Florida and back.

Golfito sports a sheltered bay, a few marinas and a tiny airport (where i spotted Toucans and monkeys in the trees).

Hiring the marina owner to keep an eye on Akimbo at a mooring here, on the spur of the moment, i headed in Bud and Rhoda’s direction, to Florida for a precious visit – and preview to anchoring off or tying to their dock in a few months. What luck to count my parents among my dear friends. Thank you. As long as i was at it, i managed to reconnect with two high school classmates and an old hometown friend from my college days. More rich luck to have these friendships to renew.

In Golfito, cabs aren’t private. When you catch one, you are actually just catching an empty seat in it. The driver will stop to pick up and drop off other people while enroute. Makes sense to me, more of a car pool, he makes more money, and it’s a better use of gas. Almost a mini bus service, but about ten times more expensive and still it was only $1.50 to the airport. Once in the air (a single prop plane hop to San Jose International), it was fun to fly over some of the anchorages i’ve been in. A whole new perspective. I had no idea what landscapes spread out from the shores where i was – a lot of farming, some huge estuaries and wetlands, rain-forested mountains.

When i get back to Akimbo, it will take time to re-focus on deck, to find a pace and the habits of safety. Our environs shape us after a while. Having been away, i’ve lost some of that shape. It will return readily. Until it does, i’ll have to compensate. Grocery shop today, run the Costa Rican bureaucracy obstacle course tomorrow to get my exit papers, sail around the peninsula and drop anchor in Panama the next day, hopefully make it to Panama City by the tenth. I’ve looked farther ahead, into the Caribbean, but this is enuf for now, i don’t want to get too far from the present – let me know if you want an approximate itinerary.













In the meantime, from the floor of the Miami International Airport, where my computer can reach a socket, i listen to music. This creates a soundtrack, and soundtracks are potent. As is coming from my family’s love. I watch people go by. A lot of them. Each of us so transient. Our skins a seeming contradiction to a feeling that we are too big to fit into a body. I don’t know these people, but i do from what we have in common. Which is not only this space, but birth, life, death…grief and praise, sorrow and joy, hope and despair… I’m in the namaste’ of this moment. The sacred in me sees the sacred in them. We may not recognize each other, but i guarantee we recognize love. Which is more important anyway? Love or each of us? Love will be here after we are gone. But it’s a symbiotic relationship: it needs a medium to manifest it, and life is that medium and at the moment we are alive, we are its manifestation. Do you know the answer to the riddle “are we spiritual beings in a physical experience or physical beings in a spiritual experience?” I make eye contact, and find recognition. A smile. Are they starting to feel me witnessing them? Me wanting to ask what their stories are. I think so. I am meeting their eyes more and they mine. The distance between us, at this moment, feels thin. The stars feel close. How much further can i push this? I want to find this head/heart space more often. I feel connected to them and almost out of my body.

And finally, i will leave you with the view from "my office" in Golfito.

Visiting Pavones Costa Rica

What a sweet visit with Mel, Jake and friends Tu (sp?), Christy and Colin! All their enthusiasm gave me a “shot in the arm” (where did that expression come from?). It was wet and just dark when i anchored off Pavones. As it turned out, Akimbo and i were in front of the beach in front of what doubles as their home and the school at which they teach local kids. Their home/school is a cinderblock construction with tin roof. The windows are large and without glass. For security purposes a pattern of welded iron railing fills the window frame – bugs and small birds and animals can enter and exit at will - in the background of the photo of Mel napping in the hammock.


If it weren't for friends, i wouldn't have stopped here. Unless i was a surfer. What puts the place on the map is one of the longest known left breaking waves.

Jake and Mel paddled surfboards out to greet me in the morning, while i was prepping “sea cow” to dinghy back and forth to shore in anticipation of guests. Mel and i got some beach time – thank you for the conversation – and we all ate like royalty that evening (i contributed the fish i caught the day before, blackened and with slaw and rice, Mel made a great salad and incredible tortillas, Jake roasted sweet potatoes and zucchini and made cocktails…Tu and Christy took care of the dishes). Yum! The company was best of all of it. The next day i took them all for a sail, highlighted by a variety of winds, whales launching, a sea turtle, swimming during the calm, and snacks and conversation. Turns out they may be in Panama City when i am, so they may be welcome crew thru the canal and then up to Boca del Toro? As if we had planned it. Shall see. In any case, thank you dears! I appreciated your company more than you know.

There is no way a swell could ever reach all the way up Golfo Dulce and into Bahia Rincon, and a guidebook said i might see some big bright birds there. So that is where Akimbo and i went. Turns out that quiet, remote Rincon has a road running along the shore, and there must be some big projects going on on the Osa Peninsula because i heard big trucks goin’ back and forth until “time to go home” and then starting early in the morning. On the way in we passed some sort of compound or resort, with several rooftops, coiffed. That behind us, there were a few houses on the shore around the bay. In the evening i watched one of my “neighbors” fishing from shore while i sat on the foredeck and worked on the windlass control again. Indeed the anchorage itself is guaranteed calm, so i slept well. Now it was my dreams that woke me. I finally turned a light on at about 3 to write one down.

The thing about bright green birds, big or not, in bright green foliage… Yeah, they’re really hard to see. I saw four, or maybe two twice, and only when they flew from some trees to other trees. If they weren’t moving, they were invisible. Still, i felt rewarded. I tho’t about getting in the kayak to paddle around, but it started to rain and where we were anchored was quite close to shore anyway. Lazy me.

In the morning, with only 12 or so miles to go to Golfito, i indulged in reading and a big breakfast and listening to a lecture by David Whyte at a business conference. My favorite part of visiting the bay was our departure. Whenever i leave an anchorage i turn and gesture my thanks to the place. As i did so this time, i saw the “neighbor” i had watched the evening before, waving his goodbye to me and Akimbo, outstretched arms flapping like wings. I almost turned Akimbo around to re-anchor and go meet him. That i didn’t is indicative of my own failing to harvest all that i can. Still, i felt his company and he had apparently felt mine. In the Whyte lecture, i remembered he warned of feeling invisible. It got my tho’ts going about being so and my surprise to find that i hadn’t been after all. It was a moment, a brief moment, to be present to and thankful for.

Lettin' pics speak for themselves

I'll get out of their way...
Manuel Antonio National Park, Costa Rica






Rainy day's sail - reflection


Surprise stop (unplanned, instead of Drake's Bay) - Isla de Cano. Bio-reserve and great dive spot. The roll from the swell, comparatively, wasn't bad.

And for today's entertainment...whales and clouds.



Friends in Pavones - we're neighbors for a few days, with Akimbo anchored in front of the beach in front of their house.

What will i remember of Costa Rica...so far?

Monkeys in the trees at Playa del Coco! Duly and repeatedly warned about thievery, locking my kayak ashore and stashing my paddle. Catching the bus to Liberia, admiring tile art at the bus station.

A locally engineered sidewalk over a stream.

Nice little waterfall at Guacamaya. Rolly anchorages! (or else its alternative: ridiculously expensive morrage). As we made the final approach to the anchorage in Tamarindo, the windlass control shorted and dumped the anchor over the side unbeknownst to me. Confusion! “Why won’t Akimbo keep going, won’t motor anywhere, has the prop fallen off, no i see prop wash…better drop anchor until i can figure this out.” Thank heavens the bitter end of the rode is secured to Akimbo – an anchor is a terrible thing to lose (ask the Spanish armada). And the windlass circuit breaker did its job and turned the windlass off. “Backups” i don’t plan to ever rely on, but there they were when we needed them. The next evening a gringo on shore hailing us on the vhf radio as we approached Samara – “Casa Noche.” Nice southern twang welcome. Fun! If i hadn’t been repairing the windlass control i would have invited them out. Ah! And don’t forget the wily Costa Rican fish. I’ve had a strike every day but none stayed on the hook. Hmmmm. The rainy season in Costa Rica exposes leaks! To finally fix one instead of catching what it drops? It's a relief all out of proportion. Whew! The rain also flushes the rivers out - we've been dodging whole trees floating by, you'd think we were back in the Northwest. The next day started off with rainbows! And finished with whales launching out of the water some distance off (they’re so big they don’t “jump,” they “launch”) – true to their appearance, the bay we anchored in that night was Bahia Ballena (Whale Bay). Finally a bay protected from the ocean swell, promising a quiet night’s sleep.

Almost. It’s about 4 in the morning and i am up. A storm has blown thru with some 20+ knot gusts and LOTS of rain and we are dragging anchor. We anchored in 23’ of water. When i got up and checked the depth sounder we were in 28’. That was okay, the tide was a little higher. But shortly it said 42’?! Go on deck, go forward and put out all 220’ of anchor rode. (for you non-boaters, think about it like this – the closer we are to the anchor the more we are pulling it up and out of the bottom and it won’t hold on down there, while the farther we are from the anchor the more we are trying to drag it thru the bottom and the better it holds). As i do so my flashlight reveals what looks like current flowing by the chain. It dawns on me (near pun! at this point in the morning) that this is a muddy bay for a reason – there’s a river and three streams emptying in here. We anchored pretty close to the river. When i check the knotmeter, sure enuf there is almost 2 knots of current flowing by. When i check the gps, we’ve drug .4 miles from where we started. Glad i got up when i did. Anchor seems to be holding now. If i have to, next i could turn on the engine, put it in gear and push back against the current – to help the anchor hold. Breakfast anyone?

Okay, gotta find the ship’s doctor. I go by the galley and ask the cook and bottle washer if they’ve seen him. Nope. Grab a banana and head aft. Goin’ by the engine room, the mechanic hasn’t seen him either. At the nav station, Sparky (every radio operator is known as Sparky) and the navigator say no too. The bosun is in the pantry inventorying supplies, but hasn’t seen Doc. Up on deck, the sailing master is scratchin’ his head lookin’ at the next sail repair. “Seen Doc?” Nope. Chips (as it is with radio operators, so it is with ship’s carpenters – when they sign on they give up their real names) is always barkin’ a knuckle on something, needing a bandaid…he’s workin’ on a leaky hatch. Thinks he’s seen Doc up forward. On my way one of the deckhands asks if i’m gonna help polish the stainless after i see Doc - rumor travels fast. As i get back below decks, Doc is there and asks, “What’s up? You’re not bleeding are you?”
“No. It’s an earache. I dove on the boat and cleaned her bottom this morning. A lot of stuff scraped off into the water and something must have gotten in my ear.”
“Hmm. Got no ear drops, but i bet we can fake it.” I follow him down the passageway to his pharmacy. On the way he starts his lecture. “Maybe you ought to use ear plugs next time. I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but between you, me, the skipper and the first mate, none of us are young anymore. Y’gotta pay attention. Injury is not an option here.”
“Hey, the worst i’ve done is slice a knuckle on the cheese grater when i was helpin’ Cookie" (as it is with radio operators and ship’s carpenters, so it is with cooks – and Docs too, come to think of it - only the cook is more important than everyone else and likes it that way).
“Keep it that way.” He finds some q-tips and hydrogen peroxide. Has me lay my head sideways so the hurting ear is up. Drips some peroxide in my ear and keeps talkin’.
“Doc, i can’t hear you. You just put stuff in my ear.” He looks a little miffed, like it’s my fault or something. For a little while, i listen to the bubbling in my ear. He motions for me to straighten back up. Catches what comes out with a paper towel and swabs my ear.
“I was askin’ how are your feet?”
“They hurt. Unless i wear shoes or at least sandals, something that gives me a good footbed. And they look like they’re growin’ a sixth toe out the side by their pinkies. That’s new.”

“My theory is you’ve been wearin’ shoes for too long. You’re not used to balancing on the balls of your feet on a moving deck. Barefoot on shore is one thing. But out here you’re givin’ ‘em a work out. You got two balls under each foot, just behind the toes, one by the big toe and the other out by the small toes. After 30 some years mostly wearing shoes and not balancing like this, i think those outer balls of your feet are weak. You didn’t ease ‘em into this idea. They’re spreadin’ out and talkin’ back to you. So stop goin’ barefoot.”
“Sounds like a good theory. If i don’t use ‘em for balance so much they don’t hurt so much. But in this heat and the rainy season, after a while i get a rash between the sandals and my skin.”
“Then take ‘em off whenever you’re not on your feet. On and off, on and off.”
“Will they ever stop swellin’ out the side?”
“Don’t know. You’re not a young man, y’know.”
“Don’t get started. I thank my body every time i ask it for more. Thanks for all the sympathy.”
Anybody out there got any other theories or suggestions? About my feet. (nothin’ else please).
Never knew there were so many crew here (all named jon and all busy) and the boat so big, did you?

Costa Rica or bust?

Sail away from sight of land, even for a short time, and your next sighting of it will be significant to you. Face it. We are not water animals. If in the water, we can’t lay down and take a nap to recharge. The water will not support us. We’ve gotta swim. On the land’s surface we can relax without sinking, it cannot rob us of our next breath (i remember as a kid being horrified at the idea of quicksand!). I describe this connection we have to the ground, realizing that had i more experience with planting and growing things, i would have far more to say of it. Would that i could sing such higher praise. Even without it, no matter how much of a sailor i am, my appreciation for the earth part of Mother Earth deepens every time i return to it. Yesterday, it was mid-morning when i scanned the horizon and my eyes tripped on a distant rising contour of the Nicaraguan coast. “Ah, there you are. Still there. Thank you.” As if all land might have sunk or evaporated while i was gone.

The day’s weather was a repeat of the pattern i grew to expect from the previous five days: some morning wind, calm in the afternoon while cathedrals of cloud build on the (previoiusly too far away to be seen) coast. At dusk these remarkable, turbulent, shifting shapes would head…our way. Gulp. Suddenly their fantastic displays, which happened to include lightning, became far more than entertaining to us. “Please don’t strike us,” i prayed upon the approach of each night’s storms. It feels…at least foolish to be the waving the mast (the tallest and most conductive thing) around in the face of a storm. Likely i’m forgetting how small we are.

“Girding for battle,” with the help of the day’s last light, i deeply reefed the mainsail (made it smaller). The only headsail i flew at night was the jib since it is smaller, easier to handle, drives Akimbo with good speed, yet doesn’t overpower us. Think of it this way – if the perfect wind to make Akimbo go is 15 knots, and the approaching storm will start with 20 to 30 knot gusts (potentially 40 to 50 knot), we only want enuf sail up to catch 15 and let the rest go. Anything else i can think of to do or re-do to get ready, the smallest detail - the stove is gimbaled, the drawers and cabinets are latched, the flashlight batteries are recharged, the solar panels are folded in, the companionway (where we go in and out of the cabin) doors are unstowed, put in place and closed…the flag is wrapped up so it won’t be noisy or distracting, water bottles are full… - i do.

The moon long since buried above clouds, by midnight it is really dark out. Our challenger has sent several harbinger’s of its approach. Rather than rely on only what illumination the lightning gives us, i watch the shapes of the approaching rain on the radar. “When it’s two miles away,” i tell myself, “close five hatches and portholes, count them to be sure i haven’t missed one.” At one mile off, i put my foul weather jacket on and put my lifejacket/harness back on over it. Reviewing, did i forget anything? Go below, look around for any detail. Is what i might want where i can reach it? Drink some water. Check the radar screen one more time – no other boats “in sight.” Check our position on the chart on the laptop and close it, Back in the cockpit, check our compass heading. I sniff the air for the ozone that comes with too much lightning. Not there. Good. Still repeat the prayer, “please don’t strike us.” The rain starts slowly, i clip my harness lanyard to the boat, and wait to respond to whatever is going to happen next. Which is usually a change in wind speed and direction, a wall of rain, and then settling in to a new, noisy, energetic and fast reality. It’ll settle down in an hour or two, and i’ll nap then.

Not so this last night. These consolidated fronts that overtook us offshore apparently start out as separate smaller storms on shore. They don’t get together, organized and fired up until they get out to sea. Here we were, 20 miles from shore, we’ve come in to them instead of them comin’ out to us, and lo, they flew right over the top of us. They didn’t start huffing and puffing and flashing and roaring until they were well out beyond us. And their blasts of wind? Nothin’. In fact, we had to motor in the last 8 hours. I had hoped to avoid another night’s challenge but at least out there we wouldn’t have had to motor. Not complaining, mind you. Now the challenge was…to not fall asleep. Especially now that shore was close enuf to bump into. Taking my groggy, not-sharp self into account, i needed to navigate safely into a new anchorage in the dark. I had to literally “stand” watch the whole way, could NOT let myself sit down or would have fallen asleep.

So, remember the significance of the land? It started when i caught sight of it in the morning. Now that it was dark, my next sense of it was of its AROMA. Like an impact, we reached its odor. It had a moist flavor of decay in it, almost smoky but more composty. Thick, lush, jungly. It was a calm night. Visibility from a shrouded half moon wasn’t bad but didn’t reach far. In the water’s reflection next to Akimbo, and the steady throb of her engine, i could see the shadow of her bow wave in place next to her, smoothly peeling away. We felt as much as navigated our way in to Bahia Santa Elena, once again to find ourselves the only boat here. Dropped the anchor and finally turned the engine off. Now it was my hearing that met Costa Rica – some bird sounds, the splash of a few fish jumping, and the breathing sound of water lapping shore, all in front of a solid background of whirring insect noise. Like so many camping trips when i got off work, jumped in the car, drove to a trailhead, arrived in the dark, and went to sleep, antic…in the morning light, my sight would predominate again and i would see what wondrous place i had gotten myself into. For now tho, safe at anchor, i could not sleep hard enuf.

This morning, it is indeed a new and different place. “We aren’t in Kansas anymore, Akimbo.” No signs of the Mexican desert. Dense green. But it’s “just” another place. Like i am “just” another person, like this day is “just” another moment. Each unique unto itself. Whole yet part of more, regardless of whatever else there is, was or will be. I am glad to behold this place, to take it in as much as i can, to let its newness and difference change me, this piece of Mother Earth. I’ve heard that African vistas reveal her pulse, i imagine Himalayan reveal her spirit. Perhaps lush landscapes like this reveal her breath.

This seven day/seven hundred mile leg is the longest i’ve sailed alone, so far. Even at only seven days, i find it “working on me,” as if granting me some authority. Not sure what i mean by that. If ever you want to test your sanity, go sailing offshore alone. Of course, if you find yourself sailing offshore alone, the conclusion may well be foregone anyway. No need to test. Out here my connection and love with many of you, and Tyler most, feels so obviously like what literally saves me. Have i said that too much? And saves me from what? But it’s huge for me. If it were a debt, i would owe my life to it/you/us. I find myself wanting for sanity sorely at times, “fighting my ghosts,” and trying not to fight still more tears (they are NOT as salty as the sea). Those lyrics – “is wisdom wasted on the past.” Well, sure. But hopefully the past isn’t wasted on wisdom. May i please let the past be past, and harvest from it a present that is intact, forgiving and at peace. Like the rest of us, it deserves its time and is sacred. Let me give to and live into it more gracefully than i have. Grace counts.

The sea life (or is that “see” life?) continues to include lots of porpoise and honus (hawaian for sea turtles, pronounced “ho” long “o,” “nus” long “u.” Of “graceful bulk,” as Heather says). I’m afraid there is an awfully steady stream of plastic junk floating by too. Third day dawned and a big whale swam close by our port side for five breaths. I snapped one photo when he/she surfaced, then another of his/her fin before it disappeared. One whale, one breath, two (not very good) photos of it. A majestic visit, and then gone.


The last day, between dropping a sail when the wind went away and starting the motor, i spent most of an hour communing with 8 to 10 porpoise. Akimbo slowly drifted along while they danced under her bow. I lay there, holding the camera over the side, taking their photos. I listened to their squeaks and squeals. One turned on his/her side to eyeball me as he/she swam by pass after pass. I wish i could have touched one. I don’t know how to describe them and the company i feel from them.




I’ve given up on waking myself up every half hour when underway at night. That works for one night out but by the second and third night i am too tired. So i sleep in the cockpit if it’s not raining, and whenever i wake up i look around, check the radar, Akimbo’s trim, and go back to sleep. If it’s raining, chances are we’re in a squall and there’s wind at last, sometimes more than we want, but we’ll take it…so i am up and down to sail. Strictly speaking, by going to sleep (thus not maintaining an active lookout) we are underway illegally. Sorry. I am relying on my radar reflector being visible to the other boats out here maintaining their watch. And i am learning to tune my radar alarm so it doesn’t give so many false alarms. This has some risk, but fatigue has more. 40 to 50 miles off the Guatemalan coast, i was surprised to see two pangas that far out rigged for long line fishing (black flags on poles at each end of their line). Have to watch for them too? But i never saw more of them. Maybe it was their last set for the day. One of them offered to sell me a dorado, but i had caught a fish the day before and i don’t go fishing for more as long as i have some in the freezer, plus i would rather catch my own and i’m feeling increasingly cheap anyway. They did ask if i had any matches, so i gave them some.

When we departed Ixtapa, i started something new – i e-mail my noon position to Bud and Rhoda every day while Bud copies and pastes to me a weather report i can’t get out here. We add a few personal notes, i usually copy Tyler in. It’s turned into a high point of each day for me. Leaving Huatulco, the other new thing was stowing the kayak inside. I’ve really appreciated having the decks clear for sailing and not worrying about the kayak.

The Panama Canal is about 600 nautical miles away now. Can i actually poke my way along to it? I guess i started that leg today, by staying at anchor and catching up with sleep and tho’ts. These from a letter to a dear friend – “I'm tired, no make that TIRED of being alone. In that way, this trip is not what i imagined or want. Still i appreciate it deeply and am glad i'm getting to explore it/me. It'd be so different if i was doing this with someone. Then i think i would keep going. But i'm doing it alone and frankly i'm getting this adventuring thing out of my system. Or at least, adventuring alone. I can only take so much of myself. And i've a month or three left to find out how much (poet David Whyte suggests that arranging to get tired of yourself leads you to the change you seek.)… After this or the next chapter i'm comin' back into community! With or without Akimbo. For me, the best adventures are not solitary, they’re with loved ones.”