SANTA ROSALIA
Sunday, November 4, 2022
27º 20.342 N, 112º 15.744 W
Back to Civilization (and a Good Nap): Santa Rosalia
Given that we were headed back with a sense of urgency, we meticulously checked the weather conditions and made the decision to sail directly to Santa Rosalia. The passage from Bahía de Los Ángeles to Santa Rosalia is known for its challenges, and this particular journey proved to be no exception. We set sail in what seemed to be good weather. But about 5 hours into our trip, we were met with short, steep waves that seemed to come out of nowhere, throwing Thaalia into a rolly dance that left us feeling unsettled and uncomfortable. Each rise and fall of the boat was a reminder of just how powerful the sea can be, and it felt like the journey was determined to kick our asses. After 26 hours at sea and covering a distance of 132 miles, we were exhausted but resolute, acutely aware that the peaceful tranquility of our anchorage had transformed into a test of resilience. It was a long, tough sail, one that would stick in our memories not for its beauty, but for the sheer determination it took to navigate through the rough waters.
There’s a different kind of energy when you sail into Santa Rosalia. After weeks of exploring wild, mostly untouched anchorages, we’ve arrived in a place buzzing with history and local culture. A few fishing boats and larger vessels share the harbor, making navigation a bit more crowded than we’re used to, but I love the change of pace.
I remain at the helm as we move into the anchorage zone. George stands on the bow, peering into the somewhat murky water, ready with the anchor control. While Santa Rosalia doesn’t have the crystal-clear shallows of some of our recent stops, the harbor offers a different kind of charm—people, architecture, and the bustle of a small Mexican town. We find a spot to set anchor in-between the boats there. I nudge Thaalia’s throttle until George signals he’s ready to drop the anchor. I slow us to a crawl, shift into neutral, and watch him let the chain slip into the Sea of Cortez, link by link. After a few moments of reverse to set the hook, we’re secure. Or so we thought! Took 4 tries to anchor due to 25kt winds plus swell. Bit embarrassing, but hey, that’s the life!
Once the engine is off, the hum of life around the harbor becomes more pronounced. I can hear traffic on the main road, children laughing somewhere along the malecón, and the faint sound of banda music drifting from a distant stereo.
The first order of business, even in an active port like this, remains the same: our signature “rum and yellow shit.” George and I clink our glasses and take a sip, savoring the sweet, tropical taste. It’s a small moment of peace before we dive into the hustle and bustle of re-provisioning and exploring.
We then both retreat to our bunk for some shut eye. The long voyage was definitely exhausting. Tomorrow would be a quick trip into town to provision before heading out.
The next morning before heading ashore, I quickly organize my backpack: sunscreen, hats, water bottles, and a few pesos. We lower the dinghy, and George starts up our (thankfully cooperative) outboard engine. We putter toward the nearby dinghy dock, weaving carefully around the variety of vessels. Some are local fishing pangas, loaded with nets and gear, and others are cruising yachts like ours, here for a re-supply or a taste of land-based food and culture.
Stepping onto the dock, I’m immediately struck by the warm, humid air mingling with the smell of fresh tortillas and diesel exhaust. It’s a sensory mix that screams “Mexican port town,” a reminder that the Sea of Cortez can be both wild and urban in its own way. We tie up the dinghy and wander into the heart of Santa Rosalia. The sidewalks are a bit uneven, and traffic zips by faster than I’d like, but there’s an infectious energy here.
Our first stop is a small convenience store to buy cold drinks—Coca-Cola for George and a mango-flavored mineral water for me. Then we do a quick reconnaissance of the local grocery store. After weeks of living primarily off what we catch, plus a few veggies from tiny tiendas, a full grocery with decent produce feels like a goldmine. I almost squeal when I see fresh lettuce and ripe avocados. We look at our small list of what we need: fresh veggies, fruit, eggs, tortillas, cheese. It’s not an epic provisioning run, but enough to get us through the next couple of weeks.
On the dinghy ride back there’s a subdued hum of distant traffic, but out on the water, everything is calmer. I lean over the side of the dinghy, trailing my fingertips in the warm sea. Back aboard Thaalia, we quickly unload and put all of our newly acquired provisions properly stashed away. As I tidy up the cockpit, I also reflect on how sailing transforms ordinary chores into small, fulfilling tasks. Provisioning isn’t just a run to the grocery store; it’s an expedition on foot through a bustling town, culminating in a triumphant haul of fruits and veggies. Laundry isn’t just tossing clothes in a machine, but rather scrubbing them in a bucket and hoisting them on the lifelines to dry in the sun (though rumor has it there’s a laundry service here—might be worth checking out next time we come through!). It can be hard work, but it also brings a sense of accomplishment that I rarely felt in my previous, land-based life.
Once we had everything in place, time for a nap! We’d head down around the backside of Isla San Marcos tomorrow to hopefully catch a piece of quite and catch up on our sleep!