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We added another Mapache to our gaze (that’s what a group of racoons is called, like a pod of dolphins, a pride of lions, or a murder of crows). Meet the Sprinter van, Mapache Tres, otherwise known as Land Mapache or LaPache.
We realized that a quarter of each of our years is spent on land, waiting out the annual hurricane season. So, we decided to invest in a land-going vessel. We purchased her in Puerto Peñasco from our friends on the boat, Alegria (Mike from Alegria is the same Mike who helped Rob deliver Mapache 2.0 from San Francisco to Ensenada).
Once we had LaPache, we spent one hot morning in a Home Depot’s parking lot, playing Tetris with our belongings inside of the van, before storing Mapache 2.0 for the summer season. It was June, and we hopped into the van, pointing north. But our first order of business was rescuing a street dog and her five newborn puppies.
Our friends on the boat, Milagros, were working in a boatyard not far from ours in the San Carlos area. A friendly street dog decided that the safest place for her to birth her puppies was underneath Milagros. She was not wrong. The Milagros crew cared for her and the puppies, providing, food, water, and shelter. And, after the boatyard manager threatened to throw the dog and her puppies out of the yard before the pups’ 1-week birthday, Milagros reached out to our network of animal-loving cruisers to hatch a plan. Barb’s Dog Rescue in Puerto Peñasco graciously agreed to take the mama and puppies into their shelter’s care, despite being over its desired capacity of rescue animals. All we had to do was transport the dogs to them.
Rob and I piled our four-legged hitchhikers into the van for LaPache’s maiden voyage. The trip took 10 hours with lots of nursing stops and potty breaks. The dogs made it safely to Barb’s Dog Rescue, where they received medical care, food, comfortable shelter, and more love. The next step is finding them a foster home in the United States, where they have better chances of finding forever homes. (Please reach out if you have any foster leads or would be interested in adoption. They are now at an appropriate age for adoption).
At the shelter, Rob and I could not refuse three more furry hitchhikers jumping into our van for a lift to the United States, where an Arizona rescue group was holding space for them. We added six to Barb’s roster but took out three. Barb’s Dog Rescue is still working hard in Peñasco for over 400 dogs in their shelter’s care. If you have any funds to spare, please consider donating to them here. Or, if you are heading to Peñasco any time, you can drop off much needed dog food to them (they especially need soft dog food).
Two Weddings and a Funeral
The rest of the summer schedule was dictated by two weddings and a funeral with time to visit places and people in between. After Rob said farewell to his 92-year-old grandfather, we carried on.
We powered up the van in the driveway of our friend’s home with the oversite of their dog and 5-year-old child. We added solar panels and four lithium batteries to the van to run our electric kitchen (fridge, air fryer, Instapot, and blender) and office (laptop computers, Starlink satellite, and cellphones). Two of three solar panels arrived in plenty of time, but the third panel (although ordered from the same company in the same order) arrived a day after our intended departure date. We adapted our schedule, as we are now well accustomed to doing, and Rob temporarily attached the third solar panel with plans to permanently affix it once we were in Oregon.
After visiting some of our Arizona crew, we continued toward the first wedding in Oregon. The drive through northern Arizona and southern Utah around Moab is a stark but interesting desert landscape. The smooth, curvy hills with their orange-sand foreground creates a feel of driving through a surrealist painting. The scenery is largely a product of the wind that freely whips through the sparse environment. That same wind decided to smooth out some of LaPache, whipping up a dust devil that tore off that third solar panel and tossed it onto the side of the desert highway, rendering our reschedule pointless.
We defeatedly ordered another third panel to our friends’ house in Oregon and continued through Utah and Idaho to Oregon, arriving on time in Hood River for the summer’s first wedding. After that, we got back into the van for a month of land-cruising the Northwest.
We spent time along rivers outside of Missoula, Montana, where Rob fly-fished and I ran on the country roads. We made our way to Glacier National Park, where I covered almost 40 miles of hiking trails, made way for a grizzly bear, and spectated a moose. Rob and I hiked to the foot of a glacier, where we put our feet in its slushy edges. We rowed around Lake McDonald, talked at big horn sheep and a family of mountain goats, and we drove the Going to Sun Highway. We took advice from a self-proclaimed “wino” and “Montana expert,” who we met at one of our camping spots, to stop at Kootenai Falls and see the falls and its impressive suspension bridge.
After that, we drove into Washington, stopping at Lake Chelan and spontaneously catching a Bach Fest performance by a string quartet. We stopped for an afternoon in North Cascades National Park, where I added another eight miles to my hiking tally, through what is proclaimed, “North America’s Alps.” We circled down to Seattle, where we spent some quality time with friends. We looped around the Olympic Peninsula, where we visited lavender farms, saw the northwestern-most point of the continental United States, watched Olympic Marmots waddle around the alpine meadows on top of Hurricane Ridge, marveled at the fairytale-like rainforest, and camped along the powerful Pacific Northwest Coast. We reminisced in the places that our adventure started in the Ilwaco, Washington, boatyard and just before the mouth of the Columbia River in Astoria, Oregon. After all of that, we drove to Portland, Oregon, for wedding number two.
Our return drive from the Pacific Northwest took us to Rob’s favorite fly-fishing spot on the Wyoming-Utah border, friends’ homes in Colorado, a quick meal in New Mexico, and a stopover in Flagstaff then Phoenix, before we crossed back over the border into Mexico.
The van life is similar to boat life in that we are able to change our environment and live in beautiful, remote places or in vibrant cities. It is different from boat life, because we can get to those places much quicker and with the ability to pull over at any time. Unlike the boat, we almost always have access to a restaurant or grocery store, so food planning is not quite as imperative. But the stopping places are not always as accepted or normalized as an anchorage or marina. Along with the more traditional paid campsites and RV parks, we camped in friends’ driveways and truck stops, private farms and brewery parking lots (through a program called Harvest Hosts), and park-and-ride lots and sides of roads. We showered at truck stops and city swim centers, and we frequented gas station bathrooms.
The van life often felt like we were sneaking around, even though we never broke laws on where we parked for the night. We were sometimes lumped in with people who are forced into a houseless life, which we don’t mind except that it evoked some unwarranted portrayals of disapproval. But other times, people were supportive and interested in our adventure-seeking lifestyle. When that happened, we learned something from our conversations—things like the science of soil in regenerative farming, the genetics of fainting goats, the persistence required to petition for a recognized wilderness area (this one was for a 1910 wildfire burn area), natural fermentation methods for wine and cider making, the elk-obsessed basis for creating the Olympic National Park, experiences of travel and life as a seasonal tourism worker, the astounding value of fresh huckleberries, and the best locations to view moose and waterfalls.
The trip from Arizona to Oregon, including the loop through Montana and Washington, took about five weeks, 5,450 miles, and 237 gallons of diesel fuel. The return trip from Oregon to Arizona, including our stops in Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico, took only a week, and added another 2,205 miles and 131 gallons of diesel fuel. In total for the entire summer, we put 9,278 miles on the van and filled her with 437 gallons of diesel. We spent $110 dollars on showers and $273 dollars (including $99 annual fee for the Harvest Hosts spots) on campsites. And we are ever grateful to our friends and family, who let us get out of the van (and into their houses) for parts of our summer.
We are now reunited with Mapache 2.0 in San Carlos, Mexico. Soon, we will leave LaPache in storage in Mexico, as we transform back into seagoing people and head the opposite direction—down, toward Panama.
Meet Land Mapache (aka LaPache).
Moving into LaPache from a Home Depot parking lot
The Milagros crew, who rescued this mama dog and cared for her and her newborn puppies under their boat in the boatyard
Transporting the rescue dogs from the San Carlos-area boatyard to the Puerto Peñasco rescue
The other precious cargo that we transported to Barb’s Dog Rescue
Mama and puppies, safe in an air-conditioned room at Barb’s Dog Rescue
Barb’s does an amazing job at rescuing dogs in Mexico. Please consider supporting the rescue, whether it be monetarily or through dog food donations. Find out more here.
Our next three passengers, on their way from Puerto Peñasco to a rescue in the U.S., where they will have better chances for adoption
Rob’s helper, Dylan, overseeing the install of the van’s new batteries, inverter, and solar panels
Sarah’s helper, Petey Pablo, overseeing the making of the van’s new battery cables
The first third solar panel (a new third panel was obtained in Oregon), blown off the van along a dusty Moab highway
Camp, at a Moab RV park
Camp, at an Idaho truck stop (the showers at truck stops are great!!)
Camp, in the parking lot of New Basin Distilling Company in Madras, Oregon (through the Harvest Hosts program)
Exploring some of beautiful Eastern Oregon
We made it to Wedding number 1 in Hood River, Oregon!
Hiking in the Mount Hood, Oregon, wilderness
Bumming around the Columbia River Gorge
Cherry and berry picking outside of Hood River
Oregon beers with Oregon views
Oregon–>Montana (by way of Washington and Idaho)
We camped at several farms outside of Missoula, Montana, through the Harvest Hosts program.
Rob, making friends with our farm roommates
One farm had several friendly fainting goats.
Rob, fly fishing Rock Creek, outside of Missoula, Montana
Montana–>Glacier National Park
Rob’s office (inside of the van) during our stay in Glacier National Park (notice the Starlink on top of the van)
We took a one-night break from the van to stay at the epic Many Glacier Hotel.
Us, hanging around Many Glacier Hotel
Exploring the Many Glacier area of the park
The grizzly that Sarah encountered during her almost 40 miles of hikes in Glacier National Park
A moose, viewed from a safer distance than the bear
Alpine views on the way to Grinnell Glacier
Glacial foot bath
Mountain goat (with baby!) encounter
Big Horn Sheep — the experiences in Glacier seemed unreal, even this photo looks staged, but it’s not!
Camp, at a campground, just outside of Glacier National Park
Our boat adventure on Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park
We took turns at the helm.
Our lunch spot along Going to Sun Road in Glacier National Park
An impressive suspension bridge at Kootenai Falls, Montana
Camp, on a fire road in Montana, on our way to Washington
Sarah, hiking the Maple Pass Loop in North Cascades National Park
Camp, at a farm and cidery in Northwestern Washington (through Harvest Hosts)
The farm’s natural-fermentation cidery and winery, inside of a barn
Visiting Port Townsend, a sailing town on the north side of the Olympic Peninsula, where we took many sailing classes before we started our grand adventure on Mapache in 2020
We took a detour from the main Olympic Peninsula loop to drive the Sequim Lavender Trail
Touring lavender farms in Sequim, on the Olympic Peninsula
Art and love locks in Port Angeles, on the North side of the Olympic Peninsula
Hiking Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park
While on Hurricane Ridge, we spent some time with several of the usually-elusive Olympic Marmots.
We hiked to the northwestern-most point of the continental U.S. (photographed just behind us).
Olympic Peninsula loop blackberry-shake break
We camped in Forks, which is known for its vampires and werewolves (due to the filming of the Twilight series there).
The Olympic Peninsula (and a lot of the Pacific Northwest) is also known for this mythical beast–Sasquatch
Tree-hugging giant old-growth in the Hoh Rain Forest in the Olympic National Park
Views from the Hoh Rain Forest in the Olympic National Park
A family of Roosevelt Elk, sauntering across the Olympic Peninsula loop–President Roosevelt helped establish Olympic National Park in order to save this species from extinction
Olympic Peninsula’s Pacific Coast–you can just imagine the power of the waves that regularly wash these tree trunks onto shore here
Rob, on the Pacific coast of Olympic National Park
The “Tree of Life,” a tree-root cave on the coast in Olympic National Park
Sarah, standing at the base of one of the sea stack rocks on the Pacific coast of the Olympic Peninsula
We returned to Oregon for Wedding number 2.
From Oregon, we drove back through Idaho and into Wyoming, to the Wyoming-Utah border, where we camped at one of Rob’s favorite spots, which is on the Green River
Rob, fly fishing one of his favorite spots–the Green River
Arizona–>Mexico and Mapache 2.0!
It has been almost exactly three years since we set out on a boat to sail the world. And we have made it to exactly one country. There are many examples of people who sail around the entire world in the same or much less time—40 days in some sailing races, 1-3 years for travelers set up like us. We are motivated to move past more international borders, but we could not leave Mexico without one more tour of the Sea of Cortés.
The Miracle Mar
I fell in love with Mar de Cortés as a kid, having only a pinhole view of its greatness from a single city along its northern tip. Rob fell for it during motorcycle adventures with his dad along the Baja peninsula. And we both realized an even deeper infatuation of and devotion to Mar de Cortés two-and-a-half years ago, during our first season of cruising.
It’s a miracle place with the most biodiversity of any of the world’s water bodies. And most of that diversity is in the form of large ocean animals. 33 of the world’s 86 Cetacean species reside in Mar de Cortes, including orca, sperm whale, blue whale, humpback whale, bottlenose dolphin, and vaquita porpoise. There are over 170 species of shark, including great white, bull, tiger, hammerhead, and whale shark. Huge bill fish, grouper, and yellowtail share waters with manta rays and sea turtles. The Sea holds a world record in the number of marine plants that it hosts—700. 900 species of fish and many important sea birds live in it.
This interesting, mostly big-animal, biodiversity exists because the geography of the sea allows deep, cool water to run alongside temperate and tropical coastlines. The large animals enjoy the warm waters while feeding on squid, crustaceans, and plankton from the cool waters. All of that, plus the fact that the sea itself and its 2500-mile coastline is irrefutably pretty.
I do not think there can be enough said of the beauty and vibrancy of Mar de Cortés. Many have tried with the most famous being French explorer, Jacques Cousteau, who declared it the “World’s Aquarium.” In 1940, novelist, John Steinbeck, and marine biologist, Ed Ricketts, memorialized its treasures in the nonfiction novel, Log from the Sea of Cortez. Divers deemed La Paz (close to the Sea’s only coral reef) the “dive capital of the world” in the 1960s. Recreational fishermen flocked to the sea for its abundance of prized fish in the 1990s. As I type this out, I rethink my assertion–maybe any praise of the Sea is too much. And here I am adding to it.
Too Much Love
The original responses to the praise of the Sea’s biodiversity and abundance were unmanaged expansions in tourism, recreational fishing, and commercial fishing. Mar de Cortés could not keep up. The circling hammerheads above divers’ heads are now gone. Sharks in general were almost eradicated along with the turtles, whales, manta rays, and many other fish species. Without big predators, mid-level predators thrived, and they ate up all the fish that are important to maintaining the health of the reef, so the reef suffered, which further impacted the health of the Sea. The most famous casualty from the excessive human activity in the Sea is the vaquita porpoise, which, like many of the threatened animals, is often a bycatch victim in fishing nets. The tiny porpoises’ only territory is Mar de Cortés. There are literally 10 vaquitas remaining (maybe less at the time of this posting), and the number will be zero in the next few years, because the vaquita are not breeding and are still at risk from those nets.
The Plot Twist
There is a happy turn in the Sea’s story, which is also a product of human efforts. In 1995, environmentalists lobbied and obtained protections for parts of Mar de Cortés as marine parks, administered by Mexico’s National Commission of Protected Natural Areas (CONANP). In just 10 years with that protection, biomass of the Cabo Pulmo reef (the Sea’s only reef) increased by 463%. In 2005, UNESECO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) named 244 islands, islets, and coastal areas within Mar de Cortés a World Heritage Site. The CONANP protected areas continued to expand, and CONANP now enforces protected breeding grounds for sharks and sea turtles. Fish populations are rebounding, and whales, dolphins, rays, and sea turtles are returning.
These conservation efforts, which include significant fishing regulations, have remained sustainable through today because many Mexican fishermen have been able to transform their careers into tourism businesses. Tourism taxes go to the agencies that manage and monitor ecotourism. The tourism businesses must obtain permitting, which require passing exams and participating in the monitoring and information-gathering of marine life. Despite the upfront costs to Mexican fishermen-turned-tour-guides in education, licenses, equipment, and marketing, many report earning more money, more quickly than they did at fishing. The sustainable fishing practices and a focus on ecotourism are huge steps, but there are, of course, other problems to tackle, such as reducing plastic waste and cleaning up destructive abandoned fishing gear. Still, it is heartening to see that people are successfully working at protecting the World’s Aquarium.
Our Second Look
We lose the vaquita, but we are maintaining one of the most bio-diverse bodies of water in the world. Just this season, Rob and I have sailed with pods of dolphins playing in our bow wave, cheered for humpbacks and manta rays breaching within yards of our boat, spotted octopus and jawfish in their intricately-engineered homes, witnessed a pod of Orca whales hunt dolphins, dinghied around a bay with schools of stingrays, spied pelican and seagull babies, waded next to an eel, watched flying fish jump when spotlighted, come eye-to-eye with box fish and triggerfish, paddleboarded with a sea turtle.
Again, like our first time in the Sea, we shared many of these experiences with new and longtime boater friends. And again, our optimism for the world and dedication to maintaining it was renewed.
Mapache 2.0 currently sits on land in a San Carlos boatyard. She patiently waits out the hurricane season, while her crew travels north to visit friends and family. We will reunite in the fall for some boat upkeep projects before getting back in the water and *hopefully* getting past Mexico’s border to travel toward next season’s goal destination—Panama.
Most of our stops in Mar de Cortés were at uninhabited islands and far-removed bays. Bahía Salinas is a little different, with many calling it a ghost town. It was once well-populated with a large salt operation.
Bahía Salinas “ghost town”
Abandoned equipment in Bahía Salinas
The giant salt flats in Bahía Salinas
Wading through the salt flats in Bahía Salinas
A view of the Bahía Salinas anchorage (you can see the anchored sailboats in the background)
We had many beach hangs with our boating buddies
We cannot get enough of the Sea’s beautiful coastal landforms.
Even the Sea’s geography is diverse.
The sunsets are not bad (photo model: S/V New Sensation).
A hike to the top of Isla Coronado, which is a dormant volcano.
We made it to the top!
A view of the Isla Coronado anchorage with the Baja peninsula in the background
One of my favorite beaches is on Isla Coronado. It has a shallow approach with lots of rays, small reef fish, and, sometimes, turtles and dolphins. The island curves around the anchorage, so you can see its dormant volcano across its bay.
Mucking about on the Baja peninsula across from Isla Coronado.
San Juanico is another favorite anchorage. We spent several days here.
The water in San Juanico seems to always be clear and warm.
Every day in San Juanico, these fish did circles while circling around our boat.
Beach bonfires were a fairly common occurrence this season.
A view from the top of the south side of San Juanico’s bay
And a view from the top of the north side of San Juanico’s bay
Laundry day: our boat’s washing “machine”
Laundry day: our boat’s “dryer”
Baking on a boat: cheesy bread from the air fryer
We returned to Santo Domingo (where we did an emergency transmission repair to the original Mapache in 2021). This time, we explored this uninhabited part of Bahía Concepcion, instead of the insides of our engine.
We spent significant time in Bahía Concepcion, anchoring in several of her interior bays. This is Playa Santa Barbara.
Our favorite Bahía Concepcion spot became Playa El Burro.
Playa El Burro is a sleepy little beach with convenient snorkeling spots, a couple walkable restaurants, and one row of houses with some camping spaces between them.
Bahía Concepcion holds some great examples of the mangroves that are sprinkled along the coast of Mar de Cortés.
This was a pretty normal set up for me in Mar de Cortés: a stand-up paddleboard and snorkel gear.
Our afternoon routine: me on my stand-up paddleboard and Rob with his fishing gear in the dinghy.
Pelican happy hour!
Rob with chocolata clams
We took a taxi inland for a day to the lush town of Mulegé, which has a giant river running through it to the Sea.
Mulegé’s historic mission
The unusual haulout in San Carlos
San Carlos boatyard pulls boats out of the water and pushes them down the city street by tractor.
Mapache 2.0, resting on the hard for the summer
We made it to the Sea of Cortés! And we made it on time, as planned, for one of our 2023 plans.
The Road to Reunion
We had promised to meet family in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle in January, but weather stopped us from leaving Ensenada in time. So, we met them by car instead of by boat. And that was also almost foiled, but by something more human—cartel reaction to the government’s arrest of El Chapo’s son. The cartel blocked major roadways by burning semi-trucks and other vehicles. Some shootouts occurred between law enforcement and cartel members. But the chaos subsided in a few days, allowing us safe passage past the still-hot skeletons of burned vehicles. We drove that road that is now way too familiar (this made our second round-trip on it) all the way from Ensenada to La Cruz, for a week with family and some bonus friend-visits.
The Boat’s Schedule
Our next plan was to meet friends in Loreto at the end of March. We departed Ensenada on February 27, and we docked the boat at Marina Puerto Escondido (just outside of Loreto) on March 22, a few days before our friends’ plane touched down at Loreto International Airport. Victory!
Of course, our goals had been to arrive a month ahead of them, to leisurely explore islands and anchorages on our way to meet them, and to limit our passages to short and easy. But such planning is impossible on a boat. A boat’s schedule is her own, she communicates with the sea and the wind on a whim, never writing anything down and regularly changing her dates and intentions. In other words, one cannot devise a plan where location and date align without some sacrifice of comfort, sanity, or safety, to the boat and her accomplices, sea and wind. And when we dare make our own plans to meet family and friends, we generally sacrifice some of each.
Pacific Baja Round 2.0
From Ensenada, we relived the Pacific Ocean, off of Baja’s western coast, which you may recall included some harrowing experiences last time. We can now report that, in the last two years, the Pacific Baja Ocean has not lost her vigor. At least that is true for the early springtime, when we took both of our adventures along that coast.
Again, we waited out weather at the mouth of San Quintín’s inner bay and in Bahía Tortuga, Bahía Asunción, and near Bahía Magdalena. This time, our games of Mexican Train were broken up with some television time, thanks to Elon Musk (and Starlink). Again, on the passage to Isla de Cedros, we discussed quitting this boating nonsense and moving to dry land. Again, we arrived in the beautiful, peaceful Isla de Cedros—an oasis in the middle of Pacific Ocean wrath—and remembered why we continue this. And, again, we carried on as best we could with the encouragement of the whales jumping up along the way.
Our ignorance and persistence paid off with quality friend time in a beautiful place. We explored historic sites, festive streets, dusty trails, and a couple of beer-glass bottoms. We made it out on the water for a day sail, anchoring for lunch and a swim at a nearby island. That sail established Mapache’s youngest-ever passenger—our friends’ 9-month-old. He seemed to share my thought on life jacket comfort—there is none. And he seemed to approve of the boat and to succumb to the Sea’s charm.
2.0 in Review
Having completed the 940-mile passage from Ensenada to Loreto, we now feel we have logged sufficient time on the boat to provide a realistic assessment of the 2.0 version of Mapache. Her spaciousness inside and out brings a comfort that Rob and I need. We are people who desire space. We dislike confinement, no matter how much safety it brings. I suppose that isn’t surprising given our life choices. Her design lends to sailing in light winds, and to speed in anything more than light winds. On this trip, unlike our trip down Pacific Baja on the original Mapache, we rarely ran the engine. We sailed (not motor-sailed, but really sailed) most of the time, and we made better time. The absence of engine noise was a relief from a stress we had not wholly appreciated. But the friskiness of Mapache 2.0 translates into a lot more movement. Steering her requires a sensitivity that Rob has developed, but I have yet to master. Activities in the cabin while underway, including cooking, require more balance and awareness. And her heels (leans) have more flair. Despite my best efforts to secure our belongings, books, cookware, and a laptop found their way to the floor.
The grass is never just greener, it is different with its own pros and cons. To us, change is the most important part of moving pastures. And we are learning to love our 2.0 selves. We are also trying to abide by the boat’s schedule, which really means not having one. We are learning to take her advice to live in the moments, and to go where the sea and wind take us.
We rang in 2023 in the Valle de Guadalupe, just inland from Ensenada, with sequins, friends, and champagne at a “glam” party.
Our roadtrip from Ensenada to La Cruz took us through the state of Sinaloa two days after Mexican authorities captured Ovidio Guzmán, El Capo’s son. The Sinaloa Cartel responded by blocking major roadways with burning vehicles.
On our roadtrip, we counted 29 burned semi trucks, 1 burned delivery truck, 2 burned buses, 3 burned cars, and 1 burned Oxxo convenience store.
Family reunion in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle
We took our family into Puerto Vallarta and to Vallarta’s Botanical Gardens. This is a famous statue on Puerto Vallarta’s Malecón. The Boy on the Seahorse is a city icon and is actually a replica of the smaller 1960s original, which was washed away in a hurricane and recovered twice. The original is still maintained by the city.
Vallarta’s Botanical Gardens are impressive, and set on the side of a coastal mountain, 45 minutes’ drive outside of the city.
We could not get enough of the colors at Vallarta’s Botanical Gardens.
Vallarta’s Botanical Gardens had diverse flora and fauna! We saw macaws flying over us, and met several of these Guineafowl.
Air plants, at Vallarta’s Botanical Gardens
Sarah’s father enjoying the ocean views, aka Old Man and the Sea
Before leaving Ensenada, we celebrated Carnaval.
Ensenada’s Carnaval Marshall
The whole town celebrated Carnaval for a full week.
Before leaving Ensenada, we also undertook some boat projects, which often left the inside of the boat looking like this.
One of our boat projects was replacing our solar panels with larger ones. We now have these two 550-watt panels.
We donated our old solar panels through our friends’ nonprofit, Compass for Kindness, which connects donors with local organizations and community leaders.
Our final night in Ensenada was spent with friends, viewing the city from the top of a ferris wheel.
Mapache 2.0, heading out of the marina in Ensenada
Us, as we leave Ensenada, unsuspecting of the trials ahead on our journey south along Baja’s Pacific Coast
Sarah, learning Mapache 2.0’s touchy steering
Rob, ensuring that the boat is okay in the heavy wind and large wind-waves at our anchorage in San Quintín. Notice the blue line holding our bimini down against the storm. We were particularly worried as one of our new solar panels is mounted on top of it.
The calm after the storm. The day after the storm passed, we watched a gray whale fish around our boat for hours in perfectly tranquil water.
We were pretty chilly the whole way down the western Baja coast.
Rob captaining on one of our rougher days of the passage. His face says it all.
Rob, after anchoring in Isla de Cedros.
Mapache 2.0, anchored in the harbor of Isla de Cedros
Isla de Cedros is always serene and beautiful, despite violent storms just outside her protected shore. We made a couple of friends while we strolled the island’s streets.
One of our new friends almost came back to the boat with us.
The sails were up and the engine was off more often than not on our passage. Here, we sail out of Bahía de Tortuga.
The Pacific coast, near Bahía de Asunción
The sleepy, dusty streets of Asunción
A sign of good things to come in Bahía de Asunción
We followed the sign and found an unassuming pizza place. And it was open!
Mapache 2.0 (centered in the photo), anchored in Bahía de Asunción
When the meaning of “leaky little boat” becomes too literal. We heard the bilge pump start running in the middle of a night passage. This is Rob lying on the cabin floor investigating (and praying it wasn’t dire). It ended up being raw water leaking from the engine, which we remedied after making it to Loreto.
Our last stop to wait out weather on the Pacific side of Baja, Bahía Santa María (just north of Bahía de Magdalena)
Whales joined us throughout our trip south, but they were particularly exuberant at the southern end of Baja
Thar she blows!
A whale giving a violent wave
Finally rounding the bottom of Baja at Cabo San Lucas
We stopped for fuel in José del Cabo, lining up with the big boats (that seemed like they were almost on top of us).
And, just like that, we made it into the Sea of Cortés!
Mooring ball attached in our goal destination, Puerto Escondido.
The gang at Sophia’s cooking class at her restaurant, Restaurant Canipolé.
The Loreto mission, which was built in 1697, peaking out from behind Sophia’s traditional restaurant in downtown Loreto
Our friends, wandering Loreto’s streets
The views around Loreto are magic.
A view of the coast line from a peak near our marina
Rob, checking out Puerto Escondido
Out on a day sail — our friends with their baby, who was skeptical about the comfort of his life jacket
A happy baby on our boat (after we anchored and his life jacket was removed)
Te Amo, Bahía de Loreto.
We are certainly trying.
We have returned to where we started our Mexico-sailing adventures two years ago—preparing to head south out of Ensenada and trace the Pacific coast of Baja California. We plan to spend the majority of this next cruising season in the Sea of Cortés, as we did our first year in Mexico. After that, we will get back on track toward the Panama Canal again and, maybe, just maybe, make it out of Mexico waters by 2024! All of that means that we are doing the past two years over in our new boat. We did not pass go, and we did not collect $200. But we did collect a lot of experiences while cruising Mapache, and with those come knowledge. Knowledge will help us to do some things better and to find some places that we missed in round one.
We Hate Goodbyes
Speaking of the original Mapache, she has new caretakers, who plan to live on her half of every year, while exploring Mexican anchorages and beyond. Mapache is a child and a teacher to us. We made her our own and constantly cared for her, while she taught us how to live this salty life. She took us to places we would never have seen without her, and she taught us to face our fears and to overcome frustrations. Our goodbye is hesitant, but we know it’s time for her to inspire her new family.
Even though we are starting our route over, it will be different. Mapache 2.0 is a completely different style of boat. She is a 1996 Hunter 376. Some call her class of boat “plastic fantastic,” meaning that she is a factory-built boat, made out of fiberglass with very little of that classic teak and wood that adorned much of the original Mapache. Mapache 2.0 is much lighter than the original Mapache with more living space (but less storage). This time around, we will be doing some racier sailing, we will be anchoring in new places, and we will have a little more room to spread out in our cockpit!
It was a sweaty summer, waiting out hurricane season with the original Mapache in the sleepy village of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle (it’s less sleepy now that the less-humid, less hurricane-y, winter season has started). But we have no complaints about our summer spot, because it’s where we found new solid friends. And it’s where, with those friends, we enjoyed hikes, runs, pool happy hours, secret beaches, pool volleyball, beach cleanups, and so many movie nights.
Still, we are ready to retorno to the sea. It’s time to be surrounded by dolphins, spot whales breaching, cheer for jumping mantas, paddle and snorkel quiet bays, picnic on island beaches, watch pelicans fish, and get lost on goat trails ashore. Vamanos!
We experienced little effects of the passing hurricanes this summer in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle. The only hurricane that got close was Roslyn, but we came out with only a few downed trees, manageable flooding, and a tussled sea wall.
Hurricane Rosyln created a powerful surge that lifted boulders off the La Cruz marina’s sea wall onto the malecon.
Rob walking the quiet streets of our summer home, La Cruz de Huanacaxtle.
Sunset on the beach, just outside of our marina in La Cruz.
We participated in weekly beach clean-ups throughout the summer.
Sarah gained a running buddy.
This is Sarah’s favorite stop on her runs — a fresh-coconut-water stand.
We helped represent the La Cruz marina in the “Run for Your Life” 8K through some crocodile habitat to raise money for the local crocodile and wildlife rescue.
We ran a half-marathon with friends along part of the Banderas Bay coast, and Rob received a giant trophy for placing third in his age class in the 10K (out of three..hehe).
We played pool volleyball every Saturday at La Cruz marina’s pool.
We went on breathtaking hikes in Banderas Bay.
View from Monkey Mountain toward Banderas Bay.
Friends showed us the way to secret beaches near La Cruz.
We took a trip into Puerto Vallarta to witness the world’s largest Catrina in honor of Día de Muertos.
We helped build an ofrenda at La Cruz marina for Día de Muertos.
Our summer neighbors became good friends, including Gilligan the Fat Boat Cat.
The locals were always dropping by the apartment we rented for a couple months in La Cruz.
We became regulars at our favorite restaurants and coffee shops in La Cruz. (Ask us for recommendations if you plan to visit.)
We returned to the start — Ensenada.
Before leaving Ensenada, we got to experience some of the Baja 1000.
Here we go again! We will be heading out of Ensenada soon, this time in this cockpit of Mapache 2.0.
A quick tour of Mapache 2.0’s insides. We are still finding places for everything, so excuse the mess.
Our original Mapache (Hans Christian 38 MKII) was surveyed this week and she did great…appraised at $91,000 USD! We are selling her for the steal of $81,000 USD. The cruising season is about to begin in the Sea of Cortés, and Rob and I will be there on Mapache 2.0. Come join this dream! If you are interested, you can see current photos and a detailed list of Mapache’s features and equipment HERE.
We are downsizing again. We recently moved all of our worldly possessions (apart from a couple of boxes stored at my parents…thanks, mom and dad) from Mapache to Mapache 2.0. After selling a significant amount of house/boat-ware at a swap meet, we packed 18 dock-carts (about the size of a wheelbarrow) of stuff from the original boat in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle into a rented cargo van. We then drove it across Mexico and unloaded those 18 dock-carts-worth of stuff, one cart at a time, into Mapache 2.0 in Ensenada. Our original goal was to get the two Mapaches side-by-side in Banderas Bay, but the active hurricane season canceled that plan. So now, we are splitting time between two boats and two cities.
The living space in the new boat is much more open. We have space to stretch without bumping into a wall or each other. But, because the new Mapache is the same overall size as the original, we lost storage space. So, after returning the rented van, we started the process of organizing and purging.
Goal: Open Spaces
At the time of our first major downsizing from a house to the boat, the tiny-home obsession had just started and minimalism was trending. Minimalism was touted as a movement toward decluttering and, thus destressing, one’s life by reducing the quantity of possessions. Before that, minimalism was a term used for a genre of art (painting and visual, then music, film, and architecture). And, perhaps predictably from that history, the movement has moved toward a goal of attaining a specific image, rather than its simple mental-health purpose. The rich and famous often show off their minimalist décor in their not-tiny homes.
I grew up learning that you don’t throw things out, not in a hoarding way but in an anti-waste way. Many of us cannot meet the minimalist aesthetic, even in our tiny homes. We cannot afford to buy throw-away items when we need something, only to buy it again later. And when we do buy something just because we like it, that item represents more than something pretty, it represents the hard work that went into obtaining the money to pay for it, even if it is a simple tchotchke.
But I understand and aspire towards the concepts of having fewer belongings to worry about, focusing on experiences over possessions, and enjoying open space. And all of those are part of the original minimalism art and the original minimalism movement. Living on a boat helps (and sometimes forces) us to meet those goals. This lifestyle grants us access to the widest open spaces—the world’s oceans, beaches, and coastal wilderness. Still, not every day allows us to explore those spaces. And that’s when the space inside the boat becomes important. We like having open space inside, but it forces us to reduce the quantity of our personal belongings. Our method in doing so is the same now as it was when we moved from a house to Mapache.
How to Declutter
We started with a pile method—three piles in our living room: gift, sell, and keep. Any items we consistently used went in the keep pile and the rest was split between sell and gift. The visual of the piles and the physical size of our keep pile motivated further and necessary paring down. We sold the handful of big ticket items on Craigslist, and we had a weekend-long garage sale. We donated everything left from the sell pile to appropriate nonprofits. Of course, it was nice to see some green to reward us for our efforts, but the sale-price was never as much as we valued our property. The more satisfying reward came from the gift pile. Giving something we cared about to a person who equally cared about it was gratifying, and thus the easiest way to downsize.
We gave blankets and sleeping bags to people without homes. We gifted art and household items to friends with similar tastes to us. The thought that went into pairing items with recipients was not insignificant. We even gave an old globe to one of our favorite local bars that displayed a collection of globes above their liquor bottles. Everything went to the person who would most appreciate it.
Our Tiny Home
People often ask how we can live on a boat. Our boat serves all of the purposes of a bigger home. We have a living-room, a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, and even a private outdoor space with a BBQ and (usually) an ocean view. It’s just that the places are within a few feet of each other. With that limited space, the most important tool is organization. Even with fewer belongings than the average American, organizing those belongings in a way that keeps them in their designated places is key to preventing our small space from becoming overwhelmingly cluttered. But, as in any living space, another important tool is purposeful decorating so that, while we clean dishes or work on our computers, the things around us inspire and uplift.
Now, we get to work on our piles. Mapache 2.0 will soon have all of her compartments packed, but organized, and her living spaces filled with the art, photographs, and plunder that remind us of good people, places, and experiences. Then, our focus will turn back to Mapache, the Original, and her sale to someone who will care about her as much as us.
The rented cargo van, loaded with all our worldly possessions
Meet our rented cargo van.
Roadtripping across Mexico–first leg, first state: Nayarit
Roadtripping across Mexico–first leg, first state: Nayarit
Roadtripping across Mexico–first leg, second state: Sinaloa
Roadtripping lessons: this is how you pass in Mexico–make a third lane between semitrucks
Roadtripping across Mexico–second leg, third state: a very wet Sonora
Roadtripping across Mexico–second leg, third state and The Wall (with an open door that this saguaro seems to be celebrating): Sonora
Roadtripping across Mexico–second leg, fourth state: Baja California
Unloading our belongings into Mapache 2.0 –one of 18 trips with this dock cart
Captain Rob welcoming me to our new tiny home, Mapache 2.0
Inside Mapache 2.0, before we unloaded the cargo van
Inside Mapache 2.0, after we unloaded the cargo van (not pictured: the full cockpit and the full bedroom)
The ramp struggle is real. Meet our Ensenada Marina neighbors. They are lovely.
Cruise ships dock behind our little marina every other day. It’s a nice to see Ensenada back in action after the COVID pandemic.
Ensenada is as vibrant as ever.
The maneuvering of giant cruise ships provides regular entertainment at the Ensenada marina.
Our VIP seats for the Ensenada marina entertainment
Turns out that new boats still come with boat projects.
We are currently back with the original Mapache in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle (near Puerto Vallarta), working to sell her.
Hurricane Kay pushed some big seas over the sea wall in La Cruz.
The sea wall in La Cruz doing her job against the big swell caused by Hurricane Kay.
Our neighbor to the apartment we are renting in La Cruz while we sell the original Mapache
Hurricanes. They occur in the Atlantic and the East Pacific oceans (they are called cyclones in the South Pacific and Indian oceans, and typhoons in the Western Pacific). Mapache and I are sitting on the edge of the eastern Pacific, and hurricanes happen here. They start in areas of low pressure, caused be warm water and humid air. The air rises and rotates, and new air pushes into the low pressure, following the rising-and-rotating pattern. If conditions continue, the wind grows in strength and a tropical disturbance becomes a tropical depression, becomes a tropical storm, which becomes a hurricane when winds reach over 74 miles per hour.
When reading about hurricanes, I found that most forecasters’ sites say they are rare. And in prepping for this particular season, I read that, because it is a La Niña year, the hurricane season will be light. However, the season just began and already we have seen three named storms (two hurricanes and one tropical storm) close to mainland Mexico’s Pacific coast. The height of hurricane action is historically the end of the season, not the beginning. So this seems alarming, right?
Yes, because this is an indication of how the world’s climate is changing and that historic predictions are not as reliable. No, because we have tools besides history to help us predict storms, we chose a safe harbor, and we properly prepare our boat.
Staying Ahead of the Storm
The first hurricane in this area and season was Hurricane Agatha. She struck southern Mexico’s coast near the Bahías de Huatulco only a few weeks after we left there to come north to Banderas Bay. Her winds were powerful (over 110 miles per hour), but the devastation to communities was caused by the torrential rain she poured down. She landed at Puerto Ángel, just up the coast from Huatulco, and her impact spread from there. She took at least 11 human lives (plus over 30 people are missing); destroyed bridges, roads, and homes; wiped out farm crops; and isolated communities, preventing access to power, water, and food. Organizations continue to assist the people affected and to rebuild the infrastructure. If you would like to donate toward delivering water to isolated communities, Mapache is collecting money for the Huatulco Rotary Club, who is heading a water-delivery project in Oaxaca State to communities affected by the hurricane. Go to our Donate page for information on how to send money for that cause.
We are now safely docked in a well-protected marina in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle. La Cruz is a small coastal town tucked inside Banderas Bay. The bay acts as a hurricane hole for two reasons—it has a mountain on its southern edge that depowers storms coming this way; and the bay’s under-water topography creates pressure above the sea surface to push storms away. Still, I wake up every morning to check multiple sources for weather forecasts, plus the local weather expert’s daily report, given over VHF radio.
I’m on a Mexican Radio
The VHF weather report is part of the local “cruisers’ net.” Cruisers’ nets are organized virtual gatherings of boaters via VHF radio that inform on the local events and news in most popular cruising locations. Rob and I have mostly avoided them, because they can be repetitive, long-winded, and focused on gringo activities. But they are important tools to tune into when you are watching for weather. I have found that I actually do not begrudge turning on the VHF every morning to hear the Banderas Bay net, because it is efficiently run with helpful information…or maybe it’s just that I am finally turning into a “real” sailor.
Before I get out of bed and listen to the net each morning, I open one of my weather forecast applications on my smart phone. I watch as the future minutes tick by on the bottom of the screen and the colors of the prediction model morph and swirl like a digital lava lamp. The slow-burn suspense is waiting to see whether the color blobs spin into ominous reds and blacks anytime soon, or if they dissolve into cheerful blues and greens. I then verify on at least two other weather applications (and of course with the net’s weather report). In the past week, two nearby spots have spun into red and black, becoming Hurricane Blas and Tropical Storm (predicted to become Hurricane) Celia.
The prediction models daily showed Blas, and now Celia, tracking west, avoiding Banderas Bay. But I know that predictions are not always truths, so I made sure the boat is prepared.
Swab the Decks
Mapache sits on a sturdy inner dock, cross-tied to it with double lines, each of which is protected with chafe guards. I have cleared her deck and stored almost everything inside, including her sails. This reduces windage and limits the things that could fly away. And, just to be sure, we have followed all of the good juju protocols, from the official naming ceremony to a boat blessing to occasional sage-burning.
Last Friday, Hurricane Blas passed by Banderas Bay, but we had little more than intermittent heavy rain and lightning. And Celia should be well clear of us by the end of this week. My eyes are on new low pressure areas, waiting for them to turn more violent colors. But until then, I’ve sewn and mounted some shades, because Mapache’s interior is getting hot!
When I see the signs of a potential high wind storm, I will take the shades back down. But, without them, the interior of the boat is in the high 90s when I go to sleep at night. The shades reduce that temperature by 10 degrees. I made the shades out of tarp material that I found at a local fabric store. It is large blue and white stripes, typical of fancy resort awnings and umbrellas. I thought it would keep Mapache looking classy while covered up, but the design is reminiscent of a circus tent. At least I can quickly identify my boat in the marina.
Where in the World is Capitan Rob?
Rob is also daily watching weather, but from San Francisco Bay, because he is there prepping to deliver our new boat to us. He is waiting on a weather window with waves smaller than 9 feet at 7 second periods (if you aren’t sure, that’s bad to dangerous) to sail the new boat to La Cruz.
The new boat, Rob’s late-father’s boat, is a 1996 38-foot Hunter 370. We took her over one month ago, and Rob has been in California tirelessly working that entire time to repair and upgrade the boat, making her safe and ready for their long passage south. Don’t worry, nobody has to buy a new shirt or hat (although you can on our Merch page), because the new boat’s name is also Mapache—Mapache 2.0. And of course, our original Mapache is for sale, please let us know if you are interested or know anybody who might be. You can check out her complete listing HERE, and marvel at all of the work we have put into making her the amazing boat she is.
For now, we are wishing fair winds and flatter seas to Rob, followed by cold beers, which you can supply him HERE if you are so inclined (and if you’ve already donated to the hurricane relief fund).
Mapache bashing north from Huatulco to Banderas Bay, away from what would become Hurricane Agatha
A quick fuel stop — delivered by panga — in Zihuatanejo, on Mapache’s way north for the summer
Our final destination for the summer hurricane season —the marina in La Cruz (Spanish for The Cross) de Huanacaxtle
The sea wall of the marina in La Cruz, which will hopefully protect us from any large storm swell
Rob repairing our dock lines before he leaves Sarah and Mapache for California, where he will pick up our new boat
A weather model, showing Hurricane Blas as it passed by Mapache (the white dot) on Friday, June 17
Frigate birds on storm watch above the sea wall at the marina in La Cruz
A typical summer evening in La Cruz with the thunderstorm clouds rolling in
Mapache’s new shades, aka the Clown Tent
The new boat’s name — Rob put on temporary stickers
We stuck with sailor tradition and held a naming ceremony for the new boat before the stickers went on, although it was just the two of us, via a video call
Meet Mapache 2.0
She needed quite a bit of work before she was ready to sail south — this is just one electrical project that Rob worked on
And here is our friend Mike from SV Algeria, helping rig the headsail furler. Rob would not be able to get Mapache 2.0 ready and south without Mike’s help. Thanks, Mike! Thanks also to Point San Pablo Yacht Club for the dock space. And thanks to Art for his garage space for receiving packages necessary for the boat’s repairs. These things take a village.
The link between social media and mental health is no secret. Extensive studies conclude that the use of social media distorts people’s perceptions of their self-worth and reality. And despite the Mapache crew’s intentional flee from social norms, we are no different.
Social media is a tool that we use to stay in touch with people, and we have yet to find an adequate replacement. In our use, we see other cruisers’ posts, which generally show happy people effortlessly sailing across beautiful oceanscapes. We subconsciously (and sometimes consciously) compare ourselves to those chosen photos without considering the bigger picture. And when we feel uncomfortable, annoyed, overworked, stressed, scared, lonely, sweaty, and dirty, we forget that all of those same feelings are in the cropped portions of other people’s social media images. Knowing that we all experience times that are unworthy of social media “likes” helps us stop feeling wrong, anxious, and sad. The “imperfection” that is missing from so many posts is common and it is valuable, because we learn from our battles, and without the battles, we would not realize our wins.
The Wrong (and Right) of the Way Down
We have been continuing to have amazing times, but lately, we have been struck with a feeling that we are doing this whole sailing thing wrong.
We made it from Puerto Vallarta all the way down to Huatulco, which included our longest passage without stopping yet. The places we did stop were beautiful and unique. An overnight passage took us to Bahía Tenacatita, where we rode our dinghy up an estuary, though mangroves, and discovered a white-sand beach with some palapas serving beer and ceviche. We caught up to several cruising friends, anchoring next to them in the shadow of vibrant Zihuatanejo. We visited the markets, ate at rooftop restaurants, rode bikes through a nature reserve, and had an island beach day, then we parted ways. Some of our friends headed north, while the rest of us followed Mexico’s coastline down.
Our next stop was out of necessity. We pulled into the small fishing village of Papanoa after our motor stalled on the way to Acapulco. To our surprise, the tiny harbor was lined with palapa restaurants and large water slides that shot people into the harbor water. We couldn’t resist and, after repairing the engine, we paddle-boarded over for an afternoon of micheladas and water slides. The next day, we sailed to Acapulco, where we refreshed supplies, scrubbed the barnacles from the bottom of our boat, and checked out the city’s famous cliff divers.
Finally, we made our longest passage of 235-miles to Huatulco Bay, where we left the boat for a couple of weeks. We roadtripped to Oaxaca City and Puerto Escondido to get a sample of the state of Oaxaca and its cultural, culinary, archeological, and natural treasures. And those treasures are rich. We walked amongst historic cathedrals and colorful murals, we learned about the craftsmanship of making alebrijes (brightly-painted wood-carved animals), we ate too much Oaxacan cheese and mole, we explored the 500-BCE ruins of Monte Albán, and we swam and hiked along beaches surrounded by massive cliffs.
Through all of that way down Mexico’s coast, we consistently looked towards getting to places and getting off of the boat. And that seems wrong. We are supposed to be enjoying not only the amazing places we stop, but the boat and the ocean, because that is where we spend the majority of our life. But with too many reminders in the last year of the shortness of life, we started discussing alternatives to this alternative lifestyle.
Well, it seems that Poseidon heard our whispered disappointments and is not through with us yet, because an opportunity to purchase (within our budget) another boat presented itself. The boat provides the larger cockpit, bed, and living space, as well as the speedier sail set-up, that we have been dreaming about. And the boat happens to be previously owned by Rob’s now-deceased father.
We love Mapache. She is beautiful, and we have put hard work into every inch of her. We have made her our own from the top of her mast to the bottom of her keel, the depths of her anchor locker to the cave of her engine room, the shades around her cockpit to the settee cushions, every added cabinet and storage basket to her rebuilt deck and rails, and her updated solar panels and lithium batteries to her water maker and auto-helm. She is the exact image of a boat I want to live in and sail on. She is a classic, salty, piratey, romantic boat, dressed in greys, blacks, and wood. When people think of me, I want them to think of Mapache. But we are no fools.
A New Image
And we are not afraid of change. The time has come to pass Mapache on to a new family, and to take up a more comfortable life aboard a faster-sailing boat. We will have one last cruise on Mapache, retracing our route along the Pacific coast of mainland Mexico, then crossing back over the Sea of Cortez to La Paz. Rob and a friend from S/V Alegría will fly to San Francisco in June to sail the new boat down to meet Mapache. We will make the final move from a La Paz marina, and we will get back on course to the Panama Canal by the fall of this year.
Of course, the opportunity of the new boat is much like a social media post, there is more than the good fortune and excitement for change. The bigger picture includes the sadness of leaving Mapache and all of the sweat and blood we poured into making her who she is. (Big thanks to Juan at 7 Ronin Jiu Jitsu for the Mapache replica that we can keep with us even after we sell the real Mapache.) The bigger picture also includes that, with any boat, we will still experience engine trouble, sea sickness, and other discomforts. But hopefully they will be different.
All of the bigger picture—this life, right now—is all that we have. And remembering that life is short, we embrace both, the ups and the downs, as our adventure. So, today, we go back into the engine room to repair a leaky diesel hose, not with heavy hearts, but with a happy ones, knowing that we have this time and this experience, even if it is not the one we imagined based on a pretty picture.
Dinghy ride up an estuary lined with mangroves at Bahía Tenacatita
Our dinghy tied up with a panga at the end of the estuary at Bahía Tenacatita
The beach at the end of our estuary exploration at Bahía Tenacatita
The anchorage at Zihuatanejo
How professionals land a panga on the beach at Zihuatanejo
Rooftop dinner in Zihuatanejo with fellow cruisers (Skookum and Alegría)
Zihuatanejo is filled with statues, palm trees, and brick-paved pedestrian streets
Zihuatanejo’s central church–we appreciated the mariner tribute
Street art in Zihuatanejo, up-cycling plastic bottle-caps
Our lunch stop at Zihuatanejo’s market
Bike-ride through a nature reserve outside of Zihuatanejo, in Ixtapa, with some of our cruising friends
A stop/break to check out the animals along the bike trail in the nature reserve
We saw a lot of roseate spoonbills in the nature reserve
One of the many sleepy crocodiles in the nature-reserve
Hanging on S/V Lusty, anchored at a small island off of Zihuatanejo/Ixtapa, with some of our cruising buddies
The small harbor of Papanoa, and all of its shoots and ladders!
Engine repair at Papanoa
Sarah paddle-boarding and Rob floating (on an inflatable crocodile) from our boat to the palapas and slides in Papanoa
Rob and Skookum enjoying Papanoa’s facilities (notice the slide behind the pool fence)
Minor sail-repair at Papanoa
View from our boat in Acapulco’s bay
Fuel delivery in Acapulco
Streets of Oaxaca City
Political street art in Oaxaca City
Street art in front of Templo de Santo Domingo in Oaxaca City
Oaxaca City is filled with beautiful and colorful murals
Another Oaxaca City mural
Oaxaca City mural
We could not get enough of the street art and murals in Oaxaca City
A horse (and Rob) in front of Catedral Metropolitana de Oaxaca
The gang (Mapache and Skookum) with our food-tour guides in Mercado 20 de Noviembre (we highly recommend looking up Betsy Morales and Oaxaca Street Food Tour if you visit this beautiful city)
A mural at the entrance of Mercado 20 de Noviembre in Oaxaca City
Hot chocolate in Oaxaca
One of several fancy dinners we enjoyed in Oaxaca City. This one is at El Catedral. The food scene is off the hook in this city.
Rob and I at another fancy dinner–this one at Casa Oaxaca (rooftop view of Templo de Santo Domingo)
The restaurant surprised Rob with cake and a “candle” (firework) for his birthday.
The gang at a hip food court in Oaxaca City (look up Na Nena restaurant to find this place)
We took a classic Oaxacan cooking class with Mimi. She shared her beautiful house, knowledge, family, and food with us.
Surrounding Oaxaca City are several pueblos, each known for their own specific craft. Pueblo San Martin Tilcajete is known for the alebrijes (these colorful wooden figures).
Another example of an alebrije
An alebrije at Jacobo & Maria Angeles Art Gallery in Pueblo San Martin Tilcajete
A very large alebrije still in progress at Jacobo & Maria Angeles Art Gallery
A tour at Jacobo & Maria Angeles Art Gallery educates you on the paints used on the alebrijes. The paints are all created from wood bark, fruits, insects, honey, and minerals.
Artists at work at Jacobo & Maria Angeles Art Gallery
An artist at Jacobo & Maria Angeles Art Gallery. All of the alebrijes are initially carved using a machete
A mural in Pueblo San Martin Tilcajete
A view of Oaxaca with one of the Monte Albán ruins in the foreground
Mapache and Skookum at the Monte Albán archeological site, originally built around 500 BCE
Some celebrations in front of Templo de Santo Domingo
We had a lovely visit with some friends from home at Puerto Escondido — we spent several days at this beautiful spot, Playa Carrizalillo.
Another wild beach in Puerto Escondido — Playa Bacocho
I started this boat log while sitting in the cockpit of another boat. We often create work stations where we can, and that day, we used my data sim-card to run wireless internet on our friends’ boat for four of us. We focused on our individual projects with a view of a tropical beach behind our laptop screens. I recalled sitting at my former desk in a traditional office building, with its gray industrial carpeting and neutral-colored walls. The world behind my computer screen then was through a window—another building’s side-wall. One day, when I was pondering whether to leave my job (which I loved) for this adventure, I saw a man cut through the area outside of my window, wearing hiking gear and a large backpack. He squinted with no sunglasses, and I wished I was squinting from natural light and not from staring too long at my computer screen in florescent light.
People often ask me what cruising (long-term sailing) is like after the 18 months that we have been doing it. The answer is complicated. It is strange to be stuck between lifestyles—we are not working 9-to-5 jobs, but we are not living in a perpetual vacation. We still have work to get done, bills to pay, taxes to file, and chores to complete in order to maintain our home and selves. But we live freer than we did before, without consistent routines and in locations that are time-outs from the daily grind of most. I have a responsibility to others, who do not have the privilege of this lifestyle—maybe to enjoy this and to just be thankful, maybe something more. Still, I often find myself wishing for some type of routine that could add “normalcy” to this life. What that routine is, I have yet to discover. But I’ll let you know when I find it.
Mexico’s “Galapagos” Island
Since celebrating the New Year in Mazatlán, we said “adios” to that beautiful and vibrant city, and we left the bustle of people for the wilds of an uninhabited island. Isla Isabel is a small island, formed by a volcano and known as Mexico’s Galapagos. Part of Mexico’s designated conservation parks, the only manmade facility on the island is an old research center, which is still used today. Mapache and her buddy boat, Skookum, were the only boats anchored in the shadow of the island for the four days we visited that magical place.
We spent time hiking along the island’s lava-washed edges and into her lush interior to a lake in the volcano’s caldera. The island’s residents are predominantly frigate birds, booby birds (brown and blue-footed), green iguanas, and quick little lizards. The clicks, screeches, and flapping sounds created from those animals made me feel like I was lost in a prehistoric world.
We spied on baby frigate birds in their nests, surrounded by the red-balloon throats of their fathers. We watched the frigates soar like glide-planes with their long and slender wings above the steep island cliffs. We shared a beach with some-hundred blue-footed boobies, most of which guarded a single egg in a sand-pile nest. We cheered for humpback whales as they breached just outside of our anchoring spot. And we even listened through our hydrophone (underwater microphone) to those humpbacks sing.
En El Muelle de San Blas
After that welcome dose of nature, we sailed on to San Blas, anchoring just south of the city in Matanchén. We loved our time roaming the romantic streets and fort of San Blas, humming Maná’s song, “En El Muelle de San Blas.” We took a jungle-river tour of La Tovara Nature Reserve, which motored us, by panga, past sleepy crocodiles and colorful birds, and culminated with a Tarzan-style rope-jump into a (fenced from crocodiles) portion of the river. But that same beautiful jungle river is ideal for mosquitos and jejenes (sometimes called no-see-ums). And after suffering literally hundreds of bites (I counted), those bugs chased us out of the anchorage.
Easing Back to Big City Life
We next found ourselves in Chacala, a quiet little pueblo with beach-front, palapa-style restaurants, along with a street of brick-and-mortar shops and cafes. The anchorage’s ease and chilled-out atmosphere gave us a nice break before heading into our next big city of Puerto Vallarta.
Reunions and Road Adventures
Puerto Vallarta is a busy tourist destination, but it remains a beautiful city, with its cobblestone streets and muraled buildings. Its downtown is progressive, catering to an LGBTQ+ community of locals and tourists, and offering foodie-centric restaurants, mixology bars, and diverse entertainment (from drag shows to classical-music performances). We had several friends from home visit us there, helping us to explore the city through its terrace bars, taco stands, hidden restaurants, art walks, and a cooking class.
After lengthening our stay in Puerto Vallarta’s marina to allow us a trip to Ohio for Rob’s Grandmother’s funeral, we became itchy to move again—only this time, not so literally (from bug bites). But before that move, we paused our ocean travel for some road tripping. We piled into a rented minivan with our pals from Skookum. We traveled a diverse route, touring Mexico’s second-largest city, Guadalajara; the origin of Mexico’s famous beverage, Tequila; a surf-bum haven, Sayulita; and circular pyramids built in 300 BCE, Guachimontones.
Presently, I am finishing this log at a shaded table, beside a bright-blue swimming pool at a resort, where we paid the equivalent of five American dollars for a day-pass. Mapache sits behind the town of Barra de Navidad, in a comfortable and tranquil lagoon, where we get daily visits from a French baker selling his pastries out of his panga. I am very aware that this is a charmed life. And I think of a quote that has always stuck with me: “Routine is the enemy of time.” The quote is from a documentary about a man quitting his job and riding his bike from Oregon to Patagonia. I thought the quote was true, and maybe it is in a sense. But reflecting now, when I am feeling undefined, I realize the man, who touted that theory, had a routine—he rode his bike daily. He constantly changed his location, but there was a routine. Humans are said to be creatures of habit. We just have different habits. And they are often-necessary tools for learning and excelling at whatever we set out to accomplish.
Tomorrow, we weigh anchor and continue our journey along Mexico’s southern Pacific-coast. My current world is neither order nor chaos, and I am working toward the definition of my daily grind.
Our office for a day–Skookum’s cockpit, while anchored in Chacala
Frigate birds soaring above the cliffs of Isla Isabel
A pair of frigate birds on Isla Isabel–the males have giant red throats
A baby frigate bird–there were thousands of them on Isla Isabel
The research facility on Isla Isabel (notice the iguanas lined up in front of Rob)
Iguanas, sunning themselves at the research facility on Isla Isabel
Rob and I, whale-spotting from the cliffs of Isla Isabel
Humpback whale breach!!! (view from Isla Isabel)
Blue-footed boobies on Isla Isabel
A blue-footed booby with its egg on Isla Isabel (their nests are more of a space on the sand or dirt)
Streets of San Blas
Inside the ruins of the church that serviced La Contaduria Fort in San Blas in the 1700s
La Tovara jungle river
A lounging crocodile in La Tovara
Streets of Puerto Vallarta
One of the many murals in Puerto Vallarta
Terrace Bar in Puerto Vallarta with friends from home
Cooking class in Rosie‘s home in Puerto Vallarta (we highly recommend her classes)
Lunch with a view and friends from home at Ocean Grill
The only way to access remote Ocean Grill restaurant is by panga ride
Rob’s favorite tacos in Puerto Vallarta came out of this truck, which conveniently parked one block from our marina every morning (the man cooks the tacos over a propane griddle in the truck bed)
Beautiful Puerto Vallarta
A view of Guadalajara, second-biggest city in Mexico
Public art in Guadalajara
Rob and his new buddy in Guadalajara
More art in Guadalajara
Guadalajara is a mix of new and old
Cathedral of Assumption of Our Lady (Guadalajara Cathedral), built in 1541 — notice that two of the three carriages in front are electric, rather than horse-drawn (it is part of a movement in the city, because pulling carriages through hot, paved streets is typically bad for the horses)
Our guide and his electric carriage for our tour of Guadalajara’s center
Tequila’s central plaza
Streets of Tequila
The gang (Skookum plus Mapache), ready for our Tequila tour in a giant cantarito (a traditional tequila drink served in a clay cup)
Welcome to the Tequila tour!
Blue agave fields abound throughout Tequila and its surrounding valleys
Stop-off at Sayulita
Sayulita is filled with street art and drink/snack stands all the way into her beach
Archeological site of Guachimontones, circular pyramids built in 300 BCE by the Teuchitlán culture
Barra de Navidad–the boats sit anchored in the lagoon behind this coastal town (at the top left of this photograph)
Barra de Navidad’s French Baker, who delivers fresh pastries and coffee to the boats anchored in the lagoon
It’s been two months since our last boat log. Mapache spent half of that time in Puerto Vallarta, most of which was due to a non-boating emergency. Rob’s grandmother passed away, and Rob and I flew to Ohio to help his grandfather with all that comes with that. Luckily, we were in a safe marina, blocks away from an international airport, so we made it to the midwestern United States with speed and ease. All is well now, and we are back aboard Mapache, ready to untie the dock lines tomorrow to head further south.
The next boat log describes our stops from Mazatlán through Puerto Vallarta, including some quality beach time with blue-footed boobies and visits with friends from the United States. It is almost ready to publish, and I promise to have that up later this week. For now, click on the Garmin tracker and follow us as we sail to Tenacatita Bay, before heading on to Barra de Navidad.