For the record: this is the last time we will be crossing the beautiful Sea of Cortez :-(. And, oh what a first night we've had. Ha! I just saw two sea turtles swimming in line off our Port side.
It's 0630 and I've just taken over the watch after a 2 1/2 hr. break. We have the Lee cloth set up on the couch (to keep whoever is trying to sleep from falling off if and when the boat rolls quickly). Such is the available sleep on a small boat when two people are taking turns on the helm... using a 2-3 hr. watch system. Mostly you lie there with your eyes closed, trying to ignore the constant thrum of the Diesel engine (when you're motoring), the explosions of noise on the VHF radio (particularly when the Mexican fishermen get to bantering),the creaking and groaning of the boat as her hull flexes, and the noises in your head as you run through the lists of things you did remember to check before leaving... and the lists of things you should probably check to make sure everything is working as it should. At some point, within the two hour period you actually fall asleep; and then it's time to get up, put your gear back on, and head out to take over the helm. Lots of fun :-)
Back to the crossing. I wrote you we finally had a window. SSpirit, and about 8 other boats, left Mazatlan bound for La Paz. Even though we all left within a few hours of each other, and were all heading for the same place, we haven't sighted a boat since yesterday afternoon. Everyone is out here but they're all below the horizon. As usual, we're one of the slower boats. We observe several 'house rules' when transiting. It's a safety thing. The first is, having experienced the ruthlessness of northerly winds when they kick up (and expecting them to arrive as forecast) we put one reef in the main sail. The second rule is... we put the second reef into the main just before dark. The other rules have to do with both crew being tethered in at all times after dark and no one leaves the cockpit unless the other person is watching.
OK, back to the trip. Yesterday, the first day of our trip, went very well. The winds and seas were (as expected) on the nose... but didn't get as high as had been forecast. We left expecting to see 20 knot winds by 1600 hrs; but they never arrived. Yahoo to that. That made our journey much more comfortable and fun.
A couple memories I'd like to share with you... During the day we saw lots of birds and quite a few turtles. Then, as sunset approached, we were treated to the most beautiful, brilliant, almost neon, blazing pink skies. For one gorgeous 20 minute period, one particular cloud formation was so brilliant it turned a swath of the the sea below it to deep pink with its reflection. Never seen that before. It was amazing. The glow continued for some time and we motor-sailed on, cloaked in Mother Nature's colours.
Over-night provided some excitement as well. There I was minding my own business and tending the helm when I happened to notice the depth sounder flashing. Now, this new and dependable instrument had been showing - - - like it does when it's really deep, for hours... and all of a sudden it was flashing 45.1. Yikes! I watched and pondered this situation for about 10 minutes... wondering what the heck was going on. We were in an area the charts declared to be over 1200 feet deep. I was watching it carefully because, if it got to 30, I was going to slow down and call upon the navigator (who was off watch and sleeping) for a second opinion. Best I can figure is a very smart whale was swimming along with us, at our speed, about 45 feet below us... or... we went over an unmarked sea mount (there are many in the Sea of Cortez).
The next major event that captured my attention also kind of scared me a bit. Visions of having to abandon ship in a hurry, in the dark, with our abandon ship gear spread around somewhat (a situation that was remedied as soon as I recovered from the 'event') flashed through my mind.
When I stand my watch I have the habit of, besides watching the instruments (radar, chart plotter, autopilot, engine dials) constantly. I also make it a point to stand up (the usual position for the person on watch is standing or sitting behind the wheel) and 'walk the deck' (all four feet of it when I walk from one side to the other of the that little space) every ten minutes or so. When I'm doing that, I do a complete scan of the horizon and all the space between it and our boat. I'm looking for the lights of ships I know are there and the lights of ships I don't know about. On a night like last night the stars are so brilliant the ones near the horizon actually look like they could be ships... and vice versa; a ship near the horizon could look like a star.
So, there I was last night, about to begin my walk, and looking to port, I saw a huge patch of phosphorescent light developing in the water about 100 yards off. As I watched, and before my shocked eyes, I saw the ball of light (about the size of a Greyhound Bus) was moving and moving fast, much faster than us... and it was on a collision course with us, heading toward our bow on a diagonal course. I really couldn't do anything as I watched for the few seconds this all took.
I'm assuming it wasn't 'our time' yet; the light disappeared as it went below our bow. I must also assume, as I'm pretty sure Greyhound Buses can't swim, that one very large (and fast) whale was deep enough, or dove, and missed us. He missed us and we missed him. Thank goodness. But, I have to say... phew, that was a close one.
And so my friends, as a new day develops with smooth seas, light winds, and us chugging along towards La Paz, I've started this blog so I can share our last crossing with you. I'll finish it tomorrow so you can have the whole story in order and in one shot.
For now, know we are safe and enjoying our crossing of this beautiful body of water. The Sea of Cortez has provided us with a lifetime of experiences and stories over the seven plus years we've been wintering here.
Ha! Dolphins fishing off our Port side.... must go and watch. Adios till I write again.. CJ
Friday, March 9th.
1828 hrs. I cannot describe well enough for you the vision created by a blazing sunset to one side of us and the pale pastel blues and pinks on the other. Mother Nature's tablet is surreal. I could be floating in a vase of pinks and blues. I can't even see the horizon for the shades of colours that blend the sea and the sky. This is the kind of experience that woos us sailors away from our homes and keeps us coming back. And as the day slips quietly into the night... I am trying to imprint this moment into my memory... forever.
It's later now, quite a bit later. It's dark and there are clouds of mist scattered across the barely visible horizons. We are motor sailing (yes, the mainsail has been up the whole time... it often catches and holds a bit of wind). We have made it to the other side of the wide expanse of the Sea and are heading up along the east side of Ceralvo Island.
Do you remember I told you about being scanned by a drone when we were crossing Banderas Bay in the early hours, after coming north around Cabo Corrientes? Well, I'm experienced now and it didn't take long for me to identify a mysterious object with flashing lights hovering fairly high over our port side. It moved with us for a little while and then scooted back towards land. Hmmm... Cartel or authorities... a 'coin toss' for sure. I worried about that a bit; then decided while the authorities wouldn't worry about being spotted (bright flashing strobe lights) the Cartel would probably 'run dark'. Anyway, I spotted the small little spy ships several times. They must have had a slow night to spend so much time watching us. I really can't get used to these things. Their presence and purpose feels very invasive. But, if I was to take one out with my little flare gun, I expect I wouldn't get to enjoy the rest of our season... sigh. Oh well, on we chugged.
Pre-dawn on Saturday morning found us crossing the top of Ceralvo Island and approaching Lorenzo Channel. Tuamotu, a sailboat ahead of us, and ourselves had to scoot out of the way for two, very large ferries, converging on the same Channel. We continued on our way once they had passed. An easy route south to La Paz, on a beautiful sunny morning.... and by 0900 hrs., we were tied snuggly to our new slip in Marina Palmira. 51.5 hours... not bad at all.
We are delighted to have arrived, finally, in La Paz. Friends Sue and John are still here. They leave Wednesday, aboard a beautiful, sea-going trawler called MV Shorleave, as crew for a four month journey into the South Pacific. We are so glad we arrived in time to bid them safe journeys and help them slip their lines.
We will catch up on our rest and get on with our plans; meeting old and new friends, having new canvas created for SSpirit, and preparing for some cruising in our favourite cruising grounds - north of La Paz. If you think about the location of Loreto... that's the area we'll spend most of our time.
For now... know we are safe and secure and wishing you all your own safe journeys.
Adios until next time. CJ
Posted by: Carolyn (via Kathy's Google mail profile)
