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On a boat each day is a new learning experience. I learned how to use the Nobeltech chart-plotter/navigation software on the PC (an incredible program), operate the SSB radio to get daily weather faxes, program the autopilot, manage our power consumption, trim the sails for different conditions (we did a lot of reefing during the first few days), tweak the radar, and a hundred other fun, interesting and endlessly challenging chores.

And of course, as on any boat, things broke. All sorts of things. One of our three GPS simply up and died (that’s why I had three…); the watermaker developed a leak; the auto-pilot got water in it and died when a rather large wave poured up over the hulls AND the main salon into the cockpit; the windlass stopped working for 15 minutes (it was, after all, in Mexico and I guess it felt it deserved a break); one of the sail drives developed a leaky seal and got sea water in the transmission; the battery power/charger/inverter/equalizer/alternator started doing all sorts of crazy things; and we couldn’t keep the BBQ lit (the 20 knot winds at some of our anchorages might have had something to do with this problem).

But everything else worked flawlessly.

Rather than view these several small breakdowns as problems, I viewed them as new and interesting challenges. Of course this might be a very idealistic and naïve way of looking at things—very typical, I was told, of a new boat owner—but I was having a ball. I rebuilt the watermaker with parts on board and no more leak; Matt and I disassembled the autopilot control, dried it out, remounted and sealed it, and got it working perfectly; the windlass started working again (after we had done a thorough trace and check of all the wiring which was in itself quite interesting); we figured out the electric system on board (how to work it, not WHY it was wired that way—I guess it’s just a French thing); and we even figured out how to keep the BBQ lit in a gale. [Unfortunately the saildrive leak will require a haul-out but that’s part of having a boat.]

Passing Bahia Asuncion we tuck into a bay we hope will offer better protection than we have been finding for our anchorage. But the swell was still running strong and the nasty-looking 3-4’ shorebreak dissuaded us from even trying to go ashore. It was strange being just a few hundred feet from shore, looking at a town (which was having a lively festival we could see and hear—but not touch) but not be able to get there.

Punta Abreojos is another legendary Baja windsurfing spot. We anchored in 18’ of water in a rolling swell—being careful not to get too close to shore where we might get caught by a wave—and tried to figure out how to get to shore in the treacherous shorebreak. Luckily common sense prevailed and we set out for Magdalena Bay the next day in good spirits. The wind was still steady and strong and the air and water temperatures were starting to climb; I no longer had to wear my Ugg sheepskin boots all day.

We rounded Cabo San Lazaro and carefully skirted the rocks at Punta Hughes that had snagged an 80’ fishing boat that lay up on the shore in pieces. We tucked into a fairly quiet anchorage in 16’ of water and tried to make out some way to get to shore through the armor of rocks and cliffs. I spied a tiny strip of sand and decided to make a try for it so we could hike to the top of the intriguing peaks that rose a thousand feet above the bay. The plan was to make two trips, timing the wave surge carefully going in and out. Matt and Gary grabbed their bags of hiking shoes and off we went.

Naturally as soon as we got 50’ from shore a massive set rolled in, casting us ashore like a feather in a tornado. Drenched and befuddled, we beached the boat and stared back out at Jangada rolling gently in the swell, trying to figure out how we’d ever get back again. But not to worry: Matt had only brought one shoe and Gary had brought his wife’s by mistake, so there was zero chance that we were staying ashore. So much for hiking.

Somehow after waiting fifteen minutes we caught a lull in the surf and roared back out to the boat. Whimps. But I just had to find a way to risk my life so I loaded Rod and his surfboard into the dinghy and we went out in search of waves (not a difficult search…). I took him out to the point by the wrecked boat and dropped him off in the water near a long, slow, beautifully peeling wave. He caught a few rides and that’s when I got the idea that I should try to ride a wave in the dinghy. I shut off the motor, pulled it up and gingerly rowed closer.

Perhaps you’ve heard of “tow-surfing” where a surfer is towed by a jet-ski into a wave so big that it would be impossible without the ride? Well I have now perfected a new sport: row surfing. While I admit I never quite ventured into the impact zone I did manage to ride the shoulder of the wave a couple times. Luckily I take my responsibility as Captain Fun very seriously and I didn’t want to endanger my crew by dying. At least not today.

The following day the shorebreak had subsided so we immediately called a lay day, went to shore and hiked up the peak and along a spectacular ridge for a mile, descended to the wrecked boat where we mucked about for a while, then hiked back along the coast to the little beach. We managed to trade a few t-shirts, hats and beer for a big pile of lobster from the local fishermen so dinner was a delectable affair.

From “Mag Bay” we entered a long, straight, rocky section of coast called the Southern Bight. Stretching 140 miles southeast to Cabo San Lucas, it offers little in the way of hospitable beaches or anchorages. We decide to high-tail it to Cabo.

Of course this is exactly when the fish we’ve been trolling for during the past 600 miles decide that they’re hungry. Zzzzzzzz…. The 60# line zings off one reel, and a moment later the second reel goes off. Matt and Steve lunge for the whizzing reels, crank the drag down and begin reeling them in. Whatever is on the other end is no minnow. The heavy deep-sea rigs are fully bent and the fish are running at will.

Twenty minutes later they’re getting closer and ten minutes after that Matt has landed our first yellowtail tuna. He proudly held it up and declared: “Look Captain, the most expensive fish in the world; this one cost you a quarter million bucks! Everyone laughed. Hard. Yes, even me. Twenty minutes later Joyce has filleted it, mixed up a potent batch of Wasabi, and we are scarfing down piles of sashimi. Steve lands a beautiful 20# yellowfin ten minutes later and announces, “Hey, this one’s a $125,000 fish; they’re getting cheaper!” Woohoo! Sushi for life!

But that’s just the beginning. The lures aren’t back in the water for more than a minute when off they go again. It’s one thing reeling in a fighting mad 20# fish when the boat is standing still; it’s quite another when the boat is ripping along at 8-10 knots, and we were ripping. No stopping this baby. We landed two more big yellowfin (the BEST eating fish there is!) and set the lures again. There was blood and fish guts ALL over the boat; two people attempted to wash things down with buckets while two others cut up the fish on the back swim steps. It was hard to tell whether we were a sailboat or a fish factory.

Five minutes later both poles got hit again. “Here, give me that thing,” I yelled to Becky as she tried to control the line which was being stripped off the reel like it was hooked to a flying saucer. The line went out another 80 feet before I got it stopped. This was going to be a loooong fight.

I couldn’t even budge the reel for the first few minutes. Slowly I was able to get the fish a few feet closer, meaning I’d have him at the boat in…. about a week. Matt grabbed the line with his hands and tugged on it as I reeled in what I could. A hundred feet aft my fish decided to become a flying fish. HOLY SHIT! That’s a big one!!!

When the fish was about 30’ away he decided he really didn’t want to come aboard. He and Matt played tug-of-war for a moment as I leaned back on the rod when… SNAP! The pole broke. But not the line! I continued reeling in and fighting and a few minutes later Matt was bludgeoning yet another big tuna with our baseball bat (bought just for the occasion). This last yellowfin weighed in at at least 35# and probably more. Since this is a fish story, a LOT more!

We sliced and diced and butchered for a half-hour and soon had a good fifty pounds of fresh tuna in the freezer. Life is good! We don’t need no stinking lobster!

A day later Cabo San Lucas came into view. We could tell we were near when we began to see more and more big million dollar sport-fishing boats heading out to sea with their $800-a-day clients. I fish to get fish to eat. I don’t find it particularly fun or challenging or athletic or even interesting. The first fish is fun, the second is security, and after that I’m over it. But I sure like to eat piles of yellowfin seared on the grill and drenched in Wasabi, I’ll tell you. We gorged ourselves.