
We spent a long, cloudy day at Los Frailes. The point was summited by a shore expedition, and I wore out my arm blind casting without any luck along the surf. The wind came up during the night, blowing from the north, but the forecast was for NNW in the teens which didn’t sound bad. We didn’t really know (yet) what to expect from the wave forecast, but the 5 second period (between swells) should have been an obvious warning. We decided to go for it and if it was too unpleasant, head for a new Marina less than twenty miles away. The wind had calmed in the anchorage, and it didn’t look that bad out beyond the point. We left in a bit too much of a hurry. We reefed the main almost immediately and then rolled up the jib. We’re still getting the process of reefing down, so the extra messing around was too much for Wyatt’s stomach, and Haley wasn’t too pleased about it either. Going back would have been a good choice, and we will remember the wisdom of retreat for the future. Especially important for the Captain who was feeling fine and kind of loving bashing into the seas, to take sea sickness more seriously. The second reef, put in hove-to, was too much for Diana, and all the crew was down.
The first mate suggested trying to motor so we could head straight for the marina at Cabo Riviera, but our Yanmar quickly overheated. I thought it was the heel that was causing the problem, so we went back to sailing and puking overboard. On the port tack we were making almost zero headway, but just needed to get out far enough to turn to starboard and then it was only 14 miles. Wyatt settled in from an initial sea sickness panic (his first, ever), to something more of a meditation on misery. Haley, more experienced with the feeling, retreated immediately to a sullen quietness in the aft berth. Soon, all three had found a modified fetal position somewhere on the boat as Allora sailed merrily on, double reefed. This gave me a moment to reflect on the morning’s hasty departure, and to realize that the problem with the engine was that El Capitan had left the through-hull for the engine cooling system closed after checking the strainer. Oooops! But then, with it open, the engine still quickly overheated. Problem not solved. Meanwhile, the first mate, with the earnest desperation only sea sickness can inspire, was making various attempts to contact Marina Cabo Riviera. Nothing on the VHF. A recording from the SAT phone in Spanish seemed to suggest that the phone number did not exist. It was hard to imagine that a ‘new’ Marina could come into existence and then disappear, but there was nothing on the charts and it was only listed in one out of our three books.
I kept an eye on the windspeed, as Diana summoned her early religious life with a prayer that the ghost marina would manifest. The wind had settled in the mid-twenties, which, going up wind, is a stiff breeze, but then it began gusting. It topped 35 for a moment and I looked to see if Diana had noticed, but she was focused on her catechism. Then it bumped over forty. She still didn’t notice, and I resolved to keep quiet. It hit 50 knots as she looked up and then for a second, unbelievably, it topped 60 knots. It must have been some kind of wind sheer hitting the top of the mast where the wind is measured, because on deck it didn’t feel like a hurricane. Finally Marina Cabo Riviera answered on the VHF. I started up the engine and Diana mustered the strength to help drop the mainsail, but in the process, a batten caught in the lazy jack cheek block and before we could straighten it out, the lazy jacks (which help keep the mainsail under control) on the starboard side came raining down on deck. Despite the building wind and crazy seas Diana wrestled the sail onto the boom. Then the engine overheated again and had to be turned off. We didn’t want to deal with the main, so we unfurled the jib and Diana got on the VHF to ask Cabo Riviera about the feaseablitly of sailing into the harbor. They didn’t think it a good idea, mainly because the narrow channel had a shallow spot and they were worried about our 6 foot 6” draft as it was. As we approached under reefed jib we could see waves rolling into the entrance which were going to make it difficult even under power. To the profound consternation of the seasick crew, we hauled up the main to its’ double reefed position and sailed directly out to sea,
AWAY from the Marina with exactly two options. Get enough sea room to heave-to and fix the engine, or if that was not possible, sail 15 miles further on to Bahia de los Muertos, seriously, Bay of the Dead, where we could drop anchor. Cabo Riviera, meanwhile, hailed us on the VHF wondering why we weren’t coming in and expressing concern that conditions were worsening and that the window was closing. I shit you not.
We keep an inventory onboard of where we put everything including spare engine parts. We got the boat hove-to, Wyatt rising heroically from his seasick depths to lend a hand, and I went below to find the impeller, which was my first guess of what could be causing the engine to overheat. Down below, the steep waves had turned our quiet little home into something of a madhouse that required a white knuckle grip to keep from being tossed around like a rag doll. EVERNOTE politely informed me that it could not access the inventory, because, so sorry, that required internet access, though, the cheery little app reminded me, we could solve that problem by upgrading to a paid version. Not helpful under the circumstances. Diana had a couple ideas where they might be and together we tore the boat apart as it slammed and tossed in the waves and wind howled overhead, finding the engine spares, finally, where I had missed them in the first spot Diana told me to look. Changing the impeller was miraculously easy, and in moments we had the engine running.
Now all we had to do was make it in over the waves behind the breakwater and not run aground. It helped me to remember the experience of ducking into Pier 39 in SF Bay in a 5 knot current as we surfed through the steep waves into the muddy channel. It didn’t feel THAT bad. The only remaining trick was to get beyond the shallow spot. Diana convinced the guy from Cabo Riviera that he had to come out and talk us passed the point. I watched the depth as we approached the area – 11 feet, then 9 feet and then seconds after he said we were clear, 7 feet. There were four people to help us tie up, the only sailboat (the rest were fishing boats) and definitely the biggest boat in Marina Cabo Rivera. Diana kissed all four. Allora’s crew regained composure, took a cold shower onshore and the main caretaker at the marina drove us all to dinner, waited while we ate and drove us back to our home afloat. We showered them with packages of marlin to show our appreciation for their very existence.
The only photo taken during all the mayhem.