Baja California Sur: Isla de Cedros to Cabo San Lucas

After re-establishing ourselves on Mohini and waiting a couple of days onboard in Bahía San Quintin for a good weather window, the distant roar of the breakers constantly in our ears, we set off south once again on an overnight sail to Punta San Carlos. Like Punta Colonet, this was a desolate, windswept day anchorage where we didn't leave the boat. A few lonesome concrete buildings peppered the cliffs, seemingly huddled together against the unforgiving desert landscape, and we spent the day schooling and working, appreciating the change of scenery.

As we set anchor with the sunrise, a panga pulled up alongside us and a couple of good-humored local fisherman tossed us two fresh lobsters, once again underscoring the inherent warmth and generosity of the region. We had fun trying to stay clear of the long, whip-like tentacles and enjoyed dining on succulent, butter-poached lobster tails for supper as we prepared to embark on the 93-nautical-mile crossing to Isla de Cedros.

Isla de Cedros

When I awoke to relieve Nico early the following morning, we were completely surrounded by rolling ocean--no land in sight. Sitting in the captain's chair cutting across steely, pre-dawn swells, I squinted towards the horizon, waiting to catch a first glimpse of the largest island off of Baja's Pacific coast. When it finally appeared, impressionist peaks and valleys softly silhouetted against the misty sunrise, it took our breath away. It looks like Neverland, said Aaron. And I agreed.

As we approached Isla de Cedros (Cedar Island) under the full light of day, its initially surreal outline resolved into a less fantastic, but still stunning, brown and golden palette of desert mountains capped sparingly with cedar trees. Sailing along its leeward side, the wind died and, suddenly, we were accompanied by a band of frolicking sea lions who drag-raced us for the better part of an hour, leaping and tumbling through the water as they went. A strong current against us made for slow progress, but we didn't mind at all. We were experiencing Baja's crystal turquoise waters for the first time as the remote coastline slipped past and were in no hurry to rush the experience.

We arrived at Isla de Cedros' sole town of approximately 1,500 people in the late afternoon and set anchor just north of the tiny harbor, which was too full to accommodate Mohini. Eager to get off the boat and stretch our legs, we hopped in the dinghy, relieved to find that the motor started smoothly, and were able to spend a couple of hours on shore before sunset.

Like many island communities, Isla de Cedros exhibits a rugged, unpolished charm and its people were welcoming and unpretentious. The harsh reality of desert life separated from the mainland has clearly shaped the community and taken a toll on its economy and infrastructure, but our overall impression was one of deep peace and resilience. Despite dirt streets, wind-battered buildings, and an abundance of trash blowing throughout the townsite, we received warm greetings and smiles from everyone we met. An old local couple bought the kids juice boxes and candy at a corner store and Aaron gave names and love to at least eight or nine different stray dogs he met along the way.

Gifts of food seem to be a way of life in rural Baja and, over the course of the next two days, we found ourselves on the receiving end of freshly caught fish, homemade ceviche, and some of the most delicious tacos we've ever had. Aaron also caught and prepared his first solo catch--a tiny mackerel--so, needless to say, our bellies and hearts were full to the point of bursting.

I enjoyed exploring windy, winding streets on my daily walks (except for a couple of questionable stray dogs that I steered clear of) and was touched by the impeccable cleanliness of the town's cathedral--a contrast to the state of the surrounding blocks. The church overlooks rooftops to the sea and is overlooked itself by a well-kept cemetery on the exposed hillside above.

We wanted to go hiking, but after being told that highly venomous rattlesnakes frequent the hills of Isla de Cedros and bites are not uncommon, we took a minute to reconsider. Ultimately, we decided to head back to Mohini to get the kids' rubber boots, proceed slowly and with caution, and stick to well-marked trails. One local offered us his knife and another promised to take us to the mainland on the fastest boat in town, the navy ship, in case we happened to be in a life-or-death situation.

Thankfully, such heroics were entirely unnecessary as we didn't encounter a single rattlesnake on what turned out to be a beautiful and rewarding hike through the hills. Highlights included flourishing cacti and succulents, gorgeous seashells, and turquoise water as far as the eye could see.

South To Bahía Magdalena

We were aware that a weather system was approaching and, with the Isla de Cedros port set to be closed for the duration of the storm, we decided to get ahead of the strong winds and cross over to the mainland a day earlier than planned. Yet another overnight sail brought us to Bahía de Tortugas, where we anchored for half a day to purchase some fuel, and then we were off again, maintaining about a twelve hour distance between Mohini and the approaching bad weather.

Our next stop was the small town of Asuncion, where we landed our dinghy and had lunch on the beach, only to realize that the waves had once again increased in size and intensity while we were eating. With our recent accident in San Quintin still fresh in our memories, the kids and I walked down the beach to where some local fishermen were launching their pangas and paid them a few pesos to shuttle us back through the breakers to Mohini. Nico safely braved the waves and was able to deliver our clean laundry to the boat nice and dry, but we decided that from that point forward we wouldn't land the dinghy on any more unprotected beaches until we reached the calmer shores of the Sea of Cortez. The surf along Baja's Pacific coast had turned out to be much wilder and less predictable than we had anticipated and, with that in mind, we set sail for the next protected anchorage on the charts--Bahía Magdalena.

Bahía Magdalena (my namesake), is a completely protected estuary known for its abundant and diverse marine wildlife. As we passed through its narrow entrance, we found ourselves surrounded by literally thousands of cormorants floating on the water as far as the eye could see. Whales leapt and spouted nearby and, while we were on anchor in the bay, pods of dolphins passed leisurely by our boat multiple times per day.

After several days at sea, we were thrilled to find ourselves in glassy calm waters and wasted no time in heading to shore to explore what turned out to be the very tiniest of the communities we had yet visited. The kids and I counted forty-two brightly-coloured dwellings scattered across the desert along with a church, a tienda with no electricity, a couple of primitive eco-camping resorts, and one thatched restaurant.

Bahía Magdalena was a welcome reprieve from the open ocean, but after a few days spent combing the rocky beach for shells, trying out our snorkel gear in the crystal clear water, and visiting with our neighbors in the anchorage, we were running low on produce (the local store only had potatoes and limes) and feeling prepared to make the final 170-nautical-mile push to Cabo San Lucas, at the very southern tip of the Baja Peninsula. It was time to finish the long journey southward (at least for the moment) and we were ready!

Cabo San Lucas

Arriving in Cabo San Lucas after several weeks at sea and in remote desert communities was a shock to the system that felt like showing up in Times Square on New Years Eve. Approaching the city's iconic limestone seastacks at sunrise was truly a magnificent sight to behold, but immediately afterwards we were thrown into the chaos of boat traffic of every kind entering and exiting the port.

El Arco de Cabo San Lucas

We anchored just off one of the main beaches nearby a riot of other cruising vessels, yachts, fishing boats, tour and charter boats, cruise ships, pangas, and a constant barrage of wild tourists on jet skis. The water was stunningly clear and we could see tropical fish schooling just off Mohini's stern, but it was tough to relax with so much frenetic action around us on the water.

Dinghying into the Cabo marina felt like crossing a 12-lane freeway and once we reached shore we were assaulted by a tidal wave of vendors and tourists that was almost impenetrable. While we appreciated the opportunity to provision at Costco, have Shabbat dinner with the local Jewish community, take a ride on a glass-bottom boat, and spend a day at a nearby resort (we agreed to sit through a timeshare presentation), Cabo San Lucas was not really our scene. After a few days, our energy was drained and we welcomed the opportunity to finally, FINALLY round Baja's point and navigate northwards into the Sea of Cortez.

To continue following Mohini's journey north into the Sea of Cortez, read our post Baja California Sur Part 3: La Paz and Isla Espiritu Santo.