Bahía Concepción - Santispac to San Juanico

Santispac

November 6, 2024

We have a bit of a love–hate relationship with Bahía Concepción—and with Santispac in particular. On paper, it’s almost perfect. The anchorage is rock-solid in nearly all winter conditions. Even when the wind funnels hard through the surrounding mountains, the fetch is short and the water stays manageable. The sandy bottom offers excellent holding, which means peaceful nights at anchor. There are beachside restaurants scattered around the bay, natural hot springs to soak in, and the town of Mulegé is close enough for an easy run ashore. To top it off, we even have friends with a vacation palapa right on the beach—always a good excuse to linger longer than planned.

But…

But then there’s the other side of the ledger. Getting into the bay from the Sea of Cortez is usually a two-hour slog, most often under power, which takes some of the romance out of the arrival. Once you’re there, the water is surprisingly lifeless: few fish, mediocre snorkeling, and visibility that’s often pretty disappointing. Add in the oppressive heat that can settle over the bay and the crowds that pile into the anchorages, and the charm starts to wear thin. Beyond eating at the restaurants, there isn’t a whole lot to do unless your idea of a perfect day is finding creative ways to stay cool.

Our Last Time

All told, we’ve probably spent close to a month in Santispac over the years, hopping in and out as we roam the Sea of Cortez. We’ve had some genuinely great times there—especially when friends are anchored nearby and evenings turn into long, laughter-filled beach hangs. And yet, almost every time we pull anchor and point the bow back out of the bay, we say the same thing: there’s no real reason to come back.

It’s one of those places that’s undeniably beautiful, undeniably convenient… and, for us at least, a place we feel like we’ve finally seen enough of.

Punta Pulpito

November 19, 2024

We slipped out of Santispac before first light, falling in line with two other boats and ghosting up the bay under power. A couple of hours later, enough breeze finally filled in to let us set sail and point the bow down the Sea of Cortez. Our destination was Punta Pulpito—an anchorage we’d skipped on our northbound run in March 2024 and were more than ready to finally check off the list.

The ride south started out lazy, sails hanging soft in light air, then sharpened up as we crossed Bahía San Nicolás. Short, punchy seas kicked up, enough to keep us on our toes. But the moment we turned west and tucked in behind Punta Pulpito, the chaos fell away. The water smoothed, the wind eased, and we dropped the hook in 25 feet over clean sand—one of those arrivals that instantly lets your shoulders drop and reminds you why you came.

Arriving in Punta Pulpito

Punta Pulpito feels like one of those secret spots you almost don’t want to write about—rugged, raw, and still blessedly off the mainstream cruising circuit. Tucked along the wild stretch of coast in Baja California Sur, this headland offers an anchorage that feels worlds away from the busier bays farther south.

The approach is pure Baja drama: desert mountains plunging straight into the sea, volcanic rock glowing at sunset, and that deep cobalt water that makes you slow the boat just to take it all in. Conditions here can be surprisingly calm when the prevailing winds line up in your favor, and the protection from the point creates a peaceful pocket where the boat finally relaxes into her anchor. Nights are quiet in a way that’s becoming rare—no beach bars thumping in the distance, no jet skis buzzing past, just the sound of water against the hull, mobula rays belly flopping nearby, and the occasional spouting of dolphins.

What Punta Pulpito lacks in amenities, it more than makes up for in atmosphere. This is not a “dinghy ashore for tacos and margaritas” kind of stop. It’s a place for slowing down: morning swims in clear water, watching the light change on the cliffs, and sitting in the cockpit as the stars spill across an inky-black sky. On a calm day, snorkeling and spearfishing can be rewarding, with better visibility than many of the more heavily trafficked anchorages along the coast. The feeling is remote, almost untouched—Baja as you imagine it when you first dream about sailing here.

Strong North Wind

Our first three days at Punta Pulpito were a full-on reminder that Baja makes you earn the good days. Thirty-plus-knot winds screamed through the anchorage, pinning us to the boat and rattling the rigging day and night. With 200 feet of chain out, we never budged an inch—but we also never left the boat. It was the kind of weather that makes you grateful for good ground tackle and a well-set anchor.

Diving Punta Pulpito

Then, almost as suddenly as it arrived, the wind laid down. The bay transformed, and we finally traded boat time for water time. The visibility was surprisingly good, the water clear and inviting, and the spearfishing delivered in a big way—one of those rare sessions where everything lines up and reminds you why you put up with the tough days in the first place.

The calm stuck around long enough for us to explore farther afield. With glassy conditions, we dinghied around to the north side of Punta Pulpito and dropped in for a dive on that side of the point. Tucked into the northeast corner is a stunning natural arch, carved right through the rock. The water there glows aqualine blue and runs deep enough to motor the dinghy straight through—one of those small, magical moments that sticks with you long after you’ve weighed anchor.

Final Thoughts

Punta Pulpito isn’t flashy, and it isn’t easy. Swell can wrap in, winds can funnel around the point, and you’ll want to pick your weather window carefully. But for cruisers willing to be patient and flexible, it delivers something increasingly hard to find: solitude, wild beauty, amazing diving and the sense that you’ve dropped anchor at the edge of the world.

San Juanico

November 28, 2024

The anchorage at San Juanico, tucked along the coast north of Loreto, is one of those quiet Sea of Cortez stops that rewards patience and curiosity. From the water, the shoreline reads as classic Baja: low, tawny hills stepping back from a narrow ribbon of beach, with volcanic headlands framing pockets of shelter. It’s a low-key place to drop the hook, shake out the sea miles, and let the desert meet you on its own terms.

Geology

Geologically, this coast is part of the long rift story of the Sea of Cortez, where the Baja peninsula has been slowly peeling away from mainland Mexico. The bluffs and points around the anchorage are dominated by volcanic rocks—dark basalts and andesites from Miocene eruptions—layered with marine and terrestrial sediments that record cycles of uplift and submergence. Faulting associated with the rift system has fractured the terrain into stepped terraces and low scarps, giving the shoreline its broken, angular look. Those same structures create the small coves and points that shape wind and swell at anchor.

Mineralogy

The mineralogy shows itself in subtle ways. Iron oxides stain the cliffs in rusty reds and ochres; thin quartz veins cut through darker volcanic faces; and occasional greenish hues hint at trace copper mineralization common in Baja’s volcanic belts. Inland, the hills shed coarse, angular gravels into broad alluvial fans that spread toward the coast. These fans feed sandy-to-pebbly bottoms in the nearshore zone—generally decent holding when you find a good patch of sand, with scattered cobble near the rocky margins.

In San Juanico you can find small, glossy black pebbles known as Apache Tears—a poetic name for rounded pieces of obsidian. These pebbles began as volcanic glass, formed when silica-rich lava cooled so rapidly that crystals never had time to grow. Over time, weathering breaks obsidian flows into nodules and pebbles, and wave action or flash floods polish them into smooth, tear-shaped stones. Their presence is a quiet clue to the region’s volcanic past: ancient eruptions laid down glassy lava flows that were later fractured, tumbled, and carried downslope to the coast. Held up to the light, Apache Tears often reveal a smoky translucence, a subtle reminder that even the stark desert landscapes here were once shaped by fire.

Geography

Geographically, the anchorage sits in a transition zone between steep volcanic headlands and gently sloping coastal plains. The points to either side break up chop and deflect prevailing winds, often creating a workable lee when conditions line up. The seabed shelves gradually, and the water clarity tends to be better than in more silty bays, especially after a few calm days. It’s an honest anchorage: not crowded with amenities, but shaped by the same tectonic forces that make cruising the Sea of Cortez such a geologic front-row seat.

San Juanico’s charm is in its understatement. You’re anchored against a landscape written by fire and fault lines, where mineral-streaked cliffs meet a quiet shore and the rhythms of wind and water decide your schedule. It’s a place to read the rocks, watch the light change on the desert hills, and feel—literally—the slow, ongoing making of Baja beneath your keel.

Diving San Juanico

San Juanico offers several easy-access dive spots right from the anchorage, and they’re all solid for relaxed snorkeling or getting in the water with a speargun. Off the east point, a rugged rocky reef drops from about ten feet down to forty, creating ledges and hidey-holes that big fish love. It’s prime territory for grouper and snapper tucked deep into the rocks, and Rich has had his best luck here, landing both pargo and grouper in the deeper pockets.

Mid-anchorage, another reef complex rises out of the sand and makes for better snorkeling than hunting. The visibility is often surprisingly good, and the structure is riddled with cracks and crevices that turn every swim into a slow-motion treasure hunt. Schools of smaller reef fish weave through the rock, and closer to shore there’s a separate outcrop where we’ve repeatedly spotted hefty grouper stacked up in the shadows.

Just south of the main anchorage, a large rocky islet marks the start of another productive stretch of reef. The reef fans out from the shore on the south side of the islet, and it’s one of those spots that always feels alive. We’ve seen golden trevally cruising the edges here, along with snapper and grouper working the structure—enough action to keep you lingering in the water long after your fingers start to prune.

Diving Punta Mercenarios

The southern gate to the San Juanico anchorage is marked by Punta Mercenarios, a rugged headland that gives the coastline a distinctly wild, unfinished feel. From offshore, the point stands out as a rocky wall rising from the water, backed by low volcanic hills stained in rusty reds and browns from iron-rich rock. Erosion has gnawed at the point for millennia, leaving jagged faces and scattered offshore rocks—features that make the landscape dramatic, but also demand attention from mariners. Cruising guides note a sizable rock lying offshore of the point, making Punta Mercenarios a place to give wide berth before turning into the calmer waters of San Juanico Bay. Once past the headland, the water and wind often soften, and the anchorage opens up into a broad, quieter pocket of coast—an abrupt but welcome transition from exposed headland to protected desert shoreline.

We dropped in on the Mercenarios at first light, timing our dive for that brief morning window when the wind goes slack and the sea turns glassy. The water was calm, the current barely moving, and the reef below us unfolded into one of the most impressive rock structures we’ve seen anywhere in the Sea of Cortez. This is grouper country—big fish tucked into caves and ledges, stacked deep in the shadows and free swimming in the water column. Parrotfish cruised the reef in bright flashes of color (beautiful to watch, not our target), while barred and amarillo pargo ghosted in and out of the cracks. Out in the blue, schools of gafftopsail pompano, roosterfish, and golden trevally swept past in loose formation.

The real show, though, came from the big stuff. Spotted eagle rays glided beneath us, and at one point the water filled with hundreds of mobula rays, winging by in a silent, pulsing river. We also had a few encounters with large bull sea lions—curious, powerful, and very aware of anything struggling in the water—so it’s a spot where you want to stay sharp if you’ve got a dead fish on your stringer.

Best of all, the Mercenarios are easy to reach. The reef sits only about two and a half miles from the north anchorage, an easy dinghy run on a calm morning. If conditions line up, you can also anchor in the south bay and be right on top of the dive site—front-row seats to one of the most alive pieces of reef in this stretch of Baja.

Hiking in San Juanico

As much as we love the water, San Juanico has a way of pulling you ashore. The hiking here is simple, scenic, and perfectly Baja—desert paths, big skies, and long views of empty coast. One easy loop starts by weaving through the beach campers, then following the road north toward the Ramada anchorage. From there, climb back over the low hill to close the loop. Keep an eye out for a small cairn marking the trail; if you miss it, no worries—stay on the road a bit longer and you’ll hit the crest trail, which drops you right back down toward the Ramada anchorage.

For a different angle, dinghy southwest of the anchorage and land on the beach, then walk inland to pick up the dirt road. From here you can wander north back toward the beach campers or continue on toward the lagoon tucked behind the beach. Head south instead and you’ll pass a small house; the road isn’t gated, so you can keep going all the way to another quiet stretch of beach. On calm days, you can even run the dinghy around and land there directly.

If you keep climbing the road, it eventually meets the crest trail. Follow it out along the ridgeline toward the antenna for sweeping views, or stop at the high point and just take it in: the southern curve of San Juanico Bay laid out below you, with the Mercenarios headland hazy in the distance. It’s the kind of short, dusty hike that leaves you sun-warmed, windblown, and grinning on the walk back to the boat.