P. Cptn: Come in!
Brian: Why?
P. Cptn: Why? Come in now!
Brian: No, I have no dingy, read the name of the boat!
P. Cptn: What? No dingy? (rapid writing of the name and number of the Faith)
Brian: Yes! Go check us out; we're already registered in and out!
P. Cptn: I'll go check you out....you better already be registered in and out!
Crisis averted for the time being, Brian thought he'd relax, which he did for about forty five minutes....then the panga fishing fleet began returning from their morning excursions. When they'd reset the anchor the mates had brought us in much closer to the beach. This put us in the midst of the mooring buoys used by the fleet. Since the fishermen where all out wrangling with the bounty of the sea Brian and Eric had figured we might be able to be gone before they returned with the day's catch. Sadly, such was not the case. At first Brian held out hope as the lead boats ran directly onto the beach. Landing their craft expertly in long slides that brought them twenty yards up the surf line, they'd be immediately surrounded by eager buyers. But soon the stragglers arrived, disconsolately bringing empty pangas straight to their moorings. The first mate saw an advancing craft whose name was painted on the float bobbing right alongside Faith's stern quarter. Up anchor yet again and back out to the perimeter for the oddball sailboat among the working fleet. Sure, a sailor's work is never done...
Ashore, inland twenty miles, Eric and I were getting a tour of the wondrous jungle of the interior. The road snaked through the mountains, alternately offering glimpses of the verdant canopy from above and the shadowy forest primeval from below. We got to a bank, found its ATM out of order, stopped at another where the machine worked, and headed back to the ocean town. Upon our return we marched to the store, secured our provisions, and heaved the lot over to the secret gas dispensation center. When we got there our supplier was just topping off a small tank for one of the fishermen. We retrieved our containers from the roof of his shed and proceeded to fill them up.... but not all of them. We'd brought six empty containers � 12 gallons. Unfortunately, it had taken so long for us to get the cash necessary that several customers had been served in the interim. We'd been preempted. Still, we were able to procure 9 of the 12 gallons. Since we still had three gallons on board that gave us a total of 12 gallons � roughly 120 miles of engine use. It would have to do. We hauled the lot down to the dingy, loaded up, and made for the ship.
Brian had another short respite after repositioning, and then received several guests. Two boys and a girl between the ages of 11 and 13 swam out to the boat. They were invited aboard, treated to a taste of the sweets from the ship's stores, and regaled with juggling, pictures of Brian's motorcycle and fianc�, and generally entertained for half an hour. Judging it was time to go (apparently on some internal clock only accessible to children) they hopped back over the side. However, more pangas began arriving just then so the kids retreated back to the safety of the Faith's decks. One of the panga drivers noticed them and swung over to offer them a ride back in. Waving goodbye to their host they jumped ship and were whisked ashore. Eric and I came paddling up just after their departure. "Get some rest?" I inquired of Brian, "Did we drift further out or something?" I got the second weird stare of the day. "What?" I asked.
Despite the challenges of the morning we were pushing foam up before the bow by noon. The narrow cliffs of the harbor mouth parted and once again we were on the ocean (this time on purpose!) and off to our next port of call. The wind came up, right on our nose, and we raised sail for the tack we hoped would turn into a productive on-course sail before too long....
Muchos gracias for the stay Puerto Angel! Faith's post-Angel motto: Give us 24 hours, we'll give you a harrowing adventure!
Days 100 � 104, July 9 � 13: Running Dry
Leaving Puerto Angel was a relief � we were once again embraced in the safety of the open sea. This is truly how we feel: being at sea is much more soothing than being at anchor. There are no worries that we might be dashed against the rocky shore, boarded, or run into without our knowledge, say while all three of us are ashore or asleep (any of these calamities is possible while sailing, but I can assure you we'd know it immediately). Faith slipped like a scalpel through the soft tissue of the sea as we cut the harbor entrance with surgical precision, turned onto our course, and met the malady of headwinds � as always. Prognosis: tack out to find the windy remedy, take prescribed heavy doses, and call when you get to Acapulco!
Yes, our next port would be Sunny Acapulco (you always hear it referred to as "Sunny;" for instance, when someone on a game show wins an all-expense-paid vacation there). We were riding the trail of the most recent tropical wave and would have three solid days before the next low pressure zone caught up with us. Initially, it looked like we wouldn't make it. The contrary winds confounded our mile-making; we crawled up the coast for the first afternoon and night. We powered off and on, conserving our precious gasoline in the event that we'd need to make a fast transit into whatever harbor was closest � we figured we'd need to keep a minimum of 50 miles worth, about 6 gallons. We were rained on unmercifully the first night, frustrated by winds that refused to rise. By the 24 hour mark we'd just barely scratched out 70 of the 320 miles to our destination. Our luck improved on the afternoon of the second day with drying sunshine and building wind. Another nocturnal sopping rain from a wet blanket of overcast sky that night, but we were cheerfully able to maintain course on a respectable breeze. At the 48 hour mark we found we'd now covered an additional 100 miles. Hurray! The halfway point!
The fact that we'd now covered half our distance in two days was of immense significance for two reasons:
1) Brian's fianc�, Donisha, would be arriving in Acapulco on the 11th and departing on the 14th. Initially it looked like we might pull into the marina just in time for Brian to see her off to the airport....a prospect which was not my favorite subject of discourse with him during the early segment of this leg, let me tell you. As we began to make up time, however, there was a marked improvement in the demeanor of the first mate and navigator, and a sudden happy spring in his step.
2) Our water tank ran dry. Brian checked the water level in the afternoon, discovering that there were a mere three gallons left. Given the blazing heat of the later hours of the day and the potential for the wind to die again, increasing our arrival time to five days instead of four, this revelation was disconcerting. We knew we had two liters of water stored in the hold in reserve and we quickly tallied everything else that might augment our hydration: three liters of vegetable juice, several large cans of fruit cocktail, six cans of tuna in water, two cans of spam in water, a bottle of rum and a twelve pack of beer (the later two we instantly omitted since alcohol is a diuretic and increases the rate of dehydration.) All told, it looked pretty bleak. Oh, no one was going to shrivel up and die of thirst, but our consumption comfort levels dropped precipitously. Just tell yourself you have to stringently ration something and see if that doesn't make you desire it all the more....I began to have visions of waterfalls, aqueducts, vast lakes where you could dip your head under and drink to discomfort....you get the idea.