At Sea

The weathered Captain who'd sailed his yacht through all kinds of storms kindly recommended bananas. They are stomach-friendly, nutritious and if sea-sickness requires it, they'll come up as smoothly as they went down before. Being somewhat apprehensive, I certainly was grateful for any practical advice from an experienced sailor.
Thus on the 15th of January I took the loaded bicycle and a bunch of yellow fruit down to the marina, where — amongst all kinds of provisions, water and fuel — they were loaded onto the Wind Song, which was about to make her first voyage under the command of her new owner and Captain, Joshua. Our crew of five was completed by Josh's friends Steve, Nat and Allison, who'd arrived from Washington State earlier.
It wasn't before late afternoon, when we finally motored out into the Bay of La Paz. Under the golden light of the winter-sun, the city's waterfront - the Malecon - moved past for a last time, and I once again felt the Traveller's Blues of leaving behind a place and people who'd become dear to me without knowing if and when there'd be a return.
Though our final destination Mazatlán lay to the south-east, the geographical properties of the Bahia La Paz at first required a north-bound course, to exit it and circumvent the islands Espiritu Santo and La Parfida. Due to the lack of sailable winds, the ship's Volvo Diesel Engine pushed us at a comfortable 6-7 knots through the fairly calm, deep-blue waters and past the rugged desert mountains of Espiritu Santo, which glowed in vivid rust-brown colours under the setting sun.
At dusk we reached the sheltered cove at the narrow gap between the two islands, where we would anchor for the night. After dinner everybody went to bed early and I bedded myself on deck under that famous black blanket with a myriad of sparkling stars, how it only is to be found in places undisturbed by human light pollution. Then the moon rose and bathed the world in cool and silky twilight.

For the best part of the next day the boat rested anchored in the clear turquoise waters of the cove, while its crew soon engaged in various kinds of activity. The dingy was let to water and Steve started a little shuttle service, first taking Josh near shore, where he could test his spearfishing gear. Joshua brought back a little octopus, who was generally pitied, though he claimed it'd been self-defence as he went about to process his pray into Creviche.

Then Allison and Nat where the first landing party to explore the island. The rest of us followed later and we strolled through two seemingly deserted fishing villages, build on the sandy banks between the islands and divided only by a shallow, lagoon-like channel. Here a pufferfish — stranded by expansion through excitement - was heroically rescued by Joshua and Steve.
After our return to the Wind Song last preparations were made for the open sea passage; loose things were stowed away or tied down.

The sea got rougher as we neared the northern cape of La Parfida - our turning point. On-coming, partly braking three metre waves hit us at an annoying frequency. The 13.5 metre long Wind Song often dived deep into the narrow valleys between them, just to hit the next wave hard with splashes over the foredeck. Soon this roller-coaster ride showed its effect on the two people without yachting experience, Allison and me. Yet she coped much better than I, for soon I found myself drenched in cold sweat and seizing the opportunity to thoroughly test the second part of the weathered Captain's banana-theory. The good man had been just right. Now there was nothing else to do than to breathe fresh air and to sit it out in a sheltered corner, only interrupted by an occasional lean over the reeling, to enrich the past-flowing waters with what there still was available...

Once we had turned the cape and were able to set sail, things improved greatly: the waves stretched out and ran along with us and under its canvas wings the Wind Song cut the sea more steady and stable.
At nightfall only the three sailors were attending dinner, the sick crawled soon into their bunks to dream of calmer seas.

In the morning I awoke well and awfully hungry and ate a rich breakfast with great appetite. Over night sea and wind had calmed down further and now the boat was sailing on a breeze and only swayed gently. The rudder was hooked to the autopilot, as we had all a rather lazy, pleasantly eventless day, relaxing on deck, bathed in the mild warmth of the winter sun. The wind kept abating and in the evening the Diesel had to take over again. After a day of near silent travel, the ensuing noise felt twice as intense and I went to bunk wearing ear plugs.

Commotion in the cabin woke me before sunrise. The engine had ceased to work and Josh and Steve were lifting the floorboards to access it. Unnoticed, one reservoir had run dry and now they not only had to switch over to the next one but also to bleed the air from the fuel pipes. When I went up to the dripping wet deck, I saw at how inconvenient a time this loss of drive had occurred, finding us adrift in dense fog on a mirror-like, leaden sea. For a moment I could see some coastal lights, before grey veils swallowed them up again. We were in the busy waters just off the coast, already near our destination Mazatlán. Joshua worked swift and determined and soon the motor sprang back to life.
Now it was the three of us on deck, while the couple took their turn to sleep. As I couldn't contribute much to the navigation of the vessel, I prepared tea and coffee for all, documented our tiptoe advance photographically and rang the fog bell from time to time. Steve was on the radar, GPS and map while Josh stood in the bow, penetrating the impenetrable with his searching gaze, hooting the fog horn frequently. We came close enough to see two ghostly trawlers covered in birds and a few small fishing boats and something massive moved past and out to sea invisibly — the ferry to La Paz, probably. After showing on the radar, the sea-wall of the old harbour became truly visible rather suddenly. We crawled past it and turned in to drop anchor in save distance to some other yachts, finally.

Then the fog lifted and as usual my spirits with it. Sky and water turned blue and a bright sun promised yet another splendid day. Behind a line of palm trees and the harbour buildings lay waiting Mazatlán and beyond...
I looked forward to life on the road again; there'd be still a lot of Mexico to explore...