San Jose del Cabo to Muertos Cove

San Jose to Muertos Cove (23 59.355N, 109 49.352W)
Perhaps it was that we were headed for a place known as "Dead Man's Cove" .... Whatever the reason, we were anxious to arrive before nightfall. At 8:00 a.m. on December 4, we motored to the fuel dock at Puerto San Jose. Alas, a Cayman Island fishing vessel with voluminous tanks had pulled into the fuel dock before us, and there was only room for one! He would be there for another hour. We recalculated the miles left to go and the gallons of diesel aboard our relatively diminutive sloop, and decided to head out.

At 9:00 a.m. we had 8 knots on the nose. At 1:15, 15 knots. At 2:45, 12 knots ... and so it continued. But it wasn't just the wind slowing us down. We had failed to account for two other opposing forces: 1. the outflowing current from the 700-mile long Sea of Cortez, and 2. the pull of a new moon, which one fellow later told us was at peak pulling power for the year. So much for setting anchor before darkness fell.

We made slow progress, and approached Muertos at 10:00 p.m. Our tanks were much lower than we'd anticipated, and the night was as dark as India ink. I have never had so much trouble gauging depth (i.e. distance from the land) and distinguishing the placement of lights (are those anchor lights or lights on land?).

After twenty minutes of careful motoring during which we compared our depth soundings to the chart, we anchored in 40 feet at the coordinates posted above, set the anchor drag alarm for 50 feet and settled in for some sleep. Daylight revealed that we had come far closer to land than we'd hoped to be, and that all those lights I had concluded were land lights were indeed anchor lights. I quietly blessed our conservative choice. Instead of barging in among them, we had bobbed just outside the cove's best shelter ... and ... all's well that ends well, as Shakespeare once argued.

On December 5, we moved Nereid further into the cove and surveyed the shore. To our starboard, a restaurant (reported to be cruiser-friendly); ahead of us a beach; to port, a hotel. Everywhere, the blue, beige, and terra cotta tones of Mexico.

We lowered Galatea over the rail and rowed toward shore, stopping along the way to converse with other cruisers. Some friendly folks from Canada warned us that the wind was forecast to come up hard from the south for the next several days and that it would be best to "stay put" in Muertos until the blow was over. Bobbing alongside their boat, we nodded our heads, probably in rhythm with the swell and having already accepted that mother nature had just reset our agenda.

The day before we had burned through more fuel than budgeted (a sacrifice to current), and heavy headwinds into Cabo would more than deplete our tank. We chatted with them about whether fuel could be gotten ("none known, but someone at the restaurant might know"), refused their kind offer of 5-gallons (the husband had frowned when the wife offered it), then said our goodbyes.

George pulled for shore, where waves broke softly among rows of rocks spaced a panga's width apart. Above the waterline lay a row of pangas, sterns to the cove: these are Mexico's ubiquitous fishing boats, fiberglass work horses about 20-25 feet long, 6 feet wide, and 3-5 feet deep. Here and there among them were men fixing their nets or cleaning a catch, their trucks parked further still upland.

It seemed likely that the section of beach aligned with a panga would be our best bet for a landing without excessive exposure to rocks. I navigated George toward a spot, smiling at the sight of children further down shore who were moving as fast as crabs between the soft foam at the waterline and the shade of their family's beach tent. One of the older women from the tent, elegantly attired in a red dress, walked to the shore and mounted a jet ski. All of the children began jumping and shrieking in glee. She helped one of the children into a life jacket and sat him in front of her, then took off with a roar, her long black hair streaming out behind them. She looked like the coolest grandma ever!

We landed Galatea with aplomb (and a splash) and made our way upland, chatting with a couple of fishermen and patting a black dog who stood in the shade licking the remains of a freshly cleaned dorado. "Do you know where we might find fuel around here?"

"How much do you need?"

"15 gallons."

"Go get your cans. I'll drive you."

God had just shown up in the form of a retired commercial fisherman named Terry.

San Jose del Cabo

We have traveled a long way in the past week or so, and we're feeling just about every nautical mile! But, we're now tied up at a marina in San Jose del Cabo, soaking in the luxuries of hot showers, a full water tank, and internet access. There's an art walk in town tonight, and we intend to hike a mile to see it.

After leaving Bahia Tortuga we sailed south under genoa and a double-reefed main. Shifting tailwinds made it difficult to avoid an accidental jibe, so we sheeted in the genoa and let out the boom. Unfortunately, we heard a CRACK and saw something go flying. That was the scariest moment I've had on Nereid. Fortunately, it wasn't the mast or the boom: it was the shackle that held our preventer's block to the starboard toerail. George made a trip out to the foredeck, picked up the hardware and tied down the mainsail. He brought back into the cockpit another piece of hardware; one we hadn't realized had come loose. We believe it's a piece that helps keep the mainsail in its track. So that was the last of our using the main sail on this section of travel. We kept on under genoa as long as it was useful, but motored through the night.

In the wee hours we motored past the Isle of Cedros, rocking and rolling in heavy seas. Visibility was limited due to salt spray, and so we rolled up the side panels to look directly out into the night. Orion was laying on his back on the horizon, larger than I have ever seen the constellation. We watched him travel over a third of the dark dome, and switched shifts. I saw what looked like a brightly lit boat not far off our port side beam and called George back up to identify her: it was the half moon, rising behind the clouds, low to the water and orange enough to be a pumpkin. For the next couple of hours, we motored through heavy seas, wind and spray paying friendly visits as we worked around to the backside of the island, where a nice anchorage provides shelter for folks like us. There were about eight other cruisers anchored when we arrived, but plenty of room. We set our hook in forty feet around 2:30 a.m., ready and grateful for bed.

Our next stop was Puerto San Carlos. It's not a recommended stop for cruisers, but we needed fuel (now that we knew we'd be motoring) so we worked our way through the tricky channel and arrived at the fishing pier about an hour before sunset. It's a real working dock, and it took us awhile to find a place we thought we could tie up without subjecting Nereid to rusty shrimp boats and pilings. Fortunately, some fishermen on the dock offered a hand and some oversize bumpers. We fueled up, and practiced our Spanish, and then accepted a ride into town to get fresh fruits, vegetables and tortillas. Puerto San Carlos is a tiny town with unpaved streets, except two, and the same fine dust that we experienced in Bahia Tortuga. Thanks to the kindness of strangers, we were back on the boat freshly provisioned and fully fueled before sunset. We motored a few hundred yards out and dropped anchor. It was a peaceful night.

The next morning we repeated the gauntlet, motoring out through the narrow channel that leads into Puerto San Carlos. We hit open ocean around 9:30 a.m., knowing we had a long stretch before us but wanting to time our trip around Cape Falso for the calmest time of day. Around 11:00 a.m., I saw what I thought might be a dead seal off the port bow. It's not unusual to see seals sunning themselves on the surface, but this one was unusually stationery. I didn't wake George, since I thought it might be a sad sight; but when I got nearer I saw that it was actually a turtle! I woke George, and over the course of the next mile we saw several of them. What a treat! It was invigorating to see them alive and wild.

The remainder of the voyage was simple and required, simply, endurance. We crossed the Tropic of Cancer and enjoyed a grail moon. (In the north we only get it at Easter, but this was indeed a grail moon, looking like a chalice.) Sunrise was welcome, as it always is, and soon enough we saw the Cape ahead and began picking up chatter from the fishing vessels that call Cabo San Lucas their home port. We rounded Cape Falso a little before noon, impressed with the rocks, cliffs and sand and in no way worried about the currents. From then on, it was simply sightseeing - marveling at the developments along the shore, the size of the cruise ships, the number of parasails. Around 2:30 p.m. we radioed Puerto San Jose del Cabo's marina and negotiated a slip for two nights. And so ... here we are. Safe, sound and salty.

Thanksgiving in Turtle Bay, Baja California Sur, Mexico

We're at anchor just off the shore of a small, dusty town known as Bahia Tortugas. The area used to be known for turtles but, sadly, none remain. There are, however, plenty of pelicans and gulls, and a few osprey, whose nests are visible on the local electronics tower and other high spots along the shore. The terrain is desert-like, reminding us both of Nevada. Hills barren of vegetation (at least from this distance) undulating in variegated shades of beige to brown, ending at the blue water's edge.

Fishing appears to be the town's main economic engine, with a half-dozen or so boats manned with three- to four-fishermen casting nets and pulling in by hand. Last night we watched them haul in and weigh their catches, rock stars to the birds that followed, screaming in their wake.

We arrived at 1:05 p.m. yesterday, thankful to be setting the anchor and having earned our rest. We left Ensenada at 11:00 a.m. on 11/21, expecting good tailwinds; however, we were disappointed. With headwinds from 6 to 16 knots, we motored down the coast, taking three hour watches, regardless of mal de mer, which hit me (Celeste) quite hard. My buddy the bucket was never far away. It was a fairly uneventful trip, otherwise, our spotting only one other vessel along the way and that a sailboat that had left the same marina around the same time as us. They radioed over to check our status when they saw us stop, but we had only run over some kelp and were taking time to back it off the prop. The sailor soon passed us, and it was a lonely trip from then on, though Nereid didn't seem to mind. She handles well, and it's really, I realize, her crew, that we need to worry about. Around 11:00 a.m. on 11/22, we pulled into Bahia San Carlos, a strip sheltered from the winds that make its northernmost point a famous destination for windsurfers. We set our anchor and rested for 24-hours, letting me get my stomach back under control. (The cats have done remarkably well.) At 10:30 a.m. on 11/23 we pulled back out, thankful for NE winds that allowed us to travel along at 6.5 knots with just the mainsail, double reefed. We saved a lot of fuel and didn't take down the main until we set our anchor here in Tortuga, at which point we found that we'd lost a batten. Otherwise, she's shipshape. Not so lucky was the sailor coming in just behind us who reported "a hell of a trip" and was coming in "with no prop, and a broken mainsail - under jib alone." At 1:05 11/23 we set the anchor here in Tortuga, put things aright and got the dinghy over the rail. George had read of a restaurant where we might get showers - hot ones if we're lucky. He pulled us into shore, where a nice little wave swamped over the back of our dinghy, Galatea, and wetted my stern - but what's a little salt water to us now? We hauled her up on the sand, tied her to a stranded tire, and set off in search of the Restaurant Veracruz. An hour later, having trod through the unpaved town with its fine, pale dust, we arrived at the place, looking like Pigpen from the Peanuts comic strips. Luckily, they were open. We managed to get across the idea that we were seeking food and showers, and we got the food - quite good too. We recommend it. The showers must just be a rumor. Luck was with us. We returned to Galatea at the magic hour, able to watch the birds and fishermen in the golden glow, then pull back to Nereid for an evening's rest and half a game of Scrabble. Today, we've cooked turkey and mashed potatoes, baked fresh bread and brownies, and enjoyed them all with cranberry sauce. It's been a lovely Thanksgiving.

Departing for La Paz

We are departing this morning for La Paz, which will be about a 10 day sail - and we do mean sail! We postponed our departure until today to allow the leading edge of a front to pass by: that meant that we avoided headwinds and now will (should) have 10-20 knots behind us for the next few days. A sailor's dream! Fair winds and following seas.

I'll post our itinerary below. Meanwhile, the other big news is that we have a "third crew member." He's a Flat Stanley. In case you're not familiar with the story, Stanley is a boy who is accidentally flattened when his bulletin board falls on him. At first he is disconcerted, but then he realizes that he can now fit in an envelope and travel by mail! He undertakes great adventures. Many children now create "flat" versions of themselves and send them off on great adventures, and that's how we came to have a flat "Tucker" aboard. He'll travel with us for about six weeks, and then make his way back to Seattle to tell his tales to the children in Ms. Graff's class at Lockwood Elementary. Here's a picture of Tucker, the night he arrived on board:



He's dressed appropriately, in colorful casual gear and has been an uncomplaining hand while we've stowed and provisioned. Hopefully, he'll learn the ropes this week!

Here is our itinerary, prepared by George:

We plan to stop at Turtle Bay, Bahia Magdelena and somewhere between Cabo San Lucas and Muertos Cove. If we are tired, have bad weather, or just want to play tourists we will make other stops listed in the waypoints section. Weather is looking real good, the boat is ship shape and Bristol fashion, and we are ready. Come visit us in La Paz!

Miles Anchorage
from Conditions
Ensenada

Ensenada to:
Puerto Santo Thomas Marginal rest stop
Cabo Colonet 65 OK
Isla St Martin 95 Protected from S. winds
San Quintin 110 Rolly but OK
Sacramento Reef to Vizcaino Bay 95 miles across
Isles St. Geronimo 120 Good
Fondeadro San Carlos 163 Good
Santa Risalilita 225 Good
Turtle Bay 275 Excellent - Fuel

Miles
From
Turtle
Bahia Asuncion 50 Good
Bahia San Hipolito OK
Punta Abreiges 100 OK-Good
Laguna San Ignacio 126 OK - also called San Juanico
Punta Pequena 166 Good - Best place to rest
from NW winds btwn
Turtle & Mag Bays
Bahia Magdelena 245 Excellent - Fuel

Miles from
Mag Bay
Cabo San Lucas 155 Very good-Fuel-Expensive

Miles from
Cabo San Lucas
San Jose del Cabo 14 Excellent - Fuel
Los Frailes 38 OK
Muertos Cove 67 OK, Showers, laundry, etc.
La Paz 150 - 170 Excellent - Fuel


WAYPOINTS

Ensenada 01ENSN 31* 46.050’ N 116* 47.100’ W
Pta Santo Jose Pt. S Jose 30* 26.000’ N 116* 40.000’ W
Pta Colnett 02PTC 30* 57.250’ N 116* 22.000’ W
South of San Quintin 03SANQ 30* 10.020’ N 166* 04.500’ W
Sacramento Reef SAC REEF O 29* 44.000’ N 115* 50.000’ W
Cedros Island Cedros Island 28* 18.000’ N 115* 09.000’ W
South of Pt. Eugenia Pt. Eugenia 27* 44.000’ N 115* 05.000’ W
Turtle Bay Tutle Bay 27* 38.500’ N 114* 54.000’ W
Bahia St. Roque Bahia St. R 27* 07.000’ N 114* 28.000’ W
Pt Abreojos 1 Pt. Abre 2 26* 47.000’ N 113* 48.000’ W
[Pt Abreojos 2 Pt Abre 2 26* 37.000’ N 113* 38.000’ W]
[Pt Abreojos 3 Pt. Abre 3 26* 41.000’ N 113* 32.000’ W]
Cape San Lazaro 1 Cape San 1 24* 48.500’ N 112* 22.000’ W
Bahia St. Maria B St Maris 24* 44.000’ N 112* 16.000’ W
Bahia Magdalena B of Magdelina 24* 29.700’ N 112* 05.000’ W
Cape Falso Cape Falso 22* 49.000’ N 110* 03.000’ W
San Lucas San Lucas 22* 52.500’ N 109* 49.000’ W
Punte Gorda Pt. Gorda 23* 03.000’ N 109* 32.000’ W
Boca de Tule Boca de tu 23* 14.000’ N 109* 22.500’ W
Cabo Los Frailes Cabo Los F. 23* 22.000’ N 109* 24.000’ W
Cape Pulmo Cape Fulmo 23* 28.000 ‘N 109* 22.000’ W
Punta Arena Boca de Tule 23* 35.000’ N 109* 25.000’ W
Punta Arena de la Ventana
Pt. Arena V 24* 05.000’N 109* 46.000’

Guadalajara

We arrived in Guadalajara by plane at 6am, Sunday, having flown past a dramatic electrical storm about an hour out of this great city. Exhausted after 24 hours of wakefulness, we were deposited by taxi outside Casa Vilasanta, and knocked and knocked until the great hand-carved doors were opened by a sleepy clerk.

After five hours sleep, we rose to explore. Sundays, the city bars motor vehicles from Juarez, a wide avenue. We walked there via the cathedral Templo Expiatorio, (Temple of Atonement), peeking inside and being riveted by the gloriously lit interior - rows of French stained glass filtering sunlight into the sanctuary.

Juarez was happily occupied by thousands of bicyclists, skaters and pedestrians, comfortably spread out and moving at a Sunday pace. We had breakfast at a cafe then walked along the avenue, marveling at the old Catholic structures and browsing market stalls. George is delighted with the warmth of the Guadalajaran people, who pour into the parks to hula-hoop, picnic, dance and visit. These people know how to live.

That evening, having provisioned, we cooked "hamburger sopas" (which were tasty) then toured our posada's rooftop, which is set up for lounging. We balanced ourselves on a chair (both of us, George's arms around me) and I snapped a photo of the sun setting behind the cathedral. Caution: there is romance in the air here.

We took an evening walk to the cathedral to hear the bells, and arrived as evening mass was letting out. Hundreds and hundreds of people were inside the cathedral and hundreds more were on the plaza outside, mingling, vending, and even ballroom dancing - about a dozen couples, some of them dressed to the nines. We sat by the fountain, and laughed when we noticed the neon crosses installed atop the cathedral, an edifice built in 1897. Then we walked back home in search of sleep.

Sadly, sleep had decided to take the night off and spend time among the cars and dogs near our posada. Ah well, as George say, "It's a good thing we're young!"



Celeste began school today. She's in a class of eleven (several of whom are here at Casa Vilasanta), hailing from The Netherlands, Germany, St. Lucia and The States. The school lives up to our expectations: well-organized, student-centered, demanding and intensive. She observed two live classes in the late afternoon and begins teaching Thursday.

Buenos Noches!

Ola!

We arrived in Ensenada at 4:30p.m. the 20th, having left San Diego's town dock power under at 6:15a.m., same day. The seas were rolling and the sky overcast. We took two hour watches, the first watch being most notable for beam seas and for the fleet of large, private fishing vessels that raced past as we left the town dock, sending us rolling like Weebles. Wolfgang suffered confusion and nausea, and I empathized with the latter.

We entered Mexican waters around 8:00a.m. All was quiet. Off Rosarita were tugs on a mooring, and two container ships, one being from Panama.

By the second watch the cats had settled in, and by the fourth they were napping. I was wakened during the third when the wind picked up and George decided to set the sails. Unfortunately, the main winch gave out (probably needs new pauls). We headed back on course under power, glad to be basking in sunshine and traversing blue waters.

We always monitor VHF-16 while underway, but yesterday was the first MayDay we've encountered. Three men in a small vessel radioed in distress: their vessel was taking on water through a hole in the stern and they were unable to keep ahead of it by bailing or bilge. They estimated they had 20 minutes before sinking. The U.S. Coast Guard out of San Diego picked up the call and kept them active on 16, gathering information -- ages, descriptions, country of vessel registration -- and instructing (don life jackets; take your flares if you have to get in the water). A harbor patrol boat dispatched from the port nearest the distressed vessel's location. We headed in their direction as well, and arrived just as the Coast Guard helicopter left. The men had been taken aboard the harbor patrol vessel, the waterlogged boat abandoned.

We continued on our way. With the sunshine, the trip went fast. Soon we saw the massive flag that marks Nava Bajal and the entrance to Cruiseport Marina. To our surprise, the Washington State Ferry Nisqually was at the entrance to our new homeport! It had been brought here in hopes the large seal/sea lion populations would opt to lounge on it. That didn't take, so it is being disassembled. Nevertheless, it was a nice reminder of our original home.

Our welcome has been warm. We were greeted by cruisers from Federal Way and Arizona, and by the time we had rowed back and forth from the showers we also had met people from Seattle, and Whidbey Island.

It's going to be a good trip.

Becoming Professional Vagabonds

We haven't posted because we haven't had much in the way of maritime news, but now we have something to say! We will be taking Nereid to Ensenada next month, where she will reside while George and I go to Guadalajara for a month of teacher training. Groucho Marx said, "The difference between a bum and a vagabond is that a vagabond will work when he has to." Call us vagabonds, friends. By the end of October we will both be certified to teach English in language schools, and by January we should be working somewhere on the Mexican Riviera. More details will be posted here as they reveal themselves in ways worthy of note.

In other news that didn't make the maritime blog, George had rotator cuff surgery (left shoulder) on July 20. We were blessed (best word I can find) to find two good health care providers: a surgeon AND a physical therapist, both of whom we trust and like. George is, as the doctor said, a very young sixty-eight, and recovering his range of motion at a pace that the physical therapist finds impressive. Meanwhile, he's been studying Spanish 4-6 hours per day and continuing the research for his upcoming book on Mozart.

Life is good.