1985 (8) - Isla Conejera

Postcard from Ibiza, Spain

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

Before traveling to the Balearic Islands, we had spent five months wintering in the hustle and bustle of Gibraltar, and then cruised to some of the tourist-oriented marinas along the Costa del Sol.  Tired of mooring lines and fenders, we left the Spanish mainland to make our two-day sail from Almerimar to the island of Ibiza.  After putting in at a deserted cove on Ibiza's southern shore, where we swung at anchor for several peaceful days, we headed up the western coast of Ibiza, making our way to San Antonio, and fresh bread, fruits and vegetables.  Perhaps a reluctance to return to civilization kept us out of the city for one more night.  We put in at Isla Conejera, which had a large, lovely bay on its eastern coast.  Spending one day there was nowhere near enough.  After restocking the larder in San Antonio, we returned to the little cove tucked into the northern part of Conejera's anchorage.

Tropic Moon at anchor, Isla Conejera

Conejera was a small island, about a mile in length, located just outside the harbor of San Antonio, on the western coast of Ibiza, about fifty miles east of the Spanish mainland.  As far as civilization was concerned, the island boasted only a lighthouse, and a small landing dock overlooked by a cinderblock garage housing the lighthouse keeper's truck.  A gravel road connected the garage and the lighthouse, covering about half the island, and climbing the hill to the lighthouse in a series of meandering zigzags.

Our dinghy, sitting at the landing dock.

The island of the conjurer?  That's how I chose to think of it until I looked up the word "conejera" in my Spanish-English dictionary and found it to mean "rabbit-warren."  Despite the evidence of the printed word, the island was still a magician for me, conjuring up memories of some of our favorite cruising days.  An uninhabited island, a lovely rock-bound cove, and a peace and solitude seldom interrupted by visitors, brought comparisons to mind with Harbor Island, south of Stonington, Maine, and Great Bird Island, off the northeast coast of Antigua in the Caribbean.  While the vegetation varied from the wild succulents and cacti of Great Bird Island, to the pine forests and purple lupine of Maine, with a middle ground found in the junipers and arid, rocky soil of Conejera, the similarities far outweighed the differences. 

Isla Conejera.  On a hike.

There was, firstly, one of the greatest pleasures of cruising - finding a little corner of the world all to ourselves.  Of being able to enjoy not only the sights, but also the sounds and voices of nature - lapping waves, calling gulls, whistling breezes, rustling leaves and chirping insects.  We were also in a place that seemed bound by no nationality.  A sign in Spanish reminding visitors that it was forbidden to light fires on the island was the only indication that Conejera was a part of Spain.  Nor did Great Bird Island strike one as a British domain, or Harbor Island seem particularly American.  It was a pleasure to know there were still places in the world where politics didn't intrude.

Isla Conejera, Spain

Was there a magician on Conejera?  If so, perhaps he was living in the old stone well perched on the hilltop near the lighthouse.  When I peered into the well's seemingly bottomless depths, I saw my reflection mirrored back at me.  When I called to Ed to come over, my voice echoed loudly in the cavern.  I dropped a coin into the well, and made a wish for a future of cruising with many more special anchorages like Isla Conejera.