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I first heard of “the green flash” in the Northern Territory where watching the sun set at East Point was a bit of a hippie tradition in the old days. Just as the sun sinks below the horizon you will see a green flash…. if you’re lucky?…… enhanced?
Tonight I’m watching the ever-spectacular sunset from my balcony at the Hotel La Siesta in Mazatlan, Mexico, still one of my favourite places, even after all the rest.
The sun sets through a low layer of glowing red coals clouds then breaks clear for the last free plunge into the Pacific. My third time here and still magic.

WAS IT THE GREEN FLASH?

Bill Shum
2006-08-21 17:06:57

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before he let me into their confidences and I felt that was enough.

The rest of the passengers, a rag tag bunch of private vehicle owners, I’m the only gringo on board. One middle aged couple have a little ute with an extended roofrack braced to the front bumper and loaded so high, with so much stuff it threatened to tip over as it rocked and rolled up the ramp. I was dwarfed by the monster juggernaut trailer trucks and was ordered up on the massive lift to the upper car deck where they found me a hidey-hole and lashed the baby down tight.

There’s a little ‘cafeteria’ that finally opened when we sailed at 4pm. No alcohol! Water it is. Up on the top deck, a group of young blokes and a chica drag a baby coffin esky from their van, it’s full of ice and beer, they proceed in the first half an hour to demonstrate their 2-pot-screamer status then disappear!
Another green-flash-free sunset over the sharp end and I retire to Bajaa little deck down the blunt end, 5 park-bench type seats in wrought iron, absolutely uncomfortable but nada else.

As it gets twilighter the young wetback wannabes are looking more forlorn as Mazatlan fades, framed in the railing of the back deck.

It’s 9pm, dark and starry, everyone has disappeared!, the caf has closed, one guy has rolled his swag out on the deck, no-one else in sight, where am I going to sleep? I stretch out on the bench, feet overhanging, it gets wetter as the sea mist condenses, I retreat below to the car deck and find a sheet of plywood over a bunch of 44 gal drums, perfecto.

I wake at 6 and first light, just dozing in and out until the sun rises and I go to beat the crowd at the single bano.

There’s been a slight, relaxing swell all night and nothing like the horror crossings I’d been warned about and reinforced by the extensive chaining down and lashings of everything moveable in the transport ...