The Gift of Gunkholing: Cruising the Baja without the Ha Ha
For all those cruisers who are determined to catch fair winds and run the west coast of the Baja to Cabo San Lucas in three stops, Ensenada, Turtle Bay and Magdalena Bay; I ask you to consider the gifts of gunk holing. The benefits may outweigh the time you will save.
Aleydabeth, our 36’ Fraser sailboat, was not pressed for time and Lyle’s course decisions were influenced by my sailing inexperience, my reluctance to embark on long night passages and my continuous battle to overcome my sea sickness.
Lyle and Anthony (the skipper and crew) indulged me as I slowly gained my confidence and my sea legs. We made our way from anchorage to anchorage along the remote, rocky and barren Baja west coast.
Ensenada and Turtle Bay will remain etched in my memory as stops of necessity only; places we were required to visit to clear customs or take on fuel and provisions. I would not willingly return to either of them. Ensenada is as knotted up with bureaucracy as my attempts at tying a bowline and Turtle Bay is a small unkempt village where a group of “banditos” are determined to separate you from your pesos or American dollars. This is accomplished by providing unnecessary services like “watching your dinghy” or “acting as tour guides or escorts” in a town that contains one dirt road. All this, while criticizing my choice of purchasing fuel from the competitor, a more enterprising entrepreneur. I note that Elizabeth Angst aboard Wolfcat shared my sentiments in her Currents article of January 2009.
In sharp contrast to these jaded impressions are those that bring a smile to my lips as I pull them from my memory; Caletta Hassler, San Quintin, Islas San Benitos, San Juanico and Magdalena Bay. They are the pearls on the string that holds my fondest recollections. They are remote, haunting and beautiful places and the people are rare and remarkable.
I remember the ringing laughter and delight of the young outpost fishermen at a fish camp at Caletta Hassler, as we traded candy bars for lobster. They thought they got the best of the deal! I recall the faces of the fisherman and his son, who came alongside at Benitos Islands looking for “bolso” (Ziploc bags) to store their precious catch. I cringe at my biased assumption that we had something to offer him that was better than what he already had.
I have marveled at the creativity and determination of the vendors who brought fresh produce to fish camps, anchorages and RV parks and the restaurateurs who created a unique and pleasing setting by utilizing an abandoned container. In San Juanico we enjoyed “cervezas” and fine Mexican food served in a courtyard paradise created under a canopy beside an RV that served as a kitchen.
We’ve dragged, dumped, and paddled our dinghy to dozens of deserted beaches and hiked hillsides covered in aromatic bushes and cactus. We have picked the thorns from our sandals and plucked figs and lemons from trees in abandoned orchards. I learned how a hike in the hot sun is unforgiving in terms of fatigue and dehydration. We learned to watch our step and spot for trails and inland waterways that, like the gold at the end of a rainbow, offered hidden treasures.
I have seen pelicans soaring high above me in numbers too great to count and seals poking their curious heads out of lagoons and bays, studying us with wide gentle eyes. I have watched them swim alongside Anthony, unabashed, surely wondering what kind of a creature he was.
I have seen the whales of San Quintin blowing and arching their huge bodies out of the shallows and the herons, egrets and wading birds of the mangrove lagoon oasis at Magdalena Bay. We have wandered ankle deep in the sand of a dozen white beaches, where we gathered abalone, whale bones, shells and sand dollars. I truly knew what bounty was when we had bulging pockets of shells and had to throw them back into the waves.
We have spent days in the shade of the cockpit, watching pelicans dive into the water around us in their continual search for fish, or fly low overhead in the gliding formations that remind me of fighter pilot squadrons. Frigates soar above us with their clearly defined shapes and flying fish ride the waves. We have reveled in red and golden sunsets while nursing cocktails on the foredeck; and shared conversations across the bow with like minded cruisers in anchorages from Santa Cruz Island to Cabo San Lucas.
We have learned to relax, and have become reacquainted with reading and radios. We “cruise, booze, and snooze” (Anthony’s quote) as our bodies adjust to short hot days and long nights and we listen to the rhythms of nature and not the doctrines and disciplines of schedules. We have felt the sun gaining strength as we travel southward, and the ocean warming each time we swim in its clear depths. We taste the salt on our lips and see the light dusting it leaves on our bodies. We take fresh water showers on deck with water warmed by the Mexican afternoon.
We monitor the progress of other Canadian, and American boats that travel alongside us, or are slightly ahead or behind us. They have provided comfort on our beam on long night passages, and good company as we shared our impressions and tales in new anchorages or docks. We scan the horizon with binoculars for their masts and welcome the now familiar voices of Silas Crosby, K’sasa, Blue Rodeo and Hemisphere Dancer on the VHF.
I have seen cloudless star studded night skies and a rising crescent moon waxing from bottom to top like a dory resting on the seas. The Big Dipper, so prominent in the northern skies of home, has been surrounded by a thousand other stars that cast its familiar shape into obscurity. The deep black waters are filled with phosphorescents that mirror the sky above.
Tucked into my berth at night as we spin on our anchor, I hear the wind whistle in the rigging and the halyards clang. The motion of the rocking sea sends me off to sleep with memories of another day safely tucked away with me.
I reiterate the words of Robert Frost: Aleydabeth “took a road less travelled by.” We traded some of our wind for a windlass and were rewarded with a voyage full or wonder and discovery. It did make all the difference.
Aleydabeth and its BCA crew, Lyle Balmer, Lark Balmer and Anthony Steer are currently cruising in Mexico. You can visit Lark’s website at thefraser.weebly.com for updates on their travels.
For all those cruisers who are determined to catch fair winds and run the west coast of the Baja to Cabo San Lucas in three stops, Ensenada, Turtle Bay and Magdalena Bay; I ask you to consider the gifts of gunk holing. The benefits may outweigh the time you will save.
Aleydabeth, our 36’ Fraser sailboat, was not pressed for time and Lyle’s course decisions were influenced by my sailing inexperience, my reluctance to embark on long night passages and my continuous battle to overcome my sea sickness.
Lyle and Anthony (the skipper and crew) indulged me as I slowly gained my confidence and my sea legs. We made our way from anchorage to anchorage along the remote, rocky and barren Baja west coast.
Ensenada and Turtle Bay will remain etched in my memory as stops of necessity only; places we were required to visit to clear customs or take on fuel and provisions. I would not willingly return to either of them. Ensenada is as knotted up with bureaucracy as my attempts at tying a bowline and Turtle Bay is a small unkempt village where a group of “banditos” are determined to separate you from your pesos or American dollars. This is accomplished by providing unnecessary services like “watching your dinghy” or “acting as tour guides or escorts” in a town that contains one dirt road. All this, while criticizing my choice of purchasing fuel from the competitor, a more enterprising entrepreneur. I note that Elizabeth Angst aboard Wolfcat shared my sentiments in her Currents article of January 2009.
In sharp contrast to these jaded impressions are those that bring a smile to my lips as I pull them from my memory; Caletta Hassler, San Quintin, Islas San Benitos, San Juanico and Magdalena Bay. They are the pearls on the string that holds my fondest recollections. They are remote, haunting and beautiful places and the people are rare and remarkable.
I remember the ringing laughter and delight of the young outpost fishermen at a fish camp at Caletta Hassler, as we traded candy bars for lobster. They thought they got the best of the deal! I recall the faces of the fisherman and his son, who came alongside at Benitos Islands looking for “bolso” (Ziploc bags) to store their precious catch. I cringe at my biased assumption that we had something to offer him that was better than what he already had.
I have marveled at the creativity and determination of the vendors who brought fresh produce to fish camps, anchorages and RV parks and the restaurateurs who created a unique and pleasing setting by utilizing an abandoned container. In San Juanico we enjoyed “cervezas” and fine Mexican food served in a courtyard paradise created under a canopy beside an RV that served as a kitchen.
We’ve dragged, dumped, and paddled our dinghy to dozens of deserted beaches and hiked hillsides covered in aromatic bushes and cactus. We have picked the thorns from our sandals and plucked figs and lemons from trees in abandoned orchards. I learned how a hike in the hot sun is unforgiving in terms of fatigue and dehydration. We learned to watch our step and spot for trails and inland waterways that, like the gold at the end of a rainbow, offered hidden treasures.
I have seen pelicans soaring high above me in numbers too great to count and seals poking their curious heads out of lagoons and bays, studying us with wide gentle eyes. I have watched them swim alongside Anthony, unabashed, surely wondering what kind of a creature he was.
I have seen the whales of San Quintin blowing and arching their huge bodies out of the shallows and the herons, egrets and wading birds of the mangrove lagoon oasis at Magdalena Bay. We have wandered ankle deep in the sand of a dozen white beaches, where we gathered abalone, whale bones, shells and sand dollars. I truly knew what bounty was when we had bulging pockets of shells and had to throw them back into the waves.
We have spent days in the shade of the cockpit, watching pelicans dive into the water around us in their continual search for fish, or fly low overhead in the gliding formations that remind me of fighter pilot squadrons. Frigates soar above us with their clearly defined shapes and flying fish ride the waves. We have reveled in red and golden sunsets while nursing cocktails on the foredeck; and shared conversations across the bow with like minded cruisers in anchorages from Santa Cruz Island to Cabo San Lucas.
We have learned to relax, and have become reacquainted with reading and radios. We “cruise, booze, and snooze” (Anthony’s quote) as our bodies adjust to short hot days and long nights and we listen to the rhythms of nature and not the doctrines and disciplines of schedules. We have felt the sun gaining strength as we travel southward, and the ocean warming each time we swim in its clear depths. We taste the salt on our lips and see the light dusting it leaves on our bodies. We take fresh water showers on deck with water warmed by the Mexican afternoon.
We monitor the progress of other Canadian, and American boats that travel alongside us, or are slightly ahead or behind us. They have provided comfort on our beam on long night passages, and good company as we shared our impressions and tales in new anchorages or docks. We scan the horizon with binoculars for their masts and welcome the now familiar voices of Silas Crosby, K’sasa, Blue Rodeo and Hemisphere Dancer on the VHF.
I have seen cloudless star studded night skies and a rising crescent moon waxing from bottom to top like a dory resting on the seas. The Big Dipper, so prominent in the northern skies of home, has been surrounded by a thousand other stars that cast its familiar shape into obscurity. The deep black waters are filled with phosphorescents that mirror the sky above.
Tucked into my berth at night as we spin on our anchor, I hear the wind whistle in the rigging and the halyards clang. The motion of the rocking sea sends me off to sleep with memories of another day safely tucked away with me.
I reiterate the words of Robert Frost: Aleydabeth “took a road less travelled by.” We traded some of our wind for a windlass and were rewarded with a voyage full or wonder and discovery. It did make all the difference.
Aleydabeth and its BCA crew, Lyle Balmer, Lark Balmer and Anthony Steer are currently cruising in Mexico. You can visit Lark’s website at thefraser.weebly.com for updates on their travels.