San Juanico Dawn : Photo©Lara Wagstaff

Don’t need words…

SanTaco Airlines

Once upon a time Alaska Airlines flew daily flights from Los Angeles to Loreto – and “…the living was easy.”  During the buildup of Loreto Bay,  Delta and Continental both added flights.  Prices were low.  Flights were easy to obtain at the last minute, and travel to and from the United States was relatively simple.

Enter the dawn of the US housing crisis and airline traffic dwindled.  Delta and Continental pulled out of Loreto market, and Alaska : aka Horizon : cut flights to four days a week.  Then they switched from the 737 Jet to the much smaller load carrying prop Bombardier q400.  While the plane is more fuel efficient, it adds an additional hour to travel time.  Cost cutting measures insure that airlines stay in business, but lately, the cutbacks have had a ferocious effect.

Tie whale-watching season – mid-January through the end of March – to the needs of local fliers, and simply forget about a/getting a flight, and b/getting a flight at a reasonable price.  At least for February and most of March.  Unless you’ve got $1000 to spend round trip.  Gee whiz : I went to London and back last month for 1/2 that price!

So this morning, when my friend, Cynthia, sent me an email with the title, “New Flights to Loreto,” I couldn’t wait to open it!  Was there really a new option???  I almost peed my pants I laughed so hard, looking at the photograph she attached, with the new planes name, “SanTaco” proudly painted on the tail.  Can’t wait to book a flight – but better make sure to tie back my hair and wear sunglasses!!

Baja : Pacific Morning

For the uninitiated, there is little that can be said to fully express the beauty of Baja California Sur.  From the moment one leaves the populations of Colonet & San Quintin, makes a requisite gas stop in El Rosario, and heads into the heart of undeveloped land of cardon, bojum, cholla, poloverde, cirrius and more …  the heart slows, the shoulders drop, and the mind begins to embrace again that primal space of undeveloped land.

Mex One zigzags across the peninsula in undulating rhythms, following for the greater part, the easiest passage through rough terrain.  That translates to switchbacks, mountain climbs and descents, and arroyo crossings.  Wide plains, dry lakes and craggy rock piles – the spewn evidence of long-ago volcanoes litter the landscape.  I’ve stopped counting the trips. I never fail to be inspired.  I am always stunned by her beauty.

For those who are afraid to travel, I am sorry.  So much the greater landscape and less crowded roads for me.  While the horrors of the drug cartels are not to be ignored, the city streets of any major metropolitan area has its own body and assault count.  I feel safer in my home in Loreto than I ever did in the states.

The Pacific side teases with waves that follow distant swells.  Spots like the Wall, Shipwrecks, the local spots of Ensenada .. and of course, Pescadero, Todos Santos and Cabo San Lucas beckon surfers from across the globe.

The east coast, the beautiful bountiful Sea of Cortez, is filled with dolphin, sea turtles, fish of every color and size, rays and whales – blue, pilot, fin and orca.  Sunrises, sunsets .. kayaking, paddling, surfing, hiking, sailing, scuba diving, snorkeling .. exploring ..  magic.  To be with and surrounded by such beauty is to me – pure magic.
And then there are the people – beautiful kind warm family loving folks.

Food!  Beverages!  Music!  Dancing!  Camping under stars and/or a full moon. Yes : Baja : I love and dream of you always.

Sunrise : Loreto

I woke before the sun had peeked her head above isla carmen and decided to walk the beach in it’s pre-dawn darkness.  In the distance, the wail of waking roosters echoed down the arroyo and mingled with the guttural purr of diesel transports getting a jump on the day.

At the water line, only the sound of small waves slapping on and moving beach stones broke the zen-like silence.  Morning – before morning – exquisite.

The shadowy shapes of foraging shorebirds began to appear, thankful, as was I, that the winds of yesterday had momentarily waned, and the sea was once again a lake like mirror of glass.

The palms were still.  The residences of Loreto, for the most part, still ‘snug in their beds.’

When the sun finally crested the horizon, it was as if the sky cried out – “I’m here! I’m here!”  – welcoming with broad arms the beginnings of a new day.

To wake with such exquisite peace seems to me – the ultimate luxury.

Buster Checks out the Sea of Cortez

Buster’s become somewhat of an expert on the twists/turns small towns & large of Mex One between the border and his home in Loreto.  Some of the journey bores him – so he just sleeps. But other sections he’s all nose/ears and eyes out the window with some running sniff/woof commentary that I struggle to decipher.  He’s my boy though – and he sure loves Mexico, as the photos here illustrate.

Buster Analyzes the Campers at Santispac

A few mornings ago, a young boy ran past the house. Not unusual, and because he was running I fully expected a dog to be somewhere in the vicinity. Imagine my surprise and great glee to discover that he wasn’t running his dog – he was running his pony.

Chalk up another one for living in Baja!

Rembrandt Skies

The rain was more than I could have asked for. Dark ominous skies for two days – and then the drops, light as first and then a heavy downpour that came in spurts, but lasted through the night. In the morning skies that painters dream about.

The rains in the night cleared the air (not that it needed to be cleared) and in the morning, the fragrance of the desert freshly gifted was water was hypnotic – better than any perfume imagined.

We wait now – for the green cover that follows desert rains. The brown and seemingly barren desert will burst into a carpet of plant life that sprouts in celebratory response to moisture.

As for the skies … clouds dissipate and mornings revert to placid seas and clear dawn explosions of darkness to dawn.

Rain Clouds in the Morning

dark clouds still fill all four quadrants and palms sway in response to shifting winds

magical : the desert with water

Traffic Jam

Imagine : Barreling down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere (actually true) and beginning to believe that you really are in the middle of nowhere (it’s been nearly 100 miles on deserted dirt roads) when suddenly, you have to slam on the brakes and wait for the traffic to clear.

First it’s the barking of dogs. Then it’s the lyrical giggle of a small child. Then it’s the lead goat with the tinkling bell. Then it’s the dad : aka goat herder : walking with the dog and the child and the goats home to the safety of their pen for the evening. Their home? A small house with goat pen and garden ‘off the road’ (at least 20′) in the middle of that same nowhere.

Water? From a well. Shopping? What does one need? Serenity : Sorry mastercard, but this one really is priceless.

The traffic jam? Pure joy. About 10 minutes of listening to goat/child/herder/dog chatter, and then passing through.

My kind of Mexico. Simple and without pretense.

Beach Cattle

Okay : the unfenced range cattle are entertaining as they wander down the beach during daylight hours.  They piss off the dogs, but can be dissuaded from ‘home’ invasion by yelling, the blast of a hose, or a kind of ‘run-at-em’ motion.

At night – Not the same deal.

Last night, the dogs were just going off!  Shorty & Diego were barking at the top of their doggy vocal chords – and relentlessly.  Inside, Buster joined the howling chorus.  Yes, the dogs were doing their one job – GUARDING!

I’d been asleep for a bit over an hour – and in that groggy deep space where even though I knew I should get up, I kept hoping the dogs would simply settle down.

Then the phone rang.  Jeanne, next door, said, “They jumped my wall and they’re eating everything. The cows!  Now they’re in your yard.”  She was walking outside with her portable phone giving me a blow by blow report of the cattle escapade.  “There’s poop everywhere!”

“I’ll be right there,” I responded.  I’ve just got to throw on some clothes.

When I opened the front door, Buster tore off toward the tinkling bell one of the cattle has on his neck.  I rounded the corner behind him, just as Jeannie heaved a rock.  I dodged the rock and the cow made a dash out of the yard – right toward me.  Horns and all.  I leaped behind the F-150 and the cow kept on going.  One down, one to go.

I stepped into the yard and tried to shoo the second one out the now open fence, while Jeanne searched for more rocks.  How the fence got open, I have no idea.  Maybe the cattle pushed it open, but when the second intruder cleared the gate, I pulled it shut and reset the chain.

I reset the cylinder, sent a ‘good night’ to Jeanne, along with some shared belly laughs at our cow filled ‘hood’ and turned back to the house – only to step right in a fresh mound of cow poop!  GOODY!  Now I had to shower and wash my slippers and listen to the cling-cling of the belled-bull wander off into the night.

Still beats the 405 at rush-hour.