The coastline from Yelapa to Chimo was rocky, backed by steep jungle, with infrequent and small pocket sand beaches. Seferino skirted the jagged shoreline close aboard, while a southbound whale paid more heed and kept a safe 100 yards off.
Entering the little bay of Chimo, Seferino anchored KARINA about 50 yards offshore, and we waited for the shoreboat to ferry us ashore through the surf. While waiting, I hesitantly pondered what we might be in for: the shoreboat was an ancient dugout log canoe, the original watercraft for many indigenous peoples, and probably well over a 100 years old. The dugout’s crew of two was alternating paddling and bailing.
Somehow, all seven of us made it ashore in one load of the dugout. On the beach, we were greeted by a snuffling pig and dozen pelicans. The pig, good sized railmeat for a J-92, lay down on the beach at our feet, belly up.
On the other side of the beach was a shoal lagoon, home of the Chimo Club de Yates, whose fleet numbered eight rough looking pangas.
Chimo, population 250, hasn’t much for the visitor but a single beach side restaurant with one table and two welcoming cats. To the cats delight, we ordered fish and shrimp ceviche, a baked huachinango (red snapper) and cold beer. The cats became our new best friends, wanted to sit in our laps and help celebrate our visit. One wrapped around my neck.
After lunch we returned to the shore where the dugout canoe and crew were waiting. I couldn’t help but notice daylight shining through a foot-long crack in the hull at the waterline.
Again we cheated death, negotiated the shorebreak, made the short ocean transit, and boarded the KARINA for the 45 minute run back to Yelapa.
If ever given the chance to visit Chimo, don’t miss it. The lunch was delicious, the locals friendly, the cats affectionate, and the dugout canoe ride epic.