Passage notes: Playa Curu to Punta Quepos, Costa Rica

Log Book

• Port of departure: Bahia Curu, Costa Rica
• Departure date and time: Saturday, December 7, 2013 at 12:30pm
• Port of arrival: Punta Quepos, Costa Rica
• Arrival date and time: Sunday, December 8, 2013 at 8:00am
• Total travel time: 19.5 hours
• Miles traveled: 57.4 nm
• Engine hours: 1173.7 begin – 1176.1 end – 2.4 hours
• Fuel consumption: 41.8 begin – 40.8 end – 1 gallons used
• Fuel economy: 57 mpg
• Tides and currents: We left at the beginning of a flood tide and couldn’t really feel the effects of the current (whether they were helping or hindering us). We arrived during an ebb tide.
• Navigation notes: Lots of unmarked rocks and reefs near Punta Quepos to watch out for – it’s probably best to approach at low tide. One of the largest rocks is marked with plastic floaty bottles.
• Weather: The forecast predicted N winds from 2-6 knots in the morning switching to SW winds from 5-10 knots in the afternoon. Precip was predicted on Saturday night (0.01 in/hr). No appreciable drops in pressure were predicted.
• Maintenance notes: Oil and oil filter change. Sealed up a leaky fuel filter. Took the doctor (autopilot) apart once again, let him air out and cleaned his insides.

What a craptastic passage. Honestly I would prefer not to remember this passage. I’ve almost completely blocked it out of my memory in hopes of sparing myself the relived pain and misery. So please forgive me if this set of passage notes is short on details and heavy on depressing stuff.

The passage actually started out well enough. We hauled anchor when the thermals started blowing from the SW. With a steady 10-12 knots from the SW we skirted around Islas Tortugas and pointed towards Punta Judas going a steady 4-5 knots with our genoa up. The doctor was steering, though he seemed to be groaning a bit more than usual.

We passed Bahia Herradura as night fell and debated whether or not to pop in for a solid night of rest. “Nah, let’s just keep going.” If maybe our spirits had been higher this next leg of the trip would not have sucked so much. What we got were light and variable winds ALWAYS in front of us, punctuated by brief little outbursts of wind from a completely different direction. One such wind caught me off guard and nearly put us on our side as I rounded up into it. Oh, and we had rain…lots of make your butt soggy as you hand steer through sloppy wind and seas and shiver from the cold rain. Even my favorite album couldn’t make me appreciate the conditions.

The doctor was completely useless for the second part of the passage. He was making more and more of a fuss as the trip progressed so we decided not to rely on him. During my first night shift I hand steered and would only use the doc if I needed to adjust sails, grab a glass of water, use the bathroom or open up the deck fills to collect water (did I mention that it rained a lot?). He would lament each time I asked him to lend a hand. He became more and more fussy during Jeff’s shift. When I tried to set the doc on a course so I could pull the jib inside the lifelines (because we were, yet again, going upwind), he pulled hard to starboard and refused to cooperate. He gave me the bird and adamantly opposed to steering in any direction other than circle.

The jib was backwinded, again. The doctor had mutinied. It was dark. It was lumpy. It was wet. I was miserable.

The misery was palpable. Usually we look forward to relieving the other, to sharing our insights and making sure the other person is comfortable and ready to receive the baton in this two man relay. This particular baton, however, was poop on a stick and we couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. “Here, you take it, I’m done.” Glad it’s not my problem any more.

When we pulled into the Quepos anchorage, just outside of town, the anchoring prospects did not look promising. Masts were nearly slapping the water as they rolled from side to side in the heavy swell. Jeff and I issued an “Ugh” simultaneously. There was no protection to speak of and we couldn’t find a spot amongst all the moorings in less than 40 feet of water. You could not pay me enough money to stay in that anchorage. Fortunately we found a sweet little place to anchor behind Punta Quepos (at Playa Biesanz) that offered much more protection as well as a cool little beach and dramatic scenery.

After steering clear of lots of submerged rocks and reefs, we tucked in as far as we felt comfortable, anchored in about 12 feet of water, and treated ourselves to a big Sunday brunch. Sunday brunch, the Season 5 finale of Doctor Who and beautiful Playa Biesanz are the only things that redeemed this passage for us.