December 9, 2011

Where to begin? It has been awhile since my last blog. We have been trapped in La Paz since our arrival and the days have taken on a certain tedium that has not lent itself to writing. Mike and I wake up in the morning and enjoy a mug of coffee and then walk in to town. The walk is roughly 3 miles to our local breakfast haunt. Café Olimpia is a family run, hole in the wall, establishment that only has 6 tables. It offers a breakfast that includes coffee, orange juice, and a plate of food for 45 pesos. Food is one of the things in Mexico that is nice and affordable, but it still blows my mind that I am able to get so much food for so little. You can tell just when you walk in that it is a local hangout full of regulars and we have started to recognize the same groups of people and receive brief greetings or at least nods of the head when we enter. Mike is a man of habit and when he finds something that he likes, he sticks with it. Breakfast has now gotten to the point where she will jokingly ask what he is going to have and then chuckles when he says he wants the ham and cheese omelet. After we stuff ourselves with delicious home cooking, we will either walk straight back to the boat or venture in to town and grab some fresh meat and produce for the evening meal.

The markets and shops in La Paz are awesome. There are a couple different options but the prices are all very comparable. When we walk back along Revolucion, one of the main streets for the locals, the place is packed with street vendors, taco stands, and shops. Some of the street vendors sell really fresh and good produce but that means we need to eat it that day or it will be overripe the next. That, along with the fact that the vendors don’t speak any English or write down the amount, means that we rarely frequent them. Our most common stop is a local grocery store called Aramburo. It is basic but has most things we need and is priced reasonably. A lot of locals shop here so we know that it is not a place we will get gouged. The other grocery store is called Ley’s and it is more the equivalent of a Giant but when we can find everything at Aramburo, there is no need to walk even further out of our way to get the same prices. The final option we have is the municipal market. We only went here once because it is way off the beaten path, the prices are all given in rapid Spanish, and we are fairly certain there are gringo prices and local prices. Though the meat seems more fresh, it is not worth the prospect of being gouged. It is a fun scene to witness however. For all intents and purposes it is a farmers market open 7 days a week and completely covered. There are fish being tossed around, sides of beef being chopped apart, and stacks of produce. At least we know our food is fresh.

After we finish any shopping that we have to do, Mike and I continue our walk down the malecon burning off calories and chatting about the meaning of life, the quagmire of ill prepared mediocrity that epitomizes American politics, and everything in between. Once we get back to the boat we devote at least an hour or two to doing some sort of maintenance or chores. It can range from refilling water tanks, scrubbing the decks, installing various parts, or simply cleaning. The point is to feel somewhat productive and give us some structure. Depending on how I am feeling after that I will either do some sets up push-ups, pull-ups, or sit-ups and then shower- or just head to the shower. The rest of the day usually entails reading and then preparing dinner around 6. After dinner we will either watch a movie together or I will head up to the local restaurant.

Mike and I have taken a liking to the different types of marinated meat down here, especially arrachera. It is much like carne asada but there is a different marinate on it that is hard to describe and impossible to reproduce. Try as I might, I could not get the proper mix of spices and seasonings to replicate it. We were about to give up all hope when Mike stumbled upon a little blurb in his cruising guides that told of a mythical store that sold pre-marinated and flash frozen arrachera. Addresses change rapidly down here and stores open and close in quick succession. We decided that we would set out after breakfast and attempt to find the store. It turns out that it was right across the street from Café Olimpia. The culinary gods were smiling on us. Since we have found that store we have feasted like kings, oftentimes eating almost an entire kilo in one night. Barbequing it can be a bit of a feat however. Once we cut it into manageable slabs and throw it on the grill, the challenge begins. The first time I cooked it I was contending with flames that shot up almost three feet. Last night I singed all the hair off my hands when it flared on me. We draw nervous looks from some cruisers and jealous looks from others.

Although Marina Palmira may advertise Wi-Fi as included in the package, it must be taken with a grain of salt. Each boat only gets one internet connection and login. If you want to use more than one computer then you have to log out of one, wait a half an hour for the system to reset, and then log in with a different computer. The connection is also incredibly slow and incapable of handling anything more than email and browsing. In order to retain what semblance of sanity I have, I have decided to not bash my head against that wall and instead walk up to the local restaurant and abuse their Wi-Fi instead. Before I realized how reliable this connection was, I would go for random adventures to establishments all across La Paz and log in to their networks. I soon started to feel like a bum however because I would hole up in a corner, order a beer and appetizer, and proceed to use the connection for hours on end. I went so far as to bring my charger and find places to plug my computer in. Wireless speeds are something that we take for granted in the States. It is patchy and unreliable at best down here. Who knows how it will compare in other portions of the world.

Though we have settled into the local rhythm and have established a routine, I have managed to keep myself busy and somewhat employed. I was sitting in the cockpit one afternoon when another cruiser by the name of Bob dropped by to take a look at the monstrosity and peculiarity of the Whistle Wing. He chatted for a few minutes and then started to ask some pointed questions about the way Mike rigged our storm tri-sail track. It turns out that he is planning on taking the boat across the Pacific and figured it would be prudent to have some fallback options in his rig. Mike gave him some suggestions and showed him the way he had set it all up. Bob then started to ask if we knew of any good riggers around town that he would be able to hire to do the job. Out of the blue Mike said, “Well you are chatting with one of them.” He then suggested to Bob that he hire me to install the sail. After a little more chatting I was hired for the weekend. Rigging a trysail is not difficult but it is tedious and requires multiple trips up and down the mast and hours in either a climbing harness or bosun’s chair. At my age and with my previous work experience, this seemed like a dream come true. Much less demanding than any of my other rigging jobs. Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity.

Now for this blog’s sailing tutorial. A storm trysail is a tiny sail that flies on the mast in the place of the mainsail. Some mainsails cannot be shortened when the wind comes up, others can be reefed once, and still others can be reefed twice. As the wind rises it is the person on watch’s responsibility to decide when to shorten sail to avoid tearing it or losing the entire mast. Every time you shorten sail, it gives you the ability to continue sailing with the mainsail up, making headway, but not straining the boat. It is normally best to leave some sail area up for two reasons. You need to be making headway in order to steer (water has to be moving past the rudder) and it also steadies the boat so that it is not tossing and bobbing like a cork. If the winds are too strong however, sometimes you need to douse the entire main or risk tearing it, etc. A storm trysail is essentially the equivalent of throwing another reef into the sail. You douse the main and then run the trysail up a different track that is parallel to the track the main takes. It is a tiny sliver of canvas but is much more heavy duty and if it ever does rip, you are not stuck with patching a main. To install it you just need to measure the sail and install the track, plus a few other things that get a little more technical.

Drilling and tapping all the holes into a metal mast is tedious work and requires someone on deck to raise and lower the person in the bosun’s chair. Bob stayed on deck and helped with that while I did the work on the mast. Since it is such tedious work we started talking. Bob has quite a bit of experience racing old IOR (international offshore rule) boats and is also a sailing instructor, etc. We got to chatting about the difference in the new racing boats versus the old IOR boats- the class of boat that the Whistle Wing hails from. The new boats surf down waves, are really responsive, and sail with a following wind very well. IOR boats were designed for races where the wind was either off the side of the boat or coming from the head, they do not surf or run very well. As we were chatting about this another cruiser chimed in from across the docks about how his IOR boat surfs quite well and how Bob had a kid up his mast that seemed to know everything about the world and he wanted to put me in my place. I decided to bite my tongue and smile instead; knowing that this individual was just a bitter old man and clearly didn’t know what he was talking about. Later I conferred with Mike, Bob, and several other captains just to make sure that my knowledge was sound. Thankfully it was but the thing that really amazed me was that this man was listening in on a conversation where two people were chatting amiably and sharing anecdotes and information, and he decided to chime in with a very hostile interjection. The only reason I bring this up is because it is completely different from any other encounter I have had in La Paz. The people, locals and gringos, have all been incredibly welcoming, nice, and engaging that this took me aback.

There are some examples of the friendliness of people we have run in to that will put that last tidbit into perspective. Right across the dock from the Whistle Wing are Jim and Ellen, a couple from Alaska. They have been coming down to La Paz for several years now and we quickly became friends. Jim has filled us in on some of the local information concerning cruising the islands around La Paz and the west coast of Baja. His wife, Ellen, has been helpful in directing us toward stores and giving us local information. We have even gone out to dinner with them, Thanksgiving included. They introduced us to their friends, Rob and Kim who are cruising down here to escape the cold in Canada. They stop by the Whistle Wing every now and again to chat and share a beer and every now and again will join us for dinner. Another couple we met right away are Pat and Terry. Pat was legitimately concerned about Joe and gave us the contact information for the doctor that saw Joe so quickly. Whenever we see them on our walks or on the dock, they always stop and chat for quite a bit of time. Mike and I were laughing about finding stainless steel wool and he overheard and within five minutes he had gone below and come back up to give us some of his own. I ended up reciprocating the favor and went to the top of his mast to rig a new halyard for his spinnaker and take care of some issues. These are the types of things that most everyone I have come across in La Paz do for each other without a moment’s hesitation.

I have managed to land an interview with an individual who does a fishing report for Baja and owns a very successful sportfishing company as well as restaurant. We will be meeting some time next week and I will pepper him with all sorts of questions about the fishing economy, international interests in that field, and his successes and failures in Mexico. He has agreed to sit for this interview as well as answer any follow up questions I might have. All the exchanges I have had with him thus far have been incredibly cordial and informative. I am excited for this opportunity and I will fashion an entire blog update based on the information I get. Though I haven't kept posting in the past two weeks, I have been writing copious notes on various topics, and the next few blogs will be topic specific before they branch back out.

November 15, 2011

Hilarity from the day before turned into utter disappointment. We made an appointment for Joe to get his leg x-rayed and then meet a doctor. It turns out that he was more stoic than I would have ever imagined. The fall in Bahia de Los Muertos gave him a spiral fracture on his right tibia. This is one of the hardest bones in the body to break after the femur. The reason he couldn’t put any weight on it was due to the fact that it was broken, and not just any break but one that wrapped around the whole leg and travelled downward. We never heard a single complaint about pain or discomfort. Truth be told, he kept saying that he was getting better and we shouldn’t change our plans on his account. If a broken leg can’t make him complain then I don’t know what will. All I know is that this is a person I want to sail around the world with.

The day that Joe limped in to the clinic and saw the doctor he was also going under the knife. He got 4 x-rays, they were read by a radiologist, he was seen by a doctor, given a full physical including an EKG and stress test, anesthesia, the operation, and three days in the hospital including antibiotics and pain killers before he flew back to San Diego, all for under five grand. According to all the people that recommended this doctor, he received first class medical care for a pittance of what it would cost in the States. I can’t help but wonder if the healthcare system or at least the insurance companies are irrevocably messing up our system. But this blog is not the place for musings that can cause such heated opinions. Anyway, Joe got great treatment rapidly. That is the most important thing. If all goes according to plan he will rejoin the Whistle Wing in Zihuatenajo and continue on with the trip. Not that I wish anyone ill, but this is the perfect time for such a travesty to occur. Due to prior engagements to Leslie and Laura we will be in La Paz and the Sea of Cortez for most of Joe’s recovery time and he should be completely mended, out of pain, and ready to hit the wild ocean by the time we fix our compass on south, spread our canvas, and take to the intractable beyond called the ocean.

At some point during the couple of days while Joe was injured, days that all blur in to a constant stream of storms and lee shores, Mike was checking the mariner’s net on the sideband and heard a call from the Star of India. For those of you that are not aware, the Star of India is the oldest active sailing vessel in the world. It is an old iron barque that has circumnavigated 21 times and seen all sorts of walks of life. It is the flag ship of the Maritime Museum of San Diego where I used to work. The vessel popped up on the net because, along with three other major tall ships including the HMS Surprise (Providence of Pirates of the Caribbean), Californian, and Pilgrim, it was outside of San Diego Bay sailing along for a historic cruise. I came back on the net and was able to greet my old shipmates from over a thousand miles away; sounds like they had great wind, a great sail, and several flawless tacks (at least on the Surprise and Californian, my old ships). Not that there is any favoritism or anything.

La Paz is a great town. The longer I stay here, the more it grows on me. I have had several days of hair wrenching boredom but it is always outweighed by La Paz itself. People are incredibly nice and gracious here. Everyone stops and says hello while passing in the streets. No one is in too much of a hurry to acknowledge anyone. Attempts at Spanish are greeted with smiles and an attempt to convey certain points with hand gestures and incredibly rudimentary Spanish. Even with my limited graspings at Spanish, I have found that I can understand enough of what is said for the encounter to be worthwhile. Although I won't lie, sometimes when I am at a complete loss for what to say, I have found that I accidentally slip in to French to convey a point. This abrupt change into an even more foreign tongue perplexes everyone and even I can almost hear from afar how what I am saying is completely foreign. But habits are habits and in the end everyone ends up smiling and we figure it out.

It is also a small town. The first night that I was in the marina I was walking the docks, checking out the boats, enjoying a somewhat solid surface under my feet (even though I realized that I was swaying like a drunkard because I am already so used to a living deck), and I saw a man outside on his aft deck enjoying a cigar and glass of port. I stopped to say hello and after a few minutes of conversation he invited me onboard, as is customary in any port, and I proceeded to share a cigar and glass of wine with him. We got to talking about our backgrounds and next thing you know we had spent two hours talking. I was surprised that I didn’t already know him. This man, Greg, is a professional captain for an incredibly wealthy American that shall remain unnamed. He splits his time between three boats but rarely actually takes the owner out. They are such fast friends that he is given run of whichever boat he chooses as his home and since this vessel is moored in La Paz, Greg has decided to call it his home for the past 6 years. He used to build boats next to where Mike used to build boats. He sailed on the Whistle Wing III, our vessel’s sister on the east coast. He knows the rigger that converted the Rose into the HMS Surprise. He knows my bos’un from the Maritime Museum. And the list goes on. We at around and regaled each other with sea stories and I was surprised that even at this point in my life I have a few that experienced mariners appreciate. I suppose it is easier when the audience knows the people I am talking about. By the time I got back, Mike and Joe thought that I had gone out into town or something. I told them about this guy and Mike smiled, shook his head, and simply said, “The world is a small place.” You have to love Mike's understated way.

Greg is not the only person that has ties to the United States who now resides in the great town/city of La Paz. One of my expeditions into the city after I took care of various housekeeping items on the boat led me to the famous Rancho Viejo. This establishment is so well liked by the citizens of La Paz that they have been able to franchise it, opening a second on the malecon and a third in a different part of the city. The malecon is what they call the boardwalk and Obregon Avenue, basically the high-rent real estate that has an ocean view and access. I sat there for over two hours reading two of the local English newspapers that are geared for Gringos and chatting with ex-pats. The ex-pats come from all walks of life. I found some that were in their late 20’s, some in their 40’s, and some well in to their retirement years. The resounding consensus was that these people loved the city for its laid back atmosphere, the friendly citizens, the climate, and the prices of everything. Each person I talked to was happy to welcome me to their adopted city and give me their opinions on the best places to go for food, services, and night life.

Another day Mike and I went to one of these local breakfast places on the behest of a random ex-pat we happened across while walking the streets. We wandered in to a tiny café and I had no idea what to expect. The locals all gave us a look but quickly went back to their food and conversations. That was heartening. I hate walking in to a place with a deafening silence greeting my ears. We sat down and a man that was eating breakfast stood up, walked up to us, asked if we wanted coffee, and proceeded to serve us himself. This man, Bob, informed us that his wife and daughter ran the place. He gave his recommendations and then, like everyone else I have met, did not linger and overstay his welcome. We ate to our hearts content and were so full that we did not have a dinner of spaghetti till 8:30pm. We accidentally ordered three meals and yet the total with coffee, orange juice, and water all ran to the modest sum of 130 pesos or 10 USD. I can see how people could get used to this town.

Due to the fact that we were not sure what was wrong with Joe, we rented a slip in the marina for the entire week. Mike’s rationale and one that I agree with and epitomizes the cruising attitude was that we didn’t know what was going to happen and deadlines and dates are the death of relaxation. We are in no hurry to go anywhere; in fact we are here for quite some time. Due to the weather patterns, freak storms, chance occurrences, previous engagements, and a love of the city, we were bound to the city for a while anyway. The week in a marina with two people has led to a few days of mind numbing boredom but the highs far outweigh the lows. In fact if one were to compare the “boredom” to any vacation at the shore, the shore would pale in comparison. True, we spend half a day reading a book or taking naps, but the other half is exploring a truly foreign city. And some people spend their entire days reading books, sitting in dirt, and soaking in rays. Perspective is a blessing. I only utter that dastardly word, boredom, because we are not snorkeling, diving, swimming, hiking, spearfishing, pearl hunting, or sailing in 30 knots of wind with a seaway and living deck under our feet. In truth, “la vie est bella”.

Tomorrow is “Revolution Day.” Most Mexicans truly to not understand the American’s love of Cinco de Mayo. Most of the gringos in La Paz agree that Cinco de Mayo is actually a Budweiser holiday. I am sure that Corona Especial, El Patron, or Jose Cuervo don’t object but the concept is foreign to locals. Revolution Day is so important that it merits a three day weekend as well as the shutting down of every major street in La Paz. The locals that drive the free shuttle from the marina in to the city all give a smile when I ask if they have off for the festivities. Even the people that came down with the Baja are complaining that all the good anchorages at the islands off the coast are taken by locals escaping the city for the weekend. I have seen locals decked out in colorful sun dresses and their Sunday’s finest as they head in to town for pre-celebrations. I don’t know if it is a good thing that we are leaving Sunday morning to escape the throngs or if it would be worth it to check out the fun. In the end I am sure that our game plan is for the best of my wallet if nothing else.

Stay tuned for the next blog where I will get in to the nitty gritty. During these past few days I have managed to make a few friends and get some of the real local “gouge” on the narco violence in Cabo, the fishing dilemma witnessed in Bahia de Los Muertos and Bahia Tortugas, the poverty in La Paz, and the steps that non-profits are taking to educate the youth of the city.

November 14, 2011

Refreshing rain turned into an all-out squall. Once again we were on a lee shore in shallow water with not much distance between us and other boats, or more importantly, between the Whistle Wing and the shore. I was woken up at 3:45am when I heard an almighty bang and the anchor start ripping through the windlass. There was not much time for thought so I threw on a hoodie and ran up on deck. The wind was all of sudden driving pellets of water into my face at around 35 knots. Talk about a rude awakening. Wind chop was driving the boat ten feet in the air before the combined weight of the boat and anchor falling accompanied with the swell would bury her nose completely. The snap that I heard was our snubber, a ¾ in. thick line with a breaking strength of 30,000 lbs., completely parting. The wave action had chafed enough of it away, coupled with enormous strain, to part it as if it were a piece of floss. The windlass could not handle the strain so chain was ripping out every time we had a serious up swell.

Boating lesson for this blog: anchoring. Military regulations call for a 7-1 ratio for anchoring. That means 7 feet of chain for every foot of water depth that one is anchored in. Cruising practice normally dictates anywhere between 4-1 and 7-1 depending on conditions. Those conditions include the depth of water, what the bottom is made of, if you are using a mixture of chain and nylon, and currents/tides. Books have been written on those four conditions so I will not bore you with details. After letting out the amount of chain that you want to use, you attach a snubber to the chain and lower it towards the water and then make the snubber off to a cleat. This is done for three reasons. First and foremost, you never want to have strain on your windlass unless it is actually lifting. This obviously ensures that it lasts and can haul when it has to as well as the fact that it is not designed to take major loads. The second reason is that a snubber is made out of line (types can depend on preferences) and it can take a static shock from swells and turn it into a dynamic load. A chain only deals in static shock loads because by its nature it is inelastic. These are the death to anything on a boat because all of the enormous forces are consolidated into a single punch. Finally, the snubber transfers the force vector on the chain from the top of the deck to the waterline or wherever the snubber is made off to the chain. Think trigonometry and you will be on the right track. In short, the snubber is incredibly important and if that snaps then you know there are huge problems in your future.

We immediately began preparations for getting under way and within 5 minutes we were weighing anchor standing out to sea instead of getting trapped in a bay with a bad sea state, a group of boats, and a shallow bottom. We cranked the engine up to 1600 rpms and realized that we were only making about a knot of headway. The conditions were that intense. And they had all cropped up in the span of an hour. Amazing how the Sea of Cortez can be so fickle. This anchorage was supposed to be one of the most protected and I had jokingly mentioned to Mike that unless our luck changed we would wake up early and have to get off another anchorage. I need to insert my foot in my mouth and stop making such sarcastic comments. We decided that instead of heading off the wind and swell we would just loiter till the sun came up and then try to put in to Pichilinque. There is a small commercial anchorage and marina there that we could at least drop our hook, eat breakfast, catch a few zzz’s, and then be on our merry way. No sooner had we finished the dishes from breakfast that Mike noticed a large contact on the radar coming our way and we needed to weigh anchor and get under way again.

I am starting to fool people into making them think that I know what I am doing with the sea and anchor detail. Within the past 24 hours I had weighed or set anchor seven times. Sometimes I really do just long for the sea and a nice week long tack in the trade winds. The only problems that you have to deal with are the occasional squall where you can easily fall off and reef, a rainstorm here or there, heavens that are so bright at night that they rob you of your night vision, and bioluminescence that makes your wake sparkle and glow. It is a rough life. But the work, challenges, and adrenaline rushes are also fun in their own regard.

After raising the anchor, catting it, and rounding the point, we took a look out and saw a huge container ship was bearing down on the bay we had just exited. Talk about good timing. There were two options of attack after this. We could take an anchorage in the municipal anchoring off of La Paz or follow up on the leads of a cheap marina and take our chances. Mike decided on the latter and we hailed Marina Palmira and got a slip. When the numbers were crunched it became obvious that a week would actually be cheaper than a couple of nights so we are now in this marina for a few days. Thankfully if we want to leave early there is a sister marina in Mazatlan that carries over any unused but already paid for days.

During the check in process a women proposition Mike and said that she would do our laundry for 50 pesos. That is roughly what it would cost in the states to go to a Laundromat and pay in quarters but this women would take care of all that and fold them. Next thing you know I am given laundry detail and the price has risen to 200 pesos. Joe chimes in from his bunk that it is alright and he would foot the bill. Who am I to argue. She took the laundry and three hours later had it back at the boat, separated, folded, and ready to go. This senora then rattles off some Spanish and the gist of what she was saying was that the 200 pesos had gone to tokens for the machines and detergent and she now needed a tip. I finally gave her 50 more pesos to shut her up and she stormed up in a fake temper to try to get more money. Upon closer inspection I realized that we could have done our laundry for the equivalent of 120 pesos and she had used the marina laundry machines that we did not know existed at the moment. Last time I trust anyone with my laundry except my mom.

Fresh water, hot water, water pressure, hell even shower heads are taken for granted. I spent a good 20 minutes soaking in a nice hot shower in the marina. I smell great! The only problem that I could foresee when I set my eyes on the shower was that the boat would smell because of the dirty laundry. But after being swindled by the biggest con artist known to Marina Palmira, our clothes are clean, I am clean, and life is good. After showering Mike and I went in to the city center to find crutches for Joe. Turns out that was ridiculously easy. The marina has a shuttle that will drop you off anywhere within a certain section of town and it will pick you up if you ask for a definitive time and location. You have to catch the shuttle in to town at a certain time, and of course that time is Mexican time, aka 15 minutes late, but it was free. We took the shuttle in and were dropped off right at a medical supply place. Then we asked the owner of the store for a taco cart.

There was a taco cart right around the corner that specialized in shrimp and fish tacos. YUM. We feasted and had two soft drinks and the total bill for the both of us, after tip, was less than 10 dollars. That is living. We then went for a nice ambulation and walked the 2 or 3 miles back to the marina. Now we are just sitting, enjoying a great sunset, Mike is about to go shower, and we are alternating using the one internet connection afforded to our boat. The day may have started off rough but it turned out for the best. Always nice when that happens. There is always a silver lining though. I think I like marina life a lot more than Mike or Joe however. They are all about being in anchorages to escape the noise and bustle of cities and marinas whereas I like that. But marinas are expensive and anchorages are free, so, as with anything in life, it is a big trade off. Joe has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to get an x-ray and let’s keep our fingers crossed that nothing is torn or fractured.

The cabin fever finally got to him. After I finished writing this blog I went above decks and was busy doing things. Next thing I know I see Joe’s head like a turtle just peeking over the edge of the hatch cover. He was letting me know that we were going to attempt to head off the boat and go to dinner at the marina restaurant and catch the Monday night football game. This turned into a hilarious scene trying to get him off and on the boat. We wrapped a life sling around his armpits and used the main halyard to lift him over the lifelines and then slowly lowered him to the dock or the deck and then gave him his crutches. Now that we know how easy it is to do that he will not go as stir crazy as long as we stay at a marina.

November 13, 2011

CALAMITY STRIKES THE WHISTLE WING! Previously I wrote that the crew was planning on heading in to the Giggling Marlin’s subsidiary restaurant in Bahia de los Muertos. It turns out that plentiful wishful thinking does not bring events into actuality. During the afternoon fiesta after I finished writing my latest installment winds started to kick up. Los Muertos is a relatively protected anchorage from a majority of the points on a compass. There is one glaring weakness- the entire southern portion is open to the Sea of Cortez. It is rare for southerly winds to come up especially during this time of year unless it is the result of a hurricane. Though it is approaching the end of hurricane season, every couple of decades one of these behemoths will generate in the Pacific and head into the Sea. We did not have the unfathomable luck to be subjected to something on that scale but we did get a weather event that is similar if not nearly as drastic.

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.