Gloria
03/04/2010, La Cruz, Bandaras Bay

The Puddle Jump BUZZZZZ....the crew of Paikea Mist prepare for the pacific crossing!

Between you and me and 3000 miles of open blue water, there is only so much provisioning and planning a cruiser can do before making the jump across the Pacific Ocean to the islands of French Polynesia. We are tied up to the dock here in the Marina de Nayarit, at La Cruz Haunacaxtle , a beautiful new facility in Banderas Bay, Mexico. This place turns out to be ground zero for the 'pacific puddle jump' as it is known amongst cruisers. The cruiser nets and meetings are a buzz with endless tidbits of advice and information. Soon to be 'doners' hang on to these packets of wisdom like Tarzan's grasp on a vine as he swings through the jungle. If you really, really want to know, in advance, where the ATM's are across the South Pacific, just check the threads on the Pacific Puddle Jumpers yahoo website. This site is full of some vital and not so vital pieces of information. Last season we are told, one cruiser brought six packages of freeze dried bacon from the Costco in Puerto Vallarta, and used it all the way to New Zealand! This is now common knowledge amongst us 'puddle jumpers' here at La Cruz! So if you like and need bacon in order to cross, I guess you better check this stuff out! Unfortunately, if you followed each piece of advice, you would never leave the dock, and might still be provisioning when the hurricane season arrives. It's true, you really can buy anything your heart desires here in Mexico, it just might take you forever to find it. I think I'd rather go surfing in Suyulita, just up the way from here, and pick up some fresh tortillas and roasted chicken on the way back to the boat. One frequent and amusing conversation among cruisers is the topic of items for trading with islanders, particularly for their limited and thus coveted supply of fresh fruit and vegetables. This runs the gambit from bullets, cigarettes and booze to floating line and fishing hooks. I tend to think it might be wiser to bring floating line and fishing hooks, but I am also guessing that more and more islanders would be happy to be paid cash for something! I have to admit though; one person's bacon is another cruisers beer. For us, this particular calculation is critical, as we are planning to travel to some very tiny and remote islands, where beer is sold close to the same price as gold! So just how many cans of beer can we fit onboard Paikea Mist without sinking the water line?!
Jesting aside, coming out of Vancouver as member of Bluewater Crusing Association, the crew of Paikea Mist feel very well prepared for our first ocean crossing. We imagine that most of our fellow fleet members would feel the same, as we have had endless opportunities to discuss many of the critical points of cruising with other 'doners'. It's true that a small number of people do actually cast off the dock lines from the Pacific Northwest in a spontaneous fashion, and to those we wish fair seas and calm winds. With the notorious coast of Oregon in waiting, the prudent majority leaving our coast spend a considerable amount of time gleaning a wealth of information from the presentations and courses offered through BWA. Whereas my husband and I were able to attend a great session on storm management using actual grib files for mock passage planning, some cruisers here in La Cruz are only finding out now that the passage from Fiji or Tonga to New Zealand is a notoriously challenging one.
So Paikea Mist is soon to be ready for her first real ocean crossing! Michael and I plan to spend a couple of weeks in Vancouver just before we leave so that we can squeeze out one last hug from all of our family and friends. We hope to cast off from this coast somewhere close to the 20th of March and are estimating arrival in the Marquases (mas o menos) three weeks later. With any luck and with all the rigours, excitement and tediousness of passagemaking behind us, we will bask in the landfall of our first ocean crossing and climb to the top of that waterfall at Fatu Hiva!

Gloria's Stories

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Gloria
02/11/2010, Mexico's Gold Coast

Life's a beach, or is it a whale? Well we have seen whales every day since crossing from La Paz to Mazatlan and south to Zihautenajo. The most amazing viewing was a mother and her calf practicing breaching off our beam. There is something a little humbling about seeing an entire humpback whale throw itself clear out of the water a few hundred yards away. We've tried endlessly to capture this stuff on camera, but we will leave that to our good friend Norm to capture next year! We've decided it is best just to watch them without an eye to the camera.
Life is not all easy street here though, as some of you may think...you know one continuous holiday ....amazing surf, beachside palapas, margaritas and sunshine. Well that amazing surf is really very pretty to watch roll in, as long as it is not rolling on top of you in your dinghy as you try to launch it through the surf. Micheal and I have literally been laid flat a few times now, and just like watching the whales, we are humbled by the power of even small waves hitting the beach. Sometimes we get away from the beach scott free and at other times mother nature and her "olas grandes" thinks one more lesson is in order. The last lesson she sent our way had our dinghy shooting into the air like a rocket ship, with me hanging on like a cowpoke on a rodeo ride. (Thank god for all that experience with those mechanical broncos in the bars in my wild and crazy days!). Michael lost his footing, or shall we say his shoes, and left me to navigate through the surf to safety. A fellow cruiser in this anchorage suffered a dislocated shoulder when their dinghy flipped, so obviously this sport is not for the meek at heart. In Zihautenajo we made daily trips in through the surf in our kayaks to visit our brother Randy and soon to be sister in law Lesley. This was a whole new sport, both for us and the tourists on the beach. We provided ongoing entertainment for the guests staying at the beach side resort where Randy and Lesley were staying. They enjoyed the sport of lazily lounging in their beach chairs guessing as to what condition we would be in by the time we made it into the beach. It was tricky and it was all about timing the surf and grading the size of the wave and distances between. I think I won the award for most drama, with a roll over lateral somersault! Michaels first landing was also priceless; he made a perfect landing only to fall backwards as he stood up to completely swamp himself! Rarely did we manage a dry landing, but when we did, it seemed nobody was watching- go figure!
Those same olas which break at the beach provide a regular rock and roll for Paikea Mist out at anchorage, without any of the rocking and rolling, if you get my drift. I've decided that I really don't like it when my wine bottle doesn't stay upright at anchorage! Good bye peaceful Pacific Northwest anchorages! Hello to wide open and exposed bays where swells refract or even roll straight in to the bay. In Zihuatenjo we had several days of large swells anchored off of La Ropa beach in front of Randy and Lesley's place. We thought we had it figured out by the second day when we set a stern anchor so that our nose was kept into the swells. This worked like a charm, until we went out for a day trip to Isla Ixtapa with Randy and Lesley. We had such a fabulous time with these two love birds. The entire week was endlessly fun, and this day seemed to sum up our time with them. We saw whales, turtles, tuna, had a wonderful lunch in the beautiful bay off Isla Ixtapa, and later explored the beach and enjoyed cold beers at the palapa on the beach. When we came back we set the stern anchor behind Paikea Mist, in exactly the same manner as previously. Only this time Mother Nature thought she should teach us a lesson about the strength of tides at full moon. That's right - it seemed nothing we could do, short of diving down and burying the stern anchor ourselves would make that thing hold our boat when the tide changed. Hence we spent the last 3 nights in Z'town looking like we were having a 'hay day' on board. Oh yeah, she humbles us.
And as for those Mexican Margaritas- one is great, but TWO!! Sends me flying. Maybe the trick is to have 3...hmmmm....I think I know enough about gravity to leave that lesson alone.
Sunshine....well yes, we have had our fill of glorious sunny days, really since we left Vancouver in June. Yet Mexico has also experienced more mixed up weather this winter than they have experienced in the past 20 years. Usual rain fall for this period is well, there is none. In other words, we probably spray more water having a shower off the back of our boat than is usually experienced months at a time down the whole coast at this time of the year. Last week saw us sailing north from Zihaurtenajo to Manzanillo where we plan to pick up Nick at the end of this week. The weather forecast was benign, but the stormy thunderclouds around us on the second day out belied this forecast, and suggested that an offshore low was perhaps making itself felt. We were anchored in Bahia Maruato, and were completely exposed to the increasing swell which was developing with the storm. Ultimately, we decided we would ride it out on the ocean rather than at anchor. Our theory was if we weren't going to sleep anyways, we may as well be making progress northwards to a more protected bay. As we weighed anchor a distinct thick bolt of fork lightning jutted to the ocean surface north of us. Hello...is anyone home up there- do you care?!!! In light winds we motor sailed through the night, surrounded by lightning and thunder, in all four quadrants. Although the regularity with which the lightning was striking was spectacular, (likely within 5 miles) this was not the reality check Mother Nature had in mind for us. Instead, along with the thunder and lightning the skies literally opened to pour 7 inches of rain in less than 12 hours upon us. What does that look like? Well, let me try some descriptives. Picture two inches of water continuously flooding across the deck. Water tanks full in the first 20 minutes. Think of our entire cockpit enclosure raining right through the canvas. Look at the ocean in the dark of the night and see only white fuzz where the water droplets are completely flattening the surface of the ocean waves. Open the enclosure and cut the water like a knife, rain droplets burning your forearm as you reach for a line. And the sound- remember grade 7 band? Only all night long. These rain squalls were several miles across and were evident as large masses on our radar. When we arrived into our anchorage at Bahia Tenacatita, we were grateful to see a calm anchorage with several dozen boats tucked safely out of the swell. Wow, this is Mexican anchoring paradise! When we arrived we crashed, we were tired, it was a long wet night. It wasn't until the next day that we heard more about what others had endured during the same storm. In Puerta Vallarta, just up the coast, winds howled through Bahia Banderas at 65nm/hour setting solar panels flying through the marina and anchorages. Some say they saw one gust that hit 100. Here in Tenacatita one boat suffered damage from lightning, as well as another boat which took a direct hit further north in Chamela. As I write this blog the anchorage is nervous again, as a huge low is blasting once again toward the Mexican coast. With any luck it will dissipate before it reaches the shoreline, but experience has taught us to be prepared for yet another lesson.

Gloria's Stories

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Gloria
01/18/2010, Isla Isabela

I put down the book I am reading, sitting up on the foredeck of Paikea Mist. Just below the bottom edge of our big Code Zero sail, I can see the outline of the Mexican coastline go by. The coast south of Mazatlan becomes progressively mountainous and it is mesmerizing to watch the surf crash against the beach as we sail by. From our distance, about 1 mile off shore, we can't hear the crash, but the white plumes are everywhere. I recognize that I am sitting in such an incredibly peaceful moment, with nothing on my "to do list", other than to sit and be part of everything around me. As my eye follows the coastline I see the unmistakable mist of a humpback whale surfacing. I keep this information to myself and just sit back and enjoy watching the whale surface, dive and the resurface as it approaches Paikea Mist. Instead of running for a camera, I relax and watch and feel the ocean and its heartbeat around me. Incredibly, just last night we were anchored in the small bay at the end of Isla Isabela, where the surf crashed with an alarming boom on the nearby rocky outcropping. The high cliffs and trees upon them were home to thousands of seabirds that swirled an endless dance around us. Isla Isabela, a tiny island and world heritage site, is what cruising dreams are made of, the absolute champagne of cruising! Here on this isolated island birds completely dominate the texture and the context of every aspect of the sea, land and sky. Sounds, sights and smells, all speak only of one thing, a truly magnificent seabird sanctuary.
When we first brought our dinghy up to shore at the small fishing camp at the head of the bay, we were particularly excited at the possibility of seeing the Blue footed Booby. There are only a few other places in the world where you might expect to see this rare and unusual bird, and the jury was still out whether we would actually set our eyes upon a real live Blue footed Booby. Michael joked that that was easy, as long as I was wearing something blue on my feet. Ha Ha. Well it turns out that you needn't look far for any bird on the amazing island of Isla Isabela. To not see a seabird of some description in a 5 foot radius begins to be surprising. To be on this island amongst the frigates, boobies, terns and gulls is to readily witness life in its complete circle, from its conception to its end. On the trails which crisscross the island the giant scissor tailed seabirds, known as the Magnificent Frigate, can be seen resting everywhere in the stubby tree tops. There are literally thousands of frigates on this island. On the cliff side overlooking our anchorage the trail leads past several nesting areas where young frigate chicks were still huddled in the nest, under the watchful protection of their parents. The male frigate has an astonishing ability to blow up his red throat, much like a large balloon, when he is mating. Across the island these red throats looked like red plastic bags dotting the landscape. Taking photos of these birds was such a delight: no need for long distance zoom, they were completely tolerant of your approach, allowing you to come within feet and sometimes unknowingly within inches of them without so much as a feather flickered.
What a funny bird, the somewhat more nervous and elusive blue footed booby, waddling around on its bright blue feet, with its stock bill and bright yellow eyes which pierce directly into yours! Yet, when this bird takes flight, what a beautiful sight that is. In flight his awkward features become completely solid with a strong neck, and an impressive wingspan. Surprisingly we saw various boobies attacked mid air by the pesky frigates who seemed to make it their sport to catch their tail or wing in midair. To our delight across the island the boobies were in full view across their life spectrum as well: nesting upon their eggs, some with very young chicks in their nests, and still others in a mating dance. Yet, life is a cycle, and perhaps because of the abundance on this island, it did not seem a shame to see the remains of a dead bird lying in the trail or nearby scrub. Indeed, we watched as a tired old frigate could not summon the energy to lift from the ground to take flight. Younger stronger birds were everywhere to replace this tired old fellow. Many times they flew incredibly close to us, such that we could hear the wind through their feathers. We sat for a long time on the top of the cliff on the white covered rocks as these birds swooped gracefully around us. Yes, to be on this island felt so incredibly primitive, basic, and even spiritual.
My thoughts come full circle back to the Mexican coastline and then out to the open Pacific. As I look outwards to the west, my mind settles in on the vastness of that space and wonder what moments stopped in time a crossing such as this will hold for us.

Gloria's Stories

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Gloria
01/11/2010, Mazatlan

The last two weeks have been the stuff cruising dreams are made of. Our good friends Beth and Norm flew down to meet us in La Paz just before New Years. We celebrated New Years in style aboard three separate boats with appetizers on Pacific Mystic, dinner on Paikea Mist and dessert on Serenity. We toasted to Beth and Norm who will follow in our footsteps in the coming year. Early New Years Day we headed off for Isla Espiritu Santo, sailing up into what is known as a "Norther". The winter brings strong cool winds down the Sea of Cortez, much to the trepidation of cruisers who still want to enjoy the beautiful islands in the Sea of Cortez. But all good things must come to an end, and our cruise with Beth and Norm closed our own personal chapter on the Sea of Cortez. We wasted not a moment enjoying our last days in the Sea, and it was even better to enjoy them with Beth and Norm whose enthusiasm was absolute! We hiked to the peaks, kayaked in the quiet bays against the red cliffs, scuba dove with the sea lion pups (now considerably more frisky than a month ago!), and sailed in that Norther. It was all so much fun, particularly when Norm kept commenting that the water was so calm! I guess it is all a matter of perspective, many cruisers stay out of Northers completely, but a Norther in the Sea is actually very similar to facing Georgia Strait in one of its frenzies! From start to finish, our last week in the Sea of Cortez with Beth and Norm was one that Michael and I cherished, and which rekindled our ever ending enthusiasm for ruthless exploration and enjoyment of the world around us! It was so fantastic to enjoy our friend's enthusiasm of our cruising lifestyle.
When we said goodbye to the Coopers we were ready for our next phase- to sail across to the mainland of Mexico and say goodbye to the Baja and the Sea of Cortez. Like most goodbyes, we felt ambivalent about this move, but seeing that we planned to pick up Nick in Manzanillo in February we were committed. After weighing anchor at 4 am, we navigated down the long channel out of La Paz in the dark, looking for the red and green markers as we went. La Paz was still asleep as we waved our final goodbye. Heading up to the San Lorenzo Channel, we could see both of the Baja Ferries making their way through the narrow passage. Were we EVER happy to have our AIS, as well as our Watchmate. On separate VHF transmissions, Michael called both captains on the radio to check their intentions. The first ferry was from Topolobampo, and that captain asked Michael to pass starboard to starboard. The second captain on the ferry from Mazatlan followed the traditional path and asked us to pass him port to port. Once through the channel ourselves we set our sails with 205 nautical miles in front of us. We selected our Code Zero, in winds off our quarter to manage the 12-18 knots of wind as we crossed the Sea of Cortez to make our way to Mazatlan. The sail was magical, sweet and soft as we made churtled along in the warm mexican air. Michael and I fell easily into our shifts, and the next thirty three hours slipped by. On my early watch, I found Orion high in the mid sky. Without a moon, the stars were incredibly bright in the dark sky, and his arch was completely visible in front of him. To the north, I watched as the Big Dipper rose across the sky, one star at a time. On my later early morning watch, the Big Dipper was high above, tipped upside down, so that every last drop poured out of its cup. Orion had danced across the sky to the east and was spilling his last arrows into the sea itself.
As daylight broke and the winds died, we were reduced initially to motorsailing, then motoring our final 20 miles into Mazatlan. To complete the magic of the crossing we were visited first by a humpback whale, and later by dolphins welcoming us into the inner channels to the marina. The Humpback lolled about in the waters to our side, appearing to wait for us to cross ahead of him. As soon as we did, he dove behind our boat and grazed in our wake, before doing his final swan tail dive into the deep blue.
Once tied up in the slip, we celebrated a beautiful and peaceful crossing with a jug full of margaritas! Life aboard can be a surrealists dream come true.

Gloria's Stories

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Gloria
01/03/2010, In land Journey- Mexico

Christmas found us exploring the Barranca de Cobre (Copper Canyon) by the famous El Chepe railroad. We left Paikea Mist in La Paz and took the Ferry over to the mainland. The El Chepe starts in the small town of Los Mochis where it takes you from sea level to Creel, 5000 feet above! The ride offers its passengers the opportunity to watch the canyon engulf them as they climb higher and higher, passing through some 87 bridges and 39 tunnels along the way. The train moves relatively slowly and sways its way along the mountain track, sometimes high above large rivers and lakes. Michael and I spent most of the trip hanging on between the railcars cars while poking our head into the wind like kids hanging their head out the window on a hot summer day.
Once far enough into the canyons, we had our first glimpse of the indigenous people of the Sierra, known as the Ruramuri. The Ruramuri are thought to be the best preserved native culture on the North American Continent. The Ruramuirii women are found wearing their distinctively colorful outfits and offer their exquisite handmade baskets for sale. Notoriously quiet and serious people they do not break a smile readily, if at all. Their story is like many other indigenous people worldwide. They were farmers on the plains high above the canyons until the Europeans discovered silver in the canyons far below. Enslaved by Europeans and forced to carry loads where animals were unable, the Ruramuri escaped by boring deeper and deeper into the canyons. The Ruramuri are legendary in their stamina and physical abilities. The result can still be seen today where many of these amazing people continue to live deep in the canyons, in difficult and isolated terrain. Most live a very primitive life, and some still live in caves.
From Creel we rented a truck and drove deep into the Batopilas Canyon. We will not easily forget the moment we first approached the beautiful Batopilas canyon and started our way down the one way dirt road. The road was decidedly narrow, and offered only enough room for one car, with some pullouts along the way in case another car was met going the opposite direction. I spent much time quietly praying to myself this would not be the case, as it would involve Michael backing his way up the steep slopes! The fact that the completely unprotected drop off was over 4000' was riveting to say the least. We did pass other cars, but I was able to spot them early enough that we could safely wait in a pullout. Cars were not the only thing to watch out for though, as along the road we met herds of sheep and cattle, roaming freely across the road. Once we got close they would casually hop off the side of the road to places that looked impossible to go! We also got a good laugh out of two donkeys who ran (like stupid donkeys) in front of us until they came up to a planked bridge over a deep canyon, and even they did not want to cross it! Ah, moments like these make you feel so alive!
We spent Christmas in the small subtropical village of Batopilas, amongst its 1200 residents. There were two restaurants in town and we ended up eating most of our meals at Mika's. Mika's had two small guest tables situated in her family kitchen, next to her stove. Her children 13, 11 and 9 ran in and out of the house, enjoying their Christmas holidays, singing Christmas songs and playing in the nearby plaza. Their squabbles when they eventually did occur were in the universal language; no translation was necessary as they brought their story of woe back to their mom in the kitchen! Michael and I spent Christmas eve dinner here, after watching the children's service at the church. Later that night, as we were falling asleep we heard the midnight mass singing 'Silent Night'.
Our back road trip allowed us to spend small yet delightful snippets of time with the Ruramuri Indians in the most natural ways. On the way up the canyon we picked up two separate men who were hitchhiking. Both sat without effort in the back of our pickup truck as we made our way around the switch back turns up and out of the canyon. At the higher elevation a light dusting of snow covered the ground, yet these men wore plastic sandals on their bare feet and had no coat. When they reached their destination, they banged on the roof of the cab, thanked us and disappeared over the sides of the canyons to homes we could not see nor even guess were there. Later, we were waiting in Creel, to take a public bus to Divisidero, where we would spend Christmas night in one of the amazing hotels built on the edge of the canyon wall. The weather was outright cold, so Michael and I decided to sit in the sun across from the bus station to wait on the cement wall. The group of Ruramuri women and children who were gathering for the bus kept their safe distance from us. Yet to my delight, when Michael left to walk down to the train station, the entire group came to sit on the wall on either side of me. Small children helped their brothers and sisters across the steep cement culvert and then up to the wall to sit. When Michael returned I would not let him take a picture, it was a moment too perfect for that. On the quiet bus ride to Divisidaro we couldn't help but notice that these are a people caught between the modern world and their traditional lifestyle. A Hollywood movie with Spanish subtitles played on the screens as the bus made its way along a spectacular highway on the edge of the canyon's plateau. At random places individuals and families nonchalantly signaled the bus driver to stop. I wonder what thoughts ran through their head as they reflected on the materialistic contents of the movie while walking towards their simple dwellings.
Those thought provoking 'humankind' questions were left behind when we checked into our room at the Hotel Divisadero. Our balcony was at the very edge of the canyon, and to stand there was to stand over a drop off several hundreds of feet below. That night we watched as the canyon grew dark and the sky lit up with stars. I set my eternal alarm clock early enough so that we could wake up before sunrise. With extra blankets wrapped around us Michael and I sat outside and watched as the new day slowly evolved one particle of light at a time. Each moment that passed offered a new vista as the starlit sky gradually faded and the sun began to light up the variegated folds of the canyon. We couldn't help but think how fortunate and thankful we are for everything that life offers us.

Gloria's Stories

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Gloria and Michael
12/21/2009

Gloria's Stories

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