Start of the season 2019 - Guaymas, Mexico

We’ve been in the Guaymas boat yard almost a month now. We are winning the battle most days. Then we come up against hard decisions, like the rigging, and I feel defeated. There is still so much to do and very little money to do it with this year. But the to do list to splash is getting smaller. Thanks to some help from Gene and Ben and friends in the yard.

When we left Harstine Island we said a sad farewell to Rose and Gary and traveled south to visit both our family’s in Ferndale, Half Moon Bay and friends in Ojai. 

Hiking with Teri and Brisa the dog

Then we turned east and stayed in Surprise AZ at the wonderful White Tank campground to provision and get work done on the truck. We stuffed the truck to bursting and headed south to cross the border in Nogales. 

Trading by cell phone on a freezing morning.

The desert was beautiful with all the rain

The border was empty of border agents and so we drove through without incident and made it to San Carlos where we stayed with Gene for 5 nights before moving aboard Holoholo.

The first wash down of 6 months of grime

The first day in the yard is always stressful and unsettling. I was stressed about what we would find inside: mold, critters, water, damage. But she was surprising dry, just a little mildew. Later that day we did find that the bilge pump had gotten turned off so the bilge was full of water - but still a foot below the engine. I had a thru hull open just in case. We emptied the bilge and Lucas started on the electrical so we could move aboard. We set up our tent next to Holoholo so we could take all the gear we removed from Eileen May and had thrown inside Holoholo, into the tent for safe keeping. 

It took us four long days to clean, organize and unpack the truck. Having to figure out where everything belongs and finding containers to store gear and food and parts and tools took most of our time. We still have piles of sails and line on deck. And since we don’t have our mast up everything had to be carted up and down the ladder. Last year we were able to use block and tackle on our boom and winch everything up the 15 ft. 

Thanks to Gene we had a clean bed at the end of the day and could do laundry and take showers, and use his kitchen to make dinner. 

Swap Meet

I was not looking forward to living on the hard, in a dirty boat yard with a bathroom 100 yards away, but we’ve survived 3 weeks now. The most challening part is staying organized amid multiple projects, keeping a clean kitchen, and finding the right tool which could be in the boat, the tent the truck or in the mast tool bin. But we’ve go a couple comfortable settees now and even tho the V-berth is too small we do have a bed. 

Another big coup is getting a little cash from the parts we are selling from Eileen May. If I could sell her mast, engine and generator I would be so very happy. 

We finally broke down and got a storage unit. For $29 a month we have a little closet unit where we can put Eileen May’s stainless steel dodger and bimini, sails, stanchions, cushions, windlass, and everything else until we decide what we will use and what we will sell. Slowly, we are shuffling gear over to the unit and getting organized. The worst we've found so far is a bottle of part A epoxy spilled all over the port settee locker. This was not a fun clean up. We have also abandoned the aft water tank. When I used my endoscope through the water inlet I found brown gunk covering the inside. The clean up will have to wait until we install inspection ports. This job can wait until later. 

What the salon looked like first day

Shay’s been working on the mast and prepping it for painting which means removing all the hardware, sanding, and getting ready to prime. I’ve been inspecting the rigging, fixing the propane stove, fixing the generator, cleaning water tanks, working on the scupper drains. Gene replaced the steering cable and the leaky galley sink drain.

Gene working on the steering cable

Cockpit scupper problem solving

Ben schooling Shay on spreaders

No, Shay is not napping she is attempting to clean up a gallon of epoxy in the tool locker

We will need to upgrade our solar panels cause they are old and not providing the power we need and check the chainplates and bolts and do some work on the engine and cutlass bearing. It’s a lot to do so we have been taking off more time to be social with dock parties at El Mero - the almost free marina, hiking with Gene, Pitaya Farm tour and a couple yard parties with bonfires thanks to Georgia. It has helped to not be pushing so hard this year. 

Hiking to Martini Cove

My very first book just published! Here's the link to buy it! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B082DQ3CXW

I’ve also noticed that since we already know where to shop and most of the tool stores, that we don’t spend as much time running around looking for something. When we run into a road block we pivot to another project until we find a solution. We know who to ask to borrow a tool or for specific advice. We definitely learned a lot about how to manage life in a boat yard last year. 

Our bodies are bruised and sore and we have buns of steel from living up a ladder but we’ve been able to keep a better pace. I think due to taking time off, eating healthy and sleeping lots. It’s not hot here yet and gets chilly at night still so it’s good boat working weather. 

If we don’t have the boat in the water by mid February we will consider leaving the yard for a different adventure for awhile. But we are optomisitc that we can splash. It depends on the rigging and the engine I think. 

Fingers crosssed!

Season Three is upon us!

It’s the end of another season here in the PNW and time to think about heading south to Mexico. It’s been a crazy weird summer and fall. The weather has been cold and rainy - I haven’t been out on my paddleboard once this year. And believe it or not, we have only been sailing 3 times for the last 12 months. What?!

But it’s also been crazy because of all our housing and job changes. I am definitely feeling the gypsy lifestyle. This year the longest we’ve stayed in one place is 3 months. My last count has us staying at an Airbnb, a friends trailer, a room at our friend’s house, and our own trailer, a condo for a month, and in the truck camping while traveling. Since we purchased our little 22ft travel trailer in August we’ve been living tiny-house-style in our friend’s driveway in the south sound. 

It feels good to finally have a spot to call home, and that we can return to, or move someplace else. It’s a fair-weather trailer so it’s been a little cold during these unseasonably chilly months. I’m hoping we have our living sorted for a while now that we have the trailer. 

As we contemplate our move south for the winter, it's clear this has been a bummer of a financial year since we were not called out for a hurricane deployment. Which means we have been making ends meet as construction contractors. It pays the bills but doesn’t help us save for the winter months. Plus its hard physical labor. This keeps us fit but honestly, we are getting too old for this type of work, especially when it's 40 degrees out. Fingers crossed that next year pans out with a couple deployments so we can cut down on physical labor.

I have noticed our confidence in tackling new projects has improved. We just assume now that we will figure out a new project as we go. We learned how to install a chain-link gate, how to remove a window and install a new exterior wall, how to fix a toilet flange that was installed sideways - a very, very ugly job. We figure it out together. We have finally come to a good working relationship, Shay and I. We know each other’s strengths and let one of us take the lead in a project based on who knows more. 

I have faith it will come together somehow. And it does. Usually with a creative solution, or a little YouTube time. I think these are good skills to have for cruising on a sailboat. Belief in yourself and a good team relationship. 

So after a weird summer season of moving and finding a trailer and getting our business going in a new location in the south sound and missing out on hurricane deployments, we are two or three weeks away from packing up the truck and heading south to visit family and friends and crossing the border into Mexico.

I’ve been looking at my Holoholo project list the past few days and starting a provisions list too. There’s a lot to do to get ready. We’ll pack up the cargo trailer, the travel trailer, get our boat gear out of storage, buy provisions and solar panels and paint for the mast and a dozen other little things and move to the boatyard in Guaymas, Mexico. 

There is still a long list to accomplish in the yard before Holoholo can splash. The rigging, the mast, solar, water tanks, anchor chain, electrical, selling Eileen May’s engine and mast and all the gear we stashed next to Holoholo before we left. I hope Holoholo is not filled with mold or rodents or bugs. I hope she is well and in good condition and we live aboard soon after we arrive. I am worried about her condition. 

I’m not excited yet about this upcoming transition to Mexico except it will be warm. Last year was so brutal working and living in the yard for 5 months. I hope it’s different this year. 

This year we need to get some sailing time in. We need to leave the yard and get Holoholo back sailing. It's been too long for all three of us. We all need to be on the ocean again. To remember why we work so hard, why we chose to be gypsies. We need to SAIL. 

Mexico - April (and June), 2019 - Scuttling Eileen May

October 2018 in Barra

I'm dedicating this post to info about how we came to scuttle Eileen May, and the decisions we made regarding her decommissioning in Mexico.
The decisions we made were based on environmental concerns, our pocketbook, and what our available choices were as foreigners in Mexico.
Eileen May is a 1974 Sampson Ferro-cement sloop. She weighs approximately 20 tons and is 40ft.

We purchased Eileen May in February 2017 in Barra de Navidad. From November 2017 thru April, 2018 we readied her for a trip north to the Sea of Cortez to haul out for maintenance. During our time in Barra we worked on the engine, rig, and checked all of the systems for the journey north. We noticed a crack with a slight bulge in the port bow that we wanted to explore once we hauled out and decided to epoxy it so water would not enter on our trip north. We also had ongoing diesel leaks from the diesel hoses leading to the tanks. We found that a hack-job of 5 different hose/pipe types had been glued together and failed, resulting in leaking fuel into the v-berth area. We replaced the leaking mess with diesel hose but continued to smell diesel and so maintained our search for the source as we sailed to the Sea.

The work begins

After 6 weeks and almost a 1000 NW we made it Guaymas, Mexico and hauled out in May, 2018.

We returned to Eileen May in November of 2018 and started some serious exploration of the crack in the port bow. The crack turned into a 4ft hole and an additional 10ft along the port side toe rail to expose rusted infrastructure.

During our trip north the previous spring we found journals belonging to the previous owners Lori and Ed. One of the logs spoke of being "t-boned" by a pilling while being towed. It shared the location as the same as the crack, but didn't mention any repair. This journal mention was the first we knew of the damage. It sounded like a very serious hit so we knew we needed to explore this thoroughly.

As we investigated the hull it was clear the the crack was not properly treated since the crack quickly became a gaping hole when the concrete literally tumbled out. And in order to take proper care of the issue the hole would need to be made much larger, the metal sandblasted, epoxied and then re cemented. A project that could take a couple months. The effects of long term water intrusion could not be entirely known without taking a sledge hammer to the entire side of the boat, which we were not interested in doing. We would do the best we could to remove the rust and repair the hole. Since it was well above the water line we felt reasonably confident the repair could last a season or two.

The beginning of excavating the crack

We set about educating ourselves on ferro repair and received quotes from locals. It would be thousands of dollars and at least a month even if we were doing part of the work ourselves.
So we decided to do it all ourselves.
But Eileen May still wasn't livable as the batteries were completely dead and the diesel smell was stronger than ever.
Before we started the repair we thought it wise to do an inventory of any other potential issues so we could have a clear idea of the total costs involved, and to make sure there wasn't anything major that needed addressing that we didn't already know about.
So we took apart the v-berth for probably the fifth time and removed trash bags full of diesel soaked foam, cleaned the area and replaced additional hose as a precaution. We ruled out a fuel tank leak.
The smell was improved but not gone.
We also started sanding the bottom and chipping out failing repairs along the keel. There were at least 10 keel repairs that we grinded down to the wire and tubing. It would take a good amount of epoxy to fix but it was doable.

Toe-rail investigations

However, the sanding of the bottom uncovered a larger issue.  After we sanded off most of the coal tar epoxy on the port hull we found quarter size spots that smelled of diesel fuel and that felt slick and oily. There were only a handful of spots so we figured we could dry out each and cover them with a specialized epoxy before using the coal tar and bottom paint. The next day when we were dismayed to find that the few spots had become a swath running the length of the keel about 2 feet wide.
Having just removed the batteries to be replaced I had access to the bilge aft of the v-berth. I decided to explore this area more thoroughly. Unfortunately, I found that the cement cap that makes up the bilge bottom was cracked, and great chunks of the keel cap were laying about.
I found the path of the diesel leak led right into the crack, which led straight into the slag that was buried in the keel. Enough diesel leaked into the keel to cause the seeping to the outer layer of cement creating the swath we could see from the exterior.

Not a fun day

The only way to repair this would be to hammer out all the cement from both sides of the hull and rebuild the infrastructure and cement, possible rebuilding the entire keel. Plus it would be opening a can of worms; who knows what else we would find. The tubes that run vertically from toe rail to keel edge were already swollen from water intrusion and could easily be seen from inside the hull pushing inward on the concrete, the toe rail cap had failed and at least half the toe rail needed to be taken off and epoxied. The toe rail cap failure also allowed water intrusion into the shroud chain plates.
All this, plus the large hole on the port bow, made the decision a no brainer. Eileen May was not safe to sail, or possibly even float again.
A rebuild would cost well over 20 grand and probably more. This boat cost us less than 20 grand to purchase. It's not worth  putting that much money and time into a 45 year old cement boat. We also have concerns about how far the water intrusion has moved throughout the infrastructure and down the tubes from the toe rail. There is no way to know for sure.

No matter how we try to figure out how to repair the boat we can't find a reasonable solution to fixing the diesel in the keel. Diesel and concrete don't mix, the fuel changes the concrete into a crumbling mess and allows water intrusion with causes the chicken wire and rebar damage, which rusts and swells and breaks the concrete and allows even more water intrusion.
We would never feel safe sailing on her again. It was only a matter of time before she was hit in the right spot to crack her open, or her keel fell off from the diesel breaking down the concrete.
We would not be fixing this amount of damage.

Sanding

As soon as we make the decision to decommission her we immediately feel relief.
I do believe that had the previous owners taken proper care of the t-bone that led to the port bow hole, taken care of the toe rail degradation, and used the proper fuel line instead of ABS pipe and glue that caused diesel to leak into the bilge, scuttling Eileen May could have been avoided and the boat would have many years left.
But it is on us as we bought her and so she is our responsibility now.

After taking a break to recover from these very sad developments we started looking into our options.
How do you decommission a boat in a foreign country?

First off we don't want to go to jail for illegally abandoning her. Second, we don't want to put even more money into her than necessary, and third we've never done anything like this before.
We visit an auto/boat junk yard in Empalme and check to see if they are interested in using her for scrap. We ask around about previous cement boat deaths and hear that a couple boats have been abandoned in the boat yard, a couple have been cut into pieces and hauled off, and one has been taken to sea to become a reef. We follow up on all leads and find that no one wants to cut her up and those with experience warn us away from doing so. No one wants her for scrap.

Swap Meet

We briefly entertained fixing her up enough to sell as a floating condo. But this is risky. We would be putting months of our labor and at least a few grand into her to make her presentable to live aboard and would continue to pay fees either in a marina or the yard until or IF she ever sold. And this still doesn't take into consideration the diesel smell, new batteries needed, sanding, and primer and bottom paint needed to splash and countless other small projects.
It doesn't make sense to do this.
Neither of us could cover up the truth and lie to someone about the diesel issues.

So all that's left is taking her to sea.
Which means absolutely every single item needs to be removed. She needs to be just a cement hull with some wood and metal attached. We love the ocean and don't want to pollute her so we have to do this right. We couldn't live with ourselves otherwise.
The yard owner tracks us down and asks our intentions. He's had many boat owners abandon their boats and is concerned we will return to the states and leave him with the problem. We reassure him that we will take responsibility for her.

So even though we don't have an end game yet we decide to move forward now instead of waiting for next season to deal with the decommissioning.
This task is monumental.
Neither Shay or I even know what this will entail. We just get busy with the obvious. All personal stuff out and stored. Then all the items we want to sell, or keep for use on Holoholo. The electronics, cushions, electrical, hoses, appliances all removed and brought down the ladder, cleaned and spread across our yard space. We look like a sailboat bomb has gone off. All the deck hardware, winches, auto pilot, on and on and on, day after day after brutal day we dismantle Eileen May.

Removing fuel tanks

Empty boat

Next the 50 gallons of fuel and fuel tanks, v-drive, transmission, heat exchangers, exhaust, more electrical, more plumbing, sinks, lights, anchor chain, items stored deep in lockers and bilges. Everyday we are covered in grease and dirt and diesel, bruises and cuts and sore muscles. It is a herculean task.
And we are not finished yet. Still more layers to remove; the prop and shaft, stainless railings, stanchions and life lines, drawers, lockers, anything that is not attached, anything plastic or toxic, it all is removed.
Until finally after many weeks we are ready for the mast and engine to be taken out.
We cut out the cockpit so the engine will fit, prep the rigging, remove the boom, grind out the mast step plate, unscrew the engine mounts to prepare for the crane.
First the mast is removed and set in the yard to be moved against the wall for storage, then the engine is taken up and out and hauled over to Holoholo so we can  wrap it up tight.
Both the mast and engine are in good shape and we hope, fingers crossed, we can sell them for at least a little. Its cost us a few grand to pay for the storage, the crane and scuttling of Eileen May and it would be nice to recoup a little.

The last couple days are spent getting all the trash, and debris out of the hull. We even vacuum and use degreaser on the bilge to make sure no oil or gas residue is left.
We are exhausted. The work leaves our bodies busted up and too tired to feel anything other than relief that the job is over. She is an empty hull, a broken shell of a boat.

It's not until weeks later that I can start processing what happened.
That our boat of two years is nothing but a hull now.
Its sad, yes. And frustrating too, but we are ok.
We've been asked if we are angry about what happened.

We believe in Karma and focusing on our own actions not on others. In the bigger picture Eileen May was the beginning of our cruising adventure, she got us started. She helped us realize that we want to be cruisers, and that we can do anything we put our minds to. It's been a steep learning curve for sure, but we found Barra because of her and many new friends too. So we keep focused on what's important.

No more rigging or railings

Engine removed

We were able to sell a few thousand worth of gear so far, enough to offset the cost of burial and yard fees. Hopefully, next season we can sell the mast and engine and a few more items too. Its kinda nice knowing pieces of Eileen May are out there still cruising. We also gave away what we couldn't sell since Mexico is great at repurposing.
I think the angels were looking out for us when we sailed her north from Barra. During the deconmission we found evidence of failure points. Some of the chainplate bolts popped off and were rusted through, the cockpit frame was rotten, the overall structural condition was worse than we thought. When you get deep into a boat its amazing what you find. We were lucky.

And so Eileen May will be taken to sea for burial. She will be a home for fishes for many years to come until she is nothing more than a rock on the bottom of the ocean.
May she rest in peace.

Saying Goodbye

April 17, 2019 - Barra de Navidad, Mexico

Being here is a balm.

The constant rumble of waves against the shore, the wind blowing through the room from the doors thrown wide open to the sea, the light reflecting on the ocean with brilliant intensity.
It soothes me. 

I didn’t realize how much I needed stillness, immersion in nature, (or as much as possible from a seaside condo).

Yesterday we went to Chantli Mar near Puenta Iguana for a lazy beach day. It was a wonderful walking beach and swimming in the ocean with Shay was like a revival of my spirit. 
As we were walking with Brisa Rosalia (the dog) down the beach so she could run along the wet sand chasing waves, the sea called to me and I went racing into the surf again. 
A few minutes later I am staring up at a very large wave about to crest on top of me. I dive under but it's only about 4ft deep and I get tumbled with the sand for a few seconds before pushing off the bottom and popping up for air. 
I am ok. 

I have learned never to turn my back on the ocean and as I look again to the sea I see another wave ready to topple. This wave inspires a quick, passionate prayer and I feel my heart race as adrenaline surges through me. 
Once more I am being scoured and tumbled inside the wave. 
Shay and Teri tell me later that from the shore they can see my body rise and fall through the wave. I only have a slight second of panic before I find the bottom and push up to grab at air. 
I make my way to shore where I fall to the sand, spent but happy. 
As we walk back to our beach chairs under our umbrella I remind myself not to test my physical limits . 

That call though, that I’ve heard many times before, is I think, the same pull to live on a boat and sail. 
To be a part of the natural world. 
The same desire to put on a backpack and disapear into the mountains. 
To turn away from society and embrace living simply with nature. 
Maybe this is what I am wanting from this cruising journey? 
To learn to live without, so that the empty spaces are filled with connection to the ocean, or the trees, and their sounds and sights and colors. 
Is it conincidence that I am most fullfilled when on the water? 
When I step on a boat I feel that I am finally myself. 
When I am in the middle of the mountains, or paddling across a lake my senses seem to expand and I feel soothed and alive. 
I can breathe deeper, and literally feel anxiousness sluff from my body. 

Wanting total immersion, but respecting my body’s limitations is at times a challenge for me. Swimming too far out of the bay, sailing on the edge of what is safe, choosing to enjoy the moment sometimes holds a very real danger. 

The time I got caught in the current when I was following a turtle in Solomon Bay, or when we couldn’t get a weather report and kept sailing north right into the storm, or yesterday when I went jumping into the ocean with the waves crashing overhead.

It's the desire to live fully, follow my bliss, that pulls at my soul; trying to catch a feeling of wildness, an impulse to connect with myself through nature.

There are a handful of indelible moments in my life, seconds sometimes, when the light is just right, or a breeze seems to be whispering in my ear, when the stillness of a moonlit night is more than it seems. 
That if I just listened hard enough, or held still enough that I could hear the message, the answer to my unasked questions.I sometimes feel like I am on the verge of knowing some ancient secret. 
If I only understood the language of trees, the pattern of rain, the depth of a blue sea, I could slip inside the moment and be one with the universe. 

And then its gone. I am left watching the sway of a branch, or the dance of a wave wondering if I will ever enter that magic place. 
And so I walk out to meet the ocean waves, I follow the turtle into the deep blue. I merge my physical being, and sometimes experience an ecstatic moment. 

But then the storm arrives, the current grabs, and I am human and breakable, and trembling with fear.

So perhaps this journey is a quest for magic places, immersion, or simply stillness. 

What would happen if I had months or years, to gaze at the ocean, to swim in blue, to surround myself with green and wind and light? 

Barra de Navidad, Mexico - April 14, 2019

It takes 18 days. 

Mast off and shade cover up

Gear from EM packed up

Our first day in Barra de Navidad and we feel, as Shay put it, “like we were slammed against a truck, multiple times.” We are very weary. Bone tired. No energy to visit Barra. We drove around once when we first arrived but since then we have been resting from the past 5 months of boat yard labor. Everything hurts, doing yoga this morning was terribly painful as its been months since Ive done anything other than stretch my legs a bit. There are knots and bruises everywhere and I just wanted to lay on the mat and take a nap.

Its an odd feeling to be stopped. We have nothing to do, nothing to fix, or wrestle off or on the boat, to paint, fasten, bang, unscrew, haul to the garbage, the swap meet, the other boat. We walk around the condo aimlessly, like our bodies can’t be still.

I feel weirdly guilty for doing practically nothing today. It feels like I’m supposed to be doing, getting done, focusing, but instead I am lazy/weary. 

It took 3 days to drive down from Guaymas. We stayed in Culiacan the first night. A big town on the highway, got up early and drive another 10 yours past Chakala, San Blas, and Mazatlan and thought about sailing north in Eileen May about the same time last year. Its weird and complicated, this journey we are on. 

Eileen May has probably been taken out to sea and scuttled by now. It somehow makes the memories of the our first and only voyage with her different.

The second night we stayed in Guayabito and then visited San Francisco for breakfast and then Puerto Vallarta to order much needed eye glasses from Costco, past Banderas Bay, Chemala, Tentacatia, all more anchorages that we visited with EM. 

And finally, we made it to Barra.

We are grateful. And excited to be here. But it’s unsettling. So much has happened in the past 5 months I don’t know how to process it yet. I hope that eating better now that we have a kitchen and having some fun swimming and walking, visiting friends will slowly untangle the knots and spasms  and will allow our bodies and souls a little healing. 

We did make an effort to take a walk this evening on the beach. We got about 200 feet and sat down to watch the waves and rest. “How many days did it take us to dismantle Eileen May?, “ I ask Shay. “Two and half week,” she replies. 

Eighteen days. It takes 18 days to tear apart a sailboat.  This is amazing to me. What a feat. I feel strangely prideful, but don’t think I should be for some reason. 

For 18 days we removed appliances, hoses, wire and more wire, plumbing, toilets, sinks, fuel and fuel tanks, electronics, a stove, rigging, a mast, an engine, so much stuff. 

The church in Guayabito

Some sold, some trashed, some stored under Holoholo, all of it had to be torn, unbolted, unscrewed, grinded, drilled, cut off and brought down a 12 ft ladder and then cleaned and stowed. Some items found new homes on other boats, or were given away to locals. We hope to sell enough gear to recoup the cost of funeral expenses for EM and yard fees. But it’s done now. She’s empty. And at the bottom of the Sea of Cortez. 

So far the universe is telling us that all is well because here we sit in a beautiful condo in Barra due to the generosity of people we don’t know well, yet. Its hard to feel sad when we have been given such wonderful gifts this season. Good reminders that there are unexpected wonders in an unconventional lifestyle. That loss bears fruit also. And we LOVE fruit.