Cabo San Lucas to La Paz: A Photo Essay

Since we’ve been a little preoccupied with the hurdle of creating our first sailing vlog (video log) episode 1 Resolute Sets Sail, the blog has been a touch neglected.  So please if you haven’t already watched our first episode check it out and if you like what you see Subscribe (there is a link at the end of the video or you can select the red button beneath the video if you’re watching in YouTube).

We sailed from Cabo San Lucas to La Paz stopping in Los Frailes for some incredible sunsets and balmy hikes with expansive views.  We used our pole spear for the first time and were rewarded with several nights of tasty reef fish appetizers.  Continuing north we bashed into 20 knot winds with the aid of the Sea of Cortez special, steep, short period waves.  Add to the conditions a strong current counter to the winds and it made for a rough and tedious day.  Poor planning, but chalk it up to another little adventure!

As for the rest, I will still my ceaseless ramblings for a change and let the photos do the talking…

Erik… you’re up:

S/V Resolute at anchor

Nikka enjoying the hike up from Los Frailes anchorage


S/V resolute Erik and Nikka

Nikka and Erik enjoying a cooling dip after a HOT hike


Baja, Mexico, cactus

Plenty of these guys around, careful what you touch


Small mackerel

Small mackerel we caught with the hand line


Black skipjack mackarel

A very large Black Skipjack, excellent dark meat like a steak


Baja Fish tacos

Our meal staple. Fish tacos straight out of the Sea of Cortez


Shade tree

The ONLY shade around


Beach life with a dog

Nikka enjoying a little beach life, sporting a nice lifejacket too


what lies beyond

Meagan wondering what lies beyond


beach walking

Meagan and Nikka enjoying a sunset stroll on the beach at Bahia de Los Muertos



open air bar

Meagan enjoying the wifi at the open air bar

Musing on Mexican VHF

B&G VHF V50 radio

VHF Radio

The VHF radio is a very different beast in Mexico.

Less than 100 miles south of the border, the coast guard and distress calls that clutter channel 16 in San Diego are all but absent.  Replaced by seemingly random conversation and very sudden, booming hails.  We were forced to lower the volume when the jolting hails began to send Nikka shaking and flying from her bed.  Her least favorite type of hail, a very sudden, piercing whistle repeated three times in quick succession before a quick pause and two final whistles.  Upon first hearing such an ear piercing nondescript hail, we assumed that similar to the U.S, the person was likely intoxicated and enjoyed the idea of their voice going out to a wide and compulsory audience.  Not so in Mexico it turns out.  The legitimacy of the hail was confirmed for us when we heard a man, whom we could only assume was not able to whistle, repeat the words,

“whistle, whistle, whistle” pause “whistle, whistle!”

My favorite Mexican VHF moment so far this trip was when Erik and I, surprisingly bored of each other’s company by day 2 of a 5 day sail, contemplated finding some music to play in the cockpit.  Erik quickly waved the idea away, saying, “sounds great, but we don’t have any music.”  Just as the sic in music left his lips the VHF sprang to life with the sounds of a mariachi band in full swing.  Until the music broke off about 2 minutes later, Erik and I just stared at each other in disbelief.  Then after checking to make sure our mic wasn’t keyed, laughed until tears welled up in our eyes.  We tempted fate again with “we don’t have any ice cream,” hoping that if an ice cream sandwich did not drop from the sky at least a Dryer’s commercial might play from our speakers.

But nothing, so we settled back into the cockpit, still a little weary about who may be listening.

As a side note:  VHF in Mexico utilizes the USA channel list, as opposed to the international channel list, which we had assumed when we first arrived.  The different channel lists are similar enough to make you think you have it right, but different enough to drive you crazy.  For example, due to restricted frequencies in the US, Channel 22 receives on a different frequency than the International setting, making it very difficult to hear morning nets and communicate with other cruisers who exclusively use Ch. 22.

Putting on the miles

watching the water rush past

Logging passage miles


THE FIGURATIVE WINDOW which held our weather forecast stood wide open, but nonetheless I was anxious.  Prior to last week, I frolicked in the blissful ignorance of never having felt the contents of my stomach instantaneously liquefy while every inch of my skin erupted in icy beads of sweat.  Never felt the boat launch wild figure 8’s beneath me until direction became relative and a vigilant eye to the horizon was the only thing reaffirming my faith in gravity.

Up until last week, I had not experienced sickness at sea.

Fortunately for me (and perhaps more fortunate for Erik) not a hint of sea sickness threatened to thwart our beautiful 300 mile sail south from Bahia de Tortuga to Magdalena.  We were the picture of health, although I have to admit our stomachs did mildly protest at the immense volume of pork stew we were forced to consume over our 5 days at sea.  Dreading another round of sea sickness and learning first hand how much food is prepared and consumed when one member of the crew is on watch for 36 hours and the other one is drooling into the stitching of the settee cushions, I decided to prepare our meals in advance.  Unfortunately, I made the mistake of assuming, similar to our last sail, we would be ecstatic with anything edible as long as the minimal effort required to consume it amounted to ripping off the lid of a tupperware container and digging a utensil out of a drawer.  I was wrong.  On day 4, Erik fished the last rubbermaid out of the fridge, still brimming with a chilled concoction of limp vegetables and sinewy meat, and spooned it into a large stainless steel bowl at the bottom of our companionway steps.  At least Nikka appreciated my meticulous over preparation.

On the morning of our 5th day at sea, the brown rocky headlands of Bahia Magdalena materialized out of the limited range of blue hues we had grown accustomed to over the past week.  We were at once struck by the bay’s uncanny resemblance to a body of water we departed one sunny afternoon, over 3 months and 1,000 miles earlier.  It felt as if we had been hurled back in time, catapulted by the Tardis, to a San Francisco Bay similar to the one the Spanish first encountered over 240 years ago.  A time before resplendent, awe-inspiring bridges and clanging trolley cars, a time when the riches of the Sierra Nevada still lay concealed under the meandering water of rivers and thin mantles of vegetation.  Catching a ride on the powerful tidal currents, we serendipitously arrived during flood tide, speeding through the entrance and finding ourselves on the outskirts of a vast, shallow bay.  The strong northwesterlies followed us inside while the pesky ocean swell vanished, reminding us how lucky we were to have a large protected bay like San Francisco as a playground for an entire year.

We were flying through the water, it was good to be back.

After spending 24 hours in Magdalena, 20 of those hours spent horizontal, we were refreshed and eager to sail the final 140 miles to Cabo San Lucas, where we were hoping to replenish our stock of fruits and vegetables that had run out days earlier.  On the way south we found ourselves battling that common cruiser’s adversary, time.  In 48 hours our friends were landing in San Jose del Cabo, and we were cutting it close.  Two days may have been no problem for Resolute close hauled or reaching, but Cabo lie directly downwind, and even with the wind blowing a steady 15 knots, we were moving slooooow.  Not to mention the motion of Resolute on a monotonous downwind run in choppy seas is like a screen door flapping wildly in the wind, swinging squeakily on its hinges and crashing to a tumultuous halt at the limit of its springs before starting back again in the opposite direction.  What we lacked in comfort was more than made up for in beauty, and instead of spending my night watches like I usually did, nestled into a book combating sleep with the aid of my watch alarm, I hung from Resolute’s stern arch awake and in awe of natures spectacle.

The moon shone round as a lollipop as it dripped a shimmering trail for us through the dark turbulent water, creating a scene more reminiscent of driving down a rutted Alaskan backroad than sailing the open ocean.  The clouds were tiny puffs, flowing white in all directions until finally melting into the sea in the distance.  The stars momentarily peeked out from behind the clouds, rewarding the patient observer with a quick glimpse before dissolving into the background.  As I hung there with my mouth ajar, I was filled with an overwhelming appreciation for soggy foul weather gear, safety harnesses, and crushing exhaustion.  I knew if I had not been on watch in the middle of the night more than 20 miles from the nearest land, I would have been sound asleep on some cozy pillow top mattress oblivious to the simple fact that a full moon hung heavy in the sky.

Magdalena bay

Entering Magdalena bay


Dawn over isla santa margarita

Dawn over isla santa margarita


Mares tale clouds high in the sky

Mares tail clouds on a calm sea


dead down wind

Dead down wind


Crossing the Border

Ensanada Harbor customs

Ensenada shipping harbor and port of entry


We woke at 1:30 am still nestled in our slip at the transient docks in San Diego.  One snooze alarm later we dragged ourselves out of the v-berth and brewed some coffee, undressed the sails, took Nikka for a stroll, and lashed the few things on deck not already bolted down.  An hour later just as we decided we were as ready as we were going to get, Erik started in on a lot of last times talk.  “Say goodbye to the U.S. may be the last time.  May be the last time at a dock…”  I’m pretty sure he meant the last time for awhile, but he left off that end part and the stress of his last time business mixed with my heavy apprehension over the border crossing ahead created an unsettling concoction in my gut.  I about lost my nerve when Erik marched Nikka and I over to the wide grassy area near the docks to touch U.S. soil, for you guessed it, “the last time.”  For a change of pace and practice we switched up the routine and I reversed us out of the slip while Erik shoved us off.  We were out of the channel and back in the Pacific before I handed the reigns over and shrugged off the tension of the morning, losing myself in the dark nutty aroma of my coffee, which up until that moment lay untouched in its thermos.

Several miles before we crossed, the border ominously peered through the darkness to the east.  Even at night we could clearly make out the large lighted fence with vast no man’s land dividing the sprawling city lights of the north from the south.  Crossing the border by boat was surreal.  Less than 5 nautical miles off the coast we nonchalantly motored past under the cover of darkness, with no passport checks or customs forms to fill out.  I couldn’t help shake the feeling we were crossing illegally, and as the sun peaked above the arid Baja hills I caught myself scanning the horizon, half expecting to see the Mexican border patrol speeding after us.

As we neared our point of entry, I hastily grabbed a copy of Charlie’s Charts and decided to do a last minute review of immigration requirements.  While skimming the opening paragraphs I came across the typical hours for Mexican businesses which are apparently 9-3 Monday through Friday.  Our anticipated arrival was 3 pm, and did I mention it was Friday? Shit!  My tongue hung heavy at the base of my throat making it difficult to swallow as large beads of sweat began multiplying on my forehead.  The clock was ticking, Nikka’s health certificate was signed almost 18 hours prior and we had to be in the immigration office, certificate in hand before the end of 72 hours.

Through the commotion of finalizing boat projects, buying last minute provisions, and checking off requirements to allow Nikka entrance into Mexico and later Hawaii, I had completely neglected such a minuscule thing as business hours.   I tried to hide my immense oversight from Erik, but by this time the sweat had started dripping down my cheek and pooling at my collar bone.  He took one look at me and knew the news was not good.

We soared the rpm’s, finally gliding into our slip at Baja Naval around 2:30 pm.  With potentially half an hour left until close of business I hastily lofted our starboard bow line to Carlos, the Baja Naval employee who met us on the dock, and attempted to explain our need for haste through an embarrassing barrage of rusty spanglish.  He looked at me for a moment then smiled as he informed us in excellent English that the offices had closed early that day and we were mere minutes too late.  Seeing the harrowed look on our faces, he quickly continued to explain that lucky for us, the offices are open one Saturday a month and we happen to be there the day before just such a Saturday!

By the time we finished checking in with the marina and took Nikka for a short walk we were exhausted and ready for a well deserved night’s rest, but unfortunately the good luck we had earlier dissolved with the setting sun.  At 11:30 we were startled awake by the jarring whine of the propane sensor alarm.  Annoyed and exhausted, Erik closed the propane tanks and reset the sensor.  Although we were not about to go lighting matches, we did feel safe enough to eventually drift back to sleep.  Not more than an hour later we woke again, this time to the screeching of the CO detector, “beep, beep, beep, CARBON MONOXIDE, CARBON MONOXIDE” it repeated over and over again as we groggily grabbed Nikka and fumbled through the companionway into the fresh, salty air of our cockpit.  Realizing that our heavy eyelids and throbbing heads were the result of mild CO poisoning we stayed topsides and waited for the boat to sufficiently air out enough to silence the alarm.  Both of these alarms sounding off in similar succession was eerily reminiscent of a night we spent in Half Moon Bay at the very beginning of our trip.  In both instances our boat was filled with exhaust from a neighboring boat either idling their engine or running a generator, causing a false alarm on the propane/gas monitor and a very real, very accurate, and very scary alarm to go off on our CO monitor.

The morning after our night of alarms we woke early and arrived at the immigration office as they were opening their doors.  The check in process was surprisingly painless and although we ran back and forth between offices like a pinball, we were done with the entire process before noon.  It turns out the customs official was not even interested in the fact that we had a dog with us.  When I thrust Nikka’s health certificate at him, imploring that he at least glance it over, he just smiled a toothy grin and shook his head from side to side as he motioned for me to remove the paperwork from his desk.



San Diego Provisioning


San Diego Night Skyline

San Diego Skyline


We arrived in San Diego at the end of March, two days after tearing ourselves away from beautiful Catalina Island.  Upon entering the San Diego channel, a Navy RIB abruptly sped toward us as one of the men called out to us over the loud speaker asking us very kindly, but very directly to exit the channel we had just moments ago entered.  Unsure and slightly apprehensive, we thought to ourselves, “Less than a minute into San Diego, could we really be getting boarded already?” Without question we promptly did what we were told, having left our rebellious spirits slain on the shores of Twin Harbors.  From our vantage point outside the channel the reason for their request quickly became apparent as an enormous partially submerged submarine filled our view to the north.  At the top of the submarine a large American flag flew and several uniformed men stood waving.  Impressed and in awe of such a marvel of human invention Erik and I stood gawking and giddily waving like two children at a parade.  Once the submarine and its entourage of RIBs passed we proceeded back into the channel, on our way to the police docks. We were required to undergo an inspection which would mean the difference between permission to stay at the cruiser’s anchorage for free for up to 30 days, or tie up at the transient docks for a maximum of 14 days shelling out 36 dollars per day.  Suffice it to say we wanted to pass that inspection.  We motored back and forth through the channel attacking the difficult task of locating all of our non-expired flares and doing our best to make Resolute presentable down below.  Turns out we had little to worry about and we passed with flying colors, dropping the hook at the cruiser’s anchorage just in time to see the last of the sun retreat below the horizon.  While still on deck buttoning up Resolute for the night we watched, transfixed, as three large military crafts soundlessly motored past and stop a short distance off.  All but two of the men from each vessel slid quickly into the frigid water and even in the darkness our eyes followed them as they swam below the surface out of the tiny cove, their little red lights floating above them as they swam.  Later we learned that we had most likely witnessed a Navy Seal practice dive, common in the area because of the proximity to Naval Base San Diego, the largest US Navy base on the west coast of the United States.

Although access to the cruiser’s anchorage as well as the incessant noise and swell caused by a constant barrage of boats coming and going through the channel was at times almost unbearable, even looking back now the view still takes my breath away.  To the east the city skyline stretched out before us in an unobstructed view of sharp angles and twinkling lights.  Above the cityscape planes lined up for their final descent into San Diego airport and from our bobbing paradise we could follow their descent all the way to their landing strip less than a mile to the north.  During the day the view included navy war ships, commercial barges, and a plethora of various types of sailboats from schooners to racing trimarans, including a surprising number of restored tall ships.

My mom flew in from Florida on the second day to help us with some provisioning.  She rented a 19 foot RV for the week and we put her to work.  We loaded the RV with a craigslist outboard, ten foot paddle boards, Costco bulk items, and a million other odds and ends.  It was quite impressive to see her managing that RV on the city streets of San Diego.  Both of us were unfamiliar with the town and although she had my help navigating, I was recently separated from my smart phone and cherished google maps app for the first time in over 6 years and at times was so lost in a clutter of scribbled directions and small scale paper maps I was of little help.  Even when the craigslist outboard we were hauling spilled a gallon of gasoline in the RV bathroom I never heard her complain.  The fumes were so bad by the time we drove back to the dingy docks we were feeling pretty woosy and well on our way to substantial headaches.  That night she had to stay with us on Resolute to give the RV a chance to air out.  (Thanks Mom!)

After my mom left and we took care of some of our “real life” duties like taxes and fishing licenses we hung out with more family and friends.  Erik’s cousin Dana lives in San Diego and our friends Dalon and Heidi, from Marina Village in Alameda moved back down to San Diego a few months ago.  We all spent an amazing Easter weekend in Coronado which involved a lot of good food and some extreme paddle boarding.  We may have looked crazy doing it, but we had a great time, all of us lined up behind their Boston Whaler, grasping at the tow line and trying desperately to balance on top of our partially inflated paddle boards while Coronado Bay whizzed past at 5 knots!  There was rarely a night we spent in San Diego that we did not enjoy a soak in the hot tub of Dalon and Heidi’s marina.  Yes, their marina has a hot tub and yes, it was fantastic.  I know what we will be looking for in the list of amenities next time we decide to forego the anchor for a set of dock lines.

San Diego arriving by boat

Arriving in San Diego


boat friends

San Diego friends Dalon, Heidi and Scarlet


boat dogs

Boat dogs!


Catalina Island continued…

The rest of our time in Catalina was like something out of a dream.  We sailed from the quiet solitude of Small Harbor Anchorage to a mooring ball in the raucous town of Avalon on the southeast side of the island.  Our first glimpse of Avalon was obscured by the towering Princess cruise ship parked just offshore.  The large ship dwarfed Avalon harbor and intimidated those of us who hadn’t seen more than a handful of boats in the better part of a week.  Except for the hundreds of tourists milling about, the town itself was fairly quiet.  By weeks end it was a different story, Avalon had metamorphosed into something that I have a very difficult time describing, but think MTV Spring Break meets Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and you’ll be on the right track.  From our vantage point near the coastline with the other “small” boats we were mesmerized by a sea of drool worthy yachts with more than a sprinkling of enormous mega yachts complete with working deck hands and dinghies so large they made Resolute envious.  Up until that weekend we had never so much enjoyed just folding ourselves into the cockpit and watching the cinema that unfolded around us.  To starboard there was a 30 foot power boat with so many partying 20 somethings that it looked like it might capsize, off our stern quarter there were surfers attempting to backflip off the back of a sailboat and land upright on their surfboards tied off a few feet away (they didn’t come close but it would have been pretty impressive if they had), and to port there was an intoxicated young woman floating by in what looked to be a human sized hamster wheel.  The astonishingly elaborate, impromptu St. Patrick’s Day dinghy parade rounded out the weekend nicely.

While we weren’t people watching from Resolute we were enjoying Catalina’s wildlife both above and below the waterline.  Although Erik and I may not have enjoyed our encounter with an adolescent rattlesnake on a hiking trail after dark, we did enjoy the jolt of adrenaline that accompanied the encounter sending us scurrying down the trail, and shaving at least 20 minutes off the hike.  Below the waterline the fish were plentiful.  It was our first  time diving since getting certified over a year ago and to call us a little rusty would be a mariner’s understatement.  But after we finally got all of our equipment together and pulled on our full length wetsuits in the 90 degree weather, we waddled over to the waters edge and jumped (or awkwardly fell depending who you ask) into the sea.  To live like a fish for even one hour was worth any effort and we look forward to many more dives, in hopefully warmer water as we move south.

Bird of Paradise

Bird of Paradise flowers lining the streets of Avalon


St. Patrick's day parade

Surprise St. Patrick’s day parade put on by fellow boaters


Mooring balls

Nearly all full over the weekend


Avalon, Catalina island

Avalon’s casino and mooring field


Dinghy Dock

Dinghy dock full and not even the weekend yet


Our trip has begun!

Yesterday we shed our foul weather gear for bathing suits and something about that gorgeous sun on our sickly white, translucent bodies just made it feel official.  Our trip has begun!  Until yesterday we had been sailing day and night fully clad from head to toe, with only a little slit for our eyes between where the winter hat left off and the collar of our fully zipped foul weather jackets began.  Unlike Erik, I had the luxury of my finger tips basking in the sunlight since I had decided on fingerless sailing gloves, but still you get the point, not a lot of warm weather on the way down.  Due to the timing of our departure, the first of February, we have had a painfully slow trip down the California coast dodging storms, crab pots, and a severe lack of wind.  The one thing that San Francisco did not prepare us for was how to sail in such alarmingly light air.  Our tried and true response to the incessant luffing of a sail has always been to turn to the iron genny, but that method is not going to work for much longer.  If we keep feeding Resolute diesel the way we have been our own food budget is going to start feeling the sting.

We arrived in Santa Catalina four days ago, after a brief stop over in the rugged, breathtaking northern Channel Islands.  At their closest point, the northern Channel Islands are a mere 30 miles off the coast of Santa Barbara, however, we had them all to ourselves.  Well, not entirely to ourselves if you count the large pod of playful dolphins that escorted us both into our anchorage and out two days later.  Our first stop in Catalina was the small town of Two Harbors.  We arrived just as the sun was rising, which made a surreal scene that much more otherworldly.  Laid out in front of us was approximately 200 mooring balls with a backdrop of soaring cliffs, and a small Mediterranean looking village with skinny palm trees reaching skyward.  Our gawking abruptly transitioned to full on go mode when we saw the location where Charlie’s Charts directed us to anchor.  A tight little beauty with cliffs on one side, partially submerged rocks on the other.  It turned out to be quite spacious with the use of a bow and stern anchor to prevent any swing, however, a couple days later when we woke up to 4 other boats trying to share the 200 square foot anchorage, we knew it was time to go.

Another reason for leaving the quaint little spot came the night before in the form of harbor patrol steaming up to our boat.  We waved a friendly hello to the rapidly approaching patrol boat, naively assuming they were there to welcome us to the area similar to the gracious greeting we received by harbor patrol upon arrival in Morro Bay several weeks earlier.  As the boat pulled along side of us the man behind the wheel quickly revealed the bad news.  We had been banned from the island.  Yes, you read that correct, we had been banned….from the island.  My jaw dropped to the cockpit floor, then remembering my gullible tendencies I began to laugh, I had been duped again, harbor patrol must be having a little fun with the newbies.  But unfortunately, I was wrong, again, it took him several minutes to convince me he was not joking. I abruptly stopped laughing and he explained the reason for our banishment.  It turns out the outdoor beach showers that you see littered along public beaches across Florida and California, were on Catalina privately owned and were only to be used by people staying at the campgrounds.  Ooops!  After a long talk with harbor patrol and a couple trips to and from our boat, we lessened our banishment to only the campground itself, like I said before, it was time to go.

Following our bathing suit clad motor sail yesterday we arrived at the indescribably beautiful Small Harbor anchorage on the south side of Catalina.  There is a small campground along the beach (with showers we will not use!) and a vehicle pull out, but overall the place is pretty empty and we are the only boat for miles.  We are trying to enjoy a little of the slower more relaxed lifestyle we came on this trip to pursue, but so far has just felt like another to do item on the list.  As I sit here in this pristine cove I am reminded the daunting list of boat projects to be completed, phone calls to be made, and trip plans to be finalized, all can wait.  The sun here will set at precisely 5:56 pm and it will rise again at 6:13 am tomorrow morning bringing with it a whole new set of things to do.  I will let them wait…

Leaving Golden Gate behind on the second day.


Sailing California coast

Half Moon bay pier


Sailing California coast

Hanging by the Neptune pool at Hearst Castle


Sailing California coast

Our first overlook with lonely Resolute below


Sailing California coast

Amazing Morro Bay!


Sailing California coast

Morro at night


Sailing California coast

Sailing wing and wing in the Pacific


Sailing California coast

Santa Cruz island, WOW


Sailing California coast

Isthmus bay, Two Harbors, Catalina Island. DO NOT use the showers!


Sailing California coast

Remembering friends and good times with a little taste of Alameda


Sailing California coast

What we have been searching for. Remote anchorages with breathtaking views.



Cascade 36 no longer for sale

I’ll introduce you to our new boat. Her name is Resolute. She is a finicky girl with a young heart and a strong weathered body. She was born in Portland, Oregon in 1975, 36 feet long, 13,000 pounds.  She is a Cascade Yacht who has spent the last nine years circumnavigating the globe. As our yacht broker so eloquently put it, she’s proven.

She has not the flash of a new polished Jeanneau, but she carries herself in a way that says, “I can cross that ocean, can you?” There are many projects to keep us busy over the next few months and I will be trying to document most of them here on the blog. My Dad has flown in to San Francisco to help out while the boat is being pulled out of the water for bottom paint and new thru hulls, etc. So busy busy is the buzz.


The brokers motoring her in for the survey



First views of the under belly



In the slings for the survey


2014-04-02 11.08.52

View from the top of the mast


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San Francisco skyline

panorama of san francisco

Here is an image taken from our friend Debbie Miller’s back patio. It is a fantastic view filled with the sounds of gently crashing waves and bird calls. It also illustrates many of the locations Meagan and I have been fortunate to visit and sail near including: alcatraz, the golden gate bridge, the bay bridge, Sausalito, and the San Francisco wharf.

GoPro sailing and snorkeling in Puerto Rico

On our trip to Puerto Rico this winter, besides my Canon 5D mark ii we also took along our new GoPro video camera hoping to test its ability in regards to time-lapses and video quality. We were pleasantly surprised to see that the quality of the image is very good and having such a wide angle is fun to work with. You may know that GoPro cameras do not have a LCD screen so viewing what you have filmed or captured is not possible until loading the files back onto the computer. I found that despite what sounded like a nuisance at first, this “feature” in fact turned out to be just the opposite. I was able to be less constrained by focusing on the perfect composition and was pulled in by the spontaneity and excitement of not knowing just how the image would turn out. While not a great option as your only camera, and no substitute for a professional SLR by any means, I think I may be doing more and more with my GoPro in the days to come.

This movie is a compilation of some of our adventures…

And as always, don’t forget to watch in 1080p 🙂