Posted on May 8, 2018
*Remember–Milou is for sale; read all about it here!*
Ensenada Grande, Espiritu Santo
The water is still, and I can see every grain of sand on the bottom through the emerald-turquoise waters levitating our boat. A couple dozen pufferfish amble by, awkwardly propelling their boxy bodies with too-small fins. I take a sip of coffee and a bite of banana bread smothered in hazelnut-chocolate butter and lean back on the princess seat in the stern of the boat. Everyone else is sleeping, from my family down below to the four huge catamarans sharing the bay. A huge eel of some kind darts along the bottom.
The roosters have been up for a while in this small fishing village, and pangas have been launching from the beach, loaded down with nets and gear. The sun hits the Sierra de la Gigantas behind the village long before the light makes it to the water, setting them on fire with pinks and golds. Our boat is surrounded by thousands of ballyhoo, occasionally leaping out in shoals to evade some leviathan hunting for breakfast. Our neighbor, in a sweet little Lyle Hess boat, laughs out loud at the fish and gives an enthusiastic morning wave hello.
It’s our second visit here, and the second time we’ve gotten to swim with the resident school of manta rays. This time, there’s a spotted eagle ray interloping. They leap for glory, or sport, or possibly to kill parisites. Let’s say glory. We are the only boat here—just our family, on our little island of a sailboat.
Man, I’m going to miss this.
There are certain things that you only get to experience from a boat. Some of the things are not awesome (let’s just say, waves against current, and leave the topic); but some are jaw-droopingly beautiful. On a boat, morning people are richly rewarded. Three mornings in a row, but three very different mornings. How are we going to go back to a routine?