San Diego

Posted by John

When we sailed into San Diego Bay we needed a specific destination. That pre-decided destination was Glorietta Bay, which is a designated anchoring area for boats participating in the Baja Ha Ha, the annual cruising rally to Cabo San Lucas. The anchorage area, designated by the San Diego anchorage designation authorities (there must be such a group) as A-5, would allow Ha Ha boats to stay for the entire month of October, rather than the normal 72 hours. We had prearranged to meet another rally boat there that also had an 18-year old onboard, so we raised our Baja Ha Ha flag and headed for Glorietta Bay.

Just as when we noticed the birds in Half Moon Bay and the sea lions in Monterey, we immediately noticed the military helicopters in San Diego. Unlike the birds and sea lions, they did not have a strong odor, but they were loud, low and there were lots of them. So loud at times it was difficult to talk. We suspect they are from the Marine Corps Air Station at Camp Pendleton, doing routine training, but we could be wrong.

Glorietta Bay is a little appendage off the main part of San Diego Bay at Coronado. We found the other boat we were looking for, but being a Friday evening, we also found the anchoring area crowded with weekend boats all a little too close together for comfort. On Saturday the wind came up, and we watched one unattended boat drag anchor and drift through the middle of the pack, narrowly missing several others until the harbor police, and eventually the boat’s owner, showed up.

Other than a place to hang out for a while, Glorietta Bay offered practically nothing on shore for us, not even a place to leave the dinghy for the day or anywhere to replenish our fresh water supply. We didn’t really mind the playing of Reveille and Taps over loudspeakers at the nearby Naval Amphibious Base, but it was clear that staying there for two weeks anchored out wasn’t going to work for us.

It didn’t take long to find a marina with available guest slips, and on Monday morning we moved the boat farther south to a marina in Chula Vista. There we found everything we could possibly need, from friendly people and clean, bright docks and sidewalks with night-time floodlight-lit palm trees (always makes me feel like I’m on vacation), to a West Marine store a few blocks away, and a shopping mall a few more blocks beyond that. We even found a Mexican money exchange inside the Costco store.

Although Glorietta Bay was free, and a couple weeks in the marina is a bigger hit to the credit card than we planned, the marina was far more practical for everything we had left to do. We immediately had our mail sent there, and ordered everything we knew we’d need soon, rather than trying to find it all in Mexico.

Glorietta Bay.  The yellow buoy marks a corner of the special anchorage area.
Glorietta Bay. The yellow buoy marks a corner of the special anchorage area.
Hotel del Coronado in the distance.
Hotel del Coronado in the distance.

On Tuesday, Slainte arrived from a stop in Catalina after figuring out their engine problem in Santa Barbara. Joe and Cathy rented a car for the rest of the month, which we shared with them and split the cost. It was nice being able to make Costco runs and get everything loaded onto the boat directly from the dock rather than having to ferry it all in the dinghy like we did in Half Moon Bay.

We haven’t had any time for sightseeing because we have so much to do still. We’ve received our temporary import permit for the boat, got Mexican fishing licenses (a requirement for each person onboard), bought a Mexican liability insurance policy (also a requirement), bought a SIM card for our boat/house phone so it will work in Mexico, and then promptly dropped and broke the phone (that’s what, maybe item number 26 of the lost and broken?). We did manage to see a couple movies at a theater in the mall. We don’t get to do that as a family very often.

Our big purchase, and another big project to complete (a never-ending list), is a reverse osmosis water maker. It took us a long time to choose which one we wanted, and to figure out how to power it. It’s also going to take a while to get it installed, but it will be a certain necessity once we’re into the Sea of Cortez—and later if we do any long ocean crossings.

We bought the 30 GPH model from Cruise RO Water in Escondido. We had almost bought the one they had for demo at the Seattle Boat Show two years ago, so we’ve been looking at this model for some time. The water maker will (think positive) force filtered seawater at high pressure through membranes which block the salt in order to obtain pure water. Sounds simple, but the actual system has a lot of parts, pumps, valves, gauges and somewhat complex operating and maintenance procedures. That sustained “high pressure” is the hard part, and the membranes are delicate and expensive. It took the first day and a half of reading the manual and looking at the parts just to decide that we were missing the breather cap for the high pressure pump. We won’t have the system installed before we leave here, but we are scrambling to figure out how best to make it all fit and tie in with the existing electrical and plumbing systems. We think it might be easier to buy hardware here than try to shop for it in Mexico.

As for being here in San Diego, we’ve had some of the most summer-like weather we’ve seen all year. We’ve also seen the most rain since we left Puget Sound, but that isn’t saying much. I don’t think it’s rained enough to make the ground completely wet yet. It cools off at night, but otherwise it is shorts and T-shirts weather.

The strangest thing has been a weird crackling noise in the boat, especially at night. It sounded like it was coming from up in the bow, where the holding tank is and we store so many things, but we also heard it equally as loud in the stern. It sounded like electrical sparks, or maybe dripping water—but random, with no pattern. It was enough to nearly drive me nuts. I finally asked people who live on other boats in the marina if they heard it too. They laughed. One person said it was shrimp, and another said crabs; the sounds they make travel through the water and are easily heard through the boat hull. They told stories of people nearly ripping boats apart trying to find the source of the noise. I don’t care what kind of creature is making the sound, or why. I’m just good with being able to sleep at night.

And of course, one more thing failed this week. In the process of fixing the light inside the compass so we can see our heading at night, suddenly the transparent dome popped off and all the fluid gushed out. I have had that compass—the main binnacle compass on the steering pedestal—out of there many times in the past without a problem. It even spent last winter sitting on a shelf. I knew that one of the two very dim LED’s inside the rim was not working, which makes it difficult for our aging eyes to maintain the desired heading at night. I spent a big chunk of the day making up a replacement light from a strip of three red LED’s, including a whole new cable and connector assembly to replace the 22-year old corroded original, and was just reinstalling the compass when the dome fell off. Once my shock and frustration subsided, I decided that I probably had taken out too many screws. In the meantime, Julie located some “Ritchie Compass Oil” in stock at the downtown San Diego West Marine store. I found the fill plug you take out of the compass to pour the oil back in. You learn new stuff everyday.

Fixing the compass light removes one old item from the project list, but losing the compass fluid adds a new one (#27) to the lost and broken list.

California Yacht Marina at Chula Vista—a bright and sunny place.
California Yacht Marina at Chula Vista—a bright and sunny place.
There is no moss growing on these docks, nor, we trust, will any grow on our boat this winter.
There is no moss growing on these docks, nor, we trust, will any grow on our boat this winter.

The rally leaves on Monday, the 31st. The next post will be from somewhere in Mexico.

Half Moon Bay to San Diego Bay

Posted by John

Although we were comfortable in Half Moon Bay and our routines had become, well—routine, all things must eventually end. It was time to move on if we wanted to make it to San Diego on schedule.

It felt a little as if we’d overstayed our welcome. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I sensed we were starting to get in people’s way; taking up space and using resources, but paying little for the privilege. Or maybe we were okay to stay anchored there forever for free and it was us who were getting tired of the place. The smell from the bird rocks, the flies, the incessant blasting of the horn signal that marks the entrance to the harbor, and the same old weather pattern of cool and cloudy mornings followed by gusty winds all afternoon, day after day. Every time we brought up the anchor it seemed to also pull up fifty pounds of sticky, glue-like mud that obviously stuck better to the anchor than to the bottom of the bay. Since it only rained once, so lightly that nothing really got wet, the boat was covered in dust and dirt. We were chastised for using the water hose at the pumpout dock for rinsing the deck. Perhaps it was considered a non-essential use during a drought?

Whatever the reason, we were ready to leave. But first, our buddy boat, Slainte, was having some electrical issues with their solar charging system and had replacement parts on order. As soon as the parts came in, we planned to leave. On October 6th, we were off, but with a late start. The last time we raised the anchor was the worst. It not only came up with the most mud ever, but embedded in the mud were shellfish and other sea life.

Once back out in the ocean, it didn’t take long to re-learn what we had somehow forgotten: what happens to things left unsecured in a rolling boat. We had wanted to go to Monterey for the night, but with the late start, only made it to Santa Cruz, at the north end of Monterey Bay.

s/v Slainte motor sailing with jib, enroute to Santa Cruz from Half Moon Bay.
s/v Slainte motor sailing with jib, enroute to Santa Cruz from Half Moon Bay.
Santa Cruz boardwalk and rides as seen from anchor.
Santa Cruz boardwalk and rides as seen from anchor.

Once around the corner of the bay and sheltered somewhat from the northerly swells, we anchored off the beach at Santa Cruz. We didn’t attempt to go into shore because the sun was setting and the dinghy was packed away, but it looked interesting. The rides were not operating. It was nice being underway again, but being able to stop and sleep a full night was a real bonus. At least that was the idea. It turned out to be quite a rolly night. The continuous rolling made it almost impossible to sleep, and I kept getting up to make sure we were still anchored where we thought and not washing up on the beach.

Joe tried to spend the evening fixing the electrical problems but couldn’t do it with so much boat motion. We decided to go on to Monterey in the morning, get into the marina there, and do the repairs while tied to a dock.

We ended up staying in the marina in Monterey for three nights. It was the first marina we had been in since we left Seattle. We were able to get a reservation over the phone without any problem, but finding the correct slip once we arrived was a big problem. No numbers or signs are visible from the water. We ended up taking the wrong slip. We would’ve gone up to the office to verify and check in if it didn’t require a dock key to get out through the gate. Someone came down onto the dock about an hour later, told us we had to move, helped us tie up in the correct slip, showed us where the tiny little dock numbers were located—only visible to people already on the dock, and then gave us our dock key.

To go from wide open space to a crowded marina with boats tied and moored everywhere, and flotillas of kayaks and stand up paddle boards apparently thinking that they can do whatever they want without getting run over by a 46,000 pound boat that does not stop or turn quickly, was more stressful than we were ready for. The 70-foot slip they gave us had only 50 Amp power available. Our shore power cord only fits a 30 Amp socket. We wanted to use the sewing machine and so needed power. We searched our box of adapters, but only had 20 to 30 Amp adapters, not 30 to 50. Fortunately, the boat yard had adapters to loan out for a $195.00 deposit. It all worked out eventually, the stress and frustration went away, Joe fixed his electrical problem, and we had a good time in Monterey.

If Half Moon Bay has the birds, Monterey has the sea lions. If Half Moon Bay has an incessantly blaring horn, Monterey has incessantly barking sea lions. If the bird poop all over the rocks in Half Moon Bay stinks, well…

They don't bark while they sleep, but neither do they all sleep at the same time.
They don’t bark while they sleep, but neither do they all sleep at the same time.
Boards and electric fence wire at the edge of the dock are a couple of ways the marina tries to keep the sea lions off the docks.
Boards and electric fence wire at the edge of the dock are a couple of ways the marina tries to keep the sea lions off the docks.
Plywood barriers are probably the better deterrent, but obviously hinder boat access.
Plywood barriers are probably the better deterrent, but obviously hinder boat access.

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The Cannery Row area of Monterey is pretty much all John Steinbeck, all the time, except for the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Well, now that I think about it, there’s a lot of Steinbeck in there as well, including a whole section on Baja and the Sea of Cortez. The aquarium is very nice, but expensive and crowded.

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At the other end of the waterfront from Cannery Row is Fisherman’s Warf. It seems less of John Steinbeck, but no less touristy.

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Our weekend in Monterey was a nice diversion, but Slainte’s electrical problem was fixed. We left on Monday to go in search of Southern California, rumored to begin on the south side of Point Conception, where the coastline turns sharply eastward, the ocean swells lessen, and the weather south of there is always delightful (or so we’ve heard).

Unfortunately, during the first night of cruising down the coast from Monterey, Slainte developed engine trouble. We stopped in the middle of the night for Joe to check things over. Slainte’s engine was consuming crankcase oil. This was a strange experience. After hours of following the little point of white light which was Slainte’s stern light, we were now two boats literally bobbing in a sea of blackness, the only outside visual reference being each other’s running lights. I found it easy to freak out a little by the odd spatial orientation, and was happy to start moving again.

By the end of the next day, after a few more stops to add more oil, we anchored for the night so Joe could do more troubleshooting. On the south side of Point Conception, behind Government Point, is small, protected Cojo Anchorage. It makes a good shelter to wait out the weather when going northbound around Point Conception, which is notorious for rough conditions. As we were setting the anchor uncomfortably close to the surf breaking on the beach, we were startled by the southbound “Coast Starlight” Amtrak train going by on top of a low bluff directly above the beach. A few minutes later, the northbound train went by as well. Once this trip is over we might have to try a trip on that.

Sunrise from Cojo Anchorage, proof that the coast runs east-west here.
Sunrise from Cojo Anchorage, proof that the coast runs east-west here.

The outlook for Slainte was not good. Joe, a diesel mechanic, needed time to remove the transmission, possibly order parts and make repairs. He decided to head for Santa Barbara and try to get a slip at the marina there until the issue could be brought under control.

When we arrived at Santa Barbara the marina was a zoo. Slainte made it through the narrow entrance channel, tied up to the Harbormaster dock, and made a case for an emergency need for a slip for a few days. There was one available that they could fit into. We entered the channel a few minutes later, only to be faced by boats sailing out for an evening race, and a string of launches ferrying passengers out to a cruise ship, not to mention the now expected flotilla of kayaks, stand up paddle boards and dinghies. These last take low priority behind right-of-way-demanding sailboats and cruise ship landing craft jammed to the max with uncomfortable-looking passengers, especially when we have to look into a low setting sun. The flotilla may or may not have actually been there, we couldn’t really see them anyway.

Joe texted us that no more slips were available, and even the fuel dock was jammed up. We didn’t want to get into a jam so we turned around to go back out, which was a lot like trying to do a U-turn on a narrow road, blocking traffic in both directions.

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Once again, we went out to the anchoring area off the beach and looked at the shore from a distance.

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So, with Slainte stuck in Santa Barbara for a while, and us planning to meet a family with another 18-year old in San Diego on Sunday, it was decided that we would go on ahead, meeting up with Slainte again when they got to San Diego. In the morning we raised the anchor and continued along the coast, past Ventura and Point Mugu, and then angled out, passing Los Angeles and Long Beach offshore, and aiming for San Diego. Winds were light and variable, so we droned on uneventfully for two days. Whale sightings and dolphins have become a common occurrence, but one thing not expected was the lack of other marine traffic. Although we paralleled the shipping lanes for most of the night, we were virtually alone.

Somewhere between Santa Barbara and San Diego, not a kayak in sight.
Somewhere between Santa Barbara and San Diego, not a kayak in sight.

As we approached San Diego we noticed two things happening with the VHF radio on channel 16. “Warships” (formerly known as Navy vessels?) were maneuvering and announcing their intentions to all other vessels; and many of the other radio conversations were entirely in Spanish. Even though when sailing in Puget Sound we frequently encounter transiting nuclear submarines and their escorts, I had never heard so much military use of the marine VHF radio, especially between other military ships and helicopters; and conversations seemingly directed at each other, rather than directly at a particular civilian boat. On the other hand, the Spanish conversations, when we thought about it, made perfect sense since we could literally see Mexico in the distance. It just hadn’t sunk in yet that we were so far south.

Point Loma and entrance to San Diego Bay.
Point Loma and entrance to San Diego Bay.
Following a warship into San Diego Bay.
Following a warship into San Diego Bay.
Golfers in the sunshine under palm trees, as seen from Mysticeti at anchor in San Diego Bay. We are a long way from home.
Golfers in the sunshine under palm trees, as seen from Mysticeti at anchor in San Diego Bay. We are a long way from home.

So, we made it. Pretty much the entire west coast of the continental United States, from Cape Flattery to Point Loma, has passed by on the port side of our little sailing ship.

Seattle to San Diego: 1,250 nautical miles at sea.
Running total of items broken, lost or in need of repair: 25.