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| Sunrise over El Salvador |
DAY 1
Our sail from Huatulco to Chiapas was everything a night
sail should be ... alas our exit was not.
We left Marina Chiapas uneventfully enough, and were greeted by big seas and a fresh breeze as we left the jetty. Sails set, we cruised blissfully south toward Guatemala in refreshing conditions ... But within a few hours the sun had set, the wind had died; we were threading our way through a minefield of long lines and pangas, some marked with strobes, some not :( ... ; not sure which lights belonged together... no sooner had we escaped that mire, than the fog rolled in. It was a tedious watch, the deck growing wet from the fog, me straining with binoculars in search of anything.
We left Marina Chiapas uneventfully enough, and were greeted by big seas and a fresh breeze as we left the jetty. Sails set, we cruised blissfully south toward Guatemala in refreshing conditions ... But within a few hours the sun had set, the wind had died; we were threading our way through a minefield of long lines and pangas, some marked with strobes, some not :( ... ; not sure which lights belonged together... no sooner had we escaped that mire, than the fog rolled in. It was a tedious watch, the deck growing wet from the fog, me straining with binoculars in search of anything.
Just past midnight: Paul took the next watch, then Pamela, and I’m not back on til 6AM! Heavenly! That is, unless I get awakened to help set sails ... or for moral support, once the moon sets and the blackest curtain of night falls.
DAY 2
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| the welcoming committee |
The creamy dawn was dead still. The only difference between
the sky and water was the heaving of the glassy sea, which reflected the
rising sun in a fiery squiggle of gold.
By 8 am it is starting to burn off ...Already Pamela has caught and released a bonito, and gone to
bed; after a tortuous evening watches, dodging pangas and cargo ships and goblins
in the misty night. I walk the deck – to check the rigging, jiggle the fishing
lines, out of boredom. It is filthy, with bits of dirt and ash that have floated on deck. The surface of the water ahead is faintly
prickled and as I look down, I see a chowder of millions of scrawny red
jellyfish -- dispelling any notion of going
for dip in what is sure to be a still and steamy day.
A few languid dolphins break the surface of the water. A shark
skims the glassy veneer; a ray floats dreamily below. Paul is napping in the
cockpit. Even the fish are not biting. Everyone, everything, is lazy today. But the radar & AIS show me several boats leaving
Chiquimulilla, heading our way. Despite the desire to be veg, it is time to be
vigilant.
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| hitching a ride on sea turtle |
DAY 3
El Salvador provides a different experience. The sky was clear; the volcanos silhouetted against the dawn, spectacular. During the night we had a ghost ship (not on AIS, presumably military) that shadowed us just a mile abeam, with no lights on. DOH! Wind that built from 0 to 25 in minutes, then no sooner had we reefed; crapped out entirely. Wind from the east, west; south, north ... opposing swells, wind chop. Mountains ablaze, dusting our deck with ash.
By day we had utter calm, and a
visit from a rambunctious pod of spotted dolphin. We caught and released
another bonito – fish snobs that we are. 'Were under siege by shearwaters: one
of these black and white seabirds hitched a ride for quite a while; with his webbed
feet and the lurching deck of the boat, he stumbled awkwardly like a drunk between patches of shade – then his friends came squawking over, chastising him
to return to the flock (or so we think ...) 'Saw many turtles afloat, glimmering in the sun:
some with birds perched on their shiny bulbous backs.
All day and night we’d heard the
thundering surf along the El Salvador coast; still – as we approached the
coordinates, where we would linger until the appropriate tide to enter the sand
bar – the sound and spume was awesome (and frightening). We drifted, two miles
offshore; swimming in the crystal clear calm water, scrubbing the deck, making
pasta salad and grilling hotdogs for lunch; until at the appropriate time the
pilot boat called & came out; leading us first through a break to the west, then
through rollicking waves – breaking just abeam - into the estuary...
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| (Why can't I get this image oriented right?) "Which is more ominous? The stormy cloud cover lurking overhead, or the bar we have to cross, to enter the port?" |
After some paperwork cha-cha and
official stuff, we readied for dinner. I am, after a couple of weeks of this, a
completely feral woman. My hair is like straw, with a distinct ponytail bump; I have wifi codes inked on my hand. I sprayed my armpits and blue tank top with perfume – the same mismatched shirt
and shorts I’ve had on for days (in fact the
outfit I went swimming in earlier) and like the rest of my clothes,
have a distinctive locker-room funk; strapped on my ugly Tevas – glancing at
my feet, desperate for a pedicure, snacked on the guacamole (this and tortilla
chips are a staple of the boat) then shuffled down
the dock for a hamburger, French fries, and free wifi.
Our mission is accomplished – the
boat will stay put through the stormy summer season. I am exhausted, tan,
happy, and heading home after a day of exploration in the mangroves.
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