A week has passed since we left Cabo San Lucas. It feels like a month, or like time just changed into something completely different. Not because we don't have time to worry about - we're not living that iconic image of two retired people on a boat in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but watch sunsets and sip umbrella drinks. We do have time on our minds, because we're on this research mission, with dive schedules and timing issues. So time is right there in our faces, and though we're busy, I could melt off into forever on this kind of time schedule. And anyhow, we don't have any tiny umbrellas.

Each day so far goes like this: Deneb calls the other dive boat(s) who are in the anchorage on any given day, which varies as they come and go, and coordinates who is diving when. The goal is to not overlap. The unspoken rule is the first boat in the anchorage gets first dibs on dive times. Once that's established, we figure out how the day looks as far as meals, dive prep, tank fills, water-making, and naps. Then, we load the dinghy with dive gear, pick up Deneb and Derek, dive, fill tanks and run engines to power the compressor, fix food, eat food, clean up after food, set up dive gear for the next dive, load the dinghy, pick up Deneb and Derek, dive ... and most days, do it all again a third time.

On the first dive Deneb sets up her GoPro camera on the shark cleaning station at 85'. She's careful and respectful, waiting until there's a gap in the flow of sharks circling the station. She slips in, attaches her camera which is anchored with dive weights, then backs off and observes for awhile, making notes on her underwater notepad, maybe counting sharks, assessing. Then we dive around, watch for mantas, hammerheads, dolphin, octopus, rays, sleeping sharks in the sand, and all the other colorful amazing critters that occupy this beautiful other-worldly place. Meanwhile, Derek is above in the dinghy, keeping track on the GPS of the drop site and also sometimes catching a glimpse of our bubbles. As we ascend at the end of the dive, Deneb releases the orange "safety sausage" around 30', it floats up to the surface where its' bright-orange-on-one side and yellow-on-the-other side obnoxiousness lets Derek know we're on our way up, with a 5-min safety stop at 15'.

We pop our heads up and start yapping excitedly about what we saw on the dive, removing gear and handing it up to Derek, floating happily around the dinghy until we haul ourselves in and head back to our boats. Derek has our friend Ricardo's gas-powered dive compressor on the bow of Amphitrite and gets busy filling Deneb's tank, while back on Fly Aweigh Allan spends the next hour and a half filling our two, which takes a bit longer because a) there are two, and b) our compressor is electric and is a bit lower in power. As I mentioned, we have to run an engine during this process because the solar power can't keep up with the demand. Sometimes we also make water, so between the compressor, the engine, and Little Debbie, our plucky water maker, it's a noisy interlude. We put our Bose headsets on and focus on our individual tasks, he in the cockpit being compressor-y and me below decks being the chief cook and bottle washer.

We usually have time for a quick 20-minute snooze in the salon before it's time to get the wet suits back down from the hangars in the cockpit and suit up again, off to get D & D for Dive #2. On this dive Deneb switches out the cameras. The whole process repeats on Dive #3 when she retrieves the second camera. I often skip Dives 2 & 3 or at least #3 and Derek goes down while I run top cover in the dinghy. I like my solitary time on the surface, watching their 3 turquoise shafts of bubbles rise to the surface and pop, assuring me that all 3 are still close together and breathing. The current is strong enough that it's a constant effort to return back to the dive site, and I often lose their bubbles, but the GPS gets me back or I have land references that get me close. I enjoy the view, sing at the top of my lungs, do some exercises, or just sit there feeling extraordinarily grateful.

A few times we've convened on Fly Aweigh for dinner, reviewing the video Deneb has gathered and looking at Allan's photos. The footage has been fantastic. And the food - we're all vegans, so we come up with some delicious and uber-healthy meals. Derek is a great cook and I appreciate someone else bringing their favorite vegan recipes into our lives. At this point, more than 10 days since our last organic produce provisioning from Martin, a supplier in La Paz, we're just about out of fresh greens and other delicate things, and down to carrots, celery, cabbage, a bit of kale, some green beans and of course potatoes. Derek gifted us with the last of a bag of salad greens and we just had that for lunch, the last "normal" salad for another 10 days.

Underwater, we were graced on one dive by a visit from two gorgeous mantas with 15' wingspans, which Deneb can spot from afar, coming out of the distant deep watery murkiness. They come first as soft shadows, then you see their huge wings moving gracefully as they approach, then some of the details of their unique markings become clear, then you see them fold their front cephalic fins together in a peaceful and polite Japanese bow sort-of way (it feels that way to me, a courtesy, a greeting, or something) and then fly right overhead. We hear they like the bubbles. They circle back a few times and we try not to squeal too much into our regulators, then slowly and silently they move off into shadow again. On another encounter yesterday at "El Boiler," a dive site around the corner, we had 3 mantas circle and circle around us, sometimes with their cephalic fins together, sometimes rolled up and pointing forward. Such amazing creatures.

We've seen hammerheads, many of them. They can be dangerous, and I'll admit to a bit of trepidation upon meeting them for the first time, and every time, but they've proven to be shy and uninterested in us. They come for the cleaning station services and aren't here to eat or be aggressive. They stay off in the distance, usually in groups of 3 or more, looking strange and weirdly graceful in their slow movements. On one dive we were in close range of at least 15.

We had a small family of dolphin say hello the other day! Swimming with dolphins - something I've wanted to do since the "Flipper" days on television in the mid-1960's. Man, my cup is full! The dolphin always have such a happy aura, so playful, and always seeming to smile. One large dolphin came up to us and hung vertically, just a few feet away, belly facing us, and swayed cutely left and right, or fore and aft, looking at us and seeming to almost laugh. Mesmerizing, sweet, and potentially dangerous, because as Deneb explained, they tend to keep sinking lower and lower in the water, and you can be so enthralled you don't realize you've gone down. Little mermaids, they are! They played with us for a bit and left. Later in the dive they returned for more hypnotizing fun, then off again, all 6 of them, in a close knot of happiness.

The island of San Benedicto is itself a wonder. Stark and moon-like, the last eruption from Volcano Bárcena, (which, by the way, is Volcano #341020) started August 1, 1952, lasted 10 months, and obliterated all flora and fauna. Since then, it has remained a stark landscape, white/gray/brown, with stunning formations cascading down from the cinder cone. The island is uninhabited, and the only people allowed to set foot on shore are researchers and park rangers. No roads, no footpaths, no telephone poles, no cell towers. We're going back millions of years, diving in a protected marine park with creatures that have lived here practically forever. Other than dive boats, which are permitted and tightly regulated so there's not an influx of them at once, we're alone. The VHF radio on Ch 16, the common hailing frequency for mariners, is mostly quiet - usually the only chatter is the brief discussions between boats to set the dive schedule. We're out of VHF range for almost any other boats unless they're coming or going to the island.

We went on a fun shore-side dinghy excursion the other day with Derek & Deneb in their dinghy, we in ours, tucking in and out of the stunning little coves formed by the lava flow in 1952-3. Around the corner there's an albatross rookery. When Deneb was working as a park ranger she went ashore to tag some of the birds - a challenging shore landing, and an even more challenging hike/climb over rough lava boulders. We didn't get a close-up view of the huge birds, but did see a few on the beach far off, too far to really see anything, but they were there! Amazing birds - if you don't know about the life cycle and lifestyle of the albatross, it's truly fascinating. Teaser facts: they can fly without flapping their wings for up to 620nm. That's from San Francisco to Seattle. Or New York to Chicago. Not a flap. And, they fly for years without setting foot on land.

It's all of this - sharks, mantas, dolphin, albatross - that makes me feel small and huge at the same time. And grateful to be on this awe-inspiring planet, appreciative of the lifeforms we share it with. And as long as I'm getting all grateful, I'll add that it's truly amazing to be in the company of Derek and Deneb. What an interesting and kind pair they are, and the work they're doing is so cool. They're capable and professional, and Deneb's connections and knowledge of things here in the Revillagigedos is impressive.

And here's a fun thing that happened the other day: as I've mentioned in an earlier blurb, the focus of Deneb's 2-year study here at the Revilla's is to learn more about the shark cleaning stations. Part of this is to see how human interaction affects the operation of these all-important places, which are in many ways little medical centers. The other day her camera caught a group of divers that descended down directly on TOP of the cleaning station in the middle of all the circling activity. Before they arrived, the camera recorded a very active station, with lots of sharks circling and being attended to. As soon as the divers barged in, the sharks dispersed. Gone. So, three things happen: the divers don't get to see what they came to see - sharks, activity, fish; the sharks don't get the attention they need, or it has to be delayed; and the cleaner fish miss a meal. It seems obvious - don't walk right into the middle of things uninvited! But apparently it's not. It seems best to be small, a bit far off, and not be all flappy and wild and intrusive, jamming huge cameras in the faces of critters that are just trying to make that 2pm doctors appointment.

Today we're on our way south to Isla Socorro for the next week. Socorro is a very different experience, according to Derek and Deneb. For one thing, there's a Mexican Navy presence there, a small base on the island. So we'll expect to be boarded and inspected, as they help enforce the rules laid down by CONANP, the governing body of the national parks. They check for the proper permits, gear and equipment, and confirm we aren't doing any illegal fishing. And probably some other stuff, I don't know yet but we'll know soon. For another, the terrain is different on Socorro, and the diving is different. If we're lucky, we might see some migrating north Pacific humpback whales. There are a few cleaning stations Deneb wants to study, so we'll continue to be under their guidance as far as where we go and which/how many dives we do. We are willing support, and couldn't be happier.

In this moment, as we sail south, we're trying to ignore the little gnat-like bugs that woke up in curious moods this morning and decided to explore our faces, hands, arms, legs - ugh, so annoying. We hope they have a short lifespan, like 3 hours, because they're too fast to swat. Meanwhile, I'm soaking a variety of beans for a soup I'll start in a few hours, and maybe make some quinoa-oat wraps. I ditched my fabulous sourdough starter, I just couldn't do it. It's like a marriage. It's like parenthood. It's like having a pet. It's a responsibility I couldn't manage right now, so, at least for now, no more hard-earned fragrant loaves of sourdough on Fly Aweigh.

More to come - and lots of photos in the Gallery!

Click here for:
Fly Aweigh Position

And click here for info on:
Albatross

And finally, from the Smithsonian, cool data on:
Volcanos