November 10 – 30, 2022
Back to La Paz.
The Peace.
Literally.
Just over three months had passed since a black hole of chaos had, almost overnight, sucked us up and spit us out in what seemed like an alternate reality.
While we had been back in Washington sorting out the shitstorm threatening to derail our entire sailing adventure, nearly the entire alphabet had been exhausted in naming all the damn hurricanes which had menacingly passed by the Baja Peninsula.
Fortunately, none had landed on La Paz.
That good fortune had extended to our marina situation as well. We had been able to stretch out what was originally only a thirty day window the marina slip was available for us. In the end, instead of us having to return to Mexico just to move the boat or pay someone to do it for us, the marina had been able to simply move Exit to a different slip that had become available. Peace of mind is always welcome, even in small slices.
The entire time, Exit had been patiently waiting, tied to the dock in a slip at Marina de La Paz.
Now, standing back on deck, it all felt so different than it had three months before. The air temperature was more than thirty degrees cooler than it had been here in August, and yet, forty degrees warmer than where we had just come from. Perfect.
The crushing feeling of outside forces and influences seemed to be giving way to a slowly returning sense of calm.
As we commenced with the task of returning our girl from her current hurricane-braced hibernation state to full expedition prepped and provisioned glory, we had time to reflect on both how daunting and serendipitous the past one hundred days had been…the shock and relief of realizing you haven’t been hit by any shrapnel from the reality bomb that just exploded next to you, though your ears are still ringing from the concussion.
We had only walked the streets of La Paz once – straight to the bus station to get tickets to the Cabo San Lucas airport in August. Now we had the luxury of being able to meander aimlessly, absorbing the sights and sounds in a truly leisurely fashion.
Actually stopping to enjoy and appreciate the myriad of fascinating statues lining the long stretch of walkway that skirts along the waterfront, known as the Malecon, now seemed like a welcome pause in a lazy jaunt, rather than an interruption in time we didn’t seem to have only a short time before.
And yet, irregardless of having just managed to accomplish what we perceived as once again successfully escaping Washington State, we found the Pacific Northwest creeping back into our La Paz existence, albeit in a more benign and welcome manner…
To our amazement, despite the presence of an armada of boats in the marina and outside anchorage brandishing Seattle, WA on their transoms as their hailing port, not a single Husky banner was visible on the day of the Apple Cup. We even got a “GO COUGS!” from a passing dinghy. Turned out they were one of the boats from Seattle. Ironically, it also turned out they were flying a WSU flag as well.
The new list of tasks – reassembling everything that had been taken down or apart on Exit, completing a number of maintenance and repair projects, provisioning and re-stocking, getting fuel, on and on…we dug into the list of tasks, relishing the knowledge we would be off the dock and back at anchor by the end of the month. Exactly four months, to the day, since we had arrived at Marina de La Paz.
At least now we were in control of the priority list.
It was nice to, once again, be able to enjoy a lunch not only because it was delicious, but also because you realized you actually had the time to enjoy it. Vi’dah, a cafe only five minutes walk from the dinghy dock we were using, became our favorite go-to spot.
And before we knew it, November had come to a close.
No… of course, all the things on the to do list had not been completed. It’s a boat for fuck sake.
Didn’t matter.
We had done enough.
Departing Marina de La Paz, we headed straight out the channel. No reason to stick around. For too long, both our refrigerator and freezer had been completely empty. But lot of shopping had just taken place, and both the fridge and freezer were now completely full. We were much lighter in cash, but our lockers were once again stuffed with provisions.
Our return to Bahia Falsa was like hitting the refresh button.
Four months prior we had arrived at Bahia Falsa under a cloud of uncertainty and panic. Four months ago we were sitting in the cockpit, wincing over both our situation and the mega-twat spotlights bearing down on us. Four months ago since we had been at anchor…this exact spot.
A new day.
And yet, as this inner peace outside La Paz began to settle upon us, we were quickly jolted back into a less Zen and more raw nerve based reality when we hopped off the back of the transom and into the water…
Holy shit! While the thirty degree drop in air temperature from one hundred to seventy degrees that had taken place since August was a welcome gift, the twenty degree temperature drop in the water from eighty to sixty was nearly stroke inducing.
But all in all, we had nothing to complain about.
One of the luxuries of our return to the States had been the ability to secure a plethora of things difficult to come by in Mexico that could be brought back with us. Things we needed like spare parts and equipment…necessities. Things we wanted…priorities. Things we missed…guilty pleasures. Things we were intrigued by…experiments.
One of the experiments that had intrigued Kris enough to be added to our return luggage was a solar oven. A bit of space technology integrated into a strange looking contraption which utilized the sun’s energy for cooking. My skepticism was dwarfed by Kris’ enthusiasm to embrace something which seemed so congruent with our approach on Exit – harnessing the wind for movement, making fresh water from the sea, generating electricity with the sun…why not use it for cooking as well?
Some culinary technology experiments had been easier for us to undertake than other communication technology experiments. But we were currently facing a real issue with cell phone limitations.
Normally we are able to fairly readily access phone and internet service through Kris’ iPhone which can double as a hotspot connection for our iPads and laptop. However, we had learned that here in the Gulf of California, cell towers can be far and few in between. In fact we were stunned to find out, north of La Paz, we would have no signal all the way until Loredo.
Bahia Falsa was our last outpost for internet.
We had already made a decision. Cell service would be unreliable. Our Iridium (a dated evolutionally step from the even more dated satellite phone technology) required an expensive monthly service and was effective only for obtaining weather forecasts and emergency emails.
It was time to upgrade our technology.
But it had been a long process getting to this point. Like many other realities we have come to know in boat life, sometimes you have the luxury of making very simple decisions. Decisions that feel good both in your head and your heart. Other times you have to rethink or even reprioritize your philosophies. We have always despised Walmart stores and yet now find ourselves often seeking them out…function over form. No different with our internet coverage. Despite his humanitarian aspirations, Elon Musk has always struck me as just another rich, pompous, eccentric prick. It would be great if someone else had come up with a way for us to connect to the world regardless of Exit’s location, but as it turns out, we have to contribute to the Twitter investment reimbursement fund for access to that technology.
Up to now, we had been holding out. For us, the jury was still undecided on how well Starlink would actually work in the functioning environment of people living on a boat.
Our own discussions had been getting serious since we were in Marina Chiapas back in June. For months we had been monitoring forums and posts as well as having conversations, learning about other peoples’ experiences with Starlink. It was becoming more and more apparent that the technology was capable of giving us unlimited internet access, even offshore, without the hassles of either local cell tower coverage or international phone data services.
A decision was made. We ordered Starlink.
At this point, it was the only thing that was going to keep us on a short leash. We would have to return to La Paz to pick the package up, hopefully before New Years Day.
Once it arrived, we expected it to be a game changer.
From Bahia Falsa, we moved to a quiet anchorage just to the north called Caleta Lobos. It was much less popular than nearby Bahia Balandra and, therefore, would have much less tour boat traffic.
Chilling at Caleta Lobos for a few days allowed us to wait out a bit of a northerly front that was passing through, as well as scrub the bottom of Exit – a task which was long overdue.
Normally cleaning the bottom is a pretty low key endeavor with minimal drama, as long as it is kept up on. A quick scrub every couple of weeks helps keep the growth from taking too much of a hold. If you wait too long, barnacles begin to take hold, grow, and anchor themselves firmly, making the whole job exponentially more difficult, lengthy, messy, and injurious.
We had paid someone to clean Exit below the waterline in the marina a couple of times while we had been in the States (a first); but that had been over a month ago. The algae and barnacle build up since then had become untenable. When you can feel the vibration in the prop or see the lower number on the boat speed indicator, you know you’ve waited tooooo long.
The fact of the matter was not any objection to the actual task of cleaning the bottom of the boat itself…swimming underwater in a cloud of toxic ablative anti-fouling paint amongst an eco-system of floating and swimming marine flora and fauna you have just scraped from the hull (nothing like having a small crab decide the inside of your ear is the next best place to hide).
No. That was not a problem. The fact of the matter was simply that we had become pussies.
Twenty years prior, we had scuba dived in near freezing conditions in Seattle for our open water course. Subsequently, we had been called insane for diving in wetsuits by drysuit divers boat diving in Oregon. All a different time. Ten years of tropical diving conditions had turned us into pussies. Pure and simple.
After a great deal of soul-searching, and whining, I managed to grow a pair, and then don the 3mm wetsuit I hadn’t touched since it was brought aboard Exit years ago. And then…I put my 5mm shorty over the top of that. And then scuba gear…there would be no free diving for the Michelin Man. And then I proceeded to get in the water…and scream like a little girl. It was shocking…the water, I mean.
Apparently the water temperature here doesn’t get warmer again until April.
Fuck.
The bottom simply won’t wait that long.
Eventually, the task was done. Exit had a clean hull once again. With my circulation returned and my ears vacant of any critters, we could now lift anchor and depart Caleta Lobos.
Next stop: Isla Espirítu Santo.
sv-exit.com 