It's a quarter to seven, and I'm already brewing my second cup of coffee. We're anchored in the most peaceful bay we've seen since Baja, and I'm enjoying the morning beyond description. Birdsong fills the air. Fish splash, jump or boil nearby, almost as loud as the birds. Some pelicans fly low over the water, checking out today's menu. Mangroves line the bay, while brown hills rise behind. The hills remind me of Northern California: rolling hills covered with brown grass, with green trees filling the valleys. But this is Northern Costa Rica, and the valleys are not scrub oak but jungle.
It's obvious we need new guide books. There must be 20 different bird calls, but we haven't a clue what we're listening to. Green birds fly by -- always in pairs -- working like hell to keep airborne while uttering tremulous "aaww's" of compliant. They might be Green Macaws, but I'm not sure. Dense mangroves line the bay, and other trees stretch back from the high-tide line; but we have no names for them.
But the best part of all about this bay is that we have it all to ourselves. A fishing panga came in last night at dusk, waved at us and anchored nearby, and was gone by the time I got up in the morning. Other than that, the bay is ours. In the last 5 months of traveling down the Pacific Coast, this is only the second totally undeveloped bay we've anchored in. I keep expecting one of the birds to start singing "Mambo #5"; almost every beachside palapa we've seen has blasted that song several times a day.
We found ourselves in this paradise almost by accident. The trip from Guatemala was a hard one. We had planned to sail directly from Puerto Quetzal to Costa Rica, but Suzi the Wonder Diesel developed a mystery oil leak which I could not locate. We decided to pull in to La Union, El Salvador, in order to try to fix the leak and buy more oil.
La Union was poor, friendly, and heavily armed. Every store has at least one armed guard. While we were in the Telephone Exchange, using the internet, a young man came in and the guard asked him to check his gun. The guard put the gun in locked drawer #3. A little later, another gun went into #4. Four guns, and -- other than the guards and us -- there were only 10 people in the room.
In spite of the number of handguns (or maybe because of it), the people were very friendly. Many people in fishing pangas and dugout canoes stopped by -- not to sell us fish, but just to visit. One boy in particular, Hilario, came by several times in his uncle's dugout, using a paddle made with squares of plywood nailed to each end of a broomstick. We had some great conversations. He said he worked at a bakery, but when we asked what hours he worked (we needed bread and wanted to stop by) he was a little vague. I suspect that the work was irregular; unemployment in El Salvador runs close to 50%. The biggest industry seems to be receiving money from the US. There are 1 million Salvadorans in the US (Compared to only 6 million in El Salvador itself), and they send $1 Billion back home every year. (Yes, that's a "B")
We took a quick bus trip to Conchagua, a town about 15 minutes up the side of the local volcano. A pretty little town, all of the houses were nicely painted. Though poor (the communal water spigots make me think that many don't have running water), the people take obvious pride in their homes. The iron grillwork over the windows -- a security necessity -- are not just plain grids, but beautiful art deco patterns. The houses are painted in bright colors, and many have patterns painted along the bottom of the walls; pine trees and pyramids were a favorite. On the bus trip back to La Union, we met a young Peace Corps worker who confirmed that, although there was some coffee and corn is grown nearby, Conchagua is mostly supported by funds from relatives Up North.
We bought oil, diesel, and a wrench which I bent, broke, filed and eventually was able to use to tighten a fitting which I thought was the leaker. No such luck -- Suzi still required a quart of oil every 7 hours. The last 2 years have been hard on Suzi, and we're thinking about taking her to the Diesel Doctor when we get settled.
(A whoosh nearby just startled me: a frigate bird just dove out of nowhere to pluck a small fish out of the water about 10 feet from Kestrel. They are amazing birds; 30 seconds ago there was not a single frigate in sight, now there are 5 fighting over that poor fish. Beautiful and majestic, they can soar for hours without flapping their wings. But they have nasty habits: most of what they eat is stolen from other birds, and they consider hatchlings (even their own) to be tasty morsels.)
As we left the Gulf of Fonseca we traveled down the coast of Nicaragua, which tends in a Southeasterly direction. The weatherfax predicted NE winds for the next 36 hours -- perfect for a close reach down the coast. What we got were Noserlies, right out of the SE. In fact, the whole trip the weatherfax predicted NE at 10 knots -- a speed and direction we never saw. Most of the trip was spent bashing into gusty winds. We had known for a while that Kestrel did not go to windward very well, but the first night out we found out how poorly she does in that direction: after the first night, we found that we had actually lost 5 miles after 8 hours of smashing into the wind and waves. The conditions were not horrible -- the waves were always under 5 feet, and the wind only occasionally gusted 30 knots -- but the combination of the steep chop and gusty winds stopped us cold. The biggest problem was the gusty winds: although they averaged about 20 knots, they would often gust to the high 20s, then lull to the mid teens 5 minutes later. Finding the perfect sail combination was impossible: we were either overpowered in the gusts, or under powered in the lulls, or both. Sail changes every 5 minutes were not possible; even when we tried, by the time we reefed or un-reefed, the moment had passed and we were again out of whack.
After 2 days and nights of this, we were both very tired and Leslie wanted to stop in an anchorage in Nicaragua. I was opposed, because it was not a port of entry, and Nicaraguan officials have a bad reputation. We discussed our options, and eventually headed towards the anchorage. We were just inside the 3-mile territorial limit, when a boat (which didn't look like a fishing panga) started heading quickly towards us. I pleaded with Leslie, "Could we PLEEASE tack back out to sea? I don't want a tour of Nicaraguan jails!" We tacked, and the boat passed us and went into the anchorage. We continued.
Night came, the gusty winds kept on coming. We had established a rhythm: sail SSE until we got too far away from the coast and the waves became too uncomfortable. Then turn on Suzi, and power-tack back to 3 miles off the coast. (With the engine on, we were able to roll in the jib and point closer to the wind. That way we didn't loose as much ground on the starboard tack.) Repeat as needed.
(Leslie just handed me a mixing bowl to lick -- brownies! She says we deserve a treat after the last passage. This morning just keeps getting better.)
Dawn came and the winds became light and fluky, and I was faced with a decision: should I head upwind towards Bahia Salinas, the first bay in Costa Rica and our intended destination, or go with the wind, travel a little farther and end up in Bahia Santa Elena. Upwind or downwind? ... no contest. I bore away, loosened the sails, and for the first time in 3 days was making 5 knots towards our destination.
Santa Elena is about 1 mile long by half mile wide, shaped somewhat like a short sock. We are anchored in a little wart on top of the foot, near the toes. Although the wind gusts over the hills to the north, we are protected from waves in all directions, and we are very, very happy to be here. We watched the sunset while sipping warm margaritas, then enjoyed the stars, heat lightning and a crescent moon shaped like a smile ... until the mosquitoes drove us indoors. The clouds here are amazing; triple canopied like the jungle, each layer is constantly changing in a way that delights the eye. The water is cooler, too. I had to put on my wetsuit to scrub off the green beard that has grown on the hull.
We're finally in Costa Rica! A year later than originally planned, we've realized that cruising on a sailboat is not a way to see the world quickly. Since November we've come 2100 miles; but five months "on the road" has been hard on the boat and crew. We're planning on staying here for several months to visit Costa Rica and catch up on some needed major maintenance. We're looking forward to visits from friends and family, getting to know the locals, and not having to pull into an unknown anchorage every week.
Leslie says the brownies are ready ("they're really gooey," says she. "YES!" say I), so I'm off.
May all your anchorages be as peaceful and beautiful as this one, and all your mosquitoes non-malarial.
Jay & Leslie