We've been anchored for nearly a week at Tenacatita, a large, shallow bay embraced by a perfectly curved beach, and protected from the northwest swell by rocky islands and headlands. We've fallen into a daily routine. Daytime exertions include kayak trips into mangroves (green herons, reddish egrets) and around rocks where the surf crashes (oyster catchers, black vultures), rowing ashore for beach walks (outboard motor not working), and swimming off the boat. Mid afternoon we are melting with the heat, and hose off with fresh water on the stern steps. Naps happen; how still can you stay, what tiny breezes can you find.
Evenings are blessedly cooler, providing time and energy for ambitious cooking. Breezes, a near-full moon, a bottle of wine. The occasional get together with other boaters.
Mornings are best. At first light the local fishermen are all around us, throwing out nets for the small bait fish that hide under our boats. Bottle-nosed dolphins surface, breathe, and dive again and again, weaving through the anchorage. Gradually we rouse ourselves, and gear up for another day, becoming steadily more sticky, sweaty, sandy, salty.