"Two point six... two point two... one point five... one... zero... zero... zero." I was down below in the cabin of Fenix, my 26 foot International Folkboat, reading out the GPS speed over ground numbers, my voice getting quieter with each lowering figure. James was in the cockpit steering and playing with the drifter, trying to catch every minute whiff of a dying breeze.       We were a mile southwest of the Isla San Francisco anchorage in the Sea of Cortez, Mexico, when the wind died after giving us a steady north easterly all day on our passage from Isla Partida, 15 miles south. Frustrating. The sun would be down in an hour. If we could only make it in before dark... If we only had an engine...       In the dimming light I took bearings on the light at the entrance and on the two sailboats near the northern shore of the bay. And four long hours later we were still outside the anchorage having finally dropped the drifter in frustration. The sun had set long ago and the moon was on the wane. We could see the faint outline of the island's tempting shore as we slowly drifted backwards. And then...       "Look, over there, dolphins."       James can always spot things first. He was pointing ahead of the boat. Twenty or so dolphins were coming towards us from the anchorage, lit up with phosphorescence as they surfaced and dove in the moonlight. We forgot about our fatigue and were stunned to silence by the beautiful sight. "They're showing us the way in." And then...       "I can feel it, I can feel the wind. Here it is," I whispered so as not to jinks the barely perceptible breeze I felt on my cheek. I gently tiptoed forward and raised the drifter. The dolphins continued to play all around us.       "Thanks fellows, come and see us again any time."       We were moving again. We strained our eyes to find the entrance of the anchorage, aware of the rocky shore to our starboard, watching the depth sounder, and the white lights from the two anchored boats, which were beckoning us invitingly.       We finally drifted in and peered into the darkness for a safe spot to drop the hook. We hoped that all the anchored boats had their lights on. We saw a third sailboat inside and picked a spot south of it. We slowly sailed towards the shore, with James on the bow and me steering and quietly reading out the depth: "15 feet, 13, 13, 12, 11, 10", how about here?"       We like to anchor close to shore so that we can swim in rather than having to blow up our dinghy all the time, and with a draft of four feet, 10 feet of depth is usually fine. Sometimes we even anchor in six or seven feet if the bottom rises slowly.       James lowered our 25 pound CQR and let the usual 60 feet of chain out. I let go of the drifter and walked up to the bow. Fenix was settling down with her stern to the beach. We could see the small waves lit by phosphorescence breaking gently on the shore.       "Looks awfully close."       "Sure does. Must be a steep beach."       "Should we try again?"       "There is no wind."       "What if it comes up at night?"       "Yeah, you're right."       So, James pulled up the chain just enough to lift the anchor off the bottom and I returned to the cockpit and the helm once more. The drifter slowly filled as I pulled on the sheet. An hour later we were finally done.       Even though exhausted, we stayed up a while longer, celebrating our accomplishment with a glass of brandy, and watching the dolphins return to the anchorage. That whole night, we could hear them around the boat, breathing, diving, fishing.       I thought of buying a small outboard and installing it in the made for it well in the lazarette, but the noise of an engine and the stink of gas keep me stalling. And drifting.       Are there more drawbacks or benefits of sailing without an engine? It's hard to tell, but for us it's not a rational decision but an emotional one. I always wanted to do the purist thing that I've read so much about. Lin and Larry Pardey, who have been sailing engineless for the past 30 or so years, were my first heroes when I started sailing. Like them, I wanted to sail without an engine, mainly as a test of my sailing skill but also because I don't like engines and engines don't like me.       Sailing is a process to me, not just a means to a goal. I love being on the ocean and don't mind not going anywhere. To me, drifting is just like being anchored in some quiet cove. Yet, most other cruisers thought I was crazy to attempt it.       "You can't sail north without an engine, not up the Sea of Cortez with the Northers blowing all winter. There is either no wind, or strong wind on the nose all the time," they kept warning me.       I felt frustrated by all the nay sayers. Most of them had bigger boats than mine, and would never consider cruising without an engine. Many of them, in my opinion turned on their engines much too often. And then I met James.       James has been a world traveler, ever since he took a year off school 20 years ago. He had recently learned how to sail by single handedly crossing the Sea of Cortez from Puerto Vallarta to La Paz in a 30-foot weekender. He wanted to sail with me and wasn't at all fazed by my desire to sail without an engine.       "I'm the man for you," he told me shortly after we met. I've sailed on other boats for the past 20 years. All of them, except the dinghies, always had an engine. Sailing engineless will be a challenge that I really look forward to."       So, a month later, at the end of December, with Northers blowing 20-25 knots every few days, we left La Paz with our despacio clearing us as far as San Carlos on the mainland coast of the Sea of Cortez, 300 nautical miles away.       We tried to time our departures with the tide and chose our anchorages early in the afternoon. The sun shone, a gentle breeze filled the drifter - we were excited about our adventure. We had over a month before James had to fly to England. And yes, we were thrilled when the GPS recorded over 5 knots of speed over the bottom, but didn't mind when it refused to budge above 2 knots. And so, day-by-day we were inching our way up the Sea of Cortez.       Over the course of that month we were tested more than once. There were days when James had to blow up the dinghy and tow Fenix the last 100 yards to a safe spot where we could drop the anchor. Other times we anchored in places that weren't mentioned in cruising guides, just because we couldn't get any farther before dark. * * *       The following is a summary of how we manage to maneuver under sail as well as the benefits and drawbacks of sailing without an engine. Anchoring       We looked for safe anchorages, which meant protection from the wind. That presented a problem - how do you get into an anchorage where there is no wind without an engine? In most cases we were able to drift in using the cruising spinnaker. It often took time and patience, but the satisfaction was incredible.       How do you dig the anchor in without an engine? Sometimes we couldn't, but Fenix has 100 feet of chain and a 25 pound CQR and has dragged only once when the bottom was bare rock. We drop the anchor as follows:       I sail to a chosen spot on a close reach, usually with the main sheeted in and the jib or the drifter controlling our speed. When the depth sounder reads between 10 and 15 feet of water, I ease the jib sheet and when Fenix stops her forward motion, James lowers the anchor and gives it about 20 feet of chain. He then tugs on it hard to set it and drops a further 20 feet of chain. Then he locks it in on the gypsy and the boat drifts downwind to stretch the chain and to set the anchor with its own weight. Or, once the anchor is down with the initial scope of about 3:1, I sheet the headsail in and bare off, thus cinching the anchor in under sail. Remember, this boat weighs only 2,000 pounds and in most anchorages there is no wind. The weight of the chain and anchor alone keeps the boat in place. And of course, if the wind picks up, we are up making sure that all is well.       Narrow anchorages are tricky. Initially we passed them by thinking that they were too hard to get into and dangerous if the wind shifted. Now, we are more comfortable short tacking and have discovered some beautiful places that are not in the cruising guides. When the wind changes and blows into the anchorage, it can be very difficult to leave unless you plan ahead. We had a very light onshore wind in one anchorage, and by the time we tacked, we'd be pushed back to where we'd started. Another time the wind was strong enough that we worried we'd be pushed ashore before we could get moving. We try to avoid situations like that by anchoring far enough away to give us a safety margin. This doesn't happen very often and we are more aware of wind shifts now. It is only a concern in very narrow anchorages or ones with a steep rise to the shore. Docking       We tried to plan our docking for slack tide, but ran out of wind about 100 feet from the dock at a marina in La Paz. So, we asked for a push from a passing dinghy. By that time the current was so strong that to overcome it, the dinghy had to increase speed and we came in too fast. Lucky for us there were people on the dock to fend us off. Of course, we had to tie up on an outside dock - we wouldn't risk sailing into a slip inside the marina with a strong current. We don't use the marinas very often, so that's not a concern to us for the most part, and we've sailed into some marinas where the current was light with no problems.       When it was time to leave, we had wind pushing us into the docks but luckily an ebb tide. However, we had to get away from the docks quickly so as not to hit some rocks at the far end of the marina. We pushed off, but the wind repeatedly kept bringing us back into the docks. Luckily, there was no other boat ahead of us on the dock and we finally managed to pull away.       Narrow channel with head wind and ebb current (San Carlos). We asked for a tow as it was dark and we had a broken main port shroud. We were also very tired, having just weathered a two-day gale. We could have spent the night drifting and waiting for favorable wind and current, but the prevailing wind in San Carlos tends to come out of the bay, so our chances were slim that we could have done it without help. Having a broken shroud also meant we were risking more damage sailing on the port tack.       Sight seeing. We wanted to see some parts of the coast, that had no safe anchorages, but didn't because of light winds. However, we heard and saw whales often, because they can be seen easier in flat sea conditions and we could locate them by their blowing sounds, having no engine noise to drown them out.       Another time we came in very close to a seal colony only to have the wind disappear just as we were almost on the rocks. Only extreme luck (and the skipper's skill of course) prevented us from hitting the rocks. However, with light wind, if we had hit the rocks, it would have only been a gentle tap on our hull, not anything dangerous. The benefit of a light boat is that if we did run aground, it would have been quite easy to jump over the side and push Fenix into deeper water. * * *       Benefits and drawbacks. Challenges and satisfaction. Can't have one without the other. We prefer inching along in silence. Thank you                 Lin and Larry. ...back to 48° North title page