Weather Window

Having Chris on board has been a delight.  He’s an active sailor and always ready to lend a hand.  His flight was delayed – it seems that many flights are late or cancelled - so he arrived in the night to Marina de

La Paz. We met him at the dinghy dock with our overloaded tender full of supplies and proceeded to pile his luggage on top of it all for a bumpy windy ride across the bay to our anchored boat.  That’s all he saw of

La Paz; one dark dinghy ride that night and the city shoreline xmas morning as we motored out.  Chris took the wheel and threaded the buoy trail out of town. 

Rounding the entrance buoy an hour later we hoisted sails and struck out in a northerly direction.  The last week with Ezrah we were boarded at this same location by a very nice young man from the Mexican Navy ( they always carry machine guns) who checked our papers and inventoried our safety gear.  He boarded us with a leap, the two boats never touching.  He exited with another spirited leap from our side deck to their small boat’s bow deck, landing on all fours and generating a round of applause from our crew.  The soldiers had trouble suppressing their grins at our compliment on their lieutenant’s agility.

Soon we were out in the bay and experiencing the full force of a strong northerly and the wind rotated right around on the nose.  We tried tacking back and forth but for every half hour tack we made only about 500 yards progress.  A quick computation predicted an arrival time at Bahia San Gabriel at about midnight so we furled the head sail, fought the main sail down, and cranked up the powerful Mr. Perkins.  Over the next three hours we all turned green as Chris steadfastly powered us into the blocky waves arriving exhausted in San Gabriel bay before a wonderful sunset.   Forgetting to bring in the fishing line, I backed over the line and lost our second to last lure.  Then I had to don a wet suit and get over the side to inspect the prop to see if the missing line and lure were wrapped around the assembly.  Thankfully there was no line fouling the prop and I was able to clean a few critters out of the waterline through-hull fittings and get back aboard without incident.   An exhausting day but a wonderful anchorage at a good jumping off point for our next day trip south.

Wednesday we threaded our way south through the hazardous San Lorenzo channel then caught a rising northerly wind with the lightweight nylon gennaker.  Traveling at hull speed we raced with the sailboat Bella Via as she attempted and then finally succeeded in passing us with her lovely lateen sails flying.   A wonderful sail it was that day to the secure anchorage of Los Muertos.

Thursday we motored out at dawn through a calm sea, and continued south in that glassy water all day with the motor roaring, boring us to tears and shaking us to the bone as Bella Via caught up to us again and left us in her dust, so to speak.  

Chris and Connie at the Mercado in Mazatlan

The anchorage at Los Frailes is the eastern-most point on the East Cape of southern Baja and is the closest jumping off point for the transit across to Mazatlan.  As we headed in, we drew up close to Bella Via and spoke her captain and crew asking about predicted weather for the next couple of days.  We anchored and an hour later the skipper from Bella Via rowed over and delivered a better wind report for the next day’s crossing to Mazatlan, a very nice and unexpected gesture.   Armed with this knowledge we took to the beds ready for an early morning departure.  Three O’clock  in the morning found us up with the diesel running and the anchor coming in on the windlass as the full moon lit the teak decks.  Within the next hour we were five miles offshore sailing on a beam reach headed east into building winds toward Mazatlan 160 miles away.  We were finally crossing of the Sea of Cortez headed toward the fabled Mexico Riviera.  

 Connie says it best in her journal entry for that trip:

Whales! Off to port.  Spouting, breaching, their flukes waving from a distance.  The Anchor drops, a full tangerine moon emerges from the sea as a salmon sun sets.  We sleep deep.  03:00 arrives too soon, but onward we push.

Orion’s belt buckle off our starboard bow, white buffaloes race us to Mazatlan!  Crossing the Golfo de California reigning in our bucking Traveler with a “Ready about?” and a “Helm’s a lee” she turns her nose to the wind and we quickly pull in the sheets, cinching them down on the winch.  She heels over and surges on.  Twelve hours, twenty four hours, thirty six hours, three on , six off, the travelers on Traveler cling to the handholds, shiver in their timbers, as eight foot waves rise up over the lifelines.  

She is a sturdy boat made for this very active activity.  It is we people trying to stay united on our watches who are most challenged.  How much further?  Can we keep this up? How do we eat this hot soup?   Over the sink!  Finally, yes finally, land is in sight with only a blinking beacon at first and then silhouetted by a new day dawning are those most majestic mounds, the solid earth.  

At Marina Mazatlan we are warmly welcomed, throwing our lines to friends old and new. Our stately vessel is becalmed by the dock where she will be well fed and groomed, readied for her next venture into the wild waves.   And her crew… a tot of rum for all!

Note the Washington Yacht Club burgee below the Mexico flag and above the beer flag.

Mercado Mazatlan has something for everyone.

Nina and Hal at the Mazatlan Market