In the common wisdom it is said that patience is a virtue. If this is true then the crew of Anduril has been by involuntary means inducted into the club of the highly virtuous. Sailors wanting to go north from Cabo Falso towards San Diego face a Hobson’s choice of either bashing into nasty seas, come what may, or of waiting until the weather is a little bit better than nasty and then bashing. Not being gluttons of sadomasochism, we chose to wait.
First we waited in La Paz, then we waited in San Jose del Cabo, and finally we waited in Cabo San Lucas. Three weeks of virtue were thus accumulated. Not being great fans of any of those places, we feel that at the gates of heaven (in the doubtful event that there is such a place) we will also be awarded virtue bonus points; especially so for the case of Cabo San Lucas, which in our view must surely be the place where the Devil keeps his winter cottage.
Being in such close proximity to the bad man also brought bad auras to the boat and coincided with a spate of required systems maintenance that even for a sailboat is uncommon. This may actually have been lucky for Greg, because his hands were never idled during the time his mind was vexed by all the waiting.
At last a weather window appeared, though winds and tide were not by any means of favourable direction. The prevailing strong northerlies showed as lulling to moderate and we finally had an opportunity to motor sail northward, spending two nights at sea with the motor grinding for all but a couple hours. The first day was a thumperly one, with great sprays splashing the decks while the bow repeatedly crashed into the waves. A slight abatement of wind came on the second day and in the morning brought us into San Juanico, a busy little fishing village. The place is also known to a small cadre of surfers in the know (of the regular and also the kite variety). Their hangout is garden oasis restaurant decorated in Buddhist themes and with surfer paraphernalia. But it was Sunday, there were few customers and the proprietors closed the doors at 2pm. Departing oasis we returned to the boat.
Wanting to make further progress north we did not tarry, departing at midnight. Baja bashers are quick to learn that the strongest winds blow from 11am until near midnight. So just as glacier trekking mountaineers are also wont, our sailing routine became one of a witching hour awakening followed by immediate departure.
Next stop was Punta Abrejos. The fisherman were celebrating the last day of lobster season when we arrived. A tamed dolphin trailed the men around the Harbour and they treated us to a fisherman’s marine show as the dolphin obediently tail danced in exchange for their fishy proffers. The mystery of how a wild dolphin came to be tamed was never answered.
A small surf was running so we chose to take the kayaks to shore instead of using the dinghy. Though the chances of getting wet in a kayak are higher than in a dinghy, a bad dinghy dump can invert the boat; the resulting salt water immersion of the outboard motor requires an elaborate procedure involving numerous annoying oil changes. For landing in a surf, kayaks are the safer bet.
On the beach of Abrejos Greg should have waited one more wave set before heading to shore. His “so close” to successful surf down the face of the breaking shore wave came to a briny, seaweed strewn end, covering him head-to-toe in clingy green sea cabbage. Alice wisely waited two more sets and landed her craft in the pristine - dry and neat as a daisy.
Next up, Asunción, a desiccated little town boasting an ex-pat restaurant called Sunset Mary’s. We caught up on news using their WiFi connection and chatted with a table of three pleasant Americans. Something about our conversation must have somehow annoyed another man sitting at a nearby table and he spoiled the afternoon as he angrily spouted off his anti-vaccine, “it’s all a conspiracy” views. Luckily he soon walked off in a huff.
Our fifth consecutive night at sea brought us to Bahia Tortugas, aka “Turtle Bay”. Here we began re-accumulating virtue. A patch of bad weather kept us in the bay for almost a week. The good thing about Turtle Bay is it is a safe spot in any weather, but it is also a town that has seen better days. Littering the dusty waterfront streets are numerous abandoned buildings in crumbling states of decay.
There is almost no cellular data coverage anywhere on this part of the Baja, but we found two modest restaurants that offered good food and that also provided hit-and-miss WiFi coverage. Beggars can’t be choosers so we were happy to receive a little family news and also unhappy to read about Russia’s invasion of the Ukraine. History unfolds: another stupid war brought at the behest of yet another megalomaniac; may the Ukrainians prevail and the maniac die.
Tiring of Bahia Tortuga, our daily interpretation of the weather forecast became more favourable as time went by. On the night of departure we woke at midnight. Too blowy. Again at 3am. Still too much wind. Five am was the sweet spot, so off we went, passing light-air lumpy seas. Twelve hours later we had both lumpy seas and also wind. Great splashes of ocean washed our decks in the dark of night, revealing leaky windows and yet more leaks in the bow, soaking the cushions and bedding. Icky and wet pretty much describes it, but then you have to add in “cold”. Let it be noted that at 30 degrees latitude in the month of March we started wearing foulies again. For six years our foulies had hung unused in the forward hanging locker. Breaking them out felt like a bad habit revisited. Let’s just say that the 200 mile leg from Tortuga to San Quintin will not be remembered at all fondly.
Drying out upon arrival, we started feeling better about sailing life again. The worst of the bash was now behind us. Day-sailing legs were now in front of us. Forty and fifty mile sized chunks of coast don’t require night passages. Civilization and a berth at a marina await us. Plans have been hatched to re-bed the windows and seal all the leaks because no one likes a leaky boat. So more boat maintenance waits for us at Ensenada. Here we come!
