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.