HONEYMOON COVE

Tuesday, November 15, 2022

25º 48.507 N, 111º 15.457 W

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Honeymoon Cove: A Second Honeymoon

One might think that a place called Honeymoon Cove would be overrun by couples looking for a romantic getaway, but we arrived to find it refreshingly quiet. Located on Isla Danzante, Honeymoon Cove is actually made up of three smaller coves. The mesmerizing turquoise water and rocky shoreline create a peaceful retreat, perfect for unwinding after a day of sailing.

George and I made great time coming down the coast, aided by a northerly that pushed us along at an easy 5 knots. As usual, we executed our anchoring routine: me at the helm, George on the bow. We slipped into the middle cove—it looked more protected, and the depths transitioned quickly from 50 feet to 20. Once secure, we toasted our arrival with “rum and yellow shit”.

Honeymoon Cove is special to me because it was one of the first anchorages we visited early in our summer cruise. Coming back now, in mid-November, feels like returning to a cherished memory but with new eyes. The weather is still warm—high 80s—but the humidity has eased compared to the sweltering heights of August. The water remains clear, inviting me to hop in at every idle moment.

We were her for just the day, and I took eery opportunity I had to get in the water. I slipped on my snorkel gear and jumped off the boat into what felt like an aquarium. Visibility stretched 40 to 50 feet in some spots, letting me glimpse schools of yellow-and-black sergeant majors and a few pufferfish lazily drifting near the rocks. My fingertips showed the beginnings of “prune skin,” the sign of a good, long snorkel session. The sun started its descent, painting the rocky outcroppings in gold and orange. I reluctantly got out of the water and made my way back onboard. George barbecued chicken and I whipped up a quick coleslaw dish to go with it. We ate out in the cockpit, enjoying a little piece of heaven under the Baja sky.

That night, we pulled out a blanket on the foredeck (the cockpit can get stuffy) to watch for shooting stars. Honeymoon Cove lived up to its name, romantic in the simplest sense: the two of us lying there, counting meteors and sharing quiet conversation. We recalled the friends we’ve met along the way—Sam and Jess from s/v Hariya, with whom we hiked Volcán Coronado in record time, or the s/v Remedy who we spend a week with in Bay of LA. Even in quiet anchorages, cruising can be social, building connections that might last a lifetime.

We planned to continue south toward Tembabiche the following morning, but part of me wanted to linger. Honeymoon Cove always has that effect—the combination of clear water, dramatic shoreline, and minimal crowds. It’s the kind of anchorage where each sunrise feels like an invitation to stay “just one more day.” With an early departure in mind, we turned in and I fell asleep to the faint lullaby of wavelets tapping Thaalia’s hull, grateful for the peace of this small paradise.