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.

Animas Slot

Can you tell where the entrance is?

Is it worth it?

Land of the saints and angels

We are now in Santa Rosalia. In recent days, we've also been to Isla Angel de la Guarda (Guardian Angel Island), Isla San Lorenzo (Saint Lawrence Island), Cabo San Miguel (Saint Michael Cape), Punta San Francisquito (Saint Frances), Punta Santa Ana (Saint Anne Point), Tres Virgenes (Three Virgens), Boca San Miguel (Saint Michael's river mouth), and Cabo Virgenes (Cape Virgens). For good measure, we also passed Punta Animas and Isla las Animas (Spirits Point and Spirits Island). I guess all these names come from people who traveled these same waters and kept crossing themselves and saying novenas that they'd make it out to tell the story. Kind of like us.

This leg of our trip, from Bahia de los Angeles to Santa Rosalia, has been a ball buster, in the parlance. We stopped at Isla Salsipuedes (Leave-If-You-Can Island). We tried to get to Puerto Refugio (Refuge Port) but had to turn back because we were in dire need of refuge, and Puerto Refugio was too far away to be useful. You haven't heard from us until now, though we have been sailing since February 25th, because we have been out there, far far back of beyond, in a place where nobody else seems to go. At least in winter. We kept wondering, "Why are we the only ones out here? What does everybody else know that we don't?" There are no stores. No internet cafes. The charts are terrible; the GPS plots our locations on land when we are at sea and at sea when we are comfortably camped on shore. There were days when we didn't even see any fishermen in pangas. Was the weather going to change? We wouldn't have known. We couldn't get any weather stations on our shortwave radio. And there was no traffic on the VHF radio. We finally gave up trying and left the radios in the navigation box.

We had to learn the signs of an impending weather change. One morning on Isla San Lorenzo, Tim started packing up camp and moving gear down the beach in preparation for taking off. I told him, "I don't feel comfortable going. The wind is already blowing from the north and it's only 8:00 AM. There are horses (whitecaps) out there already and the tide is ebbing. Let's wait until the gradient winds kick in around 10:30 and the tide changes. We'll see if the wind amps up or dies out. And we'll see if the horses get bigger when the tide is running contrary to the wind. I'm not worried about the conditions right now but in three hours when we want to land. If the wind amps up, we're going to have to cross some fierce wind sheer along the island with giant waves." Tim agreed that we would lose nothing by waiting. So we waited. And what do you know but by 10:30 it was blowing hard with seas too big for us to sail in safely. We had predicted a norther. Thereafter, we'd take notes on our observations: mares' tails streaming from the north, cloud cover building in the north, barometer climbing and falling but no consistent trend, wind from the south, backing to the east. And then wait and see what happened, as a test of our hypothesis that a north wind would soon begin blowing. The day we made those observations, it did.

This is hard-won experience. A few days before we learned some of these signs, we left Punta Pescador (Fisherman Point) in a happy little northerly breeze at about 8:30 AM. We set all the sails and gaily sailed toward Animas Slot, a tiny little cove in Punta Animas. This part of our route was a series of large bays punctuated by big headlands that jut out into the Gulf. The points influence the wind and the current, creating tidal races and wind sheer that can be dangerous when the wind is up and deadly when the wind and current are opposed. We were sailing towards Punta Animas in a northerly breeze with an ebbing tide but the tide soon changed and the seas built, accordingly. As we approached the point, the seas were getting truly gigantic. And the wind was amping up. I had a photo of the slot and a chartlet in a cruising guide but they were on different pages so I kept having to pull the guide out of the plastic chart case to flip back and forth. This was before I decided that it wasn't only weenies who plugged in waypoints to navigate to destinations. Tim was at the helm. I told him where I thought the slot was located. He looked at the photo and said I had it right on. We got in close, doused the jib and slacked the main. We got the motor ready in case we needed an extra boost. As we got close, I said, "This isn't it! It's the next cove!" Tim said, "You're kidding!" He turned us around, did a few unplanned jibes. I jumped to the transom and tried to start the motor. We hit a big wave on the quarter and I went tumbling into the cockpit, giving myself a few new bruises and scraping some skin off my knees. I kept telling Tim to aim high, as close to the northern shore as he could get. We didn't want to get close to the southern shore of the slot because of the rocks and breaking waves. Tim said, "Are you sure we can get in here?" I told him I could see that there was calm water inside. Besides, we really had no choice. Well, the only choice was to keep going south, but the guide book warned there were no protected camps for a good long ways. I suppose we could have gone back out and deployed our para-anchor, but we hadn't even practiced with it yet. It was tense, but we made it in. We tossed an anchor down in a quiet eddy out of the wind. And Tim christened the cove, "Enema Slot." Forever after, that's what it will be.

Another day, before we'd learned our lessons, we headed out from a beautiful white beach to round Cabo San Miguel. Tim asked me, "What does the kayak guide say about this point?" I told him, "It says nothing. But I wouldn't conclude that it truly IS nothing. It may be like the Grand Canyon after you run Horn Creek. Then you run the Gems which are all rated class 7 but everybody runs them without a nod. Not that they aren't hard. But by then you should be firing on all cylinders." As we approached Cabo San Miguel, we had some wind from the north but no more than a good day's sailing wind, 15-18 knots. We did have the tide against us. But we were south of the Midriff Islands, where the tide has to squeeze through narrow channels between islands. We were in the full-on, wide Gulf. Why would there be a tidal race? As we got closer and closer, the swell got bigger and bigger. And bigger. And bigger. It was Hawaii 5-0. Tim was hanging on to the tiller and surfing us down giant breaking waves.

The seas were confused, wacky waves, coming at us from all directions, requiring vigilance and agility at the helm. I kept muttering, "Stay your course! Stay your course!" as we slipped sideways to a wave and nearly broached. Eventually...eventually...we made it through the other side and into a safe cove in the lee of the headland. I won't repeat Tim's first comments. Tim, who never gets riled up.

After doing something like that, we often try to compare it to a whitewater rapid. Rapids are rated. These headlands are not. I asked Tim, "OK, compared to Lava, what would you rate this?" Lava is one of the biggest rapids in the Grand Canyon. On a scale of 1 to 10, it's rated a 10. Tim said, "Jeez, you run Lava in like three minutes. How long were we in the bad part, coming around this cape?" I said, "An hour." So...like running 20 Lavas. I've been thanking my saints and guardian angels ever since.

It's blowing like stink!

Well, what did I expect? It's Baja, after all. We have had some rollicking times on the high seas. The day we launched, we decided to take off as well. That meant a lot of slam-bam rigging, accompanied by bruised knees and cuts and scrapes incurred while stepping the masts and tying down the load in a fair chop. As I started to rig the mainsail, I dropped the jaws of the gunter into the ocean. That was good. Luckily, the water was only about 5 ft deep and we were able to fish it out. A screw had worked its way loose on the drive down, allowing the jaws to drop off. Once we were loaded and ready to go, the sun was about to set. We were embarking onto unknown waters, but with the assurances of some people we had consulted, we set off for Puerto Don Juan about 9 miles away across the bay. We got there in the dark, with a half moon above. We stayed on the boat that night, listening to the coyotes howling on shore. In the morning, we got a real coyote show as they chased one another along the beach and hunted fish in the surf.

Day before yesterday, we camped under the volcano on Isla Coronado. Tim hiked to the top (a real doozy of a hike, he said) and took this photo of a lagoon south of the volcano.

Yesterday, we sailed back to the peninsula from the islands, hoping to get to Bahia de Los Angeles to resupply. The west winds were intense, however. Faced with a steep chop and wind in our teeth, we turned around and found a sweet camp in the lee of a rocky cliff, where we camped the night on a gravel beach. When I woke to the sunrise, I told Tim, "I like this 5 star hotel we're staying in!" That's where we saw the seagull and the cloud.

Bahia de Los Angeles is a town of about 1000 people. It's way off the beaten track. Especially this time of year, which is early for sailors to be here. It's because of the westerly winds that are typical in this season. We have seen practically no other sailors. Only one 16 ft Hobie Cat. Those people are crazier than we are. They started in San Felipe and were headed to La Paz. A friend we made here, John, said he wasn't convinced they were equal to the conditions. I hope WE are!

We are certainly happy about having a larger gas tank this year. The crossings between islands, and from peninsula to islands, are long and conditions not predictable. I'm glad we have the gas in case the winds fail us. Sometimes we have had wind, just not the RIGHT wind.  At some point, you just have to take what you're dealt and make it work--sails, motor, oars, whatever works.

We met some fishermen on Isla Angel de la Guarda (which is back of beyond). We were happy to see some other human beings. They were out there diving for sea cucumber, which they sell to the Chinese. They shared ceviche with us (fish, lime, and tomato) and scallops, extracted from the shells right on the beach in front of us. We shared a lot of laughs with them, and learned a lot about they way they live and how they fish. They dive with a breathing tube connected to a compressor. Nothing fancy like SNUBA. More than likely, they are using an old refrigerator compressor and a garden hose. Tim has said several times, thinking of the roaring wind, the 57 degree water, and the diving equipment, "I don't envy them that job." It's kind of ridiculous that we are out here doing what they do, minus the fishing, for fun. They must think we are cracked.

Bahia de los Angeles!

I'm posting this from what appears to be a toy store in Bay of LA. The connection is super slow so I can't write much, or post photos. We arrived a couple hours ago. The wind is whipping! Am I surprised? It's been blowing the whole way down here. We stayed last night near Catavinya, an area of huge granite boulders not unlike Joshua Tree National Monument except that there are cardons and boojums and other odd species of cacti endemic to Baja. We threw the bags on the ground, after sandwiches, beer, and biscotti with chocolate-covered raisins. The light at sunset was magnificent, glowing for a long time first in the western sky and then in the eastern sky. This morning, we got coffee from the hotel (the one where we stayed last year). The waiter had to ask all the other employees in the hotel for pesos to make change for my 100 peso bill.

The drive from there to here was a cinch, though most of the road allowed us to go only 35 mph because of the all the patched potholes. The road from the turn-off to Bay of LA was the best piece of road we've seen. Smooth sailing! And the geology. OMG! If I were looking for a PhD project, I'd have found it. I think I am seeing the 12 million year old tuff I mapped in my own thesis field area well to the north of here. Joann (my thesis advisor) saw this tuff out on Isla Angel de la Guarda, which we can see from our camp. The original deposit was torn apart and separated along various faults when the Gulf began rifting not long after the tuff was deposited. Tim asked if I could pick up a piece of it and know it was the same tuff. No, not with any degree of confidence. But the relationships look right. Maybe next year we'll rent a house here and I can map to my heart's content. Pete? Want to rent a house with us?

So Valdesca has made it to the sea! We aren't going to launch today as the anchorage would be dodgy with all this wind blowing straight into the bay. Tim doesn't relish doing Sea Hunt just yet.

En route!

Yesterday we crossed the border at Mexicali. We had spent the night in the desert near Yuma. It was blowing a bit as we set up to go to bed. So we decided to try sleeping in the Nissan. Not in the boat under the tarp. Never again. Tim thought we could just lay our paco pads over top of all the stuff and slide in on top. I was dubious as the remaining vacant area was all of about a foot, kind of too much like a sarcophagus. But I bravely tried it out. And got stuck half way in. And then had to swivel around, the whole time hollering, "This isn't going to work! This isn't enough room!" Then I started to get claustrophobic. I opened the side door of the car and tried to slide out but figured I'd break my neck if my feet slipped when they hit the ground, since I was face up. I hollered for Tim to help me. Well, if he didn't take his time... He grabbed my legs and dragged me out. Whew! That was bad!

So I started hauling all the stuff out of the car to make room for us. But pretty soon we uncovered the folded seat backs and Tim remembered why he doesn't like sleeping in the Nissan. It's too short. He suggested we just sleep in the lee of the vehicle, on the desert pavement. OK, that was the winner concept. We had to stake down the groundcloth, though, so it wouldn't blow away. And I looped my crocs over my rock hammer, for the same reason.

Well, everything was more or less OK until the wind changed direction and amped up a good bit. It blew like stink all night long. I kept flipping over because of the hard surface, and having to scooch my sleeping bag and liner around to keep the warmth on top of me. And I had the cord yanked tight around my face so I just had a little round window. Oy, it was pretty miserable. I was hugging the dry box to stay in its lee. We got up early (no kidding) and realized it was a full on Baja norther. Oh boy! Whose idea was this?

We shot for the border, past all those sand dunes at Imperial Dunes Recreational Area, thinking, "That's where all the sand went from the desert pavement WE were camped on!" We crossed the border in Mexicali, at the OLD border crossing downtown. It still exists. Last year, I guess we crossed at the new truck crossing. The only problem was we couldn't find that Starbucks! And we were in desperate need of caffeine, especially to make it over La Rumorosa, the incredibly steep road that goes over the mountains to Tijuana. We didn't see anything resembling a decent cafe. Lots of car dealerships, tire repair shops, Sam's Club, a spiffy new Burger King, malls, Chinese restaurants, the whole border town deal. But no coffee. With great foresight, I had stocked up on Trader Joe's cafe lattes in the can. You can say, "Gross!" But when you need coffee, they taste pretty dang good. So we stopped by the side of the road, and I rummaged around in the food boxes for the 'Power Shots' as we call them. Coffee with Aunt Rose's nussenkipfle left over from Christmas. Can't get much better than that. And handfuls of my homemade granola. That kept us going all the way across Laguna Salada and up La Rumorosa.

We got to Tecate, on the toll road, scrambling around to find enough pesos and dollars to pay the tolls. We didn't have much cash on hand. I had to use my Sacajawea dollar I was saving... We had some beta on the Tecate crossing that said there were traffic delays due to construction. But we didn't get the implication that the problem was south of Tecate on Mexico 3 that goes to Ensenada. So I happily suggested we take that road, and Tim happily assented. We set off down Mexico 3 and promptly ran into a detour that took us down an incredibly steep hairpin a gravel truck was straining to get up. A couple of detours later we realized, "Uh oh. This is the construction they were warning us about." We had decided to spend the night in Ensenada because you can either stay there or a LOT farther south in San Quintin, after climbing up and over some more mountains. Tim said, "At least we have the whole day to get to Ensenada." Well, it didn't take that long. And we did get to see some sights. A road crew cutting the grass at the side of the ride with machetes. Another crew shoveling dirt into 5 gallon buckets. A guy filling a cut-off coke bottle with gravel. Huh? This is a highway project? In all fairness, they did have big equipment on the job, too. But it was as if they had all these extra guys who wanted jobs so they told them, "Bring your equipment and come help!" If it's only a machete, you can cut the grass!

We got to Ensenada in the early afternoon. We were kind of trashed after the miserable night before. We checked into Hotel Mision Santa Isabel, where they have guarded parking behind the hotel. Walked the malecon, but couldn't find the sea lions we saw there last year. We stopped at a little restaurant by the water and had fish tacos. They served us four kinds of salsa: jalapeno, chile de arbol, avocado, and mayonnaise. Later we realized they hadn't served us (gringos that we are) the habanero chile salsa. It had the look of melon sherbet. I probably would have scooped a big wad onto my taco. The waitress said, "That's REALLY HOT!" They saved me from myself.

Now we are sipping coffee in a pleasant little internet cafe (using the neighbor's wifi connection, by the admission of the cafe's owner, who is wearing a jaunty blue beret). The connection is slow so I can't upload photos. He should complain to his neighbor. We are leaving now for points south. More updates as we go.