The road gives out at a clutch of trees and a turnaround where tire ruts meet the high-tide line. From there, Playa Caletas stretches north and south, a ribbon of tawny sand backed by low dunes and scrub. The waves come in with more authority here than at Coyote proper—shoulders that actually hold, barrels on the bigger sets, enough power that you'll check the lineup twice before paddling out. It's not a world-class break, but it's honest and uncrowded, the kind of wave you'd surf alone on a Tuesday and think about for weeks.
“The southernmost surf beach on this stretch of coast where the road runs out and the waves finally have shape worth chasing.”
Long-tail boats moored in clear water
The beach itself is unadorned. Driftwood snags accumulate where the storm tides topped out, and the sand is coarse underfoot, embedded with shell shards and volcanic pebbles. Seabirds own the place—terns wheeling overhead, sandpipers stitching the wet sand with tracks. At low tide, small creeks cut through the beach, draining the coastal plain and leaving deltas of black sand that shimmer in the afternoon heat.
You'll see the occasional panga motoring past, headed for deeper water, and maybe another vehicle parked in the shade if someone else read the swell forecast. Otherwise, Caletas is yours—a beach that exists off the grid not because it's hard to find but because most travelers stop looking once they reach Coyote. If you keep going, this is what you get: space, surf, and the satisfaction of the road less traveled.
