Next morning I was up before sunrise, with a light breeze stirring. I got the anchor, said goodbye to Con Limon and drifted quietly to sea. Right around the point from Puerto Gato is the settlement of Timbabichi, perhaps 3 or 4 miles South. It has a number of fishermen’s homes along the beach and a road access out to the highway, though I’ve heard it’s even rougher than from Agua Verde. Shelter is not as fine as in Gato, but the sandy beach works well for the fishermen’s pangas. The landmark for Timbabichi is truly prominent. It’s a very large white home (vacant I believe) standing near the beach. So brightly white and square and huge, it’s given the bay a nickname, “Casa Grande” among the cruisers.
The next good looking harbors to the south are Nopolo (not the golf course near Loreto) and just below Nopolo, Puerto San Evaristo. I wasn’t sure at starting where I’d end up. Nopolo is about 20 miles from El Gato and Evaristo is another 5 or 6 miles beyond. I trusted in the wind to come up and give me more of a boost along during the day. In fact I got up to 2.5 knots at times but spent time too sitting like a boat on a mirror.
At lunchtime, becalmed, I lashed the tiller again and went below
to fix something to eat. Looking out the hatch as I munched my tunafish sandwich
I saw the water utterly glassy but the sails filled and a light coolness against
my cheek from the east. You couldn’t call it a breeze and you could see no
sign of it on the water at all except that we were moving nearly 2 knots. I’ve
read of wizards that could call a “mage wind” to move them where they wished
across the seas in olden times, but this is the only time I’ve had a mage wind
of my own. From noon til mid afternoon the boat just chuckled quietly through
the water, mostly with the helm lashed and me standing quietly in the hatch
watching the world pass by.
We passed the landmarks along the way, Roca Negro was just in front of us for the longest time as we glided quietly along and I never actually made out Roca Morena until I was well past, it lies so close to the shore I thought it was just part of the jagged coast. La Habana is very prominent and stands out from the cliffs beyond as you come down from the north, though it was confusing to me since I’d not yet identified Morena. Finally the pointed cliff top just North of Nopolo began to separate itself from the great mass of the mountains of the coast.
During the day I saw several very large fish jumping but not a single whale or dolphin. A flock of perhaps ten pelicans sat on the water directly ahead as I ghosted along and I did not alter course. About 20 feet from them (they were eyeing me dubiously above their long beaks) a school of foot-long silver fish suddenly exploded from the glassy sea and skittered across the surface into the flock of pelicans. Each pelican lunged into the school as it passed and not a single bird missed! I suppose they’re still sitting there waiting for me to round up another school and flush it out for them.
About 4 miles from Punto Nopolo, the 600’ high cliffs close alongside, the wind left for good and left us bobbing on the water like a cork. I put away the sails and fired up the old outboard, set it to its quietest throttle setting and purred along at 3.5 knots. Passing close to the point, turning slightly to the right, I wished there were better anchorage right in front of the first two little settlements but the guidebook advised anchoring off the third settlement in front of the beach at the end of the arroyo.
The anchor held well on the first try in about 20 feet of water, still a good distance off the beach.
The sun was already behind the mountainsides and purple dark was spreading quickly over the anchorage. Two houses were visible on the beach, with perhaps a glimmer of light from the one to the South. Other than that there were the moon and stars and utter quiet. In the course of the day I’d seen one con-trail from a passing jet, but had not heard his engines. There had been a shrimp boat pass ahead of me and I’d seen two charterboats with their sails furled motoring South and two or three pangas passing in the distance. Certainly I wasn’t alone on the sea, but in the course of the day I think I only heard engines (other than my own) two or three times. That’s peace and quiet and room to breathe.
