From the Bilge to the Mast

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 meticulous nature needed, embedded, and embodied in the life aboard boats. Although don’t let the clean design fool you, it’s dirty work. Crouched in boat yoga pose or stretched out on a plank of flooring balanced over exposed pipes entails reaching into dark crevices with headlamps, hands, and mirrors and other tools to remove debris to









allow for the backed up water to flow. Captain Joe and I work well together and I’m learning Swan Fun 55 from the bilge to the mast. 


Day 2 - After belaying the safety line for Captain Joe to check the main halliard, I changed my view for some perspective from the Bosun’s chair. I realized at the mast that maybe 9 years ago I stopped rock climbing when I started to feel fear in my feet.  I sat with a Pelican eye view of the Bahia de Banderas (Bay of Banderas), palm trees blowing in the wind, mountains rolling down to the sea, toes suspended. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

1st Delivery to Mazatlán

Image
  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
Read more

Origin Story

Image
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
Read more

Cumpleaños Feliz

Image
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. 
Read more