April 26, 2020-Wild Cleofas

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Raising Cleofas

At sun-up we raised the island, tall and silent, and shrouded in clouds. “That could be Tahiti.” But, of course, it wasn’t. The old sailor and his wife were sailing northward in the Sea of Cortez not westward across the Pacific.

Each year as the “puddle jumpers” set off across the Pacific bound for Tahiti and the South Seas I always felt wistful seeing them depart; but I am always torn, not wanting to be left out yet not wanting to cross the ocean again.

This year that migration to Tahiti didn’t happen. The plague, that virus, struck. The South Sea Islands closed their doors; not allowing boats to come. Maybe some early departees got away before the closure, but most puddle jumpers were stymied, couldn’t go.

So the puddle jumpers, many of them, headed north into the Sea Cortez to various marinas where they could have their boats hauled and cheaply stored while they headed home to wait out the virus and wait for another season. However, the marinas and storage yards filled up and they also became closed. The cruisers piled up in the anchorages around La Paz and Loreto.

Some wandered aimlessly.

Judy and I weren’t puddle jumpers but as we usually cruise somewhere each spring, this year we’d planned a trip north ourselves. But instead we idled for weeks close to our home marina where we would be allowed to return if we so desired. The talk of port closures and crowded anchorages up north worried us.

However, a magic island beckoned, one that wasn’t too far north and wouldn’t be crowded.

The island was Cleofas, in the Marias group, which for years had been a federal prison and forbidden to all visitors. Recently the prison closed and the Marias had become a national park. Not officially open but nevertheless some cruisers had anchored there last year. The authorities had been lax and might be again we reasoned, or they might not.

The old sailor and his wife were quiet about their plans, slipped out in the middle of the night and set sail for Cleofas to time their arrival for mid-morning when the sun was high and the uncharted hazards would be the most visible, because Cleofas was basically uncharted.

And in the morning they sighted Cleofas and they soon discovered however that Cleofas was wild. Pacific swells rolled towards it and turned into crashing waves which pounded the island. The bay on the south side which offered shelter from a north wind was open to the south and there was a southwest swell which came in unimpeded.

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Cleofas South

As we cautiously entered the bay on the south of Cleofas, feeling our way, looking for a calm spot, I watched the maelstrom on either side wondering how long we’d be there if we were wrecked by one of those waves. How long would it take for someone to find us? We had come there un-announced and no one knew we had come to Cleofas.

I kept these thoughts to myself.

At first we went deep into the bay to anchor for protection from any winds which might arise, but the beach was a lee shore and the swells were breaking just behind our stern. The holding was not good either. It was rocky and the anchor rumbled ominously.

The old sailor was uneasy, and his mate more so.

I said, “Well, what do you want to do? Stay or go, and if we go, where? Or should we just shift anchor a little and move away from the beach?”

“You decide.”

So they shifted, twice; closer to the waves outside but farther from the beach. Finally it looked OK. Then a south wind came up, 12 knots, then 15. In their position they were exposed to this wind. That was a new worry: what if the wind continued to rise and the whole bay became a lee shore?

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Contours

Cleofas was beautiful alright, but its wild beauty was not comforting.

But things got better. The wind eased off. The bay got calmer; the swells didn’t look so threatening. We could relax and enjoy the remote beauty. We made cocktails.

For two days it was OK.

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Huge Swells Comings

On the third day the swell was up, way up. Huge mountainous rollers came into the reefs just outside of the anchorage, and crashed in a fury against the rocks on either side of the bay. The bay itself became turbulent and the long swells lifted the boat as they rolled towards the beach and they spent their rage pounding the island. The bay was a virtual washing machine.

When this happened it was too late in the day to leave unless we wanted to spend a night at sea waiting for daylight, which we didn’t. We decided to stay the night in the bay. But in the morning, after a restless and uncomfortable night with the boat constantly rocking and pitching, we’d had enough of wild Cleofas. We quickly got underway.

Once out of that bay things got a lot calmer. There was no wind and once away from the island, no big waves.

wingssail images-fredrick roswold
Motoring North

We motored northward again, hoping the next place would be better.

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Fred & Judy, Isla Cleofas, Mexico