Puerto Escondido is the one of the ‘hurricane holes’ on the Sea of Cortez. It has a mile-long lagoon with a teeny tiny opening of maybe 50 meters. The immediate land area seems to have been under construction for ages but nothing has really come of it yet. So there is an empty neighborhood grid of streets and sidewalks with lampposts at every 200 meters or so but the streets are growing weeds through all the cracks and there are no actual buildings anywhere. A concrete boat launch ramp is just outside entrance of the lagoon with a sunken sailboat next to it, then a circular anchoring area with a concrete wall around it. There is a place where larger vessels can tie up and a couple of official-ish looking buildings surrounded by fences saying “Prohibito el Paso.” Supposedly there was free water for anyone who wanted it but when we found the spigot a day later, it was locked up. Directly outside of the lagoon entrance and concrete circular area/launch ramp is a very deep natural anchorage called the “Waiting Room” where boats were supposed to hang out waiting for favorable conditions to enter the lagoon (tides, crowding, etc.); however, this anchorage was absolutely full of boats, and the lagoon had hardly any. We motored directly into the lagoon to check things out and discovered the entire thing was a field of mooring balls—at least 100 of them. There were maybe 25 boats (tops) inside and most of them looked unoccupied. We were tweaked out by the place and wanted to anchor outside near the entrance, but there was just no space; we ended up having to anchor in the lagoon. We went ashore that evening to find the supposed water and garbage and walked around for a long time finding nobody and nothing that looked like water or garbage.

The next day before dawn, we headed out for Loreto, 15 miles to the north. We had zero wind and motored the entire way for crying out loud. We arrived in Loreto around 9:30 and anchored off the beach (there is absolutely no protection here so you have to keep an eye out for wind). We ate some awesome fish tacos, took some photos of the old cathedral, bought some veggies (limes were getting low! Ack scurvy!!!), and got some potable water for our jug. By the time we got back to the boat at noon, there were big fat whitecaps and some sprightly chop. I got soaked in the kayak back to the boat (all of 100 meters). I decided my outfit was ruined and we would not be going back to town for another load of water and fuel (we were down approximately five gallons from all the motoring we had done the previous couple of weeks) and headed back to Escondido.

(Old quaint mission at Loreto.)

(Invasion of the Good Sams!)

Back in Escondido, again anchored in the lagoon, we at last found a guy named David to give us the scoop; he had lived there for the past 25 years.

“Man, I’ve been here for 25 years. This place used to be just a beach [gesturing at the concrete circular retaining wall where he was anchored, directly outside of the lagoon] and we’d just pull our dinghies up on the beach with whatever fish we caught that day. There was a Mexican family who lived on the beach and the woman would take your fish and for like a dollar, clean it and cook it for you. She could cook a fish too! We’d just hang out with them on the beach eating fish and drinking beer and watching the day grow dark. There’s no beach here anymore, obviously. You see they have this law in Mexico says that all playas are public property; so they built this wall here and presto! Now it’s not a playa anymore. Those of us who’ve been here so long built that dinghy dock so we could actually get to shore. You see they’ve been doing construction for a long time here; I don’t know what they think they’re going to do with it. They put those curbs and sidewalks in last year for that whole grid of streets; there’s no wiring or plumbing or anything underneath them though. All those lampposts? These guys come and paint them green every so often. Then they steal the bulbs out of them; take ‘em back to Loreto. Not that there’s any electricity for them anyway. Gotta love ‘em! So a private company took control of the place here recently and kicked all of us out of the lagoon; now they think they are going to charge $1 per foot per day to anchor there! What a joke. That’s why the Waiting Room and this place are so crowded. They put in all those mooring balls to rent out; I saw them make them—the concrete bottom’s fine, but they embedded polypropylene rope and not chain to the mooring ball [and ultimately the boat tied to it]. That stuff chafes so badly—that’s what happened to that boat over there [pointing at the sunken boat by the launch ramp]. In fact, those mooring balls come loose periodically even without boats pulling on them; there’s one floating around right inside the entrance there. And that construction there? [Some vague building scaffolding and concrete nearby with a bunch of workers milling around.] That’s supposed to be finished in April! Hah! And that Pemex station? [Right next to the scaffolding.] They are expecting boats to Med-moor up to the gas station while they pump the gas. This all exposed to the north! What a sight that would be during a norther.”

It was depressing listening to how much things had gone downhill since the good ol’ days but David was pretty damned cheerful about it all. “The cruiser’s net in the mornings. We cruisers started that way back when; ‘course now most of them are radioing in from land. Funny how they give up the boating life, move onto the land and think they own something.” It was fun talking to him and he had many good stories to tell. He said that the La Paz Cruiser’s Club was started after too many cruisers began making a habit of hanging out on the beach across from Hotel Los Arcos drinking beer with the local guy who kept watch over the dinghies (they would bring him things from town, like beer, to thank him, then help him drink it). Well, more than ten drunk gringos on the beach equals An Unlawful Gathering, which was a threat to the State of Mexico in the ‘80s, and something had to be done. Luckily Hotel Los Arcos opened their doors and said they would be happy sell the gringo cruisers as much beer as they could drink any day of the week. So this became the new hangout and thus was born the Club Cruceros.

He told us where we could get water that wasn’t locked. “Shit! We’re the ones who put that water in; that private company came and locked it up. There are nine freshwater wells at the foot of those mountains…”

(These mountains.)

“We have the best water around too. People from Loreto used to come here to get water! Too many people shitting upstream of the water in Loreto. Nobody shitting upstream of our water here!”

Another norther was coming through, according to the morning weather net, and we hoped to ride it back to La Paz. We awoke to dry decks, pulled anchor, and escaped Puerto Escondido before They wised up to us anchoring (and not paying) in their $1/foot/day harbor.

(Escape from Puerto Escondido at dawn.)

A couple of days later, another south breeze cropped up and we headed out towards Puerto Escondido. After an hour of some perky sailing, the wind pretty much crapped out. We bobbed around for a bit, hauling different sails trying to move in some direction that could vaguely be construed as “forward,” and finally put the motor in the water. Funny thing about most of our short day passages: we take off in brisk wind, make excellent time, “Hey! If this keeps up, we should be to Puerto Anclaje in three hours; maybe we can even make it to Puerto Proximo Anclaje today.” Then the wind starts to shift and/or falter, “Hrmmm, should we put up the 170?” (The GPS estimates our travel time at three hours.) Then the wind dies, yet frothy whitecaps are plainly visible all around us; where we are located is a syrupy bath of shimmering non-windy shininess, “Looks like we should have some wind in a sec; maybe hold off putting up that gennaker.” No wind ever reaches us. The GPS estimates our arrival time at Puerto Anclaje in 38569306 hours. “Well, give it a minute, maybe it’s just changing direction.” It’s not changing direction. “Crap!” We probably have to motor if we want to get anywhere; “Should we put in the motor?” We are very non-committal on the motor issue. “If you want to.” It’s plainly obvious that we will not make it the 7 knots to our anchorage in less than 4402 years, let alone nightfall. “Oh I’LL start the dang motor!” Naturally, the moment we round the corner into our anchorage and get ready to drop the hook, the wind starts howling at 20+ knots.

Anyway, this was how the next couple of days of “sailing” went. We finally made it to Candelero Chico, a north-facing anchorage (we had a south “wind” so it seemed pretty mellow). And of course big fat gusts of southern wind came blasting around the hills and assaulted our little boat the moment we entered the tiny cove. Not the most restful night ever, but the anchorage was very cozy and there was a herd of cows that came ambling down the cliffside, mooing and ringing their neck-bells. (Cow question number one: Do they notice the persistent clanging sound, and if so, are they aware that it is coming from their very own necks?) Those cows came to the water’s edge (that’s SEAwater, by the way) and then they DRANK FROM IT. At least the first couple of cows did. Then they all stood in a crowd facing the water and stared at it for maybe 30 minutes, after which time they all turned around, faced the opposite direction, and stood gazing off for another hour or until after dark when we couldn’t see them anymore.

The next morning, the wind was perky as usual and we headed out northward towards Escondido or Danzante Island, or hell, Carmen if the wind keeps up! Wind did not keep up, and we ended up finally breaking down and motoring into Danzante’s “Honeymoon Cove” (that’s not Spanish, obviously, but that’s what our book says) a little after lunch. We wandered all over Danzante’s northern end and took lots of pretty pictures.

Pretty! Pretty! Pretty!

Later that afternoon, another southern wind (the anchorage was protected from the north only) perked up, making the anchorage uncomfortable, so we pulled anchor and headed for a spot about nine miles north. Again, the wind was totally perky for a mile or two, then faded and totally died right at our immediate location (whitecaps all around, as usual, sigh, yawn, swear). We turned around and headed back for Puerto Escondido to anchor for the evening.

(Johnny Rotten Pufferfish. San Jose Island.)

We left La Paz on a day with mild wind but coming from north-northeast so we were able to tack surprisingly few times to get out of the narrow La Paz channel. We ejected out into the wide yonder and put out the fishing gear. And caught, no, not a dorado (damn!) but a pelican (stupid pelican). We were going rather fast when it happened and the poor thing was immediately pulled under the water and upside down and spinning and flailing and it was not in the least bit funny that he looked so terribly goofy with his pelican legs sticking up in the air and wings all askew. All his pelican buddies were very interested in current events and were crowding and craning their necks vainly to see what massive fish he must have a hold of and if they could possibly snag it from him; they cleared out after we dropped the sails and began to pull him towards the boat. We couldn’t just cut him loose because we didn’t want to lose the lure. NO! I mean, we didn’t want him to accidentally swallow the hook; we’d have a boatload of guilt and the ghost of a pissed off pelican to contend with. We got him finally to the boat and Joshua promptly snatched his beak shut. Much flapping ensued initially but for the most part, the pelican held fairly still while we extracted the hook from his pouch using scary tools. Pelican thus freed, we stopped fishing and continued on to the anchorage at Lobo. We had steak and cocktails for dinner so we weren’t too torn up over the lack of fish.

The above is a photo of a shrimp boat that was anchored near us for the night.

The next day we headed up to Espiritu Santa, stopped for lunch and ended up anchoring off Ensenada Grande for the night. The day started out with minimal wind but in the afternoon we were sailing upwind in sustained 20-25 knots with gusts to 30. Coming into the anchorage, the gusts were vicious, water-flattening beasts and coming from all different directions (funneling down the arroyos and canyons of the island). We crept into the lee of a large bulbous hill and managed to get out of the wind somewhat.

We were awakened the next morning to a lot of obnoxious motion and the boom making a major racket; the wind had shifted to the south and was now blowing directly into the anchorage, which protects you from the north wind (excepting, of course, the errant freaky gust). We pulled anchor just before sunrise, put the coffee on, and headed on for Isla San Francisco (a south wind is abnormal for these parts but perfect for the direction we were headed so we were psyched to get to take advantage of the smooth sailing direction). We made it 19 of the 20 miles to SF in two and a half hours before the wind died; then it took us an additional 12 billion hours to actually make it into the anchorage. We ghosted in and dropped our anchor on the north side of the bay.

About mid way en route to San Francisco, we spotted a large section of major splashing in the ocean and, thinking it could be a huge school of dorado! or yellowfin!!, we altered course towards it. It was soon apparent that this altering was unnecessary because the splashing was headed rapidly for us and it was not dorado, dagnabit, but a humongous pod of dolphins. They were not fishing and soon they overtook the boat, parting in the middle to go around us, no interest in us whatsoever, then moved on.

Back in San Francisco anchorage, we went ashore and wandered the island for a bit; there are salt ponds in the middle of the flat and we took a little bit of it with us (I hope that was okay..). Yum! We also chatted with a couple on the beach (they sailed over in a small 27 footer and tent-camped on the beach) who said that one of the Mexican fishermen was just yanking fish from the water by the reef off the south edge of the bay. We decided to try this and kayaked over there just as the sun was setting, dropped a line and promptly caught a fish!! It was a cochita (triggerfish), which are weird looking things with very rough skin, a major dorsal spike, and some serious snaggle teeth. We tossed him in a bag so he wouldn’t gnaw through the kayak or Joshua’s foot and kayaked at top speed for the boat. Sadly, we did not know much about cochita anatomy, not to mention that his skin was tougher than the majority of sharp objects we carried on board, and so we (cough, Joshua) had a very difficult time killing and bleeding the guy. (Ack! Cochita ghosts!)

The meat was white, very firm—firmer than what you normally mean when you say a fish meat is firm (yet not tough), but good. We barbecued it for dinner on a bed of onions, garlic, and jalapeno slices (with olive oil and Isla San Francisco salt) and had the remainder for breakfast tacos the following morning. All the boats cleared out the next day and the wind had shifted to the north so we crossed the little bay in an attempt to keep out of the wind. And also to be closer to the hot fishing spot. Soon, more boats appeared and the first one anchored fairly close to us. Odd with all the space in the bay but whatever. Then another came in and anchored next to us again. At this point we figured that they must think we knew something they didn’t. I joked that the next boat would come in and anchor right in the middle of the three boats and sure enough, a medium-sized sailboat, K—-t, came motoring in and dropped their anchor nearly on our poop deck! We were annoyed by this one because as soon as the anchor was set, we had to listen to them having cocktails, probably refrigerated ones with ice, and snack hour in their cockpit; I mean, they were RIGHT THERE!!!

We took off the next morning, headed around the island and anchored off the north shore to go ashore and wander around (a nice anchorage in sand but not really protected). Then we went across to San Jose Island and anchored finally (after much puttering around looking for a good spot) off the southern beach. We kayaked to the island and into the lagoon and explored the mangrove estuary. San Jose is a huge island that looked really interesting but the anchorage is dicey and not protected very well if there was any non-northerly weather so we didn’t go too far. We took off the next morning for, tentatively, Napolo, a small village and somewhat sheltered anchorage about 15 miles to the north. The wind was very good, although coming directly from the direction we wanted to go (thus forcing us to tack back and forth and traveling farther than the direct route). Amusingly, we heard another boat call K—-t on the radio apologizing for anchoring sort of close; we were thinking, “Hell, they don’t care!”

We made good time to Evaristo and went on for Napolo, but it didn’t look all that protected so we decided to head on to the next anchorage in Los Gatos, another 20 miles north, because we had some bitchin’ wind. Naturally, the wind died completely only a third or so of the way. We turned on the motor and began motoring in order to reach Gatos before sunset. This was fine, although irritating and noisy but after a bit, the swell came up and turned into 4-6 feet of tight chop. Our motor doesn’t do so well in these conditions and the last two hours into Gatos took nearly forever with me gnashing my teeth and wringing my hands every time the outboard pulled out of the water. The approach to Gatos was made all the more interesting by, not only Charlie’s Chart NOT BEING ACCURATE in a big way, but big ol’ reefs all over the place with massive breaking waves (because of the big swell), the sun just about to set behind the land and all the defining features of the anchorage (black rock, red cliffs, yellow dunes, white house, etc.) being more like gray rock, gray cliffs, gray dunes, gray house, etc. We were about to turn back and anchor off the beach of Bahia San Carlos where we’d hopefully be out of the swell when we finally spotted masts of another boat anchored inside Gatos. We came blasting in and out of the chop and made it to anchor without any disasters. Then I wrote some tight comments into our Charlie’s Charts about the inaccuracy of his “maps” and that made me feel a little better. The more current edition has correct “maps,” by the way.

It turns out that Los Gatos is really a very pretty anchorage: there are red cliffs and Grand Canyon-esque scenery (the dunes are not exactly yellow though). We chatted with a swiss couple for a bit about multi-hulls versus monohulls, curious customs procedure in foreign countries, and metric versus imperial (a topic endlessly fascinating and confounding to people who grew up using metric). Most Europeans are flabbergasted to discover that we know what a meter even is. The next morning we chatted with Manuel, a local fisherman from the village at Timbabichi and he said that fishing was poor at this time in the Sea; it will pick up in March but in the off season, don’t expect to catch more than the random fish here and there. He was amused by our setup: a purple line of 50 meters or so with a rusty bell on the boat end and a clasp on the fish end for the lure, all this wrapped around an hourglass-shaped, worm-holey piece of board we picked up on a beach in San Quentin. Funny, he was not the first (or last) Mexican fisherman to take specific note of our fishing setup. I guess most of the American tourists he encounters have fancier fishing rigs than us.

(Frolicking pelicans!)

We got another south breeze and took advantage again to head north for Bahia Agua Verde, touted as one of the most popular anchorages in the Sea in Stupid Charlie’s Charts. A few minutes after we left Gatos, our traveler ejected a bit of plastic off the end and started coughing up ball bearings. Joshua scrambled to collect what he could but we had to jury-rig some sort of boom preventer/haul-down/something-something. I think I like the jury-rigged setup better than the damned traveler-track setup; it’s more secure and doesn’t make as much noise below. I’m thinking we’ll keep it this way and figure out how to make it look more ‘permanent.’

Bahia Agua Verde is really lovely with little anchoring nooks on the north and south; we chose the south due to the southern swell. There is a small village (approximately 200 inhabitants) of houses scattered among cactus, palm and palo verde trees. Amongst the houses and trees roam a staggering, albeit sparse, variety of livestock (excepting goats): goats (lots), cows, burros, pigs, chickens, turkeys (including a white one!), and goats—including baby goats, which are supercute. Goat poop is also worth a mention: there is a lot of goat poop in them thar hills. Houses have funky fences around them for the most part (this has something to do with the goats, I bet) and because water seems to be relatively plentiful, the houses are decorated with interesting cactus gardens and bougainvillea bushes.

(Grave from the small graveyard at Agua Verde. Note freshly painted blue cross and freshly discarded blue paint bucket just behind the grave.)

Shortly after anchoring, a panga came out with a family aboard to bum pens/pencils and try to sell quaint handmade jewelry to the biggest fattest jewelry snob in the Sea of Cortez. I gave them some pens while Joshua grilled the fisherman on what sorts of fish were being caught these days in the sea. Not much right now because it’s the off-season; but they do net small sharks. (Sharks!) On one of our hikes, we discovered the shark butchering fields too—a scattered pile of shriveled up shark heads, including hammers; none very large. Another sailor we spoke with said that the “off-season” is not just “February” anymore; the sea is becoming rapidly fished-out and every year they catch fewer and fewer fish.

Sam and Christy on the boat ‘Livin’ arrived the same day as us and we spent a couple of evenings chatting with them and collectively put away a wide variety of booze and snacks. We ended up buying a short wave/SSB receiver that they didn’t use so now we get to listen to the big wide world out there. The big wide world can be very staticy and has given me much insight as to where Lucas came up with all those droid ‘voices.’ The Imperial Probe Droid? Hosts the morning ‘Amigo Net’ on Mondays. Who knew?

Universal Truth: Nothing corners better, off-roads hardier, or stops on a dime better than a rental. Enterprise didn’t realize they rented us the Baja 1000 model Hyundai Podling (by Dodge), a true go-getter if there ever was one. It was minty green and had a lot of dings; all were carefully noted by the Enterprise guy and had Joshua rethinking the insurance thing.

Baja roads: There is a lot of signage littering the roadsides of Baja Sur. Food for thought like: “It is obligatory to wear one’s seatbelt in Baja Sur,” “80,” “Watch your speed,” “Drive carefully,” “Don’t throw trash,” and “Thank you for wearing your seatbelt.” Rather passive aggressive actually, plus they repeat every kilometer so that you are never more than 60 meters at most from a road sign suggesting that you pay attention to the topes 500 meters ahead, 400 meters ahead, 300 meters ahead.

Another thing that is clear is that southern Bajaans expect the road to be straight under normal circumstances, which is to say, always. If the road deviates in any way from the straight, a sign is imperative. I am not exaggerating when I say that there is a right or left arrow for EVERY SINGLE TURN THE ROAD MAKES. And we covered a lot of territory this weekend. Sometimes there will be a multi-curve arrow (you know the ones that squiggle left, right, left, right, then straight up arrow); however, I swear that none of the turns ever made it through the left-right-left-right-straight gamut without someone giving in and putting a single turn arrow only two turns into the curvy section.

Baja is very pretty; behold Bahia La Paz as viewed from the western shore. We were on our way to go check out an Abandonada—an abandoned phosphorus mining town.

Ayyyy! Perils!

This trailer was parked next to the cute little house with the green chair above. I’m not sure if there was a fire or if this is just what happens to trailers when they are left on their own.

Another house that was never finished?

We made it to the abandonada, parked the car just outside of the “ALTO” and “Cars not allowed” signs, then walked past the “PROHIBITED the passage of unauthorized personnel” sign to check things out. I got maybe three photos before a friendly dude with a walkie-talkie and a machete came and escorted us out. He gave us a lesson in sign-reading.

Here’s one of the restaurant, where they used to have good food, according to the machete-wielding guard.

We continued down the road to where the phosphorus mine was and where they must have loaded phosphorus onto barges via a rail system. This structure was there and that’s an osprey nest above it.

There are a lot of roadside shrines. This one looks like it was erected in a specific person’s memory.

This one had steps carved in the rock leading up to it. There are goats about and that’s what that strong-looking wooden structure is all about.

This one was a bit higher budget. It also had a tip jar of sorts.

“The Three Holy Armadillos of the Virgin of Guadalupe”

We saw about a hundred-bizillion of these signs.

Of course, there were cows too. Far fewer cows than signs though.

Perhaps they are creatures of the night.

We visited the Cactus Sanctuary. We passed about twelve gazillion-frillion cactuses on the way.

Here is a mutant! The sparse signage actually said that this weirdness was in fact caused by mutaciones geneticos. Or something. Then it said something about briggands and face lotion so I’m not sure.

Our camera has a nice macro feature.

Next to the cactus sanctuary, aside from lots of other non-sanctified cacti, was a cemetery. The cemetery had cactuses in it as well in addition to a lot of very old tombs of Chinese, Germans, and Spaniards who met their ends trying to score gold for the motherland.

Nearby was the town, Gallina, so named because of a piece of gold found there once that was the shape and size of a hen egg. The town surely didn’t have a name before that. Why it was named for the chicken and not the egg is also something to ponder.

There was a quaint church there, which was not open on the Sunday we were there. Not that we tried the door, I guess.

Back to La Paz!!

For some dinner!!!!

And a cute sunset. Oh, this sunset photo is actually from a week or more ago. When it was calm.

We escaped from La Paz Christmas day, having planned on leaving the previous day but realizing that we couldn’t actually enter the aft cabin for all the groceries and books and whatnot piled around. It took me three or four hours of intense griping and knee banging to reorganize all the food and put it back away, out of sight, off the floors and counters. Ahhh.

My first dealings with the beasties: bulk brown rice purchased at one of the bulk dry good shops on calle Serdan contained, presumably, weevils. Gah! I can’t see the things actually, but there are webby bits clinging to the sides of the bag. I am sort of unsure as to what I should do with it now, aside from isolate it in a wax-sealed lead-lined box; I will try extensive rinsing in salt water prior to cooking in hopes that weevils float, and actual rice pieces do not. We’ll see. Haven’t been feeling like brown rice lately, it seems. Other bulk items that are a super fat plus = cashews! They aren’t cheap but they taste way better than cashews I’ve bought in the states; they are larger, more irregular in shape, and have a harder/drier consistency (the states’ variety always are on the mushy, not-quite-roasted-enough side for my tastes). I’ve actually had cashews like these once before, bought off some kid on the side of the road in southern Mexico, or maybe Guatemala (hmm), and I’ve been pining after them for 10 years! (“Drop your linen and start your grinnin’!”)

With the boat all tidy and everything in its place, we filled our spare five-gallon jug with water and prepared to depart. Then we managed to accidentally drop the five-gallon jug of water overboard during the dingy docking procedure and it SANK. Fast. Oh well, we pulled anchor and ghosted out of the La Paz anchorage in barely any wind.

It took us a zillion hours to tack up the narrow channel in so light and flukey a wind and so we set our sights on anchoring at Puerto Ballandra, at the entrance of La Paz bay, rather than trying to get out to the islands and anchoring after dark (where our only guide is Charlie’s “Not for Navigational Purposes” Charts). We smugly anchored under sail and dug out the mighty Yellow Tigrelita for some exploring.

The anchorage here is great: lots of white sand and cool rock formations (such as Mushroom Rock), an inner lagoon with mangroves, and zillions of birds and fish, particularly pufferfish. Vast herds of pufferfish swimming all around the boat along the bottom. Pufferfish are insanely cute, by the way; they have big soulful eyes and spikes all over them. When they are freaked out, they puff up and the spikes poke out, and if one happens to be holding a freaked-out pufferfish in one’s hand, they make weird squelchy irritated little noises. Actually, we’re not sure what gets the pufferfish so riled, but there were many of them alive and puffed up and floating on the surface of the water. Frigate birds, which we previously held to be most noble and intelligent sea birds, have since been demoted in IQ status after we repeatedly observed them snagging the puffed-up pufferfish from the surface, fighting over it for a bit with their frigate bird pals, then dropping it after realizing that this fish is pokey and inedible. Then the same bird will hunt around some more, spy the SAME pufferfish pick it up again, only to drop it a few seconds later once it gels in its birdbrain that, well, it’s hard to imagine what goes on in a frigatebird’s brain. Not rocket science.

We stayed two nights and finally headed off for Islas Espiritu Santa and Partida. Wind was nonexistent so we, cough, motored for a little bit until the glassy water started to riffle, then we killed the noisy thing and put up the gennaker, which is a thin nylon sail for light air, only to watch it hang limply. So we just sat silently in the middle of the channel between the mainland and the islands for a while, wandering around the boat, attempting to fish with the fishing rod, doing some chores, etc. When the wind picked up a tiny bit and we ghosted on towards the island. Curiously we were headed mostly downwind as we approached the islands, yet boats coming toward us, if they had sails up, were also on a downwind. That’s some flukey wind. As we got near our anchorage, the wind picked up considerably and we ended up with it directly on the nose as we headed up the narrow channel to Caleta Partida, which is an old caldera that has eroded and filled with water, thereby separating Espiritu Santa from Partida. It took us a really, really long time to tack up the channel because the wind changed direction and speed constantly as it came gusting down the many canons and arroyos of the island. I imagine the boats already at the anchorage had an amusing time watching us go back and forth, but we finally made it and anchored under sail again. Yay!

We managed to catch a sierra between Espiritu Santa and the tiny island Ballena and so we made fish tacos for dinner. They were mighty tasty too; the sierra resembles the bonito in texture and flavor.

The anchorage at Caleta Partida is basically a gap between the two islands, Espirito Santa to the south and Partida to the north. The western gap is blocked by a sandbar on the inside and rocky breakwater on the outside (appeared to be manmade, but we’re not sure; possibly for the purpose of creating a mellow bay for harvesting pearl oysters way back when?). A narrow channel runs between the sandbar and the breakwater so a dingy or panga can navigate through during high tide. There are fishing shacks on the sandbars and along the cliffs and we saw one or two pangas stop to cook food and camp. On the Partida side is a wide sandy strip and shallow rocky area with lots of critters like octopus (“pulpos,” which the Mexicans were hunting during low tide—we talked to one of the guys who said they like to hide out in rocky crevices and in old conch shells), stingrays—we saw two of these hiding in the sand, crabs, and lots of various shellfish and bivalves. There is a great hike up the canyon on the western side of the sandy beach area on Partida called “El Rincon” that takes you up the wash to the top of the island, where you can wander around on the loose volcanic ground enjoying the amazing view and get poked by a myriad of cacti! Just wear good shoes, watch for loose rock, and expect to get scratched up a lot. Joshua unfortunately managed to step on a loose section and twisted his knee, probably tearing one of those pesky knee tendons. He was able to put weight on it though and we picked our way down the trail and back to the boat where we put wet cloths on it (in lieu of ice). He’s okay and can lurch about the boat, if not with agility. Hopefully he’ll heal quickly or at least get to a more mobile state. He’s suffering now on the deck with a beer and his book lying in the hammock, which we slung between the fore and sidestays. Poor baby!

We ended up staying a couple of days at this anchorage; the last night we flagged down one of the pulpo-hunters and traded some beers for dinner. Having no idea how to prepare pulpo, we tenderized/cleaned it by rubbing the tentacles with salt (recommended by “Sushi, Taste and Technique”), boiled it in spices, and cut it into slices. It was boingy and a bit tough, but good I suppose; maybe next time we’ll try to tenderize it by whaling on it with a hammer in addition to the salt.

Again we ghosted off our anchor in almost nonexistent wind and tacked out of the narrow bay (because the wind will never cooperate and blow in one consistent direction). We sailed up to Ensenada Grande, just a few miles north on Partida and anchored. Not only did I get to pull anchor for the first time since Joshua is incapacitated somewhat (and luckily it was dead wind so I didn’t have to embarrass myself by grunting and groaning over a tight anchor line), I dropped the anchor when we arrived at Ensenada Grande as well (first time I did that too), completely making a huge tangle of the line and getting it wrapped around places that are physically impossible to get wrapped around. Joshua prudently kept his mouth shut most of the time while I dashed about the deck swearing and tripping over lines. In the end I managed to get the anchor in the water without falling overboard or having to start the motor, and the event was declared a success.

We chatted a bit with Betsy and Richard from Qayak (a 32-foot Valiant from Seattle), who we have been running into a lot lately, and ended up having dinner with them that evening. Betsy made an excellent Thai shrimp curry stir fry (mmm) and we brought over a bottle of sake, which I believe Angelea accidentally left in our cooler after Burning Man (thanks Angelea!!). They are on a similar schedule as us: “Um, maybe we’ll hang around here for a while, then either go north or go south; we haven’t decided yet.” Also notable at this anchorage was a major pirate ship of 43-foot length (minus bowsprits) and 18-foot width (!!); Betsy said the owner built it himself in Port Orford, WA, of ferro cement and wood; it has two massive varnished Douglas Fir masts.