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Thursday, March 08, 2007
Radisson Fort George Marina
Belize City, Belize
We thought we’d entitle this one “are
we having fun yet.”
It is good to be sitting here at a dock
where the only movement is from the unprotected passage of
the trade winds and dive boat traffic with its resulting
2-foot chop and occasional bonk into the dock.
Why?
Because getting here was such a
challenge, both physically and emotionally. And after the
conditions we endured getting here, there is now no such
thing as a bad anchorage or sloppy dock.
We left Bahia del Espiritu Santo at
about 9:00 pm as planned, looking forward (?) to a 90-mile
trip south toward a little hole-in-the-reef called Xcalac (pronounced
shkah-LAK) to clear out of Mexico.
Ignorance is bliss.
Unfortunately, due to a loose nut on
the chart plotter dial, our entry track from the previous day
had somehow vanished, so we had to negotiate our way out of
a very shallow lagoon in the dark. Not recommended, though
Ole did a fabulous job. Once we got out into the briny
blue, the wind picked up and the sea conditions deteriorated
over the night, starting at 10 to 15 knots with 4-to-6 foot
seas, and escalating to the point where the autopilot again
went on strike. We had both the wind and the seas coming
from the south, straight at us. In the middle of the night,
feeling like we were in a washing machine. we opted to
change course from south to southeast, to see if we could
get any lee from the Chinchorro Banks east of Mexico. That
turned out to be a good decision, as we got about 4 hours of
relief until we had to turn due west and take the slop on
the port side. Ole got a nap during the relative calm of
our passage past the Banks, and Jan decided to once again
resume the starfish position and try to snooze through the
rolls as we headed west.
As we approached Xcalak, we rummaged
furiously through our trusty Cruising Guide, to re-read the
author’s instructions for getting inside. The cruising
guide called it “quaint,” and warned us that the opening in
the reef is just 50 to 75 yards wide – roughly three times
the length of Emma Jo, and if you miss, you end up shredded
fiberglass. She warned not to attempt the pass during
“raging sea conditions,” and “only in the morning, with the
sun behind you.” At just after noon, looking out the side
window, we were taking, I kid you not, 12-15-foot swells off
the port quarter, and trying to figure out how to thread the
needle while being virtually washed into the lagoon like the
flotsam we are.
We could see the huge line of surf
breaking all along the shoreline, and the 12-15-footers
curling through the tiniest width with no foam – as we
looked frantically for the two lights that would line up to
carry us safely over a submerged coral head just inside the
north side of the pass.
I asked Ole, “are these ‘raging sea
conditions?’” But before he could answer me, a huge swell
came up from under us and shoved us through the pass.
During the frantic machinations of
trying to line ourselves up, we tried calling the port
captain, whom the guide book said “spoke excellent English,”
and who was not there – we got the non-English speaking
assistant. Fortunately for us, a Canadian resident who has
a house just opposite the pass, got on the radio and helped
us through, as did a 34-foot sailboat who had surfed in the
afternoon before.
Once we washed through, we hung a
right, circled once, and dropped anchor in 20-25 knot winds
and 3-foot chop in between two sailboats. It took an hour
or two to stop shaking. When Ole went to clear out of
Mexico, he met the nice Canadian man (still don’t know his
name, but he goes by “Casa Verde” on the radio) who told us
we actually passed right over the submerged coral head when
the wave shoved us through. He congratulated our courage,
then told us that the Swiss guy in the sailboat just north
of us had come in at 4 a.m., while it was still dark! Don’t
know – stainless steel or brass.
While we sat there the first afternoon,
we watched a conch fisherman enter the pass, taking green
water all over his stern. He hung the same right turn we
did, and anchored not far away, and began shuttling his
catch via small boat virtually 24/7 for the next two days..
We had planned to stay only one night,
then make a short passage of 26 miles to San Pedro to clear
into Belize – but, like the cat who climbs the tree – once
in, we couldn’t work up to courage to go out. Casa Verde
told us it would be blowing like it was for several days.
So our planned one-day stop turned out to be three days.
We went for a walk through Xcalak one
afternoon, and found it to be verrrrry sleepy. Dirt
streets, a grocery store and a “Loncheria” where we stopped
for some good home cooking in what seemed to be a nice
grandmother’s home. Great fresh shrimp ceviche and a fish
stew. Interestingly, she didn’t serve beer, but told us to
go next door to the market to get our beer, which we were
welcome to drink in her restaurant. How civilized.
Unfortunately, we hadn’t brought the camera, so no pictures.
On the morning of the third day, March
3rd, we got up at dawn to take a look at the pass. Time was
running out, as Ole had to be in Atlanta for the chief
engineer’s meeting that began on the 5th of
March. We pretty much figured that he wouldn’t make the
flight that left Belize on Sunday morning, and would at
best, be a day late for the meeting. Although the wind had
died down, we decided it was still too intimidating to try to
get out the pass. As we made the coffee, committed to yet
another day of waiting for weather, we watched the Swiss
sailor attack the pass on the way out to head north.
Yikes – it looked like his boat was climbing a mountain that
was trying to push him back in – and we watched his mast
wobble fore and aft as he climbed straight up steep 12-foot
rollers to get out, then turn to take them on the side as he
headed north. Nope – not for us.
By late afternoon, the wind had dropped
back to 10-15 knots, and the seas seemed, at least through
the binoculars, to have flattened out a bit. In a burst of
bravado, we thought it best to make a try for it, leaving at
about 6:00 in the evening for another overnight 75-mile run
to Belize City, avoiding San Pedro altogether.
Now, non boaters, here’s what has to
happen: Imagine yourself trying to get your Lincoln
Navigator up the steep hill from the street into your
single-car garage, steering while looking in your rear view
mirror at the garbage can lined up with the tree across the
street to determine the heading of your SUV. Now imagine
the uphill driveway is undulating toward you – a foot to
either left or right shreds you.
Suffice it to say, that the pucker
factor is the biggest we’ve experienced so far. I don’t
think I’ve ever experienced anxiety sweat like we did that
evening. But once through, and turning south, the ride
through the 8-10 foot swells actually became, well, not
exactly comfortable, but smoother than we’d experienced
since we entered Mexico. It allowed us the discovery that
sea swells are not bad. Emma Jo just goes up one side and
down the other, and when the swells have a period of 5 or 6
seconds, there’s a rhythm to it that our bodies can adjust
to. It’s when the wind whips up a chop on top of the swells
that throws the whole rhythm off and the sea beats the crap
out of us.
The ride down to Belize wasn’t that
bad. For the first several hours, we were in open swell,
but as we headed south, we were sheltered in the lee of
Turneffe Island, one of only three actual atolls in the
western hemisphere. And once we turned up English Channel
to ride into Belize City, the ride actually became what we
had expected cruising to be – flat calm, full moon, and warm
temperatures.
We anchored just across “the flats”
from Fort George at about 4:30 a.m. and slept for a few
hours, then moved over to the Radisson dock to begin the
“clearing into the country” parade of officials and fees.
The staff at the Radisson was extremely helpful in calling
the officials for us, the officials were kind and efficient,
and all was taken care of by about 11:00 a.m.
But – because we needed a spot for
shore power, and the only working 220-amp outlet was being
occupied by a charter catamaran, we had to leave the dock
and anchor in the open roadstead off the point until all of
the charter guests had arrived. We were told they’d be gone
and we could have their space by 12:30 – it ended up being
4:30, and in spite of a sweet nature and willingness to
help, the young security guard at the dock was pretty
useless at helping us back into the slip and tie up. We
must have been a sight – Jan was throwing lines, the young
guard was watching the lines hit the dock and slip into the
water, asking Jan to throw them higher, and not doing much
to break a sweat. But in we got, setting several additional
lines against the cold front expected that evening.
Once we were tied up, we asked each
other, “when does this start to get fun?”
While there isn’t any protection from
the easterly trades or the passing boat traffic, we figured
the space was just fine given what we’d been through so far,
and after a good night’s sleep, Ole was off at 6:00 a.m.
Monday morning to fly up to Atlanta, leaving Jan and the
cats at the dock until Friday.
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