With reports this month from
Reba on repairing a sudden ingress
of water; from Breila on cruising
to and around Cape Horn; from Eaux Vives
on the Antigua Classic Regatta; from Swell
on surfing adventures in Mexico; and a generous helping of Cruise Notes.
Reba - Celestial 48 Ketch
Steve & Jamie Sidells
On Being Self-Reliant
(Incline Village, Nevada)
Since returning from the South Pacific in '04, we've hosted several
preparation seminars for prospective Puddle Jumpers at the Vallarta
YC. In the seminars we've tried to stress the value of knowing
one's boat and being prepared for the unexpected at sea, because
every boat is on her own out there. But it often seems as if
our message is a bit wide of the mark for some attendees, who
are so anxious to get started. So maybe our recent experience
coming back to Puerto Vallarta from Tenacatita Bay will help
reinforce that our advice applies to everyone.
After motorsailing all day into increasing wind and seas, Reba's
engine suddenly overheated off Chamela right about sunset. I
assumed that it was a saltwater pump impeller problem, but it
was rough, so I couldn't investigate until later. So I just shut
the engine down.
By midnight, we had 30 knots of wind and about 8-ft seas. It
was wet, but we were fine. At 1:15 a.m. - yes, that magic hour
for gremlins - we noticed that the bilge pump was going on whenever
we were heeled hard to starboard. A quick check of the engine
room revealed that we had bilge water two feet deep - almost
as high as the electrical panel! It was also clear that we had
heavy flooding somewhere aft.
Quickly checking, I found the sump pump was very hot and just
barely running. The bilge pump was running, but not keeping up
with the flooding. While Jamie quickly manned the bilge pump,
I searched for the source of the incoming water. It was critical,
because with our main engine out of order, our ultimate last
'bilge pump', the ship's raw water pump, would not be available.
And we were eight miles at sea.
I looked into the packing inspection port, and it was flooded
- even though the packing itself seemed fine. But water was already
over the floorboards. What was going on?! It was no time for
fatigue or to feel sorry for ourselves. It was time to prove
that we knew our boat, our spares, and our tools.
Thinking about the aft of the boat, I remembered that Reba
has a hose inside the aft deck locker that connects the three
deck scupper drains on each side. Usually it's 18 inches above
the waterline, but could it have something to do with the ingress
of water? While the wind and sea swirled, I went - with life-jacket
and safety harness on - to the aft deck and opened the locker.
The hose had somehow become disconnected, so deck water was pouring
inside the hull through a 1-inch hose.
After a quick trip to the tool box, grabbing a few wedges along
the way, I reconnected the hose and stopped the flooding - and
just in time. Apparently, pounding into the sea had shifted items
in the locker and somehow pulled the hose loose.
We hope this example demonstrates how important it is for everyone
to know their boat intimately, for you also may be called on
to solve a similar problem at night. And even though you might
be fatigued or even injured, it's probably going to be up to
you to solve the problem.
Amazingly, by the time we got to normally breezy Cabo Corrientes,
we were becalmed. That gave us the chance to repair the engine
at sea. So once we got back to the dock, we only had to take
care of the extensive damage caused by the flooding.
- steve & jamie 04/15/06
Breila - Contessa 39
Mike & Catharine Whitby
Patagonia And Cape Horn
(Vancouver, B.C.)
There have been lots of reports in Latitude about the
wonders of Ecuador - especially since it is such a great place
to wait out Central America's rainy season and/or jump off to
the South Pacific. But it's south of Ecuador that cruisers find
themselves really off the beaten path. We know, because we've
been cruising the Pacific Coast of South America for two seasons
now. The primary reason for cruisers to sail south of Ecuador,
of course, is to reach Patagonia and to round famous Cape Horn.
That was our goal, and now that we've accomplished it, we'd like
to share some of our thoughts about cruising in the 'far south'.
There Are Cruisers Down Here. Thanks to sailing magazine
coverage given this area in recent years, the number of cruisers
has continued to grow. The previous season, there were as many
as 35 yachts checking in with the HF radio net in Patagonia -
which covers the Falkland Islands to Easter Island. This year
there are 50 yachts checking in. Most of the cruisers are from
Europe, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. It puzzles us that
the United States is so under-represented. There were only two
U.S. boats this season, including Holger Kreuzhage and Tracy
Brown's Sausalito-based 72-ft gaff topsail schooner Lord Jim,
which was on a passage from the South Pacific through the Straits
of Magellan.
Yes, There Are Singlehanders Down Here, Too. We are amazed
at how many singlehanders there are here this year - eight out
of 50 boats. The ones we've met are exceptionally good sailors
who have always had adventure high on the list of things they
enjoy. They were not about to let the fact that they were alone
deter them. Some take on crew when available, others do not.
We truly marvel at how they can manage here - especially with
having to go through the anchoring hassle each day.
Six Months On, Six Months Off, Still Works. Most cruisers
in Mexico - ourselves included - spend six months on their boat,
then return north by plane or road for six months. We assumed
that once we'd left Mexico, all cruisers would be full-timers,
but that hasn't been the case. Even this far south, about half
of the cruisers spend four to seven months a year away from their
boats. If you plan in advance, you can find plenty of places
down here to safely leave your boat, making part-time cruising
possible. Last year we left Breila on the hard at Puerto
Montt while we flew to the U.S. and Canada for eight months.
It worked out very well.
You Can Charter In This Part Of The World. There is a
healthy fleet of skippered charter yachts offering the opportunity
to sail around Cape Horn and among the Beagle Channel glaciers
- or even longer trips to Antarctica or the Falklands and/or
South Georgia Islands. If you'd prefer not to see these places
from your own boat, you can do it on the charter boats for between
$200 and $500 a day - depending on the amount of comfort and
adventure you desire. In fact, many cruisers with their own boats
down here decide that 10-day expedition charters to Antarctica,
which leave from Ushuaia, are the best way to see the White Continent.
We Motored Often. Down here you spend much of your time
in narrow north-south channels, in which the wind inevitably
blows out of the north or south - no matter which direction it
might be blowing in the open Pacific. Even when the wind blew
from a favorable direction, we often motorsailed, as getting
to the next anchorage was crucial. Maximizing one's range under
power is important because there are very few fuel stops in the
1,000 miles between Puerto Montt and Puerto Williams/Ushuaia.
It's recommended that boats have a range of at least 500 miles
under power. We felt comfortable because we have a range of almost
700 miles. Nonetheless, we did sail some of the time, and even
set the chute for a few hours.
Cape Horn Is Do-Able. Rounding feared 'Old Cape Stiff'
is, of course, a major goal for those who venture this far south.
Thanks to accurate weather forecasts and two anchorages within
just 14 miles of the Cape, it's actually not that hard. Making
a rounding starting from Chile's Puerto Williams usually takes
between four and seven days. Surprisingly, the weather is settled
often enough at the Horn itself that about 50% of crews are able
to go ashore at Isla de Hornos to visit the monument, take photos,
and meet representatives of the Chilean Armada. Normally, however,
one crew-member stays aboard to watch the boat. But you can even
buy a souvenir t-shirt at Isla de Hornos. Indeed, we were more
than a little disappointed to hear that a concession is being
built at Cape Horn, complete with docking facilities, so that
cruise ship passengers may go ashore. It's our understanding
that once this facility is completed, landing fees will apply
to everyone.
We had a great sail around the Horn, but the wind freshened considerably
when we got in front of the very unprotected Bahia Leones, preventing
us from being able to go ashore. In fact, we had a difficult
time getting back to a safe anchorage, as it required seven hours
of sailing into 40+ knots of wind and very short and steep waves.
We tried to make a landing the second day also, but bad weather
thwarted us once again.
Winter Isn't That Bad. Although the marinas on the Beagle
Channel at Ushuaia, Argentina, and Puerto Williams, Chile, are
at about 55° South, it's still possible to sail in the winter.
In fact, that's the time when most long-timers prefer to sail,
as there is less wind and rain during the austral winter. We've
enjoyed some really lovely sunny and windless days, comparable
to cool autumn days in the Pacific Northwest. And there are considerably
fewer boats about. The bad news is that it's colder in the winter,
with the temperatures averaging just below freezing. In addition,
the days are much shorter, necessitating quick hops from one
safe anchorage to the next, something that greatly lengthens
passages.
Long Distance Days Are Out. While sailing in the channels,
a good day is 50 to 60 miles, but on average we'd move about
30 miles daily going south, and 15 to 20 miles going north. The
1,000+ mile trip from Ushuaia to Puerto Montt takes several months,
with only a few places in between to provision, refuel, and meet
crew/guests. Like most others, we avoided offshore passages whenever
possible.
The Weather Can Be Ferocious. Yesterday's forecast included
rachas to 100 knots - and the Horn actually recorded gusts to
130 knots! That's nothing to be taken lightly. It's not uncommon
for the wind to blow from one direction at 50 knots, then half
an hour later blow at 50 knots from the other direction. You
cannot over prepare for conditions like that. Again, numerous
sailing magazine articles in recent years have extolled the pleasures
of sailing Patagonia, but read between the lines, because it's
truly extreme sailing. During the course of our adventure, we
experienced some of the worst weather we could have imagined.
Constant vigilance is required because of both changes in the
weather and difficult anchoring conditions. The result can be
very stressful cruising. We even encountered some gales in the
channels.
It's Dangerous Cruising Down Here. While we knew this
would be a challenging sailing area, the cautionary tales can't
be overstated. Every year at least one cruising boat is involved
in a disaster that includes either the loss of the boat or a
life. This season one boat was lost because of a propane fire.
Had the boat not been in such a remote area, she might not have
become a total loss. As it was, the crew had to camp ashore for
21 days before being rescued! A few months later, two boats were
rolled in the 70-knot winds of a storm that hadn't been forecast.
Both boats were dismasted. One skipper managed to limp into port
under jury rig seven days later, but the other boat and skipper
were never seen again.
The season before, several boats endured dismastings, roll-overs,
or knock-downs in very high seas and powerful winds. Even when
the weather conditions aren't horrendous, constant vigilance
is required to sail in this area. It's tiring. We think that
cruisers with boats under 40 feet in length - ours is 38 feet
- should think very carefully before deciding that this is an
area they really want to cruise.
New Anchoring Techniques Are Required. All the previous
anchoring rules are reversed down here. We'd look for the smallest
gap in the rocky shoreline to sneak into, watching for areas
where the trees have grown straight up, not bent over. Then we'd
back in, drop the hook, jump in the dinghy, row quickly ashore,
and make fast to the trees. Like everyone else, we carried four
extra shorelines of 300 feet each, as well as several heavy anchors
on all-chain rode. We used these most every night. Getting settled
in an anchorage took an hour each day. On one occasion we had
to change anchorages four times and ultimately travel 20 miles
to find an anchorage with sufficient shelter from the weather.
Most of the anchorages are deep right to the shore and have little
swinging room. As such, we tucked right up against the land and
tied off. In some places, we were literally just feet away from
sheer cliffs.
Treacherous Sea Hazards. Kelp can foul your anchors and
rudder. We carried a scythe bound to a long pole for cutting
through the seaweed. Ice could also be a problem, and there were
a few times that we were lucky to make it through the ice floating
near the glaciers. Milky waters near glacial runoff also hide
rocks and moraine - even a foot below the surface. Plus, there
are numerous places where the currents - up to 11 knots - require
careful planning. We also had to negotiate standing waves in
a few places. While there are charts and good cruising guides
to the main areas, there are plenty of places that haven't been
charted.
The Wildlife And Scenery Are Superb. Nothing we'd heard,
no photos we'd seen, could have prepared us for the splendor
of the area. Though virtually all cruisers come here to 'do'
Cape Horn, it is usually the glaciers that make the greatest
impression. There are endless opportunities to hike the mountains,
valleys, glaciers and peat bogs, and to explore by dinghy or
kayak. There is also an abundance of opportunities for photographers,
as the glaciers are every color of blue. We enjoyed fantastic
wildlife encounters, too - Andean condors, Austral parakeets,
flightless steamer ducks, and huge albatross. In addition, we
enjoyed seeing Austral dolphins, Magellanic penguins, guanaco
herds, and giant rheas. We had to download our photo files each
day to ensure that we wouldn't miss a shot.
Getting Here Is Less Than Half The Battle. On both Atlantic
and Pacific coasts, going north from the Cape Horn/Beagle Channel
area is harder than the trip south. Most cruisers - even hardened
circumnavigators - who have sailed north up the Atlantic side,
report these were the most challenging sailing conditions they
have ever encountered. This year we met three boats whose crew
abandoned their northbound passage through the Chilean canals,
and several others said they wished they had.
It's Hard, But It's Worth It. Like all the other cruisers
we've talked to, we'll forever cherish our memories of sailing
in Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego, and around Cape Horn. Now we're
looking forward to cruising in the warm waters of Argentina,
Uruguay and Brazil. Believe us, a little warm wind sounds pretty
good about now!
- mike & catharine 04/15/06
Eaux Vives - Beneteau 40
Susie Bowman & Lance Batten
Antigua Classic Yacht Regatta
(Berkeley)
We know you folks at Latitude love St. Barth, and so do
we, but for those of us not accustomed to rubbing shoulders with
the glitterati, Antigua has its charms. We came to the Antigua
Classic Regatta in early April so that we could join the other
dockwalkers in drooling over the acres of brightwork and all
the polished brass. But it turns out that the most fun thing
to do is not watch the classic yachts race from atop Shirley
Heights, but actually sail aboard one of the boats. We found
this out after being invited to join Skip and Barbara Eaton aboard
their 44-ft French pilot boat Ragnar. Their 25-ton gaff
schooner was built of wood in Germany in '02 - from a 1910 design!
Ragnar is a heavy boat designed for strong winds and big
seas, so we weren't very competitive in the first race, which
featured abnormally light winds for Antigua. Indeed, it took
us nearly an hour to make it across the starting line. The whole
fleet ended up milling around and chatting until the lighter
boats finally responded to a faint breeze that finally came up.
As it turned out, we finished just 10 minutes before the six-hour
deadline! Our exhausted crew collapsed shortly after sunset,
missing the party sponsored by Mt. Gay Rum. This probably gave
us the advantage in Race 2, as all the boats with crew sporting
red Mt. Gay hats - purchased at the cost of three rum drinks
- looked a little grey.
We had our best day on the third and final race, which was sailed
on the Cannonball course. For this race they place a mark six
miles off English Harbor, making it a tradewind reach both going
out and coming back in. Because there was a staggered start,
every boat got to see all the other boats going out and coming
back in. What a thrill it was to see some well-matched 135-ft
J Class yachts charging down on us under a cloud of sail, their
huge crews wearing matching uniforms. At one point we were temporarily
becalmed because the Elenora, the 136-ft Herreshoff gaff
schooner, sailed right over the top of us and stole our wind.
The very big boats - such as Ranger, Eleonora, Altair, Aschanti
IV and Ticonderoga - have professional crews and take
the racing very seriously. The rest of us could relax after the
races and enjoy the plummy British spit & polish at a distance.
We particularly enjoyed the charming graciousness of the race
committee, and loved the stately pre-racing parade of classic
yachts through Nelson's Dockyard in English Harbor. But seeing
- and feeling - the spray flying from these grand old ladies
pressed to the hilt in indigo seas under brilliant blue skies
was the thrill of a lifetime! We've put an unreasonable number
of very pretty boat pictures from the racing and Concours d'Elegance
up at www.accidentalcruiser.com.
By the way, there's been quite a bit written recently about wifi
in Mexico. Well, we can report that it's arrived in the Caribbean
in a very big way this year. For example, there are five bars
in Falmouth Harbor alone that offer wireless internet, and in
some cases power, for just the price of a drink. This wasn't
available last year. We have also been able to get free internet
access in Dominica and St. Lucia from out in the anchorages,
and very reasonably priced internet access in Carriacou. We've
yet to buy one of those fancy antennas, but do use a good wireless
USB adaptor placed up on the deck on a USB extension cord snaked
up through the salon hatch. This way we've been able to view
our monitor from the comfort of the salon, and don't have to
huddle under a towel on the foredeck. But don't forget to watch
for squalls!
- susie & lance 04/15/06
Susie & Lance - It's true that we
love fooling around with our riff-rafferati sailing friends in
St. Barth, but we're big fans of Antigua, too. Between the mid-'80s
and mid-'90s, we did no less than six Antigua Sailing Weeks with
Big O, and few things in our
lifetime have made us prouder than to have been named 'Party
Boat of The Week' the last three times. However, because of conflicts
between our deadline and the dates of the Classic Regatta, we've
never been able to attend a Classic. That shall be corrected
next April.
By the way, in hindsight would you say that the dot.com bust
was the best thing that ever happened to you?
Swell - Cal 40
Liz Clark
The Sailing Surfing Safari
(Santa Barbara)
The first solid south swell has just spent over a week hitting
the Michoacan coast of Mexico with waves, and it just so happened
that Swell was floating within striking distance of a
spot I'd been eyeing on the charts for two months. The swell
is gone now, but my body has tangible evidence that it came through
- I have a leash tan on my ankle and my arms feel like steel.
In addition, my eyes are bloodshot from the salt and sun, and
my skin is the color of caramel.
Before departing the paradise of the 'Mexican Taliban', we hitched
a ride north and found some thick beachbreak peaks funneling
into a lush rivermouth. Despite sharing a cozy early '90s Honda
Civic with three chain smokers and a deafening music dance mix
as old as the car, Shannon and I both enjoyed looking over the
ledge of a few chunky mainland Mexico lips. But with the swell
picking up and our getting tired of Swell's perpetual
rolling, we continued on the next morning in search of a more
protected anchorage. We found it behind a little point with a
breakwater just 30 miles down the coast. The swell was still
making its way in, but the beach was flatter, so the backwash
and boat rolling were less pronounced.
The next morning we made our way to the wave that I'd been seeking.
As the taxi bumped down into the dusty little town, I caught
my first glimpses of the glassy lefts between the palm-topped
cabanas on stilts - and saw that they were bigger than I'd expected.
My first session reminded me of a backwards version of my favorite
wave back home on one of the bigger days of the year - except
here there were hardly any people in the water. I'd never surfed
such a long left, and after a few waves sent me into uncontrollable
giggles, I knew that I was going to get my fill. My backside
surfing was in need of some oiling, and this was the place to
get it lubed.
By the end of the first day, we'd met most of the local surfers,
either in the water or while hanging at the little restaurant
with the best view of the point. I can't remember the name of
the place, but it became our daily hangout. It was almost like
the bleachers at a high school football game, both because of
the excellent view of the action and the perpetual chitchat amongst
the mix of surfers who hung there before and after sessions.
The tiny town attracted the usual group of sundry surfers in
search of their fix. Unlike the speechless surf line-ups in the
States, the folks in the water at the less well-known Mexican
surf spots have generally been warm and welcoming. And why not,
as the locals are usually tired of talking to each other, and
the newcomers are lonely. Following a brief conversation and
a shared surf session, Shannon usually felt as though we'd been
initiated. Such was the case at this break, as by the end of
the first day we were 'in'.
Had our time there been a remake of an episode of the Brady Bunch,
I surely would have found myself smiling down at Shannon from
the top left square during the intro. In the other squares would
be the common overland surf traveler, the 'shoulda been here
20 years ago' guy, and the genuine local Mexican surfer. The
first of these types can come from as far away as Holland, such
as Klas, or as near as Seal Beach, such as Todd. And they can
be everything from mega-rippers to shoulder-hopping funboarders.
You can generally judge how long they've been away from home
by how shaggy their hair is. The 'shoulda been here 20 years
ago' guy is easily spotted by his extreme tan and his non-stop
stories of how we really blew it by not being born earlier. This
type says the waves used to be better and the water warmer, there
was never anyone out, and a mermaid dragged him back to the line-up
after every ride. Blah, blah, blah. Sure buddy. These guys just
tend to be mad because now a girl can paddle faster than they
can.
In absolute contrast to this type of character was Flaco, filling
the 'Mexican local' square. With his explosive backhand dominance
in the line-up, he just smiled and let his surfing do the talking.
And then there was Pablo, in a square of his own. He was an experienced
bluewater sailor and longtime lover of the sea. Shannon deemed
him a true American-Mexican, as he'd lived south of the border
for over 30 years. Nearly as jubilant and fiery as I can be,
his whole body shook when he spoke. His laugh was loud and unconstrained,
his eyes were bright and youthful - he had a spirit that hadn't
been crushed by the 9 to 5 world up north. When he heard of our
sailling-surfing plans, he nearly exploded with questions and
advice, and quickly took us under his helpful wing.
As the week progressed, we found ourselves immersed in Semana
Santa, which is both Easter and Spring Break in Mexico. The population
of the little town quadrupled in size, as very large families
pitched their tents wherever they could find space - high or
low, in sand or dirt, it didn't seem to matter. They happily
indulged in piles of fresh fruit and basked in the sun. Unlike
most American campers, who seem to bring along a car full of
olive green gadgets to replicate nearly everything they have
at home, the Mexicans were more concerned with family and fun
than appliances. It was hard to distinguish one family from another,
and everyone walked through everyone else's campsites. It was
customary to stop under someone else's shade, and people offered
each other food, smiles, and songs. A general feeling of joy
oozed through the chaos like mud between one's toes. But by midweek
the town felt the burden of its new population. Trash piles overflowed,
the restaurants ran out of food, and the water happened to run
out right as Shannon and I rubbed perfumed dollops of shampoo
into our hair. That was to have been our first showers in five
days.
One evening we accepted an invitation for dinner with some Californian
surfers who were being hosted at the gorgeous vacation home of
the Arche family of Mexico City. As I walked through the door
- late - I jabbered on about how the local restaurant was out
of everything except spaghetti. "I just don't like spaghetti,"
I declared boldly, and prattled on about how noodles "just
seem like worthless food". Twenty minutes later, we sat
down at a long, dark wood table, and were served from a big bowl
of shrimp spaghetti. Beatriz, the charismatic and talented captain
of the kitchen, gave me a friendly smirk and asked me to pass
my plate. After quietly removing my foot from my mouth, I ate
every delicious scrap, and asked for seconds. Later on Raul,
the patriarch of the Arche family, told cautionary tales of bee
swarms, amoebas, and of six men in the Med who had drowned because
they'd jumped off their boat before first putting down a swim
ladder. Shannon and I left with the man's antihistamine injections
and home phone number in case we got into any trouble in Mexico.
On principle, I don't like to rely on others for help, but we
needed four rides each day. One from our boat to the shore, then
from the shore to the surf spot, and then two more to reverse
the process. We could have gotten to shore using my dinghy, but
I didn't want to have my dinghy taken over the falls by a big
wave from the southern hemisphere. As it turned out, deciding
on relying on others for rides turned out to be pretty interesting.
Most mornings we were able to flag down a fisherman heading in
with his early catch, and thus make it to the beach dry. But
when there were no pangas in sight, we'd stuff the day's necessities
in the dry bags and paddle or swim 200 yards to shore, then emerge
on the beach like 'swamp things', making our way through an obstacle
course of oddly clad swimmers of all shapes and sizes. Our most
unusual trip from boat to shore was on the back of a rented jet-ski
being driven by an inexperienced Semana Santa-er. Having had
no luck hailing a panga, and feeling the need to conserve our
energy for the surf, we waved down a guy with a blindingly neon-yellow,
wide-brimmed hat, small purple shorts, and the jet-ski. After
happily agreeing to deliver us to shore, he rammed Swell
while attempting to pick us up, leaving a purple streak on the
hull as a souvenir. But I admit that I was a bit jealous of Shannon,
who got to wrap her arms around him on the way in.
Next, we had to find a way from the town to the break. On the
sweltering walk up the hill towards the main road, we'd take
whichever came first, be it an innocuous-looking ride or a passing
taxi. By the second day, we agreed not to waste our money on
taxis, and found ourselves bouncing along in the front of a bright
orange Dorito delivery truck. After a brief stop to restock the
local gas station with a day's supply of chips, Armando and Juan
Carlos kindly took us all the way out the dirt road, delivering
us just a skip away from the point. As we dismounted from our
marmalade-colored magic carpet, the guys already perched at the
restaurant just shook their heads in disbelief. The local police
became another staple 'go-to' option. Pablo set us up with them
the first afternoon, and everyday thereafter, the police always
stopped when they saw us, all three of them motioning for us
to jump in. They always made a pass down the dirt road before
heading back to the main town where Swell was anchored,
so we'd throw our boards in the back and jump in with one of
the policia, his AK-47 casually slung across his back.
The last trip of each day - the one from town back out to the
boat - was always the most unusual, as it would usually begin
with Shannon and me hopping out of a truck or Jeff or Clark's
slick rental minivan at about midnight, sunburned, aching, and
exhausted. Having left our boards at the surf spot for the next
day, Shannon and I would both make a 'there's no alternative'
sigh, walk out to the breakwater, and throw our dusty clothes
into the dry bag. On the rise of the surge, I'd dog-dive off
the rocks and into the black abyss to make sure it was deep enough.
Shannon would then slide in behind me. One night a group of 14-year-old
boys watched in disbelief as we plunged in off the rocks and
into the dark sea. Shannon said she felt like a Charlie's Angel.
Hair wet yet again, we'd swim the 200 yards back towards Swell's
faithfully swaying anchor light. There was always a bit of negative
anticipation before we jumped into the water, but these actually
turned out to be magical swims. We were surrounded by darkness,
the lights of the town flickering on shore, the stars smeared
across the overhead blackness, and glowing flecks of phosphorescence
trailed our motion through the black water. By the time we heaved
our fluoro-speckled bodies up the side of the boat, we'd be laughing
and reminiscing about the events of the day - much of which involved
Shannon breaking hearts right and left!
Okay, I saved the best for last - the waves. If you're a surfer
sitting in a cubicle under a flickering fluorescent light, save
yourself the agony and don't read on. But when it came to the
waves in Mexico, I was a kid in a candy store, a fat guy at an
all-you-can eat smorgie, a mosquito in a room full of lightly
clothed gringos, a cow in a green pasture. In other words, I
was hungry. During the daylight hours, I was possessed by the
waves - it was overhead all week long - that constantly caressed
the point. I'd surf a morning session and eventually straggle
in to the restaurant. While sucking down a mango-banana licuado
that would put Jamba Juice out of business, I'd try to hang with
the group of surfers recalling the waves of the morning. Just
as one would launch into a story, my eyes would stick to a set
lining up through the inside. My mind would wander as it rifled
across the empty bay. I'd lose my focus and start to twitch.
I'd roll and squirm in the hot sand and try to convince myself
that I needed some shade and some rest. Then another set, without
anyone on the waves, would wash across the bar. It was more than
I could take, so I'd put on more sunscreen, grab my board, and
sprint back to the point. Everyone else thought I was nuts, but
how could I sit there? There was nobody out, and I had a perfect
chance to get back in touch with the mechanics of my backside
surfing.
Wave after wave would come through with enough size and power
to allow me to make 10 turns! I'd crank the next one a little
more vertical, drop in a little deeper, drive around a section
a bit faster and smoother - mad with excitement, energy, and
creativity. I was in love with surfing, the warmth, the freedom
of my new life, and the victory of each small progression. It
was a high that I'd previously only experienced in fleeting flashes,
but now it was around long enough to almost get comfortable with.
As I dropped into a wave on the evening of the fourth day, the
sun's reflection was hung up in the lip. I placed my feet with
the perfect angle and glided down the glowing face. It all came
together. I set my rail hard, went straight up into the pocket,
and cracked the lip above me. Fortunately, for both peace of
mind and a break for my body, the swell finally faded. If it
hadn't, I'm not sure I could have left.
On our last day in the area, we arrived back at Swell's
cove midday with a heap of goods from our week on land. We'd
left everything overnight at the break, and thus had accumulated
quite a pile. It was Easter Sunday and the pangas weren't heading
out to fish, so I paddled a load out to Swell and grabbed
the longboard for the next pickup. Upon returning to the beach,
I found Shannon had lent her board to a little boy playing in
the water. He clung to it like a long lost friend, floundering
happily in the ankle-deep whitewash. I walked up to little Herman
and asked him if he wanted some help catching a wave.
"Quieres ayuda? Soy una maestra de surfear,"
I gently tempted. His eyes lit up and he excitedly plopped his
belly square on the stringer where I patted the board. I launched
him out over the incoming waves, reverting to my days as a summertime
surf instructor in Del Mar. He looked at me with wide-eyed trust.
"Listo?" I asked. He nodded with slight reluctance,
as I pushed into the momentum of the incoming swell. In my rush
back to the beach, I had neglected to put the fin in the tail
of the board, so I held on as we rode towards the shore, doubling
as the board's rudder. Herman didn't stand up for the first three
waves, but on the fourth he rose and planted his grubby little
feet beneath him - and with style. His face glowed as he dismounted
that first wave, and I slapped him a congratulatory high-five.
He immediately wanted his buddy to try, and so for the next hour
Herman and Octavio took turns popping to their feet as we rode
together toward the sand. It felt good to share the joy I'd felt
all week.
I finally had to pull the plug on the fun - we would be sailing
all night and needed a bit of time to get Swell ready
for sea. So Shannon strapped on her infamous water backpack,
and we waved good-bye to the new little surfers. I almost felt
guilty as I looked back to see Herman, dripping wet, carrying
on to his dad on the beach about what had happened. Surfing can
change your life.
- liz 04/18/06
Cruise Notes:
Bob van Blaricom has done a lot of sailing in his 75 years, but
on his latest trip, he saw a few things he'd never seen before:
"When my friend Carl Seipel - a circumnavigator who had
crewed aboard our boat Misty on two cruises to the Northwest
and Alaska - decided to sail his Yankee 30 Tootsie to
New Zealand, I went along for the first leg to La Paz. We had
a very strange experience the first night when we sailed between
Pigeon Point and Point Sur. I was on watch when I heard a very
low, steady tone like that of a diaphone. It was loud enough
for Carl to hear it in his bunk and to ask me what was going
on. I didn't know. But I did observe three evenly-spaced looms
of light on the horizon. They were far enough away so that I
couldn't see the source of the light, meaning the source was
probably 10 or more miles away - which was totally inconsistent
with the volume of the tone. As I was looking at the lights through
the binoculars, I was amazed to see what I can only describe
as 'reverse tracer shells'. Suddenly, a stream of bright orange
lights would appear, then they would be sucked back into the
light loom at extreme speed! This happened over and over from
all three light sources for six or seven minutes. Suddenly, the
sound, the light looms, and the 'reverse tracers' stopped for
about 15 minutes - then reappeared farther astern with a repeat
performance lasting about five minutes! I was sorry I didn't
get Carl up to corroborate my story, which I admit is pretty
unbelievable. I can only assume that it was either the military
up to some of their ominous tricks, or a UFO. I never much believed
in UFOs before, but now I'm not so sure!"
"We arrived in Ensenada about midnight a couple of nights
later," van Blaricom continues, "and anchored off the
old sunken Catalina Island steamer - which is now occupied by
a mob of sea lions who bellow and bark all night. The next day
Carl went ashore to try out the new Mexican entry facility and
procedures. The whole works is housed in one new little building
right on the waterfront, and there are separate windows for the
Harbormaster, Customs, and Immigration. There's even a mini-bank
to pay the fees. The only thing missing was a copy machine with
which to make the multiple copies of everything that the officials
require. That means you have to run all over town to find a copy
shop that isn't closed for siesta and whose copy machine isn't
broken."
"While Carl was ashore, I anchored Tootsie between
a pair of ferrocement sailboats - a green cutter from Oregon
and a black ketch from Washington. While waiting, I began to
hear an unbelievable stream - in English - of profanity, ranting,
and death-threats over the VHF. Looking around with the binoculars,
I soon figured out that the source of the outrage was the guy
on the Oregon boat, who was directing it toward a hippie-looking
group on the Washington boat. Next I heard several pings - and
realized that the Oregon guy had a rifle and was shooting at
them! It was only a pellet gun, but still I didn't like being
in the crossfire all that much. The next scene was even wilder,
as the antagonists got into their outboard-powered inflatables
and engaged in a ramming battle! The Washington boat's dinghy,
with another dinghy lashed alongside, rammed the Oregon dinghy
at speed, capsizing one dinghy, throwing two people into the
water - including the Oregon guy - and sending his dinghy zooming
round in circles with the motor at full throttle. It was total
pandemonium! Miraculously, the Oregon guy managed to catch his
dingy and crawl aboard, then retreat to his boat while hurling
dire threats at his attackers. Shortly thereafter, the Mexican
Navy showed up to board both yachts. I decided to change neighborhoods
by re-anchoring near an American schooner - whose skipper informed
me that the two ferro boats had been in the harbor for a whole
year, and their skippers had been fighting continuously!
"After a nice sail to Cabo, we headed on up to La Paz, but
were stopped by a Norther at Los Frailes. Unsure of how long
it would last, I decided to hitch a ride to the airport and let
Carl get on with his singlehanding. I caught a ride to the beach,
then stuck out my thumb. My first ride on the dirt road was with
a couple of elderly American desert rats in a jeep. My second
was with a Mexican family in the back of their rattly old pickup.
The third ride toward the highway was with a silent young Mexican,
who might have been some sort of cop. Finally, I got a ride with
another young Mexican in a van heading south toward the airport,
which is where he works. He drove like a maniac, stopping twice
to water the flowers at a couple of those little shrines built
along the roads in memory of people who died in car accidents.
When I asked why he was stopping, he explained they were memorials
for his relatives! I was afraid someone might have to build one
for me, but we arrived safely at the airport, and soon I was
on a plane bound for home. It had been a most interesting three
weeks."
Seipel's wife later reported that Carl made a 21-day solo passage
from Cabo to Nuku Hiva, experiencing almost no calms in the doldrums.
He expects to reach New Zealand, where he's bought property,
by November.
How fast can you sail around the world in a small boat? Well,
singlehander Ardell Lien of San Diego left 'America's Finest
City' in May of last year aboard his Nor' Sea 27 Catalyst,
and in less than one year has made it all the way around to Brazil,
which we figure is about 80% of a circumnavigation. After a short
rest, he was going to resume his trip up the coast of South America,
through the Canal, and hoped to be back in California before
the end of summer. Latitude readers might recall that
only about three years ago, Lien was so weak from congestive
heart failure that he couldn't climb a flight of stairs or lift
a bag of groceries. But after a heart and kidney transplant at
the Mayo Clinic, he's became a new man. He calls his circumnavigation
"a mission to build awareness of the need for organ donations
around the world." According to the www.organ-donation-for-life.com website,
as many as seven lives can be saved or enhanced from the tragedy
of just one person. The least we can all do in recognition of
Lien's feat is to check the website out and seriously consider
putting ourselves on the list of organ donors.
"We were in Bequia for three weeks, including April 13-17
for the just-completed 25th annual Bequia Easter Regatta,"
write Terry and Evelyn Drew of Aquarelle, a former charter
boat the Aptos couple bought and keep in the Caribbean. "There
were never more than 12 knots of wind this year. In fact, the
cruising class division of the around-the-island race had to
be called off. Nonetheless, it had been a hard-fought battle,
and we'd made it to within just a few miles of the finish. The
after-race party, which went on for hours, made up for it. The
fishing boat class was interesting, as Iron Duke, which
was built in 1885, made it back out on the water for the first
time in many years. There's no original wood left in her hull,
but the Portsmouth, New Hampshire-built boat is the one that
all the Bequia boats are fashioned after. Trouble, built
about 1890, and rebuilt last year, was also back on the course.
In less good news, the crew of Perseverance, a 17-ft whale
boat, managed to bag a 40-ft humpback whale on Sunday prior to
the start of racing. The International Whaling Commission now
allows Bequia to kill up to four whales a year, up from just
two a few years ago. The island has a long history of whaling,
and all who participate in the kill get a portion. For some it's
a major source of protein. We're down in Tobago now, and half
the boats that were in Bequia are here, too. Thankfully, the
loud music hasn't come with them. That stuff was really hard
to take in Bequia, as sometimes it went on until 5 a.m., and
there was no way to get away from it."
It's June, which also means it's the start of hurricane season
in Mexico. Here's the score of Mexican hurricanes in recent years:
Last year there were seven hurricanes, the first starting on
May 17, the last ending on October 3. None caused any real damage
ashore. In '04 there were six hurricanes, the first starting
on July 19 and the last ending on September 19. Again, there
wasn't much damage. It was different in '03, however, as there
were seven hurricanes, the first of which wasn't until August
22, and the last of which was October 26. But two of these were
very destructive. The first of these was Ignacio in late August,
which really made a mess out of La Paz, as well as boats in and
out of the water. But he wasn't anything compared to Marty, which
hit almost exactly a month later, causing extreme damage to boats
and marinas in La Paz. Up in Puerto Escondido, it blew many boats
ashore. While most of the waterfront of La Paz has been cleaned
up nicely, there are still many battered boats around at anchor
and on the hard, reminders of the terribly destructive power
of hurricanes. Good luck to everyone with a boat in Mexico this
season. As for the Caribbean-Atlantic hurricane season, which
was so horrendously awful last year, it runs from July until
December. Good luck to all you folks, too.
"I regret to have to inform everyone that Sylvia de La Mora
has left her position here at Marina Mazatlan," reports
Antonio Cevallos. "She was much loved by the members of
the cruising community for her great service, generosity, and
friendship. We'll miss her badly. Before her departure, the cruisers
in Mazatlan and other friends organized a farewell party attended
by 120 people. The good news is that Liana Buchanan has now joined
the Marina Mazatlan team. She and her husband Bob, who runs Total
Yacht Services, cruised for a year before deciding to call Marina
Mazatlan home. They've been here for four years now. Liana has
been a key volunteer in organizing many marina events, knows
most of the cruisers who visit us on a regular basis, and knows
all the places cruisers need to know about in this wonderful
city."
"Our time in Acapulco passed quickly," write John and
Amanda Neal of their all-over-the-planet-based Hallberg-Rassy
46 Mahina Tiare, which this summer they are sailing from
Vancouver, BC, to the Baltic countries via the Canal. "After
a couple of rough days with the current bouncing Mahina Tiare
off a concrete finger pier, Sr. Jose Marquez, the Club de Yates
harbormaster, found a much better mooring spot for us across
from the fuel dock. Changing berths involved undoing six dock
lines and one stern mooring line. In order to not hit the expensive
sportfishing boat sharing the berth, we had to have her skipper
plus three helpers assist with the docklines. A stop at the club's
fuel dock - the only place to fuel in Acapulco - took several
hours, as we had to wait for two large sportfishing boats to
fuel before we topped our main tanks plus the additional jerry
jugs. It then took over an hour to carefully back into our new
Med-style mooring and adjust the lines and fenders. Although
the club has recently added over 100 new berths, the demand for
slips here is tremendous, as the wealthy of Mexico are buying
100-ft plus powerboats the way people buy little Bayliners in
the Northwest. But the club officials did their best to accomodate
all of the even modest cruising boats. Our new stern-to berth
meant that we could sleep through the night without having to
get up to adjust mooring lines. Plus, we gained a fabulous view
of the Acapulco skyline, where the night lights reach up behind
the city into the mountain ridges behind.
"Provisioning took a fair amount of time," the couple
continue, "as traffic was tied up with holidays and parades.
But we again used Wal-Mart for bulk and dry goods, and the new
Gigante for vegetables. The quality and price of fruits and veggies
varied considerably from store to store. It was so hot in Acapulco
that John would leave for his morning run along the beaches well
before sunrise, while Amanda would spend that time with her Rodney
Yee yoga workout on DVD. The yacht club's large swimming pool
was our midday and early evening respite. One of the days we
must have gone swimming five times, it was that hot. The pool
is surrounded by lush, tropical plants and flowers, and the entire
club premises is an oasis of calm, beauty, and extraordinary
architecture. Stepping out the club gate requires a quick adjustment
to the intense, bustling, and slightly dirty and smelly city.
Maybe we're turning into wimps, but the $800 charge for eight
nights of moorage - the most we're ever paid - seemed a bargain
compared to being anchored out in the dirty harbor and having
to worry about the security of the boat and the dinghy. If we
weren't working, we could never justify the expense, but as we
treasure our days between expeditions, it was a joy to relax
a little. The highlights of Acapulco were a leisurely afternoon
spent at Fuerte San Diego, an impressive, huge, pentagon-shaped
structure built to protect the treasures passing through Acapulco
from English and Dutch privateers. The fuerte has been completely
restored and turned into a first class museum. Plus, it was air-conditioned."
We spent some time with Big O in Acapulco one May, and
can empathize with John and Amanda. It's as hot there as Acapulco
Bay is naturally beautiful. And the Acapulco YC - which is actually
a private club as opposed to a U.S.-style yacht club and
particularly the club's pool, is a very welcome refuge. But $100/night
for a mooring. Wow! They must think they're in South Florida
or Martha's Vineyard. The truth of the matter is that Mexicans,
from middle class on up, are starting to take to boating in a
big way. In fact, the last time we were at Paradise Village,
Harbormaster Dick Markie told us they were going to have to reconfigure
their docks to accomodate a 170-ft motoryacht that will be permanently
based there. On a slightly different scale, but no less important,
Markie reported that Paradise Village will be the site of the
prestigious J/24 Worlds next March, with entries expected from
30 countries.
One of the cultural differences Americans have the most difficulty
with in Mexico is that laws are interpreted and enforced very
differently from one area to another. For example, if you want
to clear out of most ports in Mexico for the United States -
an international clearance - you have to get a time-consuming
and costly medical clearance. But if you clear out of Ensenada
for the United States, they don't require one. So what do mariners
do if they are headed from Puerto Vallarta or Mazatlan or La
Paz for San Diego? They clear from that port for Ensenada - an
easy 'domestic' clearance - then pop over the border, not having
had to get a medical clearance. We've even heard rumors that
boats simple clear from P.V., Mazatlan, or La Paz for Ensenada,
then don't even both stopping there at all. As long as you can
prove that you came from Mexico, U.S. officials couldn't seem
to care less about any medical clearance.
Another area of Mexican law that is interpreted differently depending
on where you are concerns the legal way to charter foreign-owned
vessels. Neil and Mary Shroyer of Marina de La Paz tell us that,
in the La Paz area, it can only be done under the auspices of
a company that is 51% or more owned by a Mexican. But David Crowe
of San Jose, who owns the Paradise Marina-based Choy-Morrelli
70 catamaran Humu-Humu, says that's not how it works in
Puerto Vallarta. "I know because I have formed the required
Mexican corporation, having undergone all the necessary inspections,
and am now duly approved to conduct charters in Mexican waters.
In fact, Humu-Humu will start summer charters on Banderas
Bay on May 22. Here's another neat thing. The corporation has
Mexican liability insurance, which covers all paying passengers.
It costs $500 for one year. Try to get passenger liability insurance
in the good ol' lawyer-infested U.S. for a price like that."
What's currently driving us to distraction about Mexico is whether
or not they are going to require all boats over 10 meters to
have an AIS (Automatic Identification System) - as they've been
threatening. Here's the strange story: According to Mexico's
powerful SCT ministry, thanks to something called the North American
Security and Prosperity Partnership, Mexico, like co-signers
the United States and Canada, will be obligated to require that
all boats over 33 feet, foreign and domestic, be equipped with
these devices that identify what and where the vessel is. These
devices cost about $700, but there would also be a monthly fee
of about $20 to be paid to a private company for the service.
But here's the rub - while SCT insists that the U.S. will be
implementing the exact same policy, the U.S. Coast Guard, including
the department that is charged with AIS implementation, say they
don't have any idea what SCT is talking about. The U.S. requires
such devices on commercial boats over a certain size, but not
recreational boats. In any event, about a month ago the Marina
Owners Association of Mexico went to Mexico City, met with the
SCT honchos, and came away with what they thought was a promise
that the requirement wouldn't go into effect in Mexico until
it did in the United States. But then the SCT went ahead and
sent the proposed legislation to Cofmer, which is an agency of
the Mexican government that checks to see that no new laws contradict
existing law. If Cofmer finds there are no conflicts, the legislation
automatically becomes law, game over.
Will a law requiring AIS units on all boats over 33 feet go into
effect in the next few months in Mexico? If so, will port captains
in Mexico actually enforce it? How will boats currently in Mexico
get such units? What will happen to owners who refuse to get
them? We'll let you know as soon as we find out.
"While getting ready to help deliver a boat from Cabo to
San Diego, I looked into getting the necessary Mexican fishing
licenses," reports Bob Walden. "As many readers already
know, everybody on a boat in Mexico must have a personal fishing
license - even if the only fishing gear aboard is for emergencies.
What might be less well known is how easy it can be to get such
licenses. Thanks to Sherry at Vagabundos del Mar, it took me
less than five minutes and $50 to become legal for one year.
I got my license priority mail less than 24 hours later. So anyone
looking to get a license may want to check out www.vagabundos.com.
John Kelly and Linda Keigher of the Seattle-based Sirona 38 Hawkeye
report it took them 23 days to cover the 3,185 miles between
the Galapagos and Fatu Hiva in the Marquesas. "We are in
awe of the islands - they are soooo beautiful! And the water
is clean, clear, and warm. We now have a sense of accomplishment
that's hard to explain. We were so excited to get here, as when
we listened on the net each day, we'd hear about boats that had
just arrived. We're sorry to say that each day there seemed to
be, in addition to the reports of arrivals, reports of boats
having problems. For example, Figment suffered three broken
shrouds, so Bob, who was a rigger, was doing his best to jury-rig
something. Another boat had an engine problem, and had been working
on it for several days. Today the skipper of Trudel checked
in and said he'd lost his propeller! They are fine, however,
and will be sailling in - although they will need help getting
the hook down in a good spot."
Our report in 'Lectronic
Latitude that Jack van Ommen had singlehanded his triple-chine
Naja 29 Fleetwood from California to Vietnam got a lot
of reaction. For example, Scott Brear writes:
"I lived in Hong Kong for 10 years, and while I cruised
a lot in the Philippines, I never did make it to Vietnam. But
the Royal Hong Kong YC held races to Vietnam every other year.
I have a lot of knowledge regarding the problems with pirates
in that region and with corrupt government officials. Vietnam
is extremely corrupt, as nothing gets done without a payment.
And if the payment is to the wrong person, the payee can be exposed
as 'corrupt' and get jail time - as happened to a friend of mine.
The pirates are generally in a region bordered by Indonesia,
the southern Philippines, and Vietnam. They have been around
for centuries and are a real problem. They used to ignore pleasure
boats because of the slim booty, but now it seems that all boats
are fair game. My advice would be to only travel in groups. I
would also stay well away from Mindanao, the southern tip of
Palawan, as well as virtually the entire coast of Vietnam. The
people in that part of the world are beautiful, very inviting,
and all of the countries are magnificent to visit in so many
ways. Nonetheless, a few pirates and corrupt officials can quickly
ruin a very nice journey - or charter."
That's right, Sunsail has a bareboat charter base at Nha Trang,
Vietnam, which is just south of Danang. The boats are allowed
to cruise a 60-mile stretch of coast that is, presumably, free
of pirates. By the way, we'll have van Ommen's report on Vietnam
in the next issue.
"I have to get someone to bring some more current Latitudes
down to Panama," writes Bruce Winship of the Alameda-based
Crowther 33 cat Chewbacca. "I was walking by the
yacht club bar carrying the May '06 issue, and was almost mobbed.
I finally relinquished it in return for a cold beer. You just
gotta love capitalism! By the way, the crew of Chewbacca
helped Steve and Renee take their F/P 42 cat Shiraz through
the Canal a few weeks ago."
Well, Bruce, we have what we think is great news for all you
folks out cruising and lusting for the latest issue of Latitude.
By the time this issue gets out, you should be able to download
the complete latest issue - in magazine rather than scrolling
format - and read it at your convenience on your computer. It
will be the complete issue in magazine form, and to 'turn the
page', you just hit a button. The thing we like best about it
is that the photographs turn out so much better than they do
on newsprint. We're very excited about it, and
hope you will be also. Visit www.latitude38.com for details.
Speaking of Panama, we're told that the folks behind Red Frog
Beach Resort and Marina in the Bocas del Toro area on the Caribbean
side of Panama have obtained all the permits necessary to begin
construction of their housing, marina, and golf course development.
We've also been told that all 100+ slips have been spoken for.
While Panama is usually a long overnight trip from California,
it's only a couple of hours by air from Texas and the South,
and is becoming an ever more popular place for Americans to retire.
Unlike the mostly murky water on the Pacific Coast of Panama,
the waters on Panama's Caribbean coast are incredibly clear.
A popular feature of the Bocas del Toro area, which is already
home to two small marinas, is that, historically, hurricanes
haven't ventured that far south.
The damn sea lions are back! Eric Mears, who has become a partner
in the 45-ft Capricorn Cat formerly 100% owned by Blair
and Joan Grinoles, reports that he's having a heck of a time
keeping sea lions off the cat at her Newport Beach mooring. "About
four or five large - 400 to 500-pound sea lions showed up last
week, and I'm having a heck of a time keeping them off Capricorn
Cat."
Sea lions taking over boats have been and from time to time continue
to be a serious problem at Pier 39, Monterey, Avila Beach, Newport
Beach, and other places. Where they have been congregating on
boats has not been their natural habitat. But they are cute and
much-loved by the public, so almost anything you can think of
to try to get rid of them is illegal or ineffective. Up close,
sea lions aren't so cute. In fact, they are mean and dangerous.
As we know from first-hand experience, they make a terrible mess
on boats, stink, and often make it impossible for people to sleep
anywhere in the vicinity. In addition, they've been the cause
of a number of boats sinking, including a large sailboat last
summer in Newport Harbor.
It's been a couple of years since we'd heard from old friends
Garth Wilcox and Wendy Hinman, who did the 2000 Ha-Ha aboard
their Port Ludlow, WA-based Wylie 31 Velella. It turns
out they've been out cruising all along, and most recently they
sailed from Saipan, in the Marshall Islands, to Hong Kong - which
meant they left the Pacific Ocean for the South China Sea, having
passed through the Philippine Sea along the way. It was a tricky
passage, as it was transition time for the monsoon, which means
unstable weather - and even the chance of typhoons (the name
for hurricanes in that part of the world.) But they made it safely,
and we'll have a longer report next month.
There were three days of racing in last month's Second Annual
Marina Mazatlan Regatta, with 11 boats between 27 and 38 feet
participating. Much of the racing - cruiser-style, of course
- was along Mazatlan's popular malecon, where the colorful spinnakers
attracted the attention of the locals enjoying their afternoon
strolls. There was tremendous local support for the event, from
officials such as Lt. Gabriel Fuentes, representing the Navy,
and Capt. Gonzalez Dada, representing the port captain's office,
to radio, television, and newspaper coverage. It all culminated
with a ramped up, catered, tableclothes-on-the-table, sit-down
dinner, where the men were even required to wear shirts. The
top three places went to Techumsech, Eduardo Olivares's
Morgan 37; Spondylus, Jose Luis Rivera's Catalina 27;
and tied for third, Galapagos, Jose Villalon's C&C
38, and Gypsy, Luis Algara's Yankee 30. Nonetheless, the
loudest audience applause went to those skippers who refused
to lighten ship by leaving their cruising gear - washer-dryers,
televisions, fuel jugs, anchors, kayaks, dinghies - ashore.
The World Cruising Club, the British outfit that's been running
the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC) from the Canary Islands
to St. Lucia for 21 years, has announced that they will be hosting
another Around The World Rally. If we're not mistaken, the only
previous one was the '82 Europa '92, in which two Northern California
boats participated. Back then the event was run by Jimmy Cornell,
who founded the ARC. He's since sold the outfit, but just completed
the new course on his own boat, and pronounced it good. The route
wisely makes use of the Panama Canal and goes via the Cape of
Good Hope to avoid political strife in the Red Sea.
The new Rally will start from the Caribbean in January of '08,
and continue as follows: Panama, Ecuador and the Galapagos, the
Marquesas, the Tuamotus, Tahiti, the Cook Islands, Nuie, and
Tonga, Fiji, Vanuatu, Australia, and Darwin, Indonesia, Cocos-Keeling,
the Chagos, Mauritius, Reunion, South Africa, and Cape Town for
Christmas. In January of '09, the rally will cross the Atlantic
to Brazil for Carnival, and up to the Caribbean to complete the
circumnavigation by late spring. If you're thinking that just
over a year for a circumnavigation is lightning fast, it is,
as the typical cruise around the globe is three years. Nonetheless,
the organizers assure everyone that there will be plenty of time
for independent cruising, side-trips, and breaks.
The World Cruising Club has yet to announce a price for the event
or say how many boats will be allowed to participate. They do,
however, acknowledge receiving over 500 inquiries. The event
will be open to monohulls 38 feet or longer, and multihulls between
38 and 60 feet. Each boat must have at least two people aboard,
and there will be detailed safety requirements. If you have any
interest in such an event, we'd visit www.worldcruising.com and get your name on
the list. For no matter what the fee is going to be - we're sure
there will be a lot of takers.
With the summer cruising season upon us, we'd love to hear from
you folks cruising in the South Pacific, the Med, the Pacific
Northwest - wherever!
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