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Just a little footnote to those who are not up on the latest Point Conception lore. The Pilot refers to Point Conception as the "Cape Horn of the Pacific". Charlie's Charts for the Pacific Coast has this to say about the area. "The winds may be exceptionally strong over a large area...Point Arguello has an unenviable record for fog ... 15 to 20 days per month" It is a place of legend among the sea dogs and a real obstacle for sailors in the Southern California waters. Most never try to pass the point. Suddenly my breakfast felt like lead shot in my stomach. My mouth was dry. We talked about waiting 4 days in this sleepy harbor under the lee of San Luis. Then it was clear. Training and experience. We needed to go out and practice our heavy weather skills. It was a golden opportunity. Jonathan agreed. David and Daniel looked unhappy but agreed. Roger just smiled. It was decided. We were going out.
We were suddenly very busy. We had been towing the dingy but now brought it in, folded it and stowed in below on the cabin floor. Lifelines were rigged fore and aft. Harnesses were brought on deck. Our sea anchor was roused out and rigged. A stout line was tied on to the bow and brought down the port side railing. We tied it to the railing with baby yarn, purchased for the purpose at Walmart the day before. It is strong enough to hold the line securely but weak enough to tear free if we had to heave the anchor over the stern. The sea anchor was attached to the line and stowed in the stern lazerette for fast deployment if all else failed. It would turn our bows to the waves and slow us to just a crawl if something went wrong. Food and cooking gear was stowed. Daniel made up tuna fish sandwiches and laid them all out on the counter in zip lock bags.
We were ready. San Luis bay is very well protected. It was sunny and dead calm but we could look beyond the headland and see the angry darker green water laced with white being driven Southward. It felt odd to be putting on rain pants and great coats in the warm sunshine. We hauled up the anchor and drifted out with a reefed mainsail only at about 10 AM. Bang, as we cleared the headland we were hit by 25 knot winds. Soon they increasing to 30 and we reefed again. "Reef often and reef early" was the motto repeated by Daniel again and again. We had arrived at a pretty good sail plan for heavy weather which we then implemented. We showed just a scrap of jib hauled tight. This gave us way and steerage when pointing close to the wind while reefing the main, but did not overpower us when sailing on a beam reach or large. The main we could then adjust to meet the wind speed in any conditions.
The process of reefing is worth describing. We were heading south out of the bay with a west or north west wind, so the wind meets us from behind. That means that the wind we feel on the boat is the actual wind speed, less the boat speed. So if we are traveling at 8 knots and the wind is blowing 30 knots, it feels like 22 knots. When we reef, or shorten sail, we must sail almost straight into the wind, so we can get the pressure off the sail to be shortened. The sails cannot be moved when filled with the wind, so we turn almost into the wind. Now the wind we feel just went from 22 knots to the actual wind speed PLUS our boat speed. Now we feel 30 plus 8 or 38 knots. It gets much louder and as we reef the sail flaps with a loud cracking sound. I am at the helm holding to boat at just the right angle while dodging in and out of huge waves, breaking over the bows and blowing over us, blinding us with spray. Jonathan is cranking on the winch to reef and Roger is keeping tension so the sail does not flap to the point of tearing. When it looks about right Jonathan stops and Daniel pulls the sail tight and I turn fast just after a big swell and get back on coarse before the next wave. It is a time of high tension and excitement.
As we clear the bay the wind and sea build. We are heading south now, trying to clear Point Sol by at least 3 miles. We have lost David, cold, wet and seasick he disappears below to his cabin, not to be seen again for 12 hours. Daniel also goes below. With his wrist injuries he cannot help with the rope handling or steering in these conditions. Please Lord, keep Jonathan feeling well as I cannot do this alone and there is no turning back now and 100 miles to go.
We work the sail trim and coarse and find a comfortable heading, just allowing us to slide over the waves with control and with the wind enough on the starboard side to prevent accidental jibe. We are screaming along at 7 knots, then 8, then 9, reaching even 10 or 11 knots scooting down the back side of the waves with spray flying in all directions. Then it is time to reef again, getting our speed back to between 7 and 8 knots.
As we approach Point Arguello, the wind builds to near 40 knots. Jonathan and I take turns at the helm, maybe 20 to 30 minutes each. That is about as long as you can concentrate and meet the physical demands.
Wind speed defines the conditions. With 15 knots, white caps form. At 20 we see many white caps and the sea gets much steeper. Over time, the wind waves build. At 30 knots the seas break, much like they do on shore. At 40 they break often, with the wind starting to knock the tops off. How big were the waves? Well, we did some calculating. I was sitting 8 feet off the water. When a wave reached the horizon we were in 8 foot waves. The big ones reached well over the horizon, some 4, 8 or even 12 feet over. When we would hit a breaking wave on the bow, the wind would blow sheets of water over us, water would wash through the cockpit and get our feet wet. The greatest danger is to get caught broadside to a breaking wave. It could easily roll the boat over. Waves on the beam break over the side and fill the cockpit with water, getting our feet wet. Most of the time, the waves broke from behind. We would do our best to see them coming and steer away. This was a battle being fought every 6 seconds or so. You had to turn off coarse at the last minute to be hit at the right angle to avoid getting spun around, and then steer back on coarse. I made it over a big one but the following wave was bigger and breaking in both directions. No where to go. The water came over our stern. I jumped up with my feet on the seats, one on each side. Still got both feet wet. Water poured down the companionway and into the cabin. We then put the hatch in place so that wouldn't happen again. Cold wet feet seemed to be the norm.
At last we rounded point Arguello and approached the fabled Point Conception. The wind eased a little and it looked like we were doing well. The tuna fish sandwiches were gone and it was mid-afternoon. We shook out a reef and were moving along making great time. Then as we approached Point Conception, the wind increased. Would it last? Should we reef? We waited just a bit to see. Bad choice, always remember "reef early, reef often". Winds were holding about 36 to 38 knots and gusting to 42. We hit 11.6 knots but with that speed, we had little control and the boat was surfing down the waves, rocking from side to side and subject to slewing suddenly in the wave trough. We called Daniel up and all prepared to go into the wind to reef. "Prepare to reef" Each person had a position and a job. We reviewed the plan. I waited for a break in the surf (can hardly call them waves) if such a thing is possible and put the helm to weather. The wind screamed, each wave broke on the bow with the sound of a pistol shot. Each wave sent a blinding stream of water over us. Click, click, click went the winch. Crack, crack, crack went the flapping main and it was done. Helms alee and we streaking back on coarse with half the sail area showing. Just a little triangle now but still driving forward, but now with control. Now the wind was over 40 all the time. The highest I saw was 48 knots. All the while the sun shone and the friendly blue sky laughed at our stress.
The next big change we needed to make was to bring the wind around on our port side as we made our turn to the East, rounding Point Conception. The question was, to tack or jibe. When running downwind, the change from the starboard tack to the port tack could be accomplished by jibing, which brings the main flying from all the way out on the beam on one side to all the way out on the other, usually with a big crash. We decided to tack instead which means sailing around in a complete circle, straight into the wind and tacking the jib from one side to the other and then completing the circle back down wind. Again we called Daniel up from below and made the maneuver with flying spray and wet feet. With a course due West, Point Conception sped by and the waves decreased dramatically. Wind held strong at a measly 30 knots. We laughed at just 30 knots, what just a day ago would have had us in a panic. As we turned into the Santa Barbara channel, the sun was setting behind us. As the waves stood high in the wind, the sun shone through from behind revealing a brilliant translucent, glowing aqua, in stark contrast to the deep blue. Then as quickly as it appeared, the sheet of water dissolved in foaming white. It was an incredible end to an incredible day. It was hard to believe that just 2 days ago we sat becalmed in a smooth glassy sea off Morro Bay. We had conquered Point Conception, we had proven our heavy sea capability and felt great satisfaction. Roger had kept the deck for 12 hours and was a big help in sail handling. Jonathan and I had worked like a seamless team, on and off the helm for 12 hours of intense focused energy. Daniel helped out when he could. Poor David spent as much time on the ceiling of his cabin in the bows as on the bed. His story is drama in itself. He kept his rubber soled shoes on to get a good grip on the cabin walls. Needless to say, he was not napping and saw some amazing green water out the window and skylight during dramatic moments.
Another 16 hours of sailing in variable winds up the channel to Santa Barbara followed. No winds at all followed by 25 knot hot blasts (catching us with all sails out) meant that we had hours of boredom interspersed with minutes of panic. David was recovered and he, Daniel and Roger took turns at the helm as Jonathan and I collapsed. The oil platforms with all their amazing lights drifted by. Suppertime on Saturday found us at anchor in Santa Barbara eating steaks and talking about fresh water showers at the marina.
Monday morning brought a clear sky over Santa Barbara, with a 7 knot breeze from the South East and a warmth we had not experienced yet on this trip. With a quick motion, the anchor was pulled up by David and we tacked 3 times to get out of the harbor area and underway. Of coarse our heading was to be South East, right into the wind. We made a heading of South with the expectation that the wind would shift more westward as we cleared the land. About 2 hours of perfect sailing the wind obliged and we were heading for the offshore islands. Clear sky prevailed and with increasing wind from the South, then Southwest we made an easy 6 knots. The coast of Santa Cruz Island slipped by the starboard side, with a steady breeze increasing to about 15 knots. We ran across groups of sunfish lolling about on the surface. Attempts by Jonathan to shoot them with his spear gun resulted in the loss of both barbed tips. Winds built to 20 knots as we ran the Anacapa Channel, a 4 mile wide gap between Santa Cruz and Anacapa Islands. On the port tack we glided under the lee of Anacapa and found an anchorage just east of Cat Rock. We are in about 30 feet of water so clear, we can see the bottom. With kelp nearby and schools of fish passing by we spent the night here in spite of the rolly wave action. A very satisfying day.
San Diego includes a most unusual bay. Long and narrow, it sweeps right through the city. It is a very popular harbor with over a thousand slips. Not only do locals keep boats here but many were from Phoenix or inland cities. And not just boats, giant boats. Boats the size of hotels. What do people do with boats so big? From what we can see, they drive them in and out of the bay. Of coarse we landed in San Diego for the start of the Fourth of July weekend. All anchoring is controlled by permit, and all permits were sold. Frustrated, we called back a third time. How about a slip? It was foolish to ask but why not. Yes, just a few left, come to the customs dock ASAP. We flew over and raced up and got the last slip, just 100 yards away. Shore power for our dead batteries, fresh water for our tank and hot showers. Very nice, but also lots of loud neighbors, diesel smells and worst of all, no boat motion at all. Goodbye to our sea legs.
We worked hard for two days building the new bimini, added a solar panel and made other little repairs and improvements. We biked into town many times and stocked up on food and did a load of laundry as well.
The 11 o'clock checkout time came and we topped off the water tank and headed out. It was Sunday Morning, and the bay was a sight. The wind was blowing an even 10 knots strait into the narrow bay. Hundreds of boats were out. The sail boats were tacking back and forth, working out of the bay, and the mostly monstrous motor yachts were blazing out under full power dodging in and out of the crisscrossing sail boats. It was with some trepidation that we moved into the channel following the lead of the other sail boats. But something was wrong. They were flying along and we were not. They were pointing as close to the wind as possible and we were wallowing along not seeming to move. We tacked, or tried to, but the boat hardly responded. Like a sitting duck in the middle of the highway, sleek half a million dollar yachts cruised by with amused expressions on there passengers faces. What on earth was the problem, the sails were set right, anchor was up, water was plenty deep, and wind was good. We had a little kelp visible behind the boat. One little streamer. It would slow us down but not much. We had run through a few clumps getting out of the marina. The parks along the shore were lined with hundreds of tourists and sightseers, and here we were, red faced and flustered with sails set but hardly moving. Wiz, another sailboat flew by. OK, time for action. Lets get that kelp off. The boat hook was buried under everything in the lazerrette. All hands started digging. Wrapped around lines and fishing tackle, under the outboard and oars. Finally, it was free and Jonathan started pulling at the kelp. Yes, just one piece. He pulled it out of the water but not free. It was firmly caught under the boat. I worked the sails and boat into the wind and attempted to sail backwards, which is not as easy as you think. With Jonathan working the boat hook and finally, some backward motion, a giant clump, a veritable forest of kelp showed up behind the boat. I turned and tacked and we jumped out like an impatient dog, finally off the leash.
Tack upon tack, out of the harbor with sail everywhere under a warm sun and cool breeze. Wow, what a sight. As we continued South, one by one our escorts turned back, with bright colored spinnakers breaking out for the run back. In three hours we were alone, the sun was dropping in the West. All our weekend consorts were headed back for dinner. The Mexican border was easy to identify by the change in development style. It was with pleasure that we moved into Mexican waters, but with apprehension as well. It was like walking into a restaurant and being the only one there. Was nobody else going to Mexico? Do they know something we do not? Since we know very little, this is possible.
As night fell, a sunset in the West was followed moments later by the rising of a giant orange colored full moon in the east over the lands South of the border. The wind died and the sounds of strange music and voices carried over the water from shore. It was another good day.
Monday night found us anchored in Ensenada under the biggest flag we had ever seen. The giant Mexican flag right on the water front stands over all the buildings, and dwarfs the city of 700,000 people. It was dark as we anchored but we rowed ashore to check out the town. The promenade along the water front was a wide sidewalk with benches and planters and seemed to be a romantic walk for couples, young and not so young. As always in Mexico, groups of shifty young men were also in evidence, talking and seeming to be waiting for something to happen. Whatever they are waiting for must be so important, that they can be found anytime of the day or night waiting outside the markets or on the streets. What was it they were waiting for?
We pulled the dingy up on an unused boat ramp and left it with some concern. It was a quiet night, and David remained on our boat and hopefully would notice if it was stolen. Our walk was quite uneventful. A typical tourist trap with nothing to entice us but milk and orange juice. Back to the boat launch and no dingy. Ah, there it was adrift 50 feet out. Boys tricks. Where was the gang of young men? Nowhere to be seen. Very funny. Roger stripped down and swam for it. No problem.
The next morning found us all on the way to immigration and the port captains office. The dingy was at a marina dock with permission and we expected to take care of our paperwork, grocery shop and have lunch before departing. I had read carefully about the new streamlined check-in procedures in the two best cruising Mexico books and had my documents in Spanish, signed and notarized. I knew however that it would never be as described and the thought of a streamlined process in Mexico was disturbing.
The neat white painted stucco building at the head of the harbor was encouraging. The ubiquitous group of young men hanging around in front was not. Inside was five separate offices, each with glass windows, a counter and hole in the glass to talk through, placed about the level of my belt. They were conveniently numbered, 1 to 5. So far so good. Window one was immigration. The middle aged man at the counter spoke almost no English. Of coarse, who else would be in charge of immigration. He had to call over one of the ubiquitous young men to translate. I was told I needed to pay a $50 fine for each person for not checking in at the boarder. No, No, we came by boat. Yachtista? Oh, that is OK, we need 5 copies of your crew list. Copies? Yes, you can go outside to a little office next store to buy copies. A nice girl in the office next store which consisted of a desk and copy machine made 5 copies of my crew list for 10 cents each. Now back in line at window 1 and the copies are OK. Careful study shows minor children and only one parent. Yes, we have the notarized permission form. The cruising books have paid off. But we need another copy. Jonathan made the trip to the nice girl outside this time. But we must all have Visas to get into Mexico. Forms are passed out and we each fill in the info already supplied on our crew list times 5. All the info is painstakingly entered into the computer. Now, 275 peso must be paid at the bank for each of us. Over to window 5, the bank. But this is not to be a quick transaction. The 50ish distinguished man at the counter cannot be too careful. He works for the bank. First we must enter all the data in the computer again (this is number 2 - I will keep count for you). At about $27 each it is a big expense so I put it on my credit card. But my card says Larry and my passport says Lawrence. Many questions and a whole crowd has gathered. My drivers license with its picture being the same shifty guy as my passport helps some. This is Mexico and I am surprised that my jeans and tee shirt do not garner the respect my graying hair always does in the US. Finally the consensus of the crowd is that I may be OK. The card is run and I sign the slip, with a quick scribble as usual. Now I am clearly identified as trouble as the signature does not match my passport. I am now presented with my passport so I can copy the signature on the slip. Interesting, perhaps I am not considered a criminal, just sloppy. If the goal was to identify criminals, providing the passport signature for me to copy does not seen quite reasonable. Back to window 1. The day is wearing on and thoughts of lunch are coming to mind. So how long will we be staying? I tell him if we can get done we will leave today. OK, so please provide departure form. What? What is that? Seems my crew list in Spanish I lifted from the web was just an arrival form. We need the same kind of thing for departure, and 5 copies to boot. Stalemate. Can I not go away and make one? No. One Moment. Ten minutes later he is back with a generic blank form dug out of some back office. It is in Spanish and we have to guess at all the blanks. Then outside to the nice copy girl for 5 more copies. I am beginning to see why she is so nice and smiles so knowingly. She will have paid for that copy machine before I am done.
Back at window 1 we wait in line again. It is getting warm in the room. It is also getting near lunch time. Snap, the lights go out in the bank. I look around with a little anxiety. Siesta? But we keep working. Stamp, stamp, stamp. We get stamps in our passports, stamps on our Visa, stamps on our 5 arrival crew lists, stamps on our 5 departure crew lists, but not just stamps, signatures as well. Done, and on to window 2. But this is not true. Window 2 is the port captain and has two lines that cannot be done out of order. It is really 2 windows in one. It also has more traffic, with local boat owners taking care of something. The line is long and slow. Finally we arrive with our growing stack of paperwork. Must have boat documentation. Yes, I have it. She has her own copy machine handy. Yes, a real innovation. But now we enter all the data in the computer again (#3). What marina are we staying at? None, we are anchored. Have we paid the anchor fee? No. Oh my, we must go to the last office building at the end of this road to pay an anchor fee and return with a receipt. Dead in the water. We hike out. The funny thing about finding the last building on a road is that you cannot find it until you find the end of the road and work your way back. We think we have it. The receptionist does not speak a word of English. That's gives us some confidence. Surely if this was the place for tourist to pay a fee, they would not speak English. After much ado the word boat is identifed as the secret pasword and we are finally pointed down a hall to a small office. A form must be filled out. What a surprise. The info is all entered in the computer (#4), another surprise. Almost $18 to anchor. Wow, we got a slip in San Diego with water and power for $10 per night. This is a real surprise. All done we head back to window 2 with receipt in hand. Of coarse we must wait in line again. Swish, swish, swish in the copy machine and she is satisfied. Now to the second window at number 2, the stealthy second window to pay. Another line and another bill, the purpose of which is not clear. Some kind of entrance fee with another due when we leave Mexico. But we cannot take a payment without entering all the info in the computer again (#5) further proof that the single window number 2 is an illusion. Now this form to be given to the guy in window 1, another wait in line. Done, now we are moving.
Window number three is for a fishing licence. Everything needs a license, adults and children all must have a license, and so must the boat. Innumerable forms must be filled out for each of us plus one for the boat. Copies must be made outside and payment must be made at the bank, after all it is almost $400, but it is good for a year. Wow. But the bank at window 5 is not acceptable. We must travel into town to another bank about 6 blocks away. Jonathan tackles the challenge. After waiting in line to pay our 6 bills, he finds they cannot take is ATM card in the bank. He must go outside to the machine and get dollars. But now he must wait in line to change to Pesos. Then he can pay the bill, but the limit is 5. He has 6. Now he must pay an extra fee of $18 for over 5. Finally it is done. We stop for lunch at the "Taco Place" and pay for overpriced burritos. Back to window 3 to wrap things up. We each have official licenses, stamped and signed and just so it does not feel left out, so does the boat. At window 4 we are told that this is the most important window, Customs. Attached to the window is a full page explanation, but although in English the words did not carry any message that I could discern. Something about importing the boat. Oh well. A whole new battery of forms are filled out. But what is our engine number? Who knows? No, I will not go out and check. Who cares at this point. We finally agree on an official looking number. Back outside to our favorite girl at the copy machine. One copy of the passport, one copy of the visa but 2 copies of the customs forms. Back in line. All correct, and all must be entered in the computer (#6). Now, do we have an import permit for the boat? No? OK, here is the forms. It is $50 and good for 10 years. We must go pay at the bank at window 5. Here is our old friend senor banker. But who are we? All the information has to be entered in the computer again (#7). Then out comes the credit card. Is this a joke, a comedy. We are all alarmed over the name discrepancy again. The crowd gathers. But the all knowing customs officer, with the most important window comes over and explains that his name is Jose but he is called Pepe. He knows all about nicknames and proudly explains all things to the crowd. I sign the slip with great care to the satisfaction of all. Back to window 4 and just a few more forms to fill out, oops, one more and we are done. I feel hesitation to leave. I feel I should go home with the banker for dinner. We have been here all day.
Groceries and to the boat. Up anchor and lets get out of here.
Days of light wind, heavy swell, cloudy sky and cold pass pretty unhappily. Slowly we pass islands and points as the days go by. Cedros island creeps by and bang, we have a fish on the lure we have been dragging since Santa Cruz. It is a big Bonito Tuna, about 26 inches long. Very great excitement. The wind has picked up and the boat is lively. We had just been discussing supper as the food was running out. Fresh Tuna. Wow! I will not describe some of the issues involved with wrestling this very active fish into submission. Needless to say, the boat needed quite a scrub down when we were done. Giant tuna steaks, carrots and rice and chocolate milk. Fantastic. A nice breeze into Turtle bay and things were looking up. This is as far south as we made it last trip and we are determined to move on. The boys will not speak or communicate on shore and it is discouraging what fun they are missing. One of the greatest blessing of age is a lack of self consciousness. I remember with wonder about why I would care about sounding foolish. Who cares. We have someone doing some laundry ashore and Daniel found 2 loaves of bread. Looks like the old man will have to go along and track down some fruit and vegetables. What a crew.
Baja is about 800 miles long. There seems little difference as the miles go by. On shore, large dry mountains line the coast. Cold deep blue water and a large swell from the North West. Coastal towns are dry and dusty. Small shops selling a few goods and the ubiqutous fishing boats. These are fishing villages, no more.
There is a large inland water connection above and below Magdalena bay. We had the idea of putting the dingy ashore about 30 miles north of Mag Bay and making the trip by Dingy, meeting the sailboat there. We arrived at the inlet which was far too shallow for the sailboat. The coast seemed to be nothing but a low sand bar, for as far as the eye could see. A large surf broke on the sandy beach and a strong wind blew from directly off shore. This is known as a lee shore, something sailors do not relish, for if anything goes wrong you end up on the beach. We worked our way in as close as possible and saw huge breakers all across the inlet. We could only get about a half mile away so were not sure. If we went in and swamped the dingy the motor would undoubtedly get wet. There is no way we could row back out, directly into 20 plus knots of wind and huge breakers. We would have to row the 30 miles to Mag bay, unless we lost a oar... It was a tough call. To go or not. We had wasted a lot of time getting our stuff packed and getting in position. Jonathan and I planned to go. I guessed we had a 50% chance. Yes we felt some fear and concern. That would be normal, but should we conquer fear or was this just stupid. We decided that this was stupid and turned tail and ran away. There was some freedom in making that decision. Instead we decided to check out Bahia Santa Maria, a large open bay just above Mag Bay with a large mountain peak on each side of the opening, and low sand dunes everywhere else. We arrived in the evening with a dropping wind. Strangely as we rounded the rocky point and started into the bay behind the huge rocky mountain, the wind suddenly began to blow very hard directly from the mountain! We had all sails out with the wind on our beam. Bang, it just about knocked us over. The water was dead calm but we had up to 30 knots of wind. We were suddenly flying along, heeled way over. My crew came spilling up from below. What on earth? What's going on? "Reef the Jib" I yelled. "Reef the main. Now reef the jib more, now the main more". Lines were flying in all directions and the sails disappeared in a flash. The crew was coming together. Totally without warning we did a fast conversion from the lazy end of a long day to racing across this bay, dodging anchored fishing boats, watching the depth gage and trying to figure out where all the wind came from. We had terrific winds all the way to the head of the bay where we anchored. The shape of the mountain must cause the wind to accelerate as it goes up and over the obstruction. The little waves breaking on the beach were just picked up and blown away in long plumes of spray. Very interesting.
The next day we went ashore and hiked the sand dunes and explored a small lagoon lined with Mangrove swamps. A number of fish camps turned out to be found on the shore of these lagoons. Here the locals stayed in rough wooden cabins and salted and dried their catch. A great day ashore.
Next morning we moved to the middle of the bay up close to the beach. The whole back of the bay was nothing but a gorgeous beach with sand dunes behind it. Behind the sand dunes was Mag bay. The GPS showed the dunes to be only a few hundred yards wide. This we had to see.
We were anchored about 1000 yards from shore with the wind again blowing directly onto shore. The swell was quite small and waves looked manageable, about what you typically see at Rio Del Mar. Jonathan and I swam in to have a look at conditions and to climb the dunes to see what we could see. I remembered my hat and sun tan lotion. It was a long swim but the beach was great. The water was clear and you could see fish and crabs running away. We started up the beach. The sand was so hot that we feared we could not make it up the dunes. We ran from hard spot to hard spot and dashed past the soft places where our feet screamed in protest. Large patches of shells provided cooler footing but cut us badly. We got to the top, hopping from bush to bush and beheld a calm blue bay, with San Carlos on the opposite shore. What an incredible picture it was. That was the target, for groceries.
We signaled the boat, and Daniel and Roger came ashore in the Dingy. We could help them carry to the dry sand line, then they were on there own. In two trips they managed to cross and launch the dingy in Mag bay and cross to San Carlos. We had picked a little point of land just inside Mag Bay, about 10 miles south to meet, as Daniel did not want to cross the bar again and did not like the idea of taking the dingy out through the surf.
By now the wind and surf had picked up considerably. We had brought flippers to help with the swim back, but even with them, I was just not making any headway, diving under wave after wave. Going full speed ahead I finally got out of the surf with Jonathan just behind and swam to the boat. Rough - it was touch and go there for a few minutes.
We hauled up the anchor and took off for Mag Bay. Of coarse the wind was foul and we had to tack and tack to get out of the bay. Then moving down the coast the wind died. At dark we finally motored in, one of the few times we used the motor this whole trip. We could hardly leave the boys on some strange shore all night.
The night was very dark, with no moon. Fog and haze lay heavy, with odd blasts of hot humid air hitting us from time to time for the first time after weeks of cold air. We got to the point, killed the engine and drifted in on a very light breeze. All was quiet and dark. We flashed our spotlight around. No sign of Daniel. Then we saw a light on shore. Looked like a flashlight. We signaled with our light. No answer. We were sure Daniel did not have a light. This point was supposed to be a hundred year old abandoned whaling station. Obviously not quite abandoned. The minutes passed, and we could see and hear nothing. We flashed the spotlight time and again. Was he at the wrong point? Did the engine die? Where on earth was he? Finally we heard and outboard and he was here. He had made a stealthy landing at the point and was hiding out, some fishermen camping nearby had been looking for them with flashlights. What an adventure. We baked the Tuna caught on our way in and had a late but great supper and went to bed. The next morning, with Daniel not succeeding with either propane or water to drink we left with short rations for Cabo.
A couple days later we arrived, first thing in the morning. Wow, we are in a different world. A HUGE cruise ship followed us into the bay and anchored right next to us!. What a monster. A steady stream of water taxies ferried the poor victims in to be scammed and robbed. It was not so bad a place at 7 in the morning but by 8 we had boats flying all over the place, jet skis everywhere and Para skiers, tour boats and chaos. All of them going full out, missing us by just a few feet. What a racket. No worry about loosing our sea legs here.
We launched the dinghy and were almost swamped motoring into the harbor. THe marina holds about 1000 boats and almost all were monster sized motor boats. This is the fishing destination and that is all we saw. Hotels, condos and estates are everywhere. A 2 bedroom condo with marina view is $420,000, and rents for $300 per night. American tourists, prices and American staff. Just call it San Diego South. Chatting around I find La Paz is where the sail boats go, not here. So we need to move on. David will not leave the boat. We hope to bribe him ashore tonight with a visit to the DQ. We have not had ice cream since home...
Daniel is ashore seeking propane. Looks like a 10 mile taxi ride will get it done. He is very worried. This afternoon we must motor into that crazy marina and try to fill our water tank. We do not want to, but are dry.
Finally, it is warm, just suddenly as we rounded the point. Now it is hot, and all I hear about is how hot it is and how will we sleep in this heat. Water temperatures in the Sea of Cortez runs from 70s to 80s. We have made it to the promised land, and even though we have fresh fish almost every day, just like the children of old, they complain.
It was mid afternoon and about 90 degrees. A refreshing brisk wind was blowing from the south at 20 knots. We were anchored in 15 feet of water behind a long sand bar with a white cone shaped lighthouse at the end. The wind was kicking up white caps and a decent surf was starting to break on the beach. We had just launched the dingy in that surf to get back to the boat and we were just a little wet with spray. Although the bar protected us from the 6 to 8 foot swell beyond it, our position was getting a little uncomfortable. We decided it was time to move on to the next point which offered much better protection from the south, or we would not sleep a minute tonight.
We broke out the anchor and sailed north with the wind behind. I had the helm as we flew along up the coast I looked around the cockpit. The boys were all on deck, sitting and loafing around. Then I realized, here we were flying along in a stiff breeze and we were all wearing shorts, tee shirts and were barefoot. The flying spray felt good. In Monterey Bay in these conditions I would have had on my foul weather gear, rain pants, gore Tex jacket with down lining, gloves, wool hat and hood, and I may still have been cold. Wow, this is what sailing is meant to be.
Within an hour we had landed a Yellow fin Tuna for dinner. Cleaned and in the pan, we again relaxed on deck. We talked about ambition and work, jobs, careers and school. I shared some of my early work experiences. These are the times where life principles are instilled. This is why we came. This is the point.
The sky was blue with various cloud formations on the horizons. An incredible sunset followed, and now that we are inside the Sea of Cortez, the sunset is sharply etched against the jagged rocky mountains. As the sunset fades, the quarter moon rises creating a glittering path over the water. With the coming of darkness, the wind drops and we eat our tuna and cauliflower on deck. By the time we drop anchor the wind has fallen to just a whisper. We sit on deck in the dark for just a few minutes, listening to the waves on the beach. We are still in shorts and still comfortable. Seems like a little dessert is in order. Daniel fried up some pancakes and spread jelly or chocolate on them and rolled them up. A perfect end to a perfect day.
Punta Arena de la ventada is a sandy bight projecting out into the Sea of Cortez several miles. The southern shore is protected during the usual NW wind but battered during Storms from the south. The northern shore is normally subject to wind and waves. The bight is sand dunes and scrub. The water is so clear as to be quite unbelievable. The shores of each side taper slowly with a large area of water about 15 to 25 feet deep. The end drops off very suddenly to hundreds of feet, and the tidal flow and waves swirl around it. A nice lighthouse stands at the end. The northern shore is frequented by campers, fishermen but mostly camping fishermen and families. They all have 4WD trucks and open boats with outboards. Grouped near the lighthouse 20 or so boats are pulled up on the beach. We watched as they arrived back mid morning with their catches. One boat had a 7 foot long Marlin, with its tall fin and sharp nose. Another had two 5 foot long sharks. Rays, groupers and who knows what else had been caught. The fish were eaten by all, a great time of fun for the locals. We tourists did not seem to be welcome.
The northern shore was also empty except for two million dollar monster homes. Although great for the owners, they seem very out of place. Such is the fait of all the locals favorite beaches. One must question if these monster homes is really the best use of such a place. Although I did not talk with anyone, I can just feel that the locals who may have been coming to this beach for generations must feel a resentment for the way development is done here. Most of these beach areas seemed to be large tracts once used for ranching that are owned jointly by a single extended family. A developer brings out an armored truck of cash and negotiates with each family member (who own a share of the land) until all are satisfied. It may cost them $60 million for one of these beach front parcels. Then in go roads and utilities and the small waterfront lots sell for $350K and the houses for $1M. Even the family members who sold could not afford to live here. The building crews are mostly imported from the mainland and little benefit goes to the locals. Fortunately this desert region has not had much of a local population. So the shores are either camping or monster homes. There is nothing in between. I long to see the simple cottage on the water.
Today I dived with our snuba gear. This is the first time I have dived with an air supply. I must admit I was apprehensive. It made me think about aging.
I guess you are old when you stop doing new things and just keep doing the things you are used to. This can happen at any age, as it happens inside, unrelated to your bodies aging process. Today I did something new, and I felt a real reluctance to try it, that I may not have felt 20 years ago.
It all started with the mask. Beards and masks do not mix. Water leaks in and starts to fill your mask. I finally got my mask adjusted leak free. Now comes the weight belt. Bag after bag of lead shot is loaded into my belt. I feel just sure that if I go in the water, I will drop like a rock right to the bottom. I get the air thing in my mouth and work my way down the swim ladder. No, still floating. Five more pounds, then 2 more and I am sinking slowly. Jonathan said "Pinch your nose and blow out all the time as you go down to pop your ears. Do not forget to breath when you come up".
Down to the bottom of the ladder I go. Pinch the nose and blow. Pop goes the left ear, but nothing happening on the right except pain. I blow harder. I have visions of blood clouding the water. Back to the surface I explain the problem. I am told I went too deep without popping. "all the time" he says.
Several more tries and I find I must pop them every step of the ladder. OK now we are cooking. Down I go, from the ladder to the rudder. At the tip of the rudder I have to let go. Oh, boy, what will happen then. I start to swim a little but my ear will not pop. I wonder why. Soon I see the sunshine and I am back on the surface. That's why. Still not enough weight. Start all over again with the ears and the popping and down we go. I finally see the bottom. Pop goes one ear. Squeak goes the other. Then my feet are on the bottom.
I look around and swim slowly. There are rocks and things among the sand. A little yellow and black striped fish swims by. I see a star fish. I gaze upon our anchor. I am weightless and free. The ears are fine and do not need to be messed with now. For the first time, I am happy, and am enjoying myself. This is a new world that cannot be appreciated when holding your breath.
It is new and I like it. I am not finished learning yet.
On the way up I stop. What was I supposed to do on the way up? I cannot think of anything. Pop my ears? No. It was something. It was important. What was it? I keep going up with increasing anxiety, and then I remember. I was supposed to breath. Oh, is that all? I was certainly breathing, and now an extra sigh of relief.
Last night the wind howled over our little white boat all night long. We were anchored just off the beach in 16' of water, and the South wind was blowing and gusting directly from the land. As a result, the only waves we felt we just the beginnings of waves, fast moving ripples that by the time they reached the opposite shore would be giant crashing waves.
A boat at anchor in high winds does not behave quite the way you would expect. Some vagary of nature causes the boat to turn just a little to one side or the other. Then the wind hits the exposed side with great force. The boat starts turning with its side toward the wind but then the anchor stops the downwind motion and the bow swings back toward the wind, stretching the anchor rode and lifting the chain from the bottom. This is the point of maximum strain on the anchor. Now the bow is tugged back toward the wind and the wind force on the boat side drops. With the wind load reduced, the boat surges forward as the rode stretch is reduced and the chain drops again to the ocean floor.
As one lays in ones berth trying to sleep a whole range of sounds can be identified. As the wind blows over the rigging, mast and deck fixtures it howls and moans. As the boat swings back and forth the tones vary. Of more interest, is the rigging, comprised of steel cables and ropes with different tensions. These are much like the strings of a huge base violin. With enough stimulation, they begin to resonate with a deep shudder, that rings threw the hull and is felt, rather than heard. Some times the resonance is just right and the mast itself gives a shudder, and that really makes a noise, but that special combination does not happen that often. Now add some more independent sounds. Ropes tight against the mast and boom will shake and knock on the spar. Bang, bang, bang. The little wavelets zipping by make a pleasant gurgling noise as they pass down the side of the boat, but as the boat swings to and fro, this sound comes and goes. The anchor rode as it stretches to the limit and relaxes can make an unexpected and disturbing grown or creaking noise that sounds more like structural failure than just a slipping line.
So as I lay awake wondering why I can not fall asleep I reflect on free will. I knew our anchor was solid and was unlikely to drag, and if it did, with the wind off shore we were in no danger, but it did not matter. When I stand at the edge of a great height, I am paralyzed, and no mental understanding that the rope I am connected to will keep me save will eliminate the fear.
We humans like to think that we are more sophisticated than the animals in every way, but there are instinctual factors that cannot be denied. A turtle hatches from the egg buried in sand on the beach. It knows to dig out and head for the surf. It is not taught, but drive is programmed into its reasoning. All living things have more or less of this instinct, including us, but us perhaps the least. A newborn infant does not know how to do much but does know how to nurse. I think we have other instincts as well. And perhaps an event can sharpen that instinct in one person while it lays dormant in another. A mother wakes when a baby cries. One night at anchor with wind just like this another boats anchor dragged and the crashed into us. Another dark windy night our anchor dragged. I have had the experiences to awake my distrust of howling winds.
Fears of many things can be instinctual. But perhaps other reactions and desires are also instinctual. Perhaps the restlessness that plagues us, the creative pressure and certainly our knowledge of God, and right and wrong it just a part of us.
I would think that the average "man on the street" would not acknowledge any role of pre-programming in his reaction and decision making. We are Americans and are free and make our own choices. We are not victims of our genetic programming, but clearly we are, because try as I might, I cannot fall asleep.
It is interesting that this programming is also sensitive to age. Roger and Daniel slept like logs. Jonathan was restless. David was awake allot. As an adult, the fear of the storm was helping keep him awake.
So what can I learn from this? First of all, I will recognize that my free will is limited to and controlled by my basic programming. Instincts are inevitable, and when I relax in recognition that this is normal, I am much more comfortable than if I live in denial. These "fears" are not bad things, to be banished, but are part of me to be embraced. Recognizing my instincts I can capitalize on them rather than resist them. In the same way my need to recognize a greater authority is not a weakness, but a part of me, to be embraced.
As the sun rose, the wind dropped, and I slept until breakfast. The new day was bright and clear. The air was so clear and dry that you could see great distances with perfect clarity. The deep blue water was flat and clean. with the sunlight dancing on the little ripples made by the last sweet breaths of the breeze. It was as tranquil and safe a day as the night was treacherous.
The boat is now at home in La Paz. The big sailing trip of 2007 is over. Over 2000 miles logged, over 60 days on the water. All the way to the Sea of Cortez by sail alone. Home again - we are planning the next phase of the adventure.