Jardin De La Reyna

Jardin De La Reyna

So. We were in a remote anchorage along the Southern Cuban coast – somewhere in the Jardin De La Reyna. NOMAD and Songerie were the only two boats in sight. NOMAD had only a few inches of water under her keels, and we had a ton of chain out – so we were completely secure.

Jardin De La Reyna

As soon as we dropped our anchor Jaco called on the radio and asked if we were diving. I told him that I had too much work to do on the boat – just seeing if I could get a rise out of him. He called my bluff and thirty minutes later Cristelle, Jaco, and I were heading to the outside of the reef.

On the way we talked about the fish species in the area, sizes, depths. The prevailing wisdom was that there were many a grouper in the area – primarily Yellowfin and Black Grouper. I asked about Nassau Grouper (my favorite), but Jaco hadn’t seen many in the area last time ‘round.
The goal, today, was nice a nice grouper or two and a nice Mutton Snapper. Hogfish were on the menu, but we weren’t diving in prime Hogfish area. Cubera Snapper were common in the area as well – but we didn’t have enough info on Ciguatera, so today’s hunting was like a trip to the grocery store (and not like a big-game safari); we were shooting tasty fish that were good table-size.

And, as I dove into the water I told Jaco what the old Mexican fisherman told me a lifetime ago in Mexico: the first one in shoots twice. I saw him flash a smile as I rolled of the dinghy.

As soon as I was in the water I saw a good Mutton Snapper and before Jaco had his wetsuit on we had a Mutton Snapper boated. I reloaded and was off again. Within five minutes I’d found and cornered a nice Yellowfin Grouper. The fish was deep in a hole and I was having trouble getting my speargun angled correctly – but I did it. Of course – shooting the fish is only half of the battle, the other half is getting them out of the hole. Twenty minutes a few curses later, the Yellowfin Grouper was boated as well.

With the immediate dinner-need satisfied it was time to explore and begin being selective. I did what all experienced spearfishermen do – I headed to deeper water and looked for The Wall. Really, just any structure in deeper water that would hold fish. After a bit of kicking, I found it.

On the way to The Wall I saw several Nassau Grouper, but – as hard as it was – I refrained from boating them thinking they may be rare here. I was wrong. At The Wall I saw several more and eventually decided that I really wanted a Nassau Grouper sandwhich. And so, when I was sitting on the bottom and the fifth Nassau Grouper visited me, I put a shaft into him.

At one point in this dive Jaco was sitting on the bottom, and I was watching from the surface as a school of 100+ pound Tarpon came and visited him. In that moment Jaco had two large Dog Snapper, two Yellowfin Grouper, and a Hogfish all within range. But a real spearfisherman isn’t made by the fish he takes, but by the fish he leaves. Selective shooting and selective hunting is important. He let them all pass, looking for the right fish. And I was proud to be diving with him.

And I was so f***ing happy to, finally, be diving in untouched waters. The amount of marine life here was exceptional. We earned this.

Ana, the fisherwoman

Ana, the fisherwoman

The first-day grouper haul

The first-day grouper haul

Mature Hogfish

Mature Hogfish

A perfect dinner

A perfect dinner

For a couple of days we stayed and dove and hunted and ate and drank together in this paradise. But then a Northern threatened and so we took the dinghy and scouted the area looking for a way into a protected lagoon, to sit out the high winds that were coming.

We checked depths and holding and entrances to the lagoon, and then – holding our breath and gritting our teeth – we eased through the shallow water with Songerie and NOMAD – into the lagoon where we dropped anchor in complete protection. Once there, Jaco and Cristelle brought out their smoker and we commandeered a decrepit fishing shack to smoke our fish, smoke fine cigars, and drink Cuba’s excellent rum.

Jardin De La Reyna

Jardin De La Reyna

Fish-smoking, cigars, friends, rum

Fish-smoking, cigars, friends, rum

And with full freezers, full stomachs and fuzzy heads – we planned our next move down the Cuban coastline.

Strange signs

Trinidad, Cuba (and other stuff)

Sorry for the delay in posts. I was sailing through a remote part of the South Cuban coastline. Can’t tell you where because the fishing was too good. But I will, eventually, share some pictures. It might be paradise.

One more thing: I’m taking a step backwards on the Cuban coffee. It’s good. But I really do prefer Colombian (and even some Panamanian) coffee. So there.

And since we’re sidetracked, as you can see in the picture – if you turn left, you’ll find your chariot to heaven.

Anyways. Where was I?

Trinidad, Cuba

 

So we woke up very hungover and very tired from our night of rum tasting with Jaco and Cristelle on Songerie (there, finally, I’ve spelled the names right) in the harbor of Cienfuegos. And then we had coffee and threw stuff in backpacks and then it was time for the cab and we were on our way. Much of this part of Cuba resembles desert and on the road there are land-crabs that migrate in droves and the smell of the unlucky ones on the road is so strong you smell them before you see them. The smell is similar to seaweed that has rotted and then been heated.

Sundried crab

Sundried crab

Trinidad is cool. It’s very touristic, which makes it slightly less of my-kind-of-place.

Trinidad, Cuba and transport

Trinidad, Cuba and transport

It’s quaint and beautiful and has real cobblestone streets, very narrow, that wind up and down hills. The sun roasts you, so you wear straw hats. There are tractors in the streets. Horses and mules are a big part of transportation.

Cuba's only Harley

Cuba’s only Harley

Moto

Moto

The market

The market

Cars!

Cars!

During the middle of the day there is very little to do, and so you either walk and roast and burn looking at the sights – or you sit in the shade and drink too many mojitos and smoke fine cigars and watch people and listen to music.

We did a little of both, but I’ll let you guess which of the two scenarios I prefer.

The winner

The winner

In Trinidad there is a plaza. It is a fine place. But just up the hill from this plaza there is a stage and a place to drink and at the top of the hill there is the Casa De Musica. On the stage they play Buena Vista Social Club and people dance and sweat and smile. You can see excellent dancing, or maybe you can dance excellently and therefore you would be dancing excellently and I would be watching you dance excellently and drinking excellent mojitos and smoking fine cigars.

And we would both be happy.

The spot

The spot

The spot

The spot

There is a man with a donkey that so personifies Cuba that he charges money to take a picture. But he is Cuba, so the picture is priceless and we love him. Here is this man.

Cuba, personified

Cuba, personified

When he’s not standing in the Plaza, he is walking ever-so-slowly to a new spot in the Plaza or he is napping in the shade of a building or his donkey with his cigar falling out of his mouth.

For rent, photos

For rent, photos

In Cuba, you usually stay (besides hotels – which are really for the uber-tourist) in casa-particulars. These are typically a couple of rooms in a Cuban’s house that have been converted so that guests can stay there. We stay in casa-particulars. They are fine, and they have A/C (usually) and hot showers (usually). For me, those two things are very luxurious.  And they let you smoke cigars there…

Cigars and our room

Cigars and our room

So we had A/C and hot showers. And during the day we were asked directions to the Cave Bar. We had no idea what it was, but quickly decided it was somewhere worth visiting. That night we found it and it was, as the name implies, a bar in a cave. Complete with bathrooms in cave rooms.

Not just any bar, though. It’s luxurious and clubby and it stands in stark contrast to virtually everything around it. Looking back, it’s a very strange thing. But it has a remarkable turnout and once inside you could just as well be in a club in Miami – which I used to frequent once in a while. We danced and sweated a lot and then ran out of money for drinks and were having trouble standing without weaving so we went back down the long hill and through the dark alleys to our room.

Streets

Streets

Gator-stairs

Gator-stairs

And on the way we met a Russian guy that was coupled up with a Cuban woman. They insisted that we eat with them. We were very drunk and not hungry but we agreed and I’m not exactly sure why. They were quite a pair. She kept telling us how in love they were, and it was in rapid-fire Spanish and I was having trouble understanding her. His English was even harder to understand so she did most of the talking as none of us spoke Russian. They had known each other two weeks and she had two children with another man and since she couldn’t leave Cuba and he wasn’t immigrating it made the whole thing seem very strange.

Then we left the restaurant with most of our meals in to-go containers and laughed and weaved our way back to our room where we slept in A/C, took hot showers woke up late still a little groggy.

Then we went back to the plaza and the stage and had mojitos.

Then it was time to get back to the boat.

Back Home

Everything was how we left it and getting back to the boat was a major relief and it made me want to just sleep and read and play chess and drink Cuba Libre’s.

That wasn’t in the cards.

Instead we needed to plan and resupply and buy things and use the Internet (which is an adventure in itself). For all of this we needed to fight the money fight, which is tough for Americans and only slightly less so for Brazilians. That’s the thing about Cuba – it’s a pain in the ass to do anything.

We were desperate to leave and see the coast. I was desperate to freedive and explore the reefs and chase giant Grouper and Hogfish and Cubera Snapper. Without the diving and the sailing I was gaining weight and without eating fish I was in withdrawals. And without a beautiful coastline we both felt cheated. And without blue water under my keels I felt my time was being wasted. Why, if there is no bluewater under my keels, did I put all of my money in a rapidly depreciating maintenance headache?

So we hurried and rushed and ran and shopped and carried things too heavy. Then I worked on the boat. Then I found a variety of other problems so I did more boatwork. Then I fixed most of those problems and I found water in my starboard saildrive oil and that is a problem that I couldn’t fix and it infuriated me (it was my fault – fishing line in the prop again). But it was time to leave and time doesn’t sleep and so neither did we.

We pulled up anchor at 6PM that evening, with 15 knots of wind in our face.   We knew we were going the right way, because the wind was in our face. That is, afterall, how sailing works in the Caribe. So we motored until we got out of the harbor.

The weatherman told us that the wind would die after sunset and then we’d motor down the coast. But he lied. Once we left the harbor the wind picked up. Now it was gusting 30 knots in our face and I was only able to do 4 knots into the wind with both engines. The waves were smashing us too. Things were bouncing around and knives were dropping and glass stuff was breaking. Jaco was pretty unhappy (Songerie has become our official sailing buddy) about the whole thing, but it was great to have him and Cristelle with us in the shit.

After a couple of hours I checked the engines and the saildrives and found that the starboard saildrive was worryingly low on oil. This was a major problem and when I shut off the starboard engine we were now doing 3 knots, sometimes 2.5 into the wind. I’ll save you the technical details, but some numbnut wrapped fishing line in his brand new oil seal (around the prop) which allowed water in and then experimented with a solution that made the problem worse and then that numbnut found himself in desperate need of both engines/saildrives. Of course that numbnut is the captain and that captain is me, just in case self-deprecating humor isn’t clear on the interwebs.

Anyways, now that I had heavy winds on the nose – I was trying to power NOMAD with only a single 29 horsepower engine. To make a long story short, I used some very colorful (and, I might add, creative) language and then we pushed on and then the wind let up and then we were sailing a little. Then the wind died and we were back to motoring and I was worried about everything and so we took a route that was shorter and motored all night and most of the following day.

Then we saw our destination. There was a reef line and it looked impenetrable and as if to emphasize this, there was a very recent wreck laying on top of the reef. Another yacht on the reef, another dream ruined. Another reminder to stay vigilant and not make mistakes and pay attention and think quickly and move even more quickly.

You can lose it all so quickly. That kind of heartbreak that will make you sick of love.

But we had some waypoints and we had some old charts and we had Songerie leading us in – they had beaten us quite soundly as we were down to one motor/saildrive. Coming through the reef made me nervous and then it was suddenly only two meters deep and that makes me nervous too. After an hour of tense single-motoring through coral-strewn shallow-water we dropped our anchor and looked around.

NOMAD and Songerie were the only two boats in 100 miles and it was stunningly beautiful and remarkably remote. Desert scrub turns to mangrove turns to beach turns to shimmering, crystal clear water over healthy and untouched reef.

And I remembered again why I work so hard to get to places where people haven’t screwed it up yet.

You guys can have all of the cities.
You can have all of the well-charted and well-explored and well-settled lands and waters. If there are roads there, it’s already ruined.  I’m sticking to my guns: the most beautiful places on Earth are places where few humans have been and where none live.

You can argue with me if you want, but if you do – it just means you haven’t seen what I have. And that’s The Truth.

Hecho en Cuba

Hecho En Cuba

This post was made in Cuba. As is an ever-increasing amount of stuff onboard NOMAD. Coffee – what might be the best in the world (or at least that I’ve tried so far) is onboard, made in Cuba. A good, and reasonably priced aged rum is onboard, made in Cuba. And cigars. Good God.   We have all the best cigars, hecho en Cuba.

Our first day we vowed to spend watching movies and eating and not working and not moving and not preparing. Our literal vow was “we won’t do shit.” Writing that sentence makes it seem badly worded and more profane – but that was our vow. And we kept it. Of course, it was an easy vow to keep as we were both exhausted and slightly hungover – a product of the combination of our passage and our night at the marina bar.

Then it was time to explore. Jacko and Crystelle came by and took me into town to meet their friend Lili. Lili runs a Casa Particular (like a hostel) and she can make arrangements for inland travel simply and economically. She’s a good woman to know.

Then we stopped in for a beer ($1 Presidente, ice cold, with a fabulous view). Then it was on to the cigar guy. This being my first time in Cuba and having only a passing interest in cigars previously – this was a treat that I didn’t understand the value of. But as I tried a few cigars with a good sipping rum, and priced the high-end, handrolled Cuban cigars we were getting against the actual street value of these cigars – I realized how important it is to know the cigar guy. The cigar guy is important.

Because we know the cigar guy, our stash went from this:

The beginning

The beginning

To this:

Ever-growing

Ever-growing

And some of those cigar boxes contain 25 cigars that are sold here for $30 per cigar. Stateside? More. You can do the math, but, basically, we have a very nice collection of cigars. And it cost us a tiny fraction of what the average person pays on the street. So if you’re a cigar type and you bump into me out there and want to smoke a genuine Cohiba Maduro… Well, you should say so. Maybe you prefer a Cohiba Esplindido (Castro’s favorite). Maybe a Romeo Y Julieta (my favorite, and Churchill’s). Cohiba Robusto? Montechristo number 2? Montechristo Master? Hemmingway liked the Montechristos.

Believe it or not, the coffee was harder to get our hands on than the cigars. The (good) coffee really isn’t available to the average Cuban. One of our new Cuban friends told me something I remember hearing in Colombia. Our Cuban friend said: “All of our best things are for export, in Cuba we’re left in prison with the rejects.” In Colombia, another friend told me all of the best cocaine and the best women were exported. Patterns, for better or for worse.

We finally found the coffee in a hotel catering to gringos.

Drummer!!

Drummer was here. We met them in San Blas, and they introduced us to Jacko and Crystelle – so when the Drummer crew returned to their boat – a party seemed inevitable. It all started when Amber rowed up to our boat. She told us about her travels inland. She told us about Cuba. She told us they were leaving soon.

And that night Amber convinced us to go out. We walked and drank and talked. The next night there was a party, a dinner, on NOMAD. Jacko and Crystelle and the Drummer crew and another young Southern gringo and his girlfriend (who was Australian).   Beer and wine and good food dominated early, but later in the night high-quality sipping rum and cigars got the upper hand. Then everyone was trying to figure out how to get home before the sun rose without interrupting the flow of the party.   The party-veterans began sipping water.

Then we explored Cienfuegos a bit more and took this picture.  It’s so meta.

Picture of a picture of a Nomad

Picture of a picture of a Nomad

Then it was time to go to Trinidad, Cuba. We needed to get a cab, get a Casa Particular, and needed to get our shit together to leave the boat for a couple of days. We needed to pack clothes and cigars and rum and electronics. We needed to empty the fridge. We needed to get things off the deck. We needed to lock the boat.

But that night, there was something that took precedence. When one lands in a place where it is cheap to procure a specific thing – say cigars, or rum. One must take the time to pick the right thing, and then buy as much as one can store (or afford) to either sell, give, or use along the way. And so, the night before our trip to Trinidad, Cuba – we had a rum tasting. So that we could all be sure of what the best rum for the best price is, so that we could then buy copious amounts of it so that we could have a large supply of good and reasonably priced rum.

Understanding that we needed to be productive in preparation for our trip to Trinidad, that we needed to be up early for said trip, and that we wanted to feel good for said trip – it may not make sense to have a rum-tasting the night before said trip. But life is short and you are dead for a very long time.

Carpe that f***ing Diem.

So we had a rum-tasting.

And so began our land-travels into Socialist Cuba.

Welcome to Cuba

Welcome to Socialist Cuba

And we did feel welcome. Much more so than we felt in the Caymans.

We finally got our weather window and escaped Grand Cayman. 7 days, more or less, in the Caymans. It was 7 days too long. So when the weather turned favorable, we left at our earliest convenience. Cayman may be nice and pretty and safe. But it’s hellishly expensive, entirely devoid of culture, and – when the cruise ships are in – overrun by people who go on cruises (see: people who don’t have good stories). Droves of Hawaiian shirts, horrific sunburns, white tube socks with sandals, and of course fanny packs. Inhumane lines. Those cruise-goers overweight and obnoxious. All part of a massive cliché.

And so we unhooked from our mooring at 6 AM. As we came around the island it the wind picked up a little and soon we had 10-15 knots of wind and were making 6 knots, dragging a wide variety of lures. Most importantly – I’d decided to drag my Marlin lure behind a teaser. We hit 7 knots and the sun rose. It was a beautiful day and the water was a deep blue and we were headed to Cuba and it all felt good. It felt free and adventurous and lonely in the way all good adventures must be.

On the trip it was only Ana and I. Damien had been recalled stateside and was probably abusing hot showers and cooking with obscure spices. Jacko and Crystelle were sailing with us (in their boat) – in fact – they had left an hour or so earlier and we had just caught up to them.

And then the big reel started screaming. Anything that eats a 14” squid lure and makes that big reel scream is something worth catching. Or maybe it’s something worth losing. Maybe in catching something like that you lose a little of the mystery of the ocean.

Certainly processing anything that size presents its own challenges. Those thoughts were not present though, as I yelled for Ana and moved over to tighten the drag – hoping to slow down the fish. We were losing line at an incredible rate. The reel was getting warm.

And we were still doing 7 knots.

Then the fish broke the surface and begin a spectacular display. He tail-walked back and forth across the water – shaking and slashing and dancing, his background music the screaming reel.

The rod came out of the rod holder and nearly went overboard. I could feel the power of the fish. It was unbelievable.

Ana came up and saw the big rod doubled over and heard the drag screaming. She grabbed the camera. Then she saw a fish pushing 600 pounds walking across the water with it’s tail.

Then she said: “Holy Shit!”

We were still doing 7 knots.

I was yelling at Ana – to turn the boat into the wind. I was losing line. The fish was dancing behind the boat, his body completely out of the water. I’ve seen and landed a couple of Marlin, this one was big…

The reel was already hot. I could smell it.

I’m yelling at Ana and she’s fumbling with the autopilot and I’m tightening the drag and having daytime nightmares about loosing all 1000 yards of line and my best Marlin lure and this fish.

And we’re still doing 7 knots.

And then the line is slack. And my stomach drops. But I see the lure resurface and I breathe a sigh of relief and admit to myself that I had no idea what I would do with that fish even if I could bring it in.

When I’d first purchased this reel and this rod (secondhand), someone in Austin looked at me incredulously and asked what I planned on catching with such heavy machinery. I joked that I was fishing for God. And we hooked him the other day. And we lost him and that was probably the best thing we could have hoped for.

The rest of the sail was relatively uneventful, though it was fairly slow and we did a bit of motoring as we got closer to Cuba. I don’t think I’ll ever forget coming up for my shift in the morning and seeing Cuba rising up from the horizon in front of us. It’s amazing how much work and time and sweat and tears and money went into this voyage.

It’s amazing that some, hardheaded, people don’t just take planes.

Thankfully there are people which still choose methods of transportation that are adventures in themselves. Traveling this way is the definition of making it about the journey and not just the destination. Traveling this way is an accomplishment. Anybody can do a roadtrip. Anybody can get on a plane. Anybody can RV. Even motorcycles don’t hold a candle to this kind of travel.   This kind of travel is called voyaging. And it is called this for good reason.

I used to believe that anybody could buy a boat and sail long distances. Now I know better. Not just anybody can sail across open ocean from country to country on their own sailboat that they chose, outfit, refit, and continue to maintain. It takes more than I thought it would.

But we did it.

We’re here, in Cuba. They call it Socialist. I think it’s Communist. I appreciate it, whatever it is. The people are beautiful and friendly. The cars are amazing. The rum is good, bordering on great. The cigars are glorious. The coffee might be the best I’ve ever tasted. Presidente (the Dom-Rep beer) is $1, ice cold, at the bar. The mojitos are top of the line. Life is good here, for foreigners at least.

Cars!

Cars!

Let’s finish the story, though. When we arrived, naturally, I found the watermaker had sprung a relatively serious leak in the endcap of the membrane enclosure. And my windlass decided not to work. And one of my battens had come off of the sailcars. Another of my sailcars had lost all of its ball-bearings. On just this single passage – a bit over 700 miles in total – an immense amount of expensive stuff was no longer serviceable.

Cienfuegos, Cuba

Coming into Cienfuegos

Coming into Cienfuegos

For many miles  we had called for the Port Captain or Port Authority. No answer. So we just dropped anchor (in typical fashion – far away from the herd) and I cracked my anchor beer.

A semi-official boat soon came up to us and told us to get to the dock ASAP. I explained that I had just laid out 50 meters of chain and that my windlass wasn’t working, so it might be a little while before I could get to the dock. And since we were going to the dock see the doctor – that if I did managed to pull in that 50 meters of chain quickly – I would likely be in much worse shape for my doctor’s exam.

Maybe it would be better to bring the doctor to us, if it’s a priority…

They agreed.

The doctor came and visited us, with the custom’s agent and a too-slick looking guy at the marina. We paid some money, he asked about our health. I gave them Panamanian coffee – they left the boat smiling and they didn’t tear my boat apart, top to bottom, nor did they threaten me.  The difference of 170 miles (Cayman to Cuba) seems to matter quite a bit.  It’s amazing how uncivilized civilization really is, and how much more civil people can be in places like Cuba.

With the doctor’s visit out of the way, we were now allowed onshore. So onshore we went. And there we found nice officials and a nice marina bar and some nice locals and some nice sailors at this nice bar. And at this bar I ordered The Liar’s Drink: A Cuba Libre (for, as we all know – Cuba will never be free).

I ordered the Cuba Libre in Ciegnfuegos, Cuba – before the herds of gringos made it. I think that’s worth remembering.

One Cuba Libre turned into a few when Jacko and Crystelle showed up.

Then we labored back to the boat. Then Ana fell off the boat as she was climbing from the dinghy onto NOMAD. Then we collapsed and slept a well-earned sleep.

In Socialist Cuba.

Booyah.

 

Jacko and his Mahi

Onwards – To Cuba

There are two primary factors that decide my schedule: weather and boat condition. Especially on a longer crossing – other considerations are secondary, at best. People’s schedules, people’s desires, flights, holidays, weekends, day or night – none of this really matters.

Waiting to Cross

And so we waited on weather. Longer than we would have liked. Damo was on a schedule, so we considered leaving a bit earlier – but the seas were 3 meters + and that makes crossing seem more like bullriding – for five days.

So we waited.

We pre-cooked food. We did last-minute boat repairs. I charted and re-charted our route. We got fishing gear ready for any eventuality. We burned trash. We recycled cans. We organized the decks and checked sails and reefing gear.

We waited.

Then, it was time to get underway. The waves were still 2 meters +, and the wind was on the nose at 15 knots. But we were so ready to move, we just did it. Outside we dropped lures back behind the boat and got the first taste of the short-period beam sea that we would take for the next 5 days.

620 nautical miles was our route. That’s a long ways. Even in a car that’s a fairly long drive. But a sailboat is hardly a car, the ocean hardly a road. There aren’t any rest stops. No gas stations. No roadside restaurants. No tow trucks to call.   You can’t call an ambulance if someone gets sick or injured. There aren’t mechanics in the middle of the ocean.

It’s between 4-6 days of open ocean. No land in sight.

We planned, based upon weather predictions, an average speed of 5.5 knots. That’s not too hard to do in this boat, and it gives us a little wiggle room in case we hit a bad current or have an engine failure or the wind doesn’t cooperate. At 5.5 knots we were looking at just over 4.5 days of open ocean sailing. Our worst-case calculations put us there a bit over 5.5 days (4.5 knots average).

Onward to Caymans

Our first day we just motored against a 15 knot headwind and cursed the weatherman. We were averaging 4.5 knots with both engines giving us everything. Then we lost an engine. Naturally, the boat was bucking and pounding through the waves, making mechanical work painful and frustrating. When a diesel engine dies, assuming you maintain it halfway decently, the first things to troubleshoot are fuel and air. If you keep a diesel engine cool, give it clean air and clean fuel – it will last forever.

So I changed the airfilter. No dice. So I changed the fuel filter. No dice. So then I was forced to pull off fuel hoses and start sucking on them – hoping to get diesel in my mouth. I found the clog, blew it out, bled the engine and sure enough – we were back in business. Of course, at this point I was bleeding and bruised from being repeatedly smashed against the engine in the beam seas. But we were moving again. Crawling along at 4.5 knots.

We lost the same engine twice more over the crossing – all related to the black, nasty fungus that grows in diesel here. This is despite my using the anti-fungus diesel additive. But, fuel problems are easy to diagnose and relatively easy to fix – so I prefer them over more serious issues…

Damo was on the edge of seasickness the entire time. Ana got a touch of seasickness, but it passed. I, despite working on the engine and sucking on diesel hoses – avoided seasickness altogether. The first twelve hours we motored with a headwind and a beam sea which burns diesel, has a horrible motion, and adds a level of stress (what’s going to break next?). And at 4.5 knots, we weren’t going to be getting to Caymans (on the way to Cuba) anytime soon…

But soon the wind shifted to 35 degrees. And NOMAD, surprisingly enough, sails at 35 degrees. And 40 degrees. And at 60 degrees she flies. Very few people believe this, until they sail with me. And even then they have a hard time accepting what the gauges and numbers show. But the proof is in the pudding.

Over the next few days and nights we would spend most of our time bashing through seas. At 8-10 knots. Read that again. In winds under 20 knots, in the open ocean with steep, short period swells, in a catamaran pointing into the wind, with only 37 feet of waterline – we spent our time sailing between 8 and 10 knots. I, for the first time, saw 11 knots on NOMAD. It was exhilarating. And surprising.

Speed

Speed

Then we broke our boom topping lift. That doesn’t seem like a big deal. But with a catamaran like mine – the boom topping lift serves as a partial backstay, helping to strengthen the rig. So. After I noticed this I watched and listened and debated. Climbing the mast in these kinds of seas with this kind of wind, in the open ocean – is a little bit challenging. It’s also a bit dangerous, and definitely painful. Minimally you’ll be beaten against the mast, or you’ll fall or you’ll get tangled in the rigging.

The only thing that’s guaranteed is that it won’t be fun.

Watching and listening and thinking I decided to let it go for a few hours and catch some shuteye. Afterall, the wind was no more than 15 knots.

That evening when got up from my nap I could hear a creaking in the mast that didn’t inspire confidence. And the wind was increasing. And so I woke up Ana, and I climbed the mast to replace the boom topping lift. I was right – it was painful. But I didn’t fall and after a few bumps and bruises and a couple of mistakes – the boat was moving along with all of her rigging intact.

I was limping for a couple of days, though.

By day three we were all in the zone. Wake-up, make coffee, eat something quick and get into the cockpit for your 4-hour shift. Then you read or fish or do something else to pass the time. Then, when your shift is over – you relax and lay around or go below and take a real nap.

Meals are really snacks. Sleep is really naps.

And then, almost suddenly, we could see Grand Cayman. Land! We joked about how in a few hours we’d be drinking beer at an actual bar. There would be real grocery stores. People would speak English. People might even be friendly.

We were stoked.

Grand Cayman Port Security guided us into a dock. We tied up NOMAD and proceeded to do our paperwork. Then they casually told me that they would bring the canines to search my boat. I told them I had nothing to hide, but that I’d like to just be done so I could shower and have a beer and get some real sleep.

The Grand Cayman Customs guys are jerks (and there are better words for them).

They are the Customs equivalent of the guy who was picked on in highschool so he becomes your hometown police officer and now gets off on over-exercising the limited amount of authority that should have never been granted to him. Such a cliché.

Their first words to me were: “I hope you don’t have any plans today.” I told them my plan was to drink a cold beer at an actual bar. The main-guy, a clear example of someone that seeks to make other people as miserable as himself retorted with: “So you think you’re getting out of here today? Ha!”

Whether you’re a criminal or not, when you’re treated like a criminal and somebody is tearing apart your boat and bringing (not one, but two) sniffing dogs through your entire boat (including letting the mangy mutts on your beds) – it’s makes you feel like a criminal. It makes you feel like you have something to hide. It makes you nervous the way having a cop follow you on the highway makes you nervous. But worse.

Way worse.

Eventually these Customs agents, so clearly frustrated with their position in life and so intent on abusing the limited power they have – they left. The boat was in shambles. Ana and Damo were stressed. I was exhausted and furious. But also relieved. Knowing what I know now, though – I suspect my next encounter with these gentlemen won’t be so one-sided.

But. We made it.

Soon enough we were walking through Grand Cayman and marveling at the grocery store and the marine store and the bars. Then we were drinking a cold beer and connecting to WiFi. I downloaded weather and found that I wouldn’t be leaving Cayman for a week… Damo found out that he would be leaving from Cayman, rather than from Cuba.

Two nights of going out and drinking led me to abort any future drinking missions. Rather than drinking at the overpriced bars, I decided to spend my time fishing (and drinking – a little) on the boat. So after Damo returned home, our friends Jacko and Crystelle jumped onboard and we headed out to the Twelve Mile banks for some trolling and drifting.

Skirted Ballyhoo

Skirted BallyhooSkirted Ballyhoo

Fishing Dogs

Fishing Dogs

I made an early mistake and lost a nice fish, but we made up for it with a nice Bull Mahi later in the day. Then we spent an enjoyable evening drift and bottom fishing.  Then there was champagne to celebrate the Caribbean circumnavigation of Jacko and Crystelle.

Jacko and his Mahi

Jacko and his Mahi

Champagne on the water

Champagne on the water

And after all of that was done – it was suddenly time to get ready to go to Cuba.

Onwards To Cuba

Now we’re back to the present. And tomorrow, at 6 AM, we’re dropping our mooring here to sail to Cienfuegos on the Southern coast of Cuba. And we couldn’t be more excited. It’s about damn time.

So – I’ll update again when possible, but we’ll be back to sailing remote and beautiful islands with limited connectivity.

Which means it may be awhile before another update. Try not to hold that against me.

Dolphins!

Finally, A New Post!!

How about that time lapse between this post and my last? Been awhile, huh? Yep. I agree. We’ve been insanely busy. And there’s been crap connection. And there’s still crap connection. And we’re sailing to Cuba, where there will been even less connectivity. So.

Hauling Out

I spent some time limping around San Blas with one engine and hanging out in the Swimming Pool. Then we sailed to Puerto Lindo. Then we arranged to haul out at Panamarina. There we pulled NOMAD out of the water. The first thing we saw was oil leaking out of the problematic saildrive. It was very clear what the problem had been (and continued to be): a screw had backed out of what I call the “endcap” of the saildrive. This, when we reversed, allowed the prop shaft (and all of its gears/seals) to separate from the saildrive housing. Of course, this was only obvious when we hauled the boat, and – in the water – would only be obvious if someone were watching the saildrive closely as the engine was shifted into reverse. This (being in the water as the engine is shifted into reverse, close enough to observe), I should add, would be a tricky proposition (see: dangerous).

Back to the story, which is my life.

To avoid using the German mechanic in this area, I’d looked far and wide to find a reputable mechanic capable of finishing this job. I found one. He agreed. But then when the time came to fix the saildrive, he balked and delayed. I half-expected this, but I had no backups. Thankfully Panamarina employed a Volvo Penta mechanic and he had time to work on the saildrives.

We pulled both of the saildrives and rebuilt the starboard saildrive with parts from my spare saildrive. Then we replaced the main rubber gaskets on the saildrives, all the seals, cleaned them, and put them both back in. That’s easy to write, but much harder to accomplish. It’s a f*$%#ing ordeal.

Boatyard torture....

Boatyard torture….

Saildrive seal protection

Saildrive seal protection

Stumped by MaxProps

Stumped by MaxProps

That also involved pulling off, cleaning, greasing and putting back on the MaxProps. Let me just say that MaxProps are a royal PITA to get right. It took a few tries and I burned more than a couple of days getting the pitch right. I even (though I hate to admit it) had to pull the boat back out of the water AFTER we splashed to make another minor pitch adjustment. I am intimately familiar with MaxProps.   And propellers have never been on my “I wish I was intimate with…” list.

Another hidden gem, when we cleaned off the saildrives: the previous owner had used the wrong bottom paint on the aluminum saildrives which was leading to corrosion. To that end I spent a day polishing all of the toxic bottom paint off of the saildrives, then had to find an epoxy primer and bottom paint compatible with aluminum. Not easy in these parts. But we did it.

There’s so much more. We replaced all of our anchor chain. It was horribly rusted 3/8” chain, replaced with G4 5/16” which is both lighter and slightly cheaper than the 3/8” BBB – while retaining a higher breaking strength. This involved replacing the windlass gypsy, which involved cutting out several welded screws… That job was supposed to be couple of hours. It took two days.

Then I added 300W of solar to the hard-top and tied them into another MPPT controller. We now have 560 W of solar on the arch, 150 W on the lifelines, and 300 W on the hardtop. This makes for a grand total of (wait for it……) 1010 W of solar, tied to two different (see: redundant overkill) MPPT controllers. Even on cloudy days, we make energy. Lots of energy.

Next up was the watermaker. I sent the Clark Pump into Spectra for their $450 rebuild. Upon receiving it, they told me it was not serviceable. I needed an entirely new Clark Pump – to the tune of $2200. I received this during our haulout and wired it all in. It works!!!!!! Finally, after nearly two years of having the boat – I have a working watermaker. In fact, it’s producing over 14 gallons per hour of freshwater. Amazing for a 12V system. No generators, no motors. Just a couple little pumps and we make saltwater into freshwater.

Out here – that’s valuable.

Then there was the sails and sailcars. I had to replace two sailcars (specially manufactured from US Spars) – not cheap, but necessary. Then I needed to get my Genoa restitched. Not cheap either.

Then we pulled every single thing out of the boat, organized it, wrote down where it was, cleaned it, and put it back. Backbreaking and filthy work, but it’s done.

Then the bottom paint. We raised the waterline just a bit, which required priming the bottom, and then adding several layers of bottom paint. For bottom paint, we chose Islands 44 and used the harder ablative on the leading edges and then covered it all with three coats of the soft ablative.

There’s more.

We had to re-engineer the swim ladder. It wasn’t standing up to the abuse (we dive a lot), so I had a welder build in another anchor point for it – and now, it doesn’t budge. Since we had access to a decent welder – I welded some fishing pole holders and a piece of stainless that covers the saildrive seals – so that fishing line can no longer get into the seals and destroy them.

Ana was back onboard helping me, and I can honestly say there was no chance I’d have this done without her. An amazing person. We accomplished all of this in 10 days. TEN DAYS, in a third-world country, without a car. Where you have to travel (literally) across the country to get parts. It may not sound important to you, but it was nothing short of a miracle for us.

Back to The Swimming Pool

Then Damo showed up. He’s been onboard before, he’s a friend, a good cook, and a fisherman (mostly a spearfisherman). So, now, most of the major systems are working and we’re sitting in the Swimming Pool – waiting on a weather window to sail to Cuba.

And with all of our solar energy – we’re full of water and are powering a second freezer which is keeping all of the Tuna we’ve been catching fresh. So much sushi. You should be jealous.

Dolphins!

Dolphins!

Mahi Mahi on Sterling Tackle Mahi on Sterling Tackle

Mahi Mahi on Sterling Tackle

Tuna on Sterling Tackle

Tuna on Sterling Tackle

More Tuna on Sterling Tackle

More Tuna on Sterling Tackle

More Tuna on Sterling Tackle

More Tuna on Sterling Tackle (and Damo’s butt)

More Mahi on Sterling Tackle

More Mahi on Sterling Tackle

The boatyard work was mindnumbing, painful, frustrating, dirty and it didn’t make for happy people. But it’s (for the most part) done. And NOMAD is in better shape than she’s ever been before, with a good crew, in a beautiful place – waiting to sail to Cuba. In case you didn’t catch this – we’re SAILING TO CUBA. We’re all excited about the passage (plenty of time to pull lures behind us and catch tasty fish) and about the destination. Cuba. Soon.

Hogfish and Mackerel

Hogfish and Mackerel

Smoked fish (thanks Jacko!!)

Smoked fish (thanks Jacko!!)

Damo and Permit

Damo and Permit

Ana and Tuna

Ana and Tuna

Fish Cleaning Crew

Fish Cleaning Crew

San Blas

San Blas

Diesel top-up

Diesel top-up

In the meantime we’ve been eating Hogfish, Snapper, Permit, Triggerfish, Tuna, and Mackerel – just about every way you can imagine it. And fresh. You can’t afford to eat this way anywhere else in the world. And even if you could, it wouldn’t be this fresh.

We have plenty of things that aren’t working as they should and I know we’re going to keep breaking things. There will be bad days and rough days. Weather with batter us and make us wait and make us angry. We will get hangovers and feel pressure and have crazy situations. There will be risks to our lives and health and everything in between. People won’t always get along.

This is all given.

But for now all is well.

So we wait on weather with our friends from Sondre (Jacko, forgive me dude, for not knowing how to spell your boat name).

Just a couple more days and we’ll be on passage and our larger concerns will be based around what lures to troll and how to bring in large fish at 6-10 knots.

Then it’s a couple of months in the largely untouched paradise of Cuba. Where I’ve heard the Black Grouper and Hogfish swim up to you and beg you to put them on your boat.

If you’re not at least a little bit jealous, you’re wrong.

Nothing further.  Until we’re 600 miles away, in Grand Cayman.

 

 

The Swimming Pool

The Usual Shenanigans

Another good few days.  Sondre showed up, Kenny showed up. A beach party.  Moved to the West Hollandes. Sandra left and Lindsay and Eline showed up.  I’m thankful that we’re done with crew-related movements for a few days.  I’ll finally be able to go somewhere and relax there until I decide to leave.  That’s nice.  Speaking of leaving – I have to haul the boat soon.  So much work coming up.  But, when I’m done I’ll be free to sail longer distances – which I need to do much more of this year. 

Future Kuna Bacon

Future Kuna Bacon

Beach fires, drinks, and a boat

Beach fires, drinks, and a boat

As far as updates are concerned – here’s what’s been happening:  diving, swimming, sailing, beach fires, fish, eating, drinking.  Then more of the same.  That’s more or less what we’ll be doing until I haul the boat, mid Feb.  To that end – since I don’t enjoy repeating myself, you may not receive a ton of updates until we start heading toward Puerto Lindo to get the boat hauled (at Panamarina).  I’m on vacation until then, and I’ll earn every bit of this vacation in the damned boatyard.

Visits From Friends

Lindsay was on for only three days, it’s still unclear how long Eline will be onboard.   They arrived the same afternoon Sandra left.  Since I wanted to get back to The Swimming Pool for a calming trend – I had everything ready.  And as soon as they were onboard – I fired up the engines and we pulled anchor – heading back North into a 15 knot headwind.  Not fun, but it was only a few miles.

Pulling into The Swimming Pool, I saw on my AIS a vessel that looked very close (see:  on top of) a reef that I anchor next to.  Almost in my spot, but dangerously so.  There was a rally of some sort stopping in, so there were boats anchored everywhere.  The boat in question, we soon saw, was firmly lodged on the reef.  Her entire bow was above water and the whole thing looked no-bueno.  Based upon the lack of panicked radio-chatter I assumed she wasn’t holed. 

We dropped the anchor just thirty meters from her, but in a much safer place, and begin setting up the boat for a few days of chill-time.  The tent-shade thing came out and I rolled down the rear-shade.  Then I dropped the dinghy and headed over to see if I could help with the yacht-reef issue.  After a quick look at the reef and the keel of said yacht – it looked pretty good.  I had a feeling we could, with the help of a few dinghies – get the keel out and free. 

Quick introductions were made, but it soon became clear that there wasn’t much experience onboard – at least in getting boats off reefs.  I’m hardly an expert – but we’ve done it multiple times here (San Blas is a dangerous spot to navigate).  The right move is to decide which way to go (forward or reverse) and then tie multiple dinghies (side-tying is usually best).  Then all the dinghies and the boat itself – use the engines to push together.  Dumping water helps too – it raises the boat in the water a couple of inches. 

We managed to get the keel dislodged – but then the rudder was scraping the coral, which is a delicate situation.  It was clear, though, that the boat would come loose.  And during this time many more dinghies with many unexperienced drivers had arrived to help.  And I was starving and there were two bikin-clad girls making a lunch for me on my boat.  So rather than stay and wade through the chaos of too many dinghies, too many chiefs, and not enough Indians – I returned to NOMAD, ate some cheese and drank some wine.  It was surely the right decision.  Shortly the boat was free, and the damage seemed minimal (if there was any). 

Onward.

We decided to head to BBQ Island with the beach gear.  The beach gear is typically:  a bluetooth speaker, a music playing device, sun-protection, bug spray, a cooler with alcoholic beverages, etc.  The guys on the island were happy to see me (or really, my crew) and welcomed us ashore.  Then it was exploring and volleyball and drinks. 

On our way back to NOMAD that evening, we passed Gris Gris (heya guys!) and had a quick conversation.  There was supposed to be a calming trend over the next couple of days, so we planned on a fish BBQ on the beach.  Naturally, that night, the wind picked up to 20 knots – and there went the next few days of diving outside the reef. 

Meet Lindsay

Meet Lindsay

Coco Banderos

Coco Banderos

Beach parties and such

Beach parties and such

My girl

My girl

We spent the next couple of days playing and doing light-duty snorkeling in The Swimming Pool.  Then we sailed down to the Western Coco Banderos for a night.  Another beach fire and drinks as we watched the sun go down and turn the sky into fire and then violet and then the moon was full and lit up the ocean around us. 

It was Lindsay’s last night.  The next morning she’d leave on her way back to Panama City and “reality.”

And, again, I would be thankful that my reality is what it is.   So, very, thankful.  

Two things – if you’ve read this far:

  1. I have a friend offering charters here in San Blas, and from San Blas to Cuba.  It’s a beautiful boat and a great captain, reach out if you’re interested.
  2. I’m looking for experienced sailing crew to sail longer distances coming up.  This is a paying-crew position – meaning you pay a day-rate to be onboard, and you’ll have duties (just like every other crew member).  Reach out if you’re interested.  You must be 25 or older, have sailing experience, and be very comfortable in the water.  I’m going to be very picky.
Paradise

Back There

Laundry.  I desperately need to do laundry.  The good news is that board shorts never really get too dirty to wear in the water.  It’s the time out of the water that gets you.  I’ve discovered the art of using towels as clothes, though I can’t say that my towels are in much better shape.  This, though, will hardly make me leave my favorite dive spot. 

Onward. 

Back to The Swimming Pool

With Sandra onboard and getting her sea-legs we headed back to The Swimming Pool for a break in the weather.  Kenny (S/V Makai) was on his way up there, and we’ve become great friends so I was getting excited to see him.  I was being lazy, and ended up leaving the kayak in the water and towing it.  About halfway to The Swimming Pool, in the middle of a 6-8 foot beam swell, I noticed the kayak was no longer behind us.  A quick look around and (though it is bright red) – I realized that we would have trouble finding it. 

Aw, shit. 

We made a huge circle, taking into account wind and waves.  No luck.  Then we were back where we’d started a couple of hours before.  Still no kayak.  This was beginning to worry me.  Kayaks aren’t cheap.  At some point Sandra caught sight of the kayak in the binoculars.  A bit of maneuvering and we got along side of it and then got it back onboard.  A piece of the kayak had broken – it was nobody’s fault (except mine for being lazy and not bringing it up onboard).  The buck always stops with the captain.  Now we just needed to get back to The Swimming Pool.  

There.  Finally.

We pulled into The Swimming Pool and anchored in a spot I that I hoped would have good internet reception.  Of course it didn’t.  The updates here, the various boat-parts-searches, the “important” emails, communication with family and friends – would all have to wait.  We were, afterall, in an island paradise.   Internet connection, at least for short periods of time, is a sacrifice I’ll happily make.  

With the anchor down I immediately got my diving gear out.  I was here to chase fish.  As we headed toward the outer reef it looked rough.  Rougher than they were predicting in the weather forecast, surely.  The swells were 6-8 feet and breaking. That’s rough weather in a dinghy.  We did make it across the reef, though, and soon I was back in one of my favorite dive spots.  After all of that effort to get back here I was hoping the Universe would cut me some slack and give me an easy fish or two.  That was not to be.  Hell, it took us 15 minutes to set the anchor in the sloppy seas.  

Sandra had come out with me, but after a bit of diving through the swells she decided to wait it out in the dinghy.  I couldn’t blame her, it wasn’t comfortable diving.  Even for me, having done this more than a couple of times – it wasn’t an easy dive day. 

After a half-hour of being churned and pounded and rolled in the giant washing machine that was my favorite dive spot this day – the giant Dog Snapper, Cubera Snapper, or Black Grouper had evaded me.  Not even a sighting.   

So I kicked and kicked and kicked and eventually found myself in a slightly different area. And there I saw the only two shootable fish that day.  One large and one passable Dog Snapper.  I was out of breath and definitely not relaxed – but I made the dive, grabbed ahold of the bottom, and waited.  And waited.  And waited. 

The smaller of the two fish came and investigated.  The bigger one was keeping it’s distance.  As I waited on the larger fish, I was having a fierce internal debate.  Shooting the small fish would guarantee me ceviche, but since the dinghy was a long ways away – it would be nothing short of a miracle to be able to land his bigger brother also.  But a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.  But I really wanted his big brother.  Really.

After a few seconds of the smaller fish swimming around me I took the shot.  The spear passed through the gill-plate, so he was absolutely stuck.  Before I even made it to the surface, I had the spear back in the gun and was reloading the rubber.  On the surface I took a quick breath and then went back down, the smaller of the two snapper still swimming around on the end of my spear – making it very difficult to a) aim and b) control the speargun.  The good news was that the large Dog Snapper was still within eyesight when I hit the bottom. 

With the smaller snapper still swimming around on the end of my spear I waited on the bottom.  Much to my surprise, his big brother decided to investigate.  He came closer and closer.  But I needed him close to the end of my spear before I could take a shot – I had no way of aiming and the speared snapper was continuing to jerk me around.  About the time I had given up hope, the larger snapper came within range and I pulled the trigger.  Stoned.  He quivered and then, with two Dog Snapper on the spear I returned to the surface. 

The kick back to the dinghy in the rolling surf with two large and bleeding fish was a long one.  Then I needed to retrieve the anchor.  Then get the engine started and the dinghy away from the breaking waves.  With all of that done, I could catch my breath.  I earned those fish. 

Sandra and dinner

Sandra and dinner

On the way back to the boat, Runner waved me over and I met the fine folks on Paradise.  Both were interested in fish, and I was planning on diving every day I could – so I was happy to give some away.  I cleaned the fish and an hour later delivered it, ziplocked. 

That evening, after an awesome fish dinner, Runner and Paradise came by and gave me some fresh-baked bread.  Once again – among friends and with a fridge full of fresh fish, all was right in the world. 

San Blas

Hotel California

Connectivity hasn’t been great.  That’s my excuse.

It’s been a good few days – though I took a couple on the chin.  Things were going too well for me to get through unscathed.  It’s become more about keeping composure when I get hit, than avoiding the punches altogether.  One thing is becoming obvious – how hard it is to put San Blas in the rearview.  You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

The saildrive.  The ****ing saildrive.  I’ve come to hate these things, though I wasn’t a fan of them in the beginning.  The saildrive is a transmission of sorts – it has three gears (forward, neutral, reverse) and transfers the power of the engine to the prop.  I have two and the starboard one chewed through an integral piece called the Sliding Sleeve.  It’s a pretty rare occurrence – but I’m accustomed to unusual failures. 

A common failure would be so bland. 

With the help of Mike on Gilana (thanks dude!) we were able to remove the offending part.  Then the parts-search was on.  Turns out it was about $700 to get the part in the States, never mind the shipping and other BS required to get the part back onboard.  Never mind the labor and the downtime.  I decided, instead, to purchase a complete spare (though used) saildrive for the same price – thereby securing a bunch of other spares as well.

When I arrived back in San Blas, the saildrive was waiting on me (thanks Susan).  It was then up to me to remove the part from the spare saildrive and put it into my starboard saildrive.  Sounds easy, but it was hardly so.  It took about a day of sweating and cursing and bleeding in the engine room in inhuman positions, but I got it back together.  Then I needed to put back together the spare saildrive.  Then I tried it all out.  Reverse was forward and forward was reverse.  I’ve seen this before so I pulled things out and got them put back together correctly. All said and done, it seemed as if my saildrive woes were (at least temporarily) over.

I was free again.  Wow. 

NOMAD

NOMAD

Lots of diving.  Nate’s fish delivery service was back in full swing.  Need fish?  No problem – I was keeping my skills sharp and bringing back quality food for friends.  I put more fish onboard Bad Kitty, Runner, and (later) Paradise.  Steve quit bullshitting about eating SPAM and admitted that there were fish here – probably more to do with said fisherman than the fish (just getting even for all that SPAM talk, Steve).  Though one night Steve caught a Horse-eyed Jack (and told me it was a Blackfin Tuna).  My fridge/freezer was full.  Teena’s days onboard were coming to an end. 

Ol’ Andre

Then Andre showed up. Both of the pics below are dated – but we didn’t take many pictures last time ’round.

Andre (Dani is in there too)

Andre (Dani is in there too)

Andre!

Andre!

Andre has become a close friend.  As close as you can be without being blood.  He runs a backpacker boat from Cartagena to San Blas (and back the other way).  He pulled in next to us and we headed over there.  Then we had lunch with his crew and guests.  He was leaving later that afternoon for Robinson Island and then onto the East Lemmons for a little beach party.  This was as good of a chance as any to test my saildrive repairs and so – we decided to go with Andre.

On the way to Isla Robinson everything was fine.  We were chugging along at a fair pace, under full power.  Of course, when we arrived, things took a turn for the worse.  As I was setting the anchor I put my starboard engine into reverse – and heard a grinding sound. I immediately killed the engine and took a look into the saildrive – there was oil and nothing seemed amiss.  This led me to suspect one of two things:  a small piece of the broken part worked it’s way into the gears/bearings or the bearings had begun to seize.  Not cool.  Major bummer. 

Determined to not let this screw up my day – we continued on as planned.  After the short stop at Robinson Island we headed to the East Lemmons and started the party routine.  There were several captains there with full crews – so the party was in full swing.   

The next day was Teena’s departure – after which I would spent a few days alone onboard.  Steve was heading to Shelter Bay.  I had crew coming in on the 19th – but that was 9 days away.   So that evening when a girl asked me if I wanted crew for a few days, I responded positively. I told her that she would be cooking and cleaning – but that we would sail a bit and dive alot.  She was keen, and so plans were made to move her from Andre’s boat to mine in a couple of days.  The crew in question is a 23 year old Austrian girl named Sandra – and to date, she’d been epic.  As a general rule, I don’t bring on people under 25 – but this was spontaneous and turned out to be a good time to break general rules.  Meet Sandra.

Sandra

Sandra

When Sandra arrived, we spent a day relaxing and cooking and getting ready to get under way the following day.  I wanted to get back to The Swimming Pool for a break in the wind/waves/weather – so I could get to the outer reef and chase Black Grouper.   Of course – the wind was in our face, so I diverted to a Western part of the Coco Banderos, where we dropped the anchor behind Drummer – who would become friends.

Lionfish

Lionfish

That afternoon we went for a quick snorkel and I found a couple of giant lionfish for the beach-fire we would have with Drummer and Soliel (?) that evening.  We made friends that night and all of us were talking about heading to Cuba – wanting to get there before the floodgates opened and officially let Americans in to do what they do best – corrupt culture with the almighty dollar.  All of the reports of Cuba are great – big fish, cheap living, interesting culture.  Cheap rum, good cigars.  Even pretty women.  There seems very little reason to not go (besides the horrible amount of boat work that lies ahead of me). 

Another epic sunset

Another epic sunset

After we ate garlic/butter lobster and grilled fish, talked sailing and spearfishing – everyone perched on driftwood benches around the fire – I was reminded, again, how lucky I am to be here.  Even if the damn boat would never be completely fixed.  Even if I have to work until I’m one hundred years old.  Even if I’m going broke faster than I ever imagined. 

It’s all good. 

Back in San Blas!

Joy, Back in Panama

I left off last post as I was boarding a plane from Houston to Panama, with only half of my boat-gear.  On this flight a couple of pretty women took an interest in  me and so we exchanged numbers and names on the plane, much to the surprise of many of the passengers.  Never they mind, this is S.O.P.    

On the flight, I napped for a few minutes and read.  Real sleep continued to evade me, but a nap was progress.  

Joy, Back in Panama

When we landed the girls found me again and cut in the customs line so we could talk.  They seemed fun and adventurous.  To that end, I could think of few reasons to not have them onboard.  It soon became obvious they would visit NOMAD. 

As I walked out of the gates in Panama City, I was greeted by Teena (other crewish) and Roger (our taxi driver).  We went straight to the hotel, dropped my bags, and went in search of a good meal and a good drink.  It was also Dec 31st – meaning we needed a party.  The good news is that the meal, drinks, and party were easy to find.  And find them we did, complete with a ridiculously dangerous fireworks show that you can only get in near-3rd world countries. 

The next morning we were a little hungover.  I’m functional in this state, so I was up and starting to accomplish what I could this fine (New Year’s) day. I needed boat stuff, a ton of groceries, comms, an iPad repair, SIM cards, etc.  Naturally, this was New Years Day,  there wasn’t much we could do (everything was closed) – but we did try.  That evening the girls I met on the plane (Bobbeye and Alexis – hey girls, miss you already) came shopping with us and we arranged to get out to the boat the following day. 

Around 1PM the next day we loaded too much food/drink and too much boat-gear into a 4WD vehicle and took off toward San Blas.  A short stop for food and then we were suddenly unloading all of this into a launcha, the very same launcha that picked me up three weeks ago from NOMAD (this will be important as the story progresses).  We double-checked everything and made sure we all understood what was happening and then we pushed off toward NOMAD. 

Now,  NOMAD was in The Swimming Pool, and the drivers of my launcha knew this and had – just a couple weeks before – picked me up on NOMAD in The Swimming Pool.  So getting back to the boat wasn’t a huge concern of mine – we were going home and we would be there by sunset.   Surely.  

So when the launcha driver stopped in Yansaladup (many miles from The Swimming Pool and NOMAD) and inquired as to where my boat was – I was surprised.  My boat was another 10 miles away – exactly where I’d left it and where this very man picked me up just a few weeks before.  Even if he was stoned, this shouldn’t have happened.  When the driver told me he didn’t have enough fuel to get out to my boat, it was hard to hide my frustration.  We had reached the point that I was doubting his mental faculties.  Now I had myself, three guests, and two months worth of food (some of it needing refrigeration) – and we had no way to get that to my boat, nor anyplace to spend the night until we could regroup.  Light was fading fast, we were cold and wet, and there was no easy solution.  But I had a couple of tricks up my sleeve and I knew more than a couple people around here.

As we pulled into the nearest island chain, I heard the launcha driver trying to figure out his next move on the phone.  He was trying to justify his mistake and patch it up as best he could – but he’d effed up badly.  Very badly.   It was, after all, his only job to know where boats were and to deliver people to them.  Incompetence is so common here, but this was above and beyond. 

As we pulled into Chichime (still many miles from NOMAD), I saw friends on the islands.  A huge wave of relief washed over me as I recognized a good friend and fellow Texan – Steve.  Steve has a beautiful and large and fancy and expensive 44 foot Leopard catamaran.  And we needed something like that to sleep on tonight, since our launcha driver failed us so completely.  Luckily for me, it wasn’t a group of guys I was asking to put onboard Steve’s boat – but a group of beautiful women.  So he said yes and we began the process of unloading the launcha onto Bad Kitty. 

That night we came to the decision that we would all sail together on Steve’s boat (Bad Kitty) to The Swimming Pool.  After all Steve needed some fish and I could (minimally) provide that for him, since he’d been such a gracious host.  Of course, Steve was doubtful about The Swimming Pool providing the kind of fish I said it could – but I know this spot and I know it well.  To that end, I would fill his freezer- providing the weather wasn’t overly strong. 

Underway

The next morning we pulled Bad Kitty’s anchor, stopped by a friend’s yacht to pick up groceries to deliver to another friend in The Swimming Pool – and headed towards NOMAD.  Finally.  The girls began to get seasick, despite a tiny swell and sea-sickness pills.  As we arrived and NOMAD came into view I couldn’t help but do a little dance.  Finally, finally, back home.  FINALLY.  I promised myself to think hard before I left her (NOMAD) again.  

Surprisingly the boat was in good condition.  There was the mold-farm, but that is the nature of leaving a boat locked up in the Caribe.  Batteries were full.  Water was full.  Both of which were important, considering I now had three land-lubbing ladies onboard – afterall, it takes months to develop water and electricity discipline.

Dinghy-grocery moves

Dinghy-grocery moves (and Steve/Bad Kitty)

The rest of the day was spent moving things from Bad Kitty to NOMAD, saying hello to old friends that were in the area, and drinking our celebratory drinks.  More friends showed up – hey Lisa, you still have my pans :)   … Everyone was asking for fish.  But when we headed out to the reef – it was too rough, even for me.  And so we ended up eating spaghetti and making plans for tomorrow’s fishing escapade.  We drank and talked and Lisa stopped by so we could catch up.  She reminded me that it was a year ago that we met – on New Years on an island named Yansaladup.  It’s been a wild year.  

The girls

The girls

Good days

Good days

The next morning found Bobbeye and Alexis leaving abrutly, in search of a reliable internet connection that proved impossible to provide the night before.  Something about work.  And it was another moment in which I was reminded how good my life really is – to not be controlled by such outside forces.  I was sad to see them go, but such is life.  With the girls gone and hangovers to nurse – the rest of the day was spent resting and cleaning.  That afternoon I got in touch with Kenny who is now in this area (Kenny, can’t wait to see you dude!).  Having good friends around you makes all the difference in the world.  

At some point Steve began telling me (again) how few fish there were in The Swimming Pool.  I told him I would fill his freezer in less than an hour – depending on some amount of luck with weather/fish.  Steve told me that he bet we would be eating SPAM for dinner.  I knew better, and always appreciate a spearfishing challenge.

After all of his chiding – I picked him up in the dinghy that afternoon and we went outside the reef.  The rolling waves were steep and every bit of 8 foot – crashing into the reef with a sound that is exciting to me, but terrifying to others (I soon found out).  Steve was at the edge of his limits – his knuckles were white and when I was laughing, he was tight-lipped as we jumped and crashed through the surf to the outer reef.  It’s always a bit dicey getting outside, but we made it.

As I found the nearest honey-hole and dropped the anchor – Steve decided he would stay in the dinghy.  It was too rough for him.  And, of course, he didn’t think I would find fish.  As I rolled into the water – he said “Just think about SPAM.”  

Three minutes later I put the first of the fish into the dinghy.  No big deal to me, but Steve was a bit surprised. 

Within twenty minutes I’d speared Black Grouper, Dog Snapper, Triggerfish (Teena placed this order), and Yellow Jack.  And I’d seen a Goliath Grouper the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.  Stoked?  Yep.  My first dive back at The Swimming Pool and I’d landed another Black Grouper.  At this point we had fish for a week, and the dinghy was rolling precariously over the steep and near-breaking waves – so I called the trip and we navigated back to our catamarans.  As I jumped into the dinghy with the last fish – Steve said:  “Thank God you’re done, I was sure these waves were going to flip the dinghy.”  

Once back at the catamarans we cleaned the fish and planned our dinner, which was to be held onboard Bad Kitty.  I actually took a shower, put on clean clothes and even combed my hair.  We brought a bottle of red wine and the dinner ended up resembling a get-together in someone’s $1M condo downtown – but with better views.  Sometimes I feel spoiled.  And sometimes I feel like the most overworked and underpaid captain that has ever existed.  I suppose it all balances out. 

We talked until I’d finished cooking the fish – then we gorged ourselves on one of the best meals I’ve had in months.  At the end of it, as I stretched out on a cushion to listen to the waves break on the reef and the fish jump around the boat.

It wasn’t silent, but it was peaceful.  No car horns. No sirens.  No dogs barking.  No road noise.  No alarms.  No children screaming.  Just the sound of the breaking waves underneath a beautifully starlit sky.  We were quiet for a moment, just enjoying the silence, lost in not-so-deep thought.    

Then Steve verbalized what I was feeling.  He said, “What the f*ck would you do if you had to go to work tomorrow in Austin?”  We laughed hysterically at this.  

And as his words faded into the night, so did the very thought itself, never to be taken seriously. Joy.  Back in Panama.