A Charlie Charlie Morning
Tenacatita Bay - The Amigo Net on the single-sideband radio is coming in loud and clear this morning, and we're hearing conversations from all along the western coast of Mexico and as far away as the mid-Pacific where boats are underway for the Marquesas. Don Anderson, our Weather Oracle, has warned that the gale currently blowing outside the Baja will move into the Sea of Cortez in a couple of days, bringing 35-40 knot winds. But today in Tenacatita, it's a Charlie Charlie morning, meaning calm and clear.
Thanks to an impetuous jump off our bow when we were pulling into the fuel dock at Barra de Navidad a couple of days ago, I now have a major hitch in my getalong. Usually there's someone on the dock to catch our bowline and I have only to toss the rope. But this time the usual attendant was pumping gas on another dock, and the engineer on the stern of Mr. Terrible only glanced at us and went about his business, so it was up to me to "catch the boat." I've made the jump plenty of times, but not in a few years, and not barefoot onto a concrete dock. I landed fine on the left foot, weight slightly forward on the ball of the foot, but messed up on the right, with too much weight on the heel. Mega-ouch! I let out a scream, and had to hobble to the cleat to secure the line.
With 20-20 hindsight, the Capt assured me that we could have drifted into the dock and I didn't need to be in such a hurry, but in the past when we have approached a dock he has always urged me to get off as quickly as possible and get the line on the cleat.
It's my bad... I suppose I should have yelled (politely) to Mr. Terrible's engineer for help. "Señor, por favor, ayudame!"
I've been icing and elevating the foot for two days, but so far I'm still not able to walk on it. I can wiggle it and rotate it, there are no really painful spots on it, no swelling, discoloration or throbbing. I just can't put weight on the heel. I've got a compression bandage on it. There are no doctors in Tenacatita Bay, but I might be able to find one in Melaque when we return to Barra tomorrow, and get an X-ray, maybe even a crutch at the hospital there.
Later this morning we're going over to La Manzanilla on the other side of the Tena bay where the Capt will take the dinghy ashore and pick up a couple of Canadian friends for a day sail and possibly fishing. They're camping on the beach in their Westfalia van and the skipper has been corresponding with them via the Westie forum on the Internet. Tomorrow we'll return to Barra where we've borrowed a slip in a small marina for ten days, so the Capt can drive me and the dogs home to San Carlos in the Westie. Then he'll fly back down here and singlehand the boat back home. Hopefully he'll pick up some crew along the way for the more difficult passages.
Yesterday I made guacamole according to a recipe supplied by Maria of Maria's Tienda in Colamilla. Very simple and the Capt. liked it, so I'll do it again today for our Canadian crew. It's just avocado (well-mashed), tomatillo, cilantro and a piece of serrano pepper (all finely diced), and lemon juice. Add a little water, Maria advises, to thin it out. I'll spread tostadas with refried black beans and cheese, nuke them till the cheese melts, add the guacamole, some chopped tomato, a dollop of crema, and a cilantro leaf. With these I'll serve papas rellenas: stuffed baked potatoes.
I may be gimpy but I can still cook.
March 22
Let's do lunch -- the hard way
Sometimes I get a notion that things aren't going to go well on a particular endeavor, but it's got a momentum of its own so I just go with it. So it was that we sailed across Tena Bay to pick up the Capt's land-bound RVing friends, Frank and Rita, for a little daysail and lunch. Sounds simple, but it was the picking up part that got complicated. Our guests, Canadians camping in a beach-side RV park, were waiting for us when we dropped anchor less than 100 yards offshore. The Capt jumped into the dinghy and headed toward them, with the understanding that they would wade past the line of breakers and climb aboard the dink. In spite of my misgivings, that part went well, and they had turned around and were headed back to the boat when disaster occurred.
Three in a dink
Three OUT of a dink
Frank and Rita's neighbors gather round to inspect our beached dinghyThe next hour was a comedy of errors and a triumph of sheer nerve. The Capt swam back to the boat, arriving exhausted, and we tied all our extra lines to a fender, which he planned use for flotation to swim back with, tie the line to the dink and thereby tow it back to the boat. But the fender wasn't tied securely so it broke loose and floated ashore on its own. The Capt was literally at the end of his rope, still yards from the beach and without enough line to reach the dink. The waves were merciless, battering Frank and Rita as they clung to the dinghy, and the Capt as he desperately tried to get to them.
Our friends' neighbors came to the rescue with Frank's two-man inflatable canoe, and after somehow getting Frank, Rita and our upside-down dinghy ashore, they met the Capt straggling onto land. They pulled the outboard off and carried it to a 55-gallon drum full of water, where they flushed it thoroughly and then -- que milagro! -- they started it up! Somebody retrieved our fender but the dinghy stern light and our oar were lost.
The intrepid Canadians canoe out to the boat. Hope the sail and the lunch were worth it!One of the first things Rita said to me, when I bundled her into a big beach towel, was, "I'm not a water person."
March 23
My last sail, for a while.
Frank and the Capt tow the dinghy with the canoeThis morning we sailed back over to retrieve the dinghy, which we'd left at Frank's campsite for the night. Frank and the Capt used the canoe to tow the dink back to the boat. Tomorrow we'll drive the Westie back to the RV park, have breakfast with Frank and Rita, get the outboard and take it to a shop, where it was destined to go anyway.
Now we're underway back to Barra de Navidad. We'll drop the hook in the anchorage and wait for high tide, while I use the wifi to check email, upload this post and send the last edited chapter of her book to Julie, my publishing friend.
This afternoon when I'm finished with the Internet we'll move the boat into the slip, I'll finish packing my belongings and dog stuff, and Wednesday I'll leave the boat for a while. I'll miss it, I realize, but I need some healing for my foot, and some solitude in my house.
"There's still no place like home," she says, clicking her ruby slippers.