Across the Blue

Not a huge crossing.  Enough, though. We made it. 

Naturally, the wind was in our face the whole time.  It was 36 hours of pure two-engine motoring.  I tried everything.  We tacked and the wind would shift.  We changed course and the wind would die.  For 36 hours the wind was our sworn enemy. Not just unhelpful, but downright antagonistic. 

But we made it.  There were dolphins.  There was a bit of on-the-way work in the engine rooms. Mahi.  Sushi for dinner and hot coffee always in the French Press.  Epic sunrises to start our days and epic sunsets that marked the beginning of the night shifts.  

Dolphins!

Not too shabby…

I had to push the engines a little, just to keep us averaging 5 knots.  With the wind in our face and a bit of current working against us, it made forward progress seem impossible.The good news is that the engines kept their end of the bargain – except for a fuel-related issue (fungus in the damn fuel tanks again).  No issues to speak of, mechanically.  We also made enough energy to keep a second freezer cool, which allowed us to have ice, more meat, and ice-cold beer (for when we finally drop that anchor – it’s always a dry passage). 

The other Dolphin

Night motoring was easy.  No wind, no sailing, and nothing but long rolling swells.  Ana and I took shifts in the Captain’s Chair, I napped outside next to the cockpit.  Des kept us fed and happy and was nothing if not a pleasure to be around.  On passage we found that Des is our most serious fisherman, much moreso than me (or anybody else I’ve had onboard).  We drank lots of French-pressed Colombian coffee.  We trolled lines behind us and managed to pick up a Mahi, which we promptly made sushi out of.  Fresh sushi while on passage is a hell of a treat.  We had dolphins play up front and marveled at the deep blue of the ocean when the bottom is thousands of feet below you.  That color blue is impossible to recreate.  You can’t describe it.  And it’s impossible to counterfeit.

The Sushi Treat

Rolling Sushi Underway

With all of our attempts to use the wind only to have the wind pushing against us, we lost time.  So rather than sail all the way across San Blas on our passage – I decided to cut our passage time a little and come into the Eastern end of San Blas while we had good light.  The change in course cut our passage by 20 or so nautical miles.  This gave us the chance to explore Cayos Raton, catch a good night’s sleep, and give the engines a break. 

Coming in

Approaching Cayos Raton we were greeted by schools of Bonito that played and chased bait at our bow. The water was over a thousand feet deep until we were nearly on top of the island.  Then, suddenly, we were in a hundred feet of water.  Then we talked through our route into the reef-strewn San Blas islands so everyone was on the same page.  We went through our anchoring procedure in advance.

Then we decided that champagne was the only civilized way to celebrate the passage, and should be the last part of our anchoring procedure.  And, lucky for us, we had a bottle chilling in the freezer. 

When we came around the island, we saw a group of three other boats.  We had neighbors.  And it made the already small anchorage into a minuscule anchorage.  It was difficult to find a place to drop anchor without putting NOMAD in somebody’s face.  So we passed the marked anchorage and nosed into two or three holes – eventually finding a spot far away from the other yachts, and not close enough to the coral to be immediately dangerous. 

As we were nosing around, one of our neighbors greeted us in their dinghy.  A Canadian family.  Then their cruising buddy came up and said hi.  Then our neighbors left and we dropped anchor.  Before I even turned off our electronics – our neighbors were back.  They wanted info about Colombia, as they were headed to the place we were coming from.  I invited them for a beer later, but before the sun left us I needed to see Cayos Raton underwater.  From the charts, the underwater topography looked promising.   These charts are from Eric Bahaus, who produces the only charts for Panama.  His accuracy is impressive.  

Raton, charted

The girls tidied up and dropped the dinghy while I shut down all the systems and got our diving gear out.  Twenty minutes later we were snorkeling around massive coral heads and I was missing my first fish in San Blas.  After the girls had a chance to look around we met back at the dinghy and moved closer to the steep reef wall we had skirted on our way in.  I knew it was a promising spot as soon as I saw it.  The reef went from about 30 feet to about 100 feet in a steep dropoff, studded by large coral heads and pocked by caves perfect for hiding snapper.

I was lucky.  On the first dive I caught sight of a small Dog Snapper at 30 feet.  I dropped down from the surface and glided down the reef wall toward him.  At 40 feet he stopped running down the wall and turned sideways – still well out of range.  And so I sat on the reef wall and began systematically relaxing muscles, waiting for his curiosity to work in my favor.  Like clockwork, the fish turned and approached me. One pass out of range.  The next in range.  Thunk.   The fish was now doing circles below me as I pulled us both toward the surface.  I was already planning my ceviche when I hit the surface.  Do we have avacado?  What about peppers?  We really need more fresh cilantro. 

At the dinghy, Des was waiting on me.  Since she was inside, I didn’t just toss the fish/spear/speargun into the dinghy – opting instead to take the fish off of the spear first so that the mess of steel and fish spines didn’t injure anybody.  That led to me the snapper going apeshit and escaping under a coral head and me letting out a long string of obscenities as I watched my hope of fresh ceviche disappear with my fish under a coral head.  We searched, but a smaller snapper like that is nearly impossible to find in the spiderweb of caves in the coral.  

My penance for losing a wounded fish is the end of my spearfishing for the day.  This was no exception.

We went back to the mothership and I dropped the girls onboard as I went to check our anchor underwater.  The anchor was far from set, but it was holding.  We only had one night here and I had both engines to get me out of trouble should it come – so I decided we were OK and climbed back onboard to find our new Canadian and American neighbors onboard.  They greeted me with a cold beer and I dried off as we exchanged information, swapped boat-maintenance headaches, and told stories.  Good whiskey was poured over small globes of ice as we made small and large talk with people who would have been good friends if we all weren’t parting ways with the sunrise.

The champagne came back out.

All was right in the world.

Across the Blue

Hello.  I’m Nate.  I’m sailing around Colombia on a Lagoon 380.  I used to update this site frequently.  I would ask your forgiveness for the tardy update, but I’m not good at asking for that. 

A coon’s age.  That’s how long it’s been since my last update. 

Long Time, No Post

Why haven’t I been writing here?  The truth?  I was busy.  I was working on the boat.  I was enjoying Cartagena.  I was tired of writing the same thing over and over.  Everyday was boat work.  Except the days that weren’t boat work.  Those days were fun.  On those days Kenny would swing by and tell me that he had a horrible problem and needed my help  most urgently. I would drop everything and come to his aid. Kenny had too many bikini-clad Colombian women and no guys on his boat, and he needed me to come and party with them in Cholon.  I would comply on those good days that weren’t boatwork.

And Now…

That’s all changed.  As I write this the sun is setting and we’re floating tranquilly in a bay with aqua-blue water that ends where the jungle begins.  The bay is stunning now, after the rain.  The birds are calling loudly.  The beer is very cold.  The air is cool and fresh. Tomorrow we sail to another country.  We’re leaving the country where they call me Gringo Dorado, going to the country where they call me Oso Dorado.  I’ll answer to either.  Nicknames are fun.

We.  That’s right.  It’s no longer a one-man show.  I have a Brazilian Marine Biologist onboard.  She has an easy laugh and likes organizing things.  My boat is clean and organized and that makes me happy.  She swims more than anyone I’ve ever met.  She can wrestle a twisted anchor chain back onto the gypsy and doesn’t mind getting dirty.  Her name is Ana. 

There’s another girl onboard too.  She’s called Des (or Dez, maybe).  She’s from New York.  She’s a chef (SCORE!).  She likes wine as much as I do and we’ve had fun drinking too much of it.  She brought bagels and cream cheese and Boar’s Head ham to my boat and I can’t think of a better surprise.  She’s a gem.  Did I mention that she’s a chef?  Yeah.  We are eating well.  Every. Single. Meal.  Is.  Awesome.

Tomorrow our boat-family sails to Panama.  San Blas.  I want another shot at the Grouper there.  I want a few days of diving the outer reef at The Swimming Pool.  I want to sail and remind myself why I’ve been working in the Hellish heat of Cartagena for the last six months.  I want to have more of the good problems – too many fish, beers too early in the day, too many friends around, too much Rum the night before, too many reefs to dive.  Too much fun. 

We left Cartagena, likely my last time in that city, just a few hours ago.  I left nothing there, I took nothing with me.  Cartagena was a big part of my life.  Bigger than I expected.  It was so much fun.  It was so goddamn hot.  It was so loud.  It showed me some things about myself, some that I liked and some that I didn’t.  It made me happy to walk the streets.  I loved the Plaza at night, the women, the Aquadiente and the street food.  I loved our pizza place where they treated us like family. Cartagena made me curse the boat traffic. I detested the filthy water.  The lady that sold cheap (and delicious) lunch under the shade tree, outside of the marina, became something like my Colombian mother.  She made a special meal for me every day, in her personal tupperware and she labeled it “Gringo” – because there was only one gringo that ate there and it was this guy. 

We left Cartagena today and I was euphoric.  We left Cartagena today and it was sad.  I left two people that came to mean quite a bit to me.   They meant enough that it was impossible to tell them, but the words didn’t need to be spoken because the feeling was mutual and it was completely understood.  We left, they waved, they hugged, they wiped their eyes. I was so happy to leave. Euphoric.  I WAS FREE.

Just a Reminder

As if Poseidon himself were watching me leave, the sails were raised and immediately we were hit by a squall.  It came out of nowhere.  Suddenly we were caught in 25 knots of wind with full sails and the wind just kept getting stronger.  Sometimes it takes getting caught with your pants down to remind you that clothes have their purpose.  I got caught.  Consider me reminded.  There was an Oh-Shit moment, followed by some really fun sailing. I bled a little and some sails flapped too much and we hit 9 knots – despite having enough food to feed a small country, enough water to irrigate a small farm, enough booze to supply an aircraft carrier, and enough fuel to power a small country onboard. 

The Lost Time

What, pray tell, have I been up to?  Well. Shit…  Boatwork (so much that even typing that word turns my stomach).  My sister visited (randomly) and we sailed a bit and I was reminded how nice it is to have an intelligent and strong family.  I’m lucky, and that’s something I can’t deny.  I’ve been hanging out with Kenny, who has become a very close friend and who has been shockingly generous with his time and knowledge.  I’ve been hanging out with Fernando, who helps me on the boat and has also become a very close friend.  We spend time like most men do – complaining and joking about women, complaining and joking about how much bullshit you put up with when you buy a boat.  We eat together and laugh together and drink together.  I had a fling with a very talented singer at what might be the best bar in Cartagena.  I dove and fished and cooked and sweated and cursed and bled and lived. 

I lived fully in Cartagena and that is The Truth. But now that’s gone and tomorrow we cross an ocean and go to another country and place ourselves at the mercy of The Ocean, the only God that I continue to acknowledge. 

San Blas, it’s time to suit up.  Game time.  Two girls and one shaggy gringo are coming to rabble rouse.  We’ll be there soon. We’re planning many sushi dinners and many rum drinks.  We’ll see you soon San Blas.

Long Time, No Post