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?
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