Punto Pulpito

Monday November 14, 2022

26º 30.836 N, 111º 26.912 W

Podcast Here

The Magic of Pulpito, Once More

The morning sun spread a soft pink glow across the Sea of Cortez as we left Playa Santispac behind us and adjusted our course Punto Pulpito. We loved our stop here on our journey north at this hidden gem. The wind was light yet steady out of the north, so we raised the mainsail and unfurled our genoa, making a comfortable 4 to 5 knots. George double-checked our heading on the chartplotter, while I took the helm. After about four hours, the faint outline of Punto Pulpito ’s rocky cliffs appeared, their warm hues blending with the golden desert backdrop. I eased Thaalia in at a slow speed. By now, anchoring had become a well-rehearsed dance: I drove, George prepared the anchor on the bow. Once we found a decent sandy patch in about 20 feet of water, I put the engine in neutral, and with a thumbs-up from George, we dropped the hook. A gentle reverse set it firmly.

As soon as the engine was off and Thaalia settled, we made our time-honored toast: “rum and yellow shit.” We sipped, soaking in the stillness of Punto Pulpito ’s cove. Only one other boat was anchored near the northern point. To the south, dramatic sandstone cliffs cradled the water’s edge. The beach looked inviting, a small crescent of pebbles and sand with the occasional cactus perched overhead.

It was mid-afternoon, and as we relaxed, the wind picked up slightly, creating small wavelets that lapped at Thaalia’s hull. I couldn’t resist the call of the water. After lathering on sunscreen, I jumped overboard for a quick swim. The water was warm, but underneath the surface was a slight chill if I dove down a few feet. I spotted a scattered school of green jacks, shimmering like underwater jewels. It felt good to stretch out my limbs and float in the cradle of this peaceful bay.

When I climbed back aboard, George was reeling in his line—no luck this time. We decided to use the dinghy to explore the close-in shoreline while we were here. Motoring slowly, we drifted past rock formations that looked sculpted by centuries of wind and waves. A few seabirds perched on ledges, and we even spotted a majestic osprey soaring overhead, likely guarding a nest somewhere in the cliffs.

Returning to Thaalia, we found the breeze had calmed. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft haze. I dug out my camera to capture pictures of the anchorage, focusing on the interplay of colors: the cliffs against the turquoise water, the swirl of desert dust in the distance. Since it was so peaceful, we decided to linger in the cockpit, reading our respective books— George, For whom the Bell Tolls, a favorite of his. And me, a historical novel about the Mexican Revolution.

At sunset, the golden hour turned the cliffs into a fiery orange stage, then softened into deep purples across the water. With no town lights to compete, the last rays of sunlight seemed extra magical. We grilled a simple dinner: tortillas, beans, some leftover marinated peppers, and a dash of hot sauce on top. Afterward, we settled into companionable silence, each lost in our own thoughts, while the stars made their grand entrance. One of the best things about these remote anchorages is how easily you can glimpse the Milky Way arching overhead. No civilization glow, just the cosmic display.

A mild breeze rolled through around midnight, prompting me to poke my head out of the hatch. Thaalia gently rocked, but our anchor held steady. I took a moment to gaze at the shimmering water, then slipped back into bed, lulled by the gentle motion. One thing’s for sure: these quiet nights in remote Baja coves have a way of refreshing the soul.

By dawn, the sky was a tapestry of pale pink and orange. We had coffee in the cockpit, discussing our departure plans. The forecast suggested good weather for the next few days, so we planned to sail out tomorrow morning toward our next stop.

Punto Pulpito may not boast the tourist amenities of more popular spots, but it captured our hearts with its raw, unspoiled nature. Each remote anchorage in Baja feels like a personalized postcard, and Punto Pulpito is no exception—an arid, rugged oasis that offers time to breathe, to dream, to rediscover the simple joy of being on the water.