Night Lights

We went in to Esperanza for dinner and met Davy again. He seems to be a waterfront fixture. His introduction includes a great deal about having been in the navy, being a master diver, something about the CIA, stuff about being in Panama for the Noriega period, etc. Rather a ramble, really. He put in his moorings himself and says they are screwed 7 feet into the ocean bed. He does a lot of free diving too, and he fishes. He generally defines the sort of water rat character: hard-drinking, easy-going, and reliable if you get him when he’s not too pissed (say 9 a.m.).

Somehow music came up and, when he heard that WW plays guitar, he got all keen to set up a pick-up session with the brilliant musicians he knows. We said it sounded like fun but that WW’s guitar wasn’t going to be able to participate since it has nylon strings. He said he’d get a guitar for him too. When he came to pick up the propane tank the next morning, he’d forgotten all about it, but it came back to him quickly. He said he’d get on it. At about noon, we met him at the dinghy dock on his way to deliver the filled tank, and said the hootenanny wheels had been set in motion. The get-together would be on The Strip, the next evening, starting at about 8.

We, meantime, went to visit the tiny museum run by the Vieques Conservation and Historical Trust (VCHT). Very good, for such a small enterprise. And the smallest aquarium in the world…a half dozen tanks with local sea critters that are returned to the sea after a spell of high visibility.

We had used one night of our mooring and planned to spend the second at it on Friday. For Thursday, we had another place to go. We motored a mile or two east along the south coast and found moorings at the entrance to Mosquito Bay. An arm of the sea, about a quarter of a mile long, extends inland and opens out into a huge oval bay of about a mile by a mile and a half. Our mooring was between breakers on a coral reef and breakers on a rocky coast. Django rocked and rolled. We got Lady and Tramp ready to go. Actually, *I* got them ready, launching them single-handedly. It was, I believe, at this point that I was promoted to next-to-last mate.

After supper, we took our paddles and made our way up towards the bay. The shores were lined with mangroves and sea grass grew in the water along the edges. At one point, I was alarmed by and alarmed a ray snoozing in the shallow water. It flapped away, churning up lots of bottom and angst, then got entangled in the sea grass. I finally realized its only way out was toward me, so I moved and it shot away.

We paddled around Mosquito Bay for a long time, watching the sunset, watching the light die from the sky. Listening to the bird song peter out as they tucked themselves in. White-crowned pigeons flapped slowly away. Crabs clanked in the mangroves. Then it was dark. The mangroves were faint outlines against the sky. We dipped our paddles into fire. Light flared as fish jumped. Light flashed as water dripped from our paddles. Our wakes were made of fire. Fire shone through the kayaks’ drainage holes. Fish looked like meteors as the darted through the water.

Mosquito Bay has the highest concentration of dinoflagellates—the miniscule creatures that create bioluminescence—anywhere in the world. They appear only after full dark, and start as a sort of floury sprinkling that intensifies until it becomes almost blindingly brilliant. We spent some time paddling about, revelling in the light. It is protection of the bioluminescent bays and coral reefs that are driving goals of the VCHT.

Then we headed back to Django, the light diminishing as we moved down to the sea, until we put on the Ginny headlamps, and made our way to our vessel, where we pitched about till morning.