It's 4:56 PM on a crispy July day as a gigantic, black carpenter bee flaps its wings furiously against the newly formed onshore winds. There is nothing to do but stare idly out at the thrashed white and blue ocean, sit in the hammocks, alternately reading and napping. The breeze is a godsend in terms of reducing the heat, but it is absolutely killing the surf. When gazing out at the point there is no sign of swell, barely any waves are breaking, and a thick brown streak is running the side shore currents. Whoa! Why is the ocean suddenly dark brown! Rio Nexpa is a massive tributary that unloads onto the coast with thousands of gallons per minute rates increased dramatically when there is precipitation in the hills above. Every village along the way up into those mountains, no matter how remote they may be, has waste products. And all of that byproduct mixes with huge amounts of soil and sediment forming what we jokingly refer to as: La Choclatera. Very suspicious looking matter floating in that giant size bathtub we call our Pacific Ocean! Oh well, let's paddle out! It has to be cleaner than surfing in Southern California!


Nexpa feels like a ghost town right now. The wind is howling, all the skewed palm fronds of the pelapas dance to this pattern, an aimless rag doll dance. The only guy around was the hamaca vendor. Sylvan. A saddened man of deep brown complexion from years in under the sun, he is bound for Tecoman at six tonight. How did he become the hamaca salesman? What must he tell the wife upon returning home without selling a single hamaca?


Sometime before midnight: A class three storm is upon us! So much lightning is going off it is like a laser light show! The boom of the thunder follows instantaneously the flashes of light that bounce off the low black clouds. The wind is so fierce it threatens to rip the roof right off of our precarious temporary home. Cabanas on the coast of Mexico are not built with tropical storms in mind. Thank god I am alive and my eyes can still witness heroic acts of nature. Why does it feel so long since I have been hunkered down in the dark, a storm falling upon me from all sides? Human again. To really feel like I am part of this earth, not just an alien living under the mechanized hum of "society." The ferocity of the energy within the bowels and in the lungs of this great living being we are graced to live upon is scary. That is the key. When fear enters the human psyche, spurred on by the realization of the sheer indomitable size of the planet, then we are reconnected again. Within our walls, interiors, and compartments of modern life, we can't truly be threatened and impressed by powerful Gaia and her intricate web of existence. I feel it tonight! Pray for surf tomorrow!

ER Harris