The Breakage Grind

Our stay at Club de Yates de Acapulco got elongated when motor sailing out of the bay (mainsail up, jib furled) we experienced a very loud BANG! It sounded metallic, like maybe hitting a submerged container would sound like. That made little sense. What the hell? Look at the charts. Impossible to have hit a rock here. Look around - hey, why is the backstay loose? Oh, oh. Check forestay tension at the bow. Damn! The forestay is broken. Turn boat around, douse main, and head back to CYA with the hope they will host us and help us arrange a fix.

Boat breakage and maintenance falls into various categories. “Routine & Regular” are items like oil changes and winch servicing. Failures to perform regular maintenance can certainly lead to trouble, but those types of wounds are self-inflicted. “Dammit Problems” are things like chafe wear, sails getting old or instruments going on the blink. They arise slowly, sometimes suddenly, and need to be fixed but pose no major threat aside from the associated cost and effort. Usually there is a work-around and it can wait. 

“Snap Bust” problems come in three categories: Major Disaster, Close Call, and Butt Pain. A broken forestay when beating to weather in strong winds is very likely to immediately dismast the boat. We were not beating in strong wind and the furled jib helped to retain some rig tension. The damage turned out to be repairable without a huge ordeal. So it was a “snap bust, close call with butt pain”. Our location in Acapulco was really fortunate and definitely anesthetized the pain. The yacht club helped us locate a rigger who luckily had a good used part on hand (the breakage was a reverse threaded clevis rod, used for tightening the forestay) and it only took two days of work to set right (3 guys, with Greg also helping).

Leaving Acapulco on our second try it was lumpy out with about 15 knots on our nose and blowing on a strong current. So once again we were motor sailing. Alice goes below. “Greg, there’s water coming out of the engine compartment.” 

The damage assessment phase of trouble can be quick or it can be lengthy. This one was quick. Water was squirting fine streams of mist out of the wet muffler connection. The boat was not going to sink from a slow leak caused by a broken hose-clamp. Not really a big deal, but holy shit was that hose clamp hard to access. With the engine now off, but still hot and with the boat heeled over and heading safely seaward we first needed to sponge up the oily water sloshing about. Then Greg had the lucky job of replacing the nearly impossible to see or reach hose clamp. Contorted to get his arm inside and around the hot engine and interfering hoses, his forehead was continuously bumping into the steaming hot engine. It took an hour. With darkness now descended, exhausted, dehydrated, oil soaked, and now feeling a bit sea-sick (you try doing that job in those conditions!) Greg handed the con over to Alice and hit the rack. 

In case you are wondering, that was a dammit problem with a side-order of butt pain.

Twenty hours of motoring later (the neighbourly winds of Acapulco are generally light) and having fought a 1 knot adverse current through the night, we arrived in Zihuatanejo at noon. We woke from our nap at 4pm and faced the task of completing the clean up of the remaining oily water on and under the floor boards. With that done and just before the designated time of our Margarita sun-downer, Alice says: “Hey Greg, the head is plugged.”

Hmmm. She means really plugged. (Dammit, I hate taking apart the head system and the discharge hose is going to be brutal to replace, thinks Greg.) “Leave it for tomorrow, we can use a bucket”, says Alice. Greg considers. Peeing over the side at midnight is not so bad, thinks he. But what about after morning coffee? “The discharge hose needs to be replaced right now, no matter what it takes”, responds Greg.

Four hours later Greg concluded his chores with a thorough shower. Alice helped of course, but at the stinky pointy end of such tasks it is dirty-handed Greg who needs that shower. And while showering, you can guess that he was grumbling about a job that turned out to be a dirty, rotten, goddamned, pain in the ass.

 

Riggers at the Acapulco Yacht Club assessing the damage.

Upside of repairs is that we spent our Anniversary hanging like locals in Acapulco at the zocalo and beach.

 Anniversary mug shot 

Heading out of Acapulco a second time with our boat serpent keeping a protective eye.

Dolphins are a common sight surfing at the bow.

  

After a long night underway repairing the broken hose clamp and a hot day motor sailing we arrived in Zihuatanejo.

Met 2 young guys who spent CoVid in the Sea of Cortez.   They need a bigger dingy and an outboard.

After a full 2 hours of bureaucracy checking in with the Port Captain in Zihuatanejo a beer is needed.

After another hot day we motor sail into Caleta de Campos.   Lots of visitors coming to say Hello or hoping for candy.

Another great Sunday on the beach with the locals.   Sunday afternoon is always family day in Mexico.

Just imagine if you could go out to eat in Vancouver and sit the kids under the table to play in the sand.

Happy at the calm anchorage of Punta Cabeza Negra.

And sometimes we sail.

Truly a deserted anchorage with no homes, road access or boats - Ensenada Carrizal.

Beware of Hurricanes

Arrived at the beautiful Marina Puerto de Navidad on December 1st in time for the Panama Posse KickOff.

Even a Weak Tehuantepecker has a Bite

The forecast called for a two day wind lull in the northerly gale that the Golfo de Tehunatepec is famous for. We decided to take the first part of the predicted weather window and departed at 1600H. As usual for going into or out of Chiapas, the soldiers in their camouflage (and packing AR rifles) first came with their drug sniffing dog. The poor animal clearly hates going inside boats, but with little booties installed on his front paws he did his duty and came aboard to have a sniff about. We are reluctant to take pictures of law enforcement and military doing their jobs but Alice managed to get a couple. (School of hard-knocks: many years ago in Egypt, Greg and his pal Grant both nearly got sent to the gulag for taking an innocent pic of some soldiers behind sandbags). 

Not sure why it was important but the Port Captain wanted to record the solar panel model name upon our departure from Puerto Chiapas.

Sniffer dog eager to get back onto his own boat.

Saying goodbye to Marina Chiapas and the wise sailors who have made this their temporary abode.

Sure, sure!   This blow will be finished by the time we get there.   NOT!!!!!

The dog once again missed our drug stash and the Capitania del Puerto gave us our exit zarpe papers and sent us on our way. It was a bit sad leaving because we have spent a lot of time in Chiapas and it is unlikely we will ever again see the people we have gotten to know there.

The wind was supposed to be calm the whole way, hitting its maximum lull just as we passed by the normally windiest section at Salina Cruz. Not. The ride turned into a salt spray fest, with the boat crashing through waves and the wind gusting into the mid thirties. At least it was warm water that was blasting into our faces and crusting our skin with salt. It was not the most comfortable passage we have ever made. Luckily, like a mosquito bite, the bad memory fades. But if you expect pictures, forget it. No way a camera comes out on deck in weather like that.

First sunset at sea since pre-CoVid.

We were visited by many schools of dolphins.

Damn frigates trying to land on the wind instruments.

At 0600H we anchored in Bahia Tangolunda, one bay before Huatulco, and happily hit our bunks to catch up on lost sleep from two nights spent at sea. 

Bahia Tangolunda 

Our new friends on Scraatch joined us in the anchorage the following day, arriving with an engine on the blink. Over a couple of days of nut twisting in difficult to reach locations (with G&T breaks and with a little help from a local mechanico to rebuild a starter motor) their engine overheating, battery and starting problems were eventually beaten into submission. 

Essential winch maintenance.

We took a taxi to visit one of our favourite marinas.   Sadly, the great breakfast cafe and the Italian restaurant are permanently shuttered.

Our next passage was 210 miles to Acapulco, where the problem was less about tear and more about wear. Our route showed minimal wind in the forecast, so we knew it would definitely be a leg short on sailing and on long on motoring. Figuring on 32 hours passage at 6 knots average, we set our alarms for 0400 and both woke up at 0200. “Let’s just go,” we both said. It was a good thing we did. The adverse tide en-route never let up: the best was 0.7 knots against. The worst was 2.4 knots against. Ughh. Translation: 6+ extra hours spent on passage with the sound of engine growling. We would like to say we loved the extra time we got to spend watching dolphins, sea turtles, birds, and even sea snakes. But we hate lying. Hot watches during day and long watches at night wear you down.

It was an entertaining stop at Puerto Angel watching the fishing pangas come and go at high speeds.  Not wanting to risk a dingy capsize, we swam ashore for dinner.

Night comes again at sea.

Long boring night watch.

The off watch.

We made it through another night.   Beautiful sunrise.

Nothing to see on this passage except dolphins and lots of turtles.

We really don’t like Skip Jacks much but this one was tasty marinated in lime and cooked up as a Green Thai Fish Curry.

A couple of nights at the elegant Acapulco Yacht Club helped to ease the pain of passage.

Lovely service at the Club de Yates de Acapulco.

Unfortunately, not enough pool time as Greg was madly trying to trouble shoot the failing wind instruments.

 

Clear skies for viewing the partial lunar eclipse.

Y de las Montañas de Vuelta al Mar

Three hours drive from Palenque there are more Maya ruins at Yaxchilan. The only access is a lengthy riverboat ride with Mexican jungle on one bank and Guatemalan jungle on the other. Our afternoon visit included only us and Alex (a professional French photographer we met in the restaurant); three tourists alone among the ruins on Halloween eve. The day was made appropriately spooky by the bats that flew around our ears and hung over our heads in the dark arches of the ruins while in the surrounding forests howler monkeys screamed their scary howls.

In the setting sun we tore ourselves away from our explorations. Night had fallen by the time we returned to the nearly deserted ecolodge on the river bank.  

On the way to Yaxchilan roaring along at 26 knots.

This Maya site peaked in power between 681 and 800 AD after which the city was abandoned.

Glyphs are the source of what is known of Yaxchilan.

My Indiana Jones ❤️

Meeting up with a bat colony on Hallowe’en Eve.

The only spot in Frontera Corozal at the Eco-Lodge.   Howler monkeys rudely woke us at 2:30 AM.

For such a remote part of Mexico, the long road to Cascada de Las Nubes (which runs along the Guatemalan border for several hundred kilometres) is surprisingly in good condition, but it was almost deserted. The road starts out with long straight sections and then winds downwards through the mountains. On all country roads in Mexico there are many, many “topes” (speed bumps) demanding that you slow down.  They are built a hundred different ways at least. Some of them are unmarked by signs and impossible to see until it is too late. Thumping into suddenly appearing topes at high speed makes for grimaces from driver and passenger alike. 

As unique as their varied forms of construction, topes also have lots of different monikers.

This one is our favourite.

The final stretch of road approaching the destination turns into a gravel track. Due mainly to its remoteness, Cascada de Las Nubes is fairly described as a rather difficult to get to ecolodge oasis. Nestled in the jungle, the grounds are spacious, green and beautiful. A short river-side path to our cabana leads to a restaurant overlooking the falls. Upon arrival a peaceful aura immediately descends. 

Cascada de Las Nubes

The evil ant cabin at Las Nubes - keep reading….

A jungle walk at Las Nubes.

Apparently, this is a parasite that lives off mature trees.

It is hard to make mountainous land productive, but we saw a lot of cattle ranches along the Mexico - Guatemala frontier.

Evenings are a bit dull when at 8pm all lodge services cease. There being no alcohol served, it is a BYOB arrangement. Livening the experience is the fear of being bitten. Natural existence in Mexico means the potential for being eaten alive by mosquitos and jejenes (basically no-see-em bugs but with a mighty bite that lasts a week). Itchy nights spent fighting the relentless urge to scratch away the problem are no fun at all. Closeting ourselves in the cabana we hid from the bugs with a bed-time hour that an eight year old would complain is “no-fair-ridiculous”. The sound of the river raging helps to lull sleep.

That tingling on your leg in the middle of the night is not just a vestigial jejene itch, it’s ants, goddammit. Hundreds of them in your bed sheets. You’ve let your bedsheets fall to the floor, fool. Wake up. Find flashlight. Argh, it is an invasion of a hundred thousand marching through every part of your cabana. Good thing for that early bedtime. No sleep from 2-4am while you shake your bedsheets and watch that the creeping hoards stay off your beds. In the morning they are all gone. 

The curvy roads on the way to Comitlan afford lake sight-seeing and waterfall viewing opportunities.

A quick stop at Lagos De Montebello.

Stop for Gasolina - A blend of Dia de los Muertos and Halloween.

Slow slow going on curvy mountain roads.

Hundreds of miles since the last Pemex.  In Mexico, the fuel might have been siphoned and stolen from a gas line.

Mariguanol and even Peyote - for the women who have arthritis.

Isolated rural villages.

As promised, here are the waterfalls.    Mislo-ho.

El Chifon

Cascada Welsink-Ja

Out last road-trip night was spent in Comitan. We found an inexpensive hotel with parking a couple of blocks from their very pretty and well-kept town square, unlike so many towns we have seen whose Centros have fallen into grotty dereliction. Comitan is not really a tourist destination but it looks prosperous and like a town that would be good place to live in.

Comitan 

Comitan is known for making Comiteco, a unique variant of Mezcal, made from a mix of maguey (type of agave) and piloncillo (cooked sugarcane).

Six hours of driving switchbacked, painfully slow roads through mountain valleys and villages have now brought us back to Puerto Chiapas. The circle-trip in total amounted to 40 hours behind the wheel and 1900km in distance. 

We have only a few minor boat chores to attend to and now we become weather watchers, waiting for a good window to go. We need to cross the Golfo de Tehuantepec, which is notorious for its gale force northerlies. We need a two day wind lull in the forecast and we’ll make tracks.

The dreaded T-Pecker winds.