Our Ever-Changing Backyard

03 August 2022 | Croatia
20 July 2022 | Marina d'Arechi, Salerno, Italy
03 July 2022 | Marina d'Arechi, Salerno, Italy
11 June 2022 | New Zealand to Italy
19 May 2022 | Kensington, Whangarei, NZ
07 June 2021 | Town Basin Marina, Whangarei, NZ
26 March 2021 | Town Basin Marina, Whangarei, NZ
24 March 2021 | Town Basin Marina, Whangarei, NZ
27 April 2020 | Town Basin Marina, Whangarei, NZ
22 March 2020 | Town Basin Marina, Whangarei, NZ
16 December 2019 | Opua, New Zealand
25 November 2019 | On passage from Fiji to New Zealand
21 November 2019 | On passage from Fiji to New Zealand
19 November 2019 | On passage from Fiji to New Zealand

San Carlos Bay: Forging a connection with adventurers from the past

16 June 2015 | Bahia San Carlos
In 1933, Dana (Dan) and Ginger Lamb left San Diego, California, aboard Vagabunda, a homemade, sixteen-foot-long canoe of their own design, bound for the Panama Canal. Three years and countless adventures later, they completed their journey, returned to California, and wrote a book about their travels, which they called Enchanted Vagabonds. In the 1940's, they returned to Mexico, this time on foot, in search of “The Lost City of the Mayas” in southern Mexico. Upon their return to the States, they penned another book, Quest for the Lost City, which chronicled this second expedition. I highly recommend both of these books; they're great reading!

In 2011, while cleaning out Eric's mom's house after she passed away, I found an old green book, its frayed cloth binding repaired with duct tape, which was also old and fraying. Looking inside the cover, I found Eric's dad's name and address scrawled in pen. According to Eric, that address would have been where his dad lived as a teenager.

The book was an original copy of Enchanted Vagabonds, published in 1938. I'd never heard of it, but the old, black-and-white pictures and hand-drawn maps included with the text, and especially, the subject of the book, intrigued me, so I kept it and took it with us when we left on our own sailing adventures aboard SCOOTS in 2014.

I started reading Enchanted Vagabonds as we traveled down the coast of California and into Mexico, and was immediately hooked. Besides being completely enthralled by Dan and Ginger's adventures, I began to have fun comparing our own experiences with those of Dan and Ginger, and imagining the changes wrought through time, as Eric and I passed through some of the same areas – the Pacific Coast of Baja, the Sea of Cortez, and the Pacific Coast of Mainland Mexico – some eighty years later. (Puerto Vallarta, for instance, known in the 1930's as Vallarta, they described as “a little town set up on a hill.” How quaint!)

After finishing Enchanted Vagabonds, I wanted to read Quest for the Lost City. I was thrilled to learn that both of these books are now back in print and can be purchased from Amazon! My dad furnished the book as a Christmas gift, and I jumped in eagerly, reading about Dan and Ginger's adventures as they walked the length of Mexico, visiting some of the same coastal cities we were anchoring in. It was fun to imagine Dan and Ginger walking the shores of Chamela Bay, as we were anchored in the very same bay!

And so, when we arrived in San Carlos Bay last week, I remembered that Dan and Ginger had spent an enjoyable time camping on the shore here in the 1940's, describing in detail the scenery and their activities, and...including a photo of their campsite, which they called Lamb's Landing.

“After sunup, we explored the bay and discovered that by doing some more roadwork,
we could reach a beautiful camp site where a small lagoon joined the main bay.
A tree beside the water's edge would afford us some shade. Across the quiet water
were the towering twin peaks, each topped with a narrow pinnacle of rock,
which some unromantic though practical Spaniard had appropriately named Tetas de Cabra.
It translates, inelegantly, but clearly, “The Teats of the Goat.”

Dan and Ginger's photo of Lamb's Landing, circa 1940

I became intrigued – okay, possibly borderline obsessed – with finding the site of Lamb's Landing. Standing on SCOOTS' deck, and armed with Dan and Ginger's black-and-white photo and their description of where they'd set up camp, I scanned the cliffs surrounding the bay, hoping to find some landmark that would reconcile the 2015 version with the 1940's version in the photo. I had some guesses about where it might have been – perhaps their “small lagoon” was once where the San Carlos Marina currently is; there are some cliffs at the opening - but none that matched the cliffs in the photo.

Then, yesterday, I decided to take the kayak and explore some of the bay that we can't see from SCOOTS. I wasn't out to look for Lamb's Landing in particular; I wanted to explore the shallow parts of the bay, just around the bend from where we're anchored, where the fishing pangas come and go, disappearing around a point of land. I'd been told that there's a small fish camp beyond the bridge that spans the narrow waterway, and I wanted to see it.

As I paddled around the bend, and entered the shallow water of the estuary, I gazed up at the red, pockmarked cliffs, seeing them from this angle for the first time. Goosebumps bloomed along my arms. I didn't have Dan and Ginger's photo with me, but something about these cliffs sparked a glimmer of recognition in me. Were these the cliffs in the photo? Was Lamb's Landing along here?

Fortunately, I had a camera with me, and I shot many photos of the cliffs, all along the waterway, as far as the bridge (and yes, there is a fish camp beyond it). Feeling pretty certain that Lamb's Landing was nearby, I beached the kayak and went for a walk on the shore, thinking how cool it was, that Dan and Ginger may have walked the same shore, and taken in the same view of the Tetas, that I was.

The view of the Tetas

Deciding that I'd like to have a memento of the occasion, a piece of the Landing to take back with me to SCOOTS, I stared at the rocks strewn on the ground as I walked. A rough black rock about the size and shape of a golf ball, embedded in the red dirt, appealed to me. I stooped to pick it up and upon turning it over discovered that its other side was sharp, shiny black rock - it is an Apache Tear, a special kind of obsidian formation that can sometimes be found in areas formed by volcanism, and that some people consider a good luck charm. Taking this as a sign that I was on the right track, I paddled back to SCOOTS, uploaded the day's pictures to my computer, and compared each one with the picture in Dan and Ginger's book.

Of course, I know that a cliff will look much different in 2015, than it did in 1940. Especially windblown, sandstone cliffs like the ones around the bay here. Eighty years of weathering will change them in unpredictable ways. But I still poured over the photos, looking for something - anything - that was present in the cliffs in Dan and Ginger's photo, that was still present in the cliffs in my photos.

My 2015 photo of the suspected Lamb's Landing

And I found some! In the upper right of Dan and Ginger's cliffs is an overhang. Just below the overhang is a pattern of four holes: one big hole, flanked by three smaller ones. These I could see in my photos. Also, toward the left of Dan and Ginger's photo is a medium-sized round hole, which is still present in the cliff today. I was ecstatic!

As my photos were taken from a slightly different angle than the original one of Lamb's Landing, I returned in the kayak today, to attempt to take a photo from the same angle. Floating toward the bridge, I snapped photo after photo, the four holes in the pattern and the medium-sized hole clearly visible on the cliff face.

Comparing the two photos:

Dan and Ginger's original photo with landmarks noted

My photo with landmarks noted

Today, I'm more convinced than ever, that the beautiful spot claimed by Dan and Ginger as Lamb's Landing was along the shoreline of the estuary, just about where the bridge is today. I'm intrigued by the fact that some mesquite trees are growing in just about the same places as in Dan and Ginger's photos, including the one under which they made their camp. I don't know if they could possibly be extant from the 1940's, but maybe...

The bridge over the estuary today

I'm pleased to have made a link between present and past; between the lives of two people who spent time here eighty years ago, and Eric and me: to have walked where they walked, been shaded by the same mesquite trees, seen the same view across the bay to the Tetas, been amused by the diving pelicans, amazed by the stunning sunsets between the peaks, astounded by the endless expanse of the night sky, and enchanted by the warm, turquoise water of San Carlos Bay as they were.

Lessons from our First Six Months

17 March 2015 | Zihuatanejo, Mexico
Six months ago, we signed the papers that transferred our house of two decades to new owners, left our slip for the last time, and headed out into the cruising life.

We started with baby steps: our first port of call was the Encinal Yacht Club in Alameda, just across San Francisco Bay from our home port of Brisbane, where we attended the Baja Haha Crew Party. Two days later, after spending nights in the marinas at Jack London Square and Pier 39, we said goodbye to the San Francisco Bay area, sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge, and headed south, in no particular hurry, and with no plans to sail back.

This morning, when we woke up aboard SCOOTS, she was rolling gently under sunny skies, anchored just off the beach at Zihuatanejo, Mexico. That's about 1600 miles south from our starting point, not including all the side trips we've made along the way.

But it's not the just the miles under SCOOTS' keel that have accumulated these past six months; it's also the experiences we've had and the lessons we've learned along the way. Just for fun, I'd like to share an incomplete list of things we now know, that we didn't know six months ago...

--Eric can diagnose and fix anything (Eric won't admit to this, but I know it to be true),
--brown boobies make shallow surface dives; blue-footed boobies dive straight in then bob to the surface,
--the spinnaker is not actually evil, though it is a pain in the butt,
--there are crocodiles here,
--in Mexico, baking soda is sold in the pharmacy,
--marinas have a tendency to keep you once they have you,
--you can always see smoke - and often smell it - from fires burning on shore,
--you can't buy lemons in Mexico, only limes; but the limes are really good,
--how to land a dinghy on a beach with breakers - and get back out again - without getting soaked,
--it's best not to eat the salad at a mercado loncheria (market lunch counter),
--the Mexican name for "no-see-ums" is "jejenes" and they are the devil incarnate,
--procuring groceries can take half a day and provide a full day's exercise,
--unrefrigerated eggs really do last for weeks,
--whatever you need from the sail locker is going to be at the very bottom, under the spinnaker and everything else,
--daily showers are overrated,
--sunrises and sunsets never get boring,
--you really can enjoy being with someone 24 hours a day, 7 days a week; it can even bring you closer,
--there are dozens of varieties of molé,
--real Mexican food is so much better than US "Mexican food,"
--how to play Mexican Train dominoes (also that it's impossible to buy a set in Mexico),
--in Mexico, there are many different varieties of boxed milk, which last almost forever at room temperature, store easily and taste great (why don't we have this in the US?),
--what a gunky diesel tank looks like, and how to clean it,
--squids can jump high enough to land on a boat deck,
--Mexican pastries look really yummy, but are usually disappointing,
--how to spot a Mexican fishing net deployed in the ocean, and what to do if we encounter one,
--most brands of Mexican beer taste pretty much the same,
--in spite of all its different names, Mexican cheese actually comes in only two varieties: one that melts easily, and one that doesn't,
--Eric and I make a pretty good team,
--how to retrieve a boat fender using a boat hook, while underway, in waves,
--our big anchor holds like a champ,
--how to ask for a half-kilo of thickly-sliced ham at the meat counter; order food and drinks at a restaurant; take a taxi or bus to where we want to go; purchase more minutes for our Mexican phone; check in and out with port captains; describe what kind of boat part we want, negotiate the price, and arrange to pick it up - all in Spanish,
--beachfront palapa restaurants make the best ceviche,
--we really like being in Mexico,
--a watermaker is a miraculous and wonderful invention,
--toll-free numbers don't work between Mexico and the US,
--little Mexican mangrove swallows that perch on our lifelines and chirp are adorable,
frigatebirds are jerks

I can't wait to see what we'll learn in the next six months....

Juxtapositions (and a Frigatebird update)

22 February 2015 | Marina Riviera Nayarit, La Cruz
One of the unexpected delights of the cruising life is the continual occurrence of seemingly random juxtapositions, where disparate elements are brought together in new and interesting ways.

I was struck by this thought the other night, as Eric and I were sharing a delicious dinner and fascinating conversation with Jeanne from s/v Nereida, a world-record-holding circumnavigator from England, while enjoying the amazing musical talent of Lobo, a world-class classical guitar virtuoso from Germany, whom we also got to know. Four people from very different backgrounds, with very different life stories, brought together by the magic of juxtaposition.

We were enjoying German food at the Black Forest Restaurant, a little German restaurant on one of the rock-cobbled streets in La Cruz. German food. In Mexico. I didn't know whether to say Gracias or Danke schon to our waitress when she served us.

Outside, modern cars and SUVs were parked along the curb, and then, Clop! Clop! Clop! a white horse inexplicably plodded up the middle of the street, with a young Mexican boy on his back.

The other day, we journeyed inland to see some ancient petroglyphs. The site was beautiful, powerful, almost mystical. In addition to the carvings themselves, what also intrigued Eric and me was the presence of modern offerings left on the petroglyph rocks. Candles, ribbons, coins, an ear of corn...today's prayers juxtaposed on those of ancient times.

Across the dock from us at Marina Riviera Nayarit is the sailing vessel Time Warp. Time Warp was berthed across the dock from us in our home port of Brisbane, CA, thousands of miles from here. Carla and Ed left Brisbane aboard Time Warp last December, sailed down the coasts of California and Mexico, and two weeks ago just happened to pull into the slip across the dock from us in La Cruz.

It's also fun to witness or experience juxtapositions and connections made between cruisers. Anytime a group of cruisers engages in conversation, they will inevitably find some person or place or circumstance that links them to each other. They may have friends in common; maybe they spent time in the same port; perhaps they sailed through the same rough patch of weather, had done the same repairs, saw the same pod of whales, caught the same kind of fish.

I find that cruisers often actively search for these connections, casting lines of conversation until they find one that hooks, forging a new link between themselves and another cruiser.

Yesterday, for instance, we were having conversation in our cockpit with Mary and John, from the boat Slappey II, whom we'd met in Mazatlan, and our friend Matthew, half of the crew of Daybreak. These guys had never met each other before that moment.

As the conversation unfolded, and the lines were being cast, I listened for the strand that would eventually connect them, all the while thinking, "Wait for it, wait for it...." It didn't take long: They soon realized that they have friends in common in the Pacific Northwest, and had moored their boats in some of the same ports. When the connection was made, I couldn't help but say, "And there it is!"

Another juxtaposition, another connection made, another strand added to the loosely-woven and far-flung web that connects the cruising community.

An update on the frigatebird fracas:

Sailboat enthusiasts will recognize this item as a windvane blade. A windvane blade is part of an anemometer, a specialized piece of equipment that measures wind speed and direction. Anemometers are typically mounted at the top of the mast, as is ours.

Well, all of it except for this broken windvane blade.

This windvane blade was broken off and deposited onto the dock next to SCOOTS by - you guessed it - a frigatebird. This frigatebird had perched for the night on the front of our mast, where we couldn't dislodge it, no matter what we tried. It had, in fact, perched directly ON THE WINDVANE.

This was not a good scenario, as the windvane blade is about six inches long and weighs maybe an ounce, while the frigatebird is about three FEET long and weighs several POUNDS.

And so, in the morning, after a night of decorating our deck with its caca, the frigatebird finally decided to leave its perch, breaking off this piece of equipment in the process. Because FRIGATEBIRDS ARE JERKS!

The Amigo Network and Frigatebird Retribution

04 February 2015 | Marina Riviera Nayarit, La Cruz
The Amigo Network, and Frigatebird Retribution

During our three months in Mexico, we have found Mexicans to be very friendly, helpful and resourceful. They are always quick to say “Hola” or “Buen dia,” or to offer a smile or assistance. They also have an uncanny (to us) network of friends (amigos), who can seemingly provide whatever it is that we need, whether it is a service, a recommendation, information, or even an outboard motor propeller.

When we were anchored in Matanchen Bay, near San Blas, and using our dinghy to get to and from shore, our outboard motor started acting up. Eric determined from the symptoms that the propeller was damaged and needed to be repaired or replaced.

Once we were in La Cruz, Eric pulled the prop and found that it did, indeed, need to be replaced. Where does one find an outboard motor prop in La Cruz?

We started our search at the local chandlery. Though the store was well-stocked, the owner told us that he doesn't carry outboard motor parts. But he knows this guy...

...who fixes outboard motors, and maybe he would be able to help us. To find him, he said, we had to go back to the main road, walk about a quarter mile to Calle Atun (Tuna Street), turn left, go up three blocks, turn right, and look for this guy's shop about halfway down the road on the left. He doesn't have a sign out in front of his shop, but we would know we had the right place if there were Yamaha posters on the porch, and outboard motors in various states of disassembly in the yard.

We thanked him, walked up the main road to Calle Atun, turned left, walked three blocks up a dirt road partially paved with round river stones, turned right on a dirt road sans river stones, and found the shop about halfway up the block on the left, complete with Yamaha posters and outboard motors.

The shop's proprietor was a nice Mexican guy named Jovany who spoke no ingles. Eric had prepared for this meeting by bringing our old propeller, and looking up the Spanish terms for propeller (la helice) and propeller pitch (el paso de la helice), because he had determined that we wanted a new prop with a different pitch.

Jovany was having his lunch break, so he told us to come back in a little while. Eric and I walked back down the main road, where we enjoyed a couple of really delicious, inexpensive carnitas tacos, a couple of cold Cokes, and the shade, at a streetside taco stand.

When we walked back after lunch, Eric was able to describe what he wanted to Jovany – through Spanish and hand gestures. Jovany nodded and said he knew this guy...

...who he called on the phone and after a rapid conversation in Spanish, told us – in Spanish and with some hand gestures – that his friend would bring our new propeller on his motorcycle, and we should come back at 6 pm to pick it up. We paid him in cash and went on our way.

When Eric walked back to Jovany's shop, arriving a little after 6 pm, the shop was already closed. He walked back to the shop the next morning (the shop was open but the gate across the driveway was closed and Jovany was nowhere to be seen), and a third time in the afternoon (ditto).

The following morning, there was a rap on SCOOTS' hull, and when Eric poked his head out, Jovany was standing on the dock with our new prop! We thanked him for bringing it to us and he went on his way.

But here's the thing: HOW DID HE KNOW WHERE TO FIND US? We showed up at his shop, paid him cash, never mentioned our name or our boat's name, which marina we were in, or whether we were anchored out. And yet, he found us so he could deliver our prop to us. An impressive example of the Amigo Network.

Frigatebird Retribution

Some of you may recall my scathing expose of the horrible treatment of boobies by the frigatebirds at Isla Isabel. Apparently, some members of the frigatebird community took issue with that blog entry, as evidenced by recent events: not one but TWO instances of frigatebirds dropping their loads onto SCOOTS in the past two weeks.

The first dump, a few days after the blog posted, occurred when we were anchored in Matanchen Bay. I was out walking on deck when something splattered down around me, and onto my head. I looked around and the only bird in sight was a frigatebird way up in the sky. A frigatebird with extremely good aim. A sniper frigatebird. I had been the victim of a frigatebird fly-by.

Then, just the other morning, here in La Cruz, I awoke to find our deck splattered with frigatebird excrement. Yuck! None of the other boats around were targeted. This was personal.

One of my friends suggested that I post an apology and retraction, to calm the wrath of the frigatebird warlords, and call off the attacks. But I won't do it. I stand by my original statement: Frigatebirds ARE jerks. Big, messy, vengeful jerks.

Now I'm off to wash the boat. With my hat on.


25 July 2014 | Brisbane Marina
Yesterday, Eric remarked that the weather here in the Bay Area is unsettled. That's a lot like our lives right now: we're unsettled, too. We no longer feel at home in our house, and we're still getting settled aboard Scoots. Every night, we sleep aboard Scoots, spend the next morning finding places for some of the items we've brought from our house, then head to our house, to sort the last items into "donate," "keep," or "trash" piles. We'll keep at it until everything is sorted and placed. I hope it's soon. Every time we roll the full dock cart to our boat, I think it's the last load. It's not.

A few days ago, after spending the night on an inflatable mattress in our daughter's former room--the inflatable mattress because we sold our bed a month ago and took our mattresses to the dump last week when the painters came, and our daughter's former room because it was the one containing the least amount of painters' supplies--we came to the realization that our house is no longer our home. For Eric, it doesn't feel like home because every time he looks for a tool or a pencil or some other item, it's either been sold or donated or taken to the boat. Nothing is where it has been for the past twenty years. Nothing is where it should be. For me, our house no longer feels like home because I can no longer feed the birds, squirrels, and other wildlife that I've loved having around for the past two decades. It's time to move on.

So Scoots is our home now, and every day we go to the house that used to be our home, to collect items for donation, or to collect things for a dump run, or to make it nice for the next people who will call it home. Our house is now firmly in the clutches of the real estate machine: The painters will be done tomorrow (Friday), the cleaning crew will come through on Saturday, the new carpet will be installed on Monday, the brokers will traipse through on Tuesday, the stagers will do their magic on Thursday, and the official Open House will be the following weekend.

Then, when some people decide that they would like to make our house their new home, we'll take the next step, cut all our ties with our former home, and focus all our energies onto getting our new home, Scoots--and ourselves--ready for our September departure. Maybe then things will feel more settled.


17 June 2014 | SF Bay Area
Our house has acquired an echo. That's a good thing; it indicates that we're well on our way toward our goal of emptying our house in preparation for selling it, so we can move aboard SCOOTS and sail away into our next adventure.

But it's also a little eerie. As much as it heralds the coming of our new adventure, it also hints at the wonderful times we've had here, when children's voices and parrot squawks bounced off these same walls where the echo now reverberates.

It's hard, this in-between time, balancing between our previous adventure and our next one, one foot (and parts of our hearts and souls, too) planted firmly in each. Still engaged in one, not yet embarked on the other.

Last weekend, we had our “Gone Sailing” Estate Sale. It was a pretty successful sale, as most of our belongings went out the door, the property of new owners. Some of these new owners asked us if we felt sad, to be parting with our possessions. When we thought about it, we realized that we felt oddly detached from these items. It was as if they'd ceased being ours, the moment we'd decided that we weren't going to keep them.

Our motto during the sale was, “Anything that isn't attached to the house is for sale!” and we meant it. But we even went beyond that: I unscrewed my dragonfly doorknocker from the front door, so I could sell it to a woman who really wanted it.

It was a happy occasion, too. Eric and I enjoyed meeting the people who were giving our former possessions a new home, sharing stories about the items they were taking, and hearing stories about how they would be used in their new homes. We felt happy to know that many of our items were helping to furnish new apartments for people just starting out on their own. We'd been there once, and it felt like we were giving back, somehow.

Now that most of our possessions are gone, the house is strangely bare. And there's that new echo.

Creatures of habit, we still glance toward the bare places on the wall where the clocks hung, or expect to see our reflections when we walk past the place in the hall where the mirror was. We still open the drawer where the cutlery was stored, and the cupboard where our dishes were kept, and reach for a pot in the pot cupboard, none of which is there anymore, of course. When we catch ourselves doing this, we just laugh.

It feels sort of like when we first started out as a couple, and didn't have many belongings. Only now, almost thirty years on, we know what it feels like to have a lot of stuff, and then to part with it.

Getting rid of stuff is easy, once you've said goodbye to the pets who've lived with you their entire lives, and most of yours. Our pets have embarked on new adventures of their own, with great new families, but we sure do miss them. Their absence also contributes to the new emptiness in the house.

Everything that didn't sell during our sale is now listed on Craigslist or Ebay, and people come by, a few every day, to look, and sometimes to buy our remaining furniture. We're taking bags and boxes of stuff to the homeless shelter and Goodwill, to the Friends of the Library, to the dump. With every sale or truckload, the echo is getting more pronounced. That's a good thing.
Vessel Name: Awildian, previously on board SCOOTS
Vessel Make/Model: Leopard 48
Hailing Port: San Francisco, CA
Crew: Eric and Vandy Shrader
About: We've been living aboard full time since September 2014. We sailed our Able Apogee 50, SCOOTS, from 2012-2021, and are now aboard Leopard 48, Awildian, since March 2022.
Awildian, previously on board SCOOTS's Photos - Main
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Pics from our trip time aboard Scoots in July 2013.
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