Baja Ha Ha Leg Two
Bahia de Tortugas to Bahia Santa Maria
It’s fun leaving the anchorages, because you are surrounded by other boats. As the hours and days progress, bigger boats go faster and the smaller boats play a futile game of catch up. We raised the spinnaker soon after departing Turtle Bay. Getting my first look at the entrance during the day, I was surprised how wide the entrance was. I remembered how microscopic it seemed the previous night.
The wind was brisk and due to our superb driving (eh hmm) we were catching up to faster boats and even passing some of them. The seas were sloppy and the LD was rocking and rolling. But she was going fast! At one point (while we were surfing down a wave) we hit 11 knots! I was impressed with the performance of my little boat. But she demanded constant attention as we pushed the envelope of being under “control.” A few hours into this wobbly ride, we caught a fish. I’m not sure what kind it was, Dorado, maybe? Evan, our official fish killer, grabbed the fish and the big fillet knife and went to the starboard side of the boat. I was wondering how he was going to manage to fillet the fish, since the boat was threatening to round up every few minutes. I thought he would surely end up cutting himself and I was glad I had restocked the first aid kit before we left. But he did it without incident. He cut several nice fillets and cleaned up the deck. I was amazed no blood was shed, except (obviously) that of the fish’s
Our first night was lumpy. Waves averaged 8 to 10 feet. They were directly on the stern, so we could surf….and surf fast. But at night you can’t see them coming, you would just feel the boat lift up cueing you to hang on for the ride. Occasionally you could hear them crashing right behind us. I decided to close all the hatches, including the main hatch, just to be safe. The night watches seemed to last a long time, and sleeping was difficult. Lori, however, loved every minute of it. I sat up with her during her watch and she looked like she was having the time of her life. The bigger the wave, the bigger her smile. At some point a rather large wave appeared and looked intimidating as it blocked out our view of the stars. I told Lori as she was driving, “Whatever you do, don’t turn around!” We hooted and hollered as the wave picked LD up, sending her off like a rocket. I couldn’t find my GPS in the dark to get our speed, but we were going so fast I think I missed my next birthday. Wave patterns weren’t the only interesting show that first night. During my watch I could see (and hear) fish jumping out of the water. When morning came we had some interesting creatures on deck: squid, partial squid and a couple of different kinds of little fish.
Sometime during this leg I heard the bilge pump running continuously. I moved everything off the floorboards and opened them up. There was a considerable amount of water in the bilge. I was sure it wasn’t coming from the motor; we hadn’t run it in four days. I tasted it…fresh water. Apparently our patch job on the freshwater tank (while in San Diego) did not hold and now all of our fresh water was leaking into the bilge. By the end of the second leg, our water tank was empty. We had plenty of drinking water, but no water for washing dishes or our hands. Saltwater would have to do.
We were lazily cruising under the spinnaker at about five knots, looking for ways to amuse ourselves. I had an idea. I have a hammock chair that I love, but seldom use. I decided we needed to have some fun with it. We attached the chair to the end of the spinnaker pole. There was sufficient load on the pole to keep it steady and we were confident it would hold our weight. Lori bravely tried it first. Carefully she sat in the hammock and I pushed it to the end of the pole. It worked great! The chair swung over the water occasionally dipping her feet in the water as the boat rocked from side to side. We all took turns floating over the incredibly blue ocean.
Part of our voyage can best be described by Mark Twain:
“On such a voyage, with its eternal monotonies, people’s intellects deteriorate; the owners of the intellects soon reach a point where they almost seem to prefer childish tings to things of a mature degree. One is often surprised at the juvenilities which grown people indulge in at sea, and the interest they take in them, and the consuming enjoyment they get out of them. This is on long voyages only. The mind gradually becomes inert, dull, blunted; it loses its accustomed interest in intellectual things; nothing but horseplay can rouse it, nothing but wild and foolish grotesqueries can entertain it.” - Following the Equator
As days ran into days, we found ourselves acting a little strange. First, we became obsessed with farting and poop. Part of that came from having no privacy whatsoever on a small boat. I suppose the best way to avoid embarrassment it to make the embarrassing thing bigger than life. All the “number two” talk started when Evan, at six foot four, couldn’t fit into the head. After two days, he couldn’t wait any longer, resorting to the “bucket and chuck it” technique. While he was in the cockpit, “dropping his kids off at the pool” we were below putting up a 
privacy screen on the companionway hatch. And who was our mascot for these talks? Mr. Hanky, the Christmas poo. We would go around all day shouting, “Hi dee Ho!” and singing parts of the song we could remember, “He’s small and brown, he comes from you.” Every time we would say it, we would laugh uncontrollably as if it was the first time we had heard it. Next, we followed Evan’s lead mimicking Samuel L Jackson. We would yell, “MMMM mmm, my name is Samuel L. Jackson, I yell for everything.” Or, “MMMM mmmm, I’m Samuel L. Jackson and I love Macaroni and Cheese. MMmm MMmm.” “I’m Samuel L. Jackson and I need to take a shower, MMMmmm MMMmmm.” Lastly, we all started talking with Southern accents. I’m not sure what the impetus was, but it brought my Texas days back to me. The really weird thing was even when we left the boat to go to the beach parties; we would still talk with our accents! I won’t bore you with anymore details of our private hilarity, because it won’t make much sense until you spend at least 72 hours with the same people in a 29 by 9 foot room. I’m almost scared to see the footage of me and my capable, ocean going crew, acting like complete idiots.
We were 10 nautical miles from the finish of the second leg, and our wind began to die. While bobbing around watching the lifeless spinnaker, we saw a boat off in the distance. The sun was just coming up and we were able to make out a blue hull. This was the first boat we saw in two days. As it got closer, we were shocked to see that it was Crosswave. What were the odds? Hundreds of oceans miles and the only boat we see happen to be our friends! They had been motoring around the sea mounds, fishing. We talked for a bit while drinking our morning coffee and/or tea. After a few minutes they decided to go back and try to get more fish (they had already caught a mahi mahi) and promised to return.
We jealously watched them motor away. Lori brought the stove into the cockpit and cooked pancakes and bacon. In fact the pancakes were cooked IN the bacon. It’s much healthier that way. While we were finishing our artery clogging breakfast, a bird landed on deck. I’m not sure what kind of bird it was, but it looked like some kind of finch. It must have been tired from flying so far because “Mr. Hanky” (our nickname for him) stayed on the boat for almost three hours. He even ate some of our pancakes!
After an hour or so, Crosswave came back and offered us a tow. We graciously accepted. They towed us until we got close to the anchorage. They released the tow line as we raised the main. We sailed around waiting for them to set their anchor. Of course Eugenie boldly motors in and out through the fleet to find the best spot, right up front near the beach. We kept an eye on them and when they looked settled, we moved in. We tacked back and forth weaving through the anchored boats and once again rafted up to Crosswave.
Bahia Santa Maria
In the afternoon we went for a swim and were pleasantly surprised that the water was much warmer. It was fortunate for us that we were rafted up to J World since we discovered in Turtle Bay there was no easy way to get back on board the Lonesome Dove from the water. The shape of the hull did not complement the ladder I had bought. In fact, Lori and I had to be lifted back into the boat by Evan and Dave. But the J120 has a swim step and ladder on the transom which made boarding easy. That evening we hopped aboard J world for appetizers. We ate sashimi (from the bonito they caught) and ceviche (from the Mahi Mahi). It was so good! I just didn’t want to look at the pictures of the “guy/gal” we were eating.
We heard on the Net there was an over thirty five singles party on one of the catamarans in the fleet. Not to be detoured by rules or regulations, we crashed the party. Euge and I both had dingys, but no outboards, so we rowed (with Evan, Lori, and Casey) around the anchorage looking for the party. It was easy to find, lots of lights, loud music and numerous dingys tied to the transom. We made our way to the kitchen for drinks. It was good thing we showed up, since we were the party. We were the first to start dancing and spilling wine everywhere. Richard (Editor of Latitude 38 and the Grand Poobah of the Ha Ha) was taking pictures of all the craziness. There is a big group photo of the party in the December issue of Latitude, page 104. When we left the party, I was able to talk Herb and Roberto (Profligate crew) into towing our dingy with theirs. They agreed. While driving back to the boat, Evan and Casey heard voices in the cockpit of a boat we were passing, as asked to be dropped off. I guess they weren’t done partying. After leaving them, I made it back to the boat and turned in for the night. The next morning, I saw that someone was sleeping in the hammock. I poked the body in the hammock, “Asking…who is this?” It was Casey. Apparently, he wasn’t able to get back to his boat that night, and decided to crash on the LD.
The next morning there was a rum party on Profligate. Well, not actually on Profligate, but near it. It was a big dingy raft up. Everyone was to stay in their dingys and form somewhat of a line to circle round the boat. It was an assembly line of sorts. We first had to fill out a questionnaire about our boat, equipment, and how much money we spent 
getting it ready. Once we turned in the questionnaire, we received hat from Prusser’s Rum. The Captains got a nice, orange hat and the crew received cheesy white ones. In fact, I think both Evan and Lori left there hats on board at the end of the voyage; that is how much they liked them. Finally we made our way towards the stern, to receive our rum drink. I really don’t like rum, but I ordered a painkiller (there were three choices). I hated it and gave it to Evan. Here is a picture of the craziness…remember all these people are in dingys.
After the rum party there was another beach party. Bahia Santa Marin is just an anchorage; it is not even a town. But every year, for the Ha Ha, the Mexican people put on a party for the sailors. They spend two days ferrying and trucking equipment over the Baja Peninsula. They cook a lobster tail dinner in a fishing shack. They also provide a band, playing all the popular songs. Since there is no electricity on the beach, or anywhere nearby, they have generators running to keep the microphones and speakers working. When we arrived at the beach, there 
was a huge line for dinner. We joined all the other hungry cruisers to wait our turn. After about 30 minutes, the line hadn’t moved at all. We decided to take turns standing in line, so each of us could roam around, mingling and getting more beer. After about two hours we got our food, and figured out what was taking so long For starters they were grilling the shrimp and lobsters right there, a few at a time. Secondly, they would prepare one plate at a time. Lobster tail, a few shrimp, lettuce, tomatoes, and salsa. It is the way things are done in Mexico, slowly and with great care. You just have to be patient. Besides, this food was worth a three hour wait. I have to sheepishly admit that I’ve never had lobster before. I just never saw the appeal of ripping arm and legs off creatures that were alive a few hours previous. But the lobster tail was far less intimidating and it tasted so good. The shrimp was on my plate with head, eyes, and antennae still attached. I was unsure how to go about eating it, when Eugenie dared me to just eat the entire thing. Considering I was on the adventure of a lifetime and I had already had a few beers; I did it, crunchy eyeballs and all. Yummy!
We stayed on the beach, until way after dark and got a panga to get us back to our boats. We were having a lot of laughs and taking pictures (with the flash. Suddenly, we realized that the panga was going very fast and the blue hull of the J120 was rapidly approaching. We started yelling, just as the panga smacked Crosswave and rode up the boat a little on the starboard side. No damage done, and we later figured out that it was not our flash photography that distracted the panga driver, but it was Eugenie, who was showing him her pierced nipples. I’m just glad my boat was safely tied up on the other side.
Dave
I want to take some time to talk about Dave. Early on in the voyage, I started noticing things were a little strange with Dave. He kept losing his hat, which was really my hat. The loss of his hat was not the strange part, it was his reaction. He acted overly upset and very confused at the loss. “Why do I keep losing my hat?” he would ask repeatedly in earnest. I told him it was no big deal, it was a small boat and it would turn up sooner or later. Later on it got weirder. He started being a paranoid making up things that were wrong with the boat and telling Lori he was scared, but wouldn’t say why.
During the end of the first leg into the voyage, Dave called me into the cabin where he was resting. He asked me if we could talk. He began telling me that he didn’t feel that he and I were “gelling”. He felt that as First Mate, he and I should be having meetings every morning and discussing plans for the remaining voyage. I told him that this was the Ha Ha and we were not a British Warship, we were a cruising boat. He said he wanted to leave the boat. I decided that we should have an all crew meeting. We joined Evan and Lori who were already on deck. Dave began by saying that he didn’t feel things were working out. He said he was not getting along with the “Captain”, as he always called me. He told us he wanted to find another boat. “Why”, Lori asked. “Because I don’t feel boat is not safe.” This is when I got a little agitated. I had spent countless hours and maxed out two credit cards to get the boat ready for the trip. My Dad even forked out a chunk of change to buy a life raft and EPiRB. I told Dave that if he wanted to leave, that was his decision. Then I added, “But don’t you dare tell people this boat isn’t safe!”
Things went back to normal and we finished the first leg.
Another time Dave asked if he could talk. He told me that he was scared. “Of what,” I asked. “The Boogieman and Voices” he replied. He proceeded to tell me that he had a “mental condition” that he was on medication for, but he was trying not to take it to see if he could live without it. He wouldn’t tell me what his condition was. It was at this point when I started sleeping with my knife and locking my cabin door. He started being forgetful; leaving drawers open and forgetting to close through hulls in the head, something that could potentially bring water into the boat. He couldn’t hold thought for more than a few seconds and he was obsessed with fixing things on the boat which were not broken. Occasionally he would be confrontational with me, and the next minute he would act like it never happened. In Bahia Santa Maria, things got really weird. After we rafted up to Crosswave, Dave was disoriented, couldn’t keep still, and couldn’t finish a thought or hold a conversation. He asked me when we were going to town to get provisions. I told him that there wasn’t a town, and we had already provisioned in Turtle Bay. While we were alone in the salon, Dave told me that he needed to see a doctor right away. “What for?” I asked. After about five minutes of him talking but not making any sense, he told me that he had this “condition” and that he was in fear for his life. He still wouldn’t tell me what his condition was, but I managed to get out of him the medications he was taking. I told him was going to call someone for him. I climbed over to Crosswave.
Although I didn’t want to broadcast the situation to all the cruisers who were listening to their radio, I had no choice. I went over to Crosswave to use their radio; I didn’t want Dave to hear what I was saying. I called the fleet asking if anyone was a doctor. I was able to get a hold of a pediatrician who then told me there was psychiatrist on the boat Ohana. I tried to hail them on the radio, but there was no answer. Another boat called in and said since Ohana has kids aboard they usually monitor channel 78. I switched channels and was able to reach one of the Ohana children and asked to speak to one of their parents. I told them the situation, and he agreed to come by the boat after the rum party.
While I was talking to Eugenie about the situation, Joe who was on the boat Sea Baby, came up in his dingy. Joe was a guy I met while taking the Sailing Instructor’s course in Seattle (where I also met Dave). Apparently Dave had called him on the radio this morning, telling him that he needed to switch boats. Joe had heard the talk on the radio and was trying to figure out what was going on. As, I informed him about the situation, Dave came up from behind me saying, “I know what is going on…I’m just having a panic attack! I’m okay now…I don’t need a doctor anymore.” I told him to go back to the boat and we’d talk later.
Evan, Lori and I went to the rum party, leaving Dave on the boat. After returning, Evan went ahead to the beach party and Lori and I stayed on the boat waiting for the doctor. At this point I was a little upset. I was mad that Dave didn’t disclose this information to us before the trip. I was also pissed at myself for putting my crew into this situation. All kinds of scenarios were going through my head, things that could easily happen with an unbalanced person on board. We were not even near a town, if we were, I would have sent Dave on the next bus or plane. But we were stuck, literally in the middle of nowhere with a crazy (not to mention creepy) person on board. I know it is not politically correct to call him crazy, but that is how I felt at the time. Dennis arrived on the boat and went below to talk to Dave. After several minutes, Dennis called me below to ask me how much Dave had been sleeping. I told him that Dave lies down for a few minutes at a time and then will get up walk around the deck and climb back in his bunk. I mentioned the fact that the previous morning I woke up at five o’clock and found Dave had taken the dingy out and was rowing around the anchorage. He talked for Dave a little while longer and I overheard him encouraging Dave to take his medication and to get sleep.
We Dennis got up to leave, Lori and I asked him if he would give us a ride in his dingy to the beach party. He agreed and we piled into the dingy which was full of rum cups. On the way to the beach, he asked us what had been going on. We told him about some of the stranger episodes and asked him for his advice. He said, “Don’t be confrontational, make sure he takes his medications, don’t put him on the watch schedule, and get him off the boat as soon as you get to Cabo.” He told us to expect his personality to change from angry to scared, to happy, to sad, all within seconds. I thanked him and when we arrived at the beach, there were several people (some I didn’t even know) waiting to hear all the sordid details.
That night when we arrived back to the boat after the beach party, Herb, Roberto, and I were talking in the main salon of my boat. Dave climbed out the forward hatch and went over to Crosswave climbing into their forward hatch, leading to the V berth. Mark one of Eugenie’s students came over to our boat to discuss what Dave had said to him earlier in the night. He told us that Dave was scared. When Mark asked him what he was scared of, Dave replied, “Doing something that I would end up in a Mexican prison for.” Great. Okay are we having fun now?
When we left Bahia Santa Maria, we were sailing along under a good breeze, Dave came running up the companion way steps. “Do you have any guns or drugs on board?” he yelled at me. “No Dave, I said as calmly as possible. “We’ve already talked about that before we left, remember?” He turns to Evan and points, “Did you bring any guns or drugs on board?” “No Dave,” Evan says. Dave now turns to Lori, getting right in her face, “Did YOU bring any guns or drugs on board?” Lori tried to calm him down and he screams at her again, “Did YOU bring any guns or drugs on board?” I jumped in, “Alright, everyone lets calm down. Dave, nobody has guns or drugs on board, okay?” He went below to lie down in the V berth. A few minutes later, he pops his head back up and says as sweetly as can be, “Hey, do you guys want me to make some coffee?” We exchange puzzled looks at each other and said, “Yeah, sure.” About thirty seconds later, Dave came back up and said, “Uhhh…guys I can’t make the coffee.” He crawled back into the V berth.
Dave became extremely uncomfortable at the filming process. He told Lori that she shouldn’t film anymore. He angrily asked me to “order” a no filming day. I told him that Lori had spent a lot of money buying equipment for this film project and I was going to continue to let her film If he didn’t want to be filmed that was fine. But she could continue to film Evan and I. Lori later mentioned to me that he had threatened to throw her camera overboard. At this point Lori and I elected Evan to ask Dave if was taking his medication. Dave said he had taken it, but it was clear to us that he hadn’t. I stupidly jumped in and said, “When did you take it…this morning?” Dave, with an intense face, winked at me and said, “Yeah, I took it.” I think at this time I heard the soundtrack of Psycho playing in my head.
During the day we were on a great run with the spinnaker. Lori and I were in my cabin, laying around and talking. Dave rushes in and says, “Captain, I don’t want to stress you out but with the spinnaker up we could lose the rig. And then the boat will turtle (turn completely upside down) so can I have permission to get the life raft ready?” Rather than discuss the fact with winds of 10 knots, the event of a dismasting would be rare or the fact that even if we lost the rig, the boat would not turtle, I decided to play along
And gave him permission to get the raft out of the v berth and put it on the cabin sole. But in no way was I giving him permission to launch a 3000 dollar piece of equipment I hope I will never use. He seemed satisfied him for the moment. Later during the day he asked if we were going to throw him overboard. “Tempting...but no,” I said to myself. He also began talking about how he, “didn’t want to be the person who dies on the Ha Ha.” I believe he eventually took his meds, because he began sleeping and slept for almost the entire night. I, on the other hand, didn’t get much sleep and elected to spend my off watch hours out on deck, where it was safe.
This situation with Dave did not take anything away from this incredible experience. Instead, it adds an interesting element to the trip. Lori had commented that as captain of her own boat, she anticipates medical conditions and crew injuries. But she never had given a second thought to crew member’s mental conditions. I believe Dave would have been perfectly fine if he had taken his medication. Unfortunately, when people with a mental illness feel better they decide that they are “fixed”, and stop taking their medications. I cannot think of a worse place for this little experiment than on a small boat in the middle of a big ocean, where one’s daily sleeping and eating patterns are completely altered. Next time I get a crew who I only know casually, I’m going to require a full psychological evaluation.
Day In PV
last stop you, change buses to one that is ricketly, not so nice, but full of life. The buses are usually decorated with colored tassles, roseries and pictures of Jesus and the saints. Riding the buses in Mexico is an interesting experience. Although they have scheduled bus stops, they usually don't stop unless you flag them down. I let three buses go by before I figured that out. And there is no signal to indicate that you'd like to get off at the next stop. Instead, you just stand up and walk to the front when your "stop" is near.
When I transferred to the second bus, there was a guy holding a radio, singing to the music. It took me awhile to figure out where the voice was coming from. After two or three songs, he accepted pesos from tourists and locals alike. I took the bus into the Zona Romantica district and didn't know where to get off. I was looking for a specific coffee shop in order to get beans. When the bus started back-tracking I decided to get off and walk around. Although I had a map (sort of) I failed to find the coffee 
shop. I walked over the beach instead. The beach was Playa de los Muertos. There were a lot of touristas there: swimming, playing volleyball, and baking in the sun. As I walked down the beach it became clear certain hotels and palapas lining the beach were gay friendly, I've never seen some many men in speedos! I walked the end of the beach where the shore sank into the rocks and mountains. 
We spent the rest of the night eating, drinking, singing songs (with Don playing guitar) and expecting Dickles to walk in the door any minute.
When we were within a ½ mile of the marina entrance, I called Dick on the radio and a few minutes later I could see the panga, coming out to get us. We dropped sail just as the panga rafted up to us. A few minutes later, we arrived safely into the slip. At the dock we were greeted by the “Corona Girls” who welcomed us to Paradise Village and handed us a lukewarm Corona. Evan and I toasted to each other and to the Lonesome Dove. It was the end of our voyage, we had made it; one thousand sixty nine nautical miles!
could manage things. I went below and sat at the chart table. The next thing I know, the boat accidentally gybed and began rounding up (on the wrong side). At this moment, I was looking UP at the galley, as plates and silverware were flying all over the place. I clamored out on deck, just as Evan recovered and gybed back, only to see the boat begin to round up on the other, threatening to broach. I eased the sheet while Evan muscled with the tiller. The boat recovered. Once we were under control, we had the biggest laugh. During all the excitement, Lori was filming up on the bow. She asked Evan if he was concerned for her safety during his boat acrobatics. Evan replied, “I didn’t even know you were up there!” Since the sun was setting and our intended course was DDW, we got rid of the chute and unrolled the jib. We had a good laugh about the whole ordeal, and felt sorry for Dave. I guess if I was a paranoid schizophrenic, I wouldn’t want to sail with us either.
