 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
MANNING UP IN ALASKA, An Astounding Tale of Overcoming Cancer, Sailing 2600 Miles to Alaska and Finding New Direction. Watch the video trailer now. TURN ON YOUR SPEAKERS AND CLICK THE PLAY BUTTON BELOW. Be patient, depending on your connection speed download times may vary. ONCE THE FILE LOADS, USE THE VIDEO CONTROLS TO PLAY, PAUSE, STOP OR REPLAY.
>>>> STAYING IN TOUCH WITH FRIENDS AND FAMILY!<<<<
Dick and Sharon Drechsler |
We are very EXCITED to announce that due to the success of Manning Up In Alaska, Little Harbor Publishing recently released the Kindle version on Amazon.com. For more information, 
Once the Baja Ha-Ha wrapped up with the awards ceremony on November 7, 2009, we were all anxious to be on our way and start exploring the wonders of Mexico. Based on the advice of numerous cruisers, we changed plans and decided to spend almost a month enjoying the cool weather and sights in the Sea of Cortez before heading south. 
After quick overnight stops in Bahia de los Frailes and Bahia de los Muertos, we sailed to La Paz. We were really looking forward to this stop because it would be a chance to see our friends Joe and Sharon, who moved their boat, Lucky Lady II, to Mexico a few years ago and basically never left. Their friend, Lulu, was celebrating her birthday, so we joined the group for a lovely, upscale dinner at one of La Paz’s finest restaurants. 
While we didn’t stay here, Marina de La Paz is located near the heart of this lovely city which has managed to retain much of its original charm since it hasn't been inundated with tourists from north of the border. Club Cruceros is an all-volunteer yacht club maintained and operated by the local cruisers. They have an extensive DVD and book exchange and routinely arrange for mail to be delivered for posting in the US. My friend, Joe, took me there and I very much enjoyed socializing and getting some local flavor from these seasoned cruisers.
El Mezteno was one of our favorite anchorages and our first stop as we headed north, deeper into the Sea of Cortez. This quiet, scenic cove has room for only one or two boats, so we were secluded and enjoyed having the anchorage to ourselves. There is a reef along the southern shore that provided spectacular snorkeling among the colorful angel and parrot fish.
Our route along the eastern shore of the Baja peninsula, as we island hopped our way north, afforded us spectacular views of the Sierra de la Giganta (Giganta Mountain Range). We were amazed at the similarity to the Grand Canyon and at the majesty of this imposing mountain range, which provides protection in the Sea of Cortez from the ocean winds and occasional storms blowing in the Pacific Ocean.
The daytime skies were usually “severe clear,” but on this occasion the winds aloft created an eye-pleasing, rhythmic pattern. However, nothing rivals nighttime, when you can gaze for hours at the stars as they rise and set in the jet black sky, stimulating the mind to ponder the mysteries of the universe.
Ah, Bahia Agua Verde. Without a doubt, this was our favorite anchorage in the limited area we covered on this, our first taste of the Sea of Cortez. Here, we dove on a reef and shared the coral wonderland below with the colorful inhabitants during our brief intrusion into their world, we used my new hookah electric snorkel to clean the boat bottom, we kayaked around the headland and ported our kayaks back across the narrow sand spit that protects this secluded cove, and thoroughly enjoyed the serenity of the calm anchorage. It was so protected that I anchored with only six feet of water below the keel.
On the shore of the narrow sand spit, there sits a facility that looks like it was built for parties, with a large covered area under the palapa and a kitchen. The cruising guide says that local cruisers use it for pot lucks and other social events, but when we were there it was fenced off and inaccessible.
Looking south from our anchorage in Bahia Agua Verde, the view was spectacular. Some boats had to anchor there when the tiny north (and preferred) anchorage was full. The hills were unusually green due to the massive amounts of rain deposited by the two hurricanes that were unwelcome visitors to this region during the summer hurricane season. 
Sherri couldn’t resist the opportunity to enjoy the warm, balmy nights to, just once, sleep in the cockpit under the star-filled sky. Rumor has it she didn’t last through the night and retired to her comfortable quarters below sometime after 0300.
This large buzzard put on quite a show for us as he warmed himself in the early morning sunshine at Bahia Agua Verde.
The highlight for any cruisers at Bahia Amortajada is a dinghy ride through the mangroves. Here is the view looking back out to sea just after we motored and rowed across the very shallow entrance bar at the estuary.
The thick mangroves lining the maze of channels in Bahia Amortajada are the home and nesting grounds to countless pelicans.
This long, meandering channel ultimately empties into a beautiful, mangrove-lined lagoon that is totally protected from the sea. Because we entered at low tide, caution was advised, lest we run aground on a shoal. This happened on more than one occasion, when we couldn’t find deep water to pass, and required much shifting of weight, rowing and poling with the oars.
This view of the cactus forest immediately adjacent to and behind the lagoon was spectacular. John Steinbeck, in his Log from the Sea of Cortez, wrote “Here we could smell the mangrove flowers without the foul root smell, and the odor was fresh and sweet, like that of new cut grass. From where we waded there was a fine picture, still reflecting water and fringing green mangroves against the burnt red-brown of the distant mountains, all like some fantastic Dore’ drawing of a pressed and embattled heaven.”
Here you can get an idea of the number of pelicans that were roosting in the mangroves. I haven’t enjoyed a dinghy ride through the mangrove canals like this since I had my Beneteau 51 in the Caribbean Sea many years ago.
A picture being worth a thousand words, here’s another shot of the Sierra de la Giganta. This shot, however, is reminiscent of many of the South Pacific islands I’ve visited in French Polynesia. 
This spectacular sunset would be our last over the Sierra de la Giganta for some time to come since we were soon to leave the Sea of Cortez. We anchored at Bahia San Gabriel, the southernmost bight on Isla Espiritu Santos before setting sail for the 230 nautical mile voyage across the Sea of Cortez. Depending on who’s counting, there are as many as 119 “seas” in the world. One down, 118 more to cross!
Our crossing of the Sea of Cortez was mostly wonderful. We sailed in 15 to 20 knot breezes off the port quarter for the first full day and night before the wind died 60 miles from Mazatlan. If you look closely at this picture, you’ll see that we had a stowaway for most of the night. Just to the left of the headsail, perched (sleeping I think) on the rail, you’ll see a black and white boobie. The last 40 miles of the passage were uncomfortable and slow as a southeasterly wind built to 20 knots, creating steep, choppy seas that impeded our progress and forced us to bear off until we reached the lee of the mainland.
The sight of these pelicans soaring overhead, long before our arrival, was our first clue that we were approaching the mainland on our way to Mazatlan.
If the sight of the soaring pelicans wasn’t enough to herald our arrival in the tourist Mecca of Mazatlan, the SOARING TOURITSTS surely were!!!
The El Cid lighthouse (no longer showing a light) was a convenient landmark to confirm our GPS position as we approached the narrow channel entrance.
Our visit to Mazatlan was another highlight, mostly because we were able to visit daily and dine almost every evening with Orlando and Linda aboard Cuba Libre 3. Orlando provided us with a colorful introduction to Cuban food when the group dined at a local Cuban restaurant, Carlos and Lucia’s. Orlando had us in stitches most of the time, but especially when the waiter announced that “I’ll be your server,” to which Orlando replied, “Great, I’ll be your eater!” Unable to eat, I was, for the first time ever, at Orlando’s urging, able to drink a fruit smoothie in public without too much embarrassment, especially since they considerately prepared it to assure there were no little bits of fruit which might lodge in my extremely restricted esophagus. Nobody can write better about travel and cuisine than Sharon, so I’ll defer to the article she wrote about this memorable experience in her role as the national yachting reporter for Examiner.com, 
Traveling to the beach from the El Cid Marina requires a short (free) water taxi ride across the channel. Once when our water taxi landed on the other side of the boat basin at El Cid Marina, we saw our first iguana. It was one of countless such creatures we encountered and will, undoubtedly, continue to encounter as we voyage deeper into the tropical waters south of Mazatlan.
The lifeguard at this colorful beach belonging to the El Cid Resort was keeping a vigilant eye as the surf built, driven by the strengthening afternoon winds, threatening to swamp the young children playing on the steep shore that drops quickly into head-high water.
I couldn’t help but wonder as to the future of these waterfront condos while I watched these small, wind-driven waves almost top the breakwater. Since Mazatlan is situated in the heart of the hurricane belt, it is hard to imagine the impact of hurricane-sized waves coming from the south and taking aim directly at these buildings, already precariously perched along the shore.
There was a lot of excitement on one of the short ferry rides to the beach at the El Cid Marina when the water taxista’s pet iguana made a sudden break for freedom and scampered over the side. There was a lot of jockeying of the boat as the skipper made several passes before one of the passengers recaptured this green, scaly pet swimming desperately towards the refuge of the nearby docks, where it could have eluded capture forever.
Sharon is taking advantage of our time in Mexico to gather material for an article she’s writing in her capacity as Contributing Editor of Resort Trades on resort development along the west coast of this relaxing, slow-paced country. On one of our last night’s in Mazatlan, we were treated to a wonderful evening of waterfront dining at this posh, almost decadent resort. Sharon wrote about our elegant surrounding in another article for Examiner.com entitled 
Our free-spirited, adventurous crew mate, Sherri, would venture forth each morning to explore the intimate corners of each city or village we visited, often returning late at night. This beautiful image, taken from the pool area of another one of Pueblo Bonito’s Mazatlan resorts, is courtesy of Sherri. Alas, she will be leaving us in Puerto Vallarta and returning to her day-to-day life as a fitness trainer in the San Francisco area. But never one to let the grass grow, she networked extensively during her two months of cruising in Mexico and has good prospects of continuing her sailing aboard another sailboat whose skipper is also down-bound for adventure.
As the morning sun began to cast its eerie orange hue across the sky, overpowering the glow of the waning moon, we could see the faint outlines of Isla Isabela, looming like a lone sentinel only 7 miles distant, its two pinnacle rocks an unmistakable landmark. We approached the jagged cliffs that line the perimeter of the island from the northwest and were immediately taken by the scores of birds carving lazy circles in the sky. 
Not understanding fully the wonders we were about to see, we proceeded first to the primary anchorage and then, finding that full with a half-dozen other cruisers already tucked in close, to the secondary site, a slightly more exposed anchorage off the southeast tip of the island. 
We set the anchor in a mostly rock bottom and as we felt the violent scraping of our hefty chain across the barren marine-scape underlying our hull, we all wondered if our anchor would become hopelessly mired in a rocky burial ground 15 feet below our keel. But that was a problem for another time, so we launched the dinghy, each of us full of anticipation of what might lie ahead.
As we entered the tiny cove where the local pangueras Med-tie their small but sturdy pangas just off the beach, we carefully threaded our way across the taught mooring lines, until we found a small patch of beach we could temporarily claim as our own. I stopped long enough to lower the landing wheels before gunning the motor and running our 11-foot dinghy up onto the waiting sand. All the while, we couldn't help but marvel at the density of the circling frigate birds, which we noted were now joined by a smaller number of boobies. We marveled at just how it was that they avoided colliding with one-another as they spiraled in tight circles overhead.
After chatting with some other yachtsmen and getting a vague idea of the location of the trail, we struck out towards the waiting jungle. As soon as we were enveloped by the fauna, we were surrounded by a sight we'd only dreamed of seeing if we were lucky enough to venture as far as the Galapagos Islands. For there, surrounding us at every turn, were hundreds of frigate birds performing rituals most people could only hope to see on the Discovery Channel. Huge black males, with the brightly colored orange sacks adorning their gullets now puffed out in full glory, were billing and cooing in a cacophony carefully tuned to attract the female of the species.We stood witness to all the stages of rejuvenation, from this unique mating ritual, to females sitting on nests and even the act of mating once the preliminaries were completed, all at eye level not a dozen feet from where we stood, transfixed.
Continuing on, we came upon an abandoned hotel, the ruins of some would-be developer’s dream to exploit this natural preserve by no doubt promoting "eco-tours" that would rival any trip to the Galapagos. A VHF radio was blaring out the idle chatter of the local fisherman as they plied the nearby waters in search of a meager living and iguanas were so thick that we had to take care not to step on one, which could undoubtedly have resulted in a painful bite.
Towering immediately beyond was the 281' peak of Isla Isabela, with a steep, undeveloped trail leading virtually straight up in the direction of the lighthouse. As we started this rigorous climb, we tried, sometimes in vain, to avoid disturbing the mating and nesting frigate birds lining our path. 
As we reached the mid-point towards the summit, a new type of bird began to appear and soon we were surrounded by boobies, their curious faces peering out at us as they sheltered in the thick jungle growth.
Topping the summit, we entered a wonderland, the rookery of the native boobies. Moving slowly as we struggled to overcome our jaw-dropping awe, we came upon scene after scene of nature in its glory. Boobies, we quickly learned, nest on the ground and, as we picked our way through this wondrous colony, we observed males and females sitting on carefully crafted nests nurturing a lone egg or warming and protecting hatchlings that looked no more than a day old.
We stood, our gazes fixed, as adult boobies kept a discrete distance, all the while urging on the fuzzy, white juveniles, each struggling to reach maturity. We had little doubt they would succeed, because they did not appear to have any natural predators to disrupt the timeless process of renewal we were witnessing just feet from where we walked.
Starting our descent down a precipitous ridge overlooking the windward side of the rocky outpost, we began to appreciate the cycle of life occurring in our midst. We came to understand how Darwin, painstakingly chronicling a similar experience in the Galapagos Islands, some 1500 miles southeast of our position, postulated that there was an evolution of the species. For in one day, we witnessed an entire community going about its business, much as our species would do in any shore-side metropolis. Random males were circling the skies with bright orange chests puffed out to attract a passing female, while males and females alike swooped down to the carpet-like jungle floor where they quickly snatched a twig or small branch from the lush growth and then, elegantly circled as they rose on the thermals rising invisibly along the steep cliffs of their island sanctuary, gaining enough height to reach the trees above. Many passed mere inches above us, unbothered by our presence and perhaps echoing our own curiosity. Others, circling over another patch of sea, just near where only the tip of the mast of our own seaborne refuge was visible as she lay at anchor, were fishing to provide sustenance to their young, who waited anxiously in the countless nests.
As we descended the ridge, we were greeted by a rare treat indeed, for we spotted our first blue-footed booby.
I had no idea that these curious, colorful birds inhabited this island and I promptly seated myself and watched for what seemed like an hour as, first one, then several others, joined this rare animal that sat so precariously with part of its colorful feet clinging to the edge of the sheer cliff. The entire island was itself under siege from the crashing surf that promised to erode it to nothingness in coming millennia. 
Finally shaken from the trance, we continued our trek and wondered just where there might be a trail through the seemingly impassable jungle that stretched out on the flat plain below us, a spit of land dividing this island paradise into almost two separate islands. As we sweated and toiled and guessed at our route through head-high grasses, we finally emerged and found ourselves again at the abandoned structure that was once someone's dream, or was it? For were we not the very "eco-tourists" they had once sought to exploit, witnesses to the wonders of nature playing out up-close and personal, in a setting that no more than thousands would ever be fortunate enough to see?
After a quick stop in the roadstead anchorage at Jaltemba, where we found some small refuge from the northwest swell in the lee of Isla la Pena, we were off to Puerto Vallarta. En route, we had to round dangerous Punta Mita, which the cruising guide advises to avoid by standing “way off…due to dangerous submerged rocks.” When we rounded, the surf didn’t look like it was to be trifled with either. So now it’s on to Nuevo Vallarta and the Paradise Village Marina, which will be our home base for the next month as we travel back to the United States to attend to some business and Sharon flies to Germany to spend Christmas with her daughter.
Some of you will remember this fitting Christmas picture of Last Resort when she was moored in Ensenada, Mexico, three years ago. It seems like a decade ago considering all the adventures we’ve had since then.
Ever since I transitioned from cancer patient to cancer survivor, it has been my desire to find a way to give something back. I have envisioned a Foundation whose primary focus would be to build an Armada of Hope, consisting of boat owners willing to donate their time and yachts to provide an on-the-water respite for qualified cancer patients/survivors and their caregivers. Please visit our website: 
PLEASE NOTE WE HAVE NEW PHONE NUMBERS FOR USE IN MEXICO:
