Logs & Stories - July 2002

July 27 - The Daily Grind

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At this point, it's been over a month since leaving La Paz, and we've shifted into something of a routine.

Most days we awaken around 8 a.m. and immediately focus on the first task of the day -- tuning into the Amigo net on our SSB radio. There are three nets we listen to - the Amigo and Chubasco nets in the morning and the Southbound net in the evening. Each net has its own personality and core goal. In the SSB world there are at least three different groups of people - the serious HAM's (licensed amateur radio buffs who devote considerable attention to their radios and are frequently involved in running the various nets), not-so-serious HAM's (those that are licensed, but don't get too involved), and unlicensed folks. The first net of the day, the Amigo net, is a single sideband net (as opposed to a HAM net), so unlicensed folks are allowed to speak over the airwaves (note that many licensed HAMsters also talk on the SSB nets). The net primarily exists for weather reporting and passing information among cruisers in Mexico. The second net of the day, starting at 8:45 a.m. is the Chubasco net; like the earlier one, it also serves to pass weather reports, but has the additional goal of passing information between licensed HAM's in Mexico and the US. The evening net, the Southbound net, is at 8 p.m. provides weather information and serves to pass information from boats in transit in Mexican waters.

At this time in the summer, hurricane activity off Mexico is picking up (should peak in Sept/Oct) and the weather information is of compelling interest. Our experience so far in Mexico is that the winds are typically under 15 knots (during our stay in La Paz we had perhaps four days when the wind was 20-25 knots, never higher), but just last week hurricane Elida built to a Class 5 cyclone (winds of to 170 knots, seas to forty feet) in just two days, the strongest hurricane here in two years. Like the milder hurricane before it ("milder hurricane": an oxymoron), Elida tracked westerly and missed the tip of the Baja peninsula by about 500 miles, but everybody in the anchorage at Isla Coronado religiously tuned into the nets and altered travel plans to stay close to the Puerto Escondido hurricane hole and Loreto's busses.

We generally finish listening to the nets and having breakfast around 9:15am, then either read or work on projects, depending on the day's urgencies or our own inclinations. Lately, Karryn has spent much of her time finishing our sun awning, and I've alternated between assisting and housekeeping/childcare. Most mornings, though, we all read until about 10 a.m., and then get to work. Work for the kids means either the dishes, cleaning their cabin (Karryn and I are now sleeping aft), or doing homework. Jackson is a natural reader (when in the second grade, he was reading at the fifth grade level) and almost continually has his face in a book, so we've directed him by having him do three pages from his math workbook on a daily basis and suggesting what he might read next. Last fall he kept having us buy him science texts (general science, astronomy), so he'd spend his days reading those; his current obsession is our various guidebooks and charts of Mexico and the South Pacific, so we've attempted to broaden his reading with books like Animal Farm, The Chronicles of Narnia, and texts on the flora and fauna of Mexico. Occasionally we try to work in a field trip, last week a morning spent collecting, identifying and examining reef animals, this week a hike to the 1000-foot top of Isla Coronado's long-dormant volcano.

Karryn and I manage the boat work by one of us taking primary responsibility for an area ("pink" jobs and "blue" jobs; we tend to divide things based on our individual aptitudes, not the stereotypical division), and working together on things that are large and difficult, require more than two hands, or have a high degree of risk. For example, Karryn is the primary owner of the awning she's currently finishing up, I was the primary owner of the alternator we just changed, but in both cases we've worked together. At this point the work required is gradually diminishing - when we left Seattle we had a plethora of boat additions (watermaker, drogues, autopilot), and deferred maintenance (the mast overhaul in Oxnard during December) in addition to the required equipment purchases (snorkeling gear, sunglasses, various spare parts). At this point, most of the additions are done, and our work time is spent either making repairs, or dealing with water or supplies.

Water is an interesting one. We're in the desert, so water isn't readily available, and most of the time we get water from our watermaker. Because of evaporation, the salt content of the Sea of Cortez is higher than the ocean, and our watermaker's productivity has dropped to about a gallon an hour (from 1.5 gal/hr). We seem to use about 7 gallons a day, and tend to only run the watermaker in the middle of the day, when our electrical system voltage is highest from the solar panels, and only when we're on the boat (Karryn and I are both paranoid about leaving machinery running when we're gone), so getting enough water is always an issue. When the watermaker started leaking last week, I decided to see if I could get water from the small harbor in Loreto. It turned out that the harbor, which berths perhaps 50 pangas (cabin-less 22-25 foot skiffs with 75+hp outboards on them, kind of aquatic pickup trucks), wasn't plumbed, and the only water we were able to find was from a beach bathroom run by a lady who charged her patrons two pesos per use. She was kind enough to let me get forty gallons of water, and I gave her 100 pesos ($10 US), an amount that seemed generous but appropriate because I was told she spent the bathroom money on snacks for the kids who played on the beach. Getting the forty gallons of water onto the boat is a fairly physical task. I load the empty jugs into the dinghy, row to the beach, fill the jugs using a hose with a special filter attached (typically takes about half an hour; Baja water comes from wells and tends to be good, but the water pressure is generally low), load the water into the dinghy, row it out to the boat, lift it onto the deck (a five gallon jug of water weighs forty pounds, the dinghy and boat are typically bouncing around in waves), put bleach in it, then pour it into the main tank if appropriate. Getting twenty gallons of water can take easily an hour and a half.

Sometimes, if we're tired, we'll take a siesta in the afternoon, but it seems that generally I'm occupied with the tasks for the day until about 5 or 6pm, when I quit, load the dinghy with snorkeling gear, and head off with Jackson to find dinner. The only meat we eat comes from the sea, unless you consider Spam meat. (It's actually amazing how much respect Spam gets down here: on the Pacific side of Baja we were able to trade it for lobsters, and it's flavor has become an welcome diversion from seafood. Jackson and I will typically spend two hours in the water before returning about sunset.) Without trying too hard, we're able to get enough fish for two or three boats and often provide dinner for our neighbors. The varieties of fish we're able to spear are many: snake-like cornonet fish four feet long, perhaps an inch and a half in diameter, camouflaged hawkfish which intensely struggle to escape, graybar grunts, mulletfish, snappers, chubs, damselfish, wrasses, and many others. It seems that I'm generally cleaning and filleting fish as the sun goes down and the earth begins cooling. We usually eat dinner at 9pm, often with friends from other boats, watching the sunset over the spectacular Baja mountains fade from red to darkness. The moon was full several days ago, so in the last few evenings the post-twilight darkness has brought brilliantly sparkling stars, later followed by a yellow rising moon. This time of the day is the most pleasant, so we end up putting the kids to be no earlier than 10pm, ourselves going to sleep around midnight. Most nights are so calm we sleep soundly. Sometimes, just before going to bed we'll cuddle with the kids on the nets at the bow and watch the stars; other times, I'll get into a dinghy and row into the darkness by myself just to take in the stillness and beauty.

July 23 - Isla Coronados

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Bill here.

We're currently anchored at Isla Coronados, about six miles north of Loreto, accompanied by Wanderlust (an Albin Vega 27, sistership to John Neal's Mahina), Yulan (a Tartan 34 yawl), Overheated (Newport 41), and Aries (a new-model Catalina 40). As usual, the anchorage includes no Mexican boats (I'm told that Mexican tax laws make yacht ownership nearly impossible), but this one happens to include many day visitors, mostly in pangas (22-25 foot skiffs) and a few on jet skis.

We've been traveling with Wanderlust and Yulan since April, and have gotten quite attached to their inhabitants. Wanderlust is skippered by 22-year-old Nick, an engineless singlehander. He'd left La Paz at the end of May, bound for either Hawaii or his homeport of Santa Barbara (Nick has an amazing capacity to operate with great flexibility), but a collision with another boat at sea damaged his rig and forced him back into the Sea of Cortez. Nick has been on the ultimate "budget cruise", having spent under $10k during the past year, including the price of the boat. He's now down to his last funds, but since he's only spent $20 in the last 45 days I image he'll be with us for several months to come. He'd been hoping to get to either Hawaii or California to live on the boat and make more money, but hurricane season and a damaged boat have made it more likely that he'll leave the boat anchored in Baja and return to the states via either car or bus. He's been able to feed himself largely by skin diving; unfortunately a Mexican fisherman friend managed to lose his Hawaiian sling (a pole spear with a piece of bungee cord at the safe end), so he's been swimming into caves to grab lobsters. The complication is that morays cohabitate with the lobsters; Nick confirmed this by getting bitten on his thumb two days ago.

Yulan is also from Seattle, and is crewed by a family of three. Father/skipper Barney worked at West Marine in Shilshole, so we had a bit of contact prior to departing. We've shared anchorages about half the time we've been in the Sea, and frequent visits and dinners have made us all close companions. Five-year-old Stevie has grown to become Naomi's best friend, with the two girls playing most of the time when we're together. They're looking at the end of their year-long cruise, and are planning to pull Yulan out of the water in San Carlos in about six weeks, then moving to Salt Lake City where Barney has family.

The crews of Overheated and Aries are new friends -- we met both a couple of weeks ago at a bay just south of Loreto. Both boats are crewed by retired husband/wife teams. They are spending their second summer in the Sea, having left California two years ago with plans to head into Polynesian portion of the Pacific, but have found Mexico so pleasant they've decided to stay indefinitely. Yesterday Jackson, Nick and I hiked to the 1000-foot top of Isla Coronado with Darrel and Rita from Overheated, a challenging five-hour hike we started at 7am. We reached the top of the island at about 10:30, when the temperature was 100 degrees. During the course of the hike, the two of us (Jax and I) consumed a gallon of water.

Spear fishing has become a shared activity of growing significance because in our refrigeration-less world the only fresh meat we get comes from the water. Two days ago Jackson and I went skin diving with Darrel and Nick at the north end of the island in a place of spectacular rock formations, and strong currents where three-foot-long reef fish are common. A couple of days earlier Jax and I had been diving with Donna and Rich, the crew of Aries, and loaned them a couple of spears. They enjoyed it so much they went into Loreto a few days later and bought two Hawaiian slings.

Mom departed about two and a half weeks ago after being with us for three weeks. We spent the first week in La Paz finishing up getting prepared for a summer in the Sea, then spent two weeks cruising from La Paz to Loreto, a very pleasant experience. When we dropped her off at the airport in Loreto, we met a couple, Cliff and Karen, who were also from Bellingham and were down here on their RV. They gave us a tour of the town by driving us around in their pickup truck, and then later gave us a fishing pole when we were visiting them on a beach just south of town.

The area we're in is quite interesting. Loreto is notable because it's the first European settlement in the Californias, Spanish Jesuits having built the mission there in 1697. It was also the capital of Spanish California until 1829 when a hurricane tore the place up. At this point it is a town of about 10,000 inhabitants (much smaller than La Paz, with about 200,000), one of the only towns that size in the central Sea (the other two are Mulege and Santa Rosalia, respectively 80 and 120 miles north of us). Loreto itself is quite lovely, with nicely maintained walks along the waterfront and through town. There appears to be a significant gringo community in the area, and the folks here (both Mexican and American) are very friendly and helpful. The area includes an incredible national park with five major islands and dozens of minor ones, and a hurricane hole that is arguably one of the best in Baja. The hurricane hole, Puerto Escondido ("Hidden Harbor" in Spanish), is unique. It is an almost-landlocked saltwater lake with a very small entrance and depths 30-60 feet, surrounded by high hills. The Sierra La Giganta mountain range rises to almost 4000 feet just a few miles west of the harbor, and is reputed to play a part in breaking up hurricanes that collide with it.

The hurricane issue has become more significant. As I write this there are two spinning through the Pacific just south of us. One, Elida, appeared on the weather reports just yesterday and has quickly grown to be a Category III hurricane (and later became a Category V with winds of 140-170 knots). We're not too concerned at this point because July is not that bad a month, but I like the idea of being a short run from a good hurricane hole. The others north of us are at San Carlos on the mainland side (around 100 miles from here), and at Bahia Los Angeles (230 miles). One of our guidebooks has a table showing that 34 hurricanes impacted the Baja and the Sea during the forty-year period between 1952 and 1992. The distribution by month: June 1, July 3, August 9, September 16, October 5. Keep in mind that the region is the size of the state of California, so a hurricane "hit" is only likely to seriously impact a small portion of it, most likely the southernmost third. For hurricane formation, the water temperature needs to be 78.8 degrees or higher. Since the probability of getting hit reduces as you travel northward, our plan is to stay in this area another couple of weeks, then head to San Carlos on the mainland side during the first half of August, then to Bahia de Los Angeles for the remainder of hurricane season. The "magic line" for some insurance companies is N27 degrees - they void policies if you're south of that line after June 1 (Ed. note: others will still extend coverage south of 27 degrees if you're at a dock or on the hard). La Paz is at N24, Loreto is at N26, San Carlos is at N28, and Bahia de Los Angeles is at N29. If a low does come our way, our strategy will vary with the storm intensity. If it's 60 knots or below, we'll stay with the boat, if it's 80 knots or above, we'll park the boat and get on a bus to a safer location (Tijuana?), and if it's in between, well, we'll just have to improvise. The hurricane that came through La Paz last year had winds of around 80 knots - most of the boats that got damaged were dry-stored in a boatyard sitting on fill and fell over when the soil washed away. Those on the docks were undamaged, and just a few unattended boats anchored in the harbor dragged onto the beach.

The boat has been giving us a few maintenance challenges lately. The most significant was the failure of our alternator, a problem we noticed when looking at the battery monitor just after leaving La Paz. Because the skies are generally sunny and we live primarily on solar power, the problem didn't seem that urgent -- until we had a cloudy day and found we couldn't watch DVD's and run the watermaker, too. Because this was an area we were ignorant about, we spend several days doing research and asking for advice before installing the spare - quite the learning exercise. One of this week's tasks will be to go into Loreto and find a shop to repair the failed unit. Possibly a challenging task, but should be doable since alternators are pretty ubiquitous. Karryn is currently in the final stages of assembling the awning, a task we initiated over two months ago by assembling a prototype from a plastic tarp and duct tape. At the time we thought we'd use the prototype maybe a month. It's been so long now that the prototype is showing significant signs of decay from the sun and wind - the plastic tarp is disintegrating and the glue has died on much of the duct tape. We've been concerned that the prototype might explode before the new one is ready, an unpleasant prospect under the blazing sun. Our watermaker started leaking a few days ago, and needs new seals. We have the seals and water is available in Loreto, so we probably won't make the fix until next weekend.

We'd been concerned about the summer heat, but so far it hasn't been much of a problem. Daytime temperatures are in the high 90's, but we've acclimatized enough that it isn't uncomfortable. We're all getting along, and the kids are doing well. Jackson spends much of his time reading, and is currently finishing up his 4th-grade math workbook. He's getting even better at swimming and was able to dive to a depth of 22 feet last week. Both kids have hair streaked with blonde (Ed. note: Jackson is blond), dark tans and are very strong from all the walking and swimming. As for myself, I've never been in better condition. In port, I do a great deal of rowing and walking; in remote areas, the daily fishing keeps me fit.

(The editor, however, has been spending her non-alternator-and-watermaker time hunched over the sewing machine, a task that does not lend itself to significant calorie deficits. She will confirm that the skipper is looking damn fine these days, and she's enjoying his usual garb of the micro Speedo-style bathing suits he bought - reluctantly - back in La Paz.)

July 6 - In Puerto Escondido

(Email via Maritime Mobile Radio Service)

After leaving La Paz on June 23rd, we spent a night at Ensenada Grande and two nights at Caleta Partida, both anchorages in the two islands just north of La Paz (Islas Espritu Santo and Partida). Chinook (owned by La Paz sailmakers Max and Stephanie), Fleur de Mer and Wanderlust were there. You may recall that Wanderlust and Fleur de Mer had left La Paz back in May, bound for Hawaii (or, in 22-year-old Nick's case, possibly Santa Barbara, depending on the direction of the wind). The two boats were sailing together off Cabo when the events surrounding the catching of a large fish caused the two boats to collide at speed, fortunately only a glancing blow. Nobody got sunk, but both boats came away with rig damage and returned to the Sea of Cortez. Doug and Rachel had came to La Paz aboard Fleur de Mer in early June, but engineless Nick on Wanderlust got blown further north to Los Gatos in strong winds, and was missing so long those of us back in La Paz put a 'health and welfare' check into action on several of the HAM nets. In a few days Nick had been located in Caleta Partida, safe and relaxed. An interesting side effect of Nick's brief brush with fame on the HAM nets has been that complete strangers now approach him with, "Hey, aren't you that missing guy?" and charismatic Nick and the other sailors then become good friends. Nick now knows more people than the rest of us put together.

Caleta Partida has some nice spear fishing spots, so every day we'd go out and get enough for dinner that night. Yvonne had brought a recipe with her and finally got to try it there, and it was very good (fish cooked with bananas, brown sugar, ginger and a couple of other things - lots of rave reviews from all). Jackson and most of the adults hiked to the top of one of the cinder cones on Espiritu Santo. After three days, it was time to move on, and we said good-bye to Chinook for the summer, as they are staying in La Paz.

Traveling is a visual treat here, as the scenery is really spectacular in the Sea of Cortez with layered and eroded desert mountains right next to the water. The colors vary, with white, pink, coral, tan, brown, blank and even greenish layers. There's always something beautiful to look at, whether it's the geological formations or the marine animals and birds. We saw dolphins and some larger whales feeding in between Islas San Francisco and San Jose and a small (4 feet) hammerhead shark.

Our next stop was San Evaristo, a small fishing village about 28 miles north, which is normally a fairly sheltered cove, being only open to the southeast. However, strong southeasterly winds in the southern part of the Sea sent swells up that way, right into the entrance. It was a bit bouncy, and we were happy to head north again the next day.

We sailed for the first part of the day, but then the wind died and we had to resort to the motor to get the rest of the way to Los Gatos. (Summer in the Sea is remarkably like Puget Sound in this regard.) Los Gatos (also called Puerto El Gato) is our favorite place from our previous trip north. The rock formations are interesting and beautiful, the diving is good and there's no village and not many boats there. This is partly because it's a fairly open anchorage, and our two days there were somewhat marred by the constant swell. There were also dead and fairly smelly squid on the beach; we're told they die after spawning in shallow water. I had always thought of squid as small, maybe a foot in length and fairly skinny, but these guys are more like three feet long and fairly substantial animals.

There we met up with Manuel, Nick's fisherman friend, thus improving my Spanish about fivefold in a couple of days. After two nights, we moved the boat south a few miles to Timbabichi in order to visit Manuel's home and hopefully to have his family to dinner onboard Seafire. The dinner ended up with only Manuel, as his mother-in-law was returning unexpectedly from Cuidad Constucion, where she had gone for medical treatment.

We had thought of perhaps staying another day or so in Timbabichi, but the only spot out of the swell was also pretty shallow (seven feet when we woke up in the morning!), so we set out for Agua Verde around 10 a.m. As we passed Los Gatos, the two boats there were also leaving, so the three boats traveled in company (Shamwari and Arclyd - the latter we met while on the Pacific side of Baja). We anchored in the east bight of the bay, a lovely spot. Agua Verde is one of the larger villages on this remote section of coast, the nearest paved road many miles away. We stayed there three days, mostly spending our time fishing and hiking. On one fishing excursion, Bill was lucky enough to get a 26" snapper, and generally was successful enough to be able to give extra fish away to the other boats in the harbor. Over those few days we were joined by a variety of boats - Karl, Michelle and Kelsey aboard Arcyld (from Saltspring Island); Charles, Nina, Sandra and Frank aboard Shamwari (from the Bay area); Jill and Brent aboard Loncia (out of Bainbridge Island); Jimmy and Jane aboard Dry Martini (out of Richmond, CA); and finally a large, swanky looking 80-foot modern-looking motorboat.

This boat was a bit mysterious. Most of the boats in any anchorage are owner-skippered sailboats that traveled from the West Coast of the US to get here, with an occasional boat from some distant place like the East Coast or Europe. Large motorboats are fairly rare, and tend to be perceived as eyesores by the cruisers because of their size and noisiness - jet skis and loud generators are common. In addition to its Mexican crew, this particular motorboat was populated by an even mix of males and females in their early 20's (about eight of them altogether), with a single old fart who appeared to be in his 40's. When the boat first came in Bill swam over to talk to them, in part because they'd immediately gotten out the jet skis (the big, really loud kind; even the Mexican villagers complained about the noise) and he figured a friendly attitude would increase the likelihood of civilized behavior (these folks frequently like to use sailboats as turning marks for their water-skiers and jet skiers). The Americans on the boat were from the LA area, and the guys appeared to be weightlifters. One of them, the one with the bulgiest muscles, complained about how cold the 76-degree water was. Anyway, what made the boat so odd was that the passengers were rarely seen on deck, but every couple of hours they'd all emerge from the cabin, two would jump on the jet skis and energetically tear around the bay at warp speed for about 45 minutes, and then they'd all disappear again, silence engulfing the bay. They did this for two days, perhaps spending an hour and a half outside the cabin on each day. It was never clear what they were doing down below. Perhaps they had air conditioning.

From Agua Verde we sailed to Candelero Chico with Loncia. Candelero Chico is a delightful little bay reminiscent of Patos Island in the San Juans, a small cove bordered by an islet, only able to accommodate one or two boats. The islet has an incredible reef surrounding it, large haystack boulders with underwater crevasses, monster fish, the largest in the three-foot range. We spent a single night there, dove the reef, then moved on the Puerto Escondido, a couple of hours to the north and probably the best hurricane hole in Baja.

Puerto Escondido is a short drive from Loreto, the oldest settlement in the Californias and the only location other than Cabo and La Paz that has a major airport. There is a significant gringo community, and because the harbor is so well protected there are quite a few boats that have been left anchored while their owners return to the US. At some point in the past there was a large community planned here, and they built the roads to accommodate it. Obviously, the development went bust, but not until they'd built a grid of large, boulevard-type roads. The roads have sidewalks and curbs, but are unpaved, and the cement work was done long enough ago that the cement work is now crumbling. There is a single unfinished cinderblock building. The 50-odd uninhabited boats, the decaying streets and the ruin-like building give the place a ghost town feel. Initially upon entering one is struck by the busy-ness of the place, boats and roads everywhere, but a short time later the solitude and quietness set in.

July 2 - In Agua Verde

(Email via Maritime Mobile Radio Service)

(Location: 25 degrees 31.3 minutes north, 111 degrees 4.4 minutes west)

I can't believe it's closing in on two months since the last web entry was sent in, but the date is what it is. Usually it takes us a minute or two to figure out just what day it is, but Yvonne is with us and has a firm return date, so now it only takes about 20 seconds before the passing of time is made clear. Her flight leaves Loreto this Saturday, so we have to move north again tomorrow.

We spent almost two months in La Paz, working on boat chores and trying to adjust to the heat. Our bodies are adjusting, but we never satisfactorily adjusted our schedules, staying up too late to make good use of the cooler morning hours. So our productivity suffered, but we had a good time and found La Paz a wonderful place to be. Eventually, though, it became warm enough that without the option of rolling off the boat into the water (the tidal currents are often too strong to swim in), we had to leave.

However, while we were there we would escape from the city about once a week and make a day trip with friends to Balandra. Some people would go off and spear fish, and some of us would snorkel or hang out on the beach. Late afternoon would find us returning to La Paz, where we would filet fish and cook dinner, staying up much too late and having too much fun. One of these expeditions lasted five days, as four other boats were leaving for points west or north, and it was a bittersweet time for the crews of Seafire, Yulan and Chinook as we watched our friends sail away.

Once they left, we threw ourselves back into preparations for the summer and Yvonne's arrival. It took about a week after she arrived to finish the last tasks. These included getting all the stuff she brought with her for us through customs, which actually worked just like it was supposed to, thanks to Gabriela at Marina Santa Cruz and Rafael at Aduana. The loot (Christmas in June!) included six Hella fans, four of which are already installed and improving our ability to deal with warmer weather.

Speaking of warmer weather, it's not that hot yet. O.K., so it's a relative thing. By the standards of the Sea of Cortez, it's been a cool June, which we have appreciated greatly. The humidity started to climb about three or four weeks ago, which makes the apparent temperature go up. Ninety-six degrees was a whole lot easier to deal with when the relative humidity was 30% instead of 60% or higher. Most days it's been less than 95, and some days haven't even seen 90. In fact, the night before last was the first night we didn't have the comforter on. The fan still isn't necessary for sleep, which is a good thing, especially after catching Bill turning it to his side instead of sharing it - twice!