Kayaking in Heaven

Sea of dreams lies along Baja

by Kerrick James
Arizona Republic newspaper
December 17, 2000

BAHIA SAN BASILIO, Mexico - As the delicious late winter sun arcs in an unreal blue sky, we float and drift and watch a circling armada of brown pelicans and gulls dive-bomb the glassy waters of the Gulf of California.

How long we watch their practiced dives, gulping successes and occasional failures hardly matters, because we are quietly observing them at water level from sea kayaks, at a distance of 50 feet or so.

The pelicans and gulls watch us coolly from above, unconcerned. This is their realm, and we seem harmless, though absurdly colorful, attired in long teal fiberglass shells, red and blue vests and floppy straw hats.

Our group of 10 curious adventurers has just put in the water at San Basilio, an hour north of the somnolent mission town of Loreto. Quickly, less than 200 yards offshore, we first glimpse the astonishing richness of the ecosystem of the Gulf of California.

These seabirds are feeding on a fish boil, a school of bait fish driven to the surface by what our guides suspect are yellowtail. The dive-bombing and gorging continue unabated for more than an hour, until all are full or all are devoured.

The week of paddling, camping and exploring that follows is one of captivating variations on that theme, a wilderness alive and relatively intact, where the desert meets the sea.

Midway through every winter, my thoughts turn dreamily to Mexico. I long for siesta, for mañana, for beaches pointing to the equator, for the gift of time. Last winter, I found all these qualities in abundance while sea kayaking along the wild eastern coast of Baja California.

After a professional kayak refresher lesson, after the mesmerizing spectacle of the fish herding fish, the voracious pelicans and the hours spent exploring this small bay, the sun dips low and we make for the beach.

Our guides, Mitch Powers, Danny Boyer and Jose Cruz, have prepared the most flavorful guacamole I've ever had. They follow up with clams, rice, salad. We dine as a huge yellow moon rises from a smooth sea the hue of indigo, and a nightcap of hot chocolate and Kahlua wards off the chill. Stories of faraway places enliven the night, and anticipation lures me to sleep, for what tomorrow may bring.

A breakfast of huevos Mexicanos and fresh fruit fuels our party as we kayak south for one hour against a freshening breeze, en route to Playa de la Tranquilidad, a lengthy curve of sand angling north from a golden crumbling headland. Shallow peridot waters front the beach, and as the wind eases we snorkel or swim and explore the headland.

This day we hone our kayak skills, readying for expedition day tomorrow. Each day allows several hours of free time to hike, swim and snorkel, or to simply recline and take it all in. At dinner our guides outdo themselves, tormenting us with breaded yellowtail fried in crispy garlic. With pasta, a rich salad and cocktails, I must confess this kayak trip makes me never want to backpack again. After a moonlight feast, we turn in early.

Rising early, we devour a light breakfast, break camp and we're on the water at 8a.m., paddling north through flat water until we round the point. Then the light breeze becomes a steady wind in our faces and the swells grow. Shoulders, biceps and triceps get a workout. To stop and rest would cost momentum, so my kayak partner and I keep on pulling through a withering hour of effort until we reach the shelter of the far cliffs.

The wind fades, and is now at our backs, pushing us to our new camp, past brecciated cliffs, and a pod of exuberant dolphins toys with us. The sun is warm now, and by noon we beach on a wild and rocky shore that is the outflow of the Arroyo de las Tinajas (Canyon of the Tanks). The longest kayak day is over.

The now familiar ritual of carrying the loaded kayaks from the waterline to the beach is followed by choosing scenic campsites and erecting tents. After lunching on monster quesadillas seasoned with biting onions and serious salsa, washed down with Pacifico beers, we take siesta.

Later this afternoon, the group hikes up a canyon, examining veined rocks and local cactus, the saguarolike cardon, the fruit-bearing pitahaya, the bewhiskered old-man cactus. Abruptly the canyon narrows to a shaded slot, deep and narrow, partially blocked by sizable stones. Climbing past them, we rest against a dry waterfall chute, underneath a tinaja filled with clear water. The Cochimi Indians knew and valued this place.

When we return, Cruz, who drives the support boat, has prepared a wonderful fish stew, with garlic bread, salad, and cherry cheesecake. Spent and satisfied from the day's events, I amble down the beach in the moonlight, and fall asleep watching constellations through the open tent door.

The next morning dawns clear and calm, with cool hues warming gradually, until the sun spills golden light across the eerily smooth Gulf of California. Our guide, Boyer, is kayaking solo near the beach, waiting to greet the dawn. Sitting cross-legged in the sand, I seem to be the only guest awake.

Peace. Tranquillity. Time to watch and wait. It's what we all came for.

The scent of coffee wafts across the beach. Our fast is broken with French toast and fruit, and the plan for the day. A nice easy paddle of an hour or so to Playa de la Oasis, a half-moon beach on the south side of El Pulpito, or The Pulpit. This dark, monolithic volcanic headland has a big leonine head and sports two tall, slender sea arches, like a pirate's earrings. From this lovely beach, El Pulpito seems to be gazing sternly to the southeast, toward La Paz.

Cruz has set up our day camp, chairs arrayed in the sand, beers cooled in seawater. He says that El Pulpito has layers of obsidian, and later I see them as we kayak from the beach to the arches. Now and then a surprising highlight glints from the lofty sheer cliff. Everyone takes turns kayaking through the sea arches, laughing and marveling, bobbing in the clear sapphire waters.

After lunch, we snorkel or kayak or nap, then gather to hike to the summit of El Pulpito. Ascending the shell- and obsidian-strewn trail, we soon can see enormous vistas to the north and south, beaches and mountain ranges and rocky islands as far as the eye can see. Below us the clear water of the cove where our day camp is pitched seems as alluring as a gem set in a textured volcanic setting. Returning to the beach, we reluctantly launch our kayaks, wondering if we'll ever see this place again.

I vow that I will, for this is what I came for.

Back at Tinaja camp, the brave ones rinse in the sea, shaded now by the high cliffs. Night falls and Orion's belt appears above the cliff over our campsite, tequila flows, and talk turns to eclipses, those seen and those yet to see. One more day remains to explore this coast, and then back to Loreto, showers and unsalted clothes.

Kerrick James is a Tempe-based photographer and writer.