What Went Wrong at My Sailing School

What Went Wrong at My Sailing School

Charting a New Course After a Sailing School Disappointment.

There are many avenues to learn to sail: Free, Cheap, Easy, and Hard, to name a few. As a non-swimmer and new sailor, we opted for the responsible route: sailing school.

When we were researching sailing schools in 2021, the world was weird. Ultimately, we decided on a school in La Paz, Mexico: Go Baja Sailing.

Spoiler Alert: It was a terrible experience and a school neither of us would ever recommend to anyone. For more things went wrong than went right.

In the following post, I will share our personal experiences: what went wrong and what we learned.

Our First Try: Sailing School

In December 2021, Chris arranged for us to learn to sail with Go Baja Sailing. He spoke to Mike Madlock on the phone and sent a deposit via Venmo. He was told we would be receiving informational emails and books directly. Neither of those things happened. Chris followed up countless times via email and phone, to no avail.

When the second half of the payment came due, I told Chris not to pay it. Perhaps then, they would return his calls. I was right. And like the age-old “my dog ate my homework” excuse, they said, ‘The books must have been lost in the mail’ and would be re-sent.

A week before the course, our books arrived. There were four, and they were hefty?—?weighing in at a whopping 20 lbs?—?and filled with words I had never heard except for in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Keeping my alarm at bay, I decided that since we had paid over $5k for this experience, our captain/instructor would surely educate us on the art of sailing.

I was mistaken.

Arriving at Sailing School

We arrived in LaPaz a few days early and enjoyed drinking Margaritas and strolling the Malecon. Then, it was time to go to sailing school.

Saturday night came, and we had a meet-and-greet dinner at Taberna Espanola. Other students who had signed up for a Catamaran course, the owner, Mike, and some school personnel, including John Ensley, the curriculum coordinator, came out to break bread.

I was told that our Skipper was Abraham and that we would love him; he was an accomplished sailor with tons of experience and stories to share. Although he wasn’t at the dinner, we were destined to have the time of our lives.

After dinner, we boarded the boat. There were three students: Chris, myself, and Brad, the Canadian, who had signed up for  the week-long liveaboard Monohull course, which the brochure promised would “not only teach a lot but (we would) have fun doing so.”

The detailed curriculum combined theory, practical instruction, classroom education, short sailing stints, beautiful destinations, and more.

We were scheduled to depart the following day, Sunday, March 5, 2022; however, heavy winds forced the port to close?—?no sailing for us, but we did meet the Captain.

The Captain

He arrived a few hours late, hobbled on board with a bandaged foot, and asked David, the dockhand, to fetch a pail of ice. When the pail arrived, he buried his foot, advising us, ‘You sail, I drink.‘

He spent the next week injecting painkillers into the wounded appendage. This would be his station for approximately 90% of the trip; he was immobile and could only hop on one foot when he did move.

At this point, Chris, who has a background in aviation as a mechanic, pilot, and inspector, was alarmed, feeling that a one-legged sailing instructor might be a safety issue.

The Canadian concurred. Me? I remained optimistic, asking Abraham about his seafaring adventures. He replied, “All lies.” They were the only words he would ever speak to me about the sea; thus, the Canadian took it upon himself to Google Abraham and share his story with us?—?which, according to Daddy G, is a great story.

I asked about his GoPro Hero10 camera, and his eyes lit up. He offered it to me and asked a question. I opened the camera’s dashboard and noticed the presets were in Spanish, so I began the translation process. He snatched the camera away, saying, “I thought you were a pro, but you know nothing.”

It was uncomfortable as we three students and Abraham, who I will refer to as The Hopper, sat on the boat’s deck with his iced foot.

That discomfort soon became awkward when The Hopper went to ‘smuggle’ his girlfriend, Ana, onboard the boat. And yes, he used the word ‘smuggle,’ as he was a self-proclaimed pirate.

Ana spoke no English and was not interested in speaking with us. She and The Hopper retired to their quarters, leaving us, the students, in the cockpit pondering what we should be doing.

We decided to drink at the beach club, which was amazing and hoped for a better day on Monday.

The No Sailing Sailing School

Monday came, and things did not go better. The Hopper barked orders from his perch while Ana gazed in awe of him. When mistakes were made, the Hopper would raise his voice, shout something in Spanish, and shrug in disdain.

I began to realize that this experience sucked, not in a good way.

The Hopper told me to tie a cleat hitch to the dock. What is a cleat hitch?

I remembered that the rabbit goes around the tree and through the hole.

This was not a cleat hitch.

The Hopper hopped off the boat, yanked the line from my hand, said something in Spanish, and hobbled away. He gave the line to his girlfriend and instructed her in the knot-tying exercise. She was successful, and The Hopper was happy.

I stared at the bare dock cleat. For the past two days–(Sunday/Monday),  I had been scolded, yelled at, demeaned, belittled, and humiliated. True, those had happened in Spanish, but the message was received across the language barrier.

I thought about how far away Friday was: 96 hours. And with that realization, at the ripe age of 55 years young, I sat on the dock and cried. You know the sort, trying to swallow sobs in silence, but your chest hitches and snot bubbles form at your nose?

At that moment, I made a decision: I decided to leave the sailing school and return to the idyllic LaPaz. There, I would drink Margaritas in the sand, eat fish tacos, practice my Spanish with the lovely Oscar, and enjoy this–my first time in Mexico.

I gathered my things and went to the coffee house with the internet to plan my escape.  Midway through, Chris and the Canadian arrived with a pep talk, convincing me that once we were on the water, it would be better and that we–the three of us–would make it a good time.

Their rationale, the money invested, and the romantic notion of Me and The Kiwi doing this together convinced me to return.

We walked back to the boat, and it was then that The Hopper decided to give us our first test. 100 questions in (Book 1); a book we had never opened.

A punishment for my mutiny? Perhaps.

Fortunately for Chris and me, we had read the book on our drive from Oregon to L.A.; hence, we passed.

The Canadian had spent the past couple of weeks surfing and reading, so he, too, passed.

After the test, Ana and The Hopper went to their cabin and closed the door.

The problem remained that I had not read the following two books, and it was evident that The Hopper would not cover their contents.

We three went to Odayaka Sushi, a great restaurant in the Marina, and studied our books for the next many hours.

It seemed doubtful that I would learn to sail, so the least I could do was pass the written tests. Not surprisingly, we never opened, read, or reviewed those books with The Hopper. They were relegated to a shelf in our cabin, where they gathered sea salt.

Ana was instructed to be our cook, by The Hopper; hence the; “Provisioning and Meal Planning; Discuss meal planning for a one-week charter. Discuss the proper storage of provisions on a cruising sailboat,” as outlined in their brochure never happened–nor did the “3 meals per day” of “incredible fresh fish and jumbo shrimp.”

Tuesday was another ‘no sail’ day; however, we did three things;

1. We started and drove the dinghy to the end of the marina and back.
2. We docked the boat.

AND

3. We hoisted the mainsheet–(aka the big sail), which flew almost as high as The Hopper’s ego.

After these things were accomplished (approximately 2 hours), he and Ana retired to their quarters, leaving us to wonder what and how we were meant to learn.

Setting Sail

On Wednesday, day 4, we set sail. This day was no different than the previous days, except we were now at sea.

I began questioning my decision to go to sea with him.

Chris and The Canadian were disheartened about losing three solid days of sailing.

I was relieved because I could think of many places I would rather be than at sea with The Hopper. The Hopper did not like me.

The countdown continued. Only 54 hours and TWO nights left.

Wednesday was spent amid a flurry of insults–some in Spanish, some in English, and anything I touched (lines, winches, wheel) being yanked from my hands.

That evening, I asked Chris to speak to The Hopper on my behalf. He had no regard for me–perhaps because I was older or perhaps because I was female?—?but either way, he was not going to listen to me.

I thought he might listen to Chris. Chris agreed, as he, too, was extremely disappointed and aware of the terrible treatment. Chris had expected to have fun, and I had expected to learn. Neither had happened.

As we talked, The Kiwi asked me if I could “just say nothing”, suggesting that instead, “let’s just get through this” and assuring me that “it’s almost over” and “we’ll go back to the States and get our own boat and learn how to sail” so “let’s just get the paper, so this whole thing isn’t a bust.”

Sound advice? Yes, but, like the scene in Pulp Fiction, where Vincent explained to Jules about a racecar being in the red?…I was in the red.

We left the cockpit to go downstairs to bed, but The Hopper was waiting at the bottom of the steps.

“Is there a problem,” he demanded–his English suddenly impeccable.

At this point, several possibilities existed:

I could act like I didn’t understand. “I’m sorry…what?”

I could feign ignorance–“I don’t know what you mean?”

I could lie; “No. Everything is fine.”

I did none of those things. I opened my mouth, and my Mother fell out. “Yes, there is, and I think we need to chat. You and me.”

My knees were shaking, but my voice was not.

He looked straight into my eyes and took a step toward me.

Was he trying to scare me?

Intimidate me?

Threaten me?

I would not cry again.

I matched his step, moving towards him. I could feel his breath on my skin.

I remember my phone conversation with Mike, the owner, when we first considere this trip.

“I am not a strong swimmer,” I had told him. “I just learned to swim last year and have never been in water over my head.”

“Don’t worry,” he had assured me. “Man Overboard is the first thing you will learn.”

Now I was thinking about the fact it was something we had not learned ‘Man Overboard.’

 Ironically, according to The Hopper, we would never learn it as we had “run out of time.”

I steadied my voice.

“When you yell at me, I get frustrated. When I get frustrated, I can’t retain information. When I can’t retain information, I can’t learn…”

Soon, like that racecar in the red, I was pouring out the pent-up frustration of the past four days.

I said many things, which my mother called a character guidance class. I told him I had come and paid him to teach me to sail which wasn’t happening; that he was distracted by his girlfriend and not living up to his end of the bargain; that I was a fully grown woman and that his yelling at me was unacceptable.

The Hopper had a different interpretation.

I was not learning because I was stupid.

I was a “Big Baby, not an adult, but a Big Baby. Crying like a baby all the time.”

He was The Captain, and I was a nobody,

I had left his boat and reboarded without his permission.

He didn’t care that we had paid money or how much.

He didn’t want me to be his student. He didn’t want to teach me.

He told me that I was unhappy with my life and a miserable person.

Finally, he informed me that he would take me back to LaPaz in the morning and drop me off. He wanted me off his boat and never to see me again. I would never and could never learn because I was stupid.

I agreed that  ‘off his boat’ was also where I wanted to be.

A resolution was reached, the battle was over and everyone returned to their respective rooms.

Thursday morning arrived, and Chris addressed The Hopper. “Last night, you said you wanted Heather off the boat and were taking her back to LaPaz. Is that still the case?”

No, it wasn’t because his employer would not allow him to return me. He was forced to stick it out.

“If she wants to stay and do things on the boat for certification, I will allow it,” he said.

At that moment, I swallowed many things, including my pride, and thanked him.

I was happy that Chris would get to finish his certification. I was disappointed that I had to stay on the boat for another 28 hours.

The Hopper stopped talking to me entirely, which was an improvement. He would ask Chris to give me directions, with the caveat, “Maybe you have better words for her.”

Ana came out and prepared breakfast. Chris asked for a tortilla, but the Hopper told him there were no tortillas on the boat because  “Only peasants eat tortillas.”

The Final Day

Friday morning rolled around, and The Hopper was up earlier than he had ever been: 6:00 a.m. He went straight to the deck and announced, “Let’s Sail.” And sail, we did in 15-knot winds. We sailed hard and fast. The Kiwi and The Canadian wondered where this newfound energy and direction had come from. I knew it was because The Hopper wanted this trip to end as much as we did.

We were presented with the third and final 100-question test when we arrived back in the marina. Charts and various tools were spread across the table. I had not seen some since 8th-grade Algebra (protractor/flat leg divider), and others I had never seen.

For the first time in 1.5 days, The Hopper told me, “Even if you miss all the navigation questions, you can still pass the test.”

His words made me wonder:

Was navigation important to sailing?

How many navigation questions would there be?

And….

How quickly could I get off this boat and away from Baja Sailing School?

With his aviation background, Chris was able to give The Canadian and me the answers. However, we would have passed if we had failed all the navigation questions and gotten all the others correct. I took the hard-earned pass.

The Hopper, moving faster than we had ever seen, hustled his girlfriend off the boat.

Was she in attendance without permission?

Could it have been an insurance risk?

Would he get in trouble with Go Baja Sailing?

The answer became evident when his ‘real’ girlfriend, Paola, arrived to help him and his damaged foot off the boat.

The Mafia-Level Jack or Certification

The Hopper prepared to sign our certifications. He signed Chris’ and handed it back, then he held mine and looked at Chris, explaining that he would only sign mine because he expected us to sail together.

“She can not sail. She is stupid,” he explained. He did not hand over my logbook.

Chris confirmed that we would be together. The Hopper continued holding my logbook, saying nothing. I left the boat, and Chris ‘tipped’ him, at which time my logbook was handed over.

We needed the signed logbook for insurance, so we had to pay. Blackmailed at the end.

What I Learned From This Experience

Once I was back on shore in the USA, I had some time to detox and contemplate what I should have done.

I should have trusted my intuition and stayed off the boat before we went to the open sea. I had put myself in a precarious position.

I contacted the owner and apprised him of my experience. After five emails and countless text exchanges between Mike and his staff, John and Amber Ensley, they decided nothing had happened; I was probably too dense to learn to sail.

They would do nothing, as nothing was their responsibility. They were not accountable for their employees’ actions. There wasn’t even an apology, as they had nothing to apologize for. For transparency, I have attached those letters and responses here.

The other student, Brad, was also dissatisfied and gave me written permission to use his name and email to validate our mutual experience. His correspondence is here.

Next, I wrote to the American Sailing Association, as Go Baja Sailing is registered with them. They made some phone calls, during which Brad retracted his entire statement, although it was in writing. He denied everything, proving himself to be less than ‘a person of his word’.

I wanted to know how and if the ASA vetted schools that are part of its organization. The ASA seems to be a series of bureaucratic hoops to jump through. Once the boxes are checked, a license is granted, and the ASA has limited—if any?—power—or desire—to follow through on complaints or concerns of paying guests.

The buck stops with the school, and the ASA is nothing more than a licensing figurehead. This may or may not be accurate, but it was my experience.

I left reviews and warnings for other potential customers.

Then, I did the only thing I knew how to do: I began to repair my dented self-esteem and learn how to sail.

How I (Actually) Learned To Sail After Everything Went Wrong at My Sailing School

First, I bought a copy of Sailing For Dummies.

This book is filled with knowledge and experience, written by a husband-and-wife team: Peter and J.J. Isler. Peter is a two-time America’s Cup winner, author of several insightful books, and former ESPN sailing commentator.

J.J. Isler is a two-time Olympic medalist, the esteemed helmsman for the 1995 America’s Cup, the first woman to captain the Yale sailing team, holds multiple world championship titles and is a four-time Rolex Yachtswoman of the Year.

The book covers everything from basic terminology to mastering ropes and knots, tacking, and gybing. Yep?—?I learned more from this book than at the sailing school.

During this time, I also followed educational YouTube channels. Many great channels document experiences, destinations, and the beauty of sailing. For me, learning the basics, I loved The Sailing Academy?—?another ASA School in the Chesapeake Bay. I became a quick fan of Capt. Jeff Bowen.

I guess the ASA is more like a Subway franchise; some are good, and some are not.

While living in Washington, I hired captains to accompany me on day cruises and teach me to sail. Specifically, Captain Kevin from Sail Anacortes and I finally had fun.

The biggest thing we did was buy our boat to learn to sail. After the castigation I experienced at my sailing school, I was determined to prove The Hopper and Company wrong.

Today, we have circumnavigated Vancouver Island and sailed down the Pacific Northwest Coast, logging in over 3,000 nautical miles.

I am still learning, but I am proud of my perseverance and of overcoming all the things that went wrong in my sailing school experience.

Thanks for reading!

What do you think could have been done in a situation like this?

Do you have a story to share?

5 Songs Inspired by This Experience!

“Schools Out”—-Alice Cooper

“Another Brick in the Wall”—— Pink Floyd

“I Will Survive”—–Gloria Gaynor

“I’m Still Standing”—Elton John

“Don’t Stop Believing”— Journey

And, if this tickles your propellor, grab Amazon Prime Music Here–FREE!