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. And sometimes, I’ll use this forum for non-sailing adventures.

06 February 2025 | Punta Tosca, Isla Socorro
26 January 2025 | South Anchorage, Isla San Benedicto
18 January 2025 | South of Cabo
10 January 2025
02 January 2025 | La Ventana, Baja California
18 December 2024 | Los Frailes
07 December 2024 | South of Ensenada, México
12 November 2024 | Baja Naval Boat Yard, Ensenada
28 October 2024 | Baja Naval Boat Yard, Ensenada
15 October 2024 | Catalina Island
04 September 2024 | Santa Cruz Island
31 May 2023 | France
24 May 2023 | Tunis Medina, Tunisia
20 May 2023 | Bizerte, Tunisia
18 May 2023 | Carthage
16 May 2023 | Tunis, Tunisia
14 May 2023 | Tunis, Tunisia
05 February 2023 | Barra de Navidad, Mexico
31 January 2023 | Tenacatita, Mexico
29 January 2023 | Ipala, Mexico

Isla Socorro, Revillagigedos

06 February 2025 | Punta Tosca, Isla Socorro
Alison Gabel
Where to start? How to summarize the last week in this unique and amazing place, with two unique and amazing people? I just reread my daily journal entries, and I have no idea how to mash it down to something under 2000 words, which is about the most I can get away with. I'll give it my best.

Isla Socorro was quite different than moon-like and haunting San Benedicto. For one thing, it has green stuff growing on it. Trees and cactus and even some palms that were brought in at some point. It has land critters, which of course we didn't see because we can't go on land, but there are mice and cats, neither of which are indigenous. You'd think the cats would solve the mouse problem, but instead they're endangering the lizards, which are indigenous. So they're working on getting rid of the cats. They've successfully removed the imported pigs and sheep, which resulted in a huge regrowth of vegetation and an increase in the bird and lizard population. There are parrots, bright green, perfectly suited to hide amongst the bright green leaves of some of the trees on the island.

Socorro is also notable for it's Navy presence. The small Navy base sits in a protected cove with a residential area nearby. We were rather shocked when we arrived for the required check-in to find the gorgeous volcanic walls surrounding the cove littered with graffitti. I can only assume some bored Navy kids were out one night with a can of paint, but man, those cliffs are straight vertical! Ah well, kids.

In all, we spent 8 nights in 3 anchorages around Socorro. Our first stop was Cabo Pearce, where I got my first glimpse of those gorgeous volcanic walls. My inner geologist was agape the entire time, surrounded by streaks of color and texture, ancient volcanic formations that boggle the mind. The anchorage was a challenge, though, very deep and rocky. Rocky is bad for anchors. I won't waste too many words on this, just enough to say that we love sand. We couldn't find sand, even with our fancy mapping sonar bottom painting thing, so we headed for slightly shallower water and hoped for the best. We had a tough night - it was obvious the best is not what we got, and the chain, lots of it down there, was scraping and tangling on the rocky bottom, transferring awful sounds up through the hull into our not-sleeping ears, while the wind blasted and twisted the boat around and the the waves crashed into the volcanic walls, a little too close for comfort. We didn't drag, the boat stayed solid, but in the morning we, and Amphitrite as well, reanchored.

We went on two dives that day. Deneb and Derek came over at 9am for a very thorough dive brief - this spot can be challenging with strong current and a few other tricky things. Deneb's brief was terrific, using the very helpful 3-D maps of the dive site that she helped create when working for the national park service, CONANP. Our first dive was at noon. Deneb set her camera on a little hill underwater, this time she's looking at a manta cleaning station. The dives were not too exciting - the visibility was murky and there weren't a lot of critter encounters, but we did see a few mantas getting cleaned, which is a fabulous sight. One big manta had a remora on each shoulder, perfectly positioned to look like little jet engines, the remora being busily cleaned by little cleaner fish, pecking and poking. More fish swam around the manta's huge wings and a passel of others swam beneath and behind like an adoring fan club. The whole scene reminded me of the time I was in an elevator in New York and Luciano Pavarotti swooped in, wearing a fabulous suit with a white silk scarf wrapped about his neck, surrounded by his entourage. This manta had that air of importance.

Two dolphin swam by looking very late for an appointment, no time to say hi but they did at least come very close, close enough to see that they'd both been around long enough to have chunks and nibbles taken out of their dorsals and tails, with lots of tattoo-like scars all over their bodies. I hear it can be tough to be a dolphin, not all happy-Flipper as I'd like.

When we came up from the dive we had drifted a bit farther out that I'd realized, and Derek, our dinghy top cover guy, was thrashing about in steep swells and breaking waves as the wind whipped around the cape. He was all grins, though, a true salt that guy is, and we all clamored aboard for a raucous ride back to the boats. The second dive was much like the first, a bit underwhelming perhaps largely because of an overcast sky, which mutes the light. But, a dive underwater is always interesting in some way, if you look close. We saw tons of lobster and had a visit from the same two busy dolphins. The clouds and wind and wet splashy ride back left me chilled, though, and I couldn't wait for a hot shower.

Our second anchor job was good, we all had a restful night. I passed on the diving the next day, and Allan skipped the first dive, so he and I were top cover and had a blast up there in all the ocean chaos, riding the steep swells up and down in our faithful dinghy, circling around trying to stay in the general area against the current. The big stressor of being top cover is after about 30 minutes, when you know your divers are coming up soon, and not really knowing quite where. So there's a fierce search for the safety sausage, looking in all directions, trying to avoid a mindset of where you think they'll come up. And when you finally see that silly orange sausage bobbing on the waves, you give a big sigh of relief knowing all is well and your people will be back on board soon.

A quick dive in the morning to retrieve Deneb's camera and then after lunch we had a fabulous downwind sail to Navy Cove, a short jaunt south, reaching over 7 knots on the little jib sail alone. As we neared Navy Cove, we again said a silent thanks for Deneb, she's an ace on all the protocols and of course speaks the language. She got permission on Ch 16 for our boats to enter Navy Cove and anchor while we awaited the inspection. They went to Amphitrite first, and then Deneb boarded their boat to come to help out on Fly Aweigh. Formalities over, we thanked them, parted ways, and motored around the corner to El Aquario. Knowing that, again, this was a notoriously rocky anchorage, we searched hard to find a good chunk of sand, but our first attempt was an abysmal failure. It was apparent as soon as the anchor hit the 88' bottom and we tried to set it that we'd dropped into rock, and it was a trick getting it back up again, but after a few more attempts we found a sandy spot.

We had a few nice dives here, but again visibility was a bit murky and other than gobs of huge lobster and an occasional shark, not a lot to see. We took a fun two-dinghy trip to explore the coast and found a pretty spot to snorkel, I stayed the our dinghy with Amphitrite's dinghy side-tied while the other three splashed about, then we headed over to visit a neighboring boat that had a friend of Deneb's aboard.

Always amazing, the people you meet out in the wilds: the owner of the boat was from the Los Angeles area, was a pilot, had learned to fly out of a nearby airport to our home in Oxnard. So we had lots of fun talking flying stuff an hearing their stories. Always stories. People who come out to places like this are full of them. He had a total of 8 people aboard, including a dive guide from Cabo, a few dive instructors from La Ventana and a few more from Cozumel, a Captain and his partner from Cabo and a friend of the owners. So it was a very dive-intense boat, they had piles of dive gear and at least 13 tanks aboard, with a high-powered dive compressor.

Our third and last anchorage on Socorro was Punta Tosca, another rocky spot with a good sandy area in the middle and well-protected from swell, although we did have a pretty consistent wind whooshing down the canyon and blowing offshore. We had a few nice dives here, it seemed like the better stuff was at about 30-40', lots of color, beautiful fish, some coral, and a wonderful encounter with a few ancient sea turtles. We caught one huge, barnacle-covered turtle sleeping in a corner, and felt bad waking him up, but even though we crouched behind a rock and tried not to look threatening, he slowly gathered himself up and swam off. Hard to believe huge turtles can swim, but they are quite graceful. We were visited by probably the biggest manta we've seen so far, who glided past so close to me I could have touched the wingtip. And a little baby shark decided to try out his menacing skills, circling us over and over again, trying to look big and scary.

We had a super-fun outing one day on our dinghies, Derek and Deneb really wanted to show us the coastline farther up, so we loaded up with picnic lunches and water and headed off, covered from head to toe with sun and water-protective gear. We bashed our way into rather questionable conditions, but we were feeling bold and kept zooming north, following Derek & Deneb who looked back questioningly every now and then to be sure we were still game. It was a chore, but worth it. The coastline really was stunning, this volcanic stuff is, to steal my friend LeeAnne's words, truly eye-popping. We found caves, and arches, and little inlets with walls of nesting boobies and graceful white Paradise birds gliding overhead. We found a cute little beach in a safe nook and dropped our dinghy anchor in the sand, tied the boats together and had our picnic lunch. We shared spinach and garbanzo bean salad, hummus and chopped veggies, whole grain crackers and seedy banana bread while chatting amicably. It's such an amazing life out here - we've lost weight eating so incredibly well, we feel wonderful, we're smart about the sun, we're drinking a lot less alcohol (we're actually pretty much out of alcohol) and staying super-hydrated. We're exposed to the beauty of life on a daily basis and the air couldn't be fresher. We feel supremely grateful. And to top it off, we had a super-fun surfing ride, with following seas and wind all the way back to the boats, making the bash out totally worth the agony.

Deneb had gathered all the footage and data she needed for this trip, so we spent the last few days taking little snorkel trips in the anchorage. On one we found a delightful little aquarium, teeming with fish. Our last day was spent in energetic preparation for the 3-day passage to Tenacatita on the Pacific coast of Mexico. I was fierce in the galley, making a veggie curry, a pot of chili, papaya-strawberry bread, a cabbage slaw and some fragrant jamaica syrup to spice up our fizzy water. Allan fixed some of the hatch latches, put away all our freshly rinsed dive gear and got the boat all ready for the trip.

We wrapped up our time together with a last dinner on Fly Aweigh, sipping jamaica margaritas while the sun slid behind the craggy rock, and shared meal prep - Derek's recipe of ginger-soy marinated tofu, expertly grilled by Allan, and a pasta with roasted red peppers whirled into a creamy, zesty sauce. Deneb gave us hundreds of incredible photos and videos, including some drone footage which, since we never got ashore, really rounded out the whole picture of these islands. Derek stocked me up with lots of new music and some great recipes.

For the few of you reading this blurb who are considering a trip in their own boat to this unforgettable place, I have a few tips: 1- Bring a guide! I can't imagine doing this without Deneb and Derek, despite the thick folder of information I'd gathered from previous sailors here. It's a tricky place to be for a hundred reasons. CONANP has a list of certified dive guides that mostly base out of Cabo. And, if you have 3 or more divers, the rules require a guide. (So that means pretty much everyone.) 2 - Never try to dive without top cover in a dinghy! The current is wild at times, it's darn right dangerous to even leave the drop site, you have to stay close and make sure your divers come up safe and near enough to get to you. Stories of the dinghy moving off into calmer waters to wait out the 30-minute dive often end in sketchy events, divers come up too far off for the dinghy driver to see the sausage and too far to hear a whistle, while the current continues to sweep the divers out to sea. But having a qualified guide (See #1) would negate that. Oh, and by the way, you can always come here on one of the dive boats that make the trip regularly. They're staffed by incredibly capable people who know this area like the back of their hands.

For us, we are just amazed this all worked out so wonderfully. We made it! With the help of Derek and Deneb, we sailed to the Revilla's and dove with mantas, dolphins, turtles, and sharks! Hammerheads, silkies, white tips and silver tips. And lobsters, and crabs, and although we didn't swim with them, we saw, and heard many humbacks, including some mama's with their babies. We watched crisp, clear sunsets and saw a zillion stars. We still have our beloved Mantus anchor, despite efforts by the rocks to steal it away. And we still have fresh fruit! 2 oranges, an apple, a kiwi and 2 grapefruit, so no scurvy.

Now, back to civilization. Back to restaurants and streets and grocery stores. Back to noise and chaos. Back to laundromats! We'll see what the next adventure is, but it will be hard to top this.

(Oops, didn't make the 2000 word limit.)

Our tracker, and current weather:
https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/SV_FlyAweigh/


Isla San Benedicto, Revillagigedos Archipelago

26 January 2025 | South Anchorage, Isla San Benedicto
Alison Gabel
A week has passed since we left Cabo San Lucas. It feels like a month, or like time just changed into something completely different. Not because we don't have time to worry about - we're not living that iconic image of two retired people on a boat in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but watch sunsets and sip umbrella drinks. We do have time on our minds, because we're on this research mission, with dive schedules and timing issues. So time is right there in our faces, and though we're busy, I could melt off into forever on this kind of time schedule. And anyhow, we don't have any tiny umbrellas.

Each day so far goes like this: Deneb calls the other dive boat(s) who are in the anchorage on any given day, which varies as they come and go, and coordinates who is diving when. The goal is to not overlap. The unspoken rule is the first boat in the anchorage gets first dibs on dive times. Once that's established, we figure out how the day looks as far as meals, dive prep, tank fills, water-making, and naps. Then, we load the dinghy with dive gear, pick up Deneb and Derek, dive, fill tanks and run engines to power the compressor, fix food, eat food, clean up after food, set up dive gear for the next dive, load the dinghy, pick up Deneb and Derek, dive ... and most days, do it all again a third time.

On the first dive Deneb sets up her GoPro camera on the shark cleaning station at 85'. She's careful and respectful, waiting until there's a gap in the flow of sharks circling the station. She slips in, attaches her camera which is anchored with dive weights, then backs off and observes for awhile, making notes on her underwater notepad, maybe counting sharks, assessing. Then we dive around, watch for mantas, hammerheads, dolphin, octopus, rays, sleeping sharks in the sand, and all the other colorful amazing critters that occupy this beautiful other-worldly place. Meanwhile, Derek is above in the dinghy, keeping track on the GPS of the drop site and also sometimes catching a glimpse of our bubbles. As we ascend at the end of the dive, Deneb releases the orange "safety sausage" around 30', it floats up to the surface where its' bright-orange-on-one side and yellow-on-the-other side obnoxiousness lets Derek know we're on our way up, with a 5-min safety stop at 15'.

We pop our heads up and start yapping excitedly about what we saw on the dive, removing gear and handing it up to Derek, floating happily around the dinghy until we haul ourselves in and head back to our boats. Derek has our friend Ricardo's gas-powered dive compressor on the bow of Amphitrite and gets busy filling Deneb's tank, while back on Fly Aweigh Allan spends the next hour and a half filling our two, which takes a bit longer because a) there are two, and b) our compressor is electric and is a bit lower in power. As I mentioned, we have to run an engine during this process because the solar power can't keep up with the demand. Sometimes we also make water, so between the compressor, the engine, and Little Debbie, our plucky water maker, it's a noisy interlude. We put our Bose headsets on and focus on our individual tasks, he in the cockpit being compressor-y and me below decks being the chief cook and bottle washer.

We usually have time for a quick 20-minute snooze in the salon before it's time to get the wet suits back down from the hangars in the cockpit and suit up again, off to get D & D for Dive #2. On this dive Deneb switches out the cameras. The whole process repeats on Dive #3 when she retrieves the second camera. I often skip Dives 2 & 3 or at least #3 and Derek goes down while I run top cover in the dinghy. I like my solitary time on the surface, watching their 3 turquoise shafts of bubbles rise to the surface and pop, assuring me that all 3 are still close together and breathing. The current is strong enough that it's a constant effort to return back to the dive site, and I often lose their bubbles, but the GPS gets me back or I have land references that get me close. I enjoy the view, sing at the top of my lungs, do some exercises, or just sit there feeling extraordinarily grateful.

A few times we've convened on Fly Aweigh for dinner, reviewing the video Deneb has gathered and looking at Allan's photos. The footage has been fantastic. And the food - we're all vegans, so we come up with some delicious and uber-healthy meals. Derek is a great cook and I appreciate someone else bringing their favorite vegan recipes into our lives. At this point, more than 10 days since our last organic produce provisioning from Martin, a supplier in La Paz, we're just about out of fresh greens and other delicate things, and down to carrots, celery, cabbage, a bit of kale, some green beans and of course potatoes. Derek gifted us with the last of a bag of salad greens and we just had that for lunch, the last "normal" salad for another 10 days.

Underwater, we were graced on one dive by a visit from two gorgeous mantas with 15' wingspans, which Deneb can spot from afar, coming out of the distant deep watery murkiness. They come first as soft shadows, then you see their huge wings moving gracefully as they approach, then some of the details of their unique markings become clear, then you see them fold their front cephalic fins together in a peaceful and polite Japanese bow sort-of way (it feels that way to me, a courtesy, a greeting, or something) and then fly right overhead. We hear they like the bubbles. They circle back a few times and we try not to squeal too much into our regulators, then slowly and silently they move off into shadow again. On another encounter yesterday at "El Boiler," a dive site around the corner, we had 3 mantas circle and circle around us, sometimes with their cephalic fins together, sometimes rolled up and pointing forward. Such amazing creatures.

We've seen hammerheads, many of them. They can be dangerous, and I'll admit to a bit of trepidation upon meeting them for the first time, and every time, but they've proven to be shy and uninterested in us. They come for the cleaning station services and aren't here to eat or be aggressive. They stay off in the distance, usually in groups of 3 or more, looking strange and weirdly graceful in their slow movements. On one dive we were in close range of at least 15.

We had a small family of dolphin say hello the other day! Swimming with dolphins - something I've wanted to do since the "Flipper" days on television in the mid-1960's. Man, my cup is full! The dolphin always have such a happy aura, so playful, and always seeming to smile. One large dolphin came up to us and hung vertically, just a few feet away, belly facing us, and swayed cutely left and right, or fore and aft, looking at us and seeming to almost laugh. Mesmerizing, sweet, and potentially dangerous, because as Deneb explained, they tend to keep sinking lower and lower in the water, and you can be so enthralled you don't realize you've gone down. Little mermaids, they are! They played with us for a bit and left. Later in the dive they returned for more hypnotizing fun, then off again, all 6 of them, in a close knot of happiness.

The island of San Benedicto is itself a wonder. Stark and moon-like, the last eruption from Volcano Bárcena, (which, by the way, is Volcano #341020) started August 1, 1952, lasted 10 months, and obliterated all flora and fauna. Since then, it has remained a stark landscape, white/gray/brown, with stunning formations cascading down from the cinder cone. The island is uninhabited, and the only people allowed to set foot on shore are researchers and park rangers. No roads, no footpaths, no telephone poles, no cell towers. We're going back millions of years, diving in a protected marine park with creatures that have lived here practically forever. Other than dive boats, which are permitted and tightly regulated so there's not an influx of them at once, we're alone. The VHF radio on Ch 16, the common hailing frequency for mariners, is mostly quiet - usually the only chatter is the brief discussions between boats to set the dive schedule. We're out of VHF range for almost any other boats unless they're coming or going to the island.

We went on a fun shore-side dinghy excursion the other day with Derek & Deneb in their dinghy, we in ours, tucking in and out of the stunning little coves formed by the lava flow in 1952-3. Around the corner there's an albatross rookery. When Deneb was working as a park ranger she went ashore to tag some of the birds - a challenging shore landing, and an even more challenging hike/climb over rough lava boulders. We didn't get a close-up view of the huge birds, but did see a few on the beach far off, too far to really see anything, but they were there! Amazing birds - if you don't know about the life cycle and lifestyle of the albatross, it's truly fascinating. Teaser facts: they can fly without flapping their wings for up to 620nm. That's from San Francisco to Seattle. Or New York to Chicago. Not a flap. And, they fly for years without setting foot on land.

It's all of this - sharks, mantas, dolphin, albatross - that makes me feel small and huge at the same time. And grateful to be on this awe-inspiring planet, appreciative of the lifeforms we share it with. And as long as I'm getting all grateful, I'll add that it's truly amazing to be in the company of Derek and Deneb. What an interesting and kind pair they are, and the work they're doing is so cool. They're capable and professional, and Deneb's connections and knowledge of things here in the Revillagigedos is impressive.

And here's a fun thing that happened the other day: as I've mentioned in an earlier blurb, the focus of Deneb's 2-year study here at the Revilla's is to learn more about the shark cleaning stations. Part of this is to see how human interaction affects the operation of these all-important places, which are in many ways little medical centers. The other day her camera caught a group of divers that descended down directly on TOP of the cleaning station in the middle of all the circling activity. Before they arrived, the camera recorded a very active station, with lots of sharks circling and being attended to. As soon as the divers barged in, the sharks dispersed. Gone. So, three things happen: the divers don't get to see what they came to see - sharks, activity, fish; the sharks don't get the attention they need, or it has to be delayed; and the cleaner fish miss a meal. It seems obvious - don't walk right into the middle of things uninvited! But apparently it's not. It seems best to be small, a bit far off, and not be all flappy and wild and intrusive, jamming huge cameras in the faces of critters that are just trying to make that 2pm doctors appointment.

Today we're on our way south to Isla Socorro for the next week. Socorro is a very different experience, according to Derek and Deneb. For one thing, there's a Mexican Navy presence there, a small base on the island. So we'll expect to be boarded and inspected, as they help enforce the rules laid down by CONANP, the governing body of the national parks. They check for the proper permits, gear and equipment, and confirm we aren't doing any illegal fishing. And probably some other stuff, I don't know yet but we'll know soon. For another, the terrain is different on Socorro, and the diving is different. If we're lucky, we might see some migrating north Pacific humpback whales. There are a few cleaning stations Deneb wants to study, so we'll continue to be under their guidance as far as where we go and which/how many dives we do. We are willing support, and couldn't be happier.

In this moment, as we sail south, we're trying to ignore the little gnat-like bugs that woke up in curious moods this morning and decided to explore our faces, hands, arms, legs - ugh, so annoying. We hope they have a short lifespan, like 3 hours, because they're too fast to swat. Meanwhile, I'm soaking a variety of beans for a soup I'll start in a few hours, and maybe make some quinoa-oat wraps. I ditched my fabulous sourdough starter, I just couldn't do it. It's like a marriage. It's like parenthood. It's like having a pet. It's a responsibility I couldn't manage right now, so, at least for now, no more hard-earned fragrant loaves of sourdough on Fly Aweigh.

More to come - and lots of photos in the Gallery!

Click here for:
Fly Aweigh Position

And click here for info on:
Albatross

And finally, from the Smithsonian, cool data on:
Volcanos

Bucket List

18 January 2025 | South of Cabo
Alison Gabel
The other night we went to bed anchored in Bahia Los Frailes, one of only two boats in the anchorage, the full moon illuminating the high clouds in the east and making the long strip of beach glow white. A few hours later we were up and motoring toward Cabo San Lucas while 6 planets, with a 7th to join soon, lined up in that vast sky above. The celestial display was like a review of everything I learned about the planets and stars when I was a kid. Then, Cabo, the Big Party at the bottom of the Baja, a drastic contrast to the beauty and solitude of a remote anchorage or a night passage under full moon. The bars on the beach blast music - mostly bad, and the DJ from one particular bar rages on at full volume, spilling onto the beach, the restaurants on all sides, and into the anchorage, leading games, contests, goading everyone into a zipped up tequila-drinking frenzy. Worst of all, he sings "Happy birthday to you" and a lot of "Happy marriage to you" terribly off-key.

But it's okay. We're finally on the Grand Adventure, the Bucket List Box Checker that I've alluded to for the last few months. Because so many things conspired to thwart this endeavor, I was hesitant to speak too soon, plus, we're still learning about it. But here it is: we're on our way to the Revillagigedos Archipelago, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and national park 200 miles south of Cabo San Lucas, to do some serious and amazing diving. Comprising 4 volcanic islands - San Benedicto, Socorro, Roca Partida and Clarion, the archipelago is located at the confluence of the north and south equatorial currents, with something mixed in about the California current, making it a nutrient-rich place to hang out for migrating humpback and other whales, and a full-time home for hammerhead sharks, giant manta ray, tuna, tiger sharks, silky sharks, and oh so much more.

Spending time with these pelagic creatures is a goal we've had since 2010, when we pondered a quick stop after setting out on our Pacific crossing. At the time, it was upwind, would add at least 5 days to our already long passage ahead, and would consume more of our precious stores of food, water, and fuel. So, in concert with our crew, Greg and Tiffany, we made the decision to keep going toward French Polynesia. We can't say we regret it, because we know now that we were woefully underprepared for a diving stop in the Revillas, but since then it's been at the top of our long Bucket List. Finally, 15 years later, it's time.

I started investigating all I could about taking our boat to this special place, and here's what I've learned: the islands are a top destination for dive boats, bringing as many as 4000 divers per year from around the world to spend time in the pristine environment. The diving is challenging: strong currents, deep dive sites, rocky anchor-eating anchorages, and tough restrictions on diving make this a place you don't go alone. You don't go unprepared. You don't go without knowledge of exactly where to drop anchor, and other important things like, when the ash is spewing from the volcano on San Benedicto, don't be downwind! Most importantly, you need someone to run "top cover" (probably not a real diving term) in the dinghy while divers are in the water, since the divers may surface in a much different place than they went down due to the strong currents. Anchoring the dinghy and diving off is largely not possible in the deep water, and not allowed in most places, to protect the coral and not entangle the mantas. CONANP*, the national park system in Mexico, tightly regulates the visits, restricting the number of divers that can go in the water at a time, the required distance to maintain from critters, the tossing of garbage, food and other waste, and the soaps and cleaners that are washed into the sea from the boat. We're stocked with reef-safe sunscreen, dish soap, and shampoo, will not dump our holding tanks while at anchor (we never do that anyhow, eeewwww!) and will not be tossing food scraps out the window or, in the warning words of a fellow cruiser who spent many months in the Revillas, we'll have sharks circling our boat for days. In Frailes we scrubbed the slime and barnacles off the bottom of the boat, since we can't do that in the Revillas in order to avoid introducing invasive species.

All of this is why we're glad we didn't make that quick, unprepared diversion in 2010. And, also why we were in a bit of a quandary about our planned visit - it had become apparent that we needed a buddy boat for this adventure, and we had no idea how to find one. To begin with, the permit process to visit the park is daunting. There's a steep daily charge to be in the park - $100/day per person, and I heard that CONANP was doubling that this year. Luckily, as retirees, we're exempt, one of the few good things about growing old. Applying for the permit requires writing to CONANP (in Spanish) and supplying piles of documents to support the fact that you're on a sound, insured and legally owned boat, that you're divers who have advanced certifications or better and have dive insurance, that you have read and understood the 8,000,000 page document that lays out the rules, in Spanish, and lastly, for us, proof of our retirement status. So I did all that, with the help of others who had done it before, and after a few back-and-forth's with the park office we were awarded a month's visit in January with an official park stamp and everything. We paid our annual park fee and can now visit any of the national parks in Mexico. But still, finding another boat, with the permit, the time, and the soaps, how would we do that?

Well, leave it to my socially-inclined husband Allan, who fell into conversation one day in the boat yard in Ensenada with a newly-arrived couple, Derek and Deneb. Turns out, they were headed to the Revillas as well, in January, and moreover - best-ever - Daneb, a marine biologist, had been a park ranger on the islands for 4 years. (Giant exclamation marks!) She has recently formed a non-profit, the Centro Interdisciplinarion en Ciencias Aplicadas de Baja California Sur, commencing a 2-year study on shark cleaning stations, called, appropriately, "The Cleaning Stations Project." The'll live aboard their boat, s/v Amphitrite, and make multiple trips per year, basing out of La Paz, Baja California. Amphitrite is a beautiful boat, but currently not equipped with a dive compressor or a water maker. (This won't to stop Derek and Deneb, who are frugal with their water, and because of Deneb's connections in the islands and with the dive boats, tank fills are possible, although difficult.) But we have those things, and a great boat from which to stage. Deneb has intimate knowledge of the dive sites, the rules (she helped write them!) and the complex dance that makes up this whole adventure. You see where this is going? By the end of the conversation a mutually-supportive union had been formed, and we've been planning and fine-tuning ever since.

And trying to surmount the numerous inevitable events that conspired to thwart the endeavor. Things like the failure of the dive compressor a month ago, the multi-layered drama of getting a replacement compressor motor shipped to Mexico, Allan getting sick, Alison getting sick, Alison bruising a rib a few weeks ago, old dive gear finally giving up the ghost, and other things I've already conveniently forgotten. But the compressor got fixed in the 11th hour thanks to my smart husband and his creative and talented mechanical skills, and, icing on the already good cake, we were loaned a second compressor by my friend Ricardo. We got over the whatever illnesses beset us, bought new gear, tested it out, and my rib, although annoying, isn't going to stop me from diving with giant manta rays.

More about Deneb: raised in La Paz by marine biologist parents, she earned her master's degree in Marine Biology and in 2018 went to work for CONANP, helping to set up the newly-formed Revillagigedos National Park. She worked as a park ranger for 4 years, making months-long trips to the islands on Navy ships or dive boats, living ashore or on the boats, and was in charge of all marine monitoring. In that realm, she met her husband, Derek, a Canadian diver, sailor and ocean conservationist, and together, they have come to this point - the formation of the non-profit that would, under its umbrella, continue numerous projects in ocean conservation and education. They are both passionate about their work, and we, as kids who grew up watching The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau and harboring secret dreams to be marine biologists, are thrilled to assist, even if just for a short time.

After a 6am call each morning on the radio to coordinate the dive schedule with the dive boats in the area, Daneb will have a plan for our day. She'll dive down to around 95 feet to set up cameras on several of the known shark cleaning stations in the islands to record the behavior of the critters that come to visit. One of the hopes is to learn more about how the presence of divers affects the operation of the station. Do critters in need tend to stay away if divers are there? Do they leave and possibly miss out on critical care? The results of this study will inform CONANP and other scientists if further restrictions are necessary to protect the animals that come to the cleaning stations for this critical care. We'll join her on the dives, assist where we can, run top support when Derek wants to dive, fill dive tanks, fill water jugs, make vegetarian chili, and generally try to be very Jacques-Cousteau-esque, although Allan refuses to wear one of those tiny French bathing suits.

Let's talk about cleaning stations: these are not man-made places with drive-through service, but rather, locations in the ocean that the fish somehow establish - how they do it is a mystery. There are no signs and I'm not sure how they advertise, but apparently the word gets out. The cleaner fish - shrimp, gobi, wrasse, and angel fish to name just a few, are highly-trained and waiting for customers like sharks, mantas, mola-mola and many others to stop in for a nice de-bugging. The cleaner fish tend to the important business of cleaning wounds, removing parasites and bacteria from teeth, gums, skin. It's a win-win for all: although no money is exchanged, the big fish get a makeover, the little fish don't get eaten. It's a beautiful thing, an underwater miracle, and we get to learn more about it in one of the top dive spots on this amazing planet, with a marine biologist as our guide. You can learn more by checking out the link I put below, and/or by re-watching one of my favorite movies, Finding Nemo.

So, barring any other endeavor-thwarting events, we'll be in the water with giant mantas the size of living rooms in just a few days, keeping a sharp eye on the tiger sharks and hoping to spot a shy hammerhead in the distance. We plan to go through as many as 8 dive tanks per day, so we're grateful for the extra compressor, muchas gracias amigo Ricardo. We're stocked with food for a month, since the only thing in the islands is a small Navy base, and we're not allowed to go ashore anyhow. No groceries, fuel, trash cans or boat washes until we get to Barra de Navidad in mid-February. I'll be posting a few blurbs from the islands, since we'll have the Starlink in Priority Data mode (which means no Netflixing or Facebook scrolling, but email is good, phones work in Face Time or WhatsApp.)

In summary, we couldn't be more excited and proud to be part of the project. Speaking of which, it's a start-up, and looking for funding. I've put the link the website below, and if you're an ocean conservationist type looking for a fun place to donate a bit of extra cash, here it is.

More about giant mantas, lurking sharks, scrubby cleaner fish, rocky anchorages and trip-of-a-lifetime adventures in the weeks to come!

* CONANP - Comisión Nacional de Áreas Naturales Protegidas

Ps: I figured out how to make these links work, so click away!

Click here for Deneb's Website

Cleaning Stations:
https://ultimatedivetravel.com/cleaning-stations/

Our tracker, and current weather:
https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/SV_FlyAweigh/

Knockin' Around La Paz

10 January 2025
Alison Gabel
Knockin' Around La Paz

We're here, in a lovely seaside town in the Sea of Cortez, with perfect weather, just doing things. Nothing Earthshatteringly important, nothing very interesting, just things - laundry, servicing the winches, cleaning spots off the deck, catching up on stuff you catch up on, hanging with friends, getting some exercise, eating too much. Back home, Earthshattering things are happening - friends are losing their homes in the fiercest fires we've ever witnessed in Southern California. Entire neighborhoods have been rendered to ash, barely anything left. You've all seen the footage. Some of you reading this lost your home. Almost everyone knows someone touched by these tragedies. It's hard to write my lighthearted blurb while my heart is simmering in deep shock and sadness, wishing I were home, helping friends sift through what's left, offering some morsel of comfort.

"We need your stories of adventures, Aliwhoosh. They'll uplift us during a tough time." said my friend Craig, who I've known since first grade, who just lost his longtime home in Alta Dena. I can't be home helping Craig & Kathi sift through the ashes of their lives, but I can keep writing and hope the distraction, even for just a few minutes, might help. So, lacking a more suitable segue, a recap of the last month, dedicated, with love, to Craig and Kathi:

Last time I sail-blurbed, we were in Bahia Los Frailes, sailing in the company of Louise and Andy and their pups on s/v Eos. Los Frailes provided a nice respite from a very lumpy 10+ hour passage from Cabo San Lucas, and we all rested and put things back on the shelves and relished the quiet, although it wasn't that quiet because the wind was blasting down the canyon, offshore, stretching our boats to the limit of their anchor chains. But we were safe and Louise made banana bread and we enjoyed the break. We did get ashore the next day for a walk, giving the rambunctious dogs more space to jump and chase and swim, and giving the humans a bit of a walk. I mentioned in a recent blog that Louise and I had "princess feet." Walking barefoot on a rocky beach used to be fun, but this time, not so much! When I was a kid, our family invested in some land in the Fiji Islands. Our first year there I was 14. We were pretty tough kids, we ran around barefoot all the time, but the Fijians! They had these marvelous feet - wide, tough as leather, strong. They never wore shoes, and they walked miles and miles down the rocky roads to get to the next village, to buy food, to go fishing. "Fiji feet" we called them forever more - those feet that can go adventuring without complaint. Living in polite society, getting a pedicure every month and wearing shoes all the time has done nothing for my Fiji Feet!

Allan and I dug all the scuba stuff out for one more test of the gear and had a satisfying dive to about 30 feet over the sandy bottom. It was too rough to dinghy around the corner to Cabo Pulmo and dive on the protected coral reef, so we settled for sand and rocks, a few colorful fish, and the knowledge that the gear was in good shape.

After two days we left Frailes in the dark of night, hoping to dodge the worst of the wind and waves coming down from the north. The forecast for the next week was just grim enough for a northbound passage that we decided to grab this chance rather than stay in Frailes for another week. Not that that would have been bad! But we all had eyes on getting to La Paz for various, not-very-important reasons. The passage was fine, we motored along in mostly good conditions and dropped anchor in one of my favorite places along this part of the coast, Bahia de los Muertos, or Ensenada Muertos.

We were here almost 3 years prior with a few other boats after a particularly energetic crossing from Isla Isabela, and the restaurant on the beach was where we all gathered after naps, to tell our particular sea tales over cold margaritas. I have good memories of that bonding time, and looked forward to a few more meals in this sweet beachside restaurant, called 1535.

We spent another 2 days in Muertos, enjoying food in 1535 while the sweet, floppy-bodied teenage kitties charmed us (I love a good, relaxed, floppy-bodied kitty - trusting, calm, easy.) We were entertained by a wing foil clinic that comes down from La Ventana to train people in the calmer, flatter bay. For hours in the afternoon, every day, the colorful wingers would circle our boat, tacking, jibing, falling, shakily getting the hang of the sport while the attentive instructor jet ski'd nearby to assist (and, protect our boat!)

So Muertos did not disappoint, but it was time to move on to the Big City, a short day trip around the corner, gliding between Isla Cerralvo, which is now Isla Jaques Cousteau, and the peninsula. We arrived in the afternoon and were able to get right into the slip we had reserved in Marina de la Paz, grateful they had a space for us after months of being told every marina was full.

We've been settled ever since, wedged between a huge luxury fishing boat and a massive luxury motor yacht. The latter, although it blocks our entire view of the beautiful bay, provides welcome shelter from the daily winds and choppy seas, so we're happy. She's a beautiful boat, anyhow, and we have a good sliver of view off our stern to the eastern hills and the sunrise.

We've spent our time, as I mentioned, doing mundane regular things, peppered with a wonderful Christmas meal with old and new friends here in La Paz, a quiet Zulu New Year celebrated at 5pm with a bunch of cruisers at Club Cruceros, and our 4-day sojourn to La Ventana. La Paz has matured even since our last visit 3 years ago, with great eateries and bike lanes (with lights!) and excellent shopping, even an organic produce guy who comes a few times a week to the local market. We've really enjoyed our time in this town.

What we haven't told you yet is that after Allan decided to put kite boarding on hold in La Ventana, we took a wing foiling lesson together, and loved it. Of course, we only had a few hours on the beach, with just the kite, and have yet to move to the next step of getting on the water with the scary foil board or whatever they call it - a small, lightweight board with a "mast" that sticks down into the water and some fins that jut out at the bottom, the thing the board rides up on when you get good enough to foil. We've been warned that the learning curve is steep, so we'll sign up for that 3-day clinic that sailed around our boats in Muertos, maybe in the spring when we pass back through. In the meantime, we bought a pretty lime-green used wing in La Ventana so we can practice our wing handling skills on the beach. Of course, there's some logic missing there, and we know it, because if it's windy enough to fly the wing on the beach, it's too windy to land the dinghy, so there's that ... catch 22's everywhere you turn, but we'll figure it out. We're determined to try, because this sport was made for us: first of all, there's a "wing." And when you're on the board moving slowly at the beginning, you're "taxiing." When the board starts to lift out of the water, you "take off." And, when you slow back down and settle, guess what? You "land"! See? As two pilots, we have to. And, despite other dangers and discomforts, there's no body dragging in this sport.

And finally, the Big Bucket List Adventure is nigh! We leave on Sunday morning, sailing with actual wind in our favor instead of against it, back to Ensenada Muertos, where we'll stay for a few days, pet the kitties, eat some good food, and jump in the water with our friends John and Lisa who offered to drive over from La Ventana and help us clean the bottom of the boat. Then we'll move on to Los Frailes for a night, and then back to Cabo San Lucas, where we'll get the final diesel top-off, gas top-off, and produce top-off before heading south with our friends on s/v Amphitrite. Where are we going? Stay tuned!

And don't forget:
Track us on PredictWind: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/SV_FlyAweigh/

New photos in the Photo Gallery - Just click on "Gallery" on the webpage!

La Ventana

02 January 2025 | La Ventana, Baja California
Alison Gabel | Windy!
Although a lot has happened since last I blurbed from Bahia Los Frailes, and I do intend to fill in some of those blanks, I want to skip ahead and start with now.

Right now, we're sitting on the little stone terrace of an adorable casita at the Ventana Bay Resort in La Ventana, Baja California, munching on sourdough pretzel nibbles and sipping cold filtered water. We're surrounded by palm trees that make whooshing noises in the gusty breeze, while a little bird peep peep's somewhere nearby, but otherwise, it's peaceful and quiet.

We're taking a vacation from our vacation. We rented a car in La Paz yesterday and drove the 45-minutes east to spend a little time with friends John and Lisa, who've been coming to La Ventana from the Pacific Northwest for many decades to play with the wind. There's a lot of wind here, and the people who make up crazy and dangerous ways to use that wind are all here: the windsurfers, kite boarders, kite foilers, wing foilers. It's a mecca of windy, watery sports. A thing about sports: whenever one gets particularly saturated, as in, everybody's doing it, someone comes up with a new one. And so it is with wind sports. Most windsurfers abandoned their clumsy big sails and booms 10-20 years ago in favor of kite boarding, an elegant sport with smaller boards and pretty parachute-like arced sails and lots of scary strings, which was suddenly way cooler. Then, along came kite foiling, where the board lifts up on skinny little foils and flies above the water. Next, wing foiling, with bat-wing shaped inflated sail-things that you hang onto with handles, no strings attached. Then the windsurfers started foiling their windsurfers, and some of the wing foilers abandoned the wing for just an electric powered foil, but none of them are here. This place is about wind.

So Allan, a former windsurfer, came with 3 used kites he got from a friend, a board he got from John, a harness he got from me - ready to get back on the water. He'd taken a few lessons about 9 years ago but needed a refresher, so here we are in one of the top wind meccas of the West. John and Lisa hooked Allan up with an instructor, Rodrigo, and they spent yesterday playing with the kite on the beach, just to get back into some of the moves. Today the water part happened.

Now, in my opinion, anything that has a training move called "body dragging" is suspect. Why would you want to actually choose to do that? But body dragging is part of the training, and Allan's body was dragged all through the wet, choppy water today while he managed the kite way high up above him, then sometimes way downwind of him, yanking him along, while Rodrigo coached him from the beach via instructions piped into his helmet. Next, Rodrigo added the board for some board body dragging. Then, after I was exhausted watching, not to mention a bit sandblasted, he attempted to get up and actually kite board. I figured by then, if was me, I'd just body drag myself all the way down the beach until I washed ashore and somebody brought me a spicy margarita, but he's feistier than I when it comes to water sports, and he stuck it out.

Apparently he did get up on the board, which is fabulous - but I missed it because he actually was halfway down the beach toward the spicy margarita place, and I couldn't keep up. So I went back to my sand-blasting spot on the beach and snuggled into the 10 square meter sail they had chosen not to use today, trying to forget that I had to pee. After awhile I started to worry - it's a genetic thing for women, I think - imagining him exhausted and water-logged and hoping none of the other 200 kiteboardfoilwingwindsurfers ran over him. But eventually, I saw him and Rodrigo walking up the beach, and I relaxed.

Rodrigo packed up his stuff and went south, we packed up our stuff and went north, hiked up to our little casita to rinse off all the gear and relax a bit. As we debriefed the day, Allan came to a big conclusion about this kite boarding thing: not gonna do it! Phew! You might say - good thing! Skip that dangerous body-dragging sport and stick to yoga! But no. Instead, he wants to try wing foiling - it's much easier to do from a boat and doesn't have any scary strings. In the meantime, it's almost time to join John and Lisa for those spicy margaritas.

Sailing Along the Baja

18 December 2024 | Los Frailes
Alison Gabel
We left Ensenada in the company of another boat, s/v Eos, whose owners hail from various parts of the globe but most recently sold their home in British Columbia to launch into the cruising life, along with their energetic dogs, Finn & Clover.

We were of rather like-minds about our approach to sailing the 700 miles south to the tip, or cabo, of the Baja Peninsula, and our boats were well-matched for speed, so it was a good fit. Plus, we like dogs.
Our approach on this trip was not to "gunk-hole," which means to dip into all the cool little anchorages along the way and take time enjoying the trip, but rather to follow the wind and seas and get around the corner to La Paz before Christmas. Andy still works and needs to get back to Canada for a bit, and Allan and I are meeting some friends in the La Paz area.

It was a good strategy: the wind favored most of our trip south, and we had our sails up for more than half the time, which is a good percentage, historically, for this boat and her adventures so far. The seas were also magnificent, with a following swell that gave us the chance to surf gloriously down each wave while the boat made the most delightful watery slooshing sounds. It was smooth, and fast, and (mostly) quiet. We made two stops, one in Bahia Asunción, and one in Bahia Magdalena.

Asunción is one of our favorites, attended by one of our favorite guys along this coast, Lery Espinosa. Lery is a lobster fisherman during the night and a (Critter sighting! As I write a mobula ray is jumping happily out of the water just behind our boat!) cruiser-helper during the day. He helps us get fuel, ferrying jerry jugs to the local gas station via his dinghy and pickup truck, then helping us pump it into our tanks, he'll take you to shore in his dinghy if you prefer that over attempting the waves for a beach landing, he'll refer you to all the local spots in this tiny town for food, groceries, etc. and he'll offer up any advice you might need. He's also a sailor and keeps his sailboat anchored in the bay.

As expected (and the reason we didn't stop earlier in Bahia Tortuga), the Santa Ana winds kicked up from the east, picking up all the desert-y sand and reducing visibility a bit, and churning the sea into a messy stay-on-the-boat situation. So we stayed on our boats for 2 days, texting each other, until it laid down. We got up early on the the third day and headed out before the sun came up.

It was a lovely 32-hour passage and we arrived in the afternoon and dropped anchor in Man-O-War cove, an hour inside the Bay, where it's blissfully calm. There's a little fishing village there, and a wonderful beach restaurant. After settling in we picked up Louise, Finn and Clover and went ashore, giving the dogs and the humans the first chance to stretch legs since we left Ensenada, 530nm earlier. The beach was strewn with spiny half-dried sea urchin, rocks, and occasional fish heads, so it was a short, guided walk with dogs on leashes. A bit later the humans returned to the beach for dinner, relishing cold beers and fresh fish and shrimp tacos as the sun went down.

Up the next morning for a comfortable 8:30am departure for Cabo San Lucas. We were pleased to find the wind within an hour of our departure, and sailed non-stop for the next 22 hours. Pure heaven for this catamaran, which absolutely loves a nice downwind sail. No critter sightings until nearing Cabo, when we saw our first whales. There was a bit of sail drama, though, to pepper-up an otherwise fabulous trip: in the night, while I slept, Allan had to make a quick heading change while under sail and the beautiful headsail I call the "Creature" got tangled up in pillows of sail fabric wrapped tightly in rope, an unrecoverable mess without help. Leaving it up risked ripping that beautiful sail, so Allan woke me, and under his calm direction, wearing headsets and life jackets and snugly tethered to the boat, we brought the whole mess down and dragged it carefully to the cockpit, where it lay in a fluffy pile, to be untangled later.

The next afternoon we rounded the corner into Cabo and all of it's chaos - a stark contrast to the simple fishing towns of the coast. Glass-bottom boats, pangas loaded with life-jacketed tourists, jet skis, massive millionaire boats, the hotel and condo-strewn beaches, the beautiful rocky arch at the entrance to the bay - it's an interesting and rather spicy end to the 700 previous miles.

We were surprised to find the anchorage fairly empty. Allan and I decided to get fuel before anchoring, dodging the tourist pangas on their way out (there seems to be a total lack of speed limit in there, so it's a bit wild) and sliding into the fuel dock without incident. Well, almost without incident - one panga cut right in front of us and we had to yank both engines into reverse to avoid hitting them - that must have been a thrill the tourists were not hoping for, being T-boned by a catamaran!

Once settled at anchor we took a short nap, and as we were gearing up for an evening aboard, listening to the loud DJ booming from the beach in some sort of obnoxious bar game and the music coming from other restaurants ashore, we lamented that we were missing the Parade of Lights back in our home harbor in California. But then we started noticing a familiar behavior of the boats, milling about, strewn with holiday lights, gathering as the sun dropped lower, and we realized "Hey! A Cabo Parade of Lights!" So we took our comfy camp chairs up on the roof, got some cold drinks and blankets, and watched the show under a bright, full moon with the last of the light glowing from behind the arch, the boats parading in a huge circle in the bay for the benefit of everyone on the beach and all of us in the anchorage. The show was capped by a short but delightful fireworks show, and then another from the beach directly in front of us.

We stayed two days, got the fuel, untangled the Creature, bought some groceries, had $40 massages, relaxed, caught up on emails, and generally decided we didn't hate Cabo San Lucas as much as we thought, in fact, we might have stayed longer but a decent weather window seemed to be opening up for the 7-hour trip up to Los Frailes, our next stop en route to La Paz. We knew the weather for the next week was likely to be a no-go for our northward passage and we'd probably spend some time in Frailes, but we wanted to keep moving in that direction.

Our passage started out nice enough, no wind and fairly smooth seas, but then Neptune woke up and decided to compensate for our fabulous trip down the Baja. Snarly and wet, choppy and uncomfortable, I called the next 5 hours a bashy-smash. (It felt like WAY more than 5 hours!) This boat makes sharp, loud "BANGS!" as water slaps up under the bridge deck beneath us, or hits the hulls in a certain way, it's like being inside a metal box while 7 gorillas throw rocks at you. It's a catamaran thing. Mono hulls endure these sorts of seas in other miserable ways, and the gang on Eos was suffering their own agonies, so by the time we reached Frailles we were all spent. We anchored into a stiff 20 knot wind blowing straight off the beach, which thankfully eased as the sun went down.

Yesterday was a quiet day spent mostly aboard, resting, catching up on misc. admin that seems to not go away just because you've left your "normal" life behind. I started a sourdough loaf (a 2-day process, or more) and Louise made banana bread. We washed our windows and Allan took a swim while I worked out, using scuba weights and stretchy bands. We all went ashore in the late afternoon and threw a tennis ball and a ratty dog-frisbee for the rambunctious canines, Louise and I lamenting our "princess feet" as we ouched-ouched-ouched our way along the rocky shore in bare feet. Back aboard Allan and I made plans to do a dive in the morning, before the winds kick up; we're still trying to get all our gear collated and tested since we have a few new things.

On the horizon: we'll stay here today and tomorrow, diving, maybe hiking, "relaxing" which were still not very good at, and tomorrow night we hope to have a chance to sneak north another 10 hours or so to Los Muertos, the last stop on our way to La Paz. We'll be in La Paz through the New Year and have some spectacular plans in January, which I have previously alluded to, and which I'll talk about later when things gel.

For now, as we ease into the last few days before Hannukah and Christmas, we wish you a wonderful season and lots of good food!

Track us on PredictWind: https://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/SV_FlyAweigh/

Photos in the Photo Gallery - Just click on "Gallery" on the webpage!

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. in 2009 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 - Sailing Down the Baja Coast
Photos 1 to 14 of 14 | Main
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Sunset at sea.
Sailing on a gorgeous downwind day!
Allan Working Out Underway: Scuba weight belts come in handy for other things!
Sailing into Bahia Magdalena
Louise Walking Finn & Clover at Man-O-War Cove
The messy side of Man-O-War cove: A crazy little fishing village where everything ends up on the beach, working, or not.
Restaurant Mira Mar in Man-O-War Cove
Fly Aweigh in Man-O-War Cove: Fly Aweigh in center, Eos on the left.
What Every Cabo San Lucas Tourist Brochure Has on the Cover!
The Back Side of the Cabo Brochure
Parade of Lights
Big Catamaran in the Parade of Lights
Fireworks After the Parade in Cabo
Fireworks from the beach in Cabo
 
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