Cabo San Lucas- tourists, jet skis and pirates.

sunny side up

We made excellent time reaching Cabo San Lucas, covering 450 miles in 4 days. While under sail we made an exciting entrance to a popular tourist beach, where we were able to anchor very close to shore due to calm conditions. With Cabo's reputation of churning tourists in and spitting them out without so much as a peso of dignity left, we braced ourselves for the worst. In truth, we met many friendly locals, whose welcoming smiles and helpful hints stood in contrast to Cabo's touristy facade. A special cheers to the pirates aboard the Sunderland who highlighted our time in Cabo. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cabo Fever!

Check out more photos of Cabo here!

Turtle Bay - Should we stay or should we go???

Fastest cab in the Bay!

   The sail from Isla Cedros to Turtle Bay took us south past the mid-way point of the Baja peninsula. As we turned east around a mountainous headland with a fine breeze behind us, it was surprising to hear the sound of huge breakers hitting the rocks miles away from the Libertatia's position. The moon and sun both happened to be out during the day, and Lowell successfully took sextant sights of these two bodies to arrive at a final plotted position about 4 nautical miles from our actual GPS position at the time. What fun! 

Which one's the sun?

   Upon entering the protection of Turtle Bay around sunrise, we were greeted by El Capitan Gordo, the good natured, high spirited, diesel-hustling dock manager of this bustling desert outpost. We anchored, then invited Capitan Gordo to the Libertatia for coffee and pancakes. He filled us in on all the local happenings
including where to eat, and taught us some local slang. My favorite phrase translates as, "Go bite a goat," which is a common greeting among fishermen.
We all enjoyed making new friends, such as Antonio, who fed us grandmother-made menudo, and told us stories of old Turtle Bay. Things here have expanded from the original small fishing village to a thriving town full of expensive cars, due to the lobster industry. Despite the presence of wealth, we found that the residents of Turtle Bay have a strong spirit of resourcefulness and gratitude for everything they have, as well as being remarkably open to travelers. We were fortunate to attend a quinciniera, or 15th birthday, culturally a milestone for young women. It seemed that the entire town was in attendance, and we all danced to the great music of a live Mexican rock band until the early hours. With the party going strong, we danced our last dance at an hour near daybreak, before calling it a night and walking home with the music fading away behind us.
   After a few days of fun, we carefully considered whether we should sail to Cabo San Lucas during what was officially hurricane season, or call Turtle Bay home for the next several months. Due to low atmospheric moisture off the coast of Central America, as well as the below average sea temperatures off Cabo San Lucas, we concluded that our voyage would be just as safe in the middle of July as it would have been earlier in the season.
Our early morning departure was noted by a honk of the trumpet. Some fishermen in a panga waved heartily as our sails pulled us away.

...And then the waters parted.

Check out more photos of Turtle Bay here!

Isla Cedros - ROCKIN' OUT!!!!!

Vincent, the amateur geologist!

   Our next jump took us two hundred miles south to the mountainous desert island of Cedros, which is famous for its prodigious lobster fishery. Conditions around the island are known to be fluky and sometimes very windy, and indeed we enjoyed a burst of thermal wind streaming off the island itself as we came under its lee. This strong breeze eventually died down, but a delicious shore breeze filled in as the sun sank behind Cedros' 5,000 ft peaks. Thick clouds, which only minutes before had been held back by the sun, began to pour over the top of the island, and we all sat amazed at the stark beauty of the island as the Libertatia charged along at 6 knots.

   Cedros is home to the fabled Las Palmas anchorage, where two lone palm trees mark the site of a desert spring that comes out of the mountains. Las Palmas is said to have been a popular watering hole for passing Spanish ships during the first European explorations of the Pacific coast. This legendary spot not only afforded us delicious spring water and epic mountain hiking, but gave us our first experience with the often poorly charted areas of  Latin America, which we had been warned of by other cruisers. Even with GPS and good charts, making landfall at night in a new place is a challenging game.

Libertatia- Sailing where no boat has sailed before!!!

   We tacked toward the island and sounded around a spot which showed 10 ft depth on the NOAA chart, but we got nothing on a cast of the lead-line. Finally we made it to what seemed like the anchorage after dark, but we couldn't be sure. The hand-held GPS, Chartplotter and paper charts all showed us to be anchored inside a tiny cove 88 ft from shore, but to the eye it seemed like we were about 500 ft from shore just to the south of the small cove. We knew it would be interesting to see what was really going on in the daylight.
   At sunrise it was apparent that we were in fact about a mile south of Las Palmas, so we raised anchor and ghosted along towards our destination. A check of the GPS, which showed us to be sailing along high and dry on land, really highlighted the inaccuracies that one faces when navigating in foreign lands.
   Finally anchored safely at Las Palmas, the crew went ashore to explore the majestic, desolate island.

Running out of water on the way to the top was worth it!

Check out more photos of Isla Cedros here! 

San Quintin- don't try this one at home!!!

   Along Baja's Highway 1 lies San Quintin, a small way-post type town. Glancing at a chart, its large protected harbor seems like a cruiser's dream; a long channel leading to a protected bay near town. We were looking for such a harbor to replenish our food supplies and to enjoy a change of pace from the "open roadstead" anchorages we had been visiting so far. Lured by a fellow cruiser's promises of an easy approach through the long, shallow channel leading to San Quintin, we made sail from Isla San Martin with high hopes.
However, heavy shoaling in the estuary and an unusual huge south swell made the approach to the channel impossible. We elected to find the next most hospitable anchorage, which was off the beach near a hotel some ways out of town.

the crew swim to shore

   We needed groceries. Anchored about 1/4 mile from the open beach, it was hard to tell from the boat how big or small the surf was breaking on shore. From the sound of loud crashing waves, we decided the dinghy was not an option. Emmett, in full gear, with dry bag, set out for the beach to test the waters. We all held our breaths as we watched Emmett rise and fall in the waves almost breaking near shore. A few moments later Emmett called on the handheld VHF to say, "Go for it!!!" Excited by the prospect of fresh fruit and pastries in the town, Vincent, Brooke, and Crystal donned wetsuits and jumped in. After successfully filling the dry bags with exciting new entree options, the crew split into two groups; one to make phone calls home, and one to return the groceries.

Emmett and Brooke prepare to swim in the cold ocean

   On our way back, we (Vincent and Crystal) met a fisherman who picked us up in a truck and gave us a lift back to the beach. We filled him in on why we were dripping wet, dressed in wetsuits and walking through a dusty town with sugar smeared on our faces. Our description in Spanish must have sounded something like, "We swim. For food. Sailors, yes. We like fish, too!" After our interesting description of what we were doing, the fisherman shook his head and warned us of the rip current, as well as the increasing size of the waves as night falls. He suggested that we make the long swim home in the morning. The sun had set, but in the darkening twilight we swam out into the breakers of the cold Pacific ocean. During this time Emmett and Brooke had safely reached the boat, radioing that they had made it. After a few attempts, we returned to the beach in complete darkness, feeling a bit defeated and unsure of what to do next.
   By the mysterious ways of this world, the fisherman had been watching us, and as we walked down the beach weighing our options, our paths once again crossed.With few words exchanged, we were in his truck on the way to his cozy self-built home where his immediate and extended family lived. We thanked him profusely for opening up his home to us, and he responded by telling us an amazing story: He explained that once, while crossing the border to the United States, an American had saved his life in the desert when he had run out of water several days before. This man took him in, hydrated him, fed him and gave him money to get to his destination. He said that after that experience, he vowed to help anyone in a compromised situation...with a special soft spot for Americans.
   Our hearts were deeply touched, and our minds at ease among our new friends. And fast friends we became, staying up until the wee hours looking at family photos and reminiscing with little notice of our language barrier. When the dishes were done and we were outfitted with new, dry pajamas, we quickly fell asleep. We woke rejuvenated, ready to attempt our swim again.
   It still seemed a bit too rough to swim through the large shark-infested ;) breakers, so the group elected to try another method of reaching the boat. We knew the town had a large fishing fleet, so we decided to try hiring a boat from the town of San Quintin all the way through the channel and estuary area back to the boat. Hitchhiking towards town on this rural stretch of highway, one of the vehicles that passed was a BerryMex agricultural worker transport bus. We flagged the bus down, but unfortunately, the driver informed us that it was only for BerryMex workers. It was a unique experience to be standing where the food that we so effortlessly enjoy from the common American grocery store is actually produced. In a twist of fate, the driver turned around and invited us onto his empty. With the jams pumped up high, we raced into San Quintin, listening to America's finest dance remix modern pop!
   He dropped us off on a dusty corner and pointed in the direction we should start walking. We hitchhiked until arriving at the Old Mill, a popular tourist hang-out and hotel. It being 5 o'clock in the afternoon, the fishermen and their pangas (motor skiffs) were done for the day. We were told that no one would take us all the way. Not only was the boat about 20 miles away, it required careful navigation through the drifting sand bars of the circuitous, narrow channel. Finally we found a panga operator who agreed to take us not only back to our boat, but on what became a memorable white-knuckle ride. The panga was a high-speed wave jumping machine, and the operator was highly attuned to the patterns of the breaking waves that we faced outside the channel. It was thrilling and a bit terrifying, but we safely arrived back to Liberatia with lots of groceries and memories. We thanked the panga driver and paid him for his gracious favor.

Happily ever after.

Isla San Martin- Volcano in the Sea

   With our swarm of flies in tow, we made an easy passage to Isla San Martin, a striking volcanic cone 20 miles from the town of San Quintin. The small group of fishermen who live much of their lives on this island seemed to be happy living in tune with nature as people of the sea. These people fish through all the seasons of the year, catching lobster and halibut, diving for seaweed, and harvesting shellfish. From their simple huts and piles of seaweed on the beach, you wouldn't know that these fishermen are some of the highest wage-earners in Baja.

   We befriended Chui, who showed us some of the highlights of the island and shared dinner with us on board the Libertatia. Chui gave us some of the island's sea snails, or caracoles, which he had dove for. They were delicious! Chui also showed us a spectacular cave on the island. Watching him turn the cactus and lava landscape into a clear path on our way to the cave made clear his understanding of the island after a lifetime of working there.

Sea Bat!!!!!!!

Lost!

   After a quick first visit, the crew returned the next evening for an enthralling walk through the various channels of the lava cave. With headlamps and ropes, we walked, crawled and climbed in amazement at the foreign world hidden under our feet. We were amazed at the complete darkness and convoluted holes, caverns, and inner topography of the cave. We discovered spiders, found roots descending who knows how many feet into the cave. Exploring this alien environment, I discovered that the earth is indeed full of mysteries and amazing phenomena which I had never seen before, much like sailing into the ocean for the first time. We marked the occasion of this special team excursion by creating a guestbook at the very end of the cave. For any cruisers or adventurers who make their way to the cave on Isla San Martin, be sure to sign it!

Sailing itself, as well as our time in the rich islands of Baja, was replete with the many faces of nature.

Check out more photos of Isla San Martin here!

The Journey South and The Attack of the Seagulls

They may seem harmless....

   Our first stop out of the city of Ensenada was a small, rocky islet standing alone in the cold, foggy waters of northern Baja called Isla Todos Santos. Upon arriving to the island, we found that the cozy anchorage described in our ancient copy of Charlie's Charts had since been filled with tuna pens. These are open-ocean corrals where fishermen grow tuna that have been caught in the wild to be fattened under their supervision. This tuna-filled cove offering the only true anchorage on an otherwise rugged, inhospitable islet, we drifted a mile or so north towards a small, protected bight between the north and south islets. The cry of thousands of seagulls on shore, leopard seals swimming among kelp beds, as well as a swarm of flies descending upon the boat, gave us a sense of the ruggedness and wildness of the isolated islets as we dropped anchor.

swatting flies provided hours of entertainment!

   Both north and south Todos Santos were dominated by seagull rookeries; Walking along the shore towards the light house, I was repeatedly dive-bombed by adult seagulls protecting their young nested among the cactus and shrubs. This gave a strong sense of the wildness of the place, and made it clear that the isolated mid-ocean rock really belonged to the seagulls.

   We met the second-generation lighthouse keeper, who lives there alone two weeks at a time throughout the year. He toured me around the lighthouses and showed me his home, a former Navy barracks. The surf break off Todos Santos is also a world-famous big wave surfing ground, "Killers." It seemed like surfers occasionally stay in the barracks during the winter, and for anyone interested in visiting, the lighthouse keeper really likes soda, American beer, and meat!!

the lighthouse keeper of Todos Santos

Check out more photos of Isla Todos Santos here!

Hello From Mexico!

It's been quite an adventure since leaving San Diego. We've visited some of the most remote outposts of Baja and sailed many eventful and action packed miles. Today, we're writing from La Paz, where we are anchored among a community of cruisers, enjoying some time onshore. It's been a while since our last post, so here are some of the highlights of our trip down the Baja Coast from the cool Pacific waters near San Diego, to the warm tropical Sea of Cortez.

San Diego to Ensenada -  Is there anyone out here?!?

   Sailing from San Diego to Ensenada made for an easy transition into Mexico, with a short one day passage and great anchorage near the city. This being our first time in Mexico, we had a fun time negotiating the cultural and linguistic differences big and small. Cheers to the Ensenada Port Captain and office for making the many steps of registering our boat and securing our visas easy. Ensenada is a compact, organized harbor with a handful of Mexican fisherman, tour boats, and a number of colorful American ex-pats and cruisers.

 

   We met the crew of the Patricia Belle, an excellent home-built schooner, from Port Orchard, WA (Vincent's home town!). We spent an evening in the ship's cabin, exchanging stories of cruising in Hawaii and listening to the skipper, Patrick, recount some of his adventures of 15 years of cruising. At some point Patrick told the story of his first trip to Nicaragua, where he bought 10,000 lbs of coffee for trade. Lowell was happily surprised to remember that he had been inspired by this same story 10 years before, and was now aboard the very ship that had filled his imagination as a teenager. Check them out at http://www.patriciabelle.com
   My favorite part of Ensenada was getting away from the tourist buzz of the waterfront and getting a  real sense of the dusty streets and typical pace of Mexico. Eating at the lunch counters and having some conversations in Spanish, telling fish stories and tasting the great food everywhere was fun!

Check out more photos of the trip to Ensenada here!

East from San Diego...

At times, San Diego came to seem quite characterless and boring and so, tired of kicking around town, a few of us decided to go for a trip to the east. Vincent headed out first, taking the rural bus out to a place called Lake Morena, up in the mountains about three hours east of the city. Crystal followed the next day and I joined them the day after that. Crystal had made plans to help out at the farmer’s market so her time was limited but Vincent and had talked vaguely about going for a bit of a bike tour after taking the bus as far as it goes. We were interested at traveling on, having a good chunk of time before the group would be able to leave, and especially excited at the prospect of making our way into the desert.

Vincent took a bike on the bus and when Crystal met up with him they spent their time hiking and exploring around the lake, amidst the boulder-strewn hillsides of the mountains. I got on the bus at three the next day, with one of the trusty old mountain bikes from the boat. The bus left town and wound up through the hills. I was having quite a pleasant time, excited about traveling to new and exciting places when I heard a collective gasp go up from the bus passengers and out of the corner of my eye saw my bike performing a riderless wheelie and subsequent backflip across the other highway lane, narrowly missing a speeding car. The bus driver pulled over and I ran out across the road, grabbed the damaged bike, and, feeling quite dismayed, put it back on the bike rack.

My spirits were low and I was feeling quite frustrated at having a grand unknown adventure go out the window (or fly off the rack as I should say) so suddenly. The bus driver was apologetic and when we stopped for a break at a country store, I surveyed the damage. By the looks of it, aside from bent handlebars and a scuffed seat, the only injury to the bike had been a severely bent rear wheel. I asked the kid at the register in the shop about where I might find a new wheel, to no avail, and stepped out to have a look at the bike alongside the bus driver. The driver was very apologetic that bike had managed to squirt out of the rack and mentioned that he might be able to look around that night for another wheel in Tecate, the Mexican border town in which he lived. Shortly thereafter a woman, one of the few passengers remaining on the bus, spoke to the driver in speedy Spanish, telling him that she had an old bike at her house that I could use.

We all got back aboard and the bus drove on. When we got to the woman’s driveway, the driver told me to be quick and I ran up to the house to find a few old mountain bikes out back. I picked one up and the woman, just arriving at the house told me to take the whole bike, as I was in a hurry and she didn’t have any wrenches to remove a wheel. So back down the driveway I ran, throwing the derelict bike on the rack and we were off again. Before long we came to the end of the run and off I went with the two bicycles, greeted by Crystal and Vincent. We spent the night at the lake and the following morning, fixed the bike, and saw Crystal off on the bus back to San Diego in the morning. The bus driver took the other bike back to the woman and I thanked him greatly for his help in turning around such a disastrous situation. Knowing well that we would potentially be headed for hot sunny places, I had brought four large white pillowcases to be used as head-wraps of some sort and we donned these and our sunglasses, ready to hit the road.

All this was the beginning of a grand adventure that first took us up and up into the Cleveland National Forest and back down to the town of Julian. Going was slow and squeaky, as we were both riding old mountain bikes from the boat. We were also carrying our gear in backpacks rather that panier bags but despite all this, our spirits were high and our appetite for adventure and new places kept us happily pushing forward. After a long day of riding we slept out in the hills above Julian and came into town early in the morning. 

At this point we found ourselves at the divided between coastal San Diego and the desert over the mountains to the east. We had been himming and hawing over the idea of going down into the desert since dreaming up the trip. Everyone we met, from San Diego to Julian, with whom we shared the idea told us that we’d be crazy to head into the heat but it was all too easy that morning, with the allure of the desert below, to head down the winding road to the east. We filled up all our jugs of water and down we went.

Our travels took us miles and miles downhill into dry country, desolate valleys, and intense heat. By 10 am, we had reached our destination: the town of Borrego Springs. We celebrated our arrival with some ice cream and then spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening waiting out the intense heat of the day at the Anza-Borrego State Park Visitor Center. We had a lot fun hanging out with the staff and learning about the park. Around six, we headed out on the road again bound for Coyote Canyon in the northwest corner of the park. We rode past acres and acres of citrus orchards as well as dry wasteland that was at some point agriculture land of some sort. Soon enough the road turned from pavement into sand and we pressed on.

Riding in the sand was no easy task and as the sun went behind the mountains, a fierce headwind sprang up. We continued on in the dark for some time, fighting our way up the road, but before long we gave in for the night, not quite knowing our destination or how far away it was. There was little shelter to be found from the strong gusts but we were able to tuck our heads behind a sign by the side of the road and get a little sleep, in spite of the light of the moon.

In the morning we awoke before the sun and rode on and in just a few minutes came to a place where a running stream crossed the road. Incredible! To find running water in such a barren place was truly astonishing. Even though we had heard that water might be running in the canyon, it was something different to see in in person. 

We continued to the end of the road and spent the rest of the early morning hiking about, past an oasis and along the creek, exploring the incredible, surreal landscape before returning to the first water we had found.

Here we passed the afternoon, soaking ourselves in the creek and hiding in the bushes under the shade of a makeshift tent structure. When the time came, we got back on our trusty steeds and headed back for Borrego Springs. This time we took a different route, past a different camp that fortunately for us still had running water in the faucets despite the season. We rode out of the camp and found ourselves again surrounded by orange orchards. Thinking that we could take a shortcut by riding  through one of the orchards (on a road that looked no different than the roads which we were to travel on) we cut through a line of trees and started riding, only to be caught moments thereafter by the farmer himself! At first quite angry with us for trespassing he berated us for being on his property and for being out in the desert on bikes at this time of year. He escorted us back to the spot where we entered the orchard and I apologized again as we headed for the cut. He was checking on an enormous irrigation pump and as he did he explained his anger which stemmed from the disrespect and damage caused by people who had trespassed before. We expressed our sympathy and got to talking a bit more. Soon enough he offered to drive us out to the main road (the destination of our original shortcut) as he was headed that way anyways. On the road out he stopped to let us pick a few handfuls of figs from one of his trees and told us even more about his place and life. By the time we reached the road we were quite friendly and we stood around the truck talking, sharing the stories of our adventures as well as hearing the stories of his life and the wisdom that he had gained. After a good long while he hopped back in is truck wished us his best and bid us goobye, all three of us expressing great gratitude for having met one another. Off he drove and we rode on. This was possibly the best trespassing experience I’ve ever had.

In all our conversation about heading  into the desert we had talked of Anza-Borrego but also of the Salton Sea. Now only thirty miles away, we couldn’t resist the continued eastward pull and we turned left before reaching Borrego Springs. A darkness fell, we rode down and down, across great desert plains, and through vast canyonlands before reaching Salton City around 9:30 pm. We were throwing caution to the wind in continuing so far east to a place much hotter and desolate than Anza-Borrego but the downhill ride made it all worth it. At dusk, as we sped down out of the mountains down to the great flats below, I could not help but feeling like we were in some prehistoric land, devoid of humans but full of ancient creatures living in a land that was still young and raw, forming before our eyes. Truly amazing.

After another celebratory ice cream at the gas station we rode several miles through the abandoned subdivisions of Salton City. The land between the freeway and the lake had been developed, gridded out with streets and powerlines, but the project had flopped for some reason and the land has been left just so ever since. We got an eerie sense from the place riding though under the full moon, pas the few inhabited houses and even one that had been burned, seemingly obvious to us, in order to get insurance money for a house that was worthless. Again we rode until the pavement turned to sand and although we could sense that we were near the beach, we stretched out our bags and fell asleep.

Know full well how hot it was going to be in the morning, we were up at the crack of dawn and continued riding towards the beach. In only a matter of minutes the lake stretched out before our eyes and soon we were standing on the shore.

Although it was only 6 am, it was already quite hot and we could smell a stench coming off the lake. The flats approaching the beach as well as the shore consisted of a very slimy mud that caked on our shoe s and smell quite foul. There were “tidelines” of thousands and thousands of fish skeletons as we approached the water, along with a number of dead birds and fields of crystallized salt. We walked to the water, tested for salinity, and quickly resolved to get out of the hellish place. We made our way along the shore and then along a road back out to the freeway. In the light, we could see even more of the crazy place: empty street after empty street named after Hawaiian island or foreign countries and vast tracts of bulldozed earth under miles of powerlines. Apparently the water level has dropped significantly since development was done as we saw boat launches that came far from touching the water and docks that lay high and dry on the mud.

When we got to the freeway, we rode a few feet up the road back to Borrego Springs and stuck out our thumb. It was now 8 am and the temperature must have been climbing up to 100 degrees. We laughed and joked about our situation, and then talked seriously, reassuring ourselves that it would indeed be possible to ride all those miles back up the hill after things cooled down in the night. All the same, this sounded like a dreadful prospect. We waited and waited, put on more sunscreen and drank more water, and then suddenly a truck stopped. The driver asked with a smile where we were going and said he could take us. With threw everything in the truck and we were off! As we drove the man told us how lucky we were because he was actually driving up and over the mountains from Borrego Springs. For several hours he talked on and on about his life, the wisdom he had gained and his views of the world. Although such cases can often be thoroughly overwhelming, the man seemed to have enough interesting things to say and life experience from which to draw. He dropped us off in Jenner and we rode down the boulder-covered hills, into the suburbs of San Diego, catching the trolley and riding all the way back into town.

For many more pictures of the trip visit our Picasa site at:

https://picasaweb.google.com/103461058936929561161/TravelsEastOfSanDiego

Respite in San Diego

Upon arriving in San Diego Bay we planned on staying a few weeks but all told, we ended up spending over a month on the hook. During this time, we got to know the city quite well and were able to make a few new friends. A few of us took the time to travel by land back up to San Francisco for a visit but most of all we mostly just relaxed. After our big bang departure from SF and the months of work that led up to it we were a bit worn out but hadn’t really taken the time to decompress, staying busy on our travels down the coast.

Although a bit of cleaning was in order and we had a few small boat projects to address, we hardly even did much work on the boat itself: a major gear shift from our sedentary time in Berkeley. We borrowed another bike and spent much of our time exploring and hanging out around the town and on the boat itself. We spent a lot of time in the large Balboa Park, riding bicycles and relaxing on the grass, and some of us even made a trip to the zoo. We all took the trolley to Tijuana for the day, a short scouting mission into Mexico for fun and dental work, and had time for doing things like finding mushrooms in the park and identifying them.

The cruising anchorage was just fine, well protected and safe in all regards. The drawbacks to the spot were the long row (15 minutes or so) to the dinghy dock and the noise of the place. Loudest and most constant was the San Diego airport, located on shore just over a waterside road. Throughout the day, the air was filled with the sound of jets landing and taking off. If that wasn’t enough, helicopters took off and landed at the Coast Guard Station several time daily. San Diego Bay is, of course, home to an enormous naval base and the nature of the highly militarized harbor had us feeling uneasy. Harbor Police boats would pass by frequently just added to the feeling of the place, although they probably helped to keep things mellow on the bay. What’s more navy personnel were out in large skiffs slowly motoring around calm anchorage as they worked with specially-trained Navy dolphins and sea lions. Very weird!

We were fortunate to have a few connections in San Diego, mostly through Lowell’s dear friend Pria, who he befriended in India many years ago. We spent a fair amount of time at her place and with her housemates, taking showers, using the computers, and getting to know everybody. After spending so long in the familiar San Francisco Bay, we couldn’t help but feel that San Diego was a bit of a social desert and we were happy to have a few friends.

Of great interest to me was a trip made with Pria to the International Rescue Committee’s refugee garden. Pria has been coordinating the garden for several months and we were happy to come on a volunteer day to see the place and help out with a few projects. The garden is a couple of acres a few miles east of downtown that is divided into many plots that are tended by refugees from around the world.

Some plots serve the function of a home garden while others are used to grow food for sale at farmer’s markets around town. Some of the refugees had even been contracted to grow mint by a local chocolate company interested in sourcing local ingredients.

The diversity of types of gardens and ethnicities of gardeners made for quite the collage of plots, styles, and plants. There were beautiful, intensively-cultivated beds of water spinach and other greens next to plots of more perennial-heavy, wild-looking home gardens. Of special interest were several large perennial eggplant bushes covered with hundreds of berry-like eggplants. Incredible!

We spent the morning reorganizing the collective composting system in preparation for a large operation that would accept compost from several local grocery stores, mulching bananas, spreading wood chips, and talking with a few of the other volunteers before heading off to the farmer’s market. After the market we wandered down the street and got a chance to have a look at a nursery and aquaponics system in nearby City Heights, also affiliated with the IRC. We were all quite impressed by the clean, organized, and abundant operation. Thanks to Antonio for taking the time to show us around and congratulations to the IRC for running a garden program that is obviously extremely valuable to farming people from around the world who are dropped into an apartment in the concrete jungle of San Diego. As Pria explained though, the need for gardening space greatly outweighs the space available in refugee communities. It seems the same is true for all people in places like San Diego!

We whiled away the rest of our time in San Diego doing much of the same. I had great success busking (playing banjo and singing) up in Balboa Park and had a lot of fun while making a pile of dollar bills over the course of our last few weeks in town. Although it was nice to relax, we all began to get a little restless in the setting of San Diego and so a few of us decided to head east to see what adventure awaits us in the mountains and beyond.

Fo more pictures visit our Picasa site at: https://picasaweb.google.com/103461058936929561161/SanDiego

Slow Ride to Catalina, Quick Ride to San Diego

After tacking smartly all the way out of Marina del Rey and leaving Venice beach astern, we came about and headed down the coast in light air. As usual, light wind and a decent sea made for slow sailing and it was late in the afternoon as we passed Long Beach. We continued on, slowly heading south and eventually the wind died almost completely. As we inched along, still just able to maintain a heading, we had another brush with a whale. This time, we felt a great bump and the bow was pushed about 20 degrees off course as the giant bumped our starboard bow and sounded immediately. Incredible! Luckily the force of the encounter was not nearly hard enough to cause damage to either party but, I’m sure, left everyone involved a bit baffled at the chances.

We sailed on into the night, again holding the perennial discussion of whether or not to motor in such situations. As per usual, without any hard and fast schedule to be followed, we opted to drift about. Unfortunately, this night that meant floating back north many miles before the rising sun brought us a bit more wind. Event still we made an early morning entrance to Twin Harbors, dropping the anchor at the east end of the mooring field. Unfortunately, the harbor has been monopolized by the company who runs the small establishment and there is only one small corner, right next to the rocks and exposed to the northwest wind and swell, that is open for free anchoring.

When we came in we were warned by many people that a stiff northwest breeze was to come up in the afternoon, warnings which continued as we talked to people on shore. We did have a few hours to walk around the bay and see the area around the harbor but before too long we decided that if we were going to try to find safer anchorage or pay for a mooring ball we might as well just head for San Diego. The island itself was not calling to us for exploration and we still had the strong evening blow in Smuggler’s Cove fresh in our mind. What’s more we thought it would be great to take advantage of a stiff blow so we could make fast tracks southward. We pulled up the anchor and sailed out of the harbor in the early afternoon.

Our run to San Diego was great. Although wind speeds never reached the predicted 35-40 knots, we had a good 25 knots at our back nearly the entire evening and night. The moon was big and it lit the 8 foot waves that came charging after us one after another. We arrived in San Diego Bay at around 5 AM and tied up to the police dock, waiting for the harbormaster’s office to open. When it did open we applied for a free “cruiser’s” anchorage permit. We passed the simple harbor police inspection, obtained the permit and made our way on to the anchorage.

We went for a spin past the tall ships at the maritime museum downtown before dropping the hook just off the coast guard station in the cruiser’s anchorage. Excited and relieved to have reached our destination, we relaxed for a few moments before heading into town for celebratory meal and a little exploration of the town in which we planned to spend a few weeks.

A few days after arriving, Alden left for Seattle after spending about a month cruising with us. Special thanks goes to Alden for his help and company along the way.

  

For more pictures visit our Picasa site at: 

https://picasaweb.google.com/103461058936929561161/LACatalinaIslandToSanDiegoMay2012