Thea Renee buddy boated with us across from Mazatlan. Here she is to starboard in the last rays of Friday’s windless day, her owners unaware as we were that in less than an hour these placid moments would become a vague memory as they struggled to keep her dinghy from breaking loose and sinking into the great, dark oblivion.
Sunset on the Sea of Cortez. Beautiful,with no hint of what was to come.
That’s what the weather was like at 6PM Friday, Land ho! on the Baja side. By 7 PM, we weren’t in a position to take a picture of anything. See that spit of land? All we wanted to do was get around Isla Cerralvo so we could head in the direction of the Canal de San Lorenzo, perhaps with an overnight rest stop at Isla Espirito Santo. Instead, we stayed at about that same latitude and longitude all night long.
It’s one thing to be on the ocean, miles out, and have the wind at your stern, blowing you at a screeching speed toward your destination. The boat handles the huge waves, the autopilot does the work of keeping you on track and fiddling through the wind/wave gyrations. It’s a completely different thing to know you’re stalled in 35-50 knots of wind and pounding waves, the boat speed dipping to zero and only climbing just above 2.5 knots at its zenith. You’ll not outrun the gale, and the autopilot has a hard time keeping you in good position to the wind and waves.
We would have hove to if we’d had more warning and more sail up when the mess started. But the wind had played hooky all day, the sea had been mirror calm, and we were complacently motoring with only the mizzen flying to stabilize our trip. Michael had been doing a photo shoot with the big camera of our neighbor’s boat, Thea Renee, as she caught the last of the sun. Dark descended and a full moon slipped in to illuminate a sea that had grown suddenly raucous, with waves slamming against the hull as the wind flipped into high gear.
Before leaving, we’d downloaded grib files and weather reports. En route, we’d received weather reports via SSB radio. No one had mentioned winds higher than 20 or seas higher than 2 to 3 feet. No one had suggested a gale. Sure, one was expected in the northern sea on Sunday, not Friday night. And there was a slight chance of one of those southerly winds that like to mess with the La Paz area, but it would be a light one, blowing no more than 20. Southerly would have pushed us northwest to La Paz. Southerly would have been welcome.
Instead, winds slammed down on us when we were about 50 miles southeast of the channel into Bahia de la Paz. Out of the northwest, they were cold and brutal, giving us no chance to hoist the staysail to park our boat and ride it out. I suppose with more and stronger hands, we might have wrestled with sheets and backwinding, but we didn’t want to let those waves find our beam, which meant Michael had to concentrate on hand steering, while I became ornamental and worried.
I tried not to. I tried to let faith well up in me to give me peace. Eventually it came, but as a work in progress, I don’t get there without effort. I kept remembering the disciples in their rocking boat, and Jesus asking where their faith was. About the same place mine had gone, I’d guess. Still, at least it showed up eventually. And we got through the night, better able to handle things because there was moonlight. Michael was to thank the Lord many times for that illumination.
By daylight, the wind has fallen, blowing between 25 and 33. It continued to lessen. By the time we approached the entrance to the San Lorenzo channel, it was only in the lower twenties, and the waves were much more manageable. Just as the dawn approached, the waves had subsided to the point where the autopilot could take over so that Michael could rest while I kept watch.
It’s over now. We’ve slept and eaten and are anchored at Bahia Falsa, outside of La Paz. The force of pounding waves slamming into the bow pulpit smashed our beautiful new bow blanking as well as the through-bolted anchor lock downs. The only section left on board is a small half moon at the tip of the pulpit and one other small fragment toward the aft section. It’s a testament to the force of the water.
