While I was working for Baxter and Cicero Sail Makers there was a lot a focus on the long distance ocean races, so I naturally wanted to get involved. With the 1974 LA to Puerto Vallarta race coming up, I inquired if they knew of any good opportunities to land a crew spot. The end result was my signing on to crew on a Standfast 40 as a part of the Baxter and Cicero crew. The boat was brand new and being purchased by a Mexican national. The purpose of the race would be to deliver the boat to Mexico.
The Crew
The crew would consist of seven people, two Mexicans and five Americans. We would have two watches of three each and Saint Cicero would be our navigator and back up both watches as a spare helmsman. The first problem became obvious when we started talking about forming the two watches. Ideally we would split the talents to make the two watches as even as possible, but there was no way to accomplish this. The owner and Terry Cicero were the two obvious choices for watch boat. The problem became the second Mexican, Jorge. Jorge was one of those arrogant rich people that thought he knew a lot more than he did, and wasn’t in the habit of doing any physical labor. Terry and Jorge instantly disliked each other, so it was clear they couldn’t be on the same watch. The two Mexicans were our weakest sailors, and now they were on the same watch. This would have unforeseen but predictably bad results.
Smuggling
While we were getting the boat ready, it had California bow numbers. The numbers were on boards and hung over the side. I knew this was a convenience to avoid being questioned by the Coast Guard. As we headed out for the race, the bow numbers were left on shore and the Mexican flag appeared on the stern. This was no surprise, since no one would question a Mexican boat entering a race to Mexico. What did surprise me was when we approached the US-Mexico border the Mexican flag came down and the US flag went up. That was when I learned we were actually smuggling the boat into Mexico. The Mexico import duty on yachts was 50%, and the owner did not want to pay the taxes. He was still in the process of finding the right person to bribe, so technically the boat couldn’t go to Mexico. I was assured that this was a minor technicality and would be worked out. I wasn’t convinced, but it was too late.
The Gybe
The first memorable event was a simple gybe. Before the race we had spent a day practicing and identified the primary jobs for everyone. On a boat this size, you have to do a dip pole gybe, and my job was the mast position. I would have the pole topping lift, pole track height, and the line to open the outboard pole jaws. I would be responsible for making sure the pole could clear through the fore triangle in a smooth manner and at the right time and then be adjusted properly on the new gybe.
As we were getting ready for a gybe, the owner announced that he wanted to be the mast person rather than a grinder. There was no diplomatic way to turn down his request, so we swapped positions. I showed him where to position the pole track, how to open the pole jaws, and how to control the pole topping lift. We squared back the pole and the skipper called “cut” to open the jaws and begin the gybe. The owner opened the jaws but failed to control the topping lift. The result was that the pole was left unsupported and fell toward the fore deck. The fore deck crew saw the pole coming, but not in time to avoid getting hit in the head and knocked unconscious. Fortunately, the fore deck crew fell onto the deck rather than overboard. I headed for the mast to regain control of the pole, and the fore deck crew regained consciousness in a few seconds. We were then able to get things back in order and complete the gybe. The owner returned to his place in the cockpit.
First Night Sail Change
The first night of the race we were near San Diego and beating to windward in maybe 15 knots of wind with the #1 genoa. My watch was off, so we were trying to get some rest. The first night of any ocean race there isn’t much sleep as everyone gets used to the motion and noise, but just laying in a bunk is valuable rest. After an hour or so the watch on deck called down that they needed help to change to a smaller genoa. Terry asked how much they were healing and how fast they were going. The answers didn’t indicate the boat was over powered, so Terry asked why they wanted to change sails. The answer was to keep the mast standing. It seems every time the boat hit a wave the center of the mast was bending forward three or four feet. Terry took a quick look and agreed we needed to take some load off the rig. He came back down and asked Bob to get geared up. He told me I could sit this one out, since they didn’t need all seven people for a simple jib change.
I was in the leeward bunk in the cabin, so much of the activity was happening over my head. As things went on, it became obvious that it wasn’t a simple jib change. Eventually things settled down and Terry and Bob came back below. I asked what had happened, and was told I’d see in the morning. The next morning I understood what they meant. It seems they got the new sail up and the old sail down on the deck. However, before they could get the old sail flaked and stored, they stuck the bow in a wave. The solid water hit the sail and then piled against the leeward life lines. The result was the life line stanchions on the port side of the boat were no longer vertical but bent over past 90 degrees. We spent most of the day cutting off the stanchions above the bend, digging the bent part out of the mount and remounting the shorter version of our lifelines.
The Blooper
As we headed down the coast of Baja, the wind eventually got far enough astern to justify hoisting the blooper. We had the blooper almost ready to hoist when some how it got out of the bag and fell overboard and filled with water. We were able to retrieve all the pieces, but the center of the sail was completely blown open with a hole big enough to drive a car through. With three active sail makers on board we set up patching the sail. The process was simple. We’d clean off the sail and apply tape to both sides holding the rip back together. Then we would sew through both edges of the tape to make sure the tape stayed attached. We stayed busy for over eight hours before we were ready to hoist again. We managed not to drop the blooper in the water on the second attempt and it it flew fine. Our repair held for days without any further repairs required.
The wind increased to the point that we changed from the ¾ ounce chute to the 1.5 ounce chute. We only had the one blooper, so it was left up. As the wind continued to build it was getting toward the upper end of the ¾ ounce blooper, but our repair continued to hold. We talked about taking it down, but the boat was unbalanced without the blooper. Finally the tack patch tore off. Our repair had held longer than the original sail.
The Spinnaker Change
The race was eight days in length with lots of sail handling. My watch took pride in doing as much as possible without interrupting the off watch. We managed to do a gybe with only three people on deck, which meant Terry got to steer and handle all the sheets in the cockpit. The other watch had to get help for almost anything. We were off the tip of Baja in light to drifting conditions when the other watch decided they could change from the half ounce chute to the drifter. With very light winds, this should have been an easy task. In the end they called for our watch to come help resolve a problem. When we came up on deck, there was the half once chute wrapped tightly around the back stay. It tool us half an hour with a crew member up the mast in a bowsain’s chair to get the chute cleared. I have no idea how they got it tangled that tightly.
The Beach
The last night of the race would have us making our final approach to Puerto Vallarta for a mid morning arrival. Puerto Vallarta lies in the center of a roughly 20 mile semi-circular bay. The common race wisdom was to make landfall at the north end of the bay and then hug the shore to the finish to be in a position to get the early morning sea breeze. The landfall should have been an easy proposition with a navigation light on the point at the end of the bay and a second light one quarter mile offshore on a rock. The plan was to go between the two lights and follow the depth sounder to keep our distance from the coast until dawn.
At 2am we had not spotted either navigation light, and it was time to turn the boat over to the other watch. With no faith in the other watch, Terry asked me to stay up until everyone was confident of our position with respect to the lights. We began seeing flashes of light about an hour into the watch. The identification would not be easy as one of the lights flashed every 12 seconds and the other flashed every 15 seconds. We’d see a single flash every minute or two, so there was no way to tell what we were seeing yet. During the next hour as we closed the distance, it became clear we were seeing the light on the point. The light on the rock was apparently not working. There was plenty of water within a few yards of either light, so the course would be to leave the one light to port while staying close to it. I had everyone on deck agree, and then reported the situation to Terry and Saint. After getting the other watch to promise and call us as we got ready to pass the light, I then headed to the bunk to get a couple of hours of sleep for the up coming busy morning.
I came out of a deep sleep knowing something was wrong, but not knowing what the problem was. As I sat up the first thing I saw in the dark interior of the boat was Bob on the opposite side was also sitting up. I’d been awake for only a couple of seconds when I heard someone on deck screaming “all hands on deck”. I must have had a premonition, since I had had gone to sleep wearing my deck shoes and glasses. Now all I had to do was spring out of the bunk and head for the cockpit. I was the first person out of the cabin and will never forget the sight. It was pitch black with no moon. There was a lot of phosphorescence in the water, which made the breaking waves behind us plainly visible. We had just sailed a forty foot boat in through the surf. As I scanned the scene, every where I looked I could see rocks with waves breaking over them. Just to make the scene complete, the cockpit was empty. No one was steering and the sheets were tied off.
After a week of sailing the team work on my watch began to play big dividends. I knew Terry and Bob were right behind me, so I headed for the windward sheet to get it ready for a tack. Bob headed to leeward to cast off the existing sheet, while Terry headed for the helm. From inside the boat came Saint’s voice asking for our compass heading. As soon as Terry could see the compass, he called out our heading and Saint gave him the reciprocal bearing. Terry scanned the scene and announced he would gybe. As we went into the turn I was busy hauling the genoa sheet for all I was worth. Normally Bob would pick up a winch handle and grind after the off sheet was clear. This time he headed for the shrouds to serve as lookout. I didn’t miss the help with the rush of adrenaline.
We were roughly dead down wind when Bob called for Terry to hold his course. Without question, Terry centered the wheel. This is why Terry had chosen the gybe over the tack. A few seconds later we passed a rock on the surface by less than 10 feet. After we cleared it, Terry put the helm down again to complete the gybe. Just as we were thinking about breathing after that close call, we hit a rock with a resounding crash. Our life raft was lashed to the deck, and Bob and I both had our knives out ready to cut the lashings. Fortunately, the impact had been on the bottom of the keel and the boat bounced over the rock and continued. We were now beam reaching back toward the surf and starting to leave the rocks behind us. The last challenge was to make sure we had enough power to get back out of the surf.
It was now time to start and wonder where we were and how we got there. As we cleared the surf there was a blinding flash of light on the port side of the boat. The light that we were supposed to leave to port had been left to starboard. Up to this point the two Mexicans had been on the foredeck screaming while my watch went about sailing the boat with almost no words being spoken. Now everyone fell absolutely silent. The truth of the situation was just too unbelievable. It was another four or five hours to get to the finish line, and I don’t think there were 10 words spoken. Terry drove the whole way and would call for a sail change with only the name of the sail. After we crossed the finish line and started the engine to take us into the harbor, we had our last surprise. When we hit the rock, we had hit hard enough to dislodge the prop shaft from the transmission. We had to call the race committee and arrange for a tow. This added a little but of excitement while we had to coordinate a Med-mooring with a tow boat.
What we hadn’t noticed during the mooring process was that Jorge was not on deck. He was below grabbing his gear. As we moved into position and threw the dock lines to helping hands on the dock, Jorge appeared and threw his duffle bag onto the dock. The boat was still close to ten feet from the dock when Jorge made his leap, picked up his bag, and started jogging across the parking lot. This move gave him a couple minutes of head start while we secured the boat, and he was out of sight by the time the boat was secure. As I said, there had been no discussions on the boat all morning. However, there had been clear communication. I talked to the other crew members later, and everyone agreed that the dock leap by Jorge saved his life. We all intended to beat him to death as soon as the boat was secured. In hind sight, I’m glad I didn’t spend my life in a Mexican jail. At the time that wasn’t a concern.
Epilogue
After Jorge made his break from the boat, he flagged down a taxi and went to the airport. Later we met a wife that was walking across the airport lobby when Jorge came running up to the counter announcing that he needed an airplane immediately. They told him the next scheduled flight was in a couple of hours, and he told them to find someone that owned a plane as he was leaving immediately. I didn’t know anything about this at the time, but I soon became aware of the implications. It seems when our skipper took our paperwork to clear customs we were one person short. I had a flight scheduled in three days, and I began to wonder if we’d get the paper work cleared up in time for me to return to Texas. There was also the little issue about the boat being smuggled into Mexico. I don’t know how big a bribe our skipper had to pay, but we got cleared after two days.
After lots of beer, we got the boat pro to fill us in on how we managed to hit the beach. It seems as they got close to the light, Jorge convinced the skipper that he could recognize the light. Even if the timing of the flashes said it was on the point, he was convinced it was on the rock and should be left to starboard instead of to port. The skipper didn’t think that change of plans was worth running by the navigator, so they headed for the beach. The weirdest part was that the boat pro was down below making coffee as they hit the surf. I guess after he had done all the physical work on his watch for over 7 days, he was completely tapped out and didn’t grasp the entire situation.
A couple of years later Terry sailed with us to Mexico on Feather. During that trip he added a piece of info I didn’t know at the time. When we hit the beach we were almost 20 miles from Puerto Vallarta. In the 70’s being that far from a town the size of Puerto Vallarta meant that you were in bandito territory. If we had failed to get off the beach, the boat would have been a gold mine for the locals and would have been stripped bare by noon. Our problem would have been that the odds were long that there would have been any living witnesses.