Mack and I expected some sort of military fanfare as we sailed our shitty little boat into Mexico -- a strafing by US fighter jets, getting searched by the Coast Guard, anything to make us feel a little bit outlaw -- but nothing happened. It was kinda foggy, and at some point we entered Mexican waters. I guess you could smuggle just about anything into Mexico: worth knowing!
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| Mack reaping benefits from a lobster trap we found washed up on a remote and rugged shore in Baja. |
This was when the whole Tijuana Border "Drug War" domestic-terror-propaganda was in full swing so we decided to head as far South as possible before checking out the coast. We kited San Quintin for a few days and then continued onward to Bahia Tortugas -- about halfway down the peninsula -- and the only convenient port to get fuel on the West Coast of Baja.
A better name for this polluted bay would be Bahia Pelicanos. We didn't see a single turtle but 20,000+ pelicans were shitting all over the place. As retaliation for a business deal gone bad, a big Mexican fishing boat had recently dumped TONS of rotten sardines just off the town of Tortugas. Little stinkers were washed up all over the place and it seems every pelican within 100 miles had caught wind of the stank. There were so many in such a feeding frenzy that Mack caught only pelicans while trying to fish. We got sick from kiting the poop-flavored waters here.
We also traded a blow up doll and tube of lube for laundry service: double teaming the doll just didn't appeal to us so we pawned her off.
We also traded a blow up doll and tube of lube for laundry service: double teaming the doll just didn't appeal to us so we pawned her off.
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| One very stoked resident of Tortugas, Baja. |
Huge Gringo sportfishing yachts were taking on barrels of diesel, cases of Pacifico, and, ironically, fresh locally-caught fish. The Mexicanos at the Muelle laughed at me for needing a mere seven gallons of gas, so I led them in a rousing rendition of Daddy Yankee's "Gasolina" to assure them my manhood was intact despite burning so little. Me encanta la gasolina! Sorta.
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| The first tree we saw in desolate Baja... atop a mountain near Magdalena Bay. |
We spent a few weeks around gorgeous Magdalena Bay, snagging some bitchin' waves and occasional kiting. Running low on supplies and completely out of cash we had to get going. A few days later at sunset, we found ourselves rounding Baja's tip and that long line of lights called Cabo San Lucas. Apparently about 30 years too late, we didn't even consider stopping. We'd heard it was too expensive, too hideous: a paradise lost because way too many people found it.
As we entered the Sea of Cortez at the onset of winter, we had to watch out for El Norte, fierce winds from the North that kick up steep seas bad for sailing but great for kitsurfing. Just after dawn we made it to the remote anchorage at Roca Frailles as a stiff wind built from the North. Here we spent five days waiting for the wind to subside and had our best kiting since hitting Mexico, made friends with some great yachties, discovered phenomenal bouldering and snorkeling, and had a damn good (though hungry) time.
Our destination, windsurf and kiteboard mecca La Ventana lay a mere 60 miles north -- about a 10 hour sail in ideal conditions. We were exhausted, starving, and filthy after a month of exploring the remoter stretches of Baja. All that remained in our pantry were raisins and rice. A dozen friends awaited us in La Ventana, and we could hardly wait to clean up, drink some beers, catch up with friends, chase tail, sleep on land, and look for winter jobs.
La Ventana is great for kitesurfing in steep wind swell which makes it a horrible place to anchor a boat. As such, our plan was to anchor at a small bay called Ensenada Muertos and then walk/hitchhike/kiteboard the ~12 miles to La Ventana. We had no idea what to do with the boat while based in La Ventana and hoped an option would materialize. The most ridiculous option imaginable materialized.
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Running out of food, we made a go despite El Norte, and after a rough night battling upwind we found ourselves anchoring in the pristine waters of Ensenada Muertos. The Bombay Sapphire blue waters were so clear one could see the anchor 35 feet down and 200 feet away. A few tasteful mansions were tucked away in the gorgeous mountains rimming the bay, and a huge palapa sat on the hillside over a pefect beach.. We'd heard the palapa housed a restaurant so we quickly got our kitegear together, dinghied to shore, and went in search of breakfast.
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| El Cardon Tequila Bar and Grill, Ensenada Muertos, Bahia De Los Suenos, Baja |
Suprisingly modern, this seemingly-deserted palapa restaurant offered free coffee, WiFi, an ATM, and had a menu you'd expect at a nice sports bar stateside. A few framed football jerseys alluded to owners who'd come through the NFL. We pulled our limits from the ATM and ordered a few breakfasts each. As we were gorging ourselves, a few GIGANTIC Gringos showed up and asked if those were our kiteboards outside We shot some shit, hit it off, and so began the strangest chapter in El Viaje...
Twenty minutes later we were piling into a pimped out monster truck bound for La Ventana. Our 6'5", 280 pound, heavily-tattooed driver -- a true renaissance man and the owner of that palapa restaurant -- had recently retired from a nine year career as an all-pro NFL offensive lineman. Though you've probably never heard of him you are doubtless familiar with his handiwork: for years he bashed exceptionally huge holes in the defense through which star running backs Marshall Faulk and Reggie Bush ran through for record yardages. I speak of Kyle Turley, one hell of a football player, surfer, artist, musician, businessman, and now activist in the fight to properly treat head injuries in professional sports.
After kiting our faces off for a week in La Ventana, Mack and I headed back to Ensenada Muertos. Kyle offered us the guest house in his mansion, free food at his restaurant, use of a whole fleet of boats and vehicles, and jobs. Our goal was to develop watersports in the bay and to help promote the area. My title? Director of Fun.
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| Sunrise as viewed form the balcony at the guest house. |
Mack and I went from camping aboard a $5,000 boat to sharing a $500,000 guest house behind a $5,000,000 mansion. We started eating good again and gained back a lot of the weight we'd lost over the trip. I realized that my current boat, the 27 foot Sin Fin, wasn't ideal for sailing to Patagonian Chile, so I made it my new goal to work as hard as I could in hopes of earning enough to buy a solid boat within a few years time.
Mack and I got the ball rolling on our own kiteboard business, threw some kick ass parties at the restaurant, drove around in the gas-guzzlingest roofless truck imaginable, kited almost ever day, made countless new friends, and gained a very interesting perspective on the lives of the rich and pseudo-famous.
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| Hypocrisy can be a damn good time! |
Like all things too good to be true, it was. Forty strange and stressful days later I fell out from that crew and -- even broker than I'd been before, and now at odds with my once friend Mack -- I set sail for La Paz...alone.