June, 2011 - Two days before we left the Loreto area, at the very

end of May, we enjoyed a perfect evening in Isla Coronado,

drinking sundowners with a group of cruisers in a friend's cockpit on

flat calm water.  The air was still as the sun slipped from the sky.

We chatted about the north winds due to arrive the next morning,

because we were all anchored in a cove that was totally exposed to

the north.  Everyone agreed it was way too late in the season for a

real Norther where the wind would howl for several days, but no

one could make sense out of the forecasts which had ranged from

15 knots of breeze to 35 knots of wind, and from 12 hours to 24

hours duration, depending on the forecaster.  We all decided to wait

until morning and see what happened.  This anchorage was way

too pretty to leave, if we could avoid it.

On the opening pages of The Log of the Sea of Cortez John

Steinbeck writes:  "The Sea of Cortez...is a long, narrow, highly

dangerous body of water.  It is subject to sudden and vicious storms of great intensity."  His description is right on target.  After

a perfectly calm night, at 4:00 a.m. the boat turned and began to rock gently.  At 5:00 a.m. a breeze began to blow.  At 6:00

a.m. the rigging began to make noise and the wind was up to about 18 knots.  We took a peak around the anchorage and all

but three of the boats had left for safety on the south side of the island, two miles away.

How much more would it blow?  The weather sites we had relied on for 7 months both predicted nothing over 20 knots.  No

problem.  We stayed and began our customary wobble dance as Groovy began to roll and bounce.  By 10:00 am the wind was

up to 28 knots and our gyrations were like the death throes of a rabid animal.  Groovy pitched violently from side to side and

from front to back, and the waves poured into the anchorage relentlessly.

We were backed up to a lee shore whose white sand beach looked like a soft landing but whose crashing surf looked like it

could pummel anything to dust in minutes.  We were confident that our ground tackle would hold us firm, but it was unnerving

to watch the fierce action on our the bow as Groovy yanked the anchor chain this way and that like a wild beast.

Finally we could take it no more, and at about noon we decided to make the two mile trek around to the south side of the

island where life might be equally blowy but a lot less jumpy.  We hadn't traveled a half mile when the waves suddenly became

vertical walls of water.  I have never seen such steep waves so close together.  Groovy valiantly climbed and fell over each

one, alternately pointing her nose at the sky and then nearly burying it into the troughs of the waves.  All around us the waves

curled over and broke like the tunnel waves you see on TV surfing shows.

A spray - not a wave - caught the kayak and bent the stainless steel racks supporting it like they were made of thin wire.  That

was all it took to send us back into the anchorage.  Bumping around for a while longer was better than risking life and limb to

get to smoother water.  Once settled back on the hook we resumed our windy carnival ride under the mocking, blazing sun.

Who would ever guess this usually gorgeous anchorage could have such a mean streak?  Such is the Sea of Cortez.  As one

cruiser told us:  "For every two days of paradise you get in the Sea of Cortez you have to pay with a third day of hell."

A fishing panga had crept ashore in the early hours as the wind was

coming up, and we watched two people huddle under a beach palapa all

day.  They had overnight gear with them, and as the day ended and the

wind showed no signs of simmering down, they set up camp and spent

the night.  By first light the next morning the wind had blown itself out

and the sea had flattened to a lilting roll with barely a ripple scuffing the

surface.  Life was easy again and the little fishing panga disappeared

around the bend.

In the early days of June one online weather forecasting website wryly

noted:  "Winter just refuses to let go of Baja."  The winds which usually

turn south in the spring/summer continued to come out of the north until

mid-June.  However, they were mostly light breezes that made for

pleasant sailing, and every night the wind and waves stopped all

together, letting us sleep in peace.

Except for its unpredictable bad temper, the Sea of Cortez is a dreamy place, and

as we settled into the pretty bay of San Juanico 20 miles or so north of Loreto, we

fell out of contact with civilization and the internet once again, and nature

overtook us.

Steinbeck noted in his Log, "One thing had impressed us deeply on this little

voyage: the great world dropped away very quickly... The matters of great

importance we had left were not important."  And such were our days in the first

few weeks of June.  Out of touch with everything but our immediate surroundings,

our world shrank to just the coves around us.  Bahía San Juanico is a small bay

outlined by short beaches and punctuated by craggy rock towers.  Osprey were

nesting in the peaks of several rock pinnacles, and their cries filled the air

mornings and evenings.

We took a hike up one of the mountains and were

rewarded with sweeping views.  The anchorage lay

peacefully on one side of us and waves of brown,

scrubby, cactus covered mountains lay on the other

side.  When not hiking or kayaking or snorkeling, we

rested, losing all track of time and days.  Was it

Thursday or Monday?  Was it noon or 4:00 pm?

Darkness didn't come until well after 9:00 pm, and we

woke only when the sun came in the windows and

forced our eyes open.  Naps came easily.

Steinbeck also fell under this area's spell some 71 years before us, saying after a morning's snooze:  "Sleeping late... has its

genuine therapeutic value," noting that with good rest he could work more effectively.  Like us, however, he seemed to feel a

little bit of guilt as he melted into delicious lethargy:  "We wish we could build as good a rationalization every time we are lazy."

Sailing another 35 miles or so north, we entered Bahía Concepción whose many charming anchorages swallowed us up for

the next ten days.  This long slender bay runs along the Baja coast for 25 miles, and embraces several smaller bays along the

mainland shore.  The region is cherished by nature loving gringos who drive down from the north to camp on its calm shores.

Palm thatched palapas offer shade for campers, RV parks offer hookups, and beach homes lie cheek-by-jowl along the sand.

Playa El Burro is the most popular among cruisers, and it is also home to Geary of

Single Side Band radio weather forecasting fame among sailors.  His beachfront

home is the one covered with antennas.  We later met Geary in October, 2011.

We enjoyed a terrific hike up a zig-zag route

that gave us stunning views of these

beaches.  At the base of the hike is a large

collection of petroglyphs, cryptic notes from the

Ancients carved into the rocks.  It seems they saw

many of the same things we've seen in this area:

striped fish, stingrays and sea turtles.  A little

lizard kept a close eye on us as we passed.

A stop at the Estrella del Mar beach bar in Playa

Coyote saw Mark testing out their stripper's pole.

This is actually a very tame bar with a great group of

locals that we got to know over the ensuing days.

The community here is tightly knit, and we were

welcomed in as "los veleros," the sailboat people.

Playa Coyote boasts many lovely gringo homes

peaking out from beneath a canopy of tall palm trees, and we were

invited to a terrific chicken barbecue at one home.  All our new friends

from the Estrella del Mar bar were there, and we felt like one of the bunch.

We enjoyed listening to them talk about the challenges of living and

running businesses on the beach without electricity, as we have lived

without electricity in the fifth wheel and boat for four years now.  There is

electricity "in town" in Mulege 15 miles away, but the beach homes and

bars of Bahía Concepción operate on solar power and generators.

After a few days we slipped away from the crowd to see some of the less

visited places where the languor of Bahía Concepción overtook us

completely.  Nature became our entertainment.

Five whale sharks, docile 25 foot long plankton eating fish that are neither

as imposing as a whale nor as fearsome as a shark, had taken up

residence in Bahía Concepción over the last few months.  Cruisers and

shore visitors alike had enjoyed dinghying and snorkeling among them,

although we had not seen any yet.

As we pulled into the small, scenic cove of Playa Santa Barbara I kept seeing

radar returns on our chartplotter like that of a small boat in the middle of the bay.

Mark was on the bow and reassured me there was nothing there -- until he

spotted a whale shark.  It must have surfaced a few times just high enough for

our radar to pick him up.  We dropped the anchor and the whale shark reversed

direction and came over to check us out.  What a thrill to see this enormous

spotted creature so close to the boat.  Unfortunately he didn't stay long enough

for me to get a photo, and we never saw him again.

For several days there was just us, the desert and the sea in the tiny cove of

Playa Santa Barbara.  Each morning we were awoken by the haunting calls of

quails and the shrill revving engine noise of cactus wrens in the thick grove of

cardón cactus on shore.  The caws of crows and sing-song trills of cardinals

rounded out the sounds of the desert and brought a little bit of Arizona into our

cockpit.  Mixed among these desert noises were the piercing cries of ospreys the

splashing water -- like kids at a pool -- from pelicans diving all around us.

We watched groups of creatures traveling together.  Huge schools of tiny fish

swarmed Groovy, and when I jumped in to snorkel with them they were like a

thick dark cloud around me.  Small jumping schools of fish pranced across the

water in leaps and bounds like steeplechase horses or skipping stones.  Birds

commuted in well-formed lines, and for the first time I saw mixed flocks.  A line

of boobies drafted off a pelican, like cyclists drafting off the lead rider, and

another time a single gull got an easy ride trailing at the end of a line of

pelicans.  The days slowed down so much we noticed these things.

There was a single travel trailer parked

down by the beach and we kayaked

ashore to talk to the fellow living there.

His life was as simple as ours but more

permanently anchored to the beach.  He was

bolstered by a huge cistern full of water and an

enormous propane tank.  He turned out to be a

watchman for the owners of a resort that is being

built on the beach, and every Saturday he and

another fellow switch off spending a week in the

trailer overseeing the grounds.

The resort is currently comprised of several tent

houses that look like an ideal getaway place for

an eco-tourist vacation.  There is a beautiful,

upscale beach palapa with an ornate thatched

roof, well crafted chairs on a large wooden deck,

and an enormous barbecue.  Under a tree you

can pull a chain and get a fantastic fresh water shower.  The resort's construction

supervisor arrived in a pickup and told us of plans to put a hotel on the hill and an 18 hole

golf course in place of the large stand of cardón cactus.  So Baja California slowly

transforms, trading its wildness for gentrified beauty, one beach at a time.

A few miles south lies

Playa Buenaventura and Isla Requesón, a tiny island

hanging off the mainland on a sand spit.  We tried to anchor

in this area twice but were blown out each time by

unexpectedly high afternoon winds.  Sailing there at 2 knots

in a whisper of breeze the first time, Mark thought he saw

pelicans diving in the distance.  It turned out to be a swatch

of whitecaps, and in a few minutes we were engulfed in 20

knot winds.  The anchorages here are not protected, so we

ran back to hide at Playa Santa Barbara.  We repeated this

exercise again two days later.

Finally the third time was

a charm, and we got the

hook down at Isla Requesón for

several days near its pretty, remote

beach.  Giant angel fish outlined in

neon blue with brilliant yellow stripes

across their bodies came up to us as

we snorkeled, and the reef fish were

plentiful.

Camped on the white sand we found

a wonderfully friendly family from

Arizona who had set up their rugged

tent trailer just steps from the warm turquoise water.  It was refreshing to

be with a family again, kids, parents and grandpa, and we shared a

pleasant afternoon together.  But it also made us a bit homesick.  All this

immersion in Arizona type desert and family campers made us long for

our trailer and family and friends back home.

Our days on the Groovy boat in the Sea of Cortez were drawing to a close, but our thoughts lay ahead of us in the crazy

logistics of transferring from 18 consecutive months on a sailboat to a brief summertime land-based life, while trying to tackle

the immense list of boat-related and living-related tasks that had mounted over the past few months.  It wasn't until many

weeks later in our trailer at Bonito Campground / Wupatki National Monument in Flagstaff, Arizona, that we were finally

able to take a deep breath and ponder the impact on our lives of four years of traveling by RV and sailboat and the shock of

going home again.

Find Bahía Concepción, Playa El Burro, Playa Coyote, Playa Santa Barbara and Isla Requesón on Mexico Maps.

May, 2011 - We left Ensenada Blanca reluctantly, but we were getting low on

provisions so it was time to hit a big town.  Puerto Escondido ("Hidden Port") is

just a few miles up the coast, and it offers both a well protected outer harbor

and a fully enclosed inner (or "hidden") harbor.  John Steinbeck and his crew

stayed in the outer harbor when he did his six week tour of the Sea of Cortez in

1940.  Cruisers now affectionately call that

outer harbor area "The Waiting Room."  We

traversed the shallow entrance to the inner

harbor and found a spot to anchor near the

dinghy dock.

After anchoring, we got a surprise welcome

serenade from a little finch who landed on our

rail and sang his heart out for us.

Puerto Escondido doesn't have

much besides a small

government run marina and a

little "Modelorama" convenience

store half a mile down the road.  Modelo brews Corona and

Negra Modelo among many other beers, and their convenience

stores are great places to buy many things.  However rival

Tecate can't be found there.

There is an RV park near the

Modelorama, and we wandered

through, hoping to meet some

RVers.  Fifteen years ago a

devastating fire raged through the park

and most owners now have homes built

on their sites instead of RVs.  Several

homes had outdoor kitchens and bars

which looked very inviting.

There is one parking area available for

transient RVers, and we watched with a

funny feeling of nostalgia as two big fifth

wheel rigs pulled out and headed up the

road.  The boating life is fulfilling, but

lately we have been missing the

trailer, especially as summer

approaches.

Back on the water, we got chatting with the captain of a 65 foot catamaran on a mooring

next to us.  This stunning yacht, built entirely of carbon fiber with a Kevlar overlay on the

hulls, boasts a navigation station reminiscent of the Starship Enterprise.  It had completed

its maiden voyage from California to Cabo San Lucas last year.  That was to be the first

leg of a circumnavigation, but the thrill of crashing down the coast at 25 knots was a little

more than the owner had bargained for, and when he got off the boat he had just two

words for the captain:  "sell it."

This is hardly the first boat that

we've come across where the

owner's plans changed once

the real cruising began.  But at

just under $4 million, it is

definitely the most expensive.

Cruising is a challenging way to travel, much more so than any

other way we've tried.  The difficulties are rarely discussed in the

magazines and books that drive the boating industry, as they prefer

to paint vivid pictures of an idealized life instead.

For most people a boat represents an aspect of a dream, and as one

boat broker once said to me, "I sell dreams."   But for many, including

ourselves, the dream can be elusive.  Defining exactly what the dream is

before setting out can often spell the difference between happiness and

unhappiness in the cruising life.

Resorts are dreams of another kind, and we had just spent several

dreamy days anchored in front of the spectacular Villa del Palmar resort

at Ensenada Blanca which is being constructed by a firm with immensely

deep pockets.  Here in Puerto Escondido we discovered a different

developer's dream-turned-nightmare.  Next to the dinghy dock there is

an intriguing canal that runs under a bridge.  We jumped in the dink one

morning to see what was beyond the bridge.  We found a maze of

canals that wander off in a spider web of possibilities, scooting under

several bridges and fanning out into a subdivision of lots and roads.

This was intended to be a cluster of lovely waterfront homes

and shops, all built along the edges of the canals.  The first

group of buildings was partially constructed some years ago.

We could easily imagine colorful little shops in these buildings,

full of life and tourists.  Instead they are half-built and

abandoned.  Beyond the vacant buildings there are large two-

lane streets with big street lamps hanging over slowly

crumbling sidewalks.  It could be such an awesome place if the

developer's dream had come true, but now it is disintegrating.

Cruisers use Puerto Escondido as a jumping off point to visit and

provision at Loreto some 15 miles north.  Getting to Loreto is not

all that easy, however, as the bus service is infrequent and taxis

and rental cars are expensive.  So we simply took the boat to

Loreto and anchored in front of the town.  It is not a protected

anchorage, but at this season it was fine.

According to his Log of the Sea of Cortez, when Steinbeck

anchored in front of Loreto in the spring of 1940, his arrival was

a special occasion for the town because so few boats ever

stopped in.  He and his crew entertained the port officials on

their boat for hours and gave them cigarettes and matches to

smooth the clearing in process.

When we dropped our anchor we

were one of four boats in front of

Loreto on that at particular afternoon,

and no one paid any attention to us

except our friends on the other boats.

After being in Mexico with a boat for

so long, we have had many

encounters with government and

Navy officials.  We are used to the

crisp uniforms, unfailingly polite

demeanor and the automatic

weapons that can accompany

meeting them on our boat.  We have also grown accustomed to the

long waits that can typify visits to their offices ashore.

So we laughed aloud at Steinbeck's description of the Mexican port

officials as "well dressed men...armed with the .45 caliber automatics

which everywhere in Mexico designate officials.  And they were armed

also with the courtesy which is unique in official Mexico... One fine

thing about Mexican officials is that they greet a fishing boat with the

same serious ceremony they would afford the Queen Mary, and the

Queen Mary would have to wait just as long."

One of our missions in Loreto

was to renew our FM3 travel

visas.  These visas allow tourists

to stay in Mexico for a year

rather than six months, and you

can renew the visa without

having to leave Mexico.

Obtaining an FM3 and renewing

it involves a delicate dance and

shuffle lead by the courteous,

uniformed officials at the

immigration office.  You are

asked to do a lot of fancy

footwork, and once they are

satisfied you are granted a small

laminated ID card.  One of the

more unusual parts of the

process this year was that we

were asked to buy manila

folders so our paperwork could be filed, and at the last

minute our cards were delayed by a day because the

laminating machine had run out of plastic.

The town of Loreto is utterly charming, and impressed us

immediately with its pretty layout, its casual walking

streets and its inviting town center.

It would be easy to laze away many days simply strolling

the streets and sipping morning coffees and afternoon

beers at the outdoor bistros.  There is a friendliness and

relaxed air here that made us smile.

Starbucks hasn't quite

arrived, but a good

imitation has set up shop.

Loreto was

founded in 1697

by Father

Salvatierra, and is

considered the

birthplace of all the missions in both

Baja California and the state of

California.  The mission church has a

quiet presence at one end of the town

center, having withstood many

hurricanes over the centuries.

Out on the waterfront a new resort, as

yet untested by hurricanes, sports an

ornate gate.  We couldn't resist passing

through the gate, and inside we found

a large pool bar where we listened to

Chacho Damianee playing classic rock

n' roll favorites one afternoon.

We always enjoy getting haircuts in small towns, and at

the edge of Loreto we found a wonderful little shop where

two haircuts and some lively conversation in Spanish cost

us a grand total of 140 pesos, or about $12.

Dental work in Mexico is carried out with an efficiency and

simplicity to match a barber's, and we stopped at a

"dentista" for a quickie consultation.  A pain-free filling by

the most gentle and sympathetic dentist's hands I've ever

experienced cost me 450 pesos, or about $40.

The last thing on our agenda for the "big city" of Loreto

was a trip to the Farmer's Market.  Held every Sunday, this

is both a swap meet and a vegetable market.

Many of the veggies are imported

from the US, and the variety and

quality are excellent

This is a big weekly event for

everyone that lives in Loreto, both

Mexicans and gringos, because it

is the best place to stock up on

produce.  The vendors start setting

up their stalls the night before, and

families come right at daybreak to get the best selection.  Meats, goat

cheese, jewelry, clothing, electronics and DVDs can all be found along

with peppers and broccoli.

A toddler eating an apple caught Mark's eye and I snapped a photo of

him.  His older brother noticed and wanted to be in the picture too.

But first he ran over to another stall to drag his other brother back with

him so all three could be in the picture.  They laughed and pointed

when I showed them the photo in the back of the camera.

Before cruising the Sea of Cortez

we had heard that finding fresh

veggies would be very difficult.

Not so.  Now I'm wondering what I

will ever do with all those cans of

veggies I stuffed into the bilge!

There are always little things that

need fixing or tweaking on a

boat, and Mark sat down one

afternoon to rebuild the solenoid

from one of the heads when the

head started running continually.

Little did he know as he smiled

for this photo that in a fit of

"repair me too!" jealousy the

other head would suddenly

refuse to flush two days later.  He

wasn't smiling then!

One day we awoke to Mexico's "Día de la Marina" or "Navy Day" festivities.  Last year we

were in Ensenada for this event and the Navy put on a huge show with tours of their ships,

a parade and lots of fanfare.  Loreto is a much smaller town, and here the day was

celebrated by bringing all the school kids down to the docks for boat rides on the bay.

They were a happy, noisy bunch as they stood excitedly in their school uniforms on the

pier waiting for the boats to pick them up.  And what a gleeful crew they were as they left

to go out into the bay.

That was our last morning in Loreto.  We

had been in the area for three weeks,

and getting ready to leave felt like we

were starting a new chapter.  After

waving off the kids in the pangas we

readied Groovy for our next destination:

San Juanico and Bahía Concepción.

Find Puerto Escondido and Loreto on

Mexico Maps.

Late April-Early May, 2011 - We left Isla San Francisco to head north knowing that a "Norther" (several days of big north

winds and seas) was due to arrive in a few days.  So in the back of our minds at each anchorage we visited we asked

ourselves "would this be okay in northerly blow?"

Our first stop was San Evaristo, a small pair of coves on either

side of a fishing camp that houses a few families.  As the sun was

setting a panga loaded with people came out to visit our boat.  It

turned out to be a family, including a baby.

"Negocios!!  Quieren langostas?" (Let's do business!  Do you want

lobster?).  I explained that we don't really like lobster but we love fish.

To my astonishment, the young driver told me they had no fish on the boat but he would be back in an hour with some for us.

When they came back, as promised, it was dark.  A young girl held up the toddler.  "Escucha!" (Listen!") she said, and then

prompted the toddler to say "langosta," the word for lobster.  "Gosta" the little girl said hesitantly.  The mom beamed at me

with pride and everyone in the boat laughed.  There's nothing so cute as a baby struggling to say its first words, even when

they don't quite say them right.  If only my feeble efforts at Spanish were met with such delight!

We decided to move further north and stopped at Puerto Los Gatos.

This is a stunning cove, just big enough for a few boats, where

beautiful, smoothly rounded red rocks roll down to the water.

Before we had a chance to explore ashore, we were suddenly

chased out of the anchorage by a horde of thirsty bees.  They

buzzed all over Groovy looking for fresh water.  There are so many

fresh water sources fit for a bee on our boat (faucets, shower

heads, sinks and toilets) that it was easier for us to leave the cove

than to persuade the bees to leave the boat.

The Baja coast along this

stretch pierces the sky in

enormous, jagged

mountains, cliffs and rock

formations.  In many places

the carved rock faces are

striated in a rainbow of

whites, reds and browns.

We stopped briefly at Ensenada de la Ballena, also known as Bahía Berrendo, a

small gravel beach tucked into the south side of a craggy point.  High up on the cliffs

is a perfectly round hole giving the point its name "Oarlock Point" or "Punta Gavilán."

There is a small sea cave in this bay as well,

and we snuck inside and listened to the waves

echoing off the back walls.

Lots of little bright red legged crabs crawled

around the inside of the cave.

It still amazes me to see this junction of the

desert and the sea.  A large stand of cactus

filled a valley behind the beach and ran up the sides of two mountains.

Here and there, tucked into the beach rocks, we found baby cactus

taking root.

A little further on

we came across

a whale's pelvic

bone.  It was very

well preserved,

with individual

vertebrae and

some very long

narrow bones

resting nearby.

There are three anchorages in this area

that offer north wind protection, and we

chose the prettiest one, Bahía Santa

Marta, to wait out the Norther.  There was a beach with a

collection of palm trees at one end, and the red rocks

rising behind the beach were layered.  In hindsight a

better choice would have been Bahía San Marcial (also

known as Bahía San Marte).  But you don't necessarily

know these things ahead of time.

Once the wind started to blow it seemed like it would

never let up.  We saw gusts over 30 mph, and later we

heard that a few miles north in Puerto Escondido where

"Loreto Fest" was taking place the gusts got into the 40's.

The last day of their activities had to be canceled as no

one wanted to leave their boat.  Some boats broke off

their mooring lines and other boats dragged their anchors.

We had no such trouble, but the swell was merciless.

Groovy rocked and rolled and the two of us fell all over ourselves

and each other as we tried to move about the boat.

I snuck off in the porta-bote just to get a change of scenery during

each of the three days, but the conditions were downright scary in

the dink and I didn't go far.  Our anchor chain got hung up under some

rocks and pinned the boat on a very short leash for a while.  This made the

jerking motion even worse as the bow of the boat yanked at the chain like

a wild dog.  At one point Mark came up into the cockpit asking if I'd seen

the kitchen knife.  We use this knife many times every day, and it never

goes missing.  "I left it on the counter..."  I said.  He found it stuck in the

floor like a javelin.  The force of one of the boat's rolls had flung it off the

counter with such power it had landed point down and stuck in the floor

about a quarter inch.  Thwang!!!

We were grateful when the norther finally blew itself out.  Rounding the

point we finally made radio contact with the rest of the cruising fleet and

were relieved to hear human voices and stories once again.  We

discovered this had been supposed to be a "mild late-season norther," and it caught everyone a

bit off guard.  Everybody was amazed that a blow like this could hit with such ferocity as late as

early May.

When we arrived in idyllic Agua

Verde, where the water was

smooth and the wind just a

pleasant breeze, it occurred to

us that the Sea of Cortez has a

Jeckyll and Hyde soul.  One

minute the Sea is a raging

terror, and the next minute it

is a tranquil paradise.

We took the dinghy out at

daybreak one morning and

slipped across mirrored water.

The rock pinnacle "Roca Solitaria"

stands sentinel at the mouth of

Agua Verde bay, and it stood out

in sharp relief against the striped

rock cliffs on the shore behind it.  I

was reminded of "Point Imperial"

at the Grand Canyon's North

Rim.  But the glassy water at the

foot of the cliffs planted this place

firmly in the Sea.

Agua Verde is very popular, offering

three unique and delightful spots to drop

the hook.  The boats were dwarfed by

the rocky mountains rising behind them.

We took a hike up and over the hills that

rise behind the northern beach.  The

views looking back down at the bay were

breathtaking.

Wandering into the village one morning,

we walked the dusty streets.  The

nearest town, Loreto, is 60 miles away,

25 miles of which is a mountainous a dirt

road.  This little fishing village is isolated

and close-knit.

Goats wander freely, their little bells tinkling as they walk.  Spring

had been good to the goats, and almost all the goats we saw were

mothers with their babies.

Days are hot and still, and everyone takes shelter in any kind of shade

they can find.  We passed a school and watched the children walking

home in their tidy little uniforms carrying their school papers and

backpacks.

We were in need of a few

supplies and had heard that

Maria's Tienda (Maria's Store)

had a few supplies.  The only

thing that distinguished Maria's

Tienda from the surrounding

homes was a little bit of writing

outside the door on the front wall.

She had some staples, but not what we were looking for, so she sent us

on to the other village store, telling us to look for a red building.  "Mini-

Market Miguelito" was much better marked and a group of moms was

hanging around inside chatting with each other.  These village stores are

not supermarkets or even convenience stores, by any stretch of the

imagination, but the few shelves had a surprising variety of items.

When I asked about vegetables I was led outside to some

large top-loading refrigerators under the trees outside.  I

peered in one and was astonished to find peppers, celery,

cucumbers and apples.  What impressed me even more is

that these refrigerators -- as well as almost every building in

town -- were powered by a solar panel or two outside.  A

simple wire ran from the panels to the charge controller, car battery and inverter.

Agua Verde lives and dies by fishing, and the dads went out in

their pangas twice a day six days a week to fish.  Early in the

morning the men would suit up in bright orange foul weather

gear and cast off, waving goodbye to their wives on shore.  In

the early afternoon they would return and a whole commercial

exchange would take place.  Fish were unloaded from the boats

and carefully counted and loaded into coolers in pickup trucks.

One by one the trucks would take off, including one small

refrigerator truck.  Another truck carrying gasoline tanks would

arrive and run a hose to fill the gas tanks on the fishing boats.

Then the beach would clear out for a few hours and return to the

possession of the gulls and pelicans.  As the sun was setting the

whole process would repeat, with the wives and kids waving off

the fishermen as they left for the night's catch.  Long after dark

we would hear the pangas return.

I was reminded of my great-grandfather who was a lobsterman on Massachusetts' north shore in the

early 1900's.  He rowed his dory from lobster pot to lobster pot faithfully every day, hauling them by

hand.  His village was small and tight-knit too, made up mostly of Scandinavian immigrants and

situated at the end of a long journey from Boston.  Agua Verde lives in the early 21st century,

however, and the Honda outboards were big and powerful and the pickup trucks were late models

from Dodge and Chevy.  One fisherman was putting in his iPod earbuds as he zipped past our boat,

and they all had VHF radios and antennas.  The trade is the same, but it is a different era.

This part of the Sea is traveled by kayakers

as well as fishermen and cruisers, and we

met several who were kayaking and camping

en route to La Paz from Loreto.

One day we hiked over the hill past an old

cemetery.  The tombstones were from the

1930's to the 1960's, and some still bore

adornments lovingly placed there by living family members.

The hiking trail

follows a wash

out to the

beach, and

the free-ranging cattle were

in abundance.

Laid out on the ground in

one spot we saw the

skeleton of what we thought

was a horse, complete with

skull, vertebrae and leg

bones.  All the bones were

bleached white in the sun, and a jawbone laid off to one

side showing a full row of molars.

One afternoon a Mexican Navy boat entered the bay

and anchored.  All the cruisers kept an eye on the boat,

waiting for the inevitable moment when we

would all get a visit.  To our surprise the Navy

boarded several fishing pangas as the

fishermen headed out for the evening's catch.

This business of being boarded by the Mexican

Navy is an equal opportunity affair.  A few

lagging pangas snuck out of the bay on the far

side to avoid being detained, but another went

straight to his buddy who had been waylaid and

waited for him to finish with the Navy so they

could go out to fish together.

The cruisers' turns came the next

morning, and as before it was an

easy process.  This time it was

more like a US Coast Guard

boarding: along with the usual paperwork they wanted to see that our flares were up

to date, our fire extinguishers hadn't expired and that we had life preservers for

everyone on board.  We have now been boarded three times in two months (the

second was so trivial I didn't mention it on these pages).  Seasoned cruisers say it

was never this way in the past.  It's just a sign of the times.

Agua Verde was a classic Sea of Cortez stop.  Clear turquoise water, calm nights and

a dusty but vibrant fishing village, all set against the soaring jagged peaks of Baja

California's Sierra de la Giganta mountain range.  By the time we left our sprits were

completely restored after the wild ride we'd been given during the late season

Norther, and we were ready for more Baja adventures in the Loreto area.

Find San Evaristo, Puerto Los Gatos and Agua Verde on Mexico Maps.

Late April, 2011 - Our first stop north of La Paz was at

Ensenada Grande located on the west side of Isla Partida.

This is one of the few anchorages in the area that is well

protected from the nasty nighttime south/southwesterly

Coromuel winds, and we tucked right up into a tiny cove

where we were well sheltered by red rock hillsides.

Looking at the scenic bay around us, it seemed we were

at the meeting place of the desert's most spectacular

cactus-adorned red rocks and the jade green sea.

We jumped in the kayak to see everything up close, and

moseyed along the base of the red rock cliffs.  Cactus

grew out of crevices in the rock, somehow eking out a

living from those few morsels of dirt that had gotten

wedged into the cracks.

The deeper water undulated turquoise green, while the

shallower water revealed all the details of the rocks and

fish under the surface.

On the far side of the bay the rock

formations were intriguing.  Carved

out underneath by the wind and

waves, the rock cliffs were smooth

and rounded, as if shaped by a divine

hand working in wet clay.  On top of

the bluff the desert's crispy crust

seemed almost to drip over the sides

towards the water.  The tall cactus

seem small compared to the cliffs.

Leading up to the main beach the

water runs shallow for 100 yards or

more, rising and falling in a billowing

veil over the sand.  This is a popular spot for day and

weekend charters from La Paz, and during our stay we saw

several extraordinarily appointed megayachts stopping in for

an afternoon or an overnight in the bay.

We pulled the kayak up onto the beach and were very

surprised to find a little encampment perched on the water's

edge.  A Mexican fellow was singing Queen tunes as he raked

the word "Welcome" into the sand.  His name was Hernando,

and he told us this little oasis was a "campsite" for visiting dive

charters.  Three large, rugged tents were set up with cots and

bedding.  True nature lovers could take their cots out onto the

beach and sleep under the stars.

Off to one side stood several homemade little shacks with

doors.  Peaking inside one I discovered it was a neat little

outhouse, complete with a marine pump toilet, toilet paper

and a colorfully woven wall covering.

Hernando started

working in the

little kitchen

building, and he explained that

this place was used by dive

charter companies and was open

every day from April to

November.  Down on the beach

there were plastic lounge chairs

and some fantastic varnished

wood chairs and umbrella tables.

What a cool place to take a load off after a

reef dive in the Sea of Cortez.

Turning back towards the red rock canyons

behind the dive camp, we found a desert

wash running down from the mountains to

the beach.  Lush vegetation grew all around

and beckoned to us to

walk in a little further.

Wandering into the wash,

we found ourselves

surrounded by healthy,

vigorous cactus.  As we

got deeper into the

canyon, the sounds of

the bay began to vanish, replaced

by the buzz of heat bugs

alternating with the intense silence

of the hot desert rocks.

We have been away from the

desert for so long it felt like coming home.  We happily

soaked up the dry heat, enjoying the feeling of the sun

prickling our arms.  The cactus were amazingly thick,

and as we walked deeper into the canyon we were

suddenly immersed in utter silence.

We had come ashore just for a quick look around and

were wearing water shoes and bathing suits.  This

place deserved a much closer look, and the next day

we came back dressed more appropriately for a

desert hike, armed with hats and hiking boots.

A few cardón cactus arms were trimmed

with flowers.  Like their northern cousins,

the Saguaro cactus, these guys get

pollinated at night by bats, so their

flowers are timed for nighttime opening.

The hike is a scramble up a boulder filled

wash, and it was a good little workout

stair-stepping our way up.  As the bay and

boats and beach receded behind us, we

became more and more certain that we were

deep in the Arizona desert, far from all

thoughts of oceans or water.

Little scraggly trees grew here and there, taking tiny sips

of water from the moisture that occasionally seeped down

the wash.  Lizards crawled on the rocks at our feet.

Finally the boulders in the wash gave

way to a wide open pebbly expanse,

and we marched up and out of the

canyon onto a vast plateau.  Sensing a

stunning view just over the rise, we

picked up the pace to a near run until

we stopped short at the edge of a cliff

that hung out over the water below.

The Sea of Cortez stretched for miles

of blueness into the distance, and we

could clearly see every rock and

contour of the water hundreds of feet

below us.

After inhaling a few

deep breaths of

success and

satisfaction we started

back down again,

watching the little cove

of Ensenada Grande

growing beyond the

desert rocks and

cactus.  What a

fantastic combination of

desert and ocean.

As we walked the last few steps through the scrubby brush at the base of the wash, the dive

camp reappeared along the beach.  The scene looked so inviting, like a little slice of heaven.

The Coromuel winds continued to howl at 20 knots all

night every night, making the boat swing and sway on the

anchor line.  But we were close enough to the shore to

prevent any waves from reaching us, so we stayed flat and

slept well.

One morning we caught the tail end of the previous night's

Coromuel wind for a ride up to Isla San Francisco.  With

the breeze at our backs we romped along steadily at 8

knots, exhilarated to feel the boat surge forward in

response to even the slightest puff.

Isla San Francisco has a picturesque anchorage that is shaped like a

huge circular hook and is lined with a thin white beach.  We took our

position among the collection of anchored boats and then just stared

at the shore for a while, mesmerized by the colors and the view.

Bright blue sky, craggy reddish rock hills, blindingly white sand, and

smooth green water lay before us.  The island begged to be explored,

and we immediately dashed ashore to scurry up the short hike to the

ridge trail that snakes along the hills at one end of the bay.  What a

perfect perch to gaze down at the anchorage and out across the bay

to the Baja mountains on the horizon.

There is another anchorage on the other side of the

island, opposite the favored "hook" anchorage, and it is

easily visible from this ridge trail as well.  We pranced

along the skinny footpath, meeting the crews from

several other cruising boats and charter boats along the

way.  This place is "not to be missed" and few boats

coming up from La Paz ever miss it.

During our stay we connected with the crews from two

bareboat charters.  One was a young couple form

Vancouver Island aboard a McGregor 26 for a week.

After seeing so many heavily outfitted 40' cruising

sailboats driven by grey haired retirees, it was refreshing

to see these two kids in a little boat arrive in the anchorage.

Their sailboat was outfitted with just a simple outboard

engine, tiny solar panel and mini-fridge, but what a blast

they were having.  They swam and snorkeled with

abandon, and when we invited them aboard Groovy for

cocktails along with some other cruisers, it was soon

evident that even at their young age they were more

experienced sailors than many cruisers.

We saw several sleek

charter sailboats from

the Moorings too.  The

one with the Swiss

family aboard was our favorite.  They were celebrating their 20th anniversary and sharing

the moment with their four young teenage and pre-teen children.  The mom and dad were in

and out of the water as much as the kids were.  Sunbathing, reading, teasing each other,

and pushing each other over the sides, this family made the most of every day.  They were

on the boat for just a week and they liked Isla San Francisco so much they stayed for four

nights.  Like the other young charterers, they were seasoned sailors, and had chartered all

over the Mediterranean and Caribbean.  We were impressed when they headed out for an

afternoon daysail and sailed off their anchor with ease, rather than using the engine.

Watching these exuberant vacationers was

inspiring.  It is easy, after living this lifestyle for a

while, to forget just how special each day is.  When

Mark stood on the swim platform for a very long

time one afternoon, debating whether or not to

brave the cold water, I reminded him, "Hey, those

folks on the charter boats wouldn't think twice..."  With

a loud splash and a gurgled shriek, he hit the water

and bounced back to the surface

wearing a satisfied smile.

Isla San Francisco has another

hiking trail that leads up to a higher

peak.  This trail is not used too often,

and after passing a few rock cairns

that marked the start of the trail, we

were soon scrambling up an

unmarked pebbly, slippery slope.

At the top we were rewarded with

marvelous views that were well worth

the dicey descent that followed.

We had heard news of an impending late season "Norther" that would

bring big north winds and stormy seas for a few days.  Crews of boats

began strategizing which anchorage would offer the best protection,

and because of the huge cruising event called "Loreto Fest" going on

a bit north of us, we knew we would be challenged to find a good

anchorage that wasn't already loaded with other boats if we didn't get

going soon.  Looking back with 20-20 hindsight we now realize we

should have stayed put at Isla San Francisco for another week, as it

offers the best north wind and wave protection in the area.  But we

didn't, and we were soon in for a wild ride before we found paradise

again at Agua Verde.

Find Isla Partida (Ensenada Grande) and Isla San Francisco

on Mexico Maps.