Negotiating a Reef Pass ... At Night

The view from our anchorage early this morning

Sailing through a reef pass at night is one of those classic "don't do this" sailing moves. And it's one of the big sailing no-nos for a reason. Because sailing through a reef pass at night when you can't see anything is stupid. Really, really stupid. I have to admit that in our case I'm exaggerating slightly. It wasn't quite nighttime. Just close. Really, really close.

So how did we find ourselves committing a major sailing sin? Well, we left Isla at noon after filling up our tanks, which gave us eight hours to make the 25 mile trip. If we averaged four knots, we would get there at about six with a couple of hours to spare. The wind looked good. We'd make it there fine. If, of course, it hadn't taken us three and a half hours to go the first five miles.

You see, we had an amazing sail. The water was turquoise and clear. It was a gorgeous day with perfect weather. But we made a couple of slight miscalculations. First of all, the wind wasn't being super cooperative, meaning that we were going against it. Not a problem. We can just tack. Unfortunately, the other miscalculation was a real doozy. Between Cancun and Isla Mujeres is a current that runs north anywhere between two to five knots. We were going south.

Once it hit 3:00, we came to our senses and turned on the engine. We still hadn't made it around Punta Cancun and into the Caribbean Sea, but with a little engine assist we made it past the point by 3:30 or 4:00. Once again, the sailing was incredible. We had a better wind direction, found a countercurrent and sat back to watch the Cancun skyline go by.

Alas, though, you cannot change physics. Despite the fact that we motor sailed the entire way, averaging five knots with the occasional jump to six, we just weren't going to make it to the anchorage at Puerto Morelos before the sun set. We were right along side the town as the sun went below the horizon in a last burst of orange and gold and pink, and we just cruised through the reef as the last vestiges of light said their final goodbyes, which while pretty was also incredibly nerve racking when all we could hear off the port side was the crashing of waves as the ocean met the shallow reef.

Then, we had to figure out how to get to the anchorage. In the dark. And that's when I realized that the two cruising guides I was using and the iPad with Navionics were completely wrong about Puerto Morelos. First of all, the whole group was wrong about the depth. By 15 feet in the wrong direction! Once again, it didn't really matter much because we still had 7 feet of water under our keel but still. Then, there was the marker buoy situation. The guides and Navionics each differed on how many buoys there were and where they were located, and they were all wrong, leaving us totally lost in the buoy department. It's very disorienting out on the water at night in unfamiliar places, and though we were able to see all of the unlit buoys, sitting stationary on the glittering water, it was, once again, disconcerting.

You'll be relieved to know that we did eventually wind up anchoring with the fishing boats off of the municipal pier, after which we collapsed in the cockpit. We did notice what looked like mooring balls further out but decided after an extremely short discussion that perhaps it would just be better to stay here with the pangas. They are cuter anyway. Then, Vlad made me a grilled cheese sandwich, and despite going to sailing hell for all the transgressions we committed today I have to say we had a great time.

Why We Love Mexico

Because it's full of color. Because no one is up your butt about dinghy lights or flares. Because siesta is the best concept under the planet. Because it is laid back, chill and there's always mañana. Because there are beaches and clear, turquoise water. Because iguanas fall out of trees. Because it has signs that say "A los pescadores prohibido andar en el area en ropa interior," which loosely translated says "Hey, fishermen, don't come in here wearing only your underpants." Because the people are beautiful and friendly. Because cheap beer and tacos abound, our favorite!

So there might be some burdensome paperwork, but it can't be worse than entering the U.S. as a foreigner these days. And Vlad tells me that there's good dose of corruption, bribery and extreme poverty, too. Nevertheless, the Yucatan has been a joy to explore, and I only wish we could do more of it. So in honor of Isla Mujeres, where we've spent the past week, here's a little photo spread.

Artsy iguana!

Where to Next

I realized that we haven't been all that specific about our plans. Where are we headed next? What intrigue and insights await us? What new animals will there be to stalk? Photographically speaking, of course. More iguanas? Some chickens, perhaps? It's all an unknown out there, and that's what makes it exciting.

Tomorrow, we will be raising the anchor and moving on from Isla Mujeres, heading to the little fishing town of Puerto Morelos, then to Cozumel for some snorkeling and finally to check out the Mayan ruins in Tulum. From there, we haven't decided if we want to head straight to Panama or if we would rather go to the Bay Islands off of Honduras for a week before heading down. Right now, we're thinking Bay Islands, but that could change.

That's part of the fun of cruising, at least for us. Maybe other people are more OCD, but our plans are very fluid. They just kind of dissolve or come together depending on what suits us and our circumstances in the moment. It's not a bad way to travel, and if it wasn't for the dadgum hurricane season we'd be doing a lot more of it!

And More Boat Maintenance

A couple of things have been happening on Bettie that have made our lives not as nice as they could be. The first is the fact that Bettie has a moustache. And not a pencil thin one either, but a full on 70s mo, plush, thick and made up entirely of green algae. It started attaching itself in Key West, and while some of it definitely cleared up as we traveled, the motion of the waves washing it away, we still have a good looking green line at the water level. This is not just a cosmetic problem. It also affects the performance of the boat. You see, the moustache creates friction, which slows us down as we move through the water, and when you're only going five miles an hour losing even half a knot can mean the difference between getting to an anchorage with plenty of light or sailing in the dark.
 
The other little item that has been vexing us is that the three awesome solar panels we have that should be sending watt after watt of electricity from the beaming tropical sun into our battery bank were not reaching their full potential. Besides running the engine, which burns expensive diesel, our only source of electricity - for lights, the fridge, the computers - comes from those three panels. Unfortunately, our power regulator, which regulates how much electricity travels from the solar panels to the batteries, had some crummy connections but was really just a little too small for the amount of power that we can generate with 250 watts of converted sunshine.

Yes, these are the types of things you get to think about when living on a boat. Rather than just plugging in the ol' iPod and forgetting about it, you are often confronted with the limits of of what you can consume. Stinkin' limits.

So yesterday we tackled these problems. Vlad installed the new regulator that we got for $70 in Cancun, an amazing feat of internet research and pure luck if you know anything about trying to find parts in foreign lands.

And we started on the moustache maintenance. We put on our snorkel gear, grabbed our scrub brushes and went for a swim. We got the starboard side mostly done minus the keel (I'm not sure how we're going to get the keel scrubbed. Maybe we should just find a nice sandbar at low tide.), and Vlad had a good time trying to get the barnacles off the rudder. We plan on getting Bettie hauled out in the next few months, once we're out of hurricane range and in a cheap, do-it-yourself spot, and we're going to give her new bottom paint as well as fix a couple of other things. Until then, we'll have to vanquish the barnacles with a scrub brush and swim fins. 

Tis the Season

Those are some good lookin' storm clouds.

For rain. Our tropical paradise has been inundated lately with, well, water. The rainy season is upon us, which means that there will be a lot of wet, hopefully not mildewy, days ahead. In fact, the rainy season  doesn't end until the fall. Never fear, though, your intrepid travelers will not look like wet rats constantly. The clouds generally build up into late afternoon showers or rainstorms, leaving the rest of the day high, dry and seriously humid (naturally, as I type this at 8:30 a.m., it starts pouring rain).

Of course along with the summer rainy season, there is also hurricane and tropical storm potential, two weather phenomena that we are eager to avoid, and as such we are going to continue heading south out of the 'cane zone with a couple of stop offs in Mexico and possibly Honduras. Here's to sailing in the rain!  

Like Swimming Through an Aquarium

I swear there are rocks right there!

Near our anchorage are rocky outcroppings and a couple of rusting wrecks that are always surrounded by colorful pangas and snorkeling tourists, and since this part of the world is a snorkeling and diving hot spot, we decided to join in. We anchored the dinghy, flipped over backward out of the boat and proceeded to paddle around looking at all the vibrantly colored fish. It was like swimming through an aquarium.

There were  angel fish and parrot fish and little box-shaped fish with horns and spots and fish with yellow and white stripes and a streak of blue beside their eyes, as though they were wearing eye shadow. They would swim right up to you and stop, staring with what seemed like curiosity. The rocky outcroppings looked barren above the water, but below the water they were steep cliffs covered in sea fans and anemones.

We did run into one big fish that was probably around five feet long and looked as if it were fairly sure that that particular piece of the ocean was his and his alone. It wasn't a barracuda, but we decided to head in a different direction nonetheless. Ok, let's face it. The dude was pretty intimidating!

All in all, it was amazing and beautiful and not even half of what we will get to see as we journey farther south. We have got to get a waterproof camera.  Oh, and I'm happy to say that we successfully imported Bettie. Now we're completely legal!

One Out of Three Ain't Bad

Six cab rides, four hospitals, two frazzled sailors and one heavenly solar energy store. That pretty much summed up yesterday. We took the high speed ferry into Cancun to get Bettie a boat importation sticker, which lasts for ten years, costs $50 and is needed to cruise the coast.

For some reason, you can't get the sticker in Isla Mujeres; it's only available at the bank in Cancun. So to Cancun we go. After walking down the dusty street from the ferry, we go into the port captain's office to ask where the bank is located, and wouldn't you know it, there the bank sits in a kiosk beside immigration. We go up and ask the nice bank employee for a boat importation sticker. She  asks us for our copies - copies of the boat documentation, of the crew list, of our passports, of some other random piece of paper that some Mexican official has stamped for us - all with the knowing look of someone who has asked for copies and received many a blank stare.

I, however, was ready. We had copies of everything. More than we needed, in fact. I thought we had beaten the system, that we had actually managed to have every single piece of paper that the Mexican government had ever even considered necessary to cruise in their waters. Then ... she asked for a copy of our tourist cards.

Those cute little tourists cards tucked away in our passports, acting all nonchalant but all the while hiding from my copying frenzy. Not the end of the world, though. We can just walk down the street to some little store that has a copy machine. That's when she tells us about the payment problem. You see, if you want to pay with a credit card, the person who owns the boat has to use his or her card. Why, I don't know, but that person happens to be me, a person who also happens to not have her card presently. (I've gotten all sorts of lazy since we started traveling and don't even carry a purse anymore and certainly not my wallet.) Still, not the end of the world. We can just pay in cash, she tells us. And, because we are thoroughly prepared for this situation, we whip out a stack of pesos to pay her with. What else would you expect to pay with in Mexico. But no, she says, it must be 50 American dollars. Well, we ask, can we get American dollars here? She says, Oh no. That can only be done in the city center.

Though we could have gotten copies and gone into the city for the cash, we decided to finally just let the Mexican system beat us. So being beaten and also in Cancun, we decided to try to find yellow fever vaccinations, a little errand that had eluded us before we left Texas (Side note: I kind of totally forgot about the whole vaccination thing until about two weeks before we left. We managed to procure one hepatitis A shot, but that was it.) Yellow fever vaccinations seemed like they had to be easier than the boat importation sticker. I mean, you go to a hospital, ask for the vaccination, get stuck with a needle and then pay for it. Pretty straight forward really.

Or perhaps not. Though we found hospitals - from the packed Hospital General to the thankfully air-conditioned Hospiten - we only found the vacuna (that's your Spanish word for the day!!) at one spot.

Aside: As a member of the uninsured in the American medical system, I've gotten used to asking how much a procedure costs and getting a confused look back as though the person I'm speaking with doesn't understand this basic concept of market capitalism. They then send me on a labyrinthine phone calling search that ends with finally reaching someone in the bowels of the hospital who I'm pretty sure just throws a dart at a number and then adds three zeros to it. I find this process somewhat vexing because not only does it take a long time but it also means that I pay ten times what an insurance company pays (I know this from my insured days) even though I'm offering to pay them actual money right here, right then for this service without any delay, paperwork, or denials.

Anyhoo, I was really looking forward to a medical system where you go in, receive a service, pay a reasonable amount for it and leave. The place with the yellow fever vaccination, unfortunately, did not fit into my lofty vision. They had the vaccine, but no one knew how much it cost. So we waited a bit, which wasn't bad, but when they finally came back with the price it was $300 for one shot. That's not in pesos! So if we both got yellow fever vaccinations and our second hepatitis shots, we would have spent more than a thousand bucks.

At that point, we decided to go eat. At Burger King. I don't care about the fact that we are in a foreign country eating at an American fast food restaurant. At that moment, it was delicious, and if one of us had had a heart attack from the fat, salt and sugar laden Whopper maybe we could have experienced a better side of the Mexican medical system. Plus, while wandering the streets looking for food, we walked down a sidewalk that was covered, literally, with iguanas. And not small ones either. These babies were substantial, and one actually fell from the trees. The biggest one we saw was three feet long, refused to move and had spikes on his tail that looked like a mace - you know, that weapon from medieval times. I thought, "Great, that's just what we need now, a lizard attack."

Need I say more?

But not all was lost! We did have one success yesterday. The charge regulator for our solar panels was having to accept just a little too much charge, causing it to blow fuses and generally have a bad time and meaning that a lot of our solar energy was getting lost. I had actually started calling it the "regul-hater," and we really needed a new one. Vlad found a random solar store on the Internet. We took a cab there, and they had exactly the right part. If you ever need something solar related in Cancun, you should look them up at Solaire.

Thus, we went home happy. And we saw shrimp boats!

Welcome to Mexico

I'm obsessed with these little fishing boats.

Negotiating entry into Mexico isn't frustrating so much as it is long, and you had best bring five copies of everything. First you have to go to the port captain, who sends you to Health and Sanitation. They give you a piece of paper and stamp each of the 25 copies you hand them and sometimes the original. They then send you to Immigration, who sends you to the bank where you pay for your tourist card. Then, it's back to Immigration for more stamps, and finally you return to the port captain. Then, the guys from Customs come out to your boat and give you more stamps and pieces of paper, all while letting you know that your aloe plant is not allowed in the country but they will make allowances this time.

You think you might be done, but not so fast. Next, it's back to the port captain (after we had to return to the boat for a second time because I didn't bring the paperwork. When the Customs guy said we were done, I thought he meant, you know, finished. Oh, how naive we are.) and you wait for more stamps. He then sends you back to the bank to pay for something else (I haven't figured out what, but it cost $45), and finally he says those beautiful words, "Bienvenidos a Mexico."

After all of that, we had to go swimming. Or at least I did, Vlad being too smart to leave our computers unattended on the beach. And I have to say this is the best water I have ever been in. It's clear, warm but refreshing and just plain gorgeous.

We still have to purchase an import card for Bettie. That process involves taking a ferry into Cancun and going to yet another bank, but I think we might leave it for tomorrow and go swimming instead. After some boat work, of course!

Isla, Isla, Isla

Sometimes it takes us a while, but we've finally made it to Isla Mujeres on the Yucatan coast after visiting  some keys along the way, a delightful (that's sarcasm) passage across the Yucatan current and a few days of being dazed and confused illegal immigrants. That's right. We were in Mexico illegally, and no one seemed to care. Que ironico, no?

Now, however, things have changed. We made it through the stacks of paperwork, the various stamping in triplicate, the three different offices we had to visit along with two trips to the bank, and an aduana (customs) visit onboard Bettie. (In case you're interested, no one asked about the hedgehog).

We are officially back from outer space - complete with beer and tacos.

 

Moving On

I think it's just about time for us to bid a fond adieu to Key West. We've finally received all of our parts, and the mainsail is patched up. Plus, there's a decent weather forecast. Not a ton of wind, mind you, but given that we've been doing the thunderstorm thing for about a week I think we're ready for 10 knots versus 20 to 25.

Originally, we were going to island hop down through the Eastern Caribbean, but we've adjusted our plans substantially. Since we had to spend more time here than we expected due to parts, the mainsail and the weather and given the fact that hurricane season is approaching and including that Key West was way more expensive that we had budgeted for, we have decided to head to Mexico and down the Western Caribbean coast where it's a faster trip and much less expensive.

The land of cheap tacos awaits. But first, look at what I finally got a picture of!

One of Key West's chickens took pity on my photographic floundering, and all it took was me sitting on the steps of the post office with a sandwich. Word to the wise, a ton of chickens hang out at the Key West PO, and there are even peeps! Adorable.

It will be all quiet on the blog front for a few days as we get ready to go and then cross the Gulf of Mexico. Again. One could point out that during our last crossing we were headed straight to the Yucatan for a good stretch, but Vlad and I have decided that we just love the Gulf so much that we're going to spend our entire time cruising just crossing it over and over and over. At least this time it's with the wind.

And because I just can't help myself, here's one more cheesy sunset photo to get you through until we get to Isla Mujeres.

It's Not All Pie and Sunsets

Hose clamps and rubber gloves = terrifying photo.

We've been doing a ton of stuff to Bettie, getting her all spiffed up and ready for our next foray into the unknown. Here's a sampling of what we've been up to in between all the pie and cat stalking. We replaced the weather stripping and recaulked the fridge. Vlad added fins to our dinghy so that it planes more easily. He set up our wireless system so that we can pick up wifi from onshore routers and put in a water filter to make our drinking water taste better. We've replaced a ton of parts for either things that broke or stuff that we realized we needed. We've been working on getting the ham radio set up, and as always we're putting stuff away, getting rid of things and cleaning, occasionally with a Q-Tip. Fun times.

But my favorite thing that we've done to the boat during our stay in Key West is also the grossest. It's my favorite because it has alleviated a certain odor that has bothered me for quite some time. You see, with a boat you are never hidden from the inner workings of your living space like you are in a house. You often come face to face with electrical wiring and plumbing that, if you've lived a soft, sheltered life like I have, you've never before encountered. And truthfully, sometimes it smells bad.

What I am talking about specifically is the hose that served as the main conduit from our toilet to the holding tank and the overboard thru-hull. In case you didn't know, on a boat you have two options when it comes to going to the bathroom that completely depend on geography. If you're in a marina or near land, you have to use the holding tank, but if you're offshore you just pump everything overboard.

The hose smelled for reasons you can probably guess, and nothing I did to try to clean it seemed to help. It especially wasn't great when I accidentally created a World War One reenactment on the boat, complete with chlorine gas and scattering townspeople. "Open the hatches!" "Save yourself!" Don't forget the hedgehog!" "Attila, why are you trying to kill us?" Evidently, that whole bleach and ammonia thing is no joke.

From what I've read, old plastic hose gets permeated with nastiness, and there's not much you can do except replace it. And that's just what we did on Sunday. (Helpful toilet tip: The stinky hose was the standard white sanitation hose most people use on a boat. We replaced it with Shields sanitation hose, which is black with a green stripe. It's much more expensive, but it is more flexible, attaches better, doesn't allow as much nasty mineral build up like the kind I had to clean up later and lasts a heck of a lot longer without permeating odor, which is well worth the price to me. Also, Vlad wants everyone to know that using two hose clamps is the way to go with any type of plumbing project, something about double the poo-tection. Sorry, but a post like this needs some 5th grade toilet humor somewhere!)

Here's what it looked like halfway through the process. 

I use the term "we" loosely, since, unfortunately for Vlad, I started reading this book called "And The Sea Will Tell," which is one of those true story courtroom thrillers where a hippie couple is accused of murdering this other couple on a deserted island for their boat, and I kind of didn't stop reading all day, even though there were a million things to do. I just had to figure out what happened! I did assist him in his replumbing adventure by handing him various items and helping hold the new hose in place, but he was mainly struggling with y valves underneath the sink and folding himself into the chain locker like some sort of tall man origami. There was also a blowtorch involved, which is generally a sign that I should stay away.

I will say in my defense that there wasn't much room for an extra person, and I did clean up the cubby that got filled with about an inch of what I told myself was just sea water. But still. Anyway, now we have glorious new pipes and a new macerator. And best of all, there's no smell! It's a magical world we live in. Complete with sunsets.