The Gulf of Tehuantepec was a major letdown but I did score a free traveller bottle of Appleton Estate Jamaican Rum... and a decent story... while there.
After sailing solo 1200 miles from La Paz, Baja I was ready for a rest and some kiting... but it wasn't meant to be.
My plan had been to enter some ginormous lagoons for protection from the 50-60 knot winds commonly found here... NUKER!
Google maps showed a lot of water at the lagoon entrance. All the nautical charts I'd seen showed 3 fathoms (18 feet) of depth there. I had doubts, however, because good old Google Earth showed this at the lagoon mouth...
Looks pretty sandy, to me... and sure enough it was.
Arriving at the entrance, I anchored offshore and waited for high tide. Even then, a six foot wall of sand stood between me and the lagoons. Game over.
As such, I backtracked 25 miles (aka 5 hours...which sucks) to Salina Cruz. Maybe I could dock there and take a bus/truck/moped/tank/donkeycart to those remote lagoons.
Salina Cruz is a nasty industrial port... it looks like one ginormous oil refinery. Dodging giant container ships I radioed the controller. After a stressful hour I got clearance to enter and passed through enormous jetties where a guard with binoculars gave me a good look and radioed in whatever there was to notice.
A few SUVs full of additional guards followed me along the wharf as I entered. While preparing my docking lines I chucked my "penny bag" over the side... a Crown Royal sack with a foot of heavy chain tied to it.
It sank like a stone.
What can't you do with a Crown Bag?
Apparently Jerry Rice is a fan.
Well appointed.
And so forth...
I was greeted by four military gents with machine guns and a very annoyed Port Captain wearing one hell of a fancy uniform.
There are no "pleasure craft facilities" in Salina Cruz so I had to tie up to a 10 foot tall concrete wall.
I filled out all their forms while squatting in the middle of a semi-circle of well-armed young men.
I suggested that I wanted to leave immediately... I could already tell I didn't want to spend any time here... they insisted I spend the night.
The wake from a tug slammed the mast into the wall, so they allowed me to tie up to the Port Captain's son's "YACHT". It was a shitty 30 foot sportfisher in permanent repair mode.
All the shrimper fleet had to get a good look at Sin Fin as I tidied up.
The water was utterly disgusting... and, naturally, the dog fell in. Par for the course.
As I was giving her a bath with my last drinking water, the Port Captain's son arrived to see just who'd tied up to his "yacht". He proved a character.
He showed up driving a spotlessly clean silver 2002 Dodge Pickup.
The other side of the truck was completely smashed to shit.
I'd call him late-30s... moderately obese... overgelled, spiky hair... knockoff Ray Bans... old man jeans... a white T-shirt featuring a topless, apparently hung over Homer Simpson with a TV REMOTE holstered in the elastic band of his underpants... to coin a term, I'd now call him a "GIT".
GIT: GRINGO IN TRAINING.
After the requisit questioning he realized my boat wasn't going to hurt his any worse than it already was.
After a tour of his "yacht" I complimented it and his truck: IN LIKE FLINT.
He, naturally, offered me a tour of the city which I winkingly accepted... I needed enough gas, water, and food to get the hell out of Salina Cruz... and a taxi ride wasn't in the budget.
Rolling around town, we listened to some pretty bad music... and then, my amigo's FAVORITE SONG came up on the CD... some old country western tune.
He understood none of the words so I offered a loose summary of the song's meaning.
So stoked, he was, that at the end of our tour (and errands) he insisted I translate the song into Spanish... he offered a nub of pencil and the back of an old envelope... I wrote against the side of the truck.
After each line of the song, he would pause the CD until I'd completed scrawling and given the nod to proceed. Twenty annoying minutes later, a pretty piss poor, third grade level rendering of the song had been completed.
He ceremoniously started the song over again and read along as we listened. A tear or two streaked out from below those Fay Bans... he made no attempt to wipe them away.
Satisfied, he rummaged in the center console for a few seconds and pulled out a traveller of Appleton Estate.
I offered to share it with him then and there. He told me to save it until I needed it... and need it, I eventually did.
The song?
COWARD OF THE COUNTY by KENNY FUCKING ROGERS
Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.
He'd never stood one single time to prove the county wrong.
His mama called him Tommy, the folks just called him yellow,
But something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong.
He was only ten years old when his daddy died in prison.
I took care of Tommy 'cause he was my brother's son.
I still recall the final words my brother said to Tommy:
"Son, my life is over, but yours has just begun.
Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it don't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."
There's someone for ev'ryone and Tommy's love was Becky.
In her arms he didn't have to prove he was a man.
One day while he was workin' the Gatlin boys came callin'.
They took turns at Becky.... n' there were three of them!
Tommy opened up the door and saw his Becky cryin'.
The torn dress, the shattered look was more than he could stand.
He reached above the fireplace took down his daddy's picture.
As his tears fell on his daddy's face, I heard these words again:
"Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it don't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."
The Gatlin boys just laughed at him when he walked into the barroom.
One of them got up met him halfway 'cross the floor.
Tommy turned around they said, "Hey look! ol' yellow's leavin'."
But you coulda heard a pin drop when Tommy stopped and locked
the door.
Twenty years of crawlin' was bottled up inside him.
He wasn't holdin' nothin' back; he let 'em have it all.
When Tommy left the barroom not a Gatlin boy was standin'.
He said, "This one's for Becky," as he watched the last one fall.
And I heard him say,
"I promised you, Dad, not to do the things you've done.
I've walked away from trouble when I can.
Now please don't think I'm weak, I couldn't turn the other cheek,
Papa, I sure hope you understand:
Sometimes you gotta fight when you're a man."
Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.
He'd never stood one single time to prove the county wrong.
His mama called him Tommy, the folks just called him yellow,
But something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong.
He was only ten years old when his daddy died in prison.
I took care of Tommy 'cause he was my brother's son.
I still recall the final words my brother said to Tommy:
"Son, my life is over, but yours has just begun.
Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it don't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."
There's someone for ev'ryone and Tommy's love was Becky.
In her arms he didn't have to prove he was a man.
One day while he was workin' the Gatlin boys came callin'.
They took turns at Becky.... n' there were three of them!
Tommy opened up the door and saw his Becky cryin'.
The torn dress, the shattered look was more than he could stand.
He reached above the fireplace took down his daddy's picture.
As his tears fell on his daddy's face, I heard these words again:
"Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.
Walk away from trouble if you can.
Now it don't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek.
I hope you're old enough to understand:
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."
The Gatlin boys just laughed at him when he walked into the barroom.
One of them got up met him halfway 'cross the floor.
Tommy turned around they said, "Hey look! ol' yellow's leavin'."
But you coulda heard a pin drop when Tommy stopped and locked
the door.
Twenty years of crawlin' was bottled up inside him.
He wasn't holdin' nothin' back; he let 'em have it all.
When Tommy left the barroom not a Gatlin boy was standin'.
He said, "This one's for Becky," as he watched the last one fall.
And I heard him say,
"I promised you, Dad, not to do the things you've done.
I've walked away from trouble when I can.
Now please don't think I'm weak, I couldn't turn the other cheek,
Papa, I sure hope you understand:
Sometimes you gotta fight when you're a man."
Ev'ryone considered him the coward of the county.
Then a guy wheeled by with a cart full of dead sharks. I bid Salina Cruz goodnight and hoped to get the hell out at dawn.
Which, with the Port Captain's gracious permission, I did.
MAX