Many of us work to be present in the here and now, but as the curtains drop on each year, indulging in reflection over the past year feels worthwhile.
I could rattle off all the places we've traveled our year of sailing 3,300 very slow miles, but they won't mean anything unless you've been there. And besides, that part of our story is captured well enough in our videos. That said, I'm happier pointing the camera at the world than at myself and haven't shared much about what it's felt like.
There are days I feel like our Mexican courtesy flag, sun-bleached, dusty and a little tattered.
2022 started off with a lot of excitement, anxiety and even fear. We were in San Diego for a couple weeks, our last stop before leaving the US for Mexico. There's little to no safety net in Mexico, no appreciable Coast Guard will come to your rescue, no warnings about any kind of danger, and that applies to just about everything in this country. Your safety is entirely your responsibility, in so many ways, here in Mexico.
Sailing here, if some vital system aboard breaks, we're on our own to fix it. If one of us gets injured, we have only each other to get to safety. As we sailed through the night into Mexican waters for our first time, it was like stepping into a cave without a light, not knowing if there would be ground underneath the next time you put your foot down.
The periods of isolation we endure at sea or in remote anchorages brings out the extrovert in me for a little while. We get eager to talk to other people and share our stories.
We've been in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle (roughly 15 miles outside Puerto Vallarta) for a couple weeks, and there are so many sailboat crews, that hardly anything is exchanged beyond a "good morning" as we pass each other on the docks, and the social strata of sailors takes shape. There are racers, people the preparing for ocean crossing, and the coastal cruisers like us. And then there are the live-aboards, the die-aboards, and the anchor-outs.
Married life is different now. In our previous lives, Shawn and I lived in such a spacious house that I might have to wander around a while to find her, and with jobs and two cars, we spent only a small part of our waking lives together. Now, she is rarely more than 10-15 feet away day or night. We seem to be well-suited for it. We get our space in new ways. We've both become voracious readers, and get contentedly caught up in our own projects. In high-stress situations, such as long-distance sailing in big, rough seas, we’ve had moments where we’ve snapped at each other, but that’s been rare, and flares of frustration pass when we realize we’re both tired, working off 3 hours of rest at any given time.
When we first arrived in Mexico, we went everywhere together, for safety, and for my Spanish fluency. With only a few exceptions, every place we've been feels safe, and Shawn's Spanish has improved enough for her to be self-sufficient. Honestly, we feel safer in Mexico than we did in parts of the US, and when we hear about boats being burgled, my first suspicion falls on deadbeat Americans living aboard derelict boats down here.
Another big difference is that we have high-speed Internet now. "Starlink is a game-changer" is both a truism and a cliché. We're in more constant communication with family and friends, and we have the ability to Google any problems that crop up. Internet also brings distraction, escape from the routine.
Furthermore, Starlink has enabled me to take on some remote work with a previous employer who accepts that I might only work 5-10 hours in a week, sometimes none at all for a few weeks at a time. The woman I report to has parents who are also sailboat cruisers, so I’ve never had to explain my availability. Her 7-year old son is even in sailing classes over the summer.
A year later, we feel reasonably self-sufficient. I still worry about what might break, but it brings far less anxiety than when we left San Diego. We not only have plentiful spares, but more important, more know-how and confidence in our ability to tackle problems, often as a team. I've done big repairs on Miette's engine, solved frustrating issues with the outboard engine, and troubleshooted electrical problems. All are new skills to me. As a friend said, tenacity and patience are key.
Oddly, one stressor now is not knowing what we'll do in 2023. We'll go further south for a bit...and then? Who knows. We're flying by the seat of our pants. Just like the slow pace of sailing somewhere forces you to be patient, and long-distance sailing forces self-reliance, we're now learning to relax when there isn't a destination beyond the general areas to avoid during next fall's hurricane season.
The South Pacific sounds lovely, but the French are only issuing 90-day visas to cruisers which means a forced rush westward through a vast sprawl of islands and atolls, granting few exceptions. Central and South America, are not well-trod cruising grounds, but we are hearing wonderful things.
With the fear and anxiety lowered to tolerable and normal levels of responsible worry, after a year of living and sailing around in Mexico, sometimes I wonder if the wonder and excitement has also faded. I'm saying that from a dock in La Cruz, where we're now on our third visit.
The longer we stay in any one place, the less of that place we actually see. This applies to anybody anywhere, and why some people are invigorated by travel. It's just that in the past few months, we've largely visited places where we've already been, and human nature is to take the known for granted, separated distinctly from the novel. The Sea of Cortez was special, and a beautiful area to cruise, but going back doesn't hold as much interest as it once did. Still, neither of us would be bummed to go back there for another season.
We know what's there, we're familiar with the peculiarities of the seas and winds there, where to provision, where the good hikes and fishing lies. There's comfort in the known, but also little excitement.
We've sailed almost 900 miles in the past 2 months alone. We'd made reservations to spend Christmas and New Years in La Cruz, and once we got here, we were exhausted from trying to keep to an arrival date. We spent a couple days at places we would have easily stayed a week or two. No more forced time-tables, if we can help it. It runs counter to the spirit of the cruising lifestyle.
Now that we've tackled some big maintenance projects here, rested, and enjoyed long, daily walks off the boat, we’re ready to head South. We've got our energy back, and the spark to continue cruising, to see what's out there and explore new waters.
Our sentiments exactly! Well captured!
Fun to discover this! Looks like I have plenty of reading to do :)