Conversations with the Moon: Ensenada to Bahia Tortugas

Mexican exit paperwork seems to take even longer when standing at the dock, lines ready to throw, as sunset rapidly approaches on the night of a greatly anticipated departure.  We had checked out of Ensenada in the morning, as boats have to check in and out of each major Port of Entry, but the papers were not supposed to be delivered until 3:30 or 4.  Our anchor windlass parts we had ordered had not arrived, but those we were going to go without in the hopes of them finding their way to us further down the coast via another cruiser.  4:30pm, exit paperwork in hand, we threw off the lines and left Ensenada for what would be our first family overnights at sea, 47 hours including two nights, to cover 288 nm to Bahia Tortugas.  I’ll let the kids tell the story…

Here is Cora’s journal of the first night:  “As we set off the Ensenada dock at 4:30 P.M, the sun slowly slides behind the city making the sky glow a beautiful shade of reds and oranges. The weather is wonderful; there are only three-foot swells twelve seconds apart, barely noticeable. As the sunset fades, we decide on what the night watches will be; my dad and I decide we would take a night watch from 11pm-2am and my brother and mom would take 2-5am. Before the watches we have a delicious dinner that my mom made (thank you). It is very magical looking back at the lights in Ensenada growing dimmer and dimmer. I sit down in the captain’s chair with my dad, and he teaches me all about night watch.”

“I look at the chart (plotter) and see that a big cruise ship is leaving Ensenada and going fast. In no time at all it catches up with us – amazing me with how big it is, like a city. The cruise ship slows down a little so it can pass behind us, which we appreciate. It zooms on at twice our speed, which is six to seven knots at the time. The wind turns brisk, so I go and put on a warm coat then go back outside to enjoy the moon as it lights up the water. After a while, my brother and mom go to bed and my dad and I start our three-hour watch. The whole watch we spend looking at the charts, looking for boats on radar, and looking around. It is very boring to be honest, and I keep falling asleep to the sound of the water splashing playfully against the hulls. In the last hour of watch, I smell a weird burning smell; we realize it’s garbage burning from the land. Soon it’s the end of our watch and I go down to my bedroom. Soon I am fast asleep, and my mom and brother are outside in the cold wind, enjoying the night (Cora).”

Here is Calder’s journal of the second overnight passage:  “Tonight was rough. I sat there with the Captain, listening to the waves around us. Terikah’s stern would rise up as the bow went down, as we surfed the eight-foot swell and wind waves. The night was strange, our sea sickness medicine making us see, hear, and even feel things that weren’t there. We saw people we did and didn’t know walking around the boat, sea creatures that weren’t there, and heard music that wasn’t there. The blur of the night was broken by the assurance of the sun rise. By the time the sun was up, I was asleep and off watch. I woke up and took over watch with Mama while Captain took a rest that lasted about fifteen minutes before we called him back up to help us with sail changes, as winds reached 25 knots. Surfing down one wave with only our Genoa sail with a reef in it, we managed to hit 10.4 knots! The waves were crashing on the upper swim step. About midday, I decided to chuck a red and white cedar plug behind the boat on our heavier duty rod and reel setup. An hour later and a Dorado, also called Mahi-Mahi was hooked and the reel was screaming in protest as the fish took line like mad. Unfortunately, the fish unhooked itself at the swim step and got away. An hour later, while we were watching dolphins surf down the swells, the reel started screaming again – this time, much faster. I shoved the drag lever to full strike, but it didn’t even slow the fish down. I couldn’t put my thumb on the spool, so I grabbed a hat and used that to cushion my thumb. After 150 feet of 150-pound monofilament test and about another 80 to 100 feet of 180-pound braid line had gone out, I stopped it from taking anymore. My full weight was on my thumb that was against the spool. We turned the boat around and drove toward the fish as I slowly retrieved line. We got it to the boat and saw it was a large yellow fin tuna! The Captain gaffed it seconds before it spit the hook. The gaff also came out and there sat a lively yellow fin tuna on the bottom step on the swim step with nothing holding it there! The Captain gaffed it good before it slid off in the massive swell. We got it in the cooler and were back on our way toward Bahia de Tortuga! I processed it so there was no blood contamination in the meat and Mama cleaned and skinned the steaks as fast as I cut them off the huge fish. We entered the bay with three, gallon zip locks full of tuna.”

For me, I was struck by the unfamiliar noises of SV Terikah in bigger seas, also known as bridge deck slap on a catamaran, rumbling the length of the boat in between the hulls; a strange and slightly unnerving sound.  We were very pleased by how well the boat handled the seas, rolling with the waves unfazed.  Cora wrote, “I sit up and look around, the swells look like ginormous mountains in front of us; we rise up on them and see all the ocean ahead of us, then we go down-down-down and see nothing but the wave in front of us.”  In the dark, I found comfort in the almost full moon.  The bright light of the moon kept us company through the nights, reflecting calm silky seas one night and gregarious hallucinations of frolicking seals the next. 

We pulled into Bahia Tortugas around 3:30 in the afternoon, ate dinner of fresh tuna poke, and fell asleep early. 

Bahia Tortugas (Turtle Bay) lies halfway between San Diego and Cabo San Lucas and is the best all-weather anchorage between Ensenada and Magdalena Bay.  We enjoyed the mild swell rocking us to sleep, slept in the next day, and didn’t leave the boat the entire next day; having a mellow “home day” of food, chores, reading, and school. 

They should have named it Bahia Pelicano, as there are literally thousands of pelicans that seem to wreak havoc with the local fishermen setting their nets.  It made for quite a show from the cockpit. 

A brown friendly bird “adopted” us, a Northern Fulmar we named “poquito marron” who lived just off our stern for our stay.  The famous/infamous Enrique stopped by in his panga to see if we needed fuel that he would be happy to supply to us from his fuel panga; our bartering skills left much to be desired and we agreed to a steep price for 40 liters, but thankful that it was even available to us in such a remote location. 

The next day, we wandered to town to explore.  Mexican dogs followed us along the streets to the tienda for a few items, the bright Bahia Tortugas sign, a beachside bar for cerveza and kid ocean play, and a Catholic Church with fishing stain-glasses images akin to those found in other seaside villages such as our home of Petersburg.  

There are about 1,200 full time residents, mostly fishermen and their families.  The town has shrunk since 1998 when the sardine cannery closed, but the rickety old pier remains.  As I leapt off our dinghy onto the wooden stairs leading to the top of the pier with empty water jugs in hand, I had another cruiser experience of filling up with fresh water when available, two pelicans curiously watching. 

Over to a more distant beach, we walked for hours with friends, stretching our legs before heading back to the boat, dolphins surfacing next to the dinghy.

I’m writing this now in 20 knot NW winds, flying the genoa, waves varying from 3-6 feet, sun shining heading toward Bahia Asunsion.  We got under sail at sunrise, starting with our lovely blue asymmetrical sail and light winds, moving to the screecher as winds built, and now with our genoa in the gusts up to 25. 

Today was notable for our first mahi-mahi on board…make that two!  Such beautiful fish of vibrant greens and blues, Calder sitting cross-legged in the cockpit filleting them for this week’s dinners. 

“All journeys have a secret destination of which the traveler is unaware (Martin Buber).”  We’re leaning into this lifestyle, letting go of the need to have control and every possible preparation, learning the day to day of living on board SV Terikah.  What will be our next secret destination?