Loreto Redux

For the last few years our escape from the dreary, wet January/February weather in Seattle was Costa Rica. Really a magical place which we’ve written about in many of our blogs. But we’ve seen most of Costa Rica on our five trips there, and we had only about two weeks—much less time than our usual month plus — because of a couple of trips planned in the months ahead.

So we decided to try something a little different—Loreto, Baja Sur, Mexico. It’s on the Sea of Cortez about 4 hours north of La Paz and 8 hours from Cabo San Lucas. We’d been there five years ago to celebrate a friend’s 60th birthday and found the town to be charming. Tiny, still somewhat authentic. A world away from the tourist meccas of Cabo, Mazatlan, Puerto Vallerta. We had also spent time on the Sea of Cortez—the “aquarium of the world” according to Jacques Cousteau—on an UnCruise small ship. (We wrote about that trip https://chasingthegoodlife.blog/2018/08/14/hometown-whales/) So we knew there was a lot to see and do in the area especially if nightlife, gambling, and partying isn’t your thing.

And getting there was much easier than most warm weather escapes from Seattle—one stop in LA and then 120 minutes on to Loreto’s minuscule international airport. Left Seattle in the early morning and were in our condo at 3:00 pm. A real contrast to the eight hour, one-stop flight to San Jose, Costa Rica, which required a one night airport hotel stay both coming and going.

Loreto and its surroundings are in a mountainous desert bordering the Sea of Cortez—picture the Southwest US, but on an ocean, complete with saguro like cacti (but technically a cardón we were informed by a naturalist). We’re staying in a gringo development of half Canadian and half US visitors, spread around almost 900 homes, Nopoló, nine miles south of the town of Loreto. A bit contrived as planned communities tend to be with fake adobe homes and condos. Not our usual vibe. But the location! The Sea of Cortez on one side, with its islands off in the distance, and the mountains behind us to the west. Stunning views. Beautiful dessert landscaping (who knew how many blooming plants would survive the desert heat?) and immaculate grounds.

And quiet. Surprisingly so, given the density and number of homes. Most mornings and evenings it’s just the sound of birds and the wind in the palms.

And plenty of choices for excellent short-term rentals—another draw. Good restaurants, a couple coffee shops, walking paths, a long, half mile beautiful beach to stroll, kayaks to rent. But, of course, all of this comes at close to US prices. Still, for a short getaway it checks most the boxes.

And the town of Loreto, despite the draw of the raw beauty of the area, has remained largely Mexican but with enough infrastructure to support a modest tourism industry. Parts of the town, particularly on the outskirts, are a bit run down, dusty, ramshackle. Locals buying meat at the many small carnicerias, tortillas at one of the ancient tortilla factories, whole roasted chickens at the industrial smoking ovens of the Pollo Asado. Typical of most of non-tourist Mexico.

Loreto’s real claim to fame, however, is its modest mission and church, first established more than three hundred years ago as the headquarters for all of Baja and California.

The town center, with its flower covered pedestrian walkways, and the malecon (the waterfront walk) are lovely and are a reminder of what tourist dollars can do—in addition to providing local jobs.

The main old hotel on the city square, the promenade and government building.

But it is small time tourism compared to much of the rest of Pacific coast Mexico. There are no mega resorts here, no cruise ship terminal. The airport has roughly 3 flights a day. One golf course—although apparently there is a super fancy golf course resort now open about 20 miles south of town. There was a giant Holland American cruise ship offshore when we arrived and a few cruisers wandering around the town center, but we have no idea how they’d get 2000 people into town. The Loreto marina is really only suited for the tiny panga fishing boats. Even the fancy charter fishing boats are moored miles south in Puerto Escondido.

Five years ago when we were here we did see Steven Spielberg’s yacht anchored off shore and even got to see him and his entourage whisked off from the marina to the airport in a motorcade of white SUVs to a private jet. He had hosted the Obamas the week before. Our tiny, distant brush with celebrity.

I guess we can be thankful that we are staying in bit of a backwater. By shear bad luck we timed our stay in Loreto with the killing of El Mencho, the narco gang leader, by the Mexican federales in late February. The killing set off acts of violence from the drug gangs all around Mexico, particularly in Guadalajara and Puerto Vallarta across the Sea of Cortez from us. Roads closed, airports shut down. Cars and buses set on fire. Shops trashed. People sheltering in place. But in Loreto, absolutely quiet. Nada. Something to be said for being off the beaten path.

So what is there to do and see around sleepy Loreto beyond strolling, reading, beach walking, and napping—certainly not bad options? Nature is very, very big here. And marine life is the star. The entire bay in front of the town is a giant national park—the Loreto Bay National Marine Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site, the aquarium of the world. There are boating excursions into the park and if you’re lucky you can see dolphins, whale sharks, and the largest mammal on earth—the blue whale. And we were lucky to see the Humpback whales attempting to woo potential mates by tale slapping and breaching off shore. There are snorkeling expeditions to the nearby islands and even swimming with the sea lions for the brave.

We do like looking at birds and usually during our morning and sunset walks we easily identified six to twelve different species. The pelicans were a show unto themselves.

But even more impressive is the two hour drive across the peninsula to Puerto Adolfo Lopez Mateos and Magdalena Bay. Here every year from January to March, hundreds of grey whales migrate down from Alaska to calve. Small pangas (open motorized boats—the number and size is limited by strict environmental regulations), take you out into the bay to witness this natural wonder. The whales seem to get close enough that you could reach out and touch them. Of course, you’re not supposed to. Truly a must do if you’re in Loreto at that time of year.

Photo credit to our frequent travel companion Malcolm Lindquist

We’ve made that trip twice before and could not resist a third time this visit. So up before the sun, literally, and off across the Baja peninsula to the Pacific side. The first hour of the drive, winding up the side of the mountains as the sun rose was spectacular and we deeply regretted the lack of any safe space to pull over the take pictures.

Then another hour of straight roads through the barren cardón forests as you gradually go down to sea level again. Unfortunately when we arrived at the coast we saw the first clouds we had seen in two weeks — close to the ground clouds as in dense fog. So we had to wait a couple hours until the sun burned through the fog and it was safe to leave harbor. And as the two hour boat ride extended into three hours, the skies became blue again. Well worth the wait and the $40 per person charge.

Aside from hopping in a car or van to go whale watching, there are also several short drives from Loreto worth the time—one to the gorgeous St. Javier Mission in the mountains above the town

another up the coast past the stunning Bahia Concepcion to the old mission town of Mulege. It was in Mulege that local resistance to the American invaders kept Baja part of Mexico during the 1848 Mexican—American War. A hero city, Heroica Mulege.

Certainly more enough to do and see for a two week escape from the cold and rain of the Northwest US. And we’re enjoying every warm minute of it.

Whale of a story

The whole purpose of the trip was to see sea mammals. That and getting out of Seattle’s gloom and doom weather. We’ve seen whales in various places in the Salish Sea & Alaskan waters but this trip promised something more. And it delivered.

From the eastern shores of Baja, we rode in vans to Magdalena Bay where Gray Whales give birth to their calves. At three different times since Europeans arrived on this coast, the whales have been hunted to near extinction and still they survive. At one time their numbers were below 300 animals. Now there are likely over 26,000. Each year they make this 7000 mile journey from their feeding grounds to this large bay.

The town, Puerto Lopez Mateos, doesn’t offer much beyond the whales. And before tourism became a business, fishing kept the town alive. The cannery is still there and operating. Today there’s a school, a restaurant or two, a military outpost and the docks for the whale watching industry. Beyond the two or three paved roads, homes line the dirt streets.

But once we got to the docks, we could see what kept the town alive. Several stands offered whale watching expeditions. Cheap tourist trinkets were sold in other stands. A snack bar served hungry tourists.

We boarded the pangas, the small open touring boats that would take us out into the coastal waterways. Eight or nine to a boat. Our panga had hardly motored more than 100 yards when we encountered our first whale. A mom with her calf, who in his excitement bumped up against one of the boats. I was surprised at how close we got to the pair, but it was the only time luck brought us that close.

At one point our boat sat in the broad channel where Magdalena Bay opens to the Pacific. Big rollers came in from the Pacific and the whales were all around us. Our heads were whipping from one side to another as the other people in the boat kept seeing whales. All the tail splashing and fin slapping was happening at some distance. But closer by, whales again and again popped up doing a sky hop which we were told was how they looked around above water. Very impressive.

Later that day, back on the Sea of Cortez in the Parque Nacional Bahia de Loreto, just as the sun was setting, a Blue Whale and her calf surfaced several times around the boat. The largest animal on earth, it really didn’t look like much….a giant blimp almost completely submerged except for a long backbone, sometimes with a second small blimp next to it.

It was a day or two later in the same waters when the captain spotted a group of bottle-nosed dolphins. As we got within a couple hundred yards of them, they turned and headed right for our boat. It appeared they wanted to play on our bow wave, a feat we had experienced several times in our little chartered trawler in the San Juan Islands of the Pacific Northwest.

Later we spotted a huge group of common dolphins, probably 100 or more of the creatures, in a fairly tight knot, leaping and diving in a feeding frenzy. The captain piloted the boat through the group three times. Each time, many of the dolphins left their feeding to play with our boat. We all wandered down to dinner that night grinning. You just can’t help but react with a smile to the sheer exuberance of the dolphins.

But the best was yet to come.

On the last full day of our cruise, we had to don our wetsuits by 7:30am and hit the water. It was an overcast morning which didn’t make the water look too appealing. But as our boat got near the rocks where the adult sea lions rested after a night of fishing, the juvenile sea lions made a beeline for us. One by one we rolled off the side of the zodiac skiff into the cold water and into the midst of a teenage sea lion party.

Adult sea lions, and particularly the big males don’t make as charming swim buddies. That’s part of the reason for the early morning snorkel. The big guys would be more likely to leave us alone. When one big male lumbered past us, I was grateful he was intent on getting home.

The juveniles were something else all together. Like frisky pups, they swam right up to our faces. They nipped at our fins. And I watched one guy bite on Peter’s fin and shake his head. I swear he as trying to steal it.

It seemed they delighted in sneaking up to us & darting in front of our faces. They watched us carefully as they swam past, the eyes tracking our movements.

Three of the pups found a puffer fish which they batted around like a beach ball. Glad I wasn’t like that puffer fish.

At times they abandoned their individual water ballet and clung together, looking for all the world like they enjoyed each other’s company.

They followed us out to our skiff at the end of our snorkel and seemed to regret us leaving as much as we did. Okay, probably not.

But was a grand ending to a week of sea mammals.

Mule riding in Baja:

Riding a mule was never on my bucket list. But when it was proposed to the group of us, my thought was, “when will I ever have this chance again?” Quickly followed by, “just gonna do this once.” So my husband, my brother and I all raised our hands when they asked who wanted to go riding. We were on the eastern shores of the Baja Peninsula and the small boat cruise company had connections with a local family who would once a week gather enough mules to take groups off the boat riding.

It started as a rather strange process, vaguely reminiscent of junior high dances or waiting to be picked for a kick ball game in grade school. The whole group of us stood in a line or rough semi-circle. The local vaquero stood in his cowboy boots beneath his cowboy hat, looking first at each mule as it was brought forward, then at the line of gringos and with a point of his finger and a nod of his head indicated who was to get on the mule.

Peter went first. Was that a good thing or not? Malcolm and I were among the last.

I tried to discern a rhyme or reason for how we were matched with our mules. By weight? By height? Were timid riders matched with mild mannered mules? Did zodiac signs come into play? But the cowboy has his method and no one questioned his wisdom. And after we were loaded on the mules, young boys led our mules to the side in a rather haphazard mix of nervous riders and fresh mules.

Our mule train started up a broad dirt road and I was encouraged when my gray mule moved right along to get to the front of the pack. Those initial steps were the only lively ones out of him. After that he had to be strongly urged to keep up, and picked up speed only to prevent the mule behind us from passing. Uphills were a real struggle. But that happened later.

Initially the path was wide enough for a car and the views of the Aqua Verde Bay below us were spectacular. I began to feel brave enough to take out my camera.

I got feeling pretty comfortable, swaying and rolling to the easy gate of the mule. Figured I looked pretty competent, too. Felt sort of like an adult version of the pony rides at the zoo or at a carnival. Clearly, I thought to myself, we had made the right choice to go mule riding.

But as the reached to ridge line, the path narrowed. And the distance to be covered was revealed.

As the mule made its way through the brush on the valley floor, it became clear any control I thought I had of this mule was just an illusion. He knew the route. He was going to go at his pace. I was, quite literally, just along for the ride. The mule in front of us made that even more abundantly clear as he stopped at each bush that caught his fancy for a snack.

Stubborn as a mule is not an inappropriate phrase.

A small flock of turkey vultures sat on the ground not far from our mule trail, not the least bit disturbed by our presence, perhaps waiting for an errant rider to fall off a mule.

Not long after passing the vultures, I became uncomfortably aware of my sit bones. I had always thought I was well padded, but was discovering my natural padding was not quite where I needed it for this mule ride. And while the scenery remained gorgeous, I began to worry the end was not in sight. Just how long is a two hour ride?

The final stretch came when the Aqua Verde Bay was back in view. We stopped at the top of the ridge and our cowboys tightened the cinches on our mules.

We had been instructed to lean back on steep descents. At this point I began to worry if my legs would support me when I finally did get off. But I leaned back and hoped for the best. As a side note, our guides hopped off their mules and lead them down the steep terrain. What did they know that we didn’t? No pictures here; I was too busy holding on.

The good news is none of us embarrassed ourselves by falling off. And while we all walked a little funny for the first few steps, we were able to move. The real soreness didn’t set in for a couple hours and for days later I was rather painfully reminded of the fun from my one and only mule ride.