Notes from the Midriff Islands

March 4

There are lots of lizards on these islands, but hardly any on the peninsula. Same for iguanas. On Isla Salsipuedes, we saw a whole village of birds' nests made from dead shrubs. The nests looked almost exactly like the standing bushes except flattened and more carefully spaced apart. They may be seagull nests or tern nests. Now is not quite the season so no one was home, though pelicans were nesting on nearby Isla san Lorenzo. Also on Salsipuedes, we saw forests of cholla that seemed to be like alpine krumholz; the cholla were small and misshapen, formed by wind and sun. We have seen ospreys galore. Every cove has a pair of ospreys tending nestlings on big piles of sticks and feathers and tidbits of ropes teetering on a lofty column of rock.

Up the canyon behind our camp on San Lorenzo, I saw three iguanas. They all scared me. We were pinned down by wind for three days. It blew like a mother. We waited, on the second day, to see what the gradient winds would do. A norther! Caution paid off. It looked like nice sailing at 9 AM. But I was worried about landing at our next camp three hours later. We decided not to go.

Our camp on Isla San Lorenzo

After lunch, while Tim hiked a huge loop over hill and dale, I parked myself on a chair in the lee of an outcrop. Rollers were combing our bay. The pounding got on my nerves. It made me feel battered, though we were relatively protected and had great hidey-holes out of both sun and wind. And a spot that was a sun scoop all day that then radiated warmth after dark. We sat there until nearly 8 PM one evening, without putting on down jackets.

As I sat in my chair, expecting Tim to return, the wind really amped up. It seemed to  be blowing out of the west, making huge breakers at the edge of our cove, beyond the shelter of the point to our north. The waves were starting to wrap around the point and invade the cove, leaving Valdesca kind of exposed. She was bucking hard over the incoming waves. Perhaps we should have moved up the cove into the more protected area right under the point. It was only 2:45. I figured it would blow until almost dark, probably until about 5 PM. Then it would drop off. But that was still another 2 hours away. Tim wasn't there to give me a second opinion. My nerves finally couldn't take it any more so I moved my chair up the canyon to a place where somebody else had built a campfire, probably in conditions like these. Another iguana scared me as it scuttled into a crack to hide.

As the afternoon advanced, gust of wind started blowing down canyon from the interior of the island. This seems to be an afternoon trend. Whatever you do here, in the way of moving on water, the morning seems to be the best time to do it, as early as you can but before 9 AM if you want to be sure it's calm. That's if you don't really care about sailing. If you want to sail, you wait to see what the gradient winds do at 10:30. Or you start out early, if the breeze blows early, but get to shelter before the winds amp up.

As I sat in my chair writing, I couldn't help but compulse about the worsening conditions. There were now huge breaking waves out in our bay. I hoped tomorrow would be better. We wanted to get to the southern tip of San Lorenzo and then cross to the peninsula.

Buffeted by wind, I felt off kilter, like I had just had a beer. Wind speeds were up to 30 knots, or the current going by was really humping things up. San Lorenzo felt as out there as any place we had ever been. The day before yesterday we saw no boats all day until about 3:30 PM, when three pangas passed us at a distance, headed for San Rafael or San Francisquito. Yesterday, did we see any boats at all? Today, none. No cruising sailboats at all since day 1, expect the Hobie Cat. The east side of these islands has to be even more remote.

5:30 PM. Tense. Tide going out, to new-moon low. Valdesca riding big waves now. She's doing OK. But we have maybe an hour to low tide and there's not much water beneath her, and the bottom is bouldery. Fortunately, it's the time of day when the wind usually abates. If it does, the waves will lay down and we won't get such big rollers coming into our cove. We can only cross our fingers and hope. Moving Valdesca now is dangerous--to us and to her. And the more protected part of the cove is getting big rollers, too. As long as the anchor doesn't drag! We have probably 70 ft of rode out in maybe 10 ft of water, a 7:1 ratio, which should be plenty with a good set in sand. We don't have chain on the rode, though, which is not the best situation. So...here's hoping.

We continue our vigil, cautiously sipping wine. Tim suggested I turn my back to the boat so I don't compulse about every wave she has to ride.

March 5

Still afloat! Rollers still coming in, though the wind laid back some during the night. When I got out of my sleeping bag, ready for tea, I asked Tim to pass me the milk. He said, "There's no milk." I could see the quart container of milk right next to him. We had opened it the day before so there should have been plenty. He told me that he had discovered a big hole chewed in the side of the carton, and inside there was a dead mouse. He pointed out to a rock where he had disposed of the mouse, for the seagulls who were begging from us. The mouse was laying out there, all four feet in the air. Tim called him, "Rigor mouse-is." The gulls didn't like that mouse. He was there when we left our camp the next day.