T’ês noh oal nie noar de wuppe…..*

On December 20th, we left Topolobampo’s Marina and anchored around the corner to be in pool position for our Sea passage the following day. It was the perfect goodbye to the State of Sinaloa with a coyote on the beach and a fiery sunset as a final fare thee well. 

At 3 o clock in the morning, My Captain and I raised the sails and off we raced for a cold and wild ride across the bumpy waves of The Sea of Cortez to Baja California Sur. The same voyage we had done in either direction by ferry, but this time on our own steam and with an extra crew member sleeping down below who was getting slowly sea sick without even realizing it. 

“El Norte” was chasing us along at an average speed of 6,5 knots with peaks up to 9. The several layers of sailing gear were sheer necessity to protect us from being chilled to the bone. It felt like being on the Belgian North Sea all over again. The only difference was the color blue. A very inky shade of blue.

The sun was already setting and the sea lions were noisily preparing for the night when we sailed past Los Islotes, which looked like a Christmas “bûche” with snow on top, except for the fact that the snow was guano. There were plenty of those to follow. It was pitch dark by the time we dropped anchor into our first bay of Isla Espiritu Santo. 

What’s in a name? The next morning – December 23rd- we felt blessed by the Holy Ghost. A mirror- like Sea, plenty of anchorages to choose from and Wild West landscapes in hyper realistic Technicolor. 

Since we prefer to be advised by the locals where to dive in wild places we haven’t been before- after all this was not Bonaire- we had arranged a pick up and drop off at O2’s anchorage spot by a diving company out of La Paz. The first dive to a wreck couldn’t really enthuse us. A sunken ship with a lost turtle on top was the highlight of this murky underwater excursion. Indeed, it was nothing like Bonaire. 

The second dive was more to our liking. Until I suddenly felt something rather heavy on top of me. And then it started yanking at my BCD, like a dog would do with a shoe. It was an adolescent sea lion checking me out. I was not amused. Although the dive guide had promised us the possibility of encountering “playful” pups & youngsters interacting with us by “nibbling” our fins, there hadn’t been mention of a regular sea lion delinquent going in overdrive all around me and my gear. The persistent youngster had me so freaked out that I shot up a couple of meters to then plunge down again to get away from its playful nibbling attacks. He just loved this game. With my ears hurtfully popping – in my panic I had forgotten all about equalizing- and my heart racing like mad, I stared with wild eyes into the go pros of my fellow divers who all had a ball watching my pitiful attempts to escape from the sea lion’s attention. Only My Captain positioned himself between me and the sassy animal to gently punch him away. Although, one guy  did guiltily admit afterwards that he had felt torn between his urge to come to the rescue and his desire to get it all on film. The desire to keep filming had won. Back on O2 Ramses showed pink teeth marks on his upper arm where the same delinquent sea lion had nibbled him a bit too enthusiastically through his 5-millimeter wetsuit. We are not so keen anymore to go diving with orcas, should the opportunity arise.

That same evening, we saw devil rays jumping in the sunset as we were taking care of urgent paperwork in the one spot of the Sea where the internet was more or less present. We knew that for the week to come, we would be totally disconnected from a pandemic-stricken outside world. It would be just us in our parallel universe, gaping in awe at geological wonders in their ever-changing hues of pink, brown, red, orange, black chocolate, and guano white as they seemed to be floating on a sea taking on its different shades of blue. 

We have now arrived in Loreto Bay, another National Marine Park on UNESCO’s list. On the way we have anchored in spectacular coves, we have hiked prickly goat trails along salty shores and wandered through cinematographic landscapes. We have taken 1001 pics of Mother Earth, who – given half a chance- never tired of proudly posing for us in all her desert splendors. 

Where there are vultures, there must be carcasses. There were plenty of those.

We sincerely wish all of you a 2022 to cherish. And remember, t’ês noh oal nie noar de wuppe.

* All has not gone down the drain just yet.