Category Archives: Wildlife

Plenty of Aloha

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Up in the cockpit this morning in Nawiliwili Harbor, a local woman paddling an outrigger canoe swooped in next to the boat to say hello and chat us up, friendly smile at the ready.

“Hola!” Mike shouted, with the glee we feel of late whenever we get an opportunity to talk to another human being face to face.

“Um, Michael, we are not in Mexico anymore. It’s ‘Aloha’ in Hawaii, not Hola.”, I gently corrected him.

“Hola, Aloha, they’re all the same. Just switch the letters around and add a vowel.” he replied, pushing past me to get to the edge of the cockpit. We chatted with the woman for a few minutes and she asked about our travels and welcomed us to Kaua’i, waving with another Aloha as she paddled of to practice her form on the canoe.

Redtail Trigger fish on San Benedicto Island. He was very curious and swam along with us.

Michael’s kind of right. A broad smiled ‘hello’ in any language is interpreted in just the right way, although maybe lately our smiles have been just a little too bright and big, just a little too much; maybe we are exuding just a small bit of over excitement. You know, we have become those people that make others move further away when approached because they feel our desperation for human contact and are afraid once we grab them they will be trapped by us. We are overly glad to see people and perhaps we give off a certain ‘desperate for social interaction of any kind’ vibe. Yes, I realize we have an entire world that has been socially isolated for awhile, but being isolated at sea is the next level up. There is no one to stand 6 feet away from out there.  The amount of aloneness that this realization engenders is astounding.

Yesterday we were resting in the cockpit, catching up on emails, and checking into the country using the ROAM app when a Coast Guard boat toodled up next to us. I put down the Android tablet and went to stand at the lifelines, smiling and waving. Let’s just say I was glad to see them.

“Hi Guys!! How’s it going? Want to pull your nice boat right up next to us? Huh? Do you? Thanks for stopping by to say hello! We’ve been at sea for a long time. Sure is nice to see friendly faces and understand what you’re saying. We called you guys on the radio to let you know we were coming into the harbor and everyone was so nice. Is there a limit to how long we can anchor here? We are checking in using our APP and waiting to hear from Customs and Border Patrol. It’s sure great to be in Hawaii. We sailed over from Mexico and wow what fun it was and what a cool experience to be out there at sea!…. blah blah blah”.

I hadn’t got three words out before Michael weaseled his head out of the companionway and, in a single excited leap, was beside me and also talking. We talked over each other for awhile, vying for who could say things the fastest. Had we been less mature, elbows would have been put into play and someone would have probably been hurt. It was pitiful. We both could feel this happening and were powerless to stop it. It’s bad when you realize how you appear to others and yet you cannot seem to stop the stream of consciousness coming out of your mouth. In the end we did a kind half humorous, self-deprecating “I’ll bet you guys can tell we are glad to see you. We haven’t talked to another human being in about a month. You are our first people.”  They smiled and laughed and were extremely good natured souls about it. They were just checking to see if we needed anything (and also profiling the hell out of us but that’s ok. We would have invited them on board but we probably scared them.) Once they realized we had been in contact with the Dept. of Natural Resources already, were using the ROAM app, and had our ducks in a row, they motored off into the harbor to deal with other, less pitiful people. We watched them motor away, single tears running down our cheeks. Pathetic.

Blue Cravalle jack. These got very large and they were curious about us, swimming next to us and close enough we could have touched them. An extremely beautiful fish. San Benedicto Island

Scrawled Filefish. He was so friendly and curious and followed us around. That kind of thing used to give me the spook, but I like it now and think it’s cute. San Benedicto Island

So we’re here and we still haven’t been off the boat yet. It’s the weekend so we cannot complete our checking in process until tomorrow. And this is fine because we are dog tired. I slept 12 hours without a pee break last night in my own bunk on a calm sea. My god. What a treat that was. Tomorrow we will drop the dinghy and go to shore for the first time since May 2. I believe we can just manage walking on land still. We have to get fuel by jerrycan here, so that’s the first order of events after we sign a paper certifying we have been on the boat, isolated at sea, for longer than 2 weeks. No problem. Hawaii is smart enough to know that if we have been at sea for over two weeks, we have been quarantined very well so we don’t need to do the extra two weeks on board.

By the way, we used about 80 gallons of our fuel on the trip. That’s less than half what we carry in our big tank. Thanks to our light wind sail and our willingness to sail slowly, we are in good shape fuel wise. We didn’t touch what we have in the extra tank.  I’m pleased as all heck about that. It’s that much less we have to buy and transport to the boat. There is no fuel dock here.

We will be thinking about and processing this experience of making this passage for a very long time and I know I will be writing some more about it. But what strikes me the most about it as I sit here right now is how extraordinarily lucky we have been to have accomplished it at all. I’m not denying that we have worked hard to do this because that’s a given. But many, many people work hard, and even harder than we did, and never get this opportunity. I think of all the folks who had to give up plans to sail to the South Pacific this year, of all the boats stuck in places they didn’t plan to be in, those still stuck at the docks all over the world. My heart is filled with sorrow for them. Every single one of those sailors worked just as hard as we did, some even harder. They saved money for years, they planned. They did the right things. And it was just bad luck, the luck of the draw, that they found themselves having to abandon plans that were sometimes years in the making. It fills us with gratitude that we have stayed ahead of the Covid-19 shut downs and that we currently find ourselves having completed a passage to the exact destination we wanted to come to at the exact time we planned it. And that we are welcomed with open arms and plenty of Aloha? Wow. It’s extraordinarily humbling, I tell you. We do not take this for granted and feel the gratitude deeply.

Mike photographing a toothy friend at San Benedicto Island

So we will be posting photos we took during the passage and at the Revillagigedos Islands.  And we will be writing more of our thoughts and experiences on passage making. But help me out here! It would be helpful if readers would comment to this post with questions they would like answers to about the passage, or how we did things, or whatever you like. I’d like to write about what you want to know. So ask away and we’ll make those a priority.

Meanwhile, here are some sharks to go with that post we did via the Iridium. Oh, and other interesting fish. We had just the one day of excellent snorkeling on San Benedicto Island. I would go back there to again, just to do this day over. That was the very best day ever. Definitely a highlight of my entire life.

Silky shark, just passing under us.

This Silky does a flyby.

 

That Old Fun/Suck Ratio

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I have to say this: so far this year our timing has been, while accidental, impecable. But today, the pandemic groundswell of closures finally caught up with us and the fun/suck ratio is now tipped firmly over onto the side of ‘this sucks outright’. It’s time to leave Mexico behind. We already miss the Mexico that was. Here’s a long update.

From our boat’s spot at Isla Isabel. It doesn’t get better than that. Next winter when I’m hunkered down on my boat in the Pacific Northwest I’m going to look at this photo and just sigh.

There are times when the brain of the anxiety ridden individual works to advantage and those times are when there is actual danger afoot, whether from large seas or from microscopic viruses that make people behave like the end of the world is nigh (and also kills people).  I like to have a good plan for the worst that can happen, even if that worst is unlikely. It helps me sleep well at night with my cockpit door open to the sea breeze.

While in La Paz, I began spinning stories in my head about how long we might need to survive on the boat without touching land. We plan to cross to Hawaii from La Cruz (Banderas Bay) and those plans were not going to change. But it was many weeks before we would be leaving because you have to go at the right time of year, and the handwriting was already on the wall in terms of pandemic induced shut downs coming in Mexico. La Paz was already recommending people stay home, all the hand sanitizer was sold out at the stores, and there was already confusion over the latest orders in terms of recreational boating.

Our sunset view in Mantenchen Bay

In addition to the beach/business/town closures that were coming, while we personally have not experienced anything but kindness from the local people, I was reading in the news how in our own country people of Chinese descent are being targeted and blamed for bringing the end of the world as we know it upon us. I feared that in Mexico, the ‘gringos’ would be blamed for the virus just as the Chinese are in the U.S.

Another publication had recently published words to that effect and I had thought they were wrong to say so, but as events developed, it was proven that I was the one who was wrong.  Based on recent information, it has proven to be true to some extent and, depending on how long the business closures go on, that could get worse. I hope it doesn’t and so far, incidents are isolated and unusual and not overly serious, but it understandably could get worse and I would rather see it coming than be surprised by it. People love to have an enemy to blame for misfortune and many people here are going to suffer to put food on the table during these shutdowns. Even without the pandemic we are outsiders, living strange lives on expensive yachts and with expensive toys. It’s easy to see why resentment would build. I believe that while it’s important to not focus overly much on this or become paranoid about it, it’s also important to acknowledge it and mitigate our risk. I am all about risk mitigation. Denial is not useful here.

In preparation for possibly having to be on the boat without access to provisions, I began shopping seriously in La Paz while the stores were still fully stocked and before any true emergency closures happened. If there is anything that makes me feel in control of my life, it’s shopping. Particularly grocery shopping. How long would we be off grid? Let’s see, at that point it would be at least 3 weeks until we got to La Cruz. Then once we left La Cruz, another 2 weeks of self isolation before making our escape to the sea, just to be double dog sure we aren’t sick with anything, much less a killer virus. Then maybe 3 weeks for the crossing to Hawaii. But what if we decide to do the clipper route and take a long tack out, then tack back north without landing in Hawaii? That’s maybe a 6 week trip? 7 weeks? Forever? Unlimited sea time? You see how the brain gets spun up a bit. Buy ALL THE SPAGHETTI and SAUCES! More granola and cheeses? YES, PLEASE! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN ONLY BUY TWO PACKAGES OFF EGGS? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY EGGS WE EAT IN A MONTH?

Michael’s new spirit aniimal, in case you didn’t get this photo before.

But seriously, there is great satisfaction in provisioning a boat, tucking food stuffs away in all the little nooks and crannies. In the moment, I felt like I was going possibly overboard a bit. Did we really need all this stuff? But yes, we would need this much, and possibly more, especially for now when we have a crew member aboard. Our final provisioning will be in La Cruz, if I can get a ride to the grocery store in Bucerias. People are allowed to go for groceries, although they ask that only one person per family go, and some items are limited in quantity. One person? No problema. That person is me. Hey, isn’t that just like at home in the states?

The other thing we did to prepare was to buy a water maker. It wasn’t our first choice of water maker because we wanted one we would install below deck. But it was available, and it was brand new-never-used and we got it for a reasonable price. We got a Rainman that puts out 19 gallons/hour and let me tell you this: it’s the best thing we’ve bought for the boat since that new mainsail and track system. The relief of having this unit on board is palpable and it was with great joy that I listened to it run as it filled up our water tank while we lay at anchor at remote Isla Isabel. We are now truly able to be off grid for as long as food holds out. When we get back to the states and have the boat hauled out, Michael will install the unit below deck and we plan to buy larger membranes for it that will allow a greater output.

Another little bird visitor here in the bay. They sing the cutest little song. He’s some kind of Swallow.

We sat in La Paz until just before the port was closed, narrowly escaping the navy ship patrols that now question people about where they are going and why. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The Navy isn’t out to get people. That’s the last thing they want to do. (I mean, think of the paperwork alone!) You are allowed to move from port to port on your boat. But only for purposes of getting hauled out or stationing yourself in a marina, or your final port. So only in the sense that you might have to travel to reach your final destination. Not for recreation. This enabled us to get to Isla Isabel (or Isabella, or Isabela depending on your source) and actually have a wonderful time during Semana Santa week, a week during which the whole country celebrates by going to the beach, camping out, and having a brilliant time. They were denied this pleasure this year as all the beaches were closed.

We experienced the beach closures first hand at Los Frailles. We had anchored there on the east coast of the southern Baja peninsula to prepare to cross to the mainland and to snorkel. It has coral and I was especially keen to get in the water there. The needle on the fun/suck meter began to seriously move after I had been in the water for 1/2 an hour and Michael paddled up to me and said we had to get out.

A park ranger had spotted us in the water and panga’ed up to him and pretty much mentioned they would call the police if we didn’t stay on our boat. Wow. Way to go from zero to 180 right off the bat. I mean, we knew we couldn’t go ashore. But no swimming either? At first they said we were not even allowed to anchor there, but once Michael asked where we could go to anchor and they realized the problem, they said we could anchor, but not get off the boat. Huh. Well we get it, now that we think about it. I mean, already the locals would resent us for even being on our boats on the water when they are stuck in their houses during their most important holiday. If we are out there obvioulsy having fun and enjoying their ocean, too, well, yeah. We get it. We stayed on the boat.

Finally a decent photo of the very fast Tropicbird. They are hard to capture they move so quickly.

The next day we sailed for Isla Isabel. Honestly, we felt like we had escaped the coming pressures, even if that was a fleeting feeling.  The crossing was all downwind sailing all the time with the usual following seas until a few hours from the island the winds died to nothing and we were left with the sloppy left over swells. The Beta Marine fired up and a few hours later we were anchored sweetly right behind the Mona rocks in literally the only spot with decent holding, the only boat in the anchorage. Beautiful. This allowed us to forget, mostly, about viruses and beach closures and feeling like unwanted intruders as the only people on this fairly remote island were researchers and fishermen who all gave us friendly waves as they passed us by.

We did not go ashore there, not wanting to press our luck since we knew that technically the park was closed. But we snorkeled almost every day and the water was fabulous. It was 78 degrees and with my wetsuit, I could stay in the water literally for hours. We swam with Eagle Rays, big Trevally, Moorish Idols and several kinds of Butterfly and Surgeonfish, and I got up close and personal with a Sea Turtle. There is a lot of current around the Mona rocks and in the anchorage, so we got plenty of exercise snorkeling. On the last night there I shone my light into the water, something I like to do to see cool night creatures, and the beam picked up a Yellow Bellied Sea Snake. I was dead excited about that. So venemous, but so beautiful, I never thought I would see one. But there he was, right by the boat! And that, my friends, is why I do not swim at night.

I felt this turtle before I saw him, strangely. He was having a spa day as wrasses cleaned his crevices. Then he gently rose from his rock and swam in front of me.

The always lovely Eagle rays. So pretty and graceful.

Honestly, we could have stayed there for another week and been perfectly happy. But that sail to Hawaii isn’t going to happen on its own and we were hoping to meet a guy with a boat like ours in San Blas. We had been looking forward to seeing his boat, and him ours, all season. There are not a lot of Olympic 47’s around except in the Med. They were built in Greece, after all. He has taken out the pathetic deck drains these boats have for green water (Why these stupid deck drains? WHY IS THiS A THING Ted Brewer DID?) and put in proper scuppers that drain directly overboard. Plus he has made the companionway much easier to navigate, reducing the number of steps for getting below decks. I’m on the fence about doing that to our boat and really wanted to see this in person. So we sailed to Mantenchen Bay, just a few miles south of San Blas, with plans to meet up with him.

But the virus closures finally caught up with us for good and had other plans for us. That old fun/suck ratio needle just went even more firmly in the ‘suck’ direction. Many of the towns in Mexico have closed their borders and apparently that includes San Blas. He said he wouldn’t even be allowed to get into the town, much less come get us and take us to the boatyard.

The word ‘closed’ here means that the local people have blockaded the roads and will not allow people to enter if they don’t live there. There are also police and military checkpoints in place in some towns, disallowing travel between places except for necessity such as food and medical needs. Here we are not allowed to land on the beach at all. There is a police presence on the beach and they will nicely, but firmly, turn you back to your boat if you try to come ashore. They mean business here. We were hoping that these measures were going to lighten up after Semana Santa week, but apparently not since the police ATV can still be seen patroling the beach. (He goes really fast. I think maybe at least one person is having fun on the beach.) Maybe things will open tomorrow, but probably not. We don’t have the time or the will to hang around and wait to see.

More boobies riding on the bow. We had three of them almost all the way to the island. Those comical faces! Oh hey, that tape needs replacing. Put that on the list.

We are feeling particularly worried for the boats who are planning to stay in the Sea of Cortez this summer. If these closures do not lighten up they are going to have a very hard time. In some places where boats traditionally anchor and get provisions, cruisers have been asked to leave. The Port of Peñasco is now closed as of this writing, and that’s a place where many people go to store their boats. I hope they will make exceptions for people treking all the way north to put their boats away. Probably they will, but these things change on the daily and it’s disconcerting and stressful. That would be a long way to go only to be turned away.  Very experienced cruisers are going to have less trouble adjusting to the constant changes and redirects than the people who are fairly new to the sport. We keep all of these fellow cruisers in our thoughts daily as we listen to the radio nets and receive reports of conditions on the ground in other parts of Pacific Mexico and the Sea of Cortez.

So tomorrow we will leave Mantanchen Bay, where at least we have been able to say hello to other human beings on boats and have seen many little Pacific Golden Cownose Rays in the murky water. S/V Totem is here and we would love to have a personal visit with them before we leave, but everyone is sticking to the isolation orders so…We will hightail it to La Cruz. We know that several boats will be diverting to Hawaii to wait and either continue on to the Pacific Northwest or go to the South Pacific next year, if that area is ready to entertain boats again that soon. Maybe we can find some boats leaving at the time we are going.

A final word about Hawaii because many people have expressed concern that Hawaii won’t want boats or won’t let us land. Yes, we will check, again, once more, with Homeland Security and Coast Guard officials before we leave. Yes, we will have plan B (making that long tack as previously described). Yes, we are prepared for them to make us wait on our boat for two weeks to be extra sure we are not virus carriers. That’s another reason why we are carrying so many provisions. Yes, we are hiring a professional weather router for the trip. We are checking all the boxes we know to check. If you have helpful suggestions other than these, let us know. Otherwise, wish us well and bon voyage. We decided we cannot sit this out in Mexico. And this was already the year we planned to take the boat back home and unless something totally u. One way or another, Pacific Northwest winter, here we come.

Little Pacific Golden Cownose Ray. They are all over the place here in the murky water. No swimming here. Too spooky. This water looks green in the photo. Must be the light. It’s brown.

So, by the way, for those of you who have ‘all you can eat’ internet and TV all the time: we were away from that daily news cycle for 12 days. You know what we missed? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. When we checked back in on the news yesterday, everything was just as it was on April 2. Ordinarily I spend too much time reading the news. (I refuse to watch news videos. I’m not going to waste my bandwidth on those things.) These times of isolation away from cell service remind me just how spun up all that stuff makes me. Please step away from your TV and internet news as much as possible. Please notice how upset it makes you, how it makes your brain on fire, how the price of entertainment can be anxiety. Find some peace and quiet in your day. It’s worth it to take media breaks, including Facebook and all the many fires it starts, regularly, all day long. Believe me, you won’t miss a thing.

We’re all safe here on board and going with the flow. Hope you are, too.

S/V Galapagos, standing by on Channel 16

An African Pompano we caught at dusk. Good, white meat. It was too dark for a great photo of Mike holding it up. This photo is by the aft deck light.

Whale Whiskers

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We made it to Santa Rosalia from Isla San Pedro Martir in one long and tiring day. After a pretty fabulous fast downwind sail where we saw speeds pushing 8 knots (under two reefed sails, mind you), we rode out quite a nasty blow with rain and wicked seas as we passed Punta Virgenes. The wind had died (the old calm before the storm trick, don’t you know…), and we had put the sails away as we motored the last leg of the trip under an ominously dark cloud. No sails turned out to be a very good thing because when that storm cloud threw its stuff at us, even under bare poles Galapagos lay down on her side in the dramatic gusts more than we care for. I think she was tired. I know I sure was.  I tell you this: it sure is good to know and trust your boat in those conditions. As the last of the storm blew out, and the last of the daylight disappeared behind the hills, we slid into the marina at Santa Rosalia and threw our lines to the outstretched arms of the welcome committee on the docks there, safe at last and ready for a good night’s sleep.

Who’s that looking at you? There is definitely somebody ‘home’ here.

We had pulled in several days early due to the coming strong north wind that was predicted. When it developed, it came with a vengence. Docks were rocking and rolling, waves were cresting and foaming inside the marina enclosure, and we lost one of our 3/4” stern lines, which was protected by firehose, to chafing lickety split. It happened so fast! To say that we were grateful to be in a marina for that wind event would be a decided understatement because the alternative would have been pretty bad. As we prepare to leave the Sea of Cortez, memories of the remarkably forceful wave patterns are firmly etched in our minds forever. For two days the winds did their work and we felt that leaving the boat, even in the marina, would be risky. So we were dead pleased when the winds died down before we packed up our backpacks and hopped on the bus to Guererro Negro; off to see the grey whales in Laguna Ojo de Liebre (Eye of Hare or Jackrabbit)  on the Pacific Side of the Baja Peninsula.

The whale lagoon.

There are many places on the Pacific side of the Baja to go see the annual migration of grey whales. On our sail down the coast we stopped in at Bahia Ballena and anchored to watch the greys coming and going into Laguna San Ignacio. Choosing which place to go and who to hire as a guide can be challenging. After falling down the research rabbit hole, I decided to go with Whale Magic tours in Guererro Negro, run by Shari Bondi. Shari is a transplanted Canadian who has been studying the greys for decades. She has lived near this lagoon since 1988 and has rich and deep knowledge of their history here, as well as knowing many of the whales individually. If you want to go see the whales with her outfit, contact us and we can share planning details that may help you out.

Over the decades they’ve been safe in these waters, the whales have learned to trust people and now many of them will come and visit boats and allow you to touch them. This is literally the only place in the world where you can have this kind of close encounter with grey whales because it’s not like out in the open ocean they have learned to approach boats for kisses. Here in the lagoon, though, they actually seem to enjoy it and when whale waters are lucky, the whales actively approach the boats and eye the humans aboard. Shari says we are their entertainment, and who am I to question that? It sure seems that way.

In my happy place.

Mike is giving this whale all the love.

We enjoyed two perfect whale watching days. It was partly sunny, the water was calm, and only a few other boats were out on the lagoon. We motored slowly out to the viewing area, very close to the whale camp actually, and soon were surrounded by whales. The first couple was a mother and a baby, and I was thrilled because Shari said there were not that many of them this year bringing babies up to visit because food was scarce last year and many had lost babies on the route south this year. This baby got close and spyhopped next to the boat, showing off its baleen grin. But momma whale was not interested in a prolonged visit and scooted the baby away. Still, it was my first up close view of a baby whale. And I wish I had a photo of that baleen grin! So cute!

Very soon we had an adult visitor. She lolled around next to the boat, going to the stern first to let Shari pet her. I swear that these whales know Shari. She says they like the vibration of the engine in neutral, that it attracts them like a massage. But I think differently. They go to her first. She reaches her arms out to them and they come over like large, crusty lap dogs. After getting the snugs from Shari, then it’s everyone else’s turn. The whale lies alongside the boat and we all reach our arms way over the side trying to make contact. Soon we are giving the whale all the love. Grown men with US Marine Corp caps are teary eyed with wonder at these gentle leviathans. “Look at that! Can you believe this? Oh my god! Rachel, did you get a chance to touch her? Come over here and pet her! It’s amazing! Look into her eye! She’s looking right at me! Hey, I think she likes me!”

She’s looking right at me!

We get maybe 15 minutes of stroking, petting, and baby talking this whale, complimenting it on its stunning array of barnacles and sea lice, and then it slips away to the sound of our collective sigh of regret.

Our sadness is short lived, however, as two more approach us and soon all our arms are out, torsos hanging over the water to reach further down, camera clicking and more exclamations of amazement. We are enchanted, in love with the very notion of encountering wild animals with this much trust in humanity.  We discover whales have whiskers! Did you know that?  They have stiff bristly hairs every few inches, vestiges of land life maybe? Do these whiskers allow the whales to feel vibrations in the water? Are these whiskers with a purpose? Only Google knows and we are too busy falling under the spell of the whales to care.

Whale breath. It does not stink in this lagoon.

To pet face of a whale. Brilliant.

And here’s another thing: whale breath. Have you ever smelled it? Because as a rule it stinks of rotten fish. Every time we’ve been near whales of any kind in the past, you can smell them even if you can’t see them. But that’s not the case here in the lagoon because the whales here are not actively feeding. They are mating, calving, nursing, training up their babies for the long swim back to colder waters, but they are not feeding much. So their breath does not stink! We got right over those blowholes and were actively sprayed many times. But never smelled anything.

I feel like we got very lucky our first day out. Shari said it was the best day with whale contact in weeks. Our second day we had two whale visitors who stayed by the boat to receive our touches and blow into our expectant faces. We saw  a number of mother/baby pairs and had exuberant whales jumping and spy hopping, eyeing the boat. We even saw a baby practicing breaching. But it was a day for watching animal behavior, less so for interacting with them. In spite of their lack of fear of human beings, they are, after all, wild animals and will do as they please. Who can know how they decide which days are days to be personal with human beings? All I know is I could have stayed out there all day in communion with these surprisingly peaceful beings.

You know Mike videotaped me hanging over the edge of the boat so here you go: [embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QRBSijLyVQ[/embedyt]

Lots of breeching for joy and spyhopping to check out boats.

One more checkmark on the bucket list: We have petted whales in person and have found them to be rubbery, crusty with barnacles, and disquietingly sentient. My one regret: my lips never found purchase with a whale’s flesh. I tried, Lord knows I tried. And I came only a whale’s whisker away from planting one on my scar-faced friend who returned to me more than once to receive adoration. But it was not to be. I was asked repeatedly to please not fall into the water from the panga so, unwillingly, I gave it up.

So close!! If only my lips had been longer.

A bonus for us was these lovely Cannonball Jellyfish that were everywhere. As the whales would rise up to the surface, the aptly named Cannonball Jellies would roll down into the water. I thought the color of these was incredibly rich. They have no sting, by the way. We were able to pick them up and examine them closely.

Cannonball Jellyfish on whale.

With a whale in the distance.

And some Eel Grass floating around.

While Guerrero Negro has precious little to offer in terms of the town, if you go to see the whales there don’t miss the opportunity to drive out to see the bird sanctuary at the edge of town. It’s worth a long slow drive through the protected marshlands looking at the many species of water birds, including several species of ducks we had never seen before.

We are back aboard in Santa Rosalia and ready to head south.

S/V Galapagos, standing by on channel 22.

Extra bonus photos of the marshlands and a couple of cool birds.

These vistas, though.

Osprey with an unfortunate fish.

Reddish Egret