Category: Sail Tales

El Burro Beckons

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El Burro is part of a cluster of beaches in Bahia Concepción. so less than a one-hour sail from Santispac. The two spots are therefore both unsurprisingly similar and distinctly different. Same chill vibe, but more so. Fewer boats — not that were many in Santispac — and fewer huts, RVs, and people in general. The one cafe here, Nomadico, albeit expensive, has very good food, super hospitable proprietors, and excellent mezcal. Carlos, an enterprising local, sells fresh seafood on the beach. The weather was a perfect mid-80s with frequent welcome breezes. The water is clear and the sand is white.

Nothing about this place sucks.

We made two amazing improvements that I feel increasingly qualify us as legit sailors. 1) We made our own yogurt (not nearly as difficult as you might imagine), and 2) We got the water maker going. Both are game changers, but the latter tops the list. Now we can turn sea water into fresh drinking water wherever we go … and it’s actually good. Minds officially blown. To add to our sailorism, we tooled around the neighboring beaches on our dinghy — fully womaned by yours truly, thank you very much — and went for swims at each. One yielded a bountiful clam catch that unfortunately looked better than it tasted; we didn’t properly prep them so they were inedibly grainy. Alas, sea lessons learned.

Noteworthy grub: skewered prawns, pesto pasta with prawns, fresh halibut with udon noodles, chicken wings, rib eye steaks, baked chicken with vegetarian paella, bruschetta on freshly baked baguettes, chocolate chip cookies with walnuts … To be clear, no one is starving up in here. So (obviously necessarily) I’ve started doing boat workouts. Heather Robertson is my current go-to YouTube fitness chick: no frills and no nonsense. Maybe hope can still indeed be kept alive. 

We were here for the full moon and some epic evenings, many of which culminated in binge watching Happy Valley, an excellent and intense British drama series. I finished Hello Beautiful: not deep, and longer than it needed to be, but sufficiently engaging. And now, after years of it topping my list of favorites, I’ve started re-reading Anna Karenina. Like puzzles, I almost never revisit books. But I’ve been feeling the urge for something juicy and meaty, and Tolstoy fits the bill.

After two lovely weeks at El Burro, we headed to Mulegé to stock up on food and diesel (but no water, yes!) en route to Pulpita and then Isla Coronados.

At Last We (Re)Splashed

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After four months on San Carlos land, we were finally back on the water. We spent a week getting reacquainted with full time life on the hook, and then headed to Bahia Concepción, about 100 nautical miles southwest. Our noforeignland boat tracks confirmed (admonished?) that this was our first since June of last year, so we embarked on a 20-hour relatively uneventful (motor)sail — not including the mysterious loss of our autopilot, which annoyingly necessitated hand steering for most of the trip — and arrived on Santispac Beach: a sweet, peaceful little anchorage with markedly greener water and just a few other boats. RVs and campers like it too, since they can pitch tents in private palapas overlooking the sea and park in an open, under-crowded space behind them.

Since I’m rationing my puzzles (only four left, yikes), and can only intermittently ScrabbleGO (can’t seem to shake that habit) due to the end of 24/7 wifi, I’ve been reading again — voraciously, as is par for my endeavors course. First up: Erasure by Percival Everett, a prolific author whose work I was strangely unfamiliar with but came highly recommended by a soror with whom I’ve rekindled a relationship far stronger than it was in college (Shout out to Lisa!). Provocative with complex characters and intricate storylines, it is a clever, layered, and solid read. It also inspired the movie American Fiction, which won an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay. Ironically I wasn’t as crazy about it after reading the book — too many material plot departures — but it’s nevertheless good to see him getting his flowers. Next up was Murakami, one of my favorites, with his memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: Enjoyable, quick, and although autobiographical, still written in his signature style. I was also really struck by his quote “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” Poignant in its brevity and stark in its current application to family matters, it strongly resonated with me and was a total aha moment. I then read James, another Everett novel, also very well written and thought provoking. The two books are both different and familiar, and I look forward to reading more … maybe I Am Not Sidney Poitier next. Finally, Eastbound, by Maylis de Kerangal, another author recommendation by a good friend (Salut, Laurence!) is a tiny book packing a concentrated literary punch.

As is usually the case, we ate well: blueberry scones, pumpkin bread, steaks, mapo tofu, clam and garlic pizza, an unfortunate chicken dish by yours truly (Boo, New York Times), chicken wings (much more successful and fortunately commandeered by Captain T), and a surprisingly delicious and totally improvised celery, chicken, and potato soup. All told, our time at Santispac was incredibly chill and a pretty complete 180 from San Carlos. In addition to swimming, we did a big hike up a nearby mountain … but without the schedule of the gym and the regularity of pickleball, I’m going to have to carve out some time to do some weights and get some proper, regular exercise soon. T’s much better and more motivated to sweat in solitude (swimming, rowing, kayaking), while I like a routine and gravitate towards more organized activities that include — but don’t necessarily require communion with — other people. Either way, I’m gonna have to do better. Here’s hoping all that and more happens at our next stop: Playa el Burro.

Don’t Disturb This Groove

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It was a little jolting to be back in Mexico after a few weeks on the west coast. And while it was fun (always!) to see family and friends in the Bay Area, it was cold … and even colder in Washington (made a quick jaunt to catch up with a longtime friend and see the highly entertaining RuPaul’s Drag Christmas), so it was expected but still bizarre to be hit by the Mexican heat wall upon our December arrival. Definitely neither sweaters nor gloves wanted nor needed.

It was nice too to be back in San Carlos, specifically. It’s a little city with dramatic mountains, beaches, and skylines, and it grows on you the more time you spend there. Since the Kouk was on the hard, we rented an apartment to facilitate boat prep, wait out the nasty northerlies, and frankly minimize unnecessary roughing it (cuz … why?). Our first full day we hightailed it to the nearest (OK, only) gym, and signed up immediately to atone for our extensive European dietary transgressions and diminish as much proof of said sins as possible. And, of course, as San Carlos is home to the largest (16-court!) pickleball club in Mexico, I re-registered posthaste.

It goes without saying that traveling is fantastic. That said, it’s also nice to stay put for a minute and relish a little routine. I did yoga and weights and pilates reformer classes three times a week, played pickleball three to five times a week, and rode my folding bike to and from each venue. I also participated in a few pickleball tournaments. Even won gold in one, although I’m at least currently convinced that tourneys aren’t my thing: too stressful and pressure packed, thus not especially enjoyable, which is after all the point … What was T doing during all this time you might ask? Well, working on the boat por supuesto. He had a list of literally hundreds of tasks, and blessedly didn’t want me in the way for most of it. It also gave him an excuse to blow off his gym membership, so a win-win. 

Anyhoo, we met some great people, had some great times, and were essentially in no rush to leave. I got my drama out of the way early on: wide street grate plus unfortunate forearm, knee, and leggings disaster plus shocked lying-in-the-street-but-trying-to-get-up-quickly-to-avoid-prolonged-mortification plus bravely riding home dripping blood plus prompt spousal doctoring (with iodine, no less) equalled an experience that was inevitably all uphill from there. Between the shrimp festival (winner: to-die-for bacon wrapped langoustine), full moon beach party complete with beautifully colorful fire-lit lanterns we personally launched into the clear black sky, locally produced and somewhat insane musical The Follies, countless plates of amazing avocado toast with fried egg and bacon (crazy yum) on the courts made by the equally amazing Sarayi, on par with the bulging containers of Pollo Lopez’s consistently delicious rotisserie chicken with roasted potatoes and onions peppers and salsa that just fit in my pickleball backpack, a host of good dinners and card games and the continued refinement of my escalating mezcal addiction … ummm, appreciation … some seriously good times were had by all. 

With the exception of a week in lively Mexico City, we stayed in San Carlos almost exactly four months. The final countdown was the first week of April, when we left our last apartment, moved away from easy access showers and dishwashers and water and large washer/dryers and air conditioning, and back onto the boat. We then put a punctuation mark on all of T’s hard work and did some majorly satisfactory cleaning — the likes of which you generally only do when you’re about to sell your house — and settled into life in the yard before we provisioned for our next passage and finally (successfully!) splashed on April 7. Despite the fabulous stay it was time, and we were ready to spend a few months escaping the heat of the city and exploring more of the Sea of Cortez. We anchored for a few more days before we said gracias and adios to San Carlos, and headed to our next stop: Bahia Concepción.

San Carlos: Last But By No Means Least 2025 Sea Stop

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It had been windy in San Pedro. Nail-biting-is-the-anchor-gonna-hold windy. But we had to get out of there. We had a reservation in San Carlos, and it was only a four-hour sail. Time to knuckle up.

The morning of our departure, the wind was still showing its ass … so we tried to give it time to get it out of its system. With no end in sight by noon, though, we just had to go. And can you say “shit show”? Holy guacamole, that was the craziest sail we’d had to date. The waves were no less than ten feet high, crashing like a mutha, the boat seeming to rise at a 45 degree angle, me at the helm so T could guide us from the bow … It was seriously like something out of a sailing movie/nightmare. A little more action-packed than we’d anticipated, to put it mildly. Then T insisted on raising the sail, since he was afraid of what would happen if the engine gave out in the midst of all the madness. This entailed latching himself onto a belt that he in turn latched to the rails. (‘Cuz you have to leave the cockpit to raise the main on our boat, a set up I’ve never been crazy about. Captain T says you inevitably have to go on deck to fix something anyway, so … Anyhoo, that morning I would have greatly appreciated a mainsail line leading directly the cockpit, as all I could visualize was T flying over the side of the boat.) Neither of us had put our lifejackets on either, because it was so hot (bad move; won’t do that again). I felt like a badass afterwards, but in the moment it was equal parts exhilaration and terror.

The trauma drama lasted about an hour, but it felt like so much more. Jesús Cristo. The sailing was still pretty rocky afterwards, but blessedly nothing resembling the outset. When we finally arrived in San Carlos after about six hours, we were beyond relieved … followed quickly by total shell shock. After being in such calm environments since entering the Sea of Cortez, San Carlos was unexpected. And frankly a lot: An alarming amount of boats in the harbor, blasting the loud bass and twang mix of Mexican beats, people laughing and shouting, random and dangerous miscellany jutting out of the water with no markers … a total WTF moment. But we docked like champions (next to a power boat with no fenders, daring us to hit it so they could calmly collect all of our coins), cranked up that glorious A/C, and thanked our lucky stars. 

San carlos is a noticeably friendly place, with tons of restaurants and beautiful beachfronts. And OMG … the pickleball. I’d researched the pball sitch ahead of time (as I do), and had my week planned out. Well. let me just say that the San Carlos Pickleball Club (“SCPC”) did not disappoint. It’s apparently the largest pickleball facility in Mexico — 14 legit courts with 24/7 access — with a crazy schedule and ridiculously welcoming community. I got out there the following morning (unfortunately late, because … no Uber in San Carlos. Hmmm …) and got a few games in. Then the games continued for the next three days (and one night) straight. Unfortunately had to break to get the boat ready … but I’ll see you again in December, SCPC!

We didn’t get to properly tour San Carlos since we were really just stopping off on our way to store the boat in Guaymas. but we heard and saw enough to want to check it out more. So we’ll explore it later in the year when it’s not so hellaciously hot. And contrary to the poor reviews, the marina was totally fine and the service was excellent … so much so that we decided to haul out there instead of schlepping to Guaymas. Infinitely more convenient, at about the same price.

Despite the inevitable tooth gnashing, the haul out went smoothly, and the boat was driven slowly and effortlessly to Marina Seca. This is where the real work began, with the sun scorching from morning to night, and very little water (meaning no to limited A/C). We had to take down, fold, and store all the sails and stack pack (more than a notion); remove and rinse all the lines; cover all the metal hardware and instruments; store the kayak and paddleboard; deflate the dinghy; remove and flush the outboard engine; plug the windlass holes with wire to discourage rodents; lock the stern anchor and life raft; install shades on the deck; close the propane tanks; stow all the cockpit cushions; empty the fridge and freezer; stack all the interior cushions to prevent mold … Suffice it to say, it was a lot of action. 

After all was said and done, we still had to pack. For five months. I’m not the best packer, but I was proud that I got everything into one (admittedly large and obnoxiously heavy) bag, not including my dive bag, and a carryon backpack. T hates that my bags are always so — well — much, but I honestly did my best. We cracked our final bottle of champagne to celebrate, had some fish tacos at nearby La Caluca, slept wetly and fitfully for the fourth night without A/C, and got out of there at 6:45 the following morning … to LA for a few days before we head to Roatan for a month of scuba diving. Word has it that there’s also pickleball there. Double deliciousness incoming! 

Bahia San Pedro: Sweet Sea Stop #6

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We sailed 17.5 hours (60/40 motor/sail, averaging 4.5 knots) to our next stop. Got uncomfortably close to a tanker (still figuring out our Raymarine and AIS navigational tools), but otherwise the passage was drama-free. And the night was magical . Gotta say, Mexico is pretty consistently fantastic when the sun goes down: the sunsets never get old, and the stars are usually out with a vengeance. It was sooooo hot in the cockpit, though; we were still sticky in tank tops at 2:00 a.m. 

At about 10:00, we arrived at San Pedro, another sleepy little bay. And the only boat at the time. (It’s awesome when you have your total pick of anchoring spots.) The water was beautiful and it was totally peaceful. T took a dunk, I took a shower, and we baked — with the fans providing minimal assistance — until we could turn the generator on later and crank up the A/C and wifi. (Yet again, we’d neglected to charge the power box when we had electricity. Our justified punishment? No immediate power gratification.)

It was crazy windy during our short stay. Thank goodness our anchor is solid … but of course you never really know that until after the fact. Night one a ginormous power boat next to us started dragging, so they pulled their anchor up — in itself a little disconcerting — and we were in the cockpit at midnight battling the wind, hoping like hell that they didn’t get close enough to hit us, grinding our teeth and ready to motor off at any moment. (Although to where I’m not sure, since the moon didn’t come out until 1 a..m … ) The following night was more of the same, but we had more confidence in our anchor at that point. and the other boat had thankfully made tracks by then.

By contrast, the days were mellow and the sea beautiful, both visually and physically. The water temperature was perfect to cool off with a dunk, and dunks were abundant and sorely needed. I finished some totally marginal books. (Every marina has a “library”, so without a mailing address or a bookstore nearby, you get what you get and you don’t get upset.) Not a Happy Family by Shari Lapena was a quick, predictable, and non-recommended read. (How in the world do these authors become New York Times bestsellers?) Also started 52 Pickup by Elmore Leonard, who also wrote the made-into-movies books Get Shorty and Be Cool that John Travolta starred in. This book is a little rough so far (and a little racist?), but I’m gonna stick with it and see where it goes.

On our last night, T made super scrumptious fried shrimp rolls with some rice paper we’d literally had for years. Maybe even a decade. Improvised and totally delish. So all in all, a fairly enjoyable two-day stay. Have to admit, though, that I’d been chomping at the bit to head to our next stop: San Carlos. The marina is supposed to suck, but it is a marina, and … wait for it … there’s a new 14-court pickleball facility nearby. Swoon!

It’s Getting Hot In Herre …

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We were sad to say adios to San Juanico, but Mamá Naturaleza strongly suggested it was time to get out of there. A storm was a-brewin’, and the Kouk was unpleasantly rockin’ to the beat. So we took advantage of the wind and set sail at about 6:00 pm to Santa Rosalia. The 17-hour trip started out a little shaky but ended up being a nice passage, with more sailing than motoring (yes!) and a bright full moon to guide us. There were no other boats that we could see or track, and we even got all three sails up for a while. The difference between sailing with and without the motor is just … aaahhhhh.

Santa Rosalia is an actual town (population 15,000), so were be able to reprovision, unload our garbage, get our laundry done, and top off our water. We also stayed at a marina — a small one, but a marina nonetheless — which meant unlimited power, wifi … and A/C! The A/C was consistently, deliciously welcome since they aptly call this place Santa Roastalia. High 80s coupled with 70%+ humidity (Weather Channel correctly stated “feels like 100”) during our stay, plus stingy wind. Record temperature in July: a mouth-drying 118. Nelly would have been right at home, ‘cuz it definitely was gettin’ hot up in (t)herre! 

it’s an old mining town, and it’s pretty simple. The main attractions are some old mines (shocker) and trains, a museum, and the Santa Barbara church which was — seemingly totally randomly — designed by Gustave Eiffel. (Yep, the same Eiffel who designed Paris’ Eiffel Tower). Turns out it wasn’t actually so random: The church was first presented at the Paris Universal Exposition of 1889 and later acquired by the French mining company El Boleo. And El Boleo once exploited the copper deposits in this region. So there you have it. Small opportunistic world.

Night one we shared a belly-busting order of perfectly cooked lemon pepper wings and papas a la francesa (french fries). And just like that, I knew the Rosalinos were my people. We ventured out another day for some delicious — and ridiculously cheap at $1.50 each — fish tacos, and schlepped with fellow sailors one evening to indulge in some apparently infamous hot dogs. (I’m admittedly not a hot dog chick, but still … they didn’t really live up to all the hype.) Dodged some vicious neighborhood canines (maybe they’re so angry because it’s so hot?), did some grocery shopping and ice cream indulging (which I’m really gonna need to chill out on, pun belatedly intentional. That said, the shop is so trippy it’s worth the visit just to see the bizarre assortment of stuff for sale in addition to ice cream: electronics, shoes, beauty supplies, cake mix … you name it, they pretty much had it).

To be honest, though, it was so flipping hot that we mostly retreated to the boat to escape the torture and luxuriate in the A/C. We made spicy shrimp and veggies, fresh lumpia (with our second-to-last glass of champagne, double yum), mystery catfish-esque stir fry, and buttery halibut-like pan fry. Pardon the lack of seafood clarity, as we bought the latter two (in my mind, courageously) from a guy sitting on the corner with a bunch of ice coolers and nary a sign nor label. So we used our eyes and noses, and crossed our fingers. ‘Cuz who the hell knows what kind of fish he was actually describing en español?

On our last night in Santa Rosalia, we revisited our inaugural gorge fest at Tonka’s and decided to have brochettes this time. Huge order that was thankfully dry … otherwise we would have devoured that super-sized meat portion in the same way we showed no mercy to the mountain of fries that accompanied it (just as good as the first time, by the way), with tasty sopa verde, accompanied by mescal shots for me and margaritas for T. We rolled ourselves out of there to the ice cream shop (again. sigh.) and got ready to depart the following day at las cuatro de la tarde (4:00). Next stop: a 17-hour sail to spend a few days in Bahia San Pedro. We can only hope it won’t be as much of a frying pan there, since we’ll be anchoring out and vulnerable, with limited power (and therefore A/C). Universe, please be gentle with us and take pity on our fragile souls.  

San Juanico: Exactly Where We Wanna Be

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Now this is more like it.

After actually sailing away from the hellaciousness of Puerto Balandra on a blissful, glassy-watered, seven-hour passage, we arrived in San Juanico. It was the isolated, white sand-beached, turquoise-watered stuff that sailing stories are made of. It was also pleasantly breezy and devoid of stinging flying insects. Score!

We experienced a couple of firsts in San Juanico. Number one: launching our new paddleboard. I had only been paddleboarding once before, in Cabo, like a decade ago. T took it out the first day when I (correctly) thought the waves looked a little choppier than a sistah needed them to be. The following morning I got the board in the water, got on the board, got on my knees on the board, got upright on the board, paddled away on the board — five distinctly easier said than done moves — and didn’t fall once! Took it out again a few days later, paddled upright both to and from the beach, and again stayed dry. So it apparently wasn’t a fluke … yaaaasss queen! I guess all those yoga balancing moves paid off. Whatever the case, it was super fun and felt like a pretty good (increasingly necessary) workout. I do need to improve my paddle steering, though; can’t make a 180 degree turn without getting on. my knees. Stay tuned …

In the meantime, the coves in San Juanico are enchanting. We dinghied to shore, took a beautiful hike along the beach and experienced more of the Goldilocksesque not-too-hot-and-not-too-cold-but-just-right, refreshing, and crazy clear water of the summertime sea. We ushered in first number two as we (and by “we” I mean T) popped our spearfishing cherry and caught two big mamma jammas on our first hunt. Surprised us all! We overcooked them (mistook tough skin for tough flesh), but they were nonetheless impressive on our plates and inspired us to continue our fishing forays.. On our last night, we put the wood we’d picked on our hike to good use and had a perfect little bonfire on the beach, accompanied by our last bottle of Pouilly-Fumé and potatoes roasted on the coals.

As RuPaul would say, we had several many delicious meals in San Juanico: tofu with garlic noodles, spicy chorizo with bell peppers, rib eye steak with my famous mashed potatoes, lentil soup with smoked turkey leg, and probably (OK, definitely) too many cocktails. In our defense though, we have to consume all of our perishables (including two remaining bottles of champagne!) before we leave Mexico end of June. So really — despite what you may read, see, or suspect — we’re not being gluttonous. We’re just being good global citizens, conscientious and unwasteful. 

Muchos gracias, San Juanico, for being a sublimely textbook destination. This little oasis is a sound reminder that life does not suck. We’d planned to stay a few days, which turned into a week, essentially until our food supplies got thin and our garbage full. ‘Cuz … why not?

Puerto Balandra: Sea Quickie #3

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Despite the fact that someone had (tightly!) edged in next to us at our Puerto Escondido slip, we exited without incident and (motor) sailed about three hours to Puerto Balandra: a sleepy, deceptively sweet little anchorage with a half dozen other boats. We were unfortunately welcomed by an onslaught of bees, however, so immediately hustled to get all the screens on the hatches and port lights. Hmmm … Portend much?

Later that night, the bugs got busy. Tiny, annoyingly tenacious mosquitoes that wormed their way through our screens. We tried (for a hot minute) to co-exist, but sadly ’twas not meant to be. We employed the one-two punch of a mosquito coil and The Executioner: the cruelest, most effective insect killer ever, a mini tennis racquet that electrocutes unsuspecting flying critters and leaves them (k!)rispy with a sadistically satisfying snap, crackle, and pop. 

Still later it started raining, the first we’d experienced since our journey began. We chose to be optimistic and take it as a reversal of our earlier omens … until we noticed that the boat that had been comfortably far from us was now right next to us. Um, we’’re not dragging, are you dragging? They said they weren’t but … ugh. Got up later to move the boat, but it was so dark we decided to stay put until daylight.

Unsurprisingly, we hoped to get outta dodge ASAP. But Mother Nature had other ideas, namely a tropical storm that the previous day’s rain had foreshadowed. Again, ugh. Puerto Balandra didn’t want to love us or grant us a quickie divorce.

While the second day was hot and muggy (profound thanks to the A/C gods yet again), darkness was accompanied by the furious revenge of the relatives and allies of the previous night’s victims. It got so bad that I actually turned on my phone screen to attract them so I could end their evil vigil and proactively smash them by hand on said screen. When that proved unsatisfactorily inefficient, I employed the next level: shining my flashlight so I could attract even more and properly fry them with the aforementioned Executioner. (Yes, that’s its legal name, and yes, it lives up to its moniker.) Apologies to my super sweet, kind hearted, vegan, literally-wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly niece. So sorry, Sydney, It was them or me, hon, and I (admittedly selfishly) chose myself over those satanic bloodsuckers. 

Suffice it to say that I see why there weren’t many boats there. You also apparently need a permit (really? from whom? how??) to go to the beach, which is by the way surrounded by mangroves and flies. Ugh for real for real. After two days, couldn’t exit that anchorage quickly enough; ain’t nobody got time for all that. Sorry not sorry, Puerto Balandra, It’s not me, it’s you.

Puerto Escondido: A Little Swankiness In the Sea

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Desperately seeking a marina with power to get our generator situation in check, we sailed from Agua Verrde to Puerto Escondido. About four hours. We hand steered the whole way since the autopilot uses a ton of power, and it was a mercifully easy sail. A fellow sailor hit a reef near here, so we were extra cautious and vigilant. Thankfully all was good in the maritime ‘hood.

Except … there were no available slips upon arrival. We’d been super lucky so far with just showing up and being accommodated, and unfortunately that luck ran out. There was a fishing tournament that weekend, so all the slips were taken. So we took a mooring ball instead and resigned ourselves to (at least) another day and night sans wifi and with limited power. Not the end of the world for sure, just mildly inconvenient … especially when you’ve decided to stay in a marina and it’s soooo flipping close.

The next day we took the dinghy to the marina, which is pretty new (less than a decade), and it shows. Made the mooring sting a little more, ‘cuz it is noooice. Swanky up the wazoo, just the way i like it. Beautiful pool and hot tub, excellent restaurant and shower facilities, upscale market with all sorts of overpriced yum, and (cue the harps!) a pickleball court. (There was only one, and no one was ever on it, so that meant T had to indulge yours truly. Thanks, babe!)

We managed to secure a slip for one day (yay!), and luckily there was no boat next to us, Once we were in, the harbor crew turned us around — not our choice, and navigated us super close to everything expensive we could hit, but ok — so our stern was facing the dock. We got our generator fixed (T had done everything right, just had disconnected a wire in the process …) and then the angels sang once again as we cranked up the A/C, charged everything in sight, ordered water to be delivered, opened a bottle of chilled Italian red, devoured some delicious braised oxtails, and high-fived the marina life. It was only for a day, but we milked the hell out of it. And we’d  be back in four, so for sure we could hang. A little begrudgingly — especially now that we’d experienced it fully — but yes, dammit, we definitely could.

The following morning we had to get out early to head back to the sticks. Our mooring had its benefits, though, namely that you could catch fish there. T dropped a line, and voila! A few hours later we’d caught our very first, totally respectable, three-poundish fish. A bottom feeder, but hey … I’m not mad at a catfish. We realized later that it was a no-fishing zone, which likely explained the ease of the catch, but in the meantime, we fried homeboy up with a solid recipe from the Soul Food Cookbook, and busted out the champagne for a proper toast. 10s across the board.

The one drawback to Puerto Escondido is that, despite the swank, it’s isolated and a bit lacking on the soul side. So we had high hopes when we drove our rental car to the neighboring town of Loreto. Unfortunately it gave off a similar vibe, just with less swagger. Alas. The good news is that Jacques Cousteau famously dubbed the Sea of Cortez “the world’s aquarium”, and the dive shop is in Loreto, so of course I had to see for myself if Jack was on point … or wack. We made the most of the day, checked out their signature mission (underwhelming), bought a watermelon (ditto), and got me signed up for a dive tour the following morning. Had a great day diving on Danzante Island with Blue Nation. And while the water was a bit murky, the fish were indeed abundant. As a bonus, we were met with a huge dolphin pod and a few whales on our boat ride back … a little close to be honest, but exhilarating nonetheless. 

We lazed around for a few more days back in Puerto Escondido and left after a thoroughly satisfying two weeks. We’re planning to hit a few more anchorages in the Sea of Cortez before we head to Guaymas (a little south of San Carlos) to store our boat for four months while we do some air travel. In the meantime, onward to Puerto Balandra.

First Foray Into the Sea of Cortez

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We left Mazatlán at the perfect time in the morning to ride the tide and avoid any wind nastiness. Best Mother’s Day gift ever. We planned to go to Playa Bonanza, but conditions were such that we kept going to Agua verde. Took us two days to get here, and it was well worth the trip. They said the Sea of Cortez is beautiful, and from what we can see, so far they’re absolutely correct.

En route, tons of turtles: some solo, some with avian hitchhikers, some in pods, all (seemingly, at least) incredibly chill. I wondered if they get lonely, or crave companionship of some kind. Do they welcome their transient feathered friends, or are they indifferent? Do they have feelings (at whatever level of consciousness), do they enjoy their travels, or do they simply pass their days and drift mindlessly wherever the current takes them? Curious, I turned to the Almighty Google and learned that sea turtles are essentially solitary creatures. They migrate hundreds — sometimes thousands — of miles from feeding to nesting grounds … the rare times they travel in groups, and still not necessarily. The females faithfully return to their own natal beach to get their nest on, while the males are the ultimate wanderers, never usually returning to land after they hit the sea. That said, neither would win any parenting awards. While the absentee fathers are drifting off doing their own thing, the mothers are euphemistically free-ranging it: laying their eggs, digging their nests, and heading back to the ocean, leaving their babies to hatch on their own and fend for themselves. “I’ve done my part, sweeties … smooches, good luck, and bon voyage!” Many live to be over 100 years old, so if you make it, you really make it. So there you have it. You’re welcome.

Back to our regularly scheduled program … The passage had promised to be a rocky repeater, but day one was unexpectedly pleasant. Not a ton of wind, with a beautiful sunset and a bright full moon. Later that night the wind picked up so we could finally turn the motor off. Unfortunately that also meant the rolling waves were back —strong, but at least not debilitating. We ultimately arrived at Agua Verde without major incident. greeted by a fish skipping along quickly, vertically, and totally comically on its tail (although maybe not funny to him; looked like brotherman was trying to get the hell outta dodge), and a 100-strong dolphin pod (which I wasn’t quick enough to capture on video. Gotta work on that …)

Agua verde is simple and unassumingly beautiful, with a pristine beach and a backdrop of dramatic rock formations. About a half dozen boats anchored; sweet little beach with a couple of restaurants, huts, and tent palapas; pretty clear water; breathtaking sunsets; and quite the abundance of pelicans. We thought people were throwing chum in the water since they were so active and plentiful, but turns out there’s just that much fish there. We rowed to shore and had a deliciously fresh fish taco lunch, visited the mini market, headed back. devoured baby back pork ribs and rice for dinner.

Day 3 T busted out the Pakayak: a monstrous modular kayak that I’d been against because of the cost, size, and general unwieldiness. Plus we were only going to get one (again, size, ugh,) so I also had major FOMO. But he’d researched it, ignored the fact that we’re on a monohull, and proceeded to store it our berth (more ugh). Ultimately, and wisely for the sake of our marriage, he had the good sense to store it on the bow. Six months later (!), it was finally launch time. A little rocky at first, but he ultimately conquered it and made an island circumvention. 

Day 4 I had a first leap off the boat into the ocean. refreshingly perfect temperature. T had another (much more successful) trip on the Pakayak, and we had dinner at restaurant #2 — grilled fish with soggy yet somehow tasty rice. Bonus: I slaughtered him (seriously, it was a blood bath) in three back to back backgammon games.

Finished The Clockmaker’s Daughter: a mixture of tedium and intrigue, with the latter just edging out  the former. Started on the often-cringily-trying-a-bit-too-hard-but-usually-entertaining-nevertheless David Sedaris’ Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls. Our idyll was interrupted, however, when our generator gave out on us, and Captain T was uncharacteristically unable to fix it. So … with no generator to top off our power, it was time to move on to a marina and get ourselves sorted. Next stop: Puerto Escondido.