Captain's Log 4: Mexican Finale March 12 - June 23, 2007 Now it was off to explore new (new for us) territory north of PV/Banderas Bay. First stop was the small bay of Chacala, with its beautiful sandy beach backed by palapa restaurants, palm trees, and green hills. Oh, hum--another gorgeous anchorage . . . Are we getting spoiled or what?! After that it was a day sail to San Blas, a small city/large town about 60 miles north of Puerto Vallarta. To anchor in San Blas, you must go over a sand bar and into an estuary alongside the town, which we did with no mishaps. The mishaps began after we got settled into our anchorage. We had heard so much about San Blas we were very anxious to jump into Dude (our inflatable) and head in. The Man (Jama), who helps all cruisers with his introduction to San Blas, was not available. Thus, we didn't know where to land Dude, where to anchor Casteele, and most importantly, what the currents were like in the river. Usually, we never leave Casteele in Dude without our emergency equipment. This includes, flashlight, portable VHF, GPS, etc. In our rush---it was 5PM--we took nothing with us--not even our outboard engine. First off, we paddled to shore against a very strong current (not smart), then we landed in a mud flat with a barking dog to greet us. We found ourselves in the worst part of town with very winding streets (more like a Skinner rat maze), more determined than ever to find the charming part of San Blas and have dinner before dark. We finally found San Blas central as the sun went down. That is when we realized we had no flashlight, VHF, etc. We also realized that we had no idea how to get back to Dude. So, since it couldn't get worse, we decided to quickly have dinner and attempt to find our way back. No misadventures should be done on an empty stomach and no beer. We decided to depend on Jan's realtor navigating skills (that was our second mistake). However, the gods were with us, and we finally found Dude with the help of the barking dog. The tide had come in, thus, we waded in the muck and the dark, feeling sure that a crocodile was ready to pounce at any moment. The saving grace is that we could not see anything. We finally got in the boat, and let the strong current carry us back to Casteele, which we could barely see (we forgot to turn on the anchor light). We both wondered what we would do if our aim was off, and the current swept us past Casteele---thank goodness, we ran into her (literally) and we were home safely. WHEW!!!!! The next morning we hauled up our anchor and headed out of the estuary (figuring we had pushed our luck), went over the bar, turned left, and wound up in Mantachen Bay (just a few miles away). This bay was stunning. We only stayed one night, but vowed to return. The only negative of the San Blas area is the no-see-um's which appear every night at dusk. You can't swat what you can't see!!!! Drats!!! Our anchorage was at the base of two giant rock monoliths, in crystal clear waters where we could see the bottom 30 feet below us. In the distance, whales breached and waved their huge white pectoral fins. The best snorkeling we've ever had in Mexico, with all kinds of colorful tropical fish, and most exciting, several spotted eagle rays. It was wonderful to anchor off a wild, undeveloped shore. As beautiful as the anchorages have been in Mexico, they are invariably off a "palapa-bar beach." We've missed the sense of adventure and being away from everything that comes from anchoring off an empty, wild shore-- something we came to expect while cruising the Northwest! All in all, Isabella turned out to be a dramatic highlight of our trip. We left Isla Isabella at 3PM on the 22rd and had a wonderful sail for a whole 4 or 5 hours. In 10 to 14 knots of wind, Casteele moved with ease---7 to 8 knots. She is an incredible sailing machine. When the wind died, we took down the sails and motored for the rest of the night. Our first view of Mazatlan was as the sun rose in the eastern sky. It was too beautiful for words. Joan and I keep pinching ourselves to make sure this is all real. April 2 - May 4, 2007: Five weeks in La Paz, learning the meaning of "manana" Perhaps they taught you in your junior high Spanish class that "manana" means "tomorrow." And that the phrase "mas tarde" means "later." Well, sorry, but that's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. "Manana" doesn't mean "tomorrow." It simply means "not today." In like manner, "mas tarde" does not mean "later." It means "not now." In both cases, when the event in question will actually occur remains a mystery. "Manana" can mean tomorrow, next week, next month, or next year. "Mas tarde" can mean in a couple hours or a couple days. Through much psychic and emotional pain, we learned these lessons during our 5 weeks in La Paz, day after day, week after week. For nearly 5 weeks, we lived at Marta's Catillo. Everyday we road our bikes down narrow dusty roads covered with 2-3 inches of sand and it ain't easy riding a bike through sand and barking/chasing dogs. We armed ourselves with squirt guns which were the envy of all the little boys along the way. Actually hand with rock in it worked better with the dogs.We would have never thrown the rock, but the dogs didn't know that.. We went  to the boatyard to learn more permutations of the meaning of "manana." In the evening, when we were lucky enough that some sandblasting work was accomplished, we cleaned as much sand and dirt as possible off the decks and prayed for more progress manana Eventually, despite holidays and equipment breakdowns and parts that didn't arrive or fit or something (the causes for all the delays were never clear to us), the sandblasting was finished. The yard sprayed on four coats of epoxy barrier paint and Jan and I rolled on three coats of antifouling bottom paint. Jan wore a vinyl rain suit for painting (couldn't find a paper suit) and turned it into her own private sauna. With the temperatures in the 90s, she was swimming in her own sweat and nearly passed out from dehydration. But hey, she didn't get any paint on herself and probably sweated off a good 10 pounds. Sign up now for Jan's Instant Weight Loss Program! May 5- 13: Paradise found in the Sea of Cortez The Sea of Cortez extends 600 miles from its northern end near the US/Mexico border (where remnants of the Colorado River trickle into the Sea) south to where it blends into the Pacific Ocean at the tip of the Baja Peninsula. It is a world unto itself, and one could spend years exploring it. Turquoise waters lap against the steep edges of dramatic, almost brutal-looking desert landscapes. Most of the shoreline is uninhabited and uninhabitable, but the waters are rich with marine life. Giant manta rays leap into the air, flapping their huge, black, winglike fins, and literally a hundred or more dolphins splashed and played around our boat, several of them riding our bow wake. Below the surface, colorful tropical fish dance and weave through the shafts of light. Ah, but paradise beyond paradise. We left Aqua Verde and headed north to Isla Danzante, one of the islands in the Sea protected as a marine park. Anne and Stu hailed us from a perfect little anchorage at the southern end. It's called Pyramid Cove, and it's too good to be believed. Just room enough for our two boats, totally isolated, primitive, and wild. Great snorkeling, swimming, and kayaking. We paddled with Anne and Stu to the northern end of the island, hiked up the ridge, looked into glassy seas, snorkeled waters where the abundant marine life was brilliantly lit by the sun, kayaked at sunset, went to sleep under a sky dense with stars, and reveled in the quiet and peace. That spot will be burned into our memories as one of our favorite anchorages! May 14 -23: Sad news and a change in plans After a couple of heavenly days in Pyramid Cove on Isla Danzante, we headed north toward an anchorage on the next island, Isla Carmen. About ten years ago, we spent more than a week kayaking around Carmen, camping on the beaches. One evening we climbed a ridge and looked down on cluster of boats anchored in a cove. We wanted to return to that spot. However, on the way we received an email from Jan's sister, Carol, that changed all of our plans. My (Jan's) Mom was back in the hospital again. As most of you know, she has been battling Lymphoma Cancer for almost two years. We headed for Loreto, hoping to have a chance to talk to her. Luckily, I was able to reach her in the hospital and she wanted me to come home. We both knew that she did not have long to live. So we turned our boat around and headed for La Paz. We sailed most of the night, had both wonderful  & challenging things happen. Arrived in La Paz a day and half later. I made arrangements to go to Omaha while Joan stayed with the boat in La Paz. My Mom made her transition, her grandest adventure to begin. My family and I bonded as we planned a great send off. The most wonderful thing is that Mom is still giving me direction and advice from her new, cancer free, spiritual body. I love you Mom. You will be missed. May 25 - 27: Our boom breaks on the passage from La Paz to PV When you are doing a 300-mile passage over mostly open ocean, one of the last things you want is for your boom to break. So imagine our dismay when we were en route from La Paz to Puerto Vallarta, more than 100 miles offshore, and Joan, standing next to the mast helping adjust the mainsail, found herself holding the boom in her arms. It had broken off where it was screwed into the "goose neck," which is the connection between the boom and the mast. Surprise! Needless to say, Joan didn't want to spend the next couple days holding the boom in her arms, so we immediately employed every halyard and line we could think of to stabilize the now free-swinging boom. Then we lowered the mainsail, turned on the engine, and puttered the rest of the way to Puerto Vallarta. Oh, well. What wind there was had died by then. Other than the boom fiasco, the trip from La Paz to Puerto Vallarta was uneventful in the most lovely way. Calm seas, sunny skies, moonlit nights, and plenty of time to relax, read, and contemplate the Meaning of Life. (Sorry, no definitive answers yet--but we're working on it.) We returned to PV and got the boom fixed just in time to host Jan's nieces Anna and Carolyn for a weeklong cruise in Banderas Bay. Conditions were ideal, with sunny skies and 20+ knot winds. Anna and Carolyn proved themselves to be natural-born sailors, handling the helm of a 44-foot sailboat that was trying to bury its rail as it raced across the wind-chopped bay at 8+ knots. We visited our favorite anchorages, explored a couple of small Mexican villages (where we made the girls shop for dinner using Spanish only), swam, kayaked, and snorkeled, and had a terrific time. Anna and Carolyn are delightful to be with and we enjoyed their company immensely. The highlight of the trip was swimming with two manta rays while we were snorkeling off a cluster of rocky islets at the head of Banderas Bay. The mantas, with about 10-foot wingspans, were circling and circling in a tiny cove, the tips of their black wings cutting through the surface like sharks' fins (only smaller and more floppy). We couldn't anchor safely, so Jan volunteered to handle Casteele while Joan and the two nieces rowed toward the rock outcroppings in the inflatable dinghy. Joan jumped in the water and for a few brief but magical moments experienced the thrill of swimming with manta rays in the wild. Anna and Carolyn hung over the sides of the dinghy with their masks on, watching as a ray swam beneath us. When its long, snake-like tail came into view, Anna's head snapped out of the water like a shot! After bidding Anna and Carolyn a fond farewell, we spent the next two weeks getting Casteele ready for hurricane season. After much research, we had decided that Puerto Vallarta was the safest place to leave our boat during hurricane season. Because of the westward orientation of Bandeas Bay and the protective surrounding mountains and capes, Puerto Vallarta has never been hit by a hurricane. Plus, tucked as we were into the farthest reaches of Marina Vallarta, we were additionally protected by a long and winding entrance channel and many condos and hotels around us. In other words, a perfect "hurricane hole." We stripped Casteele of all her sails, canvas, cushions, perishables, and so forth, stuffing everything possible into our tiny (but air-conditioned!) storage locker. Than we left Casteele in the hands of the weather/sea gods and our friend Mark, and flew to Seattle for three or so months, to visit with friends and family, enjoy the Northwest, and hopefully restore some funds to our much-depleted cruising kitty. Hope to see you in Seattle!

March 12-18 : North to San Blas: Hanging with friends in La Cruz; lovely Chacala, escapades in the estuary and kicking back in the bay We sure love our cruising friends, so we couldn't leave Banderas Bay without getting together again with good buddies Tony and Peg from Comanche (whom we first met in California) and Richard and Margaret from Merawki. (In cruising, you become known by your boat name--so we're the "girls from Casteele"--or "las dos Juanitas.")  Always plenty of fun and laughter with the Comanche and Merawki crowd, and we enjoyed a last dinner together in the little town of Bucerias--a terrifying bus ride south of La Cruz.