Anduril Sailing Blog: November 2016

Saturday, 19 November 2016

Cabo San Lucas to La Paz

It is often said that age brings wisdom and it has long been my opinion that such a belief defies all logic: my own aging brain, if it is a typical human example, each day onward shows a little more of the continuing abuses of time. While it is a sad state of affairs to have to admit it, I am quite certain that the old noggin is indeed an inferior instrument to the one I had the happy use of when young.

Be that as it may, it does seem that the attractions of Sodom and Gomorrah also decline with age, so perhaps there is a nugget of truth buried there somewhere. Both Alice and I were therefore delighted to take leave of the bustling pleasures offered by Cabo San Lucas and make track for the relative quietude of nearby San Jose del Cabo, just the two of us now.

Alice braved the lofty heights of the mast to retrieve a halyard (lost to the sky by way of a shook loose shackle pin) and we also spent a hot 3 hours on a grassy patch of land first unspooling and then repairing a routine tear in our A1.5 kite. The fancy and expensive top-down kite furling system we invested in for this trip continues to be under evaluation as to whether it actually amounts to "help or hinder".

A trip to the arts and craft town was impeded by a long walk that (by way of poor advice from Mr. Google) required the mid-way scaling of a nastily top-barbed fence. Husband and wife escaped with intact genitalia, both. Beers and pizza were enjoyed, with a taxi ride home!

On our final afternoon we joined for drinks our new-found-had-no-prior-idea-they-even-existed Ed and Linda Harms (must be Russian cousins) of the excellent yacht "One Fine Day". Then I forgot my hat and sunglasses at the bar. Grrr...

We departed early in the AM for Los Frailes, motoring all day and enjoying a welcome sundowner invitation (offered to all 15 boats at anchor) from the expansive and luxurious catamaran "Muskoka".

The following morning we rose early and motor sailed 50 miles to Bahia de los Muertos, where we were treated to an unexpectedly terrific afternoon meal at the hut on the beach.

But no rest for the wicked, the following morning, with another early anchor hoist, we headed into brisk and lively headwinds on our march to La Paz. As we eventually rounded the northerly point it was blowing 25 and we were happy to see that wind now on the aft quarter. Fat chance for a sheltered anchorage in any nearby bay, we begged by radio for a slip (at first denied) at the toney Costa Baja resort.

Two pleasant days were spent poolside, with a game of golf included for skipper. Alas, our place in life is not really with the rich and famous, so in due course we have moved. Along with all the other various and sundry normal-folk we now swing at anchor in the La Paz channel. We ride gloriously to town in our modest dinghy. And for the next week we will enjoy the pleasures of beers, tacos, burritos and maybe a tequila or two. No doubt all of our readers will extend their heartfelt sympathies.

Leaving Cabo......just the 2 of us now.

A successful project.

Many failed and abandoned projects.

My first time up the mast.

Another boat from Vancouver BC at San Jose del Cabo.

Beautiful Los Frailes.

Great food at the Muerto Cove beach restaurant.

Fish # 2.

La Paz.....catching up on the news.

Anchored in La Paz.

Greg rigged up a bridle so we can easily hoist the dingy at night.

Leg 3 Ha-Ha: Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas

For a sailor, leg 3 had little to speak for itself. Almost no wind and any plan to sail the course instead of motor would be likely to add many hours to the trip. Mr. Skipper knew better than that. As a child he had dutifully read in his comic books the histories of human folly; knowing exactly what excessive en-route passage time might now do to his new-found stature among the crew as a stone-jawed leader of ships, the skipper acted. The tropical Mecca of Cabo awaited and without further hesitation we motored straight there.

We had not heretofore been much diligent in the streaming of fishing tackle, but out went the gear, with the crew hoping that the squid-like contraptions meant for northern Californian coastal tuna had something like the right colours for fish catching in Baja Mexico. A long day and night produced nothing. But closing the Cape in the first of the morning light we caught a Mahi Mahi. He was brought alongside, promptly dispatched with a shot of tequila in the gills, and made into two nice fillets.

Next up was the biggest sailfish I have ever hooked. Note that skipper has never before hooked a sailfish. But he was truly a monster and he peeled out a prodigious amount of line, jumping and splashing far behind the boat. Alas, the skill of the skipper was insufficient to keep the monster sailfish on the line. In a feat of true fish magicianship, the magnificently adorned beast twisted and turned and jumped and somehow removed the hook completely from the line swivel so as to free himself. Skipper is confused by how this remarkable act of contortion could have been achieved by the fish but does suspect it might have something to do with holder of rod not following the admonition “keep your line tight”.

Before we knew it we were around the corner of the cape and in view of the iconic rocks of Cabo San Lucas. The voyage of the Ha Ha was at an end, captioned upon arrival by the prompt introduction of a nifty little stomach bug into the skipper’s bowels. After all, every great feat of seamanship deserves its reward!

A shout out to the wonderful 2016 Ha Ha crew aboard Anduril: Adrian and Gabor, it really was a lot of fun. Join us again somewhere down the track.

.........Greg

Start of Leg 3.

The rocks of Cabo San Lucas

Fresh fruit breakfast in Cabo San Lucas.

Leg 2 Ha-Ha: Bahia de Tortugas to Bahia Santa Maria

With a 3 day respite consisting of minor repairs and sail untangling, catch-up naps, shore exploration, and libations various and plenty, on the morning of Nov 5^th we set off on the route to Santa Maria. The start was another rolling one, ending after an hour with the development of a morning shore breeze. The sailing over the subsequent hours were described by someone on the radio net as “champagne sailing”, literally perfect, 12-18 knots right behind us.

But despite conditions perfect for marketing purposes, on a sailboat things are never ideal. The skipper, having been chastened by the flaws of his prior decisions, was told by the crew that they would henceforth firmly demonstrate their resolve against the development of any sailing condition that might conspire towards their later fear or discomfort. Fair enough, thought skipper, we’ll take it easy this leg – no pushing.

As a lesson in the battle against narcolepsy that defines offshore sailing, let it be remembered: sloth is as powerful a force of nature as the wind.

As the wind hit 18 knots in the late afternoon, in a magnanimous gesture of conciliation by the skipper to his crew, the A5 kite was dutifully furled. Over the course of the night the wind abated a little, but we still kept the boat moving forward under our easy to handle Jib Top. It did appear that the crew were indeed pacified by this gesture and they gave acknowledgment by maintaining their conciliated posture through the night hours. So in their variously prone conditions, they resolutely continued, all through the next morning.

Cried skipper, “we need to re-hoist the kite – the winds have gone light!”

“We are off-watch” answered one and all. And so then did Anduril, the Blade and Flame of the West, Sword of the King of Men and Slayer of Orcs, languish slowly, hour on hour – waiting for breeze and crew to awake.

It is an undoubtable fact that fine ladies and gentlemen customarily awaken late. At 2pm the skipper finally persuaded the now wakening crew to hoist a kite, which happy condition lasted to sundown. Alas, this late effort would not be enough to transit us towards a finish that would be again blighted by light night airs. Waking later from his pre-midnight nap, the skipper reluctantly made the dark-hour call to motor through the balance of the route and end the Torture of Transit. Know Ye All that the powers of Sleep and Sloth call also to provoked Skippers!

.........Greg

Alice flying the kite.

I love the 4 - 8 AM watch! Always a beautiful sunrise.

Arrived in Bahia Santa Maria. Out comes the dingy.

Bahia Santa Maria.

Out come the inflatable kayaks.

Another beach party.

The rock and roll band and food vendor drove on dirt roads and crossed a river to get here.

Fu$%%#k!

Baja Ha-Ha Leg 1 - San Diego to Bahia de Tortugas

The day began under blue but quiet skies. The inclinations of the crew towards various night-time depredations had the night before been blunted by anticipation of the coming voyage. Clear heads and settled stomachs found further solace in flat seas as we paraded out of San Diego with the gigantic Ha Ha fleet of 150 boats. With no wind at the appointed 1100 hour, the Grand Poobah of the Ha Ha announced a “rolling start” and the fleet was off, motoring on southward headings past Coronado Island. At 1300 the wind filled to 10 knots from the NW, the rolling start was cancelled, and all over the fleet spinnakers were hoisted. Our spinnaker was our A1.5, which due to the discovery of a tear up the middle top, was promptly bagged and replaced by our A5. It was a promising start: downwind sailing under flat seas. The kind of day they make Viagra ads out of.

The wind built through the afternoon to 18-20 and provided some time for instruction of the crew new to the boat and for a few ship-board routines to settle in before nightfall. As the sun set the sea swell was building and the boat posted surfing speeds: 10’s, 12’s a couple of 16’s, even with a conservatively reefed main. Yeah baby! But for the crew, perhaps these sailing conditions were providing a little more fear factor than for the skipper… And as later events would testify, said skipper had made a mistake that was just waiting to provide the sort of hard bite that snakes love to deliver: fast, nasty and full of coils!

Ask any sailor – midnight to 2am seems to always be the appointed hour of trouble. So at midnight it is time for skipper to wake from his nap and begin the witching hour shift. The wind has now piped to +20, gusting 24 knots. The boat is powered up under the sail plan and there is a goodly swell running. The crew all on deck are wondering how to sheet the kite? When exactly do you ease it and when do you pull it in they ask? Hmmm, maybe it is time to furl the kite thinks skipper, but first to demonstrate: when the boat rolls on the wave and heels excessively, it then powers up too much and the rudder loses traction and comes out of the water, which causes loss of steering control. To remedy, one eases the sheet to spill the wind and let the boat stand back up. Then one winches the sail back in to refill it. Fairly easy to do.

Look, there’s a gust now, see. Hand me that sheet will ya? You have to let it out quite quickly when that happens… Sound of wind and rushing water. Oh, oh: that’s a “round-up” folks: the boat is now gonna tip way over on its ear – so watch your footing and hang on tight! The spinnaker now flapping in the wind fills the air with the sort of roar a lion would make, if he was a sail. More instructions get shouted out into the wind. Ease the main, blow the traveller.

In the pitch of night on a boat it is sound that defines chaos, and chaos likes to speak loudly! Wind, rushing water and flogging sails can make noises that make some people imagine sea monsters. But a sailboat round-up actually isn’t that big a deal, really. Ease the sheets, stand the boat back up-right, sheet the sails back in and in a heartbeat the boat rushes forward and you’re back to normal sailing. That scary lion you heard roaring so loudly a moment ago was not really so close as you thought. And so it would be in this case, but for that previously mentioned snake...

It is a snake that has eaten a pig. Skinny at head and tail and fat in the middle. His name is “Furled Jib” and he lays asleep, coiled around the forestay. Nothing to look at here, folks - it is where snake usually sleeps. However, as for most creatures, the sound of chaos can awaken a snake. And this snake, when he wakes up, promptly reaches out and snatches that loudly flapping kite.

You all know how snakes like to coil up with their prey? As it happens, a flapping kite also has a bit of snake in its DNA and it too likes to coil. If you have ever had the pleasure of seeing snakes make love, the way they wrap themselves up is a snarling sort of affair. It is really cool to look at, once you get your mind set up to be calmly scientific and dispassionate in what you are seeing. So about one minute after said round-up, and now located on the foredeck, the skipper is gifted with a perfect opportunity to affect his best worldly scientific view while watching snakes copulate.

I mention that a brave young scientist might be tempted to reach in to the coils and separate those snakes to see what might happen. But a tired skipper knows when he has already been bit. Fat old “snake-with-pig” now has a firm grip on “kite-the-other-snake” (or maybe the other way around) and there will be absolutely no separating them without executing dangerous aerobatic heroics aloft while at sea.

It is now blowing 25 gusting 30. Shit, we are going to have to live with that flapping mess all the rest of the way to Turtle Bay before we can safely fix it. Bummer.

And so went the rest of the leg. With the forestay system completely fouled and with brisk winds prevailing, we sailed thereafter under main alone, supplemented by a tiny little scrap of storm jib tacked to an inner pad-eye. The skipper had well succeeded in scaring his entire crew and even with a sail plan now calmed down, the coiled snakes on the forestay were eager to keep the crew scare factor up by announcing their love-making session anew upon each gybe. After each gybe first occurs noisy sail flapping with boat-jerking sail uncoiling, followed by new sail snake coiling action in the other direction, taking up an hour or so.

On a happy front, through all this time no one on the boat felt the littlest bit seasick. We arrived at Turtle Bay the morning of the second day and were surprised to find ourselves still the 8^th or 9^th boat in. The strong winds had produced a significant bit of carnage out among the fleet. Some people claimed there were 30 foot seas but having seen the same waters, this claim definitely has the smell of fish story. Unfortunately, one boat in the fleet had run aground, at a total loss of ship. Luckily in the early stages of the grounding another nearby boat had affected a rescue of all hands on board, so the loss was merely pecuniary. But no doubt still a major blow to the owners and crew.

On board Anduril, newly arrived at Bahia de Tortugas, snake charming clean-up efforts are to follow. The skipper has firmly learned his lesson to never again fly the kite with a furled up jib. But we are in a big beautiful anchorage, with swimming off the boat and adventures ashore, and our eager to participate crew is waiting to jump into the sea.

.......Greg