Anduril Sailing Blog: Quest for the Blue-footed Booby

Ask almost any kid what they would like to be when they grow up and at some period in-between fire-fighter/truck-driver and (if parents are giving advice and the kid is listening) doctor/lawyer that kid will have watched a National Geographic episode and the answer will be “a naturalist.” I mean who wouldn’t want to be Jane Goodall or Charles Darwin?

The trouble for most of us when it comes to biology is that we soon realize the massive number of species and that their classifications and taxonomy requires bloody hard work and a prodigious capacity for memorization. “Boring!” say most of us and the dream of being Jacques Cousteau is dead. But like all of life path’s not taken, the interest can sometimes be briefly rekindled by chance exposure.

And so it was that during our trek between the civilizations of Mazatlan and Puerto Vallarta, we discovered that a mysterious lone and rugged tropical island existed in the middle of the ocean and that it was called Isla Isabel, and described as the “Galapagos of Mexico”. With such a destination who doesn’t immediately imagine themselves with a central role in King Kong or Jurassic Park? Any red-blooded person wants to immediately don khakis, plop a pith helmet on the old dome and go get themselves an elephant rifle to sling on the shoulder. Or perhaps find wire rimmed glasses and a specimen box with coil binder to take notes of the behaviours of the new species that will thereafter be given your name.

The truth is there are no Pterodactyls on Isla Isabel. But there is a vast legion of “Magnificent Frigate” birds and they look a little like Pterodactyls. In these parts frigates are a very common far ranging sea bird and Isla Isabel is where a great many of them come to nest. And on the east side of the island, following a foot-trail past the volcanic crater lake, one is told there are that rarest of creatures, the “Blue-footed Booby”. Boobies too are long-range birds and I remember once near Hawaii on the Vic-Maui sailing race a less exotic yellow-footed booby deciding to try make a mid-ocean landing on my friend Paul Henderson’s head while he was driving. His head at the time was a mass of fuzzy blond hair and the bird’s apparent nesting instinct gave us all a good laugh.

We left Mazatlan in the afternoon and as daylight broke in calm weather we anchored on the south end of the island. Despite a big crashing ground swell originating from far to the north, we were able to land the dinghy without trouble at the fish camp beach and explore the now abandoned naturalist research station to observe the mating and tree-nesting frigate birds. The males puff out their large red neck bladders, which must impress the hell out of their women. And we imagine that (if you can block out the pervasive smell of guano) the females smell nice for their men, or something… Like I said, the dream of being a naturalist is dead, so expect no scholarship here!

Moving along on our hike, our quest to the east shore of the island proved to be most charming when in the trail-side underbrush we encountered our first mating pair of blue-footed boobies. The behaviour of the birds would be properly described by biologists as “cute as hell”. They stomp their little blue feet, waggle their butts and crook their necks around to look at you, all the while making adorable little croaking noises that fail entirely to scare away visiting enemy humans. And thus our quest was fulfilled. For the sake of preserving cuteness on the planet we hope with all our hearts that real predators are never introduced to this island...

Looking out to sea from the booby beach are two massive and wonderfully craggy spires of rock known as “Las Monas” and swinging there were two other boats at anchor. Not wanting to spend the night on the south anchorage with great noisy waves crashing on the rocks beside us, we relocated after our hike to this new spot and invited our fellow cruisers over for a sundowner. They turned out to be boats cruising in company, two 30ish women, Mo and Chelsea, on Mo’s Cal 30 and Nick, about 40, single-handing his displacement cruiser. Too many drinks were consumed over snacks-that-turned-into-dinner and we were charmed and impressed by skipper Mo’s adventure of making her boat able and ready for the sea on a shoe-string and then getting out and doing it. Thumbs up on meeting a better sailor, mechanic and all around handyperson than most of the men cruisers, living her dream and doing it young.