The overnighter from Manzanillo to here was uneventful. I like that. Our companions were porpoise, sea turtles and flying fish. I motored a bit more than i wanted to because hurricane Darby is stalled off the coast and forecast to turn back east and come in. But we got some lovely afternoon sails in, under the drifter and with some swell. Really delightful. Capped off by surfing in thru the entrance to the harbor. Drawing over 6’ (that’s nautical talk for how deep into the water Akimbo’s keel sticks down), the marina advised me that they would have a skiff waiting to guide me in, but if i decided to enter i was doing so at my own risk. Akimbo draws 6.5’.
But what choice did i have? I was tired after sailing all night. I needed good rest. And this storm was forecast to come back to the coast near here. Anchoring out in Bahia Zihuatanejo didn’t feel like an option compared to riding the storm out secured to a sheltered dock. Taking how tired i was into account, i double checked my reasoning. No, i really did feel i needed to get into this harbor. Our timing turned out to be near a high tide. Sails were down, Stuff was secured pretty well. So i went for it.
I watched a powerboat pound his way out. A lot of vertical action. The marina skiff waited for us well inside the surf, which wasn’t quite breaking. We lined up from just outside the two entrance buoys and i gunned the engine higher than ever before. We built up momentum, a wave started to pick us up, and we went surfing in on water and adrenaline. I kept watching the sounder and seeing the bottom come up. If we hit the sand bottom Akimbo would stumble in the narrow entrance and likely broach to one side or the other. The trick would then be to throttle back before ramming into a breakwater, turn her back in line with the channel and power up for the next lift in. We were comin’ in fast it, it would hurt if we came to a stop, but the depth stopped shallowing at 7.5’. We had a foot to spare. Only a foot.
How much did that wave lift us? Goin’ out we’ll pound up and down more. We won’t be goin’ so fast, it won’t be so dangerous in that way. The timing of our exit will be determined strictly by the height of the tide.
Now that we’re here, i’ve caught up on sleep and chores. During the night’s sail the radar repeater at the helm wouldn’t power up. So to check the radar i had to come below to the nav station each time. Haven’t figured out how to fix it yet. And this morning when i pulled out my folding bike to go explore Ixtapa, and maybe peddle to Zihuatanejo, the canvas bag i keep it in had an oily stain on it. Looking closer, the shelf the fridge compressor sits on was covered in oil. The compressor is leaking. Damn. It comes with the territory tho: “cruising = working on your boat in exotic destinations.” It’s Sunday, so no one to call today, but tomorrow i hope to get a technician on board and get a lesson.
Jerry will get here tonight, and surveying Akimbo tomorrow too for a new insurance company. I’m afraid the heat will be a shock to him. Sweat goes with everything here iat the end of June. I stick to everything, which kind of discourages some things. Like playing the guitar. And now – i keep a napkin on the laptop where my wrists rest while i type.
After Jerry flies out…i will be in new territory: sailing with no rendezvous or other event on my calendar. What will that feel like? On the outside, it will be good from the standpoint that no schedule leaves me free to wait for a weather window to cross “hurricane alley.” On the inside, it seems to offer a new potential or perspective. Went ahead for a nice (and hot and sweaty) bike ride around town. This seems another nice place. In this heat, the bus fare to get to Zihuat seems the way to go. A deal at twice the price. Stopped by a bar and caught most of a world cup soccer game – go Argentina (since Arturo is a dear friend and from there)!
One sweet thing last night was dining in a restaurant where i could use their internet access and skype calling my family. Whatever we spoke about didn’t matter at all. I was amazed at the affect simply hearing each others’ voices had on me. I went from being kind of lonely and alone to feeling in good rich company regardless of the geographic distance between us. Wow. Thank you.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Back aboard Akimbo
After a long day and a half of no sleep and travel, i’m back. On the way from the airport, i had the cab stop at a grocery store so i could re-provision. Then spent quite some time unpacking. I have vowed to never pack so heavily again. Can’t believe all the books i brought back. Don’t know where i am going to put them. Have to get rid of some. Next time…i’m getting a Kimble.
By the way, while in Seattle i tried to find what to do with a play i’ve written. Yes, i’ve written a play. It’s about our battle with cancer. Something it seems i had to get out of me and onto the page before writing something else. It wasn’t so much writing as working from the Brainews e-mails i sent out at the time and quoting some of you. In most cases, i didn’t change peoples’ names – let me know if that’s not okay with you. Anyway, i sent it to Tom Brophy at Seattle Cold Readers (you can google them) and they are willing to give an excerpt a reading to a small audience. Probably the third Thursday of Sept. Of course i am thrilled that they think it’s worth a shot and their feedback. If any of you want to see it, assuming attendance is open, look them up.
Wow, it’s gotten hotter here. It was 90 inside the boat when i went to bed – no need for covers or clothes. And if i can believe Akimbo’s water thermometer, the water in the harbor here is 92. I’ll confirm that later when i try my new compressor dive system and clean the bottom of the boat. Last night a thunderstorm came thru at about 2 a.m. Beautiful. I watch the images on the hurricane site showing the convection activity, and it is much busier than it was a month ago. There’s a cyclone out there that should move off in the next few days. Hopefully that times out with my finishing my prep on Akimbo and shoving off.
Thank you all for such a wonderful visit in Seattle. I realize now that i was darn tired when i got there (someone suggested i take a break more often). And now i feel well rested and loved. It impresses me how important you are to me. Please stay in touch. I’ll always write back.
I’ve been wanting to share photos of this place with you, but had ruined the old camera. So here are some pics via the new camera. Okay, that’s all for now. Hasta luego.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Bearless in Alaska
I am drinking deeply a lot of love with my community in Seattle. As we visit i of course try to make coherent for them what it is i am doing “out there,” away from them. The answers i come up with boil down to, “i am doing something i CAN do.” As opposed to focusing on what i can’t do. Something instead of nothing. And i’m doing it while i physically and financially can. I don’t know where this leads me. Rather than the theory that “if you build it, they will come,” i seem to be working on the hope that “if i come, it will be built.” Whatever “it” is. Thank you dears for our sharing, for our open and inquiring dialogs, and for even our smallest familiarities. I need this heart nourishment. As we reach deeper into each others’ company, i anticipate that it will be hard for me to leave. It will have been worth it, tho. In fact, this visit feels like it may hold some key release for me, a confidence that i am not alone no matter where i am, a belonging that reaches well beyond my horizon...and maybe beyond life without Christine. It’s just an inkling at this point.
While i’ve been in Seattle i’ve been busy. Mostly socializing my ass off. And being god’s own consumer. Sheesh! Am sure i’ve gained weight. And i’ve beefed up safety gear for Akimbo. That this yacht delivery to Juneau comes after a few weeks of visiting seems wise. It takes me away from my community in steps rather than all at once.
And it gives me a memory to make with Tyler: We spent our first night at anchor 80 miles out, in Genoa Bay, Canada. As soon as we got there Tyler remarked on the taste and feel of the air. It was well worth remarking upon. This was quintessential Northwest surrounded-by-dense-evergreens air. It felt like pure oxygen that we could take more deeply into our lungs and absorb thru our skin. After all, here we were densely surrounded by oxygen making “beings.” The air left us feeling a little giddy and rather like a sponge for it. The next day we made 112 miles while watching snow fall on the mountains of Vancouver Island. As forecast, the wind and waves came up. They were big enuf to require steering by hand rather than leaving it all to the autopilot. We appreciated the shelter the Gulf Islands gave us from the Georgia Straits, squeezed thru Dodd Narrows while its currents were fairly calm, and lost half our speed over the last mile on the approach to an anchorage near infamous Seymour Narrows.
A dawn start the next day gave us the timing we needed against the current. As this trip goes on i can’t help wanting to come back to it someday, even if it IS cold here, and despite never having felt called here in the first place. We’ve seen whales, porpoise, seals, sea lions, otters and lots of eagles.
Glaciers and icebergs and…i’m not complaining but i’m not convinced there are any bears in Alaska. If there have been any aurora, it’s not their fault that i haven’t seen them – i go to bed late (11:00ish), but not late enuf that the sky hasn’t still got some light in it. This IS magnificent country! The channels and passages are labyrinthine. With so much shelter from the weather and the ocean swell, it would be great fun to get lost exploring this place in a small fast boat. Say, aluminum for beaching, and outboard motor for any shallows, with a small cuddy cabin.
“Come back to” places include Fancy Cove in Lama Passage, Clothes Bay in Tolmie Passage, Baker Inlet in Grenville Passage, and maybe circumnavigate Baranof Island…but there are too many to count. We have been graced with very good weather, so we may arrive in Juneau a few days ahead of schedule.
Jim has been a gracious boat owner. He makes appreciative sounds of the fare we serve. And he has accommodated our points of interest – Alert Bay, Meyers Chuck and Wrangell. Thank you Lindsay and Eric and Vince – friends who welcomed us along the way.
Sure ‘nuf, we are back in Seattle three days early. “Orbit” is the word i am finding in my heart. I am at the close end of an elipse now, about to travel back out to the far end of it. Regardless of where i am, this community is a point of belonging from and to which i orbit. From this there’s a new sense of security i am finding and am glad for. Thank you. (I am also finding my head turned by many pretty women here. Were there always so many in Seattle?)
I'll be back in Mexico in a few days? After a stop in Ixtapa, i'll be aiming for Costa Rica as soon as possible, weather permitting, to get south of hurricane season. It will be my longest leg alone so far. I'm glad my "gas tank" is full to draw from for it.
While i’ve been in Seattle i’ve been busy. Mostly socializing my ass off. And being god’s own consumer. Sheesh! Am sure i’ve gained weight. And i’ve beefed up safety gear for Akimbo. That this yacht delivery to Juneau comes after a few weeks of visiting seems wise. It takes me away from my community in steps rather than all at once.
And it gives me a memory to make with Tyler: We spent our first night at anchor 80 miles out, in Genoa Bay, Canada. As soon as we got there Tyler remarked on the taste and feel of the air. It was well worth remarking upon. This was quintessential Northwest surrounded-by-dense-evergreens air. It felt like pure oxygen that we could take more deeply into our lungs and absorb thru our skin. After all, here we were densely surrounded by oxygen making “beings.” The air left us feeling a little giddy and rather like a sponge for it. The next day we made 112 miles while watching snow fall on the mountains of Vancouver Island. As forecast, the wind and waves came up. They were big enuf to require steering by hand rather than leaving it all to the autopilot. We appreciated the shelter the Gulf Islands gave us from the Georgia Straits, squeezed thru Dodd Narrows while its currents were fairly calm, and lost half our speed over the last mile on the approach to an anchorage near infamous Seymour Narrows.
A dawn start the next day gave us the timing we needed against the current. As this trip goes on i can’t help wanting to come back to it someday, even if it IS cold here, and despite never having felt called here in the first place. We’ve seen whales, porpoise, seals, sea lions, otters and lots of eagles.
Glaciers and icebergs and…i’m not complaining but i’m not convinced there are any bears in Alaska. If there have been any aurora, it’s not their fault that i haven’t seen them – i go to bed late (11:00ish), but not late enuf that the sky hasn’t still got some light in it. This IS magnificent country! The channels and passages are labyrinthine. With so much shelter from the weather and the ocean swell, it would be great fun to get lost exploring this place in a small fast boat. Say, aluminum for beaching, and outboard motor for any shallows, with a small cuddy cabin.
“Come back to” places include Fancy Cove in Lama Passage, Clothes Bay in Tolmie Passage, Baker Inlet in Grenville Passage, and maybe circumnavigate Baranof Island…but there are too many to count. We have been graced with very good weather, so we may arrive in Juneau a few days ahead of schedule.
Jim has been a gracious boat owner. He makes appreciative sounds of the fare we serve. And he has accommodated our points of interest – Alert Bay, Meyers Chuck and Wrangell. Thank you Lindsay and Eric and Vince – friends who welcomed us along the way.
Sure ‘nuf, we are back in Seattle three days early. “Orbit” is the word i am finding in my heart. I am at the close end of an elipse now, about to travel back out to the far end of it. Regardless of where i am, this community is a point of belonging from and to which i orbit. From this there’s a new sense of security i am finding and am glad for. Thank you. (I am also finding my head turned by many pretty women here. Were there always so many in Seattle?)
I'll be back in Mexico in a few days? After a stop in Ixtapa, i'll be aiming for Costa Rica as soon as possible, weather permitting, to get south of hurricane season. It will be my longest leg alone so far. I'm glad my "gas tank" is full to draw from for it.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
While i'm gone...
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.
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.
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.
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