A low pressure system formed in the Pacific just as hurricanes do during this season and a high was present over mainland Mexico. The low was supposed to stay relatively static around the Cabo region. Weather forecasts were correct but it turns out that the system was large enough to kick up winds out of the south as well as the infamous Sea of Cortez wind chop. As I had previously stated there is a weak chink in Los Muertos’ armor- weather coming from the south.
I put away my computer after composing my tomes and was lounging, reading some Game of Thrones, and sunning myself like some sort of perverse reptile. The wind kicked up into the mid-teens which is nothing unusual in the afternoon but I noticed the chop was starting to pick up a little more than is usual for such a short period of time. Within ten minutes Mike and Joe were on deck surveying the bay and the executive decision was made to raise the dinghy out of the water, deflate it, and stow it below. This decision was made in the off chance that we would have to weigh anchor and make a dash away from a lee shore. Our hopes of going in for warm food, cold beer, and lightning speed internet was dashed in a heartbeat. We know that once the dinghy is up in an anchorage there is no putting it back down unless safety dictates.
Precautions for getting underway in case the weather worsened were completed as if we knew what we were doing. The weather files did not call for any disturbances this far north but as often as not, they are wrong. Five minutes after we finished squaring away the boat Mike decided that we would slip our mooring and round the point to Punta Arena. This is normally a fairly unprotected mooring except on the rare occasion that winds come out of the south and it was only four miles away.
Joe and I started to raise the anchor. When one is on the bow of a boat any movement it makes is exacerbated enormously from the center of gravity. Therefore, in the six foot rollers that were dashing our way (it was dead calm half an hour before), Joe and I were rising and falling at least twelve feet every 30 seconds. Mike put the engine in gear and even though it was in idle we were quickly overriding our anchor. This means that the anchor itself is trailing out behind the boat as you drive over it. With a boat hobby horsing like we were this can be incredibly dangerous because the chain can get wrapped around the keel or engine and cause irreparable damage. Our fellow anchor mates were quick to point this out as they shouted encouraging words to us. They had not yet decided to slip their anchor and make for the open waters of safety. We quickly remedied the situation and Mike gave us more power as I leaned over the bowsprit to cat the anchor.
For those of you that do not know what catting an anchor is, it simply means to fully stow it for sea. When you bring an anchor out of the water it is dangling and with a vessel’s movement it can swing and strike the hull. To fully stow it you need to get the anchor over the 90 degree angle and on to the deck while the flukes are still dangling over the edge. The Whistle Wing’s anchor is only 75 lbs. but to get it up you need to make sure the flukes are pointing the hull and then bring the stem through a turning block, under the jib furler, and slide it aft. Needless to say this can be tricky even in the best of circumstances. Various vessels of differing shapes and sizes have different methods of doing this and on large ships it is brought aft with a jigger and then lashed in to place.
Sailing lessons set aside; I was leaning over and pulling the anchor up and a particularly nasty swell hit us and I clung on for dear life so that I didn’t fall over the bow and get crushed under the boat coming down. As I was doing this I looked over and saw that Joe was on the wrong side of the lifeline. How this had come about we still do not have the slightest idea. He either slipped on a slick portion of the deck, was wiped off his feet as water came on board, or lost his balance and got his leg trapped underneath a spinnaker pole. I rushed to grab ahold of his arm so that he wouldn’t fall overboard and it then dawned on him that his feet were wrapped up in the lifeline and were twisted at odd angles. Mike ran up and eventually we got the legs free. Mike then ran back to the helm because we were heeled over broadside to the wind and waves with a lee shore and shallow bottom. Joe then informed me that he thought he had broken his leg and couldn’t put any weight on it.
Joe is not one to complain about anything so this was particularly troubling news to hear. He managed to hobble back to the cockpit, away from any immediate danger, and we got under way for Punta Arena. By the time we arrived Joe could not put any weight on his leg and had to scoot across the deck to lower himself below decks. We ate dinner and all fell asleep because we did not know what tomorrow would have in store for us. All we knew was that the Whistle Wing was down to two crew and potentially on another lee shore if the winds kicked picked back up to their normal routine. 
Turn around the winds did. They started to shift back to the normal Northeast wind patterns and once again we were on a lee shore. This time we had taken adequate precautions and anchored in forty feet of water about half a mile from the beach. We took our time and carefully slipped our mooring to get under way for La Paz around 6 in the morning. Winds were nice and strong at first so we set sail and blasted down the channel at around 8 knots. When we got mid channel, instead of focusing the winds and giving us even more power, the wind decided it had blown enough for the day and totally quick. Sails were quickly doused and the engine sprang to life once again. We have never motored this much even crossing the equator.
We were about to enter the San Lorenzo outside of Pichilinque and La Paz when Mike and I spotted a Mexican Navy frigate. There have been several of these sightings so far in our voyages and we promptly ignore them. There are also Spanish voices all over the radios- fishermen having casual conversations, marinas answering calls from cruisers, Navy boats hailing vessels, etc. It was no exception today so we casually tuned it out and kept on our merry way. Next thing I saw was a zodiac being launched from the side of the ship and racing our way. Mike quickly told me to keep an eye on things and jumped below to gather passports and ships documents. By the time he got back on deck there were 5 armed Mexican marines alongside asking permission to board. They were completely decked out for an armed boarding. Submachine guns, sidearms, helmets, and even encrypted radios were their attire. By the time they boarded, and I’ll have you know that any somewhat trained anti-boarding party could have held them off easily; they had changed from anticipating an armed conflict to a sightseeing adventure.
Cruisers apparently comment on the professionalism and respect of the Mexican Navy when they are boarded. I have nothing with which to contradict them. The moment they realized we were not associated with a cartel they bent over backwards to explain themselves. They asked permission before going below decks or even entering individual cabins or our refrigerator. After their inspection of our documents and vessel was done they even had a form that they politely asked us to sign so that they could verify that they had not taken a bribe or stolen anything from the boat. When one party is holding submachine guns and pistols it certainly changes the balance of any confrontation but they were not trying to abuse that balance of power.
After heaving to we got back under way and had almost made it to La Paz when we passed a great looking anchorage. Mike waffled on the decision to continue to La Paz in order to get a marina slip and see to Joe’s leg or put in to that bay. As all decisions are made on board a boat, the final call came down to Mike, and he decided to eschew the marina life and put in to the anchorage. He did ask Joe if he were alright and the stoic Joe responded that it was best to put in to the anchorage and give him another day to make sure that his injury was not just a sprain. Additionally, this was a Sunday in an already sleepy Mexican port town. The chances of finding an open clinic by the time we put in and secured the boat were miniscule. So we anchored and relaxed in the fading sun. It looked like a rain line was approaching which we welcomed. It would cool down the temperature and give us a fresh water wash down that the decks and instruments dearly needed. Rain has hit us indeed and we have been driven inside and had to batten down all the hatches to keep things dry. The much anticipated refresher actually has made things stuffy below. Imagine three guys living in close quarters in the tropics. Yup, that pleasant.
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