Sea of Cortez Diving: A Baja Road Trip--Sunday, December 9, 1990

The wind came up about 4:00 a.m. this morning, about an hour after the roosters started crowing. By the time the sun was up, the wind was blowing steadily. We held out hope as we headed out for the boat. We got into our wetsuits figuring if the conditions at all made it possible and the Captain saw how committed we were to diving he might agree to go. They didn’t and he wouldn’t. So we disappointedly peeled off our wetsuits and headed back to break camp, frustrated that we had come so far for nothing.

Where to Next?

At this point a disagreement arose as to what to do next. I figured we would head to Loretto and if we found the same conditions we would cut our losses and head back to San Diego to salvage a few days of diving. Brandon suggested that we could push onto La Paz, something I was reluctant to do because of distance and time involved. We decided to see what would happen in Loretto. We stopped along the way and tried to call the dive shop in Loretto. We couldn’t get an answer, so we pressed on.

We encounter aeveral washouts and detours during the 83 mile drive to Loretto.  The delay only compounds our frustration. Arriving in Loretto, we find the dive shop, which is part of a sporting goods store, is closed, it being Sunday. We go to the Stouffers Resort (formerly the El Presidente) to find that diveshop, Fantasia, similarly deserted. The Stouffers is pretty upscale. Apparently the resort is the centerpiece of the Zona Tourista on which the government is hanging its hopes for economic development.

The question of what to do next is simmering.. On the one hand, we don’t want to lose another day but I don’t really want to run to La Paz if we are going to be greeted by the same conditions. We compromise and decide to drive 18 miles further south to Puerto Escondito (hidden or lost port) which is reported to have a boat charter business and sailing club. We get to the port and find the charter business doesn’t exist and that the sailing club seems as deserted as everything else. Near perfect conditions for diving exacerbated our frustration. Then our luck changed.

Success

A fisherman approached us, introduced himself as “Francisco,” and asked in halting English "would you boys like to go fishing."

I replied, "no sir, we were hoping to go scuba diving, but all the shops are closed."

"I can take you diving," he beamed motioning to his green fishing panga. "It will be $50.00 for the three of you."

"Fifty dollars each, or total?" I replied, not that I was in any mood to haggle.

"Total," he replied and the deal was struck without any further negotiation.

We changed into our wetsuits, rigged our gear. Francisco helped us place our gear into the panga. Our destination is Punta Coyote, a wall on the outer edge of the embayment that makes up the port. Since it is mid-afternoon, to go any further and still having time to make two dives was really not feasible.

We quickly motor out to the site.  Francisco drops his anchor--a large rock tied off with a rope.  

We backroll off the panga on the count of three, being careful to distribute the weight evenly between the port and starboard side so as to not upset this narrow beamed, yet extremely seaworthy craft. Given my size, I take one side.  Andy and Brandon take the other.  My journal entry records: "The dives are fantastic and our spirits are buoyed" but mentions very little else about the dives. It doesn’t matter as we are wet, underwater, and right now we can’t ask for much more, especially in a deserted port in Baja on a Sunday afternoon in December.

We get back to the launch point near 5:00 p.m. We ask Francisco if he is available to take us out tomorrow. He regrets that he is not; he promised a friend that they would fish together. He is available the day after and we quickly make the arrangement. We mention some of the spots we would like to visit, such as Submarine Rock, and he indicates that he knows these sites very well.

Brandon looks for a freshwater rinse for his underwater camera but Francisco informs us the harbormaster turns off the water at four o’clock when he goes home for the day. Today was the Sea and Sea 35 mm camera’s inaugural dive. Brandon had received it as an early Christmas gift from his father and was determined to give it proper care. I was less concerned about a fresh water rinse for our gear. I had been taught as long as the regulator is damp, daily rinsing is not absolutely necessary. My brass “cast iron” U.S. Divers Conshelf 14 is like a camel, it can go weeks without fresh water and be no worse off for it.

Welcome to Playa Juncalito

We decide to set up camp on the beach at Juncalito, about half way between Loretto and Puerto Escondito. We drive in on the dirt road, cross the creek bed that has just a trickle of water, and engage the 4-wheel drive to make our way down the beach. We set up the rudiments of a camp before running into Loretto in the waning sunlight in order to fill the gas tank. At the station, we discover a fresh water hose and fill the covered 5-gallon bucket that will serve as the camera’s fresh water rinse for the next few days.

Returning to camp, I light the Coleman lantern while Andy sets up the four burner Coleman stove and starts to heat up water for the coffee. Dinner is simple. The beach camp is primitive, just the car, the tent, a hand dug privy in the nearby bushes and a fire that took a little coaxing to get going. How I love sharing a fire at camp after a day of diving. On our camping and dive trips, Brandon, who would contentedly cold camp at the side of a road, has never begrudged me my campfire, even when it meant paying for a spot in a campground with a fire pit. Luckily, in the California of the late 1980s, campgrounds offer inexpensive digs. But the beach here is free. I sleep in the tent, Andy takes up residence in the back of the truck and Brandon decides to sleep under the stars in his mummy bag. I quickly fall asleep to the lullaby of the surf on the beach and the hum of the generators from the few motorhomes parked near enough to be neighborly but far enough to give us some sense of being alone.