tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32618900468906756762024-03-13T04:09:56.992-07:00Tritons at sea"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails! Explore! Dream! Discover!" - Mark TwainS/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-70223260562364335162014-11-20T12:18:00.000-08:002015-01-09T20:49:08.503-08:00It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...<span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/penultimate.html">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </a></span></span><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/it-was-dark-and-stormy-night.html">NEXT ENTRY</a></span></span><br />
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</span></span>Well, truth be told, it wasn't that dark, only a bit damp and foggy, but the lights from the San Francisco shore glistened in the mist and clearly lit our way towards the Golden Gate. We left Ayala Cove at midnight, on the slack tide. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bay Bridge off to the left, and the S.F. skyline at night.</td></tr>
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It didn't get dark or stormy until we made the grand left turn that all Bay Area cruisers dream of-- heading south towards San Diego and points beyond. And then things got rough.<br />
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The seas were quite lumpy and there were gale warnings from up north, but that isn't that unusual, weather-wise, for this time of year. We headed out off the coast and onto a southerly course, our rhumb line taking us due south and away from land. Unfortunately, the swell was running parallel to us, which made for a bumpy ride. Catamarans, as you may have gleamed, are wonderful cruising platforms, especially on a beam reach in long swells, but can be a bit uncomfortable if the wave action gets too short, too steep, too confused, or directly aft. When that happens the the water will slam up against the bottom of the center span of the boat, causing, what is lovingly called, "bridge slap".<br />
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The result is a loud bang that shudders through the center of the boat, causing anything on the salon table to jump about an inch into the air. On the bright side, whatever jumps up almost always lands upright and in exactly the same place that it started, but it can be a bit disconcerting if you've never experienced it before. On our trip from Trinidad we got into just such a situation, and at one point one of the crew woke up me to say that they thought the boat was breaking apart. It wasn't, but it can feel like that.<br />
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And it can also make you seasick, which is what happened to AnnMarie. When we set off, she spent most of her time in the galley cooking, or down in a cabin or bilge, organizing things. That is probably the worst thing you can do when starting out on a cruise. The best thing to do is to rest as much as possible, and only get up to take your shift at the helm. But there were meals to make, and things to clean, and she felt responsible. She over did it, and got sick.<br />
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The last two months of heavy duty effort, coupled with a general lack of sleep, the normal stress of sailing anywhere, and the anxiety of heading off into the blue yonder, conspired to produce a not unexpected case of mal-de-mar. If you've ever been sailing, you'll know that this is typical on the first day, and the best remedy is restful sleep. To that end she has been lying in the captain's bunk of late, trying to relax, but we don't envy her. If I had to choose between being horizontal and green, or upright and tired, I'd pick the latter every time.<br />
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The seas that night were not making her recovery any easier. We'd motored all the way from the gate, trying to find a tack that banged us up the least. As we did the prevailing waves began to grow at an angle to the swell, confusing the seaway and making it almost impossible to ride smoothly. At some point the wind reached gale strength, and we found ourselves surfing down the face of waves, wondering if we might bury the bow. Quite an ominous beginning to what should have been an easy sleigh ride to San Diego.<br />
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We headed off the wind a bit more, but that meant we would be heading further away from the coast. Around midnight we were more than forty miles from land, and at day break we tacked back towards shore for a bit, but that left our course almost due east, not gaining ground towards our destination. Such is the way of cruising. You often find yourself having to choose between not getting there or getting beat up. <br />
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And so went the day. The winds howled, the seas broke, the crew stood their watches, and the boredom of ordinary life at sea set in. There is not much to see when off the coast. Occasionally a group of dolphins will come along side and frolic in your path, or some random cargo ship will decide to run you over, but otherwise there isn't much to do.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sailor's life for me!</td></tr>
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During the day AnnMarie bravely stood her watch, to the point of getting sick over the side, so Michael and I took her turns and she mostly slept that first day, "mortified and saddened" to quote her directly, for not being better rested before setting sail. She knew better, and was kicking herself for not taking better care of herself. A friend of ours claims that you should never set off sailing at night, but I think being anxious and sleep deprived caused more upset stomachs than any amount of sunlight.<br />
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The watches continued, with Michael and I going along only until we felt tired. The sun went down and the winds picked up. We continued to be blown further from the coast and so we tacked back towards land. Micheal came up for his watch and I crashed into bed, but not before explaining the situation and saying that if there were any problems at all to just lean over and knock on my hatch and I'd come up immediately.<br />
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And that is an example of why, no matter how hard you try to avoid it, it is almost impossible to give an order and have the crew do exactly what you meant, and not what you said. To me, saying "if anything goes wrong" meant that "if anything at all out of the ordinary" happens. What Michael understood was "if anything that you think you can't handle" happens. This is problematic because Michael, being a very capable, competent, and self-reliant buckaroo is very confident about what he can handle (and in most cases with good reason- he is strong, smart, and capable of remaining calm under stress), so anything short of hitting a whale, a boat, or land, just isn't going to be something he deems worth the trouble of disturbing me over.<br />
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I woke up around 4AM, rested but surprised that I'd slept as long as I did. I stumbled up into the salon and tried to make sense of the chart plotter and log, both of which were blank, the last entry in the log my own. I looked at the GPS and radio, neither of which were registering a position. In fact, none of our electronics were working, nor had there been any log from Michael at all. I dashed out into the cockpit to make sure that he was still there, only to find him calmly sitting at the helm, watching the waves break around our bows.<br />
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"Um, what's going on?" I asked, "None of the electronics seem to be working."<br />
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He just shrugged and said that he'd noticed it had all stopped working a few minutes after I'd gone to bed. I then pointed out that there weren't any log entries either. His response was that since nothing was working, there wasn't anything to record.<br />
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It was a dark, moonless night, we were in a gale, heading for an unforgiving, rocky coast. We were some unknown distance from it, and unaware of our current position. We didn't have any record of our course or speed for the last several hours, and I still hadn't fully woken up. It is moments like this that make sailing a combination of the momentary terror one typically associates with earthquakes, losing control of your car on a slippery road, and receiving an ominous letter from the IRS.<br />
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I managed to reboot the electronics, but was alarmed to realize that we were having a problem with it. We had just spent a lot of money installing new equipment, and this was the first time we'd really needed to rely on it, and it let us down. It failing this early in our trip did not bode well, and I decided that I'd pick up a hand held GPS just to be on the safe side. We did get it all working again, figured out where we were (safely far from the coast) and continued on, but the weather wasn't letting up and a certain fatigue and ennui sets in under these conditions. We just wanted a rest from the constant banging and jostling of the gale, so we decided to take refuge in the harbor at Port Louie, near San Louis Obispo. We really didn't want to stop but we needed a rest.<br />
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We entered the harbor at night, in the fog, grabbed one of the first mooring balls designated for transient guests, and collapsed into bed. If you've ever been on a long car ride, and pushed yourself past that point of exhaustion, where all you can think of is sleep, you'll know what it is hold up safely in a harbor after riding out a gale. We slept like rocks.<br />
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The harbor is a beautiful, picturesque one, with an old wharf that runs out into the bay. There are a number of different anchorages there, many different mooring options, and some basic marine services, most notably a free water taxi that runs every couple of hours. There are many fishing vessels, and even more harbor seals, who've learned that any vessel left moored and unattended makes a great place to sun. You'll see no end of boats with spiked boards, barbed wire, and any number of other devices designed to deter aquatic boarding parties. Even more frustrating for someone leaving their boat in the harbor is the prodigious marine growth that seems to ignore all bottom paint. We were astounded at the growth we saw on some vessels. The locals we spoke with said that a boat left unattended for a couple of months can expect to have several feet of seaweed growing from it. I'm not sure if that is truth, or justification, but keeping your bottom clean here seems to be a full time job.<br />
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Michael and I woke up starving hungry. AnnMarie's stomach was still a bit tight, so we left her aboard and grabbed a taxi ride into shore and had breakfast at a restaurant right on the wharf, called "Fat Cats". It had come highly recommended by our good friend, and sailing hero, Harry, and it was a nice treat to sit on land and watch others bob about.<br />
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Michael was worried about getting back to Emeryville before the end of the weekend, so while ashore we looked into making arrangements for his transportation. It seemed that the only way to get him from the marina to the nearest trains or buses involved a very expensive cab ride, so he decided to wait until we got to Santa Barbara, where there would be better access to public transport. The weather seemed to be improving, and the ride south looks good.<br />
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Our only problem now is getting around Point Conception, which is notorious for bad seas, horrible currents, and giant sea monsters that rise up and grab a hold of your ship, dragging it to the bottom. I'm less certain about that last one, but can vouchsafe the first two. I've been around that point several times, and have seen it be everything from flat glass to the inside of a washing machine. Current reports are that we'll have a good weather window for the next twenty-four hours, so we'll be setting out shortly and hoping to avoid a storm that is brewing to the north.<br />
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Wish us well.<br />
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<span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/penultimate.html">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </a></span></span><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/it-was-dark-and-stormy-night.html">NEXT ENTRY</a></span></span>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0Emeryville, CA 94608, USA37.837959 -122.2824021000000137.7877955 -122.36308310000001 37.888122499999994 -122.20172110000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-41943596286730594612014-10-19T12:25:00.000-07:002015-01-09T20:50:50.286-08:00Penultimate<span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>
<span lang=""></span><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-road-goes-on.html">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </a></span></span><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/it-was-dark-and-stormy-night.html">NEXT ENTRY</a></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Away from the dock at last!</td></tr>
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We are running out of time. If we hope to make it to San Diego in time to meet our crew, and ultimately start a sailing adventure from which we hope never to return, we must set sail immediately. Projects that aren't absolutely necessary (like connecting the wiring for the solar panels, or getting the water maker working, or even finishing the refrigerator install) need to be put on hold. They aren't critical to our safety. We can generate power from other sources, carry water in the tanks, and buy ice for the cooler. It is now or never, so we must cast off our dock lines and head for the open sea.<br />
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This is the emotional equivalent of standing at the open door of a plane, ten thousand feet above the earth, the wind buffeting your clothes as much as your confidence, and realizing that you actually need to voluntarily commit to jumping out of a perfectly good air plane. You have come to the point where all those practice lessons on how to jump, how to deal with your chute not opening, how to land safely, etc., are either going to keep you alive, or prove a complete waste of time and you will die. So you either jump out into space, or in our case, head for the open sea, or forever remain a wannabe, and eventually die at the dock.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our new fuel tank, about to be installed.</td></tr>
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So we headed for the open sea, by which I mean we motored towards the fuel dock, about 100 yards north of our berth, still safely within the confines of our marina, where we filled the starboard tank (the port tank is installed, but the epoxy barrier coat is still drying and we can't add fuel to it for at least another four days) and topped up as many diesel jugs as we thought necessary. Once satisfied, we turned towards the fairway and began our journey, only to have the port engine stall. No trip ends smoothly that doesn't include some confusion in the beginning, and it turned out that a fuel valve had been left closed when we put the new tank in place. A quick adjustment and all is well.<br />
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We made our way out through the sea wall but soon realized that the tide was running against us, so we headed towards Angel Island, and the very well protected Ayala Cove on its northern side, to wait for slack tide. Going out the gate with four knots running against us is asking for trouble, so we tied up to the shore side dock, finished a few last minute items, and grabbed a few moments rest.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out wedding party on Ayala Cove, with Triton in the background.</td></tr>
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Ayala Cove has been a favourite anchorage of ours, and holds many fond memories for us. We got married on the shores of Angel Island, not one hundred yards from where we sit, and have spent countless afternoons entertaining friends while tied to a mooring ball in the cove.. We will miss it dearly, along with the spectacular view of the Bay Bridge, Treasure Island, and the San Francisco waterfront we've come to take for granted.<br />
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There are three of us aboard-- myself, AnnMarie, and our neighbor Michael, who is relatively new to sailing. This will be one the longest times he has ever been at sea, and I think he is excited to get out the gate and test his sea legs, but it is late at night, and I'm a bit anxious about going out to sea in the dark, in a boat with so many new and untested systems. Fortunately, the seas were "relatively" calm inside the gate (the real fun didn't start until we got off the coast) as we bid farewell to our home of over twenty-five years. It is hard to describe the feeling of leaving a place you've come to call home, knowing you might never reside there again. Both AnnMarie and I grew up on the East Coast, she in upstate New York, myself in northern New Jersey, but we realize now that we've become as much Bay Area residents as any third generation native.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael on deck.</td></tr>
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And we'll miss this place. We will always have a soft spot in our hearts for the strange antics of the cooler-than-thou, mocha-swilling, bike-riding hipsters of the city, the geeky, socially-inept code monkeys of the Silicon valley, the less-than-tolerant politically-correct residents of Berkeley, the laid back, unwashed, TTITD-going artists, and the other ten thousand maniacs in our tribe. There will always be interesting places in the world, and all towns have their own charms, but there is no place quite like here.<br />
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Writing this now makes me realize just how big a change this is in our lives. We have given up so much of the predictable security we've come to take for granted, and are now on the cusp of a new life without any guarantees of stability, safety, or support, from those friends we've come to love as family. There is comfort in kith and kin, and stepping away from what you know has its own pensive moments, but there is a strange excitement as well, much the same as those last few moments as the roller coaster ponderously grinds to the top of the first hump. Tonight, lying here in our bunk, listening to the fog horn, feeling our catamaran roll with the swell, we hold each other and hope that everything goes well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j6rXKGpmGk8/VK3Ol9-6LII/AAAAAAAACoc/xXQ-Tu-2suA/s1600/Triton-SPC--49.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j6rXKGpmGk8/VK3Ol9-6LII/AAAAAAAACoc/xXQ-Tu-2suA/s1600/Triton-SPC--49.png" height="225" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ten Thousand Maniacs in our Tribe.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">
</span></span>
We will find that out all too soon, once we head out the gate and turn left, but for now, we rest as the waves rock us to sleep. It is a bit cold and damp, but AnnMarie is warm and we snuggle for a few hours before the real journey begins.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-road-goes-on.html">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </a></span></span><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/it-was-dark-and-stormy-night.html">NEXT ENTRY</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-11547948909123998422014-10-18T14:10:00.000-07:002015-01-07T18:37:04.805-08:00The Road Goes On...<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/01/all-is-lost.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></a><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/penultimate.html">NEXT ENTRY</a></span></span><br />
<br />
There is a great scene in one of the Lord of the Rings
movies where Gandalf is standing atop the castle wall, gazing out at the enemy,
anxiously waiting for the battle to begin, and says “The deep breath before the
plunge”.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rZ_kQLuEHAs/VIIxC8E2QhI/AAAAAAAAAKA/KSo4tEq7Fvg/s1600/haha%2B1267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rZ_kQLuEHAs/VIIxC8E2QhI/AAAAAAAAAKA/KSo4tEq7Fvg/s1600/haha%2B1267.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just days before we are due to leave and there is still shit<br />
tossed everywhere. It will never all fit on the boat!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, the months prior to going cruising are nothing like
that, mostly because you don’t have the time to think a lot about what’s next;
you are too busy trying to get shit ready right now, and your event horizon
doesn't include thoughts of the future, stopping to take a breath, or plunging
in any direction. If anything, the
entire process is very much like running up a cliff that continues to get steeper while gasping
for breath.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWoMatyry3g/VIIu6uoG4nI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/i2zfPVzhd1M/s1600/haha%2B1207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWoMatyry3g/VIIu6uoG4nI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/i2zfPVzhd1M/s1600/haha%2B1207.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've removed all of the head liner (including the owner's)<br />
in order to install the bimini plumbing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the last few months we've been furiously upgrading,
installing, revising, redoing, rebuilding, repairing, and replacing various
parts of our boat and haven’t had a moment to reflect on what was coming, or
how quickly it would arrive. But we are
now only a few days away from leaving, and dreams of sugar plums dance in our
heads.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, those sugar plums include things like getting
registered for the Baja-Haha, the cruising rally of approximately 200 boats
going from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas, on the tip of Baja Sur, in Mexico. It also includes obtaining the necessary
permits to cross our southern border. We
think we have, although the Mexican website for doing so leaves a lot to be
desired. We’ve also had to make sure
that our crew, AnnMarie’s older sister Judi, and Judi’s boyfriend Marco, have
supplied us with all their proper paperwork.
And managing all this via the interwebs using Gurgle Translate is no joy
either.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4x8l0Tc1m4k/VIIyYt4hhMI/AAAAAAAAAKM/dmCjGt9Ts5I/s1600/haha%2B331.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4x8l0Tc1m4k/VIIyYt4hhMI/AAAAAAAAAKM/dmCjGt9Ts5I/s1600/haha%2B331.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing is more fun that fixing things<br />
in small, cramped spaces!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We also need to take care of lots of little details like
closing out various accounts, cancelling car insurance, and all the myriad
details involved in going off for an extended cruise. When I say we, I really mean AnnMarie, who
has been handling almost all of the paper work involved. I mostly lift heavy things, force various
bits of metal or fiberglass together, and/or absorb toxic substances. Honestly, I think I got the better job, and
don’t envy her, as her task is on par with filing out a complicated IRS form,
except in Spanish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it has been overwhelming, and we are starting to get a
bit ragged. A friend of ours, while
trying to console us, recently said “Don’t worry, once you go sailing, all your
problems will be behind you”. I’m sure they
meant well, but what will “be behind us” is our schedule, which has not kept
pace with the calendar. A lot of things
are not done and won’t get done, but hopefully we won’t need them for the sail
down to Mexico and can finish them once we are there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PUGWKx3YwjI/VII1RuyfzcI/AAAAAAAAAKo/CCsaoJlJNIo/s1600/haha%2B505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PUGWKx3YwjI/VII1RuyfzcI/AAAAAAAAAKo/CCsaoJlJNIo/s1600/haha%2B505.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We attended their wedding and then tried to leave town</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we were in this same situation last year, we doubled
down, working twenty hour days, trying desperately to get nine women to make a
baby in one month. That didn't work, and
we decided, quite at the last moment, to take another year to get ready. That wasn't welcome news last year for our
crew, which included Mike (who also sailed several legs on Triton) and his
sweetie Melissa. <o:p></o:p></div>
They had taken time off
to make the trip, and we felt horrible about it, begging forgiveness and
promising we would make it up to them.
Ironically, our shove off date this year was (initially) October 12 <sup>th</sup>, which is one day after their wedding, so at least there was a happy ending!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--sWiX2ZjnGU/VII4rgGwP6I/AAAAAAAAALU/LmqSV_zsRrc/s1600/haha%2B656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--sWiX2ZjnGU/VII4rgGwP6I/AAAAAAAAALU/LmqSV_zsRrc/s1600/haha%2B656.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three boatloads of shit in a two boatload boat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It also forced us to realize just how much crap we had
accumulated in our lives, and how little of it we actually needed. We have spent the last year and a half giving
away various treasures, keepsakes, tchotchkes, and other paraphernalia that we
were storing in various places in our life.
It was amazing how much stuff we had. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was made worse by the fact that
we had (at the time) two boats, several dock boxes, two storage containers, and
a very large office with an even larger storage room attached to it. Last year shocked us when we attempted to
sort through all of it, but what we found even more surprising was how much
stuff we still had to jettison this year.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We now follow what we have come to call “The Robb Kane
Container Theory Of Life”, which says that everything you own should have an appropriate
container that will protect it and preserve it, that you should not over-stuff
the container, and that the choice of the proper container is as important as
the thing it contains.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To that end, all of our clothes are in Snap Ware
containers. We’ve found that if you
leave clothes in cabinets on a boat, you end up with moldy clothes. <b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d_IO3ra2Pig/VII1M-8682I/AAAAAAAAAKg/Kpjv7EMMlHU/s1600/haha%2B508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d_IO3ra2Pig/VII1M-8682I/AAAAAAAAAKg/Kpjv7EMMlHU/s1600/haha%2B508.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
But if you put them in air tight containers,
you will have fresh smelling (and more importantly) dry clothes when you
discover, about six months later, that the deck had a small leak, and that
everything is floating inside the cabinet.
Sounds silly, but it works. So we
have lots of containers for everything, and everything is labelled.<br />
<br />
This is another thing that has amused many of
our friends, but when you are tired, seasick and just slightly drunk, and its
dark inside the boat, and you need to find something without digging through
everything, you’ll be glad you took the time to be so anal retentive. Okay, so its beyond anal retentive. Its epiglottis retentive. Yet it works. But I digress.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In retrospect, delaying the trip last year was the right
thing to do, and yet that year has sped by.
You would think that by now everything would be done and we’d be picking
out matching Hawaiian shirts with our boat name on them. Instead, we find ourselves working just as
hard, and just as frantically trying to cram everything in at the last moment…just
like last year. But the difference this year is that although
we have a lot still to do, and a lot of projects still got put on hold, we
believe we've got enough things ready to safely sail to Mexico. But I’m getting ahead of myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e_ekgdp_dXk/VIIy2veXJ1I/AAAAAAAAAKU/C9yoB845zdA/s1600/haha%2B1136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e_ekgdp_dXk/VIIy2veXJ1I/AAAAAAAAAKU/C9yoB845zdA/s1600/haha%2B1136.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bimini almost completely installed! Finally!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This time last year, we realized that the hard-top bimini
project couldn't possibly be finished, and we contemplating bringing the
unfinished pieces with us and completing it in Mexico. We now realize what a mistake that would have
been, and are glad to say that the major fiberglass work is done, the bimini is
installed, and ready to have the solar panels laid on top. We haven’t had time to put more than a single
coat of primer on it, and it still needs to be sanded and painted but that is
something we are bringing with us and can do at anchor once we get there. The important thing is that the bimini is in
place, and we can walk on it if we need to.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fuel tanks, on the other hand, were not completely
finished. This wasn't a show stopper,
but we’d really rather not leave without finishing at least the port side (the
old tank rotted away and was removed), and if need be, we can complete the starboard
side sometime later on. But here is
where we were touched by an angel, or, at least a mensch.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1v7_U3Aehw8/VII17L75vyI/AAAAAAAAAKw/J7bme0aZsKg/s1600/haha%2B527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1v7_U3Aehw8/VII17L75vyI/AAAAAAAAAKw/J7bme0aZsKg/s1600/haha%2B527.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our hero!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As any reader of this blog will recall, our dear friend Jen
Jackson sailed with us (on the leg from Trinidad to Panama) when we bought the
boat and brought it back to the S.F. bay area.
She has continued to sail as crew on various boats around the world, even
crossing the Pacific on one trip, and has become quite the consummate sailor
herself. In fact, she recently bought her own boat, and
much to our delight, just offered to join us as crew on the Haha!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She also started dating another sailor named Harry, a former fishing captain, who lives on his own sail boat. Harry is, like Jen, one of those people who
can do just about anything he sets his mind to.
He has awesome fabricating skills, and is able to work crazy long hours
with almost no breaks. And he did just
that.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bi_LB9RtYUE/VII2ATJypiI/AAAAAAAAAK4/kBaEmghPHyg/s1600/haha%2B535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bi_LB9RtYUE/VII2ATJypiI/AAAAAAAAAK4/kBaEmghPHyg/s1600/haha%2B535.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jen throws in some tacks on the tank</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he realized that we were struggling to get things
finished on time, he immediately offered to help, spending unbelievably long
hours with me in the shop building the fuel tank along with various other
projects on the boat. Even Jen pitched
in (when she wasn't at school or working) helping me fabricate the tank. She had been taking an aluminium welding class
at the local college at the time and showed up knowing the right TIG welder
settings for what we were doing, which also saved us a lot of time and
frustration.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More importantly, both of them really knew what they were
doing. When you are building something
mission critical like a fuel tank, or a bimini, that kind of help is
invaluable. In fact, a number of friends
stopped by to help, all of them having the kind of competence and skills that
made it possible for me to hand them a task and know it would get done right
the first time. Having their help made
it possible for me to focus on getting other things done without having to
constantly double-check what they were doing.
To that end I also need to give a big shout out to Jeff, Kate, Felix,
Mota, and a few others whose names escape me at the moment. If I've overlooked you, please know that your
help was still greatly appreciated, we are just too brain-dead exhausted to
call it to mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4tt3U2zP1Ek/VII2rww-21I/AAAAAAAAALA/CWQYZi8i_EI/s1600/haha%2B565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4tt3U2zP1Ek/VII2rww-21I/AAAAAAAAALA/CWQYZi8i_EI/s1600/haha%2B565.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finished port side fuel tank waiting to be installed. UGH!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, we trudge on, working on those things we think too
important to leave to others, throwing money at the things we think need doing
that we just can’t take on ourselves, and putting (too many) other items on
hold for when we get to Mexico.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dead line approaches, our nerves fray, our resolve
deepens, and the road goes on…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cheers for now,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Robb & AnnMarie<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS. Life on a sail boat is
fraught with the three most corrosive elements known to man, namely UV
radiation, salt water, and divorce lawyers.
Lest we've painted too rosy a picture, the stress is very real, and it
takes its toll on us and the relationship.
Unless you are able to joke about it, that kind of pressure can break
you apart. Instead, we have adopted a
gallows humor response. When we first started this project, our term of
endearment was “I love you more.” Now,
we say “I hate you, but I'm stuck with you.”
Sometimes we can go as long as four hours before saying it to each
other. Lately it has morphed into "I hate you more, and I'm still stuck with you." Its a funny old life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/01/all-is-lost.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></a><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/penultimate.html">NEXT ENTRY</a></span></span></div>
Robb Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17081402708421161265noreply@blogger.com0Emeryville, CA 94608, USA37.837959 -122.2824021000000137.7877955 -122.36308310000001 37.888122499999994 -122.20172110000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-48410862169294033242014-01-05T15:53:00.000-08:002014-12-05T15:28:04.735-08:00All Is Lost<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2013/10/late-term-waddler.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-road-goes-on.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">NEXT ENTRY</span></span></a><br />
<br />
No, th<span style="font-family: inherit;">e Triton didn't sink, w</span>e have not given up hope, nor are we abandoning ship. The post title is a reference to a recent film about sailing, which we review (quite bitterly) a bit later on in this latest entry. <b><u>Spoiler Alert:</u></b> If you haven't seen the movie yet, and think you might want to <i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>[I only recommend doing so if you know nothing about sailing, marine electronic equipment, emergency preparedness & response, survival at sea, or physics]</b></span></i> then read the next three paragraphs and skip on to the next post.<br />
<br />
As to our current status, we will be so bold as to p<span style="font-family: inherit;">araphrase <span style="font-family: inherit;">Mark Twain: <i><b>"there are three kinds of boat work: boat work, damn boat work, and slipped schedules"</b></i></span></span>. In other words, we are still in Emeryville. Boat work continues apace and we are actually making progress, but we've decided that our best plan is to finish the projects properly, without bleeding through our eyes or rushing just to meet a self-imposed schedule. So we trudge on, and refuse to give any future hint as to our departure date.<br />
<br />
This has caused a bit of consternation for our friends who had money riding in the "When Will They Finally Leave!!!" pool. It was started by good friends (I can only imagine what my bad friends are betting on) and each entry date costs five dollars. I think you can still get in on it, but here's a tip: I wouldn't put anything down for January.<br />
<br />
We have only a few projects left to complete, but we are debating whether we'll head to Mexico directly, or instead spend the summer cruising the Bay Area Delta, or perhaps head north for British Columbia. Nothing is certain yet, except that once the bimini and fuel tank projects are finished, we'll cast off the dock lines and go cruising <i>somewhere</i>.<br />
<br />
Okay, back to my rant about stupid movies. During the holidays, we took an evening off and went to see "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Is_Lost">All Is Lost</a>"; a film about a lone mariner on a small sloop somewhere in the India Ocean, who encounters one problem after another, and through no fault of his own, somehow survives them all. We thought this might be a good film to see, something to cheer our spirits and motivate us.<br />
<br />
It did not. In fact, we walked out of the theater grumbling out loud about the stupidity and incompetence of the protagonist. It is hard to catalogue all of the mistakes that the main (in fact the only) character of the movie makes, but suffice to say that the story finds him asleep while sailing alone in the Indian Ocean on a boat that has inadvertently struck a submerged shipping container and is now taking on water.<br />
<br />
The movie has almost no dialogue and a lot of very good music. The only actor in it is Robert Redford, whom a friend of mine described as "so cute I'd be happy to pay just to watch him do laundry". Granted, he has boyish good looks, and he comes across as a solid, decent human being in almost every movie I've seen him in (even his villains seem like folks you wouldn't mind buying a beer) so perhaps that explains the rave reviews. It doesn't help that everyone (who doesn't sail) who sees this movie will think that this is a typical sailing story. It isn't.<br />
<br />
Sailing alone isn't unheard of, in fact, folks do it safely all the time. But if you are going to cross an ocean, you may want to have taken a few precautions first, like learning what to do in the event of flooding, storms, or any other disaster that might befall the lone seaman, and perhaps bringing a working <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Distress_radiobeacon">EPIRB </a>with you. Ah, but then we wouldn't have a movie, now would we?<br />
<br />
The skipper, upon discovering that his boat has a large hole and is sinking, begins a long series of actions that make the situation worse, compounded by the fact that his boat is inadequately equipped. His batteries are dead (he makes no attempt to revive them), his engine won't start (he makes no attempt to get it going) and his only link to the outside world, a VHS radio, has been damaged. He does try to fix that, but it is clear that his understanding of electronics is only marginally worse than his understanding of safe seamanship.<br />
<br />
He does, however, take time to shave, and drink scotch (two suggestions you won't find listed in the Coast Guard's emergency preparedness FAQ) and ignores an oncoming storm until the situation is so dire that he must crawl out onto the bow dragging a storm sail with him. Any prudent sailor would have forgone the primping and imbibing and would have instead spent their time pre-rigging the sail and perhaps a drogue, not to mention trying everything they could to get their engine going again.<br />
<br />
But that wouldn't have made for good drama, which includes a dismasting, and eventually the boat sinking, leaving the skipper adrift in a life raft, which he ultimately sets on fire in order to attract attention (an attempt he believes has failed) and then gives up hope and decides to drown himself. Let me repeat that last bit again: this is a movie about a well-groomed captain who sinks his own boat mostly due to lack of preparation and inept seamanship, who then who sets fire to his life raft, and then decides to commit suicide.<br />
<br />
As he is sinking below the surface (and at the last possible moment) he spots the search light of a passing motorboat, which rescues him. There was no rescue for us. Like watching a slow train wreck--we suffered through the entire thing. For sailors, this movie should only be viewed as a cautionary tale of what not to do. We squirmed and writhed in our seats as the protagonist made every classic sailing mistake there was. It was all we could do not to yell at the screen, "Don't do that, you idiot!"<br />
<br />
As we crossed the theater's parking lot our not-so-subtle snarking about the plot was overheard by another theater-goer getting into his black Hummer. Now, I realize this is probably wrong of me to say, but I think the Hummer is to the military Humvee what this movie was to sailing; it represents the idea of ruggedness instead of actual ruggedness.<br />
<br />
When the driver asked us if we really thought the skipper "deserved to die", I think he was a bit surprised by our ardent and emphatic answer, "We live on a boat. We sail our boat in the open ocean. If we did the stupid things he did, we would expect to have died as well!!!" He quickly got in his pseudo-truck (AnnMarie calls them "compensating vehicles") and drove off.<br />
<br />
Okay, that may have seemed a bit over the top, but keep in mind that we hadn't seen a movie in quite a while, and had just decided to delay our cruising departure for over five months because we felt that some of the systems on board weren't as solid as we'd have liked them to be, so we might be a bit sensitive about this stuff. Sadly, most folks who see this movie will have no idea that the underlying premise is absurd.<br />
<br />
In fairness to Mr. Redford, I do think he is a good actor, but I think the movie would have been so much better received if they'd shown him actually doing the right things and overcoming adversity, instead of overcoming some dramatically convenient (self-induced) challenges and then giving up.<br />
<br />
That probably would have taken a good script writer a bit more time to craft (no pun intended) but given how few words are uttered, I'm not so sure that English (or for that matter, reality) is their first language.<br />
<br />
Cheers for now,<br />
<br />
Robb & AnnMarie<br />
<br />
<br />
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S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com4Alameda County, CA, USA37.838501275460345 -122.3071213382812137.788337775460349 -122.3878023382812 37.888664775460342 -122.22644033828121tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-56989476427566466372013-10-27T19:38:00.000-07:002014-01-05T15:54:25.465-08:00Late Term Waddler...<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-tritons-walk-plank.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2014/01/all-is-lost.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">NEXT ENTRY</span></span></a><br />
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Imagine you're pregnant. Really pregnant. You were due to deliver about three weeks ago, but the baby refuses to come out. You are way past the beautiful glow that pregnant women enjoy. Your belly is so large you can no longer get out of a chair without the help of a hydraulic lift. You feel exhausted. You look terrible. Your feet hurt all the time. Emotionally, you are a wreck; you're worried things might not go well, you can't sleep, and your friends (who mean well) continually ask, "Haven't you had that baby yet?"<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pn8mGfXKUjE/UqTFpdF0viI/AAAAAAAAAFk/aRvFyPQT3cM/s1600/Pregnant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pn8mGfXKUjE/UqTFpdF0viI/AAAAAAAAAFk/aRvFyPQT3cM/s320/Pregnant.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Better late term than never</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Getting a boat ready for long-distance sailing and then actually leaving is a lot like that, only it costs more (even if you factor in college tuition), it takes way more than nine months, you don't get as many showers, and you never, ever glow.<br />
<br />
But, like any gravid woman, your boat takes on more weight than you thought possible as every locker swells with gear you are convinced you must have to survive. Plus, you don't sleep well, you look terrible, and your feet hurt all the time.<br />
<br />
Like the actual birth date, it is damn near impossible to accurately predict when you will be able to set sail. That is because it is next to impossible to know how long any specific boat project will take-- if you want it to be done <i>correctly, safely, </i>and <i>maintainably</i>, that is. That last bit has been the catch for us. We've encountered a number of situations where taking a short-cut would have saved us time, but meant that if we ever needed to fix it again, we'd be screwed.<br />
<br />
Tasks that should have taken only an hour took a day, workmen tell you it will be a week, but it turns out to be a month; projects go sideways, unexpected problems arise, and you are continually left having to decide whether you should leave with something that isn't quite ready. To extend the analogy, it's like having to consciously decide which bits of the fetus to grow, and how much effort you are willing to put towards each limb or organ. Try to imagine someone saying "You know, you could have this baby now if you don't mind it only have seven fingers."<br />
<br />
And to make matters even more infuriating, you will get absolutely no sympathy from your non-cruising friends about any of this. They think that sailing off into the sunset is nothing more complicated than throwing a few things into a bag and grabbing a flight to the islands. In fact, non-cruisers have about as much insight into "getting off the dock" as long-distance runners might have about swimming the English channel.<br />
<br />
We've taken to responding to our land-locked friends (when they oh-so-casually comment that we haven't left yet) to please imagine what it would be like to pack everything they own into a fifteen-year-old Chrysler van, first making sure that there aren't any mechanical problems, and then driving across Europe for the next ten or twenty years. Oh, and they will also need to bring all the tools and parts they might need should anything break down.<br />
<br />
But we're not bitter. Especially if folks don't seem to understand that sailing "on a schedule" is exactly the worst thing to do. We were faced with just that problem last month, when we'd reached our "WE WILL ABSOLUTELY LEAVE BY THIS DATE" cut-off. We had signed up for the Baha-Haha cruiser's rally (and were really looking forward to it), which meant we needed to be in San Diego by Oct 26th. We had crew (our good friends Mike & Melissa) meeting us there (they'd already booked their flights), and would all sail down with us to Cabo San Lucas.<br />
<br />
At the time we'd made plans, we had been told that the stainless-steel arch we hired a welder to construct would be done "in a couple of days". That turned out to be <b>more than four weeks</b>, the last few days of which found me hovering over the workman, goading him on. That, in itself, wouldn't have been such a big deal, but the work was being done in Alameda, which meant that we were stuck in boat yard a half hour away from our own dock and office, which impacted all the other projects we needed to get accomplished.<br />
<br />
So, when the arch was finally completed and we could return to our home port, we found ourselves in the unenviable position of having to strap a number of half-finished projects onto the deck, finish moving out of both our office and our storage areas, cram fifteen years worth of stuff on board, and shove off...all in about three days time.<br />
<br />
And, for some crazy reason, we attempted to do just that. At the end of it, we were exhausted, nothing was organized, and most importantly, we'd discovered several issues with the boat that left us thinking we just weren't ready to set sail. At least not safely. We realized that we were breaking the cardinal rule of sailing-- never let a deadline force your departure.<br />
<br />
So, we postponed our departure date, begged forgiveness from Mike & Melissa (who graciously did not keel-haul us) and revised our plans. Instead, we decided it made more sense to finish the boat projects here (where parts, equipment, and workspace are readily available) and leave when we'd completed the crucial items left on our check list (and we were well-rested and ready), regardless of how long that took.<br />
<br />
That means we'll be here for at least a month or two. We still expect to get down to Mexico eventually, and are working full-time on getting everything ship-shape in the meantime. On the bright side, we expect to have a few preparatory shake-down cruises, and invite folks along. We'll be sending out notices on the cruising list, so keep an eye out for something from the Tritons.<br />
<br />
Cheers for now,<br />
<br />
Robb & AnnMarie<br />
<br />
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S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com1Alameda County, CA, USA37.838530034214045 -122.3087310791015637.838530034214045 -122.30873107910156 37.838530034214045 -122.30873107910156tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-55846520769378700952013-10-06T10:00:00.000-07:002014-01-05T10:39:01.907-08:00The Tritons Walk The Plank...<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/03/home-coming-triton-crew-returns.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2013/10/late-term-waddler.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">NEXT ENTRY</span></span></a><br />
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Ahoy, Ahoy,<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zYLy_2YNEQ0/UoxwfBAQb-I/AAAAAAAACcY/2PJBkFXU6fQ/s1600/084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zYLy_2YNEQ0/UoxwfBAQb-I/AAAAAAAACcY/2PJBkFXU6fQ/s320/084.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triton's Holiday Decorations</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It has been quite a while since we've posted here, but until recently there hadn't been much in the way of cruising developments to speak of. When we last left our heroes, they were safely ensconced in the quiet comforts of the San Francisco Bay, AnnMarie had started her own <a href="http://tritontax.com/" target="_blank">tax and business services</a> company and Robb had gone to work for a <a href="http://www.azulsystems.com/" target="_blank">Silicon Valley start-up</a>. Since then we've contented ourselves with day-sails on the bay with friends, weekend trips up the delta, crazy antics with the ten thousand maniacs in our tribe, and insanely over-decorating our boat during the holidays.<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">And how quickly five years speeds by! During that time we've made quite a number of</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span><a href="http://tritonboatwork.blogspot.com/" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">improvements to Triton</a><span style="text-align: center;"> in preparation for casting off sometime in what we'd hoped would be the fall of 2013, heading first to Mexico, and then for parts beyond. We blinked and suddenly the summer was ending</span><span style="text-align: center;"> and our time to leave upon us. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CWFC_OPtvjA/UoxyzORkE8I/AAAAAAAACc8/1qeRUjFXKHw/s1600/Triton-SPC--50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CWFC_OPtvjA/UoxyzORkE8I/AAAAAAAACc8/1qeRUjFXKHw/s320/Triton-SPC--50.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mawwage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: center;">Of course, that didn't stop us from trying to cram what would have been a year of planning and activity (for any two normal adults) into three months of insanity</span><span style="text-align: center;">, including </span><span style="text-align: center;">attending one last</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span><a href="http://www.burningman.com/" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">TTITD</a><span style="text-align: center;"> in August (during which Robb proposed to AnnMarie), and also getting married (and throwing an enormous bon voyage party) in October.</span><br />
<br />
Now the marriage bit may seem a bit surprising, given that we have lived on a boat together for the last 18 years in non-monogamous and/or polyfidelous relationships of some sort, but seeing how we were headed off to places where "domestic partnership" doesn't necessarily convey the same rights, we thought it might be convenient, if not down-right prudent, to be husband and wife.<br />
<br />
But cruisers are notoriously efficient people when it comes to maximizing their fun, so we decided to combine our wedding with our bon voyage party. What better reason to see all our friends together at one time, especially when the weather was so nice. The problem was that we had only three weeks to pull it all off, and we had already spent our entire cruising budget on boat parts.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fune2oCBrGM/Uox3vh5DjiI/AAAAAAAACdI/71D-YBdhngI/s1600/Triton-SPC--49.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fune2oCBrGM/Uox3vh5DjiI/AAAAAAAACdI/71D-YBdhngI/s640/Triton-SPC--49.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many good friends!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That was the moment we realized just how amazing, talented, and resourceful our friends are. Over twenty folks pitched in and put together an incredible party. Our friends organized everything from the food & drink to handling the invitations, to organizing and running the event. Even more astonishingly, they created a truly wonderful wedding for two undeserving wharf-rats. That is quite a feat in modern times, and we will always be indebted to everyone who helped. We are definitely not worthy.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bDXZZ7Gck5U/UoyBxz7pPFI/AAAAAAAACdY/-WEZuUOYr_Y/s1600/Triton-SPC--56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bDXZZ7Gck5U/UoyBxz7pPFI/AAAAAAAACdY/-WEZuUOYr_Y/s320/Triton-SPC--56.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just some of the amazing people<br />
who made it all possible</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The ceremony took place on Angel Island (pretty much the center of the San Francisco Bay), but with a nautical theme. We encouraged folks to come dressed as whatever sea monster, privateer, ship-wrecked voyager, or famous sailor took their fancy, and they did!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cVaBdJY9Gws/UoxwvGS71gI/AAAAAAAACco/cS1MtGE_HK4/s1600/Triton-SPC--47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cVaBdJY9Gws/UoxwvGS71gI/AAAAAAAACco/cS1MtGE_HK4/s320/Triton-SPC--47.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here Comes The Bride!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was a gorgeous day, we had over one hundred friends show up, many of them in costume. Picture every character from "Pirates of the Caribbean", "Gilligan's Island", "Mutiny on the Bounty", and "Creatures from the Black Lagoon" attending a family reunion and you'll start to get an idea. I can only imagine what the unsuspecting tourists riding the Angel Island Ferry thought that day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9vCKdBpdpks/UoxwwUbmXlI/AAAAAAAACcs/3bJiQUUwHZc/s1600/Triton-SPC--43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9vCKdBpdpks/UoxwwUbmXlI/AAAAAAAACcs/3bJiQUUwHZc/s200/Triton-SPC--43.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The wedding started with AnnMarie playing "Here Comes the Bride" on saxophone. Her sister Judi was the Mermaid of Honor, and accompanied her on cymbals.<br />
<br />
The ceremony itself was performed by our dear friends Erik & Qat- they sailed with us from the BVIs to Trinidad back when we'd first bought our boat. We'd performed their wedding ceremony a few years back, so turn about is fair play.<br />
<br />
Our vows were a bit different than most. Rather than anger the sea gods (who get annoyed by anyone who does what they say they are going to do) we included a few that we knew we would probably break.<br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wvF55Raebto?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
And just before we were pronounced "husband & wife" (or "captain & admiral"), a gang plank was produced, and in true pirate fashion, we were made to walk to the end of it, kiss each other, and jump off, symbolizing what we aren't sure, but it seemed a fitting way to end the ceremony and begin our new adventures together. <br />
<br />
In retrospect, the event went off with only a smidgeon of delays, mostly because we thought that AnnMarie could bake all the wedding cakes herself. As a general rule of thumb, one should not expect the bride to do pastry work on the day of her wedding.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pjRUXTn-Lfg/UoyMhVvhGeI/AAAAAAAACdo/nsBtR2qKGow/s1600/Triton-SPC--41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pjRUXTn-Lfg/UoyMhVvhGeI/AAAAAAAACdo/nsBtR2qKGow/s320/Triton-SPC--41.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Blushing Bride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Besides that, it was a fabulous day. Both of us had a great time, and as best we can tell, so did everyone else. We sailed back to Emery Cove around sunset, jumped in our car and drove over to San Francisco where Michael (the best man) and Kathleen hosted an after-party. There was an amazing sculpture of the sea god Triton, done entirely in chocolate, by our good friend (and extremely talented sculptor) John.<br />
<br />
But the best part was that we got to see so many good friends. We've learned that the true measure of any individual is the company they keep, and by that standard we count ourselves very fortunate indeed. We have incredible friends, and it was a delight to spend such a glorious day with them.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MUBTesKDe2s/UoxwlJflwII/AAAAAAAACcg/hKfmfvdHNQg/s1600/Groom+Departs+Das+Boot.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MUBTesKDe2s/UoxwlJflwII/AAAAAAAACcg/hKfmfvdHNQg/s200/Groom+Departs+Das+Boot.jpeg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About to walk the plank</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our honeymoon consisted of snuggling on Triton that night, and then spending the next two days not doing any boat work at all. I'm sure a few weeks in Hawaii would have been just as nice, but we have never been happier.<br />
<br />
But now we need to get ready for the Baja-Haha cruiser's rally. We have only a few weeks to go, and are way behind schedule. We're planning on meeting Mike & Melissa in San Diego, then sailing down to Cabo San Lucas, stopping only at Mac Bay and Turtle Bay along the way.<br />
<br />
Wish us luck!<br />
<br />
<br />
Robb & AnnMarie<br />
<br />
PS. The "Litany" mentioned in the wedding vows video was originally passed down to us from Cory & Leslie, who got it from another happy couple. It is a powerful incantation that, when uttered (usually at the point in the fight when you realize that the other person may be right), magically restores marital harmony. Reciting it allows both parties to save face, and will end almost any intractable argument immediately. It goes like this: <br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I'm sorry</li>
<li>You were right.</li>
<li>I was wrong.</li>
<li>I should have listened to you.</li>
<li>I'll try harder next time.</li>
<li>I love you.</li>
</ul>
We firmly believe that this small amount of prose is almost single-handedly responsible for our long and happy relationship. We would encourage everyone to memorize it, and say it often. You don't actually need to mean it when you say it, but it helps.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0Tiburon, Belvedere Tiburon, CA, USA37.866858369576079 -122.4312973022460937.854323369576079 -122.45146730224609 37.879393369576078 -122.4111273022461tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-74939871850050493272008-03-08T18:32:00.000-08:002014-01-05T10:34:51.961-08:00Home Coming: The Triton Crew Returns<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/03/half-moon-bay-waiting-for-godot.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-tritons-walk-plank.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></a><br />
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There is probably no more welcome view a sailor can hope to see than the entrance of their home port after a long journey. In our case, it was the Golden Gate Bridge, spanning the passage into the San Francisco Bay. Today, we finally got to see just that as we crossed between Marin and San Francisco on our way home to Emeryville, California.<br />
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<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmVv31daqI/AAAAAAAABPM/U8ujMTUR0Rc/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-31-40_0060.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190844695195773602" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmVv31daqI/AAAAAAAABPM/U8ujMTUR0Rc/s400/2008-03-08+03-31-40_0060.JPG" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>After four years of investigation, too much analysis, planning, and preparation (and spending most of my life's savings), after more than a year of bashing into waves, running with the wind, avoiding slavers, pirates, privateers and other government officials, overcoming the hardships of the sea, fixing just about everything at least once, managing crew mates and logistics that would have tried the patience of Drake himself, and worst of all, having to return back to our day jobs, we finally sailed Triton to her new home port. Well, motored a lot, actually. This is a picture of her just a few months afterwards, nestled at dock in Emery Cove Yacht Harbor. What you don't see is a picture of the exhausted crew, or the depleted bank accounts.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HyPLf2cr3qc/T0HMCCDjqxI/AAAAAAAAB_s/jBLvpz0JWCI/s1600/TritonOnXmasDay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HyPLf2cr3qc/T0HMCCDjqxI/AAAAAAAAB_s/jBLvpz0JWCI/s640/TritonOnXmasDay.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
We left Half Moon Bay on March 8th, 2008. Everyone who had been crew on Triton were meeting us in our parking lot in Emery Cove Yacht Harbor before 10am. We had rented two large vans from Enterprise Car Rentals in Berkeley, to ferry everyone down to Half Moon Bay. Par for the course, and in keeping with numerous other vendor experiences over the last two years, when we arrived to pick up the vehicles they weren't ready yet. <a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmU831damI/AAAAAAAABOs/Yl_SveXRQL0/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-29-04_0053.JPG"></a><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-26iBo4iZUx4/T0HNuTDj0RI/AAAAAAAAB_0/O8XqbVmHMMw/s1600/AmpRobb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-26iBo4iZUx4/T0HNuTDj0RI/AAAAAAAAB_0/O8XqbVmHMMw/s320/AmpRobb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190843819022445154" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmU831damI/AAAAAAAABOs/Yl_SveXRQL0/s320/2008-03-08+03-29-04_0053.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px;" />So, we waited while they dicked around. What pissed me off, though, was the attitude of the manager of the facility, which was indignant and annoyed that we were complaining because they'd made promises they couldn't keep, instead of apologizing and offering us coffee while we waited. We walked across the street and bought our own. It will be a long time before I use them again, but it was still better to be ignored, mistreated and abused in English by American incompetents then anywhere else in the world. Home Sweet Home. It isn't half as bad when it's the home team letting you down.<br />
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<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmXVn1davI/AAAAAAAABP0/Kr-zXVItBmM/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-38-21_0070.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190846443247463154" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmXVn1davI/AAAAAAAABP0/Kr-zXVItBmM/s320/2008-03-08+03-38-21_0070.JPG" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10pt; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 10pt;" /></a></div>
Eventually we were given our rental vans, and picked up the crowd milling about our parking lot. They were a motley crew if ever there was one. None the less it was great having everyone all in one place, and the ride down was replete with stories of our adventures and laughs about our trials and tribulations. <a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmVLH1danI/AAAAAAAABO0/tf7nJAaOxVg/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-29-24_0055.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190844063835581042" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmVLH1danI/AAAAAAAABO0/tf7nJAaOxVg/s320/2008-03-08+03-29-24_0055.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" /></a>We arrived at Triton in Half Moon Bay, loaded everyone on, waited for a few stragglers, and headed up the coast. On board were almost everyone who had ever sailed with us, but some folks just couldn't make it, and they were greatly missed.<br />
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It was a cold, windy day and a bit foggy and overcast as we motored almost directly into the wind. We had hoped to do a little sailing, but as usual the Weather Gods were determined to make us pay for every inch of progress we made. A few folks made offerings to the sea (mostly to the sea, some of it we had to wash off the coamings), but this didn't seem to appease the Gods and the wind and waves picked up as we approached the headlands of San Francisco.<br />
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The waves were about four feet, short and square, which meant we bashed a bit more than was fun, and the motion was a bit uncomfortable for everyone. <a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmWV31darI/AAAAAAAABPU/CR_1ql34ik8/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-32-01_0061.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190845348030802610" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmWV31darI/AAAAAAAABPU/CR_1ql34ik8/s320/2008-03-08+03-32-01_0061.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px;" /></a>Well, at least that is what others have told me. I was so absorbed in making sure everything was functioning properly on the boat, checking that we didn't lose anyone overboard and looking out for the dreaded Coast Guard, that I never actually noticed how green so many folks were getting. At one point, someone was heard to say "Please move, you are blocking my horizon."<br />
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It is funny though, because you really do get used to the motion of a boat over time. I've no doubt that the same journey two years ago would have had me green. This time it barely registered that we were moving. In fact, I felt worse once back on land. None the less, the conditions were not great, and the cold and wind didn't help anyone's mood. We motored along, and fought our way north until we could see the entrance to San Francisco Bay.<br />
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Along the way<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmWlX1dasI/AAAAAAAABPc/BIpQWuQiU0E/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-32-09_0062.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190845614318774978" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmWlX1dasI/AAAAAAAABPc/BIpQWuQiU0E/s320/2008-03-08+03-32-09_0062.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" /></a> I couldn't help remembering all the great times and crazy antics I'd watched. Mota hanging off the bow in a rainbow colored <a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/04/stranger-in-strange-land.html">muumuu</a>, misplacing <a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/05/we-misplaced-thorny-and-lost-lunch.html">Thorny</a> in Panama city, Robert having sex with <a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/its-nothing-but-turtles-all-way-down.html">turtles</a>, just to name a few, but there were stories galore for each of them, and I could not have made the trip without them all. I am so grateful for their help, their encouragement and their support. I've no doubt I made numerous mistakes along the way, but it was a special part of my life that I will always look back on with great fondness. <a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAm9wG1r4OI/AAAAAAAABRE/SADtei0sFnI/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-36-21_0064.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190888679688364258" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAm9wG1r4OI/AAAAAAAABRE/SADtei0sFnI/s200/2008-03-08+03-36-21_0064.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px;" /></a>I'm glad to know these strange and weird people, foolish enough though they are to jump on a boat and sail out over the edge of the world with a madman for a captain, but most of all I am proud to call them my friends! They did it for the adventure, without pay, usually without clothes, and they were all wonderful to be with.<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmUtX1dalI/AAAAAAAABOk/YTwv2MWUhJQ/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-25-51_0051.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190843552734472786" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmUtX1dalI/AAAAAAAABOk/YTwv2MWUhJQ/s400/2008-03-08+03-25-51_0051.JPG" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;" /></a>Take a good look at these folks. It is cold, windy, wet and miserable out, most of them feel seasick at this moment, yet they are all smiling and happy to be alive. These are the kind of folks you want to take with<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmXEn1dauI/AAAAAAAABPs/Ks3-C1W9EmY/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-37-46_0069.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190846151189687010" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmXEn1dauI/AAAAAAAABPs/Ks3-C1W9EmY/s320/2008-03-08+03-37-46_0069.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px;" /></a> you on your college road trip, or hiking across the Himilayas, or into outer space. They are fabulous, fun, special and they won't let you down when the going gets rough. They are the kind of people that move the world. There are a few missing from the photo [Jeff, Holly, Thorny, Rain, Robert] who couldn't make it this day, but they were all there in spirit. They will all always have a standing welcome on Triton, and I hope they will crew with us again once we embark on our next journey into parts foreign and unknown.<br />
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As we traveled under the Golden Gate Bridge, and entered San Francisco Bay proper, the wind and waves subsided, and everyone's stomaches settled down as well. <a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmVin1dapI/AAAAAAAABPE/_5KPnv2lVok/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-30-02_0058.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190844467562506898" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmVin1dapI/AAAAAAAABPE/_5KPnv2lVok/s320/2008-03-08+03-30-02_0058.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt;" /></a>AnnMarie made several trays of lasagna, and we had a Thanks Giving Dinner that couldn't be beat. We pulled up to the dock around 5:30PM, about a half hour sooner (but about five months later) than we had planned. Our journey was over, we were back home and land lubbers again.<br />
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It was a bittersweet moment. I was relieved be home, to have sailed over four <a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmVWn1daoI/AAAAAAAABO8/oeek0265aic/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-29-48_0057.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190844261404076674" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmVWn1daoI/AAAAAAAABO8/oeek0265aic/s320/2008-03-08+03-29-48_0057.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt;" /></a>thousand miles with everyone aboard safe and sound, proud that we lived up to our desires to never sail into a weather if we didn't have to, and most of all, happy to have completed something that most folks would never even try.<br />
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That may sound like a great achievement, but the effort was only possible because I had such great help. The crew that sailed from BVI to Trinidad [AnnMarie, Erik & Qat], then from Trinidad to Panama [Jeff, Mota, Jen, Mike & MaryAnn (with AnnMarie joining us in Aruba)] then the glorious time we [Jeff, Mota & I] spent in the San Blas Islands, then going through the Panama Canal [AnnMarie, Jeff, Thorny, Eric & Qat], from Panama to Costa Rica [Jeff, Thorny & Holly], from Costa Rica to Nicaragua [Ian, Robinson, Jacob & Roxanne], from Nicaragua to Mexico [Rain, Robert & Robinson] and most especially, from Mexico to <a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmUdn1dakI/AAAAAAAABOc/cQ6DmZ7wprY/s1600-h/2008-03-08+03-21-07_0041.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190843282151533122" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmUdn1dakI/AAAAAAAABOc/cQ6DmZ7wprY/s320/2008-03-08+03-21-07_0041.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt;" /></a>San Francisco [Mike, John & AnnMarie], who took on the very toughest part of the trip, as well as the folks [Kiko, Eric, Don] who tried hard to come and through no fault of their own couldn't make it, not to mention the incredible help from all the wonderful cruisers we met along the way. We were blessed with great good fortune in the form of wonderful friends we hope to see again soon.<br />
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Most importantly, I could never have attempted this without the amazing support of my partner in crime, my better third, the admiral of the fleet, SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED: AnnMarie. Her efforts during this journey were never adequately praised, and she got the fuzzy end of the lollipop considering the legs she sailed all turned out to be the most difficult. <a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAotKm1r4PI/AAAAAAAABRM/nLOz9Cpo25s/s1600-h/Robb.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191011180745580786" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAotKm1r4PI/AAAAAAAABRM/nLOz9Cpo25s/s200/Robb.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px;" /></a>We beat the whole way from BVI to Trinidad, we were in a gale (with a broken auto pilot) the entire time from Aruba to Panama (so her watches meant steering by hand in lousy weather), and endured the bashing from San Diego to San Francisco. She suffered through all of that without complaint, and worked hard to do everything she could to make everyone aboard happy, comfortable and well fed. When she wasn't with us, she worked 80hours a week at home (she started and owns her own accounting agency) keeping us solvent. She is truly the hero of this adventure.<br />
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To everyone else who made this dream come true, and especially to our devoted readers, I say thank you for your dear support, your overwhelming encouragement, and we love you all.<br />
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Wishing you all fair winds and following seas...<br />
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Robb Triton<br />
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<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAm3jm1r4NI/AAAAAAAABQ8/aY0ukn8u9aU/s1600-h/RobbOnBow.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190881867870232786" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAm3jm1r4NI/AAAAAAAABQ8/aY0ukn8u9aU/s400/RobbOnBow.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/03/half-moon-bay-waiting-for-godot.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-tritons-walk-plank.html"><span style="color: #ff9900; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #cc33cc;">NEXT ENTRY</span></span></a><br />
<br />S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-78395822331327741582008-03-03T09:36:00.000-08:002008-04-19T02:17:07.693-07:00Half Moon Bay: Waiting for Godot<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/02/point-conception-what-drag.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/03/home-coming-triton-crew-returns.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br />If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.<br /><br />We arrived in Half Moon Bay last month, ostensibly just for a few days, in order to regroup, rest up, and clean up. The day after we arrived, Sunday, was beautiful: warm and sunny. We were half tempted just to motor the rest of the way home, but we were tired and wanted to invite everyone aboard for the final run home.<br /><br />Half Moon Bay is a well protected harbor in a south facing bay that lies underneath the headlands that make up the bottom of Silicon Valley. It is only a few miles from San Francisco, and a great place to sail if you are looking for a quick weekend trip from inside the bay. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmfMn1dazI/AAAAAAAABQU/-pjX70ark50/s1600-h/2008-02-21+05-01-48_0036.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmfMn1dazI/AAAAAAAABQU/-pjX70ark50/s320/2008-02-21+05-01-48_0036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190855084721662770" border="0" /></a>The area has a large sea wall the encloses the main harbor, and then a second sea wall with a marina tucked inside it. It is a working marina, with numerous fishing vessels moored here, and crabbers selling their catch along the pier. The docks are old, and a bit ragged, many of the boats are in even worse condition, but I love the area, and the folks were friendly and helpful.<br /><br />Our initial plan was to wait until the following weekend, organize everyone who had ever served as crew aboard Triton (without managing to get kicked off), then sail north the last twenty miles, with all on deck as we went under the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco Harbor. Our good friend and long time crewmate Jeff H. (see "<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/05/we-misplaced-thorny-and-lost-lunch.html">eggerator</a>" in the index for a funny story about him) had made plans to leave the country (for an entire month) the Friday before our trip, but we'd convinced him that he really needed to be with us, so he changed his plans! It looked like most everyone was going to be able to make it.<br /><br />But the Gods found out first. That week, a storm brewed up out of the Pacific. It was predicted to contain hurricane strength winds, seas of biblical proportions, and a rain of frogs. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmf2W1r4JI/AAAAAAAABQc/3C05GrYJcMo/s1600-h/2008-02-17+03-33-06_0014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmf2W1r4JI/AAAAAAAABQc/3C05GrYJcMo/s320/2008-02-17+03-33-06_0014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190855801713713298" border="0" /></a>We watched the weather reports carefully all week, hoping the jet stream might change direction, but it continued to amplify the low pressure system headed our way. On top of that, a cold front was swinging up along the bottom of it, carrying along rain clouds, gusty wind and a thunderbolt or two. Very ominous.<br /><br />In the meantime, we cleaned the boat. Very much like her crew, Triton's hygiene had been neglected for several months as we'd pushed our way north, and she needed a good bath and a wash behind her ears. In fact, there were parts of her (like Robinson's bathroom) that hadn't been properly cleaned the entire time he was aboard. It was disgusting and the smell emanating from the head could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon. We took turns attacking it with various chemicals while holding our breath. We resolved never to let a future crew member aboard unless they left a cleaning deposit in advance.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmgKG1r4KI/AAAAAAAABQk/THnjM8zg21M/s1600-h/2008-02-17+04-13-10_0030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmgKG1r4KI/AAAAAAAABQk/THnjM8zg21M/s320/2008-02-17+04-13-10_0030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190856141016129698" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Unfortunately, the weather in Half Moon Bay that week was horrible. Foggy, damp, with a cold, drizzling rain most days. We tore the boat apart and pressure washed every inch, scouring away sea grime from surfaces that hadn't seen the light of day since Panama, and battling bacterial that, if left undeterred, would soon discover fire, invent the wheel and elect their own form of government. We spent most of our time in rain slickers, on our hands and knees, deep inside bilges, cupboards, closets and cubby holes, pushing ourselves pretty hard after such a long sea voyage, but still hadn't finished as Friday approached.<br /><br />In the midst of all this toiling, our good friends Ted, Suzanne and Blair stopped by to say hi. They were in the area, and we were thrilled to see them again, and delighted for any excuse to go out to dinner somewhere warm. We dined at a local fish restaurant<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmgzG1r4LI/AAAAAAAABQs/vy2hlauHWEQ/s1600-h/2008-02-17+04-22-00_0031.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmgzG1r4LI/AAAAAAAABQs/vy2hlauHWEQ/s320/2008-02-17+04-22-00_0031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190856845390766258" border="0" /></a> called"Sam's Chowder House", located just a block south of the marina on Route 1. The food was fantastic and we highly recommend it. There are several other restuarants in the area, but they pale in comparison. We especially didn't like the Half Moon Bay Brewery just down the road from the marina.<br /><br />What worried us most was that weather system off the coast was still picking up steam. A low pressure system in the upper atmosphere had linked up with the surface depression, reinforcing and strengthening it. The predictions were becoming quite dire, and many folks were shocked that we were still considering moving the boat under those conditions. We talked about it for a while and decided that only reason we were sailing was to meet a self-imposed schedule, and that although our boat could easily handle the conditions, there was no compelling reason to put our friends and crew in harm's way needlessly, so we decided to postpone the trip until the following weekend, although we felt really bad for the inconvenience<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmi9G1r4MI/AAAAAAAABQ0/qGrSO2t_-zI/s1600-h/2008-02-21+05-00-53_0032.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/SAmi9G1r4MI/AAAAAAAABQ0/qGrSO2t_-zI/s320/2008-02-21+05-00-53_0032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190859216212713666" border="0" /></a> we'd caused everyone.<br /><br />In the meantime a really ominous storm brewed up along the coast and slammed into the marina. It was odd watching thousands of seagulls nestle into the sea wall and crowd in along the waterfront. I've never seen so many birds together in one place since "The Birds". They were even a bit quiet and still, like in the movie. Scary, in a Alfred Hitchcock kind of way.<br /><br />So, given that the storm was going to dump on us, and we couldn't get much else done, we packed up the car and drove home to spend some time on our houseboat "Hurrikane" in Emeryville, mostly to sit quietly in front of a space heater without having to do anything. We drove home in the rain, took off our clothes and flopped into bed. And got sick. Really sick. The kind of sick where you welcome the grave. I'm not sure what kind of bug it was, but it was virulent. Perhaps the Spanish Flu, the one that killed 18 million people last century, was trying to make a come back? Maybe it was something we came in contact with when we cleaned Robinson's head. Whatever it was, both AnnMarie and I were death-warmed-over for almost ten days. We were laid out in bed next to each other barely able to move, unconscious most of the time; coughing, sneezing and hacking up various internal organs whenever we were awake. It was not fun.<br /><br />We are only now beginning to feel better, and still aren't fully recovered yet. Last night we went for a ride back down to the boat to check on her and stopped for a lovely meal at the restaurant next to the harbor. We've rescheduled with the crew for this weekend, although not everyone can make it this time. We're disappointed it didn't work out better, but, in keeping with the traditions of the sea, you pay for every inch you sail against the wind.<br /><br />In the meantime, we will be moving the boat on Saturday, March 8th, and will be crossing under the Golden Gate some time around 4pm. We'll post our position on www.winlink.org (look for KD6TAJ) as we approach the gate. If you have a spare minute, please wave as we go by. We are also planning a boat warming party on the following Sunday, March 9th, between 10am and 2pm. If you are in the area, please drop by and say hi.<br /><br />Cheers for now,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/02/point-conception-what-drag.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/03/home-coming-triton-crew-returns.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-46429809162932908322008-02-10T15:54:00.000-08:002008-03-03T12:50:58.743-08:00Point Conception: What A Drag!<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/san-diego-only-thing-not-at-war-here-is.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/03/half-moon-bay-waiting-for-godot.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br />Hello Northern California!<br /><br />AnnMarie arrived the other day and we quickly headed north. The weather gods decided to punish us for moving the boat so quickly by throwing wind and waves at our bows. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y9i7AwB-I/AAAAAAAABMw/ZljM2CjlePE/s1600-h/2008-02-05+22-39-27_0035.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y9i7AwB-I/AAAAAAAABMw/ZljM2CjlePE/s320/2008-02-05+22-39-27_0035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167385292619909090" border="0" /></a>We bumped and bashed along, making less than four knots over much of it. The temps rarely got above sixty five, and the wind chill made it feel much worse. We wear our foulies most of the time now, and hats that can also be used as birth control, cause no one is gonna sleep with you if you're wearing it.<br /><br />We motored continuously, with swells and chop coming from several different directions at once. Every so often a few waves would combine to leap up and smack our boat, jarring everyone aboard and making a booming noise that reverberated through the entire boat and slowing our progress.<br /><br />The next morning I came on deck to discover that the port side trampoline, recently restrung with line we'd bought in Mexico, had parted. The constant bashing had snapped the line in several places. Two sides of it were still tied to the boat, but the other two dragged through the water with each wave that slammed into us. We reduced speed as <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y_YrAwCAI/AAAAAAAABNA/owTQn3JOSEM/s1600-h/2008-02-08+02-51-20_0113.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y_YrAwCAI/AAAAAAAABNA/owTQn3JOSEM/s400/2008-02-08+02-51-20_0113.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167387315549505538" border="0" /></a>I put on all my foulies, PFD, harness and clipped in to the jack lines, then went up on the bow to cut the tramp away from the boat. After hanging on the end of a cold, slippery bow while it bounced along through the waves, I managed to wrestle it back aboard and stow it in the cockpit. Then I went inside, and warmed up over a tin can of seafood. This is definitely not the glamorous cruising life you see on the magazine covers.<br /><br />We reached Cojo Cove, just beneath Point Conception, at sunset and dropped the hook. There were a few large Coast Guard mooring balls just outside the anchorage, but these were reserved for the various oil rigs tenders, rescue ships and other such corporate and government boats that frequent the area. The winds were from the northeast, around fifteen knots but gusting to twenty five every so often, so we were nervous about making sure we had a good grip on the bottom. I added a smaller 20lb Danforth (something I've done many times before) to the end of the big CQR, but I had little faith in our primary anchor. We'd had nothing but problems with it in the past; it never set well, tended to drag, and didn't handle wind changes very well.<br /><br />We dropped the hook in twenty-six feet of water over what was described as hard sand, taking pains to lower the anchor slowly, allowing the small anchor to touch, then slowly drifting back as we laid down the larger CQR and chain. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y_6LAwCBI/AAAAAAAABNI/T4MOAhz5Tcc/s1600-h/2008-02-06+17-28-18_0075.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y_6LAwCBI/AAAAAAAABNI/T4MOAhz5Tcc/s320/2008-02-06+17-28-18_0075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167387891075123218" border="0" /></a>We paid out all of our rode as we drifted back (leaving us a 6 to 1 scope) and then backed down on it with the engines, feeling the big anchor dig in. We sat there for a while, watching the land around us, as well as our GPS positions, to see if we going anywhere. We weren't, but I still wasn't comfortable about it, so I left the radar & GPS on, setting the electronic alarms to warn us if we moved.<br /><br />Then we had dinner and rechecked our position: all was well. Naturally, the wind had died completely and we were being slowly rocked by a gentle swell from the west. Perfect conditions for rounding the point. I wondered if we should just pull stakes and head out now, but we were all tired from the bash, so we decided to get some much needed rest. We'd stay here a day, wait until tomorrow's sunset and then attempt to round the point. We all went to sleep.<br /><br />About four hours later the alarms went off. The wind had come up, there was still some fog and we were dragging through the anchorage, headed out to sea. By the time I'd got up on deck we were sliding past one of the mooring balls, not five feet away from us. I started the engines and pushed them slowly forward, trying to at least keep us in place while the rest of the crew came up and we figured out what to do next. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7ZBzbAwCDI/AAAAAAAABNY/dKkBmzjHg2Q/s1600-h/2008-02-10+04-43-51_0159.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7ZBzbAwCDI/AAAAAAAABNY/dKkBmzjHg2Q/s320/2008-02-10+04-43-51_0159.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167389974134261810" border="0" /></a>The wind was freshening, and it would only get worse when the sun rose. We decided to weight anchor and head north now.<br /><br />As we used the engine to keep slack on the chain and power the windlass to raise it, the chain began to rattle aboard, but suddenly pulled to the left and towards the mooring ball. We realized then that the hook was tangled around the mooring ball's chain, somewhere beneath forty feet of cold, dark, murky water. We thought about several possible strategies, but the reality was that without a dry suit, regulator and underwater flashlights, it didn't make any difference. We were stuck.<br /><br />It was still dark, we were exhausted, and this time definitely not worried about dragging, so we went back to sleep. Our plan was to wait until morning, then deal with it then. We woke up just towards sunrise when the mooring ball began banging against the side of our hull. It was dead still outside. We got up, made several attempts to figure out what to do, but diving into freezing cold water without the proper equipment, alone, using only a "Spare Air" as a regulator was a recipe for disaster. In the end decided that the forty feet of chain and an anchor we'd never liked was worth losing. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y-l7AwB_I/AAAAAAAABM4/PXJ2iC_7tz0/s1600-h/2008-02-08+02-50-14_0110.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y-l7AwB_I/AAAAAAAABM4/PXJ2iC_7tz0/s320/2008-02-08+02-50-14_0110.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167386443671144434" border="0" /></a>We dragged out the bolt cutters, snapped our way to freedom and set out around the point.<br /><br />We took advantage of the early morning wind and dashed around Point Conception, bucking fifteen knot head winds and five foot high swells and chop. The sun rose and so did the wind. Soon we found ourselves bashing into waves that crashed over the deck and sprayed green water onto the salon's cabin top. As the day wore on, so did we. We took turns at the helm, wrapped up in our foulies and watching the wind and waves do their best to stop our progress north. The only one who seemed to enjoy any of this was John, who thrives on bad weather, high seas and long stints at the helm. We sidled in along the coast line, hoping to avoid the brunt of the weather as we motored north.<br /><br />We continued on and arrived at San Luis Obispo the next evening. It is a beautiful little harbor with a few mooring balls for transient boats. We motored in after dark, and tied up to a ball, but couldn't raise the harbor authorities on the radio. We've been having problems with our VHF radios, I believe the main radio's transmitter has failed entirely, and the VHF handhelds, even on the highest setting, were limited in their abilities to reach anything more than a few hundred yards away. We crashed for the night, listening to the seals barking on the breakwater just yards away.<br /><br />The next morning I took the dinghy into to shore and paid for our night's stay, then checked out the fuel dock. Sadly, it is under temporary construction and not something I'd recommend for anything but a steel sided fishing vessel. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7ZJzbAwCFI/AAAAAAAABNo/G-yMX2ATzEc/s1600-h/2008-02-07+22-47-22_0100.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7ZJzbAwCFI/AAAAAAAABNo/G-yMX2ATzEc/s320/2008-02-07+22-47-22_0100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167398770227284050" border="0" /></a>The pumps are on top of a long pier, twenty feet above the water, and the hoses are lowered down to you. The only tie-up is to a long "camel" (a log surrounded by old car tires) that is lashed to the piers. Anyone wanting to preserve their gelcoat would be well advised to consider this arrangement before counting on getting fuel here. We left shortly after that and headed north again.<br /><br />The ride up was more of the same. Long swells from the west, mixing with short chop from the north and a "reflection" swell bouncing off the shore from the east. It made the ride rough and bouncy, with a lot of slapping and banging as we went. We arrived in Santa Cruz that morning, and tied up to the local fuel dock. The folks at the dock were great, bending over backwards to make our stay there pleasant. We grabbed a spot just around the side and tied up Triton. Not less than ten minutes later we were met by John's sweetie Diana. John needed to get back due to a death in his family, so we had time only for a brief drink and snacks before they headed home together. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y9PLAwB9I/AAAAAAAABMo/G1B9F4VAfx4/s1600-h/2008-02-09+04-53-12_0122.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7Y9PLAwB9I/AAAAAAAABMo/G1B9F4VAfx4/s320/2008-02-09+04-53-12_0122.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167384953317492690" border="0" /></a>SLO is a lovely bay and the harbor was quite nice, with many nice restaurants and a great beach as well. We refueled, spent the night at the dock, got a good night's sleep. AnnMarie and I left the next morning, only to be greeted by increasing winds and waves as we headed on.<br /><br />Eventually we approached Half Moon Bay, and our next destination at Pigeon Point Harbor. It was already sunset as we entered the bay, so we needed to rely on the navigation lights atop the buoys that mark the entrance. You need to be careful when coming in from the south. There is a large reef that runs just south of the entrance, and you need to work your way past it before turning east. The harbor is very windy, but quite well protected, with a long, high sea wall around it. There is a second breakwater around the marina itself. We motored along, found a berth to tie up at, and cheered. We'd made it!<br /><br />We had decided to leave the boat here for a bit while. We wanted to invite everyone who has ever been crew on Triton (and their spouses)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7ZCFLAwCEI/AAAAAAAABNg/5efSUeH4Zro/s1600-h/2008-02-07+02-50-34_0093.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7ZCFLAwCEI/AAAAAAAABNg/5efSUeH4Zro/s320/2008-02-07+02-50-34_0093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167390279076939842" border="0" /></a> to join us for the last twenty miles home. Our plan is to sail under the Golden Gate with the entire crew on deck, then pull up to the dock and invite all our friends aboard for a home coming celebration. So far, most everyone we've contacted can make it and we are excited to be so close to home.<br /><br />Keep an eye on this website for the final leg's description and photos of the event. It has been a long, strange trip, but well worth the effort. We have been blessed by great friends, fantastic crew, a great boat and a survivable amount of government interference. No doubt the last twenty miles will take the longest, but it is good to be this close to home.<br /><br />Cheers for now,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/san-diego-only-thing-not-at-war-here-is.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/03/half-moon-bay-waiting-for-godot.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-49593358890295040242008-01-31T11:57:00.000-08:002008-02-15T17:58:29.295-08:00San Diego: the only thing not at war here is the weather.<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/barn-and-beyond.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/02/point-conception-what-drag.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br /><br />SAN DIEGO ROCKS!!<br /><br />Sorry if I'm yelling, but for someone who has spent the last year driving miles on dirt roads looking for a shop, store or roadside hovel with the right part in stock, this place is a boater's wet dream come true. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YVdLAwB1I/AAAAAAAABLo/QbGrhndspJI/s1600-h/2008-01-25+04-04-50_0090.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YVdLAwB1I/AAAAAAAABLo/QbGrhndspJI/s320/2008-01-25+04-04-50_0090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167341213370550098" border="0" /></a>One of the biggest problems we've had with Triton has been the leaking plumbing, which uses a 15mm "quick connect" fitting. I've looked everywhere in Central America for it, but most folks had either never seen it before or didn't carry it.<br /><br />I walked up to the very first boat chandler I found and showed them the part. "You ever seen anything even remotely like this?" I asked the salesman. He smiled and said "Seen it? I've got a box of them right here!" and pointed to a wall of bins of various valves, tee connectors and other fittings, all exactly tailored for the 15mm line. I almost cried. Right next door was a Yanmar dealership; I was able to get everything I needed for the engines. A block away was one of the largest West Marines in the country. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YRI7AwB0I/AAAAAAAABLg/2SqhtXy7060/s1600-h/2008-01-27+04-37-56_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YRI7AwB0I/AAAAAAAABLg/2SqhtXy7060/s320/2008-01-27+04-37-56_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167336467431688002" border="0" /></a>It was heaven. I've been able to get parts to fix most everything that had been broken or missing since I first bought the boat.<br /><br />The next day I went to a museum exhibit then out for dinner with Holly E, a good friend who lives in these parts. We toured around town, saw a great movie called "Juno" (very, very funny and definitely worth seeing) and had a sushi dinner that I didn't have to catch first! It was pure luxury. As a token of my appreciation, I gave her a pair of fuchsia-colored furry gloves. Truth be told, I wasn't quite sure how I'd gotten them, and they just didn't go with my foulies- I'm a winter and those are definitely a spring color.<br /><br />Monday afternoon I went over to the big building in town to speak with the Customs folks. The Vessel <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YV2bAwB2I/AAAAAAAABLw/waQEDkd9xXc/s1600-h/SchoonerInSDBay.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YV2bAwB2I/AAAAAAAABLw/waQEDkd9xXc/s320/SchoonerInSDBay.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167341647162247010" border="0" /></a>Entrance & Clearance Specialist woman I spoke with (I'm not making that up, that really was her title) assured me there wasn't any problem, so I was officially a real live American again. Now I can sail into any port in America I want without first spending a day making of fool of myself in Spanish. I still retain my constitutional rights to do so in English, which I've honed over the last year, but at least I'll know what the port officials are saying to me when they make those snarky comments.<br /><br />With all the paperwork accomplished, and many of the boat projects done, I thought it would be nice to take Holly out on the bay. We went out for a day sail the next day, and it was amazing. Once you navigate around the various aircraft carriers, freighters, mid-sized warships, speed boats, three-masted schooners, tugs, restored wooden ketches, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YXe7AwB4I/AAAAAAAABMA/dty36BBPlmg/s1600-h/AircraftCarrierInSD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YXe7AwB4I/AAAAAAAABMA/dty36BBPlmg/s320/AircraftCarrierInSD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167343442458576770" border="0" /></a>trawlers, restricted military operations areas, kayaks and canoes that jostle about the channel, sailing the bay is a cake walk. The winds were light but constant. We set the sails, aimed for a distant island, and sat back.<br /><br />Now I realize why S.D. sailors are considered such light weights by the folks further north. It's so easy to sail here. The same trip out of S.F, after only an hour, would have involved three climate changes, dense fog and being run over by a Panamax freighter. If you tried this stunt out of Seattle, it would also have included a gale, icebergs and sub-zero temperatures. As it was, I think the only time I needed to do anything more strenuous than looking around was when I refilled our drinks. San Diego is definitely a boat friendly place.<br /><br />After an hour or so we <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YZNLAwB5I/AAAAAAAABMI/Ax0hAFWUXPI/s1600-h/BusyHarbor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YZNLAwB5I/AAAAAAAABMI/Ax0hAFWUXPI/s320/BusyHarbor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167345336539154322" border="0" /></a>were quite a ways off shore, the winds were dying and we decided to turn around and head back. Just as we tacked, some military type folks pulled up in a speed boat and wanted to know if we were definitely leaving. We assured them we were, but asked why they wanted to know. "Oh, in a few minutes some folks will be jumping out of an airplane and want to land right here in the water." Long pause while we stared at each other. "Is there anything wrong with the plane?" I asked. "No, they just need the practice" was their offhand response, "they do this all the time." Yup, we are definitely in San Diego. If you'd wanted to parachute into the San Francisco bay you'd need authorization from about thirty different government agencies first, and probably be protested by Green Peace, Save The Whales, and the Bay Area Muck and Seagrass Preservation Society.<br /><br />Anyway, it was a beautiful, perfect day and a great way to relax after so much mandatory motoring. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to use the sails for something as self-indulgent as just sailing. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YZu7AwB6I/AAAAAAAABMQ/T1LFNPy5pxc/s1600-h/2008-02-02+23-34-21_0026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YZu7AwB6I/AAAAAAAABMQ/T1LFNPy5pxc/s320/2008-02-02+23-34-21_0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167345916359739298" border="0" /></a>Holly seemed to enjoy herself as well, and we pulled into the harbor as the sun was setting. There were fighter jets flying in tight formation, a helicopter rescue drill going on off to starboard, and the local mine sweeping operations had just begun. What a harbor! Even the local Trader Joe's has pictures of aircraft carriers on the walls! I think if you smashed Berkeley and San Diego together, the resulting matter/anti-matter explosion might destroy the universe.<br /><br />When I returned to the dock, there were two wonderful messages waiting for me on my cell phone. The first was from John, who said he'd had such a great time that he wanted to come back and do the rest of the sail with me. The second was from AnnMarie. Her dream job for the last year (the reason she hadn't been along for the entire trip) had just turned into a nightmare. She worked as the Comptroller for a patio furniture import company. About three months ago, the offshore parent company had dismissed the entire senior level management in America, a move that surprised everyone, especially AnnMarie, as the folks they let go were one of the best reasons she liked working there. At the time they had assured her they would be making her a new job offer quite soon, and in writing, but first they needed to finish the audit. She had been working seventy hour weeks on this project,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YboLAwB7I/AAAAAAAABMY/qOfsLgo4tQE/s1600-h/AmpOnBeach.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YboLAwB7I/AAAAAAAABMY/qOfsLgo4tQE/s320/AmpOnBeach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167347999418877874" border="0" /></a> for several months, and it was finally coming to an end when they gave her their offer letter.<br /><br />While it had much of what she wanted, it contained some clauses she just couldn't accept. When she asked about changing it she was told it was a "take it or leave it" proposition. At that point she was receiving several calls a week asking her if she were interested in any outside contracts, and since it was made clear that amending her offer wasn't an option, so she quit. Honestly, I wish she had done this months ago. She is going to fly down and join us for the rest of the sail up. But won't be able to meet us until Long Beach, as she needed a few extra days to make sure she left the books up to date, run the various payrolls, general ledgers and all that other geek stuff that makes companies work.<br /><br />John arrived a few days later. There were a few last minute items we needed, so on the way back from the airport we pulled into West Marine. As I was wondering around the store I heard "Rob! What are you doing here?". I looked up and saw Ron, my manager when I worked in the Oakland store. He had transfered down here. We chatted for a bit and then I invited him and his wife over for dinner, along with another WM employee who thought she might be interested in sailing north, a dock neighbor and some local sailors we'd met along the way. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YeRLAwB8I/AAAAAAAABMg/OqLNGdJ9re0/s1600-h/2008-01-18+18-22-37_0002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7YeRLAwB8I/AAAAAAAABMg/OqLNGdJ9re0/s320/2008-01-18+18-22-37_0002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167350902816769986" border="0" /></a>We made a big seafood & pasta dinner, chatted about work, told sea tales and even talked politics. What surprised me was that before everyone left they insisted on doing the dishes, cleaning the galley and making sure everything was ready for our departure tomorrow. It was a very lovely gesture and a great way to end my stay in San Diego.<br /><br />Early the next morning we fueled up, topped off the water tanks and set sail for parts north. We pulled into Long Beach after a short day trip. It was an odd harbor, mostly very small craft, with old wooden docks, but the rents were cheap and we only needed to be there long enough for AnnMarie to arrive. There was a very large mall, Whole Foods, Safeway, and yet another West Marine, right along side the piers. We are definitely back in the states.<br /><br />Well, it won't be long now before we are back in Emeryville, we need only work our way around Point Conception, and we're home free. The weather systems that gave us such great southerly winds have all passed through, so the high pressure system that normally lives off the coast has returned, bringing with it northwesterly winds, which will be on our nose for the rest of the way. But, AnnMarie will be along, which always brightens the day.<br /><br />I hope this post finds your prospects as joyful and spirits as high!<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/barn-and-beyond.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/02/point-conception-what-drag.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-39020186899292057502008-01-28T12:15:00.000-08:002008-02-15T15:24:03.363-08:00The Barn and Beyond<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/asuncion-to-ensenada.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/san-diego-only-thing-not-at-war-here-is.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br />Ahoy Mateys!<br /><br />Well, we are in San Francisco now. The weather is cold, it is raining on and off, and windy. There are Subarus and Volvos filled with soccer moms everywhere we look, the streets are filled with<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TIL7AwBrI/AAAAAAAABKY/pAL4Zbb_N78/s1600-h/2008-01-23+23-34-47_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TIL7AwBrI/AAAAAAAABKY/pAL4Zbb_N78/s320/2008-01-23+23-34-47_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166974779645757106" border="0" /></a> people bustling about carrying shopping bags, and everyone is bundled up against the weather. Oh, wait a minute, this is San Diego! It just seems like San Francisco. What happened to their blue skies, warm winds and lush gardens is beyond me, but folks here all insist that we at the southern end of the state, not the middle of it.<br /><br />We left Ensenada this morning, motoring for San Diego harbor. The trip north went smooth and was uneventful. We had southerly winds and swells from the west, making the coast fly by, but it really hasn't been nearly as much fun. The motors throb and rumble as they push us along, and the seas roll us side to side, making for a less peaceful journey. We also aren't cooking very much. Mike and John have been living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and bananas with Nutella. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TJP7AwBsI/AAAAAAAABKg/qCbz7fOGclU/s1600-h/2008-01-25+01-35-44_0051.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TJP7AwBsI/AAAAAAAABKg/qCbz7fOGclU/s200/2008-01-25+01-35-44_0051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166975947876861634" border="0" /></a>I've been eating mostly from foil packets of Indian food, straight from the pouch. Not great, but tasty and easy to grab.<br /><br />A troupe of dolphins accompanied us most of the way, dancing across our hulls and jumping out of the water so close we could reach down and touch them. They are always happy to see us, our grinning and playful neighbors that come and go as they please. I've watched them now for over a year, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TKJrAwBtI/AAAAAAAABKo/T3d3x9rFjyk/s1600-h/SealInSDBay.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TKJrAwBtI/AAAAAAAABKo/T3d3x9rFjyk/s200/SealInSDBay.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166976940014307026" border="0" /></a>but I know that soon, sadly, they'll be gone; the water is getting too cold for their tastes. I will miss them. We've started seeing more seals, another indication of the changing weather and water temperatures.<br /><br />As we entered American waters, we played "Back In The USA" by Linda Ronstadt, but honestly, it was anti-climatic. We were cold, tired and ready to get off the boat. The water heater lines had ruptured a while back, leaving us without hot showers. Our makeshift attempts to repair it lasted only a few days, so we were looking forward to land and warm water. Although we'd had a very good run up the coast, still, it has been cold and windy, and at times wet, especially at night. We had to wear foulies for most of it, with lots of layers underneath. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TLf7AwBuI/AAAAAAAABKw/Y--UnPywJmw/s1600-h/2008-01-25+02-20-29_0074.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TLf7AwBuI/AAAAAAAABKw/Y--UnPywJmw/s320/2008-01-25+02-20-29_0074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166978421778024162" border="0" /></a>At night we slept with as many blankets as we could find. With only three on board, our watch schedule meant someone was always at the helm while the others slept, and no one was getting as much rest as they needed. We were looking forward to getting off watch, going out for dinner and getting a decent night's sleep.<br /><br />On the way in to the harbor we passed several Navy war ships, freighters and even a submarine <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TasLAwByI/AAAAAAAABLQ/OcFClLvOu1Y/s1600-h/SubLeavingSD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TasLAwByI/AAAAAAAABLQ/OcFClLvOu1Y/s200/SubLeavingSD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166995124905838370" border="0" /></a>on its way out on patrol. There were many helicopters practicing search and rescue exercises, and fighter jets circling the bay, clear indications that this was one of the United State's largest naval ports. Their presence here permeates everything about the area. It is definitely a military base city, regardless of how laid back or left wing it might appear.<br /><br />We arrived at the Customs dock at 4:30pm. A previously arriving vessel had already called for the Customs Officials (based at the nearby airport), so they appeared only minutes later, instead of the normally long wait. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TOgrAwBvI/AAAAAAAABK4/EgRmQn7ZgCU/s1600-h/MikeAndJohnOnCustomsDock.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TOgrAwBvI/AAAAAAAABK4/EgRmQn7ZgCU/s320/MikeAndJohnOnCustomsDock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166981733197809394" border="0" /></a>There were two officers, and I think we got the nice one. He was quite nice and very polite, gave us help filling our forms and explained where the local stores, restaurants and government buildings were. He wasn't sure about our papers, it was not immediately clear if our vessel required additional processing, and ended up calling the main office several times as we tried to resolve this. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TW9bAwBwI/AAAAAAAABLA/c-e83kwVYQs/s1600-h/JohnRoller.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TW9bAwBwI/AAAAAAAABLA/c-e83kwVYQs/s320/JohnRoller.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166991023212070658" border="0" /></a>In the end he didn't confiscate our documentation, but suggested we show up at the main office on Monday just to make sure. After a brief inspection we were officially back in the states, and free to come and go as we pleased. We then moved the boat over to the "transient" dock (funny to be a transient now that I'm a legal resident again), where arriving boats could stay for up to ten days for very little money. Mike and John had made flight reservations to leave on Sunday, so we were planning on spending the next day at the world famous San Diego Zoo, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TXsbAwBxI/AAAAAAAABLI/ihyUivGSWW8/s1600-h/MikeStewart.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TXsbAwBxI/AAAAAAAABLI/ihyUivGSWW8/s320/MikeStewart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166991830665922322" border="0" /></a>a tourist attraction none of us had ever seen before. We grabbed dinner and went to sleep, happy to be home.<br /><br />The next morning Mike received a call from his wife. The massive storms that had made getting here so easy for us, had flooded his home. Their garage was awash, and their back yard was under three feet of water. He needed to get home immediately, and grabbed the next plane back. John was also feeling bad about leaving his folks for so long, and decided to leave a day sooner as well. They were both the greatest of crew, the best of friends and folks to whom I will always be grateful. Getting up the coast without them would have been a slogging nightmare. Thank you guys!<br /><br />Well, we've made it to the states, that's one big accomplishment achieved, and something that took far too long to happen, but was worth every delay, disruption and detour. I've been fortunate enough to have had the help of many great friends, made some new ones along the way, and found out that the best measure of a man is the quality of those who come to his aid. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TbULAwBzI/AAAAAAAABLY/LQJ5TwhpIkM/s1600-h/RobbHeadShot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R7TbULAwBzI/AAAAAAAABLY/LQJ5TwhpIkM/s320/RobbHeadShot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166995812100605746" border="0" /></a>By that yard stick, I'm the luckiest guy alive. I never dreamed so many wonderful people would join us along our trip, nor did I realize just how much I needed their support. To everyone who was ever a part of this, I humbly thank you all.<br /><br />Now all that remains is get around Point Conception (known to be a tough corner for boats going north) and the slog up to San Francisco. I'm not sure if I'll be able to convince anyone else to come along, but I think the rest of the journey could be day hopped, as there are hundreds of harbors, large and small, along the way. For now, I'm going to take a few days to relax, see about getting the boat back to shipshape, repairing those items that we've left to the last or couldn't find the right parts for in Central America, and resting up for the next big jump.<br /><br />I trust all of your plans are moving along as well, and look forward to seeing you all shortly.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/asuncion-to-ensenada.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/san-diego-only-thing-not-at-war-here-is.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-9859583216831715522008-01-24T20:25:00.000-08:002008-02-14T16:39:25.192-08:00Asuncion to Ensenada<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/heading-north-we-stop-in-asuncion.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/barn-and-beyond.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br />Hola Readers!<br /><br />The Triton continues its journey north up the wind swept, treacherous coast of Baja. We left Asuncion yesterday accompanied by a van guard of dolphins. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R56-fmanV1I/AAAAAAAABJw/rPAspG_e7SY/s1600-h/2008-01-24+00-47-03_0015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R56-fmanV1I/AAAAAAAABJw/rPAspG_e7SY/s320/2008-01-24+00-47-03_0015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160771673110566738" border="0" /></a>They seem to be the same six, jumping about in our bow wake. We motored quickly up to Turtle Bay, arriving at midnight. Now you can buy fuel at the dock, but it is difficult docking there (requires a stern tie) and they have a reputation for charging whatever they think you'll pay. We had been told to look for the Enrico on AnnaBell instead, who had a small tug boat with a 200 gallon tank on board. He would sell you fuel while hanging on his mooring ball, which you could use overnight for free. He came highly recommended by several folks, and was said to be really fair and honest. We'd also been told to be careful because there were some other less scrupulous folks in the bay that might try to rip you off, and to know exactly, in advance, what everything was going to cost, including their time, and to make sure that you had exact change. We motored into the bay leery of shysters and cons.<br /><br />Before we'd even put the anchor down a panga came motoring up out of the gloom, with a smiling, friendly Mexican aboard. It was dark, overcast and cold. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5684manVyI/AAAAAAAABJY/Wx6gSTi8HLY/s1600-h/RobbOnBow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5684manVyI/AAAAAAAABJY/Wx6gSTi8HLY/s320/RobbOnBow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160769903584040738" border="0" /></a>He came along side our boat and said "Mi Amigo, necesita diesel? Usted puede utilizar este amarre gratis" [roughly translated this is: My friend, do you need diesel? You can tie up for free at this mooring ball!] So being the sophisticated, road weary traveler that I am, coupled with my mastery of Spanish, I still had no idea what he was saying.<br /><br />To make matters worse, I had been warned repeatedly by enough cruisers to be careful about accepting anything without first finding out what it will cost. "Kwanta Questa Mooring Ball?" [how much cost mooring ball?] I asked, in my pigeon Spanish. He looked back at me, smiled politely, and said "Usted no necesita pagar por el amarre si quiere combustible. ¿Necesita diesel?", [No, sir, you don't have to pay for the mooring ball, it is free if you want diesel, do you need any fuel?] I had no idea what he said, except something to the effect that he wanted to sell me diesel. I knew I didn't want to pay for the mooring ball when we could anchor for free.<br /><br />"No Nessicito Mooring, Kwanta Questa para Diesel?" [Me no need mooring, how much cost for diesel?] I asked, which now had him completely confused. Why doesn't this stupid gringo want a free mooring ball, its all included for free if you buy diesel. "Si, mi amigo, diesel is $2.49 a gallon" he politely replied. I turned to my crew and said "Okay, let's put the anchor down, then we can buy some diesel from him. I'm not sure where AnnaBell is, but we need to get moving north quickly, and this guy is right here." John and Mike looked at me oddly, but shrugged and started getting ready to drop the hook. It was then that I noticed the word "AnnaBell" stenciled on the side of the panga. John politely coughed, then leaned over and said "I think he wants you to use his mooring <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R568dmanVwI/AAAAAAAABJI/mmhVRF9m3LQ/s1600-h/2008-01-24+00-51-12_0026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R568dmanVwI/AAAAAAAABJI/mmhVRF9m3LQ/s320/2008-01-24+00-51-12_0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160769439727572738" border="0" /></a>ball while we fuel up." Not wanting to appear foolish [yeah, right] I nodded sagely and asked Mike to take the helm while John and I went to the bow to pick up the mooring ball. Enrico was there waiting with it and handed us up the line. It couldn't have been made any easier.<br /><br />Enrico then started up the outboard on his panga and disappeared back into the night, returning moments later in a small tug. He pulled up along side us, we rafted up, and he started up a generator, flooding the area with bright lights. He had a very professional rig, with a diesel pump and meter, long hoses and fuel nozzle. Ah, but ever the cautious customer, I decided to fill one of the 20 liter fuel jugs first, to make sure he "gave good weight" as they would say in the butcher business. We'd heard too many stories about pumps that didn't register properly.<br /><br />We filled a jug with diesel and noticed that the meter registered 24 liters! Ahah! So that's the scam, I thought. I pointed this out using gestures and my highly fluent Spanish. "Senior, es veinte liters, pero es viente cuatro?" [Sir, is 20 liters but is 24?] Enrico looked at me incredulously. No doubt thinking "Yeah moron, you just put 24 liters in a 20 liter jug". Then I looked at the jug. I was filled to the top, a good three inches above the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R569LWanVzI/AAAAAAAABJg/KjpL3CO341k/s1600-h/2008-01-24+00-50-58_0024.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R569LWanVzI/AAAAAAAABJg/KjpL3CO341k/s320/2008-01-24+00-50-58_0024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160770225706587954" border="0" /></a>line marked on it that indicated full. We reset the meter, got out another jug, filled it to the line, and it registered exactly 20 liters. Throughout all of this, Enrico was patient, gracious and courteous, despite my overwhelming stupidity in either language.<br /><br />Eventually we finished fueling the boat. We'd also filled up several jerry jugs and a few extra plastic water jugs, just to be sure we'd have enough fuel to get to Ensenada. We intended to run at top speed to take advantage of the flat seas and calm weather. Enrico disappeared down into his tug, presumably to calculate our bill. I sat down with my calculator and did the same. Of course, Enrico was probably doing the math by hand, and rounding off at two decimal places, whereas I was using a scientific calculator with floating point notation. When I finished, we owed him $420.00.<br /><br />I went back outside and waited. A minute later he reappeared and presented a bill for $418.00. Thrilled that I (for once) had something positive to contribute, I pointed this out to him. "No, senior, es incorrecto!" I said, smiling a toothy grin. Enrico looked back at me with what I can only described as resigned ennui, and cocked his head to one side. I showed him my calculations, and proudly gave him the extra two dollars. He took the money, counted it, then with a thin smile slowly said "Bueno, mi amigo, gracious, buenas nocha". Exactly translated this means "great, my friend, thank you, have a good night", but given what had already transpired it could also be interpreted as a very polite "Please go away, you are a tiresome and odd person".<br /><br />We then turned tail and headed out the harbor and up the coast towards Ensenada. Actually, I tell a lie. We stopped even before we'd cleared the point at Turtle Bay. The starboard side engine's alternator <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R569hWanV0I/AAAAAAAABJo/SIKPrKRtyek/s1600-h/2008-01-22+02-38-44_0017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R569hWanV0I/AAAAAAAABJo/SIKPrKRtyek/s320/2008-01-22+02-38-44_0017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160770603663710018" border="0" /></a>light came on, then the warnin light came on, then the temp started rising, then the audible alarms started sounding. We shut it down, and while wallowing in the swells I crawled down into the engine compartment to see what was wrong.<br /><br />We'd broken a fan belt. We had spares, but it was a brand new one that failed, and after some inspection I'd realized that the geniuses who'd maintained the boat at The Moorings in BVI (who'd installed the alternators originally) had used bolts that were slightly to narrow for the manifold sleeves they slide through. This oversight has allowed them to wobble slightly as they loosen, leaving the alternator itself just slightly out of alignment. Not an emergency (I could just retighten them every few days, a process that ranks just under Barium enema on my list of favorite things), but it means that we are putting more stress on the alternator bearings than is necessary, and wearing out fan belts faster than we need to. The real solution is machining the through holes perfectly square and using the correct bolts. Something I won't be able to do until I'm back home and have access to all my tools.<br /><br />There were long rollers coming in from the west, maybe eight feet high but spaced <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R56_12anV4I/AAAAAAAABKI/jCR_a7AsXxQ/s1600-h/JohnInCockpit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R56_12anV4I/AAAAAAAABKI/jCR_a7AsXxQ/s320/JohnInCockpit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160773154874283906" border="0" /></a>out pretty far, but the wind was dead flat calm, so we decided to continue north on one engine while I replaced the fan belt. I had the envious task of squatting inside a steaming hot area the size of a college dorm refrigerator, while working on an overheated engine and burning any part of my (now dripping with sweat) body that happened to touch it while gently being rolled back and forth. Folks who say things like "Gosh, what an amazing life, Robb, so glamorous and fun, I wish I could go sailing too" rarely ever change fan belts at sea, replace packing glands when out of the country, extract impellers from old motors, fix blocked up heads or repair stuck values attached to half full holding tanks.<br /><br />None the less, we motored out the bay, turned right and headed up the coast under a full moon and flat sea. If you've been skimming over this blog you may not have noticed yet but the weather has very much been in our favor, which is very unusual. We've had either flat airs, or winds from the west or south, with long swells rolling under our beam from the Pacific Ocean, but best of all, relatively light chop and very little bashing over all.<br /><br />Odd conditions for the infamous Baja Bash in summer, but this is winter, and it is very common for winter storms working their way in from the Pacific to make the conditions just right for a sprint up the coast. We did run into a bit of bad weather later that night, which lasted for about twelve hours. A squall blew in from the west as we motored along. Mike was on watch, and noticed an oddly shaped radar return, which seemed to be keeping pace with us but getting closer. He kept staring out, looking for the ship. Eventually he asked me if radar would pick up storm clouds. "Oh, yeah, easily." I replied, "why do you ask?" He pointed over to the radar and said "Well, there is this dragon shaped cloud coming towards us, I'm worried it might be a storm."<br /><br />I looked over at the radar and sure enough, there was a very large squall front coming in, although you probably have to be the kind of bored you get from standing watch to claim it was an upside down dragon shape. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R6ZXhmanV5I/AAAAAAAABKQ/igdaKxR4jCE/s1600-h/2008-01-23+09-56-16_0026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R6ZXhmanV5I/AAAAAAAABKQ/igdaKxR4jCE/s320/2008-01-23+09-56-16_0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162910257586329490" border="0" /></a>Mike insists that it is, but I think it looks more like a kind of sead horse. I leave it to the reader to decide. We scurried around the boat, making sure everything was battened down, that there were plenty of flashlights ready, the radios were charged up, all the electronics were operational, the engines controls were in the green, there was food and drink already prepared, etc. All the things the various sailing books recommend. Then we sat and watched as the squall approached. At first it appeared to be a dark line across the horizon, but quickly the winds picked up speed and the waves built.<br /><br />Soon it began to rain, and the waves began to come at us from every angle. There appeared to be a "break" in the storm front, a small area that didn't seem to have much cloud action inside it, so we headed for it and broke through the storm front and out onto the other side of the squall. We bashed along, and needed to slow down to avoid pounding into the sea, but it wasn't much of a problem and eventually what little weather was left blew past us and we were back to long rolling swells and light winds. So much for the treacherous waves of the Baja Bash. Even the squalls were pretty timid this trip.<br /><br />We were still worried about getting slammed into by a big Pacific storm though. We'd been watching a low pressure system several hundred miles west of San Francisco for quite some time. It had been slowly working its way east towards the coastline, and it was our hope that it would continue to do so, but not get there until we'd at least arrived in San Diego. For more details on this (or if you are a fascinated by amateur explanations of weather) scroll down to the end of this page for a more detailed description of what was happening in the atmosphere.<br /><br />Theoretically, having a slow moving storm just off the coast like that meant we'd get help going north; and we pretty much did. Most days we sailed with both engines going full out on flat seas and following winds. It was beautiful sailing and we ran straight through from Turtle Bay directly to Ensenada without stopping. We pulled into Ensenada harbor, which has a really interesting sunken river boat right in the middle of it. You have to go around it to get into the marina. We arrived at four o'clock on Thursday and grabbed an end tie at the Cruiseport Village marina. The marina is a fairly nice place, with hot showers and other such amenities. The marina staff were quite pleasant, spoke English far better than me and were very helpful. They even filled out our departure paper work for us, adding Mike and John to the crew list. We raced over to the Harbor Master offices to file our new papers.<br /><br />The offices are only a few blocks from the marina, but we grabbed a cab because it was getting towards quiting time and we didn't want to have to wait until tomorrow (or worse still) Monday before we could leave. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R56_YWanV3I/AAAAAAAABKA/QHE9-MwFF4E/s1600-h/2008-01-24+01-41-42_0033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R56_YWanV3I/AAAAAAAABKA/QHE9-MwFF4E/s320/2008-01-24+01-41-42_0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160772648068142962" border="0" /></a>We walked in and gave our forms to the woman at the front desk. She gave them back to us and said (in quite refined English) to go talk to the guy behind the next window. Amazingly, the Ensenada authorities (Port Captain, Customs, Immigration) are all in one building. Each office has a sort of bank teller like window, set around a common room, with one or two officials behind each window. We went to the next window and presented our papers. He said something quickly in Spanish while looking over our papers. "Por favor, Senior, mi Espanyol es poco" [Please Sir my Spanish is small]. Without looking up, and weary but excellent English he said "You need to pay for your exit visa, go back to the first window."<br /><br />We went back, paid for the visa, then returned, got our new crew list stamped and were set to go. "Oh, do I need to do anything else?" I asked. "Nope, your cleared to leave for San Diego." he replied. "So I don't need to have customs stamp my paper work?" I asked, surprised that it could be this easy. "Well, they are right there, so why don't you ask them." he replied, clearly impatient with my limited understanding of reality.<br /><br />I walked over to the Customs Window, where there were two officials looking at a computer terminal. "Buenas Dias, senior, por favor, me pueden ayudar?" <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R56_EGanV2I/AAAAAAAABJ4/kMLvrg_LcGw/s1600-h/2008-01-24+01-39-55_0029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R56_EGanV2I/AAAAAAAABJ4/kMLvrg_LcGw/s320/2008-01-24+01-39-55_0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5160772300175791970" border="0" /></a>[Good day sir, please can you help me?] to which the first official looked up, smiled and said "Si, digime?". [Yeah, what's up?] Okay, deep breath, long pause while I compose this complex question in my head, then "Mi barco es aquí, pero ahora voy San Diego con mi barco y mi amigas." [My boat is here, but now San Diego with my boat and girlfriends] The official looked at me, then at Mike and John. I can only imagine what he was thinking.<br /><br />"Es possible necesito documentacion para mi barco?" [It is possible need documentation for my boat?] At this point the official leaned forward and, in a heavy Brooklyn accent said "What is it you want anyway?" Oh, that's right, they speak English here. "Um, I just wanted to make sure I had all the paper work finished so I could leave the country." He looked at his partner, shrugged, then said "Did you have the documents they gave you when you entered the country?" Now, I remember doing this, and getting the form that said I'd paid the entrance fee, but that was several ports ago and the documentation was back on the boat. They were closing in three minutes and I really didn't want to have to wait another day while I tracked it down, so I started frantically searching through my folder looking for anything that resembled the form.<br /><br />"It will have a stamp on it from Customs." he said. I pulled out the Agriculture Inspection form and gave that to them. He frowned and shook his head "No, it will say Customs on it. This stamp is different". I dug around and found another form that had a stamp on it. He snorted and said no, this is from Nicaragua. I searched more, found the original crew list when we entered the country, there were several stamps on it. "Nope, it has to be from Customs." Eventually I found a crew list from Mazatlan when we went through all those problems with Customs getting Rob off the crew list. It had their stamp on it.<br /><br />The official looked at the paper, looked at me for a bit, then shook his head. It what can only be described as the most polite but slightly patronizing tones he said "Look, normally we don't do this, but today we will make an exception. Next time you come back to Mexico you will need to prove that you paid to enter the country. Now go away." I looked over at the crew. John was starring down at his shoes and grinning, but Mike was shaking back and forth trying to suppress his laughter. We walked back outside, dragging what little dignity I had left along the sidewalk and got in the cab. Both of them have been doing Borat imitations of me asking if this is the correct document ever since.<br /><br />Despite my continual humiliation in Spanish, it looks like we will be heading up the coast at first light tomorrow. The weather appears to be holding and we should have fair winds and following seas. With only sixty miles to go, I am so looking forward to making a fool of myself in a language I feel competent in. In the meantime I wish you all the best.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/heading-north-we-stop-in-asuncion.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/barn-and-beyond.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">[Editor's Note: The following was snipped out of the main text as it is boring as hell, and stuck back here at the end solely for those folks so bored at work they have nothing better to do but learn about meteorology. Does your boss know you're reading this stuff?]</span><br /><br />The reason we wanted a storm off our port beam has to do with how weather works in general. It is a relatively complicated subject (which I've been failing to master for quite some time, regardless of how hard I try) but I will attempt to explain this in very simplistic terms (i.e. lies to children when they ask why uncle Harry is wearing a dress) so please don't think my explanation is anything more than a gross simplification of what is really happening. Weather happens for a lot of complex reasons. Mostly, it is there to thwart the sailing plans of cruisers, make life miserable for farmers and provide surfers with yet another excuse not to get real jobs.<br /><br />Mostly what causes weather has to do with some basic concepts like: warm air being lighter than cold air, the earth spinning, the sun heating up the planet unevenly (mostly because the planet's builder, a union run shop, put all the water in first, and then just dumped all the land on it in clumps instead of the lovely checkerboard design the original plans called for) but mostly weather happens because air moving between the poles and the equator tends to not go in a straight line, but instead veers off on at a right angle. This twisting is called the Coriolis effect, and also explains why Australian toilets are left handed.<br /><br />Which way it twists (right or left) depends on which hemisphere (north or south) you are in. Well, actually it depends on which hemisphere the air is in, you can be anywhere. The important point is that if you have a bunch of high pressure air in the northern hemisphere, it will try to go out towards the air around it (whose pressure is slightly less) but since it tends to twist (clockwise in this case), you end up with a kind of swirl effect. There is a huge semi-permanent high pressure system that lives out over the center of the Atlantic ocean, whose clockwise motion is responsible for the famous Trade winds.<br /><br />The same is true of low pressure systems, except it works in reverse. As the low pressure system sucks air in, it swirls counter clockwise. Providing you are above the equator. If you're below it, just reverse the directions of which way the swirls go. The problem with low pressure systems is that as they suck air into their core, it needs somewhere to go. If there happens to be the right conditions just above it, then the air goes up and is whisked off by the jet stream. Which means there is more room to suck in even more air down at sea level. Get too much of this happening too quickly and you get storms. With the addition of just a few other elements, you get hurricanes. Or typhoons if you live under the equator or are left handed.<br /><br />So, if you have a low pressure system off your port beam (and you are heading north) the counter clockwise spin of the air means that the air north of the low pressure system will be moving westward, the air west of the low's center will be moving toward the equator, the south most air will be moving east, and the east most air around the low will be moving north. That's why we wanted the low off our beam. The air closest to us (the air to the west of us, but east of the low pressure system) would be pushing us north.<br /><br />Totally obvious right? Well, you were warned. This stuff is PFM (pure fucking magic) as far as I'm concerned. I read all the books, look at all the weather charts, listen to the forecasts, and still can't figure out how to make them all make sense together. BTW, a great book on this subject is<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mariners-Weather-Handbook-Forecasting-Tactics/dp/0965802825/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1201743317&sr=1-1"> Steve Dashew's "Mariner's Weather"</a> but nothing short of a degree in the subject really seems to be enough. Guess I'm going back to college.<br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/heading-north-we-stop-in-asuncion.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/barn-and-beyond.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-72094466740008008322008-01-22T11:17:00.000-08:002008-01-28T21:29:27.992-08:00Heading North, We Stop In Asuncion<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/long-distance-dripless-rubber-booty.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/asuncion-to-ensenada.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br />Hey Guys,<br /><br />Although, I wonder if the plural form of "guy" is appropriate here. Perhaps the only person reading this blog is myself? I hope not, because the self discipline required to sit down and write out each adventure is something that definitely doesn't come easy to me, and the talent to make that interesting is still a skill I strive to master. Especially when there isn't much to tell that is out of the ordinary, or the trip has gone smoothly. Oh, sure, I can invent all sorts of complicated lies about pirate attacks, or found treasure, or UFO sightings, but these days folks want pictures to prove it, and I'm just not up to speed on PhotoShop yet. I intend to take a class, and soon I'll be learning how to create photographic evidence as good as anything you see in the National Inquirer. I figure by this time next year I'll be sailing around the Horn of Africa with Elvis, rediscovering the lost city of Atlantis, and uncovering the secret government base where they train dolphins to attack Russian subs. In the meantime I'll just have to make do with describing what has been going on, and add in as many lies as I can get away with.<br /><br />My two new crewmates, Mike and John, arrived, and brought with them several hundred pounds of goodies that AnnMarie shipped down, including a second shaft seal and the missing set screws from the first one. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZSAEfLgFI/AAAAAAAABIQ/zvWBropgYlY/s1600-h/2008-01-18+18-29-20_0029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZSAEfLgFI/AAAAAAAABIQ/zvWBropgYlY/s320/2008-01-18+18-29-20_0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158400584357478482" border="0" /></a>She also shipped down four huge containers of her famous "wheat free" chocolate chip cookies. Sadly, she mentioned this to Mike when she dropped the bags off with him, so only three arrived, and they were all pretty light at that. I told her not to let on that there were treats aboard (hoping to stash these away for myself) but now that the rest of the crew know about it, nothing is safe. Unless I stand next to the counter all day long, they seem to disappear much faster than I consume them. Drat! At the time of this writing, we are halfway up the coast of Baja, and there are three cookies left. It could very well be the plot for the next Kane Mutiny, with the crew setting me adrift in the dinghy clutching a tin of tall house cookies.<br /><br />The new guys arrived on Thursday, and we spent most of it having dinner, shopping for boat parts, and all of Friday getting the boat finished. The new prop seal is installed and has worked well. We added redundant bilge pumps, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZP1EfLgEI/AAAAAAAABII/3WQ2UhZ9S4A/s1600-h/2008-01-18+04-08-53_0022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZP1EfLgEI/AAAAAAAABII/3WQ2UhZ9S4A/s320/2008-01-18+04-08-53_0022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158398196355661890" border="0" /></a>fixed broken float switches, resewed the Bimini, and got pretty much everything else we needed to set sail, except for gas and ice, which we would get at the Cabo fuel dock. The two items we couldn't find was anyone that could refill our oxygen bottle, or sell us a scuba tank. I had brought down all my Paramedic Equipment including an O2 rig, but we have never been able to find anyone that could refill the bottle-- apparently getting oxygen is not possible in Mexico, which is surprising because there are any number of hospitals, clinics and emergency services located all over the area. Well, we wouldn't have O2, but we thought we'd at least be able to find a scuba tank. This trip Mike brought down a "Spare Air" which is a mini scuba tank with a regulator built right on top, that you can fill directly from a regular scuba tank. They give you about 14 breaths under water and are wonderful to have aboard if you need to dive the anchor, or clear the prop of kelp or tangled lines, or have to stay in the same cabin with the captain if he has had wheat. We looked all over town but couldn't find a scuba tank for sale either.<br /><br />Friday night we went to an "open house" event on Slowdance, and had a great time talking to many of the movers and shakers of San Jose. David's mother (who owns the boat) and her best friend Maria (who was the star on the television show "Three's Company") were <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZHckfLgBI/AAAAAAAABHw/7Rr_M8-5RAE/s1600-h/2008-01-18+05-20-29_0025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZHckfLgBI/AAAAAAAABHw/7Rr_M8-5RAE/s320/2008-01-18+05-20-29_0025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158388979355844626" border="0" /></a>both there to help out as well. They did a great job, and over the course of the evening there must have been ninety people on board, including prospective clients and brokers. They even had a mariachi band. It was quite swank, and will probably drum up a lot of future business for them. We wish them great success and have no doubt that they will soon be taking folks out nightly.<br /><br />At one point I started chatting with a charming woman named Caroline who runs the local American newspaper called the Gringo Gazette. She turned out to be the wife of another neighbor on the dock, Ernie, who sells fractional rentals in the area, rebuilds huge boats for fun and profit, and is involved in various real estate ventures. Ernie is one of those folks who you just immediately like. He is friendly, outgoing, witty and fun. We had started kidding around as soon as we met, and he was always offering tools and help whenever he came by the boat. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZJhkfLgCI/AAAAAAAABH4/A0TkZh8UlXY/s1600-h/2008-01-18+05-22-20_0031.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZJhkfLgCI/AAAAAAAABH4/A0TkZh8UlXY/s320/2008-01-18+05-22-20_0031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158391264278446114" border="0" /></a>We mentioned to them that we were getting ready to leave that night and I asked if he knew where we could buy a scuba tank. "Oh, here, I've got one you can have" he casually said. To a cruiser getting ready to head up the coast this is like saying "Oh, sure, I've got an extra tent, backpack and four wheel drive truck you could borrow" to someone going hiking in the desert. We were floored. I rode back to their apartment to pick it up, and was amazed by their place. They live in a beautiful home overlooking San Jose, and it is filled with oil paintings, mostly done by Caroline. She had studied music in college, was a guitar teacher for many years, but has now taken up painting (while running a newspaper), and is doing wonderful work. I must say I was very impressed with both of them. They are people who have achieved great things in their lives. Better still, they were gracious, warm and friendly to complete strangers. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZK90fLgDI/AAAAAAAABIA/xKLIfw4pJog/s1600-h/2008-01-18+06-07-39_0033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZK90fLgDI/AAAAAAAABIA/xKLIfw4pJog/s320/2008-01-18+06-07-39_0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158392849121378354" border="0" /></a>We hope to see them up north sometime soon and repay the kindness.<br /><br />So, with scuba tank in hand, we set sail for Cabo. Well, almost. We discovered that the fix for the Bimini wasn't going to work. The velcro was completely dissolving from constant exposure to the sun, so we spent another two hours hand sewing it into place. Once done we motored down to Cabo in light winds from the north, arriving at dawn and pulled up to the fuel dock. It was still early and the regular circus of tourist clowns hadn't hit the water yet, so the bay was calm. We topped up the tanks, filled the freezer with ice and headed out for the long trek north. We were a bit apprehensive because rounding Cabo Falso can be one of the hardest things you can do in this area. The last time I was here (fifteen years ago) six boat tried it the week before us, and only four made it. One was blown back and the other went up on the rocks, killing one of its crew members and seriously injuring another.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vPq2anVsI/AAAAAAAABIo/Wgl1-JLtWmE/s1600-h/ArchRock.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vPq2anVsI/AAAAAAAABIo/Wgl1-JLtWmE/s400/ArchRock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159946133151635138" border="0" /></a><br />The weather seemed very calm, so we headed up. Much to our surprise and delight, it was dead flat. We went around the rocks at eight knots, and headed up the coast with no headwind or chop. It was a fantastic start to our journey, and continued that way for many more miles. We made incredible time going north, and got to Mag Bay much sooner than we had intended. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vREGanVuI/AAAAAAAABI4/Sy82DDz8tPM/s1600-h/JohnInCockpit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vREGanVuI/AAAAAAAABI4/Sy82DDz8tPM/s320/JohnInCockpit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159947666454959842" border="0" /></a>Having had only small swells and mild chop, we decided to push on for Turtle Bay. The weather reports were all looking good, and it seemed like we were going to dodge the dreaded "Baja Bash". As soon as we started getting confident, Mother Nature decided to remind us that she doesn't approve of gloating by slamming us with twenty knot winds, six foot seas and chop coming from three directions at once.<br /><br />We pounded along for most of the night and a large part of the day. Eventually it calmed down, but we were low on fuel, so stopped in the middle of the ocean and filled our tanks from the jerry jugs we'd brought along, then started on again. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vQbmanVtI/AAAAAAAABIw/loNgXNnD5hQ/s1600-h/RobbSiphoningGas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vQbmanVtI/AAAAAAAABIw/loNgXNnD5hQ/s200/RobbSiphoningGas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159946970670257874" border="0" /></a>The weather kicked up about fifty miles north of Mag Bay, and we were bashing along, being thumped by waves each time we past one. We reduced speed, but it still took a lot to push forward. We were being beaten on and burning fuel faster than we wanted. It also got cold, so standing shifts was no longer fun. In fact, it sucked. No glorious sunsets, no dolphins off the bowsprit, no whales breaching close by could make up for the fact that it was cold and wet and bumpy. We tried sailing against it but we couldn't find a favorable wind that helped. It stayed that way most of yesterday. By today we were still many miles below Turtle Bay, the wind (and thankfully the waves) had died down and we didn't have enough fuel to motor directly there. That meant turning east, losing both ground and time by heading for one of the harbors along the way. We were contemplating our options when the wind backed around a bit and picked up, giving us enough push to point towards Asuncion Bay, just south of Turtle Bay, where we wanted to go to refuel.<br /><br />We motor sailed the rest of the way there, pulled into the harbor at night, and hailed Shari Bondy, one of the local ex-pats who is cruiser friendly. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vRk2anVvI/AAAAAAAABJA/m2MO-TDCaA4/s1600-h/2008-01-21+21-19-53_0053.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vRk2anVvI/AAAAAAAABJA/m2MO-TDCaA4/s320/2008-01-21+21-19-53_0053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159948229095675634" border="0" /></a>She gave us directions and GPS coordinates for a good anchorage and we dropped the hook just off shore in thirty feet of water on a sandy bottom a hundred yards from shore. Even before we'd put the anchor down we were greeted by a dozen seals, all splashing around our bow and happy to see us. We were pretty happy to see them too, and Mike commented that it was worth the whole trip just for this one minute. Personally, I think he could have saved a lot of travel by just going to SeaWorld, but he thought this was somehow better. Go figure. We made steaks on the barbecue, had a great meal, relaxed and got to sleep comfortably for an entire eight hours. What luxury!<br /><br />The next morning we contacted Shari, who picked us up at the shore, drove us to the local gas dealer, filled our jugs, took us shopping, showed us around town, then brought us back to her place for breakfast and offered us showers to boot!! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZarEfLgGI/AAAAAAAABIY/stzYQ0MfoYk/s1600-h/2008-01-21+23-41-41_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5ZarEfLgGI/AAAAAAAABIY/stzYQ0MfoYk/s320/2008-01-21+23-41-41_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158410119184875618" border="0" /></a>We were once again humbled by the good will of folks we've met. It is amazing and astounding the hospitality we've been offered in Mexico. It is truly a friendly country. We later met her husband Juan (who had been out fishing) and is also a talented musician and radio technician. They are great advocates for this area, and know most everyone. Between the two of them you can get help with just about anything you need. They also have a <a href="http://www.bajabnb.com/">website</a> if you want to learn more about the area. If you are ever in the area, give them a shout on channel 16 (Sirena, pronounced "sea rain ah") and tell them Robb Triton sent you.<br /><br />Asuncion is a sleepy little fishing village along a bight of land facing the Pacific. It will one day be a glamorous vacation resort where folks spend thousands for a week's worth of relaxation. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vOUmanVrI/AAAAAAAABIg/c4iswyCG6bA/s1600-h/2008-01-22+00-18-35_0004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R5vOUmanVrI/AAAAAAAABIg/c4iswyCG6bA/s320/2008-01-22+00-18-35_0004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159944651387918002" border="0" /></a>Right now it is mostly dirt roads and cement block houses, but the folks are warm and friendly, helpful to a fault and the kind of people you'd love to have for a neighbor. It's a bit off the beaten path, but the views are spectacular and the weather can't be beat. I'm smitten with this place.<br /><br />Well, we'll be heading up to Turtle Bay soon, once we've fixed all the little things that broke on the trip, pour the diesel into the tanks, and clean up a bit. In the meantime I wish you all safe harbors, warm water and even warmer friends.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/long-distance-dripless-rubber-booty.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/asuncion-to-ensenada.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-63222934380819770042008-01-15T20:46:00.001-08:002008-01-22T13:14:54.145-08:00Long Distance Dripless Rubber Booty Call<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/san-jose-anti-hell.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/heading-north-we-stop-in-asuncion.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br />No, the title isn't some sort of kinky sex reference, although AnnMarie did fly down here for another conjugal visit (they allow that in Mexico) but the title refers to the new "dripless" mechanical seal she brought with her from Emeryville. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42sjkfLf6I/AAAAAAAABG4/1UIo9uRbNC0/s1600-h/AmpArriving.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42sjkfLf6I/AAAAAAAABG4/1UIo9uRbNC0/s320/AmpArriving.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155966875498938274" border="0" /></a>The propeller shaft on one of the engines started leaking, and rather than chance having it get worse on our way up the coast, we ordered another. As it turns out, the other engine is starting to drip as well, so we'll need to change that one out pretty soon. What fun, heh?<br /><br />These are pretty nifty devices, they allow the propeller shaft to exit the hull, and still spin, yet keep the water out. In most older boats there is something called a "stuffing box" (I love that term, it sounds like some sort of Thanksgiving desert) which is a long piece of hose that attaches to the boat, with a brass flange at the other end. The shaft goes through the flange, inside the hose and out the boat. Inside the flange is a "packing gland" (another term whose mental image conjures up something definitely not holiday related) which consists of strips of flax impregnated with some sort of earwax. You unscrew the flange, stuff the flax around the shaft then tighten up on the nut until water stops leaking.<br /><br />Almost. It actually has to drip a little, constantly, in order for it to work correctly, if you make it too tight then it will overheat when the shaft is spinning. Too lose and water fills your boat. Just right and the water acts as a sort of lubricant and cooling fluid, but means you always have water in your bilge. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42tOEfLf7I/AAAAAAAABHA/XiHlBydXitU/s1600-h/StuffingBoxDiagram.gif"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42tOEfLf7I/AAAAAAAABHA/XiHlBydXitU/s200/StuffingBoxDiagram.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155967605643378610" border="0" /></a>In actual use, these things are always sort of a problem, and they require constant checking and continual maintenance. Most boat owners dread touching them, it is the moral equivalent of needing to go to a proctologist. It's a problem back there somewhere, you know you should deal with it, but really wish it just healed itself.<br /><br />There are newer types of synthetic packing material that supposedly work better and eliminate the drip, but the general design is [several hundred years] old technology, and there are newer alternatives. Namely, the "dripless mechanical seal". This system supposedly eliminates the constant drip (thus the name) by eliminating the stuffing box and packing gland entirely.<br /><br />Instead, a hollow, compressible, rubber bellows is placed around the shaft, one end attached to the boat, and the other terminated with a graphite ring that goes around the shaft. A stainless steel collar then fits tightly over the shaft, it's aft facing surface pressed up against the graphite disk's forward facing surface. Lock nuts hold the collar in place on the shaft, compressing the belows slightly and providing the seal. Because the two disk's surfaces are in compression, no water gets past, yet the shaft can turn without heating up <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42ue0fLf8I/AAAAAAAABHI/jD-qh6PPkMc/s1600-h/Jan.+1502+23.12.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42ue0fLf8I/AAAAAAAABHI/jD-qh6PPkMc/s320/Jan.+1502+23.12.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155968992917815234" border="0" /></a>because there is always seawater inside the bellows to keep it cool. In fact, a small tube is run from the rubber bellows up above the waterline (preventing air pockets from forming inside it) to make sure that there is always water cooling the two disks.<br /><br />Very simple, very clever, and it should last seven to ten years without maintenance or hemorrhoids. What a concept! We'll see just how long and well it works, but it appears to be doing the trick so far. Of course, once we start up the coast will be the real test. Providing the stainless steel collar doesn't slip, it should remain completely dry in the bilge. If it does slip, then water comes gushing in. To that end I've put a couple of pipe clamps around the shaft just behind the collar, as backup, and added a second, completely redundant bilge pump, giving me a total output capacity of about two thousand gallons per hour per engine compartment. Plus another two thousand gallons per hour in each of the separate hull compartments forward of the engines. If I'm taking water on that fast, odds are good the propeller fell out or we were rear ended by a whale.<br /><br />But first we needed to get the part down here. Now, although there is a brand new DHL shop not ten minutes from here, it hasn't opened yet (it was supposed to have been operational two weeks ago, but this is "manana" land) and according to everyone else getting anything here could take weeks. And more than a hundred dollars. I wanted to get the seal installed before the crew arrived, and get to see Ann again, so she found a cheap, non-stop flight for not much more than what it would have cost to ship it. She ordered the part (it took less than two days to ship it from Europe to Emeryville) and hand carried it down with her. It meant she flew down on the weekend and had to leave for work on Sunday, but it was great to see her again!<br /><br />Picking her up at the airport I ran into a strange situation. I wasn't sure which public parking was appropriate at the airport, the signs are less than clear, so I pulled up in front of the terminal and asked the cop directing traffic where to go. "Oh, well, you can park over there, or you can leave it here in the red zone if you are only going to be a few minutes...just tip me on your way out." Well, that seemed odd to me, but Ann was due to arrive any second and it wasn't clear how much stuff she would have. I thought about it for a bit, and defaulted to that age old advice: when in Rome, do as the Romanians.<br /><br />Now if a cop tried that at an airport in the states, he'd lose his job, maybe go to jail. Down here, it is just another day. Several of the other cruisers here have told me about numerous traffic stops that were "resolved" by paying the cop directly, rather than dealing with the ticket. The corruption and bribery is something that I think ultimately needs to change before Mexico will really be able to compete on the global scale, but things are changing fast down here. No doubt even that will fade (it has already improved significantly since the last time I was here) and eventually rule of law will take hold. We all hope so, anyway.<br /><br />On the way back to the marina, we stopped for a bite to eat. I was pretty tired and very hungry and suffering from low blood sugar. I could barely speak. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42u80fLf9I/AAAAAAAABHQ/hlYv5VTKAno/s1600-h/CarneAsadaElPaisa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42u80fLf9I/AAAAAAAABHQ/hlYv5VTKAno/s320/CarneAsadaElPaisa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155969508313890770" border="0" /></a>Ann said "Is there somewhere we can get lunch?" I tried to explain that I knew a place, it was on the way, but that they "...serve meat, and, uh, meat, on potatoes, or you can just get meat." There was a brief pause, then she said, "Oh, can I get meat with my meal?". She laughed and made fun of me the whole way there. But it was really a great place, just a little road side stand, run by "Fidel" (he was quick to point out that there was no relation to Castro) who knows everyone in town. Basically, he serves meat, grilled with potatoes. He sat and chatted with us as we ate, and every other car that drove by honked or waved as they went past. If you are ever in San Jose, check him out, he is on the road that leads to the Marina Los Cabos, just off the traffic circle.<br /><br />Oh, that is another thing about San Jose. They love, Love, LOVE traffic circles. And road bumps. And traffic circles with road bumps. I think the Mexican Tire and Suspension Repair Consortium is behind it all, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42sB0fLf4I/AAAAAAAABGo/HOXUlUUi-4U/s1600-h/RoadSigns.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42sB0fLf4I/AAAAAAAABGo/HOXUlUUi-4U/s320/RoadSigns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155966295678353282" border="0" /></a>but you can't drive more than a few blocks without going around a circle, across a ditch or over a bump. And, to really make life fun, they put paving stones the pavement in spoke like patterns radiating out of the center of the traffic circles. This means if you go faster than seven miles an hour around one of these circles you better be really good at regaining control out of a skid. That doesn't stop the locals from driving like maniacs, but it does provide seconds of terror filled amusement as you navigate your way home.<br /><br />Ann and I spent most of the day just hanging out on the boat. We tried to go to a fancy restaurant that evening but got lost trying to find it. The numerous police officers we stopped to ask seemed surprised that anyone would voluntarily talk to a person in uniform at night, but while being very polite and as helpful as possible, they didn't know where we wanted to go. Eventually we just gave up, pulled up in front of some roadside joint and had a mediocre meal.<br /><br />She left the next morning, but not before making me take a picture with my favorite roadside attraction. I had the seal installed that afternoon, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42v30fLf-I/AAAAAAAABHY/FaylCxNTWpg/s1600-h/RobbHoldingCross.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42v30fLf-I/AAAAAAAABHY/FaylCxNTWpg/s320/RobbHoldingCross.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155970521926172642" border="0" /></a>but we were missing the set screws that held it in place. They had fallen into the packing material, never to be see again. No big deal, Ann eventually found them when she got home, but it means that I won't be able to finish and test it all until the crew gets here with the new ones. Ugh. They are also bringing down another seal, which I'll probably install on the other shaft if there is time, or we stop somewhere. This boat is absolutely fantastic in that almost anything can be repaired on it without having to take it out of the water. I love how well thought out the design is.<br /><br />I've also got to hang out a bit this week with a Dutch cruising couple, Marcel and Anok, and their one year old child Lev. We had bumped into them in La Paz, then in Los Frailes, then in Cabo, and now they are here in the marina as well. They've been cruising on a 27? foot trimaran called "Evasive", which was originally owned by Larry Flint, painted bright pink and called "She's Easy". When they bought it, it was tan, and had already had its name changed. Being less than perfectly fluent they didn't really grok the subtle meaning of the new name. They are thinking of changing the name back, because "Elusive" just doesn't capture the spirit of their adventure, and it sounds kind of <span style="font-style: italic;">shifty</span> to them. I agree.<br /><br />Unfortunately, they ran into some problems this week with the four stroke outboard that powers their boat. While motoring into harbor it broke free from its mooring plate and fell into the ocean, still running. Marcel was unsure what to do about it, and asked my advice. I suggested the standard things, like draining all the fluids, flushing the cylinders, changing the oil several times, etc., eventually we got it running again, and it sounded pretty smooth. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42wNEfLf_I/AAAAAAAABHg/Ckk9bxMkJZE/s1600-h/MarcellAndAnokOnElusive.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42wNEfLf_I/AAAAAAAABHg/Ckk9bxMkJZE/s320/MarcellAndAnokOnElusive.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155970886998392818" border="0" /></a>"Okay", I said, "now change the oil again, run it an hour, then change it again after that." He did, and started it up. It seemed fine. "Wow, you got really lucky!" I said, "most motors that suck in water while running blow a seal, or crack the head, or worse." I left feeling pretty good about things.<br /><br />A hour later Marcel came by and asked if I could look at the motor again. It seems there was water leaking out of the oil drain plug. Well, I checked it out, and sadly, there was water just pouring into the crank case when the engine was running. Very bad. Very, very bad. It seems he did blow a seal (or worse, maybe cracked the block somewhere), and would have to take the motor in to La Paz to get it fixed. Damn, just when I thought we'd cheated death. So, its off to the mechanics for them, and back to being a mechanic for me. The fun never stops.<br /><br />In the meantime, work proceeds apace. I've got a bunch of wiring and plumbing done, have a bunch more to do, but should be ready to go by the time the crew arrives. We hope to leave here<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42w90fLgAI/AAAAAAAABHo/VEtHVmUS4So/s1600-h/TwinTailedTriton.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R42w90fLgAI/AAAAAAAABHo/VEtHVmUS4So/s320/TwinTailedTriton.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155971724517015554" border="0" /></a> Friday night around 10pm, motor down to Cabo Falso and check the weather. If it is good we will run up the coast towards Mag Bay. If not, we'll wait another twenty four hours and try again.<br /><br />So, if you are of a religious nature, please say a prayer to whatever God you worship, and ask him to put in a good word with Poseidon, tell him to spare Triton from his wrath, and grant us flat seas, calm winds and clear water. Getting round this point is considered one of the hardest bits of sailing there is to do, so we'll take all the help we can get. In the meantime, we watch the weather charts and listen to the HAM nets and hope for the best.<br /><br />Cheers for now,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/san-jose-anti-hell.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/heading-north-we-stop-in-asuncion.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-23180302776555596542008-01-11T20:01:00.000-08:002008-01-22T13:12:54.469-08:00San Jose, the anti-hell.<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2005/01/what-difference-harbor-makes.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/heading-north-we-stop-in-asuncion.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br />Greetings from Sunny San Jose!<br /><br />No, we have not made it up the coast in three days. I'm still here in Puerto Los Cabos, working on the boat, and awaiting parts, crew and AnnMarie. Not in that order. Ann managed to locate the correct part (so we hope!) and it turns out to be cheaper and easier for her to fly down here than to try to ship it. She arrives tomorrow, will spend the weekend and then fly back for work on Monday. There are very few men alive that have as wonderful a partner as I do. Not a day goes by I don't appreciate her being in my life.<br /><br />In other good news, two folks have signed up, and are going to come along. They fly down next week. Mike, who sailed with us from Trinidad all the way to Panama, in addition to being a great guy and competent sailor, is also a paramedic fire fighter. So, if I have a heart attack from the boat catching fire, he'll know what to do, which is probably jump overboard and swim for shore.<br /><br />Also joining us will be John, a friend of a friend. I'm told he has extensive sailing experience and has always wanted to make this trip. He expedited getting his passport to be able to do so, which says a lot about his motivation. This will definitely be a trip to put at the top of your sailing resume.<br /><br />There is also the possibility that some others might join us. Some other friends of Mikes, and Charlie, one of my paramedic preceptors, is also possibility. There has also been interest by a number of locals including the first mate on the beautiful Lagoon 50 next to us in Cabo, someone on the docks here in San Jose, and someone else from Cabo.<br /><br />So it is feast or famine. Actually, it would have been interesting to do the trip alone, but I'm thankful for the company. It is simply safer to have someone else on board, and anything more than two people is luxury for this boat. Now if only the weather would cooperate, it will be a cake walk.<br /><br />I am certainly much relieved to have the additional help, and can now concentrate on the tasks at hand, which include getting grease permanently ensconced beneath my fingernails, ripping the skin from my knuckles, abrading my forearms on fiberglass, and having to pee while scrunched into an impossible position in the bilge. Ah, the good life.<br /><br />In the meantime I wish you all a maintenance free, sunny, calm day and free of customs officials, port captains and pot holed roads.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2005/01/what-difference-harbor-makes.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/heading-north-we-stop-in-asuncion.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-38331020129587986022008-01-08T19:12:00.000-08:002008-01-14T21:00:23.214-08:00What a difference a harbor makes.<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/trouble-in-river-city.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/san-jose-anti-hell.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br />Ahoy, Ahoy,<br /><br />Well, I've moved the boat a few miles further north to a small town on the western shore of Baja called San Jose. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gxBUfLflI/AAAAAAAABEQ/HEWLVIsjVB4/s1600-h/2008-01-05+02-54-40_0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gxBUfLflI/AAAAAAAABEQ/HEWLVIsjVB4/s320/2008-01-05+02-54-40_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154423672274648658" border="0" /></a>It is about twenty minutes further north (by car) from Cabo San Lucas, and I'm staying at a a brand new marina called "Marina Los Cabos". In fact, it is still under construction and won't be finished for another two or three years, so there are only limited facilities here. They haven't finished installing the water or electric lines, but at one quarter the price of Cabo San Lucas (and ten times the pleasantry), it is still worth the money.<br /><br />The harbor manager is Jim Elfers, author of "The Baja Bash", a book about sailing north up the coast of the Americas. It is extremely detailed, and provides excellent insight into what it takes to get "to the barn" as they call San Diego when going north. He has copies for sale in the marina office, where he will gladly autograph one for you, or you can get them on line at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baja-Bash-Capt-Jim-Elfers/dp/096384704X/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1200369711&sr=8-1">amazon.com</a>. As an added treat, you will get to meet Claudia, his secretary, who is stunningly beautiful, charming, warm and very helpful, and the rest of his very nice, helpful staff. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4wuMUfLfwI/AAAAAAAABFo/PeI5vB8qxXw/s1600-h/LosCabosMarinaStaff.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4wuMUfLfwI/AAAAAAAABFo/PeI5vB8qxXw/s320/LosCabosMarinaStaff.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155546462625169154" border="0" /></a>Would that all marina managers, harbor officials and government employees as nice, I'd have nothing to write about.<br /><br />The harbor itself is just about as different from Cabo San Lucas as heaven from hell. There are no ugly American tourists, no jet skis, no ski boats pulling yahoos, no whores, no drunks, no throbbing music until 2AM. In fact, it is a peaceful, quiet, well protected harbor with a very pretty view. They dug the harbor out of the ground, effectively "made it from scratch" and although I think they should have made it even bigger, it's clear that it will be a very nice spot to stop when south of La Paz.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gxjUfLfmI/AAAAAAAABEY/fGQrxnIwCNs/s1600-h/DaggerInTheSoul.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gxjUfLfmI/AAAAAAAABEY/fGQrxnIwCNs/s320/DaggerInTheSoul.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154424256390200930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />About the only down side (besides it not being complete) is the town's decision to install an "art" monument on the adjacent hill. Something that would put them on the map, so to speak. When San Francisco tried this we ended up with that "arrow through the heart" eyesore thing. Unfortunately, the guy that does all of Mexico's other bizarre bronze statues was back on his meds and therefore unable to come up with anything surreal enough to qualify, so the job went to the lowest bidder instead. The result is a cross shaped blackened metal super structure, made entirely of bronze (of course) that looks like something off the set of a Mad Max movie. The locals call it "the dagger in the soul". I call it "Soulless Frippery Masquerading As Art". Or, "Look Mom, I Learned To Weld!"<br /><br />It is situated atop a highpoint of the town, visible for miles in every direction, especially from the marina, over which it looms. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4wvTEfLfzI/AAAAAAAABGA/FsyyZKuJL2s/s1600-h/RobbHoldingCross.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4wvTEfLfzI/AAAAAAAABGA/FsyyZKuJL2s/s200/RobbHoldingCross.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155547678100913970" border="0" /></a>Looms in the sense of Lurch, the butler from the Adams Family. It is finished in a mat black, has strange appendages jutting out, and give new hope for Atheists everywhere. It really is quite appalling. In sunlight, it appears burnt out. At night, they light it with floodlights. That makes it even worse. Then it looks like a guard tower after the Dresden fire bombing. The cruisers joke that eventually it will have a neon "Modello" sign on it. I think that would actually be an improvement.<br /><br />Other than that one particular drawback, I think this marina is quickly going to become the choice spot for fishermen and cruisers alike when heading south in Baja. It is really well laid out, will accommodate just about any sized boat, and is extremely well protected. I'd choose this place over any other Baja marina in a bad storm. It is easy to navigate into, lacks any really dangerous rocks or hidden gotchas, and once completed will be a wonderful alternative to the town of (last) resort I call "Cabo Sans Lucidity".<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4w7MEfLf3I/AAAAAAAABGg/se4V-wxOUXY/s1600-h/TritonDwarfedByAtessa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4w7MEfLf3I/AAAAAAAABGg/se4V-wxOUXY/s400/TritonDwarfedByAtessa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155560751981363058" border="0" /></a>When I arrived at Marina Los Cabos they explained that all the currently built docks were full (they were busy installing water and electric to one of the few unoccupied docks) and that there wasn't an empty slip large enough for my catamaran. They directed me to the 100yard long fuel dock instead. I was told to park just behind "Attessa", a mega-yacht of unbelievable proportions. It was seven stories high, had a draft of over twenty five feet, the compulsory helicopter parked on the top, and a hot tub large enough for ten. It dwarfed over my boat. In fact, their tender (from the latin "ten-er" or "big bill", a word meaning enormous dinghy for expensive yacht) which was almost as large as my boat, could hold about twenty people comfortably. That is my boat there in the picture above, just behind Attessa. It dwarfs my boat. Their radar domes are as high as my mast. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gy_kfLfoI/AAAAAAAABEo/nA_M8mWLcHg/s1600-h/TritonBehindAtessa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gy_kfLfoI/AAAAAAAABEo/nA_M8mWLcHg/s320/TritonBehindAtessa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154425841233133186" border="0" /></a>I used to think I had a big boat, but all guys do. Other cruisers would hassle me about buying such a large yacht all the time. Now I know I didn't. Talk about being a small fish in a big pond.<br /><br />After I tied up I went up to the first mate and said "Okay, who do I complain to?" He smiled and said "What seems to be the matter?" I explained that since I'm usually getting shit for having the largest boat around, I wanted to give them some. He laughed and said they got that a lot.<br /><br />While I was there, the owners and a few select guests arrived, and the ship (it ain't a boat if it has a tender) left harbor for La Paz. I would have been curious to look around inside, but my understanding is that tours of mega-yachts are harder to get than face time with the president. It is still one impressive boat, especially when seen up close. I'm not sure it's how I would have spent my money, but I admire the quality of the work and attention to detail. There was always three or four crew continuously working on the boat. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g0BEfLfpI/AAAAAAAABEw/GM7W3epTLP0/s1600-h/Tommys+Barefoot+Cafe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g0BEfLfpI/AAAAAAAABEw/GM7W3epTLP0/s320/Tommys+Barefoot+Cafe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154426966514564754" border="0" /></a>I must have met at least a dozen of its staff, and I believe there were more. It probably costs more per year to just operate it than I will spend in my entire lifetime on sailing. Oh well, it ain't my money, but it ain't my problem either. I'd hate to have to fix that boat continually.<br /><br />That night I walked across the street and had dinner at Tommy's Barefoot Cafe. While I was waiting for my food, I started chatting with the owner, who goes by the name T.J. He was a character with quite a colorful past, and had just opened the restaurant that week. His son was the cook, and T.J. managed the establishment. It was a great atmosphere and although they were just getting started, you could tell that this was going to be a fun place to hang out. While I was ordering, another cruiser walked in. His name was Skip, and he had dropped the hook right next to me when we were anchored off the beach in Cabo. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g1WEfLfrI/AAAAAAAABFA/hk0t4WYjQUs/s1600-h/SkipFromJavaMoon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g1WEfLfrI/AAAAAAAABFA/hk0t4WYjQUs/s200/SkipFromJavaMoon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154428426803445426" border="0" /></a>He is also a machinist and welder and has done quite a lot of work for Atessa, and several other large ships in the area. We got to talking, had dinner together, and were eventually joined by T.J. as well. We swapped sea stories and tales of misadventure, wasted another perfectly good night, and had a great time doing it.<br /><br />The next day I found an open spot further in the marina. It offered better protection, great neighbors (which means better security) and internet connectivity so I moved over there. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g1-0fLfsI/AAAAAAAABFI/3ysJMdEyKP8/s1600-h/2008-01-04+03-55-27_0059.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g1-0fLfsI/AAAAAAAABFI/3ysJMdEyKP8/s200/2008-01-04+03-55-27_0059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154429126883114690" border="0" /></a>Unfortunately, I've just discovered a slow leak in the port propeller shaft seal, so we are trying to figure out if we can get a part flown down here in any kind of reasonable time frame. It is a mechanical type seal, and is only dripping slightly, so it doesn't mean I couldn't leave without fixing it, but I'd rather get it fixed if I can. AnnMarie is running around town looking for the right part even as I write this. Naturally it is located in the bilge, and requires disconnecting the propeller shaft in order to fix it. The other side isn't leaking noticibly, but I've no doubt I'll be fixing that. Some fun, huh?<br /><br />Last night I met my neighbors David, Edgar, and Ana on <a href="http://sailslowdance.com/">Slow Dance</a>, a beautiful 80 foot charter boat for day sails and overnights. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g0IEfLfqI/AAAAAAAABE4/_oDuQmzihhw/s1600-h/SlowDance.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g0IEfLfqI/AAAAAAAABE4/_oDuQmzihhw/s200/SlowDance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154427086773649058" border="0" /></a>It was built in New Zealand, and is stunningly engineered. I think it could sail through a hurricane without noticing. The interior is gorgeous, spacious and their galley is larger than most apartments. They are just getting started in this marina, so if you happen to be in town and want to take a a ride on a fabulous boat with wonderful crew, check them out. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g2pUfLftI/AAAAAAAABFQ/o3xmQr6RwuA/s1600-h/SlowDanceGalley.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4g2pUfLftI/AAAAAAAABFQ/o3xmQr6RwuA/s200/SlowDanceGalley.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154429857027555026" border="0" /></a>They have been fantastically great neighbors, offering rides, help with mechanical issues and even taken me out to see a movie. The friendliness and generosity of the cruisers I've met never ceases to amaze me.<br /><br />In the meantime I'm adding additional bilge pumps, a high water alarm, some other indicator lights, sealing hatches, etc. There are a lot of little items that need to be done before I'd feel comfortable setting out, but it should only be a few days time for me to get everything, as they say, ship shape. I've rented a car so I can run into town for parts when I need to, and got my cell phone working so I can call folks when I have to without spending precious satellite phone minutes. Even though there is so much work to do, and such a daunting task ahead, I find myself in much better spirits. I hadn't realized how much stress being around two other folks who were continually inebriated was creating for me.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4w3zEfLf2I/AAAAAAAABGY/vXecQSkvQRA/s1600-h/CaboBeachFront.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4w3zEfLf2I/AAAAAAAABGY/vXecQSkvQRA/s320/CaboBeachFront.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5155557023949750114" border="0" /></a> With the horrors of Cabo's "no holds barred tourist town idiocy" behind me, the previous crew's party/pass out/pout cycle broken, and the nagging doubts about their ability to stay sane and sober for the trip north removed, I feel much happier and the change has done wonders for my mood. I've even smiled a bit, though it would cheer me up no end if a few cruise ships full of fat, obnoxious, jet ski renting, pasty white Americans sank.<br /><br />So, on that rather dour note, I will leave you all to whatever reading you should have been up to instead of wasting another perfectly good ten minutes scanning my blog. Surely you have better things to do with you time? I know I'm supposed to be fixing something or other. Well, it's back to the sea salt mines for me, and perhaps for you charter accountancy, or Java programming, or filing forms or whatever it is you do instead of boat repair.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/trouble-in-river-city.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/san-jose-anti-hell.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-26113105370119253502008-01-07T16:50:00.000-08:002008-03-03T11:33:49.981-08:00Trouble In River City<div class="moz-text-html" lang="x-western"><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/cabo-san-lucas-dantes-bad-dream.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2005/01/what-difference-harbor-makes.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Hey Folks,<br /><br />Well, today was a pretty sad day for me. Robinson and Jessica were asked to leave the boat, and under pretty unpleasant circumstances. I'm sure that their story will bear no resemblance to mine, nor is it one I really want to rehash, so I won't bore you with any details, but a general explanation is in order.<br /><br />Suffice to say that I have very few restrictions about what goes on aboard the boat, but those I do have are pretty important to me and I don't tolerate exceptions. They are all stated repeatedly in previous blogs, and are things I mention explicitly to every crew member that comes aboard. The most important ones are 1) do not bring illegal drugs on board, 2) put in at least one solid hour of work a day on the boat, or whatever is required at the moment, 3) man your shifts sober [that includes not being hung over], 4) respect me, my boat and its equipment, 5) do not yell or argue with the captain during critical situations such as docking, anchoring, bringing in sails, etc. [save that discussion for a calmer moment], 6) do nothing that will endanger yourself, the crew, or the boat. Most importantly, don't whine, pout, fume, grumble or bitch. In under one week, both Robinson and Jessica managed to violate all of those rules in one manner or the other, repeatedly.<br /><br />It was a very difficult last few days, there were several arguments, and a lot of tension. I understood that introducing Jessica to Robinson might create a distracting dynamic, but I underestimated how much of an impact this would have. I believe, on their own, either of them would have been perfectly reasonable and capable of pulling their own weight. But together it was like throwing gasoline on a fire. Bringing them to Cabo San Lucas was like tossing in hand grenades. Their party animal attitudes quickly became a costly liability, resulting in hundreds of dollars in additional costs to me, and unnecessary delay, not to mention having to deal with very drunk behavior and a complete lack of help. They were more interested in getting wasted than getting things done, and it became apparent to me that this pattern would only continue if not get worse. So we parted ways.<br /><br />Unfortunately, that means I am without crew for the moment, and facing a pretty difficult trek north by myself. On the bright side, this is a solid boat that I have sailed almost four thousand miles in blue water through some pretty tough seas. It is easily handled, stout and capable of taking on whatever you throw at it. I'm not sure I can say as much for the captain, but I am looking forward to the challenge. I've researched this next leg pretty thoroughly, and many folks have done it single handedly, even in winter. There are some risks in going alone, but none that aren't already part of sailing.<br /><br />In the meantime I jumped back into the marina for a day, but it isn't cost effective to stay there, and need to look for a better harbor to rest and prepare. There are some additional items that I need to address before heading north alone. Minor things that could have waited, but items that I want fixed now if I'm going to be out at sea by myself. I'll probably head up the coast a bit first and look for a quiet anchorage where I can accomplish these tasks and rest up.<br /><br />In the mean time I wish you all a happy new year, fair winds and following seas.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/cabo-san-lucas-dantes-bad-dream.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2005/01/what-difference-harbor-makes.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-6226153762313282752008-01-02T21:41:00.000-08:002008-01-11T19:11:48.969-08:00Cabo San Lucas, Dante's Bad Dream.<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/12/espiritu-santu-los-frailes-and-approach.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/trouble-in-river-city.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,<br /><br />The following is my less than positive review of Cabo San Lucas. As a tourist destination, it has set new lows. In fact, you'd have to get a shovel and dig down further just to find the bottom of the low this place set. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4Vf8EfLfWI/AAAAAAAABCc/cRUKVZwkGeE/s1600-h/CaboArches.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4Vf8EfLfWI/AAAAAAAABCc/cRUKVZwkGeE/s200/CaboArches.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153630834196708706" border="0" /></a>We arrived here on the 30th, just as the sun was setting, passed by the famous rock arch just at the tip of Cabo, and pulled into the marina fuel dock. We'd tried to raise the marina staff by radio as we were coming in, but they never responded, apparently there is something wrong with our VHF, but we tied up at the fuel dock, found a security guard and he radioed over and got us a slip.<br /><br />We motored into the marina and tied up on an end tie. That was our first mistake. We were happy to be on a dock again, and there were places to eat within twenty yards of the dock gate. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4VgsEfLfXI/AAAAAAAABCk/mdIhPZJM5xc/s1600-h/2007-12-30+18-33-54_0010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4VgsEfLfXI/AAAAAAAABCk/mdIhPZJM5xc/s320/2007-12-30+18-33-54_0010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153631658830429554" border="0" /></a>We were tired, needed a shower and some solid ground after being that long on the boat. We went out to dinner and had an absolutely reasonable meal but paid four hundred dollars for it. Yes, that was four hundred dollars for what was maybe a two hundred dollar meal at a great restaurant in Berkeley, but without the really great food. Okay, its almost New Year, we knew it was a tourist town, what the fuck, let's celebrate. Then we started looking around. That was our second mistake.<br /><br />Forget what you've heard about fire and brimstone. Ignore those warnings of eternal suffering. Blow a kiss to Satan and wish him the best, he's last year's news. Hell has been outdone, and it surpasses anything in any of Dante's seven circles. Worse still, if anyone was going to do it, you guessed it, it was done by us, America, the Great Satan, with the help of our Mexican cousins. This place is everything that is wrong with America and Mexico combined, but compressed into about two square miles.<br /><br />Yes folks, step right up to Dante's All Night Eighth Circle Special Reserve Takeaway Pit Of Despair [All The Ennui You Can Eat!!], and abandon all hope. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4VhGkfLfYI/AAAAAAAABCs/aZ5ryyk8OOU/s1600-h/2007-12-31+21-14-27_0047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4VhGkfLfYI/AAAAAAAABCs/aZ5ryyk8OOU/s320/2007-12-31+21-14-27_0047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153632114096962946" border="0" /></a>There is no place on earth I have been to that compares with the horror that is Cabo San Lucas. I have been here four days, and I've only smiled once, and that was only because a fourteen year old drunk Oklahoman jet skier crashed into an extremely overweight Louisianan para-sailer's tow boat, cutting the line and crashing him onto the stern of a glass bottom boat loaded with cigar touting Texans, sinking all aboard, but not before first careening into a Floridian fishing boat, which hit a cruise ship unloading Californians and burst into flames. Ah, that was a moment I will cherish for a long time.<br /><br />"But no!" I hear you cry, "Hell is God's own punishment, nothing could be worse!" Gentle reader, sitting there in your comfy chair perusing your computer screen, do not be fooled. Oh, sure Perdition might have demons, and pits of burning tar, and souls roasting on a spit; but Cabo has that on Tuesdays during the off season, except there is a cover charge. And unlike Cabo San Lucas, Hell has class. Say what you want, but Lucifer knows a thing or two about color schemes. Search all through hell and you won't find a single fallen angel who is overweight, pasty white and wearing pink Bermuda shorts, black nylon socks, gray loafers and a T-shirt that says "I got laid at CaboWabo".<br /><br />Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. In fact, there is no hope. At least in Hell you know that there is the slight possibility that God will intervene on your behalf. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gp70fLfeI/AAAAAAAABDc/ahGXHL57LGA/s1600-h/MoronsOnJetSkies2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gp70fLfeI/AAAAAAAABDc/ahGXHL57LGA/s200/MoronsOnJetSkies2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154415881203973602" border="0" /></a>Not even God would bother with Cabo. It's as if the producers of "Married With Children" were allowed to build an entire theme park and got the Jerry Springer show to handle reservations and talent.<br /><br />Imagine Puerto Vallarta, done in the style of Las Vegas but without a single head liner act. Drain away any semblance of class, refinement or taste. Next remove all laws around noise, drugs, prostitution, pollution, or operating motor vehicles while intoxicated,. Double the prices, reduce the quality, lower the I.Q., deep fry it, add day old soggy chips. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gqbUfLffI/AAAAAAAABDk/JAedQaXVwNk/s1600-h/MoronsOnJetSkies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gqbUfLffI/AAAAAAAABDk/JAedQaXVwNk/s320/MoronsOnJetSkies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154416422369852914" border="0" /></a>Then, inject several cruise ships worth of Red State Americans, and their teenage children who hate their parents and have all the self restraint of severe Tourette's syndrome patients, and give them all credit cards. Sprinkle generously with twenty three year old bimbos sporting huge fake tits (the kind that cause back problems) in low cut mini-skirt dresses and their thirty something lawyer husbands smoking bad cigars. Add several thousand gallons of alcohol, cocaine and pot. Mix thoroughly, then garnish with unbridled consumption.<br /><br />Oh, and I forgot to put sewage on the list of ingredients. Cabo smells. I have a lousy sense of smell (if it isn't rotting for a week, I won't notice) and I can smell the septic system wafting out over the waterfront. I thought the boat was on fire last night, or maybe something died. I went around sniffing several pairs of shoes I owned before I realized the smell was coming from shore. That's bad. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gs4EfLfhI/AAAAAAAABD0/X5mwFBEL1t4/s1600-h/2008-01-02+01-46-03_0041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gs4EfLfhI/AAAAAAAABD0/X5mwFBEL1t4/s200/2008-01-02+01-46-03_0041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154419115314347538" border="0" /></a>We are one hundred yards from land, and the hotels are three deep behind that, and I can still smell it. If I can notice it, it's bad.<br /><br />Oh, and everything is expensive, but on an absurd scale. The Cabo San Lucas marina charged two hundred dollars a night. Now, I'm all for free market capitalism, but what you get for that a facility no better than Puerto Vallarta but with a Gestapo-like system of guards, gates and restrictions. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gsJUfLfgI/AAAAAAAABDs/q4RV9zt2ci4/s1600-h/2008-01-09+01-31-23_0031.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gsJUfLfgI/AAAAAAAABDs/q4RV9zt2ci4/s200/2008-01-09+01-31-23_0031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154418312155463170" border="0" /></a>You very much get the feeling that the blue shirts aren't there so much to protect you as to make sure you don't violate their long list of rules. They sure didn't stop someone from stealing the stainless steel anchor lock pin from my bow roller, or, according to the guy in the boat across from me, a dingy and motor off his boat. But it does mean that there will be someone standing on the dock in a uniform at three in the morning shinning a light into your boat to see if you are home or not. Now, I've been to quite a few marinas, seen quite a few harbors and believe I have some reasonable yardstick to judge by. This place is worse than hell!<br /><br />The marina itself is surrounded by tourist bars, restaurants, jewelry stores, street merchants, the ever popular homeless, natives selling trinkets (the same trinkets are for sale in all the schlock shops that are just outside the marina), drug dealers and hookers. Lots of drug dealers and hookers. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4guf0fLfjI/AAAAAAAABEE/1XWMLKI56ss/s1600-h/2008-01-09+05-27-29_0043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4guf0fLfjI/AAAAAAAABEE/1XWMLKI56ss/s200/2008-01-09+05-27-29_0043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154420897725775410" border="0" /></a>The two guys pictured here offered me coke every time I walked by. I've been propositioned every night I walked down the dock for illegal drugs or sex. Now, in California, most folks think I'm a cop. I look like a cop. I walk like a cop. Other cops often think I'm off duty. So I was a bit surprised to be asked continuously if I wanted to partake in any number of illegal activities. That was until I noticed the same folks offering their contraband and services to most of the families that were here on vacation. Just exactly how many Nebraskan doctors bring their kids along when they buy a hooker and an eight ball of coke is anyone's guess, but I'm betting it's a small number. How do they do it? VOLUME! You ask enough families from Nebraska, eventually someone will want to snort a line with the wife and kids.<br /><br />One of the most annoying things are the street merchants that line to boardwalk around the marina. These are almost all native Indian women over the age of sixty (or maybe they are twenty three but have been dessicated), with at least two children under the age of six. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gtgkfLfiI/AAAAAAAABD8/psogUcD5_Os/s1600-h/2008-01-09+01-33-24_0033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4gtgkfLfiI/AAAAAAAABD8/psogUcD5_Os/s320/2008-01-09+01-33-24_0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154419811099049506" border="0" /></a>They each spread out a small blanket, fill it full of small junk dolls, various carvings, cheap necklaces and other bottom line jewelry, and flutes. The flutes are small round clay pipes that have several holes called an ocarina. They are a native indian instrument. You play them by placing your fingers over the holes and blowing into them. You can achieve numerous different sounds by lifting various combinations of fingers. No one selling these flutes has learned how to do this. Instead, they blow into the flute and wiggle one finger on and off one hole. It produces exactly two notes. Deedadeedadeedadeeda. This is all you hear as you walk down the boulevard. Deedadeedadeedadeeda. There is one every thirty yards. Deedadeedadeedadeeda. Then another. Deedadeedadeedadeeda. And just one more before I can reach the marina office. Deedadeedadeedadeeda.<br /><br />Look, I'm not expecting the Ode To Joy, but they are selling a musical instrument that a five year old could play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" in about an hours worth of practice, and none of the hawkers have learned to play anything more complicated than a police siren. The same two notes, every thirty yards. And, if you don't want to buy, they beg. The hand out, pleading look, holding up their child for sale kind of begging. It is beyond disgusting. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4VnNkfLfcI/AAAAAAAABDM/Jngl4F-3Pmo/s1600-h/amp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4VnNkfLfcI/AAAAAAAABDM/Jngl4F-3Pmo/s320/amp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153638831425813954" border="0" /></a>It wants to make you rip out your soul and have it washed, dried then dry cleaned. Deedadeedadeedadeeda. Hell should take lessons.<br /><br />We spent a second night at the marina. It was New Year's eve, AnnMarie was leaving in the morning, plus it was just that much easier for her to get to the airport from here, then having us ferry her back from the boat in the dinghy once we were out in the harbor. Since it was New Year's Eve, Cabo was packed with wild and crazy guys looking to party. There was thumping music all night long, revelers in the street, and drunks everywhere. There was a great fireworks display as well. In fact, that might have been the only non-tacky thing about our time in the marina. A fireworks display we could easily have watched from someplace else.<br /><br />Oh, and the bands. No doubt "I want to stay at the Y.M.C.A." is still a big hit throughout the world, but watching it performed by a middle aged, overweight Mexican in spandex pants accompanied only by a karaoke machine was gut wrenching. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4VhvEfLfZI/AAAAAAAABC0/xUlI28xaPQg/s1600-h/2007-12-31+10-24-39_0038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4VhvEfLfZI/AAAAAAAABC0/xUlI28xaPQg/s320/2007-12-31+10-24-39_0038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153632809881664914" border="0" /></a>If ever they decide to make a musical of the 9/11 World Trade Center attack, I nominate this guy for the sound track. This marina was chockablock full of bands of all flavors and varying degrees of mediocrity. Even the best of them (see picture above) had at least one guy who was obviously bored out of his mind or over medicated. It looked like the vibes player was going to fall asleep at any moment except he never blinked. You very much got the impression that the entire marina was trying to hold a party but had never been to one before and didn't really know what was supposed to go on. There were a startlingly large number of middled aged couples sitting around looking bored, tired, over fed. This might probably have been the one right wing event in the northern hemisphere where Janet Jackson flashing a nipple would have been applauded.<br /><br />Ann and I walked around a bit more, but there was just nothing going on. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4Vk_UfLfaI/AAAAAAAABC8/CAC6Q0z-5hY/s1600-h/2007-12-31+10-50-13_0044.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4Vk_UfLfaI/AAAAAAAABC8/CAC6Q0z-5hY/s200/2007-12-31+10-50-13_0044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153636387589422498" border="0" /></a>For all its hype, this town just doesn't know how to party. Trinidad on a Tuesday was more fun. We did find a titty bar though. At least, I think that was what it was. Either that our they sell bolt-ons.<br /><br />We left the next morning and motored out into the harbor and dropped the hook. That was our third mistake. The harbor runs along side the beach that lines the western side of Cabo, just inside of the small spit of rocks that jut out and give some protection from the Northern swells. They give absolutely no protection from the cruise ships that anchor a few hundred yards away, and regularly discharge (I'm using this word in the sense of an open wound and puss) tourists who then rent every conceivable water vehicle available and give them to their children.<br /><br />We were continuously surrounded by fourteen year old boys on jet skis doing doughnuts around our boat (not just ours, every other boat in the harbor), ski boats pulling either skiers, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4Vll0fLfbI/AAAAAAAABDE/vauouHyRbKc/s1600-h/2008-01-02+01-32-51_0033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4Vll0fLfbI/AAAAAAAABDE/vauouHyRbKc/s320/2008-01-02+01-32-51_0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153637049014386098" border="0" /></a>dozens of idiots on rafts shaped like bananas or morons hanging from a parachute, power boats racing by at top speed dodging in between everything else, water taxis loaded with tourists leaving three foot wakes, and garbage floating in the water. At sunrise it would be quiet, calm and serene. By ten it was bedlam and stayed that way until sundown. I began devising ways of stringing razor wire between the cruising boats, but quickly realized that decapitating a tourist would have no noticeable effect, it might even improve their IQ. Hell doesn't have a circle that comes close to this.<br /><br />The only bright spot in all of this was a coffee shop I stopped into a few blocks out of town. I had been wandering around trying to find a place to get internet access since we were out of the marina and stumbled into <a href="http://cabocoffee.com/">Cabo Coffee Company</a>. They served good coffee, decent ice cream and had a great internet connection. I ordered a cup of coffee and some mocha ice cream and sat down to use their wireless. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4Vn7kfLfdI/AAAAAAAABDU/QIHXAMjUm4s/s1600-h/2008-01-02+07-04-09_0045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R4Vn7kfLfdI/AAAAAAAABDU/QIHXAMjUm4s/s320/2008-01-02+07-04-09_0045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153639621699796434" border="0" /></a>Unfortunately, this was the moment my credit card company decided all my cards were stolen. I was cash poor, five pesos short of my bill, but the cashier wouldn't take any American quarters, he just smiled and said not to worry.<br /><br />I sat there working on the net when Denise, the manager came in. She had just done her first ever sky dive and was there with her <a href="http://skydiveelsol.com/">instructor</a> showing the other workers the video of it. She checked in to make sure everything was fine and that I was happy with the service. It was the first decent customer experience I'd had there. So far it is the only one. If you are ever in Cabo, look her up and mention my name.<br /><br />So, we are on the hook again, getting ready for the long trek up north. There are numerous storms battering the northern coast of California, which is actually good for me, because the low pressure systems mean Southerly winds. I hope to be out of here in the next day or so, we need to reprovision, add Jessica to the crew list, and get everything ready for the Baja Bash. It is the perfect ending to our time in hell.<br /><br />So, on that cheery note, I will bid you all farewell, and hope that your New Year's resolutions include never coming to this hell hole.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/12/espiritu-santu-los-frailes-and-approach.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/trouble-in-river-city.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-38325924573565331232007-12-30T17:15:00.000-08:002008-01-08T22:13:52.749-08:00Espiritu Santu, Los Frailes and the approach to Cabo San Lucas<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/la-paz-city-of-peace-and-quiet.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/cabo-san-lucas-dantes-bad-dream.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br />Feliz Anos Nuevo!<br /><br />We spent Christmas at anchor in La Paz, a town I haven't been to in over fifteen years, but I'd always had very fond memories of it. It was a sleepy little town of dirt roads, adobe homes and very chill people. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xAjkfLfPI/AAAAAAAABBk/PFW80kz6Koc/s1600-h/SunsetInLaPaz.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xAjkfLfPI/AAAAAAAABBk/PFW80kz6Koc/s320/SunsetInLaPaz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151063053639056626" border="0" /></a>It is now a well developed city with a broad boardwalk that lines the bay, hundreds of hotels, restaurants, bars, souvenir shops, ice cream parlors, and real estate agencies. But the laid back attitude is still there, and of all the cruising spots in Mexico it is definitely one of my favorites. The locals are very friendly, happy and relaxed. There is still a feeling of being in a small town. Naturally the sunsets were spectacular, but it has been very cold and windy, with Northerlies blowing down the Sea of Cortes and whitecaps inside the bay. Getting back and forth by dinghy has been a damp experience most days.<br /><br />We've spent a few days in harbor, enjoying ourselves, resting, and making repairs to the boat. One of the most important ones has been to the hot water heater. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w34EfLe4I/AAAAAAAAA-s/2Tr7AXtvoZE/s1600-h/2007-12-23+00-20-21_0041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w34EfLe4I/AAAAAAAAA-s/2Tr7AXtvoZE/s320/2007-12-23+00-20-21_0041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151053510221724546" border="0" /></a>One of the fittings started leaking a while back, so we disconnected it. That was somewhere in the Caribbean, I think, and it really wasn't an issue until we hit Mexico. Before then, if you wanted hot water, you just dove overboard. Since we crossed the Tehaunapecs, it has gotten progressively colder, and, not surprisingly, the crew has become somewhat more piquant. Somewhere around the Tropic of Cancer we realized that not having a water heater was going to become a real problem, i mean, we like each other and all, but after three or four days at sea without bathing, you just don't want to be downwind of anyone. So we raced around town looking for parts to get it working again. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xIO0fLfRI/AAAAAAAABB0/ljrxcYgvhZs/s1600-h/RobinsonShowering.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xIO0fLfRI/AAAAAAAABB0/ljrxcYgvhZs/s200/RobinsonShowering.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151071493249793298" border="0" /></a>We've managed to cobble something together, enough that we can now avoid hypothermia and/or trench foot.<br /><br />We've also been eating well. AnnMarie is aboard now, so the food has been fantastic. Plus she brought down a full duffel bag of food and treats from the states, including various cheeses and chocolates, so while our appetites are always sated, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w7mEfLe_I/AAAAAAAAA_k/K55HMPGkkkU/s1600-h/2007-12-27+04-04-47_0019.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w7mEfLe_I/AAAAAAAAA_k/K55HMPGkkkU/s320/2007-12-27+04-04-47_0019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151057599030590450" border="0" /></a>our waist lines are increasing at about the same rate as the universe. When I first met Ann, she had been working as a pastry chef for the Fog City Dinner, in San Francisco. We dated briefly and then she moved on to the boat and began cooking up mouth watering meals that lacked for nothing except caloric restraint. Each night I would come home to what any condemned man might demand on the night before a hanging, and quickly realized that if I kept eating such rich food, I'd probably end up dead as well.<br /><br />Not wanting to offend her by asking her to stop doing what was clearly a great talent and what she so obviously loved, I foolishly concocted a goof ball story that there was a terrible propane leak and I needed to disconnect the stove, leaving her with only a microwave oven and a ten inch barbecue grill to work with. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w740fLfAI/AAAAAAAAA_s/6eAeOq0WWyU/s1600-h/2007-12-27+18-47-19_0044.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w740fLfAI/AAAAAAAAA_s/6eAeOq0WWyU/s320/2007-12-27+18-47-19_0044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151057921153137666" border="0" /></a>While that slowed her down some, she continued to make fabulous food and eventually (several years later!) I admitted that the stove was actually okay to use. I continued to gain weight but that is only because where good food is concerned I can resist anything but temptation. Since she has been aboard we've had nothing but delicious, fattening meals...unfortunately there seems to be a problem with the gas line where it attaches to the stove, so I've had to disconnect it. Oddly enough, we do have a microwave oven and a barbecue grill, so no worries, eh?<br /><br />On Boxing Day we pulled anchor and set sail for Espiritu Santu, the large island just north of the hooked tip of La Paz. Of course, the batteries died just as we were getting ready to leave the fuel dock, so we ended up stranded there another night until we could get new ones. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w_rUfLfKI/AAAAAAAABA8/Vqyvl2W0GcU/s1600-h/AnnMarieOnAftBench.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w_rUfLfKI/AAAAAAAABA8/Vqyvl2W0GcU/s320/AnnMarieOnAftBench.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151062087271414946" border="0" /></a>Fortunately there were two available, at an ungodly price, but there is definitely something wrong with the electrical system of this boat, and I've no doubt I'll be investing some serious effort into tracking down just what is causing the problem. For now, we throw money at the problem. Isn't sailing fun! Especially for AnnMarie, who has to work to keep me in the style to which I've become accustomed: a grungy, dirty, smelly boat repairman.<br /><br />The winds had been fierce lately, with gale warnings most days. There was some talk of the harbor captain closing the port, preventing any boats from leaving, so we wanted to get outside the harbor just in case. We were eventually headed south, so while forty knots and fifteen foot seas may sound like a lot, in this boat and in that direction it was actually a walk in the park. The only problem was that we'd need to go a few miles up wind to get to the relatively well protected anchorages out at the island. The La Paz harbor entrance is actually quite long, with a very small entrance just at the southern end, and the channel is paralleled by a sand bar for most of it. While it looks tempting to just shoot across, doing so will leave you stuck in the sand until high tide. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w4cEfLe6I/AAAAAAAAA-8/sFRkWwTNkvk/s1600-h/2007-12-25+21-29-13_0010.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w4cEfLe6I/AAAAAAAAA-8/sFRkWwTNkvk/s320/2007-12-25+21-29-13_0010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151054128697015202" border="0" /></a>Not a good place to be when the winds pick up. We could see five foot high breakers crashing along it as we motored out.<br /><br />The day before we left we heard one of the marinas hailing a boat coming in from the sea and trying to cut across the bar. It was deceptively calm then, high tide, and perhaps they thought they might find enough water to get across. It is a long way around to the channel entrance, and skipping over might seem like a lot easier solution, but it isn't. We heard "Vessel approaching La Paz harbor, you are heading towards shallow water, alter course or you will run aground" on channel 16, the VHF distress hailing frequency that all sailors should monitor when at sea. There was no response. The marina repeated its warning several more times, each time being more explicit about describing the boat, its position and what course to take, but they never acknowledged the call or altered course. A few minutes later the vessel came on over the radio <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w-PUfLfHI/AAAAAAAABAk/iQpgn84Ycu4/s1600-h/2007-12-28+19-42-49_0081.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w-PUfLfHI/AAAAAAAABAk/iQpgn84Ycu4/s320/2007-12-28+19-42-49_0081.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151060506723449970" border="0" /></a>"Ah, who ever that was warning us about the sand bar, thanks...but we're stuck. So, where is that damn channel anyway?" I just hope I'm never on the same freeway with that guy.<br /><br />Once out of the harbor we put up the sails in about thirty knots and close hauled our way northwest for an hour or two. Triton seems to go to weather best in strong breezes, and she bounced along at eight knots in some of the finest sailing we've done on her yet, but we've had to dress warmly and even wear hats! Eventually we tacked back to the northeast and reached for the island. We arrived just in time for yet another glorious sunset, and dropped anchor in a small bay towards the eastern end of the island, tucked in behind two smaller islands called, one called "Cock Island", the other "Chicken Island", at least that's what Robinson claims their names are, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w8vkfLfDI/AAAAAAAABAE/x0PijoyTJOs/s1600-h/2007-12-27+21-27-04_0050.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w8vkfLfDI/AAAAAAAABAE/x0PijoyTJOs/s320/2007-12-27+21-27-04_0050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151058861750975538" border="0" /></a>but would you trust anything a man wearing that hat would say? We spent a couple of days there, but never felt totally protected from the wind. The strong north east blows would crest over the cliffs to our north and race down into the anchorage. We put down a second anchor, but even still, the wind was cold and there wasn't much to do.<br /><br />We eventually moved further north, hoping to find a good anchorage near a well know sea lion roost. Robinson had hoped to do some snorkeling there, but the waves were too large to be safe, so we decided to head further north but were slammed by the gale force winds whipping down the bay. We bashed along but soon realized we had too much sail up. It was quite a struggle to get the jib back in under such<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xLaEfLfSI/AAAAAAAABB8/vjx6W28Y_Ns/s1600-h/2007-12-27+21-26-18_0046.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xLaEfLfSI/AAAAAAAABB8/vjx6W28Y_Ns/s200/2007-12-27+21-26-18_0046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151074985058204962" border="0" /></a> strong conditions, and in the process Jessica banged her hand pretty badly against the winch. Just another reminder how quickly things can go from glorious to horrific when sailing. We decided to duck out of the wind and found shelter inside a small bight off Islas Partida, a smaller island just north of Espiritu Santu. We spent the night, and although the water was crystal clear, there wasn't much else we could do but enjoy the scenery. Baja is just beautiful. I'd always been impressed by the Mexicans love for their country, and having seen a significant part of its coastline, I understand why. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xL5kfLfTI/AAAAAAAABCE/RywNtQZLOwE/s1600-h/2007-12-28+08-42-13_0078.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xL5kfLfTI/AAAAAAAABCE/RywNtQZLOwE/s200/2007-12-28+08-42-13_0078.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151075526224084274" border="0" /></a>The red and brown cliffs, bright blue waters and dark green cactus make a perfect pallet of colors. That night there was a blood red moon low in the sky just over Robinson's hatch. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xDj0fLfQI/AAAAAAAABBs/IPd9Oz1kFKE/s1600-h/100_2929.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xDj0fLfQI/AAAAAAAABBs/IPd9Oz1kFKE/s320/100_2929.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151066356468907266" border="0" /></a>I tried to photograph it, but with the wind and waves bouncing us around, the boat never stopped rolling enough for me to take anything but a blurry shot. At least, I hope that was what happened.<br /><br />We then headed south, down towards Cabo San Lucas, but stopped for a night at Los Frailes, a nice beach open to the ocean from the east and south, but protected from the northerly wind that had been pushing us along by a large cliff that extends eastwards off the beach for several hundred meters. There are a few homes, hotels and palapas along beach, and the sea is teeming with fish. We watched as manta rays jumped up several feet out of the water and splashed down again and again. Jessica sat on the deck with binoculars and watched the cute guys walk along the beach. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xAQEfLfNI/AAAAAAAABBU/RwSFTWHtvOQ/s1600-h/PaintingOfAnnMarieCleaningBoat.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xAQEfLfNI/AAAAAAAABBU/RwSFTWHtvOQ/s320/PaintingOfAnnMarieCleaningBoat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151062718631607506" border="0" /></a>The water was a bit warmer, so AnnMarie decided to do some spring cleaning and scrubbed the barnacles and algae that had accumulated during our stay in Puerto Vallarta. I took a great shot of her, but we modified the image a bit just in case she ever decides to run for senate. The original photo is better.<br /><br />We left there the next morning and headed for Cabo San Lucas. We had hoped to be able to sail most of the way, but the wind and waves were very high, and dead on our stern, which made it very difficult to do so. We motored along, and I eventually let out a drogue. This is a small, cone shaped parachute that provides resistance against yawing side to side when a wave comes up from behind and tries to twist the stern around. We had used it once before, but this time <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xQiUfLfVI/AAAAAAAABCU/HVjXhKEE8x8/s1600-h/100_2931.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xQiUfLfVI/AAAAAAAABCU/HVjXhKEE8x8/s200/100_2931.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151080624350264658" border="0" /></a>I had rigged up a second line to it, supposedly to make it easier to retrieve. It ended up fouling around the main line and collapsing the chute, but it still provided just enough drag to make running with the waves comfortable. I definitely need to figure out a better solution for getting the drogue back on board. Any suggestions would be most welcome.<br /><br />As we approached Cabo San Lucas AnnMarie caught a beautiful Dorado, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xOVkfLfUI/AAAAAAAABCM/bEAmACL3ObA/s1600-h/2007-12-31+03-14-09_0026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3xOVkfLfUI/AAAAAAAABCM/bEAmACL3ObA/s200/2007-12-31+03-14-09_0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151078206283676994" border="0" /></a>and we had a delicious dinner that evening. AnnMarie also made a tub of ceviche, which was incredible. Robinson and I fought over the last portion of it, and at one point I thought it might come to bloodshed, since we were both armed with forks. Ultimately we each shoveled as much in our mouths as we could, pushing food off the others fork whenever possible. You think its dangerous to get between a bear and her cub? Try standing in between a hungry sailor and one of Amp's recipes and you'll learn the true meaning of danger.<br /><br />We reached the harbor towards sunset, and went past Cabo's famous archway on our way into the very well protected marina. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w_YkfLfII/AAAAAAAABAs/_qXzgjrNcug/s1600-h/2007-12-30+03-57-55_0011.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3w_YkfLfII/AAAAAAAABAs/_qXzgjrNcug/s320/2007-12-30+03-57-55_0011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151061765148867714" border="0" /></a>Later on we'll probably take the dinghy over and try some snorkeling, if the weather permits. For now, we are heading into civilization again, and will probably spend at least one night dockside. That means hot showers, restaurant food, bad tourist attractions and tacky Americana, but I could use the rest. It has been a long trip and I'm looking forward to getting home. We need only get through a few days in Cabo, reprovision, fix whatever is broken, and then we are headed up the hill for Ensenada, then sunny San Diego and ultimately San Francisco Bay! In the meantime, I wish everyone a happy new year and hope this next one will be even better.<br /><br />Cheers for now!<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/la-paz-city-of-peace-and-quiet.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/01/cabo-san-lucas-dantes-bad-dream.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-57103789088594863982007-12-25T22:49:00.000-08:002008-01-11T19:54:44.209-08:00La Paz, City of Peace and Quiet<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/mazatlan-nice-place-to-visit-but-you.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/12/espiritu-santu-los-frailes-and-approach.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br />Feliz Navidad!!<br /><br />That's Spanish for Merry Christmas, or, more accurately, "Happy Tacky Season". Now, where trailer trash decor is concerned, I come from some serious stock. My paternal grandparents used any holiday as a reason to redecorate their home inside and out. The Season Of Good Cheer was the pinnacle of their efforts. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3quJUfLeuI/AAAAAAAAA9c/DE17rys7IuA/s1600-h/2007-12-20+20-59-32_0018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3quJUfLeuI/AAAAAAAAA9c/DE17rys7IuA/s320/2007-12-20+20-59-32_0018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150620598993124066" border="0" /></a>They spent at least two months preparing for the blessed event and every inch of their converted 800 square foot bungalow was awash with decorations. They hand-painted the windows with scenes of snowmen, elves, and sleigh bells. There were no less than three full-size Christmas trees inside, along with every ceramic Santa statue every offered at Dottie's Paint And Bake Ceramic Emporium. The roof was adorned with a life-size Santa along with his sleigh and reindeer, including Rudolph with lighted nose. There was a five foot high, fully lighted Frosty The Snowman on the lawn, along with enough Christmas lights to affect the power grid in New Jersey.<br /><br />At night, people would stop in front of their house and gawk. Some of them didn't smirk or laugh, but only because they were waiting for their eyes to adjust. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q3nUfLe2I/AAAAAAAAA-c/gsY0vyO_CPY/s1600-h/2007-12-23+23-20-35_0052.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q3nUfLe2I/AAAAAAAAA-c/gsY0vyO_CPY/s200/2007-12-23+23-20-35_0052.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150631009993849698" border="0" /></a>If homes were people, my grandmother's would have been a six foot tall drag queen with pink lipstick, standing on silver high heels in a purple mini skirt and furry yellow bra holding a Mai Tai and smoking a filterless camel. My mother, whose sense of taste was more refined than pure Uranium, referred to Grandma's decorating sense as "Early Halloween". So, I have a special place in my heart for really, really tacky decorations. Whenever I see fuzzy dice hanging from a rear view mirror, or those large breasted silhouettes on mud flaps, or a skinny guy with a mullet wearing a guinea T-shirt, it makes me homesick. That's why Mexico in general, and La Paz in particular, has really touched a special place in my heart.<br /><br />Mexico's culture, being almost entirely Roman Catholic, has really embraced Christmas for all it is worth. It doesn't matter that they don't get snow, they get Wal-mart, consumer capitalism and a complete lack of self restraint where really bad Christmas decorations are concerned. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3qyGEfLewI/AAAAAAAAA9s/qXXBx2MJHeE/s1600-h/2007-12-14+19-25-24_0039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3qyGEfLewI/AAAAAAAAA9s/qXXBx2MJHeE/s320/2007-12-14+19-25-24_0039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150624941205060354" border="0" /></a>They seem to have zeroed in on absolutely the tackiest stuff they can get their hands on. I mean this is stuff my grandmother wouldn't have hesitated over. Oh, and really, really bad statutes. And strange restroom signs.<br /><br />There is also no end of strange, odd, and out right bizarre bronze creations lining the boulevards that skirt the water's edge. For a culture that is very, very conservative where most other things are concerned, they seem to lack any self-restraint for about three weeks before each new year, or anything made from metal. We've included only a few of the thousands of examples of Mexico's idea of holiday cheer. The video of the dancing Santa was taken from the desk of a local marina. The giant Christmas tree lined with <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q4g0fLe3I/AAAAAAAAA-k/XFVC7EL3p0Y/s1600-h/2007-12-23+00-12-46_0030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q4g0fLe3I/AAAAAAAAA-k/XFVC7EL3p0Y/s200/2007-12-23+00-12-46_0030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150631997836327794" border="0" /></a>CocaCola insignia dominated the center of a town square, just in front of the main church. Crass, gaudy and something I'd only expect in New Jersey.<br /><br />The ride across the Sea of Cortez was uneventful, although it was a bit difficult with only the two of us because it meant not getting enough sleep. We did catch quite a few very big tuna. Our filleting skills are improving, so we've ended up with quite a lot of fish and have had great meals when Robinson cooked and almost tolerable ones when I did. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3nmvKCcxUI/AAAAAAAAADU/yKQQFQTJvoM/s1600-h/2007-12-18+02-11-56_0004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3nmvKCcxUI/AAAAAAAAADU/yKQQFQTJvoM/s320/2007-12-18+02-11-56_0004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150401346697741634" border="0" /></a>In fact, we ended up eating so much fresh fish that we gave a bunch away when we got into port. It took us about one and a half days to get across the sea, and we sailed most of it. We did pretty well and would have hit Cabo without any effort. So, you are probably wondering why we aren't in there yet. Well, partly because of scheduling and flight issues but mostly because it seemed like a much better place to hang for a bit while Ann was here, we decided to go to La Paz instead. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q0z0fLezI/AAAAAAAAA-E/I-Bqe-_fg6Y/s1600-h/2007-12-16+00-49-29_0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q0z0fLezI/AAAAAAAAA-E/I-Bqe-_fg6Y/s200/2007-12-16+00-49-29_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150627926207331122" border="0" /></a>We had no end of advice from other cruisers that assured us we'd have a much better time, and that, anyway, Cabo was "a dump". I'd been there about fifteen years ago, it was a college party town, populated by drunk students, bad bars, and overpriced marinas. It didn't impress me much then. Everyone we spoke with said it has gotten much worse since. So, we diverted course and headed north.<br /><br />We arrived in La Paz a few days ago, and grabbed a mooring ball in Bahia Santa Cruz, a large harbor that runs along the city's west side. This is a "virtual marina", which means that while they have put down pilings for docks, they haven't actually built them yet, so the "marina" is sort of imaginary. The only thing available are mooring balls, a dinghy dock and showers. That's okay, because by way of amenities we really don't need that much right now, and we are located just off the main road and can see the entire town wrapped around our little bay. It was nice to get a hot shower though, and there are some great restaurants and cafes within a block of us. We were also visited by several large dolphins that swam within a few feet of the boat. There are no end of fantastic places to eat close by. We had a great meal yesterday, which included menudo (tripe) soup, and something Robinson ordered called a "burro" <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3nl96CcxTI/AAAAAAAAADM/cvlPN5U_Bu0/s1600-h/2007-12-22+23-23-04_0023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3nl96CcxTI/AAAAAAAAADM/cvlPN5U_Bu0/s320/2007-12-22+23-23-04_0023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150400500589184306" border="0" /></a>which was larger than his head. I ordered the taco special but was a bit unclear about what exactly was in it. I ate my first ever liver taco...it was actually...not bad.<br /><br />AnnMarie flew in two days ago. Her flight was due in at two, and I woke up at 7:30, wandered around the boat doing chores, then around 10am decided to take a quick nap. I woke up, looked at a clock that was actually the wrong time zone, and thought I had only twenty minutes before she was supposed to land. I raced out to the road, found a cab and went to the airport to pick her up. As I got out of the cab I bumped into a young woman who was sitting on top of a large duffel bag wearing a giant back pack and looking a bit confused. She wanted a cab, and I thought she could just jump in the one I was getting out of, but apparently there is some sort of regulation preventing this, and she needed to go across the airport to find one.<br /><br />Her name was Jessica, and as we stood there trying to figure out where she needed to go, she mentioned that she'd been crewing for an eco-tourist cruise <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3qznkfLeyI/AAAAAAAAA98/QyZXHZq4di4/s1600-h/2007-12-23+00-17-40_0036.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3qznkfLeyI/AAAAAAAAA98/QyZXHZq4di4/s320/2007-12-23+00-17-40_0036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150626616242305826" border="0" /></a>boat for the last six months, and had somehow mistakenly come to the airport a day early, and now needed to go back to town, find a place to stay and then come back tomorrow. I explained that I was here picking up Ann who was due to arrive in a minute, but if she wanted to wait just a bit, she was more than welcome to come back to the boat and spend the night on board rather than spend money for a hotel room for just one night. So we waited together for AnnMarie to arrive, only to discover that I had just arrived at the airport an hour early, and her flight was going to be an hour late. When it rains, it pours.<br /><br />Well AnnMarie arrived safely, made it through customs without a snag, and we went back to the boat and relaxed over dinner and drinks at the restaurant on the marina pier. The wind had been picking up and the waves in the harbor had been building as well. We jumped in the dinghy and headed back to the boat, but got slammed by the waves, which crashed over top of the bow and sprayed everyone with salt water. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q1ckfLe0I/AAAAAAAAA-M/ppMgVpLaQp8/s1600-h/2007-12-24+11-38-39_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q1ckfLe0I/AAAAAAAAA-M/ppMgVpLaQp8/s320/2007-12-24+11-38-39_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150628626287000386" border="0" /></a>For a second I thought this was going to be a really bad start to what might be a very long night. Instead, Jessica and AnnMarie started laughing so hard I thought they were going to fall overboard. We got back, rousted Robinson and put on dry clothes, then unpacked all the treasures AnnMarie had brought down, which included warm boots and hats, which we'll need for the rest of the trip.<br /><br />That was yesterday. Jessica had expected to fly home for Christmas, but we all got along so well, and enjoyed her constant laughter, that we invited her to come sailing with us. Although I'm sure her folks would have rather she were there, they thought the adventure was a once in a lifetime opportunity and wished her well. So, she is along for the ride, at least as far as her schedule will permit. It is surprising how many great folks we've met along this trip! We've all been hanging out, laughing a lot, and having a grand time. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q2tkfLe1I/AAAAAAAAA-U/A7Hup9bnmGQ/s1600-h/2007-12-23+00-15-02_0034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3q2tkfLe1I/AAAAAAAAA-U/A7Hup9bnmGQ/s320/2007-12-23+00-15-02_0034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150630017856404306" border="0" /></a>We had expected to leave yesterday for Cabo, but we've decided instead to gunk hole around the local islands, do some whale watching, maybe see some giant sharks, and generally have a relaxed time over the holidays. Our original plans had AnnMarie coming along as far north the outside coast as was possible, but given the very limited number of places she could have gone ashore, and the difficulty in getting to an airport from there, we thought it made more sense to take our time and drop her off in Cabo before the first of the year.<br /><br />So, we'll head out tomorrow, weather permitting, and spend the next few days detouring, exploring, and generally goofing off, and having more fun than we're probably allowed. In the meantime, I wish you all a very, merry, tacky holiday, and all the good cheer you can handle. May the new year see you all in good health, happiness and the joy of the season.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/mazatlan-nice-place-to-visit-but-you.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2008/12/espiritu-santu-los-frailes-and-approach.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>Robb Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17081402708421161265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-47202364045474619562007-12-17T12:53:00.000-08:002008-03-03T10:55:02.807-08:00Mazatlan: A nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to check out there.<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/dear-reader-well-weve-been-in-puerto.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/la-paz-city-of-peace-and-quiet.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br />Hola Amigos!<br /><br />There should actually be one of those upside down exclamation marks in front of the greeting, but my damn gringo keyboard doesn't have one. That's okay, 'cause anyone who heard me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w8dN84nuI/AAAAAAAAAAs/LkIpf6ymx8Q/s1600-h/2007-12-14+20-07-22_0002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w8dN84nuI/AAAAAAAAAAs/LkIpf6ymx8Q/s200/2007-12-14+20-07-22_0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146554946836537058" border="0" /></a> uttering this phrase would know instantly that I've just used up about thirty percent of my entire Spanish vocabulary, and I either have a severe speech impediment or I'm retarded. Most folks correctly guess it's the latter.<br /><br />So, we left Marina Puerto Vallarta (the only absolute proof that the universe will end in entropy) and headed north for Mazatlan. The ride up was just more of the same: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w9a984nvI/AAAAAAAAAA0/-QbaLZID5z8/s1600-h/2007-01-17+06-44-26_0025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w9a984nvI/AAAAAAAAAA0/-QbaLZID5z8/s200/2007-01-17+06-44-26_0025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146556007693459186" border="0" /></a>dolphins off the bowsprit, whales spouting off in the distance, consenting turtles attempting to drown each other, startling sunrises, breathtaking sunsets, beautiful moon-lit nights, cool gentle breezes during the day, and spectacular scenery whenever we get close to shore. It's enough to make you retch. Fortunately, there has been a break in all this paradisaical monotony. It's getting cold.<br /><br />Nights have been down in the fifties. I've had to start wearing some clothes while above decks sailing, and wrapping myself in blankets when in the cockpit. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w-z984nwI/AAAAAAAAAA8/rnrH7CBTf0I/s1600-h/RobbAsleepInCockpitWithBlanket.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w-z984nwI/AAAAAAAAAA8/rnrH7CBTf0I/s200/RobbAsleepInCockpitWithBlanket.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146557536701816578" border="0" /></a>Yesterday I needed a jacket and socks. SOCKS! The cruiser's worst nightmare. Actual socks! Next it will be pants. God only knows how long before we'll need shoes. It seems the horror is only getting worse. This trip is turning out to be far rougher than I ever imagined it could get. Maybe we should go to Cartagena?<br /><br />Now, you might wonder why we aren't heading due west for Cabo San Lucas right now. Well, that's because the wind, ever vigilant adversary to cruisers everywhere, is now blowing directly from the West. Two days ago, it was from the North East, exactly what we needed for a beam reach to CSL. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w_3N84nxI/AAAAAAAAABE/naUm3UpsIb8/s1600-h/2007-02-17+22-07-10_0118.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w_3N84nxI/AAAAAAAAABE/naUm3UpsIb8/s320/2007-02-17+22-07-10_0118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146558692048019218" border="0" /></a>It was also predicted to stay that way for at least a few days. That was before we were ready to go. Once the weather noticed we were set to go, it changed direction.<br /><br />So, the plan was to sail for about twenty four hours due north along the mainland coastline, stop off at Mazatlan only long enough to drop Robert off (he needs to get back to Nicaragua and...for reasons that defy imagination...work), change the crew list, and then head South Westerly for Cabo. That would put us on back on a beam reach even with Westerly winds, much better for catamarans, and give us a fast ride across the Sea of Cortez. The only fly in that ointment was the demonic forces that had possessed the Mazatlan Port Captain and Immigrations office. More on that in a moment.<br /><br />We made it into Mazatlan harbor without incident. The winds weren't too bad, the waves weren't too rough, and we approached the breakwater entrance as the sun was rising. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2wzMd84nqI/AAAAAAAAAAM/fLJaawXK0Z4/s1600-h/2007-02-17+22-07-21_0119.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2wzMd84nqI/AAAAAAAAAAM/fLJaawXK0Z4/s320/2007-02-17+22-07-21_0119.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146544763469078178" border="0" /></a>There is a really pretty little lighthouse on a rock just outside the harbor. Short of an actual mermaid sitting on the rocks around it, it was exactly what any oil painter could ask for in a background.<br /><br />We hadn't planned on being this far north, and really weren't prepared. We had no sailing guides for the area, and the charts weren't that informative, so we weren't sure where exactly to go, but there was a pretty little cove just inside the breakwater. We motored in and drove around, noticed there were a few other big cats at anchor, and thought it might be a good place to drop the hook. We asked another sailor for advice, and he suggested we stay here, as the various offices were close by. There were marinas a few miles further up the coast, but it wasn't clear if they would have room for a catamaran, and it was kind of pricey. So we dropped the hook.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2xg8984n1I/AAAAAAAAABk/1SOfDo8k5ZY/s1600-h/2007-12-14+02-04-22_0015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2xg8984n1I/AAAAAAAAABk/1SOfDo8k5ZY/s200/2007-12-14+02-04-22_0015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146595074715983698" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, actually, we didn't. It didn't work. The windlass control had been acting up for a while. I had repaired it earlier, but the micro switches inside it were pretty rotted, and while it would happily raise anchor, it wouldn't lower it. I had taken to shorting the terminals with a screw driver to get the hook down, but even that wasn't working. No one on board really relished the idea of manhandling the other anchors out of the locker, we were all tired, hungry and sleep deprived. So we said, as Pat Boone likes to say, "Boone It!" and decided we just go find a marina, tie up for a night and fix yet another broken part.<br /><br />We turned tail and began to head out of the harbor. As we did the guy from the cat jumped in his dingy and motored over to see what was up. We explained the situation and he said "Oh, well, why not just raft up with us?". I was amazed. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w47t84nsI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8OaROBTp4g4/s1600-h/2007-02-18+01-48-43_0123.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w47t84nsI/AAAAAAAAAAc/8OaROBTp4g4/s320/2007-02-18+01-48-43_0123.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146551072776036034" border="0" /></a>It was such a kind gesture, among a myriad of wonderful acts of kindness we'd received throughout our adventure, and it made our lives just that much easier. And from a total stranger. Sometimes cruising really fucks with my well-honed cynicism about humanity. We sidled up next to his boat, tied along side, and made friends with Henry and J.J. on "Rapscullion", yet another cruising couple from the states.<br /><br />They had been out cruising on their catamaran for a while, and seemed to be loving every minute of it. Both of them had a great attitude about sailing, and were definitely enjoying themselves. We thanked them profusely for their generous help, loaded up the dinghy and headed into town for the Port Captain's office. Robert had made flight plans for tomorrow, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w6R984ntI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Hl2L14gPZnk/s1600-h/HenryAndJJ.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2w6R984ntI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Hl2L14gPZnk/s200/HenryAndJJ.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146552554539753170" border="0" /></a>and was beginning to worry about missing his flight. This is apparently one of the things he stresses a lot about, and he had on his "not happy" face. We teased him about it. He didn't think it was funny...we did.<br /><br />The harbor was small, with maybe fifty boats in it. There was a blue building called "Club Nautico", which provided cruisers with showers, a dinghy dock and ice. The woman who worked there, Wendy, was very, very nice, and showed us around. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2xZg984nyI/AAAAAAAAABM/wmKCCCziDPU/s1600-h/2007-12-14+02-04-29_0016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2xZg984nyI/AAAAAAAAABM/wmKCCCziDPU/s200/2007-12-14+02-04-29_0016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146586897098252066" border="0" /></a>We paid three dollars for use of their facilities, and headed off into town to find the Port Captain's office.<br /><br />We wandered around a bit looking for the building, but by around one o'clock (plenty of time to get this done) we eventually found it. It was quite new, clean and had several people working inside. It appeared very efficient. We approached the window and explained what we needed to do. The woman behind the counter said we needed to speak with the Port Captain himself, and to please take a seat and wait one moment. What she meant was, please sit on those plastic chairs designed by the Marque De Sade himself, and molder into old age while we watched numerous clerks chatting and exchanging Christmas gifts from the otherwise vacant waiting area. After about an hour of watching this, we got fed up and asked again.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">Editor's Note: There aren't any photos of the government officials involved in the remainder of the following episode, mostly because the author's comrades feared his having anything metallic, heavy </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qaG6CcxVI/AAAAAAAAADc/_vmm92hn8gQ/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-30-02_0064.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qaG6CcxVI/AAAAAAAAADc/_vmm92hn8gQ/s320/2007-02-16+02-30-02_0064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150598567301006674" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">or edged (even a camera) in his hand while dealing with government officials and had taken it away from him, for his own good. Instead, because my mother always said "if you can't say anything nice, compliment her shoes", I've included some snapshots of the various bronze statues that we've encountered throughout the Mexican coastline. Fortunately, they were too heavy to carry over to the government offices. By the way, none of the port officials had nice footwear.</span><br /><br />The Port Captain was called over (this time it only took about five minutes) then he studied our new crew list, our old crew list, the boat documentation, our visas, our passports and then explained that he couldn't sign Robert off the crew list unless we first got the crew list stamped by Immigrations. "Okay, No Problemo!" we said. That's Spanish for "Okay, it's now my problem". They gave us directions to the immigrations office. "Oh, but you need to hurry, it's 2:00, the office is about ten blocks from here, and we close at 2:30". So, we rushed out of the office and immediately started arguing about the directions we'd been given.<br /><br />Naturally, any directions proffered by any government official in any foreign country are, by law, required to be wrong. It was part of the Geneva convention and one of the few clauses that all participating countries still enforce. That, and the clause that limits a hotel's responsibility to anything stolen from your room, to only fifty dollars, even though they gave your room key to the local junkie. We were hoofing it along and not finding the place, so we flagged down a taxi. Now, when I say taxi, what you're thinking is a big, yellow Ford Impala, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qat6CcxWI/AAAAAAAAADk/2jnZm2RnpxY/s1600-h/2007-12-14+18-56-56_0035.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qat6CcxWI/AAAAAAAAADk/2jnZm2RnpxY/s320/2007-12-14+18-56-56_0035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150599237315904866" border="0" /></a>no hubcaps, plastic seats. What I'm describing is an open sided, propane powered golf cart with roll bars made from drain pipes. The one pictured here is from later on in our adventure, much newer (it even had seat belts, although they didn't work) and in much better shape. That particular driver was an amazingly nice, friendly, helpful gentleman who was the exception to the rule. There's always one.<br /><br />We jumped in, explained that we needed to go to Immigration as quickly as possible. There is no actual literal translation for "quickly" in Spanish, the closest you can get is something to the effect of "before the change of seasons", and the driver slowly drove us to the Customs building. "No, not the Customs building, the Immigration building!" we explained. "Oh, senior, I'm not sure I know where this is." he replied in Spanish. Now Mazatlan is not big. There are about seven government buildings all in an area smaller than a college campus, and this guy grew up there, in a port city where cruisers regularly get rides to these buildings, yet he wasn't sure if he knew where they were. This is equivalent to growing up in a kitchen and not being sure about the location of the silverware drawer. God may have created man, but taxi drivers are definitely the work of the devil. But, I'm not bitter.<br /><br />So, we rushed over to Immigration...eventually, after first driving through several blocks of town, every known road bump in Mazatlan, and backtracking twice. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qcQaCcxXI/AAAAAAAAADs/Y-moATs6Hr8/s1600-h/2007-12-23+00-25-04_0044.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qcQaCcxXI/AAAAAAAAADs/Y-moATs6Hr8/s320/2007-12-23+00-25-04_0044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150600929533019506" border="0" /></a>We pulled up to the offices and asked the cabbie if he would wait--we would only be a minute. They were standing in front of the doors looking as if they might close them at any moment. So we ran up, pushed past the guard at the door, and delivered our paper work to the guy at the front desk. He had cultivated the kind of posture that communicates completely just how annoying your presence is to him, and that if only you would go away he could get on with chatting-up the clerk. He droned, "Oh...okay...please sit over there, on those chairs with the other five moldering Americans and we will let you know when we can process your paperwork." We sat down on chairs that were probably discarded by the Port Captain's Office as being too comfy, and waited. And waited. And waited.<br /><br />Picture an old Spanish building that has been converted into a government office. Imagine twenty five Mexican government workers, all milling about it. There are several back offices, they all have very comfortable chairs in them. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qdq6CcxYI/AAAAAAAAAD0/c-yvZmemezI/s1600-h/2007-12-23+00-11-03_0028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qdq6CcxYI/AAAAAAAAAD0/c-yvZmemezI/s320/2007-12-23+00-11-03_0028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150602484311180674" border="0" /></a>Whenever a door opens you can see several other workers all sitting in them, drinking coffee and chatting amiably. There is exactly one desktop computer in the entire building. There is a pile of paperwork along the right side it. A clerk sits in front of it, typing with two fingers, for about three minutes, then picks up a folder from the pile and moves it to another, much smaller pile on the left. She has that look about her that suggests perhaps she was given this job more for her assets than qualifications. Her assets are cresting out of her uniform.<br /><br />She then gets up, fixes her makeup, adjusts her navy blue polyester stretch pants which are one size too small and teeters off on three inch high heels-- no doubt these are also part of the Immigrations uniform. She comes back a few minutes later and chats with several other "workers" (I use this term because, technically, they are being paid for this), all of whom are standing around chatting with all the intensity of purpose you see in any union run GM<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qeiaCcxZI/AAAAAAAAAD8/8cOgTzZF7uc/s1600-h/2007-12-23+00-19-59_0039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qeiaCcxZI/AAAAAAAAAD8/8cOgTzZF7uc/s320/2007-12-23+00-19-59_0039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150603437793920402" border="0" /></a> manufacturing plant. In the meantime, the front desk person places folders on the ever growing pile on the right.<br /><br />Eventually the clerk returns, sits back to the computer and repeats her data entry process. The pile on the right continues to grow. The pile on the left can be seen to increase only by archaeological standards. Paint dries faster. Plus, you suddenly realize that since the front desk person is placing the folders on the top (not bottom) of the right pile, the only way your paperwork will be processed is if you can prevent anyone else from submitting a request. We tried standing in the parking lot and warning newcomers about the problem they are having here with contagious plague, but others must have already tried this before us because everyone just assumed we were talking about the city water supply.<br /><br />After about twenty minutes, we begin to realize that they aren't going to actually do anything. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3qwikfLevI/AAAAAAAAA9k/rhKmN78c7bU/s1600-h/2007-12-14+00-44-46_0006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R3qwikfLevI/AAAAAAAAA9k/rhKmN78c7bU/s320/2007-12-14+00-44-46_0006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150623231808076530" border="0" /></a>We approach the front desk guy and ask what is going on. This seems to generate some interest. They explain that it will take another hour, and that we should come back after lunch. "Won't you be closed?" we ask. They assure us that they won't. We jump back in the cab and ask him to take us to a restaurant. He drives us over to the seaside board walk area, we find a restaurant to have lunch. We ask how much...he says five hundred pesos. We laugh a lot. A typical taxi ride is six pesos. Fortunately, he had parked illegally, and a truck and bus have both pulled up behind him and begun honking their horns. Robinson negotiates with him, we agree on something not completely absurd, pay him and walk away in disgust. Fucking taxi cab drivers. When I'm elected emperor, you best not be wearing a peaked cap.<br /><br />So we ate lunch at a really great restaurant, great service, and the chef, an American, came over to make sure we were enjoying the meal, discovered we needed to know if the Port Captain<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qfjaCcxaI/AAAAAAAAAEE/sB0-FHTlqtY/s1600-h/2007-12-14+00-20-22_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qfjaCcxaI/AAAAAAAAAEE/sB0-FHTlqtY/s320/2007-12-14+00-20-22_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150604554485417378" border="0" /></a> would be open tomorrow and even called some friends to find out for us. Sadly, I cannot, for the life of me, remember the restaurant, but if you're in Mazatlan, and standing in front of a bronze mermaid, it's just behind you.<br /><br />We then went back to the Immigrations office. They were closing the doors as we arrived. We again pushed our way past the guard, who didn't want to let us in, found the front desk guy and asked what was going on. "Oh, why did you leave?" he asked. "Because you told us to." we explained. "Oh, no, no. We are closed." he answered. We started arguing with him about it, with it becoming clear that they weren't interested in doing anything this late in the day (hell, it was almost 3:15) and that we weren't going to be able to get Robert on his flight. At that point Robert became very agitated and tried to explain the necessity of getting this done today, as his flight left tomorrow afternoon. "Senior, my bicycle is tomorrow!" <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qgTqCcxbI/AAAAAAAAAEM/gwSY65GJ3Uo/s1600-h/YetAnotherGoofyPictureOfRobert.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qgTqCcxbI/AAAAAAAAAEM/gwSY65GJ3Uo/s320/YetAnotherGoofyPictureOfRobert.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150605383414105522" border="0" /></a>he said in his best pleading Spanish. Everyone stopped speaking. Robinson turned and looked at him as if he had he'd just sprouted twigs. Even the front desk guy didn't know how to respond. There was an uncomfortable silence while both Robinson and the front desk guy both stared at him like the dog on the RCA Victor label.<br /><br />Eventually Robinson regained the momentum, explained the situation, and somehow convinced them to complete our paperwork right now. Mostly because I think they realized we were already back inside, and prepared to sit in their office until sunrise if need be, and because they felt bad for us having a retarded child with us. Of course, that wasn't going to stop them from fucking with us. "Oh, well, we cannot process your paperwork without copies of your passports." he said. "Oh, no problemo, Senior, I have them here." I replied, pulling out several copies of each of our passports. "Oh, no, mi amigo [technically, that's Spanish for "my friend", but it doesn't mean he's my friend], you must have three copies of every single page, even the blank ones."<br /><br />Now, at this point I realized that some parts of the Mexican bureaucracy hadn't got the latest memo, and that Mazatlan was still back in 70's. "Where can we get copies made?" <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qiIqCcxcI/AAAAAAAAAEU/Czj2Td_lyT4/s1600-h/RobbAndStupidBronze.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qiIqCcxcI/AAAAAAAAAEU/Czj2Td_lyT4/s320/RobbAndStupidBronze.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150607393458800066" border="0" /></a>I asked, vowing to bring my copier with me next time I have to come to any government office. "Oh, just down the street." they explained. We sent Robinson, while Robert and I remained in the building, afraid that if we left they would close. He returned about a half hour later with the copies. We gave them to the front desk guy, he brought them back to some other official, then came back with our paperwork, but not our visas. This is bad because you can't leave the country without them.<br /><br />"We need a signature from the Port Captain saying that your boat is in the harbor before we can give you the visas." he explained. The fact that more government officials aren't strangled with their own red tape amazes me. I have, however, noticed a very high correlation between countries that insist on strict gun control but permit Byzantine bureaucracy. They obviously know that a well-armed populace would not put up with this shit. We left Robert at the Immigration office again, and went back to the Port Captain's office, but it was closed. We came back. The front desk guy was gone, but the guard was still there. He insisted the Port Captain's office was open. We explained that we were just there, and it wasn't.<br /><br />There were several phone calls made to the now off work front desk guy's cell phone. The guard then explained that we could also have the harbor master at Club Nautico write it. Robinson and I jumped back in another cab. As we rode back to the harbor, we decided that it would have been significantly less paperwork if we'd just thrown Robert overboard and declared him missing at sea. We asked the taxi to wait while Wendy signed off on our documentation. She quickly wrote us a cover letter, and we shot back to Immigrations. We showed them the letter, they stamped it, stamped our new crew list, and finally gave us back our visas.<br /><br />Robert was safely off the list, so he could leave. Now, all we had to do was get the Port Captain to sign off on our new crew list tomorrow and we could leave. In the meantime, we had to spend yet another day in town. As we went back to the boat we noticed the wildest sunset I've ever seen in my life. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2xfON84n0I/AAAAAAAAABc/sVmwrxy3Ha4/s1600-h/2007-12-14+03-25-28_0026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2xfON84n0I/AAAAAAAAABc/sVmwrxy3Ha4/s320/2007-12-14+03-25-28_0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146593172045471554" border="0" /></a>This was unlike anything else I've ever witnessed. The clouds had an almost velvety sheen to them, and there appeared to be a monstrous face staring down at us. Double click on the picture and look at it in full size, it was really very spooky looking. No doubt we'd angered the Gods Of Bureaucracy. Mother Nature doesn't have a thing on the Red Tape Demon hovering over us today!<br /><br />We were exhausted, and went back to the boat, then wandered over to Henry and JJ's for drinks. We had a great time hanging out on their cat, it was spacious and quite comfortable. They had an "owner's version" where the entire starboard hull is basically a single living space. Their shower had a glass wall, very elegant and stylish. Definitely a boat worth cruising in!<br /><br />The next morning we got up, saw Robert off to the airport (it was the first time he's smiled since the day before), and headed in to get our new crew list signed off. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2xh5d84n2I/AAAAAAAAABs/FGCIsPHmv6Q/s1600-h/2007-12-14+19-10-27_0036.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R2xh5d84n2I/AAAAAAAAABs/FGCIsPHmv6Q/s200/2007-12-14+19-10-27_0036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146596114098069346" border="0" /></a>The Port Captain's office was open, but he wasn't there. The office worker told us to leave the documents and come back at 11am. We really weren't sure if that was such a good idea, but we were hungry and didn't have any better options. We left, had lunch, came back, and found the Port Captain. He still hadn't signed our document. We started to worry. He asked us when we were leaving. "Oh, right now!" we both chorused back. "Oh, okay." he said, and signed our paperwork.<br /><br />We sighed our relief, left immediately, and headed into town. We had no intention of leaving until after I'd found the parts I needed to make another windlass control switch. In fact, he had no real authority to tell us when to leave. We were check into the country, and had a valid crew list. We could come and go as we pleased. So we walked around Mazatlan looking for an electronics shop. Now, in most places in the states, specialty electronics shops are not all found six on a street. In Mazatlan, they are.<br /><br />You need Tupperware, you go to the Tupperware section of town. Bath salts? That's over on the East side, where in a two block radius you'll find thirty stores that specialize in them. You want a pinata, you need to find the pinata district, where there will be fifty stores within four blocks, all selling the exact same merchandise. We couldn't find the electronics area. We found someone who repaired radios. He sold us a toggle switch, then he directed us to another shop several blocks away. They didn't have the parts we needed either, but told us about another store several more blocks to the north. That store didn't have anything either. We kept walking. We eventually found an intersection with an electronics stores on every corner, and three more within a hundred yards. I bought a plastic box and some switches.<br /><br />We went back to the boat and within a few minutes I'd fabricated a new windlass controller switch box. It wasn't waterproof, but it worked just fine, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qjOaCcxdI/AAAAAAAAAEc/B1DKJmUKJyU/s1600-h/2007-12-31+09-28-20_0033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qjOaCcxdI/AAAAAAAAAEc/B1DKJmUKJyU/s320/2007-12-31+09-28-20_0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150608591754675666" border="0" /></a>at least good enough for our purposes, and we were able to untie from our neighbors and anchor directly. That night we went into the town center for a decent meal before we headed out the next day. The town "centro" is very pretty, with many upscale open air restaurants and night clubs surrounding it. We bumped into Henry and J.J., along with several other cruiser friends of theirs.<br /><br />We enjoyed a few drinks, had dinner, then found a small night club that had a local band. They were called Addiction, and they rocked. Sort of hard to describe their sound, almost heavy metal but with less ragged edge and a lot of traditional Mexican flavor rounding out their sound. The lead singer is also their bassist, which always impresses me. I got to chat with Richie their lead guitarist, the newest member of the band. He said they had been around for a while and that they had a bit of a following, but were mostly a local area band. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qkPKCcxeI/AAAAAAAAAEk/VanectFt-_c/s1600-h/2007-12-15+10-15-33_0016.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qkPKCcxeI/AAAAAAAAAEk/VanectFt-_c/s320/2007-12-15+10-15-33_0016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150609704151205346" border="0" /></a>I was really disappointed to learn that they hadn't produced any CD's yet, but if anyone comes across one in the future, please send me a copy!<br /><br />They played many original tunes, did a number of cover tunes, including a fantastic version of "Sweet Child Of Mine", and a few traditional Mexican songs but with clearly their own spin on them. The crowds loved them. If you are ever in Mazatlan, check them out! Their first set is great, but the second set was jumping.<br /><br />Oh, and the bar had the best bathroom signs I've ever come across. The men's room and lady's room signs defy description, but I will give it my best try. First, the men's room sign is a picture of a man peeing while standing in that knees slightly bent, arched back position every guy who has had too many beers knows as <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qlYaCcxfI/AAAAAAAAAEs/i-oJU6Gsi5A/s1600-h/2007-12-15+07-33-54_0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qlYaCcxfI/AAAAAAAAAEs/i-oJU6Gsi5A/s320/2007-12-15+07-33-54_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150610962576623090" border="0" /></a>"The Pause That Refreshes." Including a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I love this country!!<br /><br />The woman's room sign goes from the sublime to the absurd. There is a picture of what I can only assume is a bulimic woman wearing high heels in the act of inducing herself to vomit while fanning away what appears to be a very powerful fart. Or perhaps she is applying lipstick. It isn't clear. But the reverse image of herself in the mirror is a nice touch and the large red M probably means something in Spanish, but I couldn't figure out exactly what. There is also a wedding cake with a drain attached. Perhaps this is why she is retching? Either way, it stopped me in my tracks for several minutes while I simply stared at it, causing some consternation among the various female patrons as I stood transfixed in front of the women's rest room. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qmgaCcxgI/AAAAAAAAAE0/XiPbYcL1QAk/s1600-h/2007-12-15+07-34-28_0009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_b8y11naOTF4/R3qmgaCcxgI/AAAAAAAAAE0/XiPbYcL1QAk/s320/2007-12-15+07-34-28_0009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150612199527204354" border="0" /></a>They eyed me suspiciously, but assumed from my dress and lack of social manners that I must be a gringo or dismissed me as simply retarded. Eventually the owner asked why I was photographing their wall, but I was unable to express complex ideas like "ennui" and "horror" in Spanish, so instead I smiled and said "Dondeh estan ill banjo", which is Spanish for "please ignore me, I am an idiot".<br /><br />The night dragged on, we stayed out too late, eventually wandered back to the boat, and woke up the next morning and headed out across the Sea of Cortez, for Cabo San Lucas. And, if we can overcome our burning desire to turn around and head for Cartegena, we should have good winds and relatively calms seas on our trip. We wish you all as much.<br /><br />Talk to you next when we reach Cabo San Lucas.<br /><br />Cheers for now.<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/dear-reader-well-weve-been-in-puerto.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/la-paz-city-of-peace-and-quiet.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>Robb Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17081402708421161265noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-16216207783414420422007-12-15T15:28:00.000-08:002008-03-03T10:49:02.852-08:00Marina Puerto Vallarta...looks better at night.<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/sailor-looks-at-fiftyfrom-wrong-side.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/mazatlan-nice-place-to-visit-but-you.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br />Dear Reader,<br /><br />Well, we've been in Puerto Vallarta for almost a week now, and staying at Marina Puerto Vallarta, the main marina in town. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s8Hy64AUI/AAAAAAAAA88/Th63MSkT9qA/s1600-h/MarinaLighthouse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s8Hy64AUI/AAAAAAAAA88/Th63MSkT9qA/s200/MarinaLighthouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146273103826387266" border="0" /></a>Aside from the many fabulous cruisers we've met on the dock here, I don't have a lot to recommend about this particular marina, except maybe the sunsets. It is definitely a marina that looks better in the dark.<br /><br />It is very well protected, but the harbor waters are quite dirty, with dead fish, oil slicks and condoms floating about. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s8oy64AVI/AAAAAAAAA9E/5OlCK7Lnk0Y/s1600-h/FloatingCondom.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s8oy64AVI/AAAAAAAAA9E/5OlCK7Lnk0Y/s320/FloatingCondom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146273670762070354" border="0" /></a>At times it smells of sewage, and it isn't uncommon to see any of it bobbing in the water just off the docks. The dock slips are very, very run down. Many of the dock works are broken apart, with missing electrical outlets, non-working faucets and numerous deck cleats ripped out. There is only one shower facility, which was on the other side of the harbor, and very badly maintained as well. It would be understandable if it were cheap, but it has been one of the most expensive places we've been yet. If it weren't for the fact that it was convenient for AnnMarie to fly down for the weekend, we would never have stayed here. I'm told it was once a beautiful harbor, with great facilities, but it has seen better days. Supposedly there are new owners and they will be upgrading the entire facility, but this is Mexico, where you need an archaeologist to measure that kind of progress. We spoke with quite a number of other cruisers who all thought that the area's other marinas were better. We haven't been, but I wouldn't be surprised.<br /><br />The marina itself is a sort of giant cul-de-sac, surrounded by a brick boardwalk that is lined with restaurants, tourist shops, adventure guides and sports bars. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sLBC63_4I/AAAAAAAAA5E/7mYjqQkJvLo/s1600-h/2007-02-13+04-01-04_0021.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sLBC63_4I/AAAAAAAAA5E/7mYjqQkJvLo/s200/2007-02-13+04-01-04_0021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146219111792508802" border="0" /></a>About midway along is a very large pseudo light house, with a small bar on top that looks out over a 360 degree view of the harbor and town. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sMcy63_6I/AAAAAAAAA5U/KO-ufniII7Q/s1600-h/2007-02-15+23-11-55_0016.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sMcy63_6I/AAAAAAAAA5U/KO-ufniII7Q/s320/2007-02-15+23-11-55_0016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146220688045506466" border="0" /></a>There is an elevator that takes you up to it, but it only fits two people at a time. The light house has that quaint architecture that gives one the impression it was built by the lowest bidder. The building appears to have been retrofitted with a steel superstructure inside it. I'm sure it is all perfectly safe, and done to the highest engineering standards. They probably even used real steel. I'd just rather not be in it when the big quake hits.<br /><br />Behind and above the store fronts lining the marina are high rise condominiums. In front of the stores are barkers. You know the type, usually found in front of some carny <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sLQi63_5I/AAAAAAAAA5M/uW8Uw4uMK5s/s1600-h/OrangePinkCrocs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sLQi63_5I/AAAAAAAAA5M/uW8Uw4uMK5s/s200/OrangePinkCrocs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146219378080481170" border="0" /></a>tent or strip joint trying to induce you inside. They start the pitch with "HELLO MY FRIEND, THOSE ARE GREAT SHOES YOU ARE WEARING", referring to the the fact that I don't care that my plastic Crocs <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s9Ei64AWI/AAAAAAAAA9M/pS5RsQ4ftDY/s1600-h/OrangePinkCrocs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s9Ei64AWI/AAAAAAAAA9M/pS5RsQ4ftDY/s200/OrangePinkCrocs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146274147503440226" border="0" /></a>don't match [I go by thickness not color] and then should you be fool hardy enough to respond in any manner you will be offered hundreds of dollars, or an amazing experience, or great deal, or the absolutely best food in all of Mexico. Every thirty yards or so there is someone standing outside a shop while trying to sell you land, boat tours, dinner aboard a pirate ship, jungle excursions, zip line rides through the rain forest, time share condominiums and meals at the various restaurants that surround the marina. Oh, and an amazing collection of schlock. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sQky63_8I/AAAAAAAAA5k/SoTL0xeQ5vQ/s1600-h/2007-02-15+08-06-34_0011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sQky63_8I/AAAAAAAAA5k/SoTL0xeQ5vQ/s320/2007-02-15+08-06-34_0011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146225223530971074" border="0" /></a>We couldn't find a single useful item in this store, but there were six other stores with exactly the same inventory. And it was all made in China. Grandma would be so proud.<br /><br />It is also populated with very, very expensive mega yachts, top end fishing boats and very fat, dumpy, cigar smoking middle aged American men, with very young, improbably large breasted trophy wives. We've seen more "bolt ons" in the last six days than you could shake a bra at. Robinson and I have taken to sitting in the restaurants and playing a game we call "Love or Money?". As each couple wanders buy we try to guess the motivation behind the twenty five year old runway model snuggling along side the sixty year old, bald waddler with a dart player's physique. Love doesn't come up a lot, but we could be wrong. Maybe it's just sour grapes on our part, but perhaps wintering a multi-million dollar yacht in a nice climate can make up for a lot on the physical side. Not surprisingly, there are also numerous strip clubs just outside the marina along the main drag, just in case it doesn't.<br /><br />Oh, and there are several wireless providers available within the marina. Unfortunately, I chose "PVAIRPATH", which turned out to be a huge mistake. It was $10.00USD a day, was very often down, and when it was up the transfer rates were pathetic. On top of that, they prohibited the use of VOIP (voice over internet protocol) so using Skype was not allowed. Even if you did, the quality of the connection was so bad as to make it worthless. Some of the other cruisers suggested using some of the local coffee shop's free hot spots, but their speeds weren't good enough to get something accomplished. It was fine if all you wanted to do was the occasional email, but worthless for doing any actual work, downloading files of and size, and especially frustrating uploading images to your blog. Unless you got up at six A.M., when it worked great for about forty seven minutes, you couldn't do anything productive across their net.<br /><br />We should have left this morning, but we didn't. The surprise birthday party they sprung on me last night went quite late, there was much carousing, imbibing, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sZvS64AAI/AAAAAAAAA6E/zs2mtLM0ZNw/s1600-h/RoboSleeping.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sZvS64AAI/AAAAAAAAA6E/zs2mtLM0ZNw/s320/RoboSleeping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146235299524247554" border="0" /></a>and far too little sleep for us to just jump up and go. Hah! Robinson didn't wake up until two, and spoke using only vowels for the first two hours of consciousness. Well, we say consciousness, but it was really only brain stem activity. I'm sure a medical practitioner would have at least looked for a DNR, but unless you needed to hold something from blowing away, he wasn't much good for anything. We spoke very, very loudly to him, yelling at his left ear, to help him understand anything we needed to communicate. Pay backs are a bitch.<br /><br />Well, we couldn't do much else, so instead, we took off an extra day to recover any braincells that survived, and finish repairing, restocking and refilling everything we needed for our trek up to Mazatlan. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sapS64ABI/AAAAAAAAA6M/gBCqX8LX-OQ/s1600-h/2007-02-16+01-42-40_0044.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sapS64ABI/AAAAAAAAA6M/gBCqX8LX-OQ/s320/2007-02-16+01-42-40_0044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146236295956660242" border="0" /></a>We had originally planned on leaving straight for Cabo San Lucas from here, but the winds would have been against us, so we decided to motor north to Mazatlan, check in with the Port Captain there, and have Robert taken off the crew list. He booked a flight to fly back to Nicaragua on Saturday, so we figured we had plenty of time to get there and handle any paper work before sending him off to the airport. He is shown here making a face. He does that a lot. We think he might have Tourette syndrome. Or maybe brain damage. Or is just goofy. It's hard to tell with the English.<br /><br />In the meantime, Robert and I decided to go into the main part of town to see the Festival De Guadeloupe. Puerto Vallarta runs along the coast, with a numerous small and large rock outcropping just off the surf zone. Although the locals we encountered in the marina were pretty reserved, once outside the marina, the folks we met were very nice, helpful and friendly. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sk1y64AEI/AAAAAAAAA6k/cD8bIHviRCQ/s1600-h/PVBoardwalk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sk1y64AEI/AAAAAAAAA6k/cD8bIHviRCQ/s320/PVBoardwalk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146247505821302850" border="0" /></a>There is a long cement walkway that runs along the beach front. It is lined with restaurants and shops, and no end of bizarre and somewhat tasteless bronze sculptures. These seem to be pandemic to the inside coast of the mainland as we've encountered them everywhere; apparently someone's cousin got the government contract, and then said to their brother "Jose, quick, we need a thousand nautical statues for tourists to look at! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2smiy64AFI/AAAAAAAAA6s/tIJyEb3ujno/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-33-31_0070.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2smiy64AFI/AAAAAAAAA6s/tIJyEb3ujno/s200/2007-02-16+02-33-31_0070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146249378427043922" border="0" /></a>Get that sculptor friend of yours who always forgets to take his medication and tell him the skies the limit." Just beyond the walk way it drops down to a narrow, sandy beach where people build enormous and quite elaborate sand sculptures. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sqOS64AHI/AAAAAAAAA68/nQabS9XZXb8/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-29-08_0062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sqOS64AHI/AAAAAAAAA68/nQabS9XZXb8/s200/2007-02-16+02-29-08_0062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146253424286236786" border="0" /></a>Some of them were really quite impressive. Apparently making sand sculptures has really caught on here, and there are competitions and amazing amounts of effort put into them. So far we've seen them on almost every tourist beach we've come to. My favorite was a woman on a couch, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2ssOi64AII/AAAAAAAAA7c/xYteZWLzjbY/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-34-20_0074.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2ssOi64AII/AAAAAAAAA7c/xYteZWLzjbY/s320/2007-02-16+02-34-20_0074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146255627604459650" border="0" /></a>holding her breast, while an artist draws her picture. The fact that its a naked woman holding a breast has nothing to do with why I like it so much. Its the artistic inspiration. No really. Honest.<br /><br />We took a bus from the marina into the town square, then walked along the seaside, gawking at the very bad statues, ugly Americans and other oddities. It was a strange mixture of classical Mexican culture and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2stES64AJI/AAAAAAAAA7k/cn8j1nIDvaI/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-31-20_0065.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2stES64AJI/AAAAAAAAA7k/cn8j1nIDvaI/s200/2007-02-16+02-31-20_0065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146256551022428306" border="0" /></a>American trailer trash. For instance, I'm not sure why, but there was a life sized statue of an elephant on the roof of one of the restaurants. There was one block that had a taco shop, an ice cream parlor, a Hooters restaurant, a Domino's pizza, a Mexican Naval Museum and a Starbucks coffee shop across the street. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2suiy64AKI/AAAAAAAAA7s/VGToZuktJX4/s1600-h/2007-02-16+03-19-01_0107.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2suiy64AKI/AAAAAAAAA7s/VGToZuktJX4/s200/2007-02-16+03-19-01_0107.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146258174520066210" border="0" /></a>It made me sad to realize this was our contribution to world culture. As we walked along we found a tattoo parlor, which I dragged Robert into, hoping to convince him to get the word "MOM" written on his shoulder, I just know <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2svZC64ALI/AAAAAAAAA70/KJJPnGjip1Q/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-14-10_0050.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2svZC64ALI/AAAAAAAAA70/KJJPnGjip1Q/s320/2007-02-16+02-14-10_0050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146259106527969458" border="0" /></a>his parents would have wanted him to. Mostly I just wanted to watch him being polite to the shop owner, who foolishly assumed there was more than a snowball's chance in Hell of that ever happening.<br /><br />We also found a McDonalds, with a life sized Ronald The Clown <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2swTS64AMI/AAAAAAAAA78/hbR_18cSXp4/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-22-02_0053.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2swTS64AMI/AAAAAAAAA78/hbR_18cSXp4/s200/2007-02-16+02-22-02_0053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146260107255349442" border="0" /></a>on a park bench inside it. Robert was also kind enough to point out the "Now Hiring" sign which stipulated that Mikey D wanted you, provided you were between the ages of sixteen and fifty and willing to work for sixteen cents an hour. Robert suggested I put in an application now, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sxUy64ANI/AAAAAAAAA8E/cU1Rz4eZqLU/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-44-43_0084.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sxUy64ANI/AAAAAAAAA8E/cU1Rz4eZqLU/s200/2007-02-16+02-44-43_0084.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146261232536781010" border="0" /></a>because I'd be too old the next time I came through here. He has a very mean sense of humor, and whatever moral qualms I might have had before he left, I now felt better for having putting those fish guts in the bottom of his backpack.<br /><br />Eventually we reached the town center, which is dominated by a large cathedral with an giant bell tower. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sypC64AOI/AAAAAAAAA8M/jGkdIvYi5Ew/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-41-47_0077.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sypC64AOI/AAAAAAAAA8M/jGkdIvYi5Ew/s320/2007-02-16+02-41-47_0077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146262679940759778" border="0" /></a>There was an enormous crowd milling about, with a queue several blocks long of parishioners waiting to get into the church. They lined the entire side street, several blocks deep, and slowly shuffled along before eventually filing into the temple doors. The church itself was quite ornate, internally balconied, lined with stained glass windows several stories high and trimmed with rococo woodwork overlaid with gold leaf. It reminded me of my days back at Catholic boarding school. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2szaS64API/AAAAAAAAA8U/CmlO1QZftXs/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-54-17_0098.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2szaS64API/AAAAAAAAA8U/CmlO1QZftXs/s200/2007-02-16+02-54-17_0098.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146263526049317106" border="0" /></a>There were even nuns wearing the traditional habit, choir boys and alter boys in white smocks, and a priest that looked like he'd walked out of Central Casting.<br /><br />The bell tower must have had twenty different bells of various shapes, tones and sizes. Every few minutes they would ring all of them, which was deafening. Apparently the "procession" had just happened and we'd missed it. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s0MS64AQI/AAAAAAAAA8c/fXzlmUaM2J0/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-07-11_0045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s0MS64AQI/AAAAAAAAA8c/fXzlmUaM2J0/s320/2007-02-16+02-07-11_0045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146264385042776322" border="0" /></a>Like all town fairs everywhere, those who had taken part in it were walking around afterward still dressed in elaborate costumes while sipping cans of soda and smoking cigarettes. We wandered about the town square, took photos of the adorable children dressed up in traditional Frito Bandito garb, ate sidewalk vendor food and generally milled about.<br /><br />There was also an amazing "Pro Life" display just outside the entrance, showing, supposedly, the life sized versions of a fetus during the various stages of development. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s1sC64ARI/AAAAAAAAA8k/4flfwUSucLo/s1600-h/2007-02-16+02-54-40_0100.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s1sC64ARI/AAAAAAAAA8k/4flfwUSucLo/s200/2007-02-16+02-54-40_0100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146266030015250706" border="0" /></a>I think this was intended as some sort of anti-abortion poster, but it was pretty surreal right outside the entrance way to the church. The really scary bit was that the four week old version looked just like Robinson when we left this morning. He had said he would meet us at the square, but he never showed up. Eventually we tired of waiting for him, had seen most of what the town had to offer visitors, and decided to grab a bus back.<br /><br />The mass transit seemed like a pretty decent setup, although we were riding on what amounted to old school buses from the states. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s2rC64ASI/AAAAAAAAA8s/0QJLB7DiLbU/s1600-h/2007-02-16+03-42-56_0112.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s2rC64ASI/AAAAAAAAA8s/0QJLB7DiLbU/s200/2007-02-16+03-42-56_0112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146267112347009314" border="0" /></a>There were lots of them, if a bit crowed at times, but they seemed to be going everywhere we wanted to. Bus rides were fifty cents and ours came with its own musical entertainment. Apparently busking on public transportation is not only legit here, but encouraged, and we rode back to the marina listening to some pretty decent mariachi music. We passed a Home Depot, a Walmart, and several other "big box" chain stores including the Mexican version of West Marine, which was located less than a block from the marina. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s3ay64ATI/AAAAAAAAA80/ggrfiGm7Zp4/s1600-h/2007-02-16+03-59-58_0113.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2s3ay64ATI/AAAAAAAAA80/ggrfiGm7Zp4/s320/2007-02-16+03-59-58_0113.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146267932685762866" border="0" /></a>The store is relatively new, the prices are very good, there isn't much stock, but it was the largest chandler I've come across yet in Mexico. American pop culture is encroaching here, and no doubt in another twenty years it will be hard to tell the difference between here and any strip mall in Walnut Creek.<br /><br />Robinson was still asleep when we returned, so we banged around and made as much noise as possible. We got the boat packed up and ready to go, had dinner that night at one of the local restaurants, and I worked furiously trying to get as much of the blog caught up to date, despite the lousy internet connection. We leave for Mazatlan tomorrow morning, providing no one else has a party before then.<br /><br />Cheers for now!<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/sailor-looks-at-fiftyfrom-wrong-side.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/mazatlan-nice-place-to-visit-but-you.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-78971184362393498412007-12-11T12:05:00.001-08:002007-12-20T19:50:28.913-08:00A Sailor Looks At Fifty...From The Wrong Side.<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/thar-she-blows.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/dear-reader-well-weve-been-in-puerto.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br /><br />I've been hoodwinked!!<br /><br />There is no other way to describe it. I was lied to, and misled, and fooled. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17xGcn7b1I/AAAAAAAAA4c/3oIG8BKu8ik/s1600-h/dec+11+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17xGcn7b1I/AAAAAAAAA4c/3oIG8BKu8ik/s200/dec+11+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142812917568859986" border="0" /></a>Allow me to explain. It all has to do with birthdays, and birthday gifts. I do not conform to the societal norm of compulsory giving or receiving of gifts on predetermined dates, nor celebrations of religious holidays like Christmas, nor anniversaries, nor birthdays. Especially birthdays. Especially my own birthday!<br /><br />I do not give birthday gifts, and I do not receive them. I hate birthday parties where the honoree stands there and opens numerous lame gifts you know they don't want, and I hate it most when that person is me.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17w1Mn7b0I/AAAAAAAAA4U/yQRUs1sy5TU/s1600-h/dec+11+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17w1Mn7b0I/AAAAAAAAA4U/yQRUs1sy5TU/s320/dec+11+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142812621216116546" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So I just don't do it. I started this policy over twenty years ago, when I realized that I didn't actually enjoy any of it, Christmas, my birthday, anniversaries, etc. and each year round about December I kept going into massive debt paying off the bills from buying folks presents they didn't want, or need, while receiving gifts that were never what I would ever have chosen for myself and certainly didn't make me happy enough to justify the stress it all caused.<br /><br />Now this doesn't mean I don't give gifts. I love to give someone a gift for no damn reason, only because I think it would be a great thing to give them. I love to get gifts that someone thought was exactly the thing I'd want, but just not on some preordained date, <span style="font-style: italic;">and especially not because of a preordained date</span>. This probably works out a lot better for everyone else around me as well. If you ask Ann, she probably gets more things for no good reason except that I wanted to than she would were I to follow the more traditional approach. I just don't buy in to our culture's habit of buying in. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17uGsn7buI/AAAAAAAAA3k/HyLjAUBgmJo/s1600-h/2007-02-14+09-09-44_0009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17uGsn7buI/AAAAAAAAA3k/HyLjAUBgmJo/s320/2007-02-14+09-09-44_0009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142809623328943842" border="0" /></a>It seems so false to me, and makes me feel bad whenever I'm a part of it.<br /><br />That is why I was happy that our sailing schedule had delayed us such that we would be in P.V. for my birthday. Especially this birthday. I didn't know anyone here, AnnMarie was leaving the day before because of work constraints, and it seemed pretty safe from surprise visits from friends or relatives. So, this afternoon, when Randy and Margan asked if I could help repair the rip in their sail, I was more than happy to do so, not realizing this was also a ploy on Robinson's part to get me off the boat. Although I really should have been getting everything absolutely ready to leave the next morning, I felt pretty confident that things were under control and I could take some time to help them out. Plus I wanted to play with my new toy.<br /><br />We dragged the machine over to their boat,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17vTMn7bxI/AAAAAAAAA38/4ZjKlemPuMM/s1600-h/2007-02-14+09-15-47_0013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17vTMn7bxI/AAAAAAAAA38/4ZjKlemPuMM/s320/2007-02-14+09-15-47_0013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142810937588936466" border="0" /></a> pulled down their jib and pasted some sail tape over the rip. I then sewed it down with the machine, and touched up some other areas that seemed to be fraying. About half way through this process I began to worry that I hadn't left word with Robert or Robinson, who were out supposedly food shopping to re-provision the boat. I even naively asked Margan if she would wander over to the boat and let them know where I was. In the meantime I was having such a great time using my new sewing machine (not paying much attention to what was going on two slips over) that I didn't notice them wheeling the king sized grill over to our dock.<br /><br />It was wonderful to get to use the SailRite again, and it worked flawlessly. After we were finished, Randy seemed quite pleased with the work and insisted he "buy me a drink". Well, I didn't want to be rude, so I dropped down below decks into their salon for a Rum & Coke. Then Joe and Linda came over, and we all sat around chatting about boats, sailing, and the numerous other topics that consume every cruiser's life.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17u7cn7bwI/AAAAAAAAA30/8oSpeUGpbt0/s1600-h/2007-02-14+09-10-38_0011.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17u7cn7bwI/AAAAAAAAA30/8oSpeUGpbt0/s320/2007-02-14+09-10-38_0011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142810529567043330" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Time flew by, everyone was getting hungry, and we decided we should go out for dinner. I explained that I needed to round up the guys, so I jumped up and wandered back to the boat. There was Robinson, busily grilling up enough fish kabobs, vegetables, and such for the entire dock. It was a setup, and I was the dupe. They had me dead to rights, thinking I'd avoided the entire affair, and I walked into a surprise fiftieth birthday party without ever seeing it coming. Apparently AnnMarie had conspired with the crew and left instructions that I should be tormented in her absence.<br /><br />Fortunately, there was no compulsory gift giving, but I did have a wonderful evening surrounded by great people, great food and great music even if it was a compulsory dated event. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17uiMn7bvI/AAAAAAAAA3s/C2Ea3bDmXZo/s1600-h/2007-02-14+09-09-59_0010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17uiMn7bvI/AAAAAAAAA3s/C2Ea3bDmXZo/s320/2007-02-14+09-09-59_0010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142810095775346418" border="0" /></a>We all feasted on the fabulous pot luck that everyone provided, and there was no end of storying telling, long sea tales and bad jokes. It was as close to the spirit of what a birthday party should be as I've ever seen, and I was honored that everyone took the time and effort to make it all happen. Thank you so much, guys! It was a night I will not forget.<br /><br />At one point, Robert, who'd been chopping hot peppers for several minutes, began running around waving his hands in the air. Apparently whatever chemical there was in the chilies has leached into his fingers and they were on fire. We suggested all sorts of home remedies to cure him, which included several we knew wouldn't work but wanted to see if he would try. It was mean, but tormenting Robert has become something of a sport with us. Eventually we settled on salt and dish washing soap, applied repeatedly with ample scrubbing. That seemed to do the trick. Good thing he didn't need to pee!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17wIsn7bzI/AAAAAAAAA4M/gatgTeAxvvI/s1600-h/2007-02-14+09-34-29_0016.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17wIsn7bzI/AAAAAAAAA4M/gatgTeAxvvI/s320/2007-02-14+09-34-29_0016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142811856711937842" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The evening wore on, we all stayed up far past our bedtimes, and their were guitars involved. I learned how to play a famous sea shanty, taught it to Robert as well, and we sang along with the stereo. My only regret was that AnnMarie could not be there, as I'm sure we would have sung and played songs together. Oh well, it won't be long before I see her again, but I miss her already. In the words of Jack Johnson, "It's always better when we're together".<br /><br />In the meantime, I'm trying to figure out what to do about being so long in the tooth. Thirty wasn't bad at all, and forty wasn't hard to survive, but fifty has turned out to be something of a challenge. I find myself noticing how much I've changed in the last ten years. Slowed down, more than anything else, and lost a lot of the pent up drive I had to conquer the world. I'm also going slowly blind and deaf, just a tiny bit more so each day. I need glasses to read, have to ask people to repeat themselves, and generally just don't get things as quickly. I also ache more, and don't heal as fast.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17xRcn7b2I/AAAAAAAAA4k/nQxqQTq4u20/s1600-h/dec+11+015.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17xRcn7b2I/AAAAAAAAA4k/nQxqQTq4u20/s200/dec+11+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142813106547421026" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm told that is all normal, mostly by the folks around me who are older than me, but it comes as a bit of a surprise when it happens to you. I have very few regrets in life, and even fewer things I'd take back, but I do wish I was able to preserve a bit more of my youth. I really miss being immortal, unstoppable and relentless. Oh, well. Perhaps there is an aging portrait of someone, somewhere, but it ain't me.<br /><br />In the meantime, I wish you all eternal youth, the promise of good health, enough wealth to make your neighbors jealous and a partner that makes you smile every day. No one could ask for more, or deserves less!<br /><br />We will spend tomorrow watching the Festival de Guadelupe, then head north for Mazatlan, where we will part ways with Robert (he needs to go back to work) and then on to Cabo San Lucas. If you have any interest in being crew, drop us a line and let us know.<br /><br />Fair winds, a following sea, and toast me good days ahead.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/thar-she-blows.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/dear-reader-well-weve-been-in-puerto.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-80872640992814436242007-12-09T10:49:00.000-08:002007-12-20T18:15:16.748-08:00Thar She Blows!<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/11/puerto-escondido-zihuatanejo-and-beyond.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/sailor-looks-at-fiftyfrom-wrong-side.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Whales, Captain! Whales off the starboard bow!! </span><br /><br />We are just approaching the lighthouse south of the point and saw blow spouts off our bow. A sleek pod of Humpback whales, perhaps eight or more, were working their way across our path. We were amazed and excited, and very lucky to have seen them this early in the season.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17fkMn7bpI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/O1nxzNeomVI/s1600-h/BlowHoles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17fkMn7bpI/AAAAAAAAA2Y/O1nxzNeomVI/s400/BlowHoles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142793637460668050" border="0" /></a><br />We slowed our speed and grabbed our cameras, each of us clicking away as they got within thirty yards of our boat. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17c8Mn7bjI/AAAAAAAAA1o/e_1lHUm_01o/s1600-h/2007-12-03WhaleTail.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17c8Mn7bjI/AAAAAAAAA1o/e_1lHUm_01o/s400/2007-12-03WhaleTail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142790751242645042" border="0" /></a>Robert snapped a beautiful shot of a tail clearing the water, and Robinson snagged the shot of two breaching together. We could hear the slap as its tail hit the water, and the pop and swish of their lungs as they exhaled, blowing water ten feet into the air. It was a rare sight and one many folks pay considerable amounts of money to witness.<br /><br />We slowed to a stop, and watched for several minutes as as they swam past, going off to whatever it is that preoccupies Humpback enough to cause them to swim thousands of miles at a time. According to the folks in P.V., this is where they mate, the Sea of Cortez being a sort of a "Club Med" for whales, where singles meet and greet. I'm not surprised at all, given what the turtles have been getting up to. I can only imagine why the dolphins are grinning so much. Maybe P.V. is a "get lucky" kind of place, I know the crew is looking forward to getting here, and AnnMarie is scheduled to meet me here this weekend!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17cFMn7bhI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/VcQ1DogNAJQ/s1600-h/2007-02-07+RobbOnBowComingIntoPV.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17cFMn7bhI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/VcQ1DogNAJQ/s200/2007-02-07+RobbOnBowComingIntoPV.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142789806349839890" border="0" /></a>We rounded the cape just as the winds and sea started to pick up, but as we head into the bay we got further and further out of the Northerlies and things started to calm down. We were all a bit anxious to get onto land, as we'd been bashing up the coast for longer than was comfortable, and we were all looking forward to a quiet berth and a good meal. Unfortunately, we were still several hours away from Marina Puerto Vallarta, and the time seemed to drag on as we approached.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17cbsn7biI/AAAAAAAAA1g/tVQnqA7aSH0/s1600-h/2007-02-07+RobinsonOnBowInPVMarina.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17cbsn7biI/AAAAAAAAA1g/tVQnqA7aSH0/s200/2007-02-07+RobinsonOnBowInPVMarina.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142790192896896546" border="0" /></a>The bay was flat, the winds were light and it was very sunny and bright as we approached the entrance to the marina. There is a long and narrow channel you follow to get into this marina, with numerous docks and boats at anchor along the way. We pulled in two a large circular marina with docks going off in all directions. We couldn't figure out where to go, so we tied up to one of the vacant end ties (the furthest most part of the dock that faces the water) and walked around looking for the harbor office.<br /><br />It was three o'clock, and it was closed for siesta until four. We sat down at a near by restaurant and relaxed over burgers and fries. They weren't very good burgers, nor fries, but after Nicaragua, they tasted great. The entire harbor is ringed with tall condos, with store fronts opening out on to the sidewalk that runs around the water's edge. We waited until the office reopened, then asked about a slip. The woman who worked in the office was, as are most of the Mexican women down here, quite attractive. She smiled warmly at Robinson, who did all the talking.<br /><br />They had a vacancy large enough for our catamaran, which was actually two slips next to each other, over at M dock. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17ir8n7btI/AAAAAAAAA24/LOcg_pxJNUE/s1600-h/2007-02-13+05-33-54_0028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17ir8n7btI/AAAAAAAAA24/LOcg_pxJNUE/s320/2007-02-13+05-33-54_0028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142797069139537618" border="0" /></a>We motored over there, and as we negotiated our way in, noticed some folks sitting out on their boat, two slips over, called "Fire Escape". "You folks need a hand?" they asked. "Sure thing!" we yelled back, and they dashed over to take a line as we backed Triton into the slip. Their names were Randy and Margan, and they have just started their cruising adventure on their Island Packet. Randy just retired from the Canadian fire services, and Margan was an avid bicyclist from Colorado, and were traveling with Randy's ten year old son Mitchell, and their dog.<br /><br />We were then joined by Joe from "Ziagara Due", a spectacularly pretty stink pot (we don't hold it against him) as well. Everyone pitched in, without the slightest hesitation. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sfey64ACI/AAAAAAAAA6U/Vcrm1SQ4s78/s1600-h/2007-02-15+23-06-10_0012.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sfey64ACI/AAAAAAAAA6U/Vcrm1SQ4s78/s320/2007-02-15+23-06-10_0012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146241613126172706" border="0" /></a>They offered advice on where to find things, rides into town, and cold beers for our arrival. Not what you'd expect from strangers back home, but it is typical of the cruising community.<br /><br />We thanked them for all their help, and they invited us to a dock party that was happening later that day. Apparently once a week or so, Scott on Christina, a spacious DownEaster 38, drags out his deep fryer, and everyone brings some beer and fish, or potatoes, or whatever they'd like battered, and hangs out to chat.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17iLMn7bsI/AAAAAAAAA2w/f7vJVZf2StU/s1600-h/2007-02-08+08-06-18_0024.JPG"><img style="margin: 10pt 10px 10px 10pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17iLMn7bsI/AAAAAAAAA2w/f7vJVZf2StU/s200/2007-02-08+08-06-18_0024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142796506498821826" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We brought some watermelon that needed eating, and as the sun went down we got to meet our new neighbors. It was a delightful way to arrive and our spirits were much improved for the experience.<br /><br />I have to admit I'm always surprised at how tight the sailing community is, especially in foreign ports. I guess I shouldn't be, but we've had nothing be great hospitality since we got here. I'm yet to meet anyone, regardless of the price of their boat, who hasn't been outgoing, cheerful and friendly. You may not hang out with them, but we just haven't run into many folks with their nose in the air.<br /><br />The next day, Joe graciously offered to drive us to the Port Captain's office (which was only a block away) and the supermarket. We checked in (again taking less than ten minutes) and there were no fees or other complications. Mexico has really improved its cruising rules and I believe it will greatly encourage more tourists to discover what an amazing and beautiful country it is. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17dzMn7blI/AAAAAAAAA14/kaboEjHfyA8/s1600-h/2007-02-08+XmasCheckers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17dzMn7blI/AAAAAAAAA14/kaboEjHfyA8/s320/2007-02-08+XmasCheckers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142791696135450194" border="0" /></a>Maybe that isn't a good thing, as more Americans means more American stores (there is a Walmart within a few blocks) and it probably means less diversification, but in a global market I think this kind of change is inevitable.<br /><br />The supermarket was no different than any you'd find in California, with the exception that there were far less yuppies looking for dates, everything was spelled wrong, and they sold Cactus in the vegetable isle. The check out baggers were all wearing red Santa hats, which, coupled with the bright green trim on the checkout counters, added an odd, almost surreal holiday effect. Especially since it was about ninety degrees out. "It's Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas" kept running through my head.<br /><br />We bought several shopping carts worth of food, seltzer and octopus, loaded them into Joe's car and headed back to the boat. It took several trips to get everything aboard, and put away, but eventually we got settled in and could relax. I spoke with AnnMarie on the SatPhone the night before and made sure she was on track to meet us here. She was bringing down two sacks full of equipment and food, and the SailRite sewing machine. We had ripped the jib and trampoline coming up the coast and would need it to repair them.<br /><br />I went to pick her up on Friday at the airport. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17eKsn7bmI/AAAAAAAAA2A/FseTd2LxYlQ/s1600-h/2007-02-13+AmpInPV.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17eKsn7bmI/AAAAAAAAA2A/FseTd2LxYlQ/s320/2007-02-13+AmpInPV.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142792099862376034" border="0" /></a>It was less than five blocks away and the taxi ride there cost four dollars. I waited no more than ten minutes for her to clear customs, and there were no problems getting in. Getting a taxi back out was quite different. They wanted over twenty dollars. We argued with them, but they have a captured market and its a racket. We grabbed our stuff and lugged it a block away, and paid six bucks to take us back. Still a ripoff, but we didn't want to keep dragging a heavy sewing machine any further.<br /><br />It was wonderful seeing her, and we spent most of the next three days not seeing the sights, not experiencing P.V. and not getting out of bed. Neither of us felt at all deprived by this. She didn't even go swimming. About the most touristy thing we did was walk along the sidewalk and take a picture of what is either a marina repair man or a lizard. It is hard to tell because they both move at about the same pace. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17enMn7bnI/AAAAAAAAA2I/rqt2n9fC0m0/s1600-h/2007-02-13+LizardInPV.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17enMn7bnI/AAAAAAAAA2I/rqt2n9fC0m0/s200/2007-02-13+LizardInPV.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142792589488647794" border="0" /></a>I think its a lizard, because the repair men don't seem to have opposable thumbs.<br /><br />We did go for dinner on Saturday evening with both Robs, Randy & Margan, and Erik, an American who has been traveling for a bit through Mexico and picking up work where ever he can. We've eaten at a few of the restaurants along the esplanade, but our favorite is a place quite close to our slip, where their specialty is octopus. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2shEy64ADI/AAAAAAAAA6c/k6VIBJA6nts/s1600-h/MarinaLighthouse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2shEy64ADI/AAAAAAAAA6c/k6VIBJA6nts/s200/MarinaLighthouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146243365472829490" border="0" /></a>You would think I'd eventually grow tired of it, but it remains my favorite comfort food. Afterward Randy, Margan, AnnMarie and I went for drinks at the lighthouse, the tall circular building that overlooks the entire marina. P.V. doesn't really have that great a skyline, but we had a really nice time chatting and watching the boats. Later that night AnnMarie and I sat on Triton and cuddled. It was a beautiful, romantic night, and we held each other and snuggled. Life is good.<br /><br />Ann left on Sunday afternoon, it was much too brief a stay, but she needed to get back to work. That evening Robinson, Robert and I sewed the sail and the tramp. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17e_sn7boI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/RnsabnAypg8/s1600-h/2007-02-13+SewingOnTramp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17e_sn7boI/AAAAAAAAA2Q/RnsabnAypg8/s320/2007-02-13+SewingOnTramp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142793010395442818" border="0" /></a>The machine worked beautifully and I was amazed at how effortless it was to repair everything. I only wish I'd brought this down from the very beginning. As it was, Ann had a hell of a time lugging it around the various airports, and it would probably have been damaged or "lost" if we'd shipped it, but it's great to have now.<br /><br />Tomorrow is my fiftieth birthday, which I'm not looking forward to and hoping to ignore. Time seems to have sped up, and I find myself looking in the mirror at my father and wondering how I managed to live this long. I've certainly had a great time so far, and will do my best to continue in that vein or die trying.<br /><br />Until then, I wish everyone a happy holiday season and hope to see you all by next year!<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/11/puerto-escondido-zihuatanejo-and-beyond.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/sailor-looks-at-fiftyfrom-wrong-side.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261890046890675676.post-74869424004931549042007-11-25T09:45:00.000-08:002007-12-20T17:33:45.809-08:00Puerto Escondido, Zihuatanejo and Beyond<a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/its-nothing-but-turtles-all-way-down.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/thar-she-blows.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a><br /><br /><br />Gentle Readers,<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17ZJ8n7bgI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/cYgqHsb8LoM/s1600-h/BeachFront.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17ZJ8n7bgI/AAAAAAAAA1Q/cYgqHsb8LoM/s200/BeachFront.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142786589419335170" border="0" /></a>We arrived in Puerto Escondido. I didn't get much sleep last night, I think the full moon kept me awake. Or maybe it was the shooting stars. Or mars is in retrograde, which makes me seasick trying to follow through the night sky. Plus the milky way was a mess, spilled across the sky. I know I shouldn't cry about it, but it fucks with my Zzzzzz's. To make matters worse, it was yet another boringly spectacular sunrise this morning, and yes, more damn dolphins on the bowsprit. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Tacn7baI/AAAAAAAAA0g/xTmfmCsbNuc/s1600-h/2007-11-25DolphinsInLine.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Tacn7baI/AAAAAAAAA0g/xTmfmCsbNuc/s200/2007-11-25DolphinsInLine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142780275817409954" border="0" /></a>I keep thinking about an aphorism I just saw, that went "Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead; do not walk in front for I may not follow; do not walk beside me...in fact, just leave me the hell alone!" I'm starting to feel that way about the dolphins. Look, you can't eat them, you can't tease them, they are definitely having all the fun at the expense of my bow wake, and they're always smiling!!! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17TJcn7bZI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/4Ec50YEIdtQ/s1600-h/2007-11-25DolphinBreaching.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17TJcn7bZI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/4Ec50YEIdtQ/s200/2007-11-25DolphinBreaching.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142779983759633810" border="0" /></a>Damn pests, if you ask me. Always skulking about, showing up, getting in our way then running off. Or maybe I just need to get some sleep.<br /><br />Anyway, we checked into town, spent a day walking around, there was some festival or other, they blocked off the street and had a mariachi band on stage. This is yet another tourist town, with every other shop selling the identical schlock. It really is depressing how much of this crap you see for sale everywhere large amounts of moderately wealthy tourists are found. I've no doubt that people are buying this stuff up by the armful, but it depresses me to know that I'm probably related to several of them. Were my grandmother still alive, I wouldn't be surprised to run into her haggling down the price on a life sized animated parrot that moves its lips in sync with Elvis Presley tunes, her bags stuffed with cheap blankets, brightly painted napkin holders and miniature Mexican sombrero toilet roll covers.<br /><br />We checked into the Port Captain's Office. It took less than ten minutes. They took our papers, stamped them and handed them back. I was shocked and amazed. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before in Central America. I'm sure this is some anomaly (the regular bureaucrat took sick and the replacement wasn't up to speed) but my friends assure me that this is the new system. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17M_sn7bMI/AAAAAAAAAyw/V3QI1grumek/s1600-h/2007-01-28-RobertOnSternAtZ.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17M_sn7bMI/AAAAAAAAAyw/V3QI1grumek/s320/2007-01-28-RobertOnSternAtZ.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142773219186142402" border="0" /></a>If so, traveling in Mexico just got a whole lot easier. The last time I had to do this you allocated about seven hours over two days to complete the process, and had to pay at least fifty dollars or one tenth your anticipated life time earnings, whichever was greater. This was free. I fully expected to be struck by lightening upon exiting the office.<br /><br />We didn't stay long, enough time to have a meal, relax, and get ready for the trek north to Zihuatanejo. We motored out the harbor with good weather and flat seas. The crew are in good spirits, we've spotted whales a bit off our port this morning and there are always the compulsory dolphins, sea turtles and damn gorgeous sun sets. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Uq8n7bcI/AAAAAAAAA0w/x_otq5JEB8I/s1600-h/2007-12-01RobertOnBow.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Uq8n7bcI/AAAAAAAAA0w/x_otq5JEB8I/s320/2007-12-01RobertOnBow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142781658796879298" border="0" /></a>I never thought I'd long for the dismal gray skies of New Jersey, but a bleak landscape every now and then doesn't hurt.<br /><br />The trip to Zihuatanejo was uneventful. We motored along, stopped for an occasional swim, fished off the back, caught the occasional tuna and otherwise just slept. The seas were pretty calm, but there was a storm brewing up north and west of us, and we were starting to see big rollers lumber in as the days progressed. We also noticed that the seas picked up quite a bit around noon, with winds freshening considerably by the afternoon and dying off a bit towards evening. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Vbcn7bdI/AAAAAAAAA04/5C1tAmY9FZc/s1600-h/2007-12-01RobinsonAtSunset.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Vbcn7bdI/AAAAAAAAA04/5C1tAmY9FZc/s200/2007-12-01RobinsonAtSunset.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142782492020534738" border="0" /></a>Nothing surprising there, but it would turn out to be exactly the pattern we'd come to avoid. We also discovered that we are in a bit of a slipstream, with a two knot current running against us. Still we've made good time, averaging around five knots course over ground, so we can't complain. Even if the sunsets are beautiful.<br /><br />We reached Z that day. The anchorage itself was easy, we dropped the hook in thirteen feet of water, and after a couple of unsuccessful tries finally got the CQR to hold. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Sr8n7bYI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/BFSl-VBWT5k/s1600-h/2007-02-06+RobertAtSternInHeavyWeather.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Sr8n7bYI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/BFSl-VBWT5k/s200/2007-02-06+RobertAtSternInHeavyWeather.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142779476953492866" border="0" /></a>We've had really bad luck with that anchor, and I expect we'll replace it as soon as possible with an oversized Rocna or Bugle. In the meantime we manage after a try or two. We've also had some problems with the anchor windlass control. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Rdsn7bVI/AAAAAAAAAz4/CCDNvQYLTFw/s1600-h/2007-02-03-ButterflyOffPV.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17Rdsn7bVI/AAAAAAAAAz4/CCDNvQYLTFw/s320/2007-02-03-ButterflyOffPV.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142778132628729170" border="0" /></a>It doesn't seem to want to lower the anchor. It had been acting up for a while, seemed to be a short in the wires because it worked if you pushed them into the control housing, so I took it apart and re-soldered the connections. It seemed to fix it for a day or two, but didn't last.<br /><br />Zihuatanejo was a great anchorage, easy to get to and good holding bottom. We pulled in, relaxed, and were greeted by a beautiful butterfly, you can just see it here as it fluttered by our boat. We've seen quite a lot of nature, but there is something quite calming about butterflies. They just seem so completely lost and unprepared to handle anything, yet the flit about and never seem to have a problem. One went streaking past us at about forty knots while we were struggling through the Tehuantepecs, it didn't seem that bothered by the wind, at least compared to us.<br /><br />"The Boys" went off partying tonight, looking for whatever good times the town could offer. Robert has shaved his beard, which makes him look about ten years younger, and Robinson put on a clean shirt. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17TsMn7bbI/AAAAAAAAA0o/9l-du9J5MFA/s1600-h/2007-12-01RobertGrinning.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17TsMn7bbI/AAAAAAAAA0o/9l-du9J5MFA/s200/2007-12-01RobertGrinning.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142780580760087986" border="0" /></a>In cruising terms, that is the moral equivalent of going out hunting loaded for bear. They never returned. I went to sleep. Sometime after sunrise I woke up, and they still weren't back. I wasn't too worried about them, but they did have the dinghy. Eventually they returned, hung over, exhausted, penniless, and most significantly, without any apparent injuries, except maybe a few brain cells they weren't using (only the weak ones die). They did have a few good stories to tell, but I'll leave that to them.<br /><br />We left Zihuatanejo but stopped just north of it at Marina Ixtapa. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17R6sn7bWI/AAAAAAAAA0A/4sRW_3xtj6U/s1600-h/2007-02-03-CrapMarina.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17R6sn7bWI/AAAAAAAAA0A/4sRW_3xtj6U/s200/2007-02-03-CrapMarina.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142778630844935522" border="0" /></a>It seemed like a friendly enough place, quite a well protected harbor with a very shallow and narrow entrance I'd hate to have to navigate in a seaway. We pulled up to the fuel dock and waited for the attendant. Eventually (by archaeological standards it was actually quite fast) the attendant arrived and began pumping diesel. We went ashore to the strip of restuarants and convenience stores located along the marina for ice and drinks, and although their didn't appear to be any eatery with food quality better than a Long John Silver's, we decided we'd at least stop for lunch while we were there. We asked the attendant first if we could leave the boat along the fuel dock (note: this is Mexico, at lunchtime, where everyone and everything shut down completely) and were told absolutely not, that we had to move once we finished refueling.<br /><br />We then asked if there were a dock or slip to tie up to while we<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17X2sn7beI/AAAAAAAAA1A/H5PvlWQmpIc/s1600-h/2007-12-02RobbRobertInSeas.jpg"><img style="margin: 10pt 10pt 10px 10px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17X2sn7beI/AAAAAAAAA1A/H5PvlWQmpIc/s200/2007-12-02RobbRobertInSeas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142785159195225570" border="0" /></a> spent money on disappointing food in the marina. We were told that we would have to pay for a full day's berthing fee. We laughed and laughed. "You have got to be kidding. You mean you want us to pay you for the privilege of eating at your mediocre restaurants?" we asked the attendant. He seemed to think that was a perfectly reasonable idea. He then left of lunch, as did every other dock worker. We had lunch on the boat, making a delicious meal which took the better part of an hour and a half. Eventually the attendant (funny use of the word, really) came back to tell us we needed to move the boat. I explained that while I wanted to leave right this minute, my crew were on their lunch break, and wouldn't be done for another five minutes or so. Fuck'em!<br /><br />We eventually disembarked and headed north, making great time. We were averaging six knots running on both motors at 2100 RPMs. That is great speed for very little effort. The swell has picked up, and the weather reports from up north are worsening. We decided to try to make Puerto Vallarta before the wind got too bad, so we pushed the engines up to 3300 RPMs and were sloshing along at eight knots, riding up and down the long rollers that were beginning to build. As the day wore on, the swell and chop got worse. At first it wasn't too bad, but by afternoon we were bashing into waves and taking green water over the bows.<br /><br />Eventually the seas were so large, and so square, that our speed dropped to under three knots. We decided to turn tail and run back to a small fishing village we had just passed. Unfortunately, at just that moment a fish hit our trolling line. We dragged it in quickly, gutted it, threw it on ice, then rev'ed up the engines and headed south. The harbor was ten miles back, and we were worried about losing daylight. Going into an unknown anchorage in the dark is something to be avoided if at all possible.<br /><br />So we pushed the throttles up full and ran with the waves. Triton jumped up, lifting her bows as she picked up speed. The wind and sea continued to build and we found ourselves surfing along the breakers as they ran up behind us. We motored along at ten to twelve knots, with bursts far higher. This was both thrilling and a bit terrifying, as it required constant attention at the helm. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17YcMn7bfI/AAAAAAAAA1I/Qv4kvAHqq7Q/s1600-h/2007-12-02SurfingTriton.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17YcMn7bfI/AAAAAAAAA1I/Qv4kvAHqq7Q/s320/2007-12-02SurfingTriton.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142785803440319986" border="0" /></a>At one point we were picked up by a breaking wave about nine feet high and slid down the face of it at over fourteen knots, with the meter peaking momentarily at twenty! The entire boat was thrumming from the speed as the wave rushed past. It was exhilarating and everyone was grinning like madmen!<br /><br />Triton made it to Bahia Chamela, a small south facing anchorage just before sunset. We headed in towards the small, cliff lined harbor strewn with fishing pangas and lobster pot buoys. It was a very tight space but we had hoped to sneak in and set the anchor in the very well protected inlet. As we motored along I looked down and noticed that the lobster pot buoys that so densely populated the Eastern wall were only those whose lines allowed them to float above the surface. The channel we traversed had numerous empty Clorox bottles tied to lines floating just below the surface. To a boat with propellers this is the moral equivalent a submarine navigating through under sea mines. This is one way of keeping anyone but the home boys out of your neighborhood.<br /><br />We needed to stop immediately and turn around, so I pulled both throttles into reverse, waited for our forward momentum to stop, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sUWS63_9I/AAAAAAAAA5s/l9sau75SVVE/s1600-h/2007-02-15+23-19-45_0025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sUWS63_9I/AAAAAAAAA5s/l9sau75SVVE/s320/2007-02-15+23-19-45_0025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146229372469379026" border="0" /></a>then pushed the port engine throttle forward to spin us around. There was a snap, and I realized that the throttle linkage cable had broken, and to make matters worse, was stuck in gear, with the engine at about 1200 RPMs. Fortunately, I knew how to do a back and fill (a single engine technique for spinning a boat around in a tight space) from my days sailing monohulls, so we turned around quickly if not somewhat cumbersomely and got the hell out of Dodge.<br /><br />We headed further out into the larger bay, dropped the anchor in about sixty feet of water and spent the next few hours fixing the linkage assembly. Now, this particular linkage cable had failed once before, which was why I so quickly recognized what was wrong (the last time I spent several minutes saying "That's funny, it doesn't seem to reverse in a straight line anymore?") so I knew exactly what needed to be repaired. The difference was that this time I had no intention of spending another six agonizing hours bent at funny angles trying to get at the impossibly difficult screws that secured the cables.<br /><br />Instead, we unbolted the entire throttle housing and lifted it straight out of the console, exposing the part we needed to reattach and tighten down. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sVri63__I/AAAAAAAAA58/97urYXGSrVM/s1600-h/2007-02-15+23-21-09_0029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sVri63__I/AAAAAAAAA58/97urYXGSrVM/s320/2007-02-15+23-21-09_0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146230837053226994" border="0" /></a>Now, I'd always wondered why there was a piece of bright yellow plastic bolted up to the inside of the console wall. It couldn't be for any kind of protection from water, it was deep inside the fiberglass console. It remained a mystery to me for over a year. Then, while trying to repair the assembly, I dropped a very import piece. It went pinging and bouncing down into the dark recesses of the boat. You see where all those wires disappear below the decking? Well, if something goes down there, not even a customs inspector will find it. I think my cell phone fell down there, but short of drilling through the hull or using an Xray device, it isn't worth trying to find it. If the part went all the way down there, there, we were screwed. I was really not enjoying this moment. That happens a lot in sailing, in case you haven't picked this up from prior posts.<br /><br />"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" Okay, not the most clever cursing, but I was tired, hungry, aggravated, annoyed and we were still rolling around in the ocean swell. After searching for the piece for the better part of an hour, I found it, and began to attempt replacing it. Then I stopped and thought "Wait a minute, what if this happens again?" So, I decided to put something underneath he housing to catch any pieces that might drop. I started looking around the boat for something to use, some sort of...sheet or something. I realized that what I needed was a piece of plastic I could attach to the wall that would catch anything that dropped. Wait a minute, what about this yellow stuff already attached to the wall?<br /><br />"Fuckin'A!" Okay, not much better, but if you're from Jersey it will do. I pulled out the bright yellow plastic sheet and stretched it below the opening. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sU_y63_-I/AAAAAAAAA50/7e9eMZFx32E/s1600-h/2007-02-15+23-20-36_0028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R2sU_y63_-I/AAAAAAAAA50/7e9eMZFx32E/s320/2007-02-15+23-20-36_0028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146230085433950178" border="0" /></a>Two small pieces of duct tape held the far end in place. I then went back up top and tried reattaching the cable. This time a screw fell, but was caught by the plastic and rolled to the center of it. Whatever genius put that there before me must have had exactly the same problem, and known better. Who ever they are, my hat is off to you!<br /><br />We got the throttles repaired and put back together, then reset our primary anchor a bit further in to the harbor and out of the swell. It didn't really feel like the anchor ever truly caught (useless CQR), so we dropped a second anchor, this time the Danforth, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17SQsn7bXI/AAAAAAAAA0I/rUwGiN9aE9I/s1600-h/2007-02-05+RobbHoistsAnchor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_530x3bKG-nA/R17SQsn7bXI/AAAAAAAAA0I/rUwGiN9aE9I/s200/2007-02-05+RobbHoistsAnchor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142779008802057586" border="0" /></a>which caught immediately and held. I slept better that night knowing we weren't going anywhere. Of course, that night the anchor windlass switch decided this was a perfect time to stop working completely, so we spent a considerable part of the next morning debugging electronics before we could get under way. We also had to pull the other anchor up by hand. A process I do not recommend for any but the most energetic.<br /><br />We left as soon as possible that morning and sped towards Puerto Vallarta, hoping to get there before the winds picked up. We'd seen some whale's breaching off our port bow, and several large blows off in the distance, so we were optimistic that we'd get to see some whales close up.<br /><br />Well, the seas are picking up and I need to get back to navigating, so its off for now. We hope to be in P.V. before nightfall. In the meantime I wish everyone a less frustrating day than we've had, and may all your electronics work the first time!<br /><br />Cheers, for now.<br /><br />Robb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/its-nothing-but-turtles-all-way-down.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">PREVIOUS ENTRY | </span></span></span></a><a href="http://tritonsatsea.blogspot.com/2007/12/thar-she-blows.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"><span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> NEXT ENTRY</span></span></span></a>S/V Tritonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07227825056491530658noreply@blogger.com0