Last few stops in Mexico
We've just arrived in our southernmost stop in Mexico before leaving the country. The border to Guatemala lies just 40 miles away.
We arrived at 1 am, motoring into a deep, well-marked shipping channel, and then into progressively smaller channels until the last stretch, where we slowed to a crawl with Shawn on the bow with a spotlight once there were no more channel markers and it seemed like we were in no more than a creek.
We had the benefit of a rising tide and a bright, waxing moon directly overhead, not to mention two independent GPS systems to guide the way. The narrow channel opened up into a small basin where the marina lies. We glided into an empty slip, tied up, shut everything down, stowed items in the cockpit, and were fast asleep.
Across last November and December, we sailed 900 miles. In past month of February alone, however, we put 900 miles under the keel across 5 Mexican states, staying on briefly in places we'd have preferred to linger, mindful of our expiring visas. Our pace has been relentless.
After one rough passage, we dropped the anchor in a small village named Puerto Ángel. We swam ashore and found shade at a beachside restaurant, our feet in the sand. Typical of Mexico, people will walk through the restaurant hawking their goods but one young woman asked if we wanted a massage. I asked how much she charged for a full-body massage for my wife, she named her price, and I sent Shawn off with her. Shawn came back 45 minutes later, dreamy, happy and relaxed. Happy wife, happy life, they say.
We’ve seen at least a dozen humpback whales, innumerable dolphins, and so many sea turtles we lost count.
During one passage, I was near the bow looking toward what looked like whales blowing. But they were fast-moving, and I thought they were giant dolphins. They must have noticed us, and then darting at us, closing the distance in seconds, I see the clear markings and yell back to Shawn, “KILLER WHALES!”
One came right alongside the bow, just inches away from our hull, looked at me, and then they were gone. Hearts pounding in our chests, we craned our heads around, scanning the horizon for several minutes. No trace, like they hadn’t even been there. But I’d caught the distinct markings of the killer whales with the GoPro. Shawn’s hands shook for an hour afterward, and though we knew of killer whales attacking and disabling sailboats, the reported incidents have come from the seas off Portugal, a world away.
A few hours away, as the sun shifted into a fiery orange slowly plunging into the seas, an even bigger pod of spinner dolphins appeared, and put on another incredible show that had us grinning ear to ear.
That night, we had a pigeon ride along with us. It was both nervous, but exhausted, as we were at least 50 miles from shore. No idea if it had been aboard when we left, or if it had gotten lost at sea before finding us. It was still there in the morning, taking note of us, and shifting positions until it found a nice place to hide under one of our solar panels. I wasn’t thrilled to see bird droppings on the boat, but to scare it away would have been cruel. We were all on the same level. It had thrown its lot in with ours, each of us at the mercy of the sea.
For all the sailing we’ve done over the past months, sitting in flat water at a dock is a welcome change.
There's never a perfect time to sit back and write these entries, but I'm overdue.
Today, we're both dog tired, having crossed the dreaded Gulf of Tehuantepec over the last few nights. The conditions across that stretch of over 200 miles can be brutal when winds are funneled through a narrow mountain pass from the Carribean into the Pacific. With a good weather window, we enjoyed calm seas and gentle winds from the West instead, getting much use out of our big, colorful spinnaker, a light-wind sail that we're only now starting to appreciate.
Nights at sea, far from land, can be periods of forced introspection, and experiencing the periods of circadian low are felt deep down. One of my watches is 3am to 5am, and during that time, it seems all of my defenses are down and my emotions lie just under the skin. Doubts tower over me darkly, and the thoughts of loved ones living or dead, weigh heavily in my heart. It's an uncomfortable and dangerously vulnerable state, and the minutes of those dark hours crawl by like slow miles.
It takes a conscience effort not to beat myself up in these lows, and to let these shadows (anxieties, doubts, wounds of the heart, uncomfortable memories, embarassments, insecurities) rise up over me. And then, I must confront them, examine them carefully, and then let them go with a long exhale.
Two questions then arise:
How might I be wrong?
What can I learn from that?
Slowly, the sky lightens and eventually the sun rises, all of those troubles shrink back to manageable sizes, and the bow keeps on parting the water in front of us.
To further lift my spirits, spinner dolphins appear, delighting us with incredible leaping jumps, twisting impossibly fast in mid-air. The spinner dolphins, which look like their dorsal fin was attached backwards, appear to enjoy putting on a show.
Dolphins always seem to be having fun, so carefree.
We’ve also had the happy surprises of dropping the anchor in places that we’d thought of as only a rest stop to find instead idyllic white-sand beaches, vibrant coral reefs and many fish with which to swim.
Sailboat cruising isn’t always so magical. Sometimes you find a place like the marina in Chiapas where we are now, realize there is little charm here besides peace and quiet, and maybe the wild chorus of jungle birds.
It's an hour until noon, and the temperature is already climbing above 90°F/31°C. We're near proper jungle, and the birds rioting this morning have settled into quiet.
Early this morning, the Port Captain came aboard for our paperwork, followed by two Mexican soldiers and a sniffer dog, who inspected our boat. They were friendly enough, but we'd have easily slept for a few more hours had they not come by. Shawn is sleeping now.
If we want to remain more than a few days, we'll have to hire a ride to the Guatemalan border and pay immigration officials to extend our visas. We could use the rest, especially since our next potential anchorage lies a far 500 miles away in El Salvador. There isn’t much here, though, despite the marina, a pool with a bar, and a small restaurant. It’s a cab-ride into the proper town, and perhaps we’ll check it out.
At some point, I'll catch up on editing video and recording music, but for now, we may remain on the move. I’ve been making music all along, but I’ve been tired, saying goodbye to people and places we might never see again, and too much of it comes out melancholy, and swept into the archives. There are easily 10 pieces of music in my archives for every piece that ends up shared with the world. That’s OK.
We’ve got many more stories to tell via video, and after having spent a few hours going through raw clips, naming some and deleting others, I’m very excited to share more about our time in Manzanillo, Zihuatenejo, Acapulco, and Huatulco.
Your stories are what travel is all about, isn’t it?
So, what next? Like much our lives cruising by sailboat, let’s see how we feel tomorrow before deciding what to do. There’s a chance we might be taking a ride into Guatemala tomorrow to get some famous tamales and new stamps on our visas, taking a little pressure off our time-limit in Mexico, since the forecast shows little to no wind to carry us over the next few hundred miles.