The Adventures of the Vessel Condesa

Clark May 28th, 2008

I’ve been stalling for a week. What the hell do I write when the trip is over?

My dad joined me in Cabo and we set sail early the next morning. By the next day it was cold and we were back to boots, hats, and gloves. People think Baja is all balmy desert, but that California current and its associated upwellings make it a cold place, even in summer. Once we were well into central Baja the landscape and climate were just like-dare I say it-Patagonia. My dad only had ten days, so our anchorages were short and sweet, just long enough to cook a hot meal or grab a few hours of sleep. We had some true westerlies and were able to sail about a fourth of the way. We made one nice long tack of about seventy miles from Cedros Island to the mainland. Usually this trip is all a motor-a-thon.

About halfway through the trip I got a 24-hour flu with a 102 degree fever, which is always fun on a cold, rocking boat. My dad surmised that since he’d had his free senior citizen’s flu shot, and I hadn’t, I got sick and he didn’t. Damned septuagenarians and their superior immune systems.

We pulled into Ensenada and my dad took a taxi to the border. I spent another night and filled up on fuel again. I’m no dummy: It’s half as much in Mexico-half as much!-as in the US these days. I filled every jug and bottle I had and topped the tanks.

I set sail at 4AM on May 14 and pulled into San Diego early that afternoon. The second I entered the harbor a coast guard boat turned on its sirens and-yeah!-boarded the power boat next to me. I was counting my good fortune when there was a second coast guard boat that boarded me moments later. Usually I hate the fascists, but the guys were so darned polite and friendly I couldn’t help but like them. Condesa passed all tests with flying colors and everything was ship shape by coast guard standards.

I tied up at the quarantine dock with the help of my new friends and there was nobody around. I called the number on the end of the dock, but it was out of service. I left some messages and sat tight. After a while my cell phone rang and the customs guy gushed apologies: “Sit tight, boss, we’re on our way!”

I was bracing for rude and threatening treatment from my countrymen at Homeland Security in the post 9/11 world, but they were sweet as pie too. The agent was training another guy, but they never went any further than the cockpit. After a few minutes the papers were filled out and he said I was all done.

“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You’re not going to search the boat?”
“Nope. You’re all done. Welcome home.”
“I’ve been out of the country for nine years. I could have been subverted by terrorists and be carrying all kinds of dangerous contraband on this boat. No swabs? No dogs?”
“Nope. Welcome home.”

And then, at a bit of a loss as to where to keep the boat for the night, I found a public marina run by the City of San Diego right next to the customs dock that costs $10 per night! I’d heard rumors around the world that San Diego had become a less than friendly port for visiting sailors. Nothing could be further from the truth and I’d be proud for any of my foreign sailing friends to have the same experience I did.

I had a little party aboard with some of my San Diego friends, then Matt, the builder of this website, joined me the next morning for the final push to Newport. He made the maiden voyage with me back in 1997, just a few weeks after I bought Condesa (when her name was still Destiny).

We tied up at the Beek dock on Balboa Island that afternoon, nine years and four months after leaving. Thank God I’m off that hell ship.

Last Monday I started my commute up the 405 to my new job in Los Angeles in my white 2002 Nissan Sentra. Just kidding. I don’t have a job and I’m going to slow roll that one for a while. Better to settle in a bit and leech off my family before doing anything rash. It’s summer after all.

My plan is to sail up to San Francisco in about ten days and try life up there. So I’m still cruising! It’s not over! I’ll cruise to Santa Barbara, and the Channel Islands, and make a glorious landfall under the Golden Gate! The trip’s not over until I say it’s over, and it’s not over! I’ve been avoiding the real world for nine and a half years and I’m not about to give up now.

• California