A Whale’s Tale

Hello Everyone,

Randy and I had an awing experience in a lagoon on the west coast of Baja two months ago. I’ve tried to write about it many times and just stumble around, unable to find the words to describe the experience adequately. This morning I decided to turn the job over to my imaginary friend, Regina. She first appeared several years ago during a meditative moment on the beach in Ventura, California. She’s an angelic sort of being with a great sense of humor. She’s absolutely fearless, loving and kind and usually shows up wearing a white robe. I suspect she’s a wiser aspect of myself, so I’ll just sit back and let her describe what happened…

Well, how nice. Gina is a dear but her insecurities tend to trip up her free flow of expression. Like many people alive today, she’s drawn to interact with the dolphins and whales. They have things to communicate to people and Gina is one who dearly wants to hear what they have to say. I helped her arrange a little whale watching expedition in January after she and Randy crossed the Sea of Cortez from mainland Mexico. She was surprised when she blurted out her desire to see the whales the first time she met Barry and Sue on the dock in Santa Rosalia. Of course that was no accident. They were also whale people (although they didn’t know it at the time.) I thought it would be a nice touch to have the trip occur the day Barack Obama took the oath of office as the 44th president of the United States. A day for dreams to come true indeed. It was fun seeing the four of them board the bus at seven o’clock that morning. Outwardly they were calm sixty something adults, inside they were as excited as little kids. They didn’t know it yet, but soon enough their adult pretenses would be swept away in the utter joy of touching a whale.

They arrived in Guererro Negro three hours later. Gina was a little nervous about finding the tour office, but really there was no need to worry. I made sure their paths crossed those of two young men who were out and about collecting money for a women’s shelter. Directions and donations were happily exchanged. People helping people is how the world works, you know. Gina was pleased to see the four of them were the only ones booked for the 11 o’clock tour. She began to suspect something special was going on when their tour guide stopped to pick up an additional young woman, Charlie, who had travelled all the way from Wales, England in the hope of touching a whale. Charlie’s vivacious personality endeared her to the others at once. She had taken a tour the day before and told them how she agonized over the decision to throw her meager travel budget to the winds in order to buy another ticket. Crowded conditions on the boat the day before had prevented her from realizing her dream.

So off they went in a twenty foot panga with Lucien, their guide, at the helm. Laguna Ojo de Liebre was beautiful that day. Calm seas beneath a mackerel sky. Not a trace of the trauma remained from the days it was called Scammon’s Lagoon and the gray whales were nearly hunted to extinction. Lucien showed them a pair of nesting ospreys atop a metal channel marker and stopped so they could take a picture of seals lounging on an immense buoy. The buoy was attached to a barge heaped high with a mountain of sparkling salt. In the deeper water of the lagoon they saw many heart shaped plumes, a characteristic of the gray whale’s double blow holes. After patiently motoring around the 27 mile wide lagoon, they came upon a mother whale swimming with her baby. He was only a few days old, not a barnacle to be seen on his shiny black body. Although Lucien stayed a respectful distance away, mama kept between the panga and her baby. Junior however, was as curious about the people as they were about him. In a move that took their breath away, he slid onto his mother’s back so he could see into the panga!

Enthralling as this was, everyone still had hopes of actually touching a whale. Although they spotted several spouts and tails over the next hour, no whale approached their panga. Their hopes began to dim as their time on the water neared it’s end. Charlie mentioned whales seem to be attracted to boats with children aboard. They like their enthusiasm and excitement. That’s all Gina needed to hear. The next time they neared a group of whales, she started to hum and drum on the side of panga. Over and over she tapped out, “shave and a haircut 2 bits,” the knock children use when they want their friends to come out to play. Knock and the door will be opened, as they say. One of the whales spy hopped to get a better look, then swam straight toward them. Pandemonium broke out aboard the panga. No lack of childlike enthusiasm now! Gina handed her camera to Randy, knowing it would no longer be safe with her. After an initial “oh shit” moment, Randy took a series of pictures of the behemoth as she got closer and closer to the panga. Her thirty foot, twenty-five ton body dwarfed the little boat. With the lithe grace of a ballerina, she glided inches beneath the boat and raised her tapered head beside the bow, letting their eager hands touch her. They were awed at the sense of aliveness emanating from her barnacle-encrusted skin. It was as soft and sensitive as a new-born baby’s. She surfaced on both sides of the panga, blowing a misty plume each time she dove beneath the boat. The panga rocked back and forth as people scrambled from port to starboard and bow to stern, ohhing and ahhing at the sight and feel of the magnificent being who had answered their call. Lucien touched a whale for the first time as she rolled onto her back and glided beneath the stern of the boat for the last time. Randy took a picture of the sun glistening on her tail as she swam away. It looked as though she was waving good bye to the six joyous people left in her wake.

It was wonderful to see the love flow unchecked from their hearts as they discussed the unforgettable experience they had just shared. Barry said he felt the whale conveyed something through her touch. They all felt it. A heightened awareness was awakened deep within them, similar to the state experienced by people in love, and everything they saw looked beautiful and alive. Gina sensed a harmonious melody permeating the subtle movement of the clouds, the rays of sun dancing on the water, the birds flying over the lagoon. The whale opened their hearts and allowed them to feel the song underlying the web of life.

Well, how about that? Regina said it all. The next day I looked up whales on the net and was floored when I came across a recording of the sound made by a gray whale. It sounds just like a hand slapping a kettle drum, almost identical to the sound of my drumbeat on the hull. With the whole panga reverberating like a kettle drum, no wonder the whale came over to investigate! Regina must have had something to do with that accident too. Randy was the only one who didn’t get to touch the whale. Since thousands of whales make the 12,000 mile round trip migration from Alaska to Baja California every year, we hope he will have the magical opportunity to touch one next year. Would anyone like to join us?

With Love
Gina and Randy

“Bottom Paint” – what you get when the cockpit seats are freshly painted.

Hello Everyone,

We survived another boatyard experience! Although it was touch and go physically (every trip in and out of Balena involved climbing a 12 foot ladder whose rungs were spaced twice as far apart as would be OSHA approved), emotionally (Randy was furious when he discovered what a poor paint job the Anacapa Boatyard in Oxnard did two years ago) and matrimonially (during the last day of painting our marital status was often brought into question.) Most boatyards are dirty, toxic, unhealthy places. The new Fonatur Boatyard in Guaymas however, is clean and staffed with friendly people who went out of their way to help us. Thank goodness, because we came down with a wicked flu that kept us there two weeks longer than expected. I wish I’d gotten a picture of Randy splattered head to toe with red bottom paint. Trust me, he was a sight to behold. He celebrated the end of the painting project by throwing away all his splattered clothes, including his duck-taped shoes. My boatyard garb tended toward the alien look, as the enclosed picture shows. There’s also a picture of our pretty baby in slings on her way to “splash” after two months “on the hard.”

Guaymas is an old commercial port of about 80,000 people. Pancho Villa lived here and pirates used to hide out behind the islands tucked in her protected harbor. We got to know Guaymas well, thanks in part to riding the local buses. Drivers write their destinations in shoe polish on the bus windows. There are no schedules, so though we’d hop on a bus headed to a place we wanted to go, we never knew what route the bus would take to get there. One day we took a long, circuitous route through an outlying neighborhood chock full of potholes. We had to be careful to keep our tongues behind our teeth as we jolted along or be in danger of biting them off! All the bus drivers seem to think of themselves as race car drivers who ended up behind the wheel of a bus by some cruel twist of fate. We found it best to focus on one of the Jesus or Mary icons prominently displayed inside the bus rather than watch the road ahead. Randy attempted to provide a distraction by describing the mechanical shortcomings which resulted in squealing noises and weird vibrations beneath our feet. Somehow I didn’t find this helpful. We always left the bus with a sharpened appreciation for life, having narrowly escaped death numerous times during the course of a typical cross-town bus ride. Kidding aside, my favorite memory is of boarding the bus with a Mongoloid girl. She carried a stick in an empty 7up bottle and drummed it on the back of the metal seat in front of her as the bus started up. Her impromptu concert captured the aliveness and pulsing rhythm of Mexican life perfectly. Several of the young people in the bus passed her coins of appreciation.

Randy – My favorite bus ride was when I picked up the spare fuel injectors from the diesel laboratory on the edge of town. First, it was $50 to get them cleaned and calibrated (1/4 the U. S. price). Then when I got on the return bus, work had just ended at a manufacturing plant across the street. Somehow we got about 70 people on a bus that holds 40. There was actually no standing room left.

Yep, to get the real flavor of Mexico, you have to ride the buses. And to appreciate the full flavor of cruising life, you have to taste the grit and grime of sanding your boat in a boatyard.

With love and laughter,
Gina and Randy

“Cruising” – Waterborne pleasure journey embarked on by one or more people. A cruise may be considered successful if the same number of individuals who set out on it arrive, in roughly the same condition they set out in, at some piece of habitable dry land, with or without the boat.

Hello Everyone,

Our waterborne pleasure journey meets all the criteria for success! We’ve returned to Ensenada, without our boat, nineteen months to the day since I first wrote about sailing across the border into Mexico. While Balena awaits our return from the Thanksgiving holidays in a boatyard in Guaymas, we continue to bumble our way through Baja in roughly the same condition we started out. The pattern begun the first day of our journey, with shattered glass and spilled coffee in the cockpit, hasn’t abated in the least. Here are some of our most memorable bloopers, in order of expense.

Baja has plenty of salt water, but limited fresh water supplies. Without ready access to washing machines or fresh water, our American standards of cleanliness have fallen by the wayside where clothes are concerned. This has hardly inconvenienced Randy, a dirt-challenged male. He once wore the same pair of socks for three weeks! Of course, it was summertime and he seldom wore shoes. I on the other hand, wash everything in sight when I get near a self-service Laundromat. It was during one of these frenzied episodes that I washed all Randy’s jackets (over his protests) and evidently forgot to check the inner pocket of his windbreaker. Two months later, we needed our passports and couldn’t find them anywhere. We searched for two days without success. On a flash of intuition, Randy dug out the jackets from their storage locker and searched all the pockets. Sure enough, inside the hidden windbreaker pocket he found a ziplock bag with something inside. Something black and horribly disgusting. That’s when we discovered ziplock bags aren’t waterproof when subjected to a typical washing machine cycle. Also, passports and visas mold nicely after two months in a dark, damp place.

Though you could no longer tell who the passports belonged to, they were distinguishable as passports. Incredibly, we were able to cross the border with the help of the Xerox copies we’d made of the passports before their spin through the washing machine. It cost almost 300 dollars apiece to get new passports made in the USA. At least we like our pictures better. Randy’s no longer looks like a mug shot.

Oops, time to go. Pretty Bird has an appointment with the United States Department of Agriculture this afternoon. (We’ve discovered birds are the most expensive pets to transport across international borders. It costs $108 every time we bring him back into the USA. Too bad we can’t train him to fly across!) I have no time to write about the blown “mofler” incident, the runaway dinghy or any of our REALLY embarrassing bloopers. Maybe next time. See you soon.

With love and laughter,
GinaBalena

Hello Everyone,

Today is Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. All over Mexico people flock to cemeteries to commune with their dead relatives, leaving colorful flowers in their wake. Death is viewed as an end to physical existence here, while a person’s spiritual essence lives on eternally. In the spirit of the day, I’d like to share a deeply moving experience I had with a dying pelican after we left Puerto Don Juan.

We had anchored in a pristine bay below Punta Pescador (Fisherman’s Point.) Early in the morning I kayaked over to an intriguing little island to explore. Engrossed in collecting shells along the beach, I was startled to come upon a pelican resting in the sand. His long neck was thrown across his back at an awkward angle, so I thought he was dead and drew closer to investigate. His eyelids were shut but still intact, which surprised me since the sea gulls usually peck out the eyes first thing. Then I saw his breast move slightly. Oops, he was still alive. I backed away and left him alone. I hoped he was ok and continued on down the beach. On the way back, I saw that his head had flopped onto the sand. Occasionally he’d flap his immense wings in a fruitless attempt to move his head and body. My heart went out to the struggling bird. I prayed he’d pass on soon, before the gathering sea gulls began to peck at him. I began to walk away but just couldn’t leave him. I love pelicans and it felt as though a brother was in distress. I sat on the beach and with tears in my eyes, prayed the helpless bird be granted a measure of grace. I didn’t want to interfere with nature or frighten him, but it occurred to me that perhaps I could offer him a bit of grace by shading him from the blazing sun. I gently approached until my shadow fell across his body. I’d never been so close to a pelican before. His magnificent body was covered with beautiful feathers, every one perfect, from the tiny white head feathers to the long wing tip “fingers.” I could see no external injuries. Perhaps he’d eaten a fish poisoned with demoic acid and his neurological system was damaged internally.

I stood watch over him for a long time, protecting him from the gulls and the sun. I sent him all the soothing energy I could muster. Whenever the sea gulls would caw, he’d flap his wings weakly and I’d hum softly. It seemed to calm him a little. Occasionally I’d pour water from my water bottle into his long beak, but he never seemed able to swallow. The sun beat down. The waves lapped on the shore. A sense of timelessness set in. A dolphin swam by in the turquoise water and helped to ease some of the sadness I felt for the pelican’s plight. I closed my eyes and immediately an image of a smiling pelican appeared in my mind’s eye. So powerful was his joyous presence that my sorrow lifted palpably. Was I “seeing” the pelican’s spirit? By the nature of his presence, I felt he conveyed to me that though his body was dying, his spirit was without pain and gloriously free. In my mind’s eye, I snuggled up to his feathery breast, like a little girl snuggled in her grandfather’s lap, comforted by the feeling emanating from him that everything was fine. The cycle of life and death was just as it was meant to be. I even got the sense that the pelican was glad his body would soon be food for the waiting gulls. Glad also I’d come along to share this experience with him. I opened my eyes and looked at the pelican, still struggling physically, yet now I no longer felt the heavy burden of grief. I knew his spiritual essence was fine. My perception of death had changed irrevocably. I left the island with gratitude in my heart for the lesson in the nature of life and death the pelican had taught me.

With love,
Gina

“Amidships” – condition of being surrounded by boats.

Hello Everyone,

We just spent a week holed up in Puerto Don Juan with 17 other boats while Hurricane Norbert raged to the south of us. We hear 95% of the homes in Magdalena Bay were destroyed. Randy says you don’t have to be crazy to be a cruiser, but it sure helps. Of course, news from the United States is pretty crazy too. It was interesting that we were far enough north of Norbert to escape his fury, yet close enough to the United States to get blasted by strong Santa Ana winds. Our first day in Puerto Don Juan was calm and beautiful. Cruisers dinghied around the quarter-mile-wide protected bay, fishing and swapping DVDs and books. Our dinghy was folded up on deck, so we swam to our nearest neighbor to chat and catch up on the local news. After a gorgeous pink sunset, we sat in the cockpit and watched everyone’s anchor lights twinkle on beneath a starry sky. The next morning Randy used his hookah gear to dive down 30 feet to our anchor and walk it to a better location. He said our big 45 pound storm anchor, attached to 200 feet of chain, was too heavy to haul up and reset in the usual way. Actually, he makes up any excuse to play with his new hookah setup! We finished just as the northerly winds came up with a vengeance. For the next four days, all dinghy traffic ceased. It was too rough to go out, so most people secured their dinghies on deck and battened down the hatches. We could see big waves breaking on the reefs forming the narrow mouth of the bay and “buffalos” romping down the Sea of Cortez beyond.

So what do people do while confined to the space of a small kitchen for four days, besides going outside to check the anchor every few hours? Sleep. Read. Watch movies. I painted, sewed and played Sudoku. Randy played video games and fiddled with his HF radio, using tiny plastic “fairy wands” to tune in the lower single sideband frequencies. Thanks to the various ham bands, we got an amateur weather report two or three times a day. Randy even reached his friend Bob Whitters in Frazier Park one night. Which brings up another favorite cruiser pastime – eavesdropping on the local VHF chit-chat. In Puerto Don Juan, people hail each other by boat name on channel 68, then transfer to another channel to talk. Of course, there’s nothing to keep half the fleet from following along too. It’s like having a giant party line. We all heard about Jake’s troubles installing his new raw water pump. Several men offered suggestions and good natured ribbing. I learned all about growing sprouts aboard by listening in on another conversation.

For Joan aboard Panchita, these diversions were not enough to allay her cabin fever. She invented a cruiser-friendly version of Jeopardy and got us all to play along via marine radio. I can’t remember all the categories now. One was “Hamming it up” and another “Como se dice?” Shannon aboard Sweetie aced the game because she spoke Spanish so well. Joan also inspired the crew of HipNautical to modify Peter, Paul and Mary’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” song and broadcast it over the radio, complete with guitar accompaniment. All the lyrics were clever, the only line I remember concerned the cruiser’s perennial problem of an overflowing holding tank: “How many times can a man flush his head, before he pees in the sea? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind. The answer is blowing in the wind.”

As soon as the winds subsided, boats shot out of Don Juan in every direction of the compass. Randy and I set sail to explore the Midriff Islands. Where shall we go next? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.

With love,
The Vagabundos

Nautical Mile” – a relativistic measure of surface distance over water – in theory, 6076.1 feet. In practice, a number of different values for the nautical mile have been observed while under sail, for example: after 4 pm, approximately 40,000 feet; in winds of less than 5 knots, about 70,000 feet; and during periods of threatening weather in harbor approaches, around 100,000 feet.

Hello Everyone,

We’ve been ticking off the nautical miles these days and discovering all kinds of interesting people and places. We’d barely dropped the hook in tiny San Sebastion Cove on our first night’s anchorage south of Bahia Concepcion, when we were invited ashore to join in a neighborhood party. Many of the gringos in the small community are old friends from Santa Cruz who’ve helped each other build simple Baja vacation homes. A dozen of them had just finished dinner on the patio of one of these homes after helping the owner lay tile all day. We didn’t intend to stay all evening, but the conversation was so good natured and funny, that’s just what we did. Our dinner that night consisted of red wine from one of the couple’s vineyards, Neapolitan ice cream and chocolate. It had the flavor (literally) of an Italian family gathering in the countryside, complete with ribald humor.

The next night we anchored in Vee Cove at the northeastern tip of Isla Carmen. I’ve included a picture of one of the intriguing caves cut into the cliffs of white volcanic ash bordering the anchorage. The pristine water and beautiful colors inside the caves created a magical kayaking experience. I’ve often been struck by how similar our Baja nature excursions are to E ticket rides at Disneyland. Except these are real. We feel so lucky to be experiencing real-life adventures rather than amusement park imitations … despite the mosquito bites that accompany the real thing. Lets see, I just counted over 60 red bumps on my left leg, and that’s the good leg! Our arrival in San Carlos on the mainland side of Mexico must have coincided with a big mosquito hatch. We like the Baja side better so far. San Carlos reminds us of Orange County. Expensive homes line the waterfront with sleek boats tied to private docks. As in Newport Beach, we notice the people most often aboard are the Mexican workers who wash and wax the seldom-used boats. Everyone we’ve met has been really nice, it’s just that a simple, nature-centered life feels more real to me.

The other pictures were taken of the Salinas salt mining operation on Isla Carmen, closed since 1950. The glistening salt flats in the center of the island are the result of volcanic activity. The abandoned town was full of photo ops and we took dozens of pictures: Cacti growing from rusted vehicles, piles of rubble that once were homes, swaybacked stairs hanging off the sides of buildings, even one of Balena peacefully at anchor framed by a window with very little glass or wall attached. Picturesque moments captured in time. Like the nautical mile, time has a relativistic quality here. Geologically, the land is young, yet any man made structure ages quickly in the desert air.

Speaking of time, Randy passed a significant milestone on May 19th. Until that date, he’d worked for the County of Los Angeles over half his life. Now he’s worked there less than half and it gets better every day. Hooray!

With Love,
The Young Geezers

p.s. pictures have experienced an exception

“Anchor” – a device designed to bring up mud samples from the bottom at inopportune or unexpected times (most commonly at 3 am.)
“Fluke” – the portion of an anchor that digs securely into the bottom, holding the boat in place; also, any occasion when this occurs on the first try.

Hello Everyone,

We’ve left our mark on the Sea of Cortez. Last week Randy lived up to the meaning of his given name, George, the farmer. Since he no longer has a plot of land to cultivate, he’s taken to plowing the sea floor. It happened as we tried to re-anchor closer to the shelter of the windward cliffs following an onslaught of 30 knot winds. The sandy bottom of Bahia Concepcion is full of a type of slippery kelp. We must have dropped the anchor into a patch of it because as we reversed to “set the hook”, the anchor never dug in. Balena towed the plow-style anchor across the sea floor much like a farm tractor furrowing a field. Later in the day, the same thing happened to our friends aboard “Serenity.” Bob has been a fisherman for over 30 years and this is the first time he’s dragged anchor. Randy said it was not all bad, “We’ll plow today and plant tomorrow!”

He really is a farmer at heart. He calls moving the solar panels to face the sun, “farming the sun’s photons for our batteries.” He also cultivates friendships wherever we go. We travel in a wake of goodwill because of the people Randy has befriended.

(Yesterday I met 3 Europeans in their 20’s, a young man from the U.K. and two young ladies from Germany. They climbed off the bus that travels the length of Baja, expecting to find a room to rent in El Burro Cove. Unfortunately there are no rooms available for miles along this stretch of Hwy 1. Geary, the weatherman and elder gringo statesman of El Burro Cove, arranged for them to sleep on the porch of a palapa (grass hut) which is not being used. We loaned them a sleeping bag and a couple of tarps. Another neighbor took them for a thrilling ride in the bay where hundreds of dolphins surrounded their power boat. They are adventurous and will fit right in for the few days they are here. The girls remind us of our well-traveled daughters and the young man has certainly traveled and kissed the Blarney Stone. He is a match for Mike, one of the local ex-pats. Their stories kept us entertained over dinner last night – Randy.)

See what I mean?

Bahia Concepcion is our favorite place so far. It is chock full of wonderful people and interesting places to explore. One of the most colorful characters we’ve met is Geary. Every morning he plays a recording of Amazing Grace on the bagpipes before giving a weather report for the entire Sea of Cortez. He arises at 4:30 am to concoct this forecast from a myriad of internet sources, adding his trademark bit of humor from the wire services (usually a dumb crook story.) If you’re ever curious about our daily weather, check out his web site at sonrisanet.org. His generosity doesn’t stop with the gratis weather reports, he often offers visiting cruisers a lift into Mulege to provision and do laundry. Mulege is a little town nestled among the palm trees along the banks of one of the few rivers in Baja. It is a true desert oasis about 17 miles north of El Burro Cove. We went with him the day he brought his cat to be neutered (”taking her to the prom” was Geary’s term.) As are many modern improvements, the veterinary office was built through the fund raising efforts of the local gringos. The small, spotlessly clean operating room was tucked in the corner of a garden in a trailer park. A hand-lettered sign posted on a palm tree denoted the open air “Pre-Op” area. Another sign beneath a gorgeous arch of magenta, pink and white bougainvillea blossoms marked the “Recovery” area. Though Geary’s cat Smoke didn’t enjoy her prom experience, we loved being a part of daily Baja life.

The picture of the petroglyphs was taken on a hike above El Burro Cove with our friend Ken. I was fascinated by the many turtle-like figures etched into the boulders filling the canyon. We’ve seen several big turtles in the bay and hope they are making a comeback after relentless fishing by the Japanese in years past. Tomorrow we leave Bahia Concepcion and head south to explore Isla Carmen. The salt pond in the middle of the island is supposed to be interesting and nearby Puerto Escondido hosts the Loreto Fest, a popular cruiser gathering. Wonder who we’ll meet and what adventures await us there?

With love,
The Vagabundos

“Queeg” – affectionate slang term for a ship’s captain.
“First Mate” – crew member necessary for skippers to practice shouting instructions to.

Hi Y’all,
This is GinaBalena, back to writing about our adventures in the Sea of Cortez after a long winter’s hibernation. I’ve spiced up the blog this year by adding humorous definitions from “A Sailor’s Dictionary” as well as pictures. We’re happy to be back on the open water again after four long months in the harbor at Santa Rosalia. We made a lot of boat repairs and new friends there and had a wonderful visit with our families during the Christmas holidays.

I’d like to celebrate the leap year by sharing a personal leap forward I made two weeks ago. A little background information first. For years I’ve struggled with a tendency to do too much busywork. Randy teases me about being a human DOING rather than a human BEING. I think it has to do with feeling unworthy unless I’m doing something useful. Well, I overcame the habit big time due in part to a conflict with Randy. Soul mates are great for that sort of thing! I’ve observed that it’s pretty common for male captains to yell at their first mates (be they male or female) during stressful situations and Randy is no exception. Anchoring, docking and dinghy landings ashore seem to morph him into Captain Queeg. He always gets his good humor back quickly, but I’m left feeling humiliated and angry for a long time.

In Conception Bay we had one of these incidents during a dinghy landing in tricky surf conditions. I couldn’t shake my resentment all day. Why do I take his yelling so personally? I decided something in me had to change (I’ve given up trying to change him!) We talked it over that night and it became clear we each had a different picture in our minds concerning our joint landing procedure. When we’re on our own we do it differently: I tend to hop off and pull the dinghy ashore, Randy likes to push it ashore using the oars as poles. Both ways work, they’re just different. A little light went off in my head and I realized there are many ways to accomplish the same task. One way is not better than another and ONE PERSON IS NOT BETTER THAN ANOTHER, just different. Years of feeling inferior because I didn’t think like a man evaporated in the light of this profound realization. Being in the same boat of course, means we need to coordinate our efforts and find ways of doing things that work for both of us. I find that coming from a place of equality makes all the difference in the world in our communications.

The next day I had an altered state sort of vision as I awoke from a nap. I saw what looked like a can of beans sending out brilliant rays of light. The little can was stacked among many similar cans which were not lit up. Energy poured into my left eye as I watched and I got tingles all over. As I became fully awake, I started to laugh at the humor of my inner wisdom. The message seemed to be that like the can of BEANS, I’ve become a fully actualized human BEING at last. I no longer have to DO anything to prove my worth. I’m fine just as I am and that beingness radiates from me like a light. (Either that or I’m full of beans!)

My bright new attitude was put to the acid test yesterday. A thirty foot trimaran broke free from it’s anchorage and was blown toward shore. Randy and I jumped in the dinghy and raced across El Burro Cove to help with the rescue operation. A neighbor of the absent owner had thrown one of the trimaran’s anchors overboard just in time to stop it from going ashore. We decided to bring over our spare anchor, drop it in deeper water and attempt to pull the trimaran farther offshore. The waves were steep and the dinghy hard to control, so Captain Queeg came out in full force as people gathered on shore to watch. The verbal onslaught went in one ear and out the other as I simply did the best I could to steer the dinghy’s bucking bow into the waves as Randy dropped the anchor off the stern. Our efforts stabilized the tri and later in the day a panga fisherman towed it back to it’s usual anchorage and returned our anchor. We learned this happens every year to the guano-covered boat. I was as pleased with my inner calm as I was with the outer success of our adventure. Like the picture of El Burro Cove at sunrise, when the inner waters are calm, the outer world is reflected with a beautiful clarity.

With love,
The Vagabundos

Hello Everyone,

We’re leaving Balena in the marina at Santa Rosalia (how poetic!) and heading north today. It will be wonderful to be with our families and friends again. Please forgive us if we seem sorta slow moving. Nature and Mexico have had eight months to work their magic on us. Wonder if our relaxed pace will survive all the Christmas parties, cousin’s parties and even a wedding? Hope so. We’ll head south again the day after New Year’s.

See you soon! With love,
Gina and Randy

Hello Everyone,

Guess what? We’ve got cockroaches now! If a DVD were made of our life, you’d find it in the comedy section of the video store. After two months of engine problems, one after another, we finally complete the repairs and the cucarachas appear. Fortunately cruising has helped us develop a laid back attitude toward life. This was epitomized beautifully by a turkey vulture on Thanksgiving Day. While Randy visited some friends, I took a walk on the beach and spotted a turkey vulture and a sea gull perched on the rocks. The gull had caught a fish and was tearing into it as the vulture watched, his ruby red head glowing in the afternoon sun. The gull was in no hurry, so the vulture waited patiently. Another gull zeroed in on the feast and the fish was dropped in the water in the ensuing ruckus. The second gull retrieved the fish and took his turn on the dinner rock. Again the vulture waited, occasionally fanning his wings into a magnificent four foot wingspan. A third gull flew in and this time the fish fell between two boulders. Big dilemma. Nobody could reach it. The vulture deliberately hopped closer. With a superavian effort the second gull hauled the fish free and tore into it with renewed vigor. At this point the vulture must have decided it was no longer worth the wait because he looked at me with a shrug, spread his wings and flew away. That about sums up our cruising attitude: Hope, patience and adaptability to ever changing circumstances.

We developed that attitude into an art form during the saga of the engine repair. First the lift pump went out at a remote anchorage and we replaced it with a spare. Two weeks later the fuel injector pump suffered an internal hemorrhage just as we cleared a reef. The engine continued accelerating, even though it was set at idle. I ran to shut off the fuel and the clattering of the runaway engine stopped, leaving a cloud of smoke in its wake. When we reached Santa Rosalia, Randy had to disassemble the entire port side of the engine to get the old pump out. He patiently researched various options and decided to exchange the old pump for a rebuilt one in Los Angeles. Upon his return, he discovered a tiny part of the throttle linkage had been left in the old pump. After a series of confusing telephone calls, we arranged for “Ooh pay essa” (UPS) to transport the part to a Mexican bus line which would then deliver it to Santa Rosalia. That was three weeks ago. The part never made it beyond Tijuana before being sent back to LA. UPS said, “Your package has experienced an exception.” Of course they are now sending us emails in Spanish, to help us with our exceptional package. Hope, patience, adaptability.

In the meantime, Randy drew a picture of the missing part, a ball-headed bolt (tornillo con bola) and brought it to all the auto and hardware stores in town. Nobody had it. Next we scrounged several dusty wrecking yards. (Isn’t the cruising life romantic?) I think the abundance of vultures in Mexico reflect a national trait. Those old cars were picked clean to the bone! Eventually Randy found a machine shop and had the head of a proper sized bolt machined into a 1/4 inch ball. The engine went back together fine, except for one injector flange. Evidently it had a hairline crack and snapped in two when it was tightened. Another trip to the machinist solved that problem. When we fired up the engine, it ran…. hot. Randy put in a new thermostat. It still ran hot, so we had the raw water intake scrubbed clean (as well as the rest of the hull below the waterline.) The overheating persisted until he replaced the raw water impeller and gasket. Now our engine purrs and we have cucarachas. Hope, patience, adaptability!

That attitude has also spilled over into our relationship. Two first borns who are used to being “right” tend to butt heads alot. One day Randy described himself as tenacious and me as stubborn! Fact is, we’re both bull-headed. Gradually we’re beginning to see that being right is pretty much a matter of opinion and it helps alot to understand each other’s opinion. At least we no longer think the other guy is quite so crazy!

We’re also developing a broader viewpoint of world events, thanks especially to our friendship with Sara and Francesco, young Italian filmmakers who live in a trimaran. We share pasta and movies with each other and drove deep into the desert to see some ancient rock paintings with them. They introduced us to the movies of Ron Fricke. If you have a chance, see “Chronos” or “Baraka.” There is no dialog, just achingly beautiful scenes of earth, architecture and people. Such things as time lapse sequences of tides washing around Scottish castles and a rain forest tree being felled.

Well, time to go get dem cucarachas. With love,
Gina and Randy