Enchanted Cabo Pulmo

Now, on our last night of 10 in magical Cabo Pulmo I finally write of our experiences here.  The easy thing to do would be to write chronologically, but I'll try something else, giving an introduction to this special place.

It's been an unusual year for us in terms of weather here:  we've had mostly cloudy/ windy but warm days here.  (Never mind the zip-away pants I wore out of Bozeman so long ago.)  It's hard to snorkel when the wind chops up the water enough to fill your snorkel or stir up sand and cloud your vision.  If there's no direct sun, it's even harder to see the underwater sites.  These weather conditions do, however, gift time and a willingness for other observations.

Having done the snorkel scene, we unbegrudgingly turned our attention to other pursuits, giving us a better feel for this community and it's members.  I'm happy to conclude that the dogs here are way more laid back than the loyal protector dogs of Pescadero:

   

In fact, where California Quail wander Pescadero gossiping about Chief Wahoo, the roosters and hens here wander the streets of Cabo Pulmo more concerned about Net-an-YAH-huu, than they are with their natural enemy: dogs.  (I read of a dog destroying 60 hens in another Baja community).

But the dogs are not the only laid-back folks in Cabo Pulmo.  I mean, when central downtown looks like this:

How can anybody be uptight?

The "downtown" businesses center around boats and tourists.  Every dive shop has four or five boats scattered in the area.  Every residence has one or two in the yard.  All day long the sound of poorly running Suburbans without functioning mufflers rumble up and down the rather quiet streets.  No matter what the weather, it seems, boats are coming and going while the beer and taco place overlooking the beach does a steady business.

 

It all makes me ask, "How did this unique community accessible only by rough dirt roads (some car rental agencies will not rent a car if the customer confesses to taking it to Cabo Pulmo) come to be?

Informational clapboards "downtown" tell the story.   It began as a fishing village.  First there were pearl divers. When that pursuit exhausted itself, Cabo Pulmo natives extracted a living from the sea by fishing.  As time went on, villagers had to go further and further out to sea to capture the requisite number of fish.  Often the fishing boats (pongas, of the type still used today) anchored to the coral reefs.  Then marine biologists from Mexican universities became interested and started doing studies.  Before long, it became clear that the practice of anchoring on them harmed the coral reef upon which the diverse marine life (fish) depended.  Massive education programs began all over Baja California Sur.  After much organizing and collaboration a decision was made:  the people of Cabo Pulmo would continue making a living from the sea, but in order to do so, the reefs and marine life must be protected, not harvested.  The sea surrounding Cabo Pulmo and it's resident coral reefs became a liquid national park.  Today, all fishing must occur beyond the park's boundaries.  Pride in this jewel of the sea and efforts to protect can be seen everywhere; it is The common denominator of all who are here.

Instead of public trash cans along main roadways, recycling bins like these dot the roadside

When I first saw these, I got excited about all the sorted garbage and wondered why the rest of Baja couldn't participate.  That was before I watched them being emptied.  Yep, it was the usual garbage truck that pulled up.  It's driver carefully picked up the liner for each bin and dumped it into his binless truck, all in one.  I raised my eyebrows at the student manning the information desk and he simply shrugged his shoulders.  My take is that some people began an awareness campaign that quickly outgrew the necessary infrastructure.

The residents of Cabo Pulmo do still depend on the sea today in a different way.   As long as the reefs are cared for, tourists will come to see the diverse and colorful fish inhabiting the only living coral reef in the Gulf of California.

And that they do.  The atmosphere is noticeably different here from other Baja towns.  Every Mexican passes by with a smile, a wave and a gringo-ized greeting of "Hola!"  Don't get me wrong, there are still the street "hawkers"  calling out to every tourist (Mexican, North American or European) asking if you want to snorkel or scuba today.  Unlike the "hawkers" in Cabo San Lucas, San Jose del Cabo or Cerritos, they let you go with a "No, gracias" and wave you on your way with the simple benediction of "Vaya bien" (go well).

And our dwelling here is very simple and private compared to the hyped-up Cabo San Lucas marina.  In this compound of 4 rentals plus the owner's domicile, we rarely know if anyone else is here.

The owner has thoughtfully oriented each casita so no one faces any of the others.  His lush landscaping keeps each of us hidden from the other with disorienting paths through the plant life.  Everyday the owner hand waters another section, reporting that it gives him something to do and also gives him a chance to assess which plants need trimming or propping up or more room to grow.  I laughed at his need to do something exclaiming that I thought he might keep busy enough with his shop projects.  That comment brought a rare shadow of a smile fleeting across his lips..  One of the hidden structures on his property houses beautiful guitars.  "I don't do anything with them," he gruffly replied when asked, "I build them."  His latest project is building a new prosthesis.  The one the doctors gave him, in his words "is shit" and he has an idea for making one with a better fit and a newer hinge that will make the appendage more useful.  He's had a prosthesis all of three months and already he employs his surfboard and guitar making skills to craft something better than that provided by the medical community!

The North American residents here have developed other diversions for themselves on cloudy, windy days.  While exploring up the road from our rental we discovered three tennis courts.  Each is gated.  From the rope closing the gate hangs a sign declaring that the court is "for members only."  Somehow, I think club membership depends only on a person's willingness to help pay a share of annual upkeep and not on a nifty tennis wardrobe.  One court has different lines on it, indicating to me that pickleball has found fans down here.  And the courts are actively used.  We heard of a fellow whose wife once said, "I always told him he was going to die on that court."  And he did just that!

That same fellow was an active contributor to Cabo Pulmo's trails association who contributed more than pesos to trail maintenance.  A map hangs on our refrigerator door:

He built a nicely joined wide and backless bench at the apex of one of the trails, positioned in such a way as to provide a beautiful view of the sea.  It was on one of these trails we got to see our first Baja rattler.   I hadn't heard that sound since my childhood in Arizona, but that reaction is automatic and instinctive:  stopped me in my tracks.  Bruce, right behind me, stepped on my heel wanting a closer look!  He had no choice but to back away.  I love that they give you a warning!

The calendar on my phone gives me the warning that our days down here will soon come to an end.  My heart tells me it's been too long since we've seen those delightful grandchildren, and I do miss them so!  But as time marches on, we are determined to make the most of our days down here.  We watch the weather and position ourselves to be ready for what each day dishes out.  While cooler cloudy days have promoted terrestrial exploration, sunny days call for something else.  I'll save that for another blog post.

Lucky Day of Leavetaking

Leaving Pescadero proved a little more challenging than usual.  We are always a little sad to move on from there while still looking forward to a scene change.

The day before our departure we verified the bus schedule and our Cabo San Lucas reservations, packed our bags, and prepared Sonrisa by giving her our good-byes.  Given her habit of accompanying us everywhere we go, I alerted her real owners that we wouldn't be returning from town on Saturday.   Although they would be in La Paz the morning we left, they would tell the dog-sitter to keep our companion inside.  That evening Sonrisa left our porch for the first evening in a week or more.  I marveled that she understood our goodbyes and that her sitter was keeping her in.

As I prepared coffee at dawn the next morning, I couldn't believe what I heard:  that familiar ear-flap of morning wake-up!  Yep, there she was on our couch.  When I opened the door I was greeted with unusual exuberance as if Sonrisa said, "I can't believe I get to see you again!"

In addition to my usual tardiness in getting out the door to travel, we now had a new complication:  what to do with Sonrisa? Although she lives in the neighborhood, we'd never met the sitter and was told she is not an early riser.

As luck would have it another neighbor passed by and agreed to let Sonrisa out of our house and lock the door thirty minutes after our departure, tucking the key in the hiding place where the caretaker would find it.  But that still didn't solve the problem of being in town in time to catch the bus.  Should we go one of the shorter ways with known bad dogs?  By the time we got to the decisive fork in the road, we were done talking and turned our feet down the longer fork.  There was little traffic that morning, so once we were on the final fork to town and heard a vehicle rumbling behind us, I stuck out my thumb.  More luck:  a pickup truck with room for us and our packs in the back!  I think our Mexican angels would have driven us to Todos Santos if we'd wanted to go that way.  Instead they dropped us at the bus station just as the southbound bus arrived.  We no sooner bought our tickets and stowed our packs than the bus left, five minutes ahead of schedule!  We were amazed we just barely made it on time!

The hour-long bus ride passed quickly and then we were deposited in the busy metropolis of Cabo San Lucas.  Quite a change from little Pescadero.  Bruce tried out his new Uber app and by the time we lugged our packs out the door, our ride had arrived.  Our driver was an enthusiastic young Mexican with few English words.  He's lived in Cabo for 11 years and handled that crazy gnarled traffic as adroitly as a NY taxi driver might.  He snaked through traffic and narrowing streets to find our place on the backside of the marina.  Bruce, forgetting that he'd put the credit card in the Uber app handed our guide enough pesos to cover the fare and a generous tip then asked for directions to the car rental.  Eying the bill Bruce had insisted he take, our driver wouldn't give us directions.  "Drop your bags here and I'll take you there," he offered.  And he did just that without asking for another centavo!

The car rental wasn't too far, but climbing the hill up from the marina with our packs would have been difficult.  We appreciated the Alamo agent who was fluent in English and helped straighten out a snafu we'd had with our reservation for a car the following day.  We were both glad we didn't have to add driving to our already crazy transition day.  The pace was dizzying after our lazy Pescadero days.  The walk back to our condo along the busy Cabo streets was a good way to adjust.

Our condo was one flight above the marina with a pleasant little balcony from which we could watch all the frenzied tourists chasing the vacation of their dreams.

Having denied ourselves trips to town in Pescadero for delicious Mexican meals, we'd promised ourselves to "live it up"  while in Cabo and boy, did we!  First, a walk-by tour of all the restaurants and bars along the marina led us to the best deal on margaritas.  We followed that with flavorful Chile rellenos at a restaurant.  What we hadn't figured on was the all-night "concert"  we were "treated to" in our room.  It seems all the bars figure you won't feel like you are in The Party City unless you can hear music coming at full volume from several bars at once.  We hadn't  counted on that perk when booking a place close to ATM's, restaurants and bars!  As we turned out our lights Bruce wondered aloud how late they go to in Cabo.  I ventured that we'd find out tonight.  And now I can tell you, they go until 4am.

Yes, after a hearty breakfast the next morning, we were ready to pick up our car and get out of that crazy place!  Shopping at the Mexican grocery store can be insane on a Sunday afternoon, but by getting there in the morning we avoided the crowd.  This time we only needed groceries for a week and we'd saved every plastic bag we'd received at the smaller Pescadero store, so we were a little better prepared.

Bruce handled the drive to Cabo Pulmo like he'd done it before (he had, once) and taking the northern route we made good time.  So happy was I to be in quiet little Cabo Pulmo, I had to stop at the beach and stick my feet in the water before going on to another dinner out and a quiet night in our Cabo Pulmo home.

Birds, Dogs, and Whales; oh my!

They mark the passage of our quiet solitary days.  Birds come in the morning to our makeshift feeding station while we enjoy coffee on the porch.  A large flat rock serves up the seed gifted to us by the home owner before he headed to the States. The garbage can lid, nested in a gentle depression in the sand has become the bird bath.  Common Ground Doves, White-winged Doves and the ubiquitous collared-doves are our most regular customers.  While the doves each raise a single wing to defend their personal space, the sparrows take advantage of the distraction and enjoy leisurely sips and wading experiences.  A little later the cactus wrens prefer the shadows of the young palms where I have scattered crumbled tortillas too dry for our preference.  Across the yard, brightly colored Hooded Orioles sing amongst the treetops' orange blooms.  We hear the sweet song of the House Finch more often than we see the vocalist.  The Gila woodpecker busies himself exploring the seed left by the doves and enjoying the safe harbor of the young palms' boughs.  What he really wishes for is our absence from the front porch so he can continue his excavation of the two outermost posts on our front porch.  At irregular intervals in late morning or afternoon the California quail push their top knot through the yard, all the while they chuck quietly at each other, mostly talking about "Chief WA-hoo"  and ignoring us and our feeding station.  The giant white Great Egret gracefully stalks the hill separating our yard from the beach.  Once she has gathered her fill of insects her long bill, neck and legs are gracefully swept away on wings out-spanning those of any Montana raptor.

Like the birds, we prefer morning for our active time of day.  Our walks to town start in the morning before the Baja sun has completed its warming duties.  The dogs, I am sad to admit, are responsible for our current pattern of making minimal trips to town.  Two of the most convenient ways in house known "bad" dogs.  The other two ways lead to the two ends of town least convenient to our errands, but so far have only offered walled-in and leashed dogs.  Sonrisa, our neighbor's sweet dog has once again adopted us and this year seems to know I want protection from other dogs.  Her favorite activity, sleeping in the sun, is only interrupted when she senses a strange dog approaching.  I became aware of her new habit one day at the beach.  My eyes were closed and I enjoyed the sun's warmth over my whole body when I was suddenly disturbed by a clumsy dog attempting a leap over my prone body.  What heck...?!?.  My eyes popped open in time to see Sonrisa racing toward a new dog.  Warily the two did the canine version of checking each other out.  Sonrisa's body language did not reflect a positive reception on her part.  In fact, our normally mild-mannered dog kept the newcomer well away from our place on the sand.

After witnessing that behavior, I've learned to look to Sonrisa for guidance when encountering a strange dog. On another day, as I walked up the little hill from the beach,  I was greeted by three barking dogs!  I froze in my tracks with words like "Pack!" and "Chihuahuas" and "Little dogs still bite" passing through my mind.  A large black dog followed the little ones; all three barking nonstop.  Still I could not make my feet move.  Wait!  Sonrisa circled 'round behind behind me and greeted the "pack" in her friendly mode, as if to say she'd already met these dogs and gave them the nod of approval.  Only then could I lift a foot toward the house.

One day earlier this week Sonrisa ran with me up the arroyo.  I have to admit, I felt more at ease on that run; my only worry was that Sonrisa might have committed to more exercise than was her custom.  I surely did not want to tell her real owner that I'd left her alone up the arroyo.  She did lag back a bit and once I had to stop to call for her, bit she did indeed make it back home with me!


That evening, Sonrisa sat next to me while I enjoyed the sunset:

The one mammal Sonrisa ignores is the giant gray whale.  They pass our section of beach daily.  Most are heading north to calving grounds in Bahia Magdalena, Laguna San Ignacio and Laguna Guerrro Negro on the Pacific side of Baja California Sur.  I have read that they prefer calving in these relatively shallow lagoons as they are safe there.  The larger Orca or killer whales, enemies of the grays do not enter the shallower waters.

We do still  see some whale pods that seem to still be heading south.  Are they "late bloomers?"  Or simply whales who haven't successfully mated?  At any rate, for three or four evenings in a row we were treated to whale shows so close to shore, we could hear their breath as they blew a spout into the air.  The mottling on their tail fins showed when the large paddles sliced the waters surface turning and momentarily pausing before disappearing again under the waves.

This was a lousy photo even before I blew it up, but maybe it shows the mottling on the tail fin:

Occasionally they swam close enough to the surface we could see their whole long backs.  They were so terribly close to shore for so many evenings in a row I couldn't help but imagine human-like conversations amongst them, "Hey, if you have been following a sweet looking partner and haven't yet consummated the deal, I hear there's a perfect romantic spot just south of San Pedrito."  That's the surf point near our beach.  But now all that seems to have ended and all the whales we see are further out, heading north with very little evidence of "playing around."  I wonder if it's getting late in the season for them and they are now urgently traveling north.

We, too will soon be leaving this sweet spot.  In a few days we will begin our own migration to the east.  First we'll have to go north or south to circumnavigate the mountains down the middle of Baja.  We'll head south first to rent a car, then decide which way we'll go to get to the other side.
Either way, I'm sure we'll be treated to more Baja gifts.

Baja Time

I could feel us falling into the Baja time zone as soon as we turned in our little red rental car. The easy rhythm of each day began to descend upon us as we ordered a couple of street tacos that couldn't be beat.  The familiar walk home along a dusty road took us past field of basil and peppers, and several new homes.

Yes, change is inevitable, even to our little town.  And some of it is good: like the additional porch furniture and landscaping Johnny has done to the place we rent from him.  Then there is the case of a neighborhood dog whose owner decided the dog had to be "put down" after a vicious attack on another dog.  Frankly, that kind of thing helps return my faith in dog owners.

People have asked us, "But what do you DO when you are down there?"  I'll warn you, this is not Retirement 101; it's more like a 300 level class; and it has to do with entering the Baja time zone.  Friend Vinnie (who lives down here at least six months out of the year) asked if we'd entered "the time zone" 3 days after our arrival.  I thought we had.  Our pattern is a combination of general routine and seeing what the day has to offer.  The tougher requirement is the mindset that whatever possibility arises, may be the highlight of the day and the well-prepared (adjusted) visitor understands that possibility.

Our general routine goes like this:  slo-mo coffee, breakfast, exercise (walk/run) in the morning.  By noonish we are on the beach.  When that gets too warm we retreat to shaded porch.  Bruce likes to siesta and I like to stitch or write family.

The trick is accepting whatever glitch happens along the way to routine.  The morning walk lengthened the day we ran into Bilingual Tom who caught us up on beach gossip.  Then there is the day Johnny came by offering an armload of fresh picked basil and the suggestion it be eaten a leaf at a time atop a slice of aged goat cheese.  Our morning walk became a search for cheese and siesta became a pesto-making session.  Lunch and dinner that day were downright gourmet!

Then there was the day Johnny and Jessie introduced us to guavas:  funny little fruit that come in their very own serving bowl!  My morning run up the arroyo became a guava gathering session when I noticed a guava shrub in the wild!

When friends came to visit from the other side of Baja, they came with a photo of nearby a property that one of their friends considered buying.  Oh my!  It's the place I had always daydreamed about living in, a place ( it was rumored) designed by our friend Gary!  The morning our friends were to leave, we decided to do a walk-by and peek in the windows.  Emerging from a car parked on the lot was a fellow we mistook for a real estate agent.  He happily told us the casita was unlocked and he'd open the main house for us.  Inside, both places looked so very similar to the casita we rented from Gary our first years down here.

Before long the friendly seller started talking about how originally the place was designed for his grand piano to sit here and something about acoustics.  I was about to conclude this guy was not being totally honest with us and asked who the designer was.  Yep.  He named our Gary!  Then followed the story of Gary's arrival and how he helped "the turtle lady" establish her home here.  Gary had only told us how generous "the turtle lady" was gathering turtle eggs and building the protective enclosure, all out of love and caring, not receiving a cent in recompense.  Gary was filled with admiration for her.  What he never told us was the story in which Gary is the hero, helping the woman who became "the turtle lady" establish a new life here after escaping an abusive relationship with her three young children.

Another day we were on our way to the ocean for something when Johnny and Jessie called us over to a weathered table in the sand.  Johnny had been "diving" that morning with his brother and wanted help opening the oysters he'd brought back.  After opening and cleaning the bivalves, he chopped them into bite-sized pieces and replaced them on the now open shells.  Jessie quickly dosed them with lime juice, soy sauce and hot sauce.  We never made it to the water, but we'd never tasted such fresh oysters!

So, the tricky thing with Baja time is to just accept that things take as long as they do.  There's no point in fretting about the slow line at the hardware store or the walk on the beach that never happened.  The good stuff comes along when it is supposed to and your job is to accept it.  That's what Baja time seems to be all about. (That..... and being in bed by Baja midnight:  9pm in any other time zone).  What's not to love?

Gifts of Baja

 Just being down here is a gift.  Being able to afford the trip in all ways:  time, pocketbook and temperament.  It is all a lucky juxtaposition.  But once down here, even more gifts unfold: beauty of the land itself, climate, sea and people are all incredible.

Having grown up in Phoenix in the 50's, coming to the Sonora desert always feels like homecoming.  Giant and ancient cordon cacti (so very similar to the mighty saquaro) dominate the scene, as if they hang the whole landscape of shrubs and smaller cacti to the endless blue skies.  Tires sing along the black ribbon of transpennisular highway.  Inside the Aquila bus that carries toward El Pescadero Mexican travelers behind closed curtains, sit wrapped in the aurora of an unsubtitled, Spanish-dubbed movie.  Those in for the long haul know the scenery all too well and don't revel in it like we two Norte Americanos.

The day of our arrival, the skies in Cabo San Lucas, uncharacteristically overcast, offered a gentle warm rain.  While short-time visitors lament the lack of sunshine, the scrubby desert flora and the many-armed cordons raise branches and newly formed blooms All sing praises for the gift of water.  Every last living thing looks so fresh, so wonderfully green and free from months of accumulated dust.  A night in the hotel near the airport eases us into the language transition.  There Bruce enjoys the Superbowl (quickly learning the Spanish word for "penalty") and I lament that the commercials are all local!

The next morning the rain has passed, and our walk to pick up our one day rental car is pleasant.  We even spot a rare and tiny boganvilla bloom outside of our hotel.

Today we do not begrudge the cloudy remnants of yesterday's rain.  We spend the next three hours in a giant and bewildering grocery store designed for locals.

As we leave the busy city of Cabo San Lucas we head first west, then north and gifts from the sea begin to show themselves.  Could we really be seeing whale spouts as we drove along?  Yes!  The unmistakable rise and splash of the giant tail confirmed our sightings.  And those skinny little fins slicing the water's surface in larger groups could only be dolphins arcing to the surface.  Stopping in front of our Airbnb we are greeted by our landlord.  He is happy to see us return and excitedly shares the little improvements he's made.

Another hour passes as we unload groceries and booze (the grocery store had no bags or boxes to hold our many supplies). 

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Finally, we are free to head to the water's edge.  A nearing wave promising the coming  high tide deposits a limpet shell at my feet.  The middle hole crowns it a keyhole limpet.  I can't refuse the gift, scooping it up and wondering if I'll find what I need to make a simple necklace to wear while I'm here.  Bruce and I each fall into our own silent reveries.  I find myself revisiting the time we watched a friend's son place our friend's ashes in these very waves.  Bruce turns to me saying, "Can't you just feel the spirit of this place!"  Yes, it's a pretty special spot.

Next, just before sunset, comes a pair of pelicans nonchalantly navigating troughs between the waves, watching just below the surface for this evening's catch.

After coffee on the beach and a simple breakfast the following morning, we must again go into Cabo to return our car.  It is our one last piece of business before we can settle into some serious relaxing.  Bruce easily finds the return spot, but we are disappointed to learn the agent is unable to ferry us to the bus station where we'd hoped to catch the last morning bus back north to Pescadero!  Between the agent's spotty English and my rusty and very spotty Spanish, we learned of a city bus we could ride to the bus station.  The agents, having trouble understanding my poor attempts at communication handed me a folded piece of paper telling me to show it to the bus driver.  "This would be easiest," she advised.  Even I could translate the note which said, "Grant the favor of stopping across from the Aguila bus station."  Once on the bus, I did as I was told, then,  carefully pronouncing my next words to the driver, "Soy como una nina!"   (I an like a little child!).  After a glance at my lined face and graying hair he gave a warm smile and kind chuckle.  We sat behind him and he was sure to make eye contact in his mirror as he neared our stop.

Back in our quiet little town we began a search for some dark thread.  Bruce thought we should hem a too-long doorway curtain in our Airbnb, but I hadn't brought enough thread.  Google gave me the correct words and while on the hour-long Aguila bus ride I practiced my new words and thought about some things people were teaching me.  I always try to speak like the Mexicans, hoping for the fluid fast musical sound of the language.  The rental car agents had trouble understanding me.  As we rode along in the bus listening to the Spanish movie I thought of my friend, Tim and his patient delivery of the language, careful to use correct pronunciation. "It's not communication if no one understands, " I thought to myself.  Off the bus I stopped in a store to ask  for thread.  On the second stop the storekeeper asked if I needed thread for mending clothes.  Oh, I just need two pieces about this long.  What color?  Anything dark for hemming the curtain.  Would black be ok?  Yes!  She stepped out back, returning with a spool and told me to take what I needed.  She wanted to give it to me!  I decided to buy a gift at her shop for a friend.  Then followed a conversation about learning English/Spanish.  We compared eavesdropping techniques and other ways of teaching yourself a new language, each understanding the other's dilemma.  By the time we were done, I felt I'd met a new friend.  Yes, visiting Baja is truly a gift.

Loving the Mermaid

I just found this post written mid-March 2019, but apparently never published.  Here goes:

 Cabo Pulmo asks her visitors to take each day as it comes, weather often determinating the days' activities. Proximity to the only living hard coral reef in The Sea of Cortez calls for lots of time in the water.

On a warm windless day, Mermaid Beach beckons even the most inexperienced snorkeler.  All who venture there get to experience breathtaking displays of colorful coral fish. The plentiful and common sergeant majors glimmer under a sunlit sea like hovering gold meldalions.

Little electric blue fish living here  will soon grow into their more humdrum mature silver selves. The parrot fish come in a variety of brilliant orange or blue hues.  Surgeonfish bigger than a human hand drift broadside to the currents, riding the ebb and flow of each wave's underwater repercussions. On an unseen signal from a leader only they recognize, they suddenly turn their pancake-on-edge shaped bodies and disappear in the tiniest spaces between underwater boulders.

When Cabo Pulmo's winds howl from the north, the mermaid still offers her underwater shore,bui just t visiting warm-blooded creatures seldom tolerate the long-lasting chill which sets in after a swim on a windy day.  On those days, the mermaid recommends a trip to Los Frailes Beach at the southern end of Cabo Pulmo National Park.

At Los Frailes a large rocky cliff meets the north end of the bay-like beach providing some wind shelter for surfaces both wet and sandy. While the large variety of types of fish found at Mermaid Beach is not matched here, the larger beach accommodates larger schools of fish. It's not an unusual experience at Los Frailes to stop and watch an approaching group of fish, only to find the group seems endless as hundreds of individuals circle the waters.

Rarely are days cool and windy in Cabo Pulmo. When they are, the mermaid points west to the inland desert trails. There visitors can climb mountain ridges and look down to see the sea on both sides of the mountains.

 Bright red Northern cardinals, orange or yellow orioles and the noisy cactus wren all make their homes here.  Watching the desert's theatre from high above are the vigilantly soaring vultures and occasional Greater Caracaras. Black-tailed jack rabbits scurrying underbrush seem to rival some of the neighboring dogs in size.  The hiker can't help but feel like a very temporary visitor to this harsher land.

As the number of windy days increases during our last week down here, this wannabe mermaid begins to look north, hoping winter has only left-overs to serve. Grandchildren grow and change rapidly. Love of family and friends beckon us homeward. Baja has been a lovely adventure and diversion, but now Montana's allure ( and mermaids?)  beckon.