All cruisers contract it; severity varies, compounded by an increase in days spent in-yard.

Symptoms include:

• Minor fatigue. Escalating exponentially to severe bitchiness. (This may occur equally in both women AND men, no discrimination). Cured by a post-dinner Thrifty’s ice cream run.
• Sunburn. Mild to severe 1st degree blisters. Never fun.
• Dirty feet. Working in flip flops in a filthy boatyard. ‘Nuff said.
• Stuffy nose. Believe it or not, boatyard dust causes nasal havoc…sneezing and mega boogers.
• Wrenched back. Due to constant contortion of one’s body into small spaces, ie.”The Hole”.
• Persistent Paint Application Hunchback. Leaning over 90-degrees for 2-hour-periods results in this separate condition, reversible only by long bouts of lying in bed, watching back-to-back Hawaii 5-0 reruns.
• Tinnitus. From over-exposure to buzz-sawing, grinding and sanding noise. (Gimme the per owl. What? Er owl! Seriously, I can’t HEAR you! Pa-per Tow-el!!! Ohhhh. Here. I can’t hear you over that guy’s sander! Plus, it might help to take that black marker out of your mouth. Just sayin’.)
• Sore knees. From kneeling and squatting; kneeling, squatting…kneeling, squatting… typically from applying miles and miles of blue tape.
• Aching butt muscles. From scrambling up 9ft ladders. Ow! I forgot I had muscles there.
• Poor communication. (Hand me that wrench. Here. No, the black one. There is no black one. Yes, there is! You mean this dark silver wrench? It’s black! Um, no, it’s actually silver. Granted, it’s a darkish silver, but whatever. Words DO mean things.
• Forgetfulness. Did we lock the boat? Analogous to forgetting if you shut the garage door when you left for work, circling the block just to make sure.
• Exhaustion Blindness. Example: When we remove our cockpit engine cover, we undo and place the bolts in the same spot every time. After contracting BFS in the last hour of our otherwise productive workday, we lost one. How is that possible! At 3” wide, these are not easy to lose. We search for 5 minutes… FIVE!; I even looked in the garbage! It had rolled under the cover, hiding the entire time. Oy! Too tired to think clearly.
• Inattention to detail. Did you put Tef-Gel on those bolts before you spent ten minutes trying to insert them? Sh#$! Do-over.
• Stumbling and bumbling. One day, in the last hour, Brian hit his head twice on the bimini. As we were leaving the boatyard he stumbles and nearly twists his ankle. I place my hands wrong on the ladder and nearly pinch my fingers. OK. Time to go.

More and more, I find it a good idea to end a boatyard day on a good note. Before we contract BFS. After working in the hot sun for 5-6 hours, things can start to go awry. Miserably. If you’ve been at it all day and want to complete just one more thing, thinking it’ll only take 15 minutes. Just. Don’t. Stop while you are ahead!

​~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We worked on Indigo in the yard for just over 2 weeks…the right amount of time before boatyard boatwork gets vexingly tedious. The more days in-yard, the higher susceptibility to BFS. Normally, it would be high time to launch. Except… We’ve decided to go home for Christmas! We plan on coming back January…ish. See you then! 

It has been a long road, but we have finally overcome our varnish vanity. Well, mostly. We painted our rubrail, eyebrows and handrails. Yup, you heard that correctly…painted. With epoxy paint. Not varnish, not Setol, not even Bristol Finish. Paint.

I know what you teak purists are thinking…
“Oh, the horror!”

…and what you cruisers are thinking…
“Told ya so!”

Varnishing our exterior teak is no longer practical. No longer desirable. It has become a never-ending battle. Sun vs. finish. Sun always wins. Always. The severe Mexico heat is our nemesis; it was never this bad in Maryland or even sunny California. We cannot varnish enough coats enough times during the year to keep it looking nice. We’re just wasting our time.

We knew better. We were told. We just refused to listen. Why? Varnish Vanity.

There’s something exquisite about a sleek piece of freshly varnished teak. It’s, quite frankly, sexy. The rich caramel color… the divine dark grain threading through layers upon layers of sanded and applied coats… that lustrous wet-look despite being bone dry. Whoowhee! We appreciate its arresting appearance; we recognize the enormous effort expended. If a boat could be sexually harassed, varnished teak gets the brunt of our attention. “Oooh, honey, look at that teak!” (Insert head nod + chin rub + raised eyebrows + sly smile.) “Niiiiiice.”

We loved the look, we didn’t mind the work. Now… we are minding the work.

Shedding Snake Skin
Our teak rubrails (along the hull) and eyebrows (paralleling the cream cabin top) cannot physically be covered. Subsequently, UV rays beat them to death year-round. Each time we return from a 5-month hiatus, we witness the consequence of this constant solar assault…one flaking layer after another. Our beautiful varnish looks like sunburned, peeling skin. Maddening. And gross.

Zebra Handrails
Our handrails are covered during the hot summer and stay relatively intact over 5 months. But the zip ties securing the cover causes thin shadows while the remainder finish lightens in color. Ugh, zebra varnish. Sunbrella covers would only delay the inevitable. Because when cruising, we traipse around up top and end up stepping on or kicking the handrails, even if we’re careful; we secure the dinghy to them, cinching the ropes tightly and grazing the finish every time; we slide watershoes and wetsuits under it to dry; we grab it to steady ourselves, nicking it with the flick of a wedding ring; our poor rails get whacked by the kayak, the dinghy, paddles, gas cans, snorkels, even my camera (don’t tell). So WHY do we keep doing all this work to keep them pretty when they are so difficult to maintain? They’re handrails. They’re meant to be grabbed and used and abused. Not to be pretty.

Wait, what?
I said, they’re meant to be used! Not to be pretty!

AH HA!
So, after three seasons in Mexico, we had an “Ah Ha” moment. This is what we’ve finally recognized:
Our boat is now a cruising boat, not a weekend boat; she’s a workhorse, not a showpiece; an actual home, not a model home.

Except, painting over varnish in the interests of practicality is akin to digging out the grass in your front lawn and replacing it with fake grass because you’re tired of the one full week of work it takes to cut it every 5 months. We hate that we’ve stooped so low. But we’ve come to terms.

Brightwork Brown
We learned about this particular paint, a Pettit brand called “Brightwork Brown”, from our friend Dave, formerly of sister ship “Swan”. A durable epoxy, this paint is used on everything from fiberglass to wood to metal. At a distance, one can mistake it for varnish; its coloring is similar to a dark varnished mahogany. But up close, one can definitely tell the difference…it’s opaque. No more wood grain. No more lovely caramel teak color. No more compliments.  But the upside is tremendous. Our yard neighbor painted his handrails a long time ago. I asked him how long before he had to coat them again? Ooooh. ‘Bout 5 years.

5 YEARS! Done.

OK, I’ve come to terms after hearing that. Brian, not so much. Painting over our teak made him miserable. (Just like that initial faux grass installation makes your stomach turn, right? Same thing.) But after finishing, he decided it didn’t look half bad. I think he can live with the decision.

We even got compliments by several yardbirds: Hey, is that varnish? Looks great!  Oh, I love you for saying that!

We Aren’t Idiots - Paint Goes OVER Varnish
(Brian) It is important to note that we did not ruin the teak. Varnishing it 2 years ago was the first necessary step to protect the wood. And we kept it varnished for as long as we could stand. Painting OVER the varnish keeps the paint from soaking into the wood. This important step makes it easy(er) to strip the paint later on and bring the teak back to its’ brilliant varnished luster.  
(Marya) In other words…we could bring the teak back to normal… if we wished… someday… (but we won’t - shhh).

Admit it. Switch it. Stop Stressing.
Varnish Vanity. It’s OK to admit we have it, but confessing is just the first step.
Switching to paint is the second stage. It’ll be OK. Just do it.
The final phase? After you’ve done the deed, release the remorse. Stop feeling like you’re a failure…that you’ve somehow let the boat down…that you’re not a real mariner without a spiffy varnish job…that you’ve been beaten by the elements.  
Vanquishing varnish vanity…it’s freeing!

Weeellll...Allllllmost...
Brian still refuses to paint the caprail. Fortunately, our makeshift cloth cover is doing its job. But guess what we’ll be doing soon. Varnish! Arrggh.
No matter. I’ll wear him down eventually. (Insert fingers tent + evil laugh.) Meh, heh, heh.

Normal people run around like gobbling turkeys during Thanksgiving week… frantically driving, visiting, shopping, cooking, eating and more eating.

Us? We ran around like turkeys too…except on the boat. Up and down 9ft ladders, ducking in and out of companionway entries, squeezing in and out of tight engine rooms, reaching into inaccessible lockers…ah, the joys of boatyard boat work.

Preventing Undue Perspiration
We’d decided to begin our seasonal work detail a couple weeks later this year. Our aim? Avoiding the typical high-90’s late October weather, which about killed us last year. This slight delay worked in our favor, with high-70’s to mid-80’s all week. Jealous yet? Don’t be. Instead of sailing the high seas during Thanksgiving, we were in San Carlos…in the boatyard… working, working, working. Our Thanksgiving week looked like this:

Replace Prop Shaft and Cutlass Bearing
Why? We’re hoping to resolve Brian’s nemesis – minor engine vibration. A big job with many steps, this could either go really smoothly or turn into a complete nightmare.

• Disassemble the steering quadrant (chain under the wheel linking to the rudder).
• Remove the gudgeon (bronze piece holding the rudder post to the keel).
• Drop the rudder (not easy…it’s juuust a bit heavy).
• Pull out the drive shaft after undoing interior coupler (piece of cake, for once).
• Remove the cutlass bearing. (When pounding doesn’t work, hack it out!)
• Clean the bronze gudgeon, bolts & stainless rudder post. (Scrape, sand, polish, repeat.)
• Reverse: Put in new cutlass bearing, drive shaft, coupler, repack stuffing box, add new hose clamps to the rudder post (all 4 were cracked), put the rudder and gudgeon back, reassemble the quadrant.  Done!

This entire procedure took about 4 days. (OK, we did take a day off to go see Justice League.)

Fortunately, things went relatively smoothly, except for…(insert dramatic Monster Truck announcer voice)…Brian’s Cutlass Bearing Battle. This short metal tube fits through the hull, cradling the prop shaft perfectly in place (see photos). While the shaft spins, the cutlass bearing remains rock steady. Knowing its tight fit would cause difficulty removing, Brian welded his own puller tool this summer to assist in this procedure (yes, he really is MacGyver). But this bearing was practically fused to the hull. And its walls were so thin, his manufactured puller just made mincemeat of the metal. Yanking, tugging, jerking and twerking did absolutely nothing.

Frustrated, Brian was forced to slice it up. With a SawzAll. Veerry carefully. Try using a Sawzall blade inside a hole the size of your mouth…sawing through the bearing wall without nicking the skin below. Nice image, huh? He was not happy doing it; but he won the Bearing Battle.

New Steering Cables
Since we needed to undo the steering assembly to work on the drive shaft, we decided to just replace it altogether. After 23-years, it’s probably about time. This is the perfect example of how one project leads to another project because, well, “since we’re in here taking this apart, we might as well replace it, otherwise we’ll regret it down the road when it fails…all because we were lazy or cheap.”​

Our steering chain/cable threads up into the steering column and over the wheels’ gear mechanism. So, of course to replace it, we must remove the wheel along with the compass sitting atop the binnacle.  Again, another “might as well” project. Now, we may as well replace the bearing, circlips, plastic washers and o-rings attached to the wheel shaft. This was like doing an operation inside a 5“ hole. Flashlight in one hand, I played surgical tech with the other, providing Brian tools upon request. Needlenose pliers. Here. Dental pic. Got it. RoboGrips. Black or grey? Why does every boat project feel like a surgical procedure?
 
New Cockpit Drain Hose
Our cockpit drain hoses were original to the boat. So we planned on replacing them this season. (We tried last year but couldn’t find the right hose, so we brought some with us). Upon removal, we discovered one of the two cracked. Good thing this project was high on our list! Each hose runs from the cockpit, through the engine room, and out the hull to the ocean. So any water running into the cockpit (from washing the boat or from boarding seas) will leak right into the engine room via a split hose. Not good. Engines and water don’t mix.  Sinking is even worse.

Doing The Hard Stuff First
We decided to complete the above hard projects first. The ones that involved Brian awkwardly wedged in the engine room (“the hole”) for a week straight. The ones that could become super-complicated if everything didn’t go smoothly. The ones we didn’t want to do.

Our thoughts: get ‘em over with now and we won’t be too tired or too irritated or too lazy later, ultimately determining “well… we can wait ‘til next year.” Our plan worked.

We have at least another week of boatyard drudgery, but it’s all stuff we’ve done before. Painting, painting and more painting. Hard work…but easily done. Would I rather be watching the Macy’s parade and eating every hour with naps in between? Yes, please. Would I rather be shopping or driving in the Black Friday mayhem? No way. I’ll actually take boatwork over THAT.

After we left Indigo in April, I did a blog detailing the tasks we performed before storing her… a mighty extensive list, some might say… exhaaauusting. This time I’ll detail how we get the boat back in the water. It’s a little easier, because we have already cleaned lines, sails, canvas, etc. But aside from reinstalling such items, there are extra maintenance matters we’ll need to attend to before we “splash”.

Day 1:
Storage yard to work yard. The San Carlos Marina Seca storage yard is a gated, no-work-allowed lot. We must have the boat moved to the adjacent work yard to do anything. So the day we arrived, we made a moving appointment for 1pm the following day…and by 1:30pm, Monday Oct 10th, we were on the boat in the HOT, DUSTY, WINDY yard.

Cursory inspection. After 6  months of storage, here’s what we found:

1. The cheap, blue tarp we used to cover the cockpit from sun was ripped to shreds after hurricane Newton (not surprised).
2. Inside, I found a giant cricket on the floor…after I heard the crunch under my foot. He was already way dead. Thank goodness I had on shoes! Otherwise, no bugs. (You’ve NO idea how happy that makes me.)
3. We had removed batteries from everything (numerous flashlights, etc.) sequestering them in their own bin. Now we know why this is recommended practice…we found a couple corroded and leaking battery acid.
4. In our giant explode-proof tub, we had thrown as many leak- or melt-prone items as we could fit. I found a can of Raid sitting partway inside a melted, gooey citronella candle. And the top of our boat soap bottle cracked from heat but didn’t spill out. That’s it.
5. One floor rug backing had dried up in the severe heat and was crumbling.
6. The sun damage on our already-hazed, corner dodger window got worse. Despite being folded up inside, under a 3 ft layer of pillows, bizarre red specks lined the edges… like window cancer. This was one we did not replace last year.
7. A couple tiny water spots under the windows, but nothing looked like it got wet underneath. Can’t tell whether there was minor leakage or if it’s just boat sweat. A few bits of really minor mildew on the walls. No water in the bilge. Our caretaker said some water had blown in through the louvered companionway door from Newton’s rain downpour, but he had mopped that up.
8. Oh yeah, I also found a lizard on deck, sundried to a crisp.

That’s it? Yeah. We were supremely lucky. Already we have spoken to two boat owners regarding damage from Hurricane Newton. One sustained a bad gouge in the hull, splintered cap rail, severely bent stanchions and ladder after it toppled over onto another boat; another boats’ mast split in two. This guy purchased a second similar boat with severe termite damage just to get the mast, and had that “new-used” mast shipped from Puerto Vallarta to install in San Carlos on his boat. Ah, the lengths boaters must go through to get a thing so specialized as a mast in Mexico. We were blessed to not have any issues.

Day 2: Work!
Every 2-3 years, we must attend to our bottom. Indigo’s bottom, that is. This year, it’s our #1 project. So today, we start by applying blue tape just above our red boot-stripe. Why above? We had already decreased the red stripe thickness by half, 2 years ago. But Indigo is still so loaded down with stuff that the waterline continues to ride up on the red paint, causing too many barnacles to attach themselves along that region. Repeated scraping of said barnacles off that stripe is ruining the paint.

So today, Brian starts by sanding the red stripe with an orbital sander and I follow along touching up the line by hand sanding. Except every minute I sanded with my hands above my head, neck craned back, I felt like I was dying. Sand one minute, rest one minute. It was only 10am and 95 degrees and HUMID! I couldn’t even finish one side of the boat before I had to stop and rest or pass out.

Next step, sand bottom. The black paint underneath Indigo is called ‘bottom paint’. Each time we clean the bottom (@ once a month) we get rid of critters AND paint, so every 2-3 years we need to reapply. Sanding the boat to death isn’t necessary, just a light, even sanding all over to make sure the barnacles are banished and any paint flaking is halted. So Brian gets in his cute little white suit & respiratory mask, looking like a CDC inspector. The entire sanding job takes a little over 4 hours. But in this heat and in that stifling get-up, it simply sucks.

While Brian is sanding, I start removing the white fabric we used as a sunblock covering the teak caprail, hand rails, and multiple plastic or metal thingamajigs. This takes forever because Brian is unfortunately a super-genius at knot-tying. Good thing he is in the middle of sanding and can’t hear my teeth-gnashing… a hurricane can’t untie these knots and neither can I! I use a laundry marker to indicate where each cloth piece was used and will eventually wash, store and reuse them next year. This fabric worked great, protecting our newly varnish teak from sun-damage while providing airflow. Thanks to S/V Cuba Libre for the idea and showing me where to buy the cloth!

Clean prop. Barnacles also love to attach themselves to the metal propeller. Cleaning a prop under water isn’t very doable since there are so many nooks and crannies in which to hide. Sanding the blades down smooth again and scraping crevice-sheltered critters with a screwdriver before Indigo goes back in the water is necessary for proper operation.

Replace zincs. Boats are subject to electrolysis (electricity in the water reacting to certain metals causing corrosion). Metal oxidization on boats is not only expensive, it can cause life threatening circumstances. When your $3000 prop falls apart due to corrosion, you’ve got problems. Therefore, all boats use various-sized pieces of zinc attached to underwater metal parts. The sacrificial zincs corrode first, in effect sacrificing themselves for the good of our other important bits.

Day 3:
Wash boat. We aren’t going for super-clean, but we need to rinse down the nasty topsides to avoid tracking dust into the boat. We waited to do this until after Brian was done sanding, because we also need to spray down the hull to remove the black paint dust Brian generated yesterday. Hopefully, that will help our bottom paint adhere better. Since the boat is wet and we created a huge mud puddle underneath, we retire back to the hotel to wait until it dries.

Why don’t we live in the yard? While we are allowed to live in the boat in the workyard (there is power hookups and even shower facilities), we choose not to for several reasons: it’s hot; it’s dusty; since a boat has no grey water tank, washing dishes or hands or teeth must take place outside the boat at the ground spigot… after climbing down a precarious 15ft ladder; going to the restroom at night holds the same issue; most importantly, our boat is a severe mess – everything we needed to store inside (sails, canvas, cushions, ropes, wind generator blades, explosion-proof bin, dinghy) is littering the floor and v-berth. Nothing is where it is supposed to be - I couldn’t live in this chaos without going berserk. So at $27/day for a week, the economy hotel is worth it for the air conditioning, our own clean bathroom and not having to live amongst the disorder. Once we get Indigo in the water, we can start re-installing and rearranging.

Primer. Later on in the day, we return to tape and paint the old, red bootstripe with primer to let it dry overnight.

Day 4:
Bottom Paint. A partial day of frustration… Our $250 can of bottom paint is not cooperating. Brian uses a drill & paint mixer bit, but the solids have sunk to the bottom and created a thick, gooey mess... so dense we weren’t sure it would ever fuse. Finally, after a HALF HOUR of mixing, it started looking like paint instead of muck. Then Brian starts painting. We only have one roller. It’s taking a lot longer than he thought because the paint is drying super-fast in the heat, on the boat and in the pan. Then the roller handle breaks. Sigh.

I go to the marine store (2 minutes away) and buy two rollers and 4 sleeves, for a whopping $26. Big mistake. I get back and we both start painting to save time. Within one minute, both roller handles BREAK! We continue to awkwardly paint without handles, but it’s not going well. The paint is drying on the brush. And now my new roller brushes are disintegrating, leaving tons of small mohairs stuck to my bottom. No one wants a hairy bottom!!!

After painting nearly 2/3rds of one side, we’ve already used a quarter of the paint. We normally are able to do TWO coats with one can. We’ve broken all our rollers, all our sleeves have disintegrated and now I have a hairy bottom! We quit. We’ll try again tomorrow, early… when it’s not 100 degrees.

Hammertime…Off to Hammerheads for our daily ritual of $1.30 fish tacos and 5 glasses of iced tea. Each.  Then back to Star Marine to return two un-used, overpriced, useless, f-ing hair-emitting, roller sleeves. Then to Sherwin Williams store to get better rollers and better sleeves and some paint thinner, for much less money. Then back to the boat to try and get something else done in the baking heat. We finished removing fabric protection, re-installed 4 solar panels, started cleaning storage compartments, dug through our massive pile of stuff to find prop goop & varnish for tomorrow. After another 2 hours in the hot sun, we are more than done.

Day 5:
Bottom – 95% done! Our new paint rollers and sleeves worked flawlessly today! No more hairy bottom! Well, at least not on the other side. Adding paint thinner (spelled the same, but pronounced “teen-aire” here) eased the flow sufficiently. Gotta get up early to beat the heat, so we arrived at 6:45am and by 9:30am we were finished. Except for the squares. We must wait a bit for it to dry, then get a yard guy to move the boat stands about a foot. Then, early tomorrow, we can finish painting the blank spots.

Blue Tape Exercise. Our next project is to add two coats of varnish to our caprail. We need to protect that 7-day varnish job we had paid for in Mazatlan this past February. We’d rather NOT do this upkeep in the sweltering, grimy yard. But in Marina San Carlos, major sanding is not allowed in the water, with significant fines if caught.

Before we do anything, we must line the lengths of teak with blue painters tape to avoid getting varnish on the gelcoat. I FORGOT how long this takes. I figured 2 hours, tops. But after 3 hours in 100 degrees, we STILL weren’t done. On top of this, I’ve realized just how unfit I’ve become as a temporary landlubber.

My legs were jelly after a stairclimbing funfest: Climb ladder, tape 3ft 3 times (under caprail, above rubrail and under rubrail), climb down ladder, climb other side, apply 3 more feet of tape three times, descend ladder, lift and move ladder 5ft, repeat. Do this along 34ft and again for the other side. Meanwhile Brian is taping around every stupid piece of metal touching the teak. How can there BE so many little metal thingies! Finished with the sides, I hop on deck and begin the eyebrows and handrails. Located just 1ft above deck level, their height ensures numerous leg squats: squat, tape up, tape down, stand, shuffle… squat, tape up, tape down, stand, shuffle… By 3pm, I’d HAD it. I’m OUT! Done! Finito! Termino! No mas!

Driving in Mexico Rant. Meeting Cuba Libre and Bella Luna for dinner, we drive into Guaymas, a large city of about 200k people with essentially one main route down the middle of town. Driving in Mexico makes me highly anxious, but Brian is getting used to constant near-sideswipes. Except it’s not an easy weekday. It’s Friday. And it’s 5:30pm. And the entire city is driving down this chokepoint. We end up taking the wrong turn, getting stuck in traffic, playing Frogger avoiding the clueless mopeds & bicycle carts & everything else trying to kill us, and then maneuvering back onto the right road only to drive amid a damn parade which took up the right lane while everybody is still driving normally in the left lane like it’s no biggie. Eh, just another parade.

After dinner the road is just as bad. Several emergency vehicles are up ahead blaring sirens. Except wait, there IS NO emergency… they were part of the parade…yet they continue to pretend there still IS a parade going on, driving slowly with shrieking sirens back to the opposite end of town, holding up traffic, waving to their buddies, just because they can. Meanwhile, the 5 lane road becomes a free-for-all. Non-tailgaters are losers. If you don’t tailgate you WILL get cut off. Apparently, it’s appropriate to use the left turn lane as a passing lane, just to get one car length ahead. Oh, and make sure to use those “all-is-forgiven” hazard lights when doing so, that MUST make it legal. See, hazard lights allow you to do damn near anything: drive into oncoming traffic, stop in the middle of the road, double-park anywhere you want for as long as you want… go ahead and go grocery shopping while double parked, no it’s OK, really.

Oh, and watch out for those metal 20km/hr signs sticking up in the MIDDLE of the left turn lane. Yup, why wouldn’t you plant a big signpost in the pavement of a left turn lane. Duh. Several cars didn’t notice these signs while hurtling in and out, so they just swerved into oncoming traffic to avoid the signs. Sure. Why not? We saw two cars side mirrors pass over/under each other they were so close. Finally, we figured out what the holdup was: the 2 lanes out of town went down to one lane. But do you think there would be ANY sign of this happening? Nope. Bam…all of a sudden the lane ends at a fluorescent orange construction barrel blocking the lane in front of torn up pavement. Arrow light? No way, too expensive. OK, I’ll give you that. But... how about some cones narrowing the lane? Cones are cheap! (But easily stolen.) OK. Merge signs? Lane closure signs? Bah humbug. That’s just cotton-pickin’ toooo helpful. Just stick a giant barrel in front of it and call it good. Why should we care about traffic flow? Or safety? Or logic?

Day 6:
Saturday. Moving right along, we finish the blue taping and apply one coat of varnish to everything. Looks great. Happy day.

Day 7:
3 hours of varnishing on a Sunday morning. It’s the perfect time to do the last coat of varnish - no one is supposed to be working today, or so I thought. Instead, it was a Sunday circus. Yard tractors and pickups keep driving around kicking up dust, a boat across from us is doing messy fiberglass work, and while it has been dead calm every morning, it’s windy today. Sigh.

Movie in the afternoon = Inferno with Tom Hanks. Good movie. Why did we really go? Air conditioning.

Back to the boat at 4pm to finish the caprail. I stayed in front of Brian wiping debris before he painted. Except one time I wiped a spot he had just done. With my blue shop towel. Adding bits of blue threads to our growing collection of dust and fiberglass hairs. Oh, the look of death I got. Could it get worse? Yes. Apparently Sunday was garbage day. And we are two boats down from the garbage bin. Thank goodness the wind was blowing the debris parallel to our boat. Mostly. Still, what else can happen?

Day 8:
DEW! Dust is only one nemesis of varnish; dew is its evil twin brother. What a big mistake, varnishing our final coat late in the afternoon. This morning, our caprail was wet with dew (the one and only morning we’ve had dew over the past week). Our beautiful, glossy topcoat is now cloudy and dull. Arrrgh. More accurately, cloudy and dull filled with bits of fiberglass and dust. Soooo pretty. Fortunately, it’s only on the top and forward half of the rail; we’ll just have to fix it later. It’s better than a hole in the hull.

This morning, I finished the last coat of varnish on our handrails while Brian changed out our engine impeller. This took him two hours, all the while cussing out Yanmar for making our impeller impossible to reach, impossible to change out in an emergency, impossible period. I call this: Rage Against the Yanmar Machine. It finally came out, except for a 1” x ¼” portion of the rubber gear sheared off. He can’t find it anywhere; he thinks it was sucked into the heat exchanger. Bad news.

I felt like I had the beginnings of the crud, so I rested in the cockpit for an hour. Last night, riotous laughter from revelers in the hotel courtyard kept us awake all night long. Plus, we’d been going, going, going… getting up at 6:30 and working in the hot sun for 4-5 hours every morning, and then again for a couple more hours in the afternoon. Climbing up and down the ladder, crouching, stretching, walking… baking in 95-100 degrees…it was getting to me.

Sounds of the Yard. Resting in the cockpit while Brian ranted below, I zoned out to the cacophony of noise…the squeal of a grinder rang out in the distance, the whir of our neighbors’ circular saw on plywood, the buzz of an orbital sander smoothing bottom paint, the tinking of someone banging on a metal mast, the water gushing as another owner washes yard grime off their boat in vain. There’s a constant crunch of cars and trucks, zooming in, dropping off supplies and leaving a cloud of dust in their wake, accompanied by the screech of metal track gates opening and closing. The boat tractor trailer must have hauled a dozen boats past us today… rigging rattling, mast swaying, fiberglass hull flexing & creaking along…rolling from the storage yard into the workyard, from the workyard back into storage, from the workyard out to the marina and reverse. We are situated about 15ft up in the air, so feet shuffling can be heard below on the ground, as well as chattering employees, cruisers yapping about boat projects and the fiberglasser singing along to his portable radio. The tractor’s slow backup warning ‘beeep, beeep, beeep’ underlies all this clatter… as is a rapid and urgent “beep, beep, beep, beep…pause” every five seconds of a battery monitor alarm from the boat next door. I am amazed at the racket. But I am so tired, I actually fall asleep, just for a little bit. Then I get around to washing fenders so we can swap out our nasty, shredded fender covers with brand new (experimental) ones made from sweatshirt material.

Check your slip. We check into the marina office one final time to verify our launch tomorrow. When possible, we always physically check our slip to make sure no one is in it…or storing their dinghy there… so there are no surprises mid-docking. Which, we have had more times than we care for.  Then we go pay our yard bill.

Final job: grease prop. This is usually an easy job. But the grease gun won’t attach right, then the gun won’t squeeze, then the grease itself won’t come out of our old tube, so we open up a brand new one, then as soon as we have aaaalmost given up the gun to being broke… it finally works. Errrrr.

Final, final job: more sanding. Crap. We forgot about sanding the hatch boards. So we get out the sander, sand down one side of each of 4 boards and put the sander back in the truck. We get out the plywood board that Brian pre-cut in Atlanta & brought back down to be our temporary hatchboard while varnishing for 5 days. Except when he inserts it into the slot, it’s too high and a touch too thick, almost getting stuck. Back to the truck for the sander (again), round out the edges, cut off the top with a handsaw and it now fits. Are we done yet? Please? Tomorrow, Brian assures me, after we put in the boat, we can rest for the remainder of the day. Promise? Pinky swear?

Day 9: Tuesday, Oct. 18th - Go For Launch
8am Launch. At 8am, Indigo is literally pushed down the road, shoved into the water and we are in our slip by 8:30am. Brian performs a flawless landing with the help of pre-positioned line-handling-friends on the dock. Big sigh of relief. Happy to be in the water at last, we fiddle with lines, chat with other boaters, generally dawdling. Just before we leave to go relax on our day off, Brian checks the bilge… Remember that pinky swear about no work today? Out the window. There’s water in the bilge.

Slow Leaks
Brian finds slow leaks in two places: the shaft seal (where the prop shaft enters the boat) and cockpit through hull (if water gets in the cockpit it drains out this hole into the ocean, except this hole is below the water line and now saltwater is leaking up into the engine room – not good). Brian is able to tighten the shaft seal which solves half of our slow-as-molasses sinking ship. Then he removes part of the plastic through hull. It’s not broken; it just needs tightening and more goop. But Brian would prefer a bronze one (bullet-proof). So we take it to Star Marine on the off-chance they’d have it…they didn’t. It is interesting to note though…the parts desk guy was incredulous as to why on earth we’d try to replace it when it wasn’t even broke! Different mentality. Tomorrow’s task is re-gooping the original. So as promised…at 2:30pm I get a partial work reprieve to regroup and recoup. In an air conditioned hotel room. Because we aren’t even close to being able to sail away…

The One-Day Launchers
I cannot fathom launching our boat after 6 months in storage and leaving the following day. Even in two days. It just boggles the mind. But we see others do it…often. I used to envy their speed, but now I’m convinced this so-called “speed” isn’t based so much on preparation but on minimal effort expended. I’m sure all food was left on board, sails still on (OK, maybe you took the jib down), bimini left up, solar panels up, no need to go up the mast, don’t bother washing the boat (OK, maybe a quickie-rinse), testing any equipment or performing any maintenance. Just fire up the fridge, add water & stow your gear. Engine starts? Sweet. Get gas and go.
    
20 Days of Boat Prep – Yard to Sea
That kind of frenzy is impossible for us… We have more of a slow boat to China approach…
We left Atlanta on Oct. 3rd, messing about in Tucson for 3 days. Then we entered Mexico on the 9th. Got the boat in the workyard on the 10th. Worked for 8 days. Launched the boat on the 18th. Then we started the long process of arranging and rearranging the boat back to normal, from Oct. 19th to the 29th. This is 11 more days on top of the 9 already detailed… so 20 days of boat prep. We plan to leave San Carlos and cross the Sea on Sunday the 30th, darn near one month after leaving Atlanta. Why so long? Once in-water, we could leave in a week, if pushed. But in THIS heat? We weren’t pushing.

It is HOT. Stinking hot. Almost stupid hot, but not quite (save that for summer). But even though it’s already October, it’s 100 degrees by midday, so whatever we don’t get done by 11am, doesn’t happen. Accordingly, we read or internet during the hottest part of the day, or nap, or go to Hammerhead’s for iced tea and some blessed air conditioning. We take our time and get things done, little by little.

Our 11-day task list is extensive but here’s the gist…

• Fix leaks so boat stops sinking!
• Wash boat thoroughly. Put up dodger and bimini (ahhhh…shade). Put up solar panels. Reinstall wind generator blades. Start fridge. Fill stove fuel. Fill water tanks.
• Restock food. I started out with a near-empty pantry except for spices and a few hardy staples, so I had to re-buy EVERYTHING. We bought some specialty items at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base Commissary and Trader Joes in Tucson. Once we moved back onto the boat, we made multiple Walmart and Ley’s grocery trips. Good thing we have the truck. For every hour I spend shopping, I spend 2-3x that stowing it away and logging it in my spreadsheet (so I avoid the whole try, yet ultimately fail to remember what food I put in which locker debacle).
  
• Go up the mast 3 times. Re-run all rigging lines. Measure and order new topping lift that broke. Put up sails. Drill hole in mast for L-bracket to stop banging of electrical wires.
• Buy gasoline for dinghy motor & generator. Test generator. Fill diesel jerry cans. Find distilled water for batteries, fill.
• Buy fishing license. Don’t forget to do the bills. Blog. Laundry twice.
• Engine work: Change coolant. Search in heat exchanger for missing impeller tab lost when replacing the impeller in the yard. Found it!  Adjust packing gland.
• Varnish hatchboards – 45 minutes every morning for 5 days.
• Store truck: gradually remove items we brought down and stow in boat. Vice-versa… put unessential items back in the truck that we are tired of kicking around the boat. Prep for truck storage on the last day.
• “The best part of wakin’ up…” is knowing we’d be going out to dinner every night with Bella Luna and Cuba Libre, sometimes Liahona, Starshine or Shannon Spirit would join us. We also got to eat lunch and catch up with Sea Dancer and Leaway. These outings were the highlight of our days! See you in the spring! Stay regular, my friends.
  

Setting Sail for our 3rd Season in the Sea
On Oct. 30th, we will set sail on an overnight crossing for Punta Pulpito, 90-miles away and across the Sea of Cortez. Over the next 3 weeks, we’ll make our way down to La Paz again, hoping to explore some new anchorages in between. Sometime around Thanksgiving (as always, dependent upon weather), we’ll be meeting up with our friends on Lorelei who are currently sailing to La Paz from San Diego on the Baja Ha Ha, just as we did exactly 2 years ago!
Until La Paz…!

Two years?! Yup, I know right? It’s hard to believe! In May of 2014, Brian retired after 20 years in the Marine Corps and I quit my job of 17 years. We sold or donated most of our possessions and entered the Baja Ha Ha cruisers rally that October, sailing to Mexico on our 34ft sailboat, Indigo. Before leaving on this stupendous sojourn, the skeptics were in abundance.

“Wow, you sure you want to live on a boat full time?” (No, but we’re going to risk the attempt in order to escape the rat race for a while and see some of the world.)

“What about pirates?” (Haven’t seen or heard any stories of such on the West coast of Mexico.)

“I could never live with my husband in such tight quarters every second of every day.” (I do, and it’s no problem…I have my side of the boat and he has his.)

“How are you going to get food?” “Are you going to have to fish every day?” (We eat better in Mexico then we do in the States. It’s cheaper. Fishing not required.)

“No way, I’ll give you 6 months, tops. You’ll sell the boat and come back.” (…they’re still waiting.)

“You CAN’T do that!” (We CAN and DID.)

So… what’s the verdict?
Two years are gone, but we have no regrats. Not a single letter. Yes, we still enjoy living on a boat. No, we haven’t strangled each other, yet. Yes, we still want to continue the journey... we just don’t know where to, or when, or for how long... you can’t make these decisions lightly.

Stats
I have been asked (hounded, actually… sheesh… alright already) for an overview of our time here in the Sea of Cortez. So here are the stats after two seasons of cruising in Mexico:

Miles traveled:  (2yr totals)
2496 miles

Hours at sea:
575 hours on the water = 225 sailing hours + 350 engine hours since we left San Diego
​
Nights / passages at sea: 14 total nights (a night meaning dusk 'til dawn) / 9 total passages
3 nights straight, San Diego to Turtle Bay (Longest…and uber-tiring)
2 nights, Turtle Bay to Bahia Santa Maria (Worst. Big waves = mental breakdown. I don’t know if I can do this!)
1 overnight, Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas (Getting warmer. OK, we can do this. Truly felt like we accomplished something!)
1, Cabo San Lucas to Bahia de los Muertos (First tropical anchorage… “Ah, now THIS is cruising!”)
1, Playa Santispac to San Carlos (Brian’s best - sailed all the way, dolphin escort, no motoring!)
1, San Carlos to Playa Santispac (Marya’s cranky crossing, moonless night, no fun steering)
2, La Paz to Mazatlan (Our crossing w/Starfire was great! Finally learned how to sleep while sailing.)
2, Mazatlan to Playa Bonanza (Marya’s best - perfectly calm, skating-rink water, 24hrs straight motoring! Can you tell the difference now between my perfect crossing and Brian’s? Basically: motor vs. no motor.)
1, Punta Mangles to San Carlos (Now we are old hats…no biggie.)

Islands Visited: 6, Coronados, Danzante, Carmen, San Francisco, San Jose, Ispiritu Santos

Anchorages Visited: 44, many of these more than once

Favorite Anchorages:
Marya’s favorite anchorages – Isla San Francisco, Puerto Los Gatos

Brian’s favorite anchorages – Bahia de los Muertos, Caleta Mezteño

Best sunsets – Caleta Lobos

Best snorkeling  – Marya - Bahia Cobre, Brian - Los Gatos

Best week of seclusion – Caleta Mezteño, 2nd  Ensenada Grande

Clearest water – Honeymoon Cove on Isla Danzante

Best beach hotel – Bahia Candeleros

Best kayaking – Can’t decide: San Juanico, Agua Verde, Candeleros, Ensenada Grande, Honeymoon, Los Gatos – all good

Best tide pool strolling – Agua Verde

Coolest rock formations – Puerto Los Gatos

Best wildlife sightings – Isla Coronados (jumping mobula rays all evening), San Marte (more jumping rays and fish) and Bahia Cobre (fish galore and a bighorn sheep)

Most picturesque anchorage – Isla San Francisco (west)

Best cliff hike – Agua Verde; 2nd – Isla San Francisco

Best canyon hike – Steinbeck’s canyon in Puerto Escondido; 2nd – Ensenada Grande

Best rocky beach – Isla San Francisco (east)

Best sand beach – Playa Bonanza

Best shell beach – Punta Chivato

More Bests and Worsts, Firsts and Tidbits:
Most difficulty anchoring – Punta Mangles (due to strong winds)

Trickiest anchorage – San Juanico (multiple shallow reefs, plus someone inevitably has taken the good spot!)

Easiest anchorages – Coronados (south)

Anchorages we’ve entered in the dark – Timbabiche (first), Bonanza

Anchorages we’ve left in the dark – Timbabiche, Caleta Lobos, Ensenada Gallina

Anchorage in which we’ve re-anchored in the dark (not recommended) – San Juanico

Best anchorage for norther’ protection – Playa Santispac

Anchorages we’ve had all to ourselves – Lobos, Mezteno, Ensenada Grande (believe it), La Raza, Gallina, Amortajada (south)(where the biting no-see-um’s hung out, no wonder it was empty), Colorada, Perico, Coronados (south), Honeymoon (south), Mangles, Pulpito, Santispac, Santa Barbara, El Burro

Shared with only one other boat – Timbabiche, Punta Salinas, Cobre, Bonanza, San Francisco (east)
This endearing characteristic of the Baja Peninsula (lack of people) is why we enjoy it so much.

Best night’s sleep anchorage – Puerto Escondido
​
Worst night’s sleep – San Juanico (south swell caused us to re-anchor); Partida (idiot power boat dragging anchor)

Worst anchorage of all time (experts agree) – Bahia Amortajada (biting jejene’s)

First tropical anchorage (wow, we can see the anchor!) – Bahia de Los Muertos

Rolliest anchorage  – Los Frailies (so bad we didn’t even set the anchor, kept on going overnight), 2nd – San Juanico (see worst night’s sleep)

Windiest anchorage – San Evaristo (unexpected night blast), Playa Santispac (30kts but we knew it was coming and it wasn’t bad)

Worst beach – Ensenada de la Raza (I wouldn’t call this a “beach”, more like a mud pit)

Anchorage most happiest to arrive at (after sailing 2 nights in uncomfortable seas) – Santa Maria

Worst anchor neighbors encountered – Ensenada Grande & Partida (the two most populous spots)

Unsurpassed fish taco shack – Lupe and Maggie Mae’s in San Evaristo

Best bay if you like bees – Ballandra on Isla Carmen

Cool ghost towns – Bahia Salinas, Punta Salinas


Marinas:
Best Marina Ever – Camp Pendleton Marina

Best Mexico marina overall – Marina Costa Baja in La Paz ties with El Cid in Mazatlan, Palmira a close 2nd

Best pool – Marina Costa Baja

Best internet – Marina El Cid

Worst internet – San Carlos (1st yr, they’ve since stepped up to 2nd best!); Marina Mazatlan (2nd yr)

Best and ONLY Cable TV – El Cid

Best swimming beach – Costa Baja

Best (and hottest) place to do boat projects (like a refrigerator) – Marina San Carlos

Best marina for: canvas work – El Cid; varnish – Marina Mazatlan; engine repair – Palmira

First Mexico marina – Cabo San Lucas

Most expensive – Cabo San Lucas

Loudest – Cabo San Lucas

Cheapest – Puerto Escondido Moorings at $10/day; 2nd Cheapest – Marina San Carlos

Most cruiser-friendly – Marina Palmira

Best wildlife viewing – Puerto Escondido

Most remote – Puerto Escondido

Most resortish – El Cid

Nicest marina admin. – (aside from Camp Pendleton) Marina Palmira ties with Marina Mazatlan

Most surge – El Cid

Least surge/best weather protection – Costa Baja

Cleanest bathrooms – El Cid (hands down)

Best shower facilities – Costa Baja open-air showers at the resort pool ties w/ El Cid, but Palmira now comes in close 2nd with their brand new facilities

Worst bathrooms – Marya - Marina Mazatlan; Brian - San Carlos (the men’s bathroom is just BAD)

Marina restaurant with the most consistently good food & still cheapish – Hammerhead’s at Marina San Carlos

Favorite restaurant (but expensive) – Marina Azul at Marina Costa Baja, La Paz

What's on the agenda this season?
We will be spending the entire winter in La Paz this year (with our friends who are coming down on the Ha Ha) in order to explore the area further. There’s just not enough time to see everything in each anchorage even after two winters. Los Gatos, San Marte and San Francisco are must return-to’s to name a few; we missed several coves on Ispiritu Santos such as Gabriel, Candeleros and El Cardonal; I still haven't visited the baby seals of Los Islotos nor the whales in the Bay of LA.  After that, maybe we’ll have seen enough and want to move on down further south. Who knows? Since the majority of world cruisers we meet declare the Sea of Cortez as the best cruising grounds around, we are not in a rush to go anywhere else just yet... 

Today is haul-out day! After two weeks of solid work, we are more than ready. A 9am appointment is the perfect time slot. No one ahead of us means we can motor over to the ramp at 8am, check in with the marina, have breakfast at Barracuda Bob’s and wait for the yard guys to show up. No rush.

The guys came right on time, but for some reason thought we had our own trailer (lots of smaller, trailerable boats here). So they had to go back and get the boat-lift. By 9:20, a tractor pushing a long, low-bed trailer sprouting hydraulic jack-stands came rumbling down the road to the launch ramp. Three handlers warped our boat along the quay, pushing and pulling and dragging Indigo up to the edge of the trailer, finally sliding her keel into the V-slot.

Tilted House
Indigo has always been hauled out using a Travel-Lift: a hulking, 4-legged, metal creature on wheels that uses two slings slid under the keel, lifting a boat up and out of the water. This is the first time we have been to a marina that used a boat ramp trailer – it made me a bit jumpy.

As the tractor rolled away dragging Indigo out of the water, up, up, up the boat-ramp, her bow lifted up out of the water at an awkward angle. In my mind…it’s a terrible, unnatural angle. I imagined her suddenly slipping backwards and hurtling back into the water, hitting her keel on the shallow bottom, sharply twisting over to the side, careening, shrouds snapping, the mast cartwheeling into the water... This moment was terrifying, I could barely breathe, my chest hurt, tears began to roll… like a parent watching their child plunging off the high dive for the first time. This is my house and my house is severely tilted. A house should never be tilted. Not like we haven’t been angled upward that much on a wave crest…still. You just don’t want to see that. Period.

Rollin’ Down the Highway
But after a few seconds, Indigo leveled out and continued to roll out of the water and on down the road. Whew…I started breathing again. My moment of panic subsided (I was not the only one panicking) and we walked behind her, following our baby.

Pickup Ride
After walking a few hundred yards, the tractor driver noticed us and indicated we should climb into the pickup bed of the leader vehicle. Wheeeee! Riding in a pickup bed! Like we used to do as kids… before multitudes of safety-conscious bans overtook our country. One of the best things about Mexico is their lack of laws. Why can't we just use common sense and evaluate our own risk? Pick-up bed + quiet road + 5mph + 10 minutes… pretty sure we’ll be OK.

Marina Seca
A half mile down the road is the Marina Seca (translated as “Dry Marina”). Our storage facility for the summer, it consists of two separate gated areas: the work yard and the storage yard. Any work on your boat must be done at the work yard; once your boat is hauled over to the storage yard you have just a few minutes to check on it but then you must leave. No one but Marina workers and recognized monthly maintenance guys are allowed in the storage yard.  This keeps out the riff-raff and prevents theft.

4 Hours in the Yard is Enough
We hoped to spend as little time in the yard as possible. Finishing touches included: tying down the sun cover tarps, finish securing the caprail cover, run fresh water through engine, close all thru-hulls, plug drain/vent holes with Scotchbrite pads (discouraging insects from taking up residence while allowing drainage/airflow), place mice & roach bait cups, double & triple check that we’d done everything on our list.

I spent two hours waxing the hull while Brian worked elsewhere. I did half the job from the ground, intending to use the ladder for the unreachable areas. But the rental ladder was the tall, non-adjustable, lean-to type; it rested up against the flexible lifelines and was too unstable. So, we gave up on the idea of finishing that one last project.

The other problem was, after being in the yard for only 4 hours in 90-degree heat, we were on the verge of exhaustion. The angle of the blazing San Carlos sun must be different in April. I have been severely burned once in the last 2 weeks (the gross, oozy-blistery-bubbly kind) and on the verge again today – I’d never been sunburned in Mexico prior. So coupled with the sun and the working and the climbing up and down a 20ft ladder all day, I was glad we hadn’t planned on taking the bus to Phoenix that same night. We were DONE.

Good-Bye and Good-Night
After waving goodbye to Indigo, hauled off to her final resting place for 6 months, we walked to the Marinaterra Hotel, a ½ mile away, lugging all our baggage (3 small bags and a laptop). We washed away all the unavoidable boatyard grime and watched TV for the rest of the evening sprawled out in a bed wider than our entire boat! But the monstrous lumpy mattress felt like cardboard (already missing my boat bed), voices of cackling children rang through the adjacent walls and the tiled hallway outside echoed every single footfall and murmur. Still, we slept like rocks, grateful there was no loud wedding mariachi band on the terrace that night.

Delaying the Inevitable
In the morning, we awoke from a dead sleep to the pleasant sounds of scraping furniture in the room above. Now we were awake, but we couldn’t move – everything hurt, down to the marrow in my bones and inside my veins, especially my wrists (wax on, wax off). Not to mention the near-sunburn. Brian made coffee and we just sat in bed watching TV until noon checkout time. We were loath to even step outside… not for breakfast, not for a lovely morning dip in the pool… quite the opposite of a “romantic hotel getaway”. We just wanted to hole up inside our little cocoon and not move a muscle until we were kicked out. The front desk called at 11:50 to “remind” us to leave. Believe me, I didn’t need reminding. I could have slept another 24 hours.

Waiting…and Waiting… and Waiting
Once booted from the hotel, we were homeless. Our next 2-1/2 hours were spent lingering over a long lunch (with our luggage) at Shots restaurant. In order to spread the love, we moved our butts a block away to Hammerheads (along with our luggage), lounging another 2-1/2hrs over beer and iced tea. At 5pm, our new friend from S/V Leaway arrived and we drove to Guaymas for yet another 2 hour restaurant layover! After dinner, Jim dropped us off at the Tufesa bus station at 7pm (thanks Jim!). Our bus was scheduled for 8:30pm…so we waited some more! Finally, after an entire day of loitering in various locations, we got on the bus and made a run for the border. Another 10 hours and we were back in the good ‘ole USA once again!

After 6 months of play, it’s time for 2 weeks of hard work. I know. We can’t complain… that’s not a bad ratio. This summer we have opted to take Indigo out of the water for the hurricane season. We learned the hard way last year… no one wants to live locked-away in an air-conditioned hovel in the stupid hotness of a San Carlos summer. We could be doing better things with our time. But why leave so early? Hurricane season doesn’t start ‘til June 1st, right? Well, Nov.-April is 6 months, and we didn’t go back home to extend our visas… simple as that.

Hauling Out
Our haul-out date was scheduled for Friday, April 22nd. We have hauled out many times, but we always had a house and a car to ferry back the stuff we were storing (sails, cushions, etc.). We could work at our own pace and then go home to sleep and eat in a serene, uncluttered, civilized space. Since we hadn’t done this before… prepping the boat for haul-out while living on it… we figured we should give ourselves a decent amount of time. Why stress ourselves unnecessarily? But how many days IS enough?

When List-Making Goes Bad
Leaving Puerto Escondido we began our haul-out chore spreadsheet. Day by day we fiddled with it, adding tasks and rearranging and adding some more. Our simple list became not-so-simple, the mountain of growing projects and sub-projects turned into an avalanche of letters, spilling down off the page with ampersands and bullet points running for their lives. Aaaakkkk! Our simple list turned into 4 pages of pre-haul prep. That’s right… FOUR PAGES… the source of imagined ulcers and not-so-imagined nervous ticks. The closer we got to San Carlos, the more fidgety and worrywarty Brian became; even I was getting nervous we couldn’t do it all in two weeks.

15 Days of Prep
From April 7-21st, with only a couple days of playing hooky, we worked every day: sometimes only a couple hours, sometimes 4 hours, sometimes 8. Every day we tried to tackle at least one project. Working this way, we never felt rushed, even on the last day.

Constant Chaos
Living in constant chaos for 2 weeks is not my idea of fun, but it’s necessary. We must LIVE with the things we are storing, like sails and dinghies and kayaks and big bins. Despite the accomplished feeling after completing a task and removing this or that (like solar panels), it still has to go SOMEWHERE. My favorite gripe: our 3ft-sq. solar panels. Their temporary home is on the floor leaning up against the life raft/footstool, constantly in the way. I am forever snagging a corner, initiating countless close-call collapses. Fortunately, it’s not rainy or hot yet here in San Carlos, so we can pile most large items on deck while we labor below. We get good at shuffling objects around. I can’t even count how many times we moved those sail bags!

Living on the boat while prepping requires a specific mindset.
1. Ignore the clutter.
2. Be meticulous about making a list.
3. Pre-determine when to do what. Certain things need to be done before others, and many tasks can only be completed during the last few days. Spread-loading those chores is key. (Good advice in general, but especially on a cramped boat.)

What Prep DO you DO?
Maybe you are wondering…what the heck DO they do to the boat before it gets stored? So I wrote down our progress by the day, including some extra snippets, so we could remember just how long everything took and when we accomplished what… for future reference and to belay your persistent curiosity.

April 7
- Clean main sail (scrub while hoisting it in the slip - requires zero wind, early a.m. is best)
- Watermaker pickle (flushing out seawater from filters)
- Trip to Walmart  w/ S/V Angelina - buy huge cleaning bin (doubles as a liquid storage bin)
- Trip to Construama - buy 4ft of 5” PVC pipe for our experimental cap-rail cover
- Met Dan and Deb from S/V Caper! These guys are famous to us, having hailed originally from our Marina at Camp Pendleton. It took us two years to finally run into them!

April 8
- Clean genoa (scrub while gradually unfurling at the dock, dry)
- Blow up & clean kayak, wipe-on 303 plastic UV protectant (hereafter known as simply 303)
- Give away extra dinghy motor gas (don’t leave fuel jugs filled on deck during summer)

April 9
- Take down genoa, fold on dock (harder than it sounds, the thing is huge)
- Wash staysail, dry, take down, fold (sails are done, yay!)
- Wash lines: jib sheet, staysail sheet, both furler lines, staysail halyard, kayak tether
- Lay out all 300ft of anchor chain, wash, dry, put back into anchor locker
- Wine and snacks with S/V Sea Dancer

April 10
- Dinghy - blow up, scrub, dry, 303, dry, fold into bag; oars – clean/303; dorade vents - clean/303
- Brian climbs the mast to remove blocks & 3 halyards to wash, run temporary lines, wrap deck light
- Clean more lines - 6 dock lines, main halyard, jib halyard, spinnaker halyard (can I be done yet?)

April 11
- Change oil in outboard engine, remove from stern, run in fresh water bucket, add fuel Stabil
- Change oil in generator
- Bimini solar panels - remove, wash, spray Eisenglass protectant, store below
- Lazy day! Exhausted from line cleaning yesterday!

On Washing Lines:
We met our neighbor Shadowfax at Hammerheads today. They asked us: Was that you on B dock washing all those lines all day yesterday? Me: Yes, for two days actually. Them: Ah, we heard about you. Me: Excuse me? Them: You’re making all the women look bad, washing all those lines! Me (laughing): OK, I won’t do it again I promise! Two days of line-washing is as much as anyone needs.
 
FYI: lines, halyards and sheets = ropes. I must have been the talk of the docks; but when lines can stand up on their own, it’s time for a good scrubbing.  I had to wash 6 dock lines (attaching the boat to the dock), 4 halyards (holding up each sail), 3 sheets (controlling the lower portion of each sail), 2 furler lines (to roll up the genoa and staysail), and miscellaneous lashing ropes. All are soaked in a bucket with mild detergent, brush-scrubbed, agitated with my clothes plunger a couple hundred times, then plunged/rinsed another couple hundred times until the water runs clear. Depending on length, from 25 – 80ft, some ropes must be done in two or three sections. Oy, my back!

Why don’t I use a washing machine? Believe it or not, machine washing is a controversial sailing subject. Many people do, but I've read that the wringing motion can cause the inner core to poke through the outer sleeve; even if this doesn’t happen, the twisting motion could degrade strength. Since our lines are very expensive, we won’t take the chance… so I AM the machine!

April 12
- Clean entire cockpit, wash bimini & dodger canvas
- Polish cockpit stainless: wheel/binnacle, back rails, monitor & fin, winches, radar
- Wipe 303 on plastic bits: winch grips, wheel, monitor knobs, antennae, radar dome, chartplotter
- Cover winches with fabric (others use aluminum foil to protect items from sun damage, but we are trying this breathable, reusable fabric that our friends on S/V Cuba Libre told us about)

April 13
- Dodger & bimini – spray w/Fabric Guard (retains water-repellency)
- Polish more stainless: all stanchions up to the bow pulpit, ladder, boom vang, granny bars
- Take laundry to hotel - 2 loads is $161 pesos/$10 (I’ve had enough hand-washing lines!)
- Cleaned out about 1/2 of my food bins

April 14
- Wash top deck, side decks & bow
- Acetoned spots of tape residue left by teak painters
- Polished more stainless: bow pulpit, anchor windlass, cleats, anchor holder, jib & staysail furler
- Fiberglass polish - top deck & sidewalls (smooth fiberglass surfaces of the deck, avoiding non-skid)
- Picked up laundry
- Food giveaway – usable items offered to nearby boaters like sugar, coffee, etc.

April 15
- Fiberglass polish – entire cockpit
- Cleaned out food storage cupboards & bins w/ bleach
- Decided what to keep to eat for next week, made a donation food bag
- Finished fabric-wrapping exterior items: winches, grabrail, roller furlers, misc.
- Vacuumed / mopped floor, shook out carpets & fridge pad, set in sun to air

April 16
- Bathroom day: completely clean toilet, bleached floor pan, counter & other bits, polished stainless. (Half a day’s work)
- Wrapped main sail (our mainsail has non-removable battens, so storing it below is pretty much impossible since it’s an unbendable 15ft-long massive hot dog)

April 17
- Change engine oil
- Finish putting the “head” back together (sailor’s-speak for “bathroom). The head is now off-limits – to the marina we go!
- Tired. No more work today.

April 18
- Cover our newly varnished cap-rail - cut fabric into strips, cut PVC into over 30 pieces, run lines, place fabric & tie to boat (this took all day, but mostly because we hadn’t done it before)
- Clean fridge - give away perishables (mustard, mayo, etc.), defrost, bleach interior, dry overnight
- Start packing bags for our trip home

April 19
- Put dried fridge components back together
- Verify haul-out time w/ marina office
- Talk to/hire maintenance guy - $25/mo to check/fill batteries, unclog cockpit drains, check bilge, re-secure tarps, look for bugs/rodents. (They also take my food donation items to a nearby orphanage - win/win!)
- Remove bed linens, take to laundry
- Clean stove with stainless polish

April 20
- Wash sink & clean drains w/ baking soda, hot water & vinegar
- Picked up laundry
- Washed hull
- Trip to Guaymas w/ Jim from S/V Leaway to pre-purchase bus tickets for Saturday then a wonderful dinner at his home overlooking the ocean

April 21 – Final Day! Now it gets real…
- Take down bimini & dodger canvas, polish stainless underneath canvas
- Finished up fabric coverings: teak, windmeter/AIS
- Fill gigantic storage bin with all-things liquid (we’ve heard horror stories of oil jugs bursting in the severe summer heat, even LED wax candles can melt – don’t want to come home to a surprise mess)
- Add water & chlorine to tanks: 10 gallons each, no more using water on the boat
- Stuff V-Berth: fridge insulator pad, bimini & side solar panels, bimini & dodger canvas, cockpit cushions, pillows. Blankets/quilt stored in plastic bags.
- Dinner with S/V Leaway at Soggy Peso

You Mean There’s MORE?
Lots of projects were on-going processes, like: cleaning out every single food storage bin after using up contents; relocating items to a spot less likely to get overheated (for instance, my Kindle moved from its spot against the hull into my clothes closet); deciding what to throw away or keep food-wise and where to store it. And then there’s countless minor to-do’s… mundane chores, like washing the wastebasket.

No Fuss, No Muss
We are so glad we gave ourselves over two weeks to get everything finished. Having done it once now, we could reasonably accomplish our lengthy list in 9-10 days without any stress. But, everyone’s boats, and therefore task lists, are different. I spoke with a liveaboard couple who routinely preps at the dock in only 1-2 days before hauling. Impossible. Yet another couple goes right from anchoring directly into the boatyard, I assume finishing everything while living on the boat in the yard. No marina days? Inconceivable! Their lists are obviously severely abridged. With so many things to think about and prepare (and so much dock water required for cleaning!), if we tried that, only one of us would be coming back to the States!

The Last Night
That final night we slept on the side sea-berths. Our comfy V-berth was filled to the brim. The kitchen was closed for business. The bathroom, blocked shut by a sail bag. The floor and cockpit, piled high since we needed some sliver of space to sleep. Finished with our mountain of chores and imprisoned in our respective sea-berth-coffins… we iPadded in place for the rest of the evening.

April 22nd: Haul-out Day!
To be continued…

The morning after our bumpy bash, we started out towards our next intended anchorage, Punta Pulpito. Our original goal was to stay out another week and then cross to San Carlos. But the weather forecast today and tomorrow looked good for doing an overnighter; the next few days after that (when we wanted to do our crossing) indicated more high winds and accompanying miserable seas. Ugh.

Not Your Normal Jump
Punta Mangles is not the normal “jumping off point” for a crossing to San Carlos. The direction from here to there is due north - we’d be heading right into the prevailing wind and waves. If you saw the video from my last post of us bashing into short-period waves, imagine doing that for 24-hours straight. NOT fun. So, most people cross the sea from farther north to get a better angle and a better likelihood of sailing instead of motoring. But, you STILL have to travel 60 miles north-northwest along the coast just to GET far north enough to cross at that better angle. It would take us two days to travel those 60 miles further (one short day, one long), then we’d cross the sea in a 75-mile overnighter just like last year; as opposed to a 100-mile single shot from Punta Mangles…less miles and days spent overall, but more potential of being caught in unpredictable seas during this longer passage.

Switching Angles
In the end, a decent enough weather window overrides everything. Our angle to destination would probably require motoring the entire 100 miles (Brian HATES motoring). Despite this fact…I’m just going to go on record…Brian was the one to suggest this strategy! Once we made the decision, we switched our angle and headed across the sea to San Carlos, 100 miles away.

Switching Mindsets
To date, we have completed 8 “passages” - this will be the 9th. A passage, in my mind anyway, is anything that involves sailing/motoring continuously for one or more complete overnights...dusk ‘til dawn. Including our initial Baja Ha Ha rally from San Diego to Cabo, over the past two seasons we have completed the following passages: 3 straight nights at sea, 2 nights, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2 and 2. An overnighter is no longer this scary monster requiring self-induced panic a week in advance. This time, I easily switched my mindset from anchoring in a few hours to an all-night crossing and I was OK with it…pretty good (for me).

Prepping Dinner in the Morning
As soon as we angled away from land, I went below to make dinner… in the morning! I happened to have leftover cooked quinoa… so I cut up some veges and cheese (of course), threw in a tuna packet, mixed a salad dressing and threw it back in the fridge. Anxious about a repeat of yesterday’s severely choppy, mid-morning bash, I felt the need to prepare dinner now, during morning’s flat water. It paid off later… big time.

Standard Sea Lunch
The crossing started out fine, but late morning again brought increasing wind and waves. Not quite as bad as the day prior at 20+knots, the reduced 15-17 knots sustained rather uncomfortable seas for much of the day until well after sunset. The sea state was bouncy enough that going below to fix lunch was not high on my to-do list. So I reverted to our “standard salami sea lunch”.

In the gallery beneath this post is a photo of our typical “I don’t want to go below” lunch…pre-sliced, pre-packaged salami (easily obtainable at any Mexican grocery store), cheese (duh) and Saltines (you can find them everywhere in Mexico, it HAS to be this country’s official cracker). Maybe I add an apple or some carrots and peanut butter, if you’re lucky. This is my go-to lunch when we don’t feel like eating much and, more importantly, when I don’t want to be downstairs preparing food in a jolting galley.

I can quickly grab my cracker bin, haul the salami package and a cheese wheel out of the fridge (pre-positioned and easy to access), add a knife (with blade sleeve) and cutting mat, and bring it all in the cockpit in just a couple minutes. Right there on the seat, I leisurely slice & dice, using the cutting mat as our plate. We eat this lunch so often (I don’t think it’s THAT often) that Brian has declared we are not allowed to eat Saltines or salami in the RV for the entire summer. Booo. He can’t ban cheese though…he knows better.

Dark Skies
After our tuna-quinoa dinner at sunset, the seas calmed considerably, eventually smoothing out to a sheen during the night. Whew! Flat seas always evoke a great sigh of relief. While we had no moon by which to steer, millions of diamond-stars glittered in the dark sky. It took me a while to realize that the massive transparent cloud looming overhead was actually the Milky Way. What a beautiful sight!

A moonless passage in the Sea allows for an unparalleled view of the night sky. Other than a barely-perceptible glow from Guaymas and one other town, there is zero light pollution. Gliding along, we literally witness the circulation of the earth and the passage of time as one constellation dips below the horizon and another pops to the surface. The weather in the Sea of Cortez is usually so crystal clear that I’m often perplexed when a new, bright star comes into view at the horizon line: is it a star or a ship? I keep an eye on it to make sure it continually rises higher, not brighter/closer. Of course…there’s a cool app for that too. Sky Guide

Mysterious Sea Creatures
OK, so I am on watch at around 3am, Brian is sleeping below. It’s flat calm and completely dark except for the glowing stars overhead. Suddenly, I see a huge shape stream UNDER the boat. Yes, UNDER. How can I see said shape, it’s pitch black out? (Brian: Yeah, you’re blind as a bat, you see bugs and spiders and all sorts of things that aren’t there due to your eye-floaters, no WAY you saw anything in the water.)

Well, I wasn’t sure I did either. It appeared as a gigantic blob of faintly illuminated smoke streaming fast perpendicular under the boat. A lighter blue/black just discernible enough amid the murky water but nothing broke the surface. It must be a phosphorescence trail of something, but what? I neither saw nor heard dolphins swimming nearby, plus it was way too big for that. The shadow was as long as our 34ft boat, but only about half as wide, maybe 5ft. The first thing I thought of was a cloud of pee, ‘cause, well, that’s what it looked like! Did a whale emit this as it swum beneath us? I know I’m stretching. It would have dissipated and hung around, plus there was no smell (I assume it smells?). Maybe a tightly packed school of fish streaming phosphorescence? But it was so uniform in shade, it had to be one object. Maybe it was a small whale?

I waited and kept looking and looking…and it happened again, this time running parallel to the boat! So happy it was NOT my imagination! But now I am paranoid and alert and standing up on the seat leaning against the dodger to get a higher view of the surface. I saw these sea monsters a couple more times and finally slowed the boat slightly, afraid I’d run into whatever they were. A little bit later, Brian came up on deck and I reported my sighting. Totally did not believe me! I went below to take a nap and he saw nothing during his watch. Of COURSE!

“Once again we have defied death and made it to safe harbor” – Michael :)
Well, we didn’t hit any whales… I never figured out what those watery ghosts were… we didn’t have to bash into choppy waves the entire way… and we even got to sail for about 3 hours in the wee morning hours. I’d call that a successful passage!

As the sun rose, Indigo pulled into an anchorage just 6 miles north of the marina and all of us quickly fell asleep. After our nap, we took the kayak to an early lunch at Bonifacio’s on the beautiful sandy beach of Playa Algodones to celebrate our victory. The next morning, we headed into Marina San Carlos to begin the tedious process of getting the boat ready to leave on the hard for the summer. The fun’s over…now the work begins!

Leaving...Finally!
Leaving the docks, my back-out technique was picture perfect. Just like I knew what I was doing! It was a good start to the long slog. We motored into San Carlos bay with little wind, but as we turned southwest at its mouth, the wind picked up in full force and we charged forward. Indigo was yelling at us “Let me SAIL, dammit!” “You haven’t let me out in MONTHS!”

It was Sunday, Nov. 8th and the winds were slated to be 15-18kts all day. Normally, that’s pushing it for comfort, as seas can build quickly here with that small amount of wind. But it was either that or wait ‘til the next day when there would be no wind at all and we’d end up motoring the entire way. That’d be fine by me, but not for the captain who gets irritable when we have to motor. Plus we wanted to be anchored securely in Bahia Concepcion by the time Wednesday rolled around when a 30+ kt “Norther” was to be with us for several days. No one’s going anywhere in that.

Bat out of Hell
To obtain weather info, we used an app called SailFlow combined with Geary’s Sonrisa net predictions; both were accurate. Indigo enjoyed 15 kt winds all afternoon. We consistently sailed like a bat out of Hell, at 6.5 up to 7.4 kts with a reefed mainsail and reefed jib. This is ridiculously fast for us. Seas were only supposed to be 2ft at 4seconds but I figured they were at least 3-4ft, just on the verge of being super uncomfortable and causing me to get a little green. But I did OK, glad to have taken that Bonine. I had made sandwiches and packed a bag of snacks for the trip so I rarely had to go below.

We bashed into the waves, almost beam-on (when waves hit you broadside), but not quite. As we’d slice through one wave with the bow, it would smash onto our rear quarter and cause us to fishtail. My nicely cleaned windows and deck were inundated with salt as the water sloshed the decks (and us). Chuck Norris (our Monitor wind vane) steered us nicely most of the way, allowing us blessed relief from hand-steering in the constant sideswiping motion.

When NOT to Trim Sails
Nearing dusk, we were almost halfway across the 80 mile sea already. We’d totally underestimated how far we’d get with this amount of wind. We normally average about 4-5 kts, but today we were averaging 6-7. Arriving at the mouth of the bay close to dawn was the objective. At this rate we’d make it to the other side at 1am! Not cool. We needed to slow down. I was napping and heard Brian mess with the sails. Then I heard him mutter…”Crap, why did I do that?” We had started to go faster. Me: “Yeah, why’d you do THAT?” Stop trimming sails!”

Tonight there was no moon, but the stars gave us the tiniest bit of ambient light, enough to barely gauge the fine line between dark sea and shadowy sky. The seas mellowed out, thankfully, and the wind died to a consistent 10kts. That helped to further slow us for a few more hours.

Chuck Norris & Marya Throw a Hissy Fit
At 2am, the wind started to die. And Mr. Norris was pitching a fit – he wasn’t keeping up with the low breeze and kept waddling upwind. So we gave him a break and started to hand steer. Big mistake. Although I had done it before, at night, in pitch black, the waves were so much bigger that I could immediately feel my corrections in the wheel and rudder… so I could sense what input to make and which way to turn. Or maybe I was just “on” that night.

“Off” Night
Tonight, I was the polar opposite of “on”. Yes…that would be “OFF”. I just couldn’t get it. I would constantly over-correct, steer too far upwind, luff the sails… or fall off too much, losing ground… or even worse, start to steer the OPPOSITE way I should. Acckkk! Why my brain would work backward in the dark abyss is beyond me. The wind and waves were weak enough that I could not immediately feel the results of my wheel corrections. In daylight (even moonlight), you can see the outcome of the bow turning. In pitch black, I can’t tell the boat even moved except to look at the instruments. So I’d wait too long to put in another correction and then I’d be off. My eyes could not scan the wind indicator, the compass, the chartplotter fast enough.

Brian reminded me to look for a star and line it up with a window or stanchion. Even that was only marginally successful. I had difficulty just keeping the star in focus - when I looked away I lost it again. Eventually I used the bigger lights of Mulege as a guide which helped, yet I still could not keep Indigo consistently on track.

Once a Marine…
In his former life, Brian trained many a Marine to fly helicopters on instruments in the dark. It’s easy for him. And he tried to help me, he really did, in his unique pilot instructory sort of way. But I was super frustrated and exhausted at 3am from getting zero sleep (not for lack of trying). So hearing “Turn right, turn left, left…left…left!, you’re falling off, no that’s too far, turn faster” did not help. I couldn’t do it fast enough. I couldn’t do it right enough. I wanted to give up. Or at least be left alone in my misery. He refused to let me give up.

Cranky-Pants
Soooo… I was bitchy, like a snapping turtle. I was. No doubt. I admit it. My brain wasn’t working, I was tired and cranky as all get-out, and unable & unwilling to listen to direction. Yup, unemployable. That’s me. Except this was so bad, Brian said if I was his flight student he’d give me a “down” for that flight for my attitude towards him. (Basically a “down” is a “fail”; a fail is a huge deal - 3 fails and you’re out of the flight program.) Wow. Wwwwow. Harsh statement. So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh? I was mad. He was mad. Everybody was mad. The only one who could save me at that point was Chuck… and he was still throwing his own hissy fit… the jerk.

Brian finally took his nap, leaving me alone on watch in my miserable misery. In the end, I DID figure it out, although still not consistently enough for either of us. Of course we made up later. And the truth is, I’d have to agree with him… I’d give me a “down” too… IF I was a Marine, which I’m NOT, because I would have been kicked out the first day for either bawling like a little baby or insubordination. Or both.

Arrival
We arrived outside of the bay at 4:30am, tacked veerrry slowly about for 2 hours until dawn, then motored down into the narrow Bahia Concepcion. In the burgeoning dawn’s light, a couple dolphins escorted us as we drove 1-1/2 hrs to our first anchorage, Playa Santispac. Anchoring after almost 24 hours at sea is the best thing in the world. And the feeling you get as you slide in that warm bed and close your eyes is…ahhh… pure bliss.

Realization... I have to do that again, several times this year.
The good news is that I wasn’t afraid of sailing in the dark. Well, the physical act of “sailing” in the dark was a problem this time, but I wasn’t scared or really even nervous about “being out there” at night. Now I just have to work on that cranky attitude stemming from no sleep. The next crossing will be from La Paz to Mazatlan next month…and twice as long…we’ll see how THAT one goes!

Atlanta to San Carlos
Our trip back to San Carlos on Oct 29th was uneventful, just the way we like it. We left for the Atlanta airport at 5:30am, flew to Phoenix at 9, got there at 10, taxied to the Tufesa bus station, bought one-way tickets for the next bus ($70pp), waited 2 hours, got on the bus at 12:30pm, stopped at the Nogales border and got new visas, arrived in Guaymas at 10pm (the bus actually arrived early), taxied back to the boat by 10:30pm. Incredibly, the trip went like clockwork. 20 hours later (including time difference), we finally got to sleep in our own bed. Ahhh the bed.

No More Sleepy San Carlos
We slept in the next morning and awoke to a completely different San Carlos than the one we left. Not only was the temperature juuust right at 85deg, but where did all these PEOPLE come from? And Boats! Everywhere! While we were gone, the marina had been busy splashing sailboats from dry storage left and right. All the empty slips were now filled with boats, their owners hard at work getting them cruise-ready.

The entire atmosphere of San Carlos had transformed from a run-down, sad little hamlet to a surging, cheerful marina finally coming back to life. Businesses on summer hiatus finally re-opened for the cruising season. Two restaurants had permanently closed, unable to make it over the meager summer months, yet two more opened up in their stead… sometimes filled to capacity! The VHF radio net was bursting with boat chatter. The parking lot jam-packed with cars and motorhomes. I no longer had my own personal restroom!

Boat-Prep Buzz
People began milling about the docks at 6:30am, coffee in hand. The distinct sounds of sailors mid-prep-work surround and inspire us to get our own work done (it’s hard to be lazy when literally EVERYONE else is working): the chugging of an engine being tested, the buzz of an air-compressor blowing up a dinghy, the distant whine of a vacuum cleaner, anchor chain spilling onto concrete docks, the rattle of roller furling, the vinyl slip-n-slide of sails, water spraying and brushes scrubbing on fiberglass, a squeaky winch squeals in protest while halyards are raised. A mix of ‘Hotel California’ and Mexican mariachi competes for attention, helping to pass the time.

One day, we awoke to the melodious sound of harsh, metallic shredding… what on earth??? It was our neighbor tearing off all the bits of aluminum foil (over and over and over) that he had wrapped around various parts (like roller furling drums, winches, blocks/tackles) to protect from dust invasion and sun damage over the summer. Everywhere, cruisers could be found pontificating on solar panels and weather. The universal question: what are your cruising plans for this year? Anticipation filled the air.

It took us 5 days to get the boat ready at a relatively relaxed pace. Our pre-flight plan goes a little something like this:
•    Put up sails (must do this at 6:30am, we have a half-hour window before the wind kicks up)
•    Check engine (gotta make sure it works before heading out for a month)
•    Change prop zinc (Brian gasped when he went in, the ocean is no longer bathwater warm)
•    Wash the boat (a 3-hour process whereupon which we fall into the boat dying from lack of exercise)
•    Clean dodger windows (another 3-hour, 3-step process…wax on/wax off)
•    Polish stainless (a never-ending pain-in-my ass, but it looks so pretty when shiny)
•    Clean/vacuum the inside
•    Fill up composting toilet (what? no…with peat, not #2…we emptied/cleaned it all out prior to leaving, now we need to make it usable again)
•    Trip to the laundromat to clean clothes/sheets (we have breakfast at Barracuda Bob’s and get on the internet during this 2 hour event)
•    Grocery shopping (thank goodness for our friends on Opportunity who took us to Walmart, saved us a TON of time)
•    Stow all the food (I had purchased all my dry goods a month and a half ago when we had the truck, so all I needed to buy/stow were refrigerated items: lunch meat, salchichas, fresh veges and cheese…and more cheese)
•    Bank (get more pesos - there are no ATMs where we’re going)
•    Get gas for the dinghy (our motor only eats premium)
•    Climb the mast (why? just to make sure nothing is going to surprise us later)
•    Write blogs, compile photos, upload (tons of time)
•    And a million other little things.

And we wait…
By Oct 4th, we were ready to go but the weather wasn’t cooperating exactly to our specs. Too much wind equals a mighty uncomfortable crossing. We don’t want that. We also don’t want to leave too soon after a blow to allow the seas to level out. 6ft seas at 5 seconds apart is NO FUN. And we are supposed to be doing this for fun, right?

So we wait. We visit Guaymas and get a look at the old church and Malecon. And we wait. We peruse the first boat swap meet of the year, just in case we find anything we “need” (thankfully “we” don’t). The boat is all ready, we just have to top off water tanks, do one final load of laundry and check out of the marina. And we wait some more.

Another good weather window occurs on Sunday the 8th when we’ll finally leave San Carlos in the dust. We’ll cross the Sea of Cortez once again, 80-some miles to Bahia Concepcion, which we were cheated out of exploring due to hurricane Blanca earlier this year. If all goes well, we plan on taking about a month to get to La Paz, stay there a few weeks, then cross to Mazatlan around Christmas and hopefully Puerto Vallarta by March. Back up to San Carlos in April. Of course, all subject to change in a heartbeat…

We won’t have internet for a couple weeks, so don’t despair… we’re out there somewhere!

Trucking on the I-10 Pensacola to Tucson
We headed back to San Carlos, Mexico from Atlanta on July 27th, traveling in the only major item we kept after selling the majority of our belongings last year and moving onto our boat: a 10-yr old Toyota Tacoma…hauling a brand new SeaFrost refrigerator.

Why, again, are we doing this? Because we don’t trust FedEx Mexico to deliver such an expensive piece of equipment into Mexico without it getting “lost”. And, we didn’t exactly feel like lugging such a heavy, awkward item on a plane and a 10-hr cross-border bus ride. Plus, do YOU want to try and explain carrying hazardous refrigerant to suspicious TSA or border agents? We could have shipped it to a Mailbox Etc. in Tucson, bussed up there to pick it up and bring it back on the bus; still a lot of trouble. We considered the possibility of bringing the truck down here as a huge bonus. But it’s ALL the way over in Atlanta. Eh, what else do we have to do? So here we are…

Southern AL/Pensacola
We’ve driven the southern route along I-10 several times. But the Marine Corps dictated our every move and always required Brian’s presence ASAP. Rush to Corpus Christi, hurry back to P’Cola, ‘stomp on it’ to California. This time, there was no one telling us when we had to be where.

From Atlanta, we purposefully traveled circuitously throughout southern Alabama to see if there was potential for settling there later on, AB (After Boat). Yes, there will come a time when we don’t want to live on the boat and we are already planning. This was a quickie day-long drive-by through a line of towns from Auburn to Tuskegee to Dothan to Opp just to get a sense for the area. Dothan and Enterprise, Alabama are high on the list due to Ft. Rucker. But so is Pensacola/LA (lower Alabama) Daphne/Foley area due to Pensacola Naval Air Station and nearby Eglin Air force Base.

Access to the VA is key for us, as is no state income tax - both FL and AL accomplish this requirement. FL has no state tax period and AL does not tax military retirement income. (Neither does Michigan or Wyoming, two other top states, but it’s so COLD there.) But we wanted to see if we would still like the area after 20 years away before we do more research on property tax and building codes (yes, most of you are not surprised a ‘tiny house’ and pole barn shop is in our waaay distant future).

We were surprised at how comfortable we felt back in Pensacola. I mean who doesn’t like sparkling white sugar sand beaches and a low-key, Jimmy Buffet style vibe. We had lived there in 1995 and again in 1997 while Brian attended flight school. 

Young and broke, newly married and madly in love, when Brian wasn’t studying (rarely), we went to the beach for fun because we could afford to do nothing else. Waffle House was a rare treat from my usual Hamburger Helper dinners (yeeaah, my cooking skills were in need of some major help). I used to open the window of our first, cheapo, cockroach-infested apartment on Pensacola Bay just so I could hear the surf crashing against the rocks outside…while the air conditioner was running. What’s wrong with that?  Brian anointed me “Bill-Czar” after that discovery and I learned real quick. Ah, to be 23 again and clueless. Good times.

We spent the night at the Pensacola Naval Air Station hotel and visited the newly reconstructed base marina. Walking the docks, we spoke to a fellow retired Marine who informed us about the marina rate of $6/ft/month (great deal), there are no liveaboards allowed (bad for us), and that the entire place was swept away during the last major hurricane in 2005. Not a single boat survived. Hmmm, maybe we DON’T want to put the boat here eventually.

Bucket List Item #1: The French Quarter
The next morning we headed out to check out Perdido Key, Foley, Fairhope and Daphne, Alabama before getting on the I-10 to New Orleans. Though we’d driven past it several times, we’d never stopped...rush, rush, rush to that next duty station.  We stayed downtown on the west side in a district that looked like it was in the middle of a renaissance: old and tired storefronts and apartments mingled with new and upbeat eateries and hotels. The hotelier gave us directions and a map on which she pointed “Oh by the way, for your safety, don’t go past this street.” Great. Enough said. 

The Hustle
We hopped on the crowded, standing-room-only bus to the French Quarter and spent 5 hours into the evening just walking downtown. We scouted the infamous Bourbon St. and decided it was like a Frenchie Southern Las Vegas. While interesting for an evening out, more than one day in this place would make us crazy. Bourbon St. is rife with strip clubs, bars, street performers and hustlers. One such hustle goes a little somethin’ like this…
Hustler: “Hey, I like your shoes. They’re cool man.”
Brian: Semi-surprised, “Uh, thanks.”
Hustler sidles up and touches him on the shoulder like he is an old friend: “I’ll bet you I can tell you where you got them?”
Brian: “What?” This is a strange statement. It takes a moment to process…
Hustler: “I’ll bet you I can tell you where you got your shoes.”

See, at this point we were supposed to say “Ok where ”, meaning where did we buy them, thinking to ourselves, “Hell, even I don’t know where I bought these shoes, how’s HE going to know.” But what they are trying to do is catch you on your grammar. What? I know. Weirdest thing ever. I immediately tried to move Brian away thinking this was more of a hustle than it really was, but Brian nailed it and we veered off: “I GOT them on my feet.” Smile. “Thanks, anyway.”

We hear Mr. Hustler claim his next victim (laughing congenially at tripping the guy up): “You GOT them on your FEET bro’!”  And said hustler now implies he deserves a bit of a tip for catching you off your game, right? No, no you do not. If you’d like a tip, perform something semi-useful! See those children drumming on overturned plastic buckets? Or how about that guy dressed as a gold statue, or the animation dancers, or those girls I keep passing with small squares of clear plastic in their mouth… encasing another piece of colored, round, rolled-up, rubbery plastic… whaa, OK, still… useful. Look, I just don’t tip for poor grammar. It’s against my upbringing. We heard this same spiel 4 times so it must work. At least it’s a benign encounter; Brian didn’t get his wallet lifted.

The Good Stuff
Regardless of the craziness of Bourbon St., we enjoyed walking down the quaint, cobblestone streets and inhaling the enticing aromas of shrimp, catfish and Old Bay Seasoning. We loved the beautiful, old-world architecture with its intricate wood and wrought iron dressings, brightly-colored, hanging flower pots and genuine flame lanterns lighting the alleyways.

The food was amazing and so was the music. We walked to the jazz district where we were practically run over twice by a mad bohemian woman bicyclist. Artists and hostel-types are everywhere. We spent 2 hours sampling local beers while listening to a blues band with a harmonica player who could play without using his hands…just moved it back and forth with his mouth. That’s talent. Then we went back to Bourbon St. where every other restaurant featured a live band; we just walked from place to place, listening from outside. Then picked up the local fav for dessert to take home: warm beignets coated in literally a half pound of powdered sugar. Yum.

By 10pm, sensory overload had set in and we high-tailed it out of there, back on the bus, listening to 2 crazy people shouting at each other the whole way home. Good Night New Orleans. 5 hours was enough. We love your music and your food. But you are exhausting.

Austin Powers
We drove to Austin the following day, a long 500 mile trip. I would have liked an extra day there since Austin is also famed for its music, but we needed to keep moving. Who knew this was the 12th largest city in America. Somehow, I thought it would be more like Ann Arbor. It’s not. It’s big. We had no desire to tackle another big city tonight, so we had dinner at the adjacent hotel bar. Lucky for us, it was Open Mike Night with a surprisingly good Texas blues guitarist/singer who looked and sounded like he belonged in ZZ Top. It was exactly what I imagined us finding downtown anyway. Perfect.

Barren West Texas
Then we drove the worst part of the trip. West Texas. It’s the fastest though… you can go 80 mph on the highway, and thank God for that, because it is the most boring area, visually, of the country except for maybe southwest Wyoming. (No disrespect to all you El Pasoans out there.) No trees, no mountains or hills or rocks or even farm fields. Just brown dirt and scrub brush. Guess who got to drive it? Me. I’ll admit, it’s the first time I had driven in a year. (Brian did all the driving in San Diego in April.) I was worried that my eye floaters would interfere with my driving ability. Driving requires constant, rapid eye movement of which, ordinarily, one is not cognizant…. until you have spider webs that continually bob and weave as your eyes move. Super irritating, especially in bright sunlight or dusk, but I did OK. By the way, we thought Fredericksburg, TX was a cute town, wine country…the Temecula of West Texas, I suppose. We could live there, if it wasn’t in West Texas.

Bucket List Item #2: Carlsbad Caverns, NM
Another one on our “been wanting to see… had passed just a 100 miles from several times on the way to or from California… but never had time for just a one day side-trip”…list. This time, we made it happen.

Carlsbad Caverns is a must-see wonder of the world. The rangers estimate it takes 3 to 3-1/2 hours to walk the cavern; it took us 5. Yes, I stopped and took like a thousand pictures. It was amazing. From the steep and switch-backed, mile-long trek into the dark unknown, to the enormous (and appropriately dimly-lit) cavern, large enough to fit 8 football fields, the overwhelming sensation is: this place is ‘not of this world’. Like I just stepped out of Dr. Who’s” Tardis” and into another time.

Everywhere you look, countless strange creations surround and surprise, above and below: intricate stalactites and stalagmites, smooth, ribboned draperies and pockmarked, bulbous popcorn shapes. Mirror-clear, undisturbed pools opposite puddles with a single, constant drip from above… like a leaky faucet… rippling its’ surface. Towering, ribbed columns of melted ice-cream… fat, conical beehives… kryptonite daggers… porcupine-spiked ceilings and low, flat-topped mushroom seats. Formations that took thousands of years to build into these beautiful, natural sculptures. Unbelievable. How lucky we are to have access to this dreamscape.

Bat Flight!
We had lunch outside the park and drove the half hour back to the hotel for a nap. We were tired and actually sore from slowly walking in awe for 5 hours straight. Then we went back… for the bats! Yes, there are approximately 300,000 to 400,000 Brazilian bats that live in the cave. Carlsbad Caverns was discovered because one guy noticed what he thought was a cloud of smoke coming from the area. He went closer to investigate thinking it was a forest fire, discovering the smoke was actually thousands of bats exiting the cave at once. This phenomenon happens every night at dusk and is one of the park’s main features; so they built an outdoor amphitheater at the cavern entrance… strictly for evening bat-viewings.

We arrive before dusk to get a seat; the place is packed. A ranger gives a half-hour talk about the bats. No cameras are allowed. Why? The ranger makes great a joke: “How would you feel being bombarded by flashing lights when you first wake up?” Geez, now I feel bad for even thinking about it; I’d be sooo irritated if Brian did that to me. Also, no talking once they start coming out so as not to frighten them. A ranger will ask you once to stop talking or taking photos; the second time they will escort you out. Nice. Once Ranger Rick is done with his presentation, we wait for the bats to wake up and start hunting. Silence fills the air.

Then one comes out and flies overhead. A scout? I don’t think they do scouts like ants, I think he was just the first one out of bed. Then another… then a few at a time. They slowly come out in a protracted dotted-line… tiny and quick, with hand-size wingspan bodies. Black specks against a fading cobalt sky, they are fairly difficult to see. The crowd whispers. A few circle directly overhead. Some fly out all at once in a thick bunch, but most retain their lengthy line, heading toward El Paso for Bug Trap Diner or The Mosquito Bistro. Not the dense cloud of whirling smoke I imagined, but pretty cool and worth it nonetheless. Mother Nature is truly amazing. (As long as they stay in their own house and don’t try to come into mine, we’re good.)

Last Stop: Tucson.
We arrived in a thunderstorm and were treated with a spectacular lightning show. Boulder-speckled mountains surrounding this valley made one heck of a back-drop. We spent two full days here resting and getting our mojo back after driving across the country. We got up late. We ate at Panera and Cracker Barrel and Olive Garden. Made a Home Depot and Walmart run.

What did I buy at Walmart? Stocked up on everything canned of course: chicken, roast beef, salmon, ham (I’ve not tried this yet). Canned tuna is everywhere in Mexico… the rest, not so much. Armour brand dried beef in a jar (yup – thanks for this tip from my father-in-law), pouches of tuna and salmon (because they are easy to pack in corners), Nutri-Grain and Rice Crispy bars (for easy snacks), a few pre-packaged Lipton or Knorr meals like Fried Rice and stroganoff, oatmeal packets (available in La Paz but I couldn’t find in San Carlos), chopped pecans and almonds, and individually packaged powdered drink mixes (Gatorade, iced tea, lemonade, etc.). Mexico sells a multitude of powdered drink mixes, but I wanted certain types. Individual packets are better - larger packets or tubs get crusty. Looking forward to using my fridge once again for cold drinks!

We went to 3 movies in 2 days: Mad Max (at a theater that only shows older flicks) and Mission Impossible and Vacation.  MI was a must-see. And Vacation, well, it is also a must-see if you enjoyed the old National Lampoon’s Vacation movies. We had recently seen all of them so HAD to see the new one and while it could have been better, it was still good. Critics hated it, but we laughed. Not suitable for children. Some awkward scenes. Warning: You will have the “Holiday Road” theme song in your head for DAYS. Crap, now that I wrote that, I’ll have it in my head for another 4 days.

Border Xing: Tucson to San Carlos
It took us 6-1/2 hours to drive to San Carlos from Tucson (only an hour north of the border). We used the Mariposa truck crossing border entry off exit 4, not the downtown Nogales entrance. It was too easy - no town to maneuver through, no stopping, they waived us right through. Well, that is because the real checkpoint is not even at the border, but at Kilometer 21 (that’s what it is called, the checkpoint is named after the number of km it is from the border). Here you go through the “red light/green light challenge”. We got the Green Light! No stopping, no trunk or baggage searches. Not even a passport check. You don’t need to register your car if you are only going as far as Guaymas in Sonora: it’s in the Free Zone. Any farther south or east… yes, you do. We also didn’t need to renew our visas yet. We’ll do that again later. So this time…no paperwork, no hassles = sigh of relief. 

There was something palpable about arriving in San Carlos with our own mode of transportation - we felt significantly different. More upbeat. Brian felt it and voiced it while I was thinking the exact same thing. The town didn’t feel as depressing as it did when we had to bum rides from cruisers or use the bus or walk. San Carlos suddenly turned into a sleepy little beach town from a mildly depressing, rather run-down, vacation hot-spot wannabe.

How do I feel about San Carlos? Meh. It’s just not La Paz. Or Loreto. People seem happier on the Baja side. Here… It’s hotter than a habanero pepper. Not much to do or see. There are only a few nearby anchorages, and those appear subject to uncomfortable swell, so we haven’t left the marina. Some folks love it. Many expats live here – I would not. I can’t really put my finger on it - it feels lonely somehow. I would not recommend it as a vacation destiny. But… it’s different having your own ride. It’s a whole new level. We are now not cruising; we are temporary liveaboards in Mexico… with a truck. While we didn’t care to have a car in La Paz… here, it’s freeing. We’ll see if it changes our perspective. For now, time to get this fridge installed!

Bus, Uber, Planes and Automobiles
On Thursday, July 9th our 2-day trek to Atlanta commenced. We were lucky enough to get a ride to the Tufesa bus station in Guaymas from neighbor boat “Opportunity”. Arriving super early (as usual) at 9pm, we waited patiently for 3 hours in uncomfortable plastic chairs with about 15 other bus-goers headed for parts unknown. A sugar-highed, pudgy, little 6-yr-old demon incessantly zoomed, spun and rolled his Coke bottle/make-believe sports car over, on and under all the chairs for our viewing pleasure...the entire time. It was cute. For the first 2 minutes.

A 2-yr-old, pigtailed-girl kept the nearby gumball machine stocked. She’d clumsily run full bore at it, stop abruptly, carefully squish a piece of paper up inside the return, shut it safely inside like it was a mailbox, and charge back to Mom. Then she’d run back again, tentatively open the “mailbox” and whaaa…?  Low and behold it was STILL in there. You could see the shock on her face, then super excitement. After the 50th time it still didn’t get old for her, or us. She was our TV while we ignored Zoom-boy.

Ejecutivo Bus
We had picked up our tickets 2 days prior to make sure we got seats on the special overnight bus. Good thing - it was already packed with sleepy riders covered in blankets and pillows, traveling north from further on down the line. No, we were not required to bring a live chicken; these are nice buses. The “Ejecutivo” or “Executive” bus only goes overnight and has wider, plush seats that lean back. Special leg/foot rests fold down from the seat ahead; it’s as close to lying down as you can get. What a difference.

Upon boarding, an employee even handed us a bagged lunch! Bologna sandwich (Wonder bread, bologna and American cheese) and a can of Coke. Didn’t eat the sandwich (meh + a bit dubious), but that’s more then we get on a plane nowadays for free, so no complaints.

We tried to sleep, but while the seats were comfy and the curtains drawn with lights off, the ride was quite bumpy. We were allowed out for a bathroom break in Nogales, Mexico, then proceeded to the border checkpoint. Being the only bus so early in the morning, the procedure was fast and painless: everybody exits the bus with luggage, line up inside the checkpoint building, show passport, shove luggage through screener, stand outside and wait ‘til everyone is done, back on the bus, away we go. Faster than the airport.

Our bus continued on to Tucson and then Phoenix where we got off. Total bus time: @ 10 hours. Plus 3 hours in the waiting room. Cost? About $140 total for both of us. One way. Not bad but it did take a lot longer than I thought. We were supposed to arrive at 8am and got in after 10am. I had booked our flight to Atlanta for the following day, just in case of catastrophe.

Uber is The Bomb, Just Sayin’
One would think there’d be taxis outside a busy bus station in such a large city. Nope. But… ‘no problema’. While we overheard a guy on the phone trying unsuccessfully to call a taxi, we used our Uber app and were out of there within 4 minutes. The other guy was still on the phone.

The Uber taxi concept is the bomb, and it’s no wonder the taxi unions and greedy politicians are trying to shut them down (such as in NYC). Politicians know what’s best for their pocketbook. Competition? We can’t have that.

“Ahhh… but we must thwart this thing called Uber. Hmm… a convenient, hassle-free, taxi experience? It can’t be THAT good. What? No money exchanged? All online? Wait, you know ahead of time how much it’s going to cost you AND you get an emailed receipt? You mean you can see exactly where your driver is on the map, the driver you actually get to choose? No creepy, nasty cabs? No way… you can rate your driver AND he gets to rate you back if you are a decent human being or an angry drunken idiot? Preposterous. We cannot allow this convenience to continue! We must BAN them. Why? Well, it’s for the good of the people. We know what’s best for you…”

Uber truly is capitalism at its finest. Build a better product/concept and be rewarded with loyal customers. The US isn’t the only one with grumpy taxi unions. We heard that in Puerto Escondido, taxi drivers have been known to angrily hassle liveaboards for giving other cruisers a lift to town. In Cabo, the taxistas have prohibited personal car pickups directly in front of the airport terminal. A friend is coming to pick you up? Keep walkin’ buddy.

Phoenix vs. Tucson
Our flight from Phoenix to Atlanta was thankfully uneventful, other than we had to get up at 3:30am for our 6am flight. Why did you go all the way to Phoenix, you might ask?? The reason for continuing on to Phoenix, rather than getting off the bus in Tucson, was so we could get the coveted direct flight. The inconvenience of traveling an extra 2 hours on the bus, outweighed the inconvenience of a required layover (thus a longer day) and higher cost tickets by flying out of Tucson. The bus to Phoenix + plane to ATL was much cheaper than flying out of the nearest minor airport to our boat in San Carlos… Hermosillo, about an hour away. What, you thought we did this 2-day trek because we thought it’d be FUN?

Christmas-In-July
Our refrigerator had already arrived at Brian’s dad’s house, along with some other stuff. Opening our packages was like Christmas again…except this time, it was a meager one, as we had only bought a couple extra items. It was nothing like our Christmas-in-April-oh-my-God-I-need-that-thingy-on-the-boat-extravaganza. We were very careful with what we purchased to bring back this time to keep the clutter down. In fact, I went in Kohl’s and bought NOTHING. So there. Jesse and Sandy, you’d be proud.

Lazing around in ATL
We had nothing planned other than to laze around, watch TV and chat with our family for 2 weeks. We watched an entire season of a new show called The 100. We saw Antman. Brian and his dad had good father-son bonding time woodworking and target-practicing. And I got to cook in a real kitchen with this newfangled item called an “electric griddle”. Oh the joys of a huge sink… giant stove…an even “gianter” fridge (and it WORKS)… sooo much counter space. Ahhhhh, I miss you microwave…Keurig… dishwasher. And I got to do ‘normal grocery shopping’ and buy uber-perishables (bananas) and items that take up an entire shelf in the fridge (a whole Boston crème pie). “Can’t stop this…na, nana, na, umph…dooo do do.”

Friends for Life
One day we visited our friends the Parkers in Northern Atlanta. There are few people on this earth we can chat with for 12 hours straight without running out of things to say after 2 hours or feeling like we are intruding on their schedule. We sadly didn’t even take any pictures we were yapping so much. It had been 2 years since our last very short visit. This time I warned them…”I want to be able to spend the entire day with you guys.” And so we did. Seated at their kitchen table…shooting the shit. Just like the old days. Awesome.

We met upon graduation from flight school in Pensacola… 1997. Jimmy and Brian were stationed together in their first squadron “The Gunfighters” at Camp Pendleton, CA. Susan and I were newly inducted “Marine Corps wives”. We’ve been friends ever since… despite multiple moves far away and job changes …and kids. Marines typically have the best behaved children, something about that instilled discipline I’d say. But these kids are the exception to the rule…they are exceptionally better than even the typical Marine kids. We truly enjoy being around them, and that’s saying A LOT coming from one who is generally repulsed by the smell of baby powder.  Our dinner conversation centered around which superhero/villain is our favorite and why. How can you not love that? I was floored when at one point Stephen said to me “you guys should come back more often”. Awwww. Yes. We should. And will.

Off to the Races
Once again we trekked to Senoia, GA to the infamous dirt track at the Senoia Raceway (featured in the newest version of Footloose) for some rootin-tootin’, good-ole’ southern car racin’. Sitting atop concrete bleachers built into a hillside, we had a great time watching these souped up race cars zoom precariously fast around the track like a swarm of bees.

Here the smell of wet dirt, pungent car exhaust and Deep Woods Off permeate the air. Bright fluorescent orange and yellow t-shirts abound (for some, it’s just a bad fashion statement… but for those who go down onto the track, it’s a safety thing). But ‘Camo’ is king: hats, t-shirts, shorts, sometimes all three at once (seriously?).  The sound of revving engines and the sharp ratcheting of air wrenches fill the ear. John Denver is playing over the loudspeaker: “Thank God I’m a country boy” and “Take me home, country road”. We indulged in freshly fried corn dogs, Ore-Ida French fries, and sugary-sweet Country Time lemonade.   

This is a no alcohol, no firearms, no nonsense raceway. People are friendly and courteous and surprisingly subdued. No drunken idiots or loud crazies. A prayer is invoked and we sing the National Anthem before racing begins. The flag is at half-mast due to the Chattanooga shooting of our Marine recruiters. No apologies. No political correctness. Just a simple respect for God and country. Amen.

We watch everything from beat-up hobby cars on homemade trailers to souped-up racing machines ready to blow your eardrums, complete with color matching motor-homes and car haulers. One race featured little 1-seater cars called “Legends“. They look like miniature PT Cruisers…probably only twice as big as a bumper car. I’m no auto enthusiast, but these are ‘suuuuper-cuuute.’

By the end of a long evening of multiple crashes and near-blow outs, lots of “oooohs” and “ohs” and sharp breath intakes, we were covered in a fine layer of notorious Georgia red dirt. The faster the cars sped through the mud, the more dust rolled off the track in thick clouds and embedded into our skin and hair and eyeballs. Our bathroom tub looked like a murder scene when we got home. No white shirts at that racetrack… camo is king for a reason.

Trekkin' in the Toyota
After relaxing for 2 weeks with the fam, we took off back to San Carlos. A 2,600-mile cross-country trek in our Toyota Tacoma. Gotta get that fridge installed!

To Be Continued…

Whenever we told other cruisers we would be spending the summer hurricane season in San Carlos/Guaymas, we got the same reaction. Literally. Every. Time.

“Ohhh. It’s HhhOT there.” With a distinct emphasis on the H. They look uncomfortably hot just thinking about it. “I hope you have air conditioning…?” That’s one of those statement/questions… meaning they expect us to have one, but await our answer to confirm their suspicions. No, we don’t have air conditioning.

“Whaaaat?”

Astounded, they stare at us wide-eyed with mouth open like we are idiots. Half-snickering, half-feeling sorry for us, they look knowingly at each other and say… “Oh my God! You’re gonna DIE!” Every single person.

So, we were forewarned, multiple times: “air-conditioning will be your best friend, you’ll see”. Got it. Thanks. Not gonna think about it right now. We do not have an inherent A/C system like some boats. So the only other option is a portable one, a window or floor unit. But we have no room. I mean NO ROOM. I would love a floor unit, but the liferaft is in the way as it is. Many people put theirs in the companionway, but how do they get in and out? That’s like sticking a refrigerator in the door of your house and having to move it every time you wish to go outside. Another option is a window unit sitting on top of the overhead hatch. But how do you enclose it? And where do we stow this huge box while we are sailing? Inconceivable, we decided. We just can’t do it.

Fast forward to NOW.
Now we are in San Carlos. It is only June. And we are, no kidding… DYING. They were right….we were just hoping we could hack it. Apparently not. The Baja Peninsula is like Arizona…’it’s a dry heat’ they always say. But it’s true. In Temecula, CA we lived and thrived in 100 degree summer weather, no problem. So the 100 degree “dry heat” that we left in Bahia Concepcion was not an issue. San Carlos? As soon as we arrived in the marina we felt the oppressive humidity. It’s not THAT far away from Baja but weather-wise it’s a world of difference.

It gets hot here at like 8:30am. I’m not even kidding. Begin a task outdoors, and you are sweating in 30 seconds, dripping in 1 minute. It sucks the life out of you. Literally. Our water intake tripled when we arrived in San Carlos: we started drinking gallons of water and are constantly thirsty. We don’t even DO anything!

There is often a breeze out in the cockpit, but mosquitoes like our feet… and it’s still hot; we can’t sit below…it’s hot AND stifling. We have a mid-sized, flat, 12V floor fan and other small 6” round fans scattered throughout the cabin, but it’s not enough. Living in perspiration all day long is now standard. Evening showers are a must prior to crawling into bed. But the marina showers here may as well be a sauna. No bathroom fan, no open window. “Cold” water is just slightly lower than room temperature, so probably 85 degrees. The minute you’re done scrubbing all the sweat off, you start sweating again. Fitful sweaty sleep; don’t want to cook; don’t want to move.

Now I understand why hundreds of cruisers leave their boats here and go back to the states (or Canada) for the summer – to get away from the heat.  There are very few people here who live on their boats full time during the summer as a result. Typical temps right now are 95-98 with 40-50% humidity. That doesn’t sound horrible. But this is still spring technically; it’s not even summertime yet, according to the locals. Oh joy.

Whimpy SoCal’ians
You have to understand… we are Southern Californian’s when it comes to weather – huge whimps. Our hearty, Midwestern bones have lived outside the rust belt for waayyy too long. And those several hot & sticky, Southern summers in Virginia and Maryland, Florida and Texas? How quickly one forgets… plus, well, you can’t NOT have AC in a house in the South. So, yes, we are accustomed to our perfect, Mediterranean-like temps in California. We whine when it’s hotter than 80 and again when it’s colder than 70. Air conditioning? What’s that? We didn’t remember what humidity can do to a person’s sanity. ‘Til now.

So then... Knowing it would just get worse, knowing we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, and knowing we would probably go insane without it (already getting there)… we decided to bite the bullet and give in to the peer pressure.

Monster Appliance
Our first attempt at being frugal led us to try out a used one. Our friend knew a neighbor boat with one for sale and we went to take a look. It was as gigantic as a refrigerator; but we were desperate. “Maybe it’s not as big as it looks”, we thought. We lugged it to our slip, thankfully only a couple docks away, and hefted that monstrosity down into the boat where it stood on the floor, looking remarkably like our old 47” plasma TV. Wow, this is ridiculously big.  

Remember though, we are desperate, so we plugged it in. Ooohhhh… relief. I don’t want to give it up. I feel better already. While it worked… it leaked. We’d have to fix the leak. And it was a monster. We could never go sailing with it and we it just took up SO much floor space; we’d have to junk it after 3 months before we left in November. There had to be something better. We kept it for the rest of the day. Hey, we had to REALLY make sure whether we wanted it or not. But after several hours, sadly, we lugged it back. Hot… again.

Home Depot Rocks
Our friends on Cuba Libre drove us to Home Depot…and Walmart… and Coppel… and back again to Home Depot to finally purchase the smallest window unit we could find. Our friend thankfully also spoke fluent Spanish, helping us get a 2x4 cut to size. The “carpenter” had to be ‘located’ (apparently the only employee with the authority to work the cut-off saw); fortunately, after a minor search, he was found to be working that day and we did not have to return mañana (or buy an 8ft piece and trail it out the car window).

We were just hoping for a tiny floor unit. No such luck. You get what you get down here, there aren’t many choices. Fortunately, they had a small 5000 BTU window unit…we brought our baby home and it fits perfectly on the edge of the top hatch. Brian set a short 2x4 across the hatch, and covered it with a tarp and a bungee cord to direct air downward into the boat. Where will this monster go when we leave...we're still working on that. It measures 11"H x 18"W. No, I can't measure the depth. Are you kidding me? I'd have to leave the air conditioning - you see my dilemma.

Yup. Best $200 we ever spent!

The air conditioner is only an option because we are in a marina and able to plug into shore power. If we were at anchor, the only way to run it is to also run our loud generator (and use a lot of gas in the process) to run the high amp A/C appliance. We have heard of people at anchor who occasionally do this at night if they are desperately trying to sleep. Marina San Carlos thankfully includes electricity in our slip payment. Bonus. This means we can leave the AC on all day; when we return from dinner, a movie, or shopping, even showers…we immediately feel like normal human beings again. Ahhhhhh.

There’s a single downside to having A/C: we have turned into moles. We stay down in the boat all day, venturing out of our cool 80 degree luxury only to go to the restroom. We can now sit comfortably ensconced below decks surfing/researching on the internet (when it works-which is intermittent and slow), reading, writing, I can cook and not sweat into the food, and ooohhhh such blessed sleep. We are indeed happy (and cool) campers!

It's amazing we have been in San Carlos for 25 days already. In that time we have done… well… nothing significant. But we HAVE happily dined our way through Guaymas and San Carlos, finding delicious and cheap eats.

Dinner Anyone?
We originally met new boat friends ‘Cuba Libre’ in Puerto Escondido. They arrived in San Carlos a day after we did, on the heels of hurricane Blanca. For a week and a half they worked to decommission the boat for storage: taking down sails and biminis, defrosting fridges, cleaning, packing, etc. So every evening they went out to dinner, as opposed to cooking amongst the inherent disarray. The first night they invited us along, and it soon became a nightly ritual.

With some people you just click. We’re not exactly social butterflies. So it’s remarkable that we’ve only spoken to this couple a few times and all of a sudden we are spending every dinner with them, and having loads of fun. They get a kick out of hearing Brian’s war stories and we get a kick out of their past lives working for the movie/TV industry and hearing their Mexico stories since they have been doing this cruising thing here for several years. Hilarious people, we are able to jibe back and forth without restraint… generally, it’s like being in a Seinfeld episode.

Food Trippin’
So each day we’d meet them at the end of our dock at 6:30pm, hopping into their car for the nightly dinner outing. Our week-and-a-half of dinners was quite varied and delicious. Cuba Libre knows where the good food deals are and opened our eyes to eateries and food we never would have tried.  

Tacos dorado: dorado is a type of fish, but ‘tacos dorado’ means “golden tacos”. The taco is fried (similar to a taquito but not rolled) with crispy beef and diced potato. Potatoes in a taco? Yeah. Starch + starch…fried. Delish.

Chile rellenos tacos: breaded and fried green poblano pepper filled with cheese…in a taco…yum. I’ve had chili rellenos, just never saw it offered in a taco before now… proving you can put just about anything in a taco and it’s awesome.

Papas Loca: fluffy, baked potato smothered in a rich cream sauce, with corn kernels and carne asada… kind of like a cream of corn soup + chipped beef. Sounds weird, but it’s excellent.  

We also went to a real Chinese restaurant (Chinese in Mexico?): sliced pork, sweet/sour chicken, fresh veges, fried rice, chop suey with crispy bean sprouts and finally, diced jalapenos cooked in soy sauce (a definite Chi/Mex blend)  – I just about choked on those, but I kept eating them, even though my throat was on fire. Good stuff.

Popeye’s
They took us to Popeye’s where we had an excellent hamburger and fries and a coke for like $4.50 per person. Even McDonald’s can’t do it that cheap anymore. The entire restaurant scheme was monikered after Popeye the Sailor Man. Hey, it’s Mexico… copyright infringement? What’s that? Since they have a Brutus burger and an Olive Oil burger, I assumed the ‘Popeye’ Burger was pronounced the same, in English. When I ordered “Dos Popeye’s” (two Popeye hamburger meals), the waitress looked at me and said “Papas?” (papas are potatoes). Me (confused): “No...Popeye’s. Pop..Eyes”.  Her (shaking head): “No…Poh-PAY-yes”. Ahhh.  Of course, it would be pronounced “Poh-PAY-yes.” Silly me. Just because a word is spelled English, doesn’t mean it’s pronounced in English.

I Scream, You Scream…
After each dinner we’d get ice cream at McDonalds or Burger King or Dairy Queen, there’s even a Thrifty with real ice cream (as long as you can get there before they close). Ice cream. Every night. Heaven. Micky D’s has this addicting treat called a McFlurry Kranky. You can find bags of Kranky everywhere in Mexico – Kranky’s are chocolate-coated corn flakes and are particularly awesome in a flurry. We only went to BK once: we were told to leave the drive through and get our order at the door because there were too many cars (we were the only one). Hmmm…I don’t think they understand what “drive-through” means.

Oddities
Driving around downtown Guaymas during our dinner outings always presented us with unexpected oddities. One time, we noticed what appeared to be a dead man on the main sidewalk in the middle of downtown. Sprawled on the pavement, and face-down, was a large man; I assume he was drunk, he didn’t move a muscle. Nobody paid him any attention, not even the Federales. Strange.

Another time, a young man was juggling fire sticks in the middle of the street in front of Walmart, hoping for tips. Right there in the middle of traffic. He’s no different than the street performers in NYC, but really? In front of Walmart? And in traffic? The context is just weird. You’d think he’d perform on the waterfront Malecon or even at the marina for all the tourists. But I suppose it makes sense… Walmart is probably the most popular store in the entire area, and that intersection is hopping.

Another time we noticed a young couple on a motorcycle: he is driving, she’s behind him …cradling a tiny baby, nobody is wearing a helmet. Eh, the baby’s fine…just don’t drop him. They pulled up alongside a motorcycle cop and happily chatted with him. No problem.  Inconceivable in the US; not surprising here.

Pavlov’s Dogs
Eventually though, our friends finished their chores and pulled the boat. Our stimulating nightly dinner runs came to an end. But like a classic Pavlov experiment re-creation, we had become conditioned to that 6:30pm dinner bell. When they left, we’d stand at the end of our dock…waiting…no one came to take us to dinner. We’d stare at each other…Crap, now what? I have to MAKE dinner? Seriously? And shutup…no ice cream? No Kranky? I can’t live with myself. No nightly political/military/movie discussions? So sad. Geez, now we have to talk to each other again...

Crossing to San Carlos. June 3-4
As soon as we made the decision that morning to jump to San Carlos and run from Hurricane Blanca, my anxiety level went sky-high. 24 hours of straight sailing…an overnight….uggh. We hadn’t done any night sailing since going non-stop from Cabo San Lucas to Bahia de los Muertos back in November. Not a fan of night sailing; I was NOT looking forward to it.

Today’s wind was forecast to be 15kts. It wasn’t exactly ideal, mostly because you always tack on another 5kts for prediction error, which would mean potential of 20kts. I worried about possible wave action generated over 80 miles and 24 hours; but if we waited, it would be worse the following day, and worse the day after that.

Like a Box of Chocolates
You see, 15kts of wind in the Sea versus 15kts in Southern California are often two entirely different animals. In SoCal, that is typically ideal sailing weather…a nice, sprightly breeze. Here, upwards of 15 knots is fine for a few hours…but the long, narrow Sea can cause a funnel effect, creating nasty 1-2 second wind waves that grow steeper (and more vomit-inducing) the longer it blows.

Therefore, many people try to time their crossings with less than 10 kts predicted. You may be motoring the entire way…but hey, it’s better than getting your brains bashed out for 24 hours, at least in our humble opinions: mine being the “comfort-first” attitude and Brian’s the “safety-first” approach after 20 years of pilot safety-training.  We are not hearty San Francisco sailors who love going out in 30kt winds just for the sheer “fun” of it. No way Jose.

Forrest Gump equates life to a box of chocolates; it's the same with the Sea of Cortez – you never know what you’re gonna get. I have spoken to people who didn’t time it right or the forecast was wrong, resulting in anywhere from really uncomfortable to frightening crossings.  After having a couple of bad experiences, one boat’s wife never crossed again; if they decide to take the boat from La Paz to the mainland, he drives the boat and she takes a plane or ferry. Food for thought. Traveling all day and all night across the Sea of Cortez can be benign or hellacious - or a bit of both. So for our crossing, and in light of the pending hurricane, we’re trying to play it as safe as possible… probably to a fault.

Anxious First Hour
We shoved off about 10:30am after a nice, big pancake breakfast with fried apples. Who knows what the sea will be like later, so better to have a huge breakfast, snacking light and easy the rest of the day. Heading out of our anchorage into the Bay of Concepcion, already it was blowing 15kts and the bay was getting choppy. Not a good sign, I thought. I didn’t remember that this bay has its own weather patterns, and as soon as we cleared the entrance, the wind died down to nothing. Woohoo! This meant hours and hours of motoring. Brian hates that – but, I'm not gonna lie... it’s fine by me!

On The Road Again
It took a while but my anxiety level diminished and we got into the motoring groove. Salami, cheese and crackers were on the menu for lunch, the perfect boater snack. Brian made a crossing playlist on the ipod and we listened to everything from the conventional Kidd Rock and Aerosmith… to bizarre tunes like CW McCall’s “Wolf Creek Pass”, (to which we know the words of course) and They Might be Giants “Particle Man” (look up the video on YouTube, Jack.)

All day and into the afternoon we had little wind, at least not enough to sail by. But we had plenty of gas since we skipped 3-4 whole weeks of cruising. We read books. We watched the water – it was hypnotic the way Indigo’s boat wake curled and trailed away across the rippled surface. Brian saw a massive swordfish sling himself out of the water like a catapult. I was looking the other way, as usual. Where!? Darn, missed it again. The sea was remarkably calm and you could watch the smooth roll of the south swell coming up from the hurricane.  Not a single boat for as far as the eye can see…totally and utterly alone.

Ping Pong Ball Moon
One fortuitous aspect about the inadvertent timing of our crossing was the full moon; it lasted all night long and didn’t set until after the sun came up. What a relief to bask in its comforting luminescence mid-sea, 30 miles from land in the pitch blackness. (You can’t see the opposite side even in daylight - think width of Lake Michigan). Under this dazzling moon, we could see the horizon all night long - I highly recommend it. It makes a huge difference for my sanity’s sake to be able to at least distinguish up from down.

Sailing the Midnight Special
At dusk, the wind suddenly picked up to 6-9kts – so we sailed. When it increased to 14kts hours later, we reefed and were still sailing at 5.5 kts. We kept watching the anemometer expecting the wind to get worse. But from dusk ‘til dawn, we sailed straight through to San Carlos in anywhere from 9-14kts the entire time. It never rose any higher and we were supremely thankful. We were also lucky that the wind came out of the perfect direction… for once… probably the only time this trip. With a northeast wind, we sailed on a beam reach the entire way, never tacking once. This angle also helped diminish any uncomfortable wind wave chop as we were slicing between waves. Brain-bashing avoided – yippee!

We did not do watches per se; when one person was tired we’d basically cat-nap in the cockpit while the other drove. Much of the time we were both awake. That works fine for one night; if we were out longer, we’d have to get better rest and sleep below for a few hours at a time as we did coming down the Baja coast.

Magically Delicious
Several times that night we were visited by a small pod of dolphins - we think the same pack of 5-10, again and again throughout the night. I first heard the tell-tale ”pwhuh” of one taking a quiet breath next to the boat. “Dolphins!”  I whispered to Brian, as we were usually both awake. (Mystical animal sightings like dolphins and rays somehow demand hushed tones when observing.)

Scrambling like excited kids, we peered over the side in the dark. Several played in the rushing water of Indigo’s bow wake as we sailed along. We even got our own personal SeaWorld performance, complete with jumps and flips, splashing not 10 feet from the boat, their small, dark black bodies glistening in the moonlight.

“Ooooh. Ahhhhh.” Clapping ensued. (Yes, we actually did clap – they deserved it!) Brian asked me if this could be considered a magical night: sailing amidst dolphins under a full moon. I said, “Throw in a leprechaun and some Lucky Charms and it would be magically delicious”.

Easy Peasy
So, fortunately, our first crossing turned out to be easy. Ominous at first, leaving at the behest of a potential hurricane, but smooth calm seas for half and just enough wind to sail the other half. AND a full moon. AND dolphins. When people ask us about the crossing I feel almost guilty about our perfect trip. Two days later the swell got bigger and indeed we are really, really, really glad to have crossed when we did. Prudence wins.

San Carlos at Sunrise
22 hours and 86 miles later, at 8:30am the next day we arrived in our hurricane hole, San Carlos, a small town north of Guaymas on the mainland. A lovely red sun rose over the imposing Tetas de Cabra (yes that means “goat teats” – look at the photo) mountain whose towering double peaks partially surround this little bay. Approaching land, we felt like we were entering some remote, exotic harbor. Sheer cliffs lined the winding harbor entrance. Expensive vacation villas cling to these cliff sides like crabs. We carefully crept into our slip (Brian did a textbook landing by the way) that I had reserved for July 1st, arriving a full month early on June 4th. We checked into the marina, got a quick breakfast and promptly went back to the boat for a long, loooong nap.

Blanca Waves Hello
4 days later on June 8th, Hurricane Blanca turned back into a tropical depression, but still tracked north towards Magdalena Bay, on the outside of the Baja Peninsula. Effects of that early storm traveled across to Bahia Concepcion, where we would have been anchored had we not decided to cross early, and where they reportedly saw upwards of 40-50kt gusts. Sooo happy to miss that.

In the San Carlos/Guaymas area, we had about 30kt winds in the sea, but protected by the mountains the marina saw only up to 25kts – no big deal, safely ensconced in our slip. It was the surf that was spectacular. After we walked over to the beach, I wish I’d brought my video camera - the Sea of Cortez was indeed angry. Cars lined the roadside beach breakwater; it seemed as if the entire town came out to witness the rare and mesmerizing high surf. I looked at the confused, crashing waves, imagining what it would be like anchored or sailing in THAT…MESS… and I high-fived Brian. Whew... dodged that bullet. Let’s go get a Pacifico!

“You can’t always get what you waannt. But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you neeeeeed.” – Rolling Stones