I wrote up this destination article for the Kids4Sail newsletter but thought it would also make a good post as it goes into more depth about one of the locations mentioned in my last post.
The Sea of Cortez is already a special place with its turquoise anchorages, white sand beaches, and barren red cliffs. One might think there’s danger of boredom in coming across similar backdrops week after week, but something new always seems to reveal itself in each new spot. A good trail, a painted rock, a boulder that your kids turn into a spaceship. And then there are those anchorages that rise to the top and become favorites, the ones whose names will endure in your memory long after the others have melted together. We’ve come across a few special places like this in the Sea of Cortez, one of which was Caleta San Juanico, a bay about 25 nautical miles north of Loreto on the east coast of the Baja Peninsula. In the end, it was more than just the swimming, hikes, and amazing geological formations that solidified this place in our long-term memories, but the people with whom we shared it and the friendships we fostered at a time when we needed it most.
On a still afternoon at the end of April, we motored north from Isla Coronados in glassy waters. As we approached Caleta San Juanico, the water began to change color, a sort of brownish-orange that made me think of churned up mud or a polluted harbor.
“Are we in shallow water? How’s our depth?” I asked Tom.
“No,” he said, glancing at the chart plotter. “We should still be in at least 300 feet, and the depth sounder isn’t even registering, so probably even more.”
We motored through it, dropping anchor in a clear-watered south anchorage in anticipation of some southerly winds. But by dinner our plates and glasses were sliding across the table in the easterly swell and we decided to make a break for the north anchorage a few miles away before the sun lost its light entirely. It couldn’t be worse what we were already in. Strike one for the south anchorage.
We nestled up to a large rocky island sticking straight out of the water in order to block as much as we could of the easterly swell. To confirm our good decision to move, the water lit up like the night sky with bioluminescence unlike any we have ever seen. Rays and fish glittered under the water. Plankton sparkled like stars, and the crest of the waves crashing on the rocks glowed green in the darkness. The small island did its job, though the sound of surf crashing on its surrounding rocks and reefs did little to lull us to sleep. Nor did our boat position as we swung around with the nighttime westerly wind, stern to the rocky island. Tom sat up in the cockpit long after the rest of us were asleep to make sure we weren’t going to end up on the rocks.
The next morning, after a brief paddle with the kids around the rocky island to look at what turned out to be the largest number of reef fish I had seen in one place, we watched the water suddenly turn opaque. The massive orange patch we had motored through the day before now stretched across the bay as the algae obscured our view of anything more than a few inches below the surface. Swimming or snorkeling became unappealing. Even fishing seemed questionable. Some land-based visitors invited us on a glass bottom boat tour they had arranged, but there was nothing to see except murky brown below us. We were disappointed and decided to head north for our goal of Bahia Concepcion where we would wait for friends behind us to catch up.
If we were already tired from sleepless nights in a windy anchorage and weeks on end with two young boys who were pressing on our every nerve, the increasing heat and still air over the next week in Bahia Concepcion only served to make us crankier and more desperate. Aborting our spring mission, we decided to head back to La Paz three weeks early, planning to intercept our friends in Caleta San Juanico on the way south.
Departing at 8:00 am from Bahia Santo Domingo at the mouth of Bahia Concepcion, we motored the long 46 miles that would get us back to San Juanico before dinnertime. As we motored into the south anchorage and dropped our hook between our friends on Saarelill and Pakia Tea, we received a welcoming party of waves and invitations to come to the beach to join everyone as soon as we were ready. As we set the anchor, two more kid boats we knew putted into the anchorage: Arrow and Walkabout. Another kidboat we had only met online, Hinterland, was nestled in the easternmost part of our line of boats. Six kid boats – with thirteen kids from 4 months to 11 years old – had just taken over the south anchorage of Caleta San Juanico.
Except for a mass exodus to the north anchorage the following afternoon when the swell in the south became untenable (strike two for the south anchorage), the next few days were full. We took a dinghy caravan over to check out some sea caves and any fish we could spot in the now-clear water. We pulled our dinghies up on shore and went for a hike down a riverbed, bright green and fragrant where there was still water and brown and dusty where the water petered out. Marble cliffs with strains of agate rose up to our right.
We had a bonfire on the beach that evening, and Pakia Tea introduced us all to stick bread – bread dough wrapped around a stick, covered in olive oil and garlic, and roasted over a fire. Best thing ever, we all decided. We parents sat around the fire chatting while the kids ran around the beach and the rocks in the dark.
The wind was supposed to blow from the north and east the next day. Korvessa was somewhat low on fuel, and we were feeling pressured by the rare opportunity to sail. Common sense would have said it was time to leave in the morning. But after we put our exhausted kids to bed at 10:30 that night, smelling like campfire and still talking about stick bread, Tom asked “So, what are you thinking about leaving tomorrow?”
“Well,” I replied, “I would really value some more time with friends, but if we have to leave, then we have to leave.”
“I think we needed this more than we realized,” Tom said, in a nod to the fact that this is our tribe. We need each other out here. The chance to have conversations with other parents who can empathize and help problem solve had already calmed our stressed hearts.
“Yes, definitely.”
“I think we should stay,” he said.
“I would like that,” I replied.
And so we stayed. We stayed for a short hike to a local farm where we bought eggs and goat cheese and where the kids shrieked in joy at the goats, chickens, horses, and peacocks. We stayed for a massive sandcastle-civilization building competition in which the kids all paired up on a sandbank to create a vast array of sandcastles, complete with crops, trees, and moats. We stayed for fishing and swimming. We stayed for a birthday party on Sunday night at which a fellow boat kid turned 6 years old. We brought massive amounts food to the potluck, though the kids were more focused on the birthday cake and marshmallows. We talked about our plans for the summer and plans for the future, our boat problems and boat successes, homeschooling and parenting issues, fishing, alternators, and mental health. We stayed for the chance to connect, to breathe a little more deeply, and to have adult conversations while the children played.
Caleta San Juanico has everything you could ask for: cool rock formations, fossils, sea caves, bright reef fish, hikes as far as your feet want to take you, and a farm with eggs, cheese, and even veggies in the winter and spring. It has reefs for spearfishing and snorkeling and gorgeous sand for running and building. We forgot to leave a token at the Cruiser’s Shrine in the north anchorage, which is worth a visit, but we’ll be back. Its protection from wind and waves wasn’t superior, but the north anchorage was adequate, even if the south anchorage struck out in our book.
But it wasn’t all this that made this place so memorable. It was being surrounded by friends, hearing the laughter and shrieks of joy from our kids, and spending time with our tribe when we really needed it. It was a microcosm of the totality of cruising life: supportive people, beautiful surroundings, and lasting friendships
