The Further Adventures of Fly Aweigh (II)

Back on a boat after a 10-year working break, we're off on another adventure! This time, with two hulls, no timeline, and no particular agenda.

12 August 2022 | Beverly, Massachusetts
23 July 2022 | Somewhere in the US
01 July 2022 | Channel Islands Harbor
19 June 2022 | Marina Coral, Ensenada
08 June 2022 | Cabo San Lucas, Baja California, México
04 June 2022 | Los Gatos, Sea of Cortez
24 May 2022 | Santa Rosalia, Baja California Sur, México
13 May 2022 | Isla Coronado, Baja California Sur, Mexico
05 May 2022 | V-Cove (El Refugio), Baja California
27 April 2022
19 April 2022
17 April 2022
11 April 2022 | Puerto Vallarta/Bahia Matanchén
25 March 2022 | Costalegre
27 February 2022 | Barra de Navidad, Jalisco, México
17 February 2022 | Barra de Navidad
03 February 2022 | Somewhere South of Bahía Magdalena
03 February 2022 | Cabo San Lucas
25 January 2022 | Bahia Tortuga, Baja México

Summer Blurb #3 - Dayton, Lancaster, and Salem

12 August 2022 | Beverly, Massachusetts
Alison Gabel | Weather is cooler here than anywhere we've been so far!
We've made it to the east coast, to the town of Beverly, Massachusetts, just a stitch away from Salem. The Deese wedding, which was the impetus for this entire adventure, is on Saturday.

We didn't think we'd make it, multiple times. The Covid thing in Wisconsin threw a wrench in the works, redefining the shape of our trip and putting doubt, on a daily basis, on the ultimate outcome. But Allan continues to feel better and I continue to test negative, so we press on.

Since our plans to fly to Saranac, NY and thence to Martha's Vineyard before the wedding were thwarted because of Covid, we were faced with a blank week. Where did we want to go? What, in the Midwest and east coast would be fun? I thought of all the years of flying over this beautiful country in airplanes, gazing down at gorgeous lakes, rivers, and mountains and thinking wistfully, "Someday I want to go there." After consulting the giant topographic map of the US on Dave & Mary Ann's basement wall, Allan came up with the idea of Dayton, Ohio, home of the National Air Force Museum and the Birthplace of Aviation. I landed on Amish country in Pennsylvania, and we narrowed that to Lancaster, PA. Some intense computer research later, we'd reserved a hotel across the street from the museum in Dayton and a cute cottage in the woods in Pennsylvania.

We left Madison on Friday with grateful thanks to our hosts an landed Dayton in time for a light dinner. We tackled the museum bright and early the next day. And I mean, tackled. This one required a game plan, as it's a massive collection of historic airplanes from the beginning days of flight through the space program, larger than the Smithsonian collections in Washington. Let me say up front: I don't like museums. My back hurts after an hour, I get bored easily, and I want out long before I've seen everything. Which is why most people take several days to see this place, and which is why we were there for three days. But I must say, it was very well laid out, with a number of improvements that made it good: I was happy to see that they've recently updated their displays to include the contributions made by the many unsung women in aviation throughout history, as well as the African American pilots who fought in WW's I and II and were instrumental in other areas of aviation. There were IMAX movies (we love a good movie nap at a museum!) and the food was decent. All in all it was a very nice museum day.

The next day was my birthday, my 64th, so of course I woke up with "When I'm Sixty-Four" by the Beatles in my head, and thanks to texts with Spotify links from my sister Jennifer, I had some other cool birthday-related songs bouncing around all day. I decided I'd done my best at the museum and would go exploring while Allan headed back to fill in some gaps. After a nice breakfast in downtown Dayton, which has been sort of spruced-up and sort of ignored, I dropped him off and headed into a day of no plans. Just me and the massive Ford truck we somehow ended up with when we'd ordered a "mid-sized" car. As I left the museum and headed to the hotel room to ponder my next move, I saw a sign that said "First Airport in the US" and spontaneously made a right turn in search of said airport. Signs led me to a wonderful National Parks Discovery Center, where a small but smartly constructed 4-room display of the history of Wilbur and Orville Wright was a delight to explore. I learned a ton of things about them, and of the beginnings of something that has consumed most of the last 45 years of my life. After reading every sign and snapping pictures to share with Allan later, I thanked the rangers in the gift shop and headed off to find that first airport, which turned out to be a giant field that had been loaned to the brothers for testing their Wright Flyers II and III, and for flight training. It's currently not used as an airport, but has a shooting range on the south side and a series of signs all around the field explaining more about what the brothers were encountering in those early days of flight.

Later that day Allan and I toured a bit of the downtown historic district that has more Wright attractions (their homes, the 4 sites of their bicycle shops, and a few other things) and also honored Dayton's other claim to fame, African-American poet Paul Lawrence Dunbar. We capped off the evening with a double-feature at an indie movie theatre and a 10pm stop at McDonald's for a hamburger with extra pickles! Do we know have fun?!

And then we were off to Pennsylvania, a 3-ish hour flight with a fuel stop at an adorable airport somewhere in SE Ohio. Unfortunately, and this is something I've groused about my entire career, aviation charts don't show state lines. I can't tell you how many times a flight attendant called the cockpit relaying a passenger's question about our whereabouts, and all we could come up with was "um, we're over the Joliet VOR" which never impressed anybody. I did carry a small laminated state chart but it didn't co-locate the VOR's (aviation navigation aids) so it wasn't perfect. Anyhow, we made it to Lancaster, PA and were very happy with our cottage in the woods, which was also just around the corner from a Starbucks and a mall, but the trees and cornfields mask urbanity pretty well, and flocks of geese wandered through our big grassy back yard while small herds of cows grazed across the street.

Lancaster, PA is right smack in the middle of Amish country, it would seem, and there are all sorts of Amish-ish things to do. I was a bit perplexed about this thing of making such a big deal out of the Amish - a quiet, simple folk who live life as off-the-grid as they can. Did they feel a bit like zoo animals? "Oh look, honey, there's one! Look at her bonnet!" But somehow a tourist industry has grown around them, and they seem to inhabit all that fairly well, and in fact look to be doing pretty well in the tourist industry, running craft shops, bakeries and farm tours. We did partake in a few Amish and non-Amish tourist-y things: we took a horse and buggy ride around the area with an Amish farmer named David who told really bad jokes. We toured a Toy train museum (I love teeny-tiny things) and ate dinner at Miller's Smorgasbord, recommended by Food and Wine Magazine. We watched a huge thunderstorm pass over as we took tiny bites of rich, creamy Pennsylvania ice cream, full of wonder that the sky could release so much water (we're from drought-tortured California, remember) and then wondering with a start how our little airplane was faring, as the eye of the storm was passing right over its parking spot. (We drove up to the airport - the plane was fine.) We giggled when we stopped at the Oregon Dairy Market to buy non-dairy milk. (Yes, they actually had it.)

Overall, we sort of slowed down and babied ourselves. Oh, we did go to a walk-in orthopedic clinic, that's a fun vacation activity! I pulled something in my left shoulder and Allan's been dealing with something in his right, so Dr. Scott x-rayed us both, gave a cortisone shot and a list of exercises to me, and advice and a scrip for a future MRI to Allan. Well, why not? We were there, we had the time.

Now, lest you think this is all fun and games flying around in our little yellow airplane with not a care in the world, let me say this: just like our life on the boat, it's a constant conversation with the weather. Especially in the summer, when the Midwest and east coast love to make thunderstorms. We're always checking the current weather and forecasts for our intended destinations, making plans, changing plans, changing them back. It's a see-saw roller coaster trying to make it all work, in part because neither of us is "IFR current" - which means we can't fly this plane in crummy weather. The plane can do it, but the pilots are just not up to speed legally because, well, we've been in Mexico. So that means we need to fly in good weather, and that's hard to come by around here.

All that said, we made it to Beverly, MA but we didn't succeed at getting our wedding clothes, which in a moment of inspiration I had shipped to Martha's Vineyard a few weeks back. Since we had planned to be in the Vineyard prior to the wedding, I reasoned that was one less bag of stuff I had to take camping, then on the airline, then on the little airplane, all over the country for no reason. So, shipped. And now, Jay and Terri on Martha's Vineyard have our shoes, belts, ties, dresses. We tried to stop at the Vineyard airport yesterday and pick them up but the clouds were just too low for us to be legal, and we had to peel off and head north to Beverly.

We got settled in our miniature VRBO in time to meet some of the Deese family for a splurgy dinner in downtown Salem last night, and today we're going on a little flight around Boston's crazy airspace, south to Vineyard Haven Airport for another attempt at claiming our wedding clothes. If it doesn't work, we'll be shopping at thrift stores this afternoon!

Summer Blurb #2 - Mendocino, Oshkosh and Madison

04 August 2022 | Madison, WI
Alison Gabel | Weather: Humid, green, gorgeous.
Things change, and we have to adapt. We all know it, and as a planet we've learned that lesson even more acutely since the start of the pandemic. And change they have, as Covid finally introduced itself into our lives a few days ago. Before you panic - it's all good, so far, but has required some readjustments.

Going back - Allan left a week ago Sunday in our airplane, Woodstock, for Oshkosh, WI for four days at the Experimental Aircraft Association's AirVenture airshow. There, he and his brother Mark met up with Chris, the former owner of our boat, who sold the boat so he could build the big brother to our Van's RV-7 airplane, the RV-10. The three of them did some serious tromping around the airshow's massive grounds to look at airplanes, lots and lots of them. Mark and Allan got to ooh and ahh over Chris's incredible airplane and its gorgeous new paint job. They ate German brats and other Wisconsin-ish air show food. And they had fun, based on the pictures, and on the huge smile on my husband's face when I saw him Saturday morning.

Meanwhile, I camped in Mendocino, California with a great group and also had almost more fun than I deserve - a costume party, a talent show, mountain bike riding in the incredible Mendocino Woodlands, fireside chats, a cozy cabin of my own in the woods, wonderful camp food (which, thanks to the creativity of all our volunteer cooks, is more like high-end restaurant food these days.) There's always a theme, and this year was "Myths and Legends."

This particular group of friends, which has grown and morphed over the years, has been gathering at Camp 2 in the Woodlands for 38 years, and it's a treat to have been included for the last five years. In my interest to help promote and support the Mendocino Woodlands Camp Association, here's a quick cut-and-paste and also a link to their website:

"The Mendocino Woodlands was built in the 1930's by the Works Progress Administration and Civilian Conservation Corps as part of President Roosevelt's New Deal Projects. 46 of these Recreation Demonstration Areas were built in the United States with the Woodlands being the only one built in California, the only one built in a Redwood forest, and one of only two built west of the Rockies. The Woodlands is the only New Deal-era Recreation Demonstration Area that has continuously served its original purpose (group camping and outdoor education) uninterrupted and virtually unaltered since opening in 1938!" https://www.mendocinowoodlands.org/

After leaving camp on Wednesday last week, I spent two days in Petaluma, CA with my friend Joy, who I've known since second grade, and her daughter Mint, who I've known since she arrived on this planet on Halloween 1998. Mint is on her way to graduate school in Edinborough, Scotland and I'm glad I had a few days with her before she heads off.

Joy's home is incredibly welcoming and reminds me so much of the Claremont professors' homes of my youth. Books and artifacts from antiquity are artfully arranged on the huge bookshelf, hand woven fabrics and rugs from the Middle East color the walls and floors, and it feels so comfortable to be there. Thursday Joy and I took a nice drive to Sonoma to leave my car, Stumpy, with my friend Lesle, who is generously housing it for the next few weeks. (Confused? I know I am. I just have to remember to get my car on the back end of this trip!) We did a bit of wine tasting while we were out in this beautiful wine country, and I ended up joining the wine club at Benziger Winery, one of the few in the region that practices biodynamic farming, which I find quite fascinating and environmentally sensible. For dinner, Mint treated us with her amazing vegetarian miso soup.

It was a delightful few days with Joy and Mint, their sweet dog Sheba and Mint's ultra-soft and adorable kitty, Spice Rack, but it was time to head for Madison, WI via United Airlines to spend some time with my other life-long friend, Mary Ann and her husband Dave. I always say I've known Mary Ann since before we were born, because my mom knew her dad, Rummy Deese, when she was in college in Claremont, CA. Mary Ann and I grew up next door to each other and were glued together all through childhood. Now when we're together it's as if we still live next door to each other. (BTW I feel the same way about Joy!) I've watched her two kids grow up, get married and now have babies of their own. They've invited me on Deese family vacations in Yosemite for decades. When I met Allan, they all told me he'd have to pass the Deese's scrutiny before I could marry him. (Happily, he did.) They're my second family and I'm always so glad to be around them.

I arrived Friday and Allan flew down from Oshkosh, Wisconsin in Woodstock on Saturday morning. We met Allan at the airport and Allan took Dave flying - Dave has taken flying lessons and loves airplanes, and it was an absolutely gorgeous morning. Meanwhile, Mary Ann (who, by the way, is also a pilot - she and I learned to fly together in 1976!) and I went to a nearby German bakery and bought sourdough bread and other goodies, then the four of us made a grocery stop for food for the next few days. We had fun plans for our visit - walks, home-cooked meals and dinners out, visiting the kids, but then ... Allan tested positive for Covid.

Prior to being in close contact with Mary Ann and Dave et al, who have done a stellar job of staying healthy throughout the pandemic, we each took Covid tests - with negative results. But Saturday afternoon Allan started feeling a scratch and a "thickness" in his throat, and was sounding kinda funny - deep-voiced and crackly. He increased his distance from the rest of us, and then in the morning he tested positive.

Mary Ann and Dave have been incredible - both scientists, they approach everything with a cool head and a lot of research, so we caught up on the latest recommendations for Covid exposure and quarantine protocols, and after a frank and earnest conversation, they offered up their entire basement apartment - which is really fabulous, so Allan could comfortably quarantine for the requisite 5 days. He's been squirreled away in a huge space with a kitchen, bedroom and tv room, views out the windows of the beautiful green yard with deer and turkey families wandering through, and regular Zoom calls and texts from those of us upstairs, so it's pretty darn good. He has access to the outside world and can wave at us from the yard. He and I social-distance for coffee dates and short cocktail hours in the evening on the spacious deck. I go down to the basement, masked up and keeping my distance, and bring him things. He gets ice cream. And cookies. ("Not enough cookies!" edits Allan.) He has a new Nespresso coffee maker, a microwave, an induction cooktop, a fridge full of great food, and has not lost his sense of taste, thank goodness.

It hasn't been bad, but for two days he said he felt like "road kill" - achy, stuffed-up head, cough, and a miserable headache. But no sore throat, and no fever. His oxygen level is good. He's nibbling Tylenol and Advil, and I nag regularly to drink lots of water. On Day 3 he started feeling better, and felt almost normal this morning (Day 4) but still tested positive.

We cancelled visiting the kids and grand kids and instead Mary Ann and I drove by their houses so I could get a feel for their new neighborhoods. I got my hearing aids fixed. We grocery shopped some more. We've been reading and relaxing and eating great food, enjoying this green, lush Wisconsin landscape and all the birds. The birds! It's a cacophony. And they're colorful birds - red, bright blue, yellow, not just those cute, but boring little brown ones most prevalent in California. And there are fireflies!

We had a few quiet and lovely days, and then - despite all our careful protocols - Mary Ann tested positive this morning. It's probably been incubating since Saturday when Allan arrived, before we even knew he had the virus. So now, with 2 positive people in the house, we have new protocols. Luckily, so far she has practically no symptoms and he's feeling much better, so it's all as good as it can be. It's an extra bonus that this house, where Mary Ann and Dave raised their kids, is quite spacious. Each of us very comfortably has private space, and we're sharing the kitchen in safe and sensible ways. Because we feel like family, and they treat us like family, nobody feels the urge to be entertained, or to entertain. It's the best place for this to have happened, if we had to be away from home, and we're grateful. We have a stash of Covid tests and are testing daily; so far, Dave and I are negative.

Needless to say, our vacation plans have changed a bit. We cancelled the airbnb in Saranac Lake, NY, moved our visit to Martha's Vineyard until after the wedding in Salem, MA, and are stretching the whole trip an additional week. We're hoping we can still make the wedding on the 13th, which so far looks good. We'll just take this day-by-day and see how the next phase of our summer adventure shakes out.

Stay healthy, everyone!

Photos in the Gallery! Just click on Gallery in the above toolbar, and go to "Woodstock's American Summer" - it's the top album.)

The Big Trip: Woodstock and America's Summer

23 July 2022 | Somewhere in the US
Alison Gabel
We've been back from our sailing trip in México for a month now, and are readjusting to life in the busy world we'd happily left behind for 7 months. We've reaquainted ourselves with our family, old friends, and neighbors, and settled in to life with one car and a few bikes. In many ways, it feels like we never left - although life in Oxnard is different than it had been for the last almost 20 years - we don't have a house, jobs, or my mom to care for.

We're pretty footloose, and also a bit naturally restless, so we cooked up a new adventure for the next month: a Big Trip in our Little Plane! A revised version of planes, trains and automobiles, only more like cars, buses, and planes, with some camping, an airshow, a wedding, and a bunch of visiting thrown in at regular intervals. Might be an Uber or two, some kayaks, and a sailboat as well. For the next month, we're going to explore America's summer.

Today I'm on my way to the Mendocino Woodlands to camp with a lot of fun people, and Allan is leaving Sunday in our little yellow "RV-7" airplane, Woodstock, for Oshkosh, Wisconsin for the Experimental Aircraft Association's AirVenture airshow. He'll be in the company of his brother Mark, who will be flying his green and white Mooney. Yes, that's the name of his airplane, though I affectionately call it "the Moonster." The two airplanes are very well-matched for speed, and can cover ground at about 200mph depending on what the wind offers up. Their trip will take 2 days to Wisconsin, where they'll stay with a family that rents out rooms every year when this huge airshow comes town.

As for me, I'm finishing this blurb in a coffee house called The Fox & Kit in San Rafael, sipping a macchiato and getting croissant crumbs all over the velvet chair and green carpet while mellow jazz plays over head and a few little kids have a blast in the glass-walled playroom. I had a very comfortable night in an Air BnB in Berkeley, CA - a room in an old house, on an old street, with a few dogs and a very communicative-via-email but physically absent host, which was just perfect. I need to make one more stop for some groceries for my contribution to Sunday night's dinner - gluten-free, vegan pesto pasta. And thence to the Mendocino Camp Association, where this group of folks has been going for decades for fun and silliness, wonderful home-cooked meals in the huge camp kitchen, and lots of activities. It's camp for adults-who-haven't-really-grown-up-and-don't-plan-to.

Allan is sad he's missing camp this year, (this will be the 4th time we've gone, plus one virtual camp in 2020) and I'm sad to miss Oshkosh, as it's the 50th Anniversary of Van's Aircraft, who designed and supply the parts for our homebuilt RV-7 airplane. But, camp and The EAA's AirVenture occur concurrently every year, and this year, he didn't want to miss it, and I didn't want to miss camp. So we parted ways for a week, but fear not, the separation is temporary - next Friday, after I visit my friend Joy in Petaluma and then stash our car at Lesle's in Sonoma, I fly out of San Francisco to rendezvous with Allan in Madison, WI where the Big Trip continues: we'll stay for a few days at my friend Mary Ann's house, catch up with her and the family and then fly to Saranac Lake, NY to do a bit of exploring in the Adirondacks. Next, Martha's Vineyard to stay with friends Jay and Terri for 5 days, and then a hop up to Salem, Massachusetts for a wedding!

The wedding is to blame for all of this - Mary Ann's nephew Rupert, who I've known all my life, is marrying Allison, and we want to be there. So we thought about the airlines and summer passenger loads, and all the other things that complicate airline travel these days, and we decided Woodstock was our chosen mode of transportation. This led to wrapping the wedding on both sides with stops we've wanted to make for years. After the wedding, we head back west with a stop in Tennessee to visit an old college buddy of Allan's, then south to see his sister Virginia and nephew Cody, more westing to Abiquiu, New Mexico to see an old friend of mine, then to Sonoma where my friend Lesle has graciously agreed to house Stumpy, our Honda Element while this whole Big Trip is underway. I'll drive Stumpy home and Allan will fly, or maybe vice-versa, and finally, we'll be back in Oxnard to readjust all over again!

As you can see, there are a million moving parts to this Big Trip - lots of opportunity for things to go wrong - so we'll see if it all ends up as planned. Cars and airplanes can break down, airline flights can cancel, and America's summer boasts some pretty choice thrunderstorms, so weather challenges in the airplane await. All in all, we have no idea what we're in for. So, fingers crossed and I'll keep you posted!

Fly Aweigh is in the Nest

01 July 2022 | Channel Islands Harbor
Alison Gabel
We're home!

It feels so nice to be here. It wasn't really that long ago that we left - and it almost seems like we never did. We're just fitting right back into a familiar fold. In 24 hours we've sifted through the stacks of mail, opened all the packages, and had our favorite pizza.

Our passage from Ensenada to San Diego was uneventful, with mostly calm winds and quiet seas, but we both felt off - maybe we got soft after 9 cushy days in the marina, we'd lost our sea legs. I felt listless and queasy, Allan was just quiet. We nibbled on crackers and I took lots of micro naps in the salon, moaning in bleak discomfort. It was just a lot of melodrama - queasiness mixed with a bit of sadness at the realization that going home meant the end of our footloose cruising season, mixed with a bit of excitement at seeing family and friends again, mixed with the unknown about what next season holds.

Clearing in at the border was amazingly easy - we downloaded an app a few weeks ago, CBP Roam - a surprisingly UN-bureaucratic thing in an increasingly bureaucratic world - which required pre-loading all our info - passports, addresses, waist size, etc. so that when it came time to actually gain clearance into our homeland, we just made a request on the app and within minutes, approved! We understand they sometimes want to see your faces via a video call, but not for us, not today. A few minutes later, I saw a fancy-looking buoy in the water, a rather James Bond-ish looking thing, and when I pointed it out, Allan said "That's the border!" Weird. So, we waved at the border and a few hours later dropped anchor in America.

Mission Bay, San Diego, to be precise, in the placid anchorage of Mariners Basin which sits between Sea World to the east and Belmont Shores Amusement Park to the west. The beaches all around this calm bay were crowded with families and colorful umbrellas, and happy squeals filled the air. Even at 7pm little clumps of wet and presumably cold people, newly set free on their on summer vacations, were splashing and hanging out, chatting in the 62-degree water. As the sun set, the roller coaster at Belmont Shores clattered away, and then at dark, Sea World welcomed us back to our homeland with a fireworks show. Little bonfires lit the beach, and we wondered how many marshmallows were being charred to a melty ooze.

We rose at dawn for a 9-hour motor in flat, calm seas to Dana Point, where we dropped anchor in the small anchorage on the north side. More happy vacationers crammed the beach, and weirdly, it was blue and turquoise umbrella day. We thought it would be nice to replenish the fridge with actual fresh vegetables, which had dwindled to half an onion and some pithy celery, so we ordered an Uber and an hour later had all our favorite goodies from Trader Joe's. On the drive to and from, I couldn't help noticing how tidy everything was. Tidy roads, tidy sidewalks that weren't obstructed by telephone poles, or dotted with gaping holes, the buildings and landscapes were so new and clean, it was almost too perfect. It was Dana Point, granted, and that's a tidy area, but it was almost weird. We felt more tension in the air, more of a sense of rush. Things were clean on the outside, but felt unsettled.

Another early sunrise departure on Tuesday had us in Seal Beach at the Long Beach Yacht Club guest dock by 10:30am, musing at tiny people in tiny Sabot sailboats, capably maneuvering their craft at 5 and 6 years old, while instructors hollered instructions from a 4-boat fleet of dinghies, motoring alongside and ready to assist at any second.

We had arranged to meet Allan's dad, Grant, and his wife Phyllis for lunch, which took a little effort - places we'd chosen were either permanently closed or not open until dinner. We finally found a table outside at a hip seaside brewpub with that new detached way of being a restaurant these days - is this a Covid thing? An LA thing? Or is this just a thing? We were met by a polite host at the front counter, who told us to sit anywhere, QR the menus, and then order online or at the bar. Sensing impending failure at that, I asked for paper menus, a few of which were reluctantly produced. We found a table, I QR'd the menu, aiming my phone at the little square taped to the edge of the numbered table, trying to see the screen in the bright sunlight, scrolling up and down, clicking here and there. I tried to be modern and order online but special requests like "extra pickles" and "no ice" were not options, so I gave up and went to the bar, where the guy struggled on his computer with the same special requests. Our food was efficiently delivered by young adults with brightly-colored hair and shredded jeans or incredibly short shorts, all wearing t-shirts with the names of one of the beers brewed or represented by the establishment. They were polite but distant. No one person was assigned to our table, any number of different servers came by. The service was good, the food was good, but it all felt so detached. Culture shock stuff.

After waving farewell to Grant and Phyllis, we took a short nap, and then I went for a run in the neighborhood. Naples. Wow, talk about tidy! It was like being at Disneyland. A gorgeous/adorable/impressive array of homes from 800 to 10,000 sq ft all crammed into each other, with balconies and drought-tolerant landscaping, tiny front porches looking out over the harbor with fire pits and colorful throw pillows. A canal system wanders through, with boats tucked in "back yards." When I got back to the boat Allan suggested a short kayak trip. The harbor was filled with vibrance - the little kids were done with their sailing lessons and the medium-sized kids were at it in the slightly larger and faster (and capsizeable) Lasers and Sunfish. People were everywhere on SUP's (stand-up paddle boards) and toodling around in electric boats. There was activity and warmth and health and vitality in the air. We paddled along the fancy houses for about 45 minutes and then returned to shower and get ready for our dinner with my cousin John and his wife Mary.

John and Mary spent 10 years living aboard their Norhavn trawler in the early 00's, and had a marvelous few years of cruising from southern California, through the Panama Canal, all around the Caribbean, along the east coast to Maine, up (or down?) the Inter-coastal Waterway, back through the Caribbean, the canal, and up the coast to home in Long Beach, CA. Over dinner at the beautiful and historical Long Beach Yacht Club, we loved hearing some of their stories, especially those about the Caribbean, as it's one of the places we ponder exploring in the future.

We loved our time in this energetic harbor, and wished we could stay a few more days, but winds were forecast to pick up (going the wrong way) on Thursday, and we were anxious to get north, around Point Mugu and home into our waiting slip before nightfall on Wednesday.

A 4am wake up, and we were underway just minutes later, the boat wet with dew, the lights from the harbor reflecting on the low cloud layer, providing good illumination for our night departure. The Long Beach Harbor, or the LA Harbor (I can't really figure out which is what and what to call where) is busy. This is the main place all the stuff we buy from China and other parts of the world arrives. Gobs of behemoth cargo ships anchored or hovered outside the harbor, waiting for their turn to dock and be unloaded. We're glad we left a bit early, because as the dawn dawned, the pilot boats and cargo ships began to stir, the big ships firing up and moving slowly into the harbor. Everything was waking up. Nice to be past all that before it became too much of an obstacle course.

It was the last day I'll make toast in a pan - a new Oster 2-slice toaster awaits us at Mark & Pam's. Our pan-fried toast, smeared with the last of the avocado made a nice breakfast, a nice first-breakfast, anyhow. The sea was flat and calm as Palos Verdes slid by on the right, all those big houses! So many! Where does all the money come? Who ARE those people?

We caught up on things, the blurb, the logbook, remembering stuff at the last minute, such as - where are our marina gate keys? Did we leave them with the office in December? Will we get in before the office closes? Where can they leave them if not? Do we have our dock neighbor's phone number? Is he even still there? How will we get our car? What's for dinner?

We had second breakfast (cereal for Allan, a banana and almond butter for me) and then I went back to bed. A few ours later Allan went back to bed, and while he was sleeping, I heard a plane fly overhead. Kinda close to overhead. It sounded familiar ... I leapt up and went into the cockpit in time to see a little yellow airplane flying off, turning and readying for another pass. I jolted Allan awake hollering "Allan! Your brother is buzzing us!" We got back in time for Mark's second pass - but idiotically we both forgot to grab our phones, so we missed a fantastic shot of our little yellow Woodstock welcoming us home! It was so cool. Well done, Mark!

Allan went back to bed and I started organizing my head. Not an easy task, these days, but I needed to ponder what happens after we return home, aside from the obvious goal of seeing everyone. We have some things to change-out on the boat, things that were superfluous and things that were redundant. When I loaded the boat last year I over-estimated our needs. I always do. I needed fewer, and simpler clothes, fewer flip flops, fewer hats. Far fewer things in the galley. Less dishes, and one thing we all learn is that we don't need to stock up on food as though we were going to the moon. They DO have groceries in other parts of the world, it turns out. We don't need all the books we have onboard, since we have almost everything on Nook, Kindle, or Audible. So a lot of mildew-prone books will go away, helping to lighten the load and raise the waterline a bit. Oh, but wait! More stuff is coming aboard! I've been ordering things ... we have a stack of packages to unwrap when we get a chance - the toaster, a cooking spoon, a few SPF sun shirts, hats to replace the lost ones, a new SUP! Cookie sheets! And more! So the waterline is probably not going to see any change.

So - 7 months from gone to back, and here's what we did:

Sailed 3800 nautical miles (4375 statute, or, as Allan says, "normal" miles)
Burned 1590 liters (420 gallons) of diesel fuel
Went to 47 different places
Anchored 55 times
Stayed in a slip in a marina 8 times
Stayed in yacht club guest docks twice (thank you Southwestern Yacht Club in San Diego, and Long Beach Yacht Club!)
Stayed on a mooring ball 4 times (all in Puerto Escondido, Baja California)
Lost 3 hats, one of which made it across the Pacific in 2010
Drowned 1 iPhone
Had 19 massages
Ate 1,000,000 tacos
Got 14 mosquito bites (Really! We were so lucky!)

I tried to come up with a list of things that broke, so I could substantiate the old adage that cruising is just fixing broken things in exotic places, but happily, very few came to mind. Some things here and there but all easily remedied, largely thanks to Allan's resourcefulness and myriad capabilities, and the wise input from a few experienced friends.

It was a delightful 7 month escape, we loved almost every day. México is beautiful, varied, and loaded with great people. The weather was amazing! I don't think we hardly saw a cloud after we left Ensenada in January. The boat is all we could have hoped for, we love it more every day.

Now, we'll spend a fun summer flying our little airplane here and there, catching up with friends and family in our "home" town. But as our old sailing friend Dick Dreschler used to say, "Home is where the hull is."

Thanks for following along.

Fly Aweigh's Baja Bash 2022

19 June 2022 | Marina Coral, Ensenada
Alison Gabel | Weather is cool, clear, breezy.
Forever, it seems, we've been dreading the remote possibility that someday, on some boat, for some idiotic reason, we might need to get from México to California, via the west coast of the Baja Peninsula, a feared trek known as "The Baja Bash." As I mentioned in a previous blurb, it would seem that Mother Nature does not want you to go north along the Baja coast. She generally prefers to send currents DOWN the coast, wind DOWN the coast, waves, DOWN. We want to go up. So, The Bash.

Tales abound of sailors' Bashes - 3 weeks, 7 weeks, 1 week, boat never stopped crashing into the waves, wife left husband mid-Baja, crew jumping off and hitch hiking home along the way, boat breaking from the strain of pounding into the waves, no sleep, few places to stop for fuel.

Interestingly, both our parents have Bashed. It's a badge of honor. My mom Bashed decades and decades ago with some friends who needed to bring their boat up, she was conscripted as crew, and it became one of her fondest if not most challenging memories. Allan's dad Bashed, and he was actually itching to join us this time, a hearty octogenarian, to do it one more time. It's a thing - a thing to fear, to aspire to, to accomplish, to avoid.

So for this whole season, since long before we left for México, we've fretted. Will we have to Bash?

Why would you Bash? For one, and the most common reason, is to get above 27 degrees north latitude during the hurricane season, which is June 1- October 31. Insurance companies largely drive these dates and this geographic line. Many people who cruise México like to spend multiple seasons in the country, but that pesky hurricane season ... what to do with the boat?

There are a number of alternatives, and we considered them all:
*You can store your boat in the northern Sea of Cortez, above the 27th line, in either a marina or in a boat yard. This is a very common option.
*You can keep your boat in a marina that has an accepted "hurricane plan" they submit to insurance companies to show that they're protected and have procedures in place to deal with hurricanes. Puerto Escondido, La Paz, Mazatlan, Puerto Vallarta, Barra de Navidad, maybe some others, are common places to keep a boat.
*You can leave the area entirely, which is what we did in 2010 - we sailed west to Australia, and avoided that whole West Coast of the Americas hurricane thing. You can sail south pre-season and get through the Panama canal, or something else.

For us, the bottom line was that we sold our house. This boat is our home. To leave it in México would mean we'd be homeless, couch surfing for the summer, or renting an expensive Air BnB, or something. And we weren't ready to cross the Pacific or head for the canal. Since we'd kept our slip in Channel Islands Marina in the event we DID decide to Bash, we had somewhere to go. So, we Bashed.

Prep for the Bash was a lot. Extra fuel jugs to compensate for over-burns motoring into heavy currents, seas, and winds. Inspecting everything on the boat to be sure all was copacetic. Reinforcing Dinghy McDingface, the kayaks, and all the stored things. Setting up a sleeping berth in our aft cabin (the calmest place on the boat in a rough sea), which was where we had been storing lots of other things, so they all had to be relocated. Preparing for a ditching in the event we had to abandon ship - money, clothes, medical supplies, radios, even plans to grab the IridiumGo receiver so we could communicate from the dinghy with the nice rescue folks. Re-stowing food in the cabinets so they wouldn't crash around making annoying noises. Putting a fleece throw over the salon table so the loud "hull slaps" would muffle the things banging on the table. Prepping food.

We read books, pamphlets, blogs, poems, warnings and sagas on the Bash. Finally, the time came. Friends in the sailing world had their eyes on us, and on the PredictWind app, to check forecast conditions and back us up. We planned the last few weeks of our cruising in the Sea of Cortez around positioning ourselves at the tip of the Baja Peninsula, in position, fueled up, things all lashed down and ready to go, waiting for that elusive weather window to start the Bash. In Cabo we discovered we were in the company of 4 or 5 other boats also Bashing. Some had done it before, some, like us, were nail-biting first-timers. We commiserated, conferred, shared weather interpretations, made plans. We never hang our hat on another Captain's take on things, but we do consider everyone's helpful opinion.

Our window came. We left. We left! We were Bashing!

It started out okay, going around the dreaded Cabo Falso wasn't so bad, things were bouncy but not what they might have been. The first leg was three days, from Cabo to Bahia Asunción. We had many places along the way to stop and rest, but we decided to continue on so we might beat some strong winds coming down the coast in a few days. Things were slow at times as we slogged along at 3 or 4 knots, chewing into the wind and waves, but it wasn't awful. We had a nice respite in Asunción, which is a sweet little town. We got fuel, a great lunch, some groceries, good sleep, and felt ready to push on.

A one-day sail to Bahia Tortuga for a 12-hour break, and then on for the final push, another 3-day leg to Ensenada. The first 12 hours were brutal, we suffered and agonized for the boat with all that pounding, we gnashed our teeth and rolled our eyes, but just when we'd gotten to the point of swearing off any future long-distance sailing, the wind and seas laid down and the rest of the trip was glassy smooth and delightful.

But here and there, some really crappy moments: long, lumpy, awkward, uncomfortable nights, the boat acting overly melodramatic, things on the table jumping a half inch with each slam of a wave on the underside of the bridge deck. Each time they jumped, they moved a bit farther forward. If you didn't pay attention, they eventually fell off the edge, crashing to the floor. Phones, napkins, iPads, maps, pens, glasses. If I could have rigged a camera over the table for a time-lapse series, it would have been hilarious. Our sleep patterns were totally messed-up for 8 days, but we did okay. We ate, and ate, and ate. Snacked and nibbled because we were bored, or frustrated, or tired. Teas, Cokes, coffee, water water water. Crackers, tortilla chips, tangerines and apples, nuts. Banana bread.

And then after 8 days and 780-ish relatively uneventful miles, things got interesting. The boat who had accompanied us, s/v Gayle Force, got snagged by a fishing net about 15 miles outside Ensenada. They radioed us at 3am to let us know they were dead in the water, a few fishermen were helping them cut the nets away, but they were pretty sure the prop was fouled. With no wind and no motor, they would need to be towed the remaining 4 hours to Ensenada. We heeded their warning about the nets, (they said there were more) and shut off the engine and sat in the quiet dark, waiting for the sunrise, so we could keep a lookout for more nets. We, and they, were so incredibly fortunate that the last 24 hours had been dead calm, so the seas were almost as flat as being on land. In the middle of the night, sitting out in the quiet ocean, Allan heard whales exhaling. Not surfacing, or swimming around, just an occasional exhale. He assumed they were sleeping. I joined them in that slumber and then Allan joined them, and at sunrise we were up to see how Gayle Force was doing. They had put their sails up and were moving ever-so-slowly north toward Ensenada. We motored right up close and had already prepped for towing them the rest of the way. We had a bit of towing experience in 2009 when we had the opportunity to tow a 70-foot, 80-ton trawler for about 12 hours. We had crew who were former Coast Guard officers, and they taught us lots about towing. Now, 13 years later, we were trying to recall what we knew and get Gayle Force safely to Ensenada, where they could send a diver down to clear the prop.

It all went well, 3 ½ hours later we released them in front of the harbor, and a panga from Marina Coral came out to tow them to their slip. They later told us the diver that cleared the prop said the net was so frayed and tangled, it took a very long time to cut it all away.

After waving them off, we headed in to our assigned slip for a much-needed break for a few days. And then ... Allan was driving into the slip from the narrow fairway, things were going well - he was in a perfect position for the final twist to align the boat. He pulled the starboard throttle into reverse to pivot the boat to the right and pull straight into the slip, but it had suddenly developed dyslexia and stayed in forward. Not getting the response he needed, he added more of what should have been reverse, which was actually forward, and the boat obligingly dove right into the dock. It all happened in about 3 seconds. I heard fiberglass crunching not unlike hearing bones break, a sickening sound. He immediately figured out what happened and put both engines in idle, meanwhile a neighbor either heard us swearing or saw us all catawampus in the big wide slip and came to our rescue, grabbing lines and helping to secure the boat.

Damage assessment: the bow has a minor owie, superficial, can be fixed, no biggie. The transmission has an owie, we have the parts, Allan can probably fix, also no biggie, assuming no further snags along the way. We get a few extra days in Ensenada but that's fine with us, the weather is sublime, the marina we're in is lovely, we have some great dock neighbors, we're planning another wine tour in Valle de Guadalupe tomorrow, and it's giving us time to detox a bit before we return to life in California.

Bash Summary: the first 780 miles were a combination of agony, okay-ness, fun, boredom. The last 20 miles were interesting, challenging, rewarding. The last 20 seconds were crappy. But we're done! We did it! Big box checked, we high-fived, went to lunch with Gayle Force, ordered margaritas, toasted our successes, concluded that it all wasn't so bad after all, and fell into bed for an afternoon nap.

And now we join our parents with a new badge for our scout sashes.

Sea of Cortez - Part IV

08 June 2022 | Cabo San Lucas, Baja California, México
Alison Gabel | Still Great Weather
Sea of Cortez - IV

So here it is, the final installment of four agonizingly long missives on our time in the Sea of Cortez, 2022. From now on, with our new Starlink connection to jillions of satellites, I can get these things posted more often, so people who haven't got time for much more than a meme will be a bit less miffed at me.

June 2 or something
My alarm went off at 5:29am, Allan's at 5:30 (my ring is prettier, so his loud clanging bell is always the backup alarm) to start our long 10-hour day to Isla Partida. Weird, I thought, as I stumbled out of our treehouse bed, it's still pretty dark. I suggested to Allan that maybe they'd cancelled the sunrise - I even checked to see if we were in a thick fog bank, perhaps that would shed some light, if you will, on the anomaly. Nope, stars. So we decided to snooze for another twenty minutes, and it was only then that I realized my phone read 4:40. FOUR-forty? His iPad also said 4:40, and when he got up and checked the battery-operated not-connected-to-the-Internet digital clock in the office, it said 4:40. So why did our phones wake us up? We're wondering if there was some weird interface with our new Starlink system. We'll have to talk with Elon later. And by the way, the Starlink people call the dish - that cute white thing that receives all the invisible heaps of data the world keeps cranking out - "Dishy." Cute, but sort of like naming your cat "Fluffy" or your dog "Spot," a bit unoriginal, so we mulled it over, and because our dish is square-ish (rectangular, really, but remember, I'm not a math whiz) we're calling it Sponge Bob.

Back to the reason we got up so dang early - we are retired, after all, and hoped we could leave watches and alarms behind - but there's a new mentality on board Fly Aweigh now, a Get-Home mentality. We want to honor our sometimes ill-fated attempts at being in the moment, but we also want to manage the 800-ish miles we have between Cabo San Lucas and San Diego in the most comfortable way we can. As you may know, the leg northbound between Cabo and San Diego is nicknamed the "Baja Bash." Winds and current generally come down the Baja, so going up is contrary to what Mother Nature has in mind. She actually doesn't want anybody to go up the Baja. Except maybe in July, from what we read in the Baja Bash Book by Captain Jim Elfers. That's the month when Mother Nature probably takes a little vacation before she starts cooking up some good hurricanes for the rest of the season. We, however, are not waiting until July, so we'll see how it goes.

It all has to do with "Weather Windows," those blue holes on the PredictWind chart that promise less headwind, and hence a smoother ride. But there's also current, and waves, so we watch those, too. It looks like one of those blue hole weather windows is coming around June 9th, so we're taking a bit less time in each place as we move south in order to be in Cabo, loaded with fuel in the tanks and extra fuel in our jerry jugs, groceries, clean sheets - all that - so we're ready to jump through that window.

That's why I hardly dared open my eyes in gorgeous Los Gatos. We were only staying one night, and we got there too late to do any exploring. There wasn't time to do what I longed to do, for hours - climb around on all those curved, colorful, beautiful rocks and truly appreciate the place. I love rocks, as I'm sure I've mentioned, so I was trying not to look. Okay, not really, I looked. I gawked. I oohed, and I made little happy sounds when I saw the pile of red boulders heaped at the base of a layered cliff, daring each other to fall into the sea. I smiled at the colors in the last of the evening light, and again this morning, in the first rays.

There's a good explanation for why we got to Los Gatos so late we couldn't do any exploring - a dolphin stampede! It's something we've seen on people's YouTube channels, massive pods of dolphin going by in happy, splashy stampedes - we've always dreamed of seeing one. And there it was, right in front of us between Agua Verde and Los Gatos, heading our way. We stayed the course and when they got to us we shut the engine off and waited. Words will just make this messy, but I'll do my best: dolphin everywhere. Around the boat, under the boat, behind, in front, leaving, returning, leaving again, returning, splitting around us like we were a rock in the river, then rejoining on the other side, changing direction constantly, seemingly on a whim. Calling to each other. Swimming leisurely toward shore and then suddenly pushing into overdrive in a frothy fervor, herding some invisible prey, wrapping around it, circling, jumping, slapping their tails. A few minutes later, bellies full, they'd be back to swim alongside us. We couldn't wipe the grins off our faces. Several times we thought they were off for good, we'd say our farewells, give each other blown-away how-cool-was-THAT looks, start up the engine and resume course, then back they'd come, to swim right next to us for a while longer. 5 knots seemed to be their happy spot as they accompanied us southbound, and then, finally, they peeled off for good and headed north again. That made being late to Los Gatos a fair price to pay. The whole thing, it was just, well, simply awesome.


Oh, and then, the next day - ! We were on our way to an anchorage on the backside of Calita Partida for a quick overnight stop, and sharp-eyed Allan saw another fever of mobula rays. They're not as obvious as the splashy dolphin stampede, unless they're jumping out of the water. But these guys were jumping, so we stopped the boat. Apparently they had nowhere in particular to be, they just stayed right behind us, going airborne and muddling around. So Allan jumped in - he can't help himself. I stayed on the boat and he swam into the middle of the rays, who seemed quite unmoved by his presence. After a few minutes he said "You need to do this!" so I suited up and once he was back on board I jumped in. Exclamation points! Wow! Breathtaking! I found myself in the midst of a seemingly endless fever of gorgeous, graceful rays, circling round and round, generally acting as if I wasn't there, politely ducking under if I was in the way. They seemed quite focused on just swimming, swimming, swimming. Some were jumping, but from underwater I couldn't see that. I just saw rays under me if I looked down, flowing toward me if I turned around, and away from me if I turned the other way. I could have stayed there all day, but I came back to the boat to give Allan another shot at it, and then he came back to give me another shot, and then we finally ceded to the waning of the day and headed for our anchor spot. Simply ... awesome.

Maybe June 4
Next on the agenda was a 2-night stay in Bahia de los Muertos. A simple few days with another short run for me, breakfast ashore, a nice snorkel near the boat to an actual coral reef, and a great, healthy dinner on board. Then up early-early the next morning (this time our phones were in sync because Allan figured out it wasn't Elon's fault - he thinks maybe we should blame the Iridium SatPhone, which our phones link to and which is based in Houston's time zone, so he adjusted our phones and we think all is well now.) This time we were off on an 8-hour motor sail down the coast and around the tip of the Baja Peninsula to Los Frailes. Los Frailes is where we first met the infamous boat and her crew, Delos, in 2009, before they were famous YouTubers. It was our first anchorage after the busy Baja Ha Ha, and the first time Allan got his windsurfer out to zorch around the bay. It holds good memories for us, and we'd planned to stay two nights. After settling in, we decided to explore the rocks and reef on the east side of the anchorage. It was very pretty, and we were just getting to the prettier part when Allan came across a jellyfish tentacle. He grabbed me rather quickly and I turned around to see him grasping at his neck, an alarming sight when you're underwater, I didn't know if he was choking, or what, and then I saw the offending tentacle hanging from the edge of his wetsuit. It fell away and he popped up to talk to me quickly and convey his incredible discomfort. We swam like beavers back to the boat, he stripped and showered and then we consulted our onboard medical resources for treatments for jellyfish stings. And, thank goodness for Sponge Bob, we had Internet and could Google supporting remedies. We first sprayed him with vinegar and inspected the area to remove any stray bits, though I couldn't see any. Then we laid him down on the floor and I kept a constantly refreshed hot towel on his neck for about 30 minutes. We also tried one suggestion of a baking soda poultice but that may or may not have helped, and it made a crumbly mess. He felt the hot water was the ticket. We gave him some Tylenol and after about an hour it started to ease up, but not before I realized we need more resources on board in case Sponge Bob is not working. We're also looking to find a date that works to attend a maritime first aid course - something we've never done, but after this, I realized we're not very well prepared for a medical emergency. We have a well-stocked medical kit and lots of drugs, as well as fairly comprehensive medical guides, but hands-on training is what we need. My expert friend Behan Gifford suggests Maritime Medical Guides, so we're looking into their course schedule for a summer weekend course.

June 6, for sure
Whew. He survived that one, and felt just fine the next day, you can't even see the blisters and red irritation, so all is well. We changed our plans and headed 5 hours west for San Jose del Cabo, the quieter town on the tip of Baja, and lucked out by getting a slip for a couple nights. San Jose was the perfect place to do our last big provisioning, with some very fancy grocery stores that had almost anything we could wish for. The rest of our stops up the Baja will be in the teeny-tiny towns and fishing villages that have just basic provisIons - so it's nice to have some of our favorites on board for the trip. We washed the boat - a futile waste of time because salt spray will be our middle name for the next two weeks, but it felt good to get the crud off the winches and pulleys and other things that prefer to be clean. We met a few other boats that are also planning to catch this weather window and start their bash's, some are leaving tonight, others in the early morning, so we'll have company as we journey north. This will be the 3rd bash for one boat Captain, and the 10th for another! Sounds like there'll be a bit of a meet-up in Bahia Asunción in a few days ... we'll see how everyone manages their boats.

Definitely June 8
As I write, we're motoring to the anchorage in front of touristy Cabo San Lucas, our jumping off point tomorrow. We'll top off the tanks and get a massage :) and an early night's sleep. And by the way, it's always possible that we set off, get a peek around the corner of Cabo Falso - which is the tricky part of this leg - and if things don't look nice, there's no shame in turning around for another night in Cabo's noisy anchorage. We're excited and a bit nervous!

Our location:
https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/SV_FlyAweigh/

NOTE: Depite having Sponge Bob on board, we can't use Starlink when underway. We can, however, post updates on the PredictWind tracker, link above. So, if you're curious, save the link somewhere and check on us, we'll try to post something daily.
Vessel Name: Fly Aweigh II
Vessel Make/Model: Seawind 1160 Deluxe
Hailing Port: Channel Islands, California
Crew: Allan and Alison Gabel
About:
Retired airline pilots exploring the world at a slower pace. 12 years ago we took two-year leaves of absence from our jobs and sailed across the Pacific on a Catalina Morgan 440, which we sold in Australia so we could go back to work. [...]
Fly Aweigh II's Photos - Main
Pictures of our trip northbound from Cabo San Lucas to Ensenada
9 Photos
Created 19 June 2022
From Santa Rosalia south.
16 Photos
Created 4 June 2022
From Puerto Escondido to Santa Rosalia - May 2022
22 Photos
Created 24 May 2022
7 Photos
Created 13 May 2022
From La Paz to Puerto Escondido in the Sea of Cortez (Gulf of California)
17 Photos
Created 27 April 2022
13 Photos
Created 17 April 2022
14 Photos
Created 25 March 2022
Life in Barra and environs in the month of February.
18 Photos
Created 27 February 2022
9 Photos
Created 17 February 2022
14 Photos
Created 2 February 2022
Week 2 of our time in Ensenada and the Baja Naval Boatyard.
9 Photos
Created 20 December 2021
Our first week in the Baja Naval Boatyard
12 Photos
Created 11 December 2021
The last, last minute things and our final departure for San Diego.
4 Photos
Created 1 December 2021
Stuff we're doing in the prepping-to-go-sailing phase of our lives.
5 Photos
Created 20 November 2021
21 Photos
Created 9 March 2011
22 Photos
Created 9 March 2011
24 Photos
Created 9 March 2011
49 Photos
Created 24 February 2011
30 Photos | 1 Sub-Album
Created 24 February 2011
29 Photos
Created 15 January 2011
51 Photos
Created 15 January 2011
20 Photos
Created 16 October 2010
28 Photos
Created 16 September 2010
20 Photos
Created 31 August 2010
23 Photos
Created 16 August 2010
29 Photos
Created 1 August 2010
21 Photos
Created 8 July 2010
And other things ...
25 Photos
Created 25 June 2010
28 Photos
Created 11 June 2010
34 Photos
Created 21 May 2010
34 Photos
Created 3 May 2010
28 Photos
Created 17 April 2010
39 Photos
Created 19 January 2010
Train trip to Mexico's Copper Canyon in Chihuahua.
11 Photos | 1 Sub-Album
Created 28 December 2009
28 Photos
Created 16 December 2009
Visit with Grant & Phyllis Gabel; Fly Aweigh's Christmas decorations
13 Photos
Created 12 December 2009
15 Photos
Created 7 December 2009
8 Photos
Created 6 December 2009
11 Photos
Created 22 November 2009
The 11-day adventure from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas
12 Photos
Created 7 November 2009
Pre-Ha-Ha days in San Deigo harbor
No Photos
Created 25 October 2009
10 Photos
Created 14 October 2009
Commissioning and Provisioning in Marina del rey
9 Photos
Created 8 September 2009