Shiver me timbers part two

The morning captain E and I departed the womb like safety of the Island that we'd been towed to a few days earlier the sun was up casting a crimson hue and the sea expanded and contracted like it was resting and breathing softly. I was feeling a mix of lightheartedness and healthy apprehension as that first day on the water hadn't completely slipped into the dark void of my memory yet.
Unlike our previous start, other than the occasional light breeze there was virtually no wind at all.
E wanted to sail away from the island, so we hoisted the main and allowed whatever light winds we could catch to gently pull us out away from the Island and eventually into the bigger water.
It was slow going as the morning hours bobbed and weaved there way into the afternoon and during this time our world on the water became very quiet, and unusually still. It was apparent that our learning for the day had something to do with the virtue of patience, and as we passed the time waiting for wind to fill the sails I was lulled into a very relaxed trance like state from the gentle rocking motion of the boat. There was a surreal, almost otherworldly feel to our situation, the sky and sea melded together becoming one, even the distant mountain landscape took on a beautiful deep cobalt blue and everything blended as if we had entered a thick blue nebula of some kind. On occasion the sail would flutter or catch a short wind gust and we'd be pulled along until it would loose its momentum leaving Oceans Ark to settle its weight into simply rocking back and forth with small blue waves licking and lapping at its sides and us not really moving at all. Talk about going from one extreme into another.
E and I spent the complete day and well into the evening honing our skills in patience before the welcomed stronger N/W winds showed up again. That was around 4:00 the following morning.

Once we had completed our crossing to Santa Rosalia we continued sailing south with the stronger winds at our back, riding good size swells and averaging around 6 knots. We even had Oceans Arc up to 9 knots and 10 knots a few times. Captain E gave me plenty of time at the helm to better understand how to operate the boat. The tacking back and forth to stay the course, finding the wind and working the rudder and sails to get the boat speed up so we could surf the larger swells not only gave me a sense I was making a contribution but helped replace ideas of what could go wrong with the enjoyment of being there in the moment.

In the days after departing from the Island I started to understand what the attraction was for those who like to sail. When things are going right in the world of sailing it can be a full on physical undertaking as well as a spiritual journey.  I found something else very special that could even be considered spiritual by some in those first few days across. It was always a highlight at the end of a good day of wrestling with the elements to sail into a sheltered bay, drop anchor, go for a swim, or fishing, and enjoy an evening barbecue and beer while listening to Canucks Hockey on Serious Satellite radio. Can't think of a better prayer or way to give thanks than that!

                                           OCEANS ARK ANCHORED AT AUGA VERDE


The day we sailed out of the bay at Caleta De San Juan we were content and up for what would be a 40 mile sail to Puerto Escondido. There's more than one Puerto Escondido in Mexico, this was the much smaller one on the east coast of the Baja peninsula.
We hoisted the main sail, then the jib and mizzen sails and after a few hours found we were making  good time pushing around 6.5 knots and by noon we'd covered a distance of around 20 miles.
The wind conditions had really started to pick up and by noon the north westerly was a strong 30 knots and the swells and rollers had grown exponentially. Despite these conditions and being a little nervous, the sun was up, the wind was making for good sailing, and E and I were focused and enjoying ourselves. Just as everything had came together and been going smoothly, in a breath, and a heart beat it all fell apart. This time it was E at the helm and riding a good size roller when the chain inside the binnacle stand snapped. Yes we'd lost our steering again, only this time the conditions (our situation) was much worse. We were in stronger winds, much bigger water, and no one was around. We were in big trouble and we both knew it!
For a spit second all we could do is stare at each other in complete disbelief then as the boat lurched sideways and the wave train started it's assault causing the boat to start rocking heavy E quickly made a dive for the galley to radio in a may day. We had dropped the jib and the mizzen sails earlier so just the main sail was up. I frantically crawled my way to where I could bring it down and secured it without being thrown into the water. Not easy to move on a boat when the winds are 30+ knots and the swells and rollers so deep every time the boat goes in one, the sun disappears.
I immediately felt nauseous from the roller coaster motion and found it difficult moving around the boat. When on a boat and in that place of being physically sick even the smallest tasks become a major undertaking. It's like being kind'a paralyzed.
E parlayed on the radio for a time giving our longitude and latitude, size of the boat, how many were on the boat and other information requested. When he was done we put the mizzen sail up and that turned the boat into the waves so it wasn't so unbalanced. We dug out our passports and wallets, secured them in plastic bags and started the uncomfortable wait for the rescue vessel to come to our aid and give us a tow. After what seemed like an eternity of being thrown around E looked at me and said "Brian I don't think anyone is coming" and as much as I didn't want to agree with him I knew he was right.
I think had we been off the coast of Canada or the USA and put in a distress call under those extreme conditions we would have had the coast guard or numerous other larger vessels coming to our aid straight away but where we were situated on that day in Mexican waters there was a 50/50 chance anyone would show. So it was with this ugly, frightening, hopeless reality with no blame for anyone or any system we reluctantly got busy. We'd certainly been there before and knew full well what needed to be done but I guess what made it that much harder was knowing how long it took us to do the job in good conditions.
E and I spent the rest of that afternoon struggling to take things apart, repair and put them back together again all the while being completely bullied, beat up and body slammed.
The driving wind and deep swells had been relentless and seemed to just increase so that by the time we'd repaired and put the steering back together we had drifted 8 miles.
We were both physically, and emotionally bankrupt when the sun had dropped behind the coastal mountains and blackness started to settle in around us.
E turned the engine over, we held our breath and kept our fingers crossed as he slowly, gently eased Oceans Ark around to begin a slow putt the last 13 miles to Puerto Escondido.
We were glad to be moving again but also extremely anxious as we were completely unsure and didn't trust the cable to chain steering anymore.
It didn't help that a violent black sea and raging wind seemed more intense at night.
I don't think I'll ever forget looking back at E as he stood at the helm motoring those final miles. Seeing the hugh mountainous black 15 and 20 foot swells that would build up behind us then they'd break with that silver white force that would roll in behind, lifting Oceans Ark up and surging us forward. Talk about being like a flea on the back of an elephant.
Once we rounded the point and were in the calmer waters of Puerto Escondido we both felt an enormous wave of relief wash over us, but it wasn't until we'd found our spot and anchored that we were able to really let down our guard and relax some. I was numb, we both were. We'd just come away from an experience that left us sore, hungry, badly weather beaten, literally exhausted and happy to be alive.

                                                             THE WAITING ROOM

The next day while I rested my spirit and gave thanks to my guides I reflect about our adventure the previous day and what could have literally been our demise. It was easy to see the hard lessons learnt and the most important of these being - Know the weather forecast before going out - "ALWAYS" Had we checked that morning before leaving Caleta De San Juanico who knows we might have decided to wait it out. Couldn't recall why we didn't find out!
I think I can speak for E as well as me in saying we also discovered something about each other during the ordeal, how could you not! We needed to be on the same page and work together no matter how uncomfortable and stressful it was and despite both of us loosing it on occasion we stayed focused, met the challenge and with a little luck thrown in were able to complete the task and get to safety. Most of this was because of E, a total stand up guy through the whole ordeal,  he was radically present, took charge when he needed to, and in my eyes was really deserving the title " Captain" from then on.

Captain E and I spent a number of days anchored in the Waiting Room not only waiting for the wind to  subside but also to nourish our bruised bodies and fractured spirits back to health again. The second day there we decided to take the dingy to shore to pick up supplies, do laundry, and clean up. This was my first time off the boat since leaving San Carlos Guaymas a couple weeks earlier so it was a little odd to walk on the earth and feel the sway of the ocean at the same time.  The full on hot shower at the marina and the conversations with other people again was also a delight and very much appreciated. Nothing like a little hot water to wash away the layers of old anxiety and sea salt and some warm conversation to help put everything into perspective again.
After a number of days we parted company with The Waiting Room crew and continued our sail south toward La Paz, our journey's end. Along the way we discovered many beautiful protected bays, friendly locals, boaters from all over the world and outstanding landscapes and color.
When we did eventually arrive in La Paz it was a couple days before Christmas.
E and I were happy to have made our destination and excited for what was next to come.
I'd be off exploring the Pacific side of mainland Mexico (by land) and Captain E would be off on an adventure of his own. We replaced the cable to chain steering once again, only this time it was done the way we should have done it in the first place, with a new chain and not just replacement links and after a few more barbecues and a relaxing Christmas we wished each other a safe journey and said our good byes.

                                              CHRISTMAS MORNING DOLPHINS