Feeding ourselves from the sea: Big tropical fish of Mainland Mexico… Part 2

August 7, 2015September 28, 2015 / michaelchiacos / 3 Comments

The cove at Isla Isabel, a Mexican National Park. Fishermen have permits to fish here, “grandfathered” due to years of fishing. They come from San Blas on the mainland coast.

Catching dinner has surprised us with some of the most cherished memories of our adventure. Cooking from scratch for 4-6 hungry crew means that we are all eating better than any other times of our lives. Luckily we have plenty of fresh fish, and time to make homemade yoghurt, oven baked bread, kim chi, and ahem…. brownies!

The vast coast of Mainland Mexico provided the fish stories for Part 2; you can read about Baja fishing in Part 1.

Sabby was reeling in a skipjack tuna but he got away. Many sailors use heavy duty hand lines to catch their meals, but rod and reels with lighter duty line gives the fish a better fighting chance... we think it's better sport!

Sabby was reeling in a skipjack tuna but it got away. Many sailors use heavy duty hand lines to catch their meals, but rod and reels with lighter duty line gives the fish a better fighting chance.

The incomparable Isla Isabel… Aldebaran is anchored in the far right side of the frame.

One of the most special places we’ve visited was Isla Isabel, known as the Galapagos of Mexico. This small volcanic island has a Jurassic vibe with rivers of birds continually flying above. A national park protects large populations of nesting frigate birds and blue footed boobies, and abundant iguanas and other colorful lizards skitter about. Underwater is a thriving ecosystem, with schooling fish galore and large predatory jacks patrolling the depths. In this abundant zone we speared an incredible pelagic predator: Pacific crevalle jacks, 16 pounds of darting fish to handle. (Check out the rest of our visit to the gorgeous Isla Isabel in our post.)

Still dreaming of large tropical fish like yellowfin tuna and dorado, we talked to local fishermen in Mazatlan and discovered they likely wouldn’t show up until later in the summer. They also mentioned that as we headed south we’d have a better chance of finding these warm water species. They explained that Cabo Corrientes, south of Puerto Vallarta, is kind of like the Point Conception of Mexico, a geographical dividing point; upon passing it tropical game fish might be found.

This is one of the most prized fish for the dinner table: yellow fin tuna. This is the “ahi” sushi that you are familiar with at Japanese restaurants.

As we rounded Cabo Corrientes the water temps shot up into the 80s and that night dozens of 4 inch squid jumped onto our boat. We collected them all, 40 in total and saved them for bait. I awoke the next morning before dawn to shouts. Ryan had woken at first light, baited a rod with our squid, and caught a gorgeous 20 pound yellowfin ahi tuna before sunrise, our first one!

Sushi roll smorgasbord at Chamela Bay with the yellowfin tuna.

Leaving Chamela Bay we had a two night sail in front of us, and the second day, 20 miles offshore, I spotted some birds on a floating log. A couple dozen turtles also lounged, and knowing that flotsam like this creates its own eco-system, I jumped in. An underwater wonderland with 100+ foot visibility greeted us and for hours we dove what came to be affectionately known as “The Magic Log”.

Schools of thousands of tropical fish swirled around, dozens of turtles visited cleaning stations, where scores of fish cleaned them, and small sharks patrolled below. Hundreds of small dorado and skipjack tuna flitted in and out of the scene. We couldn’t pull ourselves away until finally, sunburnt and cameras “full”, we departed from the wonderland of the magic log.

One of the turtles that clued us into “The Magic Log”

Our biggest fish story happens just south of Zihuatenejo at Rocas de Potosi, a chain of guano encrusted rocks which look like a herd of white elephants heading out to sea. After a successful speardive, we sailed south at sunset when we heard yet again the cedar plug zinging. The line pulled heavy and low and as I tightened the drag something kept pulling line off the reel with strong, regular pulls.

Marlin struggle, as seen from the mast. We had a tough time removing the hook safely from this large a fish.

The reel was getting hot with all the friction when finally I was able to make some headway, pulling line in and then 100 yards behind the boat we saw a full size marlin surface. We all stared at each other in amazement and worked as a team to keep the marlin on the port side of the boat so we could tire out the muscles on one side, making it easier to bring him near.

300 pounds of marlin is a gorgeous sight I’ll never forget

This is a prize fish that always deserves to be caught and released. We tried to remove the hook and release him. I brought him to the boat twice over a half hour, each time we leaned over to try to get the hook out and release him he suddenly tugged away, stripping line with steady, rhythmic pulls. Finally Kristian had a go and brought him to the boat a third time.

Tail view of the marlin! We brought him to the port side of the boat each time because his muscles tire on one side of his body… but then he regains his energy with incredible speed.

As we tried to free him he broke the line and swam off into the depths. He must have been hooked near a sensitive spot, the only reason we could have brought him to the boat so many times with 30 pound test line. Marlin stun prey with a hit of their bills, so perhaps he wacked the cedar plug and by happenstance struck the tender flesh near his eye. He was huge, and the hook was probably just like a splinter to him, released soon by the sea. It was a dignified ending to a cedar plug that had brought us so many memorable fish dinners.

The crew post battle… we felt privileged to have an encounter with such a magnificent fish, a true king of the ocean.

We spent our last month in Oaxaca, and finally came across dorado (AKA mahi mahi). These highly prized sportsfish gleam gold and green, leap acrobatically in the air and have a sweet white flesh which our fishing book proclaims “Food Value: None Better.”

Colorful dorado jump acrobatically as you bring them in. They are even more delightful in the pan

The Mexican ones have been smaller than the 4 foot, 25 pounders I’d often catch in Hawaii and a local fisherman explained that in the winter they catch large ones, which he thinks come to mate off the coast. Every February they start catching little ones, which just get larger and larger as the year goes on. Dorado amazingly can grow to 20 pounds in one year and reach sexual maturity after 6 months. They are highly fecund and are thus a very sustainable (not to mention great tasting) fish to target.

While we love to surf, dive, fish, and explore, the Green Coconut Run is also sailing to spread awareness of the importance of Marine Reserves and sustainable fishing. In order to avoid the collapse of fish stocks, scientists suggest the use of marine reserves to provide habitat for mature fish to grow and reproduce plentifully. By ensuring fish can reproduce, it allows future generations to also enjoy seafood and sustains fishing livelihoods.

Check out our blog on a man who is crowd funding a new marine protected area in Mexico. We will continue to highlight success stories like this throughout our voyage.

Angelica's first fish caught ever was our first barracuda - very tasty on the BBQ

We met Angelica in Mazunte, in the state of Oaxaca. This was her first time fishing… what a great first catch! 4ft+ barracuda – very tasty on the BBQ

Feeding ourselves from the sea: Un mas pescado, Baja California… Part 1

July 7, 2015September 28, 2015 / michaelchiacos / 6 Comments

Our largest catch (and release), a 300+ pound marlin!

Three months in, and we aren’t tired of fish yet! We have surprised ourselves with our trolling and speardiving success, and eat the freshest fish almost every day. Fishing from a cruising sailboat is different than most recreational or subsistence fishing, and we’ve been learning as we go. From free diving for ceviche to the catch and release of a 300 pound marlin, here I’ll tell our best fishing tales and break down how we fish on the boat.

Hefty jacks patrolling the reef

Flashback to Fall of 2014, and due to my two years living in Hawaii and some modest experience big game fishing with an expert friend in Kona on the Big Island, I’m elected the one in charge of getting our fishing gear together. After listening to my stories of hooking up multiple 5 foot hawaiian mahi mahi at the same time and catching a 103 pound ahi tuna, Kristian shows me his scant supplies. A few handlines and random old lures indicate not much line fishing has ever happened on Aldebaran. Hawaiian slings have been the main source of spearing California reef fish.

Some of our fishing implements get prime rafter space on the boat

I explain to him that we need at least $500-$1000 worth of trolling gear and he gulps. The Green Coconut Run boat repairs are already way over budget and this extra expense seems like a luxury. It will pay off in protein I say. Tropical waters are full of large pelagic fish we can catch and I’m willing to put in a couple hundred dollars. Coop member Matt Dobberteen, a fellow fishing enthusiast, comes to the rescue with the rest and after scouring Craigslist, local stores, and online, I’ve put together everything we need.

I scoured Craigslist for deals like these lures, known as feathers. They came with an hour of advice from a salty Ventura fishermen

We have two medium class 30-50 lb trolling set-ups, three casting rods, dozens of lures of all types, line, hooks, gaffs, and a net. My last minute request for a fighting belt gets passed over in our final Westmarine order in San Diego and it takes a bit of convincing to assure the Captain it is a necessity, not a luxury. Ryan and I both also purchase spear guns to add to the hawaiian slings already on board.

Sabrina's brother Pierre shows off the fighting belt

Sabrina’s brother Pierre shows off perfect form with the fighting belt

Fish On The Boat!

Our first fish comes on the second day of the trip, as we pass an underwater seamount near Santa Barbara Island. The trolling rod zings and I pull in a five pound bonito – enough tuna to feed the entire crew.

I’m a bit rusty on the fish filleting, but the bonito is pretty easy to cut up. We discover an important thing about our designated fish cleaning station atop the aft cabin. We must always ask Kristian and Sabrina to close their windows so fish guts and sea water don’t spoil their sheets….

Our first fish! Feeding the Green Coco Run family begins

Trolling in the Channel Islands is somewhat frustrating with all the kelp, as there are many false alarms. The first couple weeks we mostly catch bonito, and they seem to get larger as we head into Mexican waters where we catch a 20 pounder off of Ensenada.

Me filleting our first big fish

As the adrenaline of our largest catch wears off, we savor the freshest sashimi, thinking how this one fish will feed all five of us for several days. The fighting belt comes in very handy – it makes pulling in a large fish much easier by shifting the strain of the end of the pole to the legs while avoiding certain bruising.

Sometimes you gotta just kiss your catch. Ryan, stoked for his first bonito

Diving For Fish

The wilds of Baja prove to be plentiful grounds for spear fishing as well. The kelp forests and sea life are very similar to California, but larger and more plentiful fish are found. On my very first shot ever with my new speargun I manage to hit a nice opal eye and a couple weeks later end up getting a 12 pound sheephead off remote San Benito island. Ryan is a more experienced diver and has great success with his new spear gun. We catch fish every single time we go spear diving.

The fish of Baja are similar to California, but often larger. This sheephead fed the crew for days

In sparsely populated Baja, we are primarily passing through pristine ocean wilderness areas, and most of the other human contact we have are with fishermen. They often stop to show off their catch or just chat it up for a while. When we go on shore we sometimes pass simple fishing villages. We have mutual respect for each other fellow seafarers.

Baja fishermen often stopped by to chat. These guys had netted a huge white sea bass.

Sushi Time

Just south of Magdalena Bay, three quarters down the length of Baja, we are dodging lobster traps and our trolling rod zings. The line feels so heavy it seems like we’ve wrapped up in a trap and I curse and ask Sabrina to put it into reverse. Pulling, pulling, pulling and I feel some life on the other end and we catch our first non bonito on the trolling lines, a gorgeous 15 pound yellowtail.

Sabrina with a nice yellowtail

That night we pull into wild and mesmerizing Punta Tosca and celebrate with a Japanese feast including the fresh yellowtail, also known as hamachi, a favorite at sushi restaurants.

Sabrina is the sushi master

The fish was caught with a simple wooden cedar plug, whose action must drive fish crazy as so far it has been our most prolific producer.

The simple cedar plug, our most prolific producer. The action drives fish to bite, here we’ve rigged it up with some squid.

Finally In The Tropics

Rounding the tip of Baja, we are suddenly in tropical waters and all the sea life changes. Clearer water, colorful fish, and 75 degree seas greet us as we meet up with Eric and Brian, two very enthusiastic spearfishermen, who proceed to show us how it is done. The familiar fish of California are now replaced by a myriad of different reef fish and we continually have to consult the fish book to see what we’ve caught. No matter the fish, almost all of them are delicious and as fresh as can get!

Eric surrounded by a baitball

In these tropical waters we start catching lots of small tuna in the 3-4 pound range, known as skip jack. They have a darker flesh and stronger taste, so often aren’t considered the prime tunas. However we find they are excellent grilled with BBQ sauce and the captain shows off his Brazilian heritage by putting them in an amazing coconut stew. The name “Sea Beef” sticks as we catch many of these small tunas, including four in one day that included an 11 and a 9 pounder. Good thing we had Brian with us, with an appetite for three normal people! Eric also brings down my mother’s luggage scale, which is the perfect implement for weighing fish. We have a grand time playing the guessing game each time we catch a memorable fish.

Kristian and Sabrina and some nice Skip Jack Tuna, AKA “Sea Beef”

Fishing has been a fun surprise for most of the crew. Everyone leaps with excitement and adrenaline when hearing the reel zing. The wonder of pulling in the line and seeing what kind of jackpot we’ve won each catch is addicting. Feeding ourselves from the sea is a magnificent way to experience the fathomless and beautiful ocean and we give thanks to the fish that feed our adventure.

To Be Continued.…. Part 2 finds us in the tropical waters of Mainland Mexico where we encounter the 300 lb marlin, our first ahi tuna, and abundant dorado of Mainland Mexico.

Scoring City Waves and Boobies (Blue ones): Mazatlan to Isla Isabel

June 21, 2015September 28, 2015 / michaelchiacos / 6 Comments

Mazatlan's waves were a very pleasant surprise

Captain was looking forward to Sinaloa’s lefthanders, but he was happy on this backside ride.

“I’m going to stay on the boat,” sighed Kristian, as we loaded the skiff to surf. Fifteen foot swells jerked violently at the anchor snubber. We were 1.5 miles offshore but the depth sounder still read 30ft. Huge rolling swells whipped Aldebaran around like a toy.

We had just finished a 2 night crossing of the Sea of Cortez, complete with a fantastic show of spinner dolphins doing tricks over the azure blue water. Strong seas had blown out one of our beloved nets, which gave the boat a battle-worn, haggard appearance. To top it off, early May’s so-called “Platinum Swell”, one of the largest of the year, greeted us at Sinaloa’s famed left points. Scanning the horizon, Ryan lamented, “Looks big and unruly.”

While the captain looked after the mother ship, we took our trusty inflatable, Lunabel, to the inside of the point. It didn’t take long before a rogue swell pulled Lunabel’s anchor and we almost lost her as she drifted helplessly towards the shore pound! We frantically paddled back and called it quits on surfing.

After an anxiety ridden night in Barra de Piaxtla, which under those conditions felt like a washing machine on super cycle, we sailed to the city of Mazatlan. We had to deliver Eric and Brian, our diving buddies with whom we had just shared an amazing 10 days in the famous islands of the Sea of Cortez.

Mazatlan at night

With the moon high over the grand Pacific and crowds promenading on the malecon (waterfront boardwalk), we danced in the back of the taxi pickup truck, and marveled at being in a city after a couple weeks of ocean wilderness. We had given up on surfing this historic swell… but the next day we had the most unexpected surprise…

Kristian woke us up early with uncharacteristic excitement. You see, the captain is notorious for dismissing all but the best conditions. His late night research had revealed an amazing wave which only breaks every blue moon, accessed by boat.

The “rare bird” decided to smile for us. It was a perfect, powerful righthand reef peeling off a picturesque island. Only one surfer was out and we surfed the best waves of our trip for six hours that day… with only a few urchin spines to remove from our feet. With a city of half a million people, we couldn’t believe we were getting these waves mostly alone. The hoots of stoke were sweet song to our ears, redeeming our Herculean anchoring efforts during the last few days.

Kristian usually rides 80’s boards, but put him on a potato chip shortboard and an orange wetsuit and he’ll do his best pro impression

The next day it was gone… the rare bird shone for 24hrs. We worked hard on Aldebaran, installing temporary replacements for the net that blew out in the passage. Filling propane tanks required three different visits – nobody had American valve connections – but eventually a screw driver got the job done. Filling diesel was also a task, as it was unavailable in Old Town harbor; we motored an hour north to Marina El Cid and struggled with the crowded dock.

We were preparing for an overnight passage to a remote island 60nm south. Isla Isabel, known as the Galapagos of Mexico. It is a square mile volcanic island in a National Park, with stories of crazy birds, bountiful fish, and amazing craggy views.

A river of birds continually circled Isla Isabel

Approaching in a musky grey sunrise, rivers of birds flew through the sky. They never ceased the entire time we were in Isla Isabel. We jumped in the water to freedive a half submerged crater islet, reminiscent of Molokini crater on Maui, where we encountered a phenomenal underwater world. Around the crater swam an endless number of fish, probably the most complete marine ecosystem we’d found so far on our voyage: from huge schools fish of reef fish to large predatory Jacks skittishly eyeing us.

Isabel underwater magic

The island is open to fishing and the spearfishing was excellent. Everyone got out of the water except Ryan, who then had a magical encounter with a friendly whale shark, which rubbed its body on his before swimming away.

We each shot a hefty Jack and our freezer was packed with fish!

The boys each shot a hefty Jack and our freezer was packed with fish!

That night, we anchored in the lee of bizzare offshore rocks called Las Moñas. White sand beach spilled into a gorgeous cove with fantastic snorkeling in shallow water. On shore, vast numbers of blue footed boobies nested in scrubby underbrush.

Las Monas at sunset, truly a magical place

We anchored next in the southern cove, and SCUBA dove along an underwater cliff pockmarked with caves. Here were by far the largest eels we’d ever seen — with the girth of a human being, but twice as long, they looked like dragons, receding into their underwater caves.

Wondering, “what next??”, we paddled our SUPs to the main fishing camp on shore. A short walk revealed a crater lake.

The crater lake at Isabel

A gigantic colony of frigate birds was the next jaw-dropper. They nested in trees as prolifically as salmon running up a narrow Alaskan river. Iguanas crawled along the paths in the derelict national park center, evidently abandoned for some time.

Isla Isabel protects the largest population of nesting frigate birds in Mexico

We climbed past the iguanas and frigate birds to climb to the lighthouse, where a panoramic view swept 360 degrees. Waves crashed on the west side of the island, its wild, windy side; separated by a thin ridge of land, Aldebaran bobbed peacefully in the east side, the smooth, lee side.

Kristian and some boobies

On the hill top, we found more boobies! Here were lime green footed boobies, with more slender necks, sharing the territory with their blue footed cousins. They clucked angrily and refused to move if we approached their nests, which were directly on the ground. It was hard to pull ourselves away from this magical place, which had an aura of the Jurassic era.

Michael ponders a lime green footed booby

We eventually left because the odor of bird poop got the best of us. It reminded us of our anchorage at Mazatlan, which got potent wafts from the sewage treatment plant with the afternoon seabreeze — another reason we wanted to keep moving.

Iguanas abounded

Aldebaran sailed south of Isla Isabel late that afternoon, heading back for the mainland and the waves of Chacala on the coast of Nayarit. The late-night, graveyard shifts went by smoothly — we had learned to download new podcasts in advance, like TED, This American Life, and audiobooks, and time simply flew by!

Dawn revealed strange shapes on the beach… “what are those things?” we wondered for some time. “Trees!” someone cried. After a month and a half of cactus, we were finally in the land of trees, just around the corner from Puerto Vallarta.

Tropical lush-ness enveloped us. We thought about sitting on this beach for days, drinking coconut water, and relaxing in the spirit of mañana. But whispers of a mystical, forbidden island reached our ears… and we knew the Green Coconut Run must keep going.

Las Monas, where Blue Footed Boobies nest on white sand beaches

The geographically rich Isla Isabel — note the crater lake and the half-crater on the north side of the island, called Islote Pelon. For the Google Map link, click here and select “Isla Isabel” in the menu.

100 Ft Visibility, One Eye Open: Sea of Cortez Leg

May 27, 2015September 28, 2015 / michaelchiacos / 5 Comments

An epic sunset at Los Frailes

Guest Author: Eric Lohela

And the Mexican doctor says, “You’ve got an eye infection and you’re not going to be able to scuba, swim or even touch water… Probably for your entire trip.” We’ve been in Cabo for 12 hours and a poorly timed eye infection threatened to reshape my trip before my wounded eyes. This trip was going to be interesting in more ways than I expected.

Eric and Brian stoked to join the Green Coco Crew

Brian and I flew down to join the boat from Cabo San Lucas through the sea of Cortez to mainland Mexico. We came for the famed warm clear waters and noted spearfishing. How often do you get to watch your friends take a trip of a lifetime with your support and then climb aboard?!

Brian caught lunch. And dinner. And making a good candidate for the “Men of Aldebaran” calendar…..

As we left Cabo San Lucas, the decidedly American beats wafting from the flotilla of party boats subsided and we soon entered what is the real norm for Baja Sur: quiet, desolate, uninhabited, and beautiful coastline.

Michael and Eric enjoy the beaches of Cabo Pulmo National Park right after hearing Eric was cleared to dive.

Our days simplified immediately around boat tasks, chasing adventures, and preparing the next meal. My days simplified around eyedrops every three hours and encouraging our divers from the deck.

SUP paradise in the sheltered bays with dramatic red rock cliffs, white sand coves, and turquoise waters

Having a painful event like this forced me to reset my priorities and ask myself… What do we have without health, how would I deal with adversity? The resounding answer I came to was asking myself was striking balance and cultivating community are everything. I had simply been too busy in my life to be fully healthy, and was only through the grace of our amazing group of friends that I was able to find care and be nursed back to health. I’m indebted to them for being so loving and supportive and everything looks bleak through the one eye I could use. They even dressed me up as a pirate so my handicap could bring laughter!

Kristian and Sabrina and some Sea Beef

The idea of crowdsourcing real adventure is a fresh concept to me. In a world where it seems like there are 100 television programs about chasing your dreams and adventure, we all seem to have but two weeks a year to find it for ourselves. The Green Coconut Run on the Aldebaran is a living example of chasing a big dream that we can all jump aboard. It inspires me and I hope many more people feel the desire to bite off something just slightly uncomfortable in scope. I found myself dreaming bigger because they did.

So.. Back to my eye. We had a minor engine issue that forced us to anchor for a day. I managed to take the skiff Lunabel to shore with Michael. After consulting the local fishermen we found the one spot on the deserted beach in the middle of nowhere that could connect a call to my doctor in Cabo. After solid discussion he agreed my progress could allow me back in the water in two days.

Eric made up for lost time with some epic dives

This was a magical moment, and in the next week of diving didn’t disappoint as we visited island after island and watched an aquarium of beauty swam around us. I shot very few fish overall because we didn’t need to more and no dorado graced us with their colorful presence.

Isla Espiritu Santu was like the landscape of the American Southwest meets a calm, tropical sea.

As our last dive came to a close we sailed away from a scorching red sunset into night where winds pushed us across the Cortez. 38 hours later found us in the massive swell the plowed into Sinaloa and tricky waves to navigate on boat and boards. We finished our leg with a dinner in Mazatlan laughing over beers as I got to see a friend from high school living in Mazatlan.

Diving the chain to the El Bajo Seamount, 7 miles out in the middle of the ocean.

I’m back in the States now, and my eye is fine. I reflect often about the places we visited and how magical that experience was. I’m thinking about adventure more and more now… And what my version might look like.

Ryan finds a power spot for some beach yoga

The boat sails on and I’ll continue to follow them online. I feel lucky to have had a taste of what the next generation of adventurers are exploring with healthy happy eyes wide open.

The crew and Aldebaran at the Mazatlan anchorage

The Wild Energy and Luminous Peace of Night Sailing

May 15, 2015September 28, 2015 / michaelchiacos / 5 Comments

One of those magical moments where the sun was setting in one direction, and the moon rose at the same time in the opposite sky

When my alarm startles me awake at 2:45 am and bleary eyed contemplation of a three hour night watch soaks through my groggy consciousness, its hard to be stoked. Some sips of green tea later I emerge into the cockpit where a vast sky of stars illuminates the ocean. This scene and a good morning hug from a friend who is ready to take some rest usually brightens my spirits.

Baja sunset as we get ready for a night sail

The most glorious night sails have been downwind runs where Aldebaran the funky trimaran feels like battleship galactica in a sea of bioluminescent stars, with me at the helm, ruminating on life’s mysteries solo or with a friend, pushed along by the earth’s wind energy. We’ve been lucky so far, but I can imagine the worst night sails involve tough upwind bashes, choppy seas, cold nights, seasickness and sail changes which involve foul weather gear and gratuitous use of the sailing harnesses and jack lines that we rely on at night when working on deck to make sure no sailor is lost.

Flying fish sometimes land on deck at night

I’ve been dipping my toes in sailing for a few years now, but my first night sail with me solo at the helm was during our first big crossing, from just south of Ensenada to the San Benitos Islands, a small archipelago about halfway down the coast of Pacific Baja. Since then, we’ve put a few other night sails under our belts as we hustled down Baja, trying to get ahead of hurricane season, and just finished another big 38 hour, 220 mile crossing through the Sea of Cortez to Sinaloa on mainland Mexico.

Our night watch schedule

With the normal open vistas of the ocean cloaked in darkness, night sailing requires more careful and frequent consultation of all our technology. We are also usually far offshore, with no land or landmarks in sight, so our compass, chart plotter and routing software on our GPS unit become more important.

Our night time navigational aids

On clear nights, these gadgets help set the big picture routes, but more delightful is to sail by the stars, always keeping a certain constellation or star in position near a fixed point like our solar panels or one of the stays that hold up the mast. My knowledge of the stars has expanded thanks to Kristian’s classic 1952 copy of The Stars, by H.A. Rey (the author of Curious George) a book I highly recommend to anyone wanting to develop their knowledge of the night sky.

This great little book by the author of Curious George is fantastic

We also consult our AIS (Automatic Identification System, which tracks speed and direction of large ships) to ensure our paths won’t collide with other vessels, and use our radar to see land outlines, ships, islands, etc. If the engine is on we keep an eye on various gauges.

Our autopilot, affectionately named “Ziggy” has been on the fritz lately, so we’ve had to steer manually. Kristian spent dozens of hours troubleshooting it and when we finally got to Cabo learned that it needed a new $600 part, which someone will hopefully bring down soon. Ah the joys of boat ownership….

At night we’ve come to rely on Luci lights – nifty inflatable LED globes that can be set to different colors, creating cool night moods in Aldebaran’s cockpit. Under sail we run the Luci lights on red to ensure our night vision stays intact.

Ryan and Sabrina on their first night watch

We also have jack lines and harnesses, which we clip on at night if one needs to leave the cockpit. Falling overboard at night could be fatal, particularly when the sails are up and precise turning and steering is more difficult. The jack lines run the length of both sides of the boat, and you wear a harness to clip into it. Life lines are rope set up to run the perimeter of the boat to add an extra measure of safety.

Our first night sails we doubled up and I enjoyed getting to learn new things about my friends or have those philosophical talks that seem to happen in the middle of the night. Since then we’ve been doing solo shifts so we can sleep more and I’ve been enjoying silent contemplation or listening to music, audiobooks, and podcasts as I enjoy the tropical nights in my boardshorts. Ernest Shackleton’s epic tale of The Endurance, the story of 26 men stuck in ice in Antartica and their adventures escaping have reminded me how comfortable and good our lives are. Tim Ferris’ interviews with people doing great things inspire me and keep me in touch with the frenetic world back at home.

Night sailing has been a way for us to keep our relatively aggressive cruising schedule on track and save more daylight hours for diving, surfing, fishing, hiking and enjoying our adventures. Its become a welcome bit of “me time” in the close quarters of boat life. I love the magic of steering a boat pushed by wind with the stars and moon as my guides, bioluminescent trails off our hulls our only momentary footprints on the vast ocean. Its a soul satisfying and poetic way to travel.

Moonset at Punta Tosca as we prepare for a night sail

When is warmer water not a good thing?

April 25, 2015September 28, 2015 / michaelchiacos / 4 Comments

Isla Natividad at sunset

How a Baja fishing co-op is overcoming the effects of climate change

“Where are the kelp beds?” we wondered, looking outside the cockpit.

The cruising guide stated: “Extensive kelp fields surround the reefs on the south-western portion of the island…” It directed sailors to keep clear of hazards including thick kelp forests. We had no such problem — the warm waters this year prevented the growth of kelp.

With almost religious fervor, we celebrated every degree in rising water temperatures. We look forward to tropical waters were we could swim without thick neoprene rubber. However during our visit to the offshore islands of Baja we learned how warmer water is affecting local fishermen in ways we didn’t expect.

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Island fishermen at the tip of Baja’s largest indentation, Vizcaino Bay, harvest many of the same species commercially important at California’s Channel Islands. Abundant lobster, abalone, and sea cucumbers – along with various fish – are managed by cooperative fisheries with well-organized panga fleets, patrol boats to prevent poachers, and village assemblies. These have resulted in prosperous communities in the middle of extremely arid areas.

One community we visited, Isla Natividad, is considered one of the most successful fishing cooperatives in all the 11,000 kilometers of Mexican coastline. The islanders manage their fisheries as a cooperative organization with the help of biologist advisors. They work with top universities from La Paz, Ensenada, and California, including Stanford. They are certified by the Marine Stewardship Council for their artesian lobster fishery, have a decompression chamber for divers, and even sport an amphibious vehicle.

Isla Natividad has a very coveted, hard to get to wave. We were the only ones out.

After surfing the legendary wave of Isla Natividad, we went to shore and met researchers from COBI — a Mexican non-profit working on the conservation of marine biodiversity and the establishment of sustainable fisheries by empowering local communities.

A wetsuit interview with researchers from COBI

Since Isla Natividad is on the fringe of the range of many cold water species, the region is especially vulnerable to changing climate. Warm waters are negatively affecting most species except lobster. Episodes of warmer waters and hypoxia (low oxygen) tend to stress species and kelp forests, reducing the productivity of ecosystems and their populations.

COBI is helping the cooperative understand the effects of climate change and what they can do about it. One innovative solution they are considering is a multi-species aquaculture project. This would be the first one in Mexico, and could help them hedge against the forecasted affects of climate change.

Life thrives in the cool waters of Baja

After sailing for days to distant, offshore spots in Mexico, we were not expecting to see island fishermen working independently with biologists and researchers in such an organized fashion. We were impressed with our talk with COBI; and then a subsequent visit to the village in Isla Natividad, where a local family showed us a delicious lobster dinner.

Although we continue to cheer for the warming waters as we head south, the value of cold water is now clearer than ever. Even if the waters in the Vizcaino Peninsula warm and affect fisheries, there’s a good chance the cooperatives will be ready for it, given their preparation. This resourcefulness is a great perspective to remember from this remote, beautiful, windswept part of the world.