Post Mex, Volume I
Brett and I took our first trip to "real Baja"(1) the first week in June. it almost didn't happen, as work schedules, wife schedules and life schedules continuously got in the way, but we finally both committed to the trip, and went.
We packed lightly, having little time to do so. For food, we brought some bagels, cream cheese, fruits, oatmeal, and carrots. "The rest of our diet," I confidently asserted, "will consist of the taco food group."
We drove through Ensenada, stopping for a stomach full of tacos, and off of the 1-D road to the little seaside town of erindria, and turned north. There was supposedly a strong south swell in the water, but when we reached the rocky shoreline, we saw no such thing.
We drove north for a half hour, looking at the ocean conditions as we went. The further north we drove, the more the swell filled in. But, the coastline was pretty inhospitable, consisting mostly of very rocky reefs that didn't look pleasant to get into or out of.
With the town of erindria little more than a memory behind us, we came at last to an amazingly picturesque cove of sand. We drove down a trail to the beach and looked at the water. A single wave was breaking all the way across 200 yards of beach in one smooth motion. We watched the wave break for some time, and concluded it was a consistent wall.
I walked out to the point on the far side of the cove, where a rock rose from the beach up to a high point. From there I looked north and found a larger cove(2), some miles long and with sporadic beach break waves all throughout.
We navigated a series of trails to find our way to the beach and a camping spot. At one point, the sand was very thick and we feared an inability to drive back out. We started setting up camp several hundred yards from the water in the middle of a sand dune, but after some encounters with off-road gringos, decided to try the drive out and find a better spot.
A better spot we did find. Brett drove out on to the pebble beach and we found a flat spot in a sandy cliff overlooking the break. We set up an e-z-up, rather than pitching a tent.
The evening surfing was decent, with wind still on the water. We surfed alone until just before sunset.
At camp, we realized that we were miles from any source of food. The taco food group I had so confidently placed my faith in was to fail us. We rationed the bagels and cream cheese to last us the next day and a half and lit a campfire.
The next day was Saturday. We woke up and surfed a spectacular morning of chest to slightly overhead surf for about two hours. Not a soul was in sight in the water to either the north or the south. The water was clear blue, cool, and calm. The only living thing we saw was a seal that seemed to be in love with Brett, and followed him around.
By chance, this day was the day of the famous Baja 500 off road race. After some rest, we broke camp, packed the boards, and went up to the main road to sit up by the road for the day as the motorcycles, quads, dune buggies, and off road racing truck barreled by. The road was littered with an audience of both gringos and locals. We discovered that there was a popular camping flat about 2 miles north of our surf spot.
After watching the spectacle, we returned to our campsite, ate some bagels and cream cheese, and slept.
Sunday morning, the beach and our campsite were covered in fog. The idea of using an e-z-up tarp rather than a tent had backfired. Our sleeping bags and stuffs were wet from the fog and dew. Looking out to the water, I couldn't see any waves through the fog.
We paddled out into the gray midst.
Just outside of the visible range from the shore were glassy a-frame peaks. I think I caught a right at one point, but for the most part, they were super long lefts. We caught some rides that were ridable for 50 yards. The set waves were a foot or two overhead, with an accessional "crap, paddle fast!" wave bigger than that. Both of us had longboards, and the take off was soft and smooth on the shoulder with the wave gaining power after it broke.
We surfed for over two hours and left the water exhausted but entirely satisfied. Again, during the whole session, there were no other surfers to be seen. The seal was there, but he didn't hog any waves.
We took the long road, following the race path, back to Ensenada. Brett wanted to test the 4 wheel drive abilities of his car. We drove through Ensenada and thru to rosarito where we stopped with grumbling stomachs to feast on many tacos.
The border wait was hell. Total hell on earth. ...but worth every minute.
Notes:
(1) "Real baja" is what the "Surfer's Guide to Baja" calls Baja south of Ensenada. At that point, the author claims, Baja stops being a "low rent suburb of san diago" and becomes real Mexican territory.
(2) The spot we'd discovered, come to find out, is called Punta Cabras. Wannasurf.com has some cool pictures of the cove on the south as well as the spot we surfed at. Apparently, the south cove is what the locals call "Punta cabras" and it's a popular Mexican campsite for the weekends. The northern, less accessable cove is what the gringos (or, at least the "Surfer's Guide to Baja") call "Punta Cabras" and is where most of the surfing happens. The south cove is reported to break better in the winter, with wrap around north swells sending a right across the cove. But, when we saw it the wave was just dumping.
We packed lightly, having little time to do so. For food, we brought some bagels, cream cheese, fruits, oatmeal, and carrots. "The rest of our diet," I confidently asserted, "will consist of the taco food group."
We drove through Ensenada, stopping for a stomach full of tacos, and off of the 1-D road to the little seaside town of erindria, and turned north. There was supposedly a strong south swell in the water, but when we reached the rocky shoreline, we saw no such thing.
We drove north for a half hour, looking at the ocean conditions as we went. The further north we drove, the more the swell filled in. But, the coastline was pretty inhospitable, consisting mostly of very rocky reefs that didn't look pleasant to get into or out of.
With the town of erindria little more than a memory behind us, we came at last to an amazingly picturesque cove of sand. We drove down a trail to the beach and looked at the water. A single wave was breaking all the way across 200 yards of beach in one smooth motion. We watched the wave break for some time, and concluded it was a consistent wall.
I walked out to the point on the far side of the cove, where a rock rose from the beach up to a high point. From there I looked north and found a larger cove(2), some miles long and with sporadic beach break waves all throughout.
We navigated a series of trails to find our way to the beach and a camping spot. At one point, the sand was very thick and we feared an inability to drive back out. We started setting up camp several hundred yards from the water in the middle of a sand dune, but after some encounters with off-road gringos, decided to try the drive out and find a better spot.
A better spot we did find. Brett drove out on to the pebble beach and we found a flat spot in a sandy cliff overlooking the break. We set up an e-z-up, rather than pitching a tent.
The evening surfing was decent, with wind still on the water. We surfed alone until just before sunset.
At camp, we realized that we were miles from any source of food. The taco food group I had so confidently placed my faith in was to fail us. We rationed the bagels and cream cheese to last us the next day and a half and lit a campfire.
The next day was Saturday. We woke up and surfed a spectacular morning of chest to slightly overhead surf for about two hours. Not a soul was in sight in the water to either the north or the south. The water was clear blue, cool, and calm. The only living thing we saw was a seal that seemed to be in love with Brett, and followed him around.
By chance, this day was the day of the famous Baja 500 off road race. After some rest, we broke camp, packed the boards, and went up to the main road to sit up by the road for the day as the motorcycles, quads, dune buggies, and off road racing truck barreled by. The road was littered with an audience of both gringos and locals. We discovered that there was a popular camping flat about 2 miles north of our surf spot.
After watching the spectacle, we returned to our campsite, ate some bagels and cream cheese, and slept.
Sunday morning, the beach and our campsite were covered in fog. The idea of using an e-z-up tarp rather than a tent had backfired. Our sleeping bags and stuffs were wet from the fog and dew. Looking out to the water, I couldn't see any waves through the fog.
We paddled out into the gray midst.
Just outside of the visible range from the shore were glassy a-frame peaks. I think I caught a right at one point, but for the most part, they were super long lefts. We caught some rides that were ridable for 50 yards. The set waves were a foot or two overhead, with an accessional "crap, paddle fast!" wave bigger than that. Both of us had longboards, and the take off was soft and smooth on the shoulder with the wave gaining power after it broke.
We surfed for over two hours and left the water exhausted but entirely satisfied. Again, during the whole session, there were no other surfers to be seen. The seal was there, but he didn't hog any waves.
We took the long road, following the race path, back to Ensenada. Brett wanted to test the 4 wheel drive abilities of his car. We drove through Ensenada and thru to rosarito where we stopped with grumbling stomachs to feast on many tacos.
The border wait was hell. Total hell on earth. ...but worth every minute.
Notes:
(1) "Real baja" is what the "Surfer's Guide to Baja" calls Baja south of Ensenada. At that point, the author claims, Baja stops being a "low rent suburb of san diago" and becomes real Mexican territory.
(2) The spot we'd discovered, come to find out, is called Punta Cabras. Wannasurf.com has some cool pictures of the cove on the south as well as the spot we surfed at. Apparently, the south cove is what the locals call "Punta cabras" and it's a popular Mexican campsite for the weekends. The northern, less accessable cove is what the gringos (or, at least the "Surfer's Guide to Baja") call "Punta Cabras" and is where most of the surfing happens. The south cove is reported to break better in the winter, with wrap around north swells sending a right across the cove. But, when we saw it the wave was just dumping.
posted by travinator @ 6:24 PM
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