It’s probably evident already by the sudden influx of blog posts with numerous photos that we have arrived back to the estuary after a four-week trip to the Yucatan for Sage and Elise’s wedding. We left the boat on its own anchor and had a local guy looking after it but we didn’t exactly know what to expect when we returned; insane mildew takeover, one or more hulls gored by one of the rogue tree trunks that roam about the estuary, a bat infestation in the mainsail, a gaping hole lacking any boat whatsoever where we thought we had left it, etc. However, we returned to no more than a couple of cups of water in the bilge curtsey of a small but sprightly leak in our babystay. And a bat infestation in the mainsail. Well, one small bat. One small bat who, in violation of all rational physics, produced about three metric tons of batshit.

Babystay leak promptly sealed, we went about our business for two or three days noticing all this batshit but not actually able to wrap our minds around the reality because there was Just. So. Much. Of. It. There was a minor storm the day after we returned that kicked up some major wind and waves and let loose a torrent of wee pellets from our sail cover, which are startlingly similar in appearance to mouse, or godforbid rat, poops. “Huh,” we said.

We decided, after our previous boat-abandonment success (no mold, missing boat, etc.), to button up Time Machine once more and head off to Nicaragua to be land-based tourists for a couple more weeks. With the advent of electrical storm season, we were concerned that not only does the boat sport one giant aluminum middle finger sticking right up into the clouds, in the event of a strike, the charge would surely ignite the tons of guano and send our boat sky high in a fiery ball. Something had to be done; the inevitable eviction would be an event, to be sure, as I was certain we had at least a caveful of the things nestled amongst the folds of the sail.

Utterly preoccupied with bats and how an attack might be launched, we barely noticed the pair of ‘golondrinas’ (a type of swallow?) that had clearly used our absence to set up house in the one bat-free fold of our main. The sneaky little bastards would wait until we weren’t looking, then ferry in a feather or two to line the pad, lay an egg or four, etc. All the time I was thinking, “Hmm, those birds must really like us or something…”

‘Operation Eliminate Temporary Ecosystem, um, Eagle’ commenced yesterday afternoon during a not-terribly-windy spell. We released the catch on the bottom of the mainsail and prepared to remove the sail entirely for safekeeping in more bat-proof quarters. And this is the first thing we saw:

Whoa. Not a bat lair but a nest of great cuteness populated by four wee little eggies. So thaaaats what they’ve been up to; the parent birds were by this point flying all around the boat, basically freaking out I suppose. Not that the behavior of a freaking-out golondrina is any different than its non-freaking-out state, since they are particularly hyperactive little guys normally. We decided to remove the nest intact without touching it if possible so we used the bailer from the dinghy and just scooped up the nest. It fit rather perfectly and the container was similar in shape to the fold of the sail. We put the bailer in the cockpit cubby, which can be seen from the original nest position in hopes that the birds could wrap their little minds around the concept of Relocated Nest.

We commenced the careful extraction of the sail while diverting the rivers of batshit over the side of the cockpit. Finally we saw the bat. There was only one and he was very small. And cute.

Gah! The discovery! Rudely awakened, he tried to retreat back into the tighter folds of the sail. (Note cache of batshit.)

As we continued to remove the sail from the track, he abandoned his nook and made a bold attempt to scale the mast in hopes that there might be a quiet dark spot up higher. (There’s not.)

Alas! No place to hide up above; mast-scaling attempt aborted. The bat made again for the sail while, as a last-ditch effort, trying to scare us away with some scary bat antics. After this failed to remove us from the scene and/or produce a quiet dark spot to nest in, he jumped down into the cockpit and climbed up the curtain, dangerously close to the cabin entrance. Not interested in any new crew members at this time, Joshua shooed him around until he escaped into the cubby at the side of the cockpit (where the nest had been temporarily relocated). Satisfied that there was nowhere to go from here unless he burrowed through the speakers, we let him stay. Hopefully he’ll just fly away once it gets dark and find a less-rambunctious place to sleep. No other bats were discovered as the remainder of the mainsail was removed. We cleaned it up and folded it away.

Meanwhile, the golondrinas were still flying all around and chittering at us or each other. Joshua had grave concerns about the birds’ powers of reason and was not optimistic that they would able to relocate to a nesting spot not four feet from the original one. I figured that they might happen to look down if they went to the former location and recognize their nest and eggs; plus, we had been careful to not touch the nest and get our smelly people germs all over it. (Not that the boat contains any of these smelly people germs, or the mainsail, for that matter.) Joshua thought maybe we could affix the bailer to the maststep (which was approximately where the nest used to be located) and that would solve the problem. He wedged the bailer into the maststep and when he went to get a rope to secure it, it somehow popped out and nest and eggs went splattering all over the top of our deck.

It was very sad and traumatic and I practically started crying. The eggs were perhaps halfway matured so that you could see red developing-bird bits inside while the cracked eggshells bled white amniotic goo. The parent birds continued their erratic flight patterns about the boat and we felt very, very guilty; I don’t know if they grasped what exactly had happened. Joshua felt particularly terrible and gathered up what remained of the nest back into the bailer and put it back into the cockpit cubby, where it’s still sitting because we don’t know what to do with it. We gave the broken egg babies a sea burial.

Curiously, the parent golondrinas did not flee the boat after the terrible destruction of their nest and potential offspring; in fact, it appears they are preparing to build a new one. We’re fairly certain that they can’t build it anywhere that will be in the way or require removal anytime soon, and so we look forward to seeing a new little nest with four new eggies when we get back from Nicaragua.

Three more boats came over the bar yesterday (Slip Away, Ticket to Ride, and Hoofbeats). The pilots were much more cautious this time and went out before hand to take soundings. They used a panga equipped with a depth sounder to find a channel with a least depth of 11 feet. Then they actually escorted each boat in. Overall the surf was about the same as when we came in last week. However, this time everyone came in safely on the western side of the bar.

So… It looks like it is possible to enter safely if the pilots take their time and really assess the current conditions.

We were getting close to Bahia del Sol (Estero de Jaltepeque) El Salvador so we called Tarazed and they instructed us to anchor for the night at N 13º17.2′ W 88º54.3′. High tide would be at 10:15AM and Lotus (a home built steel Felicity 40′ we met at Huatulco) should also be arriving. We finally got to at the rendezvous point at about 11:00PM. It’s an open roadstead and fairly rough because it’s totally exposed to the strong southeast wind we’d had all day. We were tired though so we just sacked out immediately.

At about 7AM Lotus arrived and Tarazed says they will guide us in at about 9. We’re watching the fishermen come in and out with the binoculars. It doesn’t look good and we seriously consider leaving. However, Sparta (another Searunner 31) called us from inside and we were reassured to learn that they had crossed several times with an 8hp outboard and they will be in the panga to escort us in.

Lotus says we can go first since we arrived first. Err… Thanks.

At 9:30 we get a call on the radio. Ready! Pull anchor and head for the bar. We go around to the east side of the breakers (not the way the pangas were going). They say we will see a passage where the waves aren’t breaking. No. It looks like they’re breaking all the way across. Trust us… Ok…. Now! Cheyenne is tied in on the poop deck ready to control the outboard because the throttle linkage to the cockpit is broken.

We take 3 waves over the stern. The first one wets Cheyenne from the chest down and totally inundates the motor. We surf. FAST. The motor sputters and stalls then miraculously comes back to life. Effectively push started by our speed through the water. It’s sputtering and doesn’t have any power. I think the only thing keeping it going was the rush of water across the propeller. Meanwhile, I’m fighting the wheel to keep us perpendicular to the surf.

For the 2nd wave we’re further in so it has already started to break when it hits us. We surf but it doesn’t feel too fast. I think we’ll actually make it.

The 3rd wave is all foam and froth when it gets us. The rudder stalls. I lose control and broach to the right out of the channel (if there is such a thing). I’m no longer sure we’ll make it. The motor is still running but howling and cavitating. However, as soon as it passes I’m able to get us pointed back at the beach. 3 feet under the keel and we’re able to use a brief lull to get out of the shallows. Finally we’re inside. Very shaken but no damage.

We circle around to watch Lotus come through.

Can you spot the channel? A fishing panga approached them and advised them to go back around to the west side of the bar. Our guides assured them that the best and deepest channel was on the east.

The first wave fills the cockpit but luckily doesn’t spill below even though they don’t have all their dropboards in.

From our vantage point it looks like they took the first wave well and will come through smoothly. Then they abruptly stop and turn broadside to the seas. We hear on the radio “We’re aground!” The reply comes “turn left toward the channel.” Again “we’re aground!” They repeatedly slammed into the bottom as each successive wave crashed over and around them. The whole rig would shake and groan with each impact. A fiberglass boat may have broken the keel off already but the steel hull held together.

We’re feeling helpless and can’t do anything but watch and take pictures. The escort panga got a line on their stern and tried to pull them off. However, it was very quickly swamped and had to cut free. Lotus’ mast was gyrating wildly and we thought it might be lost. They somehow managed to get turned around. I don’t know how. Now that they were facing deeper water they were able to apply full power and as each wave broke around them it pushed them in a little further over the bar and a little further into the so called channel. Eventually they were free and we entered the estuary together.

Needless to say, if Lotus had gone first we would have skipped this stop and gone down the coast to Barillas. Although the pilots downplay the danger, this is a dangerous crossing. No boats have been lost yet (as far as I know) but many have been damaged.

In our minds there was a very real risk of losing our boat and for a time we really thought Lotus was gone. Neither Lotus nor the Time Machine is insured. For us it would only have been a monetary loss but Lotus represents 7 years of love and hard labor for Jerry and Joni.

Our real error was trusting too much in other people’s judgment and reassurance. Once we get out of here, we don’t plan to cross any more bars but if we do we will take it a lot more seriously. We will do our own reconnaissance and ask advice from the local fishermen who cross it every day.

We wanted to come here because we heard that it has a great community, and is a safe, secure, and inexpensive place to leave the boat while traveling overland. Once inside it lives up to these expectations. However, it is not a good place for a short stopover (the risk is simply too great) nor is it a good base for cruising the coast. Once we get out (if we get out) we will not attempt to reenter.

A few other things deserve mention:

A couple of navy guys and an immigration officer came out shortly after we dropped anchor. They were friendly and easygoing and there is only a $10 per person charge for a 90-day visa. The navy guys will do a cursory search, which seems to be mostly aimed at finding things that they can request as “un regalo”. We got away pretty easy by giving them a fancy looking but inexpensive fishing lure that never elicited a strike for me anyway. May they have luck with it. Lotus didn’t do so well and ended up losing 2 bottles of liquor. You can imagine that they were in no state to argue, but did manage to hold on to their reserve bottle of Baily’s. Many cruisers offer cold drinks when officials come aboard. We don’t simply because after several days at sea we rarely have anything more to offer than warm Tang. It might be a good idea though as it may limit the “gift search.”

On arrival, we were given a rate sheet for services at the Bahia del Sol hotel. We were very surprised to see a $50 charge for pilot service as of May 1st. This is not an unreasonable charge for several hours of 4 people’s time. However, we had communicated with Tarazed by email only a week before and there was no mention of this charge. In fact, we were led to believe that it was a free community effort. Lotus was similarly surprised. In my mind charging a fee for a pilot service implies a level of responsibility and liability that no one here is really prepared to accept. They are probably reconsidering after this incident. If nothing else they need to be more up front about the risks and fees before people attempt to cross. Honestly, a little thing like $50 would probably have been enough for us to decide to push on for Barillas, which is more remote but the entry is rumored to be much more benign.

We’re in El Salvador! We’re pretty damned stoked to be here and have some stories for you. Mañana…