April 23, 2008 -- Isla San Francisco -- N 24 degrees 49' 02.2"/ W 110 degrees 34' 02.1"
House battery at 7 am: 12.43 volts
20.3nm cruised for the day; 448.9 nm cruised on the trip overall

Sleep was disrupted last night around 2:30 am with the arrival of a moderate coromuel. In our little anchorage the breeze flowed over the ridgetop to our east and directly across the cove. Swell from the wind refracted around the point and rolled on in. For much of the remainder of the night, the breeze held our boat at right angles to the axis of the cove, which meant we took the swell right on the beam. It was uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough for me to go out in the dinghy in the middle of the night and set a stern anchor. We just rode it out as best we could, and as dawn began to brighten the sky, I decided to start early on our passage to Isla San Francisco.

With coffee water heating on the stove, I pulled the anchor and Sandy steered us out onto the Sea. I took the wheel while she fixed coffee in our insulated mugs and prepared some breakfast cereal. I steered past the sea lion rookery for one last look. No other boats were around, and we got some nice photos of the rocky pinnacles in the morning sunlight. We also picked up some hitchhiking bobos, just as Sandy had warned.

I set a course for Isla San Francisco, about 15 miles distant, and clearly visible on the horizon. It was a very pleasant crossing, with a light breeze off the port side. We motor sailed on both main and jib for much of the way. Once again I trolled a lure behind the boat, and with the same results. Nobody interested. We did pass near a couple small groups of dolphins, but they declined to play in our bow wave, probably because we were moving too slowly. We neared the island and started looking for the entrance to the anchorage. The landforms were a bit confusing to us and we initially ended up on the wrong side of the island. After recognizing our error, we followed the shoreline in a clockwise direction until the entrance opened up to us. A half dozen other sailboats were at anchor, none that we recognized. This being a large bay and with room for many boats, I wasn't concerned about finding a good place for us to set our hook. We swung around the southern point, where the water is shallowest. One other shallow draft sailboat was in the area. I picked out a spot between that boat and the beach, and we anchored in sand, at a depth of 6 feet.

It's easy to see why this place is so popular with cruisers. The broad, semicircular bay is bordered by a nice, white sand beach, nearly a mile in length. The surrounding hills and rock formations are dramatic in color and form. The island offers numerous hiking trails to scenic vistas. One can walk to a salt pan, an agate beach, and a good shelling beach. The fishing and snorkeling are both listed as good here.

Sandy prepared lunch while I tended to chores up on deck. Put up the sail covers, secure the dinghy along side with lines and fender, aim the solar panel, open the forward hatch, and deploy the sun shade tarp. I didn't have to enclose the bug netting because a breeze was keeping insects clear. After lunch we went for a snorkel swim, once again right off the boat. This time, Sandy entered the water directly, and without the stress of previous times. Water temperature was about 71 degrees, which is definitely better than earlier in the trip. We swam near shore, enjoying the variety of fish and other small creatures in this environment. We saw many fish which we'd seen before, but did spot some highly colorful new varieties. The water began feeling a little cooler as we rounded the point, and we both decided to return to the boat at the same time. We took quick rinse off showers and relaxed in the cockpit before dinner.

Tonight's menu featured beef fajitas, and they were excellent. We both ate too much, and welcomed the chance to go ashore for an after dinner stroll. We walked more than half way around the beach, examining a curious white pyramid along the way. Previous cruisers had picked up chunks of bleached white coral and stacked them into a pyramid, about 4 feet high. We each picked out nice pieces of coral, and added them to the pyramid. While we walked, the clouds in the western sky, above the craggy Sierra Giganta made good on their promise of reflecting an outstanding sunset. A strategicly located thin spot in the overcast admitted the necessary sunlight, illuminating the underside of the overcast. Color initially was a uniform butterscotch golden, gradually shifting into a deep tanguerine orange, and finally climaxing in a vivid rose red. We rowed back to the boat as the red was beginning to fade. I grabbed my conch horn and joined Sandy on the foredeck, hoping I could blow a conch horn salute fitting for such a stunning sunset. I took a deep breath, found my note, and blew as long as I could. We both agreed it was a respectable conch horn salute. We waited, but none of the other cruisers in the anchorage replied.