November 2018 – April 2022
Written by Bruce & Alene in French Polynesia — October & November 2022

Primero y lo más importante, queremos darle nuestro más sincero agradecimiento a la gente y al gobierno de México por su calorosa hospitalidad y amabilidad durante los años de Covid.

First and most importantly, we want to give our heartfelt thanks to the people and government of Mexico for their warm welcome and kindness during the years of Covid.

Mexico by the Numbers

Wow, what a ride. México was a fiesta and a siesta. Mexico was hot desert, cold mountains. Mexico was teeming cities, isolated islands. Empty resorts to busy hotels. Long-term guests to months alone. Boogie boarding on abandoned beaches, soaring with giant mantas. Mexico had so many faces during our 3 years there. But always we were met with friendliness and kindness… even during the worst months of Covid.  How to measure our time in Mexico? Well, the best way to measure anything is to start with the numbers:

4 months we planned to stay in Mexico
41 months we actually were in Mexico
17 nautical miles sailed toward French Polynesia in 2019 before we turned back

We left California on 22 November 2018 expecting to spend 4 months in Mexico before heading to French Polynesia. How appropriate that it was Thanksgiving Day; we ended up having much to be thankful for during our time in Mexico. We say our lives are normally ruled by hurricane seasons and visas expirations. But 2019 to 2022 were not normal years. The reason is obvious for 2020 and 2021.

Why 2019?

We decided to let giant fish rule our lives. Here’s what we wrote to our families on the 5^th of May 2019:

Hi Everyone,

We left the Mexican mainland 3 weeks ago and arrived at San Benedicto Island in the Revillagigedos 3 days later. Since then, we have had some of the most amazing diving experiences of our lives. The Revillagigedos are known for their resident population of giant manta rays who happen to be very social and seem to enjoy being around humans. And it’s true! Over a one-week period at San Benedicto Island, we dove once or twice a day… each time with one, two, or three mantas who glided by so close we could have reached out and touched them. These are big mantas – some are 18 feet from wingtip to wingtip. 

Besides mantas, we also found turtles, plenty of sharks, lots of fish, and… dolphins!  Very playful dolphins that seemed to enjoy showing off their hunting techniques and swimming around us. Often there were whales outside the anchorage. Though we didn’t scuba dive with them, at Socorro Island we were able to snorkel with a mother humpback and her calf. It was awesome.

But the seasons are changing and it was time to get going on our 2,500 nautical mile voyage to the Marquesas. We left today at around noon, both of us excited about the passage and feeling that Migration was in good shape and certainly very well-provisioned. We headed southwest in a nice breeze. It was fine sailing. As we finished our late lunch on deck, I (BB) mentioned that I was sad we were leaving the Revillagigedos as we probably would never dive here again. I said I could almost stay in Mexico another year so we could come back. I’d mentioned this several times yesterday but Alene didn’t think I was serious. But now, upon realizing that I had meant it, it opened up a possibility she hadn’t really considered.  We discussed it for over an hour as we continued on our course for the Marquesas. We talked about the pros and cons. Made a list. Rated each pro and con. Added up the totals. Flipped a coin. Talked some more. And finally, turned the wheel and headed back north!

So tonight we are back at Socorro Island. We’ll stay a few more days here before heading to the mainland, then work our way north into the Gulf of California where we will spend the summer (the same place we spent our first summer together in 2006).  Early in 2020 we will return to the Revillagigedos and then, sometime in April, start off again for the Marquesas.

That is, unless we change our plans again…

Love to all,
BB & ADR
5 May 2019

And thus, we spun the wheel and turned around. We told ourselves we’d go to the Marquesas in 2020. But the world, as you know, had other plans.

5 trips to the Islas Revillagigedo
31 days sailing to or from the Islas Revillagigedo
18 weeks diving with giant oceanic mantas at the Islas Revillagigedo

Our visit to the Islas Revillagigedo changed our lives.

It’s true. No other place we have visited has changed our plans, focus, and level of happiness more than the Revillas.  The islands captured us and forced us to change course — to become different people.

We spent the majority of our time at Isla San Benedicto. This island’s stark volcanic beauty – it erupted in 1953 and is still mostly covered in ash — sits in intense juxtaposition to what lies beneath the sea at its feet. Much larger Isla Socorro is covered with vegetation and offers painted cliffs and striking vistas when anchored beneath its 1,150 meter (3,770 ft) volcanic peak.

But it is our time underwater at the Revillas that affected us most profoundly. Snorkeling and diving with magnificent sea creatures: whales, sharks, turtles, dolphins – but most especially our interactions with giant oceanic manta rays with 6 meter (20’) wing spans – is the reason we aborted our 2019 voyage to French Polynesia so we could do it again, and again, and again.

The Parque Nacional Revillagigedo was created by the Mexican government in 2017. It is the largest marine protected area in North America covering over 150,000 square kilometers (57,000 square miles). The national park was created to protect the unique species of the area by stopping the Mexican fishermen and foreign poachers from decimating the fish populations as well as killing sharks and mantas. Though Mexico does not have the necessary resources to patrol the entire area, the park designation has helped. The Mexican Navy’s presence on Islas Socorro and Clarion, the development of a tourism industry for divers, and the occasional visit from cruising sailboats, help to keep the poachers away… at least from the waters near the islands.

As I write this, over three and half years after our first visit to the Revillas in April 2019, we are still in awe of what we experienced there. Imagine you are hiking in a forest, come across a clearing, and sit down on a log to rest. Suddenly, out of the trees walks a full-grown bull moose. It is a wild animal that weighs almost 3/4 of a ton. Instead of attacking (you are intruding in its territory), or running away, it ambles over, lowers its head and clearly wants you to scratch it under the chin. After 30 or 40 minutes of scratching & silent communion, it strolls back into the trees leaving you with your mouth agape and wondering if that really did happen.

Replace the forest with the clear blue waters of the Revillas, the moose with a manta ray that weighs twice as much as the moose (nearly 2 tons!), and maybe this communicates a small sense of the astonishment of diving in this extraordinary locale. Though there were plenty of dives when we spotted no mantas, we had dozens of dives with giant rays that clearly sought us out (they can hear our exhalation bubbles) and swam with us just to be near us. Their big black eyes stared right into ours as they glided by majestically with hardly a movement of their great wings, often circling around us and back again for more time together. They were truly awesome in their beauty, and we were honored and astounded by their choice to socially interact with us.

It wasn’t just mantas that we saw while diving and snorkeling; we regularly had six different species of sharks in the water with us (tiger, hammerhead, Galapagos, silky, white tip, & silver tip), plus dolphins, turtles and the thousands of beautiful fish who seem to get ignored because of the presence of the larger, more charismatic species. Though we saw many whales on the surface, only once did one pass by when we were scuba diving… that was a very memorable dive!

We are at a loss for words that can do justice to this remarkable part of the world. The best we can do is try to share a little of the experience with our photos and videos.

Sharks

Happy divers

says ADR: Swivel-head Dives in the Revs (and Tiger Sharks!)

23 April 2019

Another awesome morning dive at the Pinnacle. We opted to go in the water later (0800) for better light, but still a very nice dive with one dolphin, mantas, & sharks. We’re grateful that the dive boat told us the best time to dive that area. And I don’t mind getting up early if it means diving with dolphins!

As we swam away from the boat (on the surface), BB was navigating us to the pinnacle with the compass, so didn’t see the manta that was swimming along underneath, about 30’ down. I began going in the wrong direction, trying to get a photo of the manta, & he called me back on track. It’s easy to get distracted by these beautiful mantas! He navigated us right to the pinnacle, & we hung around it for a while, but there were no dolphins — until suddenly there was one. I was pleased I had brought the camera for this dive, & I had set my computer for a 48’ alarm so that I wouldn’t exceed the 50’ depth restriction of the camera. When there are dolphins, it isn’t a hardship to stay above 50’ though, as the dolphins zoom all over the place, usually between 10 – 50’.

When the dolphin swam out of sight, I busied myself looking for octopus or taking photos of the fishes that we rarely give a second glance because there’s too much other amazing stuff to see. I also took a bunch of pics of BB in the beautiful clear blue water. Then a manta came by a couple of times. Then there was a hammerhead shark. Then another shark came quite close to BB. That’s always exciting. So all in all, a very satisfying morning dive.

We had about 2000 psi left after yesterday’s dive which we used for the today’s morning dive, then used a full tank for the afternoon dive. We’ve been doing really well conserving air, & often have enough for 2 dives on a tank.

We used the portable depth sounder to find a place to anchor to dive the Canyon in the afternoon. There were 2 dive boats out there, & when we asked where we could find the Canyon, one guy led us to the spot. We dropped the dinghy anchor & it held.

We descended to about 70’ (BB went to 85’ to move the anchor from rock to sand) & then we swam around a nice rock formation for about 15 mins. before a really big manta appeared. He swam right above us, clearly trying to get our bubbles to hit his underside. The first time he didn’t linger, but he came back & back again, more than a dozen times, & each time, he hovered right above us for longer & longer, enjoying the sensation of the bubbles tickling his belly. A couple of times we purged our regs to make more bubbles, but Jake on Socorro Vortex said they don’t like that as much — it’s too many bubbles. 

At one point, the manta came so close to us that BB’s head was almost hitting the manta’s underside. It was like having a spaceship hover above us, with the strange silhouette of the furled cephalic fins (the horns) creating such an odd outline. It’s clear that these mantas, as we’ve heard, really do enjoy hanging out with divers. This one clearly heard our bubbles, & came to us.

Now here’s the totally amazing part (as if it wasn’t already…!) Disclaimer: Don’t read this while eating… 

On the third pass, just after going over us, the manta pooped! Oh, yes. There’s no doubt that’s what it was. A huge brown cloud of sandy detritus was suddenly expelled, then further bits followed. And I was close enough to see that the manta’s large intestine (colon, rectum?) actually came a couple of feet out of its body to expel the matter. I could see the anus at the end of the colon contract with each expulsion. I can’t believe I actually saw this — the dive master who filled our tanks after that dive, who has been diving here for years, has never seen it. Each time we ascend, we just keep saying “wow!”, wow!!, WOW!!!” & shouting with elation at the spectacularity of it all. (We later emailed a top manta researcher whose work we have been supporting for many years and asked about this. She told us it is called an “intestinal inversion”; a rarely seen behavior mantas perform to clear out parasites.)

We also saw a couple of small sharks on this dive, but, as is so often the case here, the highlight was the manta encounter.

It probably sounds like we’re spending every waking minute diving, but we’ve only done 2 dives a day at the most, & on Easter, we didn’t dive at all. Just relaxed & colored eggs.

But between dives, there is still plenty to see. There is usually a silky shark or two & some jacks hanging out under Migration, & each time we throw food overboard (peelings, etc.) the sharks & jacks come to investigate. And at night, if we shine our strong spotlight into the water, the fish & sharks come to see what’s going on, & we get a good show — sometimes as many as half a dozen sharks. The silkies swim like sharks in the movies: with their dorsal fin out of the water. We rarely see that except when reef sharks are in very shallow water. 

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Also, we spend a lot of time outside (eating, studying French, sewing or other projects), & we always have binocs handy. We often see humpbacks, pilot whales, & schools of dolphins just outside the anchorage. The birds usually tell us where we’ll find the action: booby birds of all sorts, including nazca boobies (my personal favorite), frigates, & terns.

At night, the hunting begins. We constantly hear splashing & thumps on the hull from fish being chased. Last night I had to rescue a big needle fish that landed in Plover! We also hear the dolphins coming up to breathe every night around the boat.

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And the cinder cone keeps us busy cleaning up ash. The wind blows the ash everywhere, & when we return from a dive, we make a mud bath of the deck. All flat surfaces are covered with grit, even just after I clean them. But it’s totally worth it for the spectacular view we get to enjoy.

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3 April 2021

We all dove together at Cabo Pearce after carefully placing the anchors of our four dinghies on the rocky portion of the reef. We were in the water by 0830, but we’ll have to dive earlier tomorrow because the dolphins that were on the surface when we arrived were gone by the time we got our gear on & began our dive.

This dive is pretty advanced: current flows over a very tall, narrow reef creating considerable surge & current that swirls around & changes constantly, so we all needed to be very aware. We held onto our anchor lines while descending to ensure we didn’t get swept away, but once we were behind the reef wall, the current abated somewhat, so we were able to stay in place without too much effort. I hovered at about 70’ for a long time scanning for the mantas who ply that area, but the only pelagic sightings were sharks, both hammerheads & white tips. There were lots of pretty fish flitting about on the reef, & since we needed to stay close to the reef to keep out of the current, I spent a long time studying the reef at close range. 

BB found a nudibranch, which is always appropriate around Easter, since looking for them is like an Easter egg hunt, particularly since they are usually very colorful!

After about 40 minutes & no mantas, we began our ascent & hung above the reef at about 50’.

Wait, what’s that? A flash of white!

I couldn’t believe it, but yes, an octopus, right out in the open! She was stretched over a head of coral, & when she moved, the webbing between her tentacles flashed white, then returned to a brownish-purple. I approached slowly. She stayed in place, watching my approach with those alien-like horizontal pupils. I had motioned to BB, making the universal hand signal for octopus, & pointed her out, for once not needing to point into the abyss of some crack or hole where he cannot distinguish much.

She moved a bit further from us, wary. But she did not hide. She remained in the open, watching us carefully. I extended a hand. She moved away a bit, but again, stayed out in the open, on top of the rocks. I tried once more – this time she did not move away, but I did not force my hand; I only hoped she might meet me halfway. She was still wary & did not extend a tentacle, but she was clearly curious. After about ten minutes of communing she did find a crack & squeeze into it, disappearing from view. 

I scanned for mantas (as always, when I’m not focused on an octopus) as we ascended another 10′. I swam around looking for the octopus, not really thinking I’d see her…

But there she was, back out in the open! 

Conveniently for us, she had moved to a spot higher on the reef which corresponded with our ascent. So again, we watched each other warily, but with considerable curiosity on both sides. I was able to get much closer with my hand, but by this time all our friends were in their boats & we had been underwater over an hour. We  knew that our friends waiting topside might be getting concerned, so we said adieu to the octopus, taking careful note of her location for future dives.

Woo-hoo! That’s our best octopus encounter while scuba diving ever. Whenever we find an octopus while snorkeling, I get frustrated at having to surface for air, so this was a real privilege to be able to just hang out & observe her color changes, & the changes in the texture of her skin. Simply fascinating.

I hope we can find her again….

After our phenomenal octopus encounter during the morning dive, I invited all the girls for a snorkel in the afternoon. Sarah & Anna joined me for an excursion snorkeling on the wall & off the point. They haven’t done much snorkeling in surf zones, so it was fun sharing with them the joy of swimming through the bubbles (like the mantas do!) for the tickling sensation & the feeling of flying through upside-down clouds. Watching surf crash underwater when you can be safe from it is truly beautiful. There were lots of pretty fish, the water was clear, & it was a nice outing with just the girls.

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26 April 2021

We had a mind-blowing dive at Cabo Pearce today. 

We tended the dinghy at the surface while Ashley and Paul dived. After we picked them up we got in the water. 

We swam out along the reef to where there is a shark counter float at about 70′. The reef was pretty, but there wasn’t much activity, so we swam back against the current toward the landward end of the reef. We were headed for the Temple of Tallness (our moniker), which, we now realize, does not reach the surface as we previously thought, but is a tall pinnacle. We had learned from the other trimaran that it is a cleaning station for mantas, & sure enough, there was one manta being cleaned there. We watched the manta for a while, but did not move close. Then another came. Then another. At one point, we had four mantas in view all at the same time!

Definitely a swivel-head dive.

It was awesome to watch the continuous action. Ten or fifteen of the Clarion angelfish (the cleaner fish here) would swim out to meet the manta and go to work cleaning. The manta would hover, or sometimes swim slowly, & occasionally stop and slip backwards and down while being cleaned. 

Some mantas were completely absorbed in their spa experience while others were clearly curious about us. If they were into the spa treatment, we left them alone until they chose to come visit us. One chevron manta did over a dozen tight circles right around both of us right at eye level. Looking, looking – eye to eye. 

Once, when a manta passed close by us with a lot of cleaner fish, some of the Clarions defected & came to clean us! They bit at the zippers on the sleeves & legs of my wetsuit — I suppose, to a cleaner fish, those are the areas that would harbor parasites….

Because the mantas tended to stay more in one place than usual, we tried an experiment this dive:  We swam like a manta, flapping our arms slowly & gracefully like their wings, rolling our bodies from side to side & making banking turns as they do, & positioning ourselves for a belly-to-belly greeting when they came near. This brought some of the mantas closer than ever before — we definitely had their attention.

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At one point I was at 45′ & BB was at 35′. We were about 20 feet apart & I was just floating in the blue. One black manta swam in tight circles about 10′ above me for five straight minutes, getting cleaned by the Clarion angelfish on his back, & having his belly massaged by my bubbles, just as though he was getting a full-on spa treatment. This led to my naming the area Magic Manta Mountain Spa. The whole experience was so over-the-top — almost like an amusement park.

It was glorious, incredible, & wonderful. We kept putting our hands on our heads & shaking our heads in disbelief.

Then a hammerhead swam by. That was surprising. We still point out the hammerheads to each other since they are still rather rare; however, we usually don’t bother to acknowledge the small white tips because they are so numerous!

After the hammerhead sighting, more mantas arrived. Not just for cleaning but to hang out with us and glide right up and over us. We must’ve spent quality time with at least 4 different mantas, & saw at least six. It was hard to keep track!

Then I saw a tiger shark off in the distance, in the surging bubbles of the reef. I pointed it out, but it was just a silhouette, & BB didn’t see it.

The mantas were still all around us. All different sizes, both black & chevron, 8′ to 12′ wing spans.

Then the tiger shark re-appeared much closer to us. He did one slow circle, then disappeared into the blue.

BB was getting low on air so he signaled that he was beginning his ascent. We moved away from the reef and ascended to 20′ for our safety stop.

And there was the tiger shark again. It circled us a couple of times, then moved away.

We’ve had sharks pass by us before, but not circle.

A minute later it was back. Now we were a bit nervous.

We moved close together, trying to make ourselves appear as large as possible. We instinctively put our feet out in front of us, & reminded ourselves to remain calm while our hearts began beating faster (which they can sense). We did not take our eyes off the shark. He circled and then turned. While looking at us with those black eyes, he swam — slowly — directly toward us.

It was hard to tell how big he was because we were floating in the blue with nothing for comparison. But we later guessed he was probably 11-12’. However, with tigers, it’s not the length that is most noticeable; it’s the bulk. It’s a very stout shark.

We were both a bit frightened, but we knew it was partly because we’ve both just finished reading a book about sharks Paul had loaned us that was a compilation of accounts of horrific shark attacks with grisly photos. 

Also, at the beginning of that dive, BB’s knife holder was falling off of his BC, so we took it off & left it in the boat. My knife is much smaller, but we got it out anyway. However, the lanyard was so short that it would be of no use in this situation. Of all the times to not have the bigger knife….

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The tiger shark veered off when it was about 15’ away from us.

Then a manta came! But we didn’t pay any attention as we were still completely focused on the shark. I signaled to cut our safety stop short & BB agreed. We surfaced, & while I kept a lookout below, BB inflated our safety signal. Luckily Paul was pretty close and zoomed over. We got in the boat quickly — our hearts beating fast.

We were so elated from our time with the mantas and the adrenaline of the shark, & our heads were so full of the entire dive experience that we could barely speak coherent sentences.

We know that we really had nothing to be scared of. Despite all the divers in the water, there has never been a shark attack out here. The tiger shark was just curious. But we’ve never been the object of a tiger’s curiosity before, & feeling so defenseless out in the blue without a reef at our back, well… it definitely made us nervous. 

Our heads are still buzzing from that dive & every so often, one of us will blurt out, “can you believe it??” or “how amazing was that???” or “that was such an awesome dive!!!”.

BB’s poem for today:

APOLOGY TO A TIGER SHARK

I am sorry I was frightened of you.
I know there was no need,
but the book I just read,
the photos...
movies…
Well, you know, it all just adds up.

But, of course, you don’t know.
You are just doing your thing.
You are curious.
We were the objects of your curiosity.

It was rude of us to be so nervous
when all you were doing
was having an afternoon swim 
through your neighborhood.

Perhaps it was profiling.
Stereotyping.
Whatever we are guilty of

Please forgive us.

And next time we are in the sea with you...

Please don’t eat us.

REV-ELATION! How the Islas Revillagigedo Changed My Life

The news of the 2016 presidential election was easy to follow when we were in Japan. Except for our time in the Aleutians, the remoter parts of Alaska and British Columbia, and some of the spots in California’s Channel Islands, during the next 2 years we usually had a mobile signal… and therefore a connection to the all-powerful internet and the… no, not 24/7 news cycle, but the 86,400 seconds/day news cycle. Much of the world, and in particular, the United States, has become obsessed with news. And since news has become entertainment, news now means bad news. As Hans Rosling said in his book Factfulness, no one reports on the thousands of flights every day that don’t crash.

I was able to keep close track of the downward spiral of our country under the previous anti-environment, climate change-denying administration that turned lies into normal speak, and childish tweets into accepted behavior from the most prestigious office in our country.

It wasn’t until we sailed to the Revillagigedos in 2019, and I was without internet for an entire month, that I realized I had been sucked down the same hole the rest of the country had already set up camp in.

Very suddenly… I was happy again.

The realization bloomed out of my head like a pop-art scene from the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine. The world was beautiful and there was no need to remind myself every single day of the unkindness and despicable behavior of the president and half of our country’s voting population. It was still there, of course, and I was aware of it, but not drowning in the mountain of bad news, and the despair of the realization that so many of my fellow citizens approved of this miserable state of affairs. Being away from it allowed me to re-recognize the beauty of the natural world and experience happiness.

At the end of that month, I made a promise that when we again had access to the internet, I would only look at the news twice a week. Alene can vouch for the fact that I have kept my promise as she is often well-aware when Tuesdays and Fridays roll around; she senses my discontent, or rage, or despair.

So here’s a suggestion:

You try it. Turn off the news feed on your phone, tablet and computer. Only look at the news for a brief period two times a week. And for God’s sake, PLEASE, look at multiple sources of news. One of the reasons our county is in the fix we’re in is that people get their news from places that only reinforce their beliefs, never challenge them to look at an issue from another point of view, and play to their fears, bigotry, and hatreds. Social media platforms – Facebook in particular – are some of the worst offenders as they feed you what their powerful algorithms determine will keep you glued to the screen. However, television news and forwarded emails can be just as bad in narrowing your view.

Limit your news intake. Diversify your news sources.

It will make you happier. And it will do the country good as well.

I promise.

BB

P.S. I usually visit several of these websites on news day: BBC, Newsweek, NPR, USA Today, Reuters, Associated Press, New York Times, Al Jazeera, sometimes the Washington Post or The Guardian and, occasionally, when I’m feeling strong, Fox News.

Here is a respected, unbiased rating of the many popular news sources — check out where your news sources fall and decide if you are reading news that is fact or opinion.

Sailors: For another take on the internet and cruising, check out my October 2022 Cruising World article.

4 boatyard haulouts
8 months on the hard
6 months of boatyard work

In Japan in 2017 we hauled Migration and painted her bottom with Coppercoat; a more environmentally-friendly and longer-lasting antifouling coating than traditional bottom paints. It worked great until we got to the warmer waters of southern California and Mexico. And so began our arduous Coppercoat ordeal. One of the benefits of Coppercoat is that it is supposed to last for 10 years. We thought we would avoid hauling Migration for a long time because it’s often difficult to find a yard that will haul a boat so wide, but it was not to be. To be fair, we found several structural problems we needed to deal with, but each time we hauled, we continued our Coppercoat experiment. You can read more about it if you are interested.

Too much time in the boatyard. Too much time sanding. Too much time repairing. But, as we always say, better to find the problems now than out at sea. Thank goodness for the help of good friends with amazing boatbuilding skills: Russell Brown and Milton Sanders… we love you!

FOR SAILORS: Should you haul out at Astilleros Cabrales in Puerto Peñasco?

Astilleros Cabrales in Puerto Peñasco has received a lot of attention in recent years as they’ve pivoted toward servicing cruising boats and not just the local shrimp boat fleet.  However, though the yard is often represented as being a fantastic place, it may not be the paradise it is sometimes made out to be. I think it’s important to have all the information possible before choosing a location to haul your boat and this is my attempt to provide another perspective to help people make informed decisions.

Here are a few of the problems that existed at Cabrales when we hauled in 2019, some of which still exist today.

1. STEEL vs. FIBERGLASS AND WOOD: Cabrales has decades of experience hauling 100 ft. shrimpers, but they didn’t seem to understand the difference between those tough steel ships and cruising sailboats. Several boats we know were damaged while being hauled, launched, or moved. When our trimaran was moved to the storage yard, the lift driver began to release the slings before there were any supports on the outer hulls. Luckily the ground crew saw what was happening and stopped him before the boat fell on her side. Along those same lines, we nearly sustained extensive damage when we were launched. The driver had not lined the lift correctly over the ways so he began to tilt the boat sideways to make her fit. If we hadn’t demanded the driver stop — by shouting as loud as possible over the roar of the ancient travel lift — things would have turned disastrous. Even so, we sustained stress fractures in many areas. That said, they’ve hauled hundreds of boats since 2019 and one would assume they are better now than they were then. Nonetheless, if your boat is “non-standard” (like our trimaran), I would give careful consideration to their level of experience.
2. MISSING INFRASTRUCTURE: The infrastructure of the yard was not (and still is not) designed to support the number of boats and people who haul out there. One by one, the showers and toilets became inoperative. Power was often spotty. In later years there were burglaries, the yard was swamped with sewage, and simply finding a ladder to climb onto your boat was sometimes impossible. Even now (2022), over 3 years on, we just received an email from close friends saying “Resources like stairs, ladders and sawhorses are thin and the water/toilet situation is a problem at least once a week.” Given the hundreds of boats that have been through the yard over the last 4 years, it seems strange that so many of these problems still exist. Addressing them is clearly not a priority for the owners.
3. EMPTY PROMISES AND UNSKILLED LABOR: Though we try to do most of our boatwork ourselves, we really appreciate the benefit of local labor for jobs like sanding the bottom. Promises of available yard labor were often just that. Additionally, I would not hire the yard to do any skilled work… they don’t have the expertise. However, when we did get yard labor for sanding, the prices were very reasonable. We wouldn’t recommend going there expecting to have the yard do a lot of work for you, regardless of what is promised.

So why don’t you read much about these problems? For boats that plan to return, the last thing they should do is criticize the yard publicly; it’s a sure way to have a bad experience when you haul out again. But why return?

There are a number of reasons.  The prices are reasonable, it’s extremely convenient to the USA (for travel and parts), and you can do your own work. Some people may fall into the “devil you know…” syndrome. Also, many new cruisers are advised to go there and have never been to another yard in Mexico so may not know better. And it’s north of the hurricane zone. Lastly, the community of cruisers is very strong. People get together to help each other and hang out after a hard day in the yard. Having others to complain about the problems to, and who understand the complaints firsthand, goes a long way toward making boatyard life bearable.

Sailors also have short memories for the miserable part of sailing life. If we didn’t, we probably wouldn’t go back to sea after a bad storm. We let the wonderful experiences take precedence over the misery. That’s a great thing.

No yard is perfect, that’s for sure. And you can find horror stories about nearly every yard if you look hard enough. If you are a hands-on, DIY, boatyard person who needs little outside assistance or labor, Cabrales might be the place for you. Or if you just want to store you boat for the summer. A lot depends on your expectations. In my opinion, Cabrales still has a way to go to deserve the hype it has been lucky enough to receive.

Wherever you haul out, here’s hoping you’re back on the water quickly.

9 months exploring the Sea of Cortez

When we originally thought our decision to stay in Mexico would be for only a year, we were excited that we could spend the summer in the Gulf of California – also known as the Sea of Cortez.

In 1983, when I (BB) was 24, I sailed to Mexico as crew on an old Piver Trimaran. The owner got sick and left me and my friends alone on the boat until he could return. It was here that I fell in love with cruising and knew it was the life I would someday lead. During those weeks, we met a cruising couple who had just finished a circumnavigation. They seemed ancient — but were probably the age I am now. They were so experienced, had been to so many places, sailed so many miles. We sat in their cabin one night listening to their stories; I was riveted. I will always remember them saying that the Sea of Cortez was one of their favorite places in all the world.

Though Alene & I have not circumnavigated, we have sailed a combined 122,000 or so nautical miles. And we definitely agree with them. The Sea is a magical place. The Baja is the 2^nd longest peninsula in the world with towering mountain ranges and the sea is deep — over 3,000 meters (nearly 10,000 feet); the dry desert is adjacent to the sea, the cold and warm currents, the blazing sunsets – these all combine to create a unique and powerful environment that one would have to work hard to not fall in love with. The Sea does not usually grab you and shake you and force you to pay attention…it slips in through your eyes, ears — into your soul — and invites you to pay attention to one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

says ADR: Caves, Burblings, & Nighttime Gurglings

August 6, 2019

We headed for the very small bay at the top of Isla San Marcos today & were pleased to discover that it’s a place we visited together in 2006 when we were first sailing together. We both recognized the caves on the shore as we pulled in. It’s a spot we remember fondly — one of our favorites in the Sea of Cortez.

After setting the anchor, we got in the water & snorkeled thru the wonderful arches, tunnels, caves, caverns, & swim-thrus along the shoreline discovering little hidey-holes & secret pockets in the rocks because it’s very porous. There is a cavern with a hole in the ceiling, grottoes where the wave action makes thumps & burblings & musical sounds in the holes in the rocks, a spot where you can swim under a wall of rock in only about 2’ of water, a narrow swim-thru filled with lovely red sea fans, & many places where you can look through a hole in the rock to the green water on the other side, filled with fish. And there are so many fish! Mostly sergeant majors of all sizes (including tiny baby ones in the shallows), but also trigger fish, king & cortez angelfishes, mullet, & hawkfish (good eating).

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Seeing those good eating fish had us getting our spear gun out, especially since we’ve caught nothing trolling, but we haven’t used the gun for so long that it needs some maintenance before use. But we still have a big bag of chocolata clams hanging off the stern, so we’re not short of seafood.

We love having an anchorage to ourselves. It’s so tranquil with no one else around. We put the cockpit cushions out on deck & watched a movie in the moonlight, then slept out under the stars. Delightful.

Because it’s so quiet, each night we hear the animals around us, both in the air & the water. Last night I heard a whale passing by; I could hear it breathe about every minute – surprisingly loud in the quiet of the night. And there were two pelicans fishing in the dark because they can see the fish in the bioluminescence, which has been very strong lately. The other night we heard a group of dolphins fishing under & around the boat – they sure make a lot of noise, splashing about & breathing every few seconds with that popping sound. We can also hear lots of fish activity; things coming up from the deeper water to eat whatever’s at the surface, making many snapping, gurgling & bubbling noises. And then, of course, there’s the popcorn sound of mobulas fwapping down onto the water after going for a flight. They fwop & fwap all night long, but no one is sure exactly why they jump…

The summers of 2019 and 2020 allowed us to spend 9 months in the beautiful Sea. It was especially wonderful during 2020 when we spent much of our time alone at uninhabited islands – self-isolation was not something we had to seek out.

4 months with Ruby aboard

When we were preparing to depart for the Revillagigedos and French Polynesia in 2019, we hosted a little going-away get-together aboard Migration for friends on s/v Little Wing who were heading out the next day for the Marquesas. They invited a woman crewing on a neighboring boat who was also headed in that direction. And thus we met Ruby.

We became fast friends and had a lot of fun until she, too, departed. She completed her passage and returned home to Portland, Oregon where she sold her house and set off on her own adventure to find a sailboat and cruise full-time. With a paying gig lined up to deliver a yacht from Samoa to the USA in April 2020, we suggested she first come to Mexico for a visit. She arrived for a 10-day stay aboard Migration on 18 March 2020.

You can guess the rest. The world shut down a few days later. Having sold her home and not yet found a boat of her own, we invited Ruby to stay with us. The three of us proceeded to have an entertaining, amusing, exuberant 4 months together. Before this, the longest stay by any guest aboard Migration was about 2 weeks; that tends to be our limit. But life with Ruby was such a blast and she was so incredibly respectful of our space, that it was easy for all of us. Not only that, she wanted to learn everything about owning a boat and was always willing to work on projects: be it helping change the engine oil or polishing stainless.

We had an amazing time together.

Footnote: Ruby finally found her boat, s/v Makani, and is now cruising. She’s singlehanded over 3,000 miles throughout Mexico! If you are a woman and are interested in the cruising life, you can book one of her sailing and empowerment courses at SeaNixie.com.

4 one thousand-mile drives along the Baja peninsula

In December 2019 we decided to drive back to the US to visit family and friends for the holidays. We’d done this drive (over a thousand miles each way) in 2006 and loved it. Again, we were taken by the stunning beauty of the peninsula. Heading north in 2019 was slightly bittersweet as it also brought back many memories of the 2006 trip when we drove north because my father was dying.

The return trip in January proved to be incredibly fortuitous in a way that only travel without a firm itinerary can be. On New Year’s Eve, we stopped at the half-way point to spend the night in Guerrero Negro which is adjacent to Laguna Ojo de Liebre where the California grey whales hang out with their young. It was early in the season and we had no reservation, but we thought maybe on New Year’s Day there wouldn’t be many people looking to go out to whale-watch.

We were very wrong. At the whale watching center we were told they were completely booked but we could wait around to see if someone didn’t show up. How lucky we were! Not only because there was a no-show and we did get to see the whales, but also because on that trip was Raul and his family. When Raul walked into the waiting room, he filled it with his welcoming heart… wishing happy new year and shaking the hands of every stranger there. It seemed we became friends almost immediately. We then found out he runs a school in a poor section of Mexico City. Since we were going to be there (to visit the French Embassy) in a couple of weeks, I offered to do an author visit. And that, to paraphrase Rick, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. More about that later.

Two years later, in 2021, during yet another haulout of the boat, we realized we needed many supplies to finish the work and decided to drive back to the US once more to get them.

The drive north was again spectacular with the cactus, boojum trees, boulders, and plains creating captivating changing vistas every dozen miles. This time we drove up the fairly new Hwy 5 on the NE side of the peninsula; it was odd to drive along that coast staring out at the remote islands where we had recently anchored all by ourselves.

It was the middle of the pandemic and having rarely been exposed to COVID, we didn’t relish dealing with the USA with all the insanity created by anti-maskers and anti-vaxxers. (And to top it off, a few days after we arrived, we watched the news of the insurrection at the Capitol. Oh, how we should be ashamed of ourselves! That it happened. That we let it happen. And that so many of our citizens still believe it should have happened.)

We got our goods, said a few hellos and goodbyes and headed back down the coast on that beautiful drive, looking forward to the relative sanity of a Mexican boatyard – which, if you have spent time in a Mexican boatyard, isn’t a very complimentary comparison.

3 French Polynesia visa applications submitted to the Mexico City French Embassy
3 trips to Mexico City

We had been looking forward to returning to French Polynesia since 2012 and we knew we wanted to spend more time than allowed by the 3-month visa given to US citizens upon arrival. Thus, in January of 2019 we began the process of figuring out how to apply for a French Polynesia long stay visa (carte du long sejour) in Mexico; made more complicated if one is not a Mexican citizen. It was an interesting process and we ended up creating a document to help other sailors navigate the French bureaucracy.

We applied for, and received, three long stay visas:

2019: Didn’t use it because we ended up turning around (as you’ve already read)

2020: Couldn’t use it because of the pandemic

2021: Didn’t apply because of the pandemic

2022: We’re in French Polynesia!

Besides a lot of paperwork and fees, each application required a trip to the French Embassy in Mexico City. In 2019 we extended our trip a bit to do some touring around La Ciudad.

In 2020, the year we met Raul and his family, they invited us to their cabin in the Valle de Bravo south of the city to view the monarch butterflies. That was something we’d always wanted to do and we had so much fun together. I also spoke at Raul’s school named after Sir Edmund Hilary because Raul wanted to inspire his students with a remarkable and accomplished human being.

In 2021, we returned again, this time sharing an AirBnB with friends from s/v Ticket to Ride who were also applying for a visa. Because of the pandemic, we did not get to tour around or spend as much time as we’d hoped with Raul and family, but what time we had was precious.

Heaps of Friends

There seems to be something about cruising Mexico that allows sailors to make lots of friends very quickly. And not just passing friendships. We still have close ties with sailors we met there 15 years ago. And we made many more this time around. Add to that the friendliness of the Mexican people. The Spanish word amabilidad is perfectly appropriate for the country.

During the pandemic there was so much misinformation floating around social media. Even sailors were not immune and some popular cruising bloggers spread rumors about how difficult it was in parts of the country. As for us, we never had a single problem. Mexico allowed us to renew our tourist visas without leaving the country, and everyone was welcoming. We even took the opportunity to apply for, and receive, our Mexican permanent residency! Why, if we were leaving? Because we absolutely know we will return.

Muchas gracias por todo, México. Nosotros volveremos un dia…

Be good. Be safe. Have fun.
BB & ADR

(Last 3 photos courtesy of Sarah of s/v Perspective)

The post |31| MÉXICO por los Números appeared first on Migrations.

January – November 2018
Written by Bruce & Alene in French Polynesia — August 2022

with love,
BB & ADR

The post |30| Postcards from California appeared first on Migrations.

June – December 2017
Written by Bruce in the Islas Revillagigedo, Mexico, & California — April through June 2021

A Part of Life

It’s impossible to live without encountering storms: figurative and real. Perhaps gale-force winds and breaking waves. Or maybe waves of sadness, misery, grief. Sometimes we choose the turns that bring us face to face with discomfort — for example, sailing across an inhospitable ocean in a small boat. Sometimes, the storm finds us on whatever path we’ve chosen regardless of how circuitous our route. If we’re lucky, most of our path is joyful. But there will always be times that are not; times you just have to weather.

Thanks to all our friends and family who have helped us weather the storms.

Our Path: Japan to San Francisco

The North Pacific

Few boats make the voyage across the North Pacific… and for good reason. It is not a particularly beautiful ocean — grey is the predominate color of the sea and sky — and it is has a well-deserved reputation for being stormy as low pressure systems sweep down from Siberia. It’s cold and it’s wet.

Sailing an easterly route can, at times, be just fine with the prevailing westerlies blowing from behind and a favorable current giving you an extra push in the right direction.

People often ask us, “what about storms?” We avoid them when possible, and when we cannot avoid them, we weather the storms as best we can.

We didn’t avoid the storms on this passage.

Our first days out of Japan did provide some fine sailing. All we had to do was tend the sails, check the weather, navigate, eat, sleep, enjoy the passing albatross, check the weather again, and try to stay warm. We were sailing through fog — common in this part of the ocean — and were happy that ships usually show up on AIS and were easily avoided. We counted on luck to keep us from hitting fishing boats or any vessel without AIS.

We were well-rested and as happy as two warm-weather souls could be wrapped in several layers of thermals and foul-weather gear.

Hot water bottles became our best friends. We had three: one in the bunk with the off-watch, one for the person on watch (usually slipped down the front of one’s foulies), and one to heat up so there’d be a hot one in the bunk at the watch change.

The First Storm

Our first bout of heavy weather lasted for just a day and a half. it wasn’t too bad with winds above 30 knots for only 8 hours or so. However, the wind had backed to the ESE so it was forward of the beam with an uncomfortable cross sea. We were heavily reefed but still Migration was tearing along with spray and waves finding any opening to get inside. Disturbingly, there was water in the bilge for the first time in years… and we didn’t know where it was coming from.

The Second Storm

Our second — and worst — storm was not related to the weather, but to the heart.

Six days after leaving Japan we received a devastating email from Alene’s mother that Teddy, Alene’s older brother, had been diagnosed with advanced cancer and was sinking fast. Sadness descended on Migration far thicker than the fog that surrounded us. For years we had been within a day’s sail of an airport. But now, in the middle of an inhospitable sea and a thousand miles from the nearest port that had the means to get Alene to her brother’s side — the only place she wanted to be — she felt tormented and trapped.

We changed course for Adak, the nearest Aleutian island with an airport — a further 400 miles westward than our original destination of Attu. We had over 1,100 nautical miles still to sail.

The Third Storm

Eight days out an expected low to the north decided to take an unexpected southerly route. Faced with headwinds again, we changed course to the east (instead of northeast) to ease the slamming in the miserable cross sea. Still, we were taking occasional waves over the boat.

Our log entries reflect the sadness that was our crewmate on this passage:

12 June 2350
Sadness pervades as we rush north under grey skies. Very cold. 41F. I don’t like the cold. Both of us tired & sad. Not focusing well. Several bungled tacks, etc. Need to think & remember.

13 June 0530
Dense Fog. Bitter wind. Bitter life.

13 June 2100
Mizzen down. Triple reefed main. Sliver of jib. Changed course to E to run because we were bashing too much.

14 June 0520
Monitor out of commission. Autopilot having trouble steering. 10+ ft seas from different directions. Running under jib alone. Both of us exhausted. This sucks.

14 June 1900
“Dirty weather” Teddy calls this. Yes, that’s the proper term for it.

The last day of the gale was a long one… and not just figuratively. We crossed the International Date Line and returned to the Western Hemisphere. Our clocks moved back 18 hours making the 16th of June a 42-hour day. After three and a half days the gale moved on and we spotted a hazy sun floating in a hazy sky. But soon the fog returned, thankfully without the wind. We were now north of 50 degrees, but the damp and cold were easier to deal with in the calm conditions.

To make time we motored for 12 hours until a fair wind returned.

The Fourth Storm

The next storm, though also not of weather, was one that needed to be weathered with fortitude. The amount of water in the bilge had increased during the gale. With the settled conditions, we were able to trace the problem to a crack at the joint between the main hull and the port wing deck. We were lucky that the weather stayed settled for the last two days of the passage.

Landfall

As we neared the island of Adak, we saw our first puffins and then were greeted by a pod of orcas. That, and the treeless, waterfall-strewn slopes backed by snow-covered peaks declared we were in a different part of the world.

Adak: Aleutian Ghost Town

During WWII, a large military airfield was built on Adak from which to launch forces against the Japanese who had occupied two of the western Aleutian Islands: Attu and Kiska. (Read The Thousand Mile War by Brian Garfield for a fascinating look at this little known episode of the war.)

After the war, the naval air station grew larger and larger until it was closed down in 1997. The population dropped from over 4,000 to about 300 making most of Adak appear as a ghost town today; the military facilities, the apartments, the bowling alley, the McDonalds — all are shuttered and being slowly torn to shreds by the incredibly harsh winds of the North Pacific.

After our passage we were exhausted and a bit disoriented not knowing where we could tie up. Luckily the crew of s/y Muktuk invited us to raft to them. Ali, Karl, Jan, and Noah made us very welcome, gave us so much help, and were supportive during this difficult time. And they are the coolest cruising family we have ever met.

Our focus was getting Alene to Cincinnati to be with her brother. There are only two flights a week from Adak to Anchorage and we had just missed one; Alene would have to wait for three days. Cruel timing.

While we waited, we saw a little of the island, did a very ugly (but serviceable) temporary repair on the deck-hull joint, and made arrangements for crew to help me keep moving westward; we still had to sail 500 miles to reach the Alaskan mainland, and then another 2,500 miles to San Francisco before winter set in.

We also had a fantastic BBQ with the crews of Muktuk and Abel Tasman, as well as some local government contractors who were on the island to remove unexploded ordnance. Thanks to Muktuk, we had caribou ribs, fresh-picked beach greens, and bull kelp pickles. Alene provided dessert: marshmallows for roasting.

Lesson Learned
Don’t Get Cocky

Alene and I congratulated ourselves on our 15-day 2,336 mile passage across the North Pacific; a passage very few boats attempt. We’d done it!

Upon arriving in Adak, we discovered three other sailboats there. One was a big expedition schooner chartered by some Brazilians making a surfing movie — yes, in the Aleutians! The captain most likely has sailed to Antarctica more times than nearly anyone. The second was a British/NZ family doing charters in the area. The parents and their 2 teenage girls had been around Cape Horn, to Antarctica, and wintered over in Alaska.

And the third boat was an Austrian family with two young boys who probably have more sea miles than most famous sailing vloggers. They’d been to Cape Horn and Antarctica as well. They’d sailed non-stop from New Zealand to Alaska (very good sailors but maybe a little crazy?). They were waiting for the ice to melt so they could do their second Northwest Passage.

This family has no blog or vlog. They don’t promote themselves on the internet or in magazines. They don’t sell t-shirts and beer koozies with their boat name. They just live an awesome life. And were generous with their knowledge and kindness.

All of these sailors knew so much more than we did. And more than most self-proclaimed experts we’ve met as well.

So two lessons learned.
1. Watch the size of your ego — there will always be someone (probably someone humble) out there who has done way more than you.
2. Just because someone has a vlog or a blog or 10,000 followers or charges money to tell you what they know doesn’t mean they know what they’re talking about.

Alene’s plane finally arrived. We said goodbye at the airport not knowing how long she would be gone. Her spirit was broken and she needed to be with her family; she’d received news that morning that her beloved brother had passed away.

I didn’t know Teddy well. He being a tugboat captain on the Mississippi and Ohio rivers, and me sailing the oceans half a world away, our paths crossed infrequently. What I do know is that he was an intense, private man, dedicated to his family. He loved Alene very much, and he was a patient and insightful photographer, and one of the finest poets I’ve ever read. He rarely shared his writing, but what I saw of it always impressed me with his depth, creativity, skill, and intensity. For all his wanderings on the rivers and through the wildlands of America, he was steadfast in his love for his family.

no one ever

who looks upon the sea

looks away again

indifferently

                e3

Aleutian Adventures

My 30-year old cousin Loren (who’d sailed aboard Migration in 2005 in California and 2009 in Tahiti, was between the adventures of single-handing his own boat to Mexico and starting a new job. I asked whether he was interested in sailing through the Aleutians with me. It was perfect timing and he arrived on the next plane.

A week after Migration’s landfall, Loren and I sailed out of Adak’s small boat harbor. Loren was wonderful crew and we had a great time sailing along the Aleutian chain to Dutch Harbor — having crazy adventures at nearly every stop.

First stop was Bechevin Bay at Atka Island where we explored a crashed WWII bomber, complete with bullet holes in the fuselage. It was surprising how well preserved it was.

Sailing through the Aleutians felt very remote. We saw one fishing boat soon after leaving Atka… and then nothing. We rarely saw the sun. The islands we passed were starkly beautiful. We were completely alone.

We sailed on to Hot Springs Cove on Umnak Island.

The shore at Hot Springs Cove steams with the hot water underneath the sand. We hiked inland looking for the actual springs. On the way, we saw a herd of local reindeer. We did finally get a good soak in the springs.

The following morning we headed to Unalaska Island. We decided to sail 20 miles out of our way to see what was going on at Bogoslof Island which had recently had a lot of volcanic activity. Steam was venting from the side but no major eruption… that would come later.

That night we dropped anchor near the old WWII pier in Mutton Cove in Chernofski Harbor. The green hills were covered in wild flowers and puffins swam past the boat.

There was once a huge sheep farm on Chernofski. Now the sheep are managed by one man who lives all alone. The day after our arrival we kayaked over to visit and ended up having an awesomely crazy adventure.

The following morning after dropping off the coal gathered during our adventure the previous day (see story above), we headed along the stunning coast of Unalaska Island toward Dutch Harbor. As we rounded Cape Kovrizhka, we looked off to the west to see Bogoslof island — 30 miles away — in the midst of a huge eruption.

Dutch Harbor

Nearly everyone is familiar with Dutch Harbor because of The Deadliest Catch. Like all reality shows, it’s probably not very accurate, but Dutch is a unique place.

We arrived after a good sail from Chernofski. Humpback whales greeted us as we entered the beautiful harbor and made our way to the public docks.

Loren and I were stuck in Dutch for a week waiting for a weather window. We celebrated the 4th of July, met some very nice people and a couple of not-so-nice people, bought some (expensive!) fresh veggies, hung out at one of the bars, played table shuffleboard, hiked to the WWII gun emplacements, walked around the fish processing plant, and did boat projects.

We had mobile service and I was able to talk with Alene for the first time in weeks. I convinced her it would help her heal if she were back aboard Migration, so she returned.

The Mainland – Dutch Harbor to Sand Point

The day after Alene returned, the three of us set out eastwards, leaving the Aleutians behind and heading for the Alaska Peninsula which reaches 400 miles westward forming the southern edge of the Bering Sea.

We stopped in a few beautiful bays and began to experience the intense natural beauty of the Alaskan mainland: the flora, the fauna, and the vistas. The days were long. The weather was beautiful. And we saw our first bear!

Sand Point on Popof island was a nice little fishing community. The wildflowers were in bloom. We were given fresh salmon. We toured the fish processing plant. Through cruising friends, we met locals Yen-ti & Ray who not only were super kind and helpful to us, but were some of the most fascinating people we’ve met.

It had become clear that I had been wrong when I encouraged Alene to return to Migration; it was too soon and she needed to be with her family, not completely removed from them. So, from Sand Point, Alene flew to Ohio and Loren left to start his new job in San Francisco. Our long-time friends Louis and Bev, who live in Alaska, were wonderfully supportive and flexible and agreed to jump aboard at the last minute. Together we would sail the 500 miles to Homer.

The Peninsula and Kodiak with Louis & Bev

Louis and Bev have sailed most of the world on their own boat so are experienced sailors and great crew. Louis is a keen fisherman which led to some excellent meals. We saw whales, orcas, porpoise, puffins, bears, wolves, and so much more. We had a great time together.

A highlight of our journey to Homer was stopping in Olga Bay on Kodiak Island. Louis & Bev’s neighbor in Homer spends the summer fishing salmon there. Nina has created a beautiful artistic home in this remote place. Though we surprised her with our arrival, what did she do? Invited us for a fresh king crab dinner! We kayaked, hiked, fished, ate a lot and had great talks. And drank some excellent home brew cooled by the stream that runs under the house.

At Home in Homer

I was about to write that I spent a week or two in Homer… but reviewing the ship’s log, I found it was only three full days. How did so much happen in so little time? I have no idea.

Well, yes I do. Louis and Bev were awesome hosts.

My best friend Steve flew into Homer the day after we arrived. The two of us would be sailing Migration 750 miles to Juneau in Southeast Alaska.

Another friend flew into Homer as well. I hadn’t seen Scott Bottoms for years. We’d first met in 1984 while sailing in the Azores and we’d had some great adventures together there. Now he lives near Fairbanks and flies a Super Cub. When I called and said I was in Homer, he hopped in his plane and flew down. Not only that, the next day he took Steve, then me, for a flight over the Kenai Peninsula glaciers. Great to catch up after so many years and get an incredible tour of the stunning scenery from the air.

The Kenai, Prince Edward Sound and across the Gulf of Alaska

I became best friends with Steve when we were in junior high. Much of our youth was about sailing: dinghy sailing, big boat racing, landsailing, and even being towed around the bay in a dinghy by a giant kite we’d built. I sailed to Mexico in 1983 with Steve and his wife Shirley (my first time on a trimaran!). Most of my sailing history and experience is tied to Steve. He was a better sailor, and I learned a lot from him. So I was pleased that he had the time to sail with me aboard Migration all the way from Homer to Juneau — over 750 miles.

On August 4th, three days after Steve arrived, we departed Homer for the remote Kenai Peninsula. The weather wasn’t great but we had some beautiful sunsets and sunrises. We also saw a lot of ‘smoke on the water’ — caused by the difference in temperature between the sea and the air.

It only took us 2 days to get to one of the most dramatic and spectacular spots we’d ever seen: Northwest Fjord. It was impossible to figure out how far we were from anything as it was all so grand.

The photo below is of Northwestern Glacier (there are many glaciers coming into the fjord but Northwestern is the most active). In the photo, we are 2 miles away from where the glacier enters the fjord! We watched it calve 3 times, the thunder arriving several seconds after the ice hit the water, and then a long wave rolling under the dinghy several minutes after that. It was exciting but a bit unsettling as we had little experience with exploring active glaciers in a small boat.

It was magic lying in bed that night listening to the groan of the glaciers and the thunder of the icefalls.

We could have spent days exploring the fjord, but we had many miles to sail and weighed anchor the next morning. This would become the story for the rest of 2017: sailing away from stunning anchorages after only one day; we had to keep moving knowing winter was just over the seasonal horizon.

However, we were headed for Prince William Sound, so it wasn’t too much of a hardship.

We harbor hopped for 3 days. The owners of a fish tender in Sawmill Bay were exceptionally kind and topped up our diesel tank without charge. We finally pulled into Nellie’s Rest — an anchorage near the Nellie Juan glacier — and were surprised to find a sailboat already anchored. It was fun to meet up with Sandrine and Jean-Yves on s/y L’Isle d’Elle to share meals, wine and conversation.

The next day we set off in Plover (our dinghy) on an expedition to explore the Nellie Juan Glacier.

We motored Plover over the moraine at high tide, threaded our way through the icebergs, and went ashore at a spot we hoped would be accessible when the tide went out. Then we set off on a long hike to see how close we could get to the glacier. There were no trails; sometimes we walked on the iceberg-strewn beach, sometimes we made our way up streams full of struggling salmon, the banks littered with dead fish. Sometimes we climbed rock faces, and sometimes we just forced our way through the thick bush. It was challenging and fun.

The following day, we left Nellie’s Rest; we had a planned rendezvous with friends.

I’d met Alaskans Jack and Sherri decades ago but we hadn’t seen each other in a very long time. When I told them I would be in Alaska, they hitched up their little trailerable boat, launched it at Whittier, and soon were rafted up to Migration in 7 Fathom Hole.

The next day we went aboard Taiga and headed off to explore the Chenega Glacier. The weather was abysmal, but it was still lots of fun to be traveling with our friends and able to get right up to the glacier — something difficult, and dangerous, to do in Migration.

It was an excellent, though short visit. In the morning Steve and I set off across the Gulf of Alaska.

The Gulf has a reputation for pretty bad weather so we were happy that we’d found a good weather window. We were able to sail some of it, but about half was motoring in calm seas. The views… well, just look.

We were three days crossing the Gulf. Arriving in Southeast Alaska at dawn, we decided to visit Lituya Bay, the site of a megatsunami in 1958 when a huge landslide created a giant wave that scoured the surrounding hills to a height of 1,722 feet (525 meters).

Lituya, with its dying glaciers and sad history (the French explorer Lapérouse lost 21 crew here in 1786), had a somber air about it so we decided to press on. The coast south of the bay was magnificent. Well-known Glacier Bay is only 30 miles away on the other side of the mountains.

Three days later, after visiting Elfin Cove, then Glacier Bay for a night, and traveling another 200 miles (in some very grey weather), we took a berth in Juneau.

Eclipse!

After Alene and I witnessed our first total eclipse of the sun in Indonesia in 2015, we were completely addicted.

Important: If you have not seen one, make sure you do; it is life changing. Partial eclipses do not count! Trust us. There will be a total eclipse in the USA in May, 2022. Make plans now.

The 2017 eclipse was to cut right across Oregon. Steve needed to fly back to California. We made a plan.

We flew from Juneau to Seattle, rented a car and drove to a regional park near Salem. We slept in the car — which was not fun. In the morning, Steve’s son and daughter-in-law, Josh and Angela, met us having driven down from Seattle the day before. They brought donuts! Together we had an incredible time — all by ourselves on the side of the river watching the sun disappear.

After the eclipse, Steve and I drove back to Seattle and said goodbye at the airport as he flew to California and I returned to Juneau. I arrived at Migration late that night after being gone only 36 hours. Worth every moment — even sleeping in the car with the mosquitoes.

To Sitka with Jack & Sherri

I’d first met Jack and Sherri sailing in Mexico in 1999. They are an incredibly adventurous couple and we’d had so much fun reconnecting in Prince William that I asked if they could crew on the next leg of Migration’s journey. They came aboard in Juneau but we didn’t head south right away; first we backtracked to spend time in Glacier Bay.

There’s a reason 500,000 people visit Glacier Bay every year — 95% on cruise ships. We felt so lucky to experience it from Migration.

From Glacier Bay we sailed to Hoonah where I was happy to find s/y Bulle, a French boat that Alene and I had last seen in Japan. The next day we sailed together to Pavlov Harbor where Bulle invited us to side-tie to them for the night since our windlass wasn’t working. Together we had a fantastic bear experience!

On our way to Pavlov, we took photos of Bulle. Jack’s photo became the cover shot of Ocean Navigator magazine.

With the windlass out of service, we were lucky to find docks in beautiful places to spend the night.

We were even more fortunate to come across some humpback whales bubble net feeding!

On September 1st we docked in the marina in Sitka. All that travel in 8 days!

My Love Comes Home

Alene had been away for 7 weeks. While I had been aided by good friends and surrounded by the beauty of Alaska, she had been at her mother’s side through one of the most difficult periods in either of their lives. She now felt it was time to come home.

We set off from Sitka on the 5th of September. How wonderful to be together again. And I was excited to show Alene the beauty of this part of the world.

Our first day underway was beautiful… and warm (no shirt?!). I even caught my first salmon using a fishing pole.

True to the nature of the region, the weather changed quickly; the next day was… a bit grey.

I wanted Alene to see bears and we had no problem finding them, both on our first hike ashore at Hanus Bay and the following day at Baranof Warm Springs.

Baranof Warm Springs has one of the most scenic hot spring soaks in the world; right next to a huge waterfall.

Over the next 2 weeks we moved to a new anchorage every day except for a 4-day stop in Petersburg to install a new windlass. Here’s a look at life traveling through Southeast Alaska.

We stopped briefly at Hydaburg where totems are still carved.

In foggy Hetta Cove we went on a hike through dense foliage and found bears and salmon.

THE BEAUTY AND TRAGEDY OF A WILDLAND

Three months in Alaska. 3,000 miles through her waters.

I’d always heard Alaska was incredibly unique — its history, people, land, waters. And it is. There is so much nature there. It is stunning in a way that gripped me between its giant paws and constantly shook me to look, see. That glacier of blue castles. That bay full of lolling humpbacks. This puffin paddling by the boat. That bear eating mussels on the shore. A pod of magnificent orcas steaming past with dorsals towering. That snowy mountain in the cloudy distance — a mirage of grandeur.

It has attracted so many independent spirits who clearly sought a life far removed from the ridiculous chasing-one’s-tail of the lower 48. People who are proud of the land they chose.

There is the culture of indigenous peoples whose ancestors chose to make a life in a land that is harsh, yet abundant.

Euro-American culture has always labeled Alaska a wilderness. But it has been populated (although sparsely) by people for thousands of years. Want to change how you think of wilderness? Read the following from the excellent book, Shadows on the Koyukuk by Sidney Huntington.

Many Americans think of Alaska as an unpeopled, untouched wilderness. Indian, Eskimo, and Aleut people lived in these “wilderness” lands for centuries before the first whites arrived, and these original people had complex cultures, with ongoing relationships between different groups. These first inhabitants of the region established intelligent relationships with Alaska’s wildlands before the dawn of written history.

A few paragraphs from a 1982 National Park Service publication, Tracks in the Wildland, A Portrayal of Koyukon-Nunamiut Subsistence, by Richard Nelson, Kathleen Mautner, and Ray Bane, speak of Alaska as home to these peoples:

To most of us, the vast stretches of forest, tundra and mountain lands in Alaska constitute a wilderness in the most absolute sense of the word. In our minds, this land is wilderness because it is undisturbed, pristine, lacking in obvious signs of human activity. To us undisturbed land is unoccupied or unused land. But in fact, most of Alaska is not wilderness, nor has it been for thousands of years.

Much of Alaska’s apparently untrodden forest and tundra land is thoroughly known by people whose entire lives and cultural ancestry is intimately associated with it. Indeed, to the Native inhabitants, these lands are no more an unknown wilderness than are the streets of a city to its residents.

The fact that we identify Alaska’s remote country as wilderness derives from our inability to conceive of occupying and utilizing land without altering or completely eliminating its natural state. But the Indians and Eskimos have been living this way for thousands of years. Certainly, then, theirs has been a successful participation as members of an ecosystem. In a world of environmental degradation this represents an exemplary form of human adaptation, fostering a healthy coexistence of man and ecosystem. Certainly, we have been incapable of utilizing our lands so well.

The country is anything but wilderness; at best it can be called a wildland.


I loved reading the passage above because in only a few moments, how I viewed nature and wilderness changed. Alaska is not an untouched land. But the hands that touched it did not destroy it.

So given that history, how did we end up where we are today? Why has a state of independent-spirited people living in a land of intense beauty threatened by corporate greed and climate change consistently voted for anti-environment presidents since statehood in 1959? Yes, each resident gets a payoff from big oil through the state’s Permanent Fund. How much does it cost to sell out your home to corporate interests? Based on the payouts of the Permanent Fund, about a thousand dollars a year.

As we watch the glaciers melt, the permafrost thaw, the polar bears plod toward extinction, the people of Alaska continue to vote against their best interests. 55% of voters are registered as Independent in Alaska. Does independent mean you can ignore the damage being done to the natural world so you get your thousand dollars? Alaska voted for a president who did not have their best interests in mind again in 2020… even as he put the Tongass National Forest and the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge up for sale to the highest bidder.

Many Alaskans will tell me to shut up and mind my own business. Fair enough. Just remember, it is your state that will be one of the first on the list (along with Florida) to be destroyed by environmental change in the coming years.

But you’ll have your thousand bucks.

ADR & BB in BC

We had a fine crossing of the Dixon Entrance and entered Canada at Prince Rupert, B.C.

We spent a couple of days doing laundry and provisioning before heading south. We’d been told that British Columbia may be a disappointment after Southeast Alaska. How wrong that was! Though our first two days through the Grenville Channel were pretty boring (and cold and wet), and the wind non-existent or on the nose (we had 30-knot headwinds and adverse current our second day out), we loved B.C.

As in SE Alaska, we only traveled while it was light. Why? See below.

The weather wasn’t very nice, but it was scenic… and we saw bears right from the boat!

And whales, of course.

After a stop in Hartley Bay, we visited the collapsing ruins of the abandoned cannery at Butedale and met Cory, the very interesting caretaker, and his dog and cat.

The next day was one of our best. The sun was out and we entered the Fiordland Conservancy, a stunning area. It was like sailing through Yosemite. Not only was the scenery gorgeous, but the weather was so nice at our anchorage in Kynoch Inlet that we took our first shower outside in months, ate dinner on deck, and to top it off, watched the Aurora Borealis that night.

However, the next day was so foggy, one of us had to be stationed on the bow as we made our way through the circuitous fjords.

Why you should sail to Southeast Alaska and British Columbia…

For a week and a half we moved to a new anchorage or dock every single day. It was a lot of travel. Even though the days were getting shorter, we still made time for hiking, kayaking, swimming, and cartwheels.

There were a (very) few days here and there where we actually got to sail!

We split my birthday between Port Mcneill, where I posed with the World’s Largest Burl, and Alert Bay where we visited the excellent U’mista Cultural Centre filled with masks and ceremonial objects of the Kwakwaka’wakw people; all of them having been returned many years after being confiscated by the Canadian government in 1921.

Coming through so late in the season, places that would have been packed with boats a month before were completely empty. How lucky we were.

We pulled into Comox on Vancouver Island to visit Malcolm and Jackie, formerly of s/y Aeolus XC, whom I’d met in Mexico in 2000. They were wonderful hosts, taking us up into the surrounding mountains (where it had just snowed!), and feeding us delicious meals.

Three weeks after entering Canada, something very odd loomed up on the horizon. What a strange sight after so many months surrounded by the natural beauty of the northern lands.

Friends & Family – Vancouver to Victoria

Vancouver was our first of many stops in North America where we had lots of friends. I’ve known the Vancouver Morris Men for decades and we had a great time watching them dance at the Apple Festival and hanging out on Migration’s deck. Our friend Mika, from Japan, was working in Canada and traveled hours to visit us. And we made new friends: Wendy and Mark (brother of Neal of s/v Rutea) hosted us for a wonderful lunch. Cruisers are so cool! And so are Morris dancers!

Michael & Gloria of s/v Paikea Mist, who we last saw in Thailand, have an apartment overlooking Migration’s berth in False Creek. As cruisers themselves, they knew all the ways to make our visit fun and easy.

Next came Alene’s mother (also Alene) and younger brother Donnie. Alene was thrilled to finally have some of her family aboard.

We set sail together from Vancouver bound for Salt Spring Island where we were hosted by Ken & Wendy, formerly of s/v Cop Out, who we’d last seen in Singapore. When you cruise the world you end up with friends in lots of ports.

Unfortunately, the weather was rainy & grey the whole time… but we still had fun.

Next stop, Victoria, where we met up with my Morris friend Stevie, as well as Bob and Suzanne from Seattle. And new friends Lynn and Julian invited us for a delicious dinner. We enjoyed fresh seafood at nearly every meal.

The Lower 48 – Back in the USA

We said goodbye to Alene’s mother and brother and headed south… we crossed the Strait of Juan de Fuca, down the middle of which you will find the border between Canada and the United States. Migration was back in the USA. (Yes, Alaska is the USA, but it is so different from the Lower 48 that it really could be its own country.)

First stop, Port Townsend where we met up with boat builder and designer Russell Brown (son of trimaran designer Jim Brown). Russell had agreed to take a look at the wing deck joint problem that had developed in the North Pacific. He gave us some great advice and helped us prepare a repair plan.

On our way to Seattle, we did a quick lunch stop in Kingston to visit Phillip and Leslie of s/v Carina who we had shared many anchorages with all though Mexico and the South Pacific. That night we were in a marina in Seattle.

Everyone said we were too late in the season to sail south. The winter storms and southerly gales would block our path. But experience has shown us that if one is patient, there is always a weather window. Thus, on November 1st, we left the dock and headed out into Puget Sound.

We anchored for the next two nights, working our way west out of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. We expected it to be cold, but we didn’t expect snow and hail!

Under a full moon, we sailed out of the Strait at midnight on the 3rd.

Working our way south was challenging. We hid from gales in La Push for one night and then Westport for 4 days. We were worried about the weather and cautious with the potentially dangerous bar crossings into harbors. All of this was punctuated with cold… there was ice on the decks some mornings.

With a big winter storm forecast, we made a run for Astoria on November 10th. Leaving in the early morning darkness, we crossed the notorious bar of the Columbia River that afternoon and were safely tied to a dock in Astoria when the storm hit the next day.

Remember that line above “But experience had shown us that if one is patient, there is always a weather window.”? It remains true. However, sometimes one has to be very patient. We were stuck in Astoria for 23 days with winds up to 70 knots, hail, rain, and very little sun. Thank goodness for yoga classes.

We finally escaped with an uneventful bar crossing on December 3rd. Our 2-day sail to Humboldt Bay included some near-gale conditions but the wind was from the NNE and Migration handled it well.

In Humboldt Bay we had fun with Mike (formerly of s/v Candide) and his family. I’d last sailed with Mike in Mexico in 2000.

30 hours after leaving Eureka, we arrived in Bodega Bay where we spent 2 days visiting with friends Ed & Anne and Jon & Kalia. Somehow, we seem to have lost those photos.

Closing the Circle

In 2005, when I left to cruise full-time, I first sailed north from Long Beach as I wanted to explore Northern California where I had mostly just worked on Migration from 1995 – 1999. Besides spending some good times in the Sacramento Delta, I also sailed north to Tomales Bay just south of Bodega Bay.

On 13 December 2017, just off of Pt. Reyes, Migration crossed a point on the sea that she had sailed over exactly 12 years and 108 days before, closing a 53,000 nautical mile loop of the Pacific Ocean.

We spent a peaceful night anchored in Drake’s Bay and then, on December 14th, sailed toward San Francisco. A leisurely sail brought us within sight of the Golden Gate. Since we had both spent many hours sailing SF Bay with other partners, it was strange to be sailing under the bridge together. We spent the third night of Chanukah anchored in Aquatic Park in front of Ghirardelli Square.

A Personal Note on Luck

That night, as we looked out of Migration’s port at the illuminated Ghirardelli sign, I remembered well the exact same view over 12 years before — just a few months after I’d left Long Beach to live this life.

And I remembered the feelings I had at that time. I was desperately lonely and wishing with all my heart to find someone to share this life aboard Migration — a life I had dreamed of for decades.

I started off Migrations 13 with this quote

It’s hard to detect good luck – it looks so much like something you’ve earned.

Frank A. Clark

and finished with this one

As long as we are lucky we attribute it to our smartness; our bad luck we give the gods credit for.

Josh Billings

I’ve lived long enough now to know that despite my planning, my postings, my websites, my emails; despite all my efforts to find someone to love who loves this sailing life and me, it is only by the greatest fortune that Alene and I found each other. Anchored in the same place, on the same boat, looking at the same lights, yet doing so with an outlook changed by 11 years and thousands of miles sailed in a partnership of love, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for what the universe has been kind enough to grant me.

I am truly a lucky man.

 I live my life in widening circles
 That reach out across the world.
 I may not ever complete the last one,
 But I give myself to it.
 ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Be good. Be safe. Have fun.

BB & ADR

6,778 nautical miles traveled this period
52,893 nautical miles aboard Migration since leaving Long Beach in June 2005

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<< Chapter 1 – Our Return to Japan | < Chapter 2 – Through the Seto Naikai

The West Coast

If you want to sail across the North Pacific, it’s important to get the timing right. Leave too early — in early May, for example — you could get blasted by some of the major storms that sweep toward the Aleutians from Siberia. If you leave too late — let’s say, July — you might get caught in a summer typhoon as it sweeps north from the tropics. And, if you don’t plan to winter over in Alaska, you have a limited amount of time to transit the thousands of miles of remote islands, majestic fjords, imposing glaciers, towering volcanoes, beautiful inlets, etc. etc. etc. lining the route from the western end of the Aleutian Islands to Puget Sound near Seattle.

We were planning to leave Japan at the beginning of June… but we were still 700 NM from our intended departure point of Hakodate in northern Japan. And there are scores of fascinating ports to visit along Japan’s rural west coast.

Referring to the notes we’d made based on advice from friends at IYC and OBTYC, we selected the ports we would visit and made a plan that would include only a few overnight sails as we’d been warned of the danger of fishing nets along this coast.

6 May
0645: Off the dock – Murotsushimo Marina. Motoring in rain & fog, then it cleared & fine sailing the last half of the day.
1620: On the wall – Hagi fishing port.

10 May
0640: Off the wall – Hagi fishing port
1620: On the wall – Yunotsu fishing port after easy, fast downwind sail. Absolutely fabulous 10 hours of sailing today after waiting out the front which brought favorable winds that allowed us to sail DDW with sails wing & wing at an average of 6.5 knots. We surfed in the double digits several times throughout the day. The sailing was so fine that we didn’t mind the rainy grayness & fog. Sure wish we could sail all the way to Alaska in those conditions!