Tenacatita’s Mangrove River

“This is how Disney’s Jungle Cruise should be,” Evan said, as the mangroves closed in around us. Any moment we expected to be ambushed by charging hippos or attacked by an anaconda, but instead we caught sight of an ibis, nestled deep in the droopy green foilage. After an exciting surf entry over the river bar we were now floating along the meandering river: the splash of fish, and the flutter of birds and butterflies gave us a hint to what lay hidden.

Characterized by lazy brackish waters and densely growing bush-like trees, mangroves are a frontier zone between land and sea, a harbour for an unrivalled diversity of life. Over half of Mexico’s 1050 recognized bird species have been sighted in the string of mangrove lagoons scattered along Mexico’s western coast.
Under pressure from development, and seemingly a waste of good waterfront, mangrove ecosystems are disappearing at a disasterous rate. Statistics from Greenpeace Mexico and the federal Ministry of the Environment and Natural Resources say that mangrove habitat in the country's coastal zones fell from 1,041,267 hectares in 1976 to 683,881 in 2007. By 2025 the country expects to have lost an additional 40-50% of its existing mangrove cover.

 Tropical mangroves capture carbon, incubate numerous aquatic species, prevent coastal erosion, provide windbreaks from storms and shelter migratory birds. But tourist development, new subdivisions, pollution and lack of understanding mean they are at risk, despite a tough new law protecting mangroves that was approved by the Mexican Congress in 2007.
One potential saving grace of mangroves is they are very cool to visit.

In the hush of still water we heard muffled surf. Our list of sighted creatures was growing: yellow-crowned night herons, snowy egrets, green herons, king fishers a roseate spoon bill, red-bellied squirrels…

 “Crocodile!”
We just caught a glimpse as it left its sunny perch and slid into the tea-coloured water. A few minutes later (after learning to scan deadfall in the sunny areas) we sighted our next crocodile, seemingly smiling in the sun. We all squealed and tried to position ourselves for a picture—but the current and the little crocodile’s reticent disposition, meant it was under water before we could snap a good shot.

 The end of the ride took us to a beach, surrounded by high fences. Just a year ago this was a popular holiday spot—with palapa restaurants, a smattering of homes and camping. Then its apparent long-time owner called in the state police and had the residents removed so he could begin development. Now it was under guard and we needed permission to visit the beach.
After our time at the beach we headed back to the dingy for the long ride back through the meandering jungle. As we left, I looked back at the fences and the traces of the buildings that had been plowed under when the army came to remove the beach-side businesses, and I couldn’t help but worry what modernization might bring to the mangroves.

 But then we caught sight of a crocodile and were carried away by the wonder of it all.

Playmobil Clogs Emergency Bilge Pumps—and other lessons learned whilst bailing…

 “Is it meant to be wet down here?” my step dad, Frank called from the head in the port hull. “There’s water all over the floor.”

Evan was dropping the main and I was off-watch and napping. We’d been traveling for almost 24-hours and were sort of used to my parents asking land-lubber type questions. So neither of us rushed to go see--who knew, it had been a bit rough and maybe water had sloshed out of the toilet, or maybe Maia was extra enthusiastic in her face washing. Frank called again, “It’s spraying all over...”

That made us jump. Evan hurried down and found the pre-filter housing on the spectra water filter had cracked and dropped right off. So rather than pumping water through the water maker, we were pumping seawater all over the hull.

Evan shut off the water maker and pried opened the overflowing bilge. We know units can fail and can make things wet—so we installed it above a deepish (for a cat) bilge. Evan grabbed the emergency bilge pump and started pumping the water into the shower sump (located just aft and technically where the bilge should be draining). Midway through pumping we both had the same horrible thought at once, “The charts!”

Just forward of the water maker bilge is a deep compartment where we store all our charts, and loads of spare electronics. It’s supposed to be a watertight compartment—but when Evan was doing some plumbing he breached the bulkhead with a hose, and rather than fixing it then he added it to his ‘someday’ list for repair.

Even before he’d pulled off the last cover board I could hear the sloshing.

Nothing sucks quite so much as half-sinking your boat—especially when you have witnesses. We had already had a challenging trip: the weather wouldn’t co-operate so we were a few days late heading south from La Cruz to Tenacatita. Then the weather we did get was chilly and the seas were big and lumpy—leading to an ‘are we there yet’ atmosphere that didn’t make for happy sailing. Now we were soggy and about to put wet crap all over the boat in the hope of drying it.

Evan fed the bilge pump into the bottom of the compartment and I started pumping—marvelling at how much water our boat could hold with no apparent change in her sailing ability. Then the bilge pump stopped sucking. Evan shook it and blew in it, but nada. So he took it apart and found some long lost Playmobil pieces had been sucked up inside.

 Once the compartment was dry we starting pulling out the contents and assessing the damage. New Zealand’s charts were soaked through, as were Central and South America (which I guess reinforces our plan to skip those destinations for now…)  The rest—barring a bit of Australia, were tightly enough wrapped in plastic that they were unharmed. The same can’t be said for our spares—we’ll need to test those in the days to come.

 But considering how many times we’ve left the water maker running when we’ve headed to town or to a friend’s boat—we feel like we got off lucky (actually we sort of think it sucks that we always get to learn stuff the hard way, but whatever…). We think the water maker only ran for a half-hour or so after the housing failed but in that short time it pumped in a hell of a lot of water.

 A few hours later we pulled into a gorgeous but rolly Tenacatita and started hanging out our charts to dry. We watched the sunset as we ate dinner. And late in the evening as I watched the Southern Cross rise over the horizon I couldn’t suppress the feeling that I’m just a little bit fortunate. As for my parents—they’re going to a hotel. They seem to think life is more peaceful on shore…

Reefing Issues... (A technical post by Evan, who's puzzled)

When we bought our boat it wasn't set up to reef the main at all. So when we added the cabin I set it up for single reef point lines--which worked o.k.. Then the One-Eyed La Paz sailmaker added a second reef and the line leading got complicated.

I've got 3 cheek blocks on the side of the mast for:
- reef 1 tack
- reef 2 tack (currently being used for topping lift but lead angle sucks)
- main halyd
I think these will all work ok though I will upgrade wee plastic Harken 57 carbo cheek block to a bigger cheek block for a reef.  They lead to the 3 Spinlock clutches to stbd.

From the aft end of the boom I have 4 lines:
- reef 1 clew
- reef 2 clew
- topping lift
- outhaul

My thinking is to use 2 of the integrated sheaves at the front of the boom for the outhaul/topping lift because they are less loaded than the reef clew lines. I would use the Harken block aft of these on the boom for reef 1 and add one more sturdy Harken block for reef 2.

The 4 lines coming aft would go to the triple Easylock clutch + 1 cam cleat for the topping lift.

My big issue is that I only have one double block below on the mast to turn 4 lines coming aft. The mast base is too low to directly attach blocks because of the curve of the cabin roof top. This is all background to my big question:  how do I reasonably attach another double block to the mast so I can run 2 more lines aft without lines fouling the existing double block?

I sent my question off to Jamie the Two-Eyed Sailmaker on Totem and got this response (we're leaning toward 3e but welcome further discussion):

Complicated, damn!

1.       First thought, not suggesting that you try major changes, but I’m not a fan of single line/aft led reefing. The longer line runs allow more stretch/chafe, lines clutter up the cockpit, and it maintains big stress on the gooseneck. Is it possible to simplify even 1 less line going aft, such as the topping lift – instead exit to a cleat on the boom? Or if the outhaul has a purchase inside the boom it can be cleated on the boom?

2.       Along similar lines (ha ha) if it takes 2 people to reef anyway consider removing luff reef lines and use the tack hook/dog-ear method. Doesn’t solve aft-led line problem, but I does simplify the whole affair.

3.       If you’re stuck and really need to run 7 lines aft (3 from stbd mast wall, 4 from mast base) a few options come to mind for the 4 mast base lines– though a little tough from the pictures to see how the double block attaches.

a.       Replace 2 sheave block with 4 sheave block (Harken?). Downside is different load/function lines running through same block system will likely led to lines binding.

b.      Use 2 blocks with 2 sheaves each vertically oriented (currently horizontally oriented). Each block base could be non-swiveling and shackled to a single large shackle (or stout O-ring) at the mast base. Use the 2 smaller sheave for the outhaul and topping lift lines / larger sheaves for leach reef lines. Binding may still be an issue, but maybe less so.

c.       Use 2 block, 2 sheaves each. Attach 2 Spectra (yes, I got it in there!) pennants to the spot where current 2 sheave is attached. Lead them forward, around the mast and back so that one block is oriented on each side of the mast (but just aft of the mast). This gets some separation between the blocks and puts the block a little higher (if that helps). You could also use some bungee cord to prevent each block from moving too far out of place when not under load. Be sure that the base attachment point is up to the lateral loads.

d.      Skip the fairlead approach and just bring lots of line.

e.      With boats moving toward lifting keels, why not go one up and set-up a dropping mast. The mainsail remains fixed at the mast head. Build a carbon column from the mast base to the bilge. Cut hole in bottom. Install 1203:1 purchase system for dropping/lifting the rig. Of course the shrouds may loosen a bit but the mast will be shorter, so shrouds become superfluous – like nipples on a man.

f.        Duct Tape!

g.       Real men don’t reef anyway you pansy.

h.      You’re in a catamaran, so what you really need to worry about – because you’ll be upside down – is reefing the dagger boards.

i.         You’ve read Harry Potter right? Skip the boat and use the flu network.

Before the Frenzy

I’ve said it before: real cruising isn’t at all the way it’s shown in your daydreams. There are moments of white sand beaches, perfect sunsets and intimate wildlife encounters—but honestly, if that’s what you want from life, buy a condo somewhere warm, or take a beach holiday.

Cruising is work. And when it’s not work (and not one of those rare sublime moments) it’s waiting. And there’s a lot of waiting: in lines, for parts, for weather to end, for seasons to start…

Right now we’re waiting for a weather window to sail my parents south. Technically we have tons of stuff we could be doing. And if we wait just a few more days there are some very good events going on here. But when you’re waiting, it’s hard to commit to doing something else—even important boat chores.

 When we weren’t busy waiting, we were busy working. Ev installed new dorade vents for increased ventilation in nasty conditions and he replaced one of our wooden tillers (which had worrisome connections to the steering linkage) with a very sexy looking carbon fibre version. Carbon tiller #two will be made soon…. He’s also installing a few sections of toe rails on a part of our deck that’s slanted, touching up paint, filling up ditch bags and making our stern rail sturdier.

While he’s doing that, I’m filling the cruising kitty by writing about summer holidays and heroes, my favourite places in Mexico and earthquakes.

But right now all those projects have been laid aside while we debate whether or not the forecast 20+ knots will really happen tonight, or not. Or whether we should just head out into it and hope for the best. But while we wait it seems impossible to do much of anything so tasks pile up and people get grouchy…

Stupid Steps

This will be one of those mostly photo-free blog posts. Not because I don’t want to share my stupidity, but because my stupidity lead to something that would make for ugly pictures…

One of the first things we tell visitors who are coming to Mexico is to bring comfortable shoes, suitable for rough terrain. Even if they insist they’ll never leave the city, we explain that Mexican sidewalks aren’t for sissies and frivolous shoes really have no place here.

 Then, once they get here, we point out all the dangers: crumbling pavement, stairs with big drop offs, loose cobble stones, collapsible sewer covers, leg eating gratings, washed out streets—that sort of thing. Once you get over the initial shock that people actually brave these hazards rather handily, and often in towering heels, you sort of forget about them.

 Which is how I found myself mid-intersection with my leg wedged up to my knee between the street and a metal grating.

Initially, my biggest concern was that I get myself removed from the street’s grasp quickly enough that I didn’t miss my bus. Then I realized I was sort of blocking the bus and it was dark, and there was a lot of traffic around. So my next concern was I extract myself before I was killed.

Once I was free I had other worries. My leg had a few large dents and less skin than I’d like, and it was also swelling and my toes had gone numb. I hobbled home with Evan and Maia watching me nervously but ended up looking better with a bit of first aid and a good amount of ice.

Now I just need something to treat my ego…

Pacific Planning

 I think it was the, “so where exactly in the South Pacific are you going?” question that got me thinking. But it could have been the fact that Evan is steadily ticking items off the to-do list (we nearly have new carbon fibre tillers!) that made me realize I don’t actually know which countries are in the South Pacific. 

Let alone which individual islands we might want to visit.

I’ve become so accustomed to the kind of trip where someone meets me in the airport with my name on a placard and an itinerary to follow, that the idea that I might need to do more than pack the right shoes and enough canned goods to get me to Australia caught me off guard. The South Pacific just doesn't seem like the sort of destination where we should wing it. We should know what we want to do and see...

The thing is I’m a great researcher, but a terrible planner. When I’m immersed in something I want to know every detail, but when that something is still in the foggy future it’s hard for me to even get interested. I first noticed this when I was pregnant with Maia. Through my entire pregnancy I researched everything about pregnancy and birth. And round about the 4^th hour of labour, the fact I was going to come out of the whole pregnancy thing with a baby suddenly hit me.

The same thing happened this week. We’re not just crossing an ocean. We’re going somewhere, and I should really brush up on that…

So I had a dinner party. We invited the folks from Savannah and all their guidebooks over to find out what they know (a lot) and discuss strategies, and timeframes, and drink wine. I kind of think the wine drinking won. But I did discover a few things:

1) We do have a destination—Hiva Oa or maybe Nuka Hiva…

2) There are way more islands in the South Pacific than I can count—somewhere in the neighbourhood of 20,000...

3) There are more pirates in the Indian Ocean than I realized, and they are venturing way outside the traditional danger region (although that part was not as relevant to the current exercise as my sleepless night might indicate…)

4) Evan really was doing research all those nights he stayed up late on the computer and we have files and files of well organized cruising guides and other stuff to prove it.

5) You can get a pretty decent cheap Concha y Toro by the case from Costco.

But as far as an actual plan and a strategy for getting the most out of our time in the Pacific--we don't have that... I'm starting to think that guide book reading (along with brushing up on our French) might be a good use of that little ocean passage we have coming our way...

Bucerias Festival--Celebrating Life by Defying Death

 If Mexico had personal injury lawyers this country would be a lot less fun. Although I must say it’s become a much safer country over the past 15-years. Yes, there is that drug war stuff—but I’m talking about the fact your chance of being blinded by a random firework or injured on an unsafe children’s ride has been reduced considerably.

not sure how these shoes make sense anywhere let alone in a town of cobbled streets, but all the girls were wearing them...

But this is still a user beware kind of country. If something looks unsafe, appears poorly maintained, or seems like a bad idea—it probably is. It really is that simple. Beyond that, it’s a heck of a lot of fun to live without fences and warning signs and use your common sense when it comes to adventure.

Which brings us to last night:

 Festivals are the ultimate user-beware adventure: there are inebriated vaqueros with bb guns (whose pellets can ricochet back into the crowd even after they hit the target that makes the gorilla pee on their buddies…); there’s children’s rides that were either retired or condemned at some point in MY childhood; there are twelve-piece brass bands in every corner competing against the cacophony (and the performances on the main stage); and there are the fireworks.

 If Mexico didn’t already have a patron saint, I would have nominated the guy who invented fireworks. Their role in daily life really is really something to behold. Last night we realized we’ve probably seen more fireworks in our year here, than Maia had previously seen in her life to date.

the castillo before it's lit

 But last night’s lighting of the Castillo was something she’d never seen before. A Castillo (Castle) is a three story tower filled with fireworks. The fireworks go off in stages and as each stage fires, images appear and then spin--shooting sparks into the crowd. The show took about 20-minutes and culminated with Jesus’ crown flying off his head and into the sky where it exploded into overhead fireworks.

 And that was the point where we collected our very tired girl and caught a cab home. The revelry continued into the night—and no doubt the town will be very quiet today. But living with this kind of break-neck joy feels pretty right to us…

Bucerias—Festival of Our Lady of Peace

contemplating a surf landing

 I’m not sure if every town in Mexico has its own patron saint (and corresponding festival and feast day) but if I had to guess, based on the number of fiestas we attend, I’d say yes…

Fireworks over the fleet

 The good thing is fiestas in Mexico are not ‘seen one fire works, seen them all’ type events. Each has a unique twist. Right now in La Cruz’s sister town of Bucerias it’s the feast of Our Lady of the Peace. The festival started nine days ago—we were told by one man that the church says you need to start celebrating nine days before a feast, not sure if that’s a direct edict, but who’s going to say no to a ten-day party?

 The tradition of our Lady of Peace tells that during a December night in the 7th century a miracle occurred when Saint Ildephonse entered the Cathedral of Toledo. He found the Virgin Mary sitting on the archbishop’s chair and as a gift she gave him a cloak. Ildephonse died on Jan 23rd, and the next day Jan 24th, was dedicated to remember the miracle.

 Somehow this tradition reached the tiny fishing town of Bucerias, which in 1948 was made up of just seven palapas. The town claimed the feast as their own and added a few things—a blessing of the fishing fleet (which is harboured in La Cruz) that happens at about noon on the 24^th and some crazy fireworks, which happen later tonight.

 Maia and I headed over to meet the fleet today. While 60 boats were expected, the bay is running with a pretty good swell right now, so only a few dozen decorated and heavily filled boats arrived just outside the surf zone.

 As fireworks were shot back and forth, a few of the boats made trial runs at the surf, then backed off and made mid-ocean transfers to reduce the number of passengers they had aboard. Finally they let fly at the beach. With engines roaring they rushed through the surf and right into the midst of the crowds (who tried to gage where each boat would land and run away in the right direction…)

after the boats were safely in, it was off to church for the blessing

 There were a couple of near capsizes and a few near collisions, but with every fishermen for miles in attendance the face-saving recoveries were swift, even if they did lead to a few bruises.

Maia and I decided though that surf landing doesn’t look like that great an idea. And leaving looks even worse.

Docked

great sunsets but sometimes rolly anchorage...

We pulled into a slip this morning after a near collision (note to selves--rules of the road still apply, even when docking…) and an engine outage (fuel connector disconnected). It was a stressful start to a plan that was meant to make our lives easier.

No one will claim that La Cruz has an ideal anchorage. But, on a windy afternoon with a swell running, it rates somewhere around mediocre. This means that anything that needs to be done on the boat needs to happen by 1pm, because at pretty much at the stroke of 1:01pm the wind and chop come up and stays up until 4pm—which by coincidence perfectly matches the town’s siesta.

 If I hadn’t booked as many stories as possible into the next two months, and Evan wasn’t trying to finish a half-dozen boat projects, and Maia wasn’t trying to do school work and see friends (the past few days have included a pirate night, a sleepover, and a birthday party…) we’d make the anchorage work. But when we were all sitting on a bench in the town square the other day, waiting for:

a) the anchorage to calm down

b) the dentist to come back from siesta so we could book appointments

c) the grocery store to reopen after siesta so we could shop

d) the hair cutting place to reopen after siesta so Evan could get a trim

e) any café to open so we could actually enjoy our break

we realized that being at anchor wasn’t a very efficient place to be…

So here we are. At the dock. It’s 3pm and Maia is running feral with friends. Evan is doing Evan stuff. I’m working (when not blogging) and outside the breakwater I hear the wind and surf.

Savannah is the smaller cat across from us...

I sort of feel like I’ve gone all soft and wimpy—but knowing that we’re paying the discounted 50 cents a foot puddlejump rates is helping me deal with it…

Puzzling through Paperwork

 When Evan checked in with the Port Captain a week or so ago he thumbed through our passports and discovered that Maia’s US one (she’s a dual citizen) was due to expire somewhere around Fiji.

Keeping track of paperwork: credit cards, driver’s licenses, taxes and passport renewals is one of the more complex aspects of cruising. Most of us have a mailing address, somewhere. But the choreography of getting mail from that address to our boats means we don’t just wait for a new credit card or new passport to arrive. We have to plan, usually months in advance.

This summer, before we went home, we went through all our bank cards, licenses and passports and checked the expiry dates. We noted anything that was due to go before 2012 (when we’ll be in Australia and have a stable address for more than a few weeks) and began requesting new cards, scheduling appointments and filling out forms.

The problem with this, is many places are reluctant to provide new cards (or driver’s licences) when the expiry date is more than six months, and in some cases 12 months, out. So we need to explain our lifestyle to several levels of bureaucracy. And somehow these conversations always end up with us being asked if we’re worried about pirates…

Which brings us to Maia’s passport: We were told it would be possible to renew in Mexico if it was expiring within six months. But it expires in eight. And it also takes four-six weeks to process—which means we need to do it now. So I sent off a quick note to the US consulate in Puerto Vallarta explaining our travel plans and asking if they could make and exception. Two minutes later we got a note back, “yes”. Then I asked if we could schedule an appointment, expecting to wait several days as we had in Vancouver. We got back another immediate note telling us to come any day between 11:00am and 12:30.

So we gathered up the paperwork and headed for the consul office in Nuevo Vallarta, panicking a bit when we realized we wouldn’t arrive until noon, and that we still needed to get photocopies and passport photos. We did these across the hall from the office then ten minutes later headed in to the office expecting a long queue. There was none.

We were served immediately. Our travel plans and passport request seemed to make complete sense to the office staff (who have clearly encountered the issue before). We were out of the office in less than ten minutes, and no one even asked us about pirates.