So, yeah, that fair current that pushed us along and right out of the way of that brewing Tehuantepec gale? To avoid making landfall somewhere around Huatulco in the middle of the night, we had to drop our engine speed to 2100 rpm. We saw we were still scooting along the 30'-35' depth contour at 6.7 knots SOG, so we throttled back to 1000 rpm and kept our speed at a leisurely 2.5-3.5 knots SOG. Winds remained calm, thank Chaac.
It would have been delightful to enter Huatulco first thing in the morning, but naturally that was the bottom of low tide. Our guides and charts claimed that datum was somewhere between 6.0' and 6.5' so with our 6.1' draft we figured we'd just have to wait a while. We therefore anchored around the corner from Huatulco in the convenient Tagolunda anchorage, until either the tide rose or the staff at our destination of Marina Chahue came on duty - whichever was earlier.
We got lucky yet again: we hailed Marina Chahue on the VHF radio at about 0900 on February 2, and the manager, Ezekiel, happily informed us that the entrance to the marina had been dredged to a least depth of 3.5 meters - equals, a comfy 11'. Say no more, Ezekiel; off we went. Entered the marina, checked out the rules and procedures at their fuel dock; and tied up in a slip. I promptly did my usual job of visiting the marina office and getting all the paperwork and whatnot in order. Boy was it hot and humid - sunny, with temps and humidity both in the 90s before noon. (#foreshadowing.) I took a shower onshore, waddled back to The Fox, and
BAM!
Heat stroke. I had it all: bright red skin, hot to the touch, splitting headache, hyperventilating...the works. I got down the companionway steps and made sure the onboard air conditioner was both (1) on and (2) blasting. I do not know what I would have done if we had not had shore power. I soaked both the Frogg towels we had aboard in the coldest water coming out of the tanks (about 80F, I reckoned), plastered the towels all over me, dove into the stern cabin, turned on the fans, and...pretty much passed out with that big banging headache.
It took eight hours of lying in bed with fans, air conditioning, and cold compresses before my skin cooled down. It took two more days for my electrolytes to get back into balance and the headache to taper off. I was mostly all better by February 4. Here's what I learned later, when I was well enough to sit up and read our onboard emergency-medicine guide:
The first symptom of heat stroke is usually "uncharacteristic negative behavior" - in my case, an unusual, persistent feeling of gloom, doom, and dread. I had been running around under the hot and humid tropical sun for days on end, and I had been pretty light on the water-drinking for 2 days before leaving Puerto Chiapas. In retrospect I also believe I hadn't been drinking enough water in general, simply because it was too warm coming out of our filtered tap to be very palatable, and we never spared any room in our refrigerator to keep a container of water chilled. Lesson Number One, learned.
Heat stroke can occur at temperatures as low as the 80F range if the humidity is high. Like, you know, practically everywhere we'd been sailing. Lesson Number Two, learned.
I have made sure ever since this incident to hydrate more fully than I prefer. I start every morning with a 16 oz. cup of water, before I even reward myself with glorious coffee. Next, I fill a 32 oz. water bottle and drink at least that one bottle, if not two, before dinnertime. Lesson Number Three, learned: hydration is key, because anyone who has had heat stroke once, becomes even more susceptible to it in the future. So now I'm all about the hydration, the hat, and the SPF-50 long-sleeved clothing.
For those of you folks on the outside looking in: if ever you find yourself in a hot and humid situation, and a companion starts getting all morose for no apparent reason? Force them to chug down a tall glass of ice water while you hustle them into the nearest shade or better yet, the nearest meat locker. It's what friends are for.
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