After a quick swap of our radome for a warranty replacement, we made a run for the border, crossing in the late afternoon of 28 October in 15 kts following breeze. We were intending to arrive in Ensenada to do the check-in paper shuffle: import the boat to Mexico via the required Temporary Import Permit, which in my opinion is more than temporary, considering they are good for ten years. We were looking forward to becoming legal visa holding tourists. How so ever, as these things often go, plans changed quickly. I had previously sent emails to the three marinas in Ensenada looking for a slip since anchoring in the open bay is pretty sketch, and while underway, with a brief cell window, downloaded three emails all saying the same thing, no slips in Ensenada. No problema, we'll check in down the way and we continued south unconcerned about getting legal.

An overnight sail, each standing a single 3 1/2 hour watch, got us thru the night and brought us to Isla Coronados where we did a fly by. Seeing no tenable anchorage among the fish traps, we waived adios to the fisherman and carried on, arriving at Isla San Martin, as it seems is our habit, just after dark on the south side of the volcanic hunk of lava rock with a small lagoon and a couple fishing shacks around the corner. There was one other boat anchored in the roadstead, a traditional sailing craft registered in Baffin Island. Dude sailed some miles apparently.

Halloween morning brought fog thick enough to touch, but never the less we launched the dink and headed for the lagoon where we were greeted by a passel of sea lions swimming toward us, taking a sniff and belching greetings to the strangers. They soon lost interest when we didn't appear to be edible and thereafter utterly ignored us. The beach trail in the lagoon brought us to the fish camp, but apparently everyone was out fishing, so we re-traced our steps and hiked around the west side of the island. Although we could have (probably should have) climbed the mountain and explored the reported caves, risking a twisted ankle or worse on the lava and cactus, it seemed advisable to return to the ship and commence sailing south in the morning.

Along the way, we disassembled and serviced some winches and took care of lots of other small repair and maintenance items on the never ending list. Another night of watches brought us to the north end of Isla Cedros (Cedar Island). We sailed down the east side of the 20 mile long island looking for someplace to anchor. About half way down, we found a small beach named "Jose's quiet spot" on the chart. Not wanting to disturb Jose, but with no Jose in sight, we dropped the hook and made our selves at home. Jaison and Pete launched the dinghy and headed up an arroyo (dry river bed/canyon) for an explore and Amy relished the quiet of having the boat to herself. A brisk yet refreshing swim and beers capped off a nice afternoon. We probably could have spent the night there on anchor, but it seemed more advisable to find someplace with at least a modicum of protection, so we pulled the hook and carried on south, re-anchoring about ten miles down-island in front of the village at dusk on 2 November.

A six hour run in 15 kts following breeze the next day brought us to Bahia Tortugas (Turtle Bay). Our AIS began showing vessels in the anchorage at ten miles out and as we rounded the shoaling Punta Kelp, no explanation needed there, something upwards of 100 boats greeted us. Apparently our dilly dallying pace allowed the Baja HaHa fleet to get ahead us - turned out they mostly motored down from San Diego when the wind wasn't to their liking. There was also some kind of trawler rally anchored in the bay, turning the usually sleepy village into a small metropolis of jockeying dinghys, racing pangas, desperate calls for fuel and fresh water delivery, laundry service and shore taxis. We listened to the net the following morning on VHF 22. Once was more than enough of that. It's truly a wonder how some members of the fleet made it that far, with a remarkable percentage of the fleet appearing to have little or no sailing experience and questionable familiarity with their own boats. We all have to start somewhere, but not sure sailing the 800 mile long Baja is the best option for a first "somewhere " where there is no coast guard, or Boat US/Sea Tow...I guess that's why they travel in groups of 100. If a few get lost along the way they wouldn't even be missed.
However, they do know how to party, so we enjoyed a few days of relaxation in Bahia Tortugas, meeting a few of the more interesting HaHa crews and crashing their beach party. Beers with the Andante crew were a highlight, as was a hike to find some pesos (being peso-less from not having stopped in Ensenada, as you may recall). We were told that the Pemex fuel station had a cashejo (ATM) so we hiked up the hill, passing a well stocked tienda (small grocery market) overrun with sailors stocking up on cheap tequila, Corona and cup of soup. We found the Pemex easily enough with it's Mexican national colored sign, but no ATM in sight. I asked the attendant where the heck the ATM was, and and he indicated to come with him, he can help. In the office he unceremoniously took my debit card and swiped it on his machine and opened his cash drawer and said "How much do you want?" I reached in and grabbed 600 pesos (about $30 US) in small bills and said gracias amigo. He gave me a receipt showing a 600 peso charge. Now that's my kind of ATM. No bank charges, no conversion fees, just 600 pesos for $30 which is a very fair exchange. (Usually everyone along the ATM paper trail takes their little bite out of the proceeds, resulting in maybe 18:1 if you're lucky. I'm not complaining actually, that's how the world works, and is an accepted cost of living and part of the experience, as is the speeding or stop sign shake down, but don't get me started on that ...) but how refreshing for the gas station in town to offer a service to locals and loco sailors needing some beer money which is going to be spent in their little village before it even makes it to their wallet, so it's good for everyone.

The HaHa partied out and headed south and we waived them adios and returned to boat chores.

Big Sky carries a more than adequate amount of diesel, over 500 gallons actually, stored in two tanks, for and aft, in the belly of the boat.

Since buying the boat in 2018 we had been operating off of the aft tank (330 gallons), primarily because the fuel selector valve was not labeled and I had no idea which way to turn it to draw from the forward tank, so I never did. I could see however with the fuel gauge such as it is, which I would describe as more of a rough estimate than anything else, that there was maybe 30-50 gallons of older (who knows how old) fuel in the forward tank which I would like to 1) not have in there 2) to use (at $6/gallon in the US that's some cashola, and 3) would like to know that the forward tank is good to go if/when needed. Over the past few days I decided to take the valve apart to figure it out. Good thing I did't turn it the way I assumed, as it was exactly the opposite to switch to the forward tank. With a considerable amount of trepidation I switched to the forward tank with my new found knowledge. The engine continued to loudly purr (she's a big noisy girl that Perkins) and all went well, although I did monitor the Racor fuel filter and didn't like what I saw, having to change it a couple times the first day. I switched back to the aft tank. What we really needed was to be able to clean our forward fuel tank without running/ruining our engine...

We carry a small 12v pump, called a lift pump, just cus you never know when you might need to lift some fuel. I wired the pump with battery clamps, switched the selector to the forward tank, hooked the suction side of the lift pump to the output of the Racor and the output of the lift pump to the fuel return line of the forward tank and presto, homemade, backwoods fuel polishing system. We let it run and circulate all night. In the morning the homemade backwoods fuel polishing system captured enough crap out of the forward fuel tank to make a miniature sand castle complete with minarets.

We used the majority of the fuel in the forward tank over the next few days without any further filter issues and when we arrived in Cabo about ten days later, we put 100 liters new clean Mexican diesel in it. So far so good.

6 November at something after dawn we pointed Big Sky's bow south yet again - bound for Bahia Asuncion. A plan developed that if there was sufficient wind, we would sail directly to Bahia Santa Maria, but if the breeze fizzled out as was forecast, we would pull in to Bahai Asuncion and have a look around. As a result we dropped the hook late afternoon in Bahia Asuncion in a quite wide, attractive bay surrounded by a long sand beach where we swam in the 75 degree water and headed to shore for a look around. It being the holy day, we found the fishing town rather quiet with families enjoying themselves in their homes.

7 November we were bound for Bahia Ballenos or Abreojos or possibly Santa Maria if the wind held. With plenty of following breeze, we sailed by the first two and arrived Santa Maria just before dark, (a novel concept) to find the HaHa fleet anchored in the bay and radio traffic on par with Chicago O'Hare the day before Thanksgiving.

8 November seemed like a heck of a day for a hike away from the mayhem at the head of the beach (the HaHa hired a band and a caterer from La Paz) so we hiked over the ridge to the ocean side for some exercise and a fantastic view of the big wide Pacific.

9 November bid the HaHa fleet bon voyage and proceeded to explore the sand dollar beach at the head of the bay and reveled in the quiet of the remote fishing village that Santa Maria is 363 days a year.

10 November we relocated to Bahia Magdalena (Mag Bay to gringos) a large, almost landlocked bay cut out of the Baja. We anchored up by the fishing village with a dozen or so other fishing and sailing yachts enjoying the smooth flat water of the bay. A few days of boat work combined with some beach excursions made for cruising as it should be. An interesting feature proved to be a sailboat blown up on the beach from the last hurricane, which the locals said had been only a month or so prior. What at first seemed a salvageable 30'er, turned out to be a wreck, when, on further inspection we found a large hole on the port aft side with the offending rock still firmly inserted. We obtained photographic evidence of a stolen milk crate bungeed to the stern rail in the event Meadowgold of Missoula MT wants it back...

With the lack of acceptable protection between Mag Bay and Cabo San Lucas we sailed a course direct to the sport fishing capitol of the universe and arrived (late afternoon) 14 November to three cruise ships in the anchorage and the associated mayhem of the crusieship crowd. Before we could pop the tops on our celebratory cheating-of -death Pacificos and swim in the 82 degree perfectly clear water, we chose to risk the entire expedition by heading directly in to the heart of the beast to take on some fuel and water in the marina (a truly life-shortening event that every skipper with a larger, heavy sailboat without a bow thruster should experience - once - so that they know to never do it again). To give some concept of the amount and size of fishing and motor yachts in Cabo, the small harbor supports three fuel docks which was actually fortunate for us. As we began our approach to the first fuel dock, the Pemex dock on the west side of the entrance, we were summarily cut off mid-turn by a 60' sport fishing yacht full of board short and bikini clad charters blissfully unaware that we need about two full lengths to stop or turn around by backing and filling with rudder hard over and the Perkins driving our max prop to cavitation. Narrowly escaping a significant insurance claim, we carried on to the third dock, bypassing the woefully undersized second fuel dock.

The second try approaching a fuel dock at Cabo went flawlessly as we crossed the equivalent of the San Diego freeway and sidled up to the IGY end tie on a starboard approach knowing that our prop rotation causes the boat to walk to starboard at about the same rate as forward progress. It felt like we'd done it a thousand times. Which I suppose we probably will before this trip is over.

15 November we spent the day re-provisioning for the crossing to Banderas Bay and failing to tear our eyes from the abundance of humanity crammed into a small space, each working feverishly to get the most amount of fun per peso.

We had dinner with the Andante crew before they flew back to US and their delivery skipper took the helm.

16 November Ashli and Chris arrived. We met at the Office bar on the beach and found a great traditional Mexican restaurant for dinner a few blocks off the tourist area.

17 November we hauled anchor and pointed the bow toward Banderas Bay and all it has to offer.