Patrick Schulte's Blog, page 122

Projects

Always small projects being whittled away at on the boat. Things like getting all the fans working (i.e. not squealing or vibrating), sealing a leaky skylight, and repairing a broken drawer. Also a few that are slightly more important. One of our lifeline stanchions nearly pulled right out of the boat so we drilled out the holes, epoxy filled them, and rebid the stanchion. Also discovered that our stanchions at the back of the boat were pulling out as well. These were screwed in right above the cockpit lockers, making it easy enough repair to by simply thru-bolting them instead. Sturdy as can be now.

Then today I finally began the process of repairing something that should have been done long ago—the tachometer. It hasn’t worked since day one on this boat and frankly I never much missed it. Until this last passage that is. When coming over from Mazatlan we seemed to burn way more fuel than I anticipated, and all I could determine was that I was running the engine at to high an RPM. I confirmed this when we motored north up and around the corner at a bit lower speed and burned far less. Anyway, all I accomplished today was to track down where the sending wire went after leaving the tachometer. At least I think I followed the right wire (it’s not always easy on this old boat). After winding its way through the boat it ended up here. And I don’t have a clue what that thing is. Anybody out there want to fill me in? I had expected to find a wire that ran somewhere in the neighborhood of the alternator, probably lying disconnected. Not to some random little piece on the opposite side of the engine.

Imagine

Just looking through the pictures from today and I realized how Ouest’s imagination is working overtime these days. From digging for pirate treasure, to our tiny rock island with the feet melting water surrounding it, to the fish she was reeling in with her invisible fishing pole, to the rides we were taking all around town in the blue dinghy, and finally back to the boat for more fishing (this time with a real pole but a plastic Little People figure tied to the end of the line). It’s pretty much non-stop and utterly exhausting.

When she sees big fish swimming around the docks she immediately asks to get her fishing pole. She has no idea just yet that casting Lamar the car wash guy from one of her toy sets into the water is not going to score her a fish.

“Ouest, what are you going to do with that fish if you catch him?”

“Eat him! Me like fish tacos!”

 

La Paz

We went into town today to visit a book store, walk around the main plaza, and grab a bite to eat. I have to say, I’m really not enamored with La Paz. All the cruisers here like to talk about how “sticky” the place is—meaning it is hard to leave—but I’m not sure why. The town itself is pretty ho-hum. I can walk around and around and not be bothered to take the camera out of the bag too often. The main plaza is less than appealing, and in a not very busy part of town—there just isn’t anything happening there. The malécon is nice, but by planting the palms on the road side of the sidewalk they’ve effectively shaded the middle of the road for the hottest part of the day. What could be a pleasant stroll is miles of uninhabitable concrete from about noon until the sun goes down. There is no swimming beach unless you are under five years old. I don’t know, I just can’t fall in like with the place. I’ve tried. I’ve been here a few times—but it doesn’t look like it is going to happen.

Of course there are some marine chandleries, which is nice for us yacht captainy types, and there are half a dozen monster-sized U.S. style supermarkets, and Auto Zones, and Office Max, and all the fast-food you could ever want (except Taco Bell), and there are some good fish tacos to be had, and there seem to be more English speakers than Spanish, and I guess all that taken together is enough for a lot of people. But… I don’t have the “I live in Mexico” feel here, and I guess these days that’s sort of a deal breaker for me. I just can’t seem to find anything interesting about the place.

Ouest is super into mermaids at the moment. It’s pretty much all she talks about. “Tell me a mermaid story Papa. I want to draw a mermaid. Let’s go to the beach, I want to be a mermaid.” That picture below is of her coloring her mermaid flipper (i.e. an old t-shirt of mine she steps into and we tie at her waist). You can tell just how serious she is about mermaids by the concentration she is putting into staying inside the lines. My little Darryl Hannah.

If you haven’t checked out my SAILfeed page in a while you might want to take a look at a new article I posted up yesterday called What Does it Cost to Cruise, where I break down what our sail around the world cost and even compare it to our VW land travels.

La Paz Beaches

We keep meaning to walk around town—get out and do something productive. But day after day Lowe wakes up from his nap and Ouest says, “I want to go swimming. Be a mermaid.” So off to the beach we go. Then we plan on going out for tacos for dinner, but by the time we get home from the beach we’re all sun-baked, tired, and ready to call it a night—so instead of tacos Ali whips up grilled cheese sandwiches and mounds of fruit. We eat, bathe, and go to bed. It’s incredible sometimes how quickly a day can disappear with these two around.

4200

I went to the marine chandlery right across the street from the marinas today in order to pick up a tube of 4200 caulking. And you know what? They don’t carry 4200! I know, right? If I were to open a chandlery—which I totally should because I love any business where the margins are like 500%—I would only have three things on my shelf: a big jar full of miscellaneous stainless bolts and screws, Delo oil, and 4200. That’s it.

Found my tube of 4200 up the street so now I can get back to coating the boat in a one inch thick cocoon of it.

Lowe’s a little under the weather at the moment which has really limited our mobility. He’s just not up for much at the moment. So of course I’m clawing at my skin from being cooped up within about a three block radius. I’m just not much good at sitting still.

 

Nineteen Months Lowe, Thirty-Nine Months Ouest

Without young kids the months just sort of disappeared without anything to mark them. Now I feel the passing of each month deeply. The changes happening faster than I can do anything to stop them.

We joke with Ouest all the time that we don’t want her to get any bigger, that we want her to stay our little girl. And she comes firing right back with, “No, me big girl. I want to be a big girl.” And I remember childhood the same way—as kids we just want to be bigger, more grown up, with every passing day.

Lowe has grown this month into a funny little boy. He has these sideways mischievous looks that he gives now when he is doing something he knows full well we don’t approve of. Of course when he gives us this look we instantly crack up and ruin any chance we might have had of stopping him.

Marina Cortez

Settled in to our new digs today: washed the boat, played at the other marina’s playground, hit the OXXO for iced coffee, and screwed around on deck. That’s it.

Back in La Paz

We gathered ourselves up this morning and finished motoring the last ten miles or so down to La Paz. We’re trying to get some things checked off the boat list once and for all and have a long list of mostly minor things that we’re going to buckle down and finish up on this stop. The plan then was to head in to Marina de La Paz, but it seems that too many people have turned that marina into their permanent home for any short-timers to get in.

We got turned away there so we went out and anchored instead. Anchoring in La Paz is sort of crazy. There is a huge tidal flow which during the ebb tide sends your boat driving right over your anchor chain in the opposite direction of the northerly wind. Not a huge deal really, as the holding is good, but what really sucks about it for us is the dinghy ride—big, wet, choppy, standing waves for half a mile. We did that a couple of times before saying screw it and moving the boat into a different marina next door.

So anyway, settled in for a couple of weeks in an enjoyable town with the kids happy to once again be able to jump off the boat at a moment’s notice.

Oh, while playing with a boogie board on deck today Lowe managed to trip himself with the leash and do a nasty face plant. His chin split wide open for what I believe is now the third time. I guess we can take solace in the fact that the scars will be piled one on top of the other so that it looks like only one big one. (You’ll notice in the picture below that we are pretty incompetent parents. Just look at him all bloody with nothing but a band-aid hanging loosely under his chin.)

A lot of cruisers around here are scrambling right now to get themselves ready to cross the Pacific. We met two boats with kids today that are heading out this week. Even though I don’t currently (as in right this minute) have any burning desire to revisit the  South Pacific I still get an unhealthy yearning to just up and go.

Shoot

I took the kids out for a dinghy ride around the bay this afternoon. We hadn’t been toddling along for more than five minutes before Ouest announced with some urgency, “I have to poop.” I raced back to the boat, threw her up on deck, and she stomped downstairs to the bathroom where Ali joined her and asked, “What’s going on?”

“I had to go poop. And Papa turned the dinghy and went really fast. And Lolo’s hat fell in the water. And Papa said, ‘Shoot.’ And Papa turned around and got Lolo’s hat.”

“Papa said, ‘Shoot?’” Ali asked incredulously.

“Yeah, Papa said ‘Oh shoot,’” answered my sweet little girl.

Dipping the Bowsprit

I don’t know what happens some nights. We spent the day in water so calm we could clearly see the bottom at twenty-five feet. I went to bed at ten and only a slight breeze rippled the water. And by 11:30 the bowsprit was dipping into the waves as we bobbed up and down—over and over and over again. Ouest slept through it for a while but eventually the noise—combined with nearly catching air on every bounce—woke her up. Which is how I ended up sleeping on the floor the rest of the night. The two girls, snug as bugs, aside from the fact that Ali can’t sleep a wink in conditions like that.

We woke up in the morning and things hadn’t changed. There wasn’t much wind but for some reason the waves, or the timing of the waves, was sending all the boats in the anchorage for a wild ride. We left and motored just a few miles further on to Bahia Falsa and settled in—exhausted— with nary a ripple on the water.

As we came around the corner into our bay for the day we passed by a buoy. Lowe was up front with Ali yelling back to me, “Bu, Bu, Bu!” Buoy. Ouest was sitting near me looking at pictures and charts in our cruising guide—she asked what he was saying. I told her and pointed out the buoy. She looked down at the chart and pointed right to the correct buoy. Now I’d been pointing out to her where we were and explaining a couple of the landmarks, but I can’t for the life of me believe that she somehow put that all together well enough to know which buoy we were passing by. It had to be a fluke right?

Ouest in her “tent” under the kitchen table with a laundry sack for a sleeping bag.

Because road trips never really leave our minds.

Another low tide that left us hundreds of yards from shore. While walking the dinghy in closer for the rest of the gang to get out I stepped on what I think was an urchin with my left big toe and then following that up minutes later with my right big toe being attacked by a crab. What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment from my fellow sea dwellers?

You always know when we had guacamole for lunner.