Punta Rocosa to Punta Cerro Prieto, April 21st 2003.

When we launched in the morning there was a northwest swell whipping up choppy water. The waves were just enough to dump water onto the top of Patrick’s leaky spray skirt, which drips into his cockpit. He had to stop occasionally and pump it out. The choppy water also kept me from going into most of the caves we saw in the rugged cliffs of Punta Rocosa. On the north side of this point the waves reflect off the cliffs and help confuse the water but after a few kilometers we rounded the point and headed straight south. This protected us from the wind and the seas calmed down. I was finally able to do some sea caving! I also kept my eye on the shore looking for places to camp. I’ve been told that there is no place to stop on Punta Rocosa but I saw several gravel beaches at the mouths of arroyos that I would be happy to stop on. When the wind made it over the top of the point it helped push us south so we made good time.

The cliffs ended with one more rock full of caves and were replaced by a long low cobble stretch of beach. After rounding the low Punta Arena we decided to go straight across to our next camp without staying close to shore. This was a long hard nine mile crossing for me, more Patrick’s cup of tea. If I ever do this island again I will slow down and hug the shore. We could see ahead to the small cove we planned to camp in. The wind and tide pushed us sideways until we couldn’t see the beach anymore, so we adjusted course until we saw the white sandy beach again. There was something funny about the beach. The cove we were heading towards was two points that broke up a kilometers long stretch of sand. On both sides of the cove the sand was, well, sandy colored. But between the two points the sand was a blazing white. We talked about it concluded that we were not seeing a beach at all but a shoreline covered with bird shit. It would disappear behind the two points then re-appear when we adjusted our course. Finally we rounded the near point and discovered that this beach was just naturally white, made of different material than the surrounding beaches.

I went for a long walk west of our camp to look at an abandoned clam processing factory. This turned out to be barely more than some concrete foundations and part of a pier. The planes behind the beach were covered in clam shells. I cannot imagine that the Mexicans would have transported their shells this far, so I conclude that these are fossil beds of shells. At one time the water level was higher and these plains were covered in shallow water full of life.

The top of the beach behind our campsite was covered in fish bones, long strings of vertebrae that were uniformly cylindrical. To me they looked like the remains of eel, but Patrick says they are from a type of monk fish. Each vertebra has rows of holes in them so that a string of them standing on end looks like a little model of the leaning tower of Pizza. After we set up camp a strong wind blew over the island from the west. Our tents flapped and pulled all night long, waking me up over and over again.