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After a week of mechanical work, I was ready to get out of the marina. I filled up with groceries and ice, and said my good-byes. When I returned some tools and said good-bye to Tom and Cassie on Cyrano, Tom looked to the east where some storm clouds were building and said, "You're going out into that?" The wind was piping up, and it was afternoon. It wasn't a serious storm, and up to a point, more wind is better than no wind, and I like to sail. So Malakii and I headed out anyway.
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| Tom and Cassie Padon on Cyrano |
I had just cleared the marina buoy and was raising the main when the engine died. I hustled to get the jib up, then threw two reefs in the main. The wind was out of the northeast, 20-25 knots, so I couldn't head directly to my favorite anchorage in the north part of the Drowned Cays. I did the best I could, and a few hours later tacked and made it just at dusk. I sailed in and dropped the hook, happy to be in a well sheltered spot I was familiar with.
I spent the evening thinking about the engine. This was the umpteenth time it had died after a half hour to hour of running. It was clearly a fuel problem of some sort, since changing the filter solves the problem. But the fuel seemed clean, and I had cleaned the tank in Livingston. If the fuel was clean, what else could prevent the engine from getting fuel? I decided to check all the fuel lines the next day.
I spent the next morning doing odd jobs and thinking about the engine. I washed my few clothes, patched a torn seam in the mainsail cover, filled some holes in the deck, and added a tie-down strap at the head of the quarter berth under the nav table. Then I started on the engine. I discovered the fuel lines were all clean, and fuel pumped fine to the injectors. I decided all I was doing by changing the fuel filter was giving the system a rest and letting air into it that I then had to bleed out. I started thinking about how gasoline engines vapor lock. Finally, in the evening I remembered that when I opened the fuel tank once to top it off, I heard air being sucked into the tank. At the time I didn't think too much of it, and assumed it was from pressure changes due to changing temperature. But that didn't make sense, because the tank has a vent. But what if the vent was plugged? What if the tank was depressurized? That would account for the engine behavior -- it would run for a while, until the tank became depressurized from the fuel being sucked out, then it would quit from fuel starvation. An easy test would be to crack the filler cap next time I ran the engine.
The next day I sailed for the Turneffe Islands, one of Belize's outer atolls. On the way over I decided to fly the spinnaker. I had been looking for an opportunity ever since getting on the boat this time, but none had materialized. This wasn't a great one, but I might not get a great one.
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| Flying the Spinnaker |
I only had the spinnaker up about ten minutes. There was a storm building off to the northeast. I dropped the spinnaker, raised the #2 jib, and watched as the storm moved past, obscuring Turneffe but never reaching out to me and Malakii. The chart in the cruising guide shows open water with no hazards from Blue Creek south to Big Cay Bokel on the west coast of Turneffe. I wanted to nose into Blue Creek, since it is the only way I could travel across Turneffe. The chart shows the bar across it as being about six feet deep. Malakii is only supposed to draw 5'3", and I don't have her heavily burdened, so she rides high on her lines. But I was feeling a bit nervous about testing it, and continued on south in twelve to twenty feet of clear blue water. Somewhere in that stretch I had a quick bump on the tip of the keel, so there is at least one coral head sticking up above six feet. I anchored at the south end of Turneffe, off Big Cay Bokel, which is now a tiny cay thanks to a hurricane a few years back.
The bottom is mostly grass, so I dove on the anchor to make sure it was set well. It wasn't. I put the point in the grass and shoved it hard, giving it a good start. When I returned to the boat, I checked the prop shaft strut, which I knew had a small crack. I was planning on having it fixed when I hauled the boat in Guatemala. I discovered it was much worse than I had thought. A piece of the mounting flange was completely broken off, with another big crack in the part left holding the shaft. Not good news. I had planned to have a leisurely return to Guatemala, checking out both Turneffe and Lighthouse Reefs on the way. I wanted to motor across Lighthouse and up to the Blue Hole so I would be familiar with it for next year, when I hoped to return and do some diving. But with a shaky prop shaft strut, it didn't seem wise. I decided to head straight for Guatemala.
There were three live aboard dive ships anchored at the south end of Turneffe. It's a well known spot, probably the best diving in Belize. I took the dinghy and went snorkeling, and shot a fish for dinner. That evening, Cyrano showed up, and Tom and Cassie and I had a pleasant evening and dinner. We watched a steady parade of cruise ships heading south around the tip of Turneffe, probably all going to Roatan. Something to remember if sailing at night out here.
The next day was stormy, so I stayed on the hook and did odd jobs. One of them was to check the fuel tank vent. Yippie! It was blocked with fuel, or water. I blew it out with air from a scuba tank, delighted to have fixed what I was sure was the problem causing the engine to die. Looking at the installation, I could see that overfilling the tank would cause fuel to run into the vent hose and block it, as it sagged in one spot. I added another task to my long list of boat repairs and modifications -- "Relocate fuel tank vent so it can't get plugged."
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| Malakii and derelict lighthouses, Turneffe | Cyrano |
The next morning I headed out with a fresh breeze astern. I flew to Southwater Cay, then down past Spruce Cay and Pelican Cays, and on into Placencia. The wind would build and then subside. I thought about reducing sail, but every time I looked astern it seemed like there was only a short stretch of whitecaps, and then smoother water, so I left the #2 up and two reefs in the main. As I neared Placencia, I turned into the wind to drop the jib, and things got exciting. I was expecting it, but I still heard something go snap. I wasn't sure what, but after I was safely anchored in Placencia I discovered the sheave on one of the jib leads had disintegrated, and one of the jam cleats on the leech of the jib had popped a rivet. I wasn't too surprised, as the sheaves are thirty years old and very brittle; I should probably replace them all. I had an extra sheave that would fit, although it was a bit small. It would have to do until I could make a new one and bring it down.
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| Belizian Fishing Boat near Southwater Cay |
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| Shattered Jib Car | Repaired Jib Car |
The next morning I took the dinghy up Mango Creek to the town of Independence, where I checked out with the Immigration officer at the police station. It took quite a while, as it is a ways up the creek, and a mile or more walk to the police station. It may be about the same distance if you go up Big Creek. The immigration officer wasn't in when I arrived, so I passed the time talking with a Hispanic officer whose parents had immigrated from the Yucatan. He told me about problems he had entering the United States with a bunch of black carib friends a few years before. In order to get his visa, he had needed various proof of identity papers such as a birth certificate. The embassy in Belize hadn't told him he would need to have all his proof of identity papers with him when he traveled in addition to his passport and his visa. When they got stopped at the border, his black friends had no troubles, but he got hassled. He thinks that because he was the only Hispanic person traveling with a group of blacks, they thought he was smuggling people. In spite of his passport and visa being in order, he was detained for hours. He also got stopped on the bus going from Texas across Arizona to LA, and again somewhere else. Not a very pleasant introduction to the land of the free.
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| Houses in Independence, Belize |
When I returned to Placencia, I called over to Starship, a home built trimaran. Tom and Cassie had told me to check in with them when I arrived to let them know I made it. Don was on a bus to Spanish Lookout with the head to their engine. I borrowed a pop riveter from them to fix the jam cleat on the leech of the jib.
I left Placencia and headed south. I passed Little Monkey Bay and headed for New Haven, a small bay reputed to be one of the best sheltered spots in Belize. I arrived about 1730 off Wilson Cay and started tacking up to New Haven. There was plenty of light, except it was difficult to see shoal waters. However, there weren't any on the proper line to the bay. Unfortunately, in the evening light I couldn't make out the shoreline clearly, and misread the extent of the bay. I figured it was larger than it was, and I thought I had more room than I did. As a consequence, I ran aground in the fading light, with the tide going down. I was doing about five knots, so I was pretty well put. Reversing with the engine did nothing, and heeling with the sail would only put me further aground because of the wind direction. I rowed out an anchor and put it on the windlass. The boat moved a little, an inch or two at a time, when a wave raised her up enough. It was slow work, but I gained three or four feet. But eventually everything was drum tight, and we weren't going anywhere. I mulled things over some more, then got out the spinnaker halyard and tied the other anchor and rode to it. I rowed the anchor out as far as I could directly off the beam, then came back and began taking up the slack. Malakii slowly heeled over, then slid free. By this time it was dark. I was tired and discouraged, annoyed with myself for my carelessness. If I had payed closer attention to the chart, I could have figured out the lay of the shoreline better. Another lesson learned the hard way. If only I can remember them all at the appropriate times. I was in a reasonably sheltered spot, given the wind direction, and didn't want to motor in any further in the dark. I dropped a second hook to keep me from swinging back onto the shoal, and hit the sack. The next morning I decided to spend a day resting up. It seemed foolhardy to head for Guatemala and arrive tired. I moved into the bay at New Haven, and spent the day exploring by dinghy.
New Haven used to be home to Haulout Charlie, a homesteader who had built a marine railway. As recently as ten or so years ago he was still living there and hauling boats. But now everything is abandoned, being rapidly reclaimed by the jungle. In addition to Haulout Charlie's frame house, there was a stone house and some kind of shack on stilts. Underneath Charlie's house was a doll head skewered on a stick.
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| Stone House, New Haven | Stone House, New Haven | Shack, New Haven |
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| Haulout Charlie's House | Haulout Charlie's House | Voodoo Barbie |
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| Haulout Charlie's Marine Railway |
I went ashore and discovered pineapples growing wild, but unfortunately not yet ripe.
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| Baby Pineapple | Berries | Flower |
I found coconuts everywhere, and some seemed to still be in good shape. I gathered a few up to take back to the boat. Back on the boat, I tried using a machete to cut away the husk. The first two were worthless, with no nut in the middle. It was very difficult work, and eventually I sought a better solution.
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| Primitive Coconut Access Tools | Modern Coconut Access Tool | Ah! Coconut Milk! | Another Modern Coconut Access Tool |
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| Apparently Charlie liked Conch | Frigate Birds Sparring |
The next day I sailed for Livingston. Or tried to. The wind was worthless, 0-3 knots out of the southwest. I ended up motoring for six hours, but at least the engine ran well. I knew for certain the problem had been the blocked vent.
I had tried eating some of the coconut meat in New Haven, but it was a pain to get out of the nut. I had left the nut sitting in the cockpit, occasionally digging out a small piece of meat to chew on. Along the way I noticed that the coconut meat was separating from the nut as it dried. Eventually, I discovered I could pretty much peel the whole thing out in one piece. Patience. Slick.
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| Coconut Meat |
I checked in at Livingston, then spent the evening ambling around town. One memorable sight was a small child, probably three or four, whacking grass with a machete while his mother did laundry. And we worry about lawn darts! The next day I headed up the river.
For a long time I had wanted to poke up some of the rivers and creeks which empty into Rio Dulce. I hadn't done it because of time constraints, and because of concerns about safety. There is always a story floating around the Rio about someone who got robbed a week or month before. I finally decided I wasn't worth robbing, and I didn't want to spend my time worrying about it, and more importantly, I didn't want concern for safety to keep me from doing things I wanted to do. After all, by the same standards New York, Chicago, and L.A. are unsafe, and I would still go see them. All the guide books and people warn you about Belize City, and I felt pretty comfortable there. I decided if I didn't look particularly wealthy (no problem on Malakii, and no problem for me with my scruffy beard and worn clothes), and fairly competent and confident, I would be less likely to have trouble. So on my way up the river, I poked my nose up some of the creeks.
The first creek I went up was Rio Titan, on the north side just a short distance downriver from Ak'Tenamit , a project to help poor Mayan (Q'chchi Indians) families and children.
Rio Titan is a pretty little creek, and a short one. I motored up in the dinghy. Navigation by dinghy ends on the left fork at a Mayan homestead. I didn't want to intrude so turned around after a quick look.
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| Mayan Dwelling on Lower Rio Titan |
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| Looking Up the Left Fork of Rio Titan | Mayan Homestead | A Shed for Cayucos |
Up the right fork, I came to some buildings where the folks at Ak'Tenamit have a sort of tourist center explaining what they are doing and something about the local residents. There were lots of young Mayan boys and girls around, swimming in the creek and having a good time. Some older women were doing laundry. I tied up the dinghy without locking it, then thought better of it and went back and locked it up. I feel a bit funny doing that, as it seems like an insult to the local people, but dinghies and motors disappear on a regular basis on the Rio. Then I ambled through the craft store, restaurant, and other buildings, all thatched roofed structures in traditional mayan style.
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| Pool above Head of Navigation | Swimming / Bathing Pool at Head of Navigation |
Then I wandered up a trail which climbed above the creek. I was hoping for some long vistas, but the jungle vegetation prevented that. The trail went through a corn field carved out of a small patch of jungle, and then the it headed back down to I don't know where. I later learned you can take that trail clear to Livingston, if you know where you're going and don't get lost along the way.
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| Typical Upland Jungle | Cool Jungle Tree | What Kind of Flower is This? | Cornfield Carved out of Jungle |
Rio Titan was a very short trip, and it just whetted my appetite for more. So I left Malakii anchored in the main River just below Ak'Tenamit, and spent the night. There was a constant stream of traffic coming and going up the little Rio Titan. Mostly cayucos, but occasionally a lancha, and young children paddling all by themselves. Kids grow up a lot faster in poor places.
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| Cayuco | Cayuco | Cayuco | Mayan Dwellings on the Rio |
The next morning I headed across the river and up Rio Lampara. I had motored about an hour up the river when I came across a Mayan family in a large (16 feet or so) cayuco with an outboard which wouldn't start. I tried to help the man start it, but we didn't have any of the tools we needed. So I turned around and towed them back down the river and across to Ak'Tenamit, where they had some tools and he could repair it. I was really impressed with how easily that big cayuco towed behind my little dinghy. A cayuco is just a hollowed out log, a dugout canoe; but they have excellent lines, and slice smoothly through the water.
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| Near the Mouth of the Rio Lampara | Near the Mouth of the Rio Lampara |
After two trips in the dinghy, I felt up to something a bit more adventuresome. Despite the need to repair the prop shaft strut, it seemed to have been behaving pretty well -- no bad vibrations when the engine was running. So I decided to take Malakii up a larger tributary.
The Rio Chacón Machaca dumps into the Golfete on the north side about midway across the lake. I'd read about it in one of my older books about Rio Dulce, and it sounded interesting -- a great way to see some of the Guatemalan Peten without leaving your boat. The mouth of the river is not obvious, as it makes an abrupt left turn before dumping into the lake. As a consequence, when you sail by, or towards it, all you see is jungle where the river should be. But it is easy to find if you are actually close up and looking for it. There is a break in the reeds. The water shallows to about eight feet as you pass the reeds, and then it immediately goes to about 40. Turn to port and you are basically in a dead end little finger, but turn to starboard and you can go at least 15 miles.
I edged up very slowly to what I thought was the correct break in the reeds. The water got shallower, and shallower, and then, bingo! It went to 35 feet. I could see the river opening up to my right.  |
| Entrance to Rio Chacón Machaca |
It was great to be traveling a river again, exploring. I felt a bit like I was in a movie like African Queen. The jungle was on both sides of me, and the river was smooth and deep. I just hoped there weren't any big snags sticking up.
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| Heading Up the Rio Chacón Machaca |
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| Jungle All Around | Opening Up Into Farms | A Real Tarzan Vine |
I traveled for about five miles without seeing anything except jungle. The first sign of civilization I saw was a tiny cornfield hacked out of the jungle at the river's edge. A short while later I saw a few Mayan dwellings and palapas.
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| Mayan Settlement | Simple Shed | Boathouse | Boathouse |
Slowly, the jungle gave way to farms and ranches. It appears these were carved out of the jungle, and kept open by constant grazing or farming. There were cows, obviously with some brahman in them, and horses.
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| Mayan Farms |
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| Mayan House | Mayan House |
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| Mayan Cow | More Cows | Egrets | Mayan Horse | 'nother Horse |
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| Harvested Field |
I was hoping to get to the end of the navigable portion of the river. Apparently, about fifteen miles up you come to some white cliffs and you start to see large boulders in the river. Unfortunately, it was getting dark, and it was getting more difficult to navigate as the river narrowed. It was still plenty wide, but the trees overhung so far it was sometimes a bit touchy piloting Malakii's mast through. I found I was steering by looking up at the trees and the mast, instead of at the river banks and the depth sounder. I came to a place where the river got much shallower, a hump of some kind. I went a bit further, then decided to turn around and go back to the hump and anchor for the night. I found a good place to turn around, a bit of a challenge in itself, and then went back and anchored. It was a treat. I went to sleep with birds and frogs and I don't know what else yelling at each other. But no howler monkeys, unfortunately.
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| Malakii in the Jungle |
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| Palm Tree | Tree Blossoms |
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| Entrance to Rio Chacón Machaca | Exiting Rio Chacón Machaca |
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| Lilly Pads on the Golfete near the Rio Chacón Machaca |
I sailed up to Fronteras, dropped the hook, and took the dinghy to town. Got some produce, exchanged some plastic for some money, and then sailed up to Abel's boat yard, located further up the river just after it leaves Lake Izabal. I went ashore and in my broken Spanish I told Abel that I had a small sailboat that needed to be hauled so I could weld the prop strut, and I wanted to take off the rudder and straighten it. And while I was at it I figured I should sand and paint the bottom. I asked him if he had room, and he said "Si, Mañana." Abel has three marine railways, and is usually busy. I was very lucky to be able to get in the next day; apparently there is often a two month wait.
So the next day, a Wednesday, we hauled Malakii. Here's what she looked like. I have no idea when she was last hauled or had the bottom painted. I know it was more than five years since the last time.
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| Malakii in Abel's Yard | Bent Rudder |
Malakii was on the middle railway; Foole, a pretty Cape Dory 28, on one side, and Serannity, a big ketch, on the other.
I disconnected the prop shaft, pulled the prop, and unbolted the prop shaft and removed it. Part of the mounting plate was broken off, and there were two large cracks in the remaining portion. I gave it to Abel to have his welder braize back together. Meanwhile, one of his men power washed the hull, then began sanding. I was delighted at the general condition of Malakii's bottom after 30 years, at least the last few of which were mostly neglect. There were no blisters, and the old paint was still adhereing pretty well. Any problems were the result of structural abuse, like running into coral and such. Serious trauma, like what must have bent the rudder whenever that happened. After sanding, the workers ground out the few cracks and pits and filled them.
When I bought Malakii, she came with two gallons of top-of-the-line Petit bottom paint. I had been carrying it around for two years, and one of the cans had developed a small pinhole leak. I had cleaned up the mess, and patched up the container, I hoped. At least it was patched enough to not make a mess in the bilge, and it still weighed like it was mostly full. I had told Abel I had the paint, but when it came time to actually apply it, we discovered the gallon which had leaked a little was no longer good. The solvent base was mostly gone, and the rest of it had pretty much hardened up. So I had to buy another gallon of very expensive bottom paint. Abel called down to Puerto Barrios and ordered it; it was to arrive by Saturday morning.
While Malakii's hull was being prepped for painting, I undid the steering cables and unbolted the quadrant. Then I rigged up a sling to prevent the rudder from dropping to the ground, and pulled the pin securing the rudder shaft. The rudder slipped out easily, and I lowered it to the ground for inspection. Ugh! Not a pretty sight with the bend in it. After much consultation with Lew Tucker on Serranity, I decided to take the rudder to The Shop for an estimate. Bob Polk, owner of Foole, took me over in his lancha. Pat, Chris, and their metal expert Dennis mulled over my problem, and told me it would cost from $800 to $2000 to fix. Yikes! I decided to live with it for at least another year, and hauled it back to the yard.
That evening, after more discussion with Lew, I decided to take it to Carlos "The Welder" and see what he had to say. He had fixed some minor things for me last year, and I was pleased with his work, although not always with his promptness. I took him the rudder the next morning, a Thursday, and left it with him to mull over. That afternoon I checked in and he said it would cost $120. What he was going to do was cut back the rudder to uncover the bend, cut the rudder post beyond the bend and swap it end for end so we had a straight section to work with. He had a piece of stainless about a foot long that he could turn down to fit inside the tubing to serve as a dowell. Weld it up, with two pins in the lower section, build the fiberglass back up, and smooth out the top. We thought there would be enough play at the top that any unevenness there wouldn't be too much of a problem. So I said "Go for it, but I need it by tomorrow evening!"
I checked back with Carlos Friday evening, and the rudder looked great. He had only had to cut it back two inches around the post. The welds looked great, and I was sure it would be solid, probably stronger than the original. The rudder wasn't quite done -- it still needed the fiberglass built up. So I told him I would pick it up on Saturday morning.
When I went to check out the prop strut repair, I discovered that the old cutlass bearing had been left in and had been destroyed in the process of welding, either from too much heat or else it was just deteriorated. I searched all over town for another one, to no avail. Malakii's prop shaft is 7/8" diameter, and the smallest cutlass bearing anyone had was for a 1" shaft. I called Pescaderos in Puerto Barrios, but the smallest they had was 1" also. I talked to Abel about it, and he said no one, even in Guatemala City, would have one that small. But not to worry, we could make one. He pulled out a small sample of a green delrin like material. I recognized it from some I had seen at my neighbor George Haggart's. It is some kind of oil-impregnated hard plastic or nylon. He called Puerto Barrios and ordered a 4" section.
We had to splash on Saturday, or else I was going to have to wait another week. Semana Santa is Easter week, and everyone has it off.
The paint arrived on time Saturday morning, along with the cutlass bearing material. While one of Abel's workers went about applying the second coat to Malakii's bottom, I set about turning a new cutlass bearing on Abel's metal lathe. It wasn't very pretty, but it will work. Foole was about to splash, and Bob had most of a gallon of bottom paint left over. I asked if I could beg or buy a little of it to paint the rudder, as one gallon barely covered Malakii's hull, and I didn't even have the rudder there to paint. He handed me the can of paint; I would return what I didn't need on my way down the river. Then I went to pick up the rudder. The top still had a slight crink in it, which worried me, as I didn't think there was that much slop in the fitting at the top of the transom in the cockpit. So I had Juan, Carlos' helper, grind it off really smooth. When Lew and I went to put it in, it was still too snug and too bent. Luckily, we found a round piece of steel which fit inside it perfectly, and we could unbend it a little. We got it in, barely. It is still too snug, but it works. Next year I plan to pull it out and unbend it some more, or cut off the top and weld another straight section onto it.
Late Saturday afternoon, about 1630, after all that frenzied activity, we spashed. New bottom paint, straight rudder, solid prop shaft strut. Whoppie! There was a bit of an onshore breeze, and the boat yard workers were anxious to have me out of there so they could start their vacation. I brought the lines from the bow on board, and the yard workers undid the stern ones, threw them on board and told me to get going.
Unfortunately, I heeded them. I backed Malakii out of the railway, turned some, then powered forward to head out. There was a loud "thunk" and the engine stopped dead. The wind was blowing me on shore, so I scurried forward and dropped an anchor. I cursed silently to myself, then calmed down a bit. I put the transmission in neutral and tried the engine; it started and ran fine. I then tried to turn the prop shaft by hand; it wouldn't budge. I feared the worst, something drastic. I put on my mask and snorkel and went over the side to see what was wrong. One of the stern lines hadn't been thrown all the way on board, and I hadn't secured them before backing out. It had wrapped the prop. I cleared it, climbed aboard, checked it out, weighed the anchor, and headed out. An ignominious splash if ever there was one... But we had a clean bottom, a straight rudder, and a solid prop shaft strut. The bottom is now red, not blue, and there is currently no boot stripe. The rudder is a steel blue. I may try to paint the boot stripe next year, when I hope to also redo the topsides.
While Malakii was hauled, I measured her draft and discovered she actually draws a full six feet, not five feet three inches as advertised. Oops. That explains a few things...
While at the yard, Bob, on Foole, had asked me where I was going to leave Malakii. I had told him I didn't know. I didn't want to spend a lot of money, as I didn't need regular marina facilities -- no water, no electricity, no restaurant, no bar, no ice, no nuttin' except to have her safe and sound when I returned. He suggested leaving her at Jennifer's. Jennifer has a small place on Bahia Buena Vista, an over-used adjective if ever there was one, known to cruisers as "Gringo Bay". It's on the south shore of the Golfete, not at all convenient to town, but then I didn't need convenience to town. I had never met Jennifer, but had heard good things about her, and I trusted Bob's opinion. She could use the income, it would be more affordable for me, and he thought we would get along well. He had told her I might be interested.
I motored two miles down river to Tijas, where Dragon Lady and Foole, who splashed that morning, were tied to the dock. I dropped a hook and took the dink in to say thanks and give Bob back the rest of his bottom paint, and say good-bye to Kris. We ended up having dinner on Dragon Lady (Kris is a great cook), and the next morning I headed down river to Bahia Buena Vista.
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| Carol and Bob on Foole |
I slipped into Gringo Bay and picked up one of Jennifer's moorings. A minute later I heard a "Hello", and caught her waving from the porch. I secured Malakii and rowed the dinghy in. Jennifer was wonderful, as nice as everyone claimed. I'm confident Malakii is in good hands, much better than the situation I left her in last year in Belize. I spent the day cleaning up, securing things, and packing. That evening, we all had dinner on Essence,
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| Norm and his wife from Real Time,
Jennifer, and Christi and Gary on Essence |
a small trimaran anchored in the bay. The next morning before the crack of dawn, Jennifer took me down the river in her lancha to Livingston, where I caught a lancha to Puerto Barrios. From there I took another lancha north to Punta Gorda, Belize. Then a bus to Belize City, and a plane to Dallas.
This page last updated on 2013-10-23.
