The morning after we anchored in Port Magdalena was a bit chilly. So, I threw on my Nap-Sack. The Nap-Sack is an amazing Christmas gift from my sister and her husband. It is a sleeping bag, with a hole in the bottom for your feet to poke out. It has a drawstring, so you can easily pull the drawstring up around your waist. This shortens the length of the sack so you can walk around. It has arm holes that can be unzipped to let your arms out, and a hood. My particular Nap-Sack is blue with images of sea plants in the design. You might say that it is a glorified Snuggie, but whatever, it is great. It keeps me toasty warm, and mobile.
I decide to go on deck and lounge in the morning sunshine. As I poke my head out of the companion way, a fisherman who also turns out to be the Port Captain approaches in his Panga. “Buenos Dias!” He greets me, waving and smiling. “Buenos Dias!” I reply, “Como esta?” He says he is well, and then he starts speaking more Spanish. Unfortunately, he has already tested the extent of my Spanish. (Andrew was in charge of learning Spanish, I was in charge of learning French.) I call Andrew up on deck to take over. From what I gather, the fisherman informed us there are no services In Puerto Magdalena, only in Puerto San Carlos eight miles further into the bay. The fisherman smiles, waves and motors off.
Andrew looks down at me and says, “Mexicans must think that American women wear the strangest things.” Andrew loves the Nap-Sack, too.
After a relaxing morning, we up anchor and head further into the bay. We weave our way through a sandbar that creates shallow spots of three feet or less at random; Sonrisa needs at least six feet to keep going. Not to worry, the friendly locals have placed bouys to guide us in, and the water is clear so the color changes when you are about to hit sand. We safely arrive in Puerto San Carlos. There are no other sailboats, no indication of an anchorage on the chart, and no marina. Looking through the binoculars, I spy what appears to be a little hotel, with a nice patio and two dogs on the beach. The port ends in a shallow little bay. There is no sign that says we can’t anchor here, so we throw the anchor back in the water and unfold Grin for a land excursion. Zip, zip, zip. We drag Grin onto a little beach littered with seashells. Andrew goes to explore while I keep watch.
“The bar is open and the guard dogs are nice.” Andrew confirms upon return.
We order two cervesas with lime, and take up a spot on the patio. We chat with some nice gentlemen who are riding their motorcycles across the Baja. We meet some tourists from Germany. We pet the guard dogs, order guacamole and salsa, and catch up on some much needed wifi. This place seems nice, so we decide to stick around.
Later that evening, the tide was in, but the water was so shallow we had to wade out with Grin the length of two football fields. We thought we might just have to walk to Sonrisa! Eventually, it was deep enough to start the motor and we returned to Sonrisa who was floating just where we left her. We attached Grin to the back of Sonrisa for the evening and hoisted it up out of the water. Just like pulling your car into the garage. We ate more of our tuna and rice for dinner, slept tight, and got some rest to go explore town the next day.
