Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
January 23, 2009
ENSENADA DE LOS MUERTES, Baja California Sur, Mexico » When sailing up the coast into the Sea of Cortez from Cabo San Lucas, Cabo los Frailes (Cape of the Friars) is the first good anchorage.
This haven is only 45 miles away, but on a sailboat that can be a long trip, and it was. The Friars’ Cape was directly upwind.
Early explorers named this rising headland Cabo los Frailes because four shale slabs protruding from the slope reminded them of friars climbing. In the picture they looked like average rocks to me, but after beating into 25 knot head winds, I could see the divine in them. The towering cliff holding the rocks blocked the wind from the bay below, creating a heavenly rest for weary sailors.
That morning we’d motored in calm water, but as the standard northerly wind came on, we hoisted the sails and were soon beating into strong head winds. Waves broke over the bow, dribbling sea water into regrettable places, such as pillows in the main cabin. The boat leaned to one side while pitching front to back. Occasionally a rowdy wave broke against the side of the boat, giving us a soaking.
With the temperature in the low 70s, the wind and water felt cold. Craig drove while I huddled under the dodger. “We’re doing great,” he said after getting a wave in the face.
“Think how big the waves would be in Hawaii with this wind strength.”
“Do you want your foul-weather jacket?”
“Um, OK.”
And then after a long day, we sailed into the protection of the friars. The sun was setting, a white-sand beach curved around the bay and all was serene. It was hard to believe all that commotion was going on just around the corner.
While I picked up the books and household items that had taken flight inside the boat, Craig removed the jib. The beating had undone some of its stitching. It was a quiet starry night, and he sat in the cockpit sewing the sail under a headlamp while I cooked dinner.
The next morning, I stood in the cockpit savoring our little feat, and just then a group of rays leaped from the water. I shouted for Craig to come quick, but they did it again and again, about 10 rays hurling their black-and-white bodies feet off the surface and then falling with twists and turns in loud belly flops.
“That must be what I heard last night,” Craig said. “I kept hearing this plopping sound near the boat. I couldn’t see anything, so I did what sailors do when they hear a weird sound at anchor.”
“What’s that?”
“Checked the anchor. It was fine so I went back to sewing.”
Since then, as we motor in mercifully calm water up the coast, we’ve seen schools of rays leap from the water at least 10 times. I don’t know why they do it so commonly here.
“Some rays give birth while leaping,” I told Craig as we watched.
“If that’s what they’re doing, this sea would be wall-to-wall rays.”
It practically is. A regional book I have features eight ray species in the Sea of Cortez. I don’t know which are jumping, but a dive guide for the region says that the rays’ biggest predator here is the hammerhead shark.
Los Frailes Bay, a marine sanctuary, teemed with fish of all kinds, but while snorkeling there we didn’t see one ray or shark. But I have hope. The friars were good to us, but we’ve pulled up that well-set anchor and are heading north.
