Monday, November 1, 2010

Update 17


Orca Update # 17

Hi!

We gladly left Lautoka behind, paperwork in hand, to sail to Musket Cove, the southernmost all-weather harbor in Fiji. Musket Cove has a resort that caters to yachties as well as tourists, providing showers, laundry, and final customs clearance service. The main attraction for sailors is, of course, the bar which is situated on a tiny sandy island sticking out into the anchorage, connected to the main resort by a floating dock. For most of the year, it's a beautiful place—idyllic. However, in October and November, there is tension in the air. Instead of happy vacationers, gladly free of the office and swilling Fiji Bitter, you see groups of nervous men and women clustered around tables covered in weatherfax printouts, laptops, and pilot charts. They talk of cut off lows, upper level short wave troughs, bent back warm fronts, NOGAPS model runs, sea surface temperatures, and the elusive “weather window”. Later, after the day's decision have been made, those who choose to go will have a cup of coffee and get to work, those who choose to stay will have a beer, or six, and stare off into space.

These are the skippers who will make the run to New Zealand, and any one of them will tell you they are anxious about this passage, perhaps above all others. They've listened to and read the dozens of heavy-weather accounts on this passage through the North Tasman Sea. Chiefly, they remember the 1994 Queen's Birthday storm, when a dozen boats on this stretch of water all set off emergency beacons within hours of each other, hammered by unforecast 70 foot seas and hurricane force winds.

We decided to go on October 22. We spent the day before checking hatches and ports. Tying down everything big enough do damage, should we get turned over. We checked gear we hope never to use—sea anchor, storm stays'l, our deepest reefs, our sea cocks. We scrubbed the bottom clean, to make the passages as quick as possible. We felt Orca was as ready as she was ever going to be, the weather looked promising, so we left.

We'd been watching the weather for months with this moment in mind. While weather forecasts more than 3 days out are unreliable, by watching the multi-week cycles of lows and high marching across the southern ocean and timing our departure, we were able to stack the odds in our favor. The strategy was to catch the leading edge of the topside of a slow-moving high pressure system, beating into the reinforced SE trades, then ride the backside of the high down to NZ as it moved past us. In reality, it blew SE for much longer than we expected. Orca is a wet boat in any circumstances—lots of water on deck. But beating into 25-30 knots of wind in 12-15 foot seas, for 8 days, turned her into a veritable submarine. We pushed her as hard as we dared, hull speed all the way through baby. She shuddered and groaned, and water found its way in through just about every port, hatch, and gasket. It was important that we go fast – we didn't want to be at sea when the stormy part of the cycle started.

We arrived in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand, yesterday after 8 days at sea. We averaged 135 miles/ day, which is fantastic for Orca. NZ is a huge port of call for cruising boats, and the various marinas all compete for blue-water business. Consequently, we were pampered upon arrival. Free dock. Free clearance procedures. Customs met us on the dock with an arrival 'gift pack' – free rum (from the local liquor store), coupons for free stuff ashore, cruising guides, and a nice woven bag to keep it all in. Orca is now in a slip for the first time since leaving North America, and she needs it! We've got a lot of boat projects to catch up on, so we better get to work!

Update 16 -- Lautoka, Fiji!


Hello from Lautoka, Fiji!

We had a week of fantastic surf along the SW edge of Fiji with the parents, Tim and Ann. The swell comes barreling out of the Tasman Sea, between NZ and Australia, and slams directly into the outer reefs that guard the southern edge of the Bligh Water. The swell refracts into and around the passes in these reefs, which creates all sorts of interesting effects, the primary one being nearly perfect waves. There are only two small islands out along this reef. Tavarua, the most famous, is about the size of a city block. Namotu, which has the better anchorage, is only slightly bigger than a basketball court (we hear it was much larger until plowed by a hurricane in the 70's which eroded nearly the whole island and stripped it of vegetation).

We lucked into quite a bit of swell last week, surfing Cloudbreak as it built. Cloudbreak is on an outer reef a few miles from land and is a very exposed wave--best when the wind is light. It's accessible only by boat, and we were able to anchor Orca in the channel for a front-row view. The bored Fijian panga drivers, waiting for their tourists to finish surfing, loved to come aboard for a cup of coffee and shoot the breeze. At the peak of the swell, a front rolled through creating stormy conditions that were a little too exciting for the outer reef, but perfect for Restaurants, which is one of the gems of the South Pacific. A few feet overhead, the wave breaks as fast as it is possible to go on a surfboard and peels perfectly into two feet of water over sharp reef.

Every night, we would go ashore for a fantastic meal on the resort, to chat at the bar, and occasionally sing bad karaoke. We met some some great people who we hope to see again in Australia and NZ. The kava ceremony was a highlight—at least for Tim. He was really looking forward to the narcotic effects of the pounded root. Unfortunately, after calling for 6 additional rounds of kava after the ceremony had concluded, the only effect he reported was a numb tongue and lack of sleep due to numerous bathroom trips. According to Eli, one of the friendly Fijians on the island, its not uncommon to drink 30 rounds of kava in a single night before feeling any effect. Eli was a real character; as a long time employee of the surf resort, his clothes were a conglomeration of gifts and forgotten items picked up from resort guests. He could usually be found finessing his big surf panga right into the Cloudbreak lineup, wearing a pair of girl's designer sunglasses, while fondling the outboard motor handle protruding proactively from between his legs. In the water, despite weighing in at a solid 260 lbs and riding a tiny 6'0 second hand surfboard, he would power into double-overhead Cloudbreak on sheer muscle alone.

The swell has now gone flat and there a moderate-strength high pressure system moving off the east coast of Australia. In a few days time, if things continue to develop favorably, we will try to catch the top and backside of this high and ride it down to NZ. We are now in Lautoka, standing by for a weather report and customs clearance to make the jump. Its been a while since we've been out of the tropics, so we're digging out the warm clothes and checking hatches, rigging, and other gear. The passage to and from NZ has a reputation for being quite rough, but with a little luck on the weather we can hope for landfall 10-20 days after leaving Fiji.

Thanks!

Kara & John

Update 15 --

Hello from Namotu, Fiji!

In the last few weeks we have not covered the big mileages that we're used to seeing, but the sailing has been very challenging for other reasons. We spent 7 days at Wallis island, which has a very interesting lagoon dotted with muffin-top islands, craggy Dr. Seuss cliffs, and long sand bars. Wallis is remarkably isolated and the people's lifestyle is an artifact of the generous French government; they have no industry, they export nothing, and there is no tourism—yet the island supports a population of nearly 9,000. Despite the economic state, there is almost no poverty, everyone is happy and seems to have everything they need. Everyone is a local; there are no street signs, the businesses aren't labeled, there are no maps. They drink Foster's instead of water—in fact, we hadn't taken 10 steps on shore when we had cold beers shoved in our hands by some friendly natives. They don't get many (any?) visitors, so we were a bit of a curiosity. Hitchhiking was easy, thumbs largely unnecessary. After getting in the car, we sometimes found ourselves kidnapped for extended island tours. It wasn't unusual to have the driver pull over to buy a round Foster's along the way. We were amazed at the Wallisian generosity, especially since we rarely encountered anyone who spoke English.


The highlight of our stay was at the end of a muddy dirt road, after a gentle but lengthy uphill slog on borrowed bikes. An inactive volcano crater, 1 mile wide and perfectly round with vertical sides, dropped 600 feet into a black lake. Legend has it that the lake is bottomless, fact seized upon by the Americans at the close of World War II. Presumably to keep their war machines from falling into the wrong hands, they simply bulldozed their entire war operation over the cliff into the lake. The tanks, trucks, artillery and ammunition sank into the depths and have never been seen again.

Fully refreshed, we decided to press on to Savusavu, Fiji. That night we entered Fijian waters, which are a new ballgame, navigationally speaking. Up until this point, the geography of the South Pacific has been one of few islands separated by hundreds or thousands of miles of deep, open, and safe water. This leads to a highly technical sailing strategy of “point the boat in the right direction until you see land.” In Fiji, however, all the charts say things like “numerous uncharted reefs exist in all areas,” which turns out to be exactly correct. There are lots uncharted reefs, and entire uncharted islands, big ones! Needless to say, we can sail only during the day and someone is on bow watch all the time.

Having safely arrived in Savusavu, we were overjoyed to find that we could afford to buy things! We ate out at restaurants, bought fresh fruits and vegetables, and were able to talk to locals (English is spoken as a second language by nearly all Fijians). Around this time word got out to friends and family back home that we were in a prime vacationing zone and suddenly we found that we were sorely missed and people were just going to have to come visit us. The excitement started when Megan and Chris, friends from home, caught a lift with us from Savusavu across the Bligh Water to the remote Yasawa group to do some beach camping and backpacking. Kara cooked a breakfast which our guests quickly regurgitated into Orca's wake. Between heaves we told them how the situation could be worse; the Bligh Water got its name when Captain Bligh and a few loyal men, after losing the Bounty to another faction of mutinous crew, were chased across the same 70 miles of water by war canoes filled with angry Fijian cannibals. They frantically rowed their lifeboat for hours and finally escaped, exhausted, into open ocean. Megan and Chris, however, retired below for long naps.

The next morning at first light, we anchored behind a picturesque sandspit connecting two islands in the Yasawa group. We surfed a nearby reef that had almost no redeeming qualities – shifty and small like a beach break, shallow and dangerous like a reef break. We had a nice bonfire on the beach, which was when our would-be campers discovered that tropical desert islands don't make good campgrounds: lots of creepier-crawlies, debilitating heat, and chronic lack of water. A bit disillusioned, our first round of guests retreated to Orca's relative luxury, canceled their camping plans and booked flights back to the U.S. Megan and Chris were hot, seasick, and tired but in surprisingly good spirits when we left them at Musket Cove to start their retreat back to the US.

Meanwhile, a few miles away at an expensive surf resort, a pair of hot, tired, and jet-lagged parentals had just checked into their executive villa and wasted no time bumping the air conditioning thermostat down to sub-Arctic. A quick sail brought us out to meet them, and so it happens that we find ourselves anchored behind the small island of Namotu, within easy reach of several world class surf breaks that have yet to produce anything other than knee high wind-chop. However, time is on our side so we will see what the future holds.

Thanks!

John & Kara

Friday, September 17, 2010

Update 14 -- Wallis Island

Orca Update 14

Hello from Wallis Island! We've covered nearly 1,500 nm since the last update, so we've got a few stories.

We left Raiatea with 5 days left on the visas, and scampered through the pass at Bora Bora just before nightfall. Ghosting into a pretty anchorage just behind a shadowy motu at dusk we found the water to be of reasonable anchoring depth and dropped the hook to enjoy the last of the sky's colors. Morning broke the spell, showing 100's of hotels, resorts, condos and bungalows littering the shorelines. Hourly flights from Tahiti roared overhead, and high-speed transports zipped through the lagoon delivering people to and from the airport. Rental jet-ski's buzzed like hornets, and tour boats rumbled by with running commentary oozing from their PA systems.

In protest we hung our damp salty underwear out to dry in the view-shed of a few dozen Ritz-Carlton executive suites.

Paperwork and shopping took the remainder of our time, and soon enough we were back at sea. The wind was light, which is fine with us. We scrub Orca's hull religiously so she moves well in light air.

About this time we began to enter the South Pacific Convergence Zone (SPCZ), a little known but feared stretch of the South Pacific where the consistent balmy trade wind weather becomes a bit sinister. The warm, moist air from the east, which has been blowing over the equatorial waters in the form of the trades for the last 5,000 miles, meets waves of colder air forced north by storms around NZ and Australia. For reasons not entirely clear to us, this interface doesn't usually produce large scale storms, but instead manifests itself as one or more stationary fronts which are characterized by narrow bands of intense squalls which can last for weeks. Stories abound of moonless nights in which an unsuspecting sailboat stumbles into one of these fronts and finds the wind going from 5 to 80 knots in a heartbeat. Few fly spinnakers at night in this stretch of the ocean. Two weeks ago a 67' catamaran was overturned in one of these squalls and had to be abandoned.

Three nights out of Bora Bora we began to see signs that we were approaching one of these squall lines. Just after sunset, we began to see flashes of lightening below the horizon reflecting off nearby clouds. By midnight, a line of thunderheads blocked the horizon, stretching out of sight from SE to NW. At 5 am, it was nearly upon us. The wind jumped from 10 to 25 knots and switched direction from E to N. Continuous lightening made headlamps on deck unnecessary. We reefed down to storm canvas, re-lashed the dingy, unplugged radios, and wrapped crucial electronic gear in tin-foil to protect it from the huge electromagnetic forces that would result if we took a direct strike. Just before sunrise, a line of rain moved toward us– big cold drops that could be heard moving across the water toward us in a hiss. The wind increased to 35 knots and began to whistle in the rigging. Webs of cloud-to-cloud lightening crackled across the sky overhead and a few big ground strikes hit the ocean near us. The thunder was felt, rather than heard, over the sound of the wind and waves.

And just like that, we were through: 10 hours of anticipation—10 minutes of terror. Blue sky stretched ahead to the horizon and the wind dropped to 10 knots. Kara danced the robot in the flashes of lightening as we scudded safely into the clear predawn sky.

Before we knew it, Aitutaki was in sight. This Cook Island has a lagoon that rival's Bora Bora's for magnificence, but is much less visited; there is no natural pass through the reef. An artificial pass was blasted in the 1940's during World War II, but has since filled with sediment and is now only 4.5' deep at peak high tide, which is too shallow for most large powerboats and nearly all sailboats. Being rather dainty, as far as bluewater cruisers go, Orca draws just over 4'. We went aground in the lagoon 3 times and had to kedge off twice (kedging involves taking an anchor back into deep water with the dingy and using it to pull the big boat off the shoal). Safely into the harbor, which was about the size of a basketball court and 6' deep, we explored the island.

Aitutaki has a small airport with connections to Auckland, and nurses a small tourism industry. We jumped right in and decided to rent a motor scooter. At the rental office, the native islander with a big afro and acres of tattoos showed us to a shiny red scooter with a big logo on the front, “Rino's Rentals”. He asked if we'd ever driven a motorcycle or a scooter before and we said no. Rather than give us a few pointers, he said “well you better take this one instead then” and rolled out a scooter that had obviously been in an unhealthy number of high speed crashes. It was missing a rear view mirror, the turn signals were held on with duct tape, it leaked copious amounts of oil, the brakes (we later found out while descending a steep dirt road) worked at about half capacity, the plastic bodywork was hanging on by faith alone, the muffler didn't muffle, the shock absorbers didn't absorb, and, naturally, there was no trace of the rental logo on it anywhere. But, for $14 US, we had her for the next 24 hours with tacit permission to crash as many times as it took to figure out how to drive a moped and how to negotiate traffic on the wrong side of the road. The other challenge was that neither of us had driven for almost a year. With all this we figured we'd better stay away from people so we took to the dirt roads and trails on the interior of the island and spent the rest of the day bouncing, wobbling, and sliding along deserted ridge tops. The next day, we drove on the beaches (our only crash was when we hit some deep fluffy sand, lost control, and ended up in a heap).

After a week at Aitutaki, we scraped our way out of the lagoon and set a course for Wallis Island. We spent 11 days at sea, and the wind averaged a lovely-sounding 15-20 knots. The average is a bit misleading, though, because for the first 6 days we were becalmed and the last 5 we spent hove-to or running under triple reefed main with winds between 30 and 45 knots and 15-20' seas. Kara enjoyed celebrated her birthday by being tossed around the cabin. It was a challenging passage physically and mentally, not to mention the wear and tear on our gear. Luckly, nothing broke, we built confidence, and now we're safely ensconced in Wallis Island's lagoon taking a breather before pressing on to Savusavu, Fiji.

Thanks!

J&K

Update 13 -- Port du Phaeton...




















Orca Update 13:

Hi everyone,

Thanks again for all the love from home.

Picking up where we left off last time, we went to check out the mysto reef-pass at Port du Phaeton and found it to be sunny, light offshore, a very pretty few feet overhead, and extremely life threatening. 3 waves were more than enough; we felt lucky to get out of there alive. The wave wraps in, sucks off the reef, hollows out and reels off onto 6” of water rapidly draining to dry reef. There was also the nearly inescapable dry reef close out section, which seems to be fairly ubiquitous around here. A few locals came out on body boards wearing full suits and helmets—always a bad sign.

Escaping to Pape'ete, we found a nautical traffic jam – 100's of cruising boats packed into a relatively small area, all anchored in a 100' of water. The attraction? McDonalds, among other things. The price of a cheeseburger? $4.00. The taste of home? Priceless.

Never fond of the big cities, we were out of there pretty quick. A light air sail over to the N side of Moorea took all day, but found us in Robinson's Cove, one of the more famous sailing stops. The water was deep right up to the trees, so we dropped the anchor just off the sandy beach and took a short line ashore to a palm tree to keep Orca from swinging around under the overhaning trees and fouling her rigging. The surrounding mountains looked prehistoric: massive, craggy, and superlatively tropical with massive old growth hardwood wreathed in vines. It didn't take much imagination to see dinosaurs roaming the island. We ambled up a dirt path that took us to the base of one of the huge spires disappearing into the clouds. 5 hours later we stumbled back to the boat covered in mud lugging 15 pounds of fruit we gathered during the hike.

An overnight sail brings us to Raitea and Taha'a, a pair of islands which share a fringing reef. We've been here for a while; we're not sure how long. Time...seems unimportant. We spent a bit of time reconnoitering the various reef passes with good exposure to SW swell before latching onto the gem; a gorgeous left with an idyllic anchorage just behind it. The wave is fairly long, and has three distinct sections. The deep takeoff, at size, is a top-to-bottom classic reef pass drainer which has spit out many an intrepid explorer. The end of this section leads into a few hundred yards of bowly, jucy shoulder. Then you reach the good part of the wave, where the inside section can double in size as the swell that wrapped into the deep reef pass hits the shallows and thickens into a long reeling hollow section. Don't forget to kick out before the dry reef closeout section, though. The paddle back out is quick, since the offshores and the outgoing current help. There area few gnarly locals around who surf in the afternoons– big guys, lots of tattoos. They can be very intimidating, especially as they paddle straight up to you at top speed, an unfamiliar look in their eye. When they reach us, we wait, cringing, for.......a handshake and a polite introduction. They are very happy to see us, welcome to the lineup, would you like to tie up your dingy to my panga, as it has a big anchor? We hope you enjoy our waves, stay as long as you want. Please, no pictures though.

We've met another sailing/surfing couple from New Zealand, who have been surfing the left with us. They have gotten us really excited about NZ; they keep talking about all kinds of good Kiwi stuff. As an example: they thought it strange that we would consider buying local beer at $3/can. They asked why we didn't just stock up on the 'brew kits' from our supermarkets in the US...? Apparently, in any local supermarket in NZ you can buy a beer brewing kit 'cheap as chips.' Our friends, Ron & Mim, brew it 25 liters at a time, once a week. In the tropics, it takes less than two weeks and tastes like nectar.

Needless to say, we're going to burn through every last day of our visas right here, before heading the 12 miles west to Bora-Bora to finish our clearance paperwork. We're not sure of our next stop, but we've got a couple of possibilities bouncing around. Wallis island has a number of nice looking reef passes with good surfing exposure. After that, we've heard that the Fijian government has opened Tavarua to the public, which means that we could be some of the very first cruising sailors to surf Cloudbreak. We'll see.

Thanks!

J&K

Monday, June 7, 2010

Update 12 -- Taiohae bay, Nuku Hiva...

Orca Update # 12. Taiohae Bay, Nuku Hiva, Marquesas Islands.

THIS is what we've been dream
ing about for the last 25 days. The lanai is perched on a ridge under a palm tree, overlooking the blue tropical bay, we sip cold beer on rock-steady earth. Nothing is moving; its amazing. For the last 25 days, everything has been moving—to illustrate the fact, think of this: at sea, if you hang something by a small piece of line, like a necklace, the string will wear through in a few days. We had all manner of knick-knacks hanging from various places about the boat – St. Christopher's medals, colored glass, etc. They all wore through their tethers until there was nothing left hanging in the boat. You can imagine the wear and tear this puts on the rigging and sails, we had to be on constant watch for chafe.

Apparently we were very lucky to experience those 30 knots of wind just N of the equator. We did a 140 mile day right through where the doldrums were supposed to be, and blasted through the rest of the passage with
the help of the south equatorial current, a solid 2+ knots of help, to rack up multiple 150 mile days. We've heard that our 25 days is one of the quickest passages from Cabo San Lucas this season; we've heard of one 50 day passage on a 30' boat similar to Orca.

The islands we've arrived at are different than anywhere else we've ever been. Maybe they ar
e comparable to Hawaii in the early 1900's. Tropical, rugged, trade-wind caressed, people ride around barebacked on small horses. Few people speak English, and Marquesan, a language similar to Hawaiian, gets daily use in everything from business transactions to bar-talk. Most white people are greeted in french; needless to say Kara and I are hopelessly lost in even the simplest attempted conversation. The local culture is rich, stone carvings, museums, and archeological sites abound. Tattoo's are a big deal. The water is not potable here, but in the next cove over, at the base of the 3rd highest watefall in the world, we hear there is excellent drinking water. That's where we'll head next, “Daniel's Cove” – so named because a guy named Daniel lives there.

Were not sure when the next time we'll have the interent is; the to
wn that we are in now is the largest in these islands, and is the capital. Even so, we've been having a hard time tracking down phone and interent. were leaving for the tuamotu island chain in a week or so, a 5 day passage to the southeast.

Thanks,

J&K

Orca Update 11

Orca Update 11: 1N x 130W

As we beat our way south under triple reefed main and stays'l we are asking ourselves one simple question: where
are the doldrums? According to sailing and weather lore, there should be a band of frustratingly windless conditions just north of the equator where the NE and SE trades come together to cancel themselves out in a band of hot, stagnant, weather. Instead we are close-hauled, battling a 30 knot southerly wind and vicious half-hourly squalls. Rather than drifting listlessly in the equatorial heat, Orca's bow is buried in 10 foot seas that regularly sweep the deck and threaten to fill the deeply reefed sails. Its been raining almost non-stop for three days and there's scarcely a dry article of clothing on the boat. The humidity is outrageous; even clothes that have never gotten wet are wet. The charts are soggy, the sheets are sticky, and the books are moldy.

Not that we're complaining. The rainwater ensures we have a comfortable supply of drinking water. We catch it in buckets and tarps as it streams off the sails and solar panels and siphon it into our tanks. The wind and squalls have helped move us towards our goal
each day, averaging a respectable 100 miles per day even when we should be languishing in the heat.

We've given up on fishing. We had to; we are running out of fishing gear. The Monster of the Deep is stealing it all. His modus operandi is to hit our lures at first light or dusk, and to hit them hard. One of three things happens: a) if its a hand line, the lures get sliced off (right through the 200 lb test leader), b) the hook shears off, or c) if he hits a pole he likes to grab the lure and run all the line off the reel in about 15 secon
ds flat regardless of how high the drag is set. When this happens its best to just stand clear; any contact with the line results in a burn, and its all over before anyone can grab a knife to cut it loose.

Keeping moral high is a constant battle. We both feel bi-polar; our days are so simple and similar that the smallest deviations from the norm can make or break the mood aboard. If we tally a daily run of 98 miles instead of breaking 100, gloom descends. To
battle this, we have 'parties' at any excuse. Today, Mother's Day. Yesterday, was the 1,500 Miles From Cabo party, and tomorrow is Kara's little brother's birthday party. Then of course we threw the memorable Crossing 20, 15, 10, and 5 Degrees of North Latitude parties. A 'party' usually consists of an extra glass of wine or beer and a cake or chocolate bar if the occasion warrants. The guest list is always the same, and everyone always shows up right on time.

Ocra Updates 9 aka 10

Hi Everyone,


Originally, we thought it w
ould be fun to write several Orca Updates throughout the passage to the South Pacific, and then send them out one at a time whenever we had internet access next. However, its proven pretty difficult to get a decent internet connection, so you'll get them all at once. sorry, connection too sloz for pictures!

Orca Update # 10, 15N x 120 W, 800 NM SW of Cabo S
an Lucas

The weather has been uneventful, the fishing mediocre. The worst weather we've encountered so far was about a
n hour out of CSL, and it wasn't particularly bad; 20 knots of W wind.

That's not to say the trip so far hasn't been challenging in it's own ways. We almost blew our collective lid several times doing the paperwork to exit Mexico. We anchored in CSL for a gra
nd total of about 14 hours; 8 of those were filled with paperwork. Here's only one example of the run-around we went through: the Captania del Puerto wouldn't sign our papers to leave Mexico until we paid the “anchoring fee.” The office where they needed to be paid was a 60 peso taxi ride across town. We were required to sign into and out of this office; the security guard at the door took our passports for the duration of our visit (to keep us from escaping?). Orca's documentation was closely inspected. Once satisfied of the document's authenticity, the employees extracted her length and displacement, which were then used in what must have been a very complex formula. 4 confused employees plugged the numbers in, and, 20 tense minutes later, they abruptly arrived at a very precise fee (down to a hundredth of a peso, even thought the smallest currency denomination is a half peso). Then, all 4 employees again worked together to produce a full page, full color invoice from a very fancy, yet very stubborn printer. This invoice was then subsequently hand-delivered to a different booth, where we were directed to rendezvoused with yet another employee to pay the fee. We received both a color copy of the invoice and an additional receipt upon payment. Having completed our business, the security guard relinquished our passports after recording our first, middle, and last names, nationalities, and passport numbers. 45 minutes after arriving, we took another 60 peso taxi ride back to the Captania del Puerto's office where our anchoring invoice was inspected by another two employees before our papers were signed. The fee? 15.93 pesos, about $1 US dollar.

Sailing out to sea from Cabo was scary. Leaving the harbor after fueling up for the first time since California, we set the sails with a feeli
ng of detachment that was definitely self-imposed. We were on autopilot, working by instinct. By avoiding thoughts of the distance, time, space, and desolation ahead, we could avoid unleashing the extreme apprehension that might cause us to turn back if not completely contained.

Now, over a week out, all that is gone; we're feeling comfortable, confident, and carefree. We have absolute trust in Orca after our months on the c
oast of Baja. We're completely self-sufficient; just this morning we fixed a 30 inch tear that developed last night in one of our sails using our on board sewing machine.

The weather has been harmless and the wind fair. We've been looking forward to working on some celestial navigation, but oddly enough we have sailed all the way down to 15 degrees N and have yet to really see the sun or stars; its been consistently overcast. Makes one appreciate the GPS. The weather is still relative
ly chilly as well, long pants and sweaters are standard dress for night watch. This seems odd, as we are only 900 miles from the equator and closing fast.

The remoteness of our location is mind boggling. We haven't seen another man-made object in 700 miles; not even an airplane overhead. What little wildlife that exists out here isn't even afraid of humans; pe
rhaps they've never seen one before. Yesterday we had 3 open ocean birds (boobies or albatross, perhaps?) land on our boom just a couple feet from us in the cockpit. When they started pooping on our sail, we tried to chase them off with a stick. We bopped them on the head and they squawked at us with confused but unafraid looks—and didn't leave. We ended up shoving them off into the water one by one.

If it wasn't for charts and t
he GPS, it would be easy to forget that we are moving. The same stretch of water seems rise up from the same horizon, day after day, like we're on a treadmill. Orca is the center of the universe, stationary, and the ocean, clouds, wind, and waves move around her in a daily cycle of light and dark.

To fall overboard is certain death, and its impossible to forget that on a night like tonight. The full moon is hidden behind dark, rain-laden clouds. Its pitch black outside; no sea, no sky, no horizon, no landmarks or reference points save the cheerful glow of a kerosene lamp burning in Orca's cabin. A good night to sit below with a hot cup of tea and write an Orca Update.






Orca Update #8, La Paz, Mexico:


Good afternoon,


Another couple of days in La Paz took care of most of our shopping. Our alcohol stove is always a challenge to fill; this time we found “alcohol industrial” in used salsa jars at the local hardware store, at half of US prices. We bought every bottle they had.


The local grocery store, “CCC”, always seems to be about as crowded as Trader Joe's and Costco the day before the Superbowl andThanksgiving all combined. You have to be aggressive to even catch a glimpse of the shelves, and competition for produce is intense. Tortillas miraculously appear out the end of a 10 foot high, 15 foot long, 6 foot deep Rube Goldberg super-duper tortilla making machine at the rate of five a second; flame spits towards a charred spot on the ceiling. Various minions scurry around the collosus adding corn flour, water, and oil. The cost of a kilo of tortillas? 60 cents, and they are always hot off the press.


Once you gain the parking lot, you find yourself at a distinct disadvantage. It seems that no Mexican architect ever thought anyone would be stupid enough to try to walk; everyone owns a car. The sidewalks look more like obstacle courses; a set of stairs with 3 feet between steps is common, low hanging branches, trenches, pits, debris and tripwires are to be expected. Cross walks, stop signs, and stop lights? Not a chance; they may be there, but they're unenforced. Everyone rolls through at 20 kmph, you have to hit it at at least 40 to alert the police.


One other interesting thing we've encountered comes up when talking to drunk sailors; half say La Paz is the best place in the world, the other half think it's sheer hell. We've found this all over; people who have committed to a place try to convince themselves by persuading others that they have planted their lives in the best place on the planet. The other half, people who plan to leave, think they can find somewhere better and try to persuade everyone that they are smart to leave. We've decided that that there is no way to figure out where the best is until we've seen them all--we can always go back later.


So, after another day in La Paz we decided it was time for our Sea of Cortez adventure. We snuck out at dawn, weaving out through the anchored boats quietly under sail. We ran down the long, deceiving channel (the channel is 3 miles long and guarded by a nearly invisible sandbar which is about all of about 2 feet deep) and set a course for Espiritu Santu, a nearby island notorious for its crystal clear water and rugged beauty. The wind was light and variable, and, true to form, we averaged 2 knots under all the canvas we could pile on. We tried to jig up some baitfish on our small 15lb test rig to spice up the passage but the only thing we were able to catch was...a big shark! The line smoked out and we panicked. Before we could start to reel in the line went slack and the 6 foot shark leapt out of the water right next to Orca. Since we had our weak little bait rig out we lost the beast, but it was exciting,


We stumbled onto a beautiful anchorage called Ensenada Grande at the very end of Isla Partida, one of the two islands that are generally referred to as Espiritu Santu. The water was crystal clear and the weather was perfect. We decided that we would never leave. We dove overboard to change the zincs and scrub Orca's hull, but found that the algae we freed attracted number of puffer fish. At first, one or two would appear; very cute. 5 minutes later, surrounded by a hundred or more of the pesky scavengers, we would scamper back up intoOrca with the hebbie jeebies.


Instead, we worked on the dingy, safely on the beach drinking beer, and had cocktail hour with other boats that stopped in our anchorage. We snorkeled and speared a good sized triggerfish that was quickly transformed into tasty ceviche. We met some beach campers who were somehow, for some reason, simultaneously circumnavigating the island by kayak while doing yoga—or something like that.


When it was time to leave, a week later, we again ghosted along at two knots. We tried to fish, we really did, but we caught nothing at that speed. Back at La Paz, we ran into some friends we met at Ensenada Grande that motored at 5 knots; they caught 2 beautiful dorado on the way back.


We've since realized that its time to start the next stage of our adventure. This is a decision point for us; hurricane season for Mexicoand the rest of the tropical N Pacific, is fast approaching. There are two courses available: go North, deeper into the Sea of Cortez to ride out hurricane season, or leave Mexico, and the northern hemisphere entirely.


We've decided to continue to the South Pacific. This will be Orca's first blue water passage: at least a month at sea, a thousand miles from land. We've stowed 40 lbs of potatoes, 30 lbs of onions, a shopping cart load of canned goods, spare parts for all crucial systems, 700 lbs of drinking water, and 50 lbs of flour, rice, and noodles. Enough fresh veggies to hold out a week or two, maybe three, 'till they go bad. All together, we estimate Orca is toting 2,000 lbs of extra gear and supplies, and it shows; she's way down on her lines. We'll move back down to Cabo San Lucas, the most southern point of Baja, to fill out paperwork and top off our water and fuel tanks before setting sail for the Marquesas.


I doubt we'll have the chance to send another email before we leave, so don't worry if you don't hear from us for a month or two!

-J&K

Monday, April 12, 2010

04-09-2010 - Update 7






04-09-2010 - Update 7


Hi everyone,

A beautiful reach out of Scorpion Bay led us offshore into deep blue, nearly purple water. We hadn't had fish since arriving in San Juanico so we put put the lines out right away. Kara caught nothing, which was a relief, while I managed to catch a large yellow-tail. We judged it to be too big for our needs and threw (shoved?) it overboard, and exchanged it for a small bonito that we caught later that night.

At first we planned to sail overnight to Magdalena Bay, but when we arrived the next morning we just kept right on sailing, distracted by an exciting event. 5 miles off the mouth of Mag bay, Kara's fishing hand line surged and the boat perceptibly slowed. We looked at each other for a moment before Kara grabbed the line and tried to pull it in—no luck. Gloves helped a bit, but there was still a lot of fight in whatever we hooked. We cleated the line and let the fish tire itself fighting the boat, then put the line on one of our big primary winches and ground that poor fish right up to the boat. He didn't look so big and tough a few feet under the water, fighting against our largest winch, so we gaffed him and brought him aboard Turns out he was bigger than he looked; we ate tasty yellow fin tuna for days. We feel lucky he wasn't bigger – yellow fin can be as big as 400 lbs. Kara couldn't even lift it for the photo opportunity.

Having floated right by Magdalena bay while fighting, landing, and filleting the fish, we opted to forgo the beat to windward back up to the bay. We could tell when we were getting close to Cabo San Lucas when we found ourselves dodging cruise ships left and right—we were passed by 5 in one night. We're not sure how tall those things are, but we figure the top of our mast might barely reach the lowest deck. They don't seem to notice us at all.

Then, the wind quit; becalmed. And, finally, after 1,500 miles of sailing, 15 degrees of latitude traversed, and 10 weeks of sailing, we got hot; 80 degrees and not a breath of wind. We stripped sweatshirts, pants, and jackets stiff with salt from our white bodies, broke out the sunscreen, shorts, tee-shirts, beach towels and sun shade. We dove overboard and swam around the boat with no land in sight. We drank [somewhat] cold beer and found that being becalmed, as long as its only for a day, is fun and relaxing when the weather is nice.

With a light wind at our back, we rounded Cabo San Lucas the next evening. The hillsides were covered with hotels and condos, the harbor filled with the 5 cruise ships and infested with mooring buoys. With no intention of joining the circus, we blasted past at a our very respectable 3 knot average (even though it laughably slow, we are proud of ourselves for traveling the length of Baja using less than a gallon of fuel.)

Of course, having said that, we found ourselves becalmed yet again, just as we were turning north up into the Sea of Cortez. This time wasn't as fun; it was a dewy night with nowhere dry to sit on deck and a slight chill in the air. With no wind all night, we were happy to feel a breath the next morning, even if it was a headwind. We tacked up the east side of the Baja Peninsula. When the wind got stronger, 20 knots or so, we decided to put into Los Frailes (The Friars), a north-wind protected anchorage about 70 miles above Cabo San Lucas.

The most distinguishing feature of Los Frailers were the rays. We're not sure what kind they were, but they were fairly large, the diameter of a big pizza or more. For some reason they like to swim toward the surface at speed and launch themselves out of the water. They get quite high, 6 feet or more, and completely out of control, spinning, twisting and flipping. Each ray would land with a big ungainly splat or plop that sounded painful, and they kept it up all night.

A balmy south wind soon ushered us along our way, at our usual 2 knots...we spent two entire days going two knots, which was nice except it's about 1 knot too slow to troll for fish. We watched sport fisherman around us reeling 'em in, but our lures just bobbed around lifelessly...Luckily, the boat was so still that Kara became extra creative in the galley—fresh bread, cake, and other treats.

With 40 miles to go to La Paz, the wind finally freshened from the south. We piled on every scrap of canvas we could, our big red drifter sail out on a whisker pole to port and our jib out to starboard, wing and wing. With the speed our fishing lures started swimming around and we managed to catch a scrawny sierra; ironically, nothing to write home about.

Darkness found us still 10 miles from La Paz so we tucked into nearby Ballandra Cove just past dusk. Ballandra is famous for a rock that looks like a mushroom; we figured it was a tourist hoax, probably like looking at clouds: from the right angle with some imagination you might be able to see some resemblance when you unfocus your eyes, turn your head and squint. Daylight showed us that mushroom rock is actually made up of a 6 or 8 foot high spire of rock, about a foot in diameter, with a volkswagen sized rock magically perched on top.

Another surprise awaited us when we looked over the side of the boat. Even though we were anchored in 3 fathoms of water (about 20 feet), we could distinctly see Orca's shadow on the bottom. Of course we jumped over with snorkeling gear and found the water to be beautifully clear. We dove down to the anchor; it was guarded by a solitary, rather stubborn puffer fish. We poked him with our spears but no matter what we did he just wouldn't puff. At a nearby reef we found thousands of tropical fish of all sizes; it was like we had just gotten off the plane. Our last stops had been temperate, with few solitary fish and murky water, but this was entirely new ecosystem—fully tropical.

The spearfishing is a whole new ballgame around here. Back home, in the kelp beds, camouflage is the name of the game. If you manage to spot a fish, you can swim right up to it while it looks at you stupidly, still hoping you can't see it as you blast it right between the eyes point blank. Here, the fish are brilliantly colorful and being seen is a foregone conclusion. Stalking becomes crucial; we still haven't figured it out yet.

We're in La Paz now, which is reminiscent of Moro Bay – a long estuary curving towards the North. Were starting to figure out the scene; we went to a pig bake (yes there was a whole pig—on a spit, no less) on the sandbar (El Mogote) the other night and met some fellow sailors. There are some boat supply stores here, but boat stuff is at least 20% more than US prices because of import fees, we hear.

Suspiciously, the parents showed up in La Paz on vacation. They were (vehemently) NOT here to check up on us, they just happened to be “in town” and wanted to “stop by”. Either way, we commandeered their rental car and went to the grocery store and loaded the cart (and car) with canned food until it threatened to collapse. In return, we decided to take them to the nearby anchorage, Ballandra, at which we stopped on our way into La Paz. After hearing us extolling the virtues of swell-less sailing, still anchorages, crystal clear water and excellent snorkeling, they signed on without hesitation, though they will think twice before they come again.

On the way out, wind was strong and variable – terrible sailing. The chop was big and confused. The previously still anchorage was filled with cross chop that made the boat roll. The water wasn't clear, and was filled with hundreds of tiny stinging jellyfish that made swimming and snorkeling trying. The parents were sick; they couldn't eat and couldn't sleep. Everyone grew irritable. The next morning, we all couldn't wait to get back to La Paz, and when we docked the parents veritably sprinted for dry land. They left La Paz entirely that same day, and we haven't heard from them since. They probably think we're crazy for living like this.

We plan to do some short, week long cruises to nearby islands and anchorages before returning to La Paz to complete our provisioning.

Also, if anyone is driving down this way in the next month and is willing to make a stop in La Paz or Cabo San Lucas, we're looking to buy 200' of anchor chain. The cost of the chain here is double the price in the US, so if someone were to pick up chain from the parents on the way out of California, we would gladly split the $400 savings.

Thanks again,

John & Kara

Photo Captions:

Kara's big yellowfin -- (thanks Robin Seldin for the gaff!) Spring cleaning, getting rid of the Monterey Mold Us