How many people can say they've been bitten on the hiney by a sea lion? I can proudly say that I am in that elite club, with nothing to show for it, thank goodness, and the experience joins the arsenal of memorable stuff that has happened in my life.

We left La Paz Tuesday afternoon, after waiting a few days for the norther to blow through, and headed for Isla Santo Espiritu, a small and fabulously interesting island, from a geological and oceanographic standpoint, just north of La Paz. We were really ready to be back "on the hook" (anchored) again, ready for space around us, for quiet, for time to spend our days as we chose, and ready to get my mom, Margy "The Fish" Gates, into the water. The first night we tucked into an anchorage about halfway up the island, then headed for the Main Event of our trip to the island the next morning:

At the very northern tip of Isla Espiritu and it's sister island Isla Partida lay a couple of teeny tiny islands called Los Islotes (Spanish for teeny tiny islands) that are home to a sea lion rookery. Steep and rocky, with virtually nowhere to anchor, we were prepared to put Fly Aweigh in a day anchorage across the small channel and take our dingy across, which can be wet, uncomfortable, and tend to shorten the overall experience as everyone wants to get back to the boat. But we lucked out (I really don't believe in luck anymore) and discovered that there are a number of mooring balls, not mentioned in either of our cruising guides, for the small tour boats that bring people out to snorkel with the sea lions. We tied to one of the moorings and had a front-row seat about 50 feet from the shore of the most fabulous nature show in our lives. Absolute luxury, as opposed to a dingy ride, with lunch, shade, cushions, all our dive gear at hand, and hot showers right off the swim step. Anxious to play with the sea lions, Margy, Allan and I were in the water within minutes of mooring, and stayed in until our fingers were wrinkled and our bodies were cold soaked, even in the warm water.

We knew to be respectful of the herd, especially around young pups, lest the moms -- ever watchful, and the bulls, defending their territory -- feel threatened. I was engaged by a young pup playing with a rock, a game he had obviously perfected - dropping it at the surface and letting it fall, then catching it in his mouth -- sometimes upside down, sometimes doing a few acrobatic maneuvers before snagging it at the very last second before it hit bottom. He'd swim playfully past me, twirling around with the rock in his mouth, then rise to the surface and drop it again. He was clearly showing off, aware that I was watching. And then, in the corner of my eye, I caught the heavy shadow of one of the bulls coming toward me. They can reach upwards of 800 pounds, which, believe me, can serve up a nice side dish of intimidation. He was not rushing me, but was definitely headed directly toward me with purpose. As I was pondering my options, I felt a sharp nip on my right, um, butt, and for a second, I thought it was Allan trying to get my attention. Not his style, I thought, and indeed, as I flipped around with surprise, a smaller sea lion was swimming away. I retreated, laughing through my snorkel and feeling relief that I had my thick lycra dive skin on, although I don't think the the bite would have broken skin -- it was a nip, maybe a playful nip from one of the larger pups, or a warning nip from mom, setting boundaries and keeping this black and pink fish in line.

Allan had a nice swim with one of the mellower bulls, and caught him in a short movie on the underwater camera from just a few feet away. Margy had fun with some playful, rambunctious younger sea lions, circling her and staying very close, but also got the bull warning more than once. Mixed in with all this underwater activity were little floating and diving flocks of cormorants, who look pretty humorous from the underside of the water, paddling with their webbed feet and occasionally sticking their heads underwater to look around, and a massive school -- millions, I'd say -- of blue-silver fish with serious proximity issues - nothing gets within 12 inches of them as a flowing body unless it's by surprise. The poor cormorants zoom through the school like bullets trying to get a bite but it looks futile, the fish just clear a path. But the pelicans know how to use that element of surprise. We were entertained for over an hour by a large fleet of hungry pelicans, maintaining a very organized flight pattern and dive-bombing from 20 feet, plunging into the midst of the massive school, sometimes 4 or 5 at once or in quick succession making loud splashes within feet of the boat. The entire scene was incredible. We sat on the bow of the boat with cameras, trying not to miss a thing.

Meanwhile, the sea lions serenaded us with their honking and barking and the occasional loud scrapple between huge males onshore, and the younger sea lions leaped and played in the water. Small pangas with life-jacketed snorkelers came and went, and it was comical to see the underwater combination of sea lions, so graceful and flowing, dancing around the bobbing, flapping, clumsy swimmers in their neon fins. We finally ceded too the fading day and motored a few miles south to anchor in a beautiful harbor with 3 other boats. Looks like some good kayaking awaits us in the morning.

Thursday -- If it weren't for the gnats, it would be paradise. Margy is on the fore deck in the morning light, working on a drawing of the hills that surround this lovely small bay on Isla Espiritu Santo, and I'm enmeshed in the 5 million-page novel I'm reading, which I hope to finish before I die, largely because it's the first in a trilogy and I'd hate to miss the ending. After half an hour, we've both been driven inside to escape the tedious critters. Margy ponders the efficacy of wearing garlic around her neck to ward them off. I just want to make sure they didn't high dive into my freshly-brewed, Hershey's-laden Mexican coffee. Eventually, Margy yields, returns to the cockpit, and sets up her paints. I settle at the computer inside, grateful that this boat has lovely views out the big side windows, so I don't feel like I'm really missing anything. Later, we remember the bridal veil fabric I'd brought for more or less this very purpose, and made veils to drape over our hats and keep the bugs off our faces, which is the very most annoying thing ever.

As we thought, there is some beautiful kayaking here, along red cliffs towering over green water that looks totally unreal, not even Walt Disney's Technicolor has this one -- intense kelly green spiced with turquoise. We saw some stunning green and magenta crabs, and I rescued a full 3.2mm wet suit from the rocks. Not wanting to come home empty-handed, Margy found a nearly new West Marine child's life jacket. The lessons of not securing things properly on deck is one we learn over and over in the boating world. On shore, we collected shells and admired puffer fish skeletons. Meanwhile, Allan, ever the Worker Bee, tinkered and fixed some of the things that needed fixing.

Friday we thought we'd investigate a sea mount 8 miles offshore, a haven for hammerhead sharks and huge rays, and apparently quite the mecca for filming these critters. The book had no information on how to anchor in the vicinity, and we had 3 different GPS points from 3 sources - the cruising book, our chart plotter, and our paper charts. So off we headed into the wild blue ocean in the general direction of the Marisla Sea Mount on a rather choppy sea until finally, right about where the book said it would be, the depth gauge went quite suddenly from too deep to measure to about 65 feet, then down to 42, back to 80 and then off to virtual infinity. Ah, the mount. Marked by nothing. No moorings, nothing poking up out of the ocean, no way to stabilize the boat to get swimmers into the water, the stern bobbing up and down with the messy sea, and a 2 knot current drifting the boat, and potential swimmers, downstream. We peered hopefully over the side, inviting a manta or a shark to poke his head above the water and let us know it was all worth the effort, but in the end we wisely scrapped the idea and went back to the teeny tiny islands to swim once more with the sea lions. The mount is something we would love to do with dive equipment and an experienced support team, an intriguing option for later on.

The sea lions were very happy to see us again and the bulls left us alone. We enjoyed a quick swim, had some lunch, swatted gnats and finally headed back to La Paz.

Margy flies home today, Saturday, and we're sad to see her go. We've had a wonderful time, and I'm grateful I have such a fun mom. She doesn't say no to anything, that I can think of. She loves adventure and experiencing new things, and she's quite an inspiration. She treated us to a fabulous and too-expensive-for-Mexico seafood dinner last night, so today I'll treat her to a French toast and mango compote breakfast before her circuitous flight to LAX, via Guadalajara.

Allan and I will spend the week here at Marina Palmiera in slip #434, at least through Thanksgiving. We need to do some repairs and get a few more things done on the boat, then we head off to the next adventure, which we're pondering. North or South? Sea or Gold Coast? Vanilla or Chocolate? Real or Memorex?