Ensenada Grande
We can hide in our gunkhole no longer. It is piping out there, 25 knots or better. We had a sample yesterday. The hull slamming into it. Beating down the northing to an anchorage where we might find some lee. This small, tri-lobed bay gave us ample protection from the screaming norther for the night. But we want to kayak and snorkel at points up-wind. So we nose out into the swell, the bow parting the seas, but with some effort. Our hope to make Ensenada Grande, a double bay that opens to the west like hands waiting to catch a softball. The wind has clocked to the east a bit overnight and we are spared a real pounding.
We drop the hook where the water transitions from transparent emerald, to cobalt blue. Though the wind rakes the bay into white caps, there is no swell and we are soon ashore. Some of us, footing and handing our way up a moldered canyon, like bugs in a bowl of walnuts. A ridge top view of the sea raging against a lee shore is the reward.
Those of us preparing to kayak, dig up a dolphin skeleton, from the coarse sand beach. Then, in kayaks, discover a ribbon of calm water, against the sensuously sculpted wall of salmon pink, volcanic rocks. There is even swimming, frolicking in the sandy, crystalline clear shallows. We almost forget the state of the sea, until we once again peek out into the full brunt.
Our ship takes it well, needing to slow only a couple of times. And then we are there, Los Islotes, a pile of rocks, with guano icing, claimed by the sea lions, offers us a swell free parking spot the size of the ship. It is just enough. We download into the ever-ready Zodiacs and soon we are snorkeling with the masters of swimming. We are instructed in the proper use of flippers, the underwater barrel roll, the approach and peel. Finally, we are deemed untrainable, and the teachers retire to the sun drenched rocks to dry, bark, cavort, nurse, and generally enjoy being sea lions.
As the afternoon magic-light fades, we once again run for the shelter of Ensenada Grande, where the captain bids us farewell with champagne and rib-eye.
We can hide in our gunkhole no longer. It is piping out there, 25 knots or better. We had a sample yesterday. The hull slamming into it. Beating down the northing to an anchorage where we might find some lee. This small, tri-lobed bay gave us ample protection from the screaming norther for the night. But we want to kayak and snorkel at points up-wind. So we nose out into the swell, the bow parting the seas, but with some effort. Our hope to make Ensenada Grande, a double bay that opens to the west like hands waiting to catch a softball. The wind has clocked to the east a bit overnight and we are spared a real pounding.
We drop the hook where the water transitions from transparent emerald, to cobalt blue. Though the wind rakes the bay into white caps, there is no swell and we are soon ashore. Some of us, footing and handing our way up a moldered canyon, like bugs in a bowl of walnuts. A ridge top view of the sea raging against a lee shore is the reward.
Those of us preparing to kayak, dig up a dolphin skeleton, from the coarse sand beach. Then, in kayaks, discover a ribbon of calm water, against the sensuously sculpted wall of salmon pink, volcanic rocks. There is even swimming, frolicking in the sandy, crystalline clear shallows. We almost forget the state of the sea, until we once again peek out into the full brunt.
Our ship takes it well, needing to slow only a couple of times. And then we are there, Los Islotes, a pile of rocks, with guano icing, claimed by the sea lions, offers us a swell free parking spot the size of the ship. It is just enough. We download into the ever-ready Zodiacs and soon we are snorkeling with the masters of swimming. We are instructed in the proper use of flippers, the underwater barrel roll, the approach and peel. Finally, we are deemed untrainable, and the teachers retire to the sun drenched rocks to dry, bark, cavort, nurse, and generally enjoy being sea lions.
As the afternoon magic-light fades, we once again run for the shelter of Ensenada Grande, where the captain bids us farewell with champagne and rib-eye.
