On Wednesday, we ventured into Cabo San Lucas to meet with folks from Wide Open Baja, one of the leaders in off road racing on the Baja Peninsula. We were there to get some insights and learn more about the sport. Translation: We were going to race a bit on their tracks just north of Cabo.
I'm not much of a racing enthusiast, much less a car enthusiast. For the past 26 years, I have driven and owned one and only one car: a 1964 Plymouth Valiant. Now, that's nothing to sneeze at. It has a V-8 engine and a manual transmission (three on the tree in common language). Plus, I drive that car on the Los Angeles freeway system with little harm to myself or others. So, I can say that I am driver with an understanding of the road and its demands.
And I must admit that I'm a little uncomfortable when it comes to off road racing in general and its effect on the environment. As most of friends and colleagues know, I've been a native plant advocate and gardening enthusiast for about ten years. When I told my native plant colleagues of my upcoming adventure, they cringed. How I love them.
I could only imagine running over Bambi or - Goddess forbid - shredding some native cacti that provides habitat. Oh, the eco-horrors visited upon me in my imagination. But my anxiety was momentary. Of course, we did see a four-footed deer-like something (I'm better at plant ID) jump across the track at during one of our final laps.
I know that outdoor enthusiasts are increasingly becoming environmental advocates. Bird hunters and others, for example, are advocating for protection of wildlands, recognizing that the loss of habitat translates into loss of species. I believe that outdoor racers recognize the benefits of habitat and the need for open space protection.
We arrived at Wide Open Baja's track outside of Cabo to to try their five-mile course. The course is long enough to train you in the art of off-road racing without loss of limb or sanity. Or so I thought.
With the appropriate pre-race education and advice, we suited up. And by suiting up, I mean that we found the right helmut. Strapped in and safely secured, we took off, two to a car. I opted to be the passenger rather than the driver and was glad of my decision. As exhilarating as it was, I know my limits and I was not ready to handle an off road vehicle despite my rush-hour credentials.
I rode first with my colleague Jim and later, Chris (pictured above). Chris was the more aggresive of the two and on several occasions I found myself shouting expletives through the turns and over one or two hills or jumps. In retaliation, I regaled him with several show tunes, including "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang." I nearly derailed his concentration when I warbled a selection from "A Chorus Line." Clearly, I have a gift.
After an adrenaline-filled four laps, we ended our "race" and our introduction to off road racing. It was the right number of laps of me, giving me enough insight without too must dust in my eyes, lungs and hair. I emerged with body intact and nerves slightly shot.
Saturday was an entirely different experience that had its own unnerving moments.
My colleagues and I ventured to Isla (Island) Espiritu Santo and surrounding waters for a day of exploration and understanding. Our most excellent companions for the day - Carlos, Nathalie and Jan from Baja Expeditions - served as our guides on land and sea. Take a look at their site; they've been around for 30-plus years helping people discover the beauty of Baja California and its native wildlife and landscape.
We set out from the harbor in La Paz in our panga, a small fishing boat, for Espiritu Santo with our supplies: snorkels, fins and lunch - and me with my Baja plant field guide in hand. [I'm quite sure that my friends are rolling their eyes at my native plant nerdiness.] It was opened many times during our excursion to identify the plants I saw.
We planned to visit Los Islotes (islets) just off the island which are host to sea lions, birds and sea life. Before we went there, we stopped at Candelero, a cove that was typical of the island's beauty: blue waters, sun, and white sand surrounded by the island's desert ecology of cacti, including cardon, pitaya, pipe organ cactus and - believe or not - wild fig growing out of the sides of cliffs and rocks.
After an amazing swim, we hiked back into the canyon to see more of the island's flora and fauna, and get a look at the cove from a different angle. (I'm on the right in the photo above, with the big hat. I'm told it can be seen from space.)
These photos do not do the cove and its warm waters justice. Our time there and later at the Islotes had an effect on me. Suffice it to say that though you can't see my face in half these photos, know that a smile is firmly plastered on it.
We must have spent at least two hours at Candelero. I can't be sure. Time here seems to slow down and it's difficult to determine the time of day, much less the day of the week, when you don't really care about it. When you come face to face with a jaw-dropping landscape, certain higher brain functions cease to work properly. It's that simple.
We arrived at Los Islotes, marveling at the sea lions and birds, including pelicans. As a reminder that desert ecology extends to the sea, I saw one lone Cardon cactus atop one of islets. Covering the islets nearly completely in white were bird droppings, giving the scene a "winter in the Sea of Cortez" effect. It takes a bit getting used to.
I donned my snorkel and fins, along with my colleagues and hosts. This was the second time in my life that I had been snorkeling and the last time was 20 years ago. Needless to say, I was excited and mildly unnerved. In I went.
Before we dove in, Carlos gave us an introduction to the Islotes and our expected behaviors in the water. The most important rule was to keep our distance from the sea lions or sea wolves as they are called here (lobos marinos). Should we venture too close, the bulls would rush to defend their territory, potentially hurting the sea lion pups. And we could be hurt, too.
Determined to be a respectful snorkeler, I kept my distance and focused on the waters below. Although the water was murkier than usual, we saw large numbers of fish. Even Carlos noted that the numbers were higher than usual.
I thought I kept my distance, but a bull swam past me as if to ward me off. Needless to say, I did not hesitate to comply. I moved on to another area to explore and again experienced the same warning from another bull. I suppose you could call it the running of the bulls, but more like the running from the bulls. Oddly enough, I was the only one who had encounters.
To give you an idea about how close I came to a bull, look below. But if you look closely, you can see a sea lion at the bottom.
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| An underwater shot of my doughy body. They say the Sea of Cortez adds ten pounds. |
We took the panga back to La Paz, tired but content. I sat towards the back, gladly letting the water hit me. Everyone thought I was crazy to sit there, but the water felt refreshing, given the heat we felt as we neared the harbor. (La Paz was experiencing temperatures in the 90's.)
We said goodbye and I told our guides that I would be recommending a similar expedition to the alumni association of my college, Occidental College, which operates a research vessel in Southern Cailfornia. Oxy has a history of community service in the Baja Peninsula and Baja Expedition would very much align with the intellectual curiousity and environmental interests of our alumni.
These two trips, of different extremes (chasing nature, being chased by nature), reminded me how unique the Baja Peninsula is and how much must be done to protect its waters and landscape. It's hard to imagine explaining this past week to anyone, let alone myself. But I'm doing my best. And the photos don't hurt either.
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