Galapagos: Nexus of the North and South Pacific Oceans, Eastern Quadrants

Bahia Baquerizo Moreno, the shipping port, on Isla San Cristobal.

ANNA HAPPILY SLIPPED ACROSS the tidal flats at Bahia de Caraquez, Ecuador, at daybreak on September 30. The tide was full, the air calm, the seas barely heaved. Our departure was uneventful and exactly as planned. Anna had been bobbing on her mooring in Bahia de Caraquez for almost six months - the fact is, she had had enough of the place after six days, and so had we - but that's another story.

On her mooring ball, Anna endured a relentlessly strong estuary current, and continual swinging, in circles, with each ebb and flood tide sequence. The strong current often overpowered a strong breeze. Anna's bow, which normally faced into the breeze, had reversed direction more often than not. The murky, nutrient-rich estuary also fouled the keel and propeller with tenacious barnacles and rapid algae growth. The slime was prolific, reforming within hours after cleaning the bottom. And since the  estuary water was opaque, the color of weak, truck-stop coffee with a packet of powdered cream mixed in, it was any one's guess as to what was going on below the waterline, where the shrimp were busy making electrical, clicking noises that were eerily amplified to the interior, through Anna's hull.

One can choose to anchor out, or take a private mooring ball in the estuary, in front of Puerto Amistad. Anchoring is okay, assuming your anchor sets well. Numerous boats had found that their anchors were tending to drag in the soft mud bottom. It can take a few attempts to get a good set, even with a lot of scope out. And what appeared to be a good set, in some instances, resulted in dragging after a week or two had passed. We've also seen boats set the hook once and not drag at all. It's somewhat unpredictable. The strong tidal current keeps boats circling at anchor and this can sometimes lead to a twisted and fouled chain if left unattended for too long. Additionally, anchor chain left uncleaned in Bahia de Caraquez, over time, will quickly build up a heavy, massive clump of barnacle growth on the chain - a headache when it comes time to pull the chain up and clean the individual links properly.

The alternative at Puerto Amistad is to take a private mooring ball, if available. There is only a small dinghy dock at the marina, so anchoring out or tying to a mooring ball are the only options available for securing your boat. And both are unreasonably expensive. A relatively new, low bridge blocks the entrance to the river further upstream and so there is virtually no place to anchor for a sailing vessel, beyond Puerto Amistad, which in itself wouldn't be a problem if the mooring balls were secure. Unfortunately, the moorings are not well designed (a cheap nylon rode anchors the mooring ball to the sea floor - chain would have been significantly less vulnerable to wear, tear, and breakage). More important, however, is that the equipment is poorly maintained. A mooring line will break and boat will drift off before an old, frayed line is replaced. In the five months we were at Puerto Amistad, five different boats dragged anchor (some, multiple times), another eight boats broke free from their mooring balls and drifted into other boats, and two boats were robbed, while their owners were off the boat and travelling, outside of Ecuador. The best thing you can do is keep an eye on your mooring and replace, or request replacement of worn components as required. These are some statistical facts to consider when trying to determine whether Bahia de Caraquez would make an advantageous, secure place to stage your boat for upcoming voyages, later in the season, to points further south (Peru and Chile), or west, to Galapagos, French Polynesia, or SE Asia, and so on. Bahia de Caraquez may not be the secure haven it, apparently, once was.

The best thing about being moored in Bahia de Caraquez was that lightning was not an issue. And this is a very big deal, if you've ever cruised in Panama during the months of April through December, when the lightning can be horrific. The second best thing about Bahia is the understated Chinese restaurant in town (Chifa Canton). It has a wonderful cook who speaks neither Spanish nor English, and a delightfully charming waitress (the hardest working woman in Ecuador), and unbelievably ginormous portions of remarkable, exquisite, yet simple dishes - we had to come armed with multiple Tupperware containers to haul the remainder of the uneaten portion back home. The third best thing about Bahia was that once you left it behind, everything else, by comparison, looked really, really fine. And that included anchoring out in Manta's industrial, oil-slicked fishing port, which we for some reason were rather taken with.

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IT WAS A HARD BEAT to weather across the thirty nautical miles of coastline from Bahia de Caraquez to Manta. By the time the afternoon wind and seas kicked in, a heavy, short-period, wind-wave chop developed and slowed Anna's forward progress to two knots. In addition to the opposing current and wind chop and hobby-horsing, we realized that our propeller must have been covered in barnacle growth because we were unable to attain a speed of greater than two-to-three knots over the entire course. We would have to wait to dive on the prop when we arrived at Isla de la Plata, another thirty nautical miles to the south of Manta. Since the daily wind pattern indicated a strong breeze from about 11 am to 7 pm, we would depart Manta after sunset to avoid the stronger, coastal head winds of late afternoon. This strategy worked well and we motor-sailed overnight to Isla de la Plata, sixty miles south of Bahia de Caraquez. Here we could rest up, dive on the keel, and properly clean the three-blade propeller for our upcoming ocean passage to Galapagos.

Isla de la Plata is a protected sanctuary for oceanic manta rays (very wide wing span), giant sea turtles, blue-footed boobies, and magnificent frigate birds. The waters surrounding the island are crystal clear and loaded with numerous varieties of tropical fish. Getting in the water required a 7mm wet suit, as the strong, cold Humboldt current circulates in this area. But a thorough hull, keel and propeller cleaning was necessary, before undertaking our ocean passage. Algae and barnacle growth create resistance through the water, and Anna is no speed demon to begin with. She is heavy and has a full keel and needs all the help she can get when it comes to fluid dynamics. Additionally, entrance to the Galapagos requires a clean keel. Introducing foreign species (barnacles and algae) is not permitted. When reporting to the Port Captain, in addition to an agricultural inspection, and health certification, and the usual visa and vessel documentation requirements, a diver is sent down (with a Go Pro camera) to inspect and document the hull below the waterline. If the keel is not clean, you could be sent offshore (hearsay is up to 40 miles offshore, but that is incorrect) with a diver in tow, authorized by the Port Captain, to clean your keel before you can pass inspection and be permitted to enter the waters of the Galapagos Archipelago. And so with that in mind, we dove on Anna's keel before we departed Isla de la Plata and spent two hours knocking off barnacles and scrubbing off algae that had built up from sitting for almost six months, in Bahia de Caraquez. It was hard work and we both had stiff necks and sore limbs for the next few days. But the silver lining is that the waters of Isla de la Plata are clean and clear and we had the companionship of hundreds of tropical fish and large sea turtles flying around us as we completed the work. We stayed at Isla de la Plata for six days while awaiting a promising weather window for our five hundred nautical-mile passage to Galapagos, from Isla de la Plata.

The time had come to depart. The weather looked good. The seas appeared favorable. The current would be in our favor. And this time we would have a clean prop and keel. The drag coefficient would not be the problem it had been when we departed Bahia de Caraquez. What we had to do, however, before we turned due west for the Galapagos, was gain more southing to help our wind and wave angles. We wanted to sail without auxiliary, diesel-engine power. We wanted to sail, minimally, at a close haul to close reach for the first half of the passage, and then gradually shift to a beam reach and eventually a broad reach. And we wanted to keep it all on a port tack; i.e. set up a balanced sail plan, and then set the Monitor self-steering device to track +/- 20 degrees of 270 degrees true. The only two dynamics that would change would be wind strength and its corresponding shift of wind angle, which would drive Anna upwind or downwind a few degrees depending upon wind strength. The other dynamic would be wave height and direction and wave period, which would also be driven to a large extent, by wind strength and direction. The ocean currents would vary in strength, but they would be consistently flowing from east to west at this latitude and longitude.

When we departed from Isla de la Plata we headed south-southwest, not only to acquire a more favorable wind and wave angle to the Galapagos, but to avoid a forty square-mile stretch of coastal waters - a large rectangle shown on the nautical charts to be a cautionary area: a restricted military firing range. The last thing we needed was to sail stealthily through a naval target practice area, at night. So we skirted the perimeter, staying east of the rectangle before heading west along its southern boundary. When we got sixty miles offshore, we would leave the firing range and coastal Ecuador (just 100 nm to the north of the Peruvian border) behind.

We had a good plan, but we didn't account for the nighttime coastal fishermen, who had set up a gauntlet of fishing nets, which stretched out between their small, open boats and the buoys they set at the other end of the net, sometimes marked by multicolored strobe lights, and at other times, by an unlit, black flag, which, by the way, surprisingly, can usually be seen at night. The lanchas, as they are known in Central and South America, are often unlit until the fishermen attending them spot another vessel drifting into their little water world. They then illuminate their lanchas with blazingly bright flood lights, usually stacked vertically on a bamboo pole, three high. If you get too close to their nets they will speed toward you, frantically waving and with lights flashing, and herd you around their stroboscopically-defined territorial boundaries. In fact, we were grateful for the attentiveness with which these small-boat fishermen operated. After all, we don't want to get caught up in their gear any more than they want their gear ripped to shreds. We had our doubts that the military firing range, just on the outskirts of the small-boat fishermen's territory, would have been so helpful in guiding Anna out of their cross hairs. And we had no desire to find out, so we kept heading south-southwest, along and outside of the eastern perimeter of the firing range.

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Anna's route from from the Ecuador coast to Galapagos.

ANNA DROVE AS FAR SOUTH as 01 48.128 S, 081 28.775 W before taking a right turn, due west, at the extremity of the firing range.  We were now exactly 100 nm north of the Peruvian border and so not required to check in with the Peruvian navy, by radio. The open ocean lay immediately ahead of us now. We had passed clear of the gauntlets of the fishing fleet, and the Ecuadorian naval firing range, and the reverse, cold, Humboldt current. Dawn was breaking and the wind was growing steadier and the sea had grown in depth once we put the shallow coastal shelf in our wake. We had moved away from the shallow, choppy, coastal shelf of less than 200 feet, to the deep, deep blue, 13,000 feet below Anna's keel. The result was smoother swells (with a 14-second period) that grew in size (up to a modest ten feet). The addition of wind waves offset the primary swell's smoothness by throwing in some low,  short-period chop. Added to that mix was a less significant secondary swell (offset by 5 to 10 degrees from the direction of the primary swell and wind waves) that had resulted in some brief, occasional lumpiness. The stronger southeast trade winds, which blew in this area from about July to December, remained consistent, in the range of 10 to 14 knots with occasional sustained gusts to 22 knots - mainly out of the south, at night, and closer to west-south-west during the afternoons. With a single reef in the main and a working staysail and a full, to partially furled Yankee-cut headsail, Anna was comfortable and balanced in the full range of wind strengths: from hard on the wind (a close haul) in the early segments of the passage, to the shift to a beam- or slightly abaft the beam reach in the later segments of the passage. There were no defined patterns to the gusting. It could happen at any time of the day or night. We could adjust our boat speed by reefing or shaking out the reef in the mainsail. We could also control the comfort of the ride (speed and heeling angle) with a slight furling (to a postage-stamp size), or unfurling of the headsail. While these were very minor adjustments to the sail plan, they did make a significant difference in the quality of the ride. As far as the waves went, they were always less than 8 to 10 feet. Anna could ride in the groove of the troughs on a beam reach and not suffer the consequences of heavy rolling. All in all, the wind and waves were rather kind to us, remaining reasonably consistent and never too much or too little. We actually enjoy sailing at at speed of 4 knots and are happy to make 100 nautical miles from noon-to-noon. So for us, the ride was ideal. Our fastest speed was 7.6 knots, and we could have easily maintained an overall average speed of greater than 4 knots but for us, it's about the most comfortable ride we can manage, and not simply squeezing every drop out of the wind by constantly tweaking the parameters. We made Isla San Cristobal, Galapagos in six easy days - with the engine switch in the 'off' position. Along the way we picked up a stray bird or two who took occasional rests on the lifelines near the cockpit. We saw what appeared to be two or three pygmy whales, and a lone, giant sea turtle swimming alongside Anna about 300 miles out from the Galapagos. The weather was mild. The first few days were generally gray, with a heavy, low cloud cover. When the sun finally did break through, conditions warmed up considerably. Nighttime temperature was cooler, when the heavy cloud cover dissipated. This is when the sky turned brilliantly starry, until the bright, waning gibbous moon rose in the east and diffused the heavily bioluminescent sea. Exactly six days after departing Isla de la Plata, the northeastern tip of Isla San Cristobal (Cabo Norte) appeared in the early morning mist (la garua) of the dry season.

Kicker Rock, as seen on the final approach to Isla San Cristobal, Galapagos.

Anna slipped past the towering, magnificent Roca Pateadora (Kicker Rock), along the protected northwest side of San Cristobal, and continued into the anchorage at Bahia Baquerizo Moreno, the shipping port on Isla San Cristobal (the easternmost island in the archipelago). We dropped the hook in a strong wind under a sunny sky, and then called our agent, Bolivar Pesantes. Bolivar came out to greet us and take our official paperwork: passports and visas and vessel documentation, and health and sanitation certificates, and autografo (our long-stay Galapagos cruising authorization) to Customs and Immigration and the Port Captain's office. He returned a few hours later with no less than ten officials from Customs and Immigration and the Galapagos National Park Service. We've never had so many official people on Anna at the same time. The protocol is to lay out cookies and snacks and coffee and juice and whatever else might make the officials happy to stamp your official paperwork. Multiple copies of forms were signed and stamped and sealed and then two more officials showed up with a scuba diver armed with a Go Pro underwater camera. The diver inspected and documented the condition of Anna's keel and gave her the thumbs up, which essentially meant that we would not be required to depart the port with the diver for what we've heard is an eighty-mile round trip to nowhere (outside of Galapagos jurisdiction) to scrape the barnacles and foreign lifeforms off Anna's keel. This is incorrect though, you will have to leave the harbor to clean the hull, but not 40 nm offshore. Introducing new species to the protected waters of the Galapagos is heavily enforced, and rightly so.

Before the officials left, they handed us copies of our approved paperwork. Bolivar turned to us and smiled and said, "Welcome to the Galapagos, you are now a free man". We took a deep breath and relaxed a bit. Five minutes later we straightened out the mainsail on the boom, and covered it, bagged the staysail, wiped the salt spray off the solar panels, cleaned up the tangle of lines in the cockpit, and sprawled ourselves out without the need to compensate for the wave action of the open ocean. We needed to replace a worn seal in our watermaker and fix a leaky valve in our scuba regulator, but that could wait until tomorrow.

Ecuadorian navy´s training frigate,
departs Bahia Baquerizo Moreno.

Sea lions (in the Galapagos, they are known as sea wolves, or lobos marinos) barked and swam and blew bubbles while diving under and around Anna. Blue-footed boobies dive-bombed the crystalline, jade-green waters that surrounded us. Sea turtles flew by. We were anchored off the far northeast quadrant of the harbor, as far from the town's public dock as we could get, near the red-striped navigation light and the curling, spraying surf break at the harbor's entrance. The sun heated up the cool air and we slipped into a comfortable, uninterrupted sleep after six days on double-handed watch - two to five hours on, two to five hours off.

Surf break as seen from Anna´s anchor
position at the entrance to Baquerizo Moreno.

We are very happy to have arrived here, in the Galapagos, the nexus of the eastern quadrants of the North and South Pacific Oceans. Where opposing trade winds and complex ocean currents meet. Where clean, crisp air, and clear, clear water, and tranquillity (something we had forgotten existed) are in sharp contrast to the gritty coastal towns and cities of mainland Ecuador. Our extended autografo permits us to stay in the Galapagos, for up to three months. And that suits us fine. It also coincides with our current plan: to depart Galapagos, sometime in December or January, at the end of the off season, when the wind and waves and currents are favorable for continuing on to...

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