San Benito Isles

San Benito Isles, Mexico, March 2009
Who would have thought, after so long in city marinas, that we would find ourselves cowering in one of the remotest anchorages we have ever visited, behind some tiny islets stuck out in the Pacific? After we left San Diego following our winter lay-up, we headed into Mexico. At the port of Ensenada, just over the border, Sentinel was lifted and its bottom painted, something we had found too expensive and problematic to do in the USA. Early on 3rd March we settled our yard bill, filled up with diesel and headed south towards Cabo San Lucas. There are few harbours, natural or artificial, along the Baja California coast, and our first stop was planned at Turtle Bay, 350 miles away. The north-west wind grew stronger and stronger. We had a fast sail downwind but it became cloudy and overcast, and we felt cold during the day and even more
so at night. The large, breaking swells were rolling us badly, even with just the genoa up. Lyn had a nasty taste in her mouth and did not feel happy below unless lying down asleep. On the third day we were approaching the San Benito Isles, a group of three tiny islets and rocks about 30 miles offshore. The largest is little more than a mile long. Our pilot guide mentioned that there was an anchorage between them, good in the prevailing north-west winds. So we decided to take a look. About this time we spotted another yacht. Wandering Puffin, an Islander 41 with Bill and Bobbie aboard, had left Ensenada a day before us, but had had engine and other problems on their way. It looked to us as if they might be headed dangerous close to some rocks on the west side of the Isles. We called to warn them, then learning of their troubles suggested they might like to try the anchorage with us. But they decided to continue to Turtle Bay on the mainland, which they could reach early the following morning. We rounded the south side of the western islet to enter the anchorage, which was surprisingly snug, despite its exposed looking position. Its secret was the giant kelp beds, which surround much of the islets out to a depth of 50 metres, and which effectively blocked out the high Pacific swells. That night the wind rose to gale force. Wandering Puffin with whom we kept in radio contact, had a very rough time of it. White caps whisked off the wavelets in the anchorage: we however slept soundly. The guide book had described the islets as uninhabited, apart from sea-lions. There were indeed many sea-lions, but we found the anchorage was close to most rudimentary of fishing hamlets, where 15 or 20 men (no women) were living. One motored over to us in the morning. "Mucho viente", he complained, "mucho, mucho". He hinted at a beer; we wanted to trade for fish, but the rough conditions had made it impossible for them to reach their normal fishing grounds in their small brightly-painted open pangas for some days, and all they had were shell-fish, abalone, from the rocks on the sheltered side of the islets. These they seemed reluctant to trade
	A couple of hours later there was great excitement when a large fishing vessel came into the anchorage. This is their only contact with the outside world. It was a colourful scene as all the pangas returned and rafted alongside. One by one they each had a large plastic box of their abalone catch hoisted onto the mother ship, with an empty box, fuel, and a few supplies returned. The provisions looked pretty basic but one guy received a life jacket, and motored away merrily blowing his new whistle.

San Benito Isles, Mexico, March 2009

Who would have thought, after so long in city marinas, that we would find ourselves cowering in one of the remotest anchorages we have ever visited, behind some tiny islets stuck out in the Pacific?

After we left San Diego following our winter lay-up, we headed into Mexico. At the port of Ensenada, just over the border, Sentinel was lifted and its bottom painted, something we had found too expensive and problematic to do in the USA. Early on 3rd March we settled our yard bill, filled up with diesel and headed south towards Cabo San Lucas. There are few harbours, natural or artificial, along the Baja California coast, and our first stop was planned at Turtle Bay, 350 miles away.

The north-west wind grew stronger and stronger. We had a fast sail downwind but it became cloudy and overcast, and we felt cold during the day and even more

so at night. The large, breaking swells were rolling us badly, even with just the genoa up. Lyn had a nasty taste in her mouth and did not feel happy below unless lying down asleep.

On the third day we were approaching the San Benito Isles, a group of three tiny islets and rocks about 30 miles offshore. The largest is little more than a mile long. Our pilot guide mentioned that there was an anchorage between them, good in the prevailing north-west winds. So we decided to take a look. About this time we spotted another yacht. Wandering Puffin, an Islander 41 with Bill and Bobbie aboard, had left Ensenada a day before us, but had had engine and other problems on their way. It looked to us as if they might be headed dangerous close to some rocks on the west side of the Isles. We called to warn them, then learning of their troubles suggested they might like to try the anchorage with us. But they decided to continue to Turtle Bay on the mainland, which they could reach early the following morning.

We rounded the south side of the western islet to enter the anchorage, which was surprisingly snug, despite its exposed looking position. Its secret was the giant kelp beds, which surround much of the islets out to a depth of 50 metres, and which effectively blocked out the high Pacific swells. That night the wind rose to gale force. Wandering Puffin with whom we kept in radio contact, had a very rough time of it. White caps whisked off the wavelets in the anchorage: we however slept soundly.

The guide book had described the islets as uninhabited, apart from sea-lions. There were indeed many sea-lions, but we found the anchorage was close to most rudimentary of fishing hamlets, where 15 or 20 men (no women) were living. One motored over to us in the morning. "Mucho viente", he complained, "mucho, mucho". He hinted at a beer; we wanted to trade for fish, but the rough conditions had made it impossible for them to reach their normal fishing grounds in their small brightly-painted open pangas for some days, and all they had were shell-fish, abalone, from the rocks on the sheltered side of the islets. These they seemed reluctant to trade

A couple of hours later there was great excitement when a large fishing vessel came into the anchorage. This is their only contact with the outside world. It was a colourful scene as all the pangas returned and rafted alongside. One by one they each had a large plastic box of their abalone catch hoisted onto the mother ship, with an empty box, fuel, and a few supplies returned. The provisions looked pretty basic but one guy received a life jacket, and motored away merrily blowing his new whistle.

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