Our Month Sailing Down the Baja Peninsula

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Our Month Sailing Down the Baja Peninsula

770 Miles from Ensenada to Bahia de los Muertos

Península de Baja California, literally translated as ‘Lower California Peninsula,’ is a 775-mile skinny stretch of land that extends from the capital city of Baja California, Mexicali, in the north to the well-known tourist destination Cabo in the south. The peninsula separates the Gulf of California from the Pacific Ocean.

With 1900 miles of coastline dotted with small fishing villages and deserts strewn with sagebrush, scrub bushes, and cactus, we were ready to set sail and explore her.

Our sailboat is a Sceptre 41, and she handles like a blue-water dream. We go offshore 50 miles or more, as there is less marine traffic and fishing boats, you aren’t dodging crab and lobster pots, and the chance of being bashed into a random rock is greatly diminished. Plus a possible bonus of better winds.

The first time we sailed and didn’t see land in any direction for days was when we came down the coast of my home state of Oregon. It was what I would assume Buddhists call nirvana or alcoholics call a moment of clarity. It was that peaceful.

Aside from the apps Windy, Predict Wind, and Navionics, we have become big fans of another app called No Foreign Land. It’s like a Facebook Meets TripAdvisor for sailors.

We are also using the book Mexico Boating Guide by Captain Pat Rains for this navigation.

Time and travel are not the same on the sea as on land. They feel different. Our sailing average is 5 knots an hour?—?the operative term ‘average.’

We left Ensenada at 10:00 a.m. for San Quintin, which is 110 NM away or approximately 22 hours + or -, depending on the wind. We started this passage knowing that we would be sailing overnight.

When we sail overnight, we take four-hour shifts, with one person watching the cockpit while the other tries to catch some shuteye. We cycled through this routine for 26 hours and finally dropped the hook at San Quintín Bay.

San Quintin is well known for its oyster and abalone farming, but we did not get off the boat here, as the beach landing looked a little sketchy.

But, here, we decided to put up our spinnaker for the first time.

A spinnaker is a brightly colored special sail made of lightweight fabric. It is made for light-down winds, which means the wind is behind you.

A spinnaker, like a parachute, has to be folded and put into its sock in a specific manner, which ours wasn’t. It came out with a twist and wrapped around the mast, where it shredded.

We went back to San Quintin, where another boat, S/V Swift, had been watching our debacle. They grabbed an electric winch handle, hopped into their dinghy, came over, and sent Chris up the 60′ mast to cut off the remaining spinnaker bits.

The next passage required two overnight sails. Thirty-four hours later, we arrived at Bahia de Tortugas, a desert-like fishing village with a population of around 2000.

We dropped the hook and dinghied into the town. There are many businesses: a restaurant, coffee shop, laundry, and tiendas of various sorts that are only open two days a year to cater to the Baja Ha-Ha Cruisers Rally. After the rally, the town returns to its normal existence of living and fishing.

On shore, we met Rogelio, who owns a palapa on the beach. He works in the daytime and then opens the palapa in the evenings for the locals to share a cold beer. We hit it off right away and met the few locals there.

An unexpected weather front arrived a couple of days later. Winds raced across the ocean, gusting between 40 and 50 knots, followed by a sandstorm of grit and dirt that covered our boat and made it invisible from the shore. The school closed for two days, and everyone was forced to stay inside or on board. Think Tatooine from Star Wars level storm.

And then, we noticed our dinghy was gone. The painter?—?or rope?—?that ties him to the boat had broken. The dinghy and outboard are essential to boat life; they are our car, and like a car, they are not cheap, at around $10k. We immediately hailed our fellow boaters, as well as Rogelio and Gloria. Then, like a Greenpeace crusader, we pulled up anchor and trekked into the open ocean for three hours, looking for our dinghy Enzo. We returned sans dinghy.

The next morning, looking through the binoculars, we saw what could have been our dinghy on the rocks. We asked another boater to use their high-powered camera?—?and there it was. Rogelio phoned the lobster fishermen, who retrieved it, and then S/V Astral took us to shore, where we met some locals who took us to retrieve it.

We hopped in, it started right up, and we returned to our sailboat. It was miraculous, and when we eventually arrived in La Paz, the entire coastline was still talking about the storm and the renegade dinghy that made it back.

After an unexpected six days in Bahia de Tortugas due to weather, we made a quick eight-hour sail to Bahía Asunción.

It is a fishing center for all kinds of seafood (including lobster, abalone, seabass, and yellowtail). We met Shari Bondy, a lover and researcher of gray whales. She moved there permanently in 2002, putting the town on the map and sharing her whale love.

While sitting around her patio table, we learned that the mamma whales would bring their babies to the pangas?—?(fishing boats) and encourage you to pet them so they can get used to humans and that the patterns of the barnacles on their 10-foot-wide tails are like fingerprints?—?different for every whale. They weigh about 35 tons and were on the brink of extinction in 1973. In 1994, they received protection from an international law banning whale hunting, and today, they are no longer endangered.

We spent two days in Asunción before heading on another overnight sail to Bahía de Santa María. When we arrived, a local fisherman traded us two lobsters for a coke. We spent one night here before heading around the cape to Magdalena Bay.

Our fifth stop was Magdalena Bay, or simply Mag Bay, and we loved it. Sea lions and humpback whales greeted us and escorted us to our beautiful anchorage. Mangrove swamps and birds dotted the shoreline.

There is a new-ish restaurant/palapa that has four stylish rooms to rent, an astounding view, a full bar, and great food. Mag Bay was a peaceful spot for us to catch our breath and recuperate after long sails and lots of weather.

Four days later, we had our final overnight sail of the month to the tourist destination of Cabo San Lucas. I had never been there before and was looking forward to spending Christmas in Cabo. Spoiler alert: Cabo was great. It didn’t disappoint.

We sailed around the granite rock, The Arch of Cabo, before sunset and found our way to the far end of the bay to anchor. Cruise ships, pirate ships, and party boats lit up with Christmas lights passed in front of us. It was spectacular.

There is a lot of marine traffic in Cabo, but the only difficulty we had was the seemingly hundreds of jet skis whipping about. Fortunately, the water taxis stopped running at 5:00 p.m., and the jet skis didn’t run after dark, so it worked for us.

The next morning, we flagged down a panga to take us to shore so we could eat, drink, and be tourists. The round-trip Cost was $10.00, for both of us. From tourist places?—?(Squid Roe, Cabo Wabo, Sr. Frogs) to lesser-known dive bars (The Happy Ending, Slim’s, Sangria’s), we spent our day popping and checking them all out. Happy Ending was our favorite; 2 beers + 2 shots of tequila=$5 and a burger and fries for $8. Not bad for Cabo.

We also got a fish pedicure, where you are served margaritas and Chapulines?—?toasted grasshoppers while Garra Rufa Fish tickle and nibble your feet. Cost=$10 for 30 minutes!

After five days in Cabo, we were ready to make our 10-hour sail to Los Frailes. Los Frailes was beautiful, with a pristine beach of white sand, and anchoring was easy with great holding. There are only some high-end houses and one eco-resort here, making it quiet and peaceful. Each morning, we had early visitors: a whale and her calf. They would hang out for quite a while, spouting, blowing, and playing so near our boat that you could almost touch them. It wasn’t a bad way to start a day.

After three nights at Los Frailes, we sailed our 80-mile, 15-hour trek to Bahia de los Muertos for New Year’s. The idea of greeting the New Year here?—?at Bay of the Dead, appealed to every bohemian cell in my body. I loved the name and the esoteric energy of it. Death is not an ending but a transition, and where better to celebrate and close out a spectacular 2024 and transition to a new adventure in 2025?

After anchoring, we dinghied over to 1535, a restaurant/palapa on the beach. I met the owner there, who was getting a beer to go. His horse was waiting outside. There is also a resort here that caters to private groups and functions and is rarely open?—?but it was open on New Year’s Eve, and we had amazing meals and drinks there.

As we closed out our year, we were in awe at what 2024 had brought us. We moved onto our sailboat full-time and had been sailing for seven months, something neither of us had ever done before.

After two nights at a dock, five overnight sails, and twenty-four nights at anchor in the month of December, we toasted our champagne, and I thought about some of the best things I had learned. They were the simplest?—?and, at times, the hardest.

I remembered that Gratitude is everything?—?-and it is essential to practice it always.

I remembered how lovely it is to unplug, check out, and drown out the noise.

I promised myself that in 2025, I would continue to slow down, say no, take naps, and always eat dessert.

But my most important realization is that sailing is not always how it appears on Instagram or YouTube. More often than not, sailing is working on your boat in exotic locations.

Still, not a bad way to spend a life.

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this story, check out My First Sailing Experience Around Vancouver Island.

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