Chapter 2, Part 2: Back to Basics.

Hello again,

I am now writing from Cabo, San Lucas. It took us fourteen days to sail here from Ensenada, a stint that was broken up by a whole two hours on land in Bahia de Tortugas. As I'm sure you can imagine, it has been a challenging two weeks, both physically and mentally. The main source of hardship stemmed from the fact that because we were at sea for much longer than expected we were forced to revert to a primitive way of life in order to preserve fuel, supplies and electricity. For example, we could no longer wash the dishes using tap water as this would eat into the water supply that we were dependant on for cooking and, more importantly, cups of tea. Thus, the process of washing up became a physical battle with the elements as you had to throw a bucket over the side, haul it up without being dragged overboard, and then sit with the wind battering you with Pacific spray whilst you scrubbed the pots. All of this was going on whilst the boat was chomping its way through the six foot swell at a rate of five knots. Pretty extreme stuff. In fact, I soon learned that everything becomes extreme whilst you are at sea; even something as mundane as making a cup of tea. When you are under way, the boat keels over, forcing you to live your life at a twenty-five degree angle. Thus, watching Blair try to make a cup of tea whilst being thrown all over the cabin, his foot against the wall for support as he held onto the kettle as if his life depended on it, boiling water going everywhere, was a spectacle. Don't even get me started on what it is like to have a wee whilst the boat is cutting through the waves at six knots. It all makes for funny viewing though. At five o'clock, as the sunsets, we are then faced with a new challenge; darkness. After a week at sea the batteries had taken a serious beating and so we had to reserve all the energy we could for the really important things, such as navigation lights and starting the engine. Thus, as darkness engulfed us, it was time to fish out the thermals and the all important head-torch. It was like living in a mining colony with some sat there reading, others cooking and others trying to steer us through the gloom, all of us with fluorescent beams of light protruding from our foreheads. What a sight we must have been.

In the last instalment I spoke of us sat stationary, praying for wind and excitement. Well, our prayers were answered many fold. Perhaps the most epic occurrence was the successful catch of not one, but two sharks. The first time was electric. I remember being woken by the sound of Barry's excited voice shouting 'we got a fish on!' We all rushed to the stern of the boat to form an excited crowd. It was only once Barry had hauled in half the line that we realised that we had snagged a three foot blue shark. We couldn't believe it. We toyed with the idea of cutting the line loose because of the inherent danger of dragging a shark aboard. We then realised that we were running low on food and so it was either shark or yet another serving of Mac and Cheese. The unanimous decision was the shark. Jack and Barry battled with the evil looking thing for about fifteen minutes before they finally managed to kill it. We were having lightly battered shark fillet twenty minutes later. Now that's fresher than Morrisons. You can imagine our surprise when it happened again two days later. Before catching the sharks, I had been washing myself by lathering up on-deck and then jumping over the side to allow Mother Nature to do her thing. Safe to say, after the second shark, I started to use wet wipes. 

We have had our fair share of wind as well. Thick, ominous clouds, the sort you would expect to find off the coast of Scotland rather than Mexico, brought with them good gusts of wind. It made for pretty exhilarating sailing. One instance particularly sticks in my mind. We had been at sea for five days and had been making good progress due to the persistent thirty-mile-an-hour winds. It was a real buzz guiding the Black Wind through the rough seas, watching water cascade over her bow as she marched her way forwards. We all clung to her for dear life, the wind and raining lashing our faces, adding to the suspense of it all. Then, out of nowhere, a forty-mile-an-hour gust hit us from the left and knocked the boat over. I was down below as I watched the sea come hurtling towards us through the portholes, eventually submerging them. Without hesitation Blair ordered us up from below in order to put a reef in the main sail*. We all scrambled to get our wet weather gear and life jackets, the loss of steering throwing us all over the cabin. We eventually stumbled onto the wind battered deck and managed to do the job at hand without losing anyone over the side. I was pretty impressed due to the harrowing conditions. The adrenaline rush was incredible; we had survived an attack of the elements.

Fourteen days is a long time to spend at sea and so obviously it is not always so adrenaline inducing. We suffered long periods of stills and fell victim to boredom. Due to the lack of power we were forced to ignore the plasma screen TV and the adjacent stereo that sat teasing us from their perch on the wall. Instead, we had to become quite inventive with ways of entertaining ourselves. We have played countless games of Categories, covering everything from trainers to dinosaurs. I have also read more than at any other time in my life. I now realise that it would be quite easy to lose your sanity at sea. In fact, most of the sailors that we have met so far have been off their rockers. Ensenada was full of mentalists; I rememmber walking down the jetty one night and seeing this hideous woman, with the face of a catfish, clad in a Juicy tracksuit and imitation Uggs. She was  talking loudly on the phone at the back of her boat. As I passed her, she shouted across to me, 'Hey, y'all wanna speak to Bill?' Having never seen this woman before, or indeed met Bill, I was forced to respond, 'Um, no thank you.' As if that wasn't crazy enough, the next morning I was shook awake by Blair as some guy called Marcus, again who I had never met, wanted a picture of us all for his scrapbook. I stood there, bleary eyed, being positioned by this strange man for his photo, just thinking to myself  'what on earth goes on at sea to make people this way?' After the past two weeks I am beginning to understand. Although, Jack, in an effort to hold insanity at bay, has fashioned a make shift TRX band. This allowed us to have a work out everyday. Thus, if by the time we reach the Caribbean  I am a raving loony, at least I will be in shape. 

Luckily, just as I was on the verge of starting up my own scrapbook, we had a brief respite from the sea. We pulled into Bahia de Tortugas, a tiny fishing village that lies at the halfway point between Ensenada and Cabo. It was a taste of real Mexico and served as a complete contrast to Ensenada, a port equipped to accommodate American cruise liners where the lamp post were wrapped in Christmas paper. Bahia de Tortugas did not even have lamp posts. It was comprised of a small cluster of brightly coloured houses, interlinked by a series of mud roads. We set about pumping up the ten-man dinghy with a foot pump that you would normally use to inflate an air bed so that we could then row ashore. Once there it became apparent, as you might expect, that no one spoke any English. We had to rely on a blend of mine and Sam's Spanish to acquire the supplies that we so desperately needed. It was an incredible feeling to have the safety net of English whipped out from under us. It was the real experience we had been craving as we had become bored of the Americanised Ensenada. Upon asking the girl in the basic food store where we could get a burritto, Jack and I were escorted through the maze of dirt tracks by two young boys on bikes. Also, we were later given a lift in the back of a pick up truck by a boy who could not have been older than thirteen. It was little things like that that made the place so enchanting. A very cool experience.

We took the decision to leave Bahia de Tortugas swiftly in an attempt to get to Cabo for New Years Eve. This meant that we spent Christmas Day at sea. And what a surreal Christmas it was. It got off to a good start on Christmas Eve. We had had a really chilled evening, talking about future plans by candle-light and marvelling at the Planetarium of stars above us. I was snuggled up on my bench by eight o'clock, happy and content. However, after only an hour and a half, I awoke to a boat in chaos. It was James' bellowing voice shouting, 'oh fuck, I need power to start the engine. Someone switch the batteries now for fuck's sake,' that woke me from my slumber. As I came to my senses I heard Jack fire off three flares and Blair ask as to whether we should issue a May Day. 'Oh shit' I thought as I joined Chris and Sam in scrambling to get dressed in the dark. My initial thought was of pirates. As I emerged from the hatch I was fully expecting to come under fire. I would have been terrified if I had time to process it all but it was all happening too fast. Before I knew it I was stood on the floodlit deck, scanning around to try to derive the reason for the panic. As it transpires, we had been running on a collision course with a cruise ship and it had been getting a bit close. By the time that I got up on deck, ready to fend off banditos, the danger had passed and all that remained was a stationary cruise ship to our stern. Thus, to me, it all seemed a bit melodramatic. I bet the crew of that ship had had a right laugh. They were probably fully aware of our position and so it must have come as a shock when we started firing flares at them and six sleepy crew toppled onto the deck. We must have looked really composed and professional. After all that excitement, the rest of Christmas was a breeze. We spent the day reading in the sun. I think that this was the first time that I have ever been sunburnt on Christmas Day.

So, all in all, a pretty hectic couple of weeks. We arrived in Cabo yesterday and we could not be happier. It is a real party town here; it is the playground of the rich American. The wealth that is walking the street is unbelievable; you should see the pristine super-yachts that are moored up next to us. The marina is a sea of polished white fibreglass. We look a right bunch of sea gypsies in comparison. To give a picture of what its like here, I am currently sitting in Starbucks, having walked passed The Hard Rock Cafe, McDonalds, a Rolex dealership and an Istore. In short, its like a little chunk of America that has wondered astray. Despite that it has the cultural integrity of a doorstop, it is a fun town with lots going on. Based on the fun that we had last night, we have now decided to definitely stay for New Years Eve. It should be an incredible night; expensive, but I think we have earned it.

So, until the next time. I hope you all have a brilliant New Year. Look forward to the first instalment of 2011.

Good Bye. 

*Reefing the main sail is when you take a portion of it down so as to reduce the sail surface area. You normally do this in high winds in order to give the helmsman more control over the boat.

Chapter 2, Part 1: The Life Aquatic

It has been a rocky start to the adventure to say the least. We set off from LA six days ago to sail one hundred and fifty miles to Ensenada, North Mexico, from where I write. Skipper James had calculated that it would take us a maximum of forty-eight hours to complete this stretch, working on the premise that we could comfortably cover one hundred nautical miles in twenty-four hours. It sounded all very planned and researched. The only problem was that James has this profound philosophy that he wants to use only the wind to get to places, following in the footsteps of our maritime forefathers. This is all well and good providing that there is actually enough wind to move the boat. Of course, the West Coast of America between LA and the Mexican border is notoriously absent of wind. Thus, there we were, sat stationary in the Pacific ocean, falling victim to the six foot swell for, for four solid days. It was an absolute nightmare. I felt as though I was trapped on one of those pirate ships you find at theme park, bobbing violently up and down for what felt like forever. James tried to raise morale by reading us his favourite quotes about riding the wind to exotic destinations and about making the most of what Mother Nature gives you. It fell on deaf ears as we sat there feeling sick, having to dodge things as they fell off the shelves, whilst watching the sea appear and then disappear through the port holes. As if that was not bad enough, were also enveloped in a dense fog bank for about three days. This meant that we could not see more than twenty metres from the boat. This made sailing at night a hoot, as I'm sure you can imagine. The way we have worked it is that there are three night shifts of four hours between eight in the evening and eight in the morning. These shifts are called watches. We are split into twos and threes in order to conduct these watches, the idea being to keep the boat sailing, or drifting helplessly in our case, throughout the night. So, we would be sat there for four hours every night in the freezing fog, trying to determine how far away the ship was whose fog horn was getting ever louder. Pretty scary stuff. Having survived your watch, you would then have to go and wake up the next people so that they could continue this terrifying endeavour. Safe in the knowledge that you were no longer responsible for the boat, you then crawled into bed, which in my case is a bench in the communal area, with Chris sleeping in what can only be described as a big book shelf slightly above me, to then be rocked to sleep. So, all in all, sailing is not quite what its cracked up to be.

However, it was a completely different story once we crossed the border into Mexico. Literally as soon as we entered Mexico, the fog receded, basking the boat in glorious sunshine, and the wind picked up. As a result of this, we had an incredible days sailing with the boat doing a constant six knots whilst we sat and read in the sunshine, occasionally looking up from the page to see a whale breach. Now, that is the kind of sailing I can get on board with. This meant that we arrived in Ensenada in high spirits, whereas just a few days before we had been on the verge of mental breakdown; we actually found ourselves going a bit mad, with us bursting into fits of laughter over nothing. Slightly concerning. What a sight we must have been, a boat full of dishevelled men who had not showered for five days and whose last meal had been a plate of plain, powdered mash potato. Look out ladies, here we come! But, having paid thirty pasos for a shower in an alley way and with our bellies full of burritto, we set out to explore what Ensenada had to offer. I have got to say, Mexico is incredible. It is completely different from what we were expecting given the horror stories that we had heard in LA that depicted Mexico as some sort of backwards drug fuelled gang land. This could not be further from the truth We have found everyone to be really friendly and helpful and there is everything you could possibly want here. A case in point would be last night. We all went out to blow off some steam after our arduous trip. We hit a few bars, which all turned out to be strip clubs; it transpires that you can get anything you want here apart from a conversation with a girl that you don't have to pay for. Happy to be alive and on dry land, and to make it less awkward as you tried to have a conversation with one of the boys whilst some Mexican stripper was straddling you, we all got pretty drunk. Sam wondered off on his own and disappeared. We all feared the worst as we scoured the town in search of him. Eventually we found him and frantically asked if he was O.K. It turns out that he was absolutely fine. He had gone to a bank and been approached by a homeless man. Rather than being mugged and killed, Sam sat with the man whilst he fixed his flip flops, giving them a Christmasy flair as he held them together with tinsel. Absolutely brilliant. Bearing all of  this in mind, Mexico has so far found a place in our hearts. I am sincerely looking forward to seeing more of this country as we sail further down its coast.

We set sail again tomorrow for Bahia de Tortugas, a port that lies three hundred miles south of here. James has predicted it will take four days, so it will probably take two weeks. At least now we are prepared for what could happen; we have a ridiculous amount of food and we have fixed all of the problems that the boat incurred whilst at sea. So, hopefully I will write again soon!

Hasta luego.

Chapter 1: Wilmington, Los Angeles.

So, I have been in America for five days now, and what a five days it's been. First of all, I must set the scene for you all. The boat is moored in the Island Yacht Anchorage, situated in the heart of Wilmington. Sounds nice doesn't it? Well, it's not. Wilmington is affectionately referred to by the locals as the 'arsehole of LA' and there is good reason for this. I find myself deep within LA's industrial port, with our marina, if it can be called that, bobbing precariously at the mouth of the river that allows the container ships into the loading bays. It is a scenic little spot, with uninterrupted views of the industrial cranes and the oil diggers. I feel so dwarfed by the sheer size of the machinery that surrounds us. I should have expected such a spot when James' directions to the boat read 'you may feel like you have entered an industrial wasteland, but just keep going. Don't worry, you'll be fine.' Wilmington is not exactly the most accessible of areas either; even the taxi's sat-nav did not have a clue when I got picked up from the airport. Perhaps the best way to illustrate the desperate nature of our surroundings is to tell you that in order to get to the 'Chowder Barge,' a floating American diner from which I write, I had to scale a fence, walk through scrub land, before darting across a railway bridge, making sure to dodge the mile long freight trains that pass through. In short, it is a hilarious setting for the start of our adventure.

The primary focus of this week has been to spruce the boat up. Structurally, she is sound, but she was in need of a makeover. Thus, this week has consisted of waking up at eight in order to sand, paint, and varnish the boat. Because I was the last to arrive in LA, I was lucky enough to spend my first two days in a tiny cubbie hole, scraping sludge out of the diesel tanks. Not exactly the glamorous job I expected when I thought of yachting. However, now that we have been working on her for a week, the Black Wind is looking pretty sexy. More than this, we all feel like proper men, which made my diesel adventure worth while.

It has not been all work no play this week though. On Saturday night, we went along to a Christmas parade on Belshore Avenue, in Long Beach. In order to get there, we got a lift from Gary, an old timer who is working on the boat akin to ours. Jack and I had to lie down in the back of his pick up truck and then be hidden by blankets. I felt like a Mexican trying to make it across the border. Oddly enough, whilst lying under the dusty sheets, being whisked through the streets of LA, Jack and I had a conversation about the strength of the Euro, Britain's immigration policies and the strengths and weaknesses of the NHS. It is the most normal conversation that I have ever had with him; he normally just tells me crazy stories about his mates from the army. After what felt like a lifetime, we finally made it to the parade; and what a spectacle it was. The whole community lined the street in order to watch the countless floats, marching bands and cheer-leading squads trundle by. It was Americana at its best. You would never see anything like it in the UK because it would cause too much of an inconvenience. As Jack lamented, 'if that happened down ma street, people would start throwing bricks.' After the festivities of the parade Chris, Jack and I went to a club called 'The shore,' leaving Blair and James to go to a gay bar.The club was surreal. First of all, we were greeted by the nicest bouncer in the world; he must have apologised about five times for  our wait and we must have only been in the queue for five minutes. Once inside we were challenged to a drinking competition by the barman. This resulted in him winning and then crowing like a rooster for the whole bar to hear. Embarrassing. To further our humiliation, he told us to go and get some girls and he would give us all free shots. We failed, meaning that I could no longer look him in the eye. We left shortly afterwards.

Yesterday was our day off and so Chris, Blair, Jack and I went to see a bit of LA. We took the metro to Downtown, which was quite literally mental. Our carriage was like an episode of Jerry Springer. One of the more memorable characters was a morbidly obese black woman, who was slumped in her mobility scooter, with her phone wedged into her neck and shoulder fat, leaving her hands free to pile greasy chicken into her mouth. As if that wasn't enough, there were also a lot of mumbling crack heads; one guy was stood by the door whispering 'I need to get off this motherfucker' over and over. I tried looking out of the window, only to see someone beating a kid with a stick in Compton. It was a nervy hour and a half. The people did not get much better once we got to Downtown. As soon as we got out of the metro station we were met by a gangster singing Backstreet Boys at the top of his lungs, whilst banging randomly on a metal electrical box. Safe to say, we did not spend much time Downtown. Things got better once we got to Venice Beach, although we enjoyed ourselves too much and before we knew it, it was eleven o'clock. This threw a spanner in the works for our plans to get back to the boat. We ended up having to walk seven blocks in the pissing rain, before waiting for the bus on the wrong side of the road for a good half an hour. It was a long and wet journey home.

We are pretty much ready to set sail now. Our two guests have arrived today; Barry and Dominic. They seem like nice guys - Barry got stuck right in with helping us with the varnishing. He is also going to teach us to fish which should be pretty cool. Another manly trait. All I need to do now is build fire and I should be all set. We leave for Mexico at the crack of dawn on Wednesday. I have really enjoyed my time in LA but I will be glad to see the back of Wilmington. The next time you hear from us, we will be in 'Mejico!' Wish us luck.