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!

So there we were. Still in La Paz, just days prior to our scheduled departure for Mazatlan.

I had just gone to the tortilleria and purchased a half kilo of freshly made corn tortillas. There’s nothing like fresh tortillas right from the grill; warm, aromatic and pliable they are amazingly delicious. Toasty tortillas evoke the same comfort-food feeling as eating hot biscuits right from the oven. My 6” wide by 1” high stack was carefully wrapped in thin waxed paper and placed in a plastic bag. We ate some for dinner and I placed them on the counter overnight...

The following day I noticed a few tiny bits of shredded plastic and paper on the counter. Weird, I don’t remember catching that baggie on anything sharp. Hmmm…must have come from a grocery bag or something else. I clean it up.

Flash back to a couple days earlier… I had noticed a couple tiny apple-seed-sized black bits on the counter. Hmmm…they must be apple seeds or maybe crusty bits from the bottom core of an apple or maybe a piece of the rind from cutting an avocado. Eh. Whatever. I paper-towel it away and don’t even give it another thought. (The denial starts here.)

Flash forward to tortilla night #2. I open the pack again for more dinner tortillas to pair with some chili. I notice a dime-size half-moon divot punched down along the height of the entire stack. What the heck? Hmmm…I don’t THINK it came like that. But maybe it did. I must not have noticed before. Or maybe I punched my thumbnail down through it accidentally. (Denial is evident here… or just pure irrationality).

We EAT some of those tortillas. Oh, yeeeessss. We do.

Reality Bites
I must have done some higher mathematics in my sleep because immediately upon waking I had a sinking feeling. I knew. Finally, after all those signs, I put one and two and three together…and four actually. Rolling over on my side, I stared at Brian, pausing before I spit it out. I didn’t relish admitting my latent insight.

Me: “Honey, I think we have a mouse.”

Brian: “WHAT!!!?”

Me: “Let me ‘splain.” I go through my 3 signs and ponder the probable 4th.

Brian: “Wait. You made me eat tortillas that a MOUSE ate?!!!”

Me: Sigh. (Of course he has to focus in like a laser on THAT one.)

How could I NOT connect all those obvious dots!? Quite simple, Watson. Denial is a wondrous thing. Seriously? I deferred to the potential that my thumbnail carved through the entire stack and I didn’t remember that? We love to watch the TV series “Elementary” - Sherlock Holmes would be absolutely appalled by my pitiable deduction skills.

Sign #4
My midnight calculation triggered recollection of a couple Ziploc baggies that may have borne tiny ragged holes. I just assumed I had yanked them out of the cupboard too forcefully. It’s entirely plausible. I have multitudes of packaged food products double-bagged into Ziploc baggies. But the plastic can tear when you are constantly shoving them aside or removing to get at other items.

Confirmation
That day, we cleared out my food cupboards, checking each item. Low and behold, I found a ripped bag of pita chips, a leaking soft-pack of spaghetti sauce, torn powdered milk and an oatmeal pouch, all enclosed in barely-nibbled-through Ziplocs. Top that off with more “apple seeds”. Crap. Literally. That’s multiple proofs…we have a mouse. Or, God forbid, mice plural.

How does one come to acquire a mouse aboard?
It would not be difficult for a mouse to push under our draped screen door. And it most likely just strolled on up the dockline like a tightrope. Or scrambled up the fenders. Maybe even got dropped off by a hawk from above. Either way, mice can wreak hellacious havoc. If they don’t enjoy your food, count yourself lucky if they merely have a taste for clothing or linens. Plowing through expensive sails and cushions are not unheard of; even plastic water tanks and hoses are not off limits.

But they are especially known for eating through wires - the plastic sheathing makes for good nesting material apparently. If left unchecked, one tiny little guy could absolutely destroy a boat. We heard one such story of a cruiser who unwittingly left his sailboat for six months with a stowaway inside; he had to rewire the boat upon return – took months. Those cute little Feivels and Ratatouilles are not to be trifled with...

Now, I had been pretty compulsive about putting grains and such in airtight plastic bins, worried more about cockroaches. My OXO sealed bins are for cereal, rice, quinoa, brown sugar and couscous; I’ve got a few Ball’s glass canning jars for oatmeal and pecans and candies; I’ve got Lock & Locks for everything else from flour, sugar and coffee to open crackers, chips and cookies. Bay leaves in all, these have worked perfectly so far.

Lesson Learned – Ziplocs Are Not Enough
But…I had a TON of pre-packaged items like Knorr rice and pasta meals, single-size tunafish and spaghetti sauce pouches, Chilorio (shredded meat) and black bean soft-paks; chips and saltine crackers and Oreos are staples. But all this STUFF takes up lots of ROOM, room I don’t HAVE. If I had to place EVERYthing in bins I couldn’t fit as much! I had been storing such packets in Ziplocs to keep out bugs and allow better use of space. I thought it would be enough protection; but even packets made of heavy-duty aluminum lined plastics are not impervious to sharp teeth. Sigh. No more.

Bin-Binging
We immediately headed to the store and while I raided their lockable containers aisle, Brian stalked the mouse trap section. Once home, I crammed as much product as possible into my new massive pile of airtight bins. Alas, it wasn’t enough. Round 2…back to the store for more bins. I STILL had to give a few items away! I am now the container queen. Nearly every single food item, other than canned goods, are now encased in one form of bin or another. I can’t store nearly as much, but my foodstuffs are mouse-free. And I probably didn’t need all that food anyway. New motto: Hoard less, shop more.

Well? Did you get it?
Meanwhile, we set two standard mouse traps: one in an open cupboard and another on top of our engine lid. One with peanut butter; one with cheddar cheese. We also put out several little hand-made aluminum foil dishes of Raid pellets. The following night at about 1am… SNAP! Brian got up and gallantly got rid of the poor little guy so I didn’t have to witness the carnage. Awww…I know, he’s the best!

We set out the traps again for a couple days but luckily, there was only one. Which trap did Mighty Mouse go for? Cheddar cheese, of course! A mouse after my own heart.

After 3 full days of hauling carfulls of boat gear and hours of placement of said gear onto the boat, we are about 1/3 complete with packing it all in. Our water line is sinking further and further as we add more items day by day.

Yesterday was the first official night as "live-aboards". Technically we are only part-time, spending a few nights a week at the boat, the rest at our friends home, interrupted by jaunts to Dana Point and Mission Bay and Catalina.

While we have stayed aboard many times, never have we had this much "stuff" to contend with and it is readily apparent I need more storage containers to separate like items for ready use.

Checkout this cute Collapsible teapot my sister in law got us for christmas. I was just now able to try it out for our first official live-aboard meal. It holds enough water for two cups of coffee and 2 oatmeals.

Our first meal was a reminder of how challenging item placement can be. Once the stove is ready I have little counterspace. To get bowls out I must move all items I put on top of the fridge. Then remove the items I have on top of the bowls. Then put everything back. To get spoons out I must move all items I just placed in front of the drawers. It's a constant game of shuffling.

I am now off to the store to buy more containers!

Brian: "Why wouldn't you want a new rack?"
Me: "But the rack I have is just fine honey."
Brian: "But if I got you a new one wouldn't you be happier?"
Me: "No, but I'm guessing you would be."

So...I caved. Brian just got me a new rack. Don't judge me. It's a beautiful thing. See for yourself. All natural, perfect construction, a real head-turner. Why didn't I ask for this years ago?

Brian made me this awesome spice rack out of teak and just installed it last week. A line of shock cord holds the taller jars while allowing some play to get them in and out. I have such a talented husband.

Above the stove was the perfect unused space to apply more storage. I have over 50 jars of spices at home, so I am happy this new gadget will allow me to bring a few more from my collection. I already have a small cupboard to the side of the sink so this effectively doubles my spice storage space.
I love my new rack!