Day one of the first passage

I finish my last blog entry, call my mom, tell her not to worry and fall into our bunk. My stomach is killing me and i feel sick. I set the alarm for 4:00 am but i hardly need to. Sleep eludes me. Thoughts roll over in my mind as i try to relax. Have we done everything we need to do? It was blowing pretty hard when we came into Ensenada, so we had a fairly good shake-out but I still think about the rig. I know jon is lying next to me doing the same thing. I will myself to empty my mind and get some rest. A couple of hours later i wake in the dark cabin. It feels like someone just dumped a bucket of ice-water on me. I'm lying in a pool off cold sweat and my stomach is churning. I get up and look at the clock. It's 3:45am.
I lie there for ten minutes trying to get a handle on my nerves. I'm suprised i'm reacting like this. I cannot believe how ill I feel. I calm myself down and wake up Jon.

We pull on our gear and go on deck to have a look around. There's hardly a breath of wind, here, behind the breakwater. It's dark, the light of the waning moon is obscured by fast moving clouds. There's wind up there somewhere.

We untie our lines and slip silently into the black night. A night watchman stands on another dock nearby. "Vaya con Dios, Pura Vida" he calls to us. I wave back, thankful for the blessing.

As soon as we scoot out of the breakwater the surge is about 8 feet and really sloppy from all the refraction in the bay. I'm burning hot- an anomaly for me- and my stomach feels like I have piranhas breeding in there. I stow dock lines and tie bumpers, trying to keep busy and ignore the fact that I think I might be sea-sick. Maybe it's just a really bad case of nerves. I trust Jon completely as a skipper, his inexperience only makes him that much more vigilant about every detail but knowing we will be out of contact from phone, emails, VHF, depending only on ourselves and a single side-band radio, which we have never been able to use, other than to confirm it functions, makes me quiver with nerves.

Jon is standing at the helm studying our course. He has a choice to make in the darkness and the swell- to pass outside islas Todos Santos or take the shorter course, clear of obstacles but it runs between the islands and a rocky headland. The wind is in our favor should old Perkie decide to quit on us, so he opts for the shorter course, favoring the islands, as is advised in the navigation guides. I know these kinds of decisions are all his. If he asks my opinion, and if I have one- I give it. The fact is, it's all on him. Always. He's the captain, that's the deal. He seems content with this reality, thank goodness.

My head is throbbing and every bone in my body hurts. I go below to make coffee but it's like I've been drugged, everything is swimming in my vision. I go on deck to get some air and watch the sun rise. In the daylight, Jon finally gets a look at me for the first time. Apparently, I look as good as I feel. " what's up, baby? You feel sick?" I don't recall ever being sea-sick before and I certainly never have been on our travels so he's as surprised as I am.
"I think it's just nerves" I say.
" or the shrimp fajitas from restaurant last night..."
At the mention of the word "shrimp" I dive for the rail and feed the fish. Again and again...and again.
So begins our first offshore passage. I have food poisining.
Within the hour I am shaking so hard I can barely stand, let alone fill any of my duties as first-mate, cook, mother or wife. No amount of Scottish reserve can overcome my fever and constant evacuations, so Jon makes me some tea and a hot water bottle and orders me to my bunk.

Four hours later, when I surface, I come on deck into the sunshine and the first thing I see is a whale spouting two hundred yards to our stern. Jon is smiling and feeding the kids hotdogs and Pura Vida is sitting well in the 10 foot swell and I probably won't eat for the next day or so but at least I feel like I will live. Thank god.

Jon sets our way-points and we barrel along at 6.5 knots, heading steadily offshore and on our way South.

The first day is pleasant. The clouds clear and the seas calm to 4-6 feet, the wind fades and we put up the spinnaker and fall into a loose watch schedule. The kids spend the day sleeping and reading and Hunter spends hours with the Go-Pro filming herself dancing on deck to Lady Gaga, complete with various costume changes.

Im still too weak to muster any major meals, so i make a light dinner of pasta and cherry tomatoes. Jon rigs up our jacklines and I help him put a reef in our sail and we ready for the first watch of the night. The wind picks up and the moon is late to rise, so the night is very black and we are forty miles offshore. The wind moans in the rigging and the waves hiss by, unseen in pitch black around us. It's spooky and I'm trembling as I climb into our bunk, where the kids are already fast asleep. The self-steering arm is under our berth and I listen to its constant groan and wheeze as Pura Vida surfs down the bigger waves, trying to keep her course.
I would be lying if I said i wasn't scared shitless that first hour as i lay in our bunk, thinking about how puny we are in that great expanse of ocean, in the dark and wild night.
But I resolved to think rationally. I know our boat is sturdy and safe, we have lived on her for two years, many old salts have been aboard her in that time, offering us advice on engines and rigging and every other system. " Good boat, you have here," everyone of them said.
I look up through my porthole, a sly star winks at me through the black clouds. I think about my mom and how worried she must be for us. I snuggle down next to Hunter and Kai. They breath gently next to me, warm and sweet as fresh baked cookies. They are sound asleep and happy. Why shouldn't they be? We are safe and warm In our bunks. Their smart, strong, capable father is at the helm( safely clipped into his harness) and this old boat is doing exactly what she is built to do. I reach out pat her, "Good boat", I say and fall asleep.

sunrise out of Ensenada

Reviewing the weather gribs....Would you trust this man?

A more confidence inspiring photo of Captain

The other way to predict weather...look outside.

Captain studies the GPS...

coming down from night watch