Thursday, March 4, 2010
Knee deep in the Pliocene
Wow, where to start? Peter just departed in the back of a pick-up truck bound for the Loreto airport. We are docked at Puerto Escondido, the best hurricane hole in the Sea of Cortez. Thankfully, it's not fixing to blow a hurricane. There is a gringo yacht club here called "Hidden Port Yacht Club." Apparently, we can join and then flash our cards at places like the 'Real Club Nautico de Barcelona' or the 'Yacht Club de Monaco' and get reciprocal privileges. Might be worth considering.
We had a fantastic week with Peter aboard. Having Pete along made light work for us. He toted all the barges and lifted all the bales. Unloaded the boat and loaded it up again. Washed dishes. Pulled the boat out at night and swam out first thing in the morning to pull the boat back in. Rowed when we needed rowing. Sailed when we needed sailing. And taught us a lot about sail trim and balancing the load. We will miss him, not just because he was a hard worker but for all the talk and companionship. I told him yesterday he seemed to get younger every day with us. He got more and more like a kid as he got farther and farther from work and the demands of life back home. He'll be back down here March 20th with his son Ben and one or two of Ben's friends.
Tim picked up Peter at the Loreto airport a week ago. Tim ran the last errands, filling the propane tank and the water jugs, buying fresh food and cold beer. Then a friend we made, Norm, drove our shuttle for us, dropping Peter and Tim off at San Bruno, where Tim and I had been sitting out a big blow from the north. We organized food and gear and set off from San Bruno the next morning bound for Isla Coronados, about 9 miles away. It had been blowing for days out of the north, perfect for cruising down to Coronados, but by the time we left San Bruno it started blowing from the south. So we beat upwind all day to Coronados. We found a magnificent camp reminiscent of the Caribbean on the southwest side of the island--an idyllic little cove with a white sand beach and aquamarine water. The cove faced south, making it iffy for a blow from the south, and sure enough the wind picked up in the middle of the night and Peter and Tim had to move the boat to a more protected part of the cove. Fortunately, they had a full moon to work by as it would have been hard to row around the rocks and set the anchor again using headlamps. From the warmth of my sleeping bag, I could see their two full moons moving around the boat. I was praying I didn't have to get out and help.
The next day, we set out for Isla Carmen, about 13 miles away, including crossing a wide channel between the islands. We first had to clear a long sand spit on the SW side of Coronados. As the wind was pretty slack, Peter rowed. The water shoaled as we approached the tip of the sand spit. In the distance I could see, through the binoculars, a stripe of rough water from the spit all the way to the channel over to the west. As we got closer, we realized it was a tide rip. As we approached, the current picked up, pulling us toward the rip. As we got into the rip, all of a sudden the current was against us and we started surfing like crazy to the west. Where the two tidal currents, one from each side of Coronados, came together, they collided and water was forced to go sideways. It was surreal, seeing rocks in the sandy bottom flash by. We cranked up the motor and pushed through to the other side of the rip. We motored along for a while along the south shore of Coronados, hoping for wind to help us across the channel between the islands. Slowly, the wind picked up and we started across. By the time we got to Isla Carmen, it was really blowing a stiff breeze and we were flying along at 5 knots with waves splashing over the bow. We could really see how kayaks get in trouble doing that crossing. You start out in calm conditions and the wind blows up and builds big waves and it's a toss-up whether it's better to go forward or back.
We sailed along the north shore of Carmen, at this point a lee shore with the wind out of the north, looking for a campsite that I had read about in the kayak guide. We couldn't believe we were going to find anyplace where we could land and unload. The whole coast was nothing but cliffs and crashing surf. We keyed into what looked like the spot, based on the satellite imagery in the kayak guide and the GPS locations. And finally a narrow little slot opened up with a white beach at the back. The entry looked dicey, and Peter later told us he was highly dubious about going in there, but Tim and I were all for doing it. After all, there weren't many options, and we had made some difficult approaches before. We got in there fine on the jib and mizzen and finally oars. Dropped the hook and rowed to shore. There was quite a surge on the beach, causing the boat to rise and fall rather dramatically. We worried about getting dropped on a rock but it never happened. The beach was phenomenal, a strip of white sand backed by a huge dune in the middle of a small canyon. The waves rolled up the beach and made loud reports as they came up under ledges lining the cove. Peter swam out early the next day to get the boat back in and loaded before we missed the rising tide that would help us get around our next point, Punta Lobos. The exit from our protected cove was hair-raising. The long narrow shape of the cove causes the incoming swell to reflect off the walls, creating a confused sea. We bounced and yawed our way out, under power, until the waves got more or less predictable, and then set sail for the point.
More later. I need to set up some electronics for recharging while Tim hikes up the road to the Modelorama store for fruit and vegetables. OK, now I am sitting in the yacht club with electronics plugged into all the available outlets. We are having issues with our camera. No photos for the last week. I finally figured out how I can download photos to my laptop without using the camera itself, which is big. I still can't figure out why the camera batteries won't charge. We may have a large gap in our photo coverage while we wait for Peter to bring a camera down to us on March 20. Next, a couple photos from along the way.
We have had some incredible camps on this trip. The top so far was Arroyo Blanco on Isla Carmen. Another slot in a cliff that only revealed itself at the last second as we approached. The walls of the slot were white. They are Pliocene marine beds deposited in an extensional basin about 3 million years ago, very like El Refugio on the north end of Carmen. We hiked along white ledges with waves lapping below in later afternoon light, marveling at the fossil scallop shells that made up a significant fraction of the rock. It was like wading in knee-deep water in Pliocene time. I remembered a calculation from Markes Johnson's book in which he figured that in there must have been a billion oysters in a deposit on another island. I figure that we were marching across a billion scallops. We could have made a fortune on Pliocene scallops!
We had a fantastic week with Peter aboard. Having Pete along made light work for us. He toted all the barges and lifted all the bales. Unloaded the boat and loaded it up again. Washed dishes. Pulled the boat out at night and swam out first thing in the morning to pull the boat back in. Rowed when we needed rowing. Sailed when we needed sailing. And taught us a lot about sail trim and balancing the load. We will miss him, not just because he was a hard worker but for all the talk and companionship. I told him yesterday he seemed to get younger every day with us. He got more and more like a kid as he got farther and farther from work and the demands of life back home. He'll be back down here March 20th with his son Ben and one or two of Ben's friends.
Tim picked up Peter at the Loreto airport a week ago. Tim ran the last errands, filling the propane tank and the water jugs, buying fresh food and cold beer. Then a friend we made, Norm, drove our shuttle for us, dropping Peter and Tim off at San Bruno, where Tim and I had been sitting out a big blow from the north. We organized food and gear and set off from San Bruno the next morning bound for Isla Coronados, about 9 miles away. It had been blowing for days out of the north, perfect for cruising down to Coronados, but by the time we left San Bruno it started blowing from the south. So we beat upwind all day to Coronados. We found a magnificent camp reminiscent of the Caribbean on the southwest side of the island--an idyllic little cove with a white sand beach and aquamarine water. The cove faced south, making it iffy for a blow from the south, and sure enough the wind picked up in the middle of the night and Peter and Tim had to move the boat to a more protected part of the cove. Fortunately, they had a full moon to work by as it would have been hard to row around the rocks and set the anchor again using headlamps. From the warmth of my sleeping bag, I could see their two full moons moving around the boat. I was praying I didn't have to get out and help.
The next day, we set out for Isla Carmen, about 13 miles away, including crossing a wide channel between the islands. We first had to clear a long sand spit on the SW side of Coronados. As the wind was pretty slack, Peter rowed. The water shoaled as we approached the tip of the sand spit. In the distance I could see, through the binoculars, a stripe of rough water from the spit all the way to the channel over to the west. As we got closer, we realized it was a tide rip. As we approached, the current picked up, pulling us toward the rip. As we got into the rip, all of a sudden the current was against us and we started surfing like crazy to the west. Where the two tidal currents, one from each side of Coronados, came together, they collided and water was forced to go sideways. It was surreal, seeing rocks in the sandy bottom flash by. We cranked up the motor and pushed through to the other side of the rip. We motored along for a while along the south shore of Coronados, hoping for wind to help us across the channel between the islands. Slowly, the wind picked up and we started across. By the time we got to Isla Carmen, it was really blowing a stiff breeze and we were flying along at 5 knots with waves splashing over the bow. We could really see how kayaks get in trouble doing that crossing. You start out in calm conditions and the wind blows up and builds big waves and it's a toss-up whether it's better to go forward or back.
We sailed along the north shore of Carmen, at this point a lee shore with the wind out of the north, looking for a campsite that I had read about in the kayak guide. We couldn't believe we were going to find anyplace where we could land and unload. The whole coast was nothing but cliffs and crashing surf. We keyed into what looked like the spot, based on the satellite imagery in the kayak guide and the GPS locations. And finally a narrow little slot opened up with a white beach at the back. The entry looked dicey, and Peter later told us he was highly dubious about going in there, but Tim and I were all for doing it. After all, there weren't many options, and we had made some difficult approaches before. We got in there fine on the jib and mizzen and finally oars. Dropped the hook and rowed to shore. There was quite a surge on the beach, causing the boat to rise and fall rather dramatically. We worried about getting dropped on a rock but it never happened. The beach was phenomenal, a strip of white sand backed by a huge dune in the middle of a small canyon. The waves rolled up the beach and made loud reports as they came up under ledges lining the cove. Peter swam out early the next day to get the boat back in and loaded before we missed the rising tide that would help us get around our next point, Punta Lobos. The exit from our protected cove was hair-raising. The long narrow shape of the cove causes the incoming swell to reflect off the walls, creating a confused sea. We bounced and yawed our way out, under power, until the waves got more or less predictable, and then set sail for the point.
More later. I need to set up some electronics for recharging while Tim hikes up the road to the Modelorama store for fruit and vegetables. OK, now I am sitting in the yacht club with electronics plugged into all the available outlets. We are having issues with our camera. No photos for the last week. I finally figured out how I can download photos to my laptop without using the camera itself, which is big. I still can't figure out why the camera batteries won't charge. We may have a large gap in our photo coverage while we wait for Peter to bring a camera down to us on March 20. Next, a couple photos from along the way.
We have had some incredible camps on this trip. The top so far was Arroyo Blanco on Isla Carmen. Another slot in a cliff that only revealed itself at the last second as we approached. The walls of the slot were white. They are Pliocene marine beds deposited in an extensional basin about 3 million years ago, very like El Refugio on the north end of Carmen. We hiked along white ledges with waves lapping below in later afternoon light, marveling at the fossil scallop shells that made up a significant fraction of the rock. It was like wading in knee-deep water in Pliocene time. I remembered a calculation from Markes Johnson's book in which he figured that in there must have been a billion oysters in a deposit on another island. I figure that we were marching across a billion scallops. We could have made a fortune on Pliocene scallops!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
You're makin' me dizzy
We're in a whirl of getting ready for another leg. Peter arrives tomorrow. I have the permits to camp on the islands in the Loreto Marine Park. Our clothes are clean. The wind has backed off. And I'll do the shopping in a little while. We realized a few days back, when the VHF radio's battery needed a charge, that I had forgotten the charger. Oops. That's kinda key. It's our only means of making a mayday call, should such a need arise. We turned the car and boat inside out looking for it. It turned up at home. Think of that. I had about 1000 details to organize and I managed to forget the one thing that was going to save us from being marooned on a desert island. Our housesitter, Lee (bless his heart), is taking the train to Albuquerque today to bring the charger to Peter, who will bring it down here. Gotta love it.
Last night I got us take-out from "Gran Pollo." Translated that's "Big Chicken." They have all these barbecued chicken places down here. You get chicken, corn tortillas, french fries, salsa, and salad for incredibly cheap. And it's awesome, even cold, as we ate it last night after I drove all the way back to San Bruno. I got us the makings for spicy drinks too. I got back to our beach in the dark and there was Tim sitting next to a nice little Indian fire. When I was at Gran Pollo waiting for my order, I heard the rooster crowing out back. I kid you not. Right at the turn-off to San Bruno (leaving Mexico Highway 1 for a bumpy road down an arroyo), there is a military checkpoint I keep having to pass through, in both directions. They think I am kind of a hoot, a gringa who actually speaks Spanish. That's a novelty. Last night when they stopped me and checked the car (for drugs), I told them they could look in the car as long as they didn't eat our dinner. The car reeked of Gran Pollo. Along the 4-mile stretch of arroyo out to San Bruno, in the dark, I saw two bunnies, one hawk, a fox, two bunches of startled cows, and 5 burros. The other day, when Tim walked out to the highway, he said he freaked out the cows and they took off running, bouncing off the fences that border the road. Only a few more trips on the San Bruno road and we're outta here.
Last night I got us take-out from "Gran Pollo." Translated that's "Big Chicken." They have all these barbecued chicken places down here. You get chicken, corn tortillas, french fries, salsa, and salad for incredibly cheap. And it's awesome, even cold, as we ate it last night after I drove all the way back to San Bruno. I got us the makings for spicy drinks too. I got back to our beach in the dark and there was Tim sitting next to a nice little Indian fire. When I was at Gran Pollo waiting for my order, I heard the rooster crowing out back. I kid you not. Right at the turn-off to San Bruno (leaving Mexico Highway 1 for a bumpy road down an arroyo), there is a military checkpoint I keep having to pass through, in both directions. They think I am kind of a hoot, a gringa who actually speaks Spanish. That's a novelty. Last night when they stopped me and checked the car (for drugs), I told them they could look in the car as long as they didn't eat our dinner. The car reeked of Gran Pollo. Along the 4-mile stretch of arroyo out to San Bruno, in the dark, I saw two bunnies, one hawk, a fox, two bunches of startled cows, and 5 burros. The other day, when Tim walked out to the highway, he said he freaked out the cows and they took off running, bouncing off the fences that border the road. Only a few more trips on the San Bruno road and we're outta here.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Blowin' in the wind
We are sitting out a big blow from the north at San Bruno, north of Loreto. San Bruno is nothing you would dream about. It's sort of a hell hole of a fish camp with the heads of decapitated manta rays laying all over the place and a few pangas pulled up on the beach. But let me tell you we like it just fine because the hillocks on the point (an andesite flow planed off by a Pleistocene wave-cut terrace, to be precise) are affording us from protection from the wind. You can't trust this Baja weather. It can turn in a heartbeat. A day can make all the difference in the world. The day before yesterday, we were sailing down the coast at 2 knots with all the sails up about 100 m off a lee shore, just poking along looking at the rocks, a beautiful cross-section of a rhyolite dome where the viscous lava had smooshed up over some white block and ash flows and then on top of all the light-colored rhyolite layers and layers of black and dark red basalt scoria and thin flows. The conditions were so benign we could have hopped out and swum alongside the boat. We pulled into Bahia el Mangle (meaning 'mangrove') about 3 PM in the afternoon and scoped it out for sitting out the norther that was predicted for that night or the next day. The harbor looked good but besides the abandoned partially constructed hotel and two abandoned houses there was no evidence that anyone goes in or out by the road. We didn't want to get stuck there in a blow and get to Loreto late to pick up Peter, who is coming in on Friday, Feb 26 to sail with us. I was being lazy and didn't want to go any farther. Tim decided we should. So we put the sails back up and poked on down to San Bruno, arriving at about 6 PM, a little before sunset. And it was none too pretty. Tim said sometimes you have to sacrifice aesthetics for protection. A fisherman and his son drove up as we thought about parking there for several days. They had a teeny little aluminum skiff they were about to launch in order to fish all night. We asked them what they knew about the weather. Predictably, they didn't know anything. We asked them if they had heard if it was going to blow. The fisherman looked out at the water and said, "It's calm." These guys live in the moment. Tim told me to ask him if we would be protected from a big north wind if we moved our boat a little farther down the beach. I told Tim, "Look, these guys are going out fishing all night in a 12 ft skiff. They are just going to laugh at us worried about moving our boat 50 ft." So we moved the boat. The guys went out fishing. They came back in around midnight. The wind started blowing like fury at 3 AM. And at 7 AM I looked out the tent to see Tim bare naked moving the boat back up the beach.
I am in Loreto right now. You may wonder how I got here since the boat is 20 miles up the coast. Yesterday AM Tim walked 4 miles out to the highway and hitched back up to Bahia Coyote, where we left the car. He drove back down with the trailer. At high tide last night, around 9 PM, we thought we'd pull the boat out of the water so we could go into Loreto and run errands without leaving somebody tending the boat up at San Bruno. However, come 9 PM, we had a failure of nerve. The boat was bucking like a bronco and it was dark and we were cold and it just looked impossible for the two of us to get the boat on the trailer without causing ourselves harm. Today, the winds have backed off a bit (enough to fool some cruisers into making the passage from San Juanico to Puerto Ballandra on Isla Carmen, bucking some huge rollers and likely causing some unhappiness among the crew).
A few days back we anchored in a cove on the south side of Punta el Pulpito, a looming point that juts out into the Gulf and messes with the currents and the winds. Some years ago, several students on an Outward Bound course died as they tried to kayak around el Pulpito in a norther. One of the crusing guides we are carrying refers to the "obsidian vein" on the south side of the point. Ha, they should have asked ME. Obsidian vein, my you-know-what. The whole thing is made up of rhyolite lava flows that are still totally glassy and therefore black. Obsidian is volcanic glass. We hiked to the top of el Pulpito (which seems to mean 'the pulpit' but in Spain would mean 'little octupus') and got an incredible 360 degree view. NOLS has their students camp up there in calm conditions. We had the calm but my knee has been killing me for some reason, so we opted to stay in the boat. The boulders on shore were giant rounded blocks of volcanic glass and wobbly. Not good for making camp. We left the cove after two nights there and sailed down to a small cove with a stretch of white beach called La Ramada Cove on some maps and Caleta Almeja (Clam Cove) on others. There were three boats that arrived before us but we sailed past all of them and anchored in the primo spot in two feet of water and made camp on a beach backed by low cliffs of mocha-colored rhyolite block flows. Mind blower of a camp. We weren't there long before I set off on a little walk. I wasn't gone five minutes before Tim was whistling and calling me back. I couldn't figure out why. He said, "You'll never guess who just showed up on the beach. Markes Johnson." Markes Johnson is a professor of geology at Williams College who has written extensively on the Pliocene marine deposits of the Sea of Cortez. I have been reading his papers this whole trip. Tim noticed this bunch of people in engineered clothing (Anne's term) peering quizzically at the rocks. "You must be geologists," he said. Markes introduced himself and Tim recognized the name. I told him, "I read part of your book about Punta Chivato." One of his colleagues laughed and said, "Only part of it?" "Well, the guy I borrowed if from on Coyote Beach wanted it back." Markes was there with his wife, also a geologist, a geophysicist who lives in Loreto, and two colleagues from Lisbon, Portugal. He said his Mexican colleague, Jorge Ledesma, was back at the house where they were staying. It turns out they were staying at one of about three houses on Bahia San Juanico, the next bay down, a favorite stop of cruisers and sea kayakers. It oughta be a national park. It is so striking. I mentioned that I'd like to see Jorge, not having connected since 1993 at a meeting in Ensenada. They invited us to the house, saying "You have to see the house." We drove over with them to find that they were staying in a magnificent home built by a Spanish marquesa but now owned by an American developer, who has an interest in geology and invited them there for a couple days to see the geology. Well, one thing led to another and the owner, Tom Woolard, invited us for dinner. He had a chef and staff there at the house (which has a long narrow mosaic pool on the vast patio fronting the bay). They were preparing cabrito (baby goat) with a panoply of chile sauces for the guests. We sat down (us salty dogs, encrusted with two weeks of salt) to a huge square table on the patio covered with a giant white cloth. We were offered sangria, red or white wine, cold beer, as well as the cabrito and beans, tortillas, chile, and chopped lettuce. About 8 PM, we remembered we had just up and left out camp, totally unsecured, and didn't even think to bring a flashlight. Somebody lent us one and off we trooped, picking our way back to camp in a tiny spot of light over boulders awash at high tide. We got back to camp, and I sat down in a chair, looked out at our lovely little bay and said, "That just happened for a reason. I don't know what it was yet, but that was not an accident. If Tim had gone fishing five minutes earlier, we would never have made that connection." If we had been any number of decisions differently, we would not have made that connection. Jorge Ledesma had recognized me immediately. We hadn't seen each other in 17 years. We chatted about Baja geology at dinner and I told him about some curious cobbles I had seen on a beach up the coast. He told me about a fault near those cobbles that brought that rock to the surface. I told him about some marine beds I saw on Isla San Marcos and he told me about some at San Ignacio that show that there was a trans-peninsular seaway 12 million years ago that connected the northern Gulf with the Pacific before the southern Gulf had even begun to form. He put so many ideas into my head, it's still spinning. He told me about outcrops I have to visit on the islands off Loreto, places we'll go with Peter this next week. The fun just doesn't stop.
Have to go do laundry now. Believe me, I HAVE to do laundry. Had lunch at McLulu's Tacos. Baja fish tacos. Got our permits for camping on the islands in the marine park. Once we do some shopping and pick up Pete, we'll be ready to sail up to Isla Coronados, a Pleistocene volcano (really young, probably has flows a few thousand years old) with a fossil marine bay on its south end.
One more thing. We were invited to a beach potluck the other night at Bahia San Juanico. We didn't have a way to get there as we have no dinghy. Our friend George had said that everybody wanted to meet us. I told Tim that we'd see just how much they wanted to meet us. And a little while later a couple of dikes from Nova Scotia came around the corner making a hullaballoo to pick us up. We laughed all the way there and all the way back. They said something that captured my fancy, "There is no bad weather, just inadequate clothing." Something somebody from Canada would say.
I am in Loreto right now. You may wonder how I got here since the boat is 20 miles up the coast. Yesterday AM Tim walked 4 miles out to the highway and hitched back up to Bahia Coyote, where we left the car. He drove back down with the trailer. At high tide last night, around 9 PM, we thought we'd pull the boat out of the water so we could go into Loreto and run errands without leaving somebody tending the boat up at San Bruno. However, come 9 PM, we had a failure of nerve. The boat was bucking like a bronco and it was dark and we were cold and it just looked impossible for the two of us to get the boat on the trailer without causing ourselves harm. Today, the winds have backed off a bit (enough to fool some cruisers into making the passage from San Juanico to Puerto Ballandra on Isla Carmen, bucking some huge rollers and likely causing some unhappiness among the crew).
A few days back we anchored in a cove on the south side of Punta el Pulpito, a looming point that juts out into the Gulf and messes with the currents and the winds. Some years ago, several students on an Outward Bound course died as they tried to kayak around el Pulpito in a norther. One of the crusing guides we are carrying refers to the "obsidian vein" on the south side of the point. Ha, they should have asked ME. Obsidian vein, my you-know-what. The whole thing is made up of rhyolite lava flows that are still totally glassy and therefore black. Obsidian is volcanic glass. We hiked to the top of el Pulpito (which seems to mean 'the pulpit' but in Spain would mean 'little octupus') and got an incredible 360 degree view. NOLS has their students camp up there in calm conditions. We had the calm but my knee has been killing me for some reason, so we opted to stay in the boat. The boulders on shore were giant rounded blocks of volcanic glass and wobbly. Not good for making camp. We left the cove after two nights there and sailed down to a small cove with a stretch of white beach called La Ramada Cove on some maps and Caleta Almeja (Clam Cove) on others. There were three boats that arrived before us but we sailed past all of them and anchored in the primo spot in two feet of water and made camp on a beach backed by low cliffs of mocha-colored rhyolite block flows. Mind blower of a camp. We weren't there long before I set off on a little walk. I wasn't gone five minutes before Tim was whistling and calling me back. I couldn't figure out why. He said, "You'll never guess who just showed up on the beach. Markes Johnson." Markes Johnson is a professor of geology at Williams College who has written extensively on the Pliocene marine deposits of the Sea of Cortez. I have been reading his papers this whole trip. Tim noticed this bunch of people in engineered clothing (Anne's term) peering quizzically at the rocks. "You must be geologists," he said. Markes introduced himself and Tim recognized the name. I told him, "I read part of your book about Punta Chivato." One of his colleagues laughed and said, "Only part of it?" "Well, the guy I borrowed if from on Coyote Beach wanted it back." Markes was there with his wife, also a geologist, a geophysicist who lives in Loreto, and two colleagues from Lisbon, Portugal. He said his Mexican colleague, Jorge Ledesma, was back at the house where they were staying. It turns out they were staying at one of about three houses on Bahia San Juanico, the next bay down, a favorite stop of cruisers and sea kayakers. It oughta be a national park. It is so striking. I mentioned that I'd like to see Jorge, not having connected since 1993 at a meeting in Ensenada. They invited us to the house, saying "You have to see the house." We drove over with them to find that they were staying in a magnificent home built by a Spanish marquesa but now owned by an American developer, who has an interest in geology and invited them there for a couple days to see the geology. Well, one thing led to another and the owner, Tom Woolard, invited us for dinner. He had a chef and staff there at the house (which has a long narrow mosaic pool on the vast patio fronting the bay). They were preparing cabrito (baby goat) with a panoply of chile sauces for the guests. We sat down (us salty dogs, encrusted with two weeks of salt) to a huge square table on the patio covered with a giant white cloth. We were offered sangria, red or white wine, cold beer, as well as the cabrito and beans, tortillas, chile, and chopped lettuce. About 8 PM, we remembered we had just up and left out camp, totally unsecured, and didn't even think to bring a flashlight. Somebody lent us one and off we trooped, picking our way back to camp in a tiny spot of light over boulders awash at high tide. We got back to camp, and I sat down in a chair, looked out at our lovely little bay and said, "That just happened for a reason. I don't know what it was yet, but that was not an accident. If Tim had gone fishing five minutes earlier, we would never have made that connection." If we had been any number of decisions differently, we would not have made that connection. Jorge Ledesma had recognized me immediately. We hadn't seen each other in 17 years. We chatted about Baja geology at dinner and I told him about some curious cobbles I had seen on a beach up the coast. He told me about a fault near those cobbles that brought that rock to the surface. I told him about some marine beds I saw on Isla San Marcos and he told me about some at San Ignacio that show that there was a trans-peninsular seaway 12 million years ago that connected the northern Gulf with the Pacific before the southern Gulf had even begun to form. He put so many ideas into my head, it's still spinning. He told me about outcrops I have to visit on the islands off Loreto, places we'll go with Peter this next week. The fun just doesn't stop.
Have to go do laundry now. Believe me, I HAVE to do laundry. Had lunch at McLulu's Tacos. Baja fish tacos. Got our permits for camping on the islands in the marine park. Once we do some shopping and pick up Pete, we'll be ready to sail up to Isla Coronados, a Pleistocene volcano (really young, probably has flows a few thousand years old) with a fossil marine bay on its south end.
One more thing. We were invited to a beach potluck the other night at Bahia San Juanico. We didn't have a way to get there as we have no dinghy. Our friend George had said that everybody wanted to meet us. I told Tim that we'd see just how much they wanted to meet us. And a little while later a couple of dikes from Nova Scotia came around the corner making a hullaballoo to pick us up. We laughed all the way there and all the way back. They said something that captured my fancy, "There is no bad weather, just inadequate clothing." Something somebody from Canada would say.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Valdesca's bottom
Here are a few photos of the day Valdesca got her bottom painted as well as one of the NOLS boats in their boatyard at Bahia Coyote.
Our GPS track
You can follow our progress on the SPOT Adventures site where our GPS tracker records our location whenever we tell it to.
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