We've been short hopping our way down an island coast for a few days. Last night we tucked into a small one boat cove that was supposed to house blue footed boobies. We found the place where the chart indicated the rookery should be and even located the exact spot in the book where photos of the birds were taken, but sadly there were no boobies. There was good protection in that cove though, so even though the wind kicked up after dinner, we didn't get tossed around too much.
This morning we nosed our way around the corner into a larger cove, actually a slot between two Islands. Caleta Partida (Split Cove) has shoal water areas that the pelican love to fish in. I can hear them crashing into the water behind me as I write. There are fish camps around the perimeter of the cove, semi-permanent dwellings for local fishermen to use when they're out here doing their thing.
We'll have a lot more company tonight. There was a steady stream of boats heading out as we entered. There are only four boats in here at the moment, but the day is still young, so there is plenty of time for more boats to join in the fun latter this afternoon.
We're only a few hours out of La Paz with four days on our itinerary to get there, so for the next three days we'll continue our short hopping until it's time to go in and trade the scenery for showers and internet.
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Wednesday, March 11, 2020
Monday, March 9, 2020
The tale of the breached breaches
The tale is truthfully about stained breaches, but what kind of a title would that be? An unseemly one for sure. 'Tis better to be unseamly.
We arrived at our new anchorage this morning and headed for shore, then split off in different directions to blow off our ya-yas. I hiked to the top of a ridge and got back to the dinghy shortly before the other two. While I waited the wind started to build, blowing across the bay. We were one of the first boats to arrive today, so that gave us pole position in the upwind corner of the bay. While changing out of our hiking shoes and into our beach shoes (the shoes we don't mind getting wet), we strategized about how best to get back to Quijote without being blown out into the San Jose channel. We decided to drag the dinghy along the shore to where we were upwind of the boat and let the breeze blow us back to the boat. We just didn't want to miss it. Kay speculated that we might not need to worry: if the wind blew the dinghy past the boat, maybe it would blow us to the other side of the bay. Then it would just be a matter of of hiking the dingy along the shore to the other side, where we could try again. I couldn't decide if that would be considered optimistic or not.
So we pulled the dinghy along the shore to the upwind corner. Of course the shore wasn't a white sandy beach along that stretch. That would be way too easy. No, it had to have super slick, round rocks covered in algae and barnicles. The dinghy faired better than I did, since I was holding on to the bow line while I hopped from rock to rock and the wind was blowing it off the rocks. For my part, all it took was one stumble and I found myself nursing a bloody gouge on my ankle. Ah well; it goes with the territory. As it turns out, we needn't have worried. Unnoticed in all the dinghy futzing, the wind died, so we were able to row back to the boat in relative calm.
Back on the boat I went to work cleaning my battle wound and ended up with half a bottle of iodine on my shorts. I guess yellow isn't the worst color stain, but it's unseemly enough.
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We arrived at our new anchorage this morning and headed for shore, then split off in different directions to blow off our ya-yas. I hiked to the top of a ridge and got back to the dinghy shortly before the other two. While I waited the wind started to build, blowing across the bay. We were one of the first boats to arrive today, so that gave us pole position in the upwind corner of the bay. While changing out of our hiking shoes and into our beach shoes (the shoes we don't mind getting wet), we strategized about how best to get back to Quijote without being blown out into the San Jose channel. We decided to drag the dinghy along the shore to where we were upwind of the boat and let the breeze blow us back to the boat. We just didn't want to miss it. Kay speculated that we might not need to worry: if the wind blew the dinghy past the boat, maybe it would blow us to the other side of the bay. Then it would just be a matter of of hiking the dingy along the shore to the other side, where we could try again. I couldn't decide if that would be considered optimistic or not.
So we pulled the dinghy along the shore to the upwind corner. Of course the shore wasn't a white sandy beach along that stretch. That would be way too easy. No, it had to have super slick, round rocks covered in algae and barnicles. The dinghy faired better than I did, since I was holding on to the bow line while I hopped from rock to rock and the wind was blowing it off the rocks. For my part, all it took was one stumble and I found myself nursing a bloody gouge on my ankle. Ah well; it goes with the territory. As it turns out, we needn't have worried. Unnoticed in all the dinghy futzing, the wind died, so we were able to row back to the boat in relative calm.
Back on the boat I went to work cleaning my battle wound and ended up with half a bottle of iodine on my shorts. I guess yellow isn't the worst color stain, but it's unseemly enough.
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Sunday, March 8, 2020
Feasting on fish
We're back in San Evaristo for a couple of nights. The village seems to serve as a hub for the local fishermen to offload their catch for shipment to market, presumably in La Paz. Pangas (we would call them skiffs) power into the bay at the end of the day from who knows where and add themselves to the crowd of people on shore and then speed away again.
It doesn't seem to matter to them if they come and go after dark with no lights on their boats. It doesn't even slow them down. It's not like they would be able to hear another boat coming in the opposite direction over the sound of their own motor. Why wouldn't they be more concerned about the possibility of running into someone? Maybe they can see better than I can. I know they can see better than I can. It must be good enough.
Petar has proven himself to be proficient at negotiating on our behalf for fresh fish in that melee. And Kay has done an awesome job preparing the results of his efforts. I help with the eating and I do a fine job of it if I do say so myself.
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It doesn't seem to matter to them if they come and go after dark with no lights on their boats. It doesn't even slow them down. It's not like they would be able to hear another boat coming in the opposite direction over the sound of their own motor. Why wouldn't they be more concerned about the possibility of running into someone? Maybe they can see better than I can. I know they can see better than I can. It must be good enough.
Petar has proven himself to be proficient at negotiating on our behalf for fresh fish in that melee. And Kay has done an awesome job preparing the results of his efforts. I help with the eating and I do a fine job of it if I do say so myself.
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Friday, March 6, 2020
Raining somewhere
We're in an anchorage that's somewhat exposed tonight; here because it's one we didn't visit on our way north and because the wind will be somewhere else tonight. Or so they say.
It's a spot they call Mangle Solo (Mangrove Alone). I'm not sure what that means, but maybe there was a Mangrove here at one time that has since died of a broken heart. There is a lagoon across the spit and where there's a lagoon there is usually a Mangrove.
We got sprinkled on today for the second time in six weeks. They don't get a lot of rain around here - at least not at this time of year. We saw lightning in the distance, so it's raining somewhere.
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It's a spot they call Mangle Solo (Mangrove Alone). I'm not sure what that means, but maybe there was a Mangrove here at one time that has since died of a broken heart. There is a lagoon across the spit and where there's a lagoon there is usually a Mangrove.
We got sprinkled on today for the second time in six weeks. They don't get a lot of rain around here - at least not at this time of year. We saw lightning in the distance, so it's raining somewhere.
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Wednesday, March 4, 2020
Questions
We didn't travel far today - a whopping two miles south around the corner to Puerta Los Gatos. There is only one other boat in here so far. They're a Canadian couple from Victoria who visit their boat in Baja every year. There seems to be a lot of that. Folks pull their boat out of the water when it gets too hot or hurricanes become more likely, and fly home. The Canadians motored their dinghy over for a chat.
The virus that's been in the news was front and center in their minds, especially when they heard we're from Seattle. They filled us in on the impact on nursing homes in the Seattle area, but couldn't tell us much otherwise. There must be a lot going on in the world that we've been oblivious to. Maybe that's just as well. Maybe not.
On Quijote we talked about the virus and our special case of self imposed quarantine, a quarantine that will be broken periodically as we go ashore and as we are joined by new crew. We wondered what precautions we should take. We wondered if many countries will require airlines to turn away passengers that don't meet requirements for medical checks. Our agent tells us French Polynesia is requiring such a check within five days of crew flying in to meet us. We wondered what good it would do if the virus were contracted within that five days, or if the virus has already made its way throughout the global transport network, including French Polynesia. We agreed we had a lot of questions we wouldn't be able to answer for a while, perhaps mirroring discussions in homes around the world.
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The virus that's been in the news was front and center in their minds, especially when they heard we're from Seattle. They filled us in on the impact on nursing homes in the Seattle area, but couldn't tell us much otherwise. There must be a lot going on in the world that we've been oblivious to. Maybe that's just as well. Maybe not.
On Quijote we talked about the virus and our special case of self imposed quarantine, a quarantine that will be broken periodically as we go ashore and as we are joined by new crew. We wondered what precautions we should take. We wondered if many countries will require airlines to turn away passengers that don't meet requirements for medical checks. Our agent tells us French Polynesia is requiring such a check within five days of crew flying in to meet us. We wondered what good it would do if the virus were contracted within that five days, or if the virus has already made its way throughout the global transport network, including French Polynesia. We agreed we had a lot of questions we wouldn't be able to answer for a while, perhaps mirroring discussions in homes around the world.
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Tuesday, March 3, 2020
A sunny, windy day
If I was out on Puget Sound, sunny and windy would sound exhilarating. Maybe it should sound that way here too, but instead it felt challenging. We woke to 32 knot gusts, with the wind generator having a conniption, screaming away hour after hour in the predawn hours before the sun came up. The boat was rocking about and various lines, buckets, and paddle boards were banging away to raise the dead. I checked the anchor alarm on my phone periodically to make sure we weren't going anywhere and then snuggled into my bag to defy the chaos and get a few more minutes of sleep. As if.
At 8 am there was no wind at all. The anchorage was like glass, so we ate some breakfast and pulled anchor. Part way toward the next stop, the wind picked up again and started blowing with its previous fury. First it blew from the bow, then from behind. One minute it was thirty knots, the next three. I've experienced abrupt wind changes, but none so continually abrupt. As I said to Kay: I wouldn't want to have to race in these conditions.
It was only a couple hours to the next anchorage, so I never did feel comfortable enough to break out the sails. Patar accused me of being a caravan sailor. Caravan is the European word for camper or RV. I had to agree: I'm more cruiser than racer, especially in those conditions.
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At 8 am there was no wind at all. The anchorage was like glass, so we ate some breakfast and pulled anchor. Part way toward the next stop, the wind picked up again and started blowing with its previous fury. First it blew from the bow, then from behind. One minute it was thirty knots, the next three. I've experienced abrupt wind changes, but none so continually abrupt. As I said to Kay: I wouldn't want to have to race in these conditions.
It was only a couple hours to the next anchorage, so I never did feel comfortable enough to break out the sails. Patar accused me of being a caravan sailor. Caravan is the European word for camper or RV. I had to agree: I'm more cruiser than racer, especially in those conditions.
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Monday, March 2, 2020
For the birds
We're in a new anchorage tonight - new in that we didn't stop here on our way north. That's as opposed to last night, where we repeated ourselves and spent two nights in Bahia Agua Verde again because, well... it's a pleasant place to stay for a couple of nights. Truthfully all the anchorages are nice, but some give better protection from the prevailing northerlies, some offer more in the way of recreational opportunities, and some have more wildlife to spy on. Bahia San Marte, where we are tonight, is one of the latter. It's loaded with birds.
When we arrived we noticed a small fishing vessel pulled up onto the beach. We couldn't see what he was up to, but we guessed he was cleaning his catch and heard latter that he was butchering a large mantaray (a species off limits for fishing). By the time Kay and I had mounted our paddle boards, the fishermen we're on their way out and the birds were on their way in. There were hundreds of them: gulls, vultures, pelicans, cormorants and others. They were having a feast on the fish detritus and making quite a racket. We left them to it.
While we're on the subject of bird watching, let's list our conquests so far. I'm no bird watcher, but Kay has a memory for such things that's matched only by her eyesight. Petar has good eyes too. Those two can identify with naked eyes, birds that I need binoculars just to find.
We've seen: yellow footed gull, Anna's humming bird, osprey, great blue heron, raven, crow, brown boobie, crested caracara, snowy egret, great egret, brown pelican, cormorant, belted kingfisher, greater roadrunner, magnificent frigate, turkey vulture, black crowned night heron, yellow crowned night heron, great blue heron, American oyster catcher, common tern, heermann's gull.
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When we arrived we noticed a small fishing vessel pulled up onto the beach. We couldn't see what he was up to, but we guessed he was cleaning his catch and heard latter that he was butchering a large mantaray (a species off limits for fishing). By the time Kay and I had mounted our paddle boards, the fishermen we're on their way out and the birds were on their way in. There were hundreds of them: gulls, vultures, pelicans, cormorants and others. They were having a feast on the fish detritus and making quite a racket. We left them to it.
While we're on the subject of bird watching, let's list our conquests so far. I'm no bird watcher, but Kay has a memory for such things that's matched only by her eyesight. Petar has good eyes too. Those two can identify with naked eyes, birds that I need binoculars just to find.
We've seen: yellow footed gull, Anna's humming bird, osprey, great blue heron, raven, crow, brown boobie, crested caracara, snowy egret, great egret, brown pelican, cormorant, belted kingfisher, greater roadrunner, magnificent frigate, turkey vulture, black crowned night heron, yellow crowned night heron, great blue heron, American oyster catcher, common tern, heermann's gull.
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