Imagine – Learning the definition of “boon-docking”.

Arriving in Tecolote, we took great pleasure in knowing we had successfully fulfilled our desire to return here and, once again, experience the uniqueness and playful air of this wonderful mix of locals and boon-docking travelers.

We were welcomed immediately by Jesús, the self-appointed Director of Beach Operations. We had befriended this  happy, fun-loving fellow on our last trip to this beach community and promised him we would return.

We wiled away the days soaking in the sea, kayaking, fighting off intolerable flies and having an afternoon beer with Jesús. The Aussie kids we had met in Santispac showed up to wait for their ferry to Mazatlan and broke the solitude of the off-season beach. ​

Every morning started the same…we’d wake to the quiet stillness of the beach, disturbed only by the sound of a jumping school of fish or distant bird-calls.

As the sun’s light diminished the darkness of night,  ribbons of pinks, purples, yellows and oranges stacked up on the horizon. ​Silhouettes of local fisherman in their pongas, netting anchovies to sell as bait, appeared in the shadows. Pelicans and seagulls boldly surrounded them, hawking their catch. ​

It hadn’t been any different on the fourth day. We enjoyed coffee with the Aussie kids, we swam, we ate and we kayaked. The Aussies left for the day to finalize their plans and do some kayaking at Balandra, the beach on the other side of the mountain. All seemed well with the world. Even the flies had receded to someplace unknown. We headed to the beach bar for our afternoon beer. ​

As Jesús popped the tops on the beer, I commented on the magnificence of the day. ​

Not quite finishing the sentence, I noticed a sand-colored strip in the water, about a quarter mile down the beach. It seemed to be quickly taking on the appearance of a new sandbar. Odd, I thought. Tony confirmed my thoughts, as the colored seawater rapidly increased in width and length, reaching farther and farther out to sea. ​

On the horizon a very thin, black line started to creep upward into the brilliant blue sky. Short, fast waves appeared out of nowhere on the sea, seemingly racing to shore like scared rabbits. ​

As veteran sailors, we are not unfamiliar with the term “Chubasco.” These violent, fast moving squalls are common phenomena on the Sea of Cortez and we have known them to scare the wits out of the mightiest of sailors. ​

Before we could think the word “Chubasco” the horizon’s black line turned into huge, menacing clouds, spewing wild bolts of thunderous lightning across the sea. The clouds raised their ugly heads at the speed of light and raced towards us. Rain pummeled the shoreline so hard that the drops sent up swirling columns of sand a foot high. Waves rose and fell on the sea likethe heaving breasts of stampeding wild animals. Howling, ferocious winds spit stinging sand and water at everything that stood still. The cloud-blackened sky turned the day into night.

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​As we stood mesmerized, the Chubasco continued its mighty quest. The infuriated monster raced across the mountain range behind us, leaving in its aftermath its powerful waves and the brilliant blue sky it had overpowered, proving to anyone watching that it could conquer all.

​In its wake, the shape of the earth had been changed forever. The sea had more sand. Its floor had more, or maybe less, hills and valleys. Its shoreline lay along the sea’s edge on a different line than it had twenty minutes ago. A river now sped down the beach from the mountains, carrying debris and mud from the storms attack. The river obliterated the road that had once served the beachgoers. The local palapa bars and restaurants would spend days shoveling the mounds of wet sand from their patios and open-air kitchens. ​

We wondered if the Baja Buggy still stood on four wheels. To our sheer joy and amazement, it did, even with the top up! Alone, she had survived her first storm. We believe God is on our side and we now believe the Chubasco legends. ​

We have also been left with a deeper understanding of the respect sailors have for the sea and the weather, of our commitment to never take its power for granted and to always expect the unexpected. We are also thankful that we experienced this on land and not at sea. “We bow to you, oh mighty force.”