After a few days at anchor in Cabo San Lucas, we were more than ready for a change of pace. Cabo’s anchorage had its charms—the dramatic backdrop of Land’s End, lively Médano Beach, and easy access to town—but the constant wakes from pangas, water taxis, and jet skis wore thin. When the swell rolled in one night and set us rocking like a cradle, we knew it was time to move on.
We pulled anchor early in the morning, slipping out of the busy bay just as the first water taxis started buzzing across the harbor. Rounding Land’s End was breathtaking—granite cliffs glowing gold in the morning light, sea lions barking from the rocks, and pelicans skimming low over the water. Once clear, we pointed east along the southern coast of Baja, heading for San José del Cabo.
The run is a short one, about 20 nautical miles, but it feels worlds away. Instead of dodging traffic, we had open water, with the Sierra de la Laguna mountains rising inland and the desert stretching down to meet the sea. On a calm day it would be an easy motor or motor-sail. The day we made the trip the wind and chop kicked up due to a northerly funneling down the Sea of Cortez.
Arriving at Puerto Los Cabos Marina in San José del Cabo felt like stepping into a different Baja. The marina is modern and well-protected, tucked behind a sturdy breakwater with plenty of space to maneuver. After the rolly anchorage in Cabo San Lucas, tying up to a quiet dock was pure luxury.
San José itself has a completely different vibe than its party-town neighbor to the west. The pace is slower, more traditional, with cobblestone streets, art galleries, and a historic town square lined with cafes and restaurants. It’s a great place to catch your breath, stroll through the art district, or just relax after days of bouncing around on the hook.
For cruisers, the marina makes provisioning and boat work easy. There are chandleries, fuel, and repair services right on site, and the big supermarkets in town are just a short ride away. It’s also a good jumping-off point if you’re preparing to head north into the Sea of Cortez or south toward the mainland.
Leaving Cabo San Lucas behind, we were reminded that one of the joys of cruising is contrast. Sometimes the adventure is in the middle of the chaos; sometimes it’s in finding the calm that follows. San José del Cabo gave us exactly what we were looking for—a quiet dock, a slower rhythm, and a chance to breathe deep again.
We slipped the dock lines in San José del Cabo well before dawn, the marina still and quiet under the glow of the dock lights. The air was cool, the stars bright, and we motored out the channel into open water with that special sense of anticipation that comes with an early departure. For the first few hours, the sea treated us kindly—light winds filled in, and we ghosted northward with the sails drawing just enough to ease the motion.
By late morning, though, the Baja had other plans. A steady north wind built right on our nose, and by afternoon we were bashing into it. Short, choppy seas sent spray flying over the bow and slowed our progress. It wasn’t the most comfortable ride, but eventually the rocky silhouette of Punta Frailes appeared on the horizon, and we tucked into the well-known anchorage just before sunset. Dropping the hook in the calm behind the point felt like a small victory after a long day of pounding.
The next leg, from Los Frailes to Los Muertos, was a completely different story. The north wind that punished us the day before disappeared entirely. With glassy seas and not even a hint of breeze, we had no choice but to motor the whole way. It was a day of hum and drone, the engine pushing us steadily along the coast. The Baja landscape rolled by—desert mountains tumbling down to meet the sea, lonely beaches untouched by roads, and the occasional pod of dolphins breaking the monotony with a joyful visit.
By the time we reached Los Muertos, we were more than ready to drop anchor and enjoy the peace of the bay. Cruising in the Sea of Cortez often reminds us that no two days are alike—one day you’re battling chop with salt spray in your teeth, the next you’re motoring across a sea as smooth as glass. It’s all part of the rhythm of moving north, taking what the Baja gives you and learning to roll with it—literally.
After a long motor up from Los Frailes, we dropped the hook in Bahía de los Muertos and decided to linger. What started as a planned overnight turned into four days—proof that sometimes an anchorage just has everything you need. And often the weather just doesn’t cooperate.
Los Muertos is well known among cruisers heading into the Sea of Cortez. The bay offers excellent holding in sand, with protection from the prevailing north winds. We settled in quickly, grateful for the calm after days of bashing and motoring. The surrounding desert hills glowed warm at sunrise and sunset. The weather and water were still too cold for swimming, but warm enough for lazy afternoons in the cockpit.
One of the highlights of our stay was the 1535 Restaurant, perched right on the beach. It’s a bit surreal to dinghy ashore, pull the boat up on the sand, and then sit down to a plate of fresh seafood or a cold cerveza with your toes still dusted in salt and sand. The ceviche was crisp and bright, the grilled fish tacos perfect after a day in the sun, and the view over the anchorage unbeatable. We returned more than once, because really, how could we not?
Equally memorable were the people we met. Los Muertos tends to collect a small community of cruisers, and over the course of our stay we traded stories and sundowners with crews from all over. Some were heading north into the Sea, some south toward the mainland, but all shared that easy camaraderie that seems to come naturally among sailors on the same journey. Potlucks on the beach, dinghy visits from boat to boat, and evenings swapping tips about anchorages up the coast made the bay feel like a floating neighborhood.
By the time we finally pulled up anchor, Los Muertos had become more than just a waypoint. It was a pause, a reminder of why we cruise—not just for the places, but for the meals shared, the friendships formed, and the moments when time slows down in a quiet, well-protected bay.
Leaving Bahía de los Muertos at first light, we pointed the bow north toward Isla Espíritu Santo. The run took us past Isla Cerralvo, which in recent years has been renamed Isla Jacques Cousteau in honor of the legendary ocean explorer who spent time in these waters. The island rises steeply from the sea, rugged and uninhabited, with cliffs that glow golden in the morning sun. Locals still call it Cerralvo, but the renaming is a reminder of just how special this stretch of the Sea of Cortez is to divers and ocean lovers worldwide.
Just across the channel lies Bahía de La Ventana, a popular spot for kitesurfers and scuba divers. The bay’s reefs and rocky points are teeming with life. It’s easy to see why Cousteau himself called the Sea of Cortez “the world’s aquarium.”
By late afternoon we rounded the southern tip of Isla Espíritu Santo and dropped the hook in Bahía Bonanza, a long, sweeping beach of dazzling white sand. The anchorage is well-protected from the north, with turquoise water that looks like something out of a travel magazine. It was a perfect reward after a day on the water.
Anchored off Bahía Bonanza, with Espíritu Santo’s desert cliffs rising behind us and a blanket of stars above, we couldn’t help but reflect on the contrasts of this coastline—harsh and rugged on land, yet teeming with abundance below the surface. It’s a place where every mile north reveals something new, and every anchorage offers its own reward.
After a few dreamy days in Bahía Bonanza, it was time to move north. We lifted the anchor in the turquoise shallows and set out along the eastern side of Isla Espíritu Santo, bound for Ensenada Grande on Isla Partida. The sail was short—just a handful of miles—but it felt like stepping into another world.
Espíritu Santo and Partida are striking islands, separated only by a narrow gap where the sea flows between them. Their rugged cliffs tell the story of their volcanic origins. Layers of reddish volcanic rock and pale sandstone rise in sharp contrast, sculpted by wind and water into dramatic ridges, caves, and sea stacks. From the deck, the geology is impossible to ignore—the islands look like a giant open-air geology book, each layer marking a chapter in Baja’s fiery past.
As we rounded the northern tip of Isla Partida, the coastline softened into sheltered coves and inviting beaches. Ensenada Grande is the most famous of these, often called one of the most beautiful anchorages in Mexico—and it’s easy to see why. The bay is divided into three lobes, each with its own strip of white sand tucked against sheer cliffs. The water glows in impossible shades of green and blue, clear enough to spot schools of fish swimming beneath the boat.
We chose the south lobe and dropped anchor in good sand, surrounded by the pink and orange cliffs that glowed in the late afternoon light. Ashore, hiking trails wound up into the hills, offering sweeping views back over the anchorage and the Sea of Cortez beyond. In the water, snorkeling revealed parrotfish, angelfish, scorpionfish, and even the occasional curious puffer drifting along the rocks.
That night, as the sun set and the stars began to appear, the anchorage fell still. The geology that towered around us—ancient and unchanging—made a dramatic backdrop for the simple pleasures of cruising: a calm boat, a good meal, and the feeling of being somewhere truly special. Sailing north around Isla Partida reminded us again why these islands are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, protected not just for their beauty but for the story they tell about the earth itself.
After a peaceful stay in the south lobe of Ensenada Grande, we weighed anchor for one of the shortest sails on our journey so far—just four miles south to Caleta Partida. Sometimes a short passage feels like a reset, and this one was no exception.
The sail itself was quick but the seas were rough with a big north swell. We slipped out of Ensenada Grande under light morning winds, rounded the rugged shoreline of Isla Partida, and soon found ourselves entering the wide bowl of Caleta Partida. The anchorage is tucked right in the gap between Isla Partida and Isla Espíritu Santo, where an ancient volcanic crater collapsed and left behind a sheltered lagoon. Today, the low sandy spit that joins the two islands makes it feel like a natural harbor, with high cliffs protecting the anchorage from the prevailing north winds.
Dropping the hook here was simple—the bottom is mostly sand, with good holding, and there’s plenty of room for a whole community of cruising boats. The scenery is dramatic: craggy cliffs in shades of pink, red, and tan encircle the bay, while seabirds wheel overhead.
One of the highlights of Caleta Partida is exploring the narrow slot between the two islands by dinghy. At high tide, you can motor or paddle through the shallow channel that connects the bay to the open sea on the east side. On the far side, steep cliffs rise straight out of the water, riddled with caves carved by wind and waves. Some are large enough to nose the dinghy inside, where the water glows in shades of emerald and blue. The swell was too big for us to explore far, so the caves will have to wait for another day.