Stories South of The Border
Baja // Travel Logs v.002
5.23.2022 // somewhere near punta san jose
It’s Friday night. The eve of a much anticipated, off the grid surf trip down the northern coast of Baja. A region unknown to myself. Food has been provisioned, surf boards have been purchased and I’m going to bed with an eager sense of adventure. After several weeks of work, schedules, deadlines and to do’s… my soul needs a release. A refresh. A shaking off of domestication and comfort.
5:30am, day of departure. I pack my cooler, load my car and pour my bullet coffee into a thermos. We rendezvous at Kara’s house. The gal with the plan and owner of that rad range rover oldie. For Carly, Will and I, it will be our first time in this region of Mexico. Emily, Jonas and Stephen also have some Baja experience under their belt. A proper mix of veterans to noobs. An hour of car tetris, dilly dallyin’ at the gas station and re-strapping our boards on the 5… we finally cross the border. I lose service immediately and the trip has officially begun. In the buildup, I asked very few questions of where, when’s and how’s but I knew our first stop was K38. A mile marker 38 kilometers south of the border with a decent break and a cozy coffee shop.
Now…. I have this tendency of trouble following me. Fortunately, nothing ever suuuuuper bad. But just enough to keep things interesting. I was hoping, given it was my first trip with this new crew, that my often comical misfortune would remain at home. I had hoped wrong. A mere 30 minutes into our drive and only 5 more until K38… ***sirens**** … I peek the rearview and a white pickup truck was pulling me over. Kara, Carly and Emily, all riding separately, had driven on. Will and I now held up by the Tijuana Police wondering what possibly I could have done this time.
“Buenos Dias señor” greets officer numero uno. I respond in my best “freshly practiced but has been here before” Spanish, “Buenos amigo,” offering a smile to show that I mean no harm. I’m asked to step out of the car and I then greet the other 4 officers (in Spanish of course). After some rough translations they explain the reason for the hold up was that our surfboards were too long and that we needed a red signal for caution. I apologized and wished we be on our way…. They weren’t finished. Officer numero uno was gunho on a vehicle search (damn my tie dye shirt, tall beanie and patchy mustache. I… had been profiled) “Esta todo bien amigo,” I replied fearing nothing they would find. Search on…. Several minutes pass. I feel calm, we’ve been here before. As I’m chatting up officers 3 and 4, they return from my front seat with my brothers old, camouflage pocket knife in hand… “Que es eso señor?” My conversation with the with the supporting officers came to an abrupt stop…. Wellll shiiit I thought.… the demeanor of all 4 officers, once friendly, had all shifted to suspicion. They had their gringo they thought. “Esta a cocinar” I respond trying to explain that it is only for camping and cooking. Not a weapon. They don’t buy it and I don’t blame em. I’m officially the dumb ass gringo who had a knife in his center console. Displaced close enough to the driver to be considered a “weapon” …. They weren’t going to let this go…. Not even for the hundred bucks cash we tried to offer…. Hmmm. This could get bad I thought… As I plead and reasoned, they didn’t budge. Before I know it I’m handcuffed in the bed of the pickup on my way downtown…. And by downtown I mean to a janky holding cell just south of Rosarito attached to a gas station on one side, a taco shop on the other. Will, who I’m pretty sure shit his pants, was now in my car with Jonas on his motorcycle tailing us. After some English spoken negotiations and an hour of uncertainty in the windowless cell, I forked over 600 buckeroos and we high tailed it on back to K38… it wasn’t even 9am yet… Welcome to Mexico boys. How’s that for keeping it interesting? Now… for confidentiality reasons… I cannot go further as to what they could have but did not find. An item sitting under my seat for 6 months, totally unbeknownst to me (no it wasn’t any drugs you freaks…) but let’s just say I’m lucky to be writing this. Misfortune often follows me… but I’m convinced that luck does too. Or maybe it’s protection from our loving God… idk but I reckon I oughta stop pushing it.
With that unexpected event now in our rearview, Will and I reunited with the gang carrying a juicy new story to tell. After some oohs and ahhs and “Blake you mother fuckin dumb asses” we continue onwards in search of waves and tacos. We only found tacos. We scouted three spots on the way only to be skunked by them all. The waves were not on our side it seemed. The veterans of the crew made the call to send it on south. To a remote, quaint fishing village somewhere near Punta San Jose. Bellies full of tacos and, some of us, modelos, we took the hour long dirt road arriving in the late afternoon. No sooner than we parked were our wetsuits on, boards waxed and out we paddled. The entire break just to ourselves. Will and I aren’t the biggest surfers of the crew but we enjoyed being out there with everyone. Watching our friends score waves and trying our best to catch our own. With the clouds finally cleared and the suns heaven like beam poking around the peak, life was good in that moment. A sense of timelessness. After unsuccessfully paddling around for an hour and picking kelp out of my fins, I decided that my day was done. Back to shore it was with my mind switching gears to campfire hangs. Warm modelo, cheez-its and cigarettes warmed my violently shaking body. Damn wet suit weather. Oh… and it wouldn’t be a Blake adventure without a gash on my heel. Kara had one to match.
There’s a sweet serendipity about the hour right before sunset. We transition into camp set up. Everyone has their jobs but no ones told what to do. Some of us set up our tents while others chop vegetables for our feast. Some drink whiskey and buy fresh caught fish while others build the fire. A team effort is required for a proper camp and a team effort it was. Our fire now enclosed by our three vehicles, Jonas’ motorcycle and a classy touch of string fairy lights, we melted into a night on the cliff. A mix of Jim Croce, Ziggy alberts and the not so distant breaking waves were the soundtrack of the evening. Time for our feast. Now any proper camp has to have either hotdogs or cheeseburgers on the menu annnndd being the classy folk that we are, we ate spinach, mushroom infused brauts, nestled atop a kaiser roll and doused in sauces. The fish we bought from the local fisherman, Martin, may also have been the sweetest thing to ever touch my lips (only almost exaggerating). After several beers, Will’s honey tequila mixers and recounts of the days *very* interesting events, we slipped one by one to our places of rest. Mine being the $40 foam topper in the 4Runner. I tell ya…. There aren’t many things that beat sleeping in your car on top of an oceanside cliff. The exact refresh my soul was after.
5.22.2022 // fresh fish is in the center console, whiskey on our lips, we head down to camp
Now… there may be one thing that beats sleeping in your car on top of an oceanside cliff and that is…. Waking up in your car on top of an oceanside cliff. French pressed coffees, water bottle sinks and a lazy hang around the fire was how we spent the morning. Pancakes (or .. “Blake Cakes” as I… and only I call them) and bacon was our morning meal. Jonas and Stephen say their goodbyes before heading back to San Diego and the gang was reduced to 5. With the waves not working the way we had hoped for… the day was kind of ours to do whatever the hell we wanted. I drank a beer. It was 8:00 am.
Ya ever heard of sea foraging? …. Yeah us neither… but we pretended like we all knew what it was and thought it be a fun idea to spend our morning hunting the low tide for kelp, seaweed and anything else we thought was edible. We gathered that kelp, along with some sloppy sea snails and made our way back to camp just around midday. Our friend Narshal, whom we’d met in the low tide, offered us a hefty lot of fresh mussels in exchange for a cigarette and a beer. I love Mexico. Our adventurous spirits leading our actions we cooked that snail. Ate it… and then spit it over the cliff. I’ll stick to the breakfast burritos I think….
With no waves worthy of us wet suiting up for, the morning rolled into afternoon and once again, we were melting into the timelessness. Our water supply fortunately restored by the generosity of Martin and his son, also named Martin, we packed up our camp, took water bottle showers and planned an evening of luxury. We like to live on both ends of the extreme…. Outhouse, dirtbag camping… and then 5 star winery indulgences. It keeps things fresh. Again, our adventurous spirit taking charge, we took a different, less traveled, route back to the main road… or so we thought… After 45 minutes of heavy off roading we were officially lost. With a combined zero bars of signal we had to turn around…. Now I was worried about my cars capabilities for the entire 45 minute bang, smash hammered down ride up unto this point in the first place…. Now.. to turn around and do it all over again!? Yikes… but we had no choice.. sun was getting lower and we were a bit desperate. Spirits surprisingly calm, we scooted our way back up the mountainous coastline. My car would not thank me very much after this trip. Still…. She chugged on, proving the reliability that 4runners are known for.
5.23.2022 // very lost, only semi worried **Will not entirely impressed with my driving*
There’s an old saying that goes “It’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.” A comforting idea in the midst of adversity. As self proclaimed “adventure seekers” it’s our duty to embrace the mishaps simply as part of the ride. An inevitable part of any great story. Because, on the contrary, if nothing were to go awry, would it really be an adventure?? Perhaps. But the story would certainly lack excitement. If we’re in the constant know of what is to come, how is it that we stretch ourselves? That we learn not only how to deal with, but rather enjoy the mishaps as humorous inevitability’s to travel. As we lean more into the crazy, unfortunate, “how the hell did that happen” moments, we begin to appreciate adventure with a more well rounded attitude. The entire process becomes a bit sweeter and we mature into more developed explorers. The more equipped we become in dealing with these “misfortunes” the more that we almost invite them along. Knowing that we have the capacity to roll with the punches and that it is actually these moments that make stories memorable.
As we return home, we’re left with refreshed spirits, stories to tell and a hunger for more. A success on all accounts. Success in the “It could have gone wayyyyyyy worse but here we are.” Success in the disconnection to time and the reconnection to adventure. And success in the capacity gained through rollin with the mishaps. As enticing as a shower and a week of lay low chillin sounds… I reckon it will take only a few days for the itch for a proper adventure to return. I hope to always live in this cycle. A rhythm that ive been searching for and am grateful to have found.
That’s all for nowwwwww… lataaa losers.
5.23.2022 // “A Kara Sandwich”
