I had an apparition.

In the distance I could see the mirage of a pirate ship….an orange and blue coloured pirate ship. I squinted, stood up, tried to magnify this vision through the lens of my camera - I couldn't be sure. The Trader wasn't due for 3 more days.

But that was her. It gave me such a surge of anticipation. To see in the flesh something you had dreamed of is indescribable. I can still remember the excitement. The sudden urge to swim out 3 miles like you had been stranded on a deserted island and there was your ticket home.

I just remember how seeing the Indies Trader made you feel.
You know…. Every time I see her, that is how I feel.

There is so much history on this boat and it has been my job to communicate this history to those that visit. There are scattered remnants of the past life of Indies Trader, the salvaged helm, head, port holes and pots that were treasure hunted by a true buccaneer who later became a true friend. His initials tattoo a port hole - laying claim to it, just like he would embezzle anything else he thought that could foreseeably be of some use. There were the cultural clues. A Polynesian carving, a tiki, some incredible shells, a spear fishing gun, a gallery of photographs, a tub of flags and even just the array of sauces in the galley that all imply the breadth of this journey.

Perhaps most significantly, there is the surfing miscellany. The twenty surfboards in the hold, with covers that bear the scribbled names of some of the world's best. There is the battered tin boat that closes in the gap from a safe anchorage to an unnamed set. There is the fish record board which recognizes the biggest catch and there you see the name 'Slater'.
Never for a minute does she boast of the uncharted waves that she has found or the 120,000 nautical miles that she has traveled, or even the 60 + countries she has visited. That is what is so unique about this boat. She is uncomplicated and modest.
As much as I love this boat, when it is all said and done, the memories of the crew is what will stay with me.

To be honest - I don't think I will ever meet a more amazing group of boys. Being the only girl on board, I took on the role of sister. Nothing was taboo. Everything was funny. There was a bond so strong that we were one entity. After a hundred hours of steaming, trying to get away from one another was out of the question. Solidarity prevailed and we would all venture out as one. I'm sure the masses of inside jokes were similar to a foreign language to an outsider. We knew each others personalities inside out and we all had our role. We lived vicariously through our crewmate's happiness' and knew how to cheer up a frown. We were the tightest knit family that I have ever known.

It is a difficult assignment to condense a trip of a lifetime into a page, however there were some moments that can't be left unsaid. Seeing a pod of dolphins riding the Trader wave was mind-blowing….not to mention a Bahamian back deck spread of just caught mahi mahi….crying with laughter from the incessant water bomb fights with neighboring ships…… wakeboarding in between locks on the glassy Erie canal……anchoring in Kentucky Lake cove, spending the day swimming and swinging off the rope swing.

Spending the night reminiscing by the campfire. Dancing all night long at some random bar with your boys, cruising Chicago in a white limousine to meet Jack Johnson backstage.

Meeting some of the most caring, generous, funny, odd and stoked individuals that this Nation has to offer. But maybe some of the most incredible moments don't even pertain to a setting or scenario, just the feeling you get from being a part of one of the greatest Crossings known to man.