I spent the following week tooling around Puerto Vallarta with my good friend, Jimmy. Jimmy and I worked together at BD and became fast friends, bonding over cheap beer and good food. His visit to Mexico was no exception to that rule.
The airport is within easy walking distance from a marina, so I decided to park the boat there for Jimmy's arrival. He trundled down to the boat and we decided the best course of action would be to drink a beer and immediately embark on a culinary tour of old-town Puerto Vallarta. The bus into town was quick and easy and we chowed down on a wide variety of tacos and burritos, from al pastor and carne asada to shrimp and octopus. We might've even ventured into the gluttonous realm of queso fundido with extra chorizo. Between the mountain of grub, all the traveling, and a handful of pacificos, we slept well that night.
Shrimp burros at "Marlins"
The next morning, we concentrated all of our energies into provisioning the boat for the week ahead. That, of course, had to start with a breakfast of chicken chilaquiles and arrachera. There was a pile of weather brewing out in the pacific that was slated to come through that night, so after we got back from the grocery store, we elected to move to another marina that was a few miles up the coast. The new marina was nothing short of incredible. Unlike most marinas I stay at, this one was equipped with thirty foot tall slides that were shaped like crocodiles, a yacht club with multiple hot tubs, and two fully grown Bengal Tigers. All for 25 USD per night. That all might sound ridiculous, and certainly after sailing down the desolate Mexican coast, it felt pretty ridiculous to me, as well.
Jimmy and I made the most of our environs despite some rain that had begun falling and even managed to wrangle a long afternoon nap. The next morning found us right back in the hot tub with the rain still falling consistently. Eventually the rain slowly tapered off and we checked out of the marina to head up the coast to the town of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle. It was a nice relaxing sail and we dropped the anchor just as the sun was setting. The town of La Cruz, despite its proximity to the major tourist center of Puerto Vallarta, is quite a bit more down-to-earth and authentic feeling than the tourist towns surrounding it. Jimmy and I jumped into the Superhighway and motored into the panga dock to see what sort of trouble we could get into.
We were pretty dang hungry after such a strenuous day of hard work, so after ambling the cobblestone streets of La Cruz for a bit, we settled down into a seafood restaurant (which seemed like a good bet based on all the fishing pangas we passed on the motor into town). We decided on aguachiles, one of very first dishes I ordered when I arrived in Mexico 6 months before, and one of my favorites. Aguachiles are based on the same principle as ceviche, where the acidic juice of a lime "cooks" the protein instead of heat. In the case of aguachiles, the protein is shrimp and typically the sauce / juice is spicy. Its almost always accompanied by cucumber, onion, and avocado, which makes for a very refreshing treat.
Jimmy and I made the most of our environs despite some rain that had begun falling and even managed to wrangle a long afternoon nap. The next morning found us right back in the hot tub with the rain still falling consistently. Eventually the rain slowly tapered off and we checked out of the marina to head up the coast to the town of La Cruz de Huanacaxtle. It was a nice relaxing sail and we dropped the anchor just as the sun was setting. The town of La Cruz, despite its proximity to the major tourist center of Puerto Vallarta, is quite a bit more down-to-earth and authentic feeling than the tourist towns surrounding it. Jimmy and I jumped into the Superhighway and motored into the panga dock to see what sort of trouble we could get into.
We were pretty dang hungry after such a strenuous day of hard work, so after ambling the cobblestone streets of La Cruz for a bit, we settled down into a seafood restaurant (which seemed like a good bet based on all the fishing pangas we passed on the motor into town). We decided on aguachiles, one of very first dishes I ordered when I arrived in Mexico 6 months before, and one of my favorites. Aguachiles are based on the same principle as ceviche, where the acidic juice of a lime "cooks" the protein instead of heat. In the case of aguachiles, the protein is shrimp and typically the sauce / juice is spicy. Its almost always accompanied by cucumber, onion, and avocado, which makes for a very refreshing treat.
We spent the rest of the evening trundling around La Cruz, sampling beers that I hadn't tried before (the complement of beers that exist in Southern Mexico is quite a bit more extensive than the ubiquitous Corona-Pacifico-Tecate-Modelo that was available in Baja). It was a picturesque little town, with lots of folks sitting out on their front stoops and plenty of cute little restaurants to explore. The skies continued to clear the next morning, and we decided to set our sights on Sayulita, a fishing-village-turned-surfing-destination that was 15 or 20 miles up the coast.
During provisioning, some thin-sliced ribeyes had caught our attention and we bought a couple packages of them. That morning, they were just screaming to be turned into a breakfast of steak and eggs, so we obliged them (and managed to carmelize a few onions to keep them company).
As we rounded the corner to head north towards Sayulita, the wind fell off and we noticed some bait balls blowing up to the west of us. The fish and birds were feeding aggressively on some sort of baitfish and we decided we wanted to get in on the fun. We let the Rascal drift, loaded up the fly rods, and sped off in the superhighway. We ventured a few casts into the midst of the craziness, but the dinghy seemed to scare the fish away to some degree. Next, we decided to try just trolling a fly and we started spinning loops past the melee. We finally started hooking into a few fish and Jimmy pulled in some feisty little jacks.
Before we knew it, hunger pangs were assaulting us and we decided the only thing missing from our steak and egg breakfast extravaganza was cheese. Thus, we used the rest of the leftover ribeye for some Oaxaca grilled cheese sandwiches and finished our sail to Sayulita.
The second we rounded the corner into Sayulita, it was immediately clear that it was not a sleepy fishing village any more. Enormous, luxurious houses and hotels blanketed every nook and cranny. Honkees on stand-up-paddle-boards covered the water like an oil slick and there were enough people on the beach that it was tough to see the town. We Superhighwayed it in to the beach and decided to do some exploring around town. It seemed that tourist season was just winding up, and all the signs / restaurants were in English. I can picture how it would've been a pretty incredible place 10-15 years ago, but we were relatively unimpressed with what it had turned into.
Eventually we caught the scent of woodsmoke and we followed our noses down streets and alleyways until we came upon this scene.
Eventually we caught the scent of woodsmoke and we followed our noses down streets and alleyways until we came upon this scene.
It was the glorious sight of a roadside Mexican grilled chicken stand. It was clearly a family operation and though the proprietress was a bit surly, she definitely had the recipe right and the chicken came with rice, a glorious picante sauce, fresh tortillas, and some juicy grilled onions that really pulled the meal together. It was nearly good enough to rival Pollo Lopez from up in San Carlos.
In a grilled-chicken-induced fog, we waddled our way back out to the superhighway and headed back out towards the Rascal. The swell was light, so the launching from the beach was easy, but for whatever reason the Tohatsu was reluctant to kick over. 9 times out of 10 it starts on the first pull... but... sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I'll forget to replace the kill-switch-lanyard and pull it ten times before it occurs to me. Sometimes it doesn't like to be tipped on its side for too long. Sometimes there is too much pressure in the gas tank. Sometimes I'm not giving it enough gas. Sometimes I'm not giving it enough choke. This time, none of these things seemed to be the issue. So I pulled and pulled and pulled until I thought I might expire. Finally, on pull 25 or 30, it started up and purred like a kitten. That Tohatsu can be a fickle beast.
In a grilled-chicken-induced fog, we waddled our way back out to the superhighway and headed back out towards the Rascal. The swell was light, so the launching from the beach was easy, but for whatever reason the Tohatsu was reluctant to kick over. 9 times out of 10 it starts on the first pull... but... sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes I'll forget to replace the kill-switch-lanyard and pull it ten times before it occurs to me. Sometimes it doesn't like to be tipped on its side for too long. Sometimes there is too much pressure in the gas tank. Sometimes I'm not giving it enough gas. Sometimes I'm not giving it enough choke. This time, none of these things seemed to be the issue. So I pulled and pulled and pulled until I thought I might expire. Finally, on pull 25 or 30, it started up and purred like a kitten. That Tohatsu can be a fickle beast.
I'm probably lucky my tongue is still intact
We made good use of the rest of the night by jamming out and drinking wine on the Rascal. There was a glorious sunset and we were so full of chicken that we couldn't possibly consider eating anything for dinner.
We got up early and bugged out of dodge. We hugged the coast as we worked our way back to the south and ran into a lot of fancy vacation homes with private beaches and expansive balconies overlooking the Pacific. We decided to anchor up in an undeveloped section and try our hand at some more fly fishing. There was a particularly nice looking beach that we aimed at and fired up the Superhighway for a beach landing.
From the Rascal, the swell seemed pretty friendly, and we figured the landing would be a piece of cake. We watched a few small waves crash on the beach, peeked behind us, and figured we were good to go. Into the surf zone we went, and all of a sudden a monster started looming behind us.
"Shit!" we both said and there was a moment of indecision. We were right in the zone where I would normally cut the engine and tilt it up to avoid hitting the beach with the propeller. But at the same time, this huge swell was building behind us, and in my mind the possibility still existed to try and whip the boat around and take the wave head-on, potentially before it started to break. The moment of indecision doomed us in the end, and we were in exactly the wrong spot as it broke basically right on top of us. I threw the engine in neutral and went over the side to try and pull us in towards the beach. Jimmy thought I had just fallen out, and figured the engine was still in gear, so he hit the shifter and it roared in reverse. Eventually we pulled the lanyard and dragged the superhighway - full of water - up onto the beach. We were both in shambles and feeling pretty fortunate that we packed everything in a waterproof bag before attempting the beach landing.
Next we headed in opposite directions down the beach and made a half-hearted attempt to fly fish beyond the surf, but make no mistake, we were both thinking about only one thing: the launch back through the surf to return to the Rascal. After a few casts, we both met up at the superhighway and gazed out at the swell to try and discern a pattern and plan our re-launch effort.
"Shit!" we both said and there was a moment of indecision. We were right in the zone where I would normally cut the engine and tilt it up to avoid hitting the beach with the propeller. But at the same time, this huge swell was building behind us, and in my mind the possibility still existed to try and whip the boat around and take the wave head-on, potentially before it started to break. The moment of indecision doomed us in the end, and we were in exactly the wrong spot as it broke basically right on top of us. I threw the engine in neutral and went over the side to try and pull us in towards the beach. Jimmy thought I had just fallen out, and figured the engine was still in gear, so he hit the shifter and it roared in reverse. Eventually we pulled the lanyard and dragged the superhighway - full of water - up onto the beach. We were both in shambles and feeling pretty fortunate that we packed everything in a waterproof bag before attempting the beach landing.
Next we headed in opposite directions down the beach and made a half-hearted attempt to fly fish beyond the surf, but make no mistake, we were both thinking about only one thing: the launch back through the surf to return to the Rascal. After a few casts, we both met up at the superhighway and gazed out at the swell to try and discern a pattern and plan our re-launch effort.
I wasn't sure if the outboard had sucked up a bunch of sand on the landing and I wasn't sure if it would start quickly for the re-launch. Given the size of the waves, that would obviously be a big problem. After watching waves for about a half hour from a vantage point up in the jungle, we decided to go for it. Jimmy would maneuver the superhighway out into the whitewater while I made attempts to try and get the engine started. This would allow us to retreat from any monsters if we needed to, and also presumably avoid sucking more sand into the engine. It was totally clear that trying to row through the surf would be unsuccessful.
We waited for a mellow wave train and went at it with reckless abandon. I got five or six strong pulls in and it sounded like it wanted to start, but it never quite managed to catch. Another big one was looming beyond the surf, so we tilted the engine back up and retreated to the beach. We felt like we had really dodged a bullet and we were both patting ourselves on the back for devising such a good scheme to avoid the big breakers. Most of the waves were breaking in the 3-4 foot range at that point, and we waited for another lull. I launched myself back into the dinghy and Jimmy continued to push and wade out until he was up to his waist (where it was challenging to see out beyond the surf). Again, it sounded eager to start, but didn't start on the first four or five pulls. I was fully focused in on the engine and I was really pulling with all my gusto. I heard Jimmy begin to murmur something just as the Tohatsu roared to life. It was go time, and I revved her up, threw her into gear, and pointed her out into the open ocean. Jimmy dragged himself aboard over the oarlocks and as we looked out into the surf, our eyes got big.
Immediately in front of us was a wave just starting to break. It was perhaps a 3-4 footer and I remember thinking, "Yikes, this is a big one!" I managed to keep the Superhighway square to the wave and put the pedal to the metal. Jimmy grabbed the gear and the fly rods (luckily packed away in their cases) and we both shifted our weight towards the bow as we climbed up and over the tumbling white water.
What we saw beyond that wave scared the shit out of us. It was an absolute beast: easily 6 or 8 feet tall and looming way out beyond where the others were breaking. This wave was literally twice the size of all the waves we'd seen when we were watching from the jungle. After that morning's experience, I knew that indecision wasn't an option and once again opened up the Tohatsu to full throttle. Adrenaline was pumping and three or four seconds transpired when I thought that we might get past it before it broke. We had shipped a bunch of water on the last wave, however, and the Superhighway was driving like a barge with that much weight in her.
The wave kept building and building, the engine was laboring, the boat was inching further out into the surf, and Jimmy and I were swearing like pirates. We started to rise up on it just as the top edge of wave curled over. I yelled "HIGH SIDE!" and Jimmy dove forward into the bow like a goddamn 300lb linebacker. I let off on the throttle in an effort to keep the nose of the boat down as much as possible, and dove forward myself. The nose kept rising higher and higher, with the boat tipping to an impossible angle (about 80 degrees I'd estimate), when finally the bow punched through the top of the wave and began to flatten out. The wave had essentially broken right over the top of us, yet somehow we didn't get thrown over backward.
Jimmy looked back at me with wide eyes, and I responded with a wild-eyed stare of my own. We had made it.
The Superhighway was literally full of water. It had been filled to overflowing by the wave and we slowly barged our way back to the Rascal so that we could bail her out. We were both in disbelief at what had happened and that we had made it through. Jimmy started tying up to the Rascal when we got there, and let out a little grunt. "Are you ok?" I asked. We didn't realize it at the time, but he had managed to crack a couple of ribs in the effort. Type two fun, for sure.
If we had somehow rigged a go-pro in the front of the raft, the footage would've been priceless.
We waited for a mellow wave train and went at it with reckless abandon. I got five or six strong pulls in and it sounded like it wanted to start, but it never quite managed to catch. Another big one was looming beyond the surf, so we tilted the engine back up and retreated to the beach. We felt like we had really dodged a bullet and we were both patting ourselves on the back for devising such a good scheme to avoid the big breakers. Most of the waves were breaking in the 3-4 foot range at that point, and we waited for another lull. I launched myself back into the dinghy and Jimmy continued to push and wade out until he was up to his waist (where it was challenging to see out beyond the surf). Again, it sounded eager to start, but didn't start on the first four or five pulls. I was fully focused in on the engine and I was really pulling with all my gusto. I heard Jimmy begin to murmur something just as the Tohatsu roared to life. It was go time, and I revved her up, threw her into gear, and pointed her out into the open ocean. Jimmy dragged himself aboard over the oarlocks and as we looked out into the surf, our eyes got big.
Immediately in front of us was a wave just starting to break. It was perhaps a 3-4 footer and I remember thinking, "Yikes, this is a big one!" I managed to keep the Superhighway square to the wave and put the pedal to the metal. Jimmy grabbed the gear and the fly rods (luckily packed away in their cases) and we both shifted our weight towards the bow as we climbed up and over the tumbling white water.
What we saw beyond that wave scared the shit out of us. It was an absolute beast: easily 6 or 8 feet tall and looming way out beyond where the others were breaking. This wave was literally twice the size of all the waves we'd seen when we were watching from the jungle. After that morning's experience, I knew that indecision wasn't an option and once again opened up the Tohatsu to full throttle. Adrenaline was pumping and three or four seconds transpired when I thought that we might get past it before it broke. We had shipped a bunch of water on the last wave, however, and the Superhighway was driving like a barge with that much weight in her.
The wave kept building and building, the engine was laboring, the boat was inching further out into the surf, and Jimmy and I were swearing like pirates. We started to rise up on it just as the top edge of wave curled over. I yelled "HIGH SIDE!" and Jimmy dove forward into the bow like a goddamn 300lb linebacker. I let off on the throttle in an effort to keep the nose of the boat down as much as possible, and dove forward myself. The nose kept rising higher and higher, with the boat tipping to an impossible angle (about 80 degrees I'd estimate), when finally the bow punched through the top of the wave and began to flatten out. The wave had essentially broken right over the top of us, yet somehow we didn't get thrown over backward.
Jimmy looked back at me with wide eyes, and I responded with a wild-eyed stare of my own. We had made it.
The Superhighway was literally full of water. It had been filled to overflowing by the wave and we slowly barged our way back to the Rascal so that we could bail her out. We were both in disbelief at what had happened and that we had made it through. Jimmy started tying up to the Rascal when we got there, and let out a little grunt. "Are you ok?" I asked. We didn't realize it at the time, but he had managed to crack a couple of ribs in the effort. Type two fun, for sure.
If we had somehow rigged a go-pro in the front of the raft, the footage would've been priceless.
Jimmy taking selfies while I bail out the Superhighway
A couple of frosty cold Pacificos calmed our nerves a bit, and we decided to try and fish from the Superhighway along the coast without actually venturing back to the beach. We strung our fly rods back up and started casting around a bit, with the person in the front fishing and the person in the back rowing to avoid scaring fish away with the outboard.
The fishing wasn't particularly successful, but we were treated to a rather stunning performance by a pod of whales that was a couple hundred yards away. They were clearly playing the air guitar and I could just barely make out the tune of "Octopus's Garden" over the crashing of the waves.
We eventually sailed the rest of the way down to a little tourist town called Punta de Mita just as the sun was setting and we decided to motor past the breakwater to one of the palapa restaurants for dinner.
We hemmed and hawwed around the menu for a while, having trouble making up our mind because everything looked so tasty. Eventually the waiter came back over and suggested that we get the special grilled combo plate. "What does that involve?" we asked innocently. He spent about five minutes listing the incredible variety of fresh seafood that it encompassed and we both looked at each other. "You had me at langostino," I told him, and the wheels were set in motion. It came out on a big lunch tray and it had everything from grilled octopus to a whole pan fried fish, not to mention some crab and shrimp and a bunch of other tasty little treats.
For a couple weeks, we had been looking at pictures of this "hidden beach" near Puerto Vallarta that looked incredible. Rumor had it that it was created while the Mexican government was doing some bombing on the island decades ago, but I think more likely is just that water slowly ate away the limestone to form it. Its basically a hollowed out part of an island that is shaped like an oval with an absolutely perfect sand beach in the center. You can only get into it by swimming through this crazy little cave. We didn't know its exact location, but we knew it was in the Marieta Islands, and we knew that later in the day, it would likely be mobbed with tourists. We did a bunch of google earth surveying, consulted our guidebook, and looked at the charts, but we couldn't seem to figure out exactly where it was. We reckoned the cave entrance would be fairly visible when we got close. Thus, we embarked at the break of dawn and headed out towards the Marietas.
There are a couple of Islands in the group, and our best guess was that the hidden beach was on the second one out. We passed the first one without seeing anything notable, but after making a loop around the second, we became increasingly convinced that it was on the first. We circled back, but by the time we got close, there were a dozen tour boats circling just offshore. We "found" it at least.
There were some cops (the island is a national park of some sort) and they told us that anchoring wasn't allowed, but that we could grab a mooring. The only mooring, of course, was occupied by a 100ft long tourist catamaran and there were dozens of honkies already bobbing around in the water. Eventually the big tour boat vacated and we muscled our way in to the mooring.
There were some cops (the island is a national park of some sort) and they told us that anchoring wasn't allowed, but that we could grab a mooring. The only mooring, of course, was occupied by a 100ft long tourist catamaran and there were dozens of honkies already bobbing around in the water. Eventually the big tour boat vacated and we muscled our way in to the mooring.
It must've been a trial for Jimmy with his broken rib, but we jumped in the water and swam towards the tiny cave. We eventually broke through into the center and it was just as incredible as all of the pictures had made it look. It might've been covered in tourists, but the feature itself was incredible - a picture perfect sand beach, surrounded by this incredible rock, with waves slowly lapping at the edge of it all.
We peeled out pretty quickly and decided we should try and get to a town called Yelapa on the southern shore of Banderas Bay. Wind was fairly light, but we had plenty of daylight and we sailed along at a few knots for a while. Eventually we decided to start up the engine and I went down below to make another ribeye lunch. As we were sitting in the cockpit chowing down, we looked over at the reel that we had been trolling with and I let out a, "Whoa!"
The line had paid out entirely while I was down below (the drag is pretty quiet and we just hadn't heard it) but it was still attached to the reel. I started cranking it in and something was clearly on the other end. There was an obscene amount of line on the reel, but between Jimmy and I, we managed to get it back to the boat over the course of about 20 minutes. It wasn't particularly hard reeling, so we figured it was something fairly small. When it got close to the boat, however, we realized we were wrong. It was actually a good sized dorado.
Oddly enough, when we finally got it aboard is the moment when it realized it ought to start fighting, and it got to flapping all over the place. It was nearly impossible to restrain him long enough to get the hook out, but we eventually did and threw him back (we had just eaten a big steak lunch!). We managed to snap a picture before we tossed him back, and it looks kinda like I'm playing a fish-shaped fiddle.
We peeled out pretty quickly and decided we should try and get to a town called Yelapa on the southern shore of Banderas Bay. Wind was fairly light, but we had plenty of daylight and we sailed along at a few knots for a while. Eventually we decided to start up the engine and I went down below to make another ribeye lunch. As we were sitting in the cockpit chowing down, we looked over at the reel that we had been trolling with and I let out a, "Whoa!"
The line had paid out entirely while I was down below (the drag is pretty quiet and we just hadn't heard it) but it was still attached to the reel. I started cranking it in and something was clearly on the other end. There was an obscene amount of line on the reel, but between Jimmy and I, we managed to get it back to the boat over the course of about 20 minutes. It wasn't particularly hard reeling, so we figured it was something fairly small. When it got close to the boat, however, we realized we were wrong. It was actually a good sized dorado.
Oddly enough, when we finally got it aboard is the moment when it realized it ought to start fighting, and it got to flapping all over the place. It was nearly impossible to restrain him long enough to get the hook out, but we eventually did and threw him back (we had just eaten a big steak lunch!). We managed to snap a picture before we tossed him back, and it looks kinda like I'm playing a fish-shaped fiddle.
When we got close to Yelapa, we saw a motorboat rocketing out of the little cove, and we were perplexed as to what he was doing. He had to have been doing 50 or 60 mph and was slamming across the swell like crazy. As he got closer to us, we broke out the zoom lens and saw just the tiniest bit of a line extending out of the boat. We scanned the sky above the boat, but could see nothing. Eventually (just a spec above the ridgelines) we caught sight of a paragliding wing that seemed impossibly far away. We figured there was no way the two were connected (the paraglider was probably 3/4 of a mile away from the boat), but after some more zooming, we realized it was the case. Incredible!
We were pretty astounded as we pulled in. The bay itself is beautiful, with huge, rugged, jungle-covered mountains rising right up out of the ocean. We took the dinghy in to shore and decided to head off exploring for a little bit. Visiting the town of Yelapa is like taking a trip back into time. There are no roads or cars and the town is only accessible by boat. It is divided by a river the flows into the sea, and there is no bridge, so you've got to wade across it if you want to get to the other side. In fact, Yelapa didn't even have electricity until a handful of years ago.
We walked up and down hillsides on the cobblestone trails, with no directions or names marked on anything. There were a bunch of tiny hostels and restaurants nestled here and there between homes. We passed the occasional donkey here and there and eventually found a little store that sold us a few beers. We went back down towards the beach to enjoy them next to some old fisherman. On the beach below us, there was a group of kids playing soccer beside the sea. Occasionally the ball would get kicked way out and someone would have to swim into the waves for it.
We eventually found our way to a restaurant named "Tacos y Mas" and had a bunch of different tasty tacos. There was an item on the menu called "Raicilla" and asked our waiter, a large, jovial guy, what exactly Raicilla was. He explained that it is like tequila except its made in the woods above town in an old bathtub. We immediately knew we had to try some. We each took a shot and were very impressed - it is totally delicious. It tastes smokier than tequila, sort of like mezcal. I think the best way to describe it is this: raicilla is to tequila as scotch is to bourbon.
We eventually made our way back towards the boat with our bellies full and a pink sunset lingering on the horizon.
We eventually made our way back towards the boat with our bellies full and a pink sunset lingering on the horizon.
The next morning was pretty lazy, but we decided to stay in Yelapa for another night and we went up to explore a waterfall above town. We were accosted by a few people selling tourist junk on the hike up, but we eventually came upon this little workshop on the side of the trail. We immediately recognized our waiter from the night before and found that his name was Jorge. We struck up a conversation with him and found that when he isn't waiting tables, he turns gorgeous vases and bowls out of tropical hardwoods that grow in the woods around town. He had a respectable little open-air woodshop setup and he was in the process of turning some stuff down. He was quick with a laugh and a smile and let us know that any purchase would come with a free shot of raicilla. Jimmy was thinking about buying some gifts and while he was contemplating his options, Jorge showed me a hidden cabinet full of moonshine-raicilla he was selling. I asked him if the "free shot with every purchase" rule also applied to the Raicilla. He let out a loud hearty laugh and replied that raicilla purchases came with not one, but two shots of raicilla! One shot for you and one shot for your country, he said.
I couldn't turn down a bargain like that, and Jorge even joined me on the second shot!
I couldn't turn down a bargain like that, and Jorge even joined me on the second shot!
The waterfall was surrounded by dense jungle, but it was beautiful as well. We were somewhat surprised to find that a little bar was nestled in next to the waterfall and we stopped for a beer before hiking back into town.
We eventually ambled back down into town and noticed a few sizeable yacths had joined us in the cove. We spent the rest of the afternoon reading on the boat, relaxing on the beach, eating local oysters, and mixing up raicilla margaritas (raicillaritas). Yelapa is one hell of a charming town.
Jimmy had to fly out the following day around midday, so we got up at the crack of dawn, nursing raicilla hangovers, and spent the morning sailing back to Puerto Vallarta. I dropped him off at the fuel dock with just enough time to race back to the airport and catch his flight.
All-in-all, it wasn't a particularly successful fishing trip, but we definitely had plenty of incredible meals, explored some really neat towns and villages, and enjoyed plenty of rest and relaxation.
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