Monthly Archives: February 2024

Small Hopes

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We’ve been cruising down the outside of the Baja via Vizcaíno Bay; a stretch of water whose reputation precedes it. Local winds higher than predicted? Check. Local winds lower than predicted? Check. Seas rougher than we thought they would be? Double check. Anchorages that offer little protection from the prevailing NW winds and seas? Not so fast.

While this stretch of coast is also known as the coast of ‘little hopes’; referencing the many small bites in the land that can barely be referenced as ‘anchorages’, our experience has been that, at least during this trip, we have found not only good holding, but also mostly a good night’s sleep. The only thing small about the hopes along this coastline have been the hopes that we would ever get to go to shore and explore the myriads of beautiful beaches and their accompanying rock formations. Those hopes were small because the rompientes, a Spanish word which means breaking surf, was muy grande in each and every anchorage. I mean, we know we are on the coast of the wild ocean but at some point we hoped for at least a large enough rock along the shore that we could scoot behind to land Sea Pony, our trusty True Kit dinghy.

View from the boat. San Carlos anchorage. Beach landing, anyone? Hard pass.

After reaching Isla San Jeronimo and being turned away from shore by the workers on the island, who explained that the island was protected and we could not land and walk around (Huge disappointment. Not small.) I found myself becoming hopeful for a miracle of beach combing at each additional stop, only for my hopes and dreams to be dashed expertly by the desire to stay alive for one more day. It’s not that the dinghy cannot handle a surf landing. It’s that I probably can’t, at least not with a heavy engine on the back of the little boat. If the water were only 10 degrees warmer I would willingly swim to shore and feel safer. But out here where we are literally the only cruising boat and we have no one to help us if we get ourselves in trouble; we just can’t risk it. Even for interesting rocks.

So this begs the question: how did we find ourselves here on this wild coast and not doing the route most people take, which is an overnight sail to Isla Cedros from points north, skipping this entire area altogether?  I’d like to say it’s because the Galapagos crew likes a challenge. Or that following the guide book is just not our style. I mean, last time we sailed down here, we skipped this part altogether by diverting to Isla Guadeloupe in search of more elephant seals. Alas. The real answer is much more mundane than that. It began with what can only be termed complacency. Every sailor knows that complacency is the enemy. And yet we all get used to living this way and even old salts like us forget to ask ourselves ‘What are we overlooking today? What decisions could we be making that would make our lives easier, not harder?”. One small decision. And then the rest kind of falls into place.

Unforgiving, but so beautiful.

That decision we made was, by default, to hoist the dinghy up behind the boat on its davits and tie it securely. After all, we are ‘coastal cruising’, right? We are not doing any offshore passages. If you were to ask us, “Team Galapagos, would you ever, in your wildest dreams consider towing a dinghy on an offshore passage, or even leaving it on the davits on the stern of the boat?” we would have been absolutely insulted by the question. The implications of that question would have had a profound effect on our feelings of self esteem; that you thought we were somehow stupid or prone to just in general being yahoos. And yet, here we are. Feeling like chumps.

The winds at Isla San Jeronimo were light on the morning in question. We left with a blue sky and a song in our hearts, having decided to do the dreaded overnight to Isla Cedros, dinghy hanging smartly on the back of the boat. I was not excited about this upcoming passage because I hate overnights of a single night. They drag on, the moon was a crescent so it wouldn’t shed much light, and no one gets sleep. The next day feels a lot like jet lag.

We never even got to go ashore here. Isla San Jeronimo. So disappointed.

But we were committed as we set a course for well outside the horrible, terrible, very bad and dangerous Sacramento Reef, completely ignoring the fact that this passage was, by definition, an offshore passage across 55 miles or so of open water. By the time the island was behind us, the winds had begun to be reasonable for sailing and we put out the headsail, going downwind at a nice clip. All was well until the following seas got bigger. And then even bigger. And experienced offshore sailors know what we began to fear. They intuitively understand the locked-jawed look my dear husband was sporting right about then.

That’s right. Looking behind us as wave after wave bore down on our unprotected and vulnerable Sea Pony, we saw the bottom of her inflatable tubes begin to skim the water as swells rose up underneath her. Our stress levels began to rise. My teeth began to clinch. At that point we knew: we had made a critical error. We had been in ‘default’ mode and things were absolutely no bueno. If the dinghy took a breaking wave, it could be ripped off the davits. It could, at the very least, cause damage to the dinghy and to Galapagos. Even the sailing wasn’t fun as the waves had started breaking behind us and the interval between waves was short.

Mr. Handsome at Isla San Jeronimo

Even on a good day, it would have been a challenge to sail in those conditions in the direction we were going. The old fun/suck ratio began to swing alarmingly into the ‘this sucks’ realm. We absolutely live to check the weather and usually what we see on the ground, as it were, jives with the forecasts. Somehow, though, this caught us off guard. Were the waves supposed to be this steep? Was the interval supposed to be this short? As a rule we would whip out our phones or the tablet and check the weather again, but what is the use?  Here we were. I imagine that the sea floor topography in this area makes predicting things like wave patterns more challenging. This direction we were heading was going to cause all kinds of grief.

So we stopped going in that direction. Checking the chart I saw that one of our ‘bailout locations’ was available to us.  Since we were past the reef, we could turn to port, get the wind and swells on our aft quarter instead of right behind us, and find anchorage and peace of mind around Punta San Carlos. Now, to be fair to us, we generally have multiple plans so that if something happens we have a backup idea of what to do. Setting this different course allowed the boat to sail better and more comfortably, which relieved some stress. The seas were still of concern but we were sailing fast enough to just barely stay ahead of the breaking waves (and only every few sets did they break on this trajectory) and as long as I didn’t keep my eyes glued to the dinghy I could contain my anxiety about it.  We saw winds as high as 30 knots but, of course, Galapagos loves that. It’s just her owners who prefer tamer conditions. The anchorage was about 10 miles away, so it would take a little over an hour to get there.

Rounding the low point at the head of the San Carlos anchorage, there were sighs of relief all around as we furled in the headsail and motored slowly into the shallower water to drop the hook, well in the lee of the land. We found 10 feet of water under the keel and dropped 100 feet of chain, plus an extra 30 feet with the anchor snubber, just for good measure. Based on the reviews of the anchorage Michael had read, and the guidebooks we had, we didn’t expect to have the peaceful night that awaited us.

Feeling happy to be out of those conditions.

Honestly, I’m not sure what people expect in an anchorage off this coast in order for it to be given some kind of a gold star in the guidebooks. “Small hope”, indeed. It’s the Pacific freaking ocean. Yes, there will be swells. Sometimes pretty big ones. There might even be wind, especially in the afternoon! It’s possible that you will have some rolling of the boat overnight, so it’s ok to expect that. Considering that we came into this anchorage running from winds gusting to 30 knots and following seas big enough they were cresting way too close for comfort, I’m not sure how much worse it needs to be for this to be considered a great anchorage. All I know is that Michael’s worry about whether we were going to be ‘disappointed’ in this anchorage turned pretty fast to a real sense of relief as the anchor bit deep into the sand,  we deployed the trusty Magma swell reducer, and then settled in for a peaceful night’s sleep.

The following day we put the dinghy in the water and drove around for a bit, hoping for a safe landing somewhere but it was not to be. And a good thing, too. Even if we had been able to land safely, I doubt we would have been able to get off the shore again until the winds died down at night. Just say ‘no thanks’ to crashing surf. Back at the big boat,  dinghy tied down on the deck, I decided I like it this way. It makes a great place to ride the bow.  Can’t say we don’t learn from our mistakes.

My new ride.

In all we have stopped at three anchorages along this coast of small hopes. Punta Blanca offered excellent holding and beautiful scenery in exchange for some rolling around. The swells can be big, so anchor well out from shore and put out a lot of chain. Currently sitting in Santa Rosalillita, I think this is the worst of the three. The marked anchorage is close to the town, but we found that the swells and breaking waves were too sporty for comfort there, especially since the water was fairly shallow. We found it to be better in about 30 feet of water, at the SE edge of town, close to where the camper vans park. Out here the swells can ride under us and it’s quite comfortable even though the boat rises and falls remarkably, adding sometimes 6 feet to the depth here.  (I am reminded of the anchorage is Isla San Benedicto, well offshore from mainland Mexico, where the swells added 15 feet to our depth each time we rode up and over one. These are not quite that bad.) We’re also far enough,, about half a mile,  from the thundering surf that it doesn’t ramp up our nervous systems hearing that constant roar.

This is our setup for the swell reducer. It hangs off the end of the boom and we use a preventer to pull the boom out from the hull. We can get it set up in less than 10 minutes.Wish we had two of them.

Do plan to enter these anchorages with plenty of daylight on your side. Not only are most of the charts for this area way off, sometimes dangerously so, but fishermen leave floats in the bays and good luck seeing them, even in broad daylight. At night you would be at their mercy.

And speaking of fishing floats, if you decide to follow in our wake, a reminder that fishermen do frequent these waters close in to shore, and, just like the crab pots back in our home waters, you’ll find floats marking the spots where traps or even long lines have been left behind.  And just like back home, it’s not the floats that you FIND that cause a problem. It’s the ones you don’t find, usually because either you are not looking, or because they are black and blend in with the sea in a strangely uncanny way (Black? Really?? Why??), or because they are actually just underneath the surface of the water and you can’t see them until they find your hull. And that’s how we picked up this bad boy in about 120 feet of water, on our way out to deeper parts.

A slimy heavy line. Yuck. We got really lucky with how this turned out.

It was unfortunate that we happened to be motoring at the time. But Michael was instantly at the helm and throwing the engine in neutral. The sound of something scraping the underside of your hull is straight up a sickening sound. There was almost no wind, but there are always swells around here. With no dinghy on the back of the boat (yay, we’re smart again!) we could clearly see that now we were trailing a line. That’s not really something anyone wants to see. Was it just caught? Was it wrapped? Would Michael have to get in the water? Because that is a dangerous proposition out here. And yes, it would have to be Michael because this maneuver would require strength I just do not have. The water is cold, and we have a big steel swim step that rises and falls with the swells. You do not want to be underneath that thing when it comes down. Whatever we could do to keep him out of the water would be the best thing. Still, he put on the offshore life vest (in case he fell), tethered himself to the pad eye on the back of the boat (installed for exactly this scenario), and stepped onto the swim step, wrapping a leg around the ladder for stability.

I handed him the boat hook, hoping he could hook the offending line and pull it up. Through a massive show of manly strength where in I swear I saw weasels rip his very flesh, he got the slimy thing up and I held it with the hook while he managed to get it around a hard point on the boat to keep it from sliding back into the water. All without losing a limb or even a finger, although he did get a few dunkings in the cold ocean. Handy knife at the ready he cut the offending line free of whatever evil it was attached to and it receded into the deep like a kraken.

This magazine cover is a favorite.

In the past, when we have been unlucky enough to grab something on the prop, we have been able to get it off by putting the engine in reverse in short bursts. Would it work this time? It did! Two very quick bursts of engine reverse and Michael was able to pull the line free. No harm, no foul. No pun intended. (Those of you who have room for a line cutter on your shaft should consider yourselves lucky. We have zero room for anything like that but sure wish we did.)

Crisis averted this time, we made a hard right and scurried out to deeper water instead of using the more gradual approach we had been on. Spooked, I stood watch on the bow.

The sun’s going down over the anchorage. Hoping for an easy passage to Isla Cedros tomorrow. We’ll probably be there a few days waiting for the big low north of us to stop throwing huge swells our way. Maybe we can even go ashore. I have a small hope.

S/V Galapagos, standing by on Channels 16 and 22, even though there’s no one else out here to talk to.

First fish of the season and we threw him back. This is either a Bonito or a Black Skip Jack, but either way, we do not care for them.

 

Lurching towards Lithium

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Melissa’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean we don’t have the power?  We’ve been motoring all day long.  Surely the batteries are charged now!”

Sadly, Melissa’s brow spent much of September and October a-furrowed. Our 440 Amp Hours of Lifeline AGM batteries were aging and and could no longer deliver the juice they once did (Something I can relate to). Even with good sun on our solar panels and the Balmar 110 amp alternator running, the batteries would not accept as much power when new.

Our old Lifeline batteries. These were top of the line when we left the dock in 2017.

Our old Lifeline batteries. These were top of the line when we left the dock in 2017. Somehow it escaped my attention that they were almost seven years old

I should have foreseen this crisis.  When we were preparing the boat for this cruise, I was busily adding new instrumentation and communications equipment.  We now sport Garmin Radar and wind instruments, an electric toilet, an AIS class B transceiver, and Starlink internet in addition to a not inconsiderable number of power hungry devices already aboard.

Oh and a 2000 watt Victron inverter charger! Let’s not forget that. That inverter opens up a veritable Pandora’s box of amp sucking geegaws that seem to mysteriously find their way onto the boat. This isn’t a new phenomena.  A quiet battle has been raging on Galapagos about supply and demand since the beginning. Even as I type, Melissa is wondering out loud if we could install a washer/dryer combo in the V-Berth.  Check out some of our earlier posts on the subject Here and Here.

By the time we reached San Diego it was clear that we would need to replace the old batteries. My first instinct was to simply buy another set of Lifelines.  That would be the easiest route. But who wants to do things the easy way? Not us!

We had been hearing that regular cruisers were now installing Lithium batteries (technically Lithium Iron Phosphate, or LiFePO for short) onto boats with great success.  This particular chemistry is now widely available and has addressed many of the safety concerns of earlier Lithium battery types.

Thus emboldened to consider a serious upgrade to our power system, I began to research, perseverate, ponder and cogitate on the myriad choices available. There are so many great resources available on the subject and it is amazing how much effort folks put into creating great advice and content.  Links to some of the articles and channels that helped me are below.

After much hand wringing, I bought two 460 Amp Hour Epoch batteries. These things are an amazing value and have features I would never have considered possible in a battery. For example:

  • 300A Max Continuous Discharge (500A 30s Discharge)
  • 230A Max Continuous Charge (300A 10s Charge)
  • Built in 500 Amp Class T fuse
  • IP67 Rated, Dust and WATERPROOF
  • HEATED – Internal heating for below 0C charging
  • BLUETOOTH – iOS and Android Apps
  • CANBUS Communication allows BMS to communicate directly with Victron OS
  • Mountable ON/OFF Switch
  • Mountable Battery gauge
Our two Epoch 460 AHr batteries. These are an 8D form factor. On the right hand side, you can see the power switch and a row of dip switches for setting up series/parallel configuration. The power switch is an especially useful safety feature.

Our two Epoch 460 AHr batteries. These are an 8D form factor. On the right hand side, you can see the power switch and a row of dip switches for setting up series/parallel configuration. The power switch is an especially useful safety feature.

Out of this impressive list of features the fact that I could integrate the Battery Management System (BMS) with the Victron equipment I had was intriguing. This means that the battery would tell the charger what it needs. Charging batteries correctly is the key to a long and useful life. Living with lead acid batteries on a boat it is difficult to give them the love that they need; don’t discharge below 50% capacity, do bring them up to full charge often, AGMs prefer one charge profile while traditional wet cell batteries  want to be charged differently.

Each battery came with a well made set of 700mm battery cables. These made the installation that much easier.

Each battery came with a well made set of 1 meter battery cables. These made the installation that much easier.

Now, the battery can tell most of the charge sources (not all) what it needs.  The Victron Multiplus charger and both solar chargers are controlled by the Epoch BMS.  The Balmar alternator is not that intelligent and special considerations have been made to ensure that the alternator maintains both a safe charge profile and is itself protected from working too hard.

Any project of this magnitude requires more than just a pair of batteries.  I installed a Victron Cerbo GX to provide the communications interface between the various charge devices and the batteries but it does so much more.  The Cerbo offers a number of digital and analog inputs for displaying alarms, tank levels etc.  It also has a built in web server which provides visibility and control of all of the various Victron devices. And since the Cerbo is networked via our Starlink router, that visibility and control is available anywhere in the world.

One concern I have is the reliability of these fancy new batteries in extreme conditions.  For example, would a lightning strike destroy the BMS, rendering the whole battery useless? I don’t have a spare BMS but plan on acquiring one. This worry led me to maintain a set of traditional wet cell batteries for the engine and windlass.  They are three inexpensive (Interstate) Group 24 batteries that are used only for start and windlass duties but if the worst should happen, I can switch them over to provide power to the house and vital navigation electronics.  While it would be difficult and expensive to plan for every dark contingency, I feel this strategy provides some old school redundancy. Let’s hope I never need it.

This is the power distribution diagram for Galapagos. Note that a Victron DC-DC 30 amp charger is used to supply charging voltage to the Wet Cell batteries. Click on image for a larger view.

This is the power distribution diagram for Galapagos. Note that a Victron DC-DC 30 amp charger is used to supply charging voltage to the Wet Cell batteries. Click on image for a larger view.

One potentially controversial decision I made was in how the I use the alternator to charge the LiFePo batteries.  Because the BMS can disconnect the batteries from a charge source for a variety of reasons, there is a risk that the alternator could be unceremoniously disconnected from the batteries.  Alternators do not like to be dumped. Who does? If this happens a large field voltage spike is generated which can destroy the rectifier diodes.  For this reason, provisions must be made to prevent such an occurrence or minimize its effects if it does happen.

Conventionally, the alternator would be charging a lead battery and the LiFePo bank would be charged via a DC-DC charger. That way there is always a battery to charge into.  But when I was sourcing my Victron charger, all I could get was a 30 amp charger (I think a 50 amp charger is now available). Since my alternator can comfortably deliver 75 amps to the LiFePo bank I would be missing out on all that juice, something I am loathe to do.

So I have reversed the process and charge the lead battery from the LiFePo bank using the DC-DC 30 amp charger.  To mitigate any risks of damage of a battery disconnect, I  have installed the Balmar APM-12 protection module to our alternator which will clamp field voltage spikes to prevent damage to the diodes and other electrical devices. I also have a manual field disconnect switch which I can use if the batteries are approaching 100% State of Charge. Additionally, I have de-rated the alternator using the Belt Saver feature on the regulator to keep the alternator running a lower operating temperature, about 80 degrees C at present.

The DC-DC charger and the Cerbo GX module.

The DC-DC charger and the Cerbo GX module.

If I acquire a second, larger DC-DC charger, I may reconfigure this setting. For now, I am comfortable with the risks.  The likelihood that both batteries would go offline at the same time seems fairly low.  Maybe I can buy another Epoch battery and then further minimize the risk.

So far, I have been ecstatic about how this new system is working.  I have taken the 920AHr house bank down to 13 percent SOC and charged it back to 50 percent in 4 hours. If I run the generator and the alternator and solar at the same time, I can put 150 amps into the house bank without worry. Well, I still worry, but less than I used to.  I love not having to to charge the bank up to 100% SOC. For a cruising sailboat that is a big deal.

We are presently anchored off of Isla San Geronimo, about a third of the way down the Pacific coast of the Baja Peninsula. Today we motored for about three hours until the wind got up and we sailed the rest of the day. The graphic below depicts our energy demands and production.  This is probably not totally accurate as it does not correctly account for the power generated when the alternator was running. Maybe I need a smart shunt.

One of the many nice features of the Cerbo GX is the ability to create a Victron Remote Monitor (VRM) account. With it you can not only control your Victron devices but gain insights into your energy production and usage.

One of the many nice features of the Cerbo GX is the ability to create a Victron Remote Monitor (VRM) account. With it you can not only control your Victron devices but gain insights into your energy production and usage.

This is a long post and most readers are likely bored silly. Hopefully it will help those of you that may be considering the switch to LiFePo batteries. Remember, this is just one data point by a guy on the internet. Do your research and make decisions based on your own circumstances.

Here are a few of my favorite resource as I began this journey.

Off Grid Garage :This guy is very knowledgeable and entertaining.  He is an Australian dirt dweller but well worth a visit.  Lots of youtube videos about LiFePo and various battery monitoring systems.

MV Intrique He has a couple of videos on the Epoch 460 AHr batteries and has done a good job of explaining some of advantages of these batteries.

Panbo An excellent review of the Epoch Battery with a tear down.  This site gave me great confidence in the build quality of these batteries.

Marine How To If you have done any research into batteries and charging, You have visited Rod Collins’ site.  He has done a lot for the DIY community.  Rod had a massive stroke two years back and is slowly recovering. If you find his articles useful, think about donating to his site.

Gui Mods The Cerbo GX is a Linux based platform so of course smart folks have hacked the interface and made it better.  I highly recommend the Gui Mods.  This video is a primer on what the mods do and how to install them onto your Cerbo.

At Risk of Sloth

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“What are you doing in that freezer?”, I asked, trying failing to keep my tone neutral.

“I saw you had ice in your drink the other night and I want some ice!”  Michael is rummaging around in the freezer in a way that is setting my teeth on edge since the freezer is packed completely full and only I know how everything fits together in the one square foot of space we have for frozen foods.  I am not amused, although I am not averse to his getting ice for his well-deserved drink. I begin to think about how I can get the ice to be on the top of everything so he won’t have to dig next time. My teeth can’t take the added stress right now.

Cool fountain down on the malecon.

“Well, Mister Man, be sure to put everything back exactly the way you found it because it took me an hour to tetris all that stuff just so into that little munchkin freezer and it was not easy. I had to take out frozen chicken thighs, which I am not even sure how I’m going to use at this point, to make room for all the cheese I’m storing in there. I’m prepared to be off grid here! I’m prepared to have to feed us for months without a decent grocery store! And in spite of how overly prepared I am,  now we have been here at this  (creative swear words here) dock so flipping long that I am beginning to have anxiety about leaving. I tell you I am prepared! All cabinets, the fridge, the freezer..all possible stowage is packed tighter than a church pew on Christmas.  So just get everything back in the freezer the way I had it. K?”

Michael, accustomed as he is to my unfounded anxieties, retorted as his plastic ice cubes clinked noisily into his glass: “Well, we’ll just put your anxieties about leaving along with all the other anxieties we have about life in general right about now. How about that?”.

I guess he’s not wrong. We’re both getting a little antsy here at the dock in Ensenada. It’s been too long since we have anchored this boat. Too long since we have sailed this boat or even motored this boat. We have been here at this dock TOO LONG. When I start knowing my way around town, then we have been in a place too long. The security guard knows me now. Oh, hell no!

This post is going to degrade rapidly into a bit of a ramble, but I won’t even apologize for that.

Honestly, I have just about reached a tipping point with this whole ‘we live here now’ dock living we have been doing since our belated return from the homeland in Washington State; somewhere on or around January 17. This is a weird thing, this tipping point. When we have to be on a dock, at first I feel  like that’s going to be a nice break from the stress of always living at anchor at the whim of mother nature. We can walk into town. Going for groceries is easy. We can buy boat parts we didn’t know we needed. What’s not to like?

But soon I begin to feel like I’m getting ‘soft’; like if I don’t get back out there away from the easy life of land I’m not going to want this life of ease to end. I’m going to start leaning into being lazy. I’m going to be at risk of embracing the sloth. Days and weeks are going to pass with absolutely nothing to show for it.  I’ll end up doing nothing with my life besides watching Instagram videos and sitting on my ass in the evening eating things that are surely shortening my very existence, dreaming of the day I can get back to refinishing furniture in the basement and planting seeds in the land dirt. Maybe I am the only person who feels this way about dock living. Most people seem to love it and it’s fine with them that they don’t have to worry about anchors holding or being on a lee shore.

When I begin to be this accustomed to easy street, I begin to get anxious once again about the day when we have to leave the dock.  I’ll start planning how to get out of the slip and begin looking at tide and current charts well in advance so I have a concrete plan on how we will do this without messing up other boats. Even though we have literally NEVER MESSED UP ANOTHER BOAT when leaving our slip. Literally never. Does this mean I am finished with the cruising life? It does not. What it means is that I don’t have enough to keep my brain occupied in a positive direction so it has begun to entertain itself.   Don’t try to understand me. I’m complicated.

I’d like to say we enjoy seeing these big boys right next to our boat. Alas. They blow black soot all over everything.

Anyway.  We are still in Ensenada at Cruiseport Marina. Why? Because this trip, destination Banderas Bay to an eventual Pacific Crossing, has taken way too long overall and it continues to do so. Let’s recap this trip so far:

Return to land life in Olympia, Washington during covid times. Get jobs. Sell house. Buy different house. Remodel house. Move into house for the briefest of moments in time. Continue working on boat during all of this, including pulling and replacing all chainplates, re-rigging, modifying the settees in the salon, replacing mattresses in aft cabin, among many other expensive and time consuming projects. Prepare to leave the dock in April 2023. Everything is seemingly falling into place until then. Full. Stop.

Our delays begin when, during the final countdown to leaving Olympia aboard our beloved Galapagos,  we are faced with an unplanned remodel of the apartment at our house. We had always planned to remodel that hovel of an apartment SOMEDAY,  after the current renter left. But we didn’t know he was leaving until two weeks before he did. This was a curveball that, while welcome in many ways, would have been better thrown like 3 months before it landed on us. Wait.

That’s only partly true. The delays began when we could not, in a timely way,  get on the schedule of the guy who did our fiberglass work. Those two delays together, the refit and the apartment remodel, started us off in what was a delay that would have a trickle down effect.

It was August 1 before we were able to leave.  Our plans for Alaska were cancelled once again; our plans to circumnavigate Vancouver Island gone, once again.  Between one thing and another it took us way too long to get the heck out of the Pacific Northwest. By June we had planned to be sailing down the coast. Once we made the big left turn outside of Neah Bay it was already September. And it took even longer than we could have foretold to make it down to southern California. Leaving in this late, we chose to stick close to the coast rather than sail offshore and risk being in one gale after another.  While it seemed like our weather window was a good one, it turned out that we either had zero wind with sloppy and uncomfortable seas or gales. So we spent a lot of time gnashing our teeth tied to a dock or at anchor somewhere waiting for weather systems to pass. So one thing leads to another.  This, we know.

Still, no sense getting down into Mexico before November  (due to hurricane season and all) so we spent time in the Channel Islands, which is always a good idea. Honestly, this was the best, most enjoyable part of the entire trip so far.  By the time we got to San Diego, it was clear our batteries were dying so we had to replace those. Another delay. If I didn’t know that this is sometimes how it goes, I’d think someone ‘up there’ had something against us.

We were honestly sad to leave the Channel Islands. We could easily have spent a much longer time there.

And let’s not forget that when we finally did leave San Diego, we ran afoul of some kelp in the channel that actually wrapped itself around our prop, leading us to call it quits and go back to the anchorage for another night. That was not a long delay, but it did just feel like more of the same. By the time we got to Ensenada, it was time to go home for the holidays. I guess we could have skipped that and gone directly to La Cruz, but it’s a good thing we didn’t.  Family issues back home meant we had to reschedule our flight back and didn’t get back to Mexico until the middle of January.

Back in Mexico, we didn’t want to leave Ensenada until I had been able to get an overdue physical exam (so much easier to schedule that here, and cheaper, too), had my teeth cleaned, and had a couple of retainers made for my teeth since apparently I tend to gnash them on the regular. This had always been part of the plan. Those are checked off the list, finally. (An hour consultation with an Internal Medicine doctor for $58. Complete lab profile, including test for parasites and checking electrolyte levels for 60$. That’s 6 pages of lab results. Teeth cleaned for $50. Two retainers for 150$. Thanks, Mexico.)

Walking down the tourist district. This little girl is learning how to charm the potential buyers!

While I was busy with medical and dental, and catching up with clients, Michael needed to fix the outboard engine that seemed to hate going at low speeds. It expressed its disdain by misfiring and sometimes outright stalling. Mike finally got traction on that today thanks to an older gentleman who works at a local shop specializing in outboard engines. Michael showed him a video he took of what the engine was doing and the guy, correctly, diagnosed the issue and sold him the part for it. It was some kind of rubber covering for the spark plug. It needed replacing. Ten dollars later the engine is finally ready. This is great because it means we can putt putt along close to shore, staring down into the water like we do.  And Michael will be able to enjoy the scenery without staring at the outboard, a puzzled frown on his face.

I’m still working for a living, so it was hard to leave Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday of this week, and we could leave tomorrow but another big rainstorm is coming through with pretty big swells coming directly from the west, so they’d be right on our beam as we head south. That sounds like fun, doesn’t it? No. It does not.

Maybe…Sunday? There isn’t supposed to be wind that day but I don’t care if we have to motor for 100 miles. It’s time to go before I become ossified into this slip and attached to a life whose biggest challenge is whether my Google Translate app is up to date. So for now, barring any other delays, we are leaving on Sunday.  I’ll make some sort of sacrifice to the Gods of Leaving the Dock Safely. We have given notice to the marina. They will have our paperwork ready for us. We have listed our next port as La Cruz in Banderas Bay. That’s where so many people stage to prepare for crossing to French Polynesia. We wish. We hope and we plan. We envision warm water and beautiful fish.

Where are we going next? Who knows? At this point we will let the sea decide where we land to stay at anchor and catch our breath and remember how to sleep on a boat that is moving,  Overall it will be south-ish. We still plan to cross to French Polynesia this year but will we make it? We still need to apply for a long stay visa and to find liability insurance.  It just feels, I don’t know how to say it, but like the wave of energy we’d need to ride to make that happen for sure has not appeared for us yet this year; like we have just started “raising the sails” when the wind suddenly dies. That kind of thing.  Maybe the energy of La Cruz will change all of that. We are trying to practice the “non attachment to outcomes” that is necessary when cruising. We are not always successful with that. But we try.

Getting this blog post up is the first step toward re-engaging with this cruising life. Let it be written. Let it be done.

S/V Galapagos, out. Not even standing by. No one keeps their radio on in this marina.