Light Reading about Isla Coronado in Loreto

[lacurtis]

We were not able to go on our cruise but this was my must see place- Hopefully others can go and enjoy...

 

Isla Coronado:

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  • Coronado Island is a gorgeous uninhabited volcanic Island just 30 minutes from Loreto. In this half-day Excursion visit the Sea Lions colony, snorkel on the turquoise clear waters or just relax on the white sandy beaches. Coronado is simply magnificent. Ask to go the "long way" around the island (to the the east side) to see the blue footed boobies nesting on the cliffs, the osprey nest perched high on the rocks, as well as a small sea lion colony. There are some palapas at the beach for shade. Consider bringing a kayak, snorkel gear and a lunch! You should purchase a Marine Park Permit for the day.
    
  • Even if you don't fish or kayak, a boat trip to Coronado Island is popular with most visitors. For a group of four, it will cost $25 per person, which includes a ride to a white-sand beach for some snorkeling and a sack lunch. On the way, visitors are likely to spot sea lions sunning themselves, or a group of dolphins.
    
  • Alvaro went out of his way to show us hundreds of dolphins leaping out of the water. We saw the sea lions, pelicans and ospreys as we circled the island. We stopped at a sandy beach where we snorkeled (using our own equipment), but the water was fairly cold and not too many fish. We enjoyed walking on the many trails from the beach area to see the arrid flora of Coronado Island. both of us to Coronado for 4 hours for $80. (The cost would have been $100 for 4 people.) The price included the park entrance fee wristbands.
    
  • To the children's delight, our speedboat captain, Ramon, circled the island and brought us close to baby sea lions sunning themselves on the rocks before he deposited us on a breath-stealing pristine white sandy beach in a little alcove. The water was turquoise green and crystal clear. Snorkeling from the beach was a cinch, with each step yielding bigger and more colorful sea life. But "step" was the operative word as Sophie, preferring to swim unencumbered by fins, narrowly missed stepping on a large crab. While we played, Ramon napped under a palapa, joined by two other captains. Other than their passengers — a family from Italy and honeymooning New Zealanders — the beach was all ours. The advantage of having our own captain was we could decide when we wanted to leave, and after about four hours, we had all had enough. The kids were so exhausted, they both fell asleep sitting up on the wave-bumping ride home, oblivious to the dousing they were getting from the sea spray. We booked our island excursion through the hotel, paying about $50 a person, including for the children. (The concierge said children were generally charged half-price if the boat had four full-paying passengers.) Ramon supplied the lunch — ham-and-cheese sandwiches, cold drinks and bags of snacks. We chose the convenience of having the boat come to us instead of driving into town and shopping for our own food, but had we been less lazy, there were captains at the Loreto marina willing to take the four of us for about $100.
    
  • After breakfast, we decided to explore the Marine Park and strolled 50 yards to a beachfront dive shack owned by Arturo's Sportfishing. Thirty minutes later, a blue-and-white panga (an open-bow fishing boat) pulled up on the sandy beach, Baja's version of door-to-door service. Our guide, Victor ******, had a sturdy frame, an easy smile and air of comfort around the water. As we motored out, he described his encounters from more than 1,000 dives in the Sea of Cortez: a school of shy hammerhead sharks, collections of mantas, groups of sea lions, whales and marlin viewed from below. He told tales of kayak excursions from Loreto to La Paz, camping on islands and living off the sea. Thirty minutes later, we were hugging the dramatic shoreline of Coronado Island. Spires of lava rock polished smooth by the sea jutted out of the water. Stunning stone formations melded into the burnt-sienna desertscape dotted with Baja's signature flora. Victor and I strapped on masks and tanks and dove around Piedra Blanca, "white rock," named for its year-round "snow cover" courtesy of the local pelicans and sea gulls. We glided among schools of yellow- and-black barberfish. Large sea scallops were anchored on the rock face next to multicolored starfish and sea stars, anemones and gorgonian fans. After a 45-minute dive, we boated around the island. The rocky coast gave way to white sand and Caribbean blue water. We pulled up next to three palm-draped palapas that provided shade on an expansive beach. A pair of red and yellow kayaks rested on the sand along with six people. Priscilla and I took a hike on an annotated nature trail, and were stunned at the vast array of plants that thrived in the harsh desert climate. We snorkeled at a nearby reef, helped a beached puffer fish find its way back to the sea, then flopped onto the sand for a nap in the mild, springtime sun. As we traveled back to our hotel, we asked Victor if he could take us into town. Priscilla had never seen Loreto, eaten a fish taco in Baja, nor explored a mission. From the boat I pointed toward the landmark tower of Misin Nuestra Seora de Loreto, the first mission in the Californias, just as a pilot whale blew a puff of water near shore. Loreto's mission is the cornerstone of the town's historic center. It is surrounded by a history museum, plaza, city hall and the colonial-style Posada de las Flores hotel. As we explored, I guided Priscilla toward my favorite taco stand for lunch: McLulu's. Owner Lourdes "Lulu" Armendriz was on hand with a generous smile and a wide variety of fish tacos, chorizo burritos and other tasty fare. We shopped at the boutiques that lined a long walkway shaded beneath arches of sculpted ficus trees. Casa de la Abuela, a store located in a 200-year-old adobe house, overflowed with hand-embroidered shirts, fresh vanilla extract, leather goods, brightly painted ceramics, dried puffer fish and shells. Outside, we passed a sign declaring the plaza the Silver Desert, alluding to the half-dozen stores full of handcrafted silver.
    

An hour later I am idling out to sea in Alvaro Romero’s 25′ super-panga. I found him while loitering around the small marina – more like a manmade lagoon filled with fishing pangas on the west edge of town – when I heard a voice ask, “Are you looking for a boat, señor?” Discovery, not a prepaid reservation with some eco-tour outfit, is paramount when looking to explore Baja. This is the way of the equanimous adventurer. More important, it helps support the locals first, rather than greasing the palm of an outsider or some foreign agency. Alvaro is a 78-year-old fisherman who has lived in Loreto all his life and has five daughters. His boat Sylvia IV is the namesake of his youngest. He has fished for everything from turtles, tuna, and sailfish (in the mid ’80s he caught a 682lb sailfish, the largest on Loreto record) to dorado, chub mackerel, and sharks. He stopped taking turtles long ago because he didn’t want to see them disappear. These days, he gives eco-tours of nearby Coronado Island and hires out as a sportfishing guide.

 

My newfound guide gooses the throttle, letting the 75hp Mercury OB dig in. The panga’s bow rises to a high glide over the rippled periwinkle desert of the Sea of Cortez, pointed north toward Coronado for the 25-minute ride. A brown booby flies off starboard doing a shallow surface dive, using its beak like a dip net.

 

I offer Alvaro some crackers as we approach the island. He agrees to take some but only after he’s sure I still have enough for myself. The island breaks open the sea like a sleeping leviathan as we slow to a crawl and putt along its western side. Alvaro points aloft to the osprey nests sitting high atop the bluffs, the birds’ white heads peeking above them. We also see a blue-footed booby on a rock ledge. The sea is calmer here amid the labyrinth of protected coves and sea caves. We round The Point, a flat finger of rock peppered with giant boulder sculptures where sea lions lounge. They are mostly males (evident by the bump of muscle atop their heads, crested with a blonde tuft of fur resembling a mini-mohawk), not bothering to lift their heads. Alvaro cuts the motor and lets us drift close. We get a few warning barks that echo off the boulder contours from the dominant male who looks over 700lbs.

 

The moon is strange company in mid afternoon, hanging over the island like a sister sun. We enter a beach cove on the eastern side of Coronado. This is our destination, the only part of the island where boats can make landfall. The beach is deserted since most tourists are eco-herded out here in the morning before the afternoon winds hit. Alvaro is not on anyone’s clock and proffers no agenda. The water’s color gradates from periwinkle to sea green to robin’s egg blue as Alvaro cuts the motor and lets the panga glissade to a stop in the wet sand. Four pelicans drift over to us like a curious welcoming party, their webbed feet treading crystalline water as they watch us with one-eyed interest.

 

Alvaro secures the boat in silence, then walks up on the beach, looking over the water as if it’s his first time here. I join him as he squats down and scoops up a handful of creamy grains. “Look at this beautiful sand,” he says, lovingly tenderizing it then letting the granules run out between his fingers. It’s true. The butter-colored sand lay out like a downy bedspread, as if purified by a powder sieve. It’s of a higher grade than anything I’ve seen on a Southern California beach. There are two thatch palapas for shade and a small grill embedded in the rocks. Tourists are permitted to camp overnight here, although Alvaro suggests a man shouldn’t do it without the warmth of a woman.

 

I meander along the surf line for a ways then climb up to a rock ledge. I can see Alvaro down below squatting near his boat, pant legs rolled up, lazily tracing a stick in the sand. He obviously cares not where I am or when we will return. He seems out of reach from the long arm of time. Nobody’s fool. Maybe that’s why he carries the demeanor of a man half his age.

 

Floating like a dark zeppelin, my shadow moves slothful about 8 feet beneath me over the sloping seafloor. The eggshell-colored sand is rippled like loosely strewn cloth. I’ve set out from the beach in wetsuit, hood, and snorkel gear (water temperature is about 62 degrees), hugging the rocky reef spine to my right after consulting with Alvaro about the best snorkeling vectors. I don’t see much until the bottom drops off to about 15 feet. I’m suddenly transitioned into a jungle of sea life, surrounded by scaled wonders living in this reef commune. The fish are chilled and unperturbed as I ease into their world – free diving is often less threatening than scuba diving because fish aren’t spooked by your rising bubble wash. I keep my kicks to a minimum as the inhabitants scrutinize me with polite drive-bys. King angelfish, Mexican hogfish, graybar grunts, giant damselfish, and panamic sergeant majors are only a few of the dozens of species down here.

 

Visibility is at least 60 feet and it only gets better from there as warmer weather approaches.

 

Alvaro is sitting beneath a palapa like a vacationer as I wade in. I peel off my wetsuit in the panga, taking in the natural wonders. Without a word, Alvaro senses I’m ready to leave and I find him standing at the bow. He starts pushing the 25-foot boat off the shore, with my dead weight in it. “Need any help?” I ask, suddenly remembering he’s 78 years old. “No,” he says, just as the panga lifts and is waterborne. It’s an incredible feat really, owing to his 50-plus years as a panga captain. He knows exactly how to beach his boat so it’s not too embedded in the sand, yet won’t float away. Thus, pushing off is a gesture, not a labor for him. He bends over the gunwale at the waist, a human teeter-totter balancing there as he clicks his feet together to shed sand from his sandals. He lithely slips aboard and uses a long oar like a gondolier, pushing the boat beyond the shallows, moving from one side to the other. His movements about the boat are fluid and spry, certainly not the moves of a tired or aged body. He guides her like an aquatic Zen Master, and The Sea of Cortez is his youth serum.

 

The afternoon winds have agitated whitecaps up from the sea for the ride back. But Sylvia presses them smooth as the growling Mercury makes her shag ass on a planed drift over the gulf. This water is hued like a cat’s eye marble, made to dance and flash by the yolky sun. The ride is ultimate solace after a hard night at the Junipero.

 

Approaching the mainland, I notice some large homes being built along the waterfront south of town. There aren’t a lot of them yet, and much of the land is still undeveloped. It isn’t hard to foresee that they will soon overrun the open land and devour the once virgin coastline. The waterfront edge of Loreto sports a stone-tiled boardwalk lined with new restaurants, clubs, and hotels that appear pseudo-posh against the old parts of town.