Orca Update #3 -- 2-26-2010
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.
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