"It'll be easy trip," we told ourselves.
A quick flight from San Diego, cheap room, and dollar street tacos. San Jose del Cabo is an exception to the connotations of "Cabo." Here you will find half the city on any given afternoon sheltered under highway pass bridges drinking Tecate lights blaring festive music and enjoying the winding stretch of coast where desert becomes sea.
We ventured out a little further and kicked aside some urchins to make our way into the lineups of Los Cabos. Costa Azul provided world class waves for eight days straight; we lucked out like not many traveling surfers do.
The trip went seamlessly, until our last morning. We woke up surfed out and Cabo'd out and were ready to get back to the States, but alas, one among us had misplaced his most important dark blue booklet of papers. We searched high and low for Doug's passport, but its location eluded our foggy memories.
We figured we'd wing it, and we were met with laughs and disbelief on the part of airport staff that this could actually happen, as if some drunk gringo hadn't done this once before. We didn't find it as humorous... but we re-rented a car and somehow managed to sneak back into our rented apartment and were stuck in paradise for a few more days.
We scored a handful of sessions with hardly anyone out, and the travel troubles seemed to fade progressively with each wave we caught.
Here is evidence of a trip to Baja Sur documented on a couple rolls of film.
Water Photography - Douglas Robichaud
Firma Terra Photography - Jake Stein