The Upside Down Summer

Paparazzi!

2012-01-30T12:41:00.001-08:00

Monday starts with a 'pursuit race' from St. George's to True Blue Bay, where some serious buoy racing will commence. But first the yachts preen around the central part of the bay awaiting their individual start times. The radio crackles "Jaguar - 8:48:48" and one-by-one they're elegantly off; a succession of spinnakers spanning the horizon.

Our home (a brand spanking new Moorings 4600 cat) has been converted into a paparazzi boat: I hardly mind as we have half a dozen tall, dark and handsome (!) Grenadian photographers onboard. I'm able to get a bit more note-taking and work done, play First Mate, and relax -- we have a BUSY itinerary scheduled Wed-Fri with the Dept of Tourism.

After this trip I'm confident we'll be able to report 'Every Thing You Always Wanted to Know About Grenada*, But Were Afraid to Ask' ...

Everybody Dance!!

2012-01-29T13:32:00.001-08:00

It didn't hurt that tonight was the Mt Gay Rum party ... fueling volunteers who donned massive sparkly headdresses and paraded through the open air bar, hips gyrating to the rhythm of the steel drums. I would need a lot more rum to do this (unlike Karen Campbell) still, it wasn't long before everyone was swaying in their seats, drumming the table tops, jiggling their feet, and finally up on the dance floor: the entire restaurant being cleared of tables and chairs so the mob could gyrate en masse beneath the awning (and out of the rain).

Today's single, long-distance fleet race was just as colorful: with exciting yacht racing set against turquoise water, blue skies, alabaster clouds and green hills.The sandwiches were good, the Carib cold, we didn't lose any shirts or hats overboard (unlike yesterday :-( when my coveted TEAM WAVE t-shirt went for a swim: alas we had better luck retrieveing Bobbie's ballcap). And no-one yelled at us (for getting to close or in the way) -- all in all an excellent day for us at the Grenada Sailing Festival.

But not so for TANGA LANGA. Yesterday the Cruising I entry tore their main in half, from luff to leach; today the Beneteau 47.7 decapitated their headsail. It's turning into an expensive regatta for these nice British blokes (lol) in their pink striped shirts and purposely clashing shorts -- all I can say is: thankfully they don't have a staysail to break next!!

G is for Gorgeous, R is for Rain ...

2012-01-28T12:47:00.001-08:00

If I were to do an acrostic poem of Grenada, no doubt it would start with G - is for Gorgeous, R - is for Rain ...

Bobbie G and I are at the Grenada Sailing Festival for the 19th annual running of this colorful regatta. Today's races - Day One - form a giant boomerang from charming St. George's Bay on the Caribbean side, around Pt. Salines to Prickly Point on the Atlantic side; and later, back.

The western segment of the course is sublime but the other side is insane. The chop combined with rain squalls make for a serious bad hair day, and as the fleet rounds the far mark we tuck in to True Blue Bay to dry off a bit, feigning a taste test between local beers (Carib beats Stag 2:1).

There is nothing shy about colors in the Caribbean and even the spinnakers are brilliant. As we rejoin the fleet a chorus of fuschia, royal blue, dayglow yellow kites are screaming down on us. Even the tubby old cruisers are surfing, their sails wing and wing, and I imagine how much they must be loving racing in the Spice Islands.

REFLECTIONS

2011-12-03T22:38:00.001-08:00

Reflecting on adventures past ... what an awesome life I've had!

last year ~ off the coast of Guatemala

two years ago ~ in Paraguay

Back by popular demand: "What the #@*$! do I do with all these leftovers"

2011-11-26T11:16:00.000-08:00

Turkey Tortilla Soup

Another in a series of recipes to quench the age-old dilemma: ‘what do you do with all these Thanksgiving leftovers???’

Take the turkey carcass (if you have a generous friend like June, who gives you the whole damned thing; first pull off the big pieces to use in other mysterious ways) and break it up into manageable skeletal chunks. Take out all your aggressions from Black Friday! The long lines, the lunatics in the parking lot, the bogus newspaper ads ... and bust that puppy up; then pile the bones, skin, etc in your largest pot and cover with water.

Simmer the dickens out of it for hours on end. This is a good time to do laundry and wrap presents but not to leave the house. Or get drunk.

While we’re waiting ... here’s my list of (intended) ingredients:

2 cans (14 oz) crushed tomatoes (I cheated and got the kind with the mild chili peppers already mixed in)
(1 can) black beans
(1 can) corn
celery, onions, green & red pepper
cilantro
lime
grated cheese
DOH! I forgot the tortillas!!!

I say ‘intended’ because I don’t know if this is what I’ll really put in there once it’s all said & done. It’s a work in progress ...

So I have chopped and sautéed one (each) green & red peppers, about ½ onion, and two stalks of celery. Once soft I added these to the broth (having dug out all the solid chunks and gently separated the turkey meat from bones, cartilage and other parts we don’t want to think too hard about) along with the two cans of tomatoes and a bunch of chopped cilantro.

Now the ‘authentic’-ish recipes seem to indicate that I need to puree this soup ... so I’ll cook it another 10-15 min. and then let it cool down (again) and puree it and get ready for the final assembly.

Warm up the pureed soup, adding the corn and beans. Right before serving, add the juice of one lime (and Tabasco if you are a sadist). Ladle into the bowl and then place a mound of turkey and cheese in the middle (*although I just mixed the turkey in at the same time as the beans and corn), then top that little molehill with avocado, chopped cilantro, and possibly a dollop of sour cream. (Is that redundant? Doesn’t ‘dollop’ just scream ‘sour cream’?) Top with the tortillas.

Now the tortillas – that’s another story. When I read about making tortilla strips I thought ‘Don’t these idiots know that Vons has tortilla chips for $2 a bag?!’ But then I made them and they are the absolute bomb; now THIS is something even my finicky teenagers will eat!!

Pour a skim of veggie oil in a frying pan over low-medium flame, then take a tortilla and cut it into slivers about 2-3” long and very skinny. Once the oil is good-and-hot sprinkle the tortilla strips in (they should start sizzling right away or the oil’s not hot enough) and let them cook a few seconds, then toss them gently in the hot oil with two forks until they are nice and brown and crispy. (You can make – and freeze - the soup ahead of time but do the tortillas right before serving.)

And that’s why it’s called ‘tortilla soup’ because the fried tortilla strips are so friggin’ awesome! The rest of the soup is just a platform (and a healthy one) for these nasty and delicious fried tortilla strip!

Turkey pot pie

Dice the turkey meat into bite-sized pieces. Gather up your leftover peas, carrots, mushrooms, pearl onions, parsnips, whatever veggies your have – and make sure they’re small eat-able bits. Remember we are only using veggies, and nothing that could be potential slimy like spinach or cabbage or kale ... and totally resist the temptation to put the mashed potatoes in the pie :-P SHOAL! Or gravy! DOUBLE-SHOAL!

If you have a really goody-two-shoes family who ate all their veggies and you don’t have enough for the pie, cook up some peas, carrots, diced celery and onions or whatever. Mushrooms, by the way, are a ‘must’ so buy some if you don’t have any leftover. (Haha if there are any men in your household check their bathroom, there are sure to be some growing there LOL)

Start your cream sauce by stirring a pat of butter and some flour over a low flame. Gradually add some chicken broth ... then maybe a little cream or half and half ... you want the sauce to thicken but not really be pasty. You might need to add more flour (watch the lumps!) or liquid – figure it out: you’re a grown-up.

If your turkey was brined and/or seasoned and basted, you probably don’t need to add any salt. Season with pepper and – ta da – tarragon: the magic ingredient.

Toss the turkey, veggies and cream sauce together and if you're a true masochist, make a crust ... or grab that Mrs. Smith’s pie crust you were going to use for the apple pie you never made. Add just enough filling into the bottom crust to be barely flush with the top, because it will bubble & seep so don’t mound it up. (Any extra filling you can serve on toast – this is something I think they used to eat in the 50’s so you can present it as some new ‘retro’ meal and everyone will think you’re all trendy and shit.)

Roll the top crust out thin so you have some extra pieces to decorate with. Put the top crust on, then ‘paint’ it with a mixture of egg and a teeny bit of water that’s been whipped together. Then cut out some shapes (autumn leaves ... turkeys ... skull & crossbones) and ‘glue’ these on with the egg-water, and then ‘paint’ over them lightly too.

Bake the pot pie in a 350º oven until the crust is done. Remember all the stuff in the middle is already cooked so it just needs to be warmed up.

Alas, you can freeze this until everyone has slid into complacency and forgotten what turkey leftovers are all about, and then surprise them some cold wintry night, like a pop quiz in math class. They won’t ever know what hit ‘em. Yum!

Who brought the F-#$(*&@! bananas?!

2011-11-20T23:15:00.001-08:00

Nov 12 2011 - Who brought the F-#$(*&@! bananas?!

To say our first day at the Golden Rock Regatta was stellar, would be an understatement.

Although it was hard waking up – at 7:15am, to get our passports and documents in order – and despite the hasty toss off the raft up (with two more boats still tied outside us, and none of us with our engines on) we dusted off the cobwebs pretty swiftly. The wind was blowing about 17k, the seas turquoise and cobalt; and our crew of 10 snapped to attention, practiced a few tacks and jibes, ran and re-ran the line, and readied for the start.

And even though our power winches (I confess!) died immediately after the start, and we had to grind the jib in by hand – we were doing well. Very well.

The night before we’d met the others – locals teams like “Bobby’s Marina” and “Team Statia” and Anton’s “Bad Boys of the Caribbean” (motivating us to rename “Team USA” with the much more colorful moniker “Nine Yanks and a British Ho”). After the Skipper’s meeting, at the Bottoms Up bar on the Philipsburg boardwalk we sized up the competition; talked smack; and made loud assertions and bets about who was going to win. I wondered if all the drinks they bought us were indeed in friendship? Or designed to sabotage our race …

Soon after the start, we pulled away from the fleet; kept the pressure on and wouldn’t let anyone pass. Before long we were a good half-mile ahead of our class: cockily we took pictures of the parade astern. We beat up past Marigot in absolutely delicious conditions: azure seas, on the average of 22k of wind, the cerulean sky spotted with clouds. It rained about half a minute.

Rounding the northern point, past TIntamarre Islands, we were on the home stretch, just south of Oyster Pond, when BAM! The gooseneck sheared right off the mast, leaving the boom to joust perilously amidship, as it dangled from the main.

Game over.

Our recovery was swift: we eased the boom onto the deck as we dumped the mainsail and lashed it all down – furling the jib too, so the crew at the mast wouldn’t get flogged to death. We were so far ahead of the fleet- even with our sails down, motoring gingerly, we still reached the RC ahead of the rest of our class.

I had seen the bananas this morning.’ Who brought bananas on the boat?’ I muttered. No one fessed up ... Later when I saw Mary eating one on deck, I reiterated my disdain and yet, it was poo-poo’d.

Moments later, our boom was swinging in the breeze, and we were retreating across the bouncy seas back to the Moorings Base in Orient Bay …

Nov 13

Slamming cupboards. Low, rubbly voices. The gurgle of the coffee pot, and shortly after: the heavenly smell of java. The men were readying breakfast: a sound so musical to a woman’s ears, it’s akin to the purr of a new Ferrari in the driveway, or the jingle of a Tiffany pouch full of diamonds.

Our day started back at Captain Oliver’s – the Moorings had fixed our boom, but too late for us to return to Philipsburg. So we made an early start Sunday; running quickly in the strong breeze to the start line.

It was another raucous but incredible start. Never mind that our teddy bear of a skipper is more like a grizzly at the start: all 6’ 3” / 240’ lbs. of him roaring at the other competitors. Nor that our tactician admitted the prior night (after we’d all refreshed ourselves both inside and out, at the pool at the Iguana bar) that he had once sailed into a tree. Our starts were thrilling and we left the others in the dust.

Momentarily. The mast seems to be torqued, and we were a marked 2k slower on one board – the longest tack of the 13m stretch to St Barths. Over time they climbed up, and at the conclusion we had a fierce tacking duel with two other boats, finishing within minutes of us. Alas Johan remarked we were great starters, but they were better finishers. The bravado and bets would continue well into the night.

I couldn’t image how St Barths could be all that different from the other islands I’ve been to – but it was delightfully so. We entered the channel to the anchorage, to a very manicured looking village. Neatly painted cays and boxy buildings, in colors that made St Maarten suddenly seem … gaudy. Cobbled streets and narrow sidewalks – with stagecoach landings here and there. Our moorage was abreast a tented affair, with crowds of chic looking people chatting, dancing, lining for food; and a loud band playing eclectic tunes from rumbas to reggae to ‘I did it my way.’

The race had been swift so once we were tied up (and re-tied up: not an uncomplicated task in the very surgy harbor) we ate lunch – baguettes and cold cuts we’d procured in French Sint Martin, we walked the six minutes to Shell Beach and enjoyed an afternoon of swimming and lounging (and I snorkeled the length of the beach and back)

Later we dined on the boat (too expensive to eat ashore) but meandered the streets in the cool breezy evening; enjoying a drink at the bistro at the end of the harbor, and another poorly ventilated pub, where one of the Chrises was nodding off in the corner ...

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Rock On!

2011-11-20T23:06:00.001-08:00

Nov 11

Where was Steve (and his warm fuzzy blanket) - my neighbor on the crammed redeye from LA to Charlotte? Air travel has stooped to a new low and USAir now charges for blankets and pillows ($7!) … Blessedly, my seat-mate (in Southern gentlemanly style, complete with a sugary drawl) loaned me the scrap of fleece he has taken to traveling with. Alas he debarked in his South Carolina hometown, leaving me on the subsequent leg to my own devices: in a meat-locker of a jet – crammed with bodies in a fuselage cold enough to hang meat. The flight attendants plow through the aisle, brusquely peddling their wares (a brilliant strategy: crank up the A/C and sell blankets); credit cards, jewelry and booze (duty-free), cocktails and boxed food. I stick with Diet Coke and a granola bar made of hamster food and wood shavings I’m sure (“Kashi TLC – Almond Flax” - must stand for ‘Tough Luck Charlie’), and shivering, keep my eye on the prize.

Two hours hence I’ll be in St. Maarten. ‘Warm, tropical, rainy, St. Maarten. The forecast is not too sweet, but a visual check gives me hope: the alabaster batting that slathered the southern United States has dissolved into streaks of haze and a dappling of clouds. I am here for the sun …

… and to cover the Golden Rock Regatta – a spinoff of the wildly popular St. Maarten Heineken Regatta. Begun just seven years ago, the event was created to help promote tourism to St. Eustatius island – familiarly known as Statia, and the Golden Rock.

Three and four hundred years ago this 12 square mile patch of land was one of the busiest, most prominent trading centers in the northern Caribbean Sea. Historians say most of the munitions that fueled our American Revolution can through this Dutch port – and they were the first (on Nov. 16, 1776) to recognize our independence. To this day they commemorate that alliance with parades and festivities, and our planned loop – racing from St. Maarten to St. Barths to Statia and back to St. Maarten – will place us at the Golden Rock during those celebrations.

It’s the least we can do.

‘Especially since Statia has dwindled since that time. Her population of 20,000 numbers just about 3,000 now, with annual visitors roughly the same. A very hot issue is the threatened expansion of an oil storage facility, which will pock the tiny, picturesque island with even more tanks – and put the marine reserve at increasing risk of an oil spill. I am eager to spend some time on the island.

# # #

PS - I am totally digging my new (used) mini laptop. She’s no toy: full-on RAM and ports and even a dvd drive: even so she’s sturdy, compact, fast, and the keyboard feels great under my tapping fingers. She’s my new travel companion - so I have named her Gypsy. Perfect!

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New Zealand Update: Oil Spill Taints Start of Holiday Weekend

2011-10-21T11:06:00.000-07:00

Nearly two miles (3k) of beach have been opened along the Bay of Plenty, as recovery of the M/V Rena oil spill continues into New Zealand’s Labour Weekend.

Traditionally the start of summer, this year’s holiday will see most of the popular coastline closed due to oil and flotsam from the container ship wreckage. The public are warned not to swim in the vicinity, nor eat seafood or shellfish taken from area waters.

Twelve miles offshore, salvage workers continue to pump oil slowly and methodically from the listing vessel, which became lodged on a shallow reef more than two weeks ago. Cold water temperatures (62F, 17C) have affected the viscosity of the oil, which complicates the procedure.

Less than 20 percent of roughly 1,300 tons of oil has been transferred from Rena to the storage ship Awanuia – however workers expect to continue unabated until it is done.

-more-

Three Writes and a Wrong

2011-09-30T14:32:00.000-07:00

Stretched out on the trampoline of our 44-foot cat, listening to the crescendo and decrescendo of the water sloshing past the hull; we’re reaching along at a relaxed 7 knots beneath a warm sky dotted with a flock of lamb-like clouds.

Although the equinox was a full week ago, and today is the last day of September, we have been clinging to summer. But here, beneath a sky foretelling of rain, with temps forecast to dip into the 40s (40s!) we can no longer deny the arrival of Fall. The days are shorter and night chill - and the bay deserted. All but the working boats are tucked away ... save for a lonely sloop beating toward us from the opposite, and Captain Wadey Murphy taking a few lingering tourists on his skipjack for a bay tour.

The infamous Bobbie G (Grieser) and I – along with a smorgasbord of friends and family popping on and off at various ports of call – are enjoying this autumn cruise through the Eastern Shore; we are joined at this juncture by other journalists Susan Colby and Peter Baker , which has earned our trip the moniker “three writes and a wrong” ...

Look for the story next Spring in SAILING.

9-30-11 Cambridge, Md.

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The best ever ...

2011-09-21T21:25:00.000-07:00

I didn’t want to come in from the rain. It was soft and sweet and as I climbed up the stone stairs through the grassy sloped lawn to the inn, I slowed my pace to enjoy the evening downpour that enveloped me in the dark.

This has been the most provocative week: stimulating memories of my youth, and piquing new ones; journeying up the majestic (and currently very muddy) Hudson: sailing, exploring, meeting family and friends – old and new, and absolutely delighting in the entire experience.

There is way too much to report on, as I sit at my antique desk in a stately (and – I swear – haunted) mansion overlooking the Hudson at Tivoli, very late at night. An eclectic blend of antiques and curios of all eras, plaster-framed mirrors of gigantic proportions, and neophyte still lifes and portraits punctuate the high walls of the inn – the latter with pasty irregular faces and eyes that follow you eerily around the room.

So I’ve just returned from a side splitting and raucous evening at the Black Swan Pub, where we marched into the kitchen to introduce ourselves to Edwin (Ed-weeen) the Costa Rican, who sold me on a $10 plate of pan fried tilapia, rice, beans, and a green-bean egg-foo-yung-y concoction which I washed down with multiple glasses of the local IPA, called Hurricane Kitty. Our rowdy group, clustered around a table and overflowing to the bar, competed handily in the weekly Trivia Night contest, finishing third, before breaking up and hastening back to the mansion (or boat) in the soft mist.

But now it is pissing rain; I am debating a late-night of writing (I have well overdue assignments) versus slumber, in a four poster bed so high I need to climb up from a chest at the foot of the bed and commando in. Sleep, I believe, will win -- but not before I declare this one of the most awesome trips I’ve ever been on ... remembering however that I said that about the last, and the prior, and the one before that – until I sleepily concede that every trip I go on is ‘the best ever’ and I think that is a damned good way to live my life.

Save the Sharks

2011-08-31T08:19:00.000-07:00

In Thailand, a group of divers plans to release sharks into the wild September 3, to help reverse and spotlight the decimation of the species.

It seems ironic, considering “Jaws” mania has only increased over the years. But the fact remains: although a handful of people around the world will die in shark attacks each year; sharks are slaughtered in the millions, by humans ...

... continued here

Finned sharks lay to waste in Thailand.
Photo courtesy DIVE TRIBE

The fullness of life explodes ...

2011-08-28T22:37:00.001-07:00

A wild weekend, marked by several events ...

The Pacific Voyagers had arrived in LA; a majestic fleet of Polynesian sailing canoes – ‘vakas’ – having journeyed all the way from New Zealand! With twin amas 75-feet long and thick wooden spars, they look as powerful as the burnished crews who sail them – tugging at the massive steering paddles, hoisting the blood-red sails.

Thirty miles south Sea Dragon had picked up a mooring can in Newport Harbor. Equally impressive – and nearly as long – she’s a sturdy but elegant modern steel-hulled cutter rigged sloop, designed for round-the-world racing. (In fact: it is a reunion for this yacht and me, as I did the web coverage for the 2000/01 Global Challenge and greeted her and her sister ships into seven ports around the world! A touch of déjà vu embraces me.)

Despite their different appearances and venues however, they come bearing the same environmental message.

Duncan Morrison, skipper of Haunui (the pan-Pacific vaka – 15 island nations are represented among the fleet) tells how they left Auckland and saw very little refuse ... a tiny bit more as they neared the equator ... and then, just north of Hawaii, the deluge began. Every 10 meters – 2,000 miles from shore – there was plastic trash. Refillable lighters and disposable razors. Plastic cups and bags. Bottles. Closer to shore, acidification is destroying the coral reefs. Their bilateral cultural/environmental mission calls on people to unite and halt our careless ways ... before the ocean becomes a lifeless sea of debris.

Aboard Sea Dragon, they do research on this type of debris, and skipper Dale Selvam shows me a kaleidoscope of plastic fragments in a vial. Trolling the five oceans (for Five Gyres/Algalita Foundation) they skim the seemingly pure, crystalline waters of the distant seas ... alas their fine mesh net is cluttered with chunks and particles of the partially degraded plastics which now saturate the waters. Yes: our oceans are plastic chowder.

Despite the apparent differences there are more similarities: both skippers are Kiwis. ‘In New Zealand we’re raised to take care of our home,’ says Dale. Neither was an environmentalist – or ‘tree hugger’ as he calls it – before embarking on their eye-opening expeditions, but having seen what they’ve seen, neither one cannot image returning to existence as it was before.

The people I’m meeting, opportunities I have, and work I’m doing are mind-boggling. Life is moving at such a breakneck pace, I need a helmet. It’s invigorating, compelling, stimulating ... and a bit consuming. Transcribing and researching 'til 1AM, interviewing, shooting, working 24/7 – I am beat.

But I am blessed. What a thrill to be able to make a difference in this world – even if only conveying the good works, challenges and needs of others, while ‘double-dipping’ my way around the world, using my Sailing gigs as a vehicle to drive Ecology.com stories. Last month I was working in Belgium, next month it’s San Francisco, New York and Annapolis. And from there (fingers crossed) the agenda continues at a blistering pace: San Francisco, ‘Statia, Guadalupe Island, Belize, Grenada ...

I adore the people I meet, the stories I hear, the passion in the voice of an individual following his dream or pursuing her mission. Friendships are made, networks are woven. After much talk and a beer, Dale and I discover we have mutual friends in England (Valeria), Peru (Andy) and Uruguay (Alejandro). The world feels small, and with that realization, our problems no longer seem too great to tackle.

Look for stories from me on Sea Dragon / Pangaea Expeditions and the Pacific Voyagers, on Ecology.com and Sailing magazine, soon.

On another note: our favorite bow monkey, Jeff ‘Sneddog’ Sneddon, slipped from this earth this morning, after a long and incredibly valiant fight with cancer.

Jeffrey was a close friend and playmate – he taught me much about working the bow on big boats, including how to yell just as loudly and vociferously BACK at someone who is screaming in your face (with great joy and laughter!). We were friends on and off the water, and later when he met and married Sharie, she became a friend (and a Nauti Chica) too.

I was fortunate to spend a chunk of Friday night sitting next to Jeff, holding his hand, whispering, “Remember when (giggle giggle) ... ” as I retold ‘oh shit’ sailing tales and reminded him how much he was loved. What an incredible blessing that is, to have the chance to say goodbye to someone you love. I can only say: TAKE IT, when it is offered to you! It was an incredible gift to me; a reminder how sweet life is, and that the honey is not the places we go or the things we accumulate, but the loved ones we share them with.

May God welcome you with loving open arms Jeffrey. (They have amassed one heck of a sailing team up in Heaven, is all I can add ... )

It’s been a while since I blogged – and I shouldn’t even be up writing tonight, having been scolded righteously about burning the candle at both ends. However I cannot but live life at 120% (hey – THAT’s a compromise!!) so I promise more is to come, as the fullness of life explodes in front of me. XOXO

Hitting the top of the fun meter

2011-05-04T07:51:00.000-07:00

OWAC* always puts on a great conference - one day of meetings, seminars, workshops; a mini-trade show; and lots of networking with peers from all walks of life and media. From agri-tourism in the Central Valley, to a Jeep tour of the Kalahari, we have an amazing breadth of talent and subject matter ... but before long it always reverts to the old guys weaving their fish tales ...

On the second day we are hosted (generously, and very genuinely too - in Lake County) with 'activities' and later I'll get into the absolute thrill of soaring over Mount St. Helena, bouncing through the vineyards, and sailing across Clear Lake (I think I whacked the top of the 'Fun Meter' Monday). But Tuesday morning found us (the sky clear but I, a bit foggy) gathered for breakfast at the Lakeport Yacht Club, saying our farewells and passing out business cards. This has been a successful and exciting event for me (a little fattening too!): Lake County is gorgeous and I have tons of fodder for new stories (including one I already pitched and got okayed on the drive back!).

Soon I was on the road again; weaving along the lakefront, past orchards and vineyards, and the bucolic scene of a mare resting contently with her foal, beneath a tree. Melissa had suggested a more scenic route south (raising the 'scenic' bar from about an eight or nine, to a ten) and I turned off on the appropriate road, leaving the valleys and hills behind. Climbing through the pines on sun-dappled roads that were so winding, I'd describe them more as 'interminable switchbacks sewn end-to-end' - I spent the rest of the morning enjoying the sunshine and crisp air.

Eventually the route dropped into Napa Valley. The land lost its untamed beauty and became more manicured - even contrived - but this too was easy on the eyes. Mother Nature can dish out some hellacious weather, but by contrast I also find nature to be the most comforting of sights too.

I followed my directions to Napa and my dear friend Molly's house. Greeted by Molly - looking like a beautiful, luscious peach, in her sixth month of pregnancy; and Franklin - a most handsome, young but tall boxer, who doesn't so much wag his tale as gyrate his whole rear end; we spent some delightful (and well overdue) time catching up.

And then (who is surprised here?) I worked on the book until the wee hours HOWEVER
it
is
done!!!

TADA! (More on "David Gallup: California's Channel Islands" another time.)

Heading back to Seal Beach now by way of the Golden Gate Bridge and further south Rte 101, through Paso Robles and my old stomping grounds. Weather clear and gorgeous; anticipating another glorious ride home.

* Outdoor Writers Association of California

Clearlake. Clearly.

2011-05-01T16:34:00.000-07:00

What a gorgeous place!

After the bland expanse of Highway 5, I delightedly took the turn to Route 20. I am definitely a road-less-traveled/scenic-route kind of girl, and eased onto the country road; a winding lane skirting Cortina Ridge and cutting through Grizzly Canyon - where bright yellow signs warned of elk crossings. Off the beaten path indeed.

The smooth green hills fell steeply to the roadway and the uneven lakeshore, which was spotted with small towns reminiscent of another time: where gaggles of little girls clutched flowers - or in one case a puppy, while young boys furiously peddled bicycles while gripping fishing poles ... past blooming lupine, poppies, buckwheat, and massive bushes dripping with dollops of candy-sweet lilacs; or emerald valleys where livestock (sheep, horses, cattle) grazed in the perfect 70-degree afternoon.

For now however, I'm locked inside the conference hall (encouraged though to write & shoot & post, as we are in fact Outdoor Writers Assoc. of California) adjacent a calliopean smoke-filled casino. What a contrast to the beatific, bucolic atmosphere outside.

Road Trips

2011-04-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

California was an expanse of limey green swathed with mustard, ‘til I got over the Grapevine. Then it was ... not hideous, not pleasant; just ... benign. It wasn’t my eyes, but my nose that sensed the divergence in the atmosphere: from truck fumes, to earth whipped up by dust devils; from pungent manure, to the glorious honeyed perfume of blossoming orange groves.

I kicked on the cruise control and blew up the freeway; cruising along the "5" under cornflower skies. The Central Valley was the color of toasted whole wheat bread - and about as flat. It was warm, and so dry, my hair stood on end, glued, by the static electricity, to the ceiling of the car.

Around mile 300 I started to see signs of life: at least more life than just the sticky orange bug splats plastered to my windshield. Soon I was in Stockton, my stop for the night on my way to the conference in Clearlake.

Just two weeks ago I was on another such expedition. “Road Trip!” The simple phrase conjures up a wild patchwork of images and thoughts: travel, adventure, new sights – sounds – flavors - experiences. We had our share of these ... plus tedious passages through monotonous stretches of road striped with lanky pines and swamps, entertaining only because of the moronic billboards defiling the way; of spats over speed limits and tunes (when it comes down to rap vs. elevator music – country becomes the common denominator, although it was a treat hearing Dad ‘croon’ to the oldies). We were charmed by southern cities like Charleston and St. Augustine, and dined in pubs, fast-food huts and seafood havens; we sniffed (and snapped off samplings of) the blooms of spring, craned our necks at lighthouses and steeples, shopped for treasures (‘small’ being the optimal feature, in the cramped car) ... hunted for alligators and cheap accommodations; and watched gas prices climb while the trees grew bare -- as we crept steadily north.

Mom and I chatted up vendors at the markets. Coco and I broke into hysterics fashioning fart-y noises, under the high-pressure hand dryers in the rest stops. Dad sang (I will mention that I got inherited my Dad's voice, which is not saying much. At one point Coco asked, 'Who sings that song Opa?' to which he replied, 'Peggy Lee.' 'Let's keep it that way,' she retorted.) At night we pulled into tidy hotels and unloaded everything from the car: luggage, suit bags, coolers, electronics ... One night Mom, tired of carting around a jug with the last two inches of vodka from the Florida house, transferred it into a small bottle of OJ for easier transport. Unknowingly (so he says) Dad drank it for breakfast. “The orange juice was a little zippy,” he remarked. We didn’t let him drive that day ...

Each night we played cards or watched TV until everyone collapsed (except for me – who insisted on wifi and worked well into the early morning on the book). Then we started all over again each after breakfast: rotating through the positions in the car – from front to back, straddling coolers and gear – taking the driver’s seat, or the prime napping location: shotgun. By the time we got to Donna’s (after crossing the expansive Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel) we were eager to stretch our legs, and enjoyed a long weekend of Little League games and Ballet lessons, dog walks, restaurants and pubs, before the final stretch home.

All in all it was a miraculous experience; three generations laughing and loving and exploring the Eastern Seaboard.

On the bright side ...

2011-04-04T02:20:00.000-07:00

We are just over 100 miles from our destination -- Cabo. Not quite the intended plan ... but we are making the best of things.
Tops on the list of reasons to head back south:
4) the fishing will only improve
3) our clothes no longer have that 'fresh Mexican laundry smell' (definitely not :-P) so we can take them back to the lavenderia
2) I might actually get to intercept my sister Vicki on her way to La Paz!
and (drumroll please)
1) I sound like a jetsetter, saying 'This is my third visit to Cabo in two weeks;

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Halfway to Halfway

2011-04-02T13:16:00.000-07:00

April 2 - The seas have laid down considerably, enabling us to bump up the rpms a bit and make better spead. We passed the halfway point to our halfway point (Turtle Bay) which is promising (yes, I can do the math & know it's 1/4 of the way, but this sounds so much better ... ) The skies remain gray however -- if it's sunny where you are: we don't want to know!
Our daily excitement continues to be chores, refueling, and fun-with-freeze-dried food & provisions. Scott doctored up his cup-a-noodles with some Spam Lite, which was allegedly very tasty; Angela carved up a perfectly ripe cantelope; I served up some celery sticks schmeared with garlic & chive cream cheese. Yes, this is a gourmet cruise! We are 'fishing' (although the fish seem unaware) and veer towards kelp patties to tempt lurking dorado with our cedar plug. No luck yet.
If someone can tell us whether the tracker is working, that would be great. Also we got wind of (pardon the pun) a weather system north of Turtle Bay in a few days (we expect to arrive Sunday around midnight). Other news from home appreciated.
All well except for me: I have a @#($& cold :-P Greetings from all on YIPPEE - BC

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Approaching Mag Bay

2011-04-01T15:50:00.000-07:00

The wonderful things that make YIPPEE so ZIPPEE also make her a slap-happy girl going to weather, so we're making just 5-6k SOG up the coast. The scenery is mostly monochromatic: grey water, grey sky, with promising pocks of blue sky here & there. Last night was extremely foggy and damp; no moon or stars (that we could tell) but some spectacular bursts of bioluminescence in the water, which is always a cheery sight. Hoping we may see some whales* now that we're approaching Mag Bay (*but at a favorable distance!) Boat & crew all doing well. Keel well-greased hahaha.

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Let the layers begin!

2011-03-31T18:56:00.000-07:00

March 31 6:30PM
Burning embers edge the cloud bank to port; the rugged peaks of Baja to starboard are draped in rosey gauze. We are traveling north, at last, aboard YIPPEE KAI YAY on our delivery home from the Cabo Race.
As promised we had a good 20k on the nose right out the gate. Sue cheerfully saw us off, but turned back at the frothy arches. Once past Cabo Falso it started to wane and currently we have about 9-10k alas still on the nose. The sea state is lumpy (which has not deterred our sleepers below, however) and we're getting ready for our first night back at sea. Cold, damp, chllly - but all feeling well: including YIPPEE. ~ BC

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Serious Fun!

2011-03-03T08:00:00.000-08:00

I rearranged the furniture here at the Blue Pelican, my lovely little enclave which is upscale and serene (and gated) but still within walking distance to St Martin Yacht Club and Simpson Bay. Now, with the desk dragged upstairs and abreast the picture window, I can look out at the lurching palms and stormy sea – thankful I declined an extra day of sailing today AND that I hadn’t yet left on my johnnycake expedition (recommended by fellow sailorchicks Kim St. and Karen C.) as the rain has just come howlingin. (Looks like Via & a granola bar for breakfast today.)

My first morning here it poured too (the ocean is now obscured by the driving rain) as I was about to depart ... as soon as the sun broke through I bolted: a nice 20 minute stroll up and down the hill (wow, the rain is pummeling the rooftop in thundering waves of intensity right now). Despite several warnings from friends abroad, the most dangerous thing I’ve experienced during my morning promenade has been the threat of bottomless puddles – and the rattletrap cars that go rushing through, splaying mud everywhere ... (it is raining so hard the drops are ricocheting off the patio like machine gun fire!).

Being on foot is the best way to scout out an area though, and I’ve already discovered a French bakery that transforms into a pizza parlor at night ... an Indian restaurant (Bobbie G & I had curry there last night) ... a deli ... and scores of brilliant bougainvillea with tiny birds flitting about ... plus I’ve met all the parking attendants and security guards along the way (except the one at the top of the hill who is perpetually asleep). But not today: today I am holed up at mi casa transcribing tapes (well I guess the technology is chip-based now ... but ‘transcribing chips’ sounds like I’ve lost my mind to a bag of Doritos), doing some background research, and generally getting ready for the next three days of racing!

I have TOTALLY SCORED on an awesome mix of rides (in fact, I had too many and nearly added today, the Commodore’s Cup – thank God I didn’t – to ride on a Class 40 [from South Africa] or a Dufour 40 [from Guadeloupe]) – and am overwhelmed by the wonderful friends and strangers who have hooked me up and/or invited me to sail. I’m reminded again what a small world it is (although a sailor I met in Golfito asked ‘IS IT a small world? Or a big life?’) and how, if everyone stretches their fingers out just a teeny tiny bit and extends themselves a little, we are all connected in a brilliant and delightful way!!

Well the rain has let up – it is still breezy but I’m eager to venture out on my ‘day off’ (it is NOT a beach day :-P ) so ‘best to finish up my SAILING post and head off to find some johnnycakes and fun ...

See my official posting here ; check out the official Heineken Regatta page here and more pix on FB here

~ Betsy

PHOTOS OF MY FLAT @ BLUE PELICAN

Budget Marine Match Racing

2011-03-02T09:00:00.000-08:00

BLOG IS LOCATED HERE :-)

"Welcome to the Mob ... "

2011-02-28T06:15:00.001-08:00

My toes are frozen, as I await my flight in the chilly (but not nearly as frigid as the plane) Atlanta airport – but relief is in sight. In about 15 minutes I’ll be boarding my flight for St Maarten, and the Heineken Regatta! This will be my third Heinie ;-) ... and hopefully most fun, as I’ll actually get to SAIL this time, and not simply watch from a press boat.

The first time I went (also working) I was on my own; photographer Mark Pepper (we later covered the BT Global Challenge together) took me under his wing and showed me the wily ropes of this hedonistic regatta. The days start a tad prematurely for my tastes – trade winds crank on early so sailors start to stir at the crack of dawn, for races that begin at 9ish and fill the day. Then it’s party all night, with just a pinch of sleep in between, before you do it all over again. There are top name bands, plenty of cold ones, and scores of those charming Dutch men. Sounds like just the ticket ... !

Heineken calls itself “Serious racing, serious fun” so to prove that point, I’m going to sail on three different boats on the three days of the regatta. One “serious race” boat, one “serious party” boat, and one ... yet undetermined lift – on a cat or a classic. I’ll be comparing rides, for a SAILING feature. Oh yeah – we call this ‘work’ (big SMILE :-D)

Iris helped hook me up with on the funzone boat, joining the Lynch Mob with Eric Lynch (AKA Stinky Finger) and Capt Bob. As Eric explained to me off the bat

“A long time ago I would put together ‘groups’ to go on the Windjammer sailing trips. Once a group got over 12 people, Windjammer asked for a group name. Off hand I said LYNCH MOB and that stuck. Then I started to rent the entire 250 foot boat (70 people) and word got out that the LYNCH MOB was coming and the crew was lovin' life because we partied hardy and tipped well. Now, the LYNCH MOB (custom logo) goes everywhere; sailing, air races, white water rafting, skiing, climbing mountains (Mt Whitney recently), F1 races around the world, etc, etc. Bob has some LYNCH MOB shirts. You only get one if you go on the event. Welcome to the Mob.”

Looking forward to wearing the shirt J More from St. Maarten ....

on LOVE

2011-02-14T23:55:00.000-08:00

LOVE is more than chubby bare-bottomed cherubs slinging arrows at will; than chocolate hearts, golden tokens, wooden gestures, and $5 Hallmark cards that bleep robotic tunes and dazzle. These things tarnish, crumble, and fade, but LOVE does not! LOVE transcends time, distance, dimension. LOVE is neither conditional nor calculated – LOVE does not hinge on reciprocation or profit, fashion or politics. LOVE IS; and you are LOVED purely because YOU ARE. TO ALL MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY NEAR AND FAR: may you feel the warmth of the LOVE that surrounds you, may you embrace the infinite power of LOVE; wade into the river ... immerse yourself in the rising tide ... uncork the fountain ... and join the unstoppable flow of LOVE. You, YES YOU, are LOVED!

~ Betsy Crowfoot 2-14-2011

2011-02-02T00:05:00.001-08:00

The room is sterile, cold, and white, and all the nurses wear white, and speak in hushes, as they tap my forearm until the vein, annoyed, raises its hackles (so to speak) and they drive a 10-foot stake in ... oh alright, it's just an IV. But my arms are strapped down so they don't dangle off the narrow slide I'm balanced on; my head is held rigid in a plastic frame that, to make sure I don't wriggle at all, foam wedges are squeezed into (making it also impossible to hear their instructions); and then finally - the pièce de résistance for a claustrophobic person - they tape my eyes shut. Like a pizza into an oven, I'm shoved into the "Sensation 16" (which comically brings to mind a Woody Allen movie and the 'orgasmatron') which whirrs and rattles loudly for a few minutes - but not nearly as clamorous and intimidating as an MRI. At least your whole body doesn't have to go in, and within a few moments the attendants are back (in their calm white presence) sliding me out, flushing the IV, before poking me back in with the warning 'Here it goes'.

I can't see, but as the iodine contrast is injected I feel at first an irritation in my throat - like I've swallowed a handful of nails - and then fire: as if a paintbrush saturated with the color 'hot' is sweeping down my torso. My entire body flushes and radiates heat - and apparently a whole lot more: as really groovy images are captured that illustrate the questionable inner works of my brain (which looks to me like it's filled with a writhing mass of bait worms. Lovely.)

It turns into a long day, but I'm blessed with patience and calm (imagine that: 'Betsy' 'patience' and 'calm' all referred to in the same sentence) as I endure the four hours it takes to drive the 130 miles to Santa Barbara; as I perch in the waiting room after the tests to ensure I don't have a reaction to the iodine (with the IV feed dangling off my arm like a limp marionette); while I fidget for nearly three hours awaiting the neurosurgeon, who's detained at the hospital; and then make the mad dash to see if the neurologist will see me late (he does).

The bottom line is: the scans show no discernible difference (enlargement) which is fantastic: the best possible news. We discuss my symptoms, tweak some meds, discuss the future. More scans in six months; an MRI in nine months; another angiogram in a year; and somewhere in the not too too distant future, the placement of a stent in the main artery in the middle of my brain. Dr. Z shows me one - it looks like the bouncy spring that pops out of a Bic pen, and is made of gossamer, or angel hair, it's so light ... it floats in a plastic cube, and as I peer at it I wonder how the #&@$ this thing is going to get in my head ...

All the while I have known that regardless of how my day goes (unless they check me into Cottage again) I will be ending it at Sharon's home: embraced in a household full of enough love and joy to soften any blow. But instead our evening is a celebration.

I always have a great time with Sharon and have indulged myself with these plans ... In fact, I have been indulging myself a lot these days, and for someone whose first sentence was "I can do it myself!" I have certainly (finally) learned to ask for help, for companionship, and support ... and am having a grand ole time inviting/imposing/inflicting/injecting myself on a lot of family and friends. It feels pretty good to be surrounded by those you love (and vice versa).

I do believe the dark nights are over. I am feeling physically and emotionally well, and as for the next phase of life, I am not just experiencing it: I am LUNGING at it, with every ounce of energy I've got.

Bittersweet

2011-01-27T11:01:00.000-08:00

These are sweet days - many things in my life are coming full circle and I feel (and fear) God is blessing me with reconciliation. Mended are the woes with my sister and cousin I wasn't on terms with ... I spent some quality time with my folks this Christmas (and have more plans in April) ... Coco and I are seeing eye-to-eye (as much as a 19 and 40-12 year old can) ... and I have reconnected with so many close friends from school and years past, in recent months. I even get to see my beloved dog Rusty - who I had to give away one-and-a-half years ago - next week!!

What a warm, fulfilling sensation to get to reap the benefits of what you have sown all these years ... and yet I am fearful that this marks closure, I pray not of my days.

If so, well ... how blessed am I to depart without loose ends hanging and strangling those I love, and old hurts unhealed. Truly truly blessed ... scaring the dickens out of me, but blessed. What favor I have found in the Lord!!!!

(And if not ... it doesn't hurt to get my sh** together sooner than later, and be on my best behavior from then on.)

I guess you think of these things more when you have an aneurysm - and I'm wigging out in particular over my upcoming tests and appointments Monday. Then I'll know if my enlargement (there's a word a woman never wants to acknowledge: unless it's referring to boobs) is status quo? Or worse. Or better? (Although these things do not just 'go away')

Surprisingly I feel shockingly good (except when I worry and get those wiggly headaches in the back of my brain - like little gnomes pulling taut piano strings; and making my blood pressure pound 'whoosh, whoosh, whoosh' in my ears) even when I am (sit down everyone) jogging. Or let's say, 'trying to jog' Maybe not prudent but ... I had a dream which started years ago, about running up a wooded hill. Easily. Freely. Symbolic? Or not ... But I'm following through for several reasons.

One is: I have a dear friend who's in rehab, surmounting a huge obstacle; it's so easy to just cheer and say 'You can do it!' but how Pollyanna is that?! So I thought I'd try to hurdle something I find difficult (and despicable! I hate running!) that I never thought I'd do.

Secondly: I think God wants me to. Just a feeling. If I can run - ME: with my ridiculous number and types of maladies - what Glory to Him!!

AMMO

"The God who has girded me with strength has opened wide my path. He made my feet like the feet of deer, and set me secure on the heights." - 2 Samuel 22:33-34

"When you walk, your step will not be hampered: and if you run, you will not stumble." - Proverbs 4:12

And of course my all time favorite verses Isaiah 40:28-31 -

²⁸ Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
²⁹ He gives strength to the weary
and power to the weak.
³⁰ Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
³¹ but those who hope in the LORD
will gain new strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow tired,
they will walk and not become weary."

Happy memories ...

2011-01-24T09:33:00.000-08:00

(... happy future as well)

Bioluminescent-angels in Brasil: 2010

one year ago ...

2011-01-09T14:10:00.000-08:00

... I was in sweltering Paraguay, poised for DOMINO's launch ... the myriad of places and experiences over the past year is mind-boggling, I tell 'ya!! LINK TO BLOG

Pamela S ----- : Perfect

2011-01-03T22:31:00.000-08:00

This is a love story, and it’s true.

Pamela and Paul are the wonderful people I sailed with from San Diego to La Paz, on their comfy 43’ yacht. Along the way I fell in love with them both: fun, bright, kind, silly folks who have a sweet affection for each other, and even more: a great friendship, concern, respect, and a darned good time together.

Before they met, Paul explained to me, he’d been divorced a while and knew he wanted a partner in life. Pragmatic ... genius ... charming ... a bit eccentric; he announced it was a numbers game and decided he was going to go on 100 dates in search of the right woman. Paul set off on an aggressive campaign – using a log to keep account of the myriad of female prospects.

Pamela – who is witty, capable, thoughtful and absolutely beautiful inside and out – continued the story, saying that only after several months of dating, did Paul tell her about the log. His entries were brief, sort of ...

#7 Sue Smith: really long nails

#23 Mary Jones: chews gum all the time

And so on ... (names have been changed to protect the innocent!)

She came to the last line in the book, and it read ...

#67 Pamela S ------ : Perfect

How sweet, touching ... a little bit corny ... but heart-warming and encouraging nonetheless! Of course they shared this story with me to prod me into doing the same – sort of a New Year’s Resolution ;-/ Old insecurities have me hunched over like Quasimodo (I’m still having trouble shedding the feeling that I simply mustn’t deserve someone that awesome, having been flicked by Mr. Wonderful ... DOH! ) But I’m working hard to shake those boulders off my back and am off to a good start (and it’s only Jan 3!)! What a fascinating year this is promising to be; making new friends and experiencing new adventures ... while cultivating my charm and gracious manners, of course.

A different Florida

2010-12-28T18:40:00.001-08:00

Today I saw a side of Florida I hadn't experienced before, when Oma, Opa and I went for a little trek through the cypress forests at Hammock State Park.

Trails and boardwalks snake through this quiet, unspoiled nature reserve; winding over still swamps and waterways, past palms - with festive fan leaves; beneath ancient oaks hung with moss like old men sporting wisps of beard. It was cool, and the vegetation smelled like Christmas. Squirrels scrambled around fat trees, dislodging nuts that tumbled noisily to the ground. We heard woodpeckers drumming and owls hooting; saw bear scat and armadillo dens - but no gators. Not a bad thing: had I actually spied a hideous five-foot reptile waddling beneath my feet in this peaceful environment, I probably would have leapt out of my skin. Still we looked, rambling along paths in the hushed green forest until the sun shot horizontal through the leggy trees and we figured we'd better hurry out before it got dark.

The weather was brisk all day - earlier Opa and I went for a bike ride, and I think it is the first time we have ever gone bike riding together. We've had a fun easy-going visit, which is coming too quickly to an end: tomorrow I fly out of Orlando, for home - and I will see you soon!

XOXO Mom / Betsy

** AUNT DORIS CALLS THIS PHOTO MY 'UPSIDE DOWN JUNGLE'. LOVE IT!

Changes

2010-12-27T20:35:00.001-08:00

The last week has been a smudge of people, places, colors, cultures,
language, temperatures, topography, geography, menus ... all
flip-flopping wildly, but delightfully so. Admittedly I am a touch
ADHD so the battery of shifting stimuli suits me fine: at least I am
not bored. Boredom is the arch-enemy (usually keeping company with
other villains like procrastination and defiance) tamed only by a
flurry of needless cooking, dishwashing, housekeeping or other, even
worse, misadventures like unintentional-snake-hunting-in-the-tropics
(or writing bad blogs and sordid country love songs).

We left the lush jungle islands of Las Perlas and their man-eating
serpents and crocodiles (I'm making this up) and mess of noisy birds
and leaping fish (I'm not) for an overnight passage to Panama City.
The bright moon faded with the lunar eclipse and we found ourselves
(surprise!) once again blasting along on a blackened night amidst a
multitude of twinkling planets and stars. And airplanes. And fishing
boats. AND CONTAINER SHIPS. Hundreds were anchored, awaiting transit
through the canal: peppering the approach to Panama City - where
skyscrapers emerged like ethereal towers of tinsel rising towards the
heavens through the tropical mist of the early morn.

Ugh. The city sprawled as far as the eye could see. The ships spewed
corkscrews of black smoke. The mud flats stretched dull and reeking
along the shore. Unfriendly shoreboat drivers slammed over in grimy,
leaky pangas to deliver us to a rickety wharf we scaled with our
belongings, trekking across the long footbridge and up, up the
crumbling staircase to Balboat Yacht Club - where both food and
service were utterly abysmal. We did a few forays for produce and
pricey rum, and were unequivocally on the verge of panning Panama City
...

The next day we happened on a taxi driver - Adriano - with a spacious
air conditioned van and equally huge pride in Panama and its history.
After running errands (stop at the ATM, drop off wash at the
lavanderia) he toured us through Panama la Vieja - the stately ruins
of the ancient city that was plundered by the pirate Henry Morgan; and
Casco Viejo - the old city subsequently built after the sacking, in
the late 1600s. Casco Viejo has a French Quarter-like charm: narrow
streets hemmed by colorful buildings with wrought iron balconies and
graceful wooden doors. The gentrification is evident, but the charm
remains, and I felt a tug of yearning to live here (maybe a season or
so, and work on some writing ... we'll see .. ). Later he brought us
to a fabulous parilla "Jymmy's" and joined us, saying grace before we
dug into our steaks, then cruised us by General Noriega's vacant,
overgrown compound. It was an amazing day in the company of a sage and
captivating gentleman, and I genuinely warmed to Panama City.

PHOTOS HERE

That night I humped my bags ashore (with Chewey's help) and found
Rogelio (the taxi driver I'd hired in February) waiting for me at the
gate of BYC to bring me to Tocumen for my 3AM (!) flight to Ft.
Lauderdale. It was a l-o-n-g night; I was asleep before the plane took
off but even so, the 2 ½ hour flight wasn't long enough (yawn)! After
customs and immigration I rented a car and drove to Jupiter where I
rendez-voused with my parents and sister Karla and her family.
Suddenly I was magnificently immersed in another world: traffic,
telephones, relatives, pets, Christmas! - and all the trappings: the
last-minute shopping for groceries and gift wrap, preparing the
holiday feast, and lots and lots of catching up.

Now I'm at Mom and Dad's up north in Lake Place - Florida, that is,
but it could be Lake Placid, NY based on the 40 degree temps! We're
perusing photo albums, watching tv, drinking wine, and a game of gin
rummy is no doubt imminent before the visit is over. Meanwhile I'm
bundled up in all the clothes I have ... What a 180-degree turnaround
this has been - from day after day wearing the same tank top and
swimsuit, isolated from the rest of the world, plugging along on our
delivery - to this!

Traveling, the most seemingly subtle deviations I find are the most
telling. Sleeping quarters are not always a given: in the last year
and a half I've slept on floors, couches, trampolines, pipe berths,
settees, a horsehair mat, cushions on deck, beneath mosquito nets and
thatched roofs, in frigid cold and sweltering heat, on a lumpy pullout
sofa bed, and - ahhhh - in real luxury: a wide bed with downy blankets
and fluffy pillows. If you are tired enough you will find rest in any
of these settings, but each time I put my head down it registers (and
I am always thankful to have someplace safe and comfortable to lay!).

Another variation is in the brand of beer you order. Just when you
think you've gotten used to the unique refreshment of (Singha,
Imperial, Balboa, _______ ) you land in a new spot and the local beer
is (fill in the blank _________). How you say hello, please, and thank
you varies - because even in Spanish-speaking countries it differs
significantly: bueno versus buen dia versus buenos dias; de nada as
opposed to mucho gusto, and so on. What footwear you don (flip flops
on the dock? KEENS in the garbage strewn surf? closed-toe shoes to
protect from snakes and giant ants on the trail? or none at all?) ...
and whether, as in Mexico, you don't really sightsee as much as STARE
at the ground where you're putting our feet; because man-eating
potholes, sidewalks that disappear into crevices, missing manhole
covers, ditches, and other hazards - are rife!

But for now, I am safe and sound at Mom and Dad's (what could be MORE
safe and sound) coddled, warm (despite temps in the 40s) well fed
and content ... and contemplating EXCITEDLY what is in store for my
homecoming, and 2011!

... and an extremely large snake ...

2010-12-20T22:10:00.000-08:00

Isla Caňas didn't make the cut. The anchorage at the foot of the island was wide-open to the churlish south swell, while the coves on the opposing side were exposed to the north wind - expected to puff up to 20k: either way, making for an uncomfortable afternoon and evening. So we continued on, past the half-sunk Japanese sub perched on Isla San Telmo, around Bajo Bartolomé, Isla Elefante, and nine-billion other rocks and isles, to Isla Espiritu Santo (which I took the liberty of translating to "Island of the Spirit of Saint Nick"). We tucked in to the west between the slender rock and forested isle and the mainland, joining two other boats (FORTY-TWO: a German couple we stopped and chatted with; and LANIKAI, from Oregon - who I'm pretty sure I recognized from this year's Baja Haha).

The extreme tides in this region (up to 20') make for an ever-changing landscape: beautiful, dynamic scenery that transforms with the rising and falling sea; as rocks and idylic sandy beaches appear or disappear, trees submerge and reefs emerge - all with the tide.

It also makes for so-so snorkeling as the water is turbulent and the currents swift. Regardless, we took the dingy north to explore, with the idea of snorkeling back to the boat 'going with the flow'; stopping first at a sliver of beach strewn with shells and garbage. It is very sad to report but the lovely "Pearls" of Panama (Las Perlas) are plastered with trash. Amidst this, we also spotted an iguana bobbing his head in agitation, until he finally sprinted away.

At the shallow edge of the beach the water was clear, but the minute we struck out down the main canal toward FRC, it became murky ... green .. specked with millions of teeny life forms ... bits of flotsam ... and the rare, occasional fish (that we could see). Visibility was dismal - perhaps a good thing, I'd find out later - although I kept my eyes peeled for crocs and water snakes; and never strayed more than an arm's length from my snorkel buddy (the guys much have to draw straws to see who has to babysit me next ...). The underwater scenery was unremarkable, but the chance to go for a long swim in refreshingly cool water, in such an exotic setting, was delightful.

Later in the day I realized this was it: my last day of 'cruising' as FRC heads at midnight to Panama City (and I, home) - and I wanted one more bite of adventure. I conned Chewey into taking a dinghy ride with me into the mangrove inlet on the mainland side. Our jungle cruise yesterday hadn't been too productive, and I was longing to savor one more taste of the wild before heading back to the real world.

We zipped into the bay, stopping here and there to look and listen. Eventually we heard a clutter of bird calls on the north side and putted over. We cut the engine; observed a great deal of splashing beneath some trees; puttered a little closer; cut the engine again; and drifted with the current - enjoying an untamed orchestra of chirps, songs and cries - beneath the canopy of low-lying trees at the edge of the jungle.

Prickly branches hung down and with the outboard off, Chewey gingerly tugged on them to direct our course; being careful to avoid the large thorns, as we noted the plethora of succulents (bromeliads?) tucked in the crooks of the branches ... along with ... an extremely large snake!!!

As my mind began to register the unmistakable pattern of snake skin, the fat coil of sinew drooping heavily off the brittle branch, i backed up... back... and back .. 'til I was sitting on the fuel can: the only words able to form being "F*ck, f**-***ck, F*CK!!!" Later, Chewey told me, he was thinking at that exact moment, "Gee that looks a lot like a snake ..." then frantically began trying to start the outboard - in reverse - with me practically sitting on his lap by this point.

Finally the dinghy was retreating, with me crouched low on the floor in the back of the dink; both of us convulsing hysterically with nervous laughter. "Let's go back and look at it from the other side!" I suggested - and from a safe distance we gaped at this at spiral of snake perched so dubiously on the low bough that had just minutes before been suspended over our ducked heads.

"As big around as a Coors Light can," Chewey described the snake, when we returned to FRC (after another 20 minutes of cruising in the dimming light, dodging white pelicans hunting the small shiny tunas that jack-in-the-boxed out of the rushing currents of the narrow bay) while our mates listened rapt and amused. So this was it: my final memory of the journey - adventure, laughter and friendship aboard FRC.

We leave in two hours for my final (overnight) passage, to the canal zone .. I will see you soon! XOXO Mom / Betsy 12-20-10

PS - we left just before midnight - I was on til 2AM ... halfway into my watch i noticed more stars in the sky : didn't we have a full moon just last night? I looked up & saw the lunar eclipse, SO obvious here at sea. Magnificent! Just as it was at its darkest a falling star streaked past. Amazing! Life is good ;-)

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One-hundred eyes ...

2010-12-19T18:34:00.000-08:00

Hundreds of eyes were watching us - or so we felt: their gazes burning through the bushes and peering from beneath the mangroves and branches overhead, as we meandered up the slinky Rio Cacique on Isla del Rey (about 60nm offshore / south of Panama City). We didn't see a thing - other than the tail-feathers of fleeing birds and the tell-tale splashes of unseen inhabitants of the muddy river. After motoring upstream as far as possible, we killed the outboard and drifted (with the occasional paddle stroke) back towards the bahia: listening to bird calls, splashes, and the frequent SNAP and POP of twigs ashore - but saw little. It was eerie! We returned through a small passage in the rolling surf (with waves breaking to starboard, and crashing on rocks to port) and back to FRC - which was lurching at anchor. The tides vary up to 20 feet here and with tonight's full moon, they were running fast!

It has been exotic and unusual sailing in this environment: California is dry, and Baja is outright barren. But here, especially at night, the rich smells of the jungle travel to sea: thick and dank, verdant and earthy - feeding the imagination and sparking a longing to explore. I'd love to stay and investigate every inch of every island, but our mad dash to the canal continues ... Tomorrow we'll move from our anchorage at Bahia Cacique to Isla Caňas - a petite island with sandy beaches, and reefs for snorkeling, on what will be my last (hopefully sunny!) day cruising. Then it's off to Balboa (in the Canal zone) late Monday night, to clear into Panama Tuesday, wrap up some chores and sightseeing Wednesday, and fly out in the wee early hours of Thursday. I've enjoyed this 2,900nm (ish?) voyage, but now am eager for a heavy dose of Christmas, family & friends!

Well the chicken wings are on the barbie so .. signing off for now; more from P.C. XOXO Mom / Betsy

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Highs and Lows

2010-12-18T14:14:00.001-08:00

07 09N 80 27W
We are probably at our lowest point of the trip ...Latitude-wise ;-) - having dipped below the Peninsula de Azuero on our way to Islas Las Perlas, our next stopover. This has actually been a week of 'highs': with the arrival of two of Bruce's longtime friends the fun-meter turned UP. The boys have the clout to bust his a** and have prompted more field trips -- and stops [mostly fueled by their quest for rum] ...

Patrick had never been ziplining and Wednesday was Moffett's b-day; so five of us set out from Quepos on a rutted mud road into the canopy. We did a total of 10 ziplines (the longest nearly 500' and FAST), two rappels, crossed a wobbly suspension bridge, and - the most scary of all - swung like Tarzan (or Jane) from one platform to the next -- all VERY high up & confirming my dreadful fear of heights, especially as the tiny platforms shuddered with each incoming participant, and got slippery in the rain! But it WAS (I admit) a load of fun and worth the little bit of 'eeeee!' I felt each time I was clipped and sent flying ...

After that we overnighted to Golfito to check out of Costa Rica, and provision a bit more (Sharon and I have done most of our sightseeing in the little mercados and tiendas of Central America ... ) At Banana Bay - the cruiser hangout in Golfito - we ran into some folks we know and friends of friends; trading email addresses on scraps of dinner napkins and chatting into the evening ... until we departed that night: this time crossing into Panama and making landfall at the Islas Secocs - absolutely GORGEOUS islands: lush green mounds, turquoise water, etc.

The anchor was hardly set before we were in the water - swimming, exploring in the dinghy, or as Patrick and I did - snorkeling the entire crescent bay where I had one of my MOST ENCHANTING moments of the trip: a tiny yellow and blue striped fish - about the size of a walnut - joined us and swam with us the entire way! At times he was directly under my mask - just beneath my nose - his tiny fins beating as hard as he could to keep up (at points we even slowed down to accommodate him!). What a delight!! !

Alas we left there yesterday after dinner for a two-night passage to Las Perlas: an archipelago of isles and rocks directly south of the canal zone, which puts us in position to arrive in Balboa Tuesday (12/21) (after a little fun at Las Perlas - also supposedly great snorkeling grounds).

Speaking of fish ... I've been getting up early for my 7AM watch to get the line out and grind up some local coffee I picked up ... and the last two mornings have caught yellowfin tunas even before my first cup of joe! Today I even put out my old 'lucky lure' ... it has lost its shimmer and most of its feathers since I first picked it up in 1993 (!) however he still has his old magic: finally we had to start throwing fish back - and retire him probably for the duration of the trip.

After checking into Panama (on the 21st? 22nd?) I expect to get a flight early (o-dark-thirty) Thursday and start making my way home - by way of Oma & Opas, then back to Cali before the New Year. SO anxious to see my loved ones and share some Christmas cheer SOON!! Signing off Sat'y Dec 18 - XOXOX Betsy / Mom

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Blowin' a hooley

2010-12-14T19:45:00.000-08:00

Dawn departure, flanked by the sunrise to the east and rainbows to the west - we left the boisterous Bahia Ballena and rode that stallion out into the Nicoya Peninsula: wind 25-30 (occasionally 35) with huge rolling waves that smoked water! No fish (no birds) but a romping good time 'til mid bay when the wind machine shut off.

Made it to Quepos in time for a late lunch; explored a bit locally ... including AVION with a circa 1954 shot-out C-123 aircraft in the center of the restaurant (I'd been here two years ago, on vacation with June! :-D). We climbed around, had a drink in the bar and watched another spectacular sunset, then got back in time to join the Marina Pez Vela Christmas party: a nice bbq spread, drinks, disco and dancing on the wide docks of the new marina.

Manana: zip lining and/or Manuel Antonio Park - depending on weather ... today we had our first rain storm of the trip!

"One of the prettiest places I've been ... "

2010-12-13T22:41:00.000-08:00

Monday Dec 13 –

The addition of two new crew has livened things up a bit :-) It's late Sunday morning when we pick up Patrick and Moffett at the ferry dock at Los Suenos Marina (Bahia Herradura – just north of Jaco) – for the pricey sum of $40 for a ‘day use fee’). Their friend Greg had dropped them off ... but soon we are hailing him back, to give us a lift to the grocery store (although the boys had lugged at least a gallon each of rum, vodka, and wine aboard). Coincidentally Greg is a fellow Seal Beach-er and has a bike shop in town, which I walk Gracie The Dog past every morning; plus his small surfer hotel* here, at the north end of famed Playa Hermosa, which boasts ‘Best Surf in Costa Rica’ – a fact you can confirm on the Surfline webcam that Greg has perched at the edge of his casa. Besides that, he’s a really nice guy eager for a gringo fix, so after he takes us to the supermarket, and comes by FRC for a 5¢ tour, he invites us to the Inn for a little terra firma.

The sign and entrance are innocuous enough I might have missed this little slice of paradise: a charming strip of rooms edged with lush gardens, a tiny but refreshing two-level pool with a waterfall, a breezy palapa on an exotic black sand beach strewn with driftwood ... so we hang around ‘til sunset, enjoying the scenery (and wifi) and Greg’s tales of his breathtaking adventures - including a non-stop bike ride from Calif. to NY; his flight over the English Channel is the ‘Gossamer Albatross’, and so on ... ( * http://www.sandpipercostarica.com/ )

Early the next morning (despite the boys’ brutal partying) we set off for our longed-for destination; back across Golfo Nicoya to Isla Tortugas... On the way I indulge myself: listening to Christmas carols in the galley while I make mango salsa to go with the fish I’m trying to catch – but all I get is another bonita :-P (at least not a boobie again!) These islands are exactly what we’d dreamed of all those weeks plowing away on our ‘delivery’ - and end up being one of the prettiest places I’ve ever been. These twin isles are set off from the mainland – steep rocky foundations plush with the greenest foliage, footed with snippets of pale sandy beach here and there, lapped with teal and azure water speckled white with the gentle breeze. As soon as the anchor is set we start jumping in; the snorkeling so-so in water sprinkled with teeny life forms, but the fish spectacular through the turquoise gauze none-the-less. Afterwards we explore in the dinghy and stop at the small public beach where we’re met with chickens, horses, vultures ... and a young (not-so) wild boar who lets me scratch his bristly chin – and as I do he lifts his tapered head up and jigs his leg like a dog.

Too soon we leave for Bahia Ballena – allegedly because the wind is coming up but truly I think it’s because there is a rum panic – we haven’t hoarded enough rum apparently; and they think the ‘town’ here will have a liquor store. Uhm ... not! This is a meager fish camp, set around a steep concrete pier that serves as a loading platform and fish market, with arms that stretch out and down to either side for pangas to tie up. We approach the pier and a spiderweb of long lines strung from mooring cans and skiffs to the pilings, pulling ourselves along the ropes to the south landing – a crumbly concrete platform with ruins of stairs that zigzag up to the open deck, where somber fisherman tally and clean their paltry catch. Following the length of the pier – which is lined with Coleman coolers – we come to the Ballena Bay Yacht Club. Yup – a ‘yacht club’ here ... Although it’s no more than a bar and restaurant, it is clean and spacious with a view of the dock and the bay beyond. We enjoy a round of drinks and once again, sit and watch the day come to an end, until it’s time to leave. Alas the landing is now awash, and our dismount from the crumbling concrete dock which is now awash, onto our dinghy, is a bit sketchy. By the time we return to the boat my butt’s soaked and filthy from our expedition; the wind has come up and the boat’s rocking and yawing wildly in the open bay – as it continues to do now (just past midnight). But by some miracle there’s wifi in this most unlikely of places ... so I’m pirating while I can, hoping to post or send this note tonight (Monday) - and I have already put up new pix!

Unless we’re chased out by a storm tonight, we’ll leave early tomorrow for Quepos and a visit to the Manuel Antonio wildlife reserve the following day. Updates to follow ...

Sending love today & always, XOXO Mom / Betsy

Fun with critters

2010-12-12T13:54:00.001-08:00

12/11- Bahia Culebra & beyond

The crushed coral sand along water’s edge is cooler than the powdery stuff at the foot of the jungle, and surely more welcome than the unbearable coal-black volcanic sand of Playas Coco. But it’s crunchy underfoot, like Rice Krispies; it sizzles when the surf laps at it; and suitably so ‘snap-crackle-pops’ when you lay your head down to nap. (I’m tired – having slept on deck beneath the stars; restlessly, with the all-night chirping of critters and buzzing of bugs, until 2AM when finally, too cold, I retreated to my bunk below.) There are so many sensations to take in ... the merry juxtaposition of rasping monkey howls with the laughter of day campers tossing water balloons ... riotous bird calls ... jet skis zooming by ... Today (Saturday) is clear and dry; the sun hot – but the fresh midday breeze promises to fill in ... bringing with it a waft of sugar cane smoke from across the bay. I want to take it all in before I leave this place, so I can be ready for the next.

But when will these uninvited memories fade? I have a fantastic, rich life: full of happiness, adventure, amazing experiences and recollections: so why do these loiter and float to the surface? I try to acknowledge them, give them their weight, and let time blow them away like autumn leaves: pretty ... but useless. I finished a book yesterday (“Indigo Rose” by Susan Beth Miller); the protagonist has suffered a loss I cannot fathom - it is a stirring story of her despair, and resurrected hope - and at one point she says: “I am pushing time past me like I’m rowing in a boat, hauling back the water.” Row baby, row. Another book I just read (we read a lot on board) related that an emotional wound will hurt in direct proportion to the amount you let that person under your skin. The pain is as deep as you let them in. Which explains the wonderful dichotomy of how I’m still carrying on like an utter fool; and he shut me off as quick and complete as a light switch.

The gentle lapping of the surf has erupted into splashes, and I rise up to see another fish boil. Black spheres of fish - tiny fingerlings, in such dense concentration they appear as one dark eddy - whirl up and down the beach, fleeing from what-I-do-not-know ... I wade out, step in the middle, giggling (the Ticos think I’ve gone mad) ... like shadowy rings of Saturn these fish swirl and twirl around me until - at the command of some unseen choreographer – they split off, and the whole blob snakes away.

I take so many pictures I haven’t any left when Chewey comes back with the dinghy to get me. First though we return to look for monkeys (they were M.I.A. this morning) and come upon a veritable San Diego Zoo of wildlife: koatamundi foraging amongst the Saturday picnickers; white squirrels; crested blue jays (they have a local name with a lot of rrrrrrrrs I cannot pronounce); and at last – several small white-faced monkeys. Cute, more playful than howlers, they also ‘cheep’ in a dialect you’d more expect of a monkey (than the hoarse bark of the howlers). That expedition over, I toss my gear in the dink and swim back, while Chewey zooms around me allegedly to scare away any big fish or snakes: but I think he is just being a guy and wanting-to-go-fast. The water is fantastic – no stings – but I can’t linger too long; I need to catch up on some sleep before our all-night passage to Jaco. XOXO

SUNDAY’S DAWN IS YUMMY, splashed with Easter candy colors. Before daybreak the line’s out, and we have our first victim: a torpedo-shaped bonita, lively but small (and a first hit for Linda Las Vegas, my tart-y silver and purple lure). Back he goes and I switch to a bigger lure (= bigger fish?) but another bonita strikes, so I release him, bring in the line, and go make a quiche.

When I come back on deck I’m hopeful for a bonita-free-zone ... but we are followed by two boobie birds – who attract several more of their kind. Like the shampoo commercial ‘You tell two friends, and they tell two friends, and so on, and so on ...’ boobies seem to send out a telegraph that has their cousins winging in from far and wide; wheeling and swooping around FRC like we’re awarding the mackerel lottery or something. Soon every boobie south of 10° LAT surrounds the boat and starts dive-bombing Big Red, a crimson and white cigar-shaped chunk of wood with a sexy waggle apparently irresistible to birds (alas not fish) ... Luckily they are not only stupid, but have poor aim (it is a wonder their species survives!); still I repeatedly pull in the meat line, and dole it back out when the boobies disappear.

Eventually though I catch a bird: throttle back, drag him in – his wings splayed like he’s JC Superstar. He’s got it hooked square through the bottom of his beak, and Bruce grabs the lure with the pliers while ‘Fred’ (having bumbled so fantastically we give him a male moniker) looks stunned (although I think he perpetually looks stunned) and drops with a thunk to the swim step. So now we have a disheveled boobie bird splayed on the back of the boat – gakkin’ up saltwater, dragging his right wing in the sea, shaking his head with disbelief as if he’s saying “WTF!?” Meanwhile his friends continue to circle ‘round, marveling at how Fred got the free ride; and we cannot fish.

In due course Fred composes himself: ‘tucks his wings in and straightens out his fanny feathers; waddles away from the exhaust (I’m loathe to think he’s going to die of CO2 poisoning after we go and rescue him from the lure ... I mean: what next? Mouth-to-beak resuscitation? ) and in time, flies away. Leaving us to wonder about renaming the boat: Free Range Boobies?

Approaching Jaco (Marina Suenos) where we’re picking up two of Bruce & Sharon’s friends (Moffett and Patrick); will grab some groceries and wifi; then about face to Islas Tortugas for snorkeling ;-) Sending love and blessings XOXO Mom / Betsy

Beneath the surface

2010-12-11T09:42:00.001-08:00

Friday night
Here I am, lying off a beach in Costa Rica; scratching - in vain - my stinging calves (where unseen critters lunched while I shuffled the length of the surf), wondering what to make for lunch, while all around me monkeys howl like the grumble of an empty stomach. I register the texture and heat of the non-skid deck ... the baying monkeys ... the granules of sand clinging to my skin ... the sea of microscopic bitey creatures ... Memories seep out of the cracks; I let time, like a heavy millstone, grind away at these thoughts, 'til they are crushed to dust and blow away in the wind.

This is our long-awaited 'cruising day off'. We do absolutely nothing, with the exception of fix a few meals, tidy up the dishes (and even that, Sharon makes the guys wash) and relax.

'Late morning we dinghy to shore and walk from one end to another. The sand looks like uncooked Rice-A-Roni: on close scrutiny we see it's tiny shreds of coral; tawny slivers that snap easily between your fingertips. Along the way a cluster of local youngsters squeal and play with a puffer fish they've captured in a small canal dug through the surf: his face like a Disney cartoon; his spines splayed all catawampus from the children's prodding; his too-small pectoral fins batting frantically against his expanding body. Eventually they tumble him through a muddy chute back to sea, where he swims off half-drunk.

We follow a trail into the jungle: ever-searching for monkeys. I see dark blobs in the crook of a tree and presume them to be wasp or termite nests . until one reaches around and scratches his butt. Small chocolate colored lumps suddenly materialize into monkeys - everywhere; their leathery faces watching us with interest. A baby, smaller than my fist, hugs his momma's back. Another dangles upside down by only his tail. Now we see them all over, although they are mute; resting in the rising heat. A koatamundi ambles silently below us. The only noises are from shy birds hidden in the canopy: but judging by the calls there are plenty.

Wes and I swim back to the boat. The water is refreshing and later in the day I try to snorkel around FRC, but the water is thick and green with miniscule forms of life (that only afterwards leave you feeling zapped with bites and stings). 'Best to see nothing anyway, as fish boils regularly gurgle up in the bay: what could be so big and fearsome beneath the surface, to make sea creatures shoot straight up out of the vital water - as if they want to become birds and fly away?

Today will bring more of the same, until just before dusk when we pull up anchor and head to Bahia Herradura (Jaco) - more from there. All are well, brown like coconuts, well-rested&fed ;-)

LOVE and MISS YOU! Have fun at the party tonight (and be careful driving) and send everyone my love and HoHoHo! XOXO Mom / Betsy

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Monkeys! (Dec 10)

2010-12-10T12:35:00.000-08:00

‘Grilled up that last big mahi (at last) to the hooting and barks of howler monkeys in the thick jungle surrounding our little half-moon bay at Anclaje (anchorage) Nacascolo last night. The last few days have been a pleasant reward for our snotty toil from Huatulco south.

We were quarantined from our arrival Tuesday afternoon until late Wednesday: ‘stuck’ at the new Marina Papagayo in the north end of Bahia Culebra (Bay of Snakes – eek!) in northwestern Costa Rica, until Customs & Immigration cleared us in. I voraciously took advantage of the amenities during that time: namely the pool and gym -- plus the wifi, laundry room, and remarkably good bar food. Offshore boating doesn’t provide you that much activity (especially on a boat with push-button winches) so it felt wonderful to MOVE: swim, work out a little (in a modern mini-gym with a/c and TVs even!) and walk the docks and property. If I sound a little insane about that – consider this: ten years ago at this time I couldn’t walk. Could Not Walk. If you have ever had something so precious and yet so basic as your ability to walk stripped from you, you understand. Walking, seeing, hearing, breathing – you take these things for granted and yet ... a decade ago I was in agonizing pain, hobbling with a cane, looking at the prospect of life in a wheelchair. Had I been a German Shepherd they would have put me down! Nine years ago today I had the last of three major surgeries (in 11 months) to fix all the broken parts ... then months of physical therapy, trying and testing ... Every morning I wake up THANKFUL that I can walk! ‘That I am pain free! And I am so protective of this precious ability to be mobile, if I seem a bit lunatic about this – perhaps I am.

Wednesday night we were finally cleared and joined a friend in Playas Coco for dinner and some sightseeing in the cramped, scrubby, but cheerful downtown that serves the whole bay. Then we wound back on the shadowy roads to the marina and joined the crew of EOS (the world’s largest privately-owned sailing yacht) at the bar, ‘til closing ... we continued a small party onboard FRC until the wee hours: a very entertaining night and fitting celebration of our passage!

Despite the late hour we were up early to explore a trail in the hills flanking the marina, and look for monkeys (guess what: monkeys DON”T get up early ;-/ ... they are smarter than us ;-o). We picked our way through vines and greenery (getting whiplash as we alternately looked DOWN for snakes and UP for monkeys and spider webs): but nothing too rough – until the end when the trailhead emerged immediately behind the bulls eye at a nearby resort’s archery range!!! LUCKILY no-one was shooting when we popped out of the jungle ... ‘cause for a bit of (nervous) laughter! Then we trekked back along the road where I visited the pool (again!) and the guys monkeyed with the boomvang before we took off for Playas Cocos: a wet dinghy ride to shore, decent dismount, short trek through vendors plying snowcones, painted gourds, hammocks and t-shirts along the scruffy streets, to the supermercado. Several restaurants were decorated with Christmas lights and I wistfully thought of home, family, friends, parties I am missing – and how eager I am to seeing my folks in a couple of weeks!

Stocked up with fresh food and Lizano (!) we got back to the beach and approached a few fisherman about a panga to take us back to the boat (nobody likes soggy groceries!) ... no sooner had we asked than Carlos peeled off his shirt and began swimming to the moorings. After our swift, dry panga ride to FRC we circled the bay and picked this lonely, quiet anchorage – save for the racket of monkeys hidden in the lush forest.

This morning I awoke early (we are officially in the Central American Time zone even though we are due south of the Florida panhandle; so we’re really an hour ‘off’ here :-?) and dragged my blanket on deck to enjoy the cool breezes, the cacophony of bird calls, and water gurgling past the hull (swift tide) as the sun rose. Today we’ll RELAX and dink around the bay; Saturday afternoon we’ll head south (overnight) for Jaco to pick up more crew (Sunday), then about-face back across Golfo Nicoya to the Islas Tortugas, where we’ll spend a day (Monday) snorkeling and enjoying these little islands. At least ... that’s the plan for now.

Sending love, over and out J XOXO Mom / Betsy

Costa Ricissimo!

2010-12-07T19:37:00.000-08:00

We had hoped when we finally tucked in behind Cabo Sant Elena (Costa Rica) the seas would die down in the lee of this cape ...

Not so.

The past several days have delivered winds averaging in the high 20s (alternately ducking into the teens and gusting into the mid 30s) with square short-set waves sending spray everywhere. The hatches are dribbling, we have been living on our ear – life has been tedious. Showering: non-existent. Cooking: difficult. Using the bathroom: heinous. Sleep: trying.

For some strange (?) reason – despite boisterous wind from an excellent angle – we have continued motor-sailing: BANGING into the seas at full throttle ... and the slamming has been intense. Sadly we zipped past Nicaragua (as well as Guatemala and El Salvador) missing their colorful cultures and primeval landscapes ... As if to punish us for the slight, Nicaragua sent us her worst Papagallo winds, and we huddled beneath the dodger or slept below decks, during the worst of these blasts.

Making landfall in Bahia Culebra, Costa Rica - past Islas Murcielagos and the reef jutting out east to west – the winds continued ‘til the last possible moment; and then finally there was calm ... ahhhhhh .... We motored to Marina Papagayo at the northwestern corner of the bay, where we’ll remain “quarantined” (at the pool / bar / gym / resort / game room ) until we get approval from customs & immigration ... then we’re released to explore the 13 anchorages here in Bahia Culebra before heading south to rendezvous with additional crew Dec 12 at Jaco.

We have well survived the Bahia Tehuantepec: a 900-mile voyage ... but are ready for some well-deserved R&R (Rum and ??? ) Enjoying the celebration of a successful passage, to a new port-of-call :-) Over & out xoxo

Festival of Lights

2010-12-05T16:55:00.000-08:00

Dec 5
Shooting stars ... distant lightning ... bioluminescence ... flashing strobes on fishing pangas ...

We had our own magnificent 'festival of lights' last night, heralding the holiday season :-) Lightning flared over the towering volcanic peaks of Guatemala, illuminating the entire sky. Stars fell. Humble fishing boats (that didn't show up on radar) signaled their whereabouts with erratic strobe lights. Dolphins dashed around the boat, creating meteors of bioluminescence in the water, while staccato bursts of the neon-greenish light suggested schools of fish and other mysterious sea creatures. At one point we scared up a flock of seabirds, whose white bellies glowed red in our port bow light as thy took flight. It was magical, enchanting, and I literally squealed with joy and surprise at every new spark of light above and beyond.

Today those small birds (Petrel of some sort? Although they look like undersized Boobie birds, so we have started calling them 'A-cups') kept us company - and amused - for quite a while. They gathered in small flocks - 3, 4 or 5- and swung towards the boat, poised to land .. their raspy chirps chiding each other as if to say 'You go first!' - 'No, you!' - 'No, YOU!' ... only to abort at the very last instant. I paid keen attention to their antics, as God talks to me through the birds (yes, yes I know - you think I've lost the plot, who cares) I will explain more, once I have internet and am not sucking up all the sailmail minutes. Just sayin', we had a beautiful day at sea today: sunshine, dolphins, and plenty of fish!

We caught more Mahi than we can possibly eat - and after taking two & releasing two more, we reeled in our lines. Tonight Sharon is doing her magic with the fillets :-) Last night was my turn: stuffed the cleaned fish with julienned ginger, carrots and onions, and a dab of mayo, sealed in an envelope of foil schmeared with butter, and steamed on the barbie 20-30 min. Oooh la la!

Life onboard is good - we're standing watches, eating well, got the a/c on right now; we are off El Salvador and HOPING to get to Puesta del Sol Nicaragua tomorrow (Mon) by nightfall - if not we'll standoff til dawn. Stay tuned. LOVE YOU MUCH xoxo Mom / Betsy

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Sea-Saw

2010-12-04T13:12:00.000-08:00

RIGHT OUT THE GATE the seas foretold what was to come: leaving Marina Chahue's slender rock-framed channel, the seas were rollin'. We seesawed out into the bay and turned left on a northeast track toward the apex of Bahia Tehuantepec. Everything was stowed, battened down, lunch and dinner made - so I napped ... until the seas were so steep I was airborne in my bunk and sleep was no longer an option. The autohelm was on, so I relieved it - hoping by hand I could avoid the worst of the 'slammers'.

The wind was still negligible. We were hugging the coast, in the lee of the point, hiding from the big wind: t we could see it coming. White horses romped in the dark blue seas to starboard, and kept getting closer .. it was as if we were on the on-ramp for the Windy Freeway: with the median between FRC and the windline growing narrower every minute. Within half an hour the wind was 20k and building. It as exciting to helm (and wet); the anemometer racking up the windspeed as we tacked in and out of the bays to avoid the worst of it, until we got around the point and could avoid it no longer. We were in the thick of it - the Tehuantepeccers - where the tremendous mountains fade to lowlands at the middle of the isthmus, and let the stiff cold breezes of North America blast through.

Hours later the excitement had worn off: living on your ear (the wind just skimmed 40k), rocking and slamming through the dark night, isn't much fun. But it was tolerable. As is common practice crossing the BofT, you hug the shore ("one foot on the beach") so the blustery weather doesn't have as much chance to build up big wind waves. It adds miles, and concern about hitting land, buoys, unmarked rocks or other traffic ... but we kept good watch all night and everything was fine.

1-3AM the night was moonless, dark; the stars dimmed by the perpetual haze - but a-plenty. I realized my confusion in finding familiar celestial friends: we were travewling east! Now, as a California Girl, I have sailed south, southwest, south-southeast, and even north (when it's time to take the boat home) but rarely do e sail east in California! (the desert gets in the way). The wind vacillated from 12-38 at whim, and the sails went up - down - in - out accordingly. The seas are willy-nilly - just all over the place and short set. There is not rhyme or reason to their patterns, in this vast fishless sea (no, we haven't caught anything lately!!).

Later, after the sun had risen, I admired the magnificent coast with its layer upon layer of mountains; conical shapes, spires, crags, notched peaks: towering high - boasting the miracle of creation. Clouds hug the highest summits: it is thrilling to think the Atlantic is just over the other side!!!

It is now 1030AM Saturday - and naptime. Over & out xoxo Betsy-Mom

** I LIED - WE JUST CAUGHT A BIG MAHI! woo hoo! We cross into Guatemalan waters tonight **

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on the eve of departure: 'less than ballistic'

2010-12-02T19:24:00.000-08:00

We are all cramming in our last internet fixes - knowing we'll be out of touch the next five days ...

... the first of which looks to be Hades. After reviewing the latest weather forecasts Chewey sends out an email to his friends saying 'The wind hasn't totally abated, but we hope it will be less than ballistic.'

'Less than ballistic.' Looks like an a** kicking to me.

Having finished my chores in the a.m. I spent my last afternoon in Mexico luxuriating at Playa Chahue and the nearby hotel pool. The same wind that is likely to hammer us tomorrow afternoon made the beach delightful – slightly less humid, with a fresh, gusty breeze. After a while I left my lonely patch of playa – its pale, fine grit and tumultous crashing surf – for the hotel. Again I was the only one swimming, so I splashed and played and lapped the length of the pool (skirting the knobby seats at the swim-up bar) in the cool delicious water, and floated on my back looking at the frigate birds circling overhead. I continue to puzzle about why I’m here, what I’m doing – but my advisor tells me I’m ‘on the right track’ so I happily keep moving forward: even though the steps are wobbly and I can’t for the life of me see my destination. Some sort of passage or pilgrimage: I guess. Faithfully I move on -- I am eager, even excited, to experience what lies ahead!

Holy Molé

2010-12-02T06:46:00.000-08:00

Dec 1 –
For the second time in a month I’ve had an amazing molé (last time in Cabo, this time in an authentic Oaxacan eatery) ... this is something I definitely need to learn how to make ;-) you could douse an old shoe with a good molé and it would be a gastronomic sensation ...

Marina Chahue is new, remote, and – for a marina – fairly clean. Thousands of silvery baitfish reside in the channel, drawing throngs of frigate birds (“friggin’ birds” we call them) that swirl overhead like vultures, hunting the fish ...

There’s a Capri (reminds me of fun times on Sue & Barry’s first boat) on the hard in the adjacent yard, named “Plum Crazy” - love it ;-)

A new condo-hotel opened just yesterday across the highway: I implore them to let me use the pool ... ahhhhh! It’s cool and refreshing and all-to-myself ;-)

We’re holed up in Marina Chahue (pron: Cha-way) waiting for the Tehuanapeccers* to relax a bit. (*these are the prevailing winds that blow this time of year - being ‘Gale Season’ while the rest of you are enjoying ‘Holiday Season’) across the Gulfo Tehuantepec** (**I think the loose translation of ‘Tehuantepec’ from the ancient Mayan term = wind-that-blows-balls-off-of-bulls ). Winds here originate from a high-pressure system over Texas, and whip down and across the Gulf of Mexico through the narrow isthmus – just 125m across – where a tmesis in the Sierra Madre provides a gap (the Chivela Pass) for the winds to whistle through. The venturi effect boosts the breeze to an average of Force 4: right now the forecasts are 30-35k ... we were hoping for something a tad lighter so our ears don’t get wet, but we will probably leave Friday at dawn ‘come hell or high water’ (in this case, the cliché being literal, not figurative) as we have a canal to cross (Panama) before Christmas! Other fun facts: the average temp. is 95F, the annual rainfall is 156”. This is one steamy place (malaria is rampant on the opposite / wetter coast) occupied predominantly by the indigenous Zapotecs: a matriarchal society.

We learn that from here – Huatulco – the wind is expected to be on the nose ‘til Salina Cruz; then we crack off for a hearty beam reach (30-50k) across Bahia Ventuosa (Windy Bay). The situation and place names are making me think of a new country western song: High Pressure Over Texas, Windy Bay, Solo Dios (One God); ‘Pomperos & Papagallos & Tehuantepeccers – Oh My!’ (sung to the tune of ‘Lions & Tigers & Bears – Oh My!’) ...

Much of what we do in port is prep for the next leg, and (among other things) that means re-provisioning! I love the local markets, where you buy whatever looks good - including sometimes strange foods :-? Yesterday’s shopping trip reaped tomatoes, onions, lettuce, green beans; zucchini, eggplant and peppers for ratatouille; we have a load of avocados, chayote, oranges, papaya, and ‘granadillas’ (I can’t remember the Castellano name ...) These tart wrinkly fruits remind me of the do-it-yourself-safari in South Africa with Scolby, KTB & JennJenn, when monkeys broke into our rondavel and zocked* our granadillas (*stole - in a very messy sort of way) – so of course I buy a sack of them, to rekindle that delightful memory :-D

Dec 2

The latest (8AM Thursday) passageweather.com forecast confirms our departure tomorrow morning Dec 3 at the high tide, and when there's enough daylight to see the rocks sprinkled throughout the harbor entrance. Winds are forecast to be in the 20-25 range so that is tolerable, and will get us on our way! We have nearly 900 miles to cover before we get to our next destination – Puesta del Sol, Nicaragua – which will take approx. four to five days: with much of that aft of the beam ;-) But the days are getting shorter, and the moon will be slight; so please keep us in your prayers for a smooth passage (and lots of fish)!! XO

Wa-HAKA!

2010-11-29T09:46:00.001-08:00

We are cruising along the picturesque Oaxaca (wa-HAKA) coast, making about 8k on flat blue seas toward Huatulco. Having left Acapulco on Saturday, we weren’t sure of making it to Huatulco by dusk Sunday, so we ducked back to Puerto Angel for the night. Actually, we have no clue what time it is, what time the sun rises or sets ... we are traveling east so much we are crossing time zones and every day it is different. So – unaware of the times for sunrise/sunset/tides – Puerto Angel seemed the prudent destination. And it was gorgeous! A compact little harbor with rugged headlands on either side, and a stretch of palapa-peppered main beach that curves from north to southeast, connected to the beach in the northwest corner by a stone malecon carved out of the cliffs. I wish we’d had more time and been able to go ashore ... alas at the crack of dawn we were underway again.

Along the way we were dodging sea turtles by the hundreds. The beaches of Oaxaca are prime nesting grounds for turtles and they appear to ‘stand by for breeding’ in the waters off the sandy shore. Their shiny wet backs glisten in the sun, so they are easy to see – bobbing in the waves, creating a slalom course for FRC.

** Just arrived in Huatulco (29 NOV 1045HRS accd’g to the torture watch)! Glad we waited ‘til bright daylight ... the harbor entrance is hemmed by rocky reefs and the marina channel is narrow – with waves breaking against the foreboding cliff that holds the red beacon.

Sunrise over Aca-poo-poo

2010-11-27T17:47:00.000-08:00

There are things that tip you off to an arrival, when you're otherwise dead asleep after a mid-night watch. An obvious change in course (that alters the motion of the boat) ... the sound of the main coming down . the purr of the engine coming on (or if you're motoring -a welcome decrease in RPMs) ...

I woke up to a pink Saturday morning as we approached Acapulco: the crimson sun rising through the haze making everything rosy: the first of the fishing fleet quietly peeling lines in the glassy sea. EVerything south of Zihuatanejo is 'virgin territory' for me: I've sailed the Pacific coast from SF to Z-town (and back & forth to Hawaii) and the Atlantic coast from Florianopolis, Brazil to Punta Arenas, Chile - and now have a chance to 'fill in the blanks' on FRC.

Last night was ultra dark, which made the bioluminesence all the more spectacular. Tiny sea creatures winked neon green in our wake,and dolphins shot glow-in-the-dark contrails alngside our hull. When the moon did rise over the distant towering mountains, it was smoldering amber and half-open, like a cat's eye. The night was pensive and mystical and I enjoyed the serenity of the sea. Now we're tied up waiting for the PEMEX dock to open (at 9AM) and perhaps spend a night (or two) in Acapulco.

ADDENDUM: By noon we were leaving Aca-poo-poo: a truly inhospitable place if there ever was one, from price gouging at the fueldocks to the haughty staff at the yacht club. Crumbling buildings and skyscrapers stretch as far as the eye can see: we were glad to go. We're heading direct to Huatulco (or maybe Puerto Angel if we can't get there by nightfall tomorrow): it is steamy and still, so a day at sea - even if we are motorsailing - will be welcome.

Our travels have taken on a relaxed cadence: we are all getting on well, are comfortable, and churning away the miles toward Panama (*extra line handlers are wanted for the canal crossing, if anyone is inclined!). I too am churning away the miles, or as Iris would say 'putting wheels on the pavement' - letting time and distance do their magic. I am about 1,300 miles into my journeys (SD - here) and starting to feel more like myself again ... and have even rediscovered the ability to laugh at myself, and at the present time am writing a sordid sad country song ;-) -- but that will have to wait for another email.

Sending love and blessings from the blue blue sea XOXO Betsy / Mom

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small pleasures

2010-11-26T16:55:00.000-08:00

Scalding pink, the sinking sun burned bright behind streaks of clouds. 'Wow, look at that sunset,' I called to the crew - but it was a dolphin who responded: leaping straight up out of the water, as if to take a last peek at the setting sun. We were surrounded by Pan Tropical Spotted dolphins, and several escorted FRC a ways, as we gathered on deck to watch; but this one kept rocketing into the air, higher and higher, to a backdrop of red and purpley hues.

A few minutes earlier hundreds of birds had appeared in tight wedges, flying in from nowhere in particular toward their roosts on the stark rocks jutting south of Zihuatanejo. We have pulled up anchor and are now underway Friday night (11-26) for Acapulco ... we think ...

This afternoon we got nixed on a slip there, so were heading to Ixtapa just around the corner from Z-town. Motoring into the marked channel we hit bottom: 'boom, boom, BOOM!' This: marked 9' deep in the cruising guides, leading to a major marina! But no such luck for us - we backed out slowly, using the swells and surges of incoming waves to free us up, turned back around and journeyed down the coast.

From here our trip gets a little more serious: we need to fuel up, buy a few provisions, do laundry, and basically prep for our crossing of Bahia Tehuantepec. We're anticipating a five-day crossing once we leave Huatulco, as we won't stop until we get to Nicaragua. The bay can be extreme, so we may end up waiting a few days for a weather window in Huatulco too ... time will tell and I'll write more when we (hopefully) get somewhere with internet! ... at which point I'll fill you in on our T-giving in Z-Town and post more pix ... 'Til then, sending love - XO Betsy / Mom

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Buoyancy

2010-11-23T17:14:00.000-08:00

Nov 22
Turtles are floating here and there, their slick dark shells jutting out of the sea like rubber tires. I don't know how or why they float so much above the surface of the ocean (I am determined to find out) but they hover so far out of the water birds perch on their backs, creating a silly (yet symbiotic) spectacle. Sometimes they pop their heads up like periscopes - to check us out; others flee - their flippers flaying clumsily as they sink away.

Turtles are dear to my heart ... (maybe because when I was little I had such a tight cluster of blond curls on my little head that bobbled on a long neck over my thunderous torso and thighs - my folks said I looked like a tortoise in my crib). A few years ago I worked on a doco on Florida's red tide which, in addition to other tragedies, struck the sea turtle population hard. The neurotoxins in the red tide rendered these dignified creatures completely immobile. Paralyzed, they were brought to Mote in Sarasota where for MONTHS they subsisted in plastic tubs continually misted with water. Twice a day a Vet and assistants would come and lift these motionless 'rocks' on end; force feed them, take a blood sample, and gently swab th tears from their eyes; until hopefully they recovered. Like canaries in coal mines, turtles are the barometers of the ocean and it is encouraging to see so very many here off the southern coast of Mexico.

Nov 23
Today was another milky day: a bright haze hung over the placid water as we motored first from Barra to Manzanillo (yesterday); now we are underway to Zihuatanejo - another 20 hours to the south. The sea looked like icing as the sun got low; now that it has set (behind some ominous flat-bottomed clouds) we're getting ready to grill a yellowfin tuna we caught (having already enjoyed sashimi appetizers). Expecting to be in Z-town just after dawn and there for T-giving ;-) Love to all

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Jane of the Jungle

2010-11-21T16:21:00.000-08:00

Nov. 21
WHY?' you might ask am I at the posh Grand Bay Hotel in Barra Navidad and not on the boat ... which is laying on its side in the sand and disappearing water, at the entrance to the shallow anchorage just past the marina. After several hours of unsuccessful attempts, Sharon and I bailed on the guys and our Titanic-like existence and opted for the luxury and upright life of a five star hotel. More on that later - in the meantime here are my notes from the past few days:

Nov 19 a.m.
It is glassy calm this morning. We are readying - unhurriedly - for our jungle cruise. Beneath the surface of the slick water unseen threats send flying fish flying ... joining the many butterflies in the steamy tropical air. Our friendly dolphins (Nic and Nac, I have named them: the former having a very chewed-off dorsal fin) are nowhere to be seen, but there are two new boats in the anchorage for them to ply their apparent curiosity on.

p.m.
After a lazy morning we finally set off on our jungle expedition. Our first challenge was getting the dinghy through the surf at the north end of the beach, which is hemmed with rocks where cormorants perch in Batman poses (on the left) and shoaling (on the right). Ah yes we got pretty drenched in the process but didn't flip, leaping out into the swiftly running current and alternately dragging and gunning the dinghy ('GRRAR, GRRAR, GRRAR!" as it chewed up the sand) about 1/4 mile through the breakers and up the stream.

Around the bend the water spread out into a lagoon, and a fisherman pointed the best route - 'el centro' - for our putter upstream. The pond was bathed in sun; lime green dragonflies dive-bombed the surface of the water while crazy fish (mullets?) rocketed out from the other size; and enormous white butterflies danced like drunken angels. It smelled fresh and green.

As we continued the brook (not really a river - perhaps a 'riacho') narrowed. While at first the vegetation had been mixed - jungle, deciduous, interspersed with tall cactus - it became a dense mangrove forest and the foliage enveloped us in an opaque canopy. Tiny skittish spotted crabs with crimson claws were everywhere, shyly clicking sideways as we meandered by. The birds were equally bashful - egrets, some type of capri blue herons, and others that looked like kingfishers. It smelled dank and rotten; but we saw tajones (also called coatimundi), and caimans! These mini-crocodiles (we called them 'jacare' in Paraguay) froze when we approached, until we got too close and they slithered away. (Personally i was thrilled at how timid they were, seeing we were wading and swimming in this water!)

Well over an hour we wound our way upstream, ducking beneath the outstretched tendrils of the mangroves, pushing aside slimy logs, and dodging giant spiders in webs 4' wide, until the sun broke through again and we came to a clearing, were the promised landing for the palapa - with cold beer and fish tacos - was situated. Except the path to the palapa was fenced off with barbed wired, and a trio of Federales (Mexican police - with guns) looked at us quizzically. In our best Spanglish we queried about crossing to the beachfront eatery, but they encouraged us to leave so we did so at once! Back down the meandering stream - this time benefiting from the 2-knot current - and back to the bay. A restaurant there was boarded up too, so we shoved the dinghy out through the surf and headed to FRC for siestas and dinner.

Now, the nighttime betrays more 'civilization' than we'd realized: several hotels and settlements are lit up in the dark (thank goodness the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM of the distant disco has ceased!) The air smells fresh and cool, with a tinge of basura smoke (Viva la Mexico!). Waves hammer the beach in a semi-circle around us, but we are well clear of shore, having moved to the center of the bay to deter mozzies and no-see-ums. The moon is bright and nearly full, beckoning wishes and dreams.

SEE PICTURES HERE

Nov 20

After a walk the length of the beach at Tenacatita, and a short dip in the hazy green bay, we packed up FRC and got underway, motoring to Barra Navidad about a dozen miles south. Along the way I made fish tacos - and discovered the reason our mystery fish is called 'Toro' ('bull' - not Pompano as we thought) -- the thick red flesh looks like sirloin steak! But the tacos were good ...

Arriving at Navidad we eked through the channel and tentatively into the shallow anchorage, where several panga drivers flagged us down to point the way through the muddy shoals. Eventually got the anchor down, with nary a foot to spare beneath the keel, and enjoyed a brisk breeze which lasted into the night. We went into town for dinner - taking a panga instead of the splashy dinghy ride. At night the pangas run swiftly, without lights, and it is exhilarating as they zip across the glassy bay under a full moon ... but you sure don't want to be an unsuspecting dinghy in their way!

Nov 21
The French Baker (who I remember from my visit here five ? years ago) motors across the slick water in his panga this quiet morning. What a treat, and dichotomy, in a lonely Mexican anchorage, to have fresh baked croissants, baguettes, and quiches! I get some pastries for the crew for our Sunday breakfast, and place an order for herb bread and baguettes for tomorrow, when we will depart for Manzanillo. That's it for now ... over & out xoxo Betsy / Mom

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wild-life

2010-11-19T15:18:00.000-08:00

The voyage from Punta Mita to Tenacatita - from the sailing point of view - was blase' ... little wind, and certainly from the wrong direction. But FRC is a cruising yacht so we swiftly and comfortably were underway.

From from the standpoint of scenery and marine life however it was wild! The coast of Mexico here is alternately rugged - with crimson bluffs (perched with palatial homes in the most unlikely of places) and rocks jutting out in the sea; or desolate - stretches of pale sandy beach fringed with huge breakers. Backdrop to it all is a towering green mountain range with conical peaks poking here or there. It looks primeval.

Sea turtles dotted our path, and we had so many boobies surrounding the boat we threatened to rename FRC 'Victoria's Secret'! One even snagged a fishing line - these birds definitely are dumb! - and we had to cut the lure from the tip of its' wing. A trio of humpback whales tracked lazily alongside us for a while ... and then there were the fish ...

The telltale swirl of birds directed us into toward a fish boil along the spectacular coast between Punta Etiopa and Punta Farralon. FOAMING with fish, the sea looked like whitewater rapids. Standing on the bow looking down I reminisced about viewing a tank at the aquarium - you could see swarms of tiny shimmery fish being chased by larger anchovies, hunted by medium sized fish and so on: with increasingly larger fish joining the chase, and opportunistic birds sweeping up spoils from atop. The deep blue sea turned silver and gold with the underwater activity, and as we drove through the center of these boils we heard the line buzz (repeatedly). We caught what we THINK are Pompano (and kept just one: they are large) ... with Chewey and Sharon dispatching him immediately. They were a fish slaying / fileting machine - and soon the crimson meat of our mystery fish was filling the fridge.

After our exciting passage we arrived in Bahia Tenacatita - actually several smaller bays all providing great anchorage; we chose the middle (northeastern) spot as there's a small river we plan to explore by dinghy Friday - bringing lots of bug spray for sure! On arrival the guys got to work deploying the dinghy and I decided to take a swim: but was nearly scared off by their suggestion of crocodiles (Bruce even put the theme to JAWS on the stereo!! very funny...not!) I have a very real fear of getting eaten alive by unseen things in the water (well everyone knows I'm a huge chicken about everything so - no surprise here!) regardless, I shed my silver jewelry, put on my NEW well-fitting snorkel and mask (thank you Coco!) and slid in. The water was refreshing alas hazy and green ... two lazy dolphins swum nearby (no closer than 40' -- plenty close for me thanks) so I figured the threat of crocs was moot. I floated and splashed around close to the boat til the sun tucked behind the bulk of Punta Chubasco and it got chlly ... after a hot shower I helped Sharon with a marvelous dinner of fish baked with onions, garlic and tomatillos on a bed of pasta,with salad.

These days have been easy and fun, and there are several more short hops to idyllic spots ahead. Our real work will come when we cross the bay of Tehuanapec and traverse the long stretch of ocean between Mexico and Costa Rica. So we are enjoying our lazy days of sightseeing now!

All well, sending love ~ XO Betsy Mom

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The Sequel

2010-11-18T09:58:00.000-08:00

PLAYFUL BAT RAYS propel from the water - their wings flapping wildly. "I can fly! I can fly! I can ... SPLAT!" they seem to say. Their unfussy black and white shapes make them look even more comical - cartoon-like you might say - sparking joy and humorous comments from the crew, as these tenacious little buggers repeatedly launch, and crash into the sea.

The announcement of a whale sighting had brought me up from my mental meanderings, as we left on our first leg of the trip south - and what I guess I'm officially calling 'The Sequel' to my UpsideDown Summer. I'm leaving here with as much trepidation as before - excited by contemplative. What am I doing? What AM I doing? How long? Why? So many things go through my mind as we leave Puerto Vallarta Wednesday afternoon. The saturated colors of the land and sea are jewel-like; the golden rays of the sinking sun make the hotels and buildings that rim Bahia Banderas pop. It is beautiful, but I am a tad homesick: homesick for the life I had just a few years ago in Carpinteria with Coco and Lani. Every day started as the last: I chased the girls out of bed and off to school; feeding our crittrs (goats or Dozer, the shiny black behemoth steer) in the early morning chill. Sometimes the girls came home for lunch, and afterwards we'd go for walks on the beach, ride bikes to the farmer's market, go to a myriad of games and practices (softball, basketball, cheerleading, track ...) or just enjoy the silliness and chaos that teenagers bring. It might sound mundane to some but to me it was the sweetest of times, of laughter and love, and that's what I miss the most as I leave the lively city of Puerto Vallarta for points south.

We anchored off Punta Mita in the northwest corner of the bay just as the sunset was blazing. It seems off course but in truth provides solid holding while we barbecue dinner and nap (well SOME of us nap; others loudly discuss politics ... ). At midnight the alarm goes off and we rouse, pull up anchor, and set off on a straight shot south across the bay. I'd spent the morning reading Charlie's Charts and Google Earth'ing obscure anchorages and ports-of-call along the Pacific coasts of Mexico, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama (Guatemala and El Salvador being no-nos according to the insurance company) and now we are formally underway. By the time I go off watch at 4AM, Cabo Corrientes is well astern, the stiff offshore breeze has quelled, the moon has set, and folks of FRC* are no longer dreaming dreams, but living them.

Love and happiness - Betsy / Mom in the wee hours of Nov. 18

* FRC = Free Range Chicken, a custom 59' cruising yacht designed by Robert Perry and owners Bruce and Sharon Anderson; about five years old, it has hot showers, a/c, a trash masher, every electronic gadget you can imagine .. and push button everything on deck.

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Bay of Dreams

2010-11-16T00:12:00.000-08:00

CABO Nov 6

We were searching the side streets – unsuccessfully – for a restaurant Pamela had read about when we passed a woman making tortillas at a stove on the street, in front of a sliver of a restaurant tucked next to a shabby corner market. I asked if I could see a menu, and as she opened the door, the most delectable smells escaped. Cinnamon, coffee, chili, mole ... if scents were tangible, giant tendrils and octopus-like tentacles – in swarthy, earthy, buttery colors; steaming with warmth; pulsing with sensuality – would have burst out the door, clutched us, and dragged us in.

Pamela, her nose leading the way, followed Martin ("Mar-teeeen" - the bearer of menus) as if in a trance as we ventured in for ‘just an appetizer’. Inside this wedge of space several hand-hewn wooden tables and chairs were set with decorative ware from San Miguel de Allende. Pamela melted into the cocoa brown adobe wall as Martin described the modest menu items, and we selected a combination of gorditas, quesadillas, sopas and – of course – mole (... Martin apologizing repeatedly for not having chicken enchiladas for the mole but that was moot: you could have put that mole on a sock and it would have been delicious). The food was sumptuous – the service doting. Paul asked if they had any tequila and Martin ran out the door, returning a few minutes later with a bottle. We nipped on sweet tequila and ooh’d and aah’d until we couldn’t eat any more.

The restaurant is called Los Tres Gallos. Oddly enough, we had a similar experience a few days later in La Paz. We were looking for a restaurant we'd read about ... the taxi driver dropped us off at the wrong place ... but when we looked at both eateries, we opted for his suggestion: Las Tres Virgenes (does everything come in threes?): an elegant courtyard, open to the sky - with fabulous food, charming service and talented mariachis.

Somewhere in here is a lesson on searching so hard for what you THINK you are looking for, that you risk missing the perfect thing when you stumble upon it ...

Los Frailes Nov 8

I looked over and saw Pamela enveloped in a cloud of shimmering fish. The dappled sunlight that made its way through the sea reflected off their silvery shapes at odd angles so they looked like an explosion of confetti. Then a swathe of fish schooled my way and surrounded me, and I parted them like Moses parting the Red Sea, with a sweep of my arms.

Based on our lack of success in catching any fish on this trip, I had been expecting a barren sea. So we were pleasantly surprised to find so many colorful creatures in the tumble of rocks at the bottom of Cerro Los Friales – Friars’ Hill, which lends this anchorage its name.

We’d arrived last night (Sunday) from Cabo, anchored, took a swim, enjoyed bbq’d chicken kabobs and wine, and had a relatively early night. Today was the scheduled playday; so with TUGTUB securely anchored several hundred feet offshore, we took the dinghy to the edge of the promontory. We attempted to anchor there first ... but a huge set of swells came in and we hastily abandoned that for a rough-and-tumble beach landing. Dragging the dink high above the surfline, we clumsily donned our fins and masks, dodging the biggest waves, and made our way into the water.

Everywhere we looked there were scores of Parrotfish and dozens more fish I can’t identify. On boulders nearby Pelicans watched us with piqued curiosity. After snorkeling an hour or two or ? (I have no idea what time it is) Paul returned to the boat for some money and shoes, and Pamela and I met him down the beach. On our walk we found a cluster of buzzards and gulls enjoying a buffet of dead manta ray - its long tail squiggling behind; and several other dead fish, so dried out in the hot Baja sun they looked like plastic toys. We passed the shacks of the small fish camp and made our way to a dirt road – but didn’t know which way to go to look for the tienda. Flagging down a pickup truck we asked the guys where we could get food and beer and after a few puzzled looks they invited us to hitch a ride, and took us to a small restaurant down a windy road edged with cactus.

An old man greeted us at the palapa (later we found out it is called “El Regional Restaurante Los Friales) and soon Manuel and Crystal appeared. Manuel brought us very cold Pacificos while Crystal began pulling food out of coolers and preparing lunch: breaded chicken breast with cheese for Paul; a combo plate for Pamela and me: sautéed scallops, coconut shrimp, and lobster tail! It was fantastic, washed down with a few beers (they had no water or sodas so we were forced to drink beer!)

As we were leaving one of the old-timers sitting nearby offered us a ride back to the playa. I slid in along the sagging front seat next to Juan Rios, who tucked his giant bottle of beer between his legs, and Pamela climbed in next to me: squeezing past the permanently open glove box which housed a collection of dusty cassette tapes. Not so lucky was Paul, who had to sit in the bed of the pickup along with several old tires and scores of empty beer cans (and possibly some other rubbish, based on the aroma). But considering the heat, the distance, and our condition after three beers, the ride was welcome. We had an uneventful dinghy launch and ride back to the boat; I jumped back in the water to wash my hair and bathe, then siesta’d on deck. It has been a delightful day of R&R, but now we’ve had to get the boat ready to depart early tomorrow (Tues) for Los Muertos – another 45 nm up the coast. Eventually we’ll muster up something for dinner (we restocked veggies and meats in Los Cabos) and probably hit the hay early – as it is 5:30 and already dark.

Nov. 9

Another glorious day; and we find ourselves tonight at Bahia Los Suenos – ‘the Bay of Dreams’. It does not escape me that I am here specifically to help Pamela and Paul begin to live their dream – just like a year ago, when I was on hand (like a midwife) helping Marie and JP give birth to their dream. One day it will be me – on the threshold of my dreams, so eager and ready to take the plunge ... I thought I was there just months ago but was mistaken. Some day my dreams will become my reality but for now, I take great pleasure (and learn a lot) with friends who don’t just dream dreams: but make dreams come true.

Our day did not start out so glorious. A very squealy fanbelt required attention before we could leave the anchorage at Los Frailes ... that crisis averted, we were underway at 7:30 with a light wind on our nose. It seemed a bucolic but boring day was ahead, but by 11:30 the wind had built and clocked, and thus began an incredible romp all the way into Bahia Los Suenos – once called Bahia Los Muertos.

The wind rushed up to 15k off the beam; the seas were flat (mostly- until the last hour or so ... ) the sky blue, the splashes of water - warm, and the fish ... non-existent (still ) . Even so, it was a fabulous day; I drove more than half the way – enjoying the conditions and the chance to eek a little more VMG out of the boat. Fantastic!

Dropping anchor in the bahia, we noticed several dark fish darting toward the surface of the turquoise water. We couldn’t wait to get in! From hook to swimsuit was about 5 minutes: swiftly we were in the warm sea, swimming around, spying fish and the many skates and rays snuggled in the sandy bottom of the bay. Around 5:30 pm we called the restaurant ashore to come pick us up: Tony arrived in a lapis blue panga and sped us to a floating dinghy dock, where we leapt to a rocky ledge and scrambled up steep rock steps to a gravel road leading to an elegant palapa. We enjoyed a mix of shrimp and mahi and carne asado, with margaritas and cerveza; ending with a nightcap of tequila with the crew of MOSHULU, then sped back to our boat with Tony; enjoying the rush of bioluminescence in our wake.

Bioluminescence is one of my favorite things in the world. If you don’t know what bioluminescence is – you are just not living. Like the billions of stars lighting the sky, these tiny creatures light up the seas at night. I simply delight in their beauty.

Now it’s nearly 9PM ... everyone has gone to bed and I am readying myself: to sleep beneath the expansive starry night: the waves rushing gently ashore; the stiff breezes of the day calmed to cool zephyrs. I am content, HOPEFUL, and thankful to be here, and now. With love ~ Betsy.

Dreams come true

2010-11-05T03:03:00.000-07:00

This has been a sweet day, not just marking the end of a voyage, but the beginning of a new life and adventure for Pamela and Paul.

As we anchored off the beach at Cabo (awaiting our slip) Pamela pointed out the pink hotel along the sandy strip: "Years ago we had drinks at the hotel bar and looked out at the boats anchored in front and said 'One day that will be us out there, cruising'. And here we are, today is that day," she said, a bit teary eyed.

What an incredible pleasure and gift to be in the company of friends making their dreams come true (once gain) and to be a small part of that process. It's been a marvelous sail from San Diego to Cabo: P&P are bright and delightful; their sailing skills excellent; their ingenuity in solving boat problems is impressive: they are truly 'ready for blastoff' ... I am thrilled for myself too - for having the chance to meet and befriend such wonderful people, and for raising my own bar. Everything on the trip went incredibly well and everyone got along great! It has been an absolute blessing.

So of course we celebrated - with dinner down the boardwalk here, then dancing at Squid Row and Cabo Wabo late into the night! Possibly a late morning tomorrow ...! Over & out! XO

Cabo!

2010-11-04T18:26:00.000-07:00

Wednesday we enjoyed some of the sweetest sailing possible, on our final stretch to Cabo - warm and sunny, flat seas, perfect breeze on our quarter; it was heavenly ;-) Too nice to use the auto helm; Pamela and I took turns driving until the sun set - taking the wind with it.

We drew for watches and I pulled the 2-4AM watch :-P but not too unpleasant as the weather is mild now, and the stars - in the moonless night - incredible! I've seen several shooting stars and have been making wishes galore on this trip ...

After my watch I headed back to bed and slept soundly until the seas built and I ended up bouncing around in the forepeak (aka 'Woman Cave') soon I was airborne, as the bow bounced up and down but as I glanced out the window I spotted hotels! Land! We'd exceeded expectations and made it to Cabo San Lucas at dawn, rounding the corner and setting the hook -in really wild seas - by 8:30. Eventually we got a slip assignment and squeezed into the busy marina and a nice berth right near the Cantina. After 10 days at sea and in remote anchorages, the sites and sounds and volume of people in Cabo are truly overwhelming.

Drinks, showers, more drinks, drop off the laundry, more drinks ... we are chilling aboard TUG TUB now enjoying some R&R - back to work (and more writing) tomorrow.

In the meantime, here are my thoughts from earlier this week ;-)

What day is today anyway? Tuesday, November 2 ...

Last night’s ‘singles party’ (@BSM) was sheer mayhem. Paul and Dan had gone over early to set up the Tugtub while Pamela and I made dinner and our contribution to the potluck: a pumpkin spice cake decorated with a jack-o-lantern face made of craisins, almonds and pretzel sticks. We were visited by a few trick-or-treating kids (who all bellowed ARGH! when they approached in their dinghies) – donating Tootsie Pops and Oreos (not envying the parents with sugar-loaded kids aboard ...) When we returned to the raft-up an hour later the catamaran in the middle was sagging with HUNDREDS of people. I had to dinghy-hop with the painter across four layers of dinks; we tied up and clambered aboard the boats, where scores of drunken sailors covered every inch above and below decks. Empty bottles, cans and cups were strewn everywhere, sparsely clad young women talked with dirty old men sporting way too much facial hair ... ‘Doo-doo-doodoo, doo-doo-doodoo; -- we were stuck in a time warp! Paul tried his best to demo the hot tub but people were too wasted. Together we rescued a guy who fell between two of the rafted boats, and right before we left Pamela and I came upon a woman sprawled on deck so peculiarly, I bent over to check her pulse. We coaxed her (with much dragging & prodding) into the cockpit where at least she wouldn’t roll off the deck and do a Natalie Wood on us. It wasn’t a pretty picture, and we were glad to get back to TUGTUB where we enjoyed the last of our tequila in the peace and safety of our own vessel!

Today was the big beach party ashore: we convinced Diego, the panga driver who sold us some gasoline, to return at noon to taxi us ashore, so we could avoid the catastrophic dinghy landing in the rolling surf. He returned in his cornflower blue panga to zoom us across the anchorage and ashore to the playa. On the bluffs above was a surreal scene – a mass of colorfully-dressed people gathered around tents with a band trucked in from La Paz (125 miles away); a shrimp and fish taco stand (the line took about 1 ½ hours to negotiate); fishermen selling cold Pacificos; and a table for margaritas: meticulously measured out and mixed – one at a time – by one of the fisherman’s wives. The surrounding hills and beaches, the expanse of sand dunes and mangroves that stretched out for miles, were all vacant. Our hosts were delightful; the young fishing wives (with their broods of children) shy but smiling; the fishermen gregarious and helpful. Diego was waiting at the beach for us when we departed, and sped us across the bay to our boat. It was a fun day, followed by an awesome dinner of grilled steaks and then final prep for our 4AM departure tomorrow (Wednesday) enroute to Cabo!

Nov. 3

Even before 4AM Dan was rusting throughout the cabin -- peeking into the woman cave (AKA forepeak) to wake me, and I refused.

"It's 3:53 - I have seven more minutes," I snarled, pulling the covers over my head. But soon we were all up, layering on foulies to protect us from the cold and dew. The night before we had all prepped our gear and the boat, so it was an easy departure. We dodged several boats at anchor, and a few other early birds getting a head start on the day, and left for Cabo.

Thwarted in our efforts to catch fish of meaningful size, we discovered the culprit: foraging for a packet of mashed potatoes we found some banana nut muffin mix. Banana! No wonder we can't catch fish! So as soon as we were outside BSM we made coffee and muffins, then threw the lines out as dawn broke over Mag Bay.

2PM - what a lazy day this has been! The wind hovered around 3k all morning. I took my position on a cushion on the rail and slept in the warm sun. It was calm enough that Paul grilled hotdogs on the bbq on deck!

I finally brought in 'the lucky lure' (it was not) and put out 'big red' - my huge red and white cedar plug. This lure has the sexiest motion i've ever seen: how fish can resist it, i do not know. But the score remains 'TUGTUB: 0' in the catching department - meanwhile our friends on RED SKY have nailed five bonita and one yellowtail!

Later, while the guys each napped, Pamela and I took the autohelm off and started NBBF (navigating by bottom features) in an attempt to find fish. It was useless, but in that time the wind crept up to 12 knots and we hoisted the asymetrical kite again. It was a perfect afternoon sail with flat water and pleasant breeze - making an average 7.5k on rhum line! We have had some really delightful sailing on this trip; confirming Pamela and Pauls' confidence in their skills as they get ready to launch their big trip.

Update from BSM

2010-11-02T11:19:00.000-07:00

10/31

"FISH ON!"
What sweet words to wake up to, as I napped on deck during my off watch. I'd dragged a cushion out of the cockpit to enjoy the warm sun; over time I'd felt the breeze pick up and cool, and now here was Dan – looking like a gigantic excited five-year-old – pulling in his first EVER fish: a teensy (but ambitious) yellowtail that looked even tinier being held up by a burly man with a week-old scruff of beard. Soon after we released 'Little Jack' the wind filled from the perfect angle and we hoisted the asymmetrical kite. The crew humored me and let me drive several hours, 'til it was finally time to start dinner. Now, 28 hours later, we're still under sail (wing & wing with the big genny) with another six or seven hours to Bahia Santa Maria.

Since I last wrote we enjoyed the official Baja Haha beach party at Bahia Tortuga. Having missed the costume party in San Diego (as we were still loading every nook and cranny of TUGTUB with stuff) we finally got to wear the Chilean Miner outfits Pamela put together. We thought we looked cool (and authentic) but were mistaken for a hazmat team, Texas longhorns (huh?), or boaters merely suited up with helmets and safety vests for the rowdy dinghy dismount in the surf.

There at the far end of Turtle Bay, at an otherwise deserted beach beneath barren toasty hills, was a massive potluck, with volleyball, tug-of-war and monkey golf games; beer, music and line dancing lessons (we were JUST getting the hang of it when Achy Breaky Heart played for the last time... ) When we got back to TUGTUB we soaked in the hot tub – letting it out on a long painter so we could drift way behind the boat. Floating in the 110° degree water, in the gently tumbling motion of the cove, was like being in a womb! Fittingly, I slept like a baby that night.

The next morning we had a 'rolling start' for the leg to Bahia Santa Maria (BSM), which lasted several hours until the wind came up. It has stayed up – getting kind of rowdy at night, and Pamela and I did some 'PRB' during our 8PM-Midnight watch. No, not "Pre-Race Beers" but "Professional Bull Riding" – as the motion of the big seas bucked us forward and aft, side to side, strewing anything that wasn't perfect stowed or tucked away, throughout the interior of the boat.

We've had a few more 'incidents' too (Pamela insists there's a force field that is attracting metals to fail, while repelling fish*) and yesterday all our Bob the Builder tools were out for several repairs - too lengthy to get into, but nothing so involved we couldn't fix. (*While I'm at it: Pamela and I are tied for the "DOH!" award: she for putting her line out all day yesterday with the little rubber safety tips still on the fishhook ;-)~ and me for making the GPS receiver go out whenever I go to the back of the boat : -? My hips?!)

A streak of golden orange greeted us this morning on our 4-8AM watch, as the sun rose out of the Pacific. Like a bright jack-o-lantern, it popped suddenly over the horizon, heralding a clear, sunny holiday. Happy Halloween! It has been a great day with lots of treats and no tricks; we are still under sail hoping to arrive in BSM around midnight; the beers are chilling and we are eager to anchor and get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep! "Gnite & love to all. Miss you! ~Betsy- Mom

ADDENDUM

11/1 (All Saints Day and Erin's Birthday!)

TUGTUB joined the parade of boats filing into Bahia Santa Maria: like the jets lining up at LAX -- waiting our turns in perfect intervals, as we negotiated the entrance in the dark night. "BSM" is a bay at the head of the much larger Bahia Magdalena (Mag Bay) with little more than a few fishing huts; although it resembled a carnival at night with the hodgepodge of anchor lights of assorted heights, the red and green lights of boats still motoring in, steaming lights, deck lights, and the occasional strobe signaling another particular boat.

This morning's roll call was postponed due to an emergency: a boat (not participating in the Haha) had gone up on the beach just outside BSM and the Poohbah and crew were rallying volunteers (over 50 turned out) to hike to the site (2-3 miles) to help salvage valuables and equiment off TACHYON before high tide. Pamela, Paul and Dan went; leaving me on anchor watch. I spent my day cleaning up the carnage from the past few days, peeling dried up squid off the decks and scrubbing their inky crime-scene outlines off the non-skid. (I thought about fun deck scrubbing KANALOA ;-) - I miss you LB!) and had plenty of time to contemplate. TUGTUB was spotless by the time the rescue team arrived home; now we're all enjoying a little down time before heading over to a raft-up party tonight. We're bringing the hot tub of course, snacks and drinks; tomorrow is the big beach party ashore – with a band, and vendors selling fish tacos and cold beers, all trucked into this remote fish camp from quite a distance. Insane!

Wednesday (I think. I'd hardly know what day it is, if not for the torture watch...) we leave for Cabo* – another overnight sail – and will stay there long enough to celebrate our passage, get laundry done and provision some fresh veggies, then it's off to La Paz – another two or three days, stopping each night. Looking forward to the warm water and climate of the Sea of Cortez! Although it is sunny here there's a cool breeze in the anchorage, and a swim is not too appealing (-- yet! Not til the hot tub is in!).

It is magnificent to be at sea, enjoying life at this pace, and the natural beauty of God's creation. I am feeling well and having a wonderful time with the folks on TUGTUB. But I am missing my loved ones, and sending you all warm wishes and big hugs. XOXO Betsy/Mom.

(*I hope to find an internet café in Cabo)
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Baja Ha Ha

2010-10-29T10:57:00.001-07:00

THURSDAY

"Heaven, I'm in heaven ..." Pamela is crooning in the corner of the cockpit as we enjoy breakfast here in Bahia Tortuga (Turtle Bay), 360 miles south of San Diego on the west coast of Baja Mexico. We're having a BLAST! Everyone is well and happy, the boat is awesome, and tonight we are planning a party in our floating hot tub. SWEET! Following are notes from our delightful passage so far. Sending love to all –Betsy/Mom.

10/25

Dry. Boating.

The challenge: use these two words, truthfully, in a sentence.

Impossible. My experience is, they're just incongruous.

It rained all night prior to departure, and we listened for the telltale drip-drip-drip of previously unknown leaks. There are very few, but the deck and everything on it (still waiting to be stowed), is drenched. Ashore, the bathrooms have been cleaned (with a fire hose, it appears) and every surface is flooded. Then Pamela and I venture to top off the water tanks and the hose breaks loose, dancing wildy on the deck, saturating everything in its perimeter. By the time we start, I'm soaked. (Thankfully I have all my socks and thermals in ziplocks -- hey, this isn't my first rodeo.)

It's 3PM when we finally depart San Diego, missing the big Baja Haha parade and sendoff. But we're glad everything is finally stowed – from Apples to Zincs, you might say – our tanks are topped off, we have a new phone (for use with our temperamental satcoms) and we are ready!

10/26

Yesterday was dreary: lumpy seas with just not enough oomph in the breeze to thrust us through, so we wallowed south under grey skies.

But 24 hours into it, Pamela is dancing to the Black Eyed Peas ('I've Gotta Feeling'). Blue sky is breaking through, we've successfully made water and several meals, and the wind has built to 15-20 knots – just enough for TUGTUB (a very comfy Irwin 43) to push through the huge seas.

We've caught up with a few boats despite our late departure. There are various makes and models of vessels out here, all with their unique sail plans (jib and no main, full main and staysail, all sails set, or none ... ) to battle the lumbering seas that smack our beam as we course south.

As for TUGTUB, we're sailing under reefed-down genoa and main making about seven knots. It's rolly but at least predictable, and by now we know exactly when and where to brace ourselves as the boat heaves.

10/27

With every tick of latitude we drop, the pleasure meter climbs.

Today's the day we've been waiting for! This sun is shining. We set the kite. Take showers, and don t-shirts. Throw the fishing lines out. The seas have evened out and no-one is queasy or drowsy or experiencing any form of malaise. We are rolling lazily toward Bahia Tortuga, on Day Three of the Baja Haha.

Somehow you wish the first leg weren't the longest, but geographically that's impossible. We are doing great, but there has been a bit of carnage in the fleet overnight. Pamela sat patiently through the roll call listening to casualty reports, waiting to check in. We heard of a broken forestay and a dislocated hip, an issue with a stuffing box, and somehow, just three days out, an already depleted supply of diesel.

Now, after several ups and downs and variations on our sail plan (you can take the girl out of the racer but you can't take the racer out of the girl) we're motor-sailing in the waning sun: happy to have the engine on, as it means hot showers and cold beers when we arrive. Paul and Pamela are curled up in the 'love nest' aft; Dan is at the helm, listening to some unknown tunes; and I'm on the rail enjoying the last rays of warmth, and the vast beauty and serenity of the sea.

ADDENDUM

Pollywogs of light dance on the oily sea -- we're thankful for the three-quarter moon illuminating our landfall into Bahia Tortuga. Still it's daunting, and we compare the paper and electronic charts, the radar, the description in Charlie's Charts, and a hand-drawn map Holly scribbled out at a pizza parlor ... Picking our way through dozens of anchored boats (looking so much like the fake fireflies at Disneyland's Pirates of the Caribbean ride) we finally choose our spot, drop the anchor (and 225 feet of chain) and set. Pamela breaks out a bottle of chilled champagne, cheese and crackers (and subsequently, some wine ...) and we celebrate a very successful voyage!

After two days of fun here, we'll depart Saturday for Bahia Santa Maria, another 200-some miles along the coast. Over & out!

Oct 29

We bypassed the crowded palapas at the foot of the rickety pier (pocked with holes and rotting planks of arbitrary lengths, you must truly watch your step on the Bahia Tortuga wharf -- particularly on the way back to the boat, if you've imbibed in a few cervezas!) and instead wound our way to our favorite – Carlos y Mercedes -- on the east side of the calle principal (main drag). There, of course, we ran into people we know: Mike and Kelly Priest, Haha'ing aboard the Swan DEFIANCE. Mike tipped us off to the softball game about to begin, Kelly recommended the lobster burritos, and they took off.

Dan insisted on tequila for the crew, so we enjoyed a few shots and beer chasers, with our lunch; then picked our way through town (the entire place is like a construction site: all dirt strewn with rocks and cinder blocks, lumber, rebar, and other debris) to the ball park. Built in the 1960s, the stadium has been in disrepair for the last few decades. Mike, a professional delivery captain, transits through Turtle Bay several times a year, and found out about his friend Benito's renovation project ... so he rallied the Baja Haha fleet to bring gear, equipment and toys for the kids, AND challenge the locals to a game.

It was in full swing when we got there – a bit puzzled, as we tallied five 'outs' during the inning we arrived. The Grand Poohbah (Richard Spindler) pitched the entire game ... no-one was counting balls or strikes ... fouls caught by the pitcher weren't considered 'out' ... truly it was 'sandlot rules'. But the stadium was PACKED, ranchero music was blaring, vendors were selling beer and popsicles, and people were cheering and laughing. Pamela and I were rooting for the locals – mostly kids, in spanking new uniforms – as they clearly outdid our ragtag team. It was an absolute riot -- tons of fun -- and after the game, Richard and Dona handed out toys and equipment to a queue of eager children. How warming to see the Haha-ers give so generously to the community hosting us these few days.

Later we visited a small market to pick up eggs, beer, potatoes and boxed milk ... struggling with our rusty Spanish (sometimes blurting out the French equivalent: whoops!) to get the right stuff, then ventured back to the boat to make fresh pizza and watch the movie BORAT – projecting it onto a jury-rigged 'screen' made from a bedsheet lashed to the back of the bimini. This trip has brought me to a new level of decadence in sailing (I think they call it 'cruising' :-?) and a lot of JOY! This afternoon we'll add to the debauchery when we anchor off the beach party and deploy our floating hot tub ;-). Yes, we are having happy times on TUGTUB!!

PS – Hol, gave your regards to Ruben who came by with diesel this morning!

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the pre-party party

2010-10-25T11:56:00.000-07:00

All the Baja Haha is a party (well except for the offshore sailing part) Here's our crew the night before departure (joined by Holly the Boat Fairy) L-R: Paul, Dan, Pamela, Holly, Betsy

the saga continues ...

2010-10-23T22:29:00.000-07:00

The boat was mounded with stuff above and below: boxes, tools, clothes, packaging, cushions, parts, food, wrappers, dog biscuits, lines ... every inch was covered with all sorts of junk. Paul sat in the middle of it all, smiling ear to ear. He and Pamela are the nicest people, and are thrilled (despite the normal what-the-heck-are-we-doing jitters) to be making their long-term cruising dream come true. I am just as thrilled to be joining them!

We leave San Diego Monday morning, for Turtle Bay ... after a day or two there we head to Bahia Santa Maria, and after a day or two there we continue south to Cabo San Lucas. We and 195 of our closest boat friends. I expect it to be a bit chaotic, a lot of fun, some great sailing experience for us all, and a bit crowded in the anchorages!

After Cabo, we'll turn left and head up to La Paz. That will be the sweetest part of the trip I think, when the air and water are warm and we can swim and snorkel in the Sea of Cortez! Look for me back at home around November 11...

“The cure for anything is salt water ..."

2010-10-20T01:33:00.000-07:00

Since I’ve been house sitting Susan & Joel’s Newport Beach home (‘The Loveshack’) I had the unusual task of ‘commuting’ this morning back to Seal Beach – in the drowning rain, on slick streets packed with petrified fair-weather California drivers. Punching through the radio buttons annoyingly, I clicked on one station just as the deejay was speaking the words of Psalm 103:12, “He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west ... Throwing our sins into the depths of the sea!” he added, paraphrasing Micah 7:19.

Wow! What a welcome reminder. I've been weighed down by this bad guy rap, and GLADLY I will say: it doesn’t fit. It doesn’t look good or feel good, and it is high time I shed that encumbering cloak once and for all. I don’t want it, nor the self-effacing, self-fulfilling prophecy it carries in its pockets. It is not who I am nor who I want to be.

“And I will forgive their wickedness, and I will never again remember their sins.”Hebrews 8:12. How awesome that we have a ‘forgive and forget’ God! But of course, this is God speaking. If only we mere mortals were as ... God-like (there’s really no other definition – it is so contrary to human nature). We cling to hurt and painful memories; afraid to forgive, loathe to forget. Hunched over in shame, we carry our guilt like heavy boulders taped to our backs. How sad.

I was reminded today that God’s greatness is bigger than our screw ups. GOD'S GREATNESS IS BIGGER THAN OUR SCREW UPS!! Every time. There is hope. “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” says Psalm 34:18. I continue to pray this blessing on my friend.

Incredibly, God has chosen to send me on an all-expense paid vacation to La Paz, Mexico. (Well okay, I’ll be working plenty ... but still – it’s not Alcatraz.) While I'm more used to getting the 2 X 4 to the temple, or drop kicked to the end zone, this is an incredible blessing! I will be sailing with a really lovely couple, on a comfy boat with furniture and a galley and a portable hot tub; we will be traveling south to WARMER climes, on the ocean ... which heals me.

“The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea” wrote Isak Dinesen (aka Karen Blixen). I am eager now to give the sea its turn.

ADDENDUM: DEFINITION OF AMNESTY

I am reminded of the definition of ‘amnesty’ – stemming from the Latin term amnēstia: ‘forgetting’. It means to overlook, or forget (a transgression); can also be used to define the period of time during which offenders can admit a crime without fear of prosecution; or, finally – refers to the actual act of liberating someone. Liberating. The term 'amnesty' evokes leniency, mercy, and compassion ...

the power of love

2010-10-09T22:36:00.000-07:00

This weekend I was lucky enough to hitch a ride on a two-day learn-to-sail cruise to Catalina.

The students were being taught hands-on sailing skills, so I was truly ‘deck fluff’ with absolutely nothing to do. Even before we left the dock Friday morning, I made a little nest in the forepeak and tucked away. In and out of slumber I could feel the boat start to heel as they set the sails ... the chop of the waves as the wind picked up ... and the boat settle down again when we entered the lee of the island. I deliciously lazed and lolled in the v-berth, listening to the water rush past the hull, and did absolutely positively nothing.

That evening, with the students ashore, another friend rowed up with a dinghy full of groceries: bread, salad greens, wine and bugs: Pacific lobsters. While the fat lobster tails steamed in beer and bread warmed in the oven, we made garlicky butter to dunk it all in. Fantastic. We reminisced about past trips and fancied new adventures. It is good to have friends who share your wanderlust (dangerous too, perhaps) to encourage, conspire, or just dream.

Saturday

Amidst a fitful chaos of dreams – you have strange dreams on a boat! – I remembered (unusually) a vivid scene: There were many of us traveling on a highway – boats, trucks, vans and campers – all on the same road (this is a dream, after all), through all kinds of weather, including a towering wall of snow. Then, at a rest stop, I saw an old friend and coworker, Bert.

Bert was a tall, older Southern gentleman who told corny jokes in his slow Tennessee drawl and was quite the dancer. He was always courteous, friendly, professional and neatly dressed. Now I have not seen Bert in over 20 years: but the smile was unmistakable. In my dream, when he saw me he rose up from his wheelchair(?), and I saw that his face was gaunt, and his baggy jeans held up by a belt cinched around his waist. We embraced, and even though he’d appeared thin and weak, I had to stretch to reach my arms around across his broad back, and he hugged me very tightly. Tears of joy flowed freely, and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of warmth and love. Then he vanished.

I woke up. Rarely do I remember dreams so acutely, and I was puzzled. I looked out through the hatch – thousands of stars were visible on the black sheet of the sky. I don’t know if Bert is still alive or has passed (we lost touch when I moved to California) but I treasured the ‘visit’ – and the reminder that the power of love can transcend miles ... ages ...and realms ... and it is more powerful than the sorrow, pain and disappointment that have been my recent companions. I felt the intense love in his presence, I was filled with joy, and my headache was gone.

I slept soundly until 8AM when the Harbor Patrol rapped on our hull to hurry us off our mooring can. The kids again took care of all the boat chores and I could barely pitch in to do a few dishes; mostly I lollygagged on deck enjoying a lovely sail. The perfect combination of warm sun and cool breeze hung with us the entire crossing. At one point a pod of Risso’s dolphins lumbered slowly by – 12 abreast, commanding the sea like a pack of Harleys taking up the whole freeway; a 'pod' of colorful kayaking children passed us too - their bright yellow paddles splayed every which way, and laughter ringing across the water.

What an incredible blessing these days have been; nurtured by friends, graced by the beauty of nature, and reminded of the infinite power of love.

Hump day

2010-09-29T15:30:00.000-07:00

Being the middle of the week, Wednesdays are traditionally known as ‘hump day’ – but even moreso today, as I feel I’ve scaled a mountain and am standing on the peak, pounding my chest like Tarzan. It has been a great day!

Early this morning, before the cool of the night wore off, I was reading in my little screened porch when a handsome young buck (the real kind: a deer LOL) sauntered by. I paused to watch his grace as he cruised the yard, then effortlessly leaped over the barricade. (What a gift that must be!) I realize how fortunate I am to simply have the opportunity to retreat to a place like this: large in space and solitude; peaceful and bucolic. Blessings!

Rewarding myself with having written day and night since I arrived, I went to Sunstone winery to visit where I worked part time for five years – pouring in the tasting room, and writing the newsletter. What a stunning setting, fabulous wines, and delightful people (both co-workers and guests). The welcome was warm (as was the weather) and I was delighted to be back. Then I went to Sort This Out Cellars where my old colleague Michael is now making wines: a different venue with great blends and sassy labels; I enjoyed catching up – and seeing his daughters, who are now 11 and 13!! Time does change things, oft for the better ;-) Today I am feeling my strength, feeling confident and joyful; and understanding that every step I have taken in the past is one step closer to being the best ‘me’ I can in the future. I am feeling blessed ...

To top that off, as I left everyone in Solvang was eating ice cream in the heat of the day. Finally a lovely British couple pointed me in the direction of the ice cream shop, where I ordered a scoop of peanut butter ice cream. The clerk gave me a MOUNTAINOUS cone laden with ribbons of peanut butter and chunks of dark chocolate: out of this world! Now back at the ranch, where the heat has abated somewhat (mid-to-high 90s) I will admit: it’s finally siesta time ... signing off ...

2010-09-28T20:35:00.001-07:00

I marvel at the beauty of nature. ‘The silhouette of the mountaintops, the contours of the ruddy hills, the perfect blends and contrasts of color, the streaky dawn in the sky. Birds cheerfully awakening even as insects are silenced by the advancing heat of the day. It is all so magnificent, I feel well and at peace. Nature! Perfect by design.

Last night a pack of coyotes scrambled and dashed madly around the house, their dissonant shrill yips and howls piquing confusion and fear in their prey. It was a warm, restless night – with just a thin screen separating me from the wild creatures and unusual noises of the dark.

But the morning was cool and delicious, and I got up and to work early. Deceived by the temperature inside the house, I went out to stretch my legs around 11:30 ... by the time I returned it had jumped from 95 to 104 degrees! No wonder I was the only living creature out at that hour -- I would have made easy mountain lion prey, but even they were too sluggish to hunt. After working a while, I reached back to my South American days and siesta’d during the worst of the heat; waking up at 5PM to eat and write deep into the night. Now it’s cooling off, time to crank open all the windows and let the refreshing evening air rejuvenate me.

2010-09-27T20:45:00.000-07:00

The ground was so hot this little blue-bellied lizard was clinging to my window screen ... so I tickled his tummy ...

Indian Summer

2010-09-27T20:43:00.000-07:00

‘Clawed my way through LA traffic. Lethargic with the heat, the cars slowed to a crawl; heatwaves shimmering psychedelically off the pavement. Even the coastal route was scorching as I twisted along the picturesque shores from Malibu to Santa Barbara, where I turned right.

As much as I love the ocean, it stirs me every time I wind my way up the San Marcos Pass. Today’s crystal clear view of the islands was spectacular but as I crested the mountain it was the panorama of the Santa Ynez Valley that took my breath away. The trees broke open to imposing peaks in the east – swathed in a dilute palette of pinks and khaki and beige. Below, the rolling hills along Paradise Road looked like yummy lumps of butterscotch, pocked with trees and rocks. Startled mule deer – their goofy ears splayed wide – paused in the shade of live oaks, searching for cool. A racket of crows stood watch over a vineyard; cottontails loped softly along the road; and the skeletons of ancient Chumash aps (their round dwellings of willow and grass) hid among trees that drooped from the heat.

It was 108 degrees today when I arrived at the reserve, where I am the only guest. Mi Casa is a rambling white ranch house with high, beamed ceilings, two fireplaces (which will go unused), and an ancient kitchen (which will be slightly used, as I didn’t really bring any ‘real’ food). When I actually ask and let God provide, he always does it in such style!

After writing, reading and meditating a bit, I fixed a salad and met Eric, the sweet and handsome young ranch hand. As we ate dinner he pointed out the sounds of the night: coyotes howling and hooting owls, and warned me of the possibility of ghosts. Swell. We cranked open every (screened) window in the house to lure the refreshing air in; in the morning my job is to run around shutting all the windows and shades before the cool can escape.

For now, I’m content to sit beneath the fan enjoying the brisk zephyrs, listen to the crickets and frogs, the occasional bark and howl, and write. :-)

CORRECTION! THE HIGH TEMP WAS 115.8! HOLY MOLY!

Dinner at The Loveshack

2010-09-25T17:56:00.000-07:00

Ringing the doorbell, I can see Joel through the window, perusing the mile-wide wine cellar... He snags a Riesling and a Pinot Noir, and answers the door. Sizzling, bubbling, whipping and stirring sounds ensue; a heady scent; a cold glass of wine; a warm conversation – dining at The Loveshack (aka Susan & Joel’s) is a stimulating experience in every way. I am tempted to lick the plate (too embarrassing, even for me) at the paté with caramelized apple on a bed of watercress and honey; and as Susan and I scrape every last morsel off the veal chops, I threaten (half-seriously) to toss the silverware and gnaw on the bone. Joel rags: “When was the last time you girls ate?!” It is a fun and heart-warming evening of catching up.

I married Susan and Joel ;-) At first I squirmed at the edict (Susan doesn’t ask, she proclaims) – marrying people is not my thing. I don’t even have a good record as a Maid of Honor! But she insisted and once I appreciated what an incredible privilege it was, I took the class, bought the license, and did a stellar job. I mean: here they are, years later – still flirting, sweethearts, ensconced in The Loveshack.

In my life I have been blessed with so many wonderful friends, and they sure know how to circle the wagons when I’m up a creek (whether knowingly or not). In the last day I’ve heard from Carolina in Argentina, Reylyn from Panama, Robin from England, Fabi in Brazil, and Judy – from that other foreign country, South Carolina LOL – just random, warm greetings and hellos. I feel loved and fortified.

Lise invited me over Thursday night to talk, and ended up making Cornish game hens with canned (we both confess our love of Green Giant!) green beans. Posed in the baking dish, the hens resembled a pair of prickly old ladies: their plump legs crossed and wings demurely covering their breasts. We giggled a lot.

Knowing I had to drive home, I didn’t have much wine (relatively speaking ...) but right before I left, Lise accidentally knocked her glass onto my lap. I was saturated and reeked! Lise bolted up to retrieve ... a towel? Some club soda? No! A can of Febreze! Suddenly she was dousing my cabernet soaked crotch with room freshener, and we laughed so hard we scared the dogs. I cannot imagine life without good friends to laugh (and sometimes cry) with.

sanctuary

2010-09-21T14:00:00.000-07:00

It was at the very bottom of a long, long list and my perfunctory search for a Bible study group was whittling down. ‘Well, I made the effort’ I was sighing, when the last entry in the roster popped up. Convenient day, perfect time, pertinent subject ... no excuses. I signed up.

In a world of so much clutter and cacophony, we might think that God does not speak to us, but truly, he does all the time: with one hand on our elbow to guide us; clearing the path; straightening our gaze. Yeah and sometimes drop kicking us in the right direction ...

I cannot express how much this group spoke to me today: a smiling and eager group of women, a soft welcoming, a powerful message about breaking free.

I am still reeling from the mess I made but this I know: to break free, I need to let it go – just put it on the altar and leave it to God.

Next week I’m going away (‘Running away from home again? You’re good at that,’ Connie describes). I’m crashing at a research station, looking for some sanctuary – in the truest sense of the word.

Spice of Life

2010-09-13T08:49:00.001-07:00

Sept. 12

It was just a year ago that I woke up in Uruguay, brooding about how my euphoric attitude “This is my LIFE!” had gone down the tubes to sound more like “THIS is MY life???!!!”

“SEPT 12 2009 - I awoke not with the expected, ‘Where am I?’ or ‘What time is it?’ – but with absolute doom, wondering, ‘What the hell am I doing here and why is it so cold?!’ I am thousands of miles from home, in a #&$! freezing stone shack, working my ass off on a boat (for free!), about to embark on this utterly insane venture to Antarctica. I must have lost my fucking mind. So I slept in with the covers over my head to block out the sun, the cold, the whitewashed stone walls, the thatched roof, the smell of gasoline permeating the piles of crap stored in the loft ...”

Well that’s not pretty. But it’s absolutely how I felt.

Subsequently my trip turned into one of the most altering experiences of my life. Colorful, meaningful, flavorful. Literally – it seasoned my life. And everywhere I went, I was floored by the human spirit; the kindness of strangers; generosity, warmth and compassion. It is everywhere. How can the world be so full of war and evil and hate when everyone I meet is so filled with goodness? Not to be so naïve, I guess I am just fortunate to travel only in these circles. Blessed.

So here I am traveling again. This time, to the west coast of Florida, to visit a guy I met in Thailand. Now wouldn’t it figure I’d have to fly halfway around the world to meet a guy who ‘gets’ me. But apparently he does, and he totally rocks; and here I am once again counting my blessings, too numerous to count.

What have I done to deserve so much? It floors me. There is nothing I have done, nor could ever do, to earn this – there’s the simple fact. It is simply grace. There’s a bit of peace in that knowledge.

Every child

2010-09-04T00:10:00.000-07:00

Who would not absolutely melt over this adorable face? This is Daisy Love Merrick. She is five. She has cancer, and after vigorous therapies and the hope of remission, it has come back - in less than two months.

Daisy is the daughter of my minister from Carpinteria, Britt Merrick. Britt is so gifted by God; he and his wife and their friends started our church - which now numbers in the thousands and has founded other churches, from San Francisco to London. London!

So the irony is sharp, that such servants of God would be struck so harshly by this fate.

This is particularly poignant for me because Daisy Love has the same cancer that took my niece Brooke. With every surgery, every victory, every up, every down, I relive Brooke’s story; savoring the sweetness, suffering through the pain. And although I don’t really know Daisy Love, as a mother, I know that ache in the heart when your child suffers. The anguish is sharp, even among absolute strangers.

So I imagine now Abraham who at the age of 100, finally FINALLY has the son (with his 90 year old wife) God promised, when God calls him to Moriah saying, “Take now your son, your only son whom you love .. and offer him there as a burnt offering …” How his heart didn’t simply stop, I do not know.

And then you realize that Jesus, also, once was an adorable little boy - and his Father too had to lay him down ... The pain is inconceivable.

Abraham walked the path in faith, and in the end God was true to him. The Merricks too have faith of steel. They refuse to be destroyed. And they – and the entire extended family of church and community - pray zealously for Daisy Love; for joy and peace, strength and trust.

When Daisy Love’s relapse occurred (just after the family returned from vacation in Hawaii), she was hospitalized in a nearly catatonic state. For days she was unresponsive, fading, just a wisp of a girl at 36 lbs. Then she woke up. ‘Lively, spirited, and with a feverish appetite. Talking about her situation, she announced, “People are only one times important and God is like a thousand million billion googolplex important.”

Daisy Love’s scan this afternoon has miraculously shown that her new tumor – which was dangerously intertwined with major organs – has shrunk from the size of a grapefruit, to a sliver of tangerine: over 75%! It is hopeful that it can be removed now surgically – something that was impossible and improbably just two weeks ago. The power of prayer.

Psalm 22:5,24
To You they cried out and were delivered;
In You they trusted and were not disappointed.
For He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted;
Nor has He hidden His face from him;
But when he cried to Him for help, He heard.

See the Pray For Daisy Love website here

Galvanized

2010-08-23T14:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Holly gave a talk on anchoring at a Lats & Atts boating seminar. I certainly lend a hand when we’re on the water anchoring, but found it intriguing to finally comprehend what actually happens underwater, and how the anchor sets and holds fast.

Then she talked about chain and fittings, and how the anchor is only as strong as the stuff that attaches it to the boat; and to skip buying the bright shiny stainless steel and go right for the galvanized stuff.

Steel is an alloy of iron and carbon … add chromium and you get glittery glitzy stainless. Eye-catching. However stainless can be brittle and weak – and break without warning.

Galvanized steel, on the other hand, is created by etching the steel in chemicals, then dipping it in a pit of molten zinc. (Ouch!) As a result, it’s kind of funky looking and not very pretty, but it’s resistant to corrosion and rust, and long-lasting, even in difficult environments. It’s strong, it’s reliable – and doesn’t go off without notice.

I realize I’ve been spending too much time TRYING to be stainless (vanity!) searching the wrong kind of steel: the superficial shiny variety, when in fact I should be seeking to be fortified by the Lord. ‘Power walking the dog in the morning, heading to the gym at lunchtime, outrigger canoeing or sailing in the evenings and weekend … and just when I’m all wrapped up in my reps and BMI, I get the two-by-four to the temple and a little swishing around in a pit of molten zinc. God has his own plans for my strength training and is galvanizing me by my experiences (… and not so ironically, decorating me with scars and issues that aren’t all that attractive either. What-ever.).

This is one of my favorite FAVORITE Bible passages ever (below). I need to remember that the God who formed the mountains, and placed the stars in the sky, is truly the best ‘personal trainer’ around.

“The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth. He never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of his understanding. He gives strength to the weary and power to the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; Yet those who trust in the LORD will find new strength; They will mount up with wings like eagles, They will run and not get tired, They will walk and not become weary.” - ISAIAH 40:28-31