I’m beginning to fledge. Is that the correct terminology? You know, it’s when baby precocial birds sprout their fuzzy down before their little feathers begin to poke through their wrinkled skin.

My freshly formed fluff appeared a couple of weeks ago, despite the fact that I was actively receiving chemotherapy.  Honestly, I didn’t even realize it was there until Jeff mentioned that my former “Beluga Head” had grown something akin to a super-soft layer of white mold peachfuzz. He now calls me his “Little Fledgling”. Hahahahaha. Ugh.

Speaking of fledglings, I have been remiss in sharing our recent expedition to Isla Isabel, (aka Isla Isabela) the “Little Galapagos of Mexico”.  Situated just 15 miles off of the Nayarit coast, Isabel is a picturesque volcanic island that is about a half mile wide and less than one mile long. It is known for the variety of birds that breed and nest here, and was designated a National Park in 1980.

It took a full day of sailing/motor sailing from the anchorage at Chacala, and along the way we were treated to numerous dolphin and whale sightings, and saw more sea turtles than we could count. Chance loves dolphins, and they know it, often frolicking closely off the bow of El Gato while taunting him by leaping in the air and rolling sideways to make eye contact. He barks furiously while his wildly wagging tail nearly propels him right off the boat. (For this reason we keep his life jacket on and leashed while underway.)

Arriving near sunset at Isabel, we dropped the anchor behind the protection of Las Monas, two protruding rock pinnacles that offered the perfect backdrop for our three days of solitude.

 

The water was a bit too cold for our liking, so instead of snorkeling, we took full advantage of the hiking trails that run the length of the island.

We kayaked to a small fish camp that seems like the best place to begin land explorations.  Upon landing, the sound of nesting frigatebirds lured us onto a narrow trail leading up a steep incline. It was crucial to monitor each step we took, as profuse populations of unconcerned iguanas obstructed the pathways.

Looking up, not much further than eye level, frigates were everywhere. Flying overhead, nesting in trees, feeding their young, puffing their pouches, begging their parents for food, they surrounded us. We kept a respectable distance, but I don’t think they were the least bit threatened by our presence. Like the Galapagos Islands in Ecuador, the wildlife population is protected, thus there is no need to fear humans. It was fascinating to watch the mating rituals of the male magnificent frigatebirds inflating their pouches in order to impress the ladies. And impressed they must have been, because the nests were brimming with vociferous, inquisitive fledglings. I read that frigatebirds are only able to breed every other year, so I don’t know if we just got lucky, or if they rotate in and out…I don’t know.

Trying to deliver a little more “professional” Explorer Jules video was a fail, but here it is, anyway, for your viewing pleasure.

Continuing up the steep and rocky hill to the lighthouse, we reached the top of the bluff. There, we were thrilled to finally see what many consider the highlight of Isabel, the blue footed boobies.  As promised, they were plentiful, their nests scattered about on the ground, mothers protectively hovering over their seemingly oblivious,virtually lifeless, downy offspring. The posturing males attempted to woo a dance partner with awkward moves of their sky-blue, over-sized webbed feet. The witless expressions on their faces recalled the mating rituals at junior-high dances in the time-worn school gymnasium back home.

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Here is just a little bit of trivia about Boobie birds. There are several species, but as cruisers in Mexico, the brown boobies are the ones we see most often. The various species behave differently, and I don’t feel like going into a lot of scientific shit, so click on the link above if you want to get boobie educated.

Here’s what  I can share from my observations. They are cute.  Especially the blue footed ones and the  masked ones. But man, they are dumb as fuck. In fact, their name comes from the Spanish slang term “bobo” which means stupid. For example, they can spend weeks or months out at sea, and often, when a boat passes, a weary booby will stop aboard for a rest. In the olden, seafaring days, their bravado and imprudence made them an easy meal for hungry sailors.

On several occasions, we have had cocky boobies land on our boat to hitch a ride. At first we though it was funny. Until we noticed one that was shitting all over the bow. We tried to shoo the particularly pesky boobie off, to no avail. It just gave us the stink eye and sat tight. Jeff eventually resorted to attempting to sweep it off the railing using a broom, which the booby readily climbed onto, seemingly amused at this new diversion. After much shaking of said broom and shouting obscenities at it, the clueless boobie fell into the sea, right between the two hulls of El Gato. Glancing behind the boat, we witnessed his struggle to alight from the water, furiously flapping his wings, until he flapped no longer, floating, lifeless, in the growing distance. We felt horrible. No, we didn’t appreciate the mess he had made, but we never meant to murder him.

Watching in the binoculars until he was but a speck, I detected movement. His comrades flocked around him, urging him not to give up. A wing waved. He emerged from his watery grave, and he, along with his flock of friends, claimed the bow of El Gato for their own.

Defeated, we continued on, eventually serving as a taxi to around 17 boobies. The clean-up when we arrived at the marina? Not so nice.

It is not lost on me that we were on this idyllic little isle to see boobies. That was my primary motivation to come here. In fact, I half-expected to realize some profound feeling of brother sisterhood upon seeing them. I mean, after all….(boobies)

But it was not meant to be. In fact, I felt more of a kinship with the frigates, the adults busy building nests and hovering high in the sky while their chicks curiously peered their fuzzy little heads out of the nests, squawking, restless, searching for whatever lay ahead and beyond.

Our time on Isla Isabel was exactly what the Dr. ordered. We spent three glorious days bird-watching, hiking, kayaking and just resting. Watching nature’s renewal and rebirth is always therapeutic, but especially since we returned to civilization to be faced with a whole new reality-the COVID-19 pandemic that will undoubtedly change the world as we all know it.

My surgery (double mastectomy with no reconstruction) is imminent, and, in fact, may be completed by the time you read this. My hope, of course, is to emerge from the past 4 1/2 months of often excruciating treatment cancer-free and healthy. Like those little fledglings ready to face the “new” world from a perspective of cautious optimism.

I just wish this little layer of lint on my head would hurry up already!  I’m curious to see what will sprout. Will I still be a silky-maned blonde again? Will it be the notorious chemo-curls? Or will I give rise to a coarse combo of salt and pepper coifs?  At this point, I really don’t care. It is what it is and I’ll take what I get. And honestly? I’m actually looking forward to bad hair days.