Thanks again to Monica and ‘Lectronic Latitude for another edition of The Resourceful Sailor. And a special thanks to Dave White, a Port Townsend legend in his own right.
And Monica’s husband Jay for the added affirmation.
Click the link:
The Resourceful Sailor Asks, “Is It Varnish or Vanish?”
I put most all the money I had in the stock market before I started this voyage on Sampaguita. There is definitely some risk in that, but duh, I also signed up to sail a 20-foot boat across the ocean alone. You might say I’ve said, “frack it.” I diversified as much as I could. I’m not old enough to retire, but sailing and writing is the only thing that really interests me now. I was hoping I could get some income writing, but that has not been a reality. So, I have to make what I have, work the best it can for me. I’m not sure if they are still given, but tests called SATs and ACTs were required for college applications back in the 80’s. They were essentially aptitude exams. I only scored slightly above average. I was a big fish in a small pond. Which means I was a small fish. I recall, the logic equation was common on those tests. If P, then Q. P is true, therefore Q is true. That sort of thing. For example: If there is conflict, there is money to be made. There is conflict. Therefore, there is money to be made. Here’s another: The defense industry thrives during conflict. Some people invest in the defense industry. Therefore, some people thrive during conflict. Pretty messed up, right? I’d rather make money writing. (But not marine store clerking.) But I didn’t make the world, I’m not very good at it, so I just have to survive however I can. I live in a big pond now. Pelagic fish are huge. They swallow small fish all day long. This small fish is never going to be a big fish, and he has no interest in being feed for them. This should explain a lot of my writing and actions.
I figure at this point, I am unemployable. Another reason why I need the stock market to thrive, by whatever means. My earning potential is so low, any job and it’s pay that someone would give me, isn’t worth the breaths at this point in life. And I haven’t proven a good businessman. If someone else can wrap their head around it, more power to them. I envy them for it. For being able to do what makes me miserable. A lesson I had drilled home with me when growing up was this. I would say something like “Bill gets to play football.” Or, “Terry has Ocean Pacific T-shirts.” The answer often enough was “Well, you’re not Terry (Bill, or whoever), are you?” (Terry was half Hawaiian and the star quarterback, and Bill got his collar bone broken a week into practices and never played again.) Not-so-ironically, I was voted the most individualistic male in my class my senior year. Now I sail the smallest boat in the anchorage. The youth are very impressionable.
Another lesson I learned was how to save a dime, and how to work a system, all in one. I think the how to save a dime was intentional, the how to work a system, probably not so much. Let me explain. In rural New Berlin, New York I grew up about five miles from the one-stop-light town where I attended New Berlin Central public school. This was the 1980’s and there was something called a pay phone in the school. I think it was a Bell telephone for those of you who might understand the dark humor in that. (It is still easy to envision on the wall in the hall.) Now, what I am about to explain started with my older brother and sister, so this wasn’t just a lesson offered to me. If we had an after-school function, and mind you, time was more flexible back then, and we would need someone to pick us up (we were at the far reaches of the district, so catching a ride from someone else was not practical) we were instructed to use the pay phone. This is how. We were not given dimes, but there was a loophole in the system. We could make the call, it would ring, we could hear our parents answer the phone, but without putting in a dime, they could not hear us. But they were expecting us to call and would say, “If this is Josh, hang up.” We would then hang up and they would know to come pick us up. About 10-15 minutes later they would show up. I’m certain parenting is ridiculously hard which is why I didn’t touch it with a 10-foot spinnaker pole. My parents are pretty honest and wholesome people and I think the full lesson they were teaching went over their head. They were just trying to save a dime.
To lighten the mood, here’s a gem. I included a segment on poultry husbandry a few weeks ago. If you missed it, here is the link:
The picture included at the top of this essay is one of those lucky roosters that got to be the uncontested king of the roost. Here, he is in costume at the Otsego County Fair Grounds about to participate in The Best Dressed Animal Contest. There was a short-lived super hero program in the 80’s called The Greatest American Hero. So, what you have here is The Greatest American Chicken. My mother made the costume. He either won or came in second. I really can’t quite remember. When the contest started, I was holding him. Because chickens will run away and you may never catch them. The Judge suggested I put him down. Uh Oh. Well, I did. The costume constricted him enough that he couldn’t walk very easily, and definitely couldn’t run. Phew. But he tried and did this little dance…..And the crowd went wild. Since half of the contest was about audience applause, he was a huge hit. So that’s the story of The Greatest American Chicken.
The poor kid with the poop on his leg is Jeff, a classmate from New Berlin Central. He was mortified that the chicken pooped on his leg. And even more mortified when my mother took a picture. I’m the other super skinny kid with the bad hair and the glasses. Some things never change.
Thanks to DW for the considerate cruising kitty donation. We had some back and forth about a new jib for his Flicka and the best sail clew. I appreciate and respect him for it. Anytime.
So, if you find any value to what you encounter on this site, whether informational, inspirational, or entertainment, please consider a donation.
PayPal or Zelle: wheelersf@hotmail.com
If you are averse to participating with those particular financial institutions, maybe there is another creative way to donate? A special thanks to SS for finding a way that worked for him.
And now, on with the show.
Gloves have a cycle of life with The Resourceful Sailor. Initially purchased for a specific purpose, they wear out and are eventually retired to anchor duty, a chore no self-respecting new pair of gloves would ever be caught doing. These old gloves have a bag where they await their final service. Once they move from there, the end is near. Setting and weighing anchor by hand is a muddy and chafe-laden business.
Sampaguita, a Pacific Seacraft Flicka 20 sailboat, rounded Vancouver Island in June 2023, visiting 29 anchorages. A particular pair of gloves surfaced from the anchor duty bag. They were purchased in the early 2000s when I had my first boat, Different Drummer, a 60s-era Grumman aluminum canoe with a homemade, downwind, square sail. Sitting in the middle of the canoe, more like a kayak, and using an also homemade double paddle, the days and miles logged with these gloves wrapped around that wooden stock were many.
Crusty on the outside and well-ventilated at the thumbs, I was taken aback by how amazing these gloves felt when I put them on. A perfect fit, soft lining, and cozy warmth triggered the flooding of unexpected memories. My hands gripping the round dowel of the paddle. The alternating and rhythmic dip-pull-lift motion. The flexing wood as the boat is driven head-on into wind and waves. The euphoria of paddler’s high. The burn of lactic acid. The satisfaction of the expedition and achievement. Of throwing down the gauntlet, figuratively and literally. All these involuntary and instant emotions were evoked by the recent donning of these gloves.
The canoe and the gloves date back to 2006(ish) for The Resourceful Sailor. By 2013, Sampaguita became the focus, with the occasional visit to Different Drummer. In 2019, the mostly ignored canoe was gifted to a friend, and the gloves shifted to the anchor duty bag, their brand, source, and existence long forgotten. In the quest to use consumables to the bitter end, The Resourceful Sailor earned an unexpected, yet welcome, paddle down memory lane. Remember, keep your solutions safe, prudent, and have a blast.
I’m just a fool on a twenty-foot boat. Help keep this fool at sea….or at least get a new pair of gloves. Otherwise, he might end up living in your community’s ravine, or under the bridge, or in an RV on a side street. Do you really want that?
If you find any value in this, whether informational, entertaining, or thought-provoking, (otherwise, why are you here?) please consider a small donation.
PayPal: wheelersf@hotmail.com
Sampaguita sits in slip L09 at Marina CostaBaja situated at the entrance of La Paz channel. It’s a nice marina. Nicer than we need, but under the circumstances, the only place we could get a reservation. I was in Bahia De Los Muertos trying to solve my solar panel issues, establish a place to receive packages, and have a place I could be grounded to take care of logistics, clean, and reorganize the boat. I only had Restaurant 1535’s internet available for communication as my Google Fi cell phone had no reception, with no real local knowledge of La Paz. My marina inquiries either fell on deaf ears, had broken websites or emails, or had no available space. Marina CostaBaja was the only place that offered anything. Having caught wind from other cruisers of the difficulties, and marinas preferred longer-term stays, I threw out a two-month window of January and February. They responded, saying they could only offer a right-sized space from January 13th through the 26th. I’ll take it! Then came the challenges of reserving the slip, emailing the digital pile of required paperwork, and electronically signing the contracts. Our email thread was something like 26 messages long. But we did it, thanks to an incredibly patient and unbreakable young office staff. Luckily, we’re in Mexico and they do not have high technology expectations, so photos of documents and a super-janky, finger drawn signatures on an unfillable PDF with none of the details included were sufficient. I pay about $46 per day, which is close to $2 per foot. I am the only sailboat in a 30-foot slip, the smallest available (and by the looks of it, the only available) in a row of small power boats. All marinas in Mexico in La Paz are tourist marinas full of gringo boats. So, you pay first-world-and-above pricing, but they are very accommodating. Granted, plumbing is still Mexican, meaning you still have to throw your toilet paper in the waste basket, but there are free showers with hot water (I’d forgotten what both of those things were), there is potable water available at the dock for $.07 per gallon, metered electric hook-up (which I have yet to use), and black water pump-out (also which I don’t need.) The marina is very isolated though. I am surrounded by restaurants, all American priced, which is to say, I steer clear. The mini-market is also over-priced. It’s set up for affluent cruisers and ex-pat locals. There are hotel complexes adjacent to the marina I have access to, some for free, some for a fee, but you can’t really walk anywhere beyond the compound. I say compound because that is what it feels like. If you are on holiday with plenty of money at your disposal, you have everything you need for a luxury time. And then there is me, a dirtbag sailor on his tiny boat (luckily, she puts up a good appearance) getting my ducks in a row. There is fencing and a security gate for going in and out. They do offer a free shuttle to downtown La Paz which I have used a couple times for grocery shopping, but you only have a couple times per day to catch it. I misinterpreted the schedule and had to catch a taxi back the other day. In hindsight I saw my error.
My taxi cab ride was anything but luxury. Luckily the shuttle pick-up/drop-off downtown was in a fairly touristy spot so a taxi line was close by. I did the proper thing of asking how much it would cost before I got in. $150 pesos. Great, I’ll take it. The car was painted like a local taxi cab. It was an old-model Nissan Sentra type car. The driver spoke no English. The suspension was completely shot and the smell of gasoline was intoxicating. The driver must be completely high from it. And we actually stopped for fuel on the way. None of the gauges on the dashboard worked. He actually shut the car down going through the compound security and tried to then pop-start it when continuing. It was a manual. My older readers still know what a manual transmission is. (I sold my manual transmission Subaru, the day I left Port Townsend.) Upon arrival, all I had was a 200-peso bill. I was not prepared for a taxi ride and this was actually the first of my whole trip. He tried to communicate he had no change and the fee was only 150, which may have been a BS, but maybe not considering the piece of junk he was driving, so he got the whole 200, which from an American point of view was still a bargain for a taxi ride of that distance. I didn’t stress over it. I had bought some beer, Magna Carta, the cheapest beer in Mexico, and some pork chops, the cheapest real meat you can buy, and a couple days’ worth of produce, (without refrigeration, few things last) and I was happy to have gotten back to the boat easily enough after making my scheduling mistake. It is what it is. I’ll make up for it with some other economy efficiency. I’m good at that kind of sacrifice.
The produce looks fine in the store, but get it on the boat and it quickly goes off. Carrots go limp within two days, avocados go off in a few days. Tomatoes and peppers too. Cucumbers last a little longer and so do apples and onions. I’m time-testing keeping the yams and the potatoes in the storage lockers, but in the hanging net, only a couple days. Food is a bit pricey here with none of the economy of scale like the US. I have had to rethink my entire approach to provisioning and tastes. I found a produce market I like. I pass by it on my way to the Grocery, noting prices, and hit it on the way back for the things it wins at. My last clerk there was a lot of fun. And she offered me a special on avocados. Three large ones for 20 pesos. Yes, I said. I was worried they would be off, but they were perfect. A lot of guacamole gets made.
I meet few white people I enjoy talking to. Most are so full of themselves and come from a culture of excess and entitlement. You notice it less when that’s what you are immersed in, but spend an appreciable amount of time trying to avoid it, and you begin to take more note. In the marina, I speak mostly to the Mexican captain’s hired to drive and maintain the gringo boats, and the security and maintenance staff. If you get them off the posturing, they are down to earth and interesting people and fun to try to communicate with. The guy taking out the trash might turn out to be a geologist.
I’ve listened to the La Paz cruiser’s morning VHF net exactly once. There is so much hype about it, the reality was a disappointment. Club Cruceros based at Marina De La Paz is a community and vital spot. However, again, a disappointment. (I know, I am terribly difficult to please. Classic single-hander.) The vibe is either a passer through like myself, desperately trying to get information or services, or elderly retired people playing “living on a boat” in an unregulated and less-expensive “exotic” environment. But never going anywhere. It serves a purpose, but I find it a bit depressing. I suspect the anchorage is also full of people who have been leaving for the Marquesas for years.
Here’s a couple wanker situations I’ve had to contend with. On my “newbie” arrival to La Paz, I wanted to anchor near the dinghy dock because my dinghy is motorless. Distance and sea-state might be challenging. There is limited space there, so I anchored on the fringe. A so-called “Los Cruceros representative” approached me and explained that while the anchorage is unmarked, I was in a restricted area. The Mexican Navy beelines their boats to the nearby channel marker when on rescue missions and that I was in that path. OK, I said, wanting no trouble and still learning the ropes. He explained I might fit a little over yonder and not to worry about that floating fender, it was attached to an abandoned fisherman’s anchor. And pre-faced it with the adage “You should never trust a cruiser.” OK, I said. I moved and after a couple re-anchors found the sweet spot clear of the fender and the neighboring boats. It’s the “La Paz Waltz” you really need to account for. I was fine for about 11 days. 11 days gains a lot of local knowledge in La Paz. First, I’d learned the “representative” had been there for nine years. One of those. And really, he wasn’t looking out for me, but looking out for himself and the Club. The Club, while a mainstay, really has no authority and could lose their “status” at any time. In classic Mexican fashion, there are no rules, or at least none advertised, and there is no enforcement, until maybe there might be. While I could see the Mexican Navy dock and boats, I never saw any interaction with them and any cruising boats.
On day 11, I heard an engine and a familiar voice outside Sampaguita. I look out to sea a 40-foot ketch picking up the fender mooring I had previously mentioned, completely ignoring the fact that we would definitely be too close to each other. The voice was familiar because I recognized it from Club Cruceros. A guy that talks too much and who I instantly labeled a wanker. I think I was right. Here is why. I explained in a very concerned fashion that we would be too close and he said yes. His explanation was that he had just bought this mooring and proceeded with his business. Naturally, I am perturbed but have realized my only option was to move. So, I did. First, I will say, I took a chance, though misinformed by the “representative,” by anchoring near the fender. I accept that was on me. What makes this guy a wanker is three-fold. First, he said he was sorry, which wasn’t true at all. He obviously was not. I find people who say that casually without meaning it are insincere and impolite, and a lower level of human. Second, he never came up to me and said, “You may not like this, but I bought this mooring. I am going to move my boat here regardless. I’m informing you so you have time to move, so that neither of our boats will get wrecked, because they clearly will when the waltz begins.” Third, he did it just before dusk, which limited my options for finding a new anchor spot. So that guy on Nashira with the crooked and forward raked mainmast will never get any respect from me. The “representative” couldn’t do anything about it either, of course, so he has lost all credibility with me. Self-appointed, but of no one you actually need to listen to. I found a spot after a few tries nearby, settling in just before dark. A concerned neighbor (for himself) came by, and also the “representative,” and I said I would be on the boat during tomorrow’s wind and keep an eye on it during the waltz, and would be leaving in a couple days. I always expect too much from people. It’s each yatista for themselves, the community is not very “deep,” and do what’s best for yourself. Everyone else will.
Now, the good people. I have met a few couples along the way who are not wankers. With the exception of Mundial from before, they are all veteran cruisers. They’ve been at this for decades. They know what’s up. There is the Austrian couple on Nomad who I bought the dinghy from. There is the French couple on Opale who I first met in the Northwest Passage. And there is a Canadian couple on Tillicum I met here in Marina CostaBaja. These folks recognize what I am doing, and that it takes heart, and that I am committed to it. This sets me apart from the others. They know the difference. They all are truly interested in my journey and success. These folks are also easy for me to spot too. The diamonds in the rough. If you know what to look for in their speech, actions, and demeanor, you can tell. These are the people who keep me connected to the community, otherwise I would disassociate myself altogether, or simply try to extract my needs from it. Like a wanker. I guess a point that I am trying to make, is the fraternity of cruisers as seen from the outside is BS. Cruisers don’t share any common bond. It’s like bikes and cars. Just because two people ride bikes, doesn’t mean they share anything in common. You don’t say to somebody “You drive a car, Wow, me too, we must be alike.” The same goes for boats.
On a totally different note. Speedy Gonzales was one of my favorite Looney Tunes characters. He has fallen by the wayside, assumingly because of the Mexican stereotyping. His character is so rare now, it took me weeks to remember his name. What brought him to mind was the fisherman on the west coast of Baja. Since it is so rural, and there is no Mexican Coast Guard (only the Navy), the seas are ruled by the fisherman. Listen to the VHF and that is almost exclusively who you hear. They converse on channel 16 often. Unlike in the US, there is no authority constantly telling everyone to keep the channel clear for emergencies. And it is not uncommon that they are screwing around and bantering in an animated fashion, and sounding a lot like Speedy Gonzales. I kid you not. Not everyone, mind you, but often enough to represent his stereotype. If it weren’t so, it wouldn’t have come to mind. It also reminded me of the Looney Tune drinking glasses my family had in the 70’s. I was very young, but I think they came from McDonald’s. This was when they made glasses that lasted. We had them a long time because they were so thick and difficult to break. I miss that kind of quality. And you didn’t have to overpay for it. In our infinite wisdom and capitalism, items are cheaply made and disposable, or impracticably expensive. The faster it breaks, the more you buy. If it lasts, you better charge a lot for it because you won’t get the repeat business. Sound business models? Or use less material to be more environmentally friendly. But then make twice as much? I have some clothespins that fall apart so easily. Nothing like the clothespins the family had growing up. Those things actually worked and lasted forever. Now, in an effort to use less wood and metal for the spring, they are hardly functional. Add water to the clothes and they hardly stand a chance. Maybe clotheslines are a thing of the past? Being at sea, I didn’t want the plastic ones. So, I bought the useless ones instead. Sucker.
A word to the wise. If you want to go cruising, do it now. The world is changing rapidly and it will get both easier and more expensive. Here is what I mean. The Emperor is changing the world with Starlink. Starlink has made it easier to go cruising. The RV version is affordable and the most used. It adds the whole world of internet to your boat. It’s like never leaving home. This means more people will go cruising. If they can work remotely, they can go cruising too. Weather forecasting is no longer a mystery or an art. The more people who go cruising, the more cruising will cost. (Or even look what’s happening regarding boating locally.) There will be more strain and competition for services. For example, here in La Paz, you have to reserve a slip well in advance to get one. And you will pay. Demand outweighs supply and build-out. Delaying your cruising will add to your expense. Places like Bora Bora are limiting tourists. In order to preserve the experience, they want to charge more, making the financial barrier of visiting higher. Quality over quantity. The more environmental hype, the more population increases, the more this will occur. Galapagos. Same thing. Drop the romantic notion of electric engine conversion for long-distance cruising. Get on with it. You will want that diesel power plant unless you are a true sailor. There are lots of cruisers and few true sailors. This message isn’t for the wealthy. They can do what they want, when they want. They don’t visit this site. This message is for the romantics and the people on the edge.
These are just observations and interpretations of a fool on a twenty-foot boat with a microphone. Remember to make a donation to keep this fool at sea. Otherwise, I might end up in your community. Think about it. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
Here is some 80’s promotional literature from Pacific Seacraft for the Flicka 20.
I received a folder of various Flicka 20 hard copy brochures and articles when I purchased Sampaguita, Hull #317 and this was included. In my reduction of paper storage, I have decided to preserve and share them digitally.
All Copyrights are retained by the original owners.
Here is some 80’s promotional literature from Pacific Seacraft for the Flicka 20.
I received a folder of various Flicka 20 hard copy brochures and articles when I purchased Sampaguita, Hull #317 and this was included. In my reduction of paper storage, I have decided to preserve and share them digitally.
All Copyrights are retained by the original owners.
Sailing the windward/leeward buoy races on the foredeck of Corvo with the Port Townsend Sailing Association One-Design Thunderbird Fleet on Wednesday evenings in Port Townsend Bay has made The Resourceful Sailor a better offshore sailor. Naturally, it has made them a better sailor overall, but writing about the nuances of sail trim and their controls, strategy, or rules feels a bit stuffy right now. This is about working the foredeck and managing agility, comfort, confidence, and fear.
On Corvo, The Resourceful Sailor was at the bottom of the pecking order. Because of age, lack of experience, or some other reason, the foredeck was assigned to them. It seemed appropriate and has proven a winning combination. Since winning is fun, he did as told. The veterans do the skippering, steering, line-controlling, and strategizing. The foredeck crew does the fancy footwork and jungle-gyming, with stints of being rail meat and anemometer in between.
A Thunderbird, at 26 feet and 3850 pounds, is quick and squirrelly with a small foredeck and no lifelines. The foredeck crew hikes out on the high side during the windward leg. With each tack, jumping up, shuffling the flogging genoa across the deck and around the shrouds and climbing to the new high side, always watching the leads of the lines and keeping their feet from entangling in the sheets. On downwind legs, there is readying the nine-foot spinnaker pole, hoisting the kite, getting the headsail down and secured to the foredeck, easing the outhaul, and tending to the pole and boom positions. Depending on wind and traffic, the needs of the strategist and helmsman might require an immediate gybe of the kite and the pole, with subsequent gybing as necessary. For the sake of rounding out the job description, though not very physical, on both legs, the strategist likes input on the course wind field, such as favored sides and approaching gusts.
These physical demands and repetitions in an exposed position on Corvo have made The Resourceful Sailor a better offshore sailor on Sampaguita, a Pacific Seacraft Flicka 20. With a foredeck even smaller than a T-Bird and six hank-on headsails, trips to the foredeck to match sail to wind are a regular occurrence. Deteriorating conditions demand it. As winds and seas build, so does the movement of Sampaguita and her foredeck.
On a 2023 rounding of Vancouver Island in the Pacific Northwest, the confidence and comfort acquired on Corvo was also realized on Sampaguita. The sometimes feeling of dread over a headsail change was replaced with a more go-getter attitude. This has advanced even further as Sampaguita voyaged to Baja California. Night time? No problem. Steep wind against current hills of the Sea of Cortez? No problem. When not making it out to be more than it has to be, it goes pretty quickly. They felt more relaxed on deck, and pole-handling went from never before to whenever necessary. It was a comfortable feeling.
Since The Resourceful Sailor is apparently too rock-n-roll for roller-furling, the cliché, ‘the time to reef, is when you first think about it,’ could also read ‘the time to change the headsail is when you first think about it.’ Confidence is valued because hesitation could be dangerous. Tense, tentative, and scared movements do not work well for professional athletes, or amateur offshore sailors. Remember, keep your sailing safe and prudent, and have a blast.
La Paz is a small city on the east coast of the Baja California peninsula, 100 miles or so into the Sea of Cortez. Sampaguita is here because it has a cruising community, and therefore boating infrastructure. This means we can provision, repair, water, receive packages, and actually purchase some boating supplies. (Though ordering might be better, if you have the time.) That said, this community seems to be dominated by white North Americans and Europeans. This is not to say there aren’t any Mexicans with yachts. I do believe I have seen some. But that’s not the bread and butter.
If you get off the Malecón, or waterfront for you gringos, it’s seems to be regular Mexico. This is not the west coast of Baja rural Mexico, which I prefer, but not touristy. I love walking around and just getting the feel. I don’t feel threatened and I like not being on camera all the time like I feel in the US. I have grown to detest that about America. It’s not that I want to do bad things. It’s just there are so many rules and regulations, you are constantly navigating them. Tiresome. And the “1-800 Turn Your Neighbor In” schtick always has you looking over your shoulder. I haven’t noticed any police activity off the Malecón either. Many intersections are 4-way stops, but I have many times seen people cruise straight on through. This is not the “no cop, no stop” thing. This is a “no cars or pedestrians, no worries” sort of vibe. As a pedestrian, I look out for myself. I have a good grasp of the laws of kinetic energy and keep situationally aware. Another thing I noticed as I put the miles on my sandals is there are many of those covers for the holes in the sidewalks missing. You know the ones where they access water, or gas, or electric? Not a couple, but many. I love that. Why, you say? That would never happen in America. Someone would be walking down the sidewalk in a typical American un-situationally aware sort of way, fall in, break a leg or ankle, and definitely sue someone. Obviously, that doesn’t happen here. The rest of the world is appalled at how sue-happy Americans are. There are a lot of missed kindnesses and opportunities in America because people are afraid of being sued. It’s part of our fear culture. Lame. Unless you’re a lawyer, then you too are taking it to the bank. English descendant countries are so bent on order, it is oppressive and tiresome. OK, Mexican cartels on the rise are a bummer. Apparently, they are branching out from narcotics into commodities. But I have felt freer in the last two months than I have in a long time. Much of the world laughs at Americans when we say we are free. Even if I eventually get a shakedown somehow before I leave Mexico, I have some give in the “bank.” There are some frustrations, but America is the land of people making people frustrated. In Mexico, frustration comes from things being broken. I tried to buy a National Park permit online because I have been to a lot of places where I am supposed to have one. A nice website, but when it comes down to the important function of selling someone a permit? Broken. I asked other cruisers about it and everyone had the same experience. But no enforcement, so no worries. The Mexican Navy is your biggest concern, but in the few times I have seen them, they seem to mind their own business. They are most keen on making sure your paperwork is in order by my understanding. But I can prove to them that I tried to set up an account and buy a permit. You can’t get blood from a stone. I finally had to give up. And it just didn’t feel like it was going to be a problem. Try that in America. I felt the biggest risk would be having to point out the dysfunctionality of their government.
Even Amazon is broken. I mistakenly thought Amazon was Amazon. Not true. Each country is an independent Amazon. Sort of. The thing with Amazon Mexico is there is no, zilch, nada customer support. So if you order something, you better want it. You can go to your order page and cancel the orders and they will disappear from that page and you’ll be told you have no orders. But you are still getting them and paying for them. Unless they decide to cancel them themselves. Then maybe they will actually be cancelled. Your order page will be empty, but depending on the point in the fulfillment, you still might be getting it and paying for it. This was a bit stressful as I foolishly had American-like expectations regarding Amazon. Silly me. After realizing I was only ever getting a circular path with my clicks on the website, I called Amazon US. Easy to talk to someone there. But they will inform you they cannot help with Amazon Mexico. It is separate, you will need to talk to them. They will even give you a phone number to call that connects you to a message in Español that hangs up when it finishes. Dead end. The US customer service guy I spoke to was Indian. He pointed out he had an Amazon US and an Amazon India account. He said, for example, in the US we have a 30-day return policy while India had no such thing.
From the beginning. I placed my first order, sort of a test order. My bank texted me to confirm it was real. I said yes. I also got validation charges and refunds from Amazon Mex and Google. OK, feels legit. The order is on the order page. I see it being processed just as expected. OK, I decided to make two bigger orders I needed. It looks like it will be shipped from the US (not connected? really?) and I want to get it within a certain number of days. (Amazon still guarantees times and import fees are also guaranteed as part of the costs. This system seems solid with less possibility of things being caught in customs and essentially one vendor for everything.) Well, these bigger orders tripped the security feature. The next morning, I had messages from Amazon in Español (but translatable) that they had cancelled my orders. I would need to reset my password with two-part verification and then remake my orders. OK, I can appreciate that, sort of. I reset my password, which, even though they are different, also reset my Amazon US password. (not connected? really?) I go to my order page and the test order is gone too. But then the charge went through on my credit card. WTF. These are being delivered to addresses in Mexico, which was likely part of the security issue. But the order is gone, so I can’t track it either. I pensively remake one of the new orders, but then decide I have lost confidence in Amazon Mexico, so I cancel it. I will order directly from Renogy. The next day, I see there is a new charge from them on my cc. The amount doesn’t jive either. WTF. This is when I started calling Amazon US with no positive result. Finally, I say to myself, lets remove that credit card from my account as it seems it is the only way to stop this craziness. I go into my payment page and find my credit cards. I click on the transaction tab and up comes all my orders! Not just the recent ones but even my past US transactions. (not connected? really?) Messed up. But the orders are there. The tracking numbers are there. The orders they cancelled were not there. Good. The strange amount was because they split up the order. (Just like they do in the US.) Though they aren’t connected, most of my items are being fulfilled by Amazon from the US. Really? So I decided to let it ride. If everything fails, I will order from Renogy and end up paying for them twice, but the expedition hinges on these solar panels. No panels, no expedition. It costs what it costs. The disruption of the expedition will cost much more. I can’t sell the boat here. I can’t leave it in La Paz. Bashing it back up the coast isn’t practical. It’s not that kind of boat. Taking it to dry storage at Punta Penasco at the head of the Sea of Cortez is an option, but not a good one. I decided I had to chill out and wait and see. Well, the test order arrived way early and was fine. Part of the next order is on the way. After a few days of struggle and suckiness, I think I have figured it out. It’s easier to buy the different things I need from one vendor, as long as it works. I know where my orders can be found and tracked. I know to only order if I am certain I want it, and I have no expectations of customer service. Sounds like Mexico.
The Sea of Cortez is abundant with marine life. When I was sailing at night, the water sparkled. There were random 2-foot diameter spots that would glow for a second or two and then disappear. I watched stingrays doing flips in the air. Schools of fish feed on the surface in a loud boiling type manner. One of the pangas that goes by the anchorage every morning and night does whale shark tours. Pretty cool. On the other hand, I will likely only spend a little bit of time in February exploring the closer islands. It’s not very small boat friendly in that the wind can blow quite seriously. At this time of the year, you get a northerly or a westerly. You need to choose your anchorages wisely. It’s a baby steps sort of sea because if the wind is raging, say from the north, you don’t want to be on there with an opposing current in a Flicka 20. Wrap around waves into anchorages can be a problem too. It’s like the strait of Juan de Fuca, but ten times bigger.
The Anchorage:
There are easily a hundred boats in the anchorage at any one time. They come and go to points on the mainland and the islands in the Sea of Cortez. It’s a staging ground because of its cruising resources. In general, the anchor depths are good at around 20 feet, but it’s kind of a crappy, uncomfortable anchorage. The current is strong here, so when the North wind of the Sea of Cortez bears down, it is choppy and lumpy. Plus, the local pangas zoom through at full speed kicking up a serious wake. There are no speed limits and it’s their country, so why would they care about the yatista gringos. I don’t blame them, they aren’t taking their pangas to Seattle.
Pitch or roll? Pitch, just make sure there is plenty of scope and spring to the anchor rode. Roll tends to throw things around more and the dishes in the sink make a lot of noise.
Group or no group? There is comradery in the group. (But don’t overestimate the fraternity. It’s each yatista for themself. Play by the rules and you’ll be OK. But don’t expect anything.) Someone might gift you fish. (A couple nights ago my anchor neighbor brought me fish. His daughter accidently turned off the freezer and the fish started to thaw. It had to go, so I got a fillet of Mahi and a huge chuck of tuna. Having no fridge, I had fish tacos that night and for brekky.) Your dinghy or paddleboard might need a tow. (This hasn’t happened to me yet, but I’ve seen it plenty.) Maybe someone lets you piggy back on their Starlink. (A super thanks to Mundial, and no thanks to that boat in Los Frailles that threw me to the wolves for my trip to De Los Muertos.)
An aside: In America we are coerced by fear to lock our internet, but I think the provider companies have the most to gain by that. I’m a firm believer in free internet access for all, everywhere. It doesn’t have to be secure to look up weather, or directions, and for people (and students) to have universal, equal, and free access to the internet.
Back to anchoring. In support of no group, here in Mexico, in case they are not using a holding tank, I like to keep my distance from the families of 4, 5, or 6. (In the US, the rules and the enforcement are clear, and pump out stations are abundant and free. In Mexico, not so much on any of that. I doubt there is much worry about it. Even in BC, Canada there are only a few No Discharge Zones.)
The Hurricane: La Paz was hit by a hurricane in October. It wreaked havoc. I have counted no fewer than 20 boats sunk or washed ashore and that’s just through casual observance. Sailboats and large motor yachts. At the channel entrance there is a 20-30 meter super yacht with its bow pointing out of the water. I think it was towed out there so it wasn’t an obstruction in the harbor. It doesn’t appear much is being done about these boats. I see no activity regarding them and it’s been a couple months. I wonder if people have walked away? I wouldn’t blame them, really. What a headache and expense. It might be worth never going back to Mexico again. Let it be stripped. (Whether looted or sanctioned.) Maybe a local could have a used marine merchandise store? Would the compulsory liability coverage cover breaking out the chainsaw on the hull? It sounds like a work opportunity for the right individuals in an underdeveloped and underregulated country. (Or if not underregulated, definitely underenforced, or a willingness to look the other way.) Maybe the cartels could get in on that?
Boring 2023 Stats:
Travel Days – 94
Nights at Anchor – 111
Nights on a dock or mooring that wasn’t Port Townsend – 13
Nautical Miles – 3784
A classic AC/DC song on a local classic rock station with all classic English language songs, but all announcements and advertisements in Español. (Reminds me of WOUR, 96.9, The Rock of Central New York- sort of.)(A special thanks to Cris of Chile for teaching me how to make ñ on my phone. This way I can say Happy New Year instead of Happy New Ass.) Sampaguita has arrived in La Paz, Baja Sur, Mexico. When she and I mentioned we were in search of peace, this was not quite what we meant. Since we’re full of classic rock quotes, “You don’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well, you might find, you get what you need.”
It is a very busy, full, and challenging anchorage. Not to mention the many sunk and washed ashore boats from October’s hurricane. There is a strong current in this channel, and when the wind and chop pick up, boats do something called “The La Paz Waltz.” You best make sure you are not too close to your neighbor or some important gear is going to get broken as boats swing out of unison.
Sampaguita is here for a while as we try to sort through some technical details and prepare for the next leg of our journey.
Provisioning for one. A small city, I have been sussing out the grocery options. There are several choices, but I am finding a need to rethink my eating options and strategies. Fresh food is ample and easy, but preserved, long range, non-refrigerated food options are totally different. Mainly, the variety of canned foods I am accustomed too from the States aren’t a thing here. And everything is loaded with sugar. The whole sugar-free market might be more of an American thing, I have come to learn. Even though products are labeled with “exceso de azúcar”, there are few-to-no options.
Drinking water is proving easy so far. Marina De La Paz, of which Sampaguita is anchored right in front of, is cruiser friendly with a dinghy dock. 50 pesos (a little over $3 US) per day gets you access to land, drinking water, and garbage disposal. (La busura.) I have a 20 liter jug I fill up each time I go ashore. After 2 months of water conservation, I can be a little less discretionary. This, and other amenities, makes Marina De La Paz the center of cruiser activity. It is an excellent resource. It’s driven by the ex-pat snowbird and retired boating community. That’s still out of my peer group, but I appreciate it for what it is offering. As an aside, I have met many young (30-something) cruisers in my journey. I think this is awesome and by my understanding, a demographic shift. Canadians and Americans. Not necessarily affluent, but I think they are hip to the world not being the same one their parents’ was and responding appropriately. We are seeing this shift in all areas and fields in the younger generations. The world is changing so fast and so much, there is an increasing disconnect between generations. None of us are driving our parents’ Oldsmobiles. Do you even remember Oldsmobile?
Sampaguita has a “new” used dinghy. This is for redundancy. The kayak’s bottom bladder relief valve was giving out, and while not fully deflating, was softening, making the ride a little wetter and carrying capacity less. (And making me nervous.) Still under warranty, I have a new valve on the way from Idaho. The variable here is international carrier service efficiency, and well, dependability. Fingers crossed. The dinghy came from an Austrian couple (a Danish brand) I met in Bahia Santa Maria, and reconnected with on my arrival in La Paz. The goods are it is drier and can carry more cargo. The bads are it still can’t be carried on deck. It will be more awkward and difficult to inflate and deflate and get aboard. There still is no motor, so oars it is. So before you congratulate me, it’s six of one, half dozen of another. People tend to think because something is more traditional, it is better. That’s just called conditioning.
Another big chore in the works is getting new solar panels and spare solar system parts to increase the efficacy and reliability of that system. This story is complicated and too early to report on. This is a big deal and the learning curve in logistics is proving challenging. Oh, and I need to visit a dentist too. I’m not sure if there is an issue or not and I won’t get into the details of my aging mouth, but whether you still have teeth or not, you can relate. This is where a considerate donation from you, the readers, would be helpful. Please consider the many things you are gated to pay for, both necessary and unnecessary. I’m not putting up a gate, but if you are reading this, you took time and went out of your way to be here. I appreciate that. If I provide heart, pluck, information, inspiration, or a unique perspective, the feedback would be helpful to keep the journey and this blog moving forward. None of what I am doing is easy, cheap, or leisurely. A donation will help to keep me inspired to continue reporting. It would be way cooler if I didn’t have to point out the tip jar, but no one seems to notice otherwise. The next round is on you.
PayPal: wheelersf@hotmail.com
There is also a Donate button on the home page. You can’t miss it.
If you prefer, I can receive it through Zelle instead. Contact me for the arrangement.
Thank you to R.N. and L.B. for their thoughtful contributions.
Whether that be Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year, or something else I’m not educated to know about. For Sampaguita and I, it’s Happy Holiday. So that is what we wish. Here in Mexico, it is definitely Merry Christmas.
Funny meeting. My anchor neighbors here in Bahia De Los Muertos are on a boat named Opale. I met them first when on Breskell transiting the Northwest Passage in 2019. A small world. I did not recognize them or the boat in particular, but when we met here at the restaurant I guessed they were French by their boat and accent. It is fairly easy to spot a French built boat (and the accent.) (I have experience in both these matters.) Aluminum, cutter-rigged, centerboard type. The boat, that is. It was through this that we sorted out our past meeting.
I had a chance to upload some videos at the local restaurant. Happy Holidays.
sailingwithjosh
Sailing With Josh 