Sailing With Our Ears

From the Log . . .

On November 20th at dawn, a start was made for LaPaz. We had decided that the trip should be cut into three almost equal stages. The first stop was to be at a small cove know as Los Frailles; the second at Ensenada de Los Muertos; and the third day we hoped to be make it close into La Paz or close into the vicinity of La Paz. As a matter of fact we did not wish to arrive there on Sunday, which would have been our third day, because the Mexican officials levy an out of hours toll on Sundays, holidays or any time that is not during their working hours. I believe it can be said that their working hours are very short and extend from 9:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M.

We anticipated a most difficult trip up the Gulf of California. It is notorious fo it’s northerly winds that blow all of the time. Sometimes they blow with marked ferocity. In addition to the wind that blows directly against you and makes a choppy sea, there is a current that is set wouthward by the force of the wind, further impeding your progress.
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Musings in the past tense:

A couple of posts ago, I included a Google terrain map of the tip of the Baja Peninsula. La Paz is Northwest of Cabo, but on the Eastern Side of the Peninsula. So beating up the right coast in the Gulf of California to get to La Paz would have as Kimball would say:

“the character of work”

The next couple of posts should be interesting.
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Musings in the present tense:

In my first sail of 2009, we struggled with a lee helm.

I was writing an email from my phone, but I hit the wrong button and *poof*.

So I thought I’ll recreate it here, using all my fingers on the keyboard.

The Admiral had been out on New Year's day and her sailing partner for that day demonstrated tying off the tiller with the bitter end of the mainsheet to make the helm self tending.

She wanted to experiment with that technique some more. But with the lee helm it wasn't happening. We didn't want to lead the bitter end of the mainsheet to the leeward side, so a struggle to get it to work ensued. I tried to figure out what sail trim would move the Center of Effort back to balance the Center of Lateral Resistance and give us a couple of degrees to Windward Helm to work with.

I couldn't do it, and my head seemed to be hitting a brick wall. The wall seemed to be saying:

"You got a little jib, you dolt! There can't be enough force up there to be giving you Lee Helm!"

So today I turned back to the discussion of CE and CLR in Chapman - I don't have a photographic memory, but having read something I can sometimes find it again.

Chapman, on page 279, describes Lee Helm, and goes on to say:

“many sailboats develop a slight tendency for lee helm in light air”

Oh

Well that explains it I guess, but what to do about it?

The very nice explanation of the forces on the keel and rudder, and a great figure (8-04), showing why a slight weather helm generates the best lift, vs. drag situation was there as I remembered. But I could not find an explanation of sail trim that would turn a slight Lee Helm into a slight Weather Helm in light winds on one of the many sailboats that develop this tendency. Sail trim books seem to focus on sail trim, not sail and helm trim. I guess that makes a certain sense, but sailing is a balancing act, and the sails are only on one side of that fulcrum.

I'd been reading the Sail Trim book from SAIL magazine, and searched and searched, but couldn't find Lee Helm anywhere. Then, while driving, it hit me. In 'Trimming the Genoa for Speed' by Mike Toppa, there are a couple of statements:

"Most boats have different size Genoas for different wind speeds"

and

"the sail's maximum draft is about 45 percent of the total girth distance back from the luff."

I had rigged the J24 by myself while the sun was heading for the horizon. There were a couple of gusts that come over the point of the marina, so I decided to go for the softer side of sailing and hanked the 100% jib on the forestay.

45% back from the luff of the 100% is further forward than 45% back from the luff of the 150% Genoa. And if we were carrying the sails we should have for the wind conditions we were sailing in, then we would have set the 150. Headsail change at night while doublehanding a J24? Just to mess around with self tending the tiller?

Now why didn't I think of that?!

I was too busy listening to the music the waves were making on the hull.

We had sailed by 'D', the Flashing Green on the pole stuck in the mud. and decided to tack. 'E' was still on the dock at the Berkeley Yacht Club, so once we passed where it used to be, we headed north.

A discussion about staying in the groove was going on, and we decided to sail with our eyes closed, or at least having the helmsperson sail with her eyes closed, and ears open, to feel the groove by sound alone.

You see, the boat makes a different noise when sailing close hauled at a tight angle to the waves. The waves are generally perpendicular to the wind, so there is a distinctive sound as the bow crests each wave and drops into the next trough. There wasn't much in the way of waves, but just enough to hear this particular frequency.

So we started to sail a wavy course. We'd shine the flashlight up at the mast head to calibrate how close the windex said we were, to what the groove felt like, then she'd close her eyes and continue for about a minute on course, then slowly turn down about 5 degrees, listen to the change in the timber of the sound of the boat going through the water, feel the change with a little sideways roll combining with the pitching motion to create a wallow.

We would then head back up to get in the groove. We did this about five times then sailed up a little closer and held that all the way to the north side of the Circle. At that point, it wasn't necessary for her to close her eyes, the sound the boat was making was part of the feel. The moonlight on the waves made for a great reference to that lovely shhhh . . . . shhhh . . . . shhhh sound.

It was a magical sail.

Lee Helm

From the Log . . .

On November 20th at dawn, a start was made for LaPaz. We had decided that the trip should be cut into three almost equal stages. The first stop was to be at a small cove know as Los Frailles; the second at Ensenada de Los Muertos; and the third day we hoped to be make it close into La Paz or close into the vicinity of La Paz. As a matter of fact we did not wish to arrive there on Sunday, which would have been our third day, because the Mexican officials levy an out of hours toll on Sundays, holidays or any time that is not during their working hours. I believe it can be said that their working hours are very short and extend from 9:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M.

We anticipated a most difficult trip up the Gulf of California. It is notorious fo it’s northerly winds that blow all of the time. Sometimes they blow with marked ferocity. In addition to the wind that blows directly against you and makes a choppy sea, there is a current that is set wouthward by the force of the wind, further impeding your progress.
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Musings in the past tense:

A couple of posts ago, I included a Google terrain map of the tip of the Baja Pennisula. La Paz is Northwest of Cabo, but on the Eastern Side of the Pennisula. So beating up the right coast in the Gulf of California to get to La Paz would have as Kimball would say:

“the character of work”

The next couple of posts should be interesting.
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Musings in the present tense:

In my first sail of 2009, we struggled with a lee helm.

This post was supposed to be an email from my phone, but I hit the wrong button and *poof*.

So I thought I’ll recreate it here, using all my fingers on the keyboard. Chapman, on page 279, describes Lee Helm, and goes on to say:

“many sailboats develop a slight tendency for lee helm in light air”

Oh,

Well that explains it I guess, but what to do about it?

Chapman also has a very nice explanation of the forces on the keel and rudder, and a great figure (8-04), showing why a slight weather helm generates the best lift, vs. drag situation.

But I could not find an explanation of sail trim that would turn a slight Lee Helm into a slight Weather Helm in light winds on one of the many sailboats that develop this tendency. Sail trim books seem to focus on sail trim, not sail and helm trim. I guess that makes a certain sense, but sailing is a balancing act, and the sails are only on one side of that fulcrum.

Too be continued . . . check back later.

Moonlight Memories

From the Log . . .

Our last night in Cape San Lucas was a particularly beautiful one. The moon was almost full and shone on the surrounding headland and white beach with a brilliance. It illuminated a path across the water and lighted some fleecy clouds that floated gently overhead. In addition to that we all seemed to at peace with ourselves and with each other. It is extremely difficult to have four people together on a small boat for six weeks and not have some unhappy moments or situations. I can honestly say that we have never, as yet, had an actual unhappy situation and that on the last night that we remained in San Lucas Bay it seemed that we all were most friendly and affectionate towards each other and the whole situation which we found ourselves in. We had mailed all the mail that had been written previous to our entry to the harbor and the only thing that we had left hanging over our shoulders was a number of films that we wanted to get away, but they could not take them due to the fact that they had to stamped by a customs officer.

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Musings in the past tense:

See, he refers to it as ‘Cape San Lucas’. There is nothing about hordes of pacific coast sailors descending on the beaches and bars in the fall. In the first edition of Kimball Livingston’s book ‘Sailing the Bay’, is a section entitled ‘San Francisco’s Ocean’. A section of that chapter explains why sailors go south in the fall. ‘Soggy Socks and Instant Oatmeal’ explains that:

“Cruising to Southern California has the character of a lark. Cruising back has the character of work . . .”

He mentions that in the fall this lark extends all the way to the tip of Baja California (Cabo San Lucas - Cape is Cabo in Spanish). There is now a lark called the Ba ha ha, which is a fleet of sailboats who make this journey each year. But in 1953, things were much calmer there.

Hmm, I bet Herman the pig, and those lonely lobsters would take exception to the idea that 'We have never had an actual unhappy situation'.

My First Sailing Experience of 2008 - Moonlight Memories - was much like my Grandfather's entry (without the warmth). But it's way cool that a past tense and present tense musing intersect.
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Musings in the present tense:

Admiral Anne and I went sailing last night. My first sail of 2009 - EVK4 and Tillerman have now got me counting.

It was supposed to be a late afternoon romp in the sunshine (which was spectacular once the rain stopped). But for a lot of reasons, we didn’t leave the dock until after the sun went down.

It was a lot of things, but it was also COLD, with a capital C, O, L, and D!. Not Tillerman’s kind of cold, not the kind of cold that frostbiter’s face when sailing in the winter in places where white stuff covers the ground and the water is sometimes in it’s solid phase.

It is a very special kind of cold unique to San Francisco Bay. EVK4 described it very well in a December, 2007 post. It didn’t bother me until the last hour, as we ghosted past the lighted section of the Berkeley Pier. At that point Anne and I had a discussion of the kind of cold I was feeling. I mentioned I was ‘wet’,

Ok, I'm not sooooo young, or sooooo old to be wearing diapers, it wasn't that kind of wet. sheeesh. And I wasn't crying like a baby about it either!

I was trying to describe the special aspect of the experience.

Yes, I had my ‘foulies’ on, no, they were still water proof, so I wasn’t wet under the surface. But every outer surface of the boat and ourselves had that ‘cold damp’ feeling to it.

I just clenched my teeth, and formed my hands into fists, and tried to ignore that special quality of our kind of cold – to quote EVK4:

“Our cold has water's natural ability to soak in and not go away”.

Technically, what was going on was that the magical mini fibers of the foul weather gear were coated with a thin film of moisture that exceeded the surface area of the fibers, resulting in a constant heat transfer that sucked the warmth though the many layers of gear between me and the world. It took about 3 hours for that heat transfer to penetrate the layers, but once it did, it would not go away.

Ah, but for those first three hours, it was a magical sail in clear air and moonlight. The moon was not full, but the sliver shown brightly. The path the light struck across a gentle ripple, sometimes accentuated by the wake of tugboats in the distance was fantastic. The city lights were like sparkling glass.

Ok, so I kind of stole that last line from the Admiral.

Here is what she actually said (in the form of a Dear John Letter - I get those a lot):

Dear John,

Woooooow.......

What a magical night! The exquisite beauty of
SF's skyline was mesmerizing. Skyscrapers appeared like glowing
transparent glass cubes rising up from the Bay. As the boat gently cut through the water, there was an ever changing kaleidoscope of
lights. The bright crescent moon's light danced upon the waves
painting a dreamy trail of shimmering glitter. The soothing sounds of the water lapping against the hull was a perfect musical accompaniment.

And then she went sailing with someone else.

Really, this lady Admiral is even more addicted to sailing than I am.

At dusk, we were in the vicinity of a tugboat that is anchored on the north side of the Circle. Anne at the helm, we set a course that would pass it just to windward. The light breeze from the northwest carried us along with a whisper as the form of the vessel seemed to catch the last little bit of light to loom out of the darkness like a ghost.

Using some piloting skills, we tacked upwind to find the dolphins of the Richmond Ship Channel Range marks, crossed the mouth of the inner harbor and tacked westward in the lee of the abandoned railroad ferry pier at Ferry Point.

Here is our track at that point, up close and personal, courtesy of my Garmin Oregon:

I highly recommend the Oregon. We were in a J24, headed for the range markers, and the unlighted end of the jetty across the channel from RYC. We were at low tide, which was -.1 ft. We can't quite pass the lower dolphin to windward, can we take it to leeward? I consult the Oregon, and the answer is yes, but if we continue on that tack, we'll locate the end of the jetty with our bow. So we decide to tack after the marker. The wind being Northwest by north (NWbN). Follow the link and you'll learn how to box the compass*.

Cool.

We thread our way between the jetty and the red buoy (this one is lighted), and tack downwind of the 'Ruins' on the north edge of the channel. We follow the channel EDGE - cause there is tug traffic all hours of the day and night.

We round the green lighted buoy and head towards Keller Cove and the Richmond Long Wharf.

The plan is to tack our way upwind towards the Long Wharf and it's tanker activity, then cut across the channel to the Red Rock tide cone. Our objective, sail around Red Rock.

So we double check our nav lights, and oops! the battery died, so we got none. We tack, then gibe, and make our way back to a good channel crossing point with the flashlight on the sail like we are supposed to, and cross the channel on a perpendicular course, looking both ways and waiting for the closest tug to pass us by before crossing the street.

After we are safely in the 'General Anchorage' with it's lone old tug at anchor, we set the chute, and use the flashlight sparingly on our way home.

We find the tug (so we don't run into it), and sail by it nicely making way under the stars with our chute leading the way.

It was cool - well, until the aforementioned heat transfer problem found it's endpoint. Then it was COLD.

This year, I'm going to document each sail with a Microsoft word document with screen shots of our track in MapSource, and some Oregon screen shots as well.

Partly this is to prepare (without the cost of chartering) for things like the 3BF, and other 'Piloting' challenges.

So send me an email, and I'll reply with the document attached, if you are interested. This is a shameless attempt to tease the lurkers out of the shadows, and get them to identify themselves.

But they'll get a treat if they do. And I promise to keep their identities a secret. All two of them.

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*BTW, Boxing the Compass is covered by Chapman, which is where I'm at in my effort to read it cover to cover. But the book is too big to lug everywhere, my kitchen table has two computers, several usb hard drives, the Oregon, snacks . . . and it turns out that most of the cools stuff is on Wikipedia as well.

Cabo Pig Stories

From the Log . . .

Two situations will remain in my mind as being exceedingly funny. In the first place after we had obtained the pig and had tied a small rope to one of it’s hind feet, we went into the bar for a split of Cart Blanca beer and we tied the pig to the footrail and drank our beer without any concern on our part, nor did their seem to much concern on the part of the bartender. It seemed to him to be a perfectly normal situation. As we carried it from the village back through the small valley to the beach, the little pig made an awful squealing noise. Dean remarked that the only thing that made more noise under a fence was two pigs under a fence. Apparently the squealing brought sympathy into the heart of an old sow that was in a nearby field and actually she charged at us. I do not know whether she actually would have come in bodily contact with one of us had I not taken rocks and heaved them at her. This turned her away for awhile and as Dean went on ahead with the pig, I held back the infuriated sow, who apparently was trying to render some assistance to one of the squealing children in the neighborhood.

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It appears from the gap in the journal, and the next journal paragraph (which will appear in the next post) that the journey down the Baja Peninsula is missing from my copy of the journal. Hermans (the piglet) appears to have met his end in Cabo.

I’m getting ahead of the story, but in the next post, the journal describes the location where the above takes place as ‘Cape San Lucas’. When I googled that, I found a Encyclopedia Britannica article that indicates that this cape is the extreme southern tip of Baja California. Looking closer, ‘Cape’ in Spanish is ‘Cabo’. In the next post I’ll elaborate on that.

So in a prior post, the journal describes dressing the piglet and roasting it, without too much detail as how it met its end. Scalding is mentioned, but . . . well, one wonders, but I don’t want to dwell on that. Dr. Holcomb takes the piglet to a bar, and prevents the condemned pig from being rescued by a sow. He found it extremely funny, I’m not so amused.
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Now for something completely different:

In EVK4’s Three Bridge Fiasco post, he announces that he’s ‘making another run at this race’. Embarrassingly, I immediately (and publicly) volunteer to crew for him, without thinking about the fact that it is a race put on by the Singlehanded Sailing Society.

And, oh, by the way, Edward mentions in his post that he’s already sailing with an ‘incredible sailor’.

Wait a minute, if it’s put on by the Singlehanded Society, isn’t it a Singlehanded race?

Well, no, it’s open to doublehanders as well.

So I guess, I have to announce that I will also enter the Three Bridge Fiasco. When I mentioned this to Admiral Anne, she immediately emailed me with such enthusiasm, that I’ll just have to go through with it.

If only I had a boat . . .

Actually I have two boats, but I’d have to take the next three weeks off to prepare them to go back in the water. Work won’t allow that, so I’ll just have to figure out how to get my hands on something that is already wet.

Let’s see, Anne and I could each singlehand in two of her three El Toros (that is why Anne is an Admiral, she has a fleet), but I think their rating would force us to start the race the day before.

Also, they don’t have heads, so taking biobreaks would be problematic.

They also don’t have navigation lights, but if I remember that Chapman chapter, they are so short that they aren’t required to display lights.

They’d also be like a bug on a windshield to a tanker.

Stay tuned.

If Pigs Could Fly

From the Log . . .

(gap in the journal)

. . . surface. We were all attracted by one pelican, who would take his position at a point about 20 yards off of the pier each day, and would sit there all day long. Whenever you would go up, the pelican was sitting at this spot as if he were moored. I never saw him dive or catch any fish. Just why he wanted to sit there all day long was more than any of us could explain. We came to the conclusion that he had an outright priority on that part of the harbor and he was going to keep it to himself come what may.

This day was notable for the fact that Marilyn cooked her first roast pig. We had seen a number of these little porkers running around the village and after a dinner of steaks, a second dinner of fried chicken, we were in the habit of having good dinners. Accordingly, Dean and I went ashore and dickered with one of the inhabitants for a small pig. He brought us a cute little black pig that we call Herman. After he was dressed, he weighted 15 pounds. He cost us 20 pesos, which actually is $2.50. We thought a roast pig was worth this amount of money.

We had a great time in the butchering of the pig. We took it to the bench that was adjacent to the boat, found an old 5 gallon oil can in which we scalded the pig and a couple of Mexican boys came along to help us, making a count of 5 that were actually butchering this poor little piglet. We were not able to use his head because our oven is so small that we could not get it in. Accordingly, this was cut off and given to one of the Mexican boys who seemed to prize it very much. We also gave them some gum, soda pop and a few centavos. They were friendly little youngsters who were trying as best they could to be helpful.

Marilyn looked at the butchered porker with dismay, saying that she had never cooked a pig before and did not know how in the world she was going to do it. She did, however, cook it in an admirable fashion. It was seasoned and baked to a delicious turn. We ate almost half of it at the first sitting. Marilyn made up a large pot of pork and beans with part of the roast. We had it liver fried for breakfast the following morning and had it cold for dinner the second day.
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If pigs could fly, I’m sure Herman would have taken to the air. Not sure, but perhaps Marilyn would have liked to have some wings as well.

But if you are sailing a ship around the world in the 50’s, the ability to barter or purchase livestock, kill it and cook it is a skill that is probably lost to today’s travelers.

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On a very different subject, Tillerman did his annual ‘Simply the Best’ gimmick, got a bunch of sailing bloggers to link to his blog and, well, what do you know, my handful of readers has exceeded the number of fingers on both hands. At least for today.

The comments people leave are still very few, so I don’t know what if anything, results in people reading this. But I know there are lurkers out there, and they come from all over the globe, so that is kind of fun.

In addition to setting a goal to transcribe my Grandfather’s journal, I’ve also set a goal to read all of Tillerman’s blog posts, all of EVK4’s blog posts, and Chapman from cover to cover.

I found it really difficult to keep track of what I’ve read (except for Chapman, where I can use an actual bookmark). So to help guide me in these three goals, I turned to Mister Gates spreadsheet program and listed the months of the years from 2005 to present day. I included a couple of months from 2003 (when the EVK4 Superblog got started). I created three columns.

The first for Tillerman’s Blog, the second for EVK4, and the third for the 26 chapters of Chapman. I gave each Chapman Chapter two cells.

As you can kind of tell from the graphic, Chapman is ahead in my reading, followed by EVK4, and Tillerman is in last place. If he is as competitive as he seems to be, maybe, just maybe he’ll comment on this

We’ll see.

Resolutions

From the Log . . .

When we got back to the boat, we had a nice westerly breeze and it was apparent that we could sail out of the harbor and across the bay towards Todos Santos Island and Santo Tomas Point. We pulled up the anchor and lo and behold the anchor stop was bent into a curve of a hook. We had, had a southeasterly blow of about 35 miles an hour, the day before and had to move, due to the fact that one of the small Mexican coastal steamers seemed to be drifting too close to us. We moved well out in the harbor and I thought all was well until we pulled up our Herthill Anchor and found the shank of the anchor bent so that the flukes of the anchor would not pass up and downward over the shank. We sailed around the Silver Bull to say goodbye to them, but they were ashore. We waved goodbye to Ensenada on a beautiful, clear, sunshiny day on October 23, 1953, with about a 5 knot breeze, which sailed us close to the tip of Pt. Banda, the lower part of Todo Santos Bay. This point is approximately 10 miles from Ensenada. We put out the trolling lines and fished all day long, but were unable to get any fish. We saw them jumping, but for some reason or rather, the lures that we were using did not appeal to the fish. Whether it was the lure, the lure, the leader, the spped we were going or what it was, but we did not catch any fish.

We had to make one tack in order to clear the rocks at the end of Pt. Banda then sailed on a quarterly breeze towards the Santo Tomas Island, another 10 miles down the coast. This, we rounded about 5:00 o’clock and we then went in, underneath a little . . .

(gap in the journal)

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I don’t make New Years Resolutions. Somehow the typical idea of making resolutions at the beginning of the year, then breaking them later doesn’t appeal to me.

But a couple of things have happened to me since I started this blog, and today isn’t such a bad day to reflect on the resolutions that those events instilled in me (well, at least one).

This is not a New Years Resolution. It’s a resolution that started with this blog.

I tend to be very good at starting things, less so at finishing them. The theme of this blog is twofold. To transcribe the journal that my grandfather dictated and Marilyn typed up as multiple carbon copies (typos and all). The copy that I’m transcribing from is a photocopy of one of the carbon copies.

My typing skills are limited, and Microsoft Word’s spell checker may introduce some corrections, but I hope the spirit of the thing comes through.

The other theme is to relate what I find so inspiring about sailing. To reflect on the lessons learned, the beauty of it in all of Mother Nature’s moods. Woven into this theme is the experience of learning to sail as ‘Captain’, including experience of the dynamics of being responsible for a vessel and the souls on board, and the effort to do so in a gentle manner. Many of the threads of this tapestry are colored by my own life time of sailing experiences, the experiences of the people I sail with, and recently, the impact that other sailing blogs are having on me.

This blog is not about me, me, me (like some blogs I know ;). It is first and foremost a sailing blog. Sailing is unique among the activities of people. When people go down to the sea, or out on the water, they are confronted with something so completely different from their life on land.

To experience moving through this world propelled mainly by the force of the wind, is a very special thing. To realize that it is not just the wind, but the imbalance of the forces of the wind on the sails and the water on the boat. That everything is in motion, and exerts a force.

It is the most dynamic world we can immerse ourselves in.

The feeling of being in control, and the humbling that occurs when we are not.

So as I write this, I realize that today's part of the journal is so very appropriate. It is about leaving a safe harbor, sailing away from an anchorage, with a damaged anchor, and navigating between an Island and around a headland, venturing out onto the open ocean.

Since my tendency is to not finish things, to be distracted and go exploring, the resolution that I made in September was to finish this thing, the transcription of the journal.

Along with that, I also hope that a dedication to finish something will bleed over into my non-sailing life.

A Kind Wish for a Pleasant Voyage

From the Log . . .

On the 22nd of October, we made our decision to leave, the following day, from Ensenada for the next anchorage below Ensenada, which is know as Santa Tomas Anchorage. The port captian of San Diego, who was in a boat adjacent to us, determined that we could get our papers on the 22nd and leave early the following morning.

Dean Smith, therefore, went ashore in the morning to obtain the bill of health and I was going in to obtain the remainder of our papers from the captain of the port, including the immigration officials at 3:00 o’clock, when I was advised that the Captain of the port was open.

Dean and Rey had a very interesting time getting the bill of health. They went to the various doctor’s offices, hospitals and each one told them to go some place else. As a matter of fact, I do not believe that anyone understood what they wanted. They went into on hospital, where the man who was in charge thought that they wanted a taxi cab, so she called a cab. Finally, however, they came back after a morning of hard work in Ensenada with a bill of health, which, if I can read Spanish at all, means that neither, myself, the boat, or any of the crew could possibly have picked up anything contagious in Ensenada. It was signed by the doctor, so that makes us all pure.

In the afternoon, Marilyn and I went ashore to get paper to go along further. We first went to the immigration authority and he looked at the papers that we had made out for ourselves, in a very questioning manner, said that our counselor stamp was perfectly good, but that he had never seen anything like the papers that we had. I believe that, that is true because everyone said that the paper could only be made out, going as far a Ensanada to the next official area of domain. This would amount to a trip between Ensenada and Cape San Lucas. I had heard in San Diego that the touring permit would let you go though Mexico entirely, if you merely made out the papers. Accordingly, Marilyn and I took some old Spanish sailing papers and made out a list of the placed that we wanted to go in Mexico ending at Salina Cruz. The immigration official had never seen anything like this and said that he would not sign our paper. He would put a stamp on it and I thought that, that might pass the port captain.

At 5:00 o’clock, we went back to the port captain’s office and found that he was not in. As a matter of fact, the office was closed and we wee told that his office hours were from 9:00 until 2:00. We had been waiting around Ensenada until 3:00 o’clock, as someone else had told us the office opened at that time. Therefore, it seemed inadvisable to do anything further about the thing and we went to one of the nearby bars for a beer. We met the captain of the port of San Diego and his friend, who was also in the bar and a friend of theirs who was also a shipping man, who was interested in various shipping companies and we waited around until 5:00 o’clock, as someone else told us the captain of the port would be back about that time.

We went down and found no one there and got the information that the office would be open at 9:00 o’clock in the morning. At about the time, one of the captain’s employees did come along, Mr. Sates recognized him, and asked him to stamp our papers. He looked at them very woefully and said that he had never seen anything like them, did not think they were legal and that we had better come back in the morning and see the captain of the port.

We were advised at every step we went to get a broker. On my previous trip through Mexico, I had had so much trouble with brokers that I thought possibly the trouble I would have by myself, would be very much less than if I employed one of the Mexican brokers to completely confused. As it turned out subsequently, this was the fact of the matter.

On Friday morning, October 23, 1953, we went into the town to see the captain of the port. We were then advised that his office opened at 10:00 o’clock so we walked around for a while and came back at about 9:30. Finally, the captain of the port came in and he was a very kindly gentleman. He had been in the maritime service of Mexico for many years. He had been captain of the port of Ensenada four times. He spoke excellent English. We talked about his visits to Alameda, and his affection for California, San Francisco and especially the peninsula below San Francisco. He looked at the papers that we had made out and said they were not exactly according to the Boyle, but they would do perfectly well if we would only take them back to the immigration officer and have him sign them.

We then back to the immigration officer, a distance of about three blocks and he said that the papers were irregular and he would not sign them. He would sign, however, the counselor list of the crew with our names and position on the ship. He did sign this put his name on it, and I took it back to the captain of the port. The captain of the port sighed, and said that the official actually did not know very much about marine affairs, so he told his stenographer, to make us up a set of papers that said exactly the same thing that our papers did, except that they were on official Mexican stationary.

We then took these back to the immigration official and he stamped them and signed them promptly what so ever, saying that we had probably paid $15.00 for these papers, and it was too bad, but it was the only way that he could do it. While, we were here, we also picked up our counselor list that had been stamped, in as much as it actually is our passport for the whole crew into Mexico. We then went back to the captain of the port’s office to have our papers stamped. They were given to us without any charge, what so ever and a kind wish for a pleasant voyage. The stenographer in the office said that he had never seen any such papers before when they were finished and the captain of the port said they were perfectly legal for a yacht. Here to fore, the broker, either, did not know that you could get a passport through all of Mexico, or he was purposely trying to make a yacht owner have a group of papers from one port to the next. (There is a considerable swell in here, so please excuse the typing) Whether or not the remainder of the Mexican officials know that law or not will be seen as the situation transpires down the coast.

When we had obtained the paper and left a few packages of cigarettes for the port captain and his secretary, I felt a little sheepish about not paying a fee and having a broker do it instead of the port officials and yet I am certain that, in my own mind, the brokers are the people that cause you overtime charges, charges for various types of stores that they put aboard and all types of odd things that they put on their bill, that in fact they got themselves. The officials as far as I could see, were perfectly honest, decent, kind and were willing and anxious to do the best that they could for us. Hereafter, I will take my chance with the official, rather than the broker.

______________________________

The above account gave me much pause.

The back and forth, the effort to avoid brokers and get papers that would not require additional interaction with the Mexican Officials down the coast. I found all of this very interesting. There is a very independent streak that runs through my family. A fierce desire to be free of entanglements seems to be a genetic trait.

Sailing provides this freedom, provides an opportunity to be totally in the moment. Away from shore, it is the water, wind and waves. A balance of forces that are not man made.

Sometimes beautiful, sometimes . . . not.

In the journal, I was struck by the image of Marilyn typing away in the cabin below decks in a large swell in Ensenada Harbor.

I can remember her calming me as I lay seasick and terrified in the top bunk of that very same cabin, my first exposure to a heeling sailing vessel as we made our way under the golden gate, with the leeward rail awash and the rush of the water against the hull in my ears below deck.

"the boat can't turn all the way over, it will be alright . . ." she spoke to me as my eyes stared at the pivoting cabin sea table, swinging side to side as we crested each swell rushing under the gate from the Pacific. For some reason, the sight of Navy Blue covered cushions and mahangony tables bring that memory rushing back to me

And then the statement:

“They were given to us without any charge, what so ever and a kind wish for a pleasant voyage”

To find the beauty in a pleasant voyage. The kindness of Mother Nature. That is what propels some to go down to the sea in ships, only to learn all the moods of Nature.

I'm struck by the notion that Grandfather's journal is largely about the social interactions they encounter on shore. Less about the voyage itself. More about the kindness of the people they meet.

Several posts back, Grandfather enjoys a highball with the immigration man, who now finds his papers irregular until they are presented below a Mexican letterhead.

Now the Port Captain turns out to be a pleasant fellow.

It will be very interesting indeed to see how the irregular documentation is greeted by the port captains down the coast, and what ‘skipper’ thinks about it.