As we made our way out from the coast of the Yucatan, we played Frogger with the various fishing boats coming into port. Here is the thing about the fishermen of the Yucatan. They are there to catch fish. These men work incredibly long, hard hours in extreme conditions and most with out the benefit of any safety gear or lighting. That is a luxury not afforded to the subsistence fishermen of the Yucatan. It made for a few stressful hours motoring out to be certain not to get to close on the small pangas coming into port.
Once we were well offshore, we began to motorsail eastward towards Isla Mujeres with our reefed mainsail alone. Ceol Mor settled into a rhythm as did we. Slowly ticking off the miles while being ever mindful of the need to not unduly stress our compromised rig. We traded watches through the night as a deep, burnt orange moon rose over the Gulf of Mexico.
In the morning, we were treated to winds in the 12-16 knot range and while the seas were a stready 6 to 7 feet, the interval period between the waves was sufficient that it felt just a bit rolly and not at all like the choppy, steep short interval waves I had feared. The sun was shining. Ceol Mor was moving well enough and we were hopeful that we would be able to reach Isla Mujeres without any more drama.
Mark decided it was time to unfurl the genoa and see if we could get some speed going to get us moving on our way.
I’m going to segue here because that is what I do and it’s my blog so I can segue to my heart’s content. I am not a fan of our genoa. It is a huge 170% beast of a sail that is heavy and incredibly powerful. The winds always seem to be too light for it in which case we have to try to pole it out or the winds are too heavy in which case we furl it trying to depower it it and end up with a lousy sail shape and boat you can not balance. So it works brilliantly about 10% of the time we sail with it. Its just that other 90% that sticks in my brain. I love our drifter for light winds and before the sad demise of our 110% jib kinda loved it as well. I’ve never loved the genoa and this next bit just cements that sentiment deep within my heart.
So. There we were in rolling seas and moderate winds with the sun shining and the genoa unfurling when suddenly, we crested a wave and found ourselves surrounded by fishermen. About 7 or 8 fishermen each standing in a tiny, 6 foot pram style dinghy with no engines, no life vests, no oars and no mothership in sight and us heading right for two of them.
“Mark! We are heading right for them!” I screamed. Mark was wrestling with the furling line which of course decided at this moment to be difficult because of course it did. Mark shouted something about not being able to do anything to alter course yet and for me to allow him to concentrate and all the while, I see this small fisherman, helpless in his tiny pram and we are bearing down on him. I thought this is someone’s son, husband, brother and he is in danger and there is nothing I can do right now and that is when I lost it.
For the first time since I was 4 years old, I had a full on panic induced asthma attack. While gasping for breath, terrified we were going to hurt or kill these fishermen who have been dropped off in essentially a plastic bathtub 40 miles offshore with nothing to help them survive but a flashlight. Between my gasps for breath and attempts to calm myself, I managed to do everything asked of me to finish setting the sail so that we could safely alter course. Ceol Mor had her genoa up and was able to fall off enough to steer clear of the fisherman. Fishermen alone in tiny, tiny prams that you can not see until you crest a wave and suddenly they are in your direct path and who are dependent on chance to remain safe. This was without a doubt the most frightened I have ever been on a sail. Not from worry for our safety, but at the prospect of harming someone who has such a tough existence to begin with and who is at the utter mercy of the fates for their survival.
As the wind filled the genoa, we were able to fall off and navigate around the fisherman with only a few feet to spare, Ceol Mor began to hit her stride. She was sailing so beautifully at 5 knots plus in the actual direction we were attempting to sail without any funny business from the notorious Yucatan currents. I sighed a sigh of relief. Mark relaxed. The fishermen survived with only a moment or two of terror and continued to fish. All was well.
It was then that our bandaged backstay decided it had had enough and gently, quietly slipped every u bolt leaving the back stay turnbuckle once again hanging uselessly into the cockpit and the forestay began its dance to and fro. Craptastic.
There was no panic. We immediately began running spare halyards aft and to the sides, tensioning them to support the mast as we furled the genoa- which had proven too powerful for our patched backstay and began motor sailing to Isla Mujeres.
There was no panic this time. Just a sigh of acceptance, a calm resolve to keep Ceol Mor moving and praying for the seas to remain calm. We continued to motor sail, tensioning the spare halyards as necessary for the rest of the day and into the night until finally, at around 11p.m. on our second night at sea we saw the lights of the entrance to Puerto Juarez Cancun and Isla Mujeres. My brain was tired, my body was exhausted and the kalediscope of colored lights on the horizon only caused confusion and raised my anxiety levels. Mark took the helm so I could take a step back and re-calibrate my brain. We were okay. Follow the lights. Keep calm and carry on.
At around 1 a.m., I radioed the Isla Mujeres Port Captain to request permission to enter the harbor. Permission granted, we headed for a small outside anchorage as we did not wish to enter the Bahia at night. We tucked up against the island and dropped our anchor in 15 feet of clear water. We backed down on the anchor and backed down again to ensure it was set and fell exhausted, into bed for the next 4 hours.
Early in the morning as charter catamarans whizzed past us through the narrow cut into the Bahia, we radioed Eric and Jaime at El Milagro Marina. They had a slip ready and waiting for us. We chugged into the harbor, dodging the ferries as they flew between Isla Mujeres and Puerto Juarez, Cancun. We threaded past the anchored boats towards the marina to be greeted by the amazing staff of El Milagro Marina, ready to help with our lines. Fatigue, skinny water and a tight turning radius meant that we tied alongside instead of bow to but we could sort that out later. For the moment, it was time for a very long, soapy Hollywood shower before beginning the clearing in process.
Welcome to Isla Mujeres, Quintana Roo Mexico.
