Nina Takes a Breezy Cruise
by Jerry Helm
A
Snap!@A
Whizzz!@A
THUUUNK!@That
=s the Jeopardy answer. Do you know the question?What do you hear and feel when the keel cable breaks on a Catalina 25?
Right! Your prize is that you get to repair it!
Ned Pos and I had gone for a daysail on Friday before the Veterans Day Races when the above scenario played itself out. For a long while we stared at each other and tried to sort out a few thoughts. Were we sinking? No--the keel was almost all the way down when the cable broke; therefore, the drop distance was not far enough to hurt the boat. Would we have to abandon our cruise to Baja after the race? Maybe. Could we repair or replace the cable? Let
=s give it a try, we said bravely.Our first move was to return to the San Carlos Marina and get Nina back on the trailer. This took much hauling and shoving, but eventually she was horsed onto the trailer, and the keel was back in its housing.
Next, we surveyed the situation and decided to jack up the boat and get some clearance so we could work on the keel attachment. This we did with the help of John Lubliner
=s hydraulic bottle jack. Then we removed the broken cable and thought about what to replace it with. The local marine shops had nothing in stock resembling 1/4" stainless cable.More deep thinking was in order.
Aha! I had it! A new item on board was fifty feet of Sta-set 3/16" braid with a breaking strength of 1,600 pounds. We threaded the necessary length through the cable housing, tied a bowline onto the keel, attached the other end to the winch, gave it a test haul, and went back to sea! Not - definitely not - a permanent fix, but one that proved sufficient for the next ten days.
Monday afternoon, November 9, saw us clearing Punta Doble on a breezy starboard reach. The wind had been blowing hard all day but seemed to be lightening, which we usually expect in the early evening. The seas were lumpy and confused, since the wind had changed directions several times during the day. Sailing behind us were Chris and Donna Petty, the young couple who run the
ADam Site@ marina and restaurant complex in Elephant Butte, New Mexico. They were crossing for the first time in their Hunter 26, ASlipknot.@ (They explained that ASlipknot@ was a Grateful Dead tune, and they were dedicated deadheads.) Garry Morris had joined Ned and me after we talked him out of single-handing his Catalina 25, ABalasang@ on this blustery day, and it had been Garry who had met Chris and Donna on the pier and invited them to join us on our trip to Punta Chivato, Bahia Concepcion, and Mulege.We started out with a single reefed main, but shook the reef out as the sun neared the horizon.
Another easy crossing,@ said Garry as he shot photos all around.
A
Don=t say that ahead of time,@ Ned warned.The breeze dropped to a comfortable ten knots, and we rigged a jackline, got out the harnesses and made ready for darkness. Slipknot was now ahead of us, slightly to windward,
and trying to go slow enough to keep us in sight. That Hunter is a fast boat.
We snacked on granola bars and observed that - hmmm - the wind seemed to be increasing somewhat. And it increased somewhat more.
Soon we were rolling nastily, the autohelm gave up, and we put the reef back in. Our gentle breeze was now in the 18 - 25 knot range. Fortunately it still was on the beam, so we were making good time, really good time, since the GPS showed us hitting six and seven knots regularly.
Now we had pulled ahead of Slipknot; the Pettys had reefed and dropped the jib so we could stay together. Their running lights were fading in the darkness aft; we dropped our jib, too, and continued roaring along at five and six knots. The ride was easier this way, and we took turns napping and bringing snacks up to whoever was on the tiller.
Conditions stayed like this all through the night. We talked every hour to Chris on Slipknot. He was doing fine, but Donna was a bit under the weather and not able to help very much. They did not have an autohelm, and poor Chris had to hand steer all night long. Our autohelm, on the other hand, was functioning again, thanks to our easy motion. The beam reach was somewhat rolly, but the waves were now coming in regular succession, and OTTO was handling things nicely. Don
=t leave home without one!At 0500 we began to have a new worry: we were going to arrive at Chivato in the dark. Our speed held at five and six knots under drastically shortened sail, and we now could see some of the lights on the Santa Inez islands south of the point. Their flashes were irregular and did not always match the indications on the chart; we decided to tack and reach back for a half-hour and hope that we
=d have some light on the next approach.A
Sheesh,@ Chris told us when we radioed him of this decision, AI=ve never worked so hard in my life before trying to make the boat go slower.@Nevertheless, he tacked behind us and followed us back over the same damn waves we
=d just passed.0600 saw us tacking again and heading once more for the friendly anchorage at Chivato. This time the eastern horizon was showing some light as the array of lights came into close view.
By 0700 we were passing Punta Chivato with a nice view of the houses on the beach and the hotel perched on its rocky cliff. At 0730 we were on the anchor and dozing in our bunks. Slipknot was also anchored and showing no sign of life.
Later that morning we had a fine breakfast on the hotel patio and watched several boats sailing on the shining bay between us and Concepcion. After breakfast we walked the beach east and north past the light tower and into the little bay where the hotel runs a campground. You RV
=ers should know about this place. For four bucks a day you get a neat spot on one of the prettiest beaches in Baja. You also get a bathroom and hot shower. The beach is sheltered and is a fine place to put a small boat or inflatable dinghy in the water for fishing or exploring.After dinner at the hotel, we hit the sack and slept the sleep of the blessed innocents.
Wednesday, November 11, saw us up late and sailing toward Concepcion with thoughts of Armistice Day, World War I, in our little heads. We ran before a ripping breeze and watched Slipknot sail circles around us. At 1600 we rounded into Coyote Bay, headed toward the sheltered beach at Santispac and were anchored 150 yards off shore by 1700.
Donna and Chris chose to stay on the boat, so we three dinghied in and strolled along the beach. The winter crowds had not arrived yet, so only a half dozen of the many palapas that line the shore were occupied. We looked into Ana
=s restaurant and bakery and saw that, although open, it seemed deserted. Continuing toward the driveway from the main highway, we saw that the palapa/restaurant that had been closed last June was now open and thriving. A big sign outside proclaimed it to be ARay=s - Fine Dining!@Inside the brightly decorated (Christmas lights everywhere) restaurant we were greeted by Ray Lima and his wife Diane who promptly introduced us to their head (and only) waiter, Manuel. Ray
=s a Cuban emigre, and Diane=s a charming gringo from back east. They run an excellent establishment!A gas generator chugs out back, and all the lights go dim when Ray runs the blender for Margaritas. The menu is brief but loaded with fresh treats. We sampled the shrimp papagallo (stuffed with cheese, crab meat, and wrapped in bacon), the fresh fish, and Ray
=s famous cheeseburgers. Santispac now resembles heaven! Especially before the mobs arrive.Ray
=s has been written up in Latitude 38, and now it is famous for being in the Windbreaker. We=ll send him a copy so he can post this on his bulletin board.By 2000 we were back an board and snoozing comfortably as the wind continued to howl over the cliffs and around us. By anchoring as close to shore as possible, however, we had a comfortable night of it--aside from the noise.
We rose at 0700 Thursday and dinghied in for breakfast at Ana
=s. The fresh orange juice was delicious, and the eggs, beans, and tortillas were the normally greasy. The morning was a bit calmer, so we decided to go for a sail around the bay and maybe get in a bit of snorkeling on the reefs near Isla Pargo. Off we went and soon discovered that the wind was still a boisterous norther--cold, too, once we got away from the sheltering hills. After a quick view of Coyote Bay and its numerous beaches and anchorage's, we returned to our Santispac shelter, were on the hook by 1100, and headed in for lunch at Ray=s. Donna and Chris Petty joined us and agreed to meet us there for dinner.Having a few hours at our disposal, we took off on a hike to the eastern point that shelters Santispac beach. Passing several nifty new homes on the peninsula, we marveled at the fancy architecture--and the snug little RV spaces next to the ostentatious palaces. When we passed the houses, we noticed a road leading off to the left toward the main channel into Concepcion. This road ends near the tip of the point and seems to be a pretty popular party place, judging by the piles of beer cans and snack packages scattered about. Another road--a jeep trail, really--goes off to the north and seems to end up at the new RV park on the south side of Punta Arena.
While strolling the area, I noticed a business card lying on the beach. Curious, I picked it up and read:
ASusan Arter, San Diego Museum of Natural History.@A
Hey, Ned, here=s a neighbor of yours!@A
Bitchen, I=ll have to take this to her next time I go to the museum.@1700 saw us enjoying a hearty dinner with the Pettys in the friendly confines of Ray
=s restaurant. This would be our farewell to Chris and Donna, for they would remain in Concepcion for another week of exploring and relaxation. We trust they had a fine time before returning to San Carlos and thence to Truth or Consequences.We spent another good night on Nina sleeping through the noisy gusts which now and then buffeted us and kicked the boat back forth; however, the anchor held and we rose at 0500 Friday for our trip to Mulege and ETA at high tide around 1000.
Heading north into the teeth of the 25-knot breeze, we motorsailed at 4 knots, which took a bit longer than we had budgeted, but we still arrived with plenty of water over the bar outside Mulege
=s teeny harbor at 1050.Gingerly, very carefully, we raised the keel--this was the first time we had raised it since doing so a few times in San Carlos--until it was in the housing, and then we crossed the bar and anchored fifty yards south of the port captain
=s office.After a short visit with the port captain, we grabbed a pleasant lunch at the Almeja on Playa el Farito, the little beach north of El Sombrero hill with its lighthouse, before checking into the Hotel Serenidad and reserving our tickets for Saturday night
=s pig roast.For an afternoon
=s diversion we strolled into town--Garry snapping photos all the way. Ned seemed to be enjoying the sights as we ratted about in this neat little village. He and I enjoyed the sights while Garry was doing his hard work.A
Break time,@ I said as we drew abreast the El Candil, home of Kerry Otterson, better known locally as El Vikingo. Kerry, tending bar, greeted us and directed our attention to the poster advertising today=s especial: ALobster Dinner!@Naturally, we succumbed to the lure and soon were chowing down on the succulent lobster with all the trimmings. Good choice, eh? Well, almost a good choice--two out of three ain
=t too bad, but it sure turned out nasty for poor Garry. By 200 that evening Garry was in the throes of a big Montezuma=s. We doctored him with some stuff (Imodium from the medicine chest on board), gave him lots of bottled water, and hoped that he would be better tomorrow.The northern howled all night; I got up frequently and looked out at Nina, clearly visible from our little patio. She held to her anchor firmly.
Saturday morning saw Garry slightly improved, but he suffered several relapses during the day. Every time he seemed to be recovering, along would come one of those gut-wrenching cramp attacks with all the attendant results which we have all endured at one time or another.
To kill some afternoon time Ned and I walked into town and climbed the many stairs up to the old prison. On previous visits I had found it closed, but this time it was a beehive of activity. Local volunteers were everywhere, cleaning, painting, setting up displays. Crews of students from the area were cataloguing objects, labeling them, and putting them in the many display cases throughout the offices in the front of the building. We chatted with some of the students and discovered that the prison would soon be officially open as the Mulege Museum of History and Anthropology.
One young docent-in-training asked,
AWould you like to meet our director, Ms Arter?@A
Ms Arter?@ I blurted, ANot Susan Arter from San Diego?@A
Yes, here she is.@And so we met Susan Arter, she of the Santispac beach business card. An attractive, blonde, thirtyish woman, Ms Arter greeted us warmly, laughed about the business card (
AIt must have been dropped by one of our scouting parties looking for artifacts on the beaches there.@), and took us on a quick tour of the facility. Ned promised to visit her in San Diego, and she reciprocated by saying she would keep him up to date on the Mulege project.It is a serendipitous world, no?
Garry even attempted the pig roast, but had to excuse himself while in the serving line. Ned and I scoffed up lots of nice goodies and went back and forth between courses to check on Garry.
The hotel, by the way, was full of fliers and their guests. There must have been more than twenty planes lined up on the airstrip, and the dining room was overflowing for the festivities. The mariachis played, the guests danced, the margaritas flowed, but Ned and I left early to be with Garry and to decide what to do in the morning.
And the northern continued to howl most of the night; however, much to my relief, it calmed down around 0400--usually a sign that the northern was ending.
A beautiful sunrise greeted us, and we decided to head for San Carlos as soon as we had reasonably high water over the bar. Garry felt a tad better and thought that was the best plan. I suggested visiting a doctor in Mulege, but he thought we should hit the choppy seas.
We motored over the bar at 0850 and set a course of 015m. for San Carlos with just 76 nautical miles to go. By 1100 we saw Chivato on our port beam and the Sta. Ines Islands astern. The northern, thank goodness, had diminished to 15 knots, and we sailed lightly at about 5 knots with full main and small jib.
The rest of the day was uneventful. The breeze held at 15 from the NW until 1500 when it diminished, and we motorsailed until 2100 when it freshened enough to stop the engine and sail peacefully through phosphorescent seas at a consistent 5 knots. Garry was in good humor, despite frequent trips to the big bucket in the cockpit.
Around 0200 Ned said,
AI=ve seen at least five shooting stars in the last ten minutes. Have you noticed them?@A
Huh,@ I replied sagely, No, I=ve been hypnotized the glow in the wake. Where do you see them?@A
Mostly behind us, to the south. There goes another one!@A
Yowee! That=s a bright one.@A
I wonder what=s going on. Maybe it=s space debris.@A
Beats me, Ned. Jeez, did you see that one?@Instead of the usual streak of white light, this time a big, wide, blazing red flare seemed to travel through the dark sky (no moon that night) giving off a trail of scarlet sparks.
Ignorant we were of the Leonid meteor shower which was putting on the big show. We hadn
=t seen a newspaper for several days, but surmised that this must be either a huge celestial display or one of our bigger satellites was disintegrating.Garry, napping in the quarter berth, heard us and rolled over so he could view the sky through the companionway. He was lucky to be awake because the next one we saw was the granddaddy of all meteors: A green streak shot earthward, then bounced, headed up, brightened enough to light up the cabin interior, and changed colors from white to red and then blue before fading slowly from sight.
We saw dozens more, but none approached the brilliance of the upward-shooting star.
The show kept us entertained until we dropped the sails at 0400, ran the engine, and slipped past the entrance to San Carlos channel. By 0445 we were tied up at an empty slip and waiting for the tractors to start working.
We were safely home.
EPILOGUE
Garry went to the local clinic as soon as it opened at 0900, saw a doctor, was treated with antibiotics, and fully recovered (though still feeling shaky) by evening. Ned and I cleaned up the boat, put her in dry storage, spent a quiet evening at the Creston, and were back in Tucson by one Tuesday afternoon. Garry left a bit later and made it home by four.
Nice trip, good companions, beautiful scenery, and no one seriously hurt. One word of warning: Be careful with lobster dinners. Draw lots, two for three, and the short straw eats gruel.
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