Chacala

Matanchen Bay is huge.  With only a handful of boats spread across the water, we enjoyed the space and the isolation.  After a few chores, dinner, and a good nights sleep, we were heading to Chacala first thing in the morning.  There were high expectations for Chacala.  Several of our friends gushed about it being the type of destination they envisioned when dreaming of sailing in Mexico.

As the sun neared the horizon, an unexpected greeting party came aboard in large numbers.  These were some of the areas less desirable residents – jejenes (hey-hey-nays in Mexico or no-see-ums in the USA).  The tiny pairs of flying teeth were quite aggressive.  While Trisha stayed below preparing dinner, I was getting bites in the cockpit.  Seemed more annoying than anything, we didn’t think much of it.

Jejene AKA no-see-um

 The next morning we made the twenty-two mile hop south to Chacala.  Upon arrival, we experienced the first significant failure of our trusty GPS chart plotter.  It has a 5x7 inch screen that shows a little boat on a map of our current location.  The little boat stays fixed in the middle of the screen and the map moves to show the boat’s changes in position, just like a GPS in a car.   It was common knowledge that the electronic charts are not accurate in Mexico.  Chacala’s bay showed up as land on the GPS.  Trisha went below to get the cruising guide so I could have a look at its sketch of the bay.  Using the drawing and the other boats and anchor as a guide, we slowly picked our way in and were soon at anchor with about twelve other boats.

Interabang anchored in Chacala

 Chacala was a lovely little village with a great beach and one cobblestone street about three blocks long.  We explored both extensively.  The scenery was fabulous, but over a couple of days we had pretty much seen it all.  After a couple of rolly nights at anchor, we decided that it was time to make the passage to La Cruz.

The fishing education continues.  Soon after leaving Chacala we landed a good sized fish with the cedar plug.  Once pulled aboard it began thrashing violently.  I pinned it to the floor of the cockpit with both feet letting it bleed out without making a big mess.  Trisha went below to get the fish book.  It had the shape of a tuna with a black tail fin.  The spotted belly clearly identified it as a skipjack.  We remembered someone saying “don’t believe what they say, skip jack is OK to eat.”  “OK to eat,” not exactly a ringing endorsement.  The fish book described the edibility as ‘good.’  We put the fillets in the fridge and hoped for the best.

Derrick with his first Skipjack Tuna