From the Log of True Grace

By Bill Gerritsen

In 1979 Bill and Penny purchased a 38 ft sailboat. It took a year to get built and finally delivered. After sailing around the Southern California islands for a year, Penny suggested that they quit their jobs, take their sons JJ (15), and Dan (11) out of school and go sailing. And so, began a two-year adventure. Down the coast of Mexico, exploration of Cocos Island, several months in Costa Rica and Panama. One of the highlights was crossing the Panama Canal. After spending a short time in the western Caribbean, they returned to the Pacific side and after stopping at Cocos Island once more, headed for home. Spending time in a relatively confined space was not easy. The schooling was especially delicate. Fights and arguments were a nearly daily occurrence. However, each of us stood our required watches and could be counted on when tough conditions happened.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662404184

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MALIBU TO SAN DIEGO

TIME OUT

Hello, hello, hello.

Hi, darling. I’m in the bedroom.

I walked into the bedroom, where I found Penny lying on the floor. She had thrown her back out a few weeks back.

How’s your back?

Oh, it’ll be all right. She paused. Are you ready to take off for a year?

Take off from where?

From work!

Huh?

Her back problem seemed to have affected her brain!

Well? While I have been lying here, I’ve been thinking. JJ will be graduating from junior high this summer, and I would like to keep him out of Samo High. You are bored with your job and need a change. We need some excitement. Let’s go sailing.

She was serious! Wait till I get a beer.

Jesus Christ! She’d flipped! Sure, we had talked about sailing off into the sunset sometime after the boys were out of school, but this was crazy. It was too soon. My mind was racing, sorting out pros and cons. I could only think of cons.

We were not ready. We did not have enough experience. And we couldn’t afford it. Our life was just beginning to get a little bit comfortable. We both had good jobs and incomes on a note to make boat payments. So what’s wrong with a little boring? We had commitments and payments. She wanted to give it all up. How would we live?

A few beers later, the obstacles no longer seemed so formidable. You know, it does sound like an interesting idea.

In the background, Lacy J. Dalton sang: I want to go where the warm wind blows me…

It had been only eighteen months since we made that trip to the Long Beach boat show. I can’t even recall what made us go. We weren’t in the market for a boat. It just seemed like a nice way to spend a romantic weekend away from home and the boys. We spent Saturday climbing aboard boats, collecting literature, measuring, and recording data. I like this. I don’t like that. Not enough headroom. Too small. Too expensive. Not bad. That night, among other things, we reviewed our data. It was overwhelming!

Do you remember…?

You mean the white one with…?

Hell, they were all white. And they all looked the same to us. We obviously had a lot to learn. Good thing we started early!

The next morning, while waiting for a table at a local restaurant, we thought we’d kill some time in the yacht broker’s office next door. Might as well look at some pictures. However, we were not going to get off that easy. The broker looked up from his desk.

Hi. Can I help you?

We’re looking for a sailboat.

What do you want to do with it?

Let’s say that we want to sail to Tahiti with a family of four.

He stood up and walked to the window. With an expansive wave at the Long Beach marina, he said, Nearly every boat out there can make it to Tahiti, but you would not want to be on but a few of them. He returned to his desk. I normally don’t deal with people who just walk in. I work strictly with referrals. But…in your case, I’ll make an exception.

We explained that we were waiting for a table for breakfast and only had a few minutes. Why don’t you come back after breakfast, because it will take some time?

When we returned, he directed us to a large conference table and sat down with some catalogs. You are very fortunate, he said, I’m the best in the business.

I don’t think Penny was very impressed. I didn’t care; if he had information we could use, I could put up with him.

I’ve been around the world five times, gone down the coast of Mexico at least thirty times, and I’ve been in every race in the world.

I was impressed. Or was I hypnotized by the fifty-peso gold piece that dangled from a huge gold chain around his neck?

Are you familiar with the Seawolf 41? he asked.

I nodded. I designed the interior.

He went on to explain his system for selecting a boat. On a scale from one to ten, a boat had to score at least an eight in each of the categories of seaworthiness and comfort. Using our size requirement of thirty-five to forty-five feet and the upper limit we were willing to spend, he delved into a listing of sailboats for sale. From a selection of hundreds, only a list of eight boats met all requirements, price being an occasional exception.

Penny and I looked at the list. Most names were unfamiliar to us.

You know, I told him, we’ve been at the boat show, and I can’t help but wonder why there is such a difference in price for boats that look about the same and pretty much have the same specs.

I thought I’d feel him out. What I was after was an endorsement of sorts from him for one or more of the boats we had seen at the show. Instead of an endorsement, I got a genuine ass chewing.

I’ve just spent two hours telling you what you need, and you ask me a stupid question. You’re wasting my time. If I came to you with an engineering problem, would you expect me to question your solution?

I didn’t answer, but I thought, you probably would, if you were paying for it. So I tried a different approach. What do you think of the CSY 37?

Another outburst. Besides, it’s out of your price range.

I wanted to ask what he thought of the Taiwanese boats, but I didn’t have the courage. Too bad. I suppose it showed my ignorance. Two of the boats on his list were from Taiwan: a Hans Christian 38 and a Peterson 44.

I haven’t got time to take you around and show you all of these boats. I’ll show you one. You can look at the others on your own.

We piled into his car and drove to the Naples district in Long Beach, where the boat was berthed. It was in a slip behind a private home. No one was home, and as he had forgotten to bring the key, he climbed over the fence and opened the gate for us. We rounded the house, and there she was: a black-hulled Hans Christian cutter. She reminded me of the sailing vessels I’d seen as a boy in Holland. We went aboard and entered the salon. I knew I was in love.

We returned to the boat show to look at a new Hans Christian. We had walked right by her the day before thinking she was a wooden boat. We waited in line to get aboard. When we finally got aboard, we found that not much had changed, although they had made some improvements in the equipment. A friend, a small boatbuilder who had a display at the show, volunteered to check out the boat the broker had shown us. He checked with a friend of his (also a boatbuilder) who had sailed on her. His response: She’s a great boat!

Now what? We could not afford her. We were not ready for a boat…But she was a great boat. The next day we called the broker and settled on a price, got a boat loan, and scheduled a sea trial.

The following Saturday, we returned to Long Beach with our sons, JJ and Dan. On the way to the sea trial, we stopped at the Hans Christian dealer to find out what kind of deal we could make on a new boat. Hmmm. Not much more. We proceeded with the sea trial.

At that point, one can only wonder about our objectivity. Aha, the head didn’t flush. The broker fixed it, but somehow it stopped up again. He was getting upset with our kids. They kept using the head. Why was he so nervous? We were the ones in over our heads. We were not being fair to the boat, as she sailed beautifully.

Upon our return to the dock, Penny and I sat down to review the equipment list. Where is the spinnaker gear?

It’s around, he said. If it’s on the list, you will get it.

Back and forth, back and forth. Suddenly, Penny stood up. I hear water running!

I don’t hear a thing, was his response. He opened the engine compartment to show us that nothing was wrong. Oh, shit!

A stream of water was shooting out from somewhere around the engine. He quickly shut the cooling water sea cock and stopped the water flow.

Probably just a hose clamp.

Will that be fixed before the surveyor comes?

Probably not. He will be looking for major stuff. Anything major we will repair, but something as little as a hose clamp is your responsibility.

At dinner, we discussed the day’s events. We were all upset. Penny cried. I was nervous over what a boat would do to our finances while at the same time wanting her. JJ mumbled, The son of a bitch stepped on my fishing pole.

We compared the final price with that of a new boat. Not that different. Let’s go with the new boat.

Once more, we returned to the boat show to see if we could close the deal that night. We waited until the show closed and went to the dealer’s office, where, at one o’clock in the morning, we signed the contract for a black-hulled Hans Christian. We were exhausted when we drove home. At the same time, we felt as though a big weight had been lifted from us.

And these people are so nice, was Penny’s comment. What a judge of character she turned out to be!

Within two months, our attorney recommended we get out of the deal. I do not recommend proceeding with this man.

But we loved the boat, and so we proceeded and endured. And it got worse! One night, when I was completely frustrated by the total lack of cooperation by the dealer and his wife, I called the boatyard in Taiwan.

Dzow ahn.

Hello. Does anyone speak English there?

Then in fluent English, the person replied, Just a moment.

A short while later, a male voice came on and announced he was the yard foreman. Was I coming to see the boat? No. What was the status? About 50 percent complete. Expect to ship by the end of April. How about that! They were actually working on it despite the dealer.

She finally arrived in June. We fell even more in love. Her black hull was true and fair. She was a beauty.

But our frustrations were far from over. They merely shifted gears. We notified the bank that our boat had finally arrived and asked if they would please complete the transaction.

We are sorry, sir. But since interest rates have risen, you no longer qualify for the loan.

Several calls and a few anxious weeks later, we had secured another loan and were able to proceed with the commissioning.

How much longer?

Four weeks at the most.

Four weeks turned into four and a half months. Endless lies. Mistakes. More lies. But we hung in there. We were crazy! One year, one lawyer, several bankers, hundreds of phone calls, dozens of trips to Long Beach, and the boat was delivered.

Didn’t we do a good job for you? They had got to be kidding!

The year of hell was quickly forgotten, while we enjoyed cruising the Channel Islands off the Southern California coast. And it provided us with lots of input when swapping sea stories. We sailed and explored. Until…

Are you ready to take off for a year?

PREPARATION

Ready? Such a simple question! However, if we were going to do it, we had six months to get our act together. We read everything we could get our hands on. We studied. We talked to people who had done this before. We attended lectures. We received a boatload of advice. One of the experts recommended we practice heavy weather sailing. He ridiculed the cruisers out there who had never experienced rough weather. That sounded like a challenge. So one day, while the small craft warnings were in effect, we decided to sail to the islands. To play it safe, we invited our expert friends.

Are you crazy? It’s storming out there!

But you said…

Equipment was added and checked out. Additional sails purchased, line, spare anchors. Storage compartments were modified. The list kept getting longer. We would complete two items and add three more. And of course, the boat began to look worse all the time! Tools, plywood, teak, varnish, fittings, dust…

It had been our good fortune to meet the Slatons: Stan, Alice, Ryan, and Daniel. They had spent a year preparing Monalice for their cruise to Tahiti via Baja. Stan made recommendations for some of the equipment and modifications. He also knew where to get the best deals. Alice provided information about provisioning. I remember the day a truck delivered a final load of groceries to their dock, where Monalice was already below her boot stripe…poor Alice. She managed to stow most of the cases. We bought some of what wouldn’t fit. They returned some and then they were off. At first, we felt a loss at their leaving but not for long. There was no time to miss them!

It was now October. Our departure was scheduled for November 14. Penny had already quit her job at Pepperdine University. I was going to continue working until the end. That didn’t exactly help our schedule, but we needed the money. While I spent a lot of time running around buying equipment and provisions, it was up to Penny to find a place for it all. Three hundred feet of chain? Easy! In the newly built chain locker. Tools? Low, preferably in the center. Penny simply couldn’t find a place for them. Arriving from work one day, I found that Penny and JJ removed the water heater. Aha! Six more cubic feet. Eight-hundred dollars’ worth of medical supplies. We could start a small hospital! Scalpels, hypodermic needles, antibiotics, gauze for an army. Removing the drawers behind the life raft doubled the space. Genoa? Spinnaker? Storm jib? Thousands of feet of spare line?

And then the food came! Déjà vu! I remember Alice crying when it just didn’t fit. Well, it was now our turn! Leisa had come down to visit and say goodbye. She found Penny in tears with boxes, cushions, and floorboards everywhere, a journal in her hand to catalog our food supply. Every compartment was either lettered or numbered. Every item was cataloged and assigned a compartment depending on weight, frequency of use, or how urgently it needed to be accessible. Leisa jumped in, grabbed a can, and tossed it in a compartment. She quickly dispensed of three cases. All under M.

Peas under ‘M’? Penny questioned. Well, they’re Mountain House.

I hope I remember that when I’m looking for peas.

Finally, my last day at work had arrived.

What do you mean you are quitting? I thought you were taking a leave of absence.

I was told I couldn’t get a leave.

Who told you that?

You did!

I called human resources to find out about the Savings Plan. You are not quitting!

Okay, okay, but I am leaving! You guys work out whether that’s quitting or not!

When I finally signed out, I wasn’t sure if I was on leave or terminated. At the time, it didn’t seem to matter.

We had moved our departure date from November 14 to November 18. We just weren’t ready.

Cases of food were still stacked on the dock. Storage areas needed to be finished. We still needed shots and to take care of finances. We put in long days, and I suppose, we were making progress, although it was not readily apparent. On Tuesday (November 17), we slipped our departure date to Thursday.

On Wednesday we asked ourselves, What the hell are we doing? We were supposed to be having fun!

One of the things about a sailing cruise is that there is no schedule (other than being out of the hurricane belt during hurricane season). Dan was disappointed, but JJ convinced him it was the right thing to do. And it worked! We relaxed (with respect to leaving on Thursday). We told our friends that we were leaving for sure on Saturday. The people on the dock shook their heads. Never make it. There was still a pile on the dock. By Friday night, the pile was getting smaller, and by one o’clock Saturday morning, it was gone. Everything had found a place.

Surfboards and windsurfer were lashed down. Dan’s sailing dinghy secured. The interior cleaned and polished. It had been a long time since we had seen it like this.

We awoke to a bright sunny day and a clean boat. We were ready. Well, almost. Just a few more loose ends. Power of attorney for True (Penny’s dad). Secure cars for long-term storage. Pick up gas for an outboard. Buy fresh food at the store. Then we’d be ready!

A lot of people had come to see us off. They brought food, champagne, and beer. We could finally relax. Why don’t we just kick back and party and leave tomorrow? I suggested. Our guests didn’t want any part of that. They’d come to see us off, so dammit, leave!

Reluctantly, I began removing the sail covers. Suddenly, there was a lot of commotion on the dock. The guests had thrown the True Grace crew into the harbor. I was glad to be on deck!

Okay. Quit screwing around, let’s go, I yelled.

They climbed onboard. What a way to begin! We started the engine and cast off the lines. Slowly, we swung away from the dock, eased over to the open area across the channel, raised our sails, and headed out to sea.

Destination: unknown.

It was a sentimental time. Leaving behind the people we loved—things we knew and gave us comfort. Like getting up in the morning to go to work, coming home to dinner, paying bills, bed…security? We envy the explorers, are in awe of their exploits. We dream but never do. We need to strike it rich or retire. And even then, the risks seem overwhelming.

But what about the rewards? We were about to find out.

Clearing the breakwater, we settled in for a comfortable sail across the channel. The decision to spend a couple of days at Santa Cruz Island and catch up both physically and emotionally just might get us used to the idea of no more deadlines. We could come and go as we pleased. So when we got becalmed in the lee of Anacapa Island, we fished and eventually worked our way into Smuggler’s.

Let’s have some of that turkey, Penny said.

What turkey? They ate it all.

She held up the emaciated carcass. How do you feel about turkey soup?

It dawned on us; we never went to the store. We had to turn to our carefully stored provisions on our very first day.

Let’s see…Turkey? Of course, under ‘M.’

OUR FIRST CRISIS

After a couple of days of relaxing, fishing, and diving, it was time to move on. Our destination: San Diego via Avalon. There was no wind, so we motored. Around eleven o’clock, we passed the Gentleman, a fishing boat out of Paradise Cove the boys used to work on. They bade us a bon voyage and had everyone waving as we glided by.

Then all hell broke loose!

Since it’s nice and calm, let’s do some schoolwork, I suggested.

Fuck schoolwork, was Dan’s response.

I had a clipboard in my hand with Dan’s schoolwork on it. He could tell he had upset me terribly with his response and took off running for the forepeak. In an uncontrolled fit of rage, I swung the clipboard at him as he tried to get away. It was a solid hit and knocked him to the floor, where I proceeded to give him a number of swift kicks. You little son of a bitch, I screamed.

Penny jumped in. Bill, control yourself!

I was livid. She pulled me back. Dan was still on the floor, covering his head. He began to scream: I’m bleeding! I’m bleeding!

Sure enough, lots of blood coming from the back of his head. Penny took control of the situation.

Let’s all calm down. Dan, lean over the sink. Bill, get the first aid kit and get me a razor. JJ quietly took the helm and kept us on course.

Dan was bleeding like a stuck pig. I don’t do well at the sight of blood anyway, and that, coupled with the motion of the boat, made me feel very queasy. And then, of course, there was terrible guilt. What the hell was I doing?

Penny shaved and cleaned Dan’s head and applied a number of butterfly bandages. There, that’ll keep you.

Dan had calmed down.

Let’s turn back, I said. This is obviously not going to work.

No, Dad, let’s keep going, Dan said.

Later that afternoon, Dan wrote an entry in the log: Dad, save that clipboard for pirates.

As we got abeam of Santa Barbara Island, we decided to anchor for the night. We needed recovery time.

We left early in the morning with a light following wind. I tried our autopilot for the first time. I had designed and built it myself. It was an auxiliary rudder with a trim tab driven by a balsa-wood wind vane. I didn’t quite finish it before we left, so each time we got into an anchorage, I would work on it. This morning it had evolved to the stage where it was functional.

And it actually worked! Until the wind got so light that there wasn’t enough force to deflect the wind vane. Our destination was Avalon, but as we approached Isthmus Cove, we figured that was enough.

Mañana had set in. We picked up a mooring and settled down.

We left at one thirty in the morning for the crossing to San Diego. There we were to rendezvous with our buddy boat Masara.

We had not planned to travel with another boat. We had only met the Masara crew a couple of months earlier through a mutual acquaintance.

"Do you guys know Frank and Monique on Masara?"

I don’t think so.

They live down the street from you and are leaving about the same time.

I don’t know, Jerry. I was hesitant. It would be difficult enough for us to come to an agreement, but to include another family? He insisted that we at least meet them. They were only three slips over.

So one weekend, Jerry introduced us to Frank, Monique, son BC, and crew member Laura.

Frank and Monique had emigrated from Belgium in 1958. Frank was interested in sunken treasure, and he had done an enormous amount of research. But he could not swim. However, Monique and Laura claimed to be certified divers. And JJ was certified. As I had done a lot of diving, Frank turned to me for advice on equipment. Money was no problem. Frank owned an auto repair shop and was a master mechanic. And he loved gadgets. He installed a high-pressure compressor to refill our tanks, a low-pressure for hookah, two underwater magnetometers, etc.

What else do you want? he’d ask.

We were obviously going to be traveling together!

They had left two weeks before us. Call us as soon as you get to San Diego, were their last words as they were leaving. As we rounded Point Loma, I thought I’d call them on the radio to see if we could locate them.

"Masara, Masara, this is True Grace, Whiskey, Yankee, Romeo…"

Where the hell have you been? was the immediate response. He must have been sitting next to the radio waiting for our call.

Frank, Frank, get off sixteen. Meet me on sixty-eight!

Hell, I’ve been waiting for a week!

Frank, six-eight.

When we arrived at the marina on Shelter Island, Frank had already arranged a slip for us.

He was waiting on the dock.

What the fuck took you so long?

Well, our schedule slipped a week, and we spent some time at the islands. He looked over at Dan.

Dan, what’s the matter with your head?

Dad hit me with a clipboard.

SAN DIEGO

We had been invited to spend Thanksgiving with our friends, the Kingstons, and lots of their relatives. While the women cooked, the menfolk took the kids jogging. Well, that sounded easy enough. Not so! We must have jogged at least six miles! I didn’t think those kids were ever going to get tired.

It turned into a beautiful day. Although we had only just begun, we were glad to have an opportunity to get away from the boat. When we got ready to return to the harbor, the Kingstons lent us one of their cars to take care of those last-minute items.

And there were lots of last-minute items: the self-steering gear, the trysail track, the saltwater pump to the galley. Back and forth to the chandlery for parts, nuts and bolts, hoses, etc. And spares: engine parts, fuel and oil filters, belts, fuses, lightbulbs, etc. There was a short in the navigation light system. It was located and repaired. We spent one day running around town looking for kid’s books. JJ and Dan had never been great readers, so when we were moving out of our house, all the kid’s books were packed and stored in the garage. From other cruisers, we learned that their kids spent a great deal of time reading. Penny and I hit the thrift shops and assembled a fair collection of books. A former cruiser gave us an additional shopping bag full of books, as we were leaving. Even before we left San Diego, JJ and Dan began reading, and they were actually enjoying this new experience.

Penny spent time at the Kingstons sewing, and Roger taught her how to do sutures and start an IV.

You never know…

Why were they all looking at me?

Another day was spent running around from store to store to get what seemed like a never-ending list. Sav-On, K-Mart, JC Penny, Pier 1, Goodrich Surplus, Kettenberg, Salvation Army…We bought PVC for the sunshade, Levi’s, hardware. A stop at the dive shop for O-rings, top off the dive tanks.

And more provisioning. We found a good deal on beer, and so another eight cases were bought. And other staples. Amazingly, we were able to find places to put it all, as our boot stripe sank further below the waterline.

We realized that we had to get out of here. We could continue to find other items that we would just have to have. In one week, we had spent nearly one thousand dollars!

We topped off our fuel tank and told the Masara crew that we were ready. Okay, we’ll leave early tomorrow.

CHAPTER 2

SAN DIEGO TO CABO SAN LUCAS

HEADING SOUTH

On December 2, 1981, at twenty minutes after noon, we cleared the Point Loma entrance buoy. A fair wind took us quickly to Coronado del Sur. We celebrated our first foreign anchorage with the Masara crew over champagne. We had sailed seventeen miles.

At midnight, we left for Todos Santos. It was a beautiful night. The ocean was like glass.

Orion was directly overhead chasing the Seven Sisters to the west. As I listened to Willie Nelson on the headset, dolphins played in our bow wave.

At about one thirty in the morning, red lights appeared on the horizon. Pretty soon, single reds turned into multiple reds. They were all around us. No other lights, just reds. Frank, who had followed at some distance, closed the gap. As suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. It wasn’t till much later that I realized we had sailed through the Mexican fishing fleet.

We arrived at Todos Santos at nine in the morning. We set our bow anchor just outside the small bay and put the stern anchor on the rocks. After we finished anchoring, the boys went ashore and discovered that the island was inhabited by fishermen. I had heard stories of theft in this anchorage and immediately began to worry about our stern anchor. It was not an expensive item, but I did not like the idea of being adrift in the middle of the night with rocks and reefs all around.

We’re going to reset the stern anchor.

JJ rowed ashore and picked up the anchor, then rowed in the general direction of my arm waves.

Okay, drop it.

The wind had come up and pushed True Grace sideways. We put the anchor rode on the primary winch, but still could not pull the stern over. We decided to pull forward, reset the bow anchor, and try to get straight that way. Unfortunately, Masara was over our bow anchor. We jockeyed back and forth until we were as straight as it looked we were going to get. Not real satisfactory and as we swung back and forth in the swell and wind, we would approach the rocks within twenty feet. Despite the discomfort (mine—mental) we ended up staying three days.

On the second day, some Mexican fishermen pulled alongside. We thought they wanted to trade. They held up a package of corn starch. Penny spoke to them and figured out that they wanted some flour. No, señor . No tengo maiz, but we have regular flour, Penny told them.

They discussed Penny’s response and gratefully accepted a bag of flour. Mucho gracias, señora .

As they motored off, we could see them spreading the flour over the insides of their wet suits. The lightbulb went on! We realized what they wanted and why.

Oh, oh! I didn’t know they needed it for that. I thought they wanted it to cook, Penny laughed.

The following day we left for Bahia Santo Tomas. Although there had been a lot of wind in the anchorage, there was very little once we cleared the island. We tried sailing but finally turned the engine on and motor-sailed. As we turned into the anchorage at Santo Tomas, the wind increased to nearly thirty knots.

We set out 250 feet of rode and kicked back. Masara came in and anchored off our starboard bow. Frank waved for us to come over, but no way were we going to row our Avon in that wind.

Later, Frank.

Hmmm. It looked like Frank was reanchoring. Maybe he wants to get closer, so we can get that drink. He sure is getting close. His anchor is up. No, it’s down. Shit! He’s snagged our rode!

Frank, drop your anchor!

Too late. Masara was bearing down on us. We tried to fend her off, but she was much too heavy. Our bowsprit split Masara’s rail and smashed her hatch.

We managed to shove her off, and she slid by us. However, Frank’s anchor was still in the water. I wasn’t sure how much chain Frank had out. We needed to get Masara on the other side. Their anchor was hooked on our anchor rode.

Let your chain out and come forward, I yelled.

No response. Masara continued to slip backward. I saw Masara’s anchor sliding up our rode. I tried to reach for it, but things were happening too fast. Frank yelled at me to cut our anchor rode. All he needed to do was come forward and give us slack! Then my thumb wedged between his anchor and our bobstay. I was trapped. Fortunately, the anchor could go no further, as it was hard up against the bowsprit. I could move my thumb; I just could not pull it past the knuckle.

"JJ, put a mooring line on Masara’s anchor. We’ll have Frank give us some slack. You let go the last ten feet of our line, and I’ll throw Frank’s anchor clear."

We yelled our plan at Frank, and he appeared to understand. Okay. Drop it!

This time we got it together, and we were free at last. Masara continued to maneuver, but at least they were downwind of us. They gradually disappeared into the distance. We felt much safer. We had been very lucky. No one got hurt, although the potential for disaster was there. I lost my hat, and we put some small tears in the genoa. The next morning the wind quieted down, and Masara returned to the anchorage. They had finally gotten their anchor to hold about five miles down the bay. Fortunately, the damage to Masara wasn’t nearly as bad as we thought in the excitement. Frank repaired the damage that day. As we were looking through the Baja Sea Guide, we stumbled on an interesting note: Wind blows in all directions, sometimes 40–50 knots when 8 knots outside the cove. I guess we should have read the Guide more carefully before selecting this anchorage.

During the night, a small ketch, Wild Goose, had come into the anchorage. In the morning, as they were preparing to leave, we called them to get information on a boat the Coast Guard was looking for. There were a husband and wife aboard. They were just about to complete their circumnavigation.

We started sixteen years ago with our five kids. Sure envy you, the husband yelled as they rounded the point.

CHECKING IN

That night, with the tide change, we swung and rolled in the troughs. The motion became unbearable, and at 3:00 a.m., we had finally had it. We turned the spreader lights on to get Masara’s attention. They must have read our minds, as Frank appeared on deck almost immediately. Of course, now that we were leaving, there was no wind. We ended up motoring all the way to Cabo Colnett, a distance of about forty miles. As usual, we were trolling lures all day. As soon as it got light, we started catching bonito. We threw all of them back, except for one beauty. In order to keep it fresh, we tied it to a line off the stern and dragged it in the water.

Suddenly, one of the lures was hit. A good-sized fish started pulling out the line. Slow down! Dan yelled.

Penny backed off the throttle, but the fish continued to pull line.

More! At that point, she put it in reverse. Well, there went dinner! Through the prop.

Then the fish that had been on spat the hook. Instead of fresh fish, Dan fixed Mexican pizzas for dinner.

After a restful night, we left for Isla San Martin. Again we motored nearly all the way. Isla San Martin is about a mile in diameter and slopes gently to a central volcanic peak, rounded by wind and weather to the appearance of a gorgeous breast. The island was barren, except for cacti, ice plant, and a few stunted bushes among the loose masses of lava. A fish camp was located off the anchorage. We anchored in Hassler Cove in about twenty feet over sandy bottom. The only thing we needed to be careful of were the large wooden slatted lobster holding receivers moored in the cove. We were protected from the northwest swells by the island and the kelp beds and from the southeast by Boulder Hook, a natural and effective breakwater of smooth volcanic stones that projected to the northeast. We spent three days fishing, diving, and windsurfing before moving on.

According to the Sea Guide, our next stop was…hmm…Punta Baja and then San Carlos. However, the Sea Guide pointed out, The winds coming off the bluffs sometimes reach velocities of fifty knots and more.

How about Isla Cedros? Looks like about 140 miles.

Penny smiled and nodded. Why not?

We left at midnight, so we’d be assured of a daytime landfall. Masara poled out their genoa, and they were gone. I waited till JJ came on watch at three rather than waking someone or poling out by myself.

We ran wing on wing for about eight hours. The seas would roll under our stern, gracefully lifting True Grace. As the swell rushed under us, we’d slide down the face and watch it crumble in front of us. The northbound Island Princess advised us that winds would be increasing from force 5 to force 6. In the afternoon, we dropped the genoa and hanked on the yankee. Probably overcautious, but what the hell. By nighttime, we put a reef in the main. The wind remained steady, and the sail plan, though conservative, was very comfortable.

This was our first overnight/round-the-clock passage. We had scheduled three-hour watches: I had the midnight to three, JJ followed from three to six, Dan followed JJ from six to nine, and Penny rounded out the set from nine to noon. It was repeated for the back shift. That night I was sitting in the cockpit with Dan. At about seven, he asked me to take the helm for a minute. Well, that was the end of Dan’s watch. He went out like a light. When we analyzed it, it made sense. On his watch schedule, he was up at 6:00 a.m. and did not get off watch, supposedly, until 9:00 p.m. The rest of us would sleep in or sleep during the early evening. He just could not make it till nine! We changed the watch schedule to three hours for Penny, JJ, and me at night and one-hour watches during the day. Dan stood two two-hour watches at 6:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m., in addition to his one-hour daytime watches. We still stood our six hours of watch.

We were making good time and decided, therefore, to heave to around midnight. It made my watch easy and allowed the rest of the crew to get a good night’s rest. Around the middle of my watch, I saw some navigation lights. I called the approaching vessel on Channel 16 but got no response. I shined a flashlight on the sails, turned on the spreader lights, but still no response. I got ready to get underway when the approaching vessel finally altered course. Although it did not get close enough for positive identification, I suspect it was a sport fisher on autopilot with the crew either asleep or dozing. We resumed sailing at four in the morning and arrived at Isla Cedros at seven o’clock. We first dropped anchor near the north end of the island, but as the holding was poor, we moved to a bight about eight miles south of the North Light. There was a sandy beach, and it appeared that the sand might continue out to sea. The wind gradually picked up, and after two days of worrying, we decided to seek shelter off Cedros Village. We studied the Sea Guide to find the best place to anchor. It stated, Anchorage may be taken in the open roadstead about a quarter mile off the wharf over sand bottom, which provides good holding ground. We picked up anchor and sailed wing on wing down the coast under main and yankee. About a mile north of the village, we dropped the sails and motored in looking for the wharf or any other likely anchorage.

See the wharf anywhere?

No. That looks like a breakwater, Penny answered. We checked the chart and the Sea Guide again.

Sure, don’t see a pier.

As we approached, a small harbor opened up behind the jetty. And I mean small! Especially considering the number of boats already at anchor. We entered slowly and anchored between a dilapidated old scow on one side and a tuna boat on the other. Off our starboard quarter swung a small ketch. Masara anchored on the other side of the scow. As we were all swinging on single hooks, we hung our fenders over the side, just in case.

Cedros Village was reputed to be a port of entry. We raised our quarantine flag and sat back. Nothing happened. Penny and I finally decided to go ashore and find the port captain. In the office, Penny handed our paperwork to the port captain’s secretary. She looked puzzled.

Penny explained the purpose of our visit.

Ah…si… And a flood of Spanish, very rapid.

I asked Penny, What did she say?

Penny turned to me and repeated what the girl had said.

In Spanish!

Huh?

Finally, the port captain stepped out of his office and signed the papers, and we were in. He explained that the rest would be taken care of in Cabo San Lucas. Penny wanted to send a message home to let everyone know we were safe and well.

Donda esta un teléfono?

No esta una.

Maybe a telegraph?

Ah, si. It takes about three days.

How about a letter?

Si. Ten days, fifteen days, maybe never.

So much for reaching out and touching someone.

Donde esta la panedoria?

That was easy. Across the street, we bought a bag full of bread and headed back to True Grace. On the way to the harbor, we met Frank and Laura. We showed them where the office was and assured them that it was a piece of cake.

Penny decided to stop at Masara and visit Monique. When she reached out to pull us alongside Masara her glasses slipped and fell over the side. She dove after them, but I grabbed her leg, and consequently, she missed her glasses. (She was still holding our paperwork, and I was concerned about losing it.)

BC, drop a weight on a fishing line.

I don’t wanna fish.

Just drop the line, dammit.

Penny climbed aboard Masara. I rowed back to True Grace, shouting at JJ and Dan to break out my dive gear. I was suited up in record time.

Son of a bitch! Masara was moving! Their anchor was dragging again.

Penny had taken off her wet clothes and emerged on deck with a towel wrapped around her.

While Monique maneuvered Masara, Penny, clutching the towel with one hand, attempted to raise the anchor. By now, a crowd had gathered on the jetty to watch the pendeja gringas. They whistled and cheered the girls on.

Laura and Frank had also observed Masara’s movement. They ran down the hill. Frank took a shortcut—straight through a chicken coop. Laura got to the dinghy first, jumped in, and began rowing. Frank took a giant leap and fell into the back of the dinghy. They chased Masara, trying to catch up and get aboard. The anchor was finally dropped to a nice round of applause from the jetty. I’m sure they would much rather have seen the towel drop, but in any event, they had been treated to a good show.

I didn’t dare dive