November 14, 2007. As dawn grew into morning, we passed the usual boat-rally stop of Bahia de Magdalena. By now we wanted to put some distance under the keel so we headed directly for Cabo San Lucas, the southernmost point of Baja California, in the Tropic of Cancer and some 315 miles from Punta Pequena. This would be a leg of two nights and about 2-½ days. The nights were clear and starry, with meteorites that flashed green when they burned up – the first time, I thought I had either seen lightning, or that someone, somewhere, was using a green flash on a camera – the light was that sudden and brilliant. It’s strange, the things you see in the night sky when you’re away from bright city lights. Too bad the wind died. The poor Fox just cannot move through ocean swells in air less than 5 knots. So we motor-sailed oh yes we did. A few early-bird FUBAR-rally power boats surrounded us during the second night’s motor journey south from Mag Bay to Cabo. Their VHF16 chatter amongst themselves was comforting in a way – it passed the time and we had fellow travelers. We also heard one of them coaching another about how to get to a fuel dock at Cabo San Lucas, which turned out to be very good advice indeed.
Cabo San Lucas. Everybody’s heard of it; it’s the vacation destination in the packages all those game shows award to the winners. The cruising guides say it best: cruisers on recreational boats unanimously dislike spending time in Cabo San Lucas. Because it’s expensive. Touristy. Physically uncomfortable for a boat. The harbor is a zoo. Madhouse. Freak show. Unfortunately for the Fox, Cabo San Lucas has the only two fuel docks between San Carlos in Mag Bay on the Pacific side of Baja, and La Paz on the eastern side of Baja. In other words, Cabo’s the only game in town.* We saw dozens of sportfishing boats entering and leaving a narrow fairway at full throttle (time is money, after all, and the skippers have to get their paying clients out to the fishing grounds pronto), followed by tour boats of all sizes and electric ferries playing chicken with frat boys on jet-skis. Imagine the three-foot boat wakes your own boat has to bounce over – and the damage that rolling wakes can cause down below. The night before, the FUBAR coach we’d overheard on the radio had told his peep that if you must enter the Cabo San Lucas harbor, just ignore everyone else as they’re all playing chicken with you but will take care of themselves and ultimately avoid physical contact. The FUBAR coach was spot-on: Boats of all kinds swarmed everywhere. Parasailer tourists pulled aloft by the smallest of power boats threatened to tangle themselves in our mast; sport fishers tried to roll us with their wakes for entertainment, and jet-skiers used the Fox as a racing pylon. 
We muscled through them all and wound a path to the fuel dock nearest the entrance, and lo! We’d timed it perfectly – no other boat was there. We tied up at the dock, bouncing so hard from the perpetual boat wakes that one of our fenders blew out. Within seconds were surrounded by two other small sport fishing boats at the dock and a third power boat turning circles waiting for an opening. Intense. We fueled up, paid up and bailed in what seemed like only 4 minutes. Fastest fuel-up EVAR. We hightailed it back out of the harbor and aimed for the anchorage. Whew.
The holding in the anchorage was sandy and just fine – which is always the main thing – but the boat wakes though a half mile away were so numerous they made for large discomfort on the Fox. Once again we had to stow all loose items as if we were in heavy weather. However, when happy hour started onshore and the sun set, the boat traffic miraculously disappeared and we had a fairly quiet night with a neon-pink sunset
and only the occasional drunk frat boy driving closely past the Fox on unlit jet-ski or dinghy. The next morning at 0530 when it was just light enough to see, some sailboats left the anchorage…and at 0600 we saw why: that was the starting time for the outgoing sport fishers leaving the harbor at full throttle, and the arrival time for the day’s first incoming cruise ship. Here’s what the Cabo San Lucas anchorage looks like at 0550 – nice view of the rocks:
Here’s the view of the same rocks after the cruise ship du jour anchors at 0600:
Basically, from my point of view Cabo is the kind of place that 30-or-younger-something urbanites go for the first time they are without parental supervision. It’s all loud motors, fast boats, conga lines, tequila shots and souvenirs made in China. The context of Cabo’s entertainment – the bars, restaurants, hotels, condos, and even the jet-skis, parasailing, sport fishers and water taxis – is exclusively from the perspective of the shore. If you’re in the mood for such action, it should be a fine destination – once. But, there is no room for water-based liveaboards like us. But Cabo has the fuel. So people come.
* Sure, the Rains guide says there’s a less-hectic 500-foot fuel dock 15 miles NE of Cabo San Lucas, in San Jose de los Cabos…but the Rains guide? It lies. The San Jose fuel dock is only partially built, and (spoiler alert!) as of November 15, 2007, it has no fuel whatsoever and the future does not look bright. So, save yourself a 30-mile detour and just man up and go into the horror that is the Cabo San Lucas harbor entrance and get your fuel there – it’s the Only Game In Town.
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