Should I stay or should I go?

This punk-rock anthem to ­indecision seems written especially for cruisers. As each season winds down, one query tops the usual weather-and-repairs ­yammer in every port: “So, where you guys headed next?”

When my wife, Rebecca, and I sailed from the Pacific Northwest in 2009, that answer was south, at least to start. Each winter we pushed farther on Liberte, our Beneteau 361, lured by monkeys, waterfalls and that age-old temptation of new horizons. Liberte dawdled through Costa Rica and Panama, through the Panama Canal, and on to Guatemala’s Rio Dulce, Belize, Florida, Cuba and the Bahamas. And boy, are we glad we did.

But by our third season in the Bahamas, when that destination question arose at a farewell dock party in Green Turtle Cay, Rebecca and I knew our answer. We wanted to sail with humpback whales, anchor under mountains, enjoy endless blue skies and temperatures in the 80s, and yes, eat tacos and salsa on street corners. We missed the weather, people, food, cost of living, landscapes and sea life of Pacific Mexico. We wanted to go west.

And how tantalizingly close it was. Just 36 hours by car from Fort Lauderdale to Puerto Vallarta, or a mere three hours and 46 minutes in an airplane. But certainly not by boat. So, what was the best way back? My impetuous side wanted to cast off the lines and see how far we’d get. That approach had worked before and likely would again. But over the seasons and miles, I had learned to eliminate all the variables that I could. And I knew firsthand that the return route had variables aplenty.

Coming to the East Coast, Rebecca and I (and friends as crew) had mostly enjoyed solving each aspect of our voyage with a can-do attitude. We’d run the gauntlet of Tehuantepec and Papagayos winds, dodged (and once hit) unlit pangas in the dark, threaded miles of fishing longlines, and piloted Liberte through a Salvadoran surf break to shelter. What was then novel and exciting now seemed like one obstacle after another.

We could also hire someone else to take Liberte around on her own hull. The cost would include delivery crew and provisions, fuel and Panama Canal transit fees, engine hours and boat wear and tear, along with extra dollar signs if Liberte was struck by the frequent lightning in Panama or nailed one of the giant logs that flood down those Central American rivers when it rains. It was back to the same unknowns with someone else making midnight make-or-break decisions.

What about shipping overland? Truckers informed me in a variety of regional dialects what I was up against. For most, our humble boat haul sounded as though it was more trouble than it was worth.

“You say you’re 12½ beam?” (I could literally hear head scratching.) “Yeah, I’ve gotta get an extra escort, and that’s more bucks per mile. Call my buddy, maybe he can help you.”

What if I sailed the boat to Galveston, just 1,345 land miles from San Carlos, Mexico?

“It won’t make much difference; I’ll charge about the same. Mexico you said? I don’t deliver into Mexico. Best I can do is drop you off in Tucson at Marco’s crane, and they put you onto another truck going south.”

How much was that truck going south? How much did Marco want for his crane? The more I tried to engineer a solid route with a budget, the more uncertainties arose. I could truck from Cancun to Puerto Vallarta, but throw in insurance, as well as decommissioning and commissioning, and we were back to square one. My most desperate hours were spent chasing some ghost who, rumor had it, wrangled boats over the mountains of Guatemala. By this point, I wasn’t sure I wanted Liberte going anywhere at 65 mph, scooching under trees and bridges, bouncing over train tracks, vibrating things loose on her merry way. The savvy sailors who reported good outcomes by land spent days of prep unstepping the mast, and wrapping, securing, and otherwise protecting their pride and joy. I admired their work…and I wanted to avoid most of it.

So, for simple math, less labor and a straightforward outcome, we bet our money on shipping Liberte back west by sea.

Though research dredged up horror stories of boats held for ransom or dropped in the wrong port, I was pleased with Sevenstar Yacht Transport’s reputation and happy they were going our way. Since the Florida to West Coast routes are busiest after the Miami International Boat Show in February, our haul would likely happen in late February or early March. The next trick was entwining our tiny boat with this juggernaut of international shipping. From its Amsterdam headquarters, Sevenstar directs a fleet of 120 transport boats, shipping 1,500 yachts a year up to 60 meters and 650 tons.

“We must be the smallest thing on your ship,” I told our agent, Lauren.

“We handle boats of all sizes,” she answered, quite diplomatically.

The agreed-on price for little Liberte was $15,000 from Palm Beach to La Paz, Mexico, which by my uncertain math was not far off the other options and may have had them beat. This we wired in advance to Deutsche Bank AG, a small fortune gone forever from the cruising kitty.

RELATED: Sailing to Mexico with the Baja Ha-Ha

Shipping by boat, the mast could stay in place, a real selling point. Our contract included loading, lashing, discharging and transport insurance, as well as a cradle to hold Liberte. (Three months later, the Baltic 130 My Song fell overboard in transit, blamed by shipper Peters & May on a bad cradle supplied by the yacht owner.)

When I asked Lauren for her advice on our travel plans (we had roughly three weeks to spend while our boat moved without us), she emphasized flexibility. One contract line in particular caught my eye: “Demurrage, Euro $15,000 per day.” It was an understandable yet terrifying penalty for failure to load or discharge on time, and I realized we didn’t want to miss either date with the Dutch ship.

Rebecca worked out travel solutions. As soon as Liberte was loaded, we would book the next flight to easy-to-reach Mexico City to enjoy culture and food, knowing that daily AeroMexico flights went to La Paz. Lodging was made flexible along the way.

You can bet Liberte arrived plenty early in Palm Beach. After a delightful romp of a sail up from the Keys, we came through the tidal waves of Lake Worth Inlet in the dark and anchored in West Palm. It’s not an entirely straightforward anchorage, but one that did the job, especially with reciprocal privileges at the Palm Beach Sailing Club a short dinghy ride west. All day we watched the nicest yachts in the world slide by, headed for Rybovich SuperYacht Marina. We knew our own mothership would be the 465-foot M/V Marsgracht, bound from Europe, and it was exciting to see her AIS signal steaming our way across the Atlantic at a steady 14 knots or so.

Timing is tricky in this business. Email updates qualified our shipping dates with “AGW WP,” shorthand for “All going well, weather permitting,” and added this disclaimer mariners can appreciate: “Estimated arrival times are taken in consideration of weather for the period of the year and port operations on route.” No kidding! It’s amazing shippers could make these myriad gears mesh at all.

To prep Liberte for ocean transport, we stripped her bare, as we do each season for summer layup. Rebecca and I flaked and stowed sails, and removed wind-­generator blades, Bimini and dodger. We even wrestled the deflated RIB belowdecks, a disappearing act that amazes us each time.

The morning of our loading on February 24, we came about as close to a fight as we have in all our miles at sea. This amid a slapstick scene of trying to lash tarps on deck in a gusting breeze, since I seemed oddly and suddenly paranoid of finding Liberte covered in black soot from the ship’s engines. Separation anxiety, one surmises.

And then it was our turn. Since Marsgracht is the kind of thing we spend night watches avoiding, it was surreal to come alongside a piece of steel this big. We appreciated the settled sea state and still wished we had bigger fenders. The shipboard crane moved overhead. There were divers in the water and a loadmaster above. Men swarmed our deck with an air of easy competence. I knew we were in good hands when they belted out disco songs and debated who had the best-looking socks (as they respectfully pulled off their shoes). While I disconnected twin backstays to make way for the lift cradle above, the Kiwi loadmaster eyeballed our patchwork of tarps and shook his head.

“I’d get those off if I were you,” he said. “They’ll just go in the first blow anyway.”

So Rebecca and I hopped to it, ripping away hours of work in a couple of minutes and giggling to ourselves. Then we grabbed our backpacks and boarded the pilot boat; Liberte was now someone else’s job.

The crane groaned, straps tightened, and up she went. It was incredible to see the size difference between the two boats as Liberte flew higher than she’d ever been in her life. We climbed on Marsgracht to reattach backstays and close up our boat. Sparks flew as Ukrainian welders secured the steel cradle. I found myself testing the straps holding Liberte to the deck. Nope, skipper, time to step away. Just pat your boat on the backside for luck and remember to give the hatchboard key to the crew in case customs wants to see inside.

The rest of the day I had that ­incomparable finish-line feeling I so love from boat-delivery and ocean-racing days gone by. I was wind-blasted and satisfied, the buzz of accomplishment balanced nicely against weariness in muscle and mind. While we sipped a celebratory drink with friends and then jetted away, Liberte went back out to sea. And as we prowled the trendy Condesa neighborhood of Mexico City, Liberte steamed on night and day, around Cuba and south at speeds she’d seen only briefly when surfing big waves in following current.

By the time she made the Panama Canal, we were swinging in a hammock above the lovely lake at Valle de Bravo without a care in the world. I was so relaxed that I snoozed through her rapid canal transit, in contrast with the weeks of work and waiting it had taken us going the other way.

And only a boat owner can know the irrational joy of reunion. It was March 14 in La Paz, exactly as promised, and there she was, 17 days and 4,000-odd miles on, waiting patiently beside her mighty friend.

The Yanmar fired up, and we motored to nearby Marina Costa Baja. Despite my worry, there was not a speck of soot in sight. (It helped that Liberte rode in the front of the ship, forward of the stacks.) Only one thing was amiss: A prong of aluminum toe-rail chock had broken off. I put it in my pocket.

“If that’s the only damage, I’ll gladly keep it as a souvenir,” I said.

Twenty-four hours after we took possession, our boat was rigged and ready, a Mexican courtesy flag hoisted into the perfectly blue Pacific sky. A local agent recommended by Sevenstar handled our clearance, made simpler by the fact we still had our 10-year Temporary Importation Permit from clearing into Ensenada in November 2009. Thanks to our agent, we had time to enjoy the swimming pool, and in the evening walked the malecón and nibbled street corn with cotija cheese, mayo and chili. It was a fine reentry.

On our crossing to mainland Mexico, our old friends the humpback whales swam past to say hello. South of Cabo Corrientes, Rebecca landed a hard-­fighting Pacific jack, and we gratefully ate sea-to-cockpit-table that night under another explosive sunset.

It came down to a rapturous realization when we dropped anchor off a fishing village, watched the light fade on the mountains and heard the pure, high notes of a mariachi trumpet from shore.

It was good to be home again.

David Kilmer spends his summers running the 60-foot daysailer Sizzler in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, and his winters cruising warmer waters.

Tips To Ship

• Find a company with a good reputation that specializes in the route you want. Be flexible on origin and destination if you can.
• Get a contract sorted well before ­shipping, with exact measurements of your boat’s LOA, beam, height overall (bottom of keel to top of mast) and all-up weight (not tonnage). Ensure that customs papers are in order for origin and ­destination. Ask the shipping company for reputable local agents.
• Empty tanks, but leave enough diesel for loading and unloading. Remove sails, canvas and other items on deck. Cover Dorades and hatch openings, and secure all hatches. Wax the stainless. Some ­owners shrink-wrap their boats. Make sure you have big fenders on all sides of your boat and long lines handy.

The post Shipping a Cruising Boat appeared first on Cruising World.

Sailing circumnavigators Behan and Jamie Gifford join Cruising World editors for an episode of Cocktails with Cruising World, a webinar series that features contributors and sailors from all corners of the world. The Giffords are presently aboard their Stevens 47 Totem in the Sea of Cortez. They talk about the cruising scene in Mexico during the COVID 19 Pandemic, their eight-year circumnavigation, and their exchanges with other cruisers.

The post Cocktails with Behan and Jamie Gifford appeared first on Cruising World.

It was still quite dark when I heard one outboard and then another start. Meriwether had been adrift on calm seas for the past couple of hours, and I’d slept soundly after coming off my 2300-to-0100 watch. Tempted as I was to stay wrapped in my sleeping bag, I knew as soon as I heard the engines clunk into gear it was going to get noisy fast. Besides, it was showtime. We were about to make our first landfall along Mexico’s Baja coast, and I didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

On deck, Steve Price, Meriwether‘s owner, was at the wheel of the Seawind 1190 Sport catamaran, and he was itching to get going. Up ahead, a handful of boats were motoring, killing time and waiting for dawn before tackling the entrance to Bahia Tortuga, or Turtle Bay as we Yanks would say. To the north, a half-dozen more steaming lights were coming our way. Though we’d seen few other boats in the past 24 hours, after nearly three days of sailing and 360 nautical miles, it looked as though we were destined to be part of a Baja Ha-Ha parade into the anchorage.

Soon, crewmates Randy Brown and Kurt Jerman were on deck. Though overcast, the sky brightened as we closed on land. Inside the bay, we found scores of sailboats already anchored — so much for being in the vanguard of this gypsy troupe. We dropped the hook near shore in front of a run-down-looking factory just in time to check in on the morning radio net and grill up a breakfast of Spam and eggs — fine dining, indeed, after our high-seas wake-up meals of biscotti, yogurt, cereal and java.

This little West Coast adventure ­actually began a year earlier on the docks of the U.S. Sailboat Show in Annapolis, ­Maryland, where I’d run into Kurt, a ­California ­Seawind dealer. A customer who wanted a sporty cat to keep at his vacation home in Loreto, Mexico, on the Sea of Cortez, was going to take delivery of an 1190 in San ­Diego and then, in the fall, join the annual exodus of Pacific sailors headed south. Did I want to join them?

You bet I did. To get to see every brown, bush-covered sandy mile of Baja, from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas, was just too tempting to pass up.

Last fall’s rally was the 24th Baja Ha-Ha. By the time the skippers meeting convened in the parking lot of the West Marine store in San Diego, the fleet numbered 131 boats, carrying a total of 466 crew, led, as always, by Grand Pooh-bah Richard Spindler and chosen friends aboard his long-legged catamaran Profligate. Richard, now retired as publisher of the popular West Coast sailing magazine Latitude 38, founded the rally while still at the publication.

It was Sunday, October 29, and the store was a beehive of last-minute shoppers, many decked out in their Halloween finery for the afternoon’s costume party and barbecue. Outside, Richard called out each boat’s name and introduced the captain. Then, formalities completed, most of the crowd milled around waiting for the party to begin.

Team Meriwether, however, had a few things left on the to-do list, such as installing new rudders, firing up the electronics and taking the cat out for a short shakedown sail.

Steve was a retired HVAC mechanic who hailed from Lake Sakakawea, North Dakota, where he’d been an avid Corsair trimaran sailor. He’d only owned Meriwether a short while, and his time aboard had consisted primarily of a saltwater sailing lesson/cruise to Catalina Island with Randy a few weeks earlier. During the trip, both rudders had developed problems, and a new pair had been delivered. Replacing them was simple since they slid into cassettes on each transom, but once in place, it was apparent why they’d failed initially: There was just a bit too much wiggle room that caused wear. It was nothing, though, that a little padding couldn’t fix in a jiffy.

As its name implies, the 1190 Sport was intended to be a lively sailer. Meriwether had upgraded sails, including a flat-top main and cruising spinnaker. Rather than heavy inboard engines and saildrives to drag through the water, it was outfitted with a pair of electric-tilt outboards. The plan was to leave them raised most of the time and let a steady northwest wind blow us on our merry way. Mother Nature, though, had other ideas.

M onday dawned gray and drizzly. We joined the Ha-Ha parade and motorsailed by numerous tourist boats and San Diego fireboats throwing up plumes of spray on our way to Point Loma and the start. What a sight to behold. At opposite ends of the spectrum, the fleet included Tiny Dancer, a Dana 27, and Emma, a Deerfoot 62. There were 13 multihulls sailing south, including the 63-foot Profligate, of course, and Seabird, a diminutive F-27 Corsair, captained by 74-year-old Richard Holden. As we approached the point, as if on cue, an aircraft carrier steamed into the harbor, right in the thick of things.

And then, precisely at 1100, we were off. Next stop, Turtle Bay, 360 miles down the line. Like most of the rest of the fleet, we reached west to clear Islas Los Coronados, just across the Mexico border. From there, our course kept us within eyesight of the coast but hopefully far enough at sea to find a steady breeze.

With nothing much else to do, it was time to fish. The effort of setting up a line and tending it was rewarded late in the afternoon when Kurt hauled in a bonito and ensured us there’d be fish tacos for dinner.

Midafternoon, we settled into a two-hour-on watch schedule. Randy had been on the wheel for a spell, so he handed things off to me at 1500. Kurt drew 1700 to 1900, Steve 1900 to 2100, then Randy started it all over again. I like sailing at night, so having the 2300 to 0100 slot suited me just fine.

It wasn’t long before the breeze puttered out, and over the radio the Grand Pooh-bah declared we were all cleared to motor. The Ha-Ha is not a race, but with a prize ceremony at its end, participants were encouraged to keep track of the start and finish time for each of the rally’s three legs, and to record how much motoring and sailing was done. Steve fired up one outboard; we’d run it for a couple of hours, and then switch to the other if need be. Who knew then that this would be a remarkably windless year? It turned out we could have swapped engines each day and still have kept the hour meters in sync.

As luck would have it, the starboard engine was running when I retreated for a nap in my aft cabin on that side of the boat. Mounted on the other side of the bulkhead that was at the foot of my bunk, it was loud enough for sleep not to be an option. On this three-cabin cat, Randy and Steve both had forward berths and Kurt took his siestas on the saloon’s couch, so they weren’t nearly as bothered by the din. The fix was obvious: From that time on, mercifully, the port engine was run while I snoozed.

One benefit of sailing in the company of a lot of boats is that you’re never far from help. The downside is that at night, you’re never far from a possible collision. To keep warm that first night, I kept moving in circles. I checked the chart plotter, its screen cluttered with AIS targets; climbed up on deck to get a look around; then stepped into the relative warmth of the saloon for a minute or two before revisiting the chart plotter again. Far astern, the sky above San Diego and Tijuana glowed red. To the east, the lights of Ensenada looked like a sprawling amusement park’s roller coaster. Toward the end of my watch, three times a vessel approached from astern, came quite close, then motored off in a big circle before eventually disappearing into the night.

Strange.

Tuesday brought more of the same. I came on deck at 0700 to find the mountainous shore shrouded in clouds. Cabo Colonet, described in the cruising guide as a large nose on the coast, was abeam. We were about a third of the way to Turtle Bay. Our route for the day took us in a straight line across Bahia Vizcaino and 30 or 40 miles offshore for a time.

Just before 1500, I was sitting in the saloon when a breeze from astern rustled papers on the table. Like that, we turned off the outboard, eased out the main, hoisted the spinnaker and sailed. My two hours on the wheel were glorious. For a while, I set the autopilot and trimmed the kite. Then I locked off the sheet on the self-tailing winch and steered. I was like a kid in a toyshop, and the time flew by. Near sunset, we whipped up a stir-fry of chicken, onions, broccoli and rice on the Seawind’s stainless-steel grill and ate like kings.

And then, as quick as it had picked up, the wind died. It was another long night of motoring.

On Wednesday morning, Isla Cedros lay 30 miles ahead. Decision time. We could sail past it and arrive in Turtle Bay in the middle of the night, or anchor off its southern tip, at Cedros Town, then leave at the crack of dawn to cover the last 40 miles in daylight. We liked that idea better, but we’d risk missing the infamous Turtle Bay Ha-Ha softball game with our Mexican hosts. As often happens on a sailboat, we ended up doing something entirely different. We arrived in Cedros Town just after dark and tried to anchor but failed to find good holding on the foul bottom. Defeated, we turned away and immediately snagged a crab pot with one rudder. As soon as Randy cleared that one, we snagged another with the other rudder. It was going to be a long night. We pushed on at half-speed and arrived off Turtle Bay a couple of hours before sunup.

Turtle Bay was tremendous. The town, Puerto San Bartolome, was bustling with sailors. Kurt and I wandered the dirt streets until we found an enormous baseball stadium, where all afternoon, the Grand Pooh-bah, dressed in American-flag shorts, lobbed softballs to a seemingly endless stream of Ha-Ha sailors and Mexicans. Spectacular catches were made. Base running was heroic. The beer flowed, well, like beer.

Waterfront cantinas did a brisk business; everywhere crews from the various boats hoisted refreshments and traded yarns. Then on Friday afternoon, there were more festivities on the beach at the eastern end of the bay. Margaritas, beer and hot dogs were in great abundance. Locals drove their cars and trucks onto the sand and set up parties of their own. And once again, the Ha-Ha women, nearly 100 strong, bested the men in the annual tug of war. It is Baja Ha-Ha lore, in fact, that they’ve never lost.

At 0900 Saturday, right after the morning radio net, nearly the entire fleet flew spinnakers across the start line. Behind us, the bay was empty but for a handful of fishing vessels. The carnival had truly come and gone.

The breeze built all day, and we had to jibe frequently not to stray too far from the rhumb line to Cabo San Lazaro and our next port of call at Bahia Santa Maria, 240 nautical miles south. We sailed day and night, mostly with two reefs in the main and the jib after dark. Without the outboards running to top off the batteries, the solar panels on the cat’s Bimini had a hard time keeping up with the power demands of the autopilot, chart plotter, fridge and freezer. The latter two we turned off in the evening, and we hand-steered most of the time.

On this part of the coast, the water was sometimes quite deep, maybe 1,000 feet or more; other times it was less than 100. The waves often were confused, but it was wonderful sailing, and at night, the stars were stunning.

Saturday and Sunday were the best sailing days of the trip. The miles rolled by, and life was easy. By Monday’s radio net, though, the two days of brisk conditions had seemingly taken a toll. A few boats reported shredded spinnakers. A dinghy had been lost but recovered by another crew. Watermakers were on the fritz, and a few alternators had gone on holiday. Radio chatter indicated the fleet was ready for a landfall.

Dusk, though, brought a spectacular sight when a nearly still full harvest moon rose slowly out of the mist to the east. The sea sparkled as we tore along, now much closer to the shore as we approached Cabo Lazaro and Punta Hughes. Meriwether had lots of company, and the AIS was invaluable in helping to sort out crossings with other boats in the dark.

The charm of Bahia Santa Maria is that there’s nothing there but an anchorage on its northern shore. So it was a sight to behold to round the point just before midnight and see a city of anchor lights dancing against the moonlit shore.

Monday, we relaxed. Randy, Kurt and I blew up the inflatable and went for a ride. There was quite a swell running, and we heeded Steve’s request not to try a landing on the beach. Instead, Randy and Kurt swam in the waves while I motored around, watching local fishermen and their pangas bust through the waves and enter the inlet to a mangrove lagoon where there were a handful of fishing shacks hunkered down against the banking. A few Ha-Ha crews tried landing their own inflatables — some successfully, others not so much. It was all good entertainment.

Kurt and I paid a visit to Profligate, where Ha-Ha hats and T-shirts were selling like hotcakes. We stopped by Bonzer, a lovely Chris White trimaran sailed by Michael and Vicki Novak, of Ventura, California. Over the radio, we’d heard that Bonzer had pegged 19 knots on the speedo on the way from Turtle Bay. Michael was a former tug and crane operator; Vicki had just retired as a West Marine store manager. They’d always dreamed of doing the Ha-Ha, and now here they were, sailing fast and having fun.

I also stopped to visit with the Ullman Sails boat, where Chuck Skewes and Sabine Suessmann sat in the cockpit taping a shredded spinnaker back together. It was Chuck’s third Ha-Ha. He was partners at Ullman lofts in California and Puerto Vallarta. He and his shipmates found an enlightened business model in mending the Ha-Ha carnage for free; the rally gets the fleet to Mexico, and later, when sailors arrive in Puerto Vallarta, they naturally visit his loft for replacements. Brilliant.

Rafted up with them was Jersey Girl, an Irwin 65 sailed by Kenny Knoll, Donna Cramin and a few friends. Kenny and Donna had sailed south with the 2016 Ha-Ha and spent the ensuing year cruising Mexico. They met wonderful people and had such a great time that they decided to do it all over again. So, a couple of weeks before the start of the 2017 rally, they bashed northward 1,500 nautical miles from the mainland back to San Diego, making it just in time for the skippers meeting.

“I think our families think we’re crazy,” quipped Donna. But, added Kenny, “We have a lot of fun.”

The highlight of the stopover, and perhaps the whole trip, for me anyway, was the gathering the following afternoon on a bluff overlooking the anchorage. Inside a shack on the hillside, local fishermen set up a buffet; outside, tubs were filled with ice and Pacificas. A rock band, the Fantastic Four, traveled over the mountains from La Paz, set up a portable generator and let things rip. It was otherworldly to be in this place, so beautiful and so remote, and yet be surrounded by a few hundred people, all of whom had dreamed of being here — and in countless different ways, made it happen.

After Bahia Santa Maria, the final 180 miles to Cabo San Lucas seemed anticlimactic. The start the next morning was at 0700. By the time we were at the line, the breeze had died completely and the Pooh-bah proclaimed it time to motor.

Still, it was a spectacular morning. We steamed close to shore, where the surf kicked up a haze along the beach. Further inland, though, it was crisp and clear. Along this stretch of Baja, there was a whole lot of nothing to look at, and I couldn’t get enough of it. A light wind filled in after lunch, and we hoisted the chute, only to be becalmed again a short time later.

We crossed the Tropic of Cancer around midnight, and by sunrise, Cabo Falso was in our sights. There was steady traffic now — fishing boats, yachts, freighters and such — and at the cape, a jarring number of resorts and hotels were under construction on the hillsides. Mile by mile, we returned to civilization. When we anchored around lunchtime in Cabo San Lucas, personal watercraft swarmed like mosquitoes and high-volume drinking contests ashore overwhelmed the senses.

That evening after dinner, Steve and Randy stayed on the boat, but Kurt and I hitched a water-taxi ride to shore. We’d come this far and didn’t want to miss the Can’t Believe We Cheated Death Again dance party at El Squid Roe, a notorious local watering hole taken over annually by the Ha-Ha. There were dancing and tequila and jello shots well into the night. And on Friday, we of course went ashore for the infamous kissing contest, where couples display their passion while rolling in the waves.

But to be honest, I could have skipped all that. For me, the Ha-Ha was about the sailing and the mountains and the 800 or so miles of nearly empty coast we’d just tackled — and about meeting so many sailors for whom this was just the start of a whole new adventure.

Mark Pillsbury is CW’s editor.

The 25th annual Baja Ha-Ha kicks off in San Diego on October 28 and arrives in Cabo San Lucas on November 10. Details can be found at baja-haha.com.

Baja Resources

Planning a passage along Baja’s long coast is a challenge if done while scrolling on a chart plotter. Surprisingly, the West Marine in San Diego was sold out of paper charts. A helpful tip, though, led us around the corner to Seabreeze Books and Charts, owned by Capt. Ann Kinner. Even if you’re not sailing to Cabo, it’s a store worth visiting — and she’s a proprietor who knows her nautical publications! Aboard Meriwether, Steve Price had two useful guidebooks: Mexico Boating Guide (second edition) by Capt. Pat Rains, and Charlie’s Charts of Western Mexico and Baja by Charles and Margo Wood.

The post Sailing to Mexico with the Baja Ha-Ha appeared first on Cruising World.

Like all good trips do, the 24th running of the Baja Ha-Ha had to come to an end sometime, but not before the assembled crews gathered for a last party or two in the Mexican port of Cabo San Lucas.

Though we began the final leg of this southbound odyssey early on Nov. 8 with high hopes and a spinnaker flying, before we were even out of Bahia Santa Maria, the morning’s breeze went soft and the chute was back in its sock, coiled on the deck. One by one around us, engines were fired up and soon nearly the entire fleet of 140-plus sailboats were powering their way along. After all, we had 170 or so miles to cover and just 37 hours until the start of the “Can’t Believe We Cheated Death Again” dance-‘til-you-drop party at Cabo’s famed Skid Roe.

The final leg of our voyage aboard the Seawind 1190 Meriwether was not all throbbing outboard engine though. Around noon a decent breeze sprang up, and with it, we raised the spinnaker and enjoyed some fine downwind sailing until nearly dinnertime, when the wind died once more.

Overnight, the chartplotter’s screen was crowded with AIS targets, each pointed in the same direction: Cabo Falso, where early the following morning we made the final turn eastward. In no time, the hundreds of miles of desolate coastline disappeared and resorts as far as the eye could see crowded the hills. By the time we reached the famed arch and spiral rocks at Cabo San Lucas, we found ourselves surrounded by buzzing tourist and fishing boats of every description.

Space in Cabo’s inner harbor was at a premium, so available slips were doled out according to when a boat registered for the Ha-Ha. No matter where we fell on the list, though, our plan was to anchor out off the beach, where we could enjoy a cooling breeze and clean water for swimming. We dropped the hook shortly after lunch, enjoyed a refreshing dip, and then headed to shore to process our ship’s paperwork.

For the record, we were right on time that evening to join the festivities at Skid Roe, where tequila flowed freely and Jello shots undoubtedly encouraged dancing on tables and numerous bars well into the wee hours.

Friday morning was perfect for recouping and wandering around town. After days of pristine vistas, the lights and sounds of bustling Cabo were a shock to the senses. That shock, though, was mitigated by margaritas and Pacificas at the beach party that afternoon, where Grand Poobah Richard Spindler once again played emcee at the From Here to Eternity Kissing Contest. In the pounding surf, a few hardy (and presumably previously introduced) couples locked arms and let the sea take them as they rolled in the breakers with lips locked. As with most other Ha-Ha events, it was all quite entertaining.

The afore mentioned end, for me at least, came at 0800 Nov. 11, when I headed ashore to catch a flight back to the windy and cold Northeast. Most, though, had the final awards party to look forward to that evening.

And then? Good question. A few crews reported they’d soon begin the dreaded Baja Bash back north. But many others would sail to mainland Mexico or into the Sea of Cortez for the winter. And then there were the Puddle Jumpers who were just warming up for a voyage westward into the Pacific.

For some, the Baja Ha-Ha was the main event, for others it was the jumping off point for bigger endeavors. For all, though, it was a chance to cross several hundred miles of ocean, knowing that at each stop along the way there would be good times and camaraderie by the boatload.

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Remote Bahia Santa Maria turns out to be an excellent place to recharge boat and body and meet the crews in the 24th running of the Baja Ha-Ha.

Two days of excellent sailing — 14 to 20 knots of breeze on the quarter, the spinnaker up from sunrise to dusk — let us cover the 200-plus miles from Turtle Bay to Bahia Santa Maria in 37 hours.

That’s the good news. Running without engines and with the autopilot doing the heavy lifting left Meriweather’s battery bank fatigued. Over night, we turned off the Seawind 1190’s fridge and freezer, and during the day, we kept the solar panels on the bimini as clear of shadows as possible. Any extras — phones, computers, Iridium Off! — were turned off and stowed. The peace and quite was appreciated by kit and crew alike, but still, the battery bank lost steam. What was needed was a good long day of no work and plenty of sun to recoup lost amps, and it turns out our landfall, literally in the middle of nowhere, was the perfect place to do it.

Bahia Santa Maria is a jewel. The entrance is around a bold head formed by Cabo San Lazaro and Punta Hughes, sometimes called Punta Huge because of its oft impressive surf point break. We arrived at 2030, and after motoring the last mile or so into the anchorage, dropped the hook an hour later.

A good number of boats were ahead of us, and their anchor lights made the broad cove look like a small city. We dropped the hook in near shore, where the high bluff and beach meet. Thankfully we were well off the beach and the impressive breaking waves that immediately caught our attention in the morning.

Arrival day in Santa Maria was dedicated to rest and relaxation. Kurt, Randy and I ventured out in the inflatable with strict orders from Skipper Steve not to flip the tender and soak his Honda outboard. Instead of attempting a landing in the surf, we motored just out of the swell along the beach, where Kurt and Randy jumped into play in the waves. I remained with the boat and watched the pelicans dive for fish, a handful of surfers catching waves and the nail-biting gyrations of the few inflatables that did try and land on the sand.

Swimming off Meriweather’s stern was delightful, the fresh-water showers afterward a thrill. Mid afternoon, I motored over to the Varianta 44 that flew a large Ullman Sails flag in the rigging. Skipper Chuck Skewes, who manages Ullman lofts in San Diego and Anacortes and owns the Ullman shop in Puerto Viallarta, was the Ha-Ha’s official sailmaker, He and his crews had spinnakers spread out in the cockpit and on the foredeck and were busily taping back together the chutes that fell prey to the gusty breezes the night before.

Along about sunset, Kurt and I motored over to meet the crew aboard Happy Together, video bloggers, whose well-equipped Leopard 48 provided me a chance the next morning to recharge my laptop and print out a much needed document so Kurt could clear customs in Cabo.

The highlight of the Santa Maria stopover though was the following day’s beach party. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect: the breeze was light and the sky a cloudless blue. At noon, a steady stream of pangas ferried partiers to shore through the surf.

Atop the bluff at the end of the beach, one of the gray wooden buildings clumped together on the hill was transformed into a kitchen, where local chefs cooked up a meal of fish, clams and rice. Outside, large tubs of ice cold Pacificas awaited the parched. Along side the building, a makeshift stage was set up with tarps overhead for shade. As the crowd grew, the Fantastic Four, who trekked clear across Baja from La Paz, rocked out all afternoon and past sunset for the hardy souls who survived the fun and sun.

As darkness fell, the breeze kicked up anew, with gusts of 20 knots or better twirling through the anchorage. All around, anchor lights danced as the crew aboard Meriweather enjoyed a night cap and turned in early to be ready for the last leg of this amazing southbound odyssey. At 0700 this morning, we were off for the 170-mile dash to Cabo and the adventures that lie ahead.

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“Quite Everyone. Quiet on the volleyball court,” Richard, the Baja Ha-Ha Grand Poobah roared into the microphone, determined to get the attention of a few hundred partiers on the beach that stretches along the east shore of Turtle Bay.

“We need 100 women. Now!

Down by the water, where dozens of pangas sat side-by-side, ready to ferry anyone, anywhere, a women worked deligently to stretch out a long length of heavy line.

Tug-of-War time. Battle of the Sexes. In mere minutes, we’d learn if the women of the Ha-Ha would win this annual contest again, as they have every time over the past 24 years that the Ha-Ha has stopped here on the way to Cabo San Lucas.

All eyes focused on the gathering crowd, women on the left, men on the right. In the no-man’s land between, maybe 10 yards or so, a line was drawn in the sand. Then it was game on. The women started strong, and step by step, the men, their heels dug into the dirt, were pulled ahead. For a brief moment they held their own and even gained a foot or two, but the gals quickly rallied and tugged anew. With a final push, the boy at the front of the men’s brigade slipped over the mark. At once the women let out a cheer and dropped the rope, sending more than a few guys sprawling, all in good fun, of course.

It was a festive scene. The party kicked off at 1300, and all afternoon a steady parade of dinghies and pangas motored from the anchorage by town deeper into the bay and around the corner to the beach. Barbecues were lit, hotdogs were sold, and margaritas, and cold beers flowed from the cement-block huts that sat above the high tide line. A few hearty souls climbed atop the steep bluff at the north corner of the beach, while others batted balls or simply sat and chatted with friends.

Farther down the sand, locals pulled up in their pickup trucks and a few set up cocktail stands of their own and joined the fun. Had I asked, I’m pretty sure just about everyone would have said they were having a darn fine time.

The party raged until the setting and a chilly breeze conspired to send all but the hearty back to their boats. For the truly dedicated, a fire was lit and the festivities raged on.

Back on Meriweather, we cranked up the stainless steel grill and cooked a fine dinner of ground beef, potatoes and onions, all wrapped up in the fresh tortillas we’d bought that morning. It was our last meal in Turtle Bay. After a much appreciated uninterrupted night’s sleep, the crew was up at 0630 and ready to go.

After the morning radio net was completed, Profligate, the Ha-Ha’s flagship stood on station at the mouth of the bay and the fleet took off, most with spinnakers flying on the next leg of our watery exodus. Next stop: Bahia Santa Maria, 230 miles to the south. Time to get sailing.

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The reward for sailing round-the-clock for three days is waking up in Turtle Bay, half way down Baja, and being able to jump into the dinghy, head to shore and walk to the tortillaria to buy stacks of teeming hot flour and corn tortillas.

Back on Meriweather, skipper Steve whipped up a griddle-full of scrambled eggs and slabs of spam, which we washed down with ice-cold Tecate. Now that’s a feast for a Friday morning.

We arrived in Turtle Bay, officially Bahia San Bartolome on the charts, at 0500 on Thursday. A couple of miles offshore a dozen or more boats floated or circled waiting for dawn, which was delayed a bit by a heavy cover of clouds. By 0700, the hook was down amid the already sizeable fleet of sailboats that had arrived ahead of us.

Turtle Bay is a bustling little village, surrounded by steep brown hills and beaches. A church, pier, a couple of beachfront restaurants and private homes line the water front. Ashore, a couple of red and white cell towers soar overhead. The streets are dirt and dusty but litter-free, and they stretch several blocks inland. There are a number of small shops and bars nestled in between houses, and even a couple of well-stocked supermarkets. Without the Ha-Ha, I’d guess it would be a sleepy village, though everywhere there are late-model cars and trucks that point to some prosperity. The town is home to an impressive concrete baseball stadium (more on that in a minute) and a couple of lovely well-kept parks.

First order of the day after breakfast was hailing Mr. Hector’s panga, whose crew fetched and delivered 30 gallons of gas to replace what we’d burned running Meriweather’s two Yamaha outboards to get us here. Afterward, a swim, followed by a bracer of Don Julio 70 tequila and a shower on Meriweather’s transom steps did wonders to improve both attitude and hygene.

The main event of the day was what the Ha-Ha’s Grand Poobah Richard Spindler called Baja-style baseball, where everyone — cruisers and locals alike — got to hit. The Poobah, adorned in American-flag shorts and yellow Ha-Ha T-shirt, stood on the mound at the ballpark, lobbing bright yellow softballs to a seemingly endless line of batters. The grandstands were filled with onlookers liberally sampling cans of Pacifica beer.

At the crack of each bat, runners took off, whether the hit was fair or foul, while on the sidelines an announcer peppered the crowd with lively banter. One slugger announced she was a mermaid in training. “You mean lovely to look at, but pretty useless,” the man with the mic replied without a hitch.

Late in the afternoon, crewmate Kurt and I walked through town and landed on the waterfront at Maria’s, where we washed down the dust with an ice-cold margarita. Then we hitched a ride on a panga taxi back to Meriweather to witness an outstanding sunset and moonrise.

As dusk settled in, we sat in Meriweather’s saloon munching on chips and guacamole. Astern, the bimini and its arch framed a night sky filled with bobbing anchor lights. What a sight and what a day. What a hoot!

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The weather file I downloaded on my borrowed Iridum Go! forecast clear skies, with 2 to 3 knots of breeze last night and sunny conditions with a 2- to 3-knot northwesterly for today. For the most part that was accurate, but as the hours rolled along here aboard Meriweather, and we ticked off the miles sailing south along the west coast of Baja, no brief summary could captures the exquisite variations that came our way.

Day Two of the Baja Ha-Ha began with our Seawind 1190 motoring along on glassy seas. All the first night and second morning, we ran first the port outboard for a couple of hours and then switched to the starboard one to keep their hour meters balanced. The auto pilot did the work, while our crew of four read, napped, cooked and did everything else but what we came to do: Sail.

Then yesterday at 1430, sitting in the saloon with the aft door into the cockpit wide open, we felt the breeze: 7 knots, 7.6 knots. Time for the kite. Minutes later the engines were silent, the port spin sheet was winched tight and we were rolling with the swells, the speedo over the ground matching the wind speed. Better yet, the persistent cloud layer receded west and the sun came out to play.

It was a glorious afternoon, followed by a picture-perfect yellow, gold and red sunset. On the horizon we spotted the sails of a handful of other Ha-Has, but this corner of the Pacific was pretty much ours, and would stay that way all the moon-splashed night.

By 2100, the breeze was back in the low single digits and we were back to alternating outboards, but still putting miles in the bank, headed for Turtle Bay, the first landfall for this year’s fleet of 150 southbound cruisers.

My 0700 watch began with glassy seas. As the three of us who were up sipped coffee, we spied a fish leaping out of the water to starboard. Seconds later, the bungee cord tied to our fishing line was stretched tight by a perky dorado on the other end. It took just thislong to bring the colorful fellow aboard, and just a little longer to have lunch packed into a plastic tub in the fridge.

By mid morning, Cedros Island, the largest on the west coast of Baja, appeared, with its three towering peaks — the tallest soars 3,950 feet — shrouded in clouds that spilled down to the sea. Ahead, a contrary southeast breeze kicked up waves, and we responded by rolling out the jib and enjoying an hour or so of fine sailing before glassy conditions returned.

A lot happens over the course of 24 hours on a boat going somewhere. In the case of Meriweather, so far, it’s all been good.

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Light wind has the fleet mostly motor-sailing on the first leg of the exodus to Cabo San Lucas.

My East Coast notion of the Baja Ha-Ha being a laid-back jaunt down the Pacific coast proved to be just that on our first day at sea in the 24th annual running of this rally to the Sea of Cortez.

The 12-knot breeze that sent us skittering off the starting line in San Diego slowly gave out to a whisper over the course of the afternoon. Cloudy skies kept the temperature moderate and a drizzle that threatened us all morning held off as we sailed past the urban sprawl of Tijuana on a course that kept us a couple of miles off the coast and away from any obstacles or kelp.

The big challenge for the afternoon was untangling the 200 feet of parachute cord that Skipper Steve brought for fishing line. Once we had it wrapped around a re-purposed plastic toolbox, we attached a strand of monofilament and trailed a lure behind. As luck would have it, a good-sized bonito decided to join us for dinner. For the record, Kurt’s fresh fish tacos are a heck of a way to start a trip.

With four of us aboard, Skipper Steve decided on a two-hour watch schedule. It promised easy work, with lots of rest. By the end of my 1700-1900 stint, the wind petered out and an hour later, we rolled in the jib and switched to motorboat mode. The Seawind 1190 Meriweather is outfit with a pair of 25-horsepower Hondas. All night (and it looks like most of today and possibly tonight) we alternated motors, two hours on port, two hour on starboard. So far, with a breeze under 6 knots, we’ve kept a steady 5- to 6-knot pace, while burning a little less than a gallon of gas an hour.

With a promise of sun in the morning forecast, but no breeze in the near future, our main activities today may be stopping for a swim and praying that another bonito wants to dine with us this evening. Our position is just off Cabo San Quintin, Mexico. We have 193 nautical miles until we’ve earned a beer on the beach at Bahia Tortugas, the first rest-and-party stop on our way to Cabo San Lucas. Life, as they say, is good.

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For the 24th annual rally to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, the Baja Ha-Ha fleet has a fine breeze at the start in San Diego.

No more breakfasts at Denny’s. No more last minute trips to West Marine. Another run to Target? We can live with out it.

It’s Monday morning, Oct. 30, and it is time untie dock lines, roll up shore cords and set waypoints for Bahia Tortuga, roughly 450 nautical miles distant, the first stop on an 850-mile sail south to the tip of Baja, California.

Under gray skies and a threat of rain, some 150 boats awaited their turn to join the gathering parade marching toward the starting line off Point Loma. The nautical conga dance began at the Coronado Island bridge, snaked its way past the towering office towers downtown and headed to the mouth of San Diego’s harbor, where fire boats, their siren blaring, sent plumes of spray aloft as the fleet passed by.

For the next 10 or so days, I’ll be aboard the Seawind 1190 Meriweather. Owner Steve Price, a Minnesotan with a second home in Loreto, Mexico, has joined the Ha-Ha to get his new boat to the Sea of Cortez. He and Loreto neighbor and sailing buddy Randy Brown had already completed sea trials of the sporty cat and had begun filling the lockers with stores for the voyage by the time I arrived, rarin’ to go, from Boston. Rounding out the crew is West Coast Multihulls’ Kurt Jerman, the veteran cat guy in the crowd.

Sunday was a whirl of last-minute activities, or maybe I should say frantic chores, that ranged from check-in to food shopping to skippers meeting and parking lot party at the Ha-Ha’s local headquarters, the West Marine parking lot. It being nearly Halloween, costumes were in abundance. My first impression: this is a fun-loving crew.

Thanks to Iridium Go! And OCENS One Mail, I’ll be posting daily updates of our southbound adventures at sea and ashore. Ha-Ha- on! Ten minutes and counting until the start.

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