We like to sail whenever possible, even in very light air. We try to avoid turning on the motor unless the swells are too uncomfortable to ride in the absence of forward momentum, or unless we are trying to get to the next harbor ahead of an approaching storm, or we are about to run out of something, like beer. So we left Turtle Bay mid-afternoon with an optimistic breeze behind us, sailing at 5 knots while traveling about three miles off the coast. We only had 23 miles to the next anchorage, and were doing the trip overnight. (We didn’t want to spend another restless nine hours wondering if the anchor was going to drag while the Santa Ana winds blew through Bahia Tortuga all night long.) When the wind died down, we planned to heave-to. When the wind came back up, we would start sailing again. It was a beautiful plan, yes? After all, we only had 23 miles to go, and 28 hours in which to do it and still make the anchorage just at dusk.

So, when the wind died down, we hove-to for about 5 hours. The sun came up, the wind came up, and we sailed for a while, poking along at 2 knots. The jib started slatting and wearing, so up went the asymmetrical gennaker, our primary light-air sail. We passed a lovely eight hours this way, with a cool breeze and a warm sun. It was perfect, except for the niggling concern now that if the afternoon wind didn’t fill in soon, we might not get to the anchorage before dark.

And so it came to pass. In the dark hours after sunset and before moonrise, we drifted past the anchorage we had planned on using, then past the next one too. The full moon rose, orange and fat, and we sailed along in the soft light doing 1.5 – 3 knots, bound now for Bahia Santa Maria, 160 miles more to the southeast. We felt sanctified by our resolve not to motor. We were sailors, after all.

If one is not careful, the capriciousness of the wind can feel personal.  It is no wonder sailors in general are such a superstitious lot, given that even with the vast sum of weather forecasting at our fingertips, we still don’t really know when we will or will not have enough wind to fill our sails. On January 18 at 0911 hours, the wind laid down for a long nap, and didn’t wake up until we were anchored in Bahia Santa Maria the morning of the 19th. For a couple of hours we swiveled on the swells.  We even drifted northward, caught in some mysterious, unnoticed eddy.

While trimming the gennaker, Carla finally finds a use for the series drogue.

After three nights and four days of being buffeted by the wind in Turtle Bay and only being able to get ashore once, we wanted to get off the boat soon. So yes, we finally motored. We motored the rest of the way, and were happy to arrive as the sun tinted Cape Lazaro a very fine watercolor painting. Thank-you, Yanmar, once again.

How many gulls fit on the bottom of a Fatty Knees dinghy? Seven, eventually.