|
Intending to try the next charted anchorage, La
India, three miles east, we poked Avaiki's bow around the tiny island for
which this first bay is named, Isla Sacrificio. "What's this place?" Candace
immediately pointed to a very small cove of quiet water fringed by sand that
glistened in the early afternoon sun.
"There's nothing marked on the chart except a slight
indentation;" RG noted. "It doesn't have a name, so I guess it isn't a bay,
or maybe it isn't really there. Shall we go take a look?"
"Go slow, RG, there looks to be a reef over in
the east corner, so there might be more coral around." In 20 feet of calm,
clear water, we spied a sandy area large enough for Avaiki to swing safely
on five to one all-chain rode, so we set our 44-lb. Bruce anchor and then
went swimming. For most of the next couple of weeks, the only people we
saw were the occasional private panga with a tourist or two who would drive
around the cove and wave to us, or stop and snorkel the reef for an hour.
But we were never alone, as the animal life was abundant.
Particularly noteworthy were the birds. We, of
course, viewed the antics of numerous pelicans, frigate birds, brown
boobies, herons, and vultures. And this is where we first encountered the
white-throated Magpie Jay, an impressively feathered specimen sounding like
a typical jay but sporting a jaunty pointed topknot crest and a long (20")
blue tail. But most endearing to us were the pair of Osprey who, every
morning and evening, regularly "cree, cree" their way to either side of the
cove, perching on parched tree branches or sheltered rock ledges, and worked
the waters for fish. Called the sea eagle by ancient mariners, able to
survive near water in any environment on the planet except at the Arctic
circles, there is astonishingly just one specie of Osprey. It eats only
fish, yet there is no adaptation variation, whether dining from a freshwater
lake in Russia or a saltwater cove in Mexico. This pair so delighted us with
their predictable dawn and dusk feedings, that we eventually came to call
this uncharted indent "Osprey Cove."
The reefs in the Huatulco area, and particularly in
Osprey Cove, displayed some of the best snorkeling we've experienced since
the Tuamotu Archipelago in French Polynesia. That spring, the water was warm
(80+ degrees F), visibility generally good and often excellent (in between
the three-day algae blooms, the "red tides," which are characteristic of
springtime in this area), and the colorful fish abundant. Giant damselfish,
gray-blue, roundish creatures as large as a foot in diameter, swam
languidly, as individuals or in schools, long filaments trailing off their
tins, and the perky juveniles sporting brilliant neon-blue spots on their
dark blue bodies. King angelfish, 12+ inches round, blue bodies with vibrant
orange tails and fins, deserve the declaration in our fish book as "one of
the most gorgeous fishes in the Eastern Pacific." We played tag (but did not
spear) several kinds of shy snapper, stingray, octopus, and even a zebra
moray eel. Candace kept getting her legs nipped by small, skinny,
yellow-black striped fellows and would flail about shouting, "I'm being
hassled by the wrassle!" But the pests were not the plentiful Cortez rainbow
wrasse, but actually sabertooth blenny, trying by imitation to swim with the
big guys. Gorgeous Cortez rainbow wrasse males and females typically display
black, yellow and red horizontal stripes. Interestingly, as adults, some of
the females mysteriously become "secondary phase males;' grow larger and
change appearance to a red body, blue head and fins, with a yellow splash
near the crown.
"Gosh, if I swim enough with the wrasse:” Candace
teased, "instead of going through menopause, maybe I'll just get taller and
my skin will tan more golden:'
"I'd prefer you to remain a female, honey." And
RG slipped cut arm around one of her curves.
One morning during breakfast, Candace reminded RG it was his mother's birthday. "She's 90 years old today. We've got to
congratulate her." Enamored with our idyllic idyll. pulling up the hook and
sailing 10 miles to Huatulco Harbor did not appeal. "Let's take the sport
boat around the corner to St. Augistin and find a phone." That tiny village
proved to be little more than a permanent fish camp and, although the local
matriarch offered to call us a taxi from her cellular phone, we deemed the
20 miles of dirt road travel into Huatulco's only town, La Crucecita, too
much of an effort and expense.
"Let's take the sport boat and adventure down
the coast a few miles;' RG suggested. We stopped back at Avaiki, serenely
swinging in Osprey Cove, to top up the fuel tank for our 15hp outboard, load
the small ice chest with cold water bottles and lunch snacks, and grab the
fishing tackle, then headed east along the boulder-tumbled coast.
We were skunked by the fish, but watched the
seabirds swoop, turtle beaks poke from their "foreskin" enclosed heads, and
were even checked out, within 30 feet, by a pair of sperm whales. Candace
got so excited she began to hiccup, so it was great we had lots of water,
but a drag we'd neglected to bring the camera. Eventually we spied ketch
masts in a small, reef-protected cove at the eastern corner of a large,
sand-fringed crescent bay. While stretching our legs on La India's pretty
beach, three tourist-filled powerboats disgorged more than 100 eager
beachcombing snorklers. "Oh, they always come swarm in at 1000 hours, but
everyone is gone by 1500," smiled Sherry from the ketch, Mystique, out of
Stockton, California. "Hey, we've got email through our ham radio if you'd
like to send birthday greetings to your mom, RG." Hoorah!
"It's been several weeks since we left Acapulco, RG;" Candace commented one evening. "I'm running low on fresh supplies."
"We can manage for awhile on canned and dried, can't
we?"
"Sure, but these are the last two beers."
"We need to go shopping!" RG declared
enthusiastically. "Let's go check out Huatulco Harbor tomorrow."
At 0900 we dropped Avaiki's hook in oily, dirty
water and were taking our sport boat into the tiny darcena. A one dollar
taxi ride took us the two miles into charming La Crucecita, a new tourist
town built in the old Spanish style, where we shopped happily amidst
glorious produce at the central mercado and downloaded email at the ice
cream parlor internet cafe. We thought Huatulco Harbor probably had good
holding ground, but seemed a horrid environment characterized by filthy
water and wild, tourist-filled boats buzzing rudely all around the anchored
sailboats, plus a disco that reportedly blared at full volume until 0500
nightly. We had a hard time understanding why all those sailboats we'd
watched passing Osprey Cove were now anchored here instead of at one of the
Huatulco area's clearwater, sand-fringed, crescent bays. Are modern cruisers
so afflicted by a herd mentality?
During our stay in the Huatulco area, we anchored in
front of several quiet beaches, most notably behind rock-strewn Isla
Cacaluta and nearly landlocked La India in the eastern corner of large Bahia
Chachacual, in an attempt to find protection from the swells created by the
Tehuantepec winds. But the isolated beauty of Osprey Cove kept enticing our
return and we discovered that a well-set stern hook kept Avaiki's bow riding
comfortably into the undulations from the east.
We really relaxed at Osprey Cove. Occasionally,
iguana hunters would arrive in a panga from San Augustin, disembark with
machetes, and wander into the surrounding jungle, returning in a few hours
with bulging, wriggling sacks. We swam from Avaiki to the beach daily, and
RG gathered enough puka shells to fashion a collar-type necklace. We
investigated turtle drag marks in the sand to see if eggs had been laid (we
found none). We watched a healthy looking coyote feed in the evenings along
the rock-tumbled western end of the cove. And, of course, every dawn and
dusk the creeing Osprey would swoop, talons foremost, and rise from the
water with struggling fish.
Waiting for that Tehuantepec weather window, one day
the radio crackled with the voice of an old friend, surfer Don," a
gregarious single-handed sailor aboard the Peterson 44, Tarnure. We guided
him to anchor nearby and shared the delights of Osprey Cove. Don stayed in
the Huatulco area for a month after our departure for Guatemala, calling
cruising friends on the radio to come anchor with him in the cove. For the
remainder of the season, people on the single sideband nets, checking in
from the Huatulco area, would announce they were relishing the beauty and
animal life in "Osprey Cove.”We'd look at each other and smile knowingly,
savoring memories of quiet solitude at our uncharted "discovery."
|
