It had been windy in San Pedro. Nail-biting-is-the-anchor-gonna-hold windy. But we had to get out of there. We had a reservation in San Carlos, and it was only a four-hour sail. Time to knuckle up.

The morning of our departure, the wind was still showing its ass … so we tried to give it time to get it out of its system. With no end in sight by noon, though, we just had to go. And can you say “shit show”? Holy guacamole, that was the craziest sail we’d had to date. The waves were no less than ten feet high, crashing like a mutha, the boat seeming to rise at a 45 degree angle, me at the helm so T could guide us from the bow … It was seriously like something out of a sailing movie/nightmare. A little more action-packed than we’d anticipated, to put it mildly. Then T insisted on raising the sail, since he was afraid of what would happen if the engine gave out in the midst of all the madness. This entailed latching himself onto a belt that he in turn latched to the rails. (‘Cuz you have to leave the cockpit to raise the main on our boat, a set up I’ve never been crazy about. Captain T says you inevitably have to go on deck to fix something anyway, so … Anyhoo, that morning I would have greatly appreciated a mainsail line leading directly the cockpit, as all I could visualize was T flying over the side of the boat.) Neither of us had put our lifejackets on either, because it was so hot (bad move; won’t do that again). I felt like a badass afterwards, but in the moment it was equal parts exhilaration and terror.

The trauma drama lasted about an hour, but it felt like so much more. Jesús Cristo. The sailing was still pretty rocky afterwards, but blessedly nothing resembling the outset. When we finally arrived in San Carlos after about six hours, we were beyond relieved … followed quickly by total shell shock. After being in such calm environments since entering the Sea of Cortez, San Carlos was unexpected. And frankly a lot: An alarming amount of boats in the harbor, blasting the loud bass and twang mix of Mexican beats, people laughing and shouting, random and dangerous miscellany jutting out of the water with no markers … a total WTF moment. But we docked like champions (next to a power boat with no fenders, daring us to hit it so they could calmly collect all of our coins), cranked up that glorious A/C, and thanked our lucky stars. 

San carlos is a noticeably friendly place, with tons of restaurants and beautiful beachfronts. And OMG … the pickleball. I’d researched the pball sitch ahead of time (as I do), and had my week planned out. Well. let me just say that the San Carlos Pickleball Club (“SCPC”) did not disappoint. It’s apparently the largest pickleball facility in Mexico — 14 legit courts with 24/7 access — with a crazy schedule and ridiculously welcoming community. I got out there the following morning (unfortunately late, because … no Uber in San Carlos. Hmmm …) and got a few games in. Then the games continued for the next three days (and one night) straight. Unfortunately had to break to get the boat ready … but I’ll see you again in December, SCPC!

We didn’t get to properly tour San Carlos since we were really just stopping off on our way to store the boat in Guaymas. but we heard and saw enough to want to check it out more. So we’ll explore it later in the year when it’s not so hellaciously hot. And contrary to the poor reviews, the marina was totally fine and the service was excellent … so much so that we decided to haul out there instead of schlepping to Guaymas. Infinitely more convenient, at about the same price.

Despite the inevitable tooth gnashing, the haul out went smoothly, and the boat was driven slowly and effortlessly to Marina Seca. This is where the real work began, with the sun scorching from morning to night, and very little water (meaning no to limited A/C). We had to take down, fold, and store all the sails and stack pack (more than a notion); remove and rinse all the lines; cover all the metal hardware and instruments; store the kayak and paddleboard; deflate the dinghy; remove and flush the outboard engine; plug the windlass holes with wire to discourage rodents; lock the stern anchor and life raft; install shades on the deck; close the propane tanks; stow all the cockpit cushions; empty the fridge and freezer; stack all the interior cushions to prevent mold … Suffice it to say, it was a lot of action. 

After all was said and done, we still had to pack. For five months. I’m not the best packer, but I was proud that I got everything into one (admittedly large and obnoxiously heavy) bag, not including my dive bag, and a carryon backpack. T hates that my bags are always so — well — much, but I honestly did my best. We cracked our final bottle of champagne to celebrate, had some fish tacos at nearby La Caluca, slept wetly and fitfully for the fourth night without A/C, and got out of there at 6:45 the following morning … to LA for a few days before we head to Roatan for a month of scuba diving. Word has it that there’s also pickleball there. Double deliciousness incoming!