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| Route Map |
After I dropped Dave off at the airport, I was anxious to get going. Belize City is not my favorite place to hang out. I'd spent several nights mulling over what I was going to do after Dave left, and had decided to go explor Xcalak and Banco Chinchorro at the southern end of the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico. I did a quick trip through the Saturday market to resupply with fruits and veggies, and then Daniel the taxi man dropped me back at the dock where the dink was. I loaded up the frig, tied everything down, and by 10:30 I was headed north. Unfortunately, in spite of "fixing" the autopilot, it still wasn't working dependably. I made it to Cay Caulker, and took the dink in to do email. When I got done it was dark, and as I got in the dink to go back to Malakii, I noticed all sorts of bright green bugs in the water phosphorescing. It was really cool. I wish I had had my camera with me. I thought I saw a firefly fall in the water and become one, but I'm not sure.
The next day I went up to San Pedro. My plan was to check out there, sail up to Xcalak, spend a few days relaxing and poking around, then go out to Banco Chinchorro for some snorkling and diving. Unfortunately, the wind started blowing pretty hard from the northeast, and stayed there.
Here's a colorful breakfast liquado I like... Papaya, banana, melon, yogurt, an egg, and a little juice. Crank the blender, and drink up. Papayas are one of the coolest looking fruits on the inside, with the seeds all lying there like little black pearls.
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| Papaya | Liquado |
I didn't feel like hanging around San Pedro waiting for a weather window. The anchorage isn't pleasant, and I didn't feel like spending time in town. I spent the day working on the autopilots, and discovered the problem was bad cables and bad cable to plug connections. I rebuilt both of the ones I have, so supposedly I now have two dependable powerheads. After a day of restlessness, I headed back south, figuring I would explore southern Belize a bit more instead.
I had a rollicking good ride from San Pedro down to Bluefield Range, 45 miles in 7 hours, 6.4 knots average speed. The weather was perfect, and it felt a lot like being on a good horse on a long ride; you settle into the gait and just undulate along in rhythm. The autopilot was working great, but it was such fun I took the helm most of the way. If you fell off the wind a little or pinched too much, the boat would slow down a bit, just like a horse losing its eagerness. I'd tweak the wheel and she'd jump back up and surge ahead, almost like touching a heal to the flank of a horse. It didn't take a big kick, just a subtle nudge, and off we went. I almost put on some music, a good traveling song, something like "Wild Montana Skies" by John Denver. But I enjoy the sound of the water on the hull more, and you never know what else you'll miss, like a dolphin blowing.
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| Galloping south |
As I came into Bluefield Range there was a big disturbance under the boat, or just to the side of it, and a big boil in the water. I never did see what it was, but I expect it was a manatee.
It was starting to get late as I came in, so I couldn't see the surrounding reefs and shoals very well, but I wasn't too worried because I still had the GPS track from when Dave and I came out. As luck would have it, the GPS memory overflowed right there, and I lost the track just where I needed it. It's a tight slot with a turn you have to make at the right place, so you need good light or a track or good waypoints. Fortunately the track was straight (as I remember coming out) and I had a dark mangrove on one of the cays I had noted dead ahead, and I had set two waypoints when we went out.
The next day I had an easy sail down to Tobacco Cay, flying wing and wing with shade from the mainsail and 6 to 10 knots of wind -- a perfect hammock ride.
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| Hammock under the main |
I went snorkling at Tobacco Cay, but it wasn't nearly as good as at Southwater. Then I took the dink out to the dive bouy outside the reef just to see what was there. It was still blowing pretty good, so the waves were three or four feet, making for an interesting dinghy ride.
From Tobacco I headed down to Lagoon Cays. It was another hammock day, this time on the foredeck. All the boats I saw seemed to be motoring. I don't know whether they were impatient or in a hurry or what. Sad.
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| Hammock on the foredeck |
I took the dink around both of the cays. Most of the structure in the shoals is sea fans, so snorkeling isn't that good. I found a few coral heads off the north tip which were a bit better, but nothing outstanding.
I spent an extra day at Lagoon Cays putzing around and enjoying life. It was blowing and overcast, and I wasn't motivated to go anywhere. I've come to the conclusion that sea water loosens earwax. At least mine comes out with a Q-tip after all this time snorkeling...
I got out one of my fishing rods and tried to catch some dinner. I had a bunch of just the right size Cero follow my lures at various times, and I had one on once, but never did catch anything. One of my reels, inherited from the previous owners, was frozen up, so I took it apart and soaked it in fresh water, made some new parts out of some discarded plastic, and voila! Not a big feat, considering I could buy another cheapo reel, maybe in Placencia, a ten mile sail away. But what if I was way out somewhere? Like... Ovando? :-)
I headed down to Little Water Cay. The weather wasn't great, but I wanted to have a look at it for future reference. The holding was poor, a hard bottom. I dove the anchor and tried to work it in, but I was nervous all night.
The next day I sailed over to Hatchet Cay, but with the wind out of the N and NE it didn't look worth stopping. So I went over to the Queen Cays. They are an idyllic string of little palm jewels, but marginal or worse anchorages. There was a Moorings charter boat at the southern one, so I went into the middle one, twice, but it was too small a space with all the wind, and it was deeper than on the chart. There wasn't enough room to swing without going aground if the wind changed much. So I headed down to Round Cay. It wasn't too appealing, with no sandy beach, a big pile of coral with some palms. There was another boat at Pompion, and I figured it wouldn't be good shelter anyway, so I finally headed over to Laughing Bird Cay.
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| Queen Cay south | Queen Cay middle | Round Cay |
Laughing Bird didn't provide great shelter, with the wind out of the NE, but I snuggled in as close as I could and it would have to do. I was hoping the wind would veer a little to the east, but it didn't.
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| Laughing Bird cay |
Comparing the photos in the cruising guide to the actual cays, about half of them have been hammered pretty well in the last 10 - 20 years, mostly by hurricanes.
I met Stephen and Michael, rangers for Laughing Bird Cay. It's a world heritage site, and Belize is finally policing it a little. They caught some Hondurans the week before. They were in a large dugout canoe with a 40 Hp outboard and had about 700 conch. With that sort of thing happening there soon won't be anything left.
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| Laughing Bird Cay ranger station | Laughing Bird Cay rangers, Michael and Stephen |
As I walked around the cay, I saw a lemon shark in the shallows. Stephen said they fed it, so it was pretty tame and was looking for a handout. He said that Mondays was their big day, often with 500 people from Placencia. Yikes! I had the place to myself, so I guess I was lucky.
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| Lemon Shark |
Laughing Bird Cay is named after the Laughing Gull which used to nest there on the beach. Unfortunately, all the people walking on the beach disturbed them, so they no longer nest there. The north part of the cay where the nests were is now closed to people, but the gulls haven't returned.
When I went snorkling, I saw two new fish I hadn't seen anywhere before, or at least hadn't identified. One was a Black Margate, but the other was something I couldn't even find in the book. Damn. I wish I had had my slate with me so I could have written down what it looked like, or a camera. It had blue spots, yellow on the tip of the tail, a squarish tail, a long body, and was almost rainbow colored. About the same size and shape as a sand tile fish, only rainbow colored.
It was getting time for me to either renew my Belizian cruising permit or head back to Guatemala; I headed to Placencia and Big Creek to check out. The autopilot mount had been broken ever since I bought the boat, and it finally disintegrated. I discovered I could wedge the logic unit between the cockpit seat and the back of the cockpit moulding. Another project for when I get home, to make a new mount.
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| Autopilot temporary mount |
As I was heading for Placencia, a lone dolphin showed up and stayed with me for quite a while, until I was almost in the mangroves of the ship channel to Big Creek. Every time he surfaced I blew the conch horn at him, hoping it would make low undertones he could hear.
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| Dolphin |
I got to Big Creek in good time and managed to catch rides right away to immigration and back, so I got checked out with lots of light left. I was back on Malakii by 16:00, pulling up the hook and feeling pleased with myself, knowing I had lots of time for a liesurely hop back to Placencia, two miles away. There was a big freighter at the dock, a banana boat. Just as I cleared the bouys in the little bay that segregated the big ship harbour from the little boat cubbyhole I saw that the tug was pulling the big banana boat out to swing it around and tow it out. Ugh. There is no extra room in that bay. I spent the next hour doing donuts, then sailing around the lagoon in circles, until the tug had the freighter into the marker buoys outside the mangroves. Then I zipped up to Placencia, exhausted and with a sore back. I'm not sure what did it. Usually by this time I'm in great shape and don't need to worry about my back. Rowing in and out at Laughing Bird in all the wind? Sailing hard, working winches and halyards all the time? Something weird about doing doughnuts?
Heading south the next day, I raised the spinnaker shortly after leaving Placencia. We topped out at 7.1 knots, pretty good for Malakii running dead downwind. A pod of about six dolphins showed up and zoomed around, rode the bow wave once or twice, and then took off. I don't know if the spinnaker shadow bothered them, they were bored because we're just a slow sailboat, or whether they had places to go and things to do. But they lifted my spirits -- they always do.
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| Spinnaker | Dolphins |
I got out the watermelon, prepared to sit back and enjoy the sail, but just as I sat down to eat the wind shifted and started collapsing the spinnaker. Every time I got up thinking I would take it down it would straighten out. The melon tasted great... As I neared Punta Ycacos I started to take down the spinnaker. I loosened the sheet, then went forward to douse the sail with the snuffer, but by the time I got there it had wrapped on the forestay. I wanted to take a picture but it looked like it would wrap worse if I didn't get after it. I clipped in my harness, climbed up onto the bow pulpit, and with a lot of messing around, managed to unwrap it. Then I tightened the sheet a bit, snuffed half of it, loosened the sheet some more and got the rest. I put the #2 up and ran wing and wing down to the Mangrove Cays. Running wing and wing, the max speed I saw was 6.4 knots, so I guess the spinnaker is worth 3/4 to 1 knot. A pain in the butt but nice on a long run like this one.
As I neared the Mangrove Cays the wind piped up and was blowing 17 - 21 by the time I dropped the anchor.
The next morning dawned overcast, and didn't look promising, with rain clouds all over, dark and foreboding. I wanted to leave early, which was before I could get the weather forecast on the SSB. I made a good breakfast of scrambled eggs and was headed out at 07:20. I had barely cleared the pass at the south end of the cays when the rain hit, lots of it and lots of wind with 3 and 4 foot seas. I did a quick check of the chart for my heading, then buttoned everything up. Once I was two miles out I headed for Livingston. It's a straight shot with no hazards. The wind wasn't too bad and it was at my back, so I left all the sail up. I kept wiping my glasses with my finger to see, although there wasn't anything to see. I was glad it was warm; I kept thinking what it would be like in Maine or New England or Alaska. Every so often I would see lightning and hear the rumble of thunder. At one point it looked like it was going to get worse so I threw in a reef. I dropped the jib, as it was blanketed most of the time and I didn't want to go wing and wing in this weather.
I flew right along for two hours and got down to where I was in the shipping lane off Cabo Tres Puntas. Then about 10:00, right on schedule for this crossing, the wind died. A freighter appeared out of the mist, and I was a little concerned as to whether he could see me or not, but then he started sounding his foghorn every minute so I figured he had.
Shortly afterwards a tug towing a barge showed up, headed right for me. I coaxed a little motion out of the boat and we steered clear. We putted along for a couple of hours, then the wind slowly came back. As I neared Livingston a pastel yellow butterfly came by to greet me, followed by a black one.
My hands and feet were total prunes after three hours of solid rain. A dodger sure would be nice! At least my foul weather jacket kept the rest of me dry and comfy. Guatemala has gotten expensive to check in; it cost about $80 all told.
I spent the night rockin' and rollin' in Livingston, then headed up the river to Gringo Bay. It felt like coming home, which it is for us in its own way. I blew the conch horn as I came in; Jennifer was up the river for the weekend, but Bob on Foole heard me. We eased up to our mooring, grabbed it, and were home.
The next day I cleaned up the boat a bit, then took the dink and explored some of the bays and creeks between Jennifer's and the outlet of the Golfete. It was cool, little creeks with overhanging trees and vines and lilly pads and flowers. I decided to go back the next day with my camera, but that didn't happen -- I broke the outboard mount trying to fix something on it. Something to save for next time.
A wandering mangrove showed up, looking for a home...
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| Wandering plant |
All the hard sailing the past few years have taken their toll on my ensign. Someone remarked that it was a bit tattered, and I said that's how I feel about my country right now. I hope this next election will start to straighten things out, but there is a lot of ground to be recovered if we're ever to regain the respect we once had as a nation.
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| Tattered Ensign |
This whole trip I'd had a slow leak somewhere aft of the engine. I actually had it last year, but it had gotten worse. I finally found it -- it was the packing around the rudder stock. I didn't have any packing the right size to replace it, so I did a temporary kludge, lashed the rudder in place, and tightened it down pretty good. Tom Butts came over and picked me up and ferried me over to Dragon Lady, and I had a great sail on up the river with them to Fronteras, where I caught the bus to the city, and then a plane home. Malakii still seemed to be floating well when I last saw her...
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| Dragon Lady |
