Sea Creatures

It was overcast today but calm and I paddled the blue boat southward for a while, landing now and again to see if I could perfect the height of the seat back.  At one point there was a flurry of little fish at the surface and I mistook it for rain.  Here is a picture of the phenomenon from the viewpoint of two King Angelfish (Holocanthus passer).  There were also a couple of snapper who would have backed them up, but who didn’t want to be photographed.

The tide was out but I stayed close to the shore and eventually came to the rock we have been calling Bird Rock, near the shore just a bit north of Notrí.  The birds seemed mostly to be elsewhere, and I circled the rock counter-clockwise and crossed inside one of its little satellites.  All was quiet until the last moment, but  cormorants are a tough crowd and I dipped a paddle blade to practice a totally unnecessary running draw and one of them launched and then the rest of them did too.  I paddled over to the shore and took a picture of the little rock and its neighbors.

That’s Isla del Carmen on the left, with the distant Isla Monserrat beyond its southern tip; and then the little rocks, and then Isla Danzante and then the coast by Puerto Escondido.

I loafed on the way back, too.  The local sea lion was working harder than I was — I heard him a long time before seeing him.  The breeze picked up a little bit and then calmed back down.  The water got glassier and then I noticed little splashes on the surface.  This time it really was rain — I took off my hat to make sure.  Typically, it was just a few drops.  The forecast probability for today had been zero.

Back at the beach, I drifted in as far as I could on some long but shallow waves, but the tide was still way out.  As I unpacked the boat a familiar figure appeared.  It was Chaly, whom I had not seen in probably a year.  He has been busy in town, learning about working on cars.  Don Jorge was there too (in the old days you never saw them together, because they took turns looking after the shack) and they were preparing to barbecue some fish for a guest.  Jorge told me that he had worked out a deal with the homeowners association about facilities to store kayaks on the beach.  I told him that I had just renewed my contract with the hotel, but that this was very good news for everyone.

Our friend Laura was visiting from Portland this last week and there was one calm day that looked good for a little paddling.  We decided to try out the idea of renting kayaks from the hotel (currently called the Loreto Baja Golf Resort & Spa).

We were outfitted at the front desk.  The rate is ten dollars an hour for a single, but they gave us a break on the price, maybe because we’re neighbors.  Down at the beach, our bright yellow Lifetime “Daylight” eight-footers were waiting.  We loafed around the Point, enjoying the considerable maneuverability of these half-length boats, and then drifted into the lagoon.

There were finally fish to look at in the quiet water there, mostly little pintanos, and plenty of crabs.  The birds put on a better show, with a couple kinds of herons and an egret or two.  We paddled around the big mangrove island and the wind came up, so we thought about beaching by the golf course and walking back, but we rounded the point successfully again.

Pulling my boat back up the beach was harder than I expected, so I unscrewed the little plug in its transom and sure enough, a fair amount of water poured out into the sand.  But for a trip this length it’s not much of an issue.

It’s been windy for a long time, so with a nice day predicted I took the Delta 16 off the newly-repaired kayak rack by the hotel and set off around the point.  I didn’t get far before encountering Paul and Donna and their friends Lyle and Laurel.  They said they were going for a picnic and asked me if I had a lunch and, thinking of the power bar in my dry bag, I said yes.  We paddled down the coast for a bit, landed on a beach with good-sized smooth rocks, and sat and talked for a while.  After lunch I went a bit farther south by myself while the others returned home.

Just as we were leaving the lunch stop, the local ravens flew over, discussing some nesting material that they had found.  I had met them on the beach before I launched, sorting through some tourist debris among the lounge chairs.  I left them a couple of almonds to think about while I fiddled with the boat; they accepted one but left the other lying in the sand.  They clearly have more important matters to consider.  At the end of the day, though, after I got back home, they flew directly over our house on their way to their roosting spot.

The weather stayed perfect all day.  I didn’t see a single jelly fish — this is a good news for the people who will soon consider snorkeling again.  We did see a lot of the usual sorts of fish, and here is a picture of a Gulf Sunstar, probably Heliaster kubiniji, from the place where I turned around, the big cove north of Notrí.

In 1684, even before the first successful California mission was built at Loreto, the Jesuits for a time had a toehold on the peninsula, at San Bruno, a dozen miles to the north.  A settlement still exists there.

From the military checkpoint on Highway 1, a road best suited to 4-wheel drive vehicles heads down to a wide beach in a little bay with a fish camp.  John had space atop his car for my kayak, so he and I and Leif and Susan set out from there today to have a look at the shoreline to the north.

Turning left out of the little bay, one first encounters the mouth of a river that leaves shallow sediment a good distance out to sea.  Then there are several pretty little sandy beaches and some warm-up cliffs, and then a sizeable bay just south of Punta El Mangle.

The beach here is remarkable for having had a hotel built on it, and maybe a private house in addition. Word is that it was active for a time in the 1960s, but now it’s just an architectural curiosity.  Another point of curiosity is, where does the road end up that leads uphill from the hotel?  Because this would be another excellent place to launch, the reason being the proximity to the cliffs and sea caves to the north.

The cliffs stretch from there to Punta Mercenarios, at the south end of Ensenada San Juanico, toward which we paddled.  After about two and a half hours  we turned around, the breeze having picked up a bit, and went back to the ex-hotel and ate lunch on the ruined steps.  Another party was lodged on a little beach to the north, at the mouth of a ravine that also looks very interesting on the map.

While we ate, a small troupe of dolphins performed, leaping for a while in the middle of the bay maybe half a mile off shore.  We would actually pass them again later on our trip south, but by then they were even further out to sea.

Wind was never much of a factor on the way back, but there were swells to a couple feet, serving to clean my foredeck thoroughly.  At least these were organized and not from an inconvenient direction.  The trip back seemed much longer, and I was glad to see our little cove again, much shallower now at low tide.  Fishermen returned just as we landed, and had to work to get their panga across a prominent bar.  They had red snapper and John bought one and had it filleted to take home.

The fishermen brought a lot of pelicans back with them too, and we had seen several Blue-footed Boobies during our trip.  And just as we landed, I saw a little brown turtle embarking, as though turning the beach over to us..

Leif and Susan and I, and their son Travis, paddled and/or pedaled to Danzante today, after a leisurely start from Ensenada Blanca.

Leif claimed that the local dolphins have been seen cruising down the west side of the island regularly at ten in the morning.  We hoped to find them, and if not then at least to have lunch and do a little hiking.

The forecast was for a second day of relative calm between two blustery periods, and when we went down to look at the water from our own beach at 7:30 we were convinced.  And conditions were still placid two hours later when we set forth, but as we left the little bay the wind became noticeable.  We pressed on and had a fairly pleasant crossing to one of the beaches at the south end of Danzante.  A group from Tofino Expeditions landed there at about the same time with similar ideas — but unlike us, they actually did the hike.  They had come from Loreto and were well into a multi-day trip.

We were still worried about the wind and the way that the forecast didn’t seem to match up.  My friends were particularly skeptical since they had paddled down to Notrí the day before and hadn’t seen the predicted improvement then either.  We launched from our lunch stop with the idea that we would head for port unless unless things looked better.  They did; so we paddled lazily north for a while, looked toward Puerto Escondido, and then headed south.

Conditions seemed pretty manageable until we got past the south end of Danzante, but soon we had to admit that we were dealing with waves coming from two different directions behind us, and wind from another.  In their attempts to remain upright, our craft chose three different courses toward the peninsula; but after about 45 minutes of toil we met up again and rounded the point at the north end of the little bay (about as far left as you can see on the distant shore in the picture above).   There was some discussion about how glad we were to have made this trip.  Susan and Travis had gotten a pretty good look at the promised dolphins when we first approached the island;  Leif had been lagging behind, and I even more so.

I think that in the future we may wait for a longer window of supposedly good weather before setting out across open water.  Also, the tour groups are religious about getting to their destinations before one o’clock; and while we may not agree with all tenets of their faith, well, those guys were probably a lot happier hiking than we were paddling.

This looked like a good day to paddle to Loreto, with diminishing wind predicted and partly sunny skies.  There was some swell as I launched but the water became nearly glassy as I passed the airport.  The big spit at the mouth  of the arroyo is mostly gone, taken away by Hurricane Paul.  This palm tree appeared in its place, though.  After my lunch at the Oasis these birds posed for me, looking as much like a chow line as anything.  

Still no wind on my journey home, but there were now waves out of the northeast, left over from some earlier event.  With a push by them, or maybe just the inspiration to paddle harder to stay on course, the return trip took about 45 minutes less.

Siesta. Photo by Susan Simcox.

There’s been more paddling than usual in the last week or two since our friend Gail has been here and Leif and Susan have taken her under their wing so to speak and introduced her to their foot-propelled kayaks. We paddled or pedaled down to the Vista al Mar on Tuesday and though we didn’t see much wildlife on the trip south, on our way back we did encounter the big sea lion, who has been scarce recently. He was having his afternoon nap, just as Leif has described him, sleeping on his back but with one flipper prominently raised, lifting his head twice a minute to breathe. Our three boats gathered near and we watched him until he woke, whereupon he snorted a bit and dived, but didn’t seem inclined to hasten off. He sounded a couple times to check for fish but it was the humans who eventually turned for home. We heard him speaking again a short time later, but believe that his remarks were intended for another sea lion and probably concerned his claim on that particular volume of water.

Nearer to Punta Nopoló I saw one of our local raven pair and was lucky to see her returning to her nest, on a ledge near a big bare spot on the east-facing cliff. Though we have been on speaking terms for several years they never mentioned their address. They have at least one youngster and I suspect two; the time they have been spending among the palapas down at the beach must be regarded as work and not play, or at least not all play.

Our location here on the Sea of Cortez puts the Pacific Ocean not far off; and today we motored to Puerto Adolfo Lopez Mateos  to visit the gray whales who come there to bear their young.  I had always assumed that whales would find pangas full of tourists intrusive at such a time, but it appears that the babies are curious and the moms enjoy showing them off, or maybe teaching them some elementary lessons about the world.  Thus it was that we came to to be able to touch a large cetacean in the wild for the first time.

For their part, the humans involved are very well organized. The boats wait like taxis in a rank and a well-spoken agent matches passengers with their captains. Food and sanitation are available before or after the trip and though neither is free there are probably few complaints. No special clothing is required, though some insulation is a good idea because the boats travel rapidly on their way out and back. Decorative life jackets are provided.

In the big area at the north end of Magdalena Bay, we probably competed with about eight other boats, but there were plenty of whales to go around. We quickly found our first baby, who seemed to be glad to see us and in fact wanted to be sure to be petted by each person aboard the boat.  Another youngster had a different idea of play, pushing our panga along through the water, first from the starboard side and then the port, while we enjoyed our new role as bath toy.  Mothers dote from nearby, or sometimes enjoy interacting themselves.  It is an interesting feeling to realize that you have the attention of someone who weighs forty tons.  The males, who are somewhat smaller, wait further offshore during this time.

The babies, who are about sixteen feet at birth, the length of our kayaks back in Loreto, are as playful as any mammals at this age.  Good sportsmanship is exhibited by all, remembering that in the other, Atlantic, ocean their species was totally wiped out by ours, and that in the western Pacific only a small fraction of their population survives. At the height of their slaughter grays were apparently quite belligerent toward whalers.  Is today’s goodwill gesture on their part at all purposeful?  One would like to take a whale to lunch, but a closeup glimpse of their baleens reminds us that some cultural differences are likely to remain.

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 development, 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 forecast until we saw two days in a row that looked good, then headed 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 western 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 creatures 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 well away from the rocks, but we found smooth paddling after that. We went to check out our beach and 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, stopping for a while on the spit that separates the big northern headland from the rest of the island.

Looking north. On the far right you can see some of the island's east coast. To the left of the point, if you look closely, you can see Punta Nopoló. We could have paddled from home!

There was a small group from Tofino Expeditions on the spit with their guide Sergio and we chatted for a bit and Leif headed up the coast to have a look at the hill. Around 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 coziest. It’s the perfect size for honeymooning all right but the beach lacks privacy — there’s nothing to hide behind. The stunning setting attracts boaters and we shared the cove with a trimaran; but they were good neighbors and on our way out Leif talked with the skipper for some time about fishing. Here is the Google Maps version of our cove.

Caleta Luna de Miel. Our campsite is on the shore this side of the sailboat.

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 in a camp where fresh water is available. We carried all our water with us, and so it would have been no less efficient to carry canned food instead 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. For a really long trip we may try to desalinate seawater along the way and freeze-dried food might again become essential.

One other note on accessibility:  before retiring we walked up the nearby hill and were able to call home by cell phone to talk to our mates and get a weather update.  Later, in the middle of the night after the half moon had set, I visited the shoreline and was rewarded with a view of a seemingly limitless number of phosphorescent creatures among the rocks.

We had beautiful weather on Tuesday, inviting us to spend time on a couple of Danzante’s other beaches.  We joined in a discussion with two gulls, two vultures and a heron about who would get to eat a fairly large fish with a yellow tail and a green stripe on its side.  We saw ospreys, on the nest or lugging surprisingly large fish through the air.  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 slowed nonetheless at each 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.

From there, deciding that we had some energy left, we aimed for a beach still farther south on the peninsula, and landed for another snack and more exploration of coastline and caves.  From that beach,  Ensenada Blanca is just around the corner and we had plenty of time to cruise by the new development, land, talk with some tourists, rinse and load the boats, drive home, and get the kayaks 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.