We arrived in Magdalena Bay early Friday morning after a pleasant 3-day passage. The entrance was dotted with pangas; the local fishermen were already hard at work while we were dreaming of laying our heads on soft pillows. We dropped the hook next to the small pueblo (village) named Puerto Magdalena. We recognized a few of the boats anchored nearby. Not long after our arrival, SV Wondertime invited us and a few other boats to a beach celebration of their youngest daughter’s birthday. Fatigue would have to wait. It was time to go have fun! How could we resist walking down to Bahia Santa Maria for our first official dip in the ocean, including a good dose of sunshine and good company?
|Following the call of the water|
It was a long way to shore where the road to Santa Maria begins; the extensive row was avoided with a tow from SV Eagle’s Tom and Jeannie. It felt a little like cheating. (We got over it.) The walk from Mag Bay to Santa Maria was along a dusty road. Debris, some burnt some not, littered the sandy banks in haphazard piles. It seemed out of place. Eventually the garbage thinned, and we glimpsed the ocean past old lobster traps. Our 2-mile trek through the detritus was rewarded with the lovely panorama that is Bahia Santa Maria. Our first swim in the ocean was refreshing after a walk in the bright sunshine. At last, water warm enough to swim in: 23.7 degrees Celsius – Refreshing without being bone-jarring.
We continued celebrating Holly’s birthday with a mahi-mahi dinner and cake aboard Wondertime. Good conversation, margaritas and cheap wine made for a fun, relaxing evening with the lovely Wondertimers.
On our row home, I was having trouble directing Rick to our boat. The lights of the pueblo blended just so with our anchor light. That is, until the entire village just… went dark. Someone had flipped a switch. The generator was now off, no more electricity. Suddenly, it was very obvious where Nyon was. Our oars created a bio-luminescent show in the water around us as we headed toward sleep.
|Leah taking the lead toward her little sister's birthday cake|
This modest village is much smaller than Turtle Bay. It is littered with fishing nets, old whale bones and rusted metal. The houses vary from crumbling buildings that are unevenly patched up to freshly painted plywood or cinder block abodes. The one-room tienda (store) is in a tiny, non-descript white house; we would have walked right by it had someone not pointed the way. The store had just received a delivery. We picked up some fresh provisions… garlic, avocadoes, tomatoes, bananas… Our craving for fresh produce was to be satisfied at last! The señora who sold us our goods was giggling at our Spanish, adding that she spoke no English for it was a hard language to learn. I agreed, having had to learn it myself at the age of 12. English makes no sense at all. Now, if only I could make more sense in Spanish…
|Home Sweet Home|
The rest of our stay in Mag Bay was mellow. It involved boat chores, exploring, baking, reading and writing. We considered going straight to Banderas Bay, and even planned our passage for that. When the wind died near the bottom of the Baja Coast, (contrary to the predicted forecast), we chose to face the insanity that is Cabo to get some better provisioning, fuel and a swim or two before moving on.