Letter Home 4, to Mexico : March 1995
Letter Home — to Cabo : April 1995
More from Mexico : May 1995
This AM 91 boats checked into the San Diego VHF Net. We felt it was time to cut the lines before all of Mexico filled up. Donna was concerned as she could see the possibility of all of the lobster being devoured before our arrival. The waterline on the boat has been raised another 2 ft to accommodate the chain of grocery stores that we purchased during our brief stay in this beautiful city.
November 15, all of our concerns about the boat vanished with a perfect day of sailing across the border into Mexico and down to Ensenada. Oh, what a difference a day or 60 miles makes!
We were told that upon arrival at the harbor a bandido in his panga would welcome us and
the bargaining for a slip would be on. This turned out to be entirely true — fluent in English,
bucks not pesos. The young man led us up the harbor to Bandit’s Marina.
We had been told the immigration office closed at 1500, so we inquired as to our legal boundaries
before checking in tomorrow. The bandido said, “Go where ever you want senior, this is a
free country.”
I said, “You mean that we can walk uptown and have something to eat?”
He proudly repeated, “Anywhere, stay as long as you want, this is a free country."
After the proper gratuities he walked up the clean dock, pouring oil from a quart can onto the
steel pilings so they would slide silently while adjusting to the tidal range. Sixty miles north in
San Diego a boat owner paid over $3,000 recently for allowing sawdust, from the sanding
of his rails, to fall into the water. He also received one year suspended jail sentence, three years
probation, and was required to do 100 hours of community service.
All of the yachties are concerned about the formalities of checking into the country : having the
proper paper work filled in, in Spanish, possibly having your boat searched, communicating in a
foreign language, etc.
The morning was unusually cool as we walked with friends for our first encounter with the
federalizes. We entered a sterile building where the employees wore coats and sweaters and
sat at dimly lit old desks. An official wearing an olive drab uniform and a stern look approached
the counter and picked up our companions papers. Without a word, he sorted, stamped, and
nitialed them in various places. He returned the necessary papers without a question about
contents of our vessel or our planned subversive activities. We were painlessly processed in the
same manner.
Vignettes about life in Ensenada : There is construction everywhere but very seldom completed.
Just abandon, boarded up, weathering, and forgotten for what ever reason. We saw beautiful
new sidewalks with inlaid tiles breaking apart because they are poured only 1 inch thick.
Cubicles on the waterfront with no water of any kind are filled with vendors offering a variety of
tasty treats. Human and animal waste is used for fertilizer on gardens and small farms.
The produce is brought directly to the market fresh daily. Clams are opened on an unfinished
piece of plywood, vigorously chopped, then scraped, juice and all, onto a tortilla and topped with
slices of avocado. There is no wash up after this process as the water supply in town is
not safe to drink. Bottled water is available to those who can afford it. We don’t know why anyone
is alive in Mexico as it seems that all of the people frequent these establishments. We didn’t!
SCENE : Full moon, Donna standing at the amp meter for the solar panel array, at 2200. Hands on hips, she’s demanding output and insisting we have defective panels because they aren’t using the beautiful bright reflected sun light????
We have no newspaper, TV, USA radio, VHF weather. Overnight we went cold turkey and we hadn’t prepared for this sudden withdrawal. We were honestly depressed. No Calvin and Hobbs, BC, politicians, sports, NPR, talk radio, or CNN. We didn’t have a clue as to what was happening away from the West Coast of Baja. Then we found a Time Magazine. We were elated, racing back to the boat to catch up on events. You know what? We hadn’t missed a thing. It was just the same old same old.
There are only 2 towns on the west coast of Baja of any size, Ensenada and Cabo San Lucas, approximately 700 miles apart. In between these cities are only ocean anchorages at small fishing villages. Most are unprotected from the winds. It is imperative that we pick good weather windows or we will find ourselves more involved in Rock-N-Roll than we really want to be.
The stormy weather broke on the morning of November 19. After 5 days in Ensenada we
continued our journey south. Motor sailing early, then under full sail we continued south into the
night under a beautiful starry and moonlit canopy. Committed to Cedros Island, some 90 miles away.
The seas started to build and with a double reef and storm jib we were having a wild ride on short
steep snarlly seas.
The next morning talking over a quiet breakfast. We both agreed that this cruising lifestyle might
not be for us, but resolved to follow it as planned for one year. We could return home put a hot tub
in the rec room along with 10 yards of sand and sun lamps. We were really down as we headed
over to Turtle Bay cold and with no wind at all.
I dropped some feathers over the side and caught three 2 lb Bonitas in no time. In the distance we
could see a panga coming towards the boat. The panga, skippered by two longosta
(lobster) fishermen and filled with their catch, pulled up along side. The comercio
began. The deal was : 7 large lobsters for 2 beers, 2 packs cigarettes, and a cap. No, we
aren’t smoking, we were told to bring them for trading.
The winds rose to 8 knots, the sun shone hot. Now we remembered that this is what we came for.
Our spirits soared. We sailed into huge beautiful bay and dropped the hook with some 30 other
cruisers.
The weather fax gives us 52 degree readings for Neah Bay waters, which makes it some 21
degrees colder than Bahia de Tortugas (Turtle Bay). We rest at anchor. Almost
unnoticeable swells passes beneath the hull to crash on the shore 30 yd off of the bow.
Sitting in the cockpit we look directly out the the mile wide mouth of the bay into the ocean.
Do you want lobster or fish for dinner? Boy that’s a dumb question. We have forgotten our
morning conversation. What a difference a day makes!
Pressure Cooker won the race that kicks off the season for the boats going south, San Diego to Cabo San Lucas, Nov. 3. It took him 3 days. That’s an average of about 14 knots. He was really moving!
We hung out in Turtle Bay for 5 days waiting for the storms to subside. There were over 30
boats holed up with us, some heading north most on south to?? We entertained
ourselves by chatting on the radio or taking a dink ride to another boat for company.
Those who were going home offered mini cruise seminars on places they enjoyed most.
Each morning a Canadian gentleman hosted his own radio show on channel 68. He recorded
some of Voice of America, giving sports and the good news if any, and most important,
weather from any dependable source. The end of the program was designed to put
problems and problem solvers together. Such things as radars needed repair. One couple
sailed in with a new Derkins diesel not working. Tools were shared and etc. The radar was
fixed and the diesel was running and no one charges a dime. We all know it may be our turn
next.
One gal screamed on the radio, “Dinghy on the loose, dinghy on the loose, heading
out of the bay into the ocean.” The scene reminded us of a western where the guys jump
on their mounts and race out in mass to capture the culprit.
We had a great time but everyone wanted to sail on south.
Chuck & Donna Kinsey, Summer Snow
We left Turtle Bay Nov. 28 for a wild 15 hour sail to Punta Abrejos. We wanted to arrive at day break
or after to avoid the ever present lobster traps. On our approach to the open anchorage 5 miles off
the wind built to 30 knots on the nose. We dropped all sails to weave our way between the traps.
The swells were 6 to 7 feet with foam and spray blowing from the tops. Donna was at the wheel
in her fowlies punching Summer Snow’s bow under the on coming parade of waves.
There are shallow reefs all over this area so I was dry below plotting our course using the GPS.
We were at full Power 2,800 RPMs and I saw .8 speed over the ground several times.
Donna picked her way through the traps which all but invisible in the foam and waves.
We finally reached the open ocean anchorage, only to find exactly what we had just left. There isn’t
another one of these so called anchorages in 130 miles. We are exhausted, which produces bad
decisions. Our only choice is to try our hand anchoring at an angry anchorage. We dropped the hook
40 yd off of the beach and backed down at full throttle on 200 ft of chain in only 20 ft of water.
Kids pay for rides at amusement parks that are not as wild as this. Donna sat glassy eyed during
breakfast of macaroni and cheese, fixed before we had left. The winds and swells subsided a
bit by nightfall.
Just after midnight a crashing sound brought us to our feet. Donna yelled, as we ran to the
cockpit, that we were probably on the beach. Thank goodness we had just been hit by a big one.
The winds started to build again along with the surf. Several of the other boats wanted to pull the
hook and leave but you just couldn’t find your way through the traps. You know, if I could find a bar
that had a mechanical bull, I could ride one turned on top speed and win big bucks.
Saffire owners, Amondo and Karen, are cruisers that we have visited with at several anchorages on the way down the coast. A few days after we past Punta Abrejos Saffire was cruising in the same area. Seas again were horrendous. Turns out they were the subjects of an 8 hr search and rescue Dec. 5. We heard the report on ham radio that they were abandoning ship. We now know that they made it safely to shore. The 40 ft sloop was washed 8 miles east onto the beach, a total loss. The boat had run over a lobster pot and wrapped the line around the prop, rendering the engine useless. At this point we are not sure why they were unable to sail out of danger. The Mexican Navy was in contact with them but to no avail. This boat was their home and carried no insurance because of very high rates out of US waters. All of the cruising community feels the loss and realize how close we all are to disaster if one bad call is made in a tight spot.
Dec. 1, 1994, temp 70 degrees. Between watches we are in the cockpit in shorts. Fifty miles off shore and motoring, calm seas for now. Stars, many we have never seen in the Northern sky. To starboard we can see the lights of four other boats migrating South. Fresh caught tuna for dinner. Now it just can’t get much better than this.
A fellow boater wanted help on his computer the other day. You won’t believe who helped him. Returning to the boat I boasted to Donna that I felt just like a Jr. Nerd. She said that she knew I was a nerd for years! Now that’s not kind, is it?
We just rounded up into Magdelena Bay for the day dropped the CQR. It settled to the bottom.
In the warm clear water, for the first time ever, I saw it hit the bottom, stopped the chain, and
watched it set in the sand before my very eyes. Then I let out the scope.
The water is seventy-five degrees so I took a swim. The boat bottom is polished clean after the
beating Donna has given it! Magnificent Frigate birds are everywhere soaring looking for
lunch on top of the water. They are real flying machines.
We are out of Mag Bay Dec. 3 for Cabo San Lucas, 163 miles to the south. We traded for 10 lobster before our exit. I had the water boiling and cooked the tasty critters for the freezer. Donna dropped a lure in the water and bam, a 16 lb yellowfin tuna stripped line from the reel before we could get the boat stopped. Donna took her best fighting stance. She won, tuna lost. We wanted a picture and as I held him up he shook blood all over the cockpit and us. I know why those side curtains are called spray sheets.
Last night about 2030 we were reading when Donna hears something out in the water. I didn’t hear anything, but I took the light out and shined it down into the water. It came alive with flying fish. What a sight!
There are five boats within 10 miles of us on the last leg of the trip of Cabo. A Portland OR boat slowed to make a radio call back home just after dark. He had a whale circling his boat, spouting and making a lot of noise in the water. He increased speed gradually and Moby exited the area.
We only have 59 miles to go. Neither of us could nap today. We felt like kids at Christmas !
We did it! We are at 22 degrees 52’ North, 109 degrees 53” west. It is 1130. The air temperature is 79 degrees. The water is very blue and 76 degrees warm .
Finasterra (lands end) — A new beginning.
Chuck & Donna Kinsey, Summer Snow
After sailing only 2 knots per hr in light winds for several hours, a friend’s wife quipped that she could walk to Mexico faster. We were in route for 17 weeks to Cabo, traveling approximately a total of 1800 miles. Had we chosen to walk a leisurely pace of 3 mph for only 6 hr per day, 6 days a week : we would have moved south at the rate of 108 miles per week. Now 108 x 17=1836 miles. She would have arrived 2 days before we entered the harbor here in manana land.
To say that things have slowed down would be a monumental understatement. At present Mexico is moving more than Summer Snow, and a one legged sloth would be scratching more off his to do list than I. Siestas, manana — the Mexicans sure have some fantastic traditions and we have proven to be quick studies.
The Broken Surf Board Restaurant is our first stop in Cabo. To check in with Karen and pick up
a couple of “Some Like It Hot” T-shirts. We are the 111th boat overall to arrive in
Cabo. And the eighth Washington boat to sign in. There are now approximately 260 boats here,
with new boats arriving daily.
The Broken Surf Board is an open air restaurant : open to an unpaved dusty street. We are
enjoying our breakfast of beans, eggs, and beer (don’t trust the water) with friends.
Several dogs sleep undisturbed in the corner. And two chickens walk in the back door, check
us out, but decide not to stay. This establishment is located in the best part of Cabo.
We have chosen to stay in the harbor at the Cabo Isle Marina rather than anchor outside. The weather continues to befuddle even the veterans and the anchorage has proved to be a miserable spot. Riding waves, currents, and the wind, each from different directions, isn’t much fun. Each day a number of boats make an attempt to escape to La Paz or Puerto Vallarta, but they all are usually back by dark.
Solar Wind, Stan and Irene from Seattle, took water down into the cabin three times on a seven hour run to Los Frailes. Where they have been at anchor for two days in thirty knot winds with very steep, short mixed seas. They have over ten thousand miles on their boat and this is the first time that this has happened. I would include some reports that might offer some insights into the difficulties members of the fraternity have faced.
Lost boats — Saffhire, whose story I passed on last month, is a total loss. Amuk, a single handed Coronado 25, was a total loss on the beach. Lorelei, 40 foot Formosa ketch, was on the beach, but may be refloated . All three of these boats were lost in the same area. Most veterans feel they were skipper mistakes or misjudgments. Another boat, Baton, was dismasted and lost in a storm. After a distress call, contact was lost.
New “two foot” method of navigation : Look at your feet. If you are in the Northern Hemosphere and see socks, sail south.
Adios, Chuck and Donna, Summer Snow