There’s a strange comfort in boatyard life—everyone’s a little tired, a little broke, and a little sunburned. But we’re all in it together, trading tips, tools, and beers. It’s the kind of shared misery that somehow turns into great memories later.

The climb involved scaling narrow rock cracks and trusting frayed ropes that looked like they’d been installed sometime during the Steinbeck expedition itself. We got stuck, got scratched, but made it to the top. And, more importantly, back down alive.

Fuel concerns returned. With only one jerry can left, the next refuel points were La Paz or Puerto Escondido. La Paz was logical, but we preferred to avoid it.

The original plan was simple: stop for the 2024 total solar eclipse in Mazatlán, then head deeper into the Sea of Cortez for the summer. But as cruising often goes, plans change. What was meant to be a quick pause turned into three weeks of exploring the city, soaking up the local culture, and even becoming official temporary residents of Mexico.

Of course, that short trip came with drama. What started as a calm sail quickly turned into a full-on retrieval mission when our dinghy wheels went overboard. Of course, the wind decided to ramp up to 25 knots just as we tried to fish them out. Yes, we had all the sails up. After 45 frantic minutes, we managed to retrieve the wheels—along with the realization that if either of us ever goes overboard, we’re probably not getting rescued.

We may have lingered in town a bit too long. By the time we got back in the dinghy, the wind had picked up and the bay had turned… sporty. One of us bailed water as waves poured over the sides, while the other tried to steer around the worst of it. We arrived back at the boat soaked and salty. Lesson learned.

We left our anchorage the morning after a lively carnival celebration—slightly hungover but eager to sail. A nine-hour, 30-mile trip south sounded like the perfect hangover cure.

“Apparently Cabo Corrientes can be a little sporty,” I said, reading from the cruising guide while we sat at anchor in Chacala. The bay was calm and still, with hardly a ripple—hard to imagine anything “sporty” about it. “Tomorrow looks like a good time to go.”