Why visit Baja only once when you can go twice?
With our legs still aching from Ironman 70.3 Los Cabos, Chris and I loaded our 2000 Chevy Suburban, “Big Red,” for our second trip to Baja. Only this time our packing list consisted of water toys, not triathlon bikes, and our Dad and his friend, Brad, would join us.
Hydrofoil: check.
4 kites: check.
3 harnesses: check.
2 pumps: check.
7 boards: check.
Dad: check.
Brad: check.
Wait, seven boards? You got it! For the ensuing two weeks, our home was the suburban and our playground was the ocean. We had to be prepared for everything from Wavestorm-able ankle-slappers to pumping overhead barrels.
And with our goodbyes, we excitedly we drove across the border to Baja.
Not even twenty minutes south of border, Chris reached in the cooler for a can of beans. Chris is a lean vegetarian with the metabolism of a baby whale, and we quickly came to realize that his favorite snack is a full can of beans.
By the time Chris enjoyed his second can of the day, we made it to camp: a sleepy fishing village north of San Quintin dubbed “Shipwreck’s.”
We soon found out that our stay overlapped with the Baja 1000 off-road race. As such, the soft noise of breaking waves and twinkling night’s sky were replaced by untamed gurgles of diesel engines and streaks of lights that, judging by their brightness, were powered by some sort of fission reaction.
Chris slept wonderfully.
The next day we forced our sleep-deprived bodies into the water for some more surf.
Soon we hurried to our next destination: Punta San Carlos.
As a legendary windsurfing location, Punta San Carlos offers a series of point breaks dusted by a powerful side-shore blow. We couldn’t wait to get there. In fact, we were so eager to get to San Carlos that Brad blew out a tire racing down the dirt road:
As Brad enjoyed Chris’s free labor, Chris accidentally got revenge: to everyone’s great surprise, he forgot to tighten the lug-nuts that secure the tire to the car.
As Brad resumed the long drive along a remote, unpaved road miles from any help, his new tire slowly wobbled its way to freedom.
The gentle jiggling from his nearly-disconnected tire should have been undetectable amongst the bumps in the road, but Brad’s attention to detail saved him. He pulled over to discover his new tire holding on by a single nut.
Brad, an Orthopedic Surgeon, solved the problem pragmatically and poached several lug-nuts from the other wheels.
Miraculously, we all made it to San Carlos without any further issues.
After enjoying a beautiful, well-earned sunset surf, we wondered where the wind went. As we discussed the authenticity of San Carlos’s reputation (the Mecca of wind sports), it certainly heard us.
Out of nowhere, a gust moving at what seemed like supersonic speeds tore through our camp. The wind pelted us with pebbles and threatened to blow our surfboards into the oblivion below.
As we danced around camp like idiots, gathering loose equipment, the blasting sand kindly borrowed a layer of my face.
The only items safe from the wind’s wrath were the cars and our jugs of water. At some point I even remember tying the cooler to the car.
Three adults and most of our gear combined was not enough to secure the tent; the howling wind was still strong enough to pick up Chris’s half of the tent and toss him into the air (conveniently onto me).
At some point in the middle of the night, the wind switched directions and tossed Dad into the air. When the wind wasn’t bouncing Dad and Chris around like popcorn, it was gradually burying us inside of our own tent with fine grains of sand that were forced through the fabric.
This would be our second sleepless night of the trip.
And so the next morning at dawn, coughing up sand, we hurried out of San Carlos, fearing what would happen if we stayed.
Since the weather didn’t cooperate for ocean activities, we spent the full day making progress down the Baja peninsula. One highlight included a puff of wind that dislodged Big Red’s door from its hinges.
We survived.
Fueled by cheap tacos, sunshine and a good night’s sleep in between, we eventually found ourselves at our fourth destination. Part of this spot’s allure is its unspoiled beaches and uncrowded surf, so I will not publish it’s location.
We enjoyed a magical day of kitesurfing, warm weather, and beach camping.
We also conversed with the unique collection of locals: assorted fishermen, a man who grew up on Easter Island, an Italian-Mexican contractor who studied in Oregon, and a dodgy seagull who seemed to be hiding a secret.
This hidden gem was our final campsite on the trek down the peninsula.
While our time driving down Baja was truly special, anticipation of our trip’s second leg reached us all: we were to board Brad’s twin-hulled catamaran and sail north through the Sea of Cortez.
None of us, including Brad, knew what to expect from this leg of the trip. All we knew was that we needed kites, a camera, and Chris’s bean cache.
The following days of sailing were a complete blur. Time seemed irrelevant, and minutes turned to hours as we got lost in the natural beauty of the Sea of Cortez.
Its psychedelic sunrises, turtle nests, and bioluminescence provided an incredible backdrop to a journey I will remember forever.
We passed the time with reflections on life, deep conversations, drinking games, swimming, and hydrofoiling behind the boat.
Things got slow. Things got goofy. And our beards grew long.
But eventually, our voyage concluded, and after spending one final night harbored outside Isla Espiritu Santo, we were back at the marina cleaning Brad’s boat, Osa.
At this point, Brad left our convoy to fly home. Although we had to part ways, Brad’s thoughtfulness, calm demeanor, and generosity will stay me forever.
In the wake of a sad goodbye and tough day, we thankfully received good news: the wind and surf forecast looked incredible for the last day of the trip!
Chris was happy, and boy did that smile last a while! As we worked our way back up the Baja peninsula, while the wind and surf built, we found new places to explore.
We climbed a light house:
We kayaked through mangrove forests:
And we found beautiful beaches:
Chris even tickled the moon!
And in the blink of an eye, we were back at our first campsite, Shipwrecks, celebrating Thanksgiving and the tail end of our trip.
Thanksgiving 2018 was one to remember: Dad, Chris, and I carved waves (not turkey) and gave thanks for our journey. And just when we thought the day couldn’t get any better, the wind filled in for an incredible kitesurfing session.
To Dad, Brad, and Chris; to Big Red and Osa; to the kind soldiers at the military checkpoints; to every local who put up with my spotty Spanish; to the ocean; and to Baja,
Gracias.