San José del Cabo is a relaxed and attractively restored colonial town on the southern tip of the Baja Peninsula, offering a quieter alternative to the more commercialised resort atmosphere of nearby Cabo San Lucas.
Mexico: Magdelena Bay
Moving on to Magdalena Bay
Our time in Loreto had come to an end. It had been a gentle and undemanding stop in our travels—pleasant enough, with calm streets, a sleepy charm, and some agreeable coastal scenery. However, it ultimately proved too quiet for our tastes. Despite its status as an international airport hub, Loreto remains remote from the more active hubs of Baja California Sur, making it feel somewhat cut off. While we had appreciated the restfulness of the town, it was clear that Loreto would not be making it onto our shortlist of places to return to for an extended stay in the future.
Next on our itinerary was the small town of San Carlos, situated on the west coast of the Baja Peninsula in the sheltered expanse of Magdalena Bay, where the calm inland waters meet the wild Pacific Ocean. The journey promised to be relatively short—just two and a half hours—so we felt no great urgency in our departure. When we finally left, it was along the same highway we had used to arrive, retracing our route with the dry, desert landscape passing steadily by on either side.
We stopped briefly in the town of Ciudad Insurgentes to pick up supplies for lunch at the local supermarket, a necessary errand before continuing onward to Constitución, from where we veered westward toward the Pacific. The road from Constitución to San Carlos gradually lost any sense of polish; the terrain became more open, less cultivated, and even more remote. Eventually, we arrived in San Carlos—a place that barely announces itself as a destination. The streets were unpaved, the town layout haphazard, and there was little in the way of landmarks or formal infrastructure. This had once been a traditional fishing village, and a small segment of that way of life still exists here, clinging to the edge of the town. However, the main reason people visit San Carlos these days is not for the town itself or its unremarkable beaches, but for the grey whales. Each winter, these immense creatures arrive in Magdalena Bay to give birth to their calves, and this seasonal migration has turned the town into a niche ecotourism spot.
We had booked a three-day, two-night tour to coincide with the whale-watching season. The first day, however, was simply a travel and arrival day, with little planned beyond settling in. Our accommodation for the night was at the Hotel Isabela. Despite the modest size of the town, the hotel proved surprisingly tricky to locate—no street signs, poor GPS reception, and few locals visible to ask for directions. Eventually, we found it, though not without a few wrong turns along unnamed dusty roads.
The welcome at Hotel Isabela was underwhelming, the sort that leaves you wondering if they had been expecting guests at all. After a brief check-in, we were shown to our room—a vast space with two queen beds and high ceilings, which initially seemed like an upgrade. Unfortunately, the room had a strong, musty smell, and the mattresses were so firm they felt carved from stone. Comfort was minimal, but we reminded ourselves it was just for one night.
The hotel had its own restaurant, but the menu seemed overpriced for what it was offering, and none of the options were particularly appealing. We decided instead to explore the town before darkness fell. Driving into the centre, we quickly realised that San Carlos is the kind of place that, if you blink as you pass through, you might miss entirely. We did, however, treat ourselves to an ice cream—an indulgence justified by the day’s travel. The ice cream was unexpectedly good and refreshingly inexpensive. Afterwards, we walked across the street to a small shop to pick up a few items for dinner—basic provisions for a simple evening meal.
Rather than return to our musty hotel room straight away, we drove out to the waterfront, hoping to find somewhere more pleasant to eat. San Carlos is not the kind of place known for its beaches, and the shoreline itself was unremarkable—little more than sand, some scattered debris, and a long view of the open water. Still, we found a bench facing the bay with a peaceful, unobstructed outlook. There, we unpacked our food and quietly ate our makeshift dinner as the light began to fade. The air was cool, and the gentle sound of the water lapping at the shore gave the moment a kind of raw simplicity.
By the time we returned to the hotel, the town had fallen quiet once again. With an early start awaiting us—breakfast was set for 6:00 am—we took the opportunity for an early night. As we settled into our concrete-like beds, we looked ahead with some anticipation to what lay in store the following day: a chance to witness the grey whales in their natural habitat, an encounter that, hopefully, would offer something more memorable than the town itself.
Whales Over Welcome Mats: A Quiet Arrival in San Carlos
We had an early start with a pre-dawn breakfast at our hotel in San Carlos, followed by a short drive to the dock to meet our boat. It was a small vessel and we were the only passengers, just us and the captain. The sun was out and the skies were clear, but it was still February and the breeze on the water made it quite chilly. We were soon heading into Magdalena Bay, leaving the mainland behind as the day began to warm.
Magdalena Bay, situated on the western coast of Mexico’s Baja California Sur, is part of a long chain of coastal lagoons protected from the Pacific by a series of barrier islands. These sheltered waters form a rich and varied ecosystem that supports a wide range of marine life. Historically, the bay was used as an anchorage by early explorers and whalers, and today it is best known as one of the main breeding and calving grounds for grey whales who migrate from the Arctic each winter. The bay is also home to a wealth of birdlife, with pelicans, herons and ospreys being common sights.
We spent the morning scanning the water for signs of activity and were soon rewarded. All around us we could see the fine mist of water spouts and the flick of flukes as the whales dived. A few even breached, including one just thirty metres from the boat, which came crashing back into the sea with a tremendous splash. At times, they passed directly under our boat, and on more than one occasion, we saw them rise vertically out of the water for a look around, a behaviour known as spy-hopping. We drifted quietly amongst small groups of whales for about four hours. Seabirds skimmed low across the surface, and there was little sound but the breathing of the whales and the occasional cry of a gull.
After this, we made our way to one of the long barrier islands which form a natural breakwater protecting the bay from the open ocean. This was where we would be camping for the night. A line of simple tents had been pitched along the edge of the beach, each one separated by a good distance for a bit of privacy. After settling in and having lunch at the communal shelter, we took a short kip in the tent before heading out for a walk along the shoreline.
Not far from our camp was the body of a dead whale. It had been hauled up onto the sand, a common practice in the area to allow the carcass to decompose naturally so that the skeleton could be preserved. The smell was strong but bearable if you didn’t linger too long, though the vultures and hawks clearly didn’t mind. A little further along the beach, we found the remains of a dead coyote, already being picked clean. A naturalist from one of the boats anchored offshore was photographing the birds that had gathered. We carried on with a bit of beachcombing, enjoying the peace of this largely uninhabited stretch of coastline.
Later in the evening, we returned to the shelter for a surprisingly good dinner. The wind had dropped, and the sky was clear. During the night, we had to step outside the tent a couple of times and were greeted by the most spectacular night sky. With no artificial light for miles, the stars were unbelievably bright, and the Milky Way stretched right across the sky. It was a fitting end to a remarkable day.
A Valentine’s Day with Whales
Valentine’s Day began in an unexpectedly tranquil fashion beneath the canvas of our tent. After weeks in Mexico, where nocturnal noise is often provided by a cacophony of barking dogs and crowing cockerels, the silence here was almost disorienting. Instead, as night settled over the coastal wilderness, the gentle, haunting yips of coyotes echoed across the landscape—a sound both unfamiliar and strangely soothing.
The morning’s plan was, as had been typical with this tour operator, somewhat nebulous. With little information provided in advance, we relied on our instincts and early rising habits, making our way to the camp’s dining area just before 6:00 am. At that hour, the place was barely stirring, but gradually the island crew emerged, and we managed to order breakfast, opting once more to forego coffee, mindful that we would soon be spending several hours on a boat.
Around 7:00 am, our captain for the day, Martín, arrived to collect us. Our destination: the rich grey whale grounds of the bay. We had barely pushed off from shore when we encountered our first whale—gliding effortlessly through the water a mere 200 metres away. A promising start that set the tone for what would become a memorable morning.
The weather was not quite as immaculate as the previous day—clouds drifting idly overhead—but the temperature was slightly warmer and the sea remained inviting. As we cruised towards the heart of the bay, a sea lion was spotted basking atop a buoy, perfectly positioned for a photograph in the soft, early light.
We navigated toward the area where we had seen so many whales the day before, and sure enough, they were still there. These massive creatures seemed almost to seek out the boats; Martín would cut the engine and let us drift, and time and again whales would emerge from the depths, gliding past or even underneath our vessel, their vast silhouettes clearly visible through the clean water. On several occasions, we were treated to displays of raised fins and lifted tails, and we even witnessed a couple of breaches—the explosive leap of a whale into the air is as dramatic and brief as any natural performance.
The day before, we had watched in envy as other boats experienced up-close interactions, the whales raising their heads above the surface and allowing humans to reach out and touch them. We had hoped for such a moment ourselves, but none had come close enough. There was a certain technique to attracting them, it seemed—light splashing on the water worked best. Other passengers on nearby boats tried more attention-seeking methods, including one woman with a clattering plastic hand toy and another with a colourful parasol she opened and closed repeatedly. None of these seemed to outperform the simple charm of gently rippling the water.
Roughly ninety minutes into our outing, our patience was rewarded. A whale approached us with clear curiosity, raising its head near the boat and then slowly pressing its enormous body against the side. It was a breathtaking moment. We leaned over and reached out, our fingers brushing the whale’s head. Its skin, aside from the barnacle-covered patches, was soft and smooth. For a few precious minutes, we shared space with this giant, making eye contact with a creature far older and larger than ourselves. It returned more than once before drifting away, seemingly as satisfied with the encounter as we were.
We lingered in the area, slowly repositioning to watch more whales diving and tail-flipping through the bay. Eventually, we spotted a cluster of boats—perhaps fifteen in total—hovering near another whale engaged in friendly interaction. While the sight of so many vessels gathered in one place did raise concern, we were reassured by the fact that the whales could effortlessly evade them if they chose to. Still, some captains were a little too eager, keeping their motors running and manoeuvring with less caution than one might hope. Fortunately, no harm came to the whales.
Martín expertly edged our boat into the scene, and to our delight, we were granted a second opportunity to touch a whale. To say we were thrilled would be an understatement—it was an experience few ever have, and we had been lucky enough to enjoy it twice.
Earlier that morning, we had been given the option to return to the island for lunch or head directly back to the mainland. Given the long drive ahead to San José del Cabo, we opted for the latter. Once ashore, we thanked Martín for his skill and company and were driven the short distance back to Hotel Isabela, where our car and bags were waiting.
Getting to Magdelena Bay
🛫 Flying to Magdalena Bay
The nearest major airport is Loreto International Airport (LTO) in Baja California Sur, Mexico. From the UK, you’ll likely connect through a major US hub such as Los Angeles or Dallas before continuing to Loreto.
🚗 Travelling by Car
From Loreto, hire a car and drive approximately 4–5 hours west to the town of San Carlos, the primary jumping-off point for tours to Magdalena Bay. The route is mostly paved but can be remote, so ensure you have supplies and a full tank.
🛥️ Boat Access
From San Carlos or Puerto López Mateos, take a panga boat tour into Magdalena Bay. These small vessels are commonly used for whale watching and eco-tours in the bay’s calm waters.
The best time to visit Magdelena Bay
🌸 Spring (March to May)
Spring is a wonderful time to visit Magdalena Bay, with mild temperatures and blooming desert flora. Wildlife is active, and birdwatching is particularly rewarding during this season.
☀️ Summer (June to August)
Summer can be quite hot and dry, making it less ideal for some travellers. However, it’s perfect for those who enjoy solitude, as tourist numbers drop significantly.
🍂 Autumn (September to November)
Autumn offers pleasant weather and fewer crowds. It’s a great time for kayaking, fishing, and exploring the surrounding natural beauty without the intense heat of summer.
🐋 Winter (December to February)
Winter is arguably the best time to visit, especially for whale watching. Grey whales migrate to the bay to breed and give birth, providing an unforgettable experience for visitors.
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