The wind came up as our little blue sailboat struck out onto Banderas Bay and for the first half hour conditions were perfect: flat seas with a brisk breeze on the beam. As we ran further the friendly zephyr became pugnacious, shaking its windy fist under our nose. We took short tacks that got us out a few more miles, until a truce could be made. The wind agreed to let us stay on course (just barely) while we made the concession that we'd backwind ourselves to spin in a useless circle about once every two hours. Ungracious terms, but progress was made until we had cleared the northern point and were once again whisking out onto the broad expanse of the Pacific Ocean proper.
The following two days were excellent. Our sails stayed full almost the entire time, requiring us to power for only an hour here, a half hour there. The stars lent themselves as our nightly beacons; the sun warmed and dried the decks each day. The water stabilized the air temperature in the high seventies, drawing heat as the sun dappled it lovingly, relinquishing the warmth to darkness as we sailed into the night. It is during quiet times such as these that I reflect on the nature of the sea in the hearts and minds of those wedded to it through the bond of boating. For all the wonderful metaphor of battle and war as one faces dangerous and exciting conditions, in reality you don't ever fight the waters � not if you want them to let you back on shore. Hydrogen dioxide can be considered the most corrosive element in the universe � on this planet it is certainly the most powerful. What can stand against water in motion? Mountains erode to plains under its gradual, unrelenting force. Rocks and metals are reduced to their basic component molecules. Wood decays with its intrusion. Even plastic eventually decomposes if exposed long enough. Everything assembled by human hands is subject to deterioration by nature's great disintegrator. Boats are certainly no exception. And here lies that mystic, intuitive secret shared by all consorts of the aquatic: the same element that is lover, friend and comfort is also dispassionate destroyer. Water will as soon kill you as kiss you. Living with a mate like that, at once angelic and monstrous, is to know that combat will lead to divorce, and divorce is final. You don't keep half � you buy the farm. The intrinsic theme, the archetype of a seaman's story, is neither the struggle against nature nor the struggle against another but the struggle with one's self. The key is the mastery of instinctual fear. To be afraid is essential; to falter because of that is ruin. So it is that mariners, those who would enter this weird compact with such an ultimately impartial power, know respect and awe for it. They listen, they sense, they feel it talking to them. And they respond not with the flung down gauntlet but with the grace of a dancing partner. On the outside this is indicated by the changing of a sail or a course; a physical acknowledgment of dynamic forces in action with which and of which one is a part. Within � ahh, within there is a state of mind, a discipline of emotion that accepts one's insignificance in the oceanic dominion.
These are the reasons that Faith's crew has had no reservations about crossing big, open water, which is just what we were doing as we sailed from Puerto Vallarta to Cabo San Lucas. Three hundred miles of illimitable ocean....no land in sight....the best of sailing! We are often asked � after our stories of storms, mechanical failures, long distance sails � Were you scared?
Of course we were. We'd be fools and liars to say otherwise. But ours has not ever been that terrible dread, the horror that annihilates reason and wrests action from our grasp. Much to the contrary: when something "scary" happens we face the fear as an opportunity to do something about it. We are afraid of hurricanes � so we study them, seek the knowledge to avoid them, learn what to do if we encounter one, give ourselves places to hide ashore if they find us at sea. We are afraid when important systems break down � so when it happens (as we know it always will!) we make ourselves safe by dealing with the problem directly. Fix it, replace it, work around it as much as possible when necessary. And in the end we are rewarded.
The reward on this particular crossing came in the form of a plume of spray a hundred yards off the starboard beam. From the cabin I heard Brian and Eric in an increasingly excited conversation concluded with: "I'm going to say 'Thar she blows!' Sean, get up here!" Sure enough, completely out of sync with the usual migratory pattern, apparently all by itself, a whale was leisurely cruising the northern end of Mexican tropical waters right smack in the middle of hurricane season. "Ha!" I felt compelled to comment with a feeling of affinity, "That guy is just like us!"
Brian was especially ecstatic. Seeing a whale was high on his list of Great Things the trip might offer, but he had been skeptical given our timing that we'd encounter one. I'm glad he was the first to sight our compatriot.
The passing of the whale signaled a change in the weather. We were now about seventy miles from the extreme southern tip of Baja California. The wind picked up some � to about 25 knots � and the seas rose a foot or two and became rambunctiously willing to clamor aboard in frequent, soaking gouts. We quickly noticed that the water temperature was significantly lower than it had been two hundred miles back. All night the wicked elements did their best to deprive us of just enough comfort to make us grouchy....but they hadn't factored one very important thing which caused us to accept the chill with the utmost satisfaction: cold water kills tropical depressions. Without the ambient heat radiating from the ocean the evaporative moisture content of the air drops precipitously. No fuel � no fire! We had sailed into the safe zone, in all probability out of reach of the Tigers currently frequenting the waters south of us! It would be another month or better before the area waters were warm enough to accommodate tropical depressions and their progeny.
With morning came an intensifying of the crappy conditions. The wind built up, the waves followed. We were nearing the tip of the peninsula, where the prevailing northwest winds are flung out onto the open water. Cabo Falso, the western-jutting edge of south-most Baja, has a reputation for whipping up gales daily. The closer we got to the point, the heavier the wind and waves. Brian drove us through the 40 knot breeze, skipping from crest to crest. I took over at 10:00 am, continuing the effort until 2:00. Now we'd come inside the sickle crescent of the warped gale and the seas came down as we made for the famous Land's End sandstone arches marking the outer breaks of Cabo San Lucas Harbor.
We pulled back our raincoat hoods letting the sun stream down on our grateful brows and beheld, in all its frenetic glory, the Three Ring Circus that is the outer harbor of Cabo. Spread throughout the little bay ahead was an amalgamation of every type of waterborne sport conceivable: jet skis and waverunners blasting back and forth like bees; snorkelers and scuba divers hovering beneath red and white dive flags along the rocks; glass bottom boats zigzagging among kayakers paddling in every direction; a pair of parasailers floating above, their carnival screams of fright and glee descending on the melee; and the coup de gras � trimarans with forty passengers packed from gunrail to gunrail sailing amidst the chaos and providing the background music (Gasolina, by Rincon) while its occupants swilled large tropical drinks and shrilled a chorus of cheers each time the announcer, competing with the blaring hip-hop, paused from his didactic.
Announcer: "...AND WELCOME TO BEAUTIFUL CABO SAN LUCAS, MEXICO!!!"
Occupants: "WHOOOO!"
Announcer: "NOW DON'T FORGET OUR BAR IS OPEN!!!"
Occupants: "WHOOOO!"
Announcer: "TELL YOUR FRIENDS � ONLY $20 A PERSON � DRINKS NOT INCLUDED!!!"
Occupants: "WHOO-HIC-OOO!"