I spent the following week tooling around Puerto Vallarta with my good friend, Jimmy.  Jimmy and I worked together at BD and became fast friends, bonding over cheap beer and good food.  His visit to Mexico was no exception to that rule.

The airport is within easy walking distance from a marina, so I decided to park the boat there for Jimmy's arrival.  He trundled down to the boat and we decided the best course of action would be to drink a beer and immediately embark on a culinary tour of old-town Puerto Vallarta.  The bus into town was quick and easy and we chowed down on a wide variety of tacos and burritos, from al pastor and carne asada to shrimp and octopus.  We might've even ventured into the gluttonous realm of queso fundido with extra chorizo.  Between the mountain of grub, all the traveling, and a handful of pacificos, we slept well that night.

The next morning, we concentrated all of our energies into provisioning the boat for the week ahead.  That, of course, had to start with a breakfast of chicken chilaquiles and arrachera.  There was a pile of weather brewing out in the pacific that was slated to come through that night, so after we got back from the grocery store, we elected to move to another marina that was a few miles up the coast.  The new marina was nothing short of incredible.  Unlike most marinas I stay at, this one was equipped with thirty foot tall slides that were shaped like crocodiles, a yacht club with multiple hot tubs, and two fully grown Bengal Tigers.  All for 25 USD per night.  That all might sound ridiculous, and certainly after sailing down the desolate Mexican coast, it felt pretty ridiculous to me, as well.

Jimmy and I made the most of our environs despite some rain that had begun falling and even managed to wrangle a long afternoon nap.  The next morning found us right back in the hot tub with the rain still falling consistently.  Eventually the rain slowly tapered off and we checked out of the marina to head up the coast to the town of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle.  It was a nice relaxing sail and we dropped the anchor just as the sun was setting.  The town of La Cruz, despite its proximity to the major tourist center of Puerto Vallarta, is quite a bit more down-to-earth and authentic feeling than the tourist towns surrounding it.  Jimmy and I jumped into the Superhighway and motored into the panga dock to see what sort of trouble we could get into.

We were pretty dang hungry after such a strenuous day of hard work, so after ambling the cobblestone streets of La Cruz for a bit, we settled down into a seafood restaurant (which seemed like a good bet based on all the fishing pangas we passed on the motor into town).  We decided on aguachiles, one of very first dishes I ordered when I arrived in Mexico 6 months before, and one of my favorites.  Aguachiles are based on the same principle as ceviche, where the acidic juice of a lime "cooks" the protein instead of heat.  In the case of aguachiles, the protein is shrimp and typically the sauce / juice is spicy.  Its almost always accompanied by cucumber, onion, and avocado, which makes for a very refreshing treat.

We spent the rest of the evening trundling around La Cruz, sampling beers that I hadn't tried before (the complement of beers that exist in Southern Mexico is quite a bit more extensive than the ubiquitous Corona-Pacifico-Tecate-Modelo that was available in Baja).  It was a picturesque little town, with lots of folks sitting out on their front stoops and plenty of cute little restaurants to explore.  The skies continued to clear the next morning, and we decided to set our sights on Sayulita, a fishing-village-turned-surfing-destination that was 15 or 20 miles up the coast.  

During provisioning, some thin-sliced ribeyes had caught our attention and we bought a couple packages of them.  That morning, they were just screaming to be turned into a breakfast of steak and eggs, so we obliged them (and managed to carmelize a few onions to keep them company).

As we rounded the corner to head north towards Sayulita, the wind fell off and we noticed some bait balls blowing up to the west of us.  The fish and birds were feeding aggressively on some sort of baitfish and we decided we wanted to get in on the fun.  We let the Rascal drift, loaded up the fly rods, and sped off in the superhighway.  We ventured a few casts into the midst of the craziness, but the dinghy seemed to scare the fish away to some degree.  Next, we decided to try just trolling a fly and we started spinning loops past the melee.  We finally started hooking into a few fish and Jimmy pulled in some feisty little jacks.  

Before we knew it, hunger pangs were assaulting us and we decided the only thing missing from our steak and egg breakfast extravaganza was cheese.  Thus, we used the rest of the leftover ribeye for some Oaxaca grilled cheese sandwiches and finished our sail to Sayulita.  

The second we rounded the corner into Sayulita, it was immediately clear that it was not a sleepy fishing village any more.  Enormous, luxurious houses and hotels blanketed every nook and cranny.  Honkees on stand-up-paddle-boards covered the water like an oil slick and there were enough people on the beach that it was tough to see the town.  We Superhighwayed it in to the beach and decided to do some exploring around town.  It seemed that tourist season was just winding up, and all the signs / restaurants were in English.  I can picture how it would've been a pretty incredible place 10-15 years ago, but we were relatively unimpressed with what it had turned into.  

Eventually we caught the scent of woodsmoke and we followed our noses down streets and alleyways until we came upon this scene.  

It was the glorious sight of a roadside Mexican grilled chicken stand.  It was clearly a family operation and though the proprietress was a bit surly, she definitely had the recipe right and the chicken came with rice, a glorious picante sauce, fresh tortillas, and some juicy grilled onions that really pulled the meal together.  It was nearly good enough to rival Pollo Lopez from up in San Carlos.  

In a grilled-chicken-induced fog, we waddled our way back out to the superhighway and headed back out towards the Rascal.  The swell was light, so the launching from the beach was easy, but for whatever reason the Tohatsu was reluctant to kick over.  9 times out of 10 it starts on the first pull... but... sometimes it doesn't.  Sometimes I'll forget to replace the kill-switch-lanyard and pull it ten times before it occurs to me.  Sometimes it doesn't like to be tipped on its side for too long.  Sometimes there is too much pressure in the gas tank.  Sometimes I'm not giving it enough gas.  Sometimes I'm not giving it enough choke.  This time, none of these things seemed to be the issue.  So I pulled and pulled and pulled until I thought I might expire.  Finally, on pull 25 or 30, it started up and purred like a kitten.  That Tohatsu can be a fickle beast.  

We made good use of the rest of the night by jamming out and drinking wine on the Rascal.  There was a glorious sunset and we were so full of chicken that we couldn't possibly consider eating anything for dinner. 

We got up early and bugged out of dodge.  We hugged the coast as we worked our way back to the south and ran into a lot of fancy vacation homes with private beaches and expansive balconies overlooking the Pacific.  We decided to anchor up in an undeveloped section and try our hand at some more fly fishing.  There was a particularly nice looking beach that we aimed at and fired up the Superhighway for a beach landing.  

From the Rascal, the swell seemed pretty friendly, and we figured the landing would be a piece of cake.  We watched a few small waves crash on the beach, peeked behind us, and figured we were good to go.  Into the surf zone we went, and all of a sudden a monster started looming behind us.

"Shit!" we both said and there was a moment of indecision.  We were right in the zone where I would normally cut the engine and tilt it up to avoid hitting the beach with the propeller.  But at the same time, this huge swell was building behind us, and in my mind the possibility still existed to try and whip the boat around and take the wave head-on, potentially before it started to break.  The moment of indecision doomed us in the end, and we were in exactly the wrong spot as it broke basically right on top of us.  I threw the engine in neutral and went over the side to try and pull us in towards the beach.  Jimmy thought I had just fallen out, and figured the engine was still in gear, so he hit the shifter and it roared in reverse.  Eventually we pulled the lanyard and dragged the superhighway - full of water - up onto the beach.  We were both in shambles and feeling pretty fortunate that we packed everything in a waterproof bag before attempting the beach landing.

Next we headed in opposite directions down the beach and made a half-hearted attempt to fly fish beyond the surf, but make no mistake, we were both thinking about only one thing: the launch back through the surf to return to the Rascal.  After a few casts, we both met up at the superhighway and gazed out at the swell to try and discern a pattern and plan our re-launch effort.  

I wasn't sure if the outboard had sucked up a bunch of sand on the landing and I wasn't sure if it would start quickly for the re-launch.  Given the size of the waves, that would obviously be a big problem.  After watching waves for about a half hour from a vantage point up in the jungle, we decided to go for it.  Jimmy would maneuver the superhighway out into the whitewater while I made attempts to try and get the engine started.  This would allow us to retreat from any monsters if we needed to, and also presumably avoid sucking more sand into the engine.  It was totally clear that trying to row through the surf would be unsuccessful.  

We waited for a mellow wave train and went at it with reckless abandon.  I got five or six strong pulls in and it sounded like it wanted to start, but it never quite managed to catch.  Another big one was looming beyond the surf, so we tilted the engine back up and retreated to the beach.  We felt like we had really dodged a bullet and we were both patting ourselves on the back for devising such a good scheme to avoid the big breakers.  Most of the waves were breaking in the 3-4 foot range at that point, and we waited for another lull.  I launched myself back into the dinghy and Jimmy continued to push and wade out until he was up to his waist (where it was challenging to see out beyond the surf).  Again, it sounded eager to start, but didn't start on the first four or five pulls.  I was fully focused in on the engine and I was really pulling with all my gusto.  I heard Jimmy begin to murmur something just as the Tohatsu roared to life.  It was go time, and I revved her up, threw her into gear, and pointed her out into the open ocean.  Jimmy dragged himself aboard over the oarlocks and as we looked out into the surf, our eyes got big.  

Immediately in front of us was a wave just starting to break.  It was perhaps a 3-4 footer and I remember thinking, "Yikes, this is a big one!"  I managed to keep the Superhighway square to the wave and put the pedal to the metal.  Jimmy grabbed the gear and the fly rods (luckily packed away in their cases) and we both shifted our weight towards the bow as we climbed up and over the tumbling white water.  

What we saw beyond that wave scared the shit out of us.  It was an absolute beast: easily 6 or 8 feet tall and looming way out beyond where the others were breaking.  This wave was literally twice the size of all the waves we'd seen when we were watching from the jungle.  After that morning's experience, I knew that indecision wasn't an option and once again opened up the Tohatsu to full throttle.  Adrenaline was pumping and three or four seconds transpired when I thought that we might get past it before it broke.  We had shipped a bunch of water on the last wave, however, and the Superhighway was driving like a barge with that much weight in her.

The wave kept building and building, the engine was laboring, the boat was inching further out into the surf, and Jimmy and I were swearing like pirates.  We started to rise up on it just as the top edge of wave curled over.  I yelled "HIGH SIDE!" and Jimmy dove forward into the bow like a goddamn 300lb linebacker.  I let off on the throttle in an effort to keep the nose of the boat down as much as possible, and dove forward myself.  The nose kept rising higher and higher, with the boat tipping to an impossible angle (about 80 degrees I'd estimate), when finally the bow punched through the top of the wave and began to flatten out.  The wave had essentially broken right over the top of us, yet somehow we didn't get thrown over backward.  

Jimmy looked back at me with wide eyes, and I responded with a wild-eyed stare of my own.  We had made it.  

The Superhighway was literally full of water.  It had been filled to overflowing by the wave and we slowly barged our way back to the Rascal so that we could bail her out.  We were both in disbelief at what had happened and that we had made it through.  Jimmy started tying up to the Rascal when we got there, and let out a little grunt.  "Are you ok?" I asked.  We didn't realize it at the time, but he had managed to crack a couple of ribs in the effort.  Type two fun, for sure.

If we had somehow rigged a go-pro in the front of the raft, the footage would've been priceless.  

A couple of frosty cold Pacificos calmed our nerves a bit, and we decided to try and fish from the Superhighway along the coast without actually venturing back to the beach.  We strung our fly rods back up and started casting around a bit, with the person in the front fishing and the person in the back rowing to avoid scaring fish away with the outboard.  

The fishing wasn't particularly successful, but we were treated to a rather stunning performance by a pod of whales that was  a couple hundred yards away.  They were clearly playing the air guitar and I could just barely make out the tune of "Octopus's Garden" over the crashing of the waves.  

We eventually sailed the rest of the way down to a little tourist town called Punta de Mita just as the sun was setting and we decided to motor past the breakwater to one of the palapa restaurants for dinner. 

We hemmed and hawwed around the menu for a while, having trouble making up our mind because everything looked so tasty.  Eventually the waiter came back over and suggested that we get the special grilled combo plate.  "What does that involve?" we asked innocently.  He spent about five minutes listing the incredible variety of fresh seafood that it encompassed and we both looked at each other.  "You had me at langostino," I told him, and the wheels were set in motion.  It came out on a big lunch tray and it had everything from grilled octopus to a whole pan fried fish, not to mention some crab and shrimp and a bunch of other tasty little treats.  

For a couple weeks, we had been looking at pictures of this "hidden beach" near Puerto Vallarta that looked incredible.  Rumor had it that it was created while the Mexican government was doing some bombing on the island decades ago, but I think more likely is just that water slowly ate away the limestone to form it.  Its basically a hollowed out part of an island that is shaped like an oval with an absolutely perfect sand beach in the center.  You can only get into it by swimming through this crazy little cave.  We didn't know its exact location, but we knew it was in the Marieta Islands, and we knew that later in the day, it would likely be mobbed with tourists.  We did a bunch of google earth surveying, consulted our guidebook, and looked at the charts, but we couldn't seem to figure out exactly where it was.  We reckoned the cave entrance would be fairly visible when we got close.  Thus, we embarked at the break of dawn and headed out towards the Marietas.  

There are a couple of Islands in the group, and our best guess was that the hidden beach was on the second one out.  We passed the first one without seeing anything notable, but after making a loop around the second, we became increasingly convinced that it was on the first.  We circled back, but by the time we got close, there were a dozen tour boats circling just offshore.  We "found" it at least.  

There were some cops (the island is a national park of some sort) and they told us that anchoring wasn't allowed, but that we could grab a mooring.  The only mooring, of course, was occupied by a 100ft long tourist catamaran and there were dozens of honkies already bobbing around in the water.  Eventually the big tour boat vacated and we muscled our way in to the mooring.   

It must've been a trial for Jimmy with his broken rib, but we jumped in the water and swam towards the tiny cave.  We eventually broke through into the center and it was just as incredible as all of the pictures had made it look.  It might've been covered in tourists, but the feature itself was incredible - a picture perfect sand beach, surrounded by this incredible rock, with waves slowly lapping at the edge of it all.

We peeled out pretty quickly and decided we should try and get to a town called Yelapa on the southern shore of Banderas Bay.  Wind was fairly light, but we had plenty of daylight and we sailed along at a few knots for a while.  Eventually we decided to start up the engine and I went down below to make another ribeye lunch.  As we were sitting in the cockpit chowing down, we looked over at the reel that we had been trolling with and I let out a, "Whoa!"

The line had paid out entirely while I was down below (the drag is pretty quiet and we just hadn't heard it) but it was still attached to the reel.  I started cranking it in and something was clearly on the other end.  There was an obscene amount of line on the reel, but between Jimmy and I, we managed to get it back to the boat over the course of about 20 minutes.  It wasn't particularly hard reeling, so we figured it was something fairly small.  When it got close to the boat, however, we realized we were wrong.  It was actually a good sized dorado.  

Oddly enough, when we finally got it aboard is the moment when it realized it ought to start fighting, and it got to flapping all over the place.  It was nearly impossible to restrain him long enough to get the hook out, but we eventually did and threw him back (we had just eaten a big steak lunch!).  We managed to snap a picture before we tossed him back, and it looks kinda like I'm playing a fish-shaped fiddle.    

When we got close to Yelapa, we saw a motorboat rocketing out of the little cove, and we were perplexed as to what he was doing.  He had to have been doing 50 or 60 mph and was slamming across the swell like crazy.  As he got closer to us, we broke out the zoom lens and saw just the tiniest bit of a line extending out of the boat.  We scanned the sky above the boat, but could see nothing.  Eventually (just a spec above the ridgelines) we caught sight of a paragliding wing that seemed impossibly far away.  We figured there was no way the two were connected (the paraglider was probably 3/4 of a mile away from the boat), but after some more zooming, we realized it was the case.  Incredible!

We were pretty astounded as we pulled in.  The bay itself is beautiful, with huge, rugged, jungle-covered mountains rising right up out of the ocean.  We took the dinghy in to shore and decided to head off exploring for a little bit.  Visiting the town of Yelapa is like taking a trip back into time.  There are no roads or cars and the town is only accessible by boat.  It is divided by a river the flows into the sea, and there is no bridge, so you've got to wade across it if you want to get to the other side.  In fact, Yelapa didn't even have electricity until a handful of years ago.  

We walked up and down hillsides on the cobblestone trails, with no directions or names marked on anything.  There were a bunch of tiny hostels and restaurants nestled here and there between homes.  We passed the occasional donkey here and there and eventually found a little store that sold us a few beers.  We went back down towards the beach to enjoy them next to some old fisherman.  On the beach below us, there was a group of kids playing soccer beside the sea.  Occasionally the ball would get kicked way out and someone would have to swim into the waves for it.  

We eventually found our way to a restaurant named "Tacos y Mas" and had a bunch of different tasty tacos.  There was an item on the menu called "Raicilla" and asked our waiter, a large, jovial guy, what exactly Raicilla was.  He explained that it is like tequila except its made in the woods above town in an old bathtub.  We immediately knew we had to try some.  We each took a shot and were very impressed - it is totally delicious.  It tastes smokier than tequila, sort of like mezcal.  I think the best way to describe it is this: raicilla is to tequila as scotch is to bourbon.  

We eventually made our way back towards the boat with our bellies full and a pink sunset lingering on the horizon.  

The next morning was pretty lazy, but we decided to stay in Yelapa for another night and we went up to explore a waterfall above town.  We were accosted by a few people selling tourist junk on the hike up, but we eventually came upon this little workshop on the side of the trail.  We immediately recognized our waiter from the night before and found that his name was Jorge.  We struck up a conversation with him and found that when he isn't waiting tables, he turns gorgeous vases and bowls out of tropical hardwoods that grow in the woods around town.  He had a respectable little open-air woodshop setup and he was in the process of turning some stuff down.  He was quick with a laugh and a smile and let us know that any purchase would come with a free shot of raicilla.  Jimmy was thinking about buying some gifts and while he was contemplating his options, Jorge showed me a hidden cabinet full of moonshine-raicilla he was selling.  I asked him if the "free shot with every purchase" rule also applied to the Raicilla.  He let out a loud hearty laugh and replied that raicilla purchases came with not one, but two shots of raicilla!  One shot for you and one shot for your country, he said.  

I couldn't turn down a bargain like that, and Jorge even joined me on the second shot!

The waterfall was surrounded by dense jungle, but it was beautiful as well.  We were somewhat surprised to find that a little bar was nestled in next to the waterfall and we stopped for a beer before hiking back into town.  

We eventually ambled back down into town and noticed a few sizeable yacths had joined us in the cove.  We spent the rest of the afternoon reading on the boat, relaxing on the beach, eating local oysters, and mixing up raicilla margaritas (raicillaritas).  Yelapa is one hell of a charming town.

Jimmy had to fly out the following day around midday, so we got up at the crack of dawn, nursing raicilla hangovers, and spent the morning sailing back to Puerto Vallarta.  I dropped him off at the fuel dock with just enough time to race back to the airport and catch his flight.

All-in-all, it wasn't a particularly successful fishing trip, but we definitely had plenty of incredible meals, explored some really neat towns and villages, and enjoyed plenty of rest and relaxation.

I hadn't been alone on the Rascal in months.  I cruised out of Guaymas harbor early on a Sunday morning and as the sails filled, a smile slowly spread across my face.  We were back in action.

The relationship between a single-handed sailor and his boat is a beautiful thing.  It's built on trust, care, and adventure.  She speaks to me and sometimes I speak to her too.  She's the Thelma to my Louise.  I'm the Bo Duke to her General Lee.  We're a team.  I didn't know it at the time, but later that day, she took care of me in a big way.

I was planning to meet my buddy Jimmy in Puerto Vallarta in two weeks time, a voyage of more than five hundred nautical miles as the crow flies.  Northwest winds are typical for the Sea of Cortez in winter (and much of Pacific Mexico for that matter) and a consistent 10-15 knot breeze piped up just as I pulled out of Guaymas.  It drove me along at a consistent 6 knots for hours and hours and I managed to make a lot of mileage.  I took a peek at the chart, and instead of sailing through the night, I decided to anchor up in an indentation in the coast just south of Isla Lobos that looked eager to block the northwest swell for me.

There were white caps all day long, and about 10 miles from the anchorage, the water color gradually shifted from its customary deep blue to a greenish brown color.  The charts didn't have much detail about the shoreline, but there were quite a few soundings, and it looked like the water on the approach to the anchorage would have plenty of depth to accommodate me.  At about 2 miles from the shore, the chart showed a depth of 40 ft.  I decided to flick on the depth sounder for the hell of it and to my surprise, it registered 12.5 feet.  "Surely that's not right," I thought, "maybe there is a missing decimal point."  I bent down to get a closer look and the display had the audacity to shrink down to just 10ft.  "Crap," I thought, "better get ready to gybe and head out to deeper water."  Just as I started to put the tiller over, I felt a sensation that no sailor ever wants to feel.  Bump. 

Shit.

Even with the tiller all the way over, heading out towards what was presumably deeper water, I could feel a little rub at the bottom of each swell.  I glanced quickly at the chart, there were no shoals or rocks marked in this area - the depth should still be above 36 feet.  There was no question about what I was feeling however.

I immediately turned the engine on, figuring that it would have more thrust than the sails when push came to shove.  The tide chart showed that I was just before low tide and it should be rising as the night went on.  The sun was quickly setting, but I could see that it was even shallower further away from shore and there were waves breaking there.  There was no way I could've made progress back towards where I came because the wind and swell were both pushing in the other direction.  I thought about dropping the sails, but I quickly realized that they were helping to heel me over and draw less water.  Thus, there was nothing to do but slowly work my way down wind, with the engine pushing me forward and the sails heeling me over and pushing me down wind.  I kept a sharp lookout and tried to avoid any areas that looked particularly shallow (which was very tough to discern).  I slowly rubbed in this manner for 2 or 3 minutes (rubbing at the bottom of each swell trough, floating across the peaks of the waves).  It was agonizing and I apologized to the Rascal the entire time.  We eventually drifted clear of the swell and the Rascal seemed happy to be floating again, but we were still only in about 8 feet.

In retrospect, I probably should've just dropped the anchor there and waited for high tide, but the swell was heavy and that didn't occur to me at the time.  I could still see breakers in the direction where deeper water was supposed to lie, so I continued working down wind.  Eventually the Rascal started rubbing again, but this time it was only for a minute or so and finally we made our way back into deeper water.  I decided to drop the hook to make sure that nothing was leaking and everything looked hunky-dory down below.  I was totally shaken and blown away at what had just transpired.

Though I doubt she totally enjoyed such a belly rub, in comparison to what she saw when she was beached during Hurricane Odile, this was probably pretty small-fry stuff.  Shes a really sturdy, well-built boat and she protected me in a situation that would've reduced a racing boat to kindling.  She sure is a hell of a boat.

I got an early start the next morning and hopped down the coast to the small fishing village of Yavaros.  As I approached the anchorage, a fleet of big shrimp trawlers came into view.  There were at least two dozen of them, and as I pulled in, they all left for a night of shrimping.  

The next morning, a couple of middle aged guys came by in a panga to pass the time of day (which happened to be just after sunrise) and I chatted with them for about a half hour.  Apparently the shrimping had been really terrible over the last few months and almost nobody was getting big enough catches to make ends meet.  I asked them what they thought the source of the problem to be and they both immediately said over-fishing.  They were apparently the buyers that transferred the shrimp from the big boats to the market.  The little village clearly didn't have much to begin with and I'm sure a couple of months of poor catches puts them in some pretty dire straights.

I dove to inspect the bottom of the Rascal and found that no damage was done except for a little bit of bottom paint on the tip of the keel that had rubbed off.  Not the end of the world, I reckon.

That evening, I saw a pair of old (maybe mid-late 70s) men fishing with a couple of nets along the beach.  They were wrangling small baitfish and they had an old donkey carrying their catch on an old wooden trailer for them.  I would imagine that's the same way they did it a couple thousand years ago.  Fishermen don't get much more hardcore than that.  

I had gotten word from my brother that another hurricane was brewing down south, so I decided to high-tail it to Mazatlan where I knew there would be well-protected marinas.  The sail down went really smooth and I managed to make better than 110 miles a day for two days straight, with several good sunrises to keep me company.  

On the final approach into Mazatlan, my glorious, consistent northwester decided to abandon me and a southeaster (of all things!) started blasting me right in the face.  I sheeted everything in, and with the help of pod of dolphins to escort me, I managed to bash my way into a marina slip.

The hurricane's path was fairly unpredictable, and for a while, Vance looked like he might head west of Baja instead of looping around towards Mazatlan.  I had a couple days to burn before anything was expected to happen, so I got to explore around Mazatlan a bunch.  Most of town is fairly touristy, but the market in the old part of town was incredible, and I treated myself to a few incredible seafood dinners at various dives and street vendors around town.  I also spent quite a bit of time on boat projects while I was in the marina and I accomplished a lot.  In the end, Hurricane Vance decided to swing back towards the mainland, but weakened considerably, and made landfall as a tropical depression just south of Mazatlan. All my preparations were for naught... but better safe than sorry!

Once the storm passed, I made a big provisioning run, cooked a big meal or two, and struck out for Puerto Vallarta with a spectacular sunset looming over the resorts and hotels of Mazatlan. 

 There was still a fairly sizable swell running, but I logged fairly good time.  Winds fell light the following afternoon, and the ocean smoothed out before me.  With no wind or waves, it was easy to spot any disturbances on the surface, and I crossed paths with several sea turtles on the approach.  

I pulled into the southern anchorage on Isla Isabel just as the last rays of sun disappeared from the horizon.  I was eager to explore the island in the light of day.

Dawn revealed a string of haphazardly assembled fishing shacks on the beach that all looked vacant and I rowed in to see what sort of trouble I could get into.

Isla Isabel is a federally protected preserve and is often described as "The Galapagos of Mexico".  Though I didn't see any giant tortoises during my visit, its easy to see why it receives such praise; its absolutely covered in birds and lizards.

The sheer number of birds was totally overwhelming and you had to be careful where you walked because there were so many lizards scurrying about.  I counted one tree with more than a dozen frigate birds in it.  This time of year, its common for male frigates to attract females by puffing out their "gular pouches" and some of them were putting on a pretty good show.

Every bird seemed to be busy building a nest and as I hiked to the top of one of the peaks, I found that the boobies like to make their nests on the ground, with several of them quite close to each other.

There were blue-footed boobies and brown boobies (as well as some other boobies I'd never seen before!) and nobody seemed too perturbed that I was ambling around among them.  I must also congratulate them on their selection of a nesting location, because the views from the top were superb.  

I think its safe to say that I've never seen so many boobies before in my entire life and I slowly made my way back to the Superhighway.  Several lizards stopped to say hi on my way down the hill and I cruised back out to the Rascal quite in awe of this incredible island that was so teeming with life.  

I examined some charts, and figured some distances and eventually decided that I ought to leave that afternoon to make sure I had extra time to account for light winds.  I made myself a big bowl of pork lo mein and set a course for Puerto Vallarta.  The wind was light and following, so I hoisted the spinnaker and managed to eek out three and a half knots.  Some dolphins seemed to like that pace, and guided the Rascal for short distance that afternoon.  

Just as the sun was preparing to set, a frantic booby swept in out of nowhere and landed on the back deck of the Rascal.  It is not every day I've got a booby on my back deck and I stared at it like it was the first booby I'd ever seen!

I didn't realize it at the time, but he must've been a mystical weather booby sent from the future to warn me about approaching bad weather.  

Being the dolt that I am, I continued to amble along with the spinnaker set until well after dark.  I noticed that the wind was falling awfully light and I congratulated myself (at the time) for using the spinnaker, my light air sail, instead of my genoa.  I poked my head around and saw that a fine mist had begun to fall.  "Shucks," I thought, "perhaps I should take the spinnaker down if its going to be rainy with no wind."

Poseidon must've been listening in, because as I went down to put my harness and life vest on, a horrific squall came out of nowhere, and by the time I got back up on deck, the Rascal was doing almost 7 knots with the spinnaker pushing her along at an incredible clip in exactly the opposite direction I wanted to go.  I went up on the foredeck and wrestled the spinnaker into submission on a heaving deck and I got absolutely drenched in the downpour that accompanied the winds.  

The squall passed in about a half hour and I resumed my course for Puerto Vallarta.  Later that night, I repeated the performance when another squall popped up.  I was immensely glad when dawn came and at least allowed me to see the squalls approaching, but of course they had all dissipated by that point, with just a high deck of gray taking their place.  These Mexican dolphins really have a knack for welcoming a weary sailor to a new port, and the Dolphins of Puerto Vallarta were no exception that morning.  

Thus, I made it to my destination with a day to spare, having dodged a hurricane, narrowly escaped a shipwreck, and observed several thousand boobies on a single day.  Quite an eventful passage through some beautiful waters, with a hell of a sunset to cap it off!

This post chronicles the week that we spent in and around San Carlos.  Joe was kind enough to take video of the whole thing and put it all together.  Check it out!

After a couple of days in the boat yard, we were eager to dive back into some fun… and that’s exactly what we did.  The first order of business was raising sails and heading out to sea.

We managed to land a dorado about 30 minutes after the Rascal splashed back into the water and we promptly turned him into a crisp, refreshing ceviche.  It felt great just to sail around for pleasure (as opposed to needing to cover distance) and we spent the afternoon engaged in that manner.  When the hour started to get late, we ducked into a small protected anchorage called “Martini Cove”.  

We had to make sure that we did Martini Cove justice, so I must admit that there were a few celebratory cocktails consumed that night, but we hit the sack early in anticipation of a big morning. 

Ever since arriving in San Carlos, the “Tetas de Cabra” had been quietly beckoning us.  These “Goat Tits” are plainly visible from pretty much every vantage point in town and we were constantly staring up at them.  With no more boat chores left on the list, and plenty of thirst for adventure, we finally succumbed to their siren’s song early the next morning.  

Contrary to what you might expect, the goat tits don’t see much traffic.  There were, however, some intrepid souls that managed to carve a small goat path (pun intended) through the brush to the top of the tetas.  This much, we were able to learn from a vague post in some obscure forum on the internet.

Thus, the three of us hopped in Superhighway and did some motoring towards a beach, that led to a dirt road, that led to a paved road, that lead to a trail, that led to the tetas.  We were careful to start this endeavor in the early morning hours in order to avoid the scorching heat that would make an afternoon mission unbearable.  We were promptly (and very loudly) greeted by a pack of roving stray dogs that must’ve lived on scraps from the fishermen on the beach.  They were quite happy to join us for a couple miles until, one by one, they started to fall off.  It soon became clear that we were on a rival gang’s turf and the one stalwart mutt that remained with us was eventually chased off by the gang that lived on the dirt road.

Around 7am, we got to the base of the trail of ascent and, surrounded by the thorny, inhospitable brush of the Mexican desert, we started up.  Even at that hour, and in the shade, the climb was pretty taxing and we were very happy when we reached the base of the rocky climbing.  From there, some scrambling and maneuvering was necessary, and we eventually got up atop one of the pinnacles.  

The view was spectacular and we spent a good bit of time surveying the scene from such a grand spot.  

The hike back down to the base was substantially more enjoyable than the trek up, and once we reached the bottom, we promptly headed for the Oxxo (a ubiquitous Mexican convenience store, and the cheapest place for pineapple juice) and got cold drinks to slake our thirst.  A kind gentleman in a pickup stopped for us and we were lucky to hitch most of the way back to the superhighway, where we found our pack of stray dogs patiently waiting for our return.

We spent most of the day snorkeling and relaxing on the Rascal in Martini Cove.  It was a Saturday and we finally realized the true source of its name.  Its proximity to San Carlos (and the large number of Mexican and American tourists that stop there) makes it a perfect destination for day charters.  At one point ,we were able to count 10 large boats sharing the cove with us (which couldn’t have been more than 600 feet across).  One couple in a small motorboat (who were clearly American) tried to anchor so close to us that we literally could’ve jumped the distance between us.  Pretty much any shift in the wind or current would’ve resulted in our collision.  Thanks to Joe’s ripping sound system,  we  played some western-show-down tunes played at high volume and they soon decided to re-anchor further away.  

As the day wore on, we suddenly felt our bellies rumbling with a familiar hunger for roadside roasted chicken.  Thus we sped off in the Superhighway in the direction of Pollo Lopez.  We met up with Jess and Chris from S/V Silent Sun along the way, and got together for a big, delicious dinner of roast chicken, potatoes, onions, chiles, and homemade corn tortillas.  It was just as delectable as we had remembered it.

Though we were in a bit of a chicken-induced-daze at this point, we made it back to the Rascal and spent the night playing music, dancing, and gazing at the spectacle of a half dozen boats full of drunk, wild charter passengers.

The following morning came early, once again, as we had to get Autumn up to the Hermosillo airport for a 7am flight.  Jess and Chris were kind enough to lend us their van for this endeavor.  It is no ordinary van, however.  It was an early 80s Dodge 15 passenger model with the interior gutted out, and an incredible Seattle Seahawks-themed paint job.  As such, it is appropriately called "The 12th Van" in honor of the Seahawks fans who call themselves “The 12th Man”.  

We were wary of police checkpoints on the drive up, but the drive was uneventful and we showed up with plenty of time for Autumn to make her flight.  The trip back through the desert was also uneventful, and Joe and I stopped to shop for provisions for the week ahead.  We had enough food, beer, and ice to nearly capsize the Superhighway, but we managed to make it back out to Martini Cove with everything and lots of excitement to start our trip to the north.

That first day, we made a short trip up the coast, caught a couple of Dorado, had a magnificent lunch of Dorado tacos, and anchored just off the Club Med and several palapa beach bars.  There were lots of kite surfers cruising back and forth, and thus, we had no shortage of entertainment as well.  We also did a bit of exploring on the islands nearby which happened to be completely covered in cacti.  There was hardly a single square foot that wasn’t bristling with spines.  That night, we dove into some cribbage (which Joe was just learning) and made a rather tasty soup from the Pollo Lopez leftovers.

We snorkeled the next morning, but the water was pretty cloudy so we decided to hoist sail and head north.  On our way out of the bay, however, we managed a most-unexpected catch.  Typically our fishing lures are small plastic squids and they’re effective for everything from small tuna to huge sailfish.  We found out that morning that they’re also effective for blue-footed-boobies.  

I heard some splashing behind the boat and looked back to see a bird struggling in our wake.  “That’s odd,” I thought, “I wonder what he’s doing…” It eventually dawned on me that he dove for our bait squid and managed to get hooked.  We immediately stopped the boat and slowly hauled him in.  It was a delicate procedure, but I managed to get one hand over his eyes to calm him and de-hooked him quickly and easily with just a few frantic wing flaps.  He quickly flew away after this and landed a couple hundred yards away to preen his feathers and glare at us.

The rest of the sail north was uneventful, and a contrary current and light wind meant that we really had to stay on top of our navigation and sailing maneuvers.  We certainly didn't have time to read books or take naps in the superhighway.

We eventually anchored in San Pedro Bay where Joe was kind enough to assemble a delicious roasted pork massaman curry.  As we were throwing the dinner scraps overboard, we heard lots of splashes and realized that the bay was absolutely teeming with small baitfish.  They were overjoyed by our onionskins and pepper caps, and we managed to catch a few with some leftover banana peel and discarded garlic skin.  Turning the spreader lights on allowed us to see that there were literally thousands around the Rascal, and as soon as they were illuminated, they dove to be out of reach of the light.

San Pedro bay is lined with limestone cliffs and there were reportedly some neat sea caves worth exploring, so we took off in the Superhighway to get the lay of the land.  We found a perfect cliff jumping spot and did some snorkeling to scout the landing.  We were promptly stung by several tiny, colorless jellyfish, and we abandoned the snorkeling, with plans to return for some cliff jumping around sunset.

We spent the day sailing out to San Pedro Island and managed to catch not two, not four, not six, but 9 Dorado on the trip out.  Joe even managed to land one from the Superhighway! San Pedro Island didn’t really have any anchorages or good stopping spots as its pretty much surrounded by rocky cliffs.  Some sea lions do call it home, however, and we took some time to practice our mating calls before sailing back to San Pedro Bay.  

We made it just in time for some sunset cliff jumping, and trolled a fly on the trip over to the cliff.  It was then that we managed to land a Sierra, our 10th fish of the day, and our dinner for the night as well.  The cliff jumping went really well and the scenery couldn’t be beat.

That night after dinner, we decided to put all of the drift wood on the beach to use and we made a big fire.  A few margaritas and some star gazing rounded out the evening.

The next day we decided to hike up to the top of a nearby peak.  There was no goat path this time, and there was a lot of loose rock and plenty of sharp, spiny cacti.  The view was great, though.  When we got back to the beach, we ran into a Mexican cowboy and his loyal dog and chatted with him for a bit about the cows in the region and the inhospitable mountains he had to cross in order to graze in this area.  He was quiet, but friendly and it dawned on us that he was about as legit as cowboys come these days.  He had a tough life, but a happy outlook and it put a smile on our faces.  You can see a quick shot of him at the end of Joe's video. 

On our way back out to the Rascal, we noticed a bunch of birds diving in one section of the cove and went over to investigate.  When we got close, it looked like the water was boiling, and it was clear that some big fish, as well as the birds, were feeding on a cluster of smaller bait fish.  They would boil up in one section of the cove, feed for a few minutes, and eventually subside, just to bubble up in another section again.  Fascinating to watch.  

We spent the rest of the morning installing a kill switch that Jess and Chris were kind enough to bring down from San Diego, and then sailed south back towards the Club Med beach.  A few more cribbage matches ensued and I managed to double-skunk Joe during one of them.  Even against a beginner, that is a hell of an accomplishment and as punishment for such a poor showing, Joe had to make dinner that night, which consisted of tortilla chips and cheese dip.

The following morning, we made a big bacon and egg breakfast and spent a good amount of time reading our books and laying in our hammocks.  As time wore on, we eventually developed an incredible thirst for ice-cold Tecate and as we were several miles from a store, and totally out of ice we knew it would be quite a trial to satisfy our burgeoning thirst.  Thus, we jumped in Superhighway and started the 4 mile trip to the beach that was closest to a convenience store (which happened to be the same Oxxo that saved us after our climb of the Tetas).  After a couple miles of walking, trespassing through a private vacation-home development, and a little bit of hitchhiking, we returned to the superhighway completely laden with cold beers and several bags full of ice.  The trip back was uneventful and we even managed to dispatch a couple Tecates during the transit. 

That afternoon, we spent a lot of time relaxing on the beach and congratulated ourselves for such a productive day.

We knew we had to get back to Guaymas to drop Joe off, so the following day we started sailing in that direction.  We didn’t catch nearly as many fish as we were accustomed to that day, so we decided to build a big, glorious French onion soup instead.  We anchored in a remote, rocky cove that night and enjoyed our soup immensely.  Such a soup does have drawbacks, however, and we suffered later that night after some digestion had occurred. 

The next morning around 5:30am, we both awoke to the incredibly loud buzzing sound that was loud enough that we both figured it had to be inside the boat with us.  It was not a relic of the onion soup, however, and we both clambered up on deck to greet a Mexican family that was trolling circles around us in a boat that seemed to be built entirely of bird poop and discarded plywood chunks.  Their outboard appeared to have been in service since the sinking of the Titanic (if not the dawn of time) and it created a racket that scared off all of the birds in a five mile radius.  They made another dozen passes by the boat and eventually decided to troll about a mile away.  Their outboard was still exceptionally loud, even at that distance, but we managed to ignore it and build ourselves a tasty breakfast of chorizo and eggs.

As we continued our sail towards Guaymas, we ran into a couple of large “bait balls” like those that we had observed a couple days previous.  We decided to cast into them with the fly line which proved ineffective.  We trolled for a bit with the fly as well, and all of a sudden the fly line took off like a freight train.  We’ll never know what monstrous fish hit it, but after about 20 seconds, it had peeled off all of my fly line and about half of my backing.  I started to crank down my drag, and it didn’t seem to be making a damn bit of difference.  When I got to about a quarter of my backing remaining (which is about 1000 ft of line peeled off at this point), I increased the drag a few more clicks and felt a surge and then the line went loose.  We eventually reeled it all the way back in and the leader had been so stretched out that the whole thing was curled up like a pigtail.

That afternoon, we pulled into Guaymas, which is a fairly industrial port, and dropped anchor close to down-town.  There was no dinghy dock available, but we left the superhighway by a breakwater and went into town to grab something to eat.  We found some birria stands that had incredible goat tacos, and grabbed a bunch of supplies to make steak sandwiches for dinner.  We spent the afternoon on the boat drinking cold beer, playing cribbage, and listening to the din of a Saturday night in Guaymas.

The following morning, Joe had to head back to the states, so we got up early and motored back in to the breakwater.  With a big hug and a big thanks, we parted ways and he went to the bus station to catch a ride to the airport.

As we were working our way up the coast, we were keeping our eyes peeled for a weather window that would make for a relatively painless crossing.  We eventually found one and planned our sailing to be able to hit it.

We spent one more day sailing north and it was a slow, easy day so we took the liberty of launching the superhighway mid-way through and capturing some pictures of the Rascal under sail.  These are the first pictures I've ever taken of her sailing along, so it was pretty exciting for me!

The jumping-off point was decided to be Punta Pulpita (also known as little octopus point) which was a big black rock outcropping that created a couple of protective bays.  There was a day of downtime before our weather window, so we got to do some exploring around in that area.

A gorgeous sunset / moonrise combo started the night out right, and after a good night's sleep, we awoke ready to climb the behemoth that was towering above us.

It was a bit of a long climb, with lots of loose sand, frustrating false summits, and lots of arachnids, but the views from the top were spectacular!

We spent the rest of the day's energy wrapping up a few more boat chores and preparing things for the crossing.  True to our weather report, we got a little taste of 'sailor's delight' just before dinner (which consisted of cheese burger dumplings and a bottle of red wine).

The crossing ended up being pretty casual.  We left early one morning, sailed all day and all night, and arrived the following day at around 10am in San Carlos.  We were close hauled for almost all of it, but the wind and the waves were fairly casual and consistent.  We managed to catch a bunch of dorado and we also saw sea turtles and several dolphins way off shore during the crossing.

Before the voyage, Autumn became involved with an organization called Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation.  They're an organization that "collects and disseminates environmental data to catalyze conservation initiatives worldwide" and Autumn decided to help contribute to their study of microplastics in the world's oceans.  This involved us taking 1 liter water samples at a number of places along our journey, as well as data about when we took them, where we were, what the water temperature was, etc.  Then we send the samples in for them to analyze the number of tiny plastic particles that are present.  

As you can imagine, as the world continues to use more and more plastic products, bits of the packaging, bits of fibers from clothes, and actual small chunks of plastic products end up in the ocean.  Many of these get eat/absorbed somewhere in the food chain and its affecting oceans in a massive way.  Even in a place as underpopulated as the Sea of Cortez, we see tons of floating plastic bottles, discarded bags, and old fishing floats both in the sea and on the beach.

We had a gorgeous sunrise as we approached San Carlos, and we knew we were in the right zone when we spotted the infamous Tetas De Cabra (Goat Tits) Mountains lit up in the morning light.  Tough to imagine anything more majestic than that!  Traffic got pretty thick as we pulled into the harbor, and we saw several shrimpers steaming up and down the 

After being in tiny Mexican towns and out in the sea for such a long time, the opulence of San Carlos got our attention really quick.  San Carlos has lots of tourism from the states, and as a result there are lots of fancy homes, condos, and luxurresorts around.  

We checked into the marina without incident and promptly located a few cold beers.  After a few weeks without showers, we decided a little bit of luxury wouldn't hurt us and Autumn decided to spring for a night at the hotel that overlooked the marina.  She must've given the guy at the front counter a wink, because he offered her the half-off deal for first time customers and before we knew it, we had taken real showers and were luxuriating in the first air conditioning we'd encountered in weeks.  It felt like a million bucks.

We had been doing all of our cooking on the boat and realized that we both had an incredible hunger for a good old fashioned roadside roast chicken.  We ambled back down to the lobby and Autumn inquired if such a place existed in San Carlos.  The front desk man calmly smiled, looked at his partner who also smiled, looked back at Autumn who was smiling, and said, without hesitation, "Pollo Lopez!"  It was immediately clear that this place was something special, so we went to the bus stop and caught a ride into town.  We were borderline giddy when we arrived and we smelled the glorious aromas from the window of the bus before we even spotted it.  It was along the main drag through town and there was a big, sturdy brick oven set up in front of a small concrete building.  No dining room, no tables, no bullshit.  Just delicious, juicy roast chicken.

In addition to the whole roast chicken, each order comes with potatos, chiles, and onions that have been roasting in delicious chicken drippings for hours.  Everything gets roasted with locally harvested mesquite logs and it comes with salsa and a bunch of corn tortillas to serve it on.  We immediately brought it back to our air conditioned room, gorged ourselves for a half an hour and feel into a deep food coma that lasted for the rest of the day.

 We spent the next day running errands, doing laundry and getting superhighway recomissioned.  During the passage her outboard got tilted the wrong way and she wouldn't start.  After lots of poking, prodding, and about a thousand pulls on the starter cord, I finally realized I needed to clean out the carb and replace the spark plug.  It was Sunday, so stores weren't open and we also couldn't inquire about the possibility of a haul out. 

On Monday morning, we scheduled the haul out for that afternoon at 3pm.  They use a huge hydraulic trailer to lift boats in and out and then drive them a 1/4 mile down the road to the boat yard.  However, there were two boats with engine trouble blocking the ramp, so true to Mexican form, they said, "Manana manana," and we got rescheduled for the next morning, with assurances that we would get a "good deal" for our trouble.  The following morning came along and out the Rascal came, without any difficulties.  

She was in the blocks by 830 and we got to work examining her.  There were the obvious areas where the sand had rubbed bottom paint off when she was beached during hurricane Odile.  In addition to these areas, some paint had chipped off down on the bottom of the keel and there was lead showing through.  Rascal's keel is full length with a cutaway forefoot and the lead portion sits along that leading edge.  We started chipping away around that zone and found that whatever fairing compound they used over the lead portion wasn't adhering very well.  We chipped until we couldn't get it to chip any more and talked for a while with the yard manager about the best course of action.  

He advocated for an epoxy layer to fill and provide a waterproof barrier, followed by an epoxy primer (in the zones that got sanded off during the storm), and finally a fresh coat of bottom paint.  That made sense to us, and we weren't entirely excited to sand toxic paint (and I only have a 4 1/2 inch orbital sander), so we decided to let the yard workers tackle everything but the final coat of bottom paint.  That afternoon, my good buddy Joe arrived from Colorado, laden down with all sorts of goodies that I asked him to carry down as well as a big, awesome, LOUD speaker system that he designed from scratch.  Gone is the era of tunelessness on the Rascal.  Joe was kind enough to usher in an era of dance parties, John Mellencamp, and reggae tunes.

The yard workers were slow to start, but they did a great job and while they were working, we lent a hand where we could.  We also installed the speaker system much to everyone's delight.  Last, but not least, we drank enough tecate to choke a horse.

We selected a lovely shade of blue for the Rascal's bottom and managed to get two thin coats of it.  I'm of the opinion that it looks much better than the original rusty red, and she is definitely faster in dark blue.  Autumn and Joe were kind enough to pitch in with the painting and it all went pretty quick.

We celebrated such a monumental achievement by poaching the hotel swimming pool and going out for fish tacos at JJ's.  We were slow to get up the following morning, but a big bacon-and-egg breakfast fortified us, and we rallied shortly thereafter to reprovision at the local grocery store.  They plopped us back in the drink at 11 o'clock, with my wallet a touch lighter than it had been, and we were off to dive back into the cruising life!

We didn't know it at the time, but the next week would involve the catching of a blue footed booby, a show-down in Martini Cove, and another THREE chickens from Pollo Lopez.