South to Puerto Vallarta

Preparing to set out to sea requires food, fuel, paper work and starting the engine; everything worked except the engine.  A few hours of trouble shooting with the starter removed, disassembled, etc. and the diesel started ... we still don't know why ... this would prove temper-mental.

The seas are confused as we escape the jetty heading out between the islands and the Mazatlan shore line.  I raise the main and lose the halyard (probably not my last mistake).  With Steve standing on the boom, fishing pole in hand and me holding his legs against the battering seas, we recover the halyard and set sail south.  Our destination is Isla Isabella, a bird sanctuary, eighteen miles off the coast of Estado Nayarit , Mexico (we will not venture near the Maria Islands; the Mexican penal colony does not allow visitors and we do not wish to become residents).  The clear night turns to overcast with a steady broad reach southeast.  It is a beautiful sail with light rains on occasion.  

 Mid day brings us to Isla Isabella; we drop anchor in the bay where it is known to eat ground tackle with its rocky bottom and uncertain hold.  Hundreds of frigate birds fly overhead; why?  ....

 

Steve, Betty, Billy and I form up the beach party to visit the fish camp and birds.  The protected birds sit in the short trees and stare at us; no cause for alarm here.  It looks like a spartan life in the fish camp; few comforts, nice weather, thousands of birds.

Our anchor comes up and we set sail for San Blas.  Our charts no longer provide details of the coast line so we need to watch the lights as we near the shore.  With uncertain winds, I try to start the engine, twice ... no luck ... that must be why we are on a sail boat.  Midnight brings us to the bay of Mantanchen where we anchor; Steve and I toast our passage with tequila and rest.

San Blas is the mosquito sanctuary of the coast; the many palapas along the bay continuously burn palm cuttings to smoke out the insects.  The rain forest behind the beach and surrounding the town is a swamp; the river delta runs in every direction and provides a perfect breading ground.  I negotiate with a palapa owner to drive us around the swamp, into San Blas; we hike around this old, historic town and are the only tourists in this remote enclave today.  The old and new church stand side by side in the central square.  Two blocks away pickup trucks are loading up with troops in flack jackets carrying automatic weapons; the drug war is hot in Mexico; the outcome seams uncertain.  A restaurant where the beer is cold and the food good tops off the day.  Then back to the beach where Steve, Tina and the kiddies play in the shallow water.  Everyone here is a local, enjoying family day (Sunday) on the bay.

We start the engine in the afternoon (luck is with us) and motor farther down the coast to Chacala bay; anchored bow and stern,  steadied against the surf rolling into the beach for the night.  The scenery here is dramatically different from the desert in Baja; palms reach to the sky; each day portends the possibility of rain; the weather has become warmer, but not hot.  We run the reef on the northern entrance to Banderas Bay and anchor in the shelter of Punta de Mita.  When Steve visited here in his youth ... there was nothing but beach sand; now it is a Four Seasons resort with condominiums as far as the eye can see; so much for progress.  It is a short sail into Puerto Vallarta and Paradise Village Marina.  I leave Seahorse V and friends to go home for the holidays ... looking forward to returning .....

(San Blas photo from Google Earth)

Mazatlan

The big city rises out of the east as we sail to shore. Mazatlan has a large bay where the fishing fleet, ferry and cruise ships dock ... our destination, farther north, is the small gap in the shore with the jetty at El Cid. They say not to try this in bad weather or the dark; we have no trouble, it is a beautiful day. The yacht harbor area is shallow and cut through the low lands many years ago. We tie up at a dock as directed by Marina Mazatlan. This is an up scale neighborhood with gringos aplenty. In the slip next to us are four, twenty something, Canadians; they are here to surf and romance the local school teachers; I seem to remember working for a living at their age … (probably just envy).

Down town is a nine peso ride on a pretty nice bus; hard to comprehend the locals paying so much; many things are not cheap in Mexico, like marinas. The buses wind their way along the Malecon to El Centro and the Mercado.

This is the retail center near old town; everybody shops in this neighborhood. Food, clothes, shoes (lots of shoes) and everything else except for books; there were no book stores. Old town area spreads out from the cathedral to the opera house and the cultural venues; small parks … artist’s stores.

           This is Thanksgiving week (only in the US) and the restaurants are still empty; Sergio says it will be a couple more weeks before the town fills up with Christmas vacationers. Marina Mazatlan hosts a Thanksgiving gathering with food, music and beer (of course).

¿Oye Oscar, son aquellas manzanas de Washington? Esté tranquilo Jorge, tengo mucho sueño.

Island Hopping ... Night Watch to Mazatlan

We venture out of La Paz harbor on a short run to Puerto Ballanda again. This limited venture is to get the kids, big and small, younger and older, settled into cruising. The bay has white sand beaches and millions of sand crabs. Next to Isla Espiritu Santos but the engine stops; we unfurl the Genoa and make six knots going north while Captain Steve bleeds the diesel lines. Rocky bottoms at Puerto Ballanda make the anchor hold uncertain; a close in anchorage off the cliffs at Puerto Ballena is no better this time but the drag is out to sea and safe waters.

Ensenada Grande, Isla Partida has the perfect sand hold and protection for the night. The waters are warm for swimming; the beaches include trails into the mountains. Captain Steve, Billy and I start a hike to survey the trail and critters ... too many critters and snakes to venture far from the beach.

We haul anchor and head for the sea lions on the north end of Partida. Tour boats full of snorklers visit the noisy inhabitants.  Some of the young, tough sea lions shout us away from their neighborhood. We turn east across the top of Partida and down the east side of Isla Espiritu Santos, destination Mazatlan.

As we head out through the Canal Cerralvo between Baja California del Sur and Isla Cerralvo, the wind freshens for a close reach to Mazatlan. The sun has long set; the sliver of moon is setting quickly for a dark night. On the horizon to the south is the glow of Cabo San Lucas a distance of about 80 miles; Squid Roe should be livening up about now. Orion’s belt rises in the east to guide us to Mazatlan (just in case the GPS fails). The stars on the horizon are muted and fuzzy with the moisture and particulates in the air. Above Seahorse V the sky is bright with high power stars, the milky way and constellations lighting the cosmos. A large high pressure zone sits off the coast of Baja in the Pacific; the low has passed to the eastern US. There will be pleasant weather and calm seas; unfortunately, good weather brings little wind.

The calm seas are best for Tina and the children; a nice passive sea. Steve and I are willing to cross whatever the weather is; Seahorse V likes big wind and high waves; the rest of the crew does not. Three hour watches; Betty and Tyler together; next is Steve; I get the middle of the night. This is the quiet time of the passage. Look out for traffic …. none ...?? ... then the Baja Ferry slides up to look us over; check the sails … very little wind and DDW (dead down wind); Orion’s belt reaches to the top of the mast with the passage of the watch. Then to sleep; Mazatlan is still two days away.

La Paz, Home Sweet Home

Deb joined the crew for the cruise to La Paz. We headed out of

Cabo for Los Frailes, Ensenada de los Muertos, and Puerto Ballanda  in succession. Hopping spot to spot; dingy to the beach to

check out the latest hurricane impact; scope out sites for condos; collect shells and civilization artifacts. The population is sparse along the Sea of Cortez coast.  As light fades to night, the Ipod plays the old tunes and we sing along; a little tequila and we sound better; a lot of tequilla and we sound great.

It feels good to be back in La Paz; few tourists, a close Cruceros network. La Paz is a Mexican city in the desert. It is surrounded by the beautiful mountains, sand and bays of the Baja and Sea of Cortez.

Cruising is mostly about boat repair, food and beer; (you can tell I am not Canadian in that I listed beer last, it really does come early, sometime just after breakfast). We set out to buy boat parts, glue, clamps and a coffee percolator. We have been looking for a percolator forever; drip coffee does not work well with limited electricity and high seas; at long last, a store display, stainless steel from China, the only percolator in Mexico; what a find.

So where do locals eat breakfast? Several blocks away is Mercado Bravo, a warehouse building with stall space for entrepreneurs; on one end is the fresh fish and vegetables; on the other are the counters where sixteen to twenty pesos covers desayuno. After thirty years in the food processing business, I didn’t look too closely at anything here; good food and no ill effects. Rancho Viejo and La Fonda restaurants are local favorites; modest cost and great service. The locals are glad the cruisers are spending money here; like most everywhere else, the economy is depressed; in La Paz, there is ongoing building activity betting on economic growth in their future. A visit with Greg at Costa Baja resort indicates business is slow currently.


My twelve dollar watch is water proof to 164 feet; I must have been down pretty far, because the number elements are disappearing one by one. Now it is arguable whether or not I should need a watch; Baja time is slow and unfocussed; but the boat does leave and I want to be on it. The watch shop on Revolution is a quiet place; no ticking; not even the proprietor wakes up when I enter. There are the 500 peso watches, name brands and chick styles. I am after functionality; that means large numbers that I can read without my glasses and a night light for checking time on watch. It is a pretty momentous decision at 145 pesos, but I choose one that has a 30 meter rating and big numbers; the proprietor installs a new battery to bring it alive with full functionality (most of the watches are dead); I set 24 hour time which is my custom for work and sea.


Skip and Deb have headed home. Captain Steve’s family, Tina, Tyler (16), Billy (2 1/2), Grace (7 months) flew into La Paz to join the best part of the cruise. We all settle in to Seahorse V and set out for the Islands.

Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas

Bahia Santa Maria is the best part of the Baja Ha-ha. The moon rises over the fleet as the stragglers come in to anchor. The rally is a floating party, and the fish camp at Bahia Santa Maria is the best, because there is nothing there. The bay is large and unpopulated except for the influx of several hundred people and the boats that carry Ha-ha-ers. Captain Steve expertly guides the 4 HP inflatable through the waves; there will be a safe landing for the Seahourse V contingent. On shore, the band has arrived from La Paz to play live rock and roll for tips. Enough beer has been trucked in to almost meet the expectations of the Canadian contingent. This year’s shrimp plate is a bit meager; the group decides to vote their funds on beer … and the party is on ... Sweet Home Alabama, cold beer and a vista to die for ... Most of the merry makers are from the US, but it is the Canadians that rock the party.

Sometime after enough beer, I become an honorary Canadian. Captain Ron, Captain Steve, Erik and Betty danced on the sloped gravel dance floor; the aussies join in. A few Mexican corridas are added for good measure. It could have gone on all night, but the Grand PooBahh finally shuts down the party to avoid stranding people ashore in the dark like last year. Seahorse V leaves that evening in search of a strong wind running south.

Cabo San Lucas is the terminus of the Ha-ha. Check in with immigration and the port captain this time is through an expediting service; $50 US and it is over. No long waits in line; no extortion at the immigration office. More time to relax, eat, drink, etc.

Skip’s wife Julie and sister Deb flew in to Cabo for R&R. The party tonight is at Squid Roe; a loud, DJ driven venue with lots of booze. The debate continues as to who knocked the beer bottle out of Betty’s hand, all we know is there was glass all over the dance floor. The Squid Roe Rapid Response Team jumped into action and the glass was gone in a flash; the DJ’s played on … several women danced on the tables and platforms; this year they kept their clothes on (too bad). It was an earlier, less inebriated night for the Ha-ha-ers; as the air leaked, we dingied back to Seahorse V, anchored off of the beach. After a few days of partying, Captain Ron heads home … we will miss him.

The Ascendancy of Captain Ron

Truth and facts are in the eye of the beholder; since you are not here, you shall not know the truth ….

Ron joined his old friend Captain Steve in San Diego for a short cruise. City Slicker from Richmond, BC, Ron had little experience with boating; this was soon to change … Rumor is Ron’s a close relative of Bob Newhart.

Ha-ha-er’s are a friendly group and when Ron was asked what kind of boat he was on, he succinctly replied: a white one (very deft). When pressed, Ron further elaborated that Seahorse V has two telephone poles which made it better than those single pole boats. When asked about the ketch, he said no, he had not caught any fish.

Sailing south with the storms, Ron picked up the intricacies of boat handling. Those white things that hang on the poles are sheets and there are ropes all over the place for whatever one wants to do with them.

With his dedication to the helm he is often guiding us down the coast. “Where are we Captain Ron?” “We are at the little boat figure on the TV over the steering thingy!!!” “When will we get there Captain Ron? “In two days of hard sailing, argh”


Ever safety conscious, he wears his red life jacket with distinction, especially when there are five to a dingy. “I didn’t realize Baja was a complete waste land; lack of civilization; quite a bit different from downtown Richmond; what the hell were these people thinking?”

“Captain Ron, Captain Ron, we are coming into Bahia Santa Maria at 0300 in the dark and we are scared; what shall we do?” Captain Ron reached deep into his sea experience and relieves us all when he says: “We will turn the pointy end of the floating thing toward the boat that is playing the loudest music or has good looking women out in the yard; at that point we will drop the thing on the bow that rattles so much chain; when the boat stops, we can party.” Sure enough, as the people came out to worship the sun, the boat next door to Seahorse V had two women on the bow, one in a bikini. Such is the complete grasp of seafaring by Captain Ron. “It is difficult to make the boat go to the location of the loudest music when it is coming off of Seahorse V.”

In spite of Captain Ron’s detailed seafaring knowledge he is still open to new learning. Betty, politely, corrected Captain Ron that those red rope thingies on the yard were periwinkle. Now Captain Ron commands the back yard and watches the periwinkles abound. Four letter words are often used by seasoned mariners. Such is the breadth of Captain Ron’s new found vocabulary that he must show a little deference to social norms upon his return to Richmond IT. Four letter salty words must be expunged in polite society. Never again to be uttered are: boat, sail, wind, wave, etc. Argh becomes Arrgh to be five letters and Politically Correct.

Captain Ron is an expert in swordsmanship; a tuna or Dorado does not have a chance should they be caught in our “non-existent fishing line.” First the tuna challenged him; when the combat ended there were tuna fillets for days. Captain Ron, in review of the victory at hand said “Get that &$@# hook out of the water before we catch another one.” I think this makes Captain Ron an environmentalist, but of course we knew that about him already.

Ron is reserved and gracious, when he drinks, he prefers beer; he is Canadian … ehh. A run to the store in Turtle Bay for essentials; a look in Ron’s bag … full of beer. Americans provision a boat with fuel and food; Canadians provision beer, more beer, enough beer (more), then fuel and something to eat. We Americans have a lot to learn.

As Ron soared to new heights and insights, Captain Steve elevated Ron to Captain. After all, if we get sideways with the authorities, someone will have to go to jail … Hear! Hear! for Captain Ron.

Bahia Tortuga, Baja California, Mexico

“El Gordo, Jr”. (Enrique Gerardo Castro) is the entrepreneur of Turtle Bay; fuel, restaurant, motel, taxi, laundry, etc?. His minions came to Seahorse V before Annabelle was awake. $2.55 per gallon of diesel; I asked for complimentary taxi service for our stay; when the panga man balked, I told him to call Enrique, who agreed to the deal; Enrique has the last say on everything in Turtle Bay.

We walked into town by the Catholic church. It has a prominent location on a bluff overlooking the bay. The furnishings are modest; fitting for a community with little economic output. The super Mercado is akin to a super Wal-mart, but on a smaller scale, smaller and smaller; fruits, vegetables, meat, school supplies, pharmaceuticals, TV’s, stereos, cooking ranges and refrigerators. Past the internet café to La Pallapa for a visit with Mercedes and El Jeffe (Carlos). Beer, tequila and fish tacos overlooking the bay. Night is coming to Bahia Tortugas. As the sun sets, the clouds change color and contrast; a few more sail boats are at the entrance seeking shelter from the sea. I finish the night at the internet café with hundreds of emails; I need a better spam filter.

The Sea Takes Its Toll:  This morning we hear that J World sank in seven minutes off the coast; it was an encounter with whales. They were in a life raft for a couple hours before the Coast Guard helicopter plucked them from the water. J World is the first boat ever lost on the Baja Ha-ha in sixteen years. Other boats tore sails, bent equipment and are bruised. We have a small tear in our radial spinnaker and a shredded guy line. And this is fun?? Well yes, in a controlled risk adventure. Winds blew hard at sea and in Bahia Tortugas; we had a gust of sixty one knots, just a few short of hurricane force. The weather has been cold, in contrast to previous years in the 90’s. The wind continues to blow hard and create thousands of sparkling sun spots on the water. Mercedes and Carlos (El Jefe) court the gringos with beer, topopos, fish tacos, and lobster. A WiFi hookup at Ron and Isabela’s keeps us connected to civilization (too bad…).

The beach party has peaked by the time we arrive. A lot of beer, food and volley ball later, the crowd is departing for their boats to recover for the evening festivities.

Turtle Bay celebrates Dia de los Muertos beginning with school displays in the plaza. Food is for sale; the local hero band plays Mexican rock and American covers. Betty is the wildest dancer on scene. Ron and Erik are making appointments with their cardiologist as the band plays on. Only the gringos are dancing; the high school girls in their plaid uniforms keep to the sidelines despite encouragement for young American studs. When the rock stops, the traditional corridas begin with the more mature locals. The gingo’s have moved on to other venues in town.

Baja California, Mexico

Betty was all dressed up with no where to go; we were passing on the Halloween party.  Seahorse V left San Diego at 4:30 pm to get ahead of a storm; predicted winds at 35 knots and heavy swells (déjà-vu all over again). Captain Steve, Ron, Skip, Betty and Erik were aboard. Since Steve and Ron are from Vancouver, BC, we might need a translator for us gringos this trip. We are sailing under the maple leaf flag.

Main, Genoa and Mizzen sails flying out the jetty. Seahorse V is a French Wauquiez Amphitrite 1982; 44 foot, 22 ton, ketch rig. As the afternoon turned to evening, the wind faded away. Time for dinner; Steve and Skip with pork loin on the barbeque, Betty on steamed string beans and Erik on mashed potatoes as the light of day grayed to night. Life is rough ... Ron steered the boat, left turn, south .

What is it with bilge pumps and all this water??? Seahorse V has two electric and one manual bilge pump. They could not keep up with the water coming in at 4:30 am; eleven miles off of Punta Santo Tomas; this is a long way to go to run up on the sand beach. Steve and Ron were up; Ron was hand pumping pretty fast (he is getting a short course in cruising; his first trip … will there be another)? Steve was looking for a leak in the shaft packing, through hulls, etc. We finally decided that the Rule 3700 bilge pump was auto siphoning back into the boat when it shut down; an inch and a half hose can fill up a boat pretty fast. We disconnected the manual discharge line to crate an air break and defeat the suction; the bilges have been dry since … a little redesign work will be needed when we get to a port with a chandlery.

Off of Bahia San Quintin, dozens of porpoises danced around Seahorse V. Whether it was feeding time, or just a visit to the latest transients, they were having a good time showing us up; jump, dive under the keel and out again; the best designs by man can not compete with nature. A grey whale lumbered by; so large it looked slow, like a 747 in the landing pattern. The seals gathered in little conclaves, floating on their backs, discussing the merits of the day’s catch; its like someone called a board meeting and Joe forgot the minutes; so they just talked on. Long rollers from the northwest portend the coming weather tomorrow. We should be well ahead of the bad parts, hopefully.

Today brought good sailing winds; time to get the radial spinnaker on deck and flying. Seahorse V has not flown a spinnaker reliably before. We sorted the sheets, guys, topping lift and rigged a downhaul for the pole; up went the pole. The spinnaker was highly twisted in the sock. Pushing, pulling, twisting, threading and we had liftoff. A blue, red and white radial on the bow with the mizzen behind; seven and a half knots with peaks to nine. Seahorse V was locked onto the wind.

Several hours on the wind and the guy line wore through and separated at the pole. We pulled the spinnaker down and raised the main and Genoa. Across Bahia Viscaino to the northeast end of Isla Cedros. Viscaino has the bad weather, but we are favored by the gods on this passage. I have been by Cedros four times and always passed on the ocean side. We are heading inside for a new experience and a little shelter from the storm that is catching us from behind. As we pass the light house, the winds climb to thirty knots; too much for the sail set; on deck we double reef and roll up the Genoa to a small patch. After all of the sail setting work, the wind dies …. out goes the Genoa and we hit thirty again. This would be the pattern for the front moving through; too much and too little wind … and very unpredictable. A release of the preventer and the main boom scratches Steve’s nose; two centimeters more and it would have been an amateur nose job; sailing requires caution, especially in the dark. We motor sailed though Canal de Dewey, where Isla Natividad stands off the shore. Natividad is home to the caracol cannery after the demise of the plant in Turtle Bay. The late night hour keeps us running south rather than visiting unknown ports in the dark.

We approach the light houses guarding the Bahia Tortuga entrance. GPS and radar guide our entry in the 0300 darkness. Dropped the anchor in twenty feet of water off the pier; we have survived another passage at sea; time to sleep.