Baja Haha XXX

When we stopped in Bahia Tortugas one of the attractions was the fuel dock.

It's a long ways from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas and having some diesel can help speed up the low-wind parts, recharge batteries, and most importantly allow navigation in anchoring/docking or when evading obstacles (like storms, for instance).

So we were happy to pour ~25 gallons of our reserve fuel into the tank and send our spiffy yellow diesel cans in to the dock with our crewmember Zack for a refill.

He hadn't heard the oft repeated reality that Bahia Tortugas doesn't accept credit cards (they don't, anywhere) and so had to run back to the boat while the cans were getting filled, to get cash. <Insert ominous tone> Leaving the cans unattended </tone>

None of us really noticed that the final cash price was lower than what we had expected, or at least didn't have an appropriate alarm response. Surely Zack, who never let's an opportunity pass to remind us of his vast martime experience, was capable of buying fuel. Probably just a language mismatch.

So we lashed out happy yellow (prominantly marked "Diesel") cans to the rail and headed to Bahia Santa Maria.

We burned some fuel along the way, as one does.

After two nights in B. Santa Maria we woke early to fuel up and head south.

Upon starting the transfer pump Zack (to his great credit) noticed that the fuel was oddly clear vs. pinkish and *stopped the pump*

Thank goodness for that important moment/decision. This was a ligit critical turning point in the story.

I'll skip to the punchline: we got 25 gallons of gasoline. The sensation we had is best summarized by "Fuck" (with a downward intonation resonant of dismay and frustration).

Obviously it is the fuel dock's fault and anyone could've made the mistake of not double checking (in fact all three of us did NOT double check). But the mistake remains very inconvenient and a testament to Murphy's presence on Sea as well as Land (and south of the border, too. Aside: does Mexico have a name for Murphy? Worthy of learning)

And most of the fleet was already out of the Bay by the time we had checked all the cans (and double checked them, because: Disbelief).

Luckily, and in the ancient tradition of maritime mutual aid, The Second Wind came to help us. We traded 5 gal of useless-to-us gasoline for 5 gal of precious diesel.

We showered them with gratitude and almost all of our stores of chocolate. I miss the chocolate more than I thought I would, to be honest.

Thus greatly reassured - 5 gal gets us about 50 nautical miles at a fairly fast 5kts and we had more than 10gal in the tank with about 150 total nm to travel, presumably under sail for at least _some_ of the journey, we set forth.

Good lessons were presented in this experience. I am certain that this scenario will not play out in my future experience as I'll surely tell the tale to everyone headed to the fuel dock, forever (sorry in advance, my future crewmates!).

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