Bahia Santa Maria to Puerto Los Cabos
195 miles, 33 hours
0400 Wake up. Dead calm. Don’t want to get up. Do we HAVE to leave now? I left my alarm on the chart table so I’d have to actually get up and turn it off – thinking that once I was out of bed it would be easier to stay out. Wrong. Straight back under the covers and I’m asleep again. It’s so peaceful, the only noise is the sound of the surf on the beach in the distance.
0530 Wake up again, the boat is rolling a tiny bit. Poke my head up through the hatch – there’s still no wind, but now I’m awake and we really should push off. I slip some shorts and a tee shirt on, and flick on a bunch of switches on the dash. VHF radio and instruments for the boat, water pump and gas for a cup of coffee for me.
0545 Anchor up and we’re off. I turn the anchor light off, and the masthead tri-colour on. Looking up to see if it’s working, I see the bright half-moon sat on the top of the mast.
0600 Spent half an hour trying to get my laptop working properly. It boots OK, but shortly after startup the touchpad stops working. Fortunately I can still find my way around using keyboard shortcuts, and finally once I’ve uninstalled and re-installed the touchpad driver, we’re back in action. While I’m sorting the computer out, we pass a couple of fishing trawlers, creeping slowly along hauling their nets behind them. At first I’m not sure if they are anchored or moving, I can’t assume they are showing the right lights or shapes to indicate what they are up to. Gradually we get close enough for me to see the towing lines in the half-light through the binoculars, so I steer clear and pass them with plenty of room.
0650 Feel a breeze coming from the land, is it strong enough to sail? This is a sailing boat, gotta try and sail. Optimistically take the sail ties off the mainsail, but have second thoughts before raising it. Having the main up when there’s not enough wind just means that it flaps and slams around, which is noisy, tiring and doesn’t do the sail any good at all. The numbers on the display say the wind is between 5 and 10 knots – really not enough to sail. Sometimes we put the main up just to stabilise the boat, to stop it rolling, like a fin in the sky, but it’s not too rolly at the moment. Rose is still asleep in the vee berth in the bow, I figure she’s comfy enough, I’ll leave the sail for now.
0710 The first gallon of water is spilling over in the galley sink. When we have the engine on for any long period of time, we run the watermaker to top up our tanks. So far we’ve not used the tanks much, we’ve been motoring so much and have been refilling a load of plastic bottles and putting them back in the fridge. We both had showers last night and used a good few gallons then, so I’ll keep the water coming as long as we have the motor on, transferring a gallon at a time into the stern tank under the berth in the aft cabin. Making 3 gallons an hour, I have to remember to go and get the water every 20 minutes.
0720 Mainsail is up. Breeze has increased now, showing between ten and fifteen knots. Yup, we’re sailing! Time to get the jib out and hopefully turn the engine off. We’ve got just under 200 miles to San Jose del Cabo, which at 5 knots will take us about 40 hours. It’s early on Friday morning now. Rafiki doesn’t do more than 4.7 knots with the engine running, unless I really crank the revs up, so we need wind to make it into port before midnight on Saturday.
0730 The jib is out, but even with the engine on we’re only just making over 5 knots. I throttle back a little to see if the engine’s actually making any difference – yep, it is, so we’ll leave it on. If we didn’t have a schedule and could spend a week drifting down the coast, I might turn it off and just go with the wind, but with Dan and Mel turning up in 3 days, we need to get a wriggle on. I look up and spot a couple of buoys off to starboard, and realise I’d completely forgotten to keep an eye out for fishing floats! We really don’t want to run into a net or a line and get tangled up. Fortunately, I’ve never run into lines at sea. Rafiki has a deep fin rudder that would probably catch on anything we sailed over, so we need to be vigilant. If the engine’s on then the propeller is spinning, which makes it potentially much worse. I really don’t want to have to go over the side and sort out a tangled prop. When it’s dark, there’s not much you can do – you just take your chances and trust in lady luck, but when it’s light and the seas are calm, there’s no excuse. Slap on the wrist.
0750 Checked emails via the sat phone. Just one – a reply from the office with guidance as to what to work on next. I’ll get down to some coding after breakfast.
0800 One of the trawlers we passed earlier is overtaking us to port, between us and the land which is now a couple of miles away. Barra de Pacifico II is the name painted in old Spanish style script on the bow. It’s got its nets hauled up, looks like they are ready to pull in the catch. Sitting in the rigging are perhaps fifty big, black birds. Every now and then one has a flap around and I think I recognise them as frigate birds. Long, slender wings and a distinctive long forked tail. Looks like a couple of pelicans hitching a ride too. Wind has dropped off to almost nothing, so I’ve rolled the jib away. The main isn’t so easy to drop and hoist, so it’s still up – I’ve rigged a preventer line from the boom forward down to a strong point at the base of the shrouds to stop it flapping around too much. Even the slightest roll of the boat is enough to get the sail flogging back and forth. Each time it comes to the end of its flap there’s a strong tug, so the idea is to stop it flapping as much as I can. Since it’s been calm for most of the night, there’s hardly any swell, so the rolling isn’t so bad. A few days ago, between Ensenada and Turtle Bay, we had a load of wind, generating swell, which then dropped off leaving us just wallowing around. Had to take the main down then as it was really tugging hard.
0850 Splash! “Wooooooah, Rose, look at that!” Off in the distance a whale is breaching, powering itself up out of the water, arching over onto its back and crashing back down into the sea. We watch it for half an hour as it works its way towards us, but it’s still a long way away. Maybe a humpback? I’m not a whale expert, and you only get to see a small part of it at a time. Small dorsal, white patches on the underside of the tail, sharpish head…. Checking the guide to Pacific sea mammals, it could be almost any of them. Our best whale sighting so far! Still no wind … chug chug chug.
0945 Crossing the entrance to Bahia Magdalena (“Mag Bay”), we get a breeze from the east. Enough to get the engine off and cruise along nicely at 5 knots or so. Hopefully this will keep up and it’s not just wind coming off the bay.
0950 Without the clanking of the engine, it’s possible to hear all the other boat noises. There’s a new “click” coming from the stern area. Every new noise needs to be checked out, to make sure it’s not the start of a problem that’s going to become more serious. Maybe it’s the autopilot – since I fitted a new tiller arm in Ensenada I’ve been keeping a close eye on it, but so far everything has been spot on. I pull a bucket, line and fenders out of the cockpit locker so I can crawl back into the transom cavity and take a look. With a torch, I watch it move back and forth for a while. There’s a tiny bit of play in the joints, but nothing new, and nothing noisy. All OK. Coming back on deck I realise that the sound is coming from the open water tank filler! Since we put a few extra gallons in, the surface of the water must be slapping the bottom of the tank. Reminds me to put the cap back on the filler.
1010 It was just wind coming off the bay. We slow down as we pass the southern point, speed down to just 2 and a half knots. At this pace, we could walk to San Jose in the same time, and it slips our ETA back to Sunday night. No Bueno. Engine back on. We’ve got enough fuel to motor all the way to San Jose if we have to – I bought a 40 litre / 10 gallon tank from a guy in Turtle Bay to add to the couple of smaller cans I bought in the USA. So we have 40 gallons on board, enough for 70 to 80 hours of motoring, which at 4.5 knots would take us over 350 miles. Rose comes on deck with a bag of wool and a look of determination. Knitting time!
1050 Wind fills the sails, and we start to nudge 6 knots. Time to get the engine off again. The apparent wind, the wind we feel over the deck regardless of what the true wind is doing, is about 12 knots. It’s that magic 10 knots that Rafiki needs to get sailing over 5 knots. I’m busy on the computer writing up a “man overboard” process. If the worst should happen and I go over the side, crew need clear instructions. We haven’t done any drills yet, which I feel pretty bad about. The excuse is that we’ve been pushing hard to get south – a lot of sailing, so each time we come into port or anchor we just need to rest.
1130 MAN OVERBOARD! I waited for Rose to finish a line of knitting, and then launched a fender over the side. Rose furled the jib, got the engine on and then I spotted a fishing trawler coming full pace at us not more than half a mile dead ahead. She spun the boat around, we motored upwind and picked up the fender pronto, avoiding getting caught in the fishing boat’s nets. Good drill. Easy conditions this time. Next time I’ll throw a fender when we’re going a bit faster and the sea is a bit rougher. And I’ll try to time my “fall overboard” to be at the end of a line of knitting. The wind has backed to northwest, which is the direction it’s generally been coming from over the last few days, when we’ve had wind at all. Still not strong, but enough to coax us along. I’ve poled the jib out to port, the opposite side of the boat from the main sail. Was tempted to put the spinnaker up – we’ve only just got ten knots of wind and it’s almost dead astern. I got it up on deck and then decided against it – hoping the wind will pick up to power us along with just the jib. So far, it’s not looking promising. At least the pole is up, ready for the spinnaker, if I change my mind.
It’s another cloudy day. Light grey, clumpy clouds covering the sky all the way from the land in the east to beyond the western horizon. Over the Baja peninsula is clear sky, with a small cloud bank lining the peaks. The clouds don’t look menacing, or indicate that the weather is going to change. Enough to keep the direct sun off though which means it’s not too hot. However, if the diurnal wind cycle needs the heat, I’d rather they burnt away and we got some breeze.
1215 We pass a blue hulled yacht motoring north, passing between us and the dry, barren land. Rose reckons it’s a bit bigger than Rafiki. It’s moving pretty quickly, better than we could do into the wind with our pathetic little folding propeller. Through the binoculars I can see a couple of people on deck. I wonder what their story is. There’s not much between here and the southern tip of the peninsula, so they will have left Cabo a couple of days ago, motoring nonstop into the wind and waves. Not much fun. I’m guessing they are taking the boat back north to the USA – a long way away. We’re definitely going in the better direction with the wind behind us. I think the day’s breeze has set in now; we’re regularly clocking over 6 knots and the water is fizzing around the boat. 6 knots is still less than ten miles an hour on land; a reasonable cruising speed on a push-bike, yet out here on the surface of the water it seems a lot more. After a while, it’s easy to tell the difference between four and six knots just by the sound of the water. At four knots, we still have another 42 hours to go. At six, that comes right down to 28. I’ve extended the spinnaker pole to its “spinnaker” length today in an attempt to catch more wind. So far, we’ve been poling the jib out without extending the pole. Hard to say whether it makes a difference without doing a side-by-side comparison, just like so many other aspects of sail trim – you know the theory, you make a tweak, and hope you’re going faster because of the change you made, rather than just a change in the wind. Rose is putting balls of fresh dough in a tray ready to go into the oven. It’s gonna be smelling gooooood soon!
1320 Mmm. Tasty lunch of fresh rolls, ham and Branston Pickle. Quick call to Dan to make sure he’d received info that we’re not going to be able to make it all the way round to La Paz for their arrival on Monday. They’ll come down on the bus. Music on, sun out, wind pushing us along at a decent pace, all is good. I feel like I should get some sleep before tonight’s watches, but I’m not tired and slept well last night. Will get down to some work instead.
1530 I’m getting on with some work below, Rose is on watch. It’s starting to get a little rolly as the wind builds the seas up. We’ve had to alter course off to port by more than ten degrees as the wind has backed. Rose gives me a shout. The jib is starting to flap again, in the wind shadow behind the main sail, which means the wind has backed a bit further. We could either alter course to port to keep the sails full and the speed up, or deal with the sails. I reckon that if we gybed both main and jib, get back on course 20 degrees to starboard, we’ll be happy. So we pull in the jib, get the pole across and ready on the other side, gybe the main, and then get the jib out again. Lovely, just what we needed. Back above 6 knots, on course. It’s getting hot. Being on the laptop below is a nice respite from the heat – there’s no breeze but it’s out of the sun.
1615 Time for a cuppa. I passed Rose’s up to her in the cockpit, and nestled mine against the low side of the galley work surface. I should have known better.
1800 The sun has just set, which means it’s time to turn on the navigation lights at the top of the mast, and prepare ourselves for the night. I’ve managed to get a load of work done this afternoon – more than usual. The sea has been kind, and the wind consistent. Since we gybed we’ve been gently rolling from side to side, powering along between 5 and 7 knots in about 15 knots of wind.
Now that the clocks have changed – we’re in Mountain Time – sunset coincides much better with dinner time. A few days ago sunset was 5pm, which was a bit early really. Which is a bizarre concept. Why should a number on a clock dictate when we can or should eat? And yet it does. However hard we try to extricate ourselves from the structured time-driven day, and to run our lives by the sun, we still keep coming back to linking events with times on a clock. I think the only way to truly disconnect yourself from time is to turn all clocks off, but that’s not practical on a boat where we get it beamed down non-stop from the GPS satellites. Anyway, it’s my turn to do supper. I’ve put some tomato soup on, which we’ll eat (drink?) with the rest of the rolls Rose made earlier.
1900 Supper’s inside us, and it’s time for me to get some sleep. Generally so far on night passages we’ve been fairly casual with the watch schedule, each staying awake for a few hours until the other wakes up. We’ve not had any nasty weather, only a few hours at a time when the wind has dropped off leaving a lumpy swell behind it, which has made watch keeping much easier. It’s just been a case of watching out for other ships’ lights, and keeping an eye on sail trim. There’s not a lot out here. No commercial traffic, and the fishing boats we’ve seen have all be centred around coastal villages. Right now we’re out in the middle of the most south western bay of the Baja peninsula, perhaps 15 miles from land, and the only other boat around is a motor boat, also heading south. They were anchored at Bahia Santa Maria with us last night, but left a few hours after. They will have caught up when we were motoring slowly this morning – now we’re almost keeping station with them.
Tonight we’re going to try a different watch tactic. Rose is going to stay up as long as she can, and I’m going to sleep. When she’s done, I’ll take over, and hopefully take us into the dawn. It feels like we’re going to have a good night of wind – we’re far enough offshore for any dusk land breezes to have had their effect, and we’ve not seen much of a change. Fingers crossed for a fast, smooth night.
2300 Back down below after spending perhaps 45 minutes trying to get the boat settled. In the end gybed the main which did the trick.
0030 Wind has veered twenty degrees or so, and picked up. 20-25 knots apparent, from the port quarter. Glad we gybed the main when we did, we’re now flying along on a broad reach. Looking up from my sprawled out position on the saloon seat, I can see the instruments, and we’re regularly doing 8 knots plus. Time to put a reef in. I pop up on deck and get the job done. Rose says she’s doing fine and can keep watch for another hour. As I prepare to get my head down again, the moon appears over the eastern horizon like a slice of orange. It’s half full, and lying completely on its side, sunny side down, dark side up. Looks like it’s being chased up into the sky by the sun which will be along in a few hours.
0245 I’m having a dream where the boat is lunging back and forth, up and down, and nobody can get any rest. I wake up. It’s real, the motion of the boat is different. Sudden lurches, smaller, more fitful movements rather than the easy-going roll we had earlier. Rose has done a great job staying up this long, it’s time for me to leave la la land and get on watch. As is typical about this time, the wind drops. I take the reef out of the main. Soon, Mr Fish is hanging lifeless from the solar panel frame. Mr Fish tells us what the wind is doing; he’s a small kite that Rose bought from the Bristol Kite Festival years ago. When Mr Fish says no wind, we put the engine on. I roll in the jib, and turn on the donkey.
ssssshheeeeew. Shooting star! Another slug of coffee. Mainsail slatting flapping and clacking back and forth, not much I can do about that. Hope Rose can sleep. If it gets to the slamming stage, I’ll take it down.
0600 Sailing again! Trying to be as quiet as possible, I shuffled forwards out of the cockpit onto the foredeck, tethered into the safety line that runs down the side deck, to change the spinnaker pole across to the other side of the boat. Because there’s a small “baby stay” going down from the front of the mast above the pole attachment point, the pole has to come off completely in order to switch it over, so it’s a bit of a hassle. I don’t succeed in being quiet, which wakes Rose up – she comes to check I’m OK. Now, with the jib poled out again and the full main, we’re making the most of the morning breeze, and the engine is off again. Dawn is just starting to light the sky up, showing the outline of tall mountains – Baja Sur – the southern tip of Baja! On the horizon, just under 40 miles away, is our turning point, Cabo San Lucas. After that, we go east and north up into the Sea of Cortez for a couple of weeks.
It’s really warm and humid, I’m back in tee and shorts, having layered up into a fleece and thoroughly unnecessary wet weather jacket overnight. Out of habit, and also because it’s got decent pockets where I keep a torch, knife and PLB (emergency locator beacon).
Today brings a cloudy sky again, which is going to be great for keeping the sun off, let’s hope it doesn’t kill the wind. At least motoring for a couple of hours has topped up the batteries fully. When the engine is running I also turn the fridge up to max, getting a good frost going on the cooler.
0830 The wind has veered again, now blowing a decent 15 to 20 knots from the NE, and we’re heading directly for Cabo on a beam reach. The sky has almost cleared of clouds. I left the pole up when I switched … DOLPHINS! I just heard the squeak of a blowhole over my shoulder, I’m going up to the bow to watch.
Maybe ten of them. Small black ones. Didn’t stay for long. Don’t think I’ve seen these guys before. But can’t really tell what they, using our wee guide leaflet. So yeah, I left the pole up earlier when I switched the jib over to starboard for reaching, but I reckon this wind is going to stay with us for a while so I’ve taken the pole down.
1100 Nearing the cape. Ploughed through a load of sport fishing boats, had to take the boat off autopilot to steer between everyone’s lines. Lots of dolphin swimming and jumping.
1200 Wind getting frisky, Rafiki making solid eights down some of the waves. Probably the “cape effect”. Went up to the mast to put a reef in, and while I was up there decided that two was more sensible. Speed down to 5 knots now. Could be faster, but we’re not racing and I don’t want to push the boat hard at this point.
1300 WHALE! A few whales around us, nothing close, until a couple of spouts dead ahead. They disappear and a large whale appears off to starboard, casually making its way south in the 30 knot+ wind. Waves are picking up, lots of whitecaps.
1320 Coming fast past Punta Cabo. Frigate bird above, coughing something up, chucking it around then trying to swallow it again. Loads of fishing boats around. Boat creaming along, regularly in the sevens. Wind gusting high 30s.
1400 Having lunch, nearly ran over a sea turtle. “Tortuga del Mar” I guess. Haven’t done any Spanish lessons today … was supposed to be doing an hour a day, but somehow the days just float by…
1630 Hot, slow slog to the finish line. Soon after rounding the point, the wind dropped, the sea flattened and Mr Fish said “time for the engine”. We’ve been motoring a couple of hours now, one more hour to go. With no wind, the sun is scorchio! I’ve washed the cockpit and scrubbed a load of tiny rust spots away. Something to remember: NEVER do any ferrous metal angle grinding near a fibreglass boat. Even if you’re diligent in washing all the metal particles away, there will be some left, and they will leave rust spots. I was grinding a steel washer for fixing the backstay in Turtle Bay (then found a stainless one and used that instead, otherwise we’d have huge rust streaks all the way down the stern).
Lining the beach all the way from Cabo San Lucas to San Jose del Cabos are hotels and holiday apartments. Some are huge, futuristic looking monsters straight out of a sci-fi movie. From out here, there’s no sign of damage from hurricane Odile that struck last month. Hard to imagine what that must have been like.
1800 Managed to turn the engine off for the final approach to Puerto Los Cabos marina, a beautiful sail in calm water as the sun was setting. Radioed the marina, found our slip and tied up next to a guy called John on his stout little 27 footer. Shared some pasta and stories, and then bed.
Road and Ocean 