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.   

 

Buttonshell Cove, Catalina Island

The full moon casts a swath of broad, glittering light on the water on this Friday night, just before midnight.  Twinkling green lights, like 25 small floating emeralds are scattered across the water.  In slow motion, they bob and flutter from the fully lit dive boat 200 yards from us to the rock cliffs where they trace an outline of the shore before they circle back. 

For five days, we have been the only boat in this extraordinary cove – a veritable nature playground.  In the crystal clear water schools of silver fish, blue fish, and orange fish are abundant in the towering kelp that sweep up from their base 30 feet below and rock rhythmically in the surge.  Sometimes, thinking that it will escape a seal, a fish will make a mistake and jump out of the water. Simultaneously, the seal jumps, catches it in its open mouth and returns to its home with a splash.  Dolphins frolic, pelicans fly by wing tips hovering just above the water in perfect balance, ducks quack in formation, deer scurry up the hillside.  We have kayaked, snorkeled and walked the niches and beaches of the neighboring coves.  Other than the kids from Camp Fox who pass by on their kayak outings, we’ve had this place to ourselves. 

 

Then Friday arrives.  I look toward the mainland and see sticks and white blocks resembling Legos toys on the horizon advancing toward us with the determination of an invading army.  The ten buoys are filled by afternoon.  Boats arrive late into the night. 

We awake on Saturday with five boats anchored around us.  Next door, Hen Rock has 25 moorings and all are in use.  Further south, White’s Cove and Moonstone Cove have a combined 58 moorings.  We hear on the radio that just a few are still available. A flotilla of 25 kayaks from the camp passes.  By noon, there will have been three flotillas and I learn that this is a YMCA father-daughter weekend with 225 participants. 

Our quiet cove is suddenly a very busy place – a playground shared by nature and humans.