But mother nature has something else on her mind. I roll over and close my eyes, ignoring the call. I will trick her. I will think of something else and go back to sleep. Sometimes that works. This morning, it doesn’t, as mother nature is fierce in her determination and I must relent.
I roll over Jay, slip to the floor, trip over Jay’s shoes and fall into the six engine room doors scattered about the room. The doors are in our bedroom because, well, there is no other place to put them.
We came to Baja Naval last Saturday to check on our transmission as it was giving us signs that something was amiss and we didn’t want to travel down the coast without first being assured that all was working properly. The mechanics came and promptly set up shop, raising the engine to extract the transmission so they could diagnose the problem. All this is good except for the fact that for the week, or so, the transmission is in the shop (or rather sent to San Diego for a new seal and brought back to replace the clutch plate), the engine is suspended by six pallets on either side with a 4x4x10 beam running across the top. This is to hold the chain that is connected to the engine, holding it up until the transmission finds its way back home.
Our boat is a center cockpit which allows for a roomy stateroom, but still I must climb over Jay to get out of bed. Leading from the stateroom are two hallways on either side. The starboard side is the head and the port side contains our refrigerator and freezer compartments. Both hallways lead to the galley/salon area. In the center of these two hallways, under the cockpit, lies our engine room. So picture this.
These pallets that are holding up our engine take up almost the entire walkway, both sides. Each block of six rises about two and a half feet high and is about two feet by two feet wide, allowing about six inches to move through. Bottom line, awkward!
As it is still dark, I fumble through the closet, finding clothes to wear and get dressed. Still half asleep, I open the stateroom door and momentarily forget the obstacle before me, running right into it.
“Ow! What the…” And then I remember. I squeeze by and climb up the companionway steps.
Stepping off the boat, my foot gets caught up in the spring line that crosses over our fender step. I untangle myself and manage to find the dock only to stumble like a drunken fool because it is an old wooden dock that leans. I regain my balance and head for the bathroom in the boatyard.
I walk down the dock, up the ramp, through the first security gate, across the malecon, through the second security gate that leads into the boatyard. I cross the boatyard and travel up the spiral staircase that reminds me of one I would find in a lighthouse. Finally, I arrive at the ladies room.
All this before the sun rises over the mountain.
Of all the various art forms, sculpture is one of my favorites. I suppose it is because it is three dimensional and I am tactile in that I connect with life most vividly through the sense of touch. However, when I was walking along the malecon in Ensenada and saw this sculpture, I was, at first, drawn to it because it was odd. What was I looking at, I wondered? But then, having read the inscription below, I was taken as much by the story as I was its form. The message is most important. We must care for our planet and all of its inhabitants. And, this, we must teach our children. It is my hope that this sculpture and its story evokes as much emotion in you as it has in me.
The Legend of the Whale Man
Where the desert ends, in the center of the Baha California peninsula at the immense Vizcaino Bay, the conjuration of the winds that arrive to Eugenia Point, is where the green beings and the aquatic beings congregated, messengers of all the nations on the planet.
Their faces were saddened, perplexed by the aggressive attitude of the human beings with their relationship with nature. During long nights and complete days, many moons and suns, they listened to deliberations of the predatory acts of men. They decided unanimously to elect an ambassador to go and meet with the representatives of humanity and give them a scroll of a written petition; a message of intense love and profound respect, for our planet and all living beings who inhabit it. The goal of this message would be the beginning of a new era where all the natural resources are to be protected in benefit of all living beings and for the planet itself.
By the influence and magic of these powerful wishes, there arose an enormous creature, a being of humanoid stature; half whale and half tree, who immediately took up the desert path in search of the human representatives to comply with such a beautiful and transcendent mission.
The fins and branches of this giant ambassador knew not of the hot desert sands; the strong winds, the darkness. Under the weather inclemency’s, he perished; amongst the waves of sand, in the heart of the desert.
Sometime later, a group of young explorers found his remains. Marveled and confused by such a strange finding, they noticed that the grand skeleton held in the fossilized structures of his curious hands, still protected though not petrified, a strange roll of bark. Upon contact of a curious hand of one of the explorers, it opened like a release from an ancient spell. Inside, still intact was a scroll. Unrolled and upon reading its words there was the invitational poem from the green and marine beings, to unite us all and conserve in all its beauty the planet earth, our home.
The young people, moved by this profound message of love, made a promise, they would take the poem and its message around the planet. In this way complying with the grand mission of the Whale Man.
Autores Del Cuento: Alfonso Arambula (ESCULTOR)
JesusGarcia
Tallerista: Poeta Laro Acevedo
Traductora: Bernie Schmuker
Esculator: Alfonso Arambul, Robles
Colaborador: J. Arturo Ortega M.
alfonsoarambula.com
“What was that all about?” It was one in the morning and Jay and I were laying in bed, going over the day’s events. We had sailed all night and then taken by van to the immigration office. It was quite a day with an interesting cast of characters.
For $25 Coral Marina sent us with a guide to orchestrate and simplify the immigration process. (Orchestrate, maybe, but simplify? No way.) His name was Juan, and he reminded me of the cowardly lion in THE WIZARD OF OZ. Not because he was cowardly, but because he was sweet and shy-like as well as being a little bit round like the lion.
We arrived and entered a small building with several windows; one for the PUERTO de CAPITANIA, one that was the BANJERCITO, another called ADUANAS, or customs, a booth to get fishing licenses (thank goodness we didn’t have to visit that window. See my previous blog, In Search of an ATM) and what I will call the GREAT OZ’s office. No, he wasn’t behind a curtain, but he was behind a glass partition and it seemed like he was the man who ran everything. EVERYONE went through him first and even the man in the uniform checked with him on occasion. Many dollars passed his way and we quickly learned that money puts you to the head of the line.
But money still wouldn’t have helped us as after waiting two hours for our turn. (Actually we were standing for all that time, there were only four seats for the hundred or so people/munchkins crowded into the office) Finally, the Great Oz will see us. But then we find out the office didn’t send all our paperwork with Juan. Thank goodness I had copies of everything. I hand them over to Oz. He looks them over says something in Spanish, shakes his head no. We don’t have a crew list. The marina office had forgotten to ask me for a crew list. But wait! “I have one in my trusty folder,” I say smiling thinking I am so prepared. The Great Oz looks it over and, again, says something in Spanish and shakes his head no.
I ask Juan several times over the next couple of hours what is it that we needed. He explained to me several times, but with his accent and the way he described it, I never could figure it out. In the end, it looked like the same crew list only Juan had to fill it out, not me. But this didn’t happen for several more hours mind you.
Okay. Now we are sent to the BANJERCITO window to pay. There is Teller One and Teller Two. Unfortunately, we got Teller One who I would describe as the Wicked Witch. She did not like us Americans, that was evident and she growled when you came up to the window. Teller Two I will describe as The Good Witch, if only in contrast to Teller One. The Wicked Witch shuffles through our papers, reorganizes them, shuffles through them again, reorganizes them again then takes our money and prints something out and sends us back to the Great Oz.
The Great Oz presents us with our visas. Great! Now what?
Another window. This time we go up to the PUERTO de CAPITANIA. We wait in line again. The woman behind this window is very attractive and dressed professionally. She takes our papers and shuffles through them, rearranges them and then shuffles through them again. Jay signs something and then they send us back to the BANJERCITO.
Oh, no, not the Wicked Witch again! Yup. First time we paid for our visas, now we are paying the Port Captain, I am told.
Back to the PUERTO de CAPITANIA line. More papers. Where is your original documentation for the boat? I have a copy right here. No. We must have the original. Where is the original? I look to Jay. It’s back at the boat. Oops! He looks at the clock. The day began at 8:00. It is now 1:30. The office closes at 2:30.
Jay looks at me with exhaustion and exasperation. This is not going well.
Quick. You and Don go get a cab and I will stay here in line, saving our place.
Jay and Don take a cab to the boat. Jay proudly speaks Spanish to the driver.
They get to the dock. Jay’s key doesn’t work. He goes back to the taxi and gets Don’s key. He goes to the boat, gets the documentation, is half way up the dock when he realize he has the expired copy. He goes back to the boat to get the right one.
Jay gets back into the car only to find Don has had an entire conversation in English with the driver. The driver speaks perfect English.
So much for Jay’s Spanish.
They get back just as it became my turn to step up to the window, about 2:15. The professional lady takes our papers, makes a copy of the original documentation and then hands it back and sends us back to the BANJERCITO. Now we are to pay for our Temporary Import Permit for our boat.
Oh no! Not her again! This time we get lucky. We get the Good Witch. She is much nicer. She takes our papers, shuffles through them, rearranges them, takes our money, prints something out and sends us back to the professional lady. She presents us with our Temporary Import Permit. Good for ten years. (Thank God for small favors.)
Finally, we’re done!
Nope. Now we must go to ADUANAS, office of customs. New window, new character. I would say he is like the SCARECROW in his stature and maybe even a little in his intellect, not sure. Jay fills out forms declaring what we do and do not have on our boat. They have a procedure. They have a stoplight in the office. Really, a real stoplight. Underneath the stoplight is a button. Jay has to push the button. If it is green, all is good. If it is red, sirens go off and they take you in a van to board your boat.
“You push button.” says the SCARECROW.
Don and I look at Jay and say, “You know that button is going to turn red, right?”
Jay scowls and pushes the button.
It turns red and sirens go off. Steam starts to escape from Jay’s ears. Realizing Jay is about to crack, Magic Juan (as we came to call him) whisper’s something to him.
“Did you say I should give him money?” Jay asks indignantly. Juan starts to say something else when he is interrupted. It is time for the office to close and the SCARECROW wants to go home. He ask Jay some questions, to which he answered no to every one and then had him fill out another form.
Now we can go on our way. We ask Juan directions to town. All we want now is some food and a marguerita.
“No.” He says. “You must come back with me to the marina. We have to make copies of all your paperwork for our files.”
Now, I’ve had it too. “So, you will arrange for a free shuttle into town then?” I half ask and half demand.
“Si, senora, of course.”
So, after an all night sail and an all day adventure at the office of immigration, we finally sat down to eat at 5pm. When we arrived back at the boat, all heads were asleep before they hit the pillow, which I think was around 6:30. That is why Jay and I were awake at 1am, wondering, what just happened? What was that all about?
This was my version. Below is Jay’s version.
THE IMMIGRATION SHUFFLE
(Sung to the tune of “Hokey Pokey”)
You put your passport in
They take your passport back
You sign a bunch of papers
And they take them all back
You go to window one
And then to number three
Pesos are flying out.
You see a bunch of boaters With papers all around.
A bunch of curt officials Who seem to be profound
Shuffling all those papers, Visas and the like
That’s what it’s all about
You move around the room
And now it’s in the gloom
Smells and heat get to ya
And even feels like doom
Window number three,50 dollars please
The banks a banjercito
I just want a mojito
That’s what it’s all about
Now you’re almost ready,
Got your visas in your hand
You think you really made it
And you’re feeling pretty grand
But wait there just a moment
There’s just one last stop
Fill out new forms and copy
What you’ve already printed out
And wait, these are not original said the big aboriginal
Back to the boat by cab, but the gate key won’t work
I’m beginning to feel like a jerk
Got the original, but it’s expired,
I feel the heat and I’m perspired,
Back in the cab where Don has engaged,
The driver who responded so well to my Spanish,
We find he is now fluent in English
Back to number three and see What’s waiting there for you
That’s what is all about.
Got my visa and my passport Stamped in triplicate
Now, off to Aduanas to see if I am it
I push the big button Knowing full well that it will not be good sign.
I think Magic Juan will resign
The light turns red, I’ve had it.
It’s time to close the doors
The official senses that I’ll soon be on the floor. Magic Juan is whispering Something in my ear.
Does he want money or perhaps a beer
I know the word cerveza And I think I’ll try it out
That’s what it’s all about
Well just another form, he says And I won’t go to your boat
Any meat or guns or money For a loan that wouldn’t float
Where is your boat he asks me
I was tempted to say.
Some place on a mooring
Very very far away.
He looks at me with compassion
And says it’s ok
That’s what it’s all about
We’ll, we think we got all through it,
Many copies in our hands.
However the marina Has alternate plans
We must import our boat
Now that we have all the papers in hand
Back to the marina In a very crowded van
The people are quite grumpy And ask for all our stuff
Welcome to our country In a voice that’s quite so gruff
It’s not the hokey pokey
And we still have all our limbs
We are now considered Immigrants
we say with such chagrin
Off for margaritas finally we share some grins,
That’s what it’s all about.
November 6, 2013
We’ve been in Ensenada for a couple of days now. I have been to Mexico before so I’m not surprised by anything I see. But it is different now, in that this is where we will be living for six months at a time. I want to immerse myself in their culture, get to know the Mexican people and learn to speak their language.
As we all know, first impressions… well, they are just that, first impressions. This is not a judgment or even an opinion and I am sure my impressions will change as I become familiar with the country and its natives. But for now, this is what I have observed.
Ensenada is a big, sprawling city, nestled by the mountains and lying along a huge bay. (My father left me with images of a sleepy, Mexican village on the Pacific beach. But then that was thirty years ago.)
That everyone who passes you by in the marina says hello, good morning or good afternoon, whether it be English or Spanish.
That the immigration officials don’t care much for Americans. (Nor can I blame them as I witnessed rude and demanding behavior.)
It is 7 am and I am sitting in the cockpit of our boat having coffee. I notice two, young, beautiful Mexican women on the sailboat three slips down. They both have long, thick, hair. One is blonde and the other, her hair is black as night. They still have on last night’s evening dresses; the blonde has a short, tight, red dress and the woman with black hair wears a long, black dress with a slip up the side of her leg. Both still have on last night’s make-up, as well, and stand barefoot, carrying their six-inch stilettos in their hands. Their heads are together as the converse quietly in Spanish, giggling, while the American yatista (twice their age) closes up his boat and escorts them to the car.
Something tells me he had a good time last night.
Mexicans love their music; there are Mariachi bands everywhere.
The street tacos are everything Jay promised. After walking three miles, or so, into town, we asked Rogelio of Baja Naval where the best fish tacos were to be found.
“Go out to the Boulevar and go right. Take that to the street before the bridge and then turn left. Walk six blocks and turn right, go over the bridge and it will be on your left.”
“What is the name?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t miss it. It is the one with all the people.”
He was right. All Mexicans. No Americans. This must be the place.
We order the tacos, pour on the special sauce (made by the old woman sitting on a box behind the counter. She mixes it in a big vat and does the taste touch with her finger), dress them with lettuce, onions, salsa, etc.
Delicious. And inexpensive. 9 tacos, 2 coca-colas, 1 bottle of water All for under 120 pesos. (about $11)
That American currency is used in Ensenada as much as Pesos – and sometimes preferred.
Sitting at the pool, I watched the lone American woman start drinking at eight in the morning. At lunch, I left to make us sandwiches. By the time I got back she had moved in on Don and Jay, only to move out quickly when she saw me. She had told them she was here from Chicago for her mother’s wedding, her brother had died in the war and she had been residing on D Dock for a month now.
You can’t leave your men alone for a second.
That Mexicans have a good sense of humor. (Based on the signs around town, like the one for Viagra and picking up after your dog.)
That the verdict is still out on whether I like cactus as a food group.
That there is not one, but two security gates to get into the hotel & marina.
Waking up in the middle of the night to bow thrusters and men with flashlights running around the docks.
That using the internet here is a test in patience.
Walking through town, we see families with little children, barefoot and filthy, selling their hand-crafted jewelry. One little girl, about six years old, approaches me.
“You buy? One dollar.”
”No, gracious.”
“50 cents.”
“No, gracious.”
“One quarter.”
“No, gracious.”
“One penny!” She yells. “Almost free!”
We burst out laughing.
The next day, the same little girl tries a different approach. She follows me, says nothing, but carries her hand-crafted jewelry and looks at me with pleading eyes. Now this girl is not starving. She is round and plump. I wonder if she is for real or if this is just a performance taught to her by her parents.
Later, I pass a young woman with disheveled hair, sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk and leaning against a street sign. A baby sleeps on her chest and she holds out an empty Styrofoam cup. Her eyes speak the truth and I am haunted by them as I walk away.
Why didn’t I give her some money? If only to have the privilegeof taking a photo.
This one I will stop and help should I cross her path again.
October 31, 2013
Many of the sailing blogs I have read are either quite technical, about engine maintenance, anchoring techniques, or fixing things.
Terri has been writing some very eloquent articles about preparing to travel and some beautiful pieces inspired by people and places we have been.
I have decided to choose to write about something I have yet to read in any blog .
THE DOCK STEPS
I bought Cadenza, our Hardin 45 ketch, 22 years ago and nearly exhausted the financial resources at hand. As she has a fairly high freeboard, it was necessary to acquire some sort of stairs to have access to getting in and out of the boat.
Shopping for some of the pre-manufactured fiberglass ones, I discovered that they were quite expensive ( in excess of $300.00.)
My two children had an idea. Since Dad likes to build and fix stuff, lets get him a sheet of plywood and see if he can make some stairs out of it. So my birthday gift was a 4 by 8 sheet of marine plywood.
It was sort of a challenge. I made a few mock ups of cardboard and then started cutting up the plywood to make the stairs which have lasted over 22 years. Yes, there was one two by four involved, but I explained that the steps needed to be reinforced and strong enough to support all the activity which would cross their treads.
Notice the enclosed photo showing the stair project after 22 years of use.
Rather than do a detailed piece on how to build stairs, etc, I decided it might be more interesting to write the blog from the point of view of the stairs themselves.
The stairs have been traversed by so many wonderful folks. My daughter and son, who commissioned them, have now produced 5 grandsons who have all either walked, crawled, or have been carried up the stairs. My father, who questioned my sanity in buying the boat , made the trip shortly before his passing. Our wonderful dogs, Max and Bugsy romped up and down the steps eager to either get on the boat or to make an early morning trip to the bathroom. Terri and her children and her mom all have walked on the treads. Her wonderful brother, Jack, never really made it up the steps, but he was certainly there in spirit as he was an avid boater. Her brother, Jim, made several trips up and down while helping to refurbish and tile our galley on the boat.
The steps have also served as a birthplace to some interesting wildlife. We had a duck family as step residents (which I guess now defines us as “step parents” to the feathery family). Momma duck decided to lay her eggs in the space under the stairs and hatched them there. We were able to watch their first trip to the water. A sea lion was born in proximity to the steps as there are still remnants of that birth process in evidence.
Oh, if the stairs had eyes!
We were located near the end tie of the marina. This location has spawned many curious and frightening stories, probably to be written about in much more detail by Terri in future entries, but a short list would include:
3 repos of large power boats.
A swat team in full battle gear taking possession of a boat.
A drug bust on a visiting boat.
Visits from some quite nefarious characters.
Yes, the steps have seen it all.
The great mechanics and electricians who have helped repair stuff on our boat, including Steve, and Bob and his 20 year old cardboard box of tools, have all lugged stuff up and down these steps.
Some of the best friends we will ever have walked the steps.
My wife Terri and I spent our first night of being married sipping wine on the steps with our boat neighbors Bonnie, Bob and Nellie who decorated Cadenza with ribbons and bows.
Our dear friends Ray and Eli (who are also Hardin owners and have donated their Mexican flag to us for our voyage) and their children and grandchildren have crossed these steps.
Our neighbors Rick and Jane ,and of course Jay and Linda and their beautiful power yacht with whom we have cruised many times, along with cousin Suzy and her great dog Nellie Belle.
The steps have seen countless water activities, probably over 20 Holiday light parades, many 4th of July festivities, watched sailors going out for Wet Wednesday races, cruisers on their way to the Channel Islands, kayakers and standup paddleboarders stopping by to rest.
The steps, in their rather short 22 year history have witnessed folks communicating the old fashion way, by voice and radio, to now, the silent thumb based world of texting and googling and tweeting. Words which used to represent things hot are now cool. “I’m up for that” now has become the inverse as “I’m down with that” (typical for stairs, right?) and SUP as an abbreviated greeting is the same as the floating boards folks are awkwardly pushing around the harbor.
The steps were also the first thing I saw after having a near death experience by falling off the boat between the boat and the dock one winter.
Now that we are traveling, the stairs have had to remain back on our dock at Channel Islands. I miss them. It was always a cleansing process to go up those stairs to the boat, especially after a hard week or month of work. I could feel the pressure easing after each successive step.
Now we have a wonderful thing called a Fenda-Step, an inflatable fender which one can use as an entry step to the boat. It’s just not the same.
I miss my steps and the history they have witnessed, but I am looking forward to the many steps of future journeys.
P.S. Jay neglected to mention the yellow police tape. No, there was no crime committed on those steps. It was our lovely sea lions once again. They had taken over our dock and got into a vicious fighting match (most likely over a female sea lion) and rammed our steps into the boat, leaving a mark in the process. Hence the tape. Evidently, yellow isn’t their color.
Ensenada
November 4, 2013
We left San Diego on Sunday the 3rd at 4pm. I had come back from doing the wash when Jay looked up at Don and me and said, “I think we should have a meeting.” He had been checking the weather and had all the waypoints charted out and said, “I think we should leave today.”
After he gave us his reasons (mostly weather related and a little bit we are all dressed up and ready to go), he asked us, “What do you think?”
Okay with us, Don and I agreed.
It was a pitch black night, but beautiful. We never really got the wind we had hoped for but the seas we’re calm and mostly following and we had no complaints.
Late in the night, our engine started sounding different, kind of hiccuping. It turns out we are having transmission issues. No worries. We arrived safely and now are planning to stay an extra week in Ensenada.
We found great fish tacos today, are relaxing tomorrow at the pool and are wine tasting in the Guadalupe Valley, Thursday, with our new friends from Canada.
And regarding our engine issues, we have adopted Jay’s daughter’s saying, “It will probably be fine.”
But wait! There is more. After an all night sail we “danced” with the immigration officials. Quite a story to come soon. Just need a few days to assimilate.
I love this photo of our grandson! It speaks of imagination. I imagine he’s imagining becoming the butterfly, flying and then fluttering to and fro, from flower to a tree to a blade of grass. And look at that smile! Pure joy.
I have read that butterflies represent rebirth and transformation. Quite fitting for the moment.
With just two days to go, I am experiencing a different kind of butterflies. Yesterday Jay looked at me and asked, “Nervous?”
“Excited. Well…yes…nervous. But excited!” I added quickly. “I have butterflies in my tummy.” I said, rubbing my belly. Jay nodded, knowingly.
Two days to go.
October 29 2013
How is it that we worked on the television show, “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine,” for seven years and never met this man? What is more, we spent three months on the same dock (E dock, old C.I. Marina) when he first purchased his Ericson 38 – and still never met.
But some things are just meant to be.
And some things will happen no matter what.
Kismet.
We finally met Don the year Channel Islands Marina began its renovations. As they rebuilt their docks, piece by piece, they would have to move the resident boats to neighboring docks for a temporary visit. That is how the angels choreographed the setting where an introduction was inevitable. H Dock moved to B Dock and Don and his wife, Bobbi, and their boat, Sea Dancer, settled in to a slip close to ours.
“We know that woman! Who is that woman? Where do we know that woman from?” Don kept asking Bobbi. “You may know her, but I don’t.” came her constant reply.
This went on for days until finally one day, Don introduced himself to us, asking, “How do I know you?” Come to find out, all three of us had worked together on “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.”
It sounds ironic, even impossible that we would not have met, but because of the size of the show (over 250 people worked on Star Trek in one capacity or another) and the variety of talent needed to make it successful, it is perfectly understandable.
Jay and I met because our roles on the show were interrelated. As a composer, though, most of his work was done at home, or at a meeting in the producer’s office, or in a recording studio. Once in a while, when an episode called for music within the script (i.e. a character plays an instrument or sings a tune) he would first, write the music, and second, visit the set to rehearse and ensure all was going well. On these occasions to the set, I would usually join him.
As a Post Production Producer, one of my responsibilities was to interface with the composer on the conceptual approach to the music for a particular episode; from the beginning when we would decide where the music should be played and what the tone might be, to the final product on the scoring stage where it was recorded. Another part of my responsibilities was to be a liaison between the Director of Photography (DP) and the Colorist who transferred our dailies. As Star Trek took place in space, the sets and lighting were unique to another world. Each morning the film was transferred from film to tape (pre HD) and then our colorist would approach each scene individually based on notes from the DP. My job as the liaison was to make daily visits to the stage to see the sets and talk with the DP as well as watch dailies with the DP during lunch. As he was on the set all day, he had no time to attend the dailies transfer so essentially I was his eyes while dailies were transferred.
Because Don was a Gaffer (Chief lighting technician who also worked with the DP), his responsibilities required him to be on the set day after day, all day, so it would be natural for him to be familiar with those who worked on the set on a day to day basis and to notice those of us who ventured in and out only occasionally. So there it was, he had seen us, our paths had crossed, but we had never met formally.
That is until H Dock converged on B Dock. And I mean converged! They arrived with full fanfare as they brought their boats, pulled out their grill, set up tables and chairs and became the welcoming committee. What a great group of people. We shared more food, laughs, and oh yes, our fair share of drinks, during those months of transition. It was good fun and Jay and I found a whole new community of friends. If you have never heard of the H Dockers (they are infamous in the Channel Islands Marina) visit HDOCKROCKS.COM.
Now, all these years later, Don has arrived in San Diego to join us on this journey to La Paz, the beginning of a new chapter in our lives. Funny how things work out.
Kismet.
October 25. 2013
If you are a southern California boater you’ve either frequented Minney’s Yacht Surplus or you have at least heard of it. Minney’s, with its amazing conglomeration of everything and anything you could possibly want or need for your boat, is the stuff of legends. They buy, sell and trade all things boating and not only have great deals, but if you can’t find something in your local marine store, chances are, you will find it at Minney’s. Needless to say, Jay and I have been going there for years and we always find something that we can use for Cadenza. So today we took one last pass and drove the couple hours to Newport to see what we could find.
After walking through the entire warehouse at least once, we looked at each other with empty hands and said,
You know it’s time to go…
when you can’t find anything you need at Minney’s,
when you’ve been spending an average of $200 per day for the last two weeks,
when your blog tells you it’s time to update your GPS coordinates because you haven’t moved in 30 days,
when you can’t fit anymore wine in your locker,
when you have been to practically every seminar known to cruisers,
when you have seven GPS Nav systems, paper charts, a VHF radio, three hand-held radios, an SSB, a Delorme, an EPIRB…,
when you can’t fit anything else on your boat,
when you walk out of the pharmacy, with an emergency supply of medications, and realize you have just spent $700,
when you can no longer see the water line you painted on the boat a year ago,
when your crew arrives,
when the costumes come out and the Baja Haha parties begin,
when your friends descend on San Diego to bid you Bon Voyage.
October 22, 2013
Since I have been lamenting over the this and that “hardships” of cruising, our good friend John (of John and Wendi – see comments on this blog) decided to remind us of life on land.
I met John and Wendi in 2007 when several of Jay’s fraternity brothers (and wives) converged on our home in Martha’s Vineyard for a 39 year reunion. Jay and three of his Lambda Chi Alpha buddies (see above photo; John, Jay, Joe, Vern) regaled us with hilarious tales of their shenanigans while studying music and marching in the WVU Band. It was a wonderful weekend full of laughter and good friends. And really, what is a good friend for if not to make us laugh and give us a reality check every once in awhile?
Below is the latest email from John.
Subject: THE ADVANTAGES TO LIVING ON A BOAT IN THE OPEN SEA…….
– you don’t have to mow the grass (just smoke it…..)
– you don’t have to go upstairs for another pair of sox……..(i’m always one short)
– you don’t have to listen to the neighbor’s dog barking or pooping (edited to be g-rated) in your yard (mine bark back and poop back)
– you don’t have to wait for the mailman and his excuses for delivering bills……(snail mail is still popular in red lion)
– you don’t have to worry about getting rid of the dead christmas tree……(i burn mine at the farm)
– you don’t have to pay car bills…….(i’m on a first name basis with all involved)
– you don’t have to rake leaves……….(i always end up with the neighborhood’s)
– you don’t have to answer the calls from the wvu foundation……..(i sent them my daughter; that’s enough money)
– you don’t have to shovel snow……….(unless you make a wrong turn)
– you don’t have to wear clothes………(maybe shoes)
– you don’t have to answer the doorbell………….(does avon deliver on the water?)
– you don’t have to read emails from brothers……..check back every so often though; i’m sure there are more advantages………thoughts from joe?