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!​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sea is not done with me yet…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Punta Chivato, we raised anchor before first light, sailing south ALL DAY dead downwind in 18-20kts and semi-rough seas. The boat lifted on 4-5 ft white-cappy waves and slid down again 5 seconds later, rolling to and fro. I tried to take a video to show the boat rolling and surfing down the waves… but upon viewing, it just seemed like a walk in the park. Hmmph. Whatever. These waves were “almost-but-not-quite-buffalos”... I’ll explain in a sec. Needless to say, I was glad to be going with the waves, not against them.

Punta Pulpito
Punta Pulpito is so named due to the way the land juts out forming a long, low spit. At its point, the rock rises abruptly, almost 500ft high, into what looks like a preacher’s pulpit. Most folks bypass this cove, traveling from Concepcion directly to San Juanico, a long 53 mile trek, whether you leave from Santispac in the south or Chivato in the north. Pulpito, while small, cuts 8 miles off that journey. (Doesn’t sound like a lot… but it is for us, on average, almost 2 hours!)

As we rounded the corner of the pulpit, wind suddenly whipped around the point and blasted us before leveling off inside the small anchorage. We didn’t end up going to shore - too tired after a long day of wrestling the boat downwind for 10 hours. That low spit forming our little bay isn’t very high and the wind funneled steadily through it from the northwest onto our boat all night.

Pulpito’s shoreline is all rock; I didn’t see a beach easy enough to land a dinghy without puncturing our inflatable – but we didn’t try either…next time. Large rocks piled at the water’s edge seemed to abruptly plunge into the sea. With all those rocks, we were surprised at the anchor-friendly, sandy sea floor. We could ease the boat crazy-close into shore, while still maintaining 15ft depth. So the all-night winds weren’t a bother: wind waves were minimal, we didn’t get any swell and for some reason, we didn’t seem to wildly swing on anchor like we normally do in high winds.

Pulpito is now a favorite - it was well protected from the north with straight-forward access, sandy bottom and no lurking obstacles (rocks/reefs were well marked). We feel able to enter it at night if needed since we’ve been inside already, as long as it was unoccupied. Plus, no one seems to want to take advantage of this little gem; we had it all to ourselves. Maybe we’ll just skip San Juanico altogether next time.

Buffalos
The next day we sailed to San Juanico - a short, easy 8 miles. It was windy all damn day; good for sailing, not so great for shore side kayak excursions. The wind kicked it up a notch just after our arrival, like it was waiting for us to anchor before it unleashed its vengeance. So we remained aboard all day. Outside the protection of the bay the “buffalos” were roaming. "Buffalos" are what boaters here call large, white-capping waves… about the size of a buffalo. A mile distant, we could see their furry white mounds on the horizon, marching single file south. Imagine slamming your car into a 5-7ft high buffalo at 10 miles an hour? Again and again and again…and again…and again. Not fun. When the buffalos are roaming out in the sea, well… you just stay put.

A Day in San Juanico
Another minor rolly night in San Juanico due to wrap-around swell. Up at the crack of dawn the next morning, we contemplated getting the heck out of dodge. Not a sliver of wind, but the buffalos were still visible, doing their thing. So we opted to stay put another day. We enjoyed the wonderfully calm, albeit cloudy and cool, weather. We paddled amongst dramatic geological formations all along the north shore. We met and hiked the dirt road with “Sea Angel”. And I finally added my tree ornament to the famed cruiser’s shrine. (In June, we had to abandon the anchorage to run from the hurricane, so I wasn’t able to add our memento.) Thankfully, it was calm all day and the buffalos dissipated, smoothing out the bay for a good night’s sleep and an even better following day.  

On down to Isla Coronados – Nov. 24th
TODAY was our first day (since we’d left on the 8th) of “Mexico weather”.  Ahhh… a balmy, warm breeze… rippling seas… a ripe sun. Now THIS is Mexico we remember from last winter. Where have you BEEN? We pulled into the south anchorage at Isla Coronados into 16ft of clear, 75-degree azure water. Perfection.

Rounding the corner of the island we notice “Impulsive” raising anchor. Acquainted from the Ha Ha, we hadn’t seen them in a year. So we quickly threw the kayak overboard and paddled over to say hi before they left. They end up staying as we offered to assist them with a refrigerator problem. Eventually failing on that count (didn’t have the right hose nozzle for refrigerant), they still invited us to stay for dinner. We enjoyed a lovely, becalmed evening under a full moon. All conversation ceased while graced with a moon-lit dolphin drive-by!

Puerto Escondido: Halfway to La Paz…or thereabouts.
Wednesday Nov. 25th, the day before Thanksgiving. It was only a 4 hour trip to Puerto Escondido, but during that period it went from sunny and flat… to 5 kts, just windy enough to lazily sail in blessedly calm waters for an hour… to no wind again… to harsh, grey sky with wind building… to rain. RAIN? I don’t think we have ever had to stoop to sailing in rain since the Chesapeake. What is this weather coming to?

An American Thanksgiving
We were lucky enough to be invited to Thanksgiving dinner aboard “Impulsive” with “Scoots” and had a great time! Both sailboats were participants with us on the Baja Ha-Ha last year and are heading out with the Puddle Jump rally this March to Fiji and beyond to New Zealand. Brave souls. We wish them safe travels.

What did we eat for Thanksgiving? Nooo, not turkey tacos. These two boats are big enough to have real kitchens…with counter space…and actual appliances. So “Impulsive” impressively cooked a butterball turkey breast, brought all the way from Cosco in Puerto Vallarta. We also dined on mashed potatoes, stuffing, vegetable casserole, artichoke dip and rolls. I brought coleslaw and layered bean dip. Let’s just say we ate ‘til we were stuffed and drank ‘til we were over-stuffed. But the best part was freshly-made pumpkin pie courtesy of “Scoots”. And no-kidding real whipped cream made with that high-tech thingy called an electric mixer! (No… I can’t have one of those…no room + not enough power = wooden spoon + my arm).

Stuck in PE
After that… we were stuck. Thanksgiving was the only non-super-windy day for an entire week. I have some awesome photos to prove how calm it was, for that one day…

May 31st  San Juanico

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June 1st San Juanico

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June 2nd, San Juanico, south anchorage

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

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

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