Cental America
And Back
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Guaymas, MexicoWe were worried, Ginger hadn’t eaten in days. If you know her, you know this is headline news. This is serious. Daisy got sick first. We are pretty sure it was kennel cough, but neither dog really ever came in contact with any other dogs, the usual way of catching this disease. There are a lot of wild and abandoned dogs here though, often wandering the yard where cruisers take pity on them and dish over a plate of leftovers. But how Daisy got it wasn't as worrisome as how she would handle a flu like illness at 18 years old. I guess we needn't have worried about her; she breezed through it and never seemed overly sick. She continued to empty her food dish, continued drinking from her water bowl and continued otherwise being Daisy, albeit with a cough. A week went by and the cough dissipated, finally disappearing and we thought we could relax. Nope. A few days passed and Ginger started coughing. And coughing. She coughed all night for three nights and slept all day. She stopped eating and we knew it was serious. The fear with kennel cough is that it can morph into something worse, like pneumonia, and it definitely appeared to be working it’s nastiness on Ginger. I had some potent doggie antibiotics (doxycyline) reserved for something like this and about four days into treatment, Ginger comes scurrying into the salon and skids to a stop in front of the dog food container. She was hungry. Yeah. Boat-yard work is dirty, harsh and toxic. If not pressured by the cruising season, we would hurry for our health, both mental and physical. All cruisers have the same experience to some degree; cleaning, fixing, sewing, sanding, painting, wrenching, plumbing, oiling, greasing, polishing and primping the old girl. And then there’s the filling her up; with water and fuel, food and sundries. There were multiple trips aboard multiple types of transportation to indoor and outdoor markets, pharmacy and hardware and auto and paint stores etc. And finally, the day arrived when we were ready to splash. The travel-lift surrounds Ashika and two large belts are slung under her keel and cutaway forefoot. The motor revs and tightens the grip on our girl, those straps hoisting her off the blocks she has been pushing into the mud for 6 months. As she swayed in her cradle on the travel-lift, the hydraulics pop and groan and Dois crawls up under her to put the last bit of bottom paint on the bottom of her keel. Finally satisfied that he has exhausted every drop of bright green barnacle repellent, he tells the lift operator we are ready to move. Ashika sways dramatically as a tire goes over a rock, she steadies and moves forward slowly through both boatyards making her way to the cement piers where she will be released into the bay. Dois, Ginger and I walk slowly behind her, as if we were in a royal procession. Daisy is left aboard to continue dreaming of chasing rabbits through the fields. We slow and stop only to receive congratulations and travel wishes from remaining cruisers and we beam when someone comments on Ashika's lovely condition. The lift operator precariously navigates his giant wheels onto the two narrow piers where Ashika is lowered into the murky waters of the bay. Our depth sounder said there was 1 foot and 9 inches of water under our keel. Yikes. The tide was falling and we needed to make our way out of this shallow side of the bay. There’s always a moment of fear just before pushing the button to the start the engine after long delays… and a huge moment of relief when she roars to life. We managed to miss the shallow spots and the reef that others before us have christened, and made our way into the safer waters of Guaymas harbor. We saved a few projects for later. Boat work at anchor is at a much more favorable cadence and is minus the mud, fumes and the ladder (it’s like living in a tree house with no bathroom), and the toilets now work again. It will take another week to rinse the last vestiges of red earth off her decks. The dust is pervasive and finds its way into every nook and cranny. But we are in our element again, gently floating in Mother Sea. It is a bit surreal, this sensation of floating after being on land for so long, but comforting nonetheless. Taking a page from our friends Jeff and Harmony on sv Serenity (http://www.taketothesea.us), we are leaving you with the numbers:
What do you get when you take 12 feet out of a yard? If its a boatyard: Happiness.Peace.
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