Do Not Believe Everything You Read

The “Mexican Boating Guide”, a comprehensive nautical guide to the waters of Mexico, gives forth the following words of wisdom:

“The Coromuel wind is unique to La Paz. It is usually a gentle breeze that begins from the S around sunset and dies at sunrise or mid morning, relieving the heat and humidity.”

From The First Mate’s notes: Don’t believe everything you read!

Tuesday, April 7th - Our Savor Day in Playa La Bonanza was much enjoyed. The only minor negative was the filet from the large Mexican Tunny we had caught the previous day. (At last, we now have properly identified it and can give it a name.) The First Mate cooked it for lunch, and as we both suspected, its dark red meat had a heavy, gamey taste that, politely stated, was not to our liking. The remainder went over the side. Silently, The First Mate asked King Neptune his forgiveness for having killed and then not appreciated one of his offerings to us, but, no matter what King Neptune might think, we have decided to return to the sea any more such fish we catch. Dorados are another matter. For the Dorado we caught on the way into Bonanza, The First Mate thanked King Neptune profusely.

Wednesday, April 8th – We arrive in La Paz in the late morning, timed to catch the rising tide. The harbor of La Paz is a big, wide-open bay, deceivingly riddled with sand bars and shoals. To get to the anchorages and marinas on the city side of the bay, one has to navigate the narrow Canal de la Paz which is said to be dredged to a least depth of 12’. Wander off this channel, and you will be embarrassingly stuck in a muddy shoal out in the wide open for the whole La Paz viewing public to see. Fortunately, the channel is well buoyed. We enter slowly, watching the depth meter. At a particularly narrow section, it drops to 12’, but not much under that. Arriving at the entrance jetty of Marina Palmira Yacht Club, where we have a confirmed berth, we enter. Here, too, we watch that depth meter, slowed to a crawl and prepared to go into a quick reverse when depths show 10’ in one section. Marina attendants await us at our slip. The First Mate turns Avante around and backs into the berth, earning Avante a compliment from the captain of a neighboring boat. “She sure backs down nicely.” Yes, she does!

Del and Dave Rowley, friends from Scottsdale, will arrive in town later today, driving up from Cabo San Lucas with a rental car. We will, therefore, have a car in La Paz. How delightful! As with all our boat guests, we had asked them to make hotel reservations for their first night just in case we are delayed for some reason. The Captain and The First Mate spend the afternoon giving Avante a much needed fresh-water wash down and cleaning. Then we give ourselves a much needed fresh-water wash down. Laundry is done by a woman who comes to the boat to pick it up and then returns it 2 hours later, neatly sorted and folded. “What a nice service”, thinks The First Mate and wishes someone would always show up at the boat every time they pulled into a marina with an offer to do laundry.

At 6:00pm, we take the marina shuttle into town and are dropped off one block from “Casa Tuscany”, the Rowley’s cute Bed and Breakfast inn. We walk to “Las Tres Vírgenes”, a restaurant recommended by the owners of the inn. There we sit in an outdoor courtyard and watch our food being cooked either in a wood-burning oven, something The First Mate has been trying to talk The Captain into building for her out on the ranch, or over a grill in an outdoor fireplace, another culinary preparation she has been meaning to try in the fireplace on the ranch’s porch. What a delicious meal we enjoy sitting under the stars with conversation tinged by the excitement of the trip ahead!

We spend the next day provisioning. Though the list is not a long one, provisioning in a new port-of-call is always a challenge. Can you find what you want? If not, can you do without or will something else substitute? What is this strange looking vegetable? How does one cook it? Well, I’ll just take it home to Avante and see what the cookbooks say! If a local Mercado is near and open, The First Mate will go there first, for that is where the freshest produce can be found, as well as the best prices. Most often the Mercado is inside a huge open building with various vendors setting up shop in individual stalls. Produce spills out in tempting displays.

If you arrive at the Mercado hungry, there are vendors of food and delicious fruit drink concoctions to fill that need. The Mercado is a place full of life, color and local flavor.

Our shopping trip takes us first to the local Mercado for fresh produce and then to 2 larger supermarkets for the non-perishable items. Even with the rental car to get us where we need to go quickly, it takes the better part of the day to locate and purchase everything we need or want. With the provisioning done, on the boat and stored, we are ready to leave the next morning. That night we dine at “Las Tres Vírgenes” again – no sense wasting a good find!

The Rowleys are enthusiastic people and have done a good many adventurous activities, but they have never spent a full 24 hours on a small sailboat. They have listened to our explorations on Avante and have been reading this blog. Noting that we have always returned from wherever we went and being trusting souls and good friends – they decide to take us up on our invitation to join the adventuring. They have signed on for six days in a very popular cruising area around the islands north of La Paz, and we all think that is a fair experiment for their first time cruising on a sailboat.

Friday, April 10th – Del and Dave arrive at the dock, stow their gear, and receive The Captain’s safety briefing. The importance of water conservation on a boat at sea is discussed. Proper head usage techniques are explained, prompting some trepidation on Del’s part and laughter from all of us. We do have a somewhat complicated system for the aft head. Both heads on Avante are vacuum flush units which mean one only needs to step on a pedal to flush -- a great improvement over the traditional marine head with its hand-pump system. The aft head, in addition to being a vacuum flush, also has a Lectra/san unit, a system that combines electric current with salt water to “fry” waste and sanitize the stuff coming out of the boat. When using the “fryer”, one needs to step on the flush pedal, wait 3 seconds, then push a button on the “fryer” control making sure the correct little light goes on. In addition, prior to flushing, one needs to verify that a valve has been turned in the right direction depending upon whether we are at sea or at anchor or in dock. It really is not complicated unless one is totally new to the system. We have discovered that some of our guests understand the procedure right from the start, some take a time or two to figure it out, and some never quite get it. Del and Dave fall happily into the first two categories.

Feeling that enough information has been dispensed for the moment, we set off to explore the Sea of Cortez. Our intended anchorage is one of the coves on the northwestern end of the Isla Espiritu Santo or Isla Partida, about 20nm away. Winds are light, but we are able to sail for a few hours.

We anchor in Ensenada el Cardonal, one of several popular anchorages on Isla Partida and head ashore to follow a trail through a canyon. The trail borders a mangrove marsh and leads to the other side of the island.

It is said that cruising the Sea of Cortez is like “sailing in the desert”. As we walk across the crumbled volcanic soil of the island, we have no doubt of that. It is dry and hot as we hike inland from the water. Cactus and other prickly plants are abundant and similar, though often just a bit different from the ones we know from Arizona. The Saguaro of Arizona does not grow at sea level. Instead, there is the Cardon which looks very much the same.

Back on Avante, we set about making dinner and afterwards enjoy sitting on deck before the evening chill caused by a freshening breeze drives us below.

We soon become aware that breeze has become wind, and the wind is building. The boat, too, has begun rocking and rolling with the increased wave action caused by the wind. At 2145 (Captain’s log), as we are all thinking about settling in for the night, a big wind gust howls down the bay we are anchored in, slams against the boat and then continues across the island funneling through that canyon we had hiked. The Captain goes above to check out how Avante is sitting. As he is monitoring the scene, the anchor alarm goes off indicating that our position has altered, either due to a change in wind direction or because the anchor is dragging.

Earlier when we were anchoring, The Captain was talked into a shallower anchorage than he normally would have chosen by The First Mate, who wanted the more picturesque setting of being nestled in closer to shore for the Rowleys’ first night on Avante. The bay shallows out a long way from the shore, and we appeared to still be only part way into the bay when The Captain started to anchor at 25’ of depth. Reluctantly, he acquiesced and moved in closer to shore to a depth of 15’. At anchoring time, winds and seas were quiet, and an expected full moon would cut the darkness of the night if anything did happen. Now, the strong wind and building seas, coming straight down the bay, threaten to push us toward shore, and we do not have a lot of distance before our 9’ keel would hit bottom. When winds are heavy, (and when anchored further out) we normally let out more anchor chain, but now we have no room to do that. We have no choice. We have to move the boat and re-anchor in the howling wind, the bouncy seas and the dark (full moon or not, it’s dark). Quickly all hands scramble on deck. The engine is started. The Captain starts pulling up the anchor. At the helm, The First Mate sees 12’ on the depth meter. Even though the anchor is still being raised and not back on the boat, she engages the engine to keep Avante from sliding back further into the shallows. We head out into the middle of the bay to re-anchor. We are not successful the first time. When we back down hard on the anchor to ensure that it is well set, the anchor begins dragging in the soft bottom. Up comes the anchor, and we motor to another location to try again. This time the bottom is firmer, and the anchor bites in and holds. We all let out a sigh of relief while The Captain lets out some more anchor chain for extra security. This exercise was not fun. The First Mate decides that never again will she push for a closer to shore anchoring location. At the same time, she wonders if Del and Dave are wondering if this cruising was such a good idea after all!

Though we are safely anchored, it is not comfortable. Winds are strong and the boat is rocking and rolling on the choppy seas. The anchor alarm is set and explained, and with that reassurance, we all head for our berths. For the rest of the night, the winds continue to blow. Sometime after midnight, they drop to about 15 to 20 knots, and The Captain and First Mate hope things will start to settle down, but an hour later, they are back up to 25+ knots. These are the nighttime Coromuels, the “gentle breezes unique to the La Paz” area”. The Captain and The First Mate sleep lightly and watchfully. Even with that anchor alarm, we keep an eye on things. Nights like this do not happen often, but we have learned to keep alert and ready to take action if necessary. Del and Dave endure an interesting first night on Avante. They did not know a boat could make so much noise or bounce and roll from side to side so much or how difficult it was to uncurl oneself and climb out of an unstable aft berth in the middle of the night. To our relief, they show up in the morning laughing and eager to start the day. Cappuccinos and breakfast are served.

Morning light came with lower winds, but they are still well into the teens. The churned-up seas have Avante rocking from side to side. No one would have called the winds of last night “gentle” or this anchorage restful. To The First Mate, the blow created by these Coromuels was totally unexpected, and she wonders just what she missed in her reading of the cruising guidebooks. She does not remember reading anything noteworthy about these winds other than that they occur occasionally during the spring and summer and are found in the La Paz area. She gathers together the three Mexican cruising books they have aboard Avante to re-read. According to “Sea of Cortez”, one of the cruisers’ guides, “the cause of these winds results from the low land southwest of La Paz, which allows the cool air from the Pacific Ocean to flow across the Baja peninsula to the warmer Sea of Cortez”. These winds, therefore, blow from the south or southwest, but why be concerned about an occasional “gentle breeze” that helps cool things down? Reading further, she does find one mention that they can sometimes cause navigation problems. “Navigation problems” is not explained, but whatever they are they are not caused by a “gentle breeze”. A further hint shows up as she looks at the descriptions of the anchorages around the greater La Paz area. All guides talk about the wind protection of any anchoring spot, but one guide specifically mentions Coromuel protection as in “bay is open to the west and southwest, therefore there is no protection from night time Coromuels”. The First Mate quickly realizes that she let herself be duped by thoughts of “gentle breezes” and did not then pay attention to other clues that tell a different story about Coromuels. A bit miffed, she decides that if she were writing one of these guidebooks, she would not mince words ----

“Beware and be warned. These may be gentle breezes in La Paz, but out on the islands, they are heavy-duty winds that can dislodge well-set anchors and cause extremely uncomfortable seas. They start in the late afternoon to early evening. They howl all night. No need to ponder a peaceful night’s sleep. It will not happen. They don’t just arrive, swirl around nicely and peter out. No, they are looking for an outlet. Any bay or cove facing west is a target. Pick such a cove, especially one with a canyon or low-lying area at the end of it, and you have my pity. The Coromuel has now found an outlet. It will whistle into your bay, significantly increasing in intensity as it funnels in and thru the narrow walls of the canyon. You have effectively anchored in a wind tunnel. Not the best of decisions, but a hard one to avoid on the islands north of La Paz where 90% of all recommended anchorages are exposed to the west and vulnerable to the nighttime Coromuels. Good luck, or, as they say down here, ‘Ve con Dios’.”

All aboard Avante are eager to be on the move rather than rolling around at anchor. We motor out of the bay, then raise sails and enjoy a brisk sail over to Isla San Francisco. The Captain, anticipating another round of nighttime winds, chooses to anchor in an east-facing cove that looks like it should offer more shelter from anticipated Coromuels. The Dingbat is launched, and with beach towels and books in hand, we hike across a dry lake to a cove on the west side of the island. There an expanse of white beach beckons.

The Captain relaxed – at last! Warm sand, great book and a nap.

The big question for tonight is The Coromuels. Will they arrive? When will they arrive? How strong will they be: gentle breezes or howling tempests? Not wanting to keep us guessing, they are up by the time we return to The Dingbat. Wind-churned seas are up, too. Thus, an interesting time is had by all as we launch into the rolling surf. First one on gets to haul the next one on. It’s a comic scene (which most boat launchings are down here), but we are all on and afloat. Engine starts. Great! Off we go. Bashing thru the waves back to Avante proves to be a cold, wet experience, especially for the gals sitting in the bow of The Dingbat.

The Captain’s choice of anchorage is a good one. We are protected by the high ridge in front of us, Therefore, Avante is not rocking and rolling quite as much – though it is anything but a quiet anchorage with plenty of noise caused by waves slapping the sides of the boat, things creaking, and taut lines vibrating. Again, Del and Dave show up in the morning smiling, laughing and cheerful. Dave announces that he has figured out which side of the berth is best for him to sleep on and how to uncurl his 6’+ body out of the bunk without having to wake Del so she can get up and out of the way first. His cleverness and resourcefulness are praised. Both such attributes go into the making of a good sailor.

Sunday, April 12th – Easter morning. We are all up early enjoying a moon still visible and not yet dimmed by the rising sun. We watch the sunrise, admiring the colors in the rocks as they sharpen in the growing light.

There is an interesting ridgeline hike at the end of the bay which we decide to do before breakfast.

Armed with water bottles and hiking shoes, we set off in The Dingbat.

We scramble up a narrow trail of loose and crumbling volcanic rock. It is slow going, but we are all determined to get to the top.

The view of Avante in the bay below is impressive.

Note the well turned-out Avante “crew” standing atop the ridge with The First Mate. Light Blue “Avante” shirts and “Avante dark blue caps. No doubt about the capable hands keeping her afloat!

The trail becomes much easier when we reach the ridgeline.

Our reward for the effort is a fantastic view of the east and west bays separated by a narrow isthmus of salty sand.

The First Mate is impressed that a bush can find enough moisture on this dry, wind-blown height to put forth this bright red flower.

Back on Avante, we treat ourselves to Clamdiggers and a robust breakfast of egg and sausage burritos. Later in the afternoon, we pull anchor to head over to the opposite bay or the Hook, as it is called, on Isla San Francisco. The Captain has been monitoring wind reports, and it looks like this anchorage will work for tonight – plus it is prettier. Winds are up to 15 – 20 knots as we motor around the point to the western bay. This is great sailing weather, but with only a couple of miles to go to get around the point, we decide to just motor. It is still blowing when we anchor, but eventually winds diminish enough so that we enjoy a much calmer night. Maybe, just maybe, our bout with the Coromuels is past. Del and Dave are up with laughter and smiles in the morning. Yes – these two are turning into good sailors!

Monday, April 13th - Laguna Amortajada (Shrouded Lagoon), the largest mangrove lagoon on an island in the Sea of Cortez, is located near the southern tip of Isla San Jose. Though anchoring in the shallow waters with shifting sand bars is tricky, we read that the dinghy trip thru the lagoon with all its interesting wild life is worth the effort. We decide to motor over to this island and anchor for a couple of hours while we launch the dingy and explore. The weather is calm as we set off. In about an hour, we are entering the bay of the lagoon. The turquoise water extending out from the shore clearly shows where the shallow waters are. We enter slowly, circling around our anchoring spot to verify depth. We drop the anchor and slowly back down on it. It catches, holds and then releases, slipping thru the muck before finally catching again and holding securely. Unfortunately, this now puts us too close to the shallow edges where Avante might be pulled if wind or current change direction. We lift the anchor and move further out to try again. However, the water gets deep quickly and we are now trying to anchor in 50 to 60 feet. Three times we try with growing frustration. Each time, the anchor just will not catch and hold. While we are intent on this anchoring exercise, we are mindful of a rising wind. After the fourth attempt, a serious look at the winds, which were now up to 18k, tells us that good anchor set or not, there is too much wind and too much shallow water nearby for us to be able to leave Avante unattended and go venturing forth in the dinghy.

Disappointed, we head across to San Evaristo, a sleepy little fishing village, where we plan to anchor for the night, consoling ourselves with thoughts of the fresh fish we are going to buy from the local fishermen. The bay of San Evaristo contains 2 lobes. We would like to anchor in the smaller, more picturesque one. Though there are several boats already at anchor, we do see a spot for Avante near the entrance to the cove. We head in and drop the anchor in 60 feet of water. It sets nicely, but as we sit watching Avante swing in relation to the other boats around us, we realize that either a strange current or wind pattern caused by the curvature of the steep rock walls of the bay has us swinging too close to another boat. It would be fine if that boat were swinging away from us as we were swinging toward it. This is what usually happens at anchor, but not here. All the boats appear to be moving in different directions – all in response to either that wind or current which we cannot see or feel. Whatever is at work, this will not do. Up comes the anchor again. We certainly are paying anchor dues today! We head into the larger lobe of the bay directly in front of the town’s beach. Our first attempt to anchor here is stymied by the anchor skipping over rocks, but finally we have a good set. Triumphantly, The Captain gives it a thumbs up approval. Shut the engine. Let’s launch The Dingbat and go buy our fish!

On shore with a successful dinghy landing, we are greeted by a parade of pelicans.

We find the person selling fish and chose a healthy looking Sea Bass. The Captain is happy to have someone else cut up the fish. We are all impressed by this man’s skill with his knife! Took no time at all to cut, skin and de-bone our filets with that instrument.

Just to make sure that we do get lulled into complacency, the Coromuels come whistling in later in the evening. San Evaristo is located on the Baja coast and with the dramatic Sierra de la Giganta mountain range rising above the beach, the bay is one of the few anchorages around here that does offer some shelter from these winds. Gusts are well up into the teens, but as they are blowing out to sea, they are not as threatening nor do they seem to have quiet the same punch. Sheltered or not, punch or not, it is still a rocky night. At one point, both The Captain and The First Mate go up on deck to check things out. This is part of our normal nighttime routine. Get up, hit the head, check out the boat. Del, whose aft berth is near the cockpit stairs, hears noises on deck. Peeking out her portal, which looks into the cockpit, she sees feet. Whose feet? Where did they come from? Feeling sure we have been boarded by pirates, she stealthily gets up without waking David, locks their door and creeps back into bed. A lot of help she would have been if there had really been pirates! Next time we’ll give her the foghorn whose blast is enough to wake the dead. She can blast that from inside her locked stateroom. We all get a good laugh out of that story because, mainly, we know there are not any pirates off the Baja coast. The First Mate decides that for Crewman Del, after surviving these wild nights at sea with an occasional loose anchor, what are a few pirates? Bill and Sue can handle the boat; they can handle the pirates, too! The First Mate appreciates the confidence, but thinks that she might have locked her door, too, if she had heard pirates stomping around above her head!

Tuesday, April 14th – Today we begin the return trip to La Paz. Plans are to sail south to Caleta Partida, the bay between the two islands of Espirito Santo and Isla Partida. We are not particularly excited about another night at these islands, but the distance to an alternative anchorage would mean a marathon day. We motor out at 8:30 in light 5 knot winds, have breakfast on deck and by 9:45 are able to raise sail in a brisk 15 -18 knots. We tack past Isla San Francisco where we hiked the ridgeline trail several days earlier. Later that afternoon in lessening winds, The Captain decides to give his crew some lessons in tacking. The First Mate enjoys watching Del and Dave go thru the same trials and tribulations that she endured not so very long ago. Which way does the winch turn? Which way does the rope (no, halyard or is it sheet?) go around the winch? When do I let go? Which button to push? When? What do I do now? And above all, keep your hands clear! The crew is quick to learn, and we soon graduate from a 3-knot tack to an 8-knot tack as the wind picks up again.

With the increase in wind, The Captain adds a lesson in helmsmenship. Dave steps to the helm and quickly catches on to the affect of wind on sails and the reading of the various instruments.

Realizing Dave has got it, The Captain leaves the helm, and Dave is on his own up there.

By 4:00, we are at the entrance to Caleta Partido. By 4:20, we are anchored in the southeast section of this western facing bay based on the advice in one of our guidebooks that “some boats choose to anchor in the southeast portion of the cove to help lessen the Coromuel wind effects.” It was relatively calm outside the bay, and we are hopeful. The calm conditions outside do follow us in, but they don’t last long. The Coromuels are arriving! Our plans to launch the dinghy to explore ashore are stymied by the mounting winds. White caps now surround us, temperatures have dropped, and no one is interested in a bouncy, wet dinghy ride.

It is our last night together aboard Avante, and the Coromuels give us their best. They howl all night from the west, barreling into our bay then crossing the low land at the head of the bay and blowing out into the Sea of Cortez. We regularly see 25 – 30 knots with an occasional 35-knot gust. It is going to be another wild, rough night. Anchor alarm is on. Wind velocity meter is on by the owners’ berth for us to monitor. We are ready for the night.

The Coromuels continue at full blast for the entire night. At 1035 in the morning, as we raise anchor and motor out, the wind in the anchorage is still at 15 – 20 knots. When we exit the enclosing walls of the bay, winds begin to drop. By the time we are out of the bay, winds are down to a benign 10 knots. As we sail down the west coast of Isla Espiritu Santo, we take a good look at the island and fully understand the how and why to these Coromuels out on Espiritu Santo and Isla Partida. Both of these islands are steep and mountainous, and these mountains block the Coromuel winds from blowing across the Bahia de La Paz to the Sea of Cortez. They do, however, have a number of canyons cutting deeply across from one coast to the other. That is where the winds will go. Each of these canyons, with their narrowing walls, compresses and accelerates the wind causing the Coromuels to howl thru any bay and anchorage at its base. Mother Nature’s natural wind tunnel at work! Where are all the lovely anchorages that the guidebooks recommend? In those same bays and coves leading into the canyons. What the guidebooks do not say is “Beware the winds during Coromuel season.” When is Coromuel season? Spring and Summer. The Captain and First Mate have learned by first hand experience and will be prepared if they do return up here again. The First Mate, who has finally begun to think of herself as a sailor, wonders what it would be like if the Coromuels blew out here during the day, all day! What would a full day of constant, steady high wind be like? When, where does that happen? On the way to the Marquesas? Hmm-m-m-m?

We are able to sail most of the way to La Paz, though we do spend the last hour motorsailing in winds around 5 knots. (Never saw 5 knots last night!) We motor down the channel to the marina. Marina hands are once again there to help with the lines.

The next day we all take a private tour of the city. The First Mate is eager to see the museum which is supposed to have well-done and informative exhibits of the early inhabitants of the peninsula and of the cave paintings found up in the Sierra de la Gigantas. She has been fascinated by descriptions of them in her reading of “Almost an Island” by Bruce Berger. She would like to see these paintings for real, but the ones she wants to see require a multi-day mule or donkey ride to get to them. It is supposed to be a beautiful, magnificent trip into the mountains, but 3 days on a mule? Would The Captain consent to that? Before she gives him a chance to say no, more research is needed. This she will do back in Telluride this summer.

Our last evening with Del and Dave is spent at Las Tres Vírgenes over another excellent dinner. We talk over the highlights of 6 days at sea, and we are delighted to hear both of our new crew saying they are eager to return for further adventuring aboard the sailing vessel Avante – just perhaps not during Coromuel season.

The Captain Goes For A Swim

The Southern Crossing has been crossed. La Paz, however, is our end destination where we will restock perishables and pick up boat guests who will join us on our initial exploration of the Sea of Cortez. Our next stop on the way to La Paz is Playa La Bonanza on the east side of Isla Espiritu Santo. A tricky channel lies ahead of us where winds, waves, tides and currents can all work havoc. The First Mate has become quite used to these scenarios by now. We leave in the early morning hours as we have over 50 miles ahead of us. At 7:55am (Captain’s log), The Captain goes forward to raise the anchor.

As we motor out of the anchorage and round the headland of Los Muertos, we marvel at the size of a house under construction on the point. Thus far it is the biggest house we have seen from Cabo San Lucas all the way down to Manzanillo. We wonder what it must take to import materials and labor to build such a complex house out in the middle of nowhere. However, one cannot question the view!

We raise sails in the lee of the headland. Winds are often very light at this hour, but not this morning. They are already up to 18 knots. The Captain puts in the first reef. The fishing line is put out next. We sail around the point, and at the entrance to the channel, we encounter winds running between 15 – 22 knots with choppy seas at 3 – 5 feet. As usual, the wind is from the opposite direction we need to go. We are in for a ride. The First Mate suggests that maybe this would not be a good time to have a fish on the line, and just as The Captain steps up to reel in the line … Zing! A fish has bit the lure. The usual practice when under sail and a fish is on the line is to turn close to the wind, luffing the sails to slow down the boat. This puts less drag on line and fish which makes it somewhat easier for the one reeling in the line. Once closer to the wind, the jib is furled to keep it from flapping madly, and the motor is turned on to help the one at the helm hold the boat into the wind. This time with the high winds and high bouncing seas, The First Mate finds that she cannot maintain an angle as close to the wind as they would like because the heavy seas are causing the boom to swing wildly back and forth. That’s not a good thing to do if it can at all be helped. There is no way she can do anything about furling the jib because her hands are full with managing the helm. There is just too much wind and too much wave action to enable her to slow the boat down to 1 knot or less of forward speed The Captain would like when he's reeling in a fish. With mainsail let out, she does manage to slow the speed considerably, but there is still a lot of drag and a lot of work for The Captain out on the line. The fish is strong, and it’s a fighter. The Captain has his hands full reeling in the fish. When it's close to the boat, he climbs down to the narrow rear platform and gaffs it in the bouncy seas and hauls it aboard. It appears to be a Mexican bonito, the same type of fish that we caught when leaving Isla Isabella, but about twice as big. It takes 50 minutes to reel that fish in, rough clean it and wash down the aft end of the boat, and all the while, we were making no headway bouncing around at the entrance of the channel where the worst winds and seas are. The First Mate is beginning to rethink her enthusiasm for this fishing activity, especially when The Captain hands her fresh-cut fillets of very red meat. Our prior experience with fish meat this red has not been good.

With the wind on our nose, we continue to tack up this channel. At noon, we are only half way up the channel. Winds have begun to die a little down to 15 – 18 knots. By 3:00, we still have 18 nm to go to get to our anchorage. Winds have really declined, and our boat speed is now only 3-4 knots. The Captain decides to put on the engine, or we will never get to anchor in daylight. As we motor sail along, he also puts out the fishing line. The First Mate thinks that somehow she has managed to create a monster! The Captain is determined to fish. Dorado and Tuna are on his dream list.

1645 (Captain’s log) Zing! Another bite. The Captain dives to the line. The First Mate scrambles to the helm. This time all she has to do is put the engine in neutral and then maintain just enough forward motion so the fishing line doesn’t get sideways to the boat. The seas, however, are still running high from the morning’s wind. So even though the forward motion is slow, the up and down and sideways wave activity is chaotic. Gradually and keeping an eye on the direction of the fish on the line, The First Mate turns the boat into the waves so that at least all we’re doing is going up and down and not rocking sideways too. This fish is a big one and when it jumps out of the water, The Captain lets out a cheer of delight. It is a beautiful bull Dorado with brilliant blue, green and yellow colors flashing. After he finally gets it up to the boat, he calculates that it is too heavy for The First Mate to hold the pole and line while he gaffs the fish. Besides, he needs The First Mate to keep the boat pointed into the waves. He is going to step out on the wet sugar scoop (the narrow step on the aft end of the boat) and do it all. Hold the line, pull in the fish, gaff it and heave it onto the boat. The First Mate is concentrating on handling the boat when suddenly there is a splash and commotion behind her that sounds like more than fish. Looking behind, there is no Captain. Looking down, The Captain is in the water. One hand has the line and the other is grasping wildly for the edge of the boat. The narrow step he had been standing on sunk out from under him as a wave caught the boat. With the fishing line in one hand and the gaff in the other, he had no way of hanging onto the boat. For a brief surprised second, he was suspended in air before gravity had its way, and he plummeted into the ocean. With no forward speed, The First Mate quickly realizes that he is not about to be left in our wake and that she does not have to start any kind of drastic man-over-board activities. She reaches down to grab his hand, but he yells up to lower the ladder instead. Ladder down, the dripping Captain climbs aboard, and to his amazed delight, finds that the fish is still on the line! He continues to ease the fish toward the boat, but with one last jump and lurch, the lure breaks free. What a disappointment! What a beauty got away!

Out goes the line again, zing, another Dorado. This one also manages to spit the lure as we get it close to the boat. Oh, what defeat! 1730 (Captain’s log), a third Dorado bites. The Captain brings this fish in more slowly, trying to really tire it out prior to gaffing it and lifting it onto the boat. When The Captain reaches out with the gaff, The First Mate grabs the back of his shirt. The Captain commands her to let go so he can move easier. This she will not do. One man-over-board for the day is enough!

The Captain brings the fish aboard and, finally, he has a Dorado for the day. Not as big as that first one, but still a good one for two dinners. We continue on. Playa Bonanza is within sight.

By 7:00 we are anchored in a gorgeous bay with a 2-mile sweep of white beach. We are the only ones at anchor. It is all ours to savor. The peace and beauty help us forget how hard fought the day was against wind, waves and fish. Our tiredness eases as we sit outside on deck enjoying the evening and our very fresh Dorado dinner. The biggest bonus, which The First Mate neglected to mention, is that we are a day ahead of schedule. Tomorrow will be a true Savor Day here in this lovely bay. Ah, the cruiser’s life for me!

The "Southern Crossing"

The “Southern Crossing” … To The First Mate, the very name sounds romantic and exciting, but to The First Mate’s disappointment, there is no romantic connection to the words. She finds out that there is also a “Northern Crossing” and together the two are, in boaters’ parlance, a simple way to differentiate the major routes cruisers take to traverse the Sea of Cortez from one coast to the other. Romantic connection or not, the crossings are still significant, especially the Southern Crossing which can run anywhere from 150 to 260nm depending upon where one starts and where one intends to make landfall. “Don”, the 8:15am weatherman on single side band radio, always mentions the winds in this crossing. They can be nasty and coupled with a turbulent sea caused by the waters of the Pacific and those of the Sea of Cortez converging, the trip across can be an adventure to the unprepared.

We are on the mainland coming up from the south, from Puerto Vallarta to be exact. Our destination is La Paz, located toward the southern end of Baja. No matter how one cuts it, this is a long journey, about 430nm to be somewhat exact, and more than half of it is crossing the Sea of Cortez. Starting from the south and heading generally northwest, we will thus be making a “Southern Crossing”.

The First Mate does not claim to be an old hand at this, but she has done it once before. That was last January when we crossed from Los Cabos on the Baja side to Mazatlan on the mainland side. What she disliked about that crossing was not the winds, which were the usual mixed bag of good and bad. It was the heavy cross-wise rolling seas. She has discovered that she can run into heavy seas all day long with no ill effect, but don’t put her in mixed-up cross-wise seas. That “Southern Crossing” run was approximately 160nm, and for a good deal of that 160nm, she felt very unwell due to those cross-wise, lumpy, miserable seas. She was not so bad that she could not stand her watches, but she was bad enough that even the thought of cooking was out of the question. Thankfully, The Captain can fend for himself at such times, and fortunately, she is always prepared with easy to do meal alternatives. The Captain says that he always has a Plan B in mind when Plan A fails or alters. Well, so does The First Mate when it comes to what comes out or will come out of the galley.

With resigned acceptance, The First Mate faces another Southern Crossing. It is after all the only way we can get Avante to La Paz so we can begin our exploration of the Sea of Cortez. She, however, carefully keeps nurturing a wispy thread of optimism. The seas cannot always be up and running cross-wise, can they? Of the 430nm we have to cover, we have already done 114 of them with our arrival at Isla Isabela. Our intended anchor point on the Baja side is Ensenada de los Muertos, 250nm across the sea. This will entail a double overnighter for the sailing duo.

After our hike on Isla Isabela to see frigates and blue-footed boobies, we return to Avante. The Captain is eager to pull anchor and go, but The First Mate will hear none of that. It is hot, and if we are going to spend two nights at sea, she is going to start out with a clean body, refreshed from head to foot. She is going to take a quick swim, a shower and then we can go. He is not too happy with the delay, but seeing her so determined, he joins in the swim and shower. The promised meal after we are under way helps, too.

At 10:10am, Friday, April 3rd (Captain’s log), we lift anchor and depart. From The Captain’s initial reluctance to the delay imposed by showers, one would have thought that we were leaving in the late afternoon, but it was in the very early morning that we took the hike to see the birds. It is bright, sunny and still. We motor out of the bay, let out the fishing line, and … zing! We have a fish. The Captain reels in a nice small bonito. Within 45 minutes of lifting anchor, a freshly cooked bonito is served for lunch. The First Mate had promised a meal as soon as we were under way. It pays to listen to her sometimes! Here her Plan A for lunch (canned tuna) was happily changed to Plan B (sautéed fresh-caught bonito with sliced tomatoes and avocado).

Just as lunch is finished, that line zings out again. This time our first Dorado is reeled in. This fish is so pretty with its green and yellow coloring that The First Mate is saddened to see it dispatched, but it is going to make a great offshore dinner tonight. Dorado (also known as mahi mahi) is a highly sought after fish, and we have been eager to catch our first one. The First Mate happily heads to her cookbooks to decide how she is going to cook it for tonight.

In the early afternoon, winds pick up to 10 knots from the west. We are able to raise sail and tack northwest for several hours. As we sail deeper into the sea and further from land, the seas become more and more lumpy and confused. “Yuck,” thinks The First Mate. Grapping a ginger ale, a bowl of pita chips, a cover up and some deck pillows, she heads to the stern of the boat, to her favorite seat. Here she can sit in the breeze facing the way they are going, watch the horizon and hope for the best. By 5:00, she knows there is going to be no Dorado cooked by her for dinner. The Dorado is left to continue freezing on ice, and The Captain reheats leftovers from last night’s dinner. She cannot cook it, but she makes herself eat it because not eating and letting one’s blood sugar run low can make matters worse.
As she writes this blog, she is reviewing The Captain’s log of the crossing. As with the first crossing we did, our winds are fitful. Never very strong and never lasting very long. We sailed some, motored more – all of it in lumpy seas. And all of it keeping The First Mate just on the edge. The Captain is not pleased that she did not take her seasick pills, but how was she to know the seas were going to be like this? There is a complication with the pills, and it is four-fold.

1. 
   
   She cannot take them daily like one does with vitamins.


2. 
   
   They make her very sleepy and even with NoDoz to counteract the effect, she still feels like a zombie under their influence.


3. 
   
   Who can predict when lumpy seas are going to occur.


4. 
   
   One must start taking the pills several hours before one anticipates being in a situation where one might get sick.
   

Now, how can one plan ahead like that when one cannot foresee when seas are going to be lumpy? And who wants to willingly put oneself into a zombie state unless there is definitely an adequate reason? It is only certain kind of seas that affect her. Not all seas, fortunately, or she and Avante would never have met.

The world keeps spinning, and somehow one day rotates around to two days and two nights. At 6:45am, Sunday, April 4th, (Captain’s log), we motor into Bahia Los Muertos. At 7:50, we are anchored. We have completed our second Southern Crossing. Bahia Los Muertos translated means Bay of the Dead-men. “How appropriate,” thinks The First Mate. Early guidebooks talk about giant anchors being dropped and left in the bay. These giant anchors are called dead-men or muertos. No one has ever found one of these huge anchors in the bay, but they still give their name to the bay. After a good morning’s nap in the calm bay, The First Mate is happy to claim that she can no longer be found among the “muertos” either. That evening, Dorado is festively served for dinner.

The desert meets the sea here in Bahia Los Muertos.

Ahead of us are 5 weeks of cruising the Sea of Cortez with its many islands and isolated anchorages all back dropped by the jagged ridges and multi-colored layers of the impressive Sierra Giganta mountain range which forms the spine of the Baja peninsula. Cruising days and Savoring days are in the schedule, and both The Captain and The First Mate are eager to start.

Frigates and Blue-Footed Boobies

What is this thing? The First Mate is entranced by these large graceful black birds flying overhead. She has never seen the likes of them. With their V-shaped, swept-back wings and their split tails, they look like prehistoric pterodactyls to her. The Mexicans call them tijeretas or Scissor Tails. Commonly, they are called frigates. They appear to be sea birds, but she seldom sees them venturing near the surface of the water. When they do, it is with a quick swoop down to the water followed by what looks like a quick jab of its beak to nab a surface fish. They do not do this at all as frequently as say a pelican does and having never seen a successful catch, she wonders how they sustain themselves. It is a mystery to her. They never alight on the water. Instead, they spend lazy hours majestically circling high with those amazing wings outspread as they ride the thermals.

The guidebooks tell little about the birds to satisfy her curiosity, but they do mention that they have a breeding ground on a small, volcanic island called Isla Isabela. This she must see. On the trip south to Puerto Vallarta last January, she tried to talk The Captain into a stop, but the timing was not right. They passed it in the middle of the night and during a period of high winds and tossing seas. Isla Isabela is a fair weather anchorage only, and this was not fair weather. Now on the trip north to the Sea of Cortez, she is determined that they will stop, and The Captain agrees.

Thirty years ago, Jacques Cousteau came to this wild, uninhabited island to do a National Geographic film series on the rare frigate nests that abound on the island. He was drawn not only by the frigates, but by the blue-footed boobies that also nest on the island and by the pristine underwater reefs created by the volcanic overflow. Today the island is a National Wildlife Preserve. The First Mate is not drawn by the underwater world, but frigates and blue-footed boobies are like magnets to her. A blue-footed booby? A real one! She thought one had to go to Galapagos to see one of them, but here they are in Mexico. We are not going to pass up this opportunity even if we have to wait a week for a calm weather window!

On Thursday, April 2nd, we leave Chacala and head across 50 nm to Isla Isabela. The weather is forecast to be calm or at least calm enough for us to anchor and spend the night.

This is not an iceberg having miraculously made it all the way south to Mexico. It is Roca Blanca, a guano-covered rock we pass on our way to Isla Isabela.

In mid-afternoon, winds freshen to 15 knots enabling a great sail, and we tack almost all the way into our anchorage. As we approach the bay, we are hailed from Lovely Rita by Deb and John Dye, a couple we had first met in Monzanilla Bay last February. Sitting at anchor savoring the late afternoon, they tell us that they are enjoying the sight of Avante beautifully sailing toward them. (The First Mate was at the helm, and let me tell you …. Sailors, especially lowly First Mates, just love to hear such comments!)

We anchor just below Las Monas, eye-catching guano-covered monoliths jutting out of the water.

Overhead, frigates are putting on quite a flying show.

It is too late to head over to the island. Instead we launch the dinghy to does some exploration by water. We motor over to talk with the Dyes and then cruise around Las Monas enjoying the light of the setting sun on the rocks and the birds getting in the last of their day’s flying before settling in for the night.

Centuries of guano paint the rocks white.

These impressive monoliths are worth the trip to the island alone.

Every angle creates a different view. As one would look for images in cloud patterns, The First Mate does so with the rocks. Here we see a medieval fire-breathing dragon folding its wings as it settles in for the night.

In the morning, we set out for the island. There is a small camp of local fishermen near where one is supposed to land one’s dinghy in order to connect with the hiking trail that takes one to the nesting area. Feeling like intruders, we pull The Dingbat ashore, smile, say “Buenos Dios”, and tromp behind their huts to the start of the trail. The trail started out in much better condition than we had expected, but soon deteriorated. We are eager to see the nesting areas of both the frigates and the blue-footed boobies. Looking up, we are surprised to find ourselves just about eyeball to eyeball with fluffy headed frigate nestlings.

Frigates build their nests in low, multi-branched, scrubby trees. Some nests are no more than 5’ off the ground. The First Mate is amazed. These graceful, high-flying birds tangle up in branches to nest. In fact, they are so bunched together and so enmeshed in the branches that it is hard to get a clear photo of them. The nest itself looks like an uncomfortable jumble of sticks, hardly something in which a proud parent would appear to want to spawn offspring, but breed they do. We saw fledglings at all stages of growth from newly born to white-headed youngsters as big as their parents, but what we did not see was parents flying to and from with feed for their fast-growing kids. How these babies get fed and what they get fed is a mystery to us, and something The First Mate intends to research as soon as she is able to do so.

This little fellow must have fallen out of his nest, a feat that is probably not that difficult given the haphazard condition of the nests. The older ones appear to leave the nest and just hang out on a branch waiting for a feeding parent to return.

Male frigates can be identified by a bright red neck pouch which they inflate to attract the female.

Continuing upward above the nesting area, we reach the volcanic rim of the island. The view of the rock formations, the sparkling blue water and the graceful birds is fantastic.

It is here that The First Mate sees her first booby, but it is a brown booby, not a blue-footed one. We now know the identity of the birds that have twice gotten caught in our fishing lure! Note the pinkish brown feet.

We next circle down to an inland crater lake and on up to the area of the island where the blue-footed boobies have staked their claim. Walking into a shady wooded area, we find ourselves surrounded by blue-footed boobies! Blue feet – they really have blue feet! Up until then, The First Mate really was not totally convinced, but seeing is believing. They really have very pretty blue feet!

These quaintly attractive birds have white chests, dark wings and brown and white feathered heads as well as webbed blue feet. Their perfectly round eyes are almost as striking as those feet. White bull’s eye circles with black dots, they stare out unblinkingly as if in wide-open amazement. To The First Mate, they look like they know they have been caught doing something wrong, but are hoping that if they just stare back innocently, nobody will say anything. The First Mate wonders if they ever blink. Don’t they get sand in their eyes once in a while?

The chicks appear quite helpless at first, but quickly grow as big as or bigger than their parents. The First Mate feels sympathy for the parents charged with the task of feeding the hungry mouths of their offspring.

If the low height and shoddy nest-building skills of the frigates surprised The First Mate, she is astounded at the choice of nesting sites the blue-footed boobies have picked. Except for a few who have nestled down in the woods, most are out on the beach, totally exposed and open to whatever comes along be it weather-related as in wind or angry sea or animal-related as in predator. And, where are the nests? They do not appear to build nests at all. Just any old circle in the sand or dirt seems to work fine. Squat down, lay an egg and sit on it until it hatches. Keep the kid warm until it can stand up on its own, and then it just seems to hang around the general area where it was born waiting to be fed.

A whitewash of guano serves to locate most nests. This poor adult looks a bit overwhelmed by the two hungry mouths it has to feed, and in a short time they will be as big as he is! He looks endearingly comical to The First Mate.

Another feature about the blue-footed boobies that amazes The First Mate is how utterly non-combative they are. Yes, they squawk if they feel one is getting too near, but they squawk while backing up. They never attack. Their beaks are pointed enough to do damage; yet we freely walk through their area, stepping over and around their nests. Try that with a seagull. They attack from the air in crazed bombing runs. The First Mate has experienced that!

Here, too, we are puzzled by what these birds eat, how they catch it and how/when do they feed their young. With their webbed feet, these are obviously water birds. Do they eat fish, crabs and other sea critters? How do they catch them? Not a one takes to the air as we walk unimpeded thru their turf. Unless we have mistaken them for seagulls, we have never seen one flying around Avante. Here is another mystery that The First Mate will research when on land.

It does not take further research, however, for The First Mate to understand why this island with its frigates and blue-footed boobies is so rare and why these nesting areas need to be protected. In all honesty, she is quite amazed that these birds have survived this long thru all the millennia. How many places could these birds have found in this world where they could build their clumsy nests low in trees or right on the ground out in the open and not be attacked? How many places are there that do not have egg-eating snakes, lizards or four-footed clawing, sharp-toothed predators? Any other place but an isolated island, and these guys would have been part of the food chain and probably long ago extinct. Gone -- not by mankind’s unthinking, uncaring stupidity and greed, but from their own genetic pre-disposition to poorly planned nesting choices. Frigates may be majestic, elegant flyers and blue-footed boobies may be quaintly irresistible, but Mother Nature sure neglected a few basic survival instincts when she created them. To their credit, they did find places where they could survive. Now it is our responsibility to make sure these few isolated, uninhabited places remain that way so these rare ones can survive.

Both The Captain and The First Mate so enjoyed the island walk and visit with its unique inhabitants that we plan to return on our trip south to Puerto Vallarta in May, but right now we have to make what is called the “Southern Crossing”. We have 250nm miles ahead of us to traverse the Sea of Cortez from Isla Isabela northwest to La Paz on the Baja peninsula. We return to Avante stopping by Lovely Rita to say good-bye, take a swim, secure the hatches, and head out to sea. Our first 2-night solo trek is ahead of us

The Dingbat's Revenge

The First Mate has never had kind words for The Dingbat. Their antagonistic relationship started with their very first meeting on the boat ramp off Shelter Island in San Diego in 2006. That is where we took delivery of our new dinghy and motor. To The First Mate, these acquisitions were initially an unexciting dinghy and engine purchase, non-menacing and benign, until she found herself in the boat, all alone, and supposedly in control. The Captain had gone off to a meeting on another boat leaving her alone with the delivery person who was to teach her the intricacies of starting the engine and steering it out and about. The introduction starts off on the wrong foot when stepping onto the slippery slope-sided floor of the dinghy, she is promptly upended. (We now have additional non-skid strategically placed, but did not then.) The delivery person first shows her how to start the engine. Just a few steps. Looks easy. Then he takes her for a spin showing her which direction to turn the arm of the motor. Little does this guy know about The First Mate’s physics issues. This is all counterintuitive. Right goes left, left goes right. Up is down, down is up. This is not going to work, sir, but we’ll give it a try. Try she does, and it is a mess. We go in circles. Instead of slowing down, it nearly turns turtle as she blasts it off into the open sea. It does not take long for the delivery guy to realize he has a lost cause on his hands, and all he now wants to do is get back to the dock and out of there as inconspicuously and as quickly as possible. It just happens to be Saturday morning, and the boat ramp is filled with weekend fisher people launching their boats to head out to catch the Big One. This “audience”, which The First Mate had not asked for, is mostly men, most of whom are into their first beers of the morning, and they are having an amusing time watching this spectacle. At my expense! I am not pleased.

Returning to the dock, The First Mast slowly angles in to make a landing. At the last moment, instead of turning the control in the direction to slow it down further, she twists it the wrong way (right way to her logic). The dinghy careens into the dock and because it is a rubber inflatable after all, it bounces off at a weird angle. Mortified and angry, she accomplishes a 540-degree turn and heads back to the dock. Not wishing to tempt Fate a second time, she lets the dinghy coast in slowly – painfully slowly. The delivery guy just as slowly and carefully reaches out, grabs onto a piece of dock and hops on land faster than he had probably ever moved in his life. The First Mate does the natural thing and turns off the engine, which happens to be the easiest thing to do on this contraption. All one has to do is push a button, and the engine disconnects. Unfortunately, she now has to restart it so she can motor out and around to another dock to pick up The Captain. It sounded so easy when the delivery guy had earlier explained how to start the thing. Now, nothing is easy. Does the choke go in or out? Do I even use the choke? Which way is neutral? Which direction do I engage the motor once it starts? To me, forward is backward: backward is forward. This is all Greek to me! To the delivery guy’s credit, he has not made a hasty retreat. He stays to re-explain engine start-up. I now have everything in position. All I have to do is pull the start cord out smartly. I pull, and I pull. I try different angles, straight back, straight up. My shoulder hurts. My back hurts. I’ve worked up a sweat, and the engine will not even sputter. I am ready to tell this delivery person to take the whole thing back and bring me something with a key. Turn it, and it starts. That’s it. Taking pity, he climbs back in and with one good yank on that cord, the engine turns over smartly for him. Why not for me?

Now she is in the dinghy all alone about to take her maiden voyage out into the harbor and around to the dock where The Captain is waiting to be picked up. Somehow we spasmodically motor away from the dock and out the boat ramp launching area into the open harbor without hitting another thing. She refuses to look at or acknowledge even a one of the bug-eyed, pot-bellied, grinning fisherpeople out there watching. We are now out in the open, and we have to go f-o-r-e-v-e-r before there is another opening into the sheltered area where The Captain awaits. The waves are bumpy and lumpy. The dinghy’s rocking is unnerving and unpredictable to The inexperienced First Mate. Again she mistakenly guns the engine. This 8-cylindar engine has more power than she can handle. Nearly dumped in the ocean again, she reduces speed to a crawl, really just above a stall. It takes 45 minutes for her to do what should be a 10-minute run. She is scared, mad, embarrassed and doesn’t want anything to do with this –-- this --- this dingy thing ---this Dingbat! That’s it – The Dingbat is christened.

When she finally reaches a thoroughly perplexed Captain who had been kept waiting beyond what he considered a reasonable time, she has no concern for his plight. She tells him to grab the line because the boat will not stop on its own. Then she vents on and on about this miserable Dingbat with its slippery, sloping sides and its unwieldy, unworkable engine. Looking at his beautiful new dinghy and its shiny, new powerful engine with added-on wings to plain the boat upward out of the water, he wonders who is the dingbat in this whole sad scenario. Nevertheless, the name sticks. The Dingbat is collectively the name we use for the dingy and its engine.

The Captain and The Dingbat work together like a team. Music, nay symphonies, play when they are together. It starts for him. It maneuvers for him. It practically purrs for him and obeys his every command. For The First Mate and The Dingbat, initial antipathy slowly settles into mutual tolerance. She tolerates The Dingbat out of necessity, and The Dingbat tolerates her only to please The Captain.

Life goes on like this as we sail up to and thru The San Juan and Gulf Islands, into the remote reaches of British Columbia and north to Alaska. The “landing the dinghy at a dock” exercise is somewhat mastered, though starting the engine remains a 50-50 proposition. The Captain and The First Mate experiment with and find a workable system for raising and lowering The Dingbat into the water from the bow of Avante where it is stored, but a constant source of contention for which they have no great answer is the “haul the dinghy onto and off the beach” exercise. The scene goes like this: They motor into shore until they get into shallow water, remembering to tilt the engine upward so that the propeller does not hit any rocks or get stuck in the sand. Stepping into the cold water of the Northwest, they each grab a side and haul The Dingbat toward shore and out of any tide’s hungry grasp. This works fine as long as The Dingbat is afloat, but once aground, The Captain discovers that there is no way The First Mate can lift her half of the 200lb combined weight of dinghy and motor. She lifts and strains. The Captain cannot understand why she cannot carry her half of the load. Not for the first time, she wonders what he thinks he married. When he finally accepts that all forward motion has come to a standstill, The Captain comes up with Plan B – something he maintains that a captain must always have at his fingertips. He moves The First Mate to the bow of the dinghy where she is told to lift when he is ready. He moves to the stern of the dinghy and straddles the engine. On the command of lift, The First Mate lifts and awkwardly steps backward while The Captain lifts and does a more awkward sort of duck waddle with the motor and all its sharp edges between his legs. This is far from a smooth operation. In fact, they look and feel downright ridiculous, but at least they have a system for hauling The Dingbat across the beach. For The First Mate this indignity is just one more ding to add to her Dingbat dislike list. If she could kick the thing without getting hurt she would!

Upon returning to San Diego and in preparation for Mexico’s sandy beaches and turbulent surf landings that await us, The Captain arrives at the dock one day with new equipment for The Dingbat. WHEELS! The Dingbat is enraged. This is unthinkable! Talk about humiliation! Wheels attached to a dinghy? How undignified! This just cannot be happening, but it does. Metal supports are drilled and screwed into its stern, and these oversized, fat, ugly wheels are attached. Wheels to support the over-weight Dingbat as we more gracefully pull it onto the beach or back to the surf. Wheels to protect the engine and prop from rocks as we head to and from shore in the shallow waters. The First Mate had wanted these wheels when they first purchased The Dingbat. She moaned and pleaded for them every time she had to haul the thing, but The Captain would not hear of it. In cahoots with The Dingbat, he did not think they were appropriate attire for a dinghy. They were for the weak – not for he and his dinghy. Now he has been talked into them by people who have been to Mexico and know what they are talking about. Wheels we have. The First Mate is delighted. The Captain is resigned to the necessity. The Dingbat is out for REVENGE! How dare he? The battle has started. These wheels must go.

The main problem with beach landings and take-offs in Mexico is the roughness of the surf. We are told that there is a certain knack and skill required. Practice is the key, and taking time to study the wave pattern helps, too. It takes teamwork. Captain, First Mate and The Dingbat need to work together, and guess who isn’t working? Not The First Mate. That’s for sure. Her regular dousings and black and blues attest to that. Not The Captain. He studies how the local fishermen launch their pangas into the surf and analyses the wave patterns. It can only be The Dingbat. Having lost all pride with the addition of those wheels, it has no more left to lose. With purpose, it turns sideways to the waves, dipping and careening menacingly in an attempt to swamp itself. With perfect timing, it stalls the engine at the worst possible moments. Landings are aborted repeatedly as it dislodges a wheel just when that wheel is most needed to support the boat and protect the engine. Looking back, the detached wheel will be floating away in the surf requiring a mad scramble. For The Captain, this continuing show of what he considers ineptitude is more than he can tolerate. The dinghy, the engine, the wheels, the surf – all have him furious, but he will not be flummoxed. “Captain, you asked for it,” thinks The Dingbat. Seeing his frustration is almost revenge enough.

After sailing Avante south from San Diego to Puerto Vallarta, we returned to Telluride at the end of February for a very short 4 weeks of winter snow fun. With granddaughter, Berlin, in for her Spring break, the three of us ski the mountain, hike the ranch and toast marshmallows in the evening.

At the end of March we return to Puerto Vallarta, restock Avante and set sail heading northwest to the Sea of Cortez. Our first stop is Punta Mita. The next day we round the point having now discovered that that third rock we agonizingly sailed 20 miles around on our way into Banderas Bay last January is more myth than fact. It was reported out there somewhere ages ago. No one has been able to find it since, even using more sophisticated sounding equipment; yet no one wants to take credit for saying it physically is not there. Thus the warnings persist. First timers to the area are on guard until they have the opportunity to talk to locals in the know. Then like we now do, they sail safely around the point keeping 2 miles off shore.

We head up the coast to Chacala. Site of a once producing coconut-growing operation, the pretty beach is ringed with tall palm trees. Several colorful palapa restaurants sit invitingly on the shore. The First Mate feels strongly that we support these small establishments operating in the middle of nowhere. Though she prefers a brisk morning beach walk followed by breakfast in a local restaurant, we chose to go in for dinner since we need to make an early morning departure the next day. At dusk, we launch The Dingbat and head ashore. There is a panga dock not far from the main beach, but The Captain opts for a surf landing. The Dingbat is deployed, as usual, with the wheels sticking straight up from the stern. This is to keep the wheels out of the way of the prop when underway. According to The Captain, this makes The Dingbat look like an “elephant turned turtle”, a comment that The Dingbat will never forgive.

Shortly before reaching the waves that would pull us onto the beach, The Captain cuts the engine to lower the wheels. This takes a bit of effort as the bulky, buoyant tires do not easily push down into the water. Secured in their slots, the engine is restarted. Now -- study the waves, find the lull, charge the beach, hit the sand, jump into the surf keeping a grip on the boat and yank it ashore before The Dingbat has a chance to knock you over. The trick is to not get so wet that you look like a drowned rat when you walk into a restaurant for dinner. This time we make a great landing. All that is wet is our Keen sandals, which is as it should be. The Dingbat is hauled up the beach and left to stew while we enjoy a pleasant meal.

The First Mate observes at dinner that The Captain seems somewhat distracted as he keeps watching the sea. “That one would have gotten us. It wasn’t part of the pattern,” he says mostly to himself. “What would have gotten us? What pattern?” queries The First Mate. “The waves,” he replies. “I am watching the wave pattern. There’s 3 short ones followed by a real slammer. Then there’s a lull. It’s the lull we have to catch getting out of here, but that wave earlier was a big one that did not fit the pattern. It’s those rogues that get us.” The Captain is surely becoming too obsessed with this!

With heavy cloud cover blocking the moon, we walk back to The Dingbat in total blackness with only a small flashlight to show us the way. We turn the boat around and stand there in the dark counting waves. Here’s the lull, grab the boat, dash into the surf, haul ourselves aboard (not easy), start the engine and motor the heck out to sea before the big one gets you. We do all that. The engine starts. It roars to life. Feeling triumphant, The Captain turns the throttle to motor on out and thru the waves. The engine stalls. Dead, silent. The Captain is beside himself with frustration. The First Mate, knowing when to remain silent, does not say a word. Then, out of the dark as if from nowhere, the big one hits slamming right over the bow of the boat smack into The First Mate’s unsuspecting face. The Captain commands The First Mate to take the flashlight which she grasps for in the darkness, temporarily blinded by stinging salt watered-eyes. He jumps out of the boat in an attempt to hold it into the waves so The Dingbat can’t turn sideways to the waves and get swamped. Over the sounds of the pounding surf, The Captain yells at The First Mate to start the engine. Sure thing, Captain. She scrambles back, adding another bruise or two to already blossomed black and blues, grabs the cord with two hands and yanks for all she’s worth. Of course, nothing happens, but what is that graceful arch of light that just flew over our heads? In amazement and disbelief, we watch our flashlight sail out to sea. The only thing accomplished when The First Mate pulled the start cord was a launching of the flashlight she held in one of her hands. Losing the flashlight is almost as bad as getting swamped, for without the flashlight, we will not be able to see the combination lock to open up Avante so we can get below deck. We’ll be stuck in the cockpit until dawn! Off The Captain swims to retrieve the flashlight leaving The First Mate marooned in the wildly tossing boat. Back aboard, The Captain yells to unstrap the oars. Since he can’t start the engine, he will row out of here. We are being slammed by waves, rocking back and forth, miserably wet. The only mercifully good thing is that in the total blackout against an equally black sea no one can see this circus act. In the dark, we both go for the same oar, pulling and twisting, we work against each other trying to free the same oar. It’s a “Laurel and Hardy” act. Timing is everything. We have to get out of this surf before we are upended and swamped. Arguing back and forth over who has which oar, he finally takes one oar to free, and she takes the other. Both oars are in place, and The Captain rows for all he’s worth to get us out of the surf. Once free of the waves, he turns back to the engine. Unable to do us any more damage, The Dingbat allows the engine to start, and we splutter back to Avante.

The First Mate, once safely and securely aboard Avante, finds the caper rather funny. The Captain does not. He is fuming. It matters not that other boat people also have trouble with dinghy launchings here in Mexico. Not he. First he has to figure out what is wrong with the engine? It has been causing him start-up problems since we left San Diego. (The Dingbat knows.) Next he will work out how to manage and anticipate this surf and wave action. He will not be stymied.

Silently floating on the gentle waves lapping against its hull, The Dingbat hears The Captain’s angry exclamations, savoring each and every frustrated word. Revenge is sweet. The Battle against The Wheels will continue.