Paradise Lost, Found, and realized

April 7, 2007

“But even so, what I want and all my days I pine for is to go back to my house and see my day of homecoming. And if some god batters me far out on the wineblue water, I will endure it, keeping a stubborn spirit inside me, for already I have suffered much and done much hard work on the waves and in the fighting. So let this adventure follow”

Odysseus

So since we last talked we have traveled great distances, longing, searching, and forever pondering our homecoming. With a voyage so vast and trials so trivial it may seem foolish to seek so passionately home instead of pondering the journey. I feel as if I was Odysseus on the wide wine blue sea searching for my homecoming. There are good winds that come from the north and in the peaceful easy latitudes of paradise, there are none. The sun rises over the sea and beats off the water in the early morning blinding us as we travel forever south. With each passing of each southernly latitude we seem to be moving further from home. The heat rises from the water, and still we sit until after midday when the winds rise for 10 hours giving us good passage along the Southern Mexico Coast only to die in the evening and leave us sitting idly on the sea, so we struggle not to let our minds idle as well. Wind, I can harness. The pains of the mind, with the lack of wind and hot beating sun, I struggle to rise above.

Since we have last corresponded we have traveled far. Paradise found, lost, and realized. We have traveled to Isle de Isabella. A wildlife refuge. Thousands of birds, and sea turtles walk along these volcanic shores. The pinnacle rocks shoot up from the sea guarding the entrance to a dangerous cove lined by tin shacks occupied by fishermen. The Pinnacle rocks reminding me of Prometheus who was chained, on rocks like these, so that vultures may forever eat his liver in punishment for bringing fire to man. These rocks and the vultures that surround them seem to be a reminder of the brute force of nature that created this ancient island. Walking along the trails on the islands the birds lie overhead looking down upon you, in a somewhat proud scornful perch. The sea beats along the cliffs and black rocky beaches. In the middle a lake created many years ago by volcanic activity, a perfect circle, like a crater on the moon. Truly it felt as if we stepped back into time. Back into the time of Darwin. The island is considered the Galapagos of Mexico.

La Cruz lies inside of Bahia de Banderas, Mexico´s largest bay. 300 square miles of water twenty miles wide, and many more long lined by tall purple mountains. We sailed with the sun at our back under strong wind into the bay alongside of these great peaks and deep blue waters. We sailed until the depths met the white sandy beaches and the anchorage of La Cruz. La Cruz was a small fishing village. Homes line the water front. Along the cobble stone streets of this town families still ride their horses to the market. Kids are instructed in traditional dance. The girls in flowing dresses twirling them high over their head, careful not to reveal too much to the boys standing in front of them tall and erect, their hands behind their backs moving their feet, to the rhythm of the Mariachi.

In La Cruz the children safely run through the streets at night after their English lessons towards the square where fooseball tables are set up for them to play until their parents call them to bed. In La Cruz I stroll quietly through the village and into the Plazuela looking over the sea and the new marina that will rob this town of their identity. Seeing already the construction sights for the Condos and resort hotels that have already taken precedence to the small family houses that rest on the cliff looking out over the mountains. I am sad that this is what it has come to.

Puerto Vallarta, 25 miles north of La Cruz along the bay, an old Spanish port only recently connected to the rest of Mexico by the coastal road system. Puerto Vallarta, like any town carved into a mountainside overlooking the sea, did not lack character at all. It was a beautiful town, with a view of the sea from every hacienda. But the real stop in Puerto Vallarta was 30 miles to the southwest along the shore. There lies a small fishing village of Yalapa. Yalapa can only be accessed by boat or by horse back. We were sailing upwind on a tack as the sun fell low in the sky. Before we made our tack back out to sea and the sun dropped into the water, we sailed into a tiny little cove. The smell of the rainforest filled my nostrils, mixed with the smell of cooked fish. Houses hidden in the bush began to light up revealing themselves. So we decided to stop for the evening and see what there was to see. We pulled the dinghy up to a dock and began walking to shore where we were met by a man fishing with a coke bottle. Not an uncommon thing here. They wrap a line around a coke bottle and cast it off into the water. Then pull it in again. We sat on the pier and began to talk about paradise lost. We talked for hours, walking to the bar on the beach to get pizza. We talked not only about Mexican economy and American influence through tourism and the expansion into little villages like this, and La Cruz that seem to be wiping out the local people, and driving up the cost of living, but we also talked about our lives, the sea, and philosophies. Over a few pizzas we chatted until late in the evening. I decided to stroll through the town, only to realize that there weren’t any roads, and why should there be? There were no cars. Instead there were trails connecting the houses. I felt like an intruder and decided to return to the boat and sleep. I awoke the next morning with the sun to see the people gathering along the shore to wait for the boats from Puerto Vallarta to come. Then they would bring their fish from the sea and they would trade as they have been doing tor hundreds of years.

We weighed anchor and sailed along the purple mountain ranges until the we were once again in the sea. Then sailed south. You may recall the name Zihautenejo. It is the town in which Andy Dufrane found himself after breaking out of Shawshank Prison. This small fishing town, like most, has also been discovered by tourism. However, in the evening you can still go help the Pangas push off from the shore and when they return in the morning watch them haul their catch of Marlin, Tuna, and Dorado from their boats, and trade them right there on the beach. Whatever is not traded there is taken to the Mercadero, Market. There you can walk about and watch them cleaning the fish, and cutting the meat off the goat and cow carcasses. Zihautenejo was supposed to be our first stop. 1,400 miles from San Diego. Things have obviously not worked out that way. There were a lot of people from Alaska there. Mostly Dave´s friends. So we would have coffee in the morning with them. We would talk, then have a few beers at night. Brian and Brandy had come down to vacation from Alaska. They didn’t have any plans, but within a week of being there they decided to get married. As the planning continued they eventually decided to get married on my boat. So the last night in Zihuatenejo Morning Star hosted a wedding with the sun setting in the distance. Brian had also been a Corpsman on a frigate. We shared a lot of stories, and seeing our philosophy on the Navy was the same we got along great. It was an honor to see him and Brandy getting married on my boat. We flew all the signal flags from the rigging and flowers lined the life lines. Morning Star looked beautiful for the occasion.

Now I write to you from Hautulco. This small town lies on the northern edge of the Gulfo de Tehauntepec. This gulf is notorious for instant wind storms of up to 60 knots and that can last from hours to days. So we stopped here to look at the weather and get ready. We had our weather window, but the engine borke down. By the time it was fixed conditions were less than desirable. So we are held hostage here for a few more days.

So what does one do at sea? You may ask. With only two of us we have had to stand long watches. 4 hours on, and 4 off. You see the sun rises over a glassy sea. This year has been worse than any other year for the lack of wind. When it rises without any movement of wind it begins to evaporate the sea. There is a metalic haze that covers the horizon and the sun seems to be white with the heat. It lies directly in front of you and beats you down. This continues until after noon when the wind picks up. Then it only blows at 10 knots, moving us at a comfortable 3.5 to 4 knots. At four knots we can make 96 miles a day. Now at 2 knots we can only make 48. You ponder this as the knot log begins to drop. The wind usually dies around 9 to midnight, but if we are lucky we can sail at 3 knots until 3 in the monring. This is usually not the case. So we have to motor. When the motor is running at night the cabin gets to about 85 degrees. During the day without wind it get up to about 95 to 100. This is not an exaggeration. During the day the cabin probably stays 85 with wind, 90 without, and that is without the motor. Needless to say it is hot down here. So there isn’t much to do. If I am standing watch at 8 in the morning then I sit in the heat and study Spanish, read a book, try and balance the rudder out so I can wash the decks down and do the dishes.

Everyday I try to find one place to organize. Be it the pantry, the head, or a tool bag. So I do that. Then around noon I am off watch and Dave is on. By now it is too hot to work. So I take a nap or continue to read until about 2. Then the wind is up and the sails are creating a good piece of shade so I then can tackle a project. Lately it has been oil changes, and filter changes on the engine. Not only that but the sails have needed attention. So I have been doing a lot of sewing. Other things include polishing bright works (any metal on the boat), fixing odds and ends, lubricating shackles and pulleys. Laying out the charts, and catching up on the log books. By that time it I am ready for my watch. If the wind is up I can set the auto pilot and continue to work through my watch. The sun begins to set at 8, about the time for dinner. Then it is to bed only to be up at midnight and stand watch until 4 in the morning. During this watch if the wind is still up I can read, if not we are motoring and I am stuck studying Spanish.

That in general is a day. The work is piling up on us, things are breaking and we are forever finding resourceful solutions. I will email more, hopefully this finds everyone well. Think of us as we prepare our next crossing then into the popagayo, and the lightning infested waters of Central America.