Pacific Crossing Day Five

Connie cooks a chicken

Chafe protection, that's our job now. We brought the genoa back down to inspect the new halyard. It was somewhat scrunched where it enters the mast up top. Looking through binoculars and using the digital camera we could get a look at the exit holes in the mast head. There looks like some irregular surfaces on the port side. We chose to use the starboard side extra halyard when we brought her back up. I'm glad we have all those spare halyards now.

If it squeeks, lube it. If it rubs, put some chafing gear there. If a line bounces across a shroud then rig it so it runs free. Yes we are on chafe protection patrol.

Last night the wind dropped again but somebody forgot to tell the seas so we had another bumpy night of it. You know how you feel when you've been to massage therapy and you got a more intense work out than you expected. That's how I feel now. This ocean has been working on my back and shoulders and arms while I lie in bed. How handy! I get rolled this way and rolled that.

We are all feeling better now, getting used to the sleeping shifts and realizing that there are just some things you do not do when it gets rough. I'm sure that all three of us are losing weight - we rarely eat a big meal, just grabbing something quick. Thank goodness we are well stocked with cookies and peanuts. Fresh veggies are just about gone but we have root vegetables that require more cooking.

Just to feel better, I cleaned myself up and shaved on day five. Scott Tobiason did laundry. Connie played music. So we are slowly getting life back as we know it. But it's a weird schedule to live.


The wind is slowly moving aft. Beam reach most of the day. Mornings are calmer, afternoons not so much. Night time is bumpy til late. Last night the sails were flapping so bad that our only recourse was to fire up the engine and power through the waves. When the boat is moving forward at 6 knots the keel keeps her steady. We had the added plus of getting a good charge on the batteries.

We've had some communications from some of you and that's really nice to read. Feel free to use the tracking service to send a quick text. Or you can use this account. Just don't send any pictures and strip all unnecessary stuff out, such as my email text here.

Oh yes, we are looking for crew for the return portion of the trip. Leave HI end of June, arrive in the pacific NW 20 something days later.

Feeling groovy.

Scott Connie and Scott

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Pacific Crossing Day Four

Bumpy Bump we charge through the seas all afternoon and into the evening. I had the midnight shift coming up when I heard a yell from the cockpit, "Holy Cow" (or some similar words)"We got a problem here." Scott Tobiason was on watch and yelled for crew to come up. Connie woke from a deep sleep and stumbled out of the quarter berth. I tried in vain to put on my harness and shoes.

In my head I'm thinking that I should grab the life raft like we discussed. Connie would grab the ditch bag and the EPIRB. But then again, we didn't know what the nature of the emergency was.

Finally Connie and I arrived on deck to find we were not sinking. The emergency was that the big genoa sail was lying alongside the boat, streaming in the water. S.T. was at the bow greatly relieved that the sail was still attached by head, tack, and clew. The foresail halyard had parted!

Hand over hand we pulled the big sail onto the side deck, like the sailors of old, feet on the bulwarks, braced against the cabin top. Hand over hand she came in like a big wet fishing net until we got the whole wad secured. At the furler hung a two foot section of half inch line, its end shredded.

We rigged one of the two extra halyards to the head of the sail. I winched her up as S.T. fed the sheet feeder and Connie managed the flapping port side sheet. Soon we had the sail hoisted and sheeted tight. My comment to S.T.: "The next time you want to get creative calling me up for my shift, try something a little less serious."

Thankfully the seas had gone down so we didn't get tossed overboard during our sail retrieval process. I settled down in the cockpit for my shift while Scott and Connie hit the sack.

I slept solidly from 03:00 til 09:00 and woke slowly realizing that my body was crammed into the corner between the mattress and the wall and that all my muscles on my left side were sore. Tea helped, as did the sunny disposition of the other crew.

Three big things today: We are out of Mexico waters, so down came the Mexico flag in all its tattered glory. We are at the longitude of Los Angeles, so I reset the clocks to Pacific Standard Time. We had our fastest 24 hour run thus far at 144 nautical miles. It's good to get miles under the keel but to do so quickly you have to move fast. To move fast you have to have a stiff breeze. If there is a stiff breeze then there are big seas and you are uncomfortable. I started wishing for low mileage days.

I'm told that sometime this evening we will be a fifth of the way to Hawaii. That, at least, is comforting.

With overcast skies the solar production has been down. Last night we measured 12.3 volts on the battery bank. So just now I hoisted out the little Honda 2000 generator and got her cranked up so that we could punch a good charge into the bank. Then we ran around the plunging cabin finding everything we could to plug into the 120 volt sockets for charging. Get it while you can cause electricity ain't free! Quick, where's my electric toothbrush.

Scott, Connie, and Scott

Absolutely no AIS targets visible for the last 40 hours. We are alone in a big ocean.

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Pacific Crossing Day Three

After the noon sighting on day three the fisherman changed the lure on the big rod. A bird arrived and soared around the boat. Hmmm, something's up. Scott Tobiason looked out behind the boat and saw a Mahi Mahi jump once, jump twice. He yelled, "That Dorado is going to take the lure!" and zing, the line started stripping out. And so we had fresh fish for our afternoon treat. As the seas were somewhat down, we all felt a little refreshed, but life was still a little difficult, especially down below in the fun house. We are still doing our three hours on, six hours off shifts and are starting to get into a rhythm. But still we feel a little dumb as we stagger around. There is a point when the movement lessens where you can read but if the seas escalate you gotta just put the book down.

Scott Tobiason at the nav station

We've discovered water coming into the boat where is shouldn't. Leak number one is forward in a cabinet above the vee berth. It's the place where the bow light wiring comes through the bow pulpit. We stuffed a towel into the cabinet. Leak number two is on the port side in a cabinet above the settee, probably the main chain plate is the culprit. Leak number three is very slight but annoying. It's in the deck prism above the quarter berth. Connie taped a diaper over it and it's absorbing just fine. Someday when the decks dry I'll climb out there and caulk the hell out of those three places. In Hawaii, I'll re-bed those areas.

So not much new on this side. Still uncomfortable. Hungry. Sleepy.

We watch the AIS gizmo and see the big ships passing us by. Last night I called one of the ships to see if our new AIS signal was visible and the radio operator said he could see us just fine. That's nice to know.

This morning on my 6:00 to 9:00 shift the wind started building. By the time Connie came on at 9:00 we needed to reef the main. We did. I went below. Two hours later Connie yells down to me to come help. The wind and waves had increased and the Hydrovane self steering couldn't handle the weather helm so she was hand steering. I came up and helped get the boat under control by turning downwind, letting out the main, and rolling in the genoa. The seas built to 6 feet with the wind at about 15 knots. Scott Tobiason came up and we put in a second reef in the main and that seemed to calm things down. But here we are again, in big seas, too rough to cook anything. I'm holding down the laptop as I type.

Wish you were here.

Scott, Connie, and Scott.

Oh, I almost forgot. Nautical miles run on day three = 127.

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Pacific Crossing Day Two

Bleary eyed we settled down into our daylight portion of the day, spending the time napping and snacking. The motion of the boat eased during the day but still, to go down below was to risk entering "the fun house." Here in the fun house, up is sometimes down and gravity varies from moment to moment. I watched Scott T. doing a good job standing down below in the cabin, his body at 20 degrees to the floor, his arms pin-wheeling around to keep balance. We stagger and we leap going from one end of the cabin to the other.

I'm wondering if Stan Huntingford, the designer of this boat, designed Traveler for passage making to Hawaii. Her galley is on the port side, as is her master berth. With a northwest, north, or northeast wind she will lean to the port all the way to Hawaii. Being on the low side, the galley is much easier to work in than if it was on the starboard side. As it is, you just fall into the galley instead of having to climb uphill to get there. Same thing for the master berth. Just fall into the stateroom and you are suddenly in bed! And thank you Stan, for giving us all those wonderful hand holds, nice fat solid things. I find myself being projected through the air and as I flail out with my arms inevitably I come in contact with one of those beefy marvels and it saves my noggin from crashing into the bulkhead.

Down below, the farther you go forward, the more fun-house effect you get. In the back stateroom or companionway, you get a heave and sometimes a twist. In the galley, you are more over the center of gravity of the boat so the motion is less. On the settee if you lay head to the stern you can feel your feet launching themselves into the air more than your brain. Scott Tobiason sleeps in the settee and so far he has not fallen up into the air and off the bunk. Forward in the fun house is the little tiny room where you poop against gravity. You might be able to hold yourself parallel to the earth's core by using your thigh and calf muscles but that porcelain bowl is gyrating madly. Make sure your aim is good, get-er-done, as they say, and get out of that hell house as soon as you can. As for the Vee berth... don't go there. It is wild in there. Up, down, sideways, twist, triple sal chow, toe loop, camel spin.

We are settling in, all proud of ourselves, when we hear the zinggggggg. Fish on! S.T. pulls in a wonderful looking yellow fin tuna. So beautiful. So elegant. She's about 4 pounds and provides us with a nice meal. Connie makes sushi rice to go with the tuna and it is a feast. What did we do? Was that an actual meal? Thus far we'd just grabbed whatever was handy to stuff in our mouths. Now we have a plate with two things on it. Now that's living!

I'm going on 2.5 hours sleep at this point and the crew notices that I'm not thinking too clearly so they hijack my shift and order me to bed. The wind and waves have abated somewhat so that when I fall downhill into the master cabin berth I cover myself in pillows and drop heavily off to sleep - my first deep sleep is wonderful. That night the stars are out, the planets align and we all (on our various 3 hour shifts) enjoy the IPOD and music as Traveler grinds through the night.

We decided to use noon as the start and end of each day's reckoning. We call it taking the noon sight, kinda like they do in Master and Commander. But we have not yet hauled out the sextant. Still, at noon, we take a reckoning, have a mini-meeting, and declare how far we have come and how far we have to go.

We mark the miles run, S.T. puts out the fishing lines, and we watch the four foot wind waves crash over the bow. We are not getting much done outside of clicking off the miles but that's ok. I'm just happy that my mind is starting to function and that the boat is holding together.

Scott and Connie and Scott, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

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Pacific Crossing Day One

One year delay with busted fuel tanks, ten days delay with an autopilot replacement part, and many provisioning trips later the crew of S/V Traveler is actually out to sea on the way to Hawaii. 129 miles WSW of Cabo San Lucas, we've been traveling 27 hours, and still, nothing is broken. Can it be true?

I'll catch you up in a moment but first I want to explain what I hope to do with this log. I've read countless logs from boaters crossing the Pacific. It seems that the overshadowing interest is always miles traveled and miles to go. Many logs also start with current position (latitude and longitude) From salty sailors, we hear about sea state, weather, and sail changes.... ad nauseum. Others talk about books being read, movies being watched, food consumed. Boring.

Here in this blog we might mention some of the above items but mostly I'd like to describe what it is actually like to imprison yourself in a small floating vessel for three or four weeks. What is the toll on your body and how does life change as you struggle to get your rhythm? I've rarely enjoyed overnight or multiple night passages as my sleep cycle gets disrupted and I become stupid and irritable. Everyone says, though, that on a long trip you get used to keeping strange hours. Well, we shall see now, won't we, cause I have no other options at this point other than doping myself up and making my crew do all the watch shifts.

Leaving Cabo San Lucas - Land's End

To catch you up: On the eighth of May we left San Jose del Cabo and headed to Hawaii. All provisioned up and ready to go, we scooted towards Land's End. I engaged the autopilot, the same autopilot that handily drove us across the Sea of Cortez a week before. Within minutes the boat took a hard right. The autopilot driving arm had retracted and refused to steer the boat. Three or four circles later we disengaged, put our tails between our legs, and hand steered back to the marina at San Jose del Cabo.

After a long distance phone call to Chris at Alpha Marine on Mercer Island and some measuring with an ohm meter, and we concluded that a new drive unit was required. Karen Tobiason wired the money to Alpha and Fed Ex (I always think of Tom Hanks) started the wheels and jet engines in play to deliver the part here to the tip of Baja Mexico. Countless annoying delays and huge sums of money later we had the new drive unit in hand. After Scott Tobiason and I tried to install the power backwards, Chris got us straightened out and a mere ten days later we were back in business, all the fresh fruits and veggies spoiled necessitating more provisioning trips to the grocery store.

Wednesday afternoon after battening everything down we headed out and around Land's End. We had one reef in the main and a partial jib rolled out. In the distance we could see a definite line between normal white capping wind waves and a full herd of raging buffalo. Across the distance these buffalo roared south, a never ending field of white frothy boulders. A mile out we felt the full brunt of that northerly rushing down the outside of the Baja peninsula. Seas to 8 feet, spaced seconds apart! Wind gusting to 20 knots! Wow, we should have double reefed and had the smaller staysail deployed. Should we do this amidst this frothing, leaping, crazy herd of buffalo or just tuck back in behind Land's End where the seas are calm and the tourists are zooming around on jet skis and lounging on party boats? We chose to head back and once there in the calm of the late afternoon our thoughts turned to cold drinks, a nice dinner, and the wisdom of waiting for the calmer seas and lighter winds of tomorrow for a more civilized departure. A few hours later we were in a cantina in Cabo San Lucas with a Mexican band serenading us and Scott and Connie dancing like Latin lovers.

Thursday, we were even more prepared. This time MORE than everything was ready, if that's possible. We double reefed the main and pulled up the little staysail. Out ahead we saw the buffalo, baby buffalo. The 8 foot seas had shrunk to 4 foot seas and the wind was steady at 15 knots. Now this is much better!

The wind and waves were coming straight out of the west so we had to crack off a little to the south to make any headway. Traveling close hauled like this, we bashed into the seas as they steadily grew in height. By late afternoon we felt like we were in a washing machine, holding on for dear life and being careful not to hurt ourselves. Going down below, even just for a few minutes, made us turn green. Soon, Connie and I were huddled together in the cockpit staring at the horizon, trying not to hurl our breakfast. Scott Tobiason busied himself with fishing gear and tiding up lines, acting as if this was like a stroll in the park. Later, he admitted that he also struggled to keep it together.

Connie was hot, Connie felt dizzy, Connie felt weak, Connie went below to lie down to see if that would help. Nope. A minute later she was rushing up the companionway. "Out of my way, I'm going to be sick!" After puking up her breakfast she gave us the briefest of smiles, said she felt better, then retired below, bracing herself against the violent motion of the boat by carefully placing all the pillows around her on the lee side of the master bunk.

I sat and stared at the horizon and tried to make small talk with S.T. hoping I could keep my breakfast down. Eventually, after hours of dry mouth, swallowing saliva, and a vagueness in my head, I was able to forget for a few moments at a time that my body was miserable. S.T. took the first 3 hour shift while I laid down, sleepless on the settee. I took the next 3 hour shift in the dark, hanging on for dear life while bracing myself in the cockpit. The boat was leaping about, crashing into waves, and shuddering with the effort. We did have wind, though, and that enabled us to push through most of the waves, the sails giving us a steadying effect. Through this time we had to adjust sails, letting them out, bringing them in, moving the traveler, moving the jib sheet turning block, adjusting the autopilot. Never a dull moment.

I ate a cookie. At midnight, Connie reappeared and volunteered to take a shift. She ate a cracker. While Connie did her shift, I laid in bed, wedged into the lee side, not sleeping. The wind dropped and the sails clattered but the rough leftover seas remained. S.T. got up for his 03:00 shift, looked around and immediately put more sail on Traveler, shaking the last reef out of the main and rolling the Genoa out completely. Suddenly the wind came back up and we took off like a race horse, creaming through the bumpy seas. With the steading effect of the sails she marched into the night her motion eased somewhat.

By noon the following day we'd covered 127 nautical miles, eaten next to nothing, and felt the fatigue that comes with rough passage making. The wind held steady and yes, Yes! the seas seemed to be going down. I knew everything was going to be alright when I heard Connie down below singing and playing the ukulele.

You can follow our progress by using the link mentioned in the header of this blog.

Peace out. Scott, Connie, and Scott

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Out and Back

Delorme Tracker 

You might have figured out that we are not at sea right now.  We went out.  Then we came back. Halfway to Cabo San Lucas I turned on the heavy duty Alpha 4404 autopilot, the same one we used for 24 hours straight a week ago when we crossed the Sea of Cortez.  It performed well for about 15 minutes then it suddenly turned the boat hard to starboard.  No amount of fussing with it could convince it to steer straight.  We went around in circles for an hour while dismantling the cockpit lockers and diving down under to inspect everything.  Eventually we bit the bullet and headed back to the marina at San Jose del Cabo.

Chris, at Alpha on Mercer Island, walked us through some troubleshooting steps and it was determined that we needed to replace the drive unit which is 27 years old.  And so we wait at the dock for Federal Express to deliver the new drive.  Shouldn't be long now, a couple of days perhaps.  I swear on a stack of chocolate chip cookies (very dear to me) that we WILL escape this coast and we WILL sail our dear Traveler across an ocean. 

Don't be disappointed in us.  Don't lose faith.  Join us in spirit tonight as we grill fresh Marlin on the back deck and watch the orange sunset reflecting on the huge powerboats here in the marina.

Follow us across the Pacific

We are cleared by customs, cleared by the port captain, and only have to get clearance from Connie who will decide if we have enough provisions to make our 22 to 30 day transit.

Our friend Scott Tobiason is aboard and has brought a tracking device.  Once we have departed, on Sunday, you can track us here: https://share.delorme.com/ScottTobiason

The checkout here in San Jose del Cabo actually went pretty well.  When we reserved our slip here at Puerto Los Cabos they said we could clear the country from here and that they would help us.  The detail they didn't mention is that it would cost us $250 USD.  "Can't we just do it ourselves?"  "Sure, but you won't save much money."  Not true.

Urbano Bus from marina to San Jose del Cabo:  12 pesos each
Subur Bus from SJdC to Cabo San Lucas:  30 pesos each
Walk two blocks to Immigration.
Wait for the man, talk to the man, joke with the man, get our clearance paper stamped.  No charge.
Walk across the street.
Catch the Subur Bus from CSL to CJdC.
Walk to the Port Captain.
Walk two block to the bank to pay 350 pesos fee.
Return to Port Captain.  Stamp, Stamp, Copy, Stamp, shake hands.
We have our Zarpe!
Celebrate at local cantina with fish tacos and beer.
Urbano bus from Port Captain back to marina.

Total cost   476 pesos  or $26 USD
Or $42 USD if you count the tacos and beer.

Crossing the Sea of Cortez May 2016

I'm sending this blog entry via email to test our ability to submit entries via the single sideband radio. Once we start our Pacific crossing, I'll be sending blog entries, text only, on occasion while we are at sea.

Note the yellow flag, was red the day before.  This picture added later when we had internet access.

Monday morning I paid for our extra night at the dock and we said our farewells. We eased Traveler out of the slip and slowly motored through the narrow canal towards the harbor entrance. Passing El Cid, we saw the yellow flag on its staff. The Port Captain had the breakwater entrance open. The dredge had moved into the center of the channel so we squeezed by it slowly and carefully. Connie was on the bow for a better perspective. The operator on the dredge motioned to her that we should veer to starboard as it is quite shallow on the port side of the dog-leg channel. We turned sharply across the channel to position ourselves to run the entrance. I could now see the rollers coming in, still quite high.


We got her lined up and increased the throttle just as one of the rollers broke just 50 feet ahead of us. We've got breaking seas again.!

Doesn't look like much here but it was quite rough getting out past the breakwater entrance.

Traveler punched her way through a four foot swell. The next swell was a breaking wave that broke over her foredeck, cascading water down both side decks. Connie hung on to the shrouds and got her feet soaked as Traveler muscled her way out through the entrance. Depth gage down to 12 ft then up to 15 and 20 and we were in the big blue. I peeled my hands off the wheel and set the autopilot to head us north.

Wind from the west.

After looking at the various wind prediction models on the internet I decided we needed to get some "northing" as the wind was coming directly from the west. A few hours later we raised both sails and took off on a starboard tack heading roughly southwest, beating as high as we could get. Soon we crossed the rhumb line course I'd set from Mazatlan to San Jose del Cabo. The seas were quite choppy with multiple wave trains coming from northwest and south. Four hours later we tacked north again and held that close hauled course for another four hours, crossing our rhumb line once again. I sure hoped the wind would veer. Tacking our way all the way to Cabo would cost us an extra day.


The next time we tacked we made better westing as the wind was starting to clock around more to the northwest, but still we were loosing latitude. We continued on into the night through lumpy seas. Sleep was difficult, illusive. At 04:00 AM the wind dropped completely but not the seas so we motored northwest to try to get back on our rhumb line. Later that morning the anticipated northwest wind came up and now halfway across the Sea of Cortez we finally were able to sail in the direction we wanted. The further west we got, the easier the seas became until we were able to get some uninterrupted sleep. When the seas are rough you might catch a few minutes of sleep but when the boat crashes into a wave or falls off a wave it wakes you up. By this second day we were both pretty sleep deprived. Swapping naps, we sailed west, sighting land just before sunset. Off to our northwest we could just make out Cabo Los Frailes in the setting sun.

You can see how the wind finally veered to the northwest.

We sailed through the night, taking shifts: Connie, sundown to 21:00; Scott, 21:00 to 24:00; Connie, midnight to 04:00; Scott 04:00 to landfall at 09:00. On Connie's first shift we had to roll in the genoa and hot-foot it out of the way of a big cruise ship bearing down on us.


Morning found us approaching the breakwater off the marina entrance in San Jose del Cabo. The crossing took us just about 48 hours. Long naps ensued.

This is the wind prediction off the cape for Saturday when we plan on making our exit.

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Red flag, yellow flag

Stuck:  Not with any kind of gear problems, or mental issues.  The port captain has closed the entry to navigation because of big swells coming in.  If you google Marina Mazatlan you can see the dog leg entrance to the lagoon here.  They dredge the channel on a regular basis to keep the depth.  However in periods of big swell there can be breaking waves at the entrance.  Hence the red flag is flying. The port is closed.  But we came in anyway.

Saturday as we sailed by old Mazatlan we could see and feel large period swells coming into the beach.  Wow! That's a big one.  Yahoo...

Nearing the breakwater I tried hailing Fonatur marina.  No answer.  Marina Maz, no answer.  Fuel dock, no answer.  I then got out the cell phone and called Marina El Cid which is right there at the entrance.  I got a gal on the phone and asked her if it was safe to come in.  She said, "Wait a minute"........(asked someone) then said, " Come on in.  The dredge is not in the way."  So I took that for meaning that the port was open. 

We approached and occasionally it appeared that waves were breaking but maybe it was a side eddy or something so I kept on coming in.  I tried to space my entry in a lull then went to full power on the back of a swell.  I then saw the entire entrance break!  I came in just after it with sphincter tight.  She roared through the gap, settled into a trough and the boat went bump.  Just a little bump.  Connie and I looked at each other mouthing "oh shit".  And we were in.  Safe.  Then passing the marina fuel dock I could see where the port captain had his red flag flying.

We chose a slip and had a nice evening.  The dock manager said we might be able to leave Sunday at 11:00.  At 11:00 the red flag was still flying and the dock manager said we could not leave.  We could be fined.  That's OK.  I don't want my boat flung into the rocks by breaking seas.  So we were here another day.

It is a glorious Monday morning and the flag is now Yellow!  What a nice color.  We leave here in 20 minutes headed for San Jose del Cabo to pick up Scott Tobiason and to do some last minute provisioning and to check out of the country.   Hawaii bound, let's hope.

Ready to do another tow?

While anchored in the lagoon off the idyllic town of Barra de Navidad we listened to the morning radio net while waiting for the French baker to arrive with our fresh baked baguette and two croissants, plain for me and almond for Connie. No kidding.  There is a French baker who loads his little panga up with fresh baked goods and drives from boat to boat doing business.

As the days go by and the cruising season near its end north bound cruising boats leave and soon there is a need for more net controllers to run the morning radio net.  I volunteered and had a couple of fun mornings joking around on the VHF radio asking for arrivals and departures and general boat check-ins. 

Airborne

In the midst of this activity the vessel Elegant Sea passed on to the net news that there was a boat by the name of Airborne stuck in Bahia Chamela, 38 miles north of Barra.  Airborne's friends on the sailing vessel Interlude had called Elegant Sea on the cell phone with the news that Hal and Kathy on Airborne were sitting tight, looking for a tow as they had no means of propulsion other than their sails.  They needed to get north around Cabo Corrientes, having failed to do so in six days of sailing back and forth, back and forth.  As a catamaran, their upwind sailing capability was no match for the two knot current and 12 knot wind on the nose that is the normal sea state at the notorious cape.

We'd met Hal and Kathy in the dirt yard in Guaymas where Traveler gets hauled out for the summer.  They'd arranged a birthday party for Connie and threw other holiday parties there in the yard on the concrete pad under their catamaran on blocks.  I remembered that their 70's era catamaran was heavy built for a two hulled boat and had an interesting method of propulsion: one engine powering two separate outdrives via hydraulic hoses.  It turns out that one or more of the hydraulic connections had busted loose and all the fluid leaked out into the hulls.  Such was the location of the drives that the boat would have to be pulled out of the water to do the repair. The nearest yard to Bahia Chamela is in Banderas Bay, 50 miles north and east of the cape.  Actually they were hoping to make it further north, to San Blas, where the haul out is cheaper.

Rick and Brenda

Our old buddies Rick and Brenda on the sailing vessel Dad's Dreams had finally caught up with us up in Tenacatita and were with us in Barra where we went on provisioning trips together and sneaked into the Grand Hotel pools.  With a career in the fire department, Rick was used to rescuing folks in need.  When he heard about the stranded Airborne, even though he didn't know the crew, he immediately got word to Hal and Kathy that he'd be coming their way and could provide assistance.  As we were buddy boating with Dad's Dreams, we would come along as well. 

And so we left our lovely lagoon in Barra and made the rough and tumble run around the corner to Tenactita where we waited out four days of northers, relaxing in a bocce ball playing, beach walking, and palapa beer drinking lifestyle before making the daybreak run 30 miles up the coast to Bahia Chamela and the little town of Perula where we found Hal and Kathy waving from the back deck of the stricken vessel Airborne.

A short weather window opened up three days later.  Hal assembled a 200 foot long tow rope with a hefty yoke and Rick and I took it to both of our boats, in turn, making sure it would fit our rear cleats.  I removed my Hydrovane rudder to avoid catching it under the yoke.  We decided that Traveler would take the first leg of the tow and that Dad's Dream would take over once we got halfway at Punta Ipala, a little fishing town tucked in just south of the dreaded Cabo Corrientes.  Because Hal and Kathy would be hand steering the whole way, we decided it would be prudent to break up the 85 mile journey with an overnight in Ipala so they could get some rest and also because Hal said he'd treat us to dinner there at the seafood restaurant ashore.

Thursday, as the wind started to drop, we took down the shade canopy, strapped the dinghy down on the foredeck, and stowed everything carefully away in preparation for rough seas.  At the appointed hour, 07:30 Friday morning we sided up next to Airborne and tossed them the tow rope.  Kathy hand cranked their anchor up and out of the sandy bottom and we were on our way.

At first, Traveler groaned as she took the tow but when she got her momentum going we were able to maintain four knots at an engine speed of 2000 RPMs. Dad's Dream cruised beside us as escort.  As the day progressed, we passed Roca Negra on our starboard side and the flat seas turned lumpy as the wind came up from the northwest.  Traveler, being pretty heavy, just plowed through the seas.  Airborne, being pretty light, bounced up and down, launching off the crests of waves giving Hal and Kathy a rough ride for the rest of the day.  In the late afternoon Rick let loose the reins on Dad's Dream and surged ahead into Ipala to get ready for our entrance. 

Traveler and Airborne arrived to the little bay as Rick came out in his dinghy to tell us that the restaurant was staying open for us and they'd send a panga taxi for us so we would not have to put our little boats in the water.  After anchoring, I tossed the tow rope to Rick who took it over to Dad's Dream to get her ready for the next morning.

Beer keg as air tank

 
Our water taxi guy, Fernando, came alongside in his panga as Connie and I frantically turned on anchor lights and grabbed our things for an outing ashore.  Fernando had some simple snorkel gear aboard consisting of a rusty compressor, a rebar anchor, and some lengths of yellowing air hose running to an aluminum half keg once used for beer and now used for compressed air. 

With the six of us aboard, Fernando nosed into the old cobble paved jetty.  Two young boys came running down, perhaps aged five and nine, the younger boy letting us know that he hurt his foot and the older boy taking command by holding the panga to the wharf so we could disembark safely.  Stepping to land for the first time in two days the surface felt wobbly to my land sick legs.  We had to step over a four foot long needle fish lying dead on the cobble.  As Fernando backed the panga away, our group of six stumbled drunkenly up the wet cobblestones to Restaurante Cande.

We passed through the main seating area inside the open air palapa restaurant and continued onto the veranda overlooking the little harbor with our three sailboats floating at anchor.  A pretty young woman (let's call her Ms Cande although she certainly was not the owner) gave us menus and got our drink order.  We were the only customers in the place.  We ordered our seafood and drank our drinks while basking in our day's activities, proud of our journey and happy at our luck at making it into this snug little harbor.

Ipala

 I could hear someone in the kitchen chipping away at the oyster shells for my fried oyster plate.  Our drinks were long gone by the time the Dorado, shrimp, and oyster dinners arrived.  We dove into the grub with gusto.  What fresh flavors! What a wonderful view! What a feeling of contentment... and safety.  "Senorita, more drinks por favor."  That's when Kathy pulled out two envelopes she'd brought with her.  Thanking us for helping out with the tow she gave each couple an envelope containing way, way to many pesos!  Of course we tried to refuse but Kathy is all persuasive and takes no guff off of anyone, truly a woman to be reckoned with. 

Young Ms Cande ignored our group, staring at her iPhone as she sat behind her counter.  She didn't offer more drinks, or dessert.  She was ready to go home.  Fernando reappeared, came over, pulled out a chair, and sat next to our table, a visible hint that it was getting late and he was ready to go home also.  I went to find Ms Cande for the bill and she started writing it out.  In the U.S. that bill would already be ready and be lying on the table.  In Mexico, the bill is not compiled until you ask for it.  I quickly found out that not only had Kathy somehow already arranged for Fernando's taxi services but she picked up the entire dinner tab too. 

Stumbling back to the quay our little boat boy who must have been waiting for us ran ahead to the beach landing.  Big Fernando hopped into a little kayak and paddled out to the panga, returning within minutes.  Little Fernando steadied the boat, helped the ladies aboard, then hopped aboard refusing our steadying help.  Cleary his duties as boat boy were taken seriously. 

I asked Kathy if we could get the taxi fare and she told us she had already "negotiated" everything and nothing more was due.  "No Mas!"   Clever Fernando got Kathy and Hal off the panga first then went to Traveler to drop us next.  He looked up at me and said, "Propina?"  He wanted a tip, and now that Kathy the negotiator was gone he felt his position stronger.  I passed a 40 peso propina to little Fernando who looked at it disparagingly and handed it over without comment to big Fernando.  The same sequence happened on board Dad's Dreams as Fernando tried to boost his profits.  Soon everyone was fast asleep on their respective boats.

07:00 found us all rummaging around for tea or coffee and soon Rick brought over his dinghy for me to tow so he'd have no interference from the tow rope on his boat.  Normally he'd have his dinghy up on the rear davits.  As the sun rose, Dad's Dream took Airborne on tow and Traveler followed everyone out of the bay and into the glass slick water towards the notorious Cabo Corrientes.

 Just like the previous day, just after dawn the wind was slight and the water was smooth.  As the cape approached, the sea state became more jumbled and the wind came right around on the nose.  The tow boat and the towed boat slowed to 3 knots with Traveler just idling alongside.  Eventually we cleared the cape, the wind veered to the west, sails filled and off we went, charging over the waves at five or six knots.  With the addition of wind on the sails Dad's Dreams had plenty of punch to keep everything very "rapido."  Near the Tres Mariettas Islands we killed the engine on Traveler and let the sails do all the work falling a little behind the other two boats.  I got hailed on the VHF by the sailing vessel Anjuli who was a day ahead of us and while I was down below talking on the radio I heard Connie yell, "Fish On!"

On deck the rod was bending and the reel were screaming as line stripped off quickly.  Connie got it stopped and we started trying to reel it in.  No dice.  So we turned up wind to luff the sails to slow down the boat.  I was able to get the fish in a little bit then he dove under the dinghy and tried to wrap the line around that.  I'm yelling at the fish.  Connie thinks I'm yelling at her.  She starts yelling back.  I appologize, still yelling, of course.  Once Connie gets the dinghy out of the way the fish dives again and wraps the line around the rudder.

That's it. We got problems. We "heave to" but the full Genoa and main keep the boat going forward still at about two knots.  I climb onto the wind vane steering gear to see if I can use a pole to free the line from the rudder but that's a non-starter. She's too deep.

We need to put someone in the water to get that line off the rudder and by "we" I mean Connie.  Gotta roll in the slapping Genoa.  Drop the main.. all over the deck with the boom crashing back and forth.  Secure the boom. Connie gets out the mask and snorkel and plunges into the cold blue water.  The boat is sideways to the waves now and is rolling violently.  Connie pops back up with the thumbs up signal. I bring the fishing pole around and be dogged gone, we still got a fish on!

Fifteen minutes later we haul in a 25 pound crevalle jack.  He's tired. I'm tired.  Connie gaffs him and we get a picture before dumping him back into the ocean.  Crevalle jack is not a good tasting fish so of course, that's the fish we catch out here.  Meanwhile Dad's Dream and Airborne approach the anchorage at Punta de Mita.  They let go the tow, drop anchor and crack open the celebratory beers.  Traveler arrives and we all dinghy over to the sailing vessel Capriccio for dinner and drinks.  We are hailed as heroes, given presents, and our names are lauded to the heavens.

The next morning on the VHF radio net we hear about a boat that broke loose in the night and is washing up on the shore.  I call up Rick on the radio, "Hey buddy.  Ready to do another tow?"