4 March 2010 Bahia Amortajada, Isla San Jose 24.8791N 110.5770W
Bahia Amortajada Picassa Pictures
Yesterday we motored most of the day from Isla Santa Catalina to San Evaristo, the plan was to spend the day exploring the tiny village, but this morning a swell from the south made our south facing anchorage a little bouncy, and we decided to head across to Amortajada on Isla San Jose. We went for a beach hike this afternoon; the textures of every beach and cove are so different. This was not a sandy beach, but the spit had big granite rocks smoothed by the surf, many of the rocks on the high flats were cracked – decomposed granite in the making, just baking in the sun. There were lots of large shells old and weathered, probably remnants of a past repast. Funny how all the guide books claim of any shell midden, “this was a prime spot where indians would camp, so they could see their enemies coming from afar.” As if the indians didn’t appreciate a simple great view as much as we do now. Why does every historic purpose have to be concerned with religion, survival or war? Yesterday I saw a midden half way up the face of a cliff. There was no obvious path up from the shore, nor down from the mountain above, but there was a nice shelf in the cliff with a great view back to San Evaristo bay and the mountains beyond. I’m sure it would have made a great pre-western-civilization hang out spot – the challenge of the climb, the spectacular view, the flat rock to lay on – the site had real appeal. Yes you could probably see your enemies come from miles away, and drop rocks on their heads if they tried to steal your clams, but I kind of doubt that’s why they climbed that cliff for their meal.
Speaking of doing things just for the pleasure of it. Logan has found a new favorite place on the boat – up the mast. He keeps asking us to send him half way up, where he can swing in an arc around the mast between the port and starboard shrouds. When he was a baby, we had one of those baby bouncers we’d hung from the boom (not having a door frame to hook it to), which he loved then as much as he loves this now. I’m wondering if this place is calling to some part of his infant self. I guess there are worse ways for a teenager to get high. And he can warn us if any enemies approach, and drop winch handles on them if they try to steal the last of our beer.
There’s a mangrove swamp behind this long sand spit, where 13 years ago Frank found some delicious clams – maybe we’ll have time to explore tomorrow. But flour, milk, beer and wine are in short supply on board, and unless we start strict rationing, we may need to set a more direct course for La Paz. Besides it’s hard to imagine a clam feast without white wine (for the sauce at least!).
xoxomo