11/3
The rolling motion continues. I have moved my bunk to the sole (floor or deck) to minimize the thrashing, but even here it feels like a bad carnival ride. It’s the price we pay for making 150 land miles in a day.
To torment myself I think about the “Baha Haha Rally” yachts just now pulling into Turtle Bay. That sleepy little fishing village will come to life with over 500 sailing tourists visiting for three days. Minus us.
I'm also thinking about the 27-foot vessel that came alongside us Monday morning so Bruce could help the new yacht owner with his self-steering vane. Turned out the gear was seized up and non-functional, so these two guys had to hand-steer that little boat 300 miles to Turtle Bay. That lessens my misery, but only a little.
It's 7 a.m. and we're just leaving Guadalupe Island to stern, 140 miles off the Baja Coast. The boat is still rolling like a pig in the mud but we're able to sit outside for a carefully made cup of coffee and relive the stop we once made to this desolate island …
On our last passage south, Bruce wanted to go to Guadalupe Island, perhaps because no one else would or maybe because Harry Pigeon had gone there to sea-test his boat. It's a huge rock in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, we anchored close to the island, under steep hills looming above us. It was pretty desolate, except for a colony of the world’s largest sea lions. After our three-day bashing to get there, I thought I should "run the baby" — meaning our son, Kess, who was 18 months old at the time -- so I rowed him ashore.
We didn't get far, though, before the barking blubber on shore let me know the beach was spoken for. Not wanting to test them, we retreated toward Woodwind. Just then a high-speed Panga boat full of military men approached our mothership … and they weren't smiling. This was our first stop in Mexico and I cold only imagine what rules we had broken. Turned out it was just a case of curiosity. The island's only inhabitants were the Mexican Navy and some thirsty fishermen. They came aboard, checked our papers and wished us well. Our second visitors, the fishermen, wanted to trade "bugs" (lobsters) for American beer. We obliged and they started hauling the largest lobsters I'd ever seen out of their Panga’s bilge.
To torment myself I think about the “Baha Haha Rally” yachts just now pulling into Turtle Bay. That sleepy little fishing village will come to life with over 500 sailing tourists visiting for three days. Minus us.
I'm also thinking about the 27-foot vessel that came alongside us Monday morning so Bruce could help the new yacht owner with his self-steering vane. Turned out the gear was seized up and non-functional, so these two guys had to hand-steer that little boat 300 miles to Turtle Bay. That lessens my misery, but only a little.
It's 7 a.m. and we're just leaving Guadalupe Island to stern, 140 miles off the Baja Coast. The boat is still rolling like a pig in the mud but we're able to sit outside for a carefully made cup of coffee and relive the stop we once made to this desolate island …
On our last passage south, Bruce wanted to go to Guadalupe Island, perhaps because no one else would or maybe because Harry Pigeon had gone there to sea-test his boat. It's a huge rock in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, we anchored close to the island, under steep hills looming above us. It was pretty desolate, except for a colony of the world’s largest sea lions. After our three-day bashing to get there, I thought I should "run the baby" — meaning our son, Kess, who was 18 months old at the time -- so I rowed him ashore.
We didn't get far, though, before the barking blubber on shore let me know the beach was spoken for. Not wanting to test them, we retreated toward Woodwind. Just then a high-speed Panga boat full of military men approached our mothership … and they weren't smiling. This was our first stop in Mexico and I cold only imagine what rules we had broken. Turned out it was just a case of curiosity. The island's only inhabitants were the Mexican Navy and some thirsty fishermen. They came aboard, checked our papers and wished us well. Our second visitors, the fishermen, wanted to trade "bugs" (lobsters) for American beer. We obliged and they started hauling the largest lobsters I'd ever seen out of their Panga’s bilge.
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