April 29, 2008 -- Puerto los Gatos -- N 25 degrees 18' 18.3"/W 110 degrees 56' 44.6"
19.7nm for the day; 506.8 nm cruised on the trip overall

The roosters of Napolo begin to crow at 5 am this time of year. They take this responsibility seriously and give it their best effort, as do the fishermen of Napolo. At 5 am they are busy readying their pangas, by flashlight and headlamp. By 5:30 the first pangas are off the beach and running out of the cove, headed for open waters and their best fishing spots. We have risen early as well, and with my flashlight lantern switched on in the open cockpit, a panga bearing two fishermen swings by closely. They give me a hearty "buenas dias" and I reply the same, wishing them good luck. They inquire where we are headed and I tell them. With a final wave they are off. As we prepare to get under way, we hear kids off to the side, walking in the darkness along the rock ledge. They too are going out fishing, from the rocks with their hand lines, before their school day begins. I went ashore last evening for a visit, and I learned that there are 9 school age kids in this community. They have their own school and teacher at Napolo. Their school day starts at 7 am and goes until 1pm, which affords time for fishing both before and after school. As we motor out of the cove, with dawn beginning to break over Isla San Jose to the east, we wave goodbye to a pair of boys who are fishing from rocks along the side of the cove. As we round the point, we see two young girls who are fishing from their favorite spot, just outside the cove. They also give us enthusiastic waves as we pass by.

In my experience there are 4 kinds of days. Most days are simple routine, with no outstanding features. Such days are necessary for the essentials of life, but they lack distinction or memorability. Then there are days where everything seems to go wrong. Sometimes the minor catastrophes seem to build and feed upon themselves, and it's virtually impossible to break out of the cycle. These days are often memorable, but for painful reasons, however with the passage of time may become the substance of good humor. On the third type of day, things start out perfectly, but the mood of contentment gets dramaticly and unexpectedly shattered by some unanticipated disaster. With the final type of day, the poetry of life is in perfect rhyme. We move in symmetry with the people we share time with, and things just work out right, from dawn till dark. Such days are the rarest of all, and thus to be most cherished and remembered. Today was such a day.

We headed up the coast under clear skies and a light westerly breeze. We set a course for Timbibache, about 15 miles distant. We saw several manta rays leaping, but none were close to the boat. With noon approaching, I studied the cruising guides and charts for a good place to pull in, where we could do some snorkeling and have enough privacy to set up the solar shower. The salt crystals were getting a bit thick on both of us, and we were looking forward to a nice freshwater shower. The shallow bay called Ensenada los Pargos looked promising. It is located just south of Puerto los Gatos, and is too exposed to interest most boats. A pair of rocky reefs guard both ends of the bay. The breeze by this time was light and out of the southeast, blowing directly into the bay. However, the swell was a foot or less, and the place was vacant. We swung in and anchored just before noon.

No sooner had we anchored, than our friend Manuel, whom we'd met when we stayed at los Gatos on our way south, entered the bay in his panga. He pulled alongside, and remembered me from before. We exchanged greetings, and he asked if we wanted some fish. I could see fresh cabrilla in his boat. His luck had been good. Recalling the triggerfish filets still in our refrigerator, I declined but asked him if he might get us "dos lingusta" or two lobsters. He grinned and said "Si". He got across that he'd be back later in the day. With that, he fired up his outboard and zoomed off, in search of our lobsters.

We gathered up our snorkel gear and headed for the beach. The water temperature was in the low to mid 70's, the warmest we'd seen on the trip, and Sandy was really eager to snorkel without being chilled to the bone. We first tried the reef near where the boat was anchored. It was just fair, with a good number of fish, but no particularly distinctive features. We returned to shore and walked down the beach to a spot at the base of a rocky cliff. Numerous large boulders were at water's edge and extended out into the sea. This area was outstanding, with lots of colorful fish, as well as some beautiful lavendar colored sea fans. I had my pole spear along, and we got fairly close to several triggerfish, however, they were too skittish for a shot.

While walking down the beach, I'd seen an upright pedestal of rock, which had broken off from the parent cliff. It was about 8 feet high, and stood in rounded cobble. It looked like the perfect place to set up the solar shower. I rowed back to the boat, grabbed the shower stuff, and returned to the beach. I tossed a line over the top of the rock, tied one end to the shower bag, and hoisted it up. I was able to secure the line on the back side of the rock to a projecting chunk of conglomerate. It made for a great shower. Ladies first, and I was almost finished with my shower when Sandy said "Better hurry, a panga just rounded the point". I finished rinsing my hair, toweled off, pulled on my trunks, and got into the dinghy to meet and greet the fisherman, who had swung in toward our boat. We both hoped it would be Manuel.

When I got out to the panga I saw that it was indeed Manuel. He grinned widely and said "buenas tardes". I replied in kind and asked him if he'd had any luck with the lingusta. He opened his fish box and pulled out not 2 but 3 lobsters. I couldn't believe my eyes. They were smallish in size, but nonetheless they were lobster. I was delighted, and told Manuel he was "bien hombre". I think he figured the lobsters might not be enough for our dinner, so he also gave me a triggerfish. I asked him if he needed pesos or gasolina most. He said pesos, so I went aboard and got my wallet. I asked him how much, but he sort of awkwardly grinned and shrugged. It was up to me to decide their worth. I offered him 70 pesos, and he warmly accepted the payment. I then said "uno momento" and stepped down into the cabin. I grabbed an ice cold Tecate from the frig and offered it to him. This greatly pleased him, and he reached down into his fix box and handed me a cabrilla, one of the finest table fish in these waters. I thanked him warmly. As he prepared to move off, he asked if I would "returno" soon. I told him no, but maybe in a year or two. With that he said "hola espousa" and took off, headed up to los Gatos with hopes of serving other cruisers. Manuel, I thank you for being a good fisherman and for making people happy with your warmth and friendliness, and for your perfect timing on this day.

I cleaned the fish and lobsters on shore, and then we pulled anchor and headed for the night's anchorage. We didn't want to go far and make this a late dinner. We decided to just go around the corner to los Gatos. The anchorage is mostly open to the swell which was rolling in from the southeast, however our shallow draft enabled us to tuck in to a little, shallow cove that the larger boats can't use. I set the bow anchor, and then rowed ashore, dug a hole in the sand, and like the houseboats on Lake Powell, ran a stern anchor line from the beach out to the boat. This allowed us to keep pointed into the swell and avoid swinging in our tight little nook.

It was now time to steam lobsters and fry up some cabrilla. Sandy fixed a large tossed salad, and we garnished with green olives. A chilled Riesling completed the table. We dined in the cockpit as the sun prepared to set beyond the rugged Sierra de la Giganta. All we could do was look at each other and grin, delighting in this day and the happiness of sharing it with each other.