Back in Bahia Frailes. I hope I don’t always look this awkward when taking my clothes off. It’s a wonder I got my shirt off in the first place.
We have finally reached unmitigated warmth. I know this because we removed the bulky comforter from our bed and stowed it in a heinously inaccessible cubby on the boat. It’s a real pain in the neck to get out again, so we’re pretty certain we won’t be needing it for awhile.
I don’t know why Jeff and I both expected that Mexico = warm. Really effective marketing? As we were coming down the outside of Baja we were eager to reach that longitudinal line where the water and air would magically warm and we would live in our bathing suits and be chased into the water by the heat of the sun. We thought we had found it in Cabo San Lucas. In fact, we were so sure of it, we removed the comforter from our bed.
Our expectations about the weather and sailing conditions also led us to peel the duct tape from our forward hatch, the temporary solution to its persistent leaking when waves overtook our bow on the Pacific Ocean. For one day, on our short passage from Cabo San Lucas to Playa Santa Maria, we sailed in our shorts and t-shirts, a light breeze at our back – smooth, calm, warm sailing.
We were, perhaps, a bit too optimistic and slightly misinformed. Once we turned the corner at the East Cape, we were pummeling into square waves that marched in formation towards our bow, kicking up cold spray that showered our v-berth (and bed) through the leaky hatch. The north wind was colder and more fierce than expected. Blanketing ourselves in layered clothing, we stubbornly held on to the delusion that nothing but warm days and nights lie ahead.
Our first morning in the Sea of Cortez, anchored at Bahia Frailes, was cold, grey, and drizzly. So cold, in fact, that we entertained lighting our diesel stove. When, on day two, the cold drizzle remained, Jeff grudgingly took the comforter back out and resealed the forward hatch.
On the VHF we overheard two boats bound for Mazatlan discussing their rationale for leaving the sea: “I have to wear pants and shoes and a sweatshirt!” One cruiser joked. “I didn’t sign up for this!” The other cruiser chimed in: “I know it. Something’s wrong when it’s too cold to enjoy a cold beer in Mexico.” Jeff and I briefly considered changing the itinerary and heading straight for the mainland, but we were far too excited about the Sea of Cortez to be swayed against it.
The temperature has been steadily increasing as we progress towards summer and as we have moved further and further South. As I write this the temperature in our cabin is cresting 93 degrees and Serenity sits in 94 degree water. The cooler water used to moderate the heat of the air; now the ocean is in cahoots. The warm air and water fuel each other to stir up trouble, which takes the form of summer storms (sometimes escalating to hurricanes).
During passages, Jeff and I have stopped wearing clothes, because I’m fairly certain the heat would just melt them onto our skin. There is a semi-permanent puddle of sweat in my belly button and when either of us stands after a prolonged period of sitting, a shadow of sweat remains. When Tack walks, a tidal wave of fur follows. No surface is safe. It’s only a matter of time before we start hacking up hairballs for having eaten so much of it.
Even Serenity has had to adapt to the heat. On one of our last passages the fresh water cooling system couldn’t manage to keep the raw water cooled, so Jeff had to bypass it altogether. We’re all native Pacific Northwesterners, built for and accustomed for cooler climes. We’ll see how we fare in a tropical environment. So far, so good.