JD's Journal : Baja
Baja. Cows. Pacifico. Point break.

:: Doesn't matter if you just head to Cabo, Baja is still Baja.

:: We're driving down a river bed in a 2WD rental. It's been an easy day driving around, having lunch, vaguely checking out a few surf spots. It's really the first time we've been off-road. "We're in Baja now" says Brian cheerfully, driving. "Not until we get the car stuck", I say, also cheerfully. Four minutes later, the car is dug in to sand almost as fine as dust. No worries, pop a towel under the front wheel (always carry a towel - remember your "Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy"), give it a good push, and the car is out. We walk towards it. "Oh look, there's a snake" says one of the tourists who have stepped out of the car in front. Yes, it's a rattlesnake, three feet long, all coiled up ready to make our day a lot more difficult than it has been so far. Well, we're in Baja now.

:: We've been surfing all day, by ourselves - nothing too stressful, chest-high rollers - six hours of very hot, empty waves. We're pretty happy, toasty and salty. A car pulls up containing a brace (two) of dudes. They ask about the break - does it have a lip to bash? Is it fast? No, and no. We're feeling kind of giddy - partly surfing, partly dehydration, I imagine. "Where is Shipwrecks??" demand the dudes. "How do you know where it is??". "Well" says Brian. "There's a cactus.."

:: "Are you from San Francisco?" asks the woman at the bookshop. "Well, yes we are". (How did she know? Not a single WISE teeshirt, 49ers cap or feathered boa between the three of us). She's concerned. She wants somebody to take a dog back to San Francisco so it can be adopted. We imagine the scene at customs. Officer: "anyone unknown to you give you anything to bring into the United States?". Us: "No. Oh, wait a minute. There's this dog...".

Truck. Old guy. Booze.
:: There's a truck stuck at a river crossing. We're in a big 4x4 so we stop and try to pull it out. As we're watching, an old guy wanders into the scene from nowhere - bare feet, carrying his booze. He watches for two minutes, says nothing, bothers nobody, then disappears, wading across the river and into the desert on the other side...

:: Very early morning. The sets are regular, chest-high, fast but nicely makeable. We're in town, there will be people out soon, but right now it's dark, warm, and empty. I manage to kick out of a beauty just as the sun pops up out of the sea - a moment so perfect that it doesn't feel like it actually happened, even split seconds after it actually happened. The fairy dust sprinkled on this session continues as the crowd comes out - the local rippers are getting what they want, the gringos are smiling for once, and the high point comes when an older white guy on a long board turns around and says "hey, I dont want to be a wave hog - if you want one, just shout". Baja magic. Rare, but true.

 



my email is: jdj@pacificwaverider.com

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