Sailing from Puerto Peñasco to Mazatlán via Baja California

Date: October 21, 2024 – November 16, 2024

Miles Sailed: 731 nautical miles

Conditions: Very little wind… then a lot of wind and waves

Crew Status: Thriving....mostly

The work was done. We were done. There was nothing left to fix, sand, paint, or rewire. After four long, hot, dusty months in the boatyard in Puerto Peñasco, we were more than ready to be floating again. We’d been dreaming of warm swims, sandy beaches, and lazy evenings at anchor on the mainland.

But first, we had to get there.

The loose plan was Christmas in Tenacatita Bay with friends. With two months and roughly 900 miles to cover, we thought we had plenty of time. So naturally, we decided to meander our way down the Baja first.

As one does.

Ready to go.

Leaving Puerto Peñasco: The Start of a Big Move

The morning we untied the lines and motored slowly out of the harbour, the mission was simple: head in the Sea of Cortez. No firm destination. Just point the bow down and stop when it felt right.

We motored. We sailed. We passed anchorages we could have stopped in but didn’t. Three peaceful, uneventful days slipped by before we finally dropped the hook late in the afternoon at Punta Chivato, at the entrance to Bahía Concepción. Tired but relieved to be out of the northern Sea, we settled in, excited to explore the next day.

Morning came… and so did the itch to keep moving.

Even if it was only a few miles across the bay.

We sailed over to Punta Santo Domingo, where we’d spent a quiet week with friends the previous summer. This time, it was just the two of us. The anchorage was empty and quieter, and we relaxed in the stillness before lifting anchor again and continuing south.

Revisiting San Juanico

We kept telling ourselves we weren’t in a rush.

We absolutely were.

Friends were already gathering in Mazatlán, and while we claimed to be slow cruising, we were quietly stacking miles to catch them.

We rose with the sun, with coffees, and settled in for a long sail to San Juanico. We’d loved this anchorage on the way north and hoped to squeeze in some snorkeling before committing to the mainland crossing.

The wind showed up for us, steady, and the day slipped by faster than expected. Soon enough, we were dropping anchor in the shallow, turquoise bay.

Sunrise over San Juanico.

We were early in the cruising season and completely alone. The evenings were hushed and pink, the mornings glassy and quiet. We snorkeled the reefs, drifting over the sea life, grateful for the clarity of the water. It was too windy to dinghy across to the south side of the bay, so exploration was limited.

Eventually, the seas calmed, and practicality stepped in. We’d done a lot of motoring since leaving Peñasco, and with our relatively small fuel tanks, it was time to top up before crossing.

South we went.

Puerto Escondido: A Needed Pause

Our route brought us into Puerto Escondido. Not because we love it, but because it’s useful. Showers. Fuel. Laundry. The things we were in desperate need of.

We picked up a mooring and were surprised to see familiar boats already tied up. Within hours, we were catching up and scheming plans to sail to Isla Carmen together.

But first: chores. And a small norther to ride out.

The wind whipped through the anchorage our first day, sending us bouncing on the mooring ball. We kept a nervous eye on the lines. More than one boat has broken free there over the years. So we sat inside and waited. While we bounced. Cruising glamour at its finest.

Isla Carmen: Clear Water and Slow Days

With clean clothes and full tanks, we slipped out of the mooring field. We’d skipped provisioning in Loretto but heard about a small market in Ligüí where we could anchor and walk in.

So we did.

We dropped anchor off a tiny island in water so clear we watched the anchor settle perfectly into the sand. In settled weather, it would be fun to revisit. Mark stayed onboard for some quiet while the rest of us hiked into town for whatever vegetables we could find.

Groceries secured and wind filling in, we hoisted sails and made our way to Bahía Salinas on Isla Carmen. We anchored beside friends and slid easily into the rhythm of beach days, wandering the salt flats, and dinners that rotated from boat to boat.

Exploring the Salt Flats.

Leftovers from salt mining.

And then, as always, it was time to go.

Agua Verde: Waiting on a Window

We motored down to Agua Verde under a stubbornly empty sky. The lack of wind at least meant we could top up water tanks and fully charge batteries.

The anchorage was nearly empty which was consistent with our entire trip south. We anchored in the shallow northern bay and chatted with campers who paddled by on boards and in kayaks.

But a chill had crept into the air. The faint whispers of northern winds had started. If we were going to cross the Sea, we needed to do it soon.

We watched the forecasts carefully. One eye on Predictwind and one on enjoying the anchorage.

Beach hangs with local dogs.

In the meantime, we made the most of it: paddleboarding the shoreline, trying a little paddle surfing, eating fish tacos, and enjoying the last calm days. A few more boats arrived, and suddenly there were sundowners and socializing again.

Then a window appeared. Not a great one. But still.

The tail end of stronger winds, followed by light air. Two days to Mazatlán.

We started packing up the boat.

The Crossing: Agua Verde to Mazatlán

The forecast was… uninspiring. About 12 hours of leftover breeze in the 20s, then a long motor. But we were feeling done with Baja. The cold was becoming more frequent, and we wanted warmth.

We lifted anchor and headed out.

Honestly, the moment our bow cleared the protection of the bay, we should have reconsidered. The wind built quickly into the low 20s. The angle was perfect, and with shortened sail, we were flying.

The swell, however, had other plans.

Short, steep, choppy waves hit us square on the beam. Everything inside the cabin launched itself from one side to the other. And when it was already piled up on one side, it just kept slamming harder. By some miracle, only one plate shattered. Which was unfortunate, considering we were already down to two decent ones.

Plastic it is.

The dog and I retreated below and announced we’d return when conditions improved. Mark, meanwhile, was in his element. Trimming sails and loving every minute of the ride. There were only a couple of “oh shits” heard from above.

And to be fair, like clockwork, about ten hours later the wind eased. The seas flattened. The rest of the crossing was uneventful, even peaceful…

Calm sunrise was a welcome sight after the first day.

Landfall: Warm Air and Passage Beers

The moment we reached the mainland, the temperature shifted. It felt warmer. Like we’d crossed an invisible seasonal line.

After two days at sea, we dropped anchor, fully intending to sleep.

But our friends had other ideas.

Within minutes, we were aboard SV Yasume for passage beers at a questionably early hour, laughing about the crossing and making plans to explore town. Sleep could wait.

We were finally back in Mazatlán.

Looking back on those 731 miles, a few lessons stood out.

We said we were slow cruising. We weren’t. We were chasing weather, warmth, and friends. We learned we aren’t good at making a goal and meandering towards it.

We knew the crossing wouldn’t be perfect. We went anyway. It wasn’t reckless by any means, but it was uncomfortable. Patience is a virtue. One we didn’t really have.

Four months in the boatyard wasn’t glamorous, but when the wind and seas hit, we trusted the boat. And thankfully nothing broke!

And just like that, Baja was behind us.

Mainland Mexico, and the winter, was ahead.