Two-thirds of the WeeHee pulled into our first stop in the Sea of Cortez: Los Frailes. We were out for five days and 2 hours, give or take. Eric is still a bit behind us and will catch up with us in La Paz. We’re flying the WeeHee flag for him, and are about to check in on the shortwave radio to get an update on his progress.
Los Frailes is 50 miles from Cabo San Lucas, on the southeastern tip of the Baja Penninsula. A verdant mountain range, with sharp peaks jutting out from all directions, rises from a long, white sandy beach. The peaks bring to mind a Triceratops, with its sharp spines and awkwardly sloped back — as if one stopped here to nap years ago and never woke up. Palapas line the shore, and a few Mediterranean style homes hug the sloping cliffs that overlook the brilliant blue water.
We decided to stop in Los Frailes, before continuing on to La Paz, to get some rest before bashing further north (the wind is almost always on the nose when sailing north in the Sea of Cortez) and to dive at Pulmo Reef, about two miles north of the anchorage.
This afternoon was spent relaxing in the cockpit and swapping stories with Petter and Octavia about our shared voyage. The water is 83 degrees here, so we went for a swim off the back of the boat. The water is crystal clear — I watched the anchor drop almost to the bottom, and we’re in 45 feet of water.
It feels good to be here, stopped even if just for a few nights before moving on again. Although, I have to admit, as we neared our destination I started to feel time condensing… My mind flooded with the things I need to do, want to do, or should do. Wash the salt off the boat, clean, explore the anchorage that we’ve come so far to enjoy, write about it, do laundry, meet others who have come this far too, appreciate this possibly once-in-a-lifetime experience, take pictures and make sure they capture the essence of the place that we’ve come so far to enjoy… It’s a lot to take in after five days at sea, with nothing but time and space and expanse.
Away from land it’s as if time ceases to exist, if only in your mind. Day blends with night; sunrise, rather than an alarm clock, marks the beginning of a new day; night watches from 2am-5am are spent gazing at stars (and wishing you’d taken an astronomy course in college); dinner is made from fresh fish caught that afternoon; and conversations, or rather strings of thought, float from here to there, often never touching down before another one lifts off.
Tomorrow we’ll snorkel and dive, and plan our departure to La Paz. Brian is washing dishes right now, Petter and Octavia are on their way over to grill steaks for dinner, and I’m wondering how we’ve made it so far in such a short amount of time. It’s November 11 and today it was 90 degrees in the boat, and 100 degrees outside. And the breeze that’s blowing outside is warm, even though the sun set hours ago. We’re not in Kansas anymore.