Avante: 2007 to 2009

Do Not Believe Everything You Read

2009-05-19T13:49:00.000-07:00

The “Mexican Boating Guide”, a comprehensive nautical guide to the waters of Mexico, gives forth the following words of wisdom:

“The Coromuel wind is unique to La Paz. It is usually a gentle breeze that begins from the S around sunset and dies at sunrise or mid morning, relieving the heat and humidity.”

From The First Mate’s notes: Don’t believe everything you read!

Tuesday, April 7th - Our Savor Day in Playa La Bonanza was much enjoyed. The only minor negative was the filet from the large Mexican Tunny we had caught the previous day. (At last, we now have properly identified it and can give it a name.) The First Mate cooked it for lunch, and as we both suspected, its dark red meat had a heavy, gamey taste that, politely stated, was not to our liking. The remainder went over the side. Silently, The First Mate asked King Neptune his forgiveness for having killed and then not appreciated one of his offerings to us, but, no matter what King Neptune might think, we have decided to return to the sea any more such fish we catch. Dorados are another matter. For the Dorado we caught on the way into Bonanza, The First Mate thanked King Neptune profusely.

Wednesday, April 8th – We arrive in La Paz in the late morning, timed to catch the rising tide. The harbor of La Paz is a big, wide-open bay, deceivingly riddled with sand bars and shoals. To get to the anchorages and marinas on the city side of the bay, one has to navigate the narrow Canal de la Paz which is said to be dredged to a least depth of 12’. Wander off this channel, and you will be embarrassingly stuck in a muddy shoal out in the wide open for the whole La Paz viewing public to see. Fortunately, the channel is well buoyed. We enter slowly, watching the depth meter. At a particularly narrow section, it drops to 12’, but not much under that. Arriving at the entrance jetty of Marina Palmira Yacht Club, where we have a confirmed berth, we enter. Here, too, we watch that depth meter, slowed to a crawl and prepared to go into a quick reverse when depths show 10’ in one section. Marina attendants await us at our slip. The First Mate turns Avante around and backs into the berth, earning Avante a compliment from the captain of a neighboring boat. “She sure backs down nicely.” Yes, she does!

Del and Dave Rowley, friends from Scottsdale, will arrive in town later today, driving up from Cabo San Lucas with a rental car. We will, therefore, have a car in La Paz. How delightful! As with all our boat guests, we had asked them to make hotel reservations for their first night just in case we are delayed for some reason. The Captain and The First Mate spend the afternoon giving Avante a much needed fresh-water wash down and cleaning. Then we give ourselves a much needed fresh-water wash down. Laundry is done by a woman who comes to the boat to pick it up and then returns it 2 hours later, neatly sorted and folded. “What a nice service”, thinks The First Mate and wishes someone would always show up at the boat every time they pulled into a marina with an offer to do laundry.

At 6:00pm, we take the marina shuttle into town and are dropped off one block from “Casa Tuscany”, the Rowley’s cute Bed and Breakfast inn. We walk to “Las Tres Vírgenes”, a restaurant recommended by the owners of the inn. There we sit in an outdoor courtyard and watch our food being cooked either in a wood-burning oven, something The First Mate has been trying to talk The Captain into building for her out on the ranch, or over a grill in an outdoor fireplace, another culinary preparation she has been meaning to try in the fireplace on the ranch’s porch. What a delicious meal we enjoy sitting under the stars with conversation tinged by the excitement of the trip ahead!

We spend the next day provisioning. Though the list is not a long one, provisioning in a new port-of-call is always a challenge. Can you find what you want? If not, can you do without or will something else substitute? What is this strange looking vegetable? How does one cook it? Well, I’ll just take it home to Avante and see what the cookbooks say! If a local Mercado is near and open, The First Mate will go there first, for that is where the freshest produce can be found, as well as the best prices. Most often the Mercado is inside a huge open building with various vendors setting up shop in individual stalls. Produce spills out in tempting displays.

If you arrive at the Mercado hungry, there are vendors of food and delicious fruit drink concoctions to fill that need. The Mercado is a place full of life, color and local flavor.

Our shopping trip takes us first to the local Mercado for fresh produce and then to 2 larger supermarkets for the non-perishable items. Even with the rental car to get us where we need to go quickly, it takes the better part of the day to locate and purchase everything we need or want. With the provisioning done, on the boat and stored, we are ready to leave the next morning. That night we dine at “Las Tres Vírgenes” again – no sense wasting a good find!

The Rowleys are enthusiastic people and have done a good many adventurous activities, but they have never spent a full 24 hours on a small sailboat. They have listened to our explorations on Avante and have been reading this blog. Noting that we have always returned from wherever we went and being trusting souls and good friends – they decide to take us up on our invitation to join the adventuring. They have signed on for six days in a very popular cruising area around the islands north of La Paz, and we all think that is a fair experiment for their first time cruising on a sailboat.

Friday, April 10th – Del and Dave arrive at the dock, stow their gear, and receive The Captain’s safety briefing. The importance of water conservation on a boat at sea is discussed. Proper head usage techniques are explained, prompting some trepidation on Del’s part and laughter from all of us. We do have a somewhat complicated system for the aft head. Both heads on Avante are vacuum flush units which mean one only needs to step on a pedal to flush -- a great improvement over the traditional marine head with its hand-pump system. The aft head, in addition to being a vacuum flush, also has a Lectra/san unit, a system that combines electric current with salt water to “fry” waste and sanitize the stuff coming out of the boat. When using the “fryer”, one needs to step on the flush pedal, wait 3 seconds, then push a button on the “fryer” control making sure the correct little light goes on. In addition, prior to flushing, one needs to verify that a valve has been turned in the right direction depending upon whether we are at sea or at anchor or in dock. It really is not complicated unless one is totally new to the system. We have discovered that some of our guests understand the procedure right from the start, some take a time or two to figure it out, and some never quite get it. Del and Dave fall happily into the first two categories.

Feeling that enough information has been dispensed for the moment, we set off to explore the Sea of Cortez. Our intended anchorage is one of the coves on the northwestern end of the Isla Espiritu Santo or Isla Partida, about 20nm away. Winds are light, but we are able to sail for a few hours.

We anchor in Ensenada el Cardonal, one of several popular anchorages on Isla Partida and head ashore to follow a trail through a canyon. The trail borders a mangrove marsh and leads to the other side of the island.

It is said that cruising the Sea of Cortez is like “sailing in the desert”. As we walk across the crumbled volcanic soil of the island, we have no doubt of that. It is dry and hot as we hike inland from the water. Cactus and other prickly plants are abundant and similar, though often just a bit different from the ones we know from Arizona. The Saguaro of Arizona does not grow at sea level. Instead, there is the Cardon which looks very much the same.

Back on Avante, we set about making dinner and afterwards enjoy sitting on deck before the evening chill caused by a freshening breeze drives us below.

We soon become aware that breeze has become wind, and the wind is building. The boat, too, has begun rocking and rolling with the increased wave action caused by the wind. At 2145 (Captain’s log), as we are all thinking about settling in for the night, a big wind gust howls down the bay we are anchored in, slams against the boat and then continues across the island funneling through that canyon we had hiked. The Captain goes above to check out how Avante is sitting. As he is monitoring the scene, the anchor alarm goes off indicating that our position has altered, either due to a change in wind direction or because the anchor is dragging.

Earlier when we were anchoring, The Captain was talked into a shallower anchorage than he normally would have chosen by The First Mate, who wanted the more picturesque setting of being nestled in closer to shore for the Rowleys’ first night on Avante. The bay shallows out a long way from the shore, and we appeared to still be only part way into the bay when The Captain started to anchor at 25’ of depth. Reluctantly, he acquiesced and moved in closer to shore to a depth of 15’. At anchoring time, winds and seas were quiet, and an expected full moon would cut the darkness of the night if anything did happen. Now, the strong wind and building seas, coming straight down the bay, threaten to push us toward shore, and we do not have a lot of distance before our 9’ keel would hit bottom. When winds are heavy, (and when anchored further out) we normally let out more anchor chain, but now we have no room to do that. We have no choice. We have to move the boat and re-anchor in the howling wind, the bouncy seas and the dark (full moon or not, it’s dark). Quickly all hands scramble on deck. The engine is started. The Captain starts pulling up the anchor. At the helm, The First Mate sees 12’ on the depth meter. Even though the anchor is still being raised and not back on the boat, she engages the engine to keep Avante from sliding back further into the shallows. We head out into the middle of the bay to re-anchor. We are not successful the first time. When we back down hard on the anchor to ensure that it is well set, the anchor begins dragging in the soft bottom. Up comes the anchor, and we motor to another location to try again. This time the bottom is firmer, and the anchor bites in and holds. We all let out a sigh of relief while The Captain lets out some more anchor chain for extra security. This exercise was not fun. The First Mate decides that never again will she push for a closer to shore anchoring location. At the same time, she wonders if Del and Dave are wondering if this cruising was such a good idea after all!

Though we are safely anchored, it is not comfortable. Winds are strong and the boat is rocking and rolling on the choppy seas. The anchor alarm is set and explained, and with that reassurance, we all head for our berths. For the rest of the night, the winds continue to blow. Sometime after midnight, they drop to about 15 to 20 knots, and The Captain and First Mate hope things will start to settle down, but an hour later, they are back up to 25+ knots. These are the nighttime Coromuels, the “gentle breezes unique to the La Paz” area”. The Captain and The First Mate sleep lightly and watchfully. Even with that anchor alarm, we keep an eye on things. Nights like this do not happen often, but we have learned to keep alert and ready to take action if necessary. Del and Dave endure an interesting first night on Avante. They did not know a boat could make so much noise or bounce and roll from side to side so much or how difficult it was to uncurl oneself and climb out of an unstable aft berth in the middle of the night. To our relief, they show up in the morning laughing and eager to start the day. Cappuccinos and breakfast are served.

Morning light came with lower winds, but they are still well into the teens. The churned-up seas have Avante rocking from side to side. No one would have called the winds of last night “gentle” or this anchorage restful. To The First Mate, the blow created by these Coromuels was totally unexpected, and she wonders just what she missed in her reading of the cruising guidebooks. She does not remember reading anything noteworthy about these winds other than that they occur occasionally during the spring and summer and are found in the La Paz area. She gathers together the three Mexican cruising books they have aboard Avante to re-read. According to “Sea of Cortez”, one of the cruisers’ guides, “the cause of these winds results from the low land southwest of La Paz, which allows the cool air from the Pacific Ocean to flow across the Baja peninsula to the warmer Sea of Cortez”. These winds, therefore, blow from the south or southwest, but why be concerned about an occasional “gentle breeze” that helps cool things down? Reading further, she does find one mention that they can sometimes cause navigation problems. “Navigation problems” is not explained, but whatever they are they are not caused by a “gentle breeze”. A further hint shows up as she looks at the descriptions of the anchorages around the greater La Paz area. All guides talk about the wind protection of any anchoring spot, but one guide specifically mentions Coromuel protection as in “bay is open to the west and southwest, therefore there is no protection from night time Coromuels”. The First Mate quickly realizes that she let herself be duped by thoughts of “gentle breezes” and did not then pay attention to other clues that tell a different story about Coromuels. A bit miffed, she decides that if she were writing one of these guidebooks, she would not mince words ----

“Beware and be warned. These may be gentle breezes in La Paz, but out on the islands, they are heavy-duty winds that can dislodge well-set anchors and cause extremely uncomfortable seas. They start in the late afternoon to early evening. They howl all night. No need to ponder a peaceful night’s sleep. It will not happen. They don’t just arrive, swirl around nicely and peter out. No, they are looking for an outlet. Any bay or cove facing west is a target. Pick such a cove, especially one with a canyon or low-lying area at the end of it, and you have my pity. The Coromuel has now found an outlet. It will whistle into your bay, significantly increasing in intensity as it funnels in and thru the narrow walls of the canyon. You have effectively anchored in a wind tunnel. Not the best of decisions, but a hard one to avoid on the islands north of La Paz where 90% of all recommended anchorages are exposed to the west and vulnerable to the nighttime Coromuels. Good luck, or, as they say down here, ‘Ve con Dios’.”

All aboard Avante are eager to be on the move rather than rolling around at anchor. We motor out of the bay, then raise sails and enjoy a brisk sail over to Isla San Francisco. The Captain, anticipating another round of nighttime winds, chooses to anchor in an east-facing cove that looks like it should offer more shelter from anticipated Coromuels. The Dingbat is launched, and with beach towels and books in hand, we hike across a dry lake to a cove on the west side of the island. There an expanse of white beach beckons.

The Captain relaxed – at last! Warm sand, great book and a nap.

The big question for tonight is The Coromuels. Will they arrive? When will they arrive? How strong will they be: gentle breezes or howling tempests? Not wanting to keep us guessing, they are up by the time we return to The Dingbat. Wind-churned seas are up, too. Thus, an interesting time is had by all as we launch into the rolling surf. First one on gets to haul the next one on. It’s a comic scene (which most boat launchings are down here), but we are all on and afloat. Engine starts. Great! Off we go. Bashing thru the waves back to Avante proves to be a cold, wet experience, especially for the gals sitting in the bow of The Dingbat.

The Captain’s choice of anchorage is a good one. We are protected by the high ridge in front of us, Therefore, Avante is not rocking and rolling quite as much – though it is anything but a quiet anchorage with plenty of noise caused by waves slapping the sides of the boat, things creaking, and taut lines vibrating. Again, Del and Dave show up in the morning smiling, laughing and cheerful. Dave announces that he has figured out which side of the berth is best for him to sleep on and how to uncurl his 6’+ body out of the bunk without having to wake Del so she can get up and out of the way first. His cleverness and resourcefulness are praised. Both such attributes go into the making of a good sailor.

Sunday, April 12th – Easter morning. We are all up early enjoying a moon still visible and not yet dimmed by the rising sun. We watch the sunrise, admiring the colors in the rocks as they sharpen in the growing light.

There is an interesting ridgeline hike at the end of the bay which we decide to do before breakfast.
Armed with water bottles and hiking shoes, we set off in The Dingbat.

We scramble up a narrow trail of loose and crumbling volcanic rock. It is slow going, but we are all determined to get to the top.

The view of Avante in the bay below is impressive.

Note the well turned-out Avante “crew” standing atop the ridge with The First Mate. Light Blue “Avante” shirts and “Avante dark blue caps. No doubt about the capable hands keeping her afloat!

The trail becomes much easier when we reach the ridgeline.

Our reward for the effort is a fantastic view of the east and west bays separated by a narrow isthmus of salty sand.

The First Mate is impressed that a bush can find enough moisture on this dry, wind-blown height to put forth this bright red flower.

Back on Avante, we treat ourselves to Clamdiggers and a robust breakfast of egg and sausage burritos. Later in the afternoon, we pull anchor to head over to the opposite bay or the Hook, as it is called, on Isla San Francisco. The Captain has been monitoring wind reports, and it looks like this anchorage will work for tonight – plus it is prettier. Winds are up to 15 – 20 knots as we motor around the point to the western bay. This is great sailing weather, but with only a couple of miles to go to get around the point, we decide to just motor. It is still blowing when we anchor, but eventually winds diminish enough so that we enjoy a much calmer night. Maybe, just maybe, our bout with the Coromuels is past. Del and Dave are up with laughter and smiles in the morning. Yes – these two are turning into good sailors!

Monday, April 13th - Laguna Amortajada (Shrouded Lagoon), the largest mangrove lagoon on an island in the Sea of Cortez, is located near the southern tip of Isla San Jose. Though anchoring in the shallow waters with shifting sand bars is tricky, we read that the dinghy trip thru the lagoon with all its interesting wild life is worth the effort. We decide to motor over to this island and anchor for a couple of hours while we launch the dingy and explore. The weather is calm as we set off. In about an hour, we are entering the bay of the lagoon. The turquoise water extending out from the shore clearly shows where the shallow waters are. We enter slowly, circling around our anchoring spot to verify depth. We drop the anchor and slowly back down on it. It catches, holds and then releases, slipping thru the muck before finally catching again and holding securely. Unfortunately, this now puts us too close to the shallow edges where Avante might be pulled if wind or current change direction. We lift the anchor and move further out to try again. However, the water gets deep quickly and we are now trying to anchor in 50 to 60 feet. Three times we try with growing frustration. Each time, the anchor just will not catch and hold. While we are intent on this anchoring exercise, we are mindful of a rising wind. After the fourth attempt, a serious look at the winds, which were now up to 18k, tells us that good anchor set or not, there is too much wind and too much shallow water nearby for us to be able to leave Avante unattended and go venturing forth in the dinghy.

Disappointed, we head across to San Evaristo, a sleepy little fishing village, where we plan to anchor for the night, consoling ourselves with thoughts of the fresh fish we are going to buy from the local fishermen. The bay of San Evaristo contains 2 lobes. We would like to anchor in the smaller, more picturesque one. Though there are several boats already at anchor, we do see a spot for Avante near the entrance to the cove. We head in and drop the anchor in 60 feet of water. It sets nicely, but as we sit watching Avante swing in relation to the other boats around us, we realize that either a strange current or wind pattern caused by the curvature of the steep rock walls of the bay has us swinging too close to another boat. It would be fine if that boat were swinging away from us as we were swinging toward it. This is what usually happens at anchor, but not here. All the boats appear to be moving in different directions – all in response to either that wind or current which we cannot see or feel. Whatever is at work, this will not do. Up comes the anchor again. We certainly are paying anchor dues today! We head into the larger lobe of the bay directly in front of the town’s beach. Our first attempt to anchor here is stymied by the anchor skipping over rocks, but finally we have a good set. Triumphantly, The Captain gives it a thumbs up approval. Shut the engine. Let’s launch The Dingbat and go buy our fish!

On shore with a successful dinghy landing, we are greeted by a parade of pelicans.

We find the person selling fish and chose a healthy looking Sea Bass. The Captain is happy to have someone else cut up the fish. We are all impressed by this man’s skill with his knife! Took no time at all to cut, skin and de-bone our filets with that instrument.

Just to make sure that we do get lulled into complacency, the Coromuels come whistling in later in the evening. San Evaristo is located on the Baja coast and with the dramatic Sierra de la Giganta mountain range rising above the beach, the bay is one of the few anchorages around here that does offer some shelter from these winds. Gusts are well up into the teens, but as they are blowing out to sea, they are not as threatening nor do they seem to have quiet the same punch. Sheltered or not, punch or not, it is still a rocky night. At one point, both The Captain and The First Mate go up on deck to check things out. This is part of our normal nighttime routine. Get up, hit the head, check out the boat. Del, whose aft berth is near the cockpit stairs, hears noises on deck. Peeking out her portal, which looks into the cockpit, she sees feet. Whose feet? Where did they come from? Feeling sure we have been boarded by pirates, she stealthily gets up without waking David, locks their door and creeps back into bed. A lot of help she would have been if there had really been pirates! Next time we’ll give her the foghorn whose blast is enough to wake the dead. She can blast that from inside her locked stateroom. We all get a good laugh out of that story because, mainly, we know there are not any pirates off the Baja coast. The First Mate decides that for Crewman Del, after surviving these wild nights at sea with an occasional loose anchor, what are a few pirates? Bill and Sue can handle the boat; they can handle the pirates, too! The First Mate appreciates the confidence, but thinks that she might have locked her door, too, if she had heard pirates stomping around above her head!

Tuesday, April 14th – Today we begin the return trip to La Paz. Plans are to sail south to Caleta Partida, the bay between the two islands of Espirito Santo and Isla Partida. We are not particularly excited about another night at these islands, but the distance to an alternative anchorage would mean a marathon day. We motor out at 8:30 in light 5 knot winds, have breakfast on deck and by 9:45 are able to raise sail in a brisk 15 -18 knots. We tack past Isla San Francisco where we hiked the ridgeline trail several days earlier. Later that afternoon in lessening winds, The Captain decides to give his crew some lessons in tacking. The First Mate enjoys watching Del and Dave go thru the same trials and tribulations that she endured not so very long ago. Which way does the winch turn? Which way does the rope (no, halyard or is it sheet?) go around the winch? When do I let go? Which button to push? When? What do I do now? And above all, keep your hands clear! The crew is quick to learn, and we soon graduate from a 3-knot tack to an 8-knot tack as the wind picks up again.

With the increase in wind, The Captain adds a lesson in helmsmenship. Dave steps to the helm and quickly catches on to the affect of wind on sails and the reading of the various instruments.

Realizing Dave has got it, The Captain leaves the helm, and Dave is on his own up there.

By 4:00, we are at the entrance to Caleta Partido. By 4:20, we are anchored in the southeast section of this western facing bay based on the advice in one of our guidebooks that “some boats choose to anchor in the southeast portion of the cove to help lessen the Coromuel wind effects.” It was relatively calm outside the bay, and we are hopeful. The calm conditions outside do follow us in, but they don’t last long. The Coromuels are arriving! Our plans to launch the dinghy to explore ashore are stymied by the mounting winds. White caps now surround us, temperatures have dropped, and no one is interested in a bouncy, wet dinghy ride.

It is our last night together aboard Avante, and the Coromuels give us their best. They howl all night from the west, barreling into our bay then crossing the low land at the head of the bay and blowing out into the Sea of Cortez. We regularly see 25 – 30 knots with an occasional 35-knot gust. It is going to be another wild, rough night. Anchor alarm is on. Wind velocity meter is on by the owners’ berth for us to monitor. We are ready for the night.

The Coromuels continue at full blast for the entire night. At 1035 in the morning, as we raise anchor and motor out, the wind in the anchorage is still at 15 – 20 knots. When we exit the enclosing walls of the bay, winds begin to drop. By the time we are out of the bay, winds are down to a benign 10 knots. As we sail down the west coast of Isla Espiritu Santo, we take a good look at the island and fully understand the how and why to these Coromuels out on Espiritu Santo and Isla Partida. Both of these islands are steep and mountainous, and these mountains block the Coromuel winds from blowing across the Bahia de La Paz to the Sea of Cortez. They do, however, have a number of canyons cutting deeply across from one coast to the other. That is where the winds will go. Each of these canyons, with their narrowing walls, compresses and accelerates the wind causing the Coromuels to howl thru any bay and anchorage at its base. Mother Nature’s natural wind tunnel at work! Where are all the lovely anchorages that the guidebooks recommend? In those same bays and coves leading into the canyons. What the guidebooks do not say is “Beware the winds during Coromuel season.” When is Coromuel season? Spring and Summer. The Captain and First Mate have learned by first hand experience and will be prepared if they do return up here again. The First Mate, who has finally begun to think of herself as a sailor, wonders what it would be like if the Coromuels blew out here during the day, all day! What would a full day of constant, steady high wind be like? When, where does that happen? On the way to the Marquesas? Hmm-m-m-m?

We are able to sail most of the way to La Paz, though we do spend the last hour motorsailing in winds around 5 knots. (Never saw 5 knots last night!) We motor down the channel to the marina. Marina hands are once again there to help with the lines.

The next day we all take a private tour of the city. The First Mate is eager to see the museum which is supposed to have well-done and informative exhibits of the early inhabitants of the peninsula and of the cave paintings found up in the Sierra de la Gigantas. She has been fascinated by descriptions of them in her reading of “Almost an Island” by Bruce Berger. She would like to see these paintings for real, but the ones she wants to see require a multi-day mule or donkey ride to get to them. It is supposed to be a beautiful, magnificent trip into the mountains, but 3 days on a mule? Would The Captain consent to that? Before she gives him a chance to say no, more research is needed. This she will do back in Telluride this summer.

Our last evening with Del and Dave is spent at Las Tres Vírgenes over another excellent dinner. We talk over the highlights of 6 days at sea, and we are delighted to hear both of our new crew saying they are eager to return for further adventuring aboard the sailing vessel Avante – just perhaps not during Coromuel season.

The Captain Goes For A Swim

2009-05-19T13:11:00.000-07:00

The Southern Crossing has been crossed. La Paz, however, is our end destination where we will restock perishables and pick up boat guests who will join us on our initial exploration of the Sea of Cortez. Our next stop on the way to La Paz is Playa La Bonanza on the east side of Isla Espiritu Santo. A tricky channel lies ahead of us where winds, waves, tides and currents can all work havoc. The First Mate has become quite used to these scenarios by now. We leave in the early morning hours as we have over 50 miles ahead of us. At 7:55am (Captain’s log), The Captain goes forward to raise the anchor.

As we motor out of the anchorage and round the headland of Los Muertos, we marvel at the size of a house under construction on the point. Thus far it is the biggest house we have seen from Cabo San Lucas all the way down to Manzanillo. We wonder what it must take to import materials and labor to build such a complex house out in the middle of nowhere. However, one cannot question the view!

We raise sails in the lee of the headland. Winds are often very light at this hour, but not this morning. They are already up to 18 knots. The Captain puts in the first reef. The fishing line is put out next. We sail around the point, and at the entrance to the channel, we encounter winds running between 15 – 22 knots with choppy seas at 3 – 5 feet. As usual, the wind is from the opposite direction we need to go. We are in for a ride. The First Mate suggests that maybe this would not be a good time to have a fish on the line, and just as The Captain steps up to reel in the line … Zing! A fish has bit the lure. The usual practice when under sail and a fish is on the line is to turn close to the wind, luffing the sails to slow down the boat. This puts less drag on line and fish which makes it somewhat easier for the one reeling in the line. Once closer to the wind, the jib is furled to keep it from flapping madly, and the motor is turned on to help the one at the helm hold the boat into the wind. This time with the high winds and high bouncing seas, The First Mate finds that she cannot maintain an angle as close to the wind as they would like because the heavy seas are causing the boom to swing wildly back and forth. That’s not a good thing to do if it can at all be helped. There is no way she can do anything about furling the jib because her hands are full with managing the helm. There is just too much wind and too much wave action to enable her to slow the boat down to 1 knot or less of forward speed The Captain would like when he's reeling in a fish. With mainsail let out, she does manage to slow the speed considerably, but there is still a lot of drag and a lot of work for The Captain out on the line. The fish is strong, and it’s a fighter. The Captain has his hands full reeling in the fish. When it's close to the boat, he climbs down to the narrow rear platform and gaffs it in the bouncy seas and hauls it aboard. It appears to be a Mexican bonito, the same type of fish that we caught when leaving Isla Isabella, but about twice as big. It takes 50 minutes to reel that fish in, rough clean it and wash down the aft end of the boat, and all the while, we were making no headway bouncing around at the entrance of the channel where the worst winds and seas are. The First Mate is beginning to rethink her enthusiasm for this fishing activity, especially when The Captain hands her fresh-cut fillets of very red meat. Our prior experience with fish meat this red has not been good.

With the wind on our nose, we continue to tack up this channel. At noon, we are only half way up the channel. Winds have begun to die a little down to 15 – 18 knots. By 3:00, we still have 18 nm to go to get to our anchorage. Winds have really declined, and our boat speed is now only 3-4 knots. The Captain decides to put on the engine, or we will never get to anchor in daylight. As we motor sail along, he also puts out the fishing line. The First Mate thinks that somehow she has managed to create a monster! The Captain is determined to fish. Dorado and Tuna are on his dream list.

1645 (Captain’s log) Zing! Another bite. The Captain dives to the line. The First Mate scrambles to the helm. This time all she has to do is put the engine in neutral and then maintain just enough forward motion so the fishing line doesn’t get sideways to the boat. The seas, however, are still running high from the morning’s wind. So even though the forward motion is slow, the up and down and sideways wave activity is chaotic. Gradually and keeping an eye on the direction of the fish on the line, The First Mate turns the boat into the waves so that at least all we’re doing is going up and down and not rocking sideways too. This fish is a big one and when it jumps out of the water, The Captain lets out a cheer of delight. It is a beautiful bull Dorado with brilliant blue, green and yellow colors flashing. After he finally gets it up to the boat, he calculates that it is too heavy for The First Mate to hold the pole and line while he gaffs the fish. Besides, he needs The First Mate to keep the boat pointed into the waves. He is going to step out on the wet sugar scoop (the narrow step on the aft end of the boat) and do it all. Hold the line, pull in the fish, gaff it and heave it onto the boat. The First Mate is concentrating on handling the boat when suddenly there is a splash and commotion behind her that sounds like more than fish. Looking behind, there is no Captain. Looking down, The Captain is in the water. One hand has the line and the other is grasping wildly for the edge of the boat. The narrow step he had been standing on sunk out from under him as a wave caught the boat. With the fishing line in one hand and the gaff in the other, he had no way of hanging onto the boat. For a brief surprised second, he was suspended in air before gravity had its way, and he plummeted into the ocean. With no forward speed, The First Mate quickly realizes that he is not about to be left in our wake and that she does not have to start any kind of drastic man-over-board activities. She reaches down to grab his hand, but he yells up to lower the ladder instead. Ladder down, the dripping Captain climbs aboard, and to his amazed delight, finds that the fish is still on the line! He continues to ease the fish toward the boat, but with one last jump and lurch, the lure breaks free. What a disappointment! What a beauty got away!

Out goes the line again, zing, another Dorado. This one also manages to spit the lure as we get it close to the boat. Oh, what defeat! 1730 (Captain’s log), a third Dorado bites. The Captain brings this fish in more slowly, trying to really tire it out prior to gaffing it and lifting it onto the boat. When The Captain reaches out with the gaff, The First Mate grabs the back of his shirt. The Captain commands her to let go so he can move easier. This she will not do. One man-over-board for the day is enough!

The Captain brings the fish aboard and, finally, he has a Dorado for the day. Not as big as that first one, but still a good one for two dinners. We continue on. Playa Bonanza is within sight.

By 7:00 we are anchored in a gorgeous bay with a 2-mile sweep of white beach. We are the only ones at anchor. It is all ours to savor. The peace and beauty help us forget how hard fought the day was against wind, waves and fish. Our tiredness eases as we sit outside on deck enjoying the evening and our very fresh Dorado dinner. The biggest bonus, which The First Mate neglected to mention, is that we are a day ahead of schedule. Tomorrow will be a true Savor Day here in this lovely bay. Ah, the cruiser’s life for me!

The "Southern Crossing"

2009-05-07T09:45:00.000-07:00

The “Southern Crossing” … To The First Mate, the very name sounds romantic and exciting, but to The First Mate’s disappointment, there is no romantic connection to the words. She finds out that there is also a “Northern Crossing” and together the two are, in boaters’ parlance, a simple way to differentiate the major routes cruisers take to traverse the Sea of Cortez from one coast to the other. Romantic connection or not, the crossings are still significant, especially the Southern Crossing which can run anywhere from 150 to 260nm depending upon where one starts and where one intends to make landfall. “Don”, the 8:15am weatherman on single side band radio, always mentions the winds in this crossing. They can be nasty and coupled with a turbulent sea caused by the waters of the Pacific and those of the Sea of Cortez converging, the trip across can be an adventure to the unprepared.

We are on the mainland coming up from the south, from Puerto Vallarta to be exact. Our destination is La Paz, located toward the southern end of Baja. No matter how one cuts it, this is a long journey, about 430nm to be somewhat exact, and more than half of it is crossing the Sea of Cortez. Starting from the south and heading generally northwest, we will thus be making a “Southern Crossing”.

The First Mate does not claim to be an old hand at this, but she has done it once before. That was last January when we crossed from Los Cabos on the Baja side to Mazatlan on the mainland side. What she disliked about that crossing was not the winds, which were the usual mixed bag of good and bad. It was the heavy cross-wise rolling seas. She has discovered that she can run into heavy seas all day long with no ill effect, but don’t put her in mixed-up cross-wise seas. That “Southern Crossing” run was approximately 160nm, and for a good deal of that 160nm, she felt very unwell due to those cross-wise, lumpy, miserable seas. She was not so bad that she could not stand her watches, but she was bad enough that even the thought of cooking was out of the question. Thankfully, The Captain can fend for himself at such times, and fortunately, she is always prepared with easy to do meal alternatives. The Captain says that he always has a Plan B in mind when Plan A fails or alters. Well, so does The First Mate when it comes to what comes out or will come out of the galley.

With resigned acceptance, The First Mate faces another Southern Crossing. It is after all the only way we can get Avante to La Paz so we can begin our exploration of the Sea of Cortez. She, however, carefully keeps nurturing a wispy thread of optimism. The seas cannot always be up and running cross-wise, can they? Of the 430nm we have to cover, we have already done 114 of them with our arrival at Isla Isabela. Our intended anchor point on the Baja side is Ensenada de los Muertos, 250nm across the sea. This will entail a double overnighter for the sailing duo.

After our hike on Isla Isabela to see frigates and blue-footed boobies, we return to Avante. The Captain is eager to pull anchor and go, but The First Mate will hear none of that. It is hot, and if we are going to spend two nights at sea, she is going to start out with a clean body, refreshed from head to foot. She is going to take a quick swim, a shower and then we can go. He is not too happy with the delay, but seeing her so determined, he joins in the swim and shower. The promised meal after we are under way helps, too.

At 10:10am, Friday, April 3rd (Captain’s log), we lift anchor and depart. From The Captain’s initial reluctance to the delay imposed by showers, one would have thought that we were leaving in the late afternoon, but it was in the very early morning that we took the hike to see the birds. It is bright, sunny and still. We motor out of the bay, let out the fishing line, and … zing! We have a fish. The Captain reels in a nice small bonito. Within 45 minutes of lifting anchor, a freshly cooked bonito is served for lunch. The First Mate had promised a meal as soon as we were under way. It pays to listen to her sometimes! Here her Plan A for lunch (canned tuna) was happily changed to Plan B (sautéed fresh-caught bonito with sliced tomatoes and avocado).

Just as lunch is finished, that line zings out again. This time our first Dorado is reeled in. This fish is so pretty with its green and yellow coloring that The First Mate is saddened to see it dispatched, but it is going to make a great offshore dinner tonight. Dorado (also known as mahi mahi) is a highly sought after fish, and we have been eager to catch our first one. The First Mate happily heads to her cookbooks to decide how she is going to cook it for tonight.

In the early afternoon, winds pick up to 10 knots from the west. We are able to raise sail and tack northwest for several hours. As we sail deeper into the sea and further from land, the seas become more and more lumpy and confused. “Yuck,” thinks The First Mate. Grapping a ginger ale, a bowl of pita chips, a cover up and some deck pillows, she heads to the stern of the boat, to her favorite seat. Here she can sit in the breeze facing the way they are going, watch the horizon and hope for the best. By 5:00, she knows there is going to be no Dorado cooked by her for dinner. The Dorado is left to continue freezing on ice, and The Captain reheats leftovers from last night’s dinner. She cannot cook it, but she makes herself eat it because not eating and letting one’s blood sugar run low can make matters worse.
As she writes this blog, she is reviewing The Captain’s log of the crossing. As with the first crossing we did, our winds are fitful. Never very strong and never lasting very long. We sailed some, motored more – all of it in lumpy seas. And all of it keeping The First Mate just on the edge. The Captain is not pleased that she did not take her seasick pills, but how was she to know the seas were going to be like this? There is a complication with the pills, and it is four-fold.

She cannot take them daily like one does with vitamins.

They make her very sleepy and even with NoDoz to counteract the effect, she still feels like a zombie under their influence.

Who can predict when lumpy seas are going to occur.

One must start taking the pills several hours before one anticipates being in a situation where one might get sick.

Now, how can one plan ahead like that when one cannot foresee when seas are going to be lumpy? And who wants to willingly put oneself into a zombie state unless there is definitely an adequate reason? It is only certain kind of seas that affect her. Not all seas, fortunately, or she and Avante would never have met.

The world keeps spinning, and somehow one day rotates around to two days and two nights. At 6:45am, Sunday, April 4th, (Captain’s log), we motor into Bahia Los Muertos. At 7:50, we are anchored. We have completed our second Southern Crossing. Bahia Los Muertos translated means Bay of the Dead-men. “How appropriate,” thinks The First Mate. Early guidebooks talk about giant anchors being dropped and left in the bay. These giant anchors are called dead-men or muertos. No one has ever found one of these huge anchors in the bay, but they still give their name to the bay. After a good morning’s nap in the calm bay, The First Mate is happy to claim that she can no longer be found among the “muertos” either. That evening, Dorado is festively served for dinner.

The desert meets the sea here in Bahia Los Muertos.

Ahead of us are 5 weeks of cruising the Sea of Cortez with its many islands and isolated anchorages all back dropped by the jagged ridges and multi-colored layers of the impressive Sierra Giganta mountain range which forms the spine of the Baja peninsula. Cruising days and Savoring days are in the schedule, and both The Captain and The First Mate are eager to start.

Frigates and Blue-Footed Boobies

2009-05-06T22:17:00.000-07:00

What is this thing? The First Mate is entranced by these large graceful black birds flying overhead. She has never seen the likes of them. With their V-shaped, swept-back wings and their split tails, they look like prehistoric pterodactyls to her. The Mexicans call them tijeretas or Scissor Tails. Commonly, they are called frigates. They appear to be sea birds, but she seldom sees them venturing near the surface of the water. When they do, it is with a quick swoop down to the water followed by what looks like a quick jab of its beak to nab a surface fish. They do not do this at all as frequently as say a pelican does and having never seen a successful catch, she wonders how they sustain themselves. It is a mystery to her. They never alight on the water. Instead, they spend lazy hours majestically circling high with those amazing wings outspread as they ride the thermals.

The guidebooks tell little about the birds to satisfy her curiosity, but they do mention that they have a breeding ground on a small, volcanic island called Isla Isabela. This she must see. On the trip south to Puerto Vallarta last January, she tried to talk The Captain into a stop, but the timing was not right. They passed it in the middle of the night and during a period of high winds and tossing seas. Isla Isabela is a fair weather anchorage only, and this was not fair weather. Now on the trip north to the Sea of Cortez, she is determined that they will stop, and The Captain agrees.

Thirty years ago, Jacques Cousteau came to this wild, uninhabited island to do a National Geographic film series on the rare frigate nests that abound on the island. He was drawn not only by the frigates, but by the blue-footed boobies that also nest on the island and by the pristine underwater reefs created by the volcanic overflow. Today the island is a National Wildlife Preserve. The First Mate is not drawn by the underwater world, but frigates and blue-footed boobies are like magnets to her. A blue-footed booby? A real one! She thought one had to go to Galapagos to see one of them, but here they are in Mexico. We are not going to pass up this opportunity even if we have to wait a week for a calm weather window!

On Thursday, April 2nd, we leave Chacala and head across 50 nm to Isla Isabela. The weather is forecast to be calm or at least calm enough for us to anchor and spend the night.

This is not an iceberg having miraculously made it all the way south to Mexico. It is Roca Blanca, a guano-covered rock we pass on our way to Isla Isabela.
In mid-afternoon, winds freshen to 15 knots enabling a great sail, and we tack almost all the way into our anchorage. As we approach the bay, we are hailed from Lovely Rita by Deb and John Dye, a couple we had first met in Monzanilla Bay last February. Sitting at anchor savoring the late afternoon, they tell us that they are enjoying the sight of Avante beautifully sailing toward them. (The First Mate was at the helm, and let me tell you …. Sailors, especially lowly First Mates, just love to hear such comments!)

We anchor just below Las Monas, eye-catching guano-covered monoliths jutting out of the water.
Overhead, frigates are putting on quite a flying show.
It is too late to head over to the island. Instead we launch the dinghy to does some exploration by water. We motor over to talk with the Dyes and then cruise around Las Monas enjoying the light of the setting sun on the rocks and the birds getting in the last of their day’s flying before settling in for the night.
Centuries of guano paint the rocks white.
These impressive monoliths are worth the trip to the island alone.
Every angle creates a different view. As one would look for images in cloud patterns, The First Mate does so with the rocks. Here we see a medieval fire-breathing dragon folding its wings as it settles in for the night.
In the morning, we set out for the island. There is a small camp of local fishermen near where one is supposed to land one’s dinghy in order to connect with the hiking trail that takes one to the nesting area. Feeling like intruders, we pull The Dingbat ashore, smile, say “Buenos Dios”, and tromp behind their huts to the start of the trail. The trail started out in much better condition than we had expected, but soon deteriorated. We are eager to see the nesting areas of both the frigates and the blue-footed boobies. Looking up, we are surprised to find ourselves just about eyeball to eyeball with fluffy headed frigate nestlings.

Frigates build their nests in low, multi-branched, scrubby trees. Some nests are no more than 5’ off the ground. The First Mate is amazed. These graceful, high-flying birds tangle up in branches to nest. In fact, they are so bunched together and so enmeshed in the branches that it is hard to get a clear photo of them. The nest itself looks like an uncomfortable jumble of sticks, hardly something in which a proud parent would appear to want to spawn offspring, but breed they do. We saw fledglings at all stages of growth from newly born to white-headed youngsters as big as their parents, but what we did not see was parents flying to and from with feed for their fast-growing kids. How these babies get fed and what they get fed is a mystery to us, and something The First Mate intends to research as soon as she is able to do so.

This little fellow must have fallen out of his nest, a feat that is probably not that difficult given the haphazard condition of the nests. The older ones appear to leave the nest and just hang out on a branch waiting for a feeding parent to return.

Male frigates can be identified by a bright red neck pouch which they inflate to attract the female.

Continuing upward above the nesting area, we reach the volcanic rim of the island. The view of the rock formations, the sparkling blue water and the graceful birds is fantastic.

It is here that The First Mate sees her first booby, but it is a brown booby, not a blue-footed one. We now know the identity of the birds that have twice gotten caught in our fishing lure! Note the pinkish brown feet.
We next circle down to an inland crater lake and on up to the area of the island where the blue-footed boobies have staked their claim. Walking into a shady wooded area, we find ourselves surrounded by blue-footed boobies! Blue feet – they really have blue feet! Up until then, The First Mate really was not totally convinced, but seeing is believing. They really have very pretty blue feet!
These quaintly attractive birds have white chests, dark wings and brown and white feathered heads as well as webbed blue feet. Their perfectly round eyes are almost as striking as those feet. White bull’s eye circles with black dots, they stare out unblinkingly as if in wide-open amazement. To The First Mate, they look like they know they have been caught doing something wrong, but are hoping that if they just stare back innocently, nobody will say anything. The First Mate wonders if they ever blink. Don’t they get sand in their eyes once in a while?

The chicks appear quite helpless at first, but quickly grow as big as or bigger than their parents. The First Mate feels sympathy for the parents charged with the task of feeding the hungry mouths of their offspring.

If the low height and shoddy nest-building skills of the frigates surprised The First Mate, she is astounded at the choice of nesting sites the blue-footed boobies have picked. Except for a few who have nestled down in the woods, most are out on the beach, totally exposed and open to whatever comes along be it weather-related as in wind or angry sea or animal-related as in predator. And, where are the nests? They do not appear to build nests at all. Just any old circle in the sand or dirt seems to work fine. Squat down, lay an egg and sit on it until it hatches. Keep the kid warm until it can stand up on its own, and then it just seems to hang around the general area where it was born waiting to be fed.

A whitewash of guano serves to locate most nests. This poor adult looks a bit overwhelmed by the two hungry mouths it has to feed, and in a short time they will be as big as he is! He looks endearingly comical to The First Mate.

Another feature about the blue-footed boobies that amazes The First Mate is how utterly non-combative they are. Yes, they squawk if they feel one is getting too near, but they squawk while backing up. They never attack. Their beaks are pointed enough to do damage; yet we freely walk through their area, stepping over and around their nests. Try that with a seagull. They attack from the air in crazed bombing runs. The First Mate has experienced that!

Here, too, we are puzzled by what these birds eat, how they catch it and how/when do they feed their young. With their webbed feet, these are obviously water birds. Do they eat fish, crabs and other sea critters? How do they catch them? Not a one takes to the air as we walk unimpeded thru their turf. Unless we have mistaken them for seagulls, we have never seen one flying around Avante. Here is another mystery that The First Mate will research when on land.

It does not take further research, however, for The First Mate to understand why this island with its frigates and blue-footed boobies is so rare and why these nesting areas need to be protected. In all honesty, she is quite amazed that these birds have survived this long thru all the millennia. How many places could these birds have found in this world where they could build their clumsy nests low in trees or right on the ground out in the open and not be attacked? How many places are there that do not have egg-eating snakes, lizards or four-footed clawing, sharp-toothed predators? Any other place but an isolated island, and these guys would have been part of the food chain and probably long ago extinct. Gone -- not by mankind’s unthinking, uncaring stupidity and greed, but from their own genetic pre-disposition to poorly planned nesting choices. Frigates may be majestic, elegant flyers and blue-footed boobies may be quaintly irresistible, but Mother Nature sure neglected a few basic survival instincts when she created them. To their credit, they did find places where they could survive. Now it is our responsibility to make sure these few isolated, uninhabited places remain that way so these rare ones can survive.

Both The Captain and The First Mate so enjoyed the island walk and visit with its unique inhabitants that we plan to return on our trip south to Puerto Vallarta in May, but right now we have to make what is called the “Southern Crossing”. We have 250nm miles ahead of us to traverse the Sea of Cortez from Isla Isabela northwest to La Paz on the Baja peninsula. We return to Avante stopping by Lovely Rita to say good-bye, take a swim, secure the hatches, and head out to sea. Our first 2-night solo trek is ahead of us

The Dingbat's Revenge

2009-05-06T20:25:00.000-07:00

The First Mate has never had kind words for The Dingbat. Their antagonistic relationship started with their very first meeting on the boat ramp off Shelter Island in San Diego in 2006. That is where we took delivery of our new dinghy and motor. To The First Mate, these acquisitions were initially an unexciting dinghy and engine purchase, non-menacing and benign, until she found herself in the boat, all alone, and supposedly in control. The Captain had gone off to a meeting on another boat leaving her alone with the delivery person who was to teach her the intricacies of starting the engine and steering it out and about. The introduction starts off on the wrong foot when stepping onto the slippery slope-sided floor of the dinghy, she is promptly upended. (We now have additional non-skid strategically placed, but did not then.) The delivery person first shows her how to start the engine. Just a few steps. Looks easy. Then he takes her for a spin showing her which direction to turn the arm of the motor. Little does this guy know about The First Mate’s physics issues. This is all counterintuitive. Right goes left, left goes right. Up is down, down is up. This is not going to work, sir, but we’ll give it a try. Try she does, and it is a mess. We go in circles. Instead of slowing down, it nearly turns turtle as she blasts it off into the open sea. It does not take long for the delivery guy to realize he has a lost cause on his hands, and all he now wants to do is get back to the dock and out of there as inconspicuously and as quickly as possible. It just happens to be Saturday morning, and the boat ramp is filled with weekend fisher people launching their boats to head out to catch the Big One. This “audience”, which The First Mate had not asked for, is mostly men, most of whom are into their first beers of the morning, and they are having an amusing time watching this spectacle. At my expense! I am not pleased.

Returning to the dock, The First Mast slowly angles in to make a landing. At the last moment, instead of turning the control in the direction to slow it down further, she twists it the wrong way (right way to her logic). The dinghy careens into the dock and because it is a rubber inflatable after all, it bounces off at a weird angle. Mortified and angry, she accomplishes a 540-degree turn and heads back to the dock. Not wishing to tempt Fate a second time, she lets the dinghy coast in slowly – painfully slowly. The delivery guy just as slowly and carefully reaches out, grabs onto a piece of dock and hops on land faster than he had probably ever moved in his life. The First Mate does the natural thing and turns off the engine, which happens to be the easiest thing to do on this contraption. All one has to do is push a button, and the engine disconnects. Unfortunately, she now has to restart it so she can motor out and around to another dock to pick up The Captain. It sounded so easy when the delivery guy had earlier explained how to start the thing. Now, nothing is easy. Does the choke go in or out? Do I even use the choke? Which way is neutral? Which direction do I engage the motor once it starts? To me, forward is backward: backward is forward. This is all Greek to me! To the delivery guy’s credit, he has not made a hasty retreat. He stays to re-explain engine start-up. I now have everything in position. All I have to do is pull the start cord out smartly. I pull, and I pull. I try different angles, straight back, straight up. My shoulder hurts. My back hurts. I’ve worked up a sweat, and the engine will not even sputter. I am ready to tell this delivery person to take the whole thing back and bring me something with a key. Turn it, and it starts. That’s it. Taking pity, he climbs back in and with one good yank on that cord, the engine turns over smartly for him. Why not for me?

Now she is in the dinghy all alone about to take her maiden voyage out into the harbor and around to the dock where The Captain is waiting to be picked up. Somehow we spasmodically motor away from the dock and out the boat ramp launching area into the open harbor without hitting another thing. She refuses to look at or acknowledge even a one of the bug-eyed, pot-bellied, grinning fisherpeople out there watching. We are now out in the open, and we have to go f-o-r-e-v-e-r before there is another opening into the sheltered area where The Captain awaits. The waves are bumpy and lumpy. The dinghy’s rocking is unnerving and unpredictable to The inexperienced First Mate. Again she mistakenly guns the engine. This 8-cylindar engine has more power than she can handle. Nearly dumped in the ocean again, she reduces speed to a crawl, really just above a stall. It takes 45 minutes for her to do what should be a 10-minute run. She is scared, mad, embarrassed and doesn’t want anything to do with this –-- this --- this dingy thing ---this Dingbat! That’s it – The Dingbat is christened.

When she finally reaches a thoroughly perplexed Captain who had been kept waiting beyond what he considered a reasonable time, she has no concern for his plight. She tells him to grab the line because the boat will not stop on its own. Then she vents on and on about this miserable Dingbat with its slippery, sloping sides and its unwieldy, unworkable engine. Looking at his beautiful new dinghy and its shiny, new powerful engine with added-on wings to plain the boat upward out of the water, he wonders who is the dingbat in this whole sad scenario. Nevertheless, the name sticks. The Dingbat is collectively the name we use for the dingy and its engine.

The Captain and The Dingbat work together like a team. Music, nay symphonies, play when they are together. It starts for him. It maneuvers for him. It practically purrs for him and obeys his every command. For The First Mate and The Dingbat, initial antipathy slowly settles into mutual tolerance. She tolerates The Dingbat out of necessity, and The Dingbat tolerates her only to please The Captain.

Life goes on like this as we sail up to and thru The San Juan and Gulf Islands, into the remote reaches of British Columbia and north to Alaska. The “landing the dinghy at a dock” exercise is somewhat mastered, though starting the engine remains a 50-50 proposition. The Captain and The First Mate experiment with and find a workable system for raising and lowering The Dingbat into the water from the bow of Avante where it is stored, but a constant source of contention for which they have no great answer is the “haul the dinghy onto and off the beach” exercise. The scene goes like this: They motor into shore until they get into shallow water, remembering to tilt the engine upward so that the propeller does not hit any rocks or get stuck in the sand. Stepping into the cold water of the Northwest, they each grab a side and haul The Dingbat toward shore and out of any tide’s hungry grasp. This works fine as long as The Dingbat is afloat, but once aground, The Captain discovers that there is no way The First Mate can lift her half of the 200lb combined weight of dinghy and motor. She lifts and strains. The Captain cannot understand why she cannot carry her half of the load. Not for the first time, she wonders what he thinks he married. When he finally accepts that all forward motion has come to a standstill, The Captain comes up with Plan B – something he maintains that a captain must always have at his fingertips. He moves The First Mate to the bow of the dinghy where she is told to lift when he is ready. He moves to the stern of the dinghy and straddles the engine. On the command of lift, The First Mate lifts and awkwardly steps backward while The Captain lifts and does a more awkward sort of duck waddle with the motor and all its sharp edges between his legs. This is far from a smooth operation. In fact, they look and feel downright ridiculous, but at least they have a system for hauling The Dingbat across the beach. For The First Mate this indignity is just one more ding to add to her Dingbat dislike list. If she could kick the thing without getting hurt she would!

Upon returning to San Diego and in preparation for Mexico’s sandy beaches and turbulent surf landings that await us, The Captain arrives at the dock one day with new equipment for The Dingbat. WHEELS! The Dingbat is enraged. This is unthinkable! Talk about humiliation! Wheels attached to a dinghy? How undignified! This just cannot be happening, but it does. Metal supports are drilled and screwed into its stern, and these oversized, fat, ugly wheels are attached. Wheels to support the over-weight Dingbat as we more gracefully pull it onto the beach or back to the surf. Wheels to protect the engine and prop from rocks as we head to and from shore in the shallow waters. The First Mate had wanted these wheels when they first purchased The Dingbat. She moaned and pleaded for them every time she had to haul the thing, but The Captain would not hear of it. In cahoots with The Dingbat, he did not think they were appropriate attire for a dinghy. They were for the weak – not for he and his dinghy. Now he has been talked into them by people who have been to Mexico and know what they are talking about. Wheels we have. The First Mate is delighted. The Captain is resigned to the necessity. The Dingbat is out for REVENGE! How dare he? The battle has started. These wheels must go.

The main problem with beach landings and take-offs in Mexico is the roughness of the surf. We are told that there is a certain knack and skill required. Practice is the key, and taking time to study the wave pattern helps, too. It takes teamwork. Captain, First Mate and The Dingbat need to work together, and guess who isn’t working? Not The First Mate. That’s for sure. Her regular dousings and black and blues attest to that. Not The Captain. He studies how the local fishermen launch their pangas into the surf and analyses the wave patterns. It can only be The Dingbat. Having lost all pride with the addition of those wheels, it has no more left to lose. With purpose, it turns sideways to the waves, dipping and careening menacingly in an attempt to swamp itself. With perfect timing, it stalls the engine at the worst possible moments. Landings are aborted repeatedly as it dislodges a wheel just when that wheel is most needed to support the boat and protect the engine. Looking back, the detached wheel will be floating away in the surf requiring a mad scramble. For The Captain, this continuing show of what he considers ineptitude is more than he can tolerate. The dinghy, the engine, the wheels, the surf – all have him furious, but he will not be flummoxed. “Captain, you asked for it,” thinks The Dingbat. Seeing his frustration is almost revenge enough.

After sailing Avante south from San Diego to Puerto Vallarta, we returned to Telluride at the end of February for a very short 4 weeks of winter snow fun. With granddaughter, Berlin, in for her Spring break, the three of us ski the mountain, hike the ranch and toast marshmallows in the evening.

At the end of March we return to Puerto Vallarta, restock Avante and set sail heading northwest to the Sea of Cortez. Our first stop is Punta Mita. The next day we round the point having now discovered that that third rock we agonizingly sailed 20 miles around on our way into Banderas Bay last January is more myth than fact. It was reported out there somewhere ages ago. No one has been able to find it since, even using more sophisticated sounding equipment; yet no one wants to take credit for saying it physically is not there. Thus the warnings persist. First timers to the area are on guard until they have the opportunity to talk to locals in the know. Then like we now do, they sail safely around the point keeping 2 miles off shore.

We head up the coast to Chacala. Site of a once producing coconut-growing operation, the pretty beach is ringed with tall palm trees. Several colorful palapa restaurants sit invitingly on the shore. The First Mate feels strongly that we support these small establishments operating in the middle of nowhere. Though she prefers a brisk morning beach walk followed by breakfast in a local restaurant, we chose to go in for dinner since we need to make an early morning departure the next day. At dusk, we launch The Dingbat and head ashore. There is a panga dock not far from the main beach, but The Captain opts for a surf landing. The Dingbat is deployed, as usual, with the wheels sticking straight up from the stern. This is to keep the wheels out of the way of the prop when underway. According to The Captain, this makes The Dingbat look like an “elephant turned turtle”, a comment that The Dingbat will never forgive.

Shortly before reaching the waves that would pull us onto the beach, The Captain cuts the engine to lower the wheels. This takes a bit of effort as the bulky, buoyant tires do not easily push down into the water. Secured in their slots, the engine is restarted. Now -- study the waves, find the lull, charge the beach, hit the sand, jump into the surf keeping a grip on the boat and yank it ashore before The Dingbat has a chance to knock you over. The trick is to not get so wet that you look like a drowned rat when you walk into a restaurant for dinner. This time we make a great landing. All that is wet is our Keen sandals, which is as it should be. The Dingbat is hauled up the beach and left to stew while we enjoy a pleasant meal.

The First Mate observes at dinner that The Captain seems somewhat distracted as he keeps watching the sea. “That one would have gotten us. It wasn’t part of the pattern,” he says mostly to himself. “What would have gotten us? What pattern?” queries The First Mate. “The waves,” he replies. “I am watching the wave pattern. There’s 3 short ones followed by a real slammer. Then there’s a lull. It’s the lull we have to catch getting out of here, but that wave earlier was a big one that did not fit the pattern. It’s those rogues that get us.” The Captain is surely becoming too obsessed with this!

With heavy cloud cover blocking the moon, we walk back to The Dingbat in total blackness with only a small flashlight to show us the way. We turn the boat around and stand there in the dark counting waves. Here’s the lull, grab the boat, dash into the surf, haul ourselves aboard (not easy), start the engine and motor the heck out to sea before the big one gets you. We do all that. The engine starts. It roars to life. Feeling triumphant, The Captain turns the throttle to motor on out and thru the waves. The engine stalls. Dead, silent. The Captain is beside himself with frustration. The First Mate, knowing when to remain silent, does not say a word. Then, out of the dark as if from nowhere, the big one hits slamming right over the bow of the boat smack into The First Mate’s unsuspecting face. The Captain commands The First Mate to take the flashlight which she grasps for in the darkness, temporarily blinded by stinging salt watered-eyes. He jumps out of the boat in an attempt to hold it into the waves so The Dingbat can’t turn sideways to the waves and get swamped. Over the sounds of the pounding surf, The Captain yells at The First Mate to start the engine. Sure thing, Captain. She scrambles back, adding another bruise or two to already blossomed black and blues, grabs the cord with two hands and yanks for all she’s worth. Of course, nothing happens, but what is that graceful arch of light that just flew over our heads? In amazement and disbelief, we watch our flashlight sail out to sea. The only thing accomplished when The First Mate pulled the start cord was a launching of the flashlight she held in one of her hands. Losing the flashlight is almost as bad as getting swamped, for without the flashlight, we will not be able to see the combination lock to open up Avante so we can get below deck. We’ll be stuck in the cockpit until dawn! Off The Captain swims to retrieve the flashlight leaving The First Mate marooned in the wildly tossing boat. Back aboard, The Captain yells to unstrap the oars. Since he can’t start the engine, he will row out of here. We are being slammed by waves, rocking back and forth, miserably wet. The only mercifully good thing is that in the total blackout against an equally black sea no one can see this circus act. In the dark, we both go for the same oar, pulling and twisting, we work against each other trying to free the same oar. It’s a “Laurel and Hardy” act. Timing is everything. We have to get out of this surf before we are upended and swamped. Arguing back and forth over who has which oar, he finally takes one oar to free, and she takes the other. Both oars are in place, and The Captain rows for all he’s worth to get us out of the surf. Once free of the waves, he turns back to the engine. Unable to do us any more damage, The Dingbat allows the engine to start, and we splutter back to Avante.

The First Mate, once safely and securely aboard Avante, finds the caper rather funny. The Captain does not. He is fuming. It matters not that other boat people also have trouble with dinghy launchings here in Mexico. Not he. First he has to figure out what is wrong with the engine? It has been causing him start-up problems since we left San Diego. (The Dingbat knows.) Next he will work out how to manage and anticipate this surf and wave action. He will not be stymied.

Silently floating on the gentle waves lapping against its hull, The Dingbat hears The Captain’s angry exclamations, savoring each and every frustrated word. Revenge is sweet. The Battle against The Wheels will continue.

Heading Home

2009-02-25T11:57:00.000-08:00

The anchorage at La Cruz is delightful, and we spend the afternoon recovering from our trip. Bill finds that the jib furler is easy to fix in daylight, when he is not being sprayed by every wave. It is close to dark when we finally launch the dinghy and head into town. There is a wonderful marina in La Cruz in the final stages of completion, but the road into town is all torn up. We trudge through the construction headed for Xocolatl, a restaurant that has been highly recommended to us. Not only is the food claimed to be good, the location is high above the town with a sweeping view of Banderas Bay. We find the restaurant but are dismayed to find a sign reading “Sorry. No credit cards”. We are out of pesos after our anchor adventure and here in the Puerto Vallarta area things are not as inexpensive as breakfast was in the remote anchorage of Bahia de Chamela. The owner offers to let us come back and pay tomorrow, but we are uncomfortable with that offer. One never knows what tomorrow will bring, especially on a boat. Since we do need to get cash sometime, we might as well get it now before sitting down to dinner. We ask where the nearest ATM is located, and the owner says the only one in town is at the gas station. He points at some lights down the road. Thinking he can make the trip faster by himself, The Captain suggests that The First Mate wait for him at the restaurant. Happily she does, sitting at a table overlooking the sweep of Banderas Bay, sipping a glass of wine, savoring the evening. The Captain returns almost an hour later eager for a beer. The gas station was 2 km down the road!

Dinner proves to be wonderful. The staff is attentive, and we enjoy the evening overlooking the bay.

One more Savor Day and then we will head into Paradise Village Marina to begin the clean-up and prep work that will enable us to leave Avante on her own for a while down here. We see Deb and Greg Baillie’s “Lion’s Paw” anchored near us and dinghy over to see if they are free to head out to dinner that evening. We suggest heading up the hill to the same restaurant as last night. The view over the bay is impressive with all the lights at night showing the sweep of the bay. It’s a delightful final evening to our first Mexican cruise. We discuss our various adventures in dealing with and living on boats especially in foreign locales, and we muse about our various travel hopes and plans. The Baillies plan to sail south to Costa Rica and then head west to the Pacific Islands. Wonder if we will ever do that? It is a dream.

Several weeks ago, we received this photo from our Telluride snowshoe group. As dynamic, healthy and happy a picture as it is with so many of our friends enjoying a beautiful hike on a gorgeous San Juan Mountain’s day, it did not pull us or tempt us to want to return to winter weather. We were tropical waters bound! Swimsuits, warm waters, sand, not snow, were on our minds. With Avante now in Paradise Village Marina, with clean up work begun, our minds now are turning northward to our mountains, our friends there and home. Avante will be secured until the end of March when we return for another two months. We will then sail toward new horizons and explore the Sea of Cortez, but at the moment as we clean and scrub, it is the jagged horizon of our San Juan peaks that is on our mind. Here we come!

STUCK

2009-02-25T11:51:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, February 17th – STUCK! We are securely stuck at anchor. We were up by 7:00 with plans to motor out of the bay to head north 52 nm to Punta Ipala. Though often a marginal anchorage with rolling seas, cruisers do use it in order to be in position for an early morning departure to get around Cabo Corrientes before the winds hit. The Captain is delighted to see The First Mate dressed, on deck, at the helm with the engine running and ready to go. Being hooked on some boulder down below is not part of his plans. For well over an hour, we twist and turn Avante in a circle pulling at various angles hoping to free the anchor, but nothing is budging other than The Captain's rising frustration. Donning mask and flippers, he dives down hoping to be able to get deep enough to see something, but his ears protest long before he can get close enough to the 40’ depth where the anchor is located.
What to do? Of course, one could always cut the chain and leave the anchor down there. We do have another anchor we could use. However, this is no ordinary anchor stuck down there. It is a stainless steel 60# anchor with a replacement value of 3 to 4 Boat Units. For the uninitiated, a Boat Unit equates to $1,000 and is a common expression used when one is trying to absorb or rationalize the cost of anything on a boat. Thus, that simple piece of forged metal stuck down there costs between $3,000 to $4,000. It is not something one casually gives up on.

Greg James radios over from “Sirius” to find out if we have a problem. They had expected us long gone by now, and seeing us motoring in circles with Bill at the bow working the anchor controls, they suspect a problem and ask if they can help. By chance on our walks thru the little beach town, we had seen a tiny dive shop. Bill asks Greg for a dinghy ride to shore so he can walk to the shop. The dive shop radios its boat which just happens to be returning from a reef dive. With amazingly quick response, the dive boat reaches Avante just as Bill and Greg return. Their diver guesses that we are probably caught on one of the rocks below us. He puts on his gear and goes down. He is down there for a long time. We can see his bubbles moving around in a way that doesn’t fully make sense. When he comes up, we listen in amazement as he explains that the anchor and a good deal of chain are buried under a large wreck. We are not hooked on a rock or boulder. We are stuck under a boat, and that boat is large and very heavy. How the anchor and chain got there is anybody’s guess! The strong, shifting winds we had which barreled into the bay and caused all the boats to dance around their anchors were probably partly to blame as well the circling and pulling we ourselves had done earlier.
The diver goes down again with a rope to attach to the anchor hoping to be able to pull the anchor free from the other direction with his boat. No luck. The anchor and chain remain stuck. The diver talks about maybe having to cut our chain and forget about our anchor. We explain that we really do want to get our anchor back.

Out of air and needing reinforcements, he goes back to the shop. In an hour he returns with another diver and a crowbar. They dive on the anchor, and this time the two of them are able to free the anchor and use the rope to haul it up onto their boat. Our chain is still stuck under the boat, but at least, thankfully, we have the anchor. Chain is easier and much friendlier from a dollar perspective to replace. Our divers are good and are determined to try to free that chain. Down they go again to try to manhandle the chain around in a direction that would enable us on Avante to pull it free. Ready, they show us the direction to pull. It takes a bit of maneuvering to get Avante lined up and moving in the right direction. We motor above the wreck, put a bunch of slack in the chain then back up quickly till the chain pulls taut. We are using all of Avante’s 20 tons to try to drag our chain out from under the wreck. After several attempts, that sunken boat finally releases the last of our chain and up it comes. We are free. We have chain, and we have anchor. Bill uses up almost all of the Mexican money he has on hand to reward the divers. We feel lucky. Not many anchorages have divers nearby. What a start to a Travel Day!

Stainless steel 60# Anchor

Beautiful, isn’t it? But $4,000? The First Mate finds the cost of anything on a boat to be so ridiculously, incomprehensibly high that she no longer bothers to ask. Why?

It is now 1:00, a mere 5 hours after our planned 7:30 departure. The First Mate would like to spend the night and start all over again in the morning. The Captain will hear none of that. He is up. The weather forecast is favorable. He is ready to go, and there is no way he is dropping his anchor in this bay again! Off we go on an unjointly planned departure and not for Punta Ipala as originally scheduled. At a distance of 52 miles, there is no way we can reach there before dark. We will now continue overnight so we can head directly around Cabo Corrientes in the early morning hours and on up to La Cruz de Huanacaxtle in Banderas Bay.

It proves a miserable trip. Winds build up in the afternoon. We put in the first reef. Seas are a mess. Waves break over the boat, soaking everything. One of the lazy jack connectors snaps. The Captain has to go forward to fix it. We continue into the evening with winds between 18 to 23. What about the forecast of max winds of 15 knots? What happened to those afternoon winds calming with the sunset? Did not happen. We turn on the engine and let the sails luff a bit to reduce the angle of the boat while we prepare and eat dinner. Tuna fish sandwiches for dinner. Nothing else can be handled in the galley. At some point, we decide to take in the jib to reduce sail. The jib will not wind in. The First Mate is beginning to wonder what else is going to go wrong. The Captain goes forward to investigate the problem and returns soaked. The jib furler is not working. The jib is “stuck” out there, and in the dark and the heavy seas, he unable to get to the cause of the problme. We could take down the jib rather than furl it, but we don’t want to do that in this wind and with these seas. We decide to let the jib fly and instead we lower the main sail. Somewhat settled and secure, we motorsail into the dark night. We finally round the point in the early morning hours. Winds calm to under 16. We raise the main sail letting out the reef. Crossing Banderas Bay toward La Cruz, winds continue to drop. So do the seas. After all these winds, we end up having to motor across Banderas Bay for the rest of the morning. What a trip! But wait --- Two Travel Days equal (or beget) 4 Savor Days. Though we do not have that many days left before returning to Telluride, we do have scheduled 2 days in La Cruz before heading into Paradise Village Marina to clean Avante. The First Mate thinks that she will just make sure unused Savor Days are worked into the schedule when we return in April! She cannot complain, though. Eleven Savor Days were worked into this Gold Coast cruise. Not bad!

Gold Coast Cruising

2009-02-23T16:49:00.001-08:00

It’s a small world, or so it can be at times. Sitting on deck while anchored in Bahia de Manzanillo, a dingy motors over to our boat. Greg Baillie from “Lion’s Paw” could not pass up meeting the people on this boat with Telluride on its stern. There are not many boats out there claiming Telluride as home. It turns out that Deb and Greg Baillie are from Telluride and also have Telluride written on their “Lion’s Paw”. Their home in Mountain Village is rented, and they are 1 1/2 years into traveling the oceans on “Lion’s Paw”. Our paths had never crossed in Telluride; yet here we meet crossing sails, so to speak, in a bay in Mexico! Small world, it is indeed. We now know of six beautiful sailboats hailing from Telluride out there sailing the seas. When people question us about being from Telluride, The Captain always comments that for Avante the first 1,000 miles out was the hardest part!

Two “Telluride” sailboats!

Saturday, February 8th – After 2 Savor Days in Manzanillo, we head to Bahia de Navidad. Motoring out of Bahia de Manzanillo, we decide to detour a bit to check out Bahia de Santiago which is on the other side of Bahia de Manzanillo. What a surprise! Where Bahia de Manzanillo was magical, Bahia de Santiago is ordinary, dominated by one large modern hotel building. Granted, it is white, but it just doesn’t have the poetry of Las Hadas.

Rounding Punta Santiago to enter Bahia de Santiago

Large, white hotel in bay. Nice, but not magical.

We motor out of the bay and along the coastline. Contrary to the tropical setting we expected along this Gold Coast, what we see is a rocky, dry landscape much like what one sees all along this Pacific Coast from the state of Washington and on south. Palm trees do exist here and there, seemingly planted for effect, and we are coming to believe they are about as native to this area as the palm trees in Florida are. This coastline is rock, scrub and cactus!

Heading out to sea to avoid some nasty rocks strung out from the coast, we raise sail as winds pick up and keep picking up. Afternoon winds do that down here, but these are early. We are sailing upwind in 20 – 25 knots of winds. The First Mate stays at the helm until the sun is too much for her. She is never going to fully learn to sail if they keep turning on the autopilot! It was a glorious sail, but 5 knots less of wind or less turbulent seas would have been more comfortable.
It takes us 5 tries to set the anchor in Bahia de Navidad. It keeps skipping along the gravel and rocky bottom and will not grab. Finally, we feel that comforting tug as we back down. The anchor is set. With rocks not far from us, we are very glad to set the anchor alarm.
We are on Central Time here in this part of Mexico. It is hard for The First Mate to comprehend that until she looks at a map. We really are that far east! However, we are on the western edge of the time zone. Sunrise comes late here. It is still dark at 7:00 in the morning. Being one who tends to wake with sunlight, The First Mate finds she is sleeping later until 7:30 or even 8:00. Not so The Captain. He has a different internal clock, that’s all. Up before the sun, he looks around outside and sees a sailboat anchored behind us that must have come in at some point during the night. It certainly was not there when we went to bed. It is a beautiful boat and a beautiful sight set off against the rising sun.

7:22 am – Bahia de Navidad

This boat is the most beautiful we have ever seen. About 75’ long, it is all wood and shines in the sunlight. It is sleek and classic, made to sail the seas. As we head out of the bay, we circle near to see if we can pick up its name and identify from where it hails. We can do neither, but The First Mate decides to capture a few more pictures of this elegant beauty.

Needing a fax machine, we are heading into Grand Bay Marina which is at the end of a narrow dredged channel. Once again, we are at a full moon with super low low tides. The Captain tries to raise the marina to verify the depth of the channel, but no one answers. We decide to trust the published data and inch our way thru the channel. It poses no problem. The marina is another matter. We are assigned a slip that at first we cannot locate and when we do, from what we can see, it looks like our slip is in a corner without sufficient turning radius to get into it. This marina does not send anyone out to guide or help us as other marinas have done. The “French Baker” in his panga making his morning deliveries checks it out for us and tells us that there really is room though we cannot see it from our angle. Slowly, more slowly than when we inched down that channel, The First Mate moves Avante down the fairway. Sure enough, there is room, but it is close. Lines tied, engine off, boat secure ...both Captain and First Mate are relieved. We now take the time to look around. What a beautiful marina and what a great hotel above it all! Another neat place – this one with palm trees in abundance!

We take care of what business we can and then decide to explore the little town of Barra. To get there, one takes a water taxi across the channel. What fun!
Approaching Barra, it reminds us of an island version of Venice. Imagine a gondola instead of a panga with an engine. All we need is a gondolier with a Pavarotti voice!
Back at the hotel, we enjoy a late afternoon swim in the pool. Refreshed and spruced up, we take the water taxi back to Barra and then a real taxi to Melaque, the town that is on the bay where we had anchored the previous night. Having had such a miserable dinner at that restaurant in Manzanillo, we are feeling a little gun shy, but the hotel concierge assures us that this restaurant in Melaque is very good. Our taxi driver also approves. We are feeling better. We arrive at the restaurant. There is not a light on. Monday night – it is closed! Now what to do? We ask the driver for a recommendation. Should we go back to Barra? No, there are no good restaurants there. Melaque has the best. He points to one across the street and says that it is very good. What else to do? Off we go, and we have a very good dinner with a delightful waiter accompanied by live music. It is amazing how one bad experience can have such a negative impact, but with this one very good experience, we are now feeling much better about dining out “on the economy”, as we used to say when we lived in Spain and Italy.

Tuesday, February 10th – The First Mate is up and ready. It is “French Baker” time. Finally, she hears him announce his arrival on the radio. Making contact, she requests that he stop at slip A-11. Avante is the name of the boat. He motors over with a panga filled with bakery goods, French bakery goods. She buys 2 croissants (chocolate for her, almond for him), 2 baguettes and a strawberry tart for tonight. Over our cappuccinos, we savor those croissants.

Today, our destination is Bahia de Tenacatita or Ten Bay in cruiser-speak. It is only 21 miles up the road, and then we will have 3 Savor Days. (That’s 5 so far if anyone is counting!) Ten Bay is a large bay, but it is quiet with little development. One of its features is a self-guided jungle river trip which runs thru a mangrove marsh. Turn off your engine and drift with the current. Listen to the wildlife. Search out the bright red crabs on the mangrove roots. Hunt for the birds among the foliage. We so enjoyed our trip that we went twice. Once in the early morning and then again in the evening.

Entering the river lined with mangroves.

We are soon drifting under a mangrove canopy thru shade and dappled sunlight.

Pelicans actually roost in trees! This strange sight is a pelican asleep on his branch. We are sitting quietly in The Dingbat as we drift silently under his perch.

Ever watchful and alert even in sleep, he senses our presence.
“No sleep for the weary,” he mutters to himself and off he flies.
Thursday, February 12th – We walk the beach in the morning! We snorkel! We explore the Jungle River in the late afternoon! “What a perfect ‘Savor Day’”, thinks The First Mate. “Not bad for a ‘Do Nothing Day’”, thinks The Captain.

Friday, February 13th – Though we have been told that anchoring in Bahia Careyes may not be possible for our size boat, we head out to give it a try. If nothing else, we want to see this up and coming “Mexican Riviera” with its many multi-colored homes climbing up the rocky shore. Again there is a good wind, and The First Mate takes the helm and stays there.

The only criticism I have about the J/160 is that it was not designed for a 5’5” person. Everything is about 3” too big, too tall or too wide for me. All this stretching and reaching out to count for something, one would hope!
Here I am on tiptoes trying to see over the dodger.
Arriving at the bay entrance, we take down the sails and motor between two rocky outcroppings into the bay. It is small, and though it actually comprises 3 bays in a clover shape, none of them have room for us. We anchor out in the middle to take in the view, but with the seas up, the wind barreling down on us and a huge rocky coast a few 100’ behind us, this is not a tenable anchorage for the night.

Approach to Bahia Cayeres. Prime real estate down here with luxury homes in a multitude of bright colors.

As we were told, it is a very pretty spot. What a fantastic beach ringed with palm trees! It would be great to visit, but conditions just will not allow us to stay.

These rocks, less than a few 100’ behind Avante’s stern, are a good reason why we choose to leave this windy, rolling anchorage. If the anchor slips, we would have very little time to get up on deck, start the engine and get the heck out of there.
The Captain enjoys the view before we reluctantly pull anchor and head 10 miles up the way to Bahia de Chamela.

By the time we are out of the bay and into open water, winds are averaging around 18 knots and the seas are quite turbulent. The Captain decides that we will motor rather than raise sail to tack back and forth the 10 miles we have to go. It proves a timely decision, for within a half hour of raising sail we would have been going thru a first reef maneuver as the winds climbed over 20 knots. Within a half hour of that, the second reef would have had to be put in with winds clocking in at 28 to 30. It is not that we could not have sailed. It is just that it would have taken so much longer to tack those 10 miles, and it would have been a good deal more uncomfortable than the wave bashing we were currently receiving.

As we finally motor into Bahia de Chamela, we expect the winds to drop within the shelter of the headland. They do drop – to a mere 20 – 22 knots. Anchoring in such winds in rolling seas is always a challenge. At the helm, it becomes a matter of putting just enough power on to hold the boat in place until the anchor hits the bottom. Too much power, and you overrun the anchor. Too little, and you end up way down from your intended anchor spot and thus possibly too close to boats behind you. It is a bit of a dance out there, made worse by the anchor refusing to set firmly and skipping over either rocks or gravel down there. Twice we back down on the anchor. It grabs briefly before pulling loose. On the third attempt, it catches. We’re done. With the wind still howling and barreling down on the anchorage, it is a relief to be secured.

Bahia de Chamela is the first good anchorage one reaches after rounding Cabo Corrientes heading south to the Gold Coast, which in reverse makes it the last good anchorage before heading back up around Cabo Corrientes to Puerto Vallarta which is what we are now doing.. We are planning 3 Savor Days here. (That’s 8 and counting.)

Saturday, February 14th – We spend the morning involved in various projects and interests. After lunch just as we are about to launch The Dingbat for some exploration ashore, those afternoon winds pick up again. We are soon being blasted by 20+ knot winds just like yesterday’s and decide that a launch The Dingbat exercise is not necessary in this wind. Even though we know we are securely anchored, there is always a nagging concern when winds are this high. Added to this concern is the presence of a new boat that anchored much closer to us than we would have liked, especially in this wind and with the way both boats are swinging at anchor. We are not too pleased with this and decide that remaining on Avante to monitor the situation is a good decision. So, we go for a swim. It’s a Savor Day!

Sunday, February 15th – We get up early, launch The Dingbat and head ashore to enjoy a brisk morning walk to the near-by village. We purchase eggs, but on the way back, The First Mate convinces The Captain that breakfast in one of the beach restaurants would be preferable. We chose one with brightly colored checked tablecloths and order orange juice and omelets. Expecting reconstituted orange juice, we are surprised and delighted with soda fountain-sized glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice. The juice alone is a great breakfast. The omelets are delicious, too. With the total cost at $8.50, The First Mate declares the breakfast galley aboard Avante closed for the remainder of our stay here! Who can blame her? Fresh orange juice, beachside location, pelicans and other sea birds doing acrobatics out there, peaceful breezes – This is truly a Savor Day!

On the way back to Avante, we stop to visit with Kate and Greg James whom we had met in Canoe Cove in Canada last summer. They had bought an old Baltic 52 and had been at the boat yard for well over a year, lovingly and beautifully restoring her. “Sirius” was almost ready and they were planning to take off in July headed south to Mexico. Mexico is a small coastline, right? We knew we would meet up somewhere down here and sure enough here we are anchored almost side by side in Bahia de Chamela.

”Sirius” – Baltic 52” – at anchor in Bahia de Chamela

While we are comparing adventures as cruisers do, a dingy motors up to tell us that a barbecue picnic is being planned on the beach of one of the islands in the bay. All cruisers in the “fleet” in Chamela Bay are invited. Bring whatever you want to eat and drink, snorkel gear for the near-by reefs and whatever else you want to add to the fun. Sounds like a great time. We’ll be there, but first The Captain wants to move Avante. His excuse is that he wants to get closer to the headlands to be less exposed to these strong afternoon winds, but the truth is we have had enough of swinging too close to the boat that anchored so near us. Dreading another round of skipping anchor sets, we move, drop anchor and on the first try it bites in securely. Feeling so much better about this spot, we change into bathing suits, grab our gear and head off to the island.

We meet a great group of fun people, but in particular there is a couple from California with whom we had exchanged weather information by radio on the trip south to Cabo. Ines and Kirk Nyby are tandem sailing on their schooner “Pilot” with their son and his wife, Mindy and Tristen, on their catamaran. They are at the beginning of a yearlong cruise to the Pacific Islands, returning to Long Beach Harbor by way of Hawaii. This will be Ines and Kirk’s third ocean voyage. In the 70’s as a young couple, they were one of the first to circumnavigate on a catamaran. Then in the early 90’s after designing and building “Pilot”, they took their 3 children out of school for a year and, along with Ines’ parents sailing on their own boat, undertook a cruise similar to the one they are doing now. Here they are today doing the same trip with their son and his wife. “What a great saga!” thinks The First Mate. Eager to learn more, she invites them to join us and the James for dinner the next evening at one of the beach restaurants. The James, as are we, are thinking about heading off to the Pacific Islands. This truly is a great Savor Day!

Monday, February 16th – A robust beach hike followed by another fresh orange juice and omelet breakfast. Cannot get any better! Only problem is that The First Mate has 2 blisters on her toes that developed from sand getting into the sandals and abrading the baby-fine skin of her toes. The Captain shakes his head in disbelief and amazement. He knows for a fact that she hardly ever has the right shoes for the right place, but here she is with right shoes (Keen water and hiking sandals) in the right place (beach) and she still gets blisters! What to do with her and her feet? Undeterred, she plasters on Band-Aids. What’s a small inconvenience on another great Savor Day?

We all meet later that evening on “Pilot” for cocktails before heading ashore for dinner. As The First Mate had hoped, it is a convivial group with a lot of information flowing back and forth. We have dinner at Manuelitta’s on the beach. We are the only group in the restaurant, and they are delighted to have us. So many restaurants on the beach and not a lot of evening clientele on a Monday night.

The Formula for Cruising is working nicely. Though The Captain continues to grouse about Savor Days, these Savor Days are adding a further dimension to our cruising. We are exploring more, doing more, getting on land more and meeting interesting people whose stories, adventures and plans are fascinating and informative. All of this adds to the richness of the Cruising Life. Would not miss it for the world!

AVANTE Aground!

2009-02-22T09:22:00.000-08:00

It was mentioned when we were coming up to and rounding Punta Mita that the navigation charts for Mexican waters left a lot to be desired. Both The Captain and The First Mate have decided they are mostly useful as a general guideline, but are definitely not to be relied upon for serious navigation needs. The underwater survey data taken of these waters was done by the US Navy over 100 years ago!

Look at the dates on the chart shown above. 1873 to 1901? The First Mate thinks this chart belongs a museum rather than in current use on an ocean-going boat!

Granted that, unless subject to seismic activity, not much changes underwater in 100 years, there remains a lot of data (like rocks that have been found or could be found with modern equipment) that ought to grace charts used by mariners today. Modern mariners would greatly appreciate such information, but that apparently does not concern the Mexican government.

An interesting phenomenon occurs when one needs to find one of the new marinas that have been built in the last 100 years. Many have been placed in dredged-out estuaries or even dug out of the land. These marinas naturally do not show up on our 100-year old charts, and no attempt has been made yet to locate them for the searching mariner. We have been in two already which are not on our charts: Mazatlan and Paradise Village Marina. To find these marinas, we have to rely on our guidebooks and the GPS waypoints they list and not our charts.

The First Mate must give the Mexican government some credit. In a few cases, where navigation need would appear to be most urgent, updates and additions to the charts have been made. For instance, the navigation chart to the main harbor in Puerto Vallarta was added and updated. We motor in there for fuel prior to heading south to Manzanillo. Cruise ships use this harbor. It is tight once one is beyond the entrance, and it is reassuring to have a fairly accurate chart of where to go to find the fuel dock. Chart we may have, but we still carefully monitor our depth meter and hope that channels have been recently dredged by harbor maintenance to their charted depths.

A further interesting discrepancy occurs between our charts and our actual location determined by GPS coordinates. Our actual GPS position is displayed on the charts on our computer and on our Furuno chart plotter, but there is a big difference between where we actually are and where we are shown on these charts. At the end of each day as we head shoreward to anchor and to go into harbor, we often end up “aground”. Night after night, Avante shows herself to be an agile and adventurous amphibian as we see ourselves located well inland according to the charts. The First Mate feels like Avante is turning into the search for Noah’s Ark. Which mountain are we going to alight on tonight?

The chart shown above is what shows up on our computer. The 3 shades of Blue are water. Gold is land. The Red line is Avante’s track. The Yellow dot near the town of “Ipala” is Avante anchored well up in the surrounding hills. Look at the light blue area. The circles are rocks thru which we supposedly motored.

The reason for this goes back to the inaccurate Mexican charts. In Banderas Bay anchored in Punta Mita the charts are about 1 1/2 miles off from our actual GPS location. The Captain decides one evening that he is going to tackle this discrepancy and try to align chart and GPS. It takes a lot of figuring and finagling of buttons and controls, but he finally does it. The adjusted chart now shows us anchored where we actually are. This is a relief! The next morning we take off. Things look good until we get about 20 miles down the road and find that the actual location of nearby land is not where it shows on Bill’s meticulously adjusted charts. We conclude that the problem is that the charts are blissfully and consistently inaccurate! The only thing reliably consistent about these Mexican charts is their constant inconsistency. To deal with this, The Captain would have to reconfigure the data every time we change our location, and that is just too time-consuming and frustrating. We are just going to have to put up with this misguided visual image and do our own mental math to locate Avante on the charts.

For the last three years, we have been sailing with US and Canadian charts in some very remote areas with tricky navigation issues. US charts are very good, and Canadian charts are superlative. All have been updated using modern tools like GPS and satellite photos to accurately determine the position of things. If a series of rocks and shoals were ahead of us, our GPS location was right on, and we could confidently steer thru and around them. If a depth was listed, we knew we could count on it to be accurate. Not so here in Mexico. How we miss those so very accurate charts!

Fortunately, cruising Mexico does not hold the navigation challenges that one encounters in the Pacific Northwest. To be on the safe side, The Captain keeps Avante at least 2 miles off shore and more often closer to five. When our books talk about a rock 1 1/2 mile off shore or they say to give a point a wide clearance, we on Avante double the distance and steer clear. Avante may show up aground on Mexican charts. We can live with that - just as long as we do not end up aground in Mexican waters!

Broaden Your Horizons

2009-02-22T09:13:00.001-08:00

We all remember sayings and admirable quotes that we heard and eventually learned in childhood. In fact, many of these quotes were so ingrained in us that we turned around and used them on our own offspring. The pattern will continue. It is programmed into us.

One of the quotes I remember my mother using was more an urging than a quote. “Broaden your horizons,” she would say. These simple words did make an impression on me. So much so that I even used them as the topic of one of those mandatory college essays one had to write to gain entrance. Back then, my mother meant these words more in the sense of “get a good education”, “go to college” and “get ahead”. That is certainly what I thought when, as a naïve 17-year old, I wrote that college essay. Little did I know that they were going to stay with me and impress me throughout my life.

Pauline Wilma Brna Julius, my mother, died in her sleep in the early hours of Monday, February 9, 2009. She was 93 years old. She lived a good and long life. Though widowed young, she raised two children on her own and was rewarded with their love. Her greatest rewards and joys, however, were the births of her four grandsons, one granddaughter, and one great granddaughter. Bill and I flew with that great granddaughter out from Arizona to Massachusetts on my mother’s 90th birthday. What better gift could there have been to give her? It proved a fond memory for all of us.

The last ten years were not kind to my mother. What can be said about dimming eyesight, weakening body and failing mind? They were as hard for her to endure as for us to watch, though for the last two years, we were more aware of the approaching end than, fortunately, she was. Each time I flew back east to visit, I left knowing that it could be the last time. I tried to imprint that final kiss, hug and look. Our last visit was December shortly before taking off on this trip on Avante. It did prove to be the last one, and I have a good memory of it. She was happy and attended to by two very caring and up-beat nurses.

Those who knew my mother as a younger, vibrant woman knew she never sat still. She was full of energy, always needed to be doing something, always wanted to feel she was helpful. She also had a fetish for anything to do with laundry: washing, folding, ironing, mending, whatever had to do with clean cloth. On her visits to us when our children were young, I used to go crazy thinking up things for her to do to keep her happy and feeling involved when she wasn’t either reading to or playing with the boys. I finally came up with the laundry. I would save up laundry for her to do. (She would have done the housework if I would have let her!) When it came to the boys’ socks and underwear, as far as she was concerned, the only way to make sure they stayed white was to bleach them. Bleach they got. Lots of bleach. The cotton/synthetic blends of the boys’ socks and underwear did not take well to all that bleach. Within a week after her 3-week visits, one or all of her grandsons would show up in the morning with drooping underwear or socks that had stretched out to unbelievable lengths. Bleach at work! I never told her, but it is a fond and funny memory I have of her. Replacing underwear was nothing. Her feelings of being involved, helpful and useful in her daughter’s houseful of three rambunctious boys were what counted the most.

Those two nurses had blessedly keyed into my mother. Thinking ahead to ward off any sad feelings at my leaving, they brought out of a bag of socks just up from the laundry. A whole bag of socks that needed to be paired up and folding together! My mother was delighted. I found out that they did this for her every evening after dinner and before bed. This simple task made her feel needed, loved and, for however long, involved in the life around her. Seeing her happy at that moment of leave-taking was wonderful. It is a memory I can smile at and one I will hold as dear as the one of those bleached-out, stretched-out socks.

Memories like these are precious. They ease the pain, but they are stagnant glimpses of the past. What she gave me in the memory of her encouragement, “Broaden Your Horizons”, is a thought that has echoed in me over the years and with maturity has broadened and deepened in meaning and purpose. “Experience more”, “see more”, “do more”, “do not be afraid”, “seek adventure”, “do the new”, “go, girl”! Though you will not see me signing up to blast off to the moon, there is much I have done with those words as my guide. I do wish I had thought to tell her this. Perhaps she knew just by watching the steps I have taken, the choices I have made, and the new horizons I have explored. One thing I know for sure is that I will pass those words on to my granddaughter, her great granddaughter. Berlin will know who told them to me. I will tell them to her and hopefully, she will live by them, too. A legacy to be passed on. Grab life, live it fully, and go, Girl, go!

Manzanillo -- A Most Romantic Spot

2009-02-21T13:29:00.001-08:00

Thursday, February 5th – We leave Ipala for the last stretch to Manzanillo. Jazzed by his big catch of yesterday and undeterred by its poor taste, The Fisherman Captain wants more!

We see local fishing boats out on the water. One perky, little blue one catches The First Mate’s eye. It reminds her of a fishing boat’s version of the engine in the children’s book, “The Little Engine That Could”. I wish I can, I wish I can --- catch the biggest fish!

When it turns toward us, the outspread arms that hold the fishing net off the boat are filled with seabirds along for a free ride. Mother Nature did not make them dummies. They are resting up in hopes of gallant flying, diving and eating exploits when the fish are hauled in later.

Out goes the line with The Captain’s specially designed weight system attached. Throughout the morning and into the afternoon, he jumps to the zinging reel five times. Each time the drag on the reel is profound. It feels like the hook is stuck to the ocean floor. It’s a tug-a-war with no clear winner until the hook breaks free. Five times, an empty hook is all the reward he gets for his effort. What is grabbing this hook? It comes up bent after one snagging. Another time the whole back of the lure is scraped clean of paint. Whatever is biting that hook is big and has even bigger teeth! The First Mate suggests that maybe whatever is out there is something we do not want on this boat. The Captain ignores her and keeps on fishing. He suggests that maybe one of the many sea turtles we see swimming around Avante is getting snagged on the hook. I do not think so, and tell him that even if it is a turtle, we do not want that on the boat either. I know nothing about turtle anatomy or dissection and even less about turtle soup. Plus, I do believe sea turtles are on the endangered list so definitely taboo aboard Avante. The reel zings off a sixth time. It appears that we have a manageable fish on the hook. The Captain is disappointed because he can tell it is not as big as yesterday’s. He reels it in, gaffs it and brings it aboard. It looks similar to yesterday’s Bigeye Tuna, just a bit smaller in size and eye. Though we are doubtful as to the taste of this fish, it is soon dispatched and put in the refrigerator waiting filleting the next day in Manzanillo. With that catch, The First Mate declares the cold storagefull and ends fishing for the rest of the day. Instead she gives The Captain her fish book and tells him to review the chapter on processing one’s catch suggesting pointedly that his fillet technique could us a little fine-tuning.

We spend a very quiet night at sea. On the early morning watch, The Captain takes pictures of a spectacular sunrise over the mountains as we approach Manzanillo.

Nearing Bahia de Manzanillo, The Captain awakens The First Mate to come up and view the landscape. We are entranced by what we see. The bay is encircled by white buildings rising up the mountainside strikingly bold against the dark foliage.
Las Hadas Hotel (where the movie “10” was filmed) is a fairy tale complex complete with a magical turret. We anchor in the bay rather than seeking a spot in the marina. The view is just too perfect from the distance afforded by being at anchor. What we see reminds us of the Mediterranean, especially the hillside villages of the Amalfi Coast.
Later that evening as the lights come on around us, the magic of the bay is increased ten-fold. It is truly a romantic setting, and we enjoy dinner sitting on deck with our flickering electric candles adding to the ambience.
Saturday, February 7th -We dingy into the marina walk up to the hotel and get a taxi to Sorianas, another mega-supermercado. It proves to be a very good supermercado. They have everything we need except, as expected, Gin and good white wine. We know, however, that we will be using this store for re-stocking when we are back in Manzanillo next fall. In fact, Bill is so pleased with the store that he obtains one of those discount cards which US supermarkets all give to their customers. We are now officially a member of Sorianas elite clientele base!
That evening, being our 39th Wedding Anniversary, The First Mate is relieved of galley duties and taken out to dinner. The idea was a good one, but the dinner itself proves to be marginal and surprisingly expensive. Since The First Mate likes planning and cooking up a good meal and The Captain enjoys eating her good meals, neither of us enjoys dining in a poor restaurant just for the sake of eating out. We return to Avante anchored in the beauty and magic of the harbor and know we should have dined aboard amidst our own twinkling candles viewing the fairy-kingdom lights in the harbor around us. The beauty of this harbor for us ranks right up there with another favorite spot we have found in our travels on Avante -- a summer time slip right below The Empress Hotel in Victoria Harbor, Canada.

Avante below The Empress

Bigeye Tuna

2009-02-21T12:36:00.000-08:00

Our 4 days in Puerto Vallarta, or more specifically in Paradise Village Marina in Nuevo Vallarta, are not all spent fine-tuning The Formula. For one thing, we are running out of gin and good white wine. We search the small local market that caters to tourists and yaties. The white wine selection is poor and meager. Though they do have some gin, the price is exorbitant. We decide to head into town. The bus is the way to go – so we are told. It is if one has all day to circle thru every condo and hotel in Nuevo Vallarta while slowly navigating into and out of every pothole along the way. After our “Grand Tour” of Nuevo Vallarta, we hit the main road to PV and arrive at the US-known bastions of Wal-Mart and Sam’s Club. Both are located within walking distance of major hotels and are filled with Americans as well as Mexicans buying and buying. We find no good white wine and not one bottle of gin. Next we take a taxi to another US bastion: Costco. This edifice of American enterprise opened within the last year and is a bit out of town. Obviously not as popular as the former stores or maybe not as well located, it is a relief to be in a less frenetic place. It looks just like every other Costco we have even been in and stocks similar items. The First Mate is delighted to find Stacy’s big bag of lighted salted, baked pita chips. These are her stalwart friends when ocean swells start to get at her. Sit in the wind and munch pita chips with occasional sips of a ginger ale – yup, that does the trick. Contrary to what one might think, she has found that a full tummy or a filling tummy is better at countering an unbalanced ear than an empty tummy. Go figure!

The Captain, however, is dismayed. Here, too, there is not one bottle of gin on the shelves, There are lots of Tequilas and Rums. He stocks up on Tequila, Rum and a few bottles of white wine that he hopes will be good. We also buy 4 bags of Stacey’s Pita Chips, fresh shrimp, some vegetables and fruit and 2 heavy-duty insulated bags to carry it all in. Snagging a taxi, we have him take us directly back to the marina. No bus this time. Once was enough with that experience.

We enjoy Paradise Village Marina. Here we are surrounded by some really big boats. “Piano Bar” is one we are sure we have seen up north. Where? We settle on either Friday Harbor or Victoria Harbor. Finally, The Captain runs into one of its crew and finds out that they were in Friday Harbor last year. They run the boat south to Mexico in the winter and than back up to the Pacific Northwest in the summer. Not an uncommon practice along this coast, the trip north, though, is long, arduous and not for the faint of heart. There is a group that runs an organized rally south each year. The “Baja Ha-Ha” is the exciting trip south from San Diego to the glorious warm winter cruising waters of Mexico. The miserable trip north banging boat and body into winds and waves is known as the “Baja Bash”. For this reason, our future plans upon leaving Mexico are either to head west to the Pacific Islands or to continue south to Costa Rico and thru the Canal to the Caribbean.

In the early morning and late afternoon, local fishermen in their pangas come into the quiet waters of this marina estuary to fish. Skillfully balanced in their tipsy, little boats they hurl the nets out, let them settle for a while and then pull in their catch. I figure they are either catching dinner or the next day’s bait.

Paradise Village Marina is actually part of a larger complex simply called Paradise Village. It is huge resort with hotel, condos, homes and all the amenities and people that go along with such an enterprise. There is even a zoo with a couple of sleepy tigers and a bunch of squawking parrots who actually do say Ola to passers by. We enjoy an evening sunset drink in one of the beachfront bars and then walk out to the end of the quay. It is all very nice, but we are eager to set sail at the end of our 4 days. Too many people – too many tourists.

Wednesday, February 4th – We head out the channel (at high tide) for the 175 nm overnight passage to Manzanillo. This overnight passage had been jointly discussed and approved as the most expedient way to reach the wonderful cruising waters and anchorages of Mexico’s Gold Coast. To get there, we have to round Cabo Corrientes, another cape with winds and conflicting currents. Winds prove to be nil as we motor toward the point. We put out the fishing line and shortly it starts zinging away. Cut the motor, grab the rod, strap on “Lucille” – the name The Captain has given to a kind of a belt with a holder for the rod so the person reeling in the fish doesn’t have the rod jammed into his stomach, and pull out the vodka and the gaff. This one is big, real big. The Captain is having a heck of a time with it. Off it goes pulling out hard-fought line. Finally, The Captain gets it near the boat and realizes that there is no way The First Mate is going to be able to gaff and pull this one in. There is a finite limit to her strength, ability and agility, and there is a very real chance she could end up in the water, gaffed thru the leg, serving as shark bait while his fish swims away free. Motivated more for concern for his fish than his First Mate, The Captain does it all. The First Mate only gets the rod when The Captain has the fish securely gaffed. He hauls it up and onto the deck. It is huge! The biggest one he has caught. Pulling out our fish pictures, we identify it as a Bigeye Tuna. Wow! We are going to be in fish for meals and meals. Subdued with vodka, The Captain prepares the fish to be placed on ice in the refrigerator. Forget about carving up the fish on a rolling deck in the heat of the day, we had already decided that we were going to get our fish on ice and cooled down as soon as possible after catching. Cut off the head, bleed it, gut it and ice it – that seems the way to go. Then carve up the fillets in the cool of the late afternoon when we’re in harbor or at anchor. Even with the head off, the fish does not fit in the freezer! We don’t want to cut off the tail because the tail provides a great grip when The Captain is later taking off the skin. So, The First Mate pushes and twists the monster into the box. It’s going to be a wrestling match getting this guy out of the box, but dinner will be worth it!

As we continue south, The First Mate does a search thru her fish book and reads that Bigeye Tuna is really good eating, according to the author of the book. She suggests that maybe we stop in Bahia Ipala for the night so we can carve up our beauty and have a really nice dinner. By now winds and waves have begun to pick up. Carving this big fish on a rolling deck is not going to be easy. The Captain concedes that that is truly the case, and it is jointly agreed to overnight at anchor in Ipala Bay. Winds are 18 to 20 when we rocket into the bay. It takes a bit to secure us, but we are set. This is an isolated bay with 2 or 3 little restaurants that enterprising locals have opened to attract the few boaters that show up. Shortly, a group motors out in their panga to invite us to their establishment. Father, mother and three kids are in the boat asking us to eat in their restaurant. They are nicely dressed and polite. We feel sorry to refuse. We have our fish, but we tell them that we will return in 2 weeks and will eat dinner with them then. They then ask us for school supplies for their kids, which we do not have on the boat. It turns out that school is supposedly mandatory in Mexico, but each family must pay for their children’s school supplies once there are past sixth grade. Of course, these poor families just cannot do that. We plan to buy some simple school supplies for our return trip.

Now to the fish. The Captain cuts it up. It is a messy task taking up most of the counter space in the galley. The First Mate suggests that maybe we really do not want to catch fish any bigger than this one. “And how would you like me to guarantee that?” asks The Captain. The flesh is red, deep red. The First Mate does not like the look of it, but the fish book said it is good eating so it must be. She cooks it like she does Ahi Tuna: panko-crusted and seared quickly. We sit down to feast. It is horrible! Neither of us can eat it. We decide that this is definitely not a tuna that is eaten raw. We put it back on the stove to cook all the way thru. Much better, but not great. I now have 7 frozen packets of Bigeye Tuna in the freezer. What am I going to do with them? How should this supposedly good-eating fish be cooked? Having been raised with such phrases as “Waste not: want not” and “Remember the starving children in China”, The First Mate has a hard time with the thought of just throwing the fish away. To her, it feels unwise or unlucky to throw away the meat this poor fish provided for us with his life. She feels strongly that Mother Nature did create certain animals for us as food and that to kill these animals for food is okay with her, but to kill for any other reason is asking for her wrath. Her wrath on these open seas The First Mate does not want.

The First Mate is disgusted. So is The Captain, and we are both thinking that for this we stopped for the night! We would have arrived in Manzanillo the next day. Instead with 135 nm still to go, it cannot be done in the 12 hours of daylight available at this time of year. There will still be another day and an overnighter before we arrive at our destination. However, the night is balmy, the stars are out and we fall asleep cradled in Avante rocking away on a rolling Pacific Ocean. What’s another day here, another day there? We’ll get there mañana, mañana.

A Formula For Cruising - negotiated

2009-02-21T12:10:00.000-08:00

The Captain may call himself a businessman, but he is first and foremost an engineer. Engineers deal in facts, real time definitions and concrete formulas. Suggestions have no place in their scheme of things. The Captain is also what is commonly referred to as a Type A personality. The words “relax”, “slow down, “take it easy” have totally different meanings or no meanings at all to a person who is hell-bent-for-leather to accomplish a goal, any goal. The First Mate is comfortably the opposite. Generalizations are okay with her. So is a certain amount of vagueness. Clocks and time schedules? She accepts their necessity, but not their absolute control, especially for a retired cruising couple. Thinking about these differences in outlook, she comes to the conclusion that on Avante the only way we are going to continue sailing on an even keel is if all aboard agree on what they are doing and how they are going to go about doing it. “It”, of course, is cruising. A formula is needed that the engineer captain can understand and will use. Not only should its function define “cruising”, it should serve as the basis for creating each and every Cruising Schedule.

In response to the blog entitled “First Mate Hung in Effigy a Second Time”, mutual friend Bliss Krekel emailed the following:

Formulas for cruising:
1. Outnumber The Captain with female friends (power in numbers)
2. Become a lousy cook
3. Reward leisure time with kisses
4. Prescribe sedatives
The choice is yours but you may have to do all of the above!

The First Mate laughed out loud upon reading this. The Captain, seeing nothing to laugh at, thought only #3 had any merit. He also thought The First Mate’s idea of a formula was ridiculous and unnecessary. She, on the other hand, is undeterred, focused and utterly determined. Occasionally, she can be as bull-headed as he.

January 30th – 50nm to go to Punta Mita, which is the northern point of Banderas Bay, and Banderas Bay is where (hooray) Puerto Vallarta is located. We will have 4 days in port to give Avante a good cleaning inside and out, to restock supplies, to do the laundry and to relax. From there, according to The Captain, our “cruising” will finally begin.

We leave Matanchen Bay in the early morning expecting to motor for a short time in the soft morning breezes before the wind picks up. To our disappointment, we end up listening to the motor droning away all day. The wind never freshens enough to sail.

We fish and catch nothing until late in the afternoon when a water bird of undetermined species tangles itself in our line. The Captain reels the poor bird in and gamely wrestles bird and line while avoiding sharp beak. Look at the point on that beak! The bird is finally set free having no idea how close it came to having its neck rung. The Captain escapes unscathed, but we are both so unnerved by this adventure that we put the line away – for a while at least.

Arriving at last at the headlands to Punta Mita, a final review of the charts and our guidebooks raises concerns about the passage between the point and a group of islands. There are 2 nasty rocks just off the point which we should have no problem steering clear of, but a third one is claimed to be a mile or so south of those 2 nasty rocks. However, no one has been able to pinpoint it with an accurate GPS location. We just have 2 guidebooks that claim it may be there. These pinnacle peaks striking up from the ocean’s depths are tricky. Some do rise enough to break surface or at least have wave action over them. Others lie just enough below the surface to remain hidden until an unlucky hull strikes them. One’s depth finder can unwind from over 100’ to a hull-denting 6’ in seconds. Mexican navigation charts are for the most part proving to be a bit of a joke, if not a blatant misnomer. Our charts do not show the location of the third rock, but do show a 0.3 fathom depth reading somewhere in the middle of the passage. Our confidence in these charts is further diminished by the fact that both Punta Mita and the offshore islands are charted about 1.5 miles from their actual position! Approaching the point, we watch several fishing boats head past the point and, with impunity, round up into the bay. We are tempted to follow one, but we know he does not stick 9’ down into the water’s depth like we on Avante do. We decide that a much-desired early anchorage is just not worth the risk of finding that rock - even if it did get named after us in gratitude for accurately locating it. Thus, we continue past the point with both of us longingly looking over at the beaches of Punta Mita just a few miles away. We have to continue on for a whole 12 miles! We have to pass a string of 3 islands with nasty rocks between them until we can circle around the furthest one out and safely head back up the other side to Punta Mita. Instead of dropping anchor in the afternoon, it is dusk by the time we are set. Both of us are tired, not that the day was hard, it was just long. Motoring in a sailboat is dreary, and that 20-mile detour was something we had not expected. (That’s 20 miles at around 7 miles per hour or an added 3 hours to an already long 50nm day.)

Punta Mita - looking toward Four Season Resort and Golf Course

Beautiful homes built along the beach heading east to Puerto Vallarta

Tomorrow, though, we will be in Puerto Vallarta and that keeps both The Captain’s and The First Mate’s spirits up. Four days in one place! Time to catch up. Time to explore! And ---- time to present “The Formula” upon which The First Mate has been cogitating.
_________________________________________________________

Formula For Cruising
as presented by The First Mate, not fully approved by The Captain, but at least open to consideration, reflection and negotiation.

Cruising days are divided by their activity and interest level. They are as follows:

Travel Day – greater than 6 hours on the water or greater than 40 miles
Cruise Day – less than 6 hours on the water or less than 40 miles
Savor Day - Explore time, play time, relax time. Remain at anchor or in port. However, less than 3 hours on the water or less than 15 miles may be allowed by joint consent.
Work Day - for boat repair, cleaning, laundry and restocking

The Formula - Note: The following equations work one way (left to right) only. This may not be mathematically correct, but The First Mate knows there must be an exotic science out there that can prove that such non-reciprocal equations do exist.

One Travel Day = (or begets) 2 Savor Days
Three Cruise Days (in a row) = (or begets) 1 Savor Day

Savor Days do not need to be begotten. They can and must be planned into the schedule for their own intrinsic worth.

No part of a Savor Day may include activities of a Work Day without prior joint consent.

A Cruising Schedule will be agreed upon. The Formula will be followed. Exceptions and modifications to The Formula and a Cruising Schedule may be made either during the formation of a schedule or once under way. Such exceptions and modifications must be made with joint approval and acknowledgement.
_________________________________________________________
For the 4 days we are in Puerto Vallarta, The Formula is pandered back and forth. The main source of contention is the Savor Day. The Captain prefers a schedule of Travel and Cruise Days with an occasional Savor Day thrown in for good measure while The First Mate firmly believes that cruising is more about Savor Days than Travel and Cruise Days. In her mind, Savor Days should equal the number of Travel and Cruising Days. Not so in The Captain’s mind.

The First Mate initially set 5 hours and 30 miles as the break point between Travel and Cruise Days. Listening to The Captain’s protest of this timing, she adjusts upward to 6 hours and 40 miles. The Captain continues to maintain that if they ever do take off west to The Marquesas, the 3-weeks of Travel Days for that passage will have us “savoring” for months. “We’ll never leave The Marquesas!” he moans. The First Mate allows that he has a point there so she adds to The Formula that exceptions and modifications to either The Formula or the Cruising Schedule may be made provided such are done by joint consent. Somewhat mollified, he waits for her to provide a cruising schedule for the trip south to Manzanillo and back. She finds that the 2 weeks she was originally told to work with are really not enough time. The Captain adds 4 more days to the schedule and a reasonable cruising schedule for the remainder of our first trip here in Mexico is worked out and agreed upon by joint consent.

The First Mate is a happy sailor. The Captain is also a happy sailor. He may bemoan The Formula, and tends to ignore the difference between Travel and Cruise Days, and he is still somewhat disparaging of what he terms “Lazy Days”. He is just happy to have a schedule that the First Mate doesn’t complain about. “He will learn,” thinks The First Mate, and it may even do him a world of good!

An Acquired Taste

2009-02-02T12:35:00.000-08:00

Pre-Hispanic people used powdered hot chiles as a weapon and a means of torture – a perfectly understandable use for such a nasty little creation, thinks The First Mate. This ancient weapon continues into modern day use with the deployment of little canisters of hot pepper spray. They are effective at riot control, vending off bears, things like that, but whatever induced some ancient person to ingest a hot chile and then to keep on ingesting them after that first heat-generated gasping experience? Chiles burn; they cause pain. Why put oneself thru that? The First Mate reads in one of the Mexican cookbooks she has on Avante that the sensation of pain causes the body to release endorphins which, in addition to being natural painkillers, are also feel-good chemicals. She knows about endorphins. They make the body relax. One can build up endorphins with a good bike ride or a mountain climb. Exercise is good for you, but why go thru the bother of a good dose of heat-caused pain to get a few endorphins?

Further reading explains to her that a chile’s heat is in actuality a chemical burn. Of course, it’s a burn! There’s no other way to describe the discomfort caused by a hot chile on one’s tongue, lips, mouth, throat and all the way down the esophagus with the eyes tearing in sympathy with what the rest of the body is enduring. This chemical burning is caused by a substance called capsaicin, and a chemist by the name of Arthur Scoville actually spent countless hours coming up with a scale to measure the heat encapsulated in all the many, many different types of chiles that mankind has found to eat. (Mother Nature really went overboard when she created this genus.) I learn that ordinary sweet bell peppers have zero Scovilles. Jalapenos have a 2,500 Scoville score, and one of the hottest little numbers, the Habanero, has 250,000 Scovilles. The First Mate realizes she must have a very low tolerance to pain, because any chile hotter than a sweet bell pepper is generally too hot for her. She honestly doesn’t need a Scoville chart. One of her cookbooks lumps the various chiles into broad categories: Gringo Approved, Gringo Friendly, Gringo Beware and Gringo Killer. That’s enough for her.

That cookbook, however, overlooks the category that best describes The First Mate in regard to the appreciation of chiles. A “Gringo Wimp” is what she is, and she would very much like to progress beyond that nomenclature. She decides a little education of her taste buds is needed and that calls for a willingness to experiment which when it comes to chile tasting definitely calls for her to gear up with a “bite the bullet” approach.. A bit of mental self-talk and a glass of water always at hand ought to do it. But, alas, she reads in her cookbooks that neither a glass of water nor a gulp of cold beer will put out the fire. Liquid actually makes it worse. Instead one should quaff creamy stuff like yogurt, the juice of a lime or a spoonful of sugar for relief. What do you know? Mary Poppins was right all along!

January 25th – 7:30am, we leave our sheltered anchorage below Punta Frailes to head across the Sea of Cortez to Mazatlan.

Looking back at the rocky coastline is impressive. The sea is still rocking and rolling uncomfortably, and we put up sail to help stabilize the boat. Soon there is enough wind to cut the motor and sail. Though we are able to sail all day, the wind dies in the evening forcing us to motor throughout the night.

As we approach Mazatlan in the early morning hours, The First Mate is dismayed at the flat landscape broken only by high-rise buildings. She had mistakenly been expecting a more tropical, palm-treed setting.

The harbor of Mazatlan is one of the busiest along this coast and is filled with tourist, commercial, fishing and transportation facilities. We decide to head to a marina development well north of the harbor. Before development, this was an estuary and lagoon. It is still an estuary and lagoon, but with dredging and a bit of creativity, there are three marinas in the area. We chose the Marina Mazatlan. Descriptions in our guidebooks do not give us any reassurance regarding the conscientious dredging that needs to be done to keep the opening to the estuary at the depths recorded. What we do know is that we will only attempt to enter the channel at high tide. There is a good surge and current at the entrance forcing us to enter at a speed higher than we would like. Watching the depth meter, we cross the bar. Depths read down to 11’, but we are safe. Keeping to the middle of the channel, we slowly motor toward the marina. We are assigned a slip, and dock attendants wait there to help secure the lines. The First Mate really likes this additional help that so far has been there at each Mexican marina we have entered.

Our neighbors on their sailboat, Sea Venture, Normandie and Michael Fischer, prove to be very friendly and helpful in getting us acquainted with the area. In particular, Normandie has the scoop on 3 lavanderías in the area. That job, unfortunately, is The First Mate’s priority today – wash all the sea-soaked bedding from those open windows! Yuck – but it has to be done. We learn that the Fischers have been in the marina since early December with no definite date for leaving even though they are eager to set sail and explore. Their engine died on them, and they are waiting the arrival of parts. After their engine failed at sea, they were able to sail to Mazatlan but had to be towed over the bar into the harbor. Unfortunately, the big fishing vessel that was sent out to tow them in had little experience in doing this sort of operation. The fishing vessel rounded the bend into the channel too sharply and under such speed that Sea Venture felt like it was at the end of a slingshot. Unluckily, it was low tide, and Sea Venture’s 6’ deep full keel ended up hitting the bottom. Fortunately, no damage was done, but one shudders to think what could have happened. A sailboat or any boat without an engine has no brakes. Attached by a rope to the fishing vessel, they were at that captain’s mercy.

It takes The First Mate all of a sticky, hot afternoon to get the washing done, but it is done. The bedroom is put back together and looks good as new. No damage done – to The First Mate’s relief. We had planned to bus into Mazatlan for dinner that evening, but both of us are just too tired.

January 27th – We take the first class bus (supposedly air-conditioned and newer) into Mazatlan to go to the open air market and the Mega Supermercado. We enjoy the market with all its stalls of fresh produce, meat and fish. It reminds The First Mate of the markets she shopped at when they lived in Spain in the 70’s. She feels perfectly at home there. Outside the market, small food vendors have little tables set up. We chose one and order cheese omelets. Bill walks over to another vendor and comes back with a huge, thick and most delicious tropical fruit smoothy. We then take a taxi to the “Mega” which proves to be something akin to a super Walmart. The First Mate has quite a list of ingredients required to make several recipes out of her Mexican cookbooks. Notable on this list are several chiles. Returning to Avante, she adds to her spreadsheet of “Food on Avante” such items as Poblanos, Serranos, Jalapenos, De Arbols and Guajillos. She also adds 6 tomatillos, a large jicama and a Chayote squash. These are items she at least recognizes but has never used in her kitchen. She is definitely blazing new territory here!

Again that evening, we plan to return to town for dinner, but the trip just does not seem worth the effort. We are tired and have another overnighter ahead of us the next day. We eat at a local restaurant in the marina and plan that when we do return to Mazatlan, crowded or not, we will try to stay at a marina in the harbor itself to be closer to town. There is an old section of town that is supposed to be interesting and worth the exploration.

Fortunately, for The First Mate, high tide is not until late in the morning giving us a leisurely start. As we exit the estuary, we note that the lowest depth is below 12’. That is lower than what is advertised as the dredged depth at low low tide. Thus at low tide, the entrance to the estuary is really more like 7’. We wonder how many boats run aground here each season and are glad we were not one of them. Winds are supposed to be between 15 – 20, but by early afternoon, we have a reef in with the winds clocking up to 25. The sideways roll of the waves on the boat begins to affect The First Mate. Making lunch below is out of the question for her, but The Captain does just fine. Before sunset, we decide to prepare Avante for the night ahead by taking down the mainsail and using just the jib. We lose a knot or so of speed, but this configuration is much safer. It enables us to sail deeper down wind in the direction we want to go without any worry of gybing. Also, if the winds pick up during the night, we do not have to deal with reefing or taking down the big mainsail on a pitching deck in the dark. The First Mate is able to cook up a frozen dinner, but The Captain has to serve it up when she can no longer keep it all together down below deck. Shortly afterwards, the winds begin to calm down, and we end up having to turn the motor on by 10 pm.

In the morning, we motor into Mantanchen Bay which is just outside the estuary leading to the town of San Blas. The shore is lined with palm trees. This is more like it! Our first taste of a tropical anchorage, and we are delighted.

The First Mate, still feeling a bit woozy, decides a cool swim and some exercise would be just the thing. It is hard to get exercise on a sailboat. Swimming is one of the few forms available if one happens to be in waters warm enough, safe enough and clean enough for such activity. This is all of that. However, swimming just for the sake of swimming has never been what The First Mate calls fun. She does swim around the boat twice, and then decides that’s enough. Now what? She does not feel ready to get back on the boat. She notices that the sides of Avante are looking yucky. To her amazement, she finds herself asking The Captain for a brush to clean the boat. This activity is definitely one that she has firmly stated was not and would not be part of her job description. Yet here she is paddling up one side of Avante and down the other scrubbing the sides and then kicking up as high as she can go to reach up the side of the boat. This is good exercise – jumping and kicking and scrubbing, use one arm and then the other. Is she really doing this? Guess so – to her it beats swimming in circles.

Back on Avante, The Captain is made breakfast, and then The First Mate gets down to her cooking. The afternoon is set aside for her to fiddle to her heart’s content. She is a happy camper and even The Captain’s “Tom Sawyer” attempts to persuade her to fish cannot change her intended afternoon’s activities.

With a kilo of fresh shrimp to work with, she decides to make a ”Gringo Friendly” Coctel de Camarones Mazatlan and a “Gringo Beware” Camarones en Mojo de Ajo (Garlic Shrimp). There’s nary a chile in sight in the Coctel de Camarones. Just add hot sauce to taste. We have always had Tabasco on Avante, but she reads that Tabasco is more of a Gringo’s interpretation of a watered-down hot sauce. In the market, I had surveyed rows and rows of hot sauce before finally settling on one. It is made with Chile Molidos which I believed were milder chiles and has an added kick of lime juice. It turns out to not be that hot and to have a nice earthy taste. That’s what little I can tell from the tiny, tiny taste I sampled from the tip of my finger. This hot sauce is added judiciously to the camarones, and the mix is put in the refrigerator to cool for cocktail time this evening.

Camarones en Mojo de Ajo is another matter. It calls for Chile de Arboles -- dried, little, bright red twig-like peppers labeled Gringo Killers in my cookbook. Since The Captain is no more an aficionado of hot than The First Mate, she decides to enlist his opinion in the use of chiles. We decide that I will start with half the called for amount of anything hot in a recipe. For this recipe, I will use one Chile de Arbol and 2 black peppercorns. The 5 cloves of garlic will stay. Garlic is good and may even be increased! First step is to roast the one thin chile in a comal, a round griddle used for making tortillas. A basic frying pan will have to do. After 2 scorched, burned disasters which smoke up the cabin, The First Mate finally has one nicely roasted. These dried little numbers really heat up fast. Once cooled, with her rubber gloves on as the cookbooks suggest, she carefully cuts and removes seeds and veins. Veins are where most of that capsaicin resides. Garlic, coarse salt, peppercorns and the chile are now supposed to be ground up in a Molcajete, a small, three-legged, black lava-carved bowl. One then uses a Tejolote, a cone-shaped tool also made from lava, to grind and mash up the ingredients. Bowl and masher tool are described as North America’s first food processor. Lacking both, The First Mate decides to use North America’s modern, electric mini food processor which she has aboard. The food processor mashes up the garlic, but the salt, peppercorns and chile are whisked to the sides untouched. The modern day food processor is not doing the job. She then resorts to a bowl and the flat side of a spoon to mash and combine. Peppercorns are being broken. Chile is getting squished and releasing its color and juices when suddenly the spoon slips off a peppercorn causing a squirt of juice to hit her in the eye. Oh, no, chile juice, capsaicin, chemical burn, in the eye! An eye with a contact in, no less! Keeping the eye tightly closed, she races off to the bathroom. Wash the eye. Then slowly open it. Water makes chile burns worse. Isn’t that what the books said? Too late now. Saline solution at hand and squinting like a one-eyed pirate, she slowly opens the eye. There is no burning. She can see. It’s okay! It’s really okay! Safe for another day and another round of chile mashing. Picking up a pair of sunglasses, she returns to her mashing. The books may mention the use of rubber gloves and the need to wash one’s hands after handling chiles, but there is no mention of protective gear for the eyes, a huge over-sight from The First Mate’s experience.

As the sun sets in our first tropical anchorage, we sit on deck enjoying gin and tonics with a very, very good Coctel de Camarones Mazatlan. The Captain is pleased. The First Mate is delighted.

When it is dark, we go below to prepare dinner. Camarones en Mojo de Ajo is also delicious, but just a bit too hot for these Gringos. Deciding that advancing beyond the Wimp level is going to be a slow education process for both of them, The First Mate voices that perhaps quartering the amount of hot in a recipe would be a wiser choice. The Captain agrees but leaning back contentedly (increased level of endorphins at work?), tells her to keep on experimenting! Life is good aboard the sailing vessel, Avante.

Camarones en Mojo de Ajo with sautéed Christophene (Chayote Squash)

Note: Denby china on board Avante! We are not on a passage now.

First Mate Hung in Effigy a Second Time

2009-01-27T21:39:00.000-08:00

Whatever was The First Mate thinking? -- Well, her thoughts were that when they arrived in Cabo they would finally start “cruising”, defined by her as lazy days with no particular place to go. So very wrong. The good ship Avante is still on a schedule. Next stop, Mazatlan. The Captain will allow 2 days there. Then Puerto Vallarta where 4 days may be allowed. Then we can start cruising (Captain’s style) down the beautiful Gold Coast to Manzanilla. That’s 175 nm, but we have 2 weeks to do that. Well, not exactly. That is 2 weeks to do 350nm because we have to return to Puerto Vallarta at the end of those 2 weeks. 350nm divided by 14 days is 25nm miles a day. If we play at anchor for a day (maybe try snorkeling as other cruisers seem to enjoy), we have to make up the lost time with a 50nm day. Those are long days, a tight schedule, and The First Mate is tired of both. Realizing Marital Bliss is about to depart the good ship Avante, The Captain allows an extra day in Cabo. The First Mate likes Cabo. She had not expected to like it from reports of over-building and high tourism impact, but the marina is super, the people are friendly, and there is even a hike she would like to do up a local mountain affording a great view. “Mountain?” The Captain looks askance at her as if nothing under Telluride’s 9000’ could ever classify as a mountain.

January 24th – Son David leaves at 10:00 for the airport and his flight home. We are on our own and out of the harbor within an hour. It is 45nm northeast up the coast to Bahia Los Frailes which will be our jump off point for the 160nm trek east across the Sea of Cortez to Mazatlan. 45nm equates to about a 6-hour trip with good winds or the engine running. Whether sail or motor, we will be anchoring at dusk or later. The First Mate is resigned, but just the thought of the day ahead makes her tired. While The Captain heads off to the marina office to check us out, she goes about getting the boat ready for departure. The windows and hatches are closed, drawers and doors are latched, and anything loose that could take flight in a contrary wave is stowed. Suntan lotion is applied. She turns off the shore power and disconnects the heavy electrical line between shore and boat. She inspects the boat to make sure all is set to go. She may not want to go, but since they are going, she is doing her part. The Captain returns somewhat frustrated that the office took so long to clear him out. He does what he needs to do, and then we are set to go. The First Mate backs the boat out of the slip and down the fairway. Miraculously, there is no gridlock of boats speeding up and down the main channel. We back into the channel, reverse, and head out to sea turning left or north to run up the Sea of Cortez. Eventually there is enough wind to raise sail, and we peacefully sail along for a few hours.

The mountainous terrain of Baja is impressive even from the distance we prefer to stay offshore. Where the mountains do not come right down to the sea, long stretches of sandy beaches make their stand. One may question why we are heading north up the Sea of Cortez when our goal is east across this very same body of water. Actually, we are heading northeast toward Punta Los Frailes, a bulging outcrop of mountainous land that drops precipitously down to the coast. Below this point, sheltered from wind and waves, we will anchor in Bahia Los Frailes. Believe it or not, this northeast trek angles us 30 miles closer to Mazatlan, turning the passage into a one-nighter rather than two. Bulging points of land create the phenomena we have seen so often in places like Point Conception north of Santa Barbara: turbulent seas and funneling high winds. Winds are only supposed to be 15 – 20 today, and it’s so peaceful right now, one finds it hard to imagine turbulent seas. Again, I am wrong. As we sail along, I am gradually drawn out of my quiet thoughts by a lump, a bump and a roll. Looking up, I can see white caps frothing and forming in the distance. Winds have also begun to pick up. We soon are slicing into square waves with water coming over the bow.

The Captain goes below to get our life vests and comes up spitting mad. “I knew this was going to happen. Sooner or later, I knew you were going to do this!” he seethes. “Do what?” The poor First Mate has no idea what he is talking about except it is not good. “You left the two portlights (as in windows) wide open over our bed!” How did I do that? I remember conscientiously closing all windows and hatches. Didn’t I? How could I have neglected them? Yet I must have because they certainly cannot unlock themselves.

Owners’ Quarters before the bath. Note the two portlights (closed and locked) so strategically placed over the bed.

The reason The Captain just knew The First Mate was going to do “this” is that she is always and constantly opening portlights and hatches. She does this for several reasons. One: she cannot stand the stuffy feeling of a still, warm room. Fresh air is just that – fresh! Two: she is obsessed with airing out the boat whenever possible to avoid any odor of staleness. Cooking odors build up in a non-ventilated boat. When we first arrive in port, The First Mate immediately opens up windows and hatches to air out the boat. The Captain accuses her of being good at opening but terrible at closing them. One of the first tasks The Captain does in port is to wash the salt water off the boat. This task can occur an hour after arrival or it can be the next day. It matters not when The Captain takes hose in hand. He invariably misses at least one window or hatch that the First Mate has opened. Thus, he sprays water inside the boat and this frustrates him no end. His frustration is not that he forgot to check, but that The First Mate failed to close the window or hatch. Thus, it is her fault that water got sprayed in the cabin. The First Mate fails to follow this line of reasoning and just keeps opening up windows and hatches every chance she gets.

Right now, there is about 5 gallons of salty, sticky seawater in the owner’s cabin with most of it in our bed. I am angrily told to man the wheel and steer the course. Winds are hovering around 25 knots, not as advertised, and we are being tossed in all directions by this mad, confused sea. Bill goes below with our bright orange bucket and mops up gallons of water. (I guess I should have offered to take his place, but I knew bending down and working below in those conditions would only have had me adding to the mess in a way that would not be beneficial. I guess Bill knew that too or I am sure he would have launched the bucket at me and told me to go below and mop.) About half an hour later, he is back up on deck, still lividly mad.

Bill has mopped up what he could, but our bed is soaked. The mattress is critical. The rest of the bedding can be fixed by spending a day at the lavandería, but the mattress? What if it is full of saltwater? It is custom built to the unique shape of the boat with a curving tapered shape and one slanted side. Bill and I have a disagreement about whether or not we could get a suitable replacement made in Mexico. I suspect the mattress is fine, but just cannot go down there to check right then in these seas. What The Captain has forgotten is that this is not the first time seawater has come in these windows. It happened when Avante (then called Maitri) was sailed from Hawaii to San Diego. When I found out about that mishap and looked at the location of those windows, I went out and bought a waterproof cover for the mattress. Made by BeautyRest, it is a non-crinkly almost fabric-like cover that is waterproof.

The Captain is mad. The First Mate is mad. She did not want to be out here in the first place, and the miserable conditions just confirm her thoughts. Why do we always have to be in such a hurry? Why are we always covering miles and miles with so little time? When are we going to cruise? Why is it that when we do stop for more than one night or even drop anchor for lunch somewhere, it is done more to appease The First Mate rather than because we want to just because we feel like it? The First Mate decides she is going to have to come up with some kind of formula or clear definition of what she thinks “cruising” is. Maybe if The Captain has a formula with which to work, he will be able to create a schedule that will satisfy both of our definitions of cruising. There must be some kind of compromise out there.

We finally motor into Bahia Los Frailes. Wind and waves calm now that we are in the shelter of the point. We drop anchor in the fading twilight, and the First Mate goes below to inspect the damage. It is a wet mess, but when The First Mate pulls up the bedspread, the sheets and the mattress pad, she finds that her trusty waterproof cover has done its job. The mattress is mostly dry. There is wetness along the lower edges where water collected in the box that forms the frame of the bed. The rug on the floor is wet, but the desktop (where The First Mate’s computer resides) is relatively dry. The books in the shelf above the bed are dry, but walls and floors all need a complete wash down to get rid of that salty water. The First Mate strips the bed of its wet coverings. Our pillows acted like sponges and are heavy with water. Thankfully, I had put the bolster pillows in plastic bags so only the outer coverings are wet. The rugs in both the bedroom and head are gathered up. Then she is told to go about dinner (panko-crusted tuna, rice and salad) while The Captain (dear Captain) goes about washing and drying. The generator is turned on so the heaters can be run full blast. The mattress is laid across the dining room table to expose the edges to the heat. Every surface in the Owner’s Cabin is wet, but it is now a clean water-and-Murphy’s Oil Soap-wet rather than a sticky salty wet. The Captain ties the sheets and bedspread to the mainsheet halyard and hauls the load up the mast to dry in the breeze. There I am, in effigy, swinging from the yardarm again! Too dark for a photo, but the mental image is enough.

We have dinner in the sauna we have turned the boat into and head to bed in one of the aft cabins. We are exhausted and still not too happy with each other – but The First Mate knows that will pass. Almost 39 years of living with the man has taught her that! Meanwhile she has to come up with a formula for cruising! Arriving at an anchorage after sunset, then having to clean up a wet boat does not fit either of our images of what cruising is, but she has a 160nm ahead of her to devise a plan. This will occupy her while standing those watches. There must be a way to create a cruising schedule that will satisfy both The Captain and The First Mate and keep the good ship Avante happily afloat.

Note: If you missed the first hanging in effigy of The First Mate and are wondering what in heaven’s name she is talking about, please go to “In Which The First Mate is Hung in Effigy”, Tuesday, July 8, 2008. The explanation will be evident.

Estamos en Cabo San Lucas

2009-01-23T16:39:00.000-08:00

We experiencd an easy, relaxed passage to Cabo San Lucas, not because The Captain suddenly and unbelievably lost his drive, but because there were no winds. Just temperate, pleasant, peaceful days. The First Mate could cruise like this forever!

January 14th – The sun shines down from a gorgeous blue sky. There is no wind ruffling anything out there. With two nights’ travel ahead of us and no wind calling us out the harbor at Marina Coral, Ensenada, The Captain allows The First Mate to prepare a good breakfast before we depart. Eggs Benedict are served. At 11:00, we motor out on a still, glassy sea. In the early afternoon, the wind freshens a bit. The Captain declares that it is time to raise the spinnaker and finally put the crew thru that drill. “Maybe the wind will drop”, hopes The First Mate, but no such luck. The Captain is determined to raise the brand new asymmetrical spinnaker we designed last winter, and the rest of the darn crew is just as enthusiastic. At the helm, The First Mate watches with growing apprehension as all the spinnaker paraphernalia appear on deck. Sheets (lines) are threaded everywhere. The Spinnaker is attached and run up the halyard. The sheath covering is pulled up and out the spinnaker blossoms. It miraculously flies without one hitch. It’s beautiful. Even The First Mate is impressed. We ghost along in the light wind with The Captain happily tweaking this and that.

January 15th - David, to The First Mate’s joy, is a fisherperson. A belated Christmas gift to his mother, “The Cruiser’s Handbook of Fishing”, is a veritable bible of everything one ever needs to know about this endeavor and maybe more. He has the fishing pole out and in the water as soon as possible. On the way into Isla San Martin for a breakfast stop, he lands his first fish. Wow, this is the way to go!

The Captain gaffs it right thru the middle. Not a pretty placement, but the fish is securely ours.

Out comes the spray bottle filled with rotgut vodka. Sprayed in the gills, this is supposed to subdue any and all fish. It takes more than a few sprays. So many in fact that The First Mate goes below to retrieve the trusty mallet, but The Captain is determined. Eventually the fish lies in a drunken stupor, not exactly dead, but not flipping around either.

The question now arises as to what kind of fish we have lying here. Though “The Cruiser’s Handbook of Fishing” is complete with detailed drawings of everything down to the complete disassembling and, hopefully, reassembling of the spinning reel, something The First Mate knows she’ll never do, its descriptions and drawings of edible fish is sparse. It does spend a lengthy chapter on the sobering details of toxic and (worse) poisonous sea creatures, a topic one should be cognizant of, but not one The First Mate wanted to think about just then. What kind of fish do we have? Obviously, another book is needed in our floating library. One with full color pictures of all fish - good, bad and indifferent. Our fish is of the indifferent category. It certainly is not of the yummy variety like a tuna. David, deeply disappointed, declares it a game fish, something like a mackerel. Edible, but not great. Never the less, duly dispatched, the fillets are put on ice for dinner that evening.

In the morning, we anchor in a small bay below a tiny fishing village for a brief breakfast stop. There are several pangas or small boats out on the bay. Using air compressors, the men are diving for lobsters. The First Mate’s brain goes into full tilt. According to the guidebooks, these local fishermen are often eager to trade their catch for items such as cans of soda, T-shirts or children’s school supplies. She mentions this and is given a highly skeptical look from The Captain. Stymied, she goes about putting out a breakfast of lox and bagels. David is out on deck when one of those pangas approaches. He is asked whether he’d be interested in 10 (ten!) lobsters. Overhearing, I yell up that 10 is too many. How am I ever going to cook and store 10 lobsters? Try 5. “How much?” David asks. 6 (six!) cans of soda, Coke preferred. We make the trade, as The First Mate scornfully eyes The Captain. We now have 5 Spiney Lobsters cavorting in our orange crab bucket. They are huge. The First Mate is relieved she only asked for 5, but later that afternoon when bodies have been separated from the edible tails, she realizes that the cookable part is really quite small. Ten lobsters would have been very manageable, and just think of all the delectable dishes she could have made with that bounty! Next time.

After breakfast, we head back out. The wind has freshened a bit, and we are able to raise that spinnaker. After yesterday’s successful and uneventful raising and lowering of the thing, The First Mate is not concerned. Up it goes. Even in the light wind, it billows out and fills with a resounding, satisfying pop. Averaging around 8 knots of wind, we enjoy a peaceful, easy afternoon sail south.

For lunch, a few fish fillets are sautéed and served on salad. As expected, they are marginal and a bit tough, but on salad, they work fine. Besides, we are all looking forward to a lobster dinner. Not much can beat that. The wind dies a half hour before sunset and the engine is started again. By dinnertime, it is so calm that The Captain powered down, put on autopilot and we are all able to eat below savoring our steamed lobster tails with melted butter. As Al keeps saying, “Life just doesn’t get any better!”

We spend that night chasing the wind, alternating between sailing and motor sailing. January 16th - Mostly under motor, we approach Isla Cedros, our next stop. Motoring is really the pits when one is on a sailboat, and we are all a bit down heartened by the lack of wind. We pull into a bay on the northeastern end of the island with the nickname of “The Yacht Club”. That name came about because this is a very common anchorage for cruisers waiting for good weather to either head north or south. We are alone and definitely not concerned about waiting for good weather. The shores are home to a large colony of seals. We see our first elephant seal. It must be siesta time when we arrive, for the shores are covered with the ungainly bodies of seals all in various states of lethargy. I chuckle to myself remembering the cacophony these animals produced in harbors we overnighted in on our way south along the California coast last fall. We are in for it tonight, I think, but the beasts remain strangely quiet all night long. Maybe it’s the nearness to civilization that makes them such noisy, noxious creatures in harbors.

When had been making water for a good party of the day topping off the tanks so we could all take showers this evening. After those much-anticipated showers, dinner and, being mindful of a 4:00 am departure planned in order for us to arrive at Turtle Bay in daylight the next day, we head to bed at 8:30. There was a time when The First Mate would have squawked in protest at this uncivilized and unnatural wake-up call, but she has learned that such unnaturalness is all part of what it takes to get from A to B out here on the water. There’s a lot she’s learned in the last 2 1/2 years of sailing with The Captain. Even standing watches (some watches) is becoming manageable for her. Brainstorming with The Captain, a unique and very workable schedule was devised for this trip. From noon to midnight, we are on 2-hour watches with The First Mate always taking the 2:00 – 4:00 afternoon watch and the 8:00 – 10:00 evening watch. From midnight to noon, we are on 3-hour watches, though The First Mate does not stand a watch during this 12-hour stretch. With a schedule like this, only two men stand deep night watches, giving one man almost a full night off since all he stands is the 10:00 – midnight shift. His next shift starts at 6:00 am which is pretty much on the way to daylight and daytime. With the 2-hour daytime schedule and with The First Mate taking two of those watches, everyone has an easy day with plenty of time to relax or take a nap, if needed. With her two watches and the details of putting out 3 meals plus either afternoon tea or a modified cocktail hour, The First Mate is busy during the day and ready for sleep at 10:00 each evening after her last watch. The schedule is working easily and well. Everyone is happy and able to get enough rest when needed.

January 17th – Reveille occurs at 3:30 am. We head off into the dark. A big difference for The Captain and The First Mate is that we are not donned in full storm regalia, and the deck is not cold and wet. We are definitely in another climate zone. We even slept with a port window opened last night. Shortly after sunrise, we are able to raise sail. David drops the lure. Within minutes, there’s that heart stopping zing of the line. The drill is on. David grabs the line and starts cranking. With the main out, Bill turns us closer to the wind to slow the boat down and then grabs the gaff hook while Sue takes over the helm. Al gets the bottle of vodka, the knife and cutting board. This fish is a fighter. It veers off sharply when it sees the boat. Finally, David has it near enough to the boat for Bill to gaff. It’s a Yellowtail! Now, this is good eating! David is elated with this specimen of fishdom. Bill is delighted to have someone else aboard who wants to carve up this specimen. Sue is planning dinner, and Al’s mouth is already watering! Go, team! David unhooks the lure and casts it out to sea again. He is still carving when --- zing, there goes the line again. This time Bill springs to the line. A second fish is landed. Another Yellowtail! The two are shortly dispatched. The deck is swabbed. The fillets are on ice, and the galley is cleaned when --- zing, there goes the line again. This time it’s a fish like the very first game fish. With the unaccustomed luxury of being able to be picky, this fish is unhooked and set free. Bill resets the line and before it is even fully out there, a fourth fish takes the lure. Another Yellowtail hits the deck, and it’s bigger than the first two. Three Yellowtail, and it’s not yet 11:00 in the morning. We are definitely “in” fish and decide to call a moratorium. The remaining fishdom is spared the onslaughts of the Great Fish Hunters! The First Mate promises sautéed fish fillets for lunch provided no one minds having the same for dinner tonight. There are no protests.

Lunch: Panko Crusted Yellowtail with Ensalada Caprese.

Note: Plastic Plates –this is still a passage!

The Captain claims that the reason we caught 3 Yellowtail is that David finally relented and used the very non-conventional devise he invented for deep-sea trolling off fast moving sailboats. The problem we had in British Columbia was getting the lure deep enough with a weight that would not tangle and spin the line into a strangle hold of knots, as shown in this picture. David was at first resistant to using this unprofessional looking device. A cross between a bent wire coat hanger and half a baby’s crib mobile with a round shot-put weight at one end and the leader at the other, it certainly doesn’t look like something any respectable deep sea fisherman would use, but after David’s carefully weighted line came up in one of those tangles with which we were quite familiar, he decided to give the monstrosity a try. It did catch salmon for us up north. It did catch the three Yellowtail. Maybe The Captain ought to patent this thing!

Later that afternoon, we motor into Turtle Bay. Such a pretty name – such a dismal place with its barren, dry, unremarkable landscape.

The guidebook refers to poor Turtle Bay as “Coyote Ugly” which, though harsh, proves not to be far off the mark. However, it is one of the few somewhat sheltered anchorages on this coast where cruisers can obtain both a respite and fuel if needed. We do not need fuel having filled our extra plastic containers in San Diego. Al and Sue dingy ashore to purchase eggs, milk and limones while Bill and David transfer fuel from those spare containers to the main tanks.

January 18th - We wake up to overcast skies, the first we have seen since arriving in San Diego 2 weeks ago, so we cannot complain. Lack of wind, however, is a cause for complaint as we motor out to begin the 240 nm stretch to Magdalena Bay, our next anchorage. Anticipating 2 nights at sea, we resume our watch schedule as we head out of harbor. Not much can be said about this day or the night either. No winds and no fish. Winds did turn around to the east-northeast which, when we did sail, had us heading out to sea. We kept hoping to find better winds the further out we went, but no such luck. We ghosted along in 5 knot winds. A pretty old schooner that had been anchored in Turtle Bay saw our sails and hailed us to find out if winds were better further offshore where we were. In conversation, we discover that he is sailing in tandem with his son who is on a catamaran. They are heading to Cabo, then down the Mexican coast and from there to the Marquesas. The First Mate is intrigued. She would love to talk to them. The Marguesas – one of the longest passages – a good 3-weeks even on Avante. Would we ever make that crossing and then head on to the Pacific Islands? I hope so.

One benefit of the day’s cloud layer is a spectacular sunset that evening.

There is one very bright star or planet that shows itself first right after sunset. None of us know what the name of this celestial body is, but we are fascinated watching its appearance higher above the horizon each night. The First Mate thinks another book to add to our floating library is one on celestial identification, hopefully for both Northern and Southern Hemispheres! She has found that one of the side benefits of her nightly 8:00 to 10:00 evening watch is that she gets to see and monitor the same sky changing each night. Not being versed in the names and identification of all those bright bodies circling above her, she has found some prominent ones that she looks for each night to see where they are. Some she actually misses as nightly companions when they slowly slide below the horizon. Astronomy has never particularly caught her imagination, but now she fully understands how shepherds in their fields at night studied and named these bodies. Who is a budding astronomer out there? Can any of you reading this tell me the name of the bright, bold body we see first thing in the evening?

The temperatures at night have become quite pleasant. All of us have shed the heavier storm gear. The First Mate is down to one layer of fleece for her evening watch, and she considers this shedding of clothing quite an improvement.

January 19th – Overcast and still at sunrise, but by 7:30, we are finally able to raise sail in a soft 6 - 7 knot breeze. Because it is blowing from the rear, we barely make 3 knots of speed over ground, but as we are all tired of engine noise and vibration, this is most acceptable. In addition, there is the not-so-little consideration of needing to conserve fuel unless we want to rely on the sail to get us into a slip in the marina in Cabo San Lucas – not an easy task for a boat this size.

We slowly sail over Uncle Sam Bank, known for its abundance of fish. David has been waiting for this. He’s ready. Gear is out. We’re all waiting for that resounding zing. Finally – zing! We spring to action. David has visions of Yellowtail and more dancing in his head. It’s silvery looking, maybe blue. “Oh, no, it’s a Jack,” says David. “Maybe not,” says Bill with gaff at the ready. “No, it’s a nasty old Green Jack. Don’t ga…” starts David, but The Captain is too primed not to gaff and in goes the spike with a lethal strike right thru the heart. The fish hadn’t a chance. David unhappily studies the fish and declares that it is indeed a “Nasty Green Jack” whose meat is barely edible as far as he’s concerned. Resigned to the task of cutting up a fish he doesn’t want, David decides to try a new technique he just read about in our book where one bleeds a larger fish before cutting it up. As David holds the fish outboard letting all this bright red blood drain, I’m wondering how many sharks for miles around have their noses twitching and are heading our way or even right now are swimming under our boat ready to go into one of those shark feeding frenzies. The “nasty” fillets are on ice with David still bemoaning the poor fish. I tell him it will taste just fine baked with tomatoes, onions, peppers, garlic and wine.

We spend the day slowly sailing and slowly fishing. For lunch, I use the last of the mackerel fish to make a kind of tuna salad. It definitely is good this way mixed with some mayonnaise and spices to season it. Two more fish are caught but they are exactly like the “Nasty Green Jack” we caught earlier and are released as non-acceptable. Another one bites thru the line, and the poor thing escapes with a lure attached.

At 3:00, The Captain informs everyone that the ocean is warm enough (70 degrees) for a swim and a shower on deck. The First Mate demurs. There is no way that water is 70 degrees to her way of thinking. If so, it would have to be 100 degrees outside for her to get in that water. Besides, we are totally out in the ocean. There is no sight of land, and there’s no reading on the depth gauge which means we are real deep, unfathomably deep. It’s just a little too wild for her. As The Captain prepares to heave-to so we can stop sailing and remain stationary (if such a thing is possible on an ocean), the line sets off with a resounding zing. All spring to action. There is great relief that it is not another “Nasty Green Jack” but we don’t know what we have caught. What photos we have in our books are analyzed. It is decided we have some kind of tuna. The First Mate notes that it is somewhat similar to the fish we caught and processed earlier and postulates that maybe the other one was also of the tuna variety.

Swimming and showers are delayed while the fish is cleaned. David bleeds the thing, and all the blood goes overboard. Analyzing this occurance, The Captain decides to motor up and get well clear of the area before he resumes his idea of a swim and shower. To The First Mate’s way of thinking, we’d have to sail to a different ocean before she’d get in that water now. If those guys want to be shark bait, that’s their problem. She goes below to read while the men carouse above, yelling down about how refreshing this all is and what a great time I am missing. I don’t think so. Waiting for the commotion to subside, I mentally hold my breath until three intact bodies are back on the boat.

We are still not sure whether the last fish we caught was tuna or not, though the flesh certainly looks like Ahi tuna. The First Mate cuts off a thick slice, coats it with panko and sears it as one would an ahi tuna. She mixes up soy sauce and wasabi and serves the crew a tasting sample. The smile from David is the kind that “warms a mother’s heart”. Just for fun, she gives the same treatment to a piece of the “Nasty Green Jack” we caught earlier in the day. The verdict is “also a tuna.” The fishermen lament the two that were caught and released, and the First Mate returns to the galley to bread more slices of our Ahi Tuna in preparation for dinner. With light winds at dinnertime, we are all able to eat below and enjoy our feast.

We slowly sail all night. In the late morning, we approach Bahia Santa Maria just north of Bahia Magdalena. It is supposed to be a pretty, quiet bay often by-passed by cruisers eager to get to Magdalean Bay or Mag Bay, as it’s commonly called by cruisers. We plan to anchor in Bahia Santa Maria for lunch before proceeding on to Mag Bay for the night.

Just outside the entrance, a humpback whale surfaces not too far from the boat. The First Mate is finally able to get some good pictures of a whale, something she had never had the opportunity to do all the time we were in the Pacific Northwest. What a thrill!

We anchor, and here in this quiet bay, in about 25’ of water, The First Mate dons her swimsuit and takes a swim off the transom of Avante. It is the first time we have been in waters warm enough for her to do this, and it is totally delightful. Al joins her and later both enjoy soaking up the sun as they dry off in the warm air. The First Mate thinks this warm weather sailing is going to do mind and body good!

Al, who had decided to use The First Mate’s shampoo instead of going below to get his own, discovers what a “bad hair” day is. He gives us all belly laughs as we rib him with such names as “Tweety Bird” and “Fluffy”. He definitely will not do that again! The next morning he emerges from the head with his head plastered with water. The fluff will not abate!

After lunch we set sail for Mag Bay arriving just at sunset, and again we enjoy a terrific, fiery show. Between watching all the whales feeding along the shore and watching this sunset, it is a good thing the bay is so huge and deep and that the intended anchorage is straightforward and easy. We do have to be watchful as we motor in, though not for rocks and shallows as we did up north, but for an armada of pangas each with a single light at the end of a 5’ pole raised like a mast in the middle of the boat. Each panga appears to hold one solitary man. We cannot figure out what these boats are doing though we surmise that it must be some kind of fishing. The pangas are just sitting out there on the water, in the growing dark, not appearing to be doing anything or going anywhere. Really strange. The First Mate decides she will try to find out as soon as she has a chance just what this fleet of panga fishermen was up to.

We enjoy another dinner of Ahi Tuna, and we each have a quiet, full night of sleep until a 5:00 wake-up call. We have 150 more miles to go to finally arrive in Cabo San Lucas. With the marginal winds we have had, we expect that to be another 30 hours. Thus, the dawn departure again, so that we can arrive in the harbor in daylight.

Crew looks way too happy and alert for such an early hour.

To be noted: There are no sanctioned photos of The First Mate at this hour before sunrise.

January 21st – The Captain’s weather info has forecast light rain by the time we are to arrive in Cabo. The increasing build-up of grey clouds seems to point in that direction. Clouds or no clouds, we are comfortable and happy in the warming temperatures. We motor or slowly sail all day with nothing to break the churning away of the miles except a zing now and then on the line. Two bites get away or maybe they are seaweed. The one fish David does haul into the boat is a super keeper – a beautiful, big Yellowtail Tuna. David, in typical fisherman fashion, proclaims it to be at least 30 pounds. He should know. He hauled it in. The First Mate brings out the scale. The Captain tries to balance himself and the fish on the scale and announces that the fish is between 18 and 25 pounds. Whatever the weight, The First Mate knows there is enough fish there for several meals. The trick for her now is to come up with some tuna recipes other than a panko or sesame seed crusted sautéed presentation. What do you do with tuna? Any ideas out there? She tries a recipe that’s akin to tomato sauce with tuna chunks on linguini. Definitely a no go. Too much seasoning or too much tuna. She has decided that tuna may not lend itself to a wide ranch of dishes like salmon or fillet of sole does. Maybe it’s just panko crusted tuna sautéed or grilled and then served with a variety of sauces. Sauces are good. Maybe she’ll just concentrate on sauces.

No wind that night. We chug our way toward Cabo, all of us eager for the miles to fall away under our keel. By 6:00 in the morning we can see the coastline down toward Cabo. By 9:30, we are approaching the harbor entrance. The sky is overcast but showing signs of clearing.

A tourist “pirate ship” comes out of the harbor and motors west up the coast. It offers an interesting play of images.

We are under blue skies and sun as we enter the harbor. Lands End and the famous arch are impressive – even if the arch has had to be cemented to keep it in one piece.

The harbor is a freeway of all kinds of boating activity. Sailboats, cruisers, paragliders, skidoes, pangas, you name it; it’s out there. It’s a free-for-all of water activity with no such thing as a “no wake” zone. Shortly after passing the markers into the harbor, we have to make a left turn down a fairway to get to the fuel dock, which according to the guidebook, may or may not be open. The First Mate at the helm is aghast at the activity. She wishes desperately for a left turn signal and that if she had one, it would be attended to! What a mess! Backing Avante down to hold place, she waits for a break in the traffic. Finally there’s enough space to get Avante turned left. Left we go, but the impatient motor boat behind us decides to pass on the left to go straight ahead. Well, there’s nothing to be done. With another boat bearing down on us, we continue forward. The guy behind us makes a huge turn to circle us and then blithely screams ahead rudely cutting off the boat bearing down toward us. It’s a game of chicken out here. It reminds her of driving a car in Naples, Italy when they lived there in the ‘70’s. Before starting one’s car, you made sure your hand signals worked (hand as in your hand and fingers) and you made sure the car horn worked. After that, all it took to drive the streets of Naples was cajones. She drove those streets back then; she can handle this boat traffic out here now.

While fueling, Bill radios and obtains a slip in the Marina Cabo San Lucas. Back into the traffic we go, and we are soon in a very narrow slip with the help of several marina staff who were out there waiting for us. How very nice! The marina is clean, new and well equipped. We get the boat secured. Showers are next on everyone’s list. The Captain heads off to sign in with the marina office and to walk into town to take care of paperwork with Mexican officials. Although it is much simpler than it used to be, we still have to notify officials and get new “despachos” every time there is a change in our crew/guest manifest. Thus Al and David must be signed off Avante. It is a pain for The Captain, but it must be done.

After cocktails on Avante, we head out in search of dinner, ending up at a really good restaurant with the improbable name of “Desperados”. We enjoy the music of an extremely good guitarist playing in classic Spanish style. His finger work on the strings is wonderful. Al goes up to give the man a tip, which turns out to be a surprise for The First Mate. The next song we hear is “Happy Birthday” and a wonderful flan is presented. What a special way to celebrate The First Mate’s birthday! We arrive in Cabo San Lucas, a passage of over 800 miles. We are showered, refreshed and enjoying a delicious meal in a great restaurant with absolutely beautiful music. Life is good. No complaints here!

Vamos a Mexico

2009-01-13T17:13:00.000-08:00

Even though Avante was in the marina for 3 months, which would seem like a long enough time to get a lengthy list of to-do items done on her, we (meaning mostly The Captain) worked down to the last minute getting everything completed. Every serviceperson is good at getting their task 90% complete. A common excuse one hears is, “I just have to come back one more time with the item that I forgot the last time.” Another good excuse is, “but you’re not leaving for 2 days.” Thus, it is that last 10% that tries the patience of even the most saintly. As Sainthood has never been an honor this Captain has sought, the days leading up to any departure are tense. The First Mate has learned to lay low, out of the way and quietly attend to her list of to-do items. This list included her most important and looked forward to task of stowing securely the new set of pottery dishes she bought for Avante. Scratchy old plastic plates and bowls have now been consigned to passages only. We are now dining elegantly, and The First Mate is delighted. The Captain is still somewhat perplexed as to how it ever happened that he allowed this addition to occur. To his way of thinking, these dishes rank right up there with the Tommy Bahama blue, tan and white striped cushions The First Mate had commissioned for the cockpit. These, too, delight The First Mate no end, and, yes, she did find a place to stow everything ignoring The Captain’s protests that she would not.

January 4th, The Captain arrived on Avante hitting the deck with both feet running. January 6th, The First Mate arrived on Avante, and they go out to dinner. January 8th, first crew, eldest son David, arrived. January 9th, second crew, Al Adams arrived. Al was with us on the race from Canada to San Francisco last fall. January 10th, we conduct a test sail to check that all systems are go. We cruise the harbor for a bit and then head out to raise sail. Everything works perfectly. We are relieved and delighted. It proves a great sail, and we give David a lot of time at the helm to familiarize himself with the feel of Avante after a 2-year absence.

We spot several whales heading south and consider that a good omen. Sailing back into the harbor in the early evening, we watch a gorgeous, huge full moon rise above the city. It is beautiful, and we are all impressed.

We are now set to go – only we have one last minute delay. Bill could not locate the original copy of the boat’s documentation. This is a must when traveling to Mexico. The new original was supposed to arrive by Fed Ex on Friday, the 9th. Of course, it did not. So, we must wait until Monday, hoping that the government official really did do what he said he would do. Frankly, the delay is a blessing. It offers us a breather (“us” really meaning The Captain). Mañana –-- we are beginning to learn the true meaning of Mañana. We decide to use Sunday as another test day, sail out and raise the new spinnaker. That’s a wonderful – as in dreaded for The First Mate – exercise for the crew. Saturday night, The First Mate cooks dinner aboard and discovers that the main burner on the stove will not stay lit when the oven is on. This is a totally dissatisfactory state of affairs for the cook and must be attended to tomorrow morning. The chief coordinator of getting things done on the boat, Eric, arrives Sunday morning to attend to a last few nitty little things. He has no idea what is wrong with the stove. David insists that it is just a cleaning issue and proceeds to take apart and clean the thing. By the time Eric is finished with his list and David successfully has the stove back together and running, it is 2:00. Relaxed and still feeling calm about a departure tomorrow, it is decided that we will not sail today. There is no wind anyway, but we will head over to the fuel dock to fill both the tanks and the extra jugs we plan to carry heading south to Cabo San Lucas. 2:30 – engine is purring nicely, lines are untied, The First Mate adds power, the engine revs up but we don’t budge an inch. Something must be wrong with the propeller? Back to neutral. We’ll try this again. Engine revs up, prop is churning up water, but we go nowhere. Bill had not bothered to turn on the instruments because we were just going around the corner to the fuel dock, and we have sailed up and down this harbor many times. Well, remember that huge full moon last night? Big full moons often bring low, low tides. We turn on the instruments. Sure enough, our depth is 8.4 which means that Avante’s 9’ keel is securely in the mud. We are not going anyway today. The phrase often quoted by sailing friend, Bob Trenary, “off like a herd of turtles” runs thru The First Mate’s mind, but she decides now is not the time to utter it. Instead she says, “No problem. Mañana on the way out we will fuel”. The Captain agrees and puts crew to work polishing topside. The First Mate vanishes below, as polishing out in the hot sun is not one of her job descriptions.

Monday, January 12th, the document arrives by 10:00 in the morning. Wow! The First Mate is at the Laundromat making sure we are all clean and sweet smelling for the trip. The Captain returns the rental car. Crew makes final calls to loved ones. We are ready. Not wanting to fool with that low low tide, we set 2:00 as our departure, and off we go! We fuel, and as we are passing by our slip on our way out of the harbor, The First Mate notices the depth meter drop to 12’. Right in front of that one slip, there seems to be a build-up of sluge, for the rest of the harbor is well into the teens and deeper.

It is 70 miles to Ensenada where we will clear customs into Mexico. Our plans are to make an overnight passage so that we will arrive early in the morning giving us the full day to get all the paperwork done. Winds are light, but with our newly acquired Mañana mentality, that is just fine. We have all the rest of the day and night to get there. Mañana will do. That moon rises as we sit down to dinner on deck – plastic dishes, though. This is a passage!

The Captain sets up a 2-hour watch schedule which works great for this first night out. We slowly sail the whole way. In fact, the autopilot had to work so hard keeping up with the light, erratic winds that most watches are stood at the helm steering. For those of you who know The Captain, can you believe that he was content to ghost along like that all night? We pull into a slip in Coral Marina at 10:00 in the morning. It is sunny and warm. Mexico, we are here! What will this country hold for us? What will the cruising be like? So much awaits us, and we are eager.

Avante Races to San Francisco

2008-09-30T13:14:00.000-07:00

Positioning Avante in a latitude where we sail in the summer has made our summers in Telluride necessarily short, but this year we made the most of our time home filling the all too short 5 weeks with plenty of golf, bodybuilding ranch work and lots of socializing with local and visiting friends and family. The First Mate tried out a new venue with soon-to-be mini mate-in-training 5-year old granddaughter, Berlin. If the child takes to sailing as eagerly as she did riding, she’ll be at the helm in no time!

Sunday, August 31st, we are back on Avante with 3 days to prepare for our next adventure: sailing south to San Diego, a distance of 1500 miles. We are filled with bittersweet emotions for we have thoroughly enjoyed our two years cruising the pristine waters and beautiful coast and islands of the Pacific Northwest. Fellow world cruisers we have met have told us that one of the hardest things to do is leave one much-loved locale to sail on to the next. If one does want to sail the world, as we hope to do, one must keep on moving – so move we will, south to San Diego and then further south this winter to Mexico.

We have two crew scheduled to join us on the sail from Victoria to San Francisco, a leg of the trip where we hope to head off coast by 100 miles or more to catch the winds south. The trip should entail about 5 to 6 days at sea with watch standers on round the clock. Since The First Mate prefers to serve as Chief Cook and not Watch Stander, we like at least two additional hands on Avante for long passages. The day before we leave Telluride one of our crew calls to tell us he has been subpoenaed and cannot join us. Of course we have a Plan B for just such a contingency and now with only one extra crew we will sail closer to the coast, heading into harbor twice on the trip south to allow everyone a full night’s sleep. We are a bit disappointed, but that’s how things go.

Monday evening we are invited to dinner at the home of Pat and Ean Maxwell, our friends from “Liz of Hanko”, who we met in Kwatsi Bay last June. The Maxwell’s home is on land formerly owned by M. Wylie Blanchet, the author of “The Curve of Time”, the book The First Mate read during this summer’s cruising and referred to many times in previous blog entries. For The First Mate, it was a memorable experience to end her Pacific Northwest stay with the opportunity to walk the land where the Blanchet family had lived. The Maxwell’s home is on a point looking out on the bay toward Sydney. I stood there admiring the view thinking of that woman and her bundle of children heading off in their small boat to explore these waters. That was over 70 years ago! What an adventurer and independent spirit she was!

Not only did we have a wonderful dinner and evening with Pat and Ean, but it was there that our crew shortage problem was solved. Two other sailing couples were also invited so we could meet them and talk the talk (ie: sailing & sailboats). One of the couples was Harmony and John Wills. Their sailboat is a 42’ Sweden, “Ocean Harmony”, which they live on and sail in the Caribbean six months each year. They had commissioned her in Sweden and sailed her in Europe where they lived at the time. Upon returning to Canada, John sailed his boat across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, so he had excellent sailing experience. It turned out he also had the time as Harmony was about to leave for a 3-week visit to England, and he was interested in joining us for the trip south to San Francisco. The next day he and Harmony visited us on Avante to make sure we and the boat were as ship-shape as we and the Maxwells claimed. The two men questioned each other and confirmed as much as possible that they were each knowledgeable and responsible. John signed on. We had our third crew. We were ocean-bound!

Our second crew, Al Adams, arrived that afternoon. Al and wife Linda are friends from our days in Naples, Italy when the two men were in the same Navy flight squadron together. We’ve stayed in touch over the years, but have seen each other infrequently. Al grew up sailing off the coast of California and was eager to join us on this venture. We couldn’t wait to see him. What a great way to spend some time together! If only Linda were with him, too.

That evening we three head to a local pub with Irene and Barry McPhee off “Lanikai”. Remember? We met them while sailing around Vancouver Island, hiked with them, enjoyed cocktails on their boat and dinner on ours. As much as we have enjoyed sailing up here, we have enjoyed meeting other sailors. The camaraderie among fellow sailors is fun and delightful.

In between all this socializing, we work at getting everything ready for us and Avante to head to sea. Our last evening in Canada, we drive down to Victoria to do a little sightseeing with Al and to enjoy a final dinner at “Pescatore’s Fish House”, a favorite harbor restaurant.

Al is as amazed at the varied traffic in the channel leading into the harbor as we were the first time we gingerly inched Avante into the customs dock two years ago.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning Harmony and John arrive. The Captain gives his crew an information and safety briefing prior to departure.

Harmony officially sends us off and captures the moment as the four of us stand aboard Avante ready to leave.

Our first planned stop is Friday Harbor to clear US Customs, fuel and get those provisions, like meat, that US Customs does not want us to import. The harbor is alight with color and sunshine, and we’re glad that Al is getting his first look at it this way. The First Mate heads off to do the last of the provisioning for the trip. With everything logged in on her Excel spreadsheet and all stowed, we head off to dinner at “The Place”, another favorite harbor restaurant.

Friday, September 5th, is a bit overcast and cooler as we head out and down the Strait of Juan de Fuga to the Makah Indian Reservation village of Neah Bay, our last stop before we head out to sea. Our spirits are high, though both wind velocity and cloud layer are low. We do sail a bit and motor-sail a bit, but mostly just plain motor our way into the harbor to drop anchor for the night. Tomorrow our trip south will really begin.

Day One: Saturday, September 6th, we wake to heavy fog. Not in any particular hurry under these conditions, The First Mate prepares a he-man breakfast of eggs and bacon. At 0940, according to The Captain’s log, we weigh anchor and, with the radar and chart plotter to guide us, slowly motor out of the harbor. We are heading to Cape Flattery and then further out to sea. Winds are light, visibility remains between 200 to 800 yards. This is a dismal start to our great trip!

This photo, taken on our trip north two years previous, is of the lighthouse on Cape Flattery. The fog is just too thick now to see anything. Not even an outline is visible of lighthouse or of the very rocky shore. We are disappointed not to be able to catch a final glimpse of this point on our leave-taking of the Strait of Juan de Fuga.

All day long, we head south and west, angling out to sea, hoping to leave the coastal effect of the fog and encounter those northerly winds out there. The sound of the motor is depressing when we are so eager to raise sail and shut the thing off. Though the winds remain calm, the ocean begins to swell and roll, mostly hitting the boat sideways. Moving about is a challenge, and one the crew is going to have to adapt to as we continue. In the evening, The Captain alters course to head us more into the waves allowing a slightly easier ride for The First Mate to prepare dinner. However, in the confused seas, it is still a challenge to keep body and pots and pans upright.

She thankfully accepts help with the cleaning up after dinner.

Shortly before 8:00 in the evening, winds pick up from the north. The jib is put out allowing us to motor-sail, but we are still in fog and using radar. Dismayed at our bad luck with the start of this trip, we wonder if we’ll ever get out of this fog and feeble wind.

Feeling rested and with conditions benign, The First Mate has offered to stand the 9:00 to 12:00 watch. The Captain and John are in bed when she relieves Al of his watch. She has her foul weather gear on, her water-activated, inflatable lifejacket and her harness which secures her to the boat like an umbilical cord. The fog is thick. There is nothing to see, and nothing is out there to be seen as she monitors the sweep of the radar. Gradually, the horizon becomes more defined and further away. Casting her gaze around, she looks straight up rather than straining straight ahead. There are stars up there. Stars! The fog is lifting. Time noted: 10:00 or 2200 hours.

The Captain has given The First Mate orders to wake him if anything disturbs her. Everything remains as it should until a hazy orangey thing shaped like a sail appears on the far horizon. Quickly, she ducks below to check the radar, but nothing is out there. It must be further out than the radar scan is set. What is it? Is it getting bigger, closer? She can’t stand it. She awakens The Captain who is up like we are under attack or something. He runs on deck to see this thing that’s bearing down on us. What is it? ---- “It’s the moon,” says The Captain. The moon? “Oh, yeah, the moon,” dully whispers the thoroughly embarrassed First Mate. (Well, things do look different at night, especially a foggy night.) The Captain grumbles and ambles off to resume his sleep while The First Mate resumes her watch of the radar, the lifting fog, the brightening stars and the now fully visible, recognizable and setting moon. By midnight when she is relieved by The Captain, the fog is fully lifted, it’s a beautiful night and winds have freshened up to about 15 knots. We are about 60 nm miles off the coast of Washington and heading southwest ever out to sea.

Day Two: Sunday, September 9th, The Captain waits eagerly for the crew to awaken for the day. Winds have remained a steady 15 – 20 knots. The mainsail is raised with one reef. The engine is turned off at 8:20. Silence at last – only it must be noted that there is really nothing silent about sailing in a 15 – 20 knot wind in heavy, swelling seas, but at least the engine noise and rumble are gone. By 12:00, The Captain notes that we are about 100 nm off the Oregon coast opposite Tillamook. It has turned into a beautiful, sunny day, and everybody is in high spirits with Avante grandly under sail. This is exactly as it should be out here on the Pacific Ocean going south.

With the wind building as evening approaches, the second reef is put in around 5:30 in preparation for the night. Though the winds are not high enough to warrant the second reef, it is put in as a precaution and in readiness. No one wants to be scrambling around in the dark on a bouncing, rolling deck doing what could have been done in the daylight. By 9:00 or 2100 hours, winds have built up to 25 knots, and we are flying along at 9+ knots. The First Mate again has offered to stand the 9:00 to 12:00 watch, but she has some doubts about her ability to respond to a sailing crisis. The Captain assures her that she will do just fine. Everyone is within calling distance. Okay, she can do this, and she does. The winds, though high, are steady and sure, and the seas, though rolling, are rolling in a fairly dependable fashion. To her amazement, she enjoys being out there in the dark, all by herself. The stars are bright overhead, and, as she studies them, she notes that there are no planes up there at all. When was the last time you looked up into the night sky and did not at some point see a plane? We are out on the ocean and not in anyone’s flight path. She looks around her at sea level. There is not another light. There is not another boat. Other than the three souls sleeping soundly below decks, she is all alone except for the forceful wind and the bashing ocean. It is beautiful and powerful, and she finds she is really enjoying her time alone out there with the elements. The boat feels like it is on a constant downhill roller coaster ride. There’s no doubt in her mind that we are going south. South is down, right?

At 11:00, The First Mate decides she wants a cup of milk to while away the last hour. She unclips herself and heads below. Pulls out a cup, half fills it with milk, and as she is about to take a sip, a wave hits and the boat rolls. Thinking she has the dining room table behind her, she leans into the table to steady herself. The table is not there. Instead she freefalls to land on her rump on the floor. Fearful that the sound of the fall was enough to wake the dead, she waits for the crew to run out to her aid. No one does. They sleep on unaware. So much for everyone being within "calling distance". Stunned, she stupidly sits there anticipating pain. There is none. Body seems to be intact. Carefully, she unwedges herself from the slot between the dining room table and the wall where she has fallen. Now, does anyone know how many droplets a scant half cup of milk can explode into? Irritated she wipes up what she can see in the dim light, but in the morning is aghast to view just how far and wide that milk flew. There is no easy way to wipe up dried on milk. Anyone who has ever let a toddler with a baby bottle of milk wander around the house knows this. Weeks later, she is still finding milky white droplets and scrubbing them away.

By the time John relieves her at 12:00 or 0000 hours, winds have built up to 25 – 30 knots. Waves have also built up, and the ride on deck is uncomfortable even though Avante is moving thru the water easily and as smoothly and surely as a boat can do in such conditions. The First Mate, however, is relieved to be relieved and gratefully heads to her bunk.

Third Day: Monday, September 8th. At 0600, The Captain’s log notes, “A rough night. Lots of rolling. Wind 28 – 32 knots from NW. Now 160 nm off Cape Blanco, OR.” The day dawns overcast and cold. What happened to the beautiful day we had yesterday? By 8:30, we bring in the jib and run on with just a double-reefed mainsail. We are rolling and rocking. That feeling of a downhill roller coaster ride continues, except occasionally when we do hit the bottom of a wave and the boat rolls uncomfortably moving forward and upward thru the descending water. With no place to go, this huge wave of miserably cold water washes over the bow inundating anyone on deck and in its way. To our amazement (and amusement), it is Al who gets smacked every time with this dousing of crystal cold water. He’s a regular water magnet! The only time The Captain gets hit is when he goes up on deck to talk to Al during Al’s watch. Ka-bang, Ka-whoosh, not a minute after he joins Al on deck. We all wisely stay clear of Al on deck.

At 9:00, The Captain announces to everyone that we have just completed a 216 nm day! The First Mate does not at first realize how momentous a feat this is in a sailboat, but now she knows. John tells us that this trip is completing two of his sailing goals: one is to sail down the coast from Canada to San Francisco and the other is to sail a 200 nm day.

At 12:00, The Captain’s log notes that we gybed to port tack. We are now 175 nm off the coast, and with that gybe have begun the journey back to the coast toward San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge. Winds have decreased a bit to 22 – 26 knots, but we are still rocking and rolling. An estimate by the crew put the waves at 14 to 15’ high. (There is no way to get a picture of those waves, but honestly they were significant and not something I could endure watching for long.) The Captain notes in his log that the crew is a “little groggy” but “getting used to watches and the impact of a rolling ride on sleep.” That was The Captain’s impression. The First Mate notes in her blog that everyone is “very” groggy. There seems to be a general feeling of being “under the weather.” No one has much of an appetite. John at one point mentions that this is a good time for nothing more than Granola Bars, which The First Mate remembers that she has on board. Out come the Granola Bars and then some cut-up fruit. That is it for the day. Everyone is on their own and seems content. It is too cold and miserable to be on deck unless one is on watch. If not on duty, everyone stays mostly in his bunk. The prone position is the only safe position unless one is wedged into the Nav Station. If not cleated on deck or prone in bed, the alternative is bumping off corners, walls and doors. None of that is fun. Bundled up in several layers of slippery fleece, The First Mate hunkers down on her bunk trying to stay put without sliding off the bed or being tossed to the floor – which happens twice, first to her amusement and second to her rising irritation. Then The Captain sets up the lee cloth which The First Mate had forgotten about since there had never be a need for it until then. Somewhat secure, she dozes fitfully thinking that if it were raining; maybe one could say we were in a storm, rather than just heavy winds and rolling seas. Was this trip ever going to end?

I don’t remember what I prepared for dinner that night. I do know I fed the crew, but it was nothing that I had planned. Cooking, as I knew it, became impossible. The oven could not be used. Pans would just slide around banging off the insides with contents being spewed and burned all over the oven. The stovetop has these widgets that screw on the grid and hold pans in place. Since they do not work on the sloping sides of the frying pans that I have, I was reduced to one-pot cooking in a straight-sided stew pot. We had plenty of food on board, but I needed to get creative with it in my one usable stew pot. Needless to say, I excused myself from standing the 9:00 to 12:00 watch that third night out. The conditions were just a little too much for me. I was not scared. In fact, I was never scared other than the occasional pitty feeling when the boat hit the bottom of a wave trough and rolled before it rose gallantly into the next wave. Scared really is not the right word to describe my response, though I probably looked scared. It was more the panicked scramble to hang on now or be tossed about to painfully land either on the corner of something or on the floor. I have black and blues to attest to the fact that my feeble scrambles did not always work, and I am sure the rest of the crew, if they would admit it, could show a few, too.

We continue into the night with just the double-reefed mainsail. During the night, wind gusts rise up to 35 knots! Is not that gale force? The First Mate does not even try or want to think of The Captain’s formula of the force on a sail being the squared root of the wind velocity. 35 squared is not a pretty number. According to The Captain’s log we spend “another uncomfortable night with high wind and constant rolling.”

Fourth Day: Tuesday, September 9th. At 0900, The Captain records another 200 nm day! 210 nm to be exact! With two 200+ nm days in a row, we are all jubilant. Could we make it three? We are racing along and talking of arriving in San Francisco a day earlier than expected. However, to temper all that, the weather continues overcast and ever colder, but happily, all aboard seem to be feeling much better and have adjusted well to both the routine and the motion of the boat. The First Mate sets up her computer in the salon wedging herself amongst cushions and works on her blog. She comes up with something for dinner in her one pot and is determined to work on one-pot menus this winter back in Telluride. Casseroles are the answer. Yuck, she realizes that she has not made a casserole since the kids were little! Rice and beans and stuff with Campbell’s Mushroom soup – yuck. There’s got to be more creative mixes than that out there.

At 6:00, we are passing abeam of Cape Mendocino about 100 nm offshore. On the trip north in 2006, we spent a whole day slowly crawling north along this very same coast. Winds were on our nose and current was against us. We made a pittling 4-5 knots of speed over the ground. Cape Mendocino was never going to let go of us. Today we race by and, even though we are not near enough to see the Cape, we are not concerned about it except that we are expecting the winds to drop slightly as we get well south of the Cape. They do drop a bit, and we are able to raise the jib. Around 4:00, winds are down enough to shake out Reef 2, but by 6:30 the reef is put back in as we expect the winds to increase as night falls. Increase they do to 30 – 35 knots! On watch that night, John records a boat speed of 12.2 knots. We are flying to San Francisco. All we need to do is hang on!

At some point that night when Al was on watch, the boat really hits bottom and rolls. Out of the black night, a huge wave slams into the boat and rolls across the deck. In the pitch dark, Al gets hit unawares, smack in the face. Bill and I in our bunk hear him sputtering and grumbling, and we cannot help laughing at his consistent affinity for the cold ocean. Then I hear water running and dripping down the companionway onto the floor. That’s not good. Fearful that someone could slip, I get up and fetch a towel to wipe up the water. There is poor Al sitting on the top steps valiantly standing his watch dripping water from every seam. I give him the towel and fetch another for the floor.

Fifth Day: Wednesday, September 10th. By the early hours of the morning, winds have decreased to 23 – 28 knots. By daylight, they are down enough to shake out both reefs, and by 8:00 they are below 10 knots. We had hoped for another 200+ mile day under sail, but that is not to be. The engine is cranked on, and we motor-sail. By 10:00, winds are so diminished that we take the sail down and continue on under just motor. Though the day is once again overcast and grey, we are not going to let it affect our moods. We are going to arrive in San Francisco today! We will go under the Golden Gate Bridge! We are one full day ahead of schedule.

At 10:55, The Captain’s log notes, “Land sighted behind Point Reyes”. We still have a long way to go, but sighting land means the end is within reach.

Out of the mist, we see a strange whitish stanchion looking like an over-sized mast. It does not seem to be connected to anything. Could that be part of the Golden Gate Bridge? Gradually, it takes shape and the rest of the bridge slowly appears. There it is! We seem to creep toward it.

We shoot pictures of it and of ourselves from every angle.

Slowly, the bay opens up beyond the bridge, and then before we know it, we are under that bridge and into the immense bay of San Francisco. According to The Captain’s log we motored under The Golden Gate Bridge at 4:00. From the water, the bay looks huge, much bigger than it looks from the land.

The wind picks up just before we get to the bridge. Wind surfers are out enjoying the 20+ knot winds in the Bay, and we are impressed with how strong one needs to be to ride those boards and hold on.

We continue on toward the city, enjoying the view as famous landmarks reveal themselves before our eyes. We go under the Bay Bridge and tie up at South Beach Harbor.

South Beach Harbor proves to be a great location and a clean marina. The first thing we all do is head to the showers. Ah, what a luxury after 5 days at sea!

Evening aboard Avante with the Bay Bridge lit up in the background.

We now have several days in the city before the crew departs and The Captain and First Mate continue south to San Diego. Part of the first day is spent repairing a water hose that burst and cleaning the boat. Those chores done, we explore the city meeting for cocktails and dinner each evening. With the marina located right off the Embarcadero, everything we need from shopping, to restaurants, to transportation out and beyond is within easy walking distance. It is a delightful time, as, without the pressures and demands of being at sea, we can sit back, talk and fully enjoy each other’s company.
Our last evening all together is spent being classic tourists in San Francisco. We take the trolley then the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf for dinner. It is sad to know that tomorrow John will be leaving and the next day Al will head home, too. Both Al and John want to join us again on another passage, and there is no doubt in our minds that we certainly are going to do what we can to make that happen!

The trip log records a total of 1069 nm from Canoe Cove to San Francisco. From Neah Bay when The First Mate started numbering the days, it was 859 nm to San Francisco. Most noteworthy is that 615 of those miles were done completely under sail in 69 hours at an average speed of 8.9 knots. Wow, what a ride we had!

I Needed To Know This?

2008-09-14T14:12:00.000-07:00

On July 9, we motor out of Tofino to continue our sail down the west coast of Vancouver Island. Once safely out of shallow Templer Channel, we raise sail and point south along the coast in 12 – 15 knots of wind. In two hours, the winds build up to 15 – 20 knots. After experiencing gusts in the 23-knot range, we turn into the wind and put in the first reef. The First Mate is feeling a bit uneasy. This feels stormy, not just windy. Waves and seas are up and seem to be building rapidly. Isn’t it getting to be time to take down our sails and head for shelter?

We sail on. With the wind building around us, The Captain pedantically proclaims to all and sundry (ie: me) that “the force of the wind is a function of the velocity squared.” “And that means?” I inquire, fearing that this sounds like physics again. After several attempted explanations and perambulations of the formula, I do believe I now have the gist of it. So here it goes: 10 knots of wind exerts a certain force on the sail. A 20-knot wind increases that force to 4 times as much as the 10-knot wind. (10 squared is 100 and 20 squared is 400). Another 5-knot increase in wind velocity to 25 knots increases the force by an additional 50% to 625. Thus, a seemingly incidental increase of 5 knots from 20 to 25 knots is a huge increase of force on the sails and definitely nothing to be taken lightly. Prior to this input of knowledge and formula, I simply knew that at 20 knots the first reef went in, at 25 knots the second reef went in and at 35 knots all sails came down, one closed the companion way, went below and prayed. Now, alarmingly, I now know exactly why 20 knots is a big deal and why 25 knots is an even bigger deal. Did I really need to know all this?

We are sailing downwind. The wind, not content with a mere 20 – 23 knots of blowing itself around, now increases to 25 knots and with gusts higher still. After having absorbed The Captain’s physics lesson in wind force on boat sails, The First Mate’s angst is itself many times squared at this increase in wind velocity. It is definitely time to put in that second reef. The Captain tells The First Mate to turn this boat around closer to the wind. Turning into the wind feels like one is increasing force as the sails fill more and the boat heels more when the turn is first initiated. For the unwary and in high winds and steep seas, this maneuver can be unnerving and usually puts the Squawk Meter on alert. Of course, the alternative is to keep on sailing until the wind increases enough to overpower both sail and boat. Not a good thing – so gamely I plant my feet behind this hunking big wheel and turn her into the wind. Two years ago, no way could I have done this. What a change! A sudden revelation flirts with my awareness: I feel confident up here handling the boat. I can do it. Avante can do it. Way to go, gal! Way to go, boat! To my further amazement, I actually find myself aware of the feeling that holding onto this bucking bronco (May I even say “taming” as in “controlling” this bucking bronco?) is exciting and fun. That realization is a real eye-opener for this landlubber. Wow – There really is hope of making me a sailor yet. Somehow, The Captain has had faith when and where The First Mate did not. What a great team we make! Our little joke for years has been that I am the one that makes him more human. True. However, he is the force that has gotten me to adventure forth and do more in life than I ever would have done on my own. A good team is worth its weight in gold! We’re Gold!

Together we get that second reef in and then take down the jib to further decrease sail exposure in the high wind and heavy seas. We are heading into Barkley Sound and its sheltering group of islands. According to the guidebooks, Effingham Bay, which is not far from the entrance into the sound, is sheltered and protected. We head in and drop sails in the lee of Effingham Island. Lee it may have been, but winds are still blowing 18 – 20. We motor down the length of the island to circle up into the bay. There are 2 boats already in this not very large bay. We wonder that anyone could call this a sheltered location. Though there are several small islands to hunker down behind, there is nothing significant to stop the NW wind bearing down on us. However, winds are supposed to drop in the evening and a quick study of the charts shows us no other nearby anchorage with enough depth for us. So, we anchor, uncomfortable with the fact that with the other boats already in place, we don’t have as much room to put out all the chain we would like. As evening
approaches, winds do not abate. Instead they increase to over 25 knots. This is not going to be a comfortable night. Both of us are alert and watching. The shore behind us is close. The other boats are close. Shortly before sunset, the couple on the boat nearest us is up on deck and moving around. To our surprise, they pick up anchor and motor out of the bay. Where they are headed at this late hour is beyond us, but we are not dismayed to see them go. The Captain decides to pick up our anchor and move over to where that boat was. This move will put us more in the shelter of a low-lying island and will allow us to put out more chain for better security in this building wind. Holding the boat steady and in place against a 20 to 25 knot wind as the anchor comes up is not easy. Holding the boat in position as the anchor is redeployed is not easy either. With relief, we are re-anchored, more chain is out, and we do feel more secure – somewhat. We head to bed both still dressed in our fleece and ready to hit the deck if necessary. With one eye on the wind meter in our cabin and an ear alert for the bing of the anchor alarm, we fitfully doze. It is not until about 3:00 in the morning that the winds finally decrease to the low teens. What a night!

Behind these low-lying islands is the sheltered and protected anchorage the guidebooks described. Effingham Bay – boy, can we make a play on that name!

Our plans are to spend the day exploring the islands in Barkley Sound, but our first objective is to find a good, sheltered anchorage. Effingham Bay is not it! Winds are supposed to keep on blowing and increasing thru the day just like yesterday. The first anchorage we try, after 1 1/2 hours of motoring into the island group, already has three boats in it, and there is not enough room for Avante. We then head to an area recommended for the fishing fleet in stormy conditions. It proves to be a large open bay area that feels anything but sheltered and is not very pretty. We decide to anchor, have lunch and study the charts. There are anchorages deeper into the island group, but they all take a few hours to motor to and we do not really want to do that. The Captain decides to head back out into the main channel to check out conditions in Effingham Bay. The First Mate is not excited about this idea, but as we head south to Effingham Island, it becomes quite obvious that with the increasing winds and turbulent seas, Effingham Bay is going to be every bit as dicey as it was the night before. So, we about face and head deeper into the island group. Shortly before 4:00, we motor into an area called Pinkerton Islands. It’s a pretty area and so sheltered from the winds that the warmth of the sun shines thru and down on us. The First Mate is delighted.

After the adventure of the previous day, The Captain allows The First Mate a full morning to relax, explore and to fish. We launch The Dingbat and head off. The Captain has his book, and The First Mate the fishing pole. She lowers that hook and jerks it up and down trying to imitate some kind of edible morsel for the fish below. Nothing happens. Not a bite that she is aware of. The Captain, unable to watch this exhibition of ineptitude, takes over and within a minute of lowering and jerking the hook, he lands a fish. A nice rock cod, ugly but edible. How did he do that? He patiently re-explains the finesse of this whole fishing exercise and hands the pole back to The First Mate. Down goes the hook. With straining effort, she concentrates on trying to feel something nibbling on that hook so many feet below her. She feels something. She pulls up sharply. There’s tension. Something is there. She reels it in. It’s another rock cod. Wow! With The Captain’s admonition not to swing the fish and hook wildly into the boat or anywhere toward his exposed body parts, she gets the fish into the dinghy. The Captain takes the fish off the hook and strings it with the other one. Two fish – not yet enough for dinner. Three fish later, and we have dinner and lunch. Fantastic! The First Mate is now a fisherperson. She’s got the hang of this. Whatever took so long?

We are now almost down the full length of the western coast of Vancouver Island. At 2:30 on the afternoon of Friday, July 11th, we head out of the Pinkerton Islands to cross the Seachart Channel to the little town of Bamfield. This is the traditional holding or staging point for one’s return trip up the Strait of Juan de Fuga. With winds funneling in from the sea, the Strait often experiences gale force winds. Boats sit in Bamfield waiting for good winds or no winds to head down the Strait. Our weather for the following day is supposed to be relatively calm in the morning with good wind in the afternoon.

Bamfield is a pretty town located on both sides of a narrow harbor entrance. We motor up and down it enjoying the scenery, but we decide to anchor in nearby Port Desire. We enjoy a quiet evening on Avante and head to bed early, for tomorrow we have a 5:00 am departure. This is not The First Mate’s ideal time to be up and about, but we have a 90-mile day ahead of us to reach Victoria Harbor. We need to arrive in the harbor prior to 5:00 pm in order to obtain a berth before the harbor office closes for the evening.

The rising sun and the early morning light just about make the getting out of bed at that hour worth the eye-opening effort.

As we head out toward the open sea, the water is like glass. After several days of high winds and turbulent seas, the contrast is striking.

Expecting good winds and a great sail, our trip down the Strait of Juan de Fuga, this last leg of our circumnavigation of Vancouver Island, is a bit of a disappointment. We spend the whole day motoring up the Strait. It is not until we reach Race Rock, about an hour from Victoria, that winds pick up enough to sail, but by then we are boat weary and just want to get into the harbor. Ironically, Barry and Irene off Lanikai later tell us that they had had a triumphant sail up the Strait to Victoria in 20-knot winds several days after our venture. Timing is everything – as that saying goes.

We arrive in Victoria Harbor at 4:00 and are tied up by 4:45 right below the Empress Hotel. The harbor is bright, shiny and alive with activity. There’s a bagpiper playing. The carillon is chiming. It is a wonderful show. What a welcome! We truly love Victoria Harbor.

Looking around, The First Mate sees everyone in shorts and T-shirts. Looking down, she sees herself in layers of fleece and storm boots. Something is definitely amiss here. Quickly she descends to reemerge on deck in warm-weather attire. Then the brand-new (“Designer” as The Captain disparagingly calls them) boat cushions are brought up followed by the teak deck table. Two gin and tonics appear, and we toast ourselves for a grand trip around the west coast of Vancouver Island. For The Captain, it was an undertaking in which he can take pride. For The First Mate, it was a learning opportunity that increased her sailing knowledge and experience and boosted her confidence in herself as a sailor.

We spend two delightful days in Victoria before returning to Canoe Cove. With Avante secure and clean, we head back to Telluride for the rest of the summer. Friends and family, golf and hiking await us in the mountains.
In September, we will head back to Avante and turn her south to San Diego, returning to where we started out two summers ago. At that time, we sailed north and found ourselves pounding into the wind and the waves for most of the way. It should be a much better sail heading south – or so we hope. From San Diego, we will head further south to Mexico in January, 2009.

We have thoroughly enjoyed our sojourn in the Pacific Northwest. The San Juan and Gulf Islands have been our playground. Our 3,000-mile voyage to and from Juneau, Alaska and our circumnavigation of Vancouver Island have been our challenges providing both of us with necessary learning opportunities. Though one can never be too confident on a boat, we feel more than ready and are eager to head south and take on new adventures. Need it be said that both The Captain and The First Mate are eager to shed the fleece and sail into the warm weather of Mexico?

Crab Trap Mishap

2008-09-14T13:45:00.000-07:00

Having safely rounded Brooks Peninsula, we are anchored in Columbia Cove. There is supposed to be a trail leading from the cove out to the ocean where there is a broad expanse of soft beach. We head off to find the trail. Find it we do, but it has been many years since anyone has maintained it.

We climb over fallen trees, clomp thru mud, fight our way thru vegetation and reach the beach.

It was worth the effort. The fog has lifted. It is beautiful, peaceful and all ours.

We hike along enjoying the expanse of beach and the rushing sound of the surf.

The First Mate finds a driftwood tree with rocks securely held by roots that had grown around them.

The Captain finds a float to attach to the shrimp trap in hopes of increasing its visibility at sea. Pleased with this find, he hauls it home.

We even do a photo shoot. Look! We were there – on a beach on the West Coast of Vancouver Island!

In the early hours of the morning, I again wake Bill. This time it is not the sound of a freight train barreling down on us. This time I hear birds. Lots of birds, twittering away above our heads, on the deck, all around us. I am told that it is only the wind in the wires, but there is no wind I note to him. Then I am told I am imagining things – which I am NOT. Then I am told to go up on the deck and check it out – which I will not do by myself. Then I am told to GO TO SLEEP – which he promptly does and I do not. I lay there listening to my “imagined” bird twitterings and beepings. The next morning Bill is up ahead of me making cappuccinos. We are socked in by fog so thick we cannot see the shore. Knowing we will not be going anywhere soon, I luxuriate in the warmth of the covers and wait for my cappuccino. Next thing I hear is Bill muttering and clomping around on deck. The deck is covered in bird poop! Yes, Bird Poop – as in my imagined twitterings and beepings. Avante became the overnight stopping place for a flock of LBDB’s (Little Black Diving Birds). Three are still stuck in the wheel well. Bill disentangles them and sets them loose on the water where they lay there feebly flapping those useless wings. I am called up to watch this exhibition. They look like fledgling LBDB’s who have not yet learned how to fly, but how they ever got across the water and up on Avante’s deck is beyond us. Crazy little birds!

The fog finally lifts enough, and at 12:10 we set off. We pick up the crab trap and are rewarded with one of the largest uglies we have seen to date. Wherever these guys lurk, there are no crabs.

Our destination is the Bunsby Islands, but, as we leave our anchorage, we hear another boat, “Constellation Orion” on the radio talking about the remains of a whale on a beach not too far from us. Off we go to find a dead whale. We find the cove and also find Lanikai, the Sabre 402 whose owner Bill had talked to way back in Port McNeil. They had been to the beach to see the remains already and were having lunch before departing for the Bunsby Islands. We head off to the beach, see the bones, absorb the stink, and neither of us have any thoughts of lunch after that! It was interesting - bones being bones and all. We were able to see a good deal of the spinal column under the water. The size was certainly impressive.

Part of the spinal column sized next to the 10’ tender.

We head over to Bunsby Islands, lower The Dingbat to explore and then head over to Lanikai where Irene and Barry McPhee invite us aboard for cocktails. They have two fishing poles on their boat. These are real fisherpeople or at least as much into fishing as owners of sailboats usually are. We lament our mutual failure at catching any fish in these waters. They are determined to fish tomorrow. We agree to try also, and I offer homemade fish chowder from my frozen stash in the freezer if none of us catches a fish.

Wednesday, July 3rd, is another foggy, wet, overcast day. On our way to Dixie Cove, we fish along the edges of a group of fishing boats. No luck. Both of us are of a fishing mentality which maintains that if you don’t catch something within the first half hour, it’s not going to happen – at least not there. So we move on, but by now we are bored and cold and just want to drop anchor and turn on the heat. We head into Dixie Cove dropping the doubly-marked shrimp trap on the way.

Warmed up, I start making fish chowder for two. Lanikai motors in and anchors near us. Upon hearing their lack of fishing success, I happily pull out a few more ingredients. The fish chowder is filling and warm. Irene adds a great salad. To our delight, the evening clears
and warms up enough so that we can enjoy a dessert of Swiss Chocolate and Cappuccinos on deck while watching the sunset.

Lanikai in the evening light. Can you pick out the rainbow just over the mountain top?

Sunset in Dixie Cove.

The next morning we haul up nine (9) shrimp! Enough at least for an appetizer. “Nothing better,” says The First Mate. Lanikai and Avante weigh anchor to head over to Rugged Beach where there’s another good hike. This one is actually maintained and in an area used regularly by kayakers. From there we head to Queen Cove. We actually get in 4 good hours of sailing with winds from the SE at 12 – 16 knots. Grey skies and low visibility do dampen some of the joy of sailing.

We anchor in Queen Cove after dropping that shrimp pot. To our amazement, the weather has turned warm and sunny, but it is now after 5:00. Overcast skies during the day breaking into warm sun in the late afternoon and early evening has been the pattern of late. This is definitely not Camelot!

Friday, July 4th – Rain and more rain. We have 30 rather uninteresting miles to travel to position ourselves to go around Estevan Point. Since the weather forecast for the next day does not look good for going around this point, The Captain deemed it useless to motor out those 30 miles in the rain. “Good idea”, thinks The First Mate. We stay put and work on – what do you think? – boat chores!

We delay our start on Saturday until almost 1:00 due to fog and rain, but finally we just decide to go. After a dreary 5 hours of motoring we anchor in Friendly Cove. Anchored below a Canadian lighthouse in this cozy bay, it certainly feels friendly and welcoming after an uncomfortable and cold passage. We spend a cool evening hunkered down on Avante, but when the next morning dawns sunny, we head ashore to explore the area.

Friendly Cove received this name in commemoration of many agreements and treaty signings that took place there over the centuries. The most remembered appears to have been the one in 1792 when Captain Vancouver from England and Captain Quadra from Spain met to sign and carry out the terms of the Nootka Convention in which Spain relinquished all its claims to the Northwest lands. Spain had held these claims since the 1400’s, but due to internal problems and general lack of interest, they apparently were unwilling to engage in a war with England to keep their claims. The old Catholic church in the cove has 2 elegant stained glass windows depicting this event. The church also holds many well preserved First Nations’ carvings. This area has been designated a National Historical Site by the Canadian Government, and plans are in the works to one day build a museum and educational center. Needing a huge capital investment, it is going to be quite a while, if ever, for these plans to reach completion.

Hiking along a water front path and down to the beach, we find an old cemetery with crosses and tomb stones eerily peaking up thru heavy shrubbery and vines.

Friendly Cove proved to be a delightful stop made all the more welcoming by the sunny weather that morning.

We pulled anchor at 1:00 to head to Hot Springs Cove eagerly anticipating the soaking that those hot waters meant. We raise sails right out of the harbor and neatly round Estevan Point in rolling seas and 15 – 18 knot winds. We drop sail at the entrance to Hot Springs Cove. It is a long motor down the channel to the cove, which proves to be uninteresting and not at all pretty, but we are looking forward to those soaking, aromatic waters. Who cares what the immediate scenery looks like?

It is 7:00. Without further adieu, we lower The Dingbat to head ashore for our baths. Our timing is perfect, for all the tourist traffic flying or boating in from nearby Tofino have left for the day. There is a mile-long wooden walkway leading thru dense vegetation to the hot springs. Over the years, boaters have carved the names of their boats in the wooden planks adding a certain charm to the area. When we finally arrive at the springs, we find the area deserted of all forms of humankind. We are quite pleased with ourselves and our timing.

A series of rocky pools lead from a waterfall of hot water down to the ocean. Each pool is increasingly cooler as the water moves farther from its heated source. In the cold, damp evening air, we find ourselves in the hottest pool nearest the waterfall. What a luxury to soak in those warm waters looking out on the ocean and to have the whole place to ourselves!

Today, Monday, July 7th, we are heading to Tofino, a popular adventure holiday and tourist town along this western coast. Again, we have a great sail in 15 – 18 knot winds down to the Templar Channel leading into Tofino. Sails are dropped, and we slowly navigate our way thru this well marked, but shallow channel. We don’t dare wonder off course, for we could run aground quite quickly. We are relieved to get thru the channel and into Tofino harbor, but here too depth is an issue for us. After fueling, we slowly motor pass several small marinas that look somewhat decrepit and uninviting. According to the charts, these marinas are also too shallow for us. We decide to head back to the harbor entrance to anchor there when an attendant from one of the marinas motors out to talk to us. Upon determining that Avante’s 9’ keel is indeed too deep for his marina, he advises us to anchor just off Arret Island right across the harbor. This we do, and it proves a great anchorage sheltered from the wind, though not from the current which is the strongest we have ever seen in any harbor.

This is to be a restocking and laundry stop, for which The Captain has allocated The First Mate one full day. We drop The Dingbat to head ashore to reconnoiter and find dinner. As we motor in, we drop the crab trap. There are lots of crab traps all over the bay, and many appear to be from commercial fisherman. We figure this must be the place for these succulents.

We walk the town from one end to the other. It does not take long, and I am disappointed with the lack of interesting stores. Even the grocery is a huge disappointment. Tofino had been described to us as a smaller version of Carmel, California. Way smaller, for sure – and a ton more primitive. We see no similarity at all, no way!

The First Mate spends the next day doing several loads of laundry in a rather sad Laundromat. Upon returning to the dock where she is retrieved by The Captain, her gallant dinghy chauffeur, she is informed that her crab trap has disappeared. “What do you mean my crab trap has disappeared,” she inquires in alarmed disbelief. The Captain informs her that he has been circling around the spot where we dropped the crab trap and he has motored both up and down possible paths the current could have dragged the thing, and he cannot find it. Laundry is deposited on the boat, grocery list is picked up, and The First Mate retraces her path across the harbor, all the while looking for her vanished crab trap. She runs into that same marine attendant who tells her that the current is so strong in the harbor that not only do traps get dragged, but floats get pulled under to suddenly pop to surface at slack tide. “Look for your trap at slack tide,” he optimistically advises. Look we do. Like lost souls, we wander the harbor in The Dingbat at slack tide. We see many floats bobbing on the surface as the current ebbs, and anxiously head over to check each of them out. But we cannot find the one bearing my name. I am disconsolate. This is beyond belief. This cannot be happening, but it is. The trap cannot be found. My crab trap! After all I put Bill thru with the thing, will he ever allow me to buy another? As we motor out the harbor the next day, my eyes are scanning all around looking one last time for the crab trap. What a dismal departure! The First Mate is in tears, and The Captain is wondering why in heaven’s name it could not have been the stupid shrimp trap! He would have gladly given the sea the shrimp trap. It could have had the two floats, too. Hearing those thoughts, The First Mate is somewhat consoled by the thought that the procurement of a new Crab Trap may be a possibility at a future date – like when we get to Mexico. Ever the optimist, she just knows there are crabs down there -- for sure! All waiting for the taking!

West Coast Vancouver Island - Second Hurdle

2008-08-31T09:03:00.000-07:00

We are now to begin the next major challenge on this trip around Vancouver Island — rounding Brooks Peninsula and its notorious Cape Cook. Brooks Peninsula is a mountainous, rectangular promontory that extends some 6 miles into the ocean. To The First Mate, it looks like an ungainly shoebox jutting out from the land. Positioned at the northwestern point of the Peninsula is Cape Cook, infamous for its conflicting currents and high-velocity winds. We first learned about the Brooks Peninsula last year, after frequently hearing bad weather advisories for the area in the daily marine weather forecasts.

Off Cape Cook is Solander Island. Here, the use of the word “island” is a bit over zealous, for the reality is a barren, lifeless mass of rock with shoals and reefs extending out all around it and back to Cape Cook. The guides say to stay at least 1.5 to 2 miles off the coast. We do not intend to test the guides.

Happily for The First Mate, this challenge is still a day away. Today, Sunday, June 29th, is a positioning day. We are only going a few hours south to anchor closer to the take-off point for rounding the peninsula. We leave our anchorage in Winter Harbor after a disappointing surprise from the crab trap. We caught 4 baby flounders – only useful as possible bait. We pick up the shrimp trap in the bay with its bounty of one baby shrimp and one baby crab. A very unpromising way to begin the day, but as the wind is up enough to raise sail, we do so and enjoy a few hours of sailing down Brooks Bay. This leg proves to be quite easy, and that is fortunate, because The First Mate cannot seem to keep her eyes open. She feels absolutely drugged which undoubtedly is due to her downer/upper combination of anti-seasickness meds. Bonnie and No Doz. The combined action of sleep-inducing Bonine and the soporific affect of fresh air and lulling sea waves are not being countered by enough eye-opening No Doz. As funny as The Captain seems to think this is, the serious side to all this is that the drugged-up First Mate is all but useless. Something has to be done. The drugs are right; the doses are wrong. More No Doz is called for the next time this regimen is followed.

With the calm sailing conditions, we try fishing. That, too, proves most unsuccessful. We are disappointed because we had truly expected to catch salmon out here on the ocean side of Vancouver. No luck. It appears that the salmon have not yet started to run. How does one start that race?

Outside the entrance to Klaskish Inlet, we drop the shrimp trap optimistically baited with one of those baby flounders. We enter the Inlet and by pass the first anchorage, for our destination is deep inside the Inlet. We slowly motor in looking for a narrow gorge with steep sided walls and overhanging vegetation that is supposed to lead us into Klaskish Basin, a primeval spot of unsurpassed beauty. We think we spot it, but from our angle, it looks more like the outlet to a stream. We continue, questioning, and slowly confirm that this is indeed our narrow gorge. Though it is a relatively short passage, we cannot see thru to the end. The rock walls are indeed steep. Tree limbs extend out from the walls and bow downward toward the water. Definitely one will not want to or be able to wander far off the centerline. Depth is sufficient for us, as the steep walls generally continue below the water. We are alone down here and do not expect to encounter another boat coming out the passage as we go in, but one never knows. Slowly, we ease our way in.

The outside world is quickly closed off as we wind our way deeper in and thru this channel. We emerge into a large hidden basin rimmed with old growth forest. There is an “other world” feel to the place. The solitude encloses you, and the quietness of nature is complete.

There are four large mooring buoys available, and we decide to use one. Our usual practice is to pass on the opportunity to tie up to buoys. With Avante’s size and weight, we can never be sure that the buoys will hold, but these are very large buoys and look reasonably well maintained. It turns out that these buoys are very secure, as they were put here for use by any fishing boat or other vessel that might be caught on the west coast during a bad storm.

The First Mate rounds up into the negligible wind, and as she slowly advances on the buoy, The Captain makes ready to snag it with the boat hook. The buoy disappears below the below the curve of the bow as Avante nears. The Captain climbs over the rails leaning out to grab the top of buoy ring and run our rope thru it. The First Mate holds Avante in position by keeping herself and Avante on line with a distant tree. She glances down to see how The Captain is doing. The Captain? What Captain? Where is he? There’s the buoy bobbing several feet off the bow of the boat. What is it doing there? How did it get there? Oh, shit! (It’s another one of those moments.) What did I do? How did the boat move so from its position right on the buoy? Did I have a brain lapse and switch trees without realizing it? Where’s Bill? In the water? Well, at least, he’ll be able to swim to the side of the boat and will not be lost at sea. But, where is he? There’s not a sound. Maybe I whacked him with the bow and killed him. If not, he’s going to kill me. Then one of us is going to be all alone out here. How did I mess this one up? As with all such ruminations, my questions take up a mere nanosecond. Suddenly a hand lurches up to grasp the rail. Then another hand quickly reaches up. What in heaven’s name is happening? How did Bill get there and what is he doing there? The First Mate dashes forward to help The Captain haul himself over the rail and back into the boat where he belongs.

The Story: The buoy, as can be seen from the picture, is quite a large one. Most buoys have either thick rope or chain attached to them. One grabs the rope and then one works one’s own rope thru the hook on the buoy thus securing one’s boat to the buoy. Our buoy only has a square-shaped handle on top and no rope to grab onto for easier management. It is also a long reach from the bow of Avante down to the handle on the buoy. As Avante approached, the buoy swiveled in the water so that the opening on the handle was pointing away from The Captain, giving him no easy opportunity to thread our rope thru it. From The Captain’s perspective, the broad base with four large tires supporting each corner of the buoy looked secure enough to step onto, run the rope thru the handle and then jump back onto the boat. Being the resourceful man that he is and always ready with Plan B, The Captain jumped off the boat, landed agilely on the base and discovered to his surprise that his base was anything but secure. Instead, it had all the stable characteristics of a wet noodle standing on end. With The Captain fighting to hang on and maintain balance, the buoy bobbled and canted away from the boat. The Captain quickly looped the rope thru the handle then launched himself back to our boat before the buoy turned turtle under his weight. That was the same instant when The First Mate glanced down to see the buoy bobbling off the bow of the boat and The Captain nowhere in sight. Suddenly that hand appeared grasping upward to catch the rail. Slowly, painfully, feeling each of his 62 years, The Captain hauled himself and the rope back on the boat. To The First Mate’s immense relief, she had not had a mental lapse and she had not done anything wrong. However, to her extreme disappointment, she had missed the look of surprise and angst that must have been on The Captain’s face when the buoy collapsed out from under him. He almost got another cold-water dousing without benefit of wet suit this time.

We are tied up. It is mid-afternoon. The First Mate wants to launch The Dingbat, explore and fish. The Captain has other plans. After lunch, he needs to change the water filters on the water maker. Boat maintenance comes first.

Maintenance completed, we head off to explore the end of the basin where a stream empties. Wildlife, as in “bears”, is supposed to abound, but we see none.

We motor out the narrow gorge into the bay where The First Mate attempts to fish while The Captain reads. It is quiet and peaceful. Though no fish are caught, we do spot several otters floating along on the waves.

As evening approaches, we return to Avante for cocktails and an early dinner. Tomorrow morning we are to engage the infamous Brooks Peninsula.

We fall asleep in the quiet of primeval wilderness only to be awoken in the early hours of the morning by what sounds like a freight train barreling down on us. The Williwaws have found us! The Captain explains the phenomena of the land winds blowing down to the sea, then rolls over, and returns to sleep. The First Mate, thoroughly alert now, lays awake listening to the wind screaming its approach before it hits the boat with all its force. How nice that we are so securely tied to this heavy-duty buoy! We are later told that these heavy-duty buoys can be a problem in Williwaws if they get positioned in such a way that one’s boat keeps knocking into them. Friends we later meet experienced this on their night in Klaskish Basin, and the only way to protect their boat was to put out their fenders to cushion the impact and then to stand guard until the Williwaws abated. We were lucky, I deduce, to have missed that exercise.

At 8:00 the next morning, we motor out of the Inlet picking up our empty shrimp trap. Need it be noted that The Captain’s disparaging comments on the lack of success of this shrimp venture are increasing?

The day before, we had checked the weather forecast and learned that conditions were supposed to be favorable around Brooks Peninsula. However, deep inside Klaskish Basin we had been unable to receive any radio transmission. The first thing The Captain wants to do is get an update on the weather. The sky is overcast, grey and threatening. The First Mate is uneasy with the look of things, but the updated weather forecast shows nothing menacing. The Captain decides to venture forth. Winds are low, but the seas are choppy. Within an hour the winds have picked up to 12 knots so we turn into the wind and raise sail.

Climbing the mast in calm seas and benign winds to attach the main halyard is relatively easy, but it can be an adventure in the boisterous seas that we find in Brooks Bay.

Ever vigilant on the wind monitor, The First Mate sees 20 knots flash and immediately notifies The Captain of this occurrence. Most desirous of a happy crew on this rounding of Brooks Peninsula, The Captain stops to put in the first reef in the mainsail. Much to The First Mate’s chagrin, winds remain variable from 6 to 18 knots, and the 20 knots is not seen again. But that does not diminish her sense of security at having the first reef engaged. Avante is cruising along at 7 to 8 knots even with the single reef. That’s acceptable. Winds move around from NW to SW as we continue out along the northern shore of the Peninsula.

At 11:20, we are abeam Solander Island and Brooks Peninsula, about 3 miles off, and pleased that all is going quite smoothly. South of Solander, we encounter fog. Winds are blowing right on our nose as we tack nicely back and forth down the short side of this ungainly shoebox. Sailing in and out of fog, we round the southwestern point and head back toward the coast. About an hour from our anchorage, the winds decrease to the point where we take down the sails and motor into Columbia Cove to anchor for the evening.

By 4:30, we are anchored and secured. The two most treacherous capes on the west coast of Vancouver Island have been successfully navigated. We are relieved and pleased. Advanced planning coupled with monitoring of wind and weather conditions, as well as a bit of luck, made for uneventful legs. Ahead of us are still 11 days of sailing the waters and exploring the shores of the west coast of Vancouver Island.

West Vancouver Island -- First Hurdle

2008-07-16T17:22:00.000-07:00

What is so special about the west coast of Vancouver Island? Now that Avante is docked safely in Canoe Cove with the west coast but a memory and now that The First Mate has read the books, she can tell you. For one thing, it is a wild, sparsely populated coast that has been ravaged by wind and sea for eons, and it shows the abuse. Seldom does the land slope gently up from the sea. Instead, rocky bastions have been thrust up with a brutal, jagged roughness and now look battle-ready to fend off not only wind and sea, but the mariner who dares to venture near. There are long stretches offering no safe harbor for a boat the size of Avante. One cannot hug the coast at any point, for the menacing rocks can continue offshore for as much as a mile, rising up in sharp, isolated pinnacles to founder the unwary. There are capes and points with funneling, tunneling winds, ripping currents and confused seas. Weather can change in an instant and have nothing to do with anything in the forecast. Radar is all but mandatory, especially in summer when heavy fog rolls in quickly creating nothing resembling the coziness of a San Franciscan “Little Cat’s Feet” fog. Those who venture forth on the waters of the west coast of Vancouver Island are exposed, vulnerable and open to what ever Nature throws at you.

For the Pacific Northwest mariner, the west coast of Vancouver Island is the ultimate challenge. Many will cruise their whole lives up here and never take on this challenge. When you tell someone you are going to sail the west coast, the response is one of three. One: skeptical awe as in “Wow, that’s great. Glad you’re doing it and not me”. Two: enthusiastic support as in “Great trip. You’ll love it. Let me tell you about some great harbors.” Three: Dire warnings as in “Did that trip three years ago. The winds around Cape Scott nearly drove us to ground. We will never go out there again.” Then would follow at least a half hour of all the near-death experiences they had had out there at which point The First Mate either turns away or tunes out.

It takes the right boat and equipment, knowledge and experience as well as all the testosterone-inspired nerve that guys possess and that some female First Mates do not. The Captain has all the prerequisites, and, for those who know him, you know there is no way he could ever leave the Pacific Northwest without taking on its ultimate challenge. The First Mate does not have all the prerequisites (knowledge and experience being foremost) and was not even tickled by the challenge when it was first brought to her attention, but she married him for better or worse, in sickness and in health and in “daring and do”. So, daring to do, off she goes.

We dock in Port McNeill on June 27th. Liz of Hanko is still in harbor with Pat and Max aboard. The repair of their water pump had not gone as smoothly or quickly as expected, but they are now set to head south down Johnstone Strait to Seymour Narrows. We talk for a short while. Max tells us to stop by a Sabre 402 with hull the same midnight blue as ours. They are docked not too far from us and plan to head south around Vancouver. We then help them cast off wishing each other fair winds and good sailing. We hope to meet up in Sydney in July before we return to Telluride.

Bill finally runs into the captain of Lanakai, the Sabre 402. Their plans are to leave a day or two later than us. The First Mate is a bit disappointed thinking how nice it would be to know of another boat out there with us.

Washed, fueled and stocked, we leave the next afternoon going north up Goletas Channel to Bull Harbor on Hope Island. “Hope Island -- A most appropriate name”, thinks The First Mate. There is not another boat out there with us the whole way up the channel. The First Mate, feeling a bit lonely and forlorn, keeps hoping to see someone, anyone heading our way. The Captain does not care. He is in his element on this first leg of the journey.

He even puts out the fishing pole, a little early in the trip, but he knows that we will start catching fish once we are out on the ocean side of things.

In the late afternoon, we reach the entrance to Bull Harbor. It turns out to be an almost land-locked bay with a narrow, winding entrance and some interesting rock formations close to shore.

We drop the crab trap on the way in, continue on, round the corner and are confronted with an armada of cruising boats. Where did they all come from? We had not seen a boat coming or going all day. We count over 15 sailing and motor vessels of various sizes. Their presence amazes us. After anchoring, we find out that at least 6 have just come up the coast from the south, and most of the remainder will be heading down with us the next day. The First Mate does not know whether to be miffed that they have invaded her space or relieved to know others are going along for the ride with her.

Bull Harbor is the take-off point for the trip south around Vancouver. It is also the holding ground for weather and tides, as the first hurdle on this southern trek is really a combination of two obstacles: crossing Nahwitti Bar and then rounding Cape Scott at the most northern end of the island. Nahwitti Bar is a shallow sand area, approximately 3 miles wide. At its lowest point, it is only about 30’ deep. The ocean swells coming from thousands of miles across the Pacific Ocean hit this shallow sand bar. With all that force and no place to go, the waves build up high and steep. Add wind and tidal currents to that combination, and you have a real mess out there. Tidal currants at the bar can run over 5 knots. The only time to cross the Nahwitti Bar is at slack tide and low wind – or plan to sit tight in Bull Harbor and wait for the right combination. The Captain has been monitoring tide and wind for days. Tomorrow looks promising. Slack tide starts at 9:20. It’s not just any slack tide that we’re taking, it is high water slack tide which means that not only will we cross the bar at a time with little current, but the out flowing tidal rush could give us as much as a two knot current assist to Cape Scott. The Captain’s triumphant experience with Seymour Narrows and Johnstone Strait now has him looking for and timing such great deals.

As we are less than 30 minutes from the start of the bar, we plan to leave at 8:40 allowing time to pick up the crab trap. In the early morning hours, we hear boats departing. Those must be the boats that will be making the trek southeast to Port McNeill or Port Hardy, but when we look out, we find that we are almost alone in the harbor. Where did all the other boats go, especially those that were to be going west just like us? Now, I am disappointed, but Bill says that because the other sailboats are smaller than ours they may have chosen to leave early to take a narrow and shallow passage around that would avoid the bar. “Avoid the bar? Such a thing is possible? Why not us, too?” queries The First Mate. Dumb question. She receives one of those pitying looks again. Where’s the challenge without crossing the bar?

We are headed out to the ocean, into lumpy, rolling seas and who knows how many knots of winds. The First Mate pops her anti-seasickness cocktail of two Bonine and one Nodoz – just like the astronauts used to take according to Telluride sailing friend, Bob Trenary. I am now into uppers and downers – not my usual MO. 24 hours later, the program calls for one more Bonine and another Nodoz if one feels the combo is needed. After that, any threat of seasickness should have past or so it is hoped.

At 8:40, with The First Mate duly drugged and dressed in foulies, we are under way. We pick up the trap and find five good-sized, male Rock Crab. What a great omen for the start of this trip! “A blessing from the sea,” thinks The First Mate, waxing poetical. We head to the Nahwitti Bar, but not before a final check of the forecast. All appears to be calm in the morning with winds expected to pick up in the afternoon. We hit the bar at slack. The waters are “turbulently” calm but nothing that we have not seen before or that Avante cannot handle. We watch the depth meter. For the 30 minutes it takes to traverse the bar, depths seem to hover around 50 – 60’ with the lowest noted at 29’. It takes little imagination to conjure up the image of storm-driven seas coming up short on this shallow shelf. The power has to go somewhere. The waves would be thrust skyward and then further magnified by the ferocious winds. No, you do not want to be out here in a storm.

We are under bright blue skies, but looking ahead to the way we must go, there is a curtain of fog. Will it lift before we reach it?

I am fascinated by the appearance of what I call a “fog rainbow”.

It keeps growing until it looks like we are going to be able to glide right under it. “Another blessing,” thinks The First Mate.

As we near the fog, The First Mate looks back in disbelief and wonders where all her “blessings” are going. It’s bright and sunny in reverse!

The fog does not lift and soon it surrounds us. Interestingly, we can look up to see blue sky, but down and around us is wet, grey fog. It is soon dripping off us, off the boat, off everything. Wet and damp and cold.

The blue sky above soon disappears, and we are enveloped in thick, deep fog. The radar is turned on and circling. No one is out there at first, but gradually blips appear. A few of the radar targets are hardy fishing boats, but four turn out to be the other sailboats from Bull Harbor. The First Mate eavesdrops on their radio plans to rendezvous in a cove not that far away. Why do we have to make such a day of it? They plan to do Cape Scott tomorrow. She is told to go study the charts. There is not an anchorage for Avante’s deep draft until we are south of Cape Scott.

We monitor radar, charts and GPS. We think we have the buoy at the western end of the Nahwitti Bar on radar, but it is hard to differ it from other blips out there. The blip we are watching is in the position where the buoy is expected to be. It is not until we are 150 yards off that we finally see this big, hunking buoy bobbing in the water. We know we have now, uneventfully and calmly, crossed the bar, but with careful planning and no tricky weather patterns, that is as the crossing should be.

In the fog, The First Mate occupies herself by watching the antics of flocks of little black diving birds. These birds are everywhere on these waters. We saw them all the way to Alaska last year. I have asked locals for the name of these birds, but no one seems to know. They look like cormorants with short necks, but I guess that being so non-descript, non-intrusive and a bit ugly, no one seems to have bothered to learn their name. Little Black Diving Birds or LBDB’s – that’s good enough. As Avante motors toward a group of 12 or so, most do a quick, seamless dive and swim away to safety. A few of the more valiant decide they are going to fly out of the way. You can immediately tell which ones are going to attempt flight. The little body tenses, the neck stretches out, the eyes alertly dart and then the wings begin to flap. The body rises out of the water. The little black legs run mightily, pattering across the water for all they’re worth. The wings flap wildly, the legs keep churning, but nothing air-borne occurs. Suddenly, it’s aloft, but only for a yard or so until, shamefully, it belly-flops into the water. Undeterred, those wings start flapping again, the body rises and the legs start spinning. It usually takes two or three belly-flops to finally attain flight – though flight is no higher than 18” off the ground. As The Captain observes, “these Little Black Diving Birds are great at diving, and they can even fly.” The crazy thing is that each and every bird that attempts the flight option vs the dive option runs/flies in the direction of Avante’s bow. Not one turns away from Avante. They all exhibit this kamikaze desire to fly across the bow to the other side. The First Mate is having a great time with this display. “Come on, fella. You can make it.” “Give it up. You haven’t a prayer.” Those that “haven’t a prayer” end up making an abrupt turn away from Avante and after 2 or 3 ungainly belly-flops, make the quick dive to safety they should have done in the first place. It all is a rather pathetic show for the bird kingdom, but it is keeping The First Mate amused. The Captain thinks it a rather pathetic show for the human kingdom that The First Mate is thus so easily amused, but at least she’s not riveted on our next challenge: rounding Cape Scott.

Still in heavy fog, we motor on toward Cape Scott. According to the Captain’s log, at 1155 we are abeam Cape Scott at 2 miles, but it is hidden in fog. Seas have become lumpy with the conflicting currents running up and down both sides of the cape. The winds pick up to 13 knots as we round the cape. Emerging from Scott Channel, the seas calm a bit. We raise sail only to be hit with what has become known as the “Grun Wind Formula”: Raising Sail = Dropping Wind. With a drop to 5 knots, we motorsail. Scott Islands become visible to the west, but Cape Scott is still fog covered. Notorious Cape Scott doesn’t even show itself! Both Captain and First Mate are disappointed with the no-show, but not at all distressed with the calm passage of this northerly point of Vancouver Island.

We are now officially on the west coast of Vancouver Island and heading south. The wind proves too light to counter the effect of the rolling seas on the flopping sail and boom. We take down the sail and motor on. A few sea otters are spotted floating along with little feet raised up like sails.

Shortly after a 1:00 lunch, winds pick up to 12 knots. Sails go up again. This time the Grun Wind Formula does not work, and the winds keep on building to 20 – 22 knots from the northwest. Usually we put in the first reef at a consistent 20 knots, but The Captain says that since we are so near the entrance to our anchorage we will not go thru a reefing exercise. Monitoring the wind gage now becomes The First Mate’s vigil. She is not exactly comfortable, but Avante seems to be handling all this wind quite nicely. Sailing down wind in 20 – 22 knots is less combatant than sailing up wind. The Squawk Meter would really be in hyper-drive if that were the case.

At last the skies clear and the sun comes out. Gratefully, The First Mate can spot the white speck at the head of the channel that is the Quatsino Lighthouse.

We sail past the lighthouse into the shelter of the channel. As the wind dies in the lee of Cape Parkins, we drop sail, drop the shrimp trap and motor into North Harbor for the evening. Anchoring finished and the crab trap dispatched off the stern of the boat, The First Mate starts dinner while The Captain sets the table top-side. That’s right! Top-side! It is sunny and warm – Welcome to the West Coast of Vancouver Island! “Those blessings earlier received did not abandon us,” thinks The First Mate.

Rock Crab cooked and ready to eat.

Totally civilized dining for Captain and First Mate aboard s/v Avante.

Enough with the pictures – let’s eat!

The Captain relaxed and enjoying the evening light at the end of a good, well-planned and well-executed day.