Arriving in Bahia de Los Angeles
Getting here was smooth, no big waves or surprises. I drove Thaalia while George stood at the bow, scanning for any potential hazards. The charts in the Sea of Cortez can sometimes be off, so we rely heavily on our eyes, especially in good daylight. After anchoring in 20 feet of water, we took a moment for our “rum and yellow shit” tradition, celebrating a new spot to explore. It’s only mid-morning, and the sun is already blazing. I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. If the weather holds, we plan to dinghy ashore and walk around the small village. Bahía de los Ángeles has long been a remote outpost in Baja, with a history of miners, explorers, and missionaries passing through. The local culture here reflects a strong connection to the land and sea. Many families have been fishing these waters for generations. They’re often happy to chat, even if my Spanish isn’t perfect. I’ve been trying to learn more phrases, like how to politely inquire about fish prices or simply say “buen día” when I come ashore.
Back on the boat, the heat climbed. We sat back in the cockpit and each picked up a book. Lately, I’ve been immersed in novels set in coastal towns—reading them while actually living on a boat gives an interesting perspective, let me tell you!
We have some leftover dough from George’s pizza night a few days ago. He makes a simple yeast dough that we bake on a rectangle sheet in the oven. We’re going to top the leftover dough with tomato sauce, cheese, and maybe some veggies we picked up at our last provisioning stop. Boat life is about adapting and making the most of what you have on hand.
Late afternoon, the light softens, and a gentle breeze often arrives from the southwest. That’s when I like to grab my snorkel gear and hop in the water if it’s calm enough near the boat. Sometimes, I swim to shore, strolling the beach looking for seashells. The water clarity around Bahía de los Ángeles can be remarkable when the currents are just right.
When evening arrives, we’ll settle down in the cockpit with a simple meal. Rice, beans, and maybe some pan-fried fish if we strike a deal with a local fisherman. George jokes that soon I’ll be able to make fish tacos in my sleep, since it’s become a staple of our diet out here. I can’t argue with that—fresh fish tacos with a squeeze of lime are heavenly.
We’ll turn in early tonight, hoping to wake with the sunrise. We might pull anchor tomorrow to visit another nook of the bay, or we might stay put if the wind forecast is light. That’s the beauty of cruising: if we like a place, we linger; if we feel the itch to move, we go.
I’m reminded again of how much I love this lifestyle. The quiet starlit nights, the surprise visits from marine life, the warm hellos from people living in these remote corners of the world—all combine to make every day feel like an adventure. As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky with oranges and pinks, I can’t help but feel deeply content, floating in this peaceful paradise far from the rush of everyday life.