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