La Caletita entre Bota y Pata
29º 00.730 N, 113º 30.832 W
La Caletita entre Bota y Pata: A Hidden Gem in the Sea of Cortez
As we sailed into this picturesque refuge, I couldn’t help but reflect on the charm of our anchorage, which locals affectionately call La Caletita entre Bota y Pata. While it lacks an official designation on nautical charts, the name paints a clear picture: the “little cove between Boot Island and Leg/Foot Island.” It’s fitting that, without formal nomenclature, the fishermen and cruisers share a descriptive title based on the prominent landmarks surrounding us.
Late October graced us with a morning that glimmered with a soft, golden light over the serene waters of the Sea of Cortez. The sea was calm, with only the gentle caress of a breeze creating a slight ripple on the surface. George stood at the bow, his eyes scanning the water intently to spot any hidden rocks lurking below. As we drew nearer to shore, the rugged landscape unfolded before us—brown hills adorned with hardy shrubs and resilient cacti reaching skyward against a backdrop of shimmering turquoise water.
The moment the diesel engine fell silent, the world around us settled into a peaceful hush. The soft lapping of waves against Thaalia's hull became our new soundtrack, accompanied by distant calls of sea birds circling above. A warm breeze, almost surprisingly hot for late October, brushed against my face, a reminder that the weather in this part of the Sea of Cortez can be a bit unpredictable this time of year. Torn between the waning days of hurricane season and the impending arrival of cooler northerly winds, we hoped for a semblance of temperate evenings ahead.
With the anchor set, we slipped into our familiar ritual for celebrating a new anchorage. George rummaged through our fridge and pulled out a bottle of our favorite rum—what we affectionately refer to as our "yellow shit"—the first thing we do upon arrival. With drinks in hand, we exchanged smiles that meant everything: “We’ve made it!”
As the earlier breeze began to fade, the water around us transformed into an almost mirror-like surface. Nightfall comes quickly this time of year in the Sea of Cortez, wrapping the horizon in a blanket of stars that stretch endlessly above us. I stepped out onto the deck for one final look at the night sky. The scene was postcard-perfect—if only our family and friends back home could witness the celestial tapestry that words alone could never fully capture.
Lying in my bunk, the soothing hum of the desert quiet enveloped me. There were no party boats in sight, no city traffic to disrupt our tranquility—only the sounds of nature at night. The gentle rolling of the waves, the occasional squawk of a bird settling in for the evening, and maybe a distant splash as a fish leaped to catch its dinner filled the air. This blend of sounds became our nightly lullaby and a welcome retreat from the noise of everyday life.
Our journey has a rough plan to eventually wind back down to La Paz as winter approaches, but the word "plan" means something entirely different out here. On the sea, everything is fluid; each new day invites adaptability. That’s the beauty of cruising life—we flow with the wind, the weather, and our sense of adventure.
There’s always another island to explore, another anchorage to discover, and another local story waiting around the next bend. Whether it’s a brief visit or a longer pause in our travels, I’m determined to savor each moment. Life out here, floating on the Sea of Cortez, often feels like a surreal dream—one I hope never to wake from. The allure of this hidden cove, between the boots and legs of its surrounding islands, only deepens my appreciation for the journey we're on and the adventures yet to come.
Update:
Just when we thought we had settled into the tranquil embrace of La Caletita entre Bota y Pata, a chubasco rolled in out of nowhere, bringing fierce winds that howled like a freight train for four relentless hours. Thaalia began pulling hard against her anchor, the surge of wind and chop making for a restless night. Yet, I felt a reassuring sense of confidence knowing that our Rocna anchor, renowned for its holding power, kept us steady in the chaotic dance of the elements.
It was a long night, filled with the anxious urge to check our position. I found myself frequently popping my head out into the cockpit, my eyes darting between the stars and the shoreline to confirm that we weren’t moving. Meanwhile, George remained remarkably calm, embodying the quiet demeanor of a seasoned sailor who has faced such tempests before. His relaxed approach served as a grounding force during the storm, reminding us both that this is yet another adventure in our sailing lives, one we would recount over a cup of strong coffee when dawn finally broke.