January 2022
Our final days in the good old U.S. of A were eventful and definitely not in the good way.
- We returned from three weeks in Alaska to a moody truck who refused to start and needed about a million touch-ups before she was ready for the other Americas. The list was endless but we chipped away at it piece by piece: install Bullet-proof motor mount, new radiator, rear stoage box/jerry can mount, grease birfields, change ALL fluids, etc.
- I’d found an amazing deal on a new camera lens while we visited Alaska, however, it didn’t arrive before we left, so my mom did her best to overnight it to us. What followed was my least favorite episode of “Living a Transient Lifestyle is Actually Kind of a Pain in the Ass” First, the package arrived two days later than had been estimated to us which meant putting off Mexico by 48 hours (normally not a huge deal, but our friends were waiting for us in San Felipe) When we arrive at the UPS store the extremely unhelpful mail-chick tells us that, even though I had called ahead to confirm I could pay the fee and send a package to them, this was a USPS package and even if it had arrived they would have just sent it right back to Alaska. Austin, perhaps sensing the petty retort I was grappling to bite back, steps in and works his charm. “It will be here today and we’re so sorry could you please help us out, it can’t be sent all the way back to Alaska, we’re leaving the country for a year” With exaggerated reluctance she agrees to take the package so long as we picked it up today and never did it again. One look at my face and Austin shuffles me out before I can open my mouth. Look, I know you catch more flies with honey, but in this moment all I wanted was a fly swatter. 5 hours later, and not 20 minutes after the “Your package has arrived” notification, we were back at UPS being told that the USPS driver had just made his delivery, but our package didn’t seem to be here. Back in the car, I refresh the tracking to find- “Addressee Unknown, return to sender”
- It’s our last night sleeping on U.S. soil, we’re stealth camping in Mission beach, and I wake to a rattling sound. Austin, instantly awake, springs to action, slamming the door open. The would-be jerry can thief sprints off to his waiting getaway car, with nothing but our wing-nut to show for his night of mischief.
I can’t help but feel like this was the U.S.’s way of letting the door hit me on the way out, so it was a very un-bitter goodbye as we crossed into Mexico at last. Since our arrival had been delayed, we needed to play a bit of catch up with our friends, who were now 220 miles south in San Felipe, but not without first stopping at El Tamale in Tecate. These tamales are far and away the best I’ve ever had in Mexico, in fact, they were the primary reason we crossed at the Tecate border rather than Mexicali.
At first glance, El Tamale appears to be a humble little yellow shack set on a trailer, but just one bite and I was hooked, the pollo con salsa verde is my new kryptonite. We ordered way too many tamales and hit the road, radio cranked to a Spanish station, windows down, and smiles on our faces. Nothing quite beats the rush of starting a new adventure.
The rest of the week was exactly what the stress doctor ordered. One deserted beach after another, we made our way south along the liquid spine of the Cortez. A succession of campfires and starry nights carried us back into the rhythm of Baja, our Spanish improving with every interaction, and our hunger for adventure growing with each new point on the map.
5 days into our Baja bliss and it was time to find a shower, preferably before we gave all Americans a reputation for being unreasonably dirty vagrants. Sunday morning we began packing up our beach camp, carefully sweeping out the mountains of sand somehow accumulated in every corner of Mako, and pulled the roof latches down. Though we were driving further than we had all week, I never had a chance to feel bored.
We blew Past 20 ft tall green stalks that curled high into the air, the tops bursting with yellow color, looking as though they’d been painted there by Dr. Seuss himself. We Slowed to pass brown and white cattle, grazing dangerously close to the highway, some sporting actual cow bells around their necks and stared in confusion at the “gas station” that was actually just a couple of guys selling gas from plastic bottles out of the back of a beat up old Toyota. Needless to say we waited for Bahia de Los Angeles to fill up.
Rolling into our destination, Bahia de Los Angeles, I could tell immediately this was my kind of town. There were massive signs everywhere emblazoned with cartoonish whale shark drawing’s each boasting the “best” tour. The town was clean and simply bursting with personality, colorful homes and shops rounding every corner. Our little group pulled into campo Archelon and from that moment on I spent the night picturing the day we’d return here and spend a week with our kids, boring them with the very same stories you’re currently reading.
The lobby for the camp was set up as part of Siete Filos Cafe, they sold t-shirts, wine sourced in Valle de Guadalupe, a locally made Tequila, as well as coffee and baked goods. In the corner was a small collection of books for campers to borrow and exchange, the walls adorned with historic photos, and decor, for only $12 a night, it could not have been more perfect.
Scratch that, there was one thing that could have been more perfect.. I decided to put off my shower till morning, wanting to head out as perfectly squeaky clean as possible, everyone else returned from there showers raving about the hot water and good pressure so, naturally, I woke up the next morning with high expectations. My shower was cold. Like freezing, icicles in my hair cold, like polar bear baptism in the arctic cold, I shivered through ten minutes of speed conditioning, skipped the shave (sorry Austin) and shut the water off with the air of one closing a portal to hell.
Dressed and finally warm again , Austin and I made our way over to the cafe, ordered a couple of Mochas and a blueberry muffin, then sat down to map out the next leg of our journey. Between foamy sips of our coffee, we drew out the Baja Divide trail from here to Guererro Negro and noted distances between potential camping spots.
3 days. 200 miles. No pavement. The Baja Divide trail was everything I imagined Baja Overlanding to be, with cactus corridors, amazing people, and a few beaches for good measure.
Day 1- We meet Miguel, a local fisherman, in Bahia De Animas. He gifts us a bundle of firewood, and a flounder filet. He refuses to accept money for it, instead taking a beer and lamenting our lack of smokes (someday we’ll bring him some!)
Day 2- We explore the tide pools of San Rafael and camp on the stunning bluffs above them.
Day 3- We visit Mision Santa Gertrudis La Magna. (1751-1822)
My interest in Guerrero Negro stemmed entirely in Laguna Ojo de Liebre, one of only three existing mating/birthing grounds for Gray whales. There was something poetic about seeing gray whales in particular, like us, they had journeyed from Alaska to enjoy the warmer waters of Baja. Touch a whale- this would be my one and only objective.
We found a cheap campground just outside of town that also offered whale watching for $50/person so we neatly booked everything in one place. We would come to regret this. The campground itself was just a series of parking spots in the desert and proximity to the hwy assured there was never a quiet moment. The wifi only worked in the restaurant, and because it had such great reviews, why not order a few tacos and get some work done? Big mistake. One of the worst meals since we’ve been in Mexico and priced for tourists, Taco Bell would have been preferable.
We woke at 7 a.m. the next day for our whale tour orientation, there were about 15 other people milling around the hall, so I was relieved when they split us up among two boats. We all packed ourselves into the rickety tour bus and settled in while the bus driver hopped out and locked it shut from the outside, evidently the closing mechanism had long since broken. The whale tour narrator kept up a constant stream of whale facts and local history as we drove to the tiny port, she explained the odd habit of whale three ways and repeatedly referred to male whale genitalia as “pink-Floyd”. Passing the salt mine, we learned that Guerrero Negro’s was the biggest in the world, churning out nearly 7 million tons of salt each year, a heaping mountain of salt stood in evidence as we turned right and into the port.
Boarding the boat, Austin pointed out the unorthodox gas-tank set up with a small smirk, it took me a moment but I realized why it looked so familiar: when I worked as a line cook, I had filled fryers with canola oil from exactly the same style jug. They clearly weren’t letting a perfectly good container go to waste, you’ve got to admire the ingenuity.
15 minutes in and we spotted our first whale, the captain expertly navigated over to it, cutting the engine and floating in the vicinity. The whale didn’t need any more encouragement than that, it approached the boat without hesitation and rubbed against the hull. From then on there were always whales swarming us, two hours of them feeding off our reactions, spyhopping to get a better look into the boat, spraying water at us as we reached out to touch their barnacle encrusted skin. When our time was up the captain tried to back away but the whales would catch up and dive under the boat, forcing him to cut the engine for their safety, 30 minutes of this and he called the second boat over to distract them long enough for us to get away.
Going into this experience I had worried that it would be a chasing-down-poor-whales-just-trying-to-mind-their-own-business type of situation so it was a relief to witness the way they seemed as a curious about us as we were about them.
When we returned to port they provided lunch, a stale sandwich with one slice of ham that we opted to skip in favor of another round of Birria in town. As we watched the tourists around us devour every last tasteless scrap, I suddenly understood how last night’s restaurant could have had such good reviews, and made a mental note to disregard their opinions from now on. The old adage- “eat what the locals do” is no joke.