The Boat Awakens and We Road Trip!

The heat that hit us upon our arrival at Bahia Del Sol felt like a wrestler’s take-down. Hot, sweaty and like that start-of-a-fight inside voice that says you are going to lose.

Our boat had rested on its mooring for six months and now it was time to wake it up. Each year this means reversing the week of effort we previously spent on lay-up preparations. It also means installing the various “boat bits” we have carried from home in our luggage to remedy the problems developed during the previous sailing season.

Arrived!   Back at Bahia del Sol, El Salvador.

Greg checking out the new Bahia Del Sol Marina bar, relocated after the earthquake damaged the bar/restaurant pilings this past summer.

View from Anduril on Bill and Jean's Moorings in Bahia del Sol.

 Local boys from Isla Cordoncillo.

Jose ferrying me and the groceries back to the boat.

It also means discovering new problems that have developed during 6 months of lay-up. On a boat, the first rule is that everything, and we mean everything, is subject to failure. This year we were sort-of lucky. The nearest boat to us in the mooring field had a bad lightning strike (USD$120k damage) and the boat on our opposite side also suffered significant damage.

All this raised considerable fears when the navigation and auto-helm system failed to properly boot up. Uh, oh. After several days of sweaty and frustrating trouble-shooting Greg finally managed to isolate the problem to an AIS com port gone kaput. We’ll never really know the cause. Lightning related, or just product obsolescence? A new AIS has been ordered from Canada and we stand relieved that our troubles are not a lot worse.

An Engineer's approach to trouble shooting the AIS problem.

Four dingy trips to the fuel dock to fill the diesel tanks using jerry cans.

Ongoing problems with the rubber dingy strip coming unglued.

The water in an estuary is invariably mucky and murky. One of Greg’s chores was to ream and unclog the underwater thru-hulls. This required a lengthy snorkel in seeing-eye-dog underwater conditions. The next day we learned that a 4-metre crocodile had been spotted lounging around in the estuary and now none of the locals would go swimming. Ignorant bliss is the finest of all human conditions!

The daily routine starts with an early rising and coffee. The sound and smell of the second cup eventually wakes Alice. Sweltering conditions are in full force by 10am so any energetic boat chores or tasks involving rummaging in the steamy bowels of the boat must be scheduled for early in the morning. We conclude our daily boat-based activities with a 4pm dingy ride to the hotel pool, where the sailing community congregates for gossip and beers.

Some nights instead of meeting at the pool there are community dinners. These are fun and often include servings of the national food staple of El Salvador. “Pupusas” are a tortilla pancake made with corn flour, beans, cheese and sometimes crumbles of pork.

Alice spent a morning helping build the wall for the school on the island.   These 4 young heavily armed army guys have been stationed here for a few months guarding the cement blocks.   Who would steal cement blocks on a small island?   Today the army guys mixed cement while us volunteer cruisers helped the local women and children move hundreds of heavy cement blocks from A to B.

With the boat to-do list mostly whittled down to items requiring parts, and having avoided both lighting and crocodile strikes, we decided that it was time for a road trip into the mountains of Guatemala.

Renting a “carro típico” (Kia Soul in these parts) we debarked from the parking lot in our under-powered little car, engine screaming mightily as it accelerated us down the road.

Gregario, vamos rapido!!!    A frightening week of Greg driving on narrow roads in El Salvador and Guatemala.

Policia checking that our passports, rental papers, notary letters for permission to use owner's car, and driver's license was in order.   Greg smiled and in his best espanol said "Esta bien", and we were on our way.

First stop was the charming surfer-village of El Zonte where we stayed at a French-Canadian run villa, El Dorado, catering to well-muscled young people with long-hair and tattoos. Millennial surfer types should take note of this lovely vacation spot.  Cool fact: The couple who own the villa were travelling through Latin America when they were 25 years old and established this surf hotel borrowing a bit of money from relatives.

Driving across the border into Guatemala, if you have a moment of inattention you will miss it. Would they catch and jail you if you did? We stopped and somehow figured out at which little office counter we could get our passports stamped.

The drive along our southern coastal route was curvy but highly picturesque. The whole of driving in Guatemala can be said to be up, down and all-around: it is known as the “country of mountains” for damned good reason. With our knuckles often bare on the steering wheel we made our way to Antigua, a city founded in the early 1500’s and with many of its buildings partially destroyed in successive historical earthquakes. The result is a cobble stoned town of well-aged architectural beauty, complete with interesting ruins.

Awesome views from the roof top of Casa Cristina in Antigua.

For three days we enjoyed exploring the streets, the “ropes ladder” restaurant and a local Mezcal bar. OK, you’ve noticed that our bar pictures are fuzzy. Piss off then.

Cafe No Se:    Ilegal Mezcal...Donald is a stupid &*#$ fucker.....Bad hombre...

This is a Dance cage (caption provided for those who don't get out and party much).

Lacking a few facts but somehow this shady dude brought in the illegal mezcal from Mexico.

The depredations of our mezcal night were followed the next day by a leg-warming hike up Volcan Pacaya. Tourist novelties on the trip included roasting marshmallows in hot volcanic fissures.

 Greg roasting me a marshmallow snack.

Hippy-dippy was next on the agenda. Lago de Atitlan is a huge volcanic crater-lake that requires a precipitous 8,800 ft ascent up sinuous and narrow mountain roads. This is followed by a brake-burning descent to the lakeside village of Panajachel.

A quick stop at the Mazan ruins of Iximche.

 About to start our roaring descent from 8842 feet to Lago de Atitlan.

From Panajachel there are panga-boats that deliver you into the land of the beautiful people. For those not in the know, this is a place where the local indigenous people have created tourist Shangri-la for visiting western lifestyle yogas.

The village of San Marcos la Laguna is set among coffee bushes, avocado, and banana trees and is the place to see and be seen. The narrow little walking street up from the dock is non-stop groovy. In abundance are shops selling beaded jewelry, leather products and embroidered clothing. Tourist denizens wear dreadlocks, eat in ethical restaurants, enjoy massages and attend learning establishments dedicated to the location of Qi body meridians.

There, for $2.50 Greg went for a workout in a local gym while Alice had a $45 spiritually enabling massage. Despite being a little overwhelmed by all the bliss, we admit to having kind of dug the vibe.

Lago de Atitlan:   Beautiful, spiritual, cosmic, vegan, non-gluten, plant based smoothies, and Mayan abdominal massages with past-life regression. Alice played it safe and had a Swedish massage.

All good things do end. Leaving the lake, our trip back to El Salvador meant 10 hours of driving so we decided to break up the trip with another night in Antigua before the next day’s picturesque drive along the Ruta de Flores to the coffee industry town of Ataco. There we caught a night’s rest and in the morning stocked up on beans.

A lovely stop at Hostal Juares, Ataco.

Hmmm.....that is enough grass for a yoga workout.

Miles of downwards sloping mountain roads dropped us the next day into the metropolis of San Salvador. Our final road trip day was spent in a shopping spree for the boat.

So, the real reason we go on road trips is so we can sleep in a bed like this instead of......

..........our boat bed.

Provisions now being abundant on the boat, it is soon time for a new sailing adventure. We have concluded that we will be southward bound, but nothing further about our route has been decided. Weather and perhaps the whims of friends will help to dictate our path. Rob & Debra on Avant are also soon south-bound and we hope to share an anchorage or two with them as they head towards the Panama Canal.

Meanwhile, on an ocean far, far away…

Properly speaking, Anduril’s sailing blog is supposed to be about the adventures of Alice and Greg on Anduril, not some other boat.  So, a tale of Greg heading off to help a friend with moving a boat from French Polynesia to Hawaii isn’t really a legitimate part of Anduril’s story.  But the truth is, Anduril was originally outfitted to sail to Polynesia and up until now she has not made that trip and probably she won’t ever. Therefore, it being an ocean passage of some distance made by Greg, on Anduril or not, we now take a side-trip into south-pacific waters.

“One Fine Day” is an Island Packet 460 owned by Ed and Linda, who puddle-jumped her in the spring of 2018.  With Linda suffering a health set-back, the boat needed re-positioning closer to its Vancouver Island home base.  Greg offered to help his pal Ed with the move.  With Ed and Greg counting only as two, adding a third crew member would make for much more pleasant watches of 3 hours on, 6 off.  Alice, having firmly declined the invitation to join, Greg asked brother Gord to join the trip.

Laying on the hard in Raiatea, One Fine Day needed a few days of wake-up-and-make-ready-for-cruising work, so Greg and Ed headed over a week early to get her splashed.  Hot work in the yard ensued.  Bora Bora can be seen in the distance from there, but sadly there would be no visiting that island. Places to go and a schedule to keep! Imported goods brought to the boat included the usual assortment of small boat parts, a new mainsail, and a nasty and contagious cold (slyly transmitted into Ed by the dry airline cabin air).  Coughing, snorting and wheezing would thus blight our entire voyage. 

Gord, Ed and Greg: grey haired all, but young enough to get it done

Who said sailing from the Society Islands to Hawaii was going to be easy?  If you are a sailor, you know that the voyage from there to Hawaii is a backwards one.  You get to Polynesia from North America by sailing downwind.  You go the other way by sailing mostly upwind: lumpy, bumpy and heeled over.  The consolation is the air and water are warm.  We Pacific-Northwest sailors often endure the same sailing conditions except while wearing heavy foulies and with freezing sea water being sprayed into our eyes and running down our necks.

The first stage of the trip was 120nm to Papeete, Tahiti, where Gord would fly in to join us.  Greg and Ed splashed the boat in Raiatea and sailed this overnighter alone.  It blew right at our nose, but we were lucky, and it did not blow hard.

Our track, more or less.

To get to Hawaii from Tahiti it is typical to make as much early-stage easting as possible.  Upwind passage-making is rewarded later with better reaching and downwind angles (way more fun than beating). Greg and Gord really wanted to see a little of the Tuamotus, so our track took us first north, then southeast, with stops at Rangiroa, Toau and Fakarava atolls. Unfortunately, our weather luck was not great.  Winds blew strong out of the southeast and the cloud cover was heavy with rain.  Hardship sailing prevailed. Reaching Fakarava, we were all looking forward to sunny beaches, water frolicking and lots of scuba diving. No joy. The weather continued to be uncooperative. Fakarava is famous for spectacular deep drift-dives with sharks and spawning groupers.  Not to be dissuaded by shitty weather, we spent one hilariously memorable day in a fast inflatable crashing insanely through heavy waves to reach the north pass, where we managed a two-tank dive. There were indeed lots of sharks, big and little – all of them appearing (fortunately) completely bored by the appearance of underwater humans.

Pearl Farm Tour, Fakarava

 Swish resort at the pearl farm

Hanging around at Fakarava

 Waiting for a dive that would never happen, South Fakarava

Leaving Fakarava by the south pass (striking out for a third day on a sharks feeding on spawning Groupers dive) we passed by a lovely but wrecked sailboat that had grounded only four days previously.  We never learned how exactly the accident had occurred, only that they had somehow crashed and holed their hull while attempting to transit the channel in rough weather.

The sad end of a cruising dream for the owners of this boat

 Underway eastbound, Sunrise

Our hitherto bad weather luck finally improved when an almost unheard-of-in-those-parts northerly filled in.  This allowed us to make two days of easy easting before turning north towards the Marquesas.  The skies were still cloudy and wet, but the sailing was good, so we were happy. Landfall after 4-1/2 days was at Nuka Hiva, where we spent the better part of a week relaxing and re-provisioning after our ~1,000-mile passage. The Marquesan weather, however, remained unseasonably inclement and the sun rarely peaked out between the clouds.

Ed pointing out that the sculptures and carvings in the Marquesas are all anatomically correct.

Nuka Hiva anchorage walk

The laundry washing machine at work

A nicer day at the hill above the anchorage

A hike to the far point of the anchorage under cloudy skies

We rent a car and take an island drive on the steep mountain roads.  It rains all day.

Mystical Polynesian ruins

No idea what this symbolizes.  Long pig in a pot?

A wet Polynesian rock-frog

An intrepid sailor at a bay on the Northwest side of the island.  

The next step was the big one: 2,100 miles straight shot to Oahu.  Complicating our route planning was a monsoon trough in the eastern pacific near Mexico that threatened an unusually high probability of cyclonic formation.  Conditions such as those produce hurricanes that can track out towards Hawaii and directly across our path.  No one with any brains sails into a known hurricane, so we were watching our weather with considerable interest.  Luckily at home we had Alice, our “eyes in the sky” who could bird-dog our weather and steer us away from any developing trouble.  This was especially helpful because by the day of our departure, tropical storm Barbara had formed and was projected to cross our path as a category 3 hurricane.

Provisions for the big passage.  Baguettes are cheap and good eating.

Getting good weather information while at sea can be difficult and expensive.  Downloading weather imagery via the satphone Greg brought along is time-consuming and happens at very slow baud rates.  Weather models and images can cost $30-40 each, so having a knowledgeable someone at home with access to high speed internet is a huge help.  Using In-Reach (a satellite messaging service that Ed uses) Alice could send us unlimited 160-character text messages, describing the weather, advising us with computer track optimization simulations and answering our various and sundry weather questions. 

Not much drinking while underway, but an occasional cold beer!

141-57 and we are "slimy pollywogs" no more.  Suggested hazing rituals are all declined by the crew.

  

While it sounds scary, as a weather threat, hurricane Barbara soon proved to be a non-issue for us.  She would pass well to the north of us as a cat 3 hurricane before dissipating to a tropical depression and reaching Hawaii 3 days before our arrival.  What she did provide was more cloudy skies, combined with an unusual weak pressure gradient zone that extended far south of her track. This area above the equator is where the ITCZ usually sits (often called the doldrums).  Sailors hate weak tropical winds and now instead of a couple of days crossing a band of no wind, we had a super-sized share of light following breezes to contend with.  This system of light airs was pulled along below Barbara and tracked right along with us as we traveled.  Ugh, 4 days of slow motor-sailing!  Worse, tropical squalls simply love to form in warm air light wind conditions. Squalls mean constant sail and course adjustments. Thunderstorms also very much like such conditions.  Boom, flash, bang!  Hmmm, that one was kinda close… Our answer to the war-time bombing was the only thing it can ever be: “missed us again, Motherfucker.”

No pics of lightning. We only take pictures when the weather is good, doncha know...

Finally, at 12N we reached trade winds.  One Fine Day is no race boat, but when the wind blows abaft of the beam she moves along like a big old freight-train running the rails. We were trying hard to break a noon-fix-noon-fix 200nm run, but a vexatious tide repeatedly curdled our efforts and we maxed at 188nm.  Oh well, not bad for a heavy displacement full-keeled boat!

Trade wind sailing at last

We had planned to jump overboard and swim across the equator, but our crossing happened at 0200H and sending crew overboard for a swim would have required dousing sails and shining bright flashlights on the swimmer.  Having previously noted how attracted large fish are to bright lights at night we all thought better of the idea and took a picture of the instruments instead.  Gord and Greg thus both broke their sailing across the equator virginity. Total passage from the Marquesas to Oahu was 2,100nm great circle; ~2,250nm as sailed. Time elapsed was 14d6h - right on target. Slap, slap: one and done.  Time for a decent hamburger and some golf.

Hey, that looks like Honolulu