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Our 39 foot long catamaran looked pretty small floating at the base of the 2300 foot high walls in Daniel’s Bay. The walls were wavy with green and black horizontal bands, dotted with white birds drifting on air currents. We were entering the bay from the ocean, and it kept its secrets hidden. We could see only a green corner straight ahead and big walls all around us. The place where we would anchor our boat wasn’t visible yet in the right lobe of the heart shaped bay. As more of the bay came into view we were delighted to see a small, wild beach full of palm trees and crashing waves. Thousand foot high waterfalls punctuated the dark folds in the cliffs far beyond the beach. They looked like tiny white ribbons. It was a scene out of a tropical fairytale.

The other lobe of the bay was calm and surrounded by rolling green hills and small, pointy peaks. This would be a good place to anchor and there were already two more small boats here. We made sure we had a good view of the waterfalls and then dropped our hook in the most beautiful place we’ve ever taken Magic. We moved to the trampoline to properly appreciate the scene, with wine and sugar apples in hand.

The next day we would hike to the base of Vaipo Falls, a 1300 foot tall waterfall. We got up early and went to the wavy lobe of the bay to begin our hike. Even on the beach we found hints of the abundance of fruit here. A half dozen rotting, yellow pamplemousse were nestled in the tan sand along with coconuts in varying stages of decay.

We wandered through a small village of about a dozen people. Horses, dogs, pigs and chickens darted in and out of the lush forest. It looked like a peaceful life and the people living there were very friendly. They spoke a tiny bit of English and I spoke a tiny bit of French. Their English was better. We chatted for a few minutes.

We continued down the road and found clusters of trees laden with pamplemousse, lime, papaya, banana and mango. We paid our $10 entrance fee to Paul, a friendly man who lives at the end of the road and watches over the trail. He offered to give us fruit when we returned.

We enjoyed a powdery blue sky as we left the village behind. It was a nice break from all the rain in the Marquesas. There’s a reason everything is so green here.

The trail was wide and grassy at first, and it took us through an open valley of palm and fruit trees. The valley became deeper, and then we were in a dark jungle splashing through puddles and mud. The trail was hard to find at times. Luckily we were wearing sturdy sandals which could accommodate this wet jungle hike and we enjoyed the terrain immensely.

The trail was littered with fruit. Sometimes we would find a mango and look all over for the tree it came from, only to find that the mango trees were very tall along the path. I bent down to pick up one mango which was perfectly ripe, soft and bright yellow, but my heart sank as I turned it over and found a gash teeming with tiny ants. I examined it. Wanted it. We hadn’t found a mango in edible condition yet. I carefully peeled away the skin from the ant-free half and quickly snuck a bite before the insects claimed it. The juicy, slimy flesh was sweet and delightful, the most delicious mango I had ever tasted. I regretted having to leave the rest behind but felt highly motivated to find more mangos.

We got our first glimpse of Vaipo Falls after about a mile. Our spirits soared and we started hiking faster.

It was still over an hour to the falls, and when we reached the deep gorge near the waterfall the sky began to darken. A storm was building. We hiked up the river to reach the base of the falls, sometimes crossing it to find the trail on the other side.

“Look, there’s a snake!” I squealed as a fat, brown, serpentine creature squirmed down a small rapid in the swift flow of the river.

I waited at the side of the river and watched it pass a few feet away from me, but this wasn’t a snake. It had gills and looked like an eel. Who knows what it was doing here, or how many other little critters we were hiking with in the murky river.

We reached a pool near the base of the falls but before we could see the waterfall we had some obstacles to overcome. We swam across a brown pool, probably full of eels, and then scrambled past a short jumble of rocks. After the rocks came the most exhilarating part. A deep plunge pool with rounded walls guarded the base of the falls, and had a strong, pushy downstream current. We swam against the current in the turbulent pool with curtains of mist filling the air. I swam with my face toward the mist at first, but soon a heavy wave of water droplets hit my face and partially filled my mouth. I began gasping, choking, and felt like I couldn’t breathe. I thought back to the times I’ve rappelled waterfalls and turned around so my back was to the mist. Now I could swim against it, no problem. I made my way across the pool and reached the base of the falls.

It seemed to be the base of a lower cascade, where the falls broke up into big curtains of mist instead of a huge, thundering firehose that must be hitting further upstream. I floated, gazed around in wonder for a couple seconds, and then got the heck out of there. Floating at the base of the falls meant lingering under an overhanging, crumbling wall with a risk of rock fall.

Soaked and smiling, we returned to our packs and prepared to hike back. It was right at that moment the rain began suddenly and it felt warm and heavy. We were already wet from the swim so it didn’t matter. We walked through the jungle, dripping, united with all the plants around us, also dripping.

It was sunny on the way in and now this felt like a whole new hike. Instead of sweating and guzzling water in the steamy jungle we enjoyed warm rain which kept us at the perfect temperature. We saw spires shrouded in mist. The waterfalls were gone, hidden behind curtains of white clouds.

We hiked back to the village and did not see Paul or the fruit he offered to leave for us. We didn’t care. We were tired, wet and satisfied. It had been a great day. The best part was enjoying the trail in complete solitude after we left the village. It was just us and the eels out there.

As we left the beach to go back to Magic, Paul ran after us to let us know he’d have a big bunch of bananas for us in a couple hours. We thanked him, and planned to return and enjoy some surfing after the sun dipped down below the tall walls of the gorge.

Later on we surfed small waves in brown water thick with runoff. Paul returned as promised with a beautiful 20 pound bunch of bananas. Brian balanced the bunch on his paddleboard and stoically headed into the surf zone while I watched with bated breath. Our precious bananas made the passage through the breaking waves and were safely deposited in our anchored dinghy. Soon they would be hanging in Magic’s cockpit, a yellow pop of color to remind us of our time at Daniel’s Bay and of Paul’s generosity. We snacked on them for a week and were able to eat or give away almost all of them, no small feat.

This was our first hike in the South Pacific, and we were surprised by the solitude and beauty. We love it here. This was definitely worth crossing an ocean for.


Category: Uncategorized

Our 39 foot long catamaran looked pretty small floating at the base of the 2300 foot high walls in Daniel’s Bay. The walls were wavy with green and black horizontal bands, dotted with white birds drifting on air currents. We were entering the bay from the ocean, and it kept its secrets hidden. We could see only a green corner straight ahead and big walls all around us. The place where we would anchor our boat wasn’t visible yet in the right lobe of the heart shaped bay. As more of the bay came into view we were delighted to see a small, wild beach full of palm trees and crashing waves. Thousand foot high waterfalls punctuated the dark folds in the cliffs far beyond the beach. They looked like tiny white ribbons. It was a scene out of a tropical fairytale.

The other lobe of the bay was calm and surrounded by rolling green hills and small, pointy peaks. This would be a good place to anchor and there were already two more small boats here. We made sure we had a good view of the waterfalls and then dropped our hook in the most beautiful place we’ve ever taken Magic. We moved to the trampoline to properly appreciate the scene, with wine and sugar apples in hand.

The next day we would hike to the base of Vaipo Falls, a 1300 foot tall waterfall. We got up early and went to the wavy lobe of the bay to begin our hike. Even on the beach we found hints of the abundance of fruit here. A half dozen rotting, yellow pamplemousse were nestled in the tan sand along with coconuts in varying stages of decay.

We wandered through a small village of about a dozen people. Horses, dogs, pigs and chickens darted in and out of the lush forest. It looked like a peaceful life and the people living there were very friendly. They spoke a tiny bit of English and I spoke a tiny bit of French. Their English was better. We chatted for a few minutes.

We continued down the road and found clusters of trees laden with pamplemousse, lime, papaya, banana and mango. We paid our $10 entrance fee to Paul, a friendly man who lives at the end of the road and watches over the trail. He offered to give us fruit when we returned.

We enjoyed a powdery blue sky as we left the village behind. It was a nice break from all the rain in the Marquesas. There’s a reason everything is so green here.

The trail was wide and grassy at first, and it took us through an open valley of palm and fruit trees. The valley became deeper, and then we were in a dark jungle splashing through puddles and mud. The trail was hard to find at times. Luckily we were wearing sturdy sandals which could accommodate this wet jungle hike and we enjoyed the terrain immensely.

The trail was littered with fruit. Sometimes we would find a mango and look all over for the tree it came from, only to find that the mango trees were very tall along the path. I bent down to pick up one mango which was perfectly ripe, soft and bright yellow, but my heart sank as I turned it over and found a gash teeming with tiny ants. I examined it. Wanted it. We hadn’t found a mango in edible condition yet. I carefully peeled away the skin from the ant-free half and quickly snuck a bite before the insects claimed it. The juicy, slimy flesh was sweet and delightful, the most delicious mango I had ever tasted. I regretted having to leave the rest behind but felt highly motivated to find more mangos.

We got our first glimpse of Vaipo Falls after about a mile. Our spirits soared and we started hiking faster.

It was still over an hour to the falls, and when we reached the deep gorge near the waterfall the sky began to darken. A storm was building. We hiked up the river to reach the base of the falls, sometimes crossing it to find the trail on the other side.

“Look, there’s a snake!” I squealed as a fat, brown, serpentine creature squirmed down a small rapid in the swift flow of the river.

I waited at the side of the river and watched it pass a few feet away from me, but this wasn’t a snake. It had gills and looked like an eel. Who knows what it was doing here, or how many other little critters we were hiking with in the murky river.

We reached a pool near the base of the falls but before we could see the waterfall we had some obstacles to overcome. We swam across a brown pool, probably full of eels, and then scrambled past a short jumble of rocks. After the rocks came the most exhilarating part. A deep plunge pool with rounded walls guarded the base of the falls, and had a strong, pushy downstream current. We swam against the current in the turbulent pool with curtains of mist filling the air. I swam with my face toward the mist at first, but soon a heavy wave of water droplets hit my face and partially filled my mouth. I began gasping, choking, and felt like I couldn’t breathe. I thought back to the times I’ve rappelled waterfalls and turned around so my back was to the mist. Now I could swim against it, no problem. I made my way across the pool and reached the base of the falls.

It seemed to be the base of a lower cascade, where the falls broke up into big curtains of mist instead of a huge, thundering firehose that must be hitting further upstream. I floated, gazed around in wonder for a couple seconds, and then got the heck out of there. Floating at the base of the falls meant lingering under an overhanging, crumbling wall with a risk of rock fall.

Soaked and smiling, we returned to our packs and prepared to hike back. It was right at that moment the rain began suddenly and it felt warm and heavy. We were already wet from the swim so it didn’t matter. We walked through the jungle, dripping, united with all the plants around us, also dripping.

It was sunny on the way in and now this felt like a whole new hike. Instead of sweating and guzzling water in the steamy jungle we enjoyed warm rain which kept us at the perfect temperature. We saw spires shrouded in mist. The waterfalls were gone, hidden behind curtains of white clouds.

We hiked back to the village and did not see Paul or the fruit he offered to leave for us. We didn’t care. We were tired, wet and satisfied. It had been a great day. The best part was enjoying the trail in complete solitude after we left the village. It was just us and the eels out there.

As we left the beach to go back to Magic, Paul ran after us to let us know he’d have a big bunch of bananas for us in a couple hours. We thanked him, and planned to return and enjoy some surfing after the sun dipped down below the tall walls of the gorge.

Later on we surfed small waves in brown water thick with runoff. Paul returned as promised with a beautiful 20 pound bunch of bananas. Brian balanced the bunch on his paddleboard and stoically headed into the surf zone while I watched with bated breath. Our precious bananas made the passage through the breaking waves and were safely deposited in our anchored dinghy. Soon they would be hanging in Magic’s cockpit, a yellow pop of color to remind us of our time at Daniel’s Bay and of Paul’s generosity. We snacked on them for a week and were able to eat or give away almost all of them, no small feat.

This was our first hike in the South Pacific, and we were surprised by the solitude and beauty. We love it here.


Category: Uncategorized

Our 39 foot long catamaran looked pretty small floating at the base of the 2300 foot high walls in Daniel’s Bay. The walls were wavy with green and black horizontal bands, dotted with white birds drifting on air currents. We were entering the bay from the ocean, and it kept its secrets hidden. We could see only a green corner straight ahead and big walls all around us. The place where we would anchor our boat wasn’t visible yet in the right lobe of the heart shaped bay. As more of the bay came into view we were delighted to see a small, wild beach full of palm trees and crashing waves. Thousand foot high waterfalls punctuated the dark folds in the cliffs far beyond the beach. They looked like tiny white ribbons. It was a scene out of a tropical fairytale.

The other lobe of the bay was calm and surrounded by rolling green hills and small, pointy peaks. This would be a good place to anchor and there were already two more small boats here. We made sure we had a good view of the waterfalls and then dropped our hook in the most beautiful place we’ve ever taken Magic. We moved to the trampoline to properly appreciate the scene, with wine and sugar apples in hand.

The next day we would hike to the base of Vaipo Falls, a 1300 foot tall waterfall. We got up early and went to the wavy lobe of the bay to begin our hike. Even on the beach we found hints of the abundance of fruit here. A half dozen rotting, yellow pamplemousse were nestled in the tan sand along with coconuts in varying stages of decay.

We wandered through a small village of about a dozen people. Horses, dogs, pigs and chickens darted in and out of the lush forest. It looked like a peaceful life and the people living there were very friendly. They spoke a tiny bit of English and I spoke a tiny bit of French. Their English was better. We chatted for a few minutes.

We continued down the road and found clusters of trees laden with pamplemousse, lime, papaya, banana and mango. We paid our $10 entrance fee to Paul, a friendly man who lives at the end of the road and watches over the trail. He offered to give us fruit when we returned.

We enjoyed a powdery blue sky as we left the village behind. It was a nice break from all the rain in the Marquesas. There’s a reason everything is so green here.

The trail was wide and grassy at first, and it took us through an open valley of palm and fruit trees. The valley became deeper, and then we were in a dark jungle splashing through puddles and mud. The trail was hard to find at times. Luckily we were wearing sturdy sandals which could accommodate this wet jungle hike and we enjoyed the terrain immensely.

The trail was littered with fruit. Sometimes we would find a mango and look all over for the tree it came from, only to find that the mango trees were very tall along the path. I bent down to pick up one mango which was perfectly ripe, soft and bright yellow, but my heart sank as I turned it over and found a gash teeming with tiny ants. I examined it. Wanted it. We hadn’t found a mango in edible condition yet. I carefully peeled away the skin from the ant-free half and quickly snuck a bite before the insects claimed it. The juicy, slimy flesh was sweet and delightful, the most delicious mango I had ever tasted. I regretted having to leave the rest behind but felt highly motivated to find more mangos.

We got our first glimpse of Vaipo Falls after about a mile. Our spirits soared and we started hiking faster.

It was still over an hour to the falls, and when we reached the deep gorge near the waterfall the sky began to darken. A storm was building. We hiked up the river to reach the base of the falls, sometimes crossing it to find the trail on the other side.

“Look, there’s a snake!” I squealed as a fat, brown, serpentine creature squirmed down a small rapid in the swift flow of the river.

I waited at the side of the river and watched it pass a few feet away from me, but this wasn’t a snake. It had gills and looked like an eel. Who knows what it was doing here, or how many other little critters we were hiking with in the murky river.

We reached a pool near the base of the falls but before we could see the waterfall we had some obstacles to overcome. We swam across a brown pool, probably full of eels, and then scrambled past a short jumble of rocks. After the rocks came the most exhilarating part. A deep plunge pool with rounded walls guarded the base of the falls, and had a strong, pushy downstream current. We swam against the current in the turbulent pool with curtains of mist filling the air. I swam with my face toward the mist at first, but soon a heavy wave of water droplets hit my face and partially filled my mouth. I began gasping, choking, and felt like I couldn’t breathe. I thought back to the times I’ve rappelled waterfalls and turned around so my back was to the mist. Now I could swim against it, no problem. I made my way across the pool and reached the base of the falls.

It seemed to be the base of a lower cascade, where the falls broke up into big curtains of mist instead of a huge, thundering firehose that must be hitting further upstream. I floated, gazed around in wonder for a couple seconds, and then got the heck out of there. Floating at the base of the falls meant lingering under an overhanging, crumbling wall with a risk of rock fall.

Soaked and smiling, we returned to our packs and prepared to hike back. It was right at that moment the rain began suddenly and it felt warm and heavy. We were already wet from the swim so it didn’t matter. We walked through the jungle, dripping, united with all the plants around us, also dripping.

It was sunny on the way in and now this felt like a whole new hike. Instead of sweating and guzzling water in the steamy jungle we enjoyed warm rain which kept us at the perfect temperature. We saw spires shrouded in mist. The waterfalls were gone, hidden behind curtains of white clouds.

We hiked back to the village and did not see Paul or the fruit he offered to leave for us. We didn’t care. We were tired, wet and satisfied. It had been a great day. The best part was enjoying the trail in complete solitude after we left the village. It was just us and the eels out there.

As we left the beach to go back to Magic, Paul ran after us to let us know he’d have a big bunch of bananas for us in a couple hours. We thanked him, and planned to return and enjoy some surfing after the sun dipped down below the tall walls of the gorge.

Later on we surfed small waves in brown water thick with runoff. Paul returned as promised with a beautiful 20 pound bunch of bananas. Brian balanced the bunch on his paddleboard and stoically headed into the surf zone while I watched with bated breath. Our precious bananas made the passage through the breaking waves and were safely deposited in our anchored dinghy. Soon they would be hanging in Magic’s cockpit, a yellow pop of color to remind us of our time at Daniel’s Bay and of Paul’s generosity. We snacked on them for a week and were able to eat or give away almost all of them, no small feat.

This was our first hike in the South Pacific, and we were surprised by the solitude and beauty. We love it here.


Category: Uncategorized

I’ve enjoyed the doldrums more than I thought I would. The storms and clouds are breathtaking. Sunsets and sunrises are exciting mixes of colors, textures and dark angry clouds. The boat is clean, which I like. It gets a daily dousing of warm, tropical rain from storms that roll through. The wind has decreased and we aren’t getting tossed around in the northern tradewinds anymore. We’re motoring a lot. The ocean waves lap gently around Magic instead of crashing into us.

It’s been raining a lot. When the skies open up all the hatches have to close, leading to a condition we’ve been calling jungle boat. It’s moist and steamy, hot and humid. The lack of air flow causes the humidity to rise. Jungle boat can drive you mad, especially when you’re trying to sleep. The cure is simple and effective: a complete cold dousing of hair and body with the outside water hose. There is something about dripping with cold water and allowing the tradewinds to whisper gently over you which calms that jungle boat feeling.

We crossed the equator and are in the South Pacific now. We’ve been dancing in and out of the ITCZ (Inter Tropical Convergence Zone) as we make our way south. We heard intimidating accounts of the ITCZ and the violent thunderstorms it can produce, but when we got there we were surprised to find pleasant, calm conditions.

We get a lot of small rainstorms, called squalls. We avoid them if they are large, but mostly they just dump rain and the wind increases a little. We monitor our radar and when we see big green globs moving slowly across the screen we know a squall is coming. We reef the sails to reduce their size and power. We close the hatches and hide in our delightful jungle boat enclosure as the sky gets dark and rain hammers the boat.

Overall, we enjoy the squalls and haven’t found them to be scary or intense. The top wind speed we’ve seen is about 25 knots, but squalls are capable of producing hurricane force wind. Conditions vary widely in the ITCZ, and I would say we are doing all right. Except for that jungle boat thing. That is not all right. I relish each degree we gain south of the equator, moving ever closer to cooler and more tolerable temperatures.


Category: Uncategorized

When something breaks on a cruising sailboat, it’s usually at night, in the rain, with a boat sloshing around in frisky swells. At least that’s what happened last night, around 1 AM, when I was on watch.

I am on night watch each night from midnight to 5 AM, checking for boats and storms, and adjusting sails. But mostly I nap or sit in the salon playing Sudoku or watching Gossip Girl. I set a timer and check on the boat every 30 minutes, which is all that is needed.

I was concentrating on a hard game of Sudoku when I heard our free flying headsail suddenly erupt with loud, flapping, unhappy sounds. As I headed outside to take a look, Brian bolted out of bed on his own, his ears attuned to the sail and its sounds of distress. Our warm, sleepy bodies were hit with a wall of rain as we stepped outside into the dark.

It was a warm tropical rain so we didn’t even bother with rain gear. Brian went forward and tried hauling the sail in using the lines attached to it, but it was powered up and hard to control. So he went up to the bow and grabbed the huge white sail with his hands as I illuminated him with a spotlight. He pulled it piece by piece around the forestay, and then piled it into a bundle at his feet, taking its power away. Then I yanked it into the cockpit and secured it with a line. Problem solved.

How did this happen? We had a pole which propped the sail out next to the boat, and the pole snapped in half. Things like this happen when you sail your boat across an ocean. Weak links are revealed. We don’t feel this will impact us too much, since we’re nearing the end of the downwind tradewinds portion of our trip and this pole is for downwind sailing.

I didn’t get much sleep after that and wow am I sleepy today.

Sent from Iridium Mail & Web.


Category: Uncategorized

The seas have calmed considerably today. I’m sitting in my favorite spot on the boat, where I spend several hours each day. I sit nestled against four velvet pillows at our U shaped salon table. My view is of my feet stretched out in front of me on dusty blue upholstery, then beyond that my herb garden hovers in the center, unmoving, set against a tilting, frothing ocean.

I love this view. Even when seas built to alarming heights over the last couple days, there was a quiet joy and wonder in watching as they snuck up behind Magic, rose quickly, and then splashed and thudded upon impact.

Watching the waves gave me an illusion of control over them. When a steep wave crashed into Magic with a loud noise, at least I could see it coming. I knew what caused that thunderous sound. Plus these were the biggest seas either of us had ever seen and I just couldn’t look away. They were the brightest, most beautiful shade of blue I’d ever seen. They were positively mesmerizing.

The gift on the other side of uncomfortably large seas is a deep conviction, a knowledge so solid it could never be felt by reading, or by an old salt’s advice, is that this is what your boat can do. This is what you can do. You did it successfully and you can do it again. And honestly, our boat was never anywhere near her limits. She can weather so much more. I know we can, too.

Our boat is even more today a thing of admiration, beauty, and comfort than before. She protected us. She rode the waves and performed beautifully. Our expectations are reset regarding the size of seas we think will present a challenge for our boat. Those 6 foot waves which seemed large and lumpy a few days ago don’t even register now. They are just a part of the ocean. In this way, the trip has become more relaxing. Our comfort limits have had to expand early and now everything else seems easier.

It’s been great reading the conditions reports from other small boats sailing nearby. We get these reports from a great free website called Farkwar. Here are some reports from the last 48 hours:

“It’s always interesting (a nice word for scary) to look off the side of the boat and see a big wall of water next to you.”

“In the afternoon we had some of the biggest waves we have seen at around 12 feet.”

“The big seas remind us of stormy days off the coast of Washington and Oregon.”

“It is a one hand for you, one hand for the boat kind of day.”

Sent from Iridium Mail & Web.


Category: Uncategorized

During the first few days of our trip conditions were mellow, but now we’re in the middle of the Pacific Ocean riding 12 foot waves. They rise up behind Magic with white foam frothing on their surfaces. The blue peaks hit the bottom of the boat with a large thud, and then a short thundering noise travels down both beams of our catamaran. Finally Magic falls into the trough between waves only to begin rising once again.

This began last night when winds built to 25+ knots sustained. We’re sailing downwind and are in the beginning of the trade winds portion of our trip across the Pacific Ocean, where the winds blow gently from behind and take you straight to the Marquesas. It’s referred to as the “Coconut Milk Run”.

This isn’t really so gentle, and this sea state isn’t going away anytime soon. We have seen consistent 25+ knot wind and there is more in the forecast.

How to cope? Take plenty of video and photos, and appreciate the mountainous waves. Marvel at the way our boat rides them so smoothly. Then when it all gets to be too much, close the curtains for a while and watch the Simpsons.

Sent from Iridium Mail & Web.


Category: Uncategorized

After some incredibly memorable last minute-ing, our engines were finally purring instead of clattering. Our big trip is going to happen. We’re going to sail 3000 miles across the Pacific Ocean. For a couple weeks we weren’t sure if it would work out. Our engines were giving us last minute trouble. As my friend Leanne says, you can only push a boat so far. Brian worked feverishly on our two diesel engines with the help of our skilled mechanic, Colin.

We had a time constraint to work around for this trip, which takes anywhere from 15 to 30 days. I need to get to an internet café in the Marquesas by April 14, which is the day one of my big programming processes runs at the University. Yes, my employer approved a month off from work for this trip, but requested that I “return” in time to support this important process. I won’t go into boring programming details, because this is a blog about vans and dreams, but suffice to say I need to be available for this.

At one point, desperate for the right parts and unable to get them in Mexico, Brian flew from La Paz to San Diego to get new shafts for Magic’s sail drives, then flew back to La Paz the next day. We hauled out the boat on a crane twice to work on Magic’s sail drives. But in the final hour, the most maddening job ended up being the injectors.

The injector system was like a house of cards, and every time one piece of it was touched something else would break. The most annoying part was a tiny, wiggly fuel supply hose. Each time it got tightened down too much, or its delicate feelings disrespected in any way (maybe someone looked at it cross-eyed?) it would sprout a new leak and Colin would whisk it away to his own personal Neverland to soothe it with more soldering. Each time it left the boat for another trip to his shop we grew more frustrated. By the fourth time this happened we were about to lose our minds.

Finally the delicate part returned and was installed successfully. We departed full of excitement, but with a sobering fact hanging in the air: we hadn’t tested all these changes to our engines yet. Our last minute-ing may have put our trip at risk. If we found more problems while motoring from La Paz to Cabo it could be too late to fix them. Our mechanic, a good guy with a big heart, reassured us he would drive to Cabo to help with more repairs if needed. He had become invested in our trip and wanted to make those engines work for us.

Luckily we motored all the way to Cabo and enjoyed great engine performance the entire time. Whales jumped near Magic and we were so pleased about our engines. With everything going so well, we knew we were headed off into the big blue Pacific. This is our someday.

Sent from Iridium Mail & Web.


Category: Uncategorized

Blog post from Iridium GO!

Sent from Iridium Mail & Web.


Category: Uncategorized

I figured out how to blog from sea using our Iridium Go Satellite email service! I’ll post as often as I can as we sail 3000 miles across the Pacific Ocean from La Paz, Mexico to Nuku Hiva, French Polynesia.

Tonight we are just happy to finally be on this trip. We motored three hours and called it a night. We are anchored out at Ballandra enjoying a peaceful sunset. It’s been a long few days, with plenty of last minute engine repairs in La Paz.

We’re feeling excited. We’re really going to miss Mexico, too.


Category: Uncategorized

 

About the Author

Hi, I’m Lisa. I’m a tall, blonde superhero and I live in a van and on a sailboat with my superhero husband, Brian. I do it all. I rappel big waterfalls, scuba dive with sharks, dodge encounters with bears and wolves, and work remotely as a full time computer programmer.
Read more

About the Van

Hi, I’m Vanifest. I’m a big, 4x4, off-the-grid van complete with solar panel for power. I'm a 2000 Dodge Ram Van and Lisa has had me since 2009. Read more about me here.


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