Tuesday, November 18, 2014

It’s a wonderful feeling. To wake up to a 25-knot wind event and realize we are safely anchored in harbor. The wind picks up the seas, but since we are in a bay and not out in the Pacific, Sea Dancer dances over the white caps, rocking the boat gently. All is good. If only that darn halyard would stop banging against the mast.

It was Sunday at 0730 when we left San Quintin with no wind and four to six-foot rolling seas. Despite the roar and fumes of the engine, it was a welcome respite from our previous leg. This went on for several hours and we relaxed into a rhythm, our movements in concert with the boat.

Once again, the weather gurus were off the mark. (I really have to hone my own prediction skills.) All called for 12 to 15 knots from the NW during the day and the winds to lessen during the night. Only Solmate Stan called for winds from the east. He got that part right.

Around 1500, the winds started picking up and the engine went off. Little by little, the wind and the seas continued to rise. We were sailing dead downwind with the waves off our aft quarterdeck.

This is another instance where our journey south is different this year. Cadenza is a heavy boat with a full keel and when sailing in these conditions, she digs in and becomes one with the sea. Sea Dancer is a lighter boat with a wing keel and she flies across the crest of the waves (Not that this is bad. It’s just different.) and we were in for another night of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. The seas were back up to eight to ten feet, splashing over the rail, while the wind howled on at a steady twenty knots.

After twenty-six hours, Jay was at the helm and said something to the effect of “Oh, come on! Give me a break!” And with that, a huge wave soared past my back and slapped Jay in the face, dumping a bucket full of water into his lap. Perfect timing! And so personal. We couldn’t stop laughing.

October 14, 2014

Oh my, oh my, oh my! What a ride it was from Ensenada to Bahia San Quintin.

Since we couldn’t reach Cabo Colonet (the first viable anchorage) before dark, our plan was to leave around 1000 on Thursday and arrive in the bay of San Quintin early the following morning. We would anchor here and rest up for the next thirty-hour trip to Turtle Bay.

A consensus of the various weather gurus called for 12 to 15 knots of wind from the NNW. NNW winds are the prevailing winds this time of year and we were looking forward to a downwind sail. (Except for last year, of course, when we brought Cadenza down. South winds, dead on the nose, practically all the way to Cabo.)

Finally, after years in the making, Don and Bobbi were headed south on Sea Dancer, their Ericson 38. This was to be Bobbi’s first overnight in their journey into Mexico and Don was hoping for the perfect sail under a starlight sky. All signs were promising as we hoped for wind.

Almost immediately, we had fifteen knots of wind and we put up both the genoa and the mainsail. We were off to a great start. It was a beautiful, warm day with few clouds in the sky. The seas were four to six feet at seventeen seconds. There were smiles all around.

We continued along; took turns on the helm, marked our course every two hours on the chart, and had a nice lunch. All the while, the wind and seas were building. Fine by us. We were enjoying the sail. Except that we were sailing too fast.

I know, I know. That sounds crazy. Especially to you racers out there. But we didn’t want to arrive in San Quintin too early. Cabo San Quintin light lies on the SW tip of the peninsula, but as we remembered it, “tip” in Spanish must mean something different. The actual light is several hundred feet inland which could confuse the mariner not familiar with the entrance, especially on a dark night. In addition, on the way down the coast and close to San Quintin is Isla San Martin and Roca Ben, two small pieces of land one would rather avoid in daylight then dodge under the stars.

At seven knots we were going to arrive at three in the morning, so we decided to furl the genoa and run with the mainsail. Ah, slowed down to six knots. A little better. But before long, we were going seven knots again with the winds rising over twenty knots and the seas picking up momentum and height.

Earlier we had discussed reefing before nightfall if it looked like there was any possibility we could have strong winds.

We looked to the sky. Lots of whispy clouds. “Looks like we are in for more wind, not less.” I said. Jay agreed. Only now the seas were precariously lumpy and we weren’t comfortable sending Don up on the foredeck if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. We decided to wait a little while longer, hoping (albeit for naught) that the wind might lie down.

Now the seas were ten to twelve feet and they weren’t seventeen seconds apart. More like five. The wind was up around twenty-two. Time to reef.

We started the engine and turned into the wind. Don went forward to the mast, while Jay handled the lines with Bobbi’s help and I stayed at the helm. It was nerve-wracking to say the least, but together we got the mainsail reefed without too much ado. We turned around and headed south while the sun set to the west.

We were still going five and half knots.

The sun set and it was a long night with winds holding at twenty-two to twenty-five knots. I saw gusts up to thirty and the knot meter once read nine point one. The seas were big and pushing us around. Each of us took turns at the helm, navigating by compass only. Keeping her on course was difficult and took enormous concentration. One slight diversion and we were thirty degrees off in the wrong direction. As you might imagine, this can lead to accidental jibes – and it did – on more than one occasion. Quite the test in skill and stamina.

Just as dawn arrived, the wind started lessening and we turned on the engine, setting anchor in the bay of San Quintin at 0800 this morning. A seal swam up to greet us. We toasted with a beer and the macaroni and cheese dinner we skipped eating last night. Then Bobbi surprised us with a delicious homemade chocolate pie for dessert. Not two minutes after the last bite, everyone silently grab their plates and dumped them into the galley and crawled into their respective bunks. Sleep came easily and peacefully to our worn-out bodies.

Suffice it to say, Bobbi’s first overnight experience in the world of cruising was not Lin Pardy’s romantic entree into sailing. It was more like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

October 12, 2014

We did this last year – sailed down the Baja coast on the Pacific side – but this time, it is a totally different experience. For many reasons.

It’s not our boat. Although we are active participants regarding the safety of the boat and passengers, we are not responsible for all the details that go into preparing and provisioning. Nor do we have to pay the cost!

Jay and I can leave the helm and sit on the bow of the boat together. Something we rarely get to do on Cadenza.

I don’t have to cook all the meals. Bobbi enjoys working in the galley and delivers some scrumptious cuisine.

Jay will assist, but doesn’t have to be the fix-it master of all things mechanical.

Last year we left San Diego in the evening and arrived in Ensenada at dawn.
This year we left San Diego pre-dawn and arrived in Ensenada before sunset.

Last year Marina Coral was 90% occupied.
This year Marina Coral is about 70% occupied, at most.

Last year, the Puerto de Capitan’s office was packed with over seventy people waiting to check-in.
This year, there was only us four and another four from one other boat.

Last year, the check-in process took us all day.
This year, the check-in process took about an hour.

I suppose the main difference is that it is not new. This year’s journey doesn’t have the anticipation and excitement of exploring the unknown. Last year, when we arrived in our first port in Mexico, I had the eyes of an innocent child, curious and full of wonder. Now, I see Ensenada through the eyes of an adult and I am much more critical. It is an interesting city, but I am anxious to move on.

One of the highlights (and somewhat of a surprise) of our trip to Ensenada was the wine country in the Guadalupe Valley. Both years we took a tour and visited three wineries, followed by an early dinner in one of the restaurants in the valley.

It is a beautiful valley, the terrain not unlike our wine country in southern California. They are mostly known for their red wines. There are some white, but very few. They grow grapes in both dry, sandy (arsenal) soil and what they call, colima soil, which is under the shade of the mountains and is wetter. One of the wineries, Paralelo, served the same wine, but used grapes grown from the two different soils. They were a blend of reds; Grenache, Syrah, Merlot, Barrera and Cabernet. Instinctively, I thought I would like the one from the mountainous area, (Colima) but ironically, I preferred the wine made from the grapes grown in sandy soil (Arsenal). We also visited 3 Mujeres, a winery run by three woman who all use the same equipment and grapes from their vineyard, but create their own individual wines. Finally, we took Bobbi back to our favorite winery, Adobe Guadalupe, which is also an inn. Nassir Haghighat designed the inn drawing from Persian architecture with touches of Mexico. It is stunning both inside and out. When visiting Adobe Guadalupe you can chose to have a tasting in their newly-built store or in the cava. We chose to bring Bobbi to the cave where we tasted five wines, all named after angels (but for one). The final tasting – Lucifer – a grappa, made from a muscat grape. OMG!

At the suggestion of Israel (our driver both last year and this year) we had dinner at a place called Familia Samarin. It was a good meal which included three more tastings. (As if we hadn’t had enough!)

For those of you who love wine, whether boaters or landlubbers, I would highly recommend visiting Guadalupe Valley. And if you can, stay at Adobe Guadalupe. I think you will find it a wonderful, mini-vacation, a bit exoctic and not far from California.

Sunrise over the Santa Rita Mountains, Tubac

October 19, 2014
From Martha’s Vineyard:
Take a taxi to the ferry.
Take the ferry to the bus.
Take the bus to the airport.
Take the airplane to Phoenix.
Take the shuttle to Tucson.
Get picked up by my brother and drive to Tubac.

Terri – Two weeks in Tubac, carrying for Mom and Brian & Douglas (Australian Shepherds)
Jay – One week at Mom’s, one week in San Diego taking care of grandson, Mateo.

November 1, 2014
From Tubac:
Take a car to the airport.
Take a plane to San Diego.
Take a rental car to Mira Mesa, visit family
Take car to Anaheim, visit family

November 6, 2014
San Diego:
Take a car to Sea Dancer
Move onto Sea Dancer

November 7, 2014
Take rental car back to airport
Take cab to Sea Dancer

November 8, 2014
Sail Sea Dancer to Mexico.

Approximately one month later:
Arrive in La Paz.
Board Cadenza.

Whew!

September 18, 2014

It has been several days since Hurricane Odile soared through Baja and still the news is sketchy. Our media followed it through Cabo, a major tourist attraction for Americans, but after it moved on and up the peninsula, there has been little, if any information. But thanks to the boating network and our friends, KC Matlock and Holly Scott, details about La Paz have begun to emerge.

We are told Cadenza is in good condition, as well as the other boats in Marina Costa Baja. For this we are immensely grateful. Tom and Jeanne Brown of La Paz Cruiser’s Supply took great care in preparing her for this monster. They battened down the hatches, tied up all loose ends, cleared the deck and then walked the docks watching over the boats. When the weather became too dangerous, a man whom we have never met, Bob of Nirvana, now berthed on our same dock, took over scouting duties. Bob told us via Sailmail that Cadeneza is in “perf condition.”

Thank you all.

Unfortunately, there is much news that breaks our hearts. Yesterday, we were informed that there were thirty-five boats either beached, dismasted, or sunk. Tom wrote that Jeanne is the point person for the recovery mission; organizing and delegating the volunteers to save what boats they can. We understand it will be a long week of many hours.

More importantly, there has been an ongoing search for several missing people. As of yesterday, there were still three people unaccounted for; Paul and Simone of Tabasco II and Gunther of Princess. Rumor has it that the last radio transmission from Gunther said he had six inches of water in his boat. This morning we awoke to the reports that they found Gunther in Princess which had sunk.

Never have we met Gunther, yet we were touched, ever so slightly, by his life, and are deeply saddened by his death.

Every Friday, Gunther would take to the airwaves to run the Cruiser’s Net. There he showed signs of his personality and I drew a picture of him in my mind. Gunther was German, I presume, by both his name and his accent. His sentences were breathy and his voice quivery, hinting to his age. His sense of humor, as well as his impatience, came flying over the airwaves. And he was a great storyteller. Last Christmas, Jay and I sat on Cadenza, listening intently to Gunther spin his tale of being a baker’s apprentice years past in Germany. We smiled and laughed and stay tuned while he rambled on. This man, by way of voice only, had entered our hearts.

No less important, of course, are Paul & Simone. Though we do not know them, they are someone’s children, many people’s friends. We are sending our prayers out that they are found safe.

And what about the many, many others who live scattered throughout the Baja peninsula? As the hurricane was making its way northward, the Weather Channel newscaster kept making a big point about how fortunate it is that beyond La Paz it is sparsely populated. But it is populated! There are many people to be concerned about and these are our neighbors.

I wonder about the small villages of San Evaristo and Agua Verde. What about those who live on that tiny island behind Isla San Francisco? Who will help them? And what about Manuel, the fisherman from Los Gatos? How did he and his family of seven fare?

These are troubling questions.

We do not wish to have been there for the hurricane, but it is difficult to not be there now, to help. These are our friends, our neighborhood, a community of wonderful people who are struggling to overcome a horrific event.

Please keep them in your prayers.

June 8, 2014

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day. The sky was clear, except for a few puffy, white clouds off in the distance, the temperature was a comfortable 74, and there was a 12 knot breeze from the WSW. It was the kind of day when the bay sparkled with what looked like a scattering of diamond pieces. Compared to last year’s blustery 25 knot winds where everyone had to reef, this day provided the perfect setting for a catboat parade and race.

Jay and I were heading down Katama Bay on SkipJack when I first spotted them through the multitude of boats now moored in the harbor. Catboat masts are distinct as they are three quarters tan and the top quarter is painted white. There they lay, ten catboats of various styles and sizes, surrounding the Vose Family Boathouse, swaying on their moorings, seemingly anxious to be let loose. I was anxious myself, to see these beautiful boats sailing in full form, together through the harbor.

The boathouse was already a flurry of activity. Catboaters mingling about, admiring each other’s boats while Mark and friends busied themselves with the task of setting up lunch.

“Ah, the bread!” Pam exclaimed as I walked inside. “I was wondering where the bread was.”

We were given the task of driving to Vineyard Haven and picking up the bread from The Black Dog Bakery. Evidently there was a momentary thought that we might not keep up with our end of the bargain.

“Oh, and butter! You remembered the butter! Thank you so much.” Pam continued as she put me to work.

It is an annual tradition, this Edgartown Catboat Rendezvous. It is a weekend-long celebration, but the Saturday afternoon gathering at the Vose Family Boathouse is the main event. It is a time for commaraderie and refreshements, namely the famous, delicous, soups; Fish Chowder and Ham & Vegetable by Mark Alan Lovewell and Maureen & Bill McCoy, respectively. (So important is this tradition, Maureen and Bill brought their soup in Friday night, all the way from the cape, even though they wouldn’t be participating in Saturday’s luncheon – as they had to head back to Mashpee for their grandaughter’s graduation.) Hence, the bread, to go with the soup.

The informal ceremony began with Mark warmly welcoming all the catboaters who had traveled in for the weekend. Some people came with their boats, others not. There must have been over fifty people listening as Mark regaled us with the history of his family’s boathouse. It is generations old and much love goes into the preservation of such a building that lies over the water. The most interesting fact he shared was that, long before the boathouse was on the property, Manuel Swartz Roberts learned to build catboats on the very land we were standing on. This is the beauty of catboats and Edgartown and the people who love both; the history is respected and kept alive in the storytelling.

The ceremony continued with Mark inviting his brother, Frank, to say a blessing over the fleet. Next up was Steve Ewing, Edgartown’s first Poet Laurete. He recited two touching poems he had authored about family and boating. And finally, and always a delight, was Joe Eldredge who, instead of sharing his poetry this year, talked about sea shanties and challenged us to write one about catboats. Of course I looked at Jay and said, “I think that means you.”

We broke bread and shared a few more stories and laughs. Then, excited to get to our boats and have a sail, we headed out. All ten boats parading out of the harbor, showing off the unique design and character of our cats. The race itself was a bit loose, as were the rules, but still quite competitve. A few close calls at the start and around the mark. Luckily, no damage and not much yelling, either. It was all in good fun. Pandora rounded the mark first and it was Pandora that won the race.

Pandora is a stunning 20′ catboat; an original, one-off wooden boat, designed and built by Bernie Huddlestun around the Marshall 18′ hull. She is owned by Burt & Drew Staniar and is sailed out of Stage Harbor, but it was the father-son team of Drew and Parker who proudly took home the trophy this day.

With the formalities over, it was time to take SkipJack and head back up the bay and put her to bed. The sun was lower in the sky, now, so it was cooler and the water had turned a deeper shade of blue. Jay was at the helm and I was sitting on the bow, both of us quietly reflecting on the day’s activities. A few lone sunbathers were packing up their picnic along the beach. A speedboat of teenagers passed us by. They waved. Jay looked at me and asked,

“Are you happy?”

“Delighted!” I said, unable to wipe the smile from my face.

For what could be better than “messing about in boats!”

The above photo is of Mary Kate & Ashley

June 4, 2014

“We have a jumper!” I yelled as I ran into the house to get Jay.

“What?”

“Come quick! It’s Ashley! She jumped the fence!”

Jay followed me outside.

I had been carrying the bag of feed back to the shed when I turned around and noticed one of the goats staring at me intently. She was also eying the greener grass on the other side of the fence.

Their morning ritual was for us to feed them some grain, but not much. Becky (the owner of Your Backyard Farm) wanted to keep them hungry so they would do their job. In just two days, eight goats had basically cleared the half acre they were brought here to eat and now that they had accomplished their task, they were hungry for more. Their breakfast, it seems, was just a tease. Eventually all eight were giving us the stare-down. Only Ashley had the nerve to make a move.

We found her under a tree not two feet from the fence. She was busy munching on her new-found greener grass.

“What if one of them gets out?” Jay had asked Becky when she delivered them to our backyard.

“Just grab her by the horns, literally.” She smiled. “Make sure the fence is turned off. And then push her under the fence. It collapses easily.”

So I tried it. I grabbed Ashley by the horns. Only I didn’t pull her. She pulled me.

“Whoa! She’s strong, Jay! You had better call Becky.”

But he was having none of that. We weren’t going to call for help. Surely we can handle this on our own, he thought. At least that is what I thought he was thinking.

“Get the food.”

I went to the shed and pulled out the bag with what little grain it held and tried to get Ashley’s attention. She was still focused on the grass beneath her feet but the others…they kept their eyes on the bag of food. All seven of them were getting closer and closer to the electric fence that we had since turned off. I handed the bag to Jay and he was able to coax her under the fence while the other goats crowded around him trying to get their share of what was left in the bag.

“Oh, what the hell.” He threw the bag of grain over the fence and the goats followed. They immediately began to tear up the bag and finished what was left. Ashley continued to stare us down. She was not to be fooled again. She had a taste of those greener pastures and she was just biding her time until we went inside to make her move again.

Jay decided it was time to call Becky. Their job was finished here. At least for the time being.

It has been an interesting experiment. It all started with a visit to our local farm. The Farm Institute is just a few blocks from our house and we often visit to see what is new and what animals are around. They have cows, of course, sheep and chickens. Last year they had pigs and the sow had just given birth. The babies were adorable. And they have goats. While we were standing there watching the children feed them dandelions, Jay told me about an article he had read in the Martha’s Vineyard newspaper. The newest, greatest ecological way to clear fields is to use goats. Last year, The Land Bank used goats from The Farm Institute for this very purpose. This got him to thinking…

Referred to us by The Farm Institute, Becky Brown of Your Backyard Farm delivered eight goats on a sunny, Sunday afternoon. A few days prior she had brought a portable electric fence and went about setting it up around the half-acre perimeter where we wanted to get rid of the poison ivy. Now it was just the finishing touches, open the gate, coax the goats in the right direction and then turn on the electricity. Sounds simple, right? It was. Minutes later, the goats were off in search of food.

“The ones with the floppy ears are Boers.” Becky told me. “And the others, the smaller ones, are Arapawas. “They are from two different areas. They haven’t hung out together, so it will probably be a couple of days before they get comfortable with each other and begin to mix.” Later I learned that the Boers originated in South Africa and are good for meat production. The Arapawas are a rare breed that come from Arapawa Island off New Zealand. They are known to mix well with other breeds.

“Do they have names?” I asked her.

“Well, I think the last guy named one of them Rosie.”

Well, if I name sea lions, you know I’m going to name the goats. And that is what I did. First, I named the groups the Sharks (Boers) and the Jets (Arapawas). There were four in each group and the Sharks, were definitely the Alpha group. Mildred, as we began to call her, was the boss. In fact, she was the boss of all the goats. She was the largest of them all and had just weaned her kid the day before. Mildred was carrying a heavy load of milk and was, seemingly, a bit grumpy. There was only one goat in both groups with no horns, so I decided that must be Rosie. She was sweet and a good worker. But she got pushed around a lot. The last two Boers reminded me of twins so I named them Mary Kate and Ashley.

The Arapawas were my favorite group. I guess I was rooting for the underdogs. They were smaller, more delicate-looking and prettier. (Although I loved the floppy ears on the Boers.) One was pure white. I called her Chickie. Everytime I came outside, she watched me closely. She was more vocal than the others. The black and white one reminded me of the Belted Galloway cows at The Farm Institue. Jay named her Ella. She was quite striking. The last two Arapawa were a beautiful brown color, like fawns, with black markings on their legs. This drove Jay to name one of them Marlena (as in Dietrich). The other had a big red collar around her neck with the number 26 on it. I called her Martha.

It wasn’t long before the Sharks and the Jets had scouted out their territory and each had a select tree they would gather around. They would nuzzle and rest in their groups of four. If the Jets moved over to the Sharks space, they were soon pushed out and back into their own area. Sometimes Mildred would nudge the goats (in both groups) as if to say, “Get up! Get back to work,” which they did.

Every once in awhile, Mildred would also push a goat away if she was eating something that Mildred decided she wanted. And when feeding them grain, Mildred would push all the other goats away until she had one bowl to herself. Yep! She was definitely the boss.

The original plan was for the goats to stay for at least three days, maybe even a week for the first visit. And then come back for a second and maybe a third visit, depending on how much of the poison ivy grows back and when. But with Ashley jumping, Becky knew it was time to rotate them out of our backyard and into another backyard. In fact, she was none too pleased with Ashley and mentioned if she didn’t behave she might just as well make for good meat.

Uh-oh!

But I guess that’s the way it goes in the farming world.

It was Tuesday afternoon when Becky arrived to take them away. Together with Jay she corraled them into the truck and it was time to bid them farewell.

Until next time, my fair goats. We will miss you.