Hours before the sun peeked over the horizon we upped anchor and left the calm waters of Dana Point. Our destination is Discovery Bay in San Diego. We didn’t have a lot of wind, but we managed to ghost along the coast slowly making miles. By late afernoon we dropped the anchor in Mariners Basin in the middle of the mooring field. Supposedly the actual anchorage is farther north past the moorings. Harbor Patrol cruised by and didn’t say anything about where we anchored so we figured we were fine.
There’s something undeniably magical about setting sail on Christmas Day—especially when the journey takes you south along the Pacific, from San Diego’s Mariners Basin to the welcoming harbor of Baja Naval in Ensenada, Mexico. This year, with the sun hanging low in the winter sky and the anchorage quiet save for a few noisy seagulls, we cast off lines just after lunch. The tide was on our side and the wind light, promising a mellow start to the 65-mile run down the coast.
Sailing on Christmas Day was a special experience. The traffic is minimal and the coastline feels like it belongs entirely to you. Past the kelp beds off Point Loma, we set a broad reach on a steady northwest breeze, averaging 5 knots under full canvas. The sea was forgiving, and the late-December sunset painted the horizon in deep gold and crimson as we crossed into Mexican waters.
We wanted to be in Mexico before Christmas, but I got our Temporary Import Permit (TIP) a little too late and Christmas was was on a Monday which meant we probably wouldn’t be able to check into Mexico on the Saturday before.
Crossing into Ensenada, Mexico, and raising the yellow quarantine flag for the first time was both a rite of passage and a thrilling moment for us. As we approached the harbor, the flag fluttered in the breeze—a signal of our arrival from foreign waters and a nod to age-old maritime tradition. Though the formalities of clearing customs lay ahead, the sense of adventure was unmistakable.
Clearing customs in Ensenada might not sound like a festive affair, but Baja Naval makes it as smooth as possible. Their marina staff had us tied up and squared away before noon. Christmas lights sparkled along the Malecon, and the scent of carne asada drifted in from the nearby cantinas. It may not be a white Christmas, but it’s warm, friendly, and full of salty charm.
Ensenada hums with energy and local pride. A walk along the Malecón gives you views of fishing boats unloading their morning catch, mariachi bands, and taco stands calling your name. Don’t leave without trying fish tacos—this is their birthplace after all! The Mercado Negro fish market is a must-stop for fresh seafood and authentic street eats.
Need to restock or make repairs? Ensenada has plenty of marine supply stores, grocery markets, and even sailmakers. Whether you’re heading north or continuing down the Baja coast, it’s a smart pit stop to get your vessel and crew refreshed.
A Mexican Temporary Import Permit (TIP) for a sailboat is an official document issued by the Mexican government—specifically by Banjército (Mexico’s military bank)—that allows a foreign-flagged vessel to legally remain in Mexican waters for an extended period without paying import taxes.
Purpose: It temporarily exempts a foreign sailboat from being permanently imported into Mexico.
Validity:
Typically valid for 10 years from the date of issuance.
The TIP is non-renewable and non-transferable, but you can cancel it and reapply.
Applies To:
Foreign-registered pleasure craft (including sailboats, motorboats, and yachts).
Vessels over 4.5 meters (approximately 15 feet) in length.
Required When:
You are bringing a foreign vessel into Mexico.
Required Documents:
Vessel registration (matching owner).
Proof of ownership.
Valid passport or visa.
Crew list.
A list of all serial numbers of tenders, outboards, and onboard equipment.
Application Locations:
Online (via Banjército’s website).
At certain Mexican consulates.
At ports of entry (e.g., Ensenada, La Paz, Mazatlán).
Cancellation:
Must be done when the boat permanently leaves Mexico.
Failing to cancel the TIP properly may cause issues with future entries or sales.
Without a valid TIP, authorities (such as Aduana/Customs or the Mexican Navy) can confiscate your vessel, issue fines, or refuse re-entry. It essentially acts as a “passport” for the boat while in Mexico.
What was supposed to be a quick check-in stop in Ensenada turned into an unexpected week-long layover as a series of massive Pacific storms rolled down the coast in December 2023. With 30+ knot winds offshore and towering seas pounding the coast from Northern California to Baja, the weather window slammed shut—and like many cruisers heading south, we found ourselves sheltering in place at Cruiseport Marina.
And honestly? There are far worse places to be stuck.
Cruiseport, nestled just inside Ensenada’s protected harbor, became a haven for storm-dodging sailors this month. The docks filled up with cruisers on the annual Baja ha-ha trail, delivery crews heading for warmer latitudes, and salty single-handers who had seen enough weather to know when to wait it out. This December’s storm systems have been no joke. So for now, we wait. We rest. We learn the names of the dogs on neighboring boats. And we remind ourselves that being “stuck” sometimes just means we’re exactly where we need to be.
We were lucky enough to be assigned a slip next to a Panda 38 called Scout. Once docked we almost immediately met the owners Patrick and Alaina and Alaina’s sister Ray. They were also heading to Cabo San Lucas and asked if we wanted to buddy boat.
In sailing, a buddy boat refers to another vessel that travels in coordination with your own, often for reasons of safety, support, and companionship. Buddy boats maintain communication and look out for each other during passages, particularly in remote or challenging areas, offering assistance if needed and enhancing situational awareness. This informal partnership is common among cruisers, especially during long voyages or when sailing in convoy.
We’d never buddy boated before, but were keen to try it. And the Panda 38 is akin enough to our boat that we would be traveling at similar speeds. We didn’t know it at the time, but Patrick and Alaina are pretty famous musicians. The founded the band Tennis in Denver, Colorado in 2010.
Known for their breezy, vintage-inspired sound, Tennis blends elements of 1970s soft rock, lo-fi pop, and surf music, creating a nostalgic yet fresh sonic identity. Their music often features shimmering melodies, rich analog textures, and Moore’s ethereal, lilting vocals.
The couple began the project after a months-long sailing trip along the Eastern Seaboard, which inspired their debut album Cape Dory (2011). Since then, Tennis has evolved in style and ambition, releasing several critically acclaimed albums including Young & Old (2012), Yours Conditionally (2017), and Pollen (2023). The band is known for its DIY ethos, often self-producing and releasing music on their own label, Mutually Detrimental.
Lyrically introspective and musically sun-drenched, Tennis has cultivated a devoted fan base and carved out a distinctive place in the indie music landscape.
As New Year’s Eve approached the weather forecast improved. With sunny skies and mild temperatures we tossed off the dock lines and headed out of Ensenada for a six-day passsage to Cabo San Lucas. While there are many beautiful anchorages along the Pacific coast of Mexico, our goat was to get around Cab San Lucas before another winter storm. Patric and Alaina have done this trip south a couple of times and have been stuck for a week or longer due to bad weather.
By mid-day three of our passage we decided to take a break. Rich and I were doing fine, but Twitchell was having a hard time. Even though we were sailing and the motor was silent, she still didn’t want to go down below to eat, drink or use her box. I brought her litter box out to the cockpit and she did use it, but she wasn’t adjusting well.
We radioed Scout to tell them we were going to head for Bahía Asunción. Patrick was relieve. Unbeknownst to us, Alaina and her sister were fighting head colds and Patrick had been single-handing the boat and was exhausted.
We turned the point around Isla Asuncion around 2 am, dropped the anchor and went to bed. After 3 days and over 300 miles it was nice to be still for a bit.
Bahía Asunción is a remote and welcoming coastal village on the Pacific coast of Baja California Sur, Mexico. Located roughly halfway down the Baja peninsula, this fishing town sits in a wide, sandy bay fringed by rocky outcrops and dramatic headlands. It’s part of the Vizcaíno Biosphere Reserve, a protected region known for its rich marine life and pristine natural beauty.
The town itself is small and unpretentious, with a laid-back vibe and a close-knit local community. Life here revolves around the sea—lobster, abalone, and fish are the mainstay of the local economy.
Sailors are drawn to Bahía Asunción for its protected anchorage (though somewhat open to the south), basic services, and the genuine hospitality of its residents. Though it’s off the beaten path, the town has a small grocery store, fuel, and a few rustic accommodations. Visitors often note the peaceful atmosphere and the feeling of stepping back in time to a slower, more authentic pace of life.
We spent two and a half nights anchored in Asunción. Rich and I walked to Sunset Mary’s for tacos and met Evan and Bianca on Takuli. They were on the same dock as us in Baja Naval, but we didn’t get to meet them.
On Thursday Scout and Takuli crews came over to use Starlink, have some Ahi tuna poke we made, and discuss plans for heading south. Scout was on a time crunch to get Alaina’s sister to Cabo to catch a flight back to LA so they were leaving at 11 pm that night.
Takuli was planning to head to Santa Maria at 5 am on Friday. We decided to buddy up with Takuli and go a little slower down the coast. The weather looked good for the next week or so, which means we can scoot down to Cabo if the weather starts to turn.
After a few peaceful days tucked into the quiet anchorage at Bahía Asunción—where the dusty roads, friendly locals, and long, sweeping beaches offered a perfect break—we weighed anchor and pointed the bow southeast toward Bahía Santa María. This leg of the journey is one of the longer hauls along the Pacific side, about 230 nautical miles, so we planned it as a two day:one night offshore passage.
We left mid-morning, with a gentle breeze from the northwest and a rolling swell on our stern quarter. Conditions were mellow at first—just us, the open ocean, and the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull. As we sailed through the first afternoon, we spotted dolphins riding our bow and passed floating kelp patches and the occasional sea turtle basking in the sun.
The night offshore was dark and moonless, but the stars stretched from horizon to horizon. We kept four-hour watches, sipping hot drinks and scanning for other boats, which can be tricky in these waters. The wind filled in stronger on the second day, giving us a solid push under sail for much of the daylight hours. The swell increased too—long, rolling Pacific waves that made for an energetic ride but nothing uncomfortable.
We managed to catch a tuna near Thetis Bank. Thetis Bank is a well-known underwater seamount located off the Pacific coast of Baja California Sur. This shallow offshore bank rises dramatically from the deep ocean floor, creating an upwelling zone rich in marine life. The depths here range from about 30 to 70 feet, depending on the tides and exact location.
What makes Thetis Bank special is its abundance of pelagic life—it’s a magnet for big fish and sea mammals. Marlin, tuna, dorado, wahoo, and even sharks frequent the area, drawn in by the baitfish that thrive in the nutrient-rich waters. It’s also a hotspot for whales and dolphins, especially during the migration seasons.
For sailors, Thetis Bank is typically passed en route between Cabo San Lucas and Bahía Magdalena. It’s not a place to anchor—it’s entirely offshore and exposed. However, if conditions are calm, it’s possible to slow down and drift fish.
Spearfishers and sport anglers often venture out here from San Carlos or Puerto López Mateos for day trips. The bank’s remoteness and wild, open-ocean setting give it a legendary status among those who know Baja’s waters. It’s a reminder of how alive and untamed the Pacific can be.
By the second afternoon, the cliffs and dunes near Punta Hughes came into view, signaling our approach to Bahía Santa María. Rounding the headland and slipping into the vast bay felt like entering a forgotten world. With no town and only a few fishing shacks ashore, it’s one of the wildest anchorages on the Baja coast. The water was calm, the holding good in sand, and the silence complete except for the distant crash of surf on the outer bar.
We dropped the hook in about 20 feet and took a moment to breathe it all in—this is why we sail. After the long passage, a sunset dinner in the cockpit rounded out our arrival perfectly. Bahía Santa María doesn’t offer any services, but it gives something even better: a chance to disconnect, recharge, and feel like you’re the only boat in the world.
We spent three nights in Santa Maria before pushing south to Cabo San Lucas. We were a little disappointed with Santa Maria. The weather just would not cooperate for us to go to shore. We had 20+ knots all day and could see waves breaking across the entrance to the mangrove. So without any adventures in Santa Maria we have to leave for southern shores.
This leg, roughly 180 nautical miles, would take us past the sprawling coastline of Magdalena Bay and around the rugged southern tip of the Baja Peninsula — one of the most iconic segments of any southbound sailing adventure.
The morning started brisk, with 15 knots rippling across the sea. We motor-sailed out of the bay with the wind directly behind us (not a good point of sail for us). As we exited the bay and turned south, we had the wind just aft of our beam and set the sails. The sea state was rolly until we gibed past the mouth of Magdalena Bay. The coastline stretched endlessly to port — raw and empty. The Pacific swells rolled beneath us in long, gentle intervals, a rhythm we had come to know well.
The wind was off and on all day and by evening, had died down to 10 knots. With full sails up and stars beginning to peek through the twilight, we settled into our night watches. The air was cooler now, with a touch of moisture.
Rounding the tip of the Baja Peninsula was surreal. Even in the dark, we could sense the land rising beside us. The famous Cabo arch remained hidden in shadows, but the lights of the city spilled out over the hills and danced on the water. The contrast was jarring: after days of remote anchorages and isolated beaches, Cabo felt almost electric.
It was just after 1:30 a.m. when we crept into the anchorage off the beach. Cabo’s bay was calm, but full — charter boats, sailboats, and the occasional mega-yacht dotted the anchorage, making it a slow and cautious entrance. We scanned the area with our spotlight and radar, finally dropping the hook in about 25 feet of water, just outside the swim zone. No fanfare, just the quiet splash of the anchor chain and the soft hum of nightlife from ashore.
Exhausted but content, we sat in the cockpit and watched the shoreline glow. Cabo in the dark is something else — a glittering mirage after a long run down the wild Pacific. We’ll explore tomorrow. Tonight, we sleep.
Cabo San Lucas sits at the very southern tip of the Baja California Peninsula, where the Pacific Ocean meets the Sea of Cortez. With its dramatic desert-meets-ocean landscape, rocky cliffs, and the iconic Arch at Land’s End, Cabo is undeniably beautiful. But for sailors arriving from the quiet anchorages up the coast, it can feel like a slap in the face.
Cabo is loud—literally. Jet skis buzz past anchored boats from dawn until dusk, party boats thump bass-heavy music across the bay, and beach vendors shout over one another trying to sell trinkets, cigars, or a “cheap tour just for you.” The anchorage is rolly and exposed, often churned up by swells and wakes, and it’s right off the main beach lined with bars, clubs, and resorts pumping out music and margaritas in equal measure.
Tourists in Cabo are everywhere, often sunburnt, often drunk, and almost always trying to cram as much “fun” as possible into a few days. Downtown feels like a theme park version of Mexico, with Señor Frog’s, chain restaurants, and street barkers offering everything from tequila tastings to questionable pharmaceuticals.
But if you look past the chaos, there are redeeming corners—quiet mornings before the crowds stir, excellent provisioning at nearby supermarkets, and world-class sportfishing if that’s your thing. Cabo is a fine place to refuel, restock, and maybe even enjoy a guilty-pleasure night out—but most cruisers don’t stay long. The real Baja lies in the peaceful anchorages to the north. Cabo just happens to be the loud, neon-lit gate.