Halfway across the three-mile crossing from Danzante Island back to the mainland of Baja, Ginni Callahan, founder of outfitter Sea Kayak Baja Mexico, has us hop out of our sea kayaks to practice our re-entry. We’re happy to, as it’s gotten hot. One by one, we pop our skirts and cannonball off into the aquamarine water, either climbing back in by ourselves or with someone else stabilizing our boat.
It’s one of many skills we’re learning on Ginni’s six-day “Learning in Paradise” course, a combo meal of instruction and sea kayaking in one of the most pristine desert/marine environments on the planet. Our tour with tips will take us around one of Mexico’s greatest natural treasures, Loreto Bay National Park, created in 1996 and now a UNESCO World Heritage Site. If we’re in an incredible environment, we’re also in good hands. One of only a handful of women in the country who has earned her British Canoe Union (now Paddlesports UK) Level 5 Instructor/Instructor Trainer certification (the hardest sea kayak certification in the world, which she passed on her first try), Ginni first came here in 1998 and has returned every year since. After working for other outfitters, she started Sea Kayak Baja Mexico in 2007. Until a few years ago, she spent her summers running Columbia River Kayaking on Oregon’s Columbia River, while also teaching, organizing sea kayaking symposiums and offering instructor trainer certifications. She recently sold that operation so she could stay here full time.
Loreto National Marine Park
Backed by the towering Sierra de la Giganta mountains, our gateway for exploring the park is Loreto, nestled six hours north of La Paz on the eastern side of the Baja California Peninsula, on the Gulf of California (Sea of Cortez). First settled by Hernán Cortés chasing rumors of gold, pearls and exotic Amazon-like women, who landed here on May 3, 1535, Loreto is Baja’s first Spanish colonial city and home to several Jesuit and Franciscan missionaries, including the 17th-century Mission Loreto. But its real crown jewel is its perch on the shores of the World Heritage Loreto National Marine Park, created in 1996 and encompassing 800 square miles in the Gulf and harboring the five uninhabited islands of Danzante, Carmen, Coronados, Montserrat, and Santa Catalina—and some of the richest marine life in the U.S. The region has been described by oceanographer Jacques Cousteau as “The Aquarium of the World,” harboring more than 800 species of fish and marine life, from sea turtles, dolphins and sea lions to a third of the world’s whale species, including humpback, gray, minke, fin, orca and blue. Its marine life is so prolific that the region’s waters and islands were added to UNESCO’s World Heritage list in 2005, which heralds them as “the richest and most varied of any island-sea property on the list.”
The Start
I meet our group a short walk from my hotel at the Sea Kayak Baja headquarters in downtown Loretto. It includes thirty-something paramedic Melody and forester Chris from Colorado, Chilean guide apprentice Carla Paz, guide Phillipe, originally from Veracruz, and company founder and sea kayaker extraordinaire Ginni. We’ll be a small group, just six, making us nimble and efficient.
Once our gear is handed out, including PFDs, sprayskirts, paddles, bilge pumps and paddle floats, and an assortment of drybags with such names as Heron, Sand Dollar and Dolphin so we know which ones are ours, we outfit our boats. They’re all high-end, composite single kayaks by Nigel Denis—the best money can by. We sit in them and adjust our backbands and foot pegs until we have just the right fit; we want everything in order so we can launch quickly the next morning. Wind permitting, we’ll paddle around the north tip of Dazantu Island and all the way to Carmen Island to camp. We’re here not just for a great trip but also to learn.
The next morning, we do just that, with some instruction on the beach, including how to practice wet exits and climbing back in. I also knock the dust off an Eskimo roll or two. Back on the beach, we pack our boats with six days’ worth of food, water and gear, heeding helpful advice about trimming them correctly from Ginni. We’ll have two crossings today: from here to Danzante, and then from there across to Carmen, each about three miles. And we’re also at the tail end of the season’s first small Norte wind, which has kicked up three-foot swells coming from our portside beam. But the boats are stable and we stay close together, with Ginni and Philippe riding a tight herd.
On the northern tip of Danzante, we share our lunch beach with a yellow-footed gull, whose beak’s red dot entices it chicks to feed. The species is endemic to the Sea of Cortez and indicative of a healthy ecosystem. Other indicators are everywhere as well, from flying fish and dolphin to pelicans dive-bombing at will for their meals. Rounding the tip, we make our next crossing to Carmen, again with swell at our beam from the north. Welcome to sea kayaking Baja, I muse, as a wave clips the side of my kayak and splashes me gently on the chin.
We make camp on a broad beach on the west side of Carmen, using ropes with handles to carry our kayaks up above the high tide line to where we can unload them. Ingredients for specific meals are all labeled by day, so we know what to pull out. I also pull out a black, 10-liter MSR waterbag from in front my feet, one of three in my boat, all positioned as closely as possible to the middle. Dinner is a delicious chicken mole, which we dive into as crabs scootch along in their shells under our chairs. Afterwards, we go over what we learned today, what techniques seemed to work and what didn’t. We also talk about the scale of difficulty of our crossing and how we all felt. Ginni is open and transparent, and does a good job at letting us be as well. We also go over our plan for tomorrow, with Ginni letting us estimate the mileage and analyze the wind report—something crucial for all sea kayak trips here.
Settling into the Trip
It’s 6 a.m. the morning of day two and I don’t think I’m dreaming. Cat Steven’s “Morning Has Broken” is playing on a flute, accompanied by the squawks of seagulls, pelicans and herons. It’s Ginni and one of her favorite parts of the trip. Her notes rise like the sun, hovering in the air like the gulls. She’ll play different dawn-related songs each morning, but only after the coffee is ready. Grabbing a cup, I stare out at the sea and spy a pod of dolphins surfacing just offshore, backlit by the Giganta Range, morphing from brown to magenta, red and pink from the rising sun. The mountains come alive with the sun just like the wildlife.
We have a long paddle today, but still have time for a quick snorkel along the coast. As soon as I go in I realize why the area is so special. Fish of all sizes dart here and there, dodging predators while being so themselves. Ginni joins and points out countless fish I missed, from scorpion fish to eels. I sense something big and catch a dolphin out the corner of my mask-clad eye. Back on shore, Ginni has us do paddling posture drills in the sand, rotating our torsos and scootching our butts. That’s how you get the most power out of your strokes.
Then we set off and paddle around Punta Baja at the southern tip of Carmen Island. It’s marked by two date palms, where we grab lunch in their shade. A few dates have fallen to the sand, which we eat for dessert. Back on the water, we play forward stroke games, pretending we’re showing off cowboy belt buckles to each side while we paddle, engaging our torso; pretending we have “penguin butts,” scootching our cheeks with each stroke to engage our hips; and “placing our paddle blades in cement,” pulling our boats forward. Ginni’s a master at these techniques, employing them herself on such marathon paddles as an 83-mile solo paddle from Loretto to mainland Mexico, a 30-day solo paddle during Covid, and a 51-mile solo circumnavigation of Carmen Island from Loretto. Her enthusiasm is infectious, whether it’s teaching how to become better paddlers or identifying shells on the beach.
“I love teaching and showing people this place and seeing them learn,” she says, as we round the tip and parallel the east side of Carmen Island. While she’ll lead everything from 21-day trips around the islands and down to coast to La Paz to easier motor-assisted trips, her favorites are instructional courses like this one. “Teaching is one of our best niches,” she adds. “It combines an incredible trip with the opportunity to learn. There are just so many great things down here, from the wildlife and richness of the sea to the meeting of desert and ocean, remoteness, beaches and the darkness of the night sky. It’s the whole combination.”
Working our way up the seahorse-shaped island’s east coast, she has us do one more maneuver testing our newly honed paddling skills: fitting all six of our boats inside a limestone sea cave, whose mouth frames a semi-circle of blue sky and sea beyond. Then we turn our boats around, using a combination of draw strokes, sweeps and rudders, and file back out. Paralleling shore, we eventually turn into a secluded alcove lined by cliffs on both sides and a pristine beach at the end. It’s the perfect campsite, with cliffs for shade, protected water for snorkeling, and sand for sleeping—which happens early, as it’s dark at 6 p.m., but not until after we turn our gazes upwards.
Snorkeling and Stargazing
If Ginni likes the sunrises here, she also loves the nighttime sky. After dinner, Baja burritos this time, we take in the Tsuchinshan-Atlas comet and it’s million-mile-long tail as well as “sun pillars,” space dust illuminated by the refracted rays of the sun below the horizon. Ginni uses her laser pointer to identify such galaxies as Andromeda and such constellations as Scorpio, Swan, Delphinus, and more. The stars are as dazzling as any we have ever seen and we take turns learning constellations into the night.
In the morning, we wake at 5 a.m., this time to “Here Comes the Sun” on the flute. But the song is premature. It’s still dark. We pack coffee in a thermos and paddle out with headlamps to catch the sunrise. Fifteen minutes later we’re all alone in the middle of the Sea of Cortez—a perfect time and place for a cup of coffee. Halfway through our second cup, the horizon east of us toward mainland Mexico starts to glow. Another day here begins all over again. It slowly awakens the rockscape behind us, painting it a kaleidoscope of reds.
Back at camp, we eat huevos rancheros with local salsa and then hike onto an coralline shelf above the beach. The layer of algae coral reveals mollusk fossils in the thousands, from ammonites and clams to oysters and sand dollars (not pesos). Ever conscious of the region’s winds, Ginni also points out where past hurricanes created 35-foot-high swells that funneled up the Sea of Cortez, depositing boulders high on the ledge. Back at the beach, it’s snorkel time. Soon we’re surrounded by schools of sardinas, a type of bait fish, in numbers too high to fathom. I try to count and stop when my estimate climbs to the tens of thousands. There are seemingly as many as there are stars we saw in the sky. I swim down into the middle of a school and they part, as if I’m Moses, giving me a little space inside their globe. These fish, too, are indicative of how healthy the marine ecosystem is, with their predators adding to the aquarium. Perched on limestone ledges above are the most spoiled pelicans on the planet, shooting the breeze before taking turns diving in with a loud Kerplop! for a quick snack.
In the afternoon, we work on boat leans and braces. First, she has us paddling in circles (none of the boats have rudders, only skegs for tracking), alternating between leaning onto our inside and outside edges. The outside edge, we learn, is actually better and more efficient. Then we straddle our kayaks John Wayne-style and practice braces. It’s a good way to hone both balance and blade support. We end with a sunset paddle; might as well bookend the earth’s rotation with the sun at both sides.
The next morning, we head south back toward Punta Baja. In route, guide Phillipe catches a grouper trolling with a hand line. After marinating it in lime juice for 30 minutes, we feast on fresh ceviche for lunch in the shade of the point’s two date palm trees. After another snorkeling session (might as well), we make a three-mile crossing to Danzante Island, playing paddling games long the way. One is trying to snatch coral from another boat’s bow and place it on someone else’s; another is paddling in a straight line and alternating sprints to take the lead; a third is lining up based on our boat color. They’re all designed to get us practice using various strokes and pass time during the crossing. Mobula rays keep us occupied as well, at times soaring 20 linear yards out of the water like stealth bombers.
The crossing goes quickly and soon we arrive at a cliff-lined beach on Danzante (The Dancing Island) under Punta Mummia, named for a jagged ridgeline of rock. After a dinner of trigger fish pasta, again courtesy of Phillipe’s hand line, we lay on our backs and stargaze again. As with our paddling and snorkeling, we’re getting better at it, more comfortable with its nuances and knowing what to look for. When I retire to my tent I notice that the lap of each beach sounds different, a different cadence, rhythm and even melody. Like the marine life here, my own senses are becoming more attuned. Backlit by the moon, my quick-dry shirt draped over my tent resembles a mobula ray.
In the morning, we pull out or snorkels again, this time swimming along a reef wall dropping hundreds of feet below. I’m not sure what’s more mesmerizing, the many shades of blue or marine life. We see queen angels, sergeant majors, tiny gobies, needle fish, wrasses, parrot fish, the obligatory masses of sardinas and more. In the afternoon, we paddle around the tip of Danzante, “rock gardening” by paddling through tight slots in the rocks, timing our entrances and exits with the ocean’s pulse. It’s another way of practicing what we’ve learned so far. Near sunset, we paddle around a islet with a blowhole that geysers with every incoming wave.
The next day we pack up our kayaks again, our gear fitting easier after six days and no longer having to worry quite as much about proper trim balancing the weight of MSR waterbags and our shrunken food supplies. We’re more efficient at the process now as well. Soon, we’re off, rounding the southern tip of Danzante Island and working up its west coast before crossing back to the mainland peninsula. A final snack and quick snorkel to beat the heat sees us back in our boats for the crossing, where Ginni breaks out more games and drills for us to polish our skills. The most fun and refreshing is hopping out of our boats and climbing back in, both solo and assisted. Right before I pop my skirt and plunge in, I see both a dolphin and mobula ray break the water’s surface in the distance. Once in the water, I seriously debate climbing back in.
Info: www.seakayakbajamexico.com
More info on Loreto: www.loretobcstourism.com
Behind the Scenes: A Q&A with Ginni
One of your courses is called “Learning in Paradise”…what’s behind that? Learning is one of our best niches and main focuses. It’s something you can’t really get elsewhere in the same context: a trip with an opportunity to learn. On all our trips you can learn because we’re all coaches. That’s the vision we started with and the direction we’re still going.
What makes this place so special? There are so many aspects…the wildlife, richness of the sea, juxtaposition of desert and sea, and the remoteness—you’re out in nature. There’s also the darkness of the night sky that puts the universe at your fingertips. I like the whole combination. And it’s relatively accessible from Canada and the US.
Did you ever think that you would be here for 25 years when you first came in ‘97? No. Someone invited me and I was just tagging along in one of those life transitions. I thought, ‘Well, why not try this?’ I saw it at first through somebody else’s eyes who was completely in love with the place. It was contagious and now that’s me. It’s gone from something interesting to a lifestyle to a passion to an addiction. For all the times I’ve been out to the same beaches, paddling the same routes, it’s always different. The place continues to change and evolve, which is fascinating.
And you’ve seen it change in those 25 years? Things are definitely changing. Historically, development has boomed and busted and that could happen again. As for the landscape there’s always sand moving north along the west side of southern Carmen Island, so you see that progress. Erosion is sort of a one-way change but also part of the bigger cycle. That’s what I love about being out here: you connect with the bigger cycles of life. When you see the geology so alive, you realize that mountain isn’t just a static thing. It’s a temporary storage container for atoms; it just looks static because our lives are short. You have different timelines here—geologic time and then celestial time, which makes even geologic time look like a blink of an eye. And then you have the little fishes and other critters to whom our lives look eternal.
When are the best times to visit for what? “For what” is the best part of that question. There are best times for everything. From a paddling standpoint, for calm weather and warmer water, late October and early November are best. It depends when the northerly winds start. Mid-March through April is another time the weather is similar and the water’s warming up. If you want whales, which come in for the food generated by the upwelling driven by the wind, that’s best during the windier times, like late January, February, and early March. The rest of the year, May to early October, is good for diving and snorkeling. Our main season is from October 15 through April, which bookends the calmer weather. We do more outings and community programs for locals from May to October.
And mid-winter is windier? Yeah. That’s when we might run more custom trips for more experienced paddlers or run downwind to La Paz. Those are super fun as well, with whales to boot during that time.
Anything advice for people who aren’t sea kayakers but should still visit? It’s great even if it’s just day trips and you’re staying in a hotel. You can also visit the islands in a motorboat with snorkel gear. Sit on tops and paddleboards are also fun ways to see the area, which is magical at sunrise and sunset. And our longer trips are totally obtainable by beginners. We have different levels of trips. On our “Getaway,” you don’t need any experience, just a sense of adventure. We’ll even help you put up the tent. We’ve also got Intro to Kayaking courses combined with camping. Our Learning in Paradise course is the next phase and flexible based on the weather and clients. Then we have our Sea Paddler course, which is intentionally going out in wind and waves; and then Sea Leader training, which is even harder and more aggressive where you learn to take others out or even go solo, focusing on additional skills like navigation, safety, communication, and positioning.
How hard is it to get the training level you’ve reached? There aren’t that many people who have it in the U.S. I think only five women or so have gotten the advanced Sea Leader 5 Star in North America. The test is pretty hard and takes commitment. But most of us are good at something and for me that’s sea kayaking. That’s just what I chose. I’ve also been lucky to live in environments like the Pacific Coast that helped develop my paddling skills.
What’s your take on the state of sea kayaking these days? It seems to be undergoing a transition. There was a generation of learning and expeditioning enthusiasts that doesn’t seem as strong anymore—that sleeping on the ground stuff. There doesn’t seem to be as much filling-in behind that generation in the same way. But there’s definitely folks who want to be outdoors and learn and play. There are just so many other things competing for people’s limited recreation time. There also seems to be a reluctance to travel because of its environmental impact. We’re trying to create a positive impact in the world, especially through our community and conservation efforts, but our economy is based on asking people to fly, so there’s an integral conflict there. But we try to offset that with the work that we do and getting people out in nature. That’s valuable. The more people you can get out the more potential stewards you might create. People aren’t going to protect something they don’t know and love. Our three core points are recreation, education, and access. We try to get people to connect with it and love it. I’d love to get every kid in Loretto who wants to out in the water and help create a self-sustaining paddlesport community here.
What’s the outfitting scene like down there? Right now we have about three sea kayak outfitters here, which is down from a heyday 25 years ago when there were about 12. But a lot of those would just come down and do one trip and head home. I’d love to create an instruction certification program down here for Latin America to keep it going. The creation of the national park, which just celebrated its 25th anniversary, has also increased interest. When I first started here, it was a literally a race to secure a beach camp. Sometimes you’d send your fastest paddlers to snag one. Now there’s a reservation system for camps. The economy tanking saved us once from too much use, and then COVID.
But you’re glad to see it preserved as a national park? Absolutely. Because now there’s a management plan. People monitor the beaches and communicate with the community about it and the importance of protecting it. Mexico is a super diverse country; it has 12% of the world’s species diversity in just 2% of its land. But there are still development challenges also. One proposal wants to drive natural gas across northern Mexico and then ship it down through the Gulf, right through whale habitat. One accident and you’ve polluted this amazing natural heritage.