Western Baja Peninsula
We arrived in Mexico around 8 am on January 5th after a beautiful night at sea. We had been worried about the forecasted 11-foot waves before departure, but they had been long rolling swells and we hardly noticed their size except for the lights of the Mexico coastline disappearing and reappearing as we slipped into the trough of one wave, then rose to the crest of the next. It had been a while since our last night at sea, but our pre-departure anxieties melted away with the beautiful sunset, bright moonlit skies, and dolphins swimming with us throughout the night.
It felt amazing to pull into our slip in Cruiseport Village Marina in Ensenada, where a neighboring sailor out enjoying his coffee was ready to grab our lines as we came in. Cruise ships towered not far from us, and though we were tired after a night of little sleep, after giving Desi a good run and checking in with the marina, we headed into town to explore. We were instantly overwhelmed. Unbeknownst to us, 10 am on a day when two cruise ships have just arrived is the worst time to see the city. The sidewalks were packed, and shopkeepers eagerly tried to herd us into their stores. We stumbled around in a sleep-deprived daze, still in disbelief that we were in a new country. We found a quiet restaurant to sit for a beer, then made our way deeper into the town, relieved to find the areas outside of the main drag much quieter and slower-paced.
The following day, feeling better after some good rest, we were driven to the port captain and immigration offices by the marina staff, who handled all the paperwork for us to officially clear into Mexico. It felt like a huge milestone, and a bit unbelievable since only a month earlier, we had been wondering if getting here would even be possible.
We had spent two months in San Diego, in the free cruiser’s anchorage, with a beautiful view of the city lights and a short walk to downtown. It was a noisy anchorage, with the airport only a mile away, and the coast guard station next to us, with helicopter drills occurring regularly in our backyard. I took two weeks away from the boat to visit family and friends and help my mom with some work, while Karl kept busy installing our watermaker and a new inverter. We had a great visit with my brother, who was in town on a work trip, and we continued our ongoing search for remote work.
With the Mexico sailing season well underway and the border so temptingly close, it was tough to face the looming reality that, without finding work, sailing to Mexico this year didn’t make sense, as it eliminated the last-resort option of finding land-based jobs. But as it often seems to go when I have run out of solutions and am running on blind faith that things will work out, they did. I was offered a full-time, temporary position, and Karl was offered a month of contract work. So, we began scrambling to finish up projects, load up on supplies, and plan our departure. We had a quiet holiday, watching the Christmas boat parade from Otaria’s deck, enjoying a visit with friends in town for the holidays, and watching the sailboats race around us on New Year's. Then, a few days into the new year, we were off to Mexico!
As we hoisted our Mexico courtesy flag for the first time, we felt such gratitude for everything that had aligned for us to make it as far as we had and full of excitement for what lay ahead. Our arrival had coincided perfectly with the arrival of Karl’s niece, her fiancée, and his family on one of the cruise ships. Though the ship only stopped for the day, it was very sweet to see them, even for a brief visit. The marina had a great community of cruisers and livaboards, many of whom had been there for years, and we enjoyed swapping stories over margaritas during weekly get-togethers.
We spent seven weeks in Ensenada —or rather, Desi and I did. Karl traveled for a month around the United States for work and was able to fit in visits with friends and family as well. I took advantage of the ease of marina life and put in long hours at work, with only enough free time for walks with Desi, grocery shopping, and a few outings with friends in the marina. When Karl returned, we explored the city more, stocked up on food and fuel, and prepared for a carefully-timed trip down the Baja Peninsula. Since I was working full-time, we would be traveling only on weekends, and with half the sailing season gone already, we needed to make good time getting around the peninsula and out of the hurricane zone by June.
On the morning of February 22nd, we waved goodbye to our Ensenada neighbors, cast off our lines, and headed back out to sea, sailing 25.5 hours south to San Quintin. Our time in Ensenada had been rough for Desi, with the loudspeakers and cruise ship horns sending him running for cover every few minutes. When we dropped anchor in San Quintin, however, he was a happy pup once again, blasting up the ladder to bark at dolphins or sea lions, and throwing his toys around, wanting to play all day. We anchored a mile from shore since the shallow water prevented us from being closer, and with a rough-looking surf landing, we never bothered to launch the dinghy. It felt so nice to be back at anchor. Once again, Otaria was our own little island. The work week was a bit rough with a large swell rocking us about, but I made it through, and ten minutes after clocking out on Friday evening, the anchor was up and we were headed back out to sea.
The trip to Bahia Tortugas took 41 hours. We had decent wind and some exciting sailing, but the seas were a bit rough and Karl wasn’t feeling his best. We were both exhausted by the time we arrived late Sunday morning. We enjoyed a lazy day, putting the boat back in order, watching movies, and catching up on sleep. Monday morning, I was back to work, and Karl headed to shore with a boat neighbor who showed him around the town. We had a nice week in the quiet bay, visiting with new friends in the anchorage, and spending evenings on deck watching the dolphins. Karl and Desi got some good beach time, including some rough surf (which resulted in a broken oar!), and Karl knocked a few projects off the list. We spent a morning in town together, exploring and picking up groceries, then early Saturday morning, we departed, waving goodbye to our new friends as they headed north and we headed south.
It was an 11-hour sail to Bahia Asuncion, and it felt like a luxury to arrive that evening, with a full day left of the weekend to relax and explore the town. On Sunday morning, a dinghy arrived at our boat, and a local named Leri introduced himself and offered his services. He is a local sailor with a side business of helping cruisers who stop on their way down the coast with anything from rides to shore, to diesel, water, and laundry. His reputation had preceded him through the friends we met in Tortugas, and we were happy and grateful to give him our business. He later filled our fuel cans and a few water jugs as well. Karl had discovered an issue with the water maker installation, and we had to rely on water from shore until, with lots of remote assistance from a friend, he managed to fix the issue without needing extra parts.
We had a nice day walking around the town, getting a delicious dinner at a local restaurant, and hiking up to La Bufadora, a marine geyser at the northern end of the bay. I made the mistake of giving too much attention to the local street dogs, and before long, we had a full entourage that we couldn’t shake. A local warned us not to let them follow us into town, where they were known for making trouble, so we spent almost an hour waiting for them to get distracted so we could sneak away.
We had planned to depart Friday evening for Bahia Santa Maria, but the forecasted winds and seas had us both feeling hesitant, so we delayed until the morning with a plan to stop in San Juanico before dark if the sea state was too rough. The day turned out to be beautiful with light winds and surprisingly mild seas, but in late afternoon, things picked up. By sunset, we had walls of water towering behind us that were pushing the edge of our comfort zone. A big part of sailing in rough conditions is learning to trust your boat, and even though the waves were some of the largest we had encountered, we soon adjusted to the conditions and accepted that Otaria would take them all in stride, we just had to keep her on course and let her do her thing. That said, I was grateful for a moonlit night that allowed us to see from which direction the waves were coming. Things settled down somewhat by morning, and we had a nice warm day, arriving in Bahia Santa Maria on Sunday evening.
Bahia Santa Maria is a large open bay with large desert hills, a few homes, and a handful of small fishing boats (pangas). We had hoped to get some hiking and exploring in, but the winds picked up in the evenings, and by the time I was off work, the surf was too intimidating to land the dinghy. Karl and Desi made it to the beach a few times during the day and said hello to some neighboring boats that joined us in the anchorage. Some local fishermen stopped by the boat and traded us fresh lobsters for cookies and soda for their kids, and we had a delicious lobster dinner. There wasn’t much wind forecasted for the weekend, but we didn’t want to wait another week, so we set out for Cabo at dawn on Saturday, March 22nd.
The trip to Cabo was quite pleasant, though we motor-sailed most of the way. It was sunny, and the seas were fairly calm. Karl baked fresh bread and caught a couple of fish, which I cooked up for us and Desi. As we approached Cabo on Sunday morning, the ocean noticeably changed color to a brighter turquoise, and it was a shock to see so many large buildings, boats, and people after a month of remote anchorages. We were full of excitement as we rounded the iconic rock formations at the tip of the peninsula and weaved through the boats packed with tourists, with jet skis zipping around us.
We dropped our anchor between two other sailboats and sat out on deck with cocktails, watching the hubbub around us. Jet skis blasted by, tour boats with tiki bars and dance music circled the bay, and a mega yacht with a helicopter on the bow anchored right behind us. After one month, more than 700 miles of sailing, and two weeks since I had set foot on land, it felt surreal to be surrounded by vacationers fresh from their hotel rooms, college kids on spring break trips, and a neighbor who arrived in his own helicopter. With such a different journey to get here, it can feel quite alien to enter a bustling city, ungroomed, sandy, and salt-stained. Later we would laugh as we stumbled with our limited Spanish to answer a local’s questions, “Where do you live?” “How long is your vacation?” Simple questions with no easy answer. We came from Oregon, we came from Ensenada, we came from Bahia Santa Maria. We live here, in Cabo, for now. As the sun went down and the anchorage began to calm, we toasted to our journey. We made it down the Baja Peninsula! Now for the fun part —going back up the other side!
