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! 

We sailed 17.5 hours (60/40 motor/sail, averaging 4.5 knots) to our next stop. Got uncomfortably close to a tanker (still figuring out our Raymarine and AIS navigational tools), but otherwise the passage was drama-free. And the night was magical . Gotta say, Mexico is pretty consistently fantastic when the sun goes down: the sunsets never get old, and the stars are usually out with a vengeance. It was sooooo hot in the cockpit, though; we were still sticky in tank tops at 2:00 a.m. 

At about 10:00, we arrived at San Pedro, another sleepy little bay. And the only boat at the time. (It’s awesome when you have your total pick of anchoring spots.) The water was beautiful and it was totally peaceful. T took a dunk, I took a shower, and we baked — with the fans providing minimal assistance — until we could turn the generator on later and crank up the A/C and wifi. (Yet again, we’d neglected to charge the power box when we had electricity. Our justified punishment? No immediate power gratification.)

It was crazy windy during our short stay. Thank goodness our anchor is solid … but of course you never really know that until after the fact. Night one a ginormous power boat next to us started dragging, so they pulled their anchor up — in itself a little disconcerting — and we were in the cockpit at midnight battling the wind, hoping like hell that they didn’t get close enough to hit us, grinding our teeth and ready to motor off at any moment. (Although to where I’m not sure, since the moon didn’t come out until 1 a..m … ) The following night was more of the same, but we had more confidence in our anchor at that point. and the other boat had thankfully made tracks by then.

By contrast, the days were mellow and the sea beautiful, both visually and physically. The water temperature was perfect to cool off with a dunk, and dunks were abundant and sorely needed. I finished some totally marginal books. (Every marina has a “library”, so without a mailing address or a bookstore nearby, you get what you get and you don’t get upset.) Not a Happy Family by Shari Lapena was a quick, predictable, and non-recommended read. (How in the world do these authors become New York Times bestsellers?) Also started 52 Pickup by Elmore Leonard, who also wrote the made-into-movies books Get Shorty and Be Cool that John Travolta starred in. This book is a little rough so far (and a little racist?), but I’m gonna stick with it and see where it goes.

On our last night, T made super scrumptious fried shrimp rolls with some rice paper we’d literally had for years. Maybe even a decade. Improvised and totally delish. So all in all, a fairly enjoyable two-day stay. Have to admit, though, that I’d been chomping at the bit to head to our next stop: San Carlos. The marina is supposed to suck, but it is a marina, and … wait for it … there’s a new 14-court pickleball facility nearby. Swoon!

Desperately seeking a marina with power to get our generator situation in check, we sailed from Agua Verrde to Puerto Escondido. About four hours. We hand steered the whole way since the autopilot uses a ton of power, and it was a mercifully easy sail. A fellow sailor hit a reef near here, so we were extra cautious and vigilant. Thankfully all was good in the maritime ‘hood.

Except … there were no available slips upon arrival. We’d been super lucky so far with just showing up and being accommodated, and unfortunately that luck ran out. There was a fishing tournament that weekend, so all the slips were taken. So we took a mooring ball instead and resigned ourselves to (at least) another day and night sans wifi and with limited power. Not the end of the world for sure, just mildly inconvenient … especially when you’ve decided to stay in a marina and it’s soooo flipping close.

The next day we took the dinghy to the marina, which is pretty new (less than a decade), and it shows. Made the mooring sting a little more, ‘cuz it is noooice. Swanky up the wazoo, just the way i like it. Beautiful pool and hot tub, excellent restaurant and shower facilities, upscale market with all sorts of overpriced yum, and (cue the harps!) a pickleball court. (There was only one, and no one was ever on it, so that meant T had to indulge yours truly. Thanks, babe!)

We managed to secure a slip for one day (yay!), and luckily there was no boat next to us, Once we were in, the harbor crew turned us around — not our choice, and navigated us super close to everything expensive we could hit, but ok — so our stern was facing the dock. We got our generator fixed (T had done everything right, just had disconnected a wire in the process …) and then the angels sang once again as we cranked up the A/C, charged everything in sight, ordered water to be delivered, opened a bottle of chilled Italian red, devoured some delicious braised oxtails, and high-fived the marina life. It was only for a day, but we milked the hell out of it. And we’d  be back in four, so for sure we could hang. A little begrudgingly — especially now that we’d experienced it fully — but yes, dammit, we definitely could.

The following morning we had to get out early to head back to the sticks. Our mooring had its benefits, though, namely that you could catch fish there. T dropped a line, and voila! A few hours later we’d caught our very first, totally respectable, three-poundish fish. A bottom feeder, but hey … I’m not mad at a catfish. We realized later that it was a no-fishing zone, which likely explained the ease of the catch, but in the meantime, we fried homeboy up with a solid recipe from the Soul Food Cookbook, and busted out the champagne for a proper toast. 10s across the board.

The one drawback to Puerto Escondido is that, despite the swank, it’s isolated and a bit lacking on the soul side. So we had high hopes when we drove our rental car to the neighboring town of Loreto. Unfortunately it gave off a similar vibe, just with less swagger. Alas. The good news is that Jacques Cousteau famously dubbed the Sea of Cortez “the world’s aquarium”, and the dive shop is in Loreto, so of course I had to see for myself if Jack was on point … or wack. We made the most of the day, checked out their signature mission (underwhelming), bought a watermelon (ditto), and got me signed up for a dive tour the following morning. Had a great day diving on Danzante Island with Blue Nation. And while the water was a bit murky, the fish were indeed abundant. As a bonus, we were met with a huge dolphin pod and a few whales on our boat ride back … a little close to be honest, but exhilarating nonetheless. 

We lazed around for a few more days back in Puerto Escondido and left after a thoroughly satisfying two weeks. We’re planning to hit a few more anchorages in the Sea of Cortez before we head to Guaymas (a little south of San Carlos) to store our boat for four months while we do some air travel. In the meantime, onward to Puerto Balandra.

The sail to La Cruz de Huanacaxtle was pretty choice. Day one we sailed in mostly perfect conditions. Day two brought more tranquil seas (such a drag to motor once you start to actually sail more), but we’ll call it a win with relatively few whales and relatively little drama (yaaasss!). Watched the ridiculous Night Agent series, finished Murakami’s satisfying Men Without Women, and dove into The Clockmaker’s Daughter, a promising novel by Kate Morton. We enjoyed dramatic sunsets followed by beautiful, clear, starry skies. Once again we arrived without a slip reservation, and once again we got lucky … and snagged the last available slip. Docking was a bit tricky for the 35K-pound (45 with all of our kit) Kouk — the slips here are shared by two boats with no dividers between — but we maneuvered like champs and high-fived it heartily upon arrival. Perfect location close to the marina office and “yacht club”, which is not a club at all but rather an air conditioned circular windowed room where people go to cool off, read, and do the various things that people do on their laptops. Upstairs is a beautiful rooftop bar and restaurant, where we cheers-ed to another safe passage with mescal (a drink I’m coming to increasingly appreciate), so-so tacos, and a lovely view of our dock.

La Cruz is rougher than the considerably more upscale San Jose del Cabo. (Had a conversation with another sailor who said San Jose had gotten too chi-chi for her. I found it more chic than chi-chi, but I am honestly not mad at either.).The streets are rocky and more often unpaved than not, the town square is nothing to write home about, and its restaurants are more homey than elegant. That said, the marina is all that and a bag of chips, and there are activities galore. Presentations on all things sailing are plentiful, an outdoor amphitheater with movie nights every Thursday, an impressive farmer’s market every Sunday with food, housewares, leather goods, live (excellent!) musical entertainment, and everything in between. And la piece de resistance … wait for it … three pickleball courts! There’s a lovely yoga class within walking distance on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, hosted in a condo complex that overlooks the ocean and where you can hear the waves and birds during your practice. There’s also a beautiful spa nearby, salsa lessons on Monday and Wednesday nights, and a refreshingly and reasonably priced fish market where we heartily consumed delicious shrimp, mahi mahi, tuna, and lobster. 

We (and I use “we” generously) made a ton of great dinners, hosted and hung out repeatedly with our friends Shannon and Andy on Tino Pai, made new friends, and had a few great nights out. One of the more memorable was at El Mar: modest location and ambiance, excellent fried shrimp and tacos. Mon ami mescal was served with salt, dried orange slices, and something that looked like little roaches. After wrestling with my shamefully pitiful Spanish, I finally understood that they were grasshoppers … which unfortunately tasted just like they looked. Something to be tried for sure, but let’s be clear: never to be voluntarily repeated. Apparently grasshoppers are a thing here, though … I had some more mezcal at another bar and the serving platter had what i thought was spicy salt but after inquiry revealed to be grasshopper (let’s just call them) crystals. Note: they’re decidedly tastier in dusty vs full body form. Could simply be a presentation thing. Either way, they’re much better licked than munched.

In actual boat news, Captain T installed the cockpit shower and the water heater. Much sweating and swearing ensued along the way, but we can now have a hot water rinse in the cockpit after a dunk, a hot shower on the boat when we’re not in a marina (or are too lazy to hike to the marina showers), and — finally — hot water to wash and rinse the dishes. No more greasy containers! Hallelujah! Next was the poop tank, so we’re really cooking with oil. Still used the bucket to avoid having to move the boat to empty the tank, but that bad boy is in working condition and the odeur (which we fortunately or unfortunately didn’t notice until it was totally gone) is ancient history. And as the final La Cruz project, Captain T installed air conditioning … the luxury I never knew how much we absolutely needed. I cannot adequately express how ridiculously delicious it is. I mean seriously … speechless. If the angels sang when the water heater and poop tank were installed, there was a full blown, Kirk Franklin-led gospel concert when we turned the air conditioning on, it worked (on the first try!), and we greedily indulged. I’d thought before that A/C was a nice-to-have. And it is. But I’d never. Ever. Go without it again. It is just … beyond.

I had to go back to the Bay Area unexpectedly because someone stole the rear license plate from my car (which my mom is driving). A good excuse to spend time with her and friends. Got some beautification in, did some puzzling, played some pickleball (shocker), went to Tommy T’s Comedy Club to see Guy Torry (unexpectedly hilarious, right up there in my top five comedy shows) and play some impromptu ping pong afterwards with one of my besties from high school. Had an amazing time with my favorite sister friend/sister-in-law and played (more!) pickleball, saw the tulips at Filoli Gardens, made dinner and libations, gabbed and spent the night together. (Side bar: such a shame that sleepovers are not really a thing when you get older. Soooo much fun.)

Then my mom flew back to La Cruz for a little vacation. Side bar number two: When I first heard about the Trump tariffs, my immediate thought was that champagne was going to go through the roof (not the most world-conscious view I know, but I’m just sayin’ …), so I ordered a bunch which I brought back from my Bay Area trip. What I hadn’t realized is that it would go bad when we leave the boat during the hot Mexican summer, so we have the rough-but-somebody’s-got-to-do-it job of consuming it all before July. Back to the story … more MoDa (Mother/Daughter) hijinks ensued in La Cruz, bookended by two champagne dates, some devastating (for Mom … ha!) Boggle games, spa time (with a small and deceptively aggressive masseuse who made me a forever convert from deep tissue to the more relaxing and civilized Swedish), salsa lessons, music bingo, more puzzling, and just lots of good ‘ole conversation. Mom had been hesitant to come and I’m so glad she did: the week flew by and we’ll both remember our special time together in La Cruz. Love you Mom … Carpe diem!

April is the last month of the season in La Cruz. The weather is getting hot, La Cruz Pickleball sessions ended (although we did get a small group together to play at Punta Pelicanos afterwards … thanks for the invite, Catherine!), the crowds everywhere noticeably thinned. We did our provisioning, had a final dinner party (kicked off with champagne, of course) with new friends, prepped the boat, and got ready to leave the marina. We ended up staying in La Cruz for a lovely, memorable two months. Next stops: island hopping in the Sea of Cortez before we put the Kouk on the hard in San Carlos.

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.