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During our January cruise, we made two tours of the Golfo
de Cariaco. The Golfo is a body of protected water 35 miles
long by 8 miles wide located east of Cumana. Mainland Venezuela
borders the southern shore, where a jagged purple mountain
range shrouded in puffy clouds rises behind softly rounded
green foothills. In sharp contrast, the Araya Peninsula on
the northern shore is a desert landscape of burnt orange and
gray hills speckled with sage green.
Laguna Grande
If you can imagine that you're Noah after the Great Flood
sailing your ark through Arizona and New Mexico, then you'll
have some idea of what it's like to sail into Laguna Grande.
This large bay with its arid hills and mangrove-lined shores
offers many quiet coves for cruisers in the mood to relax.
Hold on to your hat during the afternoon when the wind howls
through the canyons and funnels across the lagoon. When night
falls and the wind finally settles down, you'll be amazed
by the sparkling phosphorescence dancing around your boat
and the thick carpet of twinkling stars undiminished by city
lights. With a cool breeze drifting across your bunk and low
humidity, you'll sleep soundly as your boat sits quietly on
her anchor. With a steaming cup of coffee in hand, rise early
in the morning to discover a mirror image of your boat floating
in a still reflecting pool. Tinker on a boat project, pick
up that book you've been meaning to read, or take a nap. Boredom
has never been so satisfying.
Muelle de Cariaco
A special reward awaits cruisers willing to fight wind and
current to reach the far eastern shore of the Golfo. Here
the Rio Cariaco flows into a quiet mangrove lagoon near the
town of Muelle de Cariaco. The river is home to a variety
of aquatic birds including the spectacular scarlet ibis, the
flashy cousin to the more common white ibis. We depart Laguna
Grande just after sunrise to arrive in the shallow anchorage
before the afternoon winds picked up. Both depth sounders
are working erratically, so we nervously motor up behind the
mangrove bank outside town. Other cruisers have reported enough
water to motor around and anchor inside the lagoon, but without
accurate depth readings and no buddy boat to guide us, we
play it safe. Besides, the dinghy trip around to the lagoon
only takes a few minutes.
Equipped with sunscreen, hats, bug spray, water, and camera,
we set out in the dinghy for a jungle adventure. As we slowly
motor up the river, we spot flashes or brilliant red-orange
in the tree tops. The elusive scarlet ibis stay just ahead
of us, but Nick manages to capture their images with the telephoto
lens. A fiery orange feather floats by and I scoop it up.
After traveling some distance up the narrowing river, we kill
the outboard and float/paddle downstream. A symphony of squawking,
chirping, screeching, croaking, and a mysterious popping noise
reverberate from the mangroves. How thrilling to be alone
up a South American river surrounded by nothing but wild nature!
We close our eyes and savor the unusual sounds never heard
in a suburban backyard. But wait, what's that? Pulsing Latin
music and traffic? Sigh. Apparently the road is nearby. Our
fantasy is shattered; civilization is close at hand.
After returning to Caribbean Soul, we're approached
by a fishing pirogue. We purchase three small fish and pass
around a glass of ice water to the niños onboard.
A little later, we hear a boat motor outside. Since the Margarita
incident (see log), we've encouraged
Dakota to play guard dog and make himself visible to passing
pirogues. He's slumbering peacefully at my feet as I whisk
him up and toss him into the cockpit. "Go get 'em!"
we yell. Shaking the cobwebs from his furry head, Dakota does
his best Doberman imitation. I step into the cockpit and find
a pirogue full of giggling teenage girls and a young boy at
the tiller. I greet them and tell Dakota to hush. Nick steps
outside and asks why they're laughing. Apparently the two
gringos and their fluffy dog are quite amusing. The young
man restarts his motor and speeds off with his cackling crew.
With night falling, we hope that will be our last visit from
the locals.
Medregal Village
With a gentle morning breeze pushing us, we depart Muelle
de Cariaco sailing wing-on-wing across the flat bay. After
a short but pleasant downwind sail, we arrive at Medregal
Village on the north shore of the Golfo. As we pick a spot
to anchor, we notice many European flags, but no Stars and
Stripes.
Jean Marc, a Frenchman, is the owner of this sleepy resort
that caters to both cruisers and land-based tourists. A long
pier leads to a collection of thatch-roofed pavilions. At
the bar, we meet a friendly Spaniard named Javier who buys
us each a beer and explains how things are done at Medregal
Village. The bar is self-serve on the honor system. Each boat
keeps a record of their drinks and pays the tab before leaving.
Having arrived midday on Saturday, we missed the weekly grocery
store trip, but we're in time for the barbecue that night.
We return to shore later for the barbecue and sit with two
friendly Swedish couples who converse in English for our benefit.
Jean Marc grills the meat and vegetables, while his pretty
Venezuelan wife serves us. I should mention that this is not
Texas-style "barbecue" as we eat back home. Nonetheless,
the food is delicious.
During our four-day stay at Medregal Village, we walk down
a dirt road and find a "kiosk" that sells some basic
items. We purchase some onions, tomatoes, flour, and fresh
bread. I haven't been to a grocery store in two weeks, so
our produce supply is dwindling. Down the road in the opposite
direction is a house still adorned in Christmas lights with
a sign advertising ham, cheese, and chicken. In the backyard,
we find the female proprietor who says she's out of ham and
cheese, but she can kill a chicken for pickup tomorrow. We
smile and say "no gracias."
Los Platillos
Heading west from Medregal Village, we pull into a lovely
but tight anchorage wedged between a rocky island and a tall
cliff. Our depth sounders continue to misbehave, making anchoring
more stressful than normal. Our stern is precariously close
to the fiberglass-crunching cliff, making our night here a
bit anxious. We snorkel around the "Platillo" and
along the cliff, but it's nothing special. Nick takes advantage
of the clear water to scrub the transducer for the depth sounder,
but it doesn't fix the problem.
The Golfo's north shore is a beautiful and uncrowded cruising
area with a good security record. We highly recommend it to
anyone cruising Venezuela.
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Morning calm in Laguna Grande
Pelicans in the mangroves
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