 |
Mexico's Sea of Cortés is a slice of kayaker's heaven
By JOHN FLINN
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
PUNTA PULPITO, Mexico -- It's a warm, still, glassy morning on the Sea of Cortés, and the horizon has, for the moment, vanished.
Beneath us the sea is a luscious, milky blue. Above, the balmy sky is precisely the same hue. Sea and sky join so seamlessly that our kayak seems suspended in a buoyant cloud of turquoise.
The only sound is the gentle slurp of our paddle blades in the water. Just ahead, a squadron of brown pelicans glides low in tight formation. A pair of dorsal fins knifes through the water, and then two glistening gray dolphins arc into the air in perfect unison.
Moments later two substantially larger fins appear, and as their owners leap out of the sea I yell "orcas!" but they turn out to be similar-looking pilot whales.
Off to our right a rasping geyser spouts from the water. We watch breathlessly as the long, gray, barnacled back of a minke whale rolls slowly and slides silently beneath the surface.
From a distance, the coastal town of Loreto, the Sea of Cortés and the brown Sonoran desert behind can appear to be harsh, sun-seared, lifeless places. But, from the cockpits of our sea kayaks, we were finding that nothing could be further from the truth.
Wrenched by the same tectonic forces that formed the San Andreas fault, the 800-mile-long Baja California peninsula has been peeling away from mainland Mexico for 15 million years. The Pacific Ocean has rushed into the gap, forming the youngest of the planet's deep-water gulfs. Sometimes called the Gulf of California and occasionally the Vermilion Sea -- it is said to shimmer at sunrise like pale blood -- the Sea of Cortés is a young marine ecosystem, populated by an astonishing abundance of sea life.
This, and the dazzling contrast with the craggy, chocolate-purple peaks of the Sierra de la Giganta that rise out of the sea, make it one of the world's best venues for the sport of sea kayaking.
The stretch of coastline north of the sport-fishing town of Loreto is fierce, silent country, populated by only a few somnolent thatched-roof fishing villages accessible by rutted, jouncy dirt roads.
Early one morning in March, at the end of one such road, we squatted on the gravel beach next to the nearly deserted village of San Nicolas and stuffed sleeping bags, tents and clothing bags into the hatches of our fiberglass double kayaks.
Kenny Howell, our head guide from Sea Trek, a Marin County, Calif., outfitter, held up a paddle and demonstrated the proper stroke -- an easy push-pull shoulder rotation, rather than a muscular shoveling of water.
Our group of 11 was mostly beginners, and Kenny explained that if we played it smart with the weather and sea conditions we'd really have to work at it to get into trouble.
Our gravest danger, he explained, probably came from the various little things that sting, stick, prick, scratch and bite, both on land and at sea: scorpions that crawl into your shoes at night, stingrays that loiter in shallow water, braided cholla cactuses, poisonous puffer fish -- the list went on and on.
By the time he'd finished, I was glad to slide into the protected cockpit of our kayak and shove off.
Hugging the coastline, we paddled south around a rocky point where a sea lion lolled near a half dozen scampering, shocking-red crabs.
Beyond the rocky point stretched miles of headlands, islands, bays, bluffs and peninsulas jumbled together into a surreal mélange. In the brilliant desert light it was hard to discern where one ended and another began.
Up ahead, Daryl Bespflug, another of our guides, waved from a rubber Zodiac raft with his 13-year-old daughter, Cara. In one hand he held a spear gun, in the other a dripping, 15-pound sea bass.
Each morning while we were paddling, Daryl would slip into a wet suit and head out with his spear gun to gather dinner. Some days the catch of the day would be red snapper, other days sea bass or parrot fish (quite toxic in the Caribbean, but a tasty delicacy in the Sea of Cortés).
At night in camp, Daryl and our third guide, Miguel Valdes, would fry up the fish or concoct a delicious scallop stew or almejas borrachas -- clams soaked in beer.
In addition to our supply of fresh water, Daryl's Zodiac carried a bounteous supply of cerveza, chardonnay and fresh avocados, which Miguel mashed into what was unanimously voted the best guacamole we had ever tasted.
A little after noon we pulled up on a flawless gem of a half-moon beach called San Antonita. Because a notorious afternoon wind often whips up choppy whitecaps on the Sea of Cortés, standard Baja paddling protocol calls for being out of the water by lunch time. As it turned out, we hit a window of unusually stable weather, and the sea was calm and flat almost every afternoon.
We spent the rest of the day snorkeling in our little bay, gawking at the undersea world of brilliantly colored tropical fish, starfish, goofy-looking but dangerous puffer fish, stone fish and manta rays.
At night, after dining on Daryl's sea bass, we sat on coolers drinking quart-sized bottles of Pacifico beer and listening as Kenny, Daryl and Miguel told guiding stories. Our five days and nights passed in this fashion, each blending into the next.
One afternoon Kenny led us on a walk from the beach back into the Sonora desert, following a dry creek bed into a canyon teeming with life. In the cool shade between narrow red-rock walls, colorful flowers beckoned from crevices: fragrant desert lavender, nightshade, daisies, bright red pega pegas and tiny, purple orchid-like blossoms.
Massive organ pipe cactuses stood like prickly candelabras, distracting us just enough to brush into the braided cholla cactuses at knee level.
Tracks of ring-tailed cats crisscrossed the dry creek bed, and everywhere were fresh piles of coyote scat. Kenny said these rugged, mostly roadless desert mountains harbor mountain lions, bighorn sheep, fox and raccoons, although they're rarely seen.
Late one other afternoon we shoved off from our beach camp and paddled a mile down the coast toward El Pulpito -- "the Pulpit" -- a massive, Gibraltar-like rock that dominates this stretch of shoreline. It was the golden hour, when the desert light turns cozy and warm.
Just ahead there was a flash and a splash and suddenly a pod of seven or eight dolphins was cresting out of the water in unison, occasionally leaping five feet into the air. A few passed within a paddle length of our boats. There was a commotion in the other direction. Another pod of dark gray dolphins, this one numbering 15 or so, was splashing and jumping about. The two pods passed each other and for 10 minutes the sea around us frothed and churned with leaping dolphins.
When they had receded out of sight, we landed on a rocky beach and pulled our kayaks up above the high-tide line. Kenny led us up through prickly scrub and stickly chollas to a trail that switchbacked up to the summit of the Pulpit, 500 feet above the sea.
We reached the top just as the sun was dipping behind the Sierra de la Giganta. Beneath us the coastline stretched to the horizon in both directions, a jumble of purple jagged peaks blending into mythic-looking islands and idyllic coves.
It was nearly dark by the time we descended to the beach and launched our kayaks into water now choppy with the evening breeze. The sea shimmered silver, and a band of golden-pink light silhouetted the sea cliffs. Above the dark peaks of the Sierra de la Giganta hung a thin, Cheshire cat-smile of a moon.
Rising and falling on the swells, we paddled through the warm night, with only the glow of Daryl's kitchen lantern guiding us home.
· New Silver Fir chairlift signals big-time growth for The Summit at Snoqualmie
· Snowshoeing on Mount Seymour: B.C. walk rewards with beauty and chocolate fondue
· Lincoln and Cove parks: Two waterfront parks bring nature near
· For running, high-priced jacket's claims are all wet
· Outdoors Report: Forecast favorable for clam diggers
· Outdoors Report: Anglers banking on uptick in 2009 openings
more
· The Independent: What creationists really hate is that we emerged by accident
· Hundreds march in Seattle to protest Israeli attacks on Gaza
· Report of possible P-I sale surprises papers' leaders
· Seattle citizens give city's storm response a failing grade
more
101 Elliott Ave. W.
Seattle, WA 98119
(206) 448-8000
Home Delivery: (206) 464-2121 or (800) 542-0820
seattlepi.com serves about 4 million unique visitors
and 45 million page views each month.
Send comments to newmedia@seattlepi.com
Send investigative tips to iteam@seattlepi.com
©1996-2009 Seattle Post-Intelligencer
Terms of Use/Privacy Policy
