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in baja sur in baja norte
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It was a good time to untie Sonora, and explore the mangrove shallows. I put on my headlamp, and shoved off into the dark. Mangroves hold a special place in my heart; their awkwardness, their housing of strange creatures. Like the shady place beneath a banyan, or a David Grisman Quintet ditty, they are tangled, confusing, subtle and hip. At closer inspection, the mangroves are cities in miniature; one-way streets of fish, and crabs, and reddish egrets bobbing their heads - the yellowish interplay of light in the leaves is Brooklyn's flickering neon. What in light-muddled night assumes an eerie bioluminescence, is in complete darkness, magic. Hans and I understood little about the flagellate plankton that glow bright green when slightly agitated as a way of scaring predators. But days later, when we settled our campsite at a palapa in Bahia Coyote, we rolled our kayaks off the sand, out into the quiet Cortez, and north, to Isla Piedra, and on its Eastern shores.
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