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My head was spinning, I couldn’t keep up with the projects happening on my own boat. People kept stopping by asking, “What do you need?” A personal secretary, I thought. Donations kept pouring in, a socket set, incredibly sharp chisels, nicer binoculars than I’ve ever owned. Most of the donations would become somewhat anonymous, in that I would get a name or a card or a boat name from the donor, but it would be immediately mixed up in the swirl. All the contributors could not possibly be named, but it is safe to say that most every cruiser that was in La Paz that week, and many after, had a hand in the Phoenix project. There was a wake the following evening for the Shelly B. I have so many memories of the old boat, she had been the manifestation of my childhood dreams and had taught me how to sail. I had taken her to Alaska and back, spent two years fitting it out in Port Townsend, Washington, and lived on her with my then girlfriend, Jen. The journey with Shelly B. down the coast, my first offshore adventure, had culminated in the achievement of my longtime goal: the Sea of Cortez. So I told a few of my stories and Craig of Aristocat performed a song he had written for the old boat that was a big hit and had us all singing along. 
An entirely different crew of cruising ladies organized a benefit auction. Michelle, Shelly of Ebeneezer, Jill of Guenevere, Polar Bear Jan, Robin of The Cat’s Meow, Billie of Siempre Sabado and Tamara of Special Brew organized the season’s biggest party. A multitude of services and items were donated. There were professional messages courtesy of Tamara, the delicious pies of Boreas Mandy were a big hit, there was jewelry and author-signed cruising guides. Mario was auctioneer and entertainer. The scene was pretty riotous, with couples bidding against each other. Everyone had a good time, and they had reason to feel good. Over $1,300 had been raised. Ten days after the burning of the Shelly B., Phoenix had been launched. The rudder had been mated and a new tiller built, Shelly B’s bow pulpit had been mounted thanks to Jason of Bohran, the bow roller was fixed, the hull cleaned up, transom painted, substantial fiberglass repairs made, and a fresh coat of bottom paint applied.We’d even had a renaming party, with Moon Me Jeff presiding over the festivities, decked out as Aeolus, the Greek god of Wind. It was another beautiful day in paradise, with a breeze out of the north. Ryan and I cast off the dock lines, and with Bill’s help, kedged off the dock against the incoming tide. The ?Atomic-4 was not going to run this season, but I felt confident enough in my own skill that I would be able to do it without an engine. After recovering the anchor, we raised sail and Phoenix began making way. We spent that afternoon sailing around the anchorage, weaving between boats and over the watery grave of the Shelly B. Many of the boats upon the anchorage belonged to those who had contributed to the project, and as we spotted them we would change course to make a sailing pass. We sailed circles around Bohran and Momo, tacking, jibing, easing sheets, hardening sheets – amazing how the new boat handled just like the old one. My familiarity with the handling made sailing a breeze and so we zipped around the anchorage, weaving and circling, agile like a Phoenix. Ship’s bells rung in Marina La Paz. When folks saw us coming they stopped what they were doing to watch the bird that had just flown from the ashes. Thanks to some very special cruisers, I had a sailing season in the Sea of Cortez this spring. It was a much needed break from the sensory overload that was my time in La Paz, and allowed me to reflect on all that had happened. I met up with friends in the islands, hiked in Coleta Partida and Isla Corando, potlucked on beaches up and down the Sea of Cortez, and listened to Jason and Dave play music together on the Polar Bear in Ensenda Grande. When rowing home in the evenings, I saw the same graceful form upon the water that has been my home for the last three years. 
The subverted grief of the loss of Shelly B. would return, I never had the time to experience it fully. The lost effort in Shelly B.’s restoration and all the sacrifices I had made to put it together, was hard to bear. Ironically, Phoenix will require refitting, many of the projects being the same as those recently completed on Shelly B. I’ve inherited the same boom I had cracked in half in a race in front of Port Townsend. I’ve had my dreams torn away from me and then handed back, but at modest terms.
In the end I have the feeling that perhaps many karmic debts had been settled. Of course, this is only an inkling and I make no claim of special knowledge, but I was at the epicenter of this happening and experienced amazing things. An opportunity was presented, whereby folks could perhaps find redemption in a fellow cruiser whose need for help was unquestionably real. It was not just once that someone confided their feeling of selfishness in the aide that they gave. As for me, I feel some part of that as well, although my role is not totally clear. Was it fate that I was to have such misfortune in order to provide that opportunity of release for others? Was it an insufficiency on my part as a sailor that has led to this predicament, but that the gains I have strived for in my relations with others had manifest in this expression of kindness? Was it me, or could it have been anyone? Debbie of Aristocat tells me that in all her years of cruising she has never seen anything like it. Folks I was only becoming friendly with before now tell me they will never forget me. I hear that somewhere in the Sea of Cortez, Lola is singing songs about the Phoenix. ...back to article page one. ...back to 48° North title page.
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