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

04-02-2010 - Update 6

04-02-2010 - Update 6

Greetings again.  We wrote the update and tried to send it out from San Juanico, but the interent was down.  So here it is, even though we're at La Paz now.

San Juanico is the nicest Mexican town we've been to so far. The houses are mostly complete and are well kept and colorfully painted, there is a restaurant and several stores. They even have a paved street about a mile long leading out into the desert (where it ends, rather abruptly, in the middle of nowhere)--the first paved road we've seen since Ensenada. Fishing and surf-tourism are the main industries, and the town is made up of about two thirds Mexicans, the remainder being older, single ex-patriots driven out of the US by climbing healthcare costs and crowded lineups.

Transient sailboats come through a few times a week, but none stay more than a day. After our second night, some bored, friendly gringos sailed out in their dingy to meet us since we didn't seem to be leaving. It wasn't long before we found ourselves hosting a day sail for about half the town. Orca was loaded down to her toe rails and the beer flowed like water; it wasn't long before we were fast friends with most of the local gringos and beach-oriented Mexicans. This opened doors for us all over town.

One morning before the reliable NW wind came up, we caught a ride out to the tip of the point for a good dose of local knowledge and some well overhead challenging reef break with one of the best local surfers, Matt. He lives in a compound made entirely out of buses—city and school buses. There are five of them – 3 for living space, one dedicated entirely to storing surfboards, and the last runs just well enough to make it down onto the beach (everyone drives on the beach) full of beer, sunscreen, and a barbeque. The only better setup might be Orca; we don't have to move when the tide comes in, but the paddle is a bit further on small days.

Fresh green food stuff is hard to find here; its a desert after all. That's why we were so surprised to find several community supported organic gardens sprouting from the desert. Thursday morning is weeding and picking morning, and anyone who shows up to put a few hours of work into the garden is entitled to more fresh lettuce, cabbage, spinach, squash, peas, beats, swish-chard, corn, and beans than they can possibly eat. Kara was thrilled; we had just moved on to our second case of canned chilli when she made the garden discovery.

One evening we were invited to the local “chess club.” Everyone said “chess club” with a wink and a nudge. We hitched a ride into the backstreets of town, and found, of all things, a hotdog stand that made some pretty darn good hotdogs. Walking next door, hotdogs in hand, we found the chess club, which looked suspiciously like a converted bedroom. There was a single flimsy chessboard on one of the tables, but the rest of the room was taken up by a large, well-equipped bar. It didn't appear that much chess playing occurred there; when we left after a single margarita the bartender remarked that it was nice to see someone have less than eight drinks, if only because we might make it down the stairs without grievous injury. We later learned that the only local cantina—bar--was closed down recently in a property dispute and the chess club seems to have filled the void rather admirably.

During the days, the surf has been quite good. It started out small—waist high at or so, but beautifully shaped, very long waves. It's gotten progressively bigger; the last few days have been head high or even bigger, offshore and clean, and quite hollow. Kara has logged more time on her feet surfing waves in 10 days here than she has in 2 years in Monterey and says its “the funnest thing I've ever done in my life.” The lineups are mellow, rarely more than 5 or 10 guys usually quite friendly; people introduce themselves when they paddle out. This stop has furnished by far the best waves of our trip to date.

The swell is on its way down and we are getting restless again. We're leaving today after we stock up on fresh greens from the gardens. We're not sure where our next stop will be.

thanks,

J&K

03-15-2010 - Update 5

03-15-2010 - Update 5 

Hello again,

As always, thanks for all of your wonderful replies and updates from home.

Turtle Bay is quite the yachtie mecca; we didn't blend in at all. It seems the primary industries there are fishing and selling fuel to sailboats, and the Mexicans are as just as pro-active about it as possible. Often a panga would pull up to Orca and offer (demand?) to sell us fuel. Since we've been running down wind the whole trip, and all of our electrical needs are taken care of by our solar panels, we've used less than a gallon of diesel since we left California; our 10 gallon tank is still almost full. The zealous fuel salesmen were not convinced.

We left Turtle Bay--after replenishing our stock of beer and tortillas--on the arduous passage to Thurloe Bay, a distant 2 miles down the coast where we had heard that there was rich beach combing. In Baja two miles is more than enough distance to find yourself in the middle of nowhere; there are no suburbs, the buildings that make up settlements here seem huddle together for protection against the wind and sand of the desert.

Bahia Thurloe would have been a popular anchorage had Turtle Bay not been quite so close. Well protected from everything but due S wind, it's light green water is bordered by uncounted miles of white sand beach. A line of driftwood, cobblestones, and what turned out to be thousands of seashells separates the beach from the desert (the only difference between the beach and the desert is the vegetation, small hardy shrubs that never reach above 2 feet high).

After an exciting beach landing, during which we almost lost our whole dingy-load of gear to the surf, we began to explore the beach. Old lobster traps, buoys, driftwood and fishnet littered the beach. We found large clam shells, cone shaped snail shells called turbans, other white and purple snail shells ranging from the size of a fist to a much larger cream colored variety, and delicate white snail shells with a long spindly protrusion.

After lunch, we snorkeled around in the sandy bay with our spears, hoping to surprise a halibut or other flatfish, but we didn't see any. Back at Orca the wind was really whipping through the rigging. Our weather report was forecasting light and variable winds for the next day, so we decided to set sail for Punta Abreojos that evening, sailing through the night.

That evening was rough, with steep seas close together chasing us down the coast. We averaged 7.5 knots for the first few hours, but the wind gradually subsided. Kara has become a master fisher woman, it seems, always one step ahead of the fish and two steps ahead of me. Some sort of gut feeling, a new kind of feminine intuition, tells her exactly which lure will be effective on any given day. She caught a large bonito, which we threw back (since we don't have a fridge, we can't finish the bigger fish before the meat goes bad), and a fair sized yellow-tail tuna, which we immediately sashimied. We found it a bit chewy, but the flavor was good. Cooked, the meat was much better. I caught nothing at all that evening, even though I dragged my lure twice as long as Kara did, dutifully staring hopefully at my pole the whole time.

One interesting feature of yellow-tail tuna is that their skin is very tough, made of thousands of tiny BB-sized scales which are completely invisible when wet. The scales come off the fish easily but stick to anything else permanently, where they dry and become opaque, stinky and unsightly. We now have yellowtail scales plastered all over the boat, from the bilges to the solar panels. It wouldn't be surprising to find some at the top of the mast, probably having ridden up on a halyard.

The next morning we arrived at a point helpfully named Abreojos, which means “open your eyes,” so named to warn of the nearly invisible reefs littering the point. The famous surf break there was onshore and flat, the wind was a stressful SW, then SE, then calm but with conflicting leftover chop rolling through the anchorage. In the middle of the night a mysterious East ground swell sprung up from somewhere out in the desert. In addition, our radios didn't work there, so we had no weather forecast. We gladly left for San Juanico (Scorpion Bay) bright and early the next morning,.

Determined to catch a fish , I beat Kara to the tackle box and grabbed the lure that she had such success with previously. I tossed it over and sat back with a beer, smugly ready to start reeling 'em in. Unperturbed, Kara rooted around and came up with a feathered lure from the very bottom. I'd tried dragging feathered lures every other day or so an had yet to catch anything on one, so I felt confident she would catch nothing and leave all the fish for me. Naturally, Kara quickly caught two nice bonito, the smaller of which we kept and ate. It turns out bonito make much better sashimi than yellow-tail; we ate the entire fish raw.

I resigned myself to my novel, despairing of ever catching the big one. We were reading Steinbeck's Sea of Cortez aloud to each other, in which the author says his favorite Mexican eating fish is the Pacific Sierra, a lovely slender fish with distinct golden-spots growing to 2-3 feet. As we finished this section my pole started dancing; and we landed, of course, a beautiful two and a half foot Pacific Sierra. We seared fillets and found the meat tender, almost sweet, and not at all fishy.

The moonless night was very conducive to star gazing. We used a star book to re-affirm our knowledge of Orion, Cassiopeia, Scorpio, Big and Little Dippers, and the Corona Borealis. We spent the remainder of the night trying to identify increasingly obscure and formless constellations, all of which must have been invented by someone with much more imagination than either of us. According to Stienbeck, we should be able to see the Southern Cross soon, once we get below about 25 degrees North.

In the pitch black we arrived outside Scorpion Bay. Were it not such an open, hazard-less bay we would not have attempted entry at night. Around midnight the wind died, so we felt our way in under engine power and dropped the hook well out from shore in 6 fathoms, but not before tangling a forgotten trolling line in the propeller. The next morning, Kara suited up and went over the side with a mask, snorkel, and knife to clear the line from the prop while I checked the charts. We've relocated to just over ¼ mile off the inner point break to await swell. San Juanico is the nicest town we have visited so far, probably due to the gringo surf influence.  The waves are currently absolutely perfect, but only about 6 inches high. We plan to stay here a week and hope for swell (outlook looks good!) before leaving for Bahia Santa Maria, about 80 miles to the South.

Love,

John & Kara

03-08-2010 - Update 4

03-08-2010 - Update 4

hi everyone, 

sorry this update is going to be a little shorter, im on a mexican computer which has a different keyboard that i cant figure out...weird characters and no shift key. 

we woke up the morning after the last update, thinking we were safe and sound in ensenada looking forward to a day of rest, since our weather forecast said there was a pretty 

substantial storm coming through, with gale force south winds. it wasnt to be though, because around 745 a couple of the buddies we made came over to warn us of the tsunami coming! 

stuck between a rock and a hard place...out into the storm or risk the harbor during a tsunami?  so instead of our warm cozy day of rest waiting out the rain, orca and friends left the harbor into the teeth of the gale.  inside the bay that surrounds ensenada , the winds and rain werent bad, but outside the bay we were slammed by a big squall.  the rain came down sideways in sheets turning the ocean white and spray moved like smoke, swirling around the peaks of waves and running along the troughs in rivulets of air-water mixture. kara bravely jumped up tot he foredeck to reef down the main.  we beat out to sea under a double-reefed main and jib, but as we got farther from land the wind increased.  we reefed further -- then struck the main all together as soon as we decided we had enough sea room to ride out the gale.  then the jib was too much sail, so we took that down too and set our tiny extra strong storm staysail just as it got dark.  we slowly reached down the coast at about two knots, with our self steering gear doing wonderfully.  we spent most of the night below, with the boat boarded up as numerous squalls swept over accompanied by thunder and lightening.  every half hour whoever was on watch would stick their head out to make sure we werent getting run down by a freighter.  every hour or so we would get a big thump as a wave broke against us, showering the boat with whitewater and partially filling the cockpìt. 

dawn showed us that the wind had subsided but there were still 15-20 foot seas.  we were over 20 miles offshore, so we set more sail and sailed downwind to bahia san quintin, one of the better protected anchorages along that stretch.  the wind calmed quickly and it turned into a nice sailing day.  as we neared san quintin we were treated to a beautiful sunset just as our fishing poles started to squeal.  we pulled in two nice looking bonito and immediately filleted them up and had some sashimi. 

we entered the anchorage at night -- something that was pretty stressful, but it was a big bay, with few rocks, and we have detailed charts of it.  we dropped the hook next to a sandbar and finally got some real sleep. 

the next morning we sailed for punta baha, which is a well known surf spot. we landed another, bigger bonito, which we cut into steaks.  we bit off more than we could chew here -- we had fish for every meal for days.  fish steaks.  steamed fish.  fish stew.  even fish cake.  we had too much fish....wont make that mistake again.  we will be throwing the big ones back from now on!  

when we got to punta baja, the swell was gone, and there was no where to go ashore.  we sailed the next day for punta san carlos, but when we arrived the wind was so strong that there was 2 feet of chop just a few hundred yards off the beach.  we tacked and headed back out to sea. we made the 90 mile run to isla cedros overnight.  we anchored at the little fishing village named cedros, meaning cedars, and went ashore to get beer and supplies.  the town was tiny, with a single school, a single police officer, and a single store.  the roads are unpaved and seem to be almost completely unmodified tracts of open desert left between structures. we hiked around in the dust and got hot and sweaty.  that first cold beer tasted great.  we talked to some of the people on the island, and found out some basic information.  population was about 300, tourism due to great sportfishing is a major industry.  hows the weather?   it NEVER rains here, mostly sunny, desert, etc. the following day, our weatherfax showed another cold front poised to sweep baha.  we moved our anchor to a better spot in anticipation of the wind change.   the weather was still nice, so kara dove overboard to clean the hull.  the water was beautifully clear, which was something we hadnt seen yet -- on the mainland baja the water was always milky. 

that night, the wind howeled through the rigging and quite a chop wrapped around the point to our anchorage, but we felt safe as the rain, which wasnt supposed to exist, pounded the cabin.  we were a little miffed that the chop was rolling the boat around so much, but we had it better than we knew. 

dawn was beautiful--clear, crisp, with a great sailing wind.  we hauled up the anchor and sailed past the giant freighters loading salt, past isla natividad, just south of cedros, to check a famous surf spot called open doors, for obvious reasons.  too bad it was flat, i hear it needs a big south or southwest swell to work. 

last night we sailed into turtle bay chased by a beautiful sunset.  we ghosted in between anchored cruisers and dropped the hook right off the beach.  we spent a restful night, excited to eat at a little restaurant tomorrow and explore the town. 

this morning, we got a good look around.  turtle bay is a large bay, with its biggest dimension angled north and south.  there are around 10 other sailboats here, including two boats we recognize from further north.  we talked to two people, both of whom weathered the recent cold front in turtle bay, at the north end, which is a no-no in south storm winds.  one of them had his anchor shackle snap during the height of the storm and had his jib blown apart at some point, he wasnt very talkative. 

now were in a tiny shack with a few computers, sending out lots of email.  both of the cell phones we carried have given up on us, so email is our sole means of communication now. thanks everyone for all the replies, were sorry we havent been good about writing back but keep the news from home coming, we love it. 

thanks, 

john and kara.  

02-26-2010 - Update 3

Orca Update #3 -- 2-26-2010

Hi everyone,

We've finally finished with our southern california experience; we went out with sad smiles after a few tears from the friends and family we met there.  We had a beautiful sail out of Dana Point, ducking and dodging through a thousand other weekend sailors buzzing around the mouth of the harbor.  We got about 10 miles offshore and headed due south for San Diego.  Just as the sun began to kiss the horizon, the fishing pole began to buzz-- fish on!  We tacked and hove to and began to battle.  The monster (it was THIS big, we swear!) dove for the bottom, and after a few spectacular runs we were nearly out of line.  As the beast started to make another run, we made the last ditch decision to tighten the drag as far as it would go.  Alas, the line would not take the strain and broke, just as the leviathan was about to finish stripping the last yards off the reel.  There went a $10 lure and 300 yards of (rather expensive) fishing line -- but live and learn, as they say.  

We stowed our depleted fishing pole with a new appreciation for ocean fish and sailed through the night to Mission Bay, just a hair north of San Diego.  We arrived a bit earlier than we meant to -- about 4 am, so we hove to a few miles offshore to wait for light to enter the unfamiliar harbor.  Inside, we anchored in a nice pond with parklands (and freeway) on all sides.  We spend the next few days figuring out the public transit system and getting last minute paperwork taken care of and buying items we heard were hard to find in Mexico.  

The next morning, we had a delightful sail down to San Diego proper; a quick 5-mile jaunt.  We took our time and sailed off our anchor and out of the harbor without starting the engine, which took a bit of patience,  We arrived in San Diego at 4pm, with plenty of time to set up an anchoring arrangement -- or so we thought.  The harbor police office was closed, but someone had paused long enough on their way out to post several signs on the door -- "no anchoring without a permit: strictly enforced" -- "anchoring permits only available from this office", "this office being closed is not an excuse for anchoring without a permit", and finally "office subject to indefinite closure without warning."

We were a little miffed with this arrangement, having arrived when the office was closed, so we anchored anyway and planned to leave early, before the anchor enforcers were out.  Leaving early was no trouble; the anchorage we shared with about 15 other boats was right next what seemed like 2 or 3 helicopter pads, which had noisy emergencies to attend to throughout the night.  Meanwhile fighter jets were scrambled for some reason or another at one point, which added to the sleeping excitement.  Two nearby aircraft carriers were being quietly fabricated throughout the night.  

Needless to say, we left at first light.  We didnt get very far before we were accosted by machine gun wielding naval security, who got on the loud speaker and warned us to stay back, go around, and move to the other side of the channel.  A little bewildered, we did what they told us and had nearly escaped the harbor  without being shot when we were overtaken by a nuclear submarine doing at least 20 knots and generating a massive wake that took us by surprise.  Naval security glared at us some more but left us alone as the submarine sped off to the west and we plugged along at a respectable 3 knots off to the south, glad to have evaded capture.  

We anchored for lunch about 10 miles to the south of Point Loma in the lee of a couple of deserted islands called Los Cornados.  At sunset, we left for Ensanada and had no trouble making the downhill run by daybreak.  Arriving, we found that the port authorities had recently changed harbor rules to prohibit anchoring anywhere in the spacious harbor, effectively forcing cruisers to use one of the marina/resorts found here to the tune of $30/night. 

Having Orca tied up at a marina left us free to pursue other entertainment:  the paperwork to import ourselves and our boat into the country.  A single room contained three desks.  Behind each desk was a single Mexican authority trying unsuccessfully to ignore the rest of the Mexican authorities in the room (we hear that until recently, each had their own building).  Our passports and boat title quickly turned into a stack of paperwork a quarter inch thick.  Once each of the papers were generated, it seemed to need a vast number of colored stamps applied in a very specific order.  After our 4th or 5th trip around the room to each desk, we could no longer contain ourselves and broke out laughing uncontrollably at the absurdity of the process (plus we had been up sailing all night).  Luckily, we were near the end and were able to retire for emergency refreshment at a nearby restaurant with some other sailors fed up with stamped papers.

We plan to leave tomorrow or Sunday and sail south to fairer weather and cheaper lodging.

Thanks,

J&K.