Tritons at sea

Home Coming: The Triton Crew Returns

2008-03-08T18:32:00.000-08:00

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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.

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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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.

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. 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."

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.

Along the way I couldn't help remembering all the great times and crazy antics I'd watched. Mota hanging off the bow in a rainbow colored muumuu, misplacing Thorny in Panama city, Robert having sex with turtles, 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. 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.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 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.

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. 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.

It was a bittersweet moment. I was relieved be home, to have sailed over four 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.

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 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.

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. 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.

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.

Wishing you all fair winds and following seas...

Robb Triton

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Half Moon Bay: Waiting for Godot

2008-03-03T09:36:00.000-08:00

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If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.

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.

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. 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.

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 "eggerator" 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.

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. 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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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 we'd caused everyone.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Cheers for now,

Robb

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Point Conception: What A Drag!

2008-02-10T15:54:00.000-08:00

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Hello Northern California!

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. 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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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. 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.

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.

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. The wind was freshening, and it would only get worse when the sun rose. We decided to weight anchor and head north now.

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.

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. We dragged out the bolt cutters, snapped our way to freedom and set out around the point.

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.

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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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!

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) 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.

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.

Cheers for now,

Robb

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San Diego: the only thing not at war here is the weather.

2008-01-31T11:57:00.000-08:00

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SAN DIEGO ROCKS!!

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. 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.

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. 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.

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.

Monday afternoon I went over to the big building in town to speak with the Customs folks. The Vessel 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.

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, 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.

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.

After an hour or so we 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.

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. 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.

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, for several months, and it was finally coming to an end when they gave her their offer letter.

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.

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. 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.

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.

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.

I hope this post finds your prospects as joyful and spirits as high!

Cheers,

Robb

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The Barn and Beyond

2008-01-28T12:15:00.000-08:00

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Ahoy Mateys!

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 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.

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. I've been eating mostly from foil packets of Indian food, straight from the pouch. Not great, but tasty and easy to grab.

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, 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.

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. 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.

On the way in to the harbor we passed several Navy war ships, freighters and even a submarine 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.

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. 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. 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 tourist attraction none of us had ever seen before. We grabbed dinner and went to sleep, happy to be home.

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!

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. 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.

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.

I trust all of your plans are moving along as well, and look forward to seeing you all shortly.

Cheers,

Robb

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Asuncion to Ensenada

2008-01-24T20:25:00.000-08:00

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Hola Readers!

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. 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.

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. 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.

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.

"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 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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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".

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 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.

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.

There were long rollers coming in from the west, maybe eight feet high but spaced 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.

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.

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."

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. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 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."

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.

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?" [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.

"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.

"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.

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.

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.

Cheers,

Robb

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[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?]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Steve Dashew's "Mariner's Weather" but nothing short of a degree in the subject really seems to be enough. Guess I'm going back to college.

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Heading North, We Stop In Asuncion

2008-01-22T11:17:00.000-08:00

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Hey Guys,

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.

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. 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.

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, 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.

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 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.

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. 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. We hope to see them up north sometime soon and repay the kindness.

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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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. 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!

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!! 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 website 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.

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. 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.

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.

Cheers,

Robb

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Long Distance Dripless Rubber Booty Call

2008-01-15T20:46:00.001-08:00

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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. 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?

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.

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. 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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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. 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.

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, 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.

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.

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, 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.

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 shifty to them. I agree.

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. "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.

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.

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 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.

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.

Cheers for now,

Robb

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San Jose, the anti-hell.

2008-01-11T20:01:00.000-08:00

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Greetings from Sunny San Jose!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

In the meantime I wish you all a maintenance free, sunny, calm day and free of customs officials, port captains and pot holed roads.

Cheers,

Robb

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What a difference a harbor makes.

2008-01-08T19:12:00.000-08:00

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Ahoy, Ahoy,

Well, I've moved the boat a few miles further north to a small town on the western shore of Baja called San Jose. 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.

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 amazon.com. 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. Would that all marina managers, harbor officials and government employees as nice, I'd have nothing to write about.

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.

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!"

It is situated atop a highpoint of the town, visible for miles in every direction, especially from the marina, over which it looms. 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.

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".

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. 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.

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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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. 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?

Last night I met my neighbors David, Edgar, and Ana on Slow Dance, a beautiful 80 foot charter boat for day sails and overnights. 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. 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.

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. 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.

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.

Cheers,

Robb

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Trouble In River City

2008-01-07T16:50:00.000-08:00

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Hey Folks,

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

In the mean time I wish you all a happy new year, fair winds and following seas.

Cheers,

Robb

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Cabo San Lucas, Dante's Bad Dream.

2008-01-02T21:41:00.000-08:00

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Dear Readers,

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. 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.

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. 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.

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.

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. 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.

"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".

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. 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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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. 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!

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. 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.

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. 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.

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. It wants to make you rip out your soul and have it washed, dried then dry cleaned. Deedadeedadeedadeeda. Hell should take lessons.

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.

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. 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.

Ann and I walked around a bit more, but there was just nothing going on. 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.

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.

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, 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.

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 Cabo Coffee Company. 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. 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.

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 instructor 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.

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.

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.

Cheers,

Robb

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Espiritu Santu, Los Frailes and the approach to Cabo San Lucas

2007-12-30T17:15:00.000-08:00

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Feliz Anos Nuevo!

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. 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.

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. 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. We've managed to cobble something together, enough that we can now avoid hypothermia and/or trench foot.

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, 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.

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. 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?

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. 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.

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. 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.

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 "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.

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, 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.

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 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. 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. 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.

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. 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.

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 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.

As we approached Cabo San Lucas AnnMarie caught a beautiful Dorado, 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.

We reached the harbor towards sunset, and went past Cabo's famous archway on our way into the very well protected marina. 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.

Cheers for now!

Robb

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La Paz, City of Peace and Quiet

2007-12-25T22:49:00.000-08:00

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Feliz Navidad!!

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. 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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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 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.

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. 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. 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.

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" 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.

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.

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 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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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.

Cheers,

Robb

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Mazatlan: A nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to check out there.

2007-12-17T12:53:00.000-08:00

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Hola Amigos!

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 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.

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: 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.

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. 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?

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. 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.

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.

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. 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.

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.

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.

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. 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.

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, 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.

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. We paid three dollars for use of their facilities, and headed off into town to find the Port Captain's office.

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.

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 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.

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.

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, 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.

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.

So, we rushed over to Immigration...eventually, after first driving through several blocks of town, every known road bump in Mazatlan, and backtracking twice. 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.

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. 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.

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 manufacturing plant. In the meantime, the front desk person places folders on the ever growing pile on the right.

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.

After about twenty minutes, we begin to realize that they aren't going to actually do anything. 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.

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 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.

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!" 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.

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."

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?" 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.

"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.

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.

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. 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!

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!

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. 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.

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.

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.

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, 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.

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. 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!

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.

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 "The Pause That Refreshes." Including a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I love this country!!

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. 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".

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.

Talk to you next when we reach Cabo San Lucas.

Cheers for now.

Robb

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Marina Puerto Vallarta...looks better at night.

2007-12-15T15:28:00.000-08:00

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Dear Reader,

Well, we've been in Puerto Vallarta for almost a week now, and staying at Marina Puerto Vallarta, the main marina in town. 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.

It is very well protected, but the harbor waters are quite dirty, with dead fish, oil slicks and condoms floating about. 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.

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. 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. 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.

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 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 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. 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.

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.

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.

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, 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.

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. 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.

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. 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! 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. 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, 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.

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 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. 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 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.

We also found a McDonalds, with a life sized Ronald The Clown 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, 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.

Eventually we reached the town center, which is dominated by a large cathedral with an giant bell tower. 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. 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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

The mass transit seemed like a pretty decent setup, although we were riding on what amounted to old school buses from the states. 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. 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.

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.

Cheers for now!

Robb

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A Sailor Looks At Fifty...From The Wrong Side.

2007-12-11T12:05:00.001-08:00

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I've been hoodwinked!!

There is no other way to describe it. I was lied to, and misled, and fooled. 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!

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.

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.

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, and especially not because of a preordained date. 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. It seems so false to me, and makes me feel bad whenever I'm a part of it.

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.

We dragged the machine over to their boat, 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.

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.

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.

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. 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.

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!

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".

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.

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.

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!

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.

Fair winds, a following sea, and toast me good days ahead.

Cheers,

Robb

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Thar She Blows!

2007-12-09T10:49:00.000-08:00

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Whales, Captain! Whales off the starboard bow!!

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.

We slowed our speed and grabbed our cameras, each of us clicking away as they got within thirty yards of our boat. 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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

They had a vacancy large enough for our catamaran, which was actually two slips next to each other, over at M dock. 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.

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. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 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.

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.

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.

I went to pick her up on Friday at the airport. 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.

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. I think its a lizard, because the repair men don't seem to have opposable thumbs.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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.

Until then, I wish everyone a happy holiday season and hope to see you all by next year!

Cheers,

Robb

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Puerto Escondido, Zihuatanejo and Beyond

2007-11-25T09:45:00.000-08:00

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Gentle Readers,

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. 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!!! 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.

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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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. 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.

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. 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. 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.

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.

"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. 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.

We left Zihuatanejo but stopped just north of it at Marina Ixtapa. 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.

We then asked if there were a dock or slip to tie up to while we 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!

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.

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.

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. 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!

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.

We needed to stop immediately and turn around, so I pulled both throttles into reverse, waited for our forward momentum to stop, 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.

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.

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. 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.

"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?

"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. 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!

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, 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.

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.

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!

Cheers, for now.

Robb

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It's Nothing But Turtles, All The Way Down...

2007-11-22T14:04:00.000-08:00

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Fucking Turtles!

No, really, I mean that. We've seen a comely amount of mating turtles on our trek north to Puerto Escondido. Apparently there is some sort of "jet stream" current along the coast here that happens to be going exactly where these creatures want to get. So they hop into the stream, and then like passengers on a long train trip through Amsterdam, find other passengers to hook up with. The first time we spotted a pair we couldn't figure out what was going on. As we got closer, we realized what they were doing. It was a bit embarrassing, and I sympathized with them (having more than once been a teenager caught in the back seat of a car with a girlfriend) but who knew?

I also felt bad about laughing. Out loud. And pointing. I shouldn't have pointed. Or cackled. Cackling was definitely rude. I feel really bad about snorting and chortling too. Turtles have such a solemn look about them. Sort of like Methodists. But as anyone with a hot tub can tell you, boinking while bobbing just doesn't work. In fact, turtle sex is about as ridiculous looking an activity as walking in on your grandparents by accident. And then standing there with the door open and laughing.

Now, I'm sure there are some very complex courting rituals within this species of Testudines, with many subtle nuances and deeply moving moments (probably having a lot to do with figuring out what sex your partner happens to be before hand) but two reptiles doing it doggy style in the middle of the ocean while both trying not to drown is hilarious. I still feel really bad.

It hasn't been an all turtles humping all the time. We've seen hundreds of other singles, floating forlornly along. They definitely have two looks to them. One is a sort of "just got laid" kind of relaxed float. The other is a "still want to get laid" sort of anxious swim. And not unlike most trains through Holland, there were a lot more of the anxious ones than the laid back, relaxed ones. At one point we stopped as a turtle anxiously paddled by. Rob decided to jump in, so he could pet it. At least, that was what he told us he was doing. We watched only until he got close enough to shake hands, but felt we owed him his privacy (and, like my grandparents, it was something I didn't really want to watch...again), so we went below. He eventually returned to the boat, and definitely had that laid back, relaxed kind of look all conservationists get after communing with nature. I'm sure it was all above board but if some scaly, green, Methodist kid shows up twenty years later asking for him, its his problem.

We are on our way to Puerto Escondido, motoring along (the wind isn't against us, but that's only because there isn't any) and sloshing along over long, gentle rollers that have wandered in from the storms up north. Yesterday, Robinson painted the dinghy's name on it's sides. We argued over what to call it, but deferred to his vote for "Tritonita". He spent all afternoon working on it. Then he christened it, being that he is the "captain of the dinghy", which basically means we let him run the motor when we go to shore. While he was christening it, we untied his mooring line and let him float away, without an engine or oars. This is a shot of him getting back using "praddles" which are the worst of both worlds of oars and paddles. You fasten then onto your arms, and row along. Of course, you'd need six foot long arms to use these things without feeling a right bork, but dangling a cigarette out of your mouth adds a certain panache.

He was very proud of his artistic achievements in regards the name, and was a bit disappointed we didn't think more of his masterpiece. He mentioned this several times. Rob and I just looked at each other for a while. We now do nothing but compliment him on it. Whole conversations are dedicated to admiring his handiwork. "My God, Robinson, is that really the first time you've ever stenciled letters onto a dinghy? No way!?! That's amazing! I've never seen anything quite as good. And you say you've never done this before? Wow, you really have a talent for this. Maybe you could get work back in the states doing this?" We go on about it until we get bored or anything at all distracts us. He graciously ignores us taking the piss. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him what a great job he did.

We also installed the radar just before we left. This is the same radar we slogged down to Trinidad and have had with us ever since. We just got around to doing it, and a more half assed job I've not done at that. It would have been best if we could have placed it on a mount in front of and above the spreaders, and then run the radar cable down through the mast and through the internal cable runs inside the boat, but that would have probably required several decades to accomplish in Mexico. So, instead we mounted it on the spreader bar, then zip tied the cable to the shrouds, and ran them back across the cabin top. It looks terrible, but it works, and means we now have a working radar, with an additional chart plotter and GPS. Given that we will start heading into fog soon, this might just come in handy...along with alerting us to pirate attacks, half sunken freight containers, white squalls and other mythical creatures.

Putting it in required going up the mast in the bosun's chair. We waited until dark, ostensibly to avoid the heat but mostly because I'm a programmer and don't wake up early enough in the morning to get anything done before its too hot. The other reason was the obvious fear of being hoisted up a mast that may not be rated for fat captains.

We are only a mile or two off the coast, but the depth is over several thousand feet. There is a very steep oceanic shelf just below us, and it makes for great fishing. We've been trolling several different lures and have caught many fish, including a few tuna, and a mackerel. Mackerel make great ceviche, by the way.

Each time we catch a fish we need to stop the boat, gut it, fillet it, then reset the line. It takes about an hour and usually results in my getting seasick as I pitch about the deck with my head down in fish guts, but fresh fish is way more important than the arrival time. Dinners have been fantastic and "The Boys" as everyone has taken to calling Robert and Robinson, (odd that, they are both fully formed men of legal age) have developed a little routine they call "Ready, Steady, CAT!". Each night I'm treated, against my will, to an impromptu cooking show where they go on about the way they are preparing the food, any little tips for the viewer, and a color commentary about the local foods and spices. Perfectly normal men on shore...they are beginning to scare me after only a few days at sea.

The weather has been surprisingly good. We heard that a big storm was brewing up in the Sea of Cortez, and that the Northerlies will be pretty strong this week. We're hoping we can get to P.V. before they start pushing waves our way. In the meantime we've been enjoying the beautiful weather. There has been a very large, bright moon each night, and we've seen no end of beautiful sunsets, but watching a bright red moon drop into the ocean is something I don't get to see very often. It was spectacular! Oh, those are two turtles fucking in the foreground. No, really. Why would I lie about something you can check me on?

We soldier on, troopers that we are. Well, actually, mostly we sit and watch turtle porn while the autopilot hums away, but it passes the time. We expect to be in port by morning, just in time for yet another spectacular sunrise. There will probably be dolphins as well. Ho Hum. Dolphins off the bowsprit, sea turtle orgies everywhere we look, incredible sunsets, moon rises and balmy warm nights on the ocean. It's surprising how quickly you can become accustomed to the extremes of life. Sort of like living in downtown Berkeley.

Apathetically yours,

Robb

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A Rob By Any Other Name...

2007-11-21T09:41:00.000-08:00

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Dear Reader,

Now I usually refer to you as such, although I've greeted you many other ways as well. Does it upset you if I called you something else? Say "Most Reverent Peruser", "Scanner Of All He Surveys" or even "Bored Web Surfer"? What"s in a name, really? Well, as you've heard, we played a mean trick on Robert by pretending to not ever remember his name, always calling him something different. And, as things unfolded, he took it all with grace and aplomb. Of course, we came clean eventually, and it was all in good fun, but the name thing remains a source of great amusement for us.

Now, don't think for one second that once we revealed the practical joke, the name calling stopped. No, far from it. We've all developed various nicknames for each other, and they all require some explaining. Actually, no amount of explaining will really get the point across, but it has been a source of entertainment for us throughout the journey. For instance, for Rain there was the obvious "fat ass", "kitchen bitch", and Robinson's favorite "sea anchor". We've called Robinson everything from "Jodie Girl's Name" (his first name is actually Jodie) to "Jack Of No Trades" and "Don Flan"-- he flirts, but he's still a bit of a custard. Robert has had many names, but our favorite has been "El Muneco" which means "action doll". We've feminized it to "La Muneca" whenever we are feeling particularly mean. Of course, the crew has shown nothing but the highest respect for their captain, referring to him reverently as "El Hefe" (and when he isn't in ear shot, "El Hefecito", which means little boss) or "El Gordo", which they assure me means "His Immenseness." I need to look that one up.

So we have made it through the Tehautepecs with barely a scratch and arrived in Mexico safe and sound with nothing seriously broken. We considered ourselves lucky. Several of the folks we'd been cruising with have reported serious problems getting through some of the more difficult passages around here. We'd just heard from back from Stephanie and Jeff on Musetta, who'd been sailing south through the Papaguyo's. These are winds that occur south of here that are very similar in nature to the Tehuatepecs. With no warning they suddenly found themselves in forty five knots of wind with too much sail up. Before they could get everything down, they had ripped their jib, tore out a fairlead, broken their boom vang, and taken on a lot of water, sand and dirt through a broken hatch that ruined a lot of their electronics including their laptop computer, not to mention the damage to their beautiful interior. We were heartsick to hear about this, especially given how beautiful a boat it was and how well kept it is. They said they would spend the next few weeks cleaning things up, but if I had to guess, I'd say they won't move until everything is spotless again. Good luck with everything guys!

We've taken a few days to relax and prepare for the next leg, which is the bash up the coast to Puerto Vallarta. There have been very strong Northerlies (winds coming from exactly where we need to go) so we are going to wait a bit while they pass us by. Weather off the west coast of California and Mexico has been horrific, with some of the worst storms in history being reported. Had we made better time, we'd still be sitting in Cabo waiting for them to pass us by. It is some consolation for our delays, but its frustrating how much longer everything takes to do that what one would have hoped. At this point I'll be lucky to get home by the new year.

In the meantime we've been making friends with the other cruisers, some of whom we had met before in Puesta Del Sol. We've befriended a crew member from another boat, a guy named Ryan from Canada. It is surprising how quickly you can make friends while out sailing. Back in the real world folks are unlikely to just come up to you, invite you to dinner or help you fix your car. Out here, everyone goes out of their way for you. It's wonderful in a way that is hard to convey, unless you've hung around a lot with the Burning Man crowd, or grew up in the country, or lived abroad. You may never see them again, but that doesn't stop you from getting to know folks quickly, enjoying their company immensely and sharing a great time.

At dinner tonight we were all sitting around telling stories about our sailing experiences. Invariably, the conversation centered around problems we've had with government agencies, officials, absurd rules and the like. We all told horror stories of trying to get into or out of a country, the annoying red tape and bureaucracy, the customs inspectors that bust your balls, the port captains that try to make your life difficulty for no apparent reason. Not five minutes later we started talking about work, and the various jobs we've all had. "So, Ryan, what do you do?" I asked. There was a bit of a pause, then he smiled and said "I'm a Customs Inspector". We all burst out laughing as he explained that he worked on the Canadian border, and understood exactly what we were going through, only from the opposite side. It was an amusing turn around for all of us to hear his perspective. Since he didn't work on the ports, we decided he was okay after all.

Today Ryan asked us if we all wanted to go surfing with him. There is a good beach a few miles away, and the cab ride is only a few dollars. Now Robinson is a pretty fair surfer, and Robert has tried his hand at it a few times. I've surfed twice. The last time resulted in black and blues the length of my arm and leg, and near fatal exhaustion. Rain didn't feel the need for any bruises, but wanted a day relaxing on the beach. When we got there we found a surf shop that charged exorbitant prices for board rentals, but we didn't know any better so we all rented a board and walked off towards the beach.

Getting to where we wanted to surf was actually a bit tricky; there as a small river that cut across the beach and ran out to the sea. To cross it, you needed to go through the most shallow portion, just at the tidal zone, but there was a really strong current, with loose rocks and shells underfoot. There were a few moments where I though one or the other of us were going to end up dragged out to sea in the rip current, but we made it through. We found a shady spot, threw down our towels and headed out to the surf.

The waves themselves turned out to be a bit of a disappointment, as they broke right on shore. Robert got up once for a bit, Ryan seemed to do okay, Robinson managed a few waves, and your intrepid reporter caught one really promising curl that I misjudged, pitch poled my board, was launched over it, dragged along upside down underwater and eventually spit out on the beach. Overall we had difficulty judging the waves, they seemed to come in odd sets, first breaking close to shore, then far off, then over to the right. There didn't seem to be a consistent pattern to it, but the local surfers seemed to know exactly where they waves. The more I do this sport, the more I understand its attraction. It is much like golf. It seems easy, and is maddingly hard to perform with any skill or consistency, and years of experience make all the difference.

I've included some pictures of us before we set out, and some of us after we got back. It was exhausting, and I didn't last very long at all. Robinson and Ryan stayed out for quite a while, and we tried photographing them. Unfortunately I mistook one of the local surfers for Robinson (those Mexicans all look alike) so I didn't get any good shots of him on his board, but from a distance you can't tell who it is, so just pretend.

Rain needs to be going back soon, so we will be losing one of the most fun crew members we've had in a while. Although we've teased her mercilessly, she has given as good as she got. Her cutting remarks, withering stare and most especially, that innocent look when she has just poured ice water down your back. We kept hoping that she'd change her mind, but no amount of pleading or tears could sway her from returning back to work and finding bugs in the other programmer's code. I told you she was evil, but we'll miss her anyway.

We leave for Puerto Escondito next, its about a day away, and then on to Zihautanejo and eventually to Puerto Vallarta. We hope everyone is doing well, and we look forward to seeing you all as soon as we can.

Cheers,

Robb

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Huatulco, Mexico

2007-11-16T12:30:00.000-08:00

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Dear Readers,

We finally arrived in Huatulco, Mexico on Friday, November 16th, 2007 and were greeted by Enrique Loustalot Laclette, the harbor master for Marina Chahue, who has turned out to be by far the best harbor master we have ever met anywhere in the world. In fact, our stay here has been incredibly easy, simply because of his efforts. He is always cheerful, helpful and willing to go the extra mile. Marina Chahue is a private marina, located just before the main harbor if you are headed south. There is a large reef/rock outcropping on sea side entrance but if you follow the deep water channel between the rocks and the northern side in you'll have no problems at all.

The main harbor, just a bit further south, is small, studded with tourist shops, fishing pangas and boat tour facilities. It also has a free anchorage just outside it, but we hadn't realized this until after we arrived, which actually worked out to our advantage. The port captain's office, Coast Guard station, and many other facilities are located there.

It is a busy little place with constant boat traffic. Aside from the fuel dock (more on that later) there isn't any real reason to go inside. The outer harbor has a decent anchorage, and you can dinghy in to the docks inside, but I would lock everything down and not leave it overnight.

The marina Chahue harbor itself quite new, with obvious plans for significant expansion. To get in you need to go through a quite narrow channel, which dramatically reduces the wave action from the ocean once inside.

The marina itself is very well protected (it would certainly be a great place to hide during bad weather) but has limited facilities (no fuel dock, hot showers, repair shops, boat chandler, etc.) but Enrique more than makes up for that with his comprehensive knowledge of the area and his willingness to help you with whatever goes wrong. While we were there he arranged for our check in, explained where everything was, drove several of us cruisers to town for fuel (a process that took repeated trips), and personally intervened on our behalf when we ran into problems with the Huatulco Port Captain's office.

There isn't a fuel dock, but there are two alternative options: you can have a fuel truck brought to the docks (provided you are purchasing several hundred gallons) or you can ferry jerry jugs from the Pemex station. Ask Enrique about this. The local fuel dock is located right at the main harbor entrance, but it isn't for the feint of heart. The dock is situated such that the tides wash in, creating very large waves. I wouldn't attempt using it except at high tide, and even then I'd make sure I had every fender I owned in between my boat and the dock. To make matters worse, there is a constant stream of pangas, tugs, jet skies (may they all sink to the bottom) and any number of other fishing boats rumbling past with no regard for wake. Expect to be bounced against the wall continually. Mexican boaters are still new to the idea of a "no wake" courtesy. We filled Jerry Jugs from the fuel pumps and drove back and forth in Enrique's pickup truck. It took three trips, but was better than scraping the sides of our boat.

The check in process was simple. Various officials came to our boat, we signed a few documents and paid a set fee. The only incident that surprised us took place in Spanish, and we didn't learn about it until after they'd left. Since my language abilities are limited to grunts and clicks, Robinson did all the translation. We explained that we had arrived from Nicaragua, showed them our papers and the ever important crew list. There was some involved conversation between Robinson and the officials, a few quick smiles, some papers stamped and they left. Robinson was grinning that mischievous smirk of his. "So, I have to tell you something funny" he said afterwards. "They looked at the crew list and said (assuming Robinson was the only one who spoke Spanish) 'Okay, he's the captain...fine...your the first mate...fine...Robert is the crew...fine...who does she do?', I didn't know if I understood them correctly, or what to say, so I just smiled. I'm not sure what they thought that meant, but they smiled back and chuckled." It may have just been a language problem, or a very improper assumption. In Mexico, both are possible.

The only snag was that the Port Captain's office didn't come by. We misunderstood exactly what we were supposed to do, and didn't actually realize this until we were ready to leave. When we did check out, the Port Captain's assistant, who spoke no English (at least to us) wanted to charge us double for showing up at his office after 1pm, plus some other fees I just couldn't understand. I spent a good hour trying to figure out what he wanted me to do, which included using their computer to fill out the paperwork, but in the end I couldn't work out what he was saying.

When it came to figuring out the charges, the amount he demanded seemed completely wrong, and I couldn't understand his rapid fire Spanish at all. I gave up and had Robinson ride over to the office and translate. Even that didn't help, and we decided to delay our departure and come back the next day. We returned the next morning. Enrique drove us over, spoke with them for about two minutes and then waited while they processed our paperwork. If I were just cruising, with no time constraints and a limited budget, I'd have tried to figure this all out for myself, but having Enrique there made everything go smoothly and quickly.

The town itself is quite nice with many high end restaurants, tourist shops and bars, and some beautiful churches. Apparently this area is a favorite attraction for Mexicans, and they come here by the thousands. It is quite amusing to see the Mexican equivalent of the typical ugly American: extremely overweight, loaded down with expensive cameras, wearing brightly colored shirts, white shorts and an embarrassing hat. Oh, wait, that was the captain! They aren't as offensive or obtrusive as us, but you can see that Mexico's middle class is acquiring some of the less desirable traits of its northern cousins.

There are a fair number of gringos around as well, mostly from Canada, but you can't miss the Americans either. I cringe every time they walk by...especially since I know Robinson will begin imitating them just as soon as they are out of earshot. As they waddle past snippets of their conversation make me want to retch. "Oh, look at this hat, its got all colors on it." says the lumpy wife. "Well, that's because its Mexican, they like that kind of thing" replies the cigar chewing wide body husband. "Oh, I could never wear that, what would the glee club think" her response. I just don't understand why God can't tailor his plagues, catastrophic floods and earthquakes a bit more towards this section of the population.

Huatulco itself is sleepy little seaside town well on its way to becoming the next big thing. Sort of like Cabo San Lucas before the American college students discovered it. I'm not sure if that is a good thing, but it has a beautiful town square, several very nice restaurants and a the vibe is very laid back. I was surprised at how friendly everyone was, how easy it was to get around town. There are taxis everywhere and the central part of town is only minutes away.

We stumbled onto an amazingly good restaurant called "Agave", which is owned and operated entirely by women. Well, mostly all the staff were women, there were a few waiters running about, but the cooking staff was clearly an all girl band. It is situated right along the town center, and the food was incredible! I had the best mole sauce I've ever tasted in my life. Plus it has the added advantage that you can watch all the really bad tourists amble by, while eating an incredible meal and being entertained by Robinson's impression of them. We ate there several times during our stay. If for any reason you are in the area, you should definitely try dinner there.

Oh, another specialty of that region are fried bugs. They are called Chapalinas, and are crickets seasoned with chillies and red pepper. They are sort of salty, and crunchy, with no taste except the seasoning they use. Naturally, Robinson bought some and insisted we all eat them. We refused until he had one himself. I don't mind tentacles, or wiggly bits with eyes, but anything that resembles a roach is kind of hard for me to choke down. We tried them and were surprised that they weren't half bad. I mean, I wouldn't want to snack on them regularly, but it didn't taste disgusting. I instantly thought of all my friends back home and the number of parties that would be spiced up by adding this to the table.

We went back and bought a bag of ten thousand, which weighted about three ounces. I'm not sure exactly how you harvest ten thousand crickets (it must be a very loud process) but the sales woman was very surprised when we bought them. She kept showing them to use to make sure we understood we were actually buying insects. We brought them back to the boat in the hopes of returning with them to the states, but by about the fifth day they had become quite soggy, which really sucked because I wanted to make AnnMarie eat one. Now, maybe they aren't the next taste sensation to rock the country, but they might have great utility as a substitute for those dry silicate sacks you get whenever you buy electronics. Plus they have the added advantage of being edible. Well, almost edible.

So, we hope you all are enjoying your local cuisine as as much as we are!

Cheers for now.

Robb

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And Away We Go...

2007-11-15T20:28:00.000-08:00

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Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Sailor's Life For ME!!

Well, we set sail pretty late in the day on Sunday, but just in time for yet another spectacular sunset. You know, we could probably put hundreds of photos of nothing but spectacular sunsets up on this blog. After a while they become no more unusual than dolphins off the bow, wind coming from where you want to go, or the captain standing at the helm, naked, save for a T-shirt.

The waves had been a bit rough, but nothing too bad, although the motion of the boat wasn't the best. Rain hadn't been feeling that well to begin with, we think she made have had food poisoning from some of the airport food (I use the term loosely) that she'd found on her flight down. It didn't sit well with her, and she spent some amount of time leaning over the coamings, attracting fish. Now, I wanted to include a picture of this, but every time I post it to the blog, it mysteriously changes into a photo of her legs. I suspect this is due to some sort of devil spawn activity. If you look carefully you can just make out the cloven hooves. Although we felt bad for her, it seemed to do the trick for our trawling line, devil guts being the best bait. Up until this point we'd had very poor luck with catching anything, but after our brief lesson with Nick the professional fisherman, and Rain's gastromonic projections, we've now caught several tuna, mackerel and a dorado. They made for great dinners, ceviche and one quick stew for lunch. The weather is okay, the life is good, the food is great. What more can you ask for in life? Oh, well, that ain't for discussion on this blog.

As we were leaving the Nicaraguan waters, motor sailing along maybe five miles off the coast, we came upon a small fishing panga. There were two young men standing on it, waving a red shirt and gesturing at us. Being that this was Nicaragua, I was very worried about this situation. Although there aren't very many cases of pirate attacks on the west coast (they happen almost entirely over on the Atlantic side, and this situation has gotten much better in the last few years) I wanted to scout out the situation carefully and take some precautions. My boat mates seemed amused when I handed them each a machete, and we raised AnnMarie on the satellite phone to appraise her of the situation. We approached them slowly, circling around a few times to check them out. They were lying at anchor, in about one hundred feet of water, in an open fishing boat.

They seemed harmless enough, and there was no one else in sight, so we got close enough to ask them what was the matter. Our trusty interpreter, Robinson, learned that they had run out of gas and their radio stopped working. We had them float a gas can over, tied to a line, filled it with a few gallons of fuel, and gave it back. They thanked us, and much to our surprise, gave us a decent sized Dorado, already gutted and perfect for a dinner for four. This leg has turned out to be one of the best yet for fresh fish! We all had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat and didn't wake up the next morning until it was time to cross the bay.

Lest you have forgotten, we are traveling north up the west coast of Central America, and headed for the Bay of Tehauntepec. This is actually quite a difficult passage we are about to take on. This area, along with two other specific places along the coast, are known for fierce winds without any prior warnings. Usually an on coming storm will follow a drop in barometric pressure, giving you some warning of what's to come, but a Tehautepec wind can spring up out of nowhere and within minutes suddenly be blowing forty, fifty, sixty, even seventy miles per hour. That is like sailing along on a flat ocean, and then hitting a hurricane. It has been known to sink boats, tear sails and rigging apart, and force well seasoned sailors to turn back.

These winds are caused by a high pressure system that builds up in the Caribbean and tries to move westward towards the typically low pressure that lives out over the south eastern pacific ocean. The wind heads over the Central American land mass, then slams into the mountain ranges that run the length of it. Unfortunately, there are a few places, such as the narrow most portion of Mexico, just along the long, open area north of the bay, that allow the winds to funnel through. To make matters worse, as they push up then race down the mountain slopes, they pick up speed. When they reach the ocean they slam down with such force that they push the surface water hundred of miles out to sea. While this action makes for particularly good conditions for catching big game fish, it makes for very dangerous sailing conditions across the bay.

The trick is to stay as close to shore as possible. "One foot on the beach" is the saying for crossing the bay, and we tried our best to hold our course as close to shore as possible. Things were going pretty well as we reached the top of the curve, and there was some discussion (mostly on Robinson's part...he likes taking chances) about the possibility of cutting straight across along the 16th degree of latitude. Doing so saves about thirty miles of sailing, but should anything blow up, you can find yourself in some serious shit.

We elected to stay close to shore, and made it past what we thought was the difficult part. We were headed into Salina Cruz, what is considered to be west of the danger zone, when the winds started to pick up. We were running with just a double reefed main, with wind on our beam, when it started to blow up a bit. The seas were relatively calm, but as the wind increased, our boat speed did as well. Pretty soon we were flying along, averaging speeds around twelve knots, and at one point getting up to fourteen knots for over a minute. It was incredible!

We raced along like this for quite a while, heading for Salina Cruz. Eventually we reached the port area, where large freighters were stacked up at anchor, waiting for an appropriate window to traverse the bay. As we got closer the wind continued to increase, first forty, then to fifty knots, with gusts to sixty. It was a howling, cold wind, something we weren't used to after so much time in a hot climate. We were wearing our foulies, as much to keep the wind chill off as to protect us from the spray, and bashing along as the waves increased.

As the winds increased we realized we needed to get the main down. The seas were building and becoming square and steep. We decided that the safest place to do this would be in the lee of Salina Cruz harbor itself, so we headed up into shore, hoping to get right onto the beach and out of the brunt of the waves. This would theoretically reduce the "fetch", the amount of time the wind has to build up waves, so we headed up towards land.

And stopped. Catamarans are not normally good at going to weather, but in fifty knots we were barely moving forward at all the further we reached. We started the engines, and began pushing our way into the cove. Are speed continued to drop. We pushed the engines to full speed, and inched our way along, barely making any headway, all the while waves continued to crash into us. Given that we had breaking seas five or six feet high coming off a lee shore with only a hundred yards of fetch, you might be able to imagine the kind of force the wind has to exert to generate those conditions. It was a bit of a tense moment. Had the winds worsened we might have had to drop the main right there...something no one wanted to do. Standing on a bouncing deck while struggling to bring down a flogging sail in hurricane winds is not for the weak of heart. Fuck it isn't for the strong of heart. In fact, it is down right dangerous! A flogging sail can generate unbelievably strong forces, and create speeds at the end of the sail that exceed the speed of sound. That cracking noise you hear when someone snaps a bull whip is the sound barrier being broken. When a massive sail starts moving about like that, it can create whipping motions in the lines tied to it that are capable of breaking an arm or knocking you unconscious. Getting up on deck when things aren't stable is dicey. In fact, at one point we tacked and a line got hung up on a cleat, the jib began flogging and the jib sheets started whipping around the deck. Robinson, who was standing in the cockpit, was trying to winch in the slack when a loose line lashed across his shoulder, and cut him through his shirt. Although he was unlucky to be caught by a freak accident, he was lucky to get away with what he did. It left two good sized gashes in his shoulder that took a while to heal. He had pink skin for several weeks afterwards, and a great sailing story to boot, but it isn't what should have happened. High winds mean dangerous times, and things can go very wrong, very fast. We really didn't want to spend any more time exposed on deck, especially in this weather, than we absolutely had to.

Eventually we got close enough to shore to get some protection. There was some shelter from the tall cliffs in front of us. The wind speed dropped to about thirty knots. Robinson and Robert dashed up on deck, pulled down the main and tied everything down. You can see the relief and joy on Robert's face once we got everything stowed away. We turned tail, headed back out into the bay and pointed our boat towards Huatulco. With nothing but bare poles, we ran with the wind and the waves, but further out into the ocean the seas became so steep that it became difficult to keep Triton pointed in the right direction. Now, you would think that running with the wind and waves would be a cakewalk, but its not. Large waves would pick up her stern and try to spin her sideways.

Not wanting to constantly deal with correcting the wheel, and "driving" the boat (the autopilot does not handle this particular condition well) we threw out a drogue. This is a small, cone shaped chute that drags along behind the boat. It provides just enough resistance to keep the waves from broaching us, and still allows for good steerage. With nothing but bare poles, and a drogue, we were pushed along at over four knots. It was a quite, comfortable ride, and given the increased stability, we could turn the autopilot back on!

We drifted like this for several more hours, passing along the Mexican coast line. The winds were still blowing us along at four knots under bare poles, no engines and a drogue!! We realized that if we went faster we'd arrive in Hualtulco before sunrise, so we just coasted along, watched the sunrise come up, the Mexican fishing trawlers go by and just relaxed. As we moved further south the winds died back a bit, but the current kept us moving, so we relaxed and let ourselves be delivered to our destination within using much energy or breaking anything in the process. What a great way to travel. Now if we could only find a downstream course around the world, it would be worth circumnavigating it.

In the meantime we are approaching our first stop in Mexico, looking forward to getting cleaned up a bit, getting a good meal, fixing what broke, and doing laundry. It don't sound like much, but after a few tough days in the weather, a comfortable chair on stable ground, a hamburger and an iced tea are something to look forward to.

Hoping your dreams, happiness and desires are as easily attained!

Robb

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Women on boats is bad luck

2007-11-11T14:05:00.000-08:00

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Avast Ye Maties,

They say that having women on a boat is bad luck, that they are devil spawn, attract sea monsters and sew disharmony amongst the crew. I'm not sure why they say that, cause we've been fortunate enough to have woman in one form or another along for almost every leg of the journey, and they have proven to be fantastic crew. They worked harder than any of the guys, grumbled less, and except for AnnMarie, never tried to pee standing up. The few times we didn't have them aboard, they were sorely missed. Never leave home without them!

Rain joined the crew last week and, aside from her glowing red eyes, small horns, cloven feet and long pointy tail, it has been nothing but goof ball fun since. She is more than able to put up with the antics of Robinson and myself, matching our cutting remarks insult for insult. In fact, she might have bested us a time or two, but we'll never admit that. What is really amusing is the way that Robert and her have taken to snarking back and forth. You would think they were siblings. Not ten minutes goes by that he doesn't comment about the need for expanding the hatches to accommodate the size of her butt, to which she makes some quip about his lack of intelligence (he is English after all) or inability at humor (English, remember) but it is mostly all in good fun. As I've said before, a lot of the humor that goes on in a boat is "location joke", and you just had to have been there to really appreciate what was funny about it. None the less, it has made for good morale and lots of laughs. Oh, and the dishes seem to get done faster. Rain explained that she tends to clean when she gets stressed. We've taken to shouting at her unexpectedly, throwing lit firecrackers in her bunk, and randomly apologizing about losing her passport. Its mean, but the boat has never been cleaner.

We went into town to do the last round of provisioning, which included seeing all the sites of Chinandega. It is a fascinating town, with every street a one way, but there aren't any actual signs indicating this. Of course, everyone has lived there all their lives, and knows them by heart, so why would this be at all necessary, but it has made for some interesting driving conditions. The pedicabs, bicycles, motorcycles, horse drawn carts and Nicaraguan taxi cab drivers all add to the mix. These traffic calming measures are used to keep vehicles flowing directly into the center of town, where the heavily congested markets are located, so that no trip through town can be accomplished without either driving several miles around the outskirts, or sitting in bumper to bumper traffic. The town has maybe ten thousand people, and worse traffic than L.A. You really have to admire that kind of long range planning. CalTrans must send its trainees here.

We've also met some interesting characters, including a guy who has the best job I could ever imagine. Friday evening, around 11pm, I heard someone walking around on the dock, so I went up top to see what was going on. Normally there isn't anyone around at that time of the night, but the fish were jumping around a bit and the phosphorescence was illuminating them underwater. There was an guy with a fishing pole casting lures into the marina waters. Now, I've spent the last three weeks listening to the fish jumping around in the bay, and when the phosphorescence is really strong, especially during a new moon, you can see their outlines flashing through the dark waters. Some of those fish are over three feet long. Yet we've never been able to catch anything that didn't first leap up onto our boat deck and die. So I sat down in the cockpit and said hello and started chatting with him.

In a weird, metaphysical way, it didn't surprise me to learn that he was from New Jersey. After a while, you just know how to recognize them. His name was Nick, and he was a professional fishing journalist. "What? You do what?" I stammered back. "I get paid to fish, and then write about it." he said again, but this time with that look you usually see on little kids that have just eaten an entire pie without permission. "I'm only down here so to check out the fishing tournament, then Sunday I fly off to Costa Rica to go after deep sea Marlin." he said, but all the while you could tell he was absolutely delighted about it. "Good On Ya, Mate!" was all I could think to say. I then asked him how he came to have what I would consider to be one of the best jobs in America.

"Well, I decided I wanted to be a writer, and I loved fishing. So I got a job working for a coastal newspaper that had several pages devoted to fishing, and eventually worked my way up to being one of the top writers. Now I also freelance for a couple of other papers, and I've got two books out about it, plus I'm working on a third." I was awestruck. If ever there was an American Success Story, Nick was it. Imagine your toughest day at work consisting of stressing over not catching enough trout, or your boss giving you a hard time because you came back with a Marlin when what he wanted was a Swordfish.

We chatted for quite a while, about fishing, New Jersey, writing, and then I invited him by for drinks tomorrow. He explained that he was going out fishing with Robert (the marina owner and builder) in the morning, but maybe he'd be by afterwards. Later that day he stopped by and invited the entire crew to dinner. Nick and Robert both did well for themselves fishing that day. They had caught several large Spanish Mackerel, and the cooks had made a special dinner for everyone. We were flattered and delighted to be invited, and had a fabulous meal of the freshest fish you can get. It was wonderful to eat something so delicious! And, it wasn't a gray burger or beans and rice. A great time was had by all. Thank you guys!! Oh, and Nick, we actually did catch a bunch of fish, so we owe you dinner man.

We expect to leave Puesta Del Sol, Nicaragua on Sunday and begin the trek across the Bay of Tehuantepec towards Mexico. We were supposed to leave on Saturday. We'd checked out with Customs & Immigration on Friday, and technically our Zarpa (the exit form that allows you to leave a country) didn't allow us to stay longer, but we developed "engine problems" and needed to stay another day. Engine problems being the euphemism for too bloody hot and tired to get our asses in gear.

Robinson has developed an ear infection, which has become very painful. We bought some antibiotics and drops to put in his ear, but it still leaves him feeling a bit under the weather. I'm still beat down from whatever it is I've got, the antibiotics seem to be making a difference, but I spend a lot of time horizontal. Rain is feeling a bit low herself, but Robert seems upbeat and chipper, although he brought bannanas on the boat. That is another one of those sailing superstitions, like changing the name of a boat, or leaving on a Friday, or trying to find a cheap marina in a luxury resort area. Hope the sea Gods take pity on us and forgive us our sins.

So, unless you hear otherwise, we should be bashing our way up the coast, hell bent for Huatulco, Mexico, in just a few hours. This means getting past the bay of Tehautepec, known for its ferocious winds. Wish us luck!

Cheers,

Robb

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The Mad Dogs and Englishmen Tour

2007-11-09T14:56:00.000-08:00

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Greetings Land Lubbers!

Well, the saying in India was that only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the heat. Given that my crew mates are both Englishmen, that makes me a mad dog. Now we still aren't really clear on how Robert Thorburn found out about our trip, or that we needed crew, but somehow he did. The best we could guess was that Robinson mentioned it to some folks he met in a bar, and they wrote it up on a wall in some hostel that Robert happened to be staying at in Leon. We got a note from the marina saying he had heard we wanted crew and would be interested in coming along.

Another more likely possibility is that some other cruiser, perhaps months earlier, had been looking for crew and put up flyers around Leon, because someone told Robert about having seen one, although he could never actually find any of the posters when he looked. A more ominous possibility is that Robinson already knew him, but didn't want to admit it because, lets face it, you get more than one Brit in a confined area and you get very dangerous levels of wit and sarcasm.

Now, having one rapier tongued Brit on board was a bit much, but having another join the crew would mean I was outnumbered. I was a bit apprehensive, so we asked him to come out and meet us at the marina, check out the boat while we checked him out, and then we'd make a decision. What showed up was a proper English lad. He was polite, well spoken, friendly, a bit naive and given his overly polite behavior, downright cute. He had been working for Frontier, a nature conservatory. His job was to set up turtle hatcheries, and to do surveys on bats, and anything else that came up. Unfortunately, the last few months of rains had flooded out most of the area, and his project was canceled for the next three months, so he was stuck in Nicaragua with nothing to do.

He had little prior ocean going experience, but he had grown up around boats and lakes (his dad was an avid sailor) and was upbeat, enthusiastic and energetic. We needed crew, he seemed like a good fit, so we invited him along. As his first job we made him clean the props. The only problem was his name. Three crew members named, one named Jodie Allan Robinson (went by Robinson or just Rob), myself (nickname Robb) and Robert (nickname guess what?) was going to get confusing. So we decided to play a practical joke on him by way of sus'ing out how easy it would be to get along with him. We decided to pretend not be able to remember his name, each time referring to him as Dave, Vance, Jerry, Hal, etc. We were interested in seeing how far this could go before he caught on.

He showed up a few days later, the same day I needed to go to the airport to pick up our latest crew member, Rain Hayes. I'd been emailing back and forth with her about the possibility of her coming along, at least until our first stop in Mexico, about six days away. She wasn't really sure until the last minute, but it was great to have more crew and although I'd only met her once or twice before, she was a good friend of my lawyer Michael B. (aka "Blackie), and he has excellent taste in friends (present company excepted) so I wasn't really worried about anyone getting along. Unbeknown to me, AnnMarie had told her about our practical joke on Robert before she boarded her flight down here.

The next day I left for the airport to pick her up, but padded my schedule by about two hours to allow for any road problems, head on car crashes, corrupt cops, or washed out bridges. Naturally, everything went smoothly, so I had three hours to kill before she would arrive. I checked emails, Skyped home, and munched on snacks at the Mercedes Hotel, just across from the airport. While sitting in the lobby yet another Englishman (they're really all over the place) sat down next to me, and we starting chatting about Nicaragua. Inevitably, as we asked about each other's reasons for being there, the question of employment came up. "Oh, I work for Lewmar." he said, "we made most of the hardware on your boat." It's funny how weirdly stratified the world is, but it keeps coming up that I meet people with very overlapping interests (I've now met a half dozen folks out cruising that live in the same marina as me) or have work/hobbies around sailing, especially related to what we are doing. We sat and talked about the boat for a bit, then I realized I needed to go across the street to find my newest crew mate.

Waiting outside for her I was surrounded by twenty or more taxi drivers all holding up signs with names on them. I grabbed a piece of paper, drew a cloud with little rain drops coming out of it and stood there waiting. When Rain walked out of the airport, she looked exhausted, didn't even notice me and walked straight past. She didn't even see my sign. I walked up along side her and held it in front of her face. She stopped, looked at me, then laughed. "You look tired" I said. "Yeah, it was a long flight, I didn't sleep much." I grabbed her bags and we headed off to the truck. On the way I explained our little practical joke. She turned and said "That is so funny, my real name is Robin." I look at her sideways, she laughs, and says, "Well, when AnnMarie told me about your joke, we both thought it would be great if I said that." Okay, right off I know she is going to fit right in.

We jumped in the truck and headed off for the marina, stopping only for dinner at a hotel/casino in Managua. Apparently airlines no longer bother providing a vegetarian option (these days you are lucky if you can get a seat with a cushion), so she spent the last fourteen hours living on a few snack bars she brought along. I'm not sure which is worse, being allergic to gluten, and having to avoid eating most foods because they make you sick, or choosing not to eat meat, and therefore not being able to eat what is available out of sheer will power. I don't know that I could keep up that kind of voluntary restriction, especially given how much I've come to love gray, extruded hamburgers. Now that I think about it, there probably isn't any meat in them anyway.

The trip back to the marina wasn't bad, except that we needed to go much slower. At night in the Nicaraguan country side it is normal for folks to lie down along the roadside and have little coffee clutches, or let their animals (pigs, cows, horses, mules) wander around the middle of the street. If you hit a horse going fifty miles per hour, no amount of pressure washing is going to hide that fact. So we crept along, almost rear-ending a donkey (insert joke here) but didn't get back to the boat until after midnight. The next morning she met Robinson and our most recent addition Vance...I mean Robert, sorry about that, I don't know why I can't get that right. Throughout the rest of the day we would refer to him as Bill, or Shawn, or Charlie. Each time he would smile politely, then said "Oh, um, it's Robert" in his delightful, oh so proper accent. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm terrible with names!" we'd all apologize, then immediately call him something different.

For the next two days, we all continued to call Robert any name except that. He never once got upset, and you could see he was a bit puzzled about it, but he was far too polite to say anything. This treatment would still be going on but eventually Rain said she thought we were hurting his feelings, so we came clean. He took it well, explaining that he just wrote it off to our all being "a bit slow". It was still pretty funny, and from that point on he kidded back without reserve. In fact, by the end of a week he was giving better than he got. It didn't take long for him to realize that polite conversation doesn't happen much on boats (at least not this one), and giving someone a ration of shit is the norm.

For instance, we somehow got started teasing Rain about her weight, especially her enormously fat ass. Now, Rain is a size zero, and has about as much body fat as a tree. You could hold her ass cheeks together with two fingers. Three days on the boat and Robert was suggesting that perhaps the three guys all sit on one side of the dinghy to compensate for Rain's ass being on the other side. On yet another occasion I quipped that he owed me $10.00 for explaining some obscure fact about sailing. He retorted by explaining (in the most proper and polite English accent) that he would roll the bill up and place it between the cheeks of his ass. I was welcome to extract it with my teeth. It was absolutely unexpected, like suddenly having a duck you've been taunting turn and begin to savage you. It might hurt, but you just stand there laughing. After a few more days he was as rude and sarcastic as a New Jersey bus driver. The transformation was amazing. I fear that by the time he gets home his family isn't going to recognize him.

So we've got four almost able bodied seaman aboard and are getting ready to set sail. I've been feeling like death warmed over, have been taking antibiotics for what might be the plague, and sleeping a lot. Robinson has stabbing pains in his right ear. Rain isn't feeling that well. It is ridiculously hot out, and we are getting very little accomplished each day. We'd hoped to leave on Friday, but it is looking more like Sunday. All the other cruisers have left the marina, and the internet has been down for the last week. Outside of the occasional satellite phone call to AnnMarie, we are stuck with each other. We've gone into town, done a bunch of shopping and are about as well provisioned as it is going to get, but accomplishing even the most mundane or simple tasks is an effort.

There are a million little details to take care of before we set sail, and hopefully we've covered most of them. I'd like to install the radar, as the further north we go the more we will need it, but right now we're too tired, sick, or busy to deal with it. I'm thinking we'll get to that once we arrive in Mexico. Robinson's ear ache has been getting worse, and Rain seems to be a bit under the weather as well. Not the most promising start, but we shoulder on.

Our next stop will be Hualtulco, which is about six hundred miles away, but we need to cross the dreaded Bay of Tehuantepec to get there. That means hugging the coast to avoid the treacherously strong winds that blow through there. Making sure everything is stowed away properly, and all the loose threads are tied down, will occupy us for the next day or two. Then we leave Nicaragua and head north.

Until then, fair winds and following seas!

Robb

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Weekend Paradise

2007-10-29T14:54:00.000-07:00

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Hey Folks,

It has been a wonderful weekend. AnnMarie arrived on Friday and we've had nothing but fun since she got here. Yesterday we spent the day kayaking with Ron & Diane. We used their new kayak, and they borrowed another couple's canoe. We paddled across the estuary to a small beach, dragged the boats up onto shore and walked across the peninsula, cutting through the property of a local "greetadoria". This is sort of the Nicaraguan version of a surf. They live on the land and perform basic care taking duties in exchange for a place to live. We asked permission to pass through their front yard, so that we could get to a much larger beach facing the ocean. We walked along this deserted stretch of beach. It was stunningly beautiful, tranquil and surprisingly clean. There were shells washed up everywhere.

Now, I'm sure there are many of you that have managed to get through your entire childhood without collecting an assortment of sea shells, but if you grew up near the coast, no doubt you found it necessary to bring home the various treasures that washed ashore. AnnMarie is definitely in this camp. Although she accuses me of hoarding crap, she just can't resist the urge to scavenge every piece of brightly colored calcium she can find. I hate shells. They seem wonderful on the beach, but within a hour of getting them home they start to smell. Plus they dredge up memories of my nut case grandmother, whose sole purpose in life was making absolutely useless knick knacks out of materials she found at the beach or along side the road. Her life consisted of making brickabrack out of various junk, and painting ceramic gnomes. The yard around the house was populated with an army of them; they were hidden everywhere. It was creepy sometimes to be peeing into a bush and notice one of them smoking a pipe and looking up at you. She also saved bits of string and scraps of wood. All of this went into her creations, which you couldn't give away at a yard sale. You know that schlock you see in bad tourist shops...the little block of wood with several shells glued together to look like a large breasted hula girl? My grandmother invented that. The poodle shaped crochet cover for the extra roll of toilet paper [instructions available through Reader's Digest magazine]? My grandmother owns the patent.

So, needless to say, I was not happy that AnnMarie had an armful of shells and Ron & Diane were gleefully adding more to her pile. "They're not coming on the boat!" I insisted. "They're beautiful!" AnnMarie demanded, "I want them. I'm going to bring them home with me." Great, now the both boats are going to smell like a tidal flat. "Fine, but they stay outside until you are packed and ready to leave." I countered, knowing I had as much chance of that happening as finding a competent diesel mechanic that worked for cheap on weekends. Next I heard Ron say "Wow! Hey Ann, look at this, a perfectly preserved olive shell, and a bright pink crab shell!" Thanks, Ron, encourage her why don't you?

Eventually we wandered back to the kayaks and paddled back to the boat, stopping along the way to visit with Joe, the boyfriend/husband of the woman who runs the small eatery just outside the marina. His boat is anchored in the harbor, much to the consternation of Robert, the marina owner. They have been feuding about one thing or another for over a year. It's not clear what exactly started it all, but both of them seem like nice guys...I'm glad we didn't have to get in the middle of it all. The latest rumor was that Robert had somehow convinced the authorities that keeping his boat at anchor in the lagoon was dangerous, and that the only safe place a boat should be kept during a hurricane was in a slip at the marina. This is sort of like saying the only safe place to be during an earthquake is in an expensive hotel room instead of the public parking lot. But, its Nicaragua, and the law is still pretty much for sale here. But, being a socialist country, anyone is allowed to buy it, all dollars are treated equally.

After our visit we returned back to the boat, went swimming in the pool, and then went over to the marina restaurant to listen to Pedro (a local Nicaraguan musician friend of Ron & Diane's) play music. He came with his father and his two sons, an accordion and a guitar, and they serenaded everyone, each one taking turns playing either the guitar or the accordion. It was a wonderful performance, they played traditional Nicaraguan songs, folk tunes that were beautiful to hear, even if I didn't understand the words. At one point Pedro's son, who was maybe all of eight years old, also performed a few songs. At first a duet with his father, who harmonized a full octave below him, then several songs on his own while his father and grandfather played along. It was a really special moment. Also worth noting was their musical skill and ability to change key whenever the son couldn't sing it in the original key. Having played in a band, this is no small feat to do on the fly and both Ann and I were very impressed with the ease and mastery of their voices and instruments.

When they finished we invited them over to the boat for dinner--AnnMarie had made lasagna, and we fed everyone. Ron & Diane, Pedro and his family, Jeff and Stephanie from Musetta, plus AnnMarie and myself would seem like a lot of folks, but everyone could easily fit at the cockpit table, and it never once felt crowed. Cooking in the galley is pretty easy, even before we make the changes to improve its layout and efficiency. It surprises me how much both AnnMarie and I like our boat. It is exactly what we wanted; a roomy, comfortable home in which to entertain guests without effort.

It also stays pretty dry once you figure out where all the leaks are. I think I've got most all of them sorted now, but it may come as quite a surprise to find out that almost all boats leak. Not from the bottom, but the top. In fact, I've never lived in a house, trailer or tent that leaks as much as a boat. You would think that something designed to cross oceans would be impervious to water from all directions, but nothing is further than the truth. But I'm not bitter.

Pedro and his family left pretty early for our standards, but nine o'clock is pretty late in the day when you are used to getting up before sunrise. Then we brought out a guitar and AnnMarie sang a few songs for our cruiser friends. They seemed to enjoy it thoroughly, although both AnnMarie and I made lots of mistakes (we hadn't played together for quite a while), albeit we were probably the only two to notice it. It was a perfect way to end the day. We bid everyone adieu and went below. After a few hours we managed to get to sleep.

The next morning Ron, Diane, AnnMarie and I walked over to the other swimming pool on the beach. There is a giant triangularly roofed hut next to it with a complete bar, grill and patio. It was the one we saw when we were first motoring in from the bay. The swimming pool there was even nicer, with a shallow wading area where you could stretch out on a lawn chair in six inches of water. Pretty cush. We also went out into the ocean and played in the surf. It was absolutely great. The water was warm, and the waves were fun to dive into. Not so strong that you couldn't relax, but big enough that you had to pay attention to them. When we got back it was time for AnnMarie to pack for the airport. We loaded her stuff into the truck, and got in, along with Ron & Diane, and headed off towards the airport, but making a quick stop in Leon to pick up Robinson.

We got there at noon, but had told Robinson we would meet him at the gas station at 2pm, so we wandered around the town square for a bit, then had lunch at a local restaurant. The food wasn't that good, and a bit overpriced, but Leon is populated with mostly college students (it is one of the largest university towns in the country) and the people watching was great fun. Well, we say people watching but what we really mean is more like girl ogling. The fashion sense and social morays remind me of the Jersey Shore during the sixties. Young men trying to look cool and very attractive young women trying to be sexy and sedate at the same time, everyone trying to be right at the edge of the curve.

You can feel the vibrant energy, and there are night clubs and discotheques everywhere. From what we were told, Leon was one of the Sandinista strongholds, and when the dictator Somoza was trying to suppress the revolution he bombed the town pretty badly. We saw signs of this everywhere, but despite that, the city seemed to be one of the most active, bustling places within the country. Plus, it felt much safer there than anywhere else I'd been. You could almost imagine the place becoming the equivalent of Berkeley in California. Lots of the latest fashions, plenty of young adults, and that vibe you get when it feels like people are pushing their own boundaries all around you.

We picked up Robinson, then dropped AnnMarie off at the airport. It was wonderful having her here, and I started to miss her before I even made it back to the truck. Sailing up the coast of the Americas has been fun, and I've been blessed with great company along the way, but if I could have any one wish, it would be to have repeated this journey but with her along. Oh, well, our plan is to do exactly that, just going the opposite direction, in a couple of years. In the meantime I can't wait to get to Cabo San Lucas, where she will be flying in to meet us again. Yeah for cheap international flights!

That's all for now. Hope everyone is doing well and there is no oil in your bilge.

Cheers,

Robb

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