Copper Canyon, Part Two

Divisadero boasts one of the canyon’s best vantage points, where one can begin to grasp the massive scale of the Sierra Madre canyon system. The train makes a 20 minute stop there so passengers may de-board to take a photo and peruse crafts made by the native Tarahumara Indians. After snapping a few pictures ourselves, we set off to find our hotel, a recommendation from our dock friend Marti, The Hotel Mirador. The salmon colored hotel is perched dramatically on the very edge of the canyon, and every room features a private balcony with a spectacular view. From photos, it looked amazing.

A middle-aged cowboy in a mini van passed by us and we hailed him to ask for directions. He got out to open his car doors and said, “Pasan, pasan,” kindly offering us a ride. Once he’d determined that we didn’t have a reservation at The Mirador, he took us a little ways down the road to his family’s home, where they run a lodge themselves called Cabanas Diaz Family.” A room with three beds, a fireplace, and a hot water heater cost $60 a night - significantly less than the minimum $200 we would pay at the Mirador. Though lacking the same awesome vista as the Mirador, Cabanas Diaz Family struck us as more personal, more authentic, and more intrepid. So, we forwent luxury in place of adventure.

Most male residents of the Copper Canyon dress like this.

But we still wanted to enjoy that incredible view, so we hiked up the hill to have dinner and drinks at the Mirador. After popcorn and margaritas in Mexico’s highest bar, we gathered with the other hotel guests in the main room (complete with a giant fireplace) and listened to a guitarist sing such favorites as “Guantanamera,” and “El Mariachi,” and even a mangled version of “Hotel California.” We dined on steak tacos with Shirley and Howard, a lovely couple from Saskatchewan, then trekked back down the hill to go to sleep. It was a good thing we’d brought our headlamps (lesson learned from Turtle Bay) because it was pitch black – and cold! A pile of firewood awaited us on the porch of our cabana so we got a roaring fire going and slept cozily (even though the room got pretty smoky and my hair smelled like burnt wood the next day).

Our cabana.

In the morning we walked a short distance to the Diaz family’s house where they served us a breakfast of hot cereal and huevos a la Mexicana, with toast and jam and instant coffee. A young French couple from another cabana shared our table and we decided to join them on the guided hike they’d arranged to do that morning. Teenaged Alberto was our guide who, like Senor Diaz, wore a white cowboy hat, button up shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. And aviator sunglasses. He led the way with a gentle easy gait as we trudged behind him for five hours through steep rocky terrain, passing the occasional tiny shack home of the Tarahumara. In the canyon, plateaus are usually only large enough to build one shelter, and they are few and far between. So with tire treads strapped to their feet, the Tarahumara travel great distances along the narrow canyon paths so see a neighbor or go to school.

Tarahumara shack on ridge in the middle of the photo.

The earthy smell of loose rock and fir trees filled our nostrils as we paused at yet another vista point, from which we could look back at the hotel Mirador balanced precariously on the canyon’s rim. From our elevated vantage position the chasm seemed utterly still. Its astounding lack of noise is possibly the canyon’s most impressive feature. Aside from our own clattering, the only interruption of the immense silence was the occasional bird cry or shepherd’s bell. Zip lines have been erected throughout the canyon as a tourist draw, but they aren’t open yet. The lines themselves are barely visible, like a spider’s single strand of silk spun between peaks, but the construction and impending echoing screams of zip-liners, seemed, to us, like a violation of such natural beauty.

Stay tuned for Part Three!

Copper Canyon, Part One

As indicated by John’s recent posts, Perk the engine is still giving us problems. I thought it prudent to refrain from posting on our adventures until our readers' attention had been amply focused on our engine issues, and we've received some very promising suggestions and advice. Thanks so much for your input everyone! More engine work awaits us in the coming weeks. Kitty is ready for it.

On Monday the 15th, having spent multiple days inspecting, testing, cleaning, checking, and discussing it, we still hadn’t discovered the source of the problem. Deciding a break was in order, we de-boarded El Tiburon and hopped on a Baja Ferry bound for Topolobampo on the Mainland. Our destination was the Copper Canyon, or Barrancas del Cobre, in the state of Chihuahua.

The Copper Canyon is a series of six canyons in the Sierra Madre that is similarly impressive as the Grand Canyon. We were eagerly anticipating hike it and basking in its glory, but it would be quite a journey to get there.

First we had to get a ride to the ferry port in Pichilingue (thanks Rob!) just north of La Paz. Then we spent six interesting hours on the giant ferry that was more like a cruise ship. In one salon, a female crewmember in red hot pants sang karaoke to a bunch of Tecate-drinking muchachos, while another salon featured rows of movie theater chairs with three big screen TVs airing a kind of horror movie channel. There was a shocking amount of dark imagery being shown, considering children were running around everywhere, but nobody seemed to mind. When we went to the cafeteria to get dinner we were too late as they'd stopped serving dinner at 4:30PM. We ate Cliff bars for dinner and watched the sunset.

We landed in Topolobampo (a fun word to say over and over again) at 9:30PM and grabbed a cab for the two-hour drive to El Fuerte. It was late. It was dark. We were tired and unfamiliar with the area. We weren’t in quiet La Paz anymore, but the state of Chihuahua. You know, the oneyou hear about in drug war news? I was a little anxious about this situation but friends from the marina had done the same trip without any problems, and it was generally agreed that it was a safe journey. The cab was an official taxi and our driver was kind and spoke slowly so we could understand him as he told us all about this area of the country. I got a little freaked out when, after an hour on the freeway, he turned onto a long stretch of dirt road and drove past a group of pickups with men congregating around a pit fire. But as it turned out, they were just trabajadores working overnight to complete that section of the asphalt road.

We arrived safely in El Fuerte around midnight where, after a quick midnight tour of the town, our cabbie pounded on the door of Hotel Guerrero to wake up his friend the owner. It was an adequate place to sleep for the night, except maybe for the lack of hot water and warm blankets. It was remarkably cold in El Fuerte so we all slept in our clothes and sweaters.

In the morning we had two hours to explore El Fuerte before we had to catch the train to the canyon. We paid our host Guerrero $40 for the night, then set out to find some breakfast. El Fuerte proved to be a lovely town with brightly painted haciendas that lined the quiet cobbled streets. Morning chores had left many of the homes’ big wooden doors ajar, revealing inner courtyards with lush gardens. The elegant town square featured a grand gazebo in the center, and walkways lined with massive palms.

We ate breakfast at a beautiful hotel called Posada Hidalgo, where Zorro apparently spent the first chunk of his life. Hummingbirds abound in El Fuerte and there was a colorful swarm of them at breakfast, having been lured by feeders.

After a short taxi ride we spent 30 minutes waiting for the Chihuahua al Pacifico train, or “El Chepe,” as it is affectionately called. A group of tourism students were waiting at the station as well and, after a brief lecture from their teacher, dispersed to take photos of each other in various poses and positions. Without a single word to us, three kids came to stand in between John and me, put their arms around our shoulders and smiled for their cameraman friend. We then asked them to take another with our camera, and they did so happily. A few minutes later they’d configured themselves into a sort of pyramid on the tracks. I stood up to take a picture, but caught them only as they were coming down. "Shoot, I missed it,” I said then turned to sit down again when one of them called to me “Otra vez?” (“Again?”). They got back into position just so I could get this photo. It was very sweet.

El Chepe arrived and we bought our tickets to Divisadero for $30 each. From cushy reclining seats we watched as El Chepe climbed 2,000 meters through rugged canyon terrain, crossing lofty bridges and hugging the canyon walls. It took six hours to get to our destination (and the railroad’s peak elevation), the rustic town of Divisadero.

Stay tuned for Part Two!

Perky's Perplexity Part 2

Greetings all!  We just got back to La Paz this morning following a 5 day tour of the Sinaloa region of Mexico – including the Copper Canyon of the Sierra Madre.  Stay tuned for April’s post on that wonderful trip!

Many of you have left some very insightful comments and questions concerning Perky’s health condition.  And most of your thoughts are right along ours – which at least gives us some consolation that we’re not simply crazy!

Let me first give you a current update….

As Dave Steffens posted in the comments section, we decided to give our fuel supply a closer inspection.  To rule out a constriction in the fuel supply side (i.e. tank, fuel line, Racor 500FG filter or lift pump), we hooked up a temporary fuel supply using a 5 gallon Jerry Can of San Diego’s finest diesel, new fuel line hose, and an electric fuel pump we had purchased back in San Diego.  We then connected the Jerry can/fuel pump hose directly to the inlet on the engine mounted lift pump – just upstream of the engine-mounted secondary fuel filter.  If Perky’s power problem was coming from the fuel supply side, this temporary system should give us a boost in power.   As usual, Perky started without difficulty, but the problem of poor power under load remained the same.  Satisfied that the fuel supply (at least up to the high-pressure injector pump) was adequate, we reconnected the tanks and hoses. 

To clarify my prior post regarding the to the Racor Filter, the vacuum gauge mounted just after the filter reads a negative (i.e. suction) pressure of 0 to -5 inches mercury.  Other than one instance (when it read as high at -17”Hg vacuum) it has always been in the 0 to -5” Hg range.  Yes, the high suction reading did take place during the problem period, but I haven’t seen a reading like that since. 

With regards to the engine load, here are a few other details of note:

1. Propeller
1. Max Prop, 17” diameter, three-bladed, right-handed, feathering prop.
2. Current pitch setting – unknown, but hasn’t been adjusted since original installation.  Upon visual inspection, blades feather easily and prop turns easily both in neutral and in fwd gear.  All three blades appear to be set at same pitch with no discernible damage.
2. Transmission
1. Hurth HBW 150, new in 1999.
2. Ratio 1.88:1
3. Fwd/neutral/reverse
3. Shaft
1. Dripless rotary seal
2. Turns easily by hand in neutral/forward and reverse

Tom Davison asked some important questions as well regarding the history of the present illness (HPI).  Couldn’t help from throwing in a good medical term.  The previous max RPM before the onset of the problem was never purposely tested, but we certainly had no problem reaching engine speeds of 2500 RPM.  We usually ran the engine at 1800-2000 RPM to maintain a boat speed of 6-7 kts and fuel consumption of 1 – 1.2 gallons per hour.

With regards to engine exhaust, when we do the dock-side power test (aft spring line holding the boat stationary and transmission engaged in forward) the smoke output does increase, but it’s never black (only grayish).   From what I’ve read from Nigel Calder’s book on diesel engines, black smoke means unburnt fuel, blue smoke means burning oil, and white smoke means water in the engine.  But what does gray smoke mean?

I’ve uploaded a short video with this post, which shows the color and amount of exhaust both in neutral and in gear to give you an idea of what I’ve been trying to describe.

At this point, I’m still thinking that the Perky is starving for fuel.  There doesn’t seem to be any indication that we’ve overloaded her or that anything has changed with regards to the drive train (transmission, shaft or prop).   Nor does there seem to be a problem with compression or blow-by because the engine always starts promptly and sounds great.

Next proposed steps:

1. Disconnect rigid fuel supply tubing from secondary filter to fuel injection pump.  Flush with diesel both forward and backward to ensure that no restriction is present up to the injection pump.
2. Consider having fuel pressure measured at the connection to the injector nozzles to verify a properly functioning injection pump.
3. ?

We'd also like to thank Rob from China Doll (Passport 51') in La Paz who paid us a visit last week, looked over the engine and gave us his thoughts, which were very helpful.  Then, he even gave us a ride to the ferry, where we embarked on our journey to the Copper Canyon.  What a community!

Thanks again for your thoughtful comments, and continue posting because the T-shirt is still up for grabs! 

Peace and Happiness,

John

Problems with Perky

Help us solve Perky's Perplexity and win an ‘El Tiburon’ T-shirt!

For those of you who have grown accustomed to the quality writing April has been providing this blog, please excuse my intrusion.  It’s just that we’re growing increasingly obsessed with solving our diesel troubles, and knowing that our audience is so smart, we’re sure that one or more of you are more than capable of teasing out a solution.   

One final warning before proceeding - if you're not mechanically inclined, or have no interest in discussing the finer points of internal combustion and the like (K2 Nolan – that means you) please skip this entry and keep on reading April’s reports, they’re terrific!

In July of this year, Andrew, Luke and I bought El Tiburon (Passport 42) with an original Perkins 4.108M diesel (4 cylinder, 108 cubic inches) with approximately 3000 hours run time.  Sailing the boat on day trips in the Bay were without difficulty, although we never ran the engine for more than an hour at a time. 

From previous maintenance records, we believe that the engine received regular routine oil and fuel filter changes.   A new Hurth transmission was installed in ’99 and the valves were adjusted in ’00.  Our fuel system has a primary Racor Filter and a secondary filter located at the lift pump on the engine.

In early October, we left San Francisco for San Diego and beyond.  This would be our first trip with the El Tiburon outside the Bay.  In preparation for the trip, we had our tanks polished and changed the Racor fuel filter.

During the trip down from San Francisco, the winds were light, requiring us to operate the motor for hours at a time.  The engine ran well, except for a small problem with overheating at RPM’s greater than 1800.  Typically, our diesel operates at temperatures of 170-180 deg F and uses a raw water cooled heat exchanger.

We noticed that running at speeds greater than 2000 RPM caused the engine temperature to exceed 200 deg F.  Since those engine speeds didn’t appreciably affect our speed through the water, in the interest of fuel consumption and keeping the engine cool, we decided to keep the RPM’s at 1800 or less.  This game plan worked fine all the way to Cabo San Lucas.

In Cabo, we refueled with diesel from a modern looking fuel dock.  With plenty of expensive yachts in the marina, we felt safe to fill our tanks and chose not to use a pre-filter.  Shortly after taking on 70 gallons of diesel, we noticed that the engine would no longer exceed 1500 RPM when the transmission was engaged in forward.   In contrast, if we shifted to neutral, the motor revved to 3500 RPM with no difficulty.  It was only under propeller load that the engine failed to meet the desired RPM.  Of course, we dove over the side with masks to ensure that nothing was wrapped around the propeller, and that both prop and shaft spun freely.  All seemed fine.

Since the problem began shortly after taking on fuel, we decided to approach the fuel system first.   We changed the Racor fuel filter, the secondary filter, bled the fuel lines of air, cleaned the air filter, changed the crankcase oil and filter and restarted the engine.  No change.  The vacuum gauge immediately after the Racor displays it’s typical low reading (i.e. 0-5 inches of mercury), suggesting that fuel passes easily from the tank thru the primary filter.  We checked the transmission fluid and verified that it was at the proper level.  I peered inside the transmission case with a flashlight and found the fluid to be clear, devoid of dirt or metal particles.

In examining the exhaust, we observed that in neutral, there seemed to be a brisk exit of raw water but in forward gear, the raw water output decreased.  Suspecting a clog in the raw water system, we cleaned the strainer, replaced the raw water impeller, de scaled the raw water cooled exhaust outlet pipe in muriatic acid and examined all hoses.  We then measured the volume of raw water flow using a 2-gallon bucket and a stopwatch.   At 1200 RPM, whether in neutral or forward gear, the output of raw water exhaust was  exactly the same – approximately 2 gallons in 30 seconds.  We also ran the engine bypassing the muffler to eliminate excessive exhaust back-pressure as a potential problem.  Same results.  We pulled the valve cover and checked the valve tip clearances – all were fine.

By this point, we had learned a ton about Perkins diesel engines and were fast becoming obsessed with solving the ‘lack of power’ problem.  We pulled all 4 fuel atomizers and delivered them to the local diesel laboratory.  The owner of the lab cleaned the injectors (told us they were quite dirty) and returned them to us in clean condition.  We installed the atomizers the same day and started the engine.  Again, same problem!

To summarize the symptoms:

1. Lack of adequate power
1. The engine fails to reach desired RPM when operating under load. 
2. This problem appeared abruptly without obvious warning signs.
2. Oil consumption
1. Approximately ½ liter in 15-20 hours operation
2. Not sure if this is new or long-standing
3. Moderate amount of grey smoke when operating under load.

Despite the lack of power, the engine:

1. Starts very easily
2. Idles very well without miss-firing of knocking
3. Smooth revving to 3500 RPM in neutral
4. Minimal grayish smoke at idle  (definitely not blue or black)
5. Oil pressure in operation runs consistently at 45 psi
6. Engine temperature 180 degrees F at 1500 RPM
7. Good, clean raw water exhaust flow without oil sheen.

What we don’t yet know:

1. What is our compression?  Difficult to measure in a diesel without glow plugs.
2. What is our current fuel consumption?
3. Is the engine getting adequate fuel when under load?  The Racor vacuum gauge suggests so, but this doesn’t eliminate a faulty lift pump or injection pump as a source.
4. Could the engine be overloaded from excessive friction in one or more cylinders?
5. Have I completely ruled-out excessive friction in the transmission?  I guess not.  I’m just not sure how to go about testing it.  Pull the prop and run the engine test again?

At this point, we’re considering a lack of adequate compression to be the most likely problem – either blow-by from a poorly seated piston ring, or incompletely seating valves.  Of course, we haven’t ruled out a poorly functioning fuel injection pump, but since these rarely seem to have difficulties, we’re considering this to have a low probability.

In deciding what to do next, we’re thinking that the next obvious step would be to pull the cylinder head and service the valves.  This would then allow us to examine the cylinder walls for excessive wear and eliminate the valves as a source.  And if that doesn’t do it, we’ll consider a complete rebuild.

If anyone has any ideas about what to do next, we’d love to hear it!

Happy Birthday Luke!

While loading some pictures on Facebook on the 10^th, I noticed the name Luke Ashcraft in the upper right hand corner under the heading “Birthdays”. It was Luke’s birthday and he hadn’t said anything! We made the rest of the day all about Luke. He got to pick the activities of the day, and I was eagerly anticipating his undoubtedly thrilling choices. Unfortunately for me, he chose engine work.

We did go out for dinner and drinks at a restaurant called Rancho Viejo to celebrate. It’s a lively authentic Mexican place where they prepare the meat right on the sidewalk at a big metal cart. The savory aromas encourage passersby to stop for a bite. The tacos are served without embellishment, just meat on a tortilla. A platter of accoutrements is served along side that includes minced cabbage, red onions, hot sauce, pico de gallo, guacamole, jalepenos and limes, so you can dress your taco yourself. The food was fabulous! There were also two cats, one calico and one tabby, that came to sit under our table and mewl for scraps.

We went home to make popcorn and have a movie night with Netflix. Annoyingly, we discovered that you can’t watch streaming video while in a country other than the U.S.! Not even Hulu would work. Major bummer. So instead we all read our books and went to sleep. All in all in was a happy day.

I know this is a blurry photo, but it’s the only one I have of Luke on his birthday (somebody deleted the others).

Peaceful La Paz

After anchoring for the night next to Isla Cerralvo, a few hours south of La Paz, we all woke up feeling very well rested (especially Perk). It wasn’t too long after we’d hauled out the anchor that Luke noticed one of our fishing lines was heading in the wrong direction. Excitement grew as the line was pulled in and it became clear a large, shimmering, brightly colored fish was on the other end. We’d finally caught a Dorado! Also known as Mahi Mahi or Dolphin Fish, this guy is probably the most beautifully colored pelagic fish, and definitely one of the best for eating.

It’s been a long time since I, or any of us onboard, have eaten meat from an animal that we ourselves have also killed, although for many around the world it is a regular practice. Procuring meat yourself is a potent reminder to be grateful for the food upon your table. Also, the splendor and responsiveness of the fish we’ve caught has led me to question the reasoning of partial-vegetarianism, which involves eating no meat except fish. Beasts of the sea are no less impressive than the beasts of land.

After a leisurely sail into La Paz, we tied up at Marina Palmira, ate deliciously fresh Mahi Mahi ceviche for dinner, and went to bed. Marina Palmira is a quiet and lovely place, very clean and very friendly. A list of rules helps ensure it stays this way, the two most pertinent being #12: “It is prohibited the music in a high level and scandalous celebrations. After 20:00 hrs, avoid being noisy to have a respectful environment,” and #21: “Out of consideration for families, it is prohibited the prostitution in our Marina facilities.” On top of that, the water is remarkably clear in the marina so that schools of various types of fish (including bright baby tropical reef fish) may be seen swimming all over the place.

In the morning we took a cab to downtown La Paz to explore our new temporary town. There is much to be said about this charming seaside city and I will say more as I learn more. It is both bustling and tranquil, with plenty of English speakers but not nearly as touristy as Cabo. We’ve rented our slip until December 8^th, so there will be plenty of time to discover the area.

While walking about, we ran into a local sailor who’d done the Ha-Ha and recognized Kitty from Cabo San Lucas. After chatting for a bit, he recommended a man named Mario with whom to talk about our engine troubles. Mario came aboard El Tiburon later that day to help us diagnose the problem. He was a gentle 70 year-old man of few words, all of them being in Spanish. Although passable Spanish is spoken by members of our crew, our linguistic capability does not include the vocabulary necessary to discuss a diesel engine. Luckily, I’d purchased the book Spanish for Cruisers (which includes sailing relevant terminology) as an afterthought while shopping for other necessities at West Marine before we left.

During Mario’s consultation (for which he refused compensation), he identified two important components of our engine problem.

1) The smoke from the engine was ‘gris,’ which although it sounds like ‘grease’ and we at first thought he meant we were burning oil, actually means grey, and that’s good because it’s not blue or black. So the engine is fine.

2) While in neutral, the cooling water output was healthy and increased as the engine revved higher. But while in gear, the water output was decreased by half and didn’t increase with acceleration, which suggests there is a blockage in the exhaust system.

Aboard El Tiburon, Mario is now referred to as “The Oracle.”

Sea of Cortez

On November 6^th, we left the noisy anchorage in Cabo for good, headed for La Paz. The Easterly wind had dropped off completely, leaving no wind at all. We’d been running our motor for a while when Andrew noticed it was getting hot and refusing to rev above 1500 rpm while in gear. This discovery would mark the beginning of many hours of working on, reading about, and discussion of the Marine Diesel Engine. With no wind and an ailing motor, we eventually made our way to the shore and tied up at a marina in San Jose del Cabo around 2100. A short walk along a dirt road took us to Tommy’s Barefoot Cantina, where we enjoyed some well-deserved margaritas.

In the morning we discovered we were in a beautifully designed marina, only partially completed, but carefully planned. The docks were of wide, immaculate concrete and the park-like grounds were intricately landscaped with various succulents, cacti, agave, palms, and bougainvillea. Each wrought-iron gate separating the docks from the surrounding grounds had a stone archway that dripped with tropical vines. Iron statues and prints of surrealist paintings lined the path to the showers. Definitely the nicest marina we’d ever been in.

After spending all day working on the engine, we took a taxi to downtown San Jose del Cabo. We sipped Cadillac margaritas at a sleek lounge called Tequila and John remarked that it felt like it could be a hipster bar in San Francisco. Next stop was an Argentinian steak house called La Pampa, where we sat next to the outdoor oven and enjoyed a satisfying dinner. On our way back to the taxis we stopped at the French bakery and bought a bag full of pastries and crusty bread for the morning, then wandered through the town square where much of the community had gathered on this warm night. It was a surreal scene. A teenage band was performing “Zombie” by the Cranberries while people of all ages chatted, sung along, or danced and children chased each other in pedaled go-karts. We watched for a while then left as the band was playing Judas Priest’s “Breaking the Law.”

Although Perky (as we’ve taken to calling our Perkins engine) was out of sorts, the men were confident he was well enough to get us up the coast to La Paz, where we know of a diesel mechanic who can examine him. On the 8^th we rounded the cape into the Sea of Cortez. Although open to the Pacific Ocean, the Sea of Cortez a lot like a giant lake and it doesn’t get the swell from distant storms. The ride was smooth and peaceful, the sea calmer than some of our previous anchorages. After the sun went down in a fiery blaze of neon pink, the waves from our bow glowed with bioluminescence. We had a big Costco-veggie salad and baked potatoes for dinner.

Cabo at Last!

On November third, El Tiburon awoke to a quiet anchorage and 72 degree water. We all went for a swim or a paddle, even Kitty! I strapped her into her “Outward Hound” neon orange life jacket, grabbed the handle on the back, and passed her over the edge to Andrew who was standing in the water on his stand-up paddle board. Once onboard, Kitty braced herself stiffly, looking very uncertain of what the heck was going on. Always a good sport, she did as she was told and Andrew impressively paddled all the way to shore without either of them falling off.

We left Bahia Santa Maria around noon and made a beeline for Cabo, with only 160 nautical miles to cover. The change in climate was dramatic during this last leg of our trip. Our fleeces and jackets were tucked away in their drawers, not to be worn again. The water went from a rich navy to brilliant cobalt, and pairs of dolphins returned to frolic at the bow (see video below). Evenings were warm and comfortable, even in the breezy cockpit. The men all turned a lovely shade of golden brown and even I, despite an addiction to sunblock, managed to add a few freckles to my collection.

It was smooth sailing (and motoring) until late afternoon on the 4^th when a 30 knot wind came whipping around the cape from the exact direction we wanted to go in. The sea quickly became rough and choppy and El Tiburon pitched back and forth like a hobbyhorse. Beating to windward was exceptionally unpleasant and we thanked Neptune that the trip had all been downwind thus far.

Arriving in Cabo San Lucas at 2100, the crew was exhausted. We tied up at the marina next to an excess of gleaming white sport fishing boats with names like “Mr. Terrible,” “Lethal Weapon,” and “Lucky Sperm.” One boat had a fillet table in the back that was supported by an aquarium full of baitfish. As it turned out there was a fishing tournament going on and clearly, these people were serious about fishing.

Rather than hunt around for authentically delicious Mexican food, we opted for a quick and easy dinner at Cantina Baja, just a few steps from our dock. Dying for vegetables, I ordered the ‘Asian salad’ without a shred of guilt, but was disappointed when my dinner turned up as a cup of lettuce hidden under six big strips of (deliciously marinated) chicken.

The next day we were awoken at 0600 by the mass departure of our neighbors, who were cheering and hooting as their boats left the marina, all of them pumped to catch some big ones. Shortly thereafter, we sprung into action. First order of business was laundry. A taxi took us to the lavanderia to drop off our clothes, then to Costco (despite John's protests) to load up on provisions like Coca Light and Pellegrino Limonata, and a profusion of vegetables. For lunch, we went to the alley behind the row of touristy restaurants and found a little taco truck catering to the workers. The tacos were incredibly delicious, if a little too spicy thanks to someone’s heavy hand with the hot sauce. We stopped by the Ha-ha beach party long enough to have a drink and pose for the group photo, but left before the famous “From Here to Eternity Kissing Contest” got underway. We were probably the youngest people there who weren’t accompanied by their parents.

After loading the boat with beverages, veggies and clean laundry smelling of Suavitel, we filled our water and fuel tanks and headed out of the marina on our way to La Paz. The Easterly wind we’d encountered on our approach had not subsided, and it was still blowing right out of our destination. Not to be dissuaded, we headed offshore prepared to tack to bring us a few miles up the shore. As the sun was setting there was a zing on the fishing rod and we reeled in a Skipjack Tuna, whose meat was listed as “Good, but not to most tastes” by our fishing guidebook. Undeterred, the men filleted him up for dinner.

At this point we realized we’d made very little Eastward progress on account of wind and current so we decided to return to anchor in Cabo. This proved to be a mistake as the anchorage there was not well protected and we were within earshot of multiple clubs blaring party music. The long day of errands in the dry heat, followed by another stint of beating to windward led the crew to drop like flies once the anchor was set.

Nobody was that enthusiastic about dinner, having been put off by Mr. Skipjack’s pungent aroma, except Andrew. First Luke fell asleep in the pilot berth with his shoes on, then I retreated to bed after I gave Andrew some instructions on food preparation. When he called me out to check on the asparagus, John was asleep on the settee and Andrew was preparing to dine alone. Despite having been prepared with heaps of garlic, Mr. Skipjack was still stinking up the joint so I went back to bed. Andrew remained hungrily optimistic. Not ten minutes later he knocked on the door to ask me where the leftover spaghetti from the night before had been stowed.

Lessons learned:

1) If planning to beat to windward, leave earlier in the day and batten down the hatches before you do.

2) Skip the Skipjack.

Asymmetric Spinnaker

This is a shot of our asymmetric spinnaker.  With this baby up and 10-15 knots of wind abaft the beam, we can do close to 8 knots!  I know this doesn't sound too fast to our landlubber friends out there, but believe me, it's a lot better (both faster and quieter) than chugging on the diesel.  

Big Eye Tuna!

Luke hand-lined this beauty into the boat early morning yesterday.  It was a spectacular fish that provided us food for the entire day.  We took a moment before dinner to thank Mr. Big Eye and the ocean for providing us a wonderful feast!

Bahia Santa Maria

El Tiburon sailed in to Bahia Santa Maria at 1700 on 11/2 after a thirty-six hour passage from Bahia Asuncion. Land was nowhere to be seen for most of the passage, and the usual ever-present sea life (seals, dolphins, birds) was also conspicuously absent. We did however see two whales spouting and one came up pretty close - about twenty yards away - off our starboard beam. It was a little too close for comfort, given that the Ha-ha lost a boat last year due to collision with a whale.

The wind was 6-18 knots during the trip, with a three foot following sea. We had a strike on one of our fishing lines that snapped the line in a matter of nanoseconds. Whatever had taken the six inch cedar plug bait was surely too big to have onboard anyway. On the morning of November 2^nd Luke pulled in a gorgeous Bigeye tuna on one of our handlines. It was truly a beautiful fish. As I got close to examine its nacreous yellow and blue coloring, it looked me over with its big eye (the fish is aptly named) and I felt a sharp pang of guilt at the thought of slaughtering such a beautiful creature. With grateful taste buds we enjoyed maguro sashimi as a breakfast appetizer. The rest of the fish was seared with just a little oil for dinner. Everyone agreed it was probably the best fish they’d ever eaten – and certainly the freshest.

As we were pulling into Bahia Santa Maria we caught a Barracuda. Between its fearsome mouth and risk for ciguatera we opted to throw him back. Plus we had a fridge full of Bigeye.

We are now only about 160 nautical miles away from Cabo. Looking forward to doing laundry and buying some vegetables.