San Quintin
There is an island right where we are heading. One of these ’looks small on the map but turns out looking like a plop of desert dropped in the middle of the sea’. Of course we can’t see to confirm that its 3am with no moon, it just shows on our charts. Looks to us we can go either side of it, between it and actual Baja would be much better given the direction of the wind, so we adjust course. 20 minutes later, on the trusty marine VHF we heard some Spanish announcing something about a sailboat heading between the island and the land. Are we not supposed to be here? Are we in someone’s way? Maybe they see where we are going and want to let us know we can’t actually pass there? People have been saying, “oh, yeah once you’re in Mexico your charts can be up to a mile off, lots of uncharted shoals, rocks to hit, gotta keep a close eye out.”
Aboard Karma we don’t transmit (or receive for that matter) AIS and so it seems a little odd someone would know exactly where we are heading and then get on the radio to say something about it, but the “uh are we gonna crash” brain kicks in so on the radio I go. Turns out I do know more Spanish than I reckoned about directions and maps. We get confirmation that we can safely pass where we are heading, and if I’m not mistaken they were alerting a fishing boat that there appeared to be a sailboat out in their area so keep a look out. How kind of them.
Past the island we fly and around the huge point making the bay of San Quintin. For the first time of many we slightly, and by that I mean massively, misjudged our speed and therefore we are arriving in the pitch black. This turns out to be the modus aperandi for the rest of our Baja trip. Of all the places to arrive in the dark though, this one is a pretty safe bet. Its a 4 mile wide bay with the depth creeping up ever so slowly ever quarter mile. We could essentially just drive in any direction until the depth is 20 or so feet and drop the anchor without looking and be totally fine and out of the way so, that’s what we do.
A nap later and we awake to our first Mexican anchorage, out in some not often visited spot. There are 4 old volcanoes visible, and a huge beach that goes on for miles marking the perimeter of the bay. There are signs of life ashore, sure. A few buildings scattered about amongst the trees, a stationary car, and a large looking hotel maybe type structure down the beach a mile or so. Granted we were seeing this all through binoculars as once it was light it was clear we were more than a mile from shore ourselves. We spot another yacht in the anchorage, about a mile from us in another direction, so we hail them on the radio to see if they’ve been ashore or know where/if one can go ashore. While nice, they don’t know, haven’t been, and are planning to head south with the wind. “No worries,” we think as the paddleboard blows up. We know there isn’t much here but a walk on a shore in our first Mexican anchorage is too good to pass up. Two or so hours of walking couldn’t do us any harm and we could be back for a nap and maybe even continue further south ourselves.
Approaching the shore we are glad we took the paddleboard. While the California Channel Islands are the first place the PNW sailor learns about the beach surf dinghy landing, Baja is where you really have to know what to do. Looking back there is a reason most people don’t go to shore here, but on the paddleboard and prepared for a bit of a bath its not to big of a deal so we surf our way in and up the beach we go. We carry the paddleboard up far above the high tide line on the deserted beach, look around, “seems safe enough”, and we set off.
San Quintin is a dusty small town on the West Coast. The main southbound highway sort of passes through, but the town definitely doesn’t receive a lot of visitors. Initially, wandering around on the sand, we go past a somewhat large house that looks to be in disrepair all by itself, and then onto a sand track which leads back to some little all concrete hotel which claims to be opened but has no employees or visitors from the looks of it, but it does have a road to it for anyone who wanted to change that. Following the road along now we go past some farms, take a right at some point, and end up approaching an area with 3 or 4 buildings close together instead of the lone ones we’ve been passing every half mile. We have yet to see a single person anywhere in our hour and a bit’s walk but a car did drive past us! Once in town we find that while there is in fact a square, San Quintin is barely big enough to be called a town. We saw a total of 6 people and maybe 10 dogs before ending up back at the beach a few miles down from where we started. Turns out we went past the out of place sand castle of a hotel so we go up the beach in search of a margarita. We are in Mexico after all.
The word sleepy was first used as an adjective to describe a place like this. The sound of the small waves on the beach were somehow always audible but always in the background. Sea breeze went around all the corridors and down all the halls. In classic Mexican fashion the building had a grandiose courtyard with large ceilings and opened topped sections, fountains which weren’t running, big stairs and tiles everywhere. Hey, what do you know, there is a bar here. Perfectly dark inside with a huge window behind the bar looking out at the expansive bay. You could even see Karma probably 4 or so miles away anchored right on the horizon.
Ensenada is a massive port for cruise ships that brings the primary demographic of sunscreen wearers to Mexico for a few hours and therefore a majority of what you can reach in a few hours from shore has people practiced in the art of English, especially in regards to food and services. San Quintin however does not have even a paved road and so we find ourselves in our first spot to actually get down to business and practice our Spanish. “Sleepy” also found its way into the bar, with us as the only customers and the very professional and methodical bar tender making up the entire crowd, so we get to chatting. Turns out we know more words than we thought! We talk about his life in this small town, our lives sailing down, and what else is around. Mexico is talked a lot about when abroad but not much escapes about actual life in Mexico, so it was enlightening to find out what wages were, how long kids went to school for, and what people did in their free time.
As, of course, we had Heather smiling, chatting, and bringing light to the otherwise shadowed and sleepy bar the group of people who posted up at the bar counter next to us immediately were inspired to join the conversation. They knew some Spanish, but were also interested in our voyage up until that point. We don’t think about it much because we are on the boat every day, but heck, even look back through this site, the boat has been a few places. We all get to chatting and they’re doctors from San Diego, one with a small plane license, who come down from their clinic once a year and do basic but necessary medical procedures in mass in these small west coast towns which otherwise don’t have access to such help. As you could imagine, this turns into quite the evening.
Margaritas sure encourage friendship and comradery. No wonder Mexico has such a generally friendly vibe about it once you’ve got boots on the ground. If I’m not mistaken the bartender was making margaritas for himself as well by the time the evening was in full swing. Its not like there are any other guests aside from these 4 doctors in this 200 room hotel. Before anyone knows it its past closing time, the view of the bay out the window has turned to just starts and the two anchor lights on the horizon, and the doctors are realizing they’ve got a lot to do tomorrow. Now that its midnight, or 1am, or something we all say by to the lovely bartender and hop in the doctor’s borrowed Baja beaten Subaru. With only 4 seats Heather and I are in the trunk. The hatchback slams closed with a plume of Baja’s ever find dust and sand mixture and we are off to where we think we left the paddleboard. Remember now, we wandered down the beach, onto a sand path, past a mansion, past a hotel with no people, which then lead us to a dirt track. To get back then, simple, follow that sentence in reverse! Somehow we end up right where we had left the paddleboard only to find the paddleboard had left us. Yes its dark, we are wandering around with flashlights and aren’t entirely sure its the exact same spot we left it. The beach is miles and miles for God’s sake, but we have to be close. 20 minutes go by and this is getting dumb. We ride back with the ever patient and laughing jolly doctors to, where else, the hotel!
Why there is a 24 hour concierge service and front desk person at a 200 room hotel with 4 guests in the middle of no where is a question only Mexican planning can answer, but maybe the trajectory of our night has played a roll. Now exhausted we walk up at 2am to the desk and book a room, hey that was easy. They weren’t even surprised or anything, its like we were coming with a reservation and arriving at 4pm, not 2am unannounced with no bags in shorts. We get a lovely room, overlooking the ocean featuring that same sleepy breeze and sound, with huge ceilings and tiles everywhere and fall fast asleep with a plan to search in the light for the paddleboard.
With the arrival of the morning we can appreciate our view off our very own balcony. There’s Karma, 4 miles off in the flat calm bay. Fishing pangas are driving around and otherwise, nothing is happening. We watch a very strange movie dubbed in Spanish while taking turns taking showers, hey might as well take advantage of the situation, before heading down to meet the doctors for breakfast. We enter a huge hall, double story ceilings, enough set tables for a gala King Louis XIV would have attended, and sit at the only occupied one with the doctors. They’re on a mission today and so are we. They set off after exchanging contact info and we set off to walk down the beach back to where the paddleboard might be.
Pangas are coming and going, expertly doing the beach landings cruisers dread in their dinghies, and we realize as we are admiring their technique that most are arriving, not going. I run back and ask one, “Hey could you take us to that boat out there in an hour so if we can’t find out paddleboard on that beach? We left it there yesterday,” to which he replies, “ey no, everybody be comin’ in now, nobody go out again until tomorrow guay. Hay mucho Micky Mouse aqui, if you left you paddleboard yesterday Micky Mouse has it today,” uh, okay interesting to note nefarious Disney characters winter here to do petty theft but we wanna at least try and see if its there. After some deliberation and a bit of conversation we realize that one, they aren’t going to wait for us and there isn’t going to be another chance to get to the boat today, two, the used paddleboard costs only slightly more than another night in the hotel if we don’t find it and have to take a ride tomorrow. “Alright, bueno, cuanto cuesta para llevarnos al volero alla?”
We push the panga out through the breaking waves and hop aboard with our new friend and his two fishing mates. There are 3 or 4 bigger fish just sloshing around in the floor of the panga while we plane across the bay. Its the end of their day at 10am when the fishing isn’t as good so they’re admiring the water landscape drinking the ubiquitous Tecates they seem to have endless amounts of in these pangas. These big Yamaha outboards and the huge heavy fiberglass pangas make for a good combo to fly across stretches of water like this and before we know it we are back alongside Karma who had an unexpected night to herself. Back onboard we sort of reflect on the hilarity of the past 24 hours for about an hour before picking up anchor and setting off for Bahia Tortugas where most people seem to sail straight to from Ensenada, skipping the unknown San Quintin. “Huh, so I wonder why nobody goes ashore here? I’d sure go again, definitely worth a stop”.
