The running of the bulls

I had two exhilarating moments of different sorts last week that tested the boundaries of my limited experience here - as if being in Baja California isn't an ongoing test of my senses and perceptions.

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.

 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.

Sponsored by [insert favorite Mexican beer here]

Perhaps I'm obsessed with signage. You may have noted in one of my earlier posts that I found some of the highway signs fairly amusing, my favorite sign being the one that said "Obey the signs!."


Or maybe I'm obsessed with symbolism. I have a fascination with the things that dot our landscape, like buildings, signs, trash - you name it, because, in some ways, they define who we are. And our landscape tells us something about us, too. When we travel to other places, we look to them to understand the people who live there.

I say this because traveling through Baja has been a unique experience. As much as I should have read more about Baja California and Baja California Sur before I left, I didn't. I'm lazy, I'll admit.

In a way, it may have been blessing. It gave me the chance to see the peninsula through the eyes of a naive Baja traveler. It certainly made me aware of the misconceptions and, certainly, biases that I brought with me.

At the very least, I knew little about the flora here. I had some ideas (desert, cacti) based on Baja native plants I had seen in Los Angeles. Before I left, my friends and colleagues at the Theodore Payne Foundation for Wild Flowers and Native Plants in Los Angeles gave me Baja California Plant Field Guide as a going away gift. I've been something of a native plant zealot for ten years, so it made sense that I would want to get to know the natives here. (By zealot, I mean that I throw seeds, not stones.)

Driving down from L.A. with a colleague gave me a chance to see the length of Baja close up. It's amazing what plants you can identify driving at speeds ranging from 40 to 70 miles per hour.

In northern areas of Baja, I saw several native plants that are familiar to me in Los Angeles: monkey flower, matilija poppy, mexican elderberry, etc. Sadly, I also saw familiar plants that have the potential to destroy the natural environment here and in California: invaders like castor bean, mustard, etc.

While parts of the northern most areas reminded me of home,  the deserts were a wholly unexpected visual experience. Jaw-dropping beautiful. I had preconceptions of Baja and one of them was that the peninsula was flat. Wrong. Completely wrong. Mountains, mesas, desert, cacti and much more. My colleague, Chris, and I cursed in exclamation every time we rounded a bend and found ourselves looking out at stunning mountains and mesas, miles of cactus and the Sea of Cortez. 

The cacti most common to Baja and the ones that can be seen in the links I included above is the Cardon. It is the ultimate symbol of "the Baja" as many people call the peninsula and the two states (Baja California and Baja California Sur) the cover it. Some are believed to be up to 200 years old and weigh up to 10 tons.

There are other cacti and plants that inhabit the deserts here, some with interesing names: chain link cholla, pipe organ cactus, old man cactus, teddy bear cholla, candelabra cactus, prickly pear cactus and more.

These and other beautiful native plants, cacti, succulents and otherwise, have come to symbolize the beauty of Baja and its uniqueness.

Of course, there are other symbols that stood out on our way south: beer signs. Perhaps the best signage to be found, outside of more commercial areas in the bigger towns and cities (think Walmart, banks, etc.) are the signs that promote various Mexican beers, including Tecate and Pacifico, among others. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that Baja California is a sponsored by Mexican beer manufacturers. Or Coca Cola.

While these human made signs have made an impression on me and my understanding of Baja, nothing can override the emotional impact of seeing Baja's desert landscape and the Sea of Cortez. In my mind this is how I see Baja now.

The Baja is more than Tijuana, more than Ensenada. It is beyond the misconceptions of border violence and the twisted paternalistic view we often take with our Mexican neighbors. It is an understanding rooted in its stunning landscape and what Baja is and can be if we protect it. 

Baja California: Sponsored by Old Man Cactus.