Back to Baja
The absurdity of it is somewhat fascinating. We’ve spent thousands in fuel,
hundeds in supplies, and driven over 2500 miles in pursuit of one goal. A
goal that involves a silly piece of polystyrene, a small section of ocean,
and thirty seconds (on a good day) of a wave. The wave. Sliding down a wave
has become, more or less, the singular goal of my life. In Point Break, the
only genuine Hollywood movie, Patrick Swazey’s character observes that a
wave can change your life. That writer was having a good day.
The last wave to change my life was at Ocean Beach, San Francisco. Featured prominently in the sellout blockbuster book, Barbarian Days, Ocean Beach is the real deal. It’s cold, heavy, and crowded with tech bros on soft tops. I was there one day, possibly in Febriuary, with my friends, a bunch of tech bros, the kind that can actually surf. We were observing the waves at Lincoln Street from a perch near the old Surto Baths, because the fire department had the beach closed. Tsunami they said. We loaded up, drove to Scotts Creek and surfed a few hours of garbage before returning to the city. Most of the guys at that point had to go do things, but my buddy Jeff wanted to paddle out. I had nothing going, so went with him, expectations low, due to the sub optimal conditions. After getting annihilated on the paddle out we found ourselves sitting next to each other in well overhead surf. A wave came in and I paddled for it, thinking I may as well take a beating before heading in. I stood up, made the drop by the skin of my teeth, and bottom turned into a cavern. Standing fully upright, time slowed down, as I watched drops of water disconnect from the lip and blow back towards the North Pacific. The lip, far in front of me, gracefully reached over, as if to accommodate my awkward bulk. Not a drop of water out of place. I stood there, letting my board navigate me out of this beast, and deposit me in the channel. A stranger was sitting nearby, both hands flung above his head in celebration, or disbelief.
And now we are in Baja again. Searching for the next wave.
DAY 0.
I told my students I would be on the road at 12:28:47. I was a bit late. We drove for 8 hours, stopping to get a burrito. . . Made it to Cardiff and my brother in laws house late, the kids were still awake and wanting to play. I guess that means they were excited we were coming?? We play with them for a couple days and then head south.
Day -1
Crossing the border. You pull into a lane. Options to remain in the USA have been removed. It’s stressful. The border guards want to look in the van. Koda the dog discourages a through search. We get our Formas de Migracion. Everyone is smiling. Kate is sick, but she drives us through to San Felipe because she is better at talking to the policia. After San Filipe there isn’t much, so I drive, stressed out until the unmarked dirt turn towards the coast. 10 miles to paradise. The rutted road delivers us.
“This is the most beautiful place in the world. There are many such places.”
-EA
Day 1.
There are no waves. I’ve seen bigger waves in my toilet.
Day 2.
Today I surf. It’s as small as it looks.
Day 3.
I don’t remember if I surfed.
In the afternoon we discuss the future. It excites me and scares me. We are almost 40. It is approaching time to make the most of our dwindling time. I am glad I have found the person I have to pursue life with.
Day 4.
Awakening in the night I hear the change in the tone of the ocean. Today will be bigger. I go back to sleep, a little happier. I awake early, as the sun begins to paint the wisps of cloud above the mountains. I know there are waves, but I want to savor the prospect a bit before I paddle out. I read. I drink some tea. Then I suit up and paddle to the main peak. Already there are others there, and there is no rhythm in the line up. Becoming frustrated, I paddle north, to another little point. It’s good. One other paddles over, and we fall into a pattern of conversation between sets. He is better than I am and shows me where to sit. The wave has a different character than the main peak, shifty and hollow. It’s short but punchy. My favorite type of wave. With just the two of us, we surf till we are content. What a unique little wedge. My new friend says it’s the best he has seen in 20 years of coming to this spot. I wonder if it has to do with the new sediment introduced this fall by the hurricane. Either way, mission accomplished. The dog continues his apathetic hole digging. At one point he chases a small rodent. We all take a nap.
Day 5-10
It’s on now. Waves are good. This swell was totally unexpected, but I am going to take full advantage of it. The wind howls offshore, making the wave hollow, but also very difficult to get into. It’s like paddling into a sandblaster. I surf a lot, mostly on the long pitching rights, but also on the lefts. You can get briefly covered up on the lefts before being catapulted into the rocky bottom.
I surf, we eat, we watch a show. I average about a book a day. Beer is in short supply and must be rationed. The dog digs holes and chases tourists. Occasionally I talk to another person. Everyone down here is fairly feral; we are the weekend warriors in this part of Mexico. The sun requires that we watch it dip below the horizon nightly. It performs unselfconscious, confident that it will top the performance tomorrow.
A bike packer comes by. He is riding the Baja Divide trail, down and then back. Says he will be finished around May, living off his bicycle until then. I admire and envy his single minded dedication to the pursuit of the useless. I give him one of my last remaining beers, but not one of the good ones.
The wind abates and the surf gets clean. Surfing becomes imperative. I’m falling back into phase with this part of the ocean. I remember the funny little sections of the wave, and am able to commit better to the variances that can be felt in the wall of water.
The swell builds and it begins to rain. We pack up and head to the hot springs. Then the long drive home. While this is likely our last land bound trip to Baja for many years I know I will continue to visit daily, since Baja is a state of mind and a destination of the heart.
The last wave to change my life was at Ocean Beach, San Francisco. Featured prominently in the sellout blockbuster book, Barbarian Days, Ocean Beach is the real deal. It’s cold, heavy, and crowded with tech bros on soft tops. I was there one day, possibly in Febriuary, with my friends, a bunch of tech bros, the kind that can actually surf. We were observing the waves at Lincoln Street from a perch near the old Surto Baths, because the fire department had the beach closed. Tsunami they said. We loaded up, drove to Scotts Creek and surfed a few hours of garbage before returning to the city. Most of the guys at that point had to go do things, but my buddy Jeff wanted to paddle out. I had nothing going, so went with him, expectations low, due to the sub optimal conditions. After getting annihilated on the paddle out we found ourselves sitting next to each other in well overhead surf. A wave came in and I paddled for it, thinking I may as well take a beating before heading in. I stood up, made the drop by the skin of my teeth, and bottom turned into a cavern. Standing fully upright, time slowed down, as I watched drops of water disconnect from the lip and blow back towards the North Pacific. The lip, far in front of me, gracefully reached over, as if to accommodate my awkward bulk. Not a drop of water out of place. I stood there, letting my board navigate me out of this beast, and deposit me in the channel. A stranger was sitting nearby, both hands flung above his head in celebration, or disbelief.
And now we are in Baja again. Searching for the next wave.
DAY 0.
I told my students I would be on the road at 12:28:47. I was a bit late. We drove for 8 hours, stopping to get a burrito. . . Made it to Cardiff and my brother in laws house late, the kids were still awake and wanting to play. I guess that means they were excited we were coming?? We play with them for a couple days and then head south.
Day -1
Crossing the border. You pull into a lane. Options to remain in the USA have been removed. It’s stressful. The border guards want to look in the van. Koda the dog discourages a through search. We get our Formas de Migracion. Everyone is smiling. Kate is sick, but she drives us through to San Felipe because she is better at talking to the policia. After San Filipe there isn’t much, so I drive, stressed out until the unmarked dirt turn towards the coast. 10 miles to paradise. The rutted road delivers us.
“This is the most beautiful place in the world. There are many such places.”
-EA
Day 1.
There are no waves. I’ve seen bigger waves in my toilet.
Day 2.
Today I surf. It’s as small as it looks.
Day 3.
I don’t remember if I surfed.
In the afternoon we discuss the future. It excites me and scares me. We are almost 40. It is approaching time to make the most of our dwindling time. I am glad I have found the person I have to pursue life with.
Day 4.
Awakening in the night I hear the change in the tone of the ocean. Today will be bigger. I go back to sleep, a little happier. I awake early, as the sun begins to paint the wisps of cloud above the mountains. I know there are waves, but I want to savor the prospect a bit before I paddle out. I read. I drink some tea. Then I suit up and paddle to the main peak. Already there are others there, and there is no rhythm in the line up. Becoming frustrated, I paddle north, to another little point. It’s good. One other paddles over, and we fall into a pattern of conversation between sets. He is better than I am and shows me where to sit. The wave has a different character than the main peak, shifty and hollow. It’s short but punchy. My favorite type of wave. With just the two of us, we surf till we are content. What a unique little wedge. My new friend says it’s the best he has seen in 20 years of coming to this spot. I wonder if it has to do with the new sediment introduced this fall by the hurricane. Either way, mission accomplished. The dog continues his apathetic hole digging. At one point he chases a small rodent. We all take a nap.
Day 5-10
It’s on now. Waves are good. This swell was totally unexpected, but I am going to take full advantage of it. The wind howls offshore, making the wave hollow, but also very difficult to get into. It’s like paddling into a sandblaster. I surf a lot, mostly on the long pitching rights, but also on the lefts. You can get briefly covered up on the lefts before being catapulted into the rocky bottom.
I surf, we eat, we watch a show. I average about a book a day. Beer is in short supply and must be rationed. The dog digs holes and chases tourists. Occasionally I talk to another person. Everyone down here is fairly feral; we are the weekend warriors in this part of Mexico. The sun requires that we watch it dip below the horizon nightly. It performs unselfconscious, confident that it will top the performance tomorrow.
A bike packer comes by. He is riding the Baja Divide trail, down and then back. Says he will be finished around May, living off his bicycle until then. I admire and envy his single minded dedication to the pursuit of the useless. I give him one of my last remaining beers, but not one of the good ones.
The wind abates and the surf gets clean. Surfing becomes imperative. I’m falling back into phase with this part of the ocean. I remember the funny little sections of the wave, and am able to commit better to the variances that can be felt in the wall of water.
The swell builds and it begins to rain. We pack up and head to the hot springs. Then the long drive home. While this is likely our last land bound trip to Baja for many years I know I will continue to visit daily, since Baja is a state of mind and a destination of the heart.
