More snippets

Mar 17

Started at 12:15 PM from Santa Rosalia. Peter rowed. Sailed a bit. Wind died. Then motored. Passed Punta Bufechero and anchored at the second beach, a clean gravel beach. This is where we encountered the osprey last year. No ospreys sitting on the nest now. Though there are nestlings just over the ridge; we heard them early this morning. Next beach up, Jane says, is a mess of garbage. Anchored in about 10 ft of water, many big rocks. Did a clothesline. We were swimming this last year.

Valdesca handles well despite the load. Four people, gear, supplies, and water for at least 5 days. We all did the shopping and packing. Tim took the car to San Bruno and returned in <1 hr.

San Marcos has so much life. Yellowtail rounding up mackerel. Pelicans diving, seagulls chattering, osprey fishing and calling to nestlings, dolphins, sea lions. More life than we have seen elsewhere. Tidal currents apparent around Punta Bufechero.

Mar 21  Caleta los Pilares

Tacking back and forth into easterly-southeasterly, then up comes a big blow from the SE. We turned “a pata” and went back 4 miles to Caleta los Pilares, where we anchored and camped. I visited the abandoned Gavilan manganese mine with Jane near dark. Found some nice chunks of ore. Beautiful hour to be out and about. 

Mar 22  Below Bahia San Lino

Sitting out another blow, with Peter pacing up and down the beach wanting to sail. Tim and I are perfectly happy to stay on the beach. Hard to reconcile. We just aren’t hairball sailors. And four of us are safe on the beach. Wishing we’d stopped at Punta Colorado. Tim and I would have, had we been alone. Nice place to stop, after 16 miles, and assess the situation. And sit out the westerly that was gusting until dusk yesterday and now this norther, neither of which were predicted by buoyweather. As Roger Marin (sailing director at NOLS) told us, you have to do this stretch in good weather because it’s committing.

Missed the call on this norther. I don’t know what signs we didn’t see, or what signs we misinterpreted. No mares’ tails streaming from the N. No barometric fluctuations. We did have the north wind yesterday afternoon, perhaps a precursor. And the calm last night after a big huff around dusk. There was some cloud cover in the north but not persistent; it came and went like we’ve seen other times with cloud cover in the south and clouds that move in from the west. There was the cool, vapor-laden wind last evening. Until dusk, a westerly was pushing the light, northerly gradient wind out into the sea. Really, we didn’t have much to go on. I guess this is one of those northers people get “caught” in. I’ve always thought they were likely to be predictable. I guess ANY wind from the north should be regarded with deep suspicion.

We had a southerly the other day that seemed to come out of nowhere, too. After tacking endlessly upwind in a moderate southerly, the wind amped up and came at us like a wall. We were looking south at the whitecaps. And two sailboats headed north were reefed. One had a storm trysail, looked like, and a storm jib. The other had a furled jib alone.

Yesterday, during the westerly, we saw a cruiser go by, heading south, ghosting along on a mainsail before the wind. No jib. Then, the boat passed into the zone of westerly wind and changed to a starboard tack, spilling a lot of wind from the main. That told me the westerly gusts were significant.

Today, there are no boats about. No cruisers. No pangas. Everybody is sitting tight. Of course, the fishermen don’t catch much on a day like this. Or they fish the few calm spots around, of which there aren’t many here.

Tim hiked out to the lighthouse earlier this morning. Didn’t see much hopeful in terms of better anchorages. The way to go, if we decided to leave this beach, would be to go way out and sail far. The landings are the problem, though, no matter if you land nearby or far away. Tim said Caleta San Sebastian looked hellish for a landing. There were huge rollers sweeping down the coast, which would make it tough to hit that tiny slot, especially with the shoals on the south side. We already know of one sailboat that came to grief on those shoals not too long ago.

We are about mid-tide now, at noon. Either the tide will keep flooding slowly until early tonight (if the tides here are like Santa Rosalia) or it will go slack for a while and then flood some more (if, on the other hand, the tides here are like Loreto). In any event, it will rise another 40 cm. We have to keep the boat in as calm a spot as possible by adjusting the anchor rode. Tim thinks Punta la Laguna (last year) was much worse—a steeper shore, a bigger break, and Valdesca was dragging her anchor. So far, no dragging. We’ll see with higher water.

I should never have relaxed on my tidal vigilance. Tides obviously still make a big difference. And protection from north winds should always be considered—and found! Obviously, those winds can appear out of a blue sky.

I think after this, we’ll pull the boat wherever we drop off Pete and Jane. We can go to Bahia Concepcion and sail around there with a light load. That would be fun. Neither of us needs to do more miles.

Tim is back and says Medano Blanco surf is worse than this beach. There was a marginally protected cobble beach at the N end of Medano Blanco that looked possible, but not easy to get into. The landings more than the sailing are the bight (haha—bite!).

It’s warming up here in the sun. Wind continues unabated. But not amping up either. We seem to be down to five waves off the beach, not seven. Maybe the surf is laying down a little. There’s a sandbar taking most of the hit. Valdesca is riding behind the bar. Another Hawaii 5-0. If you just wanted to be at a beach, you’d be pretty happy with this one. Beautiful colors—marine blue, emerald, olive green, white, and the cream-colored sand. Looking out, as far as I can see, there is nothing, just water.

The wind has shifted some this morning—from NW to N. Now the wind is perpendicular to the waves. This morning the wind was driving the boat down beach. That means the wind is veering, not backing; a good thing.

I wonder what caused that westerly yesterday? There is a topographic low in the peninsula. Maybe just hot air rising over the mountains of the peninsula and then collapsing as the sun passed its apogee. Hard to imagine Pacific air being so hot as that westerly wind.

Platoons of pelicans flying over, in long lines and vees and double vees of 25 or more birds. They soar over the point to the south. A big lift there, I guess, which means wind sheer.

Jane’s question: “Why is the weather so extreme here?” That’s a good one. Desert next to sea. Desert peninsula with cool bodies of water on both sides: Pacific Ocean and Sea of Cortes.

Mar 24  Caleta San Sebastian

Anchored in the cove at San Sebastian, same as last year. Tim and I are lounging beneath the tarp. Jane and Peter are off negotiating purchase of their Baja casita. Jane likely trying to commit their resources to a house and boat down here before Peter buys the blue water sailboat.

We’ll take out here and go to Concepcion Bay for a few days. Eat empanadas and shrimp. See Tap and Anita. Maybe sail to some places where I’d like to see geology—Arroyo Amolares, south end of the bay, Isla Requeson. There will probably be some room for us on the beach at Playa Coyote as it’s late in the season and many people by now have gone north. 

I guess I need to write a book on seat-of-the-pants weather prediction in Baja with caveats about internet sites like buoyweather. This past week, they didn’t hit it once. No prediction of southerly blow. No westerly. No northerly blow. Winds were supposed to be from the SE no greater than 12 knots during the first half of the week and from the NW no greater than 12 knots the rest of the week. Copacetic! Not.

There is really no substitute for experience. We have been keeping track of our observations, predictions, and outcomes. We’ve also learned to leave nothing to chance and to be conservative.

We’ve developed some useful cut-off times for wind and weather. If it’s windy before 8 AM, it will build. Gradient winds kick in by 10:30. Get your traveling done early; get to a protected cove by noon, or plan bail-outs in case weather goes foul en route to a distant, wishful goal.  At dusk, some winds lay down. Some northers start cranking at 3 AM. Westerlies typically start after noon. Local, katabatic winds can displace gradient winds until gradient winds get strong enough to wipe out the topographic winds or the topo winds die (i.e. at dusk).

If a norther dies out mid-day, that’s usually the end of it. Usually. Yesterday, N wind died by 3-4 PM but picked up again today.

We’re trying to make some general observations about El Niño/La Niña years. Northers are more intense and of longer duration in El Niño years.

Here are some maxims that seem to apply down here.

If the birds are flying, the wind is not intense. If the birds are hunkered down, big wind.

First rise after a low signifies a stronger blow.

Mackerel sky, mackerel sky; not long wet, not long dry.

Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky at morning? Mostly useless. Red every night and every morning here.

Often get mares’ tails and mackerel skies coming in from the west that don’t amount to anything. The more organized the pattern, and the more persistent, the more likely it means something. Recall mare's tails and other clouds from all directions at La Reforma. Meant nothing.

Spreading out of contrails in the direction of the upper winds. Useful.

Carry a watch-mounted compass. Keep a log and pen handy. Note times and observations, especially changes.

Distances are huge in Baja. It’s easy to underestimate the size of seas from a quiet cove. Use binoculars. Look for “dragon’s back” wave trains on the horizon. Observe pangas. Are they pounding? Observe sailboats. How much sail are they carrying? Are there even any boats about? When are boats about? Only a couple of boats really early? Lots of sports fishing boats? These observations can really help. Bigger boats often have more information. People coming from towns often have more information.

Mar 26  Caleta San Sebastian

Tim has gone for the car and trailer. He left at 8:30 with Peter, Jane, and Pete, who owns a house here. Tim will hitch to San Bruno from the intersection with Hwy 1. It should take him 5-6 hours, if he gets a ride pretty fast. He’ll get back here no earlier than 2:30 PM. We’ll pull out here (lots of help offered by folks here), and go to Concepcion Bay. We’ll sail there a few more days. Hopefully, we’ll have wind.

1:20 PM, wind blowing hard from the northeast, spilling into the cove. It’s likely 20 knots out there. It started blowing March 21 with a light breeze from the SE. Then, on March 22, it was still in the morning, with a light breeze from the NW in the afternoon. At dusk, the wind from the NW picked up but dropped off during the night. On the 23^rd, it blew hard from the NW-N. On the 24^th, the wind laid down somewhat during the night but started to amp up over the course of the morning, dwindling by about 3 PM. On March 25, a good breeze picked up in the morning, by 8:30, which then amped up during the day and veered to the N-NE. This wind died at night. On the 26^th, the wind kicked in early and blew pretty strongly over the course of the morning, blowing about 20 knots by noon. So it has been blowing hard from the north since 3 AM on March 22, four days of northerly blow.

Sitting under Pete’s palapa reading “Baja’s Hidden Gold” by Herman Hill. Hill is a prospector who apparently still lives in Bahia de los Angeles. He notes that he has always worked alone. He can set his own limits and find his own preferred mixture of risk and reward. He likes the special bond he develops with the desert when he is alone. He is free of distraction to try to become one with his surroundings, to assimilate himself into the realm of nature.