0700 – Skies clear with just a slight marine layer; winds calm. Up early for last minute preparation of boat. Up to get ice for icebox and final good-bye to Curt and the gang at Fiddlers Cove. Cok Cabuk is pumped up and you can hear him holler shouts of joy throughout the marina. Crew arrives and we load their bags on board and get them settled in the aft berth. Julie fell down the companionway and has a huge bruise on her left thigh.
0835 - Marcus to cast us off, as he had Cok Cabuk. Pictures and waving commence and continue until visual contact is lost. Cok Cabuk and Itchen run parallel courses under the Coronado Bridge and the fleet begins to build; ultimately, it’ll be around 160 sailboats and one powerboat. We round NAS North Island, past the carriers Lincoln and Reagan and the bay is thick with boats all headed to the outer buoy marking the entrance to San Diego Bay for the start of the “ha-ha” at 1100.
1000 – Off the outer buoy along with all the other boats; it must have been quite a site from land, it certainly was from sea. Roll call commences. The Grand Poobah reviews the rules and expectations of the race/rally. Roll call will be held every morning at 0800; each boat is to acknowledge its name and report its 0600 position via SSB. Those boats without an SSB are to relay their position to any boat with a SSB and- that boat will report the position. If you drop out, let someone know. Jake slips across our port bow, all sails flying, a big smile and a devilish grin on their faces … waving and hollering, just the same. Boats range in size from 26 – 94 feet; the vast majority are mono-hulls (around the 40 foot range), but there were thirteen multi-hulls (cats and tris) and one powerboat (a Bertram 35’). While the vast majority hailed from California, Oregon, Washington and British Columbia, they also come from places like New Zealand, Hawaii, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Oklahoma, Montana, Michigan, Maryland and Delaware. A pretty good turn out all in all; this is the largest Baja to date. We were divided up into fourteen divisions (classes) with names like Agave, Burrito, Cerviche, Enchilada, Iguana, Frijole, Margarita … well you get the idea.
1100 – BOOM! The starting gun cracks and we were off! The wind dies almost immediately … oops, the carrier Reagan is emerging from the bay. The committee boat hails the fleet (over the VHF) to urge us all to give the carrier a wide berth (like we had a choice!) Light winds prevailed but we were making about four knots toward the Mexican border and the Islas Los Coronados. The fleet disperses rapidly with some heading far out (keeping the wind and speed, but going a farther distance) to make one tack back toward Turtle Bay (Bahia Tortugas), 180 miles down the compass. Others of us stay close to shore (relatively), trying to follow the rumbline (at a slower speed, but less distance).
1400 – Wind speed about two knots; quite a few boats around us. Crank up the iron genny and begin to motor.
1700 – Wind has decided to join us again; engine off; Rosarito has drifted past our port quarter. We’re 45 miles into Mexico with Ensenada SSE. Cell phone isn’t working as Verizon promised.
1800 - Position N32.05, W117.03; start the four-hour night watch rotation.
2200 – Position N31.42, W117.00. Following wind steady with rollers pushing us further south. The lights of Ensenada are fading over the horizon behind us now.
Tuesday – October 30, 2007
0200 – Position N31.23, W116.52; winds steady 10-15 knots off the stern; seas 4-6 feet; windvane holding our course.
0600 – Position N31.04, W116.41; sunrise; winds steady 10-15 knots; following seas 4-6 feet. We’ve been running wing and wing without a whisker pole since last evening; we’re doing OK at it and boat is handling well under windvane alone. We’ve seen a few green lights to our port, red lights starboard and white lights in front of us, throughout the night.
1000 – Position N30.45, W116.28, making 5 knots under main and genoa. Winds and seas unchanged
1400 – N30.25, W116.10; winds steady 10-15 knots; following seas 4-6 feet; still running wing and wing. Haven’t eaten much … mostly just snacked and rested on our off -watches.
1800 – N31.04, W116.08. Decide to change to three-hour watch schedule.
2100 – N30.03, W116.02; Winds fresh, seas following; we’re about 12 miles off the coast.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
0001 – N29.49, W116.00; winds strengthens (20-25 knots); headsail down; mainsail jibes and rips along the bottom panel stitching the entire length of the sail. Put a single reef in the main; making 6 knots under main alone.
0300 – N29.32, W115.58; winds strong and waves large, all from the stern; still under single reef main; windvane performing marvelously.
0600 – N29.24, W115.55; wind speed reduces and we change to the spare main and raise the headsail.
1800 – Watches informal during the day. Day uneventful; battle with the sails and boat trying to keep them balanced downwind. Continue three-hour watches.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
0500 – Cross the finish line of leg 1; 66 hours after the race began. Sunrise and skies clear with steady winds from the NW; wind dies so we crank up the engine and head for Bahia Tortugas. We sailed 63 hours and motored for three hours.
0830 – Arrive Turtle Bay; N27.38, W114.53; drop the hook in 30 feet of water amidst the fleet about half-mile off the town pier. Most of the boats are in (have been since last night). We missed “day of the dead” at Turtle Bay, and we’d bought a bunch of candy for the kids, too. Didn’t even think about it to tell you the truth – for some reason I guess I thought I had to sail it; figured I was about in the middle of the pack and plum forgot about Halloween. Everyone is well rested and we make it in time for roll call at 0900. There are medical problems, mechanical problems and sail problems; six boats ripped out their mains in accidental jibes when the wind gusted to 35 knots the night before (we were one of them). The medical, mechanical and sail problems are quickly sorted out and repairs commence. We volunteered to sew sails and set off in our dinghy for the quay about noon. There we meet Karl Deardorff (a real sail maker with his own sail loft in San Luis Obispo). Julie is no mean seamstress - she’s been making dresses since she was six years old; she’s made her ball gowns, my Prince Charlie uniform, costumes and her taxidermy work (all of which have won awards). Additionally, she sewed the dodger, the bimini, as well as reupholstering the salon and berthing areas on the boat. But sail making is something new; it requires the precision of fine embroidery … utilizing a jackhammer. Sail making machines are 70lbs of heavy-duty motor, with a needle at the tip. The machine must be able to sew through nine layer of heavy gauge nylon fabric. If a jet is a rocket with wings then a sail making sewing machines is a rocket with needles. Our little machine facing off against the sails is akin to a Cessna facing off against an F-18 Hornet! Like the Cessna, the dis-advantages our machine has is that it’s underpowered and … under needled. Be this as it is, we set up our temporary loft, fire up my Honda e1000 generator and the boats with damaged sails crowd in, chomping at the bit for repairs. Karl is 28 years old, tall, thin, clean cut and pretty laid back. He approaches the bedlam on quay, looks at the machine, the generator, Julie, the broken, chipped, jagged and dirty cement he’ll be working on, the clamouring mob surging forward to get their sails done, looks back at the tiny little white Kenmore sewing machine (“I think I can … I think I can”), nods his head knowingly and in a barely audible voice he says to himself, “work with what ya got.” His resolve set, he quickly organizes the sails into the order of repair and begins to position them on the quay. He crouches down in front of Julies machine and casually starts chatting with Julie about the machine while winding bobbins and inventorying what meager supplies with which we have to repair sails. Within minutes he has the first sail under the sewing foot and the repairs begun. For the next six hours Karl and Julie steadily mend the torn sails under the bright sun on the hot, dusty, rocky, sloped, noisy, busy cement quay; all the while, Karl showing Julie how to lay the sail tape and match up the seams for the strongest repair. First line up the tear; then carefully tape the tear closed on both sides of the sail. Check your work, if not right, undo it and do it again, correctly. Make one looooong zigzag stitch over the entire length of the tear, then another loooong zigzag stitch on the left outer edge of the tape (the entire length of the tear) and then a third and final loooong zigzag stitch along the right outer edge of the tape (if the sail was torn badly, as many as five long stitches were sewn … long may be up to seventeen feet). Sail after sail, hour after hour, non-stop they continue, hunched over, Julie running the foot pedal with her hand and Karl feeding the sails quietly whispering “… go … faster … slower … stop … go … go,go … wait … stop. Make sure the thread tension is … go … yea, yea … go, go … stop. Try to use thread with … go … wait … slow … faster … slooow … stop. Use the finest needle you can … go … stop … wait … there. You can tell a good sail by … stop … wait … OK. Here’s a real quick way to wind the bobbin …” and so on the banter went. I kept the generator filled with gas (big deal!) and several of us got beer and pop to keep our sail makers going. Others would come along and hold the huge bobbin of thread for the machine or help position the sails for sewing. It was quite a scene in that any Baja’ers coming ashore (who had landed on the pier) had to gingerly step around or over the sails (and sail makers) as they were smack in the middle of the only access to shore activities. The quay came off the end of the pier, extended about 25 yards and dropped 45 degrees onto the sandy beach. The beach was a bevy of activity from Baja’er’s relaxing at two of the local bars, dinghies landing on the beach with local kids earning tips helping dinghies ashore (and guarding them), and, as I mentioned, the pier-embarked shore parties making their way inland. Our sail is the last to be sewn and Julie and I (under Karl’s watchful eye) get it done just before dusk. The work done, Karl’s off for a well-deserved break and we gather our gear, walk down the pier and catch a panga back to the boat. Julie and Karl made about $220.00 and split it evenly (I’m sure in ordinary circumstances those repairs would’ve totaled about five times that and taken two weeks). Not a bad day for anyone involved, though. Back at the boat Julie made dinner, we had a drink with our crew and dinghied over to Jake for the Soprano’s, not an easy task what with the multitude of boats drifting on their hooks, the huge gently rolling waves (so big they would obliterate the horizon) the amazingly dark night (clear but no moon) and the pangas.
Panga’s are a Mexican boat; an open cockpit affair about 20 feet long, heavy and stable. They serve a multitude of purposes; mostly fishing, but also carrying trash, fuel and people. We’ve seen them miles out at sea with usually two fishermen pulling up some sort of crab pots in the rolling seas. In the harbors they carry a 500-gallon plastic drum of diesel, or trash, or up to 15 people between shore and boat. They’re handsomely painted with bold colors and a powerful outboard on the stern. Their master is at the rear of the boat; gripping the throttle usually running at full speed, day or night. They carry no lights, navigation or safety equipment of any sort; only fuel and whatever minimal gear they need to perform their tasks. All Baja’ers were warned to light up their boats well at night; not just the usual anchor light, but if possible, light it up like a Christmas tree! When the panga’s run at full speed, which they usually do, the bow rises so the master is unable to see what’s in front of him, for some distance. At night this is especially dangerous (if the boat is lucky a spare crewman will be on the bow as a lookout). The occasion is not rare when a panga will collide with an anchored vessel, usually a sailboat that comes out on the short end of the stick with damage to safety lines, stanchions, bow pulpits and hull; in one recently published article, a panga passenger was seriously injured. Many cruisers have taken to buying solar lights (the kind one would light up a walkway with); the lights are mounted low (on the rails) so when the panga master peeks around the side of his vessel for his heading he sees this low level light and adjusts his course. We have solar lights on stern and bow rails of Itchen, yet crossing to Jake (only four or five boats away) in a dinghy, was fraught with danger (we never did do it successfully on the first try). Even though Jake flashed his million-candle power spotlight for us to get our bearings; we still got lost. We wandered about the anchorage in our slow, unwieldy inflatable as pangas zipped by us noiselessly. Whoooooosh … and then a faint sound of an outboard were the only indications a panga had gone by.
Overshooting Jake, we came to back to our boat, contacted him and required he stand in the cockpit, spotlight on, until we reached him. Returning was no easier, even though we had left our deck light on to guide us. We overshot the boat a couple of times but finally we were able to find our way back home.
Friday - November 2, 2007
0830 – Lay day in Bahia Tortugas (Turtle Bay). Changed back to the Main Sheet Traveler from the Preventers; cleared the blockage in the port water tank (used a bicycle pump to blow air back through the system); and, placed solar lamps for panga deterrence. Up anchored and move boat closer to beach party at the east end of the bay. Latitude 38 sponsored the beach party. Several large tents were set up with refreshments and all the boats brought a dish to share in the record size pot-luck; food, music, beer, pop, margaritas, sun and camaraderie aplenty. Spent some time with SOLACE, a New Zealand couple (both nurses) who’d been working in the Sacramento area and resumed their cruising. Walked up the little hill above the beach and gazed out over the huge bay and all the boats anchored safely behind her protective shores. Up anchored and moved the boat back to near it’s original position; hauled up the dinghy and secured it on the foredeck; and, made final preparations for getting underway tomorrow.
Saturday - November 3, 2007
0830 – Up anchor; motor to pier for ice and trash deposit. Bahia Tortuga has a long pier that extends maybe 350 feet into the bay. A shallow draft vessel (like a panga) can pull up next to it, but unloading anything will be a real chore. The pier is probably 25 feet off the water and no real way to ascend it or hoist things. A larger, shallow draft, vessel can obtain fuel there, although most opt for the panga’s to run fuel out to them. These larger vessels (mostly motor vessels) can med-moor to the pier with there aft tied to the pier and an anchor thrown off the front to keep the boat from drifting; in this way, with their stern bobbing dangerously close to the pier, the vessel is able to fill with fuel. We conducted our business by creeping in bow first, then backing out. On our first attempt, we tossed our trash to one of the local kids. On our second attempt we asked if he would get us ice. The young man who stepped forward (probably 14 years old or so) was pretty johnny-on-the-spot in soliciting business. We tossed him the necessary funds for the ice by way of a baggy with candy for weight. He snatched it out of the air like an all-star (his little brother watched, helpless as he didn’t have the reach or the power to intercept the throw). Quick as wink, the older boy separated the money from the candy and stuffed the candy in his pocket; like all older brothers he wasn’t about to share that valuable commodity with a younger sibling, especially when it could be bartered later for something else his avarice nature desired. We watched as the older boy ran down the pier, across the beach, up to the bar and disappeared inside. A few moments passed and he barreled out of the bar - awkwardly swinging the 10 pound bag of ice in order to maximize his balance, increase his forward momentum and minimize his fatigue – loped across the beach and down the long pier. With a huge smile, a flurry of hand motions and warnings in Mexican he tossed the ice, perfectly onto the boat. Done with us, he was off to a more lucrative environment. Our business concluded, we spun the boat around in time to catch the fleet rounding up and hoisting sail. The winds were light so we motored out to sea.
1000 – N27.32; W114.52; north westerlies picked up; doing 6 knots under sail alone; vessels to either side of us. Chatter over the VHF is about many in the fleet who are catching fish (tuna, marlin and swordfish). Julie throws out a fishing line (a rope tied to a rubber snubber, which is tied to a piece of weed whacker line, which has a 60 pound leader line tied to it); she gets several strikes only to find out that the lure has been taken clean off. Julie bolsters her leader line, determined now more than ever to catch one of the insubordinate wretches taking her lures). She is soon rewarded and lands a 20 pound yellow-fin tuna. We bleed it, gut it, filet it and season it for tonight’s dinner.
1530 – N27.15; W114.32; wind steady out the NW. Tack several times – the course is 144 degrees SE but running downwind is a difficult course to hold and the ride is a bit uncomfortable. Start tacking downwind between; speed increases and ride settles down.
1700 – N27.08; W114.27; skies clear; winds steady; continuing tacking back and forth..
2100 – N26.56; W 114.10; winds increase to 20 knots; lower the headsail and put one reef the mainsail; mainsail is damaged during reefing (sail is ripped along the luff and the seven slides are broken). Boat settles in at 5-6 knots.
Sunday – November 4, 2007
0001 – N26.47; W113.58
0300 – N26.41; W113.52
0600 – N26.28; W113.42; dawn - skies clear and no wind; crank up the iron jenny (1500 RPM doing 6 knots).
1500 – N25.57; W113.17; skies clear; no wind; seas dead calm; hot. Swim break
1800 – N25.52; W113.05; skies clear; no wind; seas dead calm. Julie makes dinner; grilled tuna with a white sauce, fresh green beans and wine; our first dinner, with the entire crew, underway. As the sun sets, we chat and observe the silence around us. The girls take the first watch. We motor the entire night.
Monday – November 5, 2007
0800 – Anchor Bahia Santa Maria. N24.42; W112.13. As we enter the bay the winds pick up, as do the seas; skies clear. We motored 27 hours and used ¼ tank of fuel. Fuel consumption is ½ gallon/hour at 1500 rpm. The fleet lost several boats in Bahia Tortouga; BOTH and WORLD seized his engine and was being towed back to Ensenada; several boats had alternator problems and one Canadian boat was taking on water through the keel bolts. This boat was a major concern to the fleet, but the skipper was watching it closely, the pumps were keeping up and he continued on with the fleet. The story we got later was that an overly appreciative crew had loaded his aft locker with many, many cases of wine; this brought his aft waterline down and allowed a siphoning action to occur. In Cabo, a survey revealed the misplaced contraband (the crew was gone by then).
0900 – Roll call – Grand Poobaa warns the fleet about stingrays and doing the stingray shuffle; dehydration and dinghy landings. Julie to shore for a hike up the mountain and crew to shore for a walk on the beach. I went over the side for swim and to check out the boat. I discovered that the diver in San Diego had not placed the second zinc and the first one was hanging on by one, very loose screw. Carefully, methodically, I made my plan on how to tighten the one screw on the one zinc I had remaining and not to lose my only set of allen wrenches (or my lungs). My fail-safe plan was to tie the allen wrenches to a string, which I placed around my neck. Then I could jump in the water, have the allen wrenches securely attached to me, descend to the zinc and use both hands to effect repairs. I did this … I made the necklace of allen wrenches, attending to each one, and ceremoniously placed it over my head; then I jumped in the water. After the big splash, I surfaced and no allen wrenches! I couldn’t believe it … how could such a carefully laid plan go to hell so quickly?! On top of that I still needed the wrenches! I peered down through the blue-green liquid hoping that I would see them drifting, like a butterfly, slowly toward the bottom, as if waiting for me to rescue them. No such luck … those things are made of cast iron and probably made it to the bottom in record time. Well good riddance … they can stay there! I crawled back on the boat, radioed MERIDIAN and borrowed the necessary allen wrenches from them. I tightened up the flailing zinc without further incident. Starboard water tank empty; engine hours 302. Into the beach and across the bar with the dinghy, successfully. All hands back to the boat and Yellow fin for dinner. To JAKE for an episode of the Soprano’s.
Tuesday - November 6, 2007
Lay day in Bahia Santa Maria. Crab Benedict for breakfast. Crew cleaned the boat and Karl came over to measure the boat for new sails. I went over to PROFLIGATE (63’ catamaran that served as the committee boat) for a skippers meeting, which consisted of each skipper receiving a shot of Pusser’s rum; a Pusser’s ball cap and a picture of all the skippers doing a toast. Returned to boat and found Karl having a piece of chocolate cake and a beer. To the beach party that afternoon and witnessed a run-away dinghy. We had been warned about the dangerous surf and to keep the dinghy’s outboards emergency disconnect cable tied around our wrist. The first time I went to shore, across the bar, the wave picked up my the dinghy and thrust it forward like a car pushing a bicycle; control was minimal with turning out of the question. On the outbound leg, with my mighty 3.5hp outboard, I just wasn’t fast enough to beat the waves. For those of you who saw the Disney film “The Adventurers” I felt like the Evinrude the dragonfly. I had my poor little outboard cranked up to maximum rpm (whining away) and I was in a tuck to minimize wind resistance (like that was gonna help), but and the waves just kept getting bigger and bigger until I was past the point-of-no-return (when turning would mean flipping). Committed now (in much the same way a pig is to football), my only hope was to head straight into the wave and as the dinghy’s bow was lifted into the air, I would move forward as a counter-balance; I failed to take into consideration that my arm is not 7 feet long. By moving forward I had to release the throttle and directional control (if I were going to do that I might as well just jump out of the dinghy). There I was, wedged between the bright sunny sky with an abundance of breathable air and 300 tons of crushing saltwater and a hard, sandy bottom. The first couple of waves I handled pretty well and actually thought I was through the worst of it. I watched though as the water in front of me began to build into this mountainous wave that began to act more and more like an out-of-control freight train. It was already capping when it hit me. The wave-cap slid underneath the bow, the dinghy went vertically and bolted over the wave, slamming down on the backside, 5 feet higher than the water behind it. I had made it. However, two other guys weren’t so lucky (I had come back into the beach party, later that afternoon, via a panga). We all watched from the top of the hill as a dinghy headed out over the bar. The crew was doing fine and had already negotiated a couple of waves, when they turned sideways right in front of a capping wave. In less time than one can say “oops” the wave flipped them. The funny part (only because no one was injured) was that the dinghy righted itself and, without anyone to control it, started to menacingly chase its two former occupants (like the bulls do to the cowboys at the rodeo), except these guys were bogged down in waste deep water and couldn’t move out of the dinghy’s way. For about five minutes it circled and reversed its course buzzing its two former occupants. Finally, one of the other dinghy’s saddled up and went out and herded the errant dinghy in, finally reaching over to undo the emergency disconnect cable like a rodeo cowboy would loosen the flank strap on a bull.
Due to the surf most of us were using the panga’s to commute back and forth to our boats. Unknowingly, we caught the last one off the beach that evening. The panga’s stopped running because it was getting dark and the surf was too high. This left 72 Baja ha-ha’ers on the beach, without any blankets, coats or lights, for the night. Families, children, young and old were all trapped. The committee boat did a good job of accounting for everyone, ensuring the unattended boats were taken care of and lending what moral support it could to the stranded beach party. There were a couple of shade tents and a cement building that was used as the kitchen for the stranded to bunk in for the night. Reportedly, all the stranded did well and were reunited with their vessels first thing the next morning.
Wednesday – November 7, 2007
0700 – Depart Bahia Santa Maria; winds west 10-15 knots; seas 5-7 feet; skies clear; All beach party stranded accounted for and reunited with their vessels
1200 – N24.20; W112.00; skies clear and winds steady at 10-15 knots. Julie caught several mackerel; tossed back.
1600 – N24.12; W111.37; skies clear; waves 3-5 feet; west winds 10-15 knots. Julie caught another yellow fin. While emptying urinal I lost the second and final urinal cap.
1900 – N24.07; W111.18; sunset; skies clear; west wind steady 10-15 knots.
2100 – N24.57; W111.08;
Thursday – November 8, 2007
0001 – N23.47; W111.00 – crew not sleeping well; up every few minutes to adjust windvane, check GPS then look at chart. Winds starting to slacken
0400 – N23.43; W110.38 – becalmed, no wind and flat seas; begin to motor and transmission fails; a short high pitched whine then lose forward gear.
0800 – N23.31; W110.32 – no wind and drifting; Welcome to the tropics, shortly we will cross the Tropic of Cancer - N23.30 latitude and officially be in tropical water; being pushed south by following seas. During check in notify fleet of transmission failure. Drift all morning making 0.5 knots
1200 – Still drifting making little headway 0.5 knots. Crew wants tow and offers to pay for tow, I say no (too much damage to boat). Crew has flight to catch and at our current rate they will not make their flight. Crew request tow from fleet; SAN CLES (a 43 Passport) responds; they are behind us and coming to our aid. I respond to SAN CLES and refuse tow, but request they pick up crew and Julie, who is very seasick.
1800 – N23.10; W111.10 – skies clear; seas calm; making 1-1.5 knots. Vessel approaches from the south. Crew tells me it is SAN CLES. I am looking for SAN CLES to come down on us from north. SAN CLES has turned around and motored four to five hours back to aid us. We remain under sail as SAN CLES turns to run beside us; they throw a line to us and crew secures it. Seas starting to pitch now, but SAN CLES launches their dingy and using the un-rep line, they pull the dingy along side us. Crew departs (Julie stays to help me). Crew safely boards SAN CLES and SAN CLES departs for Cabo. Crew reports to us later that SAN CLES had engine problems going into Cabo.
2100 – N23.01; W110.08 – skies clear; winds have freshened a bit; making 2-3 knots. Julie doing better after feeding the local sealife with what was consumed the previous night. Clear night watching the Baja coast go by.
Friday – November 9, 2007
0030 – N22.52; W110.00; We crossed the Baja Ha-Ha finish line off Cabo San Lucas Mexico; Clear warm night;
0430 – Arrived three miles off Cabo anchorage; drifted off Cabo until daybreak;
0600 – We launch the dinghy and with the mighty 3.5 hp outboard we start to push all ten tons of ITCHEN toward the anchorage; MERIDIAN came out to help us. Turns out, this morning was the beginning of a world class fishing tournament. From beneath a rocky promontory that juts into the Pacific Ocean, a cannon shot is heard and a thousand powerboats of all different sizes … larger sizes … emerge from beneath the early morning shadows of the arches. The Arches – El Arcos de Cabo San Lucas (The Arches of Cape St. Luke) is an imposing cluster of severe monoliths that marks lands end of the Baja California peninsula, warning those passing, thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean await them. They are the most photographed spot in all of Mexico. As the upscale fishing fleet roars past us, D-Day landing on the Normandy beaches by any other account, the still morning and calm seas are instantly turned into a raucous thunder of red lined engines and a churning cauldron of angry water. We are a lone sailboat limping into shore, at two knots, under dinghy power alone, really, barely visible and against the overwhelming odds of the bully fisherman. I in my dinghy on one side and MERIDIAN on the other side of ITCHEN valiantly yell, cuss and shake our fists as these huge, mega fishing yachts come blasting past us, soaking us with huge waves from their full throttle wakes. As is their way though, the sport fisherman, absolutely unaware of our ordeal, atop their speedy, luxuriant perches, jovially return our waves, I’m sure, thinking we were just wishing them good luck … ignorance is truly bliss. JAKE and BEYOND REASON go to the aid of two other boats that had lost their engines. The three disabled vessels are brought safely to the anchorage, despite the fishing fleet attack.
0830 – We drop anchor in Cabo San Lucas bay. Our crew is brought over by SAN CLES to see if they can be of any help. No sooner do we drop the hook than the Grand Poobah finds us a slip in the overcrowded, fully booked marina. A dinghy appears from nowhere, immediately and without solicitation to help us into a very busy, congested harbor.
If Ft. Bragg is the ultimate workingman’s harbor then Marina Cabo San Lucas is the ultimate Sportsman’s harbor. Indeed, Julie was told it is the second most expensive harbor in the world (only Monte Carlo is more expensive). Slip fee for my 37-foot sailboat was $100.00/night (and we were given a discount)! Again, in diametric opposition to Ft. Bragg, every boat in Cabo was brand spanking new and glittered in the morning sun. The number of boats less than 50 feet long could be counted on one hand; that’s a lot of waterline length for a 380 slip marina. Multiple crews were seen scrubbing decks, polishing hulls and shinning bright work. The vessels sported names like Money Pit, Dividends and Investment Strategy (colorful and imaginative too); of course, there were the corporate boats that were used as perks for employees and their families (those boats were just named after the corporation). They even had one the New Zealand 12 meter (America’s Cup Yachts) that is used for tours. We were tucked in between two behemoths that overshadowed us like ‘ole Rocky Top between Everest and K-2.
No time to waste though (we had already missed one night of festivities), we needed to clear customs – which consisted of going to the port captain, customs and immigration all located in vastly different parts of town and we needed to find a mechanic (all on a busy Friday afternoon). We were successful on all accounts except the mechanic; we needed to wait for one of those until Monday. We finally got to the Baja beach party about 1500 where we hooked up with our Morro Bay friends and other cruisers and briefly saw our crew. Julie and I participated in the “eternity kiss” competition (Sand in Orifices to Honor the Famous Surf Smooch) and got to have our picture in the November web posting of Lectronic Latitude (http://www.latitude38.com/lectronic/lectronicday.lasso?date=2007-11-14&dayid=33) and the December issue of Latitude 38. Julies hip bruise and the crew of SAN CLES (who rescued our crew) are in also on the November Lectronic Latitude web site (http://www.latitude38.com/lectronic/lectronicday.lasso?date=2007-11-12&dayid=32#Story2).
Saturday – November 10, 2007
0600 – The massive thunder of 500hp diesel engines starting, in unison, rudely shakes us into reality; all the sport fisherman in Cabo head out to get that record marlin,all at the same time.
0930 - We arise at a much later and more leisurely hour; wash the boat, our clothes and ourselves, in that order. We invite other cruisers, who are anchored out, to share our dock space for their dinghy’s and utilize our laundry and gate keys. I sell some extra shackles to fellow cruisers and loan another one some gelcoat for repairs. Several mechanics, from the fleet, come by – quite an international group really; one from New Zealand, one from England, a Canadian and an American – all leave with reassuring smiles but the grim look that says “I’m glad I’m not that poor bastard.”
1800 – Up to the final Baja party and awards event. Lots of beer and revelry as the awards are passed out. PEPE has sustained a dog bite from one of the local mutts and his first mate is sick with an intestinal bug; the 18-month-old toddler seems OK though. Final goodbyes are said between boats and crews, travel arrangements are finalized and courses are set for the next landfall, as the last moments of the 14th annual Baja Ha-Ha come to close. For many of us, if not most of us though, it’s really just the beginning of our world cruising and a lifestyle we’ve barely begun to understand.
From San Diego we’ve come 818 nautical miles (2359 total from Commencement Bay), spent six days at sea and five days anchored out in two harbors; used ¼ tank of fuel (about 15 gallons); motored 27 hours overall; and, sailed 137 hours. Causalities include one pair of binoculars, two mainsails, one composting head, one wireless VHF microphone, and one, very expensive, transmission (and our troubles were just beginning). As the bumper sticker on Cok Cabuks car says “Attitude –Is The Difference Between An Ordeal and an Adventure”
Coming up next – Cabo to Mazatlan, or, how to spend every dime you’ve ever owned or worked for in six weeks!
