Time to wrap this thing up.

Okay, it’s been over a week since we landed here. For now i'm done. Wait a while, please, before asking me if i'll set sail again. I’ve been busy catching up with chores on Akimbo and connecting with a few old friends. Back and forth to a sail loft, i really was lucky to make the sails last another 7000 miles. If Akimbo could, she’d wonder why we aren’t underway again...i kept us movin' more than i tho't i would. But maybe that’s my nature, and me being alone. There’s no hurry now. I'm back.

I’ve been flailing at this final blog entry tho. The entries about day to day events frame themselves. This one, looking for a conclusion, expands beyond any frame i can hold. I wax profound about way too much when i should let the previous pages speak for themselves. A journey is the oldest metaphor for life. Change the landscapes of life to seascapes, much more dynamic, each wave unique, wakes disappearing...you wouldn't believe all the pages i've pushed right past coherence. I want to share so much, but i want to get my ego out of the way.

I got lucky, okay? Really lucky. To manifest this dream and to survive it. Reality, of course, turned out to be different than the dream. Some of us don't have to take a big trip to meet life's unknowns and adventures, which are always close by anyway. Others of us rely on changing scenery like a crutch to find perspectives we didn't have. Or didn't know we had. A dear friend just wrote to me "Fulfilling a dream is anything but running away. It's opening your arms to the universe and saying 'show me what you've got!'" That about says it. I was seeking to meet and be met by life’s changing. "Out there” will always call me in one form or another. Even in the form of “in here.” That sounds like i was looking for direction. Maybe i sought certain knowledge that i truly wanted to come back. Back to...heart. I am feeling grateful for this trip and that feels good. Maybe NOW i can move on from this dream and give more grace to each moment. Each heart beat.

I can't help looking back tho, and feeling a little pride (or some confidence regained). What i see most is STARS! I see seascapes, calm and stormy. I see ancient footpaths still well worn. I see phosphorescence wrapped around porpoise bodies undulating with powerful ease. I see the deepest blue that can only be found in the oceans. My skin recalls warm water so buoyant. I see faces opening at recognition even from a stranger. I hear the melody of a new language. Finally i feel support and trust from the people i love and who love me. Thank you. I want to take you all to Panama's San Blas Islands.

It turns out that going for this sail wasn’t leaving tho it looked that way. I may feel closer to the edge of life than the heart of it now. After all, the horizon presents an edge and that's where i’ve been for thirteen months, seven of them alone. Likely i’ll feel closer in soon. But i had to go “out there" before i could come back. Back to belonging. Belonging in a life i no longer have to recognize. We all have to go “out there” someday and NOT come back. I guess i’ve been practicing.

Happy sails to you,
jon

It ain't over...

...until it's over. Amen.

Underway at noon Nov. 1. Feel a tug of the heart to say goodbye to the family that runs Marina Milagro. Josh, Jody and 11 yr. old Juliana, 8 yr. old Joshua. They had us over for dinner the night before – fried chicken, mashed potatoes, we brought salad, wine and chocolate. Then they had extra pancakes this morning – i contributed the last of my maple syrup.

We got a good start on the next leg. With the help of the northbound current in the Yucatan Channel we sailed 151nm in the first day. All close hauled and steadily reducing sail as the wind settled in and built. At about 4:30 or 5 i saw a big turbulence about 50 yards off the stbd beam. Our senses alerted, for a few minutes we saw large shapes going by underwater. Maybe 5. We think they were manta rays. Ann was feeling motion sick despite the meds. Still she managed to stand her three hour watches. Tough to do when sick, but she did it well and i appreciated the sleep it afforded me. The second day the wind backed a bit so we could ease the sails to a delightful reach. For the first time since Panama i put the drifter up. Good to see it again and dry it out.

At one point we were only 70nm from the Dry Tortugas. I was sorely tempted to turn and share this remote stop with Ann (Google it and maybe you'll see the attraction). The Gulf Stream's help would have made short work of getting there. Christine and i had enjoyed it over 27 years ago. But an eerie feeling had already come over me on our exit north from Isla Mujeres as Ann and i and Akimbo went over the same shoals Christine and i had navigated so long ago. My excuses ran something like "my paper charts for Dry Tortugas are lousy (to back up my computer navigating)," "the first cold front of the season is coming and we might still be able to beat it to Clearwater," "the sooner i wrap this journey up safely...the sooner i've accomplished that," "the Tortugas are not far away if i want to come back..." We sailed on.

We were thrilled by a visit from a pod of pilot whales that second day. Briefly they swam with us like porpoise. They are bigger than porpoise and don't have the "bottle nose." I'd never seen them before. And we admired the "deep" in the deep blue sea.

On this last leg my sister and i had a running conversation that i want to share. She has been finding buddhist teachings helpful, especially Jack Kornfield's take on them. One of my more vivid memories is of sitting at the start of a college Buddhism class 38 years ago, looking up from my notes confused. The professor was outlining the foundations of Buddhism. He had explained that it is NOT a religion, that buddhists are exhorted to not accept teachings without affirming them from their own experience, that they face squarely that all things are impermanent...and that life is suffering. That's when i looked up. "Excuse me? But that's not my experience." My childhood had been happy, my adolescence lucky (if, by definition, confused). Could so many buddhists be wrong and little ol' me be right? I shook my head. I've never been able to swallow that life is suffering. Even now.

Kornfield restates Buddhism's cornerstone in a way that resonates deeply for me: "life is pain, suffering is optional." That small change makes a huge difference. It changes what sounds like a life/death sentence into something one can hope for, from something depressing into something that might be worth exploring and living. Still, this teaching names only one side of the coin that is life. The other side? "Life is pleasure, joy is optional." Pain and pleasure are not to be denied or medicated. There is nothing "wrong" with either of them. They ARE a part of life, their ebb and flood are inevitable. In fact they may even be the wheels of evolution (in the eastern lexicon - of karma) or of life itself. If one is to live, really live, pain and pleasure are to be met and known deeply. They happen. To us. While suffering and joy happen by us. At the end of this voyage i hope i will recall its pleasures. There were plenty of mistakes, regrets, storms, calms, and hardships too. But why conjure them up except for perspective, to learn from them and to keep from taking the pleasures for granted? Pain deserves times to be suffered. But there is no need to hold on to it. Pain will hold on to us even when we let suffering go. We go on. And pleasure deserves to be enjoyed. My heart leaks like a sieve but damn if it doesn't keep beating and loving. Until it stops i'll take it as a testament that life is worthy of us, and we of it. Aren't the best relationships...usually mutual?

Without realizing it, our hopes to beat the cold front to Florida evaporated during the third night. We struggled with light following winds all night. The waves hadn't subsided yet, so the genoa got thrashed...for a pittance of speed at times. We even ran the engine a few hours when our speed got below the "sanity barrier." Lots of the sail repair tape on the genoa's uv cover went to tatters again. I was beginning to identify with that old sail. It was becoming my mascot. First chore at our new home would be to take sails into a sailmaker and see what he/she could do to stretch a few more years out of them.

With some storms nearby, wind finally started blowing again after daybreak. Our luck was holding as our course seemed to lay itself between the squalls. We had just enuf rain to wash the salt off the decks. Ann was feeling better. We were charging along under the drifter a good part of the day. But i was "getting greedy" again. The next line of dark clouds was approaching. I battened down hatches...would probably take down the drifter and unroll the genoa. What's the last thing to do to get ready? Go pee off the swimstep. I was at the transom and literally "caught with my pants down" when the leading blast of wind hit. I'll let you imagine. (I almost wish there had been an aerial view of the scene caught on camera...to view at a much later date and laugh). "If it weren't for that..." i might have been able to save the drifter. But no. One hand went to take over the steering and bear off before Akimbo would broach, my other hand went to trying to pull my shorts up and foul weather pants back on. Overpowered, we broached, rounded up, thrashed and tore the drifter. The deed was done. Now Akimbo simply lay across a sea flattened by wind and rain while Ann came up from below and i went forward to collect the torn sail. I had to drop it in the sea, collect it in over the lifelines onto the deck, pull the jib out of the hatch to the sail locker, stuff the torn sail in and put the jib back. (At least it hadn't torn completely thru and left the halyard and shreds flying from the masthead.) Then we unrolled the tired genoa and once again took off.

I was disappointed with myself. The torn sail could be repaired, but it was testimony to poor seamanship. Plain and simple. After 13 months at sea, wouldn't i be a better sailor? It's important to me to be good at what i do. But i didn't let the torn drifter ruin our last day "out there." Sometimes my efforts have been something to be proud of, and others deserving of embarrassment at least. So it goes. Long ago i was relieved of a heavy load when taught a wise lesson - that perfection may be aspired to but never expected and very rarely reached. And even then, only briefly touched, never grasped and held. In fact isn't it imperfection that makes the world "real?" Perfection..."would be so boring. It'd be the death of us. In the face of it, real interest and curiosity would have to vanish." It's imperfection that is perfect, that makes loving each other (and life) a choice we can make and remake, each time anew, rather than involuntarily. "The option makes all the difference." I can sail more precisely, more "perfectly," in an afternoon than i can over so many months and miles. This was a long trip, mistakes were inevitable. Sometimes i got away with them, others they seemed strictly punished, trying to minimize them definitely kept me "entertained," at least none were fatal...i forgave myself pretty quickly this time.

But it wasn't over yet. The wind slowly clocked to the north as the secondary cold front arrived with the dark. And it was building. (Sean called the next day to say the front's force and arrival woke him up at home and he had tho't of us. It was one of those nights to think to yourself, "i'm glad i'm not out there.") It became obvious that we could not fetch the entrance buoy to Clearwater Pass on this tack. We would fall short of it...by 7 nautical miles. We carried the genoa until i was no longer comfortable getting closer to the beach that was fast becoming a serious lee shore. Would the tattered genoa even tack without more and worse damage? I didn't want to tear another sail if i could help it. If i had changed to the jib earlier we could have used it, but now the foredeck was tilting and bucking so that it was dangerous to go forward. If we turned around the deck would pitch less, maybe then i could switch to the jib and we could broad reach for shelter back south. But it's hard to give up miles and we didn't want to re-cross the Tampa Bay shipping lanes now since the radar was no longer working. We were so close. I turned on the engine and rolled up the genoa. After all, how long could it take to motor the last 7 miles to the sea buoy in a 30,000 pound ocean going sailboat?

Answer: it could take 3 hours. It was another mistake - when i rolled up the genoa i should have strung the jib. Tacking under it would have been far safer and left us more options. Hind sight is a bitch. What did all the mistakes in thirteen months have in common? That i focussed on where i was going instead of where i was at the time.

What would normally have been Akimbo's 7 knot cruising speed was knocked to 2 knots. Sometimes it felt like she was going backwards. I had to test to make sure we could even "motor tack" across the wind and waves to claw away from shore if we had to. Our only exit could be to "tack" like that and turn downwind. Or, the water along this coast only around 20 to 30 feet deep, i could ready the anchor to drop it - but it would be a literal hell to ride on an anchor in this and i no longer trusted the anchor chain anyway. Ann had been standing, holding onto the dodger frame and watching for crab pots. I told her to take a more secure spot in the cockpit. She asked if she should put on a life jacket. My answer was an emphatic yes and put the strobe light in its pocket too.

When we finally reached the buoy it was midnight. We motored a little extra distance north of our turn and, careful to not get carried away by the waves, made that turn in increments, not all at once. The waves were big, way too much for the autopilot to handle. I was steering and Ann was picking out the lights of the channel markers from the background of the city lights. The first red mark almost eluded me but not Ann. This was no time to get out of the channel. For the first time ever, a wave washed into the cockpit and around my ankles from behind me. I asked Ann to close the companionway. If anything went wrong, any little thing, then "the dominoes would fall" and everything would go terribly wrong. Why invite the sea straight into Akimbo thru the companionway if it came to that? In all this trip, not unexpectedly, we had seen some challenges. But this was downright lethal. In the last mile? "You've got to be fucking kidding me." When we got into the channel, with the wind behind us, i tho't our speed would increase and we would "fly" into the relatively safe bay. But our speed was only three or so knots: the current was against us. Three hours earlier the current wasn't coming out the pass against the weather coming in the pass..in less than 20' of water. The pass had been...passable. Looking at waves breaking on either side of the channel flat out scared me. Looking behind us, i couldn't tell where we could have come in thru the waves. There was no exit now, no margin, all options were gone, we were stuck and had to make this work. Our adrenaline was pumping, we were very alert. And we were lucky.

Once we passed safely under the bridge and into the bay i felt like turning around, shaking my fist and screaming curses at the sky. But that would have been taking it personally, as if the weather was trying to not let me get away with this trip. And we STILL needed to pay attention to the task at hand. Ann called Bud and Rhoda to tell them we were in. We picked our way thru the howling wind and the channels in the dark to their dock, where the lights were on and Bud stood. We went by downwind past the dock to get a good view of what tying up would be like. When we turned around the wind acted like brakes on Akimbo's speed and i found it very easy to crawl her into place. We tied up but couldn't get off the boat and go into the house - the posts we tied to lie some 13' off the dock to put Akimbo in the water depth her draft requires. I was too tired to take the hour to pump up the dinghy to go in. We were safely tied up, told Bud to go to bed, we would do the same, and the hugs would have to wait until morning. It was 2am...i woke up three hours later. To stand my watch?

Crazy. Absolutely ridiculous (nothing sublime about it). So, NOW it's over. I want to take a little time to look back, reflect and write one more entry. To close this chapter of my life, before opening the next.

Onward...

The bureaucracy and paperwork for a yacht to enter and exit Belize is THE worst of all the countries i visited this year. One has to satisfy 5 different departments, all of whom come aboard. The more departments there are, the more costly entry and exit becomes. Luckily i have a printer/copier aboard and could make the many copies required on demand: don’t know how one could run the Belizean gauntlet without it. It’s almost like the Belize government discourages cruising here. I guess there is not much money in it for them. Another example is their policy that if you run your yacht onto a reef and the reef doesn’t claim your yacht…the government seizes it. This policy is supposedly about protecting their reefs. Fiercely. Apparently they’ll sell your yacht back to you for triple its value. Clearly their priority is to take care of and entice the cruise ships here, business which must be far more profitable.

But Belize’s cruise ship industry is horribly and short sightedly structured to exclude almost all Belizeans. The cruise ship gringos are shuttled to and from tour boats and busses and gated shopping areas…all of which have to kick back half of their gross income to the cruise line. Imagine being on the outside of that tantalizing flow of money, watching it busily conducted just beyond your reach while you and your loved ones struggle and starve. There is very little benefit, maybe the smallest trickle down, to 99% of the Belizean people. I, for one, would get angry. Small wonder we were told not to walk the streets after dark. But the real crime is NOT the one we were warned away from, it is the way the cruise ship industry is structured. The crime, once again, is the we/they ethic. As if we are not all in this together. I have never been attracted to try a cruise ship cruise anyway. I hope its entire industry is not structured like this. If i were attracted and if it is all like this…my conscience would not allow me to go.

The day after the storm much of Belize had no electricity. I called the three departments we needed clearance from to leave Belize. None of them answered. Sean and i spent the day undoing our storm preparations. Re-installing the solar panels. Hoisting and rolling up the genoa. Stowing the extra lines. Squaring Akimbo away, making her ready to sail. Grant, the owner of the boat tied up ahead of us, was grateful to find his boat afloat. He thanked us for what little care we had given to it. In return he gave us a ride to a grocery store so we could get our provisioning out of the way. I made a celebratory dinner that evening of lobster and veggies on pasta, opened a good bottle of wine and toasted Sean’s good help, without which Akimbo and i would have suffered far more. Thank you again, Sean. And again. As i lay down that night i was asleep before my head reached my pillow.

The next day we decided to go to the nearby customs and immigration offices in person and hoped to avoid the port authority much less conveniently located downtown. After all, they had given us clearance before the storm and the operations manager had said we would only have to pay for more days in Belize if the storm didn’t hit. If the storm DID hit, she would consider it a “force majeure” and we wouldn’t have to pay more. I took that one step further to construe that she said we wouldn’t have to come in…

Errol, our cab driver, very black man, dread locks, sun glasses, tall, skinny, but forceful (very) and animated and loud, maybe in his 60s or 50s, turned out to be our hero when it came to getting clearance and out of town. Belize was part of the British empire, English is its official language…while Spanish is its “native” language (tho Mayan preceded it). Errol had lived in the U.S. for 33 years but whatever the language the dialect is thick. He dropped us off at immigration. A tall man was there, who did NOT seem like a boss, officiously wiping all the countertops with lemon pledge. He was the officer we needed, tho, to get our passports stamped. He said he needed to come with us to the boat. Okay. When we got in the cab…Errol got “on fire.” He proclaimed this had never happened before in his five years of driving cab and yatistas to and from departments. He went on and on. I asked him not to piss off the immigration officer. But by the time we got to the customs office where we would supposedly pick up a customs officer to come to the boat…the immigration man said he would see what he could do to get everything done there and then. Voila! (or maybe that's "Ole'!" in Mexico).

Errol congratulated the officer on cutting thru the bullshit and being good for Belize instead of bad for Belize. He applauded being part of the solution instead of part of the problem, on taking personal responsibility instead of blaming the system… Once we were in the cab with Errol by ourselves he repeated that he knew the officers came to the boat to check you in but had never seen them do so to check you out. It was a hustle, and he wasn’t gonna watch it happen without calling it by its proper name. We gave him $40 instead of $30 (didn’t have change anyway), thanked him. He gave us soulful handshakes, and his parting words were “love brothers love!”

We jumped on board Akimbo, started the engine and cast off. As we went by the Port Authority dock they shouted “where are you going?” I replied, “Mexico!” “Did you get clearance?” “Yes, with immigration, customs and the port authority.” Several of them were doing things in their big fast pangas, those on the deck of their out station went in. Were they calling the downtown office and finding out we hadn’t gone back? We kept going. One of their boats went by. We kept going. Maybe they weren’t coming after us after all. We motored four hours into a headwind out of the bay and past the barrier reef. Set sail and headed north. I wouldn’t really relax until we crossed the border.

We were on a windy close reach with the genoa alone. The wind was building. So before sunset we went to the jib alone and did a man overboard drill. Then we settled into our first night watches – 3 hours on and 3 hours off. This was no timid introduction for Sean. Akimbo was rockin’ and rollin’ in 20 to 30+ knots of wind. We were going fast. Between 7 and 8 knots most of the time. In the next 24 hours Akimbo set a new day’s record: 172 nautical miles! I had budgeted 3 days for this leg. But we anchored at Isla Mujeres at 4:30am on our second night out, 42 hours total. 4 hours under power at the start and 2.5 under power at the end to carefully pick our way in in the dark.

We caught some needed sleep in the morning and then radioed Marina Milagro. Yes, they had space – and we highly recommend them. Very nice folks. Theirs would be a good place to rendezvous with my sister and from which to feel like tourists. Ahhhh. But of course we needed to clean up and do a few more boat chores. Ann arrived the next day as planned, and Sean departed the morning after that. We were all sorry to part ways. I had found a fellow man-of-heart in Sean, and felt a new brotherhood.

Marina Milagro includes the use of bicycles, kayaks, masks, snorkels and fins with their moorage. This morning Ann and i enjoyed paddling out to the underwater reef park and floating thru on the current for a few hours.



With internet access now, i have been watching the weather in detail. There is another hurricane “out there.” Forecast to be a category 3. I desperately want nothing to do with it. There is a cold front coming from the NW too that should push “Tomas” north. The models are not infallible, but they ALL agree. So Ann and i and Akimbo have our weather window to head for Florida tomorrow. It appears the winds will be from the east for the first three days, so we plan to head north. At that point we will be within reach of the Florida coast if we need to run for shelter. On the fourth day the winds will probably get shifty ahead of the cold front’s arrival. On the fifth day the cold front will arrive and the winds are forecast to come on strong from the north. If we aren’t already in Clearwater…i should be able to let you know where else it is that we’ve put in. Visualize good weather, great sailing, and good luck for us. Thank you for your part in this trip too.

Hurricane Richard

I knew that i was starting north from Panama a month before the end of the hurricane season. It was a gamble. And i felt like i paid for it, beating (or being beaten) on my last multi-night solo legs to Providencia and Roatan. But worse was coming. Early the morning before Sean was to arrive, i e-mailed him about the weather system that would become hurricane Richard. While i welcomed his help, i offered my understanding if he wanted to delay his arrival and stay out of harm’s way. He got that e-mail when he was waiting for his connection at the Miami airport and decided to come ahead. I am very glad that was his decision.

When last i blogged, i tried to allay anyone’s worries about the fact that we were about to weather a hurricane. Without local knowledge, we decided a nearby marina was our best option for shelter. An aerial photo gave you some idea of where we went. What i didn’t tell you was that the day after we got there…most of the other boats in the marina left for better shelter. This was not comforting. Some ran 80 miles south to Big Creek and Placencia. Others knew what mangroves they could get into and out of. One of them vacated a better slip that we moved into. Then Sean and i…arranged for a ride to nearby Mayan ruins (Altun Ha) with a gringo (Don, a retired ship’s captain from British Columbia) who owned a tiny food concession in the marina. On the way to the ruins and back, our conversations with Don taught us much about life in Belize – which is much more third world than we had expected. Lawless? Mexico was going to feel like a relief.






We had the ruins to ourselves. The place felt powerful and magical to us. I thought of those old National Geographic TV specials in which the camera pans across empty ruins while playing the soundtrack of what they must have sounded like a thousand years ago when they were filled with a bustling population. The sun broke thru, no cruise ship crowds were due, the vendors sold us a few souvenirs or gifts and we counted ourselves lucky witnesses. After our 5 hour outing we got back to an even more empty marina. Hmmm. Then the Belizean Coast Guard boat came to the ramp, went on a trailer and was towed...to safety?

The next morning another better slip opened up. It would be in the lee of a big building during the worst winds (east) and the wind would hold the boat off the dock. We tried to move into it but ran aground at its entrance. So we backed up and decided to tie up at the space that had opened up on the other side of the marina at the highest docks in the place – this on the theory that there could be a considerable storm surge and unusually high water, and in spite of the fact that the east winds would push Akimbo against the dock. The storm was due that evening. We had prepared Akimbo as much as we could. At two o’clock we walked around the marina to anticipate what might happen, re-tie a few boats…things that were in our interest to take care of.

At about 5, we thought to do this walk around again while we still had some daylight. The wind was starting to howl. Before we got past checking our own lines and those of our neighbor the water level in the marina began to drop. So we kept retying our fenders and trying to help Akimbo. Soon it was dark. The winds made their dreaded shift to the east and increased dramatically – our battle began in earnest. In the last few days we had reduced Akimbo’s windage as much as we could, still she healed hard over at the dock. With a lot of pushing and fendering we were able to keep her from bending her stanchions and lifelines. We were too busy to help the unattended boat ahead of us much. Still, once in a while, one of us would crouch against the wind, go check her fenders and lines – i added a spring line to her tie up – and run back. The two catamarans ahead of that had a few people each to take care of them. A section of roof on the nearby restaurant ahead of us, blew off and away to our right.

We were struggling to keep fenders between Akimbo and the dock. As the water went down, with Akimbo pinned against the dock, the fenders squeezed up and out. We kept putting them back. I had the idea to take a fender and float a line across the marina to Akimbo. Then we could lead that line to a big cockpit winch and take a strain on it to hold her off the dock. The danger would be if anyone came in or out of the marina, the line might get in their way or have to be cut. Finally i ran around the shore of the marina to its other side and attempted this idea. It didn’t work. The line was too heavy for the fender to carry it. Then i realized…i was ankle deep in water. The water was on the rise. I took the now 50 pounds of soaked line and fender and started huffing and puffing my way back around the marina to Akimbo.

By the time i got there the water had risen another foot at least. Now Sean and i were in a struggle to keep the fenders from squeezing under the dock instead of up and over the dock. The boat ahead of us had healed over hard while the water was down and its edge appeared to have gotten pinned under the edge of the dock as the water came up. There was nothing we could do for her. If one of her port holes burst she would fill and sink.

The noise was considerable, each had to shout into the other's ear to be heard. It was pitch black. The rain stung exposed skin. We couldn’t look into it. Sudenly 50 gallon steel drums started floating in and wedging between Akimbo’s bow and the dock. Everything that had been on shore on the other side of the marina was floating and heading directly for us. What had been the north side of the marina and between us and the waves was now under a couple feet of water that was getting deeper. The shlelter north of us was gone, and in fact the stuff that had been on it became our next threat. Now we added to our tasks fending these steel drums off of Akimbo. Some we could pick up out of the water, toss into the wind and watch blow away. Others had enuf in them we could pull them out and put them on the dock. A few were too heavy. I tried tying a line to them and cleating them away from Akimbo – one kept getting loose and coming back to beat up her water line. As i pushed what appeared to be an empty fuel tank back out into the channel to blow past Akimbo, something very heavy pushed it back at me. I peaked out from below the hood of my foul weather jacket to see a section of dock floating by.

Now the water surface was covered with diesel from the drums and debris that had been swept into it, and from a power boat that was sinking nearby. The wind would whip spray from the water. That spray was now laden with diesel. Sean’s and my eyes began to sting, our skin feel oily. The diesel was added to the salty taste on our faces.

We had managed to retrieve the fenders from where they had squeezed uselessly down, but Akimbo was pinned against the dock and we could only wedge them between her and the dock forward and aft of her beam. At here widest, Akimbo was grinding against the dock and the scratches thru her gelcoat were growing. In desperation i started poking strands of a thick docking line between her and the edge of the dock each time the wave action allowed and inch gap to open up – careful to keep my fingers out of the gap. Soon i had a six foot section of the dock covered with pieces of rope and the rope proved less scratchy than the dock.

The water was higher still, now only six inches below the top of the dock. Every other dock in the marina was under about three feet of water. Each wave now splashed thru up between the boards that we stood on. If the water kept coming up the fenders would become useless and Akimbo would start to be lifted up onto the dock. There would be nothing we could effectively do to help her except check on her once in a while. And the longer we were exposed out here the more chance there was of one of us getting hurt. Anything unexpected might lift in the wind and be hurled at us – and this was only a category 1 hurricane. I told Sean to go look for plan B. Find where we would shelter our bodies from the storm and simply hope Akimbo would recover. If it got ankle deep on us, it would be time to leave. He came back and said he found a good spot.

The wind shifted a bit more south, off Akimbo’s side and to her bow, and the pitch of its roar dropped a little, the water level started to drop, we were able to place a couple fenders at her beam. We went below, ate a few energy bars, drank some water…i looked over and Sean was asleep. It was 10:30. We had been hard at it for 5 and a half hours. Not trusting our environment entirely, i told Sean that we were starting our watch schedule now, here at the dock. He could sleep for three hours while i watched outside and then we would trade places. On his watch he saw the nearly full moon peaking thru clouds. The boat ahead of us was damaged but floating on her lines again. The worst was over. Rumor has it that this was the first direct hurricane hit on Belize in 50 years, and that gusts reached 90 and 100 mph - we were too busy to watch the wind meter. The photos will show the scenes we woke up to.

At the head of the dock we were on there was a 40ish foot catamaran. I hadn't seen anyone on board or attending to it, but it appeared to have ridden the storm out with only minor damage. That morning when we were talking to the marina managers they knocked on it and called out. A woman's tired face appeared. Apparently she lives aboard there. She had stayed below and hoped for the best. Her description was perfect. "It was like living inside a wild animal tied to the dock, struggling to break free. Crazy." We were SO sore, but we were grateful. Akimbo now wore battle scars but was otherwise okay. It felt like time to get the hell out of Belize.

Tucked in, don't worry.

Our human nature wants to go ahead and sail north. Instead we are minimizing our risks. We're NOT going to try to outrun this thing. We've tied up at Cucumber Beach Marina here next to Belize City (aerial photo from their website attached). We will feel the wind here, but we shouldn't feel any waves. The storm is now named Richard and is somewhat stalled off the Nicaragua Bank. While it has yet to gather any momentum heading in a direction...it could head in any direction. But the forecast says it's going to land here, should arrive Monday and be gone by Tuesday. Which is now our expected departure day. But today is a beautiful sailing day, it's hard to believe there's a storm anywhere, and we want to go... Being patient.

So, this feels better than it did before i had a plan. Not scared anymore. We're in good shelter now. In preparation we've reduced our windage - dropped the genoa, folded it and put it below. The kayak was below anyway (ever since the beating to Providencia) to clear the decks for overnight passages. The mainsail cover is on and additionally lashed in place. Halyards are secured away from the mast. Might stow the solar panels. Akimbo is lashed into her slip every which way. We've walked around to see how well our neighbors are secured. It will be in our interests to walk the docks Monday to keep up with whatever needs help near Akimbo.

Tomorrow we hope to find a guide to take us to nearby Mayan ruins. After that...we'll see. Sean and i are thoroughly enjoying each other, trading favorite authors, catching up with each others' lives. And looking forward to getting underway. Just guessing, Ann will arrive in Isla Mujeres on the 28th to meet us and i bet we'll arrive on the 29th...before any more storms show up. Wish us all the luck you can, as we do you. More soon.

Tropical depression 19

May have gambled and lost here. Shall see.
This is the link to the info: www.nhc.noaa.gov



This is my e-mail to family and Sean -

"good morning -
it looks like we are in the path of this one.
time to change our plans - not going anywhere until it goes by - say Tuesday.
i'm going to extend our stay here with the port authority and start asking around about local shelter.
best case, i imagine finding somewhere with enuf depth to wedge Akimbo in between some mangrove islands. worst case, we anchor in the open roadstead. middle case, anchor around a shore contour that offers some depth and some shelter.
Sean if you get this before you fly and want to wait to come, i understand. Or if you're on your way, i'll welcome the help - but don't want you to put yourself in harm's way.
good luck to us all,
jon"

Actually, local knowledge is pointing me toward a marina that may be the best option possible.
Am i scared? Yes. But it's time to get busy. Not time to worry.
Still, sorry to worry you. Will keep you posted when i can.

Fillin' in some blanks - from Belize

When i download photos, i realize i’m getting too tunnel visioned. I’m getting too goal oriented. Here i am in Belize. Colorful Belize. And i didn’t even mention Roatan?
About Bocas – i tied up at Marina Carenero’s docks. Small friendly operation, that doesn’t add a charge for this and a charge for that. I.E. internet access included, honor system on beers and sodas and laundry. Just a two minute water taxi across from Bocas town. Translated Carenero Cay means Carreening Key – and indeed they brag that Columbus, the admiral of the ocean seas himself, careened his ships there. A short walk away was the Cosmic Crab Café with resort attached – cool little restaurant built on pilings out over the water, with individual dining pilapas. Walking further, there are several nice homes there. They had a thriving herb garden. I harvested enuf basil to make four batches of pesto, three for me and one for them.
Next stop Providencia – neat island. A pirate stronghold in its day, fortified on shore to defend the narrow channel entrance. Felt more third world than most places i’ve been. The ship’s agent did me no favors by not fully checking me in and out. When i got to Roatan they levied a $50 fine on me for not having the right paperwork. Lesson learned.
On the way to Roatan i passed some fishing boats – outriggers out, anchored in 163’ of water? I was somewhat concerned late in the afternoon when i realized a beat up blue boat was following me. I flashed back on all the rumor i had heard about pirates. Sad that what worries me more than the weather on this trip is other people? Finally they got close enuf that one of their crew held up a fish for sale. I shook my head. Another sign languaged whether i had any cigarettes. Again i shook my head. They had gone a long way out in the middle of nowhere and lousy weather for nothin’. Their path finally diverged from mine.
Roatan – i got in early in the a.m. The ship’s agent there met me at the fuel dock, took my passport, credit card and paperwork and directed me to Fantasy Island Marina. He made it one stop shopping. $250 for the fuel, $200 for clearance in and out, $50 fine. Thankfully Fantasy Island sent out a boat to guide me in around the shoals, and cost only $20/night. Heaven for scuba divers is apparently spelled Roatan. This is Fantasy Island’s main biz, sending dive boats out to the surrounding reefs several times a day. The island is long and skinny and pretty. I met friends of friends one evening for dinner. Barbara and Duane have built a wellness center there. They bragged about the excellent and affordable health care, and the simple life with its resulting burst of creativity.

Rain continued to be the rule. With the hatches closed for all these wet days in the tropics, the inside of Akimbo was starting to mold! I departed Roatan and got tired of having to beat our way to the south end of Belize’s archipelago. About 1 am i gave it up. The north end of the Belize islands was about the same distance away and we could straight line sail there on port tack. It made for a much more pleasant night. I arrived at the southern end of Turneffe Island shortly before dusk the next day– my last overnight alone and too late to navigate thru the barrier reef to Belize City. So i dropped anchor and enjoyed a quiet night at anchor. The water clarity is incredible – looks like gin. The next day was finally a gorgeous, sunny, picture perfect day of sailing. Lightly rippled water, ten knots of wind, tacking in a favorable current. I had forgotten what a pleasure this could be. Had already put the boat up for sale in my mind.

I made Belize City and tied up to the Radisson’s dock at dusk. Their marina is not a going concern – no electricity, lots of bird shit – and cheap. Belize far and away takes the prize for the most bureaucracy. Absolutely ridiculous. Five people come aboard, each from a different department. Paperwork and more paperwork, and $200 later you’re in. You’d think they’re trying to discourage visitors – unless they come in big numbers on cruise ships, which they do. Another yachter here ran afoul of procedure (two crew had left their passports behind – i don’t know how they traveled without them) - $2000 later (not to mention the lawyer’s charges) he tells me the Belize jail was a good clean jail. Pretty exciting place with all the street vendors, kids and bustling…but again the warning from the dock master, don’t go walking at night. Hmm.
Me? I'm awfully goal oriented now, cuttin' to the chase, headin' for the barn...fill in as you please. Haven’t put up my prayer flags for a few weeks – but then it’s been raining. My energy doesn’t feel expansive. It’s that tired thing. Tired of being alone. Of the risks i've been running. Of myself. I wonder without this adventure what/who i can become. I feel primed to change.
Tomorrow? Sean arrives. Loaded with my too many requests. And willing to crew. This will seem new to me, after about 7 months on my own. I'm lookin' forward to it.

Bruised

Okay, i take back what i said about the Carib being less intense than the Pacific (i hope it’s satisfied). Leaving Bocas and Panama proved to be hard. But, before i leave Bocas behind, here are a few photos i forgot to post - a parrot, a local bano over the water, the cosmic crab cafe with its individual dining rooms over the water and a mask it has for decor.




My first attempt (yes, it took two) was on Sunday the 3rd. At first we sailed in light airs as clouds gathered offshore. The wind picked up, so i rolled up the genoa (bigger) and rigged the jib (smaller). This takes maybe 20 minutes. Then the wind went light and i cursed myself for getting out of synch with it. But i was too lazy to switch back to the genoa. Lucky thing. About then those gathering clouds arrived. Maybe 50 yards away one was attempting to birth a waterspout! As its erratic path went by astern of us, 40+ knot gusts hit. Akimbo and i held on, rode it out and spent the rest of the afternoon trimming to the squalls. That evening, about 50 nautical miles out, we were pretty much past them and the wind went light. I dropped the jib and kicked on the engine. Shortly thereafter the engine overheated. It had chewed up its water pump impellor (must have been weakened when we had the overheat in the Canal). I opened the box where i expected to find my next spare impellor…and found a thermostat. Damn. It’s hard to give up hard earned distance, but the prudent decision was to turn around and sail back to a place i knew my way in and out of where i tho’t i could find a new impellor, rather than sailing on to a place i didn’t know with unknown resources. On the way back i took the time to retrieve all the pieces of the old impellor out of the engine’s cooling system. Under sail (obviously) dropped anchor in the Bocas anchorage at 3:30 am, and i went to sleep. . On the Bocas cruiser’s radio net the next morning i checked in and announced my needs. That afternoon one of the cruisers sold me the impellor i needed. It was a quick job to install the new one and get the engine going.

On the sail back the rudder developed some slop in it again. This really worried and confused me. The nearest haulout facility was 160nm back to Shelter Bay Marina in Colon. I loathed the tho’t of giving up that much more distance. I decided i could pull the rudder while Akimbo was afloat. The risk would be that i couldn’t get it back in. As it turned out i didn’t have to pull the rudder all the way out to confirm the lower bearing’s condition and position. A neighboring boater (a woman named Andy) helped (thank you). I resecured the rudder in position and was happy to avoid another costly haulout and the cost of time and distance.

Wednesday Akimbo and i took off again. This time there was no squall line waiting for us and the first day was smooth sailing. Then the weather deteriorated rapidly and we were beating against winds blowing 30+ knots or more and 8 foot seas on 8 second periods. Mostly under jib alone, Akimbo performed well. The starboard chainplate developed a leak. At times a wave would wash right over the boat from bow to stern – in nautical terms that’s called “green water.” This pounding lasted at least 48 hours.

On the second night out, tired, the separation between dream and real became thin. I found myself looking for leftovers in the galley, leftovers of a meal i had dreamed i had made. After a bit i realized i had only dreamed it. Later i got up and glanced around for the person i had been talking to in my dream, wanting to finish our conversation.

We arrived as we needed to at Isla Providencia shortly before dusk. Providencia translates as ‘heaven.’ As shelter from the storm, it felt like the right name for the island. Columbia requires that boats pulling in here use a ship’s agent to check in. I reached him on the vhf radio. We agreed that i needed the sleep and we would meet in the morning.

Every day i sailmail Bud and Rhoda, and copy Tyler in on, my noon position or where i have anchored. This is part of my safety net. I had given Bud the internet links to the weather reports i use when i have shoreside internet access so he can copy and paste them to me in return. Apparently i was too tired and forgot to send him my safe in harbor message that night. He didn’t sleep well and was relieved to get my message the next day. I apologized for the worry. Our plan is for him to hear from me before 6pm every day. I’ve asked him to accept as much as 48 hours without hearing from me before he reports us missing. Even then, we may have simply lost communications (struck by lightning?) and be okay. The real alarm is if i activate one of my EPIRBs (emergency position indicating radio beacon) – one in the abandon ship locker, and the other attached to the harness/lifejacket i always wear. Bud and Rhoda and Tyler are on the call list to be told if either is activated. The beacon sends my mayday to satellites that pinpoint my location for my would be rescuers.

When i took the jib down i found its halyard nearly chafed thru. It was a lucky thing it didn’t let go while sailing. In my tired state, i botched replacing it with one of the two spares i had on board. The next day the ship’s agent introduced me to Francisco, who would haul me up to the top of the mast. I fed the halyard in at the top, he fished the end of it out at the bottom. Ta-da! Meanwhile, tropical storm Paula took shape along my route to Roatan, Honduras. I waited an extra day in Providencia while she turned into a Hurricane. Luckily she was headed north at a faster rate than Akimbo and i could go. We took off on her heels. These were the daily messages i sent to Bud, Rhoda and Tyler.

NOON POSITION
“got out of Providencia at 10.
motored for some hours before the wind showed up.
beating now under main and genoa,
light winds & sunshine.
noon position: 13*32'N 081*27.5W
am due north and 20nm from that now (4pm).
destination Roatan in four days?
feeling rested for now.
until tomorrow then.
loving you all always”

NOON ON OCT 12
hi dears,
had to motor quite a bit yesterday.
only saw three fishing boats in the night,
managed to miss any nets.
have had good sailing since about 4am,
albeit beating again - main and jib.
pickin' our way along the edge of the Nicaragua bank now.
some clouds are comin' up on us from astern,
so looks like we're in for some storm.
i hope it switches the wind so we can reach.
i'm eager to read the weather forecasts.
think i'm aimin' all the way to Roatan without stops.
want to get where there's shelter if i need it.
L/L: 14*57'N 082*33'W
haven't gotten too tired yet. nap alot.
good luck to us all.
remember i love you.”

NOON 10/13
“beating, beating, beating. in rain.
under main and jib.
what else can i tell you?
equipment sometimes gets intermittent.
like the radar this morning. that's new.
just tryin' to hold it all together.
gettin a little tired of eatin' fish.
noon position: 15*54'N 083*43'W
besides all your help,
thank you for your moral support.
i love you.”

STILL BEATING
“or maybe i should say still being beaten.
not fun.
beat to Providencia.
beat to Roatan.
and can't point for shit?
tacking thru 130 degrees.
resorting to motor-sailing.
slugging it out for a 3 knot average.
noon L/L 16*27'N 084*54'W
too bad the forecast for northerlies didn't come true.
25-30 knot westerlies over the decks all night.
almost taking it personally.
will be out here another night.
starting to wonder if i will ever get there.
taking a deep breath.
looking for what to appreciate.
in Bocas someone gave me the ssb frequencies for NPR.
which i enjoyed yesterday. but not now with the motor on.
i love you all, (and THAT is what i appreciate)”

“hi dears,
it appears i've wested enuf to change time zones. pulled into a fuel dock here at 8 local time.
wild night for a bit. jib alone. 40+ knots of wind. barreling along in the dark between 7 and 8 knots...approximately on course for our destination (for a change). radar kept working but was worthless trying to see thru the rain. computer suddenly wouldn't pick up the gps signal? now we really were "in the dark." plugged in one of two spare gps on the boat, thankfully the computer picked up that signal fine. whew! with no visibility, hoping there are no other idiots out here to run into. that lasted about half an hour. finally things abated and we reached (yes, as in, not beating against the wind) comfortably along for 4 more hours in good night time visibility before the wind died. motored the last six hours (could have sailed the last four but it would have been beating again and i was too tired).
need to check in with the port captain, buy diesel, do laundry, buy eggs and some produce (and chocolate), say hi to friends of friends, and SLEEP. planning on two nights here (so far). depending on weather. got no internet access yet, but should later, so please keep those reports comin'.
love and hope,”

The new jib halyard already shows signs of chafe? There must be something wrong with the sheave at the top of the mast. Hoisting the jib had gotten disproportionately harder, so when i was up there i sprayed it with some WD-40 and spun it by hand. But apparently its more serious than that. Hmmm.

Good news is that i will soon have crew. Sean is the brother of an old and dear friend in Florida. We remember each other happily and i really look forward to having him aboard. He plans to join me in Belize City on the 21st. I’ll get him to hoist me up the mast again and see what i can address more seriously up there. Sean will crew the 300+ miles to Isla Mujeres and may continue if he decides to. My sister, Ann, will join me in Isla Mujeres on the 28th, to crew the 300+ mile leg to Florida. Again, i am very glad to have her help.

Last evening’s entertainment turned out to be a pair of birds trying to land in Akimbo’s rigging as we pounded and rocked and rolled along under sail. When i look in the bird book, they looked like nighthawks. Like the boobies who have tried the same thing, they were persistent. But the rigging was moving around too much for them. The smaller one managed to grab an upper spreader a few times but was shaken off almost immediately. Their aerial display was amazing, watching them weave around the backstay, next to the sail, in what had to be shifting air currents, between the stowed halyards and running backstays, etc…

More later. Gotta sleep.

Welcome to the Carib

The Caribbean feels less intense than the Pacific. I think it’s mainly because the Pacific’s ocean swell is so much bigger and more present. Or maybe it’s because cruising is finally starting to feel like home to me.

What are some other comparisons? The fish in the Carib are smarter. Or not so hungry. I haven’t been catching as much here so far. There are LOTS more porpoise in the Pacific – days of horizon to horizon porpoise. In the Pacific they visit Akimbo and i much more and they are more aerial – jumping 6 to 10 feet clear of the water sometimes. There are no whales in the Carib that i know of. In the Pacific we left 20’ tidal ranges. Here in the Carib a BIG tide is 15”. So we can anchor in shallower water, which is convenient. The water temp is barely warmer in the Carib, 91 degrees just now. There appears to be a lot less plastic jetsam floating around – it really was alarming in the Pacific.

The San Blas Islands are what sailors dream of. Why didn’t i know about this place? They are a place i tho’t could only be imagined. But they exist! THIS is it! A piece of paradise. An island Eden. That feeling is made moreso by the Kuna Yala people who inhabit and govern the islands and the coastal jungle. They are an autonomous indigenous people. Short folk. Their society is matrilineal, and they don’t allow marrying outside of their tribe – one does so with the knowledge that they have left the tribe. They have their own ancient language and crime is unheard of here. Their environs are pristine and virginal. The waters are so clear that when it is calm, in 15’ of water i can discern details on the sandy bottom…by moonlight. I am so glad i “turned right” instead of left out of Colon and peeked at them. Maybe they are a preview of Belize, but so far, hands down, if there is one place to come back to, it’s the San Blas Islands. If there had been bare breasted women, there would have been mutiny when it came time to leave. And unlike Bligh, i don’t even have any crew aboard!


There i am, in this bliss, anchored at Chichime Cay, close to some huts on the island. A woman comes out carrying some compost type stuff and throws it in the water lapping at the shore. Cool. She goes back in, comes back out and throws more out – this time a half dozen plastic bottles and bags?! Wait a minute! So much for paradise. The next morning a native paddled over and asked me if i could plug in his cellphone to give it a charge. And i don’t know how they collect drinking water to live on such tiny islands. Also it’s not like i have the place to myself. There are a dozen other yachts here. But it’s fun too to meet a few like myself. One rule around here is to NOT navigate at night. The islands dotting the seascape are atop an intricate and extensive system of coral reefs. As a reminder, one cannot go far without seeing a long abandoned shipwreck. Navigating here is very visual. Sunlight penetrating into the water, and polarized sunglasses are a huge help. Light green water is shallow, blue water is deep, and shades in between are “deep enuf.” Luckily there is an excellent guidebook.

The Kuna Yala are accomplished seafarers, piloting their dugout canoes impressive distances by sail and paddle (under sail they are called cayucos, and by paddle ulus, i think). The crew is often three – two paddling and one bailing. On my way out of the island chain, we were in 63’ of water, going by an ulu. One man was paddling, two had on fins and mask to dive and did so as if to have momentum, one after the other. Were they free diving to the bottom? One came up with a lobster on the end of a spear! Finally i’ve bought lobster catch of the day. Crab legs too. If i’m eating well no wonder i like this place.



At Isla Escudo de Veraguas an old man motored up in his dugout (don’t know what they call it when it has a motor on it) to collect $10 for the honor of anchoring there. This is a larger island, as in big enuf to have its own natural supply of fresh water. Fernandito seemed legit, gave me a receipt. While he was there four native fishermen motored their dugout up and asked if i had any beer. Not enuf for them, i replied and they went on. I could tell the old man was unhappy at their request. I imagine he talked with them about it that night. At dusk Santiago, Alfredo and Lorenzo showed up and sold me some more shellfish. They came aboard and enjoyed Akimbo from the cockpit, also liked looking thru my binoculars. Answering my questions, they said their community on the island has many people.



I haven’t slept in my bed in a long time. The humid air seems to hold on to the heat. The heat has some staying power to it, some heft. When it doesn’t rain i sometimes sleep in the cockpit on a cushion, but my back hurts the next day. The best bunks on the boat are the settees in the salon because there are fans mounted above them.
On to Bocas del Toro, with a few island stops between. One day we made 52 miles in great wind against and a knot and a half of coastal current – 67 miles thru the water in ten hours! Reaching under genoa alone (i got greedy that morning, tried the drifter first, which thrashed and tore, spent the morning stitching and taping a repair, all my fault, bad decision, unnecessary - the sail now sports an ugly scar, but the repair held the next time is set the sail). The next day the wind went light and ahead of us…28 miles in ten hours – there’s never much profit in sailing against both wind and current. Such is sailing. We’ve been motoring more since.

The Bocas del Toro archipelago started with Zapotilla 1 (slipper 1). Part of a park system, a ranger collected another $10 from me. Nice stop. While snorkeling around the boat (to cool off) i spotted a vintage anchor on the bottom. Made me wonder what the story was long ago that made a boat abandon or lose its anchor. Maybe you can make it out in the bottom of the murky photo. Back in the San Blas i also took an underwater shot that gives you a view of Akimbo you haven't seen before. The Bocas islands are mostly sheltered behind big islands, and they're mangrove islands - somehow not nearly so romantic as the palm trees and white sands of the exposed San Blas islands, and without the Kuna Yala.


In Bocas town i’ll check the weather. If there isn’t a lot of hurricane activity, i’ll start north - into their territory a month before the end of their season. Am feeling tentative about that. Shall see.