Disregard the following paragraph. Apparently, I am wrong. I apologize. I emailed with a broker and they said I did not need to import. They were not interested in selling the boat, but we’re kind in answering my questions.
Clarification for the uninitiated: You cannot just sail into a country and sell a boat. This is true for French Polynesia, France, Mexico, the United States, and most countries of the world. You are required to import the boat into the country first and pay the appropriate import fees. The boat is attached to me as per my declaration form. So this would take some bureaucratic hoop jumping and monetary input. It could be done. It would also likely need the help of someone familiar with the language and process. (more fees) Then maybe it needs to go to Tahiti for a broker (more fees) with the cost of moorage and storage (more fees). It takes time, so it might be a year of waiting, because there is a cyclone season here. Then you would have to find a crazy/fool person (some are kind and say brave) to buy a boat that small for ocean sailing (you only need one). In the end you’d likely be giving it away with a bunch of work. It would be better just to give it away, but the receiver would have to do the hoop jumping and I would have to trust they would. Not a solid approach. I also have no desire to go to Tahiti.
There is a third option for me. I have 18 months or two years(?) in the country as an Irish citizen. I wouldn’t mind finding a land home and staying here for a while, but I still have the boat liability. I can’t work so the boat would be a drain and hassle. I could raise chickens. They are everywhere and sometimes considered pests, but most people buy their eggs. And because there is no husbandry, they are not butchered at the right time, so people also buy their chicken meat. I’ve had some dialogue with different people about this. Funny, right?
A day in the life of Sampaguita in Hiva Oa, Marquesas. April 23, 2024.
Thank you to all for your congratulations and interest. Some are asking for pictures and stories. I’m sorry, I am unable at this time to accommodate much. I just don’t have the heart right now. My search for peace has been a failure. Stress and anxiety are my burden and they follow me wherever I go. It is disappointing. I have always chosen the hard path, I guess. I know I have accomplished something, but have yet to be able to enjoy that thought.
The passage has really laid my life open to me. I lost my mojo a long time ago. Through foolish illusions I have been propping up my ego for years. The passage has stripped that all away and laid bare an analysis of my ridiculous life and its futility. With my ego went my confidence. Whether that confidence be true or false, that is what supports the ego.
My original Chilean plan has been abandoned. It was not based on sound route planning and understanding of what the Flicka is capable of on the open sea. Plans are fluid, so this is not really a big deal or any surprise. We learn as we go and adjust accordingly. Since Sampaguita is still my burden, this leaves me with two options. Continuing west or heading north to Port Townsend.
Continuing west is not something I am prepared to do. There are serious logistical obstacles to that which I nor Sampaguita are prepared or even able to overcome. From an armchair they may not be apparent but to a veteran cruiser in the present era managing the day-to-day, they are obvious. I am ill-equipped to handle them. I’ll not mention them all here as some cards need to be held close to one’s chest.
So that leaves Port Townsend. Does that excite me? No, it does not, but the route is the best gamble I have right now. A round the Pacific cruise is not to be ashamed of. And I think I know how to dispose of a boat there, which was my full intention at the end of this journey. My interest in living on a 20-foot boat is over and it was always my intention for this to be the last hurrah. I deemed Port Townsend to be an unsustainable place for me to live when I left and I don’t expect it to be different a year later. In fact, the United States doesn’t feel like a good fit for me anymore. But it is a place I know and think I can manage the wrapping of this up. After that, I have no idea.
Really, this is all about the boat now. I think the best thing for me would be for the boat to vanish into thin air. Then I wouldn’t have the liability of it anymore and my options would open up. And I wouldn’t have the stress and anxiety of it, at least. But I can’t abandon the boat here. It’s unsellable here. It doesn’t have enough value to store or to ship. It’s a $20000 boat at best, outfitted in a way that hardly anyone would be interested in. If I made it to Chile, I was going to give it to my friend there and deem it the cost of adventure. In Port Townsend I think I could sell it, give it away, or even DNR it. Besides it sinking in deep water, that is the best solution I can come up with.
It’s not Sampaguita’s fault. She’s doing the best she can do. I don’t begrudge her for it and she’s a fine boat. But she’s been at the whim of my decision-making and she is just a thing, no matter what superstitious mystiques tradition puts on a boat.
I appreciate the donations made. I have spent it all, however, if you feel I did not live up to your expectations, I will return anyone’s donation who asks. It is my intention to spend the next few weeks preparing the boat for my attempt at Port Townsend. Tomorrow we see if Sampaguita fits on the haul out trailer. It is questionable enough that they would not even take the 50% deposit usually required. I will be OK if not. I can manage in the water if I have to, though having things still(meaning not moving) would be helpful and easier. I expect the Port Townsend trip to take 60-70 days. I may stop in Hawaii, maybe not. I’d rather not. Hawaii has become like southern California, I think. Cruisers are pests. They only want the big money boats as that has become the en-vogue way to limit boats. Create financial and logistical barriers fewer can meet. I suspect I would be fraught with more stress and anxiety. I think I can provision for the long haul.
Maybe there will be blogs, maybe I will go dark. It is difficult to say today. I have nothing to say and no opinions to give. The heat is extreme and everything is a chore in it.
Humbly yours,
Joshua
Marquesas Update: The ship has come in! The supply ship that is, Aranui 5. Bigger than I thought and more hustle and bustle than I imagined. Lots of traffic, lots of containers, everywhere is restocked and people are in the prowl for newly arrived goods . Apparently an “every couple weeks” thing this time of year.
It looks like I’ll get to haul out. The boss says OK.
I hitchhiked into town and back, bought some delicious and still warm French bread, and went to the artisanal fair where I ate a delicious piece of barbequed fish.
Lots of rain last night, and as per usual, lots of heat during the day.
Thanks Monica, ‘Lectronic Latitude, and Latitude 38 for another Resourceful Sailor installment. This one talks about whisker poles for Sampaguita.
Here’s the link:
The Resourceful Sailor Talks Whisker Poles — the Good and the Better
Marquesas Update: I re-anchored again. I keep scooching the boat forward as room opens up. I think I’m good now. The depth is a little deeper and I’m a little more behind the breakwater. Still bow and stern anchored, but I think I could swing by the bower if I need to buoy the stern anchor. The wind is supposed to pick up this weekend. Not bad, 15 knots or so, but it will bring in more waves and swell and I don’t yet know how that will affect the anchorage.
I scheduled a haul out for fresh bottom paint and went to give a deposit today. Then the yard man, Tino, said he needed to measure the boat first. Sampaguita may be too small for the lift. It’s not the overhead Genie type, but the ramp style. What kind of idiot sails a 20-foot boat to Marquesas anyway?
Then I hitchhiked to town, went to the grocer for sausage, beer, limes and onions, and then to Pauline’s restaurant, Mokai, for lunch. I had the Mokai burger. Basically a hamburger with egg, coleslaw, and tomatoes. Pretty good. In the States, a hamburger is a safe choice, in Mexico tacos are the safe choice (don’t get a hamburger in Mexico!) In FP, a hamburger works. They raise cows and goats and chickens, and of course fish are a staple too. Goat is the world’s most eaten meat, though very little so in the States. Funny, right? On the same track, Formula One and Soccer are the biggest sports in the world, but not so much in the States. And the whole world uses the metric system, except the States. On the other hand the States’ money, military might, and communications dominate, so I guess you could say they focus on what really matters.
And now on to our regularly scheduled program.
Mexico really is a tremendously beautiful place. In the Northern Hemisphere’s arid belt, present day Mexico fell outside of America’s 19th century Manifest Destiny movement of the continents more temperate latitudes. While the advances in technology of the 20th and 21st century have allowed for broader climatic habitability and a more soft invasion from her American and Canadian neighbors to the north, the daunting aridity still remains Mexico’s best defense and charm.
Los Frailles was Sampaguita’s last Mexican stop. The furthest south, quality anchorage on either side of the Baja peninsula, it is well protected from the Sea of Cortez’s formidable north winds. The clean and clear water teaming with schools of fish that loudly appear to set the water boiling in a feeding frenzy, and the manta rays doing flips in the air for whatever reason they do that for, offered a diving opportunity for a last chance inspection of Sampaguita’s hull before heading west into the Pacific. Paola had done a good job of cleaning in La Paz and this was confirmed in Los Frailles.
Sampaguita stopped here on her way north in December and I tried in vain to find the path to the top of the hill on the cape. Reassured by Benedict and Mark of Opale, whom I spent Christmas with in Bahia de Los Muertos, that there was a trail, I was committed to finding it this time around. Alas, it was located and the ascent was more than worthwhile.
From the top, I took the accompanying video. I could see for miles and miles in every direction. Up the coast, down the coast, the mountain range to the west and the Sea of Cortez to the east. I could look down and see condors soaring below. The Mexican fisherman camp with its beached pangas alongside the fair-skinned RV park and waterfront estates. The humbler local dwellings and dried up watering holes. It was a fantastic “last view” of Mexico.
I hope you enjoy. Thanks for taking the time to visit Sailing With Josh.
Thank you for your support and interest. I do appreciate it. It makes me feel less alone. (Also I fixed the previous posts video. User error.)
Marquesas Update: I checked in today to French Polynesia as an Irish citizen. It took 5 minutes once I walked the 2.5 miles to get there. (I walked there yesterday and back to no avail because they were closed.) No fuss, no visa, no bond.
Enter the Gendarmerie. “Bon jour” the Gendarme said. “Bon jour” I said. “Parlez-vous Anglais?” asked I. “Yes. Are you here to check in?” “Yes” “Did you fill out the online declaration?” “Yes” “Do you have the number?” “Uh, no. I have my passport, can you find it from that?” “We’ll see.” Gendarme takes my Irish passport, goes into the back room and shuts the door. Three minutes pass. He comes out. “Were you able to find it?” “Yes, everything looks good.” He pulls out a stamp and stamps the passport, then grabs a pen and writes in the date and hands it to me. “That’s it?” That’s it.” “Merci.” And I exit. I then went to one of three local restaurant/cafés, had a cup of coffee and chatted with the owner, Pauline, from Tahiti. She spoke pretty good English. (More on that conversation another time.) I hung out there until the kitchen opened and had the pêche du jour. Then walked the 2.5 miles home in the heavy rain. It was kind of like taking a warm shower, but going somewhere at the same time.
Part of the mental gruel during the passage that was challenging was anxiety around everything being in order and working out when I arrived. You make decisions that seem the best ones at the time, but there are loose ends and unknowns. Over 39 days a stupid mind makes a bunch of stuff up. And all you can do is wait and endure. I was hoping to find a bit more peace on the open ocean, but of course, I drug all that land stress along with me. That was disappointing. I know you can’t escape yourself but I was hoping some space would help. Foolish me. At 52 it is so difficult to break the conditioning of a lifetime. Of parentage, country, culture, experience, trauma, etc. I’m sure some are better at it than others. The older I get, the more people there are, the more rules, more barriers, more costs, more people treating people badly, the more I am stressed by land. So far, most of the things that worried me pending arrival have all worked out fine, which is great. Even comically so. But I resent that I come from a fear culture and conditioning that really has hurt my growth in my life and prevented peace. My failure is my own but failure nonetheless. I really believe it is by design. Stressed people work and fight harder to survive. Competition means there has to be winners and losers. It’s good for the economy. I realize I have far fewer days in front of me than behind me and when I look back, I feel pretty disappointed. You might think, “You’re in French Polynesia, paradise, living the dream.” I can see that it might look like that from behind your desk as you shed the suit and tie. But it’s not like that at all. Sure, I sailed a Flicka across the ocean. I did something only a handful of people would even want to do. Or think they want to do. Really, I’m just a fool on a tiny boat, busting butt just to survive day to day. Through potentially questionable decision making, I happen to be in Hiva Oa. Apparently, a glutton for punishment.
And now on with the regularly scheduled program.
Growing up, holiday meals were often spent at my Grandma Wheeler’s house on Otisco Lake near Syracuse, NY. One side dish we seemed to always have was salt potatoes. G-Wheeler would use baby potatoes, which lent to a high skin to “meat” ratio, and had a small sauce pan of melted butter to mash them up in. It’s a simple but amazingly delicious combination. Who doesn’t like potatoes, salt, and butter? (Regardless of whether you should be eating it or not.)
The key is to boil the potatoes, skin and all, in salty water. How much salt? I’ve discovered you can’t overdo it. The salt prevents the skins from coming off, raises the temperature of the water, and when drained, leaves a crystally coating of goodness over the potatoes.
When I moved to Seattle in the 2010s and started having “family” style lunches while working at Card Kingdom with workmate and pal, Andi “Snax,” I learned that this was a regional dish that many didn’t know about. It was one of those odd reflective moments about when you grow up with something and think everyone else does too…..but they don’t. This was when research turned up the intel about Syracuse salt miners having this on their shift.
Now, Sampaguita has her own take on this delicacy, inspired by, rather than a direct copy of, the original dish. The following video was meant to be a bit of a joke on Sampaguita’s low freeboard, taking advantage of her salt water environment, and keeping things simple. If you have the endurance, you will see it turned into much more. Martha Stewart, Rachel Ray, or whoever the en-vogue cooking show host is nowadays (who cares?), can’t touch this.
Here is another installment of A Flicka Sails Herself. This one shows the wind vane at work in the light air and the improvised bimini and weather cloths. And then nothing but the Big Blue.
I saw a few cargo ships in the first days of the passage in the NE trades. Then it was weeks of seeing no other boats. Not even on the AIS. (When I was looking.)
It wasn’t until the last day on the approach to Hiva Oa that I saw a few other sailboats.
39 days from La Paz, Mexico to Hiva Oa, Marquesas.
Thanks to modern GPS navigation, it turns out to be pretty easy to navigate to a small Island in the middle of the ocean.
Definitely the most physically and mentally grueling thing I have ever embarked on…so far. It’s a bit masochistic. I can’t say I would recommend it.
It’s like a carnival ride (Tilt-a-Whirl?), or a bucking bronco, that never stops. Add in some intense tropical sun and heat, and some Chinese water torture to boot. I couldn’t predict when the next dollup of salty water would land on my head, but it was absolute that it would. I almost always flinched when I saw it coming. And it wasn’t even cold. I made some makeshift weather cloths from some acrylic canvas I rescued from the Ballard Mill Marina dumpster. This mitigated the splashing some. But on a small boat with low freeboard, the splash comes right over the top. And since I’m standing or sitting only two feet beyond, I get to taste the salty spray. Kind of like Yukon Cornelius tasted his pick axe. I also improvised a bimini for the sun that worked OK for sitting in the supervisor’s chair. There was nothing I could do about the bronco.
The real star of the show was Sampaguita. She just bounced along like a cork. I won’t say gracefully, because the sea makes that impossible, but if canvased properly she was unphased by the water torture, charging ahead despite the accumulating barnacles on her bottom. She only complained when her lackey supervisor wasn’t quick enough to make adjustments (or was sleeping.) within 24 hours of being anchored, most of the goose branches just fell off. I guess they like the boat to be moving. When I was entering the anchorage I was noticing the look of an ocean crossing vessels. They have a certain waterline grubbiness to them. When I got the dinghy sorted out, I realized Sampaguita was the worst of them all. You just can’t see it from the deck. Ha.
Arrival in the anchorage was very stressful. All the literature and Navionics reviews said to be ready with a stern anchor. So I was. It also said there was very restricted anchoring. Reality was much different. So many boats. So much swell. And hardly anyone was stern anchored. Where will I go? Sampaguita’s shallow draft meant she could go back in the bay. There were two spots left. I chose the most protected one. Yes, I stern anchored. Needed to. But we’re in a good spot. Most of the other boats will have to skidaddle when the supply ship arrives in a couple days. I think. Yes, Sampaguita is the smallest boat by far in the anchorage. Note: There is a certain kind of people who write reviews on Navionics, so the information is biased to that club.
I’m not officially checked in yet, but I hear it’s easy. I tried today but the Gendarmerie was closed. That’s like saying the police station is closed. I think because most of the staff was out in the boat. It’s a long walk to the station. I’ll go in the morn before it gets blazing hot. It’s not a big deal. Last night I went to a restaurant and had goat with coconut sauce. A local cuisine. A couple beers and strawberry ice cream for dessert. 2nd desserts was birthday cake from a locals birthday party. The family gave everyone in the restaurant a piece. You don’t see that in America.
I love this small Island stuff. Everything is closed in the afternoon because it’s too hot to do anything. Nobody’s stressing about anything. Except the tourists.
I’m amazed I haven’t broken any part of my body yet. My thighs were bruised from sitting in the supervisors seat bracing against the companionway and the perpetual side to side roll. I got sat down so hard in the cockpit one day I worried I had given myself a concussion from my brain slamming down in my skull. I gave myself a nasty blister on my palm trying to remove a thu-hull hose. I’m super surprised I still have any front teeth left. Sweaty, salty, dirty, and dehydrated, while oscillating between awe and apathy.
The pod of pilot(?) whales was cool. When I went below to grab the camera I could hear the high pitched speech of their sonar through the hull. The birds were ever present. I could sometimes see the shadow of pelagic fish below the surface. And so many flying fish! They smell awful. A whole fleet takes off and flies in unison, I suspect spooked by the onrushing Sampaguita. Though not as much marine life as I expected to see. The sea is so big and bubbly, it must hide it.
Once in the ITCZ and south, the conveyor belt of rain clouds began to appear. Warm enough to stand in the cockpit and allow the water to come down on your mostly naked body was refreshing. While the same cloud’s squall effect was demanding you tend to the sails and adjust the self steering gear. Add to this the simultaneous attempts to collect rainwater with a bucket hung from the boom below the fold of the reefed main sail. Mostly in vain, as the bursts were hardly long enough to rinse the sails of the salt first, and Sampaguita’s movement sent the bucket swinging around wildly, spending scant amounts of time underneath the stream. Then getting the water you do collect into a jug before dollups of onboarding salt water taints the catch or the rolling sloshed it from the bucket. All while holding on with two hands? This seemed to happen more at night than during the day.
A daily jig of whiskey turned out to be a blessing. Not that I’m much of a whiskey man. But alcohol in a concentrated form seemed the best option when space and weight were major considerations. In small amounts, it offered a needed attitude adjustment. Originally for a cross equatorial celebration, it took on a different purpose. As for the equator party, that was delayed an hour and a couple miles due to an above mentioned squall. Pretty anticlimactic. I had a bottle of Jameson which was palatable, and a bottle of Edward Lawson, which was not. After many attempts at mixers for the Lawson, by the last three drinks I discovered mint tea to be the best.
The bunk was the only safe and comfortable place to be. Movement there was minimal, and if I lay on my back, the position was stable. Sleeping was generally too easy. Who’s driving that boat, anyway? Flopping or flogging sails got me up pretty quickly though. In the heat of the day I would lay down just to cope, dozing and sweating, with a towel underneath me. However, a trip to the bunk meant considering sail trim and steering gear adjustment first. In a small boat, your body is ballast and that extra weight on the starboard side made a difference. Super annoying when you don’t get it right the first time. I lay there asking myself “Do I really need to get up again or is it good enough?”
Hands down, the most valuable piece of gear was the self-steering wind vane. A remarkably simple and effective use of physics. I had to do a repair because a screw came loose and was lost. I can’t imagine having to steer myself the whole trip! Luckily I MacGyvered it and had just enough metric fasteners on board to make it work.
Would I do it again? Do I have a choice? Considering where I’m at, death or shipwreck may be the only other options.
Lots to think about and consider. Still getting my bearings. Thanks for reading.
Thanks for checking our position. Due to a technological universe far bigger than Sampaguita and Sailing With Josh, it takes a little effort on your part to locate us.
Presently we are travelling to French Polynesia. Follow the yellow triangles
One day we may figure out how to make this easier for you, but at the time, it is beyond out technical savvy. And the trying has not been any fun at all.
I believe in you.
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If you would like to support Sampaguita in her voyage, she’s a boat, and always demanding something.
Donations can be made via PayPal or Zelle: wheelersf@hotmail.com
Thank you.
“Tack,Tack,Tack.”
A friend, reader, and donor commented: “I just don’t know how you provision for so many days, on a 20 foot boat. I’ve never gone more then 7-10 days, that was a catamaran 45′, in the BVI where we moor every night, and island hop.”
It sounds to me they have a pretty good start. I didn’t buy a boat yesterday. I started out small and short in my sailing trips and slowly and systematically increased the times and distances and challenges, gaining experiential learning and confidence. Even with Sampaguita, I spent the first two years staying at docks before I gained enough confidence to anchor. The third year I got my feet wet and the fourth year I improved my tackle and never looked back. Everyone has a different approach and pace to planning and doing. Some people jump right in on something and just do it. While I envy them at times, I know I have to do it my way. While an ugly aspect of life is that we are pressed into competing, there are different ways to winning and losing. (And ironically, winning sometimes turns out to losing and vice versa.) Don’t worry about how others are doing it. Figure out what’s best for you. That’s part of the fun.
Planning is simply academic. I know I’ll sound antiquated here, but lots of great books have been written about preparing your boat for cruising. They are still likely available from your public library for free. While of days gone past, they are still very relevant, because they provide the basic fundamental knowledge you need about preparing your boat and survival at sea. The good books provide systematic, focused, proven, and vetted information. Start there and then supplement that with internet research. Be aware, the internet is a trap that can deceive you, lead you astray, blind you with the bright and shiny, rob you of your focus, and worst of all, it’s mostly about selling you something. A good book doesn’t try to sell you anything and stays on target. Get the fundamentals first and use the internet to build on them.
Guidebooks are available for most of the cruising grounds of the world, and are written to not only help you succeed, but in holiday fashion. In the Pacific Northwest, I particularly liked the Dreamspeaker guidebooks. The information in them came from a credible source and I used them to circumnavigate Vancouver in 2018. They never steered me wrong and gave me confidence about destinations and anchorages. In fact, I had no depth sounder at the time, but the anchoring information allowed me to confidently know where to anchor without it. A good guidebook will hold your hand through the journey.
That said, my 2023 circumnavigation of Vancouver Island for my shakedown cruise, I did not use a guidebook at all. I already had a bunch of local knowledge. I did use Navionics which offers some crowd sourced anchorage info that needs to be taken with a grain of salt. I specifically did not want the hand holding this time. Ditto for coming down the west coast of America. And while there are a couple go-to guidebooks for Mexico, I did not have them either. I do however, have a couple guidebooks for French Polynesia. We live in a time with so much information about everything at the click of a mouse, it takes some of the thrill, exploration, and discovery out of a journey. But that’s just me. Most people prefer to have everything at their fingertips and make the experience as safe, comfortable and as close to the land experience as possible. Starlink has really allowed this. If Captain Cook was able to have Starlink, he would have. Of course, then, his voyages would also have been unnecessary. Do what’s right for you.
Provisioning is also not that hard. If you shop for a family of four, six, or eight at home on land, then you can figure out how to provision a boat. You have to know how much food you need and can carry. You need to consider your refrigeration capabilities, if any. I have learned a lot of things that they say need refrigeration, don’t. You need to keep it simple. While at sea, you won’t be making any fancy meals unless at anchor. And then you have limited space. And too many dishes to do makes no one happy. Stick to the basics, but also have some fun stuff that you can properly ration for morale boosting and special occasions. This too comes with practice and trial and error. Start with shorter cruises and build up from there.
When you go to a foreign country, be aware that they will eat different foods and you may need to improvise with what’s available. They won’t have the same stores or cultural tastes. They may not have the economy of scale that people in the States are accustomed too. Maybe you can walk, maybe you’ll need to pay for transportation. This is all achievable stuff.
Some people like to spreadsheet out their provisioning so they know what they have and what they’ll need to buy. Personally, I don’t bother with that. It’s just me. That’s a bunch of tedious book work that isn’t necessary and I don’t have time for. But if it helps someone keep organized, go for it.
A watermaker is very common. I used to think it was driven by a fear of running out of water. It isn’t. It’s convenience. The chore of resupplying water after a long passage to an underdeveloped country can take a huge amount of labor and time. A watermaker might get you thirty gallons of fresh water for 105 amps. You will need to produce and restore that energy regularly which, along with the watermaker, adds complication, expense, and maintenance to the experience. But this is all addressed in the books you have read about the fundamentals. Ironically, if you depend on a watermaker, there may be a higher chance of running out of water if it fails. Just in time provisioning (or planning) has its dangers. Remember the pandemic?
So, sure, if you don’t practice cruising, like many things, fear of the unknown can be intimidating. Fear of the unknown is normal, and often unwarranted, that provides a challenge to overcome. So often the things I am intimidated by, once I learn them, I have to laugh at how foolish I was to worry about them. Allowing fear to paralyze you is sad. So many people don’t try the things they could because they are paralyzed by fear. They are so concerned they have to have every little detail worked out that they never get to the thing. That’s also part of how they manage not having to face their fear. You’ll never figure it all out until you start doing it anyway. So get at it.
Check out the nautical books page. This is by no means comprehensive but it can get you started.
PayPal or Zelle: wheelersf@hotmail.com
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Sailing With Josh 