As I make this entry Faith is rocking in the crystal surf of San Pedro Harbor, Belize. I am sprawled in the cockpit ("sprawling" on a boat at anchor does not connote laziness, I must point out, but compensation for the unremitting shifting and lurching the boat does as even mild surf rolls beneath her. Sailors can't help it if they always look so comfortable�) um, oh yeah, so I'm sprawled in the cockpit with a caressing breeze at my cheek, my ears filled with the steel music of halyards thrumming on their masts echoing from the fleet anchored all around, the sighing of the froth as wave meets shore in a cascade of sandy percussion. My other source of entertainment are the long, low power boats running without lights that pass by frequently. They thread their way through the complex weave of anchor lines and shifting boats expertly, and I'm sure they can see a little better than I can, what with the computer screen dimming my night vision and all�.
It was this moment of reflection I wanted to get to. At the outset of our voyage each of Faith's crew had certain destinations set in their minds as points-of-no-return. For Eric I think it was leaving Waukegan Harbor. Brian, whose meticulous planning and gathering of information and resources laid out the framework for the trip, has probably crossed one off the list as we've left every port. For me it was right here. On the day we approached Isla Mujeres we spoke of the possible failure of the lark. The big concern was, and continues to be, funding. But factors such as our security in the soundness of the vessel and the interrelationships of the crew were becoming prevalent issues. Personally, I had to wonder if any part of it would hold together. Sure we were glad to be safe in port in our first foreign country. Sure we had already succeeded in creating a great story. And sure we had spent an incredible amount of energy and patience getting to that point. Would going further mean the journey would become more taxing, relentlessly barraging each of us with a new crisis at every turn and no real respite? How long would we be able to cling to that ephemeral ideal of persistence with doom hanging, literally, over our heads? We had each made our stake and been tested. We were each welted and weary. But we were not yet at the end of our tether. Isla Mujeres would change that.
It began in the morning with the arrival of the ship's agent, Herman. We gladly handed over our paperwork, a bit surprised at the accompanying fee but already locked into the process. Just get us through this, we thought. It was agreed that it was my role to go through the administrative tasks upon arrival (the captain of the vessel is the intermediary between the ship, its occupants, and outside authority). We had heard, however, that using an agent vastly expedites things and guarantees smooth transition through immigration. This is true. Hiring an intermediary, though, is only advisable if a) you have a large crew, b) you have lots of money, and c) you have no interest in the process yourself. Herman is an exemplary ship's agent, and by all means look him up if you fit any or all of the above criteria. Had we tackled the ordeal on our own we wouldn't have missed out on the process or spent hundreds we didn't have to. Likely we would have been able to march en masse to the Port Capitan and been cleared without much hassle. Not that we had much hassle � but our eyes popped when the bill came. Almost five hundred dollars all told for dockage, paper clearance, repairs, and restocking. Not to mention the expenses of just being in port. Eric and I went for a lunch we expected to cost seventy pesos. Seventy American dollars later we were cursing tourist traps. Brian had boarded a ferry to meet Donisha on the mainland and overnight at her hotel. Over a hundred bucks later and he was cursing things in general � Oh, senior, if you're staying overnight with her the cost is 130 a room�.Oh, of course, I suppose if you're staying in your fianc�'s room it�s only 70�.hmm? Oh, no, that's American�.. And so on. Chalk it up to culture shock, blame it on language barrier. But no. We were making neophyte travel mistakes at every turn. Panama had begun to look further and further away the closer we were getting.
Not that Isla Mujeres didn't have its saving graces. Take our neighbors. Captain Katie was running a powerboat to Florida for the owners and all were having a grand time. So much so that we couldn't help but have a grand time right along with them. Every time we came into contact with someone from that boat we got smiles and exuberance, good advice and interesting stories. Turns out Katie's brother, Steve, and Brian actually worked together on an episode of JAG. Then there was Alex's Sail Loft. Alex is an artist, a healer of the winds, a mender of sails, and has curly hair. I was smitten instantly. This might have happened even if Alex wasn't a beautiful woman as well, but that helped. I think the entire time I interacted with her was half an hour. Imagine, though: a fetching sailor-artist who rescued our adventure with a few tender stitches and a quick and ready smile. Don't let anyone tell you love at first sight is a fairy tale�.or, if they do, believe them and start watching for dragons�. Anyway, the sowing job she did made the mainsail stronger than it had been, with only a faint sailtape scar to show where the gut-wrenching damage had been. Alex explained that the hardest part of running the business was getting the raw materials of her trade. They don't come easy or cheap in Mexico, especially on an island. So she struggles with what's available and produces masterpieces. If you ever need a sail mended and are in the area (or aren't) check out the Alex Sail Loft, 044 99 88 97 84 35 (that's a telephone number) or [email protected]. And don't let me hear of anyone giving her a hard time�
Infatuation aside, by Thursday afternoon the strain was showing. Brian was tallying the expenses with mounting frustration � by his accounting we'd be exponentially over budget just getting through the Panama Canal, say nothing of the trip north. And he was not happy at all when he found out about the lunch debacle. There were hard feelings and a gloomy pall over our floating domicile as we left the dock for an anchorage. Some decisions had to be made. Our options were to continue, to turn back, or to abandon the journey altogether right where we were. We spoke of the mistakes that had brought us to this point: some made through ignorance, some through inadequate forethought. We discussed ways that we could augment our money, ways we could avoid being taken by land pirates, ways we could trim our necessities down to what was really necessary. Friday the 13th we woke and apprehensively set our sails. Yes, we would continue. And the voyage would hinge on our growing and learning. Or it would fail.
The first day out was somewhat painful. None of us wanted to be confrontational and all of us were on each others nerves. Breaking our day back into the four hour shifts helped ease the pressure. By nightfall we had become contemplative and restful. That night was one of the best times I have ever had sailing. Brian was below on his rest shift. Eric, on watch, was lying in the forward cockpit dozing, ready if I needed anything. I was at the tiller, course set, stars twinkling, fair wind blowing and following seas passing Faith from wave crest to wave crest. Tiredness left me. Doubts melted away with the occasional warming spray. Faith rode the swells, surfing an ocean of black�.but wait not black, sparkling! Awash in our bow wave were phosphorescent diatoms reacting to being stirred by the boat's passing. With no moon above at that hour they left a trail of fading stars, a shimmering wake of diamonds, that faded behind us like the tail of a shooting star. I had arrived at the point of sail (both within and without) that I had come for. I can only describe it further as a feeling of complete freedom � like having lassoed a comet that could transport me anywhere. Raw, wet beauty!
Brian adds: The costs of being ashore were depressing, brightened mainly by shore leave with my fianc� who had awaited our arrival. Leaving port in high seas caused another dousing and more wet gear in the cabin, but with each mile we made the conditions and climate improved. Fair weather and hot sun allowed us all to dry out. By the end of the second day we were treated to the most delightful meal on the voyage. Eric surpassed himself. As the miles melted away we fell back into the rhythm quickly and everyone's mood improved. It was some of the most beautiful and rewarding sailing we had done to date, climaxed by an afternoon and evening anchoring off of Chinchurro Banks for some much-anticipated snorkeling. This respite allowed for a daytime arrival through the reefs that make entrance to Belize so tricky. It seemed that it was a plan finally coming together, and made it all worthwhile�..