T
he first words I learnt in Spanish were
ven con papi. They mean ‘Come to
daddy’ and were taught to me in a
seedy bar called Anthony’s in Baja
by the dodgiest Mexican I have ever
met. Nothing to be proud of, I know.
I had recently arrived in Ensenada, just south
of the Californian border, limping in on one engine.
It was November 2009 and prior to my departure
from San Diego, my 1969 wooden Grand Banks
Grand Journey had been thoroughly checked over
by a marine mechanic. I had every reason to have
faith in his work, if only because he was so expensive.
It was midnight when I departed from the public
dock, a short 70-mile voyage to be enjoyed with
light winds and a following sea. Full of excitement,
I was waved off and gradually disappeared into
the darkness. All things being equal, I should have
arrived at around nine o’clock in the morning.
Alas, it was not to be. Six hours into the journey,
the alarm on my port engine went off to warn me
of a sudden drop in oil pressure. I killed the engine
and went to investigate. The oil and fuel filters were
clean, the levels were fine, there was no sign of
a leak and she wasn’t overheating either. I later
found out it was my lift pump that had failed. It
could happen to anyone and at any time. Thankful
of having two engines, I continued onwards on
my starboard engine alone, losing a knot-and-
a-half of speed. With only 30-odd miles to go
and the bonus of halving my fuel cost, it could
have been a whole lot worse.
Just a few miles from Ensenada and the national
flag was flying high – it was the size of a football
pitch, brazen with green, red and white flowing
back and forth, powered majestically by the strong
breeze aloft. The way it moved, it was as if the whole
world was in slow motion.
Suddenly my eyes were drawn to the starboard
engine’s temperature gauge in the cockpit. It was
high. Very high. I raced down below and opened
the engineroom door. There was a mass of steam.
The engine was still running though. I quickly
cut the engine off and checked my whereabouts.
There were no hazards and the sea was calm.
It was a sunny morning with a mile or two to the
shore, so nothing to worry about. On inspection,
I found I had split a hose. A few minutes later and
I had released the jubilee clip, cut the split sectionoff and wriggled the hose further on to the manifold.
I started the engine up and she ran like a champ
once again. An hour later I had her alongside,
starboard side-to, using my usual spring line
on a ring setup for easy singlehanding.
It was never my intention to spend more
than a few days in Ensenada. The idea was
to log in with the harbourmaster, get the repairs
done, get back underway and head south.
Three days after my arrival and with the
repairs well under way, I decided to venture down
to Anthony’s bar, meet some of the locals and
have a stab at learning some Spanish. It was a
memorable evening and I met some real characters.
On returning to the marina, I had to question
how many beers I’d just downed. Was I imagining
it, or had my boat really moved? Surely not...
But indeed it had. The weather had turned foul
over the last few hours and an 80ft steel barge had
broken its lines and banged into my boat, badly
damaging my swim platform. The marina crew
were already busy and had pulled my boat forwardanother 50 yards away from the barge.
After assessing the damage, I connected the
shorepower, went down below and turned the big
ivory switch back to ‘shore’. I heard a loud bang and
a short fizz. The shorepower on the dock had been
tampered with and was now wired up incorrectly.
My two inverter chargers on board were blown
immediately, along with the microwave.
The marina was great and immediately accepted
responsibility. They would do the repairs and also
agreed not to charge any berthing fees until it was
all put right. For that I was glad. What I hadn’t
anticipated is that it would take them 18 months to
get the work done (ever heard the word mañana?)
A year and a half later, when the boat was finally
fixed, I’d become so accustomed to the place that
I decided to stick around in Ensenada a little bit
longer. It’s been eight years now!There was a loud bang and a fi zz – the shorepower on the dock
had been tampered with. My inverter and microwave blewANDY DARBY: When I pulled into Ensenada marina to get my engine fi xed, I had
only intended to stay for a couple of days. Eight years later and I’m still there...
I accidentally
moved to Mexico
I’LL NEVER FORGET THE DAY...
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FOR ANY WE USE! [email protected]COLUMNSGrand Journey now
feels right at home
in Ensenada, Mexico