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! 

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!

Not every day is sunsets and cocktails. Sometimes it’s sunsets and sprains…requiring cocktails.

The Highs and Lows of Cruising
One day we were on top of the world at the peak of Mount Coronado. Two days later, Brian woke up with severe knee pain. He had felt fine during the hike and the day after, albeit sore like the rest of us. But after two days, his knee hurt so badly he couldn’t walk. I know when he’s asking for more than a single ibuprofen, something is wrong.

Sprained Knee?
His tendon, strung drum-tight, refused to relax. Bending his knee was impossible, as was bearing weight. Climbing normal stairs with one rigid leg is not easy. Climbing up and down Indigo’s nearly vertical companionway steps, something we normally do countless times a day, became excruciating. And try scrunching into an elevated and cramped V-Berth with one straight leg. And a straight face.

Beware: Mt. Coronado Causes Weak Knees
We don’t know how it happened; suddenly he woke up and his knee was killing him. NOOO, I didn’t kick him while he was peacefully slumbering. He loves to tell people that. But, it WAS my fault. Remember my last post Conquering Mt. Coronado? That strenuous hike just 2 days prior probably severely weakened his knees, enough so that he tweaked one just so while sleeping. I wanted to climb that stupid Mt. Coronado so bad…and Brian paid for it.

Useless Med Kit
We have pain medicines up the yin yang, heat/cool patches, splints and wraps and bandages galore. Wrapping it only put more pressure on the affected area and made the pain unbearable. Patches didn’t help. I have decent pain meds on board but he refused everything but the low grade stuff. All this med gear and there’s nothing we could do except wait and see. In the end, he kept it cushioned and immobile on a pillow, icing it with frozen water bottles. Talk about low tech healthcare.

7 Days a Boat Prisoner
We were hoping it was just a little sprain, that it would go away in a day or so. But Brian remained a prisoner on the boat for the next several days. In the morning, he’d limp up the stairs and rest outside in the cockpit; at dusk, he’d make the agonizing descent back into the cabin. I think he went through a book a day. Whenever he tired of reading, he alternated between high-tech ipad games or no-tech birdwatching. Fortunately, the weather remained ideal (in the cool 80’s, no hurricanes on the horizon) and we weren’t under any travel deadline pressure.

No Doctors in the Desert
For those seven endless days, we worried… OK, I worried…not knowing how long it would take to heal… or if it would at all. After 20 years of mandatory Marine runs, knee surgery has been a predicted consequence, but one we wished to avoid as long as possible. I hoped this injury didn’t put him over the edge. If it didn’t get any better soon, we would have to go see someone. But we’re anchored in the remote bay of San Juanico, far from civilization. It’s a minimum ½ day sail back to Loreto or a 24hr overnight to San Carlos. We realized just how far away we were from healthcare…any healthcare. It felt like we were on the moon.

50% and Still Trapped
After day 4, his knee felt a little bit better. We managed to motor Indigo up to Bahia Concepcion but we still didn’t leave the boat upon anchoring each afternoon. We didn’t want to risk ruining it again. We could certainly throw the kayak overboard in a jiffy (which is why we use it 90% of the time). But he could easily re-twist the knee grappling in or out of the snug, bobbing, slippery vessel. What about the dinghy? Way worse.

Avoiding Dinghy-Yoga
Prepping the dinghy involves the two of us flipping it upright from its cruising turtle-position on the bow, hoisting and pushing it overboard, then mounting the unwieldy outboard motor. (One person stands at the stern rail, lowering it with our manual pulley system; the other stands in the dinghy below, catching and affixing it to the transom). This 10-15 minute workout consists of heaving and manhandling the substantial, slimy beast, stepping up and down from the cabin roof numerous times, plus copious amounts of twisting and turning, bending and balancing. And you wonder how we get our exercise on the boat? I could just imagine the strain this torsion-filled process would put on a bum knee. No way. Amazingly, raising anchor, motoring, even sailing Indigo is far easier on the knees than depositing our car in the water.

Freedom!
Seven days later, Brian finally felt stable enough to tackle the car. We left it in-water, towing it behind Indigo from anchorage to anchorage. Normally, dinghy towing is one of our big no-no’s. Yes, I know, lots of people do it. We don’t. While it’s incredibly convenient to have your dinghy ready to go upon arrival, too many things can go wrong. But Bahia Concepcion was flat as a pancake and we only traveled, literally, a couple miles each day. Occasionally, rules should be thrown out the window. For knees sake.

Boatwork with a Bum Knee
We did another week’s worth of uber-relaxed gunk-holing and crossed the Sea of Cortez overnight, once his knee felt a bit better. We put the boat away over the course of 12 days of hard work. It wasn’t easy on him, but we did it. One month later, the knee works, but it's still not 100%.  

Medical Preparedness
How prepared are we? We are equipped for medical complications in the outback with a variety of meds for colds, pain, nausea, antibiotics, etc. Heck, we even have malaria pills. We have a suitcase-sized professional medical kit for treating mild to severe burns and wounds. We even have gear for splinting a broken bone and sewing stitches. (Let’s just hope Brian doesn’t need stitches – knowing my sewing skills, THAT would be a catastrophe). But with all this stuff, we could use none of it in his situation. What is the moral here?

Cruising Law #1:
As Captain Ron so casually counsels: “If anything’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen out there!”

Cruising Law # 2:
When it does happen, all that special equipment you purchased will doubtless be inadequate.
Do you still buy the stuff? Yep. You or someone else might need it someday!​

While resting in Puerto Escondido near the end of May, our brains begin the inevitable tack: from a cruising mindset to a storing mindset. At the Circle of Knowledge, the daily, informal cruiser gathering, June haul out plans are the topic du jour. Our own haul out date is coming up quickly. So Brian’s mind starts to whirl, contemplating the myriad of things we will need to do to prep Indigo for storage, a daunting task. MY mind begins to contemplate the food situation, and getting rid of it. Thus, a list is born.

Yes, I have a Food Spreadsheet
Rummaging through my food lockers, I tear into my 10-sheet, Food-On-Board excel spreadsheet, updating every carton, can and container still taking up shelf space. Then I start making lists of what I could make for dinner that will use up said noodles, rice, beans, canned chicken, etc. Then I make ANOTHER list of what we will have for dinner for the next week. I like lists. Almost as much as I like cheese.

May Thanksgiving
So I was super excited when our friends on Cuba Libre happened to invite us and Lorelei over for a Thanksgiving in May celebration with mutual friends on Bella Luna. Cuba Libre had a frozen turkey they needed to cook up before they hauled out. So their turkey problem became my food-inventory purging solution. Sweet. I made a huge coleslaw salad to get rid of some cabbage and baked brownies to use up some eggs. The result was a delicious Thanksgiving May Day enjoyed by all, complete with turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing. Thanks to Cuba Libre for hosting and cooking!

Haulout Potluck
A couple weeks later, three of us boats arrived into Marina San Carlos. We planned on hauling our boats onto dry land within days of each other. This means removing all food. So we held another Food-Purge-Potluck. This time, I made canned pear oatmeal crisp and tuna noodle casserole with about 5 different cheeses. (More like cheese casserole with a smidgen of macaroni and a trace of tuna.) I still had to give away two chunks ‘o cheese at the end. So I put together a box to haul back to the van for our camping trips; I gave 3 small bags away to a couple local dock guys; and I carried two large sacks to San Carlos Yachts who, in turn, donates it to the local orphanage. What a great way to jettison food.

Salami Anyone?
As I was defrosting the fridge, I found two packets of sliced salami that I forgot about. I walked over to a boat I’d never met and dangled my expensive and coveted salami packets right in front of these strangers. “Would you guys like…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence before their eyes widened and enthusiastically replied...
“Yes! Yes! We’ll take them! We’re Polish! Of course we love salami!”

Stingray Shuffle
The Stingray Shuffle is a dance performed by beach-going visitors each year. Here in the Sea of Cortez, every public beach posts signs warning waders to shuffle their feet in shallow water. Stingrays hide from predators by burrowing flush with the sea floor, nearly invisible to us unsuspecting humans. So this sand-agitating, Mr.-Robot -shuffle-step signals the slithery specters to move… hopefully before you step down on one, resulting in a toxic spike jammed in your foot.

But I always thought those billboard notices were a tad overrated. As much as we have been in and around the water, our stingray sightings seemed pretty sporadic. We typically observe them either from the boat or snorkeling in 10-15ft depths, gliding over the sand or just resting on the bottom, one at a time, maybe two. Always comfortably distant… no close encounters… and too fast for film. But this year, I’ve seen more in two weeks than the nearly three seasons we’ve spent in Mexico combined. I’m beginning to think May is Stingray Month.

Agua Verde Video – Sneaky Stingrays
Agua Verde beckons cruisers with its clear, turquoise green water so vibrant it seems fake, like someone dumped in a barrel of Easter egg dye. We anchored at a depth of only 10ft in the east lobe where the sea floor was clearly visible. Peering down into our private fishbowl, we spotted a couple stingrays right away, skimming the white sandy bottom. Later, while swimming around a large rocky outcropping, I saw a couple more, 20ft below. I held my breath, dove down 6ft and tried GoPro stalking. This attempt was futile though – they wisely fled, bolting away like a Stinger missile.

Then, as I was filming a tiny, blue damselfish, another surprised me from behind, gliding by nonchalantly about two feet away. Holy schmeel schmazel. He just about scared my shorty wetsuit right off me. But I actually got that one on video - only by accident. After I gathered my wits, I GoPro stalked that one, successfully this time. Remarkably, this stingray was pretty chill about the whole stalking thing. And I will name him Marky Mark… for being so calm and composed while I dashed after him like paparazzi.

Watching any kind of ray swim is just cool, be they giant manta rays, mobula/eagle rays or stingrays. It is somehow satisfying to witness their wings leisurely undulate, propelling their pancake physique so gracefully. Like swooping underwater butterflies. Only bigger. And with stingers. Don’t forget the stingers…

RayNado
As that sneaky stingray passed me initially, I could have reached out and touched him. But that would have been a bad idea. These are not slimy aquarium kittens with removed stingers to allow petting. These are real stingrays with real barbs, serrated knives essentially, that if shoved into your body really hurt. In fact, as I was in hot pursuit, I thought to myself…self…what are you doing? What if he decides he doesn’t appreciate your quest for good video? And turns around? And calls over some friends? I can picture the movie trailer now: “Stingraynado – The Baja Menace”. Or not. “Raynado”? I’ll work on that one.

 So…yah, I slowed down and let Marky flutter away, while he was still in a jolly mood.

Candeleros takes the Cake
Bahia Candeleros is a shallow crescent bay whose crowning glory is the resort oasis of Villa del Palmar. Best known (at least according to us) for their expensive but delicious hamburgers, we travel-weary cruisers could think of nothing else for two days prior. Priorities, people. Stomachs satisfied, snorkeling was priority #2.

I’ve swum the eastern shore here before with not a single ray sighting. But this time we shooed several away in a foot of water just scooting the dinghy onto shore. What the heck?! While prepping our gear, the four of us marveled at several more visible in the clear water. I have never seen a stingray from shore, hanging out 2ft from the water’s edge, noticeably unafraid of our presence… let alone multiples at once.

Mmmmmm. While interesting to observe, I like seeing stingrays by the onesie’s or twosie’s. Not the 10-sies or 20-sies. Not when they might be burrowed in the sand at every footstep. And not when they refuse to scoot away from my shadow. I’m just weird like that.

Fin Flop
Do I really want to go swimming with all these guys? Especially in these initial 2 ft depths. I mean, it’s one thing to get your foot stung (I haven’t yet, fortunately). It’s quite another to put your whole body up for grabs (ala Steve Irwin who was fatally stung in the heart.)

Well, we’re here, let’s do this. Instead of waiting to don my fins in the water though, I put them on at the beach. Better to have that extra 1ft of spacing between me and them, eh? I looked memorably moronic, duck-walking and flopping with my large yellow flippers. My intended crazed commotion (albeit awkward) would have scared away a shark. Or, more likely, attracted one. Hoping I was in the clear, I face-planted into the 2ft pool.

Everywhere I looked, there they were. Crikey.

What IS this place? A stingray incubation facility? Wow. There’s one over there. And another over there. And three down there and two more on the rocks… and on and on. We probably saw 20-30 just in this one small area. Brian and I usually point out interesting things to each other as we are swimming, but with stingrays hovering all around, we felt no need. Until…

Strangely Still Stingrays
Brian called out to me to “come over here”...which sounds a lot like “mmm orrrre earrr” under water. I sashay over to where he is staring at something. Two somethings. One on top of the other, but the bottom one is upside down. OMG. Is THAT what I THINK it is? Yes. Yes indeedy-do. Apparently I was right… this IS a stingray incubation facility.

Leave it to us to stumble upon yet another species, well, uh, having fun. (We came across mating frogs, butterflies and walking sticks last year.) Man, I wish I’d brought the GoPro instead of the camera. Eyeballing me with suspicion as I zoomed in for the shot, the intimate couple was none too thrilled with me invading their private time. Well, you’re doing it here right out in the open, so what do you expect?

“OK…work it… come on, at least pretend you’re having fun…no? OK then…just… say cheese!” Click, click, click.

And here are my up close and personal stingray porn stills. You’re welcome.
 
Fun Stingray Facts:

• A group of stingrays is called a fever.
• I’ve since learned the month of May IS stingray month. Apparently, they are quite prolific in late spring.
• The three chief species in the Sea of Cortez are Reef, Round or Cortez Stingrays. These types don’t get much bigger than a foot wide and their toxic barbs are not fatally poisonous.
• Peeing on it is NOT the proper treatment for a stingray wound. (Although it can work for jellyfish stings, as would any other mild acid like vinegar.)
• Soaking the affected area in hot water, reportedly over 110degrees, breaks down the toxins faster. The biggest risk is infection, so being several hours away from a doctor in the middle of nowhere is reason enough to be cautious.

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Stone Scorpionfish
Have you ever wondered: “What’s the ugliest fish in the world?” Well, look no further. Scroll through my gallery to the very end. There you will find what I believe is a Stone Scorpionfish. Unlike an octopus who can transmute himself into the shape of a coral outcropping or rock, a Stone Scorpionfish already looks like one. The fish I found was resting in white sand next to a rock. But this “rock” just looked odd. I wasn’t sure of what I was seeing at first since he was frozen in place… waiting for dinner to glide by, I presume. Not only are they butt-ugly, they too, sport highly toxic spines. If stepped on, the wounds are similar to getting zapped by a stingray. Except worse. An infection can be deadly. With stingrays and scorpionfish and porcupinefish and sea urchins – why is everything in the Sea trying to stab me?

This year we read John Steinbeck’s classic novel, “The Pearl”. Spoiler Alert: I’ve summarized it below, as my sun-withered brain remembers it, including the ending. So if you have hopes of reading it soon, stop right here.

The short story reads like a parable, taking place during La Paz’s booming pearl industry in the early 1900’s. The main character is Kino, a poor fisherman whose baby boy becomes deathly ill. Lacking money for the treatment, Kino and his wife, Juana, are desperate for a miracle. They get one.

Kino, in gathering oysters from the Sea of Cortez, discovers an enormous pearl - one so large, no one has seen it’s equal. He immediately realizes the significance of this find and begins to dream…a better house, a newer boat, a rifle, a church wedding, his newborn son’s future education… and most importantly the cure for his son’s illness. This will solve everything.

But the La Paz pearl merchants tried to swindle him; they were all in cahoots, offering only rock-bottom prices. Knowing his pearl was worth so much more, he rejected their ludicrous offers. So he hid it, hoping to journey to the capital for a better price.

Meanwhile, people begin to treat him differently, knowing he possesses this valuable item. They warn against the arrogance of hope for a better future, deride him for thinking he can ever rise above his station in life.

In addition to jealous neighbors, so too do evil villains emerge. The smarmy doctor maintains Kino’s boy in perpetual illness, while hoping to discover the location of the pearl. Kino’s house is ransacked.  His boat is destroyed. His house burns down. He gradually transforms into a different person - fearful, obsessed, suspicious, and violent. Sensing her family’s self-destruction, his loving wife wants him to throw the pearl back into the sea. She thinks it’s a curse. But Kino would not be dissuaded.

One day, a band of thieves attacked him, and in fighting back, Kino killed one of the perpetrators. Despite this righteous act, he knew they’d brand him a murderer and someone would inevitably seize his precious pearl.

So Kino gathered his family and fled into the mountains. But they were soon followed and backed into a canyon out of which they could not climb. Kino hid Juana and their son into a cleft in the cliff while he backtracked, attempting to lure the posse away. They would never stop hunting while he still possessed the pearl, so Kino decided to attack his pursuers.

But just then, one man heard a whimpering. Assuming it was a coyote, he aimed and fired at the noise. The whimper stopped. And Kino knew. The bullet had found its mark… his child, still cradled in his mother’s arms.

Kino and his wife returned to La Paz. As they grimly walked the path home, carrying their dead son, the neighbors watched in silence. Kino still had the pearl – the pearl that was supposed to solve everything; but he’d just lost everything because of it. Too late, Kino realized the price of his pearl…and threw it back into the sea.

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Sigh. So sad. So SAD!
Steinbeck’s word smithery is pure genius in this palpable parable, peppered with plucky perception. Ah, you’ll just have to read it, despite the fact I’ve ruin the ending. I cannot do Kino’s character justice in this brief summary… his initial aspirations, his sheer perseverance, his escalating anxiety, his covetous transformation, the final blow, and his anguished realization.

Life’s eternal struggle is knowing when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. You can’t blame Kino for wanting a better life for his family. The sad part is that most of us don’t recognize when blind ambition, greed or even pride has warped into acid, until it’s too late. But should our potential failings stop us from playing the game? No. Because life is like a box of chocolates…you never know what you’re gonna get.

Because in a parallel universe…
in the real world…
Kino sold that pearl and became a rich man.

Wait. What?

The Pink Pearl House
Nestled beside the Baja seashore sits the tiny hamlet of Timbabiche, its backdrop a dreamy desert mountain skyline. Looming above the surrounding sandy hills, a unique landmark appears… a two-story, pink stucco house. The only structure large enough to be visible from miles away at sea, it looks positively colossal against this vast expanse of desert nothingness.

Why such a large house in the middle of nowhere?
This elaborate home was built in the 1920’s…
by a poor fisherman, just like Kino…
from the profits of a single pearl (reportedly 5 carats).
Steinbeck’s parallel universe.

Casa Grande
In the abundant pearl-harvesting era of the early 1900’s, there’s sure to have been more than one lucky pearl discovery. But at least this version had a happy ending. That pearl financed a fleet of boats and the construction of this huge house, officially known as “Casa Grande” or the Big House. As I read The Pearl, I couldn’t help but wonder whether some of Kino’s troubles mirrored those of the man who built Casa Grande. Yet this man survived and his family thrived.

Except subsequent generations couldn’t agree on what to do with Casa Grande. It fell into disrepair and eventually was scavenged for building materials. Now a shell of its former grandeur, the pink house stands sentinel over Timbabiche. But we were to discover, generations of the family still live there, right beside it.

Meet Jimmy, Casa Grande’s Great-Grandson
We’d just anchored in Timbabiche when a smiling Jimmy approached in his fishing panga. Tempting our tastebuds with freshly flopping fish aboard, we purchased a delicious sierra. Our friends procured several sea creatures and bandaged his thumb after he’d sliced it open with a fishing knife. They learned Jimmy is actually a master scuba diver, having attended school in La Paz. Ah, makes sense. Free-diving for scallops, octopus and lobster seemed for him as easy as breathing.

A couple days later, we bought fresh scallops and started talking. We had hiked to the pink house the day prior and asked him about the pink house.

“Casa Grande? My great-grandfather built it!”

Wow! Jimmy’s great-grandfather found the pearl of his dreams. What had happened to cause its decline, we did not think appropriate to ask. Jimmy was obviously very proud of the pink house, as is. I didn’t want to ruin it by asking what the heck happened?

Jimmy told us that about 80 people live in the village, invisibly scattered among the rural dirt tracks. The white, stucco-roofed building (an intriguing Moroccan, tent-looking design - see gallery), is a school servicing about 12 children. But Jimmy’s wife and kids live in the nearest town where they attend a different school; the town is a 3-hour drive one-way. He fishes during the week and drives the long way to visit his family every few days. Out there, fishing by himself every day, Jimmy struck me as a genial but lonely guy. We wish him well.

Maybe one day, the Casa Grande will be his…the pale pink shell of a beautiful pearl.​

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

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

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

Again, with a bit more emphasis.
Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Beneteau: Crickets…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouch. I’m pretty sure that dingo moved.

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...

“I'd like to be… under the sea… in an octopus' garden in the shade.”  The Beatles

We’d visited Isla Ispiritu Santos a couple times since our November arrival in La Paz. At Ensenada Grande, we snorkeled along the red cliffs and hiked the 3-1/2hr-long, boulder-strewn canyon with buddy boat, Lorelei. At Playa Bonanza on New Year’s Eve, we witnessed a beach fireworks display from our anchored vantage point. At Candeleros, we discovered the curious clowny-fish who fell in love with Brian’s bright blue reef shoes. But our snorkeling excursion off the north shore of Bahia Cardonal took the cake.

Oct-tastic!
As I slowly skimmed along in 4-5 feet of water, a billowing cloud of sand caught my eye. A few feet in front of me, I discovered a small octopus digging into the sea floor. I’d only ever seen one in an aquarium – what a treat! Excited, I called to Brian “Octopus! Hurry!” Get yer flippin’ fins over here!

We weren’t the only swimmers who noticed his silty disturbance. Several small fish congregated around the octopus, unafraid, darting about like pesky puppies. “Watcha doin’?” I presume they were gathering up goodies flung from his excavation.

Mesmerized by this creature, we watched it for several minutes. The contracted body/head was about the size of my foot, not including its 2ft-ish long arms. (Google tells me octopi technically have arms, not tentacles.) We are not sure what it was doing exactly; probably digging for a clam dinner. At one point, it stretched its arms, puffed its head and tented its body in full, posturing to appear as big and ominous as possible. Then it flashed color briefly to a luminous, iridescent blue. I’m warning you! Don’t come any closer or you’ll get the INK!

Vanishing Act
After deciding we weren’t a threat it settled down, it’s body turning into just another rock or coral protrusion, its arms perfectly melted into mottled sand. It was camouflaged so ingeniously that, had it not been moving earlier, I never would have suspected its presence. How do they DO that?

Invisible Man
Cephalopods, like octopus, cuttlefish and squid, have the extraordinary ability to become invisible. Their talent for color-changing and pattern-imitation is well-known. But such amazing adaptation expertise goes even further…they’ve actually got no kidding, shape-shifting skillz. Devoid of a shell or skeleton, these fine escape artists can squeeze their slippery bodies through tiny crevices, a handy technique for evading predators or surprising prey. Here’s an interesting video of one slipping through a hole in a boat (not our boat, just so we’re clear).  Most interesting though, is the ability to change skin texture, something no other species can accomplish.

Real Life Shape-Shifters
Picture that X-Men morphing maven, “Mystique”, suddenly ruffling her cobalt-blue skin cells into that of a grumpy old man. Similarly, beneath an octopus’ smooth, super-skin, mutating muscles allow incredible transformations in surface texture to match its surroundings. Straight out of a Sci-Fi movie. Fine wrinkles and craggy crinkles erupt into rough ridges and sharp spikes or melt into bitty bumps and thick lumps. Along with dead-on accurate color and pattern mimicry, the disguise is instantaneous. An octopus can suggest the swaying of sinuous seaweed, copy the crusty knobs of coral heads and replicate the granular ripple of the sandy sea floor. If only we humans could acquire their closely guarded secret; think of it - no more forehead wrinkles!

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Click the link below to witness rare & amazing footage of a shape-shifting rock turned octopus.
Video by marine biologist Roger Hanlon.

Merry Christmas from Marina Costa Baja in the beautiful city of La Paz!

Costa Baja Christmas Tree
Each December, a beautiful, two-story Christmas tree is erected in Marina Costa Baja. While it’s often easy to forget it is Christmastime here in flip-flop weather, the tree is a lovely reminder of the season. Constructed of a bundle of steel bars, it takes two days for one guy to weld these fragments into a giant, hollow, tee-pee skeleton. That’s right, I said weld. Over the next few days the structure is then meticulously spiral-encircled with probably a mile of fake green garland; white Christmas light pin-striping flows down from the gilded star to potted poinsettias surrounding the base. This Jolly Green Giant is then adorned with red and golden ornaments: cantaloupe-sized, sparkly orbs and smaller teardrops that I like to think resemble (artistically) chili peppers…a Red Hot Chili Pepper Christmas.

After the New Year, someone will take a cutting torch to the skeleton, rendering our mighty tree to a bundle of bars (and a gaggle of garland) once again. When we witnessed this process in 2014, my first thought was…why wouldn’t you buy a made-to-assemble, tinker-toy-type tree? You know…the IKEAesque  ”no tools required” kind. Well, they’re not cheap…but this permits us a slight insight into how things are done here in Mexico. My guess is they probably already had the steel bars left over from some other building project. Joe the dockworker over here is a decent welder; let’s just have him do it. Labor is cheap – so the cost of labor for 4 days is waaaay cheaper than buying a commercial grade, erector-set tree, even if they have to pay a guy to weld it up and cut it down every year for the next 20 years. Food for thought. In the US, time is money; in Mexico, time is trivial, efficiency is underrated because labor is cheap… and dinero is still dinero.

Christmas Market
Just up the dock from our boat, Marina Costa Baja sponsored an evening Christmas Market. About 30 merchants lined the sidewalk selling their wares atop decorated tables: dried spices, La Paz t-shirts, shell-art, handmade shoes, woven handbags, jewelry, pottery and more. I was more in it for the food (can’t fill a small boat with knickknacks). We soon discovered a chocolatier named Fan Fan and sampled their amazing chocolate brownies. Gotta have dessert first! The “Sausage Lady” was there too, a German transplant (I believe) whose handmade sausages are well-known throughout the La Paz cruising community; her spicy links and fresh baguette buns made a delish dinner. Costa Baja offered free Mexican hot chocolate and galletas (a hard sugar cookie) for all the attending marina, hotel and condo patrons. Finally, I could not resist taking home two enormous corn muffins filled with cajeta (sugary, caramely, creamy goodness) for breakfast. Delectable delights abound in La Paz…part of the reason we like this city!

Fav Christmas Movies
Every December it is our tradition to watch the following movies: It's a Wonderful Life, White Christmas and Elf. Sometimes Miracle on 34th Street. And usually, Die Hard, but not lately. Yes, it's a Christmas movie (according to my husband), remember? For the last two years when Christmas rolls around, we keep thinking we have the DVD... then remember we don't. We had the VHS tape (shows our age) but threw it away when we moved on the boat, no longer owning a VHS player. Today we did it again (this is becoming a running joke now), assuming we had it only to discover the opposite. Brian is shocked and dismayed - not having Die Hard on board is blastphemous! "Cause it's one of the best Christmas movies of all time!" says he.

Polar Vortex
Here in Baja Mexico we play in the sand instead of snow this time of year, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have Christmas trees and blow-up Santas just like home. So here are a few Christmas decoration pics to prove it…and I’ve added in some infinity pool shots just to make you guys in the north jealous. By the way, it’s about 75 today. We were freezing last week during our first polar vortex… it got down to about 60 at night. We all had to put on JEANS. Some of us wore SOCKS. Oh, the horror! 

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.

Before we crossed the Sea, I happened to skim a decade-old government-issued marketing plan/coffee table book printed by Fonatur (tourist arm of the Mexican government) and SEMARNAT (environmental arm). Since the 70’s, Fonatur has actively developed key areas of Mexico for tourism. Under their purview, the sleepy beach village of Cabo San Lucas has turned into a miniature Las Vegas; Cancun, former swampland inhabited by merely a few fishermen, is now a world-renowned resort destination.  Critics may wring hands about overbuilding and environmental concerns, but there is no doubt the economy has benefitted by this influx of tourism money. (Here’s a link to an interesting article on Fonatur.) 

Escalera Nautica
Long before the term “eco-tourism” was coined, Mexico understood the extraordinary jewel that is the Sea of Cortez.  Years ago, they began developing several small marinas throughout the Sea to attract the yachting industry, also working with developers to provide nearby hotel facilities for water-loving land-based visitors. The Escalera Nautica, as it was marketed, or Nautical Staircase, was purposefully designed to facilitate boaters (people like us) to safely climb their way to the top of the Sea and back down. Just like their previously developed resort communities, they hoped by seeding key areas with marinas and visitor accommodations, that the tourism industry would snowball economic growth, provide jobs and enable infrastructure development.  Over the years, several small, 18-20 slip Fonatur marinas have been built according to this plan. Some are more well-run and visited than others, but all along, the objective has been to sell these marinas once established.

SOLD!
So I am happy to tell you that since our last visit, the former government-run Marina Fonatur at Puerto Escondido has been purchased by a private firm. It is now run, as of June I believe, by a company called Waicuri. According to brochures, their master plan is pretty ambitious. We’ve been told part of the contract is that Waicuri must complete a certain amount of development within two years. What those exact stipulations are, I’ve no idea…but here’s a couple major items on their overall agenda...

Sell Those Lots!
One goal is to sell those primo vacant lots! Puerto Escondido lies just 15 miles south of the “Magic Town” of Loreto, with its myriad shops & eateries, historical town square and an international airport to boot. Years ago, the foundation was laid here for a harbor-front housing community. Custom homes built on canal frontage surely should entice boating enthusiasts galore with the promise of a private dock in an amazing locale. With its background a spectacular mountain range, its foreground a beautiful and safe harbor, this place begs further development.

But for years, the grid of paved subdivision roads sits empty, like a cliché apocalypse movie. Cracked pavement. Tumbleweeds. Skittering lizards. Screeching hawks in the distance. Canals that go nowhere. Crumbling bridges. Street lighting poles hover over scrub-strewn, vacant homesites, waiting to be switched on… but not a single house built. An empty shell of concrete and rebar stands alone overlooking the docks, perhaps a condo or hotel started but abandoned. Outrageous price expectation? Poor infrastructure (sewer, water, electric)? Who knows why nothing sold.

Now though, from the looks of it, things are happening. We noted much construction activity out there in the canal areas – a backhoe, freshly graded dirt, stacked bricks awaiting placement, rebar in a new foundation, a mess of guys repairing a canal bridge, and new landscaping. Last time we visited, the canal was empty. This time we sighted several powerboats attached to brand-new, aluminum floating docks in the canal. Whether those owners have purchased lots or are just renting those private docks, I can’t say. But it’s a good sign. According to the Waicuri website, “condominiums, a beach club with restaurant, spa and gym for all the home owners, boutique hotel and much more!” are eventually on the docket. Well, that sounds a little ambitious. We’ll see.

Slips in the Ellipse? Can it be true?
Another ambitious project is to build 200 slips in the Ellipse. The Ellipse is a curved breakwater structure that once housed several mooring balls and was operated by a different entity. I always thought mooring balls here was a waste of space in such a small area. A dock system would maximize the number of boats who wish to be “attached” to land longer-term. As long as they still maintain plenty of inexpensive moorings in the large harbor, this could be a win-win for both cruising types. The PE harbor itself is already a relatively safe “hurricane hole” surrounded by mountains and completely cut off from the capricious powers of the Sea. The Ellipse’s breakwater offers double-protection from small, choppy wind waves that funnel down the harbor in a north blow. We think this marina expansion is great idea and would definitely consider keeping Indigo here longer term. But only if they provided shuttle service to town.

Click here to see an aerial mock-up of the proposed facilities…notice the slips in the Ellipse next to the harbor opening. I am skeptical this will be built anytime soon…but, you never know. They have already removed all but three of the boats that were moored here, many of which were left permanently unattended. I do not know what, if anything, is planned for the Waiting Room where many people actually live on their boats on a mooring full time.

Other small improvements have taken place. Here are the things we’ve noticed…

• The marina office is getting an interior facelift. By the way, the office folks are very nice and helpful. But don’t expect your records (boat documentation) to be on file from before June - everything has been expunged.
• Laundry is now FREE! One free load per boat per day. Staying for 2-3 days? You can combine your loads all in one session. The marina office notifies their cleaning attendant who will turn on the washers & dryers for you manually. Formerly $3 per load, this is a really nice bonus.
• The POOL works! That pool has been empty and forlorn for at least the two years we’ve been visiting. Now it is crystal clear and, although colder than the sea water, refreshing in the 90 degree heat.

Same ‘ole…

• The mooring prices are still the same, @$10 per day. We’re certainly not complaining…just glad they didn’t raise their rates.
• Internet sucks. Still. But the marina says they are “working on it”. The normally half-way decent internet at Tripui hotel/restaurant was also inoperative at the time we visited. Double whammy. So we had to rely on our phone. Except…
• Cell service is still spotty in Puerto Escondido. We’ve been advised to take a farther mooring near the “windows” for better line of sight with the Loreto tower, and folks in the Waiting Room have no trouble as their boats face the Bahia Candeleros tower. But this isn’t the marina’s fault; it’s not like I expect them to buy a cell phone tower! But if we could get halfway decent marina internet, we wouldn’t give a whit about cell cervice.
• The women’s bathroom shower stalls still have no exterior shower curtains, the interior walls are still crumbling, the internal shower doors are still catawampus and still no hot water. Good thing it was HOT outside and we didn’t care so much. This time. But this gripe is getting old. Showers should be at the top of the list of improvements.

​And then there’s the sad news…

• Carole’s tienda is closing as of December. The owner’s just don’t have enough business during the summer to remain in the black. This is a huge disappointment to ALL cruisers as it is the only place to obtain cold drinks, milk, chips, bread, cereal and a few fresh veges to sustain our trip onward. Not to mention her made-to-order hamburgers and the occasional homemade banana bread for sale. And I don’t know what’s going to happen to Taco Saturday. The undesirable alternative is to rent a car for $80 a day or take an all-day taxi to Loreto for just about as much or anchor in a tenuous location off the Loreto breakwater with no wave protection. The little store is so important to cruising customers - I wish Waicuri would just give them free rent during the lean summer months. Very sad.

I’ll Believe It When I See It
When it comes to big proposals like this in Mexico, we immediately take on a “I’ll believe it when I see it” attitude. So many projects start and get abandoned just as quickly, it’s impossible to tell whether this one will fail or succeed. In perusing the Waicuri website, I recognize one of the developers as San Diego-based Hamann Construction, who I watched build the manufacturing facility I worked in several years ago. I am hopeful their expert involvement lends a positive tilt to the overall success. But, the best indication is that Waicuri IS beginning to make improvements. Let’s just hope they continue!

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! ​

After a night spent crossing the sea, our destination, Punta Pulpito, was sublime. Two nights. Middle of nowhere. No other boats. Flat water. Blue skies. Upon our early arrival, we spent the day snorkeling and napping (since we don’t get much sleep on an all-nighter). Waking the following morning, it was so calm I thought we were still in our San Carlos slip. Love that feeling!

Sea Fireflies
Miles from civilization and light pollution, we were enjoying the velvety black sky, glittery stars and a bug-free evening at Punta Pulpito when we looked down and saw something unusual surrounding the boat. Dozens of small, circular clouds of green phosphorescence appeared and then disappeared. At first glance, we thought they were mobius rays floating and diving causing plankton to be disturbed and illuminate. But studying the phenomenon further, we noted a glowing pea-sized ball floating to the surface. Immediately upon surfacing, it began erratically circling and zigzagging in on its track, all the while emitting a pea-sized trail of phosphorescence. Like it was peeing phosphorescent goo. Its busy-work ultimately created a 6”-12” glowing green circle that hovered for a few seconds, dissipating with the luminous ball falling back into the depths. Bizarre. And stunning.

Shrimps and cephalopods (like squid) emit glowing clouds, but I’ve since googled this phenomenon and due to their size and shape, the closest I can come up with is that it was a species of ostracod. Dubbed “sea firefly” or “marine fire flea”, I can only describe it as an organism within a translucent “shell”, like a firefly trapped in a bubble. I happen to prefer “firefly” as opposed to “flea” since imagining those things tangled in my hair snorkeling is not something I wish to dwell on. These bioluminescent fireflies arise from the sea floor at night and emit their phosphorescent mucus to a) attract a mate, or b) deter predators (shock and awe). Hey it worked for us! We were most-definitely shocked and awed. We’ve not seen such a display before or since. It seems every anchorage holds something new and wondrous.

Landing Challenged
It is a challenge to get onto land here; there seems to be no natural landing due to massive rocks lining the shore. Scraping an inflatable kayak along barnacle strewn boulders wasn’t an option. So we had to find flatish rocks on which to stand in about a foot of water, lift the kayak by its handholds and tandem-boulder-hop to shore, slipping on algae-slime while trying to avoid sliding into crevices where twisted ankles and chomping eels lurk.

After a minute, we set the ‘yak down on a flat rock while I took the paddles higher up on shore and out of our way. I turned around to head back the few feet to continue carrying. I had my hat on, my head down looking for footing… and promptly ran right into the ‘yak with my head. What the??!! 

Brian did not think to tell me he had picked up the kayak all by himself and was carrying it overhead. The brim of my hat hid his actions from my view; the dipped kayak hid my path from his view. And thus, like star-crossed lovers, or colliding asteroids, we met…Wham! I rammed its bow with my face. Pause…picture that…

OK, now for the consequence of our miscommunication... Upon my unwitting head-butt, Brian lost his footing and he and the ‘yak toppled backward into the rock-strewn water… where he miraculously regained balance on a fortuitously located boulder, juuuust barely saving himself from breaking an ankle and the kayak from damage. Quite the Laurel & Hardy scene. Whew. Let’s just say we are probably never going to shore here again.

Why DID we go to shore? Three reasons.

1. Because it’s there. Because we didn’t the last time we were here. Because I hadn’t been off the boat in 48 hours. OK, that’s technically 3 reasons right there.
2. An enormous vein of obsidian rock can be found along the point; it’s visible for several miles out to sea. So this is a great spot for finding small bits of obsidian (so-called “Apache tears” according to the guidebook) which litter the dirt track “road” out to this point. Larger, peach-pit-sized shards of the black and shiny glass rock are also easily found. I could have stayed there for hours rock-hunting.
3. I’ve stated before that Punta Pulpito means Pulpit Point because it looks like a preacher’s pulpit jutting out from its connecting low-lying land spit. I wanted to hike up to the top of that pulpit. It’s only 475ft high. What’s the problem?

The Pulpito Death March.
Why do you want to go up THERE?  It’s not like you ever want to climb Kilimanjaro or anything?
He’s right, I’m not one to climb actual mountains. But just because this looks like a mountain, you can’t equate this teeny hike with Kilimanjaro. I mean, come on. But I do like a hike with a purpose, and the view from the top of that thing looks awesome. SO we’re going.

You’ve just heard the saga about getting to shore - so we’ve already started out on a low note. And it gets worse from there…we go the wrong way. I should know by now to start from the lowest lying base of the hill and hike the ridge all the way up. Instead, I start from the middle. The valley leading up to the ridge doesn’t look all that steep. Except when we finally get to the point where we need to scale the hillside, it’s near impossible to climb. Actually… not near-impossible. Just. Impossible.

The rocky hillside is one big potential landslide. Akin to hiking a sand dune, one step up equaled only a quarter-step gained. Scattered shale and sharp broken bits of rock slid down at each step up, enveloping our feet in a half foot of debris. Outcroppings that appeared as safe footholds instantly gave way under our weight. Our Keen hiking sandals were no match for the constant rock shards that tumbled into our shoes, ground under our soles and wedged between our toes. Ouch! Scrambling up at a faster rate only made things worse.

But the ridge is only just right there! We try to crawl up another shorter-looking slope to no avail. The gravel invading our sandals is shredding our feet; we remove our shoes and dump a pound of pebbles every few minutes. On top of the rock slides, we are over-heating in the severe sun. We are both panting and wavering in the heat. Brian has already guzzled down his water and mine is mostly gone. We decide to call it quits only half-way up…and begin the slide down.

Someday …I’ll get up there…when Brian’s memory fades about my head-butting-kayak incident and this hike from hell. I did get a couple good pictures from half-way up though!​