Video of Cortez Angelfish and Featherduster tubeworms
​at Isla Bargo/El Coyote, Bahia Concepcion.

Natural Nightly AC
OK, so it’s not as hot as it could be here in Bahia Concepcion. But it’s officially HOT. So stuffy, that every evening at about 6pm, we possessed a persistent drive to dive into the water. Stewing in the piping hot pool felt cooler than sweating in sizzling air temps. Every evening would find us suspended on a pool noodle or dangling from the dinghy or arm-wrapped around the anchor chain, desperate to cool off. After we sufficiently simmered into shriveled shrimp, we’d take a cool shower on deck. Natural AC.

Irritating Islets
In Bahia Concepcion, several miniature islets grow out of the water in ill-shaped clumps. Most are easily circumvented by day, just don’t get too terribly close and watch your depth sounder. Some are deceiving (or lazy) actors, basking underwater most of the day and only making a brief appearance on stage at low tide. From a kayaker and snorkeler perspective, these uninhabitable, rock-strewn regions are a prime attraction to Bahia Concepcion. But from a cruising perspective, these islets are considered navigation hazards to be avoided at all costs. And for some reason, like wrascally rabbits, the islets in Bahia Concepcion tend to duplicate on my chartplotter screen, drawing identical ghost land masses where I know for a fact it’s open water. Look honey, I’m driving us over an island! Yee haw! So in this bay, islets are just a bit irritating.

Isla El Coyote (aka Isla Bargo)
Less than a mile from El Burro Cove is one such Isla that we have avoided like the plague, simply because we are prone to islet-evasion. This year, I viewed this identity-crisis-prone Isla (marked in Google as Isla El Coyote and on our chartplotter as Isla Bargo) not as an evil navigation hazard, but an alluring tropical isle. Its baby anchorage juuust snug enough for one boat, its cloistered beach backed by a towering mini-mountain summoned Indigo like a siren. I envisioned our own little Gilligan’s Island (Brian would be the Professor, me, the bumbling Gilligan). So of course, we attempted to anchor there. Attempted.

Anchoring = Puppy-Dog-Walking
Setting an anchor is akin to walking a very stubborn Labrador puppy. Suddenly, “Giggles” sits down without warning and plants his feet - he ain’t goin’ nowhere, nohow. But you keep walking… and the leash attached to his neck and your wrist suddenly straightens out… and your wrist takes the brunt of your forward motion, tugging and eventually stopping you in your tracks. Giggles may scoot across the ground for a second during your slowdown, but his paws quickly dig into the dirt, securing your fate. The dog is our anchor; the leash is our chain; the wrist is our windlass (contraption on the bow that winds/brakes the chain as it’s going in or out).

After Brian drops our hefty hound, we watch that leash stretch out taut, feeling the anchor claw into the sand and the boat perform a sludgy stall. We reverse at a slow 1000 RPM until this happens. Why so slow? Well, ask your wrist. When your pooch plants his booty on the ground, would you rather be walking, eliciting a mere tug… or running at full speed, causing a cataclysmic cartwheel?

In addition to a taut chain and a mild tug, we know we’ve “set the hook” by noting the swirl of water churned up by the reverse propeller unable to move the boat further. Then we gun the engine backwards at 1500, then 2000 RPM to fully entrench the anchor and finally let out more chain.

No tug, no churn? Not anchored.
Except today, this didn’t happen. Brian is on the bow; I am at the helm, engine in reverse. I’d just input our anchor drop point into the plotter. Watching our backwards trail, I get a weird sensation. Why do I feel like this is taking too long? Our backwards GPS track seems waaay longer than our normal anchoring procedure. We should be stopped by now. Brian sees the chain is taut, but I see no prop churn; neither of us senses a stall. I visually compare our physical location with the leading edge of the islet, observing the rockfall drift slowly by...we’re headed out to sea! Whaaa? Basically, we’ve just dragged the pooch… hop, skippin’ an’ a jumpin’ along the sea floor.

Abandoning the Isla
Did we do something wrong? Or did our anchor drop on hard rock under minimal sand? (Like digging into pavement – impossible.) Who knows. We tried twice, abandoning our efforts after the second failed attempt. Why didn’t we bother going for a third? Trust issues. This brusque anchor expulsion has never happened to us, and twice in the same spot. It’s like the harbor just spit us out. Blech. Pitooey. We felt a tad unwanted. Fine then, we’re leaving!

Undeterred
But we’re coming back, one way or the other! After scooting over to El Burro Cove, we motored the dinghy BACK to Isla Bargo. (Or El Coyote, whatever you self-identify as these days. I don't care - just pick one!) Can’t spit us out that easily! 

Here on Gilligan’s Island
Zooming into this deserted cove really was like arriving at our own private Gilligan’s Island. (Except we weren't stranded.) Our 3-hour tour was a welcome respite from the summer beach crowd at El Burro. Gone are the Corona-clutching kayakers, the jet-skiers doing donuts around our boat, the beach-front monopolizers… BBQing and singing and cackling and playing an inordinate amount of tuba music. Sigh. We have this place all to ourselves. Not a single person here. I would not have minded getting stranded one bit. At least for a day.

Cortez Angelfish
The highlight of our Isla El Coyargo snorkeling excursion? Getting up close and personal with an unusual number of Cortez Angelfish. Unusual… meaning more than one. Like, five! OK, I know. Big deal. But these guys are so preeettty! Adults wear a dark grey face with wide, nervous eyes, followed by bright yellow and black bands and a dark/light grey spotted stern; the entire body is tinged in blue. Glowering at me vexingly, the fishies flitted in and out of their hidey-hole, mildly irritated at my prolonged presence. You’re STILL here? Ugh.

Even better, I got video of a striking juvenile. Covered in consecutive C-shaped stripes of black, electric blue and canary yellow, I think they are the coolest looking fish. In all our snorkels, I’ve only ever seen one other. This little guy sped back and forth under a rock ledge like a sugar-high 2-yr old. Stop moving! I’ll go away if you’ll just stop moving and let me take one non-blurry picture!

Feather Dusters
I also got video of a species of tubeworm. I know what you’re thinking. Ick. Now, I hate anything slithery and snakey, so I’m not a big fan of worms either. But since I can’t see the body…and they stay put… these aren’t so bad.

Tubeworms are just that: actual worms that live inside a secreted, then hardened, mini-tube-house sticking up out of the sand. At the head of the tube, the worm exposes a floating circle of hair-like feelers deployed to funnel tiny organisms as well as provide an oxygen exchange. This dainty plume looks like a feather duster…hence the typical name, Feather Duster Worms.

In our private Gilligan’s Island cove, Feather Dusters proliferate. Heading back to shore, I just happened to notice their disappearing act out of the corner of my eye…a miniscule withdrawal movement as I hovered over their holey homes. Diving with my camera in close, their colorful crowns retract inward to hide. Schloop! It’s even cooler when a group performs their scaredy-cat be-bop in succession. Schloop… Schloop.Schloop....... Schloop. As soon as I stop moving, they slowly discharge their fan. Ploof…Ploof. Ploof……Plooooof. And I can make them do it over and over! On command! BOO!
​
Watch the video!

We are happily anchored at Ensenada Grande, the first stop on our 6-week trip up to San Carlos from La Paz. As I lounge below on my sea berth, a tall mast looms visible through the companionway. Yikes! I know the boat is close if I can see him through that narrow slot. I launch up on deck, but Brian is already intently watching. This boat drops anchor right between us and another boat. Ugh. He’s pretty darn close, but not disturbingly so. We watch and wait.

10 minutes later, we overhear a VHF radio call in heavily-Spanish-accented English.
“Boat with the French flag… this is Valencia… you have anchored too close.” (Boat names changed to protect the innocent.)
Crickets…

Again. “Boat with the French flag… this is Valencia… you have anchored too close.”
Silence.

Again, with a bit more emphasis.
Silence.

The oblivious yacht is a 40ft Beneteau sailboat, so we’ll call him Mr. Beneteau. We cannot see his boat name and apparently neither can Valencia. It’s on his stern, probably in foolish flowery font – why owners don’t make their boat names clearly visible is beyond me.

The Audacious Mr. Beneteau
The French boat had anchored too close for Valencia’s comfort. Except Mr. Beneteau’s VHF radio was off so Valencia could not relay his analysis on the matter. While one Valencia crewmember kept trying to hail them over the radio, the other crewmember stood on the bow, waving arms, shouting in vain through the wailing 20kt wind. You’d be surprised how little sound carries in 20 knots of wind. If you prefer not to shout, or it’s too windy to do so, a good way to get someone’s attention is just stand on the bow, arms akimbo and glower at the offending boat. Pointing helps. Eventually they will notice. And they did.

So finally I hear heavily-French-accented English, coming from a very weak radio signal, hailing Valencia. But now Valencia is not hearing them. Wow. This just gets better and better. Grammy-winning evening entertainment!

Eavesdropping
After several unanswered return calls from Mr. Beneteau, Valencia responds and they switch from a hailing channel to a talking channel. Of course we switch too, duh. #1, we want to listen in on this highly entertaining shit show, and #2, we have a stake in this conversation. It might be our shit show when the wind switches. Don’t judge. Everybody does it.

Valencia (flustered woman):“You have anchored too close to our boat.”

Mr. Beneteau (a meek, high-pitched, squeaky woman): “Oh, no, no…it’s OK.”

Valencia (now obviously irritated): “You are right on top of our anchor.”

Mr. Beneteau: Crickets…

“It’s OK” means “I don’t care”
Brian and I look at each other, jaws dropped. OMG. Did she just say “It’s OK”? Seriously, that’s not the right answer. But it’s always the answer. Our first year in La Paz, I described our dealings with another cruiser saying that exact same thing to us in this exact same anchorage about the exact same issue. We both start laughing at the irony.

Did they move? Nope.
We waited and watched, doing a mild bit of staring-down of our own. See, we’d prefer they move too. But they remain consciously obtuse - irreverent towards the safety-comfort-level of their neighbors. While pretty close, we feel Mr. Beneteau is a tolerable distance, so we opt to stay put. But Valencia, the boat so offended as to call Mr. Beneteau out on his proximity, does not move either. Either they decided they weren’t in dire straits, or they were just too lazy to get up and move.

Anchoring Etiquette: Don’t be a Dingo
In general, anchoring etiquette is simple: if you as the anchored boat think the incoming boat parked too close (and announces so), it is on the incoming guy to move; but if they refuse, and you remain, and an accident ensues… who do you think your insurance company will hold responsible for your boat damages? If you are uncomfortable with the situation enough to voice your opinion… and the other boat is a dingo and refuses… a healthy fear for the safety of your boat should prompt your departure, regardless of ego or convenience.

Fast forward several days later and we are anchored in San Evaristo, pondering this identical predicament…

San Evaristo Cluster-Fun.
A very large, very old, very ugly powerboat/barge contraption chugged its way into the snug harbor. I picture a 70ft, two-tiered version of the grimy, barnacle-encrusted “African Queen” (from the Katherine Hepburn movie of same name). It really didn’t look like that at all, but the offensive boat became personified as such in my mind as soon as he plopped his anchor down… right on top of us.

Now, when I say right on top, I mean it. This is not Valencia vs. Mr. Beneteau spacing, both with decent enough distance to remain in place all night. This was downright painful, body-hugging, spandex tight.

Radar Blob Monster
Intimidated by his size and proximity, I actually turned on the radar to confirm our suspicions about their distance. Our buddy-boat, Lorelei, was about 200ft to our left – a close but respectable distance for a friend-boat who you are comfortable yelling at if all hell breaks loose. But The African Queen’s massive radar blob was glowing like the sun, merely 100ft away. Damn…my eyes! Are you kidding? We have nearly that length of anchor chain out! This guy WILL whack us when we inevitably swing around to the west at night.

Now highly agitated, we glowered. We scowled. We gave our best disgusted glare. We waited for him to realize the error of his ways; sometimes they do and re-anchor. But African Queen appeared perfectly content attached to our hip.

So we opted to move, sans confrontation. We could already predict the answer anyway: “No really, It’s OK!” The African Queen was so big, and so NOT-maintained we did not relish them picking up and re-anchoring anywhere nearby. Would you want to park your still-in-good-shape 1990’s BMW next to a rusted-out, 1960’s Suburban tank? No. The screaming baby-on-board was the deal breaker. We’re out! We picked up anchor (ending up nose-to-nose within 20ft of their bow) and waved as we drove out the bay. Thanks, Dingo.

North Shore Sanctuary
Moving around to the north shore of San Evaristo, we safely ensconced ourselves in the wide bay, devoid of dingos. Only one other boat was parked…waaaay over there. Sigh. Peace.

Just as it was getting dark, our buddy boat, Lorelei, motors around the corner. What are you guys doing here? Well, they had their own anchoring saga to relay. Apparently, San Evaristo was THE place NOT to be tonight. Too bad we’d turned our radio off and missed THIS evening radio show…

Beware the Charter Catamarans
After we left, 4 charter catamarans traveling together like a pack of wild dingos tried to squeeze their wide-load rear ends in the already limited front row space. Two attempted to side-tie (tie together side-by-side with only fenders between and one boat’s anchor down) in between the now 300 feet between Lorelei and African Queen. Two 15ft boats swinging on one anchor in such close proximity to the others could have been catastrophic. Especially since oblivious charter cats habitually put down like 30 feet of scope, kind of like anchoring 20 tons with a fish hook.

Herding Cats
These catamarans were first warned by two boats that this was not a good idea, there’s not enough swing room for their double mass. In return, what did their dingo leader say? Everybody now… “No, no, It’s OK!” To which both cruisers shouted “NO, it’s NOT OK!” Herding cats is impossible.

Finally, after several other anchored boats expressed their extreme vocal displeasure, the cats reluctantly gave up the side-tying but continued their squeeze. With the obnoxious group boxing them in on both sides and still a bit too close for comfort, Lorelei grudgingly gave up and relocated to our neck of the woods. Sometimes you just can’t win these battles. I am regretful that our friend had to move out of these dingos’ way…but African Queen had it coming!

A Final Dressing-Down
Coincidently, as I began to edit this blog, I heard a one-sided radio conversation on this very topic. I recognize this particular woman’s teacher-like voice from the local radio net. Anchored in Isla Coronado, she incredulously and vehemently pronounces the following to someone whose response I can’t hear:

“Well I have no idea why in this big bay you picked that spot? We have a very heavy boat, we don’t swing the same way and we will be pointed west tonight so you will be right on top of our anchor once the wind switches.”

Ouch. I’m pretty sure that dingo moved.

Two years?! Yup, I know right? It’s hard to believe! In May of 2014, Brian retired after 20 years in the Marine Corps and I quit my job of 17 years. We sold or donated most of our possessions and entered the Baja Ha Ha cruisers rally that October, sailing to Mexico on our 34ft sailboat, Indigo. Before leaving on this stupendous sojourn, the skeptics were in abundance.

“Wow, you sure you want to live on a boat full time?” (No, but we’re going to risk the attempt in order to escape the rat race for a while and see some of the world.)

“What about pirates?” (Haven’t seen or heard any stories of such on the West coast of Mexico.)

“I could never live with my husband in such tight quarters every second of every day.” (I do, and it’s no problem…I have my side of the boat and he has his.)

“How are you going to get food?” “Are you going to have to fish every day?” (We eat better in Mexico then we do in the States. It’s cheaper. Fishing not required.)

“No way, I’ll give you 6 months, tops. You’ll sell the boat and come back.” (…they’re still waiting.)

“You CAN’T do that!” (We CAN and DID.)

So… what’s the verdict?
Two years are gone, but we have no regrats. Not a single letter. Yes, we still enjoy living on a boat. No, we haven’t strangled each other, yet. Yes, we still want to continue the journey... we just don’t know where to, or when, or for how long... you can’t make these decisions lightly.

Stats
I have been asked (hounded, actually… sheesh… alright already) for an overview of our time here in the Sea of Cortez. So here are the stats after two seasons of cruising in Mexico:

Miles traveled:  (2yr totals)
2496 miles

Hours at sea:
575 hours on the water = 225 sailing hours + 350 engine hours since we left San Diego
​
Nights / passages at sea: 14 total nights (a night meaning dusk 'til dawn) / 9 total passages
3 nights straight, San Diego to Turtle Bay (Longest…and uber-tiring)
2 nights, Turtle Bay to Bahia Santa Maria (Worst. Big waves = mental breakdown. I don’t know if I can do this!)
1 overnight, Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas (Getting warmer. OK, we can do this. Truly felt like we accomplished something!)
1, Cabo San Lucas to Bahia de los Muertos (First tropical anchorage… “Ah, now THIS is cruising!”)
1, Playa Santispac to San Carlos (Brian’s best - sailed all the way, dolphin escort, no motoring!)
1, San Carlos to Playa Santispac (Marya’s cranky crossing, moonless night, no fun steering)
2, La Paz to Mazatlan (Our crossing w/Starfire was great! Finally learned how to sleep while sailing.)
2, Mazatlan to Playa Bonanza (Marya’s best - perfectly calm, skating-rink water, 24hrs straight motoring! Can you tell the difference now between my perfect crossing and Brian’s? Basically: motor vs. no motor.)
1, Punta Mangles to San Carlos (Now we are old hats…no biggie.)

Islands Visited: 6, Coronados, Danzante, Carmen, San Francisco, San Jose, Ispiritu Santos

Anchorages Visited: 44, many of these more than once

Favorite Anchorages:
Marya’s favorite anchorages – Isla San Francisco, Puerto Los Gatos

Brian’s favorite anchorages – Bahia de los Muertos, Caleta Mezteño

Best sunsets – Caleta Lobos

Best snorkeling  – Marya - Bahia Cobre, Brian - Los Gatos

Best week of seclusion – Caleta Mezteño, 2nd  Ensenada Grande

Clearest water – Honeymoon Cove on Isla Danzante

Best beach hotel – Bahia Candeleros

Best kayaking – Can’t decide: San Juanico, Agua Verde, Candeleros, Ensenada Grande, Honeymoon, Los Gatos – all good

Best tide pool strolling – Agua Verde

Coolest rock formations – Puerto Los Gatos

Best wildlife sightings – Isla Coronados (jumping mobula rays all evening), San Marte (more jumping rays and fish) and Bahia Cobre (fish galore and a bighorn sheep)

Most picturesque anchorage – Isla San Francisco (west)

Best cliff hike – Agua Verde; 2nd – Isla San Francisco

Best canyon hike – Steinbeck’s canyon in Puerto Escondido; 2nd – Ensenada Grande

Best rocky beach – Isla San Francisco (east)

Best sand beach – Playa Bonanza

Best shell beach – Punta Chivato

More Bests and Worsts, Firsts and Tidbits:
Most difficulty anchoring – Punta Mangles (due to strong winds)

Trickiest anchorage – San Juanico (multiple shallow reefs, plus someone inevitably has taken the good spot!)

Easiest anchorages – Coronados (south)

Anchorages we’ve entered in the dark – Timbabiche (first), Bonanza

Anchorages we’ve left in the dark – Timbabiche, Caleta Lobos, Ensenada Gallina

Anchorage in which we’ve re-anchored in the dark (not recommended) – San Juanico

Best anchorage for norther’ protection – Playa Santispac

Anchorages we’ve had all to ourselves – Lobos, Mezteno, Ensenada Grande (believe it), La Raza, Gallina, Amortajada (south)(where the biting no-see-um’s hung out, no wonder it was empty), Colorada, Perico, Coronados (south), Honeymoon (south), Mangles, Pulpito, Santispac, Santa Barbara, El Burro

Shared with only one other boat – Timbabiche, Punta Salinas, Cobre, Bonanza, San Francisco (east)
This endearing characteristic of the Baja Peninsula (lack of people) is why we enjoy it so much.

Best night’s sleep anchorage – Puerto Escondido
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Worst night’s sleep – San Juanico (south swell caused us to re-anchor); Partida (idiot power boat dragging anchor)

Worst anchorage of all time (experts agree) – Bahia Amortajada (biting jejene’s)

First tropical anchorage (wow, we can see the anchor!) – Bahia de Los Muertos

Rolliest anchorage  – Los Frailies (so bad we didn’t even set the anchor, kept on going overnight), 2nd – San Juanico (see worst night’s sleep)

Windiest anchorage – San Evaristo (unexpected night blast), Playa Santispac (30kts but we knew it was coming and it wasn’t bad)

Worst beach – Ensenada de la Raza (I wouldn’t call this a “beach”, more like a mud pit)

Anchorage most happiest to arrive at (after sailing 2 nights in uncomfortable seas) – Santa Maria

Worst anchor neighbors encountered – Ensenada Grande & Partida (the two most populous spots)

Unsurpassed fish taco shack – Lupe and Maggie Mae’s in San Evaristo

Best bay if you like bees – Ballandra on Isla Carmen

Cool ghost towns – Bahia Salinas, Punta Salinas


Marinas:
Best Marina Ever – Camp Pendleton Marina

Best Mexico marina overall – Marina Costa Baja in La Paz ties with El Cid in Mazatlan, Palmira a close 2nd

Best pool – Marina Costa Baja

Best internet – Marina El Cid

Worst internet – San Carlos (1st yr, they’ve since stepped up to 2nd best!); Marina Mazatlan (2nd yr)

Best and ONLY Cable TV – El Cid

Best swimming beach – Costa Baja

Best (and hottest) place to do boat projects (like a refrigerator) – Marina San Carlos

Best marina for: canvas work – El Cid; varnish – Marina Mazatlan; engine repair – Palmira

First Mexico marina – Cabo San Lucas

Most expensive – Cabo San Lucas

Loudest – Cabo San Lucas

Cheapest – Puerto Escondido Moorings at $10/day; 2nd Cheapest – Marina San Carlos

Most cruiser-friendly – Marina Palmira

Best wildlife viewing – Puerto Escondido

Most remote – Puerto Escondido

Most resortish – El Cid

Nicest marina admin. – (aside from Camp Pendleton) Marina Palmira ties with Marina Mazatlan

Most surge – El Cid

Least surge/best weather protection – Costa Baja

Cleanest bathrooms – El Cid (hands down)

Best shower facilities – Costa Baja open-air showers at the resort pool ties w/ El Cid, but Palmira now comes in close 2nd with their brand new facilities

Worst bathrooms – Marya - Marina Mazatlan; Brian - San Carlos (the men’s bathroom is just BAD)

Marina restaurant with the most consistently good food & still cheapish – Hammerhead’s at Marina San Carlos

Favorite restaurant (but expensive) – Marina Azul at Marina Costa Baja, La Paz

What's on the agenda this season?
We will be spending the entire winter in La Paz this year (with our friends who are coming down on the Ha Ha) in order to explore the area further. There’s just not enough time to see everything in each anchorage even after two winters. Los Gatos, San Marte and San Francisco are must return-to’s to name a few; we missed several coves on Ispiritu Santos such as Gabriel, Candeleros and El Cardonal; I still haven't visited the baby seals of Los Islotos nor the whales in the Bay of LA.  After that, maybe we’ll have seen enough and want to move on down further south. Who knows? Since the majority of world cruisers we meet declare the Sea of Cortez as the best cruising grounds around, we are not in a rush to go anywhere else just yet... 

Sometimes the Sea just kicks your butt a little, just to remind you who’s boss.

Leaving Puerto Escondido, we headed north to Isla Coronados on March 31st. Highish winds were in the forecast again, this time 3 days worth. Rather than waiting it out in Puerto Escondido, we felt that we needed to get a leg up the coast and headed to the island the day prior to the winds. Had there been a forecast for 30 knots, we’d have stayed put, but only 20kts were scheduled. We can handle that at anchor as long as it’s blowing in the right direction. We would wait out the incoming weather and be ready to sail north the instant it passed.

“I love it when a plan comes together” (cue A-Team theme song)
The waiting part worked as planned. For 3 nights we parked the boat at the south anchorage on Isla Coronados and waited contentedly for the perfectly predicted wind to blow itself out. This is a truly beautiful spot. Most of the anchorage is 15-20ft deep with lovely, clear waters over a sand bottom attached to a reefy/rocky/shelly beach. We were here last year and find it one of the more easy places to set anchor since it is wide open with no rocks to avoid. Like Bonanza or Timbabiche, we could anchor here in the dark if needed. While we were plenty comfortable on the boat, we did not venture to shore…too windy (I’m sensing a theme here). But we were visited by more dolphins and rays and ducks, so we were never bored.

Heading North
On April 3rd, we decided to leave and head north. Winds today were supposed to be light in the morning with no more than 10 knots in the afternoon. Our original plan (as of 3 days ago) was to stop 15 miles north at Punta Mangles (Mangrove Point), having never been there. But the wind would be coming from the northeast today and we felt the small land mass creating the shallow L-shaped bay would not give enough protection for this direction. So as of this morning, after looking at the weather, our new plan was to travel to San Juanico, 8 miles farther for a (supposedly) easy 23 mile sail. Plans change. Every second.

Sea Lesson #1: Don’t Cut Corners
After raising anchor, we travelled west and I hugged the shallow southern coastline of the island too close. There is a long spit of sand that juts out from the end of Isla Coronados to the southwest. The spit continues underwater as a narrow sand bar for several hundred feet and is actually pretty visible when the water is dead calm (it wasn’t today). It is also precisely delineated on our IPad charting software, Navionics. I KNEW this, had the IPad in hand, but was paying too much attention to our chartplotter, which does NOT show the spit.

I thought I was fine, until I wasn’t. I cut the shallow area too close. OK, I ran it over. Our depth sounder instantly went from 20ft to 8. Stomach meet throat. Brian nearly had a heart-attack. Luckily, it was only for an instant as I ran over the last little tip of it, the boat never touched bottom. Close call. But I should have been more careful and maneuvered farther away instead of cutting my line towards the channel so close just to save a little distance.

After that sketchy beginning to our day, things got worse…

We got an early start because the winds had been picking up rather early in the morning and calming down in the evening. We wanted to get a jump on our day heading up to San Juanico, 23 miles away. I am always suspicious about travelling the narrow channel between the Baja Peninsula and Isla Coronados. This channel forms a deep drop-off shelf diving from 40ft down to 900ft in the time you can say “Oh Crap”. Every time we go through it, I worry whether there will be some weird tidal surge or wacky wave pattern. We got neither. Light winds and no swell. Whew, easy peasy all the way to SJ, right?

Sea Lesson #2: The Sea Can Kick your Butt Whenever it Wants
About 8am everything was perfectly normal. Having passed through the channel without event, we were motoring due north and the light wind was coming from… due north. Standard. No point in sailing. Then, at 9am the wind picked up to 15-knots. Hmmm, this is new, a little early for so much wind, and not forecast. We had slowed considerably due to the massive current that always seems to flow in this area. Our typical 5-knots turned into 3.5 knots.

Whitecaps Dead Ahead
At 10am I saw a distinct line of whitecaps ahead, as far as I could see. Here’s my “Oh, Crap” moment. No getting around it, as soon as we entered the zone things degenerated quickly. This unpredicted 20-knots proceeded to kick us in the rear.

Suddenly, we were bashing. 4-5ft waves at 2-3 seconds. Slam and slam and slam and slam. As fast as you are reading that, that’s as fast as the boat catapulted up and down. Our bow crashed into each oncoming wall, slicing it clean in two. This is the great thing about Indigo, she slices and dices quite masterfully and we rarely have breaking waves over the bow come crashing onto the deck.

Hobby-Horsing Around
However, because we are on the small side, I think we feel these close-together waves a little more acutely than longer boats. They call it “hobby-horsing” as the boat pitches forward and aft just like a wooden toy horse. Don’t bother going below in seas like this, it’s unthinkable. No lunch today.
The longer we were out in this crap the more worried I became. Not only were we going directly into the wind and waves, and against an already strong current, each successive wave slammed us slower, and the big ones would cause us to stop almost completely. Our knot-meter showed us driving at 2 to 2.5kts average and very often slowing to 0.8 after hitting a wall of water! We’re going to get there… at midnight?

Bashing Buffalos
We tried motor-sailing out to sea for a while just to get away from the coast; maybe it would be better farther out. It probably would have been, eventually, but the crashing and the slamming and the pitching kept getting worse. To distract myself, I tried to take a video, just to see if it could capture the sheer angles in which we were being thrown about and Indigo plunging into these nasty short-period waves. The mere act of holding onto our pitching home one-handed while filming was a challenge. THIS is what it was like to be bashing headlong into buffaloes. And I didn’t like it, not one bit.

It’s actually pretty amazing that such a small amount of wind can create such a mess. We do everything we can to avoid sailing in 20 or more knots of wind, but sometimes you just can’t beat Mother Nature. Many west coast sailors think we’re wimps for avoiding 20-knots. But 20-knots here in the Sea of Cortez is a far different animal than 20-knots off the coast of San Diego, heading out for a day-sail or racing off the coast of San Fran. We spoke to one San Franciscan couple who purposefully crossed the Sea in 20-knots of wind thinking it would be just like back home – a piece of cake; for 24-hours they bashed in waves worse than this (accumulated waves are worse and higher) – a humbling experience, they said they’d never do it again.

Gimme Shelter
We decided to forego San Juanico and instead turned inland again heading for Mangles (our original, original destination). We were hoping for some shelter, ANY shelter at this point. We could see it. It was right there. But still 7 miles away. Arggh. SO close, yet SO far. Luckily, our sail angle towards this new destination was much better and we gained some more speed, making it to the anchorage in a couple hours. Whew. Now, we can relax, right? Right?

The Sea is not done with me yet…

Sea Lesson #3: Fun with Wind and Anchoring
The high NE wind waves had thankfully abated inside Punta Mangles anchorage. We weren’t sure they would, we were really only crossing our fingers that we’d be better off in here than out there. Luckily, the far point provided just enough protection from the onslaught. Thank God. But the wind was still howling through the valley and across the short stretch between us and land making anchoring super-fun.

Speeding up Backwards
We motored around the small space, avoiding rocks and sea-grass areas. When we finally picked a spot, I tried to head forward into the windy frontal assault, putting the boat into neutral with the goal to slow us to less than 0.5kt before we get to the spot where we want to drop the anchor, like normal. Problem was… I sped up…backwards… and to the left.

As soon as I slowed even a little, the force of the wind blowing right at the nose of the boat caused our bow to immediately fall off the wind. Whoosh. Phooey. Now I’m essentially pointing 45-degrees to the left of where we want to be and being shoved back out to sea. With no steerage even at low RPM, I gun the engine and make another attempt.

Hand Signals Save our Sanity
Let me interject something here: I think after 2 seasons we have gotten pretty darn good at anchoring. We can even do it in the dark with minimal stress (turning our spreader lights on so I can see Brian at the bow). We use hand signals for forward, reverse, speed up, speed up more, stop, neutral, what’s our depth, etc. Aside from me shouting depths as we do circles like a dog before we decide where to plop, these signals save our marriage.

Shouting Match
Why? Because we’re not yelling at each other the entire time. When one person is on the bow and the other in the cockpit 20ft away, you have to shout so the other person can hear. When it’s windy often you have to yell things twice. And when there are other boats around it just sounds really terrible….

”Go forward! Keep coming! Left! More left! Left, left, left!!! Now right! Straighten out. OK, Slow! Slower! Slow DOWN! What’s our depth? What? DEPTH! 20ft! How about now? 17ft! Are we stopped? What? ARE WE STOPPED? Yes, Drop it! (Drop chain) Hit the anchor watch button! (I go hit the button, we wait for the anchor to catch and boat to swing) OK, reverse! More RPM. More! OK, Neutral!”  
Whew. I get all anxious just writing that exchange.

Now double that abbreviated conversation/shouting match for any normal day and quadruple it for windy days. And as women we don’t always differentiate between shouting to be heard or shouting from frustration. OK, maybe it’s just me. Shouting is shouting and doesn’t set so well afterward. So signals save sanity. 95% of the time.

…Back on the Boat
SO right about now Brian is frantically pointing to the right like a madman (telling me he wants me to go right) and the boat (because I can’t control it) is going left. Because there is no hand signal for “Hey, where u going?!”, Brian shouts it over the cacophony and throws his hands in the air like WTF? Like I was trying to do another silly circle. I couldn’t keep the bow pointed into the wind. Each time I motored up to my spot and slowed, the wind slapped me to the side, like it was annoyed at me for even trying. Good thing we were alone with no other boats to witness this clown show.

Ever motor at 3.5 knots in order to set anchor?
Frustrated, I finally realized (without any help, thank you very much) that I had to motor into the wind at a full 1500rpm JUST to keep the boat going at a half a knot and to keep the bow from being pushed to either side. In no wind 1500rpm means we are moving ahead at about 3.5 knots. That’s how hard I had to gun the engine to keep us from ‘falling off the wind’. Yet another lesson from the Sea of Cortez.

We didn’t go to shore… again, (4th day in a row, almost a record). Normally I would have been anxious to get off the boat, especially because this place looked pretty cool to explore. But I didn’t care at this point. We were exhausted from the day’s events: almost hitting a sand bar, then getting caught in an unpredicted bash and then my anchoring fiasco.

Can I be done with the lessons for one day? Dammit!

That ONE thing you don’t have a spare for is always THE thing you lose or break.

While using the kayak is easy everywhere else, getting from the mooring area to the dinghy dock in Puerto Escondido is just too far a trek for Big Red. So we blew up the dinghy. Intending to add gas to the outboard engine, Brian removed the gas cap. Just as he was contemplating how tenuous that little gas cap retainer cord looked, hoping it wouldn’t break…ploop…the chintzy, plastic yoke broke and our poor gas cap went tumbling into 50ft of water, gone forever. Shi#$%!! Shi#$%!!  Shi#$%!! …is all I heard coming from the dinghy.

Spares Anyone?
If Brian had room for a spare engine, we’d have one. This “always be prepared”-mottoed man has darn near every spare part imaginable.. spare belts and ropes and hose connections and filters and hundreds of pieces of hardware and plastic thingys, normal boat stuff right? But we even have spare rigging, a spare windlass motor, an alternator, chain and cables in case the wheel assembly breaks and dozens more important items...just in case. Who brings a spare gas cap? Not even this guy. Why would anyone?

No gas cap, no dinghy.
You can’t run the engine without the gas cap or pretty soon you’ll end up with no gas (and with gas spewed all over you). More importantly, you can’t store the engine on the back of the boat (where it gets wet when you are sailing) without a gas cap. And just putting a plastic baggie with a rubber band over it probably isn’t the best idea. Plus, the incentive for NOT having to kayak the half mile to shore is pretty high. Brian went to the haulout facility in Puerto Escondido, but no joy. We didn’t want to pay for an $80 taxi ride to Loreto just to NOT find our obscure part, so Brian put on his MacGyver hat. What's the phrase...necessity is the mother of invention?

The Gas-o-Lipiec Cap
Thus was born the now trademarked Gas-o-Lipiec Cap: a fine custom piece of workmanship if I do say so. Brian cut some Plexiglas in a semi-roundish shape (he was sooo irritated he couldn’t make it perfectly round), covered it with a piece of rubber gasket material, drilled a hole through both, added a bolt and wingnut, then cut a small, rectangular piece of metal with a hole to act as a grabber/sealer on the bottom. He did all this in the cockpit with a hacksaw and a drill. Not bad for an hours work. All the while, every 2 minutes: “God, this would be so much easier if only I had my (insert tool) router/bandsaw/sander/drill press…” So glad we DON’T have room for THOSE spares.

Our ad-hoc cap worked as advertised. When we got to San Carlos, we inquired about spare gas caps. Ordering one would take a week. Well, we know what THAT means…a week is probably a month. Forget it. We’ll leave it “as is” for the summer and bring a new one back down with us next season.

Chores and Chillin’
We rested in Puerto Escondido for 5 days. Our weather there was great, though windy most afternoons. We did laundry (so I didn’t have to hand-wash on the boat); got fuel; bought a few staples at the tiny marina store (bread, chips, more cereal-we eat a lot of cereal, milk, onion, cucumber, tomatoes, potatoes); ate several restaurant meals; partook in the COK (Circle of Knowledge) where you hopefully leave the circle more informed (rather than more confused); met more cruisers; I made brownies; got some decent internet where I finally wrote and uploaded several blogs; and most importantly, took real (hot and long) showers.

Sleeping Like Babies
We spent a couple more days in PE than necessary… but one of those days, well, we just didn’t feel like doing anything…so we didn’t. Plus, the unspoken truth is…we sleep 10-times better in Puerto Escondido than when we’re at anchor. I know you never should trust a mooring ball - it’s a false sense of security because they do fail. These balls are newly installed, only a couple years old now. But the distinct advantage to these particular moorings is their judicious spacing.
a)  We never worry about anyone parking right on top of us and swinging into our boat, as we always do at anchor. Even our stalker friend from the last blog can't be a space-invader here!
b)  We don’t worry about neighboring boats’ rode/chain combo or anchor not being strong enough and dragging in high winds (although we would worry in really high winds - during hurricane Odile, most disasters here occurred not due to breaking moorings, but due to the boat’s connector lines chafing right through).
c)  Extended spacing breeds good social etiquette: when I can hear your entire conversation like I am IN on the discussion…you anchored too close. This doesn’t happen in PE.

So, mooring in Puerto Escondido is the next best thing to being in a marina. Except it’s better because it’s QUIETER! No dock creaking, restaurant music blaring, squawking pterodactyl condo pets, tourist boat departures or daily bingo announcers. Just the music of the midnight stars. (Too cheesy? OK, maybe a little). In other words, we slept like babies.

Well, we couldn’t get away with it forever - the wind had to come eventually. Geary the Baja weather guru, as well as our downloaded GRIB files, announced that we’d be in for a little blow for the next two days.

Since leaving La Paz, every day we contemplated how long our good fortune would hold. But with the weather so cantankerous this year, our 10-day run of good weather was a downright miracle. So I’ll gladly take 2 full days of hunkering down for moderately high 20-25kt winds as payment for our thus far pleasant trip. It’s WAY better than 7 days of wind for only 2 good days like our southbound trip late last year. Are things back to normal? We’ll see…

So, we high-tailed it out of Bahia Cobre for better shelter just 5 miles away at Bahia Salinas. Not to be confused with Punta Salinas (Saltworks Point) which we had just visited a week earlier on Isla San Jose, much further south…this is Bahia Salinas, or Saltworks Bay, on Isla Carmen.

No Letting Up
As soon as we arrive, the wind starts and doesn’t turn off for 48-hours. So we sit tight and wait it out. We read, write, watch TV shows and movies. I bake peach crisp. We don’t leave the boat until the 3rd morning. By then I am itching to get to solid land.

Bahia Salinas – a Natural Wind Tunnel
Turns out this bay is notorious for funneling wind though the long, low plain of salt flats, cutting a swath across the island with high mountains on either side…another “chute” of sorts; so winds are often higher here than anywhere else. We didn’t realize this until we listened to our VHF radio. The same day we were experiencing 20 kts, boats over at Isla Coronados only 10 miles due north, were reporting calm! What? Hmmm. Maybe we just need to leave and get out of this natural wind tunnel.

Miles and Miles of Salty Plains
On the 3rd morning, we finally ventured to shore to visit the defunct saltworks. Yes, another one. But this was a pretty large operation, with miles of crunchy, salty fields sprinkled with rusty equipment, a huge salt “lake” in the middle, several decaying buildings, a water tower and a small church that was surprisingly (yet, not surprisingly) still properly maintained and ready for service. There are even remnants of a pier and train track system used to haul the product from inland to the beach where it could be loaded onto boats and whisked away to the Peninsula to sell (remember we are on an island 30-some miles away from the nearest town of Loreto).

Bighorn Hunting
Several years ago, someone built a ranch house here that is now used as a hunting lodge for high-rollers pursuing bighorn sheep, like the one we saw on the mountaintop in my last blog. Since this island is one big craggy mountain with sheer cliffs and no roads, hunting these animals must be quite the challenging expedition.

Isla Carmen is a protected island and no one is allowed to walk inland any further than the beach areas, other than the few hunters. In the case of Bahia Salinas, a couple lives here to watch over the crumbling hamlet and maintain the lodge. You must request permission to walk their property. Our caretaker indicated that we could mosey wherever we desired; but he also said that other caretakers do mind and won’t let you any further than the beach, just like the rest of the island. So I guess your luck depends on shift change. Only the current custodian knows whether hunters are roving the island on any given day, plus we found target practice ranges near the salt ponds … so unless you are “gunning” for a Dick Cheney moment …ask before wandering very far inland.

Like Moths to a Flame
Every cruiser here has Heather Bansmer and Shawn Breeding’s “Cruiser’s Guide to the Sea of Cortez”. In this essential book are precise coordinates for good anchoring spots. Usually one, sometimes two per anchorage, they are indicated on the charts with a tiny little anchor icon. We have noticed over our two seasons of cruising here, that people tend towards those points, dropping their anchor as close as boatingly possible with little precaution for their neighbors. Drawn in like moths to a flame, they don’t poke around for other spots, they don’t look to explore the depths farther away, or even make sure of the surrounding swing room; they ride up to the spot and drop the hook, no matter who else is 100 feet away. This has happened to us on several occasions.

Bahia Salinas is wide open… huge. There must be at least one mile of perfectly good anchorable beach length, plus shallow depths at least a half mile into the bay. When we arrived, there was one other boat in all of this space. We are not immune to the draw of the anchor icon… we’ll drive to that spot first if it’s not taken, and then do outward circles looking for swing room on our plotter. We may or may not stop in that spot if no one else is nearby. But if there is lots of room in the bay, we’ll usually look for a place a bit farther away, just in case of this happening…

Table for Two?
This time, we happened to have plopped our anchor close to but not on top of the book’s icon. Well, we were there first. Then another sailboat (yep, those darn Canadians;) came in and proceeded to anchor right next to us, right on top of the preferred anchor point. Now, he wasn’t dangerously close, but definitely within calm talking distance. The point is, with ALL this room, a MILE of space… you can go ANYWHERE and you gotta anchor right next to me? Really? Are we dating? Should I make dinner reservations? You couldn’t even go another hundred feet to the other side of the anchor point, just to give you better swing room? Your spacing might make sense in a very small anchorage. But, here? It’s like a giant, empty Walmart parking lot, and the next arriving vehicle pulls in right beside your car, rather than a comfortable, one spot over. Inconceivable. (I don’t think that word means what you think it means…)

Stalker!
We left. But that’s because we were leaving anyway. The next morning at our sleepy little anchorage of Punta Colorada where we had the place to ourselves, we noticed our best friend rounding the corner. Stalker! We watched him intently as he proceeded to do the exact same thing, anchoring right beside us! Seriously. We left soon after he arrived. We were headed for Puerto Escondido anyway…but I secretly hoped he thought we were leaving because of him.

For a really great anchoring-on-top-of-me story, go to SCOOTS sailblog...scroll down to read the portion: How Not to Anchor 1/19/2016

Well, this blows…
We planned on leaving Puerto Escondido a couple days after Thanksgiving but the winds were not cooperative. Again. Another norther was coming… up to 30 kt winds Monday through Thursday. What? That’s only 2 good days of weather before it hits. You mean we are stuck here for a whole week? Sigh. I suppose there are worse places to be trapped. Better to stay here on a new mooring ball surrounded by 360 degrees of mountains than out in an open anchorage with nasty swell worrying about dragging anchor. So we stay put.

Constant Wind
It’s now Tuesday, Dec 1st. We…OK…I… am getting ancy. Constant 20+ kt winds are tedious. Puerto Escondido is THE place to be though, as at least 25 other vessels are here riding it out together. One lone boat called into the radio net from “out there” in the high winds and rough seas. Fearless or crazy? Apparently they got pooped…meaning a large wave flooded their cockpit full of water. The weatherman reported 7-8 ft seas at 7 seconds today. Whew. Glad we are in port.

So we sit. And we wait. The wind is howling. Indigo is in constant motion. Wind waves persistently rock the boat, splash against the hull and jerk our mooring ball. We are not rolling; thankfully there is zero swell from those 7-8ft seas inside this protected bay. But the boat swings a good 45 degrees… very quickly. It’s kind of like tethering to the end of a water-ski rope, moving in and out of a wake. If you were to look outside from below through the companionway, watching the mast of our neighbor boat appearing and disappearing from sight is dizzying. The dinghy is bouncing up and down in the waves, slapping and splatting and tugging mercilessly on its line. We removed the motor so as to not worry about it flipping over.

Need more terabytes!
So, we watch a lot of DVDs when we’re stuck. We are certainly grateful for those who have given us the gift of cinema (you know who you are). Our latest hard drive transfer took an entire day to copy all the files and we didn’t even download half… need more terabytes!

We just watched the latest Hobbit flicks and hearkened back to a favorite 80’s movie The Goonies! But right at the moment we are more into TV shows. Here is our playlist: Just finished the 4th season of Game of Thrones, started Defiance and the 2nd season of The 100, in the midst of the final season of Justified, the 5th season of Alias, the 3rd season of Shield, the latest season of Walking Dead and the first season of Downton Abby (Terry, he likes it already, he just won’t admit it yet). We downloaded all of Battlestar Galactica AND Game of Thrones which we will watch all over again… ‘cause they are that good.

Baking Spree
What else is there to do when you can’t go anywhere and you have no internet? Use that oven! I came across my mother-in-law’s recipe for toffee bars and realized it is the perfect boat candy. I’d never made it but it looked easy - it requires just 5 readily available ingredients. I already knew it was delicious – this stuff disappears in the blink of an eye when she makes it. Ooooh this is going to be YUM-EEE.

MASSIVE FAIL!
I don’t think I’ve ever made something that looked this gross. First-off, my odd-sized pans necessitated jagged, broken crackers along each side. Then my brown sugar didn’t dissolve readily into the butter… the oil kept separating and would not smoothly combine. I think it’s because this particular Mexican style brown sugar is dry and granulated, not sticky and moist. So I probably over-boiled to get the two items to meld together. Once the toffee finally turned bubbly and thick I took it off the burner. Too late.

As soon as I began pouring over the saltine crackers, it was already cooling into rock hard candy. Not fast enough, my toffee formed a dog-poo-like lump that immediately congealed upon landing. The next pour over my second pan was even worse. Spreading the mixture was impossible - I only succeeded in disintegrating the poo into crumbles. Now it looked like dirty kitty litter! Putting them in the oven didn’t help smooth out my mess. Then the chocolate chips, dried out from severe summer heat, were a crumbly jumble, also refusing to melt down. Undeterred, I finished it off by adding pecans on top.

I have embarrassingly supplied photo-proof of this abominable creation below… my disgusting-looking Kitty Litter Toffee. Despite the lack of presentation skills (Gordon Ramsey would be appalled), it still tasted awesome and we ate every last crumb. So I suppose it wasn’t a total failure. Here’s the recipe… you should try it. Really!

Mom Gioia’s Toffee…AKA Christmas Crack (google to see what it should actually look like…it’s everywhere on Facebook)   Place a single layer of saltine crackers in a 9x13 pan. Melt 1 cup butter, mix in 1 cup brown sugar. Boil 3 min. stirring constantly. Pour over crackers. Bake at 400degree for 7 min. Sprinkle immediately with a 12oz bag of chocolate chips. Spread when melted. Sprinkle with chopped pecans or other nuts. Bam. Seriously good stuff.

MORE WIND?
Now it’s Thursday, Dec. 3rd. We are anxious to hear the weather today on the Sonrisa radio net, anticipating this darn wind to die off so we can leave tomorrow. Yay! Geary says the winds should abate and we’ll have a nice 10kts on Friday and half of Saturday. BUT… Saturday afternoon the winds ramp right back up again to 20-30kts! Wait. WHAT?? For 3 more days! WHAAAAT??? Are you kidding me?

El Nino Year?
Last year, before we left for Mexico, everyone was warning us about El Nino. “Oh, it’s going to be an El Nino year. You’re going to get crazy weather, big winds…” Bah, we said. And we were right. In November and December we dealt with the normal northers but they were well-predicted, lasted 2 days… 3 days tops… and then you get at least a week or more of great weather.

THIS year, it seems reversed. Everyone is disgusted with these non-stop norther patterns: an entire week of wind, 3-4 of which are really high winds, then 1, maybe 2 days of pleasant sailing weather. Worse than opposite. It’s been 25 days since we left San Carlos and I can remember only 2 entirely calm days. Two.

Now what?
It would take 3 long-haul, 40-mile days to get to La Paz. But we only have 1-1/2 days of good weather. So here goes our discussion...

Option 1. Travel Friday and Saturday. Hope we can get to San Evaristo on Saturday and hunker down for the week. It’s still 40 miles from La Paz but we’ll be closer if we get a good one-day window. Except… is everyone else thinking that? There are 25 boats in here, the majority of which are probably headed south at the same time. Will we be jockeying for anchor spots?

Option 2. Stay another week. Hanging out here isn’t exactly bad; it’s great protection, no swell. But dinghying to shore in this chop is, at worst, pretty rough, at best, annoying. We only go once every other day. No kayaking. No snorkeling. No exploring. We’ll need to rent a car for a day-trip into Loreto for groceries. And what if we end up with the same weather sliver again next week? We sure seem to be getting truncated traveling windows.

Option 3. Overnighter. Leave Friday and go 24 hours. A straight shot. Seriously, this is Cranky Crossing girl actually considering an overnight just to GET to our slip and be done with this wind already. But then again. It’s a full 24 hours. And we’re not even sure we’d get into La Paz before the wind picks up again. Plus, we’d have to motor to ensure we do it within that time frame.

What’s behind door number #4 folks?
By noon on Thursday, the wind lessened and the bay calmed down. We took a dinghy ride to the “window”, a low and narrow land bridge, to view the sea-state for ourselves. While breaking waves crashed on shore and the sea looked a little bumpy, there were no buffaloes. It was supposed to be 18kts today but we hadn’t seen much wind at all yet. Hmmm. Maybe we leave right now? Get a leg up?

May 31st  San Juanico

Our objective was San Juanico, 18 miles north by the rumbline. The day started out lovely: calm seas, light breeze of 2-3 kts; about an hour later it picked up to 4 kts and we started sailing.
At this point in our sailing career we decided if it was blowing a mere 4 kts of wind we would have to sail. Even if we were only moving along at 2 kts/hr… that’s OK. No fuel is available where we are headed, so we needed to be stingy on motoring, saving at least 15 gallons (out of 45) for the crossing.

This is the opposite mentality than the one we had from La Paz to Puerto Escondido, knowing we’d be filling up our diesel tanks in port. We sailed infrequently, only when the winds were right, often taking advantage of the frequent morning calm weather to motor to the next spot. This allowed us to successfully avoid typical afternoon winds and subsequent potential rough seas. Now, we are going to have to sail regardless of the wind direction, wave action….or current, yeah… forgot about that one.

The Tide’s Against Us
All day our sailing hull speed (meaning the speed the boat is running sans all outside forces) was about 3.5-4 kts/hr. Respectable…but the southbound current was at least 1 kt difference... and not in our favor. It never seems to be…rarely do I get to blissfully witness the speed indicator show our speed over ground (or “SOG”) is MORE than what we are really physically sailing. That would be like Christmas, once a year. 

So we crawled north, against the southbound tide/current for hours at 2.5-3kts/hr.  In other words, it takes us an hour to go 3-4 miles.  You could literally walk that fast.

The wind became fluky off Mangles Point and it seemed the current got stronger. We thought the tides would switch around 2pm and start to flow north, helping us instead of pushing against us. But if there was a tidal switch, we didn’t see it; as usual Mother Nature was perpetually against us.

Horizontal Tacking
Horizontal tacking is not a sailing tactic to which one should aspire. I am sure there is a technical term for it… ‘tacking over and over whilst being blown backward resulting in zero sum forward gain’ should suffice as a quickie explanation. Needless to say the great sailors of our time, The Pardees, Webb Chiles, Dave Mancini (yes, I put you in that category), I’m sure do not get themselves in this situation. It’s just embarrassing.

So here we are. About a mile and a half from shore off Punta Mangles. Needing to go directly north but the wind is coming from where…? All together now…”Directly north.” Of course. And it’s NEVER supposed to blow from the north in May…but I digress.

So off this point we’re now sailing slower at about 2.5 SOG. Still tacking into the wind. Now with a 1.5kt current against us. And because the wind is lighter and keeps shifting 30-40 degrees, we can’t point high. (Pointing means sailing as close as you can to the wind without stalling.) The windier it is, the higher we can point (usually up to 30 degrees off the nose), but right now we can only go about 40 degrees. 

It wasn’t until the second tack that we kept staring befuddled at our chartplotter track… our EFFECTIVE angle ended up at about 85 degrees. What??!!  The current pushed all our progress backward, so practically every foot gained north by sailing was lost by current. Yet we gained easterly or westerly motion on each tack. In other words, both failed tacks ended up taking us out a ½ mile or so, but we remained perfectly horizontal to our course, MAYBE up farther north by a few hundred meters each time. Zigzagging back and forth, almost in a straight line, over and over without getting anywhere is a sailor’s idea of purgatory I suppose. Too bad I didn’t take a photo of the chartplotter – but maybe it’s best there’s no evidence.

Fortunately we didn’t do this for long… the wind picked up again and shifted to a better direction. But we got 5 miles out from the anchorage and it again kept dying. Maddening. We just couldn’t take it anymore.  Plus it was late afternoon and we don’t like anchoring at dusk since you can’t see reefs as well…so we gave up and turned the motor on to get there faster.  Our “new decree” of sailing as much as possible? Yep, out the window on day 1.

Eight hours and 26 miles later (to go a mere 18 miles mind you), with 8 extra miles due to tacking, we arrived just as the sun was setting behind the mountains.

Close Anchor Deterrence Tactics
Remember my blog a while back that included potential tactics one might use to deter boats from anchoring too close? Well, as we were poking around to determine where we wanted to anchor, an older guy on a nearby boat jumped in the water for a swim…sans trunks… and waves hello as we pass close by. Hmmm….was he trying to tell us something? If so, good tactic. Or are we just far enough away from civilization now that folks just don’t care anymore? Either way, it worked.

After our usual hour-long parade around the anchorage which held 5 other boats, we found a spot closer to the cliff. We jumped into the 84 degree, 12-ft deep water and it felt awesome  – like bathwater. Although we had zero visibility, and it was quite choppy and mixed up from the wind waves and colored a dull green, there were no floaties/jellies to bump into.

That evening I made chilorio and refried beans, had added some onion, ½ serrano pepper, a half can of pinto beans and topped with cheese for dipping totopos (chips). Easy and good. Had the last of the cake… so sad to see it go... still moist after all these days. Watched Arrow.

June 1st San Juanico

Blanca Begins
We got up this morning and listened to the net for weather. We learned Hurricane Andreas was still veering off and Tropical Depression #2 would now be called Hurricane Blanca. It is sitting outside of Manzanillo, stationary, and they think it will go up toward the Baja but veer away outside of it about 150 miles off the coast. So while we are still watching it, we decided to stay here one more day. Yay, we get to explore.

The Cruiser’s Shrine
We got in the yak and paddled around what I called “cake” island. I think it looks like a birthday cake, at least one that “fell” as it’s a bit lopsided. High and straight on all sides, “cake island” is crowned in tall, cactus birthday candles. We cruised along a long sweeping sandstone formation jutting out of the land, alongside of which is a nice beach with hard-packed sand and lots of rocks and shells along the shoreline.

One of the trees along this beach is a “cruiser’s shrine” where people leave little mementos with their boat name and the year they arrived. The earliest boat arrival date I noticed was 1987. Shells and beads and various trinkets adorn the tree like ornaments, engraved rocks and carved wood pieces lie underneath, as does a painted cow skull, a wine bottle, a worn pair of shorts, someone’s underwear, etc. Whatever odd or end one can spare or scavenge.

We walked the full length of the beach picking up cool rocks and shells. Ok I picked them up, but even Brian found his own “shell”: a short piece aluminum tubing which he kept, just in case. (Shells are not practical; tubing is.) It was really hot that day. Parched, we had to go back to the yak for water. By this time the swell and wind waves were getting a little worse so we high-tailed it back to the boat for PB&J sands. Then we made water; we did not wash clothes or anything else for that matter, afraid of attracting our bee friends.

Salty Dogs
Afterwards, we got in the pool for a dip, expecting to go in later for another and therefore did not rinse. Instead we “air-dried”. This did not work well. I felt sticky and gross the entire time. My skin and hair never quite dried all the way; my hair matted and I’m unable to comb it - I may as well have been in dreadlocks for a month; and salt crystals continually fall off my skin like I’m shedding.

THIS is why I wanted a watermaker. I would NOT like to feel this way all the time, living by day in ram-rod stiff, salt-caked clothing that could stand up by themselves.  Then transferring my daily salt intake to my bedding at night, trying to sleep in sweaty, salt-glazed sheets, with my face scraping a damp, salt-encrusted pillowcase, waking up itchy, my hair still wet the following morning. I don’t know how Steinbeck did it… but he did, and tons of people still do… kudos to them, but I don’t have it in me. Period.

At 4pm, Brian downloaded the weatherfax while I boiled eggs and potatoes for potato salad. We reviewed the forecast again, same story: the tropical depression was indeed a real named hurricane, Blanca, and was as stated earlier, stationed over in the same spot near Manzanillo with no real track yet.

I made a shell for the cruiser’s shrine that we planned on dinghying over to the beach later. I had found a small, bleached white shell with a hole in the top and one out the side, perfect for stringing a bit of wire to create an ornament. I guess it was meant for us.

Tea anyone?
After all our work was done, we yakked over to visit with the Mary T, who had earlier rowed over to invite us to tea. Somehow I just knew these were old salts of the sea when Sigmund came by on his dinghy. I told Brian this guy was like meeting Stan Lee, or Steinbeck, and he probably knew Nigel Calder or even Bill Crealock. Sure enough, they knew the Pardees (same thing) and are even mentioned in their storm tactics book due to a bad storm they’d survived in the Pacific. Very nice people, been around the world cruising for I think 30 years; Fiji, New Zealand, Singapore, Oman, Spain, you name it, they’ve done it.

Swell Shift
We chatted on their boat until about 8pm - the sun had gone down past the mountain but it was still light out. Suddenly, Brian noticed our boat was riding sideways to the swell which had grown over the past few hours. It was rolling like a top in the now surf that pounded the cliff base just a few hundred feet away. Sitting on their boat we were jumping up and down with the increasing waves, but we hadn’t really paid attention too much since we’d been talking. Now we’re worried.

We have to move Indigo. Within 2 minutes we’d said our good-byes and were in the yak paddling in the now semi-hazardous conditions - definitely waves we would not go out in had we already been on our own boat. The swell pushed us back quickly and right towards Indigo, but the wave action made it difficult to grab onto our bucking-bronco boat; we almost missed it and slipped past.

We were in 12 ft of water and rolling side to side at what felt like a 30 degree angle each time, beam onto each increasing wave. Our anchor is not dragging, but it is not good to be in this situation up against a cliff. The Mary T was a bit farther out in 18ft and riding right into the waves at a much better angle, but still bucking furiously.  At the very least we had to get into deeper water, maybe move altogether.

Anchors Away
Pulling the anchor up was a harried event. We immediately started the engine. With me at the wheel and Brian at the bow fiddling with the anchor, I saw him slip and fall at least 4 times on the slick and lurching deck. One time he fell hard, splaying out flat on the deck, disappearing from my sight for a split second…his shoe had caught a line and it flipped off overboard. Then he tried to snare it with the boat hook without success. He called me to try and grab it; luckily it floated right by the rear of the boat and I leaned overboard and caught the darn thing. (Apparently, losing that shoe would have equaled major disaster.) Fortunately for us, Brian did not hurt himself, and everything was fine thereafter.

Brian got the anchor up in record time, despite the pitching deck, numerous falls and the shoe incident, and we started motoring into the waves. In deeper water and farther along the shoreline it was not much better, so we kept on going to the opposite south anchorage about a mile away. Luckily we had just enough light to get there…plus there was a full moon. That full moon over the fading sunlit sky was fleetingly beautiful as we were driving over there and I could see rays sticking their fingers out of the water as we went along. But I didn’t point any of this out. We were MUCH too anxious and tense, needing to concentrate on the task at hand, rather than gazing dreamily at the wildlife and the moon.

Reef!
This bay is littered with rocks and reefs. Our chartplotter did not show the long, narrow, submerged reef that extended out way past the point towards which we were headed. Had we not possessed backup charts on the ipad, we could have easily slammed the boat into this reef. Knowing it was there, I could just make out a dark line in the dimming light and note change in water motion due to the major swell swirling over it. Had the rocks been fully submerged we would not have seen them at all. As it was, after anchoring, the GPS says we are .06 miles from them (that’s about 316ft – IF the GPS was dead on accurate). Pretty darn close, too close… and so Brian sleeps in the cockpit.

When we arrived around 9pm, the swell seemed a bit diminished over on this side. We were still rocking, but we were moving around our anchor in the fluky winds and not exactly beam on… yet. We even took showers in the moonlight, finally getting the salt off since we never made that 2nd pool dip. Lesson learned.

A Swell Time
But soon it got worse… it felt almost the same as when we left the north anchorage. We had faced into the swell once we arrived, seemingly sheltered by the lee of this reef finger. But now the wind shifted again and we were full beam onto the waves, rocking side to side. We were tipping so far over I had to take down the bathroom door pockets (one of those hanging over-the-door-shoe pocket organizers) as it was banging against the door every 3 seconds, something I never have to do at anchor, only if we are on a severe tack while sailing.

We never had time for dinner. I instantly abandoned my original idea of making potato salad and cooking kielbasa; there’s no way I’m chopping veges or using the stove in this crazy yawing motion. Our 10pm meal? “Corn pops! It’s what’s for dinner.” I’m just glad I could stand up to pour the milk.

The sky was gorgeous … but our attempt to sit and contemplate it while munching on our corn pops was negated by the constant, uncomfortable rocking motion. The swell was slightly longer at 2-3 seconds each angle but super annoying…worse than Agua Verde since we were yawing and not pitching. Definitely the worst we’d had this trip. This was going to be a long night.

Fortunately there was no wind… which means our anchor chain was not stretched out and we didn’t have to worry too much about hitting the reef. But unfortunately, there was no wind… which means we were rocking with the swell until it increased and swung us around, or until the swell died. Wind or no wind… you want it, yet you don’t want it…all at the same time. And you are infinitely at its mercy.

We both opted to sleep out in the cockpit, worried about the reef that we could barely see and had no idea as to its width. But I could not seem to sleep with the boat rocking so darned much. Below decks was worse: I felt hot as soon as I stepped down inside and sick enclosed in the stuffy bathroom. Resting in the cockpit was cool and refreshing, plus you didn’t feel the movement quite so acutely.

Ever so gradually, it calmed down. The wind waves were virtually gone and the sea was a smooth swell, still disconcerting and super rolly, but smooth. The wind shifted 360 and kept the boat moving around its anchor all night. (In the morning the anchorwatch looked like a neat little circle.)

Rorschach Sky
While Brian slept, I watched the sky. The moon cast its silvery reflection on the rolling sea and if it weren’t so nerve-racking to be in this scene, it would have been a breathtaking one to behold. High vertical cliffs and peaked spires and the outstretched low-lying reef lined the shore blocking much of the surf. But you could still hear it breaking farther down on the sand with a dull, ominous roar that sounds a lot worse than it really is. I kept thinking it was getting louder, but your mind tricks you into thinking so when concentrating too hard.

Translucent clouds slithered past the stark white moon, like big puffs of factory smoke. Happy clouds normally, they now were filled with my anxiety of being bullied by the swell and turned into ominous creatures. The night sky became jam-packed with evil monkeys, Pac-Man ghosts, a skull with deep dark eye sockets glaring at me, Homer Simpson’s craggily old dad. I actually laughed at myself as I realized I could not stop seeing weird shapes. Seriously? Grampa Simpson? What would those Rorschach inkblot psychologists think of me?

Every so often, I heard the snap, crackle, pop of rays dancing again on the surface. I eventually became accustomed to the constant swish and foaming of swell breaking on the reef just 300ft to our starboard, and the surf crashing on the beach to our port. Finally, it calmed down enough that I went back to bed in the v-berth. (Brian surrendered a bit later, knowing we weren’t going anywhere.) I sleep better in the v-berth where it’s dark and quiet… why? ‘Cause I’m Batman.

June 2nd, San Juanico, south anchorage

On the Heels of a Hurricane
This morning, Tuesday, June 2nd, the hurricane forecast for Blanca noted she was stationary, only traveling at 1 mile an hour, but getting stronger. It is now predicted to turn into a Category 4, gliding right along the Baja coast on the outside later this week, rather than the initial path of 150 miles offshore. No Bueno. If that happens, we needed to be ready to make our emergency jump to San Carlos. We leave now.

We made the decision to skip our next stop, Punta Pulpito, only 8 miles away and motor all the way to Domingo in Bahia Concepcion, 46 miles north (there are no other anchorages in between). This will be our longest trek so far in one day on this trip. And so much for saving on gas (decree out the window again on day 2), but we will need to get there before dark. The weather in the sea is supposed to get much windier over the next two days so we decided to get up to Bahia Concepcion while the gettin’s good.

San Juanico had the best beach of the trip for its sheer variety: hard-packed fine sand, coarse sand with bits of shell, tons of unique larger shells and rocks, a sandstone spit, high majestic cliffs, islands and reefs, tall spires straight out of a Lord of the Rings movie, beautiful water, not a soul around for miles and only a handful of boats... everything to entice you to stay for 2 weeks. Sigh. No such luck. I never did get to hang my ornament….