the Peace

Carnival La Paz 2012.

ANNA PUSHED THROUGH THE ULTRAMARINE SEA during the dead calm of early morning on her final approach to La Paz (the Peace). Ripples across the Lorenzo Channel gave the first glimpse of a wind line, a light breeze developing a few hundred yards off the starboard bow. We prepared to cut the engine and glide along under the power of our free-flying drifter. And at that very moment the engine appeared to sense our intention and shut itself down.

The mountains adjacent to the Lorenzo Channel, gateway to La Paz.

Sea lion on the prowl off  Bahia Los Muertos.

The sun sets at Playa Bonanza, off the Lorenzo Channel.

We have come to understand enough of the logic of our Perkins 4-108 diesel engine to know now, with great certainty, that it didn’t really sense our intentions at all. The workings of a diesel engine can be mysterious, but one thing they’re not, is metaphysical. Plain and simple, the diesel fuel was not being delivered from the fuel tank to the fuel injector pump, and for good reason.

The Mexican Navy patrols  the Baja coast, at Bahia Los Muertos.

Four different species of sea birds compete for the catch.

Dawn breaks, at Playa Bonanza, off the Lorenzo Channel.

After many months of rough seas, enough particulate matter in the metal fuel tanks shook loose, and worked its way to the primary Racor fuel filter, clogging up the works. The 2-micron Racor filter did its job, that is, it caught the crud before it could foul the injector pump, which has absolutely zero tolerance for debris. Of course the flip side to the fuel filter doing its job is that nothing gets past it if it clogs, including diesel fuel. And so, with no fuel being delivered to the injectors, our venerable Perkins 4-108 did the right thing, but chose the wrong time.

We’d call it an inconvenient coincidence while passing through the narrowest section of the Lorenzo Channel, the gateway to La Paz from the Sea of Cortez. We were flanked by shoals on both sides, with a charted wreck to starboard and a reported, but uncharted navigational hazard somewhere nearby, to port. The hint of a breeze, which had encouraged us just moments earlier had all but evaporated, and we were now being carried along solely by a favorable two-knot current; a little consolation prize.

Bypassing the clogged fuel filter and then bleeding the air from the fuel lines would be necessary before the engine could roar back to life. All we needed to do at the moment was get the engine running before we drifted with the current, too far off course, onto the shoals. Bleeding the fuel lines as far as the injector pump did the trick and we were up and running again within twenty minutes. The current was kind to us and held us on course until we sorted out the glitch. Five clicks to the southwest, our anchorage appeared, just around the bend from the dredged entrance channel that leads to La Paz. And the large swells and wind waves and difficult cross seas that defined Anna’s ride, for the past 2,000 nautical miles, melted away.

The fish camp off Pichilingue.

We slipped into a convenient little cove, just beyond the commercial port of Pichilingue and dropped anchor in three fathoms just off the white-sand beach where the water color changed from ultramarine to a tropical shade of light-mint green. A gentle northwest breeze blew through the cabin's cross-ventilated ports, as the sun blazed over the topdecks. A small, primitive fish camp decorated the beach with wispy, aquamarine, fine-mesh nets, and rough sheds constructed of scrap-wood slats, old tarps and other found odds and ends. A couple of lazy dogs kept three fishermen company. Their small panga floated easily, ten yards off the pebble and sand shoreline.

Snorkeling for a living, at the fish camp. 

After setting the hook we lazed around the cockpit, twenty-five yards off the fish camp and watched as one of the men snorkeled the reef, just off the point, near the entrance to the cove. With no wetsuit or buoyancy compensator he waded into the 68 degree F water, wearing his open shirt and raggedy pants. He tied on to his back an empty, one-gallon plastic Clorox bottle. In this way he could expend very little effort by floating at the surface of the reef, for perhaps an hour or more while collecting his catch. We’d occasionally see a mismatched, mint-green or sky-blue flipper emerge from the water or a snorkel or a mask, or the empty, Clorox jug floating just above the waterline as he flippered along the perimeter of the cove and reef.

At sundown there were no lights to be seen at the camp. Early to bed at dusk, and early to rise at dawn. This simple routine was replayed the next day as well, supplemented by net-mending and a slow row to the other side of the cove to check the fish traps, set the night before. As we would soon see, this simplistic, quiet life of living off the sea, would contrast significantly to the way of life just three nautical miles closer to the center of La Paz, at Costa Baja.

Costa Baja, is located on the outer fringe of La Paz. No primitive fish camp here. And no one living on the fringe of society. The dichotomy was startling. We were three nautical miles and a universe away from elemental life at the fish camp. The marina at Costa Baja’s inner basin was blasted out of the surrounding burnt-umber, cactus-strewn mountainside. A stunning example of both natural landscaping and clever engineering; designed in part for protection against the potential for hurricane damage.

Costa Baja Marina

Over the last few years this marina has weathered the forces of hurricane season (August through October, in the La Paz area) well. Other marinas in the area, by comparison, have fared poorly. We've been moored for a month now, on an end-tie in the protection of the inner basin at Costa Baja. And this has worked out well, because it has given us a chance to repair or replace the equipment casualties we sustained on the ride down from Seattle. The marina is conveniently located a few miles from the center of La Paz where all of the services and businesses are located. We can walk along the waterfront or take a free shuttle from the marina to anywhere downtown.

We had a new UV-cover made for our old (spare) headsail, which we started using again after losing our newer headsail in a gale off of the west coast of Baja a couple months ago; we also had our fuel tanks cleaned out, so that the primary fuel filter won’t clog up and cut off fuel flow to the engine when we need it most; we also had new sunscreens made for the cockpit and top deck, to block the savage sunlight and heat that builds up in the Sea of Cortez (~100+ degrees F) during the summer months. Additionally, the crew on Anna, got pretty beat up over the past 2,000 nm and needed a dose of easy living for a few weeks before setting out, once again, for the rigors of repairs in exotic locations.

The marina is clean, secure, quiet, and comfortable, by anyone's standard. There are numerous stunning paths and trails to hike, which start from the marina’s front gate, and we have free access to all the amenities, for example: the infinity pool, with attached Jacuzzi overlooking the sparkly bay.

The infinity pool at Costa Baja.

At high tide the pool appears to overflow into the interminable sea. A effective optical illusion; no margaritas required.

A seriously-attractive, heavily-discounted moorage rate, thanks to the decline in tourism, makes this all possible. The toughest part of being here is the lack of desire to leave. Nevertheless, we do look forward to sailing north, now that we have completed our latest round of repairs and rested up a bit after the beating we took on our southbound legs getting here.

Carnival 2012 La Paz has just ended its week-long run here and we ventured out, twice, to watch the dazzling parade and to eat some deep-fried, rolled in cinnamon, addictive little sugar sticks called churros; handmade on the spot--six little devil donuts for 26 pesos.

The last Mexican Carnival we attended was in Mazatlan, five years ago when we sailed there last. And it was colorful, loud, high-energy; a nonstop spectacle. The La Paz Carnival was scaled down a bit from Mazatlan's, but intense, all the same.

La Paz is different than most small cities we've sailed to. We're not entirely clear why, but it has something to do with its ability to maintain, over the years, an authenticity. It doesn't particularly need to rely on tourism to survive. The people who live and work here go out of their way to help you. For instance, we were walking through the neighborhoods one day and due to a lack of street signs, didn't know exactly where we were, notwithstanding a good street map of the town (which does little good if you don't have a reference point to start with). So we stopped and asked a man, who was standing on a ladder, busy repairing a wall outside his house if he knew where so-and-so was located. We told him what we were looking for and asked him if he could point us in the right direction. He steps down off his ladder, goes inside his house to consult a phone book, comes back out and explains in detail (speaking slowly and clearly, in Spanish, so that we could understand him) exactly how many blocks in each direction we should walk to get to where we were headed. We said thanks and started to walk away when he asks us if he could give us a ride in his truck to our destination, which was eight blocks away. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he was in the middle of a messy job. What mattered most was that we seemed to need some assistance, and he wanted to provide it, in the best way that he knew how. This was not by any means an isolated incident. It happens all the time.

Stunning examples of woven palm, open-air roofs,
 in houses and tiendas are scattered throughout La Paz. 

On another occasion, we were looking for some natural peanut butter; hard to find in La Paz, or anywhere we've been in Mexico. We walked into a small food shop on a side street and asked where we might find something other than Skippy, and the reply was something like: I can call my cousin and ask her to hand-grind some for you and have it ready tomorrow morning if you like.

Bandas play off the La Paz malecon.

On another occasion, Cat wanted to buy a lightweight, white, long-sleeve shirt to protect against the cruel tropical sun. She found one at a farmer's market but it was too big. The senora said:  if you stop by my shop tomorrow morning, in La Paz, I will make one to fit you perfectly, it will take about an hour--no extra charge.

Ranchero in La Paz for Carnival.

Girl in green, Carnival La Paz.

Music dominates La Paz during Carnival and otherwise.

The Brazil effect: La Paz Carnival.2012

A senorita in transparent spiked heels. 

Latina, La Paz.

La Paz Carnival 2012.

Girl, La Paz Carnival 2012.

Family values come first in La Paz, and thoughout Baja.

Things get going, at night, in La Paz.

Street vendors entertain the crowds during Carnival.

Enjoying the scene in La Paz.

At the parade, Carnival  2012 La Paz.

A 'big rig hauls a float in the Carnival parade.'.

La Paz has distinctive neighborhoods, businesses and services. The town is business and service oriented first, tourism is not a high priority. It's simply a small-scale Mexican city that feels like you've just returned home from somewhere foreign. Whereas most other towns feel like you've just arrived, for a short visit. La Paz retains a  relaxed pace and friendly, easy-going charm.

La Paz Cultural Center.

Strolling the La Paz malecon at night.

La Paz boy.

Yet, as is the case in most deeply-rooted Mexican towns that we've been to, the word manana doesn't always mean: tomorrow. It tends to imply: not today. And this is a cultural difference that is typically acquired over time. For us, it's not unlike learning to wait patiently for a decent weather window to arrive, before setting out on a passage.

***

In anticipation of snorkeling the reefs, at the islands to the north of La Paz, we bought a used spear gun for lobster, and finally found a diving mask that fits correctly. The water will warm up to 85 degrees F in the summer, but at the moment we use 7mm wetsuits for comfort, in 68 degree F water. In February and March the water temperature is still too cool for comfortable swimming without a wetsuit, and this is why fewer people are found on the Baja side of the Sea during the winter months. The weather is wilder and the water is colder, but for some people, the trade offs are well worth it: fewer boats to crowd the anchorages; fewer tourists; and the insects are on holiday somewhere else, somewhere warmer and more agreeable. And speaking of warmth, the weather this month (February) has been consistently clear, with a moderate breeze, and a temperature ranging between 72 to 82 degrees F in the daytime sun, and about 50 degrees F during the nighttime cool-down. In our opinion, perfect.

Pangas line the beach at Los Muertos.

We embark, very soon, upon our extended journey to the more desolate northern regions of the Sea, before the oppressive heat of late spring and summer arrive. We'll explore the area, both above the surface of the Sea, and below.

On the bottom we could see long snake-like animals, gray with black markings, with purplish-orange floriate heads like chrysanthemums. They were about three feet long and new to us. Wading in rubber boots, we captured some of them and they proved to be giant synaptids. They were strange and frightening to handle, for they stuck to anything they touched, not with slime but as though they were coated with innumerable suction-cells. On being taken from the water, they collapsed to skin, for their bodily shape is maintained by the current of water which they draw through themselves. When lifted out, this water escapes and they hang as limp as unfilled sausage skins.

-- John Steinbeck, Sea of Cortez: A Leisurely Journal of Travel and Research, 1941