Sea Life…

CHAPTER 5

We were awake at the crack of nine, followed by our regular routine of granola, coffee (usually with some baking), check emails, news feeds, weather back home, etc. and we were out the door by 10:45. Another grueling start to the day.

We run the gauntlet of fellow Coritans lounging by the pool with our usual ‘hola, ‘buenas dias amigo/a’, ‘wassup you bad hombre’ (usually making the universal pistol sign with thumb and forefinger and pretending to shoot someone in the head) and then ambling down the stairs and onto the beach. Decision time… walk towards La Cruz with the sun at your back or towards Nuevo with the sun peeling the skin off your chest, hmmm…

Fry the back of my neck was today’s choice, not that it matters because you have to turn around at some point and face the music coming back.

There were a couple of fishermen with long casting rods throwing their lines out 100 ft or more and then reeling in as fast as they can to simulate the action of the tiny fish that congregate closer to shore who were getting in their final attempts at a fresh meal. A couple of dozen gringos were still walking the beach the same as us marvelling at the beautiful view of the bay; Vallarta in the distance with the backdrop of the Sierra Madres to frame it.

Frequently orcas can be seen cresting the waves and sometimes even a breaching whale can be spotted. Yesterday we saw dolphins out about a quarter mile playfully working their way across the bay.

Then suddenly we noticed a small shimmering body wriggling on the shore with the edge of the waves lapping at it. It was a small squid, about 6 inches long, reddish in color, with gangly tentacles in the head area (much like you’d expect to see in a sci-fi movie) with the rear resembling the tail of a jet engine, long and tapered. This poor fellow was struggling mightily and it’s breathing was labored as it’s body spasmed to gulp water. Then without warning a jet of water escaping the rear would propel it into the shallow waters a few feet only to be pushed back with the next wave. Back and forth we watched the dance of life and death, the noble creature fighting for its life. It was of course tempting to reach down and give it a hand but with nothing to use as a platform I wasn’t about to touch something that belonged in a Predator movie script, especially not knowing how it would respond to being manipulated by something 100x it’s size.

Then a couple of middle-aged women, small in stature but not in girth, were passing by and noticed what was drawing our attention. They obviously owned an animal rescue business (or wanted to) and probably had a menagerie of damaged animals from ferrets to budgies waiting for them back home because they immediately were overcome with compassion for our little friend (by this time I had given him a name, Squirmy, and determined that he had many siblings, a drunken dead beat father, and a worried mother waiting for his return from his sojourn on the Bucerias beach). They were beside themselves as to how to reinvigorate poor Squirmy and prevent his demise from not only suffocation but also the circling cormorants that were waiting for us to head to the nearest tequila bar so they could enjoy an easy brunch.

Let’s call these two ladies Nancy and Margaret. It turned out they were related by marriage (not to each other, as neither had the demeanor of people who would be accepting of the latest 21st century cultural changes). Margaret was of the take-charge variety and scrambled around looking for some method to pluck Squirmy from his sandy complications. She, despite being driven to save the world, had obviously seen the Predator series also and was not about to snatch our slimy friend with bare hands. She decided that one of her flip flops was the tool to use and kept encouraging Squirmy to just roll onto his side and then salvation would be at hand. But alas, Squirmy didn’t recognize this black rubber intrusion being poked into his abdomen as anything but a threat and refused to cooperate. She, having reached her limits, subtly kicked him with her foot onto the shoe, hoisted him aloft and scurried ankle deep into the water. Squirmy, not moving anymore, was unceremoniously dumped from a height of about four feet and did a bellyflop into the salty water. Margaret stared down at him for 5 seconds, pronounced him deceased, and the four of us yakked our way in the direction of the nearest tequila bar; after all it had to be 12 o’clock somewhere.

It turned out that Margaret did have a host of animals back home in Ontario and was missing her parrots the most. That got me thinking what a great set of defenses they enjoyed. Not only did they have sharp claws and strong beaks but their ability to speak was their greatest asset. I could just imagine Polly saying ‘Margaret, Margaret! That effing cat is stalking me again! Get over here and boot him outdoors!’ To which Margaret would stomp into the room clutch Scruffy by the back of the neck, push the back door open with his face, and drop him from a height of four feet.

Anyways, we talked so much that we walked about 100 meters past our hotel, turned, and waved a cheery goodbye. Despite the negative outcome we had been joined in a common mission and were now bonded for life.