Paddling at Espiritu Santu and Danzante Islands

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Saturday, March 10  Kayaking to island 25 miles

Today was perfectly calm, so I decided to paddle again to Espiritu Santu Island.  I hoped to go further than I had before, and perhaps go all the way around it, which would probably take two days.  To give myself that option, I packed plenty of water and food, but took only the bare minimum for camping—no tent, sunshade, or cooking gear.  I learned my lesson from the previous trip, about taking too much cumbersome gear.  Still, packing took some time, so I didn’t leave till about 10:45 am.

I made good time across to the island, then continued along the east coast. 

Slowly, a head wind was increasing.  I was feeling energetic and making good progress against the wind, until about 3:00 pm.  By now, I was in new territory.  I was passing some large bays I hadn’t seen before, and two islands whitewashed by birds (appropriately named cock and hen) where coming up on my left. 

But suddenly I began to feel sunburned, tired, and confined.  So I decided to haul out and rest in the rare shade offered by the cliff of the further island.

There aren’t supposed to be any biting insects in Baja—but as soon as I landed, a number of black flies began to bother me.  I rested, ate, and drank in the shade.  And swatted the flies, that probably would be feeding on birds, if not on me.  Nevertheless, the flies persuaded me not to try and round the island or spend the night.


After resting about an hour, I felt renewed, and headed back.  I set my sail in the moderate breeze, and coasted for an hour and a half.  Sailing is nice, because it gives you more opportunity to look at the scenery.

The wind dropped to a level with which I could make better progress paddling, so I stowed the sail.  Soon the wind shifted around to a headwind, but not enough to slow my progress.

View north across the channel to Tecolote, under the distant mountains. The two headlands are still part of the island.

I crossed the channel, finding the swells building to three feet, and very chaotic.  But they weren’t steep enough to break over the cockpit, and so I went most of the way without even attaching my skirt.  I arrived back at the trailer shortly after dark.  Mexicans on the beach were surprised to see this large, white sea creature come out of the dark and beach itself.  One remarked about the “big fish.”

It was a good paddle.  I chatted with the RVers nearby.  One said he had checked using Google Earth, finding the channel was 5 miles wide.  If so, that puts my day’s paddle at about 25 miles, round trip.  And I wasn’t very tired--not even sore the next day.   But I did go to bed early.   Sleeping in the clean trailer sure beats swatting flies on the beach.  When I shut my eyes, my mind’s eye was filled with towering pink cliffs, circling black frigate birds, and blue waves.

Sunday, March 11 Kayaking to beach, campfire

Today was a good day.  After being lazy in the trailer until about 3:00 pm, I went for a paddle west to the secluded beach around the point.  For most of the day the wind had been beautifully calm, with the sea flat and pale blue.  Now a gentle tailwind was blowing, so I put out my little circular sail, and coasted down the shore at two mile an hour. 

Lots of Mexican families were out for the weekend to enjoy the beach, parking their cars at intervals all along the beach.  There were also some young people camping in what looked like organized groups.

I spent a few delightful hours walking along the beach, first looking at footprints in the dunes, and then looking at shells along the shore.   I saw prints of insects, a fox, small rodents including a kangaroo rat, birds (perhaps a road runner), a scorpion? (or crab), and many crabs.

The beach, half a mile long, and the dunes, were composed entirely of calcareous debris from coral and shells, not from silica sand.  The fragments of shells, being polished and worn down by the surf, were very pretty.  I picked up a handful of favorites for enjoying later.  Finally, just before sundown, I went snorkeling.

The water was very clear.  There is something very right and reassuring about clear, pure water.  It’s my religion.  It’s our birthright.  It’s essential for life.

I found a large school of fish, but the variety wasn’t more than 5-6 species here.  There were puffer fish hiding down below rocks.  They are very shy, with large, wide-set, large,  intelligent looking eyes.  They look somewhat like “ET” in the movie of that name (ET for extraterrestrial).

Heading back at sundown, I felt very strong in paddling.

I had hardly gone any distance today, so I wasn’t at all tired or sore.  I paddled very fast, the kayak responding instantly to every strong stroke like a steed under my saddle.  Today, people talk about well-engineered vehicles that respond to your touch on the wheel or the accelerator.  But what a thrill, and how unusual, to be in a vehicle that’s so responsive to the power of your own muscles!  It makes you feel very alive.

One of the campers told me he was planning a campfire in honor of one of the German campers, who was leaving the next day.

There was a blaze of twisted, aromatic desert wood that took hundreds of years to grow.  There were about six around the campfire, Canadians, Germans, and two Americans.  I shared some Jim Beam Bourbon, and the Germans and Canadians were thankful to share the American national drink.  When I went to fetch the Bourbon, I said I didn’t have any extra glasses to share it with.  By the time I was back with the booze, the Germans had a whole set of special shot glasses, packed in a their own box.

There was much talk of that universal event—taxes.   There is also a story about Tecolote beach, which I can’t verify.  It seems that a few years ago, some dope smugglers were going up the coast nearby, when the authorities approached.  So the smugglers tossed some bales of marijuana overboard, which washed up on the beach nearby.  Ted the Canadian said: “We fed the bales to some ponies.  The bales were probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars on the street.”

The German fellow was retired.  He spoke excellent English—had traveled all over the US and Canada in his RV.  It was a special one he had brought from Germany, with four wheel drive.  He says they are so expensive to rent here that it’s cheaper to bring them on ship from Germany.  He had been the representative to America from a factory in Germany.

It’s fun to notice national traits, especially when they aren’t derogatory.  The Germans are such neat and orderly fixer-uppers.  Around this campfire, the German was talking about all the work he’d done himself on the engine of his RV.  And the next day, he was up on a special folding ladder, oiling the hinge on the door of his RV.   Then he collapsed the ladder into a tiny size and carefully put it away.

There are at least three different retired German couples camping out here.  They are very friendly, helping me bring my kayak up from the shore, and shaking my hand at the slightest pretext.   When I come to Baja, I have a plans--kayaking, enjoying the plants, and learning about the place.  I asked the Germans what their plans were.  “Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Just vacation.”  Some of them have been here for months.  Besides oiling hinges, I have seen them sit outside their RVs and talk, and swim.

Whatever the nationality, all the people I’ve met who come by land to Baja are friendly, open, and self-sufficient.

Monday, March 12  Leaving Tecolote and driving to Cd. Insurgentes

As I was having breakfast, I heard a transmission on the marine radio.  A boat named “warship” was reporting in to the marina at La Paz—the speaker was an authoritative male voice speaking perfect American English.  I thought, “That’s a rather overblown name for an American yacht—that guy must have some ego.”  The La Paz marina said they wanted “warship” to take on a pilot.  I thought that sounded unusual.

But then, when I looked out across the Canal of Lorenzo, I indeed saw a warship—a small, modern destroyer.

Perhaps it’s scouting security for the G-20 economic meetings to be held this coming June in Los Cabos.

Economic meetings recently have been the targets of protests.  What a great choice of a meeting site!  You could hardly choose a more remote place with lots of hotels—than southern Baja.  And connected to the US by a single road, easily controlled.

An American warship sailing the Sea of Cortez, entirely surrounded by Mexico, is like a Mexican warship sailing in Long Island Sound.   Since the Texans wrested that state from Mexico by force of arms, and since the USA took the states of California, Arizona, and New Mexico (and maybe more) from Mexico—again by arms—Mexicans are naturally a little sensitive about American warships in their gulf.

I packed up the trailer and put my kayak on the car.  I said goodbye to people I had met in four different RVs.  Then I headed into town for the internet café, finding parking about 6 blocks away, after some driving around through narrow streets.

After fish tacos for lunch and an hour or two at the café, I headed out of town to get propane.  Leaving La Paz is indeed an ordeal.  It’s an obstacle course of traffic, topes, stop signs, detours, and poor signage.  But when I finally found the propane place 5 miles out of town, it was the model of efficiency.  There was a line of people bringing their bottles by hand up to an outdoor counter.  From there, a man took bottles two at a time to be filled.  All dealing in cash, with change handed out on the spot, in round peso amounts, with no receipts.  Very fast.

Back on the road to the North, I passed the summit of the peninsula about 20 miles west of La Paz, and looked back down on the small white city far in the distance, surrounded by tan desert and mountains, on the edge of the blue, blue sea.

I pulled into the big agricultural town of Constitucion at about 8 pm, and went to a modern supermarket.  Everyone was extremely friendly.   The market was quite modern and large, but slightly run down and dusty.  An attendant was using a feather duster to dust off the cans on the shelves.

From the looks of products on the shelves, Mexicans seem more and more to be adopting the same diet as Americans… including processed foods, but with certain exceptions.   Mexicans aren’t big on sweets or deserts.  Their pastries have always been an embarrassment.  I bought a few cookies, which were cheap and basic.  When I went to get jam, there was only one flavor—one!  Strawberry.  Contrast that with perhaps 20-30 flavors of jam in US markets.  But, Mexicans have 5-10 different chilies for sale, and two kinds of fresh cactus.

I decided to spend the night on a well-lit and quiet side street right next to the market’s parking lot.

About the time people went to bed, the dogs came out to bark—exchange notes and settle scores for the day.  Then they too went to bed.

When I was a young, traveling in Mexico, you’d always hear the rooster’s crow.  But there’s not a single rooster in Baja.  It’s probably the dry climate.  There’s nothing in the desert for them to eat, but there are lots of chicken hawks.

Tuesday, March 13.  Whale watching and driving to Loreto

I arose shortly after dawn and began driving to Puerto Lopez Mateos, reputed to be a good whale watching place because the whales frolic close to where the boats dock.  When I reached the turnoff at Cuidad Insurgentes, there was a Mexican man by the side of the road who had something to say to me.  So I stopped and said “good morning.” 

He spoke fair English.  He asked me if I was going whale watching, and said he could help me.  So, I offered him a ride to Lopez Mateos and he readily accepted.

We chatted during the 30 mi trip along a paved but uneven road through the empty desert.  He was married but had no kids.  He worked either in the fields or helping out with whale watching.  He wasn’t a guide, but helped connect people with the boats.  He said the pay for working in the fields wasn’t much—130 pesos a day—a bit more than $10 US.  “That’s why people go to the US—you can earn that per hour.”  He had learned English on his own by being around Americans, and looking up words in the dictionary.  He would underline the words he had looked up in the dictionary.  He had been to Los Angeles, because his father lived there.

When we arrived at the port, he was very helpful in getting me hooked up with a boat.  One panga already had a full complement of people, and they would add me to the group—going out for two hours—for a good price.  They were leaving in 10 minutes, he said, so I walked fast to my car to get my camera and coat.  But when I returned in about 10 minutes, they had already left.  Perhaps the others had objected to adding an extra person.  So we waited a while—I was chatting with another Mexican fisherman.  There was a tuna canning factory right next to the wharf where we were waiting. 

After an hour’s wait, only two other Mexican tourists had materialized, so we decided to go out.  Because it wasn’t a full boat, we were going to pay the same price each for only an hour, instead of two hours.  The Captain--Javier--was a portly, middle aged man with a toothless, but big smile.  He came originally from Guanajuato on the mainland, but had been on Baja for 10 years.  The two tourists were Frederico, about 65 from Mexico City, and a young man—Bernardo—from Guadalajara.

We set out skimming along the smooth water of the estuary.  It was a long arm of water from the Pacific, about half a mile wide, and separated from the Pacific by a long island of dunes about a mile wide.  This estuary runs parallel to the Pacific coast for 20 or 30 miles, until it merges with the much larger Bahia Magdalena to the south.

Skimming close to the shore of the sandy island, we saw two coyotes walking along the shore.  They paid almost no attention to us, although the Mexicans were “barking” at them.  I asked how they could survive without any fresh water out there.  The guide said they got all their water from their food, the dead fish they found, or the fish guts tossed out by fishermen.  There was also some brackish water, he said, several miles away.

After about 15 minutes, and about 5 miles, we reached the mouth of the lagoon, where the whales were.  We saw several spouts, and then pulled abreast of a mother and her calf swimming very slowly along.   That pair disappeared, so we found another pair. 

We pulled close to another boat, which was having very good luck with a mother and her calf.  They were touching the calf, with lots of “oohs” and “ahs” and giggles.  Our Captain instructed us to paddle the water with our hands, as a signal to the wales that we wanted to touch them.  But for us, it didn’t do any good.

Still, we did see two or three pairs of mothers and calves fairly close up.  One calf breached far enough out of the water that you could see his eyes clearly.  This is probably how they look you over.

I was impressed with how calm the whales were, and how slowly they moved in the water—almost as if they were drugged or half asleep.  Their rubbery fins—tail or pectorals—would momentarily extend out of the water, moving almost not at all.  

Although the mothers are really quite large, perhaps 50 feet long, they don’t look very big, because you never see much of them above the water.  The calves hardly seem larger than dolphins, although they are much larger.

What is most impressive, up close, is seeing their mottled grey skin, seeing their intelligent eyes, and hearing (and even smelling) their reverberant breath.

We returned to shore, and to make our payment—cash only accepted.  I had only a 500 peso note, worth about $50.  Before the trip I had tried to change it.  Someone had directed me to the stand of a woman selling cheap jewelry and trinkets.  When she saw my 500 note, she just laughed.  Perhaps it had been a joke sending me there.

But now, there were problems with all three of us finding the change to pay for our trip, 266 pesos each.  Reluctantly, the operators—talking to the Mexican passengers, agreed to accept 250 each because they couldn’t make change.  I found some small change in my car that allowed me to pay the full $266, but the operators wouldn’t accept it because they had agreed to less with the Mexican passengers.  So I gave Captain Javier a good tip with the coins.

Back on the road, I was now on the highway to Loreto.  First, it’s flat.  Then the desert tilts to the east, still flat but rising slowly.  Then you descent from this rising plateau into an impressive canyon, which you follow into the heart of the Sierra la Giganta.  I stopped several times, taking pictures and soaking up the desert atmosphere.  Finally, you descend on a very sinuous road towards the blue, blue sea of Cortez.  I stopped briefly to look down upon the newly completed hotel complex—on a secluded vove-- named Villa del Palmar.

After reaching the coast, I headed 30 mi. north to Loreto, so I could find a location to meet my rider Chris Estrada—who would be coming by bus from La Paz.  The bus stop turned out to be a the biggest hotel in town.  They had an internet café, so I parked in a tight spot in front of the hotel to use the internet.

I left town around 4:00 pm, deciding to take the new paved road to the Mission San Javier, in the mountains south and west of Loreto.  The narrow road quickly ascended into the Sierra la Giganta, which I had only seen a saw-toothed purple silhouette from the coast.  The road, which goes to only the small mission settlement of San Javier, seems to be part of the tourist infrastructure they are slowly building in the Loreto area (along with the paved road to Puerto Lopez Mateos, for whale watching tourists from Loreto). 

This road is quite an engineering feat, requiring much earth moving and heavy equipment.

This route is fantastic.  It  would make for wonderful biking, and indeed I saw some Mexican cyclists on it, riding in a pack.  The twisted trees, now bare of leaves, were wonderful.

After gaining some elevation, I saw many very large cactus, perhaps up to 70 feet tall.  They were like the cardons, but different because they were mostly just a single very tall and skinny trunk, with no side trunks.  In contrast, the cardons of the north have many side trunks, so that the whole plant can become extremely massive.  Perhaps these have no side branches, because they grow on slopes that are extremely steep.  Any plants with branches might become too unbalanced for their roots to support.

Higher up, I passed the cave paintings, and stopped to look.  They were relatively small and geometric in design.  Not very impressive, although the location—an oasis with flowing water and many palm trees—was stunning.  As we ascended further, there were more oases below, with many palms.  You can always locate where water sometimes flows in canyons, by looking for palm trees.

As dusk descended, I had not yet reached the Mission of San Javier, but now the paved road had ended, and given way to construction.  Driving another mile over increasingly bad road under construction, I gave up and turned around.  I didn’t want to miss the beautiful scenery by driving back in the dark, so I eventually found a place to spend the night on a stretch of the old road that branched from the new paved road, at the edge of an abyss.

There was no traffic on the road at night.  A warm, gentle breeze blew down the canyon towards the Sea of Cortez, ten miles to the East.   After putting big rocks behind all my wheels, I sat at the edge of a drop into the canyon, with a Tecate beer.

I have never been at a location more quiet.  There wasn’t a single sound of engine or airplane.  There were no crickets or birds singing.  No water rushing or waves on shore.  There was only the faint ruffle of the breeze blowing past my ears, and the static of my brain.  This is Baja at its best.

Even Antarctica wasn’t this silent.  You could hear the sound of penguins in the distant like a  raucous school yard at recess, or the sound of drifting snow.

There are a few animals up here.  I saw mules along the highway.  At dusk, there were a few bats.  And now, there are a few small moths attracted to my light.

Wednesday, March 14.  Hiking in the Sierra la Giganta

I awoke before dawn, and saw a beautiful sunrise.  After a substantial breakfast,  I decided to see if I could get down to the valley below me, because the palms there seemed to promise running water.  I found a trail down that led to a cultivated area in the valley.  Various kinds of fruit trees, some of them perhaps olives, were being irrigated with channels.

But then I found a trail going down the valley.   It turned out to be an old road, perhaps one hundreds of years old, that once was the only way to get to the San Javier mission.  To my surprise, it had been repaired and cleared of brush with loving care—it might be a devotional trail to the old mission.  So I decided to explore down the trail.

On the south side of the canyon, it was still in the shade and cool.  The walking was easy, and it was a good way to see the mountains and plants, so I continued.  The view got better and better, and gradually a real oasis with many palms was appearing below.  I could hear and see running water.  Eventually the trail led to the stream bed and into the palms. 

As I approached the dense foliage, I was greeted with the fragrance of tiny blossoms—smelling more like incense than perfume.  The clustered palm trees were dense and strange—their trunks hugged by a huge foxtail of dead palm branches. 

I eventually found a small but deep pool filled with clear, green water.  I stripped down and took a dip.  The water was surprisingly cold—I couldn’t stay in it more than a minute.  My shorts were as stiff as cardboard from salt, so I washed my salty clothes and put them out on a rock to dry.

There were tadpoles in the pools and I could hear a few frogs singing.  There were dragonflies and water bugs in the pools.  There were two kinds of flycatchers, two kinds of woodpeckers, and a rosy finch.    Although no cattle or mules were visible, their droppings were everywhere along the stream in trail.

I retraced my route to the car, arriving about 12:30.  I had never intended to stay out this long, and didn’t have any sunblock on.  I was moderately sunburned.

After some difficulty backing out of my camping place, I returned down the mountain road, marveling at the cactus and scenic views.  These jagged mountains create a landscape you’d expect to see on another planet.

Upon reaching the main coastal road, I turned south to my favorite camping spot on Ligui beach.  It’s the closest launching place for Isla Danzante, which is only about a mile across from the beach.

I helped some fishermen from Ligui pull their panga out of the water—they had been out clamming for huge clams, shaggy with seaweed attached to their shells.  They offered me one, but I declined, since I didn’t know how to prepare it. 

I was in the water by about 4:00 pm, treated to almost perfect calm.   It was very hot preparing the kayak, but once on the water, it was pleasantly cool. 

Near the island, I passed a boat tending some people snorkeling, and stopped to talk for a minute.  They were camped at the other end of Ligui beach—the only other campers.  They had driven down from Alaska, stopping for a month or two in Montana.  They had a very complete outfit, with a large RV, a boat, a car, and two motorcycles. 

Isla Danzante is incredibly rugged.  Volcanic crags jut out of the sea, reaching about a thousand feet.  Great fissures and veins of purple-colored rock split the island.  Ospreys and pelicans, cormorants and herons, all perch on ledges.  Along the waterline, smartly-dressed oystercatchers dine on sea urchins, while great blue herons stalk small fish. 

Way up on the cliffs, twisted trees or cactus cling to the bare rock.

Notice the osprey perched on top.

Around the shore, great boulders have tumbled down.  Some rocks have been carved into large mushrooms, as the turbulent waves have reduced their bases to narrow pedestals.  There are several beaches, and one cove where four sailing yachts were anchored.

With the perfect conditions, I was able to quickly round Isla Danzante.  A bit after I rounded the far end, it began to grow dark.  There were some large luminous spots in the water, as big and bright as fireflies.

But as it grew quite dark, I began to notice that the water around my paddle was luminous with creatures too small to see.  Each paddle as I stroked was surrounded by a cloud of luminous water, and the spots where I had dipped my paddle continued to glow as they fell behind me.   Even my bow wave was aglow. 

Then I saw something luminous on the water’s surface—it seemed to be swimming, and moved slowly away.  It was a mass of something, maybe a small clump of sea weed, or maybe a small creature like an octopus.  Suddenly, it dissolved into 4-5 spots of light that rapidly swam away.

Something luminous—a fish—crossed my bow going very fast.

Later, when I was in shallow water near a beach, I began to scare fish and rays.  The fish would race away on a zigzag path, leaving a luminous wake, almost like a shooting star underwater.  Larger but indistinct luminous forms, several feet across, moved away more slowly.  I presume they were sting rays that had been resting on the bottom.  Neither the fish nor the rays were luminous themselves—their motions simply stimulated light from the tiny organisms in the water around them.

Now and then, I could hear wings whistling faintly.  Looking up, I’d see the dim shape of a pelican passing just overhead.

I had assumed there would be RVs on the beach whose lights I could see in the dark, as at Tecolote beach.  But there was no moon tonight, and the sky was partly overcast, so it was very dark.  So, I really couldn’t see where to land.  But I wasn’t worried, because about three miles south of my beach was the big new hotel.  I could see that, so if I failed to find the trailer, I could at least go to the hotel.  In all probability, I could just head along the shore towards the hotel until I spotted the trailer.

In this part of the Sea of Cortez, there are almost no dwellings—no lights--on the water.  You can see the lights of the hotel to the south, and the lights of Loreto about 30 miles to the north.  And just a few other lights on the water.

The darkness sharpened all my senses.  For a while I could smell guano from a bird island I knew was in the area.  Then as I neared shore, I smelled the desert and aromatic shrubs.  I could hear the gentle waves lapping on shore not far away, so I turned parallel to the beach.  

After maybe 20 minutes, the faint shadows of hills along the shore came into the right alignment, so I knew I must be near Ligui beach.  I could see a small light down the beach, which I presumed was the other campers.  I was  sure I’d be able to see the dim white shape of my trailer. 

But finally I decided to turn on my flashlight. To my surprise, I had already gone about a hundred yards past the trailer, and had completely failed to see it!  With my eyes so adapted to the dark, the little LED flashlight seemed like a powerful searchlight.  

It was still completely calm—the water like undulating glass.  The temperature is perfect for paddling in shirtsleeves.  No bugs.  Paddling doesn’t get any better than this. 

Thursday March 15.  Paddling to Isla del Carmen

Another perfect day with little wind.  I chatted with a Mexican man, Rito, who is in charge of the property behind the beach.  It’s a huge piece of land.  He explained some complicated rules for Mexican landowners about paying the government for concessions on beachfront property.  Owning it and having a concession on it are two different things.

He had a cute little Mexican Hairless dog with him, who goes everywhere with him, and even sleeps with him.  Rito extracted some pesos from me “for the kid’s baseball team.”

I got on the water at 11:00, and paddled again around the back side of I. Danzante.  Then I paddled on to the next island which is about 20 miles long, called Isla del Carmen.  I stopped on the beach for a while beach combing.  There was a great variety of shells there.  Someone before me had piled all the interesting shells and bones they had found on a big rock—it was quite an interesting collection.

A large group of pelicans was using the updraft created by the mountainous island to soar on.  They were having a bit of trouble getting enough lift, because the wind was light.  They made a number of passes back and forth along the upwind slope, trying to get higher. When they succeeded, they soared in circles for a while as a group, then glided back down to start over.  All this activity looked very much like play or recreation.

As I was preparing to leave, a group of about 50 dolphins swam by close to shore, so I followed them.  Some of them jumped out of the water to take a look at me, and some swam quite close.  I even saw one swimming just under the kayak.

After following them a while, I paddled back to Danzante’s north end, went through the little canal between Danzante and an islet to the north, and then into the big cove.

I stopped there for about an hour, beachcombing and picking up garbage.  This is a popular place for kayak groups and yachts.  Then I paddled around the rest of the cove’s shore, past a kayak group, and out into the bay.  In the cove, I saw a number of birds—great blue herons, an egret, several ospreys, and a night heron very close.

By now, a spectacular sunset was starting.  It seemed to go on forever.  The “wine dark sea” of Homer, indeed!

This time, I knew which direction to head to get back to my beach.  Once it got very dark, the bioluminescence was even better than last night.  Something large jumped straight out of the water, creating a sort of luminous geyser.

I passed over some large “rivers of light,” luminous streaks that were as bright in the gloom as my white kayak—so bright that when I was over them, my kayak seemed to blend in with the shine from below and disappear.  Either the luminescence was being “stimulated” by the movement of large schools of fish, or else the tidal current was running fast over some submerged ridges.  With one of the luminous streaks, it seemed to move away from me.  And sometimes I thought I could see indistinct, brighter shapes.  It was as if I was paddling over the Milky Way.

Once I got into shallow water near shore, I scared some fish, which darted away very fast, leaving luminous streaks as they did last night.  But when I turned on my flashlight, I had a great surprise.  The spot of light startled a number of fish 1-2 feet long.  They would jump out of the water entirely, or else dash away so fast that they repeatedly jumped out of the water as they fled.  Some went so fast that they barely were in the water before they skipped through the air again—as if they were flat stones skipped by a boy.  I repeated the trick with a light a number of times.  After a wait, to get into a new area, I could usually get several fish to jump out of the water or skip.

Eventually, the water got so prone to shine that just water dripping off my paddle would make little sparkles of light when the drops hit the surface.  I could rock the kayak from side to side, and luminous ripples would spread out to the right and left for ten or 15 feet. 

Paddling at night is a rare treat.  A few Mexican fishermen are out tonight as well.   I think they do their fishing outside the National Marine Park.

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Slide show of several days of paddling around Danzante.