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.

02-18-2010 - Update 2

02-18-2010 - Upd 2

Hi Everyone,

Thanks for all the great replies to the first update, Kara and I really appreciate hearing from friends and family. We're having a blast, but its always great to hear from home.

In general, we are having a wonderful time. The boat is doing great -- in fact, nothing has broken (knock on wood?) and we don't seem to have forgotten anything.

We had a great stay in Morro Bay, quite a cool spot if you've never been. The town is a cross between Moss Landing and Cannery Row -- where commercial fishing meets the tourist industry. We met some cool people, Kevin in particular who owns one of tourist boat-ride companies was very amicable.

After we rested up we started to get antsy. After our nearly wind-less sail down from Monterey, we were determined to pick up some strong NW winds and make the next jumps in better time. We left on the tail end of a small storm, in the evening, with a forecast of NW 15-25 gusts to 35 knots and thunderstorms for the night, with the goal of rounding point conception (so-called "Cape Horn of the west coast", notorious for strong winds) in the wee hours of the morning. Our sail was quick and uneventful -- we averaged 6 knots, our top speed, under jib alone and made the run to Cojo anchorage (a little spot just in the lee of point conception) by morning--just as the wind really started to pick up--weaving through the oil platforms that sprout from the ocean seemingly at random.

Cojo is a beautiful spot. It reminded me of what Santa Cruz must have looked like before buildings, roads, and crowds. Low cliffs with green hills, small groves of trees, bordered by several nice right point breaks. The wind blows offshore when NW there, and swell wraps around point conception and is quickly groomed into nice lines. We anchored 1/8 mile off of one of the surf spots, and surfed a couple of times in playful head-high surf.

Other distinguishing featurers of Cojo were the train track that ran along the cliff, which carries Amtrack passengers up and down the coast at regular intervals, accompanied by lots of horn blowing (to scare the cows off the track?) at all hours of the day and night. By far the most disturbing feature of the anchorage were two wrecked sailboats on the beach, which looked quite recent. The anchorage is unprotected against winds from the south, and it looked as if these two boats had been left to fend for themselves during recent storms. Both were un-looted, and had nearly all of their hardware and other gear still attached.

In any case, the swell started to decline and the wind lightened up, and we set off going due south for San Miguel, the outermost of the channel islands. The northern channel islands and all deserted islands and have been designated some sort of nature preserve which attempts to prevent destructive activities like rowing ashore and walking around. A closer look at our charts shows that the government has found the islands useful for various millitary exercises like target practice, and chemical dumping. We weren't sure how to interpret this information, so upon arrival at San Miguel, seeing no one and nothing around, we decided to do whatever we felt like doing and not pay much attention to the rules.

We anchored in Cuyler Harbor, which is, in our opinion, the most beautiful place we've been so far. We pulled behind a huge cliff in an emerald-green cove, surrounded by a few token palm trees and white sand beaches peppered with black rocks. Scared stiff by rumors we heard in Morro of unforecast 80 knot gusts of wind in the middle of the night screaming through this particular cove, we set two big anchors on plenty of scope.

The largest of the beaches were covered in huge elephant seals. Some of the big bulls looked like they might weigh in at around 5-600 lbs, and only some of it blubber. None were afraid of humans, they seemed, at best, curious and at worst openly hostile. They make an amazing range of noises, from monkey-howls to a kind of jackhammering noise, which took us forever to figure out. The big males swim to the base of big cliff and, focusing the sound on the cliff, make a series of coughing hickups which reflect off the cliff and boom out across the bay.

We spent three days and two nights here, spearfishing for dinner, swimming, walking on the beaches, and having a good time. The swell was forecast to jump up so we decided to weigh anchor and move to the lee (south) side of the next islands for more protection. We anchored in a few litle coves but none were as spectacular, or as well protected, as Cuyler. Surfed a left a-frame peeler that was fun. The only humans we saw the whole week we spent in these islands were a few very friendly fisherman, who sometimes shared our anchorages with us.

Culture shock -- Catalina. We sailed all night and arrived at Catalina Island for Valentine's Day weekend. Cruise ships. jet skis. million-dollar motor yachts. helocopters. water skiers. Para-sailers. Every cove filled with $30/night mooring buoys, nowhere left to anchor. We finally found somewhere to drop the hook on the E side of the island, speared a couple of fish for dinner, and resigned ourselves to the Southern California Experience.

We escaped to Dana point at our earliest opportunity, motoring the 30 miles in oily-glassy conditions. The ocean was filled with garbage. Most notably were 100's of partly inflated heart-shaped balloons, which must have escaped over-zealous attempts at romance.

Dana Point is a surprisingly cruiser-friendly harbor. A nice nook is set aside for anchoring (for up to five days), and a dingy dock is provided. We'll probably stay here till the weekend or early next week, when it looks like there is a chance for some decent wind. Next stop is San Diego!

Thanks!

John & Kara

02-01-2010 - Update 1

02-01-2010

Hi All,

So, after a week and a half of scary storms, we finally got underway. We steamed out of Moss landing into an oily-glassy bay, without a breath of wind in sight. We waited becalmed 'till around noon, when a beautiful 15 knots of NW wind sprung up and whisked us around Point Pinos in no time at all. Passing Carmel, we decided to put into Stillwater Cove for a night, as the first mate was feeling a bit seasick. Unfortunately, Stillwater Cove in winter, with 10 feet of swell, did not live up to its name. We rocked and rolled all night, and found it hard to sleep from the motion and the excitement.

The next morning, we decided that, even though there wasn't much wind on the forecast, we might as well be trying to make some progress south since it was just as rough at sea as it was at SWC. As we motored out of SWC a light NW wind sprung up and we sailed just past Pt. Lobos before the breeze promptly died around 11am. We sat becalmed, making slight northward drift until sunset, still off Point Lobos and, depressingly, still within sight of SWC. Luckily, to ease the boredom, a loose pod of whales passed us by around 1pm, getting quite close (see picture), before diving underneath us. Closest we have ever been to whales.

At sunset, a very light NW breeze developed, and we set our big light-air sail and started ghosting south at about 2 knots. We stood 3hr watches starting at 8pm, but neither of us got much sleep when off watch because the wind was so light and fickle that tacking sail changes were necessary all night. Sailing all night with very light winds, we drew just past Point Sur at dawn. We decided not to anchor at Fuller's or Wreck beach, as there was a moderate low pressure system forecast to move through that evening and neither anchorage is protected from storm winds. The wind switched to SE mid morning, and strengthened throughout the day. Close hauled, we could just about sail due south. By dusk, the SE wind had strengthened to 25 knots and the swell picked up. We tied in a reef, then another as the wind continued to pick up and night fell. Heavy rain made the first watch miserable, but no sail changes were necessary until the rain stopped around 11. Around the watch change at midnight, the wind turned W and became light, then N, then E, all light. After another night of tacks and sail changes every few hours kept both of us busy through the we hours.

Around dawn, consultation with the charts showed that the SE wind had pushed us about 40 nm offshore and at an even latitude with San Simeon, so we enjoyed a bit of downwind sailing through the morning heading due E. Listening to the weather forecast showed that a large W swell would be arriving by evening, so we decided to skip San Simeon, which is exposed to the W and SW (we had enough of rolly anchorages for the week) and head straight for Morro Bay. Unfortunately, the wind quit mid morning. Deciding whether to motor to MB, we checked our charts and guides, which both warned us about the tricky entrance to the bay when there is a large W or SW swell running. We radioed the Morro Bay Coast Gaurd, who informed us that 8-12 ft waves were breaking nearly across the harbor entrance, and that they were going to have to close the entrance by nightfall.

Of course, we caved in and fired up the motor, making about 5 knots through the glassy long-period swell. By 1pm, nice NW wind sprung up so we set all the sail we could manage and squeezed 6 knots out of Orca motor-sailing on a broad reach. About a mile outside the harbor we radioed the CG again. They sent someone down to stand on the beach and time the sets for us. They also offered to escort us through the channel on one of their 50-foot rescue boats, which we declined. We harnessed up, closed up the cabin and dogged everything down tight. As we drew near the harbor we struck the main (so we wouldn't have to worry about the jibe if the wind were swirling around Morro Rock, which is a pretty imposing geological feature.) We left the jib up, as we needed all the speed we could get against the 3 knot + current ripping out of the channel. As we arrived just outside the breakwater, a set arrived, a good 10 feet high right in the channel and looking steep enough to break. We headed the bow into it and plowed over the 3 waves at an angle, none the worse for the wear but with the adrenaline pumping. With some coaching from the CG, we made a run for it and gained the protection of the breakwater before the next set arrived. Plumes of spray were shooting over the breakwater, but just inside of it we were safe in calm water.

While we motored around the bay, checking out the scene, two people at the Morro Bay yacht club flagged us down and we tied up to get the down-low on where to anchor, public showers, etc, from two very nice people.

Morro Bay is a beautiful estuary with a quaint tourist town right on the water and lots of public facilities. We anchored just outside the channel and slept great, steady as a rock. Next morning, Sunday, Kara's sister's family came down and we spent the day exploring the town.

This morning, Sunday, we woke up early, waxed up our boards and paddled across the estuary and hiked across 1/2 mile of surreal Sahara-like sand dunes and found a fun little beach break south of the harbor entrance and had a great little surf in head high glass.

This brings us up to date, with us sitting in a little coffee/doughnut shop just off the water. So far, so good! We're going to keep going, but not until Thursday's storm passes through. Thanks for reading!

John & Kara

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This is the blogspot for Kara and John sailing the Pacific on Orca.