Every cruiser has one…that interminable inventory of things to purchase (or make) when we get back to the States.

Why d’ya think we don’t just fly back to our boat in Mexico? Seems like driving our truck all the way from Atlanta to Tucson and back down to San Carlos, taking well over a week to do so, wouldn’t be worth it. Well, aside from the awesome convenience of a car during hauling out and launching periods…

It’s because of… THE LIST.

We need to get all that crap back somehow!

Another year, another LIST.
THE LIST begins the moment we arrive back in Mexico. It develops gradually as we travel… as stuff breaks and we need a new widget, or as we run low on this cleaner or that goop.
Nearing the end of the season, THE LIST balloons as we consider what we really want to repair, improve upon or outright replace next year… incurring mood swings as it ages.

• By the time we leave Indigo, THE LIST has grown into a spoiled child who keeps whining for more and more stuff. Think Cartman. “But Moooom.” Alright dear. You can have whatever you wish.”
• Once we’re IN the States, amongst every big box store imaginable, THE LIST turns into an almost-broke-but-who-cares millennial, “Oooh preettty, I totally NEED that pair of high heels”. Wait, high heels for the boat? It’s not on THE LIST. You’re joking right? Preeetttyyy. $$$ Ching, ching. Picture a penniless Kardashian.
• As the summer winds down, in preparation to leave, THE LIST evolves into an efficient, middle-aged, middle-manager. Every day, another order... 2 days later, another box. Check! Next item!
• In the last week, after 98% has been purchased, THE LIST devolves into a bloated, badgering wife…like Gloria on Modern Family (minus the bloat, keep the shrill accent)…  “But Jay, you already haaave 5 flashlights on the boat! Are you kiiiidding me?”
• In the end, THE LIST becomes Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino… a weathered 80-yr-old… economical, practical…and ornery. He requests things like paper towels because “Mexico cannot make a decent paper product if it bit them in the @#$.” And “For God sakes, how on earth can I never find chocolate chips, anywhere!”  Hey, it’s THE LIST talking, not me.

Reasons for adding items to THE LIST varies widely:

• Sometimes, we cannot find certain things in Mexico that are the right shape to fit a space (like trying to find a certain-sized jerry can (holds 5 gal. of diesel) to fit under our cockpit seat).
• Or when we do find it, especially boat maintenance stuff, the price is outrageous due to high import costs (special cleaners, paint, glue, lines… I can go on and on).
• Or maybe they sell it in Mexico, but they don’t sell the brand I want (certain powdered drink mixes like Gatorade and Propel or iced tea without sugar! Or lemon!).
• Or maybe it’s a highly technical part that we’d just rather have manufactured in the States to make sure we can communicate the particulars properly. Like our new, 3ft propeller shaft we had made in Michigan, a piece that must be made of specific stainless grade with zero tolerance for measurement error. Plus, we wanted it done before we got to the boat so we could install it right away. A timing thing.
• Or maybe we could get it done easily in Mexico, but we didn’t feel like (a) researching companies (usually word of mouth) or (b) waiting for them to get around to it once we finally got a quote. When we arrive at the boat in November, we are trying like mad to splash & beat feet out of there; conversely, we had mucho time to wait during the summer. So we loaded our 2, 7ft long sea berth cushions in the truck bed and had the 20-yr-old, crushed and uncomfortable foam switched out for new in Atlanta while working on the van.
• Or because it just may not exist, period. I searched all over La Paz looking for standard, rubber-backed floor rugs after the backing on mine crumbled in the extreme heat, finding squat. Hmmm, probably because the backing crumbles after a couple years in the extreme heat, ya think? OK, fine. But on a pitching boat, our rugs CANNOT slip-n-slide. And we need a couple rugs on our slick teak floor to keep US from slipping & sliding.

This last bullet point is key. While Mexico’s version of Walmart and Home Depot are great options for most everyday items, they OFTEN do NOT have what we want. Black zipties? Nope. Rug aisle? Forget it. Denatured alcohol (for our alcohol stove)? Always in Home Depot USA… never in Mexico. To be fair, without those big box stores, we’d be traipsing around each city five hundred times more than we already do, searching every mom & pop store for XY&Z. And while yes, those giants unfortunately contribute to the downfall of mom & pop stores everywhere… when you don’t have a car to do said traipsing, traipsing sucks.

Why don’t you Amazon?
Yes, Amazon is increasing its distribution in Mexico. But unlike in the US, most natives are wary of online purchases due to credit card and mail fraud…with very good reason. But if Amazon can make import purchases with guaranteed delivery & hassle free (declaring and paying customs fees online without having to trek to an airport to pick it up, praying it actually arrived, paying more “fees”, bribing an official to “find” it, or any other number of horror stories), sign me up.

Problem is… I have not heard nice enough things about UPS/DHL/FedEx Mexico to take the risk of our direct purchases getting “disappeared”.  Most cruisers we know use a local marine supply store to order their parts 3rd party… expensive & takes longer, but they handle the hassles. Until I hear more first-hand success stories on Amazon, I refuse to let my money be the guinea pig. Except for maybe the last season of Game of Thrones.

There Can Be Only One… OK… Two.
Actually, we have TWO LISTS. MY list, that I type into my iPad so I NEVER lose it, consists of VITAL matters like which season of Parks & Rec we need to acquire. BRIAN’s list (THE LIST) is written on a piece of paper (how old school) and consists of IMPORTANT STUFF to keep the boat maintained properly. He likes to scribble schematics on the back, so I get it, but that physical piece of paper always ends up MY responsibility somehow. Why is that?

SO, the worst thing that can happen…is LOSING THE LIST.
Holy hell.

Where’s the list? I thought you had it? I don’t have it. How come you don’t have it?

THE LIST’s proper place is in my computer case. It’s not there. I search all through the thing to no avail, only to find it in a pocket I already checked. Another time, after frantically searching, THE LIST was in my purse (we had taken it into Home Depot). Another time, THE LIST was laying in the truck’s console cupholder. When the door opened, THE LIST blows right out the door! Dear God, NOOOOO! We caught it, headed for the next town, and put it back in its proper place. But not after lots of finger-pointing.

Sometimes, I think THE LIST is trying to run away from his nit-picking, over-burdening parents. Have we given him too much responsibility? Weighing him down with our boat problems…piling on more and more until he can no longer breathe?

You think… maybe… you could take a picture of THE LIST with your phone? Just in case he disappears again?
​
Yeah. Good idea.

Now...where am I going to put all this stuff??

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! 

I just finished a new “Pics” link on www.cruisingindigo.com…one gigantic scrolly-page full of my favorite Baja Mexico photos.

I have taken, literally, thousands and thousands of pictures in the last 3 years. Many of these I’ve included in my blogs. Now, rather than wading through countless blog posts, you can witness the desert grandeur of Baja all in one convenient browsing location.

This “Best Of” montage is categorized by islands and anchorages grouped in proximity, as well as various cities we have visited. Since I am obsessed with shell and fish photos, I included separate galleries for each, as well as one for just sailing shots.

By no means is this comprehensive of our experience. While these images omit the portrayal of the necessary work it took to get here and maintenance work while we are here, they instead showcase the reward for doing so. Maybe you’ll understand just why we haven’t left yet! Maybe… it’ll make you want to fly or sail down here and see for yourself! 
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Here are a few examples...

Wing-on-winging-it
This trip, with its consistent 10-15 knots of wind, has been our chance to improve our downwind sailing skills. Rarely do we get the precise wind angle for our direction to go wing-on-wing, but we’ve done it four days on this trip and for several hours each time. A brief definition of wing-on-wing (W.O.W.) is: flying the mainsail on one side of the boat and the jib on the other with the wind directly behind us, essentially pushing us forward.  

Yesterday, we flew downstream from San Marte to Timbabiche wing-on wing, but I refused to let Brian put up the pole to keep the jib furled out. It was already far too windy and wavy for Brian to be crawling around on a convulsing, pitching deck unnecessarily. Without the pole though, it was very difficult to keep Indigo in check and stay at the necessary precise angle to the wind. Any little distraction in steering can result in a flapping and flailing jib. Let’s just say it was no leisurely Sunday drive.

WOW Event
So today, we hauled the pole up early, before it got too windy and the seas too gnarly. All the stars aligned for a superior WOW event: wave direction, wind direction and our direction to the next anchorage. It was a glorious thing.

For hours we enjoyed near perfect downwind conditions into the head of the San Jose Channel. As the wind had died the previous night, we started out with minimal waves and 5 knots of wind. And as the morning progressed, the wind slowly built to 15-17 knots but the slow uptick kept wave heights to middling. So the ride was just beautiful, like coasting a sled downhill. Unlike the previous day when Indigo was getting bullied about by the large waves (and me getting bandied about trying to steer her)… today she was expertly schussing down those seas like they weren’t even there.

The Pole is The Key when WOWing
Without the pole, the jib is constantly on the verge of collapsing because it wants to flip to the other side to align with the mainsail (my wandering steering doesn’t help). With the pole, the jib is held out in position whether it wants to be or not. Even though it requires some setup time, pole deployment balances the boat and thwarts the jib’s flip-flop tendency. This accomplished, I could darn near sail without paying attention. My true wind angle could vary anywhere from 180-140 degrees, as opposed to having to vigorously maintain 170 dead on without the pole. I could even venture over 10 degrees into the other side for a bit without gybing (don’t ask how I know this). Ah, but this is gibberish to you non-sailors. Basically, I could wander off unintentionally (my specialty) without dire consequences. What dire consequences? An accidental gybe.

What is a Gybe?
In sailing, there are essentially two types of turns, a tack and a gybe. You tack when your boat is driving into the wind; you perform a gybe when your boat is facing away from the wind. Tacking is way easier than gybing. Gybing can incur anxiety in even the most seasoned sailors - if not done right, disaster can ensue. There are three types of gybes: a ‘controlled gybe’, an ‘uncontrolled gybe’ and what I call a ‘semi-controlled gybe’.

Controlled Gybe
A purposeful turn, the sailor conscientiously controls the boom angle all the way through the turn. So there we are… picture the boom (that big, swinging stick perpendicular to the mast) hanging out over the water with its sail full. As the driver (me) carefully turns the boat towards the opposite wind angle, the mate (Brian) hauls the boom in (reeling it in with rope) until it hits almost amidships (aligning with the length of the boat). At this brief moment in time the wind angle is at exactly 180 degrees on our stern. If it’s calm, the mainsail flutters and the boom does a little waggle, deciding which way it wants to sail, and we can actually manhandle it over to the other side to reduce any load. But, if it’s windy out, forget it. We’d better be quick. As the boom crosses that 180 degree angle, the sail shakes loudly and the boom slams (hopefully just a little) to the opposite side as the wind suddenly poofs the sail. As the boat heels over, I quickly turn her even further and Brian lets the line out so the boom extends over the opposite side. That’s what happens when you do it right. It doesn’t always go so well.

Uncontrolled Gybe
An uncontrolled gybe occurs when the boom slams unchecked to the opposite side of the boat. This can result from a sudden switch in wind direction or a pushy wave. But most likely, someone (me) accidentally turned too far downwind and backwinded the sail before we are ready for a controlled gybe. Imagine that big, heavy boom swinging unrestrained from one side of the boat to the other, a pendulum swing of potentially 90 degrees or more (15 feet rather than 1 or 2 inches).

It can happen in the blink of an eye, but it feels like a slow-mo movie scene where the actor is just watching, wide-eyed and powerless to help. Noooooo! Before you know it, the boom has soundlessly whipped over your head and crashed to the other side with an earsplitting, lightning-bolt “SNAP”. A deep shudder reverberates up the attached mast, throughout the ship and deep into your gut (you are, after all, one with the boat). A palpable sensation, it’s enough to cause some pronounced bowel-shifting. Depending on your speed and how far and fast the pendulum has swung, enough momentum is in play here to break that boom-to-mast joint or snap the boom in half. High wind and wave conditions make that force even greater. If your body or head is in the way… good luck. We have never experienced a really bad gybe, but we have bungled a few over the years in light winds… and while we haven’t damaged anything, we still abhor gybing simply because we can’t help but anticipate potential catastrophe!

Semi-Controlled Gybe
This is pretty much the combo meal deal where I asked for 10 chicken nuggets but I only got 7 and complaining to the manager is pointless because, well, YOU are the manager. In turning across that 180-degree space, the driver turns too quickly and the mate can’t tighten up the boom all the way in time before it schwacks across at a 10-20 degree arc. Or…turn too slowly and a following wave can broadside the boat as the mate is in the process of bringing in the line, causing the boat to roll and gybe. Still a mighty crunch, but not AS BAD as it could have been had the mate not gotten that boom part-way tightened. Seven out of ten nuggets isn’t what I set out for, but at least I got some. Effectively a controlled gybe part of the way, uncontrolled the rest. Brian would still call this an uncontrolled gybe, partially tightened or not, but I prefer to note the difference. A 20-degree pendulum swing is a thousand times better than a 90-degree free swing. But either way… No Bueno. So what can you do?

The Preventer
Sounds like a super hero, eh? “THE PREVENTER – preventing accidental gybes worldwide. Wherever there be sloppy sailors, careless cruisers or ridiculous racers, THE PREVENTER precludes improper pointing.” While most boat parts are awarded some incongruous label, a preventer does exactly what it says. It prevents an uncontrolled gybe, reigning in that boom from flying about, willy nilly. A preventer is simply a line attached from the end or the middle of the boom to the deck, usually encompassing a ratcheting device which can be tightened as needed.

While we employ a preventer to stop full-on uncontrolled gybes, an inadvertent gybe will still cause the mainsail to become backwinded. Wind suddenly filling the sail from the opposing direction can cause excessive load. Depending on a lot of factors, your boom will prooobably stay in place; but this sudden load has caused preventer lines to snap (bad) thus resulting in an uncontrolled gybe anyway. Also, in heavy seas the rolling motion of a wave can cause a quick loosening in the preventer line and then a sickening ‘snap’ as the preventer whips the boom back into place. Despite its shortcomings, we usually sail with a preventer when sailing downwind and always when sailing wing-on wing.

Ok, enough sailing terminology …back to our lovely WOW Event…

The San Jose Channel
The San Jose Channel is notorious for its squirrely nature. It can be as fickle as a 2-yr-old… serene one minute, wailing the next. This 3 to 5 mile-wide slice of water runs between the Sierra Gigantas mountain range on the Baja peninsula and the 16-mile-long mountainous island of San Jose. Swooping tidal current can accelerate already high winds and seas. Previous experience with the Channel has ranged from benign flat water to mildly energetic. But we’d witnessed its howling rage from safe anchorage and were thankful we weren’t out there. Today, we miscalculated.

Let’s Keep Going!…Bad Idea
We had left at dawn, so about noon we’d gone almost 25 miles and were nearing San Evaristo, our original destination. But we’re feeling good, it’s early and Isla San Francisco is only another 12 miles away, we argued. Sailing a brisk 5-6 knots, Indigo rode at a perfect, comfortable angle to the slowly increasing waves… which we noticed… but ignored since our ship was effortlessly balanced. A little lulled into the lure of our perfect WOW sail continuing “as is”, we kept going. Those darn sea sirens must have been singing. Between that irreversible decision (@ noon) and our landing at Isla San Francisco (@ 2:30), the wind gods became angry….probably hangry, they didn’t have lunch yet I assume. Maybe next time I should throw some Cheez Whiz into the sea to calm them down.

Max Hull Speed
Passing San Evaristo, the wind quickly ticked upward from a manageable 15-17 knots… to 22 knots. Indigo was hauling butt at 7-7.5 knots, which by the way is hull speed, the theoretical maximum speed at which our particular boat is designed to go! Whitecaps snarled and hissed intermittently at our rear but there was no turning back. It would have actually been supercalifragilistically uncomfortable to do so, to bash into that mess. It was so windy, sailing wing-on-wing was no longer an option – too risky as the boat became unbalanced. Brian furled in the jib and went up on the lurching bow to take down the pole, no easy task in these now 5ft/4second seas. Sans jib, we were still racing down the channel at 6 knots under full mainsail alone.

27 Knots!
We try very hard not to sail in 27 knots; we just don’t go out when it’s forecasted over 20. But sometimes it sneaks up on you...like right now. I should have just turned off the wind indicator when I consistently started seeing 25-27 knots! Waves now broke behind us in a continuous hissy-fit, threatening to eat us for lunch. I gritted my teeth and opted not to look backward. Hand-steering down those short waves I felt like an Indy car driver – to focus so fully on not crashing is exhausting! Every 4 seconds our rear end lifted, our bow pointed at a daunting downward angle and Indigo was thrust forward like a plaything until it fell into the next trough. The boat handled it fine but at some point we were going to have to make a left turn into the anchorage and go beam-on to these frothing whitecaps. The stern waves were our friend now, helping to push us towards our goal, but as soon as we turned even a little they’d become the enemy.

Sailing Under Reefed Main Only
At 2pm, Brian put a reef in the mainsail and we continued to fly towards the island in 27 knots of wind but at a more controllable pace of 5 knots. We managed to (purposefully) get as close as physically possible to the island, skimming its west side a mere several hundred feet off shore. We are thankful for our accurate chartplotter and The Sea of Cortez Cruiser’s Guide; we had skimmed the island once before in calm waters and were thus confidant as to depths and rock obstructions so close to its edge. Once we made the pronounced left turn into the anchorage, this proximity reduced our time sailing beam-on to the breaking waves to mere minutes. Our skim-the-shore-wave-avoidance plan worked. Whew! We were in. That 8-hr WOW Event turned into quite a bit more WOW than expected, but we made it!

Lounge Lizards
We set the hook and promptly lazed like lounge lizards in the cockpit, resting our travel weary bones. We didn’t move from that heavenly spot for 3 days. I LOVE Isla San Francisco!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Uncouth Charterboaters
OK, you yacht charterer guys. Just so you know… when you pee off the boat in the middle of the day, count on EVERYBODY seeing it.

So a charter catamaran anchors next to us with a couple families on board. We saw two different adult males pee off the boat no less than four times. During the day. In broad daylight. From the swim step. AND off the bow into the wind – Hey genius, never pee into the wind!  I seem to recall some song lyrics about that. It’s not like we were intently watching them. We’d just happen to be looking out from the cockpit to see what the commotion is about or up on deck showering after a snorkel… and whammo, our eyes are inundated with the uncouth sight. Acckkk! Seriously? And if you think we were the ONLY ones who saw your tactless little display? Think again. In kayaking over to our trawler boat neighbor, the subject happened to come up. “Yeah! We SAW that too! What an idiot, peeing off the bow into the wind. And like no one could see him…” So, if you think no one is watching? Think again. And guess what language said charterers were speaking? French. Yah.

Isla Coronados south anchorage is one of our favorites. Boasting crystal clear turquoise water, 15-20ft deep above perfect white sand, its nightly sunset spectacle is reason enough to stay another day. It provides good protection from north winds and decent blockage from occasional southern swell due to large Isla Carmen 10 miles to the south. At over a mile wide, it could probably fit an aircraft carrier. So anchoring is never a problem. During our four-day stint, we enjoyed the company of only 1-3 other anchored boats at any given time. Ahhh. Time to lay down the hook and relax.

What do we do for 4 days?
Well, each morning we listen to the weather radio net at 7:30am. We then eat breakfast and contemplate if we should stay or continue on to another anchorage. Eh…it’s nice here. Let’s stay another day. So we relax and read books and type blogs. On any given day we might kayak, or snorkel, or swim, or go to shore to look for shells (OK I look for shells, Brian just tags along). Throw in time for making lunch and dinner. And, as long as it has been sunny all day and our batteries are charged sufficiently, we can watch one TV show at night. Tonight’s showing? The Shield.

Cellular Servicio
Coronados also provides excellent cell phone service! The first we’ve had in several days…so we take advantage and notify our families we are still alive. Isla Coronados is a mere 6 miles east of Loreto and in direct view of a cell phone tower. My T-Mobile cell phone coverage is better on a deserted, desert island, mid-Mexico than pretty much everywhere mid-Michigan. Figures.

No Volcano Hike
I have always wanted to go up to the top of the volcano that is Isla Coronados. But, apparently it’s a fairly strenuous 4-hour hike under the best circumstances. After our botched Punta Pulpito summit, I thought it best NOT to insist we go on yet another Death March. Me: Too soon? Brian: Yah. The following day we talked to our boat neighbor who just tackled the volcano and confirmed the 4-hr time length; they ALSO encountered a rattlesnake on the trail. Hmmm. Maybe I don’t want to go up that volcano anyway…how about we just do some easy inland hiking?

No Hiking, Period
A well-defined trail, sand paths lined with volcanic rocks, stretch along the south spit leading over to the opposite north beach. Our kayak landing showed no sign of a trail link nearby; we hadn’t dinghied far enough west to find the connection. Strike one. So Brian scrambled up the short but steep embankment to search out a trail, but he quickly came back down. The area was strewn with tough scrub and spider webs. Strike two. AND he saw a spider so big even HE didn’t want to remain up there poking around. Those who know me know my planned hike was immediately and irrevocably cancelled!! Strike three! I’m OUT.

Reef Fish
Snorkeling the southeastern island point proved a nice day’s diversion. We found an easily negotiated kayak landing (now very important). And while we’ve never experienced any bothersome current from tide in the anchorage itself, it comes into play here at the point where all the water rushes along the east side of the island. So we stayed well west of the actual point and floated along nice and easy. Oh, and the water was an absolute perfect 80 degrees. Just to rub it in a little more to those of you living in snow right about now. :)

While the fish were often very small, we witnessed a good variety. After having decent internet connection, I was finally able to identify and sear into my brain many of the colorful and common reef fish we see so often: Yellow Surgeonfish, King Angelfish, Triggerfish, Panamic Sargent Major, Grey Bar Grunt, Cortez Damselfish, Cortez Rainbow Wrasse, Reef Cornetfish, Balloonfish, Pufferfish. And these are just the tip of the iceberg. It is hard to believe that over 900 species of fish ply the warm waters of the Sea of Cortez, the vast majority of which we will never see due to our inshore snorkeling constraints. And that’s fine by me. I have no desire to swim with those Hammerheads or Orcas in person… I’ll stick to my cute and harmless little reef fishies! ​

It’s the final day of prep for our 3rd season in the Sea of Cortez. Last step? Put the truck in a gated storage lot. Now, we’re all set to get out of dodge. But, without that easily-taken-for-granted means of transportation, our mindset is still consumed with its necessity.

The day before leaving, sans truck: “You wanna go to Hammerheads for iced tea?” “But, we’d have to waaaalk… it’s sooo far… and it’s sooo hooooooot”. “But they’ve got air conditioning.” “But I’d still have to walk in the heat to get AT the air conditioning.” It’s amazing how quickly not having a car affects your basic decision-making process on everything. We went… for you dear reader… just so I could upload that bottom-paint blog.

So, are we ready?
There are 4 areas of preparation we are constantly contemplating before any overnight crossing.

1. Is the boat ready? Have we done everything we can to make sure she is safe? Namely, engine maintenance: change oil, change impeller, check or change coolant, run engine at the dock, make sure she sounds OK and looks OK. Check for leaks. Check that solar panels, fridge, navionics and radios work, etc.
2. Is the weather ready? We read various weather documents and look for a window of 48 hours with less than 10-12knots. We prefer a mixture of minimal wind and some wind, so the seas don’t have a chance to build over time. (Preferably NO wind for me equaling flat seas, but Brian wants to actually SAIL this time…pooey.) Why 48 hours when we’ll only be doing a 24 hour trip?  In case we get stuck out there and have to fix something, we don’t need the added pressure to get to safe harbor with high winds bearing down the following day.
3. Are the pre-passage peripherals ready? Do we have all the food we need? Water tanks filled? Extra bottled water in case of emergency? Fuel jugs filled? Is everything on the boat in its proper place for sailing: jacklines out (lines run on deck that we clip to at night so we don’t fall off accidentally), lifejackets ready, pre-prepped cold salad for dinner (so I don’t have to use the stove), fridge arranged to quickly access needed items in case of high seas, route charted on chartplotter, put up leecloths (to keep us from falling on the floor when heeled over & sleeping), cool weather gear and blankets out (so we don’t have to go digging in the middle of the night for a jacket)? Kayak folded and stowed below? Dinghy tied down on top? Are we checked out of the marina? Is the blog uploaded ? J
4. Are WE ready? Mentally and physically? Does either of us feel sick or run down? If so, we don’t go. Prepping to leave on a big journey, especially one of several days at sea like the Baja Ha Ha Event, is highly stressful. It can cause frayed nerves and bickering in even the most adoring lovebirds. This is normal. There are a thousand things to do to prepare and a million things you can worry about; everyone is stressed.

But this time, miraculously, we are not stressed. Partly because we took our time getting the boat ready and we aren’t rushing around like crazy idiots trying to finish chores; partly because it’s our 15th night at sea so our comfort level is much higher - one overnight is now not such a big deal; and partly because we are just ready to get off the dock. While we don’t necessarily enjoy all of the aspects of night sailing, it’s a necessity to get to the good stuff. Like enduring LA traffic to get to Disneyland. Or the ½ hour wait for an In-and-Out burger.

The boat was prepared, and more importantly, we were prepared, mentally, for an overnight crossing. We felt great, we were super excited to be heading back out into the Sea once more. We were rarin’ to go.

Indigo had other ideas…
Bound for Punta Pulpito, 95 miles across the Sea of Cortez, we let loose the lines and quitted our cozy crib at Marina San Carlos at 9am, Oct. 30th.

At 9:15, we are in the San Carlos inner bay. While I steer us out of the bay, Brian checks the engine, as he always does, to be sure it is running fine after it warms up so we can push it to full throttle. He checks for excessive heat on the prop shaft with an infrared thermometer, as he has just tightened the leaky packing gland a few days ago. Then he checks the bilge, as we always do, to make sure we aren’t sinking. Except we ARE.

Abnormal Bilge Water
There is about 2 inches of water in the bilge. What? This NEVER happens. While some boats seem to have a propensity for constant water in the bilge, Indigo has ALWAYS been darn-near bone-dry in the slip; and we accumulate merely a thin coating of water if we’ve sailed all day. 2” of water in the bilge after only 15 minutes of motoring is a striking anomaly. It’s not the shaft packing gland, Brian fixed that the week prior and it is putting out only a minimal (and normal) drop or two. Maybe it’s that through-hull connector he had tightened and sealed, but no, it was fine too. This was a NEW leak…a slowish leak, but more than we’re comfortable with. Frickin’ boats and their holes.

So we motor into the outer bay, away from all the fishing boat and panga traffic, to shut down the engine and assess. Luckily, there is no wind and the seas are not rambunctious.

Rudder Post Packing Gland Leak
At 9:45am, with our motor still burning hot, Brian cramps himself down inside the engine room for a look-see, trying not to scald himself on the engine elbow. This NEW leak was coming from the packing gland where the rudder post attaches up into the boat. To be crass, if Indigo had a rear-end, this would be it; and her rear-end was leaking. Brian thinks the post ultimately needs new packing material (which we do not have and could not switch out at sea anyway). He could try and tighten the bolts as a temporary fix but access is nearly impossible and may not help. We contemplate.

Return or Go?
Should we return to the dock? While San Carlos is usually devoid of special boat parts, at least we will have the truck to go to the states and pick something up. On the other hand, we know we can get the stuffing we need in La Paz. But, if we keep going the way it is, will the bilge pump be able to keep up? Will it get worse? We have a very heavy duty manual pump that can suck out 1 gallon in a single pump, but we don’t want to use THAT if we don’t have to.

Mr. Fix-It
Before we make any decision, Brian tries to fix it himself, or at least minimize the water flow by tightening 3 bolts at the steering column. Well, no big deal, right? Just tighten 3 wittle bolty woltys. Easy, peasy, summer breezy! Nope. The problem lies in WHERE those 3 bolts are located. Time for some Engine Room Hot Yoga! “Hot Yoga” is actually a thing if you haven’t heard of it…yoga class purposefully done in a superheated room (up to 105 degrees), to induce maximum sweat equity and flexibility. No need to pay that instructor, I got your hot yoga right here.

New Yoga Position: Crouching Dragon.
Because he is trying to reach the verrrry far, far back of the boat, under the steering column, where no normal human should ever be forced to go…he must contort himself into an entirely new yoga position. I call it the Crouching Dragon because he looks like a dragon squatting at an angle, ready for take off… and because he is so hot he is practically breathing fire.

You Too Can Do the Crouching Dragon
Stand in engine room (about 1-1/2ft square), bend over to hangman placing your arms inside, slight crouch ‘til your butt hits the engine…dip your head down like you’re going under the bridge (under the hatch). Keep your back arched and your butt in the air because there’s just no room for it yet and it can’t touch the hot engine. Then, feet remaining still, crawl up on elbows at an angle into the bowels of the tiny space and slowly lower your butt into a 45degree-angled, fetal position crouch (except you're standing on tippy toes). With your head scraping the fiberglass above, booty abutting a hot engine, arms wedged in a triangle… desperately reach for those bolts in the vanishing V-space of Indigo’s rear. That’s it. Now hold. Keep holding...
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Do this in a stifling space the size of a mid-size moving box…with a scalding, hot engine….in humid, 94 degree weather… in a rocking and rolling boat. 

Good Thing He’s Not Claustrophobic
Once he was in there, he wasn’t getting out until he was finished. He could barely move. There have been cases of people getting stuck in their boats – arms, legs or spines not bending the right way to get back out. Talk about claustrophobia-inducing. If he wasn’t thinking this at the moment, I was.

Wake!
Knee-deep in his jail cell, I noticed a jerk powerboat zooming towards us, purposefully too close. (Why do powerboaters LOVE tormenting sailboats with wake-inducing drive-by's?) So I steered perpendicular to his inevitable wake to omit side-to-side motion. Because Brian could see nothing, I grabbed him by the back of his shorts and told him to hold on (so he didn’t lose his grip and fall against fragile or hot engine parts). Insert smattering of expletives here. In this tiny space, with the boat pitching for a half a minute…how he didn’t puke, I’ll never know.

Hotbox
I was mildly nervous, trying to be super-fast at finding tools. Not because we were sinking…it was a slowish leak… but because Brian was sweating like a banshee (if banshees sweated) and looked like he was about to pass out any second. At one point, he thought there was another leak – no, it’s just massive amounts of sweat pouring on top of engine parts from his poor, battered body sweltering in this triangle torture chamber… like those hotboxes used in the Vietnam war.

Can't Get a Grip
He couldn’t get a good angle or grip on the packing gland bolts, trying a variety of wrenches, sockets, and vice-clamps…sweaty hands and limited to zero mobility and visibility didn’t help. It took forever to adjust. Forever in a hotbox seems like an eternity. Funny thing was, there wasn’t much swearing involved on this project, other than the powerboat wake incident. He was too focused on getting the job done and getting the hell out of there to become irate. After 45 minutes in this horrible position, he tightened those bolts as much as was humanly possible and wrenched himself unstuck and into the open air where he sucked down a bottle of Gatorade in 2 seconds flat. All this for 3 bolts.

No Record of the Crouching Dragon
I did not take a picture of this awkward position… sometimes there is room for decorum, even by my standards. I mean, after reading this, don’t you feel bad for him? This was a semi-serious situation and I wasn’t going to make light of it by snapping a pic when he’s in the middle of a crucial problem, just for your benefit. Now, that’s not to say I didn’t THINK about it. But… I refrained…for morale’s sake. And I highly doubt I could goad him into performing a reenaction scene just for our curiosity.

The Chuck Norris of Engine Yoga
Today, Brian was to this problem what Chuck Norris is to any bad guy who crosses his path – he punched it right in the face and kept on walking. Bam! Brian stopped the leak and we continued on with our journey. We’ll buy new packing material and redo it in La Paz. Wait, does that mean he has to get up in there again? Shhh. Don’t remind him.

A Benign Crossing
While delayed by a couple hours, the crossing itself went off without a hitch. Although we had no moon, the stars were out in droves so we could discern a faint horizon. We started out with no wind, but by 1pm we had a perfect 9-knots and sailed with minimal effort and no wave action until 10pm. Then the wind picked up to 14-16 knots for a couple hours, but settled itself back down to 8-10 knots until pre-dawn. And while we got some lumpy waves afterwards and a banging boom for a couple hours, we can’t complain. Our bilge water level was back to normal due to Brian’s hotbox fix. And we sailed nearly the entire way, only using 3 engine hours of 24! Guess who was ecstatic!

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!

You gotta love a ½ hour ride to the next anchorage – my kind of day. Round the corner on the far side of Isla Carmen, we pulled into little Bahia Cobre, just 3 miles away. A U-shaped bay with 20ft deep water all around, our view was backed by dramatic, high cliffs rising from the pebble beach. This spot was spectacular. And we had the place all to ourselves…for a little while anyway.  Another sailboat arrived during the afternoon, plus a couple fishermen spent the night in their pangas near shore. This is one off-the-beaten-path anchorage. Since it is about 25 miles from Puerto Escondido in the wrong direction (due east) for most north-south paths, most cruisers don’t venture out this far on a regular basis. But they should…

Best Snorkeling Ever
Just off the east point, lie boulders the size of SUV’s that have tumbled into the sea, providing one of the best snorkeling venues I’ve ever seen. We floated along this rocky outcropping all the way from the beach a ¼ mile to the point and back. Along our trek, dolphins swam into the anchorage; they were busy fishing and paid us no attention but we could hear their breathing from several hundred feet away while we swam. Every now and then, a ray would jump and splat. I’d quickly look up from snorkeling but never caught them in the act from my surface angle. But even rays and dolphins weren’t as interesting as the fish factory down below…

Fish Factory
Entire schools of fish by the hundreds floated along this boulder-strewn reef. Of course, there are your standard yellow & blue stripers and blue spotted pufferfish roaming the shallow spots. But in just a little deeper water, light grey ones (looks like some kind of angelfish) with bright yellow tails were schooling around in large packs! It was so mesmerizing to just float and watch these graceful creatures. Looking closer at these guys you can see they are actually spotted and have 3 distinct white dots near their tail that look to me like pinholes through their bodies.

Rainbow Colors
The most beautiful species were these large, 3ft grouper-like things, brightly painted with every color of the rainbow. Every so often, I found a pair incongruously mingling among the comparably smaller schools of yellow-tailed angelfish, so they must like each other. Preferring to swim closer to the bottom, they were always a bit too far out of reach for good pictures. My camera could not capture their iridescent beauty anyway, even after photo-shopping out some of the greenish underwater tones.

Feisty Fishies
Another feisty type sported a pretty light blue head and dark blue body. Seemingly loners, they did not swim well with others. Each was so territorial he had no issue with swimming fiercely at an entire school of yellow-tails to deter them from getting anywhere near his little hidey-hole. I captured an example of one protecting his rock-abode near the end of my video.

Schooling Silvers
On our way back to the beach I suddenly ran into a swarm of foot-long silver-colored fish. I have no clue to their type, but literally hundreds, maybe even thousands, made their way en-masse along the 20ft deep reef. Sometimes they would lackadaisically float as a group in the same general direction, teeming all over the sea floor like bees. Then, all of a sudden, a switch turned on. Either they got spooked… or maybe the General announced an alarming “Retreat!”… and within a split second, everyone had a single, overriding mindset… bolting out to sea like their life depended on it (probably did!). It looked just like the movie Finding Nemo… a fish super-highway with seemingly no end to the stream! The whole experience was so amazing I went for a repeat, swimming back from the boat by myself a couple hours later just to see it all again. (Plus, I got out of cleaning the boat’s hull.) My fish friends were all still there, in endless supply.

Bighorn Sheep
That afternoon, our new boat neighbor yelled over to us urgently: “Hey guys, look up towards the cliff!” Standing on top of this sheer mountain spine, was a bighorn sheep silhouetted against a bright blue sky. Looking all majestic, it’s as if some documentary director had posed him there for an episode of Planet Earth. So cool!

Spiteful Seagull
After snorkeling, we were sitting down below and heard a tap-tap-tap on the hull of the boat followed by an angry squawk. A seagull had been hanging around us ever since we had arrived, creeping closer and closer, finally hovering in the water only a couple feet away, squawking like he expected a giant feast. Well, eventually he got bold (or stupid) enough to start pecking at our hull! That’s it. We tried to shoo him away to no avail. Yelling didn’t work, neither did shwacking the area near him with an oar…nothing phased him. He’d fly 50ft away for 2 minutes, then come right back. The following morning we awoke to more tapping from our ingrate expecting breakfast. Brian flew out of bed and furiously squawked back at him. Literally… squawked. Time to go.

Paradise to Purgatory
We were leaving early anyway, Mr. Seagull just made it happen sooner. The wind had picked up from the southeast during the night and we’d just about had it dealing with the wrap around swell and rolling side to side. Here is another perfect example of why you just can’t visit every anchorage in one year. Winds are always changing - one day an anchorage might be just dandy, another day it might be hell or… could be both in the same day, you never know. In this case, it degenerated from paradise into, not hell but definitely somewhere near higher purgatory, quite quickly. Even though another day of perfect snorkeling would have been awesome, the uncomfortable boat motion wasn’t worth the stay. Plus, we needed to head to Bahia Salinas to gain protection from an oncoming norther anyway. So we left our seagull friend to pester the remaining boat and hoped he wasn’t dumb enough to follow us!

Los Gatos
This is our second time in Puerto Los Gatos. A 30 mile trek from San Evaristo, it makes for a long day of traveling. So by the time we arrive, no one has the energy to go ashore. I love the red rock geology here so much I made Brian stay a full day this trip so we can explore the center portion of the bay tomorrow.

Fresh Ceviche
That afternoon, a local panga fisherman drives by, asking if we want to buy any fish. Si! I purchase a fresh Cabrillo, he fillets it right there in his boat and places it in my container. I make ceviche: combine diced fish, 1 jalapeno, ½ cucumber, 1 tomato, red onion, juice of 2 limes, salt, pepper, chili powder. I let it “cook” in the juice in the fridge overnight. It’s a great lunch with tortilla chips or crackers.

Cilantro-Deficiency
Ceviche is much better with cilantro, actually everything is better with cilantro… but I don’t have any. Why? Because everything is better with cilantro…and the entire past year I always had cilantro on board… it’s cheap here and I used it in everything…so much so that I made Brian so sick of it he won’t even allow me to buy it anymore! And now he mentally equates fresh parsley with cilantro too, even though they taste completely different. SO, I can no longer have anything remotely leafy and green aboard the boat. Sigh. Soooo sad. There’s only one good thing about my lack of fresh herbs: they took up a ton of room in my teeny fridge. I guess there’s that.

Red Rocks and Snorkeling
The next morning, I made a big breakfast (since we weren’t sailing anywhere) and had a great time exploring all day. We hiked among the gigantic and mysteriously-shaped red rocks lining the waterfront, scampered along the pink sandstone shelf worn smooth away by eons of wind and water, and climbed a unique gully comprised of slippery, sand dune on one side and rocky ravine on the other, meeting together in a V-shape.

Among the waterfront rocks, there’s a perfect, pink sand beach…just right for donning snorkel gear and entering its shallow, sandy water with fins. Snorkeling along the center reef we observed quite a few small fish, but most notably, some beautiful purple sea fans flowing gracefully in the “breeze”.

It’s all Downhill from Here…
Later, we kayaked over to a nearby catamaran to say hello. They were a Swiss couple and had been cruising around the globe for over 15 years. From Europe to the Caribbean, through the Panama Canal to the South Pacific, back up to Alaska and down the California and Mexican coast. When asked which was their favorite place - The Sea of Cortez! Well, I guess everything is downhill from here…

When he mentioned the reason, it struck me as thought-provoking - most everywhere else has trees. In the Sea, there are no trees to hide the geology and he thinks that’s why he likes it here best. It made me ponder… Trees are like clothing, outright hiding the underlying landscape; buildings of course destroy and cover the ground they stand upon; grasses and leaves are akin to makeup, further obscuring any unique geology. Most of Baja has no trees, grass or buildings, nothing to hide its wondrous variations in landscape.

Naked Baja
The stark nakedness of the land here in Baja California is truly awe-inspiring. There is peacefulness in such pure, undisturbed desert. Each anchorage freely supplies a bounty of unique shapes and colors and textures …raw geology. You can still feel the cataclysm of lava spewing and sizzling into the ocean, the massive upheaval of shifting tectonic plates shaping these incredible hundred-mile-long, mile-high mountain ranges, the force of wind on a smoothed-out sandstone slope, the relentless pounding of surf into perfect white sand beaches, the eons it took to petrify a shell fossil, the compression required to embed giant boulders into cement, the roiling action of the sea hollowing out a reef system, the power of ancient glaciers that scraped out rock-strewn valleys and sliced off sheer cliffs and carved out the picturesque bays in which we are now anchored. Because there IS nothing else to distract you. No trees, no buildings, no cars, no freeways, no people, no cell phones, no internet. Just raw geology… in all its un-manicured glory.

Punta Salinas – Abandoned Salt Flats
After our delightful stay at Isla San Francisco, we ventured over to Punta Salinas for a lunch stop at an old salt mining operation. Centered on Isla San Jose, we hoped this new anchor spot was situated far enough away from the dreaded, biting jejenes at this island’s south tip. We strolled along the beach, poked around the decaying buildings and paused for a photo op in front of a rusty, decrepit pickup. I climbed a 10ft high salt pile that had hardened solid, fossilizing into what felt like gripping a heap of sharp ice crystals.

And Today the Weather Dictates…
But the wind was picking up. Here is a great example of how weather dictates everything we do. Anchored on a lee shore with wind driven waves building across the channel towards us, Indigo was bouncing out there a little too much for comfort. Not to mention the notion of a wet and wild ride back to the boat, kayaking directly against the wind and waves. So we unfortunately only spent about an hour on shore and did not venture inland into the miles of checkerboard salt ponds. This salty maze looked like an infinite place to explore and we hope to be back.

Whale Sightings!
On our way across the channel we caught some whale action! As a group made their way south, we saw spouts every few seconds. When you can see the white geysers from 2 miles away… THAT’s big. We’d seen several whale spouts in the last couple days, all in the San Jose Channel area, but were never close enough for good photos. (The only whale shots I’d ever caught were from our Mazatlan to La Paz crossing.) Later on in the week, a small one blew a few hundred yards away as we sailed near Isla Monserrat, but he spouted only once and we never saw it again.

We’d heard stories of countless whale sightings this spring: one had a pair visit their anchorage in the middle of the night, scaring them out of a sound sleep; another accidentally sailed right into the midst of a pod… then again while kayaking, the same couple witnessed several surface only a couple hundred feet away. All instances were way too close for comfort.

Awe and Anxiety
In discussing whales with other cruisers, the general consensus seems to be 1/4 awe & 3/4 anxiety. Seeing dolphins or manta rays is always cool; seeing a whale prompts that same instant “cool!” exuberance, but is quickly tamped down by an underlying sense of “crap”. While you want to see them up close to experience that ‘National Geographic moment’, you really don’t want to see them up close. Period. It’s fine and dandy to go whale-watching… on a tour ship… ‘cause it’s not your house.

Indifferent Cows
Whales are like sleepy-eyed, cud-chewing cows standing on a car-lined road, completely disregarding surrounding anxious drivers. Furiously, yet fruitlessly, the motorist honks his feeble horn, hoping to annoy them enough to reverse their ingrained inertia. Consider your anxiety level increase as a motorist if that cow was now a gigantic bull that had the potential to run full speed right into your slowly moving car like a deer attracted by headlights or maybe even just because he was mad (look at what happened to Captain Ahab)… or maybe said bull decides that your nice, shiny, perfectly-painted BMW looks like THE perfect scratching post (the horror)… maybe even, just because this particular bull species has a propensity for jumping up and down, he accidentally lands on top of your hood, smashing it to smithereens. Bull: “Oops, my bad.”

Whales seem to ignore moving boats; they don’t particularly care if you are in their way. And why should they, we’re probably like cockroaches to them, we’re so small! While relatively rare odds, there are plenty of stories spanning the centuries of these giants scraping alongside ship hulls, nudging boats from underneath, flicking their flukes dangerously close or swimming full bore into vessels… even breaching right on top of them. And unfortunately, a slow sailboat just cannot move fast enough to dodge such a gigantic mass, even if you see them first. Just a small bump could cause a crack and sink a boat. One cruising boat apparently ran into a whale and sunk 30 miles outside of San Carlos just a couple weeks ago! So while it would be great to have cool close-up snapshots, that sunken boat report made us very nervous…we can only hope our whale friends stay far, far away.

San Evaristo
After sailing across the San Jose Channel, we landed at San Evaristo. Our second time anchoring in this small bay with a teeny fishing community, it’s a favorite of ours due to the shelter it provides from wind waves. And because of the fish tacos. Lupe and Maggie Mae’s restaurant/home makes the best fish tacos in all of Baja.

30 Knots
That night, we were blasted with an unpredicted 30 knot westerly. While blustery, this was an onshore wind (fortunately for us) so we had no uncomfortable fetch (no wind waves rolling in offshore to generate bounce). But the lack of fetch didn’t mean we slept well. The noise generated by 30 knots of wind is quite something. Plus, we had a banging halyard that could not be fixed in the dark, and then there’s the remnants of our no-see-um bites that still itched like crazy. Despite these minor issues, we were supremely relieved to have left San Francisco’s exposed west anchorage the day before. We later heard accounts of a really rough and rolly night there in those same 30kts winds; so uncomfortable that some boats vacated in the middle of the night, motoring around to the east side of the island for better protection.

Flakey Flurries
By the time we got up in the morning, the westerly wind had decreased to a nice 12 kts. We rounded the corner of the little bay into the San Jose Channel thinking we would get some good sailing; and we did – for literally one mile. Then it stopped. Dead. 12-knots to zero in an instant. Where’d the wind go? We waited a bit but eventually took down the flapping sails and motored on for another couple miles. Then it came whipping up again (17 knots); soooo, we started sailing again. We then noticed another sailboat just ahead of us rolling his sails up. Huh? But it’s plenty windy to sail!? We snickered a bit and kept sailing. Sure enough…our brisk breeze petered out again a mile later, right where the lead boat had given up. No longer snickering, the lightbulb finally went on...

Looking closer at the mountain terrain, the wind was funneling down through the sheer passes and out the valleys like a bobsled chute. On either side of the two valleys – zero wind. It’s also probable we caught more wind passing those “chutes” so close to shore than if we had angled away towards the center channel. Every day, the Sea teaches us a lesson it seems: in sailing or anchoring, in weather phenomena, in ocean water patterns, in nature’s infinite wonders…but mostly, of nature’s unpredictability!

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…