Ophelia Offshore

While it was difficult to pick up the hook and leave Bahía Santa María, the good news was we were only sailing 25nm away to the backside of the other end of the bay. We headed out in the afternoon and had a beautiful evening sail along the coast. The mountains stacking up against the coastline were spectacular in the setting sun.

We dropped anchor in Magdalena after dark, with a little stress on my part to not hit any of the other boats at anchor. One of the boats was our friends boat and that would be no way to say hello! Jesse does not stress out about these things. While I don’t like anchoring at night, I do love waking up to a new anchorage that we haven’t set eyes on in the day light yet – It reminds me of camping when you pitch your tent in the dark and then wake up to unexpected beauty all around.

Magdalena was no exception, with the rising sun bringing to life the many different colors of the small houses in town. When we went to shore to explore, it became apparent most of the town was vacant. There was one restaurant in town, which was busy and filled with the family relations and friends of the owner. All were welcome – You could join them for coffee in the morning (a pot is left out and you help yourself) or they would cook you a meal of whatever the day’s catch was for lunch or dinner while they also ate. Cold beers were handed out from behind the counter sunrise to late into the night for a few dollars.

One of the best parts of traveling by sail boat is they move real slow and often in a similar direction with the prevailing winds. You end up in cohorts of boats who are all in the same region moving the same direction, and you get to meet up with them over and over. In Magdalena we got to reconnect with SV Toketie and meet SV Metanoia, swapping stories from our transits down the US Pacific coast and favorite stops in Mexico so far.

The highlight of Magdalena was being invited to a cockfight – After sharing coffees, meals, and beers with the restaurant owner and his family and friends, our motley group of sailors was invited to attend a regional cock fight that was being hosted in the town the next day. Jesse and I had been planning to set sail, but delayed. We were told the cockfights started at 10am.

On the morning of the cockfight we woke early, and came to town at 9:30 to ensure we weren’t late. We had a coffee at the restaurant. And then another coffee. We asked the owner when the frights were starting – Soon, within an hour! And then a few pangas arrived filled with families and coolers and roosters in boxes. The fights must be starting soon! We ordered a beer to quell our anticipation. And then another round. We inquired with another man at the restaurant, and he assuaged us that yes, the fights would be starting in about an hour. It was now 2 o clock, we needed a full meal so headed back to the boat to eat. As soon as we got back to the boat we saw more pangas arrive with roosters in boxes and rushed back to shore. There was no action yet at the area we thought looked like the ring. We ordered more beers and some guacamole. We inquired with a man standing next to boxes of chickens, and yes, the fights would be starting in about an hour…

The fights started in the evening, but there was no risk of missing them, they went on for hours. Families from all across the area brought their best fighting roosters packed up in cardboard boxes with handles, coolers of beer, BBQs, and lawn chairs to the event. The quiet, half abandoned town came to life – Kids riding bikes and playing basketball, women sitting around in the shade catching up, and the men showing off their roosters to one another.

I wasn’t sure how our attendance at their community event would be greeted, but I had nothing to worry about. When we showed interest in the roosters and what was going on, people rushed to attempt to answer our questions (our Spanish is terrible), show us their birds, and pose for photos. Those that spoke English introduced themselves and chatted about where they were from and the beauty of the Baja Peninsula.

The fights were violent – The roosters have a large metal sharpened claw lashed to their talon and the fights are to the death. Two roosters are brought into the ring, the handlers (who are not the owners, similar to a jockey in a horse race) do a bit of a dance with the birds bringing them in close face to face quickly, and then jumping back, and then jumping back close again to rile the birds up. A man takes bets from the crowd. Then the birds are set down in the ring and fight. They fight until one of the birds can’t lift it’s head off the ground. At this point, the fight is not over. The handlers grab the birds, spit beer into their faces to revive them, and stand them up face to face to continue the fight. This often re-animates the birds, and sometimes they would go multiple rounds before one of the birds couldn’t get up to fight again. The winning bird is celebrated, and returned to it’s owner who is beaming with pride at the win. The roosters are very docile with people, and know their owners, relaxing into their arms and accepting the tender strokes. The losing birds are piled into the garbage, and then into overflow sacks when the garbages are full.