Friday, February 19
Today is the day for our postponed-since-Tuesday panga trip and seafood feast. Daniel stops by the casita around 8 to make sure we're still coming. We think he is a little anxious. Yes, we're coming. We breakfast on cereal and fruit ... oh, and fresh orange juice as well ... and gather our things. We are well equipped with new water shoes and beach coverups. The morning is bright and sunny, with just a very light breeze. It promises to be a good day to be on the water.
We drive down the now-familiar stretch of Mexico 1 to Playa Santispac, and park on the beach by Daniel's red truck. He has already removed the truck battery and hooked it up to the boat engine. Nothing wasted here. Daniel parks his big cooler by the side of the panga, and we clamber in. The engine starts with no trouble, Daniel hauls in his home-made anchor, and we are off.
Thus begins a day where Daniel does all the work and we merely watch, dream, and eat. First we motor out to what is called Bird Island. Daniel wrestles on a full-length wetsuit, and a shortie over that. He says he is afraid of the cold water. Ha! Over the side he goes with his snorkel and mask and mesh bag. His haul here is a half-dozen or more huge clams, one scallop, two triggerfish, and a pufferfish. A couple of folk are fishing off the other side of the island.
We watch the birds. The gulls alternately shriek and croon from their hillside nests. Six or eight frigate birds cruise above the hilltop. An osprey flies by, causing all the gulls to panic.
Daniel climbs back aboard with his haul. He splits the clams and the scallop and serves them to us raw with lime juice, ketchup, and hot sauce, a special hot sauce made for seafood. The clams are of two kinds, the queen clam with a red shell, and the rough clam, whose name reflects the nature of its shell. The flesh of the rough clam is sweet. The queen clams have a streak of red tissue; the tongue, Daniel tells us, the best part.
From here we move to another island. There is a small sandy beach at the end of the island. B and D get out and explore a bit. Daniel prospects here for more triggerfish, and finds some, plus a red snapper. The triggerfish he stuffs into his bag. The snapper he throws into the bottom of the boat, where it flips and flops energetically.
We make one more stop near our picnic beach, where Daniel goes over the side again in the search of smaller clams to add to our seafood feast. Then we motor over to the beach. There is a family here, a Hungarian man and wife (they actually now live in the U.S., in the high Sierra) and their young daughter and son. Mister is drinking beer in liter bottles, and climbs into his boat and roars back to their house on Playa Naranja to bring a margarita for his wife, a painter, who is painting nearby on a large canvas.
Daniel goes back into the water here once more, looking for more clams. Bob joins him, but finds digging clams with one hand while trying to hold onto the ones you've already dug with the other a challenge. Daniel is finally satisfied with his haul; he will have some to take home or sell. The water here, as in the rest of the bay, is beautifully clear. The interplay of light, wind, and rocks on the sea bottom is mesmerizing.
Then the fun begins. Daniel brings out his sharp knife and his cutting board, and fillets fish on the side of the boat. The leavings he throws to the gulls, or rather, gull. As he cleans the first fish, there is only one gull. It is a happy gull. By the time Daniel cleans the second fish, there are eight or ten gulls and a pelican. The pelican doesn't get much. He's just not fast enough. And he's not very happy with the gulls.
Daniel keeps cleaning and tossing. The gulls fly up in a frenzy each time he throws leavings. He heaves one fish head-and-skin and smacks one of the gulls silly; there's a resounding thwock. Daniel crows; I've always wanted to do that, he says. We all titter madly.
Bob obliges by throwing some fish trimmings to the pelican so that I can get a good picture.
Daniel chops up fish and clams, and washes them clean in sea water. He builds a fire of driftwood in the small fire ring he has on the beach; it has gaps to feed in long pieces of wood from the side. He also ferrets out his grill, on top of a rock, dislodging a cache of shells the young girl, Blanca, has collected and put atop the rock for safekeeping.
Daniel adds butter, bacon, onion, and green pepper to the seafood in a large cast-iron skillet. When the dish is done to his satisfaction, he heats flour tortillas in another pan. We scoop the seafood onto tortillas (except G., who eats hers from her bowl with a spoon) and dig in.
Mr. Hungary has been drinking beer and eyeing our preparations. There's enough food for a bunch of folks, so he gets to eat, too. After we eat to repletion, Daniel packs up leftovers in a clean yogurt container. There is still more left. Mrs. Hungary makes up burritos using the remaining tortillas. None will go to waste.
About this time I discover that something I ate has disagreed with me profoundly. Bob helps me walk up off the beach into the brush, where I get rid of it. Much relieved, a soda tastes pretty good. Another family arrives in their boat, friends of the Hungarian couple. They have two little girls, and the children play well together. The father puts on his wetsuit and goes snorkeling. He discovers a seagull wrapped up in fishing line with a lure and leader still attached. He walks up the beach holding the gull. Daniel gets wire cutters and scissors, and Bob helps hold the bird, covering its eyes. Several snips later, the bird is free. It isn't quite ready to fly away, but walks up the beach, preening.
Gull rescued, we load up and board the boat for a quick trip back to Playa Santispac. It has been a good day, my indisposition aside. One the way home, we drive down a dirt road to one of the sites that advertises beachfront lots. We end up at a rather depressing little settlement with a large collection of patchwork one-room villas. They'll give you the villa for free, and then you pay a $4300/year U.S. fee. Each villa has a water tank; water is $50/month. There is no power. You can fix up your villa any way you like. A rather talkative couple who bought in just a few months ago assures us that the people here are great and there are any number of activites - potlucks and the like. They love it. Like the place we are staying, Oasis Rio, it's an enclave of gringos.
We travel out to see sunset at El Patron, a bar-cum-restaurant at the river mouth. The light is just fading off El Sombrerito island, with the faro at the top. A shrimper has spread his nets in the bay outside the river mouth. .We enjoy a margarita; in fact I have two as I am inclined to drink my supper rather than eating. The others have tacos -- chicken or fish. We drive home on the lumpy dirt road in the dark. I am early to bed.
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