SAIL.SailMagazine

And they want to steal the Los Angeles-Honolulu Pacific-crossing record (ok, they want to steal it from another Frenchman, Olivier De Kersauson, but still). Well, I for one, welcome it. Because the boat they are bringing to US shores is the awesome, Jules Verne-esque, foiling trimaran that is otherwise known as Hydroptere.

Hydroptere has been in development by French sailor Alain Thebault for more than twenty years, and it just gets faster and faster (it currently owns the fastest nautical mile record, at 50.17 knots). And two weeks ago, the latest version of the boat, Hydroptere DCNS, which is a more offshore version that is targetting the Pacific record, was launched. Since then, the've been working it up, hitting speeds close to 40 knots. 

Here's a fuller explanation of all the changes that have been made to prepare the boat for the open ocean.

And here is a sweet video summary of the long road this project has traveled. Bring it on, mes amis:

puerto escondido, baja sur.
Today was one of those boat ownership days I'd rather forget about. It reminded me too much about why I hate boats. We noticed an hour or so into our motor north that the batteries weren't charging right. The voltage was sitting at 12.3, way too low. I opened up the battery compartment and got to work with the voltmeter. The voltage on the starter battery where the alternator wire comes in was 14.0, right where it should have been I think. However the house bank was still sitting at 12.3. The two banks were connected right, and just to be sure I grabbed a spare battery cable and hooked them to each other directly. Same thing.

So then I started disconnecting batteries. As I did this the voltage on the house bank gradually climbed. By the time I had disconnected three of them, leaving just two, the voltage had climbed to about 12.8, still well below the 14.0, but closer.

Truth be told I don't know much about batteries. On our last boat we put a new set on when we left and they worked just fine for four years. What I think I know is that when you are running a series of batteries like this if one goes bad they all go bad. I fear that this is the case. I fear it because even back in the States getting wholesale prices they were over a thousand dollars.

I should mention that this seems to have started just three or four days ago. I didn't realize it at the time because when I'd look at our battery monitor it was showing like 12.9 volts when the engine was running and after shutting down it would settle at 12.6. But now that I think about it I wasn't seeing it get up in the high 13's or 14.

So anyway, that was the first issue. Then we realized that the fridge wasn't getting cold. It was running, but the temp wasn't moving. Looking in at the engine compartment I could see dripping coming from one of the fittings on the fridge compressor. Just yesterday I was in the engine compartment checking fluids and tightening belts. I must have done something to that hose fitting.

When we got in I got to work on that. I actually knew before that that fitting was a problem area. I knew that when I had the compressor off the mount it would leak, but back on it would stop. Tightening it didn't do any good. So today I made a quick fix and caulked it up. It might not be one hundred percent, but a slow refrigerant leak I can deal with.

The next problem to tackle was how to get refrigerant into the system. I had bottles of 134A refrigerant, but the hose that I had on the boat didn't fit the can, and the hose that I bought with the cans didn't fit the boat fitting. I needed one end of each of the two hoses. So I sliced them both in half and went about figuring out how to get the two small hoses joined. Long story short I somehow made the Frankenstein hose fitting I needed, hooked up the can, and filled up the system again. It worked, the fridge was cold in an hour.

I am so over this engine driven refrigeration. It's great for a backup system or for flicking on when we happen to be motoring along anyway, but it's just been too unreliable to depend on it day after day. When I talked to the company that makes it, SeaFrost, I found out that I can replace our AC system with a DC system by simply unplugging the old one and plugging in the new. No new wiring or tubing needed. A DC system is definitely in the cards this summer.

All right, that's a lot of nonsense. We are in Puerto Escondido now. It's a pretty amazing bay, almost completely landlocked save for one narrow pass. It must have been a great place a decade ago, but then the Mexican government decided to plop a tiny ten slip marina in it, fill the rest of the bay with moorings, and charge the mooring price just for anchoring. I mean it's still a nice place for a break, and it's a short drive to Loreto, so we're going to stay a few days, let Ouest ride her bike, swim in their tiny lap pool, unload a big pile of garbage, fill up the diesel and water tanks, and then decide where to next. Though with our battery issues that decision may be quite limited. We'll see.

puerto escondido, baja sur.
Escondido isn't a very interesting place. It's a good place to catch our breath, get a couple of boat chores done, and that's about it really. The marina was built by the Mexican Government's Tourist Agency and it looks as if they expected some amazing things out of it. They built neighborhoods full of smooth spacious roads and sidewalks. Planted the medians with palms, and posted a guard shack down the main road a ways to keep out the trouble makers. Problem is that nobody came. Not a single development has been built in five years. Not one home or business. Just roads. They even built a little canal where I assume the rich were supposed to build homes and park their yachts. They didn't. One lone townhouse development stands half built and abandoned, like a testament to the failure that is Puerto Escondido. They should have just built a marina in Loreto, the nearby town that we all want to go visit but that doesn't have an anchorage, just an open roadstead not really suitable for much more than an afternoon stop. Anyway, we didn't do much today. Hung out, went for a swim, a bike ride, and that's that.

puerto escondido, baja sur.
I really feel like I should like Loreto. It's as if I am betraying my gringo brethren if I don't, but somehow this town just doesn't do it for me. Or Ali for that matter. "I'm just not feeling it," is what she said after a few hours there. I can't nail down what it is exactly. Maybe it is the waterfront malecon which is wholly uninteresting and doesn't even feel like a part of the town. It's just off on it's own at the end of the road away from everything else. Maybe it's the main plaza which has a gazebo that appears to have been just recently made out of left over bathroom tile from the Ramada Inn Hoboken. I don't know for sure, but I do know that we've been here a couple of times now and felt nothing pulling us in to stay longer.

Ali also said on our way home today, "That restaurant saved that trip to town." She had spotted a tacos and beer sign at an outdoor hut that was brimming with locals. We sat down, ordered beer, and a table full of tacos de pescado, and dug in. Fish tacos are really natures way of telling us those big fish hooks don't really hurt the fish, so eat up.

And hey, we did stumble upon a great little book store too. Ouest tracked down another Dr. Seuss book, which have become our daily staple as of late. We were talking to the owner and told him we lived on a boat when a lady broke in, "Are you that couple that took off on a boat, blogs, and had a c-section baby somewhere over on the mainland?" Nah, that could be almost anyone. Turns out her daughter reads us, and shares with mum. And now I'm going to use that line as our standard bio.

So hey, Loreto wasn't half bad really. We could sit around eating, drinking, and reading until our heart's content. Sounds like retirement.

puerto escondido, baja sur.
Ouest and I (have I mentioned how tired we are of Lowe's morning naptime) caught a ride in this morning to the Loreto Farmer's Market. Lots of good food, a ton of drinks, a bit of flea market nick-knack, and beautiful fresh fruits and vegetables. We go through fruit at a frightening pace these days and it is a constant struggle keeping enough onboard, especially now with Lowe scarfing everything down. With the market done and grocery shopping done we are ready to scoot back out to the land of nothingness.

puerto escondido, baja sur.
Ouest had a fever today and was pretty out of it all afternoon. So much so in fact that she fell asleep completely on her own at one point. She never sits still long enough to do that and now we're Googling whether or not it is possible to give someone a fever. No we're not doing that. It does look as though we'll be here another couple of days while we make sure she is feeling better.

We also managed to drop and bust one of our two fans last night. Not cool considering daytime temps are ninety-five and by bedtime the inside of the boat is hovering around ninety. People that continue to live on their boats in Baja during the summer are either insane or don't have kids.

Tonight we went up and used the marina showers. One of the risks you take in doing this with small children is this: Ouest came out of the bathroom before her Mama and excitedly told me, right there on the sidewalk, all about Mama's shaving. She had helped me apply shaving cream this morning and apparently now considers herself an expert.

Ouest is currently going through a phase in which she must wear pants. No dress is good enough, she must have both pants and a shirt. The girl is going to drive us nuts. It's freaking hot out Ouest!

22-May-2012 puerto escondido, baja sur.
We didn't do much today. Ouest was still not feeling all that great and none of us got any sleep last night, so today we just took it as easy as possible.

Lowe is now standing straight up without any aids, balancing for ten seconds or so, and then taking a step and lunging for whatever it is he has set his sights on. It's awesome. Neither one of us can wait for him to walk. We could never understand people who act like it is tougher once their kids walk, for us it is just the opposite. It's like being set free after a year with a twenty pound bracelet on your wrist. As I say this now he probably won't walk for another six months.

FUNNY THING ABOUT SAILBOAT MASTS and bridges: no matter how much clearance you actually have, when you're standing in your cockpit looking up it always looks like you're not going to make it. Of course, the people who think to put bridges in our way do try to provide information on how much space is under them, even at various states of the tide. But still every so often the situation is ambiguous, and you're not quite sure your mast will fit.

James Burwick is an extraordinary sailor, and very unusual Dad. So unusual, he is sailing around the world with his family (which includes his partner Somira Sao, and their two children, ages 1.5 and 3.5!), on an Open 40. Anasazi Girl just completed a late-season Souther Ocean passage, from Simons Town, South Africa, to Freemantle, Western Australia.

Here's a little teaser of what that looked like:

Now, sailing across the southern Indian Ocean, in April/May, on an Open 40, with two rugrats, might be

consdered a bit radical by the Never Expose Your Kids To Any Risk Parenting Association. But Burwick pulled it off in style, and has written a fascinating summary of the passage. There is a ton of wisdom, insight, and practical advice, and humor, which is what you expect when someone has completed an extraordinary journey:

We arrived in Fremantle, Western Australia on 12 May 1012 after 30 days from Simons Town, South Africa.

Boat preparation was long and detailed.  This was to be one of those trips where it was better to send a report in after we arrived safely, not before.

It was late in the season for sailing in the Southern Ocean in many minds, but not mine.  I felt I could go above 40S, avoid ice, and avoid low pressure cells dropping off of the Indian Ocean summer cyclones. Leaving in mid-April just meant more darkness.   Well, it always seems to happen at night, so with longer nights, maybe the possibility of more bad stuff to deal with.

After approximately 1200 hours of boat preparations by myself, after sailing solo 32,000nm and with the family aboard 13,000nm, I felt the risk could be managed.

We left at 9 pm April 12.  I left some of the dock lines on the dock and rest of the lines went to our friends who let us stay on their boat while Anasazi was out on the hard.  I love to do this, leave at night, and leave the lines.

Three hours of motoring got us to the Cape of Good Hope at midnight, Friday 13th of April.  I pushed hard as the family slept below to get in front of a fast moving low pressure system forecasted by Brynn Campbell at Commanders Weather.  It was uncomfortable with the wind still in front of the beam, but we made it, and soon were going diagonal to 40S.

I cut the corner of the Agulhas too tight and the seas were just a mess of confusion along with one close call with a freighter coming up from deeper than I could understand.  Fortunately, that was the last of the ships we saw for the next month.

The idea for making it across was to keep the highs on our right and the lows on our left.  Just once did a high slip under us and it was not pretty, giving us three days of Easterlies.  Our only option was to go south with it all on the beam, which is not on the beam on my boat, it is in your face as the apparent goes forward fast.

The Easterlies eventually passed and the cold fronts progressed.  Snow was forecast for down south and rain for where we were.  We had dark long nights, and our typical sail combination became a norm of 3 to 4 reefs and only my storm jib, which is full spectra with full battens, and all white.

The storm jib is called a "Tormentina” in Spanish.  Before my daughter was born, I called it my white wedding.  For the first time, I had my Tormentina on deck and my other Tormentina (3 ½ years old) down below, who was aboard with her brother Raivo (1 ½ years old), which is a Finnish name meaning “fury.”

We passed below St. Paul and Amsterdam just in time, as a 982mb low we were surfing finally caught up with and rolled over us.  We were 100 miles past the Islands when the gusty shift nastiness of SW air came and we gybed port tack.

In the dark (always), I made the one big mistake of the trip.  My daughter fell asleep on my lap at the nav station bench. I picked her up and swiveled around to set her in the quarter berth.  A rogue wave knocked on us, and my knee hit the main battery switch.  

All the power went out. The boat rounded up and laid on her side. The Espacher heater didn't like it either, and filled the cabin with smoke.

This was not the first time I have been on my side at night in the Southern Ocean going backwards with 1700 liters of ballast in the side, but it was the first time with my family.  Fortunately Tormentina and the rest of the family were safe in the berths before we were on our side.  Everything was in order so nothing flew anywhere.  I couldn't open the door so I cracked it a few inches and turned on the fans.

I felt like such a loser and looked at my sleeping family.  Somira said, “We trust you,” and winked at me.  I got on my foulies, boots, headlamp, and harness & entered the world that I felt comfortable in.  The world where I never think about money.

ANSWERS TO SOME QUESTIONS:
Was it cold?
NO.  Down below, I wore bare feet with Crocs, no gloves, Patagonia Capilene 1 Silkweight underwear on top, Capilene 4 Expedition weight on the bottom, and a Nano Puff pullover.  On deck I used Gill foul weather offshore bibs, a Patagonia M10 jacket used for alpine climbing, and a light weight hat.  That's it.  I spent most of the time down below.  We ran heat 50% of the trip.  We brought minimal clothing.  We shipped our shore clothes and many spares to Fremantle.

What did you eat?
Korean Ramen noodles, oatmeal, granola, canned fish, crackers, cheese, canned and dried fruit.  Got to take those prunes always.  We also had a 10L Seal Line treat bag we let the kids go into once a day and sometimes if it was really rough, twice a day.  For drinks we had tea, Milo and a sports drink that we call “bug juice.”

What did you use in your galley?   
One-burner Origo alcohol stove, one MSR Classic Alpine cook pot, one stainless steel tea pot for boiling water, 2 GSI Fairshare Mugs, and 4 spoons.

Did you get scared?
Fear drives me to tighter risk management which means more thinking before action and slowing way down.  I see this as a healthy and helpful emotion.

What activities did you do with the kids in a confined space?
We had movies on hard drives, art projects (construction & drawing paper, scissors, tape, colored pencils, markers, crayons, beads, string, felt, needle & thread), lessons, and a few books.  They each had one stuffed animal for toys, no more.  Somira told them stories.

What did you use for navigation?
One large scale paper chart, and once a day made a mark.  I used electronic C-map for grib files and Maxsea software.

How is sailing with kids?
It is awesome if you sail within your comfort zone.  Way below that zone and stress levels increase.  I just spent an uninterrupted month, 24/7 with my children in the most pristine environment that I know.  It also in the place I feel most at home. AND with the one of a kind partner that I dreamed of having.  Somira will be sainted someday.

Where to next?
Right now we don't want to ever sail again.  But in a few more days we will be plotting another voyage.

Burwick's partner, Somira, has also written up the voyage from her (much more tentative) point of view. It is a fascinating read, and another perspective that is well worth checking out.

So, what do you have planned for your family this weekend?

This one will get your blood racing. If you have a pulse, and a shred of imagination, that is.

Okay, the one above, famously shot off Cape Town, looks like it will be pretty bad.

But, like Charlie, I am finding the whale collisions and subsequent sailboat abandonments a bit puzzling. No one really knows how often cruising sailboats collide with whales, but it is easier to understand how a fast racing boat, or Jules Verne-attempting multihull, could come to grief than it is to understand how a slow, heavy, cruiser might.

Below is a video account of a another post-whale-collision rescue that took place earlier this month. It was shot from a Stolt tanker, that was diverted by AMVER to the sailboat after it was apparently struck by a whale, and started taking on water.

Charlie is correct that it is always dangerous to second-guess from the comfort and safety of our armchairs. But, like Don Street in Charlies post, I'd like to know how much water this sailboat was taking on, and what measures the crew was taking to deal with it. Because this does not appear to be a sailboat in terminal distress.

The video points out that AMVER ships save a life somehwere in the world every 33 hours. That makes me wonder whether we are seeing a modern phenomenon in which sailors who have easy access to satellite and other global comms are increasingly quick to call for rescue when things turn bad, instead of sticking it out and doing what they need to do to save themselves. And I wonder whether the AMVER network of commercial ships ever gets fed up with costly diversions to pick up sailors.

Imagine how much more care sailors would take with regard to safety, preparation, and emergency procedures if that emergency phone call was not such an easy option.

los gatos, baja sur.
I hate to jinx it, especially since I've no way to check a forecast from here, but the weather has been incredible this past week. Since getting away from the Coromuel around La Paz I don't think we've seen wind blow past five knots. The anchorages have been like mill ponds. It's been comfortably warm throughout the days until late afternoon when the boat finally heats up a bit too much. Nights the temperature drops quickly until we're pulling a thin blanket over ourselves. Overall it's been pretty much perfect.

Only thing worth mentioning about today was that Ouest and I were chased off the beach by a coyote.

Well not really chased, but we were about to go for a hike when he came wandering down the beach towards us and we decided to take our hike elsewhere. Another cruiser told us four of them had been patrolling that area the day before. All sorts of weirdness on Baja beaches.

Whenever we are out on the dinghy these days and Ouest sees the boat she immediately announces, "Home!" and points the way for me. Lowe loves the dinghy the same way most kids his age love a car ride. He just zones out, staring at the wake and feeling the breeze blow his feathery hair, until he gets tired and turns his head into Mama's chest and tries to go to sleep. Unfortunately dinghy rides are rarely long enough for that.

agua verde, baja sur.
We continued up the coast to Agua Verde yesterday. A big three pronged bay with a small desert fishing village to get off the boat and stroll through. As we were walking a grandpa came out of one of the houses and called the rest of his family over. There were two babies the same age as Lowe. They all commented on how big he was. The home was just a cement block structure with maybe two rooms, but had a lot of shade outside where numerous mattresses had been laid out and were being used in the late afternoon heat. And man was it hot. Ouest couldn't walk on the sand, and Lowe just oozed sweat in the carrier pressed up against Ali. We had a nice time exchanging pleasantries, declined their offer to sell one of their kids, and then continued our tour of the town.

We found the tienda where our cruising guide said we could "reprovision." The store wasn't open, but when somebody saw us walking past the owner suddenly came running out to open the door. Inside we found that reprovisioning may have been an overstatement. There were a dozen tomatoes, a handful of potatoes, two spoiling bananas, and that was about it as far as fresh food went. There were also some cans of tuna, corn flakes, and jars of mayonnaise. This was most definitely the first store I've ever been to in Mexico where you couldn't find a can of Coke. Coke is everywhere in Mexico. It's like bottled water. None of that here either. We bought a few tomatoes and a can of mango juice, let Lowe crawl around on the floor in the shade, and then pressed on, headed back to the water.

On the boat last night Lowe took a digger off a window, slicing open a gash under his chin. It's exactly the same spot Ouest now holds a scar, and also where Ali has a scar from a long ago bicycle crash. It runs in the family.

This morning Ouest was anxious to get back to the playground we'd seen yesterday. It had a swing and a teeter-totter planted smack dab in the middle of the desert. So we took off early before the heat had kicked in on high to "swing to the sky!" We also grabbed our old high chair and a few baby toys and brought them by the house with the babies. The women were all out already and the grandma took our gifts with a very carefully pronounced thank-you in English.

At the playground I was pushing Ouest on the swing when I turned around to find a police officer standing ten feet away in the shade of a small tree. He seemed to have appeared from thin air. We talked about the weather and then he wandered off to patrol the town I guess. Seems an unlikely place to need a full-time lawman around.

We didn't do a whole lot today. Swam. Moved the boat a few hundred yards to a much prettier anchorage with less swell. Swam some more. Showered, and went to bed.

We are about out of water. Our big tank ran dry this morning so I opened up the valve to the smaller tank number two. We've been burning through the water at a pretty good clip with all this heat and all the swimming. Two rinses a day each has been the norm. Couple that with the piles of dishes that need doing every day since we are without restaurants, and well, it's a recipe for water overconsumption. We'd been able to avoid talking about watermakers for a while now, but it is once again on the table. Watching water usage is just not one of those things you can be too strict about when there are two kids onboard.

Tonight the family we dropped the baby stuff off with all came out together on a boat to give us a package of freshly made flour tortillas. "For baby," they said. So good we all ate them plain the rest of the night.

We've all seen videos of ships coming together in an unseamanlike manner, aka colliding, but this is the most brutal collision I've yet seen.

At least it answers the age-old question, debated since Archimedes: what happens when a 68,879 ton bulk carrier t-bones a smaller tuna boat?

Answer: Utter destruction.

Full backstory is here, but the video says it all.

And some pics....

(via)

13-May-2012 los gatos, baja sur.
We popped around the corner, just two miles, to Los Gatos this morning. Another pretty bay where we spent the day on the beach, in the water, and crawling around on the red rocks that ring the place.

Lowe has really taken to the water lately. He seems to know exactly what that dinghy ride to the beach means and once we land it he starts jostling to be let loose. And once set down he goes banzai straight into the water. He tore around so much today that by the end he was huffing and puffing from the exertion of it all.

Whew, it is hard to sit down and write when there are so many things which need to be done on a tight schedule. My father is coming back into town on the 22nd and I have a lot to do to get ready. But to get my mind off boat work here's the story of how my sister and I ended up on a late-night dance party on the KRI Dewaruci, a Barquentine tall ship owned by the Indonesian Navy.

san evaristo, baja sur.
Took a hike with Ouest again this morning, this time up a different ridge. She spent most of the time searching for good rocks to throw. I'd find her a level spot to stand and then sit back while she spent ten minutes doing what would have taken erosion a thousand years to accomplish.

While up there we looked across at the other anchorage and spotted two boats, one of which was a previously unseen Spindrift. These have to be the most popular cruising boats in Mexico.

Not to keep on harping about how bad these Navionics charts are, but here is just one more example. Today we sailed around the northern tip of Isla San Francisco and headed for San Evaristo ten miles away. According to the charts it was basically a straight shot. After rounding the corner I realized that Isla Coyote was nowhere near where the charts were showing it. I thought about going south of the island but then changed my mind and veered north around it instead. Once clear of the island and all the uncharted reefs and rocks sticking out from it we pointed straight towards San Evaristo again. This time according to the charts we ran right over Isla Cayo when in actuality we had passed it well clear a few hundred yards back. Anyway, in our entire previous sailing experience we only encountered this once and it was on a completely desolate stretch of the Sudanese coast. An anchorage probably used by two or three cruising sailors a year. This is a passage no doubt used by hundreds if not thousands of sailors a year. Maybe it isn't specific to Navionics charts, I don't know, but it's making any night sails look pretty dubious.

San Evaristo is a tiny village. Just a scattering of shacks around the bay. No cell phone tower, which these days seems to separate the villages from the towns. We went ashore and just walked along the beach for a while, stepping around, over, and through fish bones the whole way. That's what they do here. They fish. Nobody was out except a couple of young boys and a couple of mangy mutts. We swam around for a bit and called it an early night.

When we came into the bay today we were the first to arrive. By dark ten boats filled the bay, all way too close to one another. When we came back to our boat after being ashore we were waved down by our new neighbor who apologized right up front for being so close, maybe fifty feet, but was not the least bit inclined to move. There is plenty of space in this bay, including a second bay which sits empty tonight, but the herd mentality of anchoring cruisers is tough to break. We haven't been this crowded in Mexico and don't much care for it, so tomorrow we move on.

timbabiche, baja sur.
We weren't enthralled with San Evaristo, mainly because the beach was kind of skanky with fish carcasses all over the place. Swimming is pretty important these days. It's hot and the kids are loving the water.

So after a nice quiet night at anchor we pulled it up and motored out with zero wind for a twenty-five miler up the coast to Timbabiche. A big, relatively open roadstead anchorage with an interesting house on shore to go have a look at. That's really about it.

Along the way today there were a couple of these impossibly remote fishing villages. Dwarfed by the massive mountains rising up behind them. It seems like an impossible existence to me. Something I can't even fathom. No road. Open boats. Generators for electricity to power what? No cell signals. No food other than what you brought in yourself. Those families are tougher than I could ever be.

We seemed to be the only boat headed north today while the southbound lane looked like a highway at times. Hurricane season officially starts on the fifteenth and I suppose a lot of people are about ready to call an end to this season's cruising. We won't be venturing a whole lot further north ourselves this season, but are in no real hurry to head back south just yet either.

After arriving and getting the kids their naps we dinghied ashore and hiked a short ways to the pink house. The story is that in the 1920s a dirt poor pearl diver found a five carat pearl, bought a fleet of boats, built this big house in the middle of the desert and generally lived the good life. A few generations on and the money is gone, the house is almost gone, and all that is left is a smear of a community in one hellaciously hot place. We couldn't walk on the sand. Not like when you say, "Ouch that's hot." More like, "Oh my god my feet are blistering." Damn beautiful backdrop to this place though. The Sierra Gigantes.

So we took a look at the house, didn't see any people, visited a horse and a cow, and returned to the beach for a swim. We'd been playing a while already when I took Lowe out into waist deep water for a dunking and some swoops and spins. One second he was laughing, I was laughing, and the next I felt like I was dying.

I stepped on a stingray and he instantly sunk his spine in my ankle. The initial split second of shocking pain was followed closely by horrendous debilitating pain as the barbed spine buried in my flesh was shaken back and forth a few times while he made his escape. I've never in my life felt a pain that even enters this pain's neighborhood. It was almost like an electric shock. I yelled and struggled to get Lowe to the beach while dragging one leg. Once on the sand all I could do was yell and cry out like a wounded animal, all while trying not to scare Ouest. I feel a little sissy-ish saying that, but I tell you if I could have chopped my leg off at the knee in that moment I would have. I'm not even sure how to describe it other than an aching throb so intense my whole body felt ravished. I squeezed and squeezed my calf the same way you squeeze your thumb after hitting it with a hammer. Somehow you expect that to help ease the pain, or at least localize it.

After twenty minutes not moving from the edge of the water we decided we had to get back to the boat. The kids were roasting and I wasn't improving.

Back onboard the pain was still as intense as those first moments. Ali grabbed an Onboard Medical book that had been left on the boat by the previous owner and breathed a huge sigh of relief when she found stingray in the index. The book showed a drawing of a person stepping on a stingray and the spine being sunk right smack dab where mine had been. We followed the directions, cleaning the three pronged puncture hole and then soaking it in scalding hot water. The pain had still been incredible up to this point, but immediately upon sinking my ankle in the hot water it was gone. If we hadn't had that book I'm certain we would have tried ice instead of heat and I'd probably still be sitting here screaming out in agony.

That picture of me and Lowe was taken about two seconds before I got stung. And Ouest is laughing because I would follow my agonizing yells with psychotic laughter so that she couldn't figure out if I was really hurt or if I was just being a goof. It's hard with kids, on the one hand you want to teach them about things like this so that they can learn how to avoid it (shuffle your feet in shallow water), but on the other hand you don't want to do something to make them afraid to go in the water at all.

Anyway, a few hours later now my foot is pretty swollen and my leg feels a little stiff, but the pain is gone completely. After being chased by an eel and now stung by a stingray I'm not sure Ali will ever go in the water again. At least along the beach.

Speaking of Moray Eels, the book also had a section on them. It talked about how they are generally pretty shy but if you stick your hand in their rocky hole they will bite down so hard that the only way to detach them is to decapitate them. That is messed up. That eel of ours was not shy and was nowhere near any hole. He was hunting. These Baja beaches are feeling decidedly unfriendly at the moment.

isla san francisco, baja sur.
The Coromuel kicked in last night as soon as the lights went out and within a couple of hours we were bow bouncing through the waves. Ouest, in the most uncomfortable spot on the boat, the bow, slept straight through it. The rest of us didn't fare so well.

In the morning when the winds should have been dying down they just continued to howl. The thought of spending the day stuck on the boat in that mess led us to raise the anchor and head further north to Isla San Francisco which conceivably might not be any more protected, but we figured if we got there and it really sucked then we'd press on nine more miles to a well sheltered bay.

It was an uncomfortably rolly ride north, but nobody got sick and nothing broke, so once we had the anchor down we could count it as a success.

Isla San Francisco has a popular crescent shaped bay anchorage, but that was wide open to the weather so we went around the backside to what could be described as an indent. I'm not thrilled with the place, but it should do the trick for this south-westerly weather.

I've been sort of withholding judgment on our charting system, but have finally concluded that it sucks. Maybe not the charting program itself, MacENC (adequate but not exceptional), but the charts that you have to buy to use with it. They are Navionics charts and I couldn't be more disappointed in them. We used C-Map charts on our last cruise and couldn't find words to describe just how amazing they were. Expensive as all hell, but detailed and accurate as can be, especially in anything that could be considered a popular anchorage. But these Navionics charts have been lacking in just about every anchorage so far in Mexico. Here is a screenshot of Isla San Francisco. That's as detailed as it gets (despite those little notes to see lower zooms). A wall sized map of the world would be about as useful for navigating.

isla san francisco, baja sur.
A good night of sleep probably isn't easy in any household with two young kids, but on a boat it can be nearly impossible. So we are even more happy than normal when there is no wind at night. The boat is so quiet we could easily forget where we are. That's what we got last night.

This morning the wind picked up again while Ouest and I went ashore and hiked up a nearby ridge. From there we could see the bay on the other side where the waves were rolling right in on the one boat anchored there. We had made the right choice after all. Ouest enjoyed the hike, mainly because she was carried up the steep loose rock, and when we stopped she could throw rocks a long way.

In the afternoon we all went ashore and hiked across to the other side. Hiked is a bit extreme I suppose. We walked a few hundred yards across a salt flat to the other side. The anchorage was pretty rough and I liked our beach better. So, East Side Rules!

Crabs like this were scattered all over the beach and in the water. "Ouest do you want to hold one of them?" Without hesitation, "Yep."

This is the main anchorage on the west side of the island. There was one boat in there in the morning and it looked pretty uncomfortable.

A couple of shots of our cleaned up woodwork.

The strangest thing happened tonight when we went ashore for a quick cooling swim before bed. Right after we got there a big green eel swam past just a few feet out from shore. Ali saw it and barely managed to contain her panic for the sake of the kids. I just laughed. I mean, it's an eel, eels don't attack people, they just back themselves into the rocks and wait for a small unsuspecting fish to swim by too close.

So a few minutes later Ali and Ouest are splashing around in shallow water, again just a few feet from shore, when the eel comes swimming right at them, circling right through their legs. Ali just about died of a heart attack right then and there, but again for the sake of Ouest she kept herself at least halfway in check.

"What Mama?" asked a bewildered little girl.

"Oh, I'm just dancing. Weeeee, isn't this fun? Let's go over by Papa."

Now I'm thinking this is pretty odd behavior for an eel but Ouest wants to swim, so now I'm up. Sure enough a minute later this thing is making a beeline for us again. The water is so calm and clear that I can see his nasty hook shaped mouth and sharp little fang teeth. And if I'm not mistaken I swear I saw a smirk on his face too. I had the camera in my hand and snapped this shot as I was scooping Ouest up and running for land. Nasty bugger won. We went home. We told Ouest it was time for Lowe to go to bed and she didn't question our odd behavior. Who the hell has ever been chased off a beach by an eel before?

playa la bonanza, isla espiritu santo, baja sur.
While Lowe napped this morning Ouest and I ran out for one last grocery grab. Not much, just some baby food, a huge pile of strawberries, and some cheese. We also topped up our wireless internet card, though I suspect we're going to find places to use it few and far between.

By the time we got home Lowe was up and it was time to go. Ali grabbed the kids and walked to the office while I motored out of the slip and over to the dinghy dock. Seems like kind of a silly way of doing things, but these days we find it easier for everyone involved.

We filled up the diesel and then ran in to pay that and the electricity bill. Two hours later we were on our way. Two hours. I'm not going to say anything more about the speed and efficiency of the marina office staff.

So, late start, but we only had an eighteen mile trip ahead of us. The wind was up and on the nose, but there isn't much fetch in these waters, so we just chugged along, the kids both slept a while, and before we knew it we were the only ones anchored along a two mile stretch of beach called Playa La Bonanza. We had dinner, washed the kids, and got ready for bed while the wind slowly disappeared. Now we're just hoping the Coromuel stays away tonight.

playa la bonanza, isla espiritu santo, baja sur.
Ouest got a squirt gun today. It's the only gun in the house and she really has no concept of violence or what a gun is used for, but she figured out right quick how to point that thing at the rest of us and squirt until we squealed.

We had a nice day today. Ouest and I went to the beach early in this morning and walked up a nearby hill to take a look at the boat from above as well as the beautiful scenery. Maybe it's because I grew up in Minnesota and just want to see something new, but desert landscape is just the best to me. And when you combine that scrubby cactus strewn landscape with an ocean it is just about perfect. The water here is a turquoise that almost looks Photoshopped in.

After naps we all made our way back to the beach and let Lowe loose. That boy has no qualms at all about crawling around in the cool water. He just lifts that butt in the air and crawls on all fours until he gets deep enough to start drowning. We lift him up, move him back to the shallows, and repeat.

Emirates Team New Zealand seems to have the trouble magnet on. Here they lose their observer overboard. He just manages to hang on, and scramble back aboard (heart racing, no doubt).

And here they plow into Oracle Racing, which failed to give them room as inside boat. Just another crazy day

out on the water, racing in AC45 cats.

Okay, enough bloopers. If you want the real action, here is the summary of Day 1 highlights:

The Coast Guard is out with its annual report (PDF) on death by boat. Last year, there were 758 fatalities, the most since 1998.

Here are the key stats, from the press release:

From 2010 to 2011, total reported accidents decreased less than one percent from 4,604 to 4,588, deaths increased 12.8 percent from 672 to 758 and injuries decreased 2.3 percent from 3,153 to 3,081. Property damage totaled approximately $52 million. The fatality rate measured 6.2 deaths per 100,000 registered recreational vessels, a 14.8 percent increase from last year’s rate of 5.4 deaths per 100,000 registered recreational vessels.

The leading contributing factor? Alcohol (incolved in 16% of fatalities). Excessive speed was also a prominent contributor.

The most common cause of death? Drowning (70%).

The most blatant indicator of complacency? The fact that of those who drowned 84% were not wearing a life jacket.

Conclusion: Stick to sailboats, don't drink too much, and wear a PFD when appropriate. Got it?

Bonus Pic: Not sure what stats this one should get filed under...

The ELCI (Equipment Leakage Circuit Interrupter) is a new-ish device in the US, which will be part of the ABYC (American Boat and Yacht Council) standards in a few weeks. They've been around in Europe, Australia, and New Zealand for 25 years or so, but I guess we yanks are slow to catch on.

We all know the little GFCI outlets, the ones we have in our bathrooms with the little test and reset buttons? The ELCI is like one of these, but it protects your whole boat. The ELCI would be the first thing in the AC wiring after the shore power cord plugs into your boat, and according to standard, should be within ten feet of where the cord plugs in.

The ELCI is not meant to protect people the way the GFCI does, so you still need to have GFCIs aboard. A GFCI trips at about 5 miliamps and the ELCI trips at 30, and 30 is still enough to give someone a serious shock. The 30 milliamp threshold is enough, however, to prevent a deadly current from leaking into the water, so it does protect nearby swimmers from electrocution.

What the ELCI does is this: When you're plugged into shore power, the same amount of current should be flowing on and off the boat in both directions. The ELCI measures this, and if current is flowing off the boat somewhere else (through the grounding wire or into the water) the ELCI shuts off the power. It also provides over current protection (a breaker) and the one above includes a polarity indicator. An ELCI provides no galvanic corrosion protection, so you should still have a galvanic isolator along your grounding (green) wire.

At around $250 an ELCI isn't cheap, but they are cheap insurance when compared to the cost of fried equipment or a lost life. The way I see it, since many boats are a creative rat's nest of wiring, and AC current can be especially deadly, the ELCI provides a lot of safety for whatever surprises might lurk downstream.  

If you send a Remotely Operated Vehicle to the seafloor of the Gulf, you will see all sorts of amazing things. This was shot in April by NOAA's "Little Hercules." We got some salt volcanoes, brine pools, and oil and gas seeps--along with some pretty cool fish (full dive report is here).

And, hey, we've also got a shipwreck!

(h/t GCaptain)

Hans Klaar is an extraordinary sailor, a modern-day Moitessier, who has built and cruised a series of Polynesian-style catamarans over vast swathes of the world's oceans. Early last year his life took a dramatic and tragic turn when he was jailed in South Africa for rape, as my SAILFeed buddy Charlie Doane chronicled. After fighting the charge, Klaar was released in July and began the fight to rebuild his name and rebuild his life.

Naturally,one of the ways for him to do that was to go build a new boat, and set out for the distant horizons. So he went to Senegal first, and then moved to Gambia, to build his latest voyager from local materials.

He recently sent me these photos to update his progress, one month into the build. According to Hans, the main hulls are 72 feet long, 9 feet wide, and 6 feet deep.

Looks pretty cool, and classically Hans Klaar:

And this is the inside of the hulls before the ribs were fitted.

You have to admire a man who can create beauty and functionality from raw wood stock. I can't wait to see how it turns out, and where Hans plans to voyage.

Cha Cha at anchor in Newport. She seems very secure (note deployment of twin chain anchor rodes) (Photo from Newport-Now.com)