|He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it. – Douglas Adams|
|Early morning view of Isla Estanque (on the left)|
There is absolutely no one else here: No one, but SV Time Piece and us. No pangueros, no Bahia de Los Angeles sports fishermen, no houses, no palapas. I keep thinking that if I glance over my shoulder, there will be some sign of human life. But no, it is incredibly peaceful and deserted here. The haze over the water blurs the horizon and the air is still; even the birds are subdued this morning. Following a 29 nautical mile motor-sail from Puerto Don Juan, we arrived at Isla Estanque yesterday evening to a distraught John. His engine was in trouble, and he’d worried himself sick over it. Early this morning, with his tools and coffee in hand, Rick rowed over to assess the situation with him. [I’m happy to report that SV Time Piece’s engine is once again purring like a kitten, and the guys have already begun talking about the fish they will catch for dinner.]
I am in the cockpit, shrouded from the sun by my strategically hung East Indian sheets. A small fan is stirring the air across me. Pen in hand, notebook open before me. With my cup of coffee nearby and Rachmaninov’s Vespers quietly playing on the stereo, I ponder how to describe such a magical place. I call this, early morning bliss.
For a time, I would write directly on my computer, but computers being the flawed technology that they are, sometimes add tension and frustration (to put it mildly) to an otherwise lovely morning – I’ve decided that a faulty pen is more along the lines of what I’m willing to deal with at 7 in the morning. This is why I have gotten reacquainted with analog writing as Rick likes to call it.
So here we are, at Isla Estanque; what I now call our deserted anchorage. I see shores to explore, clear waters to dive into, and frolicking birds to watch. This is what the essence of cruising is for me. Moments of utter bliss balancing out the past couple days of frustrating boat jobs: Vexations that are all but forgotten, as I ponder the beauty of my surroundings this magnificent morning in September.