Yacht Cruising Mexico's Nature-Rich Sea of Cortez

��International Media Group 2004

"One thing had impressed us deeply on this little voyage: the great world dropped away very quickly." ... John Steinbeck, The Log from the Sea of Cortez

Software: Microsoft Office

By Ellen & Hank Barone

The bulbous form of a sea lion ascended rapidly from the murky water below. His sleek, torpedo-shaped body came toward us as if shot from a howitzer. He approached within an arm's length, and then streaked off to swing around for another glimpse. We floated there exhilarated - our hearts pumping, our eyes searching the water - hopeful for another encounter.

We free-dived down, spinning and rolling, mimicking the sea lion's behavior. Curious, the animals circled around us, their large, round, jet-black eyes peered face-to-face. The snorkel masks made peripheral vision difficult. We would be looking one way, when suddenly, approaching unseen, a sea lion would zoom past.

It was late December and we were two-days into a 9-day new yacht cruise aboard the luxury yacht, Safari Quest, in Mexico's Sea of Cortez. Jacques Yves Cousteau called the Sea of Cortez, the slim body of water situated between the Baja Peninsula and the Mexican mainland, "a marine aquarium with the largest diversity of sea life we can find on earth" We had arrived at Los Islotes, two volcanic islets north of La Paz and home to over 300 California sea lions, earlier that morning after spending the previous night anchored nearby in the sheltered lee of the island.

As the skiff had approached, an inquisitive throng of juvenile sea lions (anywhere from seven months to two years old) swarmed the boat. Like a curious gang of children, they jostled among themselves for positions nearest the vessel. Their gleaming heads jutted up out of the sea. They stared at us, and we at them. After a while, they would disappear beneath the water's surface, only to be immediately replaced by others. They leaped and played while the mothers and bulls slept lazily on rocky, guano-coated ledges along the cliff's edge. Sunning themselves, the huge bulls (some weigh as much as 800 pounds) barely blinked a sleepy eye at our arrival.

As we'd motored along the shoreline our 'groupies', the ever-curious juveniles, followed. Winston Warr, the ship's first mate, slowed the skiff to a stop. Already in our wetsuits, one-by-one we entered the chilly water. The 'juvies' scattered, but soon returned. They cavorted below us, biting each other, playing roughly, holding each other back, and trying to be the first to rise up and swim among us.

It was wild. Unrestrained, the juveniles came from every direction, careening through the water straight at us, then, at the last second, swerving to miss us, circling around behind or, in a few instances, leaping over us. Darting and swirling, at times hovering inches from our masks, staring into our eyes.

At one point, a sizeable female approached, her behavior was stern, rather than playful. Renee, the ship's naturalist, had cautioned us earlier to be alert to the presence of the adult lions. She had instructed us to back off when they approached, to show respect for their territory. Cautiously, we retreated. But the female approached the raucous youngsters, admonishing them, rather than us, to behave. They soon settled down and she headed back to shore, leaving them to play with us some more.

Their curiosity and playfulness kept us in the water for an hour. Eventually we clambered back into the skiff, cold and tired, but chattering with excitement.

"Did you see the one that came up to me?"

"That was incredible!"

"That big female was intimidating."

Swimming with sea lions was just one of many highlights of our voyage aboard Safari Quest, a 22-passenger, 120-foot yacht operated by American Safari Cruises.

Later that day, cruising north toward our anchorage, Captain Tom Johnson alerted passengers to wildlife activity ahead. In the distance, the water boiled with action.

A pod of some 500 to 1,000 common dolphins continuously dove beneath the sea's surface and rose again, leaping, twisting and turning in mid-air. As they threw themselves clear of the water, the sun glistened on their powerful gray bodies. Soon, they surrounded the boat for hundreds of yards in every direction. Teams of six or eight jostled for the favored position off the bow, where they could effortlessly surf the yacht's pressure wake. They were sleek and swift, seeming to have a very good time. Leaning over the bow, we watched them break the surface to breathe. Their blowholes opened, followed by an audible gasp for air, and then closed before they submerged again. From such close proximity, we could even hear the high-pitched whistles they use for communication. Eventually they must have grown tired of playing, for suddenly they were gone.

We spent the rest of the afternoon anchored off Isla San Francisco where we kayaked and beach walked for the remainder of the afternoon. Kayaking along the shallow shoreline we were entertained by the sally lightfoot crabs, which swarmed the uppermost rocks. Brilliantly colored with varied shades of red, blue and brown, they were named for their ability to scurry out of danger on surprisingly quick tiptoes.

Later that evening we pulled into to our night's anchorage, an isolated spot at Punta Salinas on the west side of Isla San Jose, just as we were finishing another of chef Dave Gipson's culinary masterpieces; Salad greens with a mango citrus vinaigrette, macadamia nut crusted red snapper served with asparagus and basmati rice. And for desert - warm apple crisp with vanilla ice cream. Just another perfect day aboard Safari Quest.

Each day of the voyage brought new discoveries and experiences, and this day, it seemed, would be no different. Starting down a dizzying trail, steep enough to scare a mountain goat, it was easy to envision our mounts, two determined Mexican burros, slipping on the loose stones, crashing to the ground and crushing us beneath them as they tumbled down into Alejo, our local guide.

The sturdy burros had already proven their sure-footedness on earlier precipitous climbs, but this descent still qualified as a white-knuckler. A glance behind told us that we were not alone in our uneasiness. A few members of our posse had their eyes clamped shut.

It was our fifth day aboard Safari Quest. Thus far, the trip had been everything we had hoped for, and more, affording us a close-up, active exploration of a Mexico that is seldom seen. Taking us into protected coves, untouched beaches, tiny villages, and mangrove-lined lagoons, the leisurely expedition focused on wildlife and nature, and on this afternoon, a Mexican burro ride.

The two-hour, scenic outing had started out with a sheer climb up a game trail to a cliff top that offered an eye-popping view of the brilliant blue Sea and crescent-shaped bay far below. We could see Quest anchored there.

Alejo took the lead, complimenting the scenic trip with an unassuming serenade of Mexican ballads that drifted back to us with the wind. From the rear, we could hear Alejo's son, Julio join his father in song.

The route included a remarkable diversity of geography for such a short distance. First, we cut inland into the impressive canyons of Sierra de la Giganta (Mountain of the Giants). Then, through a now-parched wash that a gush of water from hurricane Marti had created just three months earlier, along a stretch of white sand beach, into the trees and, finally, through a surprisingly lush, palm oasis.

The entire Baja Peninsula, a seemingly sparse, desert region, was greener than usual during our winter voyage due to the rainfall brought by the two back-to-back hurricanes the previous fall. Having often read of, or watched on TV, the disastrous results of hurricanes, we were surprised to hear another point of view from some of the locals. "Hurricanes aren't so bad," one easy-going native told us. "They bring rain. We stock up on food and water, make Margaritas, salsa and guacamole, and ride out the storm, happy for the moisture Mother Nature has provided," she said with a smile.

During that afternoon's two-hour cruise north to our night's anchorage at Isla Danzante, we spotted another large pod of dolphins and a series of blows from a whale that managed to give us the slip. Regrettably, that blow was the only evidence we were to see of whales in the Sea of Cortez. It was too early in the season. The majority of the fin, sperm, gray and pilot whales that winter in the Sea don't usually arrive until late January or early February.

That evening the dry hills of Isla Danzante turned a luminous red gold, before the sun slipped quickly below the horizon plunging us into darkness. Night at anchor in the Sea is usually quiet, blissfully absent from the sounds of man. But not this night, for it was New Year's Eve. For the fiesta, Safari Quest was transformed; decorations, noisemakers, party hats, balloons and a piñata. With the tequila and champagne flowing, the evening was filled with games of charades and pictionary, salsa dancing and batting at a candy-filled piñata, which proved quite stubborn.

The following morning we heaved anchor before breakfast in the light of a great sunrise casting rays of purple and orange light on the 1,200 foot peaks of the Sierra de la Giganta. It was a short hop to Puerto Escondido, the largest and most protected harbor in the Sea of Cortez. From there, we ventured inland to the lovely historic town of Loreto, the first successful settlement on the Peninsula, and our furthest point north for the cruise.

That evening, after an afternoon anchorage at remote Isla Danzante, we were treated to the most incredible sunset of the trip - lush hues of red and orange. A pod of 100 + common dolphins added to nature's show. Later, we fell asleep to the hum of the engines motoring to Isla San Francisco, our sixth night's anchorage.

The next morning, we took the skiff to the island for a hike. Behind the beach, there was a little level land, sandy, dry, and covered with cactus and scraggly brush, and behind that, the rising dry hills. We followed Quest's energetic expedition leader, Renee Weber, up a winding mountain trail, and eventually to a narrow ridge. To one side, a stunning view of the beach below, the boat anchored in the bay and the faint outline of a distant mountain range on the Peninsula. To the other -- sheer cliff and crashing sea hundreds of feet below.

After an afternoon spent doing our own thing, we piled into the skiff for an evening ride to Isla Ballena (Whale Island). Skimming along calm waters, we watched brown pelicans and sally light foot crabs, and then circled a smaller island where hundreds of Frigate birds roosted for the evening. The climax of the exploration was the discovery of a whale skeleton scattered on an isolated beach. A first for everyone, including the crew.

That night, our last, aboard Safari Quest chef Dave outdid himself: Caesar salad, baked lobster tail and/or beef tenderloin steak - served with orzo pasta and chayote squash. For desert - mocha-chocolate créme brulee.

In 1941, John Steinbeck and biologist Ed Ricketts (Doc in Cannery Row) arrived in Baja aboard the 76-foot Western Flyer, a salt-crusted sardine boat out of Monterey, California. Our elegant vessel, with its master chef, gleaming bright work, teak cabinetry and luxuriously outfitted salon, library, dining room and spacious staterooms was distinctly unlike Western Flyer, but the watery wilderness outside our windows, described by Jacques Cousteau as "a marine aquarium with the largest diversity of life we can find on earth." has changed little during the more than six decades between our visits.

Information: American Safari Cruises (888.862.8881; www.amsafari.com)

Ellen and Hank Barone are full-time freelance travel writers and photographers based in New Mexico, USA. Their work appears in a wide variety of regional, national and international publications.

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