Belize - and back to Mexico

Lighthouse reef is wonderful!  The water is breathtakingly clear, and the abundance of color and wildlife is superb.  The diving here rivals that of any other in the world.  Elizabeth and I swam every day, most days more than once, and it was a new experience every time.  One day we’d see a turtle, another day we would follow a couple of rays around.  We were like kids checking out a new neighborhood. 

During one afternoon swim, Elizabeth attracted my attention and pointed towards a coral rock formation.  I dove down for a closer look and came face-to-face with a six foot long Green Moray eel!  It slowly crept out of its hole, inch by inch, constantly opening and closing its mouth full of teeth, while I was backpedaling my little kiddy fins as fast as I could swim.  Scared the hell outta me!  I think I peed in my wetsuit!  I surfaced like one of those submarines in a U.S. Navy commercial, shooting up out of the water clear to me knees, and looked around to find my loving wife.  I shouldn’t have worried about her being a safe distance away, because she simply swam off, leaving me for dead, and was already 100 feet away, halfway back to the boat!  Thanks.  Love you too, Sweetie.

Long Cay looked worthy of some exploring, so, one morning, E and I pointed the dinghy that direction.  We landed on the beach next to a rickety old dock and walked down a sandy path.  Lizards hid under the brush, birds squawked in the trees, and hermit crabs dotted the trail.  We turned a corner and both stopped in our track.  A huge wooden house with a gigantic, varnished, front porch standing on beautiful stained tree trunk posts, was lurking in the shade of the palms.  We both stood there with our mouths hanging open, thinking this looked quite out of place, when the door opened and the caretaker walked out to chat with us.  It was a Lodge of sorts.  He informed us that lots were for sale and the entire island was undergoing development.   Progress.  Yuck.

Kim and Carl from Querencia, have sailed out to Lighthouse Reef, from Port Aransas, Texas, every year since 2000.  Carl is the appointed “Dive Master.”  He knows the area well and is an avid underwater photographer.  He usually dives three times a day, sometimes even a night dive, and doesn’t seem to mind leading the other swimmers around.

Another Texas boat, had the whole family aboard.  Mom, Dad and daughter.  She was the same age as Sarah, and a certified SCUBA diver.  That made us both miss our Sarah and Sydney.  Not a day goes by that we don’t talk about “the girls” and how much we miss them.

One of the two boats NOT from Texas, was a catamaran named Zausel, sailed by Hanalore and Norbert.  I just called them Hansel and Gretel.  “Umm, Os?“ Elizabeth tried politely to get my attention one afternoon, “Someone is coming over.”  I was in the dinghy, tied off behind SOEL, naked, working on something unimportant, and looked up to see a little brown head in the water, between me and my floating home.  Hanalore swam over from her boat, a distance of probably a quarter of a mile, climbed up the ladder and plopped herself down to visit with Elizabeth.  “I’ll just get a towel…” I apologized about my state of non-dress as I stepped up into the cockpit and tried to sneak below.  “Dotz no necessareee.” she giggled and slapped me on the ass as I walk by.  Gotta love those Germans.

Being almost complete rookies at this “Cruising Lifestyle”, we began to run out of items, supplies.  Ice went in three days.  The beer evaporated shortly after that.  Despite the fact that my sundowner was now a warm ‘One Barrel & Crystal Light‘, we ran out of rum too.  The dinghy was out of gasoline.  When the water pump started gurgling, signaling the bottom of the tanks were getting dry, we pulled up the anchor.  The logbook records the winds at 20 - 25 kts from the east, and I remember being frightened as we motored out of the calm anchorage and raised the reefed mainsail.  I aimed SOEL northward, between Lighthouse Reef and the Turneffe Islands group, turned west over the top of Turneffe, surfed the breakers over the reef through an unmarked, uncharted pass, and once again hooked into the lagoon at Cay Caulker.

Reprovisioning food and booze was fine here, but the other cruisers informed me that diesel fuel and potable water had to be arranged from a guy with a barge.  He would come out one day a week, tie up to your boat, drag dirty hoses across your deck and pump barge water into your drinking water tanks and questionable diesel into your fuel tank.  No thank you.  Option number two was, find a marina to stay in overnight and fill up there.  We had only spent one night tied to pilings so far.  Every night, for three months now, we were “living on the hook” as they say, so we could justify the expense.  The problem was… out of 150 miles of coastline, there are NO marinas in Belize.  The Belize Yacht Club in San Pedro is private.  The Fort George Hotel in Belize City has a dock, but it is the landing pad for all the cruise ship passengers wanting to go ashore.  Moho Cay (north) used to be a protected marina, now it’s a dive boat center.  The only guide book we had for this area was ten years old and it listed a boatyard in New Haven, 100 miles south.  When I complained about this to a fellow cruiser, he quietly said, ”Shut up, man.  There’s 20 boats anchored here now.  How many do ya think would be here if there was ten fancy yacht clubs up and down the coast?”  He had a valid point, but I still needed drinking water. 

Carl told me about a place where most of the dive boats spend the night.  They don’t take reservations, don’t have assigned slips, and the entrance shallow, but, if you buy fuel, you can stay overnight, and get water.  Well, I guess that’s my first choice.  We turned into the jetties of the “Cucumber Beach Marina” about a half an hour before closing time, and I called on the radio.  A voice said that a person would be standing on the dock, directing me to the fuel pier.  Fine.  I pulled in where the guy indicated, tied off SOEL, and looked around.  This couldn’t be the fuel dock!  Nothing but a gravel parking lot.  “Uhh, I need fuel.”  The guy didn’t even turn around, “Es commin” he mumbled as he continued to walked away. 

“Well, waddya think?” I asked Elizabeth.  She didn’t have a chance to answer.  This ancient, rust colored, 1940’s era, U.S. military, single axel tanker truck was squeaking through the parking lot.  It stopped with a cloud of dust in front of SOEL, and I realized, the “fuel dock” was wherever they parked that diesel toting dinosaur.  I pumped just enough diesel fuel to execute the ruse of needing refueling, then rolled up the hose.  I walked over to the tiny building, filled the gasoline tanks for the dingy, and paid the attendant.  So far, so good. 

Everyone went home for the night without asking me to move, so, Elizabeth pulled out the water filter, connected it to the end of the hose and gave SOEL a good scrubbing, then she filled our water tanks.  Now we were ready for another month of sailing!

We shoved off at first light and motored out in the absolutely flat water.  Not a ripple, not a breeze.  It looked like Galveston Bay in the summer… except for the scenery towards the west.  Victoria Peak rises over 3,600 feet, and I couldn’t stop admiring the grand view.  E and I were both looking the same direction, when a little finger mullet squirted up from the surface of the water, attracting our attention.  At the moment the little fishy reached the zenith of his arc, a gigantic ray shot five feet up, out of the glass smooth water, giving chase!  Easily six feet, tip to tip, slick and black, with a hundred white spots on the top side, and a tail like a rope, maybe fifteen or twenty feet long.  It hung there in the sky for an eternity as Elizabeth and I just froze, our mouths hanging open, forgetting to even breathe.  As it crashed back into the water with an incredibly huge, belly flop splash, I let out one of those Keanu Reeves patented “Whoa!”  That thing jumped high enough to clear the lifelines!  What would I do if suddenly I had a couple of hundred pounds of slimy, angry fish jump into the cockpit with me?  And, how do you get it back out?

Next stop, Tobacco Cay.  We tie onto a mooring ball to check out the little sand pit.  Tourist trap.  Half the buildings are hotels / cottages, the other half are bars / restaurants.  Where do these people live?  We grab a beer at the “Reefs End” bar, and go for a stroll in the sand.  Elizabeth spots a young girl, maybe 8 years old, under the dock.  Her brother, maybe 6 years old, is pulling in small fish with a hand line, and giving them over to her.  She sharpens a knife on a stone, just like her parents would do, and gets to work cleaning fish. 

The wind went from flat calm, to a 30 knot blast during the night, then died at sunrise.  This weather!  We untied from the mooring ball and sailed over to South Water Cay.  Beautiful Island!  All sand, palm trees, and hammocks.  We were walking a beautiful beach, snapping photographs, when some man asked us what room we were staying in at the resort.  Apparently a private beach.  Elizabeth and I turned around and walked back to the first Bar & Grill we saw and ducked in the cool shade for a cheeseburger and a beer.  No reservation, no service.  Fine!  I was not impressed with the “Island Hospitality” today. 

We motor a half a mile south (no wind) to the next island.  Carrie Bow Cay has a “field office” for the Smithsonian here.  We looked around the buildings and offices for about a half an hour, but didn’t find a single person to talk to. Radios were blasting, lights were on, but no one came out to say hello.

We motored on, still no wind.  Neither one of us was too excited about anchoring in 40 feet of water at Blueground Range, so we continued south a few more miles.  Stewart Cay was shallower, but very uncomfortable, so we backtracked to the deeper anchorage.  I pitched out 150 feet of anchor gear and called it a night.  Blueground Range was empty, but, it’s all mangroves.  Was there a deserted island anywhere in Belize where you could just lay out on the sand and be all alone? 

The Wind did its little trick again and kept me up all night.  Flat calm during the day, then it clocked around from the northwest - again - and blasted 25 - 30 knots - again!  I was not getting much rest these past few nights, sitting up in the cockpit, continually checking bearings to be assured we weren’t dragging that huge Bruce anchor around in the mud, so we decided to just stay put for one more day, so I could get some sleep.  I ate leftover pasta for breakfast, then slept till noon.  

Easter Sunday, April 8th, 2007,  SOEL was underway before 0800, on the smoothest beam reach at 5 knots,  southbound for Placencia.  We were enjoying a gentle 10 knot easterly breeze, in flat water, when a funnel cloud dropped out of the cloud bank about one mile east of us.  I watched, intently, as it kept erratically wobbling our direction.  We couldn’t believe our luck.  How many thousands of square miles of open water out here and this damn thing has got to pick on me?  When it eventually wandered over to within 100 yards of, us it made contact with the surface and sent up a spray of water 20 feet across and 50 feet high.  “Ohh, dat’s jus GREAT!”  I was pissed.  Elizabeth was about to lose her mind!  It was time for preventive measures.  We started the motor, clipped on our safety harnesses, dropped the sails and tied them down well, rolled up the bimini, picked up everything else not tied down that could possibly fly around and threw it all down below.  Mr. Waterspout was still ambling due west, now ridiculously close to us, and I set SOEL traveling on a perpendicular course, due south, at hull speed.  Practically at the point of impact, (I was getting wet from the spray) one of the eccentric wobbles diverted the liquid column north, behind us, and steered it on towards the mountain range.  We laughed and jokingly declared, if that thing would have hit us, we would have sold the boat, and hitch hiked back to Texas.

The search for a secluded beach continued, after a brief provisioning stop at Placencia, Belize.  We checked out two or sometimes three islands a day, looking for one with pretty sand to sun on.  South Long Coco was all rocks.  Moho Cay (middle) had ferocious sand fleas that left Elizabeth and I with so many bites we looked like we had the Measles.  The hunt continued a few more days, until we came upon a dumbbell shaped island of sand and coconut trees.  Perfect, right?  I dropped the hook, launched the dink, and sped ashore.  Soft, shallow beach.  No dock.  No other boats.  We must have the place all to ourselves.  I walk around, “Blue Lagoon” style, picking up coconuts and throwing them in the dingy, and come face-to-face with a short Maya man pushing a wheelbarrow through the sand!  He keeps his composure and asks if we have any soft drinks we would like to trade.  “My daughter likes sodas.” he said.  “Sure, I’ll be right back.”  I tell him.  We trade some off-brand diet colas for a few bracelets his wife has hand woven, as he tells me about the island.  Some rich movie star type, he doesn’t know who, bought it, built a house on it, and has only been here twice.  ‘Maya man’ lives here with his small family and is in charge of cleaning, clearing, and theft prevention.

That did it!  Our 30 day visa was almost expired, we were both disappointed at the lack of beaches, and the fact that so many islands were private.  SOEL began her northward journey towards Mexico.

The plastic caps on top of the main sheet winches crumbled and broke off.  No worries.  I whipped out my cordless drill and fabricated some new caps out of starboard, while underway.  About an hour later, the autopilot quit.  The same day!  E hand steered, while I dialed on the cell phone.  The Raymarine guy tells me, “No problem.  Under warranty.  Send it in and we’ll repair or replace, and send it back out to you.”  Well, now… how da hell are you gonna do that, when I don’t have an address?  What are you planning to write on the DHL shipping label?  TO:  SOEL - the little white boat with a blue stripe, anchored at Cay Caulker, Belize?  I can’t sit on a perfectly sound vessel, in the same spot, for weeks waiting for an un-necessary, electronic replacement part.  And, I can’t stomach the idea of shipping expenses, import duty, or spending three times what the item actually costs, just to be able to push a soft little red button.  SOEL is fine without it.  Elizabeth and I properly prepared for sea. Lee cloths… Jack lines… the works.  We checked out of the country and hand steered north, up the Yucatan coast. 

We made it about halfway in one overnighter and pulled into Puerto Aventuras, Mexico the next day for a little rest.  I changed the oil and filter, and fuel filter, then filled the water tanks.  We were on the east coast of the Yucatan peninsula with a fifteen knot trade wind blowing towards shore, and three to five foot waves rolling in. The coastline at this particular location was made up of an unforgiving, dark grey coral rock with holes throughout. It reminded me of a huge cheese grater. It is so jagged and sharp, you literally could not walk on it barefoot without sustaining serious injury. I shudder to think what it would do to any disabled boat.

We shoved off from the dock and motored out of the narrow, rocky entrance early the next morning.  Less than a boat length past the end of the jetties, the trusty diesel engine stumbled, and sputtered, and slowed to a stop.

Oh shit!

I had left the valve on the fuel tank in the “closed” position when I changed the filter. (I told ya’ll I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.) The engine ran only long enough to use up the fuel remaining in the filters. Suddenly we were directly in the teeth of the cheese grater.

“Baby, grab the wheel for a minute while I get a sail up,” I said calmly, “I know what the problem is.”

I dashed up on deck and heaved on the green halyard, hand over hand. The mainsail was up before we lost steerage way. Elizabeth fell off the wind to a more southerly course. We gained speed and skirted the hazardous coastline for about 30 seconds while I secured the main halyard and went around for the jib halyard. She spun the wheel to windward, and I hauled up the number two headsail as we tacked. SOEL simply sailed away from that treacherous lee shore. Luckily, that frightening situation turned out well. However… it could have easily been a disaster on the rocks that day if we hadn’t been prepared.

Despite all the trivial repairs and trifling challenges, SOEL really is such a good boat.  If the sails are properly trimmed, you can lock the wheel a few degrees to leeward, she will sail herself in almost any wind forward of the beam.  I set everything perfectly, corrected my fuel issue, and we made it to Isla Mujeres with enough light left in the afternoon sky to sneak through “Shoot de Chute“ pass.  We anchored confidently and were enjoying our sundowners before 1800. 

Who needs a stinking autopilot?

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