Observations in Motion

Part 4, Back in the U.S... oops!

Brian and I awoke at our hotel at 0830; sleeping 7 hours straight through was wonderful.  We cleaned up, walked toward the train, and found an Italian restaurant whose servers looked kind of Italian, but again mostly spoke Spanish among themselves.  We had a great breakfast, drank gallons of coffee, and headed to the train station.  On the way, I felt a rumbling like Jimmy Dean's 'Big John' did at the bottom of the mine.  It seemed either Mexico was not done with me, or the Italians were declaring war, and the revenge was assessed in my Levi's.  Yup, right on the street, and in front of a full glass window, Houston had a problem. 

Fortunately, the station bathroom was not crowded, and Brian had an extra pair of shorts.  Incredibly fortunate.   Also fortunate that skinny Andy had a belt, so I cleaned up for the second time that morning, contributed my Levi's to the trash, cinched up my belt and continued Commando style to the train.  Do you have a good visual, now?  While I swore Brian to secrecy, I felt compelled to share this anecdote with the Sauvage Delivery Boys so they can enjoy my discomfort, even at this late date.

Now on the train from San Diego, I did not have to share a seat, so I will use the 'fortunate' word again.  The open space vistas were not changing that much.  Smaller rocks, but the same adobe color as the Mexican rocks, with more sage-type brush.  Oh yeah, a MUCH smoother ride, like on rubber wheels, vs. that shuttle van on the dirt road from Turtle Bay.  Now in view is Solana Beach, another of my adulthood surfing spots.  Wow, there is Swami's too, still a classic point break for regular foot forward surfers to make frontside turns… ok, the waves are Rights.  Saw the Especial Norte restaurant in Leucadia my brother took us to a few years ago, with no line yet for lunch.

Nice to be on the train with a planned schedule, and feeling back in control.  Now riding past where we walked across the tracks to the beach when Brother Ken and Helen lived in Carlsbad.  Did you know the Village Tavern in Carlsbad used to discount beer when the train rumbled by?  Interestingly, the cars parked in the beach communities here aren't any nicer than those in San Quintin; still Beach-funky.  Our train is now passing the cars driving past Pendleton.  "GI Beans and GI gravy, gee I wish I'd joined the Navy"… that got me through Boy Scout Devil Pup training with marching routines with the Marine Devil Dogs.  "I left my wife and forty-eight children alone in the kitchen in starving condition without any gingerbread left".  The military's open space is welcome relief, and still damn similar to space surrounding Ensenada.  Past San Onofre power plant to the surf spot Trestle's, that civilians had to sneak into down the creek with the dead seal, but my former roommate Hugh Brown and brother Allen got a pass from their father, Colonel Brown, to access restricted surf spots.  Allen cherishes a picture of Hugh by his car, a REAL Woody, there on the bluff.  The same clean waves roll on (RIP, Hugh).

Now approaching San Clemente, where we used to pile 12 year olds with surfboards into a slat sided work truck, way before it was outlawed by safety and good sense, but still great fun shivering in the back with your buddies.  You can still ride in these trucks in Mexico, observed there just yesterday.  Now passing San Clemente Pier.  Amazingly, Diana and I in our twenties were chaperones for her sister Denise' high school sorority weekend party.  I just kept pushing out the horney little peckerheads who kept trying to climb in the windows.  Good thing I still had my football weight back then.  Funny, the best ocean access and view homes are either multi-million dollar customs or 'grandfathered' mobile homes.

Andy and Brian’s Excellent Baja Adventure Part 3

2100 We come into the big city, Ensenada, with increasing numbers of stop lights and cars.  The population of Ventura County is 846,000; Camarillo 65,000; Ensenada and surrounding area is 280,000.

Departed Ensenada 2130 (did I tell you the bus displayed military time, and if the bano (bathroom) was occupied?

My seatmate spoke no English, and never learned to read or write, but in the end we were communicating and smiling by her home town stop. 

A third Gringo on the bus had crashed his motorcycle at 70 in the desert and broken his shoulder, preferring to head for his own doctor in San Clemente; he shared a meal with us, stayed off advil, but did use Tequila as his painkiller of choice.  We are still not sure how we make it from the TJ bus station to the border, whether to cab or walk through the alleys.  Hope it is a non-event. 

Turning away from the 5^th movie (or is it the 6^th) we reach the detour for the ongoing road repair (say, does that mean we are in LA?).  The crescent moon is close to half, so this ensures the Sauvage delivery boys will also have a brightening moon… unless they have coastal fog or a herd of Jack Sparrow's buddies that block the light.  Now we see lights and new high-rise condo's in Rosarita from the backside.  Past the toll booth, glad I didn't have to scramble for the toll change, and now onto the smoother highway, but we are now as we began from Turtle Bay, with but a few cars in the darkness. 

2300 Bus ride terminated in TJ at the bus terminal (now that makes sense).  Brian, adopted friend Motorcycle Crash Chris took a $6 cab ride to the border which we walked across by ourselves, grateful there was no line.  Customs recognized us for what we are; Gringos returning kind of stinky from some sort of recreation that the locals are smart enough to not do.  Brian explained that we had shortened our race, gone to Turtle Bay, and the rest of our unregistered crew were returning the boat.  I just said "I was with him" and they waived us through, past the relaxing dope dog who stayed relaxed.

Good we adopted Chris; he had a friend at the Jack in the Box on the US side, who dropped us at a hotel in San Diego, walking distance to the train station.  Happy with clean sheet, Brian produced a bottle for a night cap and it was sweet dreams off the bus, back in the USA.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

Yes, I did utter those immortal words just prior to our spinnaker wrap.  I believe these were first spoken by the captain of the Titanic as he directed his helmsman to go forward into the ice field.  I somehow thought they would be appropriate and inspiring to the crew.  No response.  In retrospect, probably because each crew member was overwhelmed by the number of possible answers to this question.

 

But truly that night at sea was extraordinary for me.  Relative to the Transpac where, for the most part, I experienced relatively long, predictable swells, strong but steady trade winds, on this night we found ourselves in sea conditions that resembled a  washing machine on steriods with breaking waves and with strong, gusty winds.

 

There was talk of the boat being 'out of control' and of something breaking and if we should continue racing.  So, I figured well what the heck, if I, the least experienced and qualified helmsman could handle these conditions we would be OK.  And, if something on the boat broke, it would be on my watch and, hey, it's my boat.

 

So for what seemed like 45 minutes (probably closer to a 1/2 hour) or so, I struggled to keep the boat from either rounding up or broaching.  At least 5 minutes before the wrap I consciously realized that I was getting mentally exhausted.  In retrospect, at that point I should have turned the helm over to someone else.  But I foolishly persisted to 'prove that I could handle it'.  I let my ego get in the way of good judgement.   When the boat did round up I was slow to react.

 

We realized that we had a serious wrap and John and Jeff courageously went forward to try to unwrap it .  Driving for the next hour even with just a mainsail up was one the longest hours I have ever experienced.  I was overwhelmed by a tremendous guilt, my body was in a cold sweat and I was now physically tired as well.  "Don't compound your mistake…." Was my only thought.

 

Lessons learned or "A mans (sailor) got to know his limitations"

 

o I assumed that this race would be easier and with basically similar conditions as the Transpac.  We shouldn't have any problems.  Therefore there was no necessity to talk prior about conditions, what if's, decision making processes, etc.  I've seen this happen in my business career on construction projects where teams who have worked successfully together before on similar jobs are not inclined to ask 'hard' questions of one another.  Why?  It can imply a lack of confidence in your fellow team members.

 

But several things were different on the Cabo race. Number one, we had a lousy rating which made us unlikely, regardless of how well we sailed, to get on the podium.  I had asked the question of the team earlier, "if they don't change our rating, are we still committed to sailing and racing?'.  The answer was 'yes'.  The better question would have been, "how hard are we committed to sailing given this rating?".  And "if we do encounter conditions that might make us inclined to drop out, who and how will we make that decision?"

 

Because on this race, unlike the Transpac, you did have the option of retiring --- as we did -- and finding immediate landfall.

 

o I am not a good downwind spinnaker sailor and, at this stage/age of my life, will probably never be one.  There are times I enjoy it but in a race, I will never acquire the 'touch' and intuitive skill of most of my crew.  What I have learned is that there is a lot I don't know that I don't know about downwind spinnaker racing in challenging conditions.  So, I'm now I'm more than happy to continue fast cruising.

 

o  I've also learned that this was/is an extraordinary team.  There were no recriminations.  There was just a patient acceptance of our conditions and a very thorough consideration of our options going forward after the wrap.  The team then put the past behind them and made the best out of the remainder of our trip.

 

"An adventure starts when things go wrong", credit to Yvon Chouinard of Patagonia.

 

o And yes, of course in the circumstances we encountered, we had arguments and words with one another.  But I  believe we all realized many of these were under circumstances of sleep deprivation and general weariness.  And, we were willing to forgive and move on.

 

o Oh, when we arrived in Ensenada to refuel, we and the boat must have been a sorry looking bunch.  The receipt that I received from the fuel dock attendant gave the name of my vessel as "Salvage".

 

o I also learned of the opportunity of developing the village of Turtle Bay.  I'm working on an appropriate PR campaign with the slogan:

 

Visit Turtle Bay, where dirt, debris and deranged sailors meet the sea!

 

In retrospect, I am truly grateful for the experience, the opportunity to learn, deal with adversity and to have been in the company of extraordinary individuals.

 

Lord Jim (retired -- at least temporarily)

 

Andy and Brian’s Excellent Baja Adventure Part 2

1200.  More desert, couple of town stops, one stop for military to walk through the bus and look for something, but gladly not us.  For speed control where needed, they had hollowed valleys in front of the bumps (HVB's).  Very effective, and enforced by design, not a cop, so no ticket revenue for the town… nice they have not copied us that way. 

We sit in the seat assigned.  My seat was by a window, next to an existing lady, rather stout.  With a couple of bags on my seat, she slid them and herself to the window, and angled her sizable butt toward me, and now the elbow rest was denting my butt on the other side while her iron butt denting me as well.  If she had a cold with sneezing, I may have opted to walk through the desert and hitchhike; hope her stop is soon!  OK, still squeezed, but as we slow for the burros on the road she smiled and offered to share her nuts with me.  Now I am the asshole. 

S__t, I spoke too soon.  Now she IS coughing, and I think I smell germs!  Think she would accept one of my cough drops that I always carry?  And I don't think I have ever had one side of my butt without the other.

The two lane highway keeps winding through hillsides of cactus and red rocks.  Make that plenty of cacti.  Speed limit in curves is 60kmh (Brian will know the equivalent MPH), but this bus ain't close to speeding.  Driver keeps to the smoother side of the highway, even if that is the wrong side, but it is more comfortable.  I am guessing  'camiones' means 'curves' ahead.  S__t, it means TRUCKS!  And the reality is Trucks on Curves!  Arghhh!  Big Mother Trucks (BMT's).  A whole lot of them.  As we slow to zip for more hvb's, our Big Ass Bus (BAB) touches the middle line on one side, and the outer line on the other.  Oh yes, beyond the other side is usually a cliff down, so I love it when a Mexican BMT coming toward us , hopefully the road is smooth so they stay on their side of the road.

Whoa, my seatmate shifted again, and now My Boys are getting choked while my butt is still sweating on one side and dented on the other. 

Finally found a BMT going slower than we are; now crossing a stream.  The water comes from where?  All I see is rock.  Must be cactus juice, all I can figure.  Good, the BMT is now faster downhill.

Best news!  After 4 hours of choking The Boys, she just moved her cans.  I recaptured an inch and a half of butt room, and The Boys are rejoicing as we slowly wade through more cacti juice while a work crew (I know they are a work crew cause they all have orange vests) throw dirt into the cacti juice (water?).  Now I know where Cal Trans sends trainees. 

Holy S__ t! Our BAB just passed to the left of a BMT,  I mean the sides were within a foot, and the mirrors within inches, but we are back pushing 40kmh while an SUV passes going up a hill on a curve over a solid yellow line.  That guy must also drive the 395 to Mammoth. 

Just finished our second movie since the last pee stop… did I mention I am 65 now?  I can't believe we are starting a third movie, but at least the movie distraction calms my highway anxiety.  We just passed a pile of rocks with a cross.  Not a whole busload of rocks, at least.  So I shared the last of my empanadas with Brian and my seatmate.  She accepted.  Then, she reciprocated with a canned fruit drink for me (who already has to pee), but I can't offend the culture where I am a guest, so I take a sip, smile, and gesture to share.  She signals 'No', all for you!  So, I have maintained international relations, but REALLY have to pee.

We switched drivers and techniques.  We did slow for the HVB's on the curve, but went on the wrong side of the road to avoid the HVB's.  He did pull down a blind for the sun glare.  No sun, or even road vision, comes through.  Perfecto, Sigh.   

You know what I don't see?  Trash.  I think they made all the messy folks go to the US.  Or, maybe these locals take pride in their country.  Or, maybe it's too hot to roll down the windows and lose the AC so the trash just stays inside cars. 

Third movie not finished, at last a pee stop.  Behind even their schedule, so no time for food.  A guy who did get a quick taco just sat across the aisle from Brian, and Barfed!  Took off his shirt to wipe down… I can't make this stuff up!  I gave him my last paper towel from Sauvage.  Diana will vouch that I always keep a spare.  Fortunately, he has earlier taken off his long sleeve shirt so he just sacrificed his T-shirt.  More fortunate was his window seat was open, so he doesn't have to sit in his mess, but I hope that seat does not get assigned the next stop.  Oh yeah, I don't recommend the carne asada tacos with a peach drink.  FYI Brian says he just choked on his coke and spilled his taco; if I was sitting where he is, I would hold that thought, too.

Not sure where we are, but it is afternoon and we are back in sight of the coast.  The Sauvage delivery boys have to wait for the breeze and seas to drop more for their return.  Still muy malo.  The coast brings more towns, more traffic, and a lot more agriculture.  No mas cacti.  Who says only CA can change arid land to farmland?  Now, we are following a cement truck toward Ensenada.  Maybe they will arrive to finish one of those hotels so they can be charged taxes?  Not likely.  Towns still similar to my old- very old- surfing trips.  The tortorilla's and panderia's look the same.  Wonder if I can still eat them for 15 cents a day. 

Yeah!  Just passed a BMT uphill, even if our BAB was over the double line.

Andy and Brian’s Excellent Baja Adventure, Part 1

Observations in Motion

(or Andy and Brian's Excellent Baja Adventure)

Soon after anchoring to light winds and flat water in Bahia Tortuga, we hailed Enrique1 on Channel 16 for a panga ride from Sauvage to the fishing village for the crew.  This allowed Skipper Jim to clean and reclaim rule of his domain from an unruly crew.

At the top of the pier we met Enrique2, asked him about refueling, and how two of the crew, Brian and me (OK, Brian asked Enrique2, since his Spanish is better than mine), might travel inland to the main road to travel South to Cabo for our reserved room and prepaid flights home in a few more days, since our race had ended early.

Took a few minutes to stroll through the sand to the dirt roads through shore-side dwellings, found the Mercado for boat beer, then went to the porch overlooking the bay and ordered their beer, with ours for the boat at our feet.  We waited.  They delivered chips and salsa.  We waited.  They delivered limes and salt, and gave us dinner options.  We waited.  They apologized for the wait, but said yesterday a large group had drunk all of their beer, but they had sent for more, which should be here soon.  'Soon' finally arrived, and so did our beer.  We were 'off grid', and off of Gringo schedules.

We went back to the pier to check in with another Enrique, to line up our travel options.  There was a van leaving at 0300 that night/morning, that could take us inland for tres horas to Vizcaino's bus station.  We could then bus South 5-6 hours to Cabo, or bus North for 12 hours or so to Tijuana and The Border.

After a dinner at Brian's quaint restaurant (Brian has been god-damned everywhere already), the pesca was great, and they even had beer that was already there.  The gringo timeframe was non-existent and not appropriate as cruisers Beller and Spille knew.  Plenty of time to enjoy, unwind, and thank Jim for dinner!

We stopped back by the pier, and think we finalized our travel van with Enrique3, who confirmed with Enrique2, and probably Enrique4.  E3 drove the panga back to Sauvage for a short night.  No longer wanting beer, we took a vew crew nips of rum (RIP Chuck) and enjoyed the clarity of the stars and the cool night breeze.  I forgave Spille for putting the squid off the deck into my coffee mug, and wondered when Spille would wind the spicy dill pickle I put into his water bottle, then prepped my backpack for a quick exit, and set my alarm for 0220.

As promised, E2 arrived at 0-dark-30, and Brian and I jumped ship for the panga, then were escorted by E2 up the dirt road to a van.  We gathered at the van, thanked E2, then drove to some residences to gather more early morning travelers, then headed Northeast in the dirt road rattled van at max speed, being the only car lights on a straight road through the still dark desert to our next point of decision, North or South.  Brian and I both enjoyed how the really big bumps made the van's dome lights go on as the wires connected.

So we arrived at the Viscaino bus terminal at 0600, and with a brightening sky.  The 0700 bus went North; decision made.  Bought tickets, bought coffee and empanada cookies, visited a spotless restroom (really! Way cleaner than any Denny's) and departed on the 0700 bus at 0800 or so, destination Tijuana in 12 hours then a short walk across the border.  It stays open 24 hours; we checked.

The Adventure Continues

Subtitled: "Higher math skills and boat deliveries"

As we last left you, we were working our way north past Sacramento reef after a very wet and windy night. The importance of a dodger is hugely underestimated until you don't have one. Nothing quite like continual salt spray in the teeth to build character.

Seas and wind had finally moderated. Craig told me the fuel gauge was pretty low. I told him not to worry - the captain had assured me when we filled in Turtle Bay that we had plenty to get to San Diego, maybe even all the way to Ventura. The gauge must be wrong. Four hours later in the afternoon near San Quintin, Craig was again on watch and relayed the fact that the gauge now was on empty, not bouncing around at all. Hmmm...

We shutdown, opened the inspection port on the tank and thrust a stick (the flag pole) down the hole to see what was actually in the tank. Uh-oh! The gauge was right and the tank was really empty. This followed with lots of finger-pointing, "How could this possibly have happened?", "was that a cheap Chinese calculator?", etc. Never the less we were almost out of fuel and more than a hundred miles from the nearest place to get more. We had eleven more gallons in jerry cans that were quickly transferred to the main tank. Then followed lots of "what now's" which basically came to the conclusion that we had to sail within 60 miles of Ensenada before restarting the engine. Oh, and there was virtually no wind and what there was was on the nose. Two hours later a loud bang announced the failure of the autopilot. Jim and Craig struggled on the steering geer for an hour putting it back together. An hour later it broke again and this time for good. We would have to hand steer all the way home. In the midst of the pitch black night the GPS chose to quit working about every half hour. At least we were not sinking (yet) said Spille.

We struggled north under sail for another 12 hours, sails slatting, tacks through 140 degrees, sloppy seas slowing us to 2 knots or less and pea-soup fog. Ensenada was looking a long ways away. Finally, we reached the point about 2am where we could power the rest of the way in to get fuel. At 8am we arrived at the fuel dock at the Coral in Ensenada, relieved that we didn't have to row the last few miles. Nobody hassled us about not checking in or out of the country, so we just fueled and skedaddled north for San Diego. The Mexican navy fired shots over out stern, but we were too fast for them, :)

San Diego showed up right where and when it should have. We pulled up to the Customs and police dock about 6pm. The Homeland Security folks showed up promptly, did not board us (Could it have been the stench?) and only asked us our last port ("Ensenada, sir, and that was unplanned"). They must have taken pity on us and let us go. Craig didn't have to ditch his apples and we escaped with all the whale bone contraband. We left within the hour to continue north and beat an approaching gale.

As sailors tend to say: "There is a god". Last night was a pure blessing with no wind, warm temperatures, a moon, and mirror like seas. We're 30 miles north of Catalina at 9am and enjoying the easiest delivery from San Diego to Ventura that I've ever experienced. Nothing additional broke and we didn't bump into anything in the dark.

It's been said that the difference between an adventure and an ordeal is "attitude". Attitudes have been improving this morning so the ordeal is quickly fading to an adventure. A hot breakfast (first in three days) of scrambled eggs, potatoes and corned beef hash helped, too. That said, I'm really looking forward to a hot shower and a bed that doesn't pitch me out tonight.

Hope to have Sauvage tied up by 3pm in Ventura.

-Yosemite Sam

Slogging north

Good morning from Sauvage. This morning finds us just off of San Quintin in pea soup fog with a lumpy sea and 12 knots of wind. Yesterday morning we left from the south side anchorage of Cedros island and chose to go up the east side because it had blown hard all night to the west. We cleared the north end around 10:30am in very nice conditions. Towards the afternoon conditions deteriorated and it was very wet and windy all night, contrary to the forecast. Remember also that we don't have a dodger on the boat, so the person on watch is continually drenched. Suffice to say it was a fairly miserable night for all, but we survived crossing the Cedros bight. We're hoping for better conditions today. All is well on board.

Turtle Bay

After a rather abrupt retirement from the Newport/Cabo race, the crew of Sauvage found themselves at the Mexican hamlet of Turtle Bay. Two of the crew opted to catch the 3 am bus out of town the next day, leaving 4 intrepid souls to bring the boat back. The next morning dawned bright and clear with the only injury from the night before Jeff's head. Brian Stepped on Jeff's head while Jeff was asleep. Brian was really in a hurry to get off the boat. In any case we got up to a sumptuous breakfast of Jim's famous half-cooked hotcakes and not maple syrup syrup. It (the syrup) is actually chemically enhanced high fructose corn syrup that has been altered to taste faintly of maple. So fortified we decided to head into town to explore, except Jim who stayed on the boat to enjoy some time away from us. By now the wind was blowing pretty good and the dirt streets of Turtle Bay had taken flight. We hiked over to a couple of big square boxes on towers that we saw from the boat. We were curious what they were because they were rather large and looked like guard towers for a prison. It turned out they were full of sea water to supply water to the laboratories where they were studying abalones. Pretty cool but not as good as guard towers. While we were walking up to the towers Craig let it be known that he would like a T shirt from Turtle Bay and now our quest refocused to finding a shirt. We wandered around the back streets of Turtle Bay being blasted with blowing dust asking here and there for the elusive T shirt. It wasn't looking good for Craig based on the wondrous looks of the people we asked. We could well have been asking to locate a unicorn. One of the last leads we had was a little tienda on the top of a hill. We trudged up there and approached a few people on the covered porch of the store. Jeff, our Spanish speaker, made the inquiry. As we were standing there looking at the person in charge, there was a moment confusion then incredulity. There before us was person so bazaar that it defies description. He/she was about 250 pounds, of indeterminate age. He/she had painted his/her face into a characiture of a face. It looked a magic marker was used to draw sunburst rays all around both eyes which already had enough mascara for a clown troupe. Staring at him/her wasn't an option while he/she giggled and told us, no, there were no t-shirts for sale in the store. What was for sale in the store was adult toys. In a backwater place like Turtle Bay there appears to be a vibrant culture for sex toys. We headed down the road. We decided a beer was in order while we waited for Jim to join us from the boat. During dinner Craig told us he was also kind of looking for a whale vertebrae for Doris, his wife. Turns out Doris has always wanted a whale vertebrae for as long as Craig could remember. Yeah right, no t-shirts but whale bones. I'm sure we'll come across that. We finished dinner and were walking across the beach to the pier to catch a ride back to the boat when we saw the crew of Avanti. Avanti is a Jenneau 54 that was our competition not a day before but had suffered a similar fate during the race and was here in Turtle Bay waiting for the wind to go down so they could head home. Just like us. Unlike us they had skipped dinner and were sitting under a palapa on the beach surrounded by beer bottles. It turned out they had drank all the beer that the palapa bar had. While we were chatting with them Craig was snooping around the premises, I guess looking for whale bones. The minutes went by and the Avanti crew, having cleaned out the beer locker here decided to settle up and head back to the boat. About this time Craig comes around the corner with this huge bone. I'm thinking oh boy here we go. The owner is not only not going to sell the bone, he's going to be pissed that this gringo is grabbing stuff out of his garden. Jim sees Craig's bone and his eyes light up(ha ha). Jim wants one too and starts around the other side of the house and eventually comes back with an even bigger vertebra. Craig now has two, although one is more of tail bone, and Jim has one piled in front of the order counter in the dirt. These guys are excited. They call our translator, Jeff, to ask if they are for sale and how much he wants for them. I'm still thinking no way he'll sell them. Jeff asks and the guy looks at him and says "I don't know how much to charge for these, make me an offer". Jeff translates, Craig offers $10 apiece. The owner counters at $20 each and Jim hesitates a second, then says OK. The deal is struck. The owner's wife is sitting there amused and happy and throws in the tail bone for free which Jeff promptly claims as a translating fee. I don't have one. Doris is going to be really surprised, unless she reads this before we get home. We grab our bones and head off for the pier. Everybody we pass is quite amused by what we're carrying, including the previous owner who is apparently really amused by his recent windfall. While walking down the pier I'm thinking and feeling left out of the whale bone club and by the time we get to the end of the pier I decide to go back and see if I can find a whale bone for me. I make them wait and Craig and I walk back to the palapa to score another bone. The place is closed. I look around and find another a vertebrae. Now to find the owner. We look around and I decide to knock on the door of the house behind the bar. The wife answers and gladly accepts another 20 for the bone. We really made their day. We are now whale bone owners. I'm not really sure why or what we'll do them, except Doris, who must have a plan.

The next day Craig, Jeff and I decide to hike to the entrance to the bay, maybe mile. We'll visit the cemetery with the pretty little houses of the dead on the way. The going is rough as there is no road and we give up before we get to the entrance point. We sit on the rocks on the shore where we gave up instead and shoot the shit. We take the beach route back which is much easier and visit the cemetery on the way back.

Today is Thurs. the 26th and we motored up to Cedros Island and anchored for the day to wait till tomorrow when the wind is supposed to die down so we can continue home.

JS

Hanging in Turtle Bay

It's been blowing in the high 20's today. Seas 7-12 feet to the north. Same tomorrow, same Thursday. Not crazy about this place but no way we are moving in those conditions. All the forecasts show it should lay down Friday to almost calm and we'll make a run for the border - 500 miles to Ventura. In the mean time we'll continue to regal you with sea stories. Stay tuned...

I don't think I can do this!

It was a dark, moonless, windy, and my turn to drive. After a good few turns on the wheel the previous days, and a few 14K surfs I had mixed feelings about this turn. The wind was up, and the seas were steep with the boat falling into inky black holes. John had just finished his turn and I had been studying his technique in great detail. As the clock ticked up to my time, my confidence suddenly started to backtrack. Jeff had come up to be my trimmer and coach, everyone else was below preparing dinner or pretending to sleep. I told Jeff I had doubts but this but he reassured me I could do it. I knew if I didn't drive I would forever regret it, but shit, it was freaky scary! Jeff again reassured me, so I moved around behind the wheel and clipped in. Jeff stood to my right and was vocalizing his technique while he continued to drive. During a soft spot I grabbed the wheel. Jeff let go and I was now driving. Go too high, you risk rounding up, too low you crash gybe, the sweet spot was between 140 and 160 apparent. Our "chicken" chute, and single reefed main balanced the boat nicely...until a set of 8' swells at 8 seconds steamed by, accelerating us beyond anything I've experienced. The Transpac had this wind but the fetch was much longer and regular. These seas were mean and disorganized and just waiting for you to make a mistake.
After five minutes, and 40 wave sets (remember you get a new wave every 6-8 seconds) my confidence was slowly building. I was doing it! Ultimate concentration was paramount, and while I had not had a good sleep in several days, the adrenalin more than compensated. So far so good. Jeff couldn't see my legs shaking, but so far so good. The first set of really mean seas came through lifting Sauvage and throwing her down the trough. "Don't get too high" he said calmly at first...followed by "DON'T GO TOO LOW" he said with a sense of urgency! We survived that set sloppy but in tack, my confidence slowly built. I freaking doing it I thought. Jeff never stopped talking me through every nasty set. Sauvage was now screaming down huge sets, 12, 13, 14 kts...her reassuring hum was now a shreaking high pitch. While this was intense but manageable in daylight, at night, the only visuals were glowing, foaming steamers marching past and my apparent wind indicator.
Then it happened. The wind quickly built to 30+ knots, which was ok, but shortly there after I heard what sounded like a freight train bearing down on us. We accelerated even faster then dropped off the wave and fell into a deep hold. When this happens the apparent wind clocked back, rotating the boat above the death zone of 160 degrees. There is no reaction time fast enough to respond, you have to anticipate this, and I didn't, or couldn't. In the blink of an eye were were rounding up. The wheel was turned all the way down but it was too late. Jeff grabbed the wheel, but only physics could save us now as our world turned sideways. Andy let the vang go and I dove for the spin sheet. Sauvage now on her beam, spinnaker flogging madly, water poured in the cockpit. Time stood still. Slowly she started to right as another set of huge waved slammed our now stalled hull. Then the chute snapped full again like a gun shot. The boat tried to round down but Jeff now at the helm keep the right rudder angle and she magically straightened up and shot off like jet on carrier! After the crew below expressed their extreme displeasure, and we accepted responsibility, Jeff said come back here, your not done with your watch! My worse fears had just been realized, but I couldn't quit now. Nothing broke, and we were still racing! We agreed to do 15 minute turns on the wheel, and traded off for the next hour and a half. My arms were burning with pain but that was a minor problem, the ego was seriously damaged. Knees shaking still, I got behind the wheel and gave it another go. It was not the last crash of the night, but finally after what seemed like a week at the wheel it was time for Andy to try his luck. It was only 8pm and main event was still to come.
-Gadget

What's the worst that could happen?

We had a phenomenal day yesterday sailing in lots of wind with the spinnaker up and surfing almost continuously. The wind continued to build and we were having a crew discussion about midnight on whether to continue under our heavy air spinnaker ("4S") or switch to a poled out headsail. Several of us thought we had it under control, and some were wavering. Our skipper uttered those now famous words. We should have cringed rather than charging on.

Well, the worst didn't happen. But our fearless leader, to remain unnamed, rounded up and wrapped the spinnaker really badly around the headstay. It was not very pretty. Imagine $5000 worth of nylon flogging and shaking the rig for all it was worth and tying incredible knots with the halyard, topping lifts and sheets. John and I spent 30 minutes on the foredeck pulling and winching for all we were worth, to no avail - it would not budge. The picture included 28 kts. of wind, the boat sailing at 10-12 knots of speed, lots of rough seas, spray flying, and a dark moonless night. We needed to send someone up the rig to cut it down and that wasn't going to happen in the dark at sea. We tied everything off as well as we could, jibed the boat and started making course for the lee of Cedros island or Turtle bay. Oh, and the vang broke in the jibe. An hour and half later we actually did finally get the spinnaker on deck (it was a "shift" miracle).

We're licking our wounds and looking for that cold beer in Turtle Bay tonight, where we will decide what to do next. Everyone is safe and well on board.

Shifty has answered

We worked offshore shortly after passing Ensenada last evening and caught a nice breeze all night with the code zero. At dawn, we set the 2S spinnaker and have been making 8-12 kts. all day towards Cedros island. At sunset, the wind is 22-24 kts. out of the NW. We downshifted to the 4S spinnaker and have a reef in the main. Still averaging 9 kts of boat speed. Brian is having an interesting time cooking dinner as we roll around and shoot off waves. Spirits are good today. Still haven't found the beer.

Jeff

a captains lament

it started at the pre race cocktail party when I noticed the crew shirts of one of our competitors. "always be who you are. But if you can't be who you are, be a pirate. And then always be a pirate".

during Sauvage's nightlong hibernation in a 'hole', I mused on these profound words. It occurred to me that we, as a civilization, have lost the values of pirates. One of which we agreed upon was the use and practice of the word 'plundering'. Nobody plunders anymore or at least gets recognized and acknowledged for it. And for that our civilization, such as it is, is less for it.

So, Spille and I speculated upon the possibility of reestablishing this long lost practice. First of all, we would need a Letter of Marque. You know, like Queen Elizabeth gave Sir Francis Drake. It's kind of like a James Bond 'license to kill' except, it's a license to plunder.

How would we, humble dirt farmers from the Oxnard plain, acquire this? Easy, we figured. For a nominal sum, we were sure any one of a half dozen south American dictators would provide us with one. Of course, they would need to be cut in on our bounty. But, hey, they're used to that.

So with such a document at hand, we on Sauvage would be free to plunder the seacoasts of the Pacific. Roaming where and when we chose .

We agreed that by documenting our experience we could easily turn this experience into a movie or an HBO series. We could call it "Plundering Bad" or "Bad Plundering" perhaps. Each episode would feature a different city or village. Naturally we would become celebrities. This in turn could lead to creating a profession of plundering -- or, just a different perhaps more exotic label for what our politicians already do. We could offer university degrees in plundering, contests, an Olympic event even.

I'm inspired!

-Lord Jim

Shifty

News flash: the last three hours before sunset has been pleasant sailing on flat sea making about 6-7 knots of boat speed. Cabo is looking a little closer now. Until we discovered that the beer must have been left on the dock (!). Thank you Diana for a great chicken stew tonight.

Why

Why do we do this? By this I mean distance sailboat racing. We are 6 somewhat normal, rational guys although one of us purchased a pair of shocking pink women's deck shoes for the race, so he's a little suspect. We are stuck on a boat racing 800 miles. As of now we've had very little wind, so we're rolling and slating and fighting for every foot. Sometimes going backwards and usually heading in the wrong direction, but what are you going to do? This is the same crew, owner and boat that did Transpac in 2011. Apparently we don't learn or forget what we do learn. Maybe that's it, we have no memory. Currently we're going .9 knots and only have about 700 miles to go. Whoopee! Really we do it because we like it. We like the challenge, the team work and the posibility that we may beat our competitors, although at this point that's not looking good. We also like it for the little things that take place during the day. Yesterday Lord Jim, the captain, had the duty to fix dinner. Buzz had actually purchased the frozen lasagna for him to warm, then had to coach him on to tell when it was done. It struck at the time it was like trying to teach quantum mechanics to chimp. Even in spite of all the instruction Jim managed to burn it. Today we had a bird land on the boat and spend the day hunting for food. He stayed with us for hours and was quite fearless. We finally gave him a heal of bread, which he ate on till he could barely fly, and a name. Jack Sparrow eventually had had enough and flew off to a nearby island. Goodbye Jack, you'll be missed. Its the little things that keep us coming back.

Anonymous

The first day

Yesterday, at the start we had a beautiful SW breeze, starting with the #1 genoa, and quickly shifted to our code zero spinnaker, and then later to the S2. We were reaching all afternoon about 7.5 knots. We saw lots of gray whales and had several within spitting distance of the boat. At sunset the wind promptly died and we have covered only about 15 miles in the last 12 hours. Ouch! Lots of dolphins surrounded us at sunrise, so maybe our luck will change. At 7:30am we are right on the Mexican border.

Side note: When I was packing I pulled out my deck shoes and discovered they had self-destructed and gone to pieces. A quick trip to the Columbia outlet store at 7pm yielded nothing in my size. However, there was the same shoe in women's sizes - found one that fits perfect. You will probably hear about this from other crew members over the next couple days. They are bright pink! You've got to be brave to sail a race like this (with pink shoes).

Jeff

The start of the next adventure...

Sauvage returns to the race course with most of our original Transpac crew from 2011: Jim Eisenhart (Lord Jim), Brian McKenna (Buzzsaw), Craig Leverault (Gadget), Andy Clark (Boy Scout), John Spille (Spanky) and Jeff Beller (Yosemite Sam). Chris, we'll miss you!

The Newport to Cabo race begin in Newport Beach on Friday March 20 for our PHRF fleet. The bigger and faster boats start over the following two days. The race is about 800 miles of rhumb line distance and we hope to finish in about six days. The weather forecast is for light winds for the first two days (Just like an Ensenada race!) and then should fill in with more consistent breezes on Sunday and Monday.

-Jeff, aka Yosemite Sam