The Sea of Cortez isn’t always serene. Actually, sometimes it can be downright grouchy.
Traipsing through Old Port and the Malecon area recently – as I usually do when visiting Rocky Point – it was challenging to remain upright. Strong winds coming off the water were bending palms, swaying light poles and slamming waves into the protective sea wall. Definitely not a sombrero kind of day.
Not entirely disconcerting. Actually, rather stimulating.
I’m one of those guys who enjoys all kinds of weather, probably because I don’t see much of it. Guess it’s the variety of the stuff that intrigues me. Living in the Southwest deserts nearly my entire life, and baking in 100+ degree summer heat and wind, my sojourns to Puerto Peñasco tease with something I don’t see very often – water, and lots of it.
There are a couple of small artificial lakes close to home and the nearby Gila River meanders across the state, although it can hardly be considered a river most of the time; resembling an irrigation ditch more than an ancient geographical feature excepting these few sparse pockets of accumulated moisture, usually the result of an occasional rain, cotton field waste water run-off or spring snow-melt, practically more water can be found between The Point Restaurant and Sandy Beach than anywhere within a hundred miles of my casa in Safford, Arizona.
Which might help to explain why I’ve never been enthralled with fishing. I’m not opposed to the pastime or have a dislike for the delicacy, it’s just I’ve always figured it was much easier to simply order fish and chips in a restaurant or make a trip to the fish and meat aisle in the local super market. Not nearly as difficult as lugging around a bunch of fishing equipment, then driving to the closest lake, which might be a couple of hours away. After I eventually get there, there’s no guarantee I’ll catch a fish. On the flip side, I can always count on tossing a couple of trout into the shopping basket at Safeway.
Anyway, as you can see in the picture, the breezy conditions in Old Port created all kinds of mischief. Salt spray lapping over the rocks showered nearby pedestrians who ventured too close to view the intriguing event. Occasionally, little kids would run to the edge of the wall, peek over the side, then quickly retreat at the sight of an approaching wave. Others simply enjoyed the performance of Mother Nature, content with the realization that not everyday is ideal for banana boat operators, panga fisherman or tourists wishing to frolic in the surf.
Unless, of course, they actually wanted to surf.