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Captain Nez Posse Newsletter 3: Introducing Ivana Juric

As twilight paints the Bahamian anchorage in watercolor hues drapes the anchorage like a soft blanket, Nez perches on the hard edge of Ivana’s well worn cockpit listening to her humming and musings while older circumnavigator wrangled an even older storm sail. Wearing a sailmaker’s palm softened by decades of use, Ivana pushes a thick needle through grey leather and thick Dacron sail cloth with determination. She braces the fabric against her knobby knee, guiding the needle with surprising strength to reinforce the storm sail’s clew. “We must go over three times,” she murmurs, her voice carrying the measured cadence of her Croatian upbringing. “Is like trust – no rushing, no skipping.” 

Like her hurricane tested catamaran, Ivana bears the indelible marks of a life at sea—her hands rough as galvanized anchor chain from years of hauling lines, her clothes sun-bleached and stained from countless repairs and years living aboard Condura. Nothing about her is new, yet nothing about her is weak. Condura may have surface cracks over every inch of fiberglass, but she has carried Ivana around the world twice, and Ivana, in turn, has carried stories that stretch as wide and deep as the ocean itself.

Ivana pauses to pull the sail cloth away from the leather, inspecting the stitches to see if they held. “You must always keep an eye out for weakness” she says.  “You ignore one small tear, it grows. You ignore again, and again…then one day, when you must rely on it—boom—it fails.  And when that happens, another thing fails.  That’s when boats and people get hurt.” Ivana locks Nez in a clear gaze continuing, “Is big problem in remote places.” Nez swallows, eyes tracing the zigzag of stitches. She thinks of her beloved Gery, who always kept an eye on these things—would it be up to her to keep the diligent eye? Was she up to it?

Ivana’s hand drifts to the African wenge wood bracelet on her wrist, its surface bleached by sun and worn smooth by salt and time. “This bracelet, I get it in Mozambique before Captain Marko and I round Cape of Good Hope first time. Winds there…” she pauses, searching for precise words, “…winds want to push you where you must not go. Many boats, they take Suez Canal instead. Is shorter way, yes, but pirates there…” She shakes her head, her expression hardening. “We trust our skill in bad weather more than we trust men with guns. Sometimes harder path is safer path.”

Ivana needs no grand gestures to command respect. She offers no easy comfort, only truth carved by decades at sea. When Nez hesitates, uncertain of her path forward without Gery, Ivana’s steady gaze holds the weight of countless ocean crossings. “Is normal to feel lost,” she says softly, her accent thickening with emotion. “But boat, she knows way even when captain has doubts. You must only listen.” She turns back to her sewing with quiet certainty, leaving Nez to consider how much wisdom lies in simply moving forward, one careful stitch at a time.

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Captain Nez Posse Newsletter 2: Introducing Hei-Hei

Nez observes Hei-Hei strutting along Spud’s white fiberglass deck, the sunlight catching her copper-tinted plumage in the Bahamian rays. Unlike her more famous namesake from the Disney movie, this Rhode Island Red possesses both intelligence and sass in equal measure. She’d come into Nez’s life as part of Nez’s late husband Gery’s master plan for their sailing adventures – a practical solution for fresh eggs while crossing oceans. In just twelve months, Hei-Hei has transformed from a mere food source into Nez’s closest shipmate. When moored, the hen’s chosen spot is above the helm station, where she tilts her head inquisitively at passing birds and vessels. Her remarkable sensitivity to atmospheric shifts leads her to fluff up and scurry below well ahead of approaching weather. “Time for your midday treat, chickie?” Nez dips her hand into her pocket to retrieve Hei-Hei’s cherished snack – a mixture of dehydrated larvae and crushed maize. Hei-Hei’s enthusiastic pecking sounds fill Spud’s expansive cockpit with familiar comfort. They’ve established their own rhythm together. After depositing her daily egg in the snug coop Nez built for the starboard bathroom head, Hei-Hei divides her time between soaking up rays topside and helping Nez navigate life’s many surprises. Sometimes, when the silence grows too heavy, Hei-Hei hops onto Nez’s lap and settles in, her soft clucking a reminder that Nez is never truly alone.

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