The knock on the boat comes early in the morning … it is the Park Rangers.Viking II has been anchored in Partida Cove for several days … this sunrise visit by the authorities can’t be good!I say “buenos dias”; in English, the young researcher tells me that they will be tagging turtles at the fishing village in fifteen minutes and cruisers are welcome to watch.No coffee … no breakfast … fire up the dingy and head to the beach.
There is an assemblage of cruisers on the beach encircling nine unhappy turtles lying on their backs.This is the monthly turtle tagging by the government.Nets were set up last night; local fisherman assist with the task; young research interns add to the ambiance.
Each turtle is weighed, measured, named and tagged; the Jefe has the girls measure the tails while the leather skinned fishermen laugh ... some things are the same in any language.
Cyrus and his cousins are about 20 to 25 years old; Cyrus has a California tag, from about 1,000 miles away. The process is quick to minimize the impact on the turtles; when complete, the turtles are rolled over onto their bellies; they dart off the beach and swim to open water.They will probably tell their friends about the crazy people to avoid on Isla Espiritu Santo.
We arrive in Cabo San Lucas to an unfavorable east wind … the Captania de el Puerto closes the port due to safety concerns from the heavy surf. We will not be at Squid Roe tonight; no big loss. Viking II will be rocking and rolling in the wind and waves all night.
After clearing into Mexico, boats go their separate ways … Viking II is heading off to La Paz, one of my favorite cities in Mexico. The Sea of Cortez is flat on our way north through the familiar passages.
Departed in light winds with the heavy asymmetrical and main sail set; anticipating freshening winds to 20 knots tonight.
News flash: off of Punto Santo Domingo, helmsman EJ hit 16.6 knots surfing down a wave with a full genny and main sail. He now holds the record for the trip.
The party at Bahia Santa Maria is the highlight for me. If Bahia Santa Maria was in California, there would be miles of condos; here, there are miles of uninterrupted beach. Population of the bay is about a half dozen fishermen/families. When the fleet comes in, the band, beer and food is hauled over the dunes from La Paz. The dinner plate is about $14 USD, but the tamales are only $1 apiece and taste wonderful. Two and a half dollar beer leads to buying in pairs because no one can make change … tough :o) The band warms up with the usual covers and everyone dances. Favorable tides this year allow partying beyond the hour which people our age should have been back aboard … in bed … asleep.
Disclaimer: beer is not the only thing involved in cruising …
I love Bahia Tortugas, Baja California (Turtle Bay). Turtle Bay is not on any main road, just the route along the Mexican coast to the Sea of Cortez. We arrived in the dark after a two and a half day sail from San Diego; sailed a little wing on wing … most of the trip was surfing down the waves … we motored the last ten miles due to a dead calm. I have been here often enough to feel secure in the dark … Lowrance (the GPS) has several tracks that take me where I have been before. We anchor, and per tradition, break out the tequila and toast a successful passage.
In the morning we move Viking II closer to the pier to shorten the dingy and panga runs. Pangas are two dollars per person this year; I’d swear it was only one dollar last year … inflation in Turtle Bay. At the softball game and around town, people appear to be in good economic shape; unemployment is said to be low; fishing is the primary industry … tourism comes next … that would be us. The Baja Ha-ha has been coming here for sixteen years; with six hundred people pressed onto a normal population of four thousand, it is a big event. Annabel is nowhere to be found, so I purchase fuel and water from Enrique Jr., El Gordo, the local tycoon.
EJ, Marilyn, Jynene, Buffy, Jan and I, launch the dingy. A $150 overhaul back home in Sacramento (under the watch full eyes of the Cal EPA) and the outboard will not idle … this will make it more of a challenge docking and beaching the dingy through the waves. Off to town to catch up on the internet and see how cold the beer is. My favorite is La Palapa with Carlos and Mercedes, proprietors. A great visit with old friends, good food, internet access and yes … the beer is cold.
A new softball game between the locals and the Ha-ha’ers is a delight for all. No one keeps score … the Ha-ha’ers get eight outs … the music is wonderful; a great event to share with the community. As the crowd dissipates, Julio the beer concessionaire gives us free beer as we listen to the music in a near-empty stadium … just Julio, the musician from the ministry of culture, and us … this is the good life. We arrive late for the Halloween party at the Vera Cruz but make up for it by closing the place. Ha-ha’ers and locals danced the night away.
The beach party is in full swing as I deliver Jynene, Buffy and Betty through the light surf. A little confusion with helpers on the beach and a stalled outboard nearly proves disastrous as a wave hits me and knocks me off the dingy. I bail water as I return to the anchored fleet to pick up Alan, EJ and Marilyn ... our landing is uneventful. The party is pot luck and concession beer; volley ball for the athletic and golf ball/horse shoes for casual play ... Jynene is obviously a ringer. Kites fly over the beach and the women whip the men in a tug of war. Locals are selling trinkets and cool drinks; they have licenses … bureaucracy is coming to Turtle Bay.
Dinner at La Palapa is wonderful; I have estofa de pesca that Mercedes has prepared specially for us; Buffy does the best langosta impersonation I have ever seen. Captain Fred, Alan and Betty, the crew of Aunt Sur, join in the revelry; conversation is lively. As the Ha-ha’ers drift back to the fleet, the locals as well as the mayor come by to socialize. The Ha-ha is not the sum total of life in Bahia Tortugas. This is a solid, working class town; I could live here.
Viking II departed San Diego with the Baja Ha-ha fleet of 160 to 190 boats. On board are Captain Erik, Jan, Jynene, Buffy, EJ, and Marilyn. We set out with a full main and the light asymmetrical spinnaker. Winds are light and the fleet soon scatters far and wide through Los Coronados Islas off the coast of Mexico.
Standing watch on an ocean going vessel is both a safety necessity and a legal requirement. We run 24 hours a day off shore with sails flying. Watch rotation is set to match the need with the skills at hand. I like short watches for novices as well as for experienced mariners to minimize fatigue. We set up a rotation that starts with two hours on the helm where the helmsman needs to be sharp and alert; next is two hours in the cockpit to be a resource for the helmsman in the event of a sail trim, etc … this is a time to relax and take in the scenery; finally the crew member is off watch … eight hours with our crew of six. Meals are cooked by the volunteer of the moment; dishes are washed by someone who did not cook (likely me).
Approaching Turtle Bay the wind slackens. We have had light wind and I am bored with our progress so I tell Buffy, my watch mate, that we are going to have a little fun … wing on wing. This is a dead-down-wind run with the spinnaker set to starboard and the main boom to port; it is unstable and hard to hold in a following sea. It is fun for an hour; we make about one more knot in speed; the setting sun suggests a more stable sail set into the night.
It has been two nights out at sea with an after dark arrival in Turtle Bay. The stay sail has a tear in it that will need repair; first sail tear on Viking II.
The 46th Rolex Big Boat Series on San Francisco Bay started today in the fog.Last year I crewed on winner, Summer & Smoke, with skipper Pat.It’s a grueling four days of boat to boat competition that tests the equipment, the crew and the pocket book.This year my seat is in the St Francis press room; it is a different view and I will likely come out of it without bruises.
The boats race out of the fog into the press room view offshore from the St Francis yacht club.The fleet is smaller this year, likely due to the economy, but the competition and testosterone are still in abundance.The press boat has the best view today; we can not see much beyond the two buoys marking the finish line.The sailboats tacking into the wind and the flood tide are revealed and then hidden by the fog; rail meat hangs on the life lines.The sound of the Golden Gate fog horn is in the distance.
The winds are high enough to make spinnaker handling delicate.The lagging boats are the ones having difficulties flying spinnaker and losing time to the lead boats.The Melges 32’s are fast boats; they are so light (3,775 lbs), they fly on top of the water.The finish is grand; lots of smiles on the boats that get the gun.But so much for racing … one day down and three to go ... now it’s time to party.The liquor runs fast and the women are faster.Me? … I am just an observer.
Today I have a seat on the Pursuit boat.This provides full access for sports photographers and writers at the turns.Next to me are professionals with lenses long enough to see the sweat dripping off of the man on the foredeck.My pocket camera will take a back row and not interfere. The only time I have been as close to the race boats, I was on one.The action is spectacular as the boats round their marks; crew scrambles to change sails and advance their position …
Beer can racing on Wednesday nights off Mare Island in Vallejo.Sponsored by the Vallejo Yacht Club, the competition runs the range from obsessed to casual sailors on the bay ...the beer is always a winner.
July off the coast of California is foggy and cold. Repair the bilge pump ... repair the boat leaks ... visit Santa Barbara, Moro Bay and Monterrey on course for Sausalito.
Caution … entering the full spin zone … reality is an illusion … truth is in the eye of the beholder ...
It has been a while since I have been out to sea. Little things and big things in life get in the way; the campaign is on hiatus for now; no big obligations, work or otherwise; the sea is calling me.
Jim took Sea Villa to Mexico last fall on the Baja Ha-ha. It has been a difficult bash north to the US and hard to get crew; the crew he has cannot enter the US; I head south to Ensenada to help out.
It has been three years since I was in Ensenada. Not a lot has changed; the big old news is the cruise ship port and the tourist trade. Even with the Carnival Paradise in town there are few shoppers. The economy is difficult everywhere. Shops row on row with the same tourist goods. The barkers persuade the curious into the strip joints; I head for the fish market … really.
The best catch of the day here is the heart of the local marine economy. Restaurants across from the market serve any variety of local dishes. Barkers with cleavage exhort the passersby; the barker at Nortenos is the best sales woman (without cleavage); she gets the crowd while the other shops are empty. I sit down and have a shrimp cocktail (I never look into the kitchen at a restaurant I will eat at). Mariachis play for tips. The customers are mostly local Mexican nationals in these ramshackle abodes; the tourists from the cruise ship take photos and walk by. A motorcycle pizza delivery entrepreneur brings his semi-warm delight to the fish market workers and is a hit; fresh fish versus pizza??? Oh well, life is diverse.
Walking down the Malecon, the hawkers want to take me on a fishing trip or a 2 hour sea cruise. Instead, I am embarking on Sea Villa. Jim and Max come back to the boat with parts; Gerardo is busy working to fix the fuel gauge when the battery charger cycles up and the smoke billows from the engine … we will not have a fuel gauge; Max is installing a new fuel filter system because the engine stopped coming up from San Quitin. Anyone who has been around boats knows that the repair work never ends … never.
You set out to sea with the boat you have, rather than the boat you want. A risk assessment is made and cleared. Besides, someone …??? … never checked in with the Mexican authorities and the marina just presented us with a letter of notification … we leave mid morning in heavy over cast with the wind on the nose running north for the border. Four knots up the coast will dwindle to two as the winds increase and the waves crash on the bow. The steering wheel wobbles side to side with sixty degrees of play under load; it is difficult to hold a course into the wind. I knew there was no autopilot and I signed on anyway … two hours on/four hours off all night makes one miss Auto the Pilot.
The coast of Mexico is alive with lights from homes, industry and automobiles. We keep off shore enough to avoid any obstructions … not too far so as to run into the Coronado Islands … GPS is accurate to nine feet; Mexican charts are accurate to two nautical miles … best to keep our distance from anything more solid and larger than our plastic boat.
Sun rise at the border; the lights along the fence are still bright in the false dawn light. The coast guard did not meet us today out at sea … they must know by now that I am a personal friend of Dick Chaney. We head for the SD buoy; Point Loma light is in the distance. There are no good photos coming into San Diego this time of year. The morning overcast clings to the city and above the sea. Visibility at sea level is good; we pick out the red and green buoys and carefully hold our course to stay clear of the destroyer heading out for maneuvers; if I were to suddenly turn to a ramming coarse who knows what would happen … the crew is manning their guns to prevent another Cole incident.
We end up at the Harbor Police dock to call Homeland Security; it is always good to know that they are on the job … protecting us from Osama Bin Laden. While one agent grills Jim on his boat registration, I am chatted up by the other agent; this will be a sixteen hour day for him; he was called in early to cover for someone who is absent … this OT happens often and on rotation. I am careful not to reveal anything … we all have something to hide! ... A constant watch for the drug cartels; the dogs are not working today and an Islander 37 is not a good drug ship, so we are finally cleared and can go up to use the bathrooms … the terrorists are winning … they should turn us old guys with suspect prostates loose on them.
Off to see Don at the fuel dock; Don saved my 2006 Viking II trip to Mexico by helping us with repairs; I will always be indebted to him; I always fuel up there and say hi. We settled into Southwest Yacht Club where Jim has reciprocity … this may be an upscale cruise yet … a hot shower can be better than …
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 .....
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.
The knock on the boat comes early in the morning … it is the Park Rangers. Viking II has been anchored in Partida Cove for several days … this sunrise visit by the authorities can’t be good! I say “buenos dias”; in English, the young researcher tells me that they will be tagging turtles at the fishing village in fifteen minutes and cruisers are welcome to watch. No coffee … no breakfast … fire up the dingy and head to the beach.
It has been a while since I have been out to sea. Little things and big things in life get in the way; the campaign is on hiatus for now; no big obligations, work or otherwise; the sea is calling me.
It has been three years since I was in Ensenada. Not a lot has changed; the big old news is the cruise ship port and the tourist trade. Even with the Carnival Paradise in town there are few shoppers. The economy is difficult everywhere. Shops row on row with the same tourist goods. The barkers persuade the curious into the strip joints; I head for the fish market … really.
The best catch of the day here is the heart of the local marine economy. Restaurants across from the market serve any variety of local dishes. Barkers with cleavage exhort the passersby; the barker at Nortenos is the best sales woman (without cleavage); she gets the crowd while the other shops are empty. I sit down and have a shrimp cocktail (I never look into the kitchen at a restaurant I will eat at). Mariachis play for tips. The customers are mostly local Mexican nationals in these ramshackle abodes; the tourists from the cruise ship take photos and walk by. A motorcycle pizza delivery entrepreneur brings his semi-warm delight to the fish market workers and is a hit; fresh fish versus pizza??? Oh well, life is diverse.
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.
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 .....
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).
