For eight days Wings lay at anchor in the lee of Punta de Mita, protected from the prevailing westerly winds and also from the shifts to WSW, which happened regularly, but not from true SW winds. Those blew right into the anchorage but they were rare. And anyhow, this was the best anchorage in the area for all of these winds. The best in a wide area. So they stayed.
The winds were one thing, the waves were another. The waves turned around the corner and into the bay where they lay. Tucked up against the point, for the shelter it afforded of course, Wings yet sat perilously close to the surf but the crew watched the waves in the evenings as they sat in the cockpit and savored their happy hour drinks and they didn’t even think of any possible danger from those waves.
But on the ninth day, in the late afternoon, the surf came up.
On that afternoon they watched as the surf piled up angrily outside their bay. It was stormy, coming from somewhere far away, and jumbled as it grew white and turbulent and sent bigger swells into the bay.
They watched as the big waves came in and turned the corner. First the waves seemed to head directly toward them, then they swerved further, back toward the Punta Mita shore.
The mate was worried, “Those breakers look pretty close”.
The skipper said, “See that rock? The waves are breaking inside that rock. If they start breaking outside of that rock, towards us, then we should pay attention. Until then, we’re OK.”
They both watched the rock and the waves. The waves all broke inside of that rock. They relaxed.
By nightfall the waves were down and they went to their berths and rested easily.
For the next two days the surf stayed up and the waves came around the corner and spent themselves on the shore inside the rock. Some surfers found these waves and came out. See, it is just a playground.
There was no danger to the sailboat.
By day twelve it was time to leave. They were due back.
They raised the anchor and motored slowly into the wind to put up the mainsail. Suddenly they were at the rock. THAT ROCK. It was 12 feet deep, too shallow. The waves were breaking very close, truly close. The main was quickly topped and they turned away putting the wind and that rock to their backs and watched the depth sounder inch higher; 12, 14, 16, 20. A sigh of relief came from both.
Now a different challenge presented.
There was a boat. A boat also going back towards the city.
A boat with a spinnaker. A blue and white spinnaker: A challenge.
They set their own spinnaker, red white and blue.
The other boat had a mile head start, but they felt confident.
Only, they didn’t gain.
The other boat, with the blue and white spinnaker, kept working away to leeward. They thought, "We’re not gaining, we’re losing!"
Perhaps working the shore down there was advantageous. It was, after all, their preferred tactic on the race from here each winter. Today they had let that blue and white spinnaker own that lane. Foolish, over confident.
OK, “We must jibe.”
The jibe was rough, but in the end they pulled it off.
Now, converging on opposite jibes, they closed quickly with the boat with the blue and white spinnaker, but they could see that it was still going to be ahead.
Then the wind built. They were on the correct jibe. The other boat was on the wrong jibe for the new wind and then had some trouble and the spinnaker. It collapsed and stayed collapsed.
Now, with an advantage, they charged.
The other boat fell behind, then bore off again on the wrong jibe. Maybe they were going somewhere else.
Race over.
Only now they were quickly approaching the Port of La Cruz. They were on a beam reach and sailing fast and the anchorage zone was just ahead. The spinnaker had to come down. NOW.
The mate went forward and the skipper turned the boat down wind and released the halyard.
Only it was the wrong halyard.
The mate cried, “Let it down, Let me have it!”
Chaos for a moment then the correct halyard was released. The sail was dowsed.
They looked behind, at the boat with the blue and white spinnaker still wallowing back there, and they looked back towards Punta de Mita and its surf, long ago left behind and out of sight, and they felt good, they had vanquished two foes.
And with that, they closed off a successful cruise.
Cruise Statistics:
Start Date: March 31, 2020
End Date: July 1, 2020
Anchorages: 8
Total Miles Sailed: 353nm
Farthest Distance reached from La Cruz: 61.5
miles
We are again anchored at Punta de Mita. It is a nice place and is the most suitable anchorage for the westerly to northwesterly winds we’re getting on this coast right now. In a southerly it would not be our choice.
It’s nice here but not as nice as it would have been not too many years ago before the entire point was developed and covered by 5-star resorts, hotels, and private houses. It used to be jungle, palm trees, and pristine shorelines.
A man in a kayak paddled by and said, “Hello”; nice enough.
He asked if we were from Seattle. I said. “Yes” and I asked if he was from one of the hotels.
“No”, he replied, “I’m from one of those houses right over there”.
“In fact your beautiful boat is part of my view.”
I thanked him for that, and he paddled off.
What I was thinking was, “Your house is part of my view and it is not so beautiful.”
Not nearly as beautiful as before the very wealthy bunch of you turned it into a housing development for the rich and famous.
Not nearly as beautiful as before all those mansions were erected, most of which stand vacant most of the year. How do we like that? Take a beautiful place and ruin it with houses that are not even occupied?
And, not nearly so beautiful as before the local people who lived there were moved off to make room for the development. Now they are not even allowed to walk on that point, guards keep everyone but the owners out.
Later a man came around on a motorized hydrofoil surf board. I am sure they have a name for those boards but I don’t know what it is. He whirred by, circled around, then stopped and said “Hello”; nice enough. He said his machine was so wonderful. He loved Mexico. He loved to go right into the wind.
Then he whirred off, did a circle around us, and went back to the dock.
I thought his machine looked like fun, for about 10 minutes. Then what do you do with it?
At least it was quieter than the jet ski which came by next. There was, of course, a handsome young man on the front driving and a pretty young woman clinging tightly on behind. They circled around us too, then roared off, doing splashy slalom turns which made the girl cling tighter.
So the quiet anchorages and closed beaches and hotels around here which we’ve enjoyed for the three months of lockdown are reverting back to the noisy playgrounds they normally are.
It’s OK. We’re still on our own boat in a still beautiful place and still enjoying mostly quiet and peaceful days.
But it does make me think of Joni Mitchell’s song.
We’ve had a little bit of southerly in the weather these last few days.
Never mind, it was expected and we’re in the perfect anchorage for it, tucked under the bluffs behind a nice high point of land where the water is smooth and the holding good.
During our afternoon hour of battery charging, it's time we stop, but, hey, what's that sound?
There's something happening here, and what it is ain't exactly clear.
The alarm’s a chirping then a solid whistle. Low lube oil pressure! Not exactly a man with a gun, but not something we want to hear. We shut it down.
OK, let’s look what's going down: The oil pressure on the gauge is fine, but the low pressure alarm is going off.
“Paranoia strikes deep”. We’d better head for home, with our tail between our legs if need be. We could stay, but “nobody's right if everybody's wrong”. If the engine blows up, well hell, it’s gone.
So we’re coming home, in fact we got there, nice sail today.
But meanwhile, in the real world, far outside our little cove and our itsy bitsy little engine problem Stephen Stills’ song comes to mind, there really are battle lines being drawn. “Young people speaking their minds”, hell, old people too, a thousand people in the street, (and some which fell down) crying “enough” and “I can’t breath” and carrying signs, mostly they say, “it's time we stop”, hey, what's that sound, the sound of police boots hitting the ground. Into your life it will creep, (if you’re black). It starts when you're always afraid and they must be, because there really is a man with a gun over there, tellin' them they got to beware. And meanwhile, from the big house they’re gettin' so much resistance from behind. Fuck that man.
There are some years when the emotions rise, when so many feel the pain that they must express themselves. This year it’s the Covid, the economy, and most of all, the killings. So people take to the streets. It happened in before, in 1971. Stephen Stills was there too, with Neil Young, four dead in Ohio. But the oppression has been there for years, decades, maybe a couple of century’s or more, but it is time to stop, and maybe this is the tipping point. We hope so.
We’ve been here in our own quarantine. We are not really going to get caught up in it all, we can’t. But the world is changing, we can see it, maybe from afar, and some people know something is happening and maybe they don’t know what it is, but they will.
Sometime after midnight the wind came down the mountain and breathed softly on the bay where Wings lay anchored.
The boat turned to face the breeze and swung into deeper water.
That set off the alarm.
I woke and rolled off the starboard settee where I had been sleeping, fully clothed, ready for just such a moment and climbed the ladder to the cockpit to see what the commotion was all about. This was the fifth time that night that one of the alarms woke me. Usually they had been the shallow water alarm, less than 60 feet, meaning we could be getting closer to shore. This time as I climbed up the ladder I noticed the depth: 97.5 feet. Good, we’re in safe water.
Then I smelled the dirt in the air and I knew the downflow from the mountain had reached us and I could relax. For the rest of the night that downflow would keep our bow pointed into the valley and our stern out to sea and over deep water. It would also align our length with the sweep of the swells, and reduce the rolling. We’d sleep better.
I undressed and got into my bunk.
But I left the alarms activated, just in case.
All of this because we’re anchored on the edge of a deep underwater canyon, in a place called Boca de Tomatlan (the mouth of the Tomatlan River). The anchor is placed on the only spot in the Boca where we could place it, in 70’ of water right near the shore on the west side, a spot about 25ft square. The rest of the Boca had depths of 100-200ft or, if shallower, were within inches of the rocky shoreline. Even the 70’ spot was close to the shore. We could only put out 2:1 scope on our anchor chain because we were within about 100 ft of the rocks and with more chain the boat could possibly swing into the shore and touch.
But we’d been looking at Boca de Tomatlan from the road above as we passed by for years and always thought it looked enticing so this year we decided to give anchoring here a try.
Now, since we made it through the night without having to bail out and leave, possibly we can stay for a few more days.
Boca de Tomatlan really is lovely and it reminds me so much of the small villages at the end of so many roads on Vancouver Island or on the Canadian mainland. The terrain is similar, high hills and a small village at the foot of them with a wharf around which most of the action centers. You see, for commerce or travel out along the south shore of Banderas Bay, Boca de Tomatlan is the end of the road. From here on you have to take a boat. So all day pangas come and go with people and goods. Oh, and yes, there is more to the village. There is a bus stop up on the highway, and some palapa restaurants on the beach and some stores, and perhaps more to be discovered.
We’ll put the dingy together today and go ashore, and report more after that.
There is one big challenge to anchoring in Boca Tomatlan: it is impossibly deep here.
For years I was interested on this beautiful and quaint inlet but all the information I could find told me, “No Way, too deep!”
But this year I got some Navionics charts which showed a lot more detail including soundings for the whole bay. But I saw some areas along the west shore where the contour lines indicated a high spot or two in the bottom. As we arrived and cruised the shoreline the lowest number we saw was seventy feet? Could we manage that? Well yes, we had plenty of chain, but with only 120’ from the rocky shore to the spot we wouldn’t be able to use normal 3-1 or 5-1 scope. But if 2-1 would hold maybe it would be OK.
It took a few tries to find that 70’ spot again, it’s not very big, but eventually we got right over it, backing down slightly, and lowered the anchor. We put out 150’ and pulled on it, but not much. With 2:1 scope it wouldn’t hold very much, but it seemed to stop us. We pulled a little more. No movement.
OK, we’ll try this, we thought.
To solve worries about swinging into the shoreline or dragging we set three alarms on our instrument system:
1. We set a shallow water alarm for 65’ to alert us if we swing towards the shore.
2. We also set a deep water alarm, for 100’ to alert us if we drag of into the middle of the bay or out of it.
3. Finally we set an anchor watch for 300’, meaning that if we moved 300’ in any direction that alarm would go off. This third alarm was rather useless since 300’ was quite a long ways to go before sounding an alarm, but that’s the best our Lowrance can do.
Now we’ve been here for 5 days. We’ve had a few (several) alarms which woke us during the night, mostly because swinging towards the shore, but we’ve never gotten too close or dragged. I have changed the settings to reduce false alarms. I still set the alarm but it only goes off occasionally.
Where is the spot?
So here is where we found the 70’ patch to anchor in:
Lon 20 30.805
Lat 105 19.069
There was a strong thermal which had resulted in over 22 knots of true wind on the day we left La Cruz to come over to this side of Banderas Bay.
As soon as we got out of the marina and hoisted the mainsail we were subjected to that breeze. I decided to put off setting a jib. We didn’t need it.
Judy was on the helm and I gave her a rough heading to follow and left her to it and went below to do a more careful navigation, finish the log book entries (for fueling, water top up, and departure), and to tidy up since the fenders, lines, and other dockside detritus were still scattered around. This is actually a typical approach for us, and admittedly it is due to my impatience to get going. I rarely want to hang around at the dock or inside the marina until everything is shipshape and put away. “Never a moment to lose, let’s get going”.
Because of that we always have these tidying up details to complete at the beginning of a passage or trip. Judy would rather steer than go below when the boat is jumping around so she steers and I go below.
So, while I was below decks Judy was blowing through the crowded anchorage at high speed on a close reach and dealing with all that wind and some good sized waves and a handful on the tiller at times. She is good but I am sure it was a little tense for her. Wings is a powerful boat and in 22 knots it does power up pretty quickly. I stuck my head up when she called and helped grind in the main and I noticed we showed a boat speed of over 7kts, not bad for just a mainsail.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Yeah, just get your stuff finished please” she answered.
I did finish up, and while doing so I heard quite a few good sized waves slap on deck as Wings sliced the tops off of the waves kicked up by the wind and the long fetch.
When I went on deck to relieve her I took the windvane blade and set it. From then on the sailing was easier.
The need to get moving and get to the next place is an itch which has to be scratched.
It doesn’t matter how nice it is where you already are, you still wonder about the next place.
It doesn’t matter how many pictures you’ve seen or how many guide book descriptions you’ve read, you never know what that next place will really be like until you see it for yourself.
And when you have been wondering about that next place for so long that you just have to get going, it has already become an itch.
So you scratch that itch and you get going and when you are finally on the way and the destination draws near there is an excitement and a thrill that you’re finally going to see it.
That excitement and thrill becomes addictive, and even if some of the places don’t turn out to be all that special; they are still new and there is a sense of wonderment at actually being there.
We’ve had that addiction for many years. It was one of the drivers that kept us going all the way around the world.
In fact, we were already hooked back in the 90’s when every year we went on a cruise into Canada and each year we ventured farther to see another new place.
Finally we realized that going 200 miles north into Canada and back in a three week vacation just to get to some place we haven’t seen before was getting a little extreme.
That was when we decided to try a new approach.
We thought, “When there is nowhere else to go, why not go closer to home?”
We realized that for years we had been travelling on our way to those famous distant paradises without stopping at some interesting and nice places nearby.
When we started to cruise closer to home we found many of those little spots that we had been passing for years. Places like Bowman Bay, Mystery Bay and over in Canada, Sooke Harbor, Beecher Bay, and Port Renfrew (a destination all by itself). Of course there were places in the San Juans, the Gulf Islands and even in Puget Sound we visited that we’d never before seen. They were lovely, interesting, and close.
And they were best enjoyed when we stayed longer than just overnight.
Now we are living in La Cruz, Mexico, and we’ve been to all the great places up north in the Sea of Cortez or down south past Barra. They are wonderful places to visit and for sure we’ll go back to Tenacatita and Loreto and other favorites in the years ahead.
But what about going closer to home?
This year we decided to stick closer to La Cruz. Partially it was Covid-19 that influenced our decision, but we also wondered what was nearby that we’ve been missing. So we took a look.
We’ve been out here now for six weeks exploring within 60 miles of La Cruz finding neat anchorages and we still have not been to all of them.
We spent weeks in Punta Mita, then finally we set sail northward.
We visited the Marias islands and found them stunningly beautiful and wild (and protected, we got kicked out) and we look forward to seeing new anchorages there when they are opened to visitors. We stayed for weeks at Matanchen Bay and that was peaceful and beautiful and we took a dingy trip into San Blas for shopping. In Matanchen we had a long running battle with some little birds who were insistent that they were going to build a nest in our boom. (This also happened a couple of years ago in Santiago Bay.) We grew to like these little birds who always tweeted (really tweeted, with their beaks)their daily arrival for nest building, and they in turn became comfortable with our presence and would fly in and out of the boom within inches of our heads as we sat in our chairs in the cockpit. They only gave up on home building when Wings sailed away.
Next we went to Chacala, where we’ve stopped on previous trips but we never stayed long and we never went ashore there. This time we stayed for several days and we took the dingy in and walked all over town. It was quiet.
Two other boats, Summer and Kognita, were in Chacala and we anchored near them. The view from the beach was of three similar boats, all performance cruisers with fin keels and Monitor windvanes on their transom, anchored bow to the waves with stern anchors set. That was an interesting coincidence.
Chacala was beautiful and quiet, and we enjoyed the sounds of birds ashore each morning, though thankful that none tried to move in.
The crews of Summer and Kognita were surfers and each day they dingy’d up the coast to a point break at La Caleta where the waves were big.
One day we took our dingy there and got some photos. It was a good thing that I have a long lens on the Nikon because Judy would not let me get close to the waves.
The season has a lot to do with our ability to do this cruise. In April and May the northerlies have stopped and on this coast we have only light SW winds and daily light thermals. This makes some north facing bays into good anchoring spots. Our stays in these places have been times of relaxing and enjoying the scenery. We haven’t been on the move every day and it’s been nice.
The afternoon thermals though have given us some great sailing. We’ve used very little fuel going from one place to the next and the ocean has always been blue and calm.
After Chacala we spent a few days at Las Ayalas in Jaltembre Bay, the first time we were ever there and we plan to go back. Now we are again in Punta Mita. Tomorrow we’ll go back to La Cruz for supplies, but in a few days after that we’ll head out again for some more “closer to home” exploring.
We’d planned to spend a month or more away from civilization, away from people and boats; away from the Internet.
We went to The Marias Islands, hoping the authorities would let us stay, or just leave us alone. For five days that plan worked. The first four days we were undisturbed where we anchored in South Cleofas Bay. It was beautiful but wild. We grew tired of the huge Pacific swells which hammered the island and on day four we moved to Cleofas Hook on the east side of Maria Cleofas Island.
That anchorage was much more peaceful and equally beautiful, but just one day after we anchored there the Mexican Navy came and informed us that we’d have to leave; it was a protected environmental zone, no one was permitted within 12 miles.
So we weighed anchor and left.
Ten hours later, after a nice spinnaker run directly to the East, we reached Mantanchen Bay and anchored there.
And connected to the Internet.
So that’s where we are now slowly working through our supplies and thinking about when and to where we’ll move again.
At sun-up we raised the island, tall and silent, and shrouded in clouds. “That could be Tahiti.” But, of course, it wasn’t. The old sailor and his wife were sailing northward in the Sea of Cortez not westward across the Pacific.
Each year as the “puddle jumpers” set off across the Pacific bound for Tahiti and the South Seas I always felt wistful seeing them depart; but I am always torn, not wanting to be left out yet not wanting to cross the ocean again.
This year that migration to Tahiti didn’t happen. The plague, that virus, struck. The South Sea Islands closed their doors; not allowing boats to come. Maybe some early departees got away before the closure, but most puddle jumpers were stymied, couldn’t go.
So the puddle jumpers, many of them, headed north into the Sea Cortez to various marinas where they could have their boats hauled and cheaply stored while they headed home to wait out the virus and wait for another season. However, the marinas and storage yards filled up and they also became closed. The cruisers piled up in the anchorages around La Paz and Loreto.
Some wandered aimlessly.
Judy and I weren’t puddle jumpers but as we usually cruise somewhere each spring, this year we’d planned a trip north ourselves. But instead we idled for weeks close to our home marina where we would be allowed to return if we so desired. The talk of port closures and crowded anchorages up north worried us.
However, a magic island beckoned, one that wasn’t too far north and wouldn’t be crowded.
The island was Cleofas, in the Marias group, which for years had been a federal prison and forbidden to all visitors. Recently the prison closed and the Marias had become a national park. Not officially open but nevertheless some cruisers had anchored there last year. The authorities had been lax and might be again we reasoned, or they might not.
The old sailor and his wife were quiet about their plans, slipped out in the middle of the night and set sail for Cleofas to time their arrival for mid-morning when the sun was high and the uncharted hazards would be the most visible, because Cleofas was basically uncharted.
And in the morning they sighted Cleofas and they soon discovered however that Cleofas was wild. Pacific swells rolled towards it and turned into crashing waves which pounded the island. The bay on the south side which offered shelter from a north wind was open to the south and there was a southwest swell which came in unimpeded.
As we cautiously entered the bay on the south of Cleofas, feeling our way, looking for a calm spot, I watched the maelstrom on either side wondering how long we’d be there if we were wrecked by one of those waves. How long would it take for someone to find us? We had come there un-announced and no one knew we had come to Cleofas.
I kept these thoughts to myself.
At first we went deep into the bay to anchor for protection from any winds which might arise, but the beach was a lee shore and the swells were breaking just behind our stern. The holding was not good either. It was rocky and the anchor rumbled ominously.
The old sailor was uneasy, and his mate more so.
I said, “Well, what do you want to do? Stay or go, and if we go, where? Or should we just shift anchor a little and move away from the beach?”
“You decide.”
So they shifted, twice; closer to the waves outside but farther from the beach. Finally it looked OK. Then a south wind came up, 12 knots, then 15. In their position they were exposed to this wind. That was a new worry: what if the wind continued to rise and the whole bay became a lee shore?
Cleofas was beautiful alright, but its wild beauty was not comforting.
But things got better. The wind eased off. The bay got calmer; the swells didn’t look so threatening. We could relax and enjoy the remote beauty. We made cocktails.
On the third day the swell was up, way up. Huge mountainous rollers came into the reefs just outside of the anchorage, and crashed in a fury against the rocks on either side of the bay. The bay itself became turbulent and the long swells lifted the boat as they rolled towards the beach and they spent their rage pounding the island. The bay was a virtual washing machine.
When this happened it was too late in the day to leave unless we wanted to spend a night at sea waiting for daylight, which we didn’t. We decided to stay the night in the bay. But in the morning, after a restless and uncomfortable night with the boat constantly rocking and pitching, we’d had enough of wild Cleofas. We quickly got underway.
Once out of that bay things got a lot calmer. There was no wind and once away from the island, no big waves.
Banderas Bay is nice and all that but we're ready to move a little. Tonight we're sailing north into the Sea to find some remote anchorages where there is no Corona virus. There also won't be any Internet for a while, so you might not hear from us. Don't worry, we'll be OK.
April 11, 2020-Activities during a Corona Virus Breakout
There was a bug in the sailor’s wine. He dipped it out with his finger and found it was still alive. He placed the bug on a paper napkin and watched it stagger drunkenly in circles.
That midnight he spotted the gecko that lives behind the coffee cups. He and his wife, his crew, occasionally during the night saw the gecko lurking on the wall behind the galley, watching for bugs. The gecko’s company was welcoming to the old sailor and his wife; "Hey! We’re all friends, ship mates on a happy ship."
The sailor, thinking of his own experiences with drink, didn’t know if the bug would have a hangover or if, in the morning, it be deceased due to alcohol poisoning.
Later the wine bug sobered up and flew off.
Wings is in voluntary quarantine anchored in the bay, but Judy and I are not alone; we are co- quarantining with a gecko and some wine bugs.
It is a strange time we are living in right now. This seems like some dystopian science fiction movie where a plague from another planet has landed on Earth and spread like wildfire across the human population. In this science fiction movie we would see newscasters from around the world daily announcing the spread of the plague and the increasing death tolls. Fear runs rampant among Earth’s inhabitants. The plague has made it dangerous to go outside so they cower in their houses. City streets are deserted. Businesses are shuttered. Governments are found to be helpless to stop the onslaught and they impose draconian restrictions in hopes of slowing it, but it is too late; the plague has escaped far ahead of any preventative measures and is running wild. Within weeks over a million cases have been confirmed and the trajectory is straight upward.
But this is not a science fiction movie, it’s real. The apocalyptic scenario took all of us totally by surprise, even though the science fiction writers and the movie script writers have been describing it for years. Who would think that one day we’d wake up and it would be real.
And where is our boy hero and his beautiful scantily clad sidekick from the movies whom we need to discover the weapon which will save the Earth?
The old sailor contemplates the world on the quarter deck of his ship. He sways as his ship rolls in the gentle swell as he has done for decades, if not for centuries. From his rolling vantage point it seems still and peaceful in the world. The shore is distant, the plaque may be lurking there but it lurks silently. He thinks the gecko ate the wine bug.
Night falls and the moon rises. It is a “Pink moon”.
The shutter of his Nikon clattered as he “shoots the moon”.
Then the tumbler of amber liquid waiting near his right hand called to him. The cool Scottish whiskey was soothing even if the world’s situation was not.
The sailor’s thoughts turned elsewhere. The past few weeks had not been filled with sailing.
Am I really a sailor? He wondered. I have hardly sailed for 2 hours in the last two months. I am but a engine room flunky with grease on my hands and tools to put away every night. The toil on a sailboat these days never ends. It is not the virus which constrains me, but the engineering.
First it was the water tanks. Two were leaking and the welder said, “Can’t be fixed.” So take them out and put some new ones back in. Hard work, took four days. Peter came around and lent a hand.
Then an engine oil leak manifested itself, not that it was previously unknown. But by now it was too much to ignore. So the engine had to be pulled and all sorts of falderal must be removed to get to that silly leak, which was actually simple to fix once exposed to the light of day.
But it took four days; four hard days, and in the process the oil pan was shattered, and had to be repaired. Both the sailor and his mate worked hard on that project, and they worried that they wouldn’t get it all back together in time the big race, but they did.
Anyhow, that deadline evaporated when the plague struck. Racing was cancelled for the rest of the season.
And a family visit was also cancelled; the plague.
Thinking about that made the old sailor reach again for his drink. How plans can be tossed about like a dingy in a storm, he thought. So now the old sailor and his mate had nothing else to do but finally go sailing. Not how they envisioned March and April, but that’s how it comes down.
They had to provision the ship.
In reality many people were stocking up on food and supplies at that time. But for the old sailor and his wife this was nothing out of the ordinary. They stocked up like this every spring in preparation for an extended annual cruise. To see them packing carts of food down the dock was nothing new. They did it every year. The others might be provisioning to weather out the viral storm but the old sailor and his wife planned a cruise away from people each spring, and even though now being away from people was essential, it was ordinary to them.
This time however, going cruising felt different. There was an underlying anxiety in their hearts. It came from not knowing what would be going on ashore when they came back, and certainly they wondered about what would happen when they thought about stopping somewhere.
The scotch was down to the dregs. The sailor reflected on the fact that the the cruise they had embarked upon had been cut short; more engineering problems.
The charging system crashed and the cause bedeviled him. For five days he worked on it, and made countless calls to tech support back stateside. But each night the system was still down. A work around was found, but only a temporary one. Parts must be ordered. The ship must return to port.
And the water maker failed and a spare had to be installed. The old one was rebuilt.
Still, with all that, the sailor was rather enjoying himself. His work days were pleasant and he hummed tunes. Zen and the art…
After all, in our real life science fiction disaster movie many people have it a lot rougher than we do. We are lazing about on our comfortable boat anchored in a beautiful place, trying hard to enjoy a wonderful Mexican cruise while people back home are dealing with body counts and shortages of protective gear.
Today we notified the racing crew that there will be no more races this season. The Corona virus concerns have resulted in the cancellation of the remaining races, including the Banderas Bay Regatta, the big one, the one we focus on all year. We also cancelled our crew party, and that hurts because it was our chance to personally thank each crew member for a great season, but now is not the time for an afternoon of hugs and sharing of food.
I love the racing here on Banderas Bay. The sailing and racing is so excellent that every day when I look out on the bay and see the perfect conditions I wish I was out there. But the thing to remember is that we have already had a wonderful life of sailing and racing. Even if we never sail again, we must be thankful for what we have already been given, our life on the sea.
And the sea is perpetual. These winds have been here for eons and I expect there will be many more days of great wind on this beautiful bay. Some day we will lay ourselves down and never sail again, but hopefully that will not be soon. I certainly want and expect a few more years worth for us too, God willing. So...there is always next year.
I wrote this note to our crew: (the last part is for Jasmine, our Mexican jib trimmer)
Dear Friends and Crew Members,
I am sitting here on Wings listening to the wind howl and a moment ago I watched as the Mexorc racing fleet sailed past. My heart aches that we are not out there, as it always does when a beautiful sailing day goes unused.
And with the cancellation of the regatta I know we’ll have to wait for the next racing season for another chance.
You have been a good crew and you all worked very hard training with the regatta in mind. Judy and I love you all as if you were our family. We’ll miss you for the next many months.
But the experiences we had and the skills we learned were not a waste. They cannot be taken from us. And the friendships we have made will last forever.
And we are lucky that we are not experiencing the more serious effects of the corona virus that many others have around the world.
And…
There is always next year.
The party scheduled for next Sunday is also canceled.
Here is a famous quotation from Jospeh Conrad, Ah, The Sea:
Ah! The good old time—the good old time. Youth and the sea. Glamour and the sea! The good, strong sea, the salt, bitter sea, that could whisper to you and roar at you and knock your breath out of you. ” He drank again. “By all that’s wonderful, it is the sea, I believe, the sea itself—or is it youth alone? Who can tell? But you here—you all had something out of life: money, love—whatever one gets on shore—and, tell me, wasn’t that the best time, that time when we were young at sea; young and had nothing, on the sea that gives nothing, except hard knocks—and sometimes a chance to feel your strength—that only—what you all regret?” And we all nodded at him: the man of finance, the man of accounts, the man of law, we all nodded at him over the polished table that like a still sheet of brown water reflected our faces, lined, wrinkled; our faces marked by toil, by deceptions, by success, by love; our weary eyes looking still, looking always, looking anxiously for something out of life, that while it is expected is already gone—has passed unseen, in a sigh, in a flash—together with the youth, with the strength, with the romance of illusions.
PS for Yas,
Estimados amigos y miembros de la tripulación:
Estoy sentado aquí en Wings escuchando el aullido del viento y hace un momento vi cómo pasaba la flota de carreras de Mexorc. Me duele el corazón de que no estamos ahí afuera, como siempre cuando un hermoso día de navegación no se usa.
Y con la cancelación de la regata, sé que tendremos que esperar la próxima temporada de carreras para tener otra oportunidad.
Han sido un buen equipo y todos trabajaron muy duro entrenando con la regata en mente. Judy y yo los amamos a todos como si fueran nuestra familia. Te extrañaremos durante los próximos meses.
Pero las experiencias que tuvimos y las habilidades que aprendimos no fueron un desperdicio. No pueden ser quitados de nosotros. Y las amistades que hemos hecho durarán para siempre.
Y tenemos la suerte de no experimentar los efectos más graves del virus corona que muchos otros tienen en todo el mundo.
Y…
Siempre hay el año que viene.
La fiesta programada para el próximo domingo también se cancela.
We went for an art walk on the streets of La Cruz to photograph the fantastic murals which have just been painted as part of the Cuidad Murals project.
Amazing! We ended the day at Octopus' Garden to watch Parasite
There are a lot of activities here in La Cruz in January and February but for us racing is at the top of the list. So when I stood at the trophy case of Vallarta yacht Club reading the names of the past winners of the Vallarta Cup and seeing Wings’ fourth place this year it was a bit of a shock, especially considering our first overall three times in the previous four years. We’ve been sailing hard this year and having fun doing it, and in the opening regatta of the year, as we wrote previously, we were first, dominatingly so, but this time the results weren’t there.
How do we explain that fourth place?
The truth is that we are sailing against a small group of really good sailors who all want to win as bad as we do. This year everyone has been sailing well and they deserve to win.
And this year we had some problems.
For one thing we’ve had some personnel issues. Four people are out for the year due to injuries, three shoulder injuries, a back injury, and another with arm injuries. None of these have occurred on the boat (it seems that walking around in Mexico is more dangerous than sailing on Wings) but we’ve had to find replacements nevertheless. Also we’ve had people take off to go cruising on their own boats, so we needed more replacements. And some of the replacements have not worked out. The net is that there has a lot of been crew turnover.
As for ourselves, Judy and I have remained committed to our workout regimen and think we are pretty fit, but even we have found that our old bodies are showing signs of stress. This week Judy has started treatment for a shoulder injury herself.
Our constantly rotating crew is doing their best and they are pretty good; a few are real stars but some boat handling problems have occurred which cost us time and these can be traced partially to inexperienced crew.
A complicating factor is that our tactics and helming have suffered while we try to deal with on-the-job training of the crew. It is hard to stay focused on tactics while you are trying to watch what 10 other people are doing.
Putting it all together, facing tough competition, rebuilding our crew, and less than stellar tactics…it’s not surprising that we are behind the curve this year.
Still, in competition there will always be winners and losers. The good thing is that we love to get out on the water and always try to do our best.
Despite our racing performance sailing has been good with good winds and good friends aboard and otherwise life in La Cruz has been pretty nice too as it always is this time of year. The weather is glorious, the music scene in La Cruz is booming with great new bands and live music playing somewhere every night, usually at more than one place. Sometimes we have to force ourselves to cut back and not go out every night. Local activities have also been fun. If our sailboat racing has been less than stellar, the La Cruz Kids Club has been able to put on a terrific regatta with toy boats built out of scraps and trash. wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Boat work, car work: We’ve been making progress against our project lists and keeping up with occasional mechanical problems. Keeping our old Chrysler in good shape has required some investment. A total front end rebuild has helped with the speed bump issues, and we have some other fixes completed and more upcoming. The boat, of course always provides repair opportunities. At the moment we have two water tanks out and new ones being built. The good news on both the car and the boat is that the repairs cost less here in Mexico then they have elsewhere. We’re happy that we feel that we can keep our vehicles in good nick.
With a “Blast” in December our racing season got underway.
On day one of the Banderas Bay Blast, after a pretty decent start (seen below) we sailed well on the first beat and controlled the small but competitive performance class. We rounded the windward mark first only to watch Olas Lindas sail past on a tear and extend their lead to the finish. We could do nothing to stop them, but we retained second place. It was not unforeseen; it’s happened before in this event, and as usual, it left the next two races to determine the overall score.
Day two, however, was our day; the long beat to Punta Mita is our favorite race of the year and the conditions were perfect this year, once again. The fleet set off one by one, slowest boats first. Over 30 minutes after the first boat got underway we started in pursuit of them, and, staying close to shore and out of the tide, we quickly began to overtake.
Over and over we tacked into the shore, twelve times, while our competitors stayed out. Each time, as we approached the rocks the tensions on board Wings became high. I called for the crew to be ready but I held the course steady; straight toward land. The depth gauge ticking down, 25, 20, 19…
Judy finally made the call, “Let’s get out of here, Fred!”
“TACKING.”
The boat turned suddenly, away from the shore, and we sheeted the sails in on starboard tack, heading out. The depth was 15 feet.
Other boats know this strategy too and we watched behind us to make sure none of them got inside of us, but how could they? We’d completed the tack as close as it was safe to go.
At the halfway point we were in the lead and then the big right hand wind shift began to show. Over the next half hour the wind rotated from 240 degrees to 330 degrees and it increased to over 19 knots. We were inside the shift which provided further gains.
We were being lifted towards the shore now on starboard tack and in fact we had to turn away from a couple of the rocky points. We were flying with the big genoa but becoming overpowered. It took a careful hand on the helm to stay in control but I didn’t want to lose the time it would take to change sails. I feathered up when the nearness to the shore permitted, and, nervous about the depth, closely watched the depth finder. The boat speed increased, we grew closer, and luckily we hit nothing.
We finished the 8.6 mile beat and the race at 2:35:14PM. 1 hour, 35 minutes, and 18 seconds. It was our best time ever for this race, 13 minutes better than last year, and two minutes faster than the previous best time, in 2016. And nothing on the boat was broken.
Obviously we were pleased.
Day three saw different conditions. This 12 mile downwind race started off fast with up to 25 knots of breeze and we set the spinnaker and flew at over 9 knots, pole to the headstay and barely in control.
At the mid-point of the race the wind died entirely.
The fleet stopped.
We scanned the ocean. Except for two catamarans which had gone far to the south, no one was moving.
Behind us two of our competitors coasted to a stop within yards of us. I could hear them talking.
Then I felt the slightest breath of air and somehow the sail filled. We moved ahead a little. The boats behind didn’t catch it.
More air came and we gained some speed. It seemed like only a few minutes but it must have been half an hour or more before I again looked behind us. There was nobody in sight. No one! A door had slammed shut.
The two cats were now just ahead and we worked hard to catch them, but to no avail.
We finished third, a minute or two behind the catamarans, but it was enough to win the regatta: a second place, first place and third.
The busy social life we fall into each year in La Cruz is in full swing.
Of course we’ll be sailing a lot now that sailing season is here and have already started that, and there is pool Volley Ball, and Mexican train Dominos. More on these later.
It seems like a while ago, but it was only last month, we dressed up and went to the Halloween Party at the Tree House Bar. The costumes were not prize winners but scary enough.
And Sunday Market has started, which is always a combination social scene and shopping trip, (if you can get out of bed early enough on Sunday Morning).
Then there are always opportunities to take a land trip or two. We drove with Deborah to Tepic. She had business at the couthouse there and we just wanted a ride.
Racing season is just kicking off here in Mexico; the temps are coming down from barely tolerable to wonderful and the air-conditioner is about to be stowed. We've taken the solar panels and the last load of cruising equipment to the storage locker, loaded the racing sails and bent on the carbon main. The big Bruce anchors and the chain are in the dockbox. The diver has cleaned the bottom again and tomorrow he'll wax the topsides (but that's just for looks).
One by one the crew have drifted back into town and stopped by to check in, and they each inspected the results of our summer's work. I have to say it's generally nods of approval I see as they stand on the dock and stroke their chins scanning the new hardware, running rigging, and fresh deck paint.
We've tested everything that can be tested, even the new navigator has been doing his navigation exercises with the tablet computer. Now we just need to get out of the berth and shake out the cobwebs.
Weds we'll put on supplies of beer and water and see if this ole' girl can still go.
Two people: Fred & Judy , drawn to each other and yet somehow drawn also to the sea, and both intrigued by the idea of living aboard.
I saw her, blond and asymmetrical, beautiful, boarding another’s boat and I followed her and wooed her, or she wooed me. That was 1985 and we fell in love and we thought that to buy a boat and make a life together on the water was only natural.
So we did.
Fate.
The boat was WINGS.
For the next ten years we lived on Wings in Seattle, had jobs in the city, sailed every chance we got, and 40-50 times a year, went racing. It was great.
Then we left Seattle and began our cruising life. We voyaged across the world, across the seven seas, to faraway places, and made them our own.
Wings was our home, and is still, and we lived wherever the sea met the land and people welcomed us, as they did everywhere.
For thirty years we’ve lived this life, and more to come, we hope.
Join us now, and sail the seas.
Fred Roswold & Judy Jensen, SV Wings, Caribbean
Hanging out at Punta de Mita
Waves Building at Pta Mita
Blue and White Spinnaker Crosses Us
Judy Reading-At Pta Mita
Quiet Spot in a Storm
Wings in La Cruz Marina
Wings in Boca de Tomatlan
Boca de Tomatlan
Judy at the town wharf
Boca Lagoon
Judy in the companionway
Boca de Tomatlan Chart
Judy Sailing
Nest Building
Going Shopping in San Blas
Morning in Chacala
John and Jenna
Sunset in Chacala
Buenos días Capitán, We are the Mexican Navy
Time to Relax
Raising Cleofas
Cleofas South
Contours
Huge Swells Comings
Motoring North
Sailor Girl Judy
Two Whales
The Plague Breaks Out
Engine Lifted
A New Oil Seal!
Makeshift table in a work zone
Cooking
Full Moon
Mural in La Cruz
Wings in Racing Trim
Judy in the Dr's Office
Judy and Kelly on the roof-top bar
Water Tanks
Starting on Port Tack
Party on Wings
Fred Finds a Halloween Mask
Run! Judy, Run!
Meeting Friends at the Market
Mexican Fishermen Harvest Shark Fins
Dona Marie
Road Trip to Tepic.jpg)
