The Radical Way to C`et Fit Fast

TheRadicalWayto C'etFit Fast
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to angle sideways,bringing the skinny boat
tbroughalnifingtumand ignoringGladwin's
other advice,which had been,"No, mate! No !
No! Dont ever stop paddling!"
My face hit first in a high-speed rollover
that ripped offmy sunglassesand hat and
pulled the whole kayakupside down in water
hundredsoffeetdeep, sothat I had a straightdown view into the world of hammerhead
sharksandbluefin tuna.Whichwould've been
bad enough ifl'd had a clue how to roll back
up, but I didnt. Nor <[idI rememberthe trick
for releasing the spray skirt that kept me in
the kayak. So now my eyeswere wide in the
dark water, and I was running out of air and
rising and lhllingwith the sea,thrashingand
jerking at the spray skirt. Then my fingers
foundaloop ofnylon, and I hauledhard and
fell downward and swam with the fishes.
I burstinto sunshine andgulped air, yelling for help acrossthe waves.
Jesus,Duane,we shouldgiveyouagoddamn speargun,"yelledHamilton, after he
realized I was gone and came searching for
me. "At leastyou can make yourself useful
and spearus dinner next time."
Haulingalongsidemyboat, he talkedme
through flipping it over, then how I should
stick my feet up out of the water and thrust
them over the boat's deck and back into the
cockpit. Once I'd managed this improbable
trick, he shoveda bilge pump into my hands
and, asour boats kept surging and swingrng
in awaythat mademewanttoiluke, told me
topump. Which I did, hard, clearingthegallons ofwater out ofmy kayak.
"Hey, but Murray," I said, "is it okay I'm
pumping my bilge onto your spray skirt?"
"How scaredwereyou?"
"What do you mean?"
"Whenyouface-planted, you moron. Did
you pissyourselfor notl"
THE MISSION
HAD A SIMPLE
betrveenthe Baja beachtowns ofloreto and
La Paz,along the SeaofCortez. SleepyLoreto looks to be the next Cancrin, with timesharesspringing up, so realtors are drooling
over the virgin white beachesin betrveen.But
the Sierra de la Giganta, the mountain range
that hugsthis coastline,still forcesBaja'son-ly
gtoup was driven into the cliflS not far from
hereandt}reewereklled. In ZOO5
tlueefemale
paddlers from British Columbia got flipped
so repeatedlyin 30-mph winds that two of
them lashedtheir kayakstogether while the
otherdrifted away.When alaunch finallywent
looking, they found the fi rst two women alive
and the third dead.
I only consideredgoing becausean old
friend ofmine, SteveHa)'rvard, is one ofthe
most experiencedkayakguidesin Baja - not
to mention in Patagonia,Guatemala,Belize,
and Ireland. Hay'wardhelps run SeaTrek,
the fust kayakoutfiffer to do businessin Baja,
and he'd called out of the blue saying he'd
justhooked up suppliesfrom Necky,the kapk
manufacturer,for a small crew Halward was
going to pilot their supply boat, and if I was
up to the paddle I could tag along.
I met Hayward in the dusty lobby of an
olddeserthotel near Ioreto's crumbling30Oyear'old church. I hardly recognizgdthe guy;
he d quit drinking beer,taken up running,
and shed40 pounds. He introduced me to
the Neckycrew: the resolutelychipper Nando,
everybody'sboss; Dorcas, director of sales
and a Canuck who spent 12years guiding
expeditions in the high Arctic; Gladwin, a
white-haired Englishman, former coachof
M'rteyeswere wide in the
'r "darkwateqand
I\AASRT]N]\I]\G
OT]TOFNR.
highway 20 miles inland here, making overland accessto the beachalmost impossible.
Sofor now, at least,those60 miles remain
an absolutewilderness
ofhumpbackwhales,
mountain lions, wreckedsailboats,no drinkingwater, and, for kayakers,no hope ofoverland escape.Northeasterlywinds comeup so
fast that in the late'70s an Outward Bound
ELEGANCE:
paddling one ofthe lastgreat desertwildernessesin North America, a 60-mile stretch
ME N' S JO UR NAL
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the Canadian Olympic kayak team, and
Necky'schief designer; and Hamilton, a
product developerand a self-describedredneckwho'd oncepaddledalonefrom Seattle
to Alaska,logging l6-hour daysbecause,as
heput it, he found himselfto belousyfireside
company.He confessedthat his oldest friend
calls him "the Tboll," a commentary on his
surlinessasmuch ashis squatness.
"That's hurtful. Duane,"Hamilton deadpanned when I started to call him the Tfoll
myself "Really hurtful."
Our first moming, Hayward drove us out
to aprettylittle covecalled EnsenadaBlanca,
south oflrreto: pale desertbluffs surrounding a bay ofturquoise sea,and not a soul
around. We unloaded the boats there. then
paddledabout l0 miles beforecamping - not
quite far enough, given that we'd allotted
only five days for 60 miles. Before the sun
went down I grabbeda diving mask, flippers,
anda meshnetandswam ofthrough schools
ofelectric blue angelfishand overlethal rockfish lurkingcamouflaged on the bottom (step
on one and you could die). Porcupinelike sea
urchins sat on every underwater boulder in
sight, so I collected a half- dozen and sat wet
t-t
, iJ:
.l
.i-.:.J
tu,A
.t)
*{l
.g'n
r,grffilrys'.-
inthewhite sandas the sun droppedtoward
the western mountains and the other guys
built a fire. Busting the urchins open with a
big knife, I scooped out the bright orange
ru". and ate them raw, like in a sushi
"gg
restaurant, except my uni was alive and I
washed it down with tequila.
It was on the secondday that I lost control in the waves and had to be rescued by
Hamilton, slowing the team'sprogresseven
more. We pitched tents that evening on yet
anotherachinglybeautiftlbeach, surrounded
by tall saguarosand thistly wild{lowets and
thevastemptinessofthe Sierradela Giganta
witJr rattlesnakes and coyotes running off
into the parched distance, the way Spanish
missionarieswould've seenthem when they
came to settle Loreto in 1697.
We had a strange and tens€encounter
that evening when a crusty old gringo wandered barefoot out ofthe bushes. His wrinkly tan hide hung loose offhis knees,and
his longwhitebeard madehim looklike an
ancient religious hermit.
"Who are you peoplel" he asked, suspicious as hell.
Hayward has a buttery Texas accent, a
perfectblend ofpoliteness and authority, and
he said,"We're kayakers,sir. We'rejust passingthrough."
"You're not real estateagents?"
$No. we're not."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm sure."
The man frowned and wandered back
into the cacti, and Hayward told us the poor
guy had bought this entire beach 2J years
iarlier to retire on and had someonehaul a
camp trailer over the mountains on some
ghastly 4WD jeep track. But property laws
are fuzzy in Mexico, and now locals claimed
he didnt own the Placeafter all.
"Every one ofthese beaches,there's a
realtor in Loreto trying to sell it," Hayward
said. "You can walk down the street and Iook
in windows and seepictures of all of them'
with a price tag."
Butthe bigthing on my mind, asI strolled
aloneon the darkbeachthatnighg waslearning to milk the ocean of free speed,the way
the others did, so I didn'tbecome aball and
chain, As I looked acrossthe sea I realized
thatsurferslike me dontleamto readchaotic
open-water swell; we learn to read organized
walls peeling over sandbarsand reefs.
I stood atthewater's e{ge thinking about
this when I realizedI could seestarsreflected
in the shallows:brightwhite dots ontheblack
surface. Then one washed ashore on a tiny
little waveand satthere twinkling in the sand.
Then another starwashedup besideit. T'hey
weren't stars at all but tiny bioluminescent
diatoms, living beings adrift on the sea.
WE SET OFF PADDLINGAT DAWN THE
next moming, hoping to go 30 miles before
dark Hayward boated ahead, searching for
the right camp,while Nando, becausehewas
the leaderbackhome,pocketedthe radio and
the GPSunitandtoldus alltokeep our nos€s
pointed at a distant cape, so far away itwas
hazy blue. For severalhours, with no wind
and therefore no surfopportunities, we
sloggedin the loo-degree sun. My back and
shoulders ached like hell, my assfell numb,
and mylegs got sotight I had to stop every20
minutes, grab the deck lines, and bend myselfforward to stretch. Salt beganto cakemy
faceand the glarewas sofierce I kept my eyes
half-closed behind my polarized sunglasses.
Gladwin stayedcloseto coach me on my
stroke, a pair of humpback whales paid us a
brief visit, and Hamilton leavenedmy suferingwith a storyaboutThoBerman,thebigest
big-drop waterfall kayaker on Earth, telling
ayoung kayakeron atropical expedition that
he'd definitely get "ball rot" if he didnt apply
Bengaytwicedaily, in all moist regions.('You
gotyour O-ring, too, didn'tYoul")
By three otlock, with that headland still
hazy blue at the outside edge ofvisibility
and Nando cheerfully bombing aheadalongside Hamilton and Dorcas, I began to crack,
knowing I couldn'tdo this forever.Sometime
around five, with a splitting headache and
every muscle quavering and the GPSsaying
we'd already paddled z7 miles acrossthis
flat water, the wind picked up and the sea
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rolled and I noticed we were offshore from
aprotectedbeach,amileaway. Butjustahead
a deadvolcano rosein a duff-colored cone,
turningthe nextfive or six miles ofcoastline
into sheer,impenetrable cliffs.
Then I heard Hayward's voice cracHe on
Nando's radio. He was apparently at camp
already and could somehow seeus, though
we couldnt seehim. "Hey, why areyou guys
so far offshore?" he asked.
"We're headed for that cape,"Nando replied, then turned to the rest ofus. "Keep
going, guys."
Steveagain: "What caPe?"
"We're dne, Steve.We'll seeyou soon."
"Butyou re headedto shore,right?Tbward
that pointy, pyramid-shaped mountain?"
"That's what I'm calling a cape."Out.
Yours truly: "Call him back, Nando."
"We're fine. Just keePPaddling."
I wondered if Nando was willing to risk a
lO-mile mistake rather than ask for clarification. I wasn't strong enough for that, so I
barked it this time: "Nando, cal hin bathl'
The wind blew hard bY the tim€ we got
Stele'sreply.Iwas right, ofcourse,and Steve's
pyramid was indeed my volcano, meaning
campwasthebeachwecouldsee,a mile off
and notaroundthat goddamn cape.Butthere
was an upside: Knowing my pain might end,
when combined with my resentmentof poor
Nando, drove me in such a wild assault on
the building waves thatbefore I knew it I
was surfing the open ocean and roaring toward shore.Arcing and soaring, paddling
andcruisingandpaddlingsome more,I found
myselfexplodingwith energy,moving sofast
that I soon heard a laugh break out behind
me. It was Gladwin, working to keep up'
"Look behind you, mate !"
So I did, and for the only time on thattrip
I was waythe hell out in front. I