la paz to cabo san lucas to san diego
TRANSCRIPT
The Mexican Riviera According to the First Mate: The Bash North: La Paz to Cabo San Lucas to San Diego
We left La Paz on Tuesday the 24th of April, after a copious breakfast at The Dock cafe. I had their wonderful
chiles rellenos for the last time. My doctor would say "Good thing" as they are stuffed with cheese, dipped in
whipped egg batter, and fried in Heaven knows what kind of hot oil. But they were wonderful.
We headed up the channel towards Isla Partita. At the San Lorenzo Channel we turned right, and soon saw
windwaves coming from the north. Out of the lee of Partita, we got good wind, building toward 25 kts as we
cleared the San Lorenzo and dropped south into the Cerralvo Channel. For the length of the channel, the wind
was behind us, and the course Ed had selected put us on a slight port tack. We watched carefully to avoid a
gybe, and had the boom brake cranked down tight. It was an E‐ticket ride, for those of you old enough to
remember such things: beautiful bright sunlight, brisk wind at our backs, lots of whitecaps passing us, and the
boat speed topped at 10.6 kts. For expected hull speed of seven‐something, that is pretty fast. We slid past the
end of the channel, not wanting to turn south until we were out of the worst of the wind being funneled
between the Baja landmass and Isla Cerralvo. The channel sort of runs northwest‐southeast, and once we shot
past the eastern end of the channel, we got some protection from Isla Cerralvo, and were able to gybe and head
due south to the protection of Punta Arena. It was nearing suppertime, so Ed and Fred decided it would be good
to anchor at Muertos long enough to have a meal. I like Muertos, and the third time it was still nice. We pulled
out the to‐go package of arrachera and had tasty BBQ tacos with all the trimmings.
Readying to leave Muertos, Ed found the running lights were out. He managed to find the problem to the aft
steaming light, but the red and green lights on the bow pulpit were stubborn. So we switched on the forward
steaming light and the mast‐top (anchor) light too for better exposure, and headed on south. We motored all
night, with wind some of the time. The moon was almost to the half‐way point, giving us light until it set
sometime after midnight. The radar gave us notice of any approaching vessels, but we saw very few that night. I
managed to stand my watches with plenty of medication and the help of mild seas. A bit after daylight
Wednesday, we approached Cabo San Lucas. First clue: gobs of condos draped over the hills. Second clue:
fishermen and party boats heading out for an early start on the water.
We first got fuel at the dock, which was empty now that all the fishers were gone. Ed got us an overnight slip at
the marina, and we pulled into a finger full of partyboats. No matter, they have good water here and we topped
off the tanks. We had two tasks now on the list: change the oil and fix the running lights. So after Ed rewired the
running light connections forward of the v‐berth, we had lunch. Afterwards the oil was cool enough, and Ed
went to work on the engine while Fred and I took the laptop and went to find a quiet place to check email.
Although the marina had given us the password to their WIFI, it didn't work past the marina perimeter. We
settled on a little internet cafe which was just off the perimeter walk.
Thursday: the next morning we got out just in time! As we exited the harbor we saw two huge cruise ships
already anchored outside. They were starting to bring in the tourists, sending the little launches back and forth
to a nice new terminal near the malecon. I think there is room for one cruiseship inside the harbor at the old
dock. So these fellows anchored out. As we passed them, we saw a third big vessel which had been hiding
behind the other two. That little town would be a zoo three hours later. We counted our blessings, thinking of all
the little vendor ladies and children, and some men too who had approached us as we walked to lunch, dinner,
and chores. In my mind, I tripled that number. I was glad we were leaving.
The wind was about 12 kts, and we raised the reefed main and rounded the rocky point just outside the harbor
entrance. Cabo Falso, the "bad" point, was another 10 miles north, giving the wind time to build as we motored
up past yet more condos on yet more hillsides.
This first north leg was about 30 hour's worth. We had increasing wind up to Cabo Falso, where we saw 20 kts.
The seas were 3‐5 feet, and all of it was close to on the nose. We crashed into the oncoming swells, and it was a
very noisy leg. Ashes was not a happy camper, but she pretty much kept to the hanging locker, the v‐berth
insert, and any other place that offered shelter from the rolling motion. When she is crammed in to a tight spot,
she is happy. We three slept in our foulies between watches, and did 3 hours on, 6 hours off, continuously. Ed
managed to find us enough food to keep us satisfied, and the wind was mostly about 15, which was better than
the 20 Cabo Falso briefly gave us. We were expecting it to moderate, but at least it did not worsen. We
approached Bahia Santa Maria in the late afternoon Friday. We anchored, and had a nice dinner. Ed took the
time to re‐fix the running lights, which had failed again. I got only a few photos of BSM, as there was too much
to do in the little bit of daylight we had. It is a deserted place, but the big brown hills provide good protection
from the prevailing winds. I remembered it fondly from our brief stay during the southbound HaHa run.
After dinner we readied for a longer, wetter, colder leg. We were trying to beat the predicted high winds
forecast for Monday. So we discussed and decided to keep going to Turtle Bay, where we could stop and
weather a blow with the help of fuel dock, shoreboat, and shoreside restaurants and laundry. I switched to full
boatshoes, leaving the sailing sandals for a warmer day. We left BSM about 8:30 p.m. with all systems working.
We saw max 10 kts that night and through Saturday. We were in the watch routine, and each of us managed to
sleep between watches enough to keep tiredness at bay. The wind was still on the nose, but the seas were down
somewhat. It was mostly overcast, and the sun never did burn through the low clouds. I tried one morning to
check into the Amigo net. This requires turning off the autopilot, as the single sideband transmissions send
spurious signals to the autopilot, who then thinks it's time to turn off‐course. Fred steered while I went below to
try to sign in. They heard me but put me at the end of the list. At a quarter after the hour, Don comes on with his
southbound weather, which we listen to faithfully. After that I had endured about 35 minutes of rolly, cramped
quarters belowdeck, and Fred had endured the same time of hand steering. Enough already! I switched off the
radio, figuring if they called for me and I didn't answer, it might dawn on them it was mal de mer that got me.
We continued to motor, but this day the wind didn't build, averaging only 10 kts. The seas were down also,
giving us a rather nice motor. On my night watch, it came up to 15, the max any of us saw that night. Ed and I
were sleeping peacefully at 4 a.m. Sunday when we heard Fred shout something. We both staggered out, and
Fred was at the wheel, saying the autopilot had failed. It was cold but the seas had continued to drop, so other
than being uncomfortable, we were OK. Ed got out the backup autopilot and set up the controls. The steering
part of it is always attached to the wheel. I went on watch at 5 but by then, Ed was messing with the new
autopilot to try and adjust it's compensation behavior. Poor Fred was pretty chilled, and went down to bed.
Later I reminded him that hypothermia is a real possibility out here. It's not enough at that point to conserve
body heat, you have to ADD head. And the easiest way to do that here is to sit on the engine cover when it has
been on. It is toasty warm, and puts out a lot of heat over a long time. Of course you have to fight the cat for
that spot, as Ashes' basket sits on the engine cover. But then, you can get some additional body heat by holding
Ashes tight. Fred eventually warmed, but we should have been more cautious is treating the chill.
We pulled into Turtle Bay about 10 a.m.. The sun was fighting to come out, and the familiar pier and little town
greeted us. We found five other sailboats there. Over the course of the next few days one more sailboat pulled
in. We also heard the sailing vessel Bonnie driving north as the winds began to build. She had been behind us
coming out of Bahia Santa Maria, then must have decided she had time to lay Ensenada before the big blow. She
didn't make it, hailing first from 120 miles south of Ensenada, then from San Quentin, a tiny anchorage about
100 miles south of Ensenada. There is little there but it's a safe enough place to weather the winds. We were
happy to be entering Turtle.
As we entered the harbor, a panga came out to advise us he had the on‐the‐water fuel concession, and would
we like him to deliver us fuel later today? Ed told him we would take some the next day. Of course once we
were anchored, another panga came by to offer fuel from the pier facility, and to show us an old copy of
Latitude 38 with a story about how the first fellow has dirty fuel.
Meanwhile, we had been following the adventures of our sister ship Flame, out of Ventura. Paul and Debbie had
been cruising Mexico from December until just a week ago, when they made San Diego under sail alone, their
engine having quit on them. Turns out they took on some bad fuel, including a lot of water, and did not notice it
until the injectors were ruined and some other work, totaling $5000, was added to the damage. Ed tried to
email them via sailmail, but never got a clear answer as to whether they bought fuel from the on‐the‐water
concession. So here we were, a choice of vendors and one or both might also be providing a problem‐to‐go. Ed
decided to use the pier facility, which is the one all the big power vessels use, and which is the "sanctioned" one,
run by the local longtime harbor czar. We always use a Baja filter and check the fuel before it goes into the tank,
so Ed emptied all the jerry jugs (filtered) into the tank and had Enrique fill the jugs again. Now we are set with
enough fuel for the trip to San Diego, although we'll likely pick up some more at Ensenada. It is cheaper in
Mexico than the US, it's price being tightly controlled by the federal government here.
We enjoyed several nice meals at Enrique's, the little taco house at the west end of the beach. Dolores, the chef,
has a tough time planning when her few clientele come and go with the winds. We tried to tell her the day
before when we planned to eat ashore. She also did the laundry, and we found it the first day drying on a
clothesline behind the restaurant. Hey, that's my laundry!
Meanwhile, back to the boat maintenance issue. We now had a failed autopilot on our hands, and a backup
which was adequate but not good. First Ed changed the engine oil, as it needs to be done every 50 hours and we
had motored that much since Cabo San Lucas. The next day he took everything out of the garage (the aft
stateroom) and the outside sail locker. First he checked all the connections, as the primary autopilot had failed
in the past due to poor connections simply pounded loose in high seas. No luck. Next, he checked the clutch
unit. Also no luck, it checked out OK when it was isolated. Last, he checked the autopilot computer. It was not
working. Amazing as it seems, Ed had another autopilot computer aboard, left from an earlier failure when he
bought a new unit and then sent the old one to be repaired and stored away as a spare. So he swapped in the
old repaired computer controller, and tested the whole thing as best he could at anchor. Saturday we will likely
take it out for a spin around the anchorage to calibrate it and assure it is really holding a course. As astonishing
as it seems, we now are fully repaired and ready to go again, as soon as the weatherguy gives us a green light.
How to pass the remaining time? Fred and I were fighting over who got to do the dishes, but usually we share
the cleaning chores as that constitutes something to do. I brought out a deck of cards and a cribbage set, and we
watched our Mal de Mer Goes to San Francisco DVD from our 1999 trip. Ed has a Monty Python DVD in the
wings, and I can always start a new sewing project. As long as we don't run out of reading material, we will be
just fine. (Late note: we spent two nights watching Monty Python. Does anybody out there have a cure for
rotted brain? We have three serious cases aboard right now.)
I took a few more photos of the place. I am starting to feel like the adventure will soon be over. That is good
news, bad news. While I certainly have had my bad moments (lots of seasick meds, can't exercise, can't find
healthful food) I have had a lot of good ones too: wild adventure at every turn, new food to eat, a new culture to
experience, while learning to speak Spanish. So we are going through the usual end‐of‐vacation blues, just a
little bit early. Here are some more memories I will cherish: the church, the evil skipper, the gas station (fanciest
buildings in the entire town), Rohelio our chauffeur in the launch service, and the incessant wind lines which
streamed past the boat for hours as we waited to get out of here.
On Sunday we were finishing breakfast, and I was looking forward to a last hot shower and final preps to leave
Monday morning, when the weatherliars promised us favorable winds and moderate seas. Ed listened to the
morning weather, and announced we could leave today. Never mind that I had just finished breakfast and had
not taken any seasick meds (underneath my breakfast if they were to be at work right away). We hastily suited
up, prepped the boat, and stood at our battle stations waiting for Ed to warm the engine. He went to start it
and... nothing. Absolutely nothing. So the boys went below to diagnose, and I went forward to the V‐berth
where Ed had sequestered Ashes so she could not get into the mess of the engine compartment. I have learned
over the years it is best to not say "What is the problem?" or "How is it going?" or certainly not "When do you
expect it will be fixed?" So I stayed put in silence. It was about one‐thirty when I heard them successfully start
the engine. I had already taken one of the sunshowers from the forward head and shoved it out the forward
hatch in order to start it warming. By that time it was too late to leave, so we cleaned up and had our final hot
shower, followed by a nice dinner of BBQ chicken with leftovers for another meal or two underway. We felt like
the photo. Also see the engine mess mid‐fix and after the cleanup. The culprit was a compromised fuel line
which was allowing a little bit of air to enter the line. Ed checked and replaced the fuel pump too, although that
was not the culprit.
The next leg was the best so far. The seas were dropping after the blow of the last week. We had given them an
extra day to do that, and except for 3‐5' swell when rounding well outside of Cedros Island, we had very calm
seas and wind less than 10 kts. It was almost pleasant in the "3 hours on, 6 hours off" routine. The leg was two
full days, leaving 7 a.m. Monday and arriving 7 a.m. Wednesday morning. Ed continued to do the cooking: a hot
meal in the evening, with sandwiches at noon and yogurt/cereal/toast in the mornings. We were all pretty
mellow knowing we were doing the "last half" of the bash, the weather was not just predicted but turnout out
to actually be, mild; and Fred was pretty much assured that he would get home in plenty of time to catch his
plane to Germany. I took some pictures in an attempt to capture the joyous side of cruising. There is Ed, Fred,
Ashes carefully watching the dinner plates, and Ashes and Fred in a quiet moment.
The conditions were so mild, in fact, that we had to slow down Tuesday evening in order to not arrive at
Ensenada in the pitch dark. We cut the engine some, then even more until our speed was about 4 kts, which
allowed us to enter Ensenada just before dawn, when there was just a hint of light in the east. We motored
around a bit, Fred and Ed pointing out features they recognized from their earlier trips into that harbor. We
recognized a large blue‐hulled ketch who had been in Turtle with us, tied next to the (empty) end tie on one
finger. The first mate was walking on the dock, so we hailed her and she suggested we could tie up next to them.
This we did without incident, and learned that the marina was not open yet and our friends had not signed in yet
either.
We only stayed two days in Ensenada, giving us two good nights' sleep and a promise for continuing good
conditions for the final leg, a mere 60 miles. Good grief, who is that saying a 60‐mile day is nothing? Must be, my
evil twin snuck in and changed the text on the webpage. We did have a nice time in Ensenada, though. I ran both
mornings, which helped asuage my guilt over a lack of exercise. We walked all over town. Fred was game to help
me do my last‐chance gift shopping. I found a Gigante, the big off‐price supermarket where we got a few things
in the liquor, fresh fruit and dairy departments. Plus I got some raw popcorn to give me ammunition for the new
slingshot I purchased. Don't laugh, it will be good for keeping seagulls off the radar scanner. The second day a
big cruise ship came in for a half‐day. And in the evening Fred treated us to a special last supper. I got a map of
the nearby wine country and made plans to come back again, by car or by boat, to enjoy this tourist‐free
Mexican town and country at our leisure.
Friday at 5 a.m. we pulled out of Ensenada. The seas outside the harbor entrance promised to be nasty. Sure
enough, we had 5‐8 feet initially, rising to 8‐10 feet by mid‐day. The wind was right on the nose the entire way.
We had the proverbial "E" ticket ride home in 15‐20 kts. We were all ready, fully suited with harnesses, and even
Ashes had learned to wear her little harness and leash. She doesn't like it much, but it makes us more
comfortable about letting her come out to the cockpit with us. She had tried several times to run forward during
earlier legs, which in these conditions would be suicidal. We toughed it out until we saw the familiar profile of
Point Loma on the horizon. From there it was a quick passage into the harbor, through Customs at the Police
Dock and on to our waiting slip at SWYC. We are glad to be home, having put 2671 miles under our keel over the
past seven months. The tattered Mexican flag can come down now until our next trip south of the border.