November 7

The fishing pangas began going out, noisily, at 0430, so we, too, got under way early, at 0610. We were both on alert for the numerous buoys marking fishing nets under the surface. We never want to repeat the net-in-the-propeller episode of our Hawai’i passage!

Along this coastline of Ecuador roughly 100 miles south of the Colombia border, the appearance of a gray military-looking helicopter flying low over us, then returning to make another low pass, should not have surprised us. But it’s nevertheless always startling to see such a flying machine only a few hundred feet above our masts. The Armada de Ecuador frigate that came out from the direction of the shore shortly afterwards and passed a few hundred yards abeam was no surprise after the helicopter. But both helicopter and frigate disappeared over the horizon with no contact, so we assume our appearance aroused no suspicions. Otherwise, we had a glorious day of downwind sailing, wing-on-wing, the mainsail tied off to starboard, the genoa on a pole out to port.

We had wanted to go into Esmeraldas, the northernmost Ecuador port and one visiting yachts generally have avoided because of its rumored role as the port of choice for the shipping out of Colombian drugs and in of arms for the various paramilitary groups. But the port captain at Esmeraldas had two or three days before advised the crew on another cruising boat that recent storms had destroyed the breakwater for the marina, rendering any anchoring there unsafe. (The marina docks have reportedly been sinking into the ocean for the last several years.)

So we had thought to anchor behind Punta Galera, 26 miles south of Esmeraldas but the shallowness of the water far offshore near this point and the shallow indent at the point meant we couldn’t get in far enough to escape the 5-foot southwest swells wrapping Galera.

We went on 10 miles to Ensenada Don Juan, a small cove within the larger Ensenada Atacames. In the larger bay, at Punta Same, we had passed an extensive complex of condos reminiscent of Las Hadas, in Mexico, the numerous gleaming white structures climbing up the hillsides and along the ravines above a long, wide creamy beach. Tucked into the corner at Punta Same, and entirely surrounded, except for the narrow entrance, by a sturdy breakwater, is a small marina. We hadn’t tried to contact anyone at the marina, but possibly it could have been an option for us for the night. Yet the anchorage on the opposite side of Punta Same had a natural beauty we wholly relished and was comfortable except for the tidal swells a couple of times during the night.

To get in far enough behind the point to avoid the swells, we had anchored in more shallow water than usual. So we stayed in the cockpit until past low tide at 2300 hours to watch the depth sounder. It registered 7.5 feet briefly (Carricklee requires 6 feet) before getting deeper.