Winter in Baja Day 39: Disappearing sun

The East Cape //

Ocean theatre begins first thing this morning with whales breaching not too far from the coastline.  I grab a chair and walk barefoot in the sand towards the water where I join the rest of the group for the morning show.  A mama whale and calf appear right before our eyes, so close to the shore that we could easily swim out to them.  Stepping away to make breakfast feels like an impossible task but eventually we peel ourselves out of our chairs and begin the day.

While the sunrise was spectacular, it didn’t take long for the sun to disappear completely behind a thick layer of grey clouds.  It is noticeably odd to not be basking in the rays of the sun and causes me to wonder when we last experienced an overcast day.  I determine it’s been over a month and even at that was only for a few hours.  The gloom and accompanying wind causes me to seek shelter inside for a large portion of the day, except for one little afternoon hike up the nearby mountain where more whale-spotting keeps our eyes glued to the sea. 

I’m caught off guard when the gray light begins fading to dusk and realize that over the last month I’ve come to depend on the position of the sun in the sky to serve as my method of telling time.  In the exact moment that we all decide a sunset isn’t in the cards for us this evening, the low level clouds begin breaking up ever so slightly to reveal a higher level of clouds lit up in magnificent shades of magenta.  One of the more unique sunsets I’ve ever seen.

Come evening we start discussing our plans for the coming days. With several other nomadic friends not too far from here we have a little juggling to do to try and see everyone before our paths diverge again, while also leaving time for our introverted-selves to recharge.  We’re in uncharted territory with all this socializing lately.  I used to think we were such minorities living the way we live but then we got to Baja and quite unexpectedly found our people.