Arrived in Costa Rica
02 May 2007 | El Coco, Guanacaste, Costa Rica

Buenas! We have just cleared in to Costa Rica after two offshore passages totaling some 1,700 nautical miles. We left La Paz three weeks ago, and except for a two-day stop in Zihautanejo to clear out from Mexico, we have been basically on passage since then. These were easy passages compared to many we have made, sailing in light winds and flat water. Our light air sails got a big workout, with winds under 10 knots almost the whole way and winds under 2 knots about a third of the time (yes, the motor got a workout as well, more than we would have liked). We only had winds over 15 knots the last 24 hours when we had to beat into Costa Rica against a "papagayo" - a northeast wind that spills over the isthmus from the Caribbean when the trades blow strongly there. Papagayos are supposed to be confined to January and February, but that seems to be theory, not practice. We had several days of papagayo winds even after we made landfall in Costa Rica.
The highlight of the second, longer passage (a bit over 1,000 miles from Zihuatanejo to Costa Rica) was the wildlife. Crossing the Gulf of Tehuentepec (pronounced teh-wan-a-pec), I was on watch when the sun rose after a squally night. As the dawn broke, I found myself sailing across a flat calm sea the color of pewter under roiling gray clouds punctuated by billowing black squalls - surrounded by wildlife. In the hour and a half that I stood on deck, I had dolphins and sea birds in sight at all times. Two huge pods of bottlenose dolphins, several hundred animals in each, gamboled about the boat for as far as I could see. We passed two sleeping sea lions, their fins and tails just above the surface. Two swordfish leapt repeatedly from the water, throwing their huge bodies skyward in an arc of solid muscle. I've never seen swordfish before, and this was a tremendously impressive display. Both were large, but one must have been more than ten feet long.
On the other end of the spectrum, I saw a half dozen sea turtles. Most looked like rocks awash at low tide, and some had birds perched on their backs. But the first I saw was waving one flipper wildly in the air while spinning in circles. I'm not sure exactly what was up - perhaps he was doing his slow best to chase down his breakfast. The only other place we've seen sea turtles is off the Galapagos, so this was an incredible treat. I don't know my sea turtles well enough to be able to say what species they were for certain. They were mostly two or three feet long with slime and mud-colored shells covered with algae. It was hard to see much more than that, though they did have a largish head with a hook on the beak. They were likely Olive Ridley's which are the most common in Costa Rica. I also saw the blows of whales in the far distance a couple of times, but I never got the binoculars up and focused quickly enough to identify them.
These were some of the richest seas we have seen since we approached the Galapagos aboard Silk almost 15 years ago. Throughout the passage, it was rare not to have dolphins in sight (or, at night, sound) from the decks. We almost always had a few riding in our bow wave, bottlenose dolphins offshore and, as we closed with the Costa Rican Coast, spotted dolphins. One night I heard dolphins and then saw tunnels of phosphorescence suddenly appear in the dark water on either side of the boat. I went up to the bow and watched as half dozen dolphins wove and played in the bow wave. They were wrapped in phosphorescence, leaving a golden trail of light in their wake. The light made it possible to see every move they took, the sudden S-turns and deeper dives lit up like neon trails in the black water, and the explosion of sparks as they surfaced to get air. The dolphins themselves look like sleek torpedoes encased in light, the phosphorescence appearing to cling to their bodies like gold lamé. So beautiful!
If the highlight was the wildlife, the biggest disappointment was the longlines set up on buoys as much as 70 miles offshore. We have been told that these are set primarily for shark, but we cannot be sure. These were very poorly marked, and we often saw nothing until we were entangled in miles of polypropylene line with baited hooks on monofilament line every 50 feet or so. We didn't even realize the first time we got caught up in one of these until I looked over the stern and saw that we were dragging something that looked like it might be a small fender or buoy. It was red and trailing along about a hundred feet behind the boat. We rolled up the jib, and I got a boat hook as Evans circled back around to see if we could get near whatever it was.
As we turned, I looked down and saw about six small orange and red polypropylene lines trailing out from under the boat. These were obviously wrapped around the keel. As we approached the red float, it resolved itself into a small jerry can, maybe a gallon in size. That was attached to something, something round and brown that was just visible as it bobbed in the swell. Suddenly, a mottled brown head appeared and my stomach hurt as I realized that the float was tied to a live turtle. As we got closer, I saw that the float was attached by polypropylene line to a chain wrapped around one of the turtle's front flippers. The poor turtle was half panicked, and no wonder - it was a miracle he hadn't drowned while being dragged along behind the boat. I would guess that the float tied to him had saved him by keeping him close enough to the surface that he could grab the occasional breath.
As we got closer to the turtle, I was able to snag some of the lines coming out from the stern. With these we were able to pull the turtle in toward the boat. Evans cut one line, and that seemed to free us from the rest of the longline. I then went down on the transom as Evans drew the turtle to me. I didn't have much time - the poor thing was in a state of shock. He, quite understandably, was interested in biting me if at all possible, and his mouth had a quite impressive overbite with a scary looking beak that made me wary of allowing him the satisfaction. We were hobbyhorsing in the swell, and I was worried that the transom would come down on him and hurt him further. I didn't have much time to think. I reached down and took a swipe at the knotted lines holding the buoy to the turtle as close to the chain as I could get and managed to saw through most of them. But I had also managed to cut the line Evans was holding, and the turtle went into action, swimming away from us at a surprising rate. I could have cried when I saw that the buoy was still in place, but Evans was urging me to help him cut the last of the lines holding the boat. I kept my eye on the buoy thinking we might be able to try again but knowing we'd never be able to catch the poor frightened thing.
We cut the last lines, then backed down to free the keel and watched as the polypropylene web floated away from us. I turned to look back at the red jerry can. It was still there, sitting in one place. I couldn't see the turtle, even through the binoculars. Evans motored over so we could take a look, and I was thrilled to see that the turtle was gone, leaving part of his handcuffs behind. The chain was not attached to the jerry can, and might still have been around his flipper. There was nothing we could do about that, though. Given the fact that his flipper tapered, I hoped that he'd be able to slip the chain off once freed of the buoyancy from the jerry can.
We turned back on our course, both feeling quite satisfied with ourselves. A hundred yards from where we had cut the turtle free, I saw a flipper waving madly on the surface of the water and I caught a glimpse of a green-brown shell.
We've both been a bit surprised by Costa Rica. We had pictured dense tropical rainforest, yet we made landfall on a coast that looked strangely similar to the one we left in Baja. Some of the islands off the coast even have cactus on them. The northern part of Costa Rica gets about 200 inches of rain a year, that's about half of what the southern half gets and is comparable to much of New England. But in the north that rain all comes in a six-month period - May to November - and for the rest of the year there is very little rain at all. We are at the tail end of the dry season, and the many trees ashore look like the trees in upstate NY in the early spring - bare branches and skeletal shapes with a few trees starting to carry the bright green patina of new buds and some other types of trees wearing purple and white crowns of beautiful flowers. As I'm finishing this, I'm listening to the sound of a tropical squall clattering on to the decks, and we've managed to fill our water tanks and every jerry can on the boat. The rainy season has arrived.
After going ashore to clear in, we were disappointed to return to the dinghy (beached right in front of the police station), and find that someone had stolen our oars. After talking with some of the ex-pats it seems that crime is quite high here and the police very ineffective.
We wish you all unexpected and wondrous experiences,
Beth and Evans
s/v Hawk