Baja Chronicles Pt. 4

 May 28-29

"Welp, we decided to punch it up north and hopefully find one last good Mexican wave before crossing the border. 

Along the way we stopped at a gringo-oriented greasy spoon with this turtle just chillin in the middle of the restaurant. The aquarium it was sitting in looked kinda gnarly with cloudy water and dirty glass. We were relieved 'tortuga' wasn't on the menu. 

There were a bit of nerves on our way out of Valle de Santo Tomas. The guidebook mentions a federal checkpoint coming from there back into Ensanada, where you might get hassled without your 'papers.' We had no papers, but our understanding was that the federal officers are mostly interested in large trucks containing produce. Like most of our experiences in Baja, things turned out alright as the federal officers carelessly waved us through.

We peeled through Ensanada at a sluggish clip, weaving through crosstown traffic and soaking in the city's energy at each red light. It seems like a cool spot to post up for a while, and after passing by many, many busy food stands, I wish we didn't have to drive through so quickly. What's more, we passed some oceanside boulders with chalk on the overhangs. To be a surfer and climber in such a place... 

Our potential options for spots in Ensanada were some sharky coves at the mouth of the main harbor and San Miguel. We decided to scope San Miguel, which according to Surfline, is the most consistent right-point break in Baja Norte, popular with both locals and southern Californians. We scoped it right off the side of the highway, and there it was: breaking magnificently and consistently, running leftward along the rocky point. 

The wave looked good, but the beach scene not so much. It's more or less a large dirt parking lot, guarded by a toll booth. But with cheap camping and a decent looking wave (the only one we saw all day), we paid the fee and called it home for the night—even if that home was spitting distance off the busy highway. I could see why some irreverently refer to this zone as San Diego's most affordable suburb. 

I was a bit intimidated by the wave. Not because of its size, but because of its speed and its crowd factor. There were 15x more people on this wave during poor conditions than I had seen the entire week. It is also somewhat of a more complex wave than the beach breaks we had been surfing. You only have a couple body lengths of flat water before it shallows up over sharp cobbles. 

I sat out on the evening sesh and decided to film the boys from the shore instead. They both got a pair of clean-looking waves, and the session ended soon after. 

The wind hammered away at the dirt lot all night, and it was probably our most spartan night of camping yet. It was kind of funny that our last night in Baja was in a beachside lot below the highway, surrounded by plenty of partying Californians and even some New Yorkers.

At 6 AM I opened my eyes and saw Travis getting into his suit for what would be our final Baja session. I didn't need coffee or anything that morning; I just got right into my suit and embraced the cold dawn paddle-out. It felt good. I think if I lived near the ocean I'd go early morning surfing often. 

There were a handful of people in the lineup already, and I wasn't used to aggressively getting into position. So I didn't really catch anything that morning, paddling back in after an hour. But I've come to understand that sometimes merely getting wet and wet alone is quite okay. 

What San Miguel's parking lot lacked in aesthetics it made up for in cheap coffee and pastries, and we soaked in the morning vibe before taking on the madness that is re-entering the United States. 

The drive from San Miguel to Tijuana is short, and soon enough the stressful city driving began. We passed lots of shanty homes, and one of the first things we saw when entering Tijuana proper was a homeless man peeing on the flames of a grease fire, right on the sidewalk. 

The city center didn't seem so bad though. There were lots of pleasant parks with people playing soccer, and some sophisticated-looking buildings getting cleaned by men without harnesses, ropes, or anything like that. 

Due to James' ace directions for the "ready lane," the whole border situation only took us an hour. As you near the border proper, the traffic lanes start filling up with vendors, knick-knack peddlers, window washers, and people down on their luck doing what they can to get a buck from the gringos returning to the comforts of industrialized living. 

The border crossing itself was easy, too; despite our loaded vehicle, the border agent from Idaho was mostly interested in where where Evan and I like to snowboard in Montana (Evan has a Montana license). She waved us along, and almost too anti-climactically, we were back in the states.

Although we hadn't gone a mile from the Mexico border nor had we stepped out of the car, it felt different being back in the States; open, lighter, stress-free. The adventure was over. Back to comfort, to regular life and certainty. 

Before we dropped Evan off in San Diego, he mentioned the leftover pesos in his wallet; he'd have no need for them anymore. I bought them off of him and began making loose plans for the next trip... 

... 

Before flying back to SLC, I made a stop at Billy's place in Santa Monica and was elated when he told me he was keen on an evening session at Malibu Point. I realized this presented a rare opportunity to surf in two different countries in one day. 

I had heard a bit about Malibu Point (mostly for the worst), but the wave's aesthetic quality and position were undeniable. After briefly scoping the spot, I was practically sprinting down the beach with one of Billy's boards in hand.

Despite losing a fin, this session was excellent; mostly because I was sharing it with Billy, a long-time homie and one of the first people I've ever surfed with. 

We surfed well past sunset, into the darkness of night."