Tests of the new year come early
CATHARINE COOPER
New Years: 2005
A wild rage of red, vermillion, and violet boldly announces the
first day of 2005 as the sun crests the horizon amid cloudy skies. An
early breeze mingles with the call of a solitary gull, and just
outside my tent, I can hear the flap of a pelican’s wings as he lifts
his heavy body into flight. Camped on a remote beach on the Sea of
Cortez, Lynn, James, Steve and I have chosen to celebrate the change
in the calendar far from the drone of traffic, the rush of
post-holiday sales, and the relentlessness of televised parades and
games.
In the early hours, I silently press resolutions to my heart: to
embrace awareness and prosperity, and to let go of fear. These have
been culled from the beauty and silence of this place and the
pristine opportunity for reflection. As in years past, I carry my own
intentions for the resolutions, and simultaneously know that I will
be astonished by what will actually manifest in their wake.
Daybreak comes on the heels of a quiet (except for a few bottle
rockets culled from a local Baja store) evening and a sumptuous meal.
Clamshells, turned “cocktail” shells, are filled with two colors of
caviar, sour cream, egg whites and onions, and are accompanied by the
requisite champagne. James baked game hens in his Dutch oven, while
multi-colored potatoes simmered on the camp stove. A sauce of onions,
mushrooms, red wine and spices finished the hens and a side of fresh
green salad completed the meal. We dined al fresco, under a shelter
of stars, intoxicated by the music of the sea.
Steve and I had kayaked up the coast in the morning and discovered
that the flat lay of land called, Isla Rocca, had sprung a new colony
of seals. Their noisome barking could be heard a mile out. Terns,
oystercatchers and tiny spotted sandpipers foraged on the rocky
headlands, while overhead, a magnificent frigate bird worked the
thermals. Under my boat, starfish, crabs, and colorful fish swam
between coral and volcanic stone. We lunched on a rocky beach miles
from the sound or presence of any other humans, reveling in what it
means to truly be away.
This first day of the year is spent reading, writing, birding,
paddling and simply enjoying a schedule-less day. The sheer joy of
being alive outweighs any other concerns. James and Lynn return from
a paddle as the sun slips behind the mountains. Darkness falls
quickly and we light a lantern as we settle into evening
conversations.
From the shadows, a man slowly comes into view. He carries a
shotgun, wears a knit cap and his clothes are dirty. We had seen him
when we first arrived, walking the beach with his cat, dressed in a
long black coat, white sandals and the same gun. It is discomforting
to have someone standing before us with a weapon, and the four of us
communicate with a silent glance. We are, of course, unarmed, but I
sense no malice from this man.
He introduces himself right away, “Gallegos,” he says, a healthy
handshake for each of us. He tells us is “El guardio del campo,” or
the guardian of the fish camp that sits on the point of the bay. The
other fishermen have gone home for the holiday, but Gallego, being
the only one without wife or family, has been left behind to tend to
the place. He says the light has drawn him, since he has none. I find
it hard to imagine being alone in the dark as he has been for 10
days.
He sits in the sand until we offer him some juice and a seat at
the table. I hold a quiet conference with Lynn and we agree that we
have more than enough food and invite Gallegos to join us. Steve
chatters with him in Spanish while Lynn, James and I prepare dinner.
He has come from Oaxaca where he began as a welder and was drafted in
the army. He was sent to Chiapas, but the war sickened him, and he
returned to Oaxaca to fish. Now in Baja, he hopes this spring to
guide fishing tourists in Bahia Los Angeles.
Gallegos continues to hold the gun during the meal, which we
discover is unloaded. It was he who had fired the shots we heard in
celebration of the New Year. He says that his shoulder aches from the
recoil; that he is unaccustomed to using the gun. He eats heartily,
enjoys some chocolate for desert, then says he is cold and starts to
head back to his camp. Steve pulls a flashlight out of the car and
gifts it to him. Now he will have his own light.
My resolutions have been put to the task within hours of their
commitment. Awareness and fear have manifested in unsuspected ways,
and I’ve had the opportunity to experience and share my own
prosperity.
The chatter of the night-foraging oystercatchers and egrets
elicits a broad smile as I wander toward my tent and the call of
dream-filled sleep. What a glorious year this is set to be.
* CATHARINE COOPER is a local designer and photographer who loves
wild places. She can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net.
All the latest on Orange County from Orange County.
Get our free TimesOC newsletter.
You may occasionally receive promotional content from the Daily Pilot.