After fishing, the fishermen showed off their catch. I caught a Pacific Porgy, a nice addition to anyone's barbecue.

Zack showed off his bass.

Dan one-upped him, so to speak.

While the other folks were down at the beach, Pandro and I were sitting under the veranda. All of a sudden, I saw a coyote chase a jackrabbit behind our trailer. The `yote headed over toward Ed and Donna's, then went down the cliff to the beach. We ran over to the edge of the cliff, but they were gone. We went back and sat down under the veranda. All of a sudden, we heard a loud THUD behind us. The jackrabbit was lying next to a 30-pack of Tecate in the last few agonous twitches after a broken neck. In a few seconds, it was deader than a doornail. The `yote was standing 20 yards away trying to figure out what the heck had happened. All we could figure was the wascally wabbit came running toward the underside of the trailer full-bore. It slipped and rammed head first into the massive bulk of cerveza, breaking its neck. TOO weird. I didn't want to touch it. I was afraid its luck might rub off on me. I snared it feet first with my snake snare, dangling it in front of Señor Coyote. I placed it on the ground behind the Nomad, but Señor Coyote could wait. He went over in front of Ed's camper and rested. About a half hour later, Pandro saw him, or one of his brethren grab the unlucky wabbit and haul off with it.

Saturday was the full moon. The rising moon cast a pretty reflection on the Sea of Cortez.

Sunday, we decided to go down to Gonzaga way to get a spare tire for me. I trashed one on the way down. We also had about 5 propane bottles to fill at Rancho Grande. First things first, however. The tides were runnning very low in the morning, so we thought we'd try clamming over at Punta Arena by Alfonsina's.

Punta Arena separates Bahia Gonzaga from Bahia San Francisquito to the north. The once superb clamming there was decimated several years back by some commercials that allegedly paid off officials. They stripped it bare and hauled the spoils up to San Felipe to sell. I hadn't clammed in years, but others who had gone down there had came back with few or no clams. We were there at the right time though. It took 45 minutes or so, but we filled a 5-gallon bucket. Just like the good old days. We took a tour of Alfonsina's resort. I hadn't been to Gonzaga in years. I don't remember anything this elaborate.

Here's the resort from behind.

And this is the runway near the estero.