Off We Go!This morning we leave Stone Island behind and venture into new territory. Of the three boats that are leaving - "Panache" a 43' Hans Christian, "Tica" a 38' Cabo Rico and our own "Pacific Jade" a 41' Seawolf ketch, none of us have ever sailed past this point.From my place in the cockpit I hear the rumbling of the anchor chain as Joe (with the help of the windlass) draws the anchor from the sandy bottom. "Tica" has just radioed us from around the corner and we are at the ready along with "Panache" to fall in as they round the point.

Now, free of the bottom we steer toward "Panache" for a short pow wow then out to the sparkling sea to rendezvous with our friends.As we leave Stone Island there is no wind and the glassy surface reflects our sturdy hulls. Wow! 5 foot wide manta rays leap clear of the water flapping their wings? arms? fins? well whatever, in a farewell frenzy. I'm sure it's good luck and bodes well for the souls aboard our vessels.

Leading the way, "Tica" is a beautiful sight with the morning sun bathing her port sides , her bow wake frothing before her and nothing but the gentle roll of the ocean beyond. A long row of pelicans, wings outstretched and bellies almost touching the gently rolling expanse search the beneath for unsuspecting snacks.

In the early afternoon dimples begin to form on the glossy surface, a clear sign that the wind is beginning to pick up, Then a ripple appears and the rolling becomes more pronounced. The wind has arrived. All three boats turn off the noisy motors and raise the sails.The sails are full, the boats heel over and but for the sound of the water rushing past the hull, blessed silence reigns.For a few hours we sail in relative comfort under a reefed mainsail, the small mizzen sail aft and the billowing genoa flying before us.

As late afternoon approaches the roll of the seas becomes more pronounced and it becomes necessary to hold fast even while sitting in the cockpit. Pitch, roll, yaw, roll, yaw pitch. OK, so it's not a major storm. Even a kiddie roller coaster can be too much after the 6th or 7th hour and this is no kiddie coaster.

Up goes P.J., down goes my stomach, Down goes P.J. up goes my stomach. Soon it's impossible for me to spend more than a few minutes below, the mal de mer is tolerable when I stay outside and watch the horizon. Fortunately, Joe has a stronger constitution and can easily amble about above or below so most tasks fall to him.

We bounce onward and the short, steep waves increase making it diffficult to stay in the cockpit. By cleating our lifejacket and lifeline clad selves securely into the cockpit we thwart the seas unfriendly attempts to toss us overboard.

Unable to sleep in the heaving cockpit I extract a vow from Joe that he won't venture forward without first waking me and go below to squeeze myself into our hastily made sleeping quarters on the stateroom floor. Joe has assembled a cushion between the drawers and wall which is just wide enough to tuck myself into. Sandwiched in my makeshift bunk as snugly as the cream filling between the biscuits of an oreo cookie I finally sleep for just over an hour without fear of falling off a bunk.

When I awake I first peek into the cockpit to ensure that my mate is still there. While it doesn't happen often, stories of partners waking for their shift and finding their partner is no longer aboard, having gone overboard during their solo watch never to be recovered, causes an unholy fear to descend upon all cruisers. Most couples have a pact that they will not leave the cockpit for any reason during their watch. How would you ever sleep otherwise?

Happy to see him sitting quietly in the moonlight I check the previously prepared thermos and prepare a cup of cocoa to warm me during my short shift and send him down for a sleep shift. If my stomach felt better I'd rebel against my tiresome plight and eat a bag of cookies but alas the cocoa will have to do. I do a short watch while Joe catches a few winks below and mercifully relieves me.

Joe has certainly carried the brunt of the load on this trip and just as he was feeling the pressure and telling himself that this overnight watch thing isn't much fun, a pod of about 20 dolphins appears and accompanies Joe and P.J. for 40 minutes or so. Cavorting alongside they'd seem to disappear then race to catch up and playfully dive under the boat and pop up on the other side.

At 0430 hrs I wake and peek into the cockpit again and begin the sunrise shift with a cup of now lukewarm cocoa. The seas have quieted and I'm feeling much better. Where are those cookies?

This is a watch I love. Beginning in the darkest part of the night the sun attempts to surprise us with the arrival of morning but gives itself away with a rosy glow from its hiding place behind the horizon. A bright neon crescent emerges and it's arrival nudges the darkness from it's throne as a fresh day dawns. The best part of the day in my opinion is sunrise when the world looks scrubbed clean and somehow more vivid than at any other time.

P.J. rocks very gently now and when Joe wakes we are able to brew a pot of coffee below without fear of the boiling pot being flung across the galley by the sea's temper. A hot breakfast in our bellies with the help of the sun's rays, coax the chill from our tired bodies and we begin to strip the heavy layers of clothing off. That's better, down to shorts and T-shirt again we drift toward the almost deserted anchorage where "Tica" and "Panache" await.

The only overnight leg of this journey is complete as the anchor rolls to the bottom of Mantenchen Bay and suddenly we're feeling pretty smart. Our friends greet us from the deck of their boat and once we've stowed our underway gear we pack a dry bag and leap into the bay and swim to "Tica" for happy hour.

Supper and to bed early because the next leg begins at 3:00 a.m. so that we arrive at Punta de Mita in the daylight hours.
G'night.