But only for a moment. As I leaned closer, not wanting to believe it, I realized that we'd caught five or six kelp stringers on the steering lines. They slithered blackly out behind us like enormous snakes. What a relief! We were in a kelp field! That explains the breaking waves! For a minute there I thought...
"Sean! Get them off!" Ahhh! Right! Brian was still striving to maintain some sort of control at the tiller and being nearly mashed in half. I popped open the sail locker housing our boathooks and snatched a knife from the cabin. Fishing up the trailers and slicing them free took time in the dark but once I'd cut them all off the steering resumed normalcy and our hearts slid back to their rightful places. We took our tack out, clearing the kelp as Eric assumed his place at watch.
The entrance lights of Bahia Tortuga, Turtle Bay, were now visible. The second mate and I watched them flashing off the starboard beam as we tacked for two hours into position for the run in. When we made the turn for our approach we had ten miles to cover. We could have turned on the engine, but we felt triumphant in sailing the last stretch. We tracked our progress on the GPS. Five miles. Three. One. A thousand yards. Five hundred. Fifty. As we crossed the waypoint we'd programmed into the computer the wind was blocked by the sandstone bluffs. Down sails! On engine! "Brian � we're there!" The first mate came up to help ready the anchor and witness the event: we'd made port on the thinnest of hopes, we'd skated the thin ice and not fallen through, we were two thirds done with the Baja Bash!!
We came into the bay slowly, carefully, identifying shore lights and features for orientation. Finally, we dropped anchor near another cruiser � a fifty foot sloop and a beauty. Wait until we tell them our story! Wait until we hear theirs!
The mates dropped the anchor, got a good hold on the bottom and we all sat back to relax. Then we noticed a panga speeding over to us. At this hour? Navy, we figured, has to be. "Hola amigos!" Maybe not.
It was Jorge, the local concierge, come to greet us and make sure we got our gas from him. "Tomorrow," we told him. He agreed to come back in the morning. We went below.
Brian had a special treat already brewing. Heating water on the gimble, he took three cups and added a healthy slab of margarine to the rim of each. Eric looked at him like he was crazy but I was in collusion. I handed the boiling water to Brian. He poured the steaming liquid over the margarine, melting it, then stirred the concoction. A scintillating odor filled the little cabin. Next he broke out our rum reserve and put a good sized slug into each cup. Ahh, hot buttered rum! We toasted, sipped, relished, and then fell back in sleepy luxury. Rest has rarely been more welcome.
Cheers.