September 12: Half Moon Bay to Santa Cruz, and the fog lifts Awoke to even denser fog, if that could be possible. Crept around the breakwaters of Pillar Point Harbor into open seas, navigating with compass, radar, and GPS. Continued south over nearly glassy, gently rolling seas, with 1/8th mile visibility at best. But glory be, in the early afternoon a miracle happened: the fog began to lift, the wind started to pipe up, and there on the horizon we could actually see the California coastline! (It was only 3 miles away, but had been invisible to us for two days.) We rolled out the headsail, set up our self-steering vane, and reveled in the sun, blue sky, and dancing waves. Came into Monterey Bay, with the Santa Cruz Coney Island-style beachfront to port. Rounded the breakwater and lighthouse into the small boat harbor and tied up under sunny skies. September 13-15: Santa Cruz Berthed in cozy Santa Cruz harbor. Have decided to stay here awhile to tackle some major projects (fixing autopilot and installing a new hot water system) and enjoy this charming town. We have already discovered great biking (Santa Cruz is the most bike-friendly place we've ever seen, with bike lanes on nearly every road), a WiFi coffee shop, excellent markets with local produce, and friendly people. We can hear surf pounding on the breakwater and nearby beaches, watch boats sailing in after races, and laugh at the antics of our first sea otter, bobbing around crunching shellfish. Now if we'd just have some steady sunshine and warmth, we'd be in total bliss. September 18-24: Santa Cruz and waiting for parts A rarely discussed reality of cruising life is the amount of time spent in ports waiting for parts. Engine parts, rigging parts, electrical parts, plumbing parts, you name it. We search for parts, order them, find a place to have them shipped, and then wait for them to arrive. And when the parts finally arrive, we figure out how to pick them up and transport them to the boat without a car. Case in point: We've been waiting in Santa Cruz for plumbing parts: water hoses for our new hot water system. The hoses finally came, but they were the wrong hoses. So we sent them back and are hoping the correct ones will arrive soon. However, in this case, waiting has been easy because we love Santa Cruz. We ride our bikes along shoreline bluffs that tower over the ocean swells, pedal through neighborhoods of picturesque bungalows and Cape Cods with Mediterranean-style gardens, watch bronzed California-types playing beach volleyball or catching waves, and poke through the locally owned shops of the charming town center. Our marina neighbors consist of fishermen, great blue herons, black night herons, sea otters, sea lions, seals, and a Heermann's gull that greets us with a pitiful cry of "Ow! Ow! Ow!" Not sure who's stepping on his toes. Because of our steel hull, we can't access WiFi from the boat. But while we were in San Francisco, Jan took a supposedly innocent bike ride and returned considerably poorer but happier. She had purchased a new cell phone that we can hook to the computer and use to access the Internet wherever we have cell phone coverage. The service is through Verizon and it has made our lives so much easier. Our nav station now doubles as Jan's office. So this time of waiting for parts in Santa Cruz has been a good one. September 25: Santa Cruz to Monterey The correct water hoses finally arrived, so we are bidding farewell to Santa Cruz and continuing our trip south. Sailed across Monterey Bay through chilly fog and positioned ourselves in the marina ready for a pre-dawn departure. September 26: Monterey to San Simeon: Big Sur, a humpback, and dolphin wannabees Motored out of Monterey harbor at "O-dark-thirty," as our friend Lynn likes to say. Actually, it was 0400 (4am), but it was definitely dark. Probably foggy, too, but who would know? Passed Carmel in the dark, then were treated to morning light on the undulating golden hills of Big Sur. With surf crashing on the beaches, mist clinging to jagged sea stacks, and fog rolling through the valleys, Big Sur lived up to its reputation for dramatic beauty. A huge school of dolphins joined us for a while. Also saw group of what we've dubbed "Dolphin Wannabees." They are slender, brown pinnipeds--probably young sea lions--that don't act at all like sea lions, Instead they act like dolphins--streaking through the water as fast as they can, leaping and diving and even trying to play in our boat wake. They don't make very good dolphins, but they sure try. We think they are some kind of sea lion--maybe immatures--but they obviously yearn to live the far more exciting, playful, exuberant life of dolphins. And who can blame them? Our best sighting of the day was a young humpback who was clearly feeling his oats (or his krill or whatever). Tail slaps (counted ten in a row), pectoral fin slaps, and great breaches that brought his whole body out of the water, to crash sideways in a huge splash of water and spray. We lost sight of him for a while, then heard his deep, sonorous breaths at the bow of the boat. He came completely out of the water not thirty feet off our bow. Joan tried to capture some photos but ended up only with pics of white spray. Anchored in small San Simeon Bay, with Hearst Castle towering out the trees on the hillside above. September 27: San Simeon to Morro Bay A sweet sail in sunshine and shorts to Morro Bay. California sailing at its best. Tied up at Morro Bay "yacht club," which consists of one dock and a small clubhouse building. But also great showers, easily accessible laundry, and very friendly people (and great cinnamon rolls too). What more do you need? October 18 -21: Back to the Channel Islands Convinced that the source of water in our bilge was a leaking hose, we replaced the suspect water hose. Understand that this involved contorted and cramped positions, practically upside-down, in unbelievably inaccessible, tiny, and crammed places. I will say, this was the worst job yet. Confident that the leak was fixed (no signs of the mysterious leak), we left for the Channel Islands. We had a great sail across Santa Barbara Channel, but halfway across Jan made the mistake of checking the bilge. The dratted leak had reappeared!  After much thought and analysis (and lots of words that I can't put in writing), we determined that  the cause could only be a leak in the water-maker system. Either that or we had a leak in our hull--a prospect we did not want to contemplate, and the thought of which gave Joan severe stomach problems. We anchored at a place called Pelican Cove on Santa Cruz Island, a beautiful spot with dramatic rock formations, grassy hillsides, treed slopes, and plenty of pelicans enjoying their namesake cove. Joan and I were sick of this leak thing (by the way, it stopped once we were anchored), so we took the next day off and went exploring with our inflatable, Dude. Poked in and out of the coastline's many nooks and crannies, went skinny-dipping off a rocky beach, sunbathed, and tried very hard not to think about the on and off leak.   October 22-23: The leak that was, then wasn't, then was . . . Joan and I have been living a leak. In a house this is not so much of a problem--in a boat, well, it is about this sinking thing. With our great analytical skills, we decided to motor and sail the boat to see if the leak would appear. We theorized that if we did not run the water-maker system and the leak started again, it had to be the hull. We ran the boat for 5 hours and no leak.. Hurray---not the hull. The next day we would examine the water maker system and find this leak. Unfortunately, just when we were getting used to this idea--the leak reappeared. DRATS!!! It had to be the hull. We determined that it must be leaking at the support bracket to the propeller shaft. Seemed pretty serious to us, so the next morning we headed for the closest port, which was Ventura. We actually had a wonderful sail across the channel, wondering when the boat might sink. As luck would have it, the leak dried up. Now, we were really scratching our heads. Safely in a slip in Ventura, we went our for dinner and after a couple glasses of wine decided that we would examine the water maker system before hauling the boat out. So, early the next day, we tore apart our cabin to check all connections to the water maker system. In the far aft compartment we found the culprit leak. HOORAY! We both were ecstatic. We have never been so excited about finding a problem leak. We made the repair and now we feel that we have solved the problem. (Knock on wood.) October 24-31:  Catalina Island: Bumping a rock, serenity in Cat Harbor, nearly sinking Dude Sure of ourselves and our fix-it job, we left for the Catalina Island. We thought it got dark at 7pm, and we arrived at Emerald Harbor at exactly 6:30. Mistake. Around here it gets dark as soon as the sun sets--no more long, lingering NW twilights. So we started looking for moorage when it was very, very dark! Where is the moon when you need it? They have this strange buoy system here where you grab this pole (assuming you can see said pole) and pull up this seaweed infested rope and tie it to your bow and then trace this slimy rope and try to attach it to your stern. First of all, I hate the dark and I hate slime. So what did I do--I asked Joan to do it. I was sure that she loved the dark and slime. We were fairly successful in this endeavor--we only hit one rock. Thank God we have a steel boat. On the 25th, we found out that a Santa Ana wind was coming up, so being the chickens that we are, we went to the other side of the island, to Catalina Harbor, for safety. At first, we were taken aback by how rustic this place is. The hillsides around us are dry and desert-like, empty of almost any buildings except a couple warehouses near shore. We share the anchorage with some pretty beat-up fishing boats and "town" consists of a small cluster of buildings about a 1/4 mile walk along a dusty, unpaved road. But as it turns out, these very characteristics are the ones we've come to love about this harbor--an undeveloped, rustic, quiet working harbor totally removed from the fancy boating/tourism scene. We feel as though we've entered a different world--the one we came sailing to experience. A few other cruisers are here and we get together to share information, charts, and/or a glass of wine. Our inflatable, "Dude," is our transportation to and from shore, for supply runs to the tiny but adequate store. The water is turquoise, the weather pleasantly warm, and bobbing on an anchor is heaven after all that time in marinas. (Joan has taken to calling marinas "floating RV parks.") So "Cat Harbor" has reminded us again not to let expectations get in the way of seeing what is really good about where you are. We always said that one of our biggest goals was for every day to be a surprise. And that certainly has happened. After too few days in Cat Harbor, we sailed around to the southeast side of the island, to position ourselves for the trip back to the mainland. We stayed in Avalon, which is the antithesis of Cat Harbor. It looks charming--rather like a little Mediterranean village climbing up the hillside. But it is crowded and noisy and exists solely for tourists. Felt pretty plastic and jarring after the simplicity and quiet of Cat Harbor. Perhaps that's why we nearly sank Dude. We lifted him off the decks and into the water and were just about to step aboard when we realized we had a slight problem: We had neglected to put the plug into the drain hole in the stern. This is not good. Jan gingerly placed one foot into Dude, and water started to geyser in. Truly not good. Joan had the brilliant idea of splaying her body over the length of Dude, to distribute her weight, but she nearly took a swim in the effort. Finally, Jan came to the rescue by hooking up a line to Dude's stern and hauling the back end out of the water. Joan stepped in and quickly inserted the plug. Ta-da--Dude afloat! Left Avalon the next morning for a windless crossing of the channel to Oceanside, on the mainland. The next day was also windless and we motored down to San Diego. Ten miles from the Mexican border and ready for the next big jump!   October 31-November 12: San Diego: Boats, boats, and more boats; shorts and sandals; getting ready for the next big jump Okay, not to rub it in, but it's November and we are walking around in shorts and sandals. Palm trees, bougainvillea, bird of paradise, and other tropical-looking plants line the streets. San Diego is truly the sailing capital--boats, boats, and more boats. Dozens of marinas, anchorages, mooring areas, and boat-related businesses filling the various harbors. Huge luxury boats (100+ feet) positively dripping money, with crews wiping off the morning dew and polishing the hand rails. Racing boats (Dennis Conner's "Stars and Stripes" is a few docks away from us), cruising boats, and rundown live-aboards. We are getting ready for the next big jump--off to Mexico. Jan has torn the boat apart and done inventory on every fuse, screw, bulb, and hose clamp. We're stocking up on spare parts, food, supplies, and equipment--whatever we can think of that we might need and won't be able to buy south of the border. Our friends Robbie and Tori fly in on the 11th, and we plan on leaving the 12th for the 60-mile trip to Ensenada, to check through customs. Then we hope to make one long offshore passage to Puerto Vallarta--over 1100 miles south. After three months of doodling our way down the California coast, staying in floating RV parks, waiting for hurricane season to end in Mexico, we can't wait to get away. In many ways, this is the more authentic beginning of our journey. So wish us fair winds. We'll be in touch again once we reach Puerto Vallarta, which we hope will be by Thanksgiving.