beach bliss in baja
Dates: January 11, 2023 - January 25, 2023
Distance: 126 mi / 203 km
Route: East Cape > Los Barilles > El Triunfo > Todos Santos > East Cape
“Why don’t we try not airing down the tires this time?” If you’re thinking this seems like the kind of thing someone would say right before driving out onto a beach and getting stuck in the sand, then you and I are on the same page. But even so, we decided to give it a try.
Airing down your tires to increase their surface area, and thus improving their traction, is a tried and true method to prevent getting stuck in sand. But sometimes, out of mere laziness, we just don’t feel like doing it. It doesn’t take long, and it’s not difficult to do–it’s just one of those things that we’d rather not do if we don’t have to.
Turning off of the washboard road, we found ourselves in a familiar open patch of hard-packed sand, the parking lot of our now-favorite beach in Baja. Mike gently stepped on the gas, smoothly accelerating towards the soft sand. Keeping to the established path frequented by other vehicles, we climbed onto the beach with ease and continued with steady momentum and, thankfully, sufficient traction in the softer sand to a spot where we had camped just a few nights before.
And now that we were back, we couldn’t help but wonder why we ever left.
beach bliss part I
From the moment we arrived on this beach in the East Cape for the first time, we were hooked. With no one else around, we had the entire beach to ourselves. After swapping our clothes out for our swimsuits and applying sunscreen onto our pasty bodies, we stepped out of our front door directly onto the beach and walked down the sloped bank of sand until our toes met the ocean.
The water was the perfect kind of chilly–enough to make you a little hesitant to dip into it, but once you do, it’s like a drink of ice cold water on a hot day–absolutely refreshing. It felt like the ocean had wrapped her arms around us, embracing us in an all-encompassing hug that we never wanted to let go of. It was literally perfect. Laughing and amazed by how ridiculously cool our life is, we bobbed along with the waves unable to wipe the smiles from our faces.
We didn’t have the entire beach to ourselves all the time, but every day was wonderful regardless. We happily shared the beach with others who came out for the day or to camp a few nights with their families. Parents played soccer in the sand with their kids using sticks in the ground for goal posts, couples walked hand and hand down the shoreline, surfers sat patiently out on the water waiting to catch their perfect wave, and on the windier days, even the kite surfers came out to play. This place we had happened upon was simply a happy place for all to enjoy.
ringing in the new year
New Year's Eve was no exception for sharing this beautiful space and experiencing collective good times. Having convinced our friends to join us for a few nights, we bid 2022 farewell and rang in the New Year with a delicious lunch of fish tacos, cervezas and Topo Chicos from a nearby restaurant. With our modest celebrations already out of the way, we called it an early night, unlike the folks attending the raging party going on way down the beach.
We spent many nights in Baja camped next to our friends @tsavo_touring
Years ago, before meeting me, Mike had celebrated one of the most memorable New Year’s Days of his life in the state of Washington. After getting a good night’s sleep, he awoke well before the sunrise, hiked a couple of miles out to a lookout point over the Pacific Ocean and patiently waited for the sun to rise and light up the view before him. It was simple, peaceful, and entirely rejuvenating.
On the other hand, both of us have experienced our fair share of late night New Year's Eves followed by groggy-eyed mornings. And for some mysterious reason, it’s much harder to appreciate the new day and start of a fresh new year when your head is in the process of splitting itself in two from the inside. Don’t get me wrong–we usually had a lot of fun during these raucous nights, but lately, we’ve been craving more mornings like the one Mike experienced in Washington many moons ago, something just a little more refreshing and a tad less… well, miserable. It was in this spirit that we began this new year. We rose before the sun, brewed our morning coffee and tea, sat out on the beach spotting whales breaching in the water as the sky lit up before us… and all of this was set to a faint backdrop of music from the party in the distance still going in full swing. I guess those people aren’t quite ready to trade in their late nights for peaceful mornings, and that’s perfectly ok.
Clad in my favorite color for sunrise tea.
Aside from the rager down the beach, this was actually how we started all of our mornings here–in perfect peace, enjoying the quiet and surrounding natural beauty. Usually after breakfast, I’d take time to meditate and do some gentle stretching and breathwork, while Mike and Granger would head off on a run or long walk. Then we’d spend our day reading, laying out in the sun, napping (something I did a lot of), swimming and paddleboarding, hanging out with friends when they were around, and so on. You get the idea–it was pretty great.
The days we spent on this little slice of beach were perfect, and each time we decided to leave and check out somewhere new, we did so somewhat begrudgingly. Change and movement are really the only constants in this lifestyle though, and at some point, we always have to leave in order to arrive somewhere new.
In need of water, groceries, and somewhere to dump our trash, we left our special place for the first time, hopeful that we would be back again.
beach bliss part II
In exploring the rest of the East Cape and traversing around the southern tip of Baja, we unsurprisingly found several more beautiful beaches and areas to camp. Baja has no shortage of these things, and we were glad to see more of what it had to offer. But our minds kept wandering back to the beach that had stolen our hearts, and soon enough, we followed in their tracks, finding ourselves back on our favorite patch of sand.
We ran into a tour group on dirt bikes. One of the riders had crashed and gotten scratched up pretty badly by a barbed wire fence. Mike rode his bike back to the tour group’s office while another passerby took the man to the hospital.
Camped a night with a few Instagram friends. I think we can call them IRL (in real life) friends now. Follow their travels: @ouroverlandlife, @mali.mish, @tsavo_touring
The feelings of overwhelming gratitude and joy came rushing back as Mike ran towards the water, jumped and crashed into the waves laughing. I followed him in what I hoped was a much more graceful entrance, and there we lingered, floating on our backs, giving ourselves over to the waves, and feeling entirely absorbed in the moment.
Our friends Andrew, Courtney and their five year-old son, Jon, returned to camp with us. We invited Jon to join us on the paddleboards, thinking he would enjoy the experience. Excited and appreciative of the invitation (he’s a very polite kid), his parents got him ready in his swim gear. Covered in navy blues and bright oranges, he donned his swim shorts and shirt, a hat, some cool shades, and his adorably small life vest. All sun-screened up, he was ready to go.
Mike asked him which of us he wanted to ride with, and without hesitation, he said “Dani, because we just understand each other.” I couldn’t agree more.
After inflating the paddle boards, Mike started carrying them towards the water, with Jon, his mom, and I in tow. I couldn’t help but notice that Jon got really quiet. I asked him some questions and he would only respond with a head shake. Mike dropped the boards at the edge of the water. I tried to help ease Jon’s nerves and let him know that it was ok to feel nervous, but at some point, he came to the conclusion that this particular activity was not for him today, and without a word, he turned around and headed back towards his family’s rig.
It can take a lot of courage to acknowledge when you’ve gotten yourself in over your head. Jon knows that he has a strong preference for calm waters, and so he removed himself from a situation that would put him in the throes of rougher seas than he was prepared to handle. I’d call that awfully decisive self-awareness for a five year-old.
Bummed to leave Jon behind, Mike and I waded into the water. Getting on the boards with the waves crashing was the trickiest part. We could understand how that part seemed scary to Jon, but we managed ok and headed for deeper and calmer water.
Not wanting to push my energy envelope, something I have to constantly think about and manage proactively, we connected my board to Mike’s using the ankle strap leash. Mike graciously did all the paddling while I laid happily on my board, soaking up the sunshine and occasionally waving to Jon and Courtney back on the shore.
witnessing the circle of life
The next day our friends moved on to explore new campsites while we settled back into the solitude of being on this beach alone.
Whale watching from the shore has been nearly a constant activity since we arrived in the southern part of Baja. Anytime we would pay attention to the horizon, we’d undoubtedly see poofs from blowholes and silhouetted bodies jumping forth from the water. On this particular and auspicious day, I spotted a couple of whales playing relatively closer to us than usual. Mike sprung into action to get the drone in the air and directed it out towards the splashing activity underway.
Once the drone was in position, I transferred my gaze from the whales in the distance to the whales on the screen, and my jaw dropped. Gaping and gawking, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Here I saw up close a mama whale gliding steadily along as her baby playfully nuzzled her and splashed about. I couldn’t believe what we were witnessing. Mike sat quietly, focused on operating the drone while I blabbered on, “oh my goodness, oh my goodness! What in the world! Ahh! This is so cool!”
An incredible rush and absolute high–this was a moment that we will not soon forget.
Later that day, a few more campers showed up and dotted the beach on both sides of us. I sat outside recalling the wonderful events of the day as the cloudless sky began to fade into hues of pinks and purples. At this quiet moment, sitting alone outside while Mike was busy with something inside the camper, I received a text from my dad letting my siblings and I know that my uncle had just passed away.
My uncle Jeff had been battling stage four liver cancer for the past year. The knowledge of his terminal illness had cast an ominous shadow over our family for several months now–we knew that this news was coming at some point, we just didn’t know when. Mike and I are grateful that we had a chance to see him in Texas before heading to Baja. It was then that Mike met him for the first time, introduced him to avocado toast (which Jeff loved) and got to hear his impossibly loud and boisterous laugh that he is so famous for in our family.
So as I sat on the beach, taking in this news, thinking of my aunt and cousin, and a few tears streaming down my face, I realized I was watching the sun set on Jeff’s life. It was terribly sad, yet the naturalness of it struck me. The sun will set on all of our lives at some point, but only to rise again and shine light upon new life–like the playful baby whale we saw earlier that day. Life is temporary, and though letting go of our loved ones is one of the hardest things we’ll ever experience, especially when they leave us too soon–it’s a heartbreaking inevitability. And in it, there is beauty. Where there is grief, there is love. And where there is loss, there was something worth having.
In Texas visiting my uncle and his family before heading into Baja.
neighbors & muscle relaxers
The following day, our camp neighbors began to multiply and soon the beach was the busiest we had ever seen it. To one side of us, a retired man traveling solo parked and leveled up his cool adventure rig, and to our other side, a couple of very young puppies, freshly adopted, were flopping around in the sand while their humans set up their camp. We eventually learned that the surf on the pacific coast of Baja was a bit too extreme at the moment, and pushed many of the surfers out elsewhere, resulting in all of our new neighbors and plenty of surfers on the water to watch for entertainment.
Our new neighbors were welcomed with a spectacular sunset that evening. Mike cracked a Pacifico and we kicked back in our chairs to enjoy the show. Unable to let the sunset pass without taking a few photos, I hopped up to grab my camera. Granger was lying down next to Mike, her little nose completely covered in sand, and the light was just perfect–I crouched down, snapped the photo, began to stand back up and–ouch. There went my back. Where it went exactly, I do not know. All I know is that it went out and wasn’t coming back anytime real soon.
I would add some sort of “welcome to your thirties” joke here, but the truth is, my back has been taking regular hiatuses on me since my early twenties. Apparently it doesn’t want to wait until retirement to live its life to the fullest. It wants to get out now, as often as it can and see the world while it's still young… and can I blame it? That’s how I choose to live my life too. And you know what they say… like human, like back.
The look I got from Mike after I realized that I threw out my back, yet I continued to take photos instead of sitting down, because “the light was just so good.”
Note: If you’ve been following this blog up until this point and are tired of reading about my illnesses and injuries, then believe me, I understand. I am actually pretty tired of writing about them myself, but here we are.
So now, even less mobile than usual, every movement I made was risky. Any wrong adjustment or slight move of the leg could send an array of figurative daggers throughout my lower back. It’s truly amazing how integral the back is in every. single. movement. we. make. To walk when I needed to, Mike would support me as I took tiny, strained steps while standing in a funky posture. Crawling into bed in the camper was the most daunting of tasks, hardly achievable without some involuntary whimpers, semi-screams and tears.
It became evident that a bed that I could fall into, rather than one I have to climb into, and a readily available bathroom versus the non-existent one in our camper, would both serve me much better at this point in time. We booked a nearby Airbnb where I did nothing but rest with the help of muscle relaxers for five days. Towards the end of our stay, I was hobbling around much better than before, and we felt I was ready to move back into the camper… but where would we go?
You guessed it–back to our little paradise.
Parked outside of our little off-grid casita airbnb.
View from the bed, where I spent all of my time.
Beach bliss part III
We simply couldn’t leave things the way they were–us hurrying away in a rush with our tails tucked between our legs (mostly because that position helped with the back pain) and in search of finer amenities than our beloved beach couldn’t offer us… It wasn’t her fault–we knew that, and we had to make sure she did too.
And so, we returned to the beach for a third and final time. The days we spent there passed as you might expect–in perfect bliss–and on our last morning there, we awoke to a surprise.
Under the cloak of darkness, a mama sea turtle had scurried up the bank from the water and laid dozens of tiny, individual reminders of the ever-spinning circle of life thirty feet from our door, leaving only her tracks in the sand as evidence of her visit.
We notified the local sea turtle conservancy who came out and based on the temperature outside, determined it would be safest for the turtle eggs to remain underground, as opposed to digging them up and transporting them to the nursery. There was a language barrier between us and the man from the conservancy, but from what we gathered, he said it was too cold to dig up the eggs. He also estimated that there were 45-160 baby Olive Ridley sea turtles beneath the sand that would likely hatch in about two months.
Mike helped him find sticks on the ground to create a makeshift fencing around the nest to protect it from vehicle tires, human footsteps, and ATVs that ride along the beach.
Note: When camping on the beach, it’s critically important to do so responsibly in order to prevent harming the animal and plant-life in the area. In Baja, the beaches are nesting grounds for sea turtles. A few tips: (1) respect posted signs permitting or prohibiting beach camping, (2) avoid driving in really soft sand, (3) camp as far from the water as you can, preferably on harder packed sand, (4) keep an eye out for turtle nests (marked and unmarked), (5) notify local sea turtle conservatories if you find an unmarked nest, (6) turtle species and environmental conditions can affect the timing of nesting seasons, so always be on the lookout.
We took this yet another wonderful life-affirming experience as a generous parting gift and a clear sign that our beloved beach held no grudges against us for briefly abandoning her for an airbnb. With our hearts full of immense gratitude, and our tires full of air (because we now knew that airing them down on this particular stretch of beach wasn’t entirely necessary), we drove down the beach for the last time before turning onto the washboard dirt road that would lead us back to San Jose del Cabo.
