Isla Coronado is one of five islands that comprise the Loreto Bay Marine Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site. Its western shore boasts a pristine, white sand beach, swathed in emerald green waters punctuated by severe black, lava reefs. A couple of groomed trails meander across the island. One traverses the long, low sand spit to a private beach. The other goes up…and up… and up… all the way to the top of an ancient volcano.

Hell, NO
Coronado’s volcanic cone is one of those landmark peaks that just calls to you. OK to me, not Brian. “Hike me!” “Come on - the view is priceless!” While the island trail sign indicates a 650ft height, online sources differ widely on the peak’s actual height: 928ft, 1554ft 1444ft, 600ft. I’m thinking the 900ft is the most accurate. However high this thing really is, it’s high. Every year we’d anchor here on the way down the Sea and again on the way back up. Each time I’d cheerfully suggest, “Hey, let’s hike to the top!” Each time, I’d be rebuked with not just “No”, but a resounding “Hell, NO!!!”

The Perfect Excuse
Today, our snorkeling plans got nixed due to chilly water and air temps. So our friends on Lorelei asked if we wanted to go with them to the top of the mountain instead. I looked at Brian and KNEW I had my perfect excuse… my Brian-approved (albeit grudgingly), Mt. Coronado Hike Authorization Card… one-time-use-only. After three seasons in the Sea of Cortez, we were finally going to summit this monster mountain.

4-Hour Tour
Our cruising guidebook indicates this trail to the top is “perfect for those wishing to stretch their legs and work up a sweat before swimming”. THAT is the understatement of the year. The sign on the beach states it is a mere 1hr 45 minute hike. Not true. That doesn’t count getting back down.

Tequila-Drinking Trail-Maker
Starting out, the flat trail is perfectly groomed, outlined with large, human-placed, coral pieces. Threading its way through the sugar sand among cactus and succulents, we decided Tito the Trail-maker had a bit too much tequila when laying this route. It winds away from the summit more times than towards. No wonder this takes 4 hours!

Lava Rock Fields
After about 20 minutes, the relaxing path abruptly ends and the trail rises steeply. This is where the fun begins. Massive fields of lava rock, sharp grey and red chunks of basalt, flow down the volcano sides like a prehistoric river. Such wide swaths of rust-tinted rocks made the “trail” indistinct, requiring man-made cairns to keep hikers on track.

Football-sized shards lie precariously atop one another; hundreds of thousands of them form this tumbled rock bed, piled who knows how deep. While settled after millennia, slight gaps and crevices remain. Everywhere. Each rock is sneakily poised to shift into empty space as soon as a hiker bears down weight. Careful foot placement is imperative. Similar to maneuvering Mexico sidewalks, one must maintain eyes on the ground at all times unless completely motionless. I failed at this once and gazed up mid-step, my weight too far forward before I could choose a good foot spot. I nearly toppled. I give myself a 9 for my flailing-arm-windmills performance.

Sno-Cones, Anyone?
After about an hour of picking our way along, we came upon another group of cruiser-hikers, just down from the summit. How far? “Oh, another few miles. But, they’re selling sno-cones at the restaurant at the top.” Ah, funny man.

Straight Up
Gradually, the ankle-biting rocks began to disappear, replaced with hard packed dirt, then gravel. This would be good news, except the trail led straight up. The angle of attack up that last 20 minute section of mountain had to have been 50 degrees. Our friends turned around and headed back down the mountain when pea-sized obnoxious nuggets (in copious amounts) entered our shoes and refused to leave.

I nearly bailed out myself after 5 minutes of this maddening ascent. Upon scrambling several feet up the bluff, and backsliding at each step, we’d shake out our gravel-filled shoes. Scramble, scramble, scramble…shake. Every step sustained this miserable loofah scrub. My soles have never been so smooth.

Marathon Climb
But eventually, we quit bothering to shake…stopping only to pull out a particularly intolerable shard. The quicker we get up there the better. Endure the pain. My heart pounded like a jackhammer; besieged with painful pebbles, every stride elicited an unintelligible grunt; my stair-climbing knees ached, shaking like sapling trees.

Why didn’t we stop? Because I know, that Brian knows, that I know, I would never be satisfied unless we got to the top. I had my one-time-use Mt. Coronado Hike Authorization Card, remember? After today, no more bets. So this is a marathon I was going to finish. No matter what.

Made It!
Finally, solid rock footholds appeared. The trail leveled out near the peak. My heart stopped hammering. Ahead of me, Brian called out, “Crap, it looks like another ½ mile.” What???!!! “Just kidding. We’re here!”  

Whew. We made it! 1 hour and 40 minutes later we were guzzling water at the summit, enjoying the view. Outstanding.

Satellite View
Only from the top of the island do you get any sense of its Google-sat-view. Gazing down from our bird’s-eye perch, the sky and the earth and the sea and the sand blend together in an artist’s palette of vibrant colors, swirling, shading, intensifying, fading. Indigo waters as far as you can see, shallow up to emerald, then turquoise, then brightens into brilliantly creamy sand; charcoal reefs appear as soft, mushy blobs leaking out into the sea like inkblots; our treacherous, rock-laden streambed becomes a trail of tiny cinnamon chunks from up here; tufts of blond field grass and patches of vibrant green succulent ground cover dot the landscape; the distant Gigantas mountains are a long, undulating, gray smear in the distance; white clouds streak in unison across a never-ending cornflower sky. Magical.

Getting Back Down
But, like those who scale Mt. Everest, you can’t stay long. Gotta get back down. And that can be the hardest part. Skidding down the gravel incline was faster and easier. But traversing the rock fields was a tedious balancing act. Already exhausted, we were more likely to mis-step onto a wobbly rock now than at any point. Several times, I almost lost my footing due to lack of concentration, performing those arm windmills again. But we made it back down in one piece…no broken ankles. But oh, how we ached from head to toe!
​
Am I glad we did it? Yes. Wanna go again? Hell, NO!​

Isla Coronados south anchorage is one of our favorites. Boasting crystal clear turquoise water, 15-20ft deep above perfect white sand, its nightly sunset spectacle is reason enough to stay another day. It provides good protection from north winds and decent blockage from occasional southern swell due to large Isla Carmen 10 miles to the south. At over a mile wide, it could probably fit an aircraft carrier. So anchoring is never a problem. During our four-day stint, we enjoyed the company of only 1-3 other anchored boats at any given time. Ahhh. Time to lay down the hook and relax.

What do we do for 4 days?
Well, each morning we listen to the weather radio net at 7:30am. We then eat breakfast and contemplate if we should stay or continue on to another anchorage. Eh…it’s nice here. Let’s stay another day. So we relax and read books and type blogs. On any given day we might kayak, or snorkel, or swim, or go to shore to look for shells (OK I look for shells, Brian just tags along). Throw in time for making lunch and dinner. And, as long as it has been sunny all day and our batteries are charged sufficiently, we can watch one TV show at night. Tonight’s showing? The Shield.

Cellular Servicio
Coronados also provides excellent cell phone service! The first we’ve had in several days…so we take advantage and notify our families we are still alive. Isla Coronados is a mere 6 miles east of Loreto and in direct view of a cell phone tower. My T-Mobile cell phone coverage is better on a deserted, desert island, mid-Mexico than pretty much everywhere mid-Michigan. Figures.

No Volcano Hike
I have always wanted to go up to the top of the volcano that is Isla Coronados. But, apparently it’s a fairly strenuous 4-hour hike under the best circumstances. After our botched Punta Pulpito summit, I thought it best NOT to insist we go on yet another Death March. Me: Too soon? Brian: Yah. The following day we talked to our boat neighbor who just tackled the volcano and confirmed the 4-hr time length; they ALSO encountered a rattlesnake on the trail. Hmmm. Maybe I don’t want to go up that volcano anyway…how about we just do some easy inland hiking?

No Hiking, Period
A well-defined trail, sand paths lined with volcanic rocks, stretch along the south spit leading over to the opposite north beach. Our kayak landing showed no sign of a trail link nearby; we hadn’t dinghied far enough west to find the connection. Strike one. So Brian scrambled up the short but steep embankment to search out a trail, but he quickly came back down. The area was strewn with tough scrub and spider webs. Strike two. AND he saw a spider so big even HE didn’t want to remain up there poking around. Those who know me know my planned hike was immediately and irrevocably cancelled!! Strike three! I’m OUT.

Reef Fish
Snorkeling the southeastern island point proved a nice day’s diversion. We found an easily negotiated kayak landing (now very important). And while we’ve never experienced any bothersome current from tide in the anchorage itself, it comes into play here at the point where all the water rushes along the east side of the island. So we stayed well west of the actual point and floated along nice and easy. Oh, and the water was an absolute perfect 80 degrees. Just to rub it in a little more to those of you living in snow right about now. :)

While the fish were often very small, we witnessed a good variety. After having decent internet connection, I was finally able to identify and sear into my brain many of the colorful and common reef fish we see so often: Yellow Surgeonfish, King Angelfish, Triggerfish, Panamic Sargent Major, Grey Bar Grunt, Cortez Damselfish, Cortez Rainbow Wrasse, Reef Cornetfish, Balloonfish, Pufferfish. And these are just the tip of the iceberg. It is hard to believe that over 900 species of fish ply the warm waters of the Sea of Cortez, the vast majority of which we will never see due to our inshore snorkeling constraints. And that’s fine by me. I have no desire to swim with those Hammerheads or Orcas in person… I’ll stick to my cute and harmless little reef fishies! ​

Sometimes the Sea just kicks your butt a little, just to remind you who’s boss.

Leaving Puerto Escondido, we headed north to Isla Coronados on March 31st. Highish winds were in the forecast again, this time 3 days worth. Rather than waiting it out in Puerto Escondido, we felt that we needed to get a leg up the coast and headed to the island the day prior to the winds. Had there been a forecast for 30 knots, we’d have stayed put, but only 20kts were scheduled. We can handle that at anchor as long as it’s blowing in the right direction. We would wait out the incoming weather and be ready to sail north the instant it passed.

“I love it when a plan comes together” (cue A-Team theme song)
The waiting part worked as planned. For 3 nights we parked the boat at the south anchorage on Isla Coronados and waited contentedly for the perfectly predicted wind to blow itself out. This is a truly beautiful spot. Most of the anchorage is 15-20ft deep with lovely, clear waters over a sand bottom attached to a reefy/rocky/shelly beach. We were here last year and find it one of the more easy places to set anchor since it is wide open with no rocks to avoid. Like Bonanza or Timbabiche, we could anchor here in the dark if needed. While we were plenty comfortable on the boat, we did not venture to shore…too windy (I’m sensing a theme here). But we were visited by more dolphins and rays and ducks, so we were never bored.

Heading North
On April 3rd, we decided to leave and head north. Winds today were supposed to be light in the morning with no more than 10 knots in the afternoon. Our original plan (as of 3 days ago) was to stop 15 miles north at Punta Mangles (Mangrove Point), having never been there. But the wind would be coming from the northeast today and we felt the small land mass creating the shallow L-shaped bay would not give enough protection for this direction. So as of this morning, after looking at the weather, our new plan was to travel to San Juanico, 8 miles farther for a (supposedly) easy 23 mile sail. Plans change. Every second.

Sea Lesson #1: Don’t Cut Corners
After raising anchor, we travelled west and I hugged the shallow southern coastline of the island too close. There is a long spit of sand that juts out from the end of Isla Coronados to the southwest. The spit continues underwater as a narrow sand bar for several hundred feet and is actually pretty visible when the water is dead calm (it wasn’t today). It is also precisely delineated on our IPad charting software, Navionics. I KNEW this, had the IPad in hand, but was paying too much attention to our chartplotter, which does NOT show the spit.

I thought I was fine, until I wasn’t. I cut the shallow area too close. OK, I ran it over. Our depth sounder instantly went from 20ft to 8. Stomach meet throat. Brian nearly had a heart-attack. Luckily, it was only for an instant as I ran over the last little tip of it, the boat never touched bottom. Close call. But I should have been more careful and maneuvered farther away instead of cutting my line towards the channel so close just to save a little distance.

After that sketchy beginning to our day, things got worse…

We got an early start because the winds had been picking up rather early in the morning and calming down in the evening. We wanted to get a jump on our day heading up to San Juanico, 23 miles away. I am always suspicious about travelling the narrow channel between the Baja Peninsula and Isla Coronados. This channel forms a deep drop-off shelf diving from 40ft down to 900ft in the time you can say “Oh Crap”. Every time we go through it, I worry whether there will be some weird tidal surge or wacky wave pattern. We got neither. Light winds and no swell. Whew, easy peasy all the way to SJ, right?

Sea Lesson #2: The Sea Can Kick your Butt Whenever it Wants
About 8am everything was perfectly normal. Having passed through the channel without event, we were motoring due north and the light wind was coming from… due north. Standard. No point in sailing. Then, at 9am the wind picked up to 15-knots. Hmmm, this is new, a little early for so much wind, and not forecast. We had slowed considerably due to the massive current that always seems to flow in this area. Our typical 5-knots turned into 3.5 knots.

Whitecaps Dead Ahead
At 10am I saw a distinct line of whitecaps ahead, as far as I could see. Here’s my “Oh, Crap” moment. No getting around it, as soon as we entered the zone things degenerated quickly. This unpredicted 20-knots proceeded to kick us in the rear.

Suddenly, we were bashing. 4-5ft waves at 2-3 seconds. Slam and slam and slam and slam. As fast as you are reading that, that’s as fast as the boat catapulted up and down. Our bow crashed into each oncoming wall, slicing it clean in two. This is the great thing about Indigo, she slices and dices quite masterfully and we rarely have breaking waves over the bow come crashing onto the deck.

Hobby-Horsing Around
However, because we are on the small side, I think we feel these close-together waves a little more acutely than longer boats. They call it “hobby-horsing” as the boat pitches forward and aft just like a wooden toy horse. Don’t bother going below in seas like this, it’s unthinkable. No lunch today.
The longer we were out in this crap the more worried I became. Not only were we going directly into the wind and waves, and against an already strong current, each successive wave slammed us slower, and the big ones would cause us to stop almost completely. Our knot-meter showed us driving at 2 to 2.5kts average and very often slowing to 0.8 after hitting a wall of water! We’re going to get there… at midnight?

Bashing Buffalos
We tried motor-sailing out to sea for a while just to get away from the coast; maybe it would be better farther out. It probably would have been, eventually, but the crashing and the slamming and the pitching kept getting worse. To distract myself, I tried to take a video, just to see if it could capture the sheer angles in which we were being thrown about and Indigo plunging into these nasty short-period waves. The mere act of holding onto our pitching home one-handed while filming was a challenge. THIS is what it was like to be bashing headlong into buffaloes. And I didn’t like it, not one bit.

It’s actually pretty amazing that such a small amount of wind can create such a mess. We do everything we can to avoid sailing in 20 or more knots of wind, but sometimes you just can’t beat Mother Nature. Many west coast sailors think we’re wimps for avoiding 20-knots. But 20-knots here in the Sea of Cortez is a far different animal than 20-knots off the coast of San Diego, heading out for a day-sail or racing off the coast of San Fran. We spoke to one San Franciscan couple who purposefully crossed the Sea in 20-knots of wind thinking it would be just like back home – a piece of cake; for 24-hours they bashed in waves worse than this (accumulated waves are worse and higher) – a humbling experience, they said they’d never do it again.

Gimme Shelter
We decided to forego San Juanico and instead turned inland again heading for Mangles (our original, original destination). We were hoping for some shelter, ANY shelter at this point. We could see it. It was right there. But still 7 miles away. Arggh. SO close, yet SO far. Luckily, our sail angle towards this new destination was much better and we gained some more speed, making it to the anchorage in a couple hours. Whew. Now, we can relax, right? Right?

The Sea is not done with me yet…

Sea Lesson #3: Fun with Wind and Anchoring
The high NE wind waves had thankfully abated inside Punta Mangles anchorage. We weren’t sure they would, we were really only crossing our fingers that we’d be better off in here than out there. Luckily, the far point provided just enough protection from the onslaught. Thank God. But the wind was still howling through the valley and across the short stretch between us and land making anchoring super-fun.

Speeding up Backwards
We motored around the small space, avoiding rocks and sea-grass areas. When we finally picked a spot, I tried to head forward into the windy frontal assault, putting the boat into neutral with the goal to slow us to less than 0.5kt before we get to the spot where we want to drop the anchor, like normal. Problem was… I sped up…backwards… and to the left.

As soon as I slowed even a little, the force of the wind blowing right at the nose of the boat caused our bow to immediately fall off the wind. Whoosh. Phooey. Now I’m essentially pointing 45-degrees to the left of where we want to be and being shoved back out to sea. With no steerage even at low RPM, I gun the engine and make another attempt.

Hand Signals Save our Sanity
Let me interject something here: I think after 2 seasons we have gotten pretty darn good at anchoring. We can even do it in the dark with minimal stress (turning our spreader lights on so I can see Brian at the bow). We use hand signals for forward, reverse, speed up, speed up more, stop, neutral, what’s our depth, etc. Aside from me shouting depths as we do circles like a dog before we decide where to plop, these signals save our marriage.

Shouting Match
Why? Because we’re not yelling at each other the entire time. When one person is on the bow and the other in the cockpit 20ft away, you have to shout so the other person can hear. When it’s windy often you have to yell things twice. And when there are other boats around it just sounds really terrible….

”Go forward! Keep coming! Left! More left! Left, left, left!!! Now right! Straighten out. OK, Slow! Slower! Slow DOWN! What’s our depth? What? DEPTH! 20ft! How about now? 17ft! Are we stopped? What? ARE WE STOPPED? Yes, Drop it! (Drop chain) Hit the anchor watch button! (I go hit the button, we wait for the anchor to catch and boat to swing) OK, reverse! More RPM. More! OK, Neutral!”  
Whew. I get all anxious just writing that exchange.

Now double that abbreviated conversation/shouting match for any normal day and quadruple it for windy days. And as women we don’t always differentiate between shouting to be heard or shouting from frustration. OK, maybe it’s just me. Shouting is shouting and doesn’t set so well afterward. So signals save sanity. 95% of the time.

…Back on the Boat
SO right about now Brian is frantically pointing to the right like a madman (telling me he wants me to go right) and the boat (because I can’t control it) is going left. Because there is no hand signal for “Hey, where u going?!”, Brian shouts it over the cacophony and throws his hands in the air like WTF? Like I was trying to do another silly circle. I couldn’t keep the bow pointed into the wind. Each time I motored up to my spot and slowed, the wind slapped me to the side, like it was annoyed at me for even trying. Good thing we were alone with no other boats to witness this clown show.

Ever motor at 3.5 knots in order to set anchor?
Frustrated, I finally realized (without any help, thank you very much) that I had to motor into the wind at a full 1500rpm JUST to keep the boat going at a half a knot and to keep the bow from being pushed to either side. In no wind 1500rpm means we are moving ahead at about 3.5 knots. That’s how hard I had to gun the engine to keep us from ‘falling off the wind’. Yet another lesson from the Sea of Cortez.

We didn’t go to shore… again, (4th day in a row, almost a record). Normally I would have been anxious to get off the boat, especially because this place looked pretty cool to explore. But I didn’t care at this point. We were exhausted from the day’s events: almost hitting a sand bar, then getting caught in an unpredicted bash and then my anchoring fiasco.

Can I be done with the lessons for one day? Dammit!

From Punta Chivato, we raised anchor before first light, sailing south ALL DAY dead downwind in 18-20kts and semi-rough seas. The boat lifted on 4-5 ft white-cappy waves and slid down again 5 seconds later, rolling to and fro. I tried to take a video to show the boat rolling and surfing down the waves… but upon viewing, it just seemed like a walk in the park. Hmmph. Whatever. These waves were “almost-but-not-quite-buffalos”... I’ll explain in a sec. Needless to say, I was glad to be going with the waves, not against them.

Punta Pulpito
Punta Pulpito is so named due to the way the land juts out forming a long, low spit. At its point, the rock rises abruptly, almost 500ft high, into what looks like a preacher’s pulpit. Most folks bypass this cove, traveling from Concepcion directly to San Juanico, a long 53 mile trek, whether you leave from Santispac in the south or Chivato in the north. Pulpito, while small, cuts 8 miles off that journey. (Doesn’t sound like a lot… but it is for us, on average, almost 2 hours!)

As we rounded the corner of the pulpit, wind suddenly whipped around the point and blasted us before leveling off inside the small anchorage. We didn’t end up going to shore - too tired after a long day of wrestling the boat downwind for 10 hours. That low spit forming our little bay isn’t very high and the wind funneled steadily through it from the northwest onto our boat all night.

Pulpito’s shoreline is all rock; I didn’t see a beach easy enough to land a dinghy without puncturing our inflatable – but we didn’t try either…next time. Large rocks piled at the water’s edge seemed to abruptly plunge into the sea. With all those rocks, we were surprised at the anchor-friendly, sandy sea floor. We could ease the boat crazy-close into shore, while still maintaining 15ft depth. So the all-night winds weren’t a bother: wind waves were minimal, we didn’t get any swell and for some reason, we didn’t seem to wildly swing on anchor like we normally do in high winds.

Pulpito is now a favorite - it was well protected from the north with straight-forward access, sandy bottom and no lurking obstacles (rocks/reefs were well marked). We feel able to enter it at night if needed since we’ve been inside already, as long as it was unoccupied. Plus, no one seems to want to take advantage of this little gem; we had it all to ourselves. Maybe we’ll just skip San Juanico altogether next time.

Buffalos
The next day we sailed to San Juanico - a short, easy 8 miles. It was windy all damn day; good for sailing, not so great for shore side kayak excursions. The wind kicked it up a notch just after our arrival, like it was waiting for us to anchor before it unleashed its vengeance. So we remained aboard all day. Outside the protection of the bay the “buffalos” were roaming. "Buffalos" are what boaters here call large, white-capping waves… about the size of a buffalo. A mile distant, we could see their furry white mounds on the horizon, marching single file south. Imagine slamming your car into a 5-7ft high buffalo at 10 miles an hour? Again and again and again…and again…and again. Not fun. When the buffalos are roaming out in the sea, well… you just stay put.

A Day in San Juanico
Another minor rolly night in San Juanico due to wrap-around swell. Up at the crack of dawn the next morning, we contemplated getting the heck out of dodge. Not a sliver of wind, but the buffalos were still visible, doing their thing. So we opted to stay put another day. We enjoyed the wonderfully calm, albeit cloudy and cool, weather. We paddled amongst dramatic geological formations all along the north shore. We met and hiked the dirt road with “Sea Angel”. And I finally added my tree ornament to the famed cruiser’s shrine. (In June, we had to abandon the anchorage to run from the hurricane, so I wasn’t able to add our memento.) Thankfully, it was calm all day and the buffalos dissipated, smoothing out the bay for a good night’s sleep and an even better following day.  

On down to Isla Coronados – Nov. 24th
TODAY was our first day (since we’d left on the 8th) of “Mexico weather”.  Ahhh… a balmy, warm breeze… rippling seas… a ripe sun. Now THIS is Mexico we remember from last winter. Where have you BEEN? We pulled into the south anchorage at Isla Coronados into 16ft of clear, 75-degree azure water. Perfection.

Rounding the corner of the island we notice “Impulsive” raising anchor. Acquainted from the Ha Ha, we hadn’t seen them in a year. So we quickly threw the kayak overboard and paddled over to say hi before they left. They end up staying as we offered to assist them with a refrigerator problem. Eventually failing on that count (didn’t have the right hose nozzle for refrigerant), they still invited us to stay for dinner. We enjoyed a lovely, becalmed evening under a full moon. All conversation ceased while graced with a moon-lit dolphin drive-by!

Puerto Escondido: Halfway to La Paz…or thereabouts.
Wednesday Nov. 25th, the day before Thanksgiving. It was only a 4 hour trip to Puerto Escondido, but during that period it went from sunny and flat… to 5 kts, just windy enough to lazily sail in blessedly calm waters for an hour… to no wind again… to harsh, grey sky with wind building… to rain. RAIN? I don’t think we have ever had to stoop to sailing in rain since the Chesapeake. What is this weather coming to?

An American Thanksgiving
We were lucky enough to be invited to Thanksgiving dinner aboard “Impulsive” with “Scoots” and had a great time! Both sailboats were participants with us on the Baja Ha-Ha last year and are heading out with the Puddle Jump rally this March to Fiji and beyond to New Zealand. Brave souls. We wish them safe travels.

What did we eat for Thanksgiving? Nooo, not turkey tacos. These two boats are big enough to have real kitchens…with counter space…and actual appliances. So “Impulsive” impressively cooked a butterball turkey breast, brought all the way from Cosco in Puerto Vallarta. We also dined on mashed potatoes, stuffing, vegetable casserole, artichoke dip and rolls. I brought coleslaw and layered bean dip. Let’s just say we ate ‘til we were stuffed and drank ‘til we were over-stuffed. But the best part was freshly-made pumpkin pie courtesy of “Scoots”. And no-kidding real whipped cream made with that high-tech thingy called an electric mixer! (No… I can’t have one of those…no room + not enough power = wooden spoon + my arm).

Stuck in PE
After that… we were stuck. Thanksgiving was the only non-super-windy day for an entire week. I have some awesome photos to prove how calm it was, for that one day…

May 29th Isla Coronado
There’s a hurricane a comin’. As of yesterday, we were not sure if we would go to Coronado or continue on north a bit earlier than planned, just to get a bit higher in latitude. We were following a low – turned tropical depression, developing down near Manzanillo and this morning it became a hurricane.  Andres was traveling north but arcing to the west out away from shore. Feeling a bit safer, we are stopping at Isla Coronado, as planned, instead of moving farther north.

The north bay of Coronado is a lovely, wide spot suitable for holding many boats; we had 12 others in here with room for 3x that many. We kayaked to shore and walked a bit on the beach but the sand was so deep and fluffy that strolling the shoreline wasn’t easy; your feet sunk in and slid down the 45% incline at each step. Rocks line the shore nearby but those proved to be littered with some sort of cockroach-like sea bug that skittered in the thousands amongst the small volcanic reef rocks – no way am I hopping and skipping along rocks with those crawling around. A small palapa sits on the beach where the panga guys bring tourists for an afternoon of lunch and swimming.

This island is a dead volcano, so the land is littered with interesting volcanic rock. A 4-hr hike will take you to the top of the volcano. But we’d heard about difficult footing with sliding rocks near the top and Brian didn’t want to go hiking for 4 hours. I know…lame. :)  Sandy, manicured trails using volcanic rocks as path outlines, meander around the lowlands.

That evening, the sun set across the channel behind the Sierra La Gigantas and the whole scene was like a textbook painting you'd find in a Holiday Inn hotel room. Mountains highlighted in gradient shades of dark gunmetal greys, indigo blues and purple mountain majesty, each lower and closer mountain range darker than the one behind. The misty sunset lined in sherbet orange and watery rose fading gradually into linen cream and then soft baby blue. No clouds, nothing that spectacular… but it was simple and elegant. Heck, maybe even I could paint it… with the help of Bob Ross, painting guru, minus the happy clouds.

Jumping rays!
At dusk, we witness the most spectacular phenomenon. Mobular rays traveled amongst all the boats in packs from 5 – 20, moving as one dark shape under the calm surface like an amoeba. When the light was just right you could track their shadowy form underwater. Telltale circular ripples led our eyes to little wingtips and swishing tails disturbing the surface.

Then, suddenly… CRACK! The sound of a gunshot started the whole thing… and they would start jumping. Not just one, but ALL of them… slap, crash, smack, crack. It’s like one would start and they’d all get in on the action, one after another in succession, like they were trying to outdo each other. Whoever does the best belly flop wins the prize ceviche, or whatever rays eat! Once, their fireworks performance lasted so long they created their own widening circular wake, and our boat started bouncing from the disturbance in the still bay.

This didn’t just happen once, or twice, but on and off, ALL NIGHT LONG. We could hear them splashing right near the boat once in the middle of the night and got up to watch, but it was too dark.  Just when I was complaining about nature… this is just too cool. Brian was irritated at not getting much sleep. But I’m not sure we will ever see this again in such numbers. The onesie/twosie’s splashing about is normal, but huge packs flapping away, hour after hour, all night… I have a feeling what we witnessed was pretty special.

Why this was not as annoying as the hull-slapping fishes or the rat-a-tatting fishes is beyond me. Mobular rays, like pufferfish, seem puppy-dog-like. Stingrays glide on the bottom, and settle in the sand. Glide and settle; instinctive movement. I suppose mobular rays seem to put thought into it… like watching dolphins or whales. Their wings gracefully undulate, allowing them to fly through the water like birds. Whether floating at the surface with just their wingtips protruding… or leaping and flapping their little wings, trying their hardest to fly away… then belly-smacking like little kids… they are just fascinating to watch, and it never gets old. You get the sense they are just happy little creatures. If I can’t have a dog as a pet…hmmm… mobular ray?

May 30 Isla Coronado Day 2
Last year, on this date, I quit my job. Wow. How time flies when you're having fun. Do I miss it? NO.

Hurricane watch
Listening to the weather this morning, Geary the weather guru determined hurricane Andres was indeed moving off to the west. However, another low is developing just below it off Manzanillo. Geary is predicting early on it will turn into a hurricane as well and hit Cabo a little over a week from now. Not good. But this gives us time to evaluate…we will look at the weatherfax at 4pm today and see what it looks like. Either way we are leaving for San Juanico tomorrow in order to get further north. Just in case.

I would have liked to stay here another two days (and goad Brian into the volcano hike) but things keep changing. At least we got to see the island - we almost skipped it due to Andres. If the hurricane does track up this way, we have enough time to get to San Juanico tomorrow (Sunday), Pulpito on Monday, Domingo on Tues and possibly Punta Chivato on Wednesday. If they say it’s going to hit Cabo the following Monday we will be in a good position to jump on Thursday or Friday and make it to San Carlos the following day, 2 days before it hits Cabo.

Yak to the Beach
Today we did some boat work and then took a long break, kayaking a half mile away to the east beach.  This side is an exquisite walking beach, with harder packed sand, bright aquamarine water, black lava rock and whitewashed coral and miniature shells.  This long sandy strand is really a half mile long sandspit/natural breakwater, stretching out like a boat hook and cocooning the shallow water in its lee. Perfect for hours-long beach-combing. Later the wind picked up and we headed back to the boat in choppy 1/2ft waves at 1 second. The kayak took it well, bouncing away happily. Brian was not so happy, soaked by my paddle strokes skipping off the wavelets and splashing him every few seconds. :)

Dinner: pasta salad with tuna, cheddar cheese, cabbage, ½ apple, last of the green onion. Showers. More cake. More Alias. Typing. Then bed. Exhausted. Right now, after having 10kts of wind all day from the north it is quiet and still... no flopping rays... no wind. Like a switch had turned off. Speaking of switches, the summer heat switch has been turned ON. Since we got here to Coronado it has been HOT. And muggy. Mid 90’s and water is now 84! Holy hotness Batman!

I put up a video on YouTube of the jumping rays. Too bad they did not jump closer to the boat and I don’t have zoom on the GoPro. The two portions that are zoomed in are artificially done in the editing process and are therefore pixelated. But at least you can get an idea of what we witnessed, and how special it was, even if it’s a little blurry…  Jumping Ray Video