The Logbook

Going Off-Grid

Posted by John

During our Sunday afternoon at Lupe’s restaurant in San Evaristo we had discovered the village Wi-Fi password written on a piece of wood nailed to the wall among all of the photographs, children’s art work, memorabilia, fish skeletons, maps, knickknacks, bird feathers, seashells, boat cards (business cards for retired people who are now travelling about by boat), pennants, posters and calendars. Everyone immediately took out their smart phones and tried to connect. It worked. Once that fact had been established, the phones went back in the bags and we all returned to the moment before the interruption. It was time for dessert.

Being able to get onto the internet briefly in San Evaristo assured us that the world was still there, if a little unsettled. But that’s about all we got. We were only able to get a few minutes of access before the connection quit and we got nothing but error messages concerning an “upstream client satellite link.” Maybe we broke it. We kept trying. Maybe, we thought, it would work again on Monday. It did not.

We had now gone several days without internet or phone service. We didn’t know it yet, but we were going to go for several more.

We were staying in San Evaristo ‘til Tuesday if the winds let up, then we’d continue north up the Baja side of the Sea of Cortez toward Puerto Escondido. Geary’s Weather is broadcast on the Sonrisa net every morning at 7:45. He talks for 15 minutes, giving a full report and three-day forecast for the Baja peninsula, the Sea of Cortez, and the entire mainland Mexican Pacific coast. He also briefly reports on the Pacific Northwest and California (so everybody knows what’s going on at home). It’s not the best way to evaluate the weather, but right now he’s the easiest, most reliable information we have available.

Tuesday morning, part way through his broadcast, Geary realized he was using old data. He apologized, and that was that. Someone else came on with fill-in weather, but we ended up not getting a clear idea of what was happening. At 8:00 Joe from Slainte called on the VHF and suggested we should go as we’d planned. We were making an eight hour run to Agua Verde, a stop over on the way to Escondido. We pulled the anchor and left almost immediately.

It was a long, uncomfortable slog to Agua Verde, bashing through steep, short-period waves of four to six feet in height. Sometimes you’ll be going along okay, then there’s a big hole in the water and the boat falls in. Then the boat climbs its way back out. A little bit later, you’ll do it again. It’s like that, really. Somehow, even though the boat’s doing all the work you get tired.

Agua Verde is on the north side of a large point with impressive, rocky terrain, surface breaking reefs, and sheer cliffs dropping into the water. Slainte was ahead of us and anchored behind the rocks and reef protecting the north cove, along with a large fishing trawler that was already there. We nosed into the middle of the south cove, not sure how quickly it became shallow. The chart said the depth soundings were made by the USS Ranger in 1881. We were concerned that the south cove was wide open to the sea on the north side, but at the moment, the winds were fairly quiet and the water was calm inside the bay. Mostly, it was that we were there, the anchor was down, and we were tired.

During the night (of course) the wind came up again and soon thereafter the waves came. The waves continued to get bigger and bigger. Sometime in the early morning before daylight, Joe called us on the radio to discuss plans. We made the decision to leave at first light (before Geary’s weather report) and push on to Puerto Escondido, trying to arrive by midday Wednesday. The last good (now stale) forecast received (two days prior) had said that the winds would dramatically increase at Escondido on Wednesday afternoon and so we wanted to be there before then—just in case the report was still accurate. These wind forecasts are generally made by computer models. The models require accurate input data on current conditions in order to project out into the future. As Cliff Mass (University of Washington Atmospheric Sciences) has said in his blog, more quality data points entered into the model means a better quality forecast. I suspect that there just aren’t as many high quality weather reporting stations in this area as there are in a place like Seattle. But, it was the only forecast we had.

By daylight, the waves coming into the bay were so big that our bowsprit would strike the water surface and we were taking a fair amount of spray onto the anchor windlass. We’ve learned from experience that salt spray into the windlass clutch is not a good thing. We keep it covered while underway now, but we’d never had waves like this in an anchorage before, and it had been left uncovered. Also, I had never gone up on the bow and tried to raise the anchor in waves this big. Being on a lee shore was a concern as well, since the wind and waves were pushing us toward the beach. So, with all those worries (my daughter says I worry too much about such things), we wanted to get the anchor up and the boat moving forward in one smooth operation without any screw-ups.

In my “no margin for error” effort to raise the anchor I managed to get it jammed crooked and stuck in the bowsprit. It was really stuck and wouldn’t budge, but with the deck beneath my feet plunging out from under me over each wave crest, there wasn’t anything I could do about it now. We’d have to figure something out before we anchored in Puerto Escondido. Or maybe, we’d heard, they were making everybody rent a mooring buoy there now. If that was the case, we wouldn’t need the anchor and we’d have plenty of opportunity to work on it once we got there.

We made it out past all the rocks and into the clear. The waves were bigger than the day before. After a short time Joe got on the radio and said that his GPS ground speed was too slow in these seas to make Escondido on time and they were turning back to Agua Verde. As they turned around, we heard they took a wave into the cockpit. With the stuck anchor and rough night we’d had, we didn’t want to go back to where we had just left. But a few seconds later we realized that we really had no choice. If we kept going, and the going was too slow, we’d risk getting there too late, possibly after dark, and might even have to try to grab a mooring in 30 knot winds. The trawler that had been hogging so much space in the north cove had departed during the night, so maybe we could get in there with Slainte.

We found that the better protection of the north cove was nothing like the wild night we’d had in the south cove. It took our giant screwdriver being used as a pry bar, but we got the anchor unstuck and down. We heard from Geary’s report that the wind was forecast to stay up, and even get stronger, with bigger seas, until Sunday. The one thing we knew for sure, was that Agua Verde was even further off the grid than San Evaristo.

Our first attempt to leave Agua Verde was slightly dramatic and decidedly not worth it.
The north cove was definitely the nicer place to be. We rocked some when the wind gusts topped 30 knots for two days, but otherwise it was an interesting and unique place.
Mysticeti and Slainte anchored at Agua Verde.
Having come to accept the desert scenery as a kind of painted backdrop of constantly changing colors, but little movement of any kind, we were quite surprised one evening to see and hear several goats grazing on the steep slopes of the pyramid shaped hill behind the boat. The next afternoon they were close enough to be identified as Nubians and made us miss the goats we used to have at home.
Those white things in this photo by Robyn are goats way up there on the rocks.
The main community of Agua Verde is located in the green valley behind the beach toward the right of this photo. The surf on the beach is often too much for a dinghy landing.
At low tide the shoreline can be walked from the north cove, around the point, to the main beach and a tiny store.
Once finding the store and making purchases, you only have to walk the beach back, scramble over the rocks around the point, get back in the dinghy and go back out to the boat.

We ended up staying in Agua Verde for a full week. Then, like a switch had been flipped, the wind and waves went back to normal. We departed and continued north to Puerto Escondido. We were sure that this would mean a return back to civilization and onto the grid, but—not so fast. The Wi-Fi, when it works, doesn’t reach us out in the bay. And the cell phone only connects when standing on the upper deck of the marina building and holding the phone in a certain position.

The white sailboat just visible in the center is inside Puerto Escondido. Mysticeti is out of view behind the hill in this photo taken from a moving car on the Baja Highway.
Of course, if you’re going to go off for a ride in the car, you really don’t know what kind of party your kid is having at home.

Leaving La Paz

Posted by John

After our excursion to Isla La Partida to test the water maker and enjoy the peace and quiet, we returned to the La Paz anchorage for a few days in order to stock up on supplies for the next few weeks when we would be “off the grid” for a while. We anchored again near Marina de La Paz and once more were treated to the odd array of sounds from the waterfront. Besides the usual random cheering and shouting, rooster crowing, and rock and swing music at whatever hour, we were also entertained by what can only be described as a marching drum corps. We never saw them and have no idea what it was about, but part of me was a little sad when, after intermittently playing for two days, all of the drumming finally came to an end.

The marina has a dinghy dock with 24-hour security which can be used by anyone for about a dollar a day, including a water spigot for those coming in to fill water jugs. We unloaded our garbage (included in the charge), did laundry and made a shopping trip. We also met up with Joe and Cathy from s/v Slainte. We all were ready to move on from La Paz now that we didn’t need to find a place to watch anymore Seahawks games.

From La Paz we headed north, back to Isla La Partida, to a place called La Partida Cove. The cove is in a bowl in the gap between La Partida and Espiritu Santo islands, and is protected on three sides with the fourth side getting protection from Espiritu Santo. We took a kayak and the dinghy to the beach.

La Partida Cove. The sandy beach is bigger and farther away than it looks. There is a faded sign just off the beach toward the right that might mark a trail, but the route wasn’t clear if it did.
The geology of the islands is interesting and, with little vegetation, the different rock layers are visible. The Sea of Cortez is what happened when the San Andreas Fault ripped apart. There has been both volcanic action and up-thrusting of Earth’s crust.
Baja mainland at sunrise from Isla San Francisco, showing rock layers.

From La Partida we continued north to Isla San Francisco and a place known as the “Hook.” This is an inviting place with a long, bright sandy beach that hooks around. Right after sunset the wind suddenly came up to over 20 knots. We spent a rocky night a little worried about being pushed up onto the beach. As the wind continued, the waves grew bigger.

There are no lights in the area except for a flashing navigational beacon on the end of the hook. Once the sun went down it was really dark until the quarter moon came up after midnight. After the wind had stretched out the anchor chain we reset the anchor alarm distance (the alarm had already been triggered) to just beyond our position and watched the display as we swung in an arc just inside that distance. If the anchor had dragged at all, the alarm would go off again. That was good, but our GPS map for the area was completely off, showing us on the other side of the island. And that’s not good if you have to bail out of the anchorage in the middle of the night! Slainte has the same Garmin electronic charts that we do and theirs too, had Isla San Francisco in the wrong place. We have paper charts as well, but overall, this area is not charted with very much detail. Most of the depths are based on soundings taken in the 1880’s.

We had planned to go ashore but in the morning the water was still a little rougher than we’d prefer for trying to launch the dinghy. The weather report on the ham radio Sonrisa net was for worsening winds over the next few days. We departed for a place where the wind would be blowing off the beach, rather than onto it.

The beach at the Hook, Isla San Francisco, before the wind suddenly came up.
Although Joe and Cathy from our buddy boat Slainte made it to the beach for a while in the morning, the slow-to-get-going crew of Mysticeti did not get the dinghy launched. But the coffee and lazy morning in the cockpit was enjoyed very much.
Sunset from Isla San Francisco.

From Isla San Francisco we moved across the channel to San Evaristo on the Baja mainland. The expected west wind should mostly be blocked by the mountains, we thought. San Evaristo is a small fishing village on a bay offering good weather protection from the north, south and west. The first night the wind came up after sunset and blew in what seemed like circles at up to at least 25 knots. You could hear the gusts coming down the slope long before they hit. We didn’t get much sleep.

San Evaristo. The theory that the mountains would block wind from the west proved to be not quite true. At least there wasn’t much fetch between us and the beach for waves to build. Pickup trucks, dogs and chickens were up and down the beach all day.
Eleven boats overnighted in the bay our first night. The white and blue buildings on the beach are the local desalination plant, diesel generator to run it, and internet Wi-Fi access point—when it works (we got ten minutes out of it). There was no cell phone coverage.
Although our guidebook mentions a paved road between here and La Paz, apparently the single track dirt road is the only way in and out, at least between here and the Baja highway. The beach doubles as the main road in town.
Joe from Slainte gathered up eight of us from the boats in the bay and we had a great Sunday lunch/dinner at Lupe Sierra’s Restaurant.
While we were waiting for our food to cook I picked up the camera and took this snapshot from the table out back of the restaurant. It just seemed to remind me of my childhood impression of Mexico that I had gotten from watching westerns on TV.
And, as for the slightly odd relationship between the people of the fishing village and the visiting recreational boats that come to hang out in close proximity watching them all day; I’m still collecting my thoughts.

Water and Power and Silence

Posted by John

On the morning of January 1st we started the New Year by cleaning the cockpit of the random bits that gather when it is your living room, dining room, workshop, front porch and patio; taking down the sun shields we’d erected, disconnecting the shore power cord, firing up the engine, and backing out of the slip that we’d called home for the last six weeks. Our neighbor said we’d been great, very quiet; quieter than him. We left the marina, but we didn’t go far. We anchored out in the La Paz harbor, a little bit north of the marina, just off the central waterfront.

Still in La Paz, but a different view. The convenience store with the ice cream is no longer convenient. We could get pizzas delivered to the marina, not so much out here.

As a Christmas present to ourselves, we replaced our badly leaking crappy little dinghy with another inflatable of the same size, although with a one-piece rigid fiberglass bottom. It is an improvement, we think. If nothing else, there is no wooden transom to rot and crumble away.

We had discovered rot in the transom of our old dinghy while in Half Moon Bay. Even though it looked solid, the rotten wood did nothing to keep water from flooding in as soon we put weight in the boat. We dug out what we could of the rot and patched it with wood filler. It worked for a while but the rot had spread by the time we got it back into the water here, and it was leaking as badly as ever.

Almost looks new from this angle.

Our new inflatable is well used and came pre-marked up with orange spray paint on the front. Marking up dinghies and outboard motors—making them ugly and identifiable—as well as lifting them out of the water at night, is a common practice that seems to help ensure they are still there in the morning.

The dinghy came to us by way of Baja Inflatable Repair, a heavily relied upon mom and pop business owned by an ex-Seattleite (apparently everyone has lived in Seattle at one time). He drove us to his shop (dirt floor surrounded by a high concrete wall with a metal roof above) to look at the boat. We agreed on a price. He took our old dinghy as trade-in. Even with the crumbling transom, things like floorboards, oarlocks, valves and attachment rings still have value as repair parts. With no practical way to complete the deal other than with cash, I got up the next morning and set out to learn about the cash withdrawal limits of Mexican ATMs. By the time I got back to the marina, I saw his truck with our old dinghy sitting on a trailer behind. The swap had already been made. Besides coming back with the money, I had also picked up a bag of bagels from The Bagel Shop, and a fairly large socket for a socket wrench from Ace Hardware. So it was a happily successful day to help make up for having to say goodbye to Rover, who was happy, if not momentarily wild, to see his family back on Waponi Woo.

I’ve always enjoyed walking around and exploring new places, especially foreign cities, but I’ve never had so much time in which to do it. A week or two of vacation, usually with a tight itinerary, or even worse—a business trip with work involved, is the extent of the opportunities I’ve had in the past. This whole retirement thing of every day being a Saturday is still odd. Having all these Saturdays for working on projects—the boat provides a never ending supply of them—and needing to go off in search of parts or tools in an unfamiliar place with everyone speaking a language I can’t easily communicate in, is somehow a bigger part of the experience than I had considered it would be. It adds a certain extra dimension to the whole thing. To the Sears clerk in the Craftsman Tools corner on the third floor, a one-and-a-half-inch socket for a wrench is “muy grande” and bigger than anything he has. Two Ace Hardware clerks, an older guy and a younger guy, probably discussed with each other what the Gringo with the bag of bagels might be doing down on his hands and knees reaching into the glass cabinet of sockets before they came over to find out. After I wrote down for them what I was looking for, all three of us were reaching in and pulling out sockets. Then the younger guy triumphantly handed me one, nodding his head and assuring (“si, si”) it was the correct size. In the dim light I could not read the markings he was pointing at until after I got it outside in the sunlight. He was correct.

We tested our water maker by running it at the dock. It worked great when running on shore power, which means that everything seemed to work as it was supposed to and there were no major leaks. But we obviously need to be able to run it when we are away from the dock. The two pumps in it, one 12 volt DC and one 120 volts AC, require a lot of Amp-hours to produce a meaningful amount of water. We can run it off our battery bank, but we have to be running the engine at the same time to try to keep the batteries charged. Although the alternator puts out a lot of power (not sure how much), the batteries do not adequately charge when using the engine alone. There is a net Amp-hour loss from the bank and we have to recharge it either by running the engine a few hours more, or doing additional charging with a small Honda 1,000 watt generator we carry onboard. Either way, we are still experimenting as to what works best.

We wanted to test the water maker away from the questionable murky water in the harbor, so we ran up to Isla La Partida, just north of Isla Espiritu Santo, running the water maker most of the way there. Then we spent a few days in El Cardonal bay.

Robyn got this picture of a dolphin escorting us out of La Paz harbor.

When we anchored in El Cardonal and shut down the engine, the silence was startling. There was no traffic noise, sirens, music, random shouting or cheering or any of the other sometimes odd, but always present sounds coming over the water from La Paz. The wind was dead calm and the only noises we could hear were our own. We were anchored in about 25 feet and could see the white sand bottom. It was a very eerie experience after dark to look over the side of the boat. The nearly-full moon lit the water beneath the boat so that it glowed like a lit swimming pool at night. The moonlight cast a perfect shadow of the entire boat on the bottom of the bay. You could clearly see this shadow was some distance beneath the boat, but in the dark you could not really see a definite water surface. It was as if the boat was suspended in space, perhaps like an airship.

Nice while it lasted. An eco-tour mini cruise ship came into the bay and anchored, the metallic clang of each link in the anchor chain resounding off the surrounding rocks. I’m sure the passengers all had a great time with their kayaking and hiking excursions the next day, but with their ship’s generators running and bright lights on all night, I know none of them experienced what we did just prior to their arrival. They left before the second night. The silence returned, but even though the moon was still big and bright, for whatever reason the airship illusion did not.

El Cardonal, Isla La Partida.
Not the same effect as in moonlight, but that’s my foot on the edge of the boat; looking straight down at the boat shadow on the sandy bottom.
Sailing Vessel Mysticeti, January 12, 2017.
The end of the bay gets quite shallow a long way out.
Robyn and I tried to get to shore in the dinghy to look at the cactus, but we started to run aground on an outgoing tide. We didn’t want to get stuck having to carry the dinghy a long way through shallow water so abandoned the idea for another day.
Looking out from the entrance to the bay, with the east coast of Baja California in the far distance.

Water Maker Installation

Posted by John

We decided to stay in the marina in La Paz through the end of the year. We had a water maker to install, a dog to take care of, and two boats to keep an eye on for friends who flew home for a few weeks over Christmas. Our crappy little dinghy doesn’t handle even the smallest wind waves very well, and the way the wind picks up at times we wanted guaranteed shore access with a limited amount of excitement. Anchoring out just seemed like such a bother.

Marina de La Paz, one of four main marinas used by the cruising community here, is one of the most convenient marinas we’ve ever been in. Unlike most of them we’re used to at home, which often seem to be out of the way at the end of a road and not within walking distance of much of anything (partly due to local terrain), this marina is within easy walking or bicycling distance of restaurants and shops of all kinds, as well as the waterfront of central La Paz. The marina is not huge, which is part of what makes it nice. All of the marina amenities are right at the end of the dock, with power, potable water and wired high-speed internet at each slip, plus wi-fi. A marine chandlery, with a surprising amount of stuff in their back room, is directly across the street. Another one is a several block walk away, but it seems to have an even larger variety of parts. A small convenience store, self-serve or full-service laundry, government paperwork office and a dive operator are all within the walls of the marina.

Several other boats from the Baja Ha-Ha, including some of Robyn’s friends, have also been around. A mile or so away is a supermarket with a movie theater in the same building. Robyn reports that not only do the seats recline, but they have a call button which brings an usher to take a food order or bring a blanket if the air conditioning is a little too much. She and her friends have also been to museums, a pool party, and even went with a guide to snorkel with whale sharks. Whale sharks are not whales, but are plankton eating members of the shark family and, at up to forty feet long, are the biggest fish.

It was Robyn, then, who agreed to dog sitting and boat watching over Christmas. Once this had been arranged, we knew we were staying for the duration. Rover has been great fun, and he’s helped us meet so many other dog owners. However, all is not fun all of the time. We have a water maker to install.

A water maker is a small desalination system for extracting drinking water from seawater. Water makers work on the principal of reverse osmosis. As a kid, when I didn’t do my homework, my mother frequently spoke of osmosis, as in, “Do you expect to learn that through osmosis?” But she never explained what it was, and I never asked. Or maybe I did and her explanation just didn’t stick.

As I understand osmosis now, if a solution of dissolved solids, such as seawater, is on one side of a semi-permeable membrane, and a solvent, such as water, is on the other side, molecules of the solvent will, over time, tend to move through the membrane to the other side. This results in less solvent and more solution. The online Khan Academy has a short video explaining the theory of osmosis in a way that makes sense even to me, but I don’t see how my mother could’ve thought I might learn anything through it.

Osmosis – Khan Academy

The goal of an RO water maker, therefore, is just the opposite, or, “reverse osmosis.” Reverse osmosis requires energy. A water maker pressurizes the seawater to force water molecules through the membrane, leaving the dissolved solids behind. Then again, except for the magical and expensive semi-permeable membrane, I’m not sure what “reverse osmosis” actually has to do with normal osmosis. Why not just say it is a really good filter?

We chose our water maker from Cruise RO Water and Power, in part because their systems do not come as one big, chunky box that needs a big boxy space to put it in. Instead, the system is made up of mostly commonly available component parts that you assemble yourself and install wherever they fit. Below is a simplified schematic of the basic system components for the Cruise RO Water, 30 GPH system.

Not shown in the simplified schematic diagram is the control panel with pressure adjusting valves, product water flow meter, power switches and water sample valve. The 30 GPH model uses two RO membrane assemblies in series, as shown. The first membrane can extract about 20 gallons per hour, and the second about 10 gallons more.

If the water maker is not being regularly used, then every few days it needs to be flushed with fresh water to prevent organism growth. The flush water is run through a carbon filter to remove any added chlorine that would be present from a municipal system. Chlorine will damage the membranes. For longer periods of storage, a pickling solution is pumped through the system. One of Robyn’s assigned boat sitting tasks is to periodically flush their water makers.

For our source of seawater we chose an otherwise unused seacock located inside a storage cabinet in the head, forward in the bow. This seacock had formerly been used as a source of toilet flush water, a saltwater foot pump for the head sink, and potentially as a water source for an anchor wash pump. We had disconnected everything from it years ago, and replaced the seacock when we replaced all of the seacocks in 2011. At that time it was capped off and left unused. The seacock connection is a one-and-a-half inch pipe thread. We needed to find bronze fittings that would get that down to a half-inch hose. Finding those fittings was a separate adventure at a La Paz industrial plumbing supply outlet.

We had been told to go to El Arco Plumbing by the owner of La Paz Cruiser’s Supply, an ex-Seattleite who is also the local Cruise RO Water dealer, and is quite knowledgeable in water maker installations. He drew us a sketch of where the bins of bronze fittings were located inside El Arco, behind a service counter. He said to just walk in there like we knew what we were doing. We would not be able to adequately describe what we wanted in Spanish.

No matter what you’ve sketched out on paper, there will always be something you can’t find but possibly can be substituted for with a minor design change based on what’s available in the store. With ongoing mental redesign while standing at the wall of bins, we eventually found most of what we needed to reduce the inch-and-a-half seacock inlet down to a half inch hose barb. We also found a few other parts we needed for the other connections to the water tanks and the fresh water flush. We took them to the counter where an employee looked each one up in the computer and printed out a ticket with the price totaled. But then we no longer looked like we knew what we were doing. He wouldn’t take our money or let us take our parts. It turned out that we needed to take the ticket to the cashier and then come back with the receipt. How embarrassing it was when I couldn’t see the cashier behind the darkened glass in the booth in the middle of the room even with half the employees pointing at her. I could see all their lips moving, but I couldn’t understand a word anyone was saying. The booth was in an odd location and looked more like a product display than a place to hand over cash. Eventually we got it all figured out, took our prized baggie of plumbing parts, and found our taxi still waiting outside.

We ran the reject brine discharge line through a couple of cabinets and then under the cabin floor to the engine room. It exits the hull high above the waterline through what we think used to be a bronze fuel tank vent that had been disconnected and unused since before we bought the boat. It took all of the thirty feet of brine discharge tubing that came with the water maker to make that run. The fresh water output from the membranes runs through a “Y” valve on the control panel and is sent to either a test port or into the water tank manifold under the galley sink to be fed to one of our three water tanks. That tube also runs under the cabin floor. The sample port is the outlet spigot in the head sink formerly used by the old saltwater foot pump. I had to drill several holes in order to run that tube.

Since the incoming seacock is located inside the head we also chose to locate the boost pump there in an awkward, under-used space across from the toilet. We put the 20 and 5 micron pre-filters and the carbon filter there as well. We tied into the head sink water supply to provide the source of fresh water for flushing the system.

Filters and boost pump. Incoming strainer is at bottom, boost pump and associated cooling fan is at top. Source selection valves are mounted on the carbon filter at left. Pre-filters are on right. Between the strainer and the seacock, we ran a half-inch, three-foot long piece of reinforced engine coolant hose to put the strainer above the waterline.

The purpose of the boost pump is to feed water to the high pressure pump at an adequate rate. We mounted the high pressure pump on a shelf in the main cabin, just outside the wall between the cabin and the head. The high pressure pump is heavy, so we beefed up the shelf with a spare half-inch-thick piece of plywood we had been carrying. The shelf is long enough to also accommodate the membrane housings, which are about four feet long. Two reinforced high-pressure hoses with swaged fittings on each end come with the system. One is three feet long, and the other is five. One connects the pump to the membrane assembly input, and the other connects the membrane brine output to the control panel high pressure gauge. We also fit the control panel onto the shelf, building a wooden frame on which it could be mounted.

High pressure pump and membrane assemblies, with control panel, still under construction. Wiring is not connected and tubing is not fastened up yet. Panel will be screwed to the frame.

To get the wood for the frame we took a trip to The Home Depot. Having built a couple of houses for ourselves, we are quite familiar with Home Depot and what they carry. But this is Mexico. We had heard mixed messages from people who had been to the La Paz Home Depot. The opinions ranged from, “They have everything you’d expect in a Home Depot,” to, “Don’t expect what you’d find in the States.” When we asked specifically if we could buy a board there, the answer was, “Sure, as long as it’s pine.”

When you first walk into the La Paz Home Depot it looks like any other. It’s only when you try to look for something specific that you start to get frustrated. With a taxi waiting outside in the parking lot, we couldn’t spend time trying to shop for the other projects we have lined up and needed to focus on what we came for. The lumber selection was, indeed, somewhat limited, especially in the area of trim or shelving. We were looking for a 1 x 4 that we could use to make a frame to bolt to the shelf and hold the control panel in a vertical position. The taxi was too small to carry an eight-foot board, so we hoped Home Depot would cut it for us. We found a 1 x 4. Well, it averaged out to a 4 inch width, anyway. It was a little less at one end and a little more at the other, but good enough.

Home Depot would, indeed, cut the board for us, but it was not as easy as just asking the nearest clerk. There was a window to go to, a ticket to fill out, a lot of gestures and pointing and confusion. Then we had to take the ticket to the check-out line and pay before going back to the window to have the board cut. There were other cuts for other customers ahead of us until finally, we achieved success. Once you know the process, either for the plumbing supply store, or Home Depot, it makes sense. It’s just not what we’re used to. Normally at Home Depot we’d just ask an employee if they could cut our board in half and they’d just do it and hand it back.

I suppose if we had still been at home with lots of time to plan and do, maybe even with the boat in a yard, and certainly not fully loaded with too much stuff, we would’ve laid out the system differently. The Westsail 42 has places where the water maker components could be mounted with space for the control panel nearby and the various hoses and filters all hidden away but still easily accessible. But we aren’t doing this at home, or with all the time in the world, or with a full compliment of tools and workbenches. If we had taken the time to do everything we wanted to do in the way we wanted to do it, we’d still be dreaming of our someday trip. No, we are underway, albeit stopped for a few weeks, and in Mexico, no less. We may not yet be living the definition of cruising—working on the boat in exotic places—but we’re starting to get the feel of it.

Meanwhile, our time in La Paz is running out and we’re likely to be leaving soon.

The marina restaurant never let us down for showing Seahawks games, although sometimes they were in Spanish.
The cruising community’s clubhouse.
Outside the clubhouse where coffee hour is held every morning. Inside is an extensive book and DVD library.
The marine parts store across the street. It is so handy when working on projects.
Rover, our temporary friend from the boat Waponi Woo…
…reminds us a lot of our old friend Max, shown here ten years ago.

Thanksgiving in La Paz

Posted by John

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We first heard the term on our second or third day here in La Paz, on the morning VHF channel 22 radio net, which we discovered by accident, during a portion referred to as “Arrivals and Departures.” A boat was welcomed back to La Paz after a two-year absence with the words: the “bungee effect” has struck again. What was meant was that even though boats leave La Paz, they are often drawn back, like the pull of a bungee cord.

We just got here, and we already see the attraction. It’s comfortable, and as we mentioned in the last post, there is a welcoming and supportive cruising community. We joined Club Cruceros, the cruiser club, paying for a one-year membership. Maybe we just want to keep our options open. Or maybe we want to draw a line in the sand for ourselves at a new latitude, to kind of establish a forward base as it were, a familiar fallback position as we ultimately press onward.

The city of La Paz, population around a quarter-million, is located on the Sea of Cortez side of the Baja California peninsula, maybe thirty miles or so north of the Tropic of Cancer. We crossed the Tropic of Cancer twice getting here. The first time was at approximately 3:45 AM on November 10th, entering the tropics on the way south to Cabo San Lucas, and the second time after rounding the southern end of the Baja peninsula and coming back up on the inside, leaving the tropics.

La Paz is located on the Bay of La Paz, which is separated from the Sea of Cortez by a peninsula. The distant view from La Paz is therefore of mountains (or at least big hills) on three sides. Just off the northern tip of the peninsula, at the open end of the bay, is the UNESCO designated biosphere reserve of Isla Espíritu Santo. I dove in these waters before, almost thirty years ago, and have waited a long time to be able to anchor in one of the picturesque bays of the island on my own boat. Because of its protected status, to visit the area now requires each person to purchase a permit, but that is not a big deal.

Up to this point, our trip schedule has been driven by two main events. The first being getting out of Puget Sound during the weather window, and the second being in San Diego by the last week of October to join the Baja Ha-Ha. The next event that would drive a schedule is crossing the Pacific to French Polynesia, but that is at least several months away. In the meantime, we can relax, work on projects, explore and enjoy.

Thanksgiving Day, 2016. We don’t know for sure which of our families these never-lit candles came from, but these, or ones just like them, were part of both Julie’s and my childhood Thanksgivings.
Thanksgiving Day, 2016. We don’t know for sure which of our families these never-lit candles came from, but these, or ones just like them, were part of both Julie’s and my childhood Thanksgivings.

For us as a family the Thanksgiving Holiday has evolved over the years, but this year it took a drastic turn to the different. It’s hard to think of it as Thanksgiving when the sun is bright, hot and high in the sky. At home in the Seattle area we would be entering the “Slimy Season” now, when the sun, if it manages to come out for a few minutes, is too weak and low in the sky to dry anything out, a green slime seems to form on everything and the ground remains perpetually wet. Here in the desert climate of La Paz, if something gets wet it dries in a matter of minutes.

We can’t help but to think back on what we’ve had to do, and give up, to get this far. The years of planning and preparation; the familiar routines of caring for our goats, chickens, dog and cat we used to have, even the bee hives Julie tried to maintain, are all just memories now. The gambles we’ve taken, financial and otherwise, are not trivial. There is a sense of excitement for where we go from here, but also the knowledge that every time we set out is another opportunity for failure. Even if we changed our minds and quit today, just getting the boat back home would not be easy and could take months.

A few days before Thanksgiving, the cruising community threw a party at La Costa restaurant for all the new boats that had just arrived. There was music and dancing, from performances of a Mariachi band and traditional Mexican dancers, to the live band and party participants themselves. In the fading light of the sunset, I looked at the fronds of the trees blowing in the wind and the boats in the boatyard next-door and it hit me as to just how we had gotten here. I suddenly thought of my dad. As a kid I spent many Saturday afternoons with him sailing in his 14-foot C-Lark on Lake Washington and telling him how someday I was going to sail to Tahiti. I don’t think he ever took it seriously. It’s still too early to tell if we’ll make it to Tahiti, or even get close, but if my dad could see what we’ve done to get this far, I’d like to think he’d be impressed and happy.

There were plenty of opportunities offered to have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner here. We chose The Dock Café, just up at the end of the dock, overlooking the marina, which made an American Thanksgiving dinner the special of the day. We shared the table with Joe and Cathy from “Slainte,” and shared the experience with others of the local cruising family.

That was our Thanksgiving for 2016.

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Cabo San Lucas to La Paz

Posted by John

Sea of Cortez

If you look at a map of the space between Baja California and the mainland of Mexico it will be called the Gulf of California. Yet, everyone I’ve ever known who has been there calls it the Sea of Cortez. I’ve tried to look up why this is, but no one seems to know exactly. Apparently it is one of those instances where there’s a disagreement between the “geographic-name committee” and popular usage.

The Baja Ha-Ha officially ended the same way it began—in a parking lot. During the course of the evening, every boat was called out to come forward and accept whatever prize it had been awarded. It was Saturday night. A few boats had already left for their next destination. Some boats were turning around in a day or two to go back north. Some crew members were going to the airport to head home and go back to work. Some boats were continuing on to Mazatlan or Puerto Vallarta, and some boats were heading up to La Paz. We were planning to leave for La Paz in the morning. I had been there once before on a scuba diving trip 27 years ago and wanted to explore the islands around there some more.

We decided to go ahead and buy fuel in Cabo, and we were pleasantly surprised to learn that not only did Ha-Ha boats not get charged the dockage fee, but we were also given a discount on the price of diesel. The benefits of the Baja Ha-Ha continue. However, we did have to pay for water.

As nice as Cabo was, being anchored out was difficult. The anchorage area was not only choppy from boats and jet skis, but it was also rolly with swells. The conditions and distance to the dinghy dock in the inner harbor meant that most people relied on water taxis to and from shore instead of their own dinghies. The going rate was five dollars per person, one way, with a three person minimum. For the three of us, one trip to shore and back was thirty dollars. That adds up quickly.

Those who had requested slips in the marina learned that a “slip” often meant being rafted with several other boats. The boats on the inside had people from the outer boats always climbing over them. For those of us in the anchorage, it was especially difficult to transfer from our own rolling boats to the rolling and bobbing water taxis. Some water taxi drivers were more experienced than others at this. After the final event in the parking lot, we could only find one water taxi driver willing to take those of us needing a ride back out in the dark to try to find each of our boats. The process was not easy, especially with the language barrier making, “I think it’s that one over there, no, maybe it’s that one there,” difficult to communicate.

Good-bye, Cabo San Lucas; and the southern tip of Baja California.
Good-bye, Cabo San Lucas; and the southern tip of Baja California.

The plan was for us to leave with “Slainte” and make a relatively quick trip around the bottom of Baja and up the inside to Bahia Los Frailes where we could anchor and spend the night. But it was slow going. The wind was strong from the north, right on the nose, and the seas were much bigger than we expected. At times we were lucky to be making headway at two knots over the ground. It quickly became apparent that we would not make it in daylight, but we continued on anyway. We really didn’t have a choice.

Los Frailes has a big, rocky hill which provides shelter from the north wind. The swells, however, were coming from the south. I don’t like anchoring in the dark in places I’m not familiar with, especially when I can see that there are unlit boats already there. It’s hard to judge distances in the dark. We had a big, bright supermoon to give us some light, but we suspect that that moon also caused an exceptionally strong tidal current which we fought all day and was the reason we didn’t make it until after dark. We spent the next 36 hours anchored behind those rocks hoping for the conditions to improve.

That unplanned day at anchor gave us some time to read up on what others had written about the trip from Cabo to La Paz. One book we have insists that the Sea of Cortez has no swells of its own, but that ocean swells from the north refract around the south end of Baja and travel up the inside as far north as Los Frailes. That was encouraging, since we were at Los Frailes.

After getting a weather report in the morning from the Sonrisa ham radio net, and with slip reservations waiting for us at Marina de La Paz, we decided to go on to our next planned stop in Bahia de Los Muertos. Again, the wind was fairly strong, and right on the nose, but the swells did eventually subside and the seas flatten out. We arrived at Los Muertos after dark once again. As before, we were anchoring in unfamiliar territory with the sound of crashing surf just ahead in the dark. Beach bonfires helped to make the experience a little spooky. The moon was just breaking over the horizon as we set our anchor, but our anchor windlass has been experiencing a clutch slippage problem which seems to be getting worse, especially when it gets sprayed with a lot of saltwater, as it had been since leaving Cabo. At one point, while testing the anchor set, the clutch gave way and chain starting going out in free-fall with no easy way to stop it. When we did get it stopped, we pulled the extra chain back in, but we were too close to “Slainte,” who had gotten there and anchored ahead of us. We struggled with the slipping clutch to re-anchor, and then we tied on chain snubbers and an extra safety line just to be sure. I had already all but destroyed the windlass chain lock back in Bahia Santa Maria on the way to Cabo.

After conferring with “Slainte,” we tentatively agreed to try for a 4 AM departure to beat the tidal current, but made no commitment to do so. We were tired and a little worried about the anchor windlass. It needed to be taken apart and cleaned. However, I spontaneously woke up at 2:58 AM and did not go back to sleep. I took this as meaning that we should go. We would’ve been right there with “Slainte” when they departed, but they jumped the gun a little, leaving closer to 3:30 than 4:00. We still had to start and warm up the engine, and then had some trouble getting the anchor up with the slipping clutch. However, after that, we had a totally uneventful day. We made it all the way into Marina de La Paz by mid-afternoon. We never did see Bahia de Los Muertos in daylight.

La Paz webcam

As we did in Half Moon Bay and San Diego, we expect to be in or around La Paz for a few weeks or more. We’ve already found everything we need here. Robyn went with a boat friend to see a movie at a local theatre, and today (November 20th) we saw both a parade on the Malecon, and a Seahawks game on TV in the marina café. I emailed a photo of our slightly worn windlass clutch plate to Lighthouse Manufacturing, the maker of the windlass, and received a reply less than 24 hours later. They said that the plate looked good to them, and their reply included pdf’s of clutch plate cleaning and maintenance procedures. While we are here, we hope to make progress on installing our watermaker, and maybe even the wind generator we’ve been lugging around. But the first few days have been hot so far, and lying around doing nothing, watching frigate birds soar overhead, feels really good.

The somewhat surprising thing we’ve found here is a large and active American retirement and cruising community living on their boats. It is much more extensive and tied together than we expected, with people knowledgeable on just about any subject, and always ready to help. It might not be bad to spend the winter right here. We’ll see.

At sunrise on January 1st of this year, I photographed the upper rim of the sun crossing the horizon from our kitchen window at home. My thought was to do the same at least once per month throughout the rest of the year, wherever we happened to be. It didn’t happen, except for this shot for November, as seen from Los Frailes.
At sunrise on January 1st of this year, I photographed the upper rim of the sun crossing the horizon from our kitchen window at home. My thought was to do the same at least once per month throughout the rest of the year, wherever we happened to be. It didn’t happen, except for this shot for November, as seen from Los Frailes.
"Slainte" at anchor (on left) at Los Frailes. The rocky hill is to the right, out of the view of this photo.
“Slainte” at anchor (on left) at Los Frailes. The rocky hill is to the right, out of the view of this photo.
"Mysticeti" in La Paz Marina. We've tried to shield the cockpit from the brutal sun.
“Mysticeti” in La Paz Marina. We’ve tried to shield the cockpit from the brutal sun.
Participants and spectators getting ready for a parade on the La Paz Malecon.
Participants and spectators getting ready for a parade on the La Paz Malecon.
This is the La Paz I remember from 27 years ago.
This is the La Paz I remember from 27 years ago.
These were my favorite dancing group in the parade because of the happy, pointy things on their heads.
These were my favorite dancing group in the parade because of the happy, pointy things on their heads.
Each dancing group in the parade had their own music. Next time you're stuck at a stoplight with a loud, thumping stereo in the car in front of you, be glad it's not these guys.
Each dancing group in the parade had their own music. Next time you’re stuck at a stoplight with a loud, thumping stereo in the car in front of you, be glad it’s not these guys.

Turtle Bay to Cabo San Lucas – Baja Part 2

Posted by John

The fleet pulled out of Turtle Bay the morning after the beach party. The sailing conditions couldn’t have been much better. We went a little farther offshore than most of the fleet in order to worry less about collisions. Our goal of the day was to experiment with our Saye’s Rig self-steering system to find a way to set it up in the downwind conditions so that we didn’t need to hand-steer all night. Some of the boats had left the bay early and were concentrating on getting to the next stop as quickly as possible. We wanted to take time and enjoy some of the best sailing conditions we’d seen in a long time.

For some, this leg would be an overnight passage down the coast to Bahia Santa Maria, but for most it would take two nights. We had already burned a lot of fuel since San Diego and wanted to sail as much as possible. But with light winds on the second day giving us only about 3 knots, if that, of speed, we began to worry that we might not make it in two nights and would have to carry over into a third. We didn’t want to miss the planned party. We were also looking ahead to the fuel situation. There is no fuel in Bahia Santa Maria, and we were hoping to avoid buying fuel in Cabo, waiting until we got to La Paz instead. So, tough decision, but getting to the next stop on time took priority. Depending on how things went, we might still be able to avoid refueling in Cabo, where we were told of unreasonable “dockage fees” for tying up to the fuel dock. We started the engine. From our current position, we had to maintain 6 knots and travel a direct course for the next 20 hours in order to get there before sunset on the third day. Once the engine was running and the autopilot on, there was not much for us to do except watch out for those we were passing who were determined to actually sail the entire way.

Coming around the corner into Bahia Santa Maria
Coming around the corner into Bahia Santa Maria

We arrived in the bay about 3 PM Monday. The main scheduled event was a beach party the next day, to be held at the base of the second mountain in the distance (above). Monday evening, Robyn got together with her friends for a movie night on “Waponi Woo.” Joe, on our buddy boat, “Slainte,” received a broadcast of the Seahawks’ Monday Night Football game on his Sirius satellite radio and kept all of the boats from the Seattle area up to date with the game details over the fleet’s VHF channel. It turns out that a lot of the Ha-Ha fleet are NOT Seahawks fans.

On Tuesday we had a party at the base of a mountain in a desert next to the bright blue sea. A live band played classic rock tunes. The band drove 100 miles on beaches and primitive dusty roads to get to this place, which has no plumbing or electricity and only man-made shade, just to entertain us.

Party headquarters, with wind turbines on the roof and a portable generator in back for the band.
Party headquarters, with wind turbines on the roof and a portable generator in back for the band.
Are they really playing "Another Brick in the Wall"?
Are they really playing “Another Brick in the Wall”?
Some people took their own dinghies to the party...
Some people took their own dinghies to the party…
...but catching a panga was faster and easier, especially for those of us anchored farther out
…but catching a panga was faster and easier, especially for those of us anchored farther out.
Robyn and her boat friends swam for most of the day, while our rides waited for us.
Robyn and her boat friends swam for most of the day, while our rides waited for us.

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The surreal aspect of the Baja Ha-Ha rally continued the next morning at daybreak when an announcement was made over the VHF radio of the election results, followed by the words, “This is not a joke.”

Everyone raised their anchors and the entire fleet departed the bay, heading for Cabo San Lucas. The bay was quickly emptied of boats, the pangas went home to their normal place of work, the band drove the 100 miles back to their homes, and the small population of Bahia Santa Maria went back to their normal lives. If the experience was somewhat bizarre for us, you have to wonder what it was like for the people of the bay.

With very little wind, most boats motored most of the way to Cabo San Lucas. Fuel was also an issue for some, if not all. We ran more slowly than we could have to conserve diesel, arriving at Cabo on Thursday afternoon, November 10th.

The famous rocks of Cabo San Lucas.
The famous rocks of Cabo San Lucas.
The not-so-quiet anchorage of Cabo San Lucas.
The not-so-quiet anchorage of Cabo San Lucas.

After a quick swim off the boat, everyone went to Squid Roe to celebrate having “cheated death” and making it the entire 745 mile distance from one end of Baja to the other. The party at the club was in obvious contrast to the party at the base of the mountain. The bright lights, thumping dance music, and flashing video screens of the street, not to mention inside the club itself, was surreal in itself after all we’d been through to get here.

So, we didn’t know what to expect from the Baja Ha-Ha before it started, but what we got out of it was an unexpected experience which could best be broken into four distinctly different parties (what’s a party, but people with a common interest getting together). From a party in a retail store parking lot in a city that displays American military power as well as any; to a town so small, and so proud of their little league teams and the field they have built for them; to a place with a tiny population that ekes a living out of the sea while living in wooden shacks in a treeless desert without normal conveniences; to a city thriving off of the excesses of American tourists getting wild. Throw in the most bizarre national election in my lifetime, and the “Baja Ha-Ha” has become a very memorable segment of this entire journey.

As the DJ in the club Squid Roe announced, “Glad you guys made it before the wall went up!”

San Diego to Turtle Bay – Baja Part 1

Posted by John

We didn’t really know what to expect when we signed up for the Baja Ha-Ha last May. We didn’t get a lot of information about it after we signed up, either. There were seminars and meetings as the date got closer, but these were put on by sponsors and seemed more like opportunities to sell something to us rather than specific details about the trip itself.

The first official event where we learned much of any detail was a kickoff party held the day before the Ha-Ha start. It was held in a West Marine parking lot in San Diego. That presented its own opportunity to spend more money, and so we did. That it was held the day before the start was a little annoying since that’s when people were making last minute preparations, buying food and returning rental cars. Due to our shared rental car needing to be returned by 4 PM, we had to leave the party early.

Out of 180 boats entered in the Baja Ha-Ha rally, 150 actually started at the same time from San Diego on Monday morning, October 31st. Local television news stations took footage of the parade of boats leaving San Diego while fire boats (well, technically, police boats with a single fire pump) sprayed water into the air. Everybody put up at least one sail so it would look cool for the video, but there wasn’t any wind.

Two boats of the Ha-Ha fleet passing Point Loma on the way out of San Diego.
Two boats of the Ha-Ha fleet passing Point Loma on the way out of San Diego.
The Ha-Ha fleet heading out for Baja with little wind. Many of the boats remained bunched together for quite a while and only slowly, gradually spread out.
The Ha-Ha fleet heading out for Baja with little wind. Many of the boats remained bunched together for quite a while and only slowly, gradually spread out.

The wind picked up later in the day. It was really nice sailing for a while. We even had all four of our sails up at the same time, something we rarely have the opportunity to do.

Things started going downhill as soon as the sun went down. The winds had picked up a little too much, as had the seas. We reefed both the main and the mizzen, and furled the staysail. We sailed off into the darkness with plenty of stars, but no moon. It quickly became eerily similar to the first night out from Cape Flattery: invisible swells, seemingly coming from different directions and slamming us in the middle with all their force. By this time, two thirds of our crew was in less than perfect condition. Rolling from side-to-side with no visible horizon, with violent pitching and yawing thrown in, will pretty much get to me every time. You’d think we would’ve learned the first time, but no, we still had gear and supplies dumping out onto the floor and sliding around the cabin.

The Tuesday morning weather report indicated that the conditions were not going to improve until Wednesday. Although I was beginning to feel better and function more, Julie, who had hand-steered through most of Monday night, was exhausted, and could not do it for a second night in a row. Later in the day, to go easier on ourselves, we decided to start up the engine, haul in the sails, and power through the deteriorating sea conditions. It proved to be the right choice.

Tuesday night was rougher still. We don’t think we were rolled as far or as violently as we had been coming out of Cape Flattery, but we don’t really know because our tilt gauge broke when something crashed into it. Three out of our four sails became unusable because the halyards or jib sheets were so badly wrapped around and tangled. We could not do anything about them until everything calmed down. Our auto-pilot, unable to handle the big seas at times, would go into FAIL mode and we’d have to quickly grab the wheel and retain control before things literally went sideways.

Sure, it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. The Ha-Ha fleet was using VHF channel 69 for communications with each other. Everyone monitored it continuously. It was the fleet’s communication line, but with the boats spread out by a hundred miles or so, not everyone could hear every conversation. One of the first reported problems during the night was a failed boom vang (a rigging device used to help hold down and control a boom) on “Jersey Girl.” The failure of the vang damaged their boom. They reported at first that they were going to head into Ensenada for repairs, but then continued sailing instead. Then reports of more problems on more boats started coming in. One boat broke its boom in half; another broke its tiller and had to rig up emergency steering. We heard of breaking whisker poles (used to hold sails out, away from the boat), electrical problems, dead engines, blown out sails, and even an onboard fire in one boat. But the worst event of the night began with a mayday call and continued with the ensuing radio traffic, all during the pre-dawn hours. Imagine trying to maintain control of your boat in storm-like conditions, well after midnight, in complete darkness, while boats all around you are suffering damage and breakdowns; and getting bits and pieces of radio traffic, much of it from “Jersey Girl,” who acted very professionally as the fleet’s apparent rescue coordinator, concerning flares, life jackets and signaling devices. It can be a lot for tired brains to hear and process.

When the sun finally came up, and the fleet was tied together with the once-per-day long-range SSB radio roll call, it was learned that the mayday had come from the Ha-Ha boat, “Summerwind,” a Newport 41 from San Diego. They had run up on some rocks and the boat was destroyed. All crew was safely recovered and taken to a hospital to be checked out. “Jersey Girl” had looked for the beached boat during the night but couldn’t find it. They went back at daybreak and found it dismasted and breaking apart in the surf. The rest of us could only imagine what the crew must’ve gone through.

We arrived at the entrance to Turtle Bay, the approximate halfway point down Baja, late on Wednesday night but decided against trying to enter the bay in the dark. We hung out, floating around in the ocean, until daylight. “Slainte,” who had been ahead of us since the start, had run into a little trouble of their own and had decided to anchor for the night in a suitable spot north of Turtle Bay. They saw us on their AIS and hailed us on the radio as we passed by. Joe remarked that this was supposed to be fun. Earlier, the voice of “Jersey Girl” had similarly commented that there hadn’t been much “ha-ha” in the Ha-Ha yet.

The next morning we entered the bay as the sun came over the horizon. We were in Mexico now. We didn’t n eed to unpack our dinghy to get to shore because almost before our anchor was set, men, and sometimes boys, in fishing pangas came by offering taxi service, garbage collection and just about anything else that could be worked out.

The must-attend event of the day was a baseball game between the boat crews and the local little league teams. It was held on the town’s very nice ball field. Robyn and I closely examined the grass on the field, but still couldn’t tell if it was real or fake. It was about the only thing green around. Even the roads in town were dirt.

The traditional Baja Ha-Ha ball game between cruisers and players from local little league teams.
The traditional Baja Ha-Ha ball game between cruisers and players from local little league teams.
The Ha-Ha fleet anchored off the town pier.
The Ha-Ha fleet anchored off the town pier.
Sunrise in Turtle Bay.
Sunrise in Turtle Bay.

On Friday, the main event of the day was a beach party a couple of miles south of town. Some people re-anchored their boats closer and landed on the beach in their dinghies, kayaks, paddle boards, or whatever. We took the easy route and hailed a passing panga.

The site of the beach party, with people beginning to arrive.
The site of the beach party, with people beginning to arrive.
Robyn and her new friends from the boats "Mango," “Me Too,” “Waponi Woo” and “Ankyrios” climbed the bluff for a better view and reported back that it looked like a beer commercial, except dustier and with fewer attractive people in bikinis.
Robyn and her new friends from the boats “Mango,” “Me Too,” “Waponi Woo” and “Ankyrios” climbed the bluff for a better view and reported back that it looked like a beer commercial, except dustier and with fewer attractive people in bikinis.
Music, volleyball, beer and bikinis (a few, as appropriate).
Music, volleyball, beer and bikinis (a few, as appropriate).
The Baja Ha-Ha brings a chunk of money to the bay, which the locals appreciate.
The Baja Ha-Ha brings a chunk of money to the bay, which the locals appreciate.
Inshore from the party site. Nothing but desert.
Inshore from the party site. Nothing but desert.

Before we started this trip, when Robyn asked what to expect, we had promised her that she would have experiences that she, and we, could not imagine ahead of time. When we got back to our boat and settled in for the evening, Robyn remarked that things were becoming surreal.

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.