Puerto Morelos and Beyond
SOEL finally departed Isla Mujeres Thursday Feb 22nd,2007. Elizabeth hauled the mainsail up while I was breaking the anchor out of the sand. The jib was hoisted as soon as the anchor got stowed, and we sailed right out of ‘shoot de chute’ pass. I had been wanting a “sailing” vacation, not a “motoring” trip like last year. We rarely started the engine and maneuvered as much as possible by sail power on this trip. This particular day, the sailing was fantastic. An easy beam reach with steady trade winds and only four to six foot seas. Passing the towering high rise hotel zone of Cancun took my breath away. Call it whatever you will, a spectacular achievement for the tourism industry of Mexico, or a gargantuan eyesore. It’s still an incredible sight to see from the water. The reef at Puerto Morelos was clearly defined by the breaking waves, so, when there were no more breakers, I tacked west. We snuck in behind the reef over a mile north of where the guide book recommended. Not even a challenge. (I can’t recommend my style of navigation for everybody - you have to have balls, and a little common sense) The wave action was greatly diminished behind the shallow reef, and though it was early afternoon, I considered asking the galley hand for some “grog”. My better judgment prevailed, however; and I waited. Our biggest challenge that day, was the mooring balls that were available for cruisers just like us These were hard plastic yellow spheres, about two feet in diameter, and had an eye splice poking out of the top of them. I’m sure it’s totally for entertainment reasons that they have been located right in front of the town dock, which is directly in front of the town square, the most public place in the community. Lov-E doused the sails while I skillfully maneuvered us up to our ball of choice. My bikini clad crew took a few leisurely steps forward, and flashed that “parade wave” back my direction. The one where your fingers are all together and you move the hand only from the wrist. She held on to the forestay with one hand, and making a dainty underhand move, grabbed the eye splice with the boat hook in her other hand. Poetry in motion. Until now, it looked like we were some old pro’s who do this all the time. That’s usually when it all goes to hell on ya. Her smile dissolved when the eye only came up about a foot out of the top of the ball. It’s over four feet from our Moody 36’s bow cleat to the water. That’s some serious stretching! I left the helm and walked forward to assist my struggling wife. Imitating a ‘mooring line’ for a 15,000 pound sailboat is not easy for a tiny five foot tall woman. Before I could get there, the boat hook came apart in her hands. Fine. Plan B. (I always have a backup plan!) Back at the helm, I started the old diesel engine that had been sleeping for three weeks, and spun SOEL around. I preferred driving our boat backwards anyway. She handles extremely well in reverse, and the visibility is better. I flipped down the swim ladder while Lov-E came back to the cockpit, dragging our huge anchor snubber line with her. She retrieved the floating remains of the boat hook, as I continued towards that mooring… yes, backwards. I kept SOEL in perfect position long enough for my lovely first mate to pass the snubber through the mooring buoy eye, and she dropped the spliced end of the line on the port stern cleat. I wrapped the other end around the starboard cleat, killed the diesel, and considered staying stern to the wind. My wife / fore deck crew / imitation mooring line / first mate, had already moved up to cocktail waitress, and was about to be promoted to ships cook, and she wanted the vessel turned around! No big deal. I moved one end of the snubber, then the other, and by the time the cocktails were served, we faced the wind. Sipping my sundowner, sitting in the cockpit, I was mesmerized by the breakers on the reef in front of us. Right there, about 100 yards from us, were these powerful waves that traveled for thousands of miles on the open water, smashing themselves into white foam. Yet, here where we sat, a tiny chop lightly tapped on the hull. You can’t imagine how slow life moves, cruising in Mexico. One whole day was set aside for laundry, one day was for grocery shopping, one entire day, we did little more than write a few e-mails. One big day was set aside for exploring the island of Cozumel. We took a bus ($7) to the ferry boat dock, then the ferry boat ($11) across to Cozumel, rented a scooter, ($20) and ran around the entire island all day. Much better than a tacky cruise ship vacation, and at a fraction of the price. The northern half of the island remains very remote, and requires an all terrain vehicle to explore. But southern half has roads, and beaches, and bars, and Maya Ruins. What a memorable experience! Another big day was a land trip to Tulum. We spent Elizabeth’s 39th birthday DAY at Tulum, hiking around the ruins taking pictures and acting like tourist on the little beach. For some reason, taxis were hard to find that afternoon, so we walked south for a few minutes and stumbled upon the most beautiful beach on the Yucatan peninsula. We sunned, and swam, and made a promise to come back and stay in one of those tiny dirt floor cabanas for a week or two.One of Elizabeth’s birthday NIGHTS was dinner back in Puerto Morelos, at a hole in the wall called Café Azul. You have to walk the entire length of the building, sideways, down an alley about 20 inches wide, to get from the street in front, to the entrance in the back. Once inside, the proprietor revealed a few tales about this building. It was once a church. The priest operated it also as safe house for immigrants… like an underground railroad of sorts. The walls still had dozens of attachment points for hammocks, which would be hung to sleep in at night, then removed during the day. He also told us it was the only building in town with a basement, (now it was his wine cellar). It was one of only three structures that survived the last hurricane.My wife is one of those people who knows how to stretch a birthday celebration out for a month. Another of her birthday dinners was Italian food, at a spot called PortoBella. The bestest, thinnest, flattest pizza crust in the world. After you get to know a few shopkeepers, bartenders, and make a few friends, it gets harder to leave. We planned to stay only two days, but, the spell Puerto Morelos cast upon us kept us for NINE! Because of the consistent trade winds, the wind generator kept the batteries hot and the beer cold. We never ran the engine. Finally, we shoved off March 6th. Next stop Puerto Aventuras.The weather started out great for sailing. Winds out of the east about 10-15, seas about 2-3. We sailed south, close to the reef, past the ruins of Tulum and were again in awe with the beauty of the place. One can just imagine what it must have looked like 2,000 years ago. Painted in bright colors, perched up on that grey cliff, surrounded by the green jungle. Then the wind increased to 20 knots and the seas quickly built over 4 to 6. I made a sail change and easily caught up with two other boats that left Puerto Morelos an hour before us. (I’m always racing!) The three boats all arrived at the marina entrance at about the same time. Lov-E tells me a voice on the VHF said “they closed the port.” I thought to myself… how can you close a marina? (Balls) And why would you? (my lack of Common Sense) What a Nightmare! The sea floor rises up from a half a mile deep to a shoreline of cheese grater like rocks, in a distance of maybe 200 yards. The rock jetty opening was very narrow, maybe 60 -75 feet wide, and the 4 to 6 foot breakers were roaring in. I wanted a closer look, and had not yet decided what I was going to do - one way or the other. So, I moved SOEL closer. It didn’t look so bad. You just had to time the waves right. I tacked back out to sea, and started the trusty little engine to let it warm-up. Let’s try it! We dropped all canvass and tacked back. Once I committed, I had no options. No room to maneuver. No out. We approached the entrance at 7 knots, then surfed a wave at 15 knots, right towards the jetty. Obviously my timing wasn’t right. I fought the wheel, sat on the throttle, and kept SOEL speeding for the center of the pass without broaching. As the wave passed under us, we came to a dead stop! Time stood still. The engine was screaming at full throttle, straining against the rushing water, but all I could hear was my own heart beat in my ears. I think we even backed up a bit as the wave spent itself on the rocks inside the jetty, and the surplus water attempted to exit. Elizabeth was hanging on in the companion way, looking back at me fighting the helm. She swears the wave behind us was as tall as I am! That cresting five footer, slammed into the transom, and bulldozed us the rest of the way into the harbor entrance. Again, I kept SOEL from broaching, but, it was the dumbest thing I’d done on this trip… so far. I still wish I would have passed on that hero crap. One of those two boats I passed on the way here watched our progress, then called us on the radio to ask how it was. I calmly reported the conditions, explained how I did it, then admitted to him it was the stupidest thing I’d ever done with my boat. He continued on, south. Smart captain.We quickly labeled Puerto Aventuras a tourist trap. It is more “Americanized” than many areas of Houston. Half of the people are pink skinned “Norte Americanos” on vacation, and the other half are Real Estate salespeople pushing timeshares. Everybody speaks English. This was not what we imagined Mexico would be like, but we had to stop for communication reasons. We would be out of touch for a few weeks, and didn’t want anyone back home to worry. We had a choice of three Internet Cafés within walking distance, to send out e-mail. It cost $5.00 usd for a beer and an hour of internet usage. I handed Lov-E a frosty longneck and shot out a few email messages. Then we traded. Elizabeth got us some weather up-dates, and I got warm foam from an empty bottle. Ahh, married life.There is a Dolphin Show here a couple of times a day, and Elizabeth and I watched from the shade. Tourist pay about a hundred bucks each to put on a life jacket and get in the water for a half an hour. Photographs and videos of your experience are extra. Even though we could see our girls Sarah and Sydney having fun here… it made us both a little sad to see those beautiful mammals penned up like that. No doubt that they are amazing, and put on a great show, but, we both couldn’t help thinking they looked like a couple of domesticated dogs that someone taught how to fetch, and roll over for a little fishy treat. We decided to take on all the water our tanks would hold and get tha hell outta there. Next stop was Bahia de la Ascencion only 35 miles away. I woke at 0300 to prepare and, we were underway by 0400. We were fighting a 2 - 3 knot north setting current, so a 35 mile run could take all day. That frightening pass at the jetties of Puerto Aventuras looked so quiet and sleepy this time around. Wind was out of the northwest less than 10 knots and the seas were practically flat. The beginning of this leg was so enjoyable. Hot coffee at sunrise, light winds, no waves. But… by 0930 it was blasting 30 out of the northeast, gusting higher, seas were 10 feet, and ugly because of the north setting current. Everything was soaking wet again, and shit was flying off the shelves inside the boat. I kept trying to slow us down, and reduced SOEL to a double reef main, NO jib, as she was still making over 7 knots and taking water over the bow. We both wanted to sell the damn boat and go home. Teeth rattling crashes into big waves at full speed, was not exactly what I had in mind when I wished for a “sailing vacation.” How about a fruity drink with a fuckin’umbrella stuck in it and a postcard perfect sunset? Huh?The opening in the reef at Bahia de la Ascencion is about 2 miles wide, so, there was no problem getting in. We flew due west through the bay, and anchored in flat water behind the island. Safe at last. A voice on the VHF radio reported a gust of 50 knots offshore. We could believe that! The wind generator kept whistling it’s screechy tune, so we knew the winds were more than just “moderate.” The dinghy got launched so we could check out the beautiful, quiet little town of Punta Allen. One road, two grocery stores, and a handful of restaurants and hotels. We joked about selling the boat and buying a tiny run down shack we spotted with a “se Vende” sign in the front yard. It was about a hundred feet from the beach on a palm tree shaded lot. Perfect.Back aboard SOEL, we watched the sunset……dreaming. That north wind blew in some clean, clear air, so when the sky darkened, we dug out our ‘Handbook of the Night Sky‘ and identified a few constellations. There was no light pollution from any big cities around. The stars at night were simply gorgeous! The next day, it got cloudy again, and it rained. That weather was so weird. So hard to predict. Well… you know what rain means, Laundry Day! Elizabeth and I caught rain water in buckets and ice chests and sun shower bags. The boat was rinsed of all the salt she had scooped up from burying her nose in the seas the day before. E washed the sails, the dishes, and all the dirty clothing she could find. We stayed a few more days in Bahia de la Ascencion with laundry pinned to the lifelines, and not another boat in sight. I guess the ‘Sanford and Son’ look scared them away.Next stop, Bahia de la Espirito Santo, 25 miles south. No strong current here so, no early start necessary this time. I enjoy my morning coffee, then, up anchor at daybreak. From where we anchored, it was over 6 miles to the reef. That means over an hour of sailing just to get out to deep water. No sooner had we made it offshore, the wind died. Great! SOEL flopped around in the swells and the clouds began to gather, again. Elizabeth was seasick by the time the wind came back, and… it began to rain - again! Weather!The break in the reef at Espirito Santos bay is about one and a half miles wide. In the words of Captain Ron: “any fool could find it.” We sailed through the pass, (no problem,) then, about 2 miles into the bay, I ran us hard aground on a sand bar. (BIG problem.) Aw Crap! First, I launched the dinghy, rowed out the anchor and dropped it to windward of our position to keep us from moving closer to the beach. Second, I put on a mask and swam under the boat to see exactly what we were facing. SOEL’s keel lay on a grassy ledge, less than 2 feet from deeper water. So close! We needed a shovel, or a Tow Boat. We didn’t have either. I wrapped the anchor line around the windlass, and cranked! Elizabeth was tailing the line, sitting on the deck with her feet on the rail when the windlass came apart with a loud, sickening, metallic BANG! Bugger! I couldn’t even imagine sailing the rest of this trip without that piece of equipment. We desperately needed it. Especially now.Those of you who know me, understand that I am not the type of person to sit still and wait for someone to come rescue me. I take action. This particular day, I was pissed-off into action. I felt so stupid for trusting the cruising guide instead of my own “Nav Skills.” (Balls and Common sense, remember?) I got us stuck here and dammit, I’m gonna get us out of this mess. Shovel… I needed a shovel… what could I use as a shovel? The oar from the dinghy! I jumped in the water and began poking at the sand under the keel with the six foot oar. She was so close to deep, safe water. While digging, I got another idea. I climbed back out of the water, and started the engine. As it was warming up, I removed the anchor rode from the broken windlass, and ran it up to the top of the mast with the spinnaker halyard. Elizabeth again tailed the line while I cranked on the mast winch to heel us over. THIS winch didn’t break, and I tied the line off after we were heeled WAY over. Elizabeth took over at the helm and I jumped back in the drink to resume excavation. Lov-E was at the helm, spinning the wheel hard over, port to starboard, with the engine tugging at about half throttle in forward gear to wiggle us off. SOEL came free while I was in the water, stabbing at the sand under the keel, with the oar from the dinghy. I caught the swim ladder as the boat passed me, and before Elizabeth could leave me standing out in the chest deep water. Sure, I deserved it. We had been hung up less than two hours. As I dragged my victorious, exhausted self up the swim ladder, My wife asked “Where do I go?” “Aim for that anchor.” I panted, and pointed.
I bent ‘that anchor’ getting it out of the hard sand, and we sailed over toward the lighthouse at Punta Herreo to rest for a couple of days, and recuperate. That was it! We were selling that damn boat and getting an RV. Maybe a cabin in the woods. Just get as far away from boats as possible! But, of course, after a great sunset, we began to soften. Then, the phosphorescence in the water gave us an unforgettable show. Stars on the water, huh? This small blob about the size of a lime would flash like a really bright green light bulb, then begin to spread out to the shape of a big trashcan lid, and finally break into streaks as the light faded and it blew downwind. Things were looking up. We might keep the old boat after all.Months later we were swapping stories with another couple. They confessed to running aground in Bahia de la Espirito Santo. Elizabeth quickly blurted out, “Oh my gosh, us too!” I kicked her ankle under the table, as I asked our host “Uhh, can you show us where you guys got stuck?”“Absolutely, I recorded the spot. We were stuck there waiting FOUR days until someone at the lodge came by in a dive boat and pulled us off.” He opened his guide book.
Elizabeth and I glanced down at the same red X in the same exact position we had entered it in our own cruising guide.
