Crossing to Baja (Almost) Uneventfully

We departed San Carlos, Sonora, on the afternoon of 29 January, with a forecast of light-to-moderate northwest winds for most of our due-south passage of 100 miles to Baja California Sur, the southern half of the Baja Peninsula. Our destination was Caleta San Juanico, a protected anchorage on the Gulf coast of Baja. San Juanico is just south of Punta San Basilio, roughly between Bahía Concepción to the north and the town of Loreto to the south. We expected the passage to take about 24 hours, so leaving in the afternoon allows you to arrive in daylight.

Sailing south from San Carlos toward Baja, on a beam reach, going 6.7 knots in 14 knots of wind.

This time of year, the Gulf of California is famous for “northers,” wind events that bring moderate to strong northwest winds (20 to 30 knots with higher gusts) sweeping down the length of the Gulf. These winds can build steep waves and heavy swells in a very short period of time, and wind speeds are often significantly higher out in the middle of the Gulf than on either the Sonoran or the Baja coast. We had monitored the forecasts for a week or more from San Carlos, waiting for our good "weather window" that would give us enough—but not too much—wind to sail on. January 29 marked the tail end of a norther, with diminishing northwest winds that we hoped would take us right across the Gulf without too many “lumps.”

For the first three hours, we were both in the cockpit, alert with anticipation and getting the feel of the wind, sea, and sails. Winds were out of the west-northwest at 14 knots, and we were moving at 6.7 knots, which is pretty fast for Cilantro! Around 6:00 p.m., Curtis went below for a nap while Sue kept watch. At 9:00, Curtis took over and sailed through the wee hours, letting Sue sleep until 3:00 a.m. (6 hours—luxury on a passage!), when the wind died and he started the engine. Sue stood the last watch while Curtis grabbed another 3 hours on a settee.

Chartplotter in night mode, showing our position halfway across the Gulf of California at 1:49 a.m. and 60 minutes of wind history at right. The wind speed had dropped to 6.9 knots, and we were sailing at 4.4 knots.

Just at sunrise, with Baja on the horizon ahead of us, 6:47 a.m.

At sunrise the unfamiliar coast of Baja loomed large and mountainous ahead of us, although we were still several hours offshore. We saw very few birds out on the Gulf during the daylight hours of the crossing, and no whales or other sea life. This surprised us, because we were used to seeing many boobies, pelicans, gulls and other birds near San Carlos, along with occasional dolphins and sea lions. We use eBird (a citizen science project managed by Cornell University that stores and makes available user-submitted bird lists from all over the world) to record our bird sightings, and our eBird list for the crossing contains only 1 Blue-footed Booby and 1 Heermann's Gull!

Approaching the coast of Baja California Sur, 7:21 a.m.

By the time we were 5 miles from Caleta San Juanico, the sun was well up and we were motoring directly into a steady south wind. Curtis wanted to sail a bit more before arriving, so we put up sails, shut off the engine, and tacked east and west a few times, making incremental progress toward shore. It was a beautiful morning, and we congratulated ourselves on a successful first passage to Baja as we munched on pretzels and Clif bars and sipped hot coffee out of thermoses.

Breakfast at sea!

Suddenly a gust took Curtis’s favorite Narragansett ball cap and dropped it into the sea, brim upright in the waves. GEAR OVERBOARD! After a quick huddle, we agreed it was a good opportunity to practice our Crew Overboard rescue technique. So we ran through the Figure 8 method: put the boat on a beam reach (90 degrees to the wind), sail a couple of boat lengths past the hat, tack without changing sails, cross over our own wake, and jibe to come back upwind and approach the hat slowly. Sue executed the drill at the helm while Curtis kept the cap in sight and waited along the starboard side with the boathook.

Sue’s first pass was not quite close enough, so Curtis leaned out a bit farther over the lifelines with the boathook fully extended. The next thing Sue saw were Curtis’s shorts and shoes disappearing over the side of the boat. A perfect somersault. “Jesus Christ!” said Sue to no one. “Curtis!” She looked astern, expecting to see him floating away in the waves like a hat.

“I’m here,” came a voice over the starboard rail. Sue turned the boat into the wind and ran forward, where she found Curtis hanging on to the jib sheet (the line used to control the jib) and being dragged through the water as we sailed along. With luck—or something more difficult to explain—Curtis had grabbed this line as he tumbled over. He was completely soaked but still wearing his glasses, binoculars, and PFD, and gripping the boathook, which he handed up to Sue so he could hold on with both hands. Sue ran to the stern to let down the swim ladder (to which we had far too many things clipped and tied) and then used the boathook to lead Curtis to the ladder. Disconcertingly, his auto-inflating PFD did not inflate until he was almost at the ladder (at which point it was almost more of a hindrance than a help), although he could have deployed it manually at any time.

A hot cockpit shower was the next order of business, after which we started the engine, furled sails, and motored directly to our destination, the anchorage at beautiful Caleta San Juanico. With south winds gusting and rippling the north part of the bay, we anchored in the south arm, getting some protection from a long low reef extending out from shore and a set of jagged rock pinnacles known as Los Mercenarios. We ate an early dinner and turned in for some welcome rest!

Sunrise on 31 January in the south anchorage at Caleta San Juanico. You can see the low-lying (nearly water-level) reef at left and the jagged rocks known as Los Mercenarios in the center.

In all, our 100-mile passage had taken 23 hours, of which we sailed 17 and motored 6. Lost: 1 ball cap and 1 tube of chapstick.* Saved: glasses, binoculars, shoes and, of course, Curtis! Repair and maintenance items: Lifelines are thin cables that run down both sides of the boat as a line of defense against falling overboard. The one Curtis had leaned on gave way because a circlip near the bow had come out, releasing the cotter pin. Curtis had planned to wrap all the lifeline circlips with tape before departing but then decided to take care of it after we got to Baja. And the PFD that deployed as Curtis neared the ladder would need a new inflation cartridge installed.

*Curtis admits that, having failed at retrieving the hat, he briefly considered lunging for the chapstick as it floated away. Sue is glad he didn’t. Curtis is glad too.

Next post: First looks at Baja birds and plants in and around Caleta San Juanico, where we spent more than 10 days with good friends, a surprise guest, and yet another “norther.”