It has been a long road, but we have finally overcome our varnish vanity. Well, mostly. We painted our rubrail, eyebrows and handrails. Yup, you heard that correctly…painted. With epoxy paint. Not varnish, not Setol, not even Bristol Finish. Paint.

I know what you teak purists are thinking…
“Oh, the horror!”

…and what you cruisers are thinking…
“Told ya so!”

Varnishing our exterior teak is no longer practical. No longer desirable. It has become a never-ending battle. Sun vs. finish. Sun always wins. Always. The severe Mexico heat is our nemesis; it was never this bad in Maryland or even sunny California. We cannot varnish enough coats enough times during the year to keep it looking nice. We’re just wasting our time.

We knew better. We were told. We just refused to listen. Why? Varnish Vanity.

There’s something exquisite about a sleek piece of freshly varnished teak. It’s, quite frankly, sexy. The rich caramel color… the divine dark grain threading through layers upon layers of sanded and applied coats… that lustrous wet-look despite being bone dry. Whoowhee! We appreciate its arresting appearance; we recognize the enormous effort expended. If a boat could be sexually harassed, varnished teak gets the brunt of our attention. “Oooh, honey, look at that teak!” (Insert head nod + chin rub + raised eyebrows + sly smile.) “Niiiiiice.”

We loved the look, we didn’t mind the work. Now… we are minding the work.

Shedding Snake Skin
Our teak rubrails (along the hull) and eyebrows (paralleling the cream cabin top) cannot physically be covered. Subsequently, UV rays beat them to death year-round. Each time we return from a 5-month hiatus, we witness the consequence of this constant solar assault…one flaking layer after another. Our beautiful varnish looks like sunburned, peeling skin. Maddening. And gross.

Zebra Handrails
Our handrails are covered during the hot summer and stay relatively intact over 5 months. But the zip ties securing the cover causes thin shadows while the remainder finish lightens in color. Ugh, zebra varnish. Sunbrella covers would only delay the inevitable. Because when cruising, we traipse around up top and end up stepping on or kicking the handrails, even if we’re careful; we secure the dinghy to them, cinching the ropes tightly and grazing the finish every time; we slide watershoes and wetsuits under it to dry; we grab it to steady ourselves, nicking it with the flick of a wedding ring; our poor rails get whacked by the kayak, the dinghy, paddles, gas cans, snorkels, even my camera (don’t tell). So WHY do we keep doing all this work to keep them pretty when they are so difficult to maintain? They’re handrails. They’re meant to be grabbed and used and abused. Not to be pretty.

Wait, what?
I said, they’re meant to be used! Not to be pretty!

AH HA!
So, after three seasons in Mexico, we had an “Ah Ha” moment. This is what we’ve finally recognized:
Our boat is now a cruising boat, not a weekend boat; she’s a workhorse, not a showpiece; an actual home, not a model home.

Except, painting over varnish in the interests of practicality is akin to digging out the grass in your front lawn and replacing it with fake grass because you’re tired of the one full week of work it takes to cut it every 5 months. We hate that we’ve stooped so low. But we’ve come to terms.

Brightwork Brown
We learned about this particular paint, a Pettit brand called “Brightwork Brown”, from our friend Dave, formerly of sister ship “Swan”. A durable epoxy, this paint is used on everything from fiberglass to wood to metal. At a distance, one can mistake it for varnish; its coloring is similar to a dark varnished mahogany. But up close, one can definitely tell the difference…it’s opaque. No more wood grain. No more lovely caramel teak color. No more compliments.  But the upside is tremendous. Our yard neighbor painted his handrails a long time ago. I asked him how long before he had to coat them again? Ooooh. ‘Bout 5 years.

5 YEARS! Done.

OK, I’ve come to terms after hearing that. Brian, not so much. Painting over our teak made him miserable. (Just like that initial faux grass installation makes your stomach turn, right? Same thing.) But after finishing, he decided it didn’t look half bad. I think he can live with the decision.

We even got compliments by several yardbirds: Hey, is that varnish? Looks great!  Oh, I love you for saying that!

We Aren’t Idiots - Paint Goes OVER Varnish
(Brian) It is important to note that we did not ruin the teak. Varnishing it 2 years ago was the first necessary step to protect the wood. And we kept it varnished for as long as we could stand. Painting OVER the varnish keeps the paint from soaking into the wood. This important step makes it easy(er) to strip the paint later on and bring the teak back to its’ brilliant varnished luster.  
(Marya) In other words…we could bring the teak back to normal… if we wished… someday… (but we won’t - shhh).

Admit it. Switch it. Stop Stressing.
Varnish Vanity. It’s OK to admit we have it, but confessing is just the first step.
Switching to paint is the second stage. It’ll be OK. Just do it.
The final phase? After you’ve done the deed, release the remorse. Stop feeling like you’re a failure…that you’ve somehow let the boat down…that you’re not a real mariner without a spiffy varnish job…that you’ve been beaten by the elements.  
Vanquishing varnish vanity…it’s freeing!

Weeellll...Allllllmost...
Brian still refuses to paint the caprail. Fortunately, our makeshift cloth cover is doing its job. But guess what we’ll be doing soon. Varnish! Arrggh.
No matter. I’ll wear him down eventually. (Insert fingers tent + evil laugh.) Meh, heh, heh.

Normal people run around like gobbling turkeys during Thanksgiving week… frantically driving, visiting, shopping, cooking, eating and more eating.

Us? We ran around like turkeys too…except on the boat. Up and down 9ft ladders, ducking in and out of companionway entries, squeezing in and out of tight engine rooms, reaching into inaccessible lockers…ah, the joys of boatyard boat work.

Preventing Undue Perspiration
We’d decided to begin our seasonal work detail a couple weeks later this year. Our aim? Avoiding the typical high-90’s late October weather, which about killed us last year. This slight delay worked in our favor, with high-70’s to mid-80’s all week. Jealous yet? Don’t be. Instead of sailing the high seas during Thanksgiving, we were in San Carlos…in the boatyard… working, working, working. Our Thanksgiving week looked like this:

Replace Prop Shaft and Cutlass Bearing
Why? We’re hoping to resolve Brian’s nemesis – minor engine vibration. A big job with many steps, this could either go really smoothly or turn into a complete nightmare.

• Disassemble the steering quadrant (chain under the wheel linking to the rudder).
• Remove the gudgeon (bronze piece holding the rudder post to the keel).
• Drop the rudder (not easy…it’s juuust a bit heavy).
• Pull out the drive shaft after undoing interior coupler (piece of cake, for once).
• Remove the cutlass bearing. (When pounding doesn’t work, hack it out!)
• Clean the bronze gudgeon, bolts & stainless rudder post. (Scrape, sand, polish, repeat.)
• Reverse: Put in new cutlass bearing, drive shaft, coupler, repack stuffing box, add new hose clamps to the rudder post (all 4 were cracked), put the rudder and gudgeon back, reassemble the quadrant.  Done!

This entire procedure took about 4 days. (OK, we did take a day off to go see Justice League.)

Fortunately, things went relatively smoothly, except for…(insert dramatic Monster Truck announcer voice)…Brian’s Cutlass Bearing Battle. This short metal tube fits through the hull, cradling the prop shaft perfectly in place (see photos). While the shaft spins, the cutlass bearing remains rock steady. Knowing its tight fit would cause difficulty removing, Brian welded his own puller tool this summer to assist in this procedure (yes, he really is MacGyver). But this bearing was practically fused to the hull. And its walls were so thin, his manufactured puller just made mincemeat of the metal. Yanking, tugging, jerking and twerking did absolutely nothing.

Frustrated, Brian was forced to slice it up. With a SawzAll. Veerry carefully. Try using a Sawzall blade inside a hole the size of your mouth…sawing through the bearing wall without nicking the skin below. Nice image, huh? He was not happy doing it; but he won the Bearing Battle.

New Steering Cables
Since we needed to undo the steering assembly to work on the drive shaft, we decided to just replace it altogether. After 23-years, it’s probably about time. This is the perfect example of how one project leads to another project because, well, “since we’re in here taking this apart, we might as well replace it, otherwise we’ll regret it down the road when it fails…all because we were lazy or cheap.”​

Our steering chain/cable threads up into the steering column and over the wheels’ gear mechanism. So, of course to replace it, we must remove the wheel along with the compass sitting atop the binnacle.  Again, another “might as well” project. Now, we may as well replace the bearing, circlips, plastic washers and o-rings attached to the wheel shaft. This was like doing an operation inside a 5“ hole. Flashlight in one hand, I played surgical tech with the other, providing Brian tools upon request. Needlenose pliers. Here. Dental pic. Got it. RoboGrips. Black or grey? Why does every boat project feel like a surgical procedure?
 
New Cockpit Drain Hose
Our cockpit drain hoses were original to the boat. So we planned on replacing them this season. (We tried last year but couldn’t find the right hose, so we brought some with us). Upon removal, we discovered one of the two cracked. Good thing this project was high on our list! Each hose runs from the cockpit, through the engine room, and out the hull to the ocean. So any water running into the cockpit (from washing the boat or from boarding seas) will leak right into the engine room via a split hose. Not good. Engines and water don’t mix.  Sinking is even worse.

Doing The Hard Stuff First
We decided to complete the above hard projects first. The ones that involved Brian awkwardly wedged in the engine room (“the hole”) for a week straight. The ones that could become super-complicated if everything didn’t go smoothly. The ones we didn’t want to do.

Our thoughts: get ‘em over with now and we won’t be too tired or too irritated or too lazy later, ultimately determining “well… we can wait ‘til next year.” Our plan worked.

We have at least another week of boatyard drudgery, but it’s all stuff we’ve done before. Painting, painting and more painting. Hard work…but easily done. Would I rather be watching the Macy’s parade and eating every hour with naps in between? Yes, please. Would I rather be shopping or driving in the Black Friday mayhem? No way. I’ll actually take boatwork over THAT.

Every cruiser has one…that interminable inventory of things to purchase (or make) when we get back to the States.

Why d’ya think we don’t just fly back to our boat in Mexico? Seems like driving our truck all the way from Atlanta to Tucson and back down to San Carlos, taking well over a week to do so, wouldn’t be worth it. Well, aside from the awesome convenience of a car during hauling out and launching periods…

It’s because of… THE LIST.

We need to get all that crap back somehow!

Another year, another LIST.
THE LIST begins the moment we arrive back in Mexico. It develops gradually as we travel… as stuff breaks and we need a new widget, or as we run low on this cleaner or that goop.
Nearing the end of the season, THE LIST balloons as we consider what we really want to repair, improve upon or outright replace next year… incurring mood swings as it ages.

• By the time we leave Indigo, THE LIST has grown into a spoiled child who keeps whining for more and more stuff. Think Cartman. “But Moooom.” Alright dear. You can have whatever you wish.”
• Once we’re IN the States, amongst every big box store imaginable, THE LIST turns into an almost-broke-but-who-cares millennial, “Oooh preettty, I totally NEED that pair of high heels”. Wait, high heels for the boat? It’s not on THE LIST. You’re joking right? Preeetttyyy. $$$ Ching, ching. Picture a penniless Kardashian.
• As the summer winds down, in preparation to leave, THE LIST evolves into an efficient, middle-aged, middle-manager. Every day, another order... 2 days later, another box. Check! Next item!
• In the last week, after 98% has been purchased, THE LIST devolves into a bloated, badgering wife…like Gloria on Modern Family (minus the bloat, keep the shrill accent)…  “But Jay, you already haaave 5 flashlights on the boat! Are you kiiiidding me?”
• In the end, THE LIST becomes Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino… a weathered 80-yr-old… economical, practical…and ornery. He requests things like paper towels because “Mexico cannot make a decent paper product if it bit them in the @#$.” And “For God sakes, how on earth can I never find chocolate chips, anywhere!”  Hey, it’s THE LIST talking, not me.

Reasons for adding items to THE LIST varies widely:

• Sometimes, we cannot find certain things in Mexico that are the right shape to fit a space (like trying to find a certain-sized jerry can (holds 5 gal. of diesel) to fit under our cockpit seat).
• Or when we do find it, especially boat maintenance stuff, the price is outrageous due to high import costs (special cleaners, paint, glue, lines… I can go on and on).
• Or maybe they sell it in Mexico, but they don’t sell the brand I want (certain powdered drink mixes like Gatorade and Propel or iced tea without sugar! Or lemon!).
• Or maybe it’s a highly technical part that we’d just rather have manufactured in the States to make sure we can communicate the particulars properly. Like our new, 3ft propeller shaft we had made in Michigan, a piece that must be made of specific stainless grade with zero tolerance for measurement error. Plus, we wanted it done before we got to the boat so we could install it right away. A timing thing.
• Or maybe we could get it done easily in Mexico, but we didn’t feel like (a) researching companies (usually word of mouth) or (b) waiting for them to get around to it once we finally got a quote. When we arrive at the boat in November, we are trying like mad to splash & beat feet out of there; conversely, we had mucho time to wait during the summer. So we loaded our 2, 7ft long sea berth cushions in the truck bed and had the 20-yr-old, crushed and uncomfortable foam switched out for new in Atlanta while working on the van.
• Or because it just may not exist, period. I searched all over La Paz looking for standard, rubber-backed floor rugs after the backing on mine crumbled in the extreme heat, finding squat. Hmmm, probably because the backing crumbles after a couple years in the extreme heat, ya think? OK, fine. But on a pitching boat, our rugs CANNOT slip-n-slide. And we need a couple rugs on our slick teak floor to keep US from slipping & sliding.

This last bullet point is key. While Mexico’s version of Walmart and Home Depot are great options for most everyday items, they OFTEN do NOT have what we want. Black zipties? Nope. Rug aisle? Forget it. Denatured alcohol (for our alcohol stove)? Always in Home Depot USA… never in Mexico. To be fair, without those big box stores, we’d be traipsing around each city five hundred times more than we already do, searching every mom & pop store for XY&Z. And while yes, those giants unfortunately contribute to the downfall of mom & pop stores everywhere… when you don’t have a car to do said traipsing, traipsing sucks.

Why don’t you Amazon?
Yes, Amazon is increasing its distribution in Mexico. But unlike in the US, most natives are wary of online purchases due to credit card and mail fraud…with very good reason. But if Amazon can make import purchases with guaranteed delivery & hassle free (declaring and paying customs fees online without having to trek to an airport to pick it up, praying it actually arrived, paying more “fees”, bribing an official to “find” it, or any other number of horror stories), sign me up.

Problem is… I have not heard nice enough things about UPS/DHL/FedEx Mexico to take the risk of our direct purchases getting “disappeared”.  Most cruisers we know use a local marine supply store to order their parts 3rd party… expensive & takes longer, but they handle the hassles. Until I hear more first-hand success stories on Amazon, I refuse to let my money be the guinea pig. Except for maybe the last season of Game of Thrones.

There Can Be Only One… OK… Two.
Actually, we have TWO LISTS. MY list, that I type into my iPad so I NEVER lose it, consists of VITAL matters like which season of Parks & Rec we need to acquire. BRIAN’s list (THE LIST) is written on a piece of paper (how old school) and consists of IMPORTANT STUFF to keep the boat maintained properly. He likes to scribble schematics on the back, so I get it, but that physical piece of paper always ends up MY responsibility somehow. Why is that?

SO, the worst thing that can happen…is LOSING THE LIST.
Holy hell.

Where’s the list? I thought you had it? I don’t have it. How come you don’t have it?

THE LIST’s proper place is in my computer case. It’s not there. I search all through the thing to no avail, only to find it in a pocket I already checked. Another time, after frantically searching, THE LIST was in my purse (we had taken it into Home Depot). Another time, THE LIST was laying in the truck’s console cupholder. When the door opened, THE LIST blows right out the door! Dear God, NOOOOO! We caught it, headed for the next town, and put it back in its proper place. But not after lots of finger-pointing.

Sometimes, I think THE LIST is trying to run away from his nit-picking, over-burdening parents. Have we given him too much responsibility? Weighing him down with our boat problems…piling on more and more until he can no longer breathe?

You think… maybe… you could take a picture of THE LIST with your phone? Just in case he disappears again?
​
Yeah. Good idea.

Now...where am I going to put all this stuff??

For Brian’s birthday present, he got to tack. As much as he wanted. Huh?

Tacking is what sailors do. Regularly. It’s how they use the wind to get from point A to B. I love sailing when we’re expediently humming along at 5 knots right on top of my chart-plotted rhumb line. A to B. Direct route. No dithering. Oh, how I wish this was the norm.

The problem is, 90% of the time (not an exaggeration) the capricious wind blows from the wrong direction, most likely on the nose. The direction we want to go in is the direction from which the wind is coming. Since one cannot sail into the wind, we must travel via an indirect route. This means sailing at a variable angle away from our course, and then back towards it. Over and over.

I do NOT like tacking more than a couple miles off our rhumb line. Don’t get me wrong. I DO it. But I don’t LIKE it. It bothers me, niggles at my psyche. It doesn’t feel right, like when I see a misspelled word and I have the power to fix it, right now, but I purposefully let it go to print wrong. Ack! Who does that?

I Hate Tacking
There, I said it. I live on a sailboat and I hate tacking. Sue me.

I am the type of person who likes to go from point A to point B. Directly. I like to GET there. I can’t stand screwing around unless we are going to stop and see something interesting - like a on a road trip, to equate it in land terminology. If we go from point A to point A.1 then A.2 then A.3, and I’m going in the wrong direction, there better be something worthwhile at each of those points… like an island where I can snorkel…or a pod of dolphins…or fish tacos.

You know the quickest route from your house to the nearest Kroger, Von’s, Piggly Wiggly, whatever, right? Now imagine driving that route, but sharply zig-zagging your car over into oncoming traffic (sans traffic) and then back again into your lane. Over and over. Imagine those zigs and zags are a longer time period of course, but the effect is, it would take you almost twice as long. And you just want to get to the dang store! Is that so wrong?

Backwards Tacking
But the WORST is when you tack BACKWARD. See, everybody thinks of tacking as just zigzagging into the wind…not so bad eh? Takes a bit longer, but what of it? Well, the dirty secret of sailing is that there are times when you must tack backward, away from your intended goal. A wind switch, a fierce tidal push or just downright lack of wind, can force you to trace the same path that you were just on, but maybe a few hundred yards to the left or right. Bah! It’s kick-your-cat maddening!

But it’s About the Journey. Bull…oney! It’s About the Destination!
Brian likes the JOURNEY, not necessarily caring when we arrive and what we’ll see on the other end. He will corkscrew back and forth all darn day if I let him and, well I can’t just let him DO that every day. There are reasons. Good reasons.

1. I like to arrive at an anchorage before dark, thank you very much. Preferably when the sun is high enough I can see the depth color differences in my polarized sunglasses, which means before 4pm. That way I can be sure we aren’t anchoring on any stray rock beds. This is necessary in smaller or more reef-prone anchorages. Safety: an excellent reason. Even Brian can’t argue this one.
2. If it’s a new anchorage, I want to get off the boat and explore. If it’s an old anchorage, I want to get off the boat and explore. Again. I see new things no matter how many times we’ve been to Ensenada Grande. What are we HERE for anyway? Exploring: OK, granted, not quite as good a reason, but definitely my chief purpose, nonetheless. Brian could care less.
3. I like sailing. But I like stopping more. We DO have easy sailing days. But we also have not-so-easy sailing days. Our easy sailing days are always mildly stressful at a minimum, ramping into exceedingly nerve-racking when stuff hits the fan. Plus, I feel like time is always on hold when we are at sea, if that makes sense. Things cannot be “normal” for me until that anchor is dropped. The sooner we get to the anchorage, the sooner I feel relief. Resume to normal life (whatever THAT is): OK, Brian might partially agree with me on this one. But he can handle stress and stand to remain in a state of flux much longer than I.

Me: Remind, me…why do we even have an engine if we won’t use it whenever we want to?
Brian: This is a sailboat. We should just buy a powerboat then.
Me: A powerboat doesn’t have sails for backup. What if the engine breaks? Then you’d be even more engine-obsessed.
Aha! But he is not impressed with my circular logic. A sailboat is for sailing; powerboats for powerboating. End of story.

Opposing Opinions
So, my ‘hurry up and get there’ attitude is always tempered by Brian’s constant desire to actually SAIL on a SAILBOAT. Sheesh, seriously. (Insert exaggerated eyeroll.) Our cruising outlooks thusly opposed, we remain constantly in debate-mode about when to start the motor. OK, sometimes it’s an itty bitty “conflict”, that’s what they called Vietnam right? Brian would call it my “War of Motorin’ Aggression”.

I get his motivations, even though he thinks I don’t.

1. He LIKES sailing. He doesn’t mind tacking waaaay off our rhumb line, hoping for a better wind angle. He shoots me the evil eye when I point out, ever-so-mildly: “At this rate of speed, we’ll make it into the anchorage at midnight…just sayin’.” I might or might not have mentioned that a turtle could swim faster than Indigo.
2. Mostly though, the absence of motor noise is what he loves best. And not because he loves the silence. That’s just a byproduct. It’s because the silence frees him from worrying about the motor. See, Brian hates the motor. More than I hate tacking. For every hour we employ that engine, Brian envisions its inevitable death knell. Doesn’t matter that he keeps it in tip-top shape. Every little sound coming from said motor is thoroughly analyzed. If the pitch is even a hair off, it will drive him incessantly bonkers. Turning it off is the lone solution.

Trading One Noise for Another
We had our engine serviced a few months ago because of one wayward tone. Our fuel injectors are now clean and running top notch. So that noise got fixed, but another is lingering. We are worried about the prop shaft not aligning perfectly. It’s just a slight reverberation, not a disastrous ca-clunking; I can’t even hear the difference half the time. But due to this now noteworthy noise, every additional engine hour hurtles us towards impending doom. Doomsdaying is exhausting.

Why does he worry so much about the engine? Well, he’s right to worry, though it turns into a little bit more like paranoia than I’d like. Our engine is our best piece of safety gear. And boat engines, unlike car engines, are fickle machines. Ignoring a funny rattle, smell or vibration can spell disaster, often followed  by a hefty pricetag. So, albeit begrudgingly, I’d rather he be paranoid than lackadaisical.

So. Turn off the motor and Brian is at peace. Turn it on, and I am. How can this POSSIBLY be a happy marriage? Compromise.

Birthday Sail
Today we are sailing from Santispac to Santo Domingo. This anchorage positions us to cross the Sea of Cortez to San Carlos, where we’ll put the boat away. It is a short hop up to Domingo, a mere 10 or so miles. Easily motored in 2 hours.

And it just so happens to be Brian’s birthday.

Honey, since it’s your birthday, we can sail as much as you want and I won’t grouse about getting there. We have an established anchor point (we’ve already been there and scouted out the area) and our outgoing GPS breadcrumb path to follow back in lest we arrive after sundown. Go ahead and tack to your hearts content. I will not complain one whit.

Brian throws me his rolly eyes, meaning we're sailing anyway no matter what I said about it.

Sailing Concepcion’s Throat
Bahia Concepcion’s 7-mile-long entrance channel has a dual personality. At 100ft deep to one side and 15ft on the other, use of the entire two miles of channel is not an option. The shallow side is a seductive emerald; it lures you in with its sparkling green waters that continuously creep towards mid-channel and suddenly we’re thrown into an alarming 15ft if we aren’t paying attention. The deep side appears safer, but deceptively allows us to edge uncomfortably close to land. Hmm…we’re in 100ft but I feel like I could step ashore… should we even BE this close? If I’m asking that question, probably not.

And today, just to further my split personality diagnosis, and just because we are sailing, the winds on one side of the bay are different than the other side. It literally splits right down the middle.

Crawling Toward the Deep Side
So here we are, tacking up the channel, heading towards the deep side. The wind is blowing from the northwest, funneling at an angle down the throat. Each time we approach the mountain-peaked eastern shore, the wind dies off to a whisper. And now we have an incoming tide – against us. At a mere 1.5 knots SOG (speed over ground), Indigo is just barely eking out some distance towards the anchorage. We’re not sailing; we’re crawling.

Flying Backwards Toward the Shallow Side
As we tacked back across to the shallow side of the bay, the wind picked up and allowed us to sail at a respectable speed. Finally! We went farther in 10 minutes than we’d had the past 40. Except… due to a tidal push and the wrong wind angle… we’re going damn near backwards!

Thus began our long, slow, asymmetrical zigzag up the narrow channel… barely sustaining enough oomph to maintain forward motion on the starboard tack, and then a quick zoom - backwards. A beat-your-head-against-the-wall kind of tack. Brian was in his element. I kept my yaptrap shut.

After tacking like this for 3 hours (and me staying mum the whole time), even Brian finally got sick of it. With the prospect of another HOUR spent for one more mile gained and seemingly no wind forthcoming, he threw in the towel and asked me if I wanted to turn on the motor. Smiling sweetly, I reply: Your call, honey. It’s your birthday.

So when people ask me… What’d you guys do for Brian’s birthday?
Well, we tacked! 

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!​

We are happily anchored at Ensenada Grande, the first stop on our 6-week trip up to San Carlos from La Paz. As I lounge below on my sea berth, a tall mast looms visible through the companionway. Yikes! I know the boat is close if I can see him through that narrow slot. I launch up on deck, but Brian is already intently watching. This boat drops anchor right between us and another boat. Ugh. He’s pretty darn close, but not disturbingly so. We watch and wait.

10 minutes later, we overhear a VHF radio call in heavily-Spanish-accented English.
“Boat with the French flag… this is Valencia… you have anchored too close.” (Boat names changed to protect the innocent.)
Crickets…

Again. “Boat with the French flag… this is Valencia… you have anchored too close.”
Silence.

Again, with a bit more emphasis.
Silence.

The oblivious yacht is a 40ft Beneteau sailboat, so we’ll call him Mr. Beneteau. We cannot see his boat name and apparently neither can Valencia. It’s on his stern, probably in foolish flowery font – why owners don’t make their boat names clearly visible is beyond me.

The Audacious Mr. Beneteau
The French boat had anchored too close for Valencia’s comfort. Except Mr. Beneteau’s VHF radio was off so Valencia could not relay his analysis on the matter. While one Valencia crewmember kept trying to hail them over the radio, the other crewmember stood on the bow, waving arms, shouting in vain through the wailing 20kt wind. You’d be surprised how little sound carries in 20 knots of wind. If you prefer not to shout, or it’s too windy to do so, a good way to get someone’s attention is just stand on the bow, arms akimbo and glower at the offending boat. Pointing helps. Eventually they will notice. And they did.

So finally I hear heavily-French-accented English, coming from a very weak radio signal, hailing Valencia. But now Valencia is not hearing them. Wow. This just gets better and better. Grammy-winning evening entertainment!

Eavesdropping
After several unanswered return calls from Mr. Beneteau, Valencia responds and they switch from a hailing channel to a talking channel. Of course we switch too, duh. #1, we want to listen in on this highly entertaining shit show, and #2, we have a stake in this conversation. It might be our shit show when the wind switches. Don’t judge. Everybody does it.

Valencia (flustered woman):“You have anchored too close to our boat.”

Mr. Beneteau (a meek, high-pitched, squeaky woman): “Oh, no, no…it’s OK.”

Valencia (now obviously irritated): “You are right on top of our anchor.”

Mr. Beneteau: Crickets…

“It’s OK” means “I don’t care”
Brian and I look at each other, jaws dropped. OMG. Did she just say “It’s OK”? Seriously, that’s not the right answer. But it’s always the answer. Our first year in La Paz, I described our dealings with another cruiser saying that exact same thing to us in this exact same anchorage about the exact same issue. We both start laughing at the irony.

Did they move? Nope.
We waited and watched, doing a mild bit of staring-down of our own. See, we’d prefer they move too. But they remain consciously obtuse - irreverent towards the safety-comfort-level of their neighbors. While pretty close, we feel Mr. Beneteau is a tolerable distance, so we opt to stay put. But Valencia, the boat so offended as to call Mr. Beneteau out on his proximity, does not move either. Either they decided they weren’t in dire straits, or they were just too lazy to get up and move.

Anchoring Etiquette: Don’t be a Dingo
In general, anchoring etiquette is simple: if you as the anchored boat think the incoming boat parked too close (and announces so), it is on the incoming guy to move; but if they refuse, and you remain, and an accident ensues… who do you think your insurance company will hold responsible for your boat damages? If you are uncomfortable with the situation enough to voice your opinion… and the other boat is a dingo and refuses… a healthy fear for the safety of your boat should prompt your departure, regardless of ego or convenience.

Fast forward several days later and we are anchored in San Evaristo, pondering this identical predicament…

San Evaristo Cluster-Fun.
A very large, very old, very ugly powerboat/barge contraption chugged its way into the snug harbor. I picture a 70ft, two-tiered version of the grimy, barnacle-encrusted “African Queen” (from the Katherine Hepburn movie of same name). It really didn’t look like that at all, but the offensive boat became personified as such in my mind as soon as he plopped his anchor down… right on top of us.

Now, when I say right on top, I mean it. This is not Valencia vs. Mr. Beneteau spacing, both with decent enough distance to remain in place all night. This was downright painful, body-hugging, spandex tight.

Radar Blob Monster
Intimidated by his size and proximity, I actually turned on the radar to confirm our suspicions about their distance. Our buddy-boat, Lorelei, was about 200ft to our left – a close but respectable distance for a friend-boat who you are comfortable yelling at if all hell breaks loose. But The African Queen’s massive radar blob was glowing like the sun, merely 100ft away. Damn…my eyes! Are you kidding? We have nearly that length of anchor chain out! This guy WILL whack us when we inevitably swing around to the west at night.

Now highly agitated, we glowered. We scowled. We gave our best disgusted glare. We waited for him to realize the error of his ways; sometimes they do and re-anchor. But African Queen appeared perfectly content attached to our hip.

So we opted to move, sans confrontation. We could already predict the answer anyway: “No really, It’s OK!” The African Queen was so big, and so NOT-maintained we did not relish them picking up and re-anchoring anywhere nearby. Would you want to park your still-in-good-shape 1990’s BMW next to a rusted-out, 1960’s Suburban tank? No. The screaming baby-on-board was the deal breaker. We’re out! We picked up anchor (ending up nose-to-nose within 20ft of their bow) and waved as we drove out the bay. Thanks, Dingo.

North Shore Sanctuary
Moving around to the north shore of San Evaristo, we safely ensconced ourselves in the wide bay, devoid of dingos. Only one other boat was parked…waaaay over there. Sigh. Peace.

Just as it was getting dark, our buddy boat, Lorelei, motors around the corner. What are you guys doing here? Well, they had their own anchoring saga to relay. Apparently, San Evaristo was THE place NOT to be tonight. Too bad we’d turned our radio off and missed THIS evening radio show…

Beware the Charter Catamarans
After we left, 4 charter catamarans traveling together like a pack of wild dingos tried to squeeze their wide-load rear ends in the already limited front row space. Two attempted to side-tie (tie together side-by-side with only fenders between and one boat’s anchor down) in between the now 300 feet between Lorelei and African Queen. Two 15ft boats swinging on one anchor in such close proximity to the others could have been catastrophic. Especially since oblivious charter cats habitually put down like 30 feet of scope, kind of like anchoring 20 tons with a fish hook.

Herding Cats
These catamarans were first warned by two boats that this was not a good idea, there’s not enough swing room for their double mass. In return, what did their dingo leader say? Everybody now… “No, no, It’s OK!” To which both cruisers shouted “NO, it’s NOT OK!” Herding cats is impossible.

Finally, after several other anchored boats expressed their extreme vocal displeasure, the cats reluctantly gave up the side-tying but continued their squeeze. With the obnoxious group boxing them in on both sides and still a bit too close for comfort, Lorelei grudgingly gave up and relocated to our neck of the woods. Sometimes you just can’t win these battles. I am regretful that our friend had to move out of these dingos’ way…but African Queen had it coming!

A Final Dressing-Down
Coincidently, as I began to edit this blog, I heard a one-sided radio conversation on this very topic. I recognize this particular woman’s teacher-like voice from the local radio net. Anchored in Isla Coronado, she incredulously and vehemently pronounces the following to someone whose response I can’t hear:

“Well I have no idea why in this big bay you picked that spot? We have a very heavy boat, we don’t swing the same way and we will be pointed west tonight so you will be right on top of our anchor once the wind switches.”

Ouch. I’m pretty sure that dingo moved.

#1 Beach in Mexico!
Balandra Beach is a must-do when visiting La Paz. We’d taunted our SoCal friends so much with photos of blue bays and beautiful beaches that they finally decided to come see for themselves. So we took them to Balandra, considered by some as one of the most spectacular in the world. Last year, it was rated the number one beach in all of Mexico by USA Today’s readers. Check out touropia.com for an amazing aerial shot. While I disagree with the #1 status, simply because we've been to several spectacular, more remote beaches, it's definitely in my top ten! 

The Perfect Beach
If you are looking for sapphire blue waters and white sand beaches, you’ve come to the right place. Crystal clear, the shallow water extends out hundreds of feet into the bay, perfect for kiddies, kayaking & paddleboarding. Snorkeling opportunities are limitless - just search for some underwater rocks and you’ll find fishies (mostly small ones since it’s very shallow). A hard-packed, sandy sea floor makes for easy strolling to explore the various caletas (little coves). And, well, if beaches aren’t your thing, you can always indulge in photography: dark brown/black volcanic outcroppings contrast with creamy sand, while rippling turquoise water meets a stark azure sky. Ahhh.

Mushroom Rock
Balandra’s main attraction is “El Hongo” or “Mushroom Rock”, a natural rock formation that sort of looks like a mushroom. Maybe “fungus” ball growing on a stick is more accurate. (Hongo can mean either.) Despite the unusual shape, it’s still a pretty amazing natural wonder. It’s mushroomy stem has eroded over the years to a teensy foot. But don’t look too closely - it’s been shoddily shored up with concrete and rebar to keep the precariously perched blob from toppling. So treasured by the townspeople, El Hongo has become an icon symbolizing La Paz. There is even a replica statue of it in the town square. A visit to the real El Hongo is a must, but you may get wet depending on the tide.

In the Boonies
Balandra is just 20 miles from La Paz close to the end of a windy, nearly uninhabited, dead-end road. Beware: there are no “facilities” at Balandra. But there is no parking fee either. Usually, kayaks are available for rent. There may or may not be a food truck selling snacks and beer. Eight of us hopped in a taxi-van and had our driver wait while we explored for a couple hours. There is also bus service from downtown La Paz. Got your own car? Once finished with Balandra, keep driving to the end of the road & have lunch at the restaurant on Tecolote Beach.

Secluded Paradise
Balandra Beach is far off the beaten track so if you are looking for Cancun-type hordes, you will be disappointed. Its allure is its seclusion. Go on a weekday to beat the “crowds”, meaning 10’s of people. Go early to stake out one of the palapas for shade. But don’t miss this beach!

WHY would you want to swim with sea lions?
Sea lions in Southern California are nuisances. “Destructive” and “aggressive” are typical descriptive adjectives bandied about when discussing this noisy, messy animal. They routinely climb aboard boats, notorious for parking themselves permanently. Sea lions wreak havoc on marina docks too; I once saw one take out a dockside electrical box. Aggressive may be an understatement - adult bulls have been known to… unprovoked… chase us innocent dock-walkers. So, WHY on earth would we want to swim with them?

Sea lions may NOT be cute and cuddly in SoCal. But they ARE in La Paz! So much so, that swimming with the sea lions is one of the top things to do here in La Paz. Personally, I’d rate it #2 behind whale sharks.

Los Islotes (meaning “Islets” in Spanish)
At the northern tip of Isla Ispiritu Santos is Los Islotes, the most visited island in the Sea. This tiny set of rocky, volcanic outcroppings is home to a large sea lion colony. But not just any old colony. Just like the friendly gray whales of Puerto Lopez Mateo, these sea lions also seem to enjoy human interaction. Seemingly, the languid Baja vibe extends to animals as well as people! So visitors get to experience a whole different sea lion personality… instead of confrontational thugs, Los Islotes’ sea lions are inquisitive and playful.

World-Renowned Dive Destination and Photo Op
Multiple pangas zoom to the tiny islet daily, downloading floating flocks of brightly-colored snorkelers and bubble-emitting scuba-ers. Famous for its diverse sea life, numerous fish species, colorful corals and graceful rays can be found amongst the main attraction… the sociable sea lions. It’s no wonder the rookery attracts professional underwater photographers. My measly GoPro mingles with colossal & costly dive camera contraptions, each of us keen on capturing that once-in-a-lifetime wildlife experience.

What’s it Like?
With all the tourist activity, these guys are comfortable with humans sharing their waters. So they’ll not only swim near you, they’ll often swim with you. One young’un flitted amongst our group, checking us out. He then hovered perfectly still just a few feet away at the surface, serenely surveilling Brian and I with big, soulful, puppy-dog eyes. Awww. Squinting in the sunlight, I swear he was smiling. Projecting a casual curiosity, I’m pretty sure I heard him say “Wassup, Dudes?”

Mermaids of La Paz
On land, sea lions lumber and loaf; underwater they transform into lithe, graceful mermaids. Well, puppy-faced mermaids, just so you get the right image. Captivating creatures, we watched several play together, weaving around each other’s sleek bodies like DNA strands. One executed a perfect backflip then chomped on his own tail as if annoyed it was following him, just like a dog. Another hung from the surface ‘tail-up’, rotating his flippers to keep himself vertically suspended (just like water ballerinas rotate their hands to hover upside down).

I observed several enjoying the heck out of getting an easy back-scratch. Lying on a shallow rock ledge, the water surge routinely pushed and rubbed them along the craggy, back-scratcher rocks. They seem to enjoy swimming right at you, diverting suddenly when a couple feet away. They have been known to playfully nip at fins and are attracted to scuba diver bubbles. Because of this unique human interactivity, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess this is one of the most photographed sea lion colonies in the world.  One photographer made it his life’s work: www.losislotesbook.com
​
Why didn’t we just sail there?

• Slow boat.

About 25 miles away from Marina Costa Baja, it takes half a day to get there in our slow boat. Indigo’s engine is 38hp vs. 230hp in a powerful panga. Mmmm...no-brainer. Plus, it sure was nice to let someone else do the driving.

• No anchoring.

The bottom is too deep and rocky for conventional anchoring. Although we’ve met cruisers who hook to the tour boat mooring balls in late afternoon after the tourists have vanished, I don’t think you are supposed to. The only other option is one person must remain on the boat steering it in circles, perilously close to hull-crushing rocks, while the rest of the crew (me) gets to swim. Not fun… or fair... for the captain.

• Too far to dinghy.

Dinghying from the nearest anchorage is almost 3 miles. While we know several people who have done this trek in a dinghy, a 3 mile trip in our dinghy isn’t worth it. Sporting a meager 4hp, we don’t plane well and could get swamped if the wind and waves picked up in this highly exposed zone. Plus, we distrust our petulant engine and would prefer not to get stranded.

A Wild Ride
So what to do? We rented a super-fast panga! Our ride out to Los Islotes was wild & crazy in moderate winds and building seas (we would have turned around in Indigo). But the Fun Baja boat screamed alongside the island, easily cleaving through whitecaps, hurtling out a ginormous rooster tail spray. I gripped the rail tightly, fearing this snorkel excursion would be a vomit-inducing disaster. I couldn’t help but envision 8 queasy faces bobbing on breakers at the tip of an exposed reef, being tossed around as though in a popcorn popper.

Fortunately though, the leeward side of the islets afforded just enough wave protection. Whew. While not calm, the sea agitation level was doable and the water remarkably clear despite a noticeable washing machine surge effect. The sea lions loved that surge action though as it assisted in their back-scratching endeavors.

Fresh Fish and a Heavenly Nap in the Sun
After ogling the sea lions for an hour we were all freezing cold and exhausted. The water was still a tad chilly on that last day of March, even with full wetsuits. After enjoying a delicious lunch on the beach we happily soaked up the sun on comfy chaise lounges. Amazingly, we had the entire beach to ourselves, perfect for kayaking and snorkeling the rest of the afternoon. Sublime!

Fun Baja 
For this all-day outing we decided on Fun Baja Tours out of Marina Costa Baja. As their tour boats are berthed only one dock away from Indigo, this was the ideal choice. It couldn’t be any more convenient than walking 30 steps! Not only could everybody snorkel with sea lions, but this was a great opportunity to quickly show our sailing friends the kinds of anchorages we get to visit. A private boat for 8 people cost less than $800. That’s dollars not pesos. It pays to do this with a group as individual prices will be much higher… think $150pp. While expensive, with these tour pros you get what you pay for. (Remember our recent whale shark hustle?)

What’s Included:
- snorkels & fitted wetsuits (meaning men’s & women’s, choice of shorties or full) that I can personally verify are rinsed out every day (I see them do it);
- an excellent English-speaking guide, a boat captain and a cook (yeah);
- an hour or so swimming with the sea lions at Los Islotes (guide swims with you);
- an afternoon at one of our favorite anchorages, Ensenada Grande;
- freshly cooked lunch on the beach: marinated fish of the day (we had mako shark), rice, soup & salad;
- after lunch, choose your activity: kayak, paddleboard, snorkel, beachcomb or kick back with a beer and suntan in comfy lounge chairs. 

Can you get much better than that? Nope. Well, only if you live on a boat. Minus the chaise lounges... and a cook of course. Wait, I’m the cook!​

In my opinion, THE number one thing to do in La Paz is to swim with the whale sharks. We did so with our friends on Lorelei back in 2014, arranging a tour through Marlin Adventures. It was approx. $50pp. A little steep but the boat ride was comfortable, the guide knowledgeable and he spoke English. I recommend this place. You get what you pay for. Seriously. Let me ‘splain.

I Know a Guy Who Knows a Guy
When our SoCal friends arrived last week, this was on the must-do list. But because we had already spent mucho dinero on an all-day sea lion tour, I was striving for cheaper thrills. Our friends had the number of a boat captain who charged $30pp just a couple months ago. Perfect. We call Salvador. But he doesn’t do that job anymore. Call Hector, he’ll do it. We call Hector. Hector says yes… 600pesos per person ($30), 700 with wetsuits/gear, 5 people. Meet in front of Burger King at 1pm Sunday. Perfect.

Where’s Hector?
Sunday arrives. We pile out of the shuttle and aim for the Malecon. This area of the boardwalk is rife with panga dudes hanging out near their boats soliciting passersby..."You want whale shark tour?"

​So is it any wonder my bright yellow fins are like a beacon to them screaming “snorkel tourist”, 'cause that’s the only reason anyone would be carrying fins to the Malecon. It’s only 12:25pm, we are super early. A man sees me, waves us over and acts like he is expecting us. I call out “Hector?” and he confirms yes. As we start talking though, it is painfully obvious he is NOT Hector but he claims to be in charge of operating the boat for Hector. We are immediately suspicious. Where is Hector?

Hector is in Guadalajara
“Oh, Hector is in Guadalajara at a party and cannot make it, but we are captaining the boat for him today.” Bizzare. Stuck in Cabo would have been more plausible. Maybe Hector got a bit schnockered last night and handed his business off last-minute. But Guadalajara? That would require an airplane ride. So why didn’t he mention he was in Guadalajara two days ago? Then again, why would he tell us? On top of this, the fee is cheaper… 500 pesos pp. Not arguing that, but some of us need wetsuits. They did not seem to be expecting this. OK, 600 with wetsuits. Hmmm.

Whale Shark Hustle?
We asked this dude to call Hector to confirm. Fortunately, our friend Luis speaks Spanish and talked to “Hector”. Luis could not recognize if it was the same voice, but when asked, “fake Hector” could not remember Luis’ name or the number of people he booked. He said 6, we said 5. Hmmm. I tried calling Hector’s original number on my phone, but no answer.

We mutter amongst ourselves wondering if they are scamming Hectors' business but since I cannot confirm via phone, and since they take us across the street to an office to get wetsuits, we decide it has to be semi-legit. I mean, at least there is an office, albeit a grungy one. But do we wait another half hour to see if Hector shows up or leave with these guys? Well, we’re here. It’s 100 pesos cheaper. We suit up.

Dodgeball
Since we feel it’s a conceivable coup, we feel the need to do our own little bit of dodgeball. We tell them Hector included drop off at Marina Costa Baja in the price. He didn’t - we were going to offer him a couple hundred pesos to do this, the cost of a taxi. “What? Hector didn’t tell us that. We can’t go into the marina, they won’t allow it.” We insisted to just drop us off at the beach. After hemming and hawing for a minute they decide this is OK and we have a deal.

Slow Ride
The boat is big enough for our group of 5, plus a driver and a spotter, but any more would have been over-crowded. The ride is a wet one, the boat not big or fast enough to repel the sizeable and constant spray generated. The ladder is rickety and very difficult to get on board. The wetsuits are all male and…well, not exactly form-fitting. (I’m glad I brought my own.) We take a seemingly inordinate time to get out to the sharks – they were waaaay out in the bay. Initially, we could not see any other tour boats nearby. Last time there were pangas everywhere. Did we miss the season? Are there any whales out here? Do these guys even know where they are? Are we going to be robbed and dumped overboard?

1st Jump
There’s one! Finally. We all point to the single giant cruising around our boat. The captain races to catch up with it, the guide jumps in and swims for it. Either he is holding onto the shark by its dorsal fin (not cool) or this young whippersnapper can swim like Michael Phelps. I honestly couldn’t tell how he was keeping up. We are all just concentrating on when to jump in the water as soon as he signals the OK. This first shark is on a mission though. Swimming perpendicularly at him, I didn’t even get close; he was cruising so fast I think only 1 person out of 5 actually saw it underwater. We got back in the boat discouraged: “Wow, this is IT? Is that all there is going to be? This sucks.”

2nd Jump
After several minutes of cruising around we finally see multiple sharks! The 2nd jump was the perfect combination of “Wow” and “Whew!” Yes…validation! See, I told you it was cool! Everyone got to experience several sharks up close and personal. This group moved slow and fed lazily, just meandering back and forth. Sunlight filtered through the water at a perfect angle; the water was much clearer than even where we were 5 minutes ago. Great viewing. Our guests were sufficiently impressed. Whew. They’re happy; I’m happy.

3rd time’s the charm!
Before the 3rd jump, we debated about going in again but once we saw another group feeding, a couple of us went for it. The wind had picked up. The waves were coming in high and choppy, enough to swamp my snorkel. By the end it was impossible to breathe normally while snorkeling and we were exhausted from swimming fast and dodging massive tails. But by that time I didn’t care, this was my best encounter yet...

Last Time
Two years ago, the water was so shadowy with krill and plankton and the sunlight so insufficient, that the sharks giant bodies were continuously veiled. Suddenly a 3ft gaping mouth would appear 10 feet from my face. Freaking out, I’d frantically backpedal away before it got too close, then it disappeared as if behind a mist. Having large creatures (5x my height) lurking about me in murkiness was mildly nerve-racking. It didn’t matter knowing these sharks don’t/can’t bite; I was more afraid of getting schwacked unconscious by a flicking tail. We could see them way better from above looking down into the water that day than we could under it. Above water, their massiveness was impressive. See my blog post from 2014. While a great experience, the second time was even better just knowing what to expect…

This Time
Today, choppy waves obscured the sharks from above. But under water, waves did not matter. I could clearly see them coming from probably 50ft away. And being able to approach them, rather than be surprised by them, was a much more comfortable … and gratifying… experience.

This time, I was able to just float, calmly witnessing these gentle giants (OK mostly calm). Their 25ft bodies hung at a 60 degree angles as if suspended in space; their 3ft mouth gaped wide open at the surface, gulping in krill and plankton. I could clearly see the throat expanding and contracting to consume water, the gills flaring, the smooth, speckled skin, the sharky-tail propelling silently (and fortunately not deadly) through the water.

Rule #1: Don't Kick the Sharks
One behemoth seemed to be doing dainty pirouettes, slowly swirling upright in one spot… performing water ballet. Wow. Mesmerized by this guy, I didn’t see his friend closing in on me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement and heard people yelling from the boat. Stupidly, I kicked frantically to get out of its way. When I felt my fin tip barely flick this 20,000 pound beast, I swore/screamed (quite loudly), worried I had scared him into flailing his dangerous tail. Thankfully, my transgression didn’t seem to bother him (he probably didn't even feel it - their skin is 4" thick). But it scared the pants off me. Or should I say wetsuit. Everybody got a good laugh at that one! Sorry guys, I did not get this freak-out on film. (Or did I?)

The Verdict? Worth It!
The second time around, despite dubious initial circumstances, was well worth it. It pays to do this tour twice allowing for different conditions. But it also pays to arrange it with a real tour company. With a real office. Cheaper isn’t always smarter.

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Side note: We were talking to a couple of cruising kids recently, maybe 7-yrs old, and asked them if they’d seen the whale sharks yet. “Oh yeah. Four times.” Wow. How’s that for a cruising kid’s life!

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Whale Shark Facts:

• Whale sharks are not whales; they are a species of shark.
• They are filter feeders similar to the baleen whale or basking shark. Pretty much they ingest whatever is in their path, forcing the water back out through their gills.
• Whale sharks can filter over 1500 gallons of water per hour.
• They eat plankton, krill, tiny fish, squid, jellyfish & fish eggs. Fortunately, not people.
• Whale sharks are the largest fish in the world. They are also the largest non-cetacean animal. In other words, only whales are bigger.
• Average size = 30-40 ft. That’s over 20,000 lbs of pure shark.
• Their mouths can span 3-5 feet in width!
• Each whale shark has a unique color pattern. The distinctive array of spots and stripes can be used to identify specific sharks.
• Average age – Internet consensus seems to be 70 yrs. Some say they can live to well over 100!

​

The Nitty-Gritty on our Gray Whale Trip
You future Baja visitors might be wondering about the tour company we chose for our recent whale-watching excursion. So here’s the “nitty-gritty” – why we chose EcoBaja, price, what’s included, the drive, etc. Essentially… a really long TripAdvisor review.

Rent a Car?
Getting to the whales at Puerto Lopez Mateo via rental car is definitely doable. But at 165 miles one-way from La Paz, be prepared for a looong day trip. And when you can’t drive faster than 50mph or drive at night (gotta watch for cows, speedbumps and construction detours), this option wasn’t appealing. Rental cars aren’t cheap here and I didn’t relish the pick-up/return hassle for merely one day. On the other hand, if you are renting a car for several days or bringing your own from the States, a self-directed day trip is a good bet.

Adding an overnight stay would make things more relaxing and allow a possible second whale-watching trip in the morning. This is my ideal… if the weather or whales weren’t cooperating the first day, you’d be guaranteed a do-over. But with this option, dollars are starting to add up.

Day-Trippin’
Fortunately, several La Paz companies offer economical tour bus day-trips. I chose EcoBaja partly because of a recent good experience using them for a shuttle ride to the Los Cabos airport.

Yes, I’m a Cheapskate
Mostly though, I chose EcoBaja because they were the cheapest. Other tours ranged from $150pp and up, which may be worth it to you if they include hotel transfers, a tour guide or fancier food. But EcoBaja provides an all-day trip for approx. $100 pp (actually 1980 pesos pp). This 7am-5pm day trip is in a comfortable 7-passenger van and includes a hearty snack, a sit-down lunch and a two-hour panga ride to the whales.  The worst part? 7-1/2 hours travel-time. The best part? You can leave the driving to someone else. That’s a pretty good deal… the best one I’d found anyway.

Pickup Confusion
Our tour was well worth it, despite a couple hiccups. The first involved a pickup mix-up. I bought our tickets at the La Paz bus station 3 days prior. This is the same place we’d purchased tickets and departed from for our airport shuttle. Of course I assumed we’d depart from where I bought the tickets, like last time. Not so. After several misunderstood conversations in Spanish, where the agent kept pointing outside and stating to go to the other office around the corner (why are you telling me to go outside?), the guy politely and physically walked us out to the street… and to literally, the “other office around the corner”. Oh. THAT other office.

No Ride Back
The woman in the other (main) office told us we could have gotten picked up at the hotel instead of taking an early taxi. Really? Bummer. In recompense, she said the driver would take us back to Costa Baja at the end. Sweet! But upon returning to the office, our sullen driver rejected our request to continue on to the marina. He was done. And we were too tired to argue. Lesson learned - don’t count on pick up or drop off from your hotel with this company. I never expected it anyway, since the website mentions nothing about such service. Not a big deal…we just had a coffee at our favorite coffee shop, Doce Cuarenta, and waited for the next marina shuttle.

Punctuality Counts
EcoBaja drivers are punctual …and as punctual people, we appreciate this… especially in Mexico where promptness is, well, unpredictable. Be sure to arrive around 6:45am, well before your 7am departure. The agent will check you in, handing out snacks and tickets for the panga ride & lunch.

Be prepared for a long bumpy ride. Twice.
This is no one’s fault; it is what it is. Thousands of “topes”/speed bumps and heat-cracked, buckling pavement makes a 4-hr ride in an already bouncy van truly annoying. Yes, I said 4 hours. One way. The road out of La Paz is still under major construction and I lost count at how many times we were diverted onto rutty, sand-filled detour routes that passed alongside slowly evolving bridges and culverts. The ride back was a bit shorter as we didn’t stop for a break. But 7-8 hours on the road plus a 2 hour boat ride and an hour lunch makes for a looong day. It was definitely nice to have someone else do the driving.

A Moving Roadblock
I happened to be gazing out the van’s front window when I noticed a white line across the road. A desert mirage? As we got closer it began to look like a large, white roadblock and I was a tad concerned at our rate of speed. Then, I realized it was slowly moving. What the…? A giant mass exodus of white goats crossed the road in front of us, I’m guessing a hundred. Inexplicably, they traveled in perfect single file, meticulously herded by a man on horseback. The occasional cow, horse or goat in the road is common in Baja, but a whole herd of goats? That’s something you just don’t see every day!

A Baño to Remember
Our rest-stop was a solitary, crumbling, roadside eatery in the middle of the desert where you could purchase fresh empanadas and coffee (not included). We declined to try the food; we did partake of the baño simply because we never pass up the chance. Yeah. We should have passed.

Now, bathrooms in Mexico are often sketchy, but this one was blog-worthy-sketchy. Essentially, these were four glorified pit toilets housed in a near-open-air, disintegrating, cinderblock “structure” that’s barely survived one too many hurricanes. I was almost impressed at the use of real porcelain commodes, had they not been 40 years old, lacking tank lids and missing seats. The lack of toilet paper was a given. Flush handles? Forget it. What to do?

A tetanus-ridden, rusty coffee can sat in each stall; 3 giant, mosquito-infested stagnant open water bins sat outside. I watched two people rinse their hands in these toxic tubs. Then I finally figured out what the coffee can was for - I watched our bus-mate dip & pour, tub to toilet. Ah, we Midwesterners are no strangers to this manual flush technique during power outages. Except, sadly, the power is always out here. The sewage went down into pipes going…somewhere off into the desolate desert. What I mean is, I really doubt there was a septic field, at least not one with a proper holding tank. Advice: just don’t touch anything. Hover required. Bring hand sanitizer. Better yet, hold it.

Lunch is NOT Comida.
Before your bus departs, the EcoBaja agent gives you a bag marked “lunch”. I was confused initially because I was thinking, “Is this all we’re going to get for lunch? I swear the website said there was a sit-down meal…” Don’t confuse “lunch” with “comida”.

Turns out, “lunch” is actually lunch type food, eaten during what Americans would consider breakfast time, before 11am. The 3 mystery meat-filled, rolled tacos were hot upon receipt at 7am and quite tasty 2 hours later while travelling on the bus. A bottle of water and a can of soda are included.

You still get second-lunch (comida) after the whales around 1pm. Comida is more like an American dinner food-wise, but time-wise, is at a very late American lunchtime. (Usually between 2-4pm). In Mexico, Comida is the main meal; dinner is optional or light. For comida, we went to a restaurant in the village and had typical breaded & fried fish, rice, beans and a coke. Beer, lobster or shrimp was extra. Good food. Apathetic service.

Our Mexican bus-mate warned us emphatically not to eat the salad (she was a pathologist in the jungle state of Chiapas and has probably seen some really bad stuff.) I was glad for the reminder. While most well-established restaurants in Cabo and La Paz are concerned about return customers, in these remote villages, washing veges with purified water is not always standard.

To Dramamine or Not to Dramamine: That is the Question.
A half hour before our boat ride we both took a Dramamine. I didn’t know how fast the boat would travel and whether there would be lots of wave action. I’d googled whale-watcher YouTube videos, many of which showed small pangas in really yucky conditions. In the end, it wasn’t necessary in the calm lagoon. But it worked out. I slept the entire way back. Bonus.

Puerto Lopez Mateo
I get the sense that without gray whale tourism, Puerto Lopez Mateo would surely collapse. This is a dusty, desolate and desperate town as fleetingly viewed via van. But to my surprise, we arrive at modern waterfront plaza. This small but tidy embarcadero is startlingly new! The panga pier is bounded by a pleasant food court, a reasonable number of knick-knack vendors and, thankfully, clean and plentiful restrooms (be sure to bring 5-pesos). You have time to use the baño and quickly peruse the knick-knacks while the driver makes your panga arrangement, about 10 minutes.

Panga Ride
Gray whales at Lopez Mateo are unique in that they seem to enjoy human interaction. This is good for us watchers; sometimes not so good for the whales. Continuous close contact with pangas anesthetizes them to other commercial and pleasure boats (and our external propellers) along their long migration route.

To limit panga bombardment, the Mexican government introduced driver requirements regarding how many boats can approach an animal (4), and how long they can remain around a pair (30 min). Our captain cautiously approached each whale and floated at idle nearby, letting the whale decide if it felt up to visiting. Drivers attempt to angle in from behind so as not to get in their path. They also try not to get in between a baby and its mum. Groups of orcas, the gray whales’ only predator, will separate mom from baby as a killing technique – we don’t need mom thinking we are a threat to her child.

No Tour Guide
Do not expect a guide on this bare-bones tour. The shuttle driver is just the driver. He gets you to the port, arranges for the panga ride, takes you to the restaurant and drives back home without a word. The panga captain is equally mum. This is not meant as criticism, but it is our experience. And the language barrier had nothing to do with it; both bus and panga drivers were equally non-chatty with our Mexican bus/panga-mates. So if you prefer an animated tour operator bursting with whale facts & brimming with town history, this tour is not ideal. If you just want to see the whales and not have to interact with a guide all day, this tour is for you.

Sand Dunes Not Included
The EcoBaja whale tour video on their website shows gorgeous people frolicking on the sand dunes. You do NOT get to go play on the sand dunes. Some tour companies may land their boat on the island as part of the tour, but not this one.

Recommend? Yes.
All in all, it worked out well and I would recommend EcoBaja Tours for a cheap day-trip alternative. If you are more comfortable with agents and drivers and passengers who speak English, this isn’t the right tour for you. I would rate this as a definite must-do for cruisers or tourists in the Baja area during January to early March.

Why Didn’t We Just Sail There?
Yeah…no. Technically we could…but that would entail sailing 3 days down to Cabo plus an overnighter back up the Pacific coast (not counting the return trip).  That’s if the weather cooperates for an entire week. But it’s winter. Weather is typically not so nice and the prevailing wind and waves are against us. Pass. I’ll take the one-day bus trip, thank you.

Plus, as a rule, we prefer to stay away from whales on our own boat. Whales are bigger than us. By a lot. Whales are heavy. Whales are unpredictable. Indigo is our house after all. So I am more than happy to use someone else’s boat as bait. :)

Every year, Eastern Pacific Gray Whales complete one of the longest migrations of any mammal. Beginning in Alaskan waters, these whales journey an incredible 5,000 - 7,000 miles, skimming along the North American coast, eventually returning to the same site year after year to mate or give birth. Where do they go? Mexico!

Gray whales in search of calm, shallow, nutrient-rich and predator-free waters typically visit one of three lagoon complexes along the Baja Peninsula’s Pacific side. A gray whales’ only predator, the orca, will not venture into the shallows. Here in this safe zone, mama “cows” birth and raise their “calves”, teaching them to swim, breathe and dive. And where whales assemble, whale watchers swarm. Who doesn’t want to see a baby whale?

Lopez Mateo
The smallest and least visited of these lagoons is Puerto Adolfo Lopez Mateo at the far north end of Magdalena Bay. Here, a mere 10 minute panga ride (22ft fishing boat) is all it takes to get you up close and personal with these amazing creatures. Prime viewing months are January–March when nearly 1000 visitors per weekend deluge Puerto Mateo’s 2000 residents. The dusty, isolated fishing village contrasts severely with their unexpectedly modern embarcadero. Obviously, the friendly whales have become a mainstay of this town’s livelihood. 

Desert-Lagoon
Our tour along Lopez Mateo’s vast desert-lagoon complex reminds me of the low, barrier islands of Florida or North Carolina. Except here, it appears virtually uninhabited, with no structures visible for miles. The inland side of this skinny waterway is lined in gnarled mangroves and marshes. The Pacific side comprises a narrow barrier island undulating in smooth, creamy sand dunes. Shifting sand bars abound. Sea lions pop their heads above water to have a look at us newcomers. A bevy of birds conduct a crucial congressional summit beachside.

Whale!
After a brief, windy ride skimming the shallow banks at top speed, we began to see an occasional “log” floating in the distance. Our driver slows to a crawl, turning towards center channel. Minus the engine roar, the lagoon settles back into its divinely serene state. No wonder the whales love it here. Aside from water lapping gently against our hull, the only other sound is the soft chittering of tourists in nearby pangas (just 2-3 others). We all sit waiting in hushed anticipation, watching for the telltale blast of hot air.  

“Wooosh.”  The entire boatload hears its sudden breath, gasps in unison and turns to see a 40ft mama gray whale and its 15ft baby just off our bow. We collectively “oooh” and “ahhhh” and “wow”, grinning from ear-to-ear, furiously filming and photo’ing. I resist the urge to start clapping. My composed, middle-aged self wants to shout: “Bravo! Encore!” My giggly 3-yr-old self is jumping up and down singing: “Do it again! Do it again!” In reality, I smile for two hours and keep whispering “Oh, my gosh!” over and over.

It never got old.

Where Humans and Whales Connect
Why visit the Pacific Baja lagoons to whale-watch? Nowhere else on earth is there such a concentration of gray whales. And this particular species seems, incredibly, to crave human interaction. Once our panga arrived in their territory, the whales came to us. Mama, with baby close alongside, swims within an arm’s length of our unmoving boat… diving underneath us, circling around to the other side, trolling, inspecting, blowing bubbles. Baby whales seem even more curious about us visitors. We witnessed them lolling on their backs, performing barrel rolls and gently flicking their tails at us, almost like they were waving.

Countless times, we were greeted by a maneuver called “spyhopping” – suddenly the whales’ giant head raises out of the water, eyeballing the crazy camera-clicking occupants from only a few feet away before sinking down just as fast. “Well…hello there!”

Heeeere whaley, whaley, whaley…come here! That’s a good girl!
Mother whales frequenting Baja lagoons are renowned for showing off their youngsters. It is common for mamas to nudge their baby close to a tour boat, even allowing it to rest on top of her while essentially “presenting” the calf for petting and kissing, to the delight of cooing and squealing passengers. So, as is the tourist custom, we leaned over the boat gunnel, splashing and waving our hands underwater, hoping to spark their curiosity… like entreating a dog to come over and play. Only one guy in our boat was able to fleetingly pat a baby (it’s in the video); Brian was next to him and got within inches. They did not seem to be in a petting mood today.

Hangin’ with Whales
We watched them in awe for two hours, just “hanging out” with whales… sometimes a pair, sometimes several. These guys were very low-key. We’d catch glimpses of a big mama and her smaller baby floating like adjacent logs on the surface as they took a breath or two. But they didn’t remain exposed for long, humping their backs and sinking fast. Their blows were gentile, not the 15ft high water spout you’d expect. Only once did I see a real fluke flick. No breaching. (That’s cool from afar, not cool from 10 ft.)

It seemed 90% of their bodies were always hidden below the murky water. So the couple times one swam underneath us at just the right angle and depth, bright sunlight revealed a stunningly massive body. More like a submarine. Glad I’m on someone else’s boat!

All in the Family
These remarkable giants acted like we were supposed to be there, enjoying each other’s company. Indeed, socializing with humans is their new-normal. It seems we are no longer unwelcome intruders into their world. At best, human tourists have become a part of the family. Hopefully at worst, distant 4th cousins who show up unannounced for lunch. But these creatures kindly greet and welcome us into their home with aplomb anyway. “Take lots of pictures, kiss the baby, wave bye-bye to the crazy people!” Why isn’t there a Pixar film yet?

Which leads me to ponder: What are they thinking, exactly? Do they intrinsically know we appreciate their presence? Are they showing off their children to us like a proud, smiling new parent? Or are they presenting us to their babies, “Look at these strange two-legged beings. Go ahead dear, get a good look. Aren’t they funny looking?” They seem to enjoy playing with the boats - maybe we are their TV entertainment, whiling away lazy-days in the lagoon before an arduous northern migration. Or maybe, as with all mammals, a loving pat on the head just feels nice.

From “Devil Fish” to “Snuggle Fish”
In the prior century, gray whales were notorious for their fierce defense upon attack by whalers, earning the nickname “Devil Fish”. Protected since the 1940’s, grays are no longer endangered, now boasting a thriving population over 20,000 strong.  We watched a documentary that suggested gray whales DO remember failed attacks – hence the premise for Moby Dick (though a sperm whale). Might a few of these elder whales actually have been alive when protection wasn’t quite guaranteed? Possibly. But it appears they and the current generation have forgiven us humans for the whaling era. An approaching small boat no longer signifies a fight to the death. Now, small boats are met with curiosity, playfulness, even affection. Hmmm. Maybe we should change that moniker to “Snuggle Fish”?

Cool Grey Whale Facts: 
(Well, “facts” from random internet sources… none of which seem to agree on numbers and may or may not be “actual facts”… but probably close enough to reality. Is that enough of a disclaimer?)

• Every year, gray whales migrate from Alaska’s Bering Sea to the coastal lagoons of the Baja Peninsula and back, traveling 9,000-14,000 miles round trip, the longest mammal migration.
• Gray whales swim an average of 5mph. (About the same as Indigo!)
• Adults can reach up to 47-50 ft length and weigh up to 36-40 tons (as much as 5 adult elephants). Indigo is 34ft long and weighs @ 6-1/2 tons. Guess who would win?
• Gray whales do not have a dorsal fin, just 6-12 small bumps on their back.
• Baby whales are about 15 ft when born, weighing about 1000 pounds!
• Gray whales can live to 50 - 70 years old.
• One whale feeds on approx. 2200 pounds of crustaceans through its baleen – PER DAY! Talk a about a pricy grocery bill.

Grays begin arriving in December. Prime viewing months are Jan-March. I’ve heard the best month is February because they start leaving in April on their treacherous journey back to Alaska. Minor populations of Grays do venture up into the Sea of Cortez, but the Pacific lagoons are your best statistical bet for a close encounter.  ​

Links:
Aquarium of the Pacific
National Geographic
American Cetatean Society

I just finished a new “Pics” link on www.cruisingindigo.com…one gigantic scrolly-page full of my favorite Baja Mexico photos.

I have taken, literally, thousands and thousands of pictures in the last 3 years. Many of these I’ve included in my blogs. Now, rather than wading through countless blog posts, you can witness the desert grandeur of Baja all in one convenient browsing location.

This “Best Of” montage is categorized by islands and anchorages grouped in proximity, as well as various cities we have visited. Since I am obsessed with shell and fish photos, I included separate galleries for each, as well as one for just sailing shots.

By no means is this comprehensive of our experience. While these images omit the portrayal of the necessary work it took to get here and maintenance work while we are here, they instead showcase the reward for doing so. Maybe you’ll understand just why we haven’t left yet! Maybe… it’ll make you want to fly or sail down here and see for yourself! 
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Here are a few examples...

Two years ago after our arrival in La Paz, Marina Costa Baja sponsored a free, open-air concert to ring in the New Year. The chosen band… Mala Rumba. This foursome comprised a fast-as-Flash bongo drummer, two beguiling guitarists and featured a suave jazz flautist. Reminiscent of the “Gipsy Kings”, their melded medleys of rumba-rock captivated the audience.

I had hoped to take them home with me, forever trapping their tantalizing tunes into our onboard database. But wait…what’s this??? No CD? Flibbertigibbet. No CD, no website, not even a Facebook page. Apparently, practice was merely a hobby; performing this one big concert a year, enough. Phooey.

Two years later…
On the docket once again at Costa Baja for a repeat performance, we keenly anticipated the December concert date. Once again, Mala Rumba rocked.

Bad Rumba
In Spanish, Mala Rumba means Bad Rumba. Their spokesman conveyed the naming rationale, considering themselves the bad boys of flamenco rumba. But in this case, bad denotes improper. Dismissed by traditional Spanish flamenco musicians as “too far outside the box”, Mala Rumba roguishly ties in rhythms from Asia, riffs from India and haunting renditions from the Middle East. To further their rogue-state status, a Cuban-rumba bongo beat breathes new life into classic American rock songs like “Billie Jean” and “Stairway to Heaven”. These bad boys are all over the map, literally, but it works.

My Faves: A Flittering Flautist and Guttural Guitarist
The addition of a flautist to guitar-centered rumba is another no-no. As a former rank amateur myself, I appreciated his jazzed-up version of Flight of the Bumblebee as genius. Flitting effortlessly between classical and rock, this bee took supersonic flight.

Another fave… the crusty, guttural voice of one guitarist. Building suspense through the finale song, his raspy, Spanish-R-rolling and forceful, protesting chorus culminated from a low growl to near-roar. You know the old quote from SNL “like butter” (pronounced buttah)? Well, his voice crooned “like crunchy peanut butter” - smooth yet salty, accompanied by a yummy crunch.

Dancing Kids and Drunken Chickens
The bongoist encouraged our audience to clap and dance, so some kids took him up on the invitation. One girl twirled around side stage like a ballerina; another skipped back and forth behind the band. But a young boy became the star of the show with his serious demeanor and robot dancing antics, including the Macarena. At one point, some drunken dude vaulted onstage with the kids, surf-riding, flailing and flapping his arms, possibly attempting (poorly) the Chicken Dance. Amusing the first time; distracting the second. OK buddy, yes, you do a great Cossack dance. Now git!
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Aha… a CD!
Elated to discover Mala Rumba finally produced a CD, we scrambled to purchase one before they ran out. Now I can take them home with me! Check ‘em out on Facebook and their professional music video on YouTube linked above. I wish you could hear that peanut buttery voice, but my iphone video sadly remains on my hard drive - copyrights are no joke nowadays. So I won’t risk it… not even for you my friends!

Merry Christmas from Marina Costa Baja in the beautiful city of La Paz!

Costa Baja Christmas Tree
Each December, a beautiful, two-story Christmas tree is erected in Marina Costa Baja. While it’s often easy to forget it is Christmastime here in flip-flop weather, the tree is a lovely reminder of the season. Constructed of a bundle of steel bars, it takes two days for one guy to weld these fragments into a giant, hollow, tee-pee skeleton. That’s right, I said weld. Over the next few days the structure is then meticulously spiral-encircled with probably a mile of fake green garland; white Christmas light pin-striping flows down from the gilded star to potted poinsettias surrounding the base. This Jolly Green Giant is then adorned with red and golden ornaments: cantaloupe-sized, sparkly orbs and smaller teardrops that I like to think resemble (artistically) chili peppers…a Red Hot Chili Pepper Christmas.

After the New Year, someone will take a cutting torch to the skeleton, rendering our mighty tree to a bundle of bars (and a gaggle of garland) once again. When we witnessed this process in 2014, my first thought was…why wouldn’t you buy a made-to-assemble, tinker-toy-type tree? You know…the IKEAesque  ”no tools required” kind. Well, they’re not cheap…but this permits us a slight insight into how things are done here in Mexico. My guess is they probably already had the steel bars left over from some other building project. Joe the dockworker over here is a decent welder; let’s just have him do it. Labor is cheap – so the cost of labor for 4 days is waaaay cheaper than buying a commercial grade, erector-set tree, even if they have to pay a guy to weld it up and cut it down every year for the next 20 years. Food for thought. In the US, time is money; in Mexico, time is trivial, efficiency is underrated because labor is cheap… and dinero is still dinero.

Christmas Market
Just up the dock from our boat, Marina Costa Baja sponsored an evening Christmas Market. About 30 merchants lined the sidewalk selling their wares atop decorated tables: dried spices, La Paz t-shirts, shell-art, handmade shoes, woven handbags, jewelry, pottery and more. I was more in it for the food (can’t fill a small boat with knickknacks). We soon discovered a chocolatier named Fan Fan and sampled their amazing chocolate brownies. Gotta have dessert first! The “Sausage Lady” was there too, a German transplant (I believe) whose handmade sausages are well-known throughout the La Paz cruising community; her spicy links and fresh baguette buns made a delish dinner. Costa Baja offered free Mexican hot chocolate and galletas (a hard sugar cookie) for all the attending marina, hotel and condo patrons. Finally, I could not resist taking home two enormous corn muffins filled with cajeta (sugary, caramely, creamy goodness) for breakfast. Delectable delights abound in La Paz…part of the reason we like this city!

Fav Christmas Movies
Every December it is our tradition to watch the following movies: It's a Wonderful Life, White Christmas and Elf. Sometimes Miracle on 34th Street. And usually, Die Hard, but not lately. Yes, it's a Christmas movie (according to my husband), remember? For the last two years when Christmas rolls around, we keep thinking we have the DVD... then remember we don't. We had the VHS tape (shows our age) but threw it away when we moved on the boat, no longer owning a VHS player. Today we did it again (this is becoming a running joke now), assuming we had it only to discover the opposite. Brian is shocked and dismayed - not having Die Hard on board is blastphemous! "Cause it's one of the best Christmas movies of all time!" says he.

Polar Vortex
Here in Baja Mexico we play in the sand instead of snow this time of year, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have Christmas trees and blow-up Santas just like home. So here are a few Christmas decoration pics to prove it…and I’ve added in some infinity pool shots just to make you guys in the north jealous. By the way, it’s about 75 today. We were freezing last week during our first polar vortex… it got down to about 60 at night. We all had to put on JEANS. Some of us wore SOCKS. Oh, the horror! 

After a night spent crossing the sea, our destination, Punta Pulpito, was sublime. Two nights. Middle of nowhere. No other boats. Flat water. Blue skies. Upon our early arrival, we spent the day snorkeling and napping (since we don’t get much sleep on an all-nighter). Waking the following morning, it was so calm I thought we were still in our San Carlos slip. Love that feeling!

Sea Fireflies
Miles from civilization and light pollution, we were enjoying the velvety black sky, glittery stars and a bug-free evening at Punta Pulpito when we looked down and saw something unusual surrounding the boat. Dozens of small, circular clouds of green phosphorescence appeared and then disappeared. At first glance, we thought they were mobius rays floating and diving causing plankton to be disturbed and illuminate. But studying the phenomenon further, we noted a glowing pea-sized ball floating to the surface. Immediately upon surfacing, it began erratically circling and zigzagging in on its track, all the while emitting a pea-sized trail of phosphorescence. Like it was peeing phosphorescent goo. Its busy-work ultimately created a 6”-12” glowing green circle that hovered for a few seconds, dissipating with the luminous ball falling back into the depths. Bizarre. And stunning.

Shrimps and cephalopods (like squid) emit glowing clouds, but I’ve since googled this phenomenon and due to their size and shape, the closest I can come up with is that it was a species of ostracod. Dubbed “sea firefly” or “marine fire flea”, I can only describe it as an organism within a translucent “shell”, like a firefly trapped in a bubble. I happen to prefer “firefly” as opposed to “flea” since imagining those things tangled in my hair snorkeling is not something I wish to dwell on. These bioluminescent fireflies arise from the sea floor at night and emit their phosphorescent mucus to a) attract a mate, or b) deter predators (shock and awe). Hey it worked for us! We were most-definitely shocked and awed. We’ve not seen such a display before or since. It seems every anchorage holds something new and wondrous.

Landing Challenged
It is a challenge to get onto land here; there seems to be no natural landing due to massive rocks lining the shore. Scraping an inflatable kayak along barnacle strewn boulders wasn’t an option. So we had to find flatish rocks on which to stand in about a foot of water, lift the kayak by its handholds and tandem-boulder-hop to shore, slipping on algae-slime while trying to avoid sliding into crevices where twisted ankles and chomping eels lurk.

After a minute, we set the ‘yak down on a flat rock while I took the paddles higher up on shore and out of our way. I turned around to head back the few feet to continue carrying. I had my hat on, my head down looking for footing… and promptly ran right into the ‘yak with my head. What the??!! 

Brian did not think to tell me he had picked up the kayak all by himself and was carrying it overhead. The brim of my hat hid his actions from my view; the dipped kayak hid my path from his view. And thus, like star-crossed lovers, or colliding asteroids, we met…Wham! I rammed its bow with my face. Pause…picture that…

OK, now for the consequence of our miscommunication... Upon my unwitting head-butt, Brian lost his footing and he and the ‘yak toppled backward into the rock-strewn water… where he miraculously regained balance on a fortuitously located boulder, juuuust barely saving himself from breaking an ankle and the kayak from damage. Quite the Laurel & Hardy scene. Whew. Let’s just say we are probably never going to shore here again.

Why DID we go to shore? Three reasons.

1. Because it’s there. Because we didn’t the last time we were here. Because I hadn’t been off the boat in 48 hours. OK, that’s technically 3 reasons right there.
2. An enormous vein of obsidian rock can be found along the point; it’s visible for several miles out to sea. So this is a great spot for finding small bits of obsidian (so-called “Apache tears” according to the guidebook) which litter the dirt track “road” out to this point. Larger, peach-pit-sized shards of the black and shiny glass rock are also easily found. I could have stayed there for hours rock-hunting.
3. I’ve stated before that Punta Pulpito means Pulpit Point because it looks like a preacher’s pulpit jutting out from its connecting low-lying land spit. I wanted to hike up to the top of that pulpit. It’s only 475ft high. What’s the problem?

The Pulpito Death March.
Why do you want to go up THERE?  It’s not like you ever want to climb Kilimanjaro or anything?
He’s right, I’m not one to climb actual mountains. But just because this looks like a mountain, you can’t equate this teeny hike with Kilimanjaro. I mean, come on. But I do like a hike with a purpose, and the view from the top of that thing looks awesome. SO we’re going.

You’ve just heard the saga about getting to shore - so we’ve already started out on a low note. And it gets worse from there…we go the wrong way. I should know by now to start from the lowest lying base of the hill and hike the ridge all the way up. Instead, I start from the middle. The valley leading up to the ridge doesn’t look all that steep. Except when we finally get to the point where we need to scale the hillside, it’s near impossible to climb. Actually… not near-impossible. Just. Impossible.

The rocky hillside is one big potential landslide. Akin to hiking a sand dune, one step up equaled only a quarter-step gained. Scattered shale and sharp broken bits of rock slid down at each step up, enveloping our feet in a half foot of debris. Outcroppings that appeared as safe footholds instantly gave way under our weight. Our Keen hiking sandals were no match for the constant rock shards that tumbled into our shoes, ground under our soles and wedged between our toes. Ouch! Scrambling up at a faster rate only made things worse.

But the ridge is only just right there! We try to crawl up another shorter-looking slope to no avail. The gravel invading our sandals is shredding our feet; we remove our shoes and dump a pound of pebbles every few minutes. On top of the rock slides, we are over-heating in the severe sun. We are both panting and wavering in the heat. Brian has already guzzled down his water and mine is mostly gone. We decide to call it quits only half-way up…and begin the slide down.

Someday …I’ll get up there…when Brian’s memory fades about my head-butting-kayak incident and this hike from hell. I did get a couple good pictures from half-way up though!​