After nearly five months in the boatyard, we finally launched mid-October. We stayed at Safe Marina for two nights before catching a good weather window to sail to Bahía San Luis Gonzaga. Gonzaga, is a remote coastal settlement and bay located along the eastern shore of the Baja California Peninsula facing the Sea of Cortez. It sits about 124 miles southeast of Ensenada, with San Felipe 62 miles to the north.
The area encompasses two interconnected bays divided by a narrow sand spit. The sheltered harbor ideal for boating and fishing. The surrounding terrain features arid desert landscapes, coastal dunes, and rugged volcanic hills typical of Baja. Elevations rise sharply to the west toward the Sierra de los Cucapás mountains. The area is known for its isolation, accessible primarily by dirt roads, small aircraft via Alfonsina’s Airstrip, and by boat of course.
We slipped the lines in Puerto Peñasco in the late afternoon. Before leaving the harbor, Rich did his usual “doctor’s rounds” below: a quick check of the shaft and rudder stuffing boxes to make sure they were dripping just the right amount (not too much, not too little). All good. We hoisted the sails, caught 15 knots of northerly breeze, and took off like a freight train, surfing at 6.5–7 knots. Life was perfect.
Then night fell. We gybed south, shortened sail a bit, and settled in for the long, starry ride. Around midnight Rich glanced at the bilge-pump counter and did a double-take: 30 runs. Thirty. Our pump normally fires once or twice a day, so that number lit every alarm bell in our heads. We ripped up the floorboards expecting the worst, but… nothing. No lake in the salon. Rich re-checked the stuffing boxes (still perfect), and after some frantic flashlight sleuthing we finally traced the culprit to the saltwater washdown pump tucked under the V-berth. A hose had sprung a pinhole leak. Because the pump shares a breaker with the windlass—a breaker we never turn off—it kept sensing low pressure, kicking on, and pumping seawater into the bilge all night. Mystery solved. We killed the breaker, exhaled, and promised ourselves a proper fix once we were anchored.
Just before noon the next day the handlines snapped taught—one after the other—and we hauled in two beautiful dorado, their neon colors flashing against the blue water. Rich filleted them in the cockpit while the boat heeled along, then whipped up a killer dorado crudo with veggies, lime, olive oil, sea salt, and a few smuggled capers. Best lunch we’ve had in months.
The passage ended up taking just over 27 hours and 132 nautical miles. Gonzaga and Refugio are roughly the same distance from Peñasco, but the northwesterly kept flicking its tail at us, forcing a few long tacks. With 30 miles to go the wind evaporated completely, so we rolled up the jib, fired up the iron genny, and motored the last stretch so we could drop the hook before dark. At 6 p.m. the anchor bit into Gonzaga’s sandy bottom, and we collapsed into the deepest sleep two worn-out sailors could want.
Morning arrived with mirror-calm water and barely a whisper of breeze—perfect for chores and a little gloating over how gorgeous this place is. While Rich crawled back into the V-berth to replace the hose and recommission the watermaker, I slapped another coat of teak sealer on the handrails and removed most of the rust from the stainless.
We’d chosen Gonzaga because we wanted to see something new, and because we figured we might never again be this far up the Sea of Cortez on our own keel. Best decision ever. The bay is ridiculously beautiful: turquoise water, desert mountains glowing gold in the sunset, and only one other cruising boat in sight. Rich sent the drone up for an aerial look, and even we had to admit our girl looks pretty darn sharp with her new arch, solar panels, davits, and bimini.
Light winds, flat water, and a quiet anchorage all to ourselves. Sometimes the sailing gods really do smile on you.
We’d planned to linger in Gonzaga for four or five lazy days, then hop over to Bahía de Refugio. Classic cruising plan… which lasted exactly two nights before the weather gods started laughing at us again.
A big, ugly Norther was forecast to come screaming down the Sea of Cortez in 48 hours and park itself there for the better part of a week. Refugio does offer decent protection from the north, but getting there would mean either motoring the whole way in zero wind or beating into 25–30+ knots of snotty chop. Then we’d be pinned down for a week with no escape. Yeah… hard pass.
So we pulled the plug, hauled the anchor while the bay was still glass-calm, and ghosted south along the coast under bluebird skies. The breeze was so light we actually broke out the spinnaker for a glorious hour of rainbow-sail surfing at 3–4 knots. The rest of the day, though, was pure iron-genny time. We motored the deserted shoreline until La Gringa appeared, dropped the hook in 15 feet of water, and toasted the fact that sometimes the best plan is the one you throw overboard.
