I was glad to leave the Cabo marina behind, with its (specially discounted Baja Ha Ha) $2/foot/day dock fees and the ever-present soundtrack from bars and nightclubs. Casually disconnecting from shore power and dropping my dock lines, I backed out of slip F24 at about 5am. While drifting in the causeway to tidy up the boat for sea, I was treated to a shooting star that streaked across half the sky, breaking up into a shower of little sisters that disappeared westward into the waning night. It felt like a good omen for the day.

And so, after motoring south and east out of the marina, I turned towards the north for the first time since mid-August, heading up into the Sea of Cortez in search of white sand and blue water, whales and dolphins, friends and adventure. I watched my first ocean sunrise in many years take shape as the sun burrowed up out of the Gulf of California, first rimming the distant clouds in crimson and gold, then turning them into a bright white popcorn horizon. In the opposite direction the iconic rocks of Cabo San Lucas stood out in umber shades against the lavender morning backdrop as I left the Pacific behind for a while.



Promising myself more casual cruising that didn't tax me with overnight passages meant my next stop would be the Cape of the Friars only forty miles up the coast. Though it was turning into a sunny day with a generous northwesterly breeze, a southern swell was being cast upwards from a diminishing tropical disturbance off Mazatlan. Los Freiles, with its southern exposure, would be a rock-n-roll anchorage. I was enjoying my first alone time with Mabrouka for a couple of months, though, and the prospect of an uncomfortable night ahead was not going to discourage me. It was a beautiful day as I watched the unexpectedly green coast drift by and felt the miles float under the keel far enough off shore that I brazenly worked on my altogether tan for a couple of hours.

My early morning departure stood me in good stead for an afternoon arrival and there was plenty of room for me to take up station among the eight or nine boats already anchored there. I was coached on the fine points of the local bottom contours and dropped my anchor in about twenty-three feet of water, letting Mabrouka set towards the beach some 100 yards away. Unfortunately the current and wind contrived to turn her parallel to shore, making her roll uncomfortably in the swell.

During the last hour of the trip into Los Freiles I'd chopped vegetables and diced some meat for a stew, so setting it on the heat for half an hour in the pressure cooker made for a quick and easy evening meal. It became an uncomfortable night after that, though. I tried several sleeping configurations: outside in the cockpit; propped with pillows in my bunk; wedged in the settee between the bulkhead and the dining table; and finally, stringing up the lee cloth on the starboard bunk and stuffing it with cushions to keep me from rolling to and fro with the boat.

That arrangement settled, I still had to deal with the noise. There was nothing I could do about the bashing waters outside, but Mabrouka rolled so much that, at times, I thought I might break some things. It's amazing how long I can manage to lie awake in my soft bed convincing myself that I've experienced the last twenty degree roll and that the pots and pans will stop banging in their cupboards. They wouldn't cooperate with my plans for sleep that night until I'd stuffed a throw pillow into the cup cubby to quiet the crockery and crammed towels into a drawer to keep the frying pans from crashing back and forth with each successive roll.