We are happily anchored at Ensenada Grande, the first stop on our 6-week trip up to San Carlos from La Paz. As I lounge below on my sea berth, a tall mast looms visible through the companionway. Yikes! I know the boat is close if I can see him through that narrow slot. I launch up on deck, but Brian is already intently watching. This boat drops anchor right between us and another boat. Ugh. He’s pretty darn close, but not disturbingly so. We watch and wait.

10 minutes later, we overhear a VHF radio call in heavily-Spanish-accented English.
“Boat with the French flag… this is Valencia… you have anchored too close.” (Boat names changed to protect the innocent.)
Crickets…

Again. “Boat with the French flag… this is Valencia… you have anchored too close.”
Silence.

Again, with a bit more emphasis.
Silence.

The oblivious yacht is a 40ft Beneteau sailboat, so we’ll call him Mr. Beneteau. We cannot see his boat name and apparently neither can Valencia. It’s on his stern, probably in foolish flowery font – why owners don’t make their boat names clearly visible is beyond me.

The Audacious Mr. Beneteau
The French boat had anchored too close for Valencia’s comfort. Except Mr. Beneteau’s VHF radio was off so Valencia could not relay his analysis on the matter. While one Valencia crewmember kept trying to hail them over the radio, the other crewmember stood on the bow, waving arms, shouting in vain through the wailing 20kt wind. You’d be surprised how little sound carries in 20 knots of wind. If you prefer not to shout, or it’s too windy to do so, a good way to get someone’s attention is just stand on the bow, arms akimbo and glower at the offending boat. Pointing helps. Eventually they will notice. And they did.

So finally I hear heavily-French-accented English, coming from a very weak radio signal, hailing Valencia. But now Valencia is not hearing them. Wow. This just gets better and better. Grammy-winning evening entertainment!

Eavesdropping
After several unanswered return calls from Mr. Beneteau, Valencia responds and they switch from a hailing channel to a talking channel. Of course we switch too, duh. #1, we want to listen in on this highly entertaining shit show, and #2, we have a stake in this conversation. It might be our shit show when the wind switches. Don’t judge. Everybody does it.

Valencia (flustered woman):“You have anchored too close to our boat.”

Mr. Beneteau (a meek, high-pitched, squeaky woman): “Oh, no, no…it’s OK.”

Valencia (now obviously irritated): “You are right on top of our anchor.”

Mr. Beneteau: Crickets…

“It’s OK” means “I don’t care”
Brian and I look at each other, jaws dropped. OMG. Did she just say “It’s OK”? Seriously, that’s not the right answer. But it’s always the answer. Our first year in La Paz, I described our dealings with another cruiser saying that exact same thing to us in this exact same anchorage about the exact same issue. We both start laughing at the irony.

Did they move? Nope.
We waited and watched, doing a mild bit of staring-down of our own. See, we’d prefer they move too. But they remain consciously obtuse - irreverent towards the safety-comfort-level of their neighbors. While pretty close, we feel Mr. Beneteau is a tolerable distance, so we opt to stay put. But Valencia, the boat so offended as to call Mr. Beneteau out on his proximity, does not move either. Either they decided they weren’t in dire straits, or they were just too lazy to get up and move.

Anchoring Etiquette: Don’t be a Dingo
In general, anchoring etiquette is simple: if you as the anchored boat think the incoming boat parked too close (and announces so), it is on the incoming guy to move; but if they refuse, and you remain, and an accident ensues… who do you think your insurance company will hold responsible for your boat damages? If you are uncomfortable with the situation enough to voice your opinion… and the other boat is a dingo and refuses… a healthy fear for the safety of your boat should prompt your departure, regardless of ego or convenience.

Fast forward several days later and we are anchored in San Evaristo, pondering this identical predicament…

San Evaristo Cluster-Fun.
A very large, very old, very ugly powerboat/barge contraption chugged its way into the snug harbor. I picture a 70ft, two-tiered version of the grimy, barnacle-encrusted “African Queen” (from the Katherine Hepburn movie of same name). It really didn’t look like that at all, but the offensive boat became personified as such in my mind as soon as he plopped his anchor down… right on top of us.

Now, when I say right on top, I mean it. This is not Valencia vs. Mr. Beneteau spacing, both with decent enough distance to remain in place all night. This was downright painful, body-hugging, spandex tight.

Radar Blob Monster
Intimidated by his size and proximity, I actually turned on the radar to confirm our suspicions about their distance. Our buddy-boat, Lorelei, was about 200ft to our left – a close but respectable distance for a friend-boat who you are comfortable yelling at if all hell breaks loose. But The African Queen’s massive radar blob was glowing like the sun, merely 100ft away. Damn…my eyes! Are you kidding? We have nearly that length of anchor chain out! This guy WILL whack us when we inevitably swing around to the west at night.

Now highly agitated, we glowered. We scowled. We gave our best disgusted glare. We waited for him to realize the error of his ways; sometimes they do and re-anchor. But African Queen appeared perfectly content attached to our hip.

So we opted to move, sans confrontation. We could already predict the answer anyway: “No really, It’s OK!” The African Queen was so big, and so NOT-maintained we did not relish them picking up and re-anchoring anywhere nearby. Would you want to park your still-in-good-shape 1990’s BMW next to a rusted-out, 1960’s Suburban tank? No. The screaming baby-on-board was the deal breaker. We’re out! We picked up anchor (ending up nose-to-nose within 20ft of their bow) and waved as we drove out the bay. Thanks, Dingo.

North Shore Sanctuary
Moving around to the north shore of San Evaristo, we safely ensconced ourselves in the wide bay, devoid of dingos. Only one other boat was parked…waaaay over there. Sigh. Peace.

Just as it was getting dark, our buddy boat, Lorelei, motors around the corner. What are you guys doing here? Well, they had their own anchoring saga to relay. Apparently, San Evaristo was THE place NOT to be tonight. Too bad we’d turned our radio off and missed THIS evening radio show…

Beware the Charter Catamarans
After we left, 4 charter catamarans traveling together like a pack of wild dingos tried to squeeze their wide-load rear ends in the already limited front row space. Two attempted to side-tie (tie together side-by-side with only fenders between and one boat’s anchor down) in between the now 300 feet between Lorelei and African Queen. Two 15ft boats swinging on one anchor in such close proximity to the others could have been catastrophic. Especially since oblivious charter cats habitually put down like 30 feet of scope, kind of like anchoring 20 tons with a fish hook.

Herding Cats
These catamarans were first warned by two boats that this was not a good idea, there’s not enough swing room for their double mass. In return, what did their dingo leader say? Everybody now… “No, no, It’s OK!” To which both cruisers shouted “NO, it’s NOT OK!” Herding cats is impossible.

Finally, after several other anchored boats expressed their extreme vocal displeasure, the cats reluctantly gave up the side-tying but continued their squeeze. With the obnoxious group boxing them in on both sides and still a bit too close for comfort, Lorelei grudgingly gave up and relocated to our neck of the woods. Sometimes you just can’t win these battles. I am regretful that our friend had to move out of these dingos’ way…but African Queen had it coming!

A Final Dressing-Down
Coincidently, as I began to edit this blog, I heard a one-sided radio conversation on this very topic. I recognize this particular woman’s teacher-like voice from the local radio net. Anchored in Isla Coronado, she incredulously and vehemently pronounces the following to someone whose response I can’t hear:

“Well I have no idea why in this big bay you picked that spot? We have a very heavy boat, we don’t swing the same way and we will be pointed west tonight so you will be right on top of our anchor once the wind switches.”

Ouch. I’m pretty sure that dingo moved.

Wing-on-winging-it
This trip, with its consistent 10-15 knots of wind, has been our chance to improve our downwind sailing skills. Rarely do we get the precise wind angle for our direction to go wing-on-wing, but we’ve done it four days on this trip and for several hours each time. A brief definition of wing-on-wing (W.O.W.) is: flying the mainsail on one side of the boat and the jib on the other with the wind directly behind us, essentially pushing us forward.  

Yesterday, we flew downstream from San Marte to Timbabiche wing-on wing, but I refused to let Brian put up the pole to keep the jib furled out. It was already far too windy and wavy for Brian to be crawling around on a convulsing, pitching deck unnecessarily. Without the pole though, it was very difficult to keep Indigo in check and stay at the necessary precise angle to the wind. Any little distraction in steering can result in a flapping and flailing jib. Let’s just say it was no leisurely Sunday drive.

WOW Event
So today, we hauled the pole up early, before it got too windy and the seas too gnarly. All the stars aligned for a superior WOW event: wave direction, wind direction and our direction to the next anchorage. It was a glorious thing.

For hours we enjoyed near perfect downwind conditions into the head of the San Jose Channel. As the wind had died the previous night, we started out with minimal waves and 5 knots of wind. And as the morning progressed, the wind slowly built to 15-17 knots but the slow uptick kept wave heights to middling. So the ride was just beautiful, like coasting a sled downhill. Unlike the previous day when Indigo was getting bullied about by the large waves (and me getting bandied about trying to steer her)… today she was expertly schussing down those seas like they weren’t even there.

The Pole is The Key when WOWing
Without the pole, the jib is constantly on the verge of collapsing because it wants to flip to the other side to align with the mainsail (my wandering steering doesn’t help). With the pole, the jib is held out in position whether it wants to be or not. Even though it requires some setup time, pole deployment balances the boat and thwarts the jib’s flip-flop tendency. This accomplished, I could darn near sail without paying attention. My true wind angle could vary anywhere from 180-140 degrees, as opposed to having to vigorously maintain 170 dead on without the pole. I could even venture over 10 degrees into the other side for a bit without gybing (don’t ask how I know this). Ah, but this is gibberish to you non-sailors. Basically, I could wander off unintentionally (my specialty) without dire consequences. What dire consequences? An accidental gybe.

What is a Gybe?
In sailing, there are essentially two types of turns, a tack and a gybe. You tack when your boat is driving into the wind; you perform a gybe when your boat is facing away from the wind. Tacking is way easier than gybing. Gybing can incur anxiety in even the most seasoned sailors - if not done right, disaster can ensue. There are three types of gybes: a ‘controlled gybe’, an ‘uncontrolled gybe’ and what I call a ‘semi-controlled gybe’.

Controlled Gybe
A purposeful turn, the sailor conscientiously controls the boom angle all the way through the turn. So there we are… picture the boom (that big, swinging stick perpendicular to the mast) hanging out over the water with its sail full. As the driver (me) carefully turns the boat towards the opposite wind angle, the mate (Brian) hauls the boom in (reeling it in with rope) until it hits almost amidships (aligning with the length of the boat). At this brief moment in time the wind angle is at exactly 180 degrees on our stern. If it’s calm, the mainsail flutters and the boom does a little waggle, deciding which way it wants to sail, and we can actually manhandle it over to the other side to reduce any load. But, if it’s windy out, forget it. We’d better be quick. As the boom crosses that 180 degree angle, the sail shakes loudly and the boom slams (hopefully just a little) to the opposite side as the wind suddenly poofs the sail. As the boat heels over, I quickly turn her even further and Brian lets the line out so the boom extends over the opposite side. That’s what happens when you do it right. It doesn’t always go so well.

Uncontrolled Gybe
An uncontrolled gybe occurs when the boom slams unchecked to the opposite side of the boat. This can result from a sudden switch in wind direction or a pushy wave. But most likely, someone (me) accidentally turned too far downwind and backwinded the sail before we are ready for a controlled gybe. Imagine that big, heavy boom swinging unrestrained from one side of the boat to the other, a pendulum swing of potentially 90 degrees or more (15 feet rather than 1 or 2 inches).

It can happen in the blink of an eye, but it feels like a slow-mo movie scene where the actor is just watching, wide-eyed and powerless to help. Noooooo! Before you know it, the boom has soundlessly whipped over your head and crashed to the other side with an earsplitting, lightning-bolt “SNAP”. A deep shudder reverberates up the attached mast, throughout the ship and deep into your gut (you are, after all, one with the boat). A palpable sensation, it’s enough to cause some pronounced bowel-shifting. Depending on your speed and how far and fast the pendulum has swung, enough momentum is in play here to break that boom-to-mast joint or snap the boom in half. High wind and wave conditions make that force even greater. If your body or head is in the way… good luck. We have never experienced a really bad gybe, but we have bungled a few over the years in light winds… and while we haven’t damaged anything, we still abhor gybing simply because we can’t help but anticipate potential catastrophe!

Semi-Controlled Gybe
This is pretty much the combo meal deal where I asked for 10 chicken nuggets but I only got 7 and complaining to the manager is pointless because, well, YOU are the manager. In turning across that 180-degree space, the driver turns too quickly and the mate can’t tighten up the boom all the way in time before it schwacks across at a 10-20 degree arc. Or…turn too slowly and a following wave can broadside the boat as the mate is in the process of bringing in the line, causing the boat to roll and gybe. Still a mighty crunch, but not AS BAD as it could have been had the mate not gotten that boom part-way tightened. Seven out of ten nuggets isn’t what I set out for, but at least I got some. Effectively a controlled gybe part of the way, uncontrolled the rest. Brian would still call this an uncontrolled gybe, partially tightened or not, but I prefer to note the difference. A 20-degree pendulum swing is a thousand times better than a 90-degree free swing. But either way… No Bueno. So what can you do?

The Preventer
Sounds like a super hero, eh? “THE PREVENTER – preventing accidental gybes worldwide. Wherever there be sloppy sailors, careless cruisers or ridiculous racers, THE PREVENTER precludes improper pointing.” While most boat parts are awarded some incongruous label, a preventer does exactly what it says. It prevents an uncontrolled gybe, reigning in that boom from flying about, willy nilly. A preventer is simply a line attached from the end or the middle of the boom to the deck, usually encompassing a ratcheting device which can be tightened as needed.

While we employ a preventer to stop full-on uncontrolled gybes, an inadvertent gybe will still cause the mainsail to become backwinded. Wind suddenly filling the sail from the opposing direction can cause excessive load. Depending on a lot of factors, your boom will prooobably stay in place; but this sudden load has caused preventer lines to snap (bad) thus resulting in an uncontrolled gybe anyway. Also, in heavy seas the rolling motion of a wave can cause a quick loosening in the preventer line and then a sickening ‘snap’ as the preventer whips the boom back into place. Despite its shortcomings, we usually sail with a preventer when sailing downwind and always when sailing wing-on wing.

Ok, enough sailing terminology …back to our lovely WOW Event…

The San Jose Channel
The San Jose Channel is notorious for its squirrely nature. It can be as fickle as a 2-yr-old… serene one minute, wailing the next. This 3 to 5 mile-wide slice of water runs between the Sierra Gigantas mountain range on the Baja peninsula and the 16-mile-long mountainous island of San Jose. Swooping tidal current can accelerate already high winds and seas. Previous experience with the Channel has ranged from benign flat water to mildly energetic. But we’d witnessed its howling rage from safe anchorage and were thankful we weren’t out there. Today, we miscalculated.

Let’s Keep Going!…Bad Idea
We had left at dawn, so about noon we’d gone almost 25 miles and were nearing San Evaristo, our original destination. But we’re feeling good, it’s early and Isla San Francisco is only another 12 miles away, we argued. Sailing a brisk 5-6 knots, Indigo rode at a perfect, comfortable angle to the slowly increasing waves… which we noticed… but ignored since our ship was effortlessly balanced. A little lulled into the lure of our perfect WOW sail continuing “as is”, we kept going. Those darn sea sirens must have been singing. Between that irreversible decision (@ noon) and our landing at Isla San Francisco (@ 2:30), the wind gods became angry….probably hangry, they didn’t have lunch yet I assume. Maybe next time I should throw some Cheez Whiz into the sea to calm them down.

Max Hull Speed
Passing San Evaristo, the wind quickly ticked upward from a manageable 15-17 knots… to 22 knots. Indigo was hauling butt at 7-7.5 knots, which by the way is hull speed, the theoretical maximum speed at which our particular boat is designed to go! Whitecaps snarled and hissed intermittently at our rear but there was no turning back. It would have actually been supercalifragilistically uncomfortable to do so, to bash into that mess. It was so windy, sailing wing-on-wing was no longer an option – too risky as the boat became unbalanced. Brian furled in the jib and went up on the lurching bow to take down the pole, no easy task in these now 5ft/4second seas. Sans jib, we were still racing down the channel at 6 knots under full mainsail alone.

27 Knots!
We try very hard not to sail in 27 knots; we just don’t go out when it’s forecasted over 20. But sometimes it sneaks up on you...like right now. I should have just turned off the wind indicator when I consistently started seeing 25-27 knots! Waves now broke behind us in a continuous hissy-fit, threatening to eat us for lunch. I gritted my teeth and opted not to look backward. Hand-steering down those short waves I felt like an Indy car driver – to focus so fully on not crashing is exhausting! Every 4 seconds our rear end lifted, our bow pointed at a daunting downward angle and Indigo was thrust forward like a plaything until it fell into the next trough. The boat handled it fine but at some point we were going to have to make a left turn into the anchorage and go beam-on to these frothing whitecaps. The stern waves were our friend now, helping to push us towards our goal, but as soon as we turned even a little they’d become the enemy.

Sailing Under Reefed Main Only
At 2pm, Brian put a reef in the mainsail and we continued to fly towards the island in 27 knots of wind but at a more controllable pace of 5 knots. We managed to (purposefully) get as close as physically possible to the island, skimming its west side a mere several hundred feet off shore. We are thankful for our accurate chartplotter and The Sea of Cortez Cruiser’s Guide; we had skimmed the island once before in calm waters and were thus confidant as to depths and rock obstructions so close to its edge. Once we made the pronounced left turn into the anchorage, this proximity reduced our time sailing beam-on to the breaking waves to mere minutes. Our skim-the-shore-wave-avoidance plan worked. Whew! We were in. That 8-hr WOW Event turned into quite a bit more WOW than expected, but we made it!

Lounge Lizards
We set the hook and promptly lazed like lounge lizards in the cockpit, resting our travel weary bones. We didn’t move from that heavenly spot for 3 days. I LOVE Isla San Francisco!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Uncouth Charterboaters
OK, you yacht charterer guys. Just so you know… when you pee off the boat in the middle of the day, count on EVERYBODY seeing it.

So a charter catamaran anchors next to us with a couple families on board. We saw two different adult males pee off the boat no less than four times. During the day. In broad daylight. From the swim step. AND off the bow into the wind – Hey genius, never pee into the wind!  I seem to recall some song lyrics about that. It’s not like we were intently watching them. We’d just happen to be looking out from the cockpit to see what the commotion is about or up on deck showering after a snorkel… and whammo, our eyes are inundated with the uncouth sight. Acckkk! Seriously? And if you think we were the ONLY ones who saw your tactless little display? Think again. In kayaking over to our trawler boat neighbor, the subject happened to come up. “Yeah! We SAW that too! What an idiot, peeing off the bow into the wind. And like no one could see him…” So, if you think no one is watching? Think again. And guess what language said charterers were speaking? French. Yah.

Two years?! Yup, I know right? It’s hard to believe! In May of 2014, Brian retired after 20 years in the Marine Corps and I quit my job of 17 years. We sold or donated most of our possessions and entered the Baja Ha Ha cruisers rally that October, sailing to Mexico on our 34ft sailboat, Indigo. Before leaving on this stupendous sojourn, the skeptics were in abundance.

“Wow, you sure you want to live on a boat full time?” (No, but we’re going to risk the attempt in order to escape the rat race for a while and see some of the world.)

“What about pirates?” (Haven’t seen or heard any stories of such on the West coast of Mexico.)

“I could never live with my husband in such tight quarters every second of every day.” (I do, and it’s no problem…I have my side of the boat and he has his.)

“How are you going to get food?” “Are you going to have to fish every day?” (We eat better in Mexico then we do in the States. It’s cheaper. Fishing not required.)

“No way, I’ll give you 6 months, tops. You’ll sell the boat and come back.” (…they’re still waiting.)

“You CAN’T do that!” (We CAN and DID.)

So… what’s the verdict?
Two years are gone, but we have no regrats. Not a single letter. Yes, we still enjoy living on a boat. No, we haven’t strangled each other, yet. Yes, we still want to continue the journey... we just don’t know where to, or when, or for how long... you can’t make these decisions lightly.

Stats
I have been asked (hounded, actually… sheesh… alright already) for an overview of our time here in the Sea of Cortez. So here are the stats after two seasons of cruising in Mexico:

Miles traveled:  (2yr totals)
2496 miles

Hours at sea:
575 hours on the water = 225 sailing hours + 350 engine hours since we left San Diego
​
Nights / passages at sea: 14 total nights (a night meaning dusk 'til dawn) / 9 total passages
3 nights straight, San Diego to Turtle Bay (Longest…and uber-tiring)
2 nights, Turtle Bay to Bahia Santa Maria (Worst. Big waves = mental breakdown. I don’t know if I can do this!)
1 overnight, Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas (Getting warmer. OK, we can do this. Truly felt like we accomplished something!)
1, Cabo San Lucas to Bahia de los Muertos (First tropical anchorage… “Ah, now THIS is cruising!”)
1, Playa Santispac to San Carlos (Brian’s best - sailed all the way, dolphin escort, no motoring!)
1, San Carlos to Playa Santispac (Marya’s cranky crossing, moonless night, no fun steering)
2, La Paz to Mazatlan (Our crossing w/Starfire was great! Finally learned how to sleep while sailing.)
2, Mazatlan to Playa Bonanza (Marya’s best - perfectly calm, skating-rink water, 24hrs straight motoring! Can you tell the difference now between my perfect crossing and Brian’s? Basically: motor vs. no motor.)
1, Punta Mangles to San Carlos (Now we are old hats…no biggie.)

Islands Visited: 6, Coronados, Danzante, Carmen, San Francisco, San Jose, Ispiritu Santos

Anchorages Visited: 44, many of these more than once

Favorite Anchorages:
Marya’s favorite anchorages – Isla San Francisco, Puerto Los Gatos

Brian’s favorite anchorages – Bahia de los Muertos, Caleta Mezteño

Best sunsets – Caleta Lobos

Best snorkeling  – Marya - Bahia Cobre, Brian - Los Gatos

Best week of seclusion – Caleta Mezteño, 2nd  Ensenada Grande

Clearest water – Honeymoon Cove on Isla Danzante

Best beach hotel – Bahia Candeleros

Best kayaking – Can’t decide: San Juanico, Agua Verde, Candeleros, Ensenada Grande, Honeymoon, Los Gatos – all good

Best tide pool strolling – Agua Verde

Coolest rock formations – Puerto Los Gatos

Best wildlife sightings – Isla Coronados (jumping mobula rays all evening), San Marte (more jumping rays and fish) and Bahia Cobre (fish galore and a bighorn sheep)

Most picturesque anchorage – Isla San Francisco (west)

Best cliff hike – Agua Verde; 2nd – Isla San Francisco

Best canyon hike – Steinbeck’s canyon in Puerto Escondido; 2nd – Ensenada Grande

Best rocky beach – Isla San Francisco (east)

Best sand beach – Playa Bonanza

Best shell beach – Punta Chivato

More Bests and Worsts, Firsts and Tidbits:
Most difficulty anchoring – Punta Mangles (due to strong winds)

Trickiest anchorage – San Juanico (multiple shallow reefs, plus someone inevitably has taken the good spot!)

Easiest anchorages – Coronados (south)

Anchorages we’ve entered in the dark – Timbabiche (first), Bonanza

Anchorages we’ve left in the dark – Timbabiche, Caleta Lobos, Ensenada Gallina

Anchorage in which we’ve re-anchored in the dark (not recommended) – San Juanico

Best anchorage for norther’ protection – Playa Santispac

Anchorages we’ve had all to ourselves – Lobos, Mezteno, Ensenada Grande (believe it), La Raza, Gallina, Amortajada (south)(where the biting no-see-um’s hung out, no wonder it was empty), Colorada, Perico, Coronados (south), Honeymoon (south), Mangles, Pulpito, Santispac, Santa Barbara, El Burro

Shared with only one other boat – Timbabiche, Punta Salinas, Cobre, Bonanza, San Francisco (east)
This endearing characteristic of the Baja Peninsula (lack of people) is why we enjoy it so much.

Best night’s sleep anchorage – Puerto Escondido
​
Worst night’s sleep – San Juanico (south swell caused us to re-anchor); Partida (idiot power boat dragging anchor)

Worst anchorage of all time (experts agree) – Bahia Amortajada (biting jejene’s)

First tropical anchorage (wow, we can see the anchor!) – Bahia de Los Muertos

Rolliest anchorage  – Los Frailies (so bad we didn’t even set the anchor, kept on going overnight), 2nd – San Juanico (see worst night’s sleep)

Windiest anchorage – San Evaristo (unexpected night blast), Playa Santispac (30kts but we knew it was coming and it wasn’t bad)

Worst beach – Ensenada de la Raza (I wouldn’t call this a “beach”, more like a mud pit)

Anchorage most happiest to arrive at (after sailing 2 nights in uncomfortable seas) – Santa Maria

Worst anchor neighbors encountered – Ensenada Grande & Partida (the two most populous spots)

Unsurpassed fish taco shack – Lupe and Maggie Mae’s in San Evaristo

Best bay if you like bees – Ballandra on Isla Carmen

Cool ghost towns – Bahia Salinas, Punta Salinas


Marinas:
Best Marina Ever – Camp Pendleton Marina

Best Mexico marina overall – Marina Costa Baja in La Paz ties with El Cid in Mazatlan, Palmira a close 2nd

Best pool – Marina Costa Baja

Best internet – Marina El Cid

Worst internet – San Carlos (1st yr, they’ve since stepped up to 2nd best!); Marina Mazatlan (2nd yr)

Best and ONLY Cable TV – El Cid

Best swimming beach – Costa Baja

Best (and hottest) place to do boat projects (like a refrigerator) – Marina San Carlos

Best marina for: canvas work – El Cid; varnish – Marina Mazatlan; engine repair – Palmira

First Mexico marina – Cabo San Lucas

Most expensive – Cabo San Lucas

Loudest – Cabo San Lucas

Cheapest – Puerto Escondido Moorings at $10/day; 2nd Cheapest – Marina San Carlos

Most cruiser-friendly – Marina Palmira

Best wildlife viewing – Puerto Escondido

Most remote – Puerto Escondido

Most resortish – El Cid

Nicest marina admin. – (aside from Camp Pendleton) Marina Palmira ties with Marina Mazatlan

Most surge – El Cid

Least surge/best weather protection – Costa Baja

Cleanest bathrooms – El Cid (hands down)

Best shower facilities – Costa Baja open-air showers at the resort pool ties w/ El Cid, but Palmira now comes in close 2nd with their brand new facilities

Worst bathrooms – Marya - Marina Mazatlan; Brian - San Carlos (the men’s bathroom is just BAD)

Marina restaurant with the most consistently good food & still cheapish – Hammerhead’s at Marina San Carlos

Favorite restaurant (but expensive) – Marina Azul at Marina Costa Baja, La Paz

What's on the agenda this season?
We will be spending the entire winter in La Paz this year (with our friends who are coming down on the Ha Ha) in order to explore the area further. There’s just not enough time to see everything in each anchorage even after two winters. Los Gatos, San Marte and San Francisco are must return-to’s to name a few; we missed several coves on Ispiritu Santos such as Gabriel, Candeleros and El Cardonal; I still haven't visited the baby seals of Los Islotos nor the whales in the Bay of LA.  After that, maybe we’ll have seen enough and want to move on down further south. Who knows? Since the majority of world cruisers we meet declare the Sea of Cortez as the best cruising grounds around, we are not in a rush to go anywhere else just yet... 

Isla San Francisco in the Sea of Cortez is a cruiser’s desert paradise. This perfect crescent-shaped anchorage, with a white and pink sand dune beach, glittering turquoise waters over a shallow sandy floor and exquisite rock-cliff faces in a myriad of subdued reds, creams, greens and pinks jutting upwards from the sea… well, it’s about as picturesque as one can get. Given the fact that this island is the cover shot of our illustrious guidebook, it’s one of the most popular anchorages here for sailors, power-boaters and charter-boaters alike.

In the morning, we bolted from our horrifically buggy anchorage at Bahia Amortajada and headed to the north end of San Francisco (paradise is a mere 2 miles away from hell) where we did a mid-morning stop, walked the shell beach and watched several duck families cross the channel. We then rounded to the west end hoping to secure a spot in one of the most sought after anchorages in the Sea of Cortez. Getting into this small, secluded bay when there is no southwesterly coromuels, and when it isn’t tooo crowded, all depends on luck. We had to anchor around its stone-strewn eastern backside last year during the coromuels. This year we got lucky on both counts; not much wind and not too packed! Juuust right.

After lunch, I goaded Brian into hiking up to the top of the south cliff for our day’s shore excursion. This view was worth an entire year of cruising. Yes, it was THAT good. The pictures speak for themselves. I could spend two weeks just hanging here, hiking and rock-hunting and kayaking and snorkeling…it just doesn’t get any better than this. Too bad we need to keep moving north. But you can count on it… we’ll be back.