Baha Bash, May – June, 2004

Beginnings

Provisioning and Meals

Passages and Stops

Life Aboard

Communications

The Last Leg

Beginnings

I awoke to the sound of thunder.  Continuous, rolling thunder.  No, wait… thunder isn’t continuous – it must be the wind howling through the rigging.  But no, that’s not right; the boat isn’t rocking.  I climb groggily from my berth and peer out the porthole.  Ahh, it’s the powerboats.  Now it comes back to me; we’re in Cabo San Lucas, in the middle of the Rolex International Sportsmen Fishing Competition.  The thunder I hear is the sound of hundreds of motor yachts heading out at day break.

We’re here for an overnight rest, Jeff, Xavier and I.  Xavier is Jeff’s friend from the auto business who couldn’t be talked out of joining us for this trip up the coast.  No amount of warning about the rough conditions could scare him away.  Little did he know, our three-day two-night passage from Nuevo Vallarta was just a teaser.

My adventure began on May 7^th when I flew down alone to Puerto Vallarta.  The idea was for me to go early to prepare the boat, provision, pre-cook some meals, so we’d be set to depart when the guys arrived five days later.  Fighting a nasty cold and sore throat, the three a.m. alarm to make the 5:30 flight from Sacramento only added to my fatigue.  Jeff was sweet enough to buy me a first class ticket, but I was so groggy, I even “cheated myself” out of one of the benefits – I stood in the coach class line for well over 20 minutes  instead of sauntering up to the front of the First Class section!  But oh, what luxury, to have room for my knees!  The flight didn’t seem nearly as long.

Lugging my carryon bags loaded down with olive oil and things I needed for the trip (all the oil available in Mexico is either rancid or fusty; and no, I can’t do without it!), I fought my way through the maze of taxi drivers and  time-share sellers at the P.V. airport, trudged across the highway on the pedestrian overpass, and climbed aboard the next buss for Nuevo Vallarta.  The walk down the dock to my lovely Musetta seemed interminable.  There she was, waiting patiently.  I couldn’t wait to throw myself onto the bed and REST. 

Oh, but there’s still blue tape on it.  Uh-oh, the companionway ladder is out on the dock finger.  The scent of varnish assaults me as I near her bow.  Crumb!  He’s not finished varnishing the sole! From the cockpit I peered over the edge to the sole below; it was as if an inch of water was shimmering over the surface.  Beautiful – but wet! 

It was about 3:00; perhaps Leonardo was just out to lunch or siesta I reasoned.  So I hung out in the cockpit for awhile, scarfing down my $7.00 Airport Starbucks’ wilted Chicken Ceasar Salad.  An hour later, he still hadn’t returned; some investigation with marina security revealed that he’d gone for the day.  There was no choice for me but to get a room at the high-priced luxury hotel. 

The harbor master’s assistant must have seen how tired I as, not to mention the fact that my inflamed sore throat could only produce coarse whispers.  He took pity on me and helped me tremendously.  He carried all my bags from the boat to the office, called the the hotel office and had them book a room for me in their “crews Quarters.”  They’re like a studio apartment: kitchenette, dining table, sofa bed, queen bed, dresser, closet and bathroom.  For only $58 a night, I felt like I’d found a real bargain!  And, of course, I had complete use of the hotel facilities.  It took two days for the varnish to dry nd the smell to depart enough that I could sleep aboard – oh darn, two days I had nothing to do but lay around the pool and rest.  At least it gave a chance for my raging cold to abate. 

By the third day, it was time for me to get going.  I began my usual list-making: groceries, supplies, chores – all the things we needed before we shoved off.

Provisioning and Meals

Have you ever grocery shopped in a foreign country?   It can be a major source of frustration for some who aren’t “foodies”, but I always find it fascinating.  First off, just getting to the grocery store or market is an adventure in itself.  Of course, you can do the tourist thing, and take a cab, but I like to use the local transportation, which is this case is the bus line.

For only $1 (versus $13 by cab) you can catch the bus in front of the hotel and it takes you into Puerto Vallarta.  Most cruisers shop at the Wal Mart – I HATE that store! – but I prefer the Mega.  It’s LOADED with stuff, has a much greater selection than Wal-Mart, and the prices are comparable.

I’d waited around the boat most of the day for Jose Luis to come and repair our dinghy.  He was supposed to be there at 3:00, but true to Mexican form, didn’t show until well after 4:00.  By the time he left, it was close to 6:00 pm.  The bus wound it’s way through the maze of hotels, picking up workers after the shift change.  By the time it reached the last stops before heading to town, people were packed in the aisles like sardines, and even hanging out the doors like a San Francisco street car.  Thank goodness I was riding to the end of the line, or I would never have gotten off at my stop!

Once inside the store, I checked my bags – I always bring a rolling cooler and my handy canvas shopping bags.  For the next three hours I wandered the aisles to my heart’s content, inspecting all the products on display, curious of the fresh prepared foods – many of which I had NO IDEA what they were.  I’d never seen so many salsas and sauces in a deli.  The cuts of meat were different than we’re accustomed to in the US; many times I couldn’t identify what the heck was in that package.  Asking for help from a clerk was  real exercise in creative sign language and simplified Spanish words.  My pocket English/Spanish dictionary was well-thumbed that evening. 

At the check-out line, I retrieved my bags and tried to convince the bag boy to use my canvas bags instead of those flimsy plastic bags they all have.  Those bag boys are serious about their work; they try to bag in record time!  One thing I couldn’t get accustomed to was the people smoking in the store, especially at the check-out line.  How quickly we take for granted the smoke-free environment in California!

Cart full of bags, the young bag-boy helped me roll it down the escalator and out to the street.  Now was the time to grab one of the cabs lined up outside the door.  A tip for the bag boy, and we’re off for the 25-minute ride back to the marina.  With no dock carts available, the canvas bags were piled on and hung off the rolling cart, and I slowly backed it down the gangplank to the dock and Musetta.

It took yet another hour to put away the provisions.  Understand, storing food on a boat is not the same as at home.  There is no abundance of cabinet space and only a small refrigerator with a tiny front door and a counter-top opening.  In order to get to things on the bottom, you have to remove everything that’s piled on top of them. And, of course, those items on the bottom will be cooler than those on top, so storing things must take careful consideration.   When will it be used, how long can it last, how much cold can it take?  All these factors determine where the item will be stored.  Then you have to remember where you put everything because there’s no way you can see it!  I keep a diagram of my stacking storage boxes and their contents, adjusting it each time I remove an item.  I’ve also found some collapsible canvas baskets that sit on the floor by the settee to hold produce that can be kept at room temperature.  A little after midnight, I was finally free to collapse in my own bed.

Jeff and Xavier arrived the next day (Tuesday), bringing another cooler of “must have” items.  Even though Jeff got the green light, he was still pulled over for inspection.  (In Mexico, after you’ve had your passport stamped up and picked up your luggage, you go through a narrow lane with a signal light at its head.  Press the button on the light; green, and you go through without inspection; red, and you are escorted to a table to unload your belongings for scrutiny.)  The inspector didn’t like the Dry Jack that I’d shrink-wrapped because the plastic said “Made in Korea;” she wasn’t buying that it was only the plastic, not the cheese, which was made in Korea.  If it’s made in CA, there’s no problem.  Fortunately, there was another block lower in the pack that she didn’t see, so Jeff was able to “smuggle” in some of that great cheese!

By the time they got to the boat, I was immersed in cooking, making one-dish meals that could be re-heated on our rougher days at sea.  Beef Daube, Carribbean Pork Stew, Chicken Marengo were all made in the pressure cooker, cooled, and ladled into individual serving-size bags.  The vacuum-sealer we have onboard comes in real handy for these meals.  When I want to reheat them, all I do is drop the bags in a pot of water, with noodles in it if desired, and bring it to a boil.  Voila!  Hot, hearty, healthy meals in no time!

For our night watches, it’s always welcome to have some kind of treat, so I also made a batch of Oatmeal Chocolate Chip cookies, Chocolate Shortbread, and Fruit, Date and Nut Bars.  If I’d had more time, I would have added some quick breads. As it was, the propane tank emptied that night just as the fruit and nut bars were nearing completion.  Fortunately, the marina harbor master makes a propane run for marina guests every Wednesday, so we gave him our tank and he filled it for us.  Now we had plenty for galley cooking and BBQ grilling.

Meals Afloat

If you’ve been on a sailboat, you know they are meant to heal.  Even without wind, just motoring over the ocean, there are waves which cause the boat to rock.  Cooking under these conditions is challenging, to say the least.  Add to that the limited space, difficulty in retrieving food and equipment from the storage spaces, and no fresh air because the hatches are closed against water, and you have a real tough job!

None-the-less, the crew always appreciates good meals.  They say they don’t feel hungry, but when I put the food in front of them, they wolf it down like they were starving!  Although it’s extremely taxing to prepare meals aboard, it’s that very reaction which inspires me to continue to cook aboard.

Some of you wanted to hear more about the meals I serve while underway, so I’ll elaborate here.  For the rest of you who could care less, skip to the next section now.

We generally have three meals a day and three snacks a day.  Mostly they are all served in the cockpit, and since the boat is rocking and bucking, we use small plastic bowls with rubber gaskets on the bottom to keep them from sliding.  They also fit easily in cupped hands.  I bought a bunch of silverware at the White Elephant Sale to use in the cockpit; in case it goes overboard, I don’t care about losing it.

Breakfast is simple: cereal with milk, fresh-cooked spiced oatmeal with raisins, quesadillas and fruit, yogurt with fruit and granola, or scrambled egg burritos.

Snacks between breakfast and lunch, and between lunch and dinner are usually a combination of fruit, cheese, crackers, nuts, sliced veggies; always a protein and carbohydrate.

Lunches vary, according to how rough the seas are.  If it’s really rocking, we’ll just have sandwiches with chips (they LOVE Pringles and I like them because they’re easy to store) and veggie or fruit; if it’s a little calmer, I’ll make salads.  Some of the ones we’ve enjoyed are:

·        Garbanzos with artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, celery, Calamata olives, feta, red-wine vinaigrette

·        Grilled pork tenderloin with red onion and mustard-lime vinaigrette

·        Grilled chicken with yogurt-cumin-parsley dressing

·        Fresh Hummus with vegetables and whole-wheat pita

·        Avocado with ham, tomatoes, red onion, celery and lemon vinaigrette

·        Grilled halibut and basmati rice with capers, Calamata and Manzanillo olives, celery, roasted red peppers, and sherry-wine vinaigrette

·        Cannellini with tuna, artichoke hearts, red onion and red-wine vinaigrette

The grilled meats in these salads are always “planned-overs” from the previous night’s dinner.  I’m not fond of “left-overs” but if I plan ahead and cook a little extra, the food can be served in an entirely different way to make it seem “fresh.”

We ate a LOT of seafood for dinners.  Xavier loves to fish, and was fairly successful, so we were blessed with hour-old fish in the evenings – usually yellow tail tuna.  If he didn’t catch any, he would scout some out from the local fishermen. 

On our last night in Nuevo Vallarta, he and Jeff hopped in a cab; the driver took them to a small village not far from the hotel. There they visited several fishermen’s homes and inspected the catch until they came up with something good.  That night it was “Corbina,” a mild-flavored filet with a spongy texture similar to sturgeon.  In Magdalena Bay he brought back some fresh Bay Scallops (at a buck a pound!).  We grilled some, and actually ate some raw with lime juice.  I’m not a raw fish fan because the texture bugs me, but I have to admit, these were pretty good.  They were incredibly sweet!  We saved some for another night, and I sautéed them in stock with tomatoes, then served an avocado salsa with them.  Fresh halibut was the catch he brought back in San Juanico Bay. Most of the time the fish was cooked simply by grilling or broiling, then I made salsas to put on top: chopped olive/red pepper; mango/red pepper; tomato/red pepper, etc.

Other meals we enjoyed for dinner:

• Grilled Chicken and vegetable salad,
• Thai Beef salad over whole-wheat noodles,
• Chili-Lime Marinated Grilled Chicken Breasts with Corn/Red Pepper salad,

• Sauteed Chicken Breasts with Cucumber Salad,
• Chicken Salad with Soy Lime Vinaigrette,
• Mustard/Lime Marinated Grilled Pork Tenderloin,
• Moroccan-Spiced Pork Tenderloin with Spiced Orzo.

When we’re under way, after I’ve cleaned up the dinner dishes, I heat water and pour it into the thermos we’ve got hanging on the galley bulkhead.  I put out packets of tea, hot chocolate mix, instant oatmeal, cup of soup, and whatever sweet treat I have.  Everything is ready for each shift of the night watch.  In the morning it’s all put away and I start over again.

Is it any wonder why I’m tired???

Passages and Stops

Fatigue is a state I became sadly familiar with.  Our first day out of Nuevo Vallarta was pleasant – we actually got to sail - but the rest were a roiling blur of motoring through heavy winds and seas. 

The second night at sea, on the way to Cabo, was where we became acquainted with the leaks in our boat.  With 27knot winds on our nose and pounding seas of 6 – 8 foot waves, water rushed over the decks and bounced off the dodger.  It found its way into the seams of the portholes and port lights, down the stovepipe, in the bottom lockers, and somehow through the chain plate holdings. We shored up with towels as best we could, but water tends to travel, so we really can’t tell the source.  I’m told simply, “It’s a boat.  Boats leak!”  At one point were only making 2.5 knots because the boat would rise up on the top of a wave, then plunge down, bow into the next wall of water, which almost seemed to stop the boat.  It didn’t even make the trough between the two waves because the waves were too close together.  There would be a tremendous bang each time the bow hit an on-coming wave; the entire boat would shake, and water billowed everywhere.   With the reflection from our bow lights on the water, it almost looked like lightning with its companion, thunder.

In conditions like this, it’s much too rough to sleep in our forward berth.  Remember when you were a kid; did you ever hold hands with your friends in a long line, then start pivoting in a circle?  The kid at the pivot point barely moved, but the ones at the end of the liner were running and could hardly hold on.  That’s what it’s like in the boat when heading nose to wind and waves.  The stern stays relatively stable and the bow bucks and drops in an exaggerated fulcrum.  So Jeff and I had to abandon our comfy berth and slept on the settees (mid-cabin).  Xavier occupied the aft cabin.

To be more accurate, I should say we “attempted” to sleep.  We’d been running the engine all day, and of course, all the hatches and ports were closed because of all the water action, so the interior of the boat was like a sauna (even though outside it was pretty chilly).  The engine is in the middle of the boat, right under my gally sink, so the settees are closest to its incessant rumbling.  The seas were often confused, meaning waves were coming from two or more directions, so the boat would lurch side to side as well as buck forward and back.  To add insult to injury, the port light over the starboard settee that I chose to sleep in happened to leak.  The cushion was damp and by the end of my sleep periods, even my clothes would be damp.  But the thing that got me the most was the random drips.  I’d be almost asleep, and from somewhere a single annoying drop of water from god-only-knows-where, would plop on my forehead, my eye, my nose.  It’d drive me crazy!

As the nights passed, we became more accustomed to the boisterous boat motions.  The air temperature cooled as we continued north so it became less stifling below.  Jeff was able to make a temporary patch on the port light, so at least my berth wasn’t as wet.  But I never escaped those dreaded droplets.

Magdalena Bay and San Juanico

After resting and refueling in Cabo San Lucas, we headed out for Magdelena Bay, where we anchored at Man O’ War Cove.  Fortunately, we arrived before dark, so we could see the un-marked and un-charted floating fish pens strung along the bay.  We spoke with the captain of the Katherine, a fishing vessel with home port of San Diego.  He catches yellowtail, and farms them in the fish pens until ready for sale.  The tiny village of Puerto Magdalena has colorful houses dotting the shore, single blocks of fuschia, butter yellow, aquamarine, robin’s egg blue, peach, turquoise, and ivory.  There is no electricity in the town; a single generator runs one hour a day to power the needs of the entire town (a sure bet no one here uses hair dryiers!).  There is no water either; it’s trucked in weekly.  The Port Captain chose to ignore our check-out documents; just asked us to pay the fee, which of course, will line his pocket.  He came out to our boat as soon as we anchored; we offered him some chips and salsa and beer, and he kept hanging around.  X thought he was waiting for a dinner invitation.  Our boat was surrounded by thousands of tiny red lobsters, just waiting to grow up to a dinner plate!

As a side note: having X aboard REALLY helped since he speaks the language so well.  Also, he was able to joke, chat and dicker with the fishermen so he really got some great buys.  Car dealer skills, no doubt.

The overnight passage to our next stop, San Juanico, was extremely rough.  The winds were only up to 24 knots, but the waves were coming from two directions so the boat was bucking and lurching radically; reminded me of that scene in Urban Cowboy on the electronic bull.  Sleep was all but impossible.

We arrived at the Bay around 3:00 am, and waited outside the bay until daybreak.  After seeing the unmarked fish pens at Mag Bay, we were leary of entering an unknown bay without light.  Our anchor finally hit ground around 8:00 am, and we all crashed for some much-needed sleep.  X rowed the dinghy ashore to find a phone and call home.  Cood thing he speaks the language fluently because if not, he never would have made communications.  Turns out there was only one phone in the entire village, and it was at some woman’s home! The winds kicked up to 24 knots later in the afternoon and all night, but fortunately our anchor held.  Jeff’s good at that job!  Since we were anchored, Jeff and I moved back from the settees to the “luxurious sprawl” of out forward berth.  Unfortunately, with the heavy winds, Musetta kicked and pulled at that anchor all night; being in the forward berth, Jeff and I heard every single jerk and tug of the chain!

When we got up in the morning, we discovered the boat had been covered in bird shit!  In fact, some of the culprits were still lolling on our mast-top.  Understand, this is not the first time we’ve had foreign matter on our boat.  In San Diego last fall, we awoke to flakes of black ash from the wild fires filtering through the hatches and covering the boat.  But this was by far the worst.  It took us about a half hour to scrub down the boat – still didn’t get all of it off the dodger, and one culprit even had the audacity to bomb Jeff while he was working on the foredeck! Finally, around 7:00 am we weighed anchor. 

Abreojos

This next passage saw lighter winds, but we were still headed directly into the chop, which made for yet another rough passage.  You see, with a sail boat, you have to have LOTS of time to sail at an angle to the wind and waves.  You’re constantly zig-zaging back and forth rather than making a straight line to your destination.  Unfortunately, we didn’t have that luxury of time; we had to keep our direct course and suffer the blows of the waves.

We chased the edge of night into Abreojos, trying to arrive in daylight, and finally reaching our destination around 9:00 pm.  This word is Spanish for “open your eyes,” and it’s actually a good message to mariners.  There are many hazardous rocks surrounding the point and shore, so you need to really keep a good watch, which is why we were nervous coming in at dark.  For some reason, even though the bottom didn’t appear rocky, the anchor wouldn’t hold here; it took another hour and fifteen minutes to get it set.  Fatigue was starting to catch up with us.  My body was now tense 24/7 and wouldn’t unwind.

The alarm went off at the usual 05:45 but none of us could get up.  We were exhausted. The boat had rolled all night long.  Although I’ve been in worse, each time it rolls the anchor chain scrapes on the fairlead, which resounds through the hull to the forward bunk.  That means, once again, we got no sleep.  When we finally came out on deck, we saw how close we had anchored to rocks that were uncovered at low tide.  Jeff said he knew they were there, but it sent a chill up my spine.  We had heard the surf all night, but couldn’t see the rocks in the dark.  Fortunately we had used a safe GPS coordinate from the cruising guide, and we went right to it.  Sleepily, we ended up taking off a half hour later than our usual time.

The night had been pretty chilly, so that morning was the first that I donned my light-weight long johns.  Leaving Cabo, we saw the last of the swimsuit weather; the air and water temperature were getting cooler each day, although there was still plenty of sunshine.  Each day would find more layers of clothing on my body, until finally by Abreojos the long-johns made their first appearance.

The gods had pity on us that day.  The seas were flat and it was a cool but short passage to Bahia Asuncion.  We arrived about 3:00 pm and anchored in five minutes.  The wind was still blowing at 15 knots, but there wasn’t a lot of rolling and the anchor chain was mercifully quiet.  We spent the afternoon doing boat chores, had an early dinner, and went to bed early (I think I zonked out about 5:30) for our 3:00 am departure the next morning to Turtle Bay.

Turtle Bay

Funny, when we departed, I didn’t see the island that the chart shows in Asuncion Bay.  The water depths weren’t like on the chart either.  Ooops!  Turns out Jeff had entered the coordinates for Hipolito, not Asuncion!  No WONDER we arrived so early! Usually I plot our position on the chart every hour or so, but that day I was too tired, and just slept a lot.  Lesson learned!

So our passage to Turtle Bay was even longer than we’d planned. 

We’d set our alarm for 3:00 am to depart for the long passage, but the wind was just howling too strong.  So, back to bed we went, dozing fitfully for another two hours.  Would that we had more time!

We had heavy chop, wind and current on our nose most of the day, finally reaching our destination of Turtle Bay by 1830.  We anchored in 18 feet of water, and Ernesto, the fuel seller came to our boat to take our order, saying he’d be right back.  We waited until 2230 before finally giving up, and heading off to sleep.  X radio’d Ernesto’s brother, asking him to relay the message to Ernesto that we needed the fuel by 5:00am.  Of course, we figured, if we said 5, he might show up at 9!  Ernesto is the fuel seller, but he’s also the town drunk.  Quite a colorful character, if you don’t have to depend on him.

X waved down a panga (Mexican flat-bottomed boat) to hitch a ride to shore so he could call home again.  It’s quite a small town, and he had to go to five store before he could find a phone card. (In Mexico, the public phones don’t take coins’ you have to use a pre-paid phone cards.)  He also went in a few small stores scouting out some produce, but all any of them had were white onions and lousy tomatoes.

Ernesto finally showed up at 0830 the next morning – see, I wasn’t far off on my estimate!  He pumped the fuel from three barrels on his boat into ours; we weighed anchored and hoisted the main at 1055, embarking on another 3-day 2-night passage to Ensenada.

Ensenada

This was one of the worst passages of our trip.  We had heavy winds and seas on our nose – averaging 16-29 knots.  It was especially fluky in the pass between the mainland and Isla Navidad and Cedros Islands. The wind kept shifting, the seas were confused (means coming from many directions), and current was pushing us every which way.  I placed a VHF call to a power boat who’d passed us earlier that morning, to inquire about the wind and sea conditions ahead.  He said it was only 10 knots, and very “doable”, so we plowed on. 

Did I mention the leaky port light over my settee?  By this point it had become a full-on flow.  Water shorted out the wiring of the light above the settee – right above my trying-to-sleep head.  The light kept turning itself on and off, right about my trying-to-sleep eyes!  Not thinking too clearly, I was going to cover the light with good ol’ all-purpose duct tape, but Jeff came to my rescue by removing the bulb. J

We altered our course slightly to steer well clear of the infamous Sacramento Reef, where hundreds of boats have gone down, and arrived in Ensenada two days later around 1500.

This is where Xavier jumped ship.  That poor guy, he couldn’t WAIT to get off that boat!

His wife’s cousins drove from Temecula or somewhere is So Cal, and picked him up; he caught a burner in San Diego for home.  But, he was kind enough to give Musetta a bath before he left.  I spent the afternoon doing 6 loads of laundry, while Jeff took care of documentation for clearing out of Mexico, filled the water tanks, and did various boat chores. 

Our dock neighbors there, Darlene and Frank aboard a small trawler, were real characters.  They loaned us their dock cart, and gave us all the “low-down” on the marina and the area as soon as we arrived.  They’d been living in Ventura, and decided to move to Ensenada to save a little money; they were three months into their 1-year contract on the dock.  I gave them the meat and chicken I had in my freezer, because those items would not pass inspection if we were boarded by the Ag Commission or Customs in San Diego.  All the fresh produce was pretty much gone at this point.  Early dinner of fresh lobster, one night in port, and we head off for home! 

San Diego

The first thing we see on entering San Diego is what Jeff calls the “Greeting Committee” – seals lolling on the navigational buoys.  It was SO GOOD to be in US waters, where everything is clearly marked!  

We didn’t have much of a wait at the customs dock.  Evidently, the agents are at the airport just ten minutes away from the marina.  The gentleman that checked us in was very courteous, but oh-so-serious!  I couldn’t get a smile out of him until the end of our “inspection.”  I invited him to come aboard, but he declined, preferring just to ask a few questions like, “What did you bring back from Mexico?”  Funny though, a guy in the cockpit of the power boat beside us was loudly conversing on his cell phone the whole time.  When the customs inspector was done with us, he just boarded that boat with out even asking. They guy finally ended his call and they went below, presumably for inspection.  See, it pays to be nice to officials, especially in foreign countries, but even in the US!

There must be thousands of slips available in the San Diego harbor, but most are at least $75 a night.  We were very fortunate that our late afternoon arrival gave us just enough time to catch the last available guest slip at the police docks, for a mere $10 per night.  True, that particular marina isn’t as nice as the others, but it suited our needs for a short stay, i.e. power, water, lights, shower, secure docking.

My sister Margaret and her husband, Rod, drove down from Orange to visit us.  They were kind enough to take us to a grocery store so we could provision for the next phase of our passage.  Rod also drove Jeff back and forth to the fuel dock several times to refill our diesel jerry jugs so we wouldn’t have to take Musetta to a fuel dock. 

Oh!  I almost forgot!  On the way back from the grocery store we stopped at the West Marine.  They happened to be hosting a “Grand Opening” celebration for their newly-remodeled store – free hotdogs, sodas, the whole bit.  Jeff was just going to run in quickly; when he came out, he was remarking about how great the store was, so we ALL had to go in and browse.  Oh MY!  It’s huge, and set up like a Home Depot, with lots of display models of almost all their products.  What a find!  I could have stayed there all day cruising those isles!  Alas, our limited stay in San Diego prevented any more than a cursory browse through the store, and we headed back to the docks.

Margi helped me put groceries away – I don’t know whether she was impressed or amused by all my diagrams and lists. J In either case, we had a nice time visiting, and we compared our “fashion accessories” that our mom had made us.  The four of us met up again for cocktails and dinner at a nice restaurant next to the docks.  The day passed quickly, and our last night of sleep on flat water even quicker.

Santa Barbara

We left Point Loma (San Diego) at 0600 to 8-foot swells again.  At least there was no wind.  We had considered going north along the coast so we could stop in Dana Point, but after studying the chart, we decided it would take too much time.  The much more direct route is offshore, stopping at Catalina Island.

Along that route, we passed many balloons, festive fluffs, and party flotsam; a cruise ship must have passed by recently.  We also came upon two humongous ships rafted together at idle.  Their escort tug followed us a ways, then radio’d us, asking us to alter course further out to give the ships more room. It seemed like we were already well off their path, but what the heck – it’s a big ocean, give them all the room they want!

We arrived at Two Harbors Catalina by 1930.  Once again we were lucky to get one of the few mooring balls left (at $35 a night).  Normally I don’t mind anchoring out, but it was late, we were tired, the swells were strong, so the boat would be rolling like of those weighted-clown punching balls, and the place was PACKED!  It looked like the 4^th of July weekend on the Delta!  That means there were lots of loud revelers, but we were tired enough that we both slept soundly.  We were probably the only boat crew in the entire harbor asleep by 2200 that night!

Our boat neighbor was one of the few people up when we weighed anchor at 0550.  He said he’d never seen a sail boat take off that early.  I just figured he doesn’t hang around many sailors.

We enjoyed flat water and 4-5 knot kinds most of the morning.  As we neared the Santa Barbara Shipping Channel we could see this dark band along the horizon.  Then just outside the channel, it hit – dense, dark fog.  As we got closer, a container ship popped out of the gloom, just about a mile form us.  He was HUGE, and loaded to the gills – containers stacked 12-high on deck.  Yes, we were close enough to count, and he seemingly just “appeared” in front of us, as if placed there by a giant child playing with toy boats in the bathtub.  I’ve seen a lot of Tule Fog in my 50 years, but nothing like this!

At one point we only had about 15 feet of visibility.  It was so thick, it looked like gray cotton candy, like I could reach out and grab a fluff.  I had to wipe my glasses every 15 seconds because they misted up so bad I couldn’t see.

Not that I could see much anyway.  Jeff stayed below to monitor the radar while I kept lookout and manned the helm up top.  With the fog cam stronger wind and a bone-deep chill.  We both tried to shake off the anxiety and ominous feelings that descended on us like the drape of fog.  It was just plain spooky!  We slowed to 5 knots.

Good thing we did.  Two times in those harrowing hours, power boats came hurtling out of the fog directly on our beam.  One veered off just in time to avoid a collision, but the other never changed coarse – even though we had right-of-way.  We had to turn as sharp as we could to avoid him.  When he passed, we could tell he didn’t have his radar on because the arm at the top wasn’t turning.  There was a guy at the helm on the bridge, but the was turned around watching the gaggle of guys in the cockpit with their fishing lines out.  They were obviously looking for fish, not boats.

My stomach was clenched in a nautical knot!  We motored parallel to the edge of the Shipping Channel t avoid crossing until we had a straight shot to Santa Barbara, thereby minimizing the time spent actually in the lanes.  We fully expected to be assailed by ships ordering us out of their way.  As it worked out, there were none.  Our crossing was quiet, with only a few large targets on radar, miles off our position.  The fog also began to decrease as we made our crossing, and we could see a ribbon of blue sky above us.  By the time we reached Santa Barbara it was sunny and warm.  The demon clutching my stomach began to loosen its grip.

The Santa Barbara Marina doesn’t take reservations; you have to radio them when you’re right outside the harbor entrance and beg for a slip.  My mom’s prayers worked for us.  Not only did we have a safe crossing in dicey conditions, we also got a slip!  We stopped for fuel before heading to our assigned dock so one chore would already be under our belt.

This particular marina has an old section and a new one.  Can you guess where wer were placed?  YESS!!!!  The new one!!  It was a great location – an outside tie (no one next to us), on the last row (away from noise) and close to the bathrooms (convenient, the showers on this side are huge, and they even have heat lamps in each).  We secured Musetta fore, aft, and mid-ship, turned off the engine, sat down.  Silence…….relief!

Life Aboard

Perhaps from reading these pages you’ve gotten a feel of what it’s like to make a passage.  We reached Santa Barbara on May 31^st, that’s 17 days after we left Nuevo Vallarta.  Do you wonder how we filled those hours?

Sometime I wonder that too.  Each day seemed interminable, yet when it was over, I couldn’t figure out where it went.  Oh, brother, that sounds like some one who’s getting old!

Never-the-less, let me try to fill in the hours.  For me, of course, there’s a lot of time spent in the galley.  If a meal takes one hour to prepare in a home kitchen, it will take at least two on a boat.  That’s because in order o get anything out – a carrot, a bowl, a pot – you invariably have to move something else to get to it.  There is minimal storage space, so everything must be cleverly nestled into the odd-shaped cubby holes and cabinets.  Then before you can begin, everything that you’re not using must be put back because you need that precious counter space.  You also have only a few tools, such as bowls and knives, that must do triple and quadruple duty for every task.  You’ll need to keep your tools (and any other items you’re working with ) on rubber mats to keep them from sliding across the counter as you prepare the meal.  All meals have to be plated rather than family-style platters because there’s no way to keep the food in the platters while the boat is bucking.  Once everyone has finished eating, you wash and dry the dishes, and put them away again because you can’t have loose things around in the cabin; they may go flying!

That’s what occupies a good portion of my time.  Jeff is in charge of the boat systems, so he spends time checking fuel levels, batteries, water-maker, etc.  He also studies the chart each night to plot our course.  If it’s not too rough, he does minor repairs; it’s a boat – there are always minor repairs!  And just like the galley chores, minor repairs for him become major because of the cramped spaces in which he has to work.  Even something as simple as removing the light bulb from over the settee took 10 or 15 minutes.  He had to dig through the locker under the Navigation station cushion to find the right size screwdriver.  The screws were in tight, and the boat was lurching so it was a pain just to get the light cover off.

Most of the days on this trip the conditions were too rough to do much so we spent a lot of time resting in the cockpit.  If we tried to read, after awhile we’d start feeling a bit queasy.  X and I practiced tying knots and I taught him how to play solitaire on my PDA.  He was hooked!  He’d disappear below in his bunk for hours. 

The guys usually had fishing line out, and were successful most of the days.  They’d haul the catch into the cockpit and filet it out right there, than wash down the whole area with sea water.  I’m a real nag at this point, insisting they use TKO Strong Orange Cleaner and get every single inch.  The smell of the fish blood nauseated me and I can detect it like a bloodhound.  But I’ll tell you, for those who don’t like to eat fish, you would be amazed at the difference in flavor of 3-hour old seafood!  It’s nothing at all like store-bought - so much more mild and sweet flavored.

We also listened to music a lot.  I have a portable CD player and speakers that we set up behind the dodger on a rubber mat over the cabin top.  One day I brought up some rocking’ jazz and blues, and really livened things up.  We don’t have many CD’s aboard, so it didn’t take long to go through the meager selection.  Yes, I know MP3 files are the way to go, but where will I ever find the time to transfer the files?  We have an appointment with our audio installer for mid-July.  I can’t wait!  Music is such and important aspect of life’s enjoyment.

During the day we didn’t keep a set watch plan but we made sure that someone was always “on deck.” if we went below for some shut-eye.  Our formal watch rotation started in the evening.  All my hours in the galley gave me the privilege of the best watch hours.  After dinner I would rest an hour or so, then go up from 2100 to 2400.  Xavier took the midnight to 0300 shift, and Jeff was on from 0300 to 0600, when I cam back on again.  By the end of my second shift, everyone was up and it was time for breakfast.

I know I’ve described in earlier posts what it’s like watching the stars at night.  Interestingly, I noticed the constellations became visible much later at this time of year compared to when we went down in the Fall.  My first few nights, I’m always a bit anxious, knowing I’m in charge of the safety of that vessel and her sleeping crew.  Something about the darkness makes that feeling of “aloneness” eerie.  But after a few days I become comfortable with the sensations and relax into the night.

When we’re tired, the watches seem to last forever, and sometimes it’s hard to keep from nodding off near the end of the period.  We found that music really helps pass the time.  I especially liked ballads or songs that told storied to keep my mind engaged, but not too demanding.  (I plan to bring my Teaching Company courses aboard for the next long passage.)  I also make it a point to get up every 15 minutes to do a full 360 degree visual sweep of the area, and go below to check the radar.  Each hour I plot our course on the chart too.  This probably isn’t necessary quite so often, but it gives me something to do and helps the time pass.

It is hard to describe the deep fatigue after a long, rough passage.  Some night I was so incredibly tired I couldn’t go to sleep – doesn’t make sense, does it?  And there wer days when my body ached form inactivity and insomnia.  My muscles didn’t want to work any more.  A couple times I thought I wouldn’t even be able to pump the toilet to flush it (one electric head in on y “wish list.”)

Speaking of which, if it’s not too personal a subject for you, sitting on the john in rough seas is a real ordeal!  The seat is small, and you’re wedged in a narrow space, but you’ve got to HOLD ON!  Remember that bucking bronco and rolling motion?  You’re going far a ride, pardner!

Personal hygiene habits become altered underway as well.  In the conditions we experienced, showers and sometimes even sponge baths were out of the question.  We lied and slept in the same clothes for days, although we used moist wipes for freshness (or at least I did – who knows what the guys did!)  That’s why the condition of the shower facilities in marinas are such a big deal with us.  There wasn’t much point in putting on fresh clothes everyday.  First, there’s not enough on board; second, it creates too much laundry for me to do when we’re in port; third, it’s just going to get dirty right away; fourth, it’s just too hard sometimes to try and dress in those rocky conditions; and fifth, everyone on board is in the same shape so there’s no need to impress. J

Each time we go out, we learn something about life aboard.  During this trip I ear-marked items that were coming off the boat once we were home – things I hadn’t used enough to make them worth keeping on board.  With space at a premium, I feel I’m developing a better attitude about material things and slowly – very slowly – learning to live with a little less.  What makes this easier is that the community of boaters and live-aboards are all in the same boat so to speak; they’re all on the same do-with-less plan.

We’ve also learned there’s one thing we need more of, and that’s batteries!  Between our hand-held GPS, clocks, CD player and assorted other goodies, we went through over four dozen AA batteries on this trip alone!  We have a few re-chargeable ones on board but not enough.

One thing we also do when topsides is to keep an eye out for sea life, the sighting of which becomes the highlight of our day.  I promise, I won’t go raving on again about the dolphins like I did in my report of our trip down the coast, although there were some wonderful shows.  Like the day I saw a single dolphin jump by the bow; then two more joined him; then eight were jumping in a single arc formation.  They were like the Blue Angels of the Sea.  It was an awesome sight!

Uh oh, there I go again.  But indulge me, please, for one moment because our second day out of Cabo brought a scene just too incredible to forget.  We saw an enormous gathering of whales, seals, and dolphins.  They were circling incessantly.  The seals were sailing through the air five and six abreast in beautiful curved arches and perfect synchronization – the June Taylor Dancers of the sea.  The dolphins were jumping like crickets in a frying pan, and the sea was boiling, roiling, frothing, churning – splashes and bubbles everywhere.  It was a frenetic display of power and pure animal drive.  There must have been over 500 animals there and perhaps twice as many birds plummeting into the froth in forceful dives for food. This is where my writing skills fail me because I cannot find the words to convey the magnificence of this scene!

Later we found out what was going on there.  While in Santa Barbara, Jeff and I toured the maritime museum.  There was  video playing about how marine life follows the sun and moon.  Evidently the spring sun brings out the bloom, which attracts schools of sardines or other small fish.  The thick schools of feeding fish are almost like a moving wall.  This attracts the seals and dolphins s well as the whales.  The dolphins work in teams to capture their prey by swimming energetically in circles around the school creating lots of bubbles.  The sardines, brainless creature that they are, don’t realize they can cross the wall of bubbles.  The dolphins swim closer and closer, drawing the “net” into an ever-tightening circle around the school.  Then all the big mammals chow down! 

I also discovered on this trip that dolphins are camera-shy.  I’m not kidding!  One morning when there was a huge pod playing around our boat, X asked me to try and get some photos.  Every time I’d get my camera out, they would duck down under the water.  After awhile I gave up waiting for them to surface.  No sooner than I put my camera way, they were back, teasing me at the bow.  We went through this same routine no less than three times.  It was as if they were telling me, “We’re here for your eyes only. “  They were our reward for the hellish night we had endured.

Did I tell you about the flying fish?  One raucous night shortly after I started my watch, I suddenly caught a strong whiff of that awful fish-blood smell.  I couldn’t believe my nose; how on earth could I be smelling fish blood?  I also heard this erratic scratching sound coming from the starboard gunwale.  Having just come on watch, I’m embarrassed to admit I was a bit spooked – “it’s the ghost of that tuna we killed today!”  But, of course, being the rational, intelligent, confident, woman that I am (J) I quickly shook off that silly sentiment and groped for a flashlight o investigate.  The thin beam illuminated the culprits – fish flopping in the water that was funneling to the scupper!  They wee about six inches long, black back with white underbellies, and little one-inch long, iridescent pointed wings, like fairy wings!  Ah, so THESE were the flying fish I’d always heard about.  “Flying” fish jump out of the water just like dolphin do, but they go farther (relative to their size) and seem to glide with the wings.  Evidently these two critters were just a little off in their sense of direction, and landed on our deck rather than back in the water.  I scrambled below to find my tongs in the galley – the longest set I own.  With the bucking boat and the flopping fish, I felt a smug sense of skill in grabbing those guys and tossing them over.  Funny, though, their scent lingered a bit after they were gone.  I guess it’s not the smell of the blood that is so repulsive to me, but the fish themselves.  How can something that smells so bad taste so good?

But I missed my big chance.  Our second day out of Turtle Bay, I was sitting in the “captain’s chair”  in the cockpit, listening to “the Best of the Ventures (remember them?)  I think it was “Telstar” that was playing when, way off in the distance to the west, I saw what looked like a funnel cloud.  But it kept disappearing.  At first I thought it was just a trick of the eye from being at sea so long.  Then I saw two and realized what they were.  Like a dummy, I missed my chance to say, nay to shout out, “Thar she blows!”  Almost speechless, I could only utter a feeble “whales!”  The closer they came, the more spouts we saw, and we soon began to hear their spurts of breaths as they spewed water 20 feet high.  It appeared to be a large pod, although we never got to see their tails or fins, just the rounded hunch of their back at their blow holes.  They were mammals on a mission.  We stood in awe as they passed through heading north, maybe 50 feet from our boat.  All three of us were speechless.

Communications

“Hello?  Hello?  Can anyone hear me?  This is Jerry,” a wavering voice crackled over the radio.  We thought it was someone playing around.  “I’m taking on water.  I don’t know how long I can last.  I need help.”  Now we heard the panic in his voice, and recognized his inexperience.  The U.S. Coast Guard responded immediately, requesting information.  “Vessel taking on water, this is Coast Guard, San Diego, can you please give us a description of your vessel and your exact location?”  “It’s a 20-foot Trophy walk-around; water is coming in the floorboards.”  The high-water alarm screamed in the background on his transmissions.  Jerry was obviously panic-stricken because he wasn’t answering any of the Coast Guard’s questions.  Without a GPS on board, he wasn’t able to give them an exact location, but finally they got out of him that he was about a mile south from Dana Point and 200 yards off-shore.  Dana Point Harbor Patrol also responded to his call and sent out two rescue vessels. 

Listening to the entire scenario on the radio, we felt compassion for the guy and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness; we were en route to Catalina, too far away to do anything but send good vibes his way (also known as prayer). 

It struck me as we were passing yet another balloon on the way to Catalina, and listening to the rescue, the sea can offer such great diversity – from raucous revelry to simple serenity to frantic fear.

Not thirty minutes later, we heard another vessel calling in distress; their engine had malfunctioned and the boat was drifting towards shore.  Newport Beach Vessle Assist responded, although they switched to another (non-hailing) channel so we didn’t hear the entire drama blast over the air waves.

It was Memorial Day weekend. The calls for assistance continued all day, non-stop until evening.  By the end of the day, we’d heard reports of four more vessels taking on water, one submerged, one on fire, two people in the water, and countless calls for Vessel Assist (like the AAA of the seas).  Emergency personnel must hate holiday weekends!  In contrast, while we were in Mexico, we heard very little radio traffic, and at night the Mexicans would whistle and sing over the VHF – something you’re not supposed to do on the hailing channel!

There were also LOTS of hoax May Day calls – which I find absolutely disgusting!  Even if they suspect the call is a hoax, the Coast Guard has to try to respond to each call, which wastes valuable time and effort on their part – not to mention tax-payer money!

We had a bit of a false alarm ourselves, although we weren’t aware of it.  Because we were out of cell phone range, and didn’t stop at places where there were internet cafes, I wasn’t able to communicate with my sister, Lisa, who is our contact person.  I had told her it would take us a week to get from Cabo San Lucas to Ensenada.  When Xavier called his wife from one of the small fishing villages we stopped at, I asked him to have her call Lili for me.  She did, but just left a voice message, and didn’t leave her return phone number.  Evidently she’d misunderstood Xavier, and told Lili we’d be in Ensenada in three days.  The second time he called home, I again asked him to have his wife call Lili.  She said she would, but apparently lost Lili’s phone number, and never placed the second call.  Poor Lili, waited three or four days, expecting to hear from me.  When she didn’t, she wasn’t sure what to do.  Finally, she decided to call the Coast Guard, essentially filing a Vessel Overdue report.  She said they were very polite, and asked her a lot of questions, most of which she didn’t know the answer to.   To get them a description of the boat, she contacted our friend, Scott Erickson, who e-mailed a photo of Musetta to the Coast Guard, and had quite a few conversations with the person who was handling the case.  He also talked with /e-mailed Lili to assure her there was no way we could make Cabo to Ensenada in three days as Pat, X’s wife, had said.  Scott also contacted his friend in Mexico, Paco, who’s in charge of the fishing fleet in Ensenada.  (It was his son who stayed on our boat the first time we took it to Ensenada.) 

Either the Coast Guard or Paco alerted the Mexican Navy, who put out a radio call for any vessels to report sightings of Musetta.  We actually heard the call I think, but X wasn’t in the cockpit at the time, and we couldn’t understand the rapid Spanish.  We thought it was just Ernesto, the fuel dock guy at Turtle Bay, saying goodbye to us. J  It never even dawned on us that any Mexican would be calling us or looking for us.  Anyway, someone reported seeing us near Asuncion Bay, so no search vessels were sent out.  Lili was informed that we’d been sighted, and the Coast Guard guy assured her we were right on schedule, given the conditions we were facing. 

I was terribly dismayed to hear of all the concern and time that went into this effort when a simple phone call on Pat’s part could have solved the problem.  On the other hand, it’s nice to know the rescue systems really work! 

This also drove home the point that we could use some sort of off-shore communication system.  I purchased a book to learn about system requirements and options for e-mail through SSB, and will make it a goal to have something in place before we take off on our long cruise.  The times for sending text messages are very limited, and the messages must be short, but it would be better than nothing.  Jeff has also given in to the idea of an Iridium phone, which is satellite based.  They are expensive, but continually coming down in price from what I hear.

There is SO MUCH to still do to ready Musetta for long-term cruising!

The Last Leg

We arrived in Santa Barbara on Monday, May 31^st.  We were really looking forward to a day of rest, and were so relieved to have a slip.  The last time we stopped there, they were full and we had to continue sailing down the coast, tired or not, too bad!  We had a quiet dinner at a dock-side restaurant, without much conversation because we were so exhausted.  We went to bed early and slept until noon!  Jeff fixed a nice breakfast the next morning (or should I say “brunch”?); I worked on this report, while he washed the boat.  It was a lovely afternoon, slightly hazy, but the mountain range was clearly visible.  We hated to leave the peaceful harbor.

But leave we must if we were going to get Musetta home.  We listened to the buoy reports for conditions around Point Conception, as that would be our toughest passage.  It seemed like it would be rough, but we thought we could do it.  We left Santa Barbara around 1000 and motored to Coho anchorage, which is just south of the notorious Point Conception.  This is the part of the California coast line where the land turns in; it’s also called the Cape Horn of the West – that’s how rough it can be. Our plan was to anchor at Coho until midnight, then round the point in the wee hours of the morning, when the wind should be at its calmest.  This plan had worked well for us (and many other sailors) in the past. 

But as we motored up the coast, we kept the weather station on, and listened as the reports got increasingly worse.  It was creepy; as if we were motoring into an impending battle.  It took us five hours to get to Coho, where we anchored and tried to rest. But the buoy reports kept playing through our heads, blocking out all notion of sleep.  Predictions: 40 knot winds on the nose, confused seas, wind waves 10-12 feet, 8 seconds apart.  That’s ugly!  After much deliberation, we decided it would be best to wait for better conditions.  Some may say we’re not true sailors if we can’t handle a little wind and waves.  My contention is, the mark of good seamanship is knowing when to back off.  We didn’t want to give up, but for the safety of the boat and exhausted crew, we decided to go back to Santa Barbara.

Another five hours back, and during that time, they rented out the lovely slip we had.  There was only one slip available to us, and it was on the “old” side of the marina, lousy showers and all!  But, at least we had space, which was a good thing, because the weather didn’t let up for weeks.  Even the fishermen didn’t go out – and you KNOW they’re tough! 

Jeff and I rented a car on a one-way drop, and came home.  We watched the buoy reports via internet, and it wasn’t until three weeks later that the weather finally lay down.  By this time, I already had lots of appointments scheduled for the end of the month, so Jeff went back down to Santa Barbara with a friend of ours. 

It was an amazing trip up.  Neither had ever seen Point Conception as flat as it was; they motored straight through from Santa Barbara to Emeryville with hardly a wave or strong gust.  In fact, from the time they left Alameda, where Dave lives, to the time they arrived in Emeryville, it was only 47 hours!  That would have been much longer had it been just Jeff and I because we would have stopped at night.  Having Dave along is always a plus because he’s a night owl; he stays up all night, no problem, sleeps during the day, and loves it!

So now, Musetta is in Stockton for a few weeks, while our audio guy installs a sound system.  She’s also in desperate need of a good cleaning inside, since I haven’t done that since before we left for Mexico in the Fall. That’s on my list. J We’ll take a few days at the end of July to anchor at our old hang-out in Three River Reach, then head her home to Emeryville.

Our trip down to Mexico and back had been over 3,000 sea miles.  Since we’ve owned the boat, we’ve put on over 5,000 sea miles.  It seems like we’ve done a lot, and learned a lot, but when I read accounts of people who have logged hundreds of thousands of sea miles, I realize how much we have yet to learn. Ah, that’s the beauty of cruising!  We are looking forward to our life as modern-day sea-faring gypsies.

Sweet Eats and Savory Thymes,

Steph