When it comes to our time in the Sea of Cortez, however, I’m at a loss for motivation to commit such a log to writing. In essence, our journey through the Sea, spent basking it tropical sun, diving in clear water among exotic fish, and sailing under deep blue skies, was idyllic. It was not without its trials and tribulations, including Jen’s brief and mysterious illness that caused us to make an emergency return to La Paz, rough conditions experienced beating up wind in a Norther¹, losing our dinghy briefly due to a poorly tied knot (although I blame boat pixies), and others that I may recount at a later date. But the pleasanter aspects of our trip far outweighed the bad. We forgot our anxieties about the future. We succeeded in ignoring all the unfinished projects we’d promised ourselves we’d accomplish during all the free time on our trip, and even avoided most of the pangs of guilt our upbringing and culture have programmed us to have as a result of our lack of productivity. We delighted in time spent with visiting friends, and relished our new friendships made. We purely, deeply, and undistractedly enjoyed ourselves.

But like all good things, our days in the sun had to come to an end. As I write this we are paying off the debt accumulated during our good times. That payment is in the form of a laborious and trouble laden bash north. Whence we will return to the real world of bills and bank accounts, professions and repairs. Our dreams of many years of cruising have largely been smothered by a soggy blanket of shortcomings in our boat and finances. But hopefully Serenity will shine anew with a year or two of love and we won’t become those people clinging to the deteriorating boat they once dreamed of going cruising in, only to put it off year after year to save a bit more or fix things up a bit more in all that free time or with all that extra cash we never seem to find, and when found is so easily lost again to a little temporary recreation.

1. Norther: Strong north wind condition in the Sea of Cortez, caused by a high pressure region that develops over the deserts to the North and then funnels winds down the length of the Sea, reaching upwards of 30 knots and creating short, steep wind waves.

After four nights we left Tortugas in the afternoon for an overnight sail to Bahia Asuncion. The trip was another fast, double reefed sail down the coast, and we had to heave to overnight to delay our arrival until morning. For the last few miles the wind clocked around and we were forced to motor into a strong headwind and current, approaching the anchorage at a crawl. We spent a day and a half in Asuncion. After a long upwind row we did some more diving and fishing. This time scoring a large Calico Bass on the rod (nice work Bill) and two lobsters. The lobsters are relatively easy to catch if you have a quick hand and a tight grip. Happily they have no claws with which to defend themselves. Unfortunately the kelp beds were so thick that stalking fish with the spear proved untenable.

The following evening we departed for Bahia Santa Maria. The trip was again uneventful. We sailed the whole way, only running the motor for the first few hours to charge the batteries. Our autopilot steered faithfully for the entire trip. We continue to have no luck trolling the hand line. I taught Bill to put a reef in the mainsail. We sailed upwind into Bahia Santa Maria to within a half mile of the anchorage. I wish I had some more poetical things to say about the trip, by suffice to say it was idyllic sailing.

As soon as we had anchored in Bahia Santa Maria and had breakfast I was rallying the troops for a trip to shore to hike out to the point on the north side of the bay entrance. I had spied the telltale white spray of offshore winds on breaking waves and felt a burning desire to get some surf. To be honest my hopes were not all that high. We hadn’t been seeing much in the way of the south swell that would be required to make this spot break. Jen and Bill were both eager to get off the boat and hike around, so when breakfast was done we got the dinghy ready, packed up, and made the arduous paddle to shore in moderate winds. It was still nothing compared to the headwind Bill and I had fought to go fishing in Bahia Asuncion, where we only made it because I jumped overboard with fins to help propel us. Once on shore we discovered a convenient trail that took us the 1.5 miles out to the point. My excitement increased when I found evidence of a surf camp, which although it was vacant at the moment was clearly still seeing active duty during the peak season. Just then I started running. I was driven forward from within as I watched a set of waves wrap beautifully around a point into a small cove. I couldn’t believe it, after months without surfing I was finally going to catch some waves. The session was great. The sets were infrequent, but the waves were waist to chest high with smooth curling faces. The break had alternating steep and gentle sections, and the rides were long, making it a great wave to mess around on with cutbacks and sweeping turns. I couldn’t help but smile at the fact I had sailed over 1300 miles to ride these waves.

The following day Bill and I took it easy on the boat while Jen explored the “village.” It ended up being completely abandoned, although not apparently disused. We theorized that it was used in peak season by the fishermen. Jen was then stranded on shore for two hours while she tried vainly to hail us on the radio. What she didn’t realize is that our portable’s transmit function had died. Wondering where she was I scanned the shore with the binoculars, but couldn’t see a thing for the light of the setting sun bouncing off the water. Finally the wind let up enough for us to here here faint shouts over its steady roar, and I pulled to shore to pick her up. Sorry Jen.

Our last day at Santa Maria we made a second attempt at the surf. This time we were all armed with boards and we set out in the dinghy with the outboard. We zipped up the coast and put in at the panga landing beneath the surf camp. Unfortunately we made two critical errors. 1) I hadn’t properly relayed the plan to bill so he had no shoes for the quarter mile walk we had to make to the spot. 2) The tide was much lower now, so getting out meant walking over 50 yards of barnacle encrusted rocks with urchins lurking in the cracks. Bill, who already had massive blisters on each foot from the walk to the spot decided it was hopeless and waited on the beach. Jen, struggling with a nine foot board which had a mind of its own in the strong offshore wind was having trouble making it past the fields of urchins. After paddling around in the break for a few minutes watching the others struggle I realized we need a new approach. So with Bill wearing my too small sandals we headed back to the dinghy and simply motored out and dropped anchor. I felt like an idiot for not doing this in the first place with the swell so light. The break I had surfed two days earlier wasn’t showing at all, so we paddled around the corner to a totally hair-brained spot over shin deep boulders that jacked up steeply, and held up only for about 30 yards before smashing into the rocks on shore. After catching a few waves I shouted to Jen that you’d have to be crazy to try to surf this spot, as I paddled for another wave. It was a short but exciting ride in which you made a steep takeoff, doing everything you could to keep the nose from digging in and vaulting you bodily into the air, made a hard right and flew threw the hollow section over the shallow boulders, and then rode it out for a few seconds before bailing off to avoid the rocks. Fun!

Back at the boat that evening we spent a few hours getting everything ready to go and then we were off to San Jose del Cabo. Ironically, after spending the last two days complaining about the constant, strong NNW wind that kept us rocking in the anchorage and fretting about our ground tackle (which held beautifully), the minute we got outside the cove the wind suddenly died. We had played it close with our schedule and had to been in Cabo in 48 hours to pick up my friend Steve there. So on went the motor and we proceeded in light and variable winds toward San Jose. But the gods of the sea and the wind smiled on us for a bit because after lunch the wind picked up. Having hoisted the staysail we were able to make 5+ knots close on the wind with Serenity steering herself dead on our best course for the Cabo Falso, the point at the south western tip of Baja.  The sea was calm the wind was perfect and the weather warm. And just when it seemed things couldn’t get better we were surrounded by a massive pod of dolphins porpoising and breaching on all sides. They must have been feeding because moments later we got a strike on the hand line we’d been trolling on and off since San Diego with no luck. I watched as the line swung from side to side as the fish tried to fight.  “Fish on” I shouted excitedly as I started hauling the line in. I’d been waiting to say that since I’d gotten the fishing gear in the first place. Bill came on deck to assist and deftly gaffed the fish and brought it on deck. It was a small but beautiful yellow fin tuna (I say small, but that’s because they get up to 400lbs, this one would feed us for several days). Blood poured all over the place as we tried various techniques to disable the fish (alcohol on the gills, bashing with the winch handle, and finally decapitation). Once it was finally subdued I quickly fell to filleting, knowing that the tuna’s meat would be degraded by the post mortem nervous system activity and I wanted to get some good sashimi out of it.

The wind failed at dusk, so after a dinner of tuna steaks and curry we motored on to San Jose del Cabo. We decided to stay at the Puerto Los Cabos rather than deal with the glitz and hubbub of Cabo San Lucas. The marina is nice enough, and a slip sans electricity was only $44 USD per night (50ft slip), but the place is a sort of half finished feel, with a lot of incompletely construction and vacant trash filled lots right next to manicured lawns. After checking in at the marina office we were off to the nearest American restaurant to get what had become for us the yardstick of civilization: cheeseburgers. Conveniently, the cheap slips are on the side of the marina where Tommy’s Barefoot Cantina is located. They have great food, including American fare, cold beer, a pool table, and free wifi. We had officially made it to Los Cabos.

Bahia Santa Maria Surf

For those who may be interested, there are multiple spots along this patch of coast. Bahia Santa Maria is a large deepwater bay with ample space for boats. It is just WNW of Bahia Magdalena (Mag Bay). Check the cruising guides for more details on Bahia Santa Maria, but I will say this: there is nothing here. No diesel, no water, no mercado, and nobody selling fish. So come well supplied. The surf we saw is located on the inside of the northwest point that makes the entrance to Bahia Santa Maria (aka Santa Maria Cove). These spots all require a decent south swell, and high tide seems best. There were consistent off shore winds the whole time we were there (April 13-15 2011). I recommend a short board or fish, but you could make a longboard work. This isn’t a good beginner spot because if you don’t stay out on the shoulder you end up on the rocks and a small day means no day at all, not to mention you need to dodge the occasional rock in the lineup. Urchins and barnacles are an issue, so bring boots. There is a small protected landing spot just beneath the surf camp where the fishermen tie up. There are also trails further out the point and north toward the fishing camp/village where there are more landing spots. We were anchored at 24°46.276N 112°15.488W, 300 yards off the coast about three quarters of a mile south of the inlet to Santa Maria Lagoon. We went ashore on a patch of sand right where we were anchored. In any case, be careful where you leave your dinghy because of the tide. The hike out wasn’t too bad, but motoring out definitely saves time and arm strength. The second time out we just dropped the dinghy anchor just outside the break in 15 feet of water because the swell was small.

“What day is it?”

There was a long pause.

The moment of silence dragged on as the three of us looked at each other, calculating furiously in our heads. Even when we started to venture guesses that the others agreed on, we had to verify our conclusion in the ship’s log and additionally consult the calendar to determine the right day of the week. After all that was done, we were left wondering, ‘What difference does it make?’.

It turns out the answer was, ‘Not much’. We were out sailing far off the coast of Baja Mexico. A few days before, we had finally finished our repairs, upgrades, and general resupply and preparation in San Diego. We had hoped to take things easy and sail  instead of motoring on our way out, but we wanted to do our check-in process in Ensenada, just over the border. Time was running out on our cat’s health certificate, good for just ten days from the date of issue. Also, the next day was Friday, and if we didn’t get in early enough, we worried that we’d have to wait until business hours again on Monday. That time, it made a difference.

Other cruisers do their check-in further down at Cabo San Lucas, but we chose Ensenada because of the cat health certificate, and for peace of mind while anchoring and going ashore on our way down the coast. It was additionally appealing because all of the various offices were together in one building, compared to other cities where they were spread all over the place. This made the process more streamlined, although we did have to wait around a bit since the Port Captain’s desk was empty at first. Some of our rush was unnecessary since the customs officers didn’t want to see the health certificate at all, even when we offered it. They barely even noticed what we had checked off on our paperwork; we probably could have written that we brought lots of guns and drugs and they would have just smiled and filed the forms away.

We were still glad to finish our exercise in government bureaucracy before the weekend, and in about two hours total, not counting a lunch break. It felt good to be done rushing around, and even better to sail a bit the next afternoon, instead of running the motor. We ran out of wind later on, and had to listen to the roar of the diesel beast overnight, but starting the next day we had plenty of breeze that lasted us all the way to Bahia de Tortugas.

That passage is still my favorite to date. Nothing especially interesting happened; no particularly memorable or happy events. The day we arrived, I could barely remember what had happened in the few days before – it just all melted together, making for a somewhat sparse journal entry for the middle day of the passage. We just sailed on and on; long blue days drifting by between brilliant starry nights. Sometimes there was more wind, sometimes less. We were long out of sight of land, or anything else for that matter.

What I did enjoy was the calmed state I found out in the sea. It was a quiet that was only partly related to the lack of engine noise. Most days (and nights) I spent simply sitting and looking at the waves, from the foredeck by day or the cockpit at night. It was mesmerizing – one long blue trance that I was happy to slip in to. Out at sea the boat seemed small, and any sense of urgency was lost in the vastness of sky and water.

It wasn’t as if I became a zombie, or lacked drive or focus. We all still went about the daily activities onboard; trimming sails, adjusting course, taking notes in the ship’s log and making food every so often. Things also weren’t perfect the whole time – I would have liked the weather to have been slightly warmer and we discovered a small leak in the bow. The electric bilge pump became useless when its hose detached due to an aged coupling part, and we began a regular schedule of pumping the bilge manually. But the leak was small enough that even that became part of the routine, slipping away from the realm of things to worry about. The ocean was simply big enough to absorb all concerns, or put them in a new perspective.

Maintaining a laid-back attitude was not new to me, in general; I have always had a relatively steady disposition, and have become increasingly mellow over the years. Yet this was a new feeling, a state of peace greater than anything I had experienced before. The sea had reached out and quieted a part of me that I can only describe as my soul. Descartes determined that he existed because there was some entity to question that existence. I have often wondered if there was such a thing as a soul, but since that voyage I am rather convinced that they might exist because I felt mine becalmed by the sea.

After experiencing that, what did it matter what day it was? We had nothing to do on arrival, no agenda or schedule to follow. We would get there whenever we got there, and even that seemed to have less and less importance. With plenty of food and water, we could have sailed on comfortably for days. Except that we were interested in seeing the town and getting some rest, we could have just kept going and going. We were certainly happy to be in contact with friends and relatives again, but out at sea it felt like the rest of the world would carry on just fine without us.

When a light on the dark horizon could be a distant bright ship or a rising planet, perspectives change. Things that seem important just drift away, and the place that they occupied becomes filled with the wide expanse of ocean and sky. It is one of the best parts of cruising for me, and something that I can enjoy and look forward to on tough days. After all, there’s less that matters out there in the blue trance – not much, anyway.

The passage to Santa Cruz began perfectly. We had strong wind, a beautiful sunset, and a full moon lighting our way as we went. Unfortunately it wasn’t long before the wind died and we were motoring again. Motoring isn’t terrible; the hum of the motor is close enough to white noise that it doesn’t inhibit sleep, and it’s easy enough to escape by going on deck. I hope that when Jen and I are making passages in the future we’re able to take our time so that we don’t have to run the motor so much, and instead just sail more slowly and take a few extra days to reach our destination. One thing I’ve learned on this trip, however, is that it is not only slower to sail under wind power alone, but when the wind is light enough and the sea is of any size at all, the motion of the boat tends to become very uncomfortable, and it becomes difficult to even steer the boat. So in many cases we may have no choice but to motor if the wind doesn’t cooperate.

Upon making landfall at Santa Cruz island, we passed by several prospective anchorages, finding none of them to our liking, and finally settled on Prisoner’s Harbor. Prisoner’s harbor is the easternmost anchorage where you can go ashore without a permit. There is a pier and some structures used by the Park Service. We spear fished in the morning with much success including bagging one of the elusive Kelp Bass. The fishing on Santa Cruz island was generally quite good, despite the frigid and slightly murky water. I think the fish on Catalina have learned to be a bit more wary of divers. In the afternoon Jen and I pulled to shore and went for a hike. The only hiking trail we could find was a dirt road. There were good views of the coastline and some of the more rugged terrain the island had to offer, but it would have been nice to have found a more primitive trail. We tried some bushwhacking out to a point with a nice view, but the overgrown grasses were full of burrs that made it pretty unpleasant.

The next day we motored over to Painted Cave in the hope of being able to take the dinghy in, but the surge precluded it. We found good views all the same. We doubled back under sail to Fry’s Harbor. Fry’s was a gorgeous, small anchorage tucked far back in a bight in the coast. We had to set a stern anchor to limit how far we would swing because of our proximity to the rocky shore. As usual we did some more diving and fishing. In the evening we had a delicious meal of coconut curry and enjoyed our last night on the hook.

Monday the 27th we were headed back north. We sailed on passed Point Conception in calm conditions. The oil platforms created quite a spectacle as they lit up the sky burning off excess gasses. Unfortunately it wasn’t long before the wind abandoned us again and we were force to press on under power. We abandoned our plan to stop at Morro Bay because of the large swell running and reports of breakers in the harbor entrance. We pressed on to Monterrey.

On our way north I spent a lot of time thinking about what lay ahead for Jen and I. We finally had our boat, but that meant we now had over 100 small to large projects to accomplish. We had more stuff to get rid of. We still had a lot to learn before we could go cruising on our own. I had work to complete, including a trip to Seattle. Combined with my worries over Jen’s feelings about our present trip and our future these things produced in me a state of anxious excitement. It was all a bit overwhelming, but there is no better place to meditate on ones future that in the solitude of the sea.

Our stay in Monterey was quite a relief. We were able to get a full night’s sleep, and a long, free, hot shower. It was nice to stand under the streams of steaming hot water for minutes, letting the week’s worth of salt and sweat wash down the drain seemingly taking the stress and worries with them. Feeling like new we went into town, stocked up on groceries, took care of some boat paperwork at Kinko’s, and went out for lunch.

From Monterey we did a day sail over to Santa Cruz (the town, not the island). It was a great sailing day with a moderate NW wind allowing us to reach the whole way. We spend our time practicing manual navigation; using triangulation and running fixes of visual landmarks along with dead reckoning and depth changes to bring us within 100 yards of our target, a buoy off the Santa Cruz pier. We anchored there, within a few boat lengths of the pier and within sight of Steamer Lane, the famous Santa Cruz surf spot. I characteristically wasted no time donning my wetsuit and paddling the half mile over on the longboard. The wind had died for the evening and a moderate northwest swell was running. I got a couple of quality waves, although it was hard to spot and avoid the kelp. As dusk fell the land based crowd dwindled, opening the spot up for some of my best rides. By the time I made the long paddle back to the boat I could barely see the waves anymore, nor convince my arms to move much.

The next morning Jen and I made the slightly more sane paddle over to Cowell’s. We’re were one of the first people out, so despite the small size and infrequency of the sets we had a pretty good time. The last time we were out at Cowell’s the break had been so thick with newbies that every ride was a party wave, slaloming through packs of clueless beginners drifting inside, and almost ending with a gentle collision. I always try to be good natured and have a good time in such beginner breaks – after all we all had to start somewhere, but the empty break was a welcome change. When the morning surf classes hit the water and things started to get congested we headed back to the boat.

We got underway later that morning. As Bill got us going on his own the motor suddenly died after the anchor was up. He tried to deploy the Jib to sail us out of harms way, but with scant distance between us and the pier, he gave the order to drop the anchor and disappear below. We got the anchor down and the sail furled in short order. We could have hit the pier with a rock. Everybody’s heart was thumping. Luckily Bill resolved the issue quickly and got us moving again.

We sailed in light winds for the first day and a half. On the first day out Jen and Bill saw two large humpbacks breaching fully out of the water. I was napping at the time so I can only imagine what it must have been like to see their hulking bodies erupt from the surface only to fall back again with a splash. Later that afternoon while I was on deck I called out that I had spotted what looked like a shark. There was a grey dorsal fin moving slowly through the water ahead. As we approached, we realized it wasn’t a shark at all. Instead it was the strangest looking fish we had ever seen. It was large and triangular with pronounced dorsal and anal fins but no tail at all. It’s mouth was beaklike, similar to that of a parrot fish. It rolled about on the surface ahead of us, finally submerging and gliding away as we slid passed slowly in the light wind. As it turned out it was a Pacific Sunfish, a very odd, jellyfish eating fish ranging up to XXX lbs.

On the second day out the wind freshened and by the early morning hours of the third we were under reefed sail and taking watches in pairs because it was so rough. We would be entering San Francisco bay around sunrise. We raced in doing 7-8 knots, first close hauled and then downwind under the bridge. I must have been beat, because I slept through the whole thing, a feat Jen found rather impressive considering the conditions around the gate.

A few hours later we were back in Richmond, 23 days after we left. The trip had been a success in my mind. We had learned an incredible amount about large boat sailing, boat maintenance, anchoring, mooring, etc. Sailing for such an extended period with an OCSC instructor proved to be invaluable. I could only hope I hadn’t worn out my welcome peppering him with questions every chance I got. It certainly could have been better. It could have been warmer, we could have caught more fish, we could have sailed more, we could have been able to make a second stop at Avalon and a stop at Morro Bay; but overall I had a good time, and looked forward to making the trip again in my own boat. Jen, however, may have seen things differently, but that is a story for her to tell.

On Tuesday the 8th of March we departed our slip at the Berkeley Marina, and headed south. Bound for the southern tip of the Baja Peninsula and the Sea of Cortez, our first stop was to be San Diego. The trip down was mostly an uneventful mix of sailing and motoring. That is until we got to Point Conception.

We left when we did to avoid one of several large storm systems that had been and continued to be attacking the California coast. We knew we had to reach our destination by the weekend to avoid heavy weather, and we new there was no avoiding the typically rough conditions around Point Conception.

Even approaching the point from well off shore things began to pickup pretty quick. By the time I had put the first reef in, I immediately decided to add a second, and I’m glad I did. It blew 30-40 knots, with waves to match, all night and didn’t let up. In fact, some time in the early morning our autopilot managed to tear itself off it’s mount trying to fight a wave that was rounding the boat up. As a result we had to hand steer the boat from that point on.

We continued to have heavy conditions around the point and past the northern Channel Islands, where things moderated a bit. About half way from Santa Cruz Island to Catalina the winds finally died off to almost nothing, and we decided to fire up the engine, and get in to Avalon sooner rather than later for some much needed sleep. Unfortunately I had failed to keep a careful eye on our batteries, and the engine wouldn’t start. It was well after dark so we decided to heave to, keep a watch, and deal with it in the morning.

Lucky for us I had gotten all the supplies I needed to wire up our new solar panel. Well almost all of them. So, with wires strewn around the nav station and cockpit, I was able to get enough juice to start the engine. After monitoring things more carefully for the next 48 hours I decided the battery bank itself was partially to blame and would need to be replaced in San Diego.

We moored at Avalon harbor for two days. We slept, showered, shopped, and reassured all our friends and family that we were safe from the tsunami that had threatened the California coast while we were off shore. It felt good to return to Avalon in our own boat, having visited last fall in Fetchin’ Ketch. We had made our first passage, albeit a short one, on our own. An accomplishment for any burgeoning cruiser.

On Monday the 14th we departed Avalon for San Diego. Before we left however, we made a stop at one of the nearby anchorages where I tried in vain to get the autopilot functioning again. It turns out the hydraulic piston that turns the rudder had not only been dismounted, it had fried some internal component.

After a frustrating few hours spent on the autopilot I decided to jump in the water and do some snorkeling. I donned my gear, my video camera, and jump in. The water wasn’t too unpleasant considering the temp was in the low 50s. I took a look at our anchor, watched a ray take off from it’s hiding spot in a cloud of silt, and headed for the kelp beds near shore. After just a few minutes kicking around with the garibaldi and perch, I rounded a stalk of kelp right into a seemingly massive 5 foot shark. Needless to say that brought a swift end to my snorkeling endeavors. In retrospect I wish I had stuck around to try to get a little footage. The shark probably would have been just as scared of me, and been eager to go find some smaller prey.

Around dusk we started up the motor and made our way over to San Diego. We had timed our departure to make a morning arrival in San Diego in order to give us time to figure out arrangements for docking/mooring/anchoring. I knew San Diego had a public guest dock, but at a cheap $10 a night I was worried it would be full up. But as it turns out the dock isn’t really that crowded when it’s not the season for cruisers to be passing through, and we’re going south pretty late.

Now for the last two weeks we’ve been in San Diego fixing/installing/procuring stuff. I rewired the solar panel properly, replaced our battery bank and wiring, added a battery monitor so we wouldn’t have any more engine starting issues, and installed a new alternator with a fancy charge regulator. We had professionals take care of the autopilot and VHF antenna wiring issue (turns out somebody botched the installation of the connector at the top of the mast).

Right after I post this we will be weighing anchor and heading south. Our first stop will be in Ensenada to do our entry paperwork. Many people have told us to just go south and enter at Cabo, but the official story is that if you’re entering with a pet you have to have a health certificate that is less than 10 days old. Plus I’ll feel a lot more comfortable going a shore at the anchorages along the way with all our paperwork in order. From there we’ll be off shore a few days before anchoring at Bahia de Tortugas for a bit, followed by Bahia Santa Maria. We’ll be back in touch from Cabo San Lucas on or around April 16th. Until then you can watch our progress on our SPOT tracker page.

The Sea

Remember how you felt out on the water
Just feeling happy to be there, to exist with it?
Close your eyes and feel it again
How big it was, and endless

This is all that and more.

It is cold:
Moonless, starless, foggy nights
Dark except for the phosphorescent sparkle
On each wave, like a thousand fireflies
And our wake, churning up a path of glitter

Or an orange moonset, then so many stars
Dawn comes on the breakfast watch,
The only one that gets better, warmer.

It is warm:
Bathed in sunlight, blue afternoons stretching on and on
Deck naps, anywhere naps.
Reading, sitting, listening to the VHF

Finally shedding layers and layers
Bare feet, surprisingly comfy

It is alive:
Rolling seas, dolphins frolicking before the bow wave
Things that sound so cliche, so overused, overdescribed
I cannot make them new and different, just with words
You have to be there, then you will feel it, you will understand.

See: Part 1. The Trip Down

You really appreciate the little things when you’re on a sailboat; like sleeping in and having omelets for breakfast. I like being at sea, but I like it in the same way I like twenty mile hikes through the Texan desert: You get lots of time to introspect, it’s peaceful and often trance like, and when you finally reach your destination you feel an immense sense of accomplishment, not to mention your next hot cooked meal never tasted so good.

After breakfast at Cojo we weighed anchor and headed southeast towards the gap between Santa Rosa and Santa Cruz islands. We had decided to head straight to Santa Catalina to the south where we would spend some time in civilization at Avalon harbor before touring the local anchorages.

This leg of the trip was one of the most pleasant sailing portions. It was notably warmer than it had been. We were able to sail a good part of the time. We had numerous dolphin and porpoise sightings including large numbers of them riding our bow wave. The night was clear, and with the lights of the coast behind us the view of the stars and moon was stunning.

On the evening of the second day we reached Avalon, got tied to our mooring, and went to bed. The town of Avalon is an interesting little place. It is definitely a small town with a population of just over 3,000 people. It directly faces southern Los Angeles, and thanks to the ferry it is a popular day trip destination. That and the large number of boaters that visit the harbor make it a bit touristy, but getting off the beaten track isn’t too hard and the locals are quite amiable. The first thing we did when we arrived on shore was go get showers. There was a pay shower on the waterfront, and they were nice enough, although the attendant looked like he needed to avail himself of his own service. After that we had lunch, grocery shopped, visited the local coffee shop, and headed back to the boat for dinner.

The next day we motored up the coast to do some fishing. We had little success with the hook and line. When fishing for Rockfish, which are some of the more edible fish in the area, the strategy is to bounce a baited hook near rocky outcroppings where the fish hang out in small crevasses. Unfortunately we caught more rocks than rockfish. Spearfishing, on the other hand, was incredible. As you dive down below the canopy of broad kelp leaves, schools of small silvery fish part before you, their scales glinting in the beams of sunlight that filter through the fronds above.

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As you approach the stalks of the kelp forest, looking for an opening, everything goes dark all around you. It’s not until you’ve plunged in, unable to see more than a few feet ahead, that your eyes finally adjust and you see a new world of life. Larger fish glide warily around rocks covered in urchins, starfish, and sea grass. You must move slowly, spear extended, careful not to contact the rocks or kelp which would stir up sediment and alert the fish. And there you wait, ten feet down or more, for a fish to pass. Twitch even a little, or wait to long, and your prey will flee faster than you can hope to react or follow. Finally the moment is right and you relax your tight grip on the tensioned spear. It whooshes forward and lands home with a dull thud, the three prongs of the paralyzer tip disabling the fish and minimizing its thrashing. But now you must remain calm, to swim straight up in excitement would mean becoming hopelessly ensnared in the kelp, so you reverse your course, returning to the brilliant yellow green world outside the kelp.

My first catch was a medium sized Opaleye, which would turn out to be the easiest fish to catch, being almost as dumb and slow as the protected Garibaldi (state fish of California). It was large enough to fillet, and was decently tasty, but the more attractive Perch and the elusive Kelp Bass would become my prey later on as my skills improved. But then, to dull my pride, after we had boated my first catch, I dropped the spear in 70 feet of water before passing it to Jen.

That night we anchored nearby at Buttonshell beach and headed back to Avalon the next morning. Bill and Monica took the ferry over to the mainland. Bill needed a boat part, and Monica was taking the train home (she had classes to get back for). Jen and I took a long walk through some of the less traveled parts of Avalon, and saw some great views of the town. We also replaced the spear I had lost with two new ones.

The next day we rounded the southern tip of the island and made another attempt at fishing along the rugged western coast. The western side of the island was exposed to quite a bit more swell and wind, which made the motion of the boat pretty uncomfortable,especially when we were drifting in an attempt to fish. Bill did catch a medium Scorpion Fish (a relative of the Rock Fish), but for Jen and I it was a bust again. That night we went to a place called little harbor. It was reputed to have a surf spot near by, but we didn’t see anything surfable.

After the first night in Little Harbor we did some more spear fishing, with limited success. The water there was colder and murkier, and there seemed to be less sea life. We did, however, see some Bat Rays slide gracefully by along the sandy bottom. Although they’re generally harmless they made an intimidating spectacle. In the afternoon we went ashore in the dinghy, hiked around a bit, and generally enjoyed being on solid ground for a little while.

The following day, after two nights in Little Harbor we set out again to return to the east side of the island, where we spent another night at Buttonshell, and did some more fishing. From there it was on to Santa Cruz island…

Coming Soon:

• Part 3. Santa Cruz Island
• Part 4. The Trip Home

The image “Kelp Forest” by David Ciani reused with modification under the Creative Commons Noncommercial-Attribution-Share Alike License

Before we found and bought Serenity we had made plans with our friend and OCSC instructor, Bill Kinney, to spend a month sailing to the Channel Islands in southern California. Initially the plan had been to sail to Hawaii and back, but as we were unable to get enough people committed to make it cost effective we went with the Channel Islands instead.

The Channel Islands are a chain of eight islands off the California coast stretching from Point Conception to 75 miles west of San Diego. The northern islands, San Miguel, Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz, and Anacapa, as wells as Santa Barbara (the northern most of the southern islands) are part of the Channel Islands National Park. A permit is required for landing, and anchoring, except for Santa Cruz, where one can go ashore in the eastern half and anchor anywhere. The other southern islands are Santa Catalina, San Clemente, and San Nicholas. Clemente and Nicholas are both used and controlled by the U.S. Navy. Catalina, on the other hand is the only really populated island. It is the most frequent destination in the island chain, with a ferry to and from the mainland, and several favorable harbors including the famous Avalon (not to mention infamously expensive).

After a whirlwind week of making an offer on Serenity, attending the wedding of our friends Nathan and Nicole, brewing beer, and provisioning for the trip, we were finally ready to depart. The morning of our departure we awoke to a cool, calm morning at the Marina Bay Harbor in Richmond. We motored out as the pink glow of dawn reflected on the water and slowly warmed to the golden light of morning. The early morning view of the city was crystal clear and beautiful. As we approached the Golden Gate however, the stereotypical San Francisco fog was rolling in swallowing the bridge and passing tanker ships as we approached. It was a stunning beginning to our trip.

For the first few days we mainly motored and, occasionally sailed in light wind, down the coast. The surface of the water, undisturbed by the absent wind, was eerily smooth and black like a sea of oil. The high bluffs of the California coast formed a jagged horizon to port until the fog enveloped everything and reduced our world to a great gray dome over a gently undulating sea. The crew consisted of myself, Jen, Bill and Monica, another friend of Bill’s. We quickly fell into the rhythm of offshore passages: cold night watches interrupting sleep cycles, regular but fitful naps throughout the day, cooking simple meals in turns, reading, writing and lounging on deck. We were all somewhat frustrated by the lack of wind, but we were excited by the anticipation of reaching our destination and enjoying some R&R. The monotony was occasionally broken by beautiful views of stars, watching bioluminescence in our wake, spotting whales and dolphins (or porpoises), or the humorous VHF traffic:

Lost vessel: We don’t know where we are
Coast Guard: Can you describe your vessel?
LV: Cruiser

CG: What happened?
LV: Our GPS and our fish finder took a dump.
CG: …..uh.. Roger that…

CG: What is your depth?
CG: Can you see anything?
LV: We can see the shore.
CG: How far away are you?
LV: About 1 to 1.5 miles.

CG: So this morning did you go north or south?
LV: South
CG: What was the last thing you saw?
LV: We were near Martins Beach by the lighthouse
CG: Martins beach has no lighthouse…

On September 14th, after three days at sea, we approached Point Conception. We were finally able to sail with all sails drawing well. The labors and reduced pace of sailing are infinitely preferable to the clamor, rattling, and fumes of motoring. It was especially unpleasant when the exhaust system failed and filled the cabin with diesel fumes. Jen and I had been napping below when it happened, and I’ll spare you the description of the gunk coming out of our sinus passages for the next few hours. Luckily Bill was able to jerry rig a fix once the engine cooled down.

As we rounded the point, slipping past hulking oil rigs, we discussed our course. At first we were trying to decide between visiting one of the northern islands for some period, or heading straight to Catalina and hitting the northern islands on the way back. We were all tired and even the closest anchorage was over a days sail away, so none of the options really stood out in our eyes. But then Bill had an epiphany: Cojo Point. An anchorage just east of Point Conception, it was most commonly used by ships waiting for calm weather before heading north. After checking the details in the cruising guide it was unanimously declared a winner. As we approached we were undeterred by the ominous visage of two small sailboats that had be blown up on shore some time ago. We reassured ourselves that they had probably foolishly anchored on 3:1 scope in a southwester, and we had nothing but fair weather ahead. We arrived just before sunset, and as we positioned to anchor I couldn’t help but notice the small but well formed shoulder of the waves wrapping Cojo Point. As soon as the hook was secure I was changing into my wetsuit, shrugging off “you’re crazy” looks from Jen, and jumping off the boat. The session was awesome. The rides were short, but the conditions were very clean. There was a thick kelp bed outside the break smoothing things out, and combined with the offshore winds, the set waves turned into perfectly sculpted waste high right-handers. I think I was smiling ear to ear when I paddled back to the boat, to enjoy a delicious dinner prepared by Jen and a rum nightcap.

Coming Soon:

• Part 2. Catalina
• Part 3. Santa Cruz Island
• Part 4. The Trip Home

And now our plans, over a year in the making, are finally coming to fruition. As discussed last post, we have purchased our sailboat, a 38 foot cutter rigged sloop named Serenity. We’re now working tirelessly to get her ready to embark on a journey without deadline or destination, to visit the both old haunts and parts unknown; to see long time friends and make new ones. One day soon, we’ll decide we’ve done enough preparation, and that while things may not be perfect, we are ready. Then we will set sail. The plan is, after many day sails in the bay and some short test passages, to head south to Mexico, where we will enjoy some much needed warm weather, surfing, and diving. Eventually we want to transit the Panama Canal and cross the Caribbean to visit our families on the east coast. However, because of the length of this passage, and the necessity of avoiding the Caribbean hurricane season, we won’t be able to embark on that journey until next year. So this year it will be back to California where we can get jobs and raise some extra funds for future passages.

For now we’re working on the last of the high priority todo list items. Having replaced the standing and running rigging, and refinished the cabin sole, we’re now installing an inverter and solar panels; rebuilding winches; accumulating spare parts; servicing the head, critical pumps, etc.; and making a few replacements of auxiliary diesel components. We’re also looking for crew members to join us on parts or all of our passage to and from Mexico. So if you’re schedule is flexible, and you want to have a crazy sailing adventure, or just spend a week in Baja—whether you have experience or not—give us a ring.

The pizza took a long time.

This wasn’t unexpected – in fact, we had ordered appetizers to stave off our hunger, though they seemed to do more to whet our appetites than satiate them. I think we all agreed in the end that the results were worth putting up with the extended though minor physical discomfort . But it was more than just the experience of Chicago deep dish pizza(a truly epic creation) that made the wait worthwhile. It was the people I was waiting with that made the simple event one of the highlights of the whole trip.

We had been hanging out all weekend, seeing other old friends and making new ones. The night before we had partied hard at Justin and Danielle’s wedding, dancing with wild abandon and generally having a good time. The spirit of camaraderie, of mutual enjoyment of each others’ company, had been building up to the point when we sat down, hungry for pizza.

It wasn’t that we talked about anything deep and meaningful. We laughed at things on TV, threw stuff at each other, joked around. The conversation was as random and shifting as it was silly, funny, and clever. But that was the best part – that was what kept me grinning like an idiot and laughing until my eyes teared up.

As we did our best to finish off the last of the hearty slices, someone joked that if we didn’t eat it all, the pizza would not be self-actualized. We continued to joke about the term and ponder its proper definition as we struggled with our last filling bites. In the context, we really used it to mean “fulfilling the purpose which something was created for”. To that end, the pizza was generally victorious.

But among us, I felt a different sense of completion. There with my close friends, I experienced a wholeness, a feeling of being where I ought to be. It was Happiness – feeling thrilled just be around them, hardly able to wait to hear the next words to come out of their mouths. It was hard not to feel thankful for them, and for all the other friends and family with whom I’ve shared similar experiences.

Not to mention extra gratitude for the slow pizza that made it all possible : )