The Real Mexico: Mazatlan

I'm not sure where the last Newsletter left off, but Les tells me it was after the haul-out ... I just checked, and she's right -- as always. One thing she left out: during the haul-out, Les got a very bad attack of amebic dysentery. This was a Very Bad Thing. We're not really sure where she caught the little critters (symptoms take 10-14 days to show up), but she had been struggling with them for several months. We had been going to a doctor and trying several different drugs, but nothing seemed to keep them away. The problem is that the illness is cyclical: one is very sick for about a week, then the symptoms go away ... only to return at a later date. So many times we thought that we'd killed the little critters, only to find Les running for the bathroom again a week (or a month) later. Running to the bathroom is very difficult when your boat is in a locked boatyard (and you aren't supposed to be living aboard while "on the hard"). Anyway, we've finally killed the little buggers; 10 days of Flagyl finally knocked them out of her system. YAY!

Oh, the reason I brought this whole thing up was that Les was REALLY bad on the day we wanted to put the boat back into the water. I ended up running to a nearby hotel, renting a room, running back to the boat, grabbing Les between trips to the bathroom, running her back to the hotel, showing Les where the toilet was, running back to the marina to find somebody to help me with the lines, then back to the boatyard to splash the boat, docking the boat, then slowly panting my way back to the hotel, to collapse in front of the TV. (I hadn't watched TV for months, and I wasn't going to waste this opportunity!)

Like Les said in the last newsletter, I volunteered to help a friend, Keith, sail their boat, "Roller Coaster" up from Baja to San Diego; it's called the "Baja Bash" because it's a long, hard slog to windward. I volunteered because there's the possibility that we'll be doing the same route w/ Kestrel , and I wanted to gather some experience -- using someone else's boat. There really isn't that much to tell of the trip: The crew were only Keith and me since the other volunteer got a sick at the last moment (actually, after the last moment: we had to drop him off in Cabo San Lucas!) There was no sailing involved: we motor-sailed the whole way. We had 2 really nasty days of pounding into 20 knots of wind (25 apparent) and 4-6ft waves. I know that a lot of you will say "20 knots! 4-6 foot waves! What wimps! That's not nasty -- I've sailed in much worse!" Yeah, yeah -- I have, too. But try sailing *into* it for 2 days, then get back to me. We also had 2 days which were dead-calm, and 3 days which were just mildly annoying. A good trip: a little uncomfortable, but about what I expected.

Leslie, unfortunately, had a bit of a "Boat Issue" while I was gone: one morning she woke up and heard an odd noise ... something like running water. YIKES! She eventually found spout of water where there was a slit in a cockpit drain hose. The hose was in the process of delaminating, and it was leaking seawater into the boat. The good news was that she caught it quickly; the bad news was that the primary bilge-pump did not kick in. The water in the bilge had not risen to the point where the secondary pump would operate, but it was still annoying because we had just replaced the float switch on the primary pump!

Anyway, with some cursing and help from friends, Les got everything fixed. It took 3 days: one day to remove the hose and reassemble only to find out there were other issues; one day to find replacement hose and new parts for what was destroyed while removing the old hose; and one day to put everything back together. I felt really bad that I was up in San Diego while this was all happening, but Les did a wonderful job without me.

Once I got back from San Diego, we shifted into high gear: it was time to get out of La Paz. We enjoyed Baja, we love La Paz, but if we were going to see the world, we had to get moving. A week of preparing the boat, loading provisions, and saying good-bye to friends ... and we were off.

Sailing out of La Paz harbor brought on mixed feelings. We remembered the first time we entered the bay: we arrived exhausted from the trip up from Cabo San Lucas, worn out from 6 months of sailing down the West Coast, and a little desperate to find someplace to rest. Kestrel seemed to know where to go to take care of us, and we pulled into the first marina we saw. We told each other it was only for a day -- tomorrow we'll anchor out. A couple of weeks later we signed a 6-month lease ("We get a 10% discount with 6 months!").

For the next 10 months we were based in La Paz. We sailed out of the harbor many times to explore the Sea of Cortez, but each time we returned. This time we were leaving for good; we probably would never be back. It's a feeling I've felt many times in my life, but I've never gotten used to it. Even though I'm excited to be going somewhere new, at the moment of departure I'm glued to the airplane window or staring over the stern of the boat with a hang-dog expression on my face, thinking melancholy thoughts and wondering why I'm leaving such a wonderful place. Sometimes -- if you listen carefully -- you'll even hear me whimper a little.

The tender, thoughtful moment probably lasted for 2 minutes -- then we decided to raise the sails. We weren't going far -- only 7 miles to a cove just north of Pichilingue -- so we didn't have to hurry. We think it's a good practice to go just a short distance on the first day of a big voyage: It's a lot easier to make sure that everything is stowed properly when you aren't stopping every 5 minutes to say good-bye to somebody. We also needed time to prepare mentally: we were headed out on a 4-day trip, and it had been almost a year since we'd taken that long a voyage. I'm not sure what Leslie did, but I prepared myself by reading "The Perfect Storm", a book about the sinking of a fishing boat. Not the brightest move, I didn't sleep very much the first night because I kept thinking about scenes from the book...

The first night we anchored next to "Emma", another boat from Oregon. We traded stories about "The Big Flood," and then played "Do you know this person?" for a while. Dave and Leanne are nice people, and after a while they asked Leslie "Did you take a diesel mechanics course about 6 years ago at Portland Community College with Hugh Brock?" Yup, turns out they were in the same class. Small world. They also knew a friend of ours, Garry Weber; Dave used to work with Garry.

The next day we pulled anchor and motored north. We decided to pull into the next cove to see if we knew anybody, and who should we meet but ... Garry Weber on Isis! We woke him up and called Dave of Emma on the radio, then had a nice reunion. We tied up to Garry's boat and chatted for a while, but then we had to move on because we had to get to Ensenada de los Muertos before sundown.

Motoring through San Lorenzo Channel, we prepared ourselves for Cerralvo Channel -- scene of some of our worst weather on the way up. But the day was bright, sunny and calm, and the water was pleasantly flat. We heard on the radio a boat "Dreamweaver" hailing a friend of ours, and we asked if "Dreamweaver" could deliver a message once he got a hold of the other boat "Mi Casa". It turned out that "Dreamweaver" was also from Oregon ... in fact, they were in our yacht club! Geez, talk about old home week.

We got to Muertos in plenty of time. (I don't know anything about the morbid name of the place.) I dove on the prop to scrape any barnacles off, and after a brief radio exchange, Les went over to a neighboring boat for some free fish: they'd caught too much that day. After I was done with the prop I swam over to visit with Malcom and Jackie on "Aeolus". As I was visiting, I saw Les rowing back to Kestrel and a horrible thought entered my mind: Les would arrive at the boat, call my name, and -- when I didn't answer -- think I'd drowned! I immediately started hollering at her, so she rowed over with nary a worry, not knowing how close she'd come to a major freak-out.

Aeolus left very early the next morning, hoping to get to Mazatlan before nightfall on the second day. Experience has told us that we should not plan on averaging more than 4 knots, unless we are prepared to motor the whole time. 192 miles to Mazatlan divided by 4 knots = 48 hours. We figured there was no way we would get in before nightfall, so we relaxed to the fact we were going to spend 2 nights at sea. We raised our anchor at 9 am, and sailed out of the cove. There's something satisfying about sailing off anchor; it just makes you feel more seaman-like.

We sailed off under main and jib; as we left the protection of the point, the wind picked up a bit, and the waves picked up a lot. The south side of Cerralvo Island is usually a lumpy place: the waves travel down both sides of this long island, then curve towards each other at the south end, making it very uncomfortable for sailors. The wind in the sails helped steady the boat, but with the freshening breeze we had a little too much sail -- a reef in the main was in order.Then another ... then another. Soon we were down to just the jib, as the forecast of "5-15 knots" was blown to smithereens by 25+ knot gusts. Nightfall had us down to our storm jib, sailing about 30 degrees south of our intended course. The straight-line course to Mazatlan put the wind and seas right on our beam -- a most unpleasant point of sail in a blow, and memories of our knockdown off Cedros were not far from our minds. We cracked off a little (headed more downwind) so we would take the wind and seas on our stern quarter -- much more comfortable. There is a price to pay for comfort, however: sooner or later we would have to head back up into the wind. But that would happen later; right now we just wanted to steady the boat a little.

The night wore on, and luckily, the wind didn't rise. We were sailing fine in 20-25 knot winds, making tracks to Mazatlan. We were a bit uncomfortable, but neither of us were worried. Well, Les wasn't worried, because she hadn't read that damn "Perfect Storm" book. I was having trouble sleeping.

Day broke, the winds died down a little, and Les and I enjoyed a perfect day of sailing: long swells, no chop, full sail, 10 knots of breeze, right on the beam. We shook out all our sails and danced over the calming seas. We took naps, read, dinked with the windvane, cooked, washed dishes, dreamed. Les called it one of her most perfect days of ocean sailing ever. This was what cruising is supposed to be about.

Evening came, and the wind picked up. Why does that happen to us? For normal people, the wind dies in the evening. For us, it picks up. I had the problem that we were going too fast: the day's sailing had been so good, we were ahead of schedule. But as I kept reducing sail, the wind kept picking up, and we kept going the same speed. I was getting frustrated ... until I remembered our motto: "It's better than working." So I relaxed, reduced sail a little more, and had a lovely evening, sailing towards Orion.

Morning came, and Mazatlan was in view. Actually, the lighthouse had been in view for several miles: at the top of a 500' hill, it is visible for more than 30 miles. But now we could see the city itself, and were excited about the new landfall. Actually, excited was not the word at that moment: the word was frustrated. I was letting the light winds get the best of me: 4 miles away from the harbor entrance, and I couldn't get any closer. Les finally convinced me that sailing to within 4 miles was good enough, and we started the engine for the first time in 3 days.

I've babbled for too long; I'll need to edit before I send this out. In the last 2 weeks we've explored Mazatlan and visited Copper Canyon. Both are worthy of their own newsletters.

Just in case we don't get to another Internet Cafe before Christmas, we hope you all have a great holiday season. We wish we could be with you -- wherever you are. Or, even better: we wish you could be here with us! Take care, and have a great Y2K!

Fair winds and perfect passages,
       Jay & Leslie