I cannot say thank you enuf

Saturday morning i finished packing and caught the 10:30 bus in La Paz for the 3.5 hour ride to the Cabo airport. The airport, while pleasant and very clean, isn't really ready for the demands of post 9-1-1 travel, and i was packing some bottles of tequila as gifts so would have to check a bag. Result: glad i got there two hours early because i stood in line over an hour. Odd thing tho...at one point i turned around, caught sight of the man's face behind me, tilted my head and recognized him. He was a customer of mine i had sold a boat to and then sold it for him a long time ago, and prior to that he was a customer at the yacht lease company (Dino). He was headed home to San Francisco after a vacation. This provided a little entertainment for us and helped the wait go by.

Once in the air i started journaling on my laptop, looked thru the in flight magazine (used to play soccer with its editor), admired the Baja peninsula from the air, and became even more excited about the surprise i was about to give my dearest friends. About a month ago Susanne and Juli e-vited everyone to their annual holiday party and i was still on their list. It gave me a target to aim for: if everything went smoothly, i would arrive at the party at about 9 or 9:30.

I collected my bag after we landed and pulled out the layers i had brought for the cold weather. Somehow i had miscommunicated with Dave about picking me up and lending me his car. He and Angela only live a few minutes from the airport. I thought that they, Tyler, the McGraths were the only ones that knew i was coming for the holydaze. Amy and i had chatted on the internet the day before, and without being dishonest i hoped i had hidden this surprise from her. So i called Dave but could only leave a message and then caught a cab. During that ride i had time to worry that this surprise was not off to an auspicious start. What if Jack and Cinny, whom i hoped to stay with, were out of town? Everyone has their own busy lives, where else would my surprise not fit, etcetera. I acknowledged those tho'ts and let 'em go and trusted this would be a wonderful visit.

The cab pulled up in front of the decorated house, xmas lights shining bright from the eves. The driver turned on the car's overhead light to make change for me, I worried someone might look out and his light might let them recognize me. But it didn't happen. The place was packed and emanated happy energy as it does every year. The front door was cracked open to let heat out and air in. Thru a light mist, I carried my bags around to the side door to come in the kitchen. Passing alone thru the quiet and dark outside contrasted starkly with all the light and conversation and laughter inside. I stashed my bags outside, let myself in the door and felt like a "fly on the wall." I looked into the kitchen from its "mud room" and held still. They were here. These people with whom i have history, people with whom i share something beyond the ability of words to speak, something about weathering the winds of life, about mourning and celebrating, sharing confusion and seeking wisdom, about discovering that being in it together as much as we can be is true, is worth our effort and matters. All this was only the tip of something much bigger rushing thru me in a single breath and right past tears that would wait, my heart felt about to burst.

I watched for maybe a minute and wanted this "movie" to go into slow motion. I started to take off my jacket. Susanne was across the kitchen hostessing. She looked so happy, her house full of friends and voices and delicious smells. She looked up. Our eyes met. Now i wanted the "movie" to stop completely. I hoped to remember this moment for the rest of my life. There was surprise in her face, but more there was love and joy, unconditional, beyond time and space. Did the universe feel its ripple? Did she feel it reflecting back to her? It felt powerful! Next thing i knew, our arms were strong around each other, my eyes shut tight against any more input. I could not feel this hug enuf, and i was deeply grateful it lasted a long, long time as other dear friends came into the kitchen. I didn't want to let go, but then there was the next dear one to hold tight, to feel really in my arms... I had come from being alone in an experience that shimmers with unreality. What a huge contrast. THIS felt real. And if i pay clear enuf attention to it, could it even feel transcendent?

Maybe i got a small idea of how a soldier coming home from battle feels. I don't want the last few months, and lately my internal explorations, to feel like a battle, but they have been intense. I needed this moment more than i knew. It was priceless. But that is not the right word for it. The Lakota vow of appreciation - sounds like "aho-motak-we-assen" - means "all my ancestors," referring not only to one's parents and grandparents but to all the stars and every moment in time, each born to live and die, that have led to this moment. THIS one, that passes too, locked safely into its history and leading to its offspring. Here was a moment born from attention "paid" to living and to dying and to each other. In mortal terms it "cost" way too much, in immortal terms it was worth it.

A week out and back

Photo: pelican sunning on a bulbous bow, crazy bird!

The wily dorado:

En route from La Paz to Playa Bonanza, the winds were a steady 15 to 20 knots out of the north. We (Akimbo and i) were beating with the full main and jib, which was a little too much in the gusts but was glorious sailing. I held starboard tack a little extra to be sure i could lay for San Lorenzo channel and not have to tack again. Shortly after tacking, the rapid clicking of the reel announced a fish on. It was the second time that day. The first time whatever hit the lure got off the hook by the time i hove Akimbo to. But, sailing single handed, i have no other plan. I have to take care of the boat first, and the fishing next. So here we went again. Jib aback, helm “hard to lee” and Akimbo steady and stable slipping sideways at a knot and a half. Very comfy and controllable. As i pulled the rod back, and reeled up the slack, i was happy to find the fish still on this time and giving a good fight. With the sun high in the sky, i could see below the water’s surface a little and was thrilled to see the bright flash of a pretty big fish on the hook. Closer now, i saw a second flash, another fish chasing after it? Then the one on the hook leaped into the air and flailed. It was a dorado. And the other fish did not appear to be trying to eat it. I remembered someone saying that the dorado mate for life, or at least travel in pairs, or maybe i remember that incorrectly. But now i was distracted by the safety string that secures the pole to the boat getting tangled up with the reel. Damn! I couldn’t reel anymore in. Remembering the dorado that bit thru the line when Cody hooked one, i didn’t want to be too patient but i was stuck. As it turned out, Akimbo’s slow sideways progress kept tension on the line while i untangled and removed the string. Back to reeling in, which i did until the fish was only nine feet off now. The gaff was under the cockpit seat, out of reach. So i decided to try to pull the fish on deck by pulling the leader in by hand. I pulled, the fish landed on the swimstep, beautiful and days of good food! But it renewed its panic, snapped the fishing line (throwing the lure into the cockpit, thank you), fell back into the water and was gone. “Damn!” “Good fight. Good for you. Keep the hook. Next time.” In retrospect i should have let Akimbo keep the tension on the line again while i went and got the gaff, which now sits hooked on the stern pulpit within reach. I retied the lure on the line and put it back out but got no more bites.

I arrived at the anchorage at the north end of the beach, disappointed to find a boat anchored in the corner i had hoped for. But then they were probably disappointed to have to share the place. So i dropped anchor a little farther out and cooked up scallops and veggies on pasta in time to enjoy dinner at sunset. My plan for this week is to alternate days between sailing and staying at anchor. Playa Bonanza is a beautiful sand beach over two miles long. Maybe tomorrow i’ll get a long beach walk in.

I could write a rendition here of kayaked ashore, walked on the beach, collected Espiritu Santo jewels and trash, spent the day at anchor…but there’s more. Of course there’s more. You could write an account of any one of your days the same way. As a litany of what happened, but not how it happened, not what caught your eye, why it caught your eye, and the tho’ts that that particular gem prompted from you…

Playa de Bonanza is on the southeast corner of the island of Espiritu Santo. It took about four hours to walk its length and back. The give of the sand underfoot gave my calves a workout they are telling me about today. There were a few places where pocks left in the sand told of many feet. I wondered what had taken place there, and noticed an orange chaff in each divit. On closer inspection, the chaff looked like very very small shrimp. “Ah, krill,” i told myself. Thousands of krill. Hmm. I imagined fishermen pulling nets in here? And these were NOT what they were after, these were the detritus that shook off the nets and got left behind, a nuisance if anything. Later i noticed a brown line in the sand at the high mark of the waves before they receded with the tide, and again, upon closer inspection, krill. OK, make that millions, no trillions of krill. The color difference? Maybe the brown ones die in the water and wash up, while the orange ones die out on the beach in the sun.

As their presence seeped into my consciousness, what a wonder they became! If these creatures were any tinier they would be microscopic…invisible to the naked eye. And THEY are what draws the largest animals on the planet here? I can’t help but wonder what else i am not seeing in this sea that is absolutely teeming with life. Life that, in the visible realm, all seems to start with the krill. And in what other contexts, what other parallels, what else is invisible to me?

The next day i sailed for Bahia de los Muertos. On the way north in transit a month ago, we had anchored there at dusk and weighed anchor at dawn, ready to “arrive” at the end of our trip, at La Paz. My bet was that Muertos is another place deserving a closer look. The day started with 5 to 10 knots of wind out of the southwest. Taking my cues from the swell from the north and the forecast for 15 to 25 knots from the northwest, i left the main up and kicked on the engine. As i motored thru flat calm for a few hours, i was glad i hadn’t chased the dying wind by putting up the drifter, proud to have harbored my strength. When the wind finally started to fill as forecast, i unrolled the genoa and enjoyed a great downwind sail, touching over 8 knots at times.

Thru the day i remembered the krill, and my surface view of life. Twice porpoise launched themselves many feet out of the depths, depths beyond my sight. At the end of the day, on our last layline into the anchorage, backlit by the setting sun that we sailed into, clouds of vapor shot skyward from the water’s surface. When we departed this bay before, the sunrise had lighted whale flukes disappearing into the deep behind us. I had hoped the whales might be here again or still, and here they were! I checked the boat’s trim and my position on the chart before going to stand at the bow and watch what might be revealed. I could say, “revealed to me,” but that misses the point entirely. It would reveal itself, it was up to me to pay attention. As i looked up from the chart there was a BIG splash in the corner of my sight. Had i missed “it”…again? At the bow now, Akimbo taking symphonic care of herself at speed, i twice witnessed whales breaching far out of the water, as if to say, “just try to ignore this, keep paying attention, there is always more than you can see, really see.”

As i write these thoughts down, this is indeed a day to not sail. Gusts are over 30. It’s the kind of day that things break or someone gets hurt. So i went ashore for breakfast, walked the beach and continued chores on the boat. Hopefully tomorrow will favor heading back toward La Paz. The trouble with anchoring next to a windy beach is…sand. Grit accumulating everywhere it can, it feels like i’m anchored in the Sahara instead of the Sea of Cortez.

In isolation i find myself contemplating people dear to me. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” someone said. So here i am, “distant” and growing fonder of friends and family. I’m curious that i would put myself “out here” when i know my heart to hold them/you very dearly.

My thoughts lead me to Sharon Salzburg’s book “Faith.” I quite like her distinction between “belief” and “faith.” The former is something that one holds onto for all you are worth…and in turn, it holds onto you. The latter is something one doesn’t have to hold onto and that feels liberatiing. The former requires clear definition of what it includes and excludes. The latter is about accepting what cannot be clearly defined, and trusting what is felt. A belief is like looking at the sky...thru a straw: what one sees is true, but it's not the whole sky, and each of us has a different straw, believing the view thru our straw is correct and thru others is incorrect... At base, this voyage is an act of faith that i am where i need to be for now, that it leads me where i need to go.

I am in awe of each person to whom i feel so “close.” Maybe being in that awe, is being “in love.” And while i love the feel and intensity of it (is it the person i’m in love with or is it the feeling? – either way), while love may be sustenance itself, in-love is not sustainable. In love can only be a visitor. Okay, duh! But maybe it holds a lesson for me to learn to welcome hard feelings too, and to realize that they too are only visitors. Me too, huh? I am only a visitor here on this earth. I shake my head, which is appropriate. After all, what does one’s head have to do with love? It’s not a thinking thing.

I get word occasionally of what is happening in their lives and there is an ache in me to be there with them. Laughing and crying, and sharing the moments between the events, the precious “filler” disguised as less than the firmament from which our big moments are born. Clever disguise!

How can i love them so and not stay closer to them? Am i lying to myself? Do i not really “love them so?” What could be worth such distance between us? Distance that has to be a strain. How can i apparently abandon people i deeply love?! Yet here i am, far from them and looking back…and carrying them forward within me. There is something that i still don’t grok about it, something that straddles beyond dimensions.

I remember when Tyler was quite small we would play “catch me if you can.” And eventually i would find his arms wrapped around my leg, or his hands gripping my wrist or ankle, at which he would victoriously announce, “gotch ya!” To which i would use my uncle’s reply, “no, i’ve got you.” His expression would become perplexed, i would continue, “See, i’ve got you. My ankle has got you by the hands. You can’t get away.” Of course he would let go, and the game would continue.

So here i am, wrapping my heart around theirs/yours, and then letting go. And hoping beyond hoping that our hearts remain in touch even so. Simply, dearly in touch.

I got up at 6 a.m. to get ready for sailing against what was forecast to be big winds and seas. Starting out at 7, we sailed upwind with full main and jib. About mid-morning, after i had enjoyed a good cup of coffee, the wind started to fill and i recognized that this was it – time to triple reef the main, doublecheck things lashed on deck and stowed below, and “go to work.” It feels rewarding to know the local weather a little better, and to listen to the wind’s cues.

It WAS indeed a long hard upwind sail. I had to put up the lee cloth below just to keep the cushions on their settee. I hunkered down behind the dodger (the railing and canvas that shelters the entrance into the boat – that entrance is called the companionway), sat in the companionway seat with the autopilot remote control in hand, and watched Akimbo perform beautifully. Bumping the autopilot up or down 5 degrees with the wind shifts and sailing at times over 7 knots (SOG = “speed over ground”) upwind! After a bit i started to feel sea-sick, so i used one of the scopolamine transderms, and we thrashed our way north.

So i had a full day of watching our progress and admitting that tho sailing sounds romantic it really isn’t. It can be downright uncomfortable. It’s simply a way to travel that makes us pay attention to the trip instead of the destination. And coming from rough weather can give us real appreciation for smooth sailing. Maybe that makes sailing a philosophic tool you can bodily use. Of course it offers lots of metaphors for life too.

When we sailed thru San Lorenzo channel and under the lee of Espiritu Santo, i had that renewed appreciation for calmer sailing. Also i had time to drop a fishing line in the water, and a few minutes later bring dinner aboard, a cierra. “Thank you fish.”

Anchoring here is unlike anchoring in the northwest where we have many anchorages that are protected from winds from all directions. In the Sea of Cortez, it seems all anchorages are wide open and exposed in some direction. Bahia San Gabriel was perfect protection from the continuing norther last night, and allowed me a good night’s sleep. And i have it all to myself today, which feels like some kind of magic.

So far as i can tell...

Unlike the U.S., in Mexico (or at least in La Paz), when you hear sirens…it’s not an emergency. It means there is a cop car, or several, at the head of a parade. And there are many occasions for parades. I wonder/hope if there are few crimes. So the police get bored and ask for excuses to use their sirens. It seems to me that a significant number of male Mexicans are employed as policemen and soldiers. They’re all over the place. A presence. I imagine that it may not pay much, but it’s pretty secure, has benefits, elevates social status, and feeds the human desire to feel important. After all, it’s macho, you wear a uniform and you get to carry a gun.

Stop signs don’t mean stop. They mean slow down and miss each other. I have yet to see anyone actually try to stop. Take your foot off the accelerator, maybe touch the brake lightly to make sure it still works, but keep the flow going. If you stop at each sign, the traffic behind you will go into fits.

I didn’t realize that Mexicans had adopted polka as their own. Makes me wish i still played the accordion. Did the Germans have some influence here? And when it comes to mariachi…i wonder what the musical notation for “wild cackling laughter” is. On a musical score, there among the notes, is there a smiley face? What?! Then there is flamenco. Almost makes you faint with seriousness. And tango – swoon, not faint. What fun.

But, talk about taste. The cell towers here are cleverly disguised as palm trees. Really. Palm fronds, pole painted…never mind that they are four times taller than the actual coconut palms and the city surrounding them. I really like the effort.

Maybe you can tell i’ve spent the last few days NOT sailing. Took a bus over to the pacific side of baja to a little town named Todos Santos. Very artsy place, and has a good surfing beach. Really liked it. Inns and restaurants. I could spend more time there. I walked a long way but the beach was further. There was a house where i turned around, and in its driveway were cars with Washington plates. “Small world.” That was the first day i’ve left Akimbo to herself at anchor and beyond my view. She did fine, was still here when i got back.

The next two days i ran errands and did chores. Most of the chores are about minimizing the effects of salt and sunshine. I wonder if i’ll run out of energy for them someday. But so far Akimbo is looking good. I’m quite pleased with the kayak cover i fashioned out of the old mainsail cover, even tho the hand stitching is primitive. That took a whole day, during which i listened to Spanish lessons on the stereo. The next day i washed the salt out of the main and genoa sheets, washed the salt off the hull and started waxing the topsides. This day i listened to a lecture by poet David Whyte. Significantly inspiring, i want to send you all a copy.

One chore was getting my sailmail working via ssb radio. Ta-da! I am glad to feel i CAN be reached anywhere. I plan to check it once a day. It’s not regular internet access, i can’t post to the blog, google anything, etc… So i’ll go ashore this morning to post this…come back and stow the dinghy and outboard…and then set sail for my first week single handing here. I’ll post here and let you know how it went when i get back.

Amor y esperanza,

jon

The next "step"...

Here we are, two months after departing Seattle, and at the end of our first week of cruising in Mexico’s Sea of Cortez. Not transitting, but actually cruising. Going somewhere one day, and not going anywhere the next. Looking at the charts and thinking about where next and when. Ahhhh…

This week Jerry and Cheryl joined us - "guinea pigs," the first test case of someone flying in for a little cruising. Over my 15 years as a yacht broker, i knew Jerry as a yacht surveyor and we related to each other on a little more than a business level. The four of us, i think, would all call this week a success. While we have to give Baja's good weather some credit, there are some interpersonal ingredients that made it so too. Jerry is a sailing enthusiast with lots of sea time, and Cheryl a willing, observant adventurer. They are avid hikers and campers, so they don’t go places to be pampered and are flexible with whatever comes up and however “it” goes. They take good care of themselves and can problem solve to do so. They are good communicators and contribute energy to wherever they are, whomever they are with, whatever they do. In the smaller (perhaps thus more intimate thus more intense) home/world of a boat, these characteristics are key…we have to be generous with each other. J&C came to “play,” so how could we go wrong? Additionally, day before yesterday their company softened Tyler’s departure for me. Instead of him leaving and me feeling the contrast more sharply of being alone, they were understanding, supportive even, of my tears. Thank you. They departed today and i feel more ready to transition into time alone.

We had next to no wind the first day as we headed for a bay on Isla Partida, so we motored mostly. We anchored off a middle beach of three and enjoyed snorkeling and diving off the boat in very clear water. I dropped my sunglass clip-ons while we anchored in 15’ of water (much to the interest of several blowfish). I watched where they landed on the bottom, then later dove down and retrieved them. We rowed ashore after that, good to get off the boat and "stretch" our legs, and had a tough row back as the wind built blowing onto the beach.

After witnessing a stunning sunset, we picked up the anchor and moved over to a more southern beach where we hoped to hide from the growing waves. It was an uncomfortable night. Cheryl slept on deck to ward off motion sickness and i slept on deck to keep an anchor watch. The anchor held. The next day we sailed for Isla San Francisco…choosing an anchorage on it’s eastern side to avoid a repeat of the night before.

Jerry and Cheryl took a tour with Sea Cow (the dinghy, remember?) after hiking around ashore. We once again had lost lures and caught no fish during the day, so when J&C got back, Jerry picked up Tyler to go talk to a few fishermen in their panga about

buying a fish and we enjoyed fresh fish that night afterall. It was great fun talking with these men (i wish i had taken their photo). We asked if they had any lobster or clams to buy – lobsters no, but clams they could bring to us in the morning at 8 for 10 pesos (75 cents) each. Tyler asked if they were soccer fans and said he was too…and gave them a kid size Brasil soccer jersey. Big smiles all around, and the next day they wanted to give us the clams for free. After this delivery to our door, i swam ashore and the

others beached the dinghy. We proceeded to enjoy a hike along the southern ridge. So much so that we decided to stay for the day and sail back toward La Paz the next day. Along the hike i tho’t of several of

you, my dear friends who enjoy the wilderness and hiking – i hope the photos give you some idea of our pleasure. That night we enjoyed a clam dinner with a spicy leftover rice dish – almost a paella.

Next day, sailing south, as we approached Isla Partida, we sighted more and more porpoise in the waves. They didn’t appear to be headed anywhere so much as eating fish all around us. Above a frigate bird floated. Then a few whales spouted nearby. We took all their hints, sailed a few passes thru their neighborhoods with a fishing line in the water. If i remember it correctly,Tyler had pulled the line in (to check the lure?) and as he barely started to lower it back into the water…the line took off and he

announced he had a fish on. “Really?” we responded. After all, he had hardly put 6 feet of leader in the water. We pulled the other fishing line in. Ty said the fish was gone. Pulled in the line, checked the lure, started to lower it into the water and bang, the fish bit again. Oh boy! And then the fish was gone again. Repeat previous scenario, only this time we actually watched as a tuna flashed by taking a few shots at the lure, missed, and then hit! This time, as it fought, it managed to get the line wrapped around its tail! (This happened to Cody off Catalina Island too) The fish was helpless (and likely embarrassed) as Tyler reeled it in. Thank you fish. Anchored between Partida and Espiritu Santo, we enjoyed fabulous dark dark tuna meat fish tacos and another quiet night’s sleep.

On the way back to La Paz, to drop Tyler for his flight the next day, we decided to watch for signs of fish and finally put to rest the myth that i cannot catch fish. I had rigged the previous day’s lure, but i hadn’t reeled the fish in, etc…and i might as well get some practice before i really am on my own. We had light winds and

sailed much of the day with the drifter alone, except for various motorings thru various schools, and finally i reeled in a match of the previous day’s fish. Voila. Maybe 8 pounds, dark dark meat...yum!

That day's final display happened as we approached the channel to the harbor: we witnessed a frigate bird from above and a dorado (or tuna) from below chasing a sardine straight toward us! The little guy didn’t have a chance. Jump and the bird had him, dive and the fish had him. It was stunning to watch everyone's agility. Much like the “wild kingdom” clip of a cheetah chasing down a very quick antelope... This got our blood going, and counter to our “take only what we need now” plan, we put a line in the water as we sailed thru another vast eddy of bait fish. We let Jerry have the fun this time as he reeled in a cierra.

At the dock in La Paz. Went out to dinner. Hooked back into shore power and internet. Next morning we walked with Ty to the bus station, got his ticket, went to a café for smoothies until it was near time for his bus, and said our goodbyes. On the way back to the boat, we stopped by the municipal market for J&C to look for gifts to take home to their kids (mostly grown up) and then sailed off for Balandra Bay (where i am while i write this).

That last paragraph is a bit clipped. I have so many emotions swirling in me around Tyler’s departure. At one level i hate to see him go, and at another i feel his need to go, my need to cheer him on…he’s ready…and so am i...still, this is hard. Parents who parent consciously and help their adult children go…know that it will take me (more than Tyler) a long time to process this part of my story. While we all have the same story line in common, the details are of course unique to each of us each time. As a dear friend said when she helped me, “we all travel the same landscape, i will know each feature, every rock you describe because i have paid attention...but i don’t know your path thru it.” Attention is sometimes a high price to pay, but at this point it’s a ‘seascape’ for me and i am grateful for it.

From here? I'll restock some groceries, do laundry, pick up parts to tackle some work the boat needs and head out for a few weeks...on my own this time, paying a little more attention to safety details, clipped in to the "jack lines" when underway. I hope to post here when i get back, so you'll know when that is. Until then, maybe think about when you can come for a sail.

One quote i really enjoyed from Ty this trip (which he attributed to someone else): “Our stories are our medicine.” And something to the effect that their medicinal quality can be lost if their timing is off or forced. Another thing i can learn from him is to listen as well as he does. To really listen. Thank you Ty.

Love and hope and peace,

jon