Did we seem too serene yesterday, too calm or lost in contemplation of the past? It belied the frenzy of the day. All morning we were engulfed in wave upon wave of dolphins, leaping and turning, chasing terrified herring. The air swirled with pelicans plunging from on high, their companion gulls close by while pirating frigatebirds and jaegers harassed the unwary or slow.

But back up, slow down. Decorate the rocks of yesterday. Paint them white with decades of excrement of visiting seabirds. Unpleasant? Not at all, for this is the basis of life on tiny isolated islets like Los Islotes. Guano, the nutrient base, is washed to the sea in quantities carefully regulated by the vagaries of nature. Tiny microscopic plants (phytoplankton) bloom and grow only to be consumed by just as minuscule zooplankton, food for fish. And the cycle expands for the table is set for all the creatures that call these rocky ledges home. Sea lions, pelicans, herons and boobies grow fat, content and multiply, their progeny carrying on the legacy of a constantly renewing plenty.

Rocks too move in circular paths. From islands to islets, boulders to cobbles and cobbles to sand. It was on a sandy shore, long and white, edging a turquoise cove where we ended our day. The sound of a guitar and voices in harmony floated from around a campfire while the full moon lifted itself, orange and glowing from the darkening sea.