Part II: The Buzzards of Baja Await You

Our squadron deployed last year to a place that was far enough away from the shooting that we could visit the most decadent cities on Earth, cities with so much money, they were still trying to figure out how to spend it. However, we were still close enough to the shooting to accumulate obscene amounts of tax-free combat zone pay. After two weeks in the desert, we faced the same dilemma that our host nation faced, namely “what should I do with all this money?”

Unlike our host nation, we didn’t have enough for Bentleys or Lamborghinis, but we did have the money for plasma TVs, and iPods.

It also became clear that a great deal of that money was going to boost the economies of various countries in the form of tourism dollars and I was determined to do my part to help. I finally decided on a paddling trip to Baja. I’d been kayaking for almost a year and bought my first kayak that previous spring. My first time paddling was in the Johnstone Strait in British Columbia, so I wasn’t embarking on this completely unskilled. I was just embarking on it at previously unheard of levels for someone whose lion’s share of paddling experience took place on Lake Hefner.

Undeterred by my utter lack of sea kayaking experience and encouraged by the promise that all skill levels were welcome, I signed on for a six day paddling trip on the Sea of Cortez.

I called my parents to tell them my post-deployment vacation plans. I halfway expected by news to be met with lip-biting concern. Whenever I’d previously expressed my desire to visit Mexico, my dad would send me the standard announcement from the State Department warning people to flee for their lives from the state of Oaxaca and avoid any town near the border. I assured them that Loreto was very safe, very small, and very far away from the drug cartels. I registered my trip with the US Embassy. The only caveat was that my dad made me promise I wouldn’t drive. I made a mental note to cancel the rental car I’d already reserved. It was only after I got to Mexico, that I realized he may have been on to something.

The trip started out from the town of Loreto. I went to the Loreto website and looked at the photo gallery. One picture stood out. It was a picture of some large birds overlooking the water and the caption beneath stated, “Vultures await breakfast amidst a golden sunrise at Juncalito beach.”

Maybe buzzards don’t have the same connotation of impending death in Mexico that they do in the US, but I’m not sure how a picture of carrion birds waiting for capsized, dehydrated, and hopeless paddlers and anglers serves as a great tourism pitch.

When we first started out, the weather was beautiful. We were told by our guides, “it never rains in Baja.”

Of course wind was another matter entirely. On day two, I began to think Baja’s turkey vultures might be eating like kings by the end of the day.

Tune in for Part III: Bye Bye Cantaloupe, Hello Cold Shock