I don't know how i stumbled into this place. When i think about it, i'm residing at a four or five star resort for the cost of moorage. About $15/day. Love the water taxis back and forth from town - and i marvel at how the people who grew up and live here probably think of them as "normal" (would they be surprised to find that they are not in every coastal town?). This place is temptingly comfortable, but i better not get used to it. Not that i've been totally lazy here. After all, i'm trying to eat my way thru my perishables. Besides that i pickled the watermaker, got a coat of wax on the topsides, mopped out the bilge, etc... Now to pack.
Looking back...
I haven’t told you about dragging anchor. Back in January, in Bahia Marquer on Carmen Island: we’re close to shore, obviously, if we’re anchored. How close depends on the size of the anchorage, and whether the bottom is steep to shore or flat. I read the guides, consider the weather and the tide, and run the engine in reverse to test how well the anchor holds. I set the depth alarm in case we find ourselves in shallower or deeper water than expected… Later the alarm goes off. We’re in less than 20’? The wind has turned around and is building. Fast. Why hasn’t the anchor reset? If i let out more chain, will it reset in time? No, we’re too close to shore. I don’t have time to ask these questions. I’ve got to focus solely on getting the anchor up and getting out of here. Where’s the engine key? Hanging on the throttle. 17’. Find the ignition. 15’. Engine starts (whew!). 13’. We need at least 6.5’. If i go pull the anchor up, we’ll be on the beach before i can get back to the helm and put the engine in gear. And it’s too much to ask the windlass to pull the boat against this wind and these waves. Put the engine in gear NOW. Turn the boat so it’s aiming in the direction the chain leads and engage the autopilot. 11’. That’s how deep it is where the depth sounder reads just forward of the keel. How deep is it aft at the rudder? I hear the surf on the beach close behind us. Don’t look. 10’. Still losing ground, give the engine a little more throttle, but don’t want to drive right over and past the anchor and get jerked back towards the beach. Okay, that much throttle is gonna have to work, time to leave the helm and go to the bow, which is bucking way up and down. The anchor windlass control is hanging on the lifeline where i leave it...so i won’t have to get it out or look for it…so it’s ready in a situation like this. Run the chain up 10’, remove the bridle from it. Bringing the chain in as fast as the windlass can run, maybe i gave the engine too much throttle? Too late now. I see the 120’ mark on the chain go by. “Pull, c’mon, pull!” A wave crashes over the bow and soaks me. I see the 90’ mark go by. This sudden wind is still building. The chain that is still in the water leads down now. 60’ mark goes by. Now the chain leads aft and to port, the windlass can’t keep up, chain comes tight, i stop the windlass, bow rises on the next wave, lifting the anchor off the bottom. Bow splashes back down. Is there such a thing as “more soaked?” Running the windlass again. But the anchor is not in yet. May have to let the chain and anchor scratch the hull on its way in. Looking up to see if the boat is aiming in the right direction to get out. Here comes another wave. And the anchor, slams home on its roller. Back at the helm, rev the motor, drive over to the other corner of the bay where there’s shelter, drop the anchor, digs in and holds on the first try, put the bridle back on the chain. Go back to the cockpit, turn the engine off, watch for a while to make sure we’re holding position. Back inside, dry off, adrenaline in my system. Damn! There wasn’t much margin for error there. Any one thing wrong would have landed Akimbo in the surf on the beach on her side. Lucky there was daylight left. It would have been worse in the dark and waking up from anything deeper than a nap.
This kind of thing can leave a person aware of being vulnerable. It can set up some internal storms that one’s confidence will have to weather.
And in early March? As long as i’m unburdening what i’ve withheld… Every fisherman’s panga i’ve seen has been white. Often with some red or blue striping crudely painted from bow to stern, and the boat name no less simply, tho i imagine more lovingly, painted on – Dulcinea, Lupita,… Hey, this is a work boat, it’s not here to be pretty. Yet it’s beautiful in its lack of decorum, as a tool especially suited to its task. Another universal thing about the pangueros (fishermen who use pagas) is that they always wave back to me. So, in little Puerto Don Juan, where we anchored for a day to hide from the next big blow, some instinct went off in me when the only other boat there was a panga pulled up on shore. No big deal, i was used to being the only boat or nearly so. But this panga was gray, had no name, and of the four crew, no one waved back to me, one was doing push-ups? Hmmm. I ‘ve felt entirely socially safe in Mexico but that day...? Didn’t paddle over, practice my Spanish and ask if they had any langosta (lobster) to sell.
I guess today’s subject is safety...again. Why is this back on the page? I mention it because it is a big part of my environment. See, I’m about to sail out of my insurance coverage, so i’ve been trying to find other insurance. It’s not been easy. There’s a policy that will cover me but not for hurricane damage and not while single handing for more than 24 hours at a time…and triples in cost. Historically they can prove that what i am doing isn’t safe. I have to admit that they’re right. Safety is in the background when sailing anyway. Sailing alone pushes it into the foreground. I wear a chest harness whenever we’re underway (at night i add an inflatable lifejacket to my stylish ensemble). On each side deck a piece of tubular webbing is stretched from the bow cleat to the stern cleat – these are called jacklines. I try to create the habit of clipping my harness into them whenever i leave the cockpit. This attaches me to the boat. If i fall over, i’m on a short tether and hopefully can yank myself back aboard. Even on calm days, when i don’t need to, i clip in…usually. Whenever there’s any amount of weather, i clip in…almost all the time. Going to the swimstep to pee, i clip in to the backstay. I keep my wallet in my pocket with the nightmare that if i ever do fall over and watch Akimbo sail away…maybe it will help identify the body. I’d have a lot of resolving to do quickly before dying ‘cuz there’s more i want to do with this life (even if i don’t know what it is yet). With the boat at any speed over a knot or so and on autopilot, there wouldn’t be a second chance. I consider trailing a line behind us but it would pull me under even if i could hold on. When i get back to Seattle i plan to buy a personal epirb, one that will clip on my harness. It’s a beacon that transmits a mayday signal and location to aircraft and satellites overhead. We saw it work recently when the Mexican Navy came charging into an anchorage looking for the source of an epirb mayday...sure enuf, someone had accidentally tripped their epirb without knowing it. Maybe rescue could get to me quick enuf for a second chance? Taped on the bulkhead (that’s nautical for “wall”) in front of the nav desk are messages: “Boat owner is Jon Howe. In case of emergency call: Tyler Howe; Bud and Rhoda Tritschler; John and Cynthia McGrath” with their phone numbers…in case Akimbo shows up somewhere without me. There’s a website, boatsearchnet.org, that is all about finding overdue and missing vessels.
When i was young and “immortal” i wouldn’t have felt this reality so keenly. Sometimes something comes close that reminds me i can’t prevent every risk (jumping up to reel a fish in, put the autopilot on standby, let Akimbo round up into the wind, start reeling, NOT ducking when the boom comes across – but i am standing far enuf aft that this time it misses my head) – how many of these have i not been aware of? Had i done this when i was younger, my youthful arrogance might have gotten me killed. But then, maybe i wouldn’t have been alone. Now i count on my wizened age(?) to see me safely thru.
This visit to Seattle is timely. Frankly, this edge is tiring me out. That and anticipating the weather, being late in the season. If i think about it too much, i freeze in its headlights, won’t get off the anchor, put the boat up for sale, fly home and what? Hide? Worse would be not enjoying being here. And this is so enjoyable most of the time. This is so much closer to the firmament, the viscera, the unknown, than life in the city. Is the risk required? What will i remember? Incredible night skies, sunsets and rises, whales, phosphorescence – especially wrapped around porpoise swimming at night, people met, visiting crew, anchorages and harbors, Tarahumara Indians selling their wares, beautiful vistas, the riot of bright colors presented by Mexican homes on a hillside, fresh fish meals, good sailing…simple solitude and quiet, not a lot of "stuff" and all in its place, days sailing alongside a seemingly endless unbroken white sand beach, and always on to another horizon. Oh, another pleasure these last few nights – hearing the mosquitoes on the OUTside of the netting canopied over my bed. Thank you.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Present = available to the moment.
In Bahia Tenacatita, after paddling ashore for dinner at a cantina and walking the beach, i picked up my kayak to paddle back out to the boat. It takes a little attention to maneuver a 17' kayak thru a crowd of beach goers. Penetrating thru my attention i heard a young voice, "hola." I stopped and saw a little girl, maybe 7 years old, making eye contact with me. I stopped, smiled and said, "hola." And then went on.
Ooops. There i go again. Damn! Missing the moment. I wonder if she had to muster up some courage to say hi to me. She was obviously curious. Why didn't i stop, put down the kayak, and engage with her? I can imagine, "Como se llama?" Learning her name, asking her if she wanted to see my kayak, maybe sit in it, maybe meeting her parents hovering nearby... But no, i missed that opportunity.
I learn that i am not as present as i want to be. Presence. Can enhance our entire lives. C'mon jon, wake up, be here now.
In the meantime, i wonder if anyone else wants to be here. I'm looking for crew for a 700 mile offshore leg.
The flight i’ve reserved to fly back from Seattle is on June 15. I’ll then have about 550 miles to sail to Huatulco (a few overnighters and some daysails). From there i now plan to depart Mexico and arrive Costa Rica. Skipping Guatemala (too expensive in and out), El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua, and getting south of hurricane territory quickly. Depending on the weather, it could be hollywood fun or it could be tough. Sure, we'll get south of hurricanes but i expect we'll get into thunder and lightning. Fair enuf trade. Then i’ll have August and September to spend in Costa Rica and Panama?…waiting for at least late hurricane season before heading for Florida, or trying to skirt south of the storm tracks earlier.
Watching for a weather window, we’ll probably depart Huatulco in early July. Does anyone want to crew for me on this leg? Expecting it will take about a week to sail it. Who can take a few weeks off, and afford airfare? I’m happy to take care of the food and expenses. Just puttin’ the word out there, seein’ if anyone is interested. Thank you.
Ooops. There i go again. Damn! Missing the moment. I wonder if she had to muster up some courage to say hi to me. She was obviously curious. Why didn't i stop, put down the kayak, and engage with her? I can imagine, "Como se llama?" Learning her name, asking her if she wanted to see my kayak, maybe sit in it, maybe meeting her parents hovering nearby... But no, i missed that opportunity.
I learn that i am not as present as i want to be. Presence. Can enhance our entire lives. C'mon jon, wake up, be here now.
In the meantime, i wonder if anyone else wants to be here. I'm looking for crew for a 700 mile offshore leg.
The flight i’ve reserved to fly back from Seattle is on June 15. I’ll then have about 550 miles to sail to Huatulco (a few overnighters and some daysails). From there i now plan to depart Mexico and arrive Costa Rica. Skipping Guatemala (too expensive in and out), El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua, and getting south of hurricane territory quickly. Depending on the weather, it could be hollywood fun or it could be tough. Sure, we'll get south of hurricanes but i expect we'll get into thunder and lightning. Fair enuf trade. Then i’ll have August and September to spend in Costa Rica and Panama?…waiting for at least late hurricane season before heading for Florida, or trying to skirt south of the storm tracks earlier.
Watching for a weather window, we’ll probably depart Huatulco in early July. Does anyone want to crew for me on this leg? Expecting it will take about a week to sail it. Who can take a few weeks off, and afford airfare? I’m happy to take care of the food and expenses. Just puttin’ the word out there, seein’ if anyone is interested. Thank you.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Meet me by the pool?
4/29/2010
Checked out with the Capitania de Puerto at 9, started out motoring in calm weather. Cabo Corrientes (Cape Currents) can apparently be challenging, especially in the afternoon when the wind comes up, when we’ll be there. So will give it some room. Don’t quite know why i’m leaving Banderas Bay so soon. Could spend a few more days here. But bussing into town one day was enuf for me. In no hurry but am on my way. At noon, hoist main, unroll genoa, great close reach at 7.4 knots. Rounded the cape at 2:15. No problem. The water has turned a brownish green, not at all the deep blue we’re used to. And the backs of the porpoise are freckled in white? Seeing a few flying fish. Sailing past sea turtles! Indicators of new territory, as we go south. But the water and air temps have dropped back into the 70s.
I decide to avoid as much overnight sailing as i can. For now, that means anchoring in tiny Ipala. Very cute. The pangas on moorings take up a lot of the anchorage. And there’s another yacht that i don’t want to crowd. The swells are keeping it rolling. There’s a cantina ashore but the surf looks intimidating and i decide to not kayak in or else to wait until morning’s calm. Glad i like my own cooking. Not real comfy here but probably safer than sailing all night. Anchoring in Mexico is very different than in the San Juan Islands. It is more exposed and often within earshot of crashing surf. Don’t know that i’ll ever get used to that, or sleep too soundly. Up four or five times in the night to check.
The next day’s weather was equally cooperative and much appreciated. The night’s anchorage in Chamela was much better. Paddled around in the kayak. It was more sheltered from the swell and wind, the surf was not so close by, and there was plenty of room to swing around on the end of the rode (nautical talk for anchor line and/or chain).
The guidebook made the next bay south sound appealing. It’s a little place called Careyes. I’m curious if Rick Steves or Lonely Planet or anyone recommends it. The setting is quite fantastic. Really, it seemed like a fantasy. Crowded with layers upon layers of very brightly painted adobe buildings perched on the steep hills that lead down to the bay. Some of the architecture quite fanciful. It felt like a colorful amphitheater and Akimbo and i were on stage. There is a hotel spread at its beach. Bobbing at their moorings were several private pangas. The bay enjoys some protection from a small island to seaward. I wanted to stay, but the weather was comin’ in around the island, and the pangas were taking up most of the anchorage. If Ipala was marginal shelter, Careyes was going to be even less so. After motoring around, trying to convince myself we could stay, i gave up, unrolled the genoa and sailed out. I’m sorry now that i didn’t at least take a photo (i think i've ruined my camera tho). I’d like to come back some day, even if it’s by shore.
On our way back out into the open, we sailed past what looked like a huge bowl on the coast. I’m guessing it’s a satellite dish for some sort of astronomy. Don’t know. It looked very unnatural, of course. Speaking of the incongruous, what is the most incongruous thing i’ve seen on this trip so far? In a small dusty, Mexican desert town, in the back of a pickup truck: a lawn mower. The nearest blade of grass had to be hundreds of miles away. I had to look twice. As long as i’m on to trivial notes to myself? I think the hardest working musicians are tuba players in Mexican bands. It’s been fun listening to their riffs.
So we carried on to Tenacatita Bay. Whenever i’ve asked people where to go on this coast, this bay is the first place they name. It’s big enuf to offer a diverse and contoured shoreline to explore (but frankly, it can’t compete with the Sea of C). For the second time my electronic charts seem a bit off. Last time they showed an island in front of Los Gatos that didn’t exist. This time they show Akimbo anchored a half mile on shore, high and dry. This discrepancy is not comforting.
I paddled into shore and went for a walk on the beach. There’s a campground at one end, a hotel at the other a mile away. For the first time since i’ve been in Mexico, not one of the vehicles parked by the beach had license plates from the U.S. That night, from the hotel, booming over the water came “Buenos noches Mexico!” in an entertainer’s best imitation of Robin Williams’ “Good morning Viet Nam.” For the next two hours we had disco on deck if we wanted it or not, so had to boogie a little. Afterwards, the night’s peace was a sharp and welcome contrast. The village at the opposite corner of the bay (about 3 miles away), Manzanilla, i liked better.
I’m thinking i could have made it to Acapulco before flying out. Or at least to Ixtapa where there is another good marina. In fact, i still could make that by the 15th. To be a little less late on the season’s weather. But my reservartions are from Manzanillo, and Barra is a good marina right next door. Maybe i can bump up my reservation, or i can slow myself down and trust that in two months we’ll arrive safely in Costa Rica.
5/8/10
Okay, we’ve ARRIVED! You should see this place. (Google Barra Navidad, Grand Bay Hotel) It is posh (know the origin of that term?). I may actually have to go lay by the pool? Or at least swim in it. The tennis courts are right behind our slip. As a moorage customer i get access to the rest of the hotel facilities. Including hot tub. And me, no i won't be using the gym. Luckily there’s a water taxi over to the nearby town of Barra Navidad (“real” Mexico). Listen to me. I sound like some sort of snob? I’m simply not used to this much luxury. But that doesn’t mean i can’t try it and like it. Still, i wonder. At how glad i was to weigh anchor and sail. Yesterday i lingered over the short sail here as much as i could. Past LOTS of jelly fish (the stinging kind). Even willing to sail below the “sanity barrier.” Get away from shore, and people, and… Again that feeling that something is changing in me out here. Whatever it is, i can’t direct it. It’s not coherent. Yet.
Checked out with the Capitania de Puerto at 9, started out motoring in calm weather. Cabo Corrientes (Cape Currents) can apparently be challenging, especially in the afternoon when the wind comes up, when we’ll be there. So will give it some room. Don’t quite know why i’m leaving Banderas Bay so soon. Could spend a few more days here. But bussing into town one day was enuf for me. In no hurry but am on my way. At noon, hoist main, unroll genoa, great close reach at 7.4 knots. Rounded the cape at 2:15. No problem. The water has turned a brownish green, not at all the deep blue we’re used to. And the backs of the porpoise are freckled in white? Seeing a few flying fish. Sailing past sea turtles! Indicators of new territory, as we go south. But the water and air temps have dropped back into the 70s.
I decide to avoid as much overnight sailing as i can. For now, that means anchoring in tiny Ipala. Very cute. The pangas on moorings take up a lot of the anchorage. And there’s another yacht that i don’t want to crowd. The swells are keeping it rolling. There’s a cantina ashore but the surf looks intimidating and i decide to not kayak in or else to wait until morning’s calm. Glad i like my own cooking. Not real comfy here but probably safer than sailing all night. Anchoring in Mexico is very different than in the San Juan Islands. It is more exposed and often within earshot of crashing surf. Don’t know that i’ll ever get used to that, or sleep too soundly. Up four or five times in the night to check.
The next day’s weather was equally cooperative and much appreciated. The night’s anchorage in Chamela was much better. Paddled around in the kayak. It was more sheltered from the swell and wind, the surf was not so close by, and there was plenty of room to swing around on the end of the rode (nautical talk for anchor line and/or chain).
The guidebook made the next bay south sound appealing. It’s a little place called Careyes. I’m curious if Rick Steves or Lonely Planet or anyone recommends it. The setting is quite fantastic. Really, it seemed like a fantasy. Crowded with layers upon layers of very brightly painted adobe buildings perched on the steep hills that lead down to the bay. Some of the architecture quite fanciful. It felt like a colorful amphitheater and Akimbo and i were on stage. There is a hotel spread at its beach. Bobbing at their moorings were several private pangas. The bay enjoys some protection from a small island to seaward. I wanted to stay, but the weather was comin’ in around the island, and the pangas were taking up most of the anchorage. If Ipala was marginal shelter, Careyes was going to be even less so. After motoring around, trying to convince myself we could stay, i gave up, unrolled the genoa and sailed out. I’m sorry now that i didn’t at least take a photo (i think i've ruined my camera tho). I’d like to come back some day, even if it’s by shore.
On our way back out into the open, we sailed past what looked like a huge bowl on the coast. I’m guessing it’s a satellite dish for some sort of astronomy. Don’t know. It looked very unnatural, of course. Speaking of the incongruous, what is the most incongruous thing i’ve seen on this trip so far? In a small dusty, Mexican desert town, in the back of a pickup truck: a lawn mower. The nearest blade of grass had to be hundreds of miles away. I had to look twice. As long as i’m on to trivial notes to myself? I think the hardest working musicians are tuba players in Mexican bands. It’s been fun listening to their riffs.
So we carried on to Tenacatita Bay. Whenever i’ve asked people where to go on this coast, this bay is the first place they name. It’s big enuf to offer a diverse and contoured shoreline to explore (but frankly, it can’t compete with the Sea of C). For the second time my electronic charts seem a bit off. Last time they showed an island in front of Los Gatos that didn’t exist. This time they show Akimbo anchored a half mile on shore, high and dry. This discrepancy is not comforting.
I paddled into shore and went for a walk on the beach. There’s a campground at one end, a hotel at the other a mile away. For the first time since i’ve been in Mexico, not one of the vehicles parked by the beach had license plates from the U.S. That night, from the hotel, booming over the water came “Buenos noches Mexico!” in an entertainer’s best imitation of Robin Williams’ “Good morning Viet Nam.” For the next two hours we had disco on deck if we wanted it or not, so had to boogie a little. Afterwards, the night’s peace was a sharp and welcome contrast. The village at the opposite corner of the bay (about 3 miles away), Manzanilla, i liked better.
I’m thinking i could have made it to Acapulco before flying out. Or at least to Ixtapa where there is another good marina. In fact, i still could make that by the 15th. To be a little less late on the season’s weather. But my reservartions are from Manzanillo, and Barra is a good marina right next door. Maybe i can bump up my reservation, or i can slow myself down and trust that in two months we’ll arrive safely in Costa Rica.
5/8/10
Okay, we’ve ARRIVED! You should see this place. (Google Barra Navidad, Grand Bay Hotel) It is posh (know the origin of that term?). I may actually have to go lay by the pool? Or at least swim in it. The tennis courts are right behind our slip. As a moorage customer i get access to the rest of the hotel facilities. Including hot tub. And me, no i won't be using the gym. Luckily there’s a water taxi over to the nearby town of Barra Navidad (“real” Mexico). Listen to me. I sound like some sort of snob? I’m simply not used to this much luxury. But that doesn’t mean i can’t try it and like it. Still, i wonder. At how glad i was to weigh anchor and sail. Yesterday i lingered over the short sail here as much as i could. Past LOTS of jelly fish (the stinging kind). Even willing to sail below the “sanity barrier.” Get away from shore, and people, and… Again that feeling that something is changing in me out here. Whatever it is, i can’t direct it. It’s not coherent. Yet.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Mazat to La Cruz (PV)
These three pics make up a panorama from the Mazatlan lighthouse, above the anchorage we were in.
4/22/10
I did a LOT of walking around Mazatlan (maybe too much – hip hurts). I met up with my friends Rose and Jani from Lovely Lady for dinner, and surprised a friend of a friend - fun. It’s a nice town, and not so Americanized as i had feared it might be. Some lovely galleries, long beaches, and smiling eyes. What i didn’t do was work on boat chores. Just restocked some produce, found some internet access, read and wrote and relaxed. Almost bought "stuff?" Some masks made of leather. But resisted. Whew!
Lovely Lady is headed south to Puerto Vallarta to haulout for the summer, while Rose and Jani return to their new home in the NW. They’ll be back to continue their circumnavigation next fall. So we’re going to buddy boat most of the way there – we have different stops on our lists. This should be fun. What luxury to have company out there!
4/23/10
We were graced with a great sailing day. Rose hailed me when they had cleared out of their marina. I was anchored in the old marina about 5 miles south of them. I asked traffic control and the port captain for permission to transit the channel and embark. Akimbo and i headed out to the sea buoy where we rendezvoused with Lovely Lady at about 11, main sails hoisted and motoring in light wind. The fishing line i trailed harvested a small dorado – yahoo! At about noon we unrolled our headsails, beginning a long starboard tack close hauled that was to last thru the night. Delightful 4 to 6 knot sailng, in small seas. THIS is what we came for. I shook my head. Never would have imagined this scene when Rose and i first met over 20 years ago. It’s been fun to bump into each other. I’ll miss them. (sorry, i forgot to take their picture under sail)
Isla Isabela was described to me as Mexico’s miniature Galapagos. Jacques Cousteau stopped here with Calypso a long time ago, and a university has a camp and observation deck ashore. There’s a huge resident frigate rookery ashore, and seasonal booby nesting. We anchored at 9am, i napped, read a book. All day i’ve been watching lots of “aerial combat.” It’s quite a show. Akimbo is the only yacht here. This place feels pristine, tho there is a fishing camp in the next bight south. Seems i am the contrarian, cruising north when others go south, sailing south when others go north. Ah well, i’m enjoying the privacy.
The rocks nearby, las monas (mannequins), are dramatic. Went snorkeling around them for a few hours. The water and air temps are about 84. Even so, with a “farmer john” wetsuit i came back chilled. Kayaked and beach combed. Nice hot back deck shower, glass of wine later, i sit here, i watch the sunset. The music i listen to supplies the soundtrack. For many my floating home would be too small and always in too much motion. For the fishermen nearby it would be too plush. For me? Akimbo is fitting, carrying me to whatever it is i seek (i wonder what that is). I am deeply privileged to be here. Thankful for this moment, something about it amazes me.
4/27/2010
The second day at Isla isabella the waves were up and i wasn't comfortable surfing in to the beach on my own - what if i blew it and got hurt? So hesitantly i weighed anchor and left - again it teaches me to do what i can while i can? On to La Cruz. Another overnight sail and as i arrived fireworks went up from shore. For me?! I like this place! Well, okay, not for me, but that doesn’t matter. I still like this place. The very nice and new marina is about 80% finished. Bustling Puerto Vallarta is close by (a short local bus ride). La Cruz is without the bustle...altho this week is some religious celebration, thus the fireworks. Every evening is filled with lots of noise from a carnival in town and a stage set up in the town square with lots of performing going on. I especially enjoy the traditional dancing and costumes. Lots of heel stompin' steps. (This kind of dancing seems common to a lot of cultures? Irish. And do we call something similar "clogging" in the U.S.? Gotta have the right kind of shoes). Lots of applause, kids running around, smiles. Yee-haw!
Am i adjusting more to this life? Something seems easier lately. Maybe it’s simply that the season is changing. Warming. Maybe after meeting one unknown after another, i begin to expect to meet the next one. Whether it’s simply a word in Spanish or the weather or the approach to the next anchorage.
I plan to write from Barra Navidad in a few days, where i'll be prepping Akimbo for my month long absence, while i am back in the Pacific Northwet. I can't wait to share more than distant words with my dear ones. Until then.
4/22/10
I did a LOT of walking around Mazatlan (maybe too much – hip hurts). I met up with my friends Rose and Jani from Lovely Lady for dinner, and surprised a friend of a friend - fun. It’s a nice town, and not so Americanized as i had feared it might be. Some lovely galleries, long beaches, and smiling eyes. What i didn’t do was work on boat chores. Just restocked some produce, found some internet access, read and wrote and relaxed. Almost bought "stuff?" Some masks made of leather. But resisted. Whew!
Lovely Lady is headed south to Puerto Vallarta to haulout for the summer, while Rose and Jani return to their new home in the NW. They’ll be back to continue their circumnavigation next fall. So we’re going to buddy boat most of the way there – we have different stops on our lists. This should be fun. What luxury to have company out there!
4/23/10
We were graced with a great sailing day. Rose hailed me when they had cleared out of their marina. I was anchored in the old marina about 5 miles south of them. I asked traffic control and the port captain for permission to transit the channel and embark. Akimbo and i headed out to the sea buoy where we rendezvoused with Lovely Lady at about 11, main sails hoisted and motoring in light wind. The fishing line i trailed harvested a small dorado – yahoo! At about noon we unrolled our headsails, beginning a long starboard tack close hauled that was to last thru the night. Delightful 4 to 6 knot sailng, in small seas. THIS is what we came for. I shook my head. Never would have imagined this scene when Rose and i first met over 20 years ago. It’s been fun to bump into each other. I’ll miss them. (sorry, i forgot to take their picture under sail)
Isla Isabela was described to me as Mexico’s miniature Galapagos. Jacques Cousteau stopped here with Calypso a long time ago, and a university has a camp and observation deck ashore. There’s a huge resident frigate rookery ashore, and seasonal booby nesting. We anchored at 9am, i napped, read a book. All day i’ve been watching lots of “aerial combat.” It’s quite a show. Akimbo is the only yacht here. This place feels pristine, tho there is a fishing camp in the next bight south. Seems i am the contrarian, cruising north when others go south, sailing south when others go north. Ah well, i’m enjoying the privacy.
The rocks nearby, las monas (mannequins), are dramatic. Went snorkeling around them for a few hours. The water and air temps are about 84. Even so, with a “farmer john” wetsuit i came back chilled. Kayaked and beach combed. Nice hot back deck shower, glass of wine later, i sit here, i watch the sunset. The music i listen to supplies the soundtrack. For many my floating home would be too small and always in too much motion. For the fishermen nearby it would be too plush. For me? Akimbo is fitting, carrying me to whatever it is i seek (i wonder what that is). I am deeply privileged to be here. Thankful for this moment, something about it amazes me.
4/27/2010
The second day at Isla isabella the waves were up and i wasn't comfortable surfing in to the beach on my own - what if i blew it and got hurt? So hesitantly i weighed anchor and left - again it teaches me to do what i can while i can? On to La Cruz. Another overnight sail and as i arrived fireworks went up from shore. For me?! I like this place! Well, okay, not for me, but that doesn’t matter. I still like this place. The very nice and new marina is about 80% finished. Bustling Puerto Vallarta is close by (a short local bus ride). La Cruz is without the bustle...altho this week is some religious celebration, thus the fireworks. Every evening is filled with lots of noise from a carnival in town and a stage set up in the town square with lots of performing going on. I especially enjoy the traditional dancing and costumes. Lots of heel stompin' steps. (This kind of dancing seems common to a lot of cultures? Irish. And do we call something similar "clogging" in the U.S.? Gotta have the right kind of shoes). Lots of applause, kids running around, smiles. Yee-haw!
Am i adjusting more to this life? Something seems easier lately. Maybe it’s simply that the season is changing. Warming. Maybe after meeting one unknown after another, i begin to expect to meet the next one. Whether it’s simply a word in Spanish or the weather or the approach to the next anchorage.
I plan to write from Barra Navidad in a few days, where i'll be prepping Akimbo for my month long absence, while i am back in the Pacific Northwet. I can't wait to share more than distant words with my dear ones. Until then.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Topolobampa to Mazatlan
Fishermen on every breakwater.
4/15/10
Feeling rested from my side trip to Copper Canyon. Maybe i could forego “taking a deep breath” before doing the 200 miles to Mazatlan. Maybe i can casually shove off and go whenever i’m done with my errands. Maybe i can do this without feeling pressure. Stop waiting for the next “shoe to drop.” Make it look easy.
Okay, so look at me. Here i go. Casual. Very cool, looking like i know what i’m doing. See? Pull off the dock, calm, collected. That went smoothly. Akimbo on autopilot, while i gather the dock lines and pull up the fenders. Fenders hanging off the sides while underway are decidedly NOT cool. Oh, what’s that soft lurching feeling? Damn, i’ve run us aground! Any chance of continuing to look cool? Does anybody see me stuck out here? Hope not. Hand on hip. Don’t look too alarmed. Let’s see. Tides pretty high and dropping. We DO want to get off pretty quickly. Will Akimbo back up? Nope. Hmmm. Think. Oh, and look like it’s no big deal. Let’s see. Unroll the genoa, it pulls the bow around and back into deep water. Whew! Nothing to it. No big deal, “do it all the time.” Wave to the fans. Can they see me blush from shore?
The rest of the day went well. If i were a surfer, i think the outer shoals south of the channel could offer some long rides! Wind with us, small seas, good speed, genoa alone at first, now drifter. Later i saw some whale spouts nearby, followed by another large crowd of porpoise. Have stood off the shore until i can’t see it anymore, hoping to be farther out than the fishermen’s nets tonight. What about the thought that i might try heaving to? It’s hard to resist making progress. I’ll save heaving to for when i’m too tired and must get some sleep.
“The sanity barrier.” I must have mentioned it before, but here i go again. A term coined by Tyler. It’s a bit of a moving target, but for me it’s usually 3 knots. If we go slower than that i kick on the engine. Out of the past 20 hours, last night i resorted to that for 5 hours. Enjoyed the aft deck shower before dinner and finished doing the dishes before the sunset. The thinnest sliver of new moon set beautifully after the sun, glowing in its reflected rays. The milky way was so clear last night that it’s individual features, clouds and shapes were discernible. And sunrise? Imagine a big, very bright orange drop hanging from a spigot, and as it lets go it gains its roundness – only this drop is dripping up, and finds its shape as it clears the horizon. Or was that the horizon letting it go? Beautiful. When you imagine the romance of sailing, so far this passage has been that. Thank you. May i remember and appreciate this past 20 hours (and, of course, hoping for more) when the going is not so smooth. Maybe there’s something to this “casual” attitude. So cool! Now if only i were a snappy dresser.
Rewind: you’ve heard of “laughing gulls.” Lately i’ve chased off “lazy gulls” (okay, they're not really "gulls"). One landed on the furled mainsail and rode with me all night. Another landed on the masthead and proceeded to drop crap on the drifter. The one on the mainsail i could clean up after. I taped a broomstick to a spare halyard and hoisted it up to the top of the mast and shook it (without breaking any equipment up there) and chased off the upper one. I repeated this ritual with several of these birds as dusk approached. They don’t show up in the harbor, seeming to prefer a ride. Have started seeing flying fish.
45 hours Topo to Mazat, 18 under power, light winds and small seas with us. Good enuf. Thank you.
4/15/10
Feeling rested from my side trip to Copper Canyon. Maybe i could forego “taking a deep breath” before doing the 200 miles to Mazatlan. Maybe i can casually shove off and go whenever i’m done with my errands. Maybe i can do this without feeling pressure. Stop waiting for the next “shoe to drop.” Make it look easy.
Okay, so look at me. Here i go. Casual. Very cool, looking like i know what i’m doing. See? Pull off the dock, calm, collected. That went smoothly. Akimbo on autopilot, while i gather the dock lines and pull up the fenders. Fenders hanging off the sides while underway are decidedly NOT cool. Oh, what’s that soft lurching feeling? Damn, i’ve run us aground! Any chance of continuing to look cool? Does anybody see me stuck out here? Hope not. Hand on hip. Don’t look too alarmed. Let’s see. Tides pretty high and dropping. We DO want to get off pretty quickly. Will Akimbo back up? Nope. Hmmm. Think. Oh, and look like it’s no big deal. Let’s see. Unroll the genoa, it pulls the bow around and back into deep water. Whew! Nothing to it. No big deal, “do it all the time.” Wave to the fans. Can they see me blush from shore?
The rest of the day went well. If i were a surfer, i think the outer shoals south of the channel could offer some long rides! Wind with us, small seas, good speed, genoa alone at first, now drifter. Later i saw some whale spouts nearby, followed by another large crowd of porpoise. Have stood off the shore until i can’t see it anymore, hoping to be farther out than the fishermen’s nets tonight. What about the thought that i might try heaving to? It’s hard to resist making progress. I’ll save heaving to for when i’m too tired and must get some sleep.
“The sanity barrier.” I must have mentioned it before, but here i go again. A term coined by Tyler. It’s a bit of a moving target, but for me it’s usually 3 knots. If we go slower than that i kick on the engine. Out of the past 20 hours, last night i resorted to that for 5 hours. Enjoyed the aft deck shower before dinner and finished doing the dishes before the sunset. The thinnest sliver of new moon set beautifully after the sun, glowing in its reflected rays. The milky way was so clear last night that it’s individual features, clouds and shapes were discernible. And sunrise? Imagine a big, very bright orange drop hanging from a spigot, and as it lets go it gains its roundness – only this drop is dripping up, and finds its shape as it clears the horizon. Or was that the horizon letting it go? Beautiful. When you imagine the romance of sailing, so far this passage has been that. Thank you. May i remember and appreciate this past 20 hours (and, of course, hoping for more) when the going is not so smooth. Maybe there’s something to this “casual” attitude. So cool! Now if only i were a snappy dresser.
Rewind: you’ve heard of “laughing gulls.” Lately i’ve chased off “lazy gulls” (okay, they're not really "gulls"). One landed on the furled mainsail and rode with me all night. Another landed on the masthead and proceeded to drop crap on the drifter. The one on the mainsail i could clean up after. I taped a broomstick to a spare halyard and hoisted it up to the top of the mast and shook it (without breaking any equipment up there) and chased off the upper one. I repeated this ritual with several of these birds as dusk approached. They don’t show up in the harbor, seeming to prefer a ride. Have started seeing flying fish.
45 hours Topo to Mazat, 18 under power, light winds and small seas with us. Good enuf. Thank you.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Copper Canyon side trip
4/4/10 Easter. Rebirth. Spring. Long days coming back to us… At anchor, at the south end of Espiritu Santos. “Saints’ Spirit Island,” in keeping with the Esater theme, I guess. Calm water like a black mirror tonight, reflecting the stars. Capital “S,” Stars! I don’t want to take this view of them for granted, no matter how often it repeats. Piano solo music on the stereo, a glass of brandy and grand marnier in hand, this moment too beautiful to not appreciate it, to not share…so i write it to you. What is it that resonates in us when we behold beauty? Staring at this canopy of stars, i feel like i am inside a belly, lookin’ out.
As i hesitantly get ready to depart the Sea of Cortez, to start the next leg of this journey and head south, i can’t help wishing you were here, or had been here at some point. Yes, you. These notes will have to be our sharing.
There is some sort of vortex around civilization. It can offer lots of comfort and entertainment. Re-entering it intimidates me a little, but once there, it’s hard to leave. This highlights for me the state of transition that i sometimes forget i live in.
There’s so much to catch up with in a city - on the internet, shopping for food, repairs to make, maintenance to do, bills to pay, details and planning…i feel totally scattered. Get a little depressed. There was a “cocktail hour” on the dock every night this time. It’s a good time to listen to other peoples’ experiences and get some tips about what lays ahead. Hopefully i find a few social graces still intact.
Alone out there, i don’t get to witness “us” as a species. You know how you don’t notice the way someone grows up or changes when you live with them daily but if you see them only once in a long while their changes are more pronounced to you? Arriving “back” among “us,” I marvel at our potentials, despite the fact that we mostly fail them miserably. I recognize something in us that is sacred. I feel the Asian greeting of “namaste’.” Whatever this is, i don’t think we are the only inheritors of it. Something profound about presence, as a whole and individually. Some wonder about existence itself. From these sentences i delete the word “our”, for i don’t believe what i am witnessing can be owned. This presence and existence are so transient, and much bigger than us.
I met another solo sailor. It kind of scared me ‘cuz i don’t want to get that tightly wound. Almost cramped. Not that i have to do it the same way, but i recognized in this other person a potential i don’t want, perhaps a risk that is inherent in being independent too much. Almost a sales pitch on one’s self that “i’m okay alone, i’m okay alone….” This person rhetorically asked, “Isn’t it great?” and didn't wait for an answer. In my head i was replying, “Sometimes, yes. Truly a privilege. Sometimes, no, not at all.”
A breeze is coming up, the water’s reflecting is falling apart, as are my thoughts. Goodnight, may you sleep well and sail thru your day tomorrow too.
4/6/10 100 nautical miles to Topolobampo, crossing from Baja to the mainland, an overnite passage that turned surreal. Actually Akimbo and i mostly motored thru flat calm until near dusk. Then i unrolled the genoa, and catnapped a half hour at a time. I would wake up and check to see if we could close with another boat or land mass within the next half hour, and then try to sleep more.
How do i do that? I depend on the radar. Realizing that some boats out there won’t present a good radar target, it’s a fragile dependence. Let’s see, if i am going 6 knots, and another boat is dead ahead on the opposite course at 10 to 15 knots, we could close on each other as fast as 21 knots max (remember these math classes?). So in half an hour our combined distance covered would be 10.5 nautical miles. If i have the radar set at a twelve nm range and nothing is on it, i should be able to take my nap safely. If i set the range at 24 miles i could nap for an hour, but i trust the radar a little more at lower ranges.
So one time i get up and, groggy, coming out of the companionway, i see something bright behind the genoa. The moon? A shooting star? A fishing boat’s work lights? Or was that the last of a flare? I look at the radar and see nothing. I write down the time and our latitude and longitude. I listen to the radio. I head in that approximate direction, hoping i’m not heading into a trap (what a strange thought!). On the vhf radio i hear someone say “mayday,” albeit tentatively. I answer and he replies in English. He’s on shore and saw it too and is asking if anybody is in trouble out here. I tell him i’m not far away and am en route, and ask him to inform the Mexican navy, since he speaks Spanish and my radio is farther from them, i tell him the lat and lon and that i will call out if i find anyone. After an hour, finding and hearing nothing more, i go back on course. Was it a false alarm? There are many. Or someone fooling around? No one seems to know.
I spend much of the night reducing sail to slow down, so i won’t arrive at the channel in the dark. I get up from a nap and on deck i hear what i’m guessing are a lot of small fish on the surface, sort of a snapping sound all around, like raindrops falling on water. I go to the transom (that’s the back of the boat) and look but see nothing… Suddenly a bright light just under the water’s surface start’s swinging in circles, like a siren’s light. “What the…?!” Startled, confused, i look at the depth sounder: 136 feet. WHAT is down there? A ship wreck? Some sort of underwater buoy i’ve never heard of and isn’t on the charts? What?! Again i write down our lat and lon. The next day i can’t find my fancy Nu-flare flashlight. In my grogginess did i not know that i dropped it? And salt water leaking into it conducted the current from its batteries to turn it on? I still think i might find it on board, but it’s the only explanation i can come up with.
Topolobampo channel is long and bordered by shoals with breaking waves on either side, but it’s wide and well marked. Still, i’m glad we didn’t attempt it in the dark. Once in, the harbor seems like very good shelter. I’m told that there aren’t many anchorages to hide from hurricane’s in the Sea of Cortez, but i disagree. This seems like it could be one. Palmira’s marina here is cheap, but it should be because they are too new to offer much service. It’s mostly a construction site at this point.
You know how you just want to get out of the house sometimes? Go for a walk, stretch your legs, get a little fresh air and clear your head? Even tho my “house” sails and offers lots of time outdoors, this trip to the Copper Canyon feels like a timely version of “getting out of the house” for me.
4/7/10 After securing Akimbo at the docks, i caught a cab to a hotel near the train station in Las Mochis. Walked to the station, bought my ticket to visit Copper Canyon for a week and then took a long walk downtown. Next morning at 6 i caught El Chepe, as the train is named. The ride to Creel is 9 hours, probably averages 25 mph and the scenery gets progressively better. On board I met Dick and Sharon from a neighboring boat in the marina and joined them for breakfast in the dining car. They kindly loaned me their guide book and i made notes. A relaxing day, and rewarding change of scenery from sea level to over 7000 feet. Not being part of anyone’s tour, i’ve come up with a plan. Tomorrow i’ll rent a scooter and explore this part of the canyon on my own. The next day i’ll catch El Chepe on the way back, stopping at two more towns for two nights each.
My friends, Rose and Jani from the good sloop Lovely Lady happen to be in Creel at the same time, along with two yachting friends they’ve made. We meet for dinner and the pleasure again of seeing a familiar face in a new place. This boosts my energy. I am grateful. Rose tells me about snagging a fisherman’s net enroute to Mazatlan and drifting until the Mexican navy can arrive and cut it free. Something that could well have happened to me on the way to Topolobampo. I take note. Maybe I should simply heave to at night (basically stop) and slowly drift say10 miles until dawn. Would that be safer than trying to make progress?
4/10/10 I’m not sure why people compare these canyons to the Grand Canyon. They are so different. The Grand is markedly red and dry and steep, these are much more lush and spread out although still quite arid. And at the point where a road can still run thru it, isn’t it more a “valley” than a “canyon?” Everywhere i see footpaths. They seem to say that people have lived here for a long time. My bet is that no one knows how many villages and people this rugged terrain hides. Here is a home in the side of a cliff.
Almost as much as the geology, it’s the native people that catch my eye. The Tarahumara Indians are more pretty to me than the Mexican people with Spanish lineage. My guess is that some sort of caste system exists between them. The indians’ darker brown smooth skin is set off against the bright colors they wear. They wear the weather more beautifully. At every stop, some seemingly in the middle of nowhere, the women sit with their children nearby and offer their crafts, spread on a blanket for sale.
What little i can see of their way of life might seem too spare to most of us, yet it appears to be a way of life that has adapted and endured and that seems like a testimony for it. After riding thru miles of earth tones and prehistoric scenery, rounding a bend to discover bright clothes spread on fences in bright sunshine woke my eyes up, women pounding their laundry on rocks in the nearby stream.
A deepening pleasure on this side trip is meeting people. Have i been starved for this? I hope i have not imposed my company and conversation on them. My hotel in Creel includes breakfast, the waiter herds me to a table to spontaneously join a well traveled and articulate “older” couple. We all laugh, shake hands and proceed to enjoy each other, for my part, immensely. Carol and Gary, from Montana, are riding their motorcycles here as they have in many countries. We do not speak to each other superficially, but of pleasures and fears, of terrain and people, of our families and friends, books and music. The next day, in Divisadero, this continues when i join a walking tour with two other couples, Mexican and Ecuadorian. Afterwards we drink and dine together. Too slowly, my Spanish improves. This pleasure i am soaking in floods me when i meet Liza and her daughter Kazz and son Forest. As traveled as she is, it’s hard to say she’s from anywhere, but she is for now a professor and author “from” Nanaimo. So much to share and so little time. Timely conversations that feel important for me to pay close attention to. Connection. What is a life without it? Thank you all of you, back home and here, and all in between. Thank you very much.
On the train yesterday, if i follow the tracks of my tho’ts, they ran like this: i like myself better when i am confident and when that confidence flows from instinct rather than effort and thought. When i trust that i am where i belong, instead of questioning myself mercilessly. Seems like life could be much more fun with such confidence and trust. How will i teach it to myself in the face of life’s storms? This is my task.
This…and to write it in a way that helps you. I have had wondrous help, and i want to pay it forward. Tyler warns me that i help too much and unconsciously and from my ego. Helping feels real to me. Maybe i can do it consciously and without ego. Not as part of the definition of a self that, if i listen to the mystics, in the long run doesn’t exist anyway.
(This was a view from my hotel in Divisadero)
Later, hiking around Divisadero on my own, thinking about instincts, letting my feet lead me. What am i looking for off the beaten path? I find a view, feel a little vertigo, so i sit down and feel the wind. After a bit i wander in the general direction back to the hotel but am not satisfied yet. So i let myself get distracted by a footpath that leads to a wide open space atop a promontory. Here is what i was looking for, a discovery: a purposefully drawn circle of stones maybe fifty yards in diameter. There is a gap in the stones at each of the cardinal directions, each providing a gate into the circle. A tumble of stones is at the center. It's a place of ritual. I walk the circumference of the circle. At the north gate i enter. At the center i hold my arms out and close my eyes. I utter the Lakota tribute to "all my ancestors." That’s all. Nothing else happens. I leave by the south gate. And step to the edges of the promontory to admire the canyon, find the footpath and leave. Really enjoyed that.
Note to Tyler Jette: The rocks and climbing here are beyond counting. Would that i were still climbing (and younger).
As i hesitantly get ready to depart the Sea of Cortez, to start the next leg of this journey and head south, i can’t help wishing you were here, or had been here at some point. Yes, you. These notes will have to be our sharing.
There is some sort of vortex around civilization. It can offer lots of comfort and entertainment. Re-entering it intimidates me a little, but once there, it’s hard to leave. This highlights for me the state of transition that i sometimes forget i live in.
There’s so much to catch up with in a city - on the internet, shopping for food, repairs to make, maintenance to do, bills to pay, details and planning…i feel totally scattered. Get a little depressed. There was a “cocktail hour” on the dock every night this time. It’s a good time to listen to other peoples’ experiences and get some tips about what lays ahead. Hopefully i find a few social graces still intact.
Alone out there, i don’t get to witness “us” as a species. You know how you don’t notice the way someone grows up or changes when you live with them daily but if you see them only once in a long while their changes are more pronounced to you? Arriving “back” among “us,” I marvel at our potentials, despite the fact that we mostly fail them miserably. I recognize something in us that is sacred. I feel the Asian greeting of “namaste’.” Whatever this is, i don’t think we are the only inheritors of it. Something profound about presence, as a whole and individually. Some wonder about existence itself. From these sentences i delete the word “our”, for i don’t believe what i am witnessing can be owned. This presence and existence are so transient, and much bigger than us.
I met another solo sailor. It kind of scared me ‘cuz i don’t want to get that tightly wound. Almost cramped. Not that i have to do it the same way, but i recognized in this other person a potential i don’t want, perhaps a risk that is inherent in being independent too much. Almost a sales pitch on one’s self that “i’m okay alone, i’m okay alone….” This person rhetorically asked, “Isn’t it great?” and didn't wait for an answer. In my head i was replying, “Sometimes, yes. Truly a privilege. Sometimes, no, not at all.”
A breeze is coming up, the water’s reflecting is falling apart, as are my thoughts. Goodnight, may you sleep well and sail thru your day tomorrow too.
4/6/10 100 nautical miles to Topolobampo, crossing from Baja to the mainland, an overnite passage that turned surreal. Actually Akimbo and i mostly motored thru flat calm until near dusk. Then i unrolled the genoa, and catnapped a half hour at a time. I would wake up and check to see if we could close with another boat or land mass within the next half hour, and then try to sleep more.
How do i do that? I depend on the radar. Realizing that some boats out there won’t present a good radar target, it’s a fragile dependence. Let’s see, if i am going 6 knots, and another boat is dead ahead on the opposite course at 10 to 15 knots, we could close on each other as fast as 21 knots max (remember these math classes?). So in half an hour our combined distance covered would be 10.5 nautical miles. If i have the radar set at a twelve nm range and nothing is on it, i should be able to take my nap safely. If i set the range at 24 miles i could nap for an hour, but i trust the radar a little more at lower ranges.
So one time i get up and, groggy, coming out of the companionway, i see something bright behind the genoa. The moon? A shooting star? A fishing boat’s work lights? Or was that the last of a flare? I look at the radar and see nothing. I write down the time and our latitude and longitude. I listen to the radio. I head in that approximate direction, hoping i’m not heading into a trap (what a strange thought!). On the vhf radio i hear someone say “mayday,” albeit tentatively. I answer and he replies in English. He’s on shore and saw it too and is asking if anybody is in trouble out here. I tell him i’m not far away and am en route, and ask him to inform the Mexican navy, since he speaks Spanish and my radio is farther from them, i tell him the lat and lon and that i will call out if i find anyone. After an hour, finding and hearing nothing more, i go back on course. Was it a false alarm? There are many. Or someone fooling around? No one seems to know.
I spend much of the night reducing sail to slow down, so i won’t arrive at the channel in the dark. I get up from a nap and on deck i hear what i’m guessing are a lot of small fish on the surface, sort of a snapping sound all around, like raindrops falling on water. I go to the transom (that’s the back of the boat) and look but see nothing… Suddenly a bright light just under the water’s surface start’s swinging in circles, like a siren’s light. “What the…?!” Startled, confused, i look at the depth sounder: 136 feet. WHAT is down there? A ship wreck? Some sort of underwater buoy i’ve never heard of and isn’t on the charts? What?! Again i write down our lat and lon. The next day i can’t find my fancy Nu-flare flashlight. In my grogginess did i not know that i dropped it? And salt water leaking into it conducted the current from its batteries to turn it on? I still think i might find it on board, but it’s the only explanation i can come up with.
Topolobampo channel is long and bordered by shoals with breaking waves on either side, but it’s wide and well marked. Still, i’m glad we didn’t attempt it in the dark. Once in, the harbor seems like very good shelter. I’m told that there aren’t many anchorages to hide from hurricane’s in the Sea of Cortez, but i disagree. This seems like it could be one. Palmira’s marina here is cheap, but it should be because they are too new to offer much service. It’s mostly a construction site at this point.
You know how you just want to get out of the house sometimes? Go for a walk, stretch your legs, get a little fresh air and clear your head? Even tho my “house” sails and offers lots of time outdoors, this trip to the Copper Canyon feels like a timely version of “getting out of the house” for me.
4/7/10 After securing Akimbo at the docks, i caught a cab to a hotel near the train station in Las Mochis. Walked to the station, bought my ticket to visit Copper Canyon for a week and then took a long walk downtown. Next morning at 6 i caught El Chepe, as the train is named. The ride to Creel is 9 hours, probably averages 25 mph and the scenery gets progressively better. On board I met Dick and Sharon from a neighboring boat in the marina and joined them for breakfast in the dining car. They kindly loaned me their guide book and i made notes. A relaxing day, and rewarding change of scenery from sea level to over 7000 feet. Not being part of anyone’s tour, i’ve come up with a plan. Tomorrow i’ll rent a scooter and explore this part of the canyon on my own. The next day i’ll catch El Chepe on the way back, stopping at two more towns for two nights each.
My friends, Rose and Jani from the good sloop Lovely Lady happen to be in Creel at the same time, along with two yachting friends they’ve made. We meet for dinner and the pleasure again of seeing a familiar face in a new place. This boosts my energy. I am grateful. Rose tells me about snagging a fisherman’s net enroute to Mazatlan and drifting until the Mexican navy can arrive and cut it free. Something that could well have happened to me on the way to Topolobampo. I take note. Maybe I should simply heave to at night (basically stop) and slowly drift say10 miles until dawn. Would that be safer than trying to make progress?
4/10/10 I’m not sure why people compare these canyons to the Grand Canyon. They are so different. The Grand is markedly red and dry and steep, these are much more lush and spread out although still quite arid. And at the point where a road can still run thru it, isn’t it more a “valley” than a “canyon?” Everywhere i see footpaths. They seem to say that people have lived here for a long time. My bet is that no one knows how many villages and people this rugged terrain hides. Here is a home in the side of a cliff.
Almost as much as the geology, it’s the native people that catch my eye. The Tarahumara Indians are more pretty to me than the Mexican people with Spanish lineage. My guess is that some sort of caste system exists between them. The indians’ darker brown smooth skin is set off against the bright colors they wear. They wear the weather more beautifully. At every stop, some seemingly in the middle of nowhere, the women sit with their children nearby and offer their crafts, spread on a blanket for sale.
What little i can see of their way of life might seem too spare to most of us, yet it appears to be a way of life that has adapted and endured and that seems like a testimony for it. After riding thru miles of earth tones and prehistoric scenery, rounding a bend to discover bright clothes spread on fences in bright sunshine woke my eyes up, women pounding their laundry on rocks in the nearby stream.
A deepening pleasure on this side trip is meeting people. Have i been starved for this? I hope i have not imposed my company and conversation on them. My hotel in Creel includes breakfast, the waiter herds me to a table to spontaneously join a well traveled and articulate “older” couple. We all laugh, shake hands and proceed to enjoy each other, for my part, immensely. Carol and Gary, from Montana, are riding their motorcycles here as they have in many countries. We do not speak to each other superficially, but of pleasures and fears, of terrain and people, of our families and friends, books and music. The next day, in Divisadero, this continues when i join a walking tour with two other couples, Mexican and Ecuadorian. Afterwards we drink and dine together. Too slowly, my Spanish improves. This pleasure i am soaking in floods me when i meet Liza and her daughter Kazz and son Forest. As traveled as she is, it’s hard to say she’s from anywhere, but she is for now a professor and author “from” Nanaimo. So much to share and so little time. Timely conversations that feel important for me to pay close attention to. Connection. What is a life without it? Thank you all of you, back home and here, and all in between. Thank you very much.
On the train yesterday, if i follow the tracks of my tho’ts, they ran like this: i like myself better when i am confident and when that confidence flows from instinct rather than effort and thought. When i trust that i am where i belong, instead of questioning myself mercilessly. Seems like life could be much more fun with such confidence and trust. How will i teach it to myself in the face of life’s storms? This is my task.
This…and to write it in a way that helps you. I have had wondrous help, and i want to pay it forward. Tyler warns me that i help too much and unconsciously and from my ego. Helping feels real to me. Maybe i can do it consciously and without ego. Not as part of the definition of a self that, if i listen to the mystics, in the long run doesn’t exist anyway.
(This was a view from my hotel in Divisadero)Later, hiking around Divisadero on my own, thinking about instincts, letting my feet lead me. What am i looking for off the beaten path? I find a view, feel a little vertigo, so i sit down and feel the wind. After a bit i wander in the general direction back to the hotel but am not satisfied yet. So i let myself get distracted by a footpath that leads to a wide open space atop a promontory. Here is what i was looking for, a discovery: a purposefully drawn circle of stones maybe fifty yards in diameter. There is a gap in the stones at each of the cardinal directions, each providing a gate into the circle. A tumble of stones is at the center. It's a place of ritual. I walk the circumference of the circle. At the north gate i enter. At the center i hold my arms out and close my eyes. I utter the Lakota tribute to "all my ancestors." That’s all. Nothing else happens. I leave by the south gate. And step to the edges of the promontory to admire the canyon, find the footpath and leave. Really enjoyed that.
Note to Tyler Jette: The rocks and climbing here are beyond counting. Would that i were still climbing (and younger).
Monday, March 29, 2010
“Akimbo, Akimbo, this is Dave.”
Clever. He found the vhf radio OUTside of the Hidden Port Yacht Club in Puerto Escondido (now locked), mounted THERE for just such a purpose. Akimbo and i were on a mooring buoy out in the harbor. It was 8 or 9 pm. I had just finished dinner and dishes and was getting ready to dinghy in and walk up the road to meet him where the bus from La Paz would let him out. He was early, having expediently rented a car rather than taken the bus. In fact, while i hadn’t answered earlier, he had time to have dinner at the restaurant at the marina. I don’t know what premonition prompted me to turn on Akimbo’s radio, but there Dave was.
“Dave! Hi, this is Akimbo. I’ll be right in.”
Dave is a parent of one of Tyler’s Waldorf classmates, so we have been acquainted for years. As the week went on, we enjoyed lots of conversation, music (he’s a good guitarist), food, and getting to know each other better. This leg of the trip, and coming south with Bud & Rhoda, felt different – because i had been to these places before, and i had been to them alone. It was fun to feel familiar with where we were, know what to look for, and to share. Also what's new is seeing more boats here - three months ago traffic was much more sparse.
The next day was Dave’s birthday – and the equinox. We started south at about noon. The wind must funnel into Puerto Escondido: it looked like a day for the solent jib, but just outside of the harbor the wind went light. We switched to the genoa, eventually the drifter, and finally had to motor into Agua Verde. There were three other boats there, but i was glad to see they hadn’t taken the spot where i had hoped to anchor. As soon as we were secured a school of porpoise came into the anchorage right behind Akimbo. I’m guessing there were 20 or 30 of them, many of whom were small enuf that we had to guess they were infants. There was a lot of tail slapping and jumping going on for about half an hour. It was a delightful show.
We seemed to cross paths with them again the next day as we sailed south to Puerto los Gatos and they were headed north. It proved to be our only day sailing upwind, so our only day with the main up along with the genoa. We shared the anchorage in Gatos with one other boat. With no wind the next day and not willing to listen to the engine, we went for a hike in the morning and snorkeling in the afternoon.
Two fishermen’s camps set up on the beach, and later four or five NOLS drascombe long boats came in and camped as well – having rowed most of the day.
After that we had a good downwind romp with the genoa alone down San Jose Channel. We were overtaken and left behind by a large school of porpoise, guessing well over a hundred of them. We had planned to stop at Amortajada, which provides good shelter from the waves…but not the wind. So we carried on to Isla San Francisco, where it turned out 17 other boats were holed up.
The next day didn’t offer weather that would let us explore the small island community that i noted on my way north, Isla Coyote, so we carried on south. I fell for the late morning lull and put up the drifter by itself, thus calling the wind back up. This turned into a great (if tense) sleigh ride, touching 9 knots at one point. We tucked into the caldera between Islas Partida and Espiritu Santos, “Caleta Partida” (along with 7 other boats), for a good night’s sleep. We decided to spend one of our extra days here, dinghied into the beach and to say hi to our neighbors.
Our last day of sailing didn’t have as much wind as forecast but got us to La Paz anyway, leaving us a day to walk around La Paz before Dave would fly out.
Dave's message he would write to the world: "stop the killing." Thanks Dave for joining me down here. I appreciated the extra hand aboard that you so willingly were. It was a pleasure to share sailing in this beautiful place with a fellow enthusiast. Jack and Cinny's plans have to wait, so looks like i'm on my own again for a bit. Guess i'll look for a "hitch hiker" or two for crew over to Mazatlan in a week or so...unless one of YOU heads my way.
“Dave! Hi, this is Akimbo. I’ll be right in.”
Dave is a parent of one of Tyler’s Waldorf classmates, so we have been acquainted for years. As the week went on, we enjoyed lots of conversation, music (he’s a good guitarist), food, and getting to know each other better. This leg of the trip, and coming south with Bud & Rhoda, felt different – because i had been to these places before, and i had been to them alone. It was fun to feel familiar with where we were, know what to look for, and to share. Also what's new is seeing more boats here - three months ago traffic was much more sparse.
The next day was Dave’s birthday – and the equinox. We started south at about noon. The wind must funnel into Puerto Escondido: it looked like a day for the solent jib, but just outside of the harbor the wind went light. We switched to the genoa, eventually the drifter, and finally had to motor into Agua Verde. There were three other boats there, but i was glad to see they hadn’t taken the spot where i had hoped to anchor. As soon as we were secured a school of porpoise came into the anchorage right behind Akimbo. I’m guessing there were 20 or 30 of them, many of whom were small enuf that we had to guess they were infants. There was a lot of tail slapping and jumping going on for about half an hour. It was a delightful show.
We seemed to cross paths with them again the next day as we sailed south to Puerto los Gatos and they were headed north. It proved to be our only day sailing upwind, so our only day with the main up along with the genoa. We shared the anchorage in Gatos with one other boat. With no wind the next day and not willing to listen to the engine, we went for a hike in the morning and snorkeling in the afternoon.
Two fishermen’s camps set up on the beach, and later four or five NOLS drascombe long boats came in and camped as well – having rowed most of the day.
After that we had a good downwind romp with the genoa alone down San Jose Channel. We were overtaken and left behind by a large school of porpoise, guessing well over a hundred of them. We had planned to stop at Amortajada, which provides good shelter from the waves…but not the wind. So we carried on to Isla San Francisco, where it turned out 17 other boats were holed up.
The next day didn’t offer weather that would let us explore the small island community that i noted on my way north, Isla Coyote, so we carried on south. I fell for the late morning lull and put up the drifter by itself, thus calling the wind back up. This turned into a great (if tense) sleigh ride, touching 9 knots at one point. We tucked into the caldera between Islas Partida and Espiritu Santos, “Caleta Partida” (along with 7 other boats), for a good night’s sleep. We decided to spend one of our extra days here, dinghied into the beach and to say hi to our neighbors.
Our last day of sailing didn’t have as much wind as forecast but got us to La Paz anyway, leaving us a day to walk around La Paz before Dave would fly out.
Dave's message he would write to the world: "stop the killing." Thanks Dave for joining me down here. I appreciated the extra hand aboard that you so willingly were. It was a pleasure to share sailing in this beautiful place with a fellow enthusiast. Jack and Cinny's plans have to wait, so looks like i'm on my own again for a bit. Guess i'll look for a "hitch hiker" or two for crew over to Mazatlan in a week or so...unless one of YOU heads my way.
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