Night watch (Betsy)

We do our best to avoid night watch. Sometimes we have crew on board to maximize our sleeping hours, but having crew changes our boat mode. This time it's just the two of us running down the coast of Mexico's Baja peninsula, so we've been making day hops from anchorage to anchorage when possible. But now we can't avoid the big "N" any longer.
This morning we poked around a dusty little town collecting a few provisions to tide us over for the next several days until we reach Cabo. We stowed the dinghy on the boat deck, raised anchor and were underway before noon. The next time our anchor touches bottom will be in Magdelena Bay with its rich marine life and perhaps a chance to trade some Goodwill hoodies for lobster with the local fishermen. But first we have to run 26 hours to get there.

By mid-afternoon David is sick. He never gets sick, but he is violently ill. And it isn't seasickness. Must have been the huevos rancheros in Turtle Bay. At one point I find him bent over the bed in our cabin. He's trying to come up to stand his watch but is too sick to even make it up the stairs let alone keep an eye on the boat, so I tuck him in and go back to the pilot house.

It's a lonely feeling being fifty miles offshore, out of sight of land, watching the moon rise as the sun goes down and hoping David will feel better soon.

Before the sun is gone I turn on the running lights so other boats, if there are any, can see us. In the pilothouse, I dim the displays on the navigation equipment and switch on the red console lights to save my night vision.

The hours wear on and occasionally a big wave catches the boat swinging us from side to side before the stabilizers have a chance to do their job, Mystic's long-familiar creaks tell me she is groaning back at the sea. The autopilot grinds as it works to correct our course and once or twice its siren-like wail gives me a start. By the time I jump up to have a look the alarm has stopped and we're back on course. Sometimes we get a "slippery" wave and each time I hope David is asleep and doesn't feel it.

I haven't heard a peep from him in a couple of hours and am hopeful that the drugs he took are working. Just to be sure I go down to check. The night lights are on and I can tell he's asleep. Finally, some rest for him.

I'm feeling peckish, but it's not much fun dining alone so I start the generator and pop a bag of popcorn instead. A glass of wine would be nice, but not with popcorn, so I skip it.

Running in daylight is so different from nighttime passages. During the day I am futzing around the boat doing a little cleaning and chasing down dust bunnies that magically appear in all the regular places. I keep up with my iPad Scrabble. And now that the water is warmer, I put out two fishing rods, one with a cedar plug, the other with a Mexican feather lure. So far the fishing has been terrible. I've managed to catch a bird, yes a bird, and one Bonito, a so-so edible fish that made a mess of the back deck.

Traveling at night is another story. I glance at the radar every few minutes to see if there are any boats in our path, but there aren't. Most boats don't travel at night. I also keep an eye on the various gauges; oops, I suddenly realize the generator is still running after making popcorn and jump up to turn it off. Then I wonder if we have enough fuel in our day tanks to get us through the night. If I open the engine room door to check, it's sure to wake David up. Hmmm.

Looking out the pilothouse windows the moon lights up the sea as it rushes by. If only it would rush by faster so we could be anchored in Mag Bay and David would feel better.

David suddenly appears and offers to stand his watch. But he's still sick. Back to bed with him.

It's only 10:30pm but I've been in the pilothouse since noon and am starting to feel drowsy. Maybe another game of iPad Scrabble will get me going again.

Traveling on a boat at night is like flying a plane at night but with a heck of a lot more room for error. Everything is done by instruments and you have to trust them because it's just plain dark outside.

The sea has quieted a little and the boat motion is gentler now. As the night wears on it might settle some more.

The various boats noises have become part of my night watch rhythm and the slightest change is cause for attention. Fortunately, Mystic has carried us a long way with little trouble and she'll make it through this night without a problem. And so will I.

At 2:00 a.m. David manages to drag himself into the pilothouse. He doesn't look great but says he feeling better. Probably a white lie, but I'm ready to go below for a little rest. Thank you, David. I hope you feel better soon.

Mexico bound (Betsy)

Mystic running down the coast

We've been planning to take Mystic from Canada to Mexico for most of this last year. After a short summer in Canadian waters, we left the beautiful Pacific Northwest, ran down the coast, and settled a short while in San Diego. After some final preparations and some serious provisioning -- half of Trader Joe's and a lot of Costco, we cast off our lines and crossed the border to Mañana Land. Other than a few lumps on our first day out, the seas have been kind to us. Our first Baja anchorages were a bit rolly but Mystic took them well and kept us comfortable -- as well she should since she weighs 100,000 pounds.
 

Dolphin escort

The sea has changed from the cold steely gray of the pacific northwest to a friendly deep blue, and the sun that we see every day looks like a million diamonds bouncing off the sea. We're seeing lots of dolphins -- they love to ride our bow wave, sometimes staying with us for 30 minutes or more. There's something about dolphins that makes them seem like big kids out for fun. We also had a run on whales one day as several of them blew and flipped their tails and fins. Trivia: the Gray whale makes a 12,000 mile round trip from the arctic to its calving grounds in Mexico, one of the longest known migrations.

Inquisitive seals of Benitos

We anchored Mystic at Islas Benitos one afternoon and couldn't believe how many elephant seals littered the beach -- it is calving and mating season. There were a few fights going on between males who were after mating rights, fights that sometimes end in death for the weaker male, or at the very least, a bloody snout. The seals around Benitos are incredibly curious especially compared to their Pacific Northwest relatives. Fifteen or 20 of these guys will come racing toward the dinghy and bob around close by for a bit, then suddenly they'll race back to the rocks before starting their little adventure again. These small seals tend to stay away from the beaches where their ungainly cousins have hauled themselves out.

We're starting to meet other sailors who are also seeking warmer waters. Yhey're coming mostly from California, Washington and British Columbia, though we did meet one couple that came in from Australia via Japan. Also, one very young couple bought a boat in San Francisco in July, quit their jobs in September and jumped off in October. They're final destination is a nice one: the Caribbean.

Eager to turn the corner at Cabo...nice beaches, warm water, colorful fish. Soon. Very soon.

Anacortes to Ensenada (David)

After spending 10 years cruising the Pacific Northwest, Betsy & I decided to return to Mexico for the winter. Our plan was to bring Mystic down the coast from Sidney, BC to San Francisco in late August, continue down to San Diego in October before the winter storms start, and then leave San Diego for La Paz in November at the end of hurricane season in Mexico.

Lach and Kenny on watch

From Anacortes to San Francisco, Betsy & I were accompanied by Becky & Lach McGuigan, long time friends and sailors who spent many years cruising their C&C 49 in the South Pacific. Also joining us was Kenny Murray, an experienced skipper who knows every inch of the coast and is always a pleasure to have aboard.

Other than putting into Brookings for a couple of days to let a gale blow by, we had an easy ride down the coast -- from Brookings to San Francisco, we didn’t see a single whitecap. The most stressful part of the whole trip was navigating through a sail board race under the Golden Gate bridge. This guy seemed intent on becoming prop fodder!

For the Santa Cruz to San Diego leg, it was a bachelor crew including CCA member Bill Forsythe and my neighbor and close friend, Larry Lopp. We left Santa Cruz early on the morning of Oct 13th and cleared Pt. Conception at 8:00am the following day. We enjoyed overnight stops in Ventura and Catalina, where my son Derek and his girlfriend joined us for an all-too-brief visit. 

We entered San Diego bay just as a couple of nuclear subs were leaving. As a special courtesy to the navy, I moved right over to the starboard side of the channel. That wasn’t good enough for the Coast Guard chase boats: they wanted me completely out of the channel and practically on the rocks. Since the boomers had enough fire power on board to obliterate half the planet, I decided to comply.