Then there was this one day in San Juanico

Part of Writes and Wrongs of Passage by Suzy O'Keefe

Then there was this time that we were in San Juanico. What a wonderful spot. One of those magical places that keeps drawing cruisers back there over and over. Someone hung a small ornament on a scrub tree up from the beach on the trail leading north to Ramada, the anchorage folks use on the north side of the point when the wind's blowing from the other direction. Someone else saw it and added a trinket of their own and, before you know it, they call it "The Shrine" and it's got hundreds of carvings, ribbons, bracelets, and prayer wheels hung all over it. Then people began paving the pathway with some of the local flat stones and carving or painting their names on them. Personally, I think things got a little carried away, but it's really pretty tame by graffiti standards. Besides, it's all in the spirit of cruising.

Cruisers keep coming back to San Juanico. The water is warm and clear, the fish are plentiful, and the beach is inviting. Much of the water is less than 12 feet deep inside this cove. When you're anchored there, you can stand on the bottom and wipe the growth off the hull. Now that's an eerie feeling. Standing on the bottom as the boat gently rises and falls a couple of feet with the swell rolling into the anchorage.

Campers and fisherpeople keep coming back to this spot as well. This particular time, the place was nearly a village what with a dozen sailboats and what looked like a whole community on the beach. There were maybe 3 tents of various shapes and sizes, ice chests and crates stacked all around, and a huge orange colored tarp propped up by several long poles. It hung loosely on the poles and flopped sometimes more violently than others. No one there seemed to mind how it looked as long as it provided a large square of shade over the lounge chairs.

Two boats; one seemed to be your standard Mexican panga about 20 feet long with a sizable outboard motor, the other was a sleek ski boat. Though we were never awake quite early enough to see the panga leave, each morning we heard it depart for a daily fishing expedition. Sometime in the late morning it would return causing a flurry of activity in the campsite that would eventually settle into the afternoon siesta. By mid afternoon the ski boat slalomed through the fleet with excited children happily being pulled behind. This of course was when most of the cruisers wanted to have their siesta, but that was okay. We were all quite willing to share this anchorage for a while with the beach dwellers. Neither group approached the other.

Two days. Five days. By the time seven days had passed a few of the boats had left. After about ten days, we were the only boat still in the anchorage. We were snorkeling and hunting fish , enjoying the sunshine, and in no hurry to leave. We were a little surprised about noon that day when the panga pulled alongside our boat. The occupants, a tanned gringo man and a boy about nine years old, greeted us and apologized for the intrusion into our privacy.

They were in desperate need of cooking oil since they'd run out last night. They wondered if we could possible trade some cooking oil for a fishing lure. Seems they got a twice weekly provisioning from the local store owner back in Loretto. Each time they dropped of a load of essentials, they were given a list of what to bring next time... someone had (uh) forgotten to list the oil last time. We laughed and said we'd be happy to give them some oil. Since we wouldn't take their lure, they invited us to dinner that evening instead.

Could we be there about 5:00? You betcha!

I'd suggested we anchor the dinghy off the beach along with theirs and waded ashore. The water wasn't all that deep in San Juanico and (this far up into the Sea) the tides had started to get a bit more significant. We secured the dinghy a good "city block" off shore.

We were introduced. Todd and his girlfriend, Jen. His two kids from a previous marriage. His brother, Mark and his friend Jack. The 3 guys had been coming back to this exact spot since their college days - 15 or so years ago. The panga had a steering station glassed into it so they drove it around standing behind a sort of a lectern and they'd owned it since those early days. Sometimes only the guys came down to camp and fish. Sometimes a blend of family and friends came. Once in a while the wives came, but they didn't like it much. Seemed that this time though, Todd had found a "winner" as he squeezed his lady. We got the grand tour of the campground during this introduction then settled into the lounge chairs and the wine started flowing.

I'd never seen so much wine in my life. Fully more than half of those crates on the beach were full of wine. All different varieties and all expensive! We were being treated to a royal fish feed. One that wouldn't have happened without the precious golden liquid we'd supplied!

We got the whole story of their adventures including the time they took the open panga named "Tres Amigos" back up to San Diego via the Pacific Ocean! The weather was so bad at one point that they were anchored in a protected cove trying to hide from the worst of it when things got really stinky. They were sitting on shore in their lawn chairs wearing their masks and snorkels against the stinging rain while watching their panga and outboard float upside down at anchor. True? Could be. Seems like anything was possible with this bunch!

I can't even tell you how many varieties of wine were dispensed, but I know I didn't drink but about half of them. I couldn't keep up. As it was I had to hurry and empty my wine glass in order to receive a refill every other time around. Having so many different wines was my first mistake. Not stopping all together was my second.

Sometime after dark (I haven't a clue what time it was) the conversation was proceeding and I wasn't participating any longer, but I distinctly remember raising my hand like a school kid asking permission to go to the bathroom and saying "I don't feel very good!" Of course, they all laughed as I got up and stumbled for the dinghy. I actually made it all the way to the dink and poured myself inside. They applauded then laughed some more. I didn't care, I was happily laying in the floor of the dinghy with my eyes closed.

Tim had had at least twice as much wine as I had and by the time he came out to the dinghy ready to head for home, he wasn't feeling any pain either. We motored to the boat and I refused to move "just let me stay here" I slurred. He protested, but couldn't deal with a dead weight so he brought a blanket and covered me. He tried to tempt me "don't you need to pee?" he asked.
"I already did!"
"Oh great, right there in the dinghy?"
"Uh huh".
"Ya can't stay there all night".
"Uh groan huh."

He stirred around down below for a while , lit the oil lamp, then came back out to get me inside. I guess it was quite an ordeal, but I really don't remember. He got me into the cockpit, hosed me off with the fresh water shower nozzle, and put my robe on me. I remember hearing an "Oh Shit!".

He laid me out on the settee and provided me with a wastebasket and a towel. I don't remember much until morning when I heard the Ham radio through my haze. He had no signs of a hangover. Apparently he had worked so hard screwing around with me that he had shaken it all off! "Not fair!" I said in-between a couple of groans.

He couldn't get me to eat or drink anything, but made sure I was comfortable before he went ashore to spend some more time with our hosts. Not fair! It was mid afternoon before I felt like lifting my head off the pillow and finding something to eat. As I looked around, I realized that everything had a fine coating of soot on it. The settee where I had been was covered by a sheet, but every other horizontal surface was black. "What the...?" He had turned the lamp up too high in his haste to get me out of the dink. Then it had taken him so long to accomplish this task that the lantern had already belched its soot everywhere before he got back to it. Damn! You can't just wipe this stuff up, that rubs it in. It has to be vacuumed very carefully without actually touching the cushions or pillows, or curtains, or clothes, or...

Guess how I spent the rest of the day?