The sail from San Jose del Cabo to Los Frailes was easy and uneventful — just the way I like it — with the exception of an unnerving amount of whales. Dolphins are cute, whales up close are .. well … not. Not because they’re especially menacing, but rather because of their alarming nonchalance about their size. Like linebackers used to everyone getting out of their way, these blasé behemoths cavalierly glide and lollygag, breach and frolick, and in general have a grand ‘ole time … all the while completely oblivious and unconcerned about their absolute ability to upend your boat and end your sailing experience abruptly. We saw a couple dozen on our relatively short jaunt … as T pointed out, about 24 more than we needed to. 

It took us six hours to get to Los Frailes, an idyllic little spot with a long sandy beach, a scattering of houses, some fishing boats, and a few other sailors. It was super windy upon arrival, so we thought we’d have to keep a keen eye on the anchor and be prepared to haul out posthaste. Turns out we just happened to come in at a blustery moment. It was super chill almost immediately after we anchored, and we settled in nicely. T contacted the boat closest to us that was also on noforeignland — in case they had to contact us in the event we were dragging — and they invited us to a potluck party on the beach the following day. Sweet. 

We were in the cockpit night one, watching the latest episode of Shogun, when we heard it: a rather strong exhalation of breath. It took two more before we realized what the sound was: whales. Our neighbor had warned us about whales circling our boat, but … really? This might be — OK, definitely is — more up-close nature than a sistah signed up for. One of those “What exactly is your ass doing out here?” kind of “Now, girl, you know you knew better” moments that my melanated brethren in particular would be shaking their heads about when the tragedy ended up on the nightly news and they found out the identities of the deceased. The next morning, T shouted “Whale!” as one was brazenly circling our boat in the light of day. Hmmm. Let’s just hope Willy doesn’t decide to be extra free when we’re riding the dinghy to shore. And maybe we’ll just wait to christen that paddleboard …

Another unfortunate discovery on this trip was that our beloved Topo Chico is toxic. Isn’t it always the case that the good sh*t you really like never really likes you back? UGH. I’d had some stomach issues for a couple of days — I’ll spare you the details — and as the common denominator was Topo Chico, I decided to look it up. Turns out it has like ten times the amount of “forever” chemicals — polyfluoroalkyl substances or PFAs, advisably avoided and decidedly no bueno — allowed by the FDA. And we’d just stocked up on three cases of the stuff. Alas, my research and stomach are both forcing me to end this relationship prematurely. It was good while it lasted, but I’ll have to say adios to my newly discovered, gut busting, carbonated delight. Sorry, Topo Chico … Unfortunately it’s not me, it’s you. 

Anyhoo … The beach soiree happened a night later than planned, since the waves would’ve made dinghying to shore more of an adventure than necessary. It was fun when it did go down, though — still not without a bit of dinghy drama upon entry and exit — and we felt like true cruisers as we gathered wood, made and nursed a fire, and met our sailing neighbors for drinks, grub, and stories as the sun went down. We brought chop jae, banana bread and wine, and there were potatoes and meat and kids with sparklers and marshmallows and laughter and good times had by all. 

Los Frailes was a sweet little stop we’re glad we made (thanks S/V Tasi for the recommendation!). Our blubbery sea bros showed up again upon departure, so maybe it’s a hello/goodbye thing with them. Either way, as they just kinda mind their own business, there are luckily no tragic or cautionary tales to tell. Onward. Our next journey: a two-day sail to La Cruz.