Haul-Out Season in Puerto Peñasco: Our Summer in the Boatyard

Date: June 24, 2024 – October 21, 2024

Miles Sailed: 108 nm

Conditions: Speedy, then hot hot hot

Crew Status: All of them

Final Sail of the Season

The time had come for the final sail of the season. We lifted the anchor and headed out into the morning breeze. It filled in nicely, and we took off at a speed that had us reducing sail a couple of times. We watched as the outline of the island faded into the distance. Before long, we could no longer see land.

As the sun set, we settled into our evening shifts and watched a lightning storm pass far to the south. With the speeds we were getting, we reduced sails down to only the mainsail so we’d arrive during daylight and hopefully with the high tide.

At dawn, a group of sea lions followed close behind as we closed in on Puerto Peñasco. We slowly sailed toward the harbour entrance, dodging small fishing boats and jet skis. The entrance was narrow and shallow, but the high tide gave us just enough depth to slip through without issue.

We squeezed into the marina slip—unsure of how we’d ever get back out again—with boats crammed in all around us. Once tied up, we got to work prepping the boat for our haul-out. I’ll spare myself (and you) the details of unloading the boat and hauling everything into our temporary apartment for the summer. Let’s just say, it’s not the glamorous side of cruising.

A last sunset before we set sail for haul out.

Settling into the Boatyard

Within a couple of days, the boat was on stands in the dusty, hot boatyard, ready for our summer refit. We had a long list of jobs to tackle, but the big one looming over us was sanding decades of bottom paint off the hull and fixing any blisters we found. The next major project was building a solar arch strong enough to hold 1,100 watts of panels.

On top of that, we had a never-ending list of smaller tasks—and an entire hurricane season to wait out.

We quickly settled into life in what I started referring to as the armpit of Mexico. The routine happened fast. Each morning, we’d walk the 20 minutes to the boatyard, taking a special route to say hi (and feed treats) to a pair of guard dogs we’d named Black Beans and Brown Beans.

Then Mark would dive into the technical projects like wiring, designing the new solar arch, while I spent hours sanding the bottom, a job that took weeks of dusty, sweaty work. By mid-morning, the heat settled in, and everything we touched felt like it had been sitting in an oven.

By mid-afternoon, we were hunting shade and cold drinks.

If you look closely, you can see the joy.

The Heat, the Hustle, and the Humour

The summer got hotter, and the work got harder. We (by “we,” I mean a welder) built a custom solar arch, cut out the old prop shaft to have a new one machined, and smuggled (legally-ish) a ton of parts across the border to keep things moving.

Thankfully, we weren’t alone. The best part of life in the yard was the community. Friends made the heat bearable and the projects more tolerable. We spent mornings at “Café Roz,” sharing coffee and complaints, and evenings in the icy air conditioning of the local bar with other cruisers. Many nights ended with bad karaoke and belly laughs.

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.

Boatyard life.

Life in Peñasco

When we weren’t at the boatyard, we were hunkered down in our little apartment. It was a long walk and the internet barely worked—but the air conditioning was strong, and that’s what mattered most. The apartment was close to the veggie markets, butcher shops, and some of the best roasted chicken we’ve ever had.

Even though we were there for work, we still carved out time for small joys: visiting the beaches to test out our new palapa, having picnics, and celebrating a birthday or two. We learned quickly that life ashore has its own rhythm, and it’s a lot quieter than life on the water—but not necessarily easier.

We took the time to test out our new sunshade.

The Long Wait

As time wore on, the project list started shrinking, but one major job lingered—bottom paint. The weather had other plans. The mornings were too humid, and by the time the dew dried, it was too hot to paint. So we waited. And waited. And waited some more.

By October, the temperatures finally dropped enough to get the job done. We painted the hull, wrapped up the last of the projects, and took a deep breath. We’d made it through summer in the boatyard—sweaty, exhausted, but proud.

That’s the thing about cruising life: it’s not just sunsets and anchorages. It’s sanding, sweating, and waiting for the paint to dry—literally. But somehow, those tough stretches make the good parts even better.

Fresh bottom. Fresh decals.

Launch Day

Launch day came with all the usual chaos. The yard dropped us—literally sideways—into the water, and we floated off with only minimal damage to the hull. With that, we were officially back in the water and ready to head south for Season Two.

There’s nothing quite like that feeling: the splash, the sudden silence after months of grinding noise, and the realization that you’re finally floating again.

Looking back, that summer in Puerto Peñasco taught us more about patience and perseverance than any passage could. Boat work is rarely glamorous, but it’s part of what keeps the dream alive. Every blister repaired, every wire replaced, every karaoke night survived—it all adds up to a stronger boat and a better crew.

Cruising isn’t just about movement. Sometimes, it’s about standing still long enough to fix what’s broken, recharge, and get ready for the next horizon.

Fitting one of the solar panels.