We’ve made it all the way to Monterey, where we sit at anchor in the bay thinking about our life choices of the last couple of weeks. Overall things have been pretty good, with the exception of a number of nights rolling around in swells and getting no sleep. We generally hope for the best when at an anchorage we know is going to be a bit rolly, but expect the worst. That way we are not disappointed when laying awake at 2 in the blessed AM. Our last such anchorage was near Capitola, California, in a part of the bay known to locals as “Shark Park”. If only the sacrifice had been worth the effort.
Cute beach places in Capitola. We were warned about the anchorage there. The warnings were absolutely wrong and it was lovely.
As the name implies, this part of the bay is known to be home to many young white sharks, or, as I like to refer to them, Toddler Sharks. Not yet weaned to eating mammals, they gravitate to warmer waters because their natural ability to maintain a warmer body temperature has not yet fully developed. White Sharks are endothermic, meaning they are not really the “cold blooded” killers they are reputed to be. Here in the bay they grow big and strong on a diet of small fish and rays and such, leaving the local surfers alone, before heading to Hollywood to star in horror films that will terrorize generations of people and lead them to misunderstand an entire genus. This part of the bay has water that is warm enough for baby sharks, and apparently, due to climate change, this temperature is increasing. We learned of this from a couple of local folks, blog readers even, who paddled out to Galapagos to say howdy and view our messy boat. They told us where the sharks congregated and thus a plan was hatched in my brain.
Pomarine jaegar chases Elegant Tern. The Capitola anchorage has great bird watching.
Here’s a Common Tern going for the kill. There were at least three types of Terns at Capitola. Nice!
We pulled up anchor at comfortable Capitola and toodled a mile or so further into the bay to see us some sharks. I charged the batteries for my camera. Not to put too fine a point on it, in the end I was extremely disappointed in the lack of sharks. I’m sure they were under the water somewhere, but we never saw even a fin, much less a tooth. I mention this because we had spent a very uncomfortable night rolling around in the swells in Shark Park just so we might get a peek at a fishy fin and we could check that off the old bucket list. I even got up early in the morning; something just unheard of unless it is ABSOLUTELY necessary, so that the water would be calm and the viewing better. In fact, I lost sleep at the Capitola anchorage not due to swells, but due to my excitement over possibly seeing a Great White Shark, even if small. The Capitola anchorage was very comfortable. But it did not offer sharks.
Instead, I saw Grebes. I saw Western Grebes at Shark Park. Of course, I do like Grebes as they are very interesting birds. But, frankly, I do not have to leave Puget Sound in order to see Grebes. I was disgusted enough that I didn’t even photograph a Grebe. This was our second attempt at shark sighting. I will not be deterred.
Our first attempt was also a magnificent fail. We sailed (and by this I mean ‘motored’ because of the lack of enough wind to get this heavy boat going) over to the Farallon Islands when we left Drake’s Bay. The thought was that Great White Sharks would surely be frolicking around the anchorage at Southeast Farallon Island, dining on sea lions. To be fair, this is an area known for Great Whites, even exceptionally large Great Whites. Maybe there was a chance of seeing one.
Approaching the anchorage.
Pinnipeds in the sea. Do you see any likely places to land? Neither do I. I’m not sure what the scientists are so concerned about.
Stark and forbidding, Southeast Farallon Island rises from the sea like something out of The Isle of Dr. Moreau. It’s basically a series of big rocks with thousands of pinnipeds keeping company with sea birds; mostly pelicans and cormorants. The usual suspects. I imagine that there are other interesting birds there, too, but only the researchers, or people with really great binoculars, are allowed to see them so we only have their word for it. No one else is allowed to land on the island, as if they could anyhow. There is no way. It’s actually laughable to even consider it, if you are the kind who laughs at other people’s death wishes.
However, in spite of the ‘no landing for civilians’ rule, Fisherman Bay is a marked anchorage on Southeast Farallon and we wanted to check it out. As we approached the bay the sea lions started their bellowing barking calls to all that would hear that a boat was approaching the anchorage. We bobbed around in the bay getting our bearings, noting the bottom on our sonar, and taking photos of pinnipeds and dramatic rocky landscapes. The boat was holding position really well, in spite of the swells, and we considered anchoring there. Of course, we had been warned by internet strangers that “we did not want to anchor there” because it’s rocky and there are swells, however, that kind of warning only peaks my curiosity. It has straight up never resulted in my saying, “You know? The internet stranger who doesn’t know us is right! We DON’T want to anchor here because swells and rocks! Thank goodness we asked their opinion!”.
Fisherman Bay, Southeast Farallon Island, looking through the rocks.
Being spied upon.
But, at the end of the day, we chose not to anchor there. Was it the swells? No. We have anchored in much worse than that. (I’m looking at you, Isla San Benedicto.) Was it the rocks? No. Catalina Island was probably equally bad, if not worse. It ended up being the flies. My dear deity! We have never been faced with this many pestering flies at once. I thought we were fly-experienced. I was so wrong! I could barely take photos on deck without batting them out of my eyes, my mouth, my ears. It was all we could do to stay there for maybe 30 minutes, waving at the scandalized scientists on top of the hill. They watched us through their big scope on a tripod. I waved in a friendly way. They did not wave back. Maybe they sent the flies. Anyway, I could hear Michael smacking and thwacking them in the cockpit and we both agreed that while we could probably anchor there, it would not be much fun since we would have to stay below in the cabin with all hatches closed. So we left, no sharks seen. Phooey.
The rocks are not white. That’s bird poop. Being downwind of this island will make mouth breathers out of anyone.
So speaking of rolling at anchor, I know a lot of folks set up a stern anchor so there may be some people who wonder why we don’t. Mostly it’s because if swells change direction then you have to reset the anchor, which is a pain. You’d think that swells would always be from the same direction, but that would not be accurate in our experience. That may be true some places, just not where we happen to be. We have only been successful one time at setting up a stern anchor such that it actually helped us and that was at Catalina Island. The last time we tried it was at a big anchorage in the Sea of Cortez and when we had to pull it in after winds had shifted and piped up, after dark of course, it was such a shit show that it was not worth the effort. Also Michael almost lost a finger that time. A little rolling doesn’t measure up to that kind of risk. However, being folks who do like our sleep, for this trip we did get a fancy swell dampener made by Magma. We got it for almost a song at a used marine store in Washington. Here in Monterey we have it set up nicely, hanging off the end of the boom, since we will be here for a few days. It actually helps a lot and is much easier to deploy than a stern anchor. I think we’ll keep it.
S/V Galapagos, standing by on channel 16. Still looking for sharks.
