AGUA VERDE, Mexico JUNE 30, 1997

   We had a fun three weeks in La Paz. The town is pretty and still somewhat old world, although it has grown about 10 times the size of the La Paz I visited 13 years ago. There seems to be a high concentration of British and Aussie expatriates living here both aboard yachts and ashore. La Paz is the current capitol of Baja California Sur. Loreto was the original capitol, but when a major storm washed away the road into Loreto in the late 1800’s, the state capitol was moved to La Paz.

   Every morning at 8:00am the cruising community, and some of the land based community, meets via VHF radio to check in and listen to weather, current and tide reports as well as seek and give advice on just about everything. Then the net opens up for trading goods and services (trading is just a euphemism as selling or working for money is illegal in Mexico without proper visas). It is somewhat interesting and fun, although for many of the participants this seems to be the whole of their lives. By checking in with the radio net the first day and announcing that we had two children aboard, we were able to meet several other cruising families with young children. Each morning the cruising families dealt with their respective home schooling and then spent afternoons together letting the kids play at the marina’s dinghy dock which is impacted with small

   Immediately after my last email message, my Toshiba notebook computer crashed. I suppose I shouldn’t really imply that it was the computer’s fault. For several weeks the shift keys would cause a series of spurious key strokes to occur such as invoking help screens and deleting desktop icons. I found that a sharp smack on the side of the computer would temporarily remedy this symptom. As I was preparing another email I became frustrated at the frequency with which I had to smack the computer and smacked it a little too hard. The screen changed to a rainbow of color and then went blank, never to return. This was a serious problem as all my ships documentation needed to clear in to and out of ports (crew lists, itineraries, etc.) were contained here. I spent my days hiking around La Paz looking for a shop that could repair my notebook or at least ship it out for repair. We could always stop by La Paz in a few months on our way back south to pick it up. The first shop was a networking shop. They had a large lab in the back room and were running a pretty decent operation. When I explained my problem to the man summoned to help me, he ran back into the lab and talked to the tech. He returned and told me they could do it and asked me to bring it in. After I pulled it from my backpack and asked if he was sure they could fix a laptop, he ran back to the tech. He returned looking a little apologetic and told me they could not fix laptops. He did send me to another shop that he assured me could.

   Of course that shop is across town in the 100 degree midday heat and took a beer to get there and another one to get back. This new shop assured me that they fix notebooks all the time and could fix mine. I was given a receipt for the computer and then it was whisked away to another building down a dirt road. At that point I was afraid I had made a mistake and that my computer would be returned in worse shape or even get ‘lost.’ Telephone communication seemed to be unreliable and I was asked to come back in a couple of days. I returned that Monday and was told that had not yet been able to determine the problem and the tech was at the government office. I should come back in 3 hours. I found the building where the lab was and looked in the window. I saw the tech inside on the telephone. He grinned and waved me in. We talked about the keyboard symptoms and how I had solved them. He explained what he had tried. He said that the next step was to get the multimeter and check the video and keyboard circuits. I felt a little better. The tech told me to return at 3:00pm the next day.

   At 3:00pm the next day after walking across town again, the tech was nowhere to be found and the office manager said everybody was at lunch. I told him that the tech had asked me to return at this time but he just shrugged. I asked for my computer to be returned and told him it was in the building he was just locking up. He told me that he could not return it himself as it was the tech’s responsibility. I was to return the next day. The next morning I returned and went straight to the tech lab. The tech said he was unable to determine the problem and wanted his father to look at it because "he has more experience in these matters." I reclaimed my computer and hiked back to the dinghy dock (another beer). I was pretty sure that it was a connection problem just based on my abuse, so I sat down at the salon table and took the entire notebook apart. I cleaned all the ribbon cables and contacts and reseated everything. I disassembled the LCD screen, checked for power and rewired it. I put it all back together and pressed the button. Viola! I’m back on the air. Electronics, the marine environment and my inherent lack of tolerance probably are not an ideal combination.

   In between all of this, we found time to swim at the pool at the other marina in town and play on the beach, go to pot luck dinners and explore the town. La Paz is more expensive than Ensenada and we found that we were spoiled. We would walk down the street looking for a place to eat or drink a beer and found ourselves looking for a place that was just a few pesos cheaper. A twelve peso beer enraged us and a six peso beer was a deal. Of course the difference was about 75 cents. Yachties have a reputation of being cheap. We spent a lot of evenings in town at the ice cream shop. Ice cream seemed cheap at any price.

   We traveled to all the markets, tortillarillas and hardware stores. We found that the Americans always shopped at the supermarket called CCC. It had grossly inflated prices and dairy products from Swiss Dairy in Riverside, California. We found that we much preferred the smaller markets and fruterias. One of the families had a car in town, so Cyndee and several others all piled in and went on a provisioning trip through town.

   The La Paz anchorage is not for the light of heart. A tidal current travels in and out of the bay at speeds of 3 to 4 knots. The wind blows 15 to 20 knots, often against or across the current. In addition, there are lots of sub currents and eddies in various spots. The net effect is that two boats anchored seemingly well away from each other can suddenly find themselves heading bow to bow at 2 to 3 knots. The locals refer to this effect as The La Paz Waltz. We saw this happen on several occasions. Many people did not put down enough anchor chain to handle the current and wind. Occasionally they would drag. When our friends Mike and Beth Vogel who are cruising with their 7 year old son Josh told a neighboring powerboat skipper that they had noticed he was dragging, the skipper of the powerboat became enraged and said that 3 other sailboaters had told him the same thing. "You sailboaters don’t know what you’re doing!"

   A couple of days before we were to leave La Paz, a 30 foot sailboat from San Francisco anchored next to us. After the skipper paddled his kayak into town, the boat swung close enough to us that we were on the rail with fenders preparing to push him away. A half an hour later, the tide had changed and our two sailboats appeared to be far away from each other. When we saw the skipper the next day, we told him about the incident and he assured us he would shift his anchor at once. He didn’t. The next night, while he was ashore, our boats bumped. We ran out on deck and fended him off 3 more times. It sure was exciting to see his bow coming at us at 3 knots and then stop just 4 feet away so the boat would swing up next to us. We would hold out the fenders, grab the rail and hold him off us. After the third time we had a moment to pick up our anchor and shift to a different berth. Maybe the dragging powerboater was right.

   Friday we began the Cha Cha to check out of La Paz. One of our Mexican cruising guidebooks had blank forms for crew lists and itineraries. Since the computer was still on the fritz, we hiked to the copy shop and made multiple copies of each. I then filled out all the information and made multiple copies of the completed document. We hiked back to Migracion arriving at 11:45am to get our new papers stamped. We were told that the official was not there to stamp our papers. Come back at 3:00pm. Of course the Migracion office closes at 3:00pm. I’ve been through this before. I explained that I had to go to the Port Captain with the stamped papers from the Migracion office and they close 2:30pm. The girl at the counter couldn’t help, so she went to the boss in the back office. The boss was a woman brought in to the Migracion office to correct abuses that had apparently been going on with the immigration visas. El Jefe (La Jefe?) had quite a reputation among the immigrant community as a hard ass. She had been known to take valid 180 day visas and tear them up in front of the unfortunate visa holder, announcing that the visa was no good.

   I tried to explain to her that if we waited for this one official, the Port Captain office would be closed and I would not be able to clear out. She said I could pay overtime to the Port Captain. Naturally my response to that was not good. I told her I wasn’t going to pay anybody overtime as I was in the right office during posted working hours (I pointed to the sign on the door) and I expected them to be working. She just shrugged. I asked where the official was and said I’d take the papers to him. "We don’t know. He’s on a ship." The only ships in La Paz were from the Mexican Navy and I seriously doubted that they did much business with immigration. I refused to leave and demanded to know who her boss was.

   "He’s in Mexico City."

   "Write down his telephone number. I’ll call him at my expense."

   "I don’t know it."

   At this point ‘La Jefe’ scurried back to her office and closed her blinds. Apparently my blustering approach can be beaten. I still wouldn’t leave. Another yachtie came in to clear out and was given the same story. He gave up and was going to leave. Just then a friend of ours whom I had met when clearing out of Ensenada came in. He was the professional skipper for the local Moorings yacht charter office. He wanted to clear out to take a charter for a sail. I told him what was happening and he went to the girl at the counter. Same story, but just then ‘La Jefe’ ran out of her office and practically tripped over herself to assure Steve that they would take care of it. The front desk woman was sent out in a car. In 5 minutes she was back with the official in tow. I guess he was not on a ship and they did know where he was. Now they have an office full of angry yachties. We all got our papers stamped, but "La Jefe" made a point of explaining to me that this was not the regular official and she had him brought just for me. Of course this was the same official with whom I had cleared in 3 weeks before. I just smiled and left. It must be tough to be a woman of authority in a Latin American country. If I have to check back into La Paz, I’ll wear sunglasses and a fake nose…

   We had made arrangements to take fuel and water at the marina fuel dock the next morning (Saturday). The docks were to have the power shut off at 12:00pm and the fuel dock and marina office would close for the rest of the day and Sunday. The marina allows boats to tie up to the fuel dock for free from closing Saturday until opening Monday morning. We were the last boat scheduled for fuel so we could stay on the dock to fill the water tanks, wash the boat and spend the night tied to the dock. As our appointed time neared, we began to haul up our anchor. It soon became apparent that we were fouled on something. Fortunately we had installed a mammoth manual windlass, so I just kept cranking away. Eventually, after winching the anchor to the surface (and the bow of the boat almost to the surface), we saw that we had hooked an old mooring chain with links about 5" long. By tying a line to the crown of the anchor, then dropping the anchor again, we dumped the mooring chain and were free. Of course this took much longer to accomplish than to describe and we almost missed our fuel appointment. After a thoroughly decadent display of freshwater washing, scrubbing, rinsing and filling we were ready to sail for Agua Verde about 70miles north.

   Sunday afternoon at about 3:00pm we headed out the La Paz channel in a 15 knot breeze. As soon as we cleared the channel and settled down for a sail the breeze died. We were still making about 2 knots just on the ebb tide alone and decided to wait it out. Cyndee pointed out that when the tide changed, we’d be heading back into La Paz. A couple hours later we picked up some wind and began to sail again. At dusk we had the anchorages along the coast of Isla Partida abeam, but as the wind was building we decided to keep sailing for Agua Verde. The wind took us outside the chain of small islands just west of La Paz. At 9:00pm the wind died so suddenly that it felt as if someone had just shut it off with a switch. 30 minutes later, just as suddenly the switch was turned back on with the wind from just the right direction so we altered course to head straight up the coast, set the self steering and charged off at 7.5 knots. The wind and seas built up quite a bit and Cyndee began to feel sea sick. Maybe it was that chorizo and pepper dinner… The full moon finally rose at about 10:30pm and we watched a swordfish dance across the water on his tail. Of course the dolphins and porpoises that visit at night didn’t fail us. Cyndee was asleep in the cockpit, but a couple of large seas broke over the side and landed squarely on her. She didn’t sleep much more.

   Monday morning at about 9:00am the wind became very light. I had been reading a book by a couple that had spent the last 20 years sailing all over the globe. They only used their engine in emergencies and lightly ridiculed those sailors they had met who would fire up the diesel the minute the air got light. I would really feel like and ass for starting the engine now, so I insisted we sail even at our measly 1 to 2 knots. Of course, in order to keep the boat moving, we would have to head farther out to sea, but eventually we would be able to tack back and close on Agua Verde. We still had 10 hours to make the last 25 miles before dark.

   At about 12:30pm we were way outside the normal route cruisers take up and down the east coast of Baja. We dug out our fishing equipment for the first time since leaving Ensenada. Cyndee is the fisherman on board so she put the pole together, found the lure she wanted, tied it on, tossed it over the side and began to dream of the Dorado she was going to catch. I suggested a beer. I was thinking we could change course to head in for Agua Verde when Cyndee saw something strange off the port bow. A bunch of pelicans standing on top of each other? A couple of Jet Ski’s 25 miles out to sea? When we got closer we could see two men floating on a makeshift raft of flotsam and a plastic tarp. As we stared at them, a we saw a third man in the water. The third man finally held up an empty 1 gallon water jug and waved it back and forth. OK, something was wrong. When we sailed close enough to hear, one of the men yelled that they had been drifting for 3 days.

   Their raft consisted of a large white plastic tarp draped over about 8 large rectangular shapes floating in the water. One man was lying in the middle while another was trying to hold the whole thing together. The third man was floating nearby. Our minds racing, the square shapes looked to us suspiciously like bales. We had been told that the primary form of commerce in the Sea of Cortez was narcotics trafficking. Cyndee told me she was scared and I confessed that I was too. Cyndee yelled, "What are you floating on?" They didn’t answer. They must not have understood. What could we do? These men were obviously in trouble and we couldn’t just leave them there to die. We had to take them on board.

   We sailed up to the man in the water and threw over a line. He grabbed on and clung to it for his life. He was took weak to climb aboard, so we managed to drag him up over the stern rail and into the cockpit. We came back around for our second pass when I realized that we were still under sail only! There was no need to show off seamanship by performing a man overboard rescue under sail so, kicking myself for not thinking of it sooner, I started the engine. I motored up to the raft and the man lying down managed to jump into the water next to us. He was a lot bigger than the first, but he was a little stronger too. We tried to help him on board, but we weren’t making any progress. Finally Cyndee grabbed him by the pants and pulled. That got him far enough up he could get a leg over the rail. Cyndee gave another pull and thud, he was aboard. The third man seemed to be in better shape. I motored right up to him and with a little help he was able to climb in right from the raft. Once safely aboard, he slapped a high five with Cyndee, shook my hand and grinning, turned to their makeshift raft and blew it a kiss of thanks with both hands. Cyndee asked again what they were floating on. The said/motioned that they were floats from their nets. Francisco had tried to gather them all together when they sunk. They were pretty big floats. When we had them all in the cockpit and made sure there were no others, we turned the boat around and headed for Agua Verde at full power.

   As soon as we had begun to haul the first survivor on board, our fear disappeared. These guys were badly sunburned and terrified. As soon as all three were settled and we were headed for port, we got towels to cover their sunburns and gave them cool water to drink. We warned them to go slowly with the water at first so they could keep it down and they seemed to understand. Between their small amount of English and our horrible Spanish, they were able to tell us their story.

   The first man we picked up was Antonio. He was about 50 years old and pretty ill. He was dressed in a torn long sleeve button down shirt and only his boxer shorts. The tops of his feet were pretty sunburned. The next we had taken aboard was Alvarro. He was about 40 and seemed to be healthier, but pretty tired and dehydrated. He wore a black denim jacket and white pants. The third man was Francisco. He was about 30 and seemed to have weathered the last three days the best. None of them had shoes. Francisco seemed to be in charge. He had clearly waited to make sure the others were safe before he came aboard. When we introduced our kids, Christina and Chaz, Francisco dug out a soaking wallet with only two pictures and an identification card. He showed us a picture of a little girl and explained that his daughter was Christina also. The others had nothing left because everything pulled them down in the water. They were ponga fishermen originally from Mazatlan (A ponga is a fiberglass 18 foot open boat powered by a large, often huge and oversized, outboard motor. They often carry multiple 25 gallon gas jugs to extend their range. We have seen hundreds of these along Baja as they are the primary form of fishing boat in the Sea. In fact, the couple who built all of these pongas and revolutionized fishing in Baja had received our forwarded mail in La Paz for us.) They had been heading up the coast of the mainland from Mazatlan, selling their catch to local markets along the way. At night they would camp on the beach. When they got far enough north, they began to cross the Sea of Cortez. They had been chasing fish when they turned too fast and tight and swamped their boat with their own wake. It sunk almost immediately. They had been drifting for three days without food or water on the tarp and fishing net float raft when we found them. The water jug they had been carrying was filled with gasoline and water. They had been trying to drink this to stay alive. Every time Francisco and Alvarro took a sip, Antonio took two. This was probably why he was so ill. Francisco explained that at night while the others tried to sleep, he kept watch for boats. At one time he saw a lighthouse that flashed 3 times each revolution. He had tried to swim to it while towing the raft and his friends. I identified the lighthouse with the chart as Isla Catalina about 10 miles north. It could be seen for 24 miles at night. He could have been trying to swim 24 miles! His arms were pretty sore… During the last night, they were surrounded by breathing animals they thought were whales and were afraid they would be eaten.

   We were still about 5 hours out, so we made our new crew as comfortable as possible and continued to feed them water. When we thought they were keeping the water down, Cyndee fed them some light crackers. Francisco and Alvarro were already showing signs of improvement, but Antonio only nibbled at one cracker. We found some shade for him behind the mainsail and he tried to sleep. Cyndee cooked up some chicken broth and noodles, but Antonio couldn’t even keep some diluted clear broth down and tried to sleep some more.

   When motoring in light air, the wind vane self steering does not work because the speed of the boat creates an apparent wind that is always from the bow of the boat, so we use the electric autopilot to steer a constant compass course. Fernando was very eager to help with anything on board, so while I set up the autopilot, he offered to steer. I explained what our heading was, but as soon as he took the helm, we began to steer in a circle. After a little discussion, it became apparent that Francisco didn’t know how to steer by a compass. Odd for a professional fisherman, but pongas don’t carry any compass at all. With a little training though, we were back on course. With the autopilot set up, I headed below to do some chart work to plot our position and course. Francisco leapt to the wheel, but Alvarro stopped him, pointing to the autopilot. All three of our passengers spent the next 15 minutes grinning with amazement while they watched the autopilot turn the wheel a little this way, then a little that to steer the boat.

   We generally plot our position on our charts every hour or so, or when we have a major course change or event. I plotted the position at which we picked up the survivors and continued to plot our course into Agua Verde. Since our guests didn’t seem to know where they were, I brought out our charts and tried to explain it to them. They seemed to think they were close to Bahia Los Angeles, but that was 150 miles north. I showed them the light that Francisco had been swimming for and pointed to the island on the horizon. Finally they understood where they were. Francisco said they had friends in Loreto, about 14 miles up the road from Agua Verde.

   When we were about an hour and a half out, I called to any vessel in Agua Verde on the VHF radio. We weren’t quite close enough for a really clear signal, but I did explain our situation to another vessel and asked them to arrange for medical help. They would call me back when they had some information. A little later we were hailed by Emerald Star. Emerald Star is a Cabo Rico 38 with our friends Dick and Saucy aboard. We had been a few slips away in the same marina for 2 ½ years before they left for Mexico last November. They had left La Paz about a week before we did. Dick explained that there was no telephone, but there was a 2 meter radio in Agua Verde. The Red Cross had been contacted as well as a marina operator in Loreto. For some reason, there was no way to transport the survivors by road, so the police had arranged for another ponga to pick them up when we got in and take them to a hospital in Loreto. We were relieved that arrangements had been made because we really didn’t want to put these people on the beach with no means of communication or transportation and no care.

   We anchored in Agua Verde at 5:30pm. We recognized several other boats in the anchorage including our friends Mike, Beth and Josh Vogel aboard Zugvogel. We had not been told how to contact whomever was going to pick up our passengers, so we hoped we would be recognized. Cyndee called the Red Cross on the VHF and got a response. Arrangements were not as advertised. The Red Cross contact didn’t seem to understand the situation. We explained that we had picked these people up at sea and they needed medical attention. We were asked to drive them to Loreto. I finally made it clear in small words that we were on a boat and boats do not drive well on dirt roads. A ponga was now approaching so I explained this to the Red Cross contact who seemed to be relieved to be let off the hook for any responsibility and went topside. We all shook hands and hugged. Antonio told us with tears in his eyes ‘God has touched your heart.’ We wished them well and watched the ponga driver carry them the 300 feet to the beach.

   The crew of Zugvogel came by that evening to welcome us to the anchorage and hear our story. We enjoyed a beautiful evening in the cockpit drinking cheap Mexican jug wine. We went to bed that night happy that we had done a good deed, secure in the knowledge that our fears of narcotics traffickers were unfounded and glad that the ordeal was over.

   The next morning a banging on the hull awakened us. I stuck my head out the companionway hatch to see a ponga filled with 6 machine gun toting Federal Police, Marines and fisherman Francisco alongside.

Jim, Cyndee, Christina and Chaz Crosby

END OF TRAVELS OF TOUCAN PART 2