Along
Baja's Highway 1 lies San Quintin, a small way-post type town. Glancing
at a chart, its large protected harbor seems like a cruiser's dream; a
long channel leading to a protected bay near town. We were looking for
such a harbor to replenish our food supplies and to enjoy a change of
pace from the "open roadstead" anchorages we had been visiting so far.
Lured by a fellow cruiser's promises of an easy approach through the
long, shallow channel leading to San Quintin, we made sail from Isla San
Martin with high hopes.
However, heavy shoaling in the estuary
and an unusual huge south swell made the approach to the channel
impossible. We elected to find the next most hospitable anchorage, which
was off the beach near a hotel some ways out of town.
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the crew swim to shore |
We
needed groceries. Anchored about 1/4 mile from the open beach, it was
hard to tell from the boat how big or small the surf was breaking on
shore. From the sound of loud crashing waves, we decided the dinghy was
not an option. Emmett, in full gear, with dry bag, set out for the beach
to test the waters. We all held our breaths as we watched Emmett rise
and fall in the waves almost breaking near shore. A few moments later
Emmett called on the handheld VHF to say, "Go for it!!!" Excited by the
prospect of fresh fruit and pastries in the town, Vincent, Brooke, and
Crystal donned wetsuits and jumped in. After successfully filling the
dry bags with exciting new entree options, the crew split into two
groups; one to make phone calls home, and one to return the groceries.
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Emmett and Brooke prepare to swim in the cold ocean |
On our way back, we (Vincent and Crystal) met a fisherman who picked us
up in a truck and gave us a lift back to the beach. We filled him in on
why we were dripping wet, dressed in wetsuits and walking through a
dusty town with sugar smeared on our faces. Our description in Spanish
must have sounded something like, "We swim. For food. Sailors, yes. We
like fish, too!" After our interesting description of what we were
doing, the fisherman shook his head and warned us of the rip current, as
well as the increasing size of the waves as night falls. He suggested
that we make the long swim home in the morning. The sun had set, but in
the darkening twilight we swam out into the breakers of the cold Pacific
ocean. During this time Emmett and Brooke had safely reached the boat, radioing that they had made it. After a few attempts, we returned to the beach in complete darkness, feeling a bit defeated and unsure of what to do next.
By the mysterious ways of this world, the fisherman had been watching
us, and as we walked down the beach weighing our options, our paths once
again crossed.With few words exchanged, we were in his truck on the way
to his cozy self-built home where his immediate and extended family
lived. We thanked him profusely for opening up his home to us, and he
responded by telling us an amazing story: He explained that once, while
crossing the border to the United States, an American had saved his life
in the desert when he had run out of water several days before. This
man took him in, hydrated him, fed him and gave him money to get to his
destination. He said that after that experience, he vowed to help
anyone in a compromised situation...with a special soft spot for
Americans.
Our hearts were deeply touched, and our minds at
ease among our new friends. And fast friends we became, staying up until
the wee hours looking at family photos and reminiscing with little
notice of our language barrier. When the dishes were done and we were
outfitted with new, dry pajamas, we quickly fell asleep. We woke
rejuvenated, ready to attempt our swim again.
It still
seemed a bit too rough to swim through the large shark-infested ;)
breakers, so the group elected to try another method of reaching the
boat. We knew the town had a large fishing fleet, so we decided to try
hiring a boat from the town of San Quintin all the way through the
channel and estuary area back to the boat. Hitchhiking towards town on
this rural stretch of highway, one of the vehicles that passed was a
BerryMex agricultural worker transport bus. We flagged the bus down, but
unfortunately, the driver informed us that it was only for BerryMex
workers. It was a unique experience to be standing where the food that
we so effortlessly enjoy from the common American grocery store is
actually produced. In a twist of fate, the driver turned around and
invited us onto his empty. With the jams pumped up high, we raced into
San Quintin, listening to America's finest dance remix modern pop!
He dropped us off on a dusty corner and pointed in the direction we
should start walking. We hitchhiked until arriving at the Old Mill, a
popular tourist hang-out and hotel. It being 5 o'clock in the afternoon,
the fishermen and their
pangas (motor skiffs) were done for the
day. We were told that no one would take us all the way. Not only was
the boat about 20 miles away, it required careful navigation through the
drifting sand bars of the circuitous, narrow channel. Finally we found a
panga operator who agreed to take us not only back to our boat, but on
what became a memorable white-knuckle ride. The panga was a high-speed
wave jumping machine, and the operator was highly attuned to the
patterns of the breaking waves that we faced outside the channel. It was
thrilling and a bit terrifying, but we safely arrived back to Liberatia
with lots of groceries and memories. We thanked the panga driver and
paid him for his gracious favor.
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Happily ever after. |