SV Gallant Fox

Guaymas Gumbo

We have been in the Sea of Cortez since November 1, enjoying the fine winter weather.  It had been a great cruse, and we met some real interesting people.  The problem was the bottom kept getting foul.  I was cleaning it every six weeks, then every four, and now every three.  It was a mess down there, being two years since our last haul out.

 

“Let’s sail over to San Carlos and do the bottom paint"  we said, so off we went.

We arrived in late in March, and hung around the anchorage waiting for about 10 days for the tides to turn so we could get into the Marina Seca boatyard.  This was not a problem, since it took us 7 days just to get the paint.  We hauled and everything went fine.  Marina Seca is a great place to do work – you can pour acetone on the ground and sand to your heart’s content.  We splashed and came over to Marina Singular in Guaymas, with the intention of taking the train north through Copper Canyon

Two days after we got here Marianne got the call that her mother was real sick, and it was time to come home.  Well, Jeffie had been real sick for a long time, so this was a little expected.  MS jumped a flight out of San Carlos to Phoenix then rode with her brother down to El Paso

Three days later Jeffie died.  A sad time for all.  But she lived a long 88 years, overcame a lot of medical adversities to live independently for most of it, and seemed very satisfied with her place in the world.  She seemed very contented , and had many activities and friends.  We are all going to go sometime, and this was her time.

 So now, three weeks later, MS is still in El Paso.  There is a lot of stuff to go through -  49 years of belongings in one house, and sort out what the family was going to do.  Also, since she is in the states, we turned this into our yearly buying binge, so naturally, you are waiting for supplies to show up – then there is the doctor’s appointment.  She won’t be back until May 2.

 I think my point is that cruising is not what most people think it is.  It’s just like the life in the states, without all of the conveniences.  You need paint you have to sail a hundred miles.  You wait a week for tides.   People get sick and you have to go and its planes and automobiles to get there.  Being full time people on board we carry our life and all of its complications  with us.

We are in a real good spot though – the marina at Singular Guaymas is great – nice town to be in, good provisioning, etc.  It’s just not like being out at anchor, fishing, swimming, and beach walking.  Also – I am alone on the boat, which lets me tear it up and do things, but there was not that much to do so I am about polishing the stainless again.  I made this great soup the other day….

The view at Singular - they all look alike.

Guaymas Gumbo

 Guaymas is famous for its shrimp.  The shrimping fleet is huge in the harbor here, but most of it is in mothballs.  Still, you can go down to the market and get a kilo of large shrimp for about $10. Here is the recipie:

 1 qt Chicken Stock

1 cooked chicken breast - shredded

1 chorizo Espanol – sliced –  this is a dried Spanish sausage

8 - 12 oz clean shrimp, split

1 tomato - chopped

1/2 squash- chopped in ¼ inch bites

1 red pepper - sliced

5 pickled yellow peppers – chopped with the seeds removed

1 lime - juiced

¼ cup chopped cilantro

My trusty crockpot - five years old and still cooking away

 

 

Chicken Stock

Roast the leftover carcass’ of two chicken in the oven for about 45 minutes until brown at about 425.  This step makes a huge difference in how the stock tastes.  Usually I am lazy and throw the raw bones in the crock pot – but, I’ve got all this time on my hands…..

 

Combine the bones, ½ onion, 1 carrot and 1 stalk celery, 4 bay leaves, and 1 clove garlic, 5 black peppercorns in the crockpot and let simmer for 8 hours.  Alternatively, use a pressure cooker for 20 minutes on high – 15 psi.  Chill the stock and skim the fat off.

 

Into the stock, add all of the ingredients except the shrimp and the cilantro.  Bring to a boil for about 3-5 minutes.  Add the shrimp and cilantro and turn the heat off, cover for a couple of minutes.

 

I though this was real tasty – it’s quite easy to do.  The slow part is the stock, but I am always making stock in my trusty crock pot, so no problem.

 

Enjoy – another original recipe by the propane chef

 

 

January 25, 1921 - April 8, 2009

'Bye Mom. The flowers blooming all around your garden look beautiful. Say hi to Dad when you see him.

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Mayday - The Next Day

We left the sportfishing skiff we’d towed to Timbabichi in the care of the two pangas that guided them in to the shallow part of the anchorage. We assumed all was now well, and planned to follow up with the two fellows in the morning. The next day, about 0730, we saw the neighboring ketch in the anchorage taking them some coffee and food. Until then it hadn’t occurred to me that their skiff had been so undersupplied that they’d had no food, water, or even blankets aboard; they’d never mentioned anything to us. Jesus Marimba, those boys had spent a cold, hungry February night at anchor in Timbabichi.

During the day, one of the two sportfishers stayed with their skiff while the other one arranged for gasoline through the son of Manuel, one of the local pangueros. Difficulty: Manuel asked for and got from us our last two gallons of gasoline so that his son had enough fuel in his pickup truck to drive the sportfisher inland to the nearest Baja town to get gasoline for the skiff as well as some basic supplies like food, sleeping bags, and water. Round trip: 8 hours. Manuel offered to have his son refill our 5-gallon jerry can with gasoline, since he was driving to town for the sportfishers’ fuel anyway. We agreed and gave Manuel 200 pesos (a bit over US $15 at the time) to cover the expense of all 5 gallons - even though Manuel owed us for the 2 gallons he’d just taken from us.

Later that evening, when Manuel’s son and the sportfisher returned from their inland trip, we had both sportfishers aboard The Fox for dinner. As a thank-you for our help, they gave us an 18-lb. yellowtail jack they’d caught the day before, pre-mayday (it fed GB and me for several very fine meals.) Nice men, nice conversations - sea stories, fairy tales, and good cheer all around - being somewhere safe, among friends, with good food makes for a very fine evening indeed.

Hey…what’s that knocking on our hull?

Manuel had arrived in his panga, demanding 1500 pesos (about US $115) from not just the sportfishers, but from GB and me, for the time and expense that both Manuel and his son had gone to, to help the sportfishers get the fuel and other gear they’d needed to make the trip back to their home port. The sportfishers assured us they’d reimbursed Manuel’s son in full, but ol’ Marianne was the only one aboard who spoke any Spanish, so ol’ Marianne was stuck in the middle between our dinner guests, and an increasingly unhappy panguero whose Spanish became more and more incomprehensible. I finally wore him down, though, by reassuring him that we’d received no money from the sportfishers for the time and diesel fuel we’d expended in rescuing them; and by reminding Manuel we’d paid top dollar for the 5 gallons of gasoline he’d brought us - 2 gallons of which we'd given him gratis. I suggested he sleep on it and take up his dispute with the sportfishers in the morning.

Unbeknownst to me, the sportfishers left before dawn. Leaving The Fox alone in the anchorage.

Hey…what’s that knocking on our hull?

Manuel had returned to The Fox in his panga at 0700, even more miffed than he’d been the night before, making clear he believed the sportfishers had skipped out on a debt. A debt that he wanted us to make good. 1500 pesos. Boy, this rescue was getting expensive.

I tried my best* to remind Manuel what he already knew: that when we answered the sportfishers’ mayday, they were strangers to us. That we had neither asked for, nor needed, anything from inland until Manuel took our last two gallons of gasoline for his son. Not wanting to be pressed for any more cash than we’d already given - but also wanting to keep goodwill with the locals in an anchorage we’re likely to visit again, I argued with Manuel that at most, it would be reasonable for us to pay Manuel an extra 200 pesos for his time in getting our jerry can filled and back to us on our boat. Reluctantly, Manuel agreed, vowing he’d follow the sportfishers to their home port for the balance due.

* My Spanish consists of a little tiny vocabulary and no grammar. I speak slowly, and I make a lot of mistakes. Sure; I can make myself understood on the bus or in the grocery store, but arguing about money with an irritated guy standing in a panga and hanging on to my boat’s lifelines? Is bloody difficult. Try it some time.

Anyway, after mollifying Manuel, we left Timbabichi for Bahia San Marte aka San Marcial, some 22 miles up the Baja coast from Timbabichi. Got through the bad headwinds and heavy chop to find a fine, comfortable anchorage - we spent a peaceful night or two, decompressing from our time at Timbabichi.

Word to the wise: when a panguero says he’ll follow you to collect on a debt, believe him.

Hey…what’s that knocking on our hull?

Manuel found us in San Marcial, on his way, he said, to the sportfishers’ home port. He was dressed to do business - a long-sleeved button-down shirt, nice slacks, and a clean baseball cap. Some call it The Panguero Power Suit. He was still grumpy but quickly saw we would not give up to him the 1500 pesos he sought. Off he went.

My, what a difference a day makes.

The following morning, motoring around the point of San Marcial, headed back toward Timbabichi, came Manuel in his panga. He swung in to speak with us. We braced ourselves for the worst, but Manuel was all smiles and handshakes. He told us he’d caught up with the sportfishers and negotiated an acceptable amount of reimbursement with them. I deduced that the sportfishers’ departure from Timbabichi before making full payment, had been a madcap misunderstanding, exacerbated on both sides by language barriers. Manuel commended our generosity for the rescue, helped himself to some of GB’s freshly-baked tortillas and a swig of tequila “for the cold trip back home,” as he put it; and he off he roared, once again our buen amigo. Hasta la vista, Manuel.

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Mayday

VHF 16 came alive: “Anybody copy?”

It sounded to us like the typical gringo boater, unfamiliar with radio protocols, was trying to check if his radio were functioning by calling for whichever other boater might happen to be in range, to tell him how well his signal was being received, and from how far away. This occurs fairly often in Canada, the US and in Mexico, but casual “radio-checks” using VHF 16 (frowned upon by the authorities) seem to us to be exclusively done by Americans. It is slightly annoying but so common that one simply rolls one‘s eyes. Having anchored just a couple of hours previously in the bay at Timbabichi on the inside of the Baja peninsula, we weren’t inclined to play such radio games. So, we ignored the first hail.

Minutes later: “Anybody copy?”

This time I responded: “Loud and clear in Timbabichi.”

Silence.

About an hour later, the same voice came on VHF 16 again: “Mayday.”

Moments later: “Mayday.”

At anchor, we saw four other boats motor past a few miles offshore; yet none of them responded to either of the first two hails, or to either of the two maydays. I cannot imagine that all four vessels had their radios turned off; why else would none of them respond to a mayday? Whatever. Anyway, we responded:

“Vessel calling ‘Mayday,’ this is the sailing vessel Gallant Fox at anchor in Timbabichi. What is the name of your vessel and the nature of your emergency? Also, what is your location? Over.”

We learned that two sportfishers, father and son, were in a 23-foot skiff that was new to them and had run out of fuel. They were adrift and slowly being set on the northern shore of an island in the Sea of Cortez about 6-½ miles from Timbabichi. They were over 40 miles away from their home port, with a short-range VHF, a GPS, and little else in the way of equipment or supplies. They needed to be towed to safety, and no one but us was responding to their distress calls.

A sailboat is the slowest thing on the water, so is not the first choice for a rescue. We could have hailed the Mexican Navy, which has a prowler in the area, but I do not believe they are in the business of towing vessels, only in rescuing people who are willing to abandon ship. Not the best option for a fishing skiff out of fuel. It was already past 3:00 p.m. on February 1. The February sun sets in these parts at about 6:00 p.m. We were running out of time and options. We waved a couple of Timbabichi pangas over to The Fox and explained the situation to them, thinking that with their fast, light boats they could easily reach the skiff and tow the men back to the anchorage. Difficulty: pangueros don’t have gasoline to spare, they carry no towing ropes, they have no GPS to home-in on another vessel’s coordinates, and they did not personally know these men who were adrift. If these fellows were going to be towed to safety before nightfall, it would be up to us to do the job.

As we raised anchor, a sailing ketch arrived at Timbabichi. We explained the situation and asked them to leave their anchor light on, as we’d be returning - likely after dark - with a boat in tow.* They agreed, and off we went.

* You’d think that a boat at anchor would naturally keep an anchor light on in the dark. Not so: many boats down here in the Sea like to save battery power by staying unlit, even when it is unsafe to do so.

Pedal to the metal. We had The Fox’s trusty Yanmar 4JH3 engine running at 3000rpm. Thankfully we had calm air and seas, but with a less-than-clean hull The Fox managed no more than 6.5 kt. speed over ground. As we motored, GB pulled our 100-foot mooring line out of the lazarette and rigged a towing bridle on our stern pulpit. We kept in radio contact with the skiff, and eventually spotted it about two miles closer to the island than its last reported position. We slowed as we approached the skiff, faced it head-on, turned to port and slowly crossed their bow as GB threw the two men our towing line. They made it fast to their boat’s bow cleat as we drifted past, and in but one pass we were able to slowly accelerate and stretch the towing line as we turned back toward Timbabichi. We all made rigging a tow line underway look easy.

We made for the anchorage at Timbabichi as fast as we dared - about 6kt. speed over ground. Lucky for us the sportfishing skiff was small and light, but the sun was setting fast and the open bay at Timbabichi is difficult to make out in the dark. We approached the anchorage after 7:00 p.m., aiming for the anchor light that the ketch had indeed left on for us. As the last of the light faded and we pulled the skiff slowly into the 20-foot depth, two pangas appeared to take the skiff from us and tow it even closer to shore, in 10-foot depths The Fox is reluctant to enter. The skiff released our tow line, we retrieved it, and we anchored again near our original spot. GB and I high-fived each other, and toasted our Sailing Sensei, Brian Guptil, without whom none of this would have been possible.* GB made us a spot of supper, and so to bed.

* 10 years ago we were buddy-boating in the San Juan Islands with our pal and mentor, Brian Guptil. He had a sudden engine malfunction - naturally, as our two sailboats were going through a narrow, rocky pass off of Lopez Island. With utmost calm, as he drifted he instructed us two newbies how to properly rig a towing line, toss it to him, and resume speed, allowing him to fix his engine problem. Ever since then we have always carried one long line to use as a tow rope. As it happens, we seem to use it once a decade. Thank you, Brian!

[to be continued…]

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Notes from Underway IV

Underway 13: Punta Pulpito to Bahia Concepcion/Baja mainland - 3/7

Motored through brief patchy fog and light & variable winds for 33 mi., E 5-10kt. Dropping to S less than 5kt., increasing in p.m. N 15-20kt. with 4’ N chop as we rounded Punta Concepcion. Anchored in 23.7’ off Playa Santispac in Bahia Concepcion at 1550 - exactly the same time we arrived here on 16. April 2008. Cosmic. Total miles = 45.0.

March 9: reanchored ¼ mi. distant, in Posada/Santispac cove in 22.6’ - better N wind shelter, less fetch, nice company.

March 12: explored Playa Santa Barbara in Bahia Concepcion, 4 mi. distant from Santispac. Anchored in 24.7,’ bay is sheltered from the S-SE breeze 8-15kt. Later, wind shifted back to N 10-15kt with 1’-2’ chop at 1500, but holding stayed good. Large pod of bottlenose dolphin arrived to fish the bay & show off for MS’s camera.

March 13: retraced the 4.0 mi. back to Posada/Concepcion, anchored in 25.3’ in NE 6-12kt., without incident. 4 other boats anchored here now - the main cruising season is finally catching up with The Fox.

Underway 14: Bahia Concepcion to Bahia San Carlos/Sonora mainland - 3/14

The Fox’s 2 y.o. bottom paint needs repainting. Nearest haul out facilities with readily available supplies & services is across the Sea in San Carlos, Sonora. So: departed Posada/Santispac at 0400. Motored in light & variable wind, 8kt. and less, from NW, to ENE, to SW, while making the 88-mi. Northern Crossing of the Sea of Cortez out of Bahia Concepcion to Mexico’s mainland. Calm seas in morning, NW rolling swell in p.m. on mainland side. Arrived in Bahia San Carlos at 1755, anchored in 38.2’. Far fewer boats at anchor, on moorings, & in marina than we saw here in 2008.

March 15: Scheduled haulout at Marina Seca, San Carlos. March 26 is earliest date the tides allow transit to the lift. Next 11 days spent at anchor doing the usual chores, plus gathering the materials for GB to do the sanding/filling/repainting in the boat yard. Reacquainted ourselves with San Carlos & Guaymas.

March 17: GB helped a fellow cruiser take his 46-foot yacht to be hauled-out at Marina Seca. Winds W-NW 15-20kt. in bay. MS remained on Fox at anchor-watch. No incidents.

March 18: now that the 46-foot yacht has left an attractive space in the bay, reanchored The Fox a few hundred feet further away from bay’s main traffic channel, in 30’, without incident.

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