Gene and Debbie's Wedding

It's a love story forty-three years in the making. My friends Gene and Debbie have known each other since we were all seventh-graders together at Longfellow Junior High School. They went their separate ways after graduation from Wauwatosa East High School, attended different colleges, established careers and families over a thousand miles apart, and lived their grown-up lives. But they stayed in touch over the years, at first through class reunions and later through family visits. Eventually, they found themselves single again, and then they found each other. Yesterday, they were married.

My parents and I attended the wedding ceremony and reception, along with almost two hundred friends and family members, including eight high school classmates. For me, it was a mini-reunion, a chance to talk with people I have known almost all my life but have not seen in many years. We may not have been close in high school, but shared past experience makes us close now. We were so happy just to be with one another that we ended the night promising to meet again, in 2016 for what will be our fortieth class reunion. And who better to host the event than our newly wedded classmates, at their beautiful home on Lac La Belle? Hey, you two, we know you're on your honeymoon, but are you listening? Let's make it happen!

Congratulations and best wishes to Gene and Debbie as they begin their married life together!

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.

Snorkeling with whale sharks

Whale shark tours have become a huge business in Isla Mujeres in the last five or so years. It used to be that tourists cleared out in May when the rainy season started, but then someone noticed that whale sharks were migrating north through the Yucatan Channel during the summer months. Now there is no noticeable decline in tourism until the whale sharks move on near the end of August, before what the local people call “septihambre” (hungry September).

Longtime friends of ours on the island have taken advantage of this new opportunity. Ariel, who has been conducting snorkeling and fishing trips for many years, now does mostly whale shark tours from June through August. Wbeymar (pronounced “Way-mer”), who owns Brisas Grill, where our good friend Juan Gomez works, now has a fleet of two whale shark tour boats, with plans to add another one next season. Both have been asking us during summer visits to go on their tours with them, but we never have, up until last week Wednesday, that is.

We were hearing reports from guests at El Milagro Marina that the number of whale sharks out in the viewing area, which is treated as a national park by Mexico, was diminishing, so we decided we had better go before it was too late. Wbeymar had told us he would give us a no-commission deal of 850 pesos ($70) each, which was better than Ariel’s offer, even with his promise to limit the number of people to just four in order to increase in-water time, so we went with Wbeymar.

Nan and I showed up at Brisas Grill at 7:30 that morning, thinking the tour would be leaving at 8:00 and that we would have time to get some coffee and breakfast. Juan and his co-worker Victor were just setting up tables and chairs. After a half-hour, Nan gave up waiting for coffee and went to the Oxxo (Mexico’s version of 7-Eleven) across the street for a cup. I toyed with the underwater camera our friend Scott from El Milagro Marina had lent me. Soon, Wbeymar’s first tour boat, Lizardo, arrived at the pier behind the restaurant. Wbeymar himself showed up a little while later and told us the tours leave at 8:30, not 8:00. Juan served us coffee, orange juice and slices of a breakfast cake. Other groups started to filter in. We counted about twenty by 8:30. We hoped we wouldn’t all be packed into a single boat, but then Ana Carina, Wbeymar’s second tour boat, arrived at the pier. Moses, the tour leader, broke us up into two groups of ten each and led us to the boats. I urged Nan to take a seat near the bow of our designated boat, Lizardo, to minimize the spray that would result from blasting through the waves at high speed.

The combination of the north-flowing current and the easterly winds made for a very rough one-hour ride out to where the whale sharks were feeding, about twenty miles northeast of Isla Mujeres. People near the back of the boat were drenched by the time we spotted the cluster of at least fifty other boats bobbing around a large school of whale sharks and slowed to join them. In between the boats were groups of snorkelers and some really large dorsal and tail fins. A whale shark coasted under the bow of our boat, just below the surface, its head at least three feet across. Nan and I looked at each other and mouthed, “Wow!” I couldn’t wait to jump in and see one up close. Nan was not so sure.

Moses explained that park rules required us to wear standard orange life preservers and to let only two people into the water at a time, plus a guide. He went over the side in his mask, snorkel, and fins, and beckoned the first two people, a couple, to join him. The boyfriend went in first and then the girlfriend jumped in practically on top of a passing whale shark. Those of us watching from the boat were alarmed for her safety, but we could hear her laughing through her snorkel. Brave girl!

Nan decided to sit out the first round, so I was paired up with Kim, a pediatrician and part-time Isla Mujeres resident. When it was our turn, we paddled around with Moses for a while without seeing anything, until shouts of excitement nearby alerted us. I put my head underwater and looked in the direction of the shouts. A huge open mouth was coming right at me. I didn't have time to raise the camera before swimming out of the way, but I was able to keep up with the whale shark, as it glided slowly along straining the water for plankton, and take a few photos before I tired out. We had been told not to touch the whale sharks, but it took an effort to stay out of their way and not get whacked by their enormous tails as they glided past, seemingly oblivious to the many people swimming in their presence.

Nan decided not to let the opportunity pass and joined me for the second dive. We didn't see as many whale sharks as I had seen on the first dive, but she was still impressed. I could tell by how wide her eyes were behind her dive mask. Manta rays, which feed on the same plankton, had been reported in the area, some even leaping high out of the water, but we did not see any that day--our excuse to return someday for a second tour.

The trip back to the island was much smoother, but the spray was more intense. We were all soaking wet, so it didn't matter. Miguel, our boat captain, stopped outside the reef at Anvil Rock to let us snorkel for a while. The water was too rough for Nan but I dove in to see what was there. From twenty feet above, the bottom didn't look like much, just the usual green-tinted rocks and corals, but when I did a surface dive and went to the bottom, everything changed. Colorful fan coral, staghorn coral, and every other coral type covered the rocks, and striped sergeant major fish and lavender-colored angel fish swam in and out of every crevice. Now it was my eyes that were wide. I wished I had remembered the camera. A few more deep surface dives and I was too tired to hold my breath anymore.

Miguel pulled the boat around to the shallow, sandy-bottomed waters of Playa Norte and anchored. Many of the other whale shark tour boats were already there, and the party had begun. Loud music, skimpy bikinis, and bottled beer were everywhere. Moses and Miguel served up fresh-made shrimp ceviche and cold beer. Nan ate a plate of ceviche and tortilla chips, and then waded through the water to shore, her pack over her head, for her afternoon Spanish lesson downtown. I stayed with the boat for the ride back to our starting point at Brisas Grill, happy that we had finally taken a whale shark tour.

If you've never done it and you happen to be in the western Caribbean during the summer months, you owe it to yourself to snorkel with these amazing creatures, earth's largest fish, before their migration route changes and you miss the chance.

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.

Fiberglass repair and more

Roberto got right to work the next morning, Friday, arriving at the boatyard with a milk crate full of tools. Nan and I were waiting there to give him the second 1,000 pesos he had requested as a deposit. He thanked us and pulled out his rotary sander. We told him we would return later to see how it was going and pedaled away on our folding bikes.

When we returned, Roberto was at the entrance gate signing out with the security guard. He walked with us back to the boat and showed us how he had cleaned up all the ragged edges on the skeg shells and on the skeg itself. He told us he would be back on Saturday to begin the fiberglassing.

The photos show the progression of Roberto's fiberglass work on the skeg over the next few days. While we were at it, we also contracted with him to repair and paint the scars left by the removal of our old Aries windvane, as well as numerous hull scratches from past docking mishaps, for an additional 3,000 pesos.

This extra work required a trip over to Cancun the following Monday to visit a few different marine paint stores, but first we met Nazario at Nauticos Cancun, a marine supply store, to buy new zincs for the hull and propeller shaft. While we were

there, I noticed that a gallon of Pettit bottom paint was priced at 4,350 pesos. I did the conversion, and it worked out to $362.00! Nazario said it was so expensive because it was so heavy to ship from the United States. (A gallon of water weighs a little over eight pounds, but a gallon of bottom paint weighs at least twice that because of all the growth-inhibiting metals it contains.) We had worked out the details with the boatyard to have them paint the bottom after Roberto finished, but I didn't expect the necessary three gallons to cost over a thousand dollars. Nazario suggested that we use Mexican bottom paint instead and drove us over to Nervion Pinturas, which seemed an appropriate name as the fumes inside the store were enough to cause nerve damage.

We took three gallons of black Nervion bottom paint to the counter, along with three liters of solvent. Then Nazario went back and forth with the paint-mixing man in rapid Spanish to see about getting quarter-liters of touch-up paint, matched as closely as possible to the Awl Grip paint sample sheet I had brought along. Whispering Jesse's "Snow White" and "Royal Blue" were not easy matches, and it took several minutes for the man to mix close colors. Nan and I were getting headaches from the paint fumes by then and wondering why the large ventilation hood above the counter was not running at full blast.

With a trunk full of very heavy paint, Nazario drove us to the ferry dock for the ride back to Isla Mujeres. We thanked him profusely for his help and offered him money to at least pay for his gas, but he would not take it. He is a very good man and we appreciate him tremendously.

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.

Greetings from San Diego

A few days after Nan returned from her visit home to Manitowoc, Wisconsin to see her mother, I left Isla Mujeres, Mexico (after two more trips to Immigration for the necessary paperwork) to travel to San Diego for a family get-together celebrating my father's eightieth birthday. Nan graciously stayed behind to look after the boat, and it's good that she did because she has reported daily rain and high winds.

My sisters Susan and Jane coordinated the rental of a large home in the hills of La Jolla, with great views to the north toward the San Bernardino Mountains. We have been mostly hanging out at the house because it has been difficult to coordinate twelve people going anywhere in three small rental cars, especially when nobody can agree on where to go. We did all agree to go to the La Jolla Cove beach area on Monday to see the surfers and the sea lions. Brother Stuart was the only one to take a swim and he reported that the water was a brisk 72 degrees or so.

On Wednesday, a group of us went to the San Diego Zoo. Growing up in Milwaukee, I always thought Milwaukee's zoo was the best, but it doesn't compare to San Diego's, partly because of the difference in climates. Milwaukee's harsh winters prevent the growth of the lush tropical vegetation that is so abundant at the San Diego Zoo. We were there in the late afternoon, at feeding time, and the animals were active. We watched the big cats and the rhinoceros pace around in anticipation of dinner. The koalas woke from their naps and munched on the eucalyptus shoots that were waiting for them. We would have seen the pandas and their new cub but the line was a half-hour long. Some in our group were able to spot them later from the aerial tram we took at the end of the day.

On Thursday, Independence Day, another group of us went to Old Town San Diego. I had not realized that it even existed, but the people of San Diego have done a remarkable job in preserving the original site of the city's settlement. We toured the buildings that housed the first settlers but are now excellent museums. We watched the Fourth of July parade around the Old Town square featuring descendants in period clothing. And we jumped at the boom of an historic cannon firing.

Friday, our last full day, was another beach day. We all drove up to Encinitas and spent the afternoon at Sea Cliff County Park. The nephews tried to body surf in the small waves, and Stuart again went for a long swim. The rest of us were content to sit in the sand and watch the surfers.

I took advantage of being in the United States and had a bunch of boat stuff drop-shipped to the La Jolla house for personal transport back to Isla Mujeres, Mexico. In addition to getting the delaminated skeg fixed, I now have what I need to complete a long list of additional boat projects. More on that later...