April 22, 2012

Pelicans Gliding

The sun comes up over the ocean on the East Cape. Pelicans glide and dive for their desayuna del mar—breakfast from the sea. Gulp. Gulp. Greg put both umbrellas up before he attached himself to his surfboard for his first session. La playa is wide awake and its inhabitants are engaged in morning activities. One guy is fishing (not catching yet) and there are already nine surfers in the water at 7:00AM. I haven’t been using my exercise bands for a few days, so this morning’s work out has me glistening right away.  Back in the saddle again. I’ve spent a good hour taking pictures: rocks, water, surfers, SUPs, burros, and pelicans (or as my friend, Stacee, accidently called them once, penguins). Where the desert meets the sea, the blues and greens of the water juxtapose nicely with the hillocks of sand and desert grasses. This sweet camping spot is dotted with colorful beach umbrellas, and vehicles from Mexico, Canada, France, and many states of the USA.

Our breakfast of corn flakes, bananas and almonds, provide nourishment and satisfaction. We give our dishes a scrub in the ocean, so inevitably we must rinse them in fresh water, which is a precious commodity when you are camping on an undeveloped beach in Baja. Carefully, Greg times his ocean dish-scrubbing, watching the waves constantly roll in and pitch the sand and water. This shore break is a beautiful baptism requiring no further choreographing than in and out, up and down. At this moment a wind turbine in the distance turns ever-so-slowly, coming to a short stop before continuing its rotation. It’s like a “California stop” during a long pause in traffic. Sitting in the shade of my red umbrella as the tide continues to advance, this slight breeze offers refreshment. There is a normal halting of wave sets and all I see are little specks of surfers waiting in the sparkling water for a set. The water is warm, but many of them wear wet suits. Some, like Greg, are merely “trunkin’ it.” Surfers go in; others come out; reminiscent of a bus dropping riders off, all the while welcoming new ones. They share the waves as best they can—these surfers at 9 Palms on the East Cape of Baja Sur. But there are occasional mistakes made, as one drops in on another.

“Sorry buddy.”

“It’s cool, no worries.”

It’s all mellow today; the surfers are not wave hogs here. However, it is not all that unusual to have the opposite experience at a break where the mood is tense and competitive, but for today the egos, turf and wave ownership issues are in check. The surfers remember their kindergarten lesson #1: “Share and be nice!” The sun continues its slow arc in the late morning sky as the wind picks up. It’s a south wind, not as radical as the north winds are. The East Cape is notorious for strong, sustaining north wind. It’s a well-known and beloved wind surfers’ paradise. But not today, thank you very much. At least not yet anyway.

  Our camping neighbors to the south of us are friends of ours. It wasn’t a plan to camp together, but it’s a grand happenstance and I am excited now to have someone to play Scrabble with.

Mary and I are both crazy for the game and our husbands hate it. We make plans to have our first challenge this afternoon after Mary and her husband, Jeff, get back from their motorcycle ride into town for internet and cell service. In this world pervasive with communication technology, it is actually a blessing for me to be out of range for a change. No one can call me and vice versa, and no 3G or wireless. One must travel for at least a half an hour, all for the privilege of contacting others by phone or computer. It is a distance I feel no need to cover. After all, I’m retired. Nobody is depending on me for anything. What a joyous freedom! In my former life I dreamed of days and places like this. Greg and I talked often of the possibilities of embracing life in Baja— fishing, surfing, and swimming in warm water with a climate to match, and allowing each day to happen to us. Following the natural rhythms of the sun and the moon. Lots of people have dreams like this, but sadly, too few create the reality. For others, the slowness—the slowing way down—is lethal. They simply suffer without a whirlwind of activity. Perhaps their worth is tied to a job that makes demands on them, and that’s just fine by me. Been there. Done that. No more! I choose, instead, to slow down enough to notice life around me, to feel the wind on my face, to hear the birds singing and the waves crashing on the shore. The in-coming tide brings with it schools of bait fish—sardines are plentiful now, and the pelicans gorge on them. Eat or be eaten. There is one cormorant out there among the pelicans. These birds mimic the surfers.  Or maybe it is the other way around? Share and be nice. Ride the waves, dive under them, or simply bob up and down. Now that the tide has pushed in, the rocks are no longer visible; they are only splotches of darkness beneath the water. Some wispy clouds have joined the local scene. A father scoops a handful of sardines from the surf and puts them into his young son’s hands, sharing the wonder of this place with him. Life is so incredibly sweet. Back from his first session, Greg says, “Let’s go for a swim.” There is a big slathering of happiness in the way he says this. “Why not? I’m game.” We walk to a less rocky spot and quickly advance into the water to a small drop off. We float and I do my dog paddle, splashing in the refreshing (not cold) water at the edge of the drop. “Stay in the deep part,” Greg instructs me. I appreciate his directions in this setting. The ocean is his second home.