A Few Good Days on the Pacific

The rhythm out here has shifted in the best possible way. After the challenges of the early passage and the quiet joy of Easter, Hazel and the two of us seem to have found a groove blessed by good weather and following seas. This 5,000 mile passage has been reduced to 1,875 miles remaining, which means 63% is behind us, but who’s counting.

The asymmetrical spinnaker has become our friend instead of the source of our frustration. We have grown confident in setting and trimming it, and when the wind cooperates, that big sail pulls us forward with smooth, steady power that feels deeply rewarding. Peter and I have worked out the rhythm of assignments and adjustments, and Hazel responds beautifully to the sail now that we trust it again.

What many people may not know is that this is not our first ocean adventure together. We have had plenty over the years when we both lived in California. You know the saying that what does not kill you makes you stronger. Well, we have had many strength building sessions on the ocean. You could say we were forged in iron.

One memory that always resurfaces is a trip we took to Punta Baja on Mexico’s Baja peninsula. About forty years ago, Baja was a sportsman’s paradise. One blacktop road ran the length of the peninsula and everything else was dirt. The population was sparse and supported mostly by agriculture and fishing. Peter had acquired a zodiac style inflatable from Austria with a 30 horsepower engine and a trailer. We had heard rumors about Isla San Jeronimo, an island with untouched sea life. The nearest launch point was Punta Baja, a tiny remote fishing village. At the time we lived in Long Beach, and Punta Baja was about 370 miles away. We were both avid divers and loved fishing, and the idea of unspoiled water was irresistible.

So off we went in Peter’s pimp mobile, a Nissan 280ZX with fur on the dash, dice on the mirror, and sheepskin seat covers, towing the inflatable and all our fishing, camping, and diving gear. The drive down Mexico’s Highway 1 was smooth and uneventful. Back then you crossed the border with a driver’s license and it took five minutes. The road from Highway 1 to Punta Baja was another story. Thirty miles of washed out dirt, washboards, and holes. Not ideal for a car with three inches of clearance. Through trials, tribulations, and sheer stubbornness, we made it to the village.

You might think we would set up camp and launch at first light. That was not the plan. Peter wanted to launch immediately and get a dive in before sunset. We put on our gear, loaded the inflatable, launched, and headed out in search of the perfect dive spot. Less than ten minutes later, all our gear was floating inside the boat. Did we forget the plug? No. Then we realized the inflatable itself was losing air. A brand new boat, sinking off Punta Baja. It became a race to keep our gear from drifting away while coaxing this half submerged bathtub back to shore at five miles an hour with the engine wide open. Panic never really set in. It was more disbelief and dismay. Worst case, we figured we could swim back with our dive gear, though the engine and boat might have ended up in Davy’s Locker. By some miracle we made it back with everything intact.

Once we caught our breath, we inspected the damage. The inflatable had rubbed against bolts on the trailer during the rough dirt road and was riddled with holes. It was tied down well enough for pavement but not for off road. Our dream of Isla San Jeronimo evaporated. The inflatable was Swiss cheese, far beyond repair.

A fishing family had watched the entire spectacle from the point. I am convinced we were the best entertainment they had seen in years. Yet they showed such kindness. They invited us to their home for dinner, and that night I ate the best lobster burrito and refried beans of my life. The fresh tortillas and the sauce on the lobster deserved five Michelin stars.

My point is this. Peter and I have messed up plenty of times at sea, but we have always stayed calm and found solutions. And we have always been blessed with silver linings.

Back to the Pacific. Evenings have brought their own magic. The sunsets have been spectacular, with vivid bands of color spreading across the sky and reflecting off that deep, glowing blue water. I hope the sunset photos below give a sense of what we are seeing.

We linger in the cockpit as the light fades, watching the horizon put on its show. These moments recharge us after the watches, repairs, waves, and course planning. And yes, we are obsessed with the weather and wind predictions. They are the one two punch that can make you or break you.

These brighter stretches do not erase the hard reality of a Pacific crossing, but they do balance it. They remind us that the journey includes both the demanding days and the unexpectedly good ones.

We continue pressing west. The horizon stays empty, the water stays that magnificent blue, and we keep learning Hazel’s ways with every passing day.

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One extra passenger left!

Punta Baja, and the owner of the 280ZX Pimp Mobile.

The unbeatable progression of the sunset, oozing into the abyss.