Since my last visit to Rocky Point, I have been somewhat busy with certain things. Such as another trip down to San Carlos to check out this Island Packet.
Unfortunately, the current owner is dealing with a medical issue in her family, which has caused a much longer process of bargaining to be dealt with.
It seems only fair.
There’s earnest money in an escrow account, and we at the Ranch have been trying to sell or give away about twenty years worth of accumulated stuff. We’ve given away all our cross country and downhill skis, leaving only the boots (which wouldn’t fit any of the recipients, or were trash-worthy). I’ve sold a couple tools from the woodshop, but I’m slow to part with the most useful ones at the moment. I will want to keep a thoughtful assortment for future boat work.
With Craigslist on the brain, what else could we try to give away? When something is offered for free, whoever might call on said freebee doesn’t seem to put much effort into obtaining it. It’s free, so why put any value or time into it? These are known as “Craigslist Flakes”.
Anyway, we took another short trip down to Rocky Point last week. Ever hear of Semana Santa? It’s a very important holy week in Mexico, resulting in live music being blasted from about 1900 to 0430 hours, each and every night. That and the mosquitoes kept me quite awake.
The drive down was uneventful, even Gilligan-wise. We arrived in town just hours before a major water line broke on the North edge of town, cutting off almost the entire town’s supply! A very stressful bit of bad luck for everyone here.
Marina Fonatur wasn’t affected, as it has its own water supply. About 475,000 liters is stored in a large tank behind the offices, and that water became a precious commodity to some of the locals. So much so that the marina was forced to keep their banos‘ locked up. It was a privilege to get a shower near the end of our visit.
Dinner that night was at Tacos Marcos.
The usual coffee, breakfast and setting out for a day sail by late morning. The forecasted winds were 10-15 MPH, and I reefed fairly early in the sail.
Again, the period between waves seemed to stop my little boat at least twice every minute. It had been windy before we showed up, and it always takes a day or so to allow the Sea to just settle down a bit. We stayed out for about three hours, sailing through masses of floating seaweed. This became a bit annoying, as the seaweed would collect on my rudder, necessitating a periodic clearing. I’d pop the rudder up from its locked-down position, and then haul it back down. Hardly fell off course.
Our track that day is in red:
That little curly-que near the bottom was where I hove to in order to reef.
With winds out of the West, I did get to sail into port once again. We sailed past the Capitan de Puerto’s boat, smiling and waving, firing up my outboard at the last minute to dock in our slip. I’m a bit of a showoff in this respect. 😉
We had sorta planned to go out on EcoFun’s sunset cruise, but the head honcho got wind of our two dogs and nixed the deal. It’s rare you find someone thinking about liability down here, but he is a gringo. Whatever.
We dined that night at the Blue Marlin. Cats everywhere, but we didn’t see Homero around, and the waiter thought he must be at home. His water-less home, by the way.
Skeeters and live music all night!
Our day sails were either feast or famine this trip. Shaking out the reef in the mainsail, we tried to sail to weather. But with such light winds, my boat was only able to get maybe a mile and a half upwind of port before I threw in the towel. The seaweed was also having its effect on our sail, and I contemplated putting the boat in hove-to mode, tying myself off and making the chilly swim under the boat to clear off the mass of seaweed around the keel and keel cable.
Nah. By the time I return to Rocky Point, that stuff will be dried and crumbly, falling off fairly readily.
Young Mr. Cabrales was selling an Ericson 39 he had docked at Fonatur:
A nice-looking boat, going for about $26,000.00. As I relaxed in the cabin out of the sun, Ziggy and Gilligan suddenly perked up and met Mr. Cabrales and his huge German Shepard, Bear. It was all he could do to keep Bear from ripping out Gilligan’s throat, or so it sounded. Leaping from the cabin, I banged my head good on the low companionway slider for the fifth time this trip. I’m still nursing the creases I put into my pate over the two days aboard.
Apologizing for my dogs’ effrontery, I dragged them back onto the boat with only a scolding. I doubt that it would have come to blood. Dogs are mostly bluster, and I’m pretty sure that Gilligan is just that, completely.
La Curva for dinner that night.
A few dock mate-requested items to bring back from the States on our next trip down:
A 12-pack of Grolsch beer, mostly for the resealable bottles.
A few packages of dry Ranch dressing mix.
A quick breakfast at our newest favorite eatery, the Kaffee Haus, haul out and hit the road by 1130. As we made the North end of town, we were diverted around the municipal plumbing activity, driving through a small freshwater lake. I trust that the authorities have the water up and running by now.
P.S.- Let me know what you need. I just may be giving it away!