Season 2 Cliff Notes

[I have an assortment of great excuses for why this is my first blog entry since we started cruising on December 27th, but I’ll spare you from them. Let’s just get caught up on what’s happened this season, really quickly.]

The big decision: Going back North to the Sea of Cortez.

After spending the Summer discussing the pros and cons of going in either direction, we decided to head back to Baja rather than cruising farther South into Central America. Courtney and I lamented not exploring the “Sea” more than we did. It’s one of the greatest cruising destinations on the face of the earth, so why leave it behind so prematurely?

We’re going back to Baja!

We also felt another season in Mexico meshed better with other possible future cruising goals. At this point we’re definitely leaning more toward crossing the Pacific Ocean,  rather than crossing the Panama canal and exploring the Caribbean. Mexico is a far better location to “Puddle Jump” from, than Panama or anywhere down South, in our opinion.

We’re also not in a hurry to go anywhere. We’ve fallen in love with cruising. The goal is to make it into a sustainable lifestyle rather than one big vacation that just ends one day. In our travels so far we’ve been inspired by people who’ve been seasonally cruising in Mexico for decades.

[A shout out to Becca and John from S/V Halcyon and Josh and Rachel from S/V Agape. Sailing in the same direction as you guys was definite “pro” to going south. We miss you guys. I’m sure we’ll catch up with you again. In the South Pacific maybe?]

Jungle Sailboat Refresh.

Grace was a sad sight when we returned to her in Huatulco, Oaxaca. Though she’d been watched over faithfully, she was nowhere near ready for an 800 mile push North to Puerto Vallarta, which would be our first major Marina stop before continuing North to La Paz. Grace needed a number of rigging repairs, engine servicing, and LOTS of general cleaning before going anywhere. The sun and humidity definitely had their way with Grace, so we spent a month working on her. We also enjoyed Christmas in Bahias de Huatulco. What a wonderful place.

Someone in this photo needs SPF 50, fast.

The Push North

The first few hundred miles from Huatulco to Barra Navidad were very different this year. Last year, when we cruised south, the coast was being battered by large waves coming from the South. This year, earlier in the season, those waves were nonexistent. The seas were calmer, and the beaches were mellower.

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.

Laguna Chacahua. Go there. I mean, don’t go there.

On the charts it looked idea. So why hadn’t any cruisers we met heard of it? Why didn’t the cruising guides say anything about it? It looked awesome from above—a large bay with a massive lagoon behind, and I mean massive. This lagoon was probably 20 times the size of the Lagoon at Barra Navidad.  Let’s go there!

Laguna Chacahua had fish, but we didn’t catch any.

So we dropped anchor in this massive, majestic bay, all by ourselves with no other cruisers in sight. We inflated the dinghy shortly thereafter to explore the beach and lagoon. Turns out, Chacahua is absolutely magical. The beach is dotted with palapas, no hotels anywhere. The clientele are mostly young bohemians from Guadalajara and Mexico City. Visitors rent palapas and pitch tents underneath them. The only way to reach this place is by bus and by boat across the lagoon. That’s how it remains unspoiled.

The mouth of the lagoon.

The monstrous lagoon has a large breakwater that seemed as if it was part of a bigger unfinished plan for a marina or a port (common in Mexico). In a small, or shallow-draft vessel, this lagoon is totally doable. In a catamaran, you’d be a fool to not go in there. Just do it during a slack tide. The tidal current going in and out is very swift. We took the dinghy in and went back a few miles, until my “we’re fucked if we break down here” internal alarm went off.

Later, we’d explore the lagoon and mangroves farther via a rented panga. In it, we saw massive mangroves like these. See how small Courtney looks in there?

Grande Mangroves.

We spent our last night (New Year’s Eve) watching hippy-dippy Mexican millennials set off fireworks and fire-dance on the beach.

The Other 800 Miles

It was fun to revisit places we’d visited before (Zihuatanejo), and discover new spots (Ipala and La Manzanilla) as we slowly worked our way to La Cruz, a marina and small town in the North side of Banderas Bay, just outside of Puerto Vallarta.  No major mishaps along the way other than the theft of my two favorite fishing rods inside the “secure” marina at Isla Navidad, in Barra Navidad.

Me, before my fishing rods were stolen.

We met some very cool new peeps along way—S/V Salt, S/V Untangled, S/V Small World, and S/V Tioga, to name a few—and wished they were all heading North like we are, but they, like most cruisers this time of year, are heading south.

Boat Projects, and TSA Woes

Grace received a much-needed haul out and bottom paint job at La Cruz. She also had her teak decks spiffed up with caulking repairs and stain. Additionally, she had her B&G wind/depth instruments upgraded, and had her batteries swapped for fresh ones.  At this time, I flew back to LA for a brief visit to pick up a number of items you can’t get in Mexico, including a new watermaker (our old one quit), new semi-flexible solar panels (also quit), and two bags of Brodie’s special dog food.

Seems like a pretty straighforward mission, right? Not so fast. Right before I boarded the plane to go back to La Cruz, I was called to the airline counter, where a flight attendant informed me the TSA had seized one of my bags because it contained something they weren’t comfortable with—my new watermaker. So I convinced the airline to change my flight to the following day so I could hopefully convince the TSA that my Spectra watermaker wasn’t a bomb, and let me fly with it.

Make fresh water, not war.

May I speak to your supervisor?

After a long talk with the humorless TSA “supervisor” a shakey deal was reached—I would disassemble the three sealed cylinders of my watermaker so that TSA agents could peer inside them and verify the contents, and my watermaker would be cleared to fly. [Understandably, TSA agents don’t like cylindrical objects they can’t see inside.] I was specific as specific can be with the agent about what would be done, noting several times that I would not disassemble anything mechanical, just the cylinders, and the TSA supervisor agreed, but her extremely unfriendly nature had me worried.

My worries proved their merit the next day when the TSA “supervisor” inexplicably reneged on our agreement.  She wanted me to disassemble the part of the watermaker we agreed I would not disassemble just one day prior. WTF. Thanks to my google-saavy friend Lee Nelson, I discovered that I had the right to speak to her boss, the “TSM” about the matter. “TSM” shows up, realizing the OBVIOUS—that I wasn’t a terrorist, and that my watermaker wasn’t a bomb. So the TSM cleared my watermaker to fly. Sigh.

That TSA agent wasn’t doing her part to make the world safer, she was using her authority to make my life tougher. It was nothing other than an abuse of power for kicks. She enjoyed every minute of fucking my life up. It was obvious I wasn’t a terrorist or carrying contraband of any kind. I mean, would a single terrorist on Earth pick up their bomb from the TSA after it was seized? I don’t expect anyone to shed a tear about a white male complaining about abusive authorities. I’m not asking for any sympathy, just venting about the TSA. Flying was way more fun before 9/11!

Have you had a shitty experience with the TSA? Feel free to share below.

I borrowed this from the Internet.

Cruising with Lee & Sara

Our friends from back home, Lee and Sara, joined us for our most recent Northward passage—Banderas Bay to Mazatlan. We’d make a few stops along the way at Chacala, San Blas, and Isla Isabel. What a nice time it was! Over the first couple months, Courtney and I had grown sorta weary of boat chores and routines, so it was great having some helping hands aboard to help out with simple, everyday boating tasks. Also, their enthusiasm was contagious. Good crew like these two are always welcomed back on Grace.

Class-A Swabs.

Mazatlan to Baja

Cut to the present. We’re waiting for two things right now—my sore back to heal, and for a weather window to appear for us to sail (motor too) across the southern Sea of Cortez to the tip of the Baja Peninsula. It’s a 180 mile or so passage. We’re aiming for the 8th to set sail. I hope my lower back stops having fits before that time, but if not I can always rely on Courtney for the grunt work.

It’s a 30-ish hour passage, can be kinda rough with short-period seas hitting the beam (side) of the boat but the reward is huge. We’ll get to drop anchor at Muertos when we’re done. Bahia Muertos is a blissful anchorage with perfect anchor holding, clear waters, and virtually nonexistent swell, which are three qualities hard to come by on the pacific coast of mainland Mexico. Baja, we can’t wait to see you again.

 

 

 

 

 

All Shook Up

It’s the morbid truth of life—As humans, we can literally be squashed like bugs at any given moment. Compared to the forces of nature, we’re fragile, small, and rather insignificant. Ten days ago, I found myself smack in the middle of Mexico City, just in time for that big-ass earthquake you may have heard about. It’s taken almost 10 days for the surplus adrenaline in my veins to metabolize so that I can finally sit down and calmly reflect on what happened.

On September 19th, I had a whopping 8 hour layover at the Mexico City International Airport. If you’ve been there, you’ll know how bad that airport sucks. It’s almost as bad as LAX was a couple of years ago. Like any sane human I decided to leave the airport during my extended layover. Where would I go? For a man if my refined high-culture sensibilities, the choice was easy—I’d go see that new Stephen King horror flick—”It.” And I’d see it in the best part of town, at Plaza Insurgentes in the Roma Norte/Condesa area of Mexico City.

Roma Norte/Condesa is a fantastic neighborhood. There’s a great park with tall trees, lots of neato older buildings, vibrant life in the streets, and endless supply of great restaurants to visit. It has an overall unpretentious and down-to-earth vibe unlike many other large cities, and it also feels unmolested by global commerce—I don’t recall seeing a Nike or Apple store anywhere.

So it was to be a viewing of “It” and maybe a late lunch by the park. Needless to say my innocent-enough plan would live in infamy. “It” started out about as well as you could expect it to—dang scary. Right after Pennywise made his grand entrance (no spoilers) I felt a modest shaking through the floor. This wimpy 3.0 earthquake would surely pass, I thought, and I could finish the movie. Others were far less amused—they ran out of the theater screaming. Flighty folks, they were.

Then, the quake unleashed its full seismic fury.

Okay, time to get up, I thought. Where was my urgency? I walked. Others ran. Seeing their reactions, I picked up the pace. The building shook with brutal force.It groaned and shuddered. Lights flickered. Loud bangs. Thuds. Things breaking. Then, panic sets in. I can’t walk very fast. My heart won’t allow it. Gotta catch my breath. Watch for falling objects, that’s my biggest threat. No desks to get under. I’ll stand next to a pillar. Yup. That’s what I’ll do.

“GET OUT!” (or the spanish equivalent, yelled)The security guard wasn’t kidding. Who was this stupid gringo standing next to a pillar?

I listened, and walked briskly toward the idle escalator. I went down the steps, into a department store. A woman in front of me knocked over a display. As she stopped to pick it up, another spanish equivalent of “GET OUT” came from the security guard. We hustled our way out into the streets.

My arrival to the streets was tardy. The entire populous of the area was already there, fully assembled, fully panicked. There was none of that post-earthquake casualness you’d see in LA after a temblor. No joking and laughing. Lots of tears. Lots of fear. Lots of confusion. What should I do? Where should I go? Why are people running this way? Should I run with them?

Seeing that practically every building around me was in some form of disrepair—broken windows, collapsed fascias, fallen tiles—I decided to make my way to Parque Mexico, where there was less falling debris and less chance of being trampled. It was only a few blocks away. After some amateur attempts at photojournalism, I put the phone in airplane mode to preserve juice. Then I arrived at the park.

Inside Parque Mexico I’d find more fear and confusion. More tears. More running. I saw a man frantically calling a loved one’s name, over and over, as he ran through the park, searching. I wasn’t the only one seeking refuge there, Mexico City’s miniature Central Park was probably at capacity. Nobody wanted to stand next to a building. Trees are better for that. They bend, but don’t break.

I managed to talk to a Canadian and a few Americans in the crowd. One showed me pictures of a fully collapsed building nearby. Later on, I’d learn there were numerous spontaneous demolitions all around the park, I just didn’t witness any directly. And I wasn’t looking to. I did, however, see one building with a its first floor pancaked, one five+ story building that was leaning to one side, and numerous buildings that were severely damaged, though still standing.

Being completely alone, I felt an urgency to get into a safe spot. I knew I was going to miss my connecting flight back to LA—that was a given—so I needed lodging. But I wasn’t about to stay in one of the more traditionally-built structures of Mexico City, no way. So I headed toward Reforma, the financial, or “downtown” part of Mexico City, hoping to find a vacant room in a modern hotel. When I say modern, I mean mostly steel.

On my way over to Reforma I saw a more damaged buildings, and many more scared, confused people. One sight that I’ll never forget was a herd of people standing in line at a small hardware store. They were buying up all the hammers, chisels, and hard-hats in stock. I saw several groups of these grass-roots rescue crews on their way to help dig survivors out of collapsed buildings. Although touched by their own courage, I had no urge to follow them. I wanted to get safe, then get home.

An improvised hospital triage in a park was the last horrific thing I saw before checking into the Hotel Marquis Reforma. I actually saw a photo of that scene on the internet days later when I was back in LA.

How did all of this make me feel? Beyond feeling obviously lucky I came out of it unscathed, I was pretty rattled. I’ve been through earthquakes, and other harrowing experiences, but this was my first time seeing the effects of widespread panic in a large city. That’s what haunted me the most—the feeling of impending doom, total lack of order, general lawlessness, confusion, and overall fear. I have a new respect for that feeling. At any given moment, it’s happening somewhere. I can only imagine it’s far worse in a warzone, somewhere like Syria for example.

The following may sound a corny: I’m glad I was there. The experience reminded me how fragile life is. So, I’m going to try live a little better now, meaning, I’m going to be try to be nicer to strangers, more present with family, friends and loved ones. I’m also going to be practice having a more positive internal monologue (be less hard on myself), eat better, wake up earlier, get angry less, etc.  

So, how about another earthquake? No, thank you. I’m fine.

 

Lost in the city, not lost at sea.

I’ve completely blown off this blog. I haven’t updated it in months, and that’s because I’m not cruising right now, and haven’t been for months. Currently, Grace is safely moored in Bahia Chahue, Huatulco, Oaxaca, Mexico. Courtney and I are working in LA in our respective professions, Courtney, a contract ICU nurse, and I, a freelance advertising copywriter. We’re accumulating much needed dough to support Season 2’s adventures.

I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my first season out there. I’ve gone back and forth on next season’s itinerary and have made a decision. Grace will head back up North to the Sea of Cortez. I realized that I’m not quite done with Mexico yet.

Here’s a big-ass photo gallery from the second half of season one, check it out:

SEASON ONE PHOTOS

I love cruising because I love anchoring in empty coves, meeting new people on the way, free diving, fishing, seeing the sun rise and set, getting rocked to sleep at anchor, and continually having a front-row-seat to nature. I don’t have to leave Mexico to keep enjoying these things. I also feel like I didn’t get my fill of the Sea of Cortez. We left that area when the air was chilly and the water was green. We missed out on cruising in the sea during late Spring and early Summer, when the water gets clearer and warmer, and the northerly winds abate, giving way to warm winds from the south.

I also dig the feeling of relative safety that Mexico provides. For many, the words “Mexico” and “Safety” don’t mix, but any cruiser understands what I mean. Mexico definitely has its share of crime issues, but it’s mostly cartel-related crime that happens in the interior and larger cities. In Grace’s 7 months of cruising in Mexico, not a single item was stolen, and the people were friendly and honest almost universally. We never felt threatened, and almost never felt unsafe. I doubt you could feel the same way after cruising a boat along the east coast of the USA.  Of course, traveling through Mexico by car is a different story.

My partner in this journey would probably rather continue south, but is fine with the decision. Courtney really wanted to see Costa Rica and Panama, as do I, but I had to take executive “skipper” privilege on this one.

Continuing south to central America would be nice, but for now that’s on the back burner. I’ve come to realize that becoming a seasonal cruiser is totally doable, as long as I can find freelance work. As an ICU nurse, Courtney has no issues there either. She can find work anywhere, any time. So why rush? We’ve met cruising couples along that way that have cruised up and down the coast of Mexico, multiple times, for decades. Cruising can be a way of life, rather than one big journey that ends with swift boat sale in a far off land followed by a permanent return to ordinary life. Fuck ordinary life.

So there it is. Mexico, 2018 is our plan. We’ll probably start our slow crawl up North In early January. When we leave Huatulco, our first major stop will be Zihuatenejo, then Barra Navidad, followed by all the great little anchorages in between our midpoint—Banderas Bay. There, Grace will get a bottom paint job, and some other yard work, while Courtney and I might do some inland traveling or go home briefly for visa renewals or short-term jobs. After that, maybe in March April, Grace will continue North to Mazatlan, then La Paz. It will be like last year, in reverse, only this time Grace will go North to Loreto and beyond to hit all those amazing cruising destinations we missed out on last season. Eventually, Grace will find her way to a yard to be dry-docked. Where that happens, undecided yet. Maybe Guyamas. Perhaps Puerto Escondido.  I’m open to suggestions.

The fact is, the Sea of Cortez is a cruiser’s paradise. There are miles and miles of sparsely occupied coves with near perfect anchor-holding. The diving and fishing can be unreal. The desert scenery and serene peace and quiet are addictive. And there are acres and acres of prime beach real-estate for Brody’s favorite pastime—fetch.

 

Lost in the city, not lost at sea.

I’ve completely blown off this blog. That’s because I’m not cruising right now, and haven’t been for months. Currently, Grace is safely moored in Bahia Chahue, Huatulco, Oaxaca, Mexico. Courtney and I are working in LA in our respective professions, Courtney, a contract ICU nurse, and I, a freelance advertising copywriter. We’re accumulating much needed dough to support Season 2’s adventures.

I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my first season out there. I’ve gone back and forth on next season’s itinerary and have made a decision. Grace will head back up North to the Sea of Cortez. I realized that I’m not quite done with Mexico yet.

I love cruising because I love anchoring in empty coves, meeting new people on the way, free diving, fishing, seeing the sun rise and set, getting rocked to sleep at anchor, and continually having a front-row-seat to nature. I don’t have to leave Mexico to keep enjoying these things. I also feel like I didn’t get my fill of the Sea of Cortez. We left that area when the air was chilly and the water was green. We missed out on cruising in the sea during late Spring and early Summer, when the water gets clearer and warmer, and the northerly winds abate, giving way to warm winds from the south.

I also dig the feeling of relative safety that Mexico provides. For many, the words “Mexico” and “Safety” don’t mix, but any cruiser understands what I mean. Mexico definitely has its share of crime issues, but it’s mostly cartel-related crime that happens in the interior and larger cities. In Grace’s 7 months of cruising in Mexico, not a single item was stolen, and the people were friendly and honest almost universally. We never felt threatened, and almost never felt unsafe. I doubt you could feel the same way after cruising a boat along the east coast of the USA.  Of course, traveling through Mexico by car is a different story.

My partner in this journey would probably rather continue south, but is fine with the decision. Courtney really wanted to see Costa Rica and Panama, as do I, but I had to take executive “skipper” privilege on this one.

Continuing south to central America would be nice, but for now that’s on the back burner. I’ve come to realize that becoming a seasonal cruiser is totally doable, as long as I can find freelance work. As an ICU nurse, Courtney has no issues there either. She can find work anywhere, any time. So why rush? We’ve met cruising couples along that way that have cruised up and down the coast of Mexico, multiple times, for decades. Cruising can be a way of life, rather than one big journey that ends with swift boat sale in a far off land followed by a permanent return to ordinary life. Fuck ordinary life.

So there it is. Mexico, 2018 is our plan. We’ll probably start our slow crawl up North In early January. When we leave Huatulco, our first major stop will be Zihuatenejo, then Barra Navidad, followed by all the great little anchorages in between our midpoint—Banderas Bay. There, Grace will get a bottom paint job, and some other yard work, while Courtney and I might do some inland traveling or go home briefly for visa renewals or short-term jobs. After that, maybe in March April, Grace will continue North to Mazatlan, then La Paz. It will be like last year, in reverse, only this time Grace will go North to Loreto and beyond to hit all those amazing cruising destinations we missed out on last season. Eventually, Grace will find her way to a yard to be dry-docked. Where that happens, undecided yet. Maybe Guyamas. Perhaps Puerto Escondido.  I’m open to suggestions.

The fact is, the Sea of Cortez is a cruiser’s paradise. There are miles and miles of sparsely occupied coves with near perfect anchor-holding. The diving and fishing can be unreal. The desert scenery and serene peace and quiet are addictive. And there are acres and acres of prime beach real-estate for Brody’s favorite pastime—fetch.

 

Offshore Duh’s

 

After reflecting on my failed crossing of the Gulf of Tehaunepec last week, I came across 438 Days—a really great book about a fisherman who drifted in a broken boat all the way to the Marshall Islands from the Gulf of Tehauntepec on the pacific coast of Mexico.  José Salvador Alvarenga was a great fisherman, but his predicament was caused by breaking a few extremely basic seamanship rules, or “Duh’s” as I like to call them.

I too broke a few “Duh” rules when I set off for Chiapas last week. Unlike Mr. Alvarenga, I made it back to port. I didn’t have to drink sea turtle blood, eat raw sea birds, or gather rain water. I learned lessons, without sustaining loss. I’m damn lucky.

Without further ado, here they are:

#1: Always carry extra fuel. 

Grace seemingly had enough fuel for this 220 mile passage, more than enough. With a full tank, she can go 500+ nautical miles at typical cruising speeds. However, due to a strong 2-3 knot opposing current and headwinds, Grace’s cruising speed had halved, effectively decreasing her range by 50%, to a mere 250 miles. That gave me 30 nautical miles of wiggle room. Not enough. The lesson: Always carry as much fuel as reasonably possible for any substantial offshore passage, and never overestimate how little you’ll be sailing. With the wind blowing directly from my destination, this passage was, at best, a motor-sailing affair in its entirety. I knew this, and all about the opposing current and winds, but I was overconfident in Grace’s speed. Carrying extra fuel may seem like a no-brainer, but a season of smooth sailing made me cocky.

#2: Set your deepest reef at night, no matter what.

I made the fateful decision to single-reef Grace going into the first night shift. I did this in the hopes that Grace would gain a few tenths of a knot and use less fuel. I knew the ramifications, but I was overconfident. That night we sailed into a squall with observed wind speeds of 39 knots (unseen wind speeds were certainly higher, you can’t watch the wind instruments in those conditions). The second reef was put in, but too little too late. The high winds flogged the sails severely, causing critical damage to the mainsail track, and who knows where else. Not good. Not good at all.

#3: Never trust weather reports more than what you can see with your own two eyes.

When Grace departed, the skies were a foreboding hue of grey. I shrugged off the signs, believing the storm I observed was just a local phenomena that would surely subside once we got under way.  Dead wrong. In retrospect, I was probably too focused on the dreaded “T-pecer”—a savage north wind that blows across the Gulf of Tehuantepec from time to time. Assured these winds wouldn’t blow (and they did not), I left without researching other possible meteorological maladies, namely the violent squalls that happen frequently here in the Summer. Although the storms weren’t in the forecasts, their presence should’ve been expected, just like the residents of Fairplay, Colorado always expect random snow in February, no matter what the local news says.

Here’s what I was looking at when I left for Chiapas:

 

The “why” 

I blame my mistakes and those made by José Salvador Alvarenga on a single compound—testosterone. “T” is a double-edged sword of strength and fearlessness. It gave José and I the courage to shrug off caution and rush into a potentially bad situations. Interestingly, in the case of José Salvador Alvarenga, testosterone also helped him overcome his costly error. To do the things he had to do to survive drifting across the pacific for 438 days—killing sharks with his bare hands, drinking turtle blood—bravado was an asset. It’s doesn’t necessarily “take balls” to survive like that, but it certainly helped.

I should add that my girlfriend, Courtney, wasn’t around for this passage. Unaffected by “T”, she definitely would’ve objected to sailing into a storm, and all my other “duh” mistakes.  It’s no accident Grace sailed smoothly until Courtney wasn’t on board. On any vessel, it’s great to have enough “E” to balance out the “T.” Maybe that’s the biggest lesson of all.

 

 

 

How to be a better crew member.

So you want to go sailing, eh?

You’d be surprised how many people are cruising the world’s oceans right this very moment in need of good crew. They need help, but find themselves consistently understaffed for passages, or even even navigating solo into perilous waters. Why is this? Because good crew are hard to find. Bad crew, contrarily, are a dime a dozen.

With just a few simple adjustments, you can be in the “good crew” camp. You’ll be asked to come back again and again, and best of all, you can travel the world on yachts for FREE. As they say, “it’s better to have a friend with a boat, than to own your own,” or something like that.

Tip #1: RESPECT THE TOILET.  Marine toilets don’t flush like normal toilets, so learn the simple procedure that makes them work. It blows my mind how many guests fail at this one, and it’s hilarious to me that they think it might go unnoticed, as if it were a public toilet used by thousands of people and nonchalantly walking away from the mess will absolve responsibility somehow.  If you don’t want to commit this crime, simply lift the lid on the toilet after you’ve used it. If you’ve left a mess, you’re doing it wrong, so ask your skipper for help.

Tip #2: BE HELPFUL. Find a menial task on a boat and do it, regularly. Become the world’s greatest dishwasher and floor-scrubber. Swab the decks. Polish the stainless. Coil ropes. NEVER let the skipper or first mate/co-skipper do these tasks for the duration of your stay. Why? Because boat owners are tired of slaving away. You have no idea the amount of work and expense that goes into owning a boat. Relieving the skipper/co-skipper/first mate of their daily busy work is much appreciated, and probably the surest way to be invited back.

Tip #3: CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF. Seems like a no-brainer, but nobody seems to get this one either. That’s because being a guest on a boat is unlike being a guest at someone’s house. Every space on a boat has multiple functions. For example, the bed in the V-berth, or the forward cabin of Grace doubles as a storage space that keeps her sails, safety equipment and all sorts of items that need easy access. Other boats may have plumbing, water-makers, tanks, anchors, etc. located in these spaces. Wanna impress the captain of any vessel? Fold up and stow your entire bed every morning. Erase any evidence of your existence. Don’t make your cabin into your “room” because it’s not.

Tip #4: PONY UP THE CASH. Boating is one of the most costly hobbies/passions out there. Odds are, every disposable or non-disposable penny of your skipper’s earnings/savings in their adult life has been invested in his/her boat. If you can, make a contribution for fuel, water, mooring costs, and upkeep. Do some research and see how much it costs to charter even the smallest cruising boat. A modest pitch-in of 20 or 40 dollars a day can help offset the costs of your presence on a boat. Can’t afford it? Scrub the decks more.

Tip #5: CHECK-IN, CHECK-OUT. Always notify your skipper of your plans. How long will you be on shore? When you do you plan on returning? Your skipper needs to know these things because he/she is ultimately totally responsible for your well-being. It’s a burden skippers have carried for hundreds of years. Most are too consumed with weather, rigging, and engines to give a flying fuck about your personal life, but they need to know your whereabouts because they could literally lose everything if they lose you. So tell them.

Tip #6: DON’T HAVE A SCHEDULE. Unless you’re paying hundreds or thousands of dollars a day to charter a cruising sailboat, you’re simply along for the ride. Need to get back to the dock at 5 PM for a dinner date? Cancel your plans. Wanna go to that really cute town you heard of on that island off in the distance? Swim to it. This is just how it is. Deal with it.

Tip #7: NO CO-SKIPPERS. You fancy yourself a mariner. You used to own a wooden schooner. You raced Hobie Cats at the yacht club. Whoopy-fuckin’-do. No matter your extensive “qualifications,” no skipper will ever warm up to your second-guessing and uninvited orders on sail-trim, navigation, or whatever else you’re an “expert” at. Unless you’re German Frers himself or some sort of sailboat guru, you probably don’t know how to operate your friends boat better than he/she does. Even if you do, turn your shot-calling into gentle suggestions. Suggestions are always appreciated.

Tip #8: DON’T BREAK ANYTHING. If a door won’t open, don’t force it. If a stove doesn’t light, don’t trouble-shoot it. Think of a boat as a space shuttle. There are no replacements available for anything, anywhere. Let the skipper be the sole breaker and fixer of the boat’s many gadgets. Need something to play with? Read a book. Your book. The one you brought with you.

So there you have it. Follow these tips and next thing you know skippers will be fighting over you. You’ll cross the seven seas in short time because you’re a unicorn. Ask any skipper, most crew members are a liability. Be an asset, and you’ll travel the world for FREE!!!

The Gaff Hook

It was a gruesome sight. A fisherman’s gaff hook, deeply embedded in a human arm.

[Some background: A gaff hook is a big-ass hook on the end of a big ass pole, basically a gory means of getting fish out of the water, and on deck. They’re usually sharp, dirty, and rusty, and mounted to the end of a wooden or metal pole of a few feet in length. You really don’t want one in your arm.]

I was awoken from a deep midday slumber by the words “Senor, hello. Senor!” Anchored off a lonely beach of a rocky, sparsely inhabited islet off the coast of Nayarit, Mexico, the words startled me a little, until I realized that a panguero (fisherman) paying me a random visit in remote waters only meant one thing–fresh seafood for sale.

Only he wasn’t selling crab, clams or oysters. He motioned to his deckhand, a weathered young fisherlady. She wasn’t selling shrimp, or any other catch of the day either. Then I saw. WOAH! She had a huge gaff hook embedded deeply in her forearm, and was precariously balancing the long wooden pole on which the hook was attached with her good arm, holding it still as possible so as to not move the hook. It was a balancing act made exceptionally difficult by the small waves rolling beneath the 20-foot panga fishing boat.

I speculated the fisherlady must have been trying to boat a large catch, when her arm was impaled by an overzealous, over-excited panguero. Big fish have that affect on people. They make you act hastily, and stupidly.

Okay. So he brought us his injured deckhand, perhaps his injured wife. Or daughter. Why? Some exchanges of broken Spanish revealed he wanted to know if we had a scalpel.  He wanted us to cut out the gaff, because, as we learned, this particular gaff hook was barbed. A “barb” is basically an additional hook on the tip of the hook that makes it impossible to remove.

That wasn’t going to happen, Mr. Panguero. Courtney–an experienced ICU nurse–wouldn’t allow it. The hook was too big, too deep. She was afraid that if the hook was removed outside a hospital setting, there could be major bleeding and possibility of infection.

Mr Panguero grumbled.

I went to work with bolt-cutters, carefully clipping the hook so the poor girl wouldn’t have to support the long wooden pole any longer. Now, her wound was much more manageable.

Mr. Panguero wasn’t amused. It seemed he really wanted his gaff returned, intact. Wait, what?

Courtney did what she could, wrapping the wound, applying iodine, and instructed them to go to the nearest hospital, pronto. Mr Panguero begrudgingly accepted the instructions and motored away with his deckhand. He seemed really annoyed with the whole ordeal.

We were judgmental at first, but in his defense, he lost a lot that day. He lost a whole day of fishing. As a long-liner, that meant he lost hundreds, if not thousands of baits he’d rigged to hooks the night before. He would also lose several gallons of fuel on the trip back to the mainland, and his precious gaff hook. Maybe his losses that day amounted to his entire life savings, and some minor surgery with a scalpel was all he needed to keep his family fed.

Perhaps Courtney should’ve ditched her sheltered concepts of safety and sterility, and filleted the young lady’s arm on the deck of Grace,  stitched her up, and sent her off with a swig of whiskey prescribed to numb the pain. For centuries that’s how it was done, right? Only recently have westerners been sissified by western medicine, antibiotics, and band-aids.

Maybe we did it wrong.

We’ll never know.

Pics-a-plenty

Let’s take a look back at the adventures aboard Grace in late 2016, early 2017:

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Time to leave the dock. Again.

It’s been a while since the last blog post. Time has flown by, as it usually does. It’s been a great couple months, a wonderfully different holiday season. We’ve entertained multiple guests, including Courtney’s friend Marianna, my sister Mary, brother Kye, sister-in-law Megan, mother Casey, and step-dad Chuck. We’ve cruised the local islands-Espiritu Santu, Isla Partida, and Isla San Francisco. We’ve done boat chores, and more boat chores. We’ve eaten tacos, and more tacos. We’ve wandered around La Paz, taking in the vibes of this peaceful, laid-back city.

Once again, it’s time to leave the dock. Grace was built to sail, not languish in murky backwaters. Although our final, exact destination hasn’t been set, our direction of travel has been chosen-south. It’s relatively cold an windy here. South is warmer. South is better. The alternative is sailing to windward, beating into the icy cold waves of the North. And by “icy” I mean low-60’s water temperatures-I’m no Shackleton. Banderas Bay, Mexico is the preferred locale at this point. More on that later. Yes, I’ll be updating the blog more, I promise.

In the meantime, here are all the photos my currently shitty data bandwidth will allow me to upload:

 

 

 

 

 

Chillin in La Paz

Well folks, it’s Turkey day. Time to pick up where I left off. Since the last blog entry, here’s a brief summary of what has transpired.

ADIOS, CABO.

Cabo San Lucas is a pretty place. After days at sea it was really nice to feel solid terra firma under our feet for a couple of days, fill up on tacos, peruse social media, buy supplies, etc. We even went to the beach like regular turistas. However, I must say that the “Cabo Wabo” vibe got old really fast (no disrespect to Sammy Hagar). Literally everywhere we went in that town, we were aggressively peddled any number of services including cigars, cocaine, water taxi rides, mota, lobster dinners, etc. Not a sincere conversation to be had with anyone.It really hit home when Courtney and I walked by a dog training/kennel establishment. It was an expansive place, with tons of dogs, and a really official looking dog trainer. When he saw us looking at him, from no less than 100 yards away mind you, he yelled “Hello! Wanna get high” as he pointed up at the sky. For us, that was our signal to skip town.

You can’t blame anyone for it. Cabo is a tourist hub. As gringos, we are the catalyst of the local economy. The locals are doing what they’re supposed to do. It’s just not my idea of a good time. I longed for La Paz, a town where gringos are almost invisible, where you can interact with locals like a regular person, have real conversations, and not be treated like a commodity all of the time.

SO WE HEADED NORTH

Well, not really. We rounded the tip of the peninsula, which meant we followed the coastline southeast a little bit, then east, then northeast, then north, then… you get the picture. The objective was to get to La Paz, with one or two stops along the way to avoid having to do night shifts–enough of those.

LOS FRAILES

Just a heads up–this is the part of Baja where it gets really god damned gorgeous. White sandy beaches, cacti, aqua-blue crystal clear water, the whole nine. That was our scenery as we crawled forward, mainly taking wind on the bow. Our speed was reduced to about 6 knots.

Must find anchorage. No more night shifts. Did I mention we were tired of those? The cruising guide recommended a bay called Los Frailes, or “The Friars” if you must translate, because there are rock formations on the hill that look like friars on a hike. Never saw them. Anyway, we anchored at dusk. That process was interesting because the bay was bisected by a deep underwater canyon that ran right up to the shoreline. It was literally 800 feet deep only about 100 yards off the beach. We found a good patch of 30 foot deep sandy bottom on the south end of the bay, and dropped the hook.

What an epic place! Beautiful beach, great for long walks and frisbee-throwing to Brody (our resident Australian Cattle Dog), and some of the best snorkeling I’ve ever experienced, over at the north end of the bay.

The winds came. That gave us second thoughts about leaving prematurely for our second leg. And Los Frailes was oh soooo nice. So we stayed for three additional nights. Thanks to some lucky angling, I was able to pad our dwindling food supply with Sierra Mackerel, a fish afflicted with an unfortunate evolutionary trait–they make great ceviche.

On our last morning one of our faithful crew, Ashkan Farida, had to head back to the states for work and familial responsibilities. Thank you, Ash. It was a pleasure having you, and everyone felt safer having your tech-saavy and boating intelligence on board. Additionally, your turbo-tea and quinoa bowls were highly appreciated.

TO BAHIA MUERTOS

With a crew reduced to four weary souls, Brody (cattle dog numero uno), Courtney Ray (mi amor) and Lee Nelson (resident jokester) headed north to the last stop before La Paz, a lovely place called Bahia Muertos. We pulled into the bay just after sunset, and just before moonrise. Sketchy. Dark as shit. I couldn’t see squat, other than the anchor lights of the 10 or so boats anchored there. I was puzzled as to why they were anchored so far off the beach, so I tried a spot closer in. As the anchor chain was being dumped, I noticed the depth under Grace briefly rise up from 25 feet (good) to a shallow 10 feet (not fucking good). Whether it was a big fish or a small shoal I’ll never know, but I took the anomaly as a sign to re-set somewhere else. I found a great spot in the North end of the bay, about 400 yards from the beach, according to radar, which is very nice to have in situations like these, when you’re relying on your GPS chartplotter too heavily.

BAHIA BALLANDRA

The sun rose. We left Muertos. A little bit of a shame, because Muertos is a lovely place with spectacular fishing and perfect beaches to explore. Save it for another day.

After about 6 hours of nearly windless motoring, we made a great decision. Rather than go all the way into Bahia La Paz, our ultimate destination, we opted to stop at Bahia Ballandra for the night. Despite being just outside the city limits of La Paz, Bahia Ballandra is the quintessential Baja beach paradise. It’s fucking fantastic. Miles of frosty beaches. If you’ve ever seen a postcard from La Paz, or if you simply google the place, you’ll see it. I should have awesome photos, but I don’t. Lee Nelson, care to assist? We anchored there for the night. Courtney and I slept on deck. Sort of a mistake, seals and rays crashed the surface all night long, keeping me awake and scaring the crap out of Brody.

The next morning, we motored into the narrow channel that all boaters must navigate into Bahia La Paz. Almost hit the shoal. Lee Nelson, thank you for bringing that to my attention!

JONAH AND MEGAN

Just like he said, Jonah’s sweet 40-foot Tartan ketch, Orion, was parked right outside the entrance to Marina Day La Paz. Jonah and Megan weren’t home, but  were easily summoned on the VHF radio and were kind enough to take our lines as we docked Grace in her slip. What a nice welcome! Jonah is an old pal from Topanga Canyon, the just-outside-LA enclave/town/village where I grew up. The couple had been cruising the area for a few years, blogging about it, and inspiring me as I prepped Grace for Baja.

 REST. AND MORE REST.

We didn’t, to quote a cheesy corporate cliche, “hit the ground running” when we arrived in La Paz. We ate. We relaxed. We ate more. Relaxed more. Slept. Ate. Repeat. For me especially, the trip down was exhausting. Arriving in La Paz was the conclusion of 30 plus days of hard-core prepping and hard-core sailing. This blissful period of recuperation included several EPIC dinners, and ZERO intestinal maladies, which is a rarity for yours truly.

VAYA CON DIOS, BROTHER

Lee Nelson, thanks for crewing on the way down!

To sum Lee up, he’s an endlessly positive dude, very passionate and knowledgeable about sailing, and is basically a clown 24/7. Levity is a great thing to have during an adventure, especially when fear can sour moods and spread sad-faces. I strongly recommend having a Lee on board at all times during passages. Come back any time, duder!

COURTNEY RAY

Three days later my first mate and girlfriend, Courtney, regretfully had to go back home to finish up a nursing gig. She’s coming back relatively soon on December 20th, but it’s going to be tough. I’m without the person who holds everything together on Grace, especially her scatterbrained skipper. And it’s no easier on her end. She’s without me and her dog, the greatest pooch that every pawed the earth, Miss Brody. I can only hope the next few weeks go by quickly. Brody feels the same way. I love you, dollface. Get back here soon!

HERE AT LAST

In the coming weeks, my plans include boat chores, finishing up a writing project, cruising the local islands with Jonah and Megan, fishing inside the bay, working out, watching movies, speaking Spanish, socializing with the local boating community, and, most importantly, throwing the frisbee to Brody at least every other day. I can’t lose sight of what’s really going on–I am absolutely, positively LIVING THE DREAM. Right now!

PS: Happy Thanksgiving to the FAM: Mary, Spencer, Kye, Megan, Casey, Chuck, Elliot, Isaac, Edie, Miles, Heather, Michael, Michael, Wendy, Ramona, Lyla, Amy, Jason, Betsy, Leslie, John, Andy, Marian, Molly, Ben, David, T. Weste, Charlie, James, Thea, Noah, Jeff, Maria, Megan, Eden, Kate, etc. (if forgot anyone, sorry!), and those who couldn’t be with us, including but not limited to Mary Joe and John Tiffin, you’re missed, majorly.