Moving on

I returned today to Carpinteria. God how I loved living there: a beautiful, small, simple town with all of three traffic lights. I loved the long sandy crescent beach where we'd search for heart-shaped rocks, and ladybugs that had lost their way ... the bleachers where we'd wriggle uncomfortably watching never-ending softball and basketball games ... lively hours spent at the farm with the goats, sheep, chickens and steers ... the green foothills fuzzy with mustard flowers and footed with lupine ... pelicans, seals, dolphins and whales splashing in the channel ... the flowers ... the dive-bombing hummingbirds ... mobs of kids skateboarding and riding bikes to the beach, with a surfboard tucked under one arm ...


It was past noon by the time I got in the pool, where Tamara and her three other water aerobic students were already jouncing around, and eager to hear about my journeys. I've experienced so much, it's hard to digest and summarize (in a time frame palatable to most modern day humanoids). "The world is beautiful. People are nice," I told them, in a nutshell.

Then I walked to the grocery store, joked with the produce guy about football teams (he is a big Raiders fan), got a salad, and stood in the longer of the two checkout lines to say hey to Lupe. I took my lunch and headed to the beach - my beach, at the end of Holly Ave (passing our old home - the sidewalks thickly lined with blooming jasmine) and thought hard.

'This is a healing place.' I remembered Lyndi telling me how the native people considered this little patch of shore and salt marsh cradled at the foot of an amphitheater of mountains, a place of restoration. And I had come here to heal. When I first arrived my goal was to be able to walk to Jelly Bowl (a rocky area at the far end of the beach, about a mile away). Then, with that mastered, it was my goal to walk to Jelly Bowl in an hour.

And now ... now I've sailed tens of thousands of miles (some in mind-blowing conditions); I've trekked for miles (lugging weighty groceries or other 'stuff' at times); I've scaled ladders made of saplings, ropes or tires; plunged off rocks and boats into rivers and seas and hauled myself back up a line off the back of a boat; climbed, crawled, zip-lined; rappelled, shimmied, slid, leaped, hiked, been vomited out of an alligator water slide; been shot out of a natural waterfall slide; endured a 100F-degree variation in temps, blasting heat, sapping humidity, frigid cold, rain, snow, hail and wind-wind-wind ... I would say it has healed me well.

As I sat on the end-of-season remains of the sand berm, thinking, staring out at the ocean and islands, I felt a tug.

'I think it's time to move on.' I've left and come back before, but this time I didn't feel the stickiness. Carpinteria has provided a wonderful home for the girls (Coco, Lani, and all sorts of other kids. I collect children like other people collect Hummels) and fabulous childhood memories. It was conducive to mending my broken body. It opened us to learning and exploring things we would otherwise have not. I love this place, I appreciate our time here ... but now it's time to move on.

I went to the softball game for about a half hour, saw more friends, watched Coco coach, then drove to Santa Barbara for beercan races with Helene. It was a cool misty night on the channel and the breeze that was gusting at pre-start died down to a whisper by the finish. It was a lovely, fun, only-in-Santa Barbara kind of evening and we deliberated my decision to move south. Helene tempted me to stay, with the potential to 'boat sit' on an awesome yacht.

I'm not sure if the pull of wanderlust will win out over the comfort and security of roots. We'll have to see.

addendum

March 20

We left San Diego this morning at 7AM (or so they say – I slept in until 8:30 …) The sun rose slowly too on this misty morning, but the seas were calm and welcoming. It’s nice to be back on my little slice of the Pacific!

Chewey has been following my adventures (since even before I left: when we had lunch and he promised “the ability to flee” – in the form of $$$ support - would always be available through him and other friends, in the event of a real screw-up). We talked about the potential dangers I faced and how you can’t always control your own destiny: you just have to pick a path and go with it.

The fog that rolled in and out, as we chatted our way north, was symbolic, I pointed out. “You can’t always see where you’re going: sometimes you just have to keep moving in what you think is the right direction, and have faith you get somewhere good ...”

“Unless you crash into something and die,” he countered. Always the optimist, that Chewey.

But the truth is, you can’t sit around worrying about ‘what ifs.’ I feel so fortunate to have had the chance to embark on this trip: for the adventures I’ve had, the opportunity to fortify my faith in people (and God) by the experiences, hospitality, and generosity I’ve enjoyed, and to have hung on and continued on my journeys and returned feeling on top of the world, instead of at a low. I'm thankful for so many ‘soft landings’ along the way, the magnificent places, the wonderful experiences.

In LA Harbor now, feeling so blessed, and so happy to be continuing on . Love, love, LOVE to all … Betsy

Right Side Up!

At 7:46 this morning (March 19) we crossed the border into the USA. I may not agree with all of our politics and policies, but having been overseas for six months I can definitely say I feel fortunate to have been born and raised here. God Bless America!

The last two and a half days from Turtle Bay, have also been a re-entry into cooler climes. The days and nights have been overcast, and chilly. All the long johns and thermals I’ve lugged through the tropics, leftover from my trip to the southernmost tip of So America, came in handy as I piled on the layers, the wooly socks, the Snoopy hat, the fuzzy gloves … My days of swimming daily, living in a swimsuit, are behind me for now, but other things are ahead.

We checked in with US customs in San Diego, then tied up at SDYC for l-o-n-g hot pruney showers and lunch, then moved to Kona Kai for the night. My fingers are still crossed that we’ll go to Fiddler’s Green for an early dinner, in preparation for our last leg to Los Angeles, tomorrow!!

The luck of the Irish

We started our St. Patrick's Day in good form - leaving Bahia Tortuga (Turtle Bay) in the early morning as soon as the gribs showed a calm weather window (they lied).

Just outside the bay we finally caught a fish - it being the first day we set off WITHOUT any bananas onboard (as fruit, muffins, or otherwise), having no more 'fresh' meat onboard, and having NOT stopped in town for shrimp after all: so presumably we are in good favor with the fishing spirits again. It was a BIG bonita and gave Steve a good fight as he brought it to the boat ... I was standing by with the Sailor Jerry's rum (not wanting to surrender the last of the Bacardi) to put him under (the fish, not Steve - he has been behaving splendidly!); alas the fish snobs declared Bonita "too fishy" (huh?) Besides, he was much too big - too much food for just four people; so we removed the hook and sent him back to sea.

Despite my purchase of three new lures (a new, small cedar plug that looks like a stogie;a bigger red and white cedar plug that does a wild jig in the sea - and would surely catch a few humans, based on the reactions of the crew to its motion; and the flashy purple and silver beauty we are calling 'Linda Las Vegas') in addition to an orange and pink squid from Hawaii, gifted to me by Eric (with a decidedly stupid look on its face)(LOL! once again: the lure, not Eric!), I put out my 'Lucky Lure' - a tattered old orangey thing with big eyeballs that has long lost most of his feathers. With this lure I caught a 22 lb albacore and two dorado on the 1993 Transpac, so it is old, but well-proven: last month I caught a nice dorado off the coast of Brazil with this same lure. So despite protestations that it was dodgy, I desperately sent it out this morning, and BAM! We had a hit within the hour.

With Mr Bonita returned to sea to live another day, the lures are back out ... and the crew is decked out in green sail ties (well except for Chewey: you'll have to wait for the pix to see what HE was wearing) discussing what to have for St. Paddy's Day Dinner tonight (with the quiet hope it's albacore or wahoo) ... possibly leftovers from last night's supper Chrissy made (which was awesome) or the canned corned beef and hash (please God, no! :-P) or some other delicacy our team of gourmands whips up from our amazing selection of Hecho en Mexico provisions.

It's blowing an average of 20 (not the 5-10 forecast) but offshore, so the seas aren't too choppy (for now). We're heading for the outside of Cedros Island and then north to San Diego, with the hopes of arriving Friday afternoon or evening! (And hopefully head to Fiddler's that night ;-D)

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Mom and Dad, I hope you are enjoying your corned beef and cabbage ... and Coco, I bet you are glad I'm not home to make some for you! XOXO

March 17 2010 @ 0821PST
27 47 192N
115 04 757W

PHOTO: Chrissy, Steve & Me, decked out for St Paddy's day; courtesy Chrissie with a T

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Head games

Monday March 15
Somewhere south of Turtle Bay (AKA Bahia San Bartolome') Baja Mexico

My brain was like a Virginia ham, rattling around in a can of aspic. The engine seemed so loud, SO rumbling and rambunctious, as I tried to fall asleep in my messy cabin aft. I could sense the enamel chipping off my teeth, the weary brain cells turning black and blue, even the shafts of my hair hurt. I dragged a sleeping bag and pillow to the forepeak and made a lumpy bed amidst the sail bags, gear bags, lee boards and anchor chain, and settled down to the pleasant rise and fall of the bow in the sea.

But if my head was rattling around aft, it was spinning, forward. Perhaps the problem wasn't the noise and movement of the boat at all, but me. My mind has been whirring with thoughts of 'what', 'where' 'how' now that I'm about to get home. Pleasantly so. I am SO eager to write! A-million different things! And check in with my friends who are editors, producers and photographers. And start a few other business endeavors. I am a ridiculous mishmash of ideas and concepts and queries and projects and need to lock myself in a room and work non-stop for months on end, before I explode.

But I also want to sail. And outrigger canoe. And bike. And take long walks along the beach. And I have a whole lot more mom'ing to do: that job clearly isn't done. So it may not be all coming together yet - but it certainly doesn't feel like it's all coming apart anymore. It feels like a whole new beginning, one I'm very excited about!

25 30 893N
113 03 339W

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Darn: no shrimp in Bahia Santa Maria ...

.. we'll have to settle for lobster.

'Arrived at Bahia Santa Maria (just north of Magdalena Bay, Baja) early today (March 14) after a lumpy ride up from Cabo. Boy is this a forlorn place: a few squat fish shacks set against barren brown hills and grey wind-whipped water; not much else. But we're safely anchored (along with HORIZON and RELENTLESS), resting up for the next leg to Turtle Bay (1 1/2 days?) where we'll stop for fuel and - you guessed it: shrimp.

But Bahia Santa Maria is known for lobsters, and shortly after we anchored a panga arrived offering 'bugs' for $3 each. We bought eight - two each - with a combination of dollars and pesos we scrounged up, and I also passed a bag of cookies to the kids onboard, who were bundled up in parkas and hats against the morning cold.

It's warmed up a bit in the midday sun, but the wind is still gusting and cool. Plans are to enjoy the lobsters and snooze; then leave around 4AM when the wind is forecast to die down. It should be 'smooth sailing' then the next four to five days, which will bring us all the way to San Diego.

All aboard (Chewey, Chrissy, Steve, me) are well. We're keeping an easy watch schedule -- two on, six off during the day, one hour watches at night -- getting plenty of rest, and most of all, plenty of FOOD!

Love to all - Betsy/Mom
24 46 278N
112 15 373

PS - be sure to ask Chrissy about her odd dreams. Care Bears? Birthing marea?

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900 Miles From Home

Cabo's bars and nightclubs were at full roar when we left this morning at 4:00. We slipped the dock lines and motored out on the inky bay, much calmer than the boisterous city we were leaving behind. Abreast the arch we raised the main: the pale towering rocks faintly luminescent in the starry night.

Chrissy and I went back to our bunks, and I didn't awake until the 'oohs' and 'ahs' of sunrise caught my ear. A herringbone of pink shot across the sky; a golden fire burned behind the craggy mountains. And then it was day - Saturday March 13 2010 - and I was on my final leg home, just 900 miles away.

We left on a Saturday for two reasons. First, the wind to the north has been a bit brisk - making for a potentially unpleasant ride. And secondly, it is bad luck to leave port on a Friday. (I've done THAT before, and I don't know if it's to blame for the ugly outcome of that journey, but I'm not willing to test it.)

It's also bad luck to have bananas onboard - so along with our other massive food prep, I made banana muffins (I cheated: mashing up the pulp into some spice cake batter.) According to Madeleine, Hawaiian lore tells that the Gods will look down and if you have bananas, forbid you fish - because you already have food onboard. Hopefully, with our bananas disguised as muffins and hidden in the oven AND three 'irresistible' new lures I purchased in Cabo, we will have some luck.

Plans are to motor sail as far as Bahia Santa Maria where we'll rendezvous with HORIZON, try to barter for some lobsters from the local fisherman, and revisit the weather forecasts. Right now it's blowing about 20 on the nose, and we are hobby-horsing quite a bit (with a few massive SLAMS now and then) so this is certainly tolerable, but not pretty. I will write more when I can. Sending love.

1540PST
23 52 287N
110 57 079W

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