Gresham Family Exodus

We have continued our sightings and encounters with various sea creatures.  An exciting one was when we spotted a hammerhead shark while on passage from San Francisquito to Salsipuedes.  This one has to be a rarity: We found a pearl in one of our clam shells when preparing dinner at El Quemado.  It’s a good size pearl, but being from a clam rather than an oyster it lacks the opalescence of the pearls we are used to from jewelry, and instead it simply looks like a plastic marble.

Jellyfish.  My, have we seen a lot of jellyfish.  In fact, way back in La Paz, someone advised us that we would see a lot and that we should get full-body “jelly suits” to protect us from stings.  They are basically lycra suits that would be more comfortable to wear than our full wet suits when the water warmed up.  We ended up not getting them, but I don’t think it would have mattered.  Most common stings were on faces and hands, which would stick out of the lycra suit just as they stick out of our wetsuits.  And the water never got so warm that wearing the wetsuit wasn’t an option (except for Concepcion Bay, of course).  The absolute worst encounter, or most amazing depending on your perspective, was our last morning at Isla Partida.  We all went out for a dual family snorkel.  I had seen jellies in the water when I was paddle boarding, but nothing that seemed too crazy.  I was first in the water and swam away from the dinghy a little bit, looked around for a while, then realized I was completely immersed in a jellyfish forest.  It was like they all converged on us after we got there.  I couldn’t get back to the dinghy fast enough.  I kept waiting for the stings to come on my face and neck, but I only felt a couple dull ones.  However, it was extremely disconcerting being surrounded like that even without significant stinging.  I kept imagining them all over my hair!  I got out of the dinghy and was soon joined by Carolina and Joel as well.  Tim said that if you dive down deeper there aren’t as many, but I just couldn’t do it.

While at Animas Slot the boys found a surprise when they were supposed to be rinsing dishes on the back swim step.  Brine shrimp by the millions.  It was so gross, but that didn’t stop the boys from scooping them up and inspecting them.  Anything to put off rinsing dishes, I guess.-We’ve had turtles in many of the anchorages we’ve been in, and one of the things we’ve noticed is how loud they are when they come up to take a breath.  They are about as loud as a sea lion, but they don’t release their breath with as much force.  It is actually quite uncanny how they sound just like people.  Air breathers, we both are.

And speaking of sea creatures, now may be a good time to muse a bit on how much the movie Finding Nemo has shaped our anthropomorphic views of them.  After coming back from spearfishing, Alex asked Brenden if he had seen a turtle, and when Brenden said yes, Alex said, “thought so.”  Alex was in the dinghy and he heard Brenden saying “uuuude” while his snorkel moved up and down.  (uuuuude = Duuuuude)

It doesn’t matter how hard we try to think otherwise, but jellyfish are always “my little squishy” and crabs are always combative and say, “Hey, hey!”  Seagulls are always dull-witted scavengers who say, “Mine, mine!”  Sea Turtles are always laid back surfer dudes and pufferfish always, “… need a little help here!” and say, “shark bait ooh ha ha!”  Rays are always annoying and sing crazy rhyming educational songs, and we all wish that we could speak whale.  Love. That. Movie.

The lobsters were plentiful at San Francisquito, and we had two lobster fests on Exodus.  The first was with Lady Carolina, Charra, and Dazzler, and we had a great evening with great food and plentiful drinks.  The second was with Lady Carolina and Interabang, and it was another great evening.  One humorous aspect, though, is that Derek and Trisha didn’t know they were being invited for dinner.  I guess that’s what happens when you send the men over to do the inviting.  Apparently, Tim and Steve told them “party on Exodus” so they came with their beverages and full bellies.  We tried our best to push some lobster off on them as well.

At Isla Partida the guys caught yellowtail, so we had our first sashimi fest on Lady Carolina.  Steve prepared a plate of sashimi and was down below and asked Brenden if he would like to try some.  I wasn’t a witness to this spectacle, but apparently Brenden demonstrated his skill at shoveling in sashimi at a pretty good clip.  And Steve didn’t stop him because he was so tickled at how much this 10-year-old apparently loved himself some sashimi.  Afterward, the rest of us were sure wishing he had stopped him, since it was a tasty treat and there was so much less of it.  At later sashimi fests, we typically let everyone get a fair share before we turn Brenden loose on it.

Also at Isla Partida, Tim and Steve landed a HUGE dorado while dinghy fishing.  Something like 5 ft long and over 30 pounds.  Needless to say it wasn’t easy to land that in the dinghy and the reel malfunction and circling hammerhead shark didn’t make it any easier.  Both families enjoyed dorado for many meals from that catch.

Our fun with bugs and other winged creatures had been going on pretty much since La Paz, so now seems like as good a time as any to give a bit of a summary of all of these critters.  The first bugs we encountered were the bobos, and the first time they invaded was on Isla Espiritu Santo, I think, and they invaded us en masse.  Bobos are basically small flies, and the upside is they don’t bite or sting, but the downside is that they are as annoying as all hell.  They especially like to land on your face, and they have this uncanny ability to detect when you are busy using both hands so that neither is available for swatting.  Unlike typical houseflies, who you can get to fly away by simply moving, these bobos seem to stay stuck until you actually swat at them.  We find ourselves making some pretty crazy facial expressions trying to get a bobo to get lost, and it is simply infuriating.  They are slower than houseflies, so very easy to kill, and I tended to find bobo graveyards all around the boat.  I guarantee, with bobos around you WILL at some time or another find yourself smacking yourself on your forehead, and feeling satisfied with the kill.

The next encounter was with bees, also on Isla Espiritu Santo.  Basically, bees visit boats for one reason only, to find freshwater.  They send a few “scouts” and if they report back then they bring all their friends to your boat.  Of course, we’ve heard all about how important bees are to our ecology and our first reaction was absolutely not to harm them, but try to help them.  Tim had the idea of putting a small amount of freshwater outside then they would be attracted to that and leave us alone.  He put a bucket of water on one of the back swim steps, and it resulted in a most amazing bee invasion.  They drank the water pretty quickly and were then swarming around in a frenzy.  So, he put another bucket up on one of the bows hoping to draw them away from our main living area.  Not long after we had an even larger swarm all over the front of the boat.  It was totally out of control.  At sunset all the bees go home, but it turns out that they remember when and where they have found water, and the next morning they brought even more of their friends to visit.  We ended up having to move anchorages to get away from them.  Fast forward a couple months, and I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry, I know bees are important and without them the human race will die out and everything, but we kill bees, we really must kill them.  We have learned that outside whenever we must rinse with fresh water we must post-rinse the swim step with a bit of seawater.  It will attract some bees but they will recognize it as not drinkable and won’t report back and bring all their friends.  Any bee that manages to get inside the salon absolutely must be killed.  At Isla Coronados I left some frozen meat out on the counter to defrost and the condensation attracted hundreds and it was quite a bee blood bath that afternoon.  We try really hard not to let them in the salon at all so the killing can be at a minimum, but seriously, anyone that gets in is at that moment doomed.  One thing totally outside of our control is how much dew is on the deck in the morning, and dew is a huge bee attractor.  One of our worst experiences was at Honeymoon Cove on Isla Danzante when Gary and Marsha were with us.  We had hundreds of bees on the deck lapping up the morning dew.  We left that anchorage in a hurry that morning.  We have all been stung, and we find that the worst stings are on the feet and hands.  I got stung on the finger (early in our journey, when I was actually still trying to help the bees) and I screamed like a baby and writhed in pain for at least 20 min.  Stings on the hands and feet cause a lot of swelling, and we’ve all been subject to “fat hand” or “fat foot” as we affectionately call it.  Once we got into the summer and had a few rainy days, the bees were a lot less prevalent, presumably, then they don’t need us sailboats as their freshwater sources.

Of course we encounter mosquitos every now and then.  They are most common when we are anchored near mangroves or estuaries, and they tend to feast mostly on the boys at dusk and dawn.  Tim and I haven’t really had too many mosquito bites.  We’re just glad that where we are now the mosquitos are just a nuisance, not transmitters of horrible illnesses.

Then comes the mother of all biting insects so far.  They are bugs that absolutely must be the spawn of the devil.  Yes, I’m talking about jejenes.  They are also, not so affectionately, called no-see-ums because they are so small.  You can see them, but just barely.  They pack a huge, burning bite that develops into a small itchy bump, sometimes with a day or more delay, and the bump itches for many days up to a week.  Our first encounter with them was at Isla Salsipuedes.  In the late afternoon after anchoring I paddle boarded over to Lady Carolina, and we were chatting and through the course of the conversation jellyfish came up.  I don’t really remember exactly what we were talking about but I remember both of my calves starting to burn a bit.  I joked that the power of suggestion of jellyfish made me start feeling stings, and I paddled back to Exodus not thinking much more of it.  The next day the bumps started itching, and the rage was on.  Bites just kept showing up, primarily on my legs.  For days bites kept showing up.  We had heard that they crawl, so you can’t protect yourself with clothing or covers, and we also heard that they can infest your boat and you have to wash all your bedding to kill them all or you will just keep getting bit.  At this point we were at Isla Partida, far away from any laundry facility, and I was a crazy woman with fire in my eyes.  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I gathered up all our loose clothes, all of our bedding, all of the boys stuffed animals, and I bagged up every last bit of it.  If I couldn’t wash and drown them, I would suffocate them.  Then I spent all afternoon vacuuming every nook and cranny of Exodus.  It was poor timing because it was the day after the mini-Chubasco, so we had a fair amount of cloud cover, which means not much power generation to run the vacuum, but I didn’t care.  I was on a mission to seek revenge on every little biting creature that was tormenting me.  I should probably mention at this point that I have very poor tolerance for itchy bug bites.  I have a high pain tolerance for many things, I can give birth (3 times) with no anesthesia and I can run a marathon, but I absolutely cannot take the pain of small, red, itchy bug bites.  I scratched my legs until they bled.  Repeatedly.  Well, they eventually subsided, and I have no idea if my bagging and vacuuming really mattered at all or if I was just feeling the delayed effects of bites from Salsipuedes.  But I did know that those bugs needed to be avoided at absolutely all costs.  Of course, we ran into them a couple more times, and my legs now bear permanent scars from my inability to refrain from scratching those nasty little bites.

As far as creepy, crawly bugs go, we’ve only seen the lone earwig or cockroach once or twice.  According to cruising books and blogs, cockroaches are a huge cruiser nightmare.  They hide in all things ashore, especially cardboard, in fact, its often advised to not bring any cardboard from your shopping excursion onto the boat.  We also talked to some folks who saw cockroaches on their dock lines at a marina, so they now spray their dock lines with bug spray.  Cockroaches, unfortunately, do fly, so at some point there’s only so much you can do.  Luckily so far we’ve only had the lone guy to deal with and we’ve expended with him swiftly and haven’t had to deal with any sort of infestation.  Brenden is officially our bug hunter/killer.  He’s swift and efficient, and it’s sort of entertaining to watch.

Buying flour here can be a bit of an adventure as well.  At home I would buy a bag of flour, put it in the cupboard, use it when I needed it, and never, ever, found any creepy crawlies in it.  Here, every bag of flour needs a bit of inspection before it gets to stay on board, and I’ve even taken to opening bags at the store before even buying them.  So far we’ve managed to avoid any sort of dry goods bug infestation, but we use airtight containers and put bay leaves in everything, so hopefully that’s will keep working for us.

There have also been some larger winged creatures who have visited Exodus.  The most entertaining incident (in hindsight, as far as I’m concerned) was the evening at Isla Partida before the mini-chubasco.  I had just finished taking a shower, had dried off a little bit, and was just stepping out of the shower stall when something came flying down from the hatch above and smacked me in the head.  It landed on the floor and quickly regrouped and started flying around in a frenzy.  It didn’t take me long to realize it was a bat!  It was a small one, but I still hightailed it back into the shower stall, slammed the door, and started calling to Tim.  God bless him, he came quickly (because my blood-curdling scream made him think I was in some sort of imminent danger) and he managed to cover the bat with some rags and carry it outside and release it.  Whew, what a relief.  Of course, mom screaming over a small bat has become quite a joke around here, only slightly more entertaining than mom screaming over a bee sting.  Anyway, I dried off, came out of the bathroom and was getting dressed in our cabin, when I swear to god, something came flying into the salon, down into our cabin, missed my head by only fractions of an inch, I’m sure, and settled under the stairs.  Seriously?  Two things flying into (or near) my head in one night?  This time it turned out to be a small black bird that just needed a little sanctuary, and we let him stay on the boat as long as he needed to.

The next morning, after the mini-chubasco, the black bird (or a similar one) was nestled under our cockpit table.  Tim made it comfortable, gave it something to drink, and a little later it was gone.  Or was it?  When Brenden woke up he discovered a bird on his bathroom floor.  He felt so bad because he stepped on it a little before he saw it, and he felt very obligated to take care of it until it was ready to fly away.  After hanging out for a while, it tried to fly away out of Brenden’s hands, and it briefly landed on the deck before falling overboard just off the stern.  Brenden immediately starts figuring out a way to retrieve it when we all spot a seagull make a beeline straight for the little bird. Before any of us really realized what was happening, the seagull snatched the bird up in its beak and flew away.  You could actually hear the little bird let out out a squeak as it was being crushed.  Brenden screamed out in horror and sorrow.  He cried and cried. He said when he first saw the seagull flying over he thought it was coming to take care of the little bird, like a substitute mom.  Then he said it was all his fault that the little bird couldn’t fly because he had stepped on it in his bathroom.  We told him the bird must have been hurt or something to come on to the boat at all in the first place, but it took a while to console him.  It was all very sad, and we all got to see quite close up how harsh nature can be sometimes.

Living on a sailboat, weather becomes a much more integral part of your life.  Good forecasts are important because if you get caught by surprise you can set yourself up to be quite uncomfortable and in extreme cases you can find yourself in real danger.  Unlike at home when we were primarily concerned with temperature highs and lows and whether it was supposed to rain, if we were concerned at all, out here we are much more concerned with wind speed and direction, and if planning a passage, what the sea state is supposed to be like.  When at a major port with internet access, getting these forecasts as often as we want is pretty easy.  But most of the time we are out at more remote anchorages without internet, so we rely solely on our SSB radio.  We have two ways to get weather forecasts via the radio: 1) Voice nets and 2) Data downloads (via the pactor modem connected to the radio).  There are two morning radio nets that provide weather forecasts.  The superior by far is the Sonrisa Net, which includes an extensive forecast by Gary (that I described in my last essay, Gary is the guy who hosted the cruisers 4th of July part at El Burro Cove).  The other is the Amigo Net, which includes reading wind and sea state forecasts from the solmatesantiago website.  This is actually not all that useful in the Sea of Cortez when you are just coastal cruising and hopping from anchorage to anchorage, because the winds can be dominated a lot by local landform effects, so there’s often the disclaimer that in the Sea of Cortez this forecast is good mainly for “down the middle.”  If I miss a voice net because I sleep in or don’t have good enough reception, not to worry, the information from both of these nets is also available to download.  The main way to download weather products is by using the saildocs service, which is a free document service for the bandwidth challenged.  There is an extensive NOAA weather product library, and solmatesantiago forecasts are also available.  Additionally, you can grab the text of any webpage using saildocs, and Gary actually uses voice to text software and publishes the text on his website, so that it can even be downloaded.  The main NOAA products we’ve used so far are tropical forecasts by the National Hurricane Center for the NE Pacific.  There is an “outlook” file that just tells you if there are any lows brewing and gives percent likelihood of it turning into a tropical cyclone.  Then there is a “discussion” file that goes a little more in-depth and provides more information than just tropical storms (like gap winds in the Tehuantepec).  And if there is a tropical storm in progress, there are storm specific files that can be downloaded that give details and forecast track and intensity.  Last, but not least, we can also download .grb files (“Gribs”) through saildocs.  We typically use these only when planning for our longer passages.

In addition to the low likelihood threat of a tropical storm, summertime in the Sea of Cortez brings another weather “feature” to look out for: the Chubasco.  A Chubasco is a very intense but relatively shortlived squall accompanied by thunder and lightning.  They are caused by convection over the land but have the tendency to move out into the sea any time from the late afternoon to early morning, but most common in the middle of the night.  I read some blogs from last summer’s cruisers and also talked with the folks on Interabang, who experienced a 60 kt Chubasco early in the summer last year.  Luckily, this year, Jake (on the sailboat Jake) started a nightly Chubasco report on SSB radio.  He was in or around Puerto Escondido all summer with internet connectivity, so every night he checked on the convection situation and then reported it out to all of us.  To be clear, there’s no way to really predict if a Chubasco will hit a specific anchorage.  However, Jake was able to let us know what convection was going on over on the mainland and whether we were likely to have a quiet night or whether we should be on alert.  The best reports were when Jake told us there was no convection.  Of course, hearing the report was sometimes a challenge if atmospheric propagation of the radio signals wasn’t cooperating.  Sometimes it seemed like some sort of sick joke what we could or couldn’t hear… it would often go like this, “This evening it should be quiet in the Puerto Escondido area, and up in BLA it SHHH–HISS–CRACKLE–HISS.  Any questions?”  Those of us up in the BLA area got in the routine that if we actually got a good copy on the report we would repeat it for everyone else, so most nights at least one person got it.  I took these Chubasco reports very seriously and woe to the Exodus crew member or even the guest on Exodus who talked or shuffled cards during the report.  I was never shy about shushing anyone!  When there was a threat of a Chubasco, or even if there wasn’t really, we started taking extra care to button up the boat at night.  We had no idea how Exodus would react to 60 kt winds, but we tried to put away and secure everything, so at least we wouldn’t lose any gear in the blow.  We also tied down the mainsail bag and secured the solar array panels.

We did end up getting what is affectionately called a “mini-Chubasco” when we were at Isla Partida.  That night on the Chubasco report, Jake was “cautiously optimistic” that we would have a quiet night, but we semi-secured everything anyway, just in case.  The wind woke us at about 2 am, and both Tim and I got up and quickly did some last-minute tucking in here and tightening up there.  We only saw about 22 knots sustained with gusts up to 30 kt, from all directions.  The lighting show was pretty spectacular though, so all the portable electronics (handheld VHF, laptop, iPads, iPhones, Camera) were quickly stored in the oven, an effective Faraday cage, for the rare chance we actually got struck by lightning.  We came through it completely unscathed, and the good news is our anchor held firm.  Love that Rocna!

A rare blog post by Tim

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It had all the makings of the greatest of fish stories, the kind everyone loves to tell and no one ever believes. But this story had one minor difference… evidence. And not just a trace of evidence either, it was more like… proof. Beautiful, shimmering proof you could hold in your hands. 5 foot 2 inches, 37 pounds of it. I wasn’t always sure it was going to end up that way. At the time, I was certain it was going the route of all great fish tales, especially as I watched the six-foot hammerhead swim between us and the beautiful green and yellow dorado … but… wait, let me back up a bit…

It started like any other day: a cup of coffee while pondering which of the things on the to-do list should be prioritized ahead of the rest. This important task often takes hours to sort through, considering all the data, all the options, parts/equipment availability, the needs of the crew, available time of the captain/mechanic/bottom-scrubber, etc. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. I was knee-deep into my analysis, and only halfway through my grande vanilla latte when the call came in, “Exodus, Exodus, Exodus… this is Lady Carolina”. I could hear the tremor in Steve’s voice, very subtle, but there nonetheless. At first I thought it was the typical drunken Canadian drawl Steve often sported, but then remembered it was only 8am and he couldn’t have had time to hit the rum yet, having only awakened minutes before. It must be something else. I’m sure he wasn’t even aware of it at the time, but somehow it existed, maybe as a sign of things to come. I answered the radio, “Exodus here. What’s up Steve-o?” He rambled on for a few minutes about kids, schoolwork, troubles with his head (I assume he meant his toilet, but knowing Steve, I wasn’t certain), something about a power drain on his battery bank, and, just as I was about to doze off to sleep, I heard the magic words, “dinghy fishing”.  It was like a cloud was lifted over my mind. Everything seemed crystal clear, vibrant, alive. “I’ll be ready in five”, I said, reaching for my pole. Once again, the list would have to wait…

With sleep still in one eye, but vigor in my step, I loaded up the dinghy with everything I might need for the day, including my entire tackle box, pole, fish stringer, and even the telescoping gaff given to me by my brother, who I think fondly of every time I impale and hoist a fish on board. As I arrived at Lady Carolina (the name of Steve’s boat), Steve was waiting at the step with gear in hand. I barely had to slow the dinghy down for him to step aboard before we were off. Like usual, I ignored his attempts at being a smartass- something about my gaff – and headed for the horizon, dreams of yellowtail and dorado filling my head.

We had caught a couple small yellowtail the day before and were keen to improve on past results. Thirty minutes had passed as we trolled along in the dinghy, circling the same area that had proven successful just 24 hours ago. Faster? No. Slower? No. The island? Yes! Steve nodded as if reading my mind. I accelerated and headed north, just half a mile, toward the small island abruptly protruding from the open sea ahead. Known as a sea lion hangout, we figured they must know something about fish, right?

As we skirted the guano covered isle with not even a bite and little interest in our task, I turned the dinghy away from the smelly landmark, heading for deeper water. Then, just as our conversation about radio interference sources had become interesting, it happened. “Fish on”, Steve said. Being the only such comment of the day, I should have been more excited, but it hardly sparked my interest. I looked at his pole, what a sad excuse for a pole it is and didn’t give much weight to the extreme angle to which it was being exerted. (Side note: Now, to be fair, it is a fine piece of fishing equipment- if you were fishing for foot-long trout in a small stream or quiet lake somewhere. Those who know the difference between a spinning reel and an offshore ocean rig will instantly recognize this as a “medium-sized” spinning reel, suitable for a good 2-3 pound steelhead or even a small salmon. Steve says he likes that it makes the fish seem larger when he fishes with this pole. Indeed, Steve. Indeed. ) As I looked at the reel silently paying out its payload of 20lb test line, I remembered him saying that it had stopped its telltale “ticking” sound the day before, you know, the vzzzzzzzzz sound as the fish runs away. Just then I saw a rather large fish jump off in the distance, some 250-300 yards away and thought to myself, “huh, interesting coincidence.” When I looked back at Steve’s reel, I saw the last of the line disappearing quickly. As I reached for the engine throttle, my thoughts of, “uh oh…” were disrupted by his shouts, “That way! Go that way, fast!” I revved the dinghy engine and we were off in the direction of his line, now fully extended from the reel and held only by a single knot onto the empty spool. As I outran the fish, he was able to reel in some line and give himself some room to play it again. We hadn’t lost it yet…

Playing a fish is half the fun of catching a fish. Any fisherman knows it’s a balancing act of tug-of-war: reel it in a little, let it run out a little to tire it out, reel it in some more. Reel too fast and it breaks the line. Don’t let run out fast enough and it breaks the line. Poised for his game of tug-o-war, Steve quickly realized that the now-silent reel had evolved yet a new feature. Not only did it not tick as the fish pulled the drag, the drag feature itself had ceased to function entirely. The only way to let the fish run away was to crank the handle backwards- or simply let it go and let the fish do it. (Upon later inspection, the strain of the fish pulling on the line so hard caused so much heat that the innards of the reel had completely melted, seizing its bearings into a solid mess.) Steve did his best balancing act while I kept the dinghy headed toward the catch. Somehow, ever so slowly, we were making way.

Fifteen minutes later, now just 30 yards away we could see the telltale yellow-green of the dorado as it battled on the surface. “Looks like a decent sized one”, I said obviously misjudging the fish’s true size at that distance. As the fight went on, Steve balanced on the fine line of give and take and the interval between the dorados side of the tug-o-war battle was increasing. We were gaining on it. (Also noted later, the 20lb test line was completely shot. It looked like that thin ribbon used to wrap xmas presents, that you curl with a pair of scissors, and if you do it wrong it doesn’t curl and turns out flat and wavy… You know what I mean…  Between that and the reel, it’s a miracle something didn’t break.) Engine in idle, we let the fish pull us in circles as it tried to slowly swim away.

Now just 10 yards off, we strained to see the catch beneath the water- but the dorsal and tail fins both broke the surface and we could tell… it was big. Steve kept reeling, ever so gently. Just then, to my right I saw a large shape and another dorsal fin appear and then disappear beneath the rear corner of the dinghy, heading below us and toward the dorado. I turned and watched as a hammerhead shark appeared on the other side, easily six feet long, headed for the fish now only 5 yards away. My comment, which I don’t remember exactly but was much more poised and reserved than, “Holy Shit! It’s a HAMMERHEAD!”, went almost entirely unnoticed by Steve. Why in the world he would think that I was joking at a time like this is beyond me. Just as I was sure this was going to turn into a three-way game of tug-o-war, the shark turned and slowly swam away. As I reached for the gaff to haul in the dorado, my head was spinning in all directions, watching for it to return (and ready to do battle, of course). For the record, we just wanted to get the dorado into the dinghy and back to the boat as quickly as possible to “maintain optimal freshness”.

Gaffing a writhing fish can be tricky. I don’t like to upset its stomach and all the yummy juices inside, so I aim for its back, just aft of the gills. Today I was fortunate to get a bullseye the first try. Once I had it on the gaff, its true length became apparent- this fish was fully half the length of the dinghy. Its head was over a foot tall, forehead to chin, and it took both hands to lift it out of the water. Steve’s comment as he got into the dinghy earlier that morning was now priceless, “What are you going to need a gaff for?”

I guess it isn’t a true “fish story” when you actually bring home the fish. But it’s still a fun one to tell…

On the morning Sonrisa radio net, there is a guy who checks in from a shore-based station in Arizona (“from the mile-high island in the sky”).  His contribution is nice because he provides updates on things that those of us more internet challenged boats wouldn’t otherwise know about.  One of the things he does is a “sky is falling report” where he gives us a heads up on comets, meteors, and more frequently satellite or ISS flybys.  The ISS is the International Space Station, and we used to watch it fly by from our backyard in El Segundo.  Out here, we got a much bright view as it passed overhead when we were anchored at Salsipuedes.  Thanks Bob, for the sky is falling reports!