Marooned on Espiritu Santo

Jane and I have returned to a chilly San Diego, but we still have suntans and bug bites from the southern Baja coast keeping us company. The 43,000 acres of the uninhabited Isla Espiritu Santo was our home for four wonderful days, as we camped on a beach overlooking a beautiful bay and set out each day for kayaking and diving around the island. Espiritu Santo is a treasure in an area overflowing with treasures - recently purchased by the Nature Conservancy and recognized by UNESCO as an ecologically important biosphere, one must receive special permission to visit or explore the island. We went with a small group sponsored by a La Paz outfitter, complete with guides and specially-prepared food (despite the lack of running water or fire, we weren't exactly suffering - not with nightly cervezas and local specialties made available). Our main guide was an expat named Peter who took us into mangrove swamps and on steep hikes through cactus groves. We were also assisted by The Lovely Alba, who Jane has heard quite enough about from me.

It's difficult to pick highlights from such a trip, but our final evening kayak was something special. The Gulf of California (por favor, not the Sea of Cortez....no need to name anything in honor of Cortez the Killer if one can help it) was as calm and still as a northern pond, and the silence was such that we could hear pelicans diving for fish as if they were gunshots echoing across the waters. Schools (pods?) of bat rays, a smaller species of ray than the mighty manta, were visible off on the horizon as they leapt out of the water to breach loudly on the surface, seemingly propelled by cannon from underneath. The slap of their bodies on the water, and the image of their perfect forms as they flipped through the air, was almost comical. Later, a large pod of bat rays swarmed near our kayaks, breaking the surface gently and revealing their undulating forms before submerging just ahead of our skiffs (due to shyness). The silence of the Gulf was such that we heard the breathing of a whale from far off, long before we spotted its plume of spray. After some time of watching, Peter determined it was a pilot whale. A second whale circled far behind us, moving northwards. We sat in our kayaks and watched nature create a vibrant tapestry around us - a wonderful vision of what untouched earth is capable of sustaining.

Too much of Baja California is falling prey to development, resorts, greedy Americans wanting even more Mexican real estate in their pockets. Last year, I read a wonderful book on the Baja Peninsula by William W. Johnson, part of a series on American wilderness areas (now out of print, but available in many libraries). Written in 1972, the book was published just as the Mexican government completed the Transpeninsular Highway and linked Cabo San Lucas to the rest of Baja and, by extension, Southern California. Throughout the book, Johnson wonders often about Baja's future and inevitable destruction. "Baja," he quotes, "is a splendid example of how much bad roads can do for a country". There are still plenty of bad roads along the peninsula, and the region remains too dry, too hot, and too isolated for the kind of development many beautiful areas have faced. But Tijuana on the far northern extreme of the peninsula and Cabo San Lucas on the far southern extreme are warning signs of how quickly isolation can disappear.

The natural beauty of the coastal lagoons and the warmth of the people of La Paz (and the tacos, mustn't forget the tacos - our favorite was undoubtedly the oyster tacos from MC Fisher) made this trip an extremely memorable one. Hiding on the deserted beach as Christmas raged all around us only made it even more special.