Tormentas and Papagayos
 
Our first day in Guatemalan waters was uneventful.  That night we dodged shrimpers and big thunderstorm cells (Tormentas) visible on radar.  Radar is not necessary to view the intense lightning of these offshore storms.
 
The next day we sailed past huge volcanic peaks, and at nightfall again began to play dodge-storm.  At about 10 PM I was starting to get mad.  I had been trying to outguess a huge storm for several hours.  Every move I made, this thing would counter.  By now, we were sailing close-hauled, as upwind as possible in the meager 7 knot breeze. I even started the engine to add an extra knot or two.  The storm kept pace about four miles off to port.
It traveled upwind with ease.  I began to use profanity with renewed vigor.  This brought the off-watch Justin on deck.  The conversation was approximately: "Hey, what the heck's going on up here?"  "Oh this gosh-darned storm won't leave us alone!"  "What do we do?"  "Oh fudge, how the heck should I know?"
 
It was then the beast attacked.  In about 10 seconds the anemometer went 10-20-30-40-50, and then freaked out since it only goes to 60.  "What do we do?"  "Fudge!"  At least I think that's what I said.  "What?"  It was difficult to hear above the shrieking wind and stinging spray.  "I said Fudge!  Bumble Fudge!  Fudge Fudgington!"  I'm pretty sure that's what I said.  "Drop everything!"  We dropped the main, furled the jib, and turned our attention to the dinghy, which was spinning above the cockpit.  It came around and attacked the bbq, smashing it against the lifelines.  This turned out to be a windfall of sorts, as it held the lid on securely, preventing it from spilling its expensive stainless steel innards into the ocean.
 
I gathered my fudging wits and looked up at the masthead fly to see the wind direction.  I would then turn into it, and motor through.  I guess I had seen this strategy in a movie somewhere.  The Windex was spinning.  It was then that two horizontal lightning bolts from either side of the boat branched out and intertwined directly above the mast.  I took this to mean "bad luck to look up".  I stopped looking anywhere specific, in case that might cause similar events in any direction.  I picked a course away from land, set the autopilot, and took refuge along with the boy who had already dived below decks.
 
The next day was pretty mellow.  The breeze picked up that night, but it was refreshing at first.  By morning it was around 30kts and it built to about 40 by late afternoon.  No Tormentas, just clear blue sky, a steady barometer and a sort of dry breeze from the East.  The wind stayed in the mid-forties for the next two days.  I don't like telling the big sea story, because everyone's got one and they grow with age.  I can tell you the one thing I remember these waves by.  It was the dolphins.
 
The small species of dolphins that inhabit this part of the tropics are very playful.  They love to take turns diving under the boat to see who can get the closest without being "keel-hauled".  On numerous occasions, well offshore, we have witnessed the "Afternoon Aerobatic Trials".  Fifty or more of these dolphins will take turns jumping, doing spinning flips, stalls, belly flops, anything to impress what surely must be a panel of spinner dolphin judges.  This is something we see from a distance when it happens.  They don't do it to impress humans. 
 
On the second day of this full Papagayo wind, I was adjusting sails, altering course slightly, anything to make the ride a little more tolerable, while getting blasted by these breaking seas.  At least it was warm water.  It was then I noticed the dolphins.  I also noticed how strikingly beautiful these seas were.  Endless royal blue vertical walls with thick, pure white streaks running down from the frothy tops.  Beautiful, but not fun for us.  Fun for the dolphins though, who were at it again.  This time, a hundred of them together were swimming up through a wave, launching out of the back side into the air, blasting completely through the next wave, and landing into the one after that.  Anyway, the waves were real steep.  We weren't pointing at Costa Rica, but we sure were making good time for Equador.
 
The wind finally eased to around 25 and we could start curving in closer to land.  The closer we beat in, the better the seas got, until we were cruising straight into Bahia de Cocos, Costa Rica.
 
Next time:  Pura Vida