Morning in Santa Rosalía

I spent last summer in Nopolo in Baja California Sur diving the islotes and headlands that I could reach with my kayak. I dove early in the morning, the coolest part of the day, and often saw the sunrise from the Transpeninsular Highway on my way to places where I could launch a boat. The Sea of Cortés was warm (low 80s°F) and gin-clear (visibilities greater than 40-50 ft). By mid-afternoon the heat was oppressive, weighing on me like a thick blanket; I spent them studying Spanish by the pool or visiting friends in homes where air conditioners and fans ran all day.

Santa Rosalía harbor with abandoned copper smelter (tall smokestacks)

Several divers told me that the best visibility in the Sea of Cortés occurred during the summer and I had to find out if that was true. The heat of Mexico in the summer was too much for Rande; she spent it at 7,000 feet in northern New Mexico looking for a place for us to live. We’ve been on the road since we sold our house in northern Colorado in 2013 and she was tired of living out of a truck always on the go. Near the end of the summer, with her father seriously ill, the plan was for me to return to New Mexico, meet Rande and drive us to Washington to be with her family.

Looking for Whales

Jacques Cousteau called the Sea of Cortés the “the aquarium of the world” (link), and you know it has to be a helluva big tank to hold 6,000 animal species – 4,854 invertebrates, 891 fishes, 181 birds, 36 mammals and seven reptiles (Brusca et al. 2005). We could discuss the “health” of the Sea of Cortés – the lack of freshwater flow and nutrients from the Colorado River; habitat destruction and bycatch by commercial shrimping; overfishing of sharks and groupers; over-harvesting of pearl oysters, sea turtles and whales; population crashes of the totuava (link) and vaquita (the world’s smallest and most endangered cetacean) and more (link, link). Maybe when I feel sufficiently misanthropic about the future of the “world’s aquarium,” I’ll depress you with some of those stories. For now I’d like to celebrate the remaining diversity in a diminishing sea.

Ron photographing humpback whale (Isla Danzante on the right)

San Cosme

Parque Nacional Bahía de Loreto is the largest marine park (800 square miles) on Mexico’s Pacific Coast. Park regulations prohibit spearfishing (except for subsistence by Mexicans), so I was looking places to launch my kayak outside the park. I plotted the park’s boundaries in Google Earth (they’re not shown on local maps) and looked for access roads. The first good access to the Sea of Cortés south of the park was San Cosme, 26 miles from Loreto. The 13-mile road from the Transpeninsular Highway to San Cosme reminded me of the road to Caleta Agua Armargosa in Gene Kira's King of the Moon: A Novel About Baja California:

…men fought their way from the main road in the west, over the high mountains, and down the very cliffs themselves, to the floor of the canyon. It was not a legitimate road they cut, but more of a plunging, twisting trail clinging to the sides of the cliffs. Is was so narrow in places one could not get out of a pickup, for on one side the door would be stopped by the face of the cliff, while on the other, it would open over noting but air.

Feral burros along the road to San Cosme

Cockfights in Loreto

I went to the cockfights in Loreto with Mark, a retired fireman from Anchorage. He was meeting Andrés, a friend and “roosterman” who was not fighting, but promised to show Mark around. Andrés said that he had 40-50 fighting roosters. He wasn't fighting because it was a championship and the biggest fight of the year in Loreto. Some of the teams were local and some roostermen brought birds from as far away as Constitución. There would be 100 fights and each team (a ranch or trainer) entered four birds. The fights began at 3 PM and would run until 3-4 AM the next morning. The top three teams would collect the prize money.

Warning: cockfighting is a blood sport; this post describes and has pictures of violence to animals.

Damselfish: Danger (and Sex) on the Reef

I was up before sunrise to go diving in Parque Nacional de Bahía Loreto (link). Driving south from Nopolo on Baja’s Transpeninsular Highway, I stopped at the Mirador (viewpoint) above the village of El Juncalito to check sea conditions. The winds were light from the north and the Sea of Cortés was calm. I turned off the highway where it turns inland and begins to climb. The dirt road to Ensenada Blanca drops down into an arroyo that drains a large canyon stirring up a cloud of dust. I wondered what the arroyo was like during a flash flood. 

Sunrise over Isla del Carmen from the Mirador above El Juncalito

Across the Sea of Cortés on Ferries

About a week before our six-month Mexican tourist visas expired, we drove up the east side of the Baja peninsula from Loreto to Santa Rosalía to catch the ferry to Guaymas on the mainland. We left late in the morning when the sun was high and the air was warm. It was Semana Santa (Easter Week) and we had been warned that the roads would be crowded with travelers. Mario, our neighbor just back from Mulege, told us that the beaches along the Sea of Cortés were packed with campers.

Playa El Requeson on Bahiá Concepcíon

Beyond Puerto Vallarta

Rande and I spent two months around Bahía Banderas (Bay of Flags) on the Pacific Coast of Mexico. We stayed in Bucerias north of Puerto Vallarta, and Punta Negra and Boca de Tomatlán south of Puerto Vallarta. According to one writer, “…Banderas Bay seems to have been artfully designed for vacations and retirement. It seems to have been invented for people who believe they have suffered enough, so bring on the paradise, now, please…” (link).

The beach at Mismaloya

The high-rise hotels and elaborate tourist attractions of Puerto Vallarta and Nuevo Vallarta were less interesting to us than old town with its narrow streets, wonderful shops and restaurants, and assorted cast of locals, expatriates and tourists. We also explored several outlying areas and attractions including the set of The Night of the Iguana, a movie filmed at Mismaloya; the Vallarta Botanical Gardens; and the remote coast of Cabo Corrientes.

Losing Nemo

I was resting on the surface between dives when I was startled by a yellow flash in my peripheral vision. It was close to my mask and bright, taxi-cab yellow. I thought it was the sun reflecting off the yellow housing of the strobe attached to my camera and ignored it. I was freediving around one of the large rocks at Los Arcos south of Puerto Vallarta, exploring a series of ledges that stair-stepped down the wall. As I descended on my next dive, a yellow spot appeared in front of my mask. It was a small fish less than 5 cm (2 in) long, and it was leading me to the bottom.

Golden trevally swimming near my face

Beach Life

The beach at La Manzanilla is a destination for gringos in the winter and for Mexicans in the summer.  This is not an upscale resort and the gringo visitors mostly come for a respite from their busy lives. They want to relax, to slow down, to experience their vision of a sleepy tropical village on the Pacific Ocean. One gringa travel writer wrote about returning to “…this dusty little Mexican fishing village, a hushed-up spot that's still off the clock and, for a while yet, off the tourist track…to settle back in my beachside chair and stare for hours at the mini-curl of surf, ice cubes melting in my Cuba Libre, skin glowing, mind blank, system on zero” (link).

Fishermen leaving the beach at La Manzanilla

The Crocodile Farm

According to the Ramsar Convention*, Bahía Tenacatita is one of the five most important bays on the Pacific Coast of Mexico. Estero La Manzanilla, an estuary on the east side of the bay, supports a mangrove forest in good condition. It is one of three estuaries on the coast with a large population of American crocodiles. During our stay in La Manzanilla, we often walked down a dirt road by the estuary to the restaurants on the beach. A sign said the area was a crocodile farm (cocodrilario) and a sagging chain-link fence was all that separated pedestrians from large crocodiles basking in the sunshine.

Be careful. Crocodiles in this area. Do not swim. Do not feed the crocodiles. Do not walk your pets. Do not fish. 

Swimming in the Aquarium

The paved road to Tenacatita turns off Hwy 200 15 km (9 mi) northwest of La Manzanilla. I’m going to dive “The Aquarium,” a group of islotes (small islands) and submerged rocks on the north side of Bahía Tenacatita. The road winds through agricultural fields and two rural villages. Early in the morning when I pass through El Rabalsito, the larger village, shopkeepers are sweeping out their stores, dogs and chickens are foraging in the street and young and middle-aged men are waiting in the back of pickup trucks that will take them to work on local farms or into La Manzanilla and Melaque.

Farm on the way to Rabalsito

La Manzanilla

La Manzanilla is a small village on the Pacific Coast north of Manzanillo in the state of Jalisco. We visited La Manzanilla while we were staying in Barra de Navidad and decided that we would return and stay for a month. There are no banks in the village and the only grocery stores are small tiendas. We drove 14 km (9 mi) south to Melaque, the largest community on the coast between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo, to do most of our shopping. 

Entrance to La Manzanilla

La Manzanilla’s main attractions are the beach, water sports (fishing, swimming, surfing, kayaking), RV camping, La Catalina Natural Language School (link) and crocodile reserve (hence the statue on the way into town). The place is not well known among gringos, but is a popular weekend and holiday destination with Mexicans.

¡Feliz Año Nuevo!

Wishing you a happy New Year. If you've been following our blog, you may have noticed that we changed our picture and blog description. Last year when we began this enterprise, we were leaving the working world and transitioning into retirement. Once retired, we quickly realized how much we enjoyed it; the transition was not difficult.  “Every day’s a Saturday” as my former boss said after he retired.

Sunrise, Mar de Cortés

Traveling had a lot to do with easing the transition. We sold our house in northern Colorado, got rid of a lot of stuff, put the rest in storage, packed the truck and headed to Mexico. We loved northern Colorado, but didn't want to spend another winter there. We sold our snow shovels in a garage sale and gave our winter clothes to Goodwill.