Moon or no moon, the sea has a way of being lit up at night, which makes sailing in the heaving darkness as graceful as a dolphins dancing. The foam fleeting, spirit white against the oil black of leeward swells. The boat takes on a spirit of her own, pitching and rolling under the viscous nature of life. Things become a lucid dream when watching from the helm. Images pass by eyelids of Orion, Scorpio and the Southern Cross swinging in the sky, and of phosphorescent sparks jumping off the bow. All others try to sleep amongst the noises of gnomes in the galley and jackhammers on deck. In all this movement and noise a pervading peace settles. The ship becomes the driver and the helmsman just a strengthening spoke in the wheel. Day breaks and only remnants of the lucid dream from the night before remain.
When full light and daily patterns push us on, we find the toothpaste is on the other end of the cabinet, the dental floss hidden under the sunscreen. Plates have been rearranged to sit on top of the bowls. What playful children, or mischievous fairies rummaged at night through the cabinets and drawers turning everything upside down? Wearily but enlivened we greet the day, fatigued from late night and early morning shifts, from the physical challenge of living on a heaving boat with no respite until shore.
So it was for another 24 hours as we traveled from Roatan, Honduras to Livingston, Guatemala. This direction of travel we were with the wind and with the swells of the sea, so the travel was easier and faster. We arrived around 8 am to a developing storm and were temporarily relieved to put the anchor down. Due to shallow water conditions we would have to wait until the high tide at 5 pm to cross into the Rio Dulce. Mid-morning, government officials from Guatemalan immigration and customs visited our boat and began to check us in to the country. Some of us went ashore with the officials to complete the necessary paperwork and the rest of us stayed on the boat to keep watch in the developing storm. By late morning the anchor was dragging and seas were swollen and ragged. Those on the boat began motoring around in large circles to maintain the boat’s relative position.
Brian, June and Steve took to the seas as the wind and waves picked up and the the anchor drug up a tree trunk. After freeing the anchor from the tree, we motored towards the lee side of a spit about 25 miles away. High tide was supposed to be around 5:25 pm and we were anxious that the winds would not abate before we had to cross the bar. We draw 6 feet – normal tide is 4.5 to 5 feet at the bar. High tide is 1.3 feet extra. Sooooo, we did not have much room for error.
We saw a sailboat with what we thought was a deep bottom heading to cross the bar at about 3:30. A little early – I (Brian) thought – but the effect of camaraderie drew us to follow the boat across the bar. The swell was still quite large and was battling the current coming out of the river. I happily handed the wheel to Steve as we rushed toward the bar following our “leader” boat. June called out the depth from our instruments as the bottom quickly rose to our hull. As we were surfing the swell across the bar in the 39’ sailboat I felt the grasp of the mud take our keel and gently slow us down to about a knot. We were cruising at 6.5 knots previous to our grounding. The swell dropped out from under us and a wave quickly lifted our stern up and off of the mud and we surfed on past the shallowest spot – safely into Livingston Harbor.
We caught up to the sailboat that we were following and asked how much water they drew – 4.5 feet. We were wrong about the draft of their boat – by a bit – remember, we draw 6 feet!
It was a beautiful, “peaceful” and calm welcome into the Rio Dulce. The raging ocean was behind us and the quiet flow of the river in front. The entrance to the Rio Dulce is spectacular at any time, with 300 foot cliffs covered with vines and flowers, birds of many varieties going about life, and the slow descent of a large river to the ocean. This time the contrast for us was astounding and very welcome. Within an hour and a half we were up to friends and familiar faces at Texan Bay Marina, where we anchored in a quite bay for the night. What a relief for all of us to have a quiet and motionless night on the boat.
