Whether that be Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year, or something else I’m not educated to know about. For Sampaguita and I, it’s Happy Holiday. So that is what we wish. Here in Mexico, it is definitely Merry Christmas.
Funny meeting. My anchor neighbors here in Bahia De Los Muertos are on a boat named Opale. I met them first when on Breskell transiting the Northwest Passage in 2019. A small world. I did not recognize them or the boat in particular, but when we met here at the restaurant I guessed they were French by their boat and accent. It is fairly easy to spot a French built boat (and the accent.) (I have experience in both these matters.) Aluminum, cutter-rigged, centerboard type. The boat, that is. It was through this that we sorted out our past meeting.
I had a chance to upload some videos at the local restaurant. Happy Holidays.
In 2023, Sampaguita has rounded Vancouver Island with the farthest North being above the Scott Islands and has now rounded Cabo San Lucas at the tip of the Mexican Baja Peninsula. She is presently sitting at anchor in Bahia De Los Muertos (The Bay of the Dead) in the Sea of Cortez. We will likely be here through the holidays, waiting out a weather window to get to La Paz. The Sea of Cortez is notorious for choppy seas with wind against current. Northwest sailors are familiar with that. Think the Strait of Juan de Fuca or Georgia. More on that later.
After Bahia Santa Maria, we visited Magdalena Bay for two days. It was very similar to Santa Maria, but bigger. More desert, off-grid fish camps, and mangroves. Bigger meant wind shifts that made for pitchy anchorages due to increased fetch. Uninspired and seeing a weather window for the three day sail to Cabo San Lucas, we hit it.
Two days of decent sailing followed by a tedious day of motoring got us to Cabo San Lucas. (All motoring is tedious. If I wanted to motor, I would use a car. It’s faster, cheaper, and more efficient.)
That place is totally lame. Las Vegas with water sports. Novices on jet skis woohoo-ing there way around. There’s more to it than that, but not worth the mention. If you like Cabo San Lucas, why would you read this blog? (I think the same of cruise ship lovers.) After arriving late and getting some rest, the next day I thought I would head into town and take a look-ee-loo, get some gasoline, and score some fresh food from the Wal-Mart. I inflated the kayak and headed in. It was lumpy and the marina was chaos with constant traffic. But I’m no novice and know what I am doing. As I approached the dinghy dock, the IGY Marina dock supervisor (Look that up, they have all the high end yacht destinations in the world. Not my people at all.) called me over to tell me that kayaks were not allowed in the marina. Mind you, I am already as far into the marina as possible by now. (I get it, 100 novices on paddle boards and kayaks on their woohoo vacation would stop marina commerce and endanger the idiots.) But this guy wouldn’t make an exception, that this was my dinghy. I could not tie up to the dinghy dock. If he let me, he would get into trouble. Not that I needed an escort to get out. I never ever saw any policia or harbor patrol in or outside the marina. I just couldn’t tie up. (If you’re big on law and order, this probably isn’t the blog for you either.) So IGY Marinas and Cabo San Lucas are dead to me. Period. I was still able to get fuel at the marina Chevron and throw my garbage away. Just no look-ee-loo or fresh food. And left with a sense of disrespect against my minimalist ways. So I paddled out of there, immediately deflated and stored the kayak, raised and sailed off the anchor, straight through all of their water sports, and said “Adios.” Sampaguita proceeded to have a great three hours of sailing at hull speed under full sail on a beam reach, on our way to Bahia Los Frailes.
I arrived in Bahia Los Frailes after an overnight and a day of motoring. (TEDIOUS.) It is just up inside the Sea of Cortez. I liked this place. I saw sting rays doing flips in the air and fish feeding frenzies. The anchorage was well protected with a little bit of wrap-around swell from the Sea. There was an off-grid fish camp here too. I spent a day resting up from five previous days of sailing and explored the sand dunes a bit. I probably should have headed up to Bahia De Los Muertos on this day, but it would have been 50 miles of motoring over a windless Sea, and I just was uninspired by that thought.
To avoid a day of motoring, I took the rest day in Los Frailes with a wind forecast of about 10 knots from the North on the next day. We are in a totally different weather pattern now(all North, all the time), and we are going the wrong direction. There was no cell reception in Los Frailes, so my forecast was a couple of days old. I asked another cruiser about the weather. (With the obvious Dishy McFlatFace, Starlink users are easy to spot. Cruisers have any weather forecast available on the internet now available to them if they have the power to run the “extra refrigerator.”) He was unwilling to turn on his Starlink for me, but gave me the Hurricane Weather Service he still had on his laptop. This jived with my old forecast. I went to bed early that night and woke up about midnight as seems to be a habit. Awake, with moonlight, and local knowledge of the exit, I decided to raise sail and anchor, and get under way. It would be a beat to Bahia De Los Muertos which could turn the 50 mile journey into as much as 100 miles, so I figured the sooner I left, the better. There was light wind and it was pleasant. With more of a west-ish bend I was making a good direction through the morning. Later, checking my phone, I found cell reception and data service. I checked PredictWind. Uh-oh. The forecast had strengthened and expanded. 15 knots from the North and right up to the edge of land. Committed and, really, without much choice, (if I didn’t give it a go, I might be in Los Frailes for a week or longer) and a mission to get to La Paz (my solar panels and main source of energy replacement are not up to the rigors of Sampaguita style expeditions and are failing) to take care of several important expedition preparations and life maintenance chores. Rather than turn tail and run back to Los Frailes, I continued on. The wind built and sail changes started, but things were still fine. Then the ebb turned to flood. The building wind against current for the next six hours resulted in some steep and big waves. Sampaguita was charging at hull speed on a close haul and it was a very wet and raucous experience. Unlike Sampaguita and I have ever done before. There was so much water coming over the deck, the boat was rolling in the waves, the rails were going under, and the rigging was slackening. I needed to keep as much sail on as possible to stay powered up to take on the hills, adjusting the rigging as water washed over me and the bulwarks. The plus side was that since I was going into the wind, water going into the cabin without the boards in wasn’t an issue. Sampaguita did really well, always making continuous headway. At one point I was adjusting the bowsprit stays, trying to get the split rings back on the turnbuckles. Every time I tried the water would hit my hands and knock the ring out of it. (it couldn’t wash away because it was on the turnbuckle, just not through the stud hole.) More and more water kept coming as I was entirely focused on success. Finally a wave completely washed over me and that was enough. It would have to wait. I finally looked up to realize I was in a washing machine of steep, six to seven foot waves, the biggest of the day. I tacked back closer to shore and this helped. After six hours of building seas, the tide switched to ebb and the going was easier again. After 23 hours of beating into the wind, and 77 nautical miles, I arrived in Bahia De Los Muertos around midnight. The entrance was easy, the moon was out, and I got in fine, dropping the anchor in 20 feet of water. Shedding my salty clothes, I climbed into the berth for some needed rest. I was asked recently how a Flicka 20 would do beating into a wind and sea on the ocean. The answer is she will do well, provided you have enough wind and are not shy about keeping as much sail on as possible. Which is to say, more than you would on an inland sea. Make sure your gear is up to snuff. Nothing appeared to get broken and the layer of salt has been refreshed anew. Should I have motored the day before? Eh, six of one, half dozen of the other. All’s well that ends well.
Remember, I’m no expert. I’m just a fool in a 20-foot boat and a microphone.
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Perros: There are so many dogs in these rural Baja towns. No leashes, no chains, probably no spaying and neutering. Yet few (no) obvious strays. Some dogs have their territory and property and they keep to it without restraint while others stretch out a bit more. Completely opposite to America. Maybe there are vets, maybe money gets spent on vet services, but I doubt much. Though every tienda has dog food. These are not the commercial bags like in America. Small quantities in unlabeled plastic bags that a dog would eat in a few days. Depending on its size. I doubt there is overfeeding. These are mutts to the core. I’m careful as I walk by them, keep a watchful eye, but a calm, unfearful, and unchallenging demeanor (all animals, humans included, feel and react to that) and haven’t had any issues. Sometimes you’ll get a growler, like I did yesterday, but you wait and see and act like an animal to an animal. And we sorted it out. Its cohort was just a yapper that wouldn’t shut up, but non-threatening. And eventually its owner came around, yelling at it to quiet down(presumably.) My guess is if you have a biter and meany it quickly gets destroyed, and everyone moves on. There can be no leeway for such behavior in animal husbandry of this sort. You watch where you step and everything goes along just fine.
Chickens: I’m convinced that each town has cock fighting. Not that I’ve seen it, though I would very much like to. Some of you might not like that, but let me give you some background. Bear with me, even if repulsed, you might find this interesting. In my youth, I gained a bit of chicken experience. I was a member of 4-H and grew up on a small farm in central New York. Every year the Kiwanis Club would give any 4-Her who wanted them 25 baby chicks in the spring. The deal was you had to raise them, show some in the county fair, and in the fall, either donate a dozen eggs or a butchered and dressed bird back to the club, who presumably passed those on to the needy. This whole program was a boon to any rural family. We would alternate every year between an egg-laying breed and a meat-oriented breed. Egg-layers are good for a couple years so you need to refresh that resource. Egg-layers are delicious eating too while they are young (all the chicken you eat is young, as older birds are tough), but they are smaller breeds, so don’t produce as much to feed a family of five. The meat-oriented birds can grow quickly to be quite large, but hardly lay any eggs. They are not worth the feed, time, or real estate once beyond the tender age, which is only a few months. At that time (I’m not sure about now), it wasn’t possible to sex baby chicks, so you would generally expect to get about half female and half male. So, in your egg-layer year you would get about 13 fresh hens that would produce about two eggs each, every three days for a couple of years. Do the math, that is an abundance of eggs. Eggs every day for breakfast, baking, (and pancakes) still meant plenty. So, we traded them with one neighbor for fresh milk(unpasteurized) and butter, and another neighbor for haircuts. (Anyone who knows me, knows I am averse to paying for haircuts. Now you know why.) In a meat-oriented year, the hens were big and the roosters bigger and the freezers (we had three) were filled. (The gruesome details of butchering is a bit off topic.) We would only save a few to fill out the categories for showing in the fair. Now back to the cock fighting. I learned early on, you could only save one rooster per year. Egg or meat, you butchered all but the one you thought would be the best show bird. If you didn’t, you would have cock fighting. Period. I think about the first year, I kept two. Bad move. How this works is as they come of age, they begin to fight for command of the brood. One of them dominates and the other lives an isolated life of cowering at a safe distance. Even as a single digit aged youngster, I recognized this, and I felt bad for it. I never made that mistake again. Chicken lives aren’t that long, so the rotation works out. So, is cock fighting inhumane? In my small farm experience, one got to live and the others got eaten. Is that a humane way to settle things? Alternatively, you could cage them for separation. Is that humane? What’s the point? We had a chicken house where the brood would roost for the evening with boxes the hens would lay eggs in, but all had free range during the day. The second rooster wasn’t allowed in house at night by the dominator. It wasn’t enough to just establish dominance, it was a constant life of terror. Is that humane? In these rural western Baja towns, you can hear the roosters crowing. So, I followed my ear. It turns out the crowing seems to come from the same lot. If you can sneak a peek into that lot, which oddly, sometimes you can’t, you will see multiple roosters in cages, of course, otherwise, I just explained, they will fight. The most reasonable explanation for this to me is for cock fighting as an event. There will be hens around too, roaming free, sometimes with baby chicks, so I guess you could argue they are used for breeding and a variation of the genetic pool. If you have worthy credentials on Mexican culture, chickens, and genetics we might have a reasonable debate on such matters. If you are just a bleeding-heart, I’m not biting. I wouldn’t expect this to be cock fighting, as depicted in movies, to the death with artificial spurs added for destruction. I would expect something more along the lines of two roosters presented, wagers made, they are put together, they fight for dominance until one finally submits and runs away. Winners collect and the next animals are presented. If a rooster no longer remains competitive, I suspect its cage becomes a new one’s home. Otherwise, these would be just pets. Maybe, but this is difficult for me to buy. This is all pure speculation, of course, but it is on my list of investigative topics. If it is in Mexican culture to have chicken fights, bring it on. It is American conditioning to oppose this as entertainment, but I have no interest in imposing American conditioning on non-Americans. (Or Americans for that matter.) If you watch a nature channel and they show males of various species fighting for dominance, are you not observing the same thing for entertainment? I’ve shoveled my share of chicken crap, collected hundreds (thousands?) of eggs, fed and watered them daily, deloused and presented birds to judges, and have even been endeared to them, but with maybe the exception of that single proud rooster each year (and that had definite limits), I never considered them pets. And no sick chicken was taken to the vet. I recognize I might be considered cold. At this point in life, it is what it is.
I was recently asked if there were any farms in western Baja or is it all fishing and tourism. No, there are no farms here. It is all desert. I have not seen an active stream or river. I’ve been here for over a month with one day of light rain. I got doused in the surf and my clothes were dry in 20 minutes. When the wind blows, so does the dirt. Fishing (which is really to say, lobstering) is definitely a thing, but mostly on a small scale. Mostly pangas. Every now and then you see a bigger trawler. (I walked into the fish camps here in the mangroves of Bahia Santa Maria. Marcos with cincuenta anos of lobstering aqui, explained he went out every day at 0600, pulled, emptied, and redeployed his traps. The catch was brought back and kept in cages. Every few days, the big boat from his Co-op would come into the bay and collect their catch.) The pangas buzz in and out of the “harbor” every day. Generally, about 20-25 feet in length with typically one driver and one crew. These are open fiberglass boats that all look the same. They are driven by gasoline outboard engines of varying vintage, but sound and run the way they should. You will see around the camps and Co-ops the older stripped out engines for parts. Yamaha is a common brand and is a good engine. In Bahia Santa Maria, it was mostly 75 HP Yamahas. They are pretty consistent, which makes sense. You would want to be able to swap parts out, so if everyone uses the same, this is to alls’ advantage. I have yet to see any vendors, so wherever and whoever the vendor is, they are likely the determiners of the engine brands and sizes. It was similar in Greenland. Everyone had the same engine brand and it was 250 HP, regardless of the boat’s size. This made for some comical matchings. In small town America this happens too. If there is one store, the vendors choice is your choice if you’ve got to have it right away. But in America, you can travel outside of town to a different vendor, or order it online and receive it the next day. Rural Baja, (and Greenland) not so much.
Every town seems to have at least one Co-op that controls the fishing. It’s quite possible/probable, they own the boats, the engines, and the fishing gear, so they also would be in on the determination of equipment. In Asuncion I spoke to Ricky who was the sole boat repairman for his Co-op. It appeared he was maintaining the whole fleet, which leads me to believe the Co-op owns the boats. They apparently gave him health insurance for his family, but it took 6 months to get his last paycheck. Working outside under a tarp, the scent of polyester resin was apparent. He had a Tyvek suit on sometimes, but he said it was difficult/impossible to get them to supply latex/nitrile gloves. He finally got them to get him some acetone so he could wash his hands. This, after he mistakenly got too much catalyst on his hands and the pain he experienced that eve. (In PT I would see old timers washing with acetone, but the younger generation cringes at it. To do that, I have to deem the chemical I mistakenly got on my hands worse for me than the acetone I’m using to get it off. I use gloves, but those 3M and Sikaflex type sealants are very difficult to apply without making a mess and getting it everywhere. If you are super diligent, you easily burn through many pairs of gloves for one sealant job. Far beyond the rural Mexican economy. When the pandemic hit and gloves became in short supply, you could hear the chatter about glove re-use and conservation.) These pangas live a hard life. In Asuncion, I watched a pair of fishermen come in and beach their boat. The “beach” was a mixture of rock and sand. They then got their pickup truck and dragged the boat up above the tide line. This was comedy, even for them. The ramp was dirt and uphill. The truck’s tires were a bit worn and getting more so at every attempt. They had a 1-inch line attached to the stem of the boat and hooked to a trailer hitch on the truck. They couldn’t just pull the panga up steadily. They had to back the truck down to the panga and gun it, jerking the boat up about 3 feet at a time, spinning the tires until forward motion ceased. Repeat about five or six times. I’m not suggesting this was the norm, but apparently this was their best option in this circumstance. Some pangas stay at moorings. In San Juanico, they were kept on la playa and each one was stored on a trailer. So, techniques depend on the facilities and the landings.
As for tourism, yes, and as I have mentioned, varies from town to town. In general, the cruisers don’t seem like huge tourism assets. Fuel and grocery are our main need as we tend to be self-sufficient. This is why in America; we are often not welcome. Gypsy boaters move on. If you are not a loose capital boater paying for a slip every night and eating at the restaurants, we don’t want you around. Less so in the Pacific Northwest, (but I recognized that attitude increasing in Port Townsend) but made very clear in Southern California. Consume, consume, consume. Conservation is for losers. A metaphor for the vibe I got is “You are not making my house bigger, I do not gain money from you, go away.” Anchor time limits, unwelcoming harbor patrols, and limiting shore access (thus, some places even limiting your ability to shop at the stores) are their present techniques. Back to Baja. Tourists on holiday must contribute some. But these are the outdoorsy types who, again, know how to get by with less. Maybe they drive a camper (land yacht) and stay at a campground. Baja is not where you take the family for a Disney-style vacation. It is not where a typical American would take their once a year, two-week vacation for an easy and luxurious time. I would say the expats help a bit, building their homes and the materials and labor associated with that. For example, my observation was that the local hardware store in an expat heavy town was far better than in an expat light one.
As for groceries on the west coast of Baja, it’s slim pickings. I’d buy more if there was more worth buying. There is some limited produce if it looks good. Nothing lasts too long in the heat. At la tienda y el barco. Some things in some places are kept in coolers. Meat is usually available in some places. Do it yourself bagging from the lift-up freezer is not uncommon. Though sometimes there is a meat counter. Tecate is available everywhere. Restock is once a week, so knowing which day that is helps. Lots of junk food. No sugarless/diet drinks whatsoever. Lots of Coca Cola products for you investors out there. Seafood must be a staple. Based on the stores, clearly the diet is simple. And it almost seems like the staples must not be coming from la tienda. Incidentals only? I can’t speak on the restaurants as I have not been to any. Geared toward tourists, my understanding is they are too pricey for most of the Mexican population. The “Enjoy life, eat out more often.” motto is not a good way to conserve limited funds regardless of where you live. If you are doing well enough that the expense of regularly eating out is still cost-effective time management, you probably don’t read Resourceful Sailor articles.
And remember, these are just speculations and observations of a student. I claim little-to-no expertise. I’m just a fool in a 20-foot boat with a microphone.
Life hangs from a fine thread. So fine, it’s a wonder we don’t die more often. Cats have it right. I joke, but I am very serious. As much of a driver as is my own mortality, the mortality of those around me drives me too. This sense of mortality causes some of us to reach for the stars and others of us to play it safe. There is one sure thing, no matter which you choose, there are no guarantees. Life is not fair. The universe doesn’t care about us. It says “Whatever. Next.” When I told people who ask what my hopes and plans were (not the cruisers I meet, but the landlubbers I left behind) it was often easy to hear the contempt or envy in their voice. The contempt group will say something like “It must be nice.” I reminded them, “It must be nice to have your spouse, your kids, your house, I hope you like your career, and your nice car.” You can hear it in their tone and see it in their eyes, their thinking, “Trust Funder?, Inheritance?, Rich parents?” They are blinded by their bias to think it could be sacrifice on a level completely unimaginable to them. Who would live like a homeless person when they don’t have to? Someone who despises the grind of everyday American life and who isn’t very good at it either. Someone who tries to save as many pennies as possible so they can have an adventure that makes them feel alive, because they know there has to be more to life than the unrewarding grind, because that’s not turning out to be worth it. The envy group, I like better. You can see the spark in their eyes. The “He’s doing it, maybe I still have a chance.” gleam. The “Good for you.” crowd who whether through circumstances, conditioning, railroading, or simply a conscious choice, have a life unconducive to my preferred lifestyle. They recognize what they have and where they are and maybe they’ll get around to an adventure too, but life passes by so fast, and there is always something getting in the way. Some people eventually achieve escape velocity, some have the rocket built but it fails to launch, others just sit in the armchair reading how to build rockets. (And then there is the Emperor. Keep a careful and cautious eye on him.) When I hear news from the home front about someone’s tragedy, I can’t say “Wow, if there is anything you need, just ask.” I’m not in a position to help. My best response is to say, “I’m sorry. I’ll keep doing what I’m doing for all of us.” The contempt crowd hates you and the envy crowd loves you.
Bahia to Bahia
I sit aboard Sampaguita in Bahia Santa Maria awaiting the wind to pass. Tomorrow looks pretty good and I hope to inflate the kayak and do some exploring. The wind in the bay comes on a bit stronger than the forecast. I think this is due to Mount San Lazaro squeezing it as it comes in from the Northwest. A neighbor said the afternoon wind yesterday was 20-25 knots, but was only forecast to be about 15. Today, I would expect the same, maybe a touch more. I can’t go out in the kayak in that wind. I will get blown to the south with the hope a neighbor would be watching and come rescue me in their power dinghy. Just this late morning Noel was on her paddle board with the two dogs trying to get from shore, up and across the wind to Mundial. I was helplessly watching. She wasn’t going to make it and it was hardly 10 knots yet. I couldn’t help because I don’t have a power dinghy. Luckily the neighbors saw it too and went out to aid. That happened to the Committed Sardine folks in Bahia Asuncion too. Beautiful days to explore, but a fresh wind kicks up and changes the game. (This happens to novice paddle board renters the world over.)
Cruisers and the people I meet ask where I am going. I sheepishly say Chile, because I know what they mean. But I quickly follow up with, in today’s case, “I’m just trying to get to Man of War Cove in Bahia Magdelena.” So much can happen between now and then and Chile seems so far away and even more difficult to comprehend. So, it’s Bahia to Bahia, Bay to Bay, Day to Day. I’m just passing time in Mexico until it’s the season to sail to Marquesas. Then, likewise, to Chile. There seems like so much opportunity for plans to be foiled and changed and every day is so foreign and new. (Pun intended.) Who really knows? On the other hand, it might go off like clockwork, and that’s even more difficult to imagine. In a small boat fashion, I am moving slower than most. Both in transit and in moving on. The fast movers are all ages too. I can only speculate why because it would be impolite to ask. I guess most will have some life to return to. When I left Port Townsend I sold, gave away, or threw away everything that didn’t potentially belong on the boat. And I’m still trying to lighten an overloaded Sampaguita. My sister, moral supporter, and land-based contact received four flat-rate boxes of “important documents” of questionable importance. There is no house, career, kids, and no espousa to get back to. With my still good enough, but obviously deteriorating with age, health, and a health care system designed to leverage me into behaviors of questionable suitability, it might be said, this is the end game. How, where, when, why does it end? Who knows? That story is yet to be written. It changes your world perspective, as my two readers have likely noticed. And don’t get my rumination wrong. It’s how I’m wired and I thrive on it. I am having the most wild and interesting experiences with the time and mind space to articulate what I have thought for a long time. Instead of being trapped on a Flicka 20 in Port Townsend because I couldn’t compete in a cut-throat, ludicrously priced, and demoralizing housing market, seemingly geared toward affluent, retired emigrants, I’ve turned that Flicka 20 into a conduit of extreme adventure. I’ve met some of these emigrants. They are nice people even if they don’t acknowledge their impacts. They feel they have earned it. As an aside, mining this aged population is the future of Port Townsend, if that’s your thing, and if you are really paying attention, you’ll recognize the future is now. (Sorry, Whitney Houston. In case you thought I lost my sense of humor.) If I could have comfortably bought a house, I would not be here. I’ve been around the block enough to know that what seems like misfortune, might turn into the best fortune. It’s difficult to say for now. That story is yet to be written.
I’m gleaning a little more info here and there as to what the local mafia means. Bahia Tortuga was still the grittiest town we were in. Cedros was poorer, but by nature of being on an island in a poor country, this was to be expected. Cruisers were generally quick to move on from Tortuga, so it can be felt if not easily put a finger on. If the mafia is a crime syndicate, whether drug related or not, and they are putting the squeeze on people and businesses, it increases the grit. (My present neighbor, who recently arrived from Tortuga, said Enrique, the fuel baron I mentioned in a past post, was nowhere to be found. The accuracy of this rumor can’t be confirmed.) A lack of law enforcement raises the syndicates boldness and capabilities. If it’s a fishing town and they’re squeezing the Co-ops, then that cascades to everyone. I’ve heard rumors of vigilante groups hired for protection, military presences, people operating businesses incognito, and raids on lobster pots from neighboring lobstermen. There is less incentive to work, or at least legitimately, if 30% of not very much is being skimmed off. (Sound familiar?) I’m curious if the towns with more ex-pats and seemingly more prosperous, might have less mafia influence. The syndicates might realize it’s bad for business to cross that line. America doesn’t care about Mexican-on-Mexican violence. But if you involve Americans, they risk increased outside pressure for justice and it could disrupt the status quo. Do you remember the incident last March with the murders/kidnapping of the Americans who went to Matamoros from Brownsville for a medical procedure? That ended with the bosses turning the lackies in. Pressure relieved. Back to business as usual. I correlate that to Joe Pesci’s character in Goodfellas. Joe plays a hothead and he kills a made man from another family without permission for insulting him. To keep the peace, Joe had to be extinguished too. Just business. Am I afraid? Not so much. I don’t have much to lose and I went to sea alone in a 20-foot boat. Signing up for that was a signing off on fear. America is a very fear driven society and it was destroying me anyway. The future looked uninteresting enough to me, the thought of longevity also became uninteresting. You say “At least America has law and order.” Even though everyone has a camera in their pocket, the marina has a camera pointed at your house, your employer has cameras, anyone can fly a drone over your house (my house was a boat, so no real estate to keep people at a distance) we’re still led to believe crime and violence is on the rise. The compounding pressures of regulation in our society, constant (and what I would say, exclusive, though often with a smile) use of fear in marketing to keep people consuming, and from the government to keep people in line, are making Americans both mentally and physically unhealthy. People are breaking and using anti-social means of expressing their breakage on what seems like an increasing rate with no reasonable expectation of getting away with it. (Sometimes violently and sometimes just oddly interesting.) While I am essentially working harder as a single-handed sailor, especially physically, all of my chronic aches and pains have disappeared since I left in August. My daily constitution is more consistently regular than it has been in a long time. I’m basically eating the same foods. My cleanliness is sub-par. The two best explanations I can think of are less exposure to other germ-laden people and an elimination of the frantic and stressful life of living on land in America. The American lifestyle may not be as good and healthy as the propagandists would influence you to believe. Maybe I have cancer growing inside of me, but signing off on the fear of death has been very liberating too. So, I’m not afraid of the mafia. (And lose the opportunity to meet all the cool people?) I’ll use caution, because that’s the game. But live in fear? No thanks. America versus Mexico might be the classic “six of one, half dozen of the other.” Yes, I know the difference between being unafraid and feeling invincible. I am not afraid of vincibility.
In America, this would be shunned as a homeless camp. Derelict, dirtbag liveaboards. NIMBY. People can be pretty disgusting to each other. With humans, push will forever get pushback. It’s a feedback loop. The struggle continues as we can see the world over.
I reflect on my generation’s childhood fictitious heroes, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Princess Leah, Obi Wan Kenobi. Rebels, insurrectionists, freedom fighters, and terrorists. It’s interesting how perspectives influence how one views all these labels.
There are a lot of Alphas there. Or Adams if that is your background. After spending the last night at anchor in Bahia San Juanico with the smell of a beach fire coming from directly upwind, I awoke about 0400 with the boat bouncing. The southern wind had begun somewhere to the south and there were waves rolling in from that direction. Not big, but close enough and short enough to bounce the boat. No worries, I was heading out anyway. I had morning coffee, stowed the kayak, raised the mainsail, and pulled up the anchor. I had chosen Tuesday and Wednesday to be my travel days based on the forecast. Sunday was too soon, Monday was very light, and Thursday looked like it was piping up again. With Monday being light, I reasoned any weekend seas would get a chance to settle down. Tuesday was also looking light, but Sampaguita will sail in light airs, especially with a settled sea. Wednesday would pick up a bit more, ramping up on Thursday. It was about 100 miles, so I planned on two days with two overnights. I wouldn’t sail fast, but my overnights should be pleasant. Meeting that southerly which was presenting me with the bouncy morning, I close hauled out of the bay under full main and drifter, for about fifteen miles offshore. The wind slowly clocked around to the northwest, giving a beam, then broad reach through the afternoon and evening. That continued through the night with about 5-10 knots of wind. This worked out great. I covered about half my distance. About 0400 it faded and I had about 5 hours of being becalmed in the cooking sun. I even dropped the main all together to beat it up less. (But to roll more.) I watched a morning feeding frenzy around the boat. Well, I guess I didn’t see the feeding. What I saw was the smaller bait fish surfacing in an effort to escape whatever was doing the feeding. Were the predator tuna? Marlin? Sharks? I later learned it to be Yellowtail (Maybe Dorado? I don’t know my species very well.) In the lush waters of Baja, bait fish surfacing is a good sign there are predators worthy of eating driving them up. If you see a mass of pelicans dive-bombing, this too is probably a sign of that same activity occurring. Get out your speargun or fishing rods and head on over. I learned this from Grant of Mundial. He got two Yellowtails with one shot. I know this because he and Noel invited me over for fish tacos one evening. Deeee-licious. Tecate and tacos.
The northwest wind finally filled in but was fairly light. Still, with no sea, Sampaguita will cruise along at 3-4 knots. As the evening took hold it increased a bit. I traded out the drifter for the 100% jib, making my direction with an alternating orejas de burro and a starboard broad reach. By dark I reefed the main down to the third reef and dropped the headsail. This was not because the wind was too strong, but I wanted to slow the boat down. If this wind held, I would arrive at Bahia Santa Maria in the middle of the night, which I didn’t want. About 2230, I hove-to, deciding to get some sleep with a slow one knot southerly drift. At first, I did this under three reefs, but after an hour or so, I realized I wasn’t doing it right. With so little mainsail, the boat wasn’t weathercocking and I was really just lying ahull. This was not riding the waves in the most comfortable manner. So, I shook out a reef and relieved the over-pinching I was also doing and this made for a much more comfortable ride as Sampaguita turned more into the sea and rode up and over the waves. It was fortuitous that I had to do this, because I also noticed the windvane, (I rotate its servo pendulum rudder out of the water and tie it off when hove-to) had an important screw that was loosening in the jostling. This is the main screw that holds it to the mount. Failure at this screw would have been catastrophic for the vane. At 0430 I awoke for the final time to the boat lying ahull again, which is to say the wind had weakened. I decided with sun-up a couple hours away, I would begin my approach. I got the boat headed in the right direction, did my bucket and chuck-it routine, made coffee, and watched the sunrise. After sunrise, I pulled up the jib, poled it out orejas de burro style, and made myself a breakfast of pancakes, with cinnamon and banana, and of course, butter and proper maple syrup. With that Thursday increasing NW wind, I made my final approach on a port broad reach, keeping dry and doing five knots. Heaving-to sooner than later was a good choice. Approaching land at night only to have to heave-to anyway doesn’t feel good. In theory there was some buoy off the entrance, according to Navionics, (I think weather, not navigation. This is Mexico, neither hardly exist.) which is to say there may be a buoy there, maybe not. If there is, it may be on mark, or maybe not. It was supposed to be flashing yellow, but maybe not. At night, whether asleep or not, if it exists, is off mark, and not flashing, it would be like a can-opener if Sampaguita struck it. Once around Punta Hughes and into Bahia Santa Maria we turned into the wind to make the anchorage. This consisted of two long tacks close hauled with the 100% jib and two reefs in the main, doing five knots and about 18 degrees of heel. The water was much flatter than outside, but the wind was still smart. These two long tacks were followed by two short ones as we entered the anchorage, sailed between two other boats (there were four boats already here) and headed up behind Mundial in hopes of being close enough to them to get their Starlink signal. The last tack involved throwing in the third reef for a slower more controlled approach, and I like to put the mainsail away with three reefs, because if I have to leave in a hurry, it’s probably because the wind is blowing. I also got the anchor ready for a quick drop. Get the lines in order, the anchor gloves on, head up into the wind, spring the main sheet, release the jib halyard, scoot up to the bow, haul down the jib, pull the last pin holding the anchor, and feed out the chain and rode from the locker. Almost textbook, except the main didn’t completely de-power the way I needed, so the boat made some way while the anchor went down. I find this is the glitch most likely to occur. Once the anchor bites, it pulls the bow into the wind and this does the final trick of luffing the main. With less wind, it is easy to take the moment to luff the main, but in 15 knots of wind, things need to happen much faster. All’s cool that ends cool.
More on San Juanico…..
The charts say Bahia San Juanito, but the town goes by San Juanico. So, it’s a little vague to me. I’ve switched to the local San Juanico name because that’s the way I am. The landscape is quite beautiful. It’s typical Baja puntas y la playas and cliffs and rolling dry desert. But there are high mesas to the East and Northeast which give that epic western movie feel. They also divert the desert winds away, unlike in Bahia Asuncion and Bahia Tortuga where a desert NE wind can blast its way through the anchorage. The anchorage is comfortable with lots of room and 20-foot depths in sand. The prevailing NW wind funnels through, but the fetch isn’t bad, so again, comfortable. In fact, directly to the NW there are old and trashed windmills, likely placed there for that funneling. There is only one that noisily spins anymore. Their lives are long past. The thing with windmills that America is about to relearn is they have moving parts. Moving parts wear out and need constant maintenance. Put them in a desert and marine environment and you add dirt, sand, salt, and water to the equation which increases the maintenance. And there is such a thing as too much wind for them. Don’t get me wrong, I am not against wind energy. (Duh, I’m a sailor.) I’m just saying wind energy is nothing new and there was a reason it was replaced by other means.
The town of San Juanico is similar to other small Baja towns I have visited, but with one big difference. There are a lot of white people here. This puts it low on my list of cool. I know, you’re saying, ”Josh, you are white.” (It’s true, I was born that way.) Here’s the thing. I didn’t come to Mexico to hang out with white Americans. Surfing is big here with the 7 puntas. People visit to surf and stay for a lifetime. That’s not my community so I don’t have that connection. They often live in far better casas (and often a different neighborhood) than the rural Mexicans. This creates two different communities, just like it does in the States. I’d been putting myself out there to meet the Mexican locals for a few days and it just wasn’t happening. In towns with few-to-no white people, I was a curiosity and the local Mexicans engaged with me. Here I am just another white guy and largely ignored. My Espanol is slowly broadening, but still not good enough to confidently and deeply engage, which is my limitation to own. I walked by this one humble building several times. The front door was always open with people coming and going, and there were always Mexicans sitting around together, as I could see through the folds in the makeshift, yellow-tarped patio. They were all ages. I so much wanted to be invited in but when I saw people outside, no one even said hola or buenas tardes. With white people also comes higher prices, because that’s how an economy works. I can’t say there is a white price and a brown price for things, but I can’t say there isn’t either. Since I am transient, getting to know where to buy things and where not to doesn’t quite get figured out. The real estate brokerage signs are also a first in this town. It is not like San Juanico isn’t remote. It very much is. But demand has obviously brought in the professionals with white people brokerage names (and photos) and higher prices to make it worth it. And they are everywhere. (For contrast, someone mentioned they bought a house in San Hipolito a few years back for $500.) This is not to say the local Mexicans aren’t benefitting from an influx of white money. Gosh, I sure hope they are.
I did meet Hector and Mike on Saturday. I was walking down the hill, lamenting to myself about how the San Juanico town experience was boring as I approached the beach bar. My interest in going to bars here is as nil as it had become in the US. There was a guy sitting in his truck filled with fronds and a surf board smoking a cigarette. I made eye contact and we exchanged holas. Eye contact continued, so I walked over and further engaged. Hector spoke Ingles so we switched over to that. About my age, he was a vibrant and dynamic personality very willing to communicate. He was on his second forty-ounce of Pacifico and quite loose. (Drinking while driving is still a thing in certain parts of the world due to lack of enforcement, sparse enough populations, and roads you can’t drive very fast on anyway.) A native of Sanora, Mexico, but obviously a world traveler, he was a lot of fun to talk to. He first came to San Juanico 30 years ago and talked of some of the differences between then and now. During our conversation, a sailor, but now local resident, named Mike arrived to go to the bar. A small town and a common affinity for cerveza, they new each other and he joined in the conversation. He pegged my boat as a Flicka from a quarter mile away, so that broke the ice too. Mike grew up in San Luis Obispo, CA, but was a full time Mexican resident with a boat on the hard in Guaymas.(?) We chatted for a while and then made our way to the bar where Hector had a third forty, Mike had his share, and I had lemonade. I sometimes know when not to get caught up in a party that might be too much for me. (Plus, the white economy is a bit harder on the budget.) (I’ve elaborated on an old cliche: “Live a little……work a lot.”) (On second thought, maybe it should be “Live a lot…..Work a little?”) I guess since America is so money-minded, if you aren’t spending it, you must not be living. Another difference between Mexican/Latino and American culture. They know how to enjoy themselves without involving much money. This is not just apparent to me now. I remember while living in NYC and SF, the parks were full of Latinos and their families’ enjoying picnics and gatherings during the weekends. These parties were family events and would last all day. Everyone brought coolers, there was cooking, and game playing. This was their social event that didn’t cost much more than a regular day of life. In contrast to white people where the norm was to meet at a bar or go to some pay event which actual led to a division of classes. Some people you just couldn’t afford to hang out with. In rural Mexico/Latino culture (unless they are trying to emulate white culture for some ridiculous reason), they seem to not care about money as much. It matters less if you are a fisherman, clean toilets, are a store clerk, or whatever. It’s just what you do for money and doesn’t define you or exclude you. Though I’ll repeat what I’ve said before. I am an expert on American culture, but still in study on Mexican culture. And I’m just a fool in a 20-foot boat anyway.
I also had a satisfying chat with a guy named Juan, who I think might be homeless. It is polite and friendly to say hola, buenas dias, tardes, or noches(depending on the time of the day) to people in general and definitely before you want to ask for something. It’s also a way to engage people and see if they are interested in conversing further. So I said, “hola, buenas tardes” to the guy on the street to be polite and he responded in kind. I continued walking, but he followed up, so I returned to him. I think he was hinting that I might give him the long sleeve shirt I was wearing (It is super-hot, but I wear it to keep the sun off my skin). This was centered around how it was mucho caliente para deciembre. Pero mucho frio a noche. I wasn’t sure how to tell him it was to keep the sun off my skin, and I wasn’t going to give him the shirt off my back. I think he realized this quickly and the conversation moved to el barco, Cabo San Lucas, and las chicas de el mundo. We talked for a couple minutes and it wasn’t weird and I think he appreciated that I didn’t ignore him. I was happy because I left feeling like I was getting a better grasp of the language. Win, win.
Boat Hack: Great water conservation tools are the spray bottle and those refillable plastic hand held condiment dispensers. Like at diners. I use the spray bottle for washing vegetables, damping and rinsing my toothbrush, and washing my hands, to name a few. Just a spritz is all you need. The condiment dispensers are used most for rinsing soap from dishes, but really anything where a spritz is not quite enough. I might just be ahead of my time as reservoirs are draining low. As an aside, I went and got my first five-gallon jug refill at the local purificado vendor in San Juanico. 20 pesos for 5 gallons. That’s about a dollar. I didn’t really need it yet, but since I had decanted the jug into one-gallon containers the day before, I figured I’d see what it was all about. It was a chore to carry the full jug back to the kayak and I wasn’t sure yet how well it would travel through the surf, but it made it through dry. And concerning fresh water at sea, “Better looking at it than looking for it.”
Soul Hack: In case you think I’m not critical of my own ridiculousness enough, I was laughing at myself recently regarding Starlink. The Emperor has made me cringe so much in the last few years, in preparing for this voyage, Starlink and the fact nearly all cruisers were using it was totally off my RADAR. I was blinded by my bias. The power consumption and the hardware/subscription costs still meant I would have almost definitely decided it was one of those must haves I wouldn’t have. (I thought my Google Fi phone would have better reception.) But it never even made that list. Duh. To add to this, Mundial left on Sunday, so I lost that Starlink access then. But I had seen on my phone’s wifi list an access signal simply called “Starlink” that had no lock on it. But the signal was so weak, I couldn’t get a usable connection. This was on the boat. When I landed the kayak, I also got it on the beach, but it was a little stronger, but still, not usable. But when I climbed the stairs to the street, it completely disappeared. So, I returned and walked up and down the beach to see if I could find a strong enough signal. I finally discovered there was literally about a ten-foot square spot on the beach where I could get a usable signal. In the cooking sun, I was able to download the Predictwind graphics and study them. Just don’t move. How’s that for ridiculous? I could have gone to the bar, but I was very averse to that. The only reason I would go and purchase anything would be simply to use the internet, not because I wanted to consume anything. I discovered later in the day, in my strolling past the telecommunication building I had walked by many times already, a plaque on the side of the building explaining they had complimentary wifi and how to connect to it. (In Espanol, of course.) So, I tried it and sure enough, it worked great. And I could sit in the shade! Two triumphs and I didn’t have to revert to buying something I didn’t want just to check the weather. A simple life. It took some time and investigation skills. It turns out I had both. How’s that for ridiculous? I guess I like it. All’s cool that ends cool.
Wildlife: I’ve officially decided I hate pelicans. Just another version of rats with wings.
Sampaguita and I sailed off the anchor from Bahia Asuncion on late Tuesday morning. We got a slightly later start than intended, but the morning wind was light and we got caught up in cleaning the sand and stones from the kayak. The Aire kayak is a whitewater kayak, which is to say it has a rugged PVC exterior shell with inflatable bladders inside. One for the bottom and one on each side. The bottom bladder is open to the sea via self-bailing holes. It came to my attention that sand was getting in around, under, and over the bladder, I suspect mostly from the high turbidity surf. Sand as an abrasive can’t be good for the bladders. So, I spent some time rinsing that away after deflation with buckets of salt water on Sampaguita’s deck. Of course, dried salt is also an abrasive, but I deemed it better than sand and pebbles. Sampaguita and I live a life of sand, salt, sun, and salt water. Four things that destroy most all manmade things. Some faster than others. I have had to explain that the electronic devices I use for communication, this blog, and the inReach, are all susceptible to sudden failure due to these elements. I can make no guarantees on electronic device functionality. So far everything is working and I have not had any major inundations of sea water, but, for example, my hands are always salty. And there just isn’t the easy availability of fresh water for much cleaning.
We set sail, but mostly meandered for an hour or so, with weak and variable wind. But then a south wind filled in and we close hauled with the drifter, slowly increasing speed. Over the next few hours, it clocked around to the northwest, building as the afternoon progressed. By mid-afternoon we were hauling along enough to change out the drifter for the 80% jib. I skipped the 100% because I realized it would soon be beyond that, and sailing orejas de burro (wing and wing to the yanks), the main was doing most of the work. Our goal was San Hipolito, about 20 nautical miles south of Asuncion. I wasn’t sure what kind of town it would be, but I was psyched to at least be able to have a day sail and anchor for the evening. So often I have to plan on an overnight. As usual, all Puntas (points) need to be given a wide berth due to rocks, both charted and uncharted. The important thing was I was going to make it before night fall as I made the wide turn to port. The 80% was definitely good to have on as I close hauled into la bahia. I actually reefed down to the second, then the third in the main. The third was probably unnecessary, but in classic Sampaguita style, I would be anchoring under sail and being a bit under powered made this more controlled. There were several warnings about lobster pots on entry, and sure enough I picked one up with the rudder. I saw it and stood well clear, but not clear enough. In the States, crabbers usually use a special line threaded with lead to keep it from floating. This is for everyone’s sake. With so many more pots, so many more crabbers, commercial, native, and recreational, and so many more boaters, it helps keep the lines out of props. The pot owners benefit because they lose less pots that get caught, cut, or dragged by boaters. This is not so in Mexico. For one, there are no recreational pots. The lobstermen are part of the co-op and those are the only folks fishing. Second, there are no recreational boaters except cruisers like myself coming through. Third, the lobstermen themselves are looking out for the pots. So, they just use cheap polypropylene line that floats. It’s very common for there to be 30 feet of line floating on the surface ahead of the buoys marking the pot. This is what got me. The first thing I noticed was that Sampaguita’s performance had suddenly diminished. Then I look back and realized I was dragging a buoy about 30 feet back. Going too fast to reach down with a boat hook to push it out of the small gap between the keel and the rudder, or pull it up and cut it, (I’ll do whatever is faster and easiest) I dropped the jib preparing to heave to, so as not fight the rush of water by the hull. But as soon as I slowed down with the dowsing of the jib, it unhooked on its own. So up the jib went again and I sailed into the anchorage. There were no other cruisers here and it was pretty obvious why. This was a one panga town. No cell tower, no gas station, and about 20-30 buildings on shore. No worries though, I was going to have a great night sleep and likely move on in the morn. There was a low swell that made its way into the anchorage that was putting quite a bit of surf on the beach, but for us about a quarter mile off shore, it was a nice “rock-a-bye baby” feel.
The production of unstowing, inflating, then deflating and restowing the kayak to go ashore prevented my doing so, so I was up with the sun preparing to move on. Weather would be chasing me from this area in a couple days anyway and I was hoping to get ahead of it. We sailed off anchor and made our way south. The wind was predicted to be a bit smarter on this day, but not having internet, I was going by my memory of what I had studied a couple days before. How much and how long was a little vague. It did that ‘build through the day thing’ and I was still uncertain of my destination. Would I try to duck into Abreojos for the evening? Would I just continue on to Bahia Santa Maria? Would I try to go to San Juanico in between? As the evening approached, I ruled out Abreojos. You have to stay at least six miles off shore and make an extra wide swing around the point due to known and unknown obstructions reaching out from land. This meant dark might come before I got in, plus with the building wind and corresponding sea, it would be a long sloppy wet approach, first on a reach, and then on a beat. All with the angst of trying to make it before dark. So, I decided to run with this breeze. It was on that line between a little more than I liked and too much for Sampaguita. I thought “maybe this will settle down as the evening goes on and I will at least cover some miles.” Well, it never settled down, but I did cover some miles. We catapulted through the moonlit evening at 4-5 knots under a triple-reefed main alone, all night long. Which is to say 12 hours. I periodically needed to adjust the windvane as the wind clocked a little and varied strength over the evening. The wave trains did not. The wave heights were at 4 feet, which is to say, there were some 2 footers and some 8 footers in there. I was mostly down below with the bottom two companionway boards in to keep out any boarding water and spray that insisted on trying. You would sometimes hear the toppling crest just outside the hull and the coinciding bump it gave Sampaguita if she yawed a little sideways to it. I wasn’t worried about the boat, but couldn’t help but wish it would taper off a bit. We made some serious miles though. About 0400 I hove-to because, after a snooze I realized I was close to overshooting San Juanico. The necessary and most comfortable angle of sailing had me angling a little off shore. Over the night, this amounted to being about 25 miles off. By the time I hove-to, I realized I would have to make a course about 85 degrees east, which was essentially back tracking a touch to make the landfall. I should have hove-to a couple hours earlier, on a port tack giving me an easterly drift, and ultimately a better angle of approach to San Juanico. About 0630, as light was coming on. I decided to see if I could still make it. If I found it to uncomfortable or hard, I would head to Bahia Santa Maria instead, still 100 or so miles off. It was still blowing good. Not as hard as it had at its most, but I would also be reaching, which meant my apparent wind would be stronger. I would be cutting across the waves, so it would be sloppy wet. I had the 80% jib, the triple-reefed main, and my yellow Gordon’s Fisherman costume on. We trimmed into that reach, aiming Sampaguita at about the hrading I thought we needed. I was using a regular compass for this initial heading because the electronics needed to be kept below and the companionway covered for protection from the spray. It felt doable and was glad I hove-to no later than I had. I wouldn’t have wanted to cut it much further. Storm sails are the next and last steps down as far as canvas and it wasn’t that kind of weather either. I popped down below, checking my headings with the handheld GPS and Navionics on the phone. They concurred with my initial assessment, so I grabbed a Lar-a-Bar and headed back to the cockpit to continue on. The Gordon’s costume was simply to keep the saltwater off my body. I had shorts and t-shirt on underneath and sandals on my feet. When the splashes came aboard, and they were often and large, I first cringed in preparation of receiving them. But very quickly realized the water is warmer than the air and was kind of like a hot shower. Not what I’m used to in the Pacific Northwest. I stuffed a rag around the anchor chain hawser to mitigate any water getting in there and then it was mostly supervising. I had to knee up on the transom with two wrenches to reach over the stern and adjust a couple screws that had strangely tightened on the windvane. I would periodically have to adjust the vane angle as the wind varied in direction and strength. A lesson on wind. Wind changes direction with speed. This is due to friction with the earth’s surface. So wind gusts come from a slightly different angle than the normal wind. You trim the sails to the normal wind, but that means the gusts both change the direction they hit the sails and the extra strength changes the balance of those sails. The boat reacts to this. The windvane is reacting to wind direction, but is also sensitive to the sail balance. The windvane was never overpowered, but it had to be tinkered with regularly to keep everything working together. Plus, the boat is yawing over the waves which changes its (and the sails) angle to the wind. None of this is rocket science, but it does keep you attentive and engaged. I would sometimes need to reach over and hand adjust the tiller to keep things working well. There is enough play in the windvanes control chain to do this without disengaging the vane. We were hauling transom at hull speed, dashing our way to San Juanico. I made the 25 miles in about 4.5 hours, which is to say we were going at about hull speed. The wind did let up a bit on our final approach but only slowed us down a knot or so. We sailed into the anchorage and anchored under sail, and who do you know is there? The catamaran 10X with Dave and Heidi on board and Mundial, with Grant and Noel.
10X is a boat I started picking up on my AIS receiver in northern California. I never actually met them until San Diego, but of all the boats, that is the one I keeping finding in anchorages and encountering the most. When you think, “they must be long gone ahead of me” they come rolling in from behind. Dave is a super intense marketer or something like that. 10X is part of his motto. Heidi is a retired PI from Las Vegas. Just to set their vibe. Grant and Noel, are heroes. Not just because they have been exceptionally kind to me, but because their kindness is authentic. They are from Morro Bay. When I first met them in Bahia Tortuga they came up to me in their dinghy and said they had seen me in Morro Bay. (I guess I stand out.) On that very first meeting they said if I could get their Starlink signal on my boat, I was welcome to use it. They immediately followed up with its name and their password. I have had other cruisers offer the same Starlink access, but they never offered its name or password. Do you get the difference? And here is another thing. Upon getting anchored in San Juanico, Grant immediately got in his dinghy and brought me over a smoked tuna fish sandwich with avocado and chips on the side. For a single-handed sailor who’s been at sea for over 28 hours with no division of labor in his life, this was an incredible treat. And they knew it. It was superb. They have that “it” thing, I don’t mind saying. Their box is collecting favors.
Experience: The next day, after morning chores of working on the running list of boat bits to look after, I inflated the kayak and went ashore. Each town is different. First, I don’t yet see a baseball field. Second, on first impression, where as Asuncion has a flavor of ex-pats, San Juanico seems to be overrun by them. It is a big surf town. La playa is huge and apparently unobstructed. Well protected from the prevailing northwesterlies, when a southerly comes in, its “surfs up.” I am led to believe the ex-pats are drawn to this. Also, when I was sailing in, it was obvious to see that many houses ashore, were not rural Mexican’s homes. I’ve seen enough of Baja to realize this. I also noticed several properties for sale. Not the classic rural Mexico sign painted on the building with a dollar sign and a phone number. Real brokerage signs. When I went to la tienda, there was an American woman in there complaining about some credit card fees she was incurring. I pegged her as American due to her outwardly rude and entitled nature. Canadians are still a bit more polite. She knew she couldn’t do anything about it, but was going to have her grievance. As an aside, you can get a credit card without foreign transaction fees, but if the processor on the vendor side charges fees, you nor your credit card can do anything about that. This is occurring more and more. The financial institutions are a profitable business to be in, if that’s your thing.
Observations: I came across a semi and trailer parked in an empty lot. It was surrounded by second-hand household goods that were apparently for sale, though I didn’t browse to find out. I can’t imagine any other reason. While it wasn’t a moving truck per se, the contents sure looked like someone’s move. All kinds of clandestine thoughts went through my head, but naturally, I have no idea what was up.
In my exploration, I seemed to stumble on the local gas station too. This is not the Pemex station of a bigger town, which looks like a typical petrol station found in America and other western countries. This was a fairly dilapidated small wooden shed, with, at first glance, the only evidence being a gasoline hose and nozzle hung on the side by the door. Someone had pulled up and I watched a caballero walk over from the next door shaded area to serve them. As I walked by, the pungent smell of gasoline was in the air and I could see in the door. The fuel was being pumped from a big blue 55-gallon plastic barrel(s) inside the shed. It was like some dystopian “Road Warrior” scene. I loved it. I haven’t painted a good picture here to capture the moment. It was definitely photo worthy, but I thought it too rude. “Look at the stupid gringo marvel at our dangerous ‘shed-bomb’ and amuse themselves with the best we have.” The Resourceful Sailor, anti-regulation part of me totally approves. The little kid in me who had a short phase of playing with gasoline, knows how dangerous it is. Rural Mexico, salute. Way to get by.
I think there might be an ex-pat opportunity to import America’s unwanted and obsolete fleet of gasoline cars as they are phased out for electric ones. (The jury is still out as to whether we are just trading one demon for another.) Rural Mexico could use them for parts and secondaries. Especially on Isla Cedros, a common scene was the stripped-out car that was flipped on its roof. This is not the stolen stripped car of urban America. This is how they get parts to fix the local cars. I gather they are flipped over to access the undercarriage. The roads are mostly dirt and rutty, which means the undercarriage of a vehicle takes a serious beating, and naturally, repairs are common. Having a spare car seems common too if you can afford it, because if your primary car needs repairing, it can take some time to find the parts and get the work done. Mexicans “manana” theme doesn’t always mean tomorrow. Tomorrow is always tomorrow. Their work ethic is different than we are accustomed to in America and it just takes longer to source the labor, time, and materials to do a job. We shan’t call it lazy, it’s just their priorities and values are elsewhere. America has an uptight, “gotta have it now, the show must go on regardless, what is it you do for a living, do you know who I am?” mentality. It makes for a strong economy, but an unpeaceful place to live. Mexico certainly has a weak economy, but people seem more calm, peaceful, polite, and family oriented. A job is just something you have to do and maybe not to be taken too seriously. While I have the data and experience to comment on America, admittedly, I don’t have the same on Mexico. I’m still trying to figure it all out.
I had two fishermen come up to the boat since I have arrived in San Juanico. One wanted to sell me shrimp, which was a first. The other was a lobsterman. This wasn’t a first for the voyage, but the first time I asked “a como?” (How much?) The lobster was offered at 200 pesos for one, which is $11-12 dollars US. I’m not sure if that is good by Mexican standards or not. I did not purchase one anyway. Even more notable to me was they both seemed genuinely marveled by, and joked about, Sampaguita’s diminutive size. Many pangas, while open boats, are actually longer than Sampaguita. I’m glad we could provide some entertainment.
I’ve moved on from Bahia Asuncion to the next locale of Bahia San Juanito, but had this reporting which I wanted to convey. Hopefully the internet universe will allow me to follow up on that journey soon. We’ll see. TBD. Until then…….
Bahia Asuncion is so much different than Bahia Tortuga. I haven’t figured out yet exactly why, except the ex-pat influence may be more prominent. It appears significantly more prosperous and better kept than BT, but also significantly sleepier. BA is smaller and the fishery is smaller too. While Saturday night in BT was a loud party, BA’s Sabado night was quiet and subdued. There weren’t the people hanging out on porches and being outwardly friendly like BT. Everything seemed more family friendly and oriented. Maybe BT is more of a transient fishing town with transient hombres keeping themselves entertained the way they do? I can draw no certain conclusions at this time.
Boat Hack: Coffee snobs out there will shudder, but in preparation for cruising, I switched to instant coffee. Being the more pragmatic type, allow me to elaborate. A rinky-dink boat has limited carrying capacity. My last top off put me at 60 gallons of fresh water in preparation for Mexico, where drinking water doesn’t come from the hose, and there isn’t any dock to pull up to anyway. (Some cruisers have watermakers that consume gobs of energy. Sampaguita doesn’t have that kind of energy replacement capabilities.) Conservation is key and being solo, I fortunately make all the decisions regarding water usage. Back in my liveaboard slip, I used a stainless-steel French press and enjoyed proper and delicious cups of coffee. The problem was, it was a liter in size and even when I said to myself, ”Josh, only make a half carafe” it would slowly eek back up to a full one. I love a morning ritual as much as the next person, and if we’re honest, I love the morning high. Don’t kid yourself, caffeine is a drug and you all are getting high when you consume it. (How often do we hear something like, “My day just doesn’t start until I have my Starbucks Latte (or insert your favorite barista) in the morning.” – Duh. Drug dealer.) When you bottle your pee, because your small boat doesn’t have an installed head, it’s easy to measure what comes out as what goes in. (Again, don’t kid yourself. If you have an installed head, you either store your pee in a huge plastic jug hidden behind a bulkhead called a holding tank to later be pumped out, or you flush it out below the waterline where what you can’t see can be denied. That’s all about culture and conditioning that our biological waste is something to be hidden away and ashamed of. I’ve shed many of those c & c’s and it is extremely liberating.) I took note that that liter of coffee was processed and released easily within two hours. Then, the grounds need to be cleaned out, which takes more water, not to mention is a very messy affair. (Maybe you can get away with salt water on this last part.) If you are aiming for a rationing of 2 liters of water per day, well, you’ve already used half of it on a diuretic and you might have hardly left the bunk yet. Enter instant coffee. First, no clean up and no mess. Second, it isn’t good enough to drink more than one cup. Third, powdered milk is sufficient to cut it with. (Remember, Sampaguita has no refrigeration, and Josh needs to cut the coffee’s acid back with a dairy base. Science.) Recognizing the quality limitations of instant coffee, I asked a barista friend, Kimi D., if any boutique roasters stepped up and made a more palatable product. Not that we have found yet. By nature of being a boutique roaster, they are coffee snobs, and likely can’t be bothered. Missed opportunity for a niche market, I say. As a budget cruiser, I’m also not willing to spend a lot on such a product, so another win is instant coffee is cheap. I’ve tried some different brands as I go. Café Bustelo is so far my favorite.
Dinghy Decisions: As outlined in a previous essay on this blog, Sampaguita’s tender is an inflatable whitewater kayak. Most cruisers with bigger boats and more crew use a rigid bottom inflatable with some sort of power source. They carry more people and gear, go faster, and because their mothership is bigger, can be stored fully inflated on the deck of the boat. I acknowledge these attributes as much as I acknowledge Sampaguita’s inability to accommodate them. They come with a cost, though. I estimate those set ups easily can push $10000 to have. (So don’t for a moment think anchoring is free.) Sampaguita’s Aire kayak is a high end, durable, and heavily warranteed product, and at the time I purchased it nine years ago, it cost about $1500. Most of those (but not all) RIBs have motors that well outsize Sampaguita’s auxiliary 6hp Tohatsu. Of the small segment of cruisers I have encountered here in Baja, one has a bent prop from hitting a rock while landing in San Quinton. This is stupid easy to have happen. They will need to get a new prop when they get to La Paz, well, because there aren’t any available along the remote Baja coast. Another has a Torqueedo electric outboard. Something happened while exploring and now the motor is throwing E45 error codes. (Sophisticated equipment usually requires a sophisticated fix. At least with most gas-powered outboards, the problem comes down to fuel or spark. And a bent prop creates a lot of vibration and is hard on the drive shaft, but it will still go.) Landing whatever tender you have on these Baja landings is risky business. Rocks looming just below the surface are ready to foil everyone. And since you are cruising and just passing through, the first landings come with little local knowledge. They also change with the tide and swell state. I was making a landing in the kayak in Bahia Asuncion at the designated place. The tide was low-ish and the approach seemed fine. As I got nearer, I realized there were some rocks uncovering in the troughs of the swell. Uh-oh. They weren’t going to kill me, but the PVC kayak scraping over them would be no bueno, or causing me to broach would be very salty wet. (The expression, “He’s an old salt” is extremely true. Everything gets salty. And with no rain, it only accumulates.) I got lucky though, and the next following swell lifted me up and carried me cleanly over them. As I gained the local knowledge, there is about a 30-foot-wide safe zone in the landing. It’s easy to see once you are on shore. Outboard driven dinghies beware. Of course, everyone has the struggle of getting off la playa against the incoming surf. It is easier with the kayak than with a heavy motor driven inflatable, however, I am lower, less sheltered, and more exposed, so getting salty wet is just as easy.
Dinghy Decisions 2: On Sunday, there was a southern breeze and I had spent the day in town. The south facing la playa had a bit of extra surf running and I got to practice my launch. I had picked up a BBQ chicken dinner from a couple who had been cooking them all day on the street. The chickens were splayed out flat on the grill and I had been considering it all day. It was more food than I needed and more pesos than I felt comfortable spending, but I finally pulled the trigger. It was reminiscent of Brook’s chicken (from Oneonta, NY) and I wasn’t going to have anything like that on the boat. Sunday is Sunday in Mexico and do as the Mexicans do. I could fit the container in my salty backpack and dry bag, but I still had to get it to the boat. There were some folks on the beach and they were going to get a gringo yatista show of triumph or disaster. Like any focused entertainer, I had to forget about them. I took my time on the launch and studied the swells coming in. I eased the kayak to the dynamic waterline, got everything ready, watching and judging where they began to break. No waves are the same and they come in trains. Still, it is difficult to tell further out as they hardly exist on the bay. When you decide to go, you must not hesitate. Committed is committed. You either make it or get soaked. Maybe both. There is no turning back. I suddenly went. I dragged the kayak the last few feet as the one wave was breaking and flooding the beach. My feet were getting wet regardless. I got in as that wave ebbed, giving me just enough water to float and drag me out. The kayak did start to turn sideways as it does, but grabbing the paddle, I straightened it out before I was left high and dry. Then it was paddle with all I had. I could see the next wave building and it was looking to be a terribly messy affair, but going for it was the only hope it wouldn’t be. I rode up and over that hill just before it was about to break, feeling like a miniature version of Tom Hanks launching his raft with the honey bucket sail in Cast Away. But I wasn’t through yet. The next wave was coming and starting to build. If it was bigger, it would break sooner, and really, who knew? But a bit further out I made it over in a less dramatic fashion and I was clear. I pumped my fist over my head in celebration in case the lookee-loos cared, but never looked back myself. And my 300-peso chicken dinner was preserved for my indulgence.
Experience: Beisbol may be more of a Mexican pastime than it is in American one anymore. Saturday, as I was strolling around looking for an experience, I made my way to the baseball field. I’ve learned to identify it by the light poles rising above all else. There was some cheering going on, so I headed to the grandstand. The game being played was all youngsters. In my age it is hard to say anymore, but to associate the best I can, I would say more pee-wee league, early little league age. I assume they do it different anyway, so I don’t need/want to Americanize it. This was serious business though. They were doing their best to be Major Leaguers. And compared to SB, the field was in much better shape, the uniforms were more complete, they had proper and skilled coaches, and the crowd was family-oriented. These kids, mostly niños, but a couple niñas, were all in. There were some other kids who had Academia de Beisbol shirts on, so I take it this was a serious and organized affair for the community. I watched a few innings, totally impressed, and the only gringo there. I was thoroughly entertained and cheered the way a stupid gringo might. On Sunday, I thought to myself, “I bet the adults play today like they did in San Bartolome.” Sure enough. Making my way to the field (smelling the BBQ chicken along the way) I entered the grandstand. A totally different vibe than SB. Better uniforms and way better play. These guys were good. Real pitching, real crack of the bats, better field play, and much fewer errors. The seriousness and the youngster feeder program I saw the day before was really making a difference. (I learned later from Shari that they had a semi-pro team too. I believe it.) Fewer spectators, but there was what seemed like a fundraising concession table. I had some sort of huge flat cracker with shredded cucumber and carrots and other goodies on it for twenty-five pesos. I watched for several innings and did my clapping thing at all worthy plays and hits. Still, nobody acknowledged me or interacted with me except the concessionaire, and maybe los niños behind me who might have been making fun of me. It’s OK. It’s what niños do before they become caballeros. I did not stay to the end as it was getting late and I like to return to the boat before dark. A good call with the previously mentioned surf running. Who’d of thought I would be on some sort of baseball tour?
Plugs: Because they deserve it. Shari Bondy, a Canadian ex-pat, has treated me better than she has needed to. I thank her for that. I think our connection is we are part of the small boat, simple sailor fraternity. She has a Hotel (La Bufadora) and Campground in a most excellent location and seems to cater to Baja tourists. I gather she’s been here for 35 years, raised a family here, and so is well ingrained and invested in the community. She also does Grey Whale research and tours in the calving season (January -April) and is a good destination for gringos who want to check out Baja, but might find some of the other communities like Tortuga Bay a bit too gritty and rough-around-the-edges to call a holiday. Another is for Lery Espinoza. If you use Navionics, you will see his name and contact info. He operates a water taxi and general services for visiting yatistas. He is the first Mexican sailboat owner since Ensenada I’ve seen, so seems to be empathetic to cruisers and apparently has a good story about its acquisition. I only met him briefly and did not need his services, but the slight interaction has given me the gut feeling he is an asset to the cruising community. A lobsterman by trade, the service seems a side hustle. He stopped by to meet the guy with the little boat. He had just been diving on a neighboring anchored boat (whom I haven’t met and who apparently lost their prop AND their shaft! Muy mal!) to put a plug in the hole. He speaks decent English, was younger than I’d imagined (apparently went to high school with Shari’s daughter,) and reportedly has humble service fees.
Wildlife: The last couple nights the seals/sea lions (I’m not sure which) have spent quite a bit of time around my boat. Again, like the pelicans, I was curious why. Here is my guess. I am anchored in about 20-25 feet of water. On a bright sunny day, you can see the bottom with Sampaguita’s shadow clearly visible over the sand. Sometimes I will see swarms of small fish here. The last couple of nights have been nearly a full moon. I wonder if the moon too is causing a boat shadow and fish are trying to hide in it. The bay is big so there is no need for the seals/sea lions to congregate around Sampaguita, unless they have something to benefit from. I don’t know if other boats are having similar experiences. The sea life is very plentiful in the Baja waters. A couple other boats have gifted me fish fillets they caught. Apparently, they are having no trouble. In fact, they are catching fish that are too big and losing gear as a result, and don’t have the room to store it. Some are divers and spear fishers. They too, are coming up diamonds. One brought homemade sushi roles to the potluck. The pelicans too are sometimes dive-bombing in a frightful mass. In the Pacific Northwest, I don’t remember having these sorts of observations and experiences. I do not know if it is because they were not there to observe or whether my American existence had me so distracted that I wasn’t in tune enough to see them. Here, the locals are fishing more on a small scale, subsistence level in small pangas. Sport fishing exists, but it too is small scale. In American waters, commercial and sport fishing are both much larger scale. Maybe this is the difference?
Monica and ‘Lectronic Latitude rock! It’s fun to be the far away Port of Bahia Asuncion in Baja California, Mexico and see your column still exists. Thank you so much.
I’m not sure what my sailmakers at Northwest Sails, Sean and Holly, will think of this, but it wasn’t one they made for me anyway. But it sure is a necessary one. Something had to be done.
Here is the link:
https://www.latitude38.com/lectronic/2023/11/27/#resourceful-sailor-performs-sail-surgery
Anchor News: Sampaguita pitched her way through a good 24+ hours of 20-30 knot winds in Bahia Tortuga. A nearby boat said they recorded 32 knots. (Sampaguita has no anemometer.) I did know it was coming which is why I stayed in Tortuga. I was a little concerned. I had enough room to let out 30 more feet of anchor rode, and the anchor remained well set. I don’t have a windlass, so I’ve theorized some Sampaguita specific ways to gain mechanical advantage to haul up the anchor in such conditions and other contingency plans and am happy to not yet have had to test them. As a friend has recently said, my minimalist path minimizes my options. It does have its assets and liabilities, for sure. The practical answer to these things Sampaguita doesn’t have would be a different boat. I should have moved the boat on Sunday to the NE corner of the bay, but contrasting weather predictions got the better of me. The NE corner wouldn’t have reduced the wind, but it would have reduced the fetch and the pitching. I got away with it this time. The next day saw gusty conditions ranging from 0-30 knots, but the waves weren’t there so it was less concerning. Under those conditions I don’t want to leave the boat. Plus, the kayak would be difficult-to-impossible (and very wet) to use. Downwind, sure, upwind, no. So, I stayed aboard at anchor watch as one should do. In the end it was just pitchy. You can see throughout the anchorage, the 40’+ boats all pitch half as much as Sampaguita. They bridge the waves better. It’s not that it is uncomfortable. It’s the tugging at the anchor that’s worrisome. On the positive side, bad decisions make better stories.
Sampaguita spent the American Thanksgiving Day in Bahia Asunción, arriving in the morning after an overnight trip from Bahia Tortuga. On Wednesday morn we played the game of “what ifs” and “what abouts” pulling up the anchor. The wind was about 15-20 knots and the boat was pitching a bit. After weathering the blow noted above (which after landing in Bahia Asunción and learning what they experienced, was nothing. They had 45 knots and a much more adventurous time.) it was forefront in my mind to practice and try some of my new theories. (Some of us love the “what ifs and abouts” games, right, Jim S.?) After pulling tediously, and with considerable effort, the first 60 feet of nylon rode and then the first 50 feet of chain, the last 30 feet of chain was too much. Mind you, I’m in about 20-25 feet of water. That anchor was very well set from the blow and wouldn’t budge. Good news, really, right? The pitching pulled the chain from my hands 6 inches by 6 inches, and the strain was painful on the hands. I had to resort to letting back out the previous 50 feet of chain, taking a rest and rethinking my approach. I hadn’t started the engine yet as part of the game and ultimately this was how I got the anchor to release quite easily. (I considered sailing off anchor, but with that much wind, and Sampaguita pinned to the bottom, experience says she will power up considerably, and the single-hander pulling chain up at the bow can’t release the sheet and de-power her. That is fraught with danger.) But first I set up a line from the sheet winch, through the storm jib block, and to the bow with a chain hook on it to give me mechanical advantage and to hold the chain, as Sampaguita’s anchor cleat is more rode friendly than chain friendly. This allowed me to partially pull in and hold the chain, but still provide a segment of elasticity to the pitching bow as well as give me mechanical advantage. Then it was a game of hustle. Start the motor, go to the bow, pull in some chain, set the chain hook, back to the cockpit, adjust the winch so the line is in a good fairlead spot, back to the bow, haul in some more chain, reset the chain hook, back to the cockpit, increase the throttle of the engine just enough to get a tiny bit of forward motion, back to the bow, haul in the rest of the chain and anchor, secure it quickly, then navigate Sampaguita through the boats, get the already triple reefed main sail up and then run off out of the bay. Then it was easy peasy. Set up the Windpilot and you move from heavy laborer to supervisor, tidy up and secure everything, and be on your way.
That nice North wind, under triple reef and 80% jib, carried us most of the 60 miles to Bahia Asunción through the day and early eve. We could have pushed a little harder, but we don’t do that as a rule. We save the rig for when we have to. Much too late to enter the bay, we meandered about through the night off of Isla San Roque and waited till the daylight for our entrance. With the anchor down about 1100 local time, I was greeted by Grant of Mundial (a Downeaster 38?), who was inviting me to the cruiser’s potluck at Shari Bondy’s house/hotel at 1400 hours on the peninsula. (Mundial had a harrowing tale to tell in their blow, but that is Grant and Noel’s story. All’s well, that ends well, and lessons were learned by everybody.) I got it together in time enough to attend and had turkey (with gravy!) and other delicious baked foods I haven’t had in months. High style.
Observation: Pelicans are the seagulls of Baja Mexico. They are responsible for the nasty flavor of guano that a cruiser becomes so familiar with. You have to keep them off your boat or they will create a very unpleasant frosting. They haven’t roosted on Sampaguita yet, but I have shoo-ed away a couple from the kayak. Last night I came to realize something. I could hear them outside feeding, so I would intermittently get up to make sure they were not getting comfortable. After watching them for a few minutes I was wondering what it was about my boat that they might be attracted to. I have a very bright anchor light. It is atop the mast, but it does not light up the deck of the boat because the base is so close to the top. This creates a shadow. However, that shadow does create a halo of light at about a ten-meter radius on the water. About eight pelicans were sitting around the boat in that halo and feeding like crazy. It occurred to me that the bright halo of LED light was helping them to spot the food in the water, and that was what was attracting them. (As long as they kept their distance, it was cool by me.) It also occurred to me, though this was not quite so obvious, and I am not a marine biologist, that the halo may have also been attracting the organisms they were feeding upon. I was creating an artificial ecosystem. If so, that is another example of human alteration of the natural environment. While I acknowledge it, I do not feel bad. On the grand scale of the human effects on the world, Sampaguita and I can have our 5-watt LED anchor light if we want.
Experience: I was strolling around San Bartolomé the way I do. Solo and slowly, just observing the village and marveling at it, being friendly, saying and waving to passer-bys, whether on foot or in their cars. I walked by a house and someone said “hello.” I turn and responded, we had a few words, and they invite me to have a Tecate. So, I say “Si.” Raul, the main instigator, speaks some Ingles, and he clearly wants to practice it. Obviously, I am a gringo, so I fit the bill. It turns out to be a gathering place for a small group of local fishermen. I gather it is Ramon’s porch, who doesn’t speak Ingles, but as is the custom amongst all humans, follows the socially charismatic leadership of Raul. Through the course of a couple hours several other fishermen congregate and we chat in broken Ingles and broken Espanol, drinking Tecate, them introducing local fruit from the trees in their yard, and Ramon even gave me lobster tail from his freezer. (I ate it that eve. It was delicious.) (He told me to hide it in my bag quickly and not say anything, because, assumingly, some people would disapprove of giving goods to a gringo yatista or would want some themselves.) Lobster boats are everywhere. The San Benito lobster boat wanted to sell me a lobster earlier in the day, which sounds great, right? But experience has told me there is more to consider. In Newfoundland, on Breskell, we had lobster one night. It was delicious. But whole lobsters are a messy affair and the juice squirts everywhere. And gets all over everything, your clothes, your bedding, and there is no laundry, and the boat smells like bad fish for a few days. It’s not worth it. (So Ramon’s dressed out lobster tail was a bigger gift than he likely imagined.) They can tell I’m not your typical yatista. “You are solo?” “No house?” “No kids?” “No friends to travel with?” “Su barco es seis metros?” “We see you have heart. You must be searching for something.” I haven’t seen this kind of spirit in America in years. Maybe I’ve been in the wrong places.
Experience 2: On my Sunday visit to Puerto San Bartolomé, the village on Bahia Tortuga, I came across the local Sunday baseball game. Twenty-five steps into the grand stand and Raymond was inviting me over and offering me a cerveza. So over I go. We can barely communicate, but we try and nobody gets frustrated when we miss the mark. People come and go, some of them I met the day before. (It is a small town.) The teams aren’t that good, but baseball is popular. I have noticed lots of MLB caps wherever I go and the players all wear their favorite. They have mix-match uniforms, but they all have the classic baseball pants on. I don’t know if they have sponsors or not. The field is in OK condition and there are lights, but I don’t know if they work. The home run fence is mostly intact. The catchers share some of the gear and there is one umpire who stands behind the pitcher. The teams are all ages. We have a great time cheering on the good plays regardless of the team. There was no visible scoreboard, so I had no idea which inning it was and what the final score was. There was loud, Mexican music cranked between every pitch. It was a wild time. Raymond is very kind and treats me like Familia. No problema. After the game he invites me to his house and feeds me some pescadoro pico de gallo(?) It is in stark contrast to America where people are very leery of strangers. In Seattle, there is something well known to emigrants called “The Seattle Freeze.” Nobody just invites a stranger over and welcomes them into their home or inner circle. Maybe it has to do with the more you have, the more you are afraid to lose? Food for thought. I have been warned by most of these new amigos about the mafia (this is not the Godfather mafia we traditionally associate with mafia) and I pick up, they too worry about them. We have it in the US too. I gather these are just locals who use power and intimidation to control others. There are some obvious local-take-advantage situations, just like in America. The big difference might be in America they work within the law. In Mexico, they might work more above the law. I am still trying to suss it out. The local fuel baron, who is infamous on Navionics and in the international cruising community, known for excessive delivery costs, bad metering, and tainted fuel, does his community a disservice. He creates a bad vibe and by my observation, cruisers don’t spend much time (therefore, much money) in Bahia Tortuga. Mostly Americans and Canadians, they are well versed in scammers. They recognize it and just don’t like it. On the other hand, the Baja Ha-Ha Rally stops for a couple days. 100+ boats (an armada) descend on the bay and the town. I am sure the local fuel baron and economy gets a boost from this. Maybe even too much, clearing the goods from the shelves, preventing the locals whose economy is more day to day from getting some of the supplies they need. (Remember the toilet paper rushes of the pandemic?) I will say, the local super mercado was excellent. They had some very delicious granny smith apples. I love a good granny smith apple.
Observation #2: An aside on the Rally boat that sunk entering Bahia Tortuga. Navionics, though modern, crowd source-able, and a common go-to, has very incomplete and deceiving Mexican chart-age details. I have some older US Defense Mapping Agency paper charts I rescued from the Ballard Mill Marina dumpster years ago thinking one day they might be handy, and they clearly show the dangers and rocks off the Point that boat hit. Navionics does not. Just sayin’.
Qoute of The Day: “A Dana 24 is minimalistic. A Flicka 20 is just stupid.”- Joshua Wheeler, 2023. They have an allure to the uninitiated. That allure is where most of the traffic to this site comes from. But to paraphrase John Vigor from his book, 20 Small Boats That Will Take You Anywhere, (#20?) (Details are elusive with limited internet access) only a self-loathing, low-esteem, masochistic, and lonely fool would go cruising in one. (You won’t get the big boat girls and small boat girls might be few and far between in your peer group.) If you are self-aware enough to realize this about yourself, you might be Flicka cruiser material. Most Flicka owners have a trophy boat. A strong, cute, well-built boat from a reputable manufacturer with a nice interior. They like the idea that it could theoretically go anywhere, but they mostly daysail and the moorage is affordable. (And their significant other says, “Go have a good time, honey. Let me know when you’re ready to buy a bigger boat.”) Alternatively, it is trailer-able. So, if you have the wherewithal to also buy the hefty trailer and the even heftier truck to pull the total 7000 pounds safely around, you can have a high style aquatic RV set-up for a summer holiday, or be a snowbird with. (Or you cash those three in and buy a Dana.) Yes, there are a few documented journey’s on Flickas to add to the romantic notion of them. And I don’t know most of those other folks, so I can’t say where they all fall in the spectrum. I’ve painted with a broad brush here, but I think after 10 years and 10000 miles with Sampaguita, I might have some qualifications regarding Flicka 20s. Then again, I’m just a fool.
Weird Universe Ether Experience: If the above wasn’t enough in two days, two blasts from the pasts contacted me on Thanksgiving. You might think “What’s so strange about that?” To know me is to realize that happens extremely rarely. (You have to think in years.) On top of that, I abandoned social media well over a year ago, so I have lost touch with the masses who use those common links to each other. Being manipulated by those moguls under the guise they were doing me a service was destroying me. But it also means people have to purposely come to me. That really sets people apart. I salute Terry P. and Banjo for their initiative. And I salute those folks who come to this blog and drop me a line too. If that’s you, and you read this, then you know who you are.
I guess all I needed to do was mention rain. Want and ye shall get, or something like that. Sampaguita is anchored in Bahia Tortuga, Baja, Mexico. We arrived this morning. Well, actually, we arrived last night in the classic two-hours-late fashion. Scott and Emily of Committed Sardine were kind enough to give me some coordinates of four lobster pots near the entrance as a guide/hazard lane. I figured out how to put them in Navionics, which was new for me. However, the skies were overcast, so it was very dark when I got there. Plus, the wind was being quite variable, coming and going as it pleased. It’s one thing to pick up a pot with the rudder or engine when the conditions are calm and there is light. I can sort through that. But in the wind and dark, that’s no bueno. I opted to heave to and spend the night offshore, which was quite pleasant. Hardly any rolling and no traffic. I slept pretty well. I had a west-ish drift which was all I cared about. I could drift that direction for months, while an east-ish drift would have put me on the rocks fairly quickly.
About five in the morning an offshore breeze picked up and I quickly made up the four miles I drifted on one port tack, straight to the bay with the sunrise. I was able to beat into the bay and anchor without starting the engine which is true Sampaguita style. Small boats don’t take much wind and a patient sailor is also important too. I haven’t encountered any other of the two since I left Port Townsend in August. It’s a diesel fest, whereas Sampaguita’s Tohatsu has used about two liters of gasoline since Ensenada. I’ll top that off as per usual at the local Pemex station.
It’s overcast now and a light, but continuous rain has been falling. The caveat is the solar panels aren’t producing much charge. That’s another angle of the diesel engine. I’ll just conserve even more. My two-battery set up run independent of each other, so I can get one nice and full while I use the other. Being Lithium, they don’t demand to be fully charged the way lead acid batteries do for long life. It’s OK to run them down to 20% over a several days.
We left Isla Cedros the previous morning, sailing off anchor. Ok, it wasn’t so much sailing than drifting, but once again, if its an offshore direction, it’s fine by us. After about an hour, a light headwind filled in and will full main and the 140% drifter we tightened up the sheets, making a little more apparent wind, and off we went. I hadn’t planned on getting to Bahia Tortuga (Turtle Bay if you hadn’t bothered to look it up yet) until the next day, but the sailing was so good, we ALMOST made it in one day. So, it was no disappointment to spend the night at sea. In fact, I never look at it as a disappointment. I signed up for this and it would be bad for morale to think of it as a disappointment. Another reason why I sail alone and all the other boats probably motor most of the time.
I really liked the town of Cedros. Poor as mud, but the people were not unhappy and were friendly. It is difficult to describe the level of poverty and decay going on, but I enjoyed trying to communicate with the people and explore. I’ve noticed a clannishness between other boats. Sampaguita is the runt of the litter and left to fend for herself and make her own way. There were several family boats and it seemed like a cultural opportunity for the kids to go ashore, but I’m not convinced they did much. I’m not a family man so I guess I don’t get why not. The island kids were all very curious and I had some interactions, though, mi Espanol is so bad and their ability to improvise was not developed. The use of mobile phone translation apps helped in a few cases, but I decided I wasn’t a fan. Like most crutches, it does allow communication, but not really a learning of the language.
Experience: I walked down an alley, or maybe it was a street/dirt road(like most were) that it wouldn’t surprise me if no white person had ever walked down. I would love to be wrong in that. I heard drumstick like tapping. I look over into the yard (not a yard but with a present lack of what else to call it) and there was a young girl tapping on her house. “Ah, tambour” I said and she and her sisters ran in the house. I continued on for a short distance, but the street was a dead end, so I turned around and returned. They had also resumed. When I walked by, I motioned them to bring me the sticks. The house was a foot off the street, so it was not an intrusion. The girl came over. She had two sets of sticks and handed me a pair. (She explained later that they can’t be bought in the store. A local carpenter makes them. This is obvious.) I started playing and, for those who know my previous life, it became obvious that it wasn’t my first rodeo. She wasn’t very good, but was a good student, and I taught her a few things. Eventually her mother invites me in and feeds me three delicious carne tacos. ( I regret my inability to say what a treat this is. I don’t get to have fresh meat on the boat unless I buy and eat it right away. No refrigeration, remember? They do have a refrigerator.) They have no English skills and my Espanol is terrible, so communication was slow and awkward. They offered me a glass of water from the water cooler to go with it, apologizing it was all they had to offer. (It’s all I would have wanted.) As an aside, I never saw any of the three girls or their mother have any of the water. I know it was good drinking water. My point is that fresh drinking water is very valuable. (None of that Martha Stewart “Drink eight glasses of water every day, sipping as you go.”) I recognized this gesture. There is much more to say on this encounter, but I will save it for a full-length essay. This is an example of taking a detour in life and the unexpected encounters of doing so.
Boat Hack #1: Every sailmaker I got a quote from thought I should have a drifter. This is a light cloth sail for very light winds. Having never had one, I wasn’t convinced, but also never having bought sails before, I recognized the repeated suggestions. It wasn’t inexpensive. Like many things, it’s not so much the material, it’s the labor. It’s big, so it takes a bit of both. They are often made of nylon, which is very light. But in conversation with the sailmaker, I decided to go with a lightweight dacron cloth. This is because I am rough on everything, and it theoretically would be a bit more durable, though not quite as light wind-ish. When conditions are right, it is really an effective sail.
Boat Hack #2: Starlink seems to be the new go-to for cruisers. The Emperor of the Western World has done it again. First PayPal, then Tesla, and now Space X/Starlink. My understanding is it has become semi-required equipment for boat-schooling families. People working while cruising need it to maintain, and generally, other cruisers are using it too, because being connected via the internet has become a normal way of life. I guess normal has never been Sampaguita’s way. I see the value in it for sure, in particular, for weather forecasting. Sampaguita requires a bit of extra strategy weather-ways because of her size, but it is quite costly still to get the hardware and subscriptions. The other, and more decisive factor with Sampaguita, is the energy requirements. It’s an AC product using several amps while in use, and we don’t have the energy replacement capabilities to keep up with that and our other needs. (Especially apparent with multiple overcast days.) Starlink needs that diesel engine. Sampaguita will never have a diesel engine and her supervisor has no desire to drive everywhere. So, it’s presently not in the cards for her, and well, another boat is not presently in the cards for me. So, it’s old-school for us. We’ll manage the best we can and it will work out if it works out.
sailingwithjosh
Sailing With Josh 