I struggled for a while on the decision. I went home, half way done with the trip because of the weather. I had some mishaps from part one and my near 400-mile paddle down the Baja Peninsula. But I was driven.
I struggled, but somehow felt it was the right thing to do. I left my board in Baja at a friend’s house and flew home. I went and worked for a month and a half, and came back down in March to hopefully finish the trip while also hoping the winds had subsided.
I got back onto the water and picked up exactly where I had left off. The rhythm fell into play, and the music rang the same tune as the playlist I had been paddling to from part one. I had five days of unreal weather, not a breathe of wind, and still the same puzzled looks and questionable faces from the locals and gringos alike. The dolphins still came out to play and the points reminded me of each new endeavor and focus that was needed to remain vigilant for what was up ahead.
I was entering an area that I had been looking forward to the entire trip. A beautiful and large bay that many paddlers avoid who venture down the coast, but one laden with islands, calm water and beaches so beautiful that Mexico uses them as post cards for tourism. I made it into the bay and arrived at one of the beaches and was once again not just riddled with wind, but depression as well. I had looked foreword to getting here, nearly 500 miles into the trip, and I wanted to not just go home, but also drink.
I am in recovery from an addiction to alcohol, and the conceptualization of this trip was formed from a drunken night on the computer day dreaming of this bay. But for some reason, my sobriety was jeopardized and knew I wasn’t in the headspace to continue. So once again, I retreated home with my tail between my legs.
I struggled the first time coming home from the trip, but this decision was easier. If I drank again, I would die. Plain and simple. So I came home for the summer and waited until the fall season to once again pick up exactly where I left off.
When I dreamed of this trip, I pictured white sand beaches, epic camping photos, roosterfish and other game fish on the fly rod, and surreal tranquility without a soul in sight. I also thought it was going to take me two months and be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. And in many ways, it was and still is.
It turned out to be all of these, but with a classic Mexican twist that I didn’t foresee coming. Like a standard trip down, the risk is always present, but the reward keeps driving you forward, I too was daydreaming of getting to Cabo San Lucas, but the monumental hurdles I had to jump over were abound on nearly a daily basis.
Part one taught me about wind, and the risks associated with the powerful northern whips that can threaten every once of life. If fisherman don’t go out in their pangas during these winds, what made me think I could paddle in them? Part two taught me that my focus is paramount for the success of the trip, and that if the mentally had the slightest thing off about it, the success of the trip would plummet. And finally, with part three, I used the combination of knowledge, as well as the encouragement of loved ones and fellow advocates to help power me down the coast and into a new playlist.
Part one was the remote, demanding section of the trip where solitude reigned supreme. Part three turned out to be the social hour. It had long sections of remote terrain as well, but the population of the peninsula skyrocketed towards the end, and that ended up being a huge part to the success of my solo paddle.
The winds still were abound, but so too were the palapas and white sanded beaches. The water was as clear as ever and luckily so too was my conscious to keep paddling and driving me forward. The mountains were bigger then ever with cliffs lining the sea and dominating the landscape, but so too was the hope that I could be successful paddling this coast and raising the awareness I know I can for the critically endangered Vaquita porpoise.
I set up my tent each night on beaches from the super remote to the civilized, all the while waking before dawn to hear the coyotes howl and the shooting stars streak across the sky. My muscles ached with the long days on the water without a breath of wind while also boredom took over on the beaches while I pumped seawater with my desalinator while the sand stung my skin getting blown down the beaches for days on end because of the strong winds.
New threats became ever present, but also new rewards. People frolicked the beaches hearing rumors of the paddleboard man coming down the coast offering beers, lodging, food, and encouragement. While the local wildlife, which often praised my arrival as well. Everything from mobula rays leaping out of the water, dolphins porpoising alongside me down the coast, stick bugs and geckos coming into camp to say hello, and the ever present osprey calling out at my arrival. But my arrival wasn’t always welcome.
As I made it further south, the influence of the Pacific Ocean started to present itself. Swells started coming in from multiple directions. Spinning me and my board into a whirlpool of frustration and focus. I had to pay attention to my balance as the wind swell from the north and the south swell from the Pacific were threatening each paddle with a capsize. When I focus on my balance, I stare at the nose of my board.
All was going fine and miles were still ticking away, but the sea sickened state of the water caused my focus to narrow sadly to the tip of my board and the breaks were the only time I was able to take in the surroundings. While staring at the nose of my board, a gigantic school of jacks swam below me in about 20 feet of water. A school of well over 100 fish strong captivated my imagination and praised my passion for conservation measures on this particular stretch of coast. As I smiled at their site, my periphery caught something else. And my joy of the situation quickly switched to fear for my life.
At first I thought it was just another rock. Many times along the 1,000-mile coast, I had caught something out of the corner of my eye and it turned out to be a rock that was submerged. But this rock was not just moving, but at predatory speed. The large tail movement was what caught my eye first than the focus shifted to its teeth. With all of this happening in a matter of just seconds, the 4-6 foot bull shark came at the side of my board at full speed, and right when I was bracing for impact, it turned away and darted back to the blue.
The surface of the water was churned and I was still riding the bucking bronco that was the combination of southern Pacific swells and wind swell from the north. There was no beach to land on, and no one around to scream for help. I had to regain my focus and keep paddling. I scanned around frantically still looking for the shark and couldn’t find any sign of it. Until I turned a little further to look over my shoulder and saw it riding in the wake of my board a good six inched from the tail. I turned forward and remained my focus, as I didn’t know what to do. I just kept paddling, trying not to capsize.
I was a mere 60 miles from the end, and that was my first and only real shark encounter. I saw four in total, two were that day, but out of a thousand miles of coastline, I only saw four sharks.
Going from due south to slowly paddling west, I knew the end was near. The cliffs, white sand beaches, remoteness, and abundance of wildlife shifted to high-rise hotels, million dollar homes, and cruise ships. People zipping by on jet skis and tours being held in pangas with their boat wakes creating a third swell for me to paddle through. The arch at Lands End in Cabo San Lucas presented itself while my GPS watch pinged at 1,000 miles. I was emotional in the morning knowing I was going to make t to the end, but upon my arrival, the feeling was of a gutless emptiness that I have struggled to comprehend and describe even today.
I threw my hands to the sky and enjoyed the moment while tour boats and kayakers watched in oblivion of not knowing what I had just did. Even sitting in the hotel that night, being done with my board packed and the gear stowed, watching television and eating tacos and street food, the feeling was of near sadness as I knew I wasn’t going to paddle the next day.
This trip was a mixed emotion roller coaster. With many loops, lots of high points coupled with just as many drops. But like all roller coasters, the ride does to come to an end. The feeling of adrenaline, the feeling of unknown is what I am choosing to stay with me when I close my eyes and remember the trip. The countless people who lent a hand to help me, to the incredible wildlife that presented themselves from the dramatic like the shark to the peaceful like the sea turtles.
But ultimately I’m grateful. Grateful that my board held up despite the constant battering I gave it. Grateful my gear held up despite soaking it and dropping it down on the shore. Grateful my body held up, as not a single injury, aside from my pride was jeopardized. And beyond grateful, that Mother Nature granted me safety, as there were countless times she could have swatted me down and starved me on a beach to die. But she allowed me to view her majesty, her beauty, and I hope to inspire anyone anywhere that with some respect and understanding of how ecosystems work, places like the Baja Peninsula can remain an untouched paradise for anyone else who wishes to admire her shores.
Stats from the trip:
I burned 255,901 calories, I paddled exactly 1,004.50 miles, the trip in total took 123 days, I camped under the stars for 79 nights, I paddled for 70 days, took 53 zero days, stayed for 29 nights in houses, caught 21 fish, pumped 18 liters of fresh water from my sea water pump, got offered 17 beers, fished 16 of those days, took 15 showers, averaged 14.35 miles a day, dealt with 14 separate El Norte wind events, paid for 11 campsites, stayed 7 nights in hotels, got rained on 4 times, had 4 shark encounters, had 3 campfires, paddled through 2 time zones, 2 states, experienced 1 hurricane, and had 1 helluva trip
I struggled for a while on the decision. I went home, half way done with the trip because of the weather. I had some mishaps from part one and my near 400-mile paddle down the Baja Peninsula. But I was driven.
I struggled, but somehow felt it was the right thing to do. I left my board in Baja at a friend’s house and flew home. I went and worked for a month and a half, and came back down in March to hopefully finish the trip while also hoping the winds had subsided.
I got back onto the water and picked up exactly where I had left off. The rhythm fell into play, and the music rang the same tune as the playlist I had been paddling to from part one. I had five days of unreal weather, not a breathe of wind, and still the same puzzled looks and questionable faces from the locals and gringos alike. The dolphins still came out to play and the points reminded me of each new endeavor and focus that was needed to remain vigilant for what was up ahead.
I was entering an area that I had been looking forward to the entire trip. A beautiful and large bay that many paddlers avoid who venture down the coast, but one laden with islands, calm water and beaches so beautiful that Mexico uses them as post cards for tourism. I made it into the bay and arrived at one of the beaches and was once again not just riddled with wind, but depression as well. I had looked foreword to getting here, nearly 500 miles into the trip, and I wanted to not just go home, but also drink.
I am in recovery from an addiction to alcohol, and the conceptualization of this trip was formed from a drunken night on the computer day dreaming of this bay. But for some reason, my sobriety was jeopardized and knew I wasn’t in the headspace to continue. So once again, I retreated home with my tail between my legs.
I struggled the first time coming home from the trip, but this decision was easier. If I drank again, I would die. Plain and simple. So I came home for the summer and waited until the fall season to once again pick up exactly where I left off.
When I dreamed of this trip, I pictured white sand beaches, epic camping photos, roosterfish and other game fish on the fly rod, and surreal tranquility without a soul in sight. I also thought it was going to take me two months and be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. And in many ways, it was and still is.
It turned out to be all of these, but with a classic Mexican twist that I didn’t foresee coming. Like a standard trip down, the risk is always present, but the reward keeps driving you forward, I too was daydreaming of getting to Cabo San Lucas, but the monumental hurdles I had to jump over were abound on nearly a daily basis.
Part one taught me about wind, and the risks associated with the powerful northern whips that can threaten every once of life. If fisherman don’t go out in their pangas during these winds, what made me think I could paddle in them? Part two taught me that my focus is paramount for the success of the trip, and that if the mentally had the slightest thing off about it, the success of the trip would plummet. And finally, with part three, I used the combination of knowledge, as well as the encouragement of loved ones and fellow advocates to help power me down the coast and into a new playlist.
Part one was the remote, demanding section of the trip where solitude reigned supreme. Part three turned out to be the social hour. It had long sections of remote terrain as well, but the population of the peninsula skyrocketed towards the end, and that ended up being a huge part to the success of my solo paddle.
The winds still were abound, but so too were the palapas and white sanded beaches. The water was as clear as ever and luckily so too was my conscious to keep paddling and driving me forward. The mountains were bigger then ever with cliffs lining the sea and dominating the landscape, but so too was the hope that I could be successful paddling this coast and raising the awareness I know I can for the critically endangered Vaquita porpoise.
I set up my tent each night on beaches from the super remote to the civilized, all the while waking before dawn to hear the coyotes howl and the shooting stars streak across the sky. My muscles ached with the long days on the water without a breath of wind while also boredom took over on the beaches while I pumped seawater with my desalinator while the sand stung my skin getting blown down the beaches for days on end because of the strong winds.
New threats became ever present, but also new rewards. People frolicked the beaches hearing rumors of the paddleboard man coming down the coast offering beers, lodging, food, and encouragement. While the local wildlife, which often praised my arrival as well. Everything from mobula rays leaping out of the water, dolphins porpoising alongside me down the coast, stick bugs and geckos coming into camp to say hello, and the ever present osprey calling out at my arrival. But my arrival wasn’t always welcome.
As I made it further south, the influence of the Pacific Ocean started to present itself. Swells started coming in from multiple directions. Spinning me and my board into a whirlpool of frustration and focus. I had to pay attention to my balance as the wind swell from the north and the south swell from the Pacific were threatening each paddle with a capsize. When I focus on my balance, I stare at the nose of my board.
All was going fine and miles were still ticking away, but the sea sickened state of the water caused my focus to narrow sadly to the tip of my board and the breaks were the only time I was able to take in the surroundings. While staring at the nose of my board, a gigantic school of jacks swam below me in about 20 feet of water. A school of well over 100 fish strong captivated my imagination and praised my passion for conservation measures on this particular stretch of coast. As I smiled at their site, my periphery caught something else. And my joy of the situation quickly switched to fear for my life.
At first I thought it was just another rock. Many times along the 1,000-mile coast, I had caught something out of the corner of my eye and it turned out to be a rock that was submerged. But this rock was not just moving, but at predatory speed. The large tail movement was what caught my eye first than the focus shifted to its teeth. With all of this happening in a matter of just seconds, the 4-6 foot bull shark came at the side of my board at full speed, and right when I was bracing for impact, it turned away and darted back to the blue.
The surface of the water was churned and I was still riding the bucking bronco that was the combination of southern Pacific swells and wind swell from the north. There was no beach to land on, and no one around to scream for help. I had to regain my focus and keep paddling. I scanned around frantically still looking for the shark and couldn’t find any sign of it. Until I turned a little further to look over my shoulder and saw it riding in the wake of my board a good six inched from the tail. I turned forward and remained my focus, as I didn’t know what to do. I just kept paddling, trying not to capsize.
I was a mere 60 miles from the end, and that was my first and only real shark encounter. I saw four in total, two were that day, but out of a thousand miles of coastline, I only saw four sharks.
Going from due south to slowly paddling west, I knew the end was near. The cliffs, white sand beaches, remoteness, and abundance of wildlife shifted to high-rise hotels, million dollar homes, and cruise ships. People zipping by on jet skis and tours being held in pangas with their boat wakes creating a third swell for me to paddle through. The arch at Lands End in Cabo San Lucas presented itself while my GPS watch pinged at 1,000 miles. I was emotional in the morning knowing I was going to make t to the end, but upon my arrival, the feeling was of a gutless emptiness that I have struggled to comprehend and describe even today.
I threw my hands to the sky and enjoyed the moment while tour boats and kayakers watched in oblivion of not knowing what I had just did. Even sitting in the hotel that night, being done with my board packed and the gear stowed, watching television and eating tacos and street food, the feeling was of near sadness as I knew I wasn’t going to paddle the next day.
This trip was a mixed emotion roller coaster. With many loops, lots of high points coupled with just as many drops. But like all roller coasters, the ride does to come to an end. The feeling of adrenaline, the feeling of unknown is what I am choosing to stay with me when I close my eyes and remember the trip. The countless people who lent a hand to help me, to the incredible wildlife that presented themselves from the dramatic like the shark to the peaceful like the sea turtles.
But ultimately I’m grateful. Grateful that my board held up despite the constant battering I gave it. Grateful my gear held up despite soaking it and dropping it down on the shore. Grateful my body held up, as not a single injury, aside from my pride was jeopardized. And beyond grateful, that Mother Nature granted me safety, as there were countless times she could have swatted me down and starved me on a beach to die. But she allowed me to view her majesty, her beauty, and I hope to inspire anyone anywhere that with some respect and understanding of how ecosystems work, places like the Baja Peninsula can remain an untouched paradise for anyone else who wishes to admire her shores.
Stats from the trip:
I burned 255,901 calories, I paddled exactly 1,004.50 miles, the trip in total took 123 days, I camped under the stars for 79 nights, I paddled for 70 days, took 53 zero days, stayed for 29 nights in houses, caught 21 fish, pumped 18 liters of fresh water from my sea water pump, got offered 17 beers, fished 16 of those days, took 15 showers, averaged 14.35 miles a day, dealt with 14 separate El Norte wind events, paid for 11 campsites, stayed 7 nights in hotels, got rained on 4 times, had 4 shark encounters, had 3 campfires, paddled through 2 time zones, 2 states, experienced 1 hurricane, and had 1 helluva trip
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