Sharing a habitat

Sailing from Las Hadas to Zihuatanejo in light winds and calm seas we enjoyed the companionship of magnificent sea creatures. 

In the morning, we crossed paths with a dozen adult sea turtles.  As they contentedly paddled past us, we thought of their nearly 80 year life span which is spent almost entirely in the water.  Last month, we released Olive Ridley hatchlings into the sea.  They were tiny, rubbery creatures that fit in the palm of our hands.  We placed them gently on the beach at water’s edge and sent them off with wishes for a good life.

 

  

In the afternoon, a large pod of dolphins came along side and greeted us with jumps and flips.  They would swim ahead of us and then drop back to jostle with one another for front position while darting back and forth across the bow before swimming back toward the stern and starting again.  It was a fun game of hide and seek that all enjoyed.

 

 It's awe-inspiring to share the habitat of these incredibly beautiful sea creatures. 

Bahia Tenacatita, Costalegre

This is one of our favorite bays where we spent 12 days swimming and snorkeling in the warm, crystal clear water, playing bocce ball on the beach with a dozen other cruisers followed by cold cervezas at the palapa, and enjoying Friday evening fleet raft-ups with sundowners.

 

 For provisioning and laundry services, we made two trips across the bay to La Manzanilla where there are well-stocked tiendas selling fresh produce, dairy products and other staples as well as a butcher shop and a seafood market.  We discovered a small restaurant on the beach where we enjoyed meals under the palapa.  I was lucky enough to be buying groceries when I heard a mariachi band in the street.  I left my basket of groceries on the floor and raced outside to check it out.  Much to my delight, a cowboy and his bride were riding slowly through town on a horse followed by the mariachi band, and then by the wedding guests in their cars and trucks.  Locals and visitors alike stood out on the curb to clap and wish them well.  It was a special local tradition that I was thrilled to have witnessed.  

 

 

 

Bahia Chamela, Costalegre

It all began and ended within seconds and in very slow motion.

 The crystal clear, turquoise, 80-degree water swirled around my legs as I stood on the golden sand beach observing the waves as they rolled in, judging their speed and crest height. Several came and went before I waded into the water dragging the kayak in one hand and the paddle in the other. I felt the weight of my iPad, a dozen eggs and three large, perfectly ripened avocados in my waterproof backpack securely against my back. The sea between me and my boat 200 yards away looked calm, the height of the waves decreasing. It was a ‘go’.

I ran in waist deep, pulled the kayak up on my right side, put one leg in and then the other and started paddling. I got in a couple of strokes when a wave broke at the tip of the kayak, turning it broadside before pushing it over on its side, rolling me into the breaker and pushing me face first into the beach. In that split second, I remember every water droplet in that wave as it broke over the kayak. I felt the force of it push me under the kayak. I was engulfed in water and felt the backpack tangled in the seat straps as I struggled to free myself. ‘So this is how it ends for me’, I thought. I broke through the surface as the wave receded and gulped air, glad to be alive. I plucked my prescription sunglasses from the surf, gators still attached, as well as my hat whose chinstrap had been securely fastened under my chin. The force of the wave from behind had ripped them off. I grabbed the backpack and the paddle, clenched the kayak’s handle and staggered up the beach past the tide line where I stopped to gather my wits.

“Do you speak English?” a young girl, maybe 12 years old asked me as two younger boys gathered around.

 “Yes, I do.”

 “Can we help you?”

I paused and looked out at the surf. “Si, la pina, la pina,” I exclaimed excitedly as I pointed to my pineapple rolling around in the surf. The youngest boy sprinted after it splashing through the water. He proudly placed it in the cubby hole in the kayak floor where I had carried it.

 “Can we help you more?” the girl asked.

 “How are you going to help me?” I wanted to know what her plan was. I didn’t want to be responsible for the drowning of three cute kids.

“OK”, she said and paused, her fingers dancing in the air as she searched for the right words.

“Hmmm…can you understand a little Spanish?”

 “Yes, I can."

“Good,” she said and continued in Spanish. “Are you missing anything else?”

"No, I have everything."

“Good,” she said and switched to English. “OK. We will carry the boat out to the water for you and hold it and you get in.”

It sounded like a good plan. The girl and I were in front, the boy kept his hand firmly on the pineapple as we marched through the surf, and the smallest boy worked as hard as he could from behind to steady the kayak in the surf.

“Not this one,” I said reading the waves.

 “Not this one,” I said again.

Just then, their dad showed up and placed his hand on the kayak. He’s a pro at this wave stuff so we waited for a couple to roll past us and then he gave me the signal to get in and I paddled like there was no tomorrow.
 
When I crossed the surf line I looked back and saw the kids jumping up and down in the water and waving their arms excitedly with the pride of a mission accomplished.

Sea Turtle Hatchlings, Banderas Bay

 

What a thrill to release an Olive Ridley turtle hatchling into the water and watch it begin life in its natural habitat!  I sent it off with blessings for a long and happy life.  These ancient creatures can live up to 80 years, most of those years in the water.  Females will return many times to the same beach from which they were hatched. 

We gathered on the beach just north of Paradise Village at twilight with about 50 people to release the hatchlings. This endangered species is getting help from conservation programs and volunteers who build secure nurseries on the beach where the eggs are gathered and protected and released after they hatch. The biggest threat to their lives has been human intervention; poaching and fish nets.  It is now a hefty prison term for anyone caught stealing eggs.  Natural predators include birds so the hatchlings are released at dusk to help prevent them from becoming snacks.      

A polypropylene line was placed in the sand about 30 feet from the surf line. We rubbed sand in our hands so the smell of this particular beach would be imprinted on the hatchling’s brain. The biologists took a hatchling from the plastic pail and placed it in our cupped hands. 

On the count of three, we all pointed our hatchlings toward the water and placed them in the sand.  They looked for the sun on the horizon and headed for it.  Well…most of them did.  Some got a little confused and disoriented and took the scenic route to the ocean, turning left or right a few times before meandering down to the surf line.  Some turned around completely and headed away from the water.  Perhaps they weren’t quite ready to get their feet wet, but the volunteers helped them all eventually find their way. 

We left at dark with the image of these precious hatchlings all paddling out to sea and knowing that we had helped in a small way to give them their best chance to survive and to one day return to this same beach to lay their own eggs.  In the photo below, the little black dots are the hatchlings going to the sea. 

The Chicken Lady

Although my Spanish proficiency is improving daily, I still know just enough to send me in circles.  On this day I wanted chicken. I asked the pretty clerk in the market where I could buy chicken since she didn’t stock any.  She was very kind and gave me a long explanation and what I think were several options, something like; “You can go here and if they don’t have any go there, or there, etc.” My best understanding was of the international hand signals for go down the street two blocks, then turn right, then continue one-half block and then look on the left side.  So off I went while Ken and our hot, tired, patient friends sat down on the curb to wait. I was on a mission.   

Following my made up directions, I passed several meat stores proudly displaying slabs of marbled red and white meat dangling from gigantic hooks while butchers expertly carved and sawed beneath swinging carcasses.  I saw nothing that resembled a chicken store so I stopped in at a corner market and asked again for directions.  I received a new set and left with renewed gusto.  Off down the street and around the corner I went and again, not a chicken to behold.  By this time, I had lost track of the direction from which I had come and some shops were beginning to look familiar.  I stopped at a taqueria whose menu indicated a specialty in chicken. I chatted with a lady who very kindly explained all of the different ways that she could prepare my chicken dish. With each suggestion my response was a shake of my head and “No”.  No beans, no rice, no mole, in fact no chicken. We both showed signs of exasperation so she called out the cook.  Under pressure, my new, limited vocabulary failed me and all I could think to say was “Quisiero un pollo por la cucina". I want chicken for my kitchen.  The cook stared at me, speechless, dumbfounded.

“Quisiere un pollo por la cucina", she repeated. 

“Si.”

She paused, looking at me like I was from Mars and then her eyes lit up. She took me by the elbow, guided me outside and pointed to a lady at the street corner sitting behind a table shaded by a big umbrella.  Ah ha, the chicken lady!  As I approached with the proud smile of having accomplished a mission, she lifted the towel covering a large stainless steel bowl, swatted away the flies, held up some hindquarters and apologized for not having any breast meat left.

“No problemo, I’ll take that one” I said pointing and then motioned that I would like her to cut off the feet which she did with one whack of a very big knife, tossed the remaining pieces onto a slippery scale and wrapped my treasure in a little green plastic bag which I carefully placed in my backpack so as not to spill the juices.   

 

I have to admit that I was a tad bit concerned when it came time to cook my prized chicken.  After all the heat, the bowl, the flies, the slippery scale were still vivid images, but the chicken smelled good and I figured that heat kills bacteria so I tossed the pieces in flour and baked them.  They were so good that I ate all of them.

I’ve been trying to figure out why the chicken had such good flavor and I can come up with only two reasons:  First, the chicken wasn’t trucked in from Arkansas, in fact I probably crossed paths with the poor little thing on my way to market; and second, it wasn’t injected with anything organic or synthetic.  It was a free-range chicken which has a different meaning in this Mexican village and probably adds to its incredible flavor.  I’m off to buy more.    

Chacala

It’s Sunday morning and I prepare breakfast to the beat of the Mariachi band already on the beach and the screams of kids playing in the surf. It isn’t long before the oompah band with its tuba, horns and drums sets up for the day at the other end of the beach. It’s crowded by noon and vendors start popping up; fruit vendors with coconuts and pineapples who will whack them up right there and give you a straw to quench your thirst, ice cream carts, a table full of oysters waiting to be shucked.

 

 

 



“Thank you for coming”, the friendly Port Captain greeted us when wechecked in.Little did we know that he embodied the warmth and friendliness of this small village that would make it hard for us to weigh anchor and move on. 



 

We have been anchored here for 15 days in 25 feet of water that is 80 degrees. We are 200 yards off of the beautiful sand beach, designated as one of Mexico’s “clean beaches”, and it is pristine. Humpback whales come to these waters from December to March to give birth to their young. This is also a turtle sanctuary where young turtles are released on the beach. There is a hot spring nearby and it’s a birders paradise. Over 170 species of birds have been spotted in the village trees. The village is surrounded by low, fertile hills planted in rows of mango trees. We spend our days rowing the dinghy ashore to buy fish, meat, and vegetables at the local tiendas; enjoying homemade ice cream from a shop owner who is also an illustrator giving me drawing lessons when he isn’t scooping up his delicious treat; swimming; kayaking; snorkeling and wandering the smooth, round rock cobblestone streets discovering all the nooks and crannies of the place. And oh yes…enjoying cold cervezas under the beach palapas. 

 

Thanks to Jill, Regine and Maxine, the gracious teachers at the Learning Center, my stay in Chacala was enhanced richly.   I worked with a dozen delightful, energetic primary kids in the after school English program.  I also participated in an English test prep session for 16 high school students.  I was thrilled to spend time with such smart, polite students, some of whom are sponsored by Cambiando Vidas, a local non-profit that provides scholarships (www.CambiandoVidasMexico.org). 

A trip to the sprawling open-air market in La Pinita yielded a feast for the senses as it overflows with Mexican artwork, handmade textiles, food, ceramics, all imaginable hardware items, and clothing. 

One morning, we climbed into a dilapidated local taxi van, the seats sporting large gashes through which most of the foam had escaped.  The doors were tied on with rope and the instrument panel was a gaping hole where instruments had once lived.  I think that it may have been a hurricane remnant and the guy’s only livelihood so he managed to keep it running.  Despite all appearances, he was a good driver and navigated us safely down the potholed roads to neighboring Los Varos where Ken bought two pairs of glasses, having lost his second pair in a bad beach landing in the dingy.  We explored the town and returned unscathed in a spotless taxi van.  Before boarding, the driver asked us to wait a few minutes so that he could mop it out.  This van was complete with enclosed seats, instrument panels and seat belts. The luck of the draw.  

Now, for the return trip to pick up Ken’s glasses and wander through the market in Los Varos!

Isla Isabel

Known as the “Galapagos of Mexico”, we sailed overnight to this isolated volcanic island.  After hours of dodging fish nets, we rounded the towering Las Monas.  Hundreds of birds circled overhead.  

We dropped anchor in a 13-foot deeply crevassed canyon.  This anchorage is known for swallowing anchors so we donned fins and snorkels and jumped into the 87-degree water teeming with fish.  Due to the island’s isolation and geology, the waters are crystal clear and the snorkeling is fantastic.  Hundreds of fish swam past us: bright yellow and black striped; long, sleek silver ones; plump purple ones all unconcerned with our presence in their fish bowl.   We checked our anchor which had missed the sandy patch that we were aiming for but landed on a rock shelf.  It held us well through the night.

In the morning, we beached the dingy and hiked a trail through the dense, low canopy of trees, home to thousands of nesting birds; frigates, blue-footed boobies, green-footed boobies, brown boobies and brown pelicans among many others.  The heat, humidity and smell of guano were oppressive as we followed the trail to Lago Crater (Crater Lake), which was incredibly polluted from eons of guano.  A symphony of bird calls followed our every step as hundreds of birds circled and millions more were in the nests. 

Back on the beach, we discovered a myriad of invertebrates running along the sand as well as a plethora of beautiful shells no longer inhabited. 

Free of natural predators, this island is an amazing sanctuary and a magnificent World Heritage Site accessible only by private boat.  It is awe inspiring.  We’re glad that we decided to stop and take the chance of losing our anchor.  I saw a couple of them on the bottom while snorkeling.  Luckily, we did not add ours to the collection.