I’ve moved on from Bahia Asuncion to the next locale of Bahia San Juanito, but had this reporting which I wanted to convey. Hopefully the internet universe will allow me to follow up on that journey soon. We’ll see. TBD. Until then…….

Bahia Asuncion is so much different than Bahia Tortuga. I haven’t figured out yet exactly why, except the ex-pat influence may be more prominent. It appears significantly more prosperous and better kept than BT, but also significantly sleepier. BA is smaller and the fishery is smaller too. While Saturday night in BT was a loud party, BA’s Sabado night was quiet and subdued. There weren’t the people hanging out on porches and being outwardly friendly like BT. Everything seemed more family friendly and oriented. Maybe BT is more of a transient fishing town with transient hombres keeping themselves entertained the way they do? I can draw no certain conclusions at this time.

Boat Hack: Coffee snobs out there will shudder, but in preparation for cruising, I switched to instant coffee. Being the more pragmatic type, allow me to elaborate. A rinky-dink boat has limited carrying capacity. My last top off put me at 60 gallons of fresh water in preparation for Mexico, where drinking water doesn’t come from the hose, and there isn’t any dock to pull up to anyway. (Some cruisers have watermakers that consume gobs of energy. Sampaguita doesn’t have that kind of energy replacement capabilities.) Conservation is key and being solo, I fortunately make all the decisions regarding water usage. Back in my liveaboard slip, I used a stainless-steel French press and enjoyed proper and delicious cups of coffee. The problem was, it was a liter in size and even when I said to myself, ”Josh, only make a half carafe” it would slowly eek back up to a full one. I love a morning ritual as much as the next person, and if we’re honest, I love the morning high. Don’t kid yourself, caffeine is a drug and you all are getting high when you consume it. (How often do we hear something like, “My day just doesn’t start until I have my Starbucks Latte (or insert your favorite barista) in the morning.” – Duh. Drug dealer.) When you bottle your pee, because your small boat doesn’t have an installed head, it’s easy to measure what comes out as what goes in. (Again, don’t kid yourself. If you have an installed head, you either store your pee in a huge plastic jug hidden behind a bulkhead called a holding tank to later be pumped out, or you flush it out below the waterline where what you can’t see can be denied. That’s all about culture and conditioning that our biological waste is something to be hidden away and ashamed of. I’ve shed many of those c & c’s and it is extremely liberating.) I took note that that liter of coffee was processed and released easily within two hours. Then, the grounds need to be cleaned out, which takes more water, not to mention is a very messy affair. (Maybe you can get away with salt water on this last part.) If you are aiming for a rationing of 2 liters of water per day, well, you’ve already used half of it on a diuretic and you might have hardly left the bunk yet. Enter instant coffee. First, no clean up and no mess. Second, it isn’t good enough to drink more than one cup. Third, powdered milk is sufficient to cut it with. (Remember, Sampaguita has no refrigeration, and Josh needs to cut the coffee’s acid back with a dairy base. Science.) Recognizing the quality limitations of instant coffee, I asked a barista friend, Kimi D., if any boutique roasters stepped up and made a more palatable product. Not that we have found yet. By nature of being a boutique roaster, they are coffee snobs, and likely can’t be bothered. Missed opportunity for a niche market, I say. As a budget cruiser, I’m also not willing to spend a lot on such a product, so another win is instant coffee is cheap. I’ve tried some different brands as I go. Café Bustelo is so far my favorite.

Dinghy Decisions: As outlined in a previous essay on this blog, Sampaguita’s tender is an inflatable whitewater kayak. Most cruisers with bigger boats and more crew use a rigid bottom inflatable with some sort of power source. They carry more people and gear, go faster, and because their mothership is bigger, can be stored fully inflated on the deck of the boat. I acknowledge these attributes as much as I acknowledge Sampaguita’s inability to accommodate them. They come with a cost, though. I estimate those set ups easily can push $10000 to have. (So don’t for a moment think anchoring is free.) Sampaguita’s Aire kayak is a high end, durable, and heavily warranteed product, and at the time I purchased it nine years ago, it cost about $1500. Most of those (but not all) RIBs have motors that well outsize Sampaguita’s auxiliary 6hp Tohatsu. Of the small segment of cruisers I have encountered here in Baja, one has a bent prop from hitting a rock while landing in San Quinton. This is stupid easy to have happen. They will need to get a new prop when they get to La Paz, well, because there aren’t any available along the remote Baja coast. Another has a Torqueedo electric outboard. Something happened while exploring and now the motor is throwing E45 error codes. (Sophisticated equipment usually requires a sophisticated fix. At least with most gas-powered outboards, the problem comes down to fuel or spark. And a bent prop creates a lot of vibration and is hard on the drive shaft, but it will still go.) Landing whatever tender you have on these Baja landings is risky business. Rocks looming just below the surface are ready to foil everyone. And since you are cruising and just passing through, the first landings come with little local knowledge. They also change with the tide and swell state. I was making a landing in the kayak in Bahia Asuncion at the designated place. The tide was low-ish and the approach seemed fine. As I got nearer, I realized there were some rocks uncovering in the troughs of the swell. Uh-oh. They weren’t going to kill me, but the PVC kayak scraping over them would be no bueno, or causing me to broach would be very salty wet. (The expression, “He’s an old salt” is extremely true. Everything gets salty. And with no rain, it only accumulates.) I got lucky though, and the next following swell lifted me up and carried me cleanly over them. As I gained the local knowledge, there is about a 30-foot-wide safe zone in the landing. It’s easy to see once you are on shore. Outboard driven dinghies beware. Of course, everyone has the struggle of getting off la playa against the incoming surf. It is easier with the kayak than with a heavy motor driven inflatable, however, I am lower, less sheltered, and more exposed, so getting salty wet is just as easy. 

Dinghy Decisions 2: On Sunday, there was a southern breeze and I had spent the day in town. The south facing la playa had a bit of extra surf running and I got to practice my launch. I had picked up a BBQ chicken dinner from a couple who had been cooking them all day on the street. The chickens were splayed out flat on the grill and I had been considering it all day. It was more food than I needed and more pesos than I felt comfortable spending, but I finally pulled the trigger. It was reminiscent of Brook’s chicken (from Oneonta, NY) and I wasn’t going to have anything like that on the boat. Sunday is Sunday in Mexico and do as the Mexicans do. I could fit the container in my salty backpack and dry bag, but I still had to get it to the boat. There were some folks on the beach and they were going to get a gringo yatista show of triumph or disaster. Like any focused entertainer, I had to forget about them. I took my time on the launch and studied the swells coming in. I eased the kayak to the dynamic waterline, got everything ready, watching and judging where they began to break. No waves are the same and they come in trains. Still, it is difficult to tell further out as they hardly exist on the bay. When you decide to go, you must not hesitate. Committed is committed. You either make it or get soaked. Maybe both. There is no turning back. I suddenly went. I dragged the kayak the last few feet as the one wave was breaking and flooding the beach. My feet were getting wet regardless. I got in as that wave ebbed, giving me just enough water to float and drag me out. The kayak did start to turn sideways as it does, but grabbing the paddle, I straightened it out before I was left high and dry. Then it was paddle with all I had. I could see the next wave building and it was looking to be a terribly messy affair, but going for it was the only hope it wouldn’t be. I rode up and over that hill just before it was about to break, feeling like a miniature version of Tom Hanks launching his raft with the honey bucket sail in Cast Away. But I wasn’t through yet. The next wave was coming and starting to build. If it was bigger, it would break sooner, and really, who knew? But a bit further out I made it over in a less dramatic fashion and I was clear. I pumped my fist over my head in celebration in case the lookee-loos cared, but never looked back myself. And my 300-peso chicken dinner was preserved for my indulgence. 

Experience: Beisbol may be more of a Mexican pastime than it is in American one anymore. Saturday, as I was strolling around looking for an experience, I made my way to the baseball field. I’ve learned to identify it by the light poles rising above all else. There was some cheering going on, so I headed to the grandstand. The game being played was all youngsters. In my age it is hard to say anymore, but to associate the best I can, I would say more pee-wee league, early little league age. I assume they do it different anyway, so I don’t need/want to Americanize it. This was serious business though. They were doing their best to be Major Leaguers. And compared to SB, the field was in much better shape, the uniforms were more complete, they had proper and skilled coaches, and the crowd was family-oriented. These kids, mostly niños, but a couple niñas, were all in. There were some other kids who had Academia de Beisbol shirts on, so I take it this was a serious and organized affair for the community. I watched a few innings, totally impressed, and the only gringo there. I was thoroughly entertained and cheered the way a stupid gringo might. On Sunday, I thought to myself, “I bet the adults play today like they did in San Bartolome.” Sure enough. Making my way to the field (smelling the BBQ chicken along the way) I entered the grandstand. A totally different vibe than SB. Better uniforms and way better play. These guys were good. Real pitching, real crack of the bats, better field play, and much fewer errors. The seriousness and the youngster feeder program I saw the day before was really making a difference. (I learned later from Shari that they had a semi-pro team too. I believe it.) Fewer spectators, but there was what seemed like a fundraising concession table. I had some sort of huge flat cracker with shredded cucumber and carrots and other goodies on it for twenty-five pesos. I watched for several innings and did my clapping thing at all worthy plays and hits. Still, nobody acknowledged me or interacted with me except the concessionaire, and maybe los niños behind me who might have been making fun of me. It’s OK. It’s what niños do before they become caballeros. I did not stay to the end as it was getting late and I like to return to the boat before dark. A good call with the previously mentioned surf running. Who’d of thought I would be on some sort of baseball tour?

Plugs: Because they deserve it. Shari Bondy, a Canadian ex-pat, has treated me better than she has needed to. I thank her for that. I think our connection is we are part of the small boat, simple sailor fraternity. She has a Hotel (La Bufadora) and Campground in a most excellent location and seems to cater to Baja tourists. I gather she’s been here for 35 years, raised a family here, and so is well ingrained and invested in the community. She also does Grey Whale research and tours in the calving season (January -April) and is a good destination for gringos who want to check out Baja, but might find some of the other communities like Tortuga Bay a bit too gritty and rough-around-the-edges to call a holiday. Another is for Lery Espinoza. If you use Navionics, you will see his name and contact info. He operates a water taxi and general services for visiting yatistas. He is the first Mexican sailboat owner since Ensenada I’ve seen, so seems to be empathetic to cruisers and apparently has a good story about its acquisition. I only met him briefly and did not need his services, but the slight interaction has given me the gut feeling he is an asset to the cruising community. A lobsterman by trade, the service seems a side hustle. He stopped by to meet the guy with the little boat. He had just been diving on a neighboring anchored boat (whom I haven’t met and who apparently lost their prop AND their shaft! Muy mal!) to put a plug in the hole. He speaks decent English, was younger than I’d imagined (apparently went to high school with Shari’s daughter,) and reportedly has humble service fees.

Wildlife: The last couple nights the seals/sea lions (I’m not sure which) have spent quite a bit of time around my boat. Again, like the pelicans, I was curious why. Here is my guess. I am anchored in about 20-25 feet of water. On a bright sunny day, you can see the bottom with Sampaguita’s shadow clearly visible over the sand. Sometimes I will see swarms of small fish here. The last couple of nights have been nearly a full moon. I wonder if the moon too is causing a boat shadow and fish are trying to hide in it. The bay is big so there is no need for the seals/sea lions to congregate around Sampaguita, unless they have something to benefit from. I don’t know if other boats are having similar experiences. The sea life is very plentiful in the Baja waters. A couple other boats have gifted me fish fillets they caught. Apparently, they are having no trouble. In fact, they are catching fish that are too big and losing gear as a result, and don’t have the room to store it. Some are divers and spear fishers. They too, are coming up diamonds. One brought homemade sushi roles to the potluck. The pelicans too are sometimes dive-bombing in a frightful mass. In the Pacific Northwest, I don’t remember having these sorts of observations and experiences. I do not know if it is because they were not there to observe or whether my American existence had me so distracted that I wasn’t in tune enough to see them. Here, the locals are fishing more on a small scale, subsistence level in small pangas. Sport fishing exists, but it too is small scale. In American waters, commercial and sport fishing are both much larger scale. Maybe this is the difference?