I arrived in this spacious open crescent bay at 11 am on January 07 and chose my place to anchor among the five other cruising boats that dotted the harbor. There is an unobstructed beach stretching further than a person can walk in a day — and a tiny section labelled “town” on the map.
My anchoring was professional, but the beach landing in the dinghy was amateur day. A gentle swell made a beach landing look doable, so I gave it my best shot and came to a grief I did not expect. The dinghy broached in the shallows and I found myself sliding sideways onto the beach almost upside down. As the wave drained back to sea I was discarded on the dry beach like so much flotsam and jetsam. If I had been not so occupied with my most ignominious arrival I might have noticed the amusement I was providing the beach crowd. And while sitting in the shade with my new mariner friend, .” and collecting myself and having a cerveza (Mexican word for beer), he said what mariners say to console each other
“Don’t worry I’ve done that too.“
I had an equally embarrassing departure. Fortunately two sympathetic souls came to my aid and I finally launched with a great push and made it over the breaking surf, rowed like I stole the dinghy, and finally got an engine to start for the ride back to RD.
I am weak and exhausted — from remaining awake while sailing these past two days and nights, plus from the physical energy of managing my crash landing. My limits are not what they used to be, and I have to be mindful and not overextend myself. It’s emotionally painful to slam up against the reality that the mind is strong but the body is weak. At first that seems to be nature’s cruelty, but on further thought I must be reminded of my age 76 limits for my own well being.
It’s off to bed early, with dishes and chores undone. They will await until tomorrow and a new day with renewed strength and determination.
From now on whenever possible I’ll flag down a panga and leave the driving to them!
After all, they are the professionals.