Baja - Isla Espiritu Santo

October-November 1998

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

by Barbara Spencer

Each beautifully hidden cove has its own distinct characteristics and personality

A Mexican band is playing a romantic ballad at a wedding by the pool at my hotel. Juan, whom I met earlier in the day, asks me to dance and we move rhythmically on the floor like the flowing water of a valley stream. He then kisses my hand and asks if I will see him later. I am to attend a trip briefing and I must decline. I would love romance but the lure of a semi-tropical island beckons me. Isla Espiritu Santo, the Holy Spirit, and I will spend 7 days together as I and others circumnavigate it by kayak.

I have taken a tour with Baja Outdoor Activities based in La Paz, Mexico. Our group is composed of 15 people mainly from the US and Canada. We include two children, eight and eleven years, plus two knowledgeable native guides, Sergio and Paulino, and a cook, Alvaro, who doubles as the panga (motor boat) driver. We are at all levels of kayaking experience, including those with none at all. I have decided to go the full Monty, in a manner of speaking, and sign up for the fully catered panga assisted trip. All the meals and beverages are provided and the boat carries our camping equipment. What a pleasure not to have to squeeze my gear into tiny hatches only to unload it at the end of the day. If we do not want to paddle, we have the option of hitching a ride with the panga. The children use it often, especially in high winds, and they help Alvaro fish for dinner. With the burden of our gear and the catering taken care of, we are free to spend our time as we please. When not paddling, reading, sleeping and snorkelling are very popular. Much to my surprise, our group, while large, is not unwieldy. Our guides, who are highly organized and astutely observant, know how to play us like a fine violin with their quick wit, astonishing knowledge of the area and constant care and attention.

It is a 4 mile crossing from Tecolote in the Baja Peninsula just a half hour drive south of La Paz. Espiritu Santo is unusual in that it is split into two islands (Isla Partida and Espiritu Santo) with a small channel between them that only sea kayaks can navigate. From startling fissured and striated cliffs on the east to spectacular pristine beaches, pounding surf and protected lagoons on the west, it is a ruggedly beautiful exotic island. To touch the shores of Espiritu Santo is like lying in the cradle of God's arms.

After lunch and an introduction to the kayaks, we begin the paddle to our first camping spot. The winter months are known for the strong winds from the north and as luck will have it, the winds blowup quickly and we are paddling into the heart of them. One of the men who is daydreaming capsizes in the warm waters. As I paddle over to help him, the wind catches the bow of my kayak and turns me around facing opposite to where I want to go. I do not have the strength to battle the winds and turn the boat back.

I am being quickly pushed off course and have visions of being blasted over to the mainland miles away. Sergio recognizes my trouble, attaches a line to my kayak and tows me in. Misery turns to rapture when I realize that I have entered paradise. Tucked away in this bay, a stretch of white sand borders the gleaming aqua water. Steep, ridged sandstone rock rings the cove.

Once my tent is set up, I go for a refreshing snorkel in the warm waters while awaiting dinner. I shuffle my feet through the sand to warn sting rays. Generally, they will scoot away. One of the men had the misfortune of stepping on one and getting stung. The treatment is to soak the wounded foot in the hottest water tolerable. In this case, urine is used instead. Don't ask.

At night, thousands of stars light up the sky and cast shadows on the calm water. Paulino and Sergio take the time to point out constellations and names of stars. The single men in the group pay close attention, wanting to absorb it all in order to romance women with their knowledge of the heavens. I don't think the men express this desire so eloquently

If I recall, they want to learn a few names so they can "impress babes in Chicago". That night, I fall into bed exhausted, listening to the lap, of the water quietly breaking onto shore.

Swimming with sea lions at Los Isoltes is a thrill

The next morning I am up at the crack of dawn. This is the day we will swim with the agile sea lions whose colony is at Los Islotes, (which means two, small rocky islets.) After a warning of the do's and don'ts, we all stand around apprehensively, looking into the dark seas wondering what lurks beneath. One by one, we jump from the panga outfitted in snorkelling equipment. Suddenly, the seas come alive with brightly coloured fish and sea lions twisting and turning, swerving and rolling among us. We dive underwater to get closer to the pups who have no fear of us. I am very wary of the potentially aggressive males (sea lions, that is) and stay a good distance away as they are very territorial. Within minutes of each other, four boats loaded with tourists from La Paz descend on this area. The snorkellers swim too close to the rocks from which we are prohibited to land, and stir the males. One sits up with a roar. Luckily for the swimmers, he does not slide into the water and charge them as has been known to happen. It is disheartening to see this type of intrusion and disruption of habitat.

The afternoon sun is too hot for paddling and all 15 of us crowd under a palapa for shade. Our guides ensure we never forget our mantra, "sunscreen, sunhat and water". After a relaxing few hours, Sergio asks for participants to go cliff diving. My hand shoots up. The words "I'm in" roll off my tongue before my brain is in motion. We paddle to the next beach, trek a mile over small boulders and loose rock along the shoreline to the point, and then scramble up the steep cliff through shale and around cacti to the top, I, in my hiking boots and Sergio barefoot. We follow Sergio while he descends the cliff looking for a safe spot from which to jump. I chicken out. All five men make the 20' leap into the deep blue and, with smiles on their faces, survive to tell the tale. In the morning, the group splits off. The stronger paddlers will circumnavigate Isla Partida and cut through the channel that separates the two Islas to meet with us for lunch. A 10 mile paddle into strong winds under a hot sun seems like more energy that I can muster up this morning. I have opted to paddle the 3 mile distance. A trick of fate puts our small group into strong headwinds while the other group is enjoying calm waters. Paddling can be so unpredictable.

Tucked away at the back of this pretty little beach is a fresh water well. A short hike carrying a long rope and bucket takes us there. The water, while not drinkable, is used for showering. Sergio pours the refreshing liquid over us as we lather up, squealing with surprise at the coolness of the water.

Tequila night is declared. Everyone has an opportunity to show off what they consider to be the most innovative way to drink the spirit. Mark shows how it is done Chicago style. He licks the salt off his hand, takes a long draw on a lime and sucks back a glass of tequila. For the Mexican style, Sergio places the salt in a small indentation between his thumb and index finger. He sucks on a lime, drinks the brew and then, with the side of one hand slamming down on the salty one, flicks the salt into his mouth.

Everyone else gets salt up their noses. Hands down, the most innovative technique is won by Brian from Vancouver. He puts salt on his partner's shoulder (only because she wouldn't let him put it on her chest), a lime in her mouth and the cup of Tequila between her knees. He slowly sucks off the salt and takes the lime out of her mouth with his lips. With his teeth, he lifts the cup and tosses back the tequila without using his hands. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila ...floor

We share this place with no one. The island is a national reserve with no drinkable water. Often, sailboats and yachts are anchored in the bays but it is rare to see another kayaker. Yet, there is no end of squadrons of brown pelicans, vultures blue-footed boobies, herons, dolphins and frigate birds who soar with the grace of an eagle. Towering volcanic escarpments with red-hued desert colours pierce the azure waters. We feast on fresh fish, quesadillas, tuna salad lunches, eggs and chorizo and fruit. The days begin with spectacular sunrises and end in pleasantly cool evenings. Between paddles, we snorkel in the warm waters amidst the rocks and coral with sea urchins, brightly coloured fish and sting rays. At night when there are winds, we fall asleep to the sound of pounding surf smacking ferociously at the sand. This ethereal way of life is becoming a habit.

The days begin to dissolve into one another. When the winds blow, we might practice our surfing skills in the bay, or sit under the tarp for a breath of shade from the scorching afternoon sun. Minutes away from the beach, we explore a canyon of smooth rust-orange volcanic ash with wild fig trees and spectacular overhanging rock. Here you can bury yourself into the coolness of the shade. I am so far removed from home, I believe the Isla is where I live.

On days we break camp, we kayak 3-4 hours with a long lunch in between the morning and late afternoon paddle. Each beautifully hidden cove has its own distinct characteristics and personality. What each bay shares are superb stretches of white sand licked by shallow azure waters and pristine snorkelling. At night, we sit close together and play games such as Truth and Lies where we tell three things about ourselves, two being truthful and one a lie. Then, each of us guesses which statement is the lie. We laugh until our sides ache and we get to a deeper level of knowing one another.

As we paddle in a counter clockwise direction to the eastern side of the island, the coastline gets rockier and the cliffs steepen. The isolation and rugged beauty are astounding. In the distance a school of dolphins propel themselves through the water in a continuous, rhythmic motion. I push lightly on the foot pedal moving me seaward. Except for the sound of the slap of my peddle in the water, the world seems as if it has stopped moving. I paddle with ease, eye level with the seas, one blade dipping into the water and then the other in a rhythmic motion like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. I am humbled by the splendour of this land.

Time is passing quickly and our trip is coming to an end. When the winds die down, we set out on a 4 mile paddle passing herons and pelicans perched on the long rock islands towering from the sea. For lunch, we slip into a quiet lagoon. The youngest boy in our group is rambunctious. Some of us remain at the beach with Sergio and the children to play cards while others join Paulino on the long hike up and along the ridge of a cliff for a spectacular view of the bay.

Without warning, the winds blow up quickly and fiercely. Our tent for shade blows down. It is a welcome relief from the blistering heat to feel the coolness of the air on my skin. Patiently we wait all afternoon for the winds to calm. I have learned that there is no predictability to the wind pattern despite what the meteorologists say. The rule of thumb is this: when the winds blow, we wait; when the wind subsides, we paddle. It is no accident that the word 'manaña' is such an intrinsic part of the Mexican way of life.

We arrive at our new campsite as the sun begins to hide behind the mountains. Rounding the point, we all put down our paddles in awe of the vast expanse of brilliant blue waters against an open stretch of long sweeping beach. It is once again hot and still. I wade into the water for a refreshing swim but no matter how far out I wander, the water remains at my calves. Swimming is an impossibility. Resting in the world's largest bathtub takes form.

I awaken from a night's fitful sleep to winds. There is an ache in my heart knowing that today I will be leaving all of this behind. For seven magical days I have experienced the distinct sounds and breathtaking sights of nature, the excitement of the group, the playfulness of the cook and the strength of the guides. With the movement of a snail, I tear down my tent and pack up my gear. I take a slow walk along the long stretch of white sand looking for seashells.

Some of our group left yesterday. Six of us paddle three double kayaks around the southern tip to the beach where the panga will take us back to the mainland. This is the only day I am pleased that the wind is in my face. With luck, it will take us longer to reach our destination. I am already scheming. I make a mental pact with God that if I am allowed to stay in this place for a few more days, I will not indulge in any more petty grievances. If that doesn't work, I have asked my travelling friend to contact my manager at work and tell her that I was carried off by a whale while snorkelling and it will take months to find me. This plan has merit.

Barbara Spencer lives in Vancouver, BC

Barbara paddled with Baja Outdoor Activities, PO Box 792, Centro, La Paz, BCS, CP 23000, Mexico.
Tel: (52-112) 55636. Fax:(52-112) 53625
Email: boa@cibnor.mx or boa@kayactivities.com. Website: http:// kayactivities.com