Author Archives: Melissa

No Zombies Yet

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So this wasn’t our year for crossing the Pacific to French Polynesia. We made the decision to put off that trip for a number of reasons, but apparently even if we had been ready to go, the Corona Virus would have had other plans for us. Just today French Polynesia’s president announced that movement between islands would be prohibited except for family or professional reasons and that any person entering the country must be quarantined for 14 days. This mandate is good until rescinded; after all, no one can predict how long this particular armegeddon will last. Whoa. Until this virus shebang is over, it’s definitely not business as usual for cruising sailboats. While I imagine some boats might continue on to the South Pacific and just stay in one place for however long it lasts, others will be discussing a ‘Plan B’ right about now. We are truly sorry for the folks who have worked so hard to get their boats ready and now have to regroup and change their plans. It’s a strange time.

www.PacificCatalyst.com What a boat! It screams Pacific Northwest and is stunning.

As we move towards leaving Mexico and sailing to Hawaii, we wonder how to make decisions about our next moves. Mexico has begun taking measures to prevent the virus from gaining a foothold here. All the schools in the country are currently closed. The last report I read had 14 cases in the south Baja, where we are, being tested for the virus. All of them are either Americans or Europeans. Mostly Americans.

We saw a few people wearing facemasks here in La Paz, and when we went to a taco place for lunch they had a big bottle of hand sanitizer on the counter. There have been rumors of the Mexican president closing the border with the United States, although nothing has happened yet and we hope it doesn’t. That would be an incredibly big deal. Based on the number of people out enjoying walking by the water on Sunday evening, social distancing hasn’t taken over here yet but it’s only probably a matter of time before that comes to Mexico as well.

A Blue Whale. Definitely a bucket list moment.

We had an interesting conversation with a store owner in La Paz today. She admires their current president quite a bit. She said he puts a video on Youtube every day at 6:00AM to give the entire country an update on the virus and to keep panic from taking hold. He talks about the measures the government is taking, educates the public, and tries to put this thing in perspective. She feels like he is offering very good leadership. What a concept.

So what’s our plan? For now, we are remaining flexible but we still plan to sail to Hawaii. Our concerns, however, are two fold: 1) We don’t want to bring the virus from Mexico (where is it surely being way under reported) to anywhere else 2) We don’t want to get sick in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Both of those scenarios would be, as we say, no bueno.

You can see the implications of these concerns. Do we cancel the trip? Do we hunker down in Mexico for another year? Do we go about our business as usual? We do take this disease seriously, but we want to remain balanced in our approach to dealing with this unusual situation. Every day the situation changes, with more and more measures being taken to try to flatten the curve of the outbreak and keep it from becoming completely devastating across the world. While we realize that there is only a very slim chance we would get this virus, we want to mitigate that chance and do everything we can to play it safe on all levels.

Punta Salinas. Galapagos in the distance in her happy place.

So our plan as it stands now is to finish up our time here in La Paz taking care of some stuff we want to do like getting full bloodwork panels because we can get them easily and cheaply here, unlike at home. We’d like to see a dermatologist for skin checks before we leave as well. Then we will leave the Baja Pensinsula and head to the Pacific Coast, ending up in La Cruz down by Puerto Vallarta. We may get a medical letter saying we are well and have no symptoms. We’ll hang out there and after fully provisioning for the long term, we may decide to isolate ourselves on our boat at anchor for up to a week while on the mainland side to give the virus some time to show itself before we leave. In a recent article in the Annals of Internal Medicine, most people begin to show symptoms in about 5 days, with outliers developing symptoms as late as 14 days post exposure.

If we are still symptom free at that point, we are sailing to the Revilligigados Islands, a group of islands in Mexico about 250 miles, give or take, offshore. We won’t be allowed to go ashore there and we can’t think of a better place to isolate ourselves and make sure that we are not carryng the virus into the Pacific Ocean or to other people. If we were to get symptoms during our stay in the islands, we could get back to La Cruz if necessary in a couple of days. If no symptoms emerge, then we go on to Hawaii.

Between the self isolating at anchor on the mainland and the two weeks of isolation in the islands,  we will be well past 14 days of incubation.  That’s long enough to be sure we are not carrying the virus out to sea. If the data on the incubation period changes, we will make adjustments.

Of course, it’s likely other sailboats will be visiting the islands, especially those who are disappointed by not being able to go to French Polynesia this year. If other cruisers are there, we’ll just have to maintain our social distance from them. No cockpit visiting for us. Social distancing is generally much easier for cruisers than for land dwellers. A lot of us are socially distant by nature anyway.  But by the time we get to Hawaii, we are going to be very ready to talk to some other people!

It’s possible that we will monitor our temperature during the passage to Hawaii, recording that on time-stamped video, but we’ll be in touch with the Coast Guard before we leave to see what they recommend, knowing that could change. We will also have the ability to contact the Coast Guard enroute by email or text to keep abreast of how things might change for cruising boats.

This car could be 50 years old. Or 5 years old. The marine environment is harsh at best. Punta Salinas.

The big question for us, and for everyone else, too, is how long this thing will last. If Washington State is still basically shut down in June, will we want to go home at that point? Will we hunker down in Hawaii? That’s not a very cruiser friendly state because there are few anchorages and even fewer marinas with space. If I need to isolate myself on my boat, do I want to go home to do that? So even as we prepare to make this jump to Hawaii, we maintain an eye on what’s happening in the rest of the world.

At the end of the day, even though we feel sure that the virus is alive and well in Mexico, our chances of contracting it are slim. We do our due diligence with hand washing, hand sanitizer, etc. and that’s all we can really do to mitigate getting any kind of illness that is passed from one person to the next. I’ve always been pretty aware of being around people who are couging, sneezing, or otherwise obviously ill, so now I’m on a bit higher alert. Not a lot, but I notice a wee bit more vigilance on my part. It’s a stressful time, to be sure, but we are not going to live in fear of this thing. We’ll just be prudent and aware, and we hope you will, too.

More Sea of Cortez wonder. Punta Salinas.

Here are some soothing and lovely photos taken at Punta Salinas on Isla San José. The psychotherapist in me knows that we all need to be soothed lately. Be sure you are taking time to enjoy sunshine and beauty, flowers, puppies and kittens, humor, and delicious food and drink. If you are in the United States and you have to hunker down at home, be grateful to have time with your self and your families, and allow that gratitude to exist alongside the stress of uncertainties that we are collectively experiencing. It’s ok to feel both kinds of things simulaneously.

Check in with your neighbors to see how they are doing. Allow this time to be one of bringing people together, not tearing them apart, even as we keep our ’social distance’ by keeping our hands to ourselves. In spite of the suffering, and that yet to come, can we allow some grace to come from this? How can you help make that happen? Share your hand sanitizer and toilet paper. Make cookies and good bread to share. Skype with your friends as they go about their day and you go about yours; just keeping each other company. Be kind to the people working long hours in the stores. It’s not their fault the shelves are empty. And have patience with yourselves when you are frightened and worried. This,too, shall pass. And I’d like to think we will be better people for it in the end.

Those colors. Punta Salinas.

Mexico Thigh Master

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Suzanne Sommers really missed the boat with her design of the thigh master. You remember that contraption: it was basically a big figure 8 folded in middle at a 90 degree angle. You placed the wings between your knees and squeezed and it was supposed to give you thighs of steel. She probably sold a million of them because who didn’t want to look like Suzanne Sommers did back in the day? Well,  today I discovered something even more effective than the Thigh Master at creating pain and loathing everywhere below the waist: mule riding.

I am currently filled with gratitude that I am sitting on my worn out settee in the saloon of Galapagos. As much as I have complained that these cushions need replacing and make my butt hurt, they are multitudes of softness compared to the saddle on the nameless mule I met today; the saddle I spent 4 hours, 23 minutes, 16 seconds sitting in  as we engaged in one of my bucket list adventures: traveling by mule.

My mule. I call him Nameless because I cannot pronounce (or even remember) his name.

We are in San Juanico, one of our favorite spots. We picked up crew in Guererro Negro, that’s another story, and we wanted our new friend, Ryan,  to see this special place. Our first day here we were walking the road for some exercise and met another crusing couple out walking their dog. They told us that the guys at the organic farm up the road were offering a trail ride up to see the petroglyphs. It was on Saturday morning and cost 500 Pesos, about 25$/person. I felt like this opportunity was simply too good to pass up. We said yes and decided right then that it was worth hanging around for.

Yesterday we ambled up to the farm to let them know we would be coming along. We love this farm because they have goats, chickens, turkeys, peacocks and dogs; including this precious little pup they found on the streets of Loreto. It was only 2 weeks old when they got it, its eyes not even fully open yet. They are raising it with the goats and it suckles from one of the mamma goats who allows a person to hold the pup up to her teet and take milk. It will be a goat dog and is the sweetest thing I’ve seen in a long time. When it is big they will let it hang out with the goats, as their other dog does, and it will help keep the goats safe from coyotes by barking if something is upsetting the goats.

Because who doesn’t love holding a wee pup?

Being held to the mamma goat’s teet. She is patient while he latches on.

There is something that brings out the child in us all at this farm. It is so well kept, the animals so well treated and all so healthy. We are greated by the current goat dog, a love of a dog who comes to be petted, smiling a toothy grin. This morning when we arrived at the farm for our trail ride, we were shown a brand new baby goat born just in the wee hours of this morning, placenta still on the ground next to it. We were allowed to go into the goat pen and be surrounded by goats, many of whom thought the straps on our backpacks were a special treat. Maybe some day we’ll have some goats. I could see that happening.

Just being a goat.

 

And taking a dust bath.

Mules at the ready. And that sunlight of early morning!

As we mounted our mules and started down the road I began to feel relaxed in the saddle, casually holding the reins in one hand and doing my best to keep my heels down like I might know something, anything, about what I was doing. I tried to remember all the things I’ve ever heard about riding mules and came up only with images of John Wayne and the Lone Ranger. No, those are big horses, not mules,  and I’m completely missing the six shooters they carried. Should I use my knees to try to post? I vaguely remembered someone trying to teach me that during a riding lesson 50 years ago or more. At that stage of the ride, everything was still possible; as in it was possible that I could do this and still be able to walk afterwards.

As the trail wound on, up and over, down and through terrain, the old body began to protest and it was clear I needed to pay attention. Am I supposed to keep my core muscles firm to protect my spine from wobbling? Looking ahead on the trail, I see others in our group looking like bobble-head dolls in the saddle. Surely that is poor form and they will pay for that tomorrow with pain?  Is it bad manners to hold onto to that horn in front of me on the saddle, because I could use the extra support.  I think someone once told me you were not supposed to hold onto the horn. Supposedly it showed the world that you didn’t actually know how to ride, but, actually, I do NOT know how to ride so could I get a pass on that? By now I couldn’t really feel my feet because my blood flow was cut off at the knees, so I just went with it and tried to channel my inner horsewoman, whoever she is. Or mule woman, as it were. Because I know the difference between horses and mules. Yes, I do.

Down a very steep, dusty,  and narrow trail.

About the time I figured out that I could actually tell my mule not to drag me through the cactus, he got a wild hair and made an executive decision to trot. Downhill. On a very rocky, narrow path. Whoa, Nelly! Now, I’m not averse to animals having minds of their own when I’m not on their backs, but I do recall our daughter-in-law, Jillian, who knows horses, speaking about having to take charge of them and let them know you are the boss. Right. Let’s do that then. A quick pull up on the reins and I found some kind of a “heyah!” noise exploding out of my mouth like I knew what that meant. Whatever, because clearly I gave the correct impression that no, we absolutely were not going charging down the steep rocky path regardless what the other mules were doing. It just wasn’t on. Nameless obeyed my command. Heady stuff, that.

Eventually we came to a meeting of the minds and Nameless and I got along. I think he was an older mule, based on his grey hair, and he was certainly recalcitrant; but also careful. It was absolutely necessary to trust him as we picked our way over rocky tide pools, along sandy beaches, climbed steep and narrow trails of gypsum, and forded wetlands. I let the reins hang loose in my hands. We got the full meal deal with this trailride and it was fantastic. In spite of the considerable pain in my derrière and knees, and the fact that I could not actually use my feet, I found myself thinking how much I would enjoy doing this kind of thing more regularly, and that got me thinking that maybe I’ll get our Jillian to teach me how to ride when we get back up to Washington.

How much better would it be to have a saddle that actually fit me and, ok maybe also an animal that had less girth. It’s not that Nameless was rotund, it was that he was…wide. Anyhow, I think maybe it’s in my blood. After all, my family is from Texas. At some point some of them probably at least had horses, if not mules. By the time we get to Washington my knees, inner thighs and tail end will surely be better. Surely.

Reins in one hand, camera always ready. If I learn to ride, I probably will have to put down the camera, eh?

As we approached the petroglyphs I could tell Nameless was excited. He began to hurry. I figured they had food at the end of the trail and he was of a mind to be eating, since he was pulling stuff from the side of the trail every now and then and had to be redirected. But as it turns out he just knew the end was near. And after viewing the petroglyphs and giving the mules a break, his excitement crested as he knew we were on our way back. Surely THEN there will be food.

He expressed himself by picking up the pace outright and trying to maintain a lead for awhile. All the mules were filled with the excitement of a trailride close to being over. It seemed like Nameless wanted to be first back to the farm. Soon we were trotting, an interesting experience from the point of view of my bum. Because by this time the pain in the knees was such that trying to clasp them to the belly of this beast only increased their protest, I tried kind of standing in the saddle to relieve the agony. That worked marginally.

By this time I was absolutely sometimes holding onto the horn when no one was looking.

Then Nameless decided to canter. I decided enough was enough. I mean, had I been able to use him as the thigh master he was at that point, it would have been fine. Cantering is a smoother ride that trotting, or even, at that point, walking. But by this time Nameless wasn’t the only thing not obeying my command. My thighs, knees, and feet also had minds of their own as there seemed to be a disconnect between those body parts and my brain,  so clasping his girth between my knees just wasn’t happening. He had begun full blown cantering across the beach in pursuit of the other mules, who were also cantering.

I had a fleeting moment where I registered something close to delight that we were taking off, figuring we’d get back all the sooner and realizing that cantering offered me a smoother ride. But that moment was fleeting. I did, after all, want to live to see another day. It took several seconds for my brain to register that yelling ‘no nononononononooo!’ to a mule is both meaningless and fruitless and to pull back on the reins sharply and with expression. He stopped, but he didn’t like it as the other mules outpaced him. Still, I thought it was worthwhile for him to know I meant to survive this ride, even if my bum did not. I shifted once more in the saddle, butt bones hard against the unyielding leather.

Hey, let’s just canter across this beach, ok?

After that it was as though he had called my bluff and refused to go faster than a slow walk. As we neared the road to the farm I thought I’d let him go a bit and catch up with most of the others. I clicked his reins, jabbed him in the belly with my heels, made kissy noises, did all the things he had previously responded to. But he had put me firmly in my place. He would canter no more. He would trot not an instant. In fact, it felt to me like as we approached the farm he plodded slower and slower and the cowboy riding with us was laughing good naturedly and shaking his head. I believe had I been able to spend some time with Nameless I could have won him over, at least to learn how to lord my will over him if not come to an understanding of mutual respect. He was a mule with attitude and I can understand and even appreciate that. But for today, checkmate. Game over. What a grand day!

Next we head south and we’ll be keeping a fairly rapid pace without hurrying. We like to thread the needle like that. And our crew? Well, his name is Ryan and we met him in the Pelican Cafe in Guererro Negro. We sat down at his table and began to visit with him over our coffee as we waited for our bus back to Santa Rosalia. Turned out he was going to be on our same bus going south. His agenda was to explore the Baja and see what it had to offer. He hails from San Diego and has never crewed on a sailboat before. He’s a vegetarian (and I’ve been enjoying exploring vegetarian cooking), meditates twice a day, and we have had a great time sharing all things boats, cruising, sailing, and just introducing him to the possibilities of this lifestyle, plus having deep philosophical conversations. An electrical engineer in a previous life, he learns fast, is curious without getting in the way, and has been extremely helpful on board. Plus he plays chess so Mike has a chess partner and he speaks very good Spanish, which is more of a help than he will ever know. It was a stroke of good fortune that we met like we did and that everyone felt comfortable enough to be on the boat together. We don’t know how long he will be with us, so we’re just enjoying the moment.

Here’s a little ditty Ryan wrote to describe his our mule ride day:

We got on mules
Rode beach and cliff-side
Bouncing like fools
Each a rough ride
Sitting like that
Three hours or more
Now I lie flat
Man, am I sore

True words, Ryan. True words.

Mike and Ryan

A very fond farewell to the anchorage at San Juanico. When we remember our time in the Sea of Cortez, our memories will certainly come here first.

Stunning sunset.

Next stop Loreto.

As always, S/V Galapagos, standing by on channel 22.

Whale Whiskers

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We made it to Santa Rosalia from Isla San Pedro Martir in one long and tiring day. After a pretty fabulous fast downwind sail where we saw speeds pushing 8 knots (under two reefed sails, mind you), we rode out quite a nasty blow with rain and wicked seas as we passed Punta Virgenes. The wind had died (the old calm before the storm trick, don’t you know…), and we had put the sails away as we motored the last leg of the trip under an ominously dark cloud. No sails turned out to be a very good thing because when that storm cloud threw its stuff at us, even under bare poles Galapagos lay down on her side in the dramatic gusts more than we care for. I think she was tired. I know I sure was.  I tell you this: it sure is good to know and trust your boat in those conditions. As the last of the storm blew out, and the last of the daylight disappeared behind the hills, we slid into the marina at Santa Rosalia and threw our lines to the outstretched arms of the welcome committee on the docks there, safe at last and ready for a good night’s sleep.

Who’s that looking at you? There is definitely somebody ‘home’ here.

We had pulled in several days early due to the coming strong north wind that was predicted. When it developed, it came with a vengence. Docks were rocking and rolling, waves were cresting and foaming inside the marina enclosure, and we lost one of our 3/4” stern lines, which was protected by firehose, to chafing lickety split. It happened so fast! To say that we were grateful to be in a marina for that wind event would be a decided understatement because the alternative would have been pretty bad. As we prepare to leave the Sea of Cortez, memories of the remarkably forceful wave patterns are firmly etched in our minds forever. For two days the winds did their work and we felt that leaving the boat, even in the marina, would be risky. So we were dead pleased when the winds died down before we packed up our backpacks and hopped on the bus to Guererro Negro; off to see the grey whales in Laguna Ojo de Liebre (Eye of Hare or Jackrabbit)  on the Pacific Side of the Baja Peninsula.

The whale lagoon.

There are many places on the Pacific side of the Baja to go see the annual migration of grey whales. On our sail down the coast we stopped in at Bahia Ballena and anchored to watch the greys coming and going into Laguna San Ignacio. Choosing which place to go and who to hire as a guide can be challenging. After falling down the research rabbit hole, I decided to go with Whale Magic tours in Guererro Negro, run by Shari Bondi. Shari is a transplanted Canadian who has been studying the greys for decades. She has lived near this lagoon since 1988 and has rich and deep knowledge of their history here, as well as knowing many of the whales individually. If you want to go see the whales with her outfit, contact us and we can share planning details that may help you out.

Over the decades they’ve been safe in these waters, the whales have learned to trust people and now many of them will come and visit boats and allow you to touch them. This is literally the only place in the world where you can have this kind of close encounter with grey whales because it’s not like out in the open ocean they have learned to approach boats for kisses. Here in the lagoon, though, they actually seem to enjoy it and when whale waters are lucky, the whales actively approach the boats and eye the humans aboard. Shari says we are their entertainment, and who am I to question that? It sure seems that way.

In my happy place.

Mike is giving this whale all the love.

We enjoyed two perfect whale watching days. It was partly sunny, the water was calm, and only a few other boats were out on the lagoon. We motored slowly out to the viewing area, very close to the whale camp actually, and soon were surrounded by whales. The first couple was a mother and a baby, and I was thrilled because Shari said there were not that many of them this year bringing babies up to visit because food was scarce last year and many had lost babies on the route south this year. This baby got close and spyhopped next to the boat, showing off its baleen grin. But momma whale was not interested in a prolonged visit and scooted the baby away. Still, it was my first up close view of a baby whale. And I wish I had a photo of that baleen grin! So cute!

Very soon we had an adult visitor. She lolled around next to the boat, going to the stern first to let Shari pet her. I swear that these whales know Shari. She says they like the vibration of the engine in neutral, that it attracts them like a massage. But I think differently. They go to her first. She reaches her arms out to them and they come over like large, crusty lap dogs. After getting the snugs from Shari, then it’s everyone else’s turn. The whale lies alongside the boat and we all reach our arms way over the side trying to make contact. Soon we are giving the whale all the love. Grown men with US Marine Corp caps are teary eyed with wonder at these gentle leviathans. “Look at that! Can you believe this? Oh my god! Rachel, did you get a chance to touch her? Come over here and pet her! It’s amazing! Look into her eye! She’s looking right at me! Hey, I think she likes me!”

She’s looking right at me!

We get maybe 15 minutes of stroking, petting, and baby talking this whale, complimenting it on its stunning array of barnacles and sea lice, and then it slips away to the sound of our collective sigh of regret.

Our sadness is short lived, however, as two more approach us and soon all our arms are out, torsos hanging over the water to reach further down, camera clicking and more exclamations of amazement. We are enchanted, in love with the very notion of encountering wild animals with this much trust in humanity.  We discover whales have whiskers! Did you know that?  They have stiff bristly hairs every few inches, vestiges of land life maybe? Do these whiskers allow the whales to feel vibrations in the water? Are these whiskers with a purpose? Only Google knows and we are too busy falling under the spell of the whales to care.

Whale breath. It does not stink in this lagoon.

To pet face of a whale. Brilliant.

And here’s another thing: whale breath. Have you ever smelled it? Because as a rule it stinks of rotten fish. Every time we’ve been near whales of any kind in the past, you can smell them even if you can’t see them. But that’s not the case here in the lagoon because the whales here are not actively feeding. They are mating, calving, nursing, training up their babies for the long swim back to colder waters, but they are not feeding much. So their breath does not stink! We got right over those blowholes and were actively sprayed many times. But never smelled anything.

I feel like we got very lucky our first day out. Shari said it was the best day with whale contact in weeks. Our second day we had two whale visitors who stayed by the boat to receive our touches and blow into our expectant faces. We saw  a number of mother/baby pairs and had exuberant whales jumping and spy hopping, eyeing the boat. We even saw a baby practicing breaching. But it was a day for watching animal behavior, less so for interacting with them. In spite of their lack of fear of human beings, they are, after all, wild animals and will do as they please. Who can know how they decide which days are days to be personal with human beings? All I know is I could have stayed out there all day in communion with these surprisingly peaceful beings.

You know Mike videotaped me hanging over the edge of the boat so here you go: [embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QRBSijLyVQ[/embedyt]

Lots of breeching for joy and spyhopping to check out boats.

One more checkmark on the bucket list: We have petted whales in person and have found them to be rubbery, crusty with barnacles, and disquietingly sentient. My one regret: my lips never found purchase with a whale’s flesh. I tried, Lord knows I tried. And I came only a whale’s whisker away from planting one on my scar-faced friend who returned to me more than once to receive adoration. But it was not to be. I was asked repeatedly to please not fall into the water from the panga so, unwillingly, I gave it up.

So close!! If only my lips had been longer.

A bonus for us was these lovely Cannonball Jellyfish that were everywhere. As the whales would rise up to the surface, the aptly named Cannonball Jellies would roll down into the water. I thought the color of these was incredibly rich. They have no sting, by the way. We were able to pick them up and examine them closely.

Cannonball Jellyfish on whale.

With a whale in the distance.

And some Eel Grass floating around.

While Guerrero Negro has precious little to offer in terms of the town, if you go to see the whales there don’t miss the opportunity to drive out to see the bird sanctuary at the edge of town. It’s worth a long slow drive through the protected marshlands looking at the many species of water birds, including several species of ducks we had never seen before.

We are back aboard in Santa Rosalia and ready to head south.

S/V Galapagos, standing by on channel 22.

Extra bonus photos of the marshlands and a couple of cool birds.

These vistas, though.

Osprey with an unfortunate fish.

Reddish Egret