|DATE: July 30th, 2013|
|LOCATION: Rio Dulce, Guatemala|
It was two and a half days off shore from Cozumel, Mexico to central Belize where I made an undeclared overnight stop behind their barrier reef. After a good nights sleep and a lobster omelet I raised anchor and set off on another offshore passage. Fifty miles along Belize’s reef, twenty five across the Gulf of Honduras, and then ten through the Bay of Guatemala. On the other side of the latter I came to the small village of Livingston which stands at the base of the Dulce river. After a brief visit from the eight member customs and immigration delegation (which all boarded Atlas simultaneously) I was cleared to proceed inland. Eight miles up river through a magnificent gorge where I was dwarfed by the towering jungle covered walls. Then with a fair wind right over the stern Atlas glided across the nine miles of el Golfete lake giving me a memorable last sail.
Just a few miles later I arrived at the terminus of my journey, the Rio Dulce. This small area has more marinas, boats and sailors than anywhere else in all of Latin America. Its a boaters mecca. The next day I scouted out boat yards and in short order had Atlas hauled out of the water. And now with her sails taken down, engine decommissioned and all the other miscellaneous close out tasks completed I can officially declare my winters travels over. Its been a grand journey from Aransas Pass, Texas.
POSTED: July 19th, 2013
LOCATION: Galveston, TX
LOG DATE: May 20th, 2013
A year earlier I had sailed into Galveston looking for a new journal. I found the journal there but along the way something more important happened. I met a man named Mark Henry who was living alone on his boat and dying of cirrhosis of the liver. In the course of the few days I was there something started between us that I felt wasn’t finished by the time my stay came to an end. But left I did and assumed Mark passed away in the following months.
A year later circumstances allowed me to return to Galveston. I was finally leaving on my long delayed trip to Central America. I could wait in Galveston for a good weather window before tackling the part of the trip I was most worried about, crossing the Gulf of Mexico. But more importantly it felt like an opportunity to bring to a close what had started a year earlier with Mark. I thought about tracking down people who might have been with him in his last days, his manager at the bait shop, locals around the bayou or even his bedside nurse. Maybe I could find out what came of his old boat Seminole Wind and pay it a visit. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for in all of this or if it would even accomplish anything – it just seemed like something still needed to be done. However, all those ideas were instantly dropped once I sailed back up Offatts Bayou, for there was Mark, standing on a dock very much alive.
The conclusion of a week long saga of being run aground on a shoal off Padre Island, Texas.
This is my mini-documentary on catching Maryland Crabs. This may seem like an insignificant subject but from my city background it was it’s own adventure.