Recently, while preparing for a two-month sailing voyage, I decided I’d handle the provisioning of the sailboat. However, it wasn’t my sailboat, I wasn’t the captain … I had no boating skills.

The captain was busy tending to endless other tasks on the sailboat, so he couldn’t easily handle the provisioning. He needed an assistant.

I wasn’t qualified, but I had more free time. Provisioning needed to happen. I needed to step up.

Or, I needed to at least attempt to provision the boat. I knew the captain would inspect it all, then order any necessary changes. He was the final word.

Knowing the plan was to sail from one country, cross into another, then sail around somewhat remote islands, vegan (and gluten-free) food might not be easily found at those marinas.

At the very end of the voyage, I knew we’d sail back into the first country, as well. So there would be at least two marine border crossings.

There would be restrictions on bringing fresh produce, grains, nuts, seeds, and most other delicious foods into each country.

As much as I wanted to stock the entire boat with enough vegan (and gluten-free) food to last the entire trip, that wasn’t an option. Food had to be carefully timed and stocked in phases.

Also, I wasn’t sure how much time we’d spend in each country, but the weather would impact our exact locations, as well as the duration at each location.

Anything could happen. We could end up anywhere at any time.

I did know that we’d anchor out for about a week at a time, then head to the nearest marina for 24 hours to resupply, even if selection was limited on shore.

At each marina, we’d ideally be able to load up on food (whatever food was available), fill the water tank, empty trash, shower, wash laundry, and refuel (as there isn’t always wind to sail).

I knew we’d follow that pattern for about two months.

Did I mention that I needed to provision a forty-year-old sailboat built with no refrigeration, no generator, and no solar? And there was just one working burner—no second burner, no oven?

We were going to eke out as much life from that boat as possible. We were okay with that since we both grew up in situations where we just had to rough it.

And those cooking parameters were actually a blessing, because older boats built without insulation (or heating, did I mention no heating?) can develop a lot of interior condensation.

The less cooking, the less dampness that would develop inside the boat.

All of this made me think of my happy raw vegan days, wishing I could live off my favorite raw vegan food. The only problem? There wouldn’t be power on the boat for a blender. So no go.

Essentially, we would be camping while sailing through the water.

Ultimately, I decided my best bet was to provision the sailboat in terms of heft. It was the only way I could start focusing on the task (instead of fretting about it).

I perused my menu of meals, took my grocery list to the store, and shopped for the heaviest foods first (in cans and jars). Then the next heaviest (in packages). Then the perishables (produce).

I gathered enough organic food to last at least a week (or two). If we had to relinquish any food at the border, I was sure that would be better than starving.

Once we began sailing, we consumed based on the likelihood of which food would spoil first (due to no refrigeration), plus which food we absolutely could not take over the border.

As we neared the first border crossing, we anchored out for a couple of days to eat up as much of our food as possible. That’s when we discovered the boat’s alternator wasn’t working.

We couldn’t cross the border quite yet.

Instead, we had to call in an order for an alternator from the nearest marine supply store, turn around, pick it up, and install it.

We also had to restock just enough food to get us back to the border, plus hope the weather did not interfere and cause us to anchor out somewhere without food (which did happen).

If I could share the provisioning lessons I gleaned, it might go something like this…

I must remind myself that the captain is actually the one legally required to keep everyone safe and alive, so I can stop fretting about all I know nothing about.

Thank goodness the captain loves to grind coffee by hand, then pour hot water over the grounds, while filtering it through unbleached paper. Simplicity.

When the captain wants to use multiple favorite mugs throughout the day, the minimalist in me can quietly make the counter look pretty around those mugs. It’s all okay.

Choice Japanese Green tea is so perfectly smooth and mild, found just about anywhere I couldn’t find true ceremonial matcha tea (I couldn’t find true ceremonial tea anywhere).

Other green teas were too acidic for my tummy, especially while sailing on water. But the captain happily drank them all up—not wasting a drop or noticing the difference.

I loved using garlic, ginger, and turmeric powders (they were allowed across borders, plus made cleanup easy), as well as white and black pepper. They seasoned many a meal.

Balsamic vinegar, lime juice, and nori tackled additional flavoring tasks.

I loved chopping the stems of cilantro and parsley, placing them inside a short (16 oz. wide-mouth) canning jar with filtered water … to keep them fresh as long as possible.

The cilantro and parsley made the entire boat smell fresh and delicious.

Apples seemed to last forever on the boat. They were perfect atop cereal, diced into hearty bean salads (for affordable sweetness, in place of expensive currents), or dipped in nut butter.

I think the nut butter actually lasted longer (went further) on the boat than fresh nuts, and seemed less of an issue at border crossings (due to it being processed/in a jar).

Baby potatoes and sweet potatoes tasted like a comforting delicacy, sprinkled with garlic. Avocados, too.

Onions were used daily. I began placing them in such a way (turning them) to allow more airflow, so they’d stay fresh and not soften.

I placed stainless bowls over crushed ice in the icebox to serve as our refrigeration. The ice didn’t last long, but it worked just enough.

Before placing produce in the stainless bowls, I’d chop the stems of the greens and clean up the produce. Then I’d add filtered water to the bottom of those stainless bowls.

I nestled wide-mouth (32 oz.) canning jars together in such a way that they could not fall over or clash (break). They stored everything from filtered water to grains, lentils, nuts, and seeds.

I know glass is likely a big no-no on boats, but the canning jars really worked well due to the space they were securely nestled into, plus the paper towel cushioning I added under them.

With mold an issue on boats, I could see through those jars to ensure the contents remained fresh and clean—and I could lift them to ensure the paper towels were not getting moldy.

No matter what kind of taco shells I bought, or how well they remained fully sealed, they always tasted stale. But that never mattered when avocados and salsa were involved.

Canned pineapple (purchased on sale) seems to make endless things better in a million different ways. I highly recommend.

Canned mushrooms were such a lifesaver for meals throughout the trip. They added bulk, chewiness, and so much flavor. Fresh is always better, but mold would have been an issue.

Some marinas are so small and so remote that every purchase is literally three times more expensive than normal. But when you’re hungry, it’s okay—you buy their cute linen tote, too.

Lotus Foods Rice Ramen—with flavor packets—beckon the captain. He must have that comfort. It only takes minutes to prepare, minimizing boat condensation.

When we wanted to enjoy potatoes or spaghetti (lots of boiling water = lots of condensation), we’d wait for a warm day, leave all the hatches open, and cook everything as early as possible.

Veggie sushi is sometimes the tastiest treat at grocery stores near marinas.

When we discovered we’d run out of propane a day away from the nearest marina, canned olives, canned asparagus, and artichoke hearts tasted scrumptious.

And the captain hiked through a tiny island to gather the last of the blackberries on the vine.