Bahia Tortugas
Baja’s west coats is mainly big dramatic desert mountains, growing larger the further south one goes, interspersed with the occasional fishing village though these are very much part of the desert themselves. Roads of sand, not even compacted dirt but straight up, how does a car not just got bogged in this sand. Dust, dust everywhere but not dirt, its fine sand dust. Once you reach the edge of one of these towns, which is rather easy, usually but a few blocks from where you started, its just desert. They’re often on their own water supply with a desalination plant somewhere in town. Power often comes partially from a grid of sorts which is on a few hours a day and partially from one’s own solar setups. No ATMs or box stores, its just the small abarrotes shops and cash only. Aside from the early morning to about noon where the fisherman take off and then return in their pangas, not much is happening, but I mean that in a good sense.
Bahia Tortugas is a small bay a third of the way down the west coast of Baja California which encloses a town of the same name. A perfectly protected anchorage, it stands out on this coast as a lot of the other towns are simply on the coast meaning to anchor one is in the straight up Pacific swell most of the time which is, for the non sailors out there, lets just go with not ideal most of the time. During the annual rally of cruisers, called the Baja HaHa, from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas/La Paz this is the first place they have the 100 or so yachts anchor in all together. Coming down later in the season, when Karma’s hook lands in the sand at the bottom of the bay its just us and another boat, the binoculars reveal her as S/V WeighsAway. A sleepy town seems best visited with a sleepy amount of guests so this suits us just fine. The HaHa probably brings in enough people for the 3 days they’re there to quadruple the population.
After coffee in the cockpit gazing upon the movement, or lack there of, on shore, we put the dinghy in and head over to the other boat to introduce ourselves. Immediately invited aboard by the captain and only crew, Lawnboy. Aboard we get the tour, its a lifetime of gardening put into a perfectly suited solo sailing machine and a beer later we decide to hit the town. Now this, this is a dusty place. All the houses are low and close together, crowded up against the streets. It is charming though. Everyone is friendly and waves, the buildings are all fun colors albeit dusty, the roads wind around and the topography of the town being stuck between desert hills make the streets wind around, up and down and around each other. Right upon the shore is our first experience with a palapa. Thatched roof restaurants usually on the beach with cold beer and cheap but extremely tasty cooked meals. Surely a staple of life for visitors and citizens alike of this fine country.
The three of us head up the I guess what you’d call the main street and find the grocery store. Small but decently stocked for its size we get a walking beer and cacouates, Mexican peanuts, and hit the streets to explore. Turns out Lawnboy is from Anacortes and knows a lot of the same places and people we do. We even call Kyle and Ashley who are some of our first friends we ever had aboard Karma, before she was even in the water, and turns out they not only know but also call Lawnboy by his moniker. Small world the sailing one is even though its a global activity.
As there isn’t much wind for the next couple of days we take our time and don’t rush off to see everything all at once. Over the next few days we have random meanders through streets, tacos at different restaurants occupying one of their two or three tables, and watch the sunset over the bay from the palapa restaurant with a cold beer. At some point Lawnboy organizes the palapa owner’s son to drive him the few blocks to the Pemex service station for some diesel so we hop on that. Emptying the jerrys into our tank we plop them in his trunk along with Lawnboy’s and head up the hill. Henceforth we haven’t been back to a fuel dock in Karma. We always opt to schlep fuel this way as Pemex doesn’t occasionally have water in the fuel like the varying quality of docks have the possibility to and it also doesn’t charge you for the time you take tied alongside. Karma’s repurposed cultivator Yanmar but sips fuel like a fine wine so we aren’t often pressed for huge amounts all at once.
One of the days we decide to hike up one of the surrounding hills to where a cross is placed. It seems if there is a prominent point near something in Mexico somewhere Jesus has asked to be represented atop. They usually make good hikes whatever the case. Unlike where we’ve been previously, Mexican hikes seem to be of the ‘just go the most direct route straight up’ variety with no planning, switchbacks, or other view points. This was no exception. Baja is particularly rocky with all of them being of the non-eroded variety ensuring they’ve retained all their pointedness. Stumbling directly up a mound of these to the top lands us at the cross and a view of not just the town and the bay, but out across the the entrance to the great Pacific ocean laying on the other side. With preparations having been done for departure aka beers and tacos with Lawnboy at the palapa that evening we are ready to depart for lands further south the following day.
