It began the way it always does, with a phone call. “Kate, do you want to go hunting in Alaska?” He sometimes calls me mom, but in recent years mostly “Kate”. It’s not with disrespect— we have become friends.
“Count me in,” came my immediate reply. I even extended my trip by putting two extra days on both ends. Edgar lives on a trawler just outside of the Houston ship channel. I enjoy a little time on that boat. Thursday I flew to Houston and Edgar picked me up at the airport. We drove straight to the Bow Out, the 1973 40-foot DeFever PassageMaker. I dropped off my luggage and he took me out to dinner for some “catching up” and contemplation of the adventure ahead. We were off to hunt sitka deer, the small black-tailed deer native to southeastern Alaska. The conversation drifted from logistics of getting to Prince of Whales Island, our hunting destination, to our hopes for the hunt itself. The “what ifs” and “whens” exhausted, we headed back to the Bow Out for a great night’s sleep. I rest very well on that old boat.
The next morning Edgar got up early and headed off to work. He makes that forty-eight mile rush hour drive every morning to downtown Houston. I didn’t get up until almost eight. I enjoyed a leisurely coffee on the fly bridge in the hot Houston morning. Then I spent some time getting a little “house” cleaning out of the way. The captain will come back to a clean ship. The one hundred-plus degree afternoon was a good time for me to take care of some business calls inside the comfortable air-conditioned galley…. no matter how much I enjoy the view from the upper deck. Edgar arrived after work and we packed up and went to Leigh’s, through Houston’s Friday night traffic. They took me out for a Vietnamese dinner, then back to the house for packing hunting and fishing gear. Showers and bed did not come nearly as early as that 3AM alarm.
Next up: On the first full day of our adventure, we found ourselves in an all-out airport sprint, and got our first glimpse of the quirky town of Ketchikan… a place where salmon runs and cruise ships oddly intersect.
A student walked up to me at the end of class last week and asked, “How am I doing?”
I was surprised he didn’t see the “obvious” changes over the past few months, but I shouldn’t have been. If you’re a runner and you succeed in dropping your time on a certain distance, you have a measurable way to claim success. If you melt a quarter of an inch more into your forward fold, chances are you won’t even notice.
When I was first learning how to do crow pose, I fell out of it a lot. I wobbled and tumbled and rubbed the backs of my arms and thought, “This is impossible.”
Then one day I thought really hard about pulling my navel up and in, and pressing into my whole hand, and I balanced with my feet in the air, just for a second. Maybe not even. But I balanced.
Not long after that, I was in class and the instructor, who knew I had just succeeded, asked me to be her “body” for the crow demonstration. I walked somewhat nervously to the front of the class, and followed her cues as she talked us all into crow. I balanced for a moment and then came out of it.
My confidence in crow pose skyrocketed. Since it’s often considered the gateway to other arm balances, I became curious about those, and with my new-found belief that I could do it, I practiced and eventually landed a couple more.
8-angle in the window
When students ask me how long it will take to get to a certain posture, I can only tell them it takes time, but maybe I should start saying it also takes faith. You can get there, and that belief will drive you forward and actually influence your progress. Celebrate the small victories, the nearly invisible progression. You’ll be flying before you know it. Practice and all is coming.
They call it “north of normal” for a reason and you realize why just before entering the Yukon. A grand geographical area it is!
Mountains and hot springs are everywhere and a plethora of tectonic activity lies just beneath the surface. This trip up was my first time laying my eyes on the Northern Rockies, although I’d just spent two months relatively near Rocky Mountain National Park itself in Colorado.
The area of the Northern Rockies is a part of the world where the power of nature is the most authoritative being. In this day and age sometimes we need that visual reminder.
The following is a recap of our cruise from Rockport to Kemah, Texas via the ICW. If you missed day two you can catch up on that here.
We awoke early at Matagorda Bay, and we weren’t the only ones cutting lines in the half-light. It made for a pretty scene as we cruised our way back into the ICW.
Sunrises on the water are incredible, and we were blessed with another gorgeous one on day two.
We took turns at the wheel and planned our day. There was another set of locks, and we’d need to plan a fuel stop somewhere along the way. We’d kept tabs on how much we were burning, and it was possible for us to make it to Kemah on the same tank, but it wasn’t a sure bet.
The next set of locks went pretty smoothly. At this stop we heard more chatter on the radio, and we let everyone know who and where we were. The lock master coordinated with the other boats in the area, and they even let us move ahead in the line.
Have you heard of Chocolate Bay? It’s probably named for the color of the water, but just it case it was a suggestion, I took the hint.
It was getting later in the afternoon and we decided to plan a fuel stop, and used our chart plotter to look ahead. Our first choice was right on the way, but they weren’t answering the phone, so we sorted out a few back ups. They’d be a bit more out of the way, but would work in a pinch. We headed for option number one, knowing they could just be busy with customers and away from the office. The way in was narrow and shallow. We motored along for about twenty minutes before we spotted another boat. The passengers confirmed the fuel station wasn’t open, so we flipped around to head back into the open water.
Another place finally answered the phone and agreed to stay open for us, as long as we were buying at least 50 gallons. No problem. The Bow Out holds at least 200. That was the good news, but the bad news was they were near Galveston, and about an hour out of the way. We took a right by the bridge and followed the channel markers, but ran aground in a shoaling area. We didn’t come to an abrupt stop, but the sound of oyster shells scraping the bottom had us all picturing what might be going on below. We put that out of our minds as we pulled up to the marina and got filled up with fuel.
It’s strange how one boat can seem both big and small. The Bow Out is 40 feet long, but it felt like a battleship when pulling into the marina and sliding up between boats to reach the dock. The same boat in the channel felt the size of a bar of soap.
We thanked our new friends and headed back into the ICW. The entire route is a busy thoroughfare for barge traffic, and it wasn’t uncommon to see something like this cruising right beside us. It made for difficult steering, as vessels this size create strange currents, and I could feel the Bow Out being sucked in sideways. I gladly handed the wheel over to Edgar when this happened during my shifts.
With the sun setting, a little concern set in as well, as I realized we had a couple more hours to go, and no spotlights on the boat. We’d all planned to be back at work on Monday morning. We also didn’t have another place to stay, so we’d have to drop anchor and be out of the way of passing ships, a solution that didn’t seem ideal as there were no good anchorage options along the way. We decided to keep on.
As we entered the Houston Ship Channel, we first tried to avoid the traffic by staying just outside the channel markers, using our depth finder and chart plotter to look for any obstacles. Trouble was, we were finding out the chart wasn’t completely accurate, and we spotted some obstructions with the naked eye just in time. We decided to move into the channel and stay a comfortable distance behind the ship in front of us, confident that his electronics would be more sophisticated that our own.
The initial turn toward Kemah wasn’t hard to spot, because we could see the lights of the carnival rides from the water. But once we brought the bow in that direction, it was very difficult to see the red and green channel markers in the dark. Edgar kept his eyes peeled from the captain’s wheel, while I gazed out one side and Kate the other. We shouted to each other as we spotted marker after marker just in the nick of time. To make things even more interesting, our iPad was running out of juice. The 12 volt on the boat wasn’t quite 12 volt, and the iPad was smart enough to know it. It was dying, and along with it, our electronic visual on the route.
We scrambled up top to the fly bridge in hopes of a better view. We planted our feet wide; I downloaded the app on my phone, and as Edgar steered, I held the small screen in front of him. From up there we spotted what we thought were channel markers, and headed in toward the boardwalk. As we got closer we could see it was the right path, and we were all smiles as we celebrated along with the music blaring from the rides and nearby restaurants.
I’m not exactly sure how we navigated the final twists and turns, or how Edgar found his slip in the dark. The next thing we knew he was turning us around to park “bow out” – after all, that’s her name. It was late, but we were giggling with excitement and adrenaline. We’d cleared the locks, admired the dolphins, made friends at a fuel station and navigated the Houston Ship Channel at night. It wasn’t exactly as we planned it, but it was a success, and a true nautical adventure.
The following is part two of our cruise from Rockport to Kemah, Texas via the ICW. If you missed part one you can catch up on that here.
Morning came with butterflies of excitement. We made some last-minute checks and cut our lines loose. The sunrise was beautiful and we pulled away from Rockport excited about the day ahead.
Just a few hours into the morning, we had company. A group of dolphins decided to go surfing in our wake, and I could not stop smiling at the sight.
We had other company as well. Huge barges passed us every so often, sometimes filled with products and sometimes looking lighter on a return run. We heard some of them on the radio and spoke to some, but it soon became clear they weren’t used to speaking to pleasure boats and we trailed off communication. They weren’t rude; it just seemed like they didn’t know why were were calling out to them.
Just an hour or two into the journey, we could tell something wasn’t right. Edgar was at the wheel and not getting the response out of the engine like we had been, and there was a smell in the air…
We rushed to get out of traffic, dropped anchor and flung open the floor panels to expose the engine room. As we did, a big white cloud filled the cabin. We’d blown a radiator hose. We gave it a couple minutes to cool down and then added several bottles of water. Edgar worked his magic and we got ready to get back on track. It was a delay in an already tight schedule, and we had a lot more (watery) ground to cover.
It was smooth sailing for a while, and then we hit San Antonio Bay. The wind was whipping so hard, it made it difficult to keep the bow pointed in the right direction, and we had to stand with our feet at least shoulders’ width distance apart to keep our balance. We knew we were slipping behind schedule, but we had no choice but to ease off the throttle as we bounced our way across the chop.
Just on the other side of San Antonio bay, the wind died down and we passed several peaceful neighborhoods, like this one in Calhoun. Happy to have the rough seas temporarily behind us, I celebrated my newfound skill of boat-steering with a break… and a pb&j.
Later that afternoon, it was time to go through our first locks. We’d looked ahead on the schedule and saw that they were running, so when we got close we started listening to the traffic and getting a better idea of how it went down. We called ahead to the lock master and let him know we were coming, and he gave us the instructions to wait a few minutes until he could get another vessel through. When it was our turn he asked us to come through and then go to the right to wait another minute before going to the other side. We did, and found ourselves in the shallows. The Bow Out drafts four feet, so we needed five feet of water to cruise through. We made that right turn and ended up in four feet or less… and stuck. Edgar wasn’t too worried, since he knew he could twist his way off, and that the ship coming by would also give us a wake and help us move, but it didn’t erase our concern about what we were doing to our fresh paint job below.
When it was our turn to move we told the lock master it would take a second. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you it’s shallow over there.” Yeah, we see that. We wiggled off without too much trouble and continued on our way.
About 7pm we found ourselves in Matagorda, which was not quite the halfway point, but we knew there was a marina with facilities, and they turned out to be very nice. The guy running the place even let us borrow a power adapter so we could plug in for the night, and get a charge on our iPad, which we were using for the navigation app. It felt good to have a shower and a meal on land, and a little funny to be walking around on solid earth.
We settled in for the night, knowing we’d have a long day in store. Our hope was to make Kemah by dusk, and we’d need to be up and moving early to do it.
On day three we watch our fuel tank drop to an uncomfortable level, and make a risky run through one of the busiest ship channels in the country.
So there we were, in the middle of the Houston ship channel, coming on dark and with only running lights on our vessel. Huge barges, ships and tugs surged by on our starboard side, and all I could think about was… Do they see us?
Fresh off our adventure down to Sayulita, we had another one in the works. Edgar has always wanted to live on a boat, and he’d been walking by this particular one for months. It was docked at a marina not far from where he was living, so he often passed it and commented, “That’s a really nice boat.” The idea took hold and even though there was no for sale sign on the Bow Out, he decided to do some investigating. The harbor master at the marina said he knew the owner, and that the man did want to sell it. Edgar got his information, arranged a meeting, took a tour, and a fair price was found. The Bow Out sold, as she was and where she was, and a new adventure began to take shape.
Edgar’s job was moving to another city, and the idea was that the boat would move with it. We’d spend some time fixing her up in Rockport, Texas, and then spend a long weekend cruising to Kemah, just outside of Houston.
For several weekends we cleaned and took stock…spent time in the engine room and cleaned some more. The prior owner had lived on the boat for eight years, and left a lot of stuff behind, so it seemed every time we opened a cabinet or drawer, we were met with a new stash of boat parts. I was holding up a lot of mysterious items and saying, “Does this look important?” or “Do we need an extra one of these?”
Our first attempt to move her ran into snag when we put her in reverse. There was a strange noise and then…nothing. She wouldn’t go. We eased her back into the slip and Edgar dove down for a better look.
It was the propeller key, which had slipped out and allowed the wheel to turn freely on the shaft. One of our new neighbors at the marina was a retired machinist and was able to give us a piece of stock, which had to be shaped, and then Edgar made another dive to put the propeller back on, and the key in its slot.
When a local shipyard could take her, we motored two hours to get her pulled out of the water and get a good look at the bottom. The barnacles needed to be scraped off, the blisters repaired, the propeller addressed, through holes replaced, new zincs installed, and a fresh coat of paint applied. We stood back with our hands on our hips and declared her ready. It was time to head into the Intercostal Waterway… known locally as, “The Ditch”.
The ICW runs for 3,000 miles and includes wide open sections in broad bays and other areas where you need to mind your depth finder or you will find yourself run aground. We got maps and downloaded a chart-plotting app to help us find our way. We estimated we’d average about 8 knots per hour, and that it would take the entire weekend to get there, especially since we didn’t have spotlights on the boat, and weren’t planning to travel at night. We spotted some marinas along the way, and planned to stay in Matagorda the first night. There were a lot of unknowns. This was our maiden voyage on the Bow Out, other than the short trip to move it from the marina where we bought it, to the shipyard. We’d done a bunch of checking in the engine room, but weren’t sure if other problems would emerge on a longer journey. We filled up on fuel and snacks and picked up Kate at the airport… she flew in especially to be a part of the adventure. We got a good night’s rest so we could leave at first light.
On the first big day of our adventure, we were greeted by some surprise visitors, and faced our first locks of the journey. Check back in tomorrow for the next installment.
The following is a recap of Day Eight of our surfboard run from Houston, Texas to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed Day Seven you can catch up on that here.
We wandered into the lobby of the hotel for breakfast, and were pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t a buffet but cook to order. We made our selections and enjoyed our last morning of the trip.
It took some zipping and zagging out of Monterey traffic to make it back on the toll road, or cuota . We were only a few hours from the border, and the morning slipped by without incident. Soon we saw the long lines and guards that signaled the border crossing. The other giveaway was the gobs of people on foot, weaving through traffic and selling everything under the sun. Before you leave Mexico, you can pick up a sombrero, statue of the Virgin Mary, stuffed animals, blankets and all manner of drinks and snacks.
We no gracias’ed our way to the front of the line. There was a brief discussion with the agent about where we’d been and where we were headed, and then we were directed across and into the United States.
Our destination was Houston, but we made a quick stop in Rockport. Edgar had purchased this 40-foot Defever trawler and was doing some work on it while it was on the hard stand. That seemed to be going well, and it wouldn’t be long before it was ready for its journey out of Rockport, into the Intercostal Waterway and all the way to the Houston ship channel. But that’s another story for another post….
The following is a recap of Day Seven of our surfboard run from Houston, Texas to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed Day Six you can catch up on that here.
We kept a fire going all night long and stayed nice and toasty under our wool blankets. In the morning we got a tour of the rest of the property from one of the employees. Simon and his two children walked us down to the rope bridge, which Kevin had told us about in our previous visit. This time, we had a demonstration. Simon carefully climbed on the rope to show us how it was done… slowly working his way across the water and to the other shore. It looked very challenging, and Simon clearly did not expect any of us to even attempt it, but Edgar decided to give it a try.
No one else was feeling strong enough to jump at that challenge, so we thanked Simon and packed up our rig to head down the road for a tank of gas and a bite to eat.
Breakfast!
Edgar and Marie had tacos from a roadside stand, while I visited the horses in a nearby field. My stomach wasn’t quite ready for tacos, but I am always ready for a little neck scratching. Our morning complete, we headed on to Monterrey. The traffic in this city is ridiculous! It took some fancy navigating and map searching, but we finally found a hotel at a reasonable rate and checked in. We thought we’d order pizza instead of venturing out again, but didn’t think our limited Spanish vocabulary would cut it over the phone. We went back to the desk to ask the clerk for help. She was happy to call it in, and we enjoyed the veggie and meat lovers options.
We brought the leftovers to our new friend at the desk.
Our road trip across Mexico was nearly complete. Day eight would see us head for the border crossing, where all manner of items are on sale, from sombreros to Virgin Marys, and on to a new project on the gulf.
The following is a recap of Day Six of our surfboard run from Houston, Texas to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed Day Five you can catch up on that here.
Marie and I had good yoga intentions, but I was up all night with some wicked food poisoning and finally got some sleep around 6am. Marie accompanied Edgar to the beach instead while I rested. After the morning surf session we met back up for coffee at Chocobanana, a Sayulita staple. The tables were busy and a local musician entertained everyone with a few Coldplay and Pearl Jam tunes.
Actual musician not pictured, but I bet these two are phenomenal.
It was time to hit the road for the long drive home, so we returned the board Edgar had been using, back to Casa Aves. The drive back toward El Salto was peppered with multiple tolls, some official and some not, and we repeatedly dug into our cuota stash, tucked into a plastic cup in the console.
Here’s another interesting thing about the Mexican roads: vehicles pass in the middle. Really. In a lot of spots, there are two lanes, one in each direction, and huge trucks will pass in the middle. This is as normal as getting leche in your coffee. Other drivers will do their best to scoot over and let them by.
One of my favorite things to do on road trips is to try the local snacks, so wherever we stopped we purchased a few things with little knowledge as to what they were. Most were very good…. and we snacked on candy, nuts, cookies and all sorts of things as we traveled.
We weren’t sure how the timing would work out, but it ended up just perfect for us to stop by to see Kevin again, and to rent one of his big cabins, which had all the comforts of home, including a kitchen and cozy fireplace. (Cabañas “El Arroyo del Agua” on Facebook.) He helped us gather firewood and we got enough to last the night. The temperature difference between the beach in Sayulita and the air up in the mountains was dramatic. We were grateful to see a large stack of wool blankets in each room.
Once we dropped off our things, we headed into the city to find a cash machine and a restaurant. The latter was no problem, but the cash was tricky. We finally spotted an ATM but it had a line outside. Sayulita folks are used to seeing Americans, but in this town, not so much. We drew some curious looks as we waited our turn, and then again when we entered a small family restaurant for a bite. The manager or owner’s kids were all helping to wait tables while doing homework, and they kept looking over and giggling at us. I felt like we were the talk of El Salto.
This super-sized Sprite tasted amazing.
Back at the cabin we settled in to do our own giggling at an Adam Sandler movie dubbed over in Spanish, and eventually turned in.
On day seven, it was time for the feats of strength! Who among us would be brave enough to try the bridge made of rope, and would they make it to the other side?
This is a recap of day five of our surfboard run from Houston, Texas to Sayulita, Mexico. If you missed day four, you can catch up here.
Day five began with leftover pizza for breakfast. We made quick work of that and made tracks for the beach. Edgar surfed the Sayulita break while I practiced yoga. I played around with handstands against a mural wall, and toyed with foot placement and shoulder activation. Our morning exercise complete, we walked a few streets into town and got coffee at a new place. New businesses are popping up all over town… restaurants, coffee shops, yoga studios and B & Bs. While we were walking around and taking note of the new spots, we found a barbershop, and Edgar decided to get a hair cut.
Not long after the scissors came out, another man came into the shop and had a heated discussion with the barber. He then went to a work station and began to pick up products and tools and put them in a bag. The barber working on Edgar’s hair didn’t seem to like that, and some more angry words and gestures were exchanged. Then the barber opened up the angry guy’s bag, and took some of the product back out, clearly claiming it belonged to the shop. Things were beginning to get uncomfortable so Edgar spoke up and asked if they could possibly settle the matter later, perhaps when scissors and razors were not so close at hand. They agreed and the angry guy left, and Edgar got a nice haircut. A boy of about eight came into the shop while we were there. He had a little money — it appeared he’d made it selling trinkets in the square. Edgar and the barber agreed to split the cost of his cut so he could keep his earnings.
Angry guy is packing up his work station in the background.
Another one of the new shops is a little less formal, but a lot more tasty. This guy set up a candy store just off one of the main streets. We struck up a conversation to see what he had, and he offered some free samples of the candied nuts. We purchased several varieties to take with us as snacks for the ride to the airport. Edgar’s youngest daughter Marie was making the drive back with us, and we needed to fetch her from Puerto Vallarta.
Don’t ask me what they are exactly, but they’re good.
We had to again switch hotels, since they were out of rooms, and we moved into a place just a five minute walk away. We didn’t have a bunch of time, so I walked across the street to get fish tacos, while Edgar got our stuff to the rooms. You can’t drive past a surf break without at least having a look, so we took the scenic route toward the airport and stopped by Punta Mita. There wasn’t much to it so we kept on.
We also had another mission in mind. Casa Aves has had a table and chairs outside on the bodega since we’ve owned it, but the seats just aren’t comfortable. Several furniture stores line the way to the airport and we stopped at a handful, but didn’t see exactly what we wanted… at least, not for a good price.
The PV airport stays pretty busy, so we camped out in the stream of arrivals and kept a keen eye out for Marie. At only 18 years old, she’s already well-traveled and quite accustomed to this particular route. While we were keeping our eyes peeled for her, a familiar face appeared. Our friend and sometimes driver, Espie, was at the airport and we chatted for a moment about family, business and how things were going for him in general. Seeing people you know at an airport in Mexico, reminds us of how small the world is, and how much this section of it feels more and more like home.
After we grabbed Marie, we headed back to Sayulita and went for another stroll on the beach. There are always vendors walking up and down the beach and offering something. This time we ran into a guy selling Mexican blankets. We had seen them before, but this guy quoted a price we couldn’t pass up, and we wound up with a really nice blanket.
On our way back through the square we saw a group of little boys skateboarding, and showing off their tricks. We watched for a while and then Edgar asked if he could have a turn. They thought that was kinda funny but gave him a board. He skated for a bit and then said, “Wow! Why are your wheels and trucks so loose?”
“Because we’re surfers,” came the reply.
Little skater/surfer making it look easy
We had agreed to meet up with our house host for dinner. A local artist, who came to Sayulita by way of Italy, stays at Casa Aves year-round, keeps the house nice and is a great resource for guests. We met at Don Juan’s just up the street from Aves and shared a meal and good conversation. After dinner we went for another walk, and then turned in for the night. One of us planned to surf in the morning, while the other two had their eyes on a yoga class.
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