Starting out from Marina Paraiso

When Nan and I arrived at El Milagro Marina on Thursday night, we quickly discovered that there were no available slips with adequate draft for Whispering Jesse. So on Friday morning, we moved the boat to next-door Marina Paraiso instead. We spent the rest of the day and most of Saturday and Sunday there working through the list of tasks necessary to get the boat ready to go for the big trip to Miami.

We encountered only two unforeseen problems: Omar from Marina del Sol, where the boat had been slipped since last August, told us that when he was underwater cleaning the hull, he noticed that there no longer any zincs on the propeller shaft; and when we tried to start the dinghy's outboard motor, all it would do is spit gasoline out of a port in the carburetor. We soon discovered that there were no zincs to be had on the island, so that problem would need to wait. We were able to fix the other problem, though, enlisting the services of Marina Paraiso's on-site mechanic, David, to get the outboard's carburetor cleaned out and the motor running well.

We had hoped to check out with Customs and Immigration at around 10:00 on Monday morning, but they didn't show up at the marina until after 1:00, which didn't really matter because David didn't get the outboard fixed until an hour later. We finally departed at around 2:30. With all the last-minute details, I didn't remember to send out the first Spot until we were already off Playa Norte. Here's a link to where we started from: http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=21.242817,-86.741031&ll=21.242817,-86.741031&ie=UTF8&z=12&om=1

Quick trip to Isla Mujeres

On Wednesday, January 15, I flew down to Mexico for a quick five-day trip to check on Whispering Jesse, our 1980 Valiant 40. Nan had flown down there the Saturday before and had assured me through text messages that everything appeared to be fine with the boat. After dropping off my baggage and saying hello to our friends at El Milagro Marina, where Nan had us staying, I drove our rented golf cart down to Marina del Sol, where the boat has been slipped since late last August, to check for myself.

When I arrived at the marina, Gualberto, the dockmaster, was out on the pier checking lines. He and I shook hands and started talking about how the boat had fared, him in accented Spanish and me in broken Spanish and hand gestures, when someone pointed at the sky and yelled, "Mira!" (Look!). There was a water spout surging by on the Caribbean side of the island, close enough that we could see the water spiraling up and hear the hissing as it went. The photo here does not do it justice.

The boat's exterior looked a little the worse for wear, especially the wooden cap rail and coamings. The sanding and Cetol finishing that looked so perfect after 2011's major refit now look flaky and dull. The protective blue plastic tarp I had rigged above the companionway, where the dodger would normally be, looked oxidized and ready to shred in a high wind.

Inside the cabin, I checked the bilge and found it dry except at its deepest point. This was a relief. The stuffing box maintenance that Nazario and I had done last August was working to prevent much water from entering the bilge, and the bilge pump and float switch appeared to be doing their jobs effectively. Everything else inside looked exactly as I had left it, except for a light dusting of mold on most of the wooden surfaces. The boat has three dorades, cowling vents that keep outside air blowing in, but even with the fresh air, the humid climate inevitably causes some mold.

The original plan called for moving the boat to El Milagro that day, but the wind was howling out of the north, even in the protected lagoon where Marina del Sol is located. I didn't want to risk getting blown back into adjacent boats as I attempted to power out of the slip and make the immediate left turn necessary to avoid running aground in the lagoon's muddy bottom. The wind didn't let up the next day either, so with just three days left in the trip, it stopped being worthwhile to move the boat, get its canvas and rigging set for sailing, and then undo it all and move the boat back, all for maybe one day of good sailing.

I spent the time on projects instead, starting with a refrigerator thermostat replacement. Charlie, who is sailing with his wife Karen on their Pearson 386, Leap, in the western Caribbean, looked at the refrigerator with me when they were in Isla Mujeres last summer. I told Charlie that the refrigerator would get "coldish," but not cold enough to keep food from spoiling. Right away, Charlie said that it sounded like a bad thermostat. That had never occurred to me, even after getting the coolant pressure checked three different times, and verifying that the compressor was working and that electricity was getting to the thermostat. When we were back in the USA, I compared photos to what was available online and found the right replacement at rparts.com. It took some effort to jiggle the old thermostat out of its tight fitting and get the new one connected up properly, but when I powered it up, I could feel the cold plate getting colder than it had ever been before. Pushing my luck, I filled a plastic ice tray, and put it in the little slot next to the cold plate. Sure enough, I had ice cubes the next day. Thank you, Charlie!

Then it was time to attack the mold. I filled a dish pan with warm water and a half-cup of Clorox bleach, and went to work with an old dish sponge. The mold wiped off easily, but it still took more than two hours to wipe down every wooden surface inside the boat. With any luck, the bleach will keep the mold from growing back until we return in late May to sail up to Miami.

As a final boat check, I started the engine and it fired right up. Everything seems to be working well, but the list of projects I have planned for when we get the boat closer to home is still fairly extensive. That's fine with me, though. It will be the first opportunity, since we bought the boat almost four years ago, for almost unlimited time together.

Remaking History at El Milagro Beach Hotel and Marina

by John Lichty

Julio knows the history better than anyone. He has been on the property for over thirty years, starting long before it became what it is today, a unique marina and resort in Isla Mujeres, Mexico. Back then, the hangar-like concrete building that is now the centerpiece of El Milagro Beach Hotel and Marina was a shrimp processing plant named Boca Iglesias and Julio was a shrimp boat captain. But in September 1988, Hurricane Gilbert ravaged Isla Mujeres and destroyed the local shrimp habitat. The once prosperous operation went into decline and languished for many years.
(Click any image for a full-size slideshow.)

Eric Schott, a high-end sales and leasing agent with Coldwell Banker in Santa Barbara, California, visited the property early in 2005 and met Julio, who was still piloting shrimp boats all those years later. Eric was impressed by the property’s location and potential, and he envisioned transforming it into a marina and resort, one that would offer the peace and tranquility not found in the noisy, crowded El Centro but still be located within easy walking distance.
In February 2005, Eric began the complicated process of purchasing the property, along with the adjoining Isla Blanca fishermen’s co-op, and closed the transaction early in the summer of 2006. He hired Julio to help him manage the project and later also hired Jaime, a young local man with excellent English skills acquired as a bartender. The three men had a daunting task ahead of them, as the early photos indicate. They began by removing tons of trash from the grounds and waterfront, selling off the old shrimp boats, and rebuilding the neglected pier.
Architects were hired to present plans for a combination marina and resort. Each proposed tearing down all the existing structures, including the signature concrete hangar, and starting from scratch. Eric’s intuition told him that this was the wrong approach, and his experience rehabbing concrete buildings in California gave him the confidence to undertake the design on his own. He would preserve the original structures and adapt them to their new purposes as lodging, work space, and community areas.
Late in the summer of 2006, just a few months after the project was begun, El Milagro Beach Hotel and Marina opened for business with the marina, the Cabaña unit, the Penthouse unit, and Villa 1 available for rental. The name “El Milagro” (The Miracle) was chosen by Eric because, as he explained, “it was a miracle that we were able to get the place open.” Accelerated development was possible because of Eric’s desire to keep it all as simple as possible. The humble origins of the buildings naturally lent themselves to this approach, and the interiors of the rooms reflect it: the wooden furniture is locally made, much of it by Julio, Jaime, and their talented crew in the on-site workshop; the doors and windows are natural, unfinished wood; the curtains are colorful Mexican tapestries; the floors and bathrooms feature locally made tile; and Talavera figurines adorn the pastel-colored walls. “What more do you need?” Eric asks with a smile. Just the air conditioners, flat-screen televisions, and kitchenettes that complete each room.
In keeping with the idea of simplicity, there is no bar, or restaurant, or large swimming pool at El Milagro. Eric believes that these amenities would only encourage nonguests to visit the grounds, and he prefers the quiet and serenity of his limited number of guests. Instead, he provides a well-equipped community kitchen, a dipping pool created by removing the top of an original concrete cistern, and an air-conditioned movie theater with a projector, DVD player, and comfortable couches. The kitchen, pool, and theater, as well as the large waterfront palapa, act as natural meeting places and encourage guests to interact with one another, enhancing the community feel of the place.
After the initial burst, the pace of development at El Milagro slowed to a stop for a few years while Eric worked out the details necessary for the next round of improvements. Starting in 2010, the push was on to add ten additional lodging units. A single-story wall was built separating the interior of the hangar and providing a location for a stairway and balcony to a second floor, where three villas and two studios were added above the villas on the ground floor. There is room for another villa on the second floor, but the space serves now as the furniture workshop, and Eric plans to leave it that way. Two new Ocean Garden units were created from the space below the Penthouse, and the entire grounds were elaborately landscaped with palm trees, native plants, and bubbling fountains.
El Milagro feels complete now. The view of the resort from the end of the sunset pier extending out from the manicured beach is tranquil and inviting. Hammocks hang between the shading palm trees, and lounge chairs line the sand below thatched palapas. For the energetic, there are kayaks and paddle boards to explore the bay and bicycles to tour the island. Signature blue Adirondack chairs are placed in strategic locations, perfect for watching a sunset mark the end of a another day in paradise. A just-completed tiling project, filling in the space from the community kitchen to the marina pier with terra cotta red, locally made tiles and Talavera borders, provides the finishing touch of authentic Mexico.
Julio and Jaime are still looking after things at El Milagro. Jaime is the official manager, and Julio is the assistant manager and dockmaster, licensed to conduct on-site immigration services. Eric says the staff of seven full-time local people has not changed in many months. “They like working here.” It shows in the effort they put forth for every guest and in the way they welcome new guests into the extended El Milagro family. The family feeling is regularly reinforced by the amazing seafood barbecues that Jaime and Julio organize every few weeks for guests and staff alike.
When Eric reflects back on what he has done to remake a struggling seafood operation into a first-class marina and resort, he says it took “perseverance, determination, and guts.” But he smiles when he says it because he is proud of the results. Asked what the future holds, Eric says he has no plans but to “keep on doing what he’s doing to make it better and better.”

For complete information about El Milagro Beach Hotel and Marina, including the availability of accommodations, please visit elmilagrobeachhotelandmarina.com or call Eric at 805-698-8165.

Time to go

Nan and I are no longer in Isla Mujeres. Our grand plan to sail there from Savannah and live there for at least a year was mostly successful, with two major exceptions: our dog Scout was not with us, and I was not earning an income.

We knew that Scout would not do well being on a sailboat in rough seas for several days without any prior experience, so we left him in the care of Nan's sister Monica in Arkansas, with the idea of flying him down to Mexico at a later date. By the time we were settled in at El Milagro Marina, in early June, the temperatures were already above the airlines' eighty-degree limit for transporting pets. It was just as well, it turns out, as we couldn't imagine Scout tolerating the heat and humidity of Mexico during the summer months no matter how much we missed him. Coupled with the mosquitoes and sand gnats, we could barely tolerate it ourselves. After my return from San Diego in early July, we gave up sleeping on our overheated boat and checked in to a cheap room at the marina, mostly for the air conditioning. The boat's air conditioning was not up to the task of cooling the entire boat to a comfortable level, and we were afraid the monthly electricity bills would be in the hundreds of dollars.

When I left my previous employer, it was with the understanding that I would work for them remotely as a contractor on special projects. That hasn't happened. And Mexico has proven to have a higher cost of living than we anticipated. We quickly realized that we would run out of money before we could tap into our retirement savings, especially if we kept having repair issues with the boat. We would either need to cut back drastically on spending by anchoring out in the bay (see "A night at anchor") and cutting back on non-essential expenses, or I would need to find a new job. I started looking at U.S.-based employment opportunities back in mid-June, less than a month after our arrival. Nan and I both knew that getting a job would mean the end of our sojourn in Mexico, but we were ready to go. We realized that it is one thing to vacation in a place and quite another thing to live there. Vacations end, usually without incident, but life goes on, and the problems that develop along the way need to be solved, which can be extremely difficult in a foreign country with a different language.

Now it is more than two months later. I am still looking for a job, but I think I may have found one. I should know for sure later this week. In anticipation, about two weeks ago, Nan and I prepared the boat for long-term wet storage and moved it to a marina in the lagoon, Marina del Sol, where it will be more safe from hurricanes. We packed up our clothing and anything else we could reasonably take with us. And we flew to Miami, where I was scheduled for interviews with two potential employers. From there, we drove a rental car up to Savannah to pick up our car from storage at my parents' home, and then we drove out to Bentonville, Arkansas, to be reunited with Scout. He met us excitedly at the car before we could even get out, and he has been following me everywhere since then.

From here, depending on what happens with a job offer, we will either drive out to Grand Junction to pack up for a move or drive up to Wisconsin to visit family and attend two weddings. Either way, it seems almost certain that the three of us will be moving to the Miami area within a few weeks. In the few days we were there, we explored enough to get a feel for the city and to know we could be happy there. A fresh start in a very different place. Maybe we could sail the boat up there and keep it at a local marina for weekend sailing trips. There are so many possibilities.

In thinking about it, the timing of our journey to Mexico was not optimal. If we had waited until after hurricane season ends in late November, or after hurricane season ends next year or the year after that, things would have turned out differently. It would have been much cooler, Scout would have joined us right away, and we would have had more money set aside. We will keep all this in mind for the future, when we get another chance to live our dream.

Sailing to Isla Contoy

On Saturday morning, our friends Scott and Diane, who own Ati, the Amel Super Maramu 54-foot ketch in the slip next to ours at El Milagro Marina, invited us to go sailing with them. Charlie and Karen, new arrivals who own Leap, a Pearson 386 sloop anchored out in the bay, were also invited. I had been out kayaking in the bay earlier in the day and the wind was blowing hard out of the southeast following a recent tropical storm, so I knew it would be a good day for a sail. But by the time we finally got organized to go, it was 2:00 in the afternoon and the wind had mostly died.

Nan and I have been sailing a few times in the area between Isla Mujeres and Cancun, and we have sailed around the island once, so we suggested that we all sail to Isla Contoy, located about 15 miles to the north. The island is a national park and bird sanctuary, and Nan and I have been there twice before on organized tours, but it had been at least ten years. We wouldn't be able to make landfall without a permit, which was fine with us because we remember the island as being extremely hot and buggy. It would be enough just to sail in a new direction for a change. It would also be a nice change to be crew on someone else's boat and let them be responsible for everything.

We slipped the lines and motored out into the bay without a hitch, thanks to the boat's electric bow thruster, which makes tight turns easy. Many other features on the Amel are also electric, like the mainsail mast furling, the anchor windlass, and the sheet winches. Nan and I had to smile as we watched how easily Scott and Diane could deploy their mainsail, simply by turning into the wind and pressing a button, a process that on our boat is almost a three-person job.

On an otherwise uneventful seven-hour sail that took us up to a point a few miles east of Isla Contoy and back, there were three incidents of note:

We caught a good-sized wahoo using a hand line. Scott and Charlie had rigged a Rapala-type jointed plug that vibrated the line but didn't catch anything. I took it off and put on a squid-like pink streamer, similar to the yellow one we had had such success with on the passage down from Savannah, and we caught the wahoo less than an hour later. I was ready to put the rig away, but Karen said we should try again. Sure enough, we caught another wahoo a little later, but this poor little fellow was hooked through the top of the head, snagged while checking out the lure from an unsafe distance. It was just a flesh wound, so we released him. When I asked if he would survive, Charlie said, "Hey, sharks need to eat too!"

We had run up to Isla Contoy using a series of jibes, and it was going to take a series of tacks to return again with the wind blowing out of the southeast. If we wanted to get home before dark, we were going to need to motor. Diane at the helm fired up the engine and it ran smoothly for about fifteen minutes before the alarm sounded, indicating that it was overheated. When Scott lifted the engine room hatch, which doubles as the cockpit floor, and jumped down onto the rubberized perch on top of the engine, he almost burned his feet, and that was a definite first. He and Charlie ran through a list of what the problem could be and finally deduced that the cold water intake strainer was clogged. Charlie cleaned it, Scott reinstalled it, and we were off and running again.

The sun set while we were still several miles offshore, and it was fully dark and close to 8:30 as we approached Anvil Rock, marking the northeast corner of the island. Fortunately, there was a waxing gibbous moon, and the lights onshore were shining brightly. Diane had never sailed at night before but stayed at the helm as I stood next to her, guiding her past Playa Norte and around the northwest corner to the familiar red buoys that mark the entrance channel. Soon we were tied up at El Milagro again and hungrily heading over to Iguana's at Marina Paraiso for Carlos's barbecued ribs special.

A night at anchor

With Whispering Jesse back in commission, Nan and I recently tried something we have wanted to do since we arrived here in Isla Mujeres, Mexico: spend a night at anchor in the bay. Some of the sailors we have met here live on their anchored boats, and we wanted to see what it would be like to be out there with them.

There are areas of the bay that are too shallow for our boat's six-foot draft, but I had scoped out a good, deep location using one of the El Milagro Marina kayaks. On the appointed day, we waited until late afternoon and then loaded up the cooler with food and drinks, tied the dinghy to the boat, and enlisted Felix to assist with the dock lines and anchoring. We motored out of the marina and made a big, sweeping turn around the shallows and into the planned location. I pointed us into the wind, brought the boat to a stop, and yelled up to Felix at the bow to drop the anchor. He got it stuck under the jib's furling mechanism, and I needed to run forward to help him manhandle it overboard while Nan kept us pointing into the wind. The chain promptly ran all the way out,
along with about twenty feet of the line spliced to it. The little yellow tape woven into the line indicated sixty feet, which I figured was about the right scope for our ten-foot depth. As the wind slowly pushed us backwards, Felix cleated off the line and I returned to the helm. When the anchor line tightened, we stopped moving backwards, an indication that the anchor was holding, not dragging through the sand and sea grass on the bottom. I put the engine in reverse and gave it some RPMs to make sure the anchor was set. The line straightened and vibrated, but the anchor held. We visually lined up some objects on shore and watched them for a few minutes, just to be absolutely sure we were not moving.

I pulled the swim ladder out of a lazarette and attached it to the boat's rail, then pulled the dinghy around to it. Felix and I climbed in for his ride back to the marina, leaving Nan alone on the boat. As I dropped Felix off at the pier, he assured me that he would be available the next day to help us pull up the anchor and return to the marina. I thanked him and motored back to the boat.

A test for whether we could be comfortable at anchor in the bay for extended periods was to see if we could pick up the marina's wireless Internet signal from out there. We couldn't. We also wanted to see if it was appreciably cooler out there than in the marina. Even with every hatch and portlight open, it wasn't. The cabin thermometer never went below 84 degrees, so Nan and I decided to sleep out in the cockpit instead of roasting inside. In fact, we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in the cockpit, sipping wine and watching first the boat traffic and then the sunset. Nan served up a tasty chicken and pasta dinner, and before long it was time for bed.

The rising moon woke us both at about 1:30. Buzzing mosquitoes kept us awake most of the rest of the night. We were both wide awake and drinking coffee before the sun rose to end our restless night. It soon became uncomfortably hot in the cockpit, and we prepared to leave in the dinghy to go get Felix. Back at the marina, looking across the bay at Whispering Jesse swinging at anchor, I thought she looked really good out there, maybe a little vulnerable, but good.

Sailing (finally)

Nan and I took Nazario and his son Aldo sailing on the Saturday after we returned to El Milagro Marina from the boatyard. There was a brisk ten to fifteen knot breeze blowing from the south, and the sky was filled with puffy cumulus clouds. It was a perfect day to get out on the cool blue waters between Isla Mujeres and Cancun, and a good opportunity to see how Whispering Jesse would perform after the repair work on her skeg, which had kept us from sailing since we arrived here in late May.

We threw off the lines at 10:30, with the idea of sailing all the way around the island. We motored out of the bay, past the two red buoys that mark its entrance channel, and aimed for the distinctive Gran Puerto building over in Puerto Juarez. The water just past where the island's peninsula juts out is shallow and features a sandy bottom, which makes the water appear a brilliant aquamarine, like what you imagine the person who came up with swimming pool paint was trying but failing to achieve.

Once we reached double-digit depth, I turned us south into the wind and we raised the mainsail. Nazario and Aldo both speak very good English, so communication was not an issue. We fell off the wind toward Cancun and unfurled the jib. I had Nazario slide the fairlead aft and then I opened the lifeline gate so we could sheet the jib in tightly. Otherwise, the sheet puts excessive pressure on the lifelines and stanchions. We took a bead on the new hotel over in Cancun's Hotel Zone that looks like it has a hole in it and tightened the sheets for a fast close reach. On a whim, we also unfurled the staysail, for the true cutter (two headsails) effect. At six to seven knots, we were heeling a little beyond comfort, so we slid the traveler leeward to flatten the ride. Nazario and Aldo, who are very experienced with fishing boats but not so much with sailboats, were smiling broadly. They commented that it seemed like we were going much faster than we actually were.

There is a large red buoy that marks the southwest corner of the shallow water at Punta Sur, the southern point of Isla Mujeres. We furled the staysail and then tacked when the buoy was off our beam. We were adjusted for our new heading before I realized it would take us another couple of tacks to clear the island's south end. We had been out for over an hour at this point and it was going to take a few more hours to get all the way around, so I asked if we shouldn't maybe think about heading back instead. The others agreed, and we jibed to follow a heading right up the island's beautiful western coast, with its many beaches and impressive villas.

Coming back into the bay, the boat traffic was intense, causing greater wave action than we had experienced outside it. We furled the jib, dropped the mainsail, and followed the red buoys back in. As we approached El Milagro Marina, we dodged other boats while looking for an opportunity to turn to starboard in order to set up for a reverse entry and a stern-to tie-up. Soon we were standing on the pier in the hot sun drinking ice-cold Modelos. When Nan asked him what he thought of the experience, Aldo said with a smile, "Now I want a sailboat."

Touch-ups and bottom paint

Last Thursday afternoon when we stopped at the boatyard, there were all kinds of work going on. Roberto was finishing up the skeg repair, his assistant was buffing out the touch-up paint on the cosmetic gelcoat repairs, and the boatyard men were applying the first coat of bottom paint to the hull. All assured us that the boat would be ready to go the next morning.

To be certain they hadn't missed anything, Nan and I walked slowly around the boat, looking closely at every surface. The first thing we noticed was that the white and blue paint that had looked like a near-perfect match when it was wet at the paint store was not so perfect when it dried. The white was a little too yellow, and the blue was a little too bright. From a distance you couldn't tell, but up close the margins were easy to distinguish. For what we paid, I can't complain. I would much rather look at slightly mismatched paint than at the scars where our Aries windvane was.

Early Friday morning, Nan and I walked to the boatyard instead of riding our folding bikes. Nazario met us there shortly afterward. The boat was already up in the lift when we arrived. The boatyard men were cleaning up the bottom of the keel before painting it and the patches where the supports were. When they were finished, the boat looked almost brand new, buffed and shiny above the waterline and deep black below.

A ladder was placed against the rail, and Nazario and I climbed aboard for the slow ride over to the haul-out basin. We used the time to rig up fenders and dock lines. Once we were afloat and the lifting straps were released, we tossed the lines and pulled the boat over to pick up Nan. I fired up the engine and backed us out into the channel, put the transmission into forward, and motored toward El Milagro Marina. Whispering Jesse felt good and right again.

Haul-out

We were finally able to coordinate getting the boat hauled out and the fiberglass repair on our damaged skeg started. It took scheduling the lift at the boatyard, finding a reliable fiberglass repair person, and locating lodging for the duration of the work. It all came together for us on Thursday morning, thanks in large part to the friends we have made here in Isla Mujeres.

Nazario, the captain of Ditty Wah, the beautiful sport fishing boat in the slip next to Whispering Jesse, speaks excellent English. He also knows Louis Fernando, the boatyard manager at Puerto Isla Mujeres, and he contacted him on our behalf to get an estimate on the haul-out.

Teresa and Louis, who own the Color de Verano apartments where we have stayed many times, have used Roberto, a fiberglass expert from Cancun, for work on their own sailboat. Roberto speaks no English, but Teresa contacted him for us and set up an appointment for him to meet us at the boatyard on Thursday afternoon.

Eric, the owner of El Milagro Marina, let us apply a trade that we had worked out for a magazine article I am writing about the marina to lodging in one of his studio units. We needed a place to stay because the boatyard does not permit people to live aboard their boats while they are there being worked on.

Early yesterday morning, Nan and I packed up the clothing, computers and other items we would need and put them in the marina's office for safekeeping until we could check in to the studio in the afternoon. We removed the awning, hatch-mounted air conditioner, and other equipment from the deck and prepared for departure. Nazario and Felix, the marina's resident handyman, showed up on the pier just before nine o'clock to assist with the dock lines. I fired up the engine and we shoved off, motoring very slowly toward Puerto Isla Mujeres, located on the channel that connects Isla Mujeres's bay to Laguna Makax.

We were met by two boatyard workers at the haul-out basin, and a third drove the lift over. Nazario jumped in the water to ensure that the slings were placed correctly under the hull, and then Whispering Jesse was slowly on her way up and out of the water. There was a round of exclamations as the damaged skeg came into view. The broken skeg shells remained in place, even after the hull was power washed, but they were hanging on only where they joined the bottom of the rudder.

Roberto had agreed to see us at one o'clock, and Nazario was kind enough to return to the boatyard to speak with him for us. While the two spoke in rapid Spanish, Roberto evaluated the damage, pulled a hammer and chisel out of his tool bag, and pounded a horizontal crease into the bottom of each skeg shell. He then levered them both off, exposing the raw structural fiberglass beneath. We had not even discussed a price yet, but there was no turning back now.

Roberto made some mental calculations and then spoke rapidly with Nazario again. Nazario pointed at the skeg and asked several questions, then turned to Nan and me and said that Roberto would fix the skeg for 9,000 pesos. I pulled out my iPhone to do the monetary conversion using the calculator app. It worked out to about $750, which seemed like a very good deal. We shook hands on it. Roberto then requested 2,000 pesos in advance, but we had only 1,000 with us. We promised to return with the difference the next morning, when he would begin the work.

Nan and I pedaled back to El Milagro on our folding bikes confident that we were in good hands with Roberto. We thanked Nazario and Felix profusely and gave them gifts of beer and cash to let them know how much we appreciated their help.

La Amada Marina

Last Friday, before all the rain started, Nan and I drafted Felix, the Mexican sailor who is looking after another sailboat here at El Milagro Marina, to motor with us over to La Amada Marina for a fuel fill-up and holding tank pump-out. We had thought we would be able to pump out at Puerto Isla Mujeres/Villa Vera here on the island, but their pump-out service has been out of commission for a few weeks and the stink in the boat from the holding tank was so bad that we couldn't wait.

La Amada is located on the mainland due west of Isla Mujeres's bay entrance, only about three miles or forty-five minutes of slow motoring away. It is the only public marina located anywhere near Cancun, but it is at least three miles north of the Puerto Juarez ferry terminals and a little north of the Punta Sam car ferry terminal--not exactly walking distance to downtown Cancun or the Hotel Zone.

We threw off Whispering Jesse's dock lines and motored out at about 2:00 in the afternoon. I was pleased to see that the repair to the drive chain's connecting plates, which was completed shortly after our arrival, was working well. (The mechanic did show up finally but not until the next day, and then two hours later than scheduled.) The wind and waves were favorable, and we soon picked up the entrance channel's buoys leading into the marina. I radioed that we were requesting a pump-out but didn't get an intelligible response after multiple tries. It wasn't until we were treading water in front of the marina office that a woman came out and pointed across at slip 88. We floated a little longer waiting for a dock worker to ride his bike around to meet us and then motored slowly into the slip. Thanks to Felix's native Spanish, we were able to make it known that we wanted a pump-out of our agua negra. After the holding tank was empty, I went down and flushed many gallons of sea water through the head, until the fluid coming out through the suction hose was completely clear. Next, we motored back to the marina office, where the diesel pumps were located, tied up and topped off the fuel tank. The price was in pesos per liter, which is a complicated conversion, but it worked out to just under $200 USD total. Along with the $45 USD pump-out fee, it was an expensive but worthwhile trip. The stink was gone, the fuel tank was full, and the engine tested perfectly.

Aside from the available amenities at La Amada Marina, there is not much to promote it. In addition to its isolation from almost everything on the mainland, it is not an attractive place, despite how it looks in the promotional photo above. The foliage in the photo is long gone. The marina is nothing but stark concrete piers surrounded by stark concrete walls, and all of it is reflecting intense heat. It might be a good, protected place to keep a boat, but it would be a terrible, depressing place to stay on a boat, even for an overnight. Maybe we'll check out Puerto Morelos, south of Cancun but north of Playa del Carmen, for our next trip over to the mainland.

Rain, rain, and more rain

Nan and I were caught in a downpour on Saturday afternoon while pedaling our folding bikes back to the marina from a stop at Brisas Grill in el centro for a drink and a chat with our friend, Juan, who works there. We waited out the rain under a palm tree before continuing, and it seems we have been waiting it out ever since, going on four full days now. Activity on the island has come to a near standstill, as roads are flooded and businesses are closed.

It has rained over a foot in the last twenty-four hours. Take a close look at our dinghy in the photo above. (Click it for the full-size version, if you like.) Yes, it is completely full of rainwater. Yesterday, it was almost dry after Felix, a Mexican sailor who looks after another sailboat in the marina, bailed it out with a cut-off water bottle for something to do. He volunteered to do it again today and I told him, "Mas tarde," after the rain stops. There's no point in bailing while it's still raining. The water level is high enough now that it's running over the transom, so there's no danger of the dinghy sinking. I wonder if the cut-off water bottle is still floating around in there somewhere. Note also the well-flowing scupper on Whispering Jesse in the background.

We seem to be experiencing the aftermath of Hurricane Barbara, but a look at the satellite images on the NOAA website shows another system developing to the southwest, where Barbara came from, so the rain may continue for several more days. I told a resort guest this morning that it might be time to start building the ark. His vacation mostly ruined by the rain, he didn't think that was very funny.

Foster

When Nan and I were checking out all the marinas on Isla Mujeres last September, El Milagro was the only one with a resident mascot, Foster, an elderly Australian shepherd belonging to the marina's owner, Eric Schott, who splits his time between here and California. Foster did not travel back and forth but rather spent all of his time at the marina, lounging under the palapa, barking at the local fishermen's dogs, and taking hand-outs from marina guests. He has been a fixture here since Eric bought an old shrimp processing plant about eight years ago and converted it into the marina and resort that El Milagro is today.

Foster died yesterday. He was fourteen years old and was suffering from deafness, near blindness, and terrible arthritis in his hips. He had been to the veterinarian last week for medication to ease his pain, but it had the effect of rendering him glassy eyed and immobile. After a bad weekend, during which he also became incontinent, Eric and the marina's manager, Jaime, decided over the phone that it was time to put Foster down. Yesterday afternoon, during a steady rain, Jaime and other marina workers moved Foster gently into the back of a pickup truck for another trip to the vet. It was hours later before they returned. Jaime was very emotional when he called Eric to tell him that Foster was gone. He asked Nan to talk to Eric, and she spoke with genuine affection for a dog we had known for only a couple of weeks.

Foster is buried now, down near the beach, next to sheltering palm trees. The rain has smoothed the mound above his grave, but there is not yet a stone to mark it. I am sure there will be one soon. Foster was a true Isla character, and he will never be forgotten.

Arrival in Isla Mujeres

If you were following the Spots, you know we arrived in Isla Mujeres on Wednesday evening. Whispering Jesse is now safely slipped at the El Milagro Marina, and Nan and I are adjusting to our new life here on the island. Jack flew home yesterday, Jim is flying home on Monday, and Mike is staying on until June 3.

Within sight of the island on Wednesday afternoon, I said to Jack, "I can't believe what an uneventful trip this has been." I should have knocked on wood because a few miles later, the diesel engine, which we had been running to make headway against the Yucatan Channel's 3.5-knot current, suddenly changed its tune from a steady chug-chug to a high-pitched whine. I throttled back immediately, shifted to neutral, and then stopped the engine. We already had our stay sail out so we could continue making slow headway. Based on the sound, we all thought it had to be a problem with the drive train. Mike went over the side and confirmed that the propeller had not fallen off. We added diesel to the fuel tank from a jerry can in case we were wrong about the drive train. But when we restarted the engine and put it into gear, nothing really happened. The whine was gone, but the propeller was not spinning. With no hope of engine power, we put up the main sail and were able to achieve about three knots. We were close enough to Isla Mujeres by then to pick up a one-bar cell phone signal, so I texted Nan to let her know what was happening. She had Jaime and Julio, the El Milagro Marina guys, contact us on the VHF radio to arrange a tow. By the time we reached the Avalon Reef Hotel at the northeast corner of the island, they were waiting for us in their panga. We continued sailing to the northwest corner, turned into the wind to drop the sails, and took a line for the tow. Julio had us raft up to the panga just before we reached the marina, and he guided us into a slip, where Nan was waiting with open arms. The twelve-day sail from Savannah was over.

Now I'm sitting under a palapa waiting for the mechanic. He came by yesterday evening and determined that the bolts connecting the coupling plates between the drive shaft and the propeller shaft were sheared. That was a relief. It should be an easy, inexpensive repair, if the mechanic ever shows up. I'm slowly adjusting to "island time," but I've been waiting for four hours now. Tal vez hoy, tal vez mañana.