This was an “accidental” anchorage since we didn’t originally intend to stay. But once we dropped our hook and took a look around, I knew that I wanted to stay at least the night. The rock just behind our cockpit is monumental, and monstrous boulders hover just beneath the surface of the water. Aside from fish leaping sporadically and water sweeping across the shore, it’s so very quiet.
Our first mission upon arrival was to check out the sea cave. Jeff took along his fishing gear for good measure (he’s rarely without his fishing gear these days) and I rowed us along the rocky shoreline towards the cave. Once inside we could hear the water plunging towards the vacant space at the back of the cave. The tide was rising and once we were deep enough, it lifted us and pulled us further towards the dark crevice, attempting to swallow us whole. In some strange way it reminded me of the ride Splash Mountain at Disneyland, just before the fall, where the vultures cackle and joke about your impending doom.
Since we were in our hard dinghy (the port-a-bote, which I will heretofore refer to by her proper name, Miss Nomer), we were less worried about making contact with the barnacled covered walls. The space became increasingly narrow, rendering our oars useless as rowing devices. We guided Miss Nomer by gently pushing off of the walls, trying not to scrape our hands.
Crabs along the walls of the cave scattered in every direction, desperate to be as far away from our dinghy and our wandering hands as possible. It eventually became apparent that if we were to go any further we would likely get permanently wedged in the cave and/or Miss Nomer would be fatally contorted by all of the forces at play, so we turned around, or rather, we started pushing in the opposite direction.
After a slow motion tour of the bay we returned to the boat only to find that it was well past 4:00pm and we hadn’t yet re-caffeinated. I didn’t want to travel again and I could feel the magic of this place, so I convinced Jeff that we ought to stick around. Glad we did.
It’s nearly 11:00pm now and Jeff is outside fishing* and enjoying the breathtaking darkness. We sat alone in silence for over an hour after dinner listening to distant crickets, trying to identify the faint outline of the rocks and orient ourselves in our new surroundings. A deep sigh, belonging to either a tired, satisfied or frustrated giant was audible just beyond our bow, but we could see nothing. The moon, if there is a moon tonight, was completely obscured by the clouds.
As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, the water began to shimmer. There are no lights – no starlight, no moonlight and the water was shimmering. A fish jumping would send pulses of glowing light into the bay.
Have you seen Little Mermaid? I know I’m making a lot of Disney references, but do you know the scene where Eric and Ariel spin around in a small boat as the sea creatures dance and dart about them singing “Sha la la, kiss the girl”? The water is like that. When I saw that scene I convinced myself that water couldn’t shine and sparkle like that. Well it tuns out that it does, and it’s pretty awesome. Wish I could show you.
*I’m happy to report that while we were eating a delicious dinner of sopes (pronounced so-pays), Jeff left his hook in the water and caught us a fish. Score!
It kind of makes me think of Neapolitan icecream… 
The sea cave!