April 26, 2008 -- Evaristo -- N 24 degrees 54' 48.5"/W 110 degrees 42' 10.5"
13.8 nm for the day; 470.7 nm on the cruise overall

We decided it was time to leave Isla San Francisco for other places, so I raised anchor before breakfast, and we motored around the south end of the island in light air and calm seas and set a course for the southern tip of Isla San Jose. I wanted to explore the unique lagoon and mangrove swamp complex there. On the way across Sandy was treated with a clear sighting of a giant manta ray leaping at least 5 feet clear of the Sea's surface. I was looking elsewhere and only saw the disturbance where the immense fish had smacked back into the water.

We approached the mangrove swamp and lagoon from the south, where we would be protected from swell if the forecast northwest wind came up again. The water was quite clear and 71 degrees, however it was difficult locating a place to drop anchor. Much of the area right off the beach is shallow and very weedy. Once we got clear of the weeds we were idling over bouldery bottom, with lots of coral clumps. It looked like a good place to hang up an anchor. We finally found sand bottom in 20 feet, about 3/4 mile west of the inlet to the lagoon. We anchored there, gathered up fishing gear, binoculars, and bug repellant, set on exploring this unique ecosystem.

A long, narrow bar, composed of sand and cobble, separates the lagoon from the open Sea. A narrow opening, just passable for our rowed dinghy at zero tide, gave us entrance to the lagoon. The lagoon itself is over a mile in length, about 1/4 mile wide, and lined with dense mangroves perhaps 10 or 12 feet high. We turned west and followed a narrow, winding channel through the mangroves, over a shallow bottom. At times I had to shut the kicker off and row past gravelly shoals. Bird life was rich and varied, with herons, white egrets, white ibis, osprey, whimbrel and some colorful song birds we couldn't identify. Countless fish, both large and small, darted around in the channel. Our watery passage opened into a large pond, which was loaded with large fish. We could see their narrow fins slicing through the water as they lunged about, feeding. I was certain they were bone fish. I eagerly grabbed the fly rod, hoping to hook up with one of these famous battlers. Sandy positioned the dinghy in perfect casting range, and I laid out cast after cast in the midst of these silvery fish. Not interested. I changed flies, trying every color I had, but they just ignored my offerings. In desparation I picked up the spinning rod, tied on a bright silver spoon, and cast that out amongst the bonefish. I did manage to hook up briefly. The reel screamed for an instant as the hooked fish exploded from the water, but then the line went limp. Despite repeated casts I had no other takes. I'm pretty sure the fish I did hook was snagged. It was frustrating to be amongst so many of these storied gamefish, and not having a clue of how to get them to hit. While desparately searching my tacklebox for the right lure, we were startled by a literal explosion on the water's surface. Simultaneously, bonefish all over the pond shattered the surface with spectacular leaps. The water was churned to a froth, silvery projectiles launching themselves into the air with breathtaking speed. It was like sprinkling water into a pan filled with scorching hot cooking oil. The sound of splashing was as loud as a whitewater rapid. It was an amazing display. The fish seemed to be trying to show me how big, strong and numerous they were, and how helpless I was to hook any of them. As calm returned to the pond, the no-see-ums mentioned in the guide book and known to the locals as jejenes, finally found us. Sandy covered up with her bug net, and we both coated exposed places with repellant. I was forced to admit defeat, and we motored back out toward the main lagoon.

We crossed the lagoon to another channel, which slices through the mangrove swamp to Bahia Amortojada, on the north side. As we neared the beach, we started fighting current from water entering the channel from the rising tide. We pulled into the beach to stretch our legs. A dinghy from a catamaran anchored out in Bahia Amortojada approached, with 4 people on board. They cheerfully waved, and we chatted briefly. We had both been anchored the previous night at Isla San Francisco. We couldn't talk long, as the current was pulling them down the channel. We finished our walk and passed them in our dinghy as we headed back down to the south side of the mangrove swamp.

We motored back to the boat, hot and hungry. Following lunch we raised anchor and headed for the San Jose Channel and our passage north. A light breeze was holding from the south, instead of the predicted northwesterlies. I felt sleepy and gave Sandy the wheel while I napped in the cockpit. I must have dropped off pretty good, because I awoke to the pounding of hull on swells. I looked out to steep 4 foot seas and whitecaps everywhere. Apparently we had been sheltered from wind on the south end of San Jose, but out in the notorious channel the wind was present in strength, and seeming to build. We decided our best course was to cross over to Evaristo, a good anchorage in a northerly blow. We had passed a calm night there on our way south. Evaristo was 4 miles distant, and a direct course allowed us to quarter the waves. We had just enough angle on the wind for me to unfurl the jib, and this helped stabilize the boat. The wind only measured 15 knots, but in the confines of San Jose Channel it got rough enough to give us a very bouncy ride. We were very glad and relieved as we reached the shelter of Punta Evaristo. 4 other boats were anchored in the first, and most protected cove where we had anchored before. They were larger boats, however, and we had plenty of room to go inside them and anchor, closer to shore. Once secure, Sandy went into the cockpit and fixed up two rum and cokes to help us unwind.

While we were relaxing in the cockpit we heard a dinghy motoring out in the bay. Sandy said it looked like they were coming over to visit. We waved and they came on over. It was the same group we'd briefly met at Bahia Amortojada earlier in the day. They introduced themselves as Dave, John and Ted. We had a enjoyable chat, and they invited us to dinghy over to their boat for drinks. That sounded like fun and agreed. They mentioned that they were well stocked, with the exception of tequila. They still had margerita mix, but had run out of tequila. I offered to bring my bottle over.

A short while later we were sitting on the aft deck of their chartered catamaran, engaged in the most delightful conversation. Dave and his wife Marney are Presbyterian ministers, living in Tuscon. Dave has a talent for sitimulating the conversation by asking insightful and interesting questions. Ted is Dave's lifelong friend and seems to be a very sensitive and caring person. Ted and his wife Sandra live in Philadelphia. John is a highly experienced sailor, who owns an Island Packet which he and his wife keep on the Chesapeake.

As cocktail hour neared its end, they all insisted that we stay for dinner. The persuading line was that their chartered boat had been provisioned by the charter service, and as they neared the end of their cruise week, they were still loaded with food. We were having such a good time, we just couldn't say no. With that, the women retired to the galley and produced a gourmet dinner of fried fish, corn on the cob, sauteed fresh vegetables and tacos, which was followed by a light dessert of watermelon slices and cookies. As dusk settled in, Dave was persuaded to haul out his backpack guitar. He propped himself up on the fiberglass support to the hard canopy over the aft deck, and launched himself into a delightful rendition of old and familiar folksongs. Peter, Paul and Mary as well as Simon and Garfunkle seemed to be his favorites, and considering that all 8 people on board were either 59 or 60 years old, they were appreciated by all. Dave is a very accomplished musician, with a good voice for these songs, and he knew them all by heart, from start to finish. He reminded my a bit of Pete Seeger with his enthusiasm for the music. We hated to leave, but the hour was growing late, and we were both tired. We said heartfult goodbyes to our newfound friends, and as we started back, they gave a serenade to the tune of "Goodnight Irene". It was a most memorable evening, but the kind of encounter which uniquely seems to occur among cruisers. As we climbed back on board, Sandy mentioned that we'd forgotten our bottle of tequila. I thought they might drop it off in the morning, but if not, it would be small payment for their generous hospitality.