Mazatlan Onwards
March 14, 2010
18:00
Mazatlan has come and gone. We had meant it to be a short rest stop and it served its purpose dutifully. Sure we entered Cabo on the same pretense, but Cabo had a different setting entirely. Any sort of Mazatlan venture required the service of a taxi, forcing the loss of cruising kitty. The port was also very dirty, akin to Ensenada and LA, and occurrences of dinghy and outboard theft prompted us to continue our southerly course. We upped anchor just as a fellow cruiser pulled alongside in his RIB dinghy. He had heard of our destination of Isla Isabela in passing and wished for us to correspond a message to a friend anchored there. Glad to help, we agreed to do so. [Later note: We never ended up finding the ship on Isabela, may have been due to the fact that we arrived a day late due to low winds]
We motored out of the calm anchorage to an equally calm millpond outside the breakwaters. Wind was non-existent so we decided to check out the vista of Mazatlan's malecon before leaving for good. This served the dual purpose of charging our batteries and satisfying Dan's urge to see the city. He had refused to leave the boat for any duration of time after we had dragged our anchor and thus never got to enjoy the city. After our short sightseeing adventure, we turned south for Isla Isabela. The wind was still not present and the seas calmer than I had ever seen. Swells and waves not to be observed. Leeway puttered south for a couple of hours under the control of the auto-tiller, while we read our respective novels. I had finished my depressing first-hand account of an American helicopter pilot serving in Vietnam, Chickenhawk by Robert Mason, and have since moved onto Jack Kerouac's On the Road. About 30 pages in, I looked up to see a wind pattern upon the waters. A light SW breeze of less than 5 knots had set in. I hoisted our main and largest jib (the Gennie) to take advantage of it.
We enjoyed this push and killed the motor. Since then, the wind has clocked around to the forecasted northwesterly, but hasn't managed to garner its predicted 10-15kt strength. I dropped the slatting main and we've been light air sailing under the Gennie for quite some time since. The day has been magnificently easy going. We haven't been making the time we had hoped for, this wind only pushing us along at 3 kts, but we have practically forgotten that fact in the joy of being back in our element. And today the element is gentle and kind. The soft trickle as we cut through the water, the electric whirr of the autopilot, and the occasional slap of a leaping stingray landing have been the day's noises. The ocean is green due to the shallow water extending 20 miles off the coast and swell is still nearly imperceptible, removing us from our usual pelagic clumsiness.
To occupy our time we've read books, baked a cake (at an easy-going pace), and horsed around. The day was perfectly uneventful. Night has now come and the nocturnal dew has already formed on every deck surface. If this trend of light winds continues, we won't be able to make Isabela by nightfall tomorrow, most likely prompting a course alteration to San Blas. But if it does kick up tonight or tomorrow, we'll be able to make anchorage at this remote, bird-clad island. We are slaves to the wind and thus it is up to her whether or not we will make landfall tomorrow.
March 16, 2010
10:00
Yesterday's sail was one not much different from that of the day before's. We managed to resist the urge to press on with the motor, though. I woke up to a nearly becalmed helm. There was just enough wind to flail the jib and provide steerage towards Isla Isabela. This trend continued late into the day with occasional boosts from gusts. On average we were making 2 kts for the first 12 hours of the day. As Isabela loomed on the horizon and sunset neared, a new breeze came about. We rode it in and checked out the two possible anchorages. The first one, east of the island and south of two rocky spires named Las Monas, was basically full. The second, inside a cove on Isabela's south shore, was deemed too rolly. So we decided to just make room in the first anchorage. I dropped the jib and the main and we made our way towards it under power. We anchored in about 50-60 ft over sand, I let out about 250' of chain rode (a good scope of 4:1) and Dan backed up on it to set it. Our approach to the Island and the spectacular sunset that night:
Ah yes, I forgot the mention all the whales we saw as we approached Isabela! I must have seen 15 different individuals. About midday, I was sitting in the cockpit reading Kerouac when I heard the familiar slap of a stingray landing in the water. I almost wasn't convinced to part my eyes from my book when I realized the slap had a bit more resonance than that of a stingray landing. So I take a look off the port quarter to see the amazing sight of a whale breaching less than a mile off. This trend continued for the rest of the afternoon, at time two whales breaching in unison. It was a wonderful mood raiser after our two days of being becalmed. Here's some of the copious amounts of pictures I snapped of them. One of them breaching and another of one waving hello:
Today I woke up to the beautiful sights and sounds of Isla Isabela. The sights being a small rocky island, exhibiting the most green of any place yet, surrounded by a clear blue coast. The sun is hot on my skin finally showing our latitudes. The sounds are a cacophony of bird calls that can be heard all hours of the day. Three species of birds are said to nest here: blue-footed boobies, brown boobies, and frigates. I'd love to go ashore carrying a telephoto lens, but the swell is a bit too high for me to make a landing. Maybe it will die down later today, allowing us a passage to the Island's grounds. The Las Monas anchorage:
March 17, 2010
07:52
We ended up leaving Isla Isabela around noon, discarding the idea of making landfall due to a large swell hitting the island's beaches. A course was made for San Blas and, in the evening, altered to Chacala for reasons that San Blas would be a much trickier harbor to make at night. Soon after my course adjustment to Chacala, our, so useful, wind died to nothing. I committed the usual act of dousing the mainsail to prevent slatting and we were running under a poled out genoa along, wallowing in the 3 foot quartering seas. Phosphorescence was teeming in the slow moving waters in this early morning approach to Chacala. An offshore breeze cropped up about 0130 and a beat was in tow to our harbor. I soon spotted the navigation light on Punta Chacala that, luckily, wasn't obscured by palms as reported and set a course to put it slightly off our port bow. I woke Dan for the last part of the approach and we kicked on the diesel to make the last upwind run of it.
I dropped the jib and sat on the bow to both watch for hazards and take in all the new sensory inputs the mainland was giving me. I saw 4 masthead lights already in the bay; which, for such a small bay that it is, is a lot. They swayed and teetered in the swell we were riding in snatching the prospect of a flat night's sleep with them. The tropical air pasted the boat in a warm moisture that was previously known to me only from Hawaii. Everything had become solidly saturated to the point of nearly dripping. A fresh scent arose from the misty silhouette of land as well. That of palms.
We motored in just as another yatista was departing and took their place. I dropped the anchor, observing its green glow from interacting with the bio-luminescence and set it. We were finally able to settle into our moist berths at 0300. I awoke this morning to see a stunning sight. The tropics! The mist that enveloped the land last night still hasn't been seared off by the sun's rays creating an ominous look to the beautiful, palm-tree-clad bay. The dominant blasting music is once again Mexican polka, a tune which I haven't heard since Bahia de Tortugas. I look forward to exploring ashore this gorgeous nook of Nayarit. Here's Chacala's misty shores this morning:
March 14, 2010
18:00
Mazatlan has come and gone. We had meant it to be a short rest stop and it served its purpose dutifully. Sure we entered Cabo on the same pretense, but Cabo had a different setting entirely. Any sort of Mazatlan venture required the service of a taxi, forcing the loss of cruising kitty. The port was also very dirty, akin to Ensenada and LA, and occurrences of dinghy and outboard theft prompted us to continue our southerly course. We upped anchor just as a fellow cruiser pulled alongside in his RIB dinghy. He had heard of our destination of Isla Isabela in passing and wished for us to correspond a message to a friend anchored there. Glad to help, we agreed to do so. [Later note: We never ended up finding the ship on Isabela, may have been due to the fact that we arrived a day late due to low winds]
We motored out of the calm anchorage to an equally calm millpond outside the breakwaters. Wind was non-existent so we decided to check out the vista of Mazatlan's malecon before leaving for good. This served the dual purpose of charging our batteries and satisfying Dan's urge to see the city. He had refused to leave the boat for any duration of time after we had dragged our anchor and thus never got to enjoy the city. After our short sightseeing adventure, we turned south for Isla Isabela. The wind was still not present and the seas calmer than I had ever seen. Swells and waves not to be observed. Leeway puttered south for a couple of hours under the control of the auto-tiller, while we read our respective novels. I had finished my depressing first-hand account of an American helicopter pilot serving in Vietnam, Chickenhawk by Robert Mason, and have since moved onto Jack Kerouac's On the Road. About 30 pages in, I looked up to see a wind pattern upon the waters. A light SW breeze of less than 5 knots had set in. I hoisted our main and largest jib (the Gennie) to take advantage of it.
We enjoyed this push and killed the motor. Since then, the wind has clocked around to the forecasted northwesterly, but hasn't managed to garner its predicted 10-15kt strength. I dropped the slatting main and we've been light air sailing under the Gennie for quite some time since. The day has been magnificently easy going. We haven't been making the time we had hoped for, this wind only pushing us along at 3 kts, but we have practically forgotten that fact in the joy of being back in our element. And today the element is gentle and kind. The soft trickle as we cut through the water, the electric whirr of the autopilot, and the occasional slap of a leaping stingray landing have been the day's noises. The ocean is green due to the shallow water extending 20 miles off the coast and swell is still nearly imperceptible, removing us from our usual pelagic clumsiness.
To occupy our time we've read books, baked a cake (at an easy-going pace), and horsed around. The day was perfectly uneventful. Night has now come and the nocturnal dew has already formed on every deck surface. If this trend of light winds continues, we won't be able to make Isabela by nightfall tomorrow, most likely prompting a course alteration to San Blas. But if it does kick up tonight or tomorrow, we'll be able to make anchorage at this remote, bird-clad island. We are slaves to the wind and thus it is up to her whether or not we will make landfall tomorrow.
March 16, 2010
10:00
Yesterday's sail was one not much different from that of the day before's. We managed to resist the urge to press on with the motor, though. I woke up to a nearly becalmed helm. There was just enough wind to flail the jib and provide steerage towards Isla Isabela. This trend continued late into the day with occasional boosts from gusts. On average we were making 2 kts for the first 12 hours of the day. As Isabela loomed on the horizon and sunset neared, a new breeze came about. We rode it in and checked out the two possible anchorages. The first one, east of the island and south of two rocky spires named Las Monas, was basically full. The second, inside a cove on Isabela's south shore, was deemed too rolly. So we decided to just make room in the first anchorage. I dropped the jib and the main and we made our way towards it under power. We anchored in about 50-60 ft over sand, I let out about 250' of chain rode (a good scope of 4:1) and Dan backed up on it to set it. Our approach to the Island and the spectacular sunset that night:
 |
| From Maz to Chacala |
 |
| From Maz to Chacala |
Ah yes, I forgot the mention all the whales we saw as we approached Isabela! I must have seen 15 different individuals. About midday, I was sitting in the cockpit reading Kerouac when I heard the familiar slap of a stingray landing in the water. I almost wasn't convinced to part my eyes from my book when I realized the slap had a bit more resonance than that of a stingray landing. So I take a look off the port quarter to see the amazing sight of a whale breaching less than a mile off. This trend continued for the rest of the afternoon, at time two whales breaching in unison. It was a wonderful mood raiser after our two days of being becalmed. Here's some of the copious amounts of pictures I snapped of them. One of them breaching and another of one waving hello:
 |
| From Maz to Chacala |
 |
| From Maz to Chacala |
Today I woke up to the beautiful sights and sounds of Isla Isabela. The sights being a small rocky island, exhibiting the most green of any place yet, surrounded by a clear blue coast. The sun is hot on my skin finally showing our latitudes. The sounds are a cacophony of bird calls that can be heard all hours of the day. Three species of birds are said to nest here: blue-footed boobies, brown boobies, and frigates. I'd love to go ashore carrying a telephoto lens, but the swell is a bit too high for me to make a landing. Maybe it will die down later today, allowing us a passage to the Island's grounds. The Las Monas anchorage:
 |
| From Maz to Chacala |
March 17, 2010
07:52
We ended up leaving Isla Isabela around noon, discarding the idea of making landfall due to a large swell hitting the island's beaches. A course was made for San Blas and, in the evening, altered to Chacala for reasons that San Blas would be a much trickier harbor to make at night. Soon after my course adjustment to Chacala, our, so useful, wind died to nothing. I committed the usual act of dousing the mainsail to prevent slatting and we were running under a poled out genoa along, wallowing in the 3 foot quartering seas. Phosphorescence was teeming in the slow moving waters in this early morning approach to Chacala. An offshore breeze cropped up about 0130 and a beat was in tow to our harbor. I soon spotted the navigation light on Punta Chacala that, luckily, wasn't obscured by palms as reported and set a course to put it slightly off our port bow. I woke Dan for the last part of the approach and we kicked on the diesel to make the last upwind run of it.
I dropped the jib and sat on the bow to both watch for hazards and take in all the new sensory inputs the mainland was giving me. I saw 4 masthead lights already in the bay; which, for such a small bay that it is, is a lot. They swayed and teetered in the swell we were riding in snatching the prospect of a flat night's sleep with them. The tropical air pasted the boat in a warm moisture that was previously known to me only from Hawaii. Everything had become solidly saturated to the point of nearly dripping. A fresh scent arose from the misty silhouette of land as well. That of palms.
We motored in just as another yatista was departing and took their place. I dropped the anchor, observing its green glow from interacting with the bio-luminescence and set it. We were finally able to settle into our moist berths at 0300. I awoke this morning to see a stunning sight. The tropics! The mist that enveloped the land last night still hasn't been seared off by the sun's rays creating an ominous look to the beautiful, palm-tree-clad bay. The dominant blasting music is once again Mexican polka, a tune which I haven't heard since Bahia de Tortugas. I look forward to exploring ashore this gorgeous nook of Nayarit. Here's Chacala's misty shores this morning:
 |
| From Maz to Chacala |
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