Sea Turtle Hatchlings, Banderas Bay

 

What a thrill to release an Olive Ridley turtle hatchling into the water and watch it begin life in its natural habitat!  I sent it off with blessings for a long and happy life.  These ancient creatures can live up to 80 years, most of those years in the water.  Females will return many times to the same beach from which they were hatched. 

We gathered on the beach just north of Paradise Village at twilight with about 50 people to release the hatchlings. This endangered species is getting help from conservation programs and volunteers who build secure nurseries on the beach where the eggs are gathered and protected and released after they hatch. The biggest threat to their lives has been human intervention; poaching and fish nets.  It is now a hefty prison term for anyone caught stealing eggs.  Natural predators include birds so the hatchlings are released at dusk to help prevent them from becoming snacks.      

A polypropylene line was placed in the sand about 30 feet from the surf line. We rubbed sand in our hands so the smell of this particular beach would be imprinted on the hatchling’s brain. The biologists took a hatchling from the plastic pail and placed it in our cupped hands. 

On the count of three, we all pointed our hatchlings toward the water and placed them in the sand.  They looked for the sun on the horizon and headed for it.  Well…most of them did.  Some got a little confused and disoriented and took the scenic route to the ocean, turning left or right a few times before meandering down to the surf line.  Some turned around completely and headed away from the water.  Perhaps they weren’t quite ready to get their feet wet, but the volunteers helped them all eventually find their way. 

We left at dark with the image of these precious hatchlings all paddling out to sea and knowing that we had helped in a small way to give them their best chance to survive and to one day return to this same beach to lay their own eggs.  In the photo below, the little black dots are the hatchlings going to the sea. 

The Chicken Lady

Although my Spanish proficiency is improving daily, I still know just enough to send me in circles.  On this day I wanted chicken. I asked the pretty clerk in the market where I could buy chicken since she didn’t stock any.  She was very kind and gave me a long explanation and what I think were several options, something like; “You can go here and if they don’t have any go there, or there, etc.” My best understanding was of the international hand signals for go down the street two blocks, then turn right, then continue one-half block and then look on the left side.  So off I went while Ken and our hot, tired, patient friends sat down on the curb to wait. I was on a mission.   

Following my made up directions, I passed several meat stores proudly displaying slabs of marbled red and white meat dangling from gigantic hooks while butchers expertly carved and sawed beneath swinging carcasses.  I saw nothing that resembled a chicken store so I stopped in at a corner market and asked again for directions.  I received a new set and left with renewed gusto.  Off down the street and around the corner I went and again, not a chicken to behold.  By this time, I had lost track of the direction from which I had come and some shops were beginning to look familiar.  I stopped at a taqueria whose menu indicated a specialty in chicken. I chatted with a lady who very kindly explained all of the different ways that she could prepare my chicken dish. With each suggestion my response was a shake of my head and “No”.  No beans, no rice, no mole, in fact no chicken. We both showed signs of exasperation so she called out the cook.  Under pressure, my new, limited vocabulary failed me and all I could think to say was “Quisiero un pollo por la cucina". I want chicken for my kitchen.  The cook stared at me, speechless, dumbfounded.

“Quisiere un pollo por la cucina", she repeated. 

“Si.”

She paused, looking at me like I was from Mars and then her eyes lit up. She took me by the elbow, guided me outside and pointed to a lady at the street corner sitting behind a table shaded by a big umbrella.  Ah ha, the chicken lady!  As I approached with the proud smile of having accomplished a mission, she lifted the towel covering a large stainless steel bowl, swatted away the flies, held up some hindquarters and apologized for not having any breast meat left.

“No problemo, I’ll take that one” I said pointing and then motioned that I would like her to cut off the feet which she did with one whack of a very big knife, tossed the remaining pieces onto a slippery scale and wrapped my treasure in a little green plastic bag which I carefully placed in my backpack so as not to spill the juices.   

 

I have to admit that I was a tad bit concerned when it came time to cook my prized chicken.  After all the heat, the bowl, the flies, the slippery scale were still vivid images, but the chicken smelled good and I figured that heat kills bacteria so I tossed the pieces in flour and baked them.  They were so good that I ate all of them.

I’ve been trying to figure out why the chicken had such good flavor and I can come up with only two reasons:  First, the chicken wasn’t trucked in from Arkansas, in fact I probably crossed paths with the poor little thing on my way to market; and second, it wasn’t injected with anything organic or synthetic.  It was a free-range chicken which has a different meaning in this Mexican village and probably adds to its incredible flavor.  I’m off to buy more.    

Chacala

It’s Sunday morning and I prepare breakfast to the beat of the Mariachi band already on the beach and the screams of kids playing in the surf. It isn’t long before the oompah band with its tuba, horns and drums sets up for the day at the other end of the beach. It’s crowded by noon and vendors start popping up; fruit vendors with coconuts and pineapples who will whack them up right there and give you a straw to quench your thirst, ice cream carts, a table full of oysters waiting to be shucked.

 

 

 



“Thank you for coming”, the friendly Port Captain greeted us when wechecked in.Little did we know that he embodied the warmth and friendliness of this small village that would make it hard for us to weigh anchor and move on. 



 

We have been anchored here for 15 days in 25 feet of water that is 80 degrees. We are 200 yards off of the beautiful sand beach, designated as one of Mexico’s “clean beaches”, and it is pristine. Humpback whales come to these waters from December to March to give birth to their young. This is also a turtle sanctuary where young turtles are released on the beach. There is a hot spring nearby and it’s a birders paradise. Over 170 species of birds have been spotted in the village trees. The village is surrounded by low, fertile hills planted in rows of mango trees. We spend our days rowing the dinghy ashore to buy fish, meat, and vegetables at the local tiendas; enjoying homemade ice cream from a shop owner who is also an illustrator giving me drawing lessons when he isn’t scooping up his delicious treat; swimming; kayaking; snorkeling and wandering the smooth, round rock cobblestone streets discovering all the nooks and crannies of the place. And oh yes…enjoying cold cervezas under the beach palapas. 

 

Thanks to Jill, Regine and Maxine, the gracious teachers at the Learning Center, my stay in Chacala was enhanced richly.   I worked with a dozen delightful, energetic primary kids in the after school English program.  I also participated in an English test prep session for 16 high school students.  I was thrilled to spend time with such smart, polite students, some of whom are sponsored by Cambiando Vidas, a local non-profit that provides scholarships (www.CambiandoVidasMexico.org). 

A trip to the sprawling open-air market in La Pinita yielded a feast for the senses as it overflows with Mexican artwork, handmade textiles, food, ceramics, all imaginable hardware items, and clothing. 

One morning, we climbed into a dilapidated local taxi van, the seats sporting large gashes through which most of the foam had escaped.  The doors were tied on with rope and the instrument panel was a gaping hole where instruments had once lived.  I think that it may have been a hurricane remnant and the guy’s only livelihood so he managed to keep it running.  Despite all appearances, he was a good driver and navigated us safely down the potholed roads to neighboring Los Varos where Ken bought two pairs of glasses, having lost his second pair in a bad beach landing in the dingy.  We explored the town and returned unscathed in a spotless taxi van.  Before boarding, the driver asked us to wait a few minutes so that he could mop it out.  This van was complete with enclosed seats, instrument panels and seat belts. The luck of the draw.  

Now, for the return trip to pick up Ken’s glasses and wander through the market in Los Varos!

Isla Isabel

Known as the “Galapagos of Mexico”, we sailed overnight to this isolated volcanic island.  After hours of dodging fish nets, we rounded the towering Las Monas.  Hundreds of birds circled overhead.  

We dropped anchor in a 13-foot deeply crevassed canyon.  This anchorage is known for swallowing anchors so we donned fins and snorkels and jumped into the 87-degree water teeming with fish.  Due to the island’s isolation and geology, the waters are crystal clear and the snorkeling is fantastic.  Hundreds of fish swam past us: bright yellow and black striped; long, sleek silver ones; plump purple ones all unconcerned with our presence in their fish bowl.   We checked our anchor which had missed the sandy patch that we were aiming for but landed on a rock shelf.  It held us well through the night.

In the morning, we beached the dingy and hiked a trail through the dense, low canopy of trees, home to thousands of nesting birds; frigates, blue-footed boobies, green-footed boobies, brown boobies and brown pelicans among many others.  The heat, humidity and smell of guano were oppressive as we followed the trail to Lago Crater (Crater Lake), which was incredibly polluted from eons of guano.  A symphony of bird calls followed our every step as hundreds of birds circled and millions more were in the nests. 

Back on the beach, we discovered a myriad of invertebrates running along the sand as well as a plethora of beautiful shells no longer inhabited. 

Free of natural predators, this island is an amazing sanctuary and a magnificent World Heritage Site accessible only by private boat.  It is awe inspiring.  We’re glad that we decided to stop and take the chance of losing our anchor.  I saw a couple of them on the bottom while snorkeling.  Luckily, we did not add ours to the collection.  

Images of Mazatlan - Historic District

Chance Encounters

At the moment that we stepped into the air-conditioned bus, we didn’t realize that we were risking our lives.  The bus hadn’t traveled far before images of Frida Kahlo’s crippling injuries from a bus accident flashed into my mind.  Our driver’s attitude propelled us at top speed down congested roads weaving through traffic, cutting off other buses and screeching around corners.  He momentarily slowed when he realized that the crunching noise was our bus and a car in an unfortunate encounter.  He thought better of stopping...and so we continued barreling down the road to Juarez, which we realized was not where we wanted to go.  We jumped out of our seats, raced down the steps, landed in the street and hailed a pulmonia, an open-air taxi resembling a golf cart, which also catapulted us at top speed, but closer to the ground, to the hair salon.  Concerned that I was late, I left Ken to negotiate with the driver and entered the tranquility of Tippy Toes Salon whose ad I had seen in an English language news magazine. 

I was delighted to be greeted in French, I have yet to discover who that was, offered a glass of wine, which I readily accepted, and escorted up three flights of stairs to an air conditioned boutique filled with objects d’art, textiles and gorgeous leather purses, all sourced from Mexico, the Middle East and Africa.  And oh yes, there was a small stack of books, “The Little Coffee Shop in Kabul” on the top shelf next to one upright copy of “Kabul Beauty School”, the New York Times bestseller that I read when it was first released.  An American woman with a pretty smile and easy laugh stood in front of a mirrored wall and next to the one hair chair.  She was expecting me. 

We chatted as she got down to the business of cutting my hair.  We discovered a shared interest in the education of women in Afghanistan.  I told her about my affiliation with the Alliance for International Women’s Rights for whom I taught English as a Second Language to a young Afghan woman via Skype. She told me about the beauty school that she established in Kabul, the first in the country. I soon realized that Deborah Rodriguez, the author of both books,  was not just cutting my hair but giving me one of the best cuts ever.  She was forced to leave Afghanistan and has set up shop in Mazatlan where she is offering at-risk girls the opportunity for training and employment in beauty services. 

Just what are the chances of two American women with a shared interest in the well being of Afghan women stumbling upon each other in a hair salon in Mazatlan?  It’s a small world.

Images of Mazatlan

Catedral Basilica de la Purisima Concepcion

Ice cream man

One of many plazas in Mazatlan

A small roadside taqueria

 

Gitane at Marina El Cid

 

Images of Mazatlan - Centro Mercado

 

Southern Crossing

We motorsail 175 miles east from Cabo San Lucas to Mazatlan.  We are 24 hours into the crossing before we see another boat, a fishing boat heading west two miles from us.  After spending 15 days in the company of over 100 boats, it feels a bit lonely out here.  The VHF radio is silent.  A flying fish lands in the cockpit, the only companion on my night watch.     

The Milky Way blankets the sky and dust from the mainland blankets us.  It hangs in the humid air.  Carried in the light north wind, we smell it 50 miles from shore. A fine film settles on the dodger windows, streaks the sail, coats the deck.  In the cockpit it drifts onto the table and cushions.  When we stand to peer over the dodger, it blows onto our glasses, clings to our clothes and nestles in our hair. 

We talk excitedly about the fresh water washdown that we’ll get in the marina.  About how good it will feel and how refreshing it will be to slosh around barefoot on the deck with running water after the sand, dirt and saltwater accumulated in 15 days of sailing and anchoring off of beaches.  We’re going to hose everything down inside and out, including each other.

Whales glide by and sea turtles paddle past as we enter the waters of Pacific Mexico.  It’s by the skin of our teeth and Ken’s keen eye that we avoid getting a fishing net wound around the propeller.  A thick yellow line strung between clear plastic water bottles hangs just below the surface.  We turn sharply to starboard and sail parallel to it for miles before we spot a black flag attached to a buoy bobbing in the swell and marking the end of the net.  It drops deeply into the sea and traps everything in its path.  Fish jump into the air to escape its grip. The scene is hard to watch.

It’s mid-morning when Isla Pajores appears on the horizon, our landmark to the entrance of Sabalo estuary and our reserved slip at El Cid Marina.   

Leg Three - Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas

The winds are so light on this leg that the 30-hour cruise seems like it will never end.  Motor-sailing at 5-knots feels like we are standing still.  The main sail bangs back and forth in its track.  The jib slaps in cadence with the ocean swell.  The days are hotter and the nights are warmer.   At nightfall, the lights of La Paz brighten the horizon to the east.  We can smell dirt in the air. The Milky Way provides hours of entertainment.  A long line of port lights and stern lights stretches for miles on the north/south horizons.  The entire fleet is wallowing. 

As we near Cabo Falso in the afternoon, we are charmed by sea turtles paddling by. Condos and hotels appear on the beaches and hills.  Sport fishing boats cross our bow with lines out.   Suddenly, we are back in a busy port and our serenity is obliterated. 

 

We anchor off of the beach which is great for diving off of the stern into the 80 degree water.  This is a busy place with jet skis screaming by, pangas motoring by with tourists, cruise ships and party boats plying the bay.  There are numerous restaurants to choose from and well-stocked supermarkets. We purchased an internet modem from the phone company’s main customer service center which was open on Sunday!  Everyone with whom we’ve come in contact in Cabo has been very friendly. 

The Baja Ha-Ha rally ended here with a fabulous catered lunch on the beach and an award ceremony in which we all celebrated our triumphs and challenges.  The rally provided support via a daily net which delivered weather information, organized medical support, helped the fleet address mechanical issues and logged daily position reports of each boat.  We are grateful to have had the opportunity to participate in the rally and will take many of the lessons learned with us as we continue cruising.      

Leg Two - Bahia Tortugas to Bahia Santa Maria

We followed a stream of stern lights into the vast expanse of Bahia Santa Maria at 0230.  Total transit time was 42.5 hours. We motor-sailed for 29 hours due to light winds.  As we rounded Punto Hughes, the anchor lights in the bay looked like streetlights of a small town.

The morning light reveal an enormous, beautiful bay with a fishing camp on shore.  A couple of one-room, wood-frame buildings on the hill and simple lean-tos line the beach along the estuary.  Nicely painted and well-maintained pangas begin plying the waters of the anchorage in the late morning providing taxi service to the beach party. There aren’t any services here, just a lovely bay for swimming, waves for surfing and hills for hiking.  It’s a quiet, serene place. 

 

A lunch for the fleet of grilled tuna, ceviche and rice was catered by folks from a small village about 30 miles east.  A live band from La Paz played great music all afternoon.  Swimming and beach volleyball rounded out the day. 

 

The fleet brought toys, clothes and candy for the kids of this poor camp.  I gave a coloring book and crayons to a sweet, barefoot girl whose eyes lit up as she held her gift as if it were gold.

 

 

Bahia Tortugas

We slip into Bahia Tortugas under a full moon at 0330.  Anchor lights gently rocking in the bay look like fireflies against the dark hills.

This small, dusty fishing town is awake at dawn.  The economic impact of our 145-boat fleet is significant.  Men and boys in pangas roam about the bay collecting garbage, delivering diesel ($3.80/gal) and serving as water taxis to the town dock which is in dire need of repair and takes astute navigation skills to avoid the gaping holes and missing boards.

We celebrate the completion of the 360-mile first leg with a beach party, a baseball game with local kids and dinner at Veracruz, one of two cafes in town. They are expecting us and have stocked up with a simple and flavorful Ha-Ha menu of tacos and burritos and plenty of cold beer and icy drinks.  There are two tiendas, little one-room stores that had a few root vegetables, eggs, canned good, soaps, cold drinks and other basics.    

 

A walk through town on the unpaved streets reveals the orderly lives of a community that takes pride in their surroundings.  The small cinderblock homes boast bright pastel interior walls and tidy kitchens. Patios are just feet from the street and are swept clean in what must be a constant battle. Black water tanks mounted on rooftops absorb the sun’s heat.  A coating of dust from passing cars softly settles on laundry hung out to dry.  Almost every house has satellite TV.  Everyone with whom we came in contact was pleasant and friendly.    

Leg One - San Diego to Bahia Tortugas

The rays of the full moon splash across the blackness lighting our watery world like a street light on wet pavement.  There is a plethora of stars at times veiled by billowy white cotton ball clouds that float by and stack up on the horizon.  The glow of our steaming light bounces off of the main sail.  The flags on the spreader flutter in the light northwest wind. The engine hums quietly as it gently pushes us at seven knots across three foot seas.  The winds were so light that we motorsailed for 36 hours of the 81-hour cruise.   The warm nights are spectacularly serene.  There is plenty of room to think and breathe in this wide open space. 

On the first night after leaving San Diego with the rally, I counted the lights of 25 boats around us.  On the second night there were four.  We entered Bahia Tortugas at 0300 on the third night following the stern lights of two boats.  Boats continued to enter the bay throughout the night. The winds were so light that we motored 36 hours of the total 81 hours of transit time. 

By contrast our days are busy and noisy.  The fleet roll call on the SSB takes an hour. The VHF crackles with conversation. We run the watermaker, make meals, adjust the sails, adjust our course, and stand watches.  The colorful gennaker balloons out and pulls us south in the light, warm winds. 

We are humbled by the gentle giant blue whales as they surface, their length longer than our boat.  We set out our fishing pole and in the evening and savor the delicious mild yellow fin tuna.

Lessons Learned

We have been asked to comment on what we wish we had known before we left so we put our heads together and came up with this:

1.    We experienced miserable conditions along the Washington/Oregon coast and the other northwest boats in the rally concur.  The fog was dense, wet, and cold and the seas were rough.  We do not have a full cockpit enclosure but many of the cruising boats do, and it would have been nice.

2.    Movement, moisture and corrosion cause equipment failure:  electronics, navigation lights, navigation systems, and alternators, lines chafe and fuel lines clog.

3.    Have several weather sources to confirm forecasts and conditions.  We downloaded weather via Sailmail from our SSB, and listened to NWS via VHF.  We also have a friend with the Marine Traffic Weather app on her iphone who texted forecast conditions to us when we were within cell phone range of land. She was invaluable. Everyone needs a friend like Joan.

4.    We rounded Cape Flattery and set a course 40 miles offshore.  After encountering severe weather, we changed course and headed for the coast.  It took us ten hours to reach the safety of a harbor.  After that experience, we stayed three to five miles offshore for a more comfortable ride, the ability to duck into a harbor if conditions changed and to obtain local weather information via VHF.

5.    Dedicated winches for all sails.  In San Francisco we added a winch for the trysail roller furl.

6.    We have motored more than we have sailed so carry plenty of fuel. We carry 57 gallons in the tank and 25 gallons in jerry cans.   

7.   The most common equipment failure in the fleet has been auto pilots. Our Autohelm 6000 is still working, but plenty of rally boats had problems because their system was too small to control the boat in heavy seas or experienced mechanical failure.

8.    Many boats took on extra crew members who abandoned ship in various ports when they became fed up with conditions either down below or out on the water leaving the captains scrambling to find new crew.  We did not take on extra crew and we are still happy co-captains.  Overnight cruising can be exhausting but we prefer to buckle down and get through it – just the two of us. 

9.    From Seattle to San Diego, we split our time 50/50 between anchoraging out and docking in marinas.  We spent five nights at sea.

We're sure to learn more on the next leg of our cruise!

 

 

San Diego

Our to-do list clambers around in my head and wakes me at 4:00 a.m.  I go over it again. The list has shrunk in the three weeks that we have been docked at Cabrillo Isle Marina.  Our routine goes like this: commute by dinghy to the other side of the bay, walk one mile to buy groceries, boat parts, cat food, etc., load some of our bulging bags into our backpacks and the rest onto our hand cart and reverse the route.  The trip takes hours and we make it almost every day.  The moorage fee includes the use of the luxurious amenities of the Sheraton hotel at the head of the dock.  A dip in the pool and then the Jacuzzi is a restorative end to each day.  

 

We replaced the holding tank, replaced the alternator, installed new watermaker filters, completed the requisite Costco run, made copies of all immigration and customs documents, took the cats to the vet for their International Health Certificates, filled the diesel and gasoline tanks and jerry cans, shipped Christmas gifts, and exchanged dollars for pesos.  

We have enjoyed our stay in San Diego and we’re ready for the next leg to begin.  This morning we reached the bottom of the list so I dug out the "Q" flag and the Mexican flag that we will fly from the starboard spreader. We will leave at 9:00 a.m. on Monday joining 145 other boats that are sailing 740 miles south to Cabo San Lucas.  Our first anchorage will be Bahia Tortugas after 360 miles and 36 hours of coastal cruising.  Our second anchorage will be Bahia Santa Maria, another 240 miles south.  And then after cruising yet another 180 miles, we expect to arrive at Cabo San Lucas around November 8. We’re excited.    

Avalon, Catalina Island

The hot, dry breeze cascades through the companionway, hovers in the salon and settles in the main stateroom.  Surprised by this offshore wind, I stand in the cockpit absorbing it.  We are on a mooring near the casino, and I am hotter here than I was in town. 

The one square mile quaint town is packed with contradictions.  Cheesy souvenir shops share the sidewalk with jewelry stores showcasing exquisite, handmade jewelry from around the world. Much to Ken’s consternation, I discovered the magical, eclectic collection of Ayala Bar, an Israeli artist.  In a storefront facing a sleazy liquor store, a small deli offers a selection of French cheese that rivals the caves in France.  Restaurants are abundant; a corner wine bar displays a regional selection of fine wines in a sophisticated ambience, while down the street, a noisy, rowdy crowd spills out of Luau Larry’s beach-front bar. Golf carts, the main local transportation quietly roam the narrow streets in town while trolleys and packed with tourists wind their way up into the hills.

Scirocco is a striking 75-foot classic wooden ketch with an interior so beautiful that she is featured in yacht design books.  At one time, she was owned by Errol Flynn.  A photo of him and Scirocco hangs in the Catalina Island Museum.  In the 1960s, she was owned by my uncle.  He plied these waters for years, sailing with family, friends and clients.  The photo that I have of Scirocco moored in Avalon in the 1960s testifies to the changes of this town.  Back then there weren’t any homes clinging to the hillsides and there were far fewer than the current 270 moorings in the harbor.  Now, so many years later moored in the same bay I feel like I have come full circle, as though I have come home. 

It’s easy to be healthy here.  Hill climbs deliver spectacular views.  Wandering the twisting roads, one is smothered in the scent of eucalyptus and fragrant pine. There are swimmers in the bay, sunbathers on the beaches, divers on the point, kayakers along the shoreline, and hikers on the hill tops. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the early morning darkness all is calm.  The surf meeting the beach is the only sound; no traffic, no sirens, no trains.