February 25, 2017

1700 – Cleaned up the boat. After being knocked around yesterday, it is a bit of a mess. A drawer came crashing open, throwing out pots and pans. Wine glasses fell. (Plastic, of course.) Spices were sent flying across the stove. Books fell on the floor. Almost like an earthquake – but not. Took a two-hour nap. Just a lazy day. Caught up on some writing and reading.

1910 – The sun is setting. The wine is flowing. Chicken enchiladas are cooking in the oven. The wind has died and the seas are calming down. The air is soft now that the sun is relaxing. Thirteen sailboats and three powerboats are at anchor here in Chamela Bay. Some will stay for several days. Others are just waiting for the next weather window to sail north or south. The fisherman in the pangas have set their nets and are returning home. It’s Saturday night. The music will start soon.

2010 – We are settling in for the night, having had dinner. We will sleep under the stars again tonight. The surf sounds loud against the coast. Music drifts across the water from the shore. Our camp lights come on. Our books come out. Time to rest.

2030 – The boat is rocking back and forth, lulling me into that familiar ocean trance. I put down my book. My mind reviews the events of yesterday. Sailing – you either love it, or hate it, I suppose. Some people fear it. If I am honest, I have a certain healthy fear of sailing. It is also why I love it. It takes me out of my comfort zone and challenges me to be a strong person, both mentally and physically. At my age, that is an especially good thing. To struggle with the elements, or more importantly, make peace with the elements that surround me, makes me feel alive. Much more alive than driving the 405 to work in a sea of cars with a haze of pollution blanketing the sky. I am a lucky girl.

Some people will never understand how I could walk away from a lucrative and exciting career in Hollywood. How can I explain it, other than I have never felt more connected, more at peace, more content than I do now? I am so grateful Jay has given me this opportunity. Every day is a gift.

The photo above is the beach area of the small town of Perula. It lies on the north side of the bay. Chamela is a slightly larger town. It is on the south end of the bay, tucked into the hills.

February 24, 2107

0705 – We left the anchorage with no drama.

0830 – Jay is below for the morning ritual; checking in on the SSB and getting the latest weather reports. It is a bit rolly out here. The waves are hitting us on the beam. First whale sighting of the day. There are two of them. A spray. A wave of the tail.

1000 – This is why we are here. The sea has calmed and Cadenza is moving gently through the rolling surf. We just finished a hot breakfast. Our tummies are full. The sun is warm against our skin and the breeze is slightly cooler. It is a perfectly clear day. The coast is on our port side. A long, cascading mountain range drops down into the sand and the sea. The palm trees rise up high. Banana trees populate the orchards. Once in a while, a fish pops out of the water. There is no other boat in sight.

1115 – I just spent the last hour talking with Jay about his sailing/cruising life and recording it for the book. The wind is beginning to clock around. We are contemplating raising the mainsail.

1145 – The mainsail is up. The wind has clocked around but hasn’t picked up beyond five knots. Need more wind to turn off the engine. Still motor-sailing.

There are no entries from here to the end of the day, as we were busy. This is the day after report. I am writing this, early morning, February 25, 2017, while at anchor in Chamela Bay.

Approximately 1400, the wind picked up enough that we decided to put up the genoa. It was quickly evident that this wasn’t going to work as the wind was coming from the WNW and we were traveling SE. The mainsail was blanketing the genoa. To sail Cadenza properly, we would have had to turn her so she would be on a beam reach. Sounds good in theory, but the waves had built to about six feet and they would have been hitting us broadside. Not a comfortable ride. We took down the genny and continued motor-sailing with only the mainsail. We kept the motor on for two reasons. We wanted to use the motor to help us ride the waves. We wanted to get into Chamela Bay before dark and therefore had to maintain a certain speed.

Approximately 1430, the wind picked up to a steady twenty knots. We spent the next two hours sailing downwind at a fast clip. Six knots, plus. Meanwhile, the seas were building. I saw a big, green sea turtle struggling through the waves.

We headed for our waypoint that put us safely outside the Chamela Bay entrance. Due to the wind and the seas, we were even further outside by about another mile. Eventually, we would have to turn left and head in. This would put us broadside to the waves. Jay and I spent the last hour discussing our maneuver as we had to jibe our very large mainsail in a heavy wind in high seas that could potentially put us at risk for a broach.

The mainsail was set all the way out on the traveler to spill as much excess wind as possible. This meant we had to inch it up to the center point before jibing, to lessen the impact. Jay used the winch for this. I moved to the helm, turned off the autopilot, and got ready for the maneuver. Jay would handle the mainsail and I the helm. After, he said, he would come help me on the helm. This irritated me. (He asks me to trust him. Why can’t he trust me?)

Running downwind creates an illusion. The wind is on our backs, so we can’t hear it. We are riding up and over the waves, so it is difficult to get a clear perspective of just how big and how close they are to one another.

I turned the boat slowly. Jay handled the mainsail and it was a smooth jibe. Then, immediate chaos. The wind was howling and the waves were larger and much closer than we had thought. Now we were faced with six to eight feet waves with, maybe, five seconds in between. In order not to broach, I turned into the waves and rode them up and over, up and over. Only this took us backward, away from the entrance to Chamela. As waves come in sets, every time there was a bit of a lull, I turned her back on course. Little by little, we inched our way toward our destination.

It was like riding a bronco at full speed. Like I’ve always said, Cadenza is a thoroughbred and I can’t say enough about her. I trust her. She is a strong, sturdy boat that seems to thrive in the Pacific waters.

To my delight, Jay recognized that I could handle her and sat back and let me stay at the helm. It did wonders for my self-esteem and his trust in me. Not only was I able to keep her steady, I was actually having fun!

Close to the entrance, Jay gave my tired body a break and he took over while I navigated into the bay. All was well. Both of us were exhausted. This is cruising too.

Ipala anchorage. Obviously, not midnight.

February 24, 2017

0035 – The light has changed position. Jay and I immediately wake-up. This means the boat has moved. Not good. We are on a lee shore, precariously close to rocks. Did I mention the cove is small? It is pitch black. No moon. Millions of stars, though. I forgot there were so many. The sound of the waves hitting the shore increases as we are now closer. We check our latitude and longitude and our depth. We haven’t moved. That doesn’t mean we still can’t. I am fidgety. Can’t sleep. Jay is not too worried. Eventually, we fall back asleep.

0600- I awaken to the alarm. Jay is already awake with a cup of coffee. All is well. I thank God and Jay for keeping us safe.

February 23, 2017

1045 – We are rounding Cabo Corrientes. It is named this because the currents converge and can cause this area to have mixed seas. Somewhat like a washing machine. We are told the best time to round it is early morning or late at night. The last two times, we have done an overnight, and both times, hit rough seas. Today, we left Punta de Mita at 0705. There are swells, and some are coming onto our quarter beam, but they are one to two feet, and still it is a much smoother ride than before.

I spotted some dolphins who came to play on our bow. Jay was below, checking in on the SSB radio, hoping to hear some weather. A little while later, Jay spotted four whales, off in the distance. I missed them. There were lots of birds, fishing, early this morning. Nothing more now.

The sky is mostly clear. Gone are the clouds that filled the sky last night, hiding the stars. There is a 12-knot breeze from the SW. On the nose, of course. We are hoping they will turn west. For now, we are just motoring along at a five-knot pace, falling into a meditative state, directed by the rhythm of the sea.

1120 – I just saw the strangest thing. Off the starboard bow was about 10-12 spurts of water, shooting up about a foot high. It reminded me of the fountains that are placed in the city, to cool children off in the summer. The fountain water shoots up, on and off, and the kids run through, laughing, pretending they don’t want to get wet, when all the while, they do. So, what was it out here in the Pacific that caused it? As quickly as they appeared, they were gone.

1140 – Another whale sighting by Jay. He saw his fluke off the starboard beam of our boat. Maybe waving goodbye?

1220 – I just saw two whales off our stern, just about 100 yards away. I was excited, but nervous. So close. And they were following us. We waited, anxiously, to see where they would come up. They never did.

1255 – We spotted them again. This time, about 100 yards off our port beam. I guess they have been with us all along.

1307 – Two more off our starboard bow. Again, very close. Which direction? Right in front of us! “Jay, stop the boat!” He put Cadenza in neutral. They moseyed along across our path. I must have missed the sign, “Whale Crossing.” We waited. I tried to get a picture, but failed. Ugh!

1330 – The weather has completely changed. The clouds have reconvened overhead. The sea state has changed too. We now have long swells of following seas. Parts of the ocean looks like oil slicks, it is so smooth. The wind has all but died. The whales continue to surface now and then. I am hoping to get a photo.

1353 – I have given up on getting a photo. It doesn’t do them justice – besides the fact that I just can’t capture them. Two more (Are they the same ones?) were about a half mile in front of us. They started playing around. They completely breached, their full bodies coming out of the water. One, then, the other. One would stick his flipper up out of the water and then drop it – splat! The other would follow suit. They were frolicking about, oblivious to us, until we caught up to them. A few more waves of their tails and down they went.

The clouds that had gathered have since dispersed. Some, but not many, are still hanging around.

1445 – We see a pod of, what looks like, baby dolphins. Teenagers, maybe? They are small.

1550 – We are anchored in Ipala. It is our first time here. Three boats are tucked in. I think that is all that will fit. A sweet cove. Small. It reminds us of a cross between San Evaristo in the Sea of Cortez and Pelican Cove on Santa Cruz Island in California.

1615 – Three Mexican boys, about nine years old, ride on an ocean kayak to our neighboring boat. They stay quite a while, talking to the cruisers. Maybe the boys know English? Or, maybe, the couple knows Spanish. I’m not sure. The next time I look up, the boys are on the boat, surrounding the Captain, who is showing them something. Maybe on the IPAD? This converging of cultures is a sweet picture. The boys’ mother calls them in from the beach. Time for cena.

1700 – A Mexican man in a wet suit comes to our boat in a panga. His wet suit is torn at the shoulder. His face is a deep brown from the sun. He has brought with him, his son. His English is limited as is our Spanish. We gather he is looking for supplies for the local school. We had heard this but, unfortunately, the day before we left. We didn’t have time to shop. We give his son some candy to share with his friends. He asks for money for the school. They have forty children in their school. We give him a few hundred pesos and promise to bring back supplies on way back to PV.

2030 – All night, there is a bright light that shines from the beach over the water. I think it is there to deter theft of the pangas. We are going to sleep now, so I put a towel up over the window to keep the light out.

Leaving Paradise Village Marina in Nuevo Vallarta

Costalegre is otherwise known as The Happy Coast. It lies on the west coast of mainland Mexico, between Cabo Corrientes and Bahia de Navidad. Last year, Jay and I cruised this area and loved it. This time, we intend to spend more time on the hook at some of the same, and some new, anchorages.

February 22, 2017

They say that when venturing out on a long cruise, it takes three days to get your sea legs. Even those who get seasick will come around after three days. Jay and I are not prone to the dreaded mal de mar, but it can still take some time to get in sync with the rhythm of the sea. Considering this, and also that Punta de Mita, on the northwestern tip of the bay, is six miles closer to our first stop, Ipala, we decided to anchor down at Punta de Mita before moving on.

We left the dock at Paradise Village, Nuevo Vallarta, at 0930 with several friends there to wish us well and send us on our way. While maneuvering out of the slip, Jay managed to get out his trumpet and serenade the group, playing a few bars of “Sailing, Sailing, Over the Bounding Main” and “Gonna Fly Now,” the theme from “Rocky.”

Running low of fuel on our starboard tank, we motored the five nm over to La Cruz. The weather window was good for both sailing north and south (better for us the following day – another reason to stay at Punta de Mita) so there was a line-up of boats waiting for fuel. We waved hello and took inventory; three boats headed north, two south. We wished each other safe travels and we were on our way.

1125 – The air is a perfect temperature. It is hot in the direct sun, but actually cool enough for a light cover in the shade. A few clouds are slowly gathering over the mountains. Not dark, threatening ones, like last Sunday. Just white puffy clouds with a hint of gray.

1345 – We have arrived at Punta de Mita. We will stay here overnight. We are waiting for the southerly to die down and turn into a west wind. We decided to sleep topsides with the stars above and the gentle rocking of the boat, awaken at daylight, and set sail for Ipala. At least, I hope that is how it goes.

February 19, 2017

It is a centuries-old tradition. A prayer in gratitude for the earth. The Papantla flyers are from Northern Veracruz, on the east coast of Mexico, but have brought the ceremony to the Malecon in Puerto Vallarta to share with visitors.

What we witness as tourists begins when five men (some days there are only four, but traditionally it is five) climb a pole approximately three stories high. Almost at the very top is a square platform – just wide enough for the men to sit – with four points. The pole continues up through the center of the platform about another three feet, or so. Four of the men spread out on each of the four axles, each one representing one of the four elements. They tie a rope around their waists and then slowly wrap their lines around the pole, while moving themselves counter-clockwise with their feet. Meanwhile, the fifth man, or leader, climbs to the top of the pole and begins to play the flute and beat on a drum, playing the Son del Vuelo (The Flight Song), as he teeters on this pole that, seemingly, is no more than two feet in circumference and 130 feet high. The ceremony has begun.

His movements become erratic and jerky, and we all stand below, staring up, praying to our own god that he won’t fall. Eventually, the leader symbolically connects with Chi’Chini, the sun God, and they become one. Then, in a true leap of faith, the four men perched on the platform, fall backward and fly like birdmen around the pole as the rope unwinds in the same rotation as the earth. The men move their arms and legs in a graceful dance as they descend. (If there are five men, the leader will stay on the top of the pole, playing his music. If there are only four, he joins the other three, and continues to play the flute and beat his drum as he flies through the air.) They spin exactly 13 rotations, times the four men, which accounts for the 52 weeks of the year. When all have reached the ground, they become mortal, once more.

There is more to this tradition, however, and truly begins prior to the cutting of the tree that will be used for the pole. (The one on the Malecon is cement.) There are only three species that can be used for this purpose, as they have to be strong enough and grow straight and tall. Two of them are called, appropriately, flying pole trees. Several days before the tree is cut, the high priest, as well as the men who will partake in the ceremony, cleanse their spirit and body by avoiding earthly pleasures.

Before the tree is cut down, the high priest begins to play the flute and drum. This music is a call to soothe the Lord of the Mountain, Quihuko, and to ask forgiveness for killing one of his children. Before placing the tree, offerings, such as a black hen and eggs, tobacco and sugarcane firewater, are put into the hole. Again, this is to appease Quihuko for the sacrifice of his child.

Every part of this ceremony has a deeper meaning. Even the clothing they wear. The flowers and plants represent spring; red, the sun’s heart; and the ribbons flying from their headdresses represent rainbows. It is a beautiful tradition and one that reminds us to be conscious and considerate of our earth and the natural order of life.

More photos in Gallery.

Jay and I are still in Nuevo Vallarta due to some extended dental work I have had to have done. We are hoping Friday, February 17, I will be good to go. Our plans, weather permitting, are to sail south beginning Saturday morning. Meanwhile…

February 6, 2017

Our friends, Bobbi and Don (s/v Sea Dancer) recently arrived in Banderas Bay. In 2013, Don came down the Pacific Coast with Jay and me on Cadenza and in return, in 2014, Jay and I flew back to San Diego and came down the Pacific Coast with them on their boat. For the last two years, we have been on different cruising schedules until now. Since they have arrived, we have been having fun showing them around town. On two different days, we took them downtown to explore Puerto Vallarta. Our first stop, the Malecon.

It was late afternoon, so the sun was low in the sky and the breeze had picked up. The crowds had thinned out from the holidays, revealing the sights around us. Decorating the walkway were lush, green trees and tall palms lined the path. Climbing the buildings and falling over balconies were flowering bougainvillea in vibrant fuchsia. The sea sparkled. Bobbi mentioned there was so much to take in, it was a bit overwhelming, and the Malecon goes on for miles.

On one side, was the expanse of the bay. The surf was loud and the waves crashed along the rocky shore. Where there was sand, there were some amazing sand sculptures. They change quite frequently as the wind and water sweep them away. Yesterday, there were three; one was an iguana, and to it’s left was Mother Mary, and beside her, Joseph. A small box sat on top of the wall, asking for donations. We dropped a few pesos.

On the other side of the Malecon was block after block filled with stores and restaurants. Every imaginable trinket was available for sale, as was the very exquisite Huichol art, made by the native Indians who live here in the state of Jalisco. Peeking between the buildings were cobblestone streets leading up into the hills. Houses hung on the side of cliffs. Traffic moved noisily along the roads. Puerto Vallarta is a large city and downtown was bustling with energy.

Back on the Malecon, the surf smothered out the city sounds. The breeze was fresh and felt cool on my skin. We came upon more works of art displayed by various artists. Many were whimsical figures made out of stone. There was a wishing well, a boy riding a sea horse, and a dolphin fountain, among others. My favorite piece was Searching for Reason by Sergio Bustamante. Three bronze figurines with over-sized heads and cascading robes, reach out and up to the sky with their arms as if on a quest. One stands on the ground, the other two are atop a tall ladder. In an era when our world is riddled with crisis, and our own country is divided in such a way that causes me to question…well, just about everything I thought we believed in as a nation, I found, Searching for Reason, not only thought provoking, but quite fitting.

Finding myself so fascinated with this piece of art, I coerced Jay, Don and Bobbi to go back down to the Malecon the following morning, when the light would be right for a photo. Having read that the artist encourages visitors to take part in his art, I climbed up the ladder and joined the others, searching for reason.

See photos in Gallery.

Yoshie, Richelle and Brian watching the whales.

February 2, 2017

We left the marina around 1200 with eleven of our friends on board. Most had volunteered for the race committee during the Vallarta Cup Series and we wanted to share Cadenza sans flags and horns and treat them to a sail. As we motored out of the channel, a few of us spotted a speedboat trailing a parasailer, heading straight for our mast.

“Jay! Look!” We were trying to get his attention and pointed up to the sky. “What is he doing? Is he crazy? Oh, my God!”

We watched, helplessly, as they got closer and closer. (The driver either didn’t see us or didn’t much care. I’m not sure how he could not have seen us.) Jay turned the only way he could, straight into shore. He nearly ran into the swim lines, we were that close. The speedboat stayed his course and the parasailer, he narrowly missed our mast, by what looked like six feet! Seriously. I practically had a heart attack. We all just looked at one another, stunned.

We motored on and raised the sails. It was a typical afternoon on Banderas Bay. The thermal came up around 1400 and we had twelve knots of wind over flat seas. We set course on a beam reach and sailed her across the water at six knots. Heaven. Just heaven.

Dolphins played along our bow. We saw a turtle. The best, of course, was sighting the whales. The trick is to look for boats gathered together and not moving. That usually means there are whales. We only saw one boat, but we also saw several sprays of water, telling us there were whales. Just then, the wind dropped, we started the motor and hurried to catch up with them. And catch them, we did.

We have seen whales many times, yet it never gets old. I light up like a little child. We watched as the whales sauntered in and out of the water, revealing their backs and sometimes their tales. Until, suddenly, one breached – his whole body rose out of the water! He landed with a loud thud and a huge splash spread across the sea. The entire crew screamed out in delight, “Woohoo!”

P.S. I did try to catch a photo of the whale, but I didn’t want to get behind the lense for fear I would miss the moment. I started clicking and only got the sky.