The following documents a three-month sailing expedition in the Sea of Cortez along the east coast of the Baja Peninsula from mid October, 2007 through early February, 2008. I sailed from LA Bay (Baja California Norte) to La Paz on the southern end of the Peninsula, including the midriff islands. These entries include events encountered while instructing sail sections of Baja semesters with the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS).
The Gulf of California: Sailing the Baja Penninsula
10/24/07
My expedition starts at Bahia de Los Angeles, a tiny port with many offshore islands created by extinct volcanoes. The islands that rise out of the water all along the Baja coast are comprised mostly of jagged basalt and pumice, tell-tale signs of their firey past. The largest of these islands is Isla de la Guarda, or Guardian Angel Island, aptly named for the protection it gives to the fishing town of LA Bay from fierce northerlies.
Spanish conquistadors first arrived on the Baja peninsula under the aegis of Hernan Cortez in 1533. Cortez dubbed the hot and arid land “Calafia Fornax,” or hot furnace. This nickname eventually evolved into the more recognizable name of California. The first major efforts at colonization of the Baja peninsula were made by the Jesuits in 1683-1685. Consequently, the native population steadily diminished primarily under the impacts of European diseases and occasional violent conflicts. The Jesuit missionaries attempted to limit Spanish and Mexican settlement, fearing their harmful influences, but eventually had to accept their inevitable presence and control from central New Spain.
After a few initial days of sailing around Bahia de Los Angeles, our expedition of four boats, four instructors and twelve semester students sailed ten nautical miles to Isla Coronado. Winds were light and variable, but we were able to sail without having to row much through the calms. On Isla Coronado our expedition camped under tarps on crisp white sand. During our multiple-day visit at Isla Coronado, the expedition practiced capsize recovery drills on one of the boats as it lay at anchor. This is a useful skill for crew to become familiar with, should one of the boats capsize in larger seas. We removed the boat’s motor and gear to avoid any unnecessary flooding. The whole exercise took a good portion of the afternoon and involved students tipping the boat, working together to upright it, laying a sea anchor, dropping sails, deploying mizzen and then bailing out all the water. We worked late until the sun dipped behind the mountainous curtain of mainland Baja creating a spectacular sunset splashed with orange and purple.
10/29/07
In the morning I taught an introduction to coastal navigation, deduced reckoning and VHF radio use. Chart work and coastal piloting was continuously practiced and skills built upon as we traveled down the coast. When a diurnal breeze picked up in the afternoon we set sail to the south. Throughout the afternoon we used all points of sail. The wind veered clockwise steadily causing us to leave Isla Coronado close hauled and ending our passage running downwind to a point jutting out from the mainland named Salina.
We sailed longboat yawls called Drascombes. Our Drascombe longboats did amazing things for us. They far exceeded their design and sometimes were pushed beyond their capabilities. We shoved close to a ton of gear and people into them and sailed them hard in the wilderness. Most of us will not have cause to survive a ship’s mutiny and then sail 3618 miles across the Pacific in an open boat as Captain Bligh did. Still, it is some comfort knowing that Drascombe longboats have voyaged with a sterling safety record over at least as much ocean as the “Bounty’s” launch. John Watkinson, an English boat builder, designed and launched the first Drascombe in 1965. He called it a Lugger, after the speedy coastal boats that English smugglers used to outwit the King’s Navy in the 1700’s. The NOLS Drascombe Longboats are a longer version measuring 24 feet overall. Longboats have ranged the world’s oceans, making numerous crossings of the North Sea, passages through the Aegean and Mediterranean, the Atlantic, pacific most of a global circumnavigation and hundreds of expedition miles in the Sea of Cortez.
Later, our fleet rounded a point and worked upwind for half a mile into a tight anchorage called Animas Slot. This was a very narrow and hidden anchorage, but provided a fair amount of protection from storms. Today there was a strong northerly wind in the bay. I had students on my boat ready on all the sheets and bow anchor while I helmed. My boat came screaming in on a close reach into the anchorage. As we turned into the wind to drop our anchor, the student on my bow was a little excited due to the speed at which we were traveling. As I made the call to release the sheets, the student on the bow dropped the anchor prematurely, before we were making much stern way. The risk was that the chain could become wrapped around the anchor flukes and not catch in the sand properly causing us to drift back onto the rocks to the south. However, as the boat drifted astern the anchor held. It was a dumb mistake and a little embarrassing because the other boats were already watching us at their deep water anchors.
10/31/07
Last night we slept with whales past our camp. I could recognize them as Finback whales due to their signature aft-pointing dorsal fin and I listened to the “Pffff” of their breathing all night long They swam up and down our bay as they played and snacked on small pelagic fish less than 50 meters from our beach. Finback whales have baleen plates which they use to feed on schooling fish and krill. A fin whale can eat 2-3 tons of fish per day and are many are double the length of Humpbacks. However, their sleek design, fast speed, and elusive nature make these "greyhounds-of-the-sea" more difficult to observe than the slow-moving Humpbacks. Finbacks are one of the most poorly understood whales in the world. Their private nature makes it difficult to know where they go to breed. It is assumed that they seek out warmer waters in which to give birth... just like the Humpbacks. The gestation period of a calf is 11 months and babies measure 18-20 feet long at birth! Calves nurse for about 6-7 months and separate from their mother after about a year. Fin whales are endangered and there are estimated 75,000-100,000 fin whales worldwide.
The day ended with a Halloween party and we sang sea shanties around a low-tide fire. Bioluminescence covered the water and offered us a fantastic light show. Bioluminescence is the production and emission of light by a living organism as the result of a chemical reaction. Anywhere the water was disturbed, by waves, fish or rocks, resulted in a flash of bright blue-green light. We could look out and see flashes of light where fish jumped, where our anchor rode slapped the surface of the water and where we skipped rocks from the beach. As we walked through the water we left a fairy contrail of bright stars and our wet legs would glow like phosphorescent light sticks. It was a grand display.
11/3/07
Tonight the expedition is camped on Salsipuedes island, which in Spanish, means “Leave if you can.” Deep trenches surround the island on either side 1000 feet deep and strong currents bring a steady flow of cold water. The result is a ready supply of nutrients from deep in the ocean and thousands of large tropical fish. I taught an introduction to free diving and snorkeling, an ongoing curriculum including clearing the mask, snorkel and ears as we practiced free dives into a shallow corral reef.
Ted, one of my co-instructors (and coast guard reservist from Virginia) found a stowaway in our food bag during dinner. In a plastic bag of flour was a quarter-sized hole with a tail and two hind legs protruding out from the white powder. A mouse had somehow found its way into our food bag and proceeded to eat it’s way through our flour eventually becoming either stuck, trapped or unconscious. Ted pulled out the mouse by the tail and re-located him at the other end of the beach. Covered in white, the mouse slowly regained consciousness miles away from his former home. Disoriented and dazed from high blood sugar, he scurried away into the rocks, hopefully avoiding any turkey vultures passing by overhead.
During the night a coyote visited our camp. When I woke up in the morning I noticed that my sun glasses had been dragged a few feet away from where I had placed them the night before. Also, the apple I had been saving for breakfast (which I had set right next to my sleeping bag) was snatched away and mostly eaten. This annoyed me the most because it was my only piece of fresh fruit and I had been saving it. The coyote(s) also tried to steal a rations bag out of our kitchen. Fortunately, the food bag was too heavy and difficult to tear open, causing the coyote to give up on the project. Some students did loose their shoes, which were eventually found several hundred meters away in the arroyo. Evidently, coyotes like to play hide and seek with odiferous objects that they cannot eat.
11/5/07
Today we sailed from Isla Lorenzo back to the mainland of Baja after several days of island hopping. Winds were calm on our passage. Halfway across the passage pods of Bottlenose Dolphins appeared all around us. I could see them swimming and jumping for ½ mile on either side of our boat. There must have been 150 dolphins or more. Their elongated snout, called a rostrum, gives the animal its common name. The real, functional, nose is the blowhole on top of its head. In fact, the nasal septum is visible when the blowhole is open. Every 5-8 minutes, the Bottlenose Dolphin, like all other dolphins, needs to rise to the surface to breathe through its blowhole, though it generally breathes more frequently - up to several times per minute. Its sleep is thus very light. Some scientists have suggested that the two halves of its brains take turns in sleeping and waking. It has also been suggested that it has tiny periods of 'microsleep'.
Some of the dolphins follow us for a short time, weaving back and forth across our sailboat’s heading. The species is commonly known for its friendly character and curiosity towards humans immersed in or near water. It is not uncommon for a diver to be investigated by a group of them. Occasionally, dolphins have rescued injured divers by raising them to the surface, a behavior they also show towards injured members of their own species. Such accounts have earned them the nickname of "Man's best friend of the sea." In November 2004, a more dramatic report of dolphin intervention came from New Zealand. Three lifeguards, swimming 100 meters off the coast were reportedly approached by a 3 meter (10 ft) Great White Shark. A group of Bottlenose Dolphins, apparently sensing danger to the swimmers, herded them together and tightly surrounded them for forty minutes, preventing an attack from the shark, as they returned to shore.
12/17/07
The expedition is camped at San Fransisquito, halfway along our intended route, and we are waiting for a re-supply of food and water from Bahia De Los Angeles. We are expecting it to arrive by ponga, a large fiberglass boat with large outboard motor, generally used by local fishermen. However, our re-ration is two days past due and we are beginning to wonder what the problem could be. The sea is calm. However, winds could be stronger to the north. The ponga could also have had mechanical difficulties causing its delay. At this point, we really have no other option than to patiently wait for its arrival.
Our group still has plenty of water to sustain us, but our food is quickly running out. As a result, I am tired and weak from not eating. Today I was reduced to drinking straight olive oil just for its calories. We are not seriously hungry, however, and I know that people can go days without food (up to 40 days according to the bible), as long as they have water to sustain them. We have enough water for several more days, so there is not too much worry. Students are supplementing our rations by catching stingrays with make-shift spears they cleverly constructed from tent poles. However, stingray is not good meat. It is rubbery like an old tire. Other students are catching fish using the limited fishing supplies we brought along. We ate some tasty triggerfish, which was one of my best meals in a long time.
12/18/07
There is still no sign of our re-ration ponga. A rancho is a few miles to the south of our camp, so half of the students and two instructors set out to try and procure food. At the ranchero we found a very generous couple living in a small shack built of cactus wood and scrap metal. Their herd of 50 goats milled about the hillside, eating choya cactus and elephante brush. The family here lived simply, cooking over a wood fire in a cinder-block oven. They were happy to have visitors, even dirty and unshaven gringos like us. The ranchero happily offered us most of their supplies: rice, cheese, tortillas and machaca (dried and shredded meat). Initially, they offered to give it all to us for free. However, we insisted they take 200 pesos anyway. This couple possessed so little, but were willing to give us all they had. Their generosity gave me renewed faith in the human spirit.
12/19/07
The ponga arrived this morning. Evidently there was a logistical mix-up on the dates of our re-ration. At any rate, all the food, fuel and water was split between the four boats and our fleet set sail the next morning. It was a crazy day of sailing. We left camp at 9am and didn’t reach our anchorage until eight hours and 20 nautical miles later (one minute of latitude = 1 nautical mile). We had every kind of wind from all directions. My boat, “Spray,” sailed well and was out front most of the day. Spray was running downwind, wing-on-wing, in the afternoon. Then the wind shifted 180 degrees, and in less than 10 minutes we were close hauled skimming over the water at five knots.
Later in the day the wind lay down and we were forced to row our boat for a lot of the afternoon. Then, suddenly, the wind picked up again causing us to sail with two reefs in the main. The varied and seemingly random wind was just a reminder to me that nothing is predictable or constant in Baja. I love sailing. There were times today that we were beating upwind, water flying over the deck, students wide-eyed and loving every minute of it. However, it was also the kind of fun that occasionally bordered on frightening. I felt in control of the boat all day long even though Spray occasionally heeled over to the point where the leeward gunwale scooped up a bit of water. It is far enough along in the course where students know enough to be competent crew. But, being out in the open ocean with crests of waves breaking, howling wind and us in our little boats bobbing up and down in the swell – is quite humbling. It made me feel very vulnerable to the might of the sea. All the same, I love being in charge of my own boat and my own crew. It is an amazing amount of responsibility. Sailing is one of the oldest forms of travel and the more I do it, the more I feel some kind of ancestral gene hook me with a desire to cast off to sea and not look back.
Coming into anchor at Santa Anna that day I had a working jib and two reefs. My thinking was that the working jib would help Spray beat up into the wind towards our anchorage better than with a storm jib. The combination of the force 5 wind and the lift from the headsail was strong enough to bend the top of our mast. The forward rake of the mast made the forestay loose and the luff of the jib ineffective. I thought the mast might break under the force, so I shook out the reef which provided more pull to the aft on the top of the mast straightening it out somewhat. I made sure the main sheet was in my hands so if we were hit with a powerful gust I could de-power the main and avoid a knockdown or taking on too much water over the gunwales.
I should have hanked on the storm jib earlier with one reef and a wrap in the mizzen which would have been an adequate upwind sail plan. Sailing in heavy weather is exciting and definitely got my heart rate up. Once safely at camp, I sat down on the cobbley beach to rest. Even after an hour I still felt tense from the day’s intense sail, so I brewed some Chamomile tea to help settle my nerves. I realize that we must sail the wind we have, not the wind we think we should have or the wind we think we “ought” to have. As with all things in life, we must simply sail the wind we have.
1/13/07
Today was another incredible day of sailing. Our hearty crew and four boats sailed 23 nautical miles to the anchorage at El Submarino. Along our route lay Tres Virgenes, a formidable stretch of coastline with no anchorages and frequent strong off-shore winds that funnel down out of the mountains. The jagged cliffs looked very ominous, yet beautiful. The morning presented no wind, so we used our four-stroke Nissan motors for two hours. Winds gradually increased and we systematically reduced sail from genoa to working jib and one-reefed main. Swell also increased and our boats surfed down the waves as we tried not to jibe. We were running wing-on-wing at six knots which felt like the boat was trying to take flight out of the water. The mast and forestay began to bend again and the stern of the boat was fish-tailing all over as we rode over the waves. We had too much head sail. I had a student crawl out onto the foredeck, a tricky balancing act in the choppy seas, and hank on the storm jib. Another student forgot to tie a stopper knot in the new jib sheet, but luckily we noticed the problem before the halyard was raised. Had we not properly fed the new jib sheet through with a stopper knot the jib would have shot forward, flinging the starboard sheet out into the water and out of our reach. After everything was sorted and calm on board again we continued broad reaching down wind, jibing back and forth along the coast. We were sailing well and were getting ahead of the fleet, so we jibed to “hove-to,” a maneuver which uses the back-winded jib, center board and tight mizzen to maintain a stable position that will not make much way to windward.
As the other boats were catching up I saw a six-foot long fish jump and twist out of the water. I could see the dorsal fin, white under belly and long tail fin as it flew out of the water 100 to starboard. It was a Great White Shark and it had a piece of fish in its jaws. Sometimes Great Whites will swim up from underneath their prey and fly out of the water as they snatch shallow-swimming fish. We looked up the shark later in our library at camp and I am certain it was a Great White Shark. I am just glad I never saw one while I was swimming or diving.
2/2/08
This course is wrapping up and I suddenly find myself at the end of my journey. Our group is camped at the southern tip of Isla Carmen, our final night in the field. I slept alone atop a white limestone cliff, conglomerated with shells and coral uplifted from the sea hundreds of thousands of years ago. Sailing over the past few months has been engrained into my mind, to the point that I sail in my sleep. I look out across the sea and see the islands silhouetted against the mainland. Baja is a place where even the mountains swim. Beautiful and wild. As the sun rises in the east, it casts its preliminary light onto the bottoms of low stratus clouds, painting their underbelly pink and orange. As the sun rises, this color fans out across the sky. The spectacular image is breath taking and etched into my memory forever.
