January 24th – Son David leaves at 10:00 for the airport and his flight home. We are on our own and out of the harbor within an hour. It is 45nm northeast up the coast to Bahia Los Frailes which will be our jump off point for the 160nm trek east across the Sea of Cortez to Mazatlan. 45nm equates to about a 6-hour trip with good winds or the engine running. Whether sail or motor, we will be anchoring at dusk or later. The First Mate is resigned, but just the thought of the day ahead makes her tired. While The Captain heads off to the marina office to check us out, she goes about getting the boat ready for departure. The windows and hatches are closed, drawers and doors are latched, and anything loose that could take flight in a contrary wave is stowed. Suntan lotion is applied. She turns off the shore power and disconnects the heavy electrical line between shore and boat. She inspects the boat to make sure all is set to go. She may not want to go, but since they are going, she is doing her part. The Captain returns somewhat frustrated that the office took so long to clear him out. He does what he needs to do, and then we are set to go. The First Mate backs the boat out of the slip and down the fairway. Miraculously, there is no gridlock of boats speeding up and down the main channel. We back into the channel, reverse, and head out to sea turning left or north to run up the Sea of Cortez. Eventually there is enough wind to raise sail, and we peacefully sail along for a few hours.
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The mountainous terrain of Baja is impressive even from the distance we prefer to stay offshore. Where the mountains do not come right down to the sea, long stretches of sandy beaches make their stand. One may question why we are heading north up the Sea of Cortez when our goal is east across this very same body of water. Actually, we are heading northeast toward Punta Los Frailes, a bulging outcrop of mountainous land that drops precipitously down to the coast. Below this point, sheltered from wind and waves, we will anchor in Bahia Los Frailes. Believe it or not, this northeast trek angles us 30 miles closer to Mazatlan, turning the passage into a one-nighter rather than two. Bulging points of land create the phenomena we have seen so often in places like Point Conception north of Santa Barbara: turbulent seas and funneling high winds. Winds are only supposed to be 15 – 20 today, and it’s so peaceful right now, one finds it hard to imagine turbulent seas. Again, I am wrong. As we sail along, I am gradually drawn out of my quiet thoughts by a lump, a bump and a roll. Looking up, I can see white caps frothing and forming in the distance. Winds have also begun to pick up. We soon are slicing into square waves with water coming over the bow.
The Captain goes below to get our life vests and comes up spitting mad. “I knew this was going to happen. Sooner or later, I knew you were going to do this!” he seethes. “Do what?” The poor First Mate has no idea what he is talking about except it is not good. “You left the two portlights (as in windows) wide open over our bed!” How did I do that? I remember conscientiously closing all windows and hatches. Didn’t I? How could I have neglected them? Yet I must have because they certainly cannot unlock themselves.
Owners’ Quarters before the bath. Note the two portlights (closed and locked) so strategically placed over the bed.
The reason The Captain just knew The First Mate was going to do “this” is that she is always and constantly opening portlights and hatches. She does this for several reasons. One: she cannot stand the stuffy feeling of a still, warm room. Fresh air is just that – fresh! Two: she is obsessed with airing out the boat whenever possible to avoid any odor of staleness. Cooking odors build up in a non-ventilated boat. When we first arrive in port, The First Mate immediately opens up windows and hatches to air out the boat. The Captain accuses her of being good at opening but terrible at closing them. One of the first tasks The Captain does in port is to wash the salt water off the boat. This task can occur an hour after arrival or it can be the next day. It matters not when The Captain takes hose in hand. He invariably misses at least one window or hatch that the First Mate has opened. Thus, he sprays water inside the boat and this frustrates him no end. His frustration is not that he forgot to check, but that The First Mate failed to close the window or hatch. Thus, it is her fault that water got sprayed in the cabin. The First Mate fails to follow this line of reasoning and just keeps opening up windows and hatches every chance she gets.
Right now, there is about 5 gallons of salty, sticky seawater in the owner’s cabin with most of it in our bed. I am angrily told to man the wheel and steer the course. Winds are hovering around 25 knots, not as advertised, and we are being tossed in all directions by this mad, confused sea. Bill goes below with our bright orange bucket and mops up gallons of water. (I guess I should have offered to take his place, but I knew bending down and working below in those conditions would only have had me adding to the mess in a way that would not be beneficial. I guess Bill knew that too or I am sure he would have launched the bucket at me and told me to go below and mop.) About half an hour later, he is back up on deck, still lividly mad.
Bill has mopped up what he could, but our bed is soaked. The mattress is critical. The rest of the bedding can be fixed by spending a day at the lavandería, but the mattress? What if it is full of saltwater? It is custom built to the unique shape of the boat with a curving tapered shape and one slanted side. Bill and I have a disagreement about whether or not we could get a suitable replacement made in Mexico. I suspect the mattress is fine, but just cannot go down there to check right then in these seas. What The Captain has forgotten is that this is not the first time seawater has come in these windows. It happened when Avante (then called Maitri) was sailed from Hawaii to San Diego. When I found out about that mishap and looked at the location of those windows, I went out and bought a waterproof cover for the mattress. Made by BeautyRest, it is a non-crinkly almost fabric-like cover that is waterproof.
The Captain is mad. The First Mate is mad. She did not want to be out here in the first place, and the miserable conditions just confirm her thoughts. Why do we always have to be in such a hurry? Why are we always covering miles and miles with so little time? When are we going to cruise? Why is it that when we do stop for more than one night or even drop anchor for lunch somewhere, it is done more to appease The First Mate rather than because we want to just because we feel like it? The First Mate decides she is going to have to come up with some kind of formula or clear definition of what she thinks “cruising” is. Maybe if The Captain has a formula with which to work, he will be able to create a schedule that will satisfy both of our definitions of cruising. There must be some kind of compromise out there.
We finally motor into Bahia Los Frailes. Wind and waves calm now that we are in the shelter of the point. We drop anchor in the fading twilight, and the First Mate goes below to inspect the damage. It is a wet mess, but when The First Mate pulls up the bedspread, the sheets and the mattress pad, she finds that her trusty waterproof cover has done its job. The mattress is mostly dry. There is wetness along the lower edges where water collected in the box that forms the frame of the bed. The rug on the floor is wet, but the desktop (where The First Mate’s computer resides) is relatively dry. The books in the shelf above the bed are dry, but walls and floors all need a complete wash down to get rid of that salty water. The First Mate strips the bed of its wet coverings. Our pillows acted like sponges and are heavy with water. Thankfully, I had put the bolster pillows in plastic bags so only the outer coverings are wet. The rugs in both the bedroom and head are gathered up. Then she is told to go about dinner (panko-crusted tuna, rice and salad) while The Captain (dear Captain) goes about washing and drying. The generator is turned on so the heaters can be run full blast. The mattress is laid across the dining room table to expose the edges to the heat. Every surface in the Owner’s Cabin is wet, but it is now a clean water-and-Murphy’s Oil Soap-wet rather than a sticky salty wet. The Captain ties the sheets and bedspread to the mainsheet halyard and hauls the load up the mast to dry in the breeze. There I am, in effigy, swinging from the yardarm again! Too dark for a photo, but the mental image is enough.
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We have dinner in the sauna we have turned the boat into and head to bed in one of the aft cabins. We are exhausted and still not too happy with each other – but The First Mate knows that will pass. Almost 39 years of living with the man has taught her that! Meanwhile she has to come up with a formula for cruising! Arriving at an anchorage after sunset, then having to clean up a wet boat does not fit either of our images of what cruising is, but she has a 160nm ahead of her to devise a plan. This will occupy her while standing those watches. There must be a way to create a cruising schedule that will satisfy both The Captain and The First Mate and keep the good ship Avante happily afloat.
Note: If you missed the first hanging in effigy of The First Mate and are wondering what in heaven’s name she is talking about, please go to “In Which The First Mate is Hung in Effigy”, Tuesday, July 8, 2008. The explanation will be evident.
Right now, there is about 5 gallons of salty, sticky seawater in the owner’s cabin with most of it in our bed. I am angrily told to man the wheel and steer the course. Winds are hovering around 25 knots, not as advertised, and we are being tossed in all directions by this mad, confused sea. Bill goes below with our bright orange bucket and mops up gallons of water. (I guess I should have offered to take his place, but I knew bending down and working below in those conditions would only have had me adding to the mess in a way that would not be beneficial. I guess Bill knew that too or I am sure he would have launched the bucket at me and told me to go below and mop.) About half an hour later, he is back up on deck, still lividly mad.
Bill has mopped up what he could, but our bed is soaked. The mattress is critical. The rest of the bedding can be fixed by spending a day at the lavandería, but the mattress? What if it is full of saltwater? It is custom built to the unique shape of the boat with a curving tapered shape and one slanted side. Bill and I have a disagreement about whether or not we could get a suitable replacement made in Mexico. I suspect the mattress is fine, but just cannot go down there to check right then in these seas. What The Captain has forgotten is that this is not the first time seawater has come in these windows. It happened when Avante (then called Maitri) was sailed from Hawaii to San Diego. When I found out about that mishap and looked at the location of those windows, I went out and bought a waterproof cover for the mattress. Made by BeautyRest, it is a non-crinkly almost fabric-like cover that is waterproof.
The Captain is mad. The First Mate is mad. She did not want to be out here in the first place, and the miserable conditions just confirm her thoughts. Why do we always have to be in such a hurry? Why are we always covering miles and miles with so little time? When are we going to cruise? Why is it that when we do stop for more than one night or even drop anchor for lunch somewhere, it is done more to appease The First Mate rather than because we want to just because we feel like it? The First Mate decides she is going to have to come up with some kind of formula or clear definition of what she thinks “cruising” is. Maybe if The Captain has a formula with which to work, he will be able to create a schedule that will satisfy both of our definitions of cruising. There must be some kind of compromise out there.
We finally motor into Bahia Los Frailes. Wind and waves calm now that we are in the shelter of the point. We drop anchor in the fading twilight, and the First Mate goes below to inspect the damage. It is a wet mess, but when The First Mate pulls up the bedspread, the sheets and the mattress pad, she finds that her trusty waterproof cover has done its job. The mattress is mostly dry. There is wetness along the lower edges where water collected in the box that forms the frame of the bed. The rug on the floor is wet, but the desktop (where The First Mate’s computer resides) is relatively dry. The books in the shelf above the bed are dry, but walls and floors all need a complete wash down to get rid of that salty water. The First Mate strips the bed of its wet coverings. Our pillows acted like sponges and are heavy with water. Thankfully, I had put the bolster pillows in plastic bags so only the outer coverings are wet. The rugs in both the bedroom and head are gathered up. Then she is told to go about dinner (panko-crusted tuna, rice and salad) while The Captain (dear Captain) goes about washing and drying. The generator is turned on so the heaters can be run full blast. The mattress is laid across the dining room table to expose the edges to the heat. Every surface in the Owner’s Cabin is wet, but it is now a clean water-and-Murphy’s Oil Soap-wet rather than a sticky salty wet. The Captain ties the sheets and bedspread to the mainsheet halyard and hauls the load up the mast to dry in the breeze. There I am, in effigy, swinging from the yardarm again! Too dark for a photo, but the mental image is enough.
.jpg)
We have dinner in the sauna we have turned the boat into and head to bed in one of the aft cabins. We are exhausted and still not too happy with each other – but The First Mate knows that will pass. Almost 39 years of living with the man has taught her that! Meanwhile she has to come up with a formula for cruising! Arriving at an anchorage after sunset, then having to clean up a wet boat does not fit either of our images of what cruising is, but she has a 160nm ahead of her to devise a plan. This will occupy her while standing those watches. There must be a way to create a cruising schedule that will satisfy both The Captain and The First Mate and keep the good ship Avante happily afloat.
Note: If you missed the first hanging in effigy of The First Mate and are wondering what in heaven’s name she is talking about, please go to “In Which The First Mate is Hung in Effigy”, Tuesday, July 8, 2008. The explanation will be evident.
1 comment:
Formulas for cruising:
1. Outnumber the captain with female friends (power in numbers)
2. Become a lousy cook
3. Reward leisure time with kisses
4. Prescribe sedatives
The choice is yours but you may have to do all of the above!
Wish I was there...I really enjoy your blog!
Much love,
Bliss
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