Mid-March, 2011 - Despite the drawbacks of red tide, jelly fish blooms and land disputes,

the anchorage at Tenacatita held us in its grasp for ten happy days.  Old time cruisers

who had been coming to Tenacatita for years initiated games of Bocce ball on the beach,

they encouraged cruisers to gather for beers at the beachfront palapa restaurant La

Vena, and they organized group dinghy provisioning

trips across the bay to the village of La Manzanilla.

Beginners luck prevailed for us in Bocce ball, and we

nailed a few throws to win the first game.

Dinghy landings in this bay are quite a challenge,

because of the pounding waves and surf on the beach.

We hitched rides with friends several times to learn the

technique for landing the dink and launching it again

later without getting too wet.  We learned that waves

come in sets, often 6 or 7 at a time, and the trick is to

wait until a set has passed to make your move.  You get a total of about 15 seconds to ride

behind the last wave to shore or to jump in the dink and start the outboard during a launch

off the beach.  One false move by a passenger, or an unexpectedly stalled engine, or a

miscalculation of when the last wave has actually passed can spell the difference between

being wet up to your shorts or flipping the dinghy entirely and getting drenched head to toe.

We watched in amazement from the beach as one

seasoned pro accidentally flipped his dinghy during a

launch when his inexperienced passenger took too long to

climb into the boat. The dinghy hit a huge oncoming wave

and flew straight up in the air like a rocket, landing upside

down in the surf.  Workers from the restaurant dashed

down to the beach carrying a five gallon jug of fresh water

to flush the outboard engine while cruisers searched the

waves for lost cargo.  Fortunately the outboard responded

to the treatment, most items were found, and the dinghy

was soon re-launched without mishap.

La Manzanilla on the far side of the bay is a small

seaside village, and we enjoyed watching the locals

going about their daily activities.  Two men stirred a

cauldron filled with ham hocks (hooves included),

while a dog waited patiently.

There was plenty of construction going on, all done

by hand.  We watched one worker shovel gravel into

a bucket on the street and then hoist it to the roof of

a building using a rope and pulley system.  Water

was then hoisted in another bucket, and the worker

on the roof mixed and poured the concrete by hand.

In another area we watched a worker mix his

concrete in a little pile of gravel right on the street.

This may not produce the highest grade concrete,

but there is a quiet calm and pride in the way these

men go about their work.

Out in the bay the red tide began to go through its lifecycle phases.

First the water turned from beet red to murky brown to grey green.

Then a huge blanket of foam formed in the middle of the bay.

Several hundred feet across, the foam began as a solid sheet of tiny

white bubbles and then began to dissipate into elaborate patterns as

the current ebbed and flowed beneath it.

The pelicans had no qualms about

the water quality, and they dove for

fish each afternoon.  They looked like

flying knives being hurled into the

water.  I tried in desperation to get a

picture of one just at the moment of

impact when their wings are pressed

tightly against their bodies, but I

never quite caught it.

One morning we awoke to a pan-pan call on the

radio.  This is an emergency alert for anyone within

earshot, and as I laid in bed with my eyes closed

debating how we'd spend our day I heard, "Japan has had a massive earthquake

and a tsunami is headed this way.  It will arrive here in two hours."  That got me out

of bed in a hurry!  Pre-coffee and still half-dressed in pj's, we hauled the anchor and

dashed out of the anchorage.  A fishing panga was nearby and we waved them over

to pass on the warning.  I hated the thought that they might fish by the rocks all

morning and never know what hit them.

Out on the open water we were able to connect to the internet, sort of.  If I stood in

the cockpit holding the laptop over my head with the USB antenna pointed towards

shore, I could download a page in about 3 to 5 minutes.  This was just enough to get some Google News reports detailing the

unfolding disaster.  Meanwhile the radio was abuzz with cruiser chatter.  People were sharing information they were receiving

from single side band radio broadcasts, from cell phone calls to friends and family on the west coast and from the internet.

We soon realized the predicted time for the arrival of the wave was 1:45 pm, not 10:45 a.m. as we were first told, and the

effects could last up to nine hours after the intial wave hit.

This meant a long day of sailing.  We had planned to stay in Tenacatita for a few more days, but once we were out in the

ocean it made more sense to travel up the coast a bit to Chamela Bay.

Almost the entire cruising fleet joined us in the open water, and a huge game of musical chairs ensued.  Just about everyone

changed anchorages and moved north or south to the next spot on their itinerary along the coast.

Out on the water the regular ocean swell was running about five

feet, so the five foot tsunami waves were undetectable.  Our

biggest challenge was trying to determine whether the waves

had arrived on shore or not, and whether or not it was safe to go

in to anchor.  Once the initial waves had hit California and then

Cabo San Lucas, all new internet reporting ceased.  The

Mexican news stories were only about warnings, not about

actual wave arrivals in the various ports nor about damage, so

we had no idea what the status was along our coast.

However, the air was warm and the breeze too light to sail

much, so Mark lazily dropped a handline over the side of the

boat as we motored along.  Within an hour the line suddenly

went taut and then limp.  He brought it in to find that a huge fish

had struck and broken the clasp holding the leader line to the

handline.  Somewhere out there a fish was swimming around

with a six inch blue feather lure hanging out of its mouth while

fifty feet of nylon leader trailed behind him.  Darn!

He quickly found another lure with a stronger clasp and thicker leader line, and threw it over the side.  Wham!  Another fish

was on the hook.  Holy cow.  Mark has trailed handlines up and down this entire coast with only one catch so far.  And now

within minutes he had two, with the one that got away being (undoubtedly) one of the biggest fish in the ocean.  Was the

tsunami herding the fish somehow?  Whatever the cause, he hauled the fish in and we had a good look at it.  It was beautiful:

big and silver with bright yellow fins and tail.  Unfortunately, it was the inedible Jack Crevalle, or "toro" in Spanish, a fish that

has meat so red and bloody that it is considered inedible.  Toros have big puppy dog eyes, though, and this guy was staring

up at Mark in stark terror.  He quickly unhooked the lure from its mouth and we could feel his utter relief as he swam off into

the depths.

We pulled into Chamela Bay around 5:00 p.m., thinking the worst of the waves must have passed.  As we lowered the anchor

over the flat sand bottom, I watched the depth gauge read a steady 22 to 23 feet and then suddenly dip to 14 feet and then

rise again to 22 feet.  Within seconds I heard an enormous crash of a mammoth wave pounding the shore, and I turned to see

its foaming mass sweep well past the highest tide mark on the beach.

Our radio instantly crackled to life as a friend of ours used her hand-held radio to describe the utter pandemonium she was

seeing on the beach.  Mark had to calm me down a bit, as I started to rant, but no waves quite that big rolled through after

that.  However, all was not right in the water.  Every boat in the anchorage did steady 360 degree turns around its anchor,

completing a full turn every minute or two.  After a few clockwise turns the boats would all begin to turn counterclockwise as

their hulls followed the pull of the ocean surge washing in and out of the bay.

The next morning we woke to thick fog, the first we had

seen since we were in Chamela Bay four months earlier.

The scene around us had an eerie glow.

We walked along the shore later in the day.  The ghost town

feeling that Chamela Bay had had in November still

persisted, especially now that the fleet of fishing pangas had

been dragged high onto the beach out of reach of the

tsunami waves.

A little restaurant at one end of the beach was stranded

by the tsunami.  Usually a path through soft sand leads

to this building, but the tsunami swell was continuing to

disturb the peace a day or two after the first waves

arrived.  A steady river of water washed to and fro in an

estuary, making access to the restaurant a dicey affair

that included wading in water up to your shorts.

Elsewhere around Chamela Bay little had changed.  More flowers

seemed to be in bloom, but the pretty little waterfront RV park was

totally empty now.

We decided to take Groovy out into the bay for a few days where three

small uninhabited islands huddle together.  There are several

anchoring spots out there, and we found it to be a cozy, hidden

paradise.

As we dropped the hook we heard the loud and rather

urgent cries of hundreds of pelicans roosting in the trees

on the shore.  These islands are an ecological preserve

zone, and pelicans rule.

We took the dinghy ashore and stood in awe watching two different

species of pelicans engaging in what can only be described as a

springtime orgy.  Throaty groans, flapping wings, and awkward

physical postures gave the rugged shore an emotional vibe that

made us feel we were intruding on the most intimate of erotic

moments.

Averting our eyes from these

impassioned birds, we found

a host of hermit crabs

scurrying across the sand.

They crawled over each

other and tapped on each

other's shells.  These little

guys were inhabiting a huge

variety of shells, and one or

two were running around

naked looking for a new home.

The water was a

gorgeous shade of

blue, a welcome

change from the post-

red tide grey-green

that filled Chamela's

main anchorage.

Around the beach there were cactus and palm trees, and stubby little deciduous trees

too.  But it was the tide pools that really got our attention.  The waves sloshed in and out

with a vengeance, but a few were out of reach of the surf, and life in those pools was

calm and serene.

Back on the boat it

seemed we were in the

perfect place to have a look at the underside of our

hull.  We had been cleaning it every week or so

down in Zihuatanejo where the water was warm

and the barnacles grew quickly.  Since we had

been up north of Manzanillo, however, we hadn't

had a chance to give it a good look or a good scrub

because of the murky water.

Mark tackled the lowest parts of the hull and keel

with his scuba gear while I held my breath with a

snorkel and popped the offending barnacles off the

higher parts of the hull.  The water wasn't exactly

clear, and while we were in it a new wave of post-

red tide scum floated by.  Suddenly the water was

full of white puffy stringy stuff, and we quickly

wrapped up our work.  Unfortunately, the waves

were surging so vigorously that at one point each

of us accidentally gulped a huge mouthful of water.

Over the following days we both

went through a series of weird symptoms, starting with sore shoulders

followed by swollen glands in our necks and nasty head aches.  Mine

ended with a round of vomiting, while Mark was nauseous for two days.

After a week the symptoms passed.  My advice to anyone following in

our path:  don't drink water tainted by red tide.

Chamela Bay is the last good anchorage along the coast heading north

before the much feared Cabo Corrientes where high winds and

conflicting swell can make for a miserable passage.  The bright lights of

Puerto Vallarta lie beyond that point, but it is a 100 mile trip to get there,

so boats gather in Chamela Bay and watch the weather forecasts like

hawks, waiting for the best 24 hours to make the trip.  Before long we

got our chance, and we dashed out of the bay towards the Puerto

Vallarta suburb of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle.

Find Chamela on Mexico Maps

Visit Anchorages on the "Mexican Riviera" (northern Pacific coast) to see more cruising posts from this area!

Early March, 2011 - After a week of laid back

decadence at Barra de Navidad, complete with

French baked goods, flat calm nights and civilized

water taxi rides to shore, we moved a few miles north

to Cuastecomate.  This small anchorage lies between

the two large and very popular anchorages of Barra de

Navidad and Tenacatita, and in the past was

apparently neither well documented nor well-known, so

it was nicknamed the "Secret Anchorage."   With the

publication this year of Pacific Mexico, a new cruising

guide for this area, the cat is out of the bag, as the

GPS coordinates for the anchorage are given along

with an enticing description..

There was just one other sailboat in the anchorage when we arrived, along with a

Mexican Navy ship sitting quietly in the middle of the bay.  As we began to anchor we

noticed the Navy ship drawing closer.  Once we got the anchor down and began to get

settled, the Navy ship launched five men in a tender that soon circled our boat.  They

asked permission to board Groovy.  Just a week earlier four Americans had been killed

on their sailboat off of Somalia.  This was geographically very far from Mexico but, as

fellow cruisers, the event felt close enough in spirit to make me suddenly feel quite

vulnerable as a camouflage suited soldier climbed up our swimstep carrying a machine

gun.

He walked forward to our bow and stood watch, while two other Navy men in bullet-

proof vests climbed aboard and settled into our cockpit.  Intimidating as it was for a few

moments, this visit was both friendly and routine.

With the taste of almond croissants still on our lips and the sun

sparkling on the water all around the boat, I thought we made an

odd assortment on board Groovy.  Mark was dressed for another

day of vacation in running shorts, bare feet and no shirt, while the

Navy men were dressed for an armed conflict, complete with heavy

boots.  The tender with the two remaining men moved away from

our boat and hovered nearby, one of the men resting his machine

gun across his lap.

They were extremely gracious, speaking to us in simple Spanish once I

revealed I was willing to practice my language skills with them.  They

merely wanted to see our boat papers and passports and to verify that

we didn't have any drugs on board or any extra passengers who were

not documented on our crew list.

I asked them a little about their work and learned we were the second

boat they had boarded that day, the first being the other sailboat in this

little anchorage.  The day before they had inspected four boats.  They

regularly patrol the 150 miles between Puerto Vallarta and Barra de

Navidad, rotating shifts of days or weeks spent aboard the ship followed

by time at home with their families.  "It's hard on family life and hard on

your marriage," we all agreed.  In the ensuing days we found many

other boats had been similarly boarded this year, although in prior years

it was not a common occurrance in this area.

Their inspection was more thorough and detailed than

any of the many US border patrol checkpoints we have

driven through towing our fifth wheel on the US

interstates.  There we have always been waved

through without even having to slow down below 10

mph, despite towing an enormous trailer.

We were given two forms to sign, one written in English

and one in Spanish.  The English language form was a

waiver absolving the Mexican Navy of any responsibility

if we ever asked them for a tow and they damaged our

boat.  Fair enough.  To my utter surprise, the Spanish

language form was an evaluation of the boarding process.  I looked at them with a lopsided grin:  "This form evaluates your

performance today?!"  They nodded, smiling.  "It is for your boss?!"  More nods and grins.  Polite young men all of them, they

deserved the highest rating in every category.

Before leaving, the Mexican Navy men reassured us that if we ever had any trouble or needed them in any way, we should call

them on the radio on VHF Channel 16.  What a contrast to the way I was so rudely dressed down by the San Diego Harbor

Police for screwing up the sign-in procedures at San Diego's transient cruiser's dock, or the way the US Coast Guard yelled at

us through a megaphone because we had not written "T/T Groovy" on the bow of our dinghy.

Cuastecomate is known for its beautiful snorkeling spots, but

remnants of a recent red tide removed any thoughts of swimming.

Two days later when we motored into Tenacatita Bay we saw the

most expansive red tide to date.  The entire bay, several miles

across, was filled with tea colored water.  The stunning shade was

toned down a bit from the ruby red wine color that fellow cruisers

reported seeing the day before.

How sad.  Blue Bay -- Tenacatita's other name -- often has water

that is gin clear and bright turquoise.  The snorkeling off of one

point is so stunning that the cove is nicknamed "The Aquarium."  In

the past cruisers have moved in here for a month or more at a time

for a spell of life in Paradise, going so far as to have weekly

scheduled events and an elected "mayor" of the anchorage.

Not so this year.  At no time during our stay did we have the least

desire to put even a toe in the water.  After red tide algae dies off,

thick rivers of brown foam begin to form.  Zig-zagging scum lines lie

along the boundaries between current flows, and in places the foam

gathers into potato sized balls that punctuate the scum lines with little

brown puffs.  Leaving the bay for a daysail one day, we returned to

the anchorage through line after line of brown scum.

Not only was the red tide a

shock, but a jellyfish bloom

stunned us as well.  We had

sailed through miles of baby

jellyfish a week or so earlier,

hanging over the rails in amazement as the boat parted waves that were thick with two

inch long baby jellies that lay in layers below the surface.  All babies grow up, and one

morning in Tenacatita we awoke to find the boat sitting in a carpet of adult jellyfish.

They surrounded the boat so densely that it seemed you could walk across them.

After the hundred foot diameter carpet of jellies floated through the anchorage,

engulfing each boat in its path, it finally landed on the beach in front of the Blue Bay

Resort.  Thousands of jelly fish blanketed the sand for an afternoon.  As the tide went

out, the jellies were left high and dry, and they died.

Tenacatita was suffering this year in other ways

besides the red tide and the jellyfish.  During a

land dispute along one of the bay's beaches last

August, 150 Jalisco State Police evicted 800

people who lived and worked there.  All their

homes, restaurants and a hotel were bulldozed in preparation for the construction of a huge beachfront resort.  During our

stay the construction had not yet begun, but the land was actively patrolled by armed security guards.  Cruisers who had

arrived earlier in the season had been shooed off the beach and out of that anchorage.

One Tenacatita resident rose above all these depressing changes, however,

putting up with the strange water and turning a blind eye to the land dispute

around the corner.  Famed resident Chippy the dolphin has been loved by

cruisers for years, and we found him lolling around the anchorage, showing his

notched dorsal fin every time he surfaced through the water.  He happily

scratched his back on the boats' anchor chains as he always has.

Tenacatita features a "Jungle River Dinghy

Tour" that meanders up a lush estuary, and this

self-guided tour has actually benefitted from the

land dispute, as it is rarely traveled now.  You

have to brave some crashing surf and shallows

to get the dink into the estuary, but once inside you are in

a world apart.

The estuary tour begins as a calm river between thick

mangrove sides that twists and turns as it takes you

upriver.  Snowy egrets and other leggy fowl peer out at

you as you pass, and they don't flinch, even at the sound

of the dinghy's outboard.

In places the water

was so calm that

the foliage formed

a perfect reflection

in its depths.

Before the land dispute,

this estuary led to the

backside of the community

of homes, restaurants and

stores that has since been

bulldozed out of existence.

In those days it was heavily

traveled, and apparently

the animals were not quite

as easy to see.

We passed an iguana sunning himself on

the branches of a mangrove and we saw

several raccoon-like coatimundi

scampering overhead.  One coatimundi

stopped and stared at us long enough to

get some photos, but darned if all the pics

of him didn't turn out completely blurry.

Only one other

boat shared the

estuary with us

that day, friends of

ours from another

cruising boat.

The estuary narrows

dramatically, to the

point where you can

pull yourself along

by grabbing the branches overhead.  In places the dink can barely

squeeze through, as the mangroves close in on either side and

you have to duck the overhead jungle canopy.

At the far end, the estuary opened to a very small and shallow

lagoon, and we found the dock where cruisers used to land their

dinghies.  The silhouette of an armed guard in the distance kept

us from attempting to land, and we returned through the thick

mangroves to the bay.

This all added up to plenty of excitement for a few days' stay in Tenacatita, but a Mayday call

on the radio late one afternoon pumped our adrenaline up another notch.  A whale had

attacked the 36' sailboat "Luffin' It" just outside the anchorage.  Mark and four other cruisers

responded to the call, zipping out to the terrified couple in three dinghies.  They had been sailing along quietly when a whale

appeared out of nowhere and bashed the port side of the boat, knocking it over 45 degrees.  He repeated this bashing on the

starboard side and then got beneath the boat and began thrashing his tail, damaging the rudder and bending the propellor

shaft in the process.  The boat began taking on water, which prompted their Mayday call.

The rescuers used the most powerful dinghy to push the boat into the

anchorage, as the sailboat's engine could barely run due to the bent

prop shaft.  After saying a round of "thank yous" to the rescuers before

settling in for the night to a humming bilge pump, the couple shocked

us all when they motored out of the anchorage the next morning,

putting up the sails as they rounded the point en route to Puerto

Vallarta for repairs 130 miles away.

The main anchorage at Tenacatita is near

a small beach palapa restaurant, but there

are no stores nearby.  All provisioning must

be done far across the bay in the town of

La Manzanilla.  One morning a group of

cruisers took their dinghies to the town

across the bay, and we walked around the

cute village.  Loading up on fruits and

veggies in several of the many small

markets, I soon looked like a pack mule.

How funny to return to the anchorage later in the day, covered with salt spray from the lively dinghy ride and happily worn out

from a day of shopping, to find the megayacht anchored behind us had called a panga to run their errands and bring them all

the provisions they needed.  We watched the uniformed crew serving the two couples aboard and marveled at the many ways

you can live a life.

Our low brow boating life is a pretty good one, though, and one

afternoon the cruisers all gathered for a dinghy raft up.

Everyone brought an appetizer to share and the dishes

circulated from boat to boat.  Our friend Bill was elected Mayor

of the Anchorage, and he gave a rousing speech in praise of

the folks who had helped with the rescue of the whale struck

boat a few days earlier.  In the odd way of Tenacatita this year,

however, the anchorage that had harbored 22 boats for one

busy night was down to just 6 by the next afternoon, as there is

little to hold people here this season.  However, because we

are rarely ones to move quickly, we stayed a full week before

venturing on to Bahía Chamela and its beautiful islands.

Find Tenacatita on Mexico Maps

Visit Anchorages on Mexico's North Pacific Coast to see more posts from this area!

Mid-February, 2011 - After the gentility of the Las Hadas

Resort in Manzanillo and the sweeping waves and beach

scene of Playa La Boquita in Santiago Bay, we were

surprised to find yet another totally contrasting lifestyle just

25 miles up the coast in the eclectic hideaway of Barra de

Navidad.  Pulling into the anchorage, we felt like we were

landing on another planet.  For starters, the anchorage is

an almost fully enclosed lagoon, and to enter it requires

motoring down a very narrow and very shallow channel.

Fortunately the GPS waypoints given in the guidebook are

accurate, as the channel is marked with buoys for only half its

length, and the chartplotter is off by about a mile.  In these waters,

being off by 100 feet will put you hard aground.

But the real surprise lay inside the anchorage: 50 cruising boats

were crammed into the lagoon.  Until now, every anchorage we

had been in had hosted fewer than twenty boats.  What a crazy

zoo scene this was!  To top that off, being low tide, everywhere we looked for a spot to drop the anchor we had just inches of

water under the keel.  The lagoon's water is extremely silty, and you can barely see your toes when your legs are in water up

to your knees, so there was no way to tell the depth other than trust the boat's depth sounder.  In such a shallow and tightly

packed anchorage it made sense to let out just 50' or so of anchor chain.  A neighbor quickly set us straight however,

informing us that boats drag regularly through the soft mud and that everyone around us had 100' of chain out, despite being

in less than 10' of water.

Once the anchor was down, the sun began to drop low in the sky.  We kicked back in the cockpit and watched flocks of long

legged birds commuting home to roost while fishermen cast their nets behind the boat.  A chorus of lagoon bird songs filled

the air as they settled into the surrounding mangroves.

The next morning I poked my head out of the companionway to see a picture that for

all the world looked like one of the many beautiful anchorages in Maine where I grew

up cruising years ago.  Most Pacific coast anchorages are defined by mountains and

waves, making for dramatic scenery and often dramatic rolly nights.  In contrast, this

anchorage was as flat calm as could be and was rimmed by low lying trees.  The boats

were all well behaved, lined up with military precision, facing the gently rising tide with

dignity.  This is nothing like most Pacific coast anchorages where the boats tend to

pitch and roll, swinging in different directions, often quite wildly, challenging each other

to see which one can be the buckingest bronco of them all.

Suddenly the radio came alive with chatter; it was Barra's morning VHF cruiser's net.

For a full twenty minutes cruisers ran through the roll call of all the boats arriving,

departing or staying put in one of several anchorages in the area.  As soon as the net

ended, all fifty boats in Barra began hailing each other at once, making plans for

daytrips ashore, plans to meet in future harbors or plans for cocktails and dinners

together later in the day.  In the midst of all this conversation a heavily accented voice broke into the fray, announcing, "This is

ze French Baker and I am entering ze lagoon now."  A child's voice called out,

"French Baker, French Baker, we would like two chocolate pies."  The accented

voice answered, "I have only one."  "We'll take it!" came the happy reply.

Emeric Fiegen, a Frenchman who now hails from Canada, came to Barra years

ago and in 2003 created a unique niche for himself in this ex-pat community.

Opening "El Horno Frances" (The French Bakery), he sells French baked goods

out of a shop onshore and also out of a panga that he personally drives around

the lagoon each morning.  Offering quiches, croissants, baguettes and other

delicacies, he does a brisk business and is always sold out by the time he gets

to the far side of the anchorage.  This, unfortunately, was where we were

located, so we quickly learned we needed to email him our order the night

before.  After months of tacos, burritos and hot sauces it sure was a treat to sink

our teeth into chocolate croissants and miniature bacon and cheese quiches.

Barra de Navidad is a unique gringo hangout.  The town

hovers along one side of the lagoon, its small streets teeming

with cute tourist shops, charming outdoor restaurants, cheap

hotels and North American retirees escaping the cold winters

back home.  The mood is laid back and slightly gritty, with flip

flops and beachwear being the accepted attire.

A pretty pier extends along

one side of the lagoon's

entrance channel, leading

strollers out to views of the

bay and beach on the

ocean side of town.  On the

opposite side of the lagoon's channel the imposing Grand Bay Resort rises out of the

mangroves, offering high class and high dollar vacations to the younger still-employed (and

well-employed) set.

Cruisers stay in Barra for weeks

and even months each winter,

charmed by the convenient and

pleasing town, the picturesque

anchorage, and calm nights.  Some

sneak swims at the Grand Bay

Resort's beautiful pool (after a fine luncheon), and everyone winds up

at the Sands Hotel's pool or pool bar at some time, as that

establishment openly welcomes cruisers.

The social scene

in the lagoon is

intense.  It is an

easy dinghy ride

to visit your

neighbor for

happy hour,

and there are

a seemingly

infinite number

of places to

explore with

friends ashore.

All conversations

on the radio are

public, so

everyone's business is quickly well known.  The kids on two boats were the cutest to

listen to.  As they made plans to visit each other, the parents were consulted in the

background:  which boat, at what time, and with whose dinghy would they would get

together to play?

Sometimes this public forum

can get a little awkward.

Two women discussed the

dishes each would bring to a

dinner party and wondered

aloud whether or not to invite a third

boat that neither one was convinced

had arrived in Barra yet: "I think I

saw them in the lagoon but they

aren't due for another week..."  "I

have enough salad for all of us..."

"Okay, but I'm sure they would have

called us by now if they were here..."

Two men troubleshot a plumbing problem in detail: "You gotta turn that pipe 180 degrees."

"Yeah, but that sucker won't turn..."  They had forgotten to take their conversation to a

separate channel, away from the channel where boats hail each other, so they were soon

interrupted by a voice saying:  "Attention Fleet:  Which restaurant has the best burger in

town?"  "La Oficina" came the reply.  "La Casina?"  "No, La Oficina..."

Three boats were awaiting a mutual friend arriving from the airport.  A

comedy of errors ensued as the guest arrived with a hand-held VHF radio,

but because he was standing in the Grand Bay's lobby behind the massive

concrete structures of the resort, he was unable to hear any of the boats

responding to his calls from the lagoon.  For twenty minutes he hailed

three boats in the lagoon and they hailed back, to no avail.  Finally one

boat took a dinghy ashore and met the poor fellow in person in the lobby.

We took the kayak out on Valentine's Day for a quiet morning ride but found

so much to see that we didn't get back to the boat until almost dark.  First the

various long legged birds of the lagoon caught our eye.  The mangroves are

thick and the water is loaded with fish, making it an ideal location for birds to

quietly stalk their prey.

Along one edge of the lagoon there are a series of boat-in eateries

you can get to either by water taxi or with your own dinghy.  Several

restaurants seemed immensely popular and patrons filled every waterfront

seat.

Being our anniversary as well as Valentine's Day, we wanted to find

a quieter more romantic spot.  Fortina's fit the bill perfectly.  We

pulled the kayak onto their little beach and followed the sand right

to a table overlooking the water.  What an ideal spot to while away

the afternoon and reflect on the happy years we have spent in each

other's company.

On another day we took the kayak over to the dinghy dock at the

Grand Bay Resort and wandered through the beautiful grounds.

Manicured landscaping, even the jungle kind on the edges of the

golf course, define the fringes of this resort.  A row of hammocks

on a beach fronting the lagoon look out on a private island, and

everything about the resort oozes elegance.

We found a balcony overlooking the marina and the lagoon anchorage

in the distance beyond, and we watched a megayacht navigate the

skinny lagoon entrance channel past one of the resort's pretty outdoor

restaurants.  From simple beer and tacos on plastic chairs along the

lagoon's edge to haute cuisine in a stunning setting at the Grand Bay,

Barra de Navidad has everything a gringo escaping reality in Mexico

might want.

But living there in

the lagoon on a

boat can bring

reality back to you

in a heartbeat.

One morning,

while sampling

almond croissants

from the French Baker and pondering the unusual wind shift we were

seeing, panicky voices on the radio abruptly brought us to our senses.

"Attention Fleet: a McGregor 26 is dragging through the anchorage on the

north side of the lagoon."  We turned our heads and there it was, moving

at a fast clip right past us.

In an instant five dinghies rushed over to the wayward boat.

No one was on board, but the fast acting men in the dinks

quickly brought the boat to heel, deploying a second anchor

they found stored in one of the boat's lockers.  We hadn't yet

assembled our dink and put it in the water, so we watched all

the action feeling rather useless.

No sooner had the McGregor 26 settled down than another

call went out on the radio.  "Attention Barra Fleet:  I've gone

aground."  The wind shift had caught one sailor by surprise

and moved his boat onto a sandbar that had been a safe 50

feet away from him for the past few days.

Unfortunately, being a full moon, the tide was going to be the lowest of

the month that afternoon, and for six hours the boat laid further and

further over on its side while the owners crawled around on the high side

making the best of a bad situation.  Luckily, the soft mud bottom insured

that no damage was done to the boat.  At the tide's lowest point we

dropped a line over the side of our boat and measured 6' 8" of water --

and we draw 6' 6".

A friend stopped by in his dinghy, and we began discussing the morning's

crazy events when we noticed the 48' Offshore motor yacht anchored

behind us was suddenly much further away than it had been for the past

few days.  It was dragging too, with no one on board!  A large sailboat

was directly in its path, and the sailboat's crew were all on deck, madly

putting fenders out to save their boat from the impending collision.

Again the radio burst to life and dinghies zoomed to the scene from all corners of the lagoon.  In 15 quick minutes the dinghies

pushed the boat to a safe spot and redeployed the anchor.  There was a lesson in that escapade for everyone in the lagoon,

as the wheelhouse on the boat was locked, so there was no way to start the engine and move the boat under its own power.

Fortunately, the dinghies had strong enough outboards to keep the boat from crashing into the sailboat and to push it to a new

location despite the high wind.  A call soon went out to the fleet reminding us all to leave the keys in the ignition when we went

ashore so that others trying to save our boats could do so easily.  This, of course, was quite a contrast to the instructions we

had also all received to raise our dinghies and lock our

outboards each night since several outboard motors had

been stolen in this anchorage over the past two seasons.

Hmmm... lock the car but leave the house key in the front

door of your home...  Such are the funny contrasts of this

quirky town.

We could have easily stayed in Barra de Navidad for a

month, along with many other boats in the fleet who kept

delaying their departure day after day, but we felt an urge

to see some new things.  So after a week we made our

way a few miles north towards Tenacatita.

Find Barra de Navidad on Mexico Maps

Visit Anchorages on the Mexican Riviera (northern Pacific coast) to see more posts from this area!

Early February, 2011 - Las Hadas Resort at the northwest end of Manzanillo Bay is so

picture perfect that anyone with even the simplest camera in hand will find it easy to

take perfect pictures.  We enjoyed this spot so much we couldn't stay away.  For

several weeks we alternated between this breathtaking cove, embraced by the

enchanting Las Hadas resort, and the soaring openness of the expansive anchorage

over at Playa La Boquita a few miles away in Bahía Santiago.  Motoring from one

anchorage to the other, we would take advantage of having the engine running both to

make fresh water and to heat the water in our hot water tank.  On a few occasions we

had a blistering sail when the afternoon winds kicked up.  Groovy heeled nicely while

the knot meter park itself in the mid-8's.

Las Hadas begs to be explored on foot,

and with each foray onto the cobbled

paths that climb the steep hillsides, we

found more discoveries.  "Las Hadas"

means "The Fairies" (the origins of the

resort's name are explained here), and

we found two rather stern looking fairies

just beyond an underpass leading to the

resort's front door.  I'm not sure if these

two gals were knighting

some obedient resort

workers or granting

three wishes to

incoming guests.

Hiking further up the hill, the views grow ever larger, until you can

see clear across the resort, it's anchorage and the marina to the

smoke stacks of Manzanillo far across the bay.  The road twists

and turns in exhilarating switchbacks that leave walkers panting

and some bus riders wishing they had worn seasickness bracelets.

Next door to Las Hadas is the Barceló Karmina Palace resort.  It is

much more modern and swank, offering visitors a truly high end lap

of luxury.  But its mammoth marble and glass-filled foyers and grand

open spaces lack the otherworldly prettiness, coziness and charm of

Las Hadas.  As we trudged higher and higher over the hilly peaks we

paused to catch our breath and marvel at the beauty spread out

below us.

The Las Hadas

anchorage is rimmed with restaurants overlooking the

cove.  One has a huge sign offering discounts to

boaters (along with their wifi password), and we

treated ourselves to an afternoon of gazing out at the

anchorage and Manzanillo's busy port across the bay.

Banana boats, water skiers and jet skis zig-zagged

among the boats, throwing white wake patterns

everywhere.

We discovered the source of all this action on the water was

Mexico's Constitution Day weekend.  It seemed that half of the

huge inland city of Guadalajara had come to vacation on this bay.

This national holiday celebrates the signing and approval of

Mexico's constitution on February 5th, 1917 and, like the Fourth

of July, is clearly fully worthy of an afternoon of being towed at full

speed across the water followed by a raucous evening of happy

partying to loud music.

While walking the beach we

came across an iguana

sunning himself on the rocks.

Just a few weeks later we

discovered these guys can

swim, and we watched one

make its way across a

stretch of calm water, its

head bobbing up every so

often to get some air and

look around.

This is an easy climate for keeping

an exotic pet caged outdoors, and

we have seen loads of parrots,

parakeets, canaries and doves

caged outside all kinds of stores from flower shops to small groceries

to beachwear boutiques.  The squawk of a macaw drew us to the back

of a restaurant we were passing, and to our surprise, in addition to the

huge colorful birds, we found three large cages filled with monkeys.

They nimbly and silently climbed up and down the cage bars and

nibbled on fruits while staring us down.

The resorts and villas around Las

Hadas and Sanitago are the most

scenic parts of Manzanillo, but we took

the bus into the more gritty downtown area for a change of pace.  Manzanillo is a bustling port

with an urban heart, however whimsy and history can still be found.  The road leading into

town is lined with creatively pruned bushes, and we passed bushes shaped as hearts and

anchors and dogs.  A ficus tree pruned to look like a small boat caught my eye, as did the

bronze sculpture of a seaman at the helm of ship from another era.  Four hundred years ago

the Spanish used ports along this southern Pacific coast of Mexico as a link for trading goods

with the orient via Manila in the Phillipines.

I have gradually come to realize that

Mexico is a true blend of indigenous

Indian and foreign Spanish heritage,

beautifully expressed by the rich dark

complexions and lively Spanish

language of the people we encounter.

At one street corner in Manzanillo I said

something to a street vendor-beggar in

my passable American accented

Spanish, and she shook her head at me with that blank look of "No hablo

español" that is so familiar on gringo faces here.  There are pockets of

people throughout Mexico, especially in the southern areas, who speak

only their indigenous language, not Spanish.

Music is a universal language, however, and we found street musicians playing

wonderful tunes and rhythms on xylophone and drums.

Growing up and living in

the sanitized world of

saran wrapped

supermarket products

that have been delivered

by tractor trailers on the

interstates, it is always

surprising to encounter

other methods of food

distribution.  Here on the

streets of Manzanillo we

watched three people

unload a pickup truck full

of pineapples into crates on

a handcart to roll into the central

market.  They tossed the

pineapples to each other with

ease.  Does our food really get

thrown around like that?  A little

further on, another wheelbarrow

full of what appeared to be

lambs' heads, shanks and

backbones was ready to be

rolled into the market as well.

At the far opposite end of the reality scale, a megayacht pulled into the

Las Hadas marina, dwarfing all the boats around it.  Xilonen V is 162 feet

long, and when it was med-moored to its spot (tied to the docks at the

stern with a bow anchor thrown into the middle of the marina basin), the

bow of the ship was plunk in the center of the marina.

We had seen a couple float by the back of our boat on matching yellow

inflatable Hobie kayaks, just like ours, and we joined them to get a closer

look at this megayacht.  Xilonen V is staffed by a captain and crew of

11 people, and three of them were busy polishing the decks when we

floated by.  Of course all we could really see up close from our vantage

point was the waterline!

Lots of cruisers carry a hard-shell kayak or two on their

deck, but we haven't seen any other inflatable Hobies.

These new friends of ours have a condo in the area, and

when they bought their Hobies their neighbors all

thought they were so cool that they bought Hobies too.  Now the

building's kayak rack is filled with seven bright yellow inflatable

Hobie kayaks.  It looks like the final inspection and shipping

department at the Hobie factory.

We landed the kayaks on a private little beach, Playa La Escondida

("Hidden Beach") around the corner from the resort and took some

photos we thought worthy of a Hobie ad.

At one end of the little beach there is a kind of slot canyon that fills with

swishing waves as the tide rises and falls.  When the water swept back to

reveal the soft sand bottom, I walked in a little ways.  Suddenly a wave

roared in behind me and rushed around my legs and out the other side,

nearly knocking me off my feet.

It was finally time to venture to some new grounds, so at long last we left

Manzanillo Bay and putted 25 miles north to Barra de Navidad.  More and

more cruisers had started reaching this part of the coast during their winter's

cruising in Mexico, and on that brief trip we saw five other sailboats, a record.

Find Manzanillo on Mexico Maps

Visit Anchorages on the "Mexican Riviera" (northern Pacific coast) to see more cruising posts from this area!