Bahia Frailes: Our first jaunt in the Sea of Cortez

“Can I sneak past you?”

“Climbing over you...”

“Can I get by?”

“You goin' up?”

“You comin' down?”

“Lemme squeeze past...”

Un amigo de Bahia San Jose del Cabo.

We've just about exhausted the various methods for announcing that our path in and around the boat is obstructed. Most people that have become familiar with Ardea see fit to wonder aloud how on Earth we three manage in such close quarters. Add a headwind and a four foot chop on the nose like we had in the short passage from Bahia San Jose del Cabo to Bahia Frailes and sometimes we wonder ourselves. Tempers do flare from time to time and the banter never ends. But for the most part, we make do alright. No doubt we've come to appreciate time ashore and our inland excursions have necessarily become more substantial.

Sunset as we approach Bahia Frailes.

Fish tacos with fresh sierra.

We arrived in Bahia Frailes on Sunday evening after a full day of wind-less motoring in the hot sun. It wasn't until the last 10 nm or so when a 15 knot wind and associated swell coming around the southeastern edge of the Baja Penninsula hit us head-on. By then we couldn't afford the time to sail close-hauled; we would have ended up after several long tacks coming in at night and we were wary of rocks at this small anchorage. So we fought through it and found this place quite protected. Our main motivation for the stop was the presence of Cabo Pulmo just around the corner. There lies the (allegedly) only living coral reef in the Sea of Cortez. On Monday morning we set out on foot with a backpack full of snacks and snorkels to check it out.

We knew the southern end of the beach in Cabo Pulmo was only a couple miles away, so we decided to head into the bush to see if we could hoof it. We climbed a tall sand dune at the end of the beach next to the large and steep hill of granite, which was providing a nice lee shelter for Ardea. From there we gazed at the vast, gorgeous desert speckled with fool's gold and chunks of the same granite. I in my flip-flops, Chittick with free-dive fins in hand, Dana in shorts and a t-shirt with his backwards Hawaiian-print hat, we set off following narrow animal paths surrounded by thorny desert shrubs and cacti of many sorts. Despite its incessant scratching of our arms and the occasional dagger-through-the-shoe, the flora was incredibly enjoyable. It was also surprisingly and increasingly thick.

After ducking and dodging a meandering path through the flatlands for a while, we caught site of a fairly large basin with a dry drainage leading the way we needed to go. This must carry a fair amount of seasonal water from the surrounding hills for it was a good deal less vegetated, though happy green shrubs crowded the edges of the drainage and yellow-green forbs dotted the basin, the soil of which was a bit darker than the surrounding. We figured we could try to work our way down there or head up the hill where we would have to hop from rock to rock but where the plants weren't so thick either. After forty five minutes or so, our goal had become to work our way to the road in the distance as opposed to trying for a direct route to Pulmo.

More due to convenience than anything, we ended up on the hill-side, which provided amazing views. After billy-goating along for a while, we gathered on a big rock overlooking it all, now quite sweaty from the trek, and took it in. From there it was only a few hundred yards to the road.

On the way down the hill, dipping under thorny branches and tip-toeing among small barrel cacti, we ran into a large pile of bones, some with small bits of dried flesh and hide still attached, but mostly dry and bare. Surrounded by cacti, chunks of rock and red dirt, it was a quintessential desert scene. The desert is quite the poet. We sprung from this, though, as we suddenly heard a noisy vehicle rambling down the road and we hoped to hitch a ride the rest of the way.

On the road.

We made it to the road in plenty of time. We could see then that it was a truck, which was exciting because we felt more likely to get picked up by a truck. As it got closer, we realized that it was actually a cement truck, but sure enough he stopped up. We asked if he could give us a ride to the town at Pulmo and, though he had no passenger seat, he happily agreed. Dana and Taylor clambered into the cab and I stood on the step-rail, hanging onto the handle next to the door and the sturdy posts of the rear-view mirror.

Bahia Pulmo.

Our new friend proceeded to book it down the road of loose dirt, over dunes and into troughs like so many ocean rollers. He may as well have been an aspiring rally car driver. Occasionally, he would look over and say something to Dana, who was the only one that could hear him over the roaring engine. At one point, after double-clutching on his eight speed monster, he affectionately patted the dashboard and exclaimed, “El Patron”. Admittedly, it handled the go-kart treatment pretty well- I certainly hadn't much trouble hanging on. I looked back and watched the cement tumbler in the rear. It was spinning slowly as we charged along and I thought how the cement probably benefited as much from our speed on the undulating road as from the mechanical rotation. We three passengers looked at each other, smiled and shrugged.

It wasn't long before we arrived at the tiny town at Cabo Pulmo. A couple gringos passing in a small truck laughed as the three of us jumped down from the cement truck before it tore off down the road again. We headed out to the beach where there were a number of small umbrella-like structures about four feet high and made of grass. We gladly accepted the shade and chowed on some tinned sardines and saltines. Then Chittick and Dana headed for a snorkel while I perused about town (my fins are out of commission so I opted to wait to borrow some). I made a long loop, passed a few of the small fishing boats that are very typical of Baja, watched a few older white couples saunter along the road and continued to breathe in the desert.

On the way back I distracted myself for some time trying to capture the most angelic sound of waves washing over a beach strewn with small rocks. The joy wasn't so much in the crashing waves, except inasmuch as that sound is always appealing, but in the clattering sound of the rocks being rolled toward the Ocean as her most recent beckoning compelled them to the depths. It was incredibly pleasant- it reminded me of the beach at Fort Kronkite back home- but, it turned out difficult to record effectively on the little camera I had with me.

When I got back to our little grass umbrella, Dana and Chittick had come back and were lying like reptiles in the sand. It was getting late in the afternoon, and we needed to start on our way back somewhat soon, but I wanted to get in the water and check out the reef we'd made so intrepid a journey to see. Dana decided to go with and we all three walked down the beach a little way to pick a fresh spot to explore.

There were a number of healthy-looking coral heads but they were not very dense; they sprung up from a sandy bottom littered with coral rubble. Still though, we saw a fair number of fish and I dove to flip coral rubble and admire the complex epifaunal communities adorning their undersides. We had made it about a hundred yards from shore, though it was still only 10 feet deep or so, when Dana got my attention from 20 yards or so away.

“Hey dude, I saw a decent size shark...”

Intrigued, and expecting a black-tip reef shark or some other skiddish species that I'd love to check out, I replaced the snorkel to my mouth and started swimming toward Dana. No sooner had I begun kicking than the shark swam in front of me. It was about eight feet long, a uniformly dark gray across the whole of its body. It swam near the sea floor so I couldn't see the underside of the beast. It had a boxy head, a broad body and substantial pectoral fins. Most strikingly, the long caudal (tail) fin had an acute indentation near the top. It was not a reef shark. It took little notice of me as it passed, swimming toward Dana, though not acting in an aggressive manner. I followed it and veered right to meet with Dana as the shark sauntered harmlessly to the left. I spat out my snorkel and it didn't take much discussion before we decided to get the hell out of the water.

We hadn't known it at the time, but this was almost certainly a bull shark. They are known to inhabit waters from the depths to the coast and can even venture up rivers into freshwater. They're on the short list of sharks that can most definitely be a problem for people (probably coming up third behind the great white and tiger, but you'll have to watch Shark Week to find out for sure). This fellow never seemed to care much about our presence, but Chittick had certainly noticed the speed with which Dana and I scurried to shore and we were glad to be there when we arrived. It was a bit of a large specimen that Poseidon threw at us for our first shark encounter of the trip, but it was fine in the end. To be sure, we will see many more, but for the most part they will behave the same as the other fish toiling about the shallows. I think Dana agrees that we'd be happy to have that be the last bull shark we visit.

After walking the road for a half hour or so, we hitched a ride from an older lady from Washington state and her dog. She was returning to her campsite not far from where Ardea lay waiting and was kind enough to give us a lift. We crammed in among her water containers and groceries. En route, after learning of our exploits at the reef and the location of our boat, she informed us that the snorkeling in Bahia Frailes was actually quite good- the small tour operations at Cabo Pulmo often took folks around the bend to check out that reef. I joyfully realized that not for a second had I felt our exploits were wasted for having had a great reef so nearby- we are most definitely in it for the ride, and our day had brought fun and adventure. Even so, we began to wonder whether we would actually be leaving at dawn the following morning.

Back at Bahia Frailes, another new friend bid adieu, we noticed two new boats at the anchorage. Rowing out to Ardea, we decided to head over to the newly arrived sailing vessel to say hello. SV Grace brought a jovial bunch and we had a great time chatting with them for a little while. Grace is a gorgeous Hans Christian sloop planning to spend a year in Mexico before heading across the Pacific with the class of 2013. We happily talked boats and plans and fishing; Joshua, a young lad aboard Grace, was jonesing to catch a fish and we offered to lend him the bible (read: Cruiser's Guide to Fishing). It turns out they had a copy.

Then, Valerie, co-skipper of Grace with Tip, recalled, “Yeah- that's the book that taught me what a FAD was...”

None of us knew what a FAD was.

“A fish-attracting device!”

Ohhhh... haven't got to that chapter yet. As I pondered what- exactly- a fish attracting device might consist of, Bud, the mirthful older chap sitting in the captain's chair with a cocktail chimed in, complete with arm out and hand hanging at ninety degrees:

“I always thought a FAD was a guy with a limp-wrist...”

With apologies to our readers, we got a pretty good laugh out of that one. Sooner or later, with some of Valerie's delicious Kaluha chili in hand, we rowed back to Ardea, truly happy to have made some friends. It was then easily settled- we'd stay another day in Bahia Frailes, enjoy the nearby snorkeling and perhaps be lucky enough to catch another joke or two from Bud. We would leave the next evening instead and allow the gentleman in the near-full moon to guide us to Bahia de los Muertos. If the weather were anything like it was that evening, it would be a very pleasant passage indeed.

On the row back to Ardea.