Sea Venture's Journey

Some folks on www.force50.org were interested in the captain’s chair we installed after our boisterous trip south, so we’re including one picture here and a link to all the others at the right. The line attached to the seat front is for our PFD tether that keeps us on board in the cockpit in bouncy seas. We have jacklines running the length of the boat, because the last thing either of us wants is to try to fetch the other from the sea.

The table is mounted using a pedestal seat flange that we bought at West Marine. It is offset so that it can be turned to provide easier access to the lazarettes. The pedestal base block is made of laminated Douglas fir planks, which gives a solid base, and it is through-bolted to the deck. Makes for a much more secure ride than sitting on the cockpit cushions.

You can see pictures of Mama and us taking turns sitting in it on the link showing her summer trip to visit Sea Venture.

The table is just temporary, made out of an old tray table we had on hand. As soon as Michael finds the proper wood and has the time, he’ll make a prettier one. But with lots of other projects taking precedence, this may be a while in coming.

No hurry, eh, mates?

We had these constructed while in Mazatlan, but now a friend wants to see them, so I’m posing the pics here. It’s a great ladder, especially the seat that opens when it is fully extended, allowing us old folk to climb out of the water easily. It’s a great place to sit to cool off on a hot day or to take off fins and masks before getting on the boat. Our friends on Daydreamer had one without the seat, a smaller version which Michael used as the genesis for this project design.

The first picture shows me lowering the steps. They can be lowered with one extension, which works for boarding from the dinghy or dock. With two extensions down, they go about 18 inches into the water, and completely opened, have the seat that you can see in the following picture, taken in Aqua Verde when Michael was cleaning the hull. That blue tube floating in the water is his hookah breathing hose.

For additional pictures of the ladder, see link to the right.

 

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.

Here are a few pictures we’ve taken at the marina. Very lovely, clean, open, friendly–quite different from the town, in which my olfactory sensors rebel. Still, the Mexicans are a delightful folk, so we’re very glad to be here.

By Friday we were making minimal headway in very light wind and Friday night our boat speed read 00. We kept all sails up in hope that we could at least minimize the drift away from Mazatlan. Then, around midnight, the wind shifted, and though boat speed still read 00, gps speed, which is speed over ground, registered a whopping 1.3 knots. I was on watch, so I pointed us as close to north as I could and kept her moving at the snail’s pace onward. By 6AM, we were 6.9 miles from port, but still drifting along at 1.5 to 2 knots. We had all four sails flying with preventers keeping the mizzen and main booms from dancing when in the light winds. A gorgeous day with the promise of landfall.

We were about two miles off the entrance to the jetty when the wind died completely. So near and yet so far. The marina manager, Elvira, had arranged a tow into the marina from the jetty entrance, but we had to get there. Having patched the dinghy in San Jose using 3M 5200 (as suggested by Jim Elvers) we had it to use. Michael lowered it over the side, we attached our 15 hp Johnson outboard, and then he tied the dinghy off to the starboard stern quarter and let it give us propulsion. By now the seas were almost flat, so I drove and he managed the dinghy, and we were able to get just inside the big island. Elvira promised the tow boat would be out soon.

Soon turned into almost two hours. We’d drift for a while, then Michael would start the outboard and I’d steer clear of shallows, then we’d drift and wait. He could climb off the dinghy and over the rails to get back on board and into shade. Lovely being so nimble and strong because he did that about six times.

Finally, the fishing boat arrived. According to the cruising guide, there was 12 feet of water all across the channel. The guide was mistaken even though it is a recent reissue and updated version. The driver didn’t mention the issue of draft. It was quite a shock when we came to a screeching halt, the tow rope jerked his boat around, and we leaned, leaned, turned, crunched, turned toward the wall of rock and breakers, while the radio from the tow boat remained silent. I motioned to the captain to veer away with us with us, to pull us out and not try to drag us through. Finally, he seemed to get the message and Sea Venture freed herself.

And this is why we have a full-keeled boat. A fin keel/spade rudder would have been hard pressed to have gotten out of that mess with no damage.

While Jason was up the mast helping his dad put on the new sail track, he took some great photos of the Delta area–and one of himself squinting so he looks like CA Gov. Arnold–just better looking.