''Are you OK with sleeping in the cockpit?'' Captain Larry asked me when first we spoke.
''Absolutely!'' I responded without hesitation, omiting to share with him the fact that I had no idea what I was agreeing to.
What did I care - I was going sailing! As long as I had plenty of food, I told myself I'd be fine, so the day before our departure, I made the journey by thumb to the nearest town and stocked up on groceries - fruits, veggies, cereals, dairy and meat - several days worth of good looking grub. I would later learn that my shipmates had done the same, and that at a result, we were far from understocked. Good news to my ears.
We departed Puerto Escondido on a glorious Mexican Christmas morning, in full sun. There had been some jokes made about it being bad luck beginning your voyage on a Friday and - rather oddly I thought - bringing bananas on a boat, but we laughed-off the fact that we were guilty of both, our eyes cast out to the open water ahead of us. It wasn't long however, before the reality of what I'd signed on for began to present itself.
Shortly after we were motored out of port, we came into some pretty good winds, and so Captain Larry decided to raise up the spinnaker (a very large, and thin, almost parachute-like sail) to see if we could get some real sailing done right off the bat. His son John and I were instructed to remain in the cock-pit while he attempted this task for what he confessed to us was his first time. The Captain deftly unpacked the sail, and raised it up singlehandedly, all the while moving about the modest deck barefoot. (For those unfamiliar with sailboats, a Columbia-29 like Rosalita is a relatively small vessel, hardly large enough to justify any kind of safety railing around the deck, and I found myself a little anxious watching Larry dance about in his bare feet as we rocked to and fro in the waves.) The spinnaker seemed at first to be working quite well, but as the wind died down, the large sail quickly becames tangled among the rigging of the boat, and had to be taken down. The motor would have to do for now.
Sitting in the exhaust-ridden cockpit all this time, as we swayed about, had begun to make me feel a little queasy, and I found myself wondering if this was to be my fate for the remainder of the trip? I was understandably pleased, therefore, when the winds picked-up once more, and Captain Larry decided to hoist up the mainsail, which he had taken down upon raising the spinnaker. I closed my eyes and anxiously awaited for him to finish, so that we might finally cut the engine. They opened with a start however, when I heard a dull crack, and looked up to see Captain Larry crumpled in a ball on the deck, his head in his hands. After having raised the main, Larry was making his way back to the cockpit, at which time the boat had pitched a little, causing him to slip, and as he fell, he was struck in the head by the ship's boom! He assured us both that he was fine, but remained there a moment laying on the deck, collecting himself, before joining us in the cockpit, revealing the healthy mandarin-sized bump on his forehead. No blood, just a small abrasion, but a sizable bump to be sure. Eventually it was decided that perhaps we should settle on motoring the first leg of our journey.
Once things calmed down a bit and we were able to laugh a little about the mornings events, I decided that I'd move out to the deck, to sit in the sun at the foot of the mast, where I imagined the motion would be least, to see if I could burn off some of my queasiness. This worked well, and I spent the better part of the remaining day there, eventually sprawled out on my back in the sun, enjoying the gentle sway of the boat. Maybe this sailing thing wouldn't be so bad, afterall...
It was a full day, and we cruised into our first port about an hour or so before sundown. Nothing more than a small circular bay, really, Agua Verde is a beautiful little spot, shielded from the winds of the Cortez by the beautiful orange hills of the Baja, all speckled with various species of cacti and other scrubby little plants. There is a tiny village nearby, with a small tienda where basic provisions can be bought by the few folks who make it down that far - Agua Verde is the last piece of civilization reachable by road on the eastern coast of the Baja, from there traffic must head inland to get further South.
One other boat had left Puerto Escondido that morning, and we met them there in Agua Verde, and shared a lovely supper together that first night - enjoying the bay all to ourselves. We liked it so much in fact that we stayed another two nights, making day-trips on foot out to ancient cave-paintings nearby, swimming in the glorious clear-green water, and enjoying the abundant marine and avian life that dwelled there. As more boats arrived however, we decided to move on - we still had a ways to go to La Paz, if we wished to be there by New Years Eve. In the days that followed I quickly learned that the few setbacks we experienced at the outset of our journey were anything but indicative of the trip to come, and we had virtually no further problems throughout the remainder of our journey. It was, as they say, smooth-sailing from then on.
I will not attempt to provide a detailed account of all my days aboard Rosalita, or to describe the beauty of the various secluded locations at which we moored along the way, but a few highlights included: the excitement of catching a sizable tunafish (Black Skipjack, to be specific) which we later discovered was very poor eating and so were forced to throw back, and the even greater excitement, of nearly catching a huge Dorado, which would have been terrific eating. We were pleased though, just to see the beautiful thing sail through the air on the end of the line (Dorado are also known as Mahi Mahi). For the most part, waters were calm, but we did hit some pretty good swells which occasionally sent food and other items carreening about the cabin. The biggest pleasure though, was by far the marine life we didn't try to catch - several huge manta-rays jumping, often 8-10 feet out of the water, and groups of dolphins playing nearby. Indeed, at one point, a gang of some dozen or so dolphins sped along just off the bow of our boat, jumping and playing as we smiled down at them. This must have lasted only a few minutes, but it seemed like they were there for hours, darting to and fro, jostling each other, swimming upside-down, and the like. A beautiful sight.
I'll conclude by relating that although one or both of my crewmates were ill for the better part of the trip, I managed to escape what eventually became seven nights aboard that boat with them without catching whatever they had. I attribute this to the fact that while they both spent nights in the cabin, I slept, as I mentioned earlier, in the cockpit, which, I came to learn, was outside! And so, while they coughed and sniffled in Rosalita's warm belly, I gazed up at the Mexican stars, and dreamed of the coming months on the road.
Eventually, on the evening of December 30th, we made it to La Paz, and I can tell you, I was quite pleased to have arrived. Taking the advice of the folks I met in Puerto Escondido, and Captain Larry, I wasted no time in setting about finding another ride, across the Sea of Cortez this time, to the mainland of Mexico, and by a stroke of goodluck, managed to find one, before I could even pin my sign up on the local message board. It's not a sure thing just yet, but with luck, I'll be leaving for Puerto Vallarta this coming Monday, aboard a much larger boat this time, along with a new crew - it looks to be a three or four-day trip.
The past few days here in La Paz have been lovely. I enjoyed a pleasant New Years Eve with Larry and John at a local blues roadhouse called El Paraje, and last night's sleep in a real bed - my first since arriving - was a joy. Only today is the steady rhythmic wobbling of the world around me beginning to fade as I slowly shed my sealegs.
Thanks again to those of you who from whom I've received emails recently. I hope you all had a great New Years celebration!
¡Adios!
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