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1st Delivery to Mazatlán

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  I helped deliver my friend Mark’s boat, Wainui, from La Cruz to Mazatlán.  It was my first overnight at sea. I lost my belly, recovered quickly,    and regained my appetite by 3 am mid watch. Thankfully, there was left over spaghetti and sausages in the fridge for a late night snack.  My inner naturalist kept record of the biodiversity, I counted over thirty sea turtles floating along and surfing our wave. Some were birdles (birds sitting on turtles). We stood as hundreds of dolphins breached parral to the boat. As the sun rose, I turned back to see if there were any sailboats aft of us and witnessed a whale tail submerge into the water.  There’s two images that stick with me.  In the morning, the water was glassy with the early morning light, fog settled in as a we approached Mazatlán, as a fin surfaced, the shark’s fin s-curved towards the boat and then dropped down under.  The other as sun set and moon rose and the mask cut the sky is half with the sunset port side and night settl
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Cumpleaños Feliz

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Happy birthday to my mother, who has instilled in me a sense of adventure and admiration for the world around me. I grew up on the stories of Annie dock hopping in Los Angeles where she became a chef on a boat that took her through the Panama Canal and up the East Coat of Latin America. Like mother, like daughter. Thank you for the gift of travel and teaching me freedom comes with responsibility. 
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Starting Line: Banderas Bay Regatta

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  The start of a race is hyped with anticipation of the horn, the gun shot, the whistle, green, Go!     Same same, but different on the water. It took an hour to sail to the start line each day from the Marina. We listened for new race information on the radio, adjusting watches and course. We arrived where the committee boat was anchored, Captain Joe called out the vessel name “Swan Fun!” to check in as we’d catch wind, tack, and then navigated through other contestant vessel to our start time. Bow to bow ships sailed side by side, keeping a margin within the wind vein and each others boat, tacking to avoid collision. When it’s too close when captains and tacticians yell from the helm, “Turn up, Turn Up! Don’t hit my boat!”  There were nine contestants for the performance class Banderas Bay Regatas. Two grounded, two collided,    two forfeited. Swan Fun came in 5th in our division, without damage, ready to prep for a multi-week journey across the Pacific Ocean. 
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From the Bilge to the Mast

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The rhythm of the sailing lifestyle is constant. Even when boats are tied in their slip there’s always a project,     parts to be ordered, and equipment replaced.   It’s easy to get lost in the universe that is 55 feet. Although, living at the marina is very communal. There’s always time for friendly pop ins, else come back later. Conversations form at the dock, in the cockpit, or down below where mobile homes emerge like hobbit holes.  Captain Joe and I waisted no time in starting on our stretch goals before the start of the Banderas Bay Regatta.  Day 1 - in preparation for provisioning for our passage to the Marquesas Islands in April we took out the supplies that stored in the bilge (the lowest parts of the ship that collects excess water and compartmentalizes into necessary storage) and gave it a good spring cleaning. Scrubbed the floors and side walls, and cleared the limber holes. These boats were designed for a droplet of water to flow to the lowest point. A visual of the meticu
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Origin Story

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This is the map of the Pacific Ocean framed above my bed in El Jardín del Pulpo, the Octopus Garden. I was volunteering as staff for a hostel in La Cruz Huanacaxtle for a month. I lived in the “Sky Dorm” that overlooked the Bahia de Banderas, Bay of Banderas with two retirees, configuring their the ex-pat, retirement plan.  The map took up most of the side wall. As an guide in the inner mountain west, I’m familiar with green topography, here the vast blue dominated. Captivated, I’d look for islands and gaped at the expansive ocean I had never really considered.  I asked questions to both of my dorm mates who were sailors previously. One crewed motor yachts and the other raced.    As I listened to their stories, I had the idea to get on a boat and see if I’d like it and made a plan to go dock hopping down at the local marina. The next day at work I was speaking to one of the community members, Jerry and his canine companion, Iris and asked if dock hopping was still a practice. He encour
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