We had decided that our best bet would be to leave the
morning of the twenty-third to begin our passage northward. The first twenty-four hours would be rough,
but the winds should have abated and the sea state would eventually
follow. Bob needed to get home as soon
as possible, having violated the first rule of bashing and set a deadline. We went along with this mostly because we
feared that if we didn’t jump on this marginal window, we might be stuck in
Turtle Bay forever.
 |
| Another Cloudy Morning in Turtle Bay |
We spent the morning checking in with land-based friends for
weather updates, none of which varied in the least. Wind and seas would not be truly favorable
until Saturday but, by then, we didn’t know what might be brewing. We started readying Scout for sea, stowing all the items we had drug out to dry after
the last dousing.
By the time we convinced Greg to bring the dinghy on deck,
the wind came up as we were unloading the outboard motor. It was too windy to raise the dinghy, so we
tied it alongside and hoped the wind would drop that evening.
 |
| Taking on Fuel |
Enrique’s guys came out to deliver fuel at 16:00. The wind was wild and the swells large. They tossed me the slimiest, most seaweed
encrusted line I had ever seen and I had to haul the panga up against Scout and tie her off. The slimy line slipped through my fingers and
the knots in it prevented me from putting it around a cleat to pull. I feared catching a finger between knot and
cleat, but somehow got the boat tied beside us without losing a digit. We took on an additional seventy liters of
diesel. We had burned a few gallons with
the generator during our twelve days in Turtle Bay, but mostly just wanted
extra fuel in case we had a hard time making headway once we poked our noses
outside.
Every time we dealt with Enrique, we experienced a moral
dilemma. The price he charged for fuel
was exorbitant. His prices were so high
that many cruisers were bypassing Turtle Bay, altogether. His employees asked for tips for delivering
fuel, which seemed like adding insult to injury. Greg told them the tip was included in the
price. We all felt bad, knowing that the
employees probably didn’t see any of it, but we had no other means of protest. I did feel bad asking them to take our trash
ashore after we had just refused to tip them.
If any of us had had a small bill, we would have given it to them.
It was our last day at anchor and I baked the last of the
cookie dough. Everything we had baked in
the oven had burned and I was determined to discover the cause. It turned out that the thermostat was not
functioning. Using an oven thermometer,
I sat beside the oven and turned it off whenever the heat got excessive. I finally managed to produce baked goods that
weren’t black on the bottom.
Dinner was shredded beef tacos with cucumber and tomato
salad. We had eaten the last of the good
lettuce and the only lettuce available in Turtle Bay was some wilted iceberg
that we rejected. We watched the
remainder of Master and Commander and
went to bed, anticipating leaving Turtle Bay in the morning.
May 23, 2019
Bob was eager to leave and, despite Greg having said we
would rise at the normal hour, got up early and started making as much noise as
possible. By 7:00, I couldn’t take it
anymore and got up myself. Everything
was cold and wet with dew, but we hurried to bring the dinghy aboard while the
wind was light. We scurried around,
making ready to sail, and then hauled up the anchor. I was driving. The tide was low and we were in only eight
and a half feet of water. I made a quick
circle to head us out of the bay but when I tried to steer the other way to
clear the reef, discovered that I couldn’t steer. The autopilot was turned off and I couldn’t
see the rudder indicator. Everyone was
yelling at me to turn to port, but I could not.
Assuming the rudder was pinned, I turned the opposite direction as hard
as I could and increased the engine speed to give myself more steerage. Eventually, it came around. About that time, Greg realized that he had
locked the steering on the other wheel.
No wonder I couldn’t steer!
 |
| Leaving Turtle Bay |
At 8:00, we headed slowly out of the bay. I was somewhat apprehensive. I was not looking forward to being cold(er)
and wet. Turtle Bay, as dull as it was,
had started to feel like home. Leaving
Turtle Bay also meant leaving Mexico for the season and heading back to my
shoreside responsibilities. I texted my
household to tell them we were on our way and steeled myself for what was to
come.
It wasn’t bad, at first.
The sun was out and, though the seas were lumpy and we pitched a lot,
the wind was light and we weren’t taking water over the bow. Greg took the first watch and then Bob took
over at 11:00. I came up to enjoy the
sunshine and get some fresh air. We were
pitching enough that the cigarette smoke and diesel exhaust were making me
slightly nauseated.
 |
| Isla Cedros |
We crossed into the Pacific timezone about the time I took
the watch at 13:30, having gained an hour.
We were all a little confused about whether watches were three or four
hours and the time change didn’t help.
Bob did an extra half an hour and then I stayed on a full three hours
until 16:30. By that time, we were abeam of Isla Cedros and approaching the San
Benitos. A dolphin followed us for a
mile, leaping out of the water repeatedly.
The afternoon was warm and my watch was pleasant, if a bit lumpy, but
the wind was gradually increasing.
 |
| The San Benitos Islands |
I took a short nap after my watch and then got up to make
dinner about 17:30. The wind had kicked up to about twenty knots and we had
begun to fly off the steep swells and slam into the troughs. I made a cucumber salad, but then had to lie
down to recover because I was feeling queasy.
I would have lain there longer, but Greg and Bob were getting restive. I
got up and heated the beans I had made ahead of time and then sauteed some
chicken cutlets with Cajun spices. They
made a tasty dinner, although I was able to eat little. I lay down, again, as soon as dinner was
eaten.
When I got up again at 22:00, it was very rough. The wind had risen to twenty-five knots and
the seas were very steep. We were
slamming constantly. We fell off and
headed towards the mainland, which helped our speed a bit, but didn’t improve
the ride much. It was too dark to
determine the sea state, but it was rough enough that we had slowed to about
four knots.
May 24, 2019
Greg relieved me at 1:00 and I went below to lie down. Sleep was impossible. We were slamming constantly. I tried to sleep
in the forward cabin because it was warmer, but I could feel the bow leaving
the water and then slamming back down every few seconds. Greg had left the hatch in the forward head
open and I heard green water cascading in each time we took a wave. I was afraid to get up and close it for fear
of getting drenched in the process.
There was a small leak in the forward hatch which dripped on my face
occasionally. I couldn’t seem to get
warm and the blankets slid off to the low side.
By 6:30, I was ready to get up even though I was tired.
I pumped gallons of water out of the forward head, made myself a cappuccino, and went on deck. The sun was out and the wind had dropped to
about twenty knots. We weren’t slamming
as badly and had stopped taking water over the bow. Everything was slightly wet, but the
situation looked better in the light of day.
My morning watch was actually fairly pleasant. The wind continued to drop until it was
blowing a steady seventeen knots. The
seas were still impressive but were farther apart. We were climbing over them rather than flying
off the top to slam into the next wave.
Greg relieved me at 10:00 and I was able to eat some peanut
butter and toast and sit down to write for a few minutes. We had just tacked and were heading
northwest, away from shore. I lay down
on the settee in the main salon and slept like the dead until my next watch at
16:00.
When I came back on watch, we were twenty-five miles south
of San Quintin headed straight for San Diego.
We passed Isla San Martin on my watch.
The sun was out but the wind was building again. The weather wasn’t giving us any rest.
 |
| Isla San Martin |
I had thawed what I thought was chicken in green mole for dinner
but it turned out to be more beans. Greg
heated beans and leftover rice for dinner, but I decided to pass. I was feeling nauseated again. When my watch was over, I put on warm, clean
clothes, took a strong anti-acid pill, and lay down to sleep until my next
watch.
May 25, 2019
 |
| Dawn South of Ensenada |
Greg and Bob took pity on me and let me sleep an extra hour.
I awoke at 2:00. We were still some
hundred miles south of San Diego. The
wind had dropped a bit and it wasn’t bad out.
I was feeling much better. My
watch ended at 5:00 but I stayed up until the sun rose. I hadn’t seen the dawn in days. We were ten miles south of the Rocas Soledad
when the sun came up.
My next watch began at 11:00 and we finally had sun and relatively flat seas. We scooted along at over six knots for a few hours. For once, I stayed in the cockpit after my watch ended. In the middle of Greg’s 14:00 watch, when the wind had dropped to five knots and the seas were glassy, the engine RPMs began to fluctuate. Greg tried giving it more throttle, but nothing would bring it up to full speed. We suspected the fuel filters were clogged.
Scout had two
easily accessible fuel filters with a valve to switch from one to the other
easily. We had already switched to the
second one the previous day. All of our
pitching and slamming had stirred up the sediment in the bottom of the fuel
tanks and clogged the filters. We fell
off to fill the sail and rolled out the jib.
We were just south of La Bufadora and it was quickly apparent that we
weren’t going to make Bahia Todos Santos on that heading. We tacked and headed out to sea at one and a
half knots. I sailed the boat while Greg and Bob changed the fuel
filter.
 |
| Approaching Bahia Todos Santos |
Unfortunately, changing the
accessible filter didn’t solve the problem.
There was a third filter deep in the bowels of the engine and enough
crud had passed through the first set of filters to clog that one, too. I continued heading out to sea while Greg and
Bob dug into the engine compartment, rooting through the trash for containers
to catch fuel. It took them what seemed like forever to bleed the air out of
the fuel system. I continued playing
with the sails, once managing three knots, but mostly poking along at one or
two. I did see a pod of dolphins off the
port bow. It was a great relief when the
engine finally began to purr like its old self.
We returned to course and headed past Ensenada.
 |
| Rosarito |
The wind built as the afternoon wore on, but it was sunny
and the scene was interesting as we continued up the coast past Rosarito and
Tijuana. The area had seen a lot of
development and was unrecognizable as the place I had visited in the
nineties. High-rise hotels and condos
lined the shore where funky motels had stood.
A big, ugly wall marked the border but it seemed quite
insignificant from offshore. The mountains,
sea, and human development dwarfed it.
Oddly, the Mexican side of the wall appeared much more civilized. We observed no hordes of migrants beating on
the gates. The sun shone peacefully on
Mexico as, in my experience, it usually does.
We cracked beers and watched the coast slip by. I was reluctant to go below to cook, but
finally did about 18:15. I wanted to
cook as much food as I could in case our groceries were confiscated by
customs. I made spicy chicken wings with
Cajun fried potatoes and cabbage with bacon and a little vinegar. Unfortunately, we made such good time that we
arrived at San Diego before we had a chance to eat. Dinner sat on the stove until we navigated
the channel and tied up at the customs dock.
 |
| The Customs Dock in San Diego |
Greg went ashore to check in at the kiosk and we waited
aboard, technically quarantined. Greg
was gone quite a while and then, upon his return, asked that we immediately move to a guest
slip. Only after we had relocated did
Bob and I learn that we were not actually checked in. Greg had seen an open slip and grabbed
it. He still had to deal with customs.
Customs wanted arrivals to use an app called CBP ROAM to check
in. Greg had not downloaded it and spent
an hour trying to do so on his computer while customs kept calling to ask why
he hadn’t finished yet. He succeeded in
establishing an account but couldn’t get into the app. Eventually, it became apparent that the app
would only work on a smart phone or tablet. He
started over while Bob and I ate our now lukewarm dinners. The customs agents arrived while Greg was
still fighting with the app. They were
not pleased that we had left the customs dock and had failed to dispose of our
produce in the special bins provided there.
They were, however, fairly easy going and didn’t give us a hard
time. Greg finally got to eat his dinner
after 20:00.
Our next mission was hot showers but we couldn’t raise
anyone to give us a code for the restrooms.
While there were open slips, the office said they were all full and had
apparently gone home for Memorial Day
weekend. Reluctantly, we filled Scout’s water tanks and took showers on
the boat. It was cold and damp and the
idea of standing in the drafty head, wet and naked, soaping up and pumping out
the sump between doses of hot water, was not appealing. Still, we knew that no one would be waiting
to give us a restroom key when we arrived in Marina del Rey, either, so we took
advantage of the opportunity to get clean.
It was midnight by the time we crawled into our bunks.
 |
| Scout in San Diego |
May 26, 2019
I could hardly believe it when Greg, who was not an early
riser, got up at 6:00. Bob immediately
got up to make coffee. After a few
minutes of denial when I pulled the blankets over my head, I got up to face the
day. It was cold and raining
outside. Bob was leaving us that morning
to visit his mother before heading home to Minneapolis. He wanted to get started, but needed a ride
to the fuel dock on the other side of the channel.
 |
| Fuel Dock in San Diego |
We arrived at the fuel dock before 7:00 and waited there
until they opened. Bob shouldered his
pack and set off into the rain in search of an Uber to the train station. We waited until the fuel operation opened and
filled Scout’s tanks. Then we towed a fellow whose dinghy outboard wasn’t
working out to where he was anchored and set off down the channel in the
rain. It was dismal.
 |
| Point Loma |
 |
| Rain Over Catalina Island |
We gave the kelp beds off Point Loma a wide berth and then
headed north towards Los Angeles. Greg
and I didn’t keep formal watches but traded off going below when one of us got
cold or tired. The rain stopped, but it
remained overcast and the wind came and went.
At times it was rough and then it calmed again. More rain was predicted and we just wanted
the trip over with. This was not a
triumphant return.
 |
| Visibility Wasn't Good |
 |
| Oil Platforms |
 |
| Shipping Traffic at Sunset |
By 22:00, we were off Palos Verdes and eager to make the turn that would take us into Marina del Rey. We still had a few more hours to go. It was dark and wet and we were tired.
May 27, 2019
Remarkably, the lights on the Marina del Rey breakwater could not be seen until we were merely a mile away. We knew where it was, but couldn't see it in the dark. Greg was concerned about making the turn into the south entrance with the large seas but it went smoothly enough once we were able to see where we were going. We entered the main channel at 1:00.
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| Scout in the Esprit Marina |
Once in the main channel, we circled while we set up the fenders and docklines and then made our way cautiously to our slip in C-Basin. We finally tied the boat to the dock at 1:45. We were finally home.
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| The Esprit Marina |
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