Paper Nautilus (Betsy)

Argonauta Nouryi

A strong wind blew through much of the night. Normally I wouldn't care, but Mystic was at anchor for the final night of our seven month, 4,700 mile cruise and I didn't want any trouble. Besides, it was Friday the 13th.

Despite sleeping fitfully, I was wide awake before the sun poked over Baja's dusty hills. Pulling on yesterday's clothes, I jumped into the dinghy and in my haste to get to the beach I didn't even bother to pump up the tubes that had gone a little soft overnight. This was my last chance to do some beach combing before we went into Marina Palmira in La Paz and put Mystic to bed for the summer.

A quick survey of the beach turned up tracks in the sand along the high tide mark that despite the early hour showed someone had been there before me. First to arrive was a tejon, but not to worry, he was hunting for his breakfast, not shells. Tejons look like raccoons but have pointy snouts and long, cat-like tails. Cute, but vicious little creatures. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coati)

Not finding anything exciting (the tejon probably had the same luck), I picked up a few olive shells, nothing special, but at least they filled my pocket.

Working back towards the dinghy, my eyes continued to sweep the beach for one last, though unlikely, treasure. And there, partially buried in the sand, was a conchologist's prize--a paper nautilus! And I'm not even a conchologist, or at least I wasn't. The whoop that escaped as I bent to retrieve the delicate three-inch shell surprised even me. It was followed by a quick thank you to the very wind I'd been cursing just a few hours earlier.

The paper nautilus is actually an egg case created by an octopus and not a true shell at all. Because they are so fragile most are crushed by the sea long before they reach land. This Argonauta Nouryi was rare find indeed. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noury%27s_Argonaut)

I hope the tejon found what he was after before leaving the beach. I certainly did.

It's all about friends (David)

Cruising in Mexico is all about the people you meet. Sure, the beaches are beautiful, the anchorages benign and the climate is great, but the big contrast compared to the Pacific Northwest is the degree to which one socializes. In the Pacific Northwest, most people are on a one or two week vacation. Even the long term cruisers are all going in different directions. In Mexico it is different: pretty much everyone is moving either up or down the coast and you see the same boats in anchorage after anchorage. Close friendships develop and that is one of the joys of cruising in this part of the world.

Sarah & Darrell (and Sparky of course)

For example, on our very first day in La Paz, we met Sarah, Darrell and Sparky on El Tiburon, (El Tiburon) and enjoyed their company at just about every anchorage throughout the season. Farther down the coast we met the folks on Tapatai, Sarah Jean II, Musik, Rutea, Anna and Miss Teak, to name just a few of our cruising buddies. To further illustrate the point, I'm still in contact with families I met in the South Pacific in 1974 and two prior cruising seasons in Mexico (1990/91 and 1999/00).  Don't get me wrong: we loved our ten years in the Pacific Northwest. With 1000 miles of islands and anchorages between Seattle and Glacier Bay, it's a great place to go boating -- it's just a different cruising experience.

Mexican Train Dominoes

This year, the game of choice is Mexican Train Dominoes. Then there's bocce ball on the beach, dinghy pot-luck raft-ups, tacos & cervezas at beach palapas, excursions to the local markets, shell collecting (quite a competitive sport, as I have learned), dinners in town and of course the camaraderie of shared passages and 'boat talk.'

Happy Hour, La Cruz Yacht Club

In March and April, we said bon voyage to Sarah Jean II, Rutea and others as they departed for the Marquesas. Earlier we wished Silas Crosby safe travels as they left for the Galapagos, Easter Island and Chile. More recently, our group split between those returning home via the 'Baja Bash' and others, like us, who are leaving their boats in Mexico for the summer.


Unlike earlier years, these are not really goodbyes because we can stay in touch via e-mail. For example, everyday we read of Sarah Jean II's progress across the Pacific and their adventures in the Marquesas, Tuamotus and beyond via their beautifully-written blog postings (Sarah Jean II). We also always enjoy Meredith Lewis' writings aboard Silas Crosby.

Dinghy Pot Luck Raft-Up

Drinks aboard Mystic

Loreto Fest

Mission San Javier (David)

Just getting there was an adventure

Just after Loreto Fest, a bunch of cruisers anchored in Puerto Escondido climbed aboard a four-wheel-drive troop carrier for the drive to Mission San Javier. Located in rugged mountainous terrain about 25 miles west of Loreto, Mission San Javier was founded in 1699, the second oldest (after Loreto) of the west coast missions. Just getting there was a three hour adventure as the mission appears to be in the middle of nowhere.

Today the narrow arroyo is inhabited by just a few locals who maintain the mission and run a tourist restaurant, but back at the beginning of the eighteenth century this was home to a community of about 20,000 Indians before smallpox and other diseases took their toll.

Mission San Javier

It's been reported that when the first service was held, Father Miguel del Barco was horrified to see the locals turn up in their native dress, that is, no clothes at all for the men, and a small covering for the women. Furthermore, the mission interior proved to be quite chilly in winter. When the good Father preached about the choice between eternal damnation in the fires of Hell versus the more nebulous benefits of Heaven, most expressed a preference for Hell because at least it was going to be warm!

Anchor watch (David)

We are in Puerto Escondido, the most protected anchorage in Mexico. It's 2:00 am. It's blowing 30 knots, gusting 37. We are on anchor watch. WTF?

Yesterday morning, the second day of Loreto Fest,  we listened as always to Don Anderson's weather forecast on the Sonrisa net. "It's going to be really honking all the way down the Sea of Cortez, starting tomorrow afternoon," he says. When Don says "honking" we pay attention: he has an uncanny ability to get it right.

When we arrived in Puerto Escondido a few days ago, I envied the people who had reserved one of the many buoys. They looked secure and well spaced, whereas we had to squeeze amongst the 100 or more anchored boats. As the wind built up during the day I let out more chain. A little later, I hailed the ketch right behind us. He had out 150 ft, same as us. "How about letting out another 30 ft?"  I asked. He readily agreed: now we both had out 180 ft. Not as much scope as I would have liked in 40 ft of water given the forecast, but the swinging room was limited in the crowded anchorage.

I set an anchor alarm that sounds next to our bed, but cannot sleep. Betsy is also wide awake. We take turns sitting in the pilot house keeping an eye on everything. The anchor is holding: our track on the Nobeltec screen paints a wide arc as we swing back and forth, but there is no sign of dragging. I can see the two smaller arcs from before we let out more chain. Everything looks OK. I still cannot relax. I don't remember when I last checked the seizing on the anchor shackle. I ask Betsy: she says she looked at it last time we raised anchor and it was fine. I plot a course to get us out of the anchorage just in case. It would be difficult to maneuver through 150 boats in the dark with 30 knots blowing, and then exit the narrow, shallow channel, but, hell, a crappy plan is better than no plan at all.

The pre-dawn light shows whitecaps throughout the anchorage. The VHF chatter starts. Several boats on mooring buoys have chafed through their pennants and back-up lines: they are circling the anchorage looking for a place to put down the hook. I'm not envious of the buoys anymore, in fact I love our 7/16" chain and 110lb Bruce!

Just as Don forecast, it blows all the next day and most of the following night.

Tuesday morning it is calm and beautiful. No boats damaged, no one hurt. The Loreto Fest organizers offer free margaritas and food: everyone shows up. Another day in paradise.

Blindfolded dinghy races (Betsy)

Put two people in a dinghy, blindfold the driver and have the other person navigate. Trust. It's all about trust.

Today, Betsy of Mystic and Katie of Miss Teak entered the LoretoFest Dinghy Race. I was driving, Katie was navigating.

The rules were simple: cross the starting line, circle a boat in the distance (without hitting or damaging it), return to the start and retrieve a big Micky Mouse that's been tossed into the sea. Easy? Not on your life.

Katie and I, the only all-girl entry, laughed and cheered the dinghies that went before us. Then suddenly it was our turn. Looking us in the eye, the rough, gray-haired race organizer said, "I'm counting on you two". Jeez, as if we didn't have enough pressure from the talented, speedy teams that had gone before us!

Easing toward the starting line, Katie positioned herself low in the bow as I pulled the blindfold over my eyes. I heard the starting gun, goosed the throttle and we were off. For the first forty-five seconds we were flying. Then I stopped trusting Katie's instructions. I heard her emphatic starboard, starboard, but instead let my own head and blind sense of direction take over, throwing us off course.

I so wanted to pull off the blindfold and see where in the heck we were. All the while, Katie kept shouting directions and managed to retrieve that life-jacketed Mickey Mouse. And as you might have guessed, we did not take home the trophy.

What a powerful lesson in trust. I just wish I could have seen it.

Surrounded by the Mexican navy (Betsy)

Midday surprise

We left Puerto Vallarta early this morning for an overnight passage to Mazatlan. We always want our passages to be uneventful but we don't always get our way.This afternoon a Mexican navy vessel came racing at us then swiftly veered off, but not before I snapped a quick photo. Strange, but this is Mexico. At dinner we commented on a boat that had been shadowing us for several hours, but no biggie, it's usually just some other cruising boat traveling about the same speed as Mystic.

Mexican navy in stealth mode

Later, alone on night watch I dimmed the lights and was enjoying an amazing full moon (the brightest in twenty years) when my moon suddenly morphed into a five million candlepower spotlight. I quickly eased back on the throttle—our signal that the off-watch person was needed topsides—which brought David running. We tried to identify the boat that was nearly on top of us: drug runners, navy, fisherman wanting a beer, we had no idea.

I repeatedly hailed the menacing boat and got the same response: a spotlight in my eyes from 50 feet away. I asked their intentions, same response. Fed up, David got out our spotlight and shined it back at them: it was the Mexican navy, again. That finally got them talking. After a few Spanglish questions about us and our boat they announced they were launching their rubber boat and would be boarding us for a "routine inspection" in ten minutes. Routine? At night? We waited as Mystic wallowed 25 miles offshore. David and I have a rubber boat too, and it takes us about two minutes to hoist it off the boat deck and pop it into the water.

It took the navy an hour-and-a-half to launch their rubber boat and send six men over to us. More specifically, it took the Mexican navy an hour-and-a-half to call in the three big boats that were now circling us.

Once on board the seamen took off their shoes but kept their guns. One guy asked the questions, another cradled a big radio that continuously transmitted everything we said, and a third just stood there, Uzi in hand, pointed downward, thankfully.

It was soon clear to them that we were just cruisers on an overnight passage and the conversation shifted to the beautiful sights in Mazatlan, the Mexico of years past, even tacos al pastor.

I followed the boss down below as he made his "routine inspection", and there, out of earshot of that transmitting radio, he told me why the navy had surrounded Mystic. They'd had a tip that a boat similar to ours was transiting the area with a shipment of bad stuff that they hoped to intercept. He acknowledged that the navy had been shadowing us, apologized for the inconvenience and advised that they were keeping the waters safe for everyone.

As I write this I can see the lights of the Mexican navy in the distance, one boat to port, another to starboard. And I'm kind of glad they're there.

(This was Mystic's second boarding in six weeks. All told, we were boarded 5 times by the Mexican navy this cruising season. Gone are the days when you could cruise Mexico without having all the necessary documents present and correct).

Gasoline, Mexican style (Betsy)

David and I are still enjoying Mexico and as we travel from anchorage to anchorage we always manage to sample a little bit of the local color.

Today it was a girls trip (plus Ted, one of the husbands) to the Careyes Resort for lunch.

The guys ferried us ashore in Chamela where we strolled down a beautiful sandy beach and up to the main road where one of the women thought we might be able to catch a taxi for the 25 minute ride to Careyes. Not. We're in Chamela, not San Francisco. I suggest that perhaps we can find a guy with a pickup truck to squire us but my idea is poorly received. Eventually I find a young woman whose brother, Luis, is willing to drive us in his van.

Luis quotes a price of about $20 round trip for all of five so we climb aboard and are off. I'm sitting in the front seat chatting away with Luis about the latest iPhone exploit and sharing our thoughts on what the next iPad is going to look like (who would have thought that our driver was actually a full time geek who was just kind enough to give us a ride!) when he suddenly pulls off the narrow road onto the dusty shoulder.

The local gas station.

Luis explains that if we are going to make it to Careyes -- and back -- he needs to buy some gas. The gas station turns out to be a shack with an assortment of jerry jugs, a few bottles of engine oil and a huge pin-up calendar of the hot babe of the year.

 Luis places his order with the gas station attendant who brings out a couple of well used jerry jugs and a length of hose. The man hoists the jug onto his shoulder, puts one end of the hose in the jug and the other in his mouth and in no time at all gravity has done its job.

Human gas pump.

We all pile back into the van and continue on to Careyes and a delightful lunch.

When it's time to go back, Luis is ready and waiting for us. We retrace our steps, climb back into our dinghies and zip back to our boats. I'm feeling a bit richer for my interesting ride with Luis.

Luis and the girls (minus Ted)

(David and I are resting up this evening in preparation for a midnight departure north. Mystic will be traveling in the company of several other boats, all of us hoping the weather window is big enough for us to get around Cabo Corrientes and into Puerto Vallarta before the next big blow.)

Navigating in Mexican waters (David)

In US waters we trust the charts, both paper and electronic. With the help of GPS plotters, you know your position within a few feet. In Mexico, however, many of the charts, generated from survey data taken in the 19th century, are off by one or two miles! For example, it is disconcerting (to say the least) to find Isla Isabela more than a mile to the south east of its charted position. Furthermore, the electronic charts, at least those supplied by Nobeltec, show no detail whatsoever. 

While in La Paz, we met Bill Stockton on board True Love, a beautiful Waterline 53. Bill has written a program called ChartAid that captures a Google Earth photo of any location you choose and geo-references it to the chart on the Nobeltec screen, thus placing the photo in exactly the correct position and scale on the display. One can zoom in to whatever resolution is available from Google Earth. Wow -- what a difference this makes to navigating in Mexico! I can thoroughly recommend this $99 program.

This Nobeltec screen shot shows the charted position of Isla Isabela, compared with the actual position shown by the Google Earth photo.

Zooming in for more detail, you can even see the fishermen's shacks on the beach (click on the photo for an enlarged view).

Mystic is anchored just south of the rocks on the east side. Although the south bight is more protected, it has a reputation as an 'anchor-eater' because of underwater boulders.

Boarded by the Mexican navy (Betsy)

Shoes off, please

We arrived in Tenacatita, one of our all-time favorite Mexican anchorages, and within ten minutes of putting the hook down the Mexican navy came aboard Mystic. They didn't announce themselves nor did they ask permission to board. They just brought their launch alongside and stepped aboard.

Three well-armed men stood on our swim platform and were about to enter the boat when I stopped them and (in my best Spanish) said they were welcome to come into the boat but they needed to take off their black-soled shoes first. They looked at me like I was crazy (and so did David) but I stood my ground and after a moment of "What the ...?" two of the Uzi-wielding soldiers took off their shoes and came inside.

While their companion waited outside the other two asked us two pages of questions in Spanish. Did I mention that David and I barely speak Spanish? We offered them lemonade and chips with guacamole but they kindly declined saying they'd already had lunch on their big gray mother ship. The guys in the salon were polite and friendly and the third guy stood on the aft deck looking totally left out.


Having satisfactorily answered their many questions one of the guys pulled out a small camera and took photos of our passports, our radios and all the electronics in our navigation console. As they prepared to leave I said they couldn't go until we had a photo together. David looked at me again like I was crazy but picked up a camera and took a shot of me with two of the Mexican Navy's finest.

After a few more pleasantries the two guys put their heavy black shoes back on, climbed back into their launch and shot off back to their mother ship.

Mind you, this experience was far more pleasant than any experience we have had with our U.S. Homeland Security. See: We just wanted to have lunch

Salt on a bird's tail (Betsy)

Magnificent Frigatebird.

When my sister and I were little my mother used to tell us to go catch a bird. She said that if we approached a bird very slowly and quietly we could put a little salt on its tail and would be able to catch it. Armed with salt shakers my sister and I spent ages sneaking around the yard chasing down robins and chickadees that would quickly flit away. What my mother really wanted, and got, was a some peace and quiet without kids underfoot.

Isabela fishcamp.

We recently visited Isla Isabela, a small, rocky island off the mainland coast of Mexico that would have my mother running wild with a salt shaker. Isabela is host to an unbelievable concentration of seemingly tame birds. Other than a small fish camp and a tumble-down research station with a few birdwatching grad students, the island is undeveloped and predator-free.

Brown-footed Booby

The birds, brown- and blue-footed Boobys and Magnificent Frigatebirds, rule this roost.The boobys have got the ground covered and the frigates control the shrubs and low trees. Not to be outdone, large numbers of iguanas warm themselves each day before disappearing into rocky nooks and crannies when the sun goes down.

They might be yellow but these
are actually "Green Iguanas"

What makes this place so fascinating is just how approachable the birds and iguanas are. It's easy to get within a few feet without scaring them off. I'd happily salt and catch a booby in memory of my mother but I don't think the bird would appreciate it.

Looking for a hot chick!

Like the boobys, the frigates have an unusual mating ritual. The males have what looks like a red turkey wattle under their beaks that they inflate to attract a female. Once properly courted, the frigatebird builds its twiggy nest in low trees and shrubs and never leaves it unguarded for fear of losing its nest material to other frigatebirds.

Booby mother and chick

Walking around the shrubbery I was surprised to find the ground littered with eggs that awkward would-be parents bumped from their nests. Given the number of birds on the island I don't think the occasional lost egg will put the frigatebirds on the endangered species list any time soon. Following an elaborate courtship dance the boobys build a rough nest on the ground. After laying two eggs (the second is insurance should the first one not survive), the booby stays put for nearly a year to raise its young as well as protect the chick from an opportunistic frigatebird out for an easy meal.

Isla Isabela is an amazing place and well worth the small detour we made to get there. If you ever want a little kid-free time send your child into the garden with a salt shaker. If you want them to bring home a bird, take a trip to Isla Isabela.

The dinghy dilemma (David)

Power boaters often go to Mexico with their Pacific Northwest dinghies. Typically these are heavy rigs with electric starters, center consoles and big outboards -- stable, comfortable and fast, but quite impossible to bring through the surf and haul up the beach in Mexico, even with wheels. Many of the great anchorages on the outside of Baja and the mainland require surf landings, so the question was what do do?

For this trip, I decided to also bring a lightweight dinghy: an air-floor Walker Bay with an old 8HP motor and wheels. Either of us can haul this rig up the beach with one hand and no back strain. We still use the big Avon in protected anchorages in the Sea of Cortez, or places where there is a dock to tie up to. Although the Walker Bay can easily be deflated and stowed, most of the time it rides on top of the Avon. Mounting dinghies this intimately in public is against the law in Arkansas, but no problema in Mexico!                        

The wheels have it (Bahia Tenacatita)