Winding Down

The winter sailing season is coming to an end.  Some boats have moved north to Mazatlan or the Sea of Cortez, others jumped off for the South Pacific, and those still in Banderas Bay are making their way into marinas for protection from summer hurricanes.

Yesterday was the last day of the fabulous Sunday Market in La Cruz. It was a sunny day with warm ocean breezes, just right for strolling around the Malecon. The crowds had dwindled, but the vendors were out in full force, offering their beautiful blankets from Oaxaca, handmade jewelry, painted plates and bowls, and delicious homemade juices, cheese, smoked fish, bread, roasted coffee, ice cream and an assortment of tempting delicacies. 

 

 

 

In the courtyard, the fish nets were gathered and the dirt swept in preparation for the band who blast out their Mexican rhythms much to the enjoyment of the crowd. Almost everyone gets in at least one dance. 

 

And oh yes, the best part was another delightful French conversation with my elderly Mexican friend, Alicia.  She comes to the market every week with her son and while he’s busy with his customers, she tells stories in elegant French about her life in France...her son says that it gets her away from the television.   

 

Another grounding, Banderas Bay

The second boat within a week went aground in Banderas Bay yesterday.  This time, it was at the La Cruz anchorage. 

The afternoon winds gusted to 20 knots and large swells rolled through, bucking and rolling the boats at anchor.  It was dusk when this Islander 28 bounced across the reef and onto the beach.  Iggy, the owner was not aboard. A swimmer struggled through the high swell to get a line to the boat while cruisers climbed on board to cleat it.  Two dinghies with anchors and line flipped in the high surf while assisting.  A half-dozen more dinghies from the anchorage lined up and pulled on the line, managing to turn the vessel into the surf before rescuers on the boat signaled to stop.  A panga with a big engine arrived and a second line was attached to it and the boat.  Within minutes, the mast snapped and fell to the beach taking part of the cabin top with it.  Daylight faded and the rescue was called off. 

In the dark of the night, flashlight beams flitted about on the boat like fireflies.  In the morning, its contents were spread about on the beach; sails, lines, hoses, a refrigerator, clothing, food.  A small camping tent was up where Iggy had spent the night.  He was selling everything that he had salvaged. 

 

A backhoe arrived and lifting its big claw into the exposed cabin of the bow it pulled the vessel up high on the beach. More gear and the engine were removed while a dump truck waited silently like a vulture.  Finally, the backhoe flung its claw into the hull, lifting the splintered pieces into the dump truck.  It took just two loads for the boat to become a memory. 

A Bad Day in Paradise

It does happen occasionally even in paradise: the universe conspires against you.  So being oblivious to their fate, a family left the anchorage on a sunny, blustery day for a delightful sail and by the time they realized that some crucial equipment was malfunctioning and that the stars were not aligned for them, they and their boat, Flying Dragon, were hard aground on the beach.

Ken and I, along with others, responded to the call for assistance Monday evening.  We worked our dingy by moonlight and flashlight handling lines between the tug and the grounded vessel.  We tested our engine’s capacity as we carried the heavy lines toward the vessel and then had to back out of the surf zone to avoid flipping.  We would tie the lines and then move out of range in case they snapped.  Our handheld radios crackled with instructions.  Patience and stamina were tried and optimism tested as lines broke throughout the night as the tug tried unsuccessfully to pull the 80,000 pound vessel off of the beach.  The tide steadily increased until 1:30 a.m. when it began to subside and the rescue was called off for the night.  It was determined that attempts would be made again at the next high tide on Tuesday at 5:00 p.m. so we motored back into the dark, quiet marina wet, tired, and disappointed. 

We walked out to the beach in the morning, were hoisted aboard Flying Dragon and began packing up EVERYTHING and off- loading it onto the beach.  The refrigerator, washing machine, batteries, the rocks and lead used for ballast, clothing, dishes, tables, dressers, pictures, lamps, books, linens, everything that had created a comfortable life afloat was piled on the beach.  Within a couple of hours, what had once been a home became a shell holding nothing but sweet memories.

A welder arrived and cut off the 5-foot rudder that was preventing the boat from pivoting.  An excavator arrived and dug around the rudder, hoisting it away from the boat.  It then removed the sand around the perimeter of the vessel. 

Pumps and generators were donated.  A large, heavy sailboat arrived with a strong windlass that was used to pull on the huge lines.  A Nordhaven arrived and was used as a tug boat.  Lines were cleated to its stern.  Cruisers and vacationers grabbed onto the lines and began pulling in unison while others pushed on the bow and the Nordhaven pulled to turn Flying Dragon into the sea. 

It was 5:00 p.m. on the high tide when she turned to the west, was pulled past the surf line to cheers, whistles and clapping and towed to a nearby marina.

It was an amazing confirmation of the fundamental goodness of humankind and the strength of community.  Boats, lines, muscle power, food, beverages, radios and many other resources were donated without hesitation.  Strangers worked long hours side by side to help others in need. 

There is no denying that the family’s financial and emotional losses.  Flying Dragon has an interesting and checkered past and the current owners worked tirelessly those days to save her.  They carried themselves with extraordinary grace under extreme pressure and the cruising community was there with them to help carry the load.