A Crew of (Way More Than) Three

Stew--helping with the diesel

Sometime in the next couple of weeks (we’re refusing to pin down a date yet because we’ve had a one-step-forward-two-back type of week…) Evan, Maia and I will take off on our biggest adventure to date. I imagine that casting off the dock lines on that day (whenever the heck it might be…) will feel like the culmination of something huge. The three of us have worked hard. Especially Maia, according to Maia. She did extra dishes and sweeping this week.

But the thing is, while we’ve worked hard for our dream, so have our friends and family. When I think about all the hours other people have put into our life—all the shopping they’ve done (thanks parents!!), all the banking and mail managing (thanks Sis!!), all the advice from those who have gone before (Behan, Karen, Naomi, Susan, Steph, Chris…), all the hours poured into our boat (Mark, Ken, Stew, Jamie, Don, Tyler, Robin, Leighton…), all the kid wrangling (Meri, Tammy, Wendy, Andrea, Ann, Kelly, Lynne, Cheryl…) meals served (too many to even begin to thank), all the dreams and ideas shared over wine (ditto)—it’s really humbling.

It might just be us three out there, physically, but we are so blessed to carry so many amazing friends along for the ride—in our hearts and memories. It’s going to be busy over the next week or two leading up to leaving (just don’t ask us when that will be…) because the list keeps growing (thanks, Stew for noticing the engine is out of alignment...)

But we don’t want to miss saying thanks. So thanks.

Dreams shared are dreams realized. And the power of friendship is an amazing thing.

La Cruz Tsunami

Before I say anything about our part of this event—I have to say, our day seems frivolous compared to the widespread devastation that we are still learning about. My heart goes out to those who lost lives, loved ones, homes and livelihoods.

Early on--the water has just begun to churn up

 Like many people, we woke to the news of Japan’s horrifying earthquake and tsunami. As we monitored the situation this am—we tried to decide what to do about the fact that both our main engine and steering were disassembled. As initial tsunami reports came in, it looked like we’d experience an event much like last years—a quick rise and fall of the water and some current. So Evan headed into Puerto Vallarta to retrieve boat parts and I headed off on an errand.

Around noon it became clear that the tsunami was packing a much bigger punch than anyone expected. So any boat that could head out of the marina did. I sent Maia with Hotspur, so I wouldn’t have to worry about her. And fifteen-year-old Tim joined me and helped me tie the boat up as best we could.

Then we waited.

The first drop came around 1:30pm. It wasn’t huge—it was about 33 inches and took about 30 minutes to go through the cycle. We had three more similar surges—which churned up the water and created some current, but we simply rose up and down. The in and out wasn’t fast enough to throw us around.

When Ev got back Tim and I headed out to the breakwater to check the entrance. We saw a few big surges—complete with whirlpools and overfalls (think big river) but then it seemed to slow. So we headed back to the boat thinking it had ended and it was safe to start unlacing ourselves.

Six foot surge over a 5 minute period

The next wave caught everyone off guard—it rose and fell 6ft in five minutes and sucked at the docks until fingers on dock 11 began breaking away. If there had more than one surge like that we would have had more issues.

 But now, it’s 6pm. We’re surging gently up and down. The harbour is still closed and families are starting to puzzle over how to reunite because many were separated. But as far as tsunamis go—we had a good one. It was fascinating and powerful. But still heart wrenchingly devastating.

Pacific Yachting Story About a Few of Our Friends

Surfing Mexico

We’re usually really good at follow-through. If we say something is going to happen—we do it. Which is why Maia’s surfing lessons have being weighing heavily on my mind.

 She’s been dreaming about learning to surf since Crescent City, CA. Back then (she seemed so little!) she watched the surfers day in and day out and asked when it could be her.

 So we promised her surfing lessons for Christmas that year—but even down near Newport Beach the water was still too chilly. Then we planned to do it in Mexico—and while there have been surfers all around us this past year, we never got it done.

 But yesterday we grabbed Tim (who’s also been wanting to learn to surf) and Carolyne (who was more reluctant but was told it was her home schooling gym class) and joined Coral and all her friends for surf classes in Sayulita.

 Everyone got up on their boards and had a blast. Especially Tim, who may have been in 15-year-old-boy-heaven, in his surf class with four bikini-clad teenaged girls.

Jump Off Party at Philo's

 Because we were in Barra during February, we missed all the parties and seminars that typically lead up to the 'jump'. But there was one party we definitely didn't want to miss: Philo's.

Monica and Andy are heading off about 10 days ahead of us--they're going to scope it all out for us.

 Philo's is a local cruiser's hangout that's run by a former cruiser. And the annual jump off party is a tradition.

 It definitely lived up to it's billing--we had a blast, danced up a storm and said our goodbyes. Now we just have to finish the flipping boat and go...

La Social Life

 I came back from running errands the other day only to discover Evan buried deep in projects and Maia nowhere to be found. “Haven’t seen her since breakfast,” Evan mumbled as he worked. “Pass that screw driver.”

Considering it was 3pm, I thought we should try to track her down and see about feeding her. So I started calling around. Maia sightings had been made throughout the day—one boat reported feeding her, while another mentioned she had asked for sunscreen. Eventually we found her on Eyoni—one of a crowd 7 girls who were in the midst of a princess tea party.

 Maia’s currently being neglected—by us. But she seems to be making the most of it. There are close to 20-kids in the marina right now and considering only two of the families are South Pacific bound—she has good odds for showing up on a boat where food and care are available.

 We are also enjoying the crowd of families. Clearly we have to eat—and this town is pretty good for sit down street tacos and with this many people, kid tables are a given. So busy as we are, we haven’t opted out of La Social Life—in fact we’re embracing it. Maybe too enthusiastically…

Coral’s Quinceañera

I cried when Coral entered the church. 

 The memories came flooding back: of meeting Dee and Stew after a storm blew us into Westport, WA and sailing down the coast with them; of being the first to meet Coral in the minutes after she was born; of cruising Mexico with them; and then taking a trip together to Mexico City to visit Ramon and his family, our newfound Mexican friends, and celebrate Coral’s 1^st birthday.

 That night—when Coral was in her fancy party dress, and her birthday fiesta had gone far too late for the wee girl, Dee proposed we do it all again, in fourteen years—for Coral’s Quinceañera.

Ivan & Dee, Coral, Stew & Wendy

 Not all friendship pacts make it through the challenges of time and geography—and our little group changed shape over the years. But Coral went ahead and grew-up anyway, and last night was her fiesta.

Ramone, Coral & Pat

 A Quinceañera is a celebration of the end of childhood and the beginning of young womanhood. It’s a beautiful ritual that lets a girl’s parents tell her how much they love who she’s growing into. Perhaps it’s a bit like a debutant ball, or a coming out—but the rituals: the first make-up, and first high-heels, and the tossing away of a childhood doll are solemn ones. And for Coral—who is Mexican by birth and who spent her first four years here--it’s a link to a culture that she's just beginning to learn about.

Maia and Carolyne imagine their own parties

 Mass was lengthier than the, “sprinkle of water and a few nice words about growing up” that Stew said he had hoped for. But it ended without the overhead pigeon pooping on Coral, or any of us bursting into spontaneous flames…

 We headed to dinner afterward and continued to catch up—and admire Coral. I cried when she got her high heels, and again when she danced her first dance with Stew. I cried when Maia caught Coral’s (now headless after a bad bounce) doll and marveled again about how quickly it had all passed. Just yesterday, it seems, I was scooping Coral out of Dee’s arms at beach landings, and standing at the top of pyramids with her—showing her the world.

 

 And now it’s hers.

Life in La Cruz

 It’s lovely how easy it is to step back into life in La Cruz. I guess it’s because out of the past 14 months in Mexico, this has been the town we’ve called ‘home’ for more weeks than any other. We pulled into our old slip, were greeted by old friends, and slipped into the lively pace of life here without a second thought.

Today is ‘kid’s club’ a new organized playgroup put together by Tammy on Andiamo 3. And today was also the first day in a series of Huichol art classes where a local artist, Alvarez Ortis will be teaching us some of his traditional beading skills.

In case you’re not familiar, the Huichol people are one of Mexico’s indigenous groups. They live in the mountains—mostly as subsistence farmers—but over the past several years their intricate bead and yarn work has become a favourite tourist souvenir. The art itself is spiritual in nature—and reflects the Huichol people’s relationship with their deities: the trinity of Corn, Blue Deer and Peyote, the eagle, and the Sun God, "Tao Jreeku".

Alvarez explained this to us in a slow gentle Spanish that even I could mostly understand. He told us how their art is for the most part unaltered—that while they have switched from natural seed beads and plant-based dyes to crystal beads and nylon string, what they create is still culturally authentic and spiritually relevant.

I’m not sure what I expected from our first class—but I did sort of hope I’d get to stick beads into bees wax and create a masterpiece. Instead Alvarez had us start at the beginning—making basic necklaces—giving us no direction other than to create what moved us and listen to our own inner music.

Mine wasn’t much of a masterpiece. But at the end of the 90-minute class I felt incredibly peaceful, which Alvarez told us while we packed up, was the first lesson. Next week though we get to do designs!

Calm as it ever Gets

Either Passage Weather misforecasted the day, or "calm as it ever gets' is a euphemism for a stiff wind in a washing machine.

It started out fine. But rather than the wind dropping last night, it began to build. Not to anything dramatic--but between the adverse wind, the adverse seas and a stubbornly adverse current we were making a nauseatingly slow 3.5 knots through the night.

Occasionally we'd hit a steep wave that was big enough to stop us cold. When that happens the boat shudders and bucks and I'd race around trying to see if we caught a fishing net or something. But then we'd start to churn forward, wallowing up and over the next wave.

Our goal, when we set out yesterday, was to have an event free passage. A goal that despite the nasty conditions seemed to be going fine until I was woken from a sound slumber: "The engine's over heating and the tach is going crazy!" Evan called down, before disappearing into the engine compartment.

I was up in a flash--checking our location, course, looking out for hazards etc. Then Evan called me to shut down the engine. There was water in the compartment.

Salt freaking water.

I hate finding water in the boat. It bugs me. Logically I know we're not actually sinking, I know we're nearly impossible to sink. But water doesn't belong in the boat.

I also hate the little dramas that come with these emergencies. Or rather, I did. Something hit me this time--as Evan trouble-shooted, and I offered actual relevant thoughts (through some sort of osmosis a whole bunch of boat stuff has sunk in to me), and Maia did what was needed and helped where she could--we're okay at this. We can handle emergencies.

This is good to know. Because no matter how well prepared we are, stuff is going to break and things are going to go wrong. And Evan--despite being competent at everything boat--can't steer the boat and hold a calmish course while his head's in the engine diagnosing that the water is coming through the shaft seal at high rpms, but only when we hit a wave at a specific angle. And I can't fetch him things if I'm outside steering and sorting things out. And Maia can't help with tools if she hadn't known where they are kept and what they are called.

I would have like an eventless passage. I would have like to have stared at the waves and daydreamed about wonderful things while the ocean went by like a movie.

But I like that our emergency played out without drama--that it was as calm as it ever gets.

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Back to La Cruz

We look like we're in a convoy, or a parade. Just one of a fleet of boats taking advantage of a weather window around Cabo Corrientes that Don Anderson (Summer Passage) pinpointed this am. "It will be as calm as it gets there," he said on the morning net. And clearly from the 5,6, make that 7 boats I can see, several of us listened.
Despite the calm--we're still beating into it. Sailing at 5 knots in light wind and lumpy seas. A whale spouted nearby, but we're all lethargic--a factor of trying to find our sea legs after weeks in the flat lagoon and trying to ease our hearts through a hard goodbye.
Yesterday was sad. We spent the day with Hotspur. Unlike every other day with them, where the laughter and chatter flow freely, yesterday there were lots of sighs and quiet moments. This morning Maia and Carolyne wouldn't let go hands:
"Do you remember when we met?" Maia asked. "Our mother's let us have a sleepover! We never even knew each other!"
"And that silly day. Do you remember that?"
"And your laugh. I love your laugh."
"And our kitchen in the rocks."
"Your funny jokes!"
"We have email." Maia said.
"And skype." Carolyne replied.
"And pictures."
"And memories."
And memories.
I called Meri and told her it was time to pick up Carolyne.
I hugged Meri. And Jim. And thought of when we met. And the adventures we've had. And reminded myself we have email. And skype. And pictures. And memories.
And now we're in a convoy heading north on this round earth. Toward friends we said goodbye to fourteen years ago. And I'm reminded that this goodbye will ease, and that this sadness will gradually fade into the comfort of what's sure to become a long friendship.
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