Mexico, 2000

Between the Devil and the
Deep Blue Sea

by Beth Cataldo

"Eight out of ten infants who die down here are killed by scorpions," the man's blue eyes sparkled as he spoke to his friend. "The critters are everywhere."

The mix of passengers listened as we drove on the dusty road from the Loreto airport to our hotels. Outside a faint mist surrounded the sharp, red desert mounds that define the southern Baja California landscape. Indeed, the harsh terrain dotted with cactus, succulents and palm trees seemed like it could house all sorts of evil creatures, including snakes and scorpions.

"Baby killers?" I questioned. "Sounds like an Internet myth to me - where did you hear that?"

"My brother told me," he said. "He's a desert explorer. He also told me that you'd die within 30 seconds. No pain. It's practically instant."

"Well I guess my snakebite kit won't do me much good, then," I smiled back. I was a wanna-be adventurer. I read all the books about climbing Mt. Everest and vicariously experienced the near-deaths and human drama, but wouldn't risk my life for that kind of excitement. Lately, though, I'd been adding a few risks and challenges to my travels, like the ones I knew this kayaking and camping trip to Baja would offer up. I thought most of them would be for my un-buffed upper body, now I realized that I had to add scorpions to the list. It would be still be worth it.

See, Baja is more than just a desert. This eight-hundred-mile long peninsula just south of California is where the desert meets the sea. The Sea of Cortez, in fact, which is one of the lushest havens for sea life on earth. Gray whales travel 6,000 miles from the Arctic Circle to calve and nurse their young in the alkaline bays in Baja. But they aren't the only fans of the nutritious spot: More than 3,000 species of fish and marine life live in the Sea of Cortez, including giant squid, dolphins, sea lions, groupers, barracuda, white sea bass, yellowtail, halibut and dorado. I imagined that the four or so hours of morning paddling through a flamboyant waterscape followed by hikes and camping in the dry subtle landscape in the afternoon would make the perfect adventure brew.

While several tour companies have kayaking and whale-watching trips to Baja, my friend Ingrid and I signed up for a tour with a Canadian company called Gabriola Cycle & Kayak. The trip was cheap -- $480 for a week, not including plane fare to Loreto - and we'd be responsible for preparing two meals for the entire group and bringing our own camping equipment. They'd provide the stove, water, portable toilet, kayaks and two guides. Other tours charged twice the price, and were a bit more upscale, cooking all the meals and adding a couple of nights lodging in Loreto. The self-reliant trip appealed to us not only because it was cheap but also because we thought that it would attract an interesting group of travelers.

Our group met at the only large grocery store in Loreto to buy food, and then climbed into the bus that took us to our launching point, San Nicolas Beach, about an hour north. As we turned off the highway to a dirt road, we were again reminded of the harsh desert terrain. "You don't want to be left without water out here," our guide explained. I remembered that a friend once told me that, without water, you would die in a couple of hours in the desert. "The human body is about 90 percent water," he told me, "when you're exposed to those dry temperatures for too long, your body just evaporates."

Our first night at camp, a local fisherman came by with two large grilled fish, which he'd caught that day and his family had prepared for us. He watched us eat the fresh white cabrilla and sea bass out of the foil. After we'd cleaned up, the brilliant moon supplied enough light for us to pitch our tents along the beach.

We quickly became a temporary colony, getting up at 5:30 a.m. each morning to make breakfast, clean up, dismantle camp and pack our kayaks. We headed off to a new destination each day - usually a remote beach or fishing village, paddling from between 3 and 6 hours, depending on winds and water. Our guides, Sue and Marcos, warned us that the winds come up very quickly in the afternoon and that the water can get quite dangerous if you wait too long in the morning to launch. We heard their warning, and didn't oversleep.

Ingrid and I turned out to be the least experienced in the group with only a few hours of kayaking under our belts. This was the longest stretch of nights that I'd spent outside a real bed in my life, being a proud urbanite for most of my 38 years. Gabriola Tours made it clear that inexperienced people were welcome, though some of those six-hour days were rigorous for all of us. If you're considering doing a trip like this, a few weeks of regular workouts would put you in good shape for the long haul. Most of the momentum comes from the arms and stomach muscles. A sea kayak is engineered in such a way that it takes a lot to tip it, unlike a river kayak where tipping and rolling is part of the fun. If you follow directions and paddle correctly, mostly you just need stamina, though muscles always help.

Remember to pack lightly if you take a trip like this, as you'll carry everything in the kayak. Also, if you bring a few extra essentials besides the usual gear you'll be more prepared. Don't forget a good pair of rubber shoes for the water, a cap to protect yourself from the strong sun, biking gloves so your hands don't get blisters and sweets (or alcohol) to treat yourself to when you've hauled it all in after a long day at sea.

There were eight women and three men on our trip - four from the US: Ingrid, a couple from Oregon and me. The rest of the group, including Sue, was from the west coast of Canada. Only one of us, our guide Marcos, was from Mexico. Everyone fixed meals with gusto, and the variety ranged from oatmeal to rice and veggies to tuna melts to Thai noodles. Although everyone enjoyed the tuna melts -- my contribution -- they were a bit greasy and cumbersome to make. Not really desert food considering we had to cook them in 80-degree heat and then wash the mess up with ocean water. Remember, too, that everything you haul in goes out - including garbage. Next time, I'd keep it simpler with rice and veggies or some quick Italian specialty directly from a jar.

We got into a routine of waking early, paddling on calm water past abandoned villages along the coastline, with the occasional fishing boat speeding by. Our colony of sleek boats moved through the water, with pelicans flying past, hovering inches from the water to spy their prey. Then, these flying hunters would come back around to dive for their meal, splashing loudly after they caught the fish. Frigate birds hovered high in the sky, their sharply angled wings reminding us of prehistoric creatures misplaced in this new millennium. Just underneath the surface of the water, colored and spotted cabrilla and blue-striped Angelfish swam, unafraid of our motions. We saw the blow of whales off in the distance and passed lazy sea lions asleep in the water with their snouts in the air. When I'm kayaking, I feel a part of the scene in my low boat, which glides as smoothly as a fish. It lacks the loud splash interruptions a swimmer creates with her awkward kicks and arm motions.

We visited remote beaches accessible only by lumpy dirt roads that aren't on the maps, arriving at different sorts of landscapes every afternoon with a different set of amusements, including hikes, snorkeling and naps. On our first day, we took a craggy walk, enjoying the bittersweet scent of odd succulent plants accompanying us up to Punta Pulpito, a tall bluff that hovers over the area. We looked up the rugged coast, spotting white seagulls, flocks of pelicans and dolphins jumping in the distance.

Then we stopped at a narrow pebbly beach, which I dubbed Scorpion Beach. The tide was out when we arrived, and many of the group went snorkeling. Several of the hearty Canadians made a daily habit of jumping in the cold to wash. I could hardly stand the chill of the water with my wetsuit on so went primarily unwashed for the duration of the trip. My long hair was a tangled mass by the time we hit the shore.

I preferred to poke around for creatures where the beach narrowed into tiny inlets. It was midday and must have been about 85 degrees - yes, it was January - and surfaces everywhere were steaming. As I approached a shoreline of black boulders, sizzling from the mid-day sun, I saw little bodies scatter. Scorpions! I thought. Adrenaline coursed through me as I imagined the death serum in those critters' veins. We were miles from any house or even transportation. "Death is practically instant."

I wandered back to the beach, and told Sue about my close encounter with the baby killers.

"Those are sea beetles, not scorpions," she politely told me. I learned that scorpions don't spend time in the sun - they prefer cool, damp places, like our shoes or sleeping bags. In fact, Cord and Elaine - a couple from the Yukon - had found two in their shoes when I was out on my trek. Now that was reassuring: They weren't afraid of me, in fact, they may even be drawn into my tent. Sue reminded us to check our shoes before we put them on in the future. For some reason, perhaps it was the pounding of the surf against the steep and narrow beach or the bright moon seeping through my thin tent or those shade-seeking scorpions, but I couldn't sleep that night.

That evening while some slept, a tempest was brewing out at sea, which meant the following day's swells would carry in the aftermath of the storm. Although the early morning waves were mellow, after about an hour the wind began to blow and whitecaps were breaking around me. I immediately began to tense, and my back started to ache. My arms were in pain, tortured by my every move. I felt overwhelmed by the four- and five-foot swells, unsure whether I was in control. The waves were breaking over my boat, and when I was in the troughs I was hidden from the rest of the paddlers. With a hint of sadism, I remembered the book, "The Perfect Storm," where the swells were so big that the ocean floor was exposed in the troughs. Eventually, the boat just disappears, wrecked by the raging waters.

"You feel stable, Beth?" Sue asked as I contemplated the marvels that the bottom of the sea had in store for me.

"I'm fine, I'm great. Just a bit slow," I lied. I really couldn't admit the truth at that point since she already looked worried enough.

In the middle of the stress, we passed a rock with a group of pelicans taking in the sun. Two blue-footed boobies sat in the midst of them. Hilariously named, these are rare birds that breed in Mexico and the Galapagos, and have brilliant blue feet and beaks. How they got mixed in with the pelicans was unclear. Either way, we stopped and marveled at the crowd, which cut the anxiety caused by the unrelenting waves.

As we moved forward, I continued to disappear into the troughs, far behind the rest of the group. Although I wouldn't say it was fun, I had somehow managed to push back my fear and focus on paddling solo through these tricky waters. I tried to pretend I knew how to capitalize on the waves, though I hadn't the faintest idea what I was doing. But I turned the threat into a thrill and moved into a particularly heavy set of waves as I cruised closer to shore than everyone else. This was our longest day - six hours on the water - and I was relieved when our kayaks finally made it up on the beach.

One of the other paddlers approached me afterwards with a stunned look on her face: "Beth, you rode right through the breakers!"

"Beth, the brave one," Sue responded.

"Who knows what I was thinking," I told them. I didn't wonder why Sue took a long nap that afternoon. My arms ached, too, but I was a bit too wound up to actually sleep so I took another walk to explore the scenery.

Later, Sue explained that the high waves and strong winds are typical here - and that those swells were only a 3 on a scale of 10 in terms of danger. There were some tours that never launched - and stayed at the original spot six days and nights because the winds were so bad. We had been lucky so far with only one day of any difficulty. It was a sly sea.

The next day was calm, and we paddled close to shore, taking in the changing coastline and watching the color of the cliffs shift from red to yellow to white as they reflected the effects of crashing tectonic plates. We spent about an hour crossing over to Isla Coronados, where we were going to camp on a desert beach for the last two nights. A few hundred yards from the island, the group stopped in front of bubbling water.

"What is that?" I asked Sue, thinking that we were experiencing a rare visit from innerspace.

"They're dolphins," she responded quietly. "There must be 300 of them. They're chasing a school of tuna."

They were frenetically jumping and murmuring as they danced on top and under the water. "Just stay here," she added, "they know we're here and will go through us."

Once I knew it was dolphins, I could make out the tails, flippers and noses popping up, and the high-pitched squeaks rumbling across the water. The poetic movements felt more like a celebration than an orchestrated hunt for food. I heard their voices as three of them lifted out of the water, as if they were engaging me in some tale as they quickly moved towards their prey. Later on, I read that each dolphin has a different high-frequency whistle so that family members can locate each other in large masses like this.

They swam past us, uninterested in why we were there. We watched them move en masse and waited a long time before we paddled forward, wanting a further peek into their secret world.

That night, I read that there are nearly 39 species of scorpions in Baja. I was happy to learn that their sting isn't deadly - at least for adults. I also read that years ago, a group of Outward Bound students made the wrong decision and headed off into the wild waters late one morning. The sea got rough while they were out there, and the leaders, who had waited at shore, were unable to rescue them. As night descended, they roped their kayaks together hoping that it would create the stability they needed to survive. Several disappeared into the sea that night.

Later, we got one more unexpected surprise as the moon slowly turned dark during a lunar eclipse. As I fell asleep in that unusually black night, I practiced telling stories about the trip, the most exciting part of adventure travel. But before I actually dosed off, I reminded myself to shake out my shoes in the morning just in case I was getting ahead of myself.