Los Islotes & Isla San Francisco - Day 5

DAY FIVE

[Feb 6, 2015]

 I just learned this morning that the Baja peninsula is the second longest peninsula on earth and the Sea of Cortez (named after the Spaniard Hernan Cortes, conqueror of central Mexico in the 1530s) offers one of the largest island archipelagos in the world.  Including all the smallest rocky islets there are nearly 1000 islands stretching along the 800-mile length of the Gulf of California.  Most of these islands are designated as a Mexican wilderness preserve and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  Scientists have referred to this region as the ‘Galapagos of Mexico’, as the Sea of Cortez hosts the largest number of endemic plant and animal species in North America.  It also harbors extensive remnants of the pre-historic Pericu people, aboriginal inhabitants of the southern coast of Baja, sketchily described by early European explorers and missionaries, and considered extinct by the late 1700s. 

At nearly every anchorage where we tucked in for the night, we could see natural caves high up on the headland cliffs, some apparently containing well-documented shell and flint-tool middens, red ochre hand prints and other cave art, and occasionally, a pre-historic burial cave.

(One of our naturalists said he did once find an ancient skull while exploring a nearly inaccessible cave high up on a ridge.  He alerted the National Mexican Archaeological Assn.)

Near the north end of Espiritu Sancto is a tall outcrop of jagged rock, separated from the main island by a mere half mile.  It is called Los Islotes (The Islets) and from a distance, I thought these craggy rocks looked like white marble, resembling a Disney castle.  But as we drew nearer, the first thing I became aware of was a noise like a herd of pigs, and then I realized the rocks weren’t white at all, but dark rocks covered in guano. Then suddenly, it seemed the rocks were moving!  Large brown lumps, bobbing and swaying. This is a Sea Lion haul-out.

The sausage-shaped sea lions are draping every possible ledge (however did they get UP so high!), piled on top of each other, some of the juveniles cavorting in the choppy water, and every one of them barking with gusto.  One particularly large chocolate-colored male, fully mustachioed and muscular, stretches his long neck, bobbing back and forth, his head held high.  He is towering over his indifferent harem, intent on intimidating us with his powerful roar.  Then, with one graceful push of his massive hind-end, he glides into the water and disappears.  We slowly circle the islets, fascinated with the intensity and cacophony of this mountain of life. 

Blue-footed Boobies courtship dance

Brown pelicans are everywhere, swimming, diving, preening;  and blue-footed boobies are nesting high on the uppermost ledges.  I notice one in particular, highlighted against a patch of guano, and I can distinctly make out her neon blue webbed feet.

We pull into a quiet bay at the southern tip of the next island, Isla San Francisco.  Well protected from the breezes coming down from the north, Cap Bill decides to stay put for the day while we are so calm and still, and make progress on the work going on down in the fo’c’stle. 

Bill and Randy are re-outfitting the crew’s quarters, doing finish carpentry as well as fiber-glassing the new shower and re-laying the floor of the head (bathroom).  It would be nice to not have the boat rocking and rolling and bounding along as they work below in the bow.

This week without guests has turned out in many ways to be a blessing – giving Bill and the hard-working crew a chance to slow down the pace and accomplish many projects that needed attention.  I’m learning routines of cleaning and service (cleaned all heads this morning J) and picking up tips as I hang out with Tracie in the galley.  For instance, I didn’t know you could make sausage from left-over bits of chicken meat (and then we had delightfully messy sautéed peppers and onions with sweet Italian chicken-sausage patties served on fresh-baked spelt rolls for lunch today) or use the fat from galley-butchered rump sirloin to make your own noodles for out of this world stroganoff (dinner last night).  Earlier, the galley smelled like heaven (I’m sure of it) as Tracie fresh-ground her spices from the bulk storage: cinnamon, cumin, nutmeg, oregano, cardamom, anise….

The sparkling water here in this bay is more green than blue, and the surrounding landscape is a band of low, red, rounded hills, like a ring of sleeping dromedaries.  I can see across to the mainland; the headlands there remind me of the Grand Canyon.  Horizontal cliff bands of emerald, umber, magenta, plum –depending on the mineral content of each layer – rise up from the green sea in a colorful escarpment.  This exposed geology tells a dramatic story, if only I knew how to read it.

The bay is dotted with about half a dozen other boats at anchor, the most we’ve seen so far – mostly sailboats, one small pleasure yacht, and one beautiful, sleek, old wooden schooner.  This is the ‘Martha’, a sail-training vessel from Pt. Townsend, WA, USA, familiar to Captain Bill from his home waters.  Randy enjoyed going aboard her when he was in Washington a year ago, doing carpentry for Bill on the Westward while in dry dock there.

In this quiet harbor, I see my first of many Mobula Rays – square pancakes, maybe 2 to 3 feet across – that POP out of the water and plop back, often several times in a row – plop!  plop!  plop!  Sometimes there are so many it sounds like popcorn!  And they also delight with their aerial acrobatics, somersaults, flips, 360s.   When they’re just cruising around, you can identify them by the two parallel little fins, dark on the top side, silver underneath, opposite corners of their square bodies, like little twin sails out of the water.  Nobody seems to know why they do what they do.

After chores, I spent the afternoon idly reading and writing, enjoying the cloudless blue sky and gentle warm breeze.  Until Tracie suggested we all take a little break and go explore along the short, white beach.  She packed a cooler bag with a tin of mixed nuts and makings for “beach juice”, and after we landed the skiff and secured the mooring rope with several large rocks, Tracie pulled out paper cups, a bottle of crushed ice, another bottle of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and yet another bottle of vodka. 

We mixed our drinks and lingered on the white sand for a bit, and then Tracie and I took off on a little trail through the scrub, over a small rise to go to a beach on the other side of the island.  This new beach was strewn with rounded bright pebbles of every color – and we went agate searching.  We didn’t find any agates, but interesting bits of sea shell and coral, and one small chunk of veined olivite. 

Among some large rocks at the edge of a protected little backwash, I saw my first Sally Lightfoot crab, which I had just been reading about.  These are quick, pointy, shiny red crabs, named after an exotic Latin American dancer who liked to wear high heels and sequined red gowns.  I can see why, as she skitters away on her dainty little legs! 

The sun was getting low as we skiffed back to the Westward, stopping by to chat with old friends on the Martha as we motored past, and then home for a supper of smoked marlin tacos and the next episode of Horatio Hornblower.