Back in the land of Yanks

WE'RE BACK!

Yeah, crazy crazy crazy feelings happening. Emotions are riding the roller coaster. Even though we aren't officially finished, being tied up in San Diego and having the Baja Bash finished are both big mile-markers for us on this last stage of the journey.

Yesterday we had a sweet day. The winds backed to the southwest and the seas were mellow. We flew along at 6-7+ knots the whole way and actually passed Pt.Loma and sailed into San Diego in the late afternoon. Checked back into the US by the grumpy customs officials and tied up next door at the municipal docks by 5 pm. Sweet. We thought we'd maybe get there by midnight and we were more then ready to be done.

But there's no rest for the weary as a hole is still open heading north around Pt.Conception that we feel we should take. It is bittersweet. If we don't go now we don't have any idea how long we'll be hanging in southern California and even though it sounds fun to reconnect with some friends and chill out, we also are ready to finish off the journey in SF and celebrate the adventure properly...something we really haven't done yet at all.

So we are both tired and ready for a break, but we are going for it again. Heading out the barn tomorrow morning after topping up the diesel, we plan to head straight on the rhumbline through the Channel Islands towards Pt.Conception. Looks like maybe a 3 day window so we hope to either get to Monterey Bay or Morro Bay before holing up again and waiting for the strong northerlies to blow through.

We'll keep on rolling the BLOG. Thanks to all our people for the love and support!

The Last Leg

When the boat heaved, shuttered and stalled again yesterday, with green water sloshing over the decks trying desperately to escape through the scupper drains, I really had to ask myself what we were doing out here. We were hit again and again for hours with walls of green water, beating into big seas and not going anywhere fast at 2 knots. My heart sunk as I imagined the worst, that it would take us another week of this maddening pounding just to reach San Diego.

Everything is a challenge when it's like that. We don't eat and if we do its crackers or a bar or a cup of tea. Going to the bathroom is a chore in and of itself. Where else does one have to sit on the pot holding onto a handrail with one hand, and bracing with a foot under the toilet and one on the wall. Meanwhile you have to flush in the middle so nothing sloshes out.

Then a few hours later, after leaving the currenty Canal Keller behind us, the face of our world changed again and we were free. The seas became more predictable and the walls of water became mere hills rolling beneath us. The wind backed and we were able to clear our hazards so we were pointing and making miles again. We had a decision to make. To go on the outside of Isla Cedros Island reaping the benefits of a better sail angle later with the possible challenge of crappy seas and stronger winds or go the easy run along the lee of Isla Cedros setting us up with a harder beat and confused seas on the north side. Things were looking good so we stuck with it and gambled on the outside.

It turned out to be a good call even with winds up to 20 and some sloppy seas. We averaged 5 knots and came over the top of Isla Cedros with a great wind angle to cross Bahia Vizcaino. The weather files were right; it was a good as it was going to get, 10-15 out of the NNW, with occasional winds pushing 20. The Bay is the last spot after Cedros where there can be really nasty conditions. We got off easy, even with the seas kicking up and an extremely frustrating 2 knot counter-current.

Last night brought the coldest temperatures we've had so far. Everything was damp and chilly. We sit day and night in our foulies, thick socks, fleeces, and sea boots, sipping tea and nibbling cookies to keep warm as much as pass the time. The wind bites through our clothes and we are grateful to crawl into the warm sea berth of sheets, blankets and sleeping bag when off watch.

By morning we were well past the hardest parts and on our last legs to San Diego. It's impossible to tell what time it is with this cloak of gray clouds covering the sky. The light has been sucked out of the once brilliant blue ocean replaced by a sharp graphite gray. We have had many visitors in the last 24 hours. Sea lions barrel through the waves, spinner dolphins race and leap over the swell and some kind of large whales, possibly fin whales, spout and dive.

We've got just over 120 miles to San Diego. We're still fighting a counter-current but are hoping on making it to California sometime tomorrow night. The last of the light disappears with the hundred dolphins that just crossed our bow.

Half Way to the USA

Dolphins cruise in lazy circles around us as we bob restfully next to a kelp bed in Turtle Bay. The sun has broken through the cloudy marine layer and the wind has even settled down, allowing a quiet peace to envelop us for a change. It's 4 in the afternoon California time. Yeah, that's right, California time. It's been 4 1/2 years since DreamKeeper has been back in this time zone and for us, it's just one more conscious connection about how close we really are to being back in the USA.

Today is a much appreciated day. We were ready for a break and Turtle Bay has been kind to us.

Yesterday afternoon was a total contrast. We had made good time in the early parts of the day and I even saw a few whale spouts and a big fluke of a diving gray behemoth, most likely all gray whales. But then old man northerly wind decided to perk right up and let us know who 'el jefe' was out in these parts and that the bash was definitely not over yet. As sunset grew closer, we pounded and pounded into the steepening spicy seas and the 25+ knot wind decided it was time to put us in our place once again. We tacked back and forth trying to allow DK to gain some momentum and raise our speed above 3 knots before we would slam her nose into another neck-jaring steep wall of water which would stop us in our tracks completely. Of course, our autopilot wanted nothing to do with these conditions and let us know it was done for the duration. Between some hand-steering and old faithful, Monitor, however, we persevered.

And then there was the back-of-my-mind thought wondering if we would have enough diesel to make it. We were burning almost twice as much as normal pushing the revs on the Yanmar to punch through some of the seas to make headway. We knew it would be close, but did we actually have enough? Would we actually make it into the Bay or were we going to hear the second tank dry up in the middle of the night and that would be it, under sail alone from there on out? Just another factor playing out in the constant game of our bash strategy reality.

It went on like this until almost midnight and believe me it was no better trying to rest in the sea birth as every steep wave would throw you up into the air from the coffin-like nest we made for our frigid bodies down below. There were some shut-eye times only to be awaken rudely like a slap in the face not knowing if you are in the dream world or something less gentle and kind, which we were.

But a little after 11 the wind relented and we could once again point back towards our waypoint and our oh so close destination of Turtle Bay. We crept into the bay after midnight with a full moon piercing the marine layer of clouds and illuminating the guardian rocks at the entrance where the familiar sounds of our seal friends called out to each other. We dropped the hook on the outside of the anchorage and it wasn't long before we were tucked in until morning, except for Nic and her craving for toast at 2 am before joining me in the non-rolly, non-slamming, warm duvet-covered bliss in our V-berth.

So we are a bit over half-way to San Diego. We are fueled up and rested. We took a cockpit shower this morning and scrubbed our disgustingly stinky bodies clean with hot water. Now, we are ready to take on the next leg of the Baja. We raise the hook tonight again at midnight and for the next 24 hours or so will be bashing north into what should be the last difficult section of this coastline, out and around Cedros Island. After that, the weather files are showing everything mellowing a bit more and we are hoping for an easier last 2 days travel north as we finish off the last of our Mexican journey.

Making Miles

It's always hard for us to leave an anchorage at night. There's something I dread about leaving our cozy nest to pull the hook up and set out into the cold, dark, windy, night. For us it's much easier to leave on the dawn of a crystal clear, beautiful blue bird day. But leaving Bahia Santa Maria, we started our journey around a cape and here on the outside of the Baja the winds and seas generally die down at night. So at midnight we were off.

We have heard from more than one seasoned captain the golden hours for travel along this coast are from 2300 to 1100 hours. So far we have found this advise to be true. It's 0345 as I write this and it's blowing 9-11 knots. We can't sail exactly on our course but we are making 4.5-5.5 knots even with a counter current running against us. A fishing boat just passed us. The air smells like squid eggs, pungent, sweet, and briny. Dark clouds cloak the sky and fly swiftly towards the southwest. They have revealed the glowing moon to me only once with a swift swipe of the clouds. She hung rounded side down, just over the horizon of rolling seas. She is getting bigger.

Today the winds have been kind to us. Although it is now the sunset hour and the seas and winds are kicking up, slowing our good progress. We pitch up and down but the boat is strong and we are cozy and dry.

The water is getting colder. Long whips of sea kelp float aimlessly in this stretch of ocean. Some kind of gull rides the troughs of the swell. A thick band of high cumulus clouds bows above us.

Today has been a good day. We have 134 miles to go to Turtle Bay. Here's to hoping the winds lay down with the sun's departure.

Onward to Turtle Bay

This morning we awoke to terns calling and I got my first hit of real sadness. Sadness that this journey will be over soon and we will be leaving this life. Anchoring in stunning places and being part of the place is something we have absolutely loved. We haven't been able to do enough of it lately so this one is bittersweet. This is the first actual location we've returned to. It brings back so many memories, surf landings, crabs on the beach, sand dollar frisbees, lobster pasta with new cruiser friends at Xmas time, and delightful local fisherman. Like we've said before, we're ready for a change but there will be so many things we will miss.

The cruiser tribe that was here all left early this morning. This is one thing we won't miss. We haven't been around the cruising community much in a while and didn't think about how big of a deal the Baja Bash is to so many sailors. We have been sitting here with 10 other boats in the anchorage and the VHF chit-chat has been almost non-stop about the weather and when and how boats will leave. Even more annoying, our 18 channel on our VHF bleeds over to 16, so when boats switch to 18, which they have been doing constantly, we can hear their conversations too. At times, we smile and are cheaply entertained but at other times we've had to switch off the VHF entirely just to have some peace.

Don't get me wrong...it's not that we are better then all these other cruisers. We are just different. We've almost never wanted to be part of these circles where everyone is always sharing plans and buddy boating along together. It's just not us, and takes away from the adventurous and independent side of the cruising life which has always been our way. When a certain boat here in the anchorage is calling for a "cruiser net" in the morning and evenings for all the boats here to check-in and share weather data, we opt out. A "cruiser VHF net" in Bahia Santa Maria? It's a bit much for us.

On a positive note, the VHF is an helpful and important tool. Just yesterday a boat was calling looking for a barometer for their clipper route (offshore) passage to Oregon and a boat in this anchorage swiftly responded with one. We have seen this thing happen again and again. The cruising community really is amazing most of the time. We all would do anything to help another one of us. Out here with people we may never have befriended in another world we would automatically go out of our way to help them if we could, and most other cruisers would do the same. It is a special thing to know you have a community that you can depend on.

We have spent the last two days cooking soups and baking cookies and banana breads, watching movies, catching up on TIME magazine articles, and going through old photos. Returning to Bahia Santa Maria and reflecting on where we came from and where we've been, we realize we've come a long long ways since when we arrived to this bay 4 1/2 years ago. We were pretty green back then. And even though we chose not to buddy boat or join a group of cruisers south to Mexico like the Baja HaHa, we hadn't done that many overnight passages together on DK and we were nervous. Now that's all changed. Even though the Baja Bash isn't fun nor easy with all the beating into the wind and seas, by no means is it that tough. Being smart with planning and patient with weather windows helps a ton. And then accepting the reality of motor-sailing for 2-3 cold nights in a row is part of the deal. Thankfully this is isn't the southern ocean with big storms and massive seas nor is it filled with
possible potential pirates. This is still Mexico and there are places to anchor, hide, and actually escape from the winds and seas if you need to.

We'll leave tonight about midnight and hope the boats ahead of us are fairing well and the VHF chatter isn't floating too far on the airwaves. The weather forecast looks good and we're hoping we can get to Turtle Bay in a couple of days, do a quick refuel, and continue on. All rested up and ready for Leg 2 to begin.

200 Miles Down. 600 To Go

It wasn't long after we posted our last blog when the late afternoon wind piped up into the mid-20's. Then the seas built to 6-8' with occasional steep 10 foot sets pounding our hull. We were still hugging the coast, only a few miles offshore, and it seemed prudent to switch tacks and start heading out to sea. But, of course, the wind backed directly where we wanted to point so we patiently waited and ran further up the coast. We struggled to make 2-3 knots and continued to get smacked by the big ones stalling any forward momentum we were making. Water poured over the decks as DK shook each tremor off and plowed onward. It was a long afternoon and early evening, and our dinner consisted of a few saltines and another couple Stugeron pills, the best remedy for seasickness we know of.

Chingitos were still in effect and we hoped for the usual overnight wind die-down period. Thankfully, we weren't disappointed.
10 pm and everything started mellowing. The winds clocked around more to the north, the gusts were only in the 15-18 knot range and the bigger seas less and less consistent. We finally changed tacks, pointed a few miles off of Punta Tosca, the southern cape of Mag Bay, and started making miles again.

Supposedly the best time to make northerly miles on the Baja Bash is from 11 pm to 11 am. So far we are believers.
The Yanmar hummed and the reefed-mainsail did all she could to keep us from rolling too much as we punched through the choppy seas and worked our way around the Cape and up the edge of southern Magdalena Bay. With even better luck, we actually had a positive northerly current pushing us along as we have had almost the whole way from Cabo Falso. We would take anything we could get and were just hoping that the winds and seas would stay sleepy until late morning. They did.

The watermelon slice of a half moon got swallowed by the sea by 0200 and the stars glittered in the cold clear skies. Even though the winds layed down a bit, it was still cold. I think yesterday was the last day for barefeet. We have covered our brown toes with thick socks and sea boots. We both snuggled deep into our fleeces and foulies last night, tucking ourselves under the dodger on the leeward side, as far away from the wind and cold as we could be while on watch.

It really feels like we are headed homeward bound now. With the cold water and air come familiar sea friends. Ancient pelicans fly in formation, skimming the tops of waves. Cormorants sit seemingly comfortably in the heaving seas and scatter, their black webbed feet kicking off wave trains gracelessly as we plow through their domain. Spinner dolphins visited us once again and everything looks crisp and clear. The light is different here where the sea and desert meet.

Golden windswept and barren hills contrast dramatically with the teal green sea. Mt. San Lazaro hovers above us, creating a barrier between the Pacific Ocean and Santa Maria Bay. It seems like yesterday when we tucked in here right before Christmas of 2006.

We dropped our hook this morning at about 1100 in a mix of 10 other sail and motor yachts headed north. Some have been here for over a week waiting for better weather. The chilly north-westerly wind funnels through the notch reminding us of our old friend, Hurricane Gulch in the San Francisco Bay. We'll see how long our hook stays planted here. For now it is good to be warm and cozy.

Up the Outside Day 1

Chingitos is my new favorite word. It means fingers crossed in Spanish; it also has something to do with monkeys that I don't understand. So far chingitos has worked. We're off and on our way north.

Yesterday, after waking up early and planning on a leisurely day of projects and lazing about we checked the weather and re-checked the weather, tuned into weather guru Don Anderson's report on the HF radio to no avail, and then, finally, made a decision. Leave San Jose del Cabo pronto.

Being able to completely transform our plan for the day of our passage always fills me with such appreciation and joy. Throughout the years, again and again, we have morphed ourselves by clicking into our wondertwin powers to 'form of' something and then responded.

Yesterday was a bit of a whirlwind, but in a good way. I powered out another fresh food shop and Gar did a few final boat projects. By the end of the day food was stored, soup was made, projects were done, shade tarps were stowed and we even got to relax for an hour. We had a really thoughtful evening thanks to Captain Jim Elfers, the author of the 'Baja Bash' books and the marina manager for San Jose Del Cabo. Jim kindly hosted a dinner for three circumnavigator boats in San Jose del Cabo, SV Magnum, SV Carmen Miranda and Us. Thanks Jim.

At 10 pm, we slipped out of the marina leaving under starry skies and a grinning moon in 12 knots of head-wind and bumpy seas. Motoring through chop and light 12 knot winds I prayed to all of the spirits I belive in and that my chingitos were working and the wind would behave when we rounded the notoriously windy Cabo Falso. The journey up the Baja is not generally known to be an easy one and is referred to as the Baja Bash for a reason. There are 5 windy capes we have to round, often with increased winds of 10-15 knots above wind speed as well as long stretches of windy headwinds often building to steep fetch. Patience, strategy, and perseverance, along with a pinch of luck, are required for a safe and successful passage north.

Last night Lady Luck was with us. By midnight our winds were down to 5-10 knots and rounding Cabo Falso was a gratefully graceful beginning. We raced along, motor sailing throughout the star sprinkled night in light winds making 5-6 knots throughout the night. Dawn broke with chilly dry desert air licking my cheeks and bare toes. The mountains turned the color of the flesh of nectarines for a moments before the sun splashed the sea with glittering diamonds. Pelicans dove nearby and two pangas raced into the horizon behind us. Three pods of spinner dolphins have come for a visit, their groups each over a hundred strong.

DreamKeeper is greeting the increasing winds and swell like a champion. Green water washes over our decks intermittently now as it becomes late afternoon and we are grateful we chose this weather window. I struggle to type as we hobby-horse up and down and side to side. The rig groans in weak protest and she powers on. Eighty nine miles till Bahia Santa Maria where we hope to wait for a better weather window before continuing homeward bound. Chingitos.

Welcome Back to Baja

We slept in today until the late hour of 8 am. For us that is late late late. We slept like the dead.
Our friends with babies tell us that our sailing passages are good practice for dealing with new-borns. Sometimes we just don't sleep or if we do, it's in cat-nap segments always waking in the middle of REM during some crazy dream as the boat crashes down into another big wave. On these nights, to me it feels like we are mostly dreaming, with small snippets of time connecting with the real world, whatever that is. The illusion.

But anyways, two nights ago we had one of those sleepless nights. Even though we only saw a max of 20 knots for 24 hours, the waves picked up and were steep and forceful. Of course we were beating and slamming right into them taking wave after wave across our deck along with the many unlucky squid and flying fish who ended up as casualties (we actually had 2 unlucky flying fish get stuck and plug up our scupper drain). It was very reminiscent to us of our northern Red Sea experience, tough, loud, and lots of work, but thankfully, without the sandstorms. And thank you bilge pump for being fixed. But, no thank you autopilot, that does not like these conditions. It went out again and again and we finally just hooked up the Monitor windwave, which seems to work fine even when we are motor-sailing. Thank you windvane!

It took us only about 48 hours or so to travel from Banderas Bay to the Cabo area of Baja. Not bad considering most of it was a beat. We are once again grateful to be another almost 300 miles closer to home.

Yesterday morning, after talking with some boats on the HF radio and one boat in Cabo on the VHF, we sat in the lee of Baja, 10 miles from Cabo and processed our options. Should we do a quick fuel in Cabo and then take off at midnight to round the notoriously windy Cabo Falso and head up to Mag Bay, 150 miles away on the outside of Baja? The weather forecasts were all saying the wind would fill in to 20-30 about half-way up to Mag Bay timing wise for us. We knew we could get there, but also knew it would suck and then we would be stuck in Mag Bay for possibly 4-5 days minimum until another possible hole appeared. We pondered it for an hour and watched the sun warm up the day on the Baja desert landscape.

We finally made a decision. As much as we wanted to keep going, we weren't ready for another tough 2 night passage beating into most likely much bigger seas on this stretch and then being stuck in Mag Bay for a long time. So, after a final deliberation, we took option 2 to go hole up and wait for the next weather window. The new marina of San Jose del Cabo is 17 miles from Cabo San Lucas, much cheaper, less crazy, and a good fit. We turned back to the east and headed in while Nic went down below to finally get a couple of hours shut-eye.

In the lee of Baja, the wind was dead and the seas were small. I had already seen a big mahi jump and some other big fish on the surface that morning. With the Pacific Ocean and Sea of Cortez waters all meeting around this point and with massive underwater canyons below, this area is a renown big-game fishing spot. The little sport-fishing boats were out in force all around us doing what they do every day of the year. It was time to fish again.

I put 2 of our hand-lines out and gave my buddy, Billy, a ring in the US. We were having a good chat when within 10 minutes I looked back and saw a big splash and one of the bungees on my hand-line go tight. Fish on. Sorry Billy, gotta call you back, time to deal. I cut the engine and brought the other hand-line in. I could tell it was a big fish the way it was really pulling and going back and forth. I had to wake up Nic. She needed to be my gaff-girl. Sorry sleepyhead. She wasn't happy.

I fought the fish hand-over-hand for about 20 minutes. It was strong and I had to keep letting it run. In hindsight I should have drug it with the boat a little longer to tire it out. Oh well, it was more fun this way and I love the simplicity of a hand-line. It keeps me humble and connects me more with my primordial self. I need that sometimes.

I finally pulled it close to the side of the boat and a big pile of 200 lb. line at my feet. I saw it for the first time. A beautiful massive wahoo, maybe 5 feet long with girth. It was by far the largest wahoo I had ever seen in person. The water here is clear blue and the fish was gorgeous swimming beside the boat in it's liquid world. I pulled it a little closer and that was it for the fish, it dove deep and I had to let it run. With the slack in the line the wahoo finally threw the lure and was free. It deserved it's freedom and Nic cheered it on from the side. She always cheers for the fish.

Wahoo is my favorite fish. Wahoo on the bbq for dinner had me almost salivating, but this one was not meant to be. It was enough just to witness a big beauty that welcomed us back to the Baja. I smiled.

I caught two more skipjacks on the way in. Both of them small and I tossed them back. No other big pelagic graced us with it's presence.

We pulled into the marina and waited behind a sport fishing boat to fill its massive fuel tanks while some kids in dingy sailors tacked around DreamKeeper. We topped off our fuel and pulled into our slip, next to our friends on Magnum; our sheltered home for the next bit until a new weather window allows us to begin the real bash up the outside of Baja.