Si Si to Oui Oui

Adios (y mucho gusto) Mexico….Bonjour la polynésie française!

We’ve spent the past week swabbing the decks, arranging for fuel, dotting our i’s and crossing our t’s. To make this job easier, and in anticipation of the arrival of our crew, we’ve parked ourselves in a marina here. Not much time went by before we were meeting new people, sitting on the dock and accepting tequila shots from our neighbors on either side (m/v Aurora and s/v Tequila Rose). We’ve also spent most evenings regaled by our new friends from s/v Easily Amused, Mike and Tony. When at anchor we combined our puttering little outboard motor with their sleek and manly dinghy to make for some downright capable transport through the wind and chop of the bay. Other exchanges of services with Mike and Tony have included their help in hoisting Ben up the mast (bonus for me!) and, well, some perfectly illegal medical care. (I may consider a career change). Tony lacerated his finger into a deep and lonely flap of skin and came ashore in search of a skookum vet. Mais, oui...But, of course. Why not? I was happy to comply, and so started a fun and unexpected morning project. Nine sutures later (and with the help of Ben, my shady anesthesiologist) and I may be open to lawsuit. You know those Canadians….




I’ve been looking for a nice colorful piece of artwork to hang in our cozy but otherwise unadorned salon and found just the thing to fit the bill. The Huichol Indians in Mexico create compositions and sculptures made from colorful yarns or beads, pressed into a thin layer of wax mixed with pine resin. The figures in these pieces are fantastical and dream-like, humanoid or animal, and inspired by shamanic visions.

In the meantime we settled in to relax for a few days, as most of our chores were completed, and my dad and Kristin were delayed 4 days in their arrival. Kristin experienced some untimely dental pain and luckily is feeling back in form.


Now that my dad and Kristin have joined us here in La Cruz, we’re busy with the final provisioning, stowing, fueling and, of course, the official clearance of Mexico. Ben keeps a watchful eye to the weather fax, trying to gauge optimal wind for our departure. Then, of course, we prepare to say our goodbyes. Today we arranged for delivery of water from Jose and Carmen, owners of Talia, Sorillo and Coyote. Talia was my biggest worry, and she still seems anemic, but she’s eating well and energized, so I’m cautiously optimistic. We drove with them to the marina – Ben, Jose and Talia all in the back of the truck, and hauled jugs of water to the boat. Talia explored the boat while we watered up, and then we said our farewells. Mexico has given us a warm welcome and we hope to return.

The passage from here is roughly 2800 nautical miles. We’ll be aiming southwest, toward latitude 7° north, longitude 130° west (or wherever the wind dictates nearby), positioning ourselves for the turn south, to cross the infamous ITCZ (intertropical convergence zone), or doldrums, zone of weak wind, rain and pesky little squalls. We’ll be pushing to get there, and then slogging our way out as fast as we can, taking the shortest path we can sail. And then, voilà! The equator! From there, just another…….. to the Marquesas. Sounds simpler than it is, no doubt.

Here’s what our references tell us to expect: clear blue waters, lush vegetation, rugged peaks and spires, tall waterfalls, and the warmth and welcome of the Polynesians (ie, paradise). For those whose geography may be a little rusty, French Polynesia is an overseas territory of France consisting of four island groups: the Society Islands, the Tuamotu Archipelago, the Marquesas and the Austral Islands, in total 109 islands spread over an area of 1.5 million square miles. The Marquesas are high islands, young in geologic age, too new to have developed any appreciable fringing coral growth. At the other extreme, the islands of the Tuamotu Archipelago are true atolls – lagoons ringed by coral reefs that long ago swallowed up the remaining land masses. Somewhere in between are the Society Islands, which have mountainous peaks, fertile coastal plains of volcanic ash, plus a protective barrier reef that shelters the shorelines.

Sounds good to me!

So, some reading to get in the mood: Melville’s Typee, which catalogues his journey along a valley in Nuku Hiva, and the months he spent living with the natives there. And, Bligh’s Mutiny on the Bounty – tips in case I need to mutiny on Ben’s ass.

We won’t be checking our email until we get to the other side, but we’d love to hear from you, and it would be a treat to land ashore, search out an internet café, and catch up on news from home to penetrate the self-imposed isolation of Pangaea’s crew during our Pacific trek. We’ll try to post a mid-voyage update or two, so check in when you can!

La Cruz de Huanacaxtle

We have lengthened our stay in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, here in Banderas Bay, up the bend, so to speak, from Puerto Vallarta. We have found that our repairing, trouble-shooting and provisioning needs can be met quite well where we are. Puerto Vallarta is an easy bus ride away when we're in need of particular items, or a social night out. But La Cruz is more quaint and friendly, and a good place to settle in.

Cruisers abound here, some also preparing for the Pacific Puddle Jump (as it's called) to the Marquesas. We spent a good deal of the first week here visiting with Wayne Mertesky of Moonduster, whom we had met in Ensenada. The cruising scene in Puerto Vallarta is old hat for Wayne so he offered a great wealth of advice on where and how to get things accomplished around town to prepare for the passage. We explored just about every little taco stand in La Cruz together, and hunted down some perfectly delectable flan for dessert most nights. We took a Sunday evening stroll down the malecon in Puerto Vallarta, watching and weaving through throngs of couples and families, there to see and be seen. We went out for dinner and some great live music on Good Friday, our send-off for Wayne who is now en route in the Pacific. Bound for paradise....

Easter is a pretty big deal down here and, the week preceding, Semana Santa, is part of the holiday. In celebration, La Cruz hosted a carnival for the whole week, featuring rickety rides, balloon darts, sweets and a little road-side gambling. On the last night, everyone and their uncle were out on the street, enjoying the carnival games and a festive 12-piece mariachi band. Ben and I had a blast on the pirate ship - just the two of us gringos and a bunch of boys, who thought it pretty hilarious to hear me screaming behind them. It was FUN!

For the last few days I've been treating three dogs belonging to the owners of a local convenience store. One of them, "Talia," is pretty sick. I'm cautiously optimistic because she's feeling better, but I have a feeling that whatever lies lurking is unresolved. The other two, "Coyote" and "Sorio" have wounds that are well within my ability. In exchange we've been receiving free refrescos. Our conversations are interesting as the family doesn't speak English, and vice versa. I make up words as I go and they seem to be able to figure me out.

I've been experimenting with video lately and have put together a couple clips. One of the birds on Isla Isabella, the other from the La Cruz carnival. Bear with me, as they're pretty amateur. But, you can check them out. Click on Pangaea's Photo Album link on the upper right side of the blog's front page.

And, for the timebeing, we'll continue bumming in Banderas Bay.

XOXO

Birds, birds, birds!

Green flash? It is rumored that a green flash may grace the sky, if you're lucky, just as the sun dips below the watery horizon. Critics do exist. I've been looking for it for years, without yet abandoning hope. Is it a myth? A mariner's equivalent of the Sasquatch? Or a veritable atmospheric phenomenon, rarer but no less spectacular than the aurora borealis? Well, it's hard to be convincing if I can't state anything with more certainty than: I saw a flash! The trouble is, while wearing my rosy-colored, polarized glasses it looked, well, rosy-colored. I guess it remains elusive. Maybe it's best viewed from the shifting shores of Atlantis.

Another quasi-experience: auditory evidence of a whale breaching behind us (audio without the visual). We were approaching Isla Isabella a few days ago, actually dawdling a bit, waiting for daylight before making our approach. It was my watch, around 5:30 am; my senses were heightened, as they always are when approaching shore. Down below, looking at the chart, I heard a loud slap. I climbed the steps to the cockpit and heard the tell-tale "Whhhooooophhh!" of a whale's blowspout, and then another loud splat. We were minutes from that pre-dawn rosy haze, just as the stars are beginning to fade before the sun's grand entrance. Looking in the direction of the splat, I saw an indeterminate shadow move, and another loud splat....then another. I guess it was far enough, at least, that there was no tactile experience to go along with the auditory one (no spray on my face or rocky loss of balance). Anyway, I was SO excited, and a bit nervous, not wishing to have a blind, closer encounter than this. I made Ben get up, of course, but the whale gave no further proof of its existence.

So, I experienced half a green flash, and bore partial witness to a breaching whale. These incomplete experiences paled in comparison to the delight of Isla Isabella itself. The island is a bird sanctuary, and one of Jacques Cousteau's favorite places. National Geographic filmed a documentary here, and there is a permanent ornithological research station on site. The stars of the show? Nesting magnificent frigatebirds, blue-footed boobies, brown boobies, in the thousands I would hazard to guess, in addition to nesting Heermann's gulls, red-billed tropic birds and the usual suspects, brown pelicans and eared grebes. And would we be so lucky to have arrived smack in the middle of breeding season? We hiked along marked trails, often within arm's reach of ground-nesting boobies and gulls, or tree-nesting frigatebirds. I wouldn't say they were equally delighted by OUR presence, but they remained undisturbed, voicing an occasional honk (or in the male boobies' case, a low, plaintive whistle), but remaining in place. I can't imagine access wouldn't be restricted to such a place as this in the US, but Isla Isabella is established as a park that welcomes visitors. Regardless, I felt a twinge of guilt to intrude, and tried to make myself as small as possible as we tip-toed by.

These boobies, especially the blue-footed ones, are only less goofy-looking than a pelican. I mean, blue feet? Are you kidding? The brown boobies are no less precious, and seem a little more gregarious. The booby babies are, of course, adorable in their utter awkward ugliness. The frigatebirds, on the other hand, are striking in their silhouette against the sky. They have the longest wings relative to their weight of any bird, and long-forked tails, so they make a dramatic statement as they soar endlessly overhead. They are described as aerial pirates, often attacking other sea birds in flight to get them to disgorge their fishy catch. So, they steal meals from others, leaving the hard-work of hunting to their "inferiors." They build paltry little nests in low-slung branches, oten at just our height. They could care less as we walked by. I don't know how the frigatebird nestlings manage to maintain their balance in these little nests, though with the number of dead frigates on the ground here and there, I imagine they don't all manage to balance in the tree-tops.

So, MORE birds: back in La Paz I was excited to find white ibises mingling with snowy egrets, tricolored herons, little blue herons, reddish egrets and yellow-crowned night herons in the mangroves across from our anchorage. I know, boring detail to some, exciting to me.

The anchorage itself is stunning, with surf crashing on rocks only yards from where we were anchored. But, there we were with a couple other boats and did just fine. Tucked into the head of the small bay is a fishing village. The island, despite its status as a sanctuary, still offers a harvest to local fishermen, who have an established fish camp used to mend nets and sort the catch. The fishermen are very friendly, and offered me a ride to shore, sitting next to a heap of red snapper, shortly after our arrival. Several speak fluent English and talk of their time living in the US. They all sound happy to be back home. Not to be outdone, we caught our own dinner (en route from La Paz), a skipjack tuna. We made sushi tuna rolls and ate the rest seared. This time we tried what would seem to be a more humane way to kill a fish, based on some advice. We squirted vodka in its gills and, well, that seemed to do the trick! Who really wants to bludgeon his dinner?

Well, after an overnight sail, here we are in Banderas Bay, currently anchored off the quaint town of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle (still haven't figured out how to pronounce this). In the next couple days we'll move to a marina in Puerto Vallarta proper to work on a few boat projects in preparation for the big crossing to come....

Oh, I've finally gotten my feet wet with some veterinary work, during our prolonged stay in La Paz. I did exams and consultations for Zeus the Doberman and Henry the Lab, both belonging to fellow expatriate cruisers, and a behavioral consultation for Pixie, a local Scotty. We also made a donation of medical supplies to a Baja Dogs Rescue group. I didn't manage to organize a spay/neuter day with them, but maybe more opportunities will be encountered in PV.... I've also been making bead jewelry for future trades (I hope) on some of the South Pacific islands. That's been fun.

Anyone up for an impromptu trip to Puerto Vallarta is more than welcome!

Cheers!

A Change in Plans: Galapa-no-gos

We arrived in La Paz on February 20th, prepared to stay a couple days. We stayed at Marina de La Paz, surrounded by a multitude of other American cruisers – a fleet, shall we say. Many have made La Paz their permanent home, some purposefully, some accidentally. Everyone we met warned us that some magnetic force tends to draw one in, foiling any intentions to leave this happy town. I’m currently reading Steinbeck’s Log of the Sea of Cortez and he alludes to this force much more eloquently:

"And we wondered why so much of the Gulf was familiar to us, why this town had a 'home' feeling. We had never seen a town which even looked like La Paz, and yet coming to it was like returning rather than visiting. Some quality there is in the whole Gulf that trips a trigger of recognition so that in fantastic and exotic scenery one finds oneself nodding and saying inwardly, 'yes, I know.'"

And, what d’ya know, our “2-3 days” in La Paz turned into 5. We told ourselves it had to do with the internet access. Who knows?

Finally we set sail for the islands opposite La Paz harbor, for a few days of exploring. And, oops! We broke our backstay purchase. (Maybe, the force?) So, we took down our sails and motored on, but now had cause to return to La Paz (after visiting the islands) before heading further south.

The islands (Espiritu Santu and Partida) are stark, rocky veins on the southwestern fringe of the Sea of Cortez. They are designated sanctuaries so there is no human habitation, save for the occasional fisherman’s hut nestled in coves here and about.

Beachcombing has become my favorite pastime. We found little cowry snails having a convention of some kind, before digging themselves down into the sand at the water’s edge. The hermit crabs were characteristically unsociable, downright reclusive. We found “mummified” puffers littering one beach, and enjoyed watching a few of the live specimens trundle their way along the water’s surface. They’re poisonous so what they lack in maneuverability and grace of movement, they make up for in unpalatability. In other words, they’re not much of a target, so why bother getting out of the way? They do, however, make a good bath toy. We watched a seal use one as a rubber ducky, flipping him about in the waves.

The vegetation is of the tough, spiny and hardy sort, in this dry environment. But I’m often surprised to find stunning and ususual, dainty little gems clinging to the rocks or nestled into crevices. Pelicans continue to dominate the skies. But they share the catch with plenty of gulls, magnificent frigate birds and, finally, some brown boobies. Turkey vultures feast on whatever remains wash up on shore, including pelicans (though puffers remain untouched). I did find a couple goofy looking pelican beaks, bleached and picked clean. The water isn’t what you’d call warm, but it was perfectly comfortable at 63 degrees for my first snorkeling adventure. This particular site was a little murky, but I could still see flashes of color as tropical fish darted by, and some rounded coral heads attached to rocks along the shore.

In total we spent 3 nights visiting the islands, each morning moving to a new cove and dropping anchor. On the last day I rode the dinghy out to a couple islets (Los Islotes) just north of Isla Partida, to get a close-up of a known sea lion colony. Oh, the raucous ruckus. They certainly have something to say most of the time. In calmer weather some brave souls actually swim with these sea lions. I can blame the wind and the waves instead of my own cowardice for my failure to do so on this occasion. Who’d be the wiser?

On the 28th we motored back to La Paz, to repair our backstay purchase, with plans to learn how to splice. The splicing was a cinch, really, and kind of fun. So, mechanical problem solved. But, of course, we just had to check our email…. And there was, waiting for Ben, an urgent request to return to San Diego for some design work and trouble-shooting. So, here I am, spending our 17th anniversary (17!?) alone. Really I’m just being dramatic, as he’s due back this afternoon. In the meantime, I’ve finally utilized some of my veterinary skills, having just completed physical exams on Zeus the Doberman, and Henry the Lab. I also just made a donation of medical supplies to Baja Dogs Helpline of La Paz.

Anyway, assuming all’s well, we’ll be leaving La Paz again, tomorrow morning. This time we’re heading back south (once more across the Tropic of Cancer), bound ultimately for Puerto Vallarta. If weather allows, we’ll be making a stop at Isla Isabella en route. (More on this later….)

Oh, yes, and finally to our change of plans. The Ecuadorian government has been fickle of late, seemingly unable to decide whether it likes cruisers or not. Regulations for visiting yachts (to the Galapagos or to mainland Ecuador) seem to change on a dime and, unfortunately, the most recent trend has been a more hostile stance. We’d been waiting anxiously to hear reports of the first of this season’s yachts to visit the Galapagos, and the reports we have gotten have been quite unfavorable – increasingly expensive, increasing restrictive and open to any official’s interpretation. So, boaters are being charged whatever it is deemed they might be able to afford, and can no longer visit any other than their original port of entry. Well, long story short, we felt the additional 1200 miles we were prepared to sail to get there wasn’t worth the hassle. I was looking forward to this destination as a highlight of the trip so you can imagine the disappointment is real. But, perhaps in the future, by different means, we’ll get there one day… Instead we’ll be sailing to the Marquesas in French Polynesia directly from the Mexican coast. A lot less distance than our Galapagos detour, and more reliable winds…

Stay tuned!

The Tropic of Cancer

The trip from Turtle Bay was pleasingly quick and to the point (~44 hours). We entered Magdalena Bay, further south along the Pacific coast of Baja, and were welcomed by a randy pod of grey whales. Apparently they’re breeding, and so it seemed. We were under full sail and cruising along, apparently picturesque from the perspective of the many surrounding pangas of whale watchers. We soon became the subject of the sated whale watchers’ cameras. We were pretty pleased with ourselves, and super excited by our brush with the behemoths.




We anchored in Man-o-War cove off of Puerta Magdalena, and met up the following day with Mark and Michelle of s/v Cheers, who had offered to procure fresh produce for us. They are Captain and head naturalist of m/v Sea Lion, a cruiseship sponsored by the National Geographic Society. They were gunkholing in Baja, on a vacation cruise of their own, and got a hefty supply of the fresh stuff from the cooks aboard the Sea Lion. No scurvy in our futures!

The highlight was a hike across the dunes that separate two large bays (Santa Maria and Magdalena), and a long stroll on one of the longest, remotest beach I’ve been so lucky to encounter. It’s about 10 miles long, and inhabited by no one. We were the only people on the beach as far as we could tell. The beach is nicknamed sand dollar (or Frisbee) beach, as it’s littered with sand dollars as large as an outstretched hand. It could also have been named Skeleton beach, for all the sea lion and dolphin bones scattered about. We even found a pile of sun-baked rays (or skates?). Other gems: vulture feeding on a sea lion carcass, blow spouts of more whales just off shore, tracks in the sand, beautiful shells, quaint little succulents sprouting out of the sand…. I could have stayed all day, but Ben dragged me back across the dunes, and finally we rowed back to the boat for a late lunch.

The following morning we left Magdalena Bay. Curiously, an octopus tried to hitch a ride, but finally agreed to let go of our anchor and inked along his merry way. We passed right back out the Bay’s entrance, and right back through the same pod of horny whales. The closest sighting was ~75 yards from the boat, and again we had to jockey around the whale watchers on our way out. A few hours later we were sailing at a nice clip, and were lucky to be visited by 3 Common dolphins. They swam at the bow for a good while, happy enough to accommodate our photo-snapping frenzy.

The wind blew for awhile, but petered out by late evening, so we motor-sailed the rest of the way to Cabo San Lucas. In the middle of the night we had one momentous event, crossing the Tropic of Cancer (i.e. latitude 23 degrees, 25 minutes north)! With this crossing, I can definitively say, this is the point at which it has now become hot. And it will only get hotter still…. With dawn we skirted around the edge of a shallow bank off the coast (ie, where fish like to hang), and counted 28 sport-fishing boats in one tight wad. We made landfall in Cabo mid-day on February 19th. The landscape really is breathtaking, so it’s hard to deny what no doubt has been a pressing urge to develop up to the eyeballs. The rocks are cool on the way in, the sand beaches stretch on forever, and the terrain is rugged. We really had to elbow our way in to the harbor, jockeying for space with ferries, pangas, sport-fishing boats, cruiseships, parasailors, one sea turtle, bazillions of juvenile pelicans, and jet skies galore. We stopped in long enough to fuel up, and turned around and left, bound for more tranquil territory.

Now for more wildlife encounters. A shark (only evidenced by its dorsal fin) and, shortly thereafter, some other creatures that we never could put our fingers on. Basically, two largish pectoral fins of something (dark on one surface, silvery on the other) would protrude a good foot or two above the water’s surface, without any clue to what these were attached. It seemed this would only be possible if the animal were floating on its back. It would just float on by, as if sleeping. Apparently sword fish sleep on the surface… Maybe it’s some big game fish? Marlin? Could it be a large sea turtle? But upside down? Or maybe a sea lion, lollygagging? Seriously, you’d think a veterinarian might at the least be able to differentiate between a fish, a mammal and a reptile, right? Anyway, whatever they were, there were a lot of them – somewhere between 1 and 2 dozen! About an hour later Ben and I were both below decks, lollygagging as well. Suddenly there was a thump, and there sat a juvenile pelican, at the bottom of the steps, startled by himself, but obviously more hungry than startled, because then he gaped. Then he thought better of it, and started to back up. He stumbled into our main cabin (bedroom), and when he couldn’t back up any further, he tried to climb up onto our bed. So, I grabbed Ben’s fleece (note, not my own), and used it to pick him up. With some staggering and tripping about, I carried him up on deck, and with a little more ado, he finally plopped back into the water, and didn’t even seem too offended by the whole affair. Anyway, a friend of his was waiting for him. It wasn’t until about 20 minutes later that I realized that he and his friend were following us. The pelicans around here are accustomed to fish entrails and bycatch, thrown off the fishing boats. I felt bad we didn’t have fish guts to offer, but was also bothered by my conscience about the whole affair. Do I hunt for some canned tuna to make both of us feel better? O do I abide the naturalist’s lecture: “don’t feed the wildlife.” While I struggled with this he threw up his wings and flew off.

So that leaves us…still en route to La Paz. And, bound for a second trip across the Tropic of Cancer, as we head north up the Sea of Cortez side of Baja. We’ll be there shortly, with plans to stay there, and at nearby islands, for several days before we head back south.

I hope all is well in love, life and work!

PS- We have moved accompanying slideshows to Pangaea's photo album link at the top right of the screen. Go there for more pics from Magdalena Bay to La Paz.

Bienvenidos a Bahia Tortugas!

We arrived in Turtle Bay, about half way down the Pacific coast of Baja, after a two-day motor-sail from Ensenada. Not much wind to speak of; just enough to top up our engine’s capacity, but we made on average 6 knots an hour. We stayed within 20 miles of the coast, and enjoyed the view. We saw blow spouts at a couple points along the way, belying the massive gray whale hulks below the surface, coming up for air. Dolphins joined our bow wave for a ride, and pelicans were on the hunt, headfirst.

Moon set was a bewitching sight. A narrow, smiling sliver of a crescent moon set around 10 pm, turning orange before slipping below the horizon. And then the stars shone in a pretty raucous display; it’s almost dizzying. On the first early morning watch (starting at 5 am), after some time watching stars I came below to check our position. I popped my head back up top for a glance (about 4 minutes later), and we were nearly engulfed in fog. Fade to gray. The fog stuck around for 6 hours, and then mercifully lifted just like it had settled. Luckily no objects had loomed abruptly in our path in the meantime.

We made a daytime arrival to Turtle Bay, miracle of all miracles, and dropped anchor in about 30 feet of water. This little dusty port town (Puerto San Bartolome) is surrounded by stark, but architectural mountains of nuanced shades of pink to brown to gray. Dust is pretty monochromatic when you look at it up close, so the splashes of brilliant color peeling off dilapidated structures about town is a real joy. The people are warm and kind. We like it so much we’ve decided to stay a few days in all. Yesterday afternoon was spent visiting with a fellow cruiser that we met in Ensenada, Wayne on “Moonduster,” trekking through town to find tacos (no problem) and an internet café. We rode our dinghy ashore, elbowing our way to the pier through a throng of pelicans, who seem pretty unimpressed. Dinner was a potluck on “Moonduster” with Wayne, and joined by other cruisers Mark and Michelle on “Cheers.”

Today some chores. Ben’s finishing up the watermaker, and needs to dive on the propeller to dislodge what we suspect to be a nice fist-full of kelp. I will be cleaning, just like a good swabee. Hopefully this afternoon we’ll have time to explore the shores in our dinghy. It appears there’s some good beachcombing to be had.

What next? I think we’ll leave tomorrow, next stop Magdalena Bay. We’ve been hearing beautiful things about our next destination. The weather reports give us no wind to speak of for the next week, so we’ll motor our way south once again.

Stay tuned!

Ciao!

So, everyone has heard this: we're leaving next Monday, I mean Thursday, make that the following Tuesday...Christmas, New Years Eve, Birthday....sometime next week....and so on. Can we say: circumstances conspired? And now we're tapping our feet, waiting for the weather to look "typical Southern California." These days it has been one storm after the next, with landslide warnings inland, and gale warnings at sea. In contrast, Baja has seen calm weather, ie no wind. But, if the weather forecast is correct, we're there!! Tonight, in the wee hours, we're saying our farewells in San Diego.

We're timing our departure for a daytime arrival in Ensenada, Mexico, and we'll stay there a day or two to check in to the country. From there on out we're officially cruising! By now we have left ourselvs ~ 1 month in Mexico - not what we had planned but it will suffice. We'll hop down Baja, but won't have much time to explore the Sea of Cortez on the opposite coast of Baja. That's a shame, as it's famously pristine and teeming with marine life. Another day....

Puerto Vallarta will be a home base for awhile, then on to Acapulco, maybe Zihuatenejo just north of there. We aim to leave that coast ~ March 1st for a bee-line to the Galapagos! What a dream come true for any student of biology. Finches, giant tortoises and marine iguanas await. A recent book I read explains that, it isn't what's unique about the Galapagos that is so intriguing, but rather the way in which it so typifies the story of evolution. The process of evolution is somehow amplified on island groups, leading to vast speciation, but also suffering high rates of extinction. Regardless, it gives me goose bumps in anticipation. And the wildlife just go about their business.

We have been sifting through tips, warnings and recommendations from other on-line cruisers about obtaining proper permits for the Galapagos. It appears Ecuador changes its mind twice a year. This has left a meddled confusion, but this we will need to get used to - customs and immigration beauracracies add a little spice to the experience (and the US is no exception as any of our foreign friends would report).

The trip to the Galapagos is ~ 1200 nautical miles (as the crow flies), which we expect to take ~ 10 days. But, we're at the weather's mercy so, we get there when we get there..... We'll request a 2-week permit which should allow us time in two ports, on two different islands in the archipelago. We'll join naturalist-guided tours to explore the islands in more detail than we can from our boat. Lots of opportunities exist, like hiking, swimming with sea turtles, visiting tortoise breeding centers, spelunking, diving and snorkeling. My dad and step-mom Kristin will join us for our last week there, and will stay to accompany us on the next, and longest, passage, from the Galapagos to the Marquesas in French Polynesia. That's about 3400 miles, and roughly 3 weeks at sea. That's when the island hopping begins! The rest of the spring and summer (oops....fall and winter) we'll hop from the Marquesas (+/- Tuamotus), Society Islands, Cook Islands, Kingdom of Tonga and Fiji. We'll point our bow toward the North Island of New Zealand by October of 2008 and we'll wait out the Christmas and New Year holidays there. What then? You'll just have to tune in and see...... But, really, if any of you might like a little tropical adventure, send us an email and we'll get the details worked out. We would love to have visitors!

I'm sure you will all rest easy in knowing that Ben and I watched a reality survival show from a tropical island on the Discovery Channel, so we now know how to open coconuts on the beach without the benefit of a tool. And, the oils make a good sun block! We may need a little work honing our spear-fishing skills though.

Peruse through this latest set of photos of our now fully put-together sailing vessel. It has taken us awhile to get here, but look at what has been accomplished! Ben has done such an amazing job installing and wiring pretty complex systems (every last one of them!) and even completed construction of the refrigeration box with his new and handy fiberglassing skills. You'll notice we've got food crammed in every nook and cranny. Enjoy the tour.....

....and, please, keep in touch! (updates, chit chat and gossip are welcome. You don't want us to go stir-crazy with only each other for company, do you?)

Westward Ho!!