Our first night out from Acapulco was posh. The winds came lightly off the starboard sternquarter, the seas ran low, we flew along gaily (hey � I know we're three sailors headed for San Francisco but I use the term in the "happy" sense, so just keep the smirking to yourself...). Conditions were so perfect, in fact, that we brought the computer up on deck (something that never happens) and watched Captain Ron after the sun had slipped vibrantly into the tranquil sea. The warm and placid night was comforting. We maintained a steady 4 to 4 � knots until daybreak when the wind slackened. Still well within the danger zone of tropical depression formation we stuck by our rule of powering whenever we couldn't make 4 knots or better. Saturday proved to be another great sailing day. Despite the early morning doldrums we made 100 miles out of the 320 in the first 24 hours, though we alternated between engine and sail depending on the fickle nature of the winds. Saturday night was a starry fiesta with the occasional onshore thunderstorm pi�ata to spice up our viewing pleasure. We marked the lights of Zihuatanejo sparkle alluringly from the low mountains. Faith's hull sliced through the waves, her crew's hearts were exuberant with the gentility of this stretch of ocean.
Here I should offer accommodations to the crew. Our second mate and ship's cook, one Mr. William Eric Saunders, has become something of a sailor. He began almost as green as a landlubber could be, barely able to tell sheet from halyard, windward from leeward. By this point he was making minute adjustments to better catch the wind in the sails, braving slippery decks and fouled lines while bringing in canvas in heavy weather, learning the feel of a rising wind or a falling one; but most of all he has become a first rate shipboard chef. Give the kid a can of spam, some crusts of bread, a sadly bruised onion, and a couple cups of cream-of-whatever soup and he will produce a wonderful, hearty meal with a side dish or two � and all this while the boat is heeling on the 45 degree slant and crashing over five foot waves. Huzzah, my friend! You're got some streaks of true blue showing through the green!
The first mate and navigator, Mr. Brian Faul, has in many ways made this trip possible. While I'd certainly have attempted it even if my brother had not signed on, it would have been a sad reflection of the amazing things we've been able to accomplish. Firstly, it was his dogged research and planning that gave us the outline � the itinerary � and most of the information concerning the ports we could use and their amenities. He acquired the charts and the technical equipment: GPS's, new radios, EPIRBS. And his sailing skills have been of the highest value. We both grew up on this boat, he sailed her in her first season. He is familiar and comfortable with all that she can do (though we sometime debate the particulars, like how much sail to have up in a given wind; Brian tends for more and I tend for less). Finally, I put forth that having him along from the earliest planning stages has been reassuring to me in the highest degree. Brian is a master planner, flexible when it comes to the actual doing of a thing, and supportive in the best brotherly sort of way there is. Thank you, Brother! This trip, this adventure, is as much yours as it is mine! I wouldn't want it to be any other way.
It was on Sunday night that first foreboding missives began to arrive in the form of increasing wind and waves. During Brian's night shift he took in the big Genoa in favor of the storm jib, then had Eric double reefed the mainsail. Normally the first mate's helm time had witnessed lax breezes and low sea state. I awoke to attend my watch with Eric manning the tiller in five to seven foot seas and blustery 25 to 30 knot winds. These dropped as the morning progressed; by the time I took the steerage at ten Brian and I were running up the full main. We almost opted for the big jenny, then figured it might be wise to let the storm jib remain....a decision that would ultimately save us a great deal of trouble...
We were now within 40 miles of Manzanillo and continuing to make excellent time. Over the ensuing four hours of my tiller command the south southwest winds gradually shifted to south southeast, right on the stern. They also continued to increase, along with the swells. When I began my tiller shift the winds were moderate and the waves maxing out at four feet with long intervals between crests. By 1:30 pm we'd once again double reefed the main and were dropping the jib � in a following wind the little jenny just flaps and luffs ineffectually. The seas had built up to 10 feet and the blow was whistling in at a healthy 30 knots. And I was loving the ride.
When powerful seas and breezes come at the boat from the front or sides the sailing can be rough. Charging into a series of seven to ten foot waves in a 30 knot wind seems like riding a bike up a bumpy hill through tall grass during a spring rain. You get drenched, tired, and knocked around a good deal, while your forward motion is miniscule in return. Beam seas are better, but when they run high the boat rocks and sways, tossing items of all description about the cabin and forcing those on deck to brace with feet and cling with hands so as to hold their butts in one spot. Also, cresting waves have an evil tendency to break across the sternquarters, spilling several inches of ocean onto the seats one is so perilously adhering one's bottom to....
Ahh, but a following sea with a wind from abaft! There's a commodious point of sail! Those same winds and waves that beat the crap out of you when you're beating, kick you in the beam when they're on your beams, why, they veritably kiss your boat on a run; they carry your vessel as if between two great, watery palms. The breaking waves laugh a merry, tinkling laugh as their peaks disintegrate into jocular, luxurious froth around the hull. A blustery 25 knot wind can seem a dangerous, vicious gale when it's on your nose. The effect of sailing into a strong breeze with high seas is a punishing experience for vessel and crew alike. But put these to your stern and open the sails, viola! You're on a whole new ocean!