Gresham Family Exodus

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!

We celebrated Alex’s 12th birthday when we were briefly anchored at Isla Salsipuedes.  In the morning, he got to go on a special father/son spearfishing excursion and Tim taught him to use the speargun for the first time (the boys typically use spear poles when they spearfish).  Brenden stayed behind with me to prepare for the celebration.  We planned on a lunchtime party because we were pretty sure we would need to leave the anchorage and move on later in the afternoon.  We made hot dogs, homemade chili, and homemade oreo cookies.  We even made Alex his very own giant oreo.  The Lady Carolina crew brought over balloons and we used them to decorate the cockpit along with a happy birthday sign Brenden made.  Tim and I had already given the boys their birthday presents when we got back from San Diego (surfboards and long wetsuits), but Alex had a few presents to open including a chess game Brenden had picked out in Santa Rosalia, and some bubbles and a shiny new shackle from Lady Carolina.  The chessboard made our next passage a peaceful one since the boys played it almost the whole time, and at this point I’m really not sure what Alex has chosen to use his shackle for.

July 29 – August 15, 2012

Summer in the Sea of Cortez has been phenomenal.  Way back when we were at La Paz and making the decision whether to head south to Central America or stay here I was racked with indecision having a hard time figuring out what was the right thing to do.  Now, I know we unquestionably made the right decision.  After reading this you might think I’m crazy… the bugs, the Chubasco scares, the heat, etc.  However, this summer gave us a fantastic opportunity to continue to get to know Exodus and to also experience some adversity while still being pretty close to home.  Having these experiences and gaining confidence in Exodus and in ourselves as cruisers will be invaluable as we continue south further away from home and ultimately cross the pacific into much more foreign (to us) territory.  And as an added bonus we got to spend the summer with a small group of fantastic cruisers and are making great friendships along the way.

We prefer to arrive at an anchorage during daylight hours, so we departed Santa Rosalia in the evening and had our first overnight passage since we were coming south on the Pacific side of the Baja Peninsula.  We waited until after the Chubasco report on SSB radio to make sure we were likely to have a convection free passage, so we pulled out of the Santa Rosalia breakwater at about 9:30 pm.  As soon as we were out of the breakwater we were surprised by the surreal vision of what seemed like a hundred lights on the water.  They were fishermen out in the pangas trying to catch squid that are predominant in that area.  Navigating that was a bit tricky, but I’m thinking, hey, at least they have lights (you can’t always take that for granted).  The passage was pretty uneventful after that, starting out with light wind on the nose, so I practiced tacking in these light conditions.  The wind picked up and then died again, but we arrived at San Francisquito at about 5:30pm.  As usual the boys were in the water about a split second after the 2nd engine was cut off (they have to wait until we are completely done anchoring and engines are off before swimming).  Bahia San Francisquito is a large, predominantly NE facing bay with two main anchorages: one good for southerly winds and one good for west and northwesterly winds.  We parked at the latter one just off a white sand beach about 1/2 mile long.  There is also a small cove hanging off the SE corner of the bay were small boats can enter with great protection.  I paddle boarded into this cove and there are residences along the south end as well as a small base for some sort of Naval operations.  The Navy did circle through the anchorage past all of the boats (there were 4 of us there) but they didn’t stop or board any of us.  They had a dog in the boat, so we suspect they were sniffing for drugs and didn’t get any whiffs from our crowd.  The second or third day there, the wind shifted on us and we were getting pretty good swell so we all weighed anchor and joined S/V Interabang at the other end of the bay with better protection.  They had just pulled in and we turned their secluded anchorage into a party of 5, including 2 noisy kid boats.  I’m sure they were ecstatic!

When we left San Francisquito we regretted that we never went ashore, but the bug situation somewhat dictated it.  We departed bound for Isla Partida along with Lady Carolina.  (Recall that there is an Isla Partida that we spent a fair amount of time at down by La Paz.  We have learned that it is quite common in Mexico to have multiple places with the same name.  Keeps people on their toes, I guess.)  We didn’t make it all the way there, though, because the wind just wouldn’t cooperate, so we stopped on the south side of a small island called Isla Salsipuedes.  It was a narrow, rocky anchorage, quite beautiful and somewhere I would have loved to stay several days.  But we ended up staying just one night there, because it really was good for just fair weather and the wind picked up the next afternoon, not to mention the no-see-ums (bugs of the devil!)  We did celebrate Alex’s 12th birthday in that anchorage, and we weighed anchor immediately after the celebration concluded because that’s when the wind shift came.

Our next stop was Isla Partida, which is also a small island.  It has a large crescent-shaped anchorage with excellent protection from all directions except due north.  We stayed here a few nights and the highlights include long paddleboard excursions, huge fish, and a mini-Chubasco.  After that we headed back to the Baja Peninsula to Animas Slot.  We didn’t check our map very well before heading out, though, because we were operating under the subconscious assumption that southish winds would be preferable for this passage since our overall general direction has been north from Santa Rosalia to Bahia de Los Angeles.  It turns out that from Isla Partida to Animas Slot is actually a SW passage, so with S winds, we had a close reach and even had to tack to get to the anchorage.  Live and learn (although I take a much more active role in passage planning after that.)  Animas Slot was a fantastic little anchorage, long and narrow, and we knew it would be tight for both boats to fit.  We arrived slightly ahead of Lady Carolina so we tried to tuck in as close to the beach as possible.  Tim even got in the water and moved the anchor manually.  Seriously, he dove down picked up the anchor and walked it closer to shore.  In the end, when Lady Carolina got there they figured out the bottomed deepened too quickly so they couldn’t find a spot where the could put out adequate scope and not swing into the sides of the anchorage.  Sunset was looming so they moved around the corner to Cala Puertocito de Enmedio.  Of course, we took an infinite amount of crap for taking the best anchor spot for ourselves.  And there was no doubt about that, Animas Slot was breathtaking.  There was excellent snorkeling and paddleboarding, and I even hiked up to the top of the ridge between the two anchorages for some phenomenal views.  And even though we were separated from Lady Carolina by a ridge and a reef, it didn’t stop us from gathering for potluck dinners and evening cocktails on the foredeck of Exodus.

We pressed onward, but not very far this time.  We stopped at Bahia de Las Animas which is just a few nm away from Animas Slot.  In contrast to Animas Slot, Bahia de Las Animas is a huge bay open to the NE, and we chose one of the anchorages on the SE side, also open to the NE.  We stayed a couple nights here, but there wasn’t much to see aside from a whale skeleton and a coyote on the beach.  We were starting to get that sense of urgency to get to the village at Bahia de Los Angeles because we were down to bare bones of fresh fruits and veggies, but we decided to make one more stop at Ensenada el Quemado.  Lady Carolina left a few hours before us and had no wind, and by the time we got our act together and got underway we had 20 kts.  Sometimes, it’s better to be lucky than good.  Our navigation system communication network has been having some issues, and on this passage we were without GPS.  It’s funny how you get so dependent on seeing that little boat icon move across the chart plotter. El Quemado faces north and we tucked in at the SE corner of the anchorage.  While the boys were out spearfishing (as usual) Carolina and I hiked to the SE across to Ensenada el Pescador.  Well, calling it a hike is a little generous.  It was really a walk across flat, desert terrain, but the beach on the other side was fantastic.  It had white sand and was a deep enough beach for some bocce ball or beach football.  We decided we would definitely need to visit that anchorage at some point.  There was also an abandoned resort where the rooms were small, individual, structures along the beach, and we noticed that some of them were occupied.  It’s not clear if the people there are squatters or what, but they have million-dollar views every day.  When we left El Quemado we were bound for the village at Bahia de Los Angeles, but we did a drive-by survey of Puerto Don Juan along the way.  Puerto Don Juan is a natural “hurricane hole” that provides excellent protection from all directions.  This is where we would all flock should the unlikely event of a tropical storm make its way this far north into the sea.  We wanted to check it out and be familiar with the entrance and the depths of the anchorage in case we ever had to enter in a hurry.  Bahia de Los Angeles (henceforth referred to as BLA) is a very large bay and the village is up at the NW corner with a sand spit providing a little added protection from the NE.  We made it to the village just before noon and had time to check out the town in the afternoon.