One cannot feel one has celebrated this holiday properly without an outdoor fire when one is in the wilderness. Never mind that all the available wood is probably wet, take no consideration that it is impossible to find in the dark, and heed no cry that it's also full of thorns. Mr. Saunders and I rowed back to Faith, where Brian had already sacked out, gathered flashlight, a can of sterno and our special rum, and then skipped over to an open patch of sandy mud on the bank. Twenty minutes later we returned a bit scratched and bug bitten, but laden with an appreciable pile of mostly dry timber. The fishermen were astonished but maintained that we'd never get it started. Ah, the magic of sterno! Sterno is the jellied gas used under fondue pots the world over. We use it onboard for our cooking purposes, but it also makes a wonderful fire starter. Just set can under stack of small twigs, light and add successively larger brush until blaze reaches appropriate size. Sit back, open rum, and enjoy! Needless to say, the fire was a hit. And what a special present! Here we are, on a sunken boat drinking fine spiced rum around a fire in the company of friends while standing in a military port on the absolute fringes of Mexico. Who could ask for a more unique experience?
After a while we begged our leave, thanking our buddies for the wonderful accommodations. Our bunks were a dry comfort, since it had started to rain an hour before the party broke up (the fire, however, lasted to the last!). I slept a profoundly good sleep, which was a gift in itself.
We were baked out of the cabin by 10:00 am. The humidity was high, the sun was beating down, the temperature soaring. Mmmm! I love summer! After some coffee and some conversing with the locals (curious fisherfolk cruising by in all sorts of small craft) we took up the anchor and moved yet again. Back to the Port Captain's it was. When we pulled up to the beach area we were directed to get right back out by the set of officials stationed in a canopy covered powerboat who would check in and check out the offshore fishermen. "Wait!" we shouted to them, "Capitan de Puerto told us aqui!" They acquiesced and Brian and I hopped into the dingy. Eric stayed aboard to keep an eye on things and make sure we didn't drag anchor and run into the powerboat.
Our time at the Capitania seemed interminable. The Captain himself wouldn't have anything to do with us, and closed up shop while we were languishing in the waiting room. We weren't sure what to make of this until one of the employees informed us on the way out that Migracion was coming. Oh, we thought, that changes everything. Shortly a man arrived who took all of our documents, had me fill out the necessary forms, typed up the Zarpe, and told me he'd take me to the airport to get cleared by immigration. While all of this was taking place Brian was studying the weather service information printout given to us by the Maritime staff. This is a regularly updated report covering the west coast of Mexico with details pertinent to the formation of tropical depressions, which can become hurricanes.
Since only I would be required at Migracion Brian went back to the boat. He and Eric took it back to the north anchorage to be out of the hair of the territorial fishing regulators. I'd contact them by radio upon my return. While I was whisked to the airport 20 miles away to get our tourist visas the crew was fighting problems at the anchorage. They'd returned to our spot by the rotting barge only to be waved further back to make room for the dredge. There was no arguing with the impunitive gesture of the dredge pilot. The dredge itself is a hundred-plus foot affair with a set of gigantic screws along one side that could be hydraulically raised or lowered to stir up the bottom muck. The sludge would be sucked into the vast hold, trucked out to sea and dumped at some predetermined site. The behemoth has a very wide turning radius and had apparently finished its work on the edge of the anchoring area....and was beginning the process of deepening the anchorage itself.
Things went smoothly at the airport and my new friend offered to take me out for oysters on the way back to the harbor. We stopped at one of the live-in stands on the outside edge of the harbor that faced the sea. There we drank beer, ate oysters, and traded stories about travel, family, boating, and life in general. It's amazing how much you can get across with a basic vocabulary and a few key phrases. Where are you from? How long? What do you think? I like that. That sucks. Oh, yes, I've been there. And so on.
Cut to the boat: The dredge passed by again sending off a propwash that caused Faith to slip anchor and swing out into the forbidden zone. Brian and Eric moved back even further to a site they hoped would be more secure.
Vincent and I arrived back at the Capitania where I radioed the crew. Unfortunately, they'd had the little radio on so long at this point that its batteries had worn down to the point where it could receive but not send. They called back on the large, older back-up, which they had trouble with. I knew they could hear me so I told them to send the launch, I was ready to return to the ship. I wandered out, waving to Vincent, who called me over to his car. He'd been digging around in the trunk and held an object up triumphantly, "Happy Birthday!" he said, handing me a small bottle of tequila. What a wonderful gesture! I was liking this place!
I ambled down to the beach and saw Eric rowing around a little sand spit, singing to himself. He came ashore to take a rest and see how the process had gone, then admired the little bottle. We climbed into the dingy and set off, only to be confronted by a receding tide that wouldn't let us escape unless we wanted to go out to sea. So it was back to the beach to hold up in one of the restaurants, get some drinks and a snack and feel generally good about the day.
A half-mile away, down in the slime below the bow of the Faith, an anchor was striving to cling to the substrate, failing, and being dragged after the boat above. The dredge had returned, reversing its course and now the propwash was sucking at our bark from a new direction. Brian had to weigh the hook, find a new purchase in still another spot, and wait hopefully for our return.