If you are looking for the best place to find seashells in Rocky Point, venture over to Cholla Bay! A short drive up the coast from Sandy Beach, this neighborhood has some of the most dramatic tides in the Sea of Cortez.
Harley and I spent a chilly, cloudy December day combing the beach at low tide. I had heard Cholla Bay was a great place to find seashells in Rocky Point. It’s less crowded and not picked over every morning by tourists.
At low tide, Cholla Bay is a huge stretch of wet sand. The water, when you eventually get to it, is only ankle deep. The clear water makes it easy to leisurely wade along, looking for treasures beneath our feet (and paws)!
I gingerly step over the vacated homes of tiny hermit crabs as I make my way out further into the bay. Their shells litter the sand like specks of dirt and crowd together on top of rocks. Harley trots along beside me, nose in the air, unconcerned about where his big paws land.
Further out, the hermit crab shells are less dense, and all sizes of seashells are scattered around. Harley races ahead to chase the seagulls and cranes perched on the beach or sunning themselves on sandbars in the water. I notice the birds are always facing towards the sea.
As Harley pitter-patters towards them, they take off flying and sounding their displeasure before landing again nearby. And the pursuit continues. The wet slap of Harley’s paws, the squawking of a bird, each traveling in a wide circle — one in the air and one on the sand.
Occasionally I stumble into a divet in the sand surrounded by a hill of shells on one side. It looks like some giant scooped out a handful of beach, crushed the shells in his mighty fist, and let them all fall into a pile. Varying sizes, shapes, and colors of shells — not a single one fully intact — perfectly situated in a semicircle around the hole I just fell into, soaking the bottoms of my jeans. The birds sound like they are laughing now.
We find dozens of fully intact clamshells. Some are the size of a quarter. Others are the size of a softball.
I hope to find sand dollars, but have only seen weathered old white shells. Intricate lines carve through their scabby backs, like an ancient map I’m not meant to understand.
There’s a bright red thing rolling around in the gentle waves. I pick it up to get a better look. It’s an almost perfect cylinder with a pillowy texture and is extremely light.
“Look at this thing,” I say to my husband.
“Don’t touch it! It might be fire coral!” he says. I shrug and drop it, but pay close attention to any sensation in my fingertips for the next few minutes. Hours later, I still feel fine. Later, at home, I look up fire coral. Turns out it isn’t bright red and puffy. And also isn’t found in the Sea of Cortez.
I find so many seashells I become blind to all but the largest or most brightly colored. I pick a few favorites to take home with me and leave the rest behind. On the walk back, Harley stumbles upon our most interesting find of the day — the spine of some long-dead sea creature.
