BEE of LA by Carla

I wake up at 6:45 a.m., light from the bright blue sky shining through the open aft cabin hatch above our bed. An occasional bee can be heard buzzing outside, along the hatch's protective netting. (I love that bug barrier). The sun-shiny morning light feels identical to the previous 8 months of mornings, save only a handful of overcast days. Only the intensity of the morning temps and humidity varies.

We are in Quemado Bay, on the northeast side of the Sea of Cortez, near the Bahia de Los Angeles (Aka “Bee of L.A. If you're a gringo here). I prop up on one elbow, noting it got cool enough for me to have pulled the cover up last night. The boat is sideways to the gentle incoming roll of waves, rocking us a little uncomfortably side to side. Consequently the cat is sleeping at my feet: he feels safer on the bed in the rolls. Normally it's too hot for him to sleep on our bed and it's the first time I've seen him there in months.

I sleep on the inside against the hull. Getting out of bed requires an agility that seems to be on the downswing these days. I flip over onto all fours trying not to bump my head on the lowered cabin top which is only over my side of the bed. I lift one knee over Casey's body, gauging my morning level of sore hip and low back soreness. I hope for a small bit of mattress on the other side of him to put my knee down on, trying not to bump and wake either the cat or Casey thereby losing precious minutes of solitude. I then heft same right leg to step on to the small upholstered bench below and perpendicular to the side of the bed, leaving my left leg still way over on my side of the bed, creating wide leg wickets I'm barely capable of. This right step usually lands on the dubious platform of backpacks, backrests, spare pillows and clothing piled on this bench. My final Twister Move is to step into a downward dog by putting left arm down on the rim of the bed ledge next to Casey, then reaching my right arm across the bench onto the the countertop on the other side of the bench while lifting my left leg clear across the sweaty bod below me and onto the cabin floor with a thud. Usually by then the pile of stuff falls on the floor with my trailing right leg, and the cat wakes up with a leap and begins his incessant meowing for breakfast (which is usually leftover kibbles already in his bowl but refuses to see until he HEARS them land in the bowl) AND/OR Casey's hand goes straight up in the air while keeping his eyes closed and head down, meaning the classroom student is saying “Pick ME!” This is a longtime routine between us now, whoever gets their hand up first gets to ask the question “Where's my freakin cup of jo?” So, you try to be the first one with their hand up without looking at the other person to see if their hand is already up. Nowadays, hand is noted by the early riser and they can choose to proceed to the burner with a Marge Simpson growl or go through a whole round of a hand-raising sans eye contact competition.

On this morning only the cat awakes. I crawl up into the center cockpit. Through the screens to the side and aft and through the windows forward I have a 360 degree view of our wide personal bay. A barren and brown rocky mountain rises up from the west side of the bay, a low lying stretch of land with shrubs and cactus lie behind the head of the bay just beyond a white sand beach, and a red rocky hillside with ledges and caves along the water is to the east of us. To the north is a view of the islands of the B of LA, one being conspicuously perfect and volcano shaped. I can hear the morning yips of a coyote somewhere along shore. This feels really remote!

I get the coffee going in the main cabin, trying not to make too much noise to keep the rest of the crew sleeping: no easy feat, as Sophia decided in La Paz a few months ago that the main bench along our saloon table across from the galley stove was much preferable, for sleeping, to her bunk in the v-berth with the boys. Her bunk up there is/was a PVC-supported plywood with foam cushioning lying athwart-ships (across the width of the boat) above the boys' bunk. The discomfort had something to do with the climb up, too close to the ceiling, and too close to the boys and their reading lights. We tried persuading her for awhile to get used to it, but eventually I felt she should sleep where she's most comfortable – at least it's some consolation for not really having any private space that's her own on the boat. So now the main cabin is her permanent sleeping spot.

SO, most of the time my daughter is accustomed to hearing the clatter of the tea kettle and the coffee-making (Melitta method) every morning. She often awakens, then falls back asleep.

We left San Carlos on June 14th, having been there for 9 days short of 2 months. This was about a month longer than we intended, but once you land somewhere where there's an abundant source of groceries, marine stores, services, internet and the pull of the boater community, the job of leaving gets stretched by distractions and opportunities. I hope to touch on our San Carlos stay a little later.

We had originally gone to San Carlos, on the NE side of the Sea of Cortez, in mid-April, almost 6 months after entering Mexico. We decided to combine a cross-border trip to AZ to renew our Visas with a trip to Prescott AZ to visit my family. When we returned from the 9-day trip in early May, we then had to contend with fixing a pesky, mysterious engine problem we had been dealing with ever since we left La Paz in March. The engine would not seem to get to full RPM's. We tried changing the fuel filter after every single time we used the motor (which was nearly every passage north of La Paz). We tried polishing the fuel. Casey tested the injectors. Finally, after Casey exhausted every self-diagnostic test he could think of, asking 3 people's advice, including a fellow cruiser who was a mechanic himself, he called the local Mexican mechanic. Fearing we'd need a new fuel pump or some major fix, the mechanic found that it was a kink in our engine shut-off cable that was the problem – a simple, inexpensive thing that had given us headaches for almost 3 months! Doh! And, finally!

Those last 3 weeks at end of May, early June in San Carlos had REALLY gotten hot. We were bracing ourselves for the Mexican summer to get worse and worse. But as soon as we reached the other side of the Sea it has become noticeably cooler, and drier, thank goodness! Our plan is to enjoy the islands of the B of LA until mid-July,when we will return to San Carlos to leave the boat in a hurricane-protected marina or dry yard while we visit friends and family in WA Sate during the hot weeks here.

Our stay in the Bay of LA was wonderful. We decided to break the overnight trip across the sea into smaller increments by heading north along the east coast of the Sea first, then crossing further north where the Sea is narrower, and has some islands to stop at along the way. One of them is Tiburon, where we saw an episode of “Survivorman” once bringing forth anticipation of an inhospitable barren place in my mind. It was, but not so unpleasant when you're dangling on an anchor in “Dog's Bay” with ice cubes, warm water for swimming, and plenty of food in the frig. The boys were catching a lot of fish off the stern, none big enough to eat however. We went swimming, but this was the beginning of our encounter with stinging jelly fish you couldn't really see. The stings were mild but annoying nevertheless.

At Dog's bay, we were still within cell tower range to receive the last of our internet access for the next month. We would hold the iPad up towards the general direction of the town of Kino, trying to get more bars for one last email!

The next day we motored for about 7 or 8 hours to the other side of the Sea to the island of Partida. It was super barren, not a cactus in sight, just rocks. We suddenly entered COOLNESS (relative). It was the first time we actually felt it cool down at night. AAAHHHHH. Great sleeping. We were still a couple hours away from the coast of Baja, but close enough that a Panga fisherman had come here to fish for the night. We saw schools of jumping baitfish slap the water in the evenings, sounding like a handful of pebbles hitting the water, and sometimes there were schools of bigger fish in a corner of the bay making so much ruckus it sounded like boiling water.

Our next spot was in a cozy little spot on Baja itself. It felt like coming home a bit, being on the Baja peninsula again. Not that there was a soul or man-made structure in sight, but it felt welcoming just the same. We chose a little anchorage called Animas Slot below the Soda Water Mountains: pink and gray, with high peaks. The sailors guide books do a great job of describing the anchorages objectively, including depths, dangers, trails, and services available if there's a town, but they don't say things like, “This is the coolest place, don't miss it!” So, it is a little hit and miss when you choose the anchorage – it can be pretty cool, but “maybe the next one is better!” You just don't know. If you stay awhile in a great spot are you going to regret later you spent too much time somewhere that wasn't as cool as the next place? I suppose I should knock that off for one could never be satisfied until they've seen the entire world; kind've like having to read the whole menu before ordering because you might miss something better.

As we maneuvered our boat between underwater invisible rocks into Animas Slot we were pleased to see we had picked THE SPOT - a spectacular, protected, cozy little anchorage walled in with sheer red cliff sides on one side, and on the other side tunnel-windows in the rock to where you could see the ocean on the other side, and a beautiful white sand beach at the head of the bay. On one end of the beach where the bay curved seaward toward the rocks with the tunnels it was just a low rocky barrier, before the high cliffs arose again. Over this low rocky protective ledge you could see the coastline and mountains beyond. It was beautiful.

The kids and I went swimming on our air mattresses and kayaks. In the water there were some whitish, clearish looking string things that looked like seaweed branches. Cavan, from his kayak, thought they were alive. I wasn't sure about that. Once ashore, I saw some giant 1 or 2 inch long sand bugs. Ew. But I didn't point them out to anybody. On our way back Tommy was swimming, and later lying lazily atop it, waiting for a tow from us kayakers. He looked a little stiff. Casey had said something but I didn't hear it. “Dad says the water is filled with jelly fish!” Tommy said as I neared his mattress. Back on the boat Casey said he had swam toward the beach to join us, and after realizing those stringy things were stinging him, had to swim back through them to get to the boat. Now that we were back on the boat, we realized he was NEXT doing battle with the bees. The bees were swarming around, and it kept getting worse, so we zipped up our cockpit screens quickly! At least they seemed to be slow and easy to swat. It became apparent to me that we wouldn't be staying here much longer! We couldn't wait to leave in the morning, even though the bees died down that night. From then on I named this beautiful spot “The Evil Anchorage”. It APPEARS beautiful, BUT....

I looked up the definition of Animas – it means inner soul. I know there's a witty or profound conclusion there somewhere.

Our very next spot turned out to be my and Sophia's favorite anchorage in the B of LA. And ironically enough it was called Alacran, which means “Scorpion” in Spanish. There are supposed to be lots of Scorpions around here. But we didn't see a one. Only a few yurts, no boats except one panga, and apparently only one yurt occupied. The sand was sublime, white and soft. The bay was not small and cozy but expansive and wide, facing the SE so protected from northern winds. The only thing ruining the perfection were the dead Humboldt squids washed up upon the shore, but they're weren't enough to be too ugly or smelly.

The first day we came ashore (Sophia by air mattress) we were greeted by a healthy, friendly mid-sized dog who came bounding at full speed from the Yurts at the other end of the beach. Animal-loving Sophia was so happy to have an animal to play with, that this was icing on the cake for this place. Cavan set up his slack line, digging anchor points into the sand, a system where the weight of the sand keeps them tight. We all went running barefoot up and down the beach, giving our legs some much-needed exercise. We stayed here two or 3 days before rounding the corner to the next anchorage, Pescador.

Here we had some beautiful Palapas on the beach, that were built for a now empty Eco Camp. Not a sole was there. We never did make it over to the palapas when we dinghied ashore here. Instead we walked the opposite direction toward the point, looking for a logical short cut across the point to view the next anchorage over. The guide book illustrated a trail, but nothing was obvious among the rocks, shrubs and cactus that we tread on for a half hour. The next bay of El Quemado seemed much too far to walk to after noting a valley in the rock we'd have to cross.

We left the next day as it was a little too rolly. The wind had shifted to the SE. We rounded the corner to El Quemado. This was the place I described making the coffee at the beginning of this post. It was also fairly wide bay, pointing to the north.

The next day we decided to go ashore and look for the same trail back to Pescador from this end. We headed into the desert in the general, opposite direction we had hiked before. We crested a small rise right near us to start the hike. We were so surprised to see the palapas and beach were right there – a hundred yards or so at most, as soon as we got over that hill: it was so close!! We laughed. When coming from the other direction the previous time, we had gone way too close to the high rocky point, making the distance to El Quemado much further.

We took a little tour of the beautiful palapas which were partly furnished, one of them open. It was fun to see some of the beautiful wood supports and designs of these houses and fantasize about having one of these someday. The front of them looked out over the white sand beach and ocean, the back had a view of the wide valley of cactus and mountains in the distance. It was strange to see these beautiful, newly constructed palapas without a road, boat, or evidence of anyone recently using them.

We did a little snorkeling at El Quemado the next day. in a little cove of red rock that we dinghied to. The water was a little cloudy, a little less warm, and the small 10 foot wide beach was rocky with a cave for coyotes, we guessed, at it's head. Cavan snorkeled with his spear gun and GoPro. It was funny to see the boys diving steeply and quickly, I hadn't seen them putting their breath-holding skills to use yet. In fact, that was the first time I had been snorkeling this whole trip! As the family knows, it takes some pretty warm water temps to get me to go in the water.

This is the first part of our trip through the Bay of LA. Coming up: we enjoyed the little town of the Bay of LA two stops later, a whale shark, a hike at the base of a volcano before returning to San Carlos.