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PUERTO LOS GATOS, Dec 9th

A cold wind is howling out of the north, a so-called "Screaming Blue Norther".  The wind generator is humming away, providing enough electricity for us to treat ourselves to more than one light per person.  Actually, enough to have as many lights on as we please.  We are rocking gently from the waves coming over the protecting reef.  But we are snug here, with our anchor well dug in to the sand bottom, and with lots of heavy chain holding us to it.

Puerto Los Gatos is a small but picturesque nook -- colorful rock, white sand beach, no houses or other human activity -- with the south facing cove offering protection from northerly winds.  We ducked in here yesterday to wait out this blow before heading further up into the Sea of Cortez.  The projecting reef that forms the seaward side of the cove breaks most of the wave energy, allowing only enough across to make the boat roll slightly.

That reef is also home for a surprising number and variety of fish.  Before the blow started yesterday, Robyn and I donned snorkeling gear and went over to look around.  Lots to look at, and plenty large enough to eat -- triggerfish, snappers, grunts, parrot fish, and others.  We hadn't brought our spears along, because it was a bit of a swim from the boat.  So, after showering and dressing back on Mintaka, we rowed the dinghy over for Robyn to try her luck with a pole.  Not two minutes later, she landed a nice triggerfish, a good base for ceviche.  As she was unhooking the unlucky flapper, a Mexican fisherman came by, hoping to trade lobster for some gasoline.  Unwilling to part with any of our small supply of outboard motor gas, we wound up with two lobster in exchange for six AA batteries and a can of beer.

The norther is expected to continue all day tomorrow, so we'll just hang out doing minor chores, maybe go for a walk on the beach.  If its not too rough in the afternoon, I'll probably go spear a couple of triggerfish for dinner.


BAHIA SAN MARTE, Dec 15th

     We came up here last Wednesday, the 11th.  San Marte is only thirteen miles north of Los Gatos, but with headwinds and contrary tidal currents, it took us four hours to sail only halfway.  With a somewhat late start considering the short days, we had to motor the second half to get in and anchor before sunset.  This little bay is very well protected from northerly winds, and that's a good thing because we've had consistent winds from that direction.  We're sitting out the second day of another "screaming blue norther" right now.  Yesterday, the gusts were into the gale-force range.
     This is as far north in the Sea of Cortez that we'll go this time.  The tidal cycles are such that the currents are from the north for most of the daylight hours for some days to come.  With such contrary currents, along with the consistent headwinds, sailing north is difficult.  The season is also beginning to press us.  Robyn needs to fly up to Duluth again in mid-January, and she'll need to do that from Puerto Vallarta.  That means we need to cross over to the mainland side of the Sea relatively soon.
     We did not plan to visit Mexico on this cruise, when we originally planned to sail straight from Washington to French Polynesia.  But changes in circumstances and then seasonal considerations led us back here before heading west next Spring.  And I am so glad it worked out this way; I had forgotten how much I love it here.  I am excited about continuing on to mainland Mexico, and then on across the Pacific again, but at the same time, I don't want to leave here.  It saddens me somewhat to think that I may never get back here.  This is where our cruising life began, where our lives changed to a completely new direction.  And this is one of the very best cruising areas in the world.  But we left here ten years ago because there was more to see in the world, and that's why we'll leave again.  It's still a little sad, though.
     All right!  All right!  Not much sympathy, huh?  So, tomorrow we sail back south towards La Paz.


ISLA SAN FRANCISCO, Dec 18th

     All sailboats have a magic wand which can change the wind direction.  Ours is called a tiller.  We didn't like the wind direction being consistently from ahead, so we waved our magic wand (i.e. turned the boat), and brought the wind around to the stern.  With that done, we sailed out of San Marte two days ago for a delightful ride back south, stopping for the night at a place called Gacetero bay.
     As we were approaching the Gacetero anchorage, where there were already two boats, we were hailed on the radio with, "Boat approaching Gacetero with tanbark sails, you are invited to a BBQ on the beach.  I'll have the coals going."   We had not planned on going ashore, intending instead to get ready for an early departure the next morning.  However, we quickly got the boat settled, the dinghy over the side, and something ready to grill (no small task, being twelve days out from a grocery store, with a defunct refrigerator).  The two couples from the other boats were quite congenial, one couple having sailed the South Pacific extensively in years past.  We don't normally like to leave things askew on deck overnight, but the weather was settled, so we put things right in the morning before heading off again.
     The wind was still fair, the sky was a beautiful blue, and the ride on further south was just magnificent.  It wasn't a long day sailing because we had a particular anchorage in mind, but it was a fine day.  Rounding the end of a several-miles-long spit, the day's sail concluded with an easy glide on flat water up to drop the hook in an unexpectedly beautiful spot just off the cobble beach.
     There is a vast, shallow mangrove lagoon between that spit and a big island.  Having entered that lagoon from a different side years ago, we knew it to hold innumerable clams.  The cruising guide indicated a second entrance, this one through the spit near where Mintaka was anchored, so off we went.  Surprise, surprise!  It was low tide, so the "opening" was a small cataract draining the lagoon into the sea, a couple of feet lower.  After a half-hearted attempt to get the dinghy up the cataract, we accepted defeat, leaving the clams in peace.
     A rocky spot along the spit looked like it might be a good spot for fish, so with no wind and a warm sun, we dinghied over this morning to have a look.  It turned out to hold more fish in one small area than we've seen in quite some time.  Numerous large schools -- one numbering literally in the thousands! -- completely engulfed us.  Some of the species were ones that we often hunt with our spears, which we of course did, each contributing one for the pan.
     There being almost no wind all day today, we motored after lunch the few miles to this anchorage, an old favorite of ours from years ago.


ISLA SAN FRANCISCO, Dec 21st

This was a good day.  We motored back here from another nearby anchorage this morning, then I did a few boat chores before lunch.  Some friends came in to the anchorage with us, and we all went for a hike after lunch to one of the two high points on the island.  After that, we all went snorkeling and spear fishing.  This is a good spot for that, with lots and lots of fish of all kinds, in an easy depth.  I managed to shoot four fish for dinner, and while I was doing that, had a fairly large tuna swim right by me!  Never had that happen before.  We finished the day with all of us on Mintaka for dinner.  Quality time with good friends.  A very good day, indeed.

Baja HaHa

We are now tied up at Marina de La Paz in La Paz, Baja California Sur.  It was over ten years ago that we were last here, and it's nice to be back.  But there have been a few miles under the keel in getting here since my last post in Oxnard.

From there, we motored overnight to San Diego to prepare for the Baja HaHa, a cruiser rally of about a hundred and twenty-five sailboats, plus two power boats, from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas.  The first event in the HaHa was a send-off party in the West Marine parking lot in San Diego.  Now, I'm not much of a party animal, but that was a good party.  I'm especially not much for costume parties, such as this one, but I have to admit to having a good time.

The first leg of the rally started off October 28th, a rainy, cold morning in San Diego.  Again, I'm not much for crowds, but the sheer number of boats parading out of the harbor together, and then massing for the start, was rather impressive.  The sailing conditions were great at the start, but quickly deteriorated to light-air and motoring.  Good winds eventually arrived, though, and we had some truly fine sailing along the way.

The HaHa fleet made two stops down the Baja peninsula, first in a place called Turtle Bay, and further down at Bahia Santa Maria.  Big parties at both places.  Turtle Bay has a small remote village, but Santa Maria has only a tiny, seasonal fish camp.  Both places see only occasional yachts most of the year, but a huge fleet with this annual event.  At night, the anchor lights of the fleet made the bays look like small cities.  The party at Bahia Santa Maria deserves special comment.  For 364 days of the year, there is nothing there except a few fishermen and their families.  For this one day each of the past twenty years, there's a party with several hundred people and a rock and roll band.  This is a really remote place, and the party was just a little surreal.

The last leg of the rally ended in Cabo San Lucas, often called San Diego del Sur (San Diego South).  It strikes me more like Las Vegas:  noisy, touristy, with few if any redeeming features.  Another huge beach party, and a final awards presentation.  We took third place in our division, but so did everyone else except first and second.

Many boats fished along the way, but some must have had large freezers considering the number of fish they caught.  We caught several nice tuna, only fishing again when we had eaten all of the previous catch.  One boat reported catching some three dozen tuna.  The fishing prize, though, went to the boat that caught a great white shark.  They hauled it up part way out of the water for pictures, and estimated its weight at six hundred pounds.

Bronson and Maggie left us in Cabo, and we continued on to here by ourselves, finally on a schedule of our own choosing.  Winds were generally light those several days, so we did a lot of motoring, but now we're here, relaxing and enjoying the warm, sunny days in an old favorite place.

We left San Diego with sixty-seven gallons of water in our tanks, plus two five-gallon jugs of emergency water on deck.  After two weeks with four people on board, then another week with just the two of us, our tanks ran dry the night before coming in to the marina here.  That averaged about a gallon per day per person, for all drinking, cooking and cleaning.  We do have a water maker on board, but it was pickled, and I wanted to modify the plumbing before using it.  We've used more water per day backpacking in the Grand Canyon.

One of the fun aspects of having crew is seeing things through their eyes.  Things that seem common to us are big and new and exciting to them, which makes them so to us again.  We've seen countless dolphins, and while we never tire of them, Maggie's squeals of delight at every one reminded us of our earlier encounters.

Mintaka is an unusual boat in some ways, very different from every other boat in the HaHa fleet.  Even different from most, if not all, other Ingrid's.  The most obvious difference is in the sails. Most ketches flying four working sails, the main and mizzen, and two headsails, the jib and staysail.  If they have a light-air sail, it is most likely a spinnaker.  We have a third headsail, a jib topsail, and our light-air sail is a mizzen staysail.  It is unusual to have just the right wind conditions to fly all of these sails at the same time, and a bit of work to do so, but we had such an opportunity at one point.  We also had the astounding good luck to do so at the precise moment that another HaHa boat was right next to us and taking pictures.

Landing on the beach in a dinghy can be challenging, even dangerous, on the Pacific coast of Mexico.  When a heavy surf is pounding, good timing, speed and steel nerves are essential to a safe landing.  Launching back out is even more tricky.  We've never rolled the dinghy in the surf, but we've seen it done.  After an absence of ten years, I was feeling a little rusty.  So, I uncharacteristically employed discretion in Bahia Santa Maria, turning back from the surf, and paying a fisherman for a ride in.

Approaching La Paz, and especially Marina de La Paz, engendered some difficult-to-describe feelings.  This was, once at least, a very familiar place.  Now we felt like strangers where we should feel like locals.  People dinghied up to welcome us and offer advice about local anchoring hazards, as we used to do, but, while overtly friendly and grateful, I felt a little put off being treated like the new kid on the block.  Now that we're in the marina, getting settled, and having chatted with the owner, who we knew back then, those feelings are fading, but not completely gone.

One of the salient features of the cruising life, and perhaps the one I love the most, is living in contact with the people around us.  We lived in the same house in Salt lake for over twenty years, and barely knew our neighbors.  Here, people stop to talk so much that it inhibits chores.  I love it.

Life on a boat has a rather basic quality to it.  Little things, like running water and clean sheets mean so much.  After three weeks sailing, the boat is pretty salty.  Simply rinsing the deck and the cabin sole (floor) gives a pleasure that hardly compares with washing the kitchen floor.  Coming in to a marina and having unlimited fresh water is a value that is difficult to measure.  Having laundry facilities and hot, unlimited showers is the acme of desires.

The sailing between San Diego and Cabo San Lucas was a mixed bag.  Because of the schedule, we motored more in light air than we might have, but we also had some truly fine sailing.  We made some big changes to the rig in the last refit, and I'm still experimenting with different sail configurations for different purposes.  I had envisioned a new downwind configuration for passage-making in the Trade Winds, and was able to test the concept pretty well on this trip.  I am pleased to say that it was a great success. Mintaka seemed to enjoy it, sailing at good speed in the prevailing conditions, and well enough balanced that when the autopilot inadvertently shut off, we didn't notice.  She just kept steering herself merrily along.  Not many boats will do that.

Back in Oxnard

We pulled in to the marina here this morning after a two-hour passage down from Ventura.  We are extremely grateful for the hospitality our new friends Dave and Diane Wyman showed us in babysitting Mintaka for the past six weeks at their private dock.  Their generosity spared us no end of cost and hassle in storing Mintaka for this period.  We can't thank them enough.

We'll be here for two days, furiously stowing provisions, reinstalling the radar, scraping the propeller (fun with a snorkel!), and generally getting ready to head on to San Diego Thursday.  We'll pick up our Salt Lake crew there, Bronson and Maggie Hawley, and head south into Mexico on Monday.  More soon.

Anacapa Isle Marina, Oxnard

The forecast today was for light air, so we didn't even bother taking the sail covers off.  You'd think a forecast only an hour before the fact would be reasonably accurate, but you'd be wrong.  We motored out of Santa Barbara harbor this morning and immediately set sail for a glorious beam-to-broad reach all the way here, starting with 5-10 kts, ending with 10-15 kts.  Robyn was fishing, of course, and just as I was taking the topsail down when nearing the harbor, she hauls in a nice barracuda.  Minor excitement to end the day.  Actually, there was just a bit more.  Marina operators have little clue about the information yachties need.  Mintaka is difficult to maneuver in tight marinas, to say the least, especially with any breeze.  Well, they gave us the slip number, but the numbers are hard to see, and by the time I saw it, it was too late downwind to make the turn.  Thankfully, there was another open slip further downwind that we could turn in to, or it would have been a challenge to back out for another try.

Southern California

Up at 0430 to catch the tide -- why is it always so early? -- we cast off and motor out from Alameda towards the Golden Gate.  Luck is with us; there's no fog this morning, so the stress level is way down.  There's more wind than I would like, right on the nose, but it's not a problem until we're outside the Gate where we start struggling upwind and up swell.  After an hour of smashing our way unpleasantly upwind, we're far enough out to raise sail and bear off to the south.

The run down to Santa Barbara was a mixed bag.  Unlike the previous leg, we had wind the whole way.  The two daylight periods gave us extraordinary sailing, but the two nights were not exactly restful.  Luck stayed with us concerning fog, though.  Except for the last half of the second night, visibility was good.  Approaching Point Conception we ran into pea soup for a number of hours, but that burned off just as we were closing the point, giving us a magnificent view of the bold, rocky coast.

Point Conception is a divide for weather patterns, and the most amazing thing happens when rounding it.  The weather gods turn the fan off and the heat lamp on, and you can't strip the foulies and longies off fast enough.  You go from cold, windy sailing, often in the fog, to motoring on a flat sunny sea in just minutes.  The abrupt transition is almost jarring.

So, we got into Santa Barbara late yesterday.  Today, we rinsed the sails, washed the boat, did laundry, and said goodbye to Matt.  Tomorrow, we'll day sail over to Ventura where Mintaka will hang out until late October.  We will also have the pleasure there of meeting up with some cruiser friends, Brian and Lisa of the boat Glide, who have just finished a circumnavigation.  We met them way back in Mexico, sailed with them off and on across the Pacific, and hung out with them in New Zealand until they sailed on westward.

About to Head Further South

We've caught our breath, done some maintenance, and visited a number of friends here in the Bay Area.  Ben and Pat have jumped ship, and another friend is joining us for the next leg.  We met Matt Dusanic and his family when we were all cruising in Tonga some years ago.  The weather looks good for an early departure on Friday, so that's the plan.  Next stop, Ventura, where Mintaka will wait for us until the end of October when we'll continue down to Mexico.

Garmin Didn't Plan for This One

Headlands often create their own weather, and Point Reyes is such a place.  As we approached the point, the winds and seas built until we were running in 25-knot winds before twelve-to-fifteen-foot seas -- exhilarating but not at all extreme.  Of course, that was in dense fog, which did add a certain element.  So, we rounded the point, the wind rose to gale-force briefly, and at that moment, a wave crested and sloshed into the cockpit.  Again, no big deal, except it splashed onto the chartplotter screen, which then stopped responding.  Remember, dense fog.  Now, I can navigate just fine without a chartplotter, but under the circumstances, the workload was going to increase dramatically.  Anyway, the plotter has a touch screen, and the salt water apparently confused it.  Once I realized what was happening, and wiped it off with a rag, it worked fine again.  Got my heartbeat up for a moment, though.

Wildlife Tour

We had precious little wind for long periods down the northwest coast, but there was compensation in the form of tremendous wildlife.  If we had been sailing in more usual conditions, we would have missed most if not all of the many, many whales, not to mention the dolphins, sharks, and a really weird  fish called a Mola.  Actually, we might not have missed a few of those whales.  Twice, we had to alter course abruptly to avoid running into them.  A third time, two whales appeared within a few dozen yards crossing our bow.  Too close to react with the autopilot, we just hoped they saw us.  Not sure if they did because they slid alongside us within ten feet.

Dolphins also came to visit a number of times, but one of those was especially memorable.  A large pod of spinner dolphins entertained us doing synchronized backflips repeatedly.  They left us gaping in awe at their antics.

Quite a few times, the dorsal and tail fins of some fish appeared protruding above the glassy surface.  After many such sightings, we are pretty sure they were Blue Sharks.  Never seen that before, and wouldn't have had there been any wave action.

One fish that I have long hoped to see is the so-called ocean sunfish, a Mola.  This is a huge, bizarre looking fish -- you should Google it for a picture.  Anyway, we saw one sunning itself on the surface, waving a fin in the air.

Lastly concerning wildlife, Robyn did well fishing, hauling in a 35# Albacore.  Sashimi first, then meals for four for several days.  It's hard to believe that the stuff in a can is really tuna.

Many Eyes Make Fog Work

We pulled in to San Francisco yesterday, after a great passage down from Neah Bay, Washington.  I have much to write about, and I hope to cover it all before heading off again later this week.  This entry is about the last, and most exciting day.

We had anchored in Drake's Bay Saturday night, about twenty-five miles north of the Golden Gate, because it was too late in the day for entering the Bay and finding moorage.  Sunday morning dawned with a dismal fog -- one eighth to one quarter mile visibility -- and our radar refused to start.  Motoring along with the chart plotter, it wasn't long before the first fishing vessel emerged out of the gloom.  We had four pair of eyes on sharp watch, and gladly so when the second trawler emerged dead on the nose heading right at us.  A quick jink to starboard cleared him, but there were over three dozen more -- trawlers, charter fishing boats, small private fishing boats -- to dodge at short notice before we got clear to approach the Golden Gate.  That's when it began to get exciting.  The fog was still dense, as was larger traffic, and the wind came up to twenty-five knots or so, thankfully behind us.  We barely got a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge -- straight up above us.  After dodging several more large boats, our instruments warned of a large vessel about to pass us heading outbound.  The first view of it as it emerged from the fog was with heads tilted well back, looking up a hundred feet or so at the bow of the Grand Princess cruise ship, less than a hundred yards to starboard.  Definitely got our attention.  However, the fog broke as we passed Alcatraz, the beautiful skyline of San Francisco emerged in bright sunshine, the wind eased, and all was right with the world again as we motored over to moor in Alameda.

Why do we check the weather forecast?

We left Port Angeles yesterday morning at 0700, motoring out the Strait of Juan DeFuca.  Twelve hours later, as we were passing Neah Bay, the last possible anchorage before the open Pacific, we checked weather one more time.  Well, they were calling for thunderstorms over the next few hours, so we decided to duck in here for the night.  Of course, it was totally calm and quiet all night.  Now they're calling for light and contrary winds over the next few days, but what do they know?

Ready for Sea

Mintaka is tied up to the guest dock in Port Angeles, Washington, awaiting our return from a brief family visit, as well as the arrival of our two crew.  She's ready for sea, and so are we.  Except for a few more chores, of course:  remounting the radar, pickling the new water-maker membrane, filling the fuel and water, and reorganizing stowage to make room for the crew.

I installed a new radar and chart-plotter from Garmin last year, and have been very impressed with them both.  Last week, though, the radar stopped working.  Bad timing!  After a telephone consultation, we sent it off second-day air to Garmin's repair facility in Kansas; they repaired it in two days, and sent it back next-day air.  Thank you, Garmin.  I still have to haul it up the mizzen mast, though.

The chart-plotter quickly seduced me to the Dark Side.  I still prefer paper charts for planning and visualizing the bigger picture, but the plotter really lowers the work load for minute-by-minute navigation.  It also makes some things possible that I would never have done before, like leaving harbor through a dog-leg channel before dawn in fog (caveat here -- been through that channel many times, and had a back-up plan).

Over the past month, we've sailed around a little, but mostly anchored in various places to do chores and to rendezvous with friends we'd met in far-off places:  Ric &Kitty, American friends living in New Zealand but cruising on their boat in British Columbia; Jim and Deb on Roriki, who we met on a street corner in Tahiti; Willy & Cindy on Pazzo, who we met in Samoa; and Will & Joan on Chaika, who we met in Mexico.   Surprising how many cruisers fetch up in the Northwest.  The meeting with Chaika was completely unexpected; they just sailed into our anchorage one afternoon.  It is amazing sometimes how boat-paths cross.

So, we cleaned and greased all the winches, installed a new manual bilge pump in the cockpit, replaced part of the engine exhaust system, varnished the mizzen mast and boom, re-rigged the spinnaker pole and moved the genoa tracks forward on both bulwarks to work with the new sail-plan, swung the compass, etc, etc.

Swinging the compass is an interesting exercise.  It involves taking relative bearings to a landmark some miles away, and at the same moment recording the compass reading.  Do that at numerous points in all directions on a calm day, graph the results, and you know the accuracy of your compass in any direction.

The mizzen mast being wood, it needs to be varnished a couple of times each year.  I use a halyard to rig a non-stretching rope to ascend, go up once to sand lightly on the way back down, then go up again to varnish on the way down.  Takes a few hours.  Unfortunately, I picked an anchorage with more boat traffic than I had bargained for -- wound up swinging around a bit up there.  Good thing I don't get queasy easily.

The new sail-plan necessitated a different lead for the jib sheets, so we had to move the bulwark tracks forward a few feet.  Nothing ever being simple, several of the screws proved intractable and had to be drilled out.  Then, in moving the cars along the tracks to new positions, the knob that retracts a spring-loaded pin broke off on one,  meaning that car could not be moved. These things are heavily made of cast stainless steel, and was the devil itself to cut off.  Even the almighty Dremel tool failed to do the job.  I finally resorted to muscle and hacksaw.

Lest you think that all is fun working on a boat, consider the consequences of a plumbing failure with the head.  On land, one just calls a plumber, and mops the floor.  Not so simple on a boat.  A month or so ago, a guest pumped the head with a valve miss-set, and blew a hose off.  If we didn't know shit before, we sure do now.  It was truly an unholy mess, in some very difficult spaces.  Took almost three days to clean.

All that is behind us now, the open sea and far-off shores ahead.  Weather permitting, we'll cast off next Saturday morning, next stop San Francisco.

Close under the Bridge

We set the alarm for 0400 this morning.  One of the realities in this business is needing to take advantage of the tide no matter the hour.  So, hot coffee and weigh anchor.  An hour or so later, we entered the Port Townsend canal, which is spanned by a fixed bridge.  Calculations said we'd clear by at least eight feet, but when you look ahead at a 62-foot high bridge, and up at a 54-foot high mast, the geometry is disconcerting.  No turning back in the narrow canal with cruise speed plus two knots of current.  The impression of imminent disaster is difficult to shake, and with a nervous laugh, we pass under.

A New Adventure

     We motored out of Home Port Marina today, probably never to return.  We have a long list of mostly small projects to finish before we head south next month, but Mintaka is in fine shape -- the best ever I think.  We plan to cruise around this area -- Port Townsend, San Juan Islands, Canada's Gulf Islands -- for the next month, finishing those projects, socializing, and just enjoying the boat again.  Early in August, two friends will join us as crew for the leg south to San Francisco.  After a few days there, we expect to continue south to San Diego, winter in Mexico, and sail west next March.
     Some of you might wonder at the above plan, as we had planned to head more directly for New Zealand, leaving several weeks ago.  Unfortunately, I sustained a crippling injury to my right hand last January, and while I can still manage the boat, we had to delay departure a bit.
     Right now, we are anchored in Port Ludlow.  Tomorrow at O-dark-thirty, we'll continue up to Port Townsend (the favorable tide is very early in the morning).  We'll hang out there for a few days, then see which way the wind blows.  I'll probably write something here fairly often for a while, so stay tuned.