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Racing Out of Our Comfort Zone

“There’s cheap beer and tacos up at PV Sailing tonight!” announced our new friend and La Cruz dock neighbor Tami on Andiamo III one afternoon last week. Without thinking twice, we packed up the kids and headed over.

It turned out to be a meet and greet for cruisers and local sailing vendors and we enjoyed meeting all sorts of new folks. And while the beer was very cold and cheap and the tacos muy delicioso, the goal for the evening was to get boats to sign up for the Banderas Bay Blast, a four-day charity fun-race being held the following week.

As dusk fell, the girls were tired and had had enough of our yakking and we quietly snuck out with them. “It would sure be fun to do a race like that someday,” I said to Michael. “Hey…maybe we should do it now?”

“Let’s go for it!” he replied and I ran back inside to put our name down on the list of race boats.

One of our goals for this trip is to not pass on opportunities that lie outside our comfort zone, which we tend to want to do, as do most people I assume. There’s been a number of chances we could have taken in the past – both large and small – and few things are worse than regret at “what would have happened if we had…?” Whether it’s taking a job opportunity in Alaska, or sailing across an ocean, or just talking to someone we really want to meet, we are learning not to let these types of adventures pass us by.

Riding a panga in through the Punta Mita surf to the after-race moonlit beach dinner

Sailing in the Banderas Bay Blast was not to be one of them. Believe it or not, it was the very first time I have ever raced a boat and Michael’s first since he was a kid. We were a little nervous at what to expect as we motored Wondertime up to the start line but with the help of our crew (the Del Vientos, who we originally met in Olympia when they drove through in their car on their way to their boat in Mexico and who our girls are over the moon to have now reunited with in La Cruz) we soon had the sails up and were across the starting line right on time. With a bow full of giggling girls, we tacked back and forth across sunny and warm Banderas Bay all afternoon, making our way to Punta Mita and the finish.

We certainly weren’t the first to cross the finish line, and it’s entirely possible we were the last in our class, but we didn’t care. It was an awesome challenge sailing upwind in very light air (yes, we can point higher than the big cats!) and as we and our crew took a panga ride to shore through the Punta Mita surf for dinner on the beach we were all grinning ear to ear.

The following day was the final leg, a downwind spinnaker run to Paradise Village (this one with just the Wondertime crew aboard). Once again, our sailing skills and patience were challenged as we struggled to keep the boat moving at a decent pace in the 5-8 knots of wind from astern. In the end, we folded that race as we were moving 1.5 knots still 6 miles from the finish with the time limit looming. No matter, we were hardly bummed at getting to our free slip at Paradise, enjoying a scrumptious dinner at the Puerto Vallarta Yacht Club and taking a dip in the huge pool.

While the two free slips and three parties had enticed us at the beginning to sign up for the Blast, it really was the racing that we’ll remember. I dare say that our sailing skills have improved a touch with the added factor of competition thrown in. I mean, we gybed our cruising spinnaker in three minutes flat! While Michael and I have sailed together as a team for years, it was an entirely new experience to try to do things quickly – which is what you do in a race it seems but not too often when sailing a slow cruising boat southward — and remain calm at the same time. And definitely not least, we also had an amazing day of taking our new friends out sailing.

As always happens when we don’t let an opportunity pass by, we gain much more than we ever think we will.

Click here for Latitude 38’s coverage of the Blast (with photos of the Wondertime girls tossing water ballons at the Poobah and Wondertime at the start line!)

Photo by Gato Go

Thoughts on a Crossing

450 miles, all barefoot

We arrived in La Cruz, in Banderas Bay next to Puerto Vallarta, nearly a week ago. It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and so we’d arrive in time for a nice big helping of turkey and mashed potatoes we sailed nonstop: south from Bahia Magdalena, past the taunting lights of Cabo San Lucas and then 275 miles across the southernmost portion of the Sea of Cortez. 450 miles, four days and nights of sailing.

Holly quietly passes the time underway

When I think of the distances it’s possible to travel nonstop on a small sailboat, our little trip was like a daysail. But for us, it was the longest passage so far on this journey. Along the way, I thought of so many things I wanted to write down but usually I was laying in front of a fan and didn’t feel like getting up. Now, it’s like looking back at a dream: some of it I strain to remember while other parts are unforgettable, details totally clear in my memory.

We left Bahia Magdalena in the late afternoon and inched our way south to Cabo that first night and day and night slowly, two and three knots at a time. We flew our spinnaker during the day then took it down at night and poled out the genoa to catch the very light following breeze. We rounded Cabo Falso in the early morning hours and were happy to have the wind pick up with us as we scooted around the cape, pointing the bow more easterly.

Once clear of Cabo the wind died down to nearly nothing so we took the opportunity to charge the batteries, depleted in the overcast skies. Then only an hour or two later the wind turned on like a faucet; a light norther was blowing down the Sea of Cortez, 20-25 knots forecast at times, and we were now in it.

Here is where the dream really starts: 20 knots of wind just slightly aft of the beam for days and days, or so it feels like. Our main is double-reefed, the genoa furled in a touch. Wondertime just romps along, delighted. This time, we are just passengers, reefing and unreefing as the steady northerly winds rise and fall slightly over the next two days. Miles and miles passing under our keel and all we really have to do is hang on and eat and play.

Our guest one afternoon

I’m trying to remember details but mostly it’s just feelings that come back: nausea and tiredness from holding on as the boat rolls to starboard again and again with the waves rolling down from the north; dry mouth trying to chew cheese and crackers (the only thing I can manage to serve up to my hungry crew for dinner that first night across), dripping with sweat in the humid, tropical 85-degree interior cabin, trying to keep my heavy eyes open during my 4 am watch.

The third day we are halfway across the sea, nearly 150 miles from the closest land. That’s when the magic happens.

It is night, the clouds have cleared, the crescent moon is not yet up and the sky is a mess of stars. The rest of the crew is below asleep, I am outside in the cockpit, Ulrich Schnauss on the iPod, gazing around in the blackness which is lit up by our phosphorescent wake. The boat is romping along through the night on the same port tack we’ve been on for a whole day and a half. Shoooosh, shoooosh, shoooosh. I feel like I am floating. Happy. Suddenly this seems so very easy. We could do this forever.

Maybe we will.

Sailing to San Francisco, in photos

Hover over photos for description, click to see full size…

Video: an afternoon sail on the west coast of Vancouver Island

When we headed out from quiet Queen Cove Tuesday afternoon the wind forecast was for 15-20 knots. As has often happened out here what the forecasters promise doesn’t always hold true and we’ve found ourselves motoring through a gale warning more than once. Not this day. Just a few miles south of Esperanza Inlet the NW wind filled in as promised, filled our spinnaker and we were off. We settled the girls down below with a few DVDs and Michael and I sat in the cockpit with huge grins on our faces just relishing the absolutely perfect sail. It was the kind of afternoon that made all the hard work to get here completely worth it.

We sailed with our spinnaker up all the way past Estevan Point, 30 miles or so. After we were past the point, we took the colorful sail down and we turned to port, now on a beam reach with genoa, main and mizzen all the way to Hot Springs Cove, ready for a good long soak.

 

Blasting northwards

 

The graphic you see above is what we’ve been looking at on the Environment Canada website for the past week and a half. Wind, wind and more wind coming directly from the west in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. We’ve been waiting for a quiet weather window that just doesn’t seem to want to open.

Yesterday morning, we awoke at 4 am to listen to the current conditions at Race Rocks, the notoriously windy and rough area just south of Victoria. It was blowing 21 knots, with westerly winds of 15 knots further out in the strait with winds expected to increase to 25-30 in the afternoon. We’d decided the night before that we were going somewhere. North, south, east, west– we didn’t care but we’d been in the same general area for two weeks and with so much to explore here we were itching to get exploring.

At 0600, after hemming and hawing over several cups of coffee we hauled the anchor up, still not sure where we were headed.

Suddenly, like an epiphany, we knew were we needed to go.

North.

It was glassy as we motored back up Haro Strait, following our plotted course for Nanaimo, a town we had always wanted to visit but hadn’t before. Now the perfect spot to reprovision, fill up with water, dinghy gas and jump across the Strait of Georgia making our way to Desolation Sound. We didn’t come across any breeze until Galiano Island, but it was just enough to practice flying our favorite new sail for a few miles.

We reached Nanaimo 12 hours later and found the harbour anchorage off Newcastle Island to be absolutely jam-packed with boats and happy laughing people and live music blaring from the shore, the Dinghy Dock Pub, and from most of the boats around us. Wow, we thought, Nanaimo sure knows how to celebrate a Saturday night.

But more boats continued to pour in, drop their hooks and raft up, small and large. Surely something has to be going on here other than a Saturday night. Sure enough, we were able to connect to an open Wifi signal and found out that we had landed during Nanaimo’s biggest weekend of the year: Marine Festival and World Championship Bathtub Race.

We also learned that fireworks were starting in 20 minutes. We got the girls back out of bed and were soon in awe at the most awesome small-town fireworks display we’d ever seen. Right from our cockpit.

What a welcome to the north!