For Brian’s birthday present, he got to tack. As much as he wanted. Huh?

Tacking is what sailors do. Regularly. It’s how they use the wind to get from point A to B. I love sailing when we’re expediently humming along at 5 knots right on top of my chart-plotted rhumb line. A to B. Direct route. No dithering. Oh, how I wish this was the norm.

The problem is, 90% of the time (not an exaggeration) the capricious wind blows from the wrong direction, most likely on the nose. The direction we want to go in is the direction from which the wind is coming. Since one cannot sail into the wind, we must travel via an indirect route. This means sailing at a variable angle away from our course, and then back towards it. Over and over.

I do NOT like tacking more than a couple miles off our rhumb line. Don’t get me wrong. I DO it. But I don’t LIKE it. It bothers me, niggles at my psyche. It doesn’t feel right, like when I see a misspelled word and I have the power to fix it, right now, but I purposefully let it go to print wrong. Ack! Who does that?

I Hate Tacking
There, I said it. I live on a sailboat and I hate tacking. Sue me.

I am the type of person who likes to go from point A to point B. Directly. I like to GET there. I can’t stand screwing around unless we are going to stop and see something interesting - like a on a road trip, to equate it in land terminology. If we go from point A to point A.1 then A.2 then A.3, and I’m going in the wrong direction, there better be something worthwhile at each of those points… like an island where I can snorkel…or a pod of dolphins…or fish tacos.

You know the quickest route from your house to the nearest Kroger, Von’s, Piggly Wiggly, whatever, right? Now imagine driving that route, but sharply zig-zagging your car over into oncoming traffic (sans traffic) and then back again into your lane. Over and over. Imagine those zigs and zags are a longer time period of course, but the effect is, it would take you almost twice as long. And you just want to get to the dang store! Is that so wrong?

Backwards Tacking
But the WORST is when you tack BACKWARD. See, everybody thinks of tacking as just zigzagging into the wind…not so bad eh? Takes a bit longer, but what of it? Well, the dirty secret of sailing is that there are times when you must tack backward, away from your intended goal. A wind switch, a fierce tidal push or just downright lack of wind, can force you to trace the same path that you were just on, but maybe a few hundred yards to the left or right. Bah! It’s kick-your-cat maddening!

But it’s About the Journey. Bull…oney! It’s About the Destination!
Brian likes the JOURNEY, not necessarily caring when we arrive and what we’ll see on the other end. He will corkscrew back and forth all darn day if I let him and, well I can’t just let him DO that every day. There are reasons. Good reasons.

1. I like to arrive at an anchorage before dark, thank you very much. Preferably when the sun is high enough I can see the depth color differences in my polarized sunglasses, which means before 4pm. That way I can be sure we aren’t anchoring on any stray rock beds. This is necessary in smaller or more reef-prone anchorages. Safety: an excellent reason. Even Brian can’t argue this one.
2. If it’s a new anchorage, I want to get off the boat and explore. If it’s an old anchorage, I want to get off the boat and explore. Again. I see new things no matter how many times we’ve been to Ensenada Grande. What are we HERE for anyway? Exploring: OK, granted, not quite as good a reason, but definitely my chief purpose, nonetheless. Brian could care less.
3. I like sailing. But I like stopping more. We DO have easy sailing days. But we also have not-so-easy sailing days. Our easy sailing days are always mildly stressful at a minimum, ramping into exceedingly nerve-racking when stuff hits the fan. Plus, I feel like time is always on hold when we are at sea, if that makes sense. Things cannot be “normal” for me until that anchor is dropped. The sooner we get to the anchorage, the sooner I feel relief. Resume to normal life (whatever THAT is): OK, Brian might partially agree with me on this one. But he can handle stress and stand to remain in a state of flux much longer than I.

Me: Remind, me…why do we even have an engine if we won’t use it whenever we want to?
Brian: This is a sailboat. We should just buy a powerboat then.
Me: A powerboat doesn’t have sails for backup. What if the engine breaks? Then you’d be even more engine-obsessed.
Aha! But he is not impressed with my circular logic. A sailboat is for sailing; powerboats for powerboating. End of story.

Opposing Opinions
So, my ‘hurry up and get there’ attitude is always tempered by Brian’s constant desire to actually SAIL on a SAILBOAT. Sheesh, seriously. (Insert exaggerated eyeroll.) Our cruising outlooks thusly opposed, we remain constantly in debate-mode about when to start the motor. OK, sometimes it’s an itty bitty “conflict”, that’s what they called Vietnam right? Brian would call it my “War of Motorin’ Aggression”.

I get his motivations, even though he thinks I don’t.

1. He LIKES sailing. He doesn’t mind tacking waaaay off our rhumb line, hoping for a better wind angle. He shoots me the evil eye when I point out, ever-so-mildly: “At this rate of speed, we’ll make it into the anchorage at midnight…just sayin’.” I might or might not have mentioned that a turtle could swim faster than Indigo.
2. Mostly though, the absence of motor noise is what he loves best. And not because he loves the silence. That’s just a byproduct. It’s because the silence frees him from worrying about the motor. See, Brian hates the motor. More than I hate tacking. For every hour we employ that engine, Brian envisions its inevitable death knell. Doesn’t matter that he keeps it in tip-top shape. Every little sound coming from said motor is thoroughly analyzed. If the pitch is even a hair off, it will drive him incessantly bonkers. Turning it off is the lone solution.

Trading One Noise for Another
We had our engine serviced a few months ago because of one wayward tone. Our fuel injectors are now clean and running top notch. So that noise got fixed, but another is lingering. We are worried about the prop shaft not aligning perfectly. It’s just a slight reverberation, not a disastrous ca-clunking; I can’t even hear the difference half the time. But due to this now noteworthy noise, every additional engine hour hurtles us towards impending doom. Doomsdaying is exhausting.

Why does he worry so much about the engine? Well, he’s right to worry, though it turns into a little bit more like paranoia than I’d like. Our engine is our best piece of safety gear. And boat engines, unlike car engines, are fickle machines. Ignoring a funny rattle, smell or vibration can spell disaster, often followed  by a hefty pricetag. So, albeit begrudgingly, I’d rather he be paranoid than lackadaisical.

So. Turn off the motor and Brian is at peace. Turn it on, and I am. How can this POSSIBLY be a happy marriage? Compromise.

Birthday Sail
Today we are sailing from Santispac to Santo Domingo. This anchorage positions us to cross the Sea of Cortez to San Carlos, where we’ll put the boat away. It is a short hop up to Domingo, a mere 10 or so miles. Easily motored in 2 hours.

And it just so happens to be Brian’s birthday.

Honey, since it’s your birthday, we can sail as much as you want and I won’t grouse about getting there. We have an established anchor point (we’ve already been there and scouted out the area) and our outgoing GPS breadcrumb path to follow back in lest we arrive after sundown. Go ahead and tack to your hearts content. I will not complain one whit.

Brian throws me his rolly eyes, meaning we're sailing anyway no matter what I said about it.

Sailing Concepcion’s Throat
Bahia Concepcion’s 7-mile-long entrance channel has a dual personality. At 100ft deep to one side and 15ft on the other, use of the entire two miles of channel is not an option. The shallow side is a seductive emerald; it lures you in with its sparkling green waters that continuously creep towards mid-channel and suddenly we’re thrown into an alarming 15ft if we aren’t paying attention. The deep side appears safer, but deceptively allows us to edge uncomfortably close to land. Hmm…we’re in 100ft but I feel like I could step ashore… should we even BE this close? If I’m asking that question, probably not.

And today, just to further my split personality diagnosis, and just because we are sailing, the winds on one side of the bay are different than the other side. It literally splits right down the middle.

Crawling Toward the Deep Side
So here we are, tacking up the channel, heading towards the deep side. The wind is blowing from the northwest, funneling at an angle down the throat. Each time we approach the mountain-peaked eastern shore, the wind dies off to a whisper. And now we have an incoming tide – against us. At a mere 1.5 knots SOG (speed over ground), Indigo is just barely eking out some distance towards the anchorage. We’re not sailing; we’re crawling.

Flying Backwards Toward the Shallow Side
As we tacked back across to the shallow side of the bay, the wind picked up and allowed us to sail at a respectable speed. Finally! We went farther in 10 minutes than we’d had the past 40. Except… due to a tidal push and the wrong wind angle… we’re going damn near backwards!

Thus began our long, slow, asymmetrical zigzag up the narrow channel… barely sustaining enough oomph to maintain forward motion on the starboard tack, and then a quick zoom - backwards. A beat-your-head-against-the-wall kind of tack. Brian was in his element. I kept my yaptrap shut.

After tacking like this for 3 hours (and me staying mum the whole time), even Brian finally got sick of it. With the prospect of another HOUR spent for one more mile gained and seemingly no wind forthcoming, he threw in the towel and asked me if I wanted to turn on the motor. Smiling sweetly, I reply: Your call, honey. It’s your birthday.

So when people ask me… What’d you guys do for Brian’s birthday?
Well, we tacked! 

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!

Playa Santa Barbara
One day we anchored for lunch and a couple hours of exploring at the remote Playa Santa Barbara, 3 miles south of El Burro Cove. On shore we found a marginal road winding inland though the estuary, probably to the Highway. Aside from a lone trailer, two tent-like yurts were the only residences on this beach. New-looking with crushed-shell pathways to the water, they seemed deserted, maybe rentals or a yurt vacation compound? Whoever owns it built the coolest outdoor living space just steps from the water…complete with trestle table, wooden chairs, an outside kitchen with sink, a grill, even an outdoor shower. Napping beds on the beach as well as a hammock under a palm tree oasis completed the ideal retreat. No RVrs, no restaurants, no highway noise. Perfect. Too bad we can’t stay.

While we were on the beach, the wind picked up (as it always seems to do when we want to go back to the boat). This cove is open to the NE and the wind was coming from that direction and pushing in wind waves up the long narrow channel. No fun. So we broke camp and headed back to our peaceful and protected Santispac for another few days of relaxing in the sun. And waiting for more wind to blow through before we can move south!

El Burro Cove
We moved over to El Burro Cove for a change of scenery for a day. The wind was set to die down a bit, so we motored out after a leisurely breakfast around 9am. It’s a LOOONG trek of 2 miles. So we were already there at like 9:30. My kind of day trip! Technically, we had the bay all to ourselves…the other trawler nearby was moored and unoccupied.

Playa Coyote
Before exploring El Burro though, we got the yak in the water to paddle next door to Playa Coyote, about a mile away. This was the larger, more common anchorage, but again, no other boats.

NOLS
In our coveted cruising guidebook “The Sea of Cortez”, written by Heather Bansmer and Shawn Breeding, they indicated a NOLS facility in Playa Coyote. We wanted to check it out. NOLS stands for National Outdoor Leadership School and is renowned worldwide for its expedition courses in darn near everything from wilderness medicine in the Rocky Mountains to mountaineering in India. After parking the yak on their beach, we were greeted by its administrator who happily gave us a short tour of the place.

”Compound” more accurately describes this multi-building, multi-employee campus where they specialize in extended courses on sea-kayaking, hiking in the mountains and open-boat sailing. In fact, an sailing course was currently out on the water. They use 22-ft open sailboats (Drascombe Longboats). When I say "open", that means no cabin/no protection. We had heard their group earlier on the radio net asking about weather conditions… they were taking on wind of 30kts and seas of 5ft at 5 seconds, surfing down waves and loving it…wow. Bad. Asses.!! This is something we readily avoid in our much larger and heavily outfitted 34ft cruising sailboat. We were veritable sissies compared to these guys.

We ended up at their “store” which is more like a mini-REI. They were stocked with Nalgene bottles, Patagonia swim suits, shirts and fleeces, small Pelican cases, carabiners, packable toiletries… all kinds of back-packing goodies. Typically there only for student outfitting, I was able to buy 10 candy bars at $1/bar from the store. Snickers, Milky Way! You can’t always find that stuff. Plus, I needed treats: my large jar of mini M-n-M’s had transformed to cocoa dust after 2 months in the heat!

After kayaking back to El Burro, we headed to the beach to do some more exploring. We ended up walking, or more like bouldering, the “trail” up above the anchorage. We were rewarded with a spectacular view of the cove and our boat. Starved by then… this all before 1pm, mind you… the local restaurant wasn’t open yet. What to do?

Geary the Weatherman
El Burro Cove is famous for one thing – Geary of the Sonrisa net. Every morning around 7:30am, we listen in on his weather broadcast for the Sea of Cortez, which he transmits from his palapa home steps off the beach in El Burro Cove. Geary is known to every cruiser who plies the Sea because his is the most reliable weather info available without internet or sat phone service. So, while we waited for the local restaurant to open, we walked the beach and just so happened to casually walk by his house (it’s pretty obvious – he has more satellite antennae than any other house). Well, Geary also just so happened to be on his porch and invited us in for a chat. Great guy. We were surprised to find out he had arrived here over 20 years ago and was the only house on the entire beach (in this cove, houses are completely off-grid: solar panels, composing toilets, personal generators, trucked in water…). We thanked him for his service to all cruisers and went on our way to lunch.

Thunder!
We spent a mildly rocky night in El Burro as the wind switched to the NE for which this cove is not protected. While we were watching another episode of “The Shield”, it started to sprinkle and then… lightning. Thunderstorms? A shock of horizontal white light illuminated the black night outside our cabin. So bright it beckoned to be seen…and heard. And oh my, did we hear it. We sat outside, half-mesmerized by the scene… and also a touch uneasy since our tall, pointy stick of a mast makes a perfect lightning rod.

I had heard thunder thousands of times. Never like this. Thunder cracked so loudly and so vehemently, I felt it in my bones. Centered within the half-moon bowl of steep-to mountains, our little boat was, in effect, inside a colossal amphitheater. We received, in full resonance, a thunderous roar reverberating off the surrounding peaks. With no trees to absorb the sound, only mile upon mile of bare rock towering above, each crack devolved into an earth-shattering, God-fearing, gut-wrenching, rumbling that continued for what seemed like an eternity. The thunder didn’t just emanate from the sky, but from deep within the mountains… like the bowels of the earth just opened up and was preparing to swallow us whole. The words “Ho…ly…Sh#$” and “Coooool” at the same time, come to mind. Awe-inspiring.

The storm wandered off after a half hour to wreak its wrath on some other unsuspecting neighbor and we barely got any rain to wash our windows down. Too bad. But I am thankful we didn’t get the kind of rain and windstorm that probably SHOULD come with thunder that powerful. Count ourselves lucky.

Playa Santispac
Upon arrival to the Baja side of the Sea, we hunkered down in Bahia Concepcion for nearly two weeks. Waiting out two separate “Northers” (high northwest winds) was easy in Playa Santispac, which has THE best northwest wind protection we’ve found so far… other than being in a slip. The 20-30kt constant blustery weather didn’t phase Indigo a bit as this ‘bay within a bay’ is so protected that we barely felt the chop… and zero swell. It is so well sheltered we had a hard time leaving our little bay of paradise.

During the super-windy stretches when we couldn’t go to shore, we read books, watched DVDs, I made corn bread and apple muffins and we watched the wind surfers. On calmer days we got out and paddled to various beaches to explore, chatted with some RVers on the beach and we sampled the two beach-side restaurants.

Playa Posada
One day we kayaked to the adjacent beach, Playa Posada Concepcion… where the “rich folks” live. While Santispac consists of 2 restaurants and a bunch of RV sites, Posada is a civilized “sub-division” with 65 houses along the beach. Folks can get internet and satellite TV… but for cell service, one must travel to Mulege, 12 miles north. So we hear people with houses calling each other on VHF just like cruisers.

What? Actual Running Water?
I say “civilized” because for a $400/month utility bill, Posada residents enjoy all the amenities out here in the boondocks: consistent running water (people in other coves must truck theirs in), electricity (all solar everywhere else), etc. The town generator runs from 6am to 10pm every day. So you’d need a battery bank and inverter to run anything after 10pm, but mostly everything shuts down here come dark anyway.

The gigantic generator runs from Oct 1 to May 31st. Why? Everybody who can’t take the heat leaves for the summer… and that’s just about everybody. We learned only about 6-7 people stay through the entire year… that’s over all three residential coves combined: Posada, El Burro and Coyote. So we don’t feel so bad for not being able to hack the summers here!

Hot Springs
Posada is fortunate to have two hot springs, one just off the beach in town and another literally adjacent to the sea shaded with a cute palapa roof. Both are lined in stone just like an in-ground hot tub. The water was definitely warmer that the sea, but a little suspicious… bug-wise… so we only dipped our feet. We chatted up an 80-yr-old woman who was selling her home right on the beach in front of the hot springs for $78k. She had lived there every winter for 16 years and absolutely loved it. You can’t beat it for price and amenities and most of all…peaceful living. With all the chaos that’s happening in the world, this sure feels like paradise.

Leaving...Finally!
Leaving the docks, my back-out technique was picture perfect. Just like I knew what I was doing! It was a good start to the long slog. We motored into San Carlos bay with little wind, but as we turned southwest at its mouth, the wind picked up in full force and we charged forward. Indigo was yelling at us “Let me SAIL, dammit!” “You haven’t let me out in MONTHS!”

It was Sunday, Nov. 8th and the winds were slated to be 15-18kts all day. Normally, that’s pushing it for comfort, as seas can build quickly here with that small amount of wind. But it was either that or wait ‘til the next day when there would be no wind at all and we’d end up motoring the entire way. That’d be fine by me, but not for the captain who gets irritable when we have to motor. Plus we wanted to be anchored securely in Bahia Concepcion by the time Wednesday rolled around when a 30+ kt “Norther” was to be with us for several days. No one’s going anywhere in that.

Bat out of Hell
To obtain weather info, we used an app called SailFlow combined with Geary’s Sonrisa net predictions; both were accurate. Indigo enjoyed 15 kt winds all afternoon. We consistently sailed like a bat out of Hell, at 6.5 up to 7.4 kts with a reefed mainsail and reefed jib. This is ridiculously fast for us. Seas were only supposed to be 2ft at 4seconds but I figured they were at least 3-4ft, just on the verge of being super uncomfortable and causing me to get a little green. But I did OK, glad to have taken that Bonine. I had made sandwiches and packed a bag of snacks for the trip so I rarely had to go below.

We bashed into the waves, almost beam-on (when waves hit you broadside), but not quite. As we’d slice through one wave with the bow, it would smash onto our rear quarter and cause us to fishtail. My nicely cleaned windows and deck were inundated with salt as the water sloshed the decks (and us). Chuck Norris (our Monitor wind vane) steered us nicely most of the way, allowing us blessed relief from hand-steering in the constant sideswiping motion.

When NOT to Trim Sails
Nearing dusk, we were almost halfway across the 80 mile sea already. We’d totally underestimated how far we’d get with this amount of wind. We normally average about 4-5 kts, but today we were averaging 6-7. Arriving at the mouth of the bay close to dawn was the objective. At this rate we’d make it to the other side at 1am! Not cool. We needed to slow down. I was napping and heard Brian mess with the sails. Then I heard him mutter…”Crap, why did I do that?” We had started to go faster. Me: “Yeah, why’d you do THAT?” Stop trimming sails!”

Tonight there was no moon, but the stars gave us the tiniest bit of ambient light, enough to barely gauge the fine line between dark sea and shadowy sky. The seas mellowed out, thankfully, and the wind died to a consistent 10kts. That helped to further slow us for a few more hours.

Chuck Norris & Marya Throw a Hissy Fit
At 2am, the wind started to die. And Mr. Norris was pitching a fit – he wasn’t keeping up with the low breeze and kept waddling upwind. So we gave him a break and started to hand steer. Big mistake. Although I had done it before, at night, in pitch black, the waves were so much bigger that I could immediately feel my corrections in the wheel and rudder… so I could sense what input to make and which way to turn. Or maybe I was just “on” that night.

“Off” Night
Tonight, I was the polar opposite of “on”. Yes…that would be “OFF”. I just couldn’t get it. I would constantly over-correct, steer too far upwind, luff the sails… or fall off too much, losing ground… or even worse, start to steer the OPPOSITE way I should. Acckkk! Why my brain would work backward in the dark abyss is beyond me. The wind and waves were weak enough that I could not immediately feel the results of my wheel corrections. In daylight (even moonlight), you can see the outcome of the bow turning. In pitch black, I can’t tell the boat even moved except to look at the instruments. So I’d wait too long to put in another correction and then I’d be off. My eyes could not scan the wind indicator, the compass, the chartplotter fast enough.

Brian reminded me to look for a star and line it up with a window or stanchion. Even that was only marginally successful. I had difficulty just keeping the star in focus - when I looked away I lost it again. Eventually I used the bigger lights of Mulege as a guide which helped, yet I still could not keep Indigo consistently on track.

Once a Marine…
In his former life, Brian trained many a Marine to fly helicopters on instruments in the dark. It’s easy for him. And he tried to help me, he really did, in his unique pilot instructory sort of way. But I was super frustrated and exhausted at 3am from getting zero sleep (not for lack of trying). So hearing “Turn right, turn left, left…left…left!, you’re falling off, no that’s too far, turn faster” did not help. I couldn’t do it fast enough. I couldn’t do it right enough. I wanted to give up. Or at least be left alone in my misery. He refused to let me give up.

Cranky-Pants
Soooo… I was bitchy, like a snapping turtle. I was. No doubt. I admit it. My brain wasn’t working, I was tired and cranky as all get-out, and unable & unwilling to listen to direction. Yup, unemployable. That’s me. Except this was so bad, Brian said if I was his flight student he’d give me a “down” for that flight for my attitude towards him. (Basically a “down” is a “fail”; a fail is a huge deal - 3 fails and you’re out of the flight program.) Wow. Wwwwow. Harsh statement. So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh? I was mad. He was mad. Everybody was mad. The only one who could save me at that point was Chuck… and he was still throwing his own hissy fit… the jerk.

Brian finally took his nap, leaving me alone on watch in my miserable misery. In the end, I DID figure it out, although still not consistently enough for either of us. Of course we made up later. And the truth is, I’d have to agree with him… I’d give me a “down” too… IF I was a Marine, which I’m NOT, because I would have been kicked out the first day for either bawling like a little baby or insubordination. Or both.

Arrival
We arrived outside of the bay at 4:30am, tacked veerrry slowly about for 2 hours until dawn, then motored down into the narrow Bahia Concepcion. In the burgeoning dawn’s light, a couple dolphins escorted us as we drove 1-1/2 hrs to our first anchorage, Playa Santispac. Anchoring after almost 24 hours at sea is the best thing in the world. And the feeling you get as you slide in that warm bed and close your eyes is…ahhh… pure bliss.

Realization... I have to do that again, several times this year.
The good news is that I wasn’t afraid of sailing in the dark. Well, the physical act of “sailing” in the dark was a problem this time, but I wasn’t scared or really even nervous about “being out there” at night. Now I just have to work on that cranky attitude stemming from no sleep. The next crossing will be from La Paz to Mazatlan next month…and twice as long…we’ll see how THAT one goes!

Atlanta to San Carlos
Our trip back to San Carlos on Oct 29th was uneventful, just the way we like it. We left for the Atlanta airport at 5:30am, flew to Phoenix at 9, got there at 10, taxied to the Tufesa bus station, bought one-way tickets for the next bus ($70pp), waited 2 hours, got on the bus at 12:30pm, stopped at the Nogales border and got new visas, arrived in Guaymas at 10pm (the bus actually arrived early), taxied back to the boat by 10:30pm. Incredibly, the trip went like clockwork. 20 hours later (including time difference), we finally got to sleep in our own bed. Ahhh the bed.

No More Sleepy San Carlos
We slept in the next morning and awoke to a completely different San Carlos than the one we left. Not only was the temperature juuust right at 85deg, but where did all these PEOPLE come from? And Boats! Everywhere! While we were gone, the marina had been busy splashing sailboats from dry storage left and right. All the empty slips were now filled with boats, their owners hard at work getting them cruise-ready.

The entire atmosphere of San Carlos had transformed from a run-down, sad little hamlet to a surging, cheerful marina finally coming back to life. Businesses on summer hiatus finally re-opened for the cruising season. Two restaurants had permanently closed, unable to make it over the meager summer months, yet two more opened up in their stead… sometimes filled to capacity! The VHF radio net was bursting with boat chatter. The parking lot jam-packed with cars and motorhomes. I no longer had my own personal restroom!

Boat-Prep Buzz
People began milling about the docks at 6:30am, coffee in hand. The distinct sounds of sailors mid-prep-work surround and inspire us to get our own work done (it’s hard to be lazy when literally EVERYONE else is working): the chugging of an engine being tested, the buzz of an air-compressor blowing up a dinghy, the distant whine of a vacuum cleaner, anchor chain spilling onto concrete docks, the rattle of roller furling, the vinyl slip-n-slide of sails, water spraying and brushes scrubbing on fiberglass, a squeaky winch squeals in protest while halyards are raised. A mix of ‘Hotel California’ and Mexican mariachi competes for attention, helping to pass the time.

One day, we awoke to the melodious sound of harsh, metallic shredding… what on earth??? It was our neighbor tearing off all the bits of aluminum foil (over and over and over) that he had wrapped around various parts (like roller furling drums, winches, blocks/tackles) to protect from dust invasion and sun damage over the summer. Everywhere, cruisers could be found pontificating on solar panels and weather. The universal question: what are your cruising plans for this year? Anticipation filled the air.

It took us 5 days to get the boat ready at a relatively relaxed pace. Our pre-flight plan goes a little something like this:
•    Put up sails (must do this at 6:30am, we have a half-hour window before the wind kicks up)
•    Check engine (gotta make sure it works before heading out for a month)
•    Change prop zinc (Brian gasped when he went in, the ocean is no longer bathwater warm)
•    Wash the boat (a 3-hour process whereupon which we fall into the boat dying from lack of exercise)
•    Clean dodger windows (another 3-hour, 3-step process…wax on/wax off)
•    Polish stainless (a never-ending pain-in-my ass, but it looks so pretty when shiny)
•    Clean/vacuum the inside
•    Fill up composting toilet (what? no…with peat, not #2…we emptied/cleaned it all out prior to leaving, now we need to make it usable again)
•    Trip to the laundromat to clean clothes/sheets (we have breakfast at Barracuda Bob’s and get on the internet during this 2 hour event)
•    Grocery shopping (thank goodness for our friends on Opportunity who took us to Walmart, saved us a TON of time)
•    Stow all the food (I had purchased all my dry goods a month and a half ago when we had the truck, so all I needed to buy/stow were refrigerated items: lunch meat, salchichas, fresh veges and cheese…and more cheese)
•    Bank (get more pesos - there are no ATMs where we’re going)
•    Get gas for the dinghy (our motor only eats premium)
•    Climb the mast (why? just to make sure nothing is going to surprise us later)
•    Write blogs, compile photos, upload (tons of time)
•    And a million other little things.

And we wait…
By Oct 4th, we were ready to go but the weather wasn’t cooperating exactly to our specs. Too much wind equals a mighty uncomfortable crossing. We don’t want that. We also don’t want to leave too soon after a blow to allow the seas to level out. 6ft seas at 5 seconds apart is NO FUN. And we are supposed to be doing this for fun, right?

So we wait. We visit Guaymas and get a look at the old church and Malecon. And we wait. We peruse the first boat swap meet of the year, just in case we find anything we “need” (thankfully “we” don’t). The boat is all ready, we just have to top off water tanks, do one final load of laundry and check out of the marina. And we wait some more.

Another good weather window occurs on Sunday the 8th when we’ll finally leave San Carlos in the dust. We’ll cross the Sea of Cortez once again, 80-some miles to Bahia Concepcion, which we were cheated out of exploring due to hurricane Blanca earlier this year. If all goes well, we plan on taking about a month to get to La Paz, stay there a few weeks, then cross to Mazatlan around Christmas and hopefully Puerto Vallarta by March. Back up to San Carlos in April. Of course, all subject to change in a heartbeat…

We won’t have internet for a couple weeks, so don’t despair… we’re out there somewhere!

June 2nd, Santispac Cove, Bahia Concepcion

"Do I stay or do I go nowwwww...."
This morning we opted not to linger at San Juanico and made the run up to Bahia Concepcion due to impending hurricane Blanca’s track toward the Baja Peninsula. In case the hurricane forced us to jump to San Carlos, we would be in a good position to do so if we felt we needed to in the next few days. But we still held out hope Blanca would turn west.

Our original 46 mile long course from San Juanico turned into a 55 mile motor. Not due to tacking or current, but because we decided not to stop in our planned spot of Domingo. Our “sail as much as possible” decree went out the window again on day 3 due to no wind the entire day; but we can’t afford to wait for wind. The motor was quite peaceful though… smooth, flat seas but with a current running against us… as usual. I think the current runs at 1 knot against us whether we go north or south and at all times of the day, switching just for us as soon as we want to get somewhere.

Dolphin Super-Pack
During the last portion of our long 10-hour trip, we witnessed hundreds of dolphins stretching about a ¼ mile in a long conga line. We could see the disturbance on the surface from far away and soon realized they were headed right towards us. They didn’t play in our wake, too focused on getting wherever they were headed. But very cool...what a nice way to end a long day! I got one decent video that I added to YouTube.

Bahia Concepcion
We were looking forward to being in Bahia Concepcion, a 21-mile long bay surrounded on 3 sides by massive mountain ranges. Its opening is a mere 3 miles wide, and coupled with very shallow waters, the bay seems to create its own weather patterns. Highway 1 runs right alongside this area and numerous vacation homes, RV campers and palapa (grass thatched roof) homes line the various picturesque coves, just south of the small town of Mulege (moo-lah-hay). We originally planned to spend a couple weeks here, floating around the various anchorages that are all a mile from each other in shallow green waters. With cove names like Playa Coyote and El Burro, not to mention several palapa restaurants to choose from, what’s not to love?

As we entered Concepcion Bay, the wind picked up quickly from nothing to 15 kts and after motoring all day, we were finally able to sail for an hour. We skipped our original anchorage of Domingo as we noticed a long line of buoys in the water and could not distinguish what they meant or how to get around them. We didn’t try very hard though, as we thought the place might be uncomfortable with the wind blowing hard right into the cove. We opted to go another 8 miles to a more enclosed cove rather than have another sleepless, rolly night.

Hair Dryer Wind
We arrived at Playa Santispac and anchored in this quiet cove amongst small islands with only 2 other boats. Music played from a palapa restaurant on the beach and we vowed to sample it tomorrow as nobody felt like going ashore after such a long day. While this beach was lovely and serene, just what the doctor ordered after last night… it was HHHOTTT. As soon as we turned the corner towards this cove, we were inundated with heat, like a hair dryer blowing down off the mountain. For Brian, it evoked the super-heated desert winds during his deployments to Iraq. Today the daytime temperature had been 100 degrees in the bay… and it was now 7pm… so it probably had cooled off to 98ish. Summer is here!

Nibbling Fish? Or Biting Fish?
As we arrived, we passed Epic Ship, a trawler who we’d spoken with a few times in other anchorages. He called us on the VHF radio as we were anchoring, warning us of the hot evening wind at that particular beach (thanks a lot-already sweating) and of the biting fish. What?! Apparently, he had tried to go swimming in the cove and was inundated with fish trying to bite his toes. He used the word “bite”. Not just nibble, BITE. Now, maybe he MEANT nibble…. but those words mean two completely different things. As kids in Michigan we’d go lake-swimming where little fish like walleye and bass “nibbled” at your toes, no blood drawn. Nibble=tickle. Bite=Yikes.

The problem was, Brian had to go in the water the next morning in order to change our propeller zinc. He scoffed at the warning of the biting fish and I’m like “But he said BITE. Remember the blog I read to you about the biting fish in La Cruz? Could be here too…” Yeah, yeah, yeah. So he jumps in the water and gets to work.

I’m up on deck, watching. After a minute I start noticing fish swimming near the boat. 5 to 10, then 10 to 20 of them… moving in to warily inspect what’s entered their territory and then flee away, as if to say “Hey don’t pay any attention to me, I’m not scoping you out for a snack or anything…just cruising on by…”

I didn’t bring up their appearance to Brian yet hoping he would just get it done before they became emboldened. Smallish sized, about 18” or so, they were fast movers and it didn’t take long for their cautiousness to turn into unabashed greed: “I want me some o’ that foot”.

Fins to the Left - Fins to the Right

They came in for the “kill” and surrounded Brian’s lower half, swarming like locusts. I tried my best (no really, I did!) to stick my own feet in the water as a distraction, swirling my toes around the surface, which worked for a few lazy ones, but since his entire body was RIGHT THERE they just couldn’t focus on anything else but that big chunk of beef. They did not bother to go for fingers or knees or any other body part, thank goodness. These were first and foremost, foot-fetish-fish. Darting in towards his feet and backing away, trying not to get flipper-whacked, they were fortunately stymied by his long dive fins and unable to get a chunk. Whew. We happily cannot confirm if they are nibblers or biters.

It helped that Brian was moving about and thrashing his feet a lot as he worked: gasping for air, holding his breath and sinking back down under water to fiddle with removing 3 old screws and reinserting 3 new ones into the tiny holes of the new zinc. The process is complicated further by having to grasp the small allen wrench and 1” screw into slippery hands, hoping he doesn’t donate our precious replacement parts to Neptune, all the while contorting his body and flapping his flippers to maintain some semblance of buoyancy to do the job without hitting his head on the hull on the way up for air for the 10th time. It’s a tedious, exhausting job. And I’m glad he does it.

June 3 Playa Santispac

“You better know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run…”
Morning weather report: Overnight Hurricane Blanca became a Category 4 off of Manzanillo, and was headed just off the coast near Cabo San Lucas where it would downgrade into a Cat 1 in a couple days and glide up the western Baja Peninsula. What does this mean for us?

Well, it was definitely not a good idea to be anywhere near Cabo, and even La Paz could see hurricane-force winds. Bahia Concepcion is located much farther north, about half-way up on the eastern side of the peninsula. The hurricane is projected to dissipate near Magdalena Bay on the western shore of the peninsula - opposite of where we are now. While there are a lot of mountains in the way, that doesn’t mean we would not get high winds or some sort of severe weather up that far if we stayed.

Our biggest issue was if the hurricane decided to veer to the right instead of the left and we’d be directly in the path if it funneled up the sea. Hurricanes don’t consult NOAA and can be pretty unpredictable. Odile did just that last year and caught lots of folks by surprise. Even if it didn’t, severe swell marching up the sea from the heavy Cat 4 water circulation could make crossing over to San Carlos (our emergency exit plan) at the least, uncomfortable and worst case, dangerous.

Backed into a Corner
As of Wed. morning, June 3rd, the storm was predicted to be off Cabo by Saturday. If we wanted to cross, today was the best day as the next two days would get windier and the swell and wind waves worse. If we chose to stay another day or two to “wait and see”, we may get really uncomfortable weather trying to cross. And if it really was going to hit off the coast near Cabo on Saturday we wanted to be farther away. 

Had the crossing winds to San Carlos been forecasted to be light, we would have stayed another day to see how it played out.  However, today was the best window we could expect.  So, at 9:30am, after a good breakfast and looking at our options, we felt we had just one. Without even stepping foot in Bahia Concepcion, we jumped. Right then we headed straight for San Carlos, an 80 mile, 22 hr, over-night hike northeast and across the sea, well away from the potential of severe weather (we hoped).

Missed Opportunities
The original plan was to spend 2 months messing around the Sea. We were chased through Isla Coronado way early by Andres and the potential of Blanca to be a major player. We again spent only a couple of days in San Juanico instead of a week, knowing Blanca was milling about closer to land and stronger than typical. We completely skipped Pulpito and Chivato knowing Blanca was headed north toward Cabo, yet hoping we might be able to eke out a few days in Concepcion Bay. Now, as soon as we get to the ONE bay that we really had anticipated spending quality time in, we have to act on our emergency plan, essentially skipping an entire month of cruising.  

Healthy Fear of Hurricanes
The one good thing about our fears is that we left way earlier than we wanted after listening to each weather report and by the time we got to our current position were safely prepared to jump. These are not irrational fears like ‘all powerboaters drag’. We had heard first-hand from boaters involved in hurricane Odile last year: stories of lives lost, severe boat damage or total loss, and never underestimate emotional damage due to the terror of the situation.

We talked to one guy who got knocked down 5 times in one night… 5 times. A ‘knock-down’ is when your boat is knocked over 90 degrees by the wind and your mast slams down into the water.  Imagine being tossed like a ragdoll around a boat that has been turned sideways 90 degrees or more within a split second. Cabinets open spilling contents, jars breaking, a heavy bag or even a single wayward screwdriver can become a missile… anything not tied down tumbles around inside the boat like a clothes dryer. Internal tanks split and leak water and diesel and propane; saltwater is everywhere inside. Even if you had time to hold onto something and brace for impact, you risk major injury.  Barring a knock-down, don’t forget the very high possibility of your anchor dragging or just breaking loose and the boat being swept to shore.  After hearing that and other stories, we have a healthy respect for hurricanes and don’t want to be anywhere near one.  

While San Carlos is not completely safe from hurricanes, it has historically been a pretty safe place to hole up.  Being in a slip is much safer than being out at anchor and you have the option to abandon the boat and walk to land in seconds if it got really bad.  

Record-breaking hurricanes
The accurate tracking of hurricanes began in 1971. And it seems as though Blanca is turning out to be quite the witch, already the fourth strongest Northeast Pacific hurricane for so early in the year since recording began. Everybody said June would be a wonderfully benign time to cruise the Sea of Cortez…and then we get record-breaking storms. According to Weather Underground, only six Northeast Pacific major hurricanes have occurred prior to June 5 since 1971, and two of them were this year.  Go figure. The good news is those storms have not affected us, and fortunately did very little damage elsewhere.

One thing we have figured out: plans change. We like planning; we're plan fans. But just because we like our plan, doesn't mean we get to keep it, no matter who tells you otherwise. And we also have to be willing to listen to our survival instincts and change them… fast.

There is an oft-quoted saying that “cruiser’s plans are written in the sand at low tide.”  The point being that the instant plans are made, 12 hours later, things can change.  Other than the broadest of plans, so far NONE have held up.  I never liked that saying anyway… so cliché. Ours are written in quicksand at high tide. How do you even DO that??? Exactly…