Despite its smattering of 5-star hotels and plethora of $6 a night, sea-side palapa rentals, where vendors bring by piping hot tamales and fresh papaya every morning, and one can’t help but think, as juice drips from the chin, “I wonder what the rich are eating this morning?”, despite these and countless other manmade luxuries awaiting any and all who visit this giant desert-and-sea playground, Baja has a hard and fast “meant-to-be-experienced” rule. Although it’s written nowhere and left to each individual traveler to police on his or her own, it’s as true and important as the desert air we breathe: Baja is meant to be experienced off the grid.
It’s the beaches, arroyos, canyons, nooks and crannies that only hikers, paddlers, and the most enthusiastic 4WD’ers gain access to. It’s where, when your camp is pitched and your cooking fire is flickering and glowing on the beach, the pelicans and ravens do an actual double-take and maybe even circle back once as if to say, “I don’t remember that being a camp spot!” It’s where you’re finally, truly “disconnected” and you feel part of the rhythm of the wind, desert and sea. It’s something we felt almost daily on our kayak exploration of the entire coast back in 2000, (aka: C2C), but only just now have experienced on this road trip.
We’re camped for the 3rd day in an arroyo, where it meets the beach, north of Loreto and inland from Isla Coronado. During C2C, we’d camped for two nights on Coronado, tucking into one of its sandy bays and undoubtedly waiting out a strong north wind. Now, with experience and a much, much faster boat in the quiver, we each set the goal of sneaking through the wind out to the island, circling it to get a glimpse of its every inch of coast, and back to camp. In a sea kayak touring state of mind, we would likely budget 3 days of time and sustenance, weather permitting, for such a stunt. Now, as we laid the plan Sunday night for a Monday paddle, we aimed for 2.5 hours each.
Alas, the Sea of Cortez had another gift in mind: we woke early Monday to dark skies and a steady 15-knot north wind, building. Not even close to ideal for the circum-Coronado, but ideal indeed for some fist-in-the-air downwind surfing.
I went first, motoring upwind through increasingly bigger, warm, beautifully shaped swells. Three to four feet was standard with the occasionally 6-foot “rogue” gliding by. Upwind-ing is like riding a chairlift to the top of the biggest run on the mountain, (only sweatier), and after 35 minutes it was time to step off and start the descent.
Three of 4 swells would race by, moving too fast to catch while making the mouth water with their perfect, rip-roaring form. But the combination of speed and shape of that 4th swell would align perfectly and the ride was on. Paddling on the face of that type of swell would be like poling your way down a slope when you’re already in a tuck – best to just keep the paddle out of the way and enjoy the sensation! And once into it, with a little luck, trough after trough magically form beneath the hull and the ride continues on, smile growing wider by the second.
After an hour and a quick trade off of Hayden-for-surfski, it was Heather’s turn. My envy at the still-building wind-speed was only lessened by the fact that, due to our camp’s orientation, I could almost reach out and high-five Heather as she zipped by.
An hour and a thousand smiles later, we lashed down the boat and the rest of camp from the still building wind, and set off hiking for some church-like “ruins” we’d both seen from the water. An hour and a quarter later we arrived at what we learned was an attempt at a stone and concrete, dome-roofed restaurant some 20 or 30 years ago. Situated on a headland jutting out into the unchecked-from-the-north Sea, it gave us a full view of what the lee shore of Coronado would’ve had in store for us had we attempted circling it that day: white, white, whitewater as waves pounded its cliffs and refracted back onto themselves. Certainly entertaining paddling (during a race, with tons of other boats and even a handful of safety boats around), but not during an off-the-grid adventure like this.
Returning to camp for a feast of roasted sweet potatoes and chicken, we were awed one final time as the day’s storm clouds collaborated with the mountains to the west and the setting sun to create one of the most mystical sunsets in my memory: deep orange rays were projected like lasers toward our camp and beyond, framed by the leaden, coal colored clouds and the green-brown of the desert landscape before us. A typical “off the grid” day in Baja.
Tuesday dawned glassy and clear – the exact conditions we’d hoped for for the circum-Coronado exploration. Heather went first, disappearing from view in a quick 15 minutes as she aimed for the island’s south point. Out of view from Hayden and I, she paddled by sea lion-covered rock formations, below Bluefooted Booby resting ledges, beside trios of shark(?) fins lurking along, and through – even on this calm day – challenging, refracted, confused waves off that lee shore. She came back into binocular view still 3 miles from camp, as Hayden and I pointed and urged her in for a safe return and an early lunch. d="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288621141949498050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_18kE4yLJeGI/SWT06IWFQsI/AAAAAAAACtU/UzAO1SlxAJ4/s400/IMG_2289.JPG" border="0" />
The weather held for my following her wake exactly, including being shocked into attentiveness by those barking, belly-flopping sea lions on the east side. A light afternoon wind and low swell picked up where my energy tapered off, and carried me home to our campo en el arroyo.
Yes, the $6 a night palapa accommodation with hot tamales and papaya for breakfast has its allure and is a lifestyle we’ll return to in another week or so. But for now, off the grid Baja has won us over.