Quemo Viviendo

Picture this.


Lyric of the Day:

I wanna go to an old hoe-down
Long ago in a western town.

Pick me up cause my feet are draggin'

Give me a lift and I'll hay your wagon.

Love is a rose but you better not pick it
It only grows when it's on the vine.

A handful of thorns and
you'll know you've missed it
You lose your love
when you say the word "mine".

Neil Young


Throughout most of this sailing trip my feelings migrated between miserable, hopeful, seasick, way-too-hot, terrified, doubtful, busted, bored, elated, hungry, annoyed, adrenalized, confused, wary, bien-blue-balled, and exhausted.

Though lots was going in, concisely recorded observation came out effortlessly cuz I was, kind of, in control.

Now I find myself in an entirely different moodscape and while doubtless better, it's a lot of fucking work to keep my head.

Overwhelmed by emotion, changing priorities, and emerging opportunities, it's hard to draw a bead on what's really going on. As such, I'm left recording just the facts.

The little sailing vacation from my new life in Gigante ended as the rainy season finally took hold.

After three encounters with the Costa Rican authorities, including a late night search of the boat, Kass and I sailed back to Nicaragua. This suited us just fine; cheaper prices and looser restrictions do a body good.

CR wasn't all bad. I got to kite for the first time in months and we discovered a big flawless bay where one can anchor in crystal waters and kite from the boat.

With a little planning it'd be easy to orchestrate a 10 mile bluewater downwinder starting in Nicaragua and ending there.

In the winter it blows hard every day here.

It's not my cup of tea but that anchorage also served up perfect, crystal clear flatwater kiting.

Still no sign of good wave kiting aside from swirling, gusty offshores at Outer Reef Popoyo.

Someday. Maybe.

But back to reality...

We're calling it "Painter's Bay".

Anyone wanting to do some kiting in Central America should get in touch. I've got info and options.

We also discovered some incredible rock formations I've never seen photos of before.

See the face sticking out it's tongue. There's even an eye. What a funny hat.

It's a shame the light was poor or Kass could have really done them justice.

This is my other little kitespot on a calm day.

From a couple perspectives.

Here we met a badass one-handed fisherman who had swum over a mile to Secret Kite Island searching the reefs for octopus.

Yes, he has a little hook.

Yes, that's a collared shirt and cutoff jeans.

Yes, he made me feel like a fucking wimp.

He had a stringer on a buoy with a couple dozen octopuses on it. One would assume sharks would be all over something like that, and he assured me they are.

One would also assume a shark took his hand, but they would be wrong. Someone hacked his hand off with a machete while trying to rob him.

He was still smiling, so anyone reading (or writing) this probably should be too.

I'm up to about 55% smiling, with intermittent anxieties. How are you doing?

My greatest challenges these days stem from enrollment in Kass's School of ReCivilization.

Chewing with my mouth closed and remembering to bathe are the hardest.

Apparently eating these raw is Civilized. I used to know this but I'd forgotten.

I guess I still have a lot to learn about Civilization, which, for the record, I no longer think is going to end anytime soon.

Well, correction. I no longer CARE if it is going to end anytime soon.

Ahhhhh. Moving on.

If you've read the whole blog you know that bees took up residence in Sin Fin's mast when I stopped at Puerto Chiapas, Mexico. This happened again last week at a remote anchorage in Costa Rica.

We were sailing along when suddenly the whole hive decided they wanted to move into the cabin. At least 500 bees swarmed around us while we were 5 miles from land. Jumping overboard wasn't an option so we started killin' em'.

I got 574 and got stung five times.
Kass killed 26 and got stung once.
Maestra ate two and got stung in the mouth by both of them.

The spoils of WAR.

In short, Costa Rica was pretty damn exciting, if not very welcoming.

We planned to head to northern Nicaragua but storms got worse the further north we went so we turned around and after a little rough weather made it back to Gigante in the middle of the night.

Now I'm back to work and "taking on more responsibility". More on this later.

Also interesting, I almost dumped a motorcycle in a two foot deep puddle/mudpit but saved it at the expense of my right leg. I made bacon of it on the muffler. I'd call it a 2.5 on the burn scale. So I'm out of the water for about a week. This is probably a blessing in disguise.

And, I got a pedicure. This on top of the shaving and the haircut and the new-to-me clothes.

Ohhh yeah, and, I finally figured out what Maesta's been trying to tell me for the last 8 months:

"Enjoy it. Enjoy it. Enjoy it."

If you meet her she'll tell you the same.






Pardon the confusion, but I'm not actually sailing to French Polynesia. That was a joke about the mountain of food we were carrying as we set off for a little week long sail.
Since the dog and I ate it all in 5 days we've no choice but to stay closer to land.

Those five days brought us into Costa Rica where we scored good kiting, explored perfect remote anchorages, and got hassled by EL SENOR (aka THE MAN) three times.
Maybe "hassled" is the wrong word since two of three encounters ended with the cops shuttling us from the beach to restaurants in the back of their trucks.

The third encounter was less than peachy, however. A couple hours after dark a skiff from the Costa Rica Guardacosta came and hassled us, searched the boat, and informed us that we were illegally in the country and needed to devote a day of hassle and $100 to getting legal.


We opted to sail back to Nicaragua at dawn instead. Now we're in San Juan del Sur gearing up to sail north exploring a few surf spots well beyond Gigante. Hopefully we make it all the way to Tiger Island, Honduras before heading back to Gigante (and back to work) next week.

The swell forecast is looking perfect so hopefully we catch Puerto Sandino looking like this:

No that's not me.

By the way, anyone looking for an affordable, awesome surf vacation between next week and December 10th should drop me an e-mail. I can hook it up.
Daily boat trips.
Offshore winds.
Perfect, empty waves.
Beachfront accomodations.
Good food.
Good drink.
Good times.
Cheapest prices in the hemisphere.

Gotta go.



Freely Committing

Hey Stinkers,

If the water's clear,
and you open your eyes
as a wave breaks above,
it looks about like...

If you don't know how to describe this, I offer a clue:


YES, I have been drankin'. So let's get on with it.

Well, work's been blatantly tough on the JEFA. Thus we're off for a little vacation empezando ahorita.

It seems I just got started here... AND there's a grip to do.

BUT the local shits are setting their sights on ME... and I'm NOT entirely NOT to blame.

A lapse will help them look elsewhere.

The last thing I need is a machete in my ass.

And really, why not jaunt about a bit? I like to travel.

Surprise! We're going sailing. Trip length is open ended. I've got no choice in the matter and though I'm "EL CAPITAN", I can't help but feel merely along for the ride.

Which, (desu?)fortunadamente, I'm happy with.

Pathetic? Beautiful? Who gives a fuck?!

I'm either IN LOVE or at least seriously PUSSY-WHIPPED.

Which brings us to the lyric of the day:


None other than THE BOSS, Springsteen:

You've gone a million miles
How far did you get
To that place where you can't remember
And where you can't forget
She'll lead you down the path
There will be tenderness in the air
She'll let you come just far enough
So you know she's really there
She'll look at you and smile
And her eyes will say
She's got a secret garden
Where everything you want
Where everything you need
Will always stay

A million miles away


This works. I love seemingly aimless travel. I love hard, pointy effort.

Perhaps with a bit less education I'd know how to LET it all unfold...


Shit. Shit. Shit.


Why, yes, that is Leticia "Special Letty" VonGomez Gonzalez, 4'11" top Granada stylist with ass for months. Gone is my rats' nest (please note the plurality).

My WARDROBE? Thanks to the thrift store in Rivas and $20 I've got 8 collared shirts and "new" pants originating from I-can't-even-EXPRESS-where.

I need to grow a beer belly lest I come off RETRO-METRO-SEXUAL.

But get me right. It's all self-inflicted.

See, I've gotten a dozen e-mails in the last daze from LONG-LOST LADIES saying WRITE MORE... as in, GAME OVER... as in, WE WIN... as in, the one man approaching ESCAPE VELOCITY has HIT THE BRAKES, DROPPED TROW, BIT THE BULLET, and EMBRACED THE INEVITABLE.

To which I can respond nothing but "TRALSE". So take that as you will.

See, I haven't heard a thing from the GENTS which means they're no doubt disappointed.

But honestly,
were we to escape,
and I know,
cuz' I've escaped countless times in the last year,
do we escape TO?

Sure, we play in the mountains or wind or waves but at the end of the week when the food's all gone we inevitably find ourselves in the BAR... not to TALK... not to DRINK... but to SEARCH.

And you know as well as I for WHAT.

So I'm ON with IT.

La Jefa shopped for and stowed enough food to feed ten men for a month so maybe we're heading to French Polynesia. Odds favor a jaunt to "Secret Kite Island", "Honeymoon Cove", and the flawless waves of Portrero Grande and Roca Bruja.

I used to scrap together a leg of travel on a dime and ten minutes effort. Now I've got 30 liters or drinking water, 3.5 liters or rum, 10 gallons of gas, and an army's food.


So yeah, I'm getting fat. I've lost my edge. But I most certainly haven't sold out... just bought into a dream SPAWNed by a Gran-Jefe about as tweaked as yours truly.

Maybe it'll work out. Maybe it won't. But now... I've got everything AND the benefit of the doubt.

They say you can't have ART and LOVE in the same small HEART.

Well, here I am.

Whatever you're looking for, get some.

LOVE, no doubt, LOVE,



Odyssey 86ed

Congrats, Dad. I'm PROUD... and swallowing.

Lyric of the Day

Put your hands on the wheel
Let the golden age begin
Let the window down
Feel the moonlight on your skin
Let the desert wind
Cool your aching head
Let the weight of the world
Drift away instead

Beck, The Golden Age... opening track to the album Sea Change


Note the key word: LET.

Ohhhhh, I'm trying. Don't try. Just do. Just LET.

The viaje? Well, I've arrived at the beginning... A to Z now back to B.

I'd have written sooner but was fumbling with the keys. It's dark... predawn... and I've got 20+ on an apprentice janitoresque mess of rings.

I don't feel like a janitor though. I feel like a prince. The keys? To the kingdom... and bien bestowed upon this wayfaring culo.

No need for a cell. No need for a wallet. My JEFA handles the confusingly dirtier work and those are mere raindrops on a growing ocean of reasons.

Mostly I'm in boardies with a few bucks change, wax comb, and redeemable beer caps to tip the Help.

Yeah, I've got Help. Malleable Nicaraguan Help. Boats. Facilities. Equipment. Internet. A quiver. A fridge with more food than I could possibly eat. A cooler of beer I'm stopping drinking.

Ha ha ha... gotta work on that one now that I'm back in the world of potential excess. Who's gotta?

I gotta.

A simple existence suddenly complicated but ohhhhhhhh so comfortable and beyond that boundless... dreams are a dime a dozen poured from gorgeously smiling lips.

The King needs a Hero and the Princess is mine contingent upon the slaying of diminutive day to day dragons... kid stuff... a little diddy about Jack and Diane.

But tonight I can't sleep and it's a first in years so I'm just writing to let you all know that the Mog has fallen hard and if he fucks this one up he's finally got good reason for toting misery.

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

God, grant me the serenity...

Come on, Max, you gotta take it. It awaits amidst a mere dawn jaunt up the Giant's Foot.

I'm on it.