Yes, yes, I know—we’re much further down the road than Mexico, but the blog is just catching up to the pace of Shevanigans. And if you know anything about Shevanigans, you know that means my blog writing is even slower than my van. But rest assured, dear readers, we’re back, and this part of the trip deserves its moment in the sun (or, given the relentless heat in Mexico, the shade).
Our final morning in San Felipe was one for the books. Spencer, ever the water-bound adventurer, took his paddleboard out at sunrise and disappeared toward the horizon. It wasn’t long before dolphins appeared beside him, mocking poor Emma with their playful dives. Then something smaller—a sea otter? A rogue mermaid? We weren’t sure. We scrambled for the drone, but by the time we got it launched, the moment had passed (much to Spencer’s dismay). Mathilda, undeterred, grabbed the board and paddled out to see if the mammals of the sea were still in a playful mood. They did not disappoint. Soon she was circling with the sea lion and weaving through dolphins while we watched from shore, jealous of her new aquatic friendships but grateful that this time, we got footage to prove it happened.
Still enchanted by San Felipe and the Gulf, we decided to stay on the eastern side of the peninsula. But in true Baja fashion, the coastal road demanded an inland detour before spitting us back out to the sea. With long stretches of no cell coverage, we picked a meeting place and hoped we’d all arrive in one piece. What we did not expect was to stumble into the PHATASS Insurance Capital of Baja.
There is nothing quite like driving through a surreal, uninhabited desert landscape filled with towering cacti and jagged mountains, rounding a corner to take in the stunning vista of the sea… only to be met with massive billboards advertising insurance, one featuring an aggressively stereotypical Mexican caricature and the other inexplicably featuring Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. Who is responsible for this marketing strategy? Are they okay? And more importantly, how do they know that PHATASS is exactly the kind of absurdity that will make weary overlanders like us take photos? Well played, PHATASS. Well played.
With our pit stop documented for the sheer ridiculousness of it, we pressed on to Bahía de Los Ángeles and the famed Campo Archelon. Upon arrival, we learned that this wasn’t just a typical overlander campsite—it was once a sea turtle research station, founded in the 1970s by biologist Antonio (Tony) Reséndiz. He dedicated his life to studying and protecting these prehistoric creatures, mapping their migration routes, and pioneering tagging and conservation efforts. No one believed these ancient moving houses (we have to thank them as the original overlanders) actually migrated until he put little radios on them and one showed up in Japan. His work helped shape global policies on sea turtle protection, and though the research station has since transitioned into a campground, its legacy remains.Unfortunately, so does its popularity—it was fully booked. After some gentle negotiation (read: sheer persistence), we were granted a patch of sand where we could corral our convoy into our usual circle formation.
After a couple of relaxing days, Jonas and Mathilda, ever in pursuit of the perfect wave, took off in search of surf, while Spencer and I drove further down the beach to a secluded cove where we could enjoy the water. Spencer and Emma the doodle took to the paddleboard while Finn and I embarked on the kayak, and immediately, we found ourselves in the midst of a feeding frenzy.
Pelicans by the hundreds dive-bombed the water around us, beaks slicing through the surface as tiny fish flung themselves into the air like panicked popcorn. Spencer, ever the knowledgeable nature guy, explained that we were witnesses to Bait Balling.. or something along that line —a spectacular oceanic showdown where small fish swarm together for protection, only to be corralled by larger fish from below and kamikaze-diving seabirds from above. It’s a swirling, chaotic spectacle where every predator benefits from the confusion. Much like Black Friday at a discount electronics store, except with more feathers and fewer elbows.
As mesmerizing as it was, the mud was less enchanting. The sand in this particular cove turned out to be a sticky, muddy mess. And when you have two dogs, eight paws, and zero respect for the cleanliness of a van interior, the result is an unholy combination of crunchy floors and regret. Finn, completely unbothered by our distress, decided to go rogue in the early hours of the morning, jumping out of the open van door for a private sunrise fishing expedition. I woke up to find him waist-deep in the water, proudly staring down the pelicans as if he, too, was part of the food chain.
Needing a reset (and a break from the mud), we reunited with Mathilda and Jonas in Guerrero Negro at Tacos El Muelle—a legendary taco stand that had grown from a humble food truck into a full-fledged building, thanks to its popularity among overlanders. Though the setup had changed, the tacos were still spectacular, and we left full, happy, and with the ultimate overlander souvenir—a sticker for the van.
Spencer and I decided to take a detour along a long peninsula, winding through salt flats and otherworldly landscapes before reaching Los Gaviones, where Shevanigans took her sweet time navigating the sandy, pothole-ridden road. By the time I arrived, Spencer had already made friends with a local family, who were fishing and collecting oysters off the rocks. Because of course he had.
As I pulled up, he waved me over, his hands already full of freshly shucked oysters, which he was happily slurping down while learning the fine art of gathering rock mussels. I, naturally, did the only reasonable thing—I joined in. These were, without question, some of the freshest, most divine oysters I have ever eaten. Finn, meanwhile, decided to take a more hands-on approach—by launching himself into the water and completely obliterating the fishing lines in the process. The local family, bless them, laughed it off, but he was absolutely not invited back to fish.
As the sun set over the salt flats, the air turned cool, and we lingered, basking in the kind of unexpected magic that makes this trip so unforgettable. From paddling with sea lions to dodging insurance billboards, from sea turtle research stations to eating oysters with strangers, this leg of the journey had everything I love about overlanding: the bizarre, the beautiful, and the completely unplanned.
Where to next? Who knows. But Baja is proving to be one hell of a ride.
Sheilagh, Finnigan, and Shevanigans.
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