It’s been kinda crazy around here.  Some work, some play.  My phone was stolen but it was in the middle of a night out;  I shared some fault in the ordeal. With no phone, I also have no internet access. And then, after I was without the phone for a couple of days, I realized how nice it is to be completely disconnected – so I decided not to spend money on a new one just yet.  The price of peace was my smartphone. 

But that’s not really worth writing about. 

Reality

If you’re one of those, here to be inspired – you might wanna skip the next month or so.  It’s still boat work.  The next month will be posts on gear and technical crap and me whining about the heat.  Of course, when I get real all the dreamers complain.  It goes like this:  Nate, you spend too much time talking about the boat, too much time talking about working on the boat, too much time talking about boat gear and installation.  Not enough time telling us about the dream.  Bullshit.   The dream turns out to be moments:  a sunset over an uncluttered horizon, a day of spearfishing fun, a daysail between two off-the-beaten path islands.  These dreamy moments stitched together with longer periods of challenge and hard work.  

Speaking to other folks that have prepared for similar voyages – the common thread is that preparation is two people working on the boat, full-time, for a year before they complete the refit.  Read that again:  it usually takes a year of full-time, unpaid, strenuous work to get a boat like this ready.  Some folks took two years, if they did it all alone.  Some it took a little less.   The cost of the boat is hardly the price of admission, it will amount to a single line item on a long receipt.  Don’t forget to count the blood and sweat and tears and countless hours and endless gear purchases – all following the purchase of the boat. 

So that’s the reality – this shit is technical sometimes.  This shit is dirty and sweaty sometimes.  This is about knowing what gear to buy, how to install it, and where to source it as well as (sometimes more than) sailing.  It’s about what spares to have onboard.  It takes tons of work to get set up for big crossings and sailing in remote locations.  Every time somebody tells me I’m living the dream, I can look down at greasy hands and filthy clothes and wonder what strange dreams they heave.  But any dream takes work. 

Since we’re being real today, let’s talk money.  It costs real money to buy this kind of boat.  It costs real money to refit this kind of boat.  It costs real money to sail and maintain this kind of boat. Defender.com doesn’t take IOU’s.  I tried to convince both the grocery store and the marina that they should let me pay with pocket lint.  The guys at the diesel dock just said “No entiendo” when I told them that I needed diesel but that I didn’t have money.  When I have to pay for visas, the officials become sullen when I explain that I’m paying with my goodwill.  

About as often as somebody tells me I’m living the dream, I get a request from a stranger to come onboard… (wait for it) …without any money. They want to come and sail with me, without paying for the place they sleep or what they eat or what they drink.  It’s like standing in line at a theme park without having the money for admission.  In short, it’s foolish.  They say they’ve always dreamed of sailing around the world – as if their dream is an established currency in their dream world.  I’ve taken two people without money onboard – one stole thousands of dollars from me and the other added money-problems to my already long list of things to think about.  Fooled me twice, shame on me.

The dreams of so many people are so far removed from reality.  You learn, as time passes, why harbors and boatyards are stocked full of derelict boats. Unfinished projects serving as gravestones marking the harsh reality behind the facade of idealistic dreams. 

You can do this with less money but not at this level.  You can do this with less work but you better be able to cash that check.  That’s the reality.  It’s not as shiny as the dream.

The Last Month in CTG

Back to the present. 

When I first got back to the boat it was with great relief.  The States just isn’t home anymore – the language of job worries and commuting and mortgages and weddings and insurance and baby showers is now foreign.  The longer that is foreign, the better I’ll feel.  Back in CTG I had a week to get stuff settled.  A week to decompress and prepare for a visit from a friend.

Look how nice the water is…

Said friend visited from the States and we took a short trip to the Rosarios.  A trip to Cholon, lots of rum, late mornings and long nights.  She left.  Then it was singers at bars and drama at beaches.  Then it was back to boatwork.  Weeks of sweating and bleeding and cursing boats in general.  The heat oppressing, we pray for cloudy days that rarely manifest.   A moment of humor and clarity – yesterday when I went to the dock I received a standing ovation:  it was the first time they’d seen me clean in months.  This work is dirty.

The good news is that I accomplished a fair amount.  I’ll start in the engine rooms. 

There was a final repainting of the engines.  This is my third shot at painting the damn things in the last year. The first time I used a Volvo Penta paint, assuming it would be a quality paint.  It was not and it began flaking and rusting within three months.  The next shot at painting the engines I used this stuff:

Engine Paint Fail

Word to the wise:  don’t use that stuff.  It may be good for high-temp, light-duty stuff.  It is certainly not good for heavy-duty or marine use.  Rubbing that paint with a soapy rag removed the paint.  So about two months after the application of that paint, I decided to scrub and scrape it off the engines again.  A-freaking-gain.  

I reckon the third time’s the charm. 

The third time around I vowed to never, ever use a single-part paint on the boat again – at least not on anything I care about.  Single part paints just don’t cut it.  Single-part paints are for hobbyists.  This time around I wanted an epoxy-based paint.  The epoxy-based paints adhere well and provide a heavy-duty barrier that prevents corrosion.  Unfortunately epoxy-based paints don’t do very well in high-heat applications.  But with a bit of searching I found a local, epoxy-based paint that tolerated heat – a two part paint of course.

So we spent another two days on each engine – scraping and cleaning and repainting in The Sauna (the engine rooms).  Eventually we got it done.  Then we needed to replace the sound barrier in the engine rooms.  I searched and searched and finally found what I wanted – in the States.  Getting it here would be a problem though.  The cost and trouble of getting my hands on it, though, bordered on ridiculous. 

So.  I made the damn soundproofing.  It’s two parts:  one piece of a heavy lead or rubber sheeting that serves to absorb the sound/vibration and another piece of mylar-coated insulation.  Lead sheeting was near-impossible to find here, but I found a heavy rubber (gasket material) that turned out to be a great substitute.  The process sounds simple, but it took a week.  We  removed everything mounted on the bulkhead, cleaned the surface, glued the two parts together, cut it, fit it, glued it to the bulkhead, and then sealed all the edges with the right tape.  It turned out well and it cost a fifth of the commercially available products Stateside.  The real investment was time.  You can see the result, behind the fuel filter below. 

Griffin Filters

Next up was replacing my old-school Racor fuel filters with the turbine fuel filters from Griffin.  I opted to go with Griffin over Racor based solely on price.  In the words of a good friend:  Racor’s not the only game in town.  For the price of one turbine Racor fuel filter I got two Griffin’s from John at dieselfitlersdirect.com.  For any and all fuel filter needs, these are my guys.  I added the vacuum gauges on top as a means of telling when I should replace the filters.  The vacuum gauges are a nice-to-have, not a must-have.  The turbine filters are a big upgrade over the twist-on Racors that I replaced, if only for ease of replacing the filter cartridge.  In addition I picked up 36 fuel filter cartridges – 36 of the new cartridges cost less than 6 of the old and occupy less space as well.  With freshly cleaned fuel tanks (and new inspection ports), properly treated fuel, and the new fuel-filtration system – I think the majority of my fuel problems are in the rearview. 

And that’s enough for today. 

Next up is the radar/transducer/GPS system installation.  New toys.  It’s just money, right?

Reality

It’s been awhile since I’ve updated.  I needed a vacation, so I took one.  The vacation included a vacation from updating the site, but not from writing.  Strangely enough, the vacation involved a trip back stateside – where most of my friends leave when they take vacation.

No reason for worry.  All is well.

I’m Back

After Dan left, I took some time to regroup and then did some boatwork and then got ready for a trip back “home” – to Texas.  Lauren took off for places unknown.  I was alone again and it was good.

There was some organization necessary to leave the boat.  Funny how something that provides so much freedom can be such an anchor when you try to leave it.

Leaving

The marina here was full.  There was a more expensive marina open, but I’m broke.  There was the ghetto marina down the way, but that was in the ghetto – and what I have onboard I’d like to keep onboard.  I could leave the boat anchored, but if we got a Cullo de Pollo (a storm with heavy winds/rain common here this time of year) my boat could drag or (more likely) another boat could drag into mine.

The solution came from somebody else.  Kenny was sailing a boat that he had been the unofficial guardian of back to Panama.  They were trying to sell the boat.  The boat was on the market here (Colombia) for too long, and the owner – a very wealthy Frenchman – decided Panama would be better.  Kenny was the guy in charge of moving this boat from Colombia to Panama.  The reason this mattered to me was that the boat was effectively moored here, though technically moorings are illegal.

But sailors are an inventive bunch, and probably have less respect for rules than most.

And so, to skirt the issue of a mooring – they’d simply dropped an 800 pound anchor in the bay and tied off to that.  The anchor is the best mooring I’ve ever ran across, but it was still an anchor – and therefore, if anyone cared – it was semi-legal.  Of course this is Colombia and there’s the everpresent question – who gives a shit?

A fair question.

So the Frenchman’s boat sailed to Panama, leaving this massive anchor to my disposal while I returned stateside to do silly amounts of paperwork and work on taxes and deal with things and see family and watch Netflix in A/C while ordering Chinese takeout.  Or Thai.

In order to nullify the risk of someone else’s boat bumping mine, or something going horribly wrong onboard without someone onboard – I left a local guy that I’d grown to trust onboard.  For about $40/day, he’d spend the day cleaning, waxing, etc – and watch my boat at night, in the case of a Cullo De Pollo.

There was only a small hangup in the plan, when I went to take money out and found that neither of my credit cards nor my debit cards were working.

That tiny issue compounded further when I needed to pay for overstaying my visa at the airport.  Explaining to the customs agent the irony involved in the situation – me trying to leave Colombia, and the only thing holding me here a charge levied against me for the crime of not leaving soon enough – afforded no reprieve.

I fixed it all, though luck was in play.  Nothing else was interesting about the travel.

Texas

Texas was the same as I’d left it.  Only the people had changed. People don’t really change though – more accurately their life situations had changed. Some of them, at least.  New kids.  Weddings.  Moving.  New relationships formed, old broken.

Back home I was greeted by a mother that was very happy that I hadn’t been abducted by a local druglord.  And it was a boat-Christmas event again – a huge stack of boxes from Amazon and marine chandleries waiting next to my bed.  Hot showers were an option for the first time in almost a year.  Air conditioning while sleeping.  But first I need food. And drink.

A good Mexican Martini and a pile of enchiladas made everything right in the world.  Colombia may be Latin America, but Mexican food is something they haven’t figured out.

People

I’d made the mistake, on a previous return to the state of Texas, of announcing a homecoming.  That led to too many people trying to squeeze in facetime to be relaxing, and those that didn’t get facetime ended up being disgruntled.  This time it was quieter.

Family visited first.  It’s funny that when I lived closer to them I didn’t put as much weight on seeing them.  With the increase in physical distance, the time spent with family has more value.  That’s a good thing.

Then I needed to move from the Houston area to the Austin area.  There was a wedding, and several groups of friends that I hoped to at least have a drink or two with.  My motorcycle didn’t fire up right away, which put a kink in the plans.

The battery, no doubt.

I tried charging it to no avail.  It was time for a new battery.

Naturally,  AGM sportbike batteries are in short supply in a town of 3,000 people. I went to a larger town, no dice. I needed to head back into downtown Houston to find the right battery in stock. So I did.

Then I was off, speeding through 100+ degree weather, in full riding gear, under a broiling sun, across the smoking pavement, riding a bike which constantly registered a temperature over 215 degrees F.  A suit crammed into saddlebags, a couple changes of clothes stuffed into a backpack.

Arriving in Austin was exactly what it was supposed to be.  I saw my dog.  Somebody who cared opened the door. I was greeted with a comfortable, if not familiar, place to lay my head and spend my time how I would like.  There were dates set for the wedding.  There was a group birthday party.  There were things, but not too many things.

But getting exactly what you think you want isn’t always what you actually want.

After the wedding and the birthday party and the trip to Lukenbach, Texas on the motorcycles and the deeper conversations with friend and the centering conversations with those who’d circumnavigated via sailboat – I had nothing to put effort into.  Which, I’ve learned, isn’t a healthy state.

Suddenly it was time to ride the motorcycle back to the Houston area and I was leaving and it was hot and everything was unfinished and there was never enough time and too much time.

Back in the Houston area we went to a Houston Texans preseason game.  Originally I thought it would be just something to occupy the time, something fun to do with Mom and the little brother.  It turns out, though, that even after leaving that kind of thing so far in the rearview – beer and nachos and football is fun.

Regresso

The airport was the typical struggle – too much crap and not enough space and TSA being jerks and me not having a return ticket so it appearing that I was staying in Colombia forever and them not understanding that a man can leave a country in a boat.   The flights being crammed and babies crying onboard.

But it’s nice to have a good excuse to tune out the world and read.

I hit CTG about 11PM.  Customs had a huge problem with me importing a Garmin GPS/radar combo, despite the large and clear markings “Yacht in Transit.”  Rather than argue, I played dumb gringo and assured them I would never, ever do something so stupid again.  That act is becoming my Ace in the hole.   How much of it is really an act I remain unsure.

Thanks to good friends here, my dinghy was at the dock when I got there.  When I got onboard the boat it was locked but the key was were it was supposed to be.  The boat was clean, organized, and better than I’d left it.

I packed everything inside, did a quick check of the major systems, and before I realized it I was asleep.

The next couple of days were an attempt to get back in the swing of things. I needed to get my life, here, back in order.  Cell data needed to be purchased.  The fridge cleaned out.  Groceries purchased.  Water hauled.  Aguardiente chilled. The bottom cleaned.

Having something to do, whether I did it or not, felt new.  Felt good.

In the same way that seeing friends and family felt good, it was good to leave them again.  I wonder if people really can grasp that. The feeling of forever leaving.  And it being right.

I was heading to the Rosarios soon, a bit of sailing needed to put the world in perspective.

I"m Back

It’s rarely enough time.  Ever.  In anything. Well, anything good – I suppose.  Dan was leaving and it felt like too soon.  We were headed back to CTG, and I wanted another week in San Bernardos.  We all did.  But the boring stuff we’ve named “real-life” was calling, and unfortunately we had to take the call.  I have a permanent “Out Of Office” voicemail, but not everyone is on the same wavelength. Alas.

Back in CTG

The way back to Cartagena from San Bernardos is against the wind and waves. There’s also a daily/nightly wind pattern in San Bernardos (and a very similar one in CTG) this time of year.  The wind typically begins picking up mid afternoon, and typically from the North.  It can climb from 8-10 knots to 20 or more until later in the evening – usually peaking around 10 or 11PM.  At that point it begins to slow down again, and (usually) by midnight or 1AM it’s back to almost nothing.  Motoring against 20 knots of wind isn’t something I planned on doing – so we picked up our anchor in San Bernardos about midnight.

With the anchor up, I dropped back offshore and made a very conservative curve around the barrier reef to open water.  Once out of the lee of the islands – we took a 5 foot sea on the nose, with about 5 knots of wind.  The wind was dying, but it had already worked the seas up a bit.  With both engines on, and not a shred of sail up – we were motoring about 5 knots.  50 miles is a long way at 5 knots…

Lauren and Dan crashed – I was solo again on the Caribe, in the middle of the night – just my electronics casting a dim glow in the cockpit and only the rumbling of the diesels to occasionally drown out the sound of the waves breaking over the bow.  NOMAD settled into a rhythm, and before I knew it – we were back in the Southern portion of the Rosarios.

Anytime I have to sail (or motor) through an island chain or reef at night – it increases the pucker-factor.  The SOP is to slow down to a crawl, and pretend like my life depends on following the previous GPS track (if I didn’t have a previous track, I wouldn’t do it) – all while paying very close attention to the sounds of the ocean.  You can usually hear a reef break before you can see it at night, unless there’s a full moon.

So we crawled through the Rosarios.

Once we got back into open water, the wind moved to a more favorable angle.  I raised the main, let out the genoa, and turned off one engine – all without stepping on, or waking Dan.

The sky started to turn pink, then orange, and then it was dawn and Dan started stirring.  He took the wheel while I napped, and an hour later I woke up to guide us into the bay in CTG.

 

Ol’ Cartagena

I really do love this city.  But the itch gets stronger everyday.  The feel of miles vanishing beneath the keels of NOMAD is one that I almost don’t remember. Still, there’s much work to be done.  There are systems to install, engines to repaint, things to fix, and things to improve.  And here I know the right people to help with the various projects – so it’s far more efficient to do most of that work here.

So coming back to CTG is bittersweet.

We arrived, squeezed into the anchorage, and shut everything down.  I was beaten – a full day of diving followed by a full night of navigating took it out of me.  So I told Dan and Lauren they were welcome to use the dingy, but that I needed sleep.  I went below, Dan and Lauren went to explore Cartagena again.   Dan’s got a sense of humor, so you should Google that hotel in the last picture.

 

Conversing with saints…

Posing…

Borracho

The infamous Hotel Caribe

And then it was evening, I was awake, and Dan and Lauren and I ate dinner and had drinks and talked.  Dan left mid morning the next day and then my life returned to being governed by boat-projects.

 

Back in CTG

Wrapping Up San Bernardos

We’d finally had some success spearfishing in Colombia.  The Rosarios didn’t produce much for me, but it was starting to seem like the San Bernardos might be the ticket.  Here we were able to land plenty of food-fish, and saw some fish that we could be proud of.  If we were lucky – we might get another chance at those fish in the latter category.

Wrapping it Up in San Bernardos

This was our last day in these islands.  Puffer Dan was on a schedule.  He’s all responsible and stuff.  And despite hating being on a schedule, I’m more than happy to make exceptions when friends come and visit.  Especially one that enjoys shooting and eating fish.  Or ones that look good in bikinis.  Dan falls into the first group – but unfortunately not the second.  Alas. 

I was a little foggy, but not bad, at 6:30 when I crawled out of my bunk.  The coffee was on and our morning smoothie was in the blender. That’s a nice way to wake up in paradise.  I took a look around and smiled and started going through the gear we needed to bring. 

We had the coffee, had our smoothies, packed our gear, and then headed with Payllo to make the daily gas run at the most populated island (people per square meter) on the face of the Earth.  True story.  At this island there are indeed many people.  And there are fish-pens.  The last part is cooler to me. 

In these fish-pens there are fish that the locals have caught and are raising.  They raise them and then either a) sell them to outsiders or b) have a big party and eat a big grouper/snapper/shark. In these pens was proof that there were good fish around.  Of course, the fact that all of these fish had been caught is also proof that these guys are hardcore fishermen.  With their nets and traps and lines – they catch a lot of fish.

On the ride out I got suited up again.  Payllo wanted to know where we wanted to go.  There was apparently another spot that we could try, but it would be closer to the island.  I’m of the belief that the best fishing is the furthest from the humans.  The honest truth is we manage to screw up the environment in many different ways, so getting away from that is the key. 

We dropped the “anchor” (a large rock tied to several lengths of ancient rope) in the same spot as the day before.  I flipped in, loaded my gun, dropped the flashers, and kicked off into the blue.  Today I was looking for The Ledge. 

The Ledge is where the “shallow” (50-60 ft) area drops off into The Abyss (? ft).  The Ledge exists in most good reef spearfishing spots and all good bluewater spearfishing spots.  Though, often, in bluewater spearfishing spots – The Ledge is several hundred feet under the water.

I kicked and kicked and kicked.  Eventually the hazy light-blue of the bottom faded into a deeper darker blue.  Here small schools of baitfish were hanging midway in the water column.  This was The Ledge.  I dove to 55 feet.  There I saw The Ledge.  The issue was it was another 30 feet to the top of The Ledge.  To get to the bottom of The Ledge, I’d need to be pushing 100 feet, freediving.  That’s pretty damn deep.  All of my freediving, recently, was restricted to 50 feet. 

I dove and dove, but wasn’t comfortable pushing it that deep.  If I’d been diving with some deeper divers or some certified freedivers – this story might have been different.  Needless to say, The Ledge was big enough to hold fish, it was deep enough to hold fish, but it was too deep to get to without pushing my luck.  With that realization I decided I’d hang around it and dive around it – hoping to bump into something pelagic with the same ideas I had about ledges near bluewater.

I had three fish in the bottom of the boat and a fourth on my spear, most from the area around The Ledge – when Puffer Dan swam up to me, blocked my way back to the boat, and shared some very important information with me.  He said, “the vis here sucks.” 

I think I told him to move, but I may have just ignored him.  You see – we were on the deep side of The Ledge.  We were in 200 foot of water or more.  Dan couldn’t see the bottom, so he thought the visibility was bad.  What he hadn’t grasped was that even if the visibility was 199 feet – he would only see blue when he looked down, here.

Dan was convinced the visibility sucked though, and in a few minutes I noticed him in the boat. Then Lauren joined him. Then I joined them both and we moved on.  Of course the other spot we were going to was 500 feet away, with the same visibility.

Here I switched to exploring.  I wasn’t finding much life here, but Dan managed to spear one of my favorite fish.  I swam around for a bit and managed to get a decent Cero Mackerel to come into the flashers, then I chased him and pinned him to the bottom with my spearshaft.  When I got back to the boat, I decided that was it for this spot. 

In the boat I was greeted with a pleasant surprise – Puffer Dan had expanded his target species (from puffers) to include Rainbow Runner.  I love Rainbow Runner.  Love.  They have a pink and firm meat.  Something between the red of tuna and the white of wahoo.  Closer to wahoo, but firmer.  Very tasty.  I learned later that Dan shot the Rainbow Runner, then brought it back to the boat and asked Payllo if it was a good fish before I got to the boat.  Luckily for all of us, it wasn’t just a good fish – it was a great fish. 

So when I saw this, I was a happy dude.  We had Cero Mackerel, Rainbow Runner, and Ocean Trigger for food.  Meaning we could cut up an epic sushi lunch, and then cook an epic fish dinner.  And we did. 

Fresh food!

Back onboard, I left Dan to butcher the fish while I took about 50 pounds of fish over to our friends at the hostel.  I was greeted warmly and though the travelers didn’t care, the locals were really excited and the hostel owners started feeding me beer again. 

When I came back to the boat I used a very dull knife to attempt to cut up sushi.  Dan inhaled the sushi like a Hoover while I tried to savor it.  Having fresh sushi, on the back of my boat, anchored over a reef in crystal clear turquoise water anchored off of some remote Colombian islands is something worth remembering. 

Fresh sushi

There were some rumors about a cockfight on the inhabited island.  I share no particular love for chickens, beside loving to eat them – so I was excited about seeing it.  When in Rome, right?  Dan even more excited when he learned that you could buy a cock, fight it, and then make money if it won.  He was in.  I was excited about the whole thing, hoping to have another genuine Colombian experience.

About this time, my friend Kenny sailed in from the Rosarios.  He came up next to us, we chatted quickly and he went off to anchor. 

Kenny dropping by…

Naturally, there was a mixup in dates and times on the cockfight.  Likely a combination of alcohol consumption and a language barrier.  And as we learned that we wouldn’t get to see a cockfight, my dreams of titling a post “Dan’s Cock” faded.  It was certainly a disappointment.

This, of course, opened up our afternoon. With some time, Dan was able to do some work on deck-cleaning (he’d sprayed suntan lotion on the decks and stained them), I was able to scrape the bottom (my guy in Cartagena screwed the pooch on this one), and Lauren worked on the wood. I did a quick once-over on the rigging and gear and then we went over to talk with Kenny.

Kenny learned we had cake onboard, so he came over and had desert, while we ate gnocchi and marinara and parmesan-encrusted chicken.  There were a couple of good stories shared, we talked about the rich that owned property here and the obvious ties to the obvious business the rich were obviously associated with here in Colombia.  Then I needed to take a nap – the way back was against wind and waves all night – as I moved my condoamaran back to Cartagena.  Kenny left and took a few pounds of filets back with him. 

An hour and a half later I crawled back out of my bunk, got stuff under control, and pulled our anchor.  We were heading back to Cartagena.  Dan was heading home.  I was going to be up all night.  We were all happy, but we all wanted way more time there.   

Very little of that was on my mind, though.  I was busy hoping for a smooth, issue-free ride back to Cartagena – against wind and waves that were predicted to be un poco fuerte.

Wrapping Up San Bernardos

 One of my best friends was onboard.  Lauren was hanging and tolerating us and cooking and stuff.  We were exploring San Bernardos, which we were enjoying thoroughly.  And we were working hard to find fish here.  The good news is that this morning, we had a local guide.  Local knowledge is key in this kind of thing – the ability to leverage 30-40 years of local fishing experience is important.  Very important.  Which is why I prefer the old fishermen. 

Out There In San Bernardos

Our guide – Payllo (Pay-yo) was in his late 40’s (maybe 50’s?).  Not ancient, but old enough to know where we can produce fish.  We had a quick talk about where we wanted to go, what we wanted to hunt, and how deep we could dive.  Then we jumped in his buddy’s launcha (panga) and headed out. 

I think he was a little skeptical about what we were about to do, how deep we could dive, etc. 

The islands began fading in the distance and the water got that deep-blue that I really love. Deep, blue water has come to mean big fish to me.  Some people get a little nervous in that kind of open water but I absolutely love it. Payllo told us it was over 100M underneath us, as the islands faded into the horizon. 

As miles of water passed beneath our little boat, I actually started getting excited.  Suddenly the deep blue turned to turquoise.  We were on a bank, part of a reef system that extended from the San Bernardos all the way up to the Rosarios.  Payllo dropped his anchor (a big rock, at the end of several pieces of ragged line) and I flipped over the side.  Dan and Lauren got geared up as I surveyed the underwater landscape.  This was good country.

Good Country 

There are things that I’ve learned to recognize as good signs when I jump into a new spearfishing spot in a new country in some remote part of the world.  The presence of some fish species (specifically the ones that blur the line between reef and pelagic), the amount of life, and the amount of structure (hiding spots for large fish).  In my initial scan I saw several Ocean Triggerfish (and their holes on the bottom), some holes in the reef, and plenty of life.  That’s enough to take a spot seriously.

We were in about 50 foot of water, with parts of the reef coming up within 35 feet of the surface.  The Ocean Triggerfish were everywhere, so I knew I was going home with plenty of fish.  I made a few dives to check out depth and warm up.  On my third dive a prehistoric-sized Ocean Trigger got overly curious and wound up in the bottom of our boat, after a stone-shot. Then another one.  Then I started ignoring all of the Ocean Triggerfish and switched to hole-hunting and scanning for the familiar outlines of snapper and grouper. 

We dove this spot for a couple of hours.  I found a school of Yellow Jacks, one of which I was able to put in the boat.  Then I called the dive, we moved to a different spot. We already had a ton of fish, so I was becoming much more selective.  Dan was struggling with loading his speargun, and I’d decided that he was just being a sissy – so I largely left him to his own devices.  The truth, I found out later – was that his speargun had shipped with bands that were WAY too short.  That’s a good way to screw up any spearfishing expedition.  Back to the story…

At the second spot there was less life. I’d largely decided that this wasn’t going to be a productive spot and started diving for lobster and crab, which is entirely different than spearfishing for larger fish.   When lobster and crab become the primary targets – you quit scanning for the outlines of larger fish.  You begin scanning for holes that may be productive, diving to the bottom and poking your head as far in the hole as possible, letting your eyes adjust, and hoping to see a crab or the telltale antenna of the lobster…

But as I was ascending from one of these dives, I saw something I would have never expected.  At first it was just an outline, then two.  I saw the telltale pelagic body shape, then as everything became clearer – I saw the pectoral fins of a species that I could identify in my sleep.  It was a pair of Wahoo cruising the bank – in 45 feet of water. 

They weren’t small wahoo either.  They were the kind that can take your gear if you’re not operating with a reel or a floatline.  Naturally, my reel had broken and I didn’t expect to get into pelagics – so I was running with my spear connected directly to my gun.  Not equipped for this kind of fish. 

But nothing risked, nothing gained. 

I kicked slowly behind them, hoping to gain a bit of distance on them.  I had no flashers to throw to attract their attention, I had no flashers hanging below me to bring them in – so I was playing a losing game as I tried to gain ground on the fastest fish in the ocean.

After a few minutes of kicking after them I’d managed to get above them, of course they were almost on the bottom, so they were still 45 feet below me and moving quickly.  I tried again to close the distance, but they were onto me.  A quick flip of their tail and my dreams of landing a big wahoo in the Caribe without reel or floatline faded into the distance. A bit of a bummer, but a massive boost to my determination and faith in this particular spot. 

As if we needed any more good news – Dan took a shot a big Amberjack (but missed).  All signs pointed to a fishy spot – especially for this part of the world.  Then we went back to the mothership, where Dan swam around a bit and found another amberjack but didn’t get steel into fish.  It began to occur to me that this could be the spot, at least in this area.

Dan cleans fish

We gave our guide some fish.  Then I took some fish over to our friends at the hostel.  They were happy to trade the fish for beer.  I was happy to trade the fish for beer.  Win-win, I reckon.  With this trade, I’d finally accomplished a pretty massive achievement onboard – trading fish (which I usually have plenty of) for beer (which I’m usually out of).  

Ceviche and Puffer Dan’s battle wounds

Back onboard I whipped up some ceviche, which Puffer Dan quickly began shoveling into his mouth.  Lauren made an angelfood cake, with whipped cream frosting, topped with fresh strawberries.  I could lie to you and tell you we weren’t eating like Kings and a Queen – but that would be a lie.   The above pic shows how bad loading Dan’s speargun was wrecking his stomach…  

Ceviche, con mango

That night we went back to the hostel and had a couple of drinks, then came back to NOMAD – where Lauren crashed and Dan and I sat up talking and solving the world’s problems, while we attempted to find the bottom of a bottle of Colombian rum. 

Puffer Dan and the Rum

But we didn’t get too crazy. 

Tomorrow we had another spearfishing date with our guy Payllo, but this time an hour earlier.  And it was open season on any edible fish – the hostel wanted as much fish as we could give them.  And I was bringing my flashers and Dan was bringing his floatline.

We would be ready in case some of the larger underwater species made an appearance.

Out There In San Bernardos

We were trying to figure out the best way to get down to the San Bernardos islands.  The issue was that Puffer Dan (more on this nickname later) was on a schedule, and the weather was looking a bit fuerte.  You see – Dan still had responsibilities that I’ve long ago shrugged off – a job, a big mortgage, a wife.  Poor guy. 

Lauren was still onboard, she decided to hang out and explore with us.  So we needed to get down to San Bernardos in a timely fashion, but I really didn’t want to have two seasick greenhorns onboard.  The good news is that the way down wouldn’t be bad – we’d be going with the wind and waves, it was the way back that was going to be less fun.

But nothing risked, nothing gained.

Vamos A Los San Bernardos

We decided to leave in the middle of the night.  The islands were about 50 miles away, and with a little luck we’d get there when the light started to get good – so I could get in close and drop the pick where I wanted.

That afternoon the wind was gusting to 30 knots.  I tried to catch a little nap during the day, but there was too much to do.  I laid down for a couple hours after dinner, and then at 11 PM my alarm went off.  Dan and Lauren were still up – they’d been drinking and playing cards. 

I did some last-minute checks, then started the engines and had my coffee.  We were ready.

As I pulled out of the harbor and turned left (South), there was exactly zero wind.  The waves were predicted to be about 3 meters, but they were closer to 2 meters – with long periods.  What was predicted to be a fast run down the coast with too much wind and fairly large waves – turned into a casual motor down the coast. 

Lauren crashed first.  Then Dan.  Then I was alone, at night, in the Caribe.  It was bright and peaceful and gave me time to think about how much it took to get here, and how much further I have to go.  All good things.

I managed to get a little wind at some point and raised the main and let out my genoa.  We went from a scathing 5 knots, to a blistering 6 knots (with the sails up).  Then we were in the middle of the Rosarios.  I slowed down a bit and navigated very carefully through the maze of coral and reefs that make up that island chain.  Then I was free again, but the Rosarios blocked the wind (and waves) – giving the night a surreal feel.  Like I was motoring across my own private, black glass ocean – the light of the moon almost perfectly reflected on the glasslike surface.

The sky started to turn pink, then orange and we were getting close.  Dan stirred a little.  Eventually he moved around, and since I was nodding off at the wheel – we switched off for a couple hours. 

Finally off shift…

Puffer Dan in the captain’s chair

I napped.  When I woke up the sails were slack again, and we were only two miles out.  I grabbed the wheel from Puffer Dan, and within an hour we had dropped the anchor in a sandy patch over a reef in crystal clear water.  That’s not a bad way to start one’s day. 

I jumped in to check the anchor. Or really to check the reef, but I used the correct excuse.  The reef right underneath the boat was vibrant.  No 50 pound Black Grouper came up to greet me, but there were fish and there was life and the coral wasn’t dead.  The anchor was fine, but I knew that before I got in.

I kicked around a bit, exploring our new parking spot – then Dan jumped in and I went below to grab a few hours of shut-eye.  Beautiful place or not, nobody likes a grumpy captain.  As an aside – Dan took alot of selfies on this trip.  I think that’s funny, so I’m going to use his selfies to illustrate.  I hope you enjoy Dan’s obsession with selfies as much as I do. 

Puffer Dan relaxing after his brief stint as captain

By that evening, I was rested again and Dan and I decided to do some exploring while Lauren started cooking.  We found some interesting things, and went tried to find the end of a couple of underwater ledges – looking for places fish might be hanging. We explored some mangrove swamps, and found a hostel. 

Exploring San Bernardos, Colombia

Eventually we headed back, ate dinner, drank some rum, and went to bed. 

Day Two in San Bernardos

Puffer Dan and I were interested in spearfishing.  The catch, here, is that it’s the Caribe.  The Caribe just isn’t a spot for huge fish, though sometimes you bump into them by chance.  There’s another catch at places like this – the locals really hammer the fish population.  They eat anything that moves underwater.  But we were willing to work for it, and we hoped that would make up for any inherent lacking of fish. 

We went out that morning.  By 11AM we were done.  Very few fish, lots of work.  Plenty to see – just nothing worth shooting.  Certainly nothing worth writing about.  A quick nap and then we headed to find a local that a buddy told us about.  We needed a guide – local knowledge is always the key to good fishing, but it’s not something people share openly. 

We found our guide, he wanted to go out the next morning.  We agreed, 8AM was kickoff.  Then we went over to the hostel.  The hostel is in the middle of the water, and is run by three cool guys – who all enjoy their party.  One is Colombian, one is from Kentucky, the final is from Sweden (I think?).   Anyways, we were warmly welcomed. 

The second story of said hostel…

Puffer Dan and Captain Ron at the hostel

The good life

We drank there and I started a conversation with a guy working on his outboard motor.  We hit it off, he told me there was good fishing in the area – and suggested we go into the mangroves at night looking for pargo (snapper). I thought that sounded interesting, so we planned on it.  I felt alright about night diving in a mangrove swamp with spearguns mostly because our guide’s name was Jesus. 

Dan, Lauren and I went back to the boat and had a snack, then we returned for our night dive.  Naturally our guide, Jesus, was a little late.  We got out there eventually, jumped in, and started kicking around looking for edible fish.  I ran into a couple of small barracuda, then a couple of small snapper.  Then a couple of large pufferfish.  Then I heard Dan shoot. 

My involuntary reaction was to begin shaking my head, underwater – though nobody was there to see it.  I had a feeling Dan got excited and pulled the trigger on that puffer.  I wasn’t wrong.  When I got over there I shined the light on Dan’s quarry – said a few choice words to Dan and then left him to figure out his mess. 

I can see where some people might think I should have helped Dan get his shit together.  After all it was very dark, it was unfamiliar territory, I have a lot more experience in the water, etc. But I’ve been sailing/diving/spearfishing with Dan in more than one country – and in those countries he fails in fish ID.  So much so that his nickname when we were in the Bahamas was Puffer Dan.  It seems that the oversize heads of pufferfish are a very attractive target to Dan.  Whatever country or ocean he might be in. His nickname became official on this trip. 

So I left Dan and kept diving.  I scoured the rest of the mangroves, then came back.  Naturally Dan was still struggling with his pufferfish.  Eventually he got his shit together, and we moved to a different spot.  There I jumped in again and got to kicking around.  I watched a Tilefish move through my light beam, saw a couple juvenile snapper, and then heard Dan shoot again.

Again, involuntarily, I shook my head and started toward Dan.  With very little to show for my diving thus far – I jumped back in the dinghy to find Puffer Dan and see what foolish fish let him close enough.  He came up and told me he had no idea what it was, but that it was probably a Mangrove Snapper.  Mangrove Snapper is a tasty fish, so I was happy and hopeful.  It took Dan 10 minutes to get the fish out of the mangrove roots – and when he did I began yelling at him again.   It wasn’t a Mangrove Snapper.  It wasn’t any kind of snapper.  He’d just put two words together “Mangrove” and “Snapper” because we were in a mangrove swamp and he knew we were looking for snapper.  This f*cking guy. 

I called our mangrove-night-diving-spearfishing-fail and explained to Dan that he wasn’t allowed to pull the trigger anymore, fairly harshly.  What a dummy.  To be fair – spearfishing at night in murky water in a mangrove swamp doesn’t make fish-ID easy.  And to be fair – I actually enjoyed the dive, it was cool and slightly creepy.  Nothing I’d done before, but something I’d do again. 

So we dropped off Jesus and headed back to the mothership. We all felt like having Jesus with us on a spearfishing expedition should be better luck.

Before leaving for the mangrove-night-diving-spearfishing-fail, I’d dropped my green LED fish light in the water – as a homing beacon.  When we arrived at NOMAD there was a veritable underwater zoo around the light.  Several schools of baitfish were visible on the surface, and it got cooler when we got in.  I turned on the lights on my arch, and with those lights and the underwater LED green light (and our dive lights) – we were able to see quite a bit under the boat.  There were schools of baitfish and squid, and if you were sneaky – you could find the predator fish on the edge of the light.  Nothing huge though.

I crept around the edge of the light for a half hour, where I found a medium-sized Barracuda patrolling.  We had exactly zero fish onboard, so he was fair game.  I dropped to the bottom, turned off my light, and waited a bit – then turned the dive light back on and sure enough, he’d come back toward me to investigate.  For his curiosity I gave him a piece of steel, and then the game was on.  He went apeshit. 

Barracuda aren’t really “dangerous.”  It’s just that they have lots of teeth and get very agitated when you shoot them.  I learned that night how tough it can be to keep a light on an agitated Barracuda while pulling it in and not getting tangled in your line and not getting bitten.  I did, though, eventually get him in and put him away.  I dove a bit more – looking for lobster and crab and octopus.  I found none, so I cleaned our fish and cooked our first fish dinner of the trip – at 11PM. 

Then we crashed. We had another spearfishing trip, starting at 8AM the next day.

Vamos A Los San Bernardos

I spent a few days hiding in my cave (my bunk, with all the shades drawn).  Bad shellfish were the likely culprit.  Lauren was ill also, so the boat was pretty quiet for a couple of days.  Then we came back to life and did a little boatwork and a lot of relaxing.  I managed some freediving, but never saw shootable fish – so the spearfishing was a bust.

Moving Around Colombia

Rather than only using words to explain geographic movement, how about a couple of screenshots that show where I’m moving around.  Here is an overview, with CTG at the very top, Baru, Rosarios, and Bernardos are all in red.

Colombia (Caribe) overview

Here’s a closer view of Baru and the Rosarios….

 

Isla Baru and Rosarios, Colombia

And, finally, here are the Bernardos.  There are some rumors of fish at the Bernardos.  I hope they’re true.

San Bernardos, Colombia

Eventually we packed it up in Baru and headed back to CTG.  We decided to leave fairly early, though it was only 20 miles.  Of course, the wind and wave predictions were completely off.  When we made it out of the bay, we were forcefed 15 knots of wind on the nose, and 8 foot slop – with short period waves (also on the nose).

Lauren made pancakes that morning, and ate way too many – a rookie move when you’re heading out into the ocean. Fifteen minutes into the trip back to CTG she wasn’t feeling well.  These are learning experiences, she was learning. The trip should have taken three hours or so, but it took four – with both engines wide open.  I wanted to push the engines a bit anyways – it’s good to run them hot a little every so often.

I didn’t mind the ride at all, given some of the crap I’ve pushed through – this was gradeschool recess.  Hardly a test.  But we did have some waves break over the bow, and I didn’t have a chance to raise a sail until we’d made the turn back into the bay in CTG.  Once back, I found a spot close to Club Nautico and dropped the anchor.  One of my neighbors came out on deck to yell at me and tell me that Club Nautico would tell me I was too close – which was crap.  Club Nautico only cares that you pay an outrageous fee to dock your dinghy there (I’ve managed to skirt around that too).  What my neighbor was really trying to do, was to get me to move – but he was going about it in a particularly chickenshit fashion, by trying to make it seem like someone else cared where I anchored.  I’m long past letting crazy old sailors tell me where to drop my anchor, I smiled, waved and yelled back “We’ll see.”  He wasn’t happy having his bluff called, but I cracked an anchor beer and forgot about him.

Then I got sick again.  Same thing, but not as bad.  Fever, chills, aches, and a really upset stomach.  A couple of days after that I was alright again, but now the boat projects were pressing.  My nice clean engine rooms now had saildrive oil in them and a small amount of engine oil in them… Honestly, most sailors would just wipe it up (or not) and carry on.  a little oil in the engine room is par for the course. I couldn’t handle the oil in there though, so I cleaned it all up, pulled the offending parts and began replacing O-rings and oil-seals.

About 9PM the other night we were greeted with a little Cullo de Pollo (a squall).  Nothing too crazy on this one, but we saw about 30 knots of sustained wind, some gusts higher, and a bit of rain.  We’d dropped my oversize anchor and more than enough chain in the right position, so we held.  But other boats were dragging anchor all around us.  I admit to smiling a little as I watched the drama unfold – my neighbor who was unhappy with my anchoring earlier, now realized that he had many more problems as other boats (but not NOMAD) were dragging anchor towards him.  I just had a drink and sat in the captain’s chair and watched until I got bored.  Then The Sopranos called me and I went below to answer that call.

Dan The Man

I have a buddy, his name is Dan.  He decided to come visit.  He likes to spearfish.  He’s a good friend, one of my best – so I’m allowed to say mean things about him.  Males of our species are funny that way, we usually say mean stuff to each other as a way of showing how much we care.  Anyways.

Dan showed up yesterday.  I was running around organizing bottom cleaning, saltwater pump rebuilds, and finding O-rings when he showed up.  I grabbed him at the dinghy dock and took him and his plethora of boat-parts out to NOMAD.  Whenever someone comes and visits – it’s a boat-Christmas.  He changed clothes and I took him on a mini boat-parts-search through Cartagena.  Then we grabbed food.  After lunch, Dan promptly fell asleep in the middle of our workspace and didn’t move until dark.  Very considerate.

After Dan’s all-day nap, in the middle of my workspace, as I slaved and sweated and bled and cursed to get the boat ready to go, so Dan could get some spearfishing in while he was here – we went into town. For some reason Dan had a ton of energy, and I was beat.  Lauren had coffee three different times yesterday – so they were chipper.  I was looking for a way to get back to the boat and get some sleep.  We ate, then grabbed beers and walked and talked and explored a little.

Eventually we headed back to the boat.  On the boat, we poured drinks – but I didn’t even socialize.  I just took the drink downstairs, finished it, and then fell asleep.  A good night’s sleep was needed.

The weather isn’t cooperating right now.  I really want to head to the Bernardos, so does Dan.  The trip down will be something like 45 miles. No problem.  But Dan only has a few days down here, and we have to get back.  Sailing on a schedule again…

Right now it looks like I’ll sacrifice a night’s sleep to get NOMAD down to the Bernardos.  I actually like sailing at night.  It’s nice every once in a while.  The plan, right now, is to do all of our last-minute stuff (shopping, water, fuel) today and then organize the boat for a night-exit.  We’ll leave about midnight, and head out into the sloppy stuff – hoping to get there just a bit after daylight.

That really isn’t impressive, or worth writing about.  The thing that’s going to be interesting is getting back.  We’re on a schedule, and that means that if this weather pattern holds (a strong North wind/wave combo) – we’ll be motoring against strong wind and waves on the way back.  Not fun and tough on the boat.  That means I can only plan on 4 knots, too – which means that trip will take 12 hours on the way back.  Lame.

All that said, it feels good to get moving again.  If the Bernardos do have fish, we’ll find them – and I’ll finally eat some fresh fish again.  Finally…  If not, this will just be another boatwork interlude. Either way, we’re moving and we’ll be diving soon.

On that note, it’s likely that I won’t have service there – so there may not be a post for a few days.  Stay tuned as I work that out.

 

Moving Around Colombia