Sea Creatures

Danzante isn’t the biggest island in the Marine National Park, but it’s popular for its rugged good looks and its accessibility. Our friends Leif and Susan, paddling out for a look from the beach near the new timeshare, happened upon it almost by accident — it’s that close. So when Leif said that he was willing to try camping as part of a trip around Danzante, I scarcely hesitated.

We watched the weather until we saw two days in a row that looked good, then headed down to the Park office for a permit. Since we would be approaching the island from the south, efficiency suggested camping at the north end, helping to equalize the distance for the two days. A beach on the eastern side, away from the fetch across the Sea of Cortés, seemed sensible. We asked for the famous Caleta Luna de Miel, Honeymoon Cove, and there was no objection.

That was Friday. Sunday night we loaded kayaks atop Leif’s car and Monday morning shortly after eight he and I paddled out from Ensenada Blanca (the one south of Ligüi), breezed by a couple of the little islands (Isla Las Tijeras, Isla Primera) and soon we were gliding along Danzante’s steep eastern coast. Reaching Bahía Honda with plenty of time on our hands we would stop for an early lunch.

But it was here that we were passed by a big pod of dolphins. We saw at least a dozen of them east of us, traveling rapidly south, but there were a couple of smaller groups, and a pair of the sleek cetaceans passed between us and the shore, causing the surface of the bay to boil with frightened fish.

There was breeze and noticeable swell as we rounded the north end and we kept away from the rocks, but smooth paddling after that. We went to check out our beach but found a group preparing their lunch there. After talking with them a bit we got back in the boats and set off to explore our part of the coast, ending up for a while on the spit that (usually) separates the big northern headland from the rest of the island.

There was a small group from Tofino Expeditions there with their guide Sergio and we chatted for a bit while Leif headed up the coast to have a look at the hill. By four o’clock we drifted back to our campsite.

There are three coves in this fine bay, and ours, the northernmost, DZ – 15 on the map, is the cosiest. Its size is perfect for honeymooning but it is short on privacy — there’s nothing to hide behind. The stunning setting attracts boaters and we shared the cove with a trimaran, but they were good company and on our way out Leif talked with the skipper for some time about fishing.

Camping was a success, but cooking without Alex did not go as well as I had remembered. Freeze-dried food has come a long way, but it’s most useful where fresh water is available in camp. We carried all our water, and it would have been as efficient to carry canned food and heat it. Also, we have decided that if we are going to be able to make an early start we may need to eat a cold breakfast, allowing us to pack the cooking gear away the night before.

One other note on accessibility:  before retiring we were able to call home by cell phone to talk to our spouses and get a weather update.

We had more beautiful weather on Tuesday, inviting us to spend time on a couple more of Danzante’s beaches.  We engaged in a discussion with gulls, frigate birds and a heron over who would get to eat a fairly large fish with a yellow tail and a green stripe on its side.  We watched as a panga delivered two kayaks, several boards, camping equipment and a guide to a spot at the mouth of a nice little canyon.

As we left the island on our way back south the breeze came up and there was some chop; but we paused nonetheless the go around the shore of the three small islands on the way.  The last of these, Isla Pardo on the map, is a bit further down the coast and we had not really looked at it on the way outbound.  Then, deciding we had some energy left, we aimed for a beach still farther south on the peninsula, and landed there for another snack and more exploration.  But from there,  Ensenada Blanca is just around the corner.  We had plenty of time to look at the new development, land, drive home, and get the boats back on their storage rack by the hotel before dark.

It was a bit out of our way, but while we were on the subject of islands we decided to make a trip to Rapa Nui, the world’s most isolated inhabited place. In this world of jet travel it still took us four days to get there from our home in Mexico, only increasing our admiration for those Polynesian seafarers who preceded us. To lessen our hardship, we stayed at the Explora hotel.

Besides the usual south-seas rest-and-relaxation, visitors may find views of not one but two fascinating older cultures. And though it figures prominently in the current discussion of environmental “Collapse,” well, the island’s uninhabitable parts, the cliffs and rocky coasts, are still as striking a sight as they must have been fifteen hundred years ago, and before. People and livestock may have cleared the land, and the birds who once thronged here may have reconsidered, but to a sea creature the water is still spectacularly clear and the waves come from a long, long way off.

With a predicted stretch of good weather this last week, all was in place for our first paddling journey to a nearby national park island, Isla Coronados. We left Nopoló around nine, which is not early by local standards but pretty good for us; and just as well because it was fully four hours later that we reached La Picazón, south of Punta El Bajo. Following a splendid lunch it was another hour and a half direct to Ensenada Blanca where we spent two nights.

This late in the day, we were lucky to arrive without battling some wind.

The beach was empty but there were six sailboats in the bay, joined later by one little power boat. Many came ashore for their evening meal, but they returned to their vessels by six and I think that we had the island to ourselves that first night — except for the birds.

We were tired, and a little chilly when wet (it is December after all) but all our gear worked well, including our new extra-long three person (REI Three Quarter Dome Plus) tent and Alex’s new ultralight inflatable Thermarest. As on our last camping trip we cooked eggs for breakfast, this time two days in a row, and we had fresh fruit and/or vegetables both days.

The moon shone half and though darkness came early, the white sand soon seemed to begin to glow. Getting around camp at night was easy even without a light. There are palapas for day use but we chose to cook near our camp. The volcanic geology presents one minor drawback — there are no rocks with flat tops.

On our middle day we had hoped to paddle around the island, but we didn’t get started until eleven and by the time we got to the landmark rock on the north coast, two-foot waves were testing our commitment. We exchanged cheerful banter with a boatfull of divers and then soon turned back, eventually landing at the spot marked CD-04, Norte de Bahía Honda, and having a nice lunch on the pleasant beach there. On our way across the cove a sea lion came to check us out. I looked just in time to see him dive; but the water was so clear I could watch him swim away well below the surface.

During the day it was warm enough that we gave our new tarp its first field test, putting our paddles to work as supports. I will write more about this fiendishly clever device elsewhere. See if you can find our tent in the picture of the beach below.

By the way, though the island is widely referred to locally as “Coronado” it appears in older sources as “Coronados” and I think it was named for a royal couple, certainly not the conquistador. We can see the island from our house, but the distance is over 13 miles as the crow flies. On the return trip, longer because we explored more of the coast, we stopped for lunch at the Hotel Oasis, at the end of the Loreto malecón.

The forecast today was for winds at 35 kph and swells to 2.5 meters, so we opted for a leisurely walk along the beach.

It’s been breezy for a week or more, except for one day when we paddled down to the Vista al Mar. But this afternoon promised to be spectacular visually, so we decided to admire it from a distance. There was even surf in the lagoon!

We got to the beach just too late to see the dolphins, but we paddled south in their direction anyway, having no other goal. Sea and sky were placid and I took pictures of some schools of fish to try out the new camera. We were most of the way to Notrí and thinking of turning back when Alex spotted the commotion, apparently between Danzante and Puerto Escondido, big creatures jumping well clear of the water and splashing back down audibly — and heading in our direction. They didn’t seem like the dolphins though, there were just a few, at least three, maybe four visible at once. I was trying to get the salt water off the camera lens, ready to take pictures in the air again, but before I finished they were past us. They were closer than they looked because they were smaller than we imagined — big rays though, this time probably sting rays, not like the devil ray we watched in June. It was amazing how long they seemed to stay in the air. It really does look like they’re flying. It must seem like that to them too — they keep flapping their wings as they slice through the air.

Last night just as we were getting ready to turn out the light to go to sleep, Alex called me outside to see the eastern sky lighted up. On the other side of Isla del Carmen, and for most of its length, lightning flashed continuously — that is, before a strike dissipated a new one began at another spot. We climbed to our roof and watched for a while, and then went downstairs to look at the big orange blob on the weather map. The mainland, from Guaymas to Guamuchi, was getting a pounding. Our view was filtered by clouds and it was a long ways off — we never heard any thunder despite the obvious violence of the storm.

For us it meant wind and we were glad of that for the time being, because the regular Loreto breeze had weeks before stopped being good for much except shifting dust around. We had begun to sleep downstairs, started using ceiling fans all the time, and gradually become less formal in our attire (clothing being a nuisance because first insulating and then ultimately a problem even to remove, requiring a wetsuit technique no matter what its composition or intended fit). We brought some things inside that we thought might later be blown around, shut some doors, propped some others open, and went to bed.

We’ll know better next time which items are likely to make noise; we ended up with most doors and windows tightly latched. The result was a kitchen even warmer in the morning than usual. It’s been hot! Overnight lows in the 90s (F) mean that no amount of ventilation does much good.

Except for detaching some of our bougainvilleas (as high now as our second-floor pergola) the storm did no apparent damage. It also left no moisture here, but there’s probably some on the way.

Last Sunday Alex stayed home but I thought that I might go and see if it be possible to get one of the kayaks to the beach single-handed and then put it away again. The answer is “probably,” though it is difficult to keep passers-by from helping. Next time I think I may try the lower of the two boats — harder to doff and don the cover, but easier to get the boat back into the rack.

Having gone to this much trouble I saw that a little paddling was in order, so I nudged the boat into the afternoon chop and headed around the point. As I entered the outer lagoon a magnificent frigate bird flew nearly overhead, maybe eight feet above. It banked left, dipped its beak three times in the space of about twenty yards, then continued left to head back the way it had come, passing me again at low altitude.

Now it’s not unusual hereabouts to see a frigate bird, or at least not rare — they tend to spend their afternoons circling above the lake at the golf course. But like many of the other locals they seem to have a lot of time on their hands, and I do not remember having seen one doing anything connected with eating. Lots of other interesting things they do for sure. I have seen one descend steeply in what must be a deep stall, tail down, little forward motion, and they’re famous for a dive with fluttering wings. Maybe these maneuvers are social somehow; they can’t be intended to scare the fish.

I described the bird as magnificent, but that’s part of its name — to distinguish it from the merely “great” frigatebird, which has a wingspan of only, yes only, seven feet. These guys are large, and this had escaped my notice only because we don’t usually see them up close. They are sea birds, but they don’t swim; what little perching they do is done inland. Many of the birds here are easy to cozy up to. Pelicans tolerate kayakers and nearly trust snorkelers; cormorants, though nervous, often don’t bother flying away; herons and egrets will pretty much go on about their business unless they feel they are being stalked; you can walk right up to a vulture; gulls will walk right up to you, if you’re near the snack bar. But frigate birds, well, not being a golfer, I had never seen one this close.

Like I said, conditions were fine for our rest stop, and as we slid back into the water to head for home the breeze seemed quite refreshing. The water had some texture now but was still quite clear and we were making fairly good time. Gradually the waves began to demand attention, and Alex remarked that she could see whitecaps. They never got to be the scary kind, with spray blown off the top, and they weren’t really numerous, either. It was more glistening than menacing, but the waves did get bigger and bigger and they weren’t coming from a very convenient direction, either. Then, as often seems to happen, near the mouth of the arroyo, the water seemed to calm a bit — I considered mentioning it. Then slowly, as often happens next, the waves got bigger again, the wind became quite strong, and we were struggling, not so much to keep upright, but certainly to keep pointed in the right direction. Skegs didn’t seem to help. I don’t think we ever saw waves as high as a meter, but they were close together and a bit confused. Alex, ahead and to my left, looked back to ask if I was okay. I said that I was but was thinking of veering a bit toward shore, in case there was some shelter afforded by the point — or in case I found it convenient at some point to swim. She in fact turned in behind me, and we persevered for a time. I remember at least once looking back and seeing her, but not her boat — this was no longer the day we had chosen.

Alex was the first to notice that we weren’t actually getting anywhere, and I saw her turn to get following waves to take her boat to shore. I was not disposed to leave her — or to keep paddling, for that matter — so I aimed for her spot on the beach. We were back to Loreto Bay now — just not to our end of it — and before us was a nice patch of sand that we sometimes walk along.

Neither of us made it all the way without capsizing. Alex at least had her feet out for landing before she was swamped. I got turned sideways in a couple feet of water and shortly was groping the sand. We were glad to stop paddling for a bit.

Reconnaissance assured us that just beyond the dunes lay the golf course. After some careful planning Alex began organizing our gear while I set off for home on foot. I was there in twenty minutes and quickly found the racks for the car top. It was only about three quarters of an hour after leaving her that I sighted Alex again, down at the end of the road that leads past the two new Homex model units. We got the cross-bars and then the boats themselves atop the car, and then spent a long time trying to remember the clever ways we had invented eight months earlier to fasten down our load. Our car has its own web page, by the way; see http://www.mwenda.com/Snowball .

We were soon back home, then showered and drying out. Sometime before sunset the wind died down a bit, suggesting that if we had waited long enough we could have completed our journey without the “auto” rescue. Sometimes we are equipped to risk an unexpected night out, but in this case it didn’t seem to make much sense. We are glad that our fairly urban surroundings make it possible to have adventures like this, especially considering the wildlife we met on our trip, without usually having too much at stake.

The forecast was good for today and we had a nice early start. Walking down to the beach with our gear we saw Chaly talking to somebody and when we caught up to him he asked us if we could see the shark. Sure enough, there was something like a fin fifty meters off shore. Chaly said that he had already been out in the red canoe for a look.

It took half an hour for our boats to get freed up and down to the shore but we set off in what we guessed was the right direction, and it wasn’t long before I saw fins circling. The biggest fin seemed disappointingly rounded, but there were plenty of them. They seemed to be moving in opposite directions but I realized that there was only one fish circling, just a very long one. Alex had joined me by now and the shark, keeping some distance, swam in an arc across our bows and then headed back as to strike Alex amidships. I was starting to get a little concerned, and probably she was too. There was nothing threatening about the creature’s manner, but its length seemed to become more and more significant as the distance diminished. Nearing, it turned slightly to pass behind Alex’s kayak; light-colored spots and considerable width gave away its identity. We knew that it was a whale shark, an example of the world’s largest fish, and someone we had long wanted to meet.

We kept up for a while, admiring the scale of the creature’s grace, trying to stay out of the way without losing sight. Another kayak launched meanwhile, paused to say hello, and then went in for a closer look. We let the pair monopolize our new friend’s company until it remembered a prior engagement and headed back to deeper water.

But by then we had made another discovery. With everyone distracted, another set of smaller fins overtook Alex on her starboard side and turned in front of her. This one had wings! Just four feet wide by my guess, this was a devil ray, from both its expression and its feeding habits, not unlike those of the whale shark. We imagined it to be a manta ray, but they are mostly ocean-going and are much larger except when very young. Thurston’s, or bentfin devil ray is another guess. They breed in the Sea of Cortez in the spring.

Our day was complete, but we had just arrived. We thought we should pick a direction so we headed toward Loreto. We still have Isla Coronados in our sights and have been looking for stopping places along the way. As we passed the disused boat ramp a pair of the local security guards motioned us in to warn us of the shark danger, but we we able to tell them that we had seen the chracters in question and that they were not dangerous. While conversing with them there (taking slightly longer in Spanish) we noticed a dark colored heron standing calmly off to the left, with yellow around its eye but not readiily identifiable with my field guide.

We paddled up to our favorite palapas south of the airport. Our kayaks are now always equipped with camp stools, so we sat in the shade for quite a while and drank canned fruit juice. We thought that we would wait for it to laten up a bit so that we could tell for sure what it would be like to paddle in the heat of the day. By the time we got back into our boats again a breeze from the east had made itself felt. And thus begins the rest of the story of our day.