Where Desert Meets Aquarium: A Kayak Journey Through Baja’s Waters

Ruth Bergman
Apr 24
10 min read

Updated: Apr 30

Introducing the World’s Aquarium: The Sea of Cortez

I spent several years living in San Diego while attending UCSD, and I thought I knew Baja California. I’d driven the Pacific coast multiple times, suntanned on its beaches, eaten delicious Mexican cuisine, drank the margaritas, and crossed the border more times than I could count. But somehow, I had no idea what wonders lay just on the other side of the peninsula.

The Sea of Cortez — or the Gulf of California — has been called “the world’s aquarium,” a nickname given by none other than Jacques Cousteau. It’s said to hold nearly 80% of the species diversity found in the Galápagos Islands. Dolphins, sea lions, whale sharks, and migrating whales thrive in its waters. Its rich marine life, warm climate, and striking combination of desert and sea make it unlike anywhere else.

After returning to San Diego from a kayaking expedition in Antarctica, we saw photos from our local kayak club’s recent trip around Isla Espíritu Santo. Their images were enticing: turquoise water, rocky cliffs, whales, kayakers alongside sea lions. And I thought—how are we this close to a place like that and not going ourselves?

Decoding Baja’s Kayak Journeys: Choosing the Right Paddle

Then came the task of finding the right trip — and in Baja, there are plenty of great options. From short paddles to full expeditions, and with several reputable outfitters (see Resources section), it’s easy to tailor a kayaking experience to your timeframe and comfort level. As always, I gravitated toward what I know and love: a multi-day kayak expedition.

There are two main types of multi-day kayaking trips in Baja. One is the coastal journey from Loreto to La Paz, tracing the Sea of Cortez along the Baja peninsula. It takes about ten days to complete by kayak, though the trip typically ends in a bay just before reaching La Paz. The second, and more popular, option is a circumnavigation of Isla Espíritu Santo — a protected national park known for its dramatic scenery and rich marine life. This route takes around six days and focuses more on exploration than distance.

Eventually, I came across a trip that combined the best of both worlds. Offered by Mar y Aventuras, it featured both Baja’s coastline and some of the islands along the way — including Espíritu Santo. The itinerary was seven days of paddling, so the full distance to La Paz is not kayaked. The trip included boat transfers to bridge the gaps. According to their description, this was their most physically challenging trip, with paddling distances ranging from 12 to 20 kilometers per day. We chose it for a number of reasons: the dates fit our schedule, the duration felt right after returning from a month-long expedition, it allowed us to experience both the coastline and the island, and — crucially — they guaranteed us single kayaks.

Trip style was another important consideration. We’re used to self-sufficient expeditions, carrying all our own gear and setting up camp each night. Those kinds of trips are rare in Baja. The one self-supported option we did find required the use of double kayaks due to gear volume, and we weren’t keen on giving up our singles. Some trips are classified as Partially Catered, where a support boat carries gear and supplies, but guests participate in setting up camp and preparing meals.

Ours was a Fully Catered experience — and it was, by all accounts, a luxury nature trip. We were accompanied by three boats and seven crew members: two guides, three boat captains, and two chefs. Each boat had a designated role — one for the kitchen, one for gear and camp setup, and one for transporting people. By the time we paddled or motored into camp, everything was already arranged: a full kitchen tent, dining tent, a row of tents each outfitted with a military-style cot, mattress, and even a little “porch” with table and chair. All we had to do was grab our personal bags and settle in.

It was, admittedly, a strange way to travel through such wild places. Don’t get me wrong — it was enjoyable, just… unexpected. On days we paddled 20 kilometers, it was certainly nice not to have to break camp at sunrise or haul gear into the kayak. Still, I personally prefer the work and the deeper connection that comes with true self-sufficiency. That said, I imagine most people would absolutely love this pampered approach to expedition kayaking.

Sheltered from Wind, Surprised by Dolphins

Our trip got off to a bit of a rocky start — or rather, a windy one. The forecast called for strong winds, up to 28 km/hour, during our first two days on the water. As is often the case on expedition trips, weather made the decisions for us. Our guides opted for a sheltered campsite on the tiny Isla Danzante, and serious kayaking was temporarily off the table. Oren and I were a bit disappointed — we came to paddle, after all — but there’s no arguing with the wind.

Instead, we made the most of the calm bay near camp. We convinced our guides we were experienced enough to head out on our own within the sheltered waters, and we managed to warm up with 4ish kilometers of paddling each day.

But any lingering disappointment vanished the moment we launched for our first warm-up paddle: a pod of dolphins appeared as if on cue. They lingered in the bay for the entire two days, surfacing and playing alongside our kayaks. Every time we hit the water, they were there — leaping, diving, weaving beside us. We chased each other through the waves for hours, grinning like kids the whole time.

So yes, we missed out on big water adventure those first days. But we gained something rare and magical in return. I paddled with dolphins. If that’s not turning lemons into lemonade, I don’t know what is.

Abundant Seas: Snorkel the Aquarium, Beachcomb the Baja Coast

From the moment we landed on the beach at Isla Danzante, the richness of the Sea of Cortez was on full display. With high winds limiting our paddling range, we had plenty of time to explore the shore — and everyone returned from beachcombing excursions with treasures in hand. By the end of our two days on Isla Danzante, our collection of seashells could have rivaled a marine museum exhibit.

On our second day, we took to the water for our first snorkel. There was a good spot right in our protected little bay. It had been years since I’d gone snorkeling, and I was surprised by how long it took me to adjust — first to the cold water, even with my neoprene suit, and then to breathing steadily through the mask. But once I settled in, I was rewarded with a vivid underwater world: coral gardens and fish of every shape and color. Schools of Cortez rainbow wrasse shimmered around us, darting back and forth alongside graybar grunt and other reef dwellers.

Every day brought a new opportunity for both snorkeling and beachcombing — each time in a spot more beautiful than the last. One beach, favored by local fishermen, revealed a different kind of abundance: a makeshift shelter tucked into rock cave, with a tiny chapel hidden in the depth of the cave, and a shoreline carpeted in broken shells, the byproduct of years of harvest.

As we made our way south, the snorkeling only got better. The water grew warmer and clearer, and my confidence in the water deepened with each swim. Isla El Pardito — a tiny island near a fishing village of just 14 people — may have been the highlight of the trip. There, we floated above a vibrant coral reef teeming with life: parrotfish, angelfish, sergeant majors, and more species than I could count. We spotted pufferfish, a curious eel, and even the needle-like reef cornetfish sliding through the shallows.

By the end of the trip, it was hard to believe the sheer biodiversity that thrives just beneath that glassy turquoise surface. Even for a committed paddler like myself, snorkeling had become more than a side activity — it was a daily plunge into the magic of Baja’s living aquarium.

Desert Coast: Paddling Through Baja’s Rocky Beauty

Baja’s coastline is a dramatic interplay of desert and sea — a landscape where rocky cliffs rise straight from the surf, framing our days on the water. Whether kayaking, cruising by motorboat, or pulling into yet another beautiful campsite, these rugged backdrops are a constant presence. Their layered formations shift in character with the changing light: glowing pink and amber at sunrise, paling in the mid-day haze, and mirroring perfectly in still water when the wind dies down.

Each beach we land on reveals a new geological variation — red, ochre, tan, even green stone — streaked with patterns etched by time. The desert hues and textures call to mind the arid beauty of Eilat or Sinai, while the sculpted rock formations often echo the red cliffs of Moab. It’s a fusion of familiar desert imagery, reimagined at the edge of the sea.

The dryness here is absolute. There hasn’t been any rainfall this year. Streambeds are bone-dry, their channels silent. Insects seem to sense the freshwater we bring, gathering near our gear, drawn by the scent or the hope of a drop. Yet despite the drought, desert life endures. Cacti cling to the cliffs and sprawl just beyond the beach, thriving in the heat and radiating their own kind of stubborn beauty.

I loved our two days of paddling along this coastline — long stretches on the water, immersed in the rhythm of the sea. One day brought big waves, enough to tip one of our group, while Oren and I couldn’t resist surfing the swells. The reward each time was landing our kayaks on a pristine, rocky beach, the cliffs rising behind us like a painted backdrop. After 20 kilometers, sun-drenched and salt-streaked, this was exactly where I wanted to be.

Sea to Sushi: Fishing for Happy Hour

We woke with the sun each day, no alarm needed — just the soft rustle of camp life and the glow of the early light. Coffee waited in a thermos in the dining tent, and not long after, came the call: time to go fishing.

I’m no fisherwoman, but I do love the golden light of morning for photography — and there’s always the hope of spotting a whale (which, sadly, didn’t happen on this trip). Still, I joined the fishing outings most days, camera in hand, ready for whatever the sea might offer.

Sometimes the fishing was quiet. Other times, the fish were biting. One morning, our star fisherman landed three beautiful black tuna. He handed them straight to the chef and requested they be turned into sashimi. That evening, as the sun dipped low, we sipped margaritas and savored fresh tuna — sea to sushi in a matter of hours.

Out on the water, I had one-on-one moments with a few of my fellow travelers — all lifelong adventurers, each with stories rich enough to fill a boat on their own. We passed small pangas with local fishermen casting lines beneath circling pelicans, both competing for the morning’s catch. Life felt full — not in any grand way, but in the quiet rhythm of sea, stories, and salt air.

A Swim Like No Other: Immersed in the Sea Lions’ Playful World

On the sixth day of our journey, we motored out to a sea lion colony near Isla Espíritu Santo. Time to trade paddles for fins. I’m always up for any interaction with marine mammals — usually from the comfort of a kayak — but this would be different. The anticipation was sky-high.

At first, we spotted them lounging on the rocks. Then, a lone sea lion caught our attention, tossing around a fully puffed-up pufferfish like a beach ball. I stuck close to our guides as we entered the water, and soon enough, we were surrounded. One curious sea lion swam right up and locked eyes with me. I managed a quick photo before instinctively backing away, reminded of the seal teeth I’d seen in Antarctica.

They came in singles, pairs, trios — gliding, twirling, chasing each other in an endless dance. Agile and elegant, their bodies moved like silk in the current. Our guide joined the game, tossing a rope for one to catch in its mouth. The sea lion grabbed it and swam alongside him. Then came the diving game — guide and sea lion disappearing into the blue and popping back up in tandem. The playfulness was contagious.

At one point, we swam through a narrow crevasse, bursting with coral and tropical fish. Three sea lions followed us in, darting around like underwater acrobats — beneath us, beside us, in front of us. It was impossible to keep track of where the next flash of movement would come from. We looped around for another pass, unwilling to leave, until the chill finally drove us back to the boat — shivering, grinning, and completely exhilarated.

Baja Reflections: Enjoying the Moment and Bonding with Fellow Adventurers

This wasn’t a trip we had meticulously planned months in advance. We knew it wouldn’t be a classic expedition — no detailed routes, no remote wild camps to reach by sheer paddle power. Still, we packed our dry bags and showed up with open minds. We had to advocate a bit for more paddling, and most of the time, it worked out. It became a lesson in patience — in embracing what was offered, staying present, and letting each day unfold on its own terms. And, more often than not, those moments turned out to be quietly extraordinary.

What made the trip truly special, though, were the people. Our group was made up of lifelong adventurers — the kind of people who light up when they talk about trekking through Patagonia or rafting the Alsek. Every happy hour and post-dinner conversation was a journey in itself, swapping stories of summits, river descents, ocean crossings, and bike tours. It’s rare to find a group so full of kindred spirits, each carrying a spark of curiosity and courage.

The Baja coast and the Sea of Cortez gave us a stunning stage — red cliffs, turquoise waters, starry nights, and warm beaches. I understand now why Jacques Cousteau called it “the world’s aquarium.” And yes, it was also a real treat to paddle in warm water for a change.

We came for an adventure, and we left with memories, inspiration, and a renewed joy in discovering nature. Life is full with the simple happiness of being in motion, in beauty, and in good company.