With "Tica" on our flank we motor down the coast toward Chacala. A long Pacific roll from the west lifts the boats rhythmicaly to the peak of each swell down which they slide as the sea rolls on.

When both boats are at the bottom of a trough only the tip of "Tica's" mast is visible from our cockpit her body seemingly swallowed up by the sea, and at other times she seems perched high on a hilltop.

At the first breath of wind we shake the sails out and give them a stretch and "Tica" does the same. In a rolly sea, sails make for a much more comfortable ride, keeping the boat from tossing wildly back and forth and we keep them up til they wilt in the still, hot afternoon.
We snack and doze and maintain radio contact with Bill and Jo-Anne the only other people in this piece of the world.

After several hours it seems that my latest seasickness remedy is working.I've been taking 2000 milligrams of Vitamin C for the last 4 days having read somewhere that it helped. Also I have avoided doing the 2 things that tend to bring on the mal de mer , which are reading and spending more than a few minutes below.However, I have spent short periods of time cooking or rustling up a snack in the cabin always alert for the first signs that the sickness is coming and so far, nothing.

With the mizzen sail up as a stabilizer the noisy tractor motor propels us into the thick dark of our first overnighter of the season. No moon lights the way tonight and the stars stand out strikingly against the black universe.

PJ's masts sway back and forth and draw lazy circles connecting the crystal clear dots to form an ethereal drawing on the inky backdrop. We hot bunk through the night switching places every few hours. One in the cockpit checking gauges, direction and making course changes to avoid other boats while trying to stay warm and awake. The other snuggled in the toasty bunk below.Joe never sleeps for more than an hour or two.

When I wake for the middle of the night watch there are lights everywhere. Boats going in every direction in the moonless night. Far from the feeling of being the only two boats in existence earlier now it seems that we're going the wrong way in a poorly organized parade.

Eventually we leave the tangle of boats behind and continue, "Tica" in the lead. With her masthead light and stern lights swaying she resembles a waddling mother goose as she rolls back and forth in the now gentle Pacific swell. Thus we travel through the night.

The sky turns pinky orange just in time to reveal the telltale bottles strung in a line and if you squint your eyes and look hard, the black flag appears on the horizon. We're right over top of a long line. The fishing lines that are strung by fishermen sometimes extend for 4 or 5 miles and are difficult to avoid. Sailing over them takes us in the wrong direction and will add hours to our arrival time.

Fortunately "PJ" and "Tica" both have full keels so the lines are less likely to get hung up beneath us but care must be taken to not get them twisted into the propeller. We try several different techniques to avoid the lines but there turns out to be so many that we motor up to them coast across in neutral then motor to the next one.

A dorado caught on one of the lines makes a leap for his life right beside us and close enough to touch.

Once past the longlines and only an hour out of Chacala Joe checks the mechanics of the boat again to fnd that the transmission seal that we've just had replaced is leaking..... a lot. No transmission oil wets the dipstick. This is not good.

There's no wind this morning so Joe adds what oil we have and we limp into Chacala.