BAJA HAZARDS

Scorpions

These little critters come in a variety of colors shapes and sizes and are a nuisance throughout Baja, especially in desert places like Scorpion Bay. Usually they are no worse than a bee sting but, like bees, if you have an allergic reaction they could cause you some serious problems. The best thing do to avoid a sting is to check all your personal items like shoes and sleeping bags before you put your hands and feet in them. Leave plenty of space for anything that might fall out when you shake them. 

Rattlesnakes

I’ve never actually heard of anyone encountering a rattlesnake in Baja but they do exist. Fortunately they carry a built in warning device which usually sounds when you get too close but there are some precautions you can take to avoid encounters. All snakes are cold blooded and therefore depend on extraneous sources to stay warm and regulate body heat. They are usually not seen out venturing much during the heat of the day but may seek refuge from the heat under a bush, car, tent or other shady spot. In the late afternoon they come out looking for rocks or pavement that retain heat so they can collect a little before the nightly chill. So be careful climbing rocks and don’t put your hand or foot somewhere without looking first and be careful taking your pet rat for a walk also.

Banditos

Like almost everywhere else in the world you have to look out for thieves of all varieties. The best thing to do in Baja is to keep your stuff locked up and under close scrutiny. Find a place to park where you can pay someone to watch your car or leave someone on the beach if you feel a threat. If you see a bunch of broken glass where you’re parking and nobody around to watch your car you might want to go somewhere else.

Federales

Unfortunately in Mexico many of the police should also come under the bandito label. It is well known that many of the police are corrupt but as long as you obey the laws it shouldn’t be a problem. The most common threat is to be pulled over for a non-existent traffic violation. “Theees is the worse offence” is a common phrase as they eye your wallet and any other valuables in your car. My advice if they offer you the option of a fine over the ticket, or any thing else they threaten, is to take the ticket; if you’re not intimidated by their threats and they don’t see an easy buck they’ll usually let you go so they can search for other victims. Nevertheless I’ve heard a couple different stories of them trying to plant drugs on people and other antics so if they bother you keep a close eye on them so they don’t try to pull anything.   

Localism

This is another unfortunate reality in Mexico. Just because you leave the U.S. doesn’t mean you won’t find anyone who doesn’t want to share their waves with you. As always we need to respect other people when we surf and maintain the proper etiquette, but if this fails to appease the local demons it’s a big ocean, you can always look somewhere else. However, the great thing about adventuring in Baja is the potential of happening on a remote break with nobody around for days.

Sunburn

As always summer sports bring with them the threat of sunburn. Remember, nobody is immune; all colors shapes and sizes are vulnerable to this common plague. If you’re in the ocean use sunscreen made for the ocean, put it on 20 minutes before you hit the water and reapply as needed. The last thing you need on a 6 day trip is to get fricazeed on the first day. People get fried on cloudy days too so don’t let the overcast lure you into a false sense of security. "Ready for a game of footy?" asked one Aussie as he gazed at the tall socks I was wearing under my reef walkers to cover the sunburn I acquired earlier in the trip. Shorts and unscreen are always better than surfing in long sleeves and pants on a hot summer day. 

Quebrada en Mexico

By

Joseph Descans

The accident happened on a typical late summer morning at a mainland Mexico beach infamous for its dangerously powerful waves. I was staying in a nearby town with my Christian missionary friend and knee boarder, Jimmy "Jaime" Downs, and taking the first bus to the beach every day where surfboards and helmet awaited my arrival.

On this particular morning I passed the remains of the 6' 10" surfboard, which a wave had splintered a few days earlier, as I retrieved my 7'6" from the board room at Edgar's hotel on the beach.

The sandbars on which the waves broke were in fairly poor shape. Earlier in the summer they had been battered by waves from several south Pacific swells, and the beach had lost dozens of yards of sand along with over 30 beachfront restaurants.

The surf didn't look too special. But remembering how much worse it looked the day before when I got the best tube ride of the whole trip on my first wave, I was eager to get in the water. While every one else waited to see how the wind and wave conditions progressed, I headed for the surf as a sleepy-eyed Floridian wished me luck with a semi-enthusiastic nod of the head.

In time a number of surfers joined me and negotiated the ever-changing rip currents and inconsistent sets to get a few good waves. It was a nominal day, but there was definitely potential to get some spitting tubes—the ultimate surfing experience.

At about 9:00 A.M. on August 17, 1998, a fateful 10-foot wave came in and I angled left on it. For me this meant my back was to the wave, forcing me to twist my body toward its face with my left hand feeling the wave's face and the right holding the rail to steer my course. It was a fairly textbook style "backside- rail-grab- pull into the tube take-off," and satisfied with the way things were going, my thoughts went from "This is a nice tube," to "This is a really nice tube," to "This is the best tube I've gotten all morning." As I watched the last section of the tube throw over my head and anticipated my immediate escape from the chamber, the wave suddenly closed down on me. The lip crushed me onto my board snapping my left femur into six pieces instantaneously.

As I endured the rag-doll-in-a-washing-machine type workout in the white water, I could feel my left leg battering the rest of my body. I particularly noticed when the heel was hitting my right shoulder blade, but I couldn't feel my left leg. The turbulence eventually ended and after floating to the surface and gathering my faculties I put my hands on the top of my left thigh and slid them all the way down to my toes. Although I had no feeling in my leg, everything was still there.

Having been swept toward the beach, I ended up in a deep spot where the whitewaters backed off between the breakers and the shore. As I drifted north with the current, my body was in the water and my arms stretched over the mid-section of the board. I intermittently waved one arm in the air and scanned the beach and restaurants for someone to help me, but couldn't see anyone. The waves finally washed me to the beach. The normally harmless one-foot shorepound twisted and tossed my injured leg unnaturally in every direction as I helplessly rolled up and down the beach. Previously numb, the pain in my leg was now excruciating and I cried out for help in both English and Spanish.

Within a minute, a big Mexican man from one of the restaurants came to my rescue. After unstrapping the leash from my ankle, he put my arms around his neck and I locked my hands together before he hoisted me up on his back and carried me to a restaurant chair toward the top of the beach. A small crowd gathered and as we waited for the ambulance I joyfully pointed out to someone that I was able to wiggle my toes.

When the ambulance arrived, a board was strapped to my leg and I was whisked away to the nearest hospital. When the paved road turned to cobblestone for the last block to the hospital, the dull horror of having a broken leg in a third world country really hit me.

In the emergency room (the entrance hall) I was questioned about the injury. I was delirious but could communicate some in Spanish. My semi-bilingual Mexican friend, Chelis, who came with me in the ambulance, helped me with the rest. They checked my vital signs and took some blood while, just out of my reach, the flies dined on some day-old wounds on my ankle.

As I sat on the gurney I experienced the first of many muscle spasms that would plague me until I was operated on in the States more than 24 hours later. It started as a subtle shivering which increased to a tremble and grew into light convulsions until all its energy focused on my left thigh causing the muscles to tighten up and lock down on the broken bone as I screamed in agony. The first spasms eventually subsided, leaving me delirious from the pain. But the later ones were so horrifically intense I could only escape by passing out after prolonged tormentuous screams.

After X-rays revealed the broken bone, I purchased some telephone credit and was rolled outside to a nearby phone where I called home with news of the injury. When I told my stepfather about the break, he immediately started making phone calls to get an emergency plane to retrieve me. While the Mexican doctors ordered materials from across the state to perform the surgery and asked me for the money to buy them, other plans were being arranged for the surgery in Oceanside, California.

Because the hospital didn't accept my medical insurance, I was put back into an ambulance and carted to a hospital across town that did. Eventually I ended up in a cheap hotel-style hospital room in which I would live the worse nightmare of my entire life.

In the new room they transferred me to a hospital bed. Because I needed to remain sitting at a 45-degree angle to keep the broken bone in place, the nurse pressed a button causing half the bed to incline so I could lean back on it. Since the brace on my leg stuck out about a foot behind me, as the bed rose it pushed the board forward. My broken leg began to rise and twist. Jolted by the pain I quickly yelled, "stop!" and she reversed the mechanism. They removed the brace before reactivating the bed.

Next, my custom Hotline wetsuit was cut off and a portion of the sand brushed from my body and the bed. They never washed me or put ice on my ever increasingly swelling leg, but they did give me some painkillers. I went through two bags of plasma and bled internally the entire time.

My friend Jaime was called from his job and was popping in and out of the room communicating phone call information from my stepfather, translating between me and the doctors and nurses, and getting my stuff together for the trip home. The Mexican surgeon who hoped to operate on my leg was an English student of Jaime's and spent a lot of time talking with us because it was kind of like getting a free lesson.

Another friend, Mark Hootman, told us the story about how his own toddler son had once been in the room next door with an illness and had fallen off the bed headfirst. X-rays revealed a giant skull fracture but after a 4:00 A.M. angelic visitation the boy was X-rayed again the next day and the fracture was gone. I was hoping that angel was still around.

Before the doctor left that night he assured me the nurse would be checking on me periodically during the night. His wife swatted at shades of no-see-ums buzzing around the light. As the door closed behind them, a dreadful hopelessness swept through me at the thought of the tiny mosquitoes perforating me in the night as I lay defenseless in the bed.

A while later I was awoken when a Mexican pastor and friend, Julio, came in to pray for me. The curly haired young man paced the room praying and then got on his knees by the bed and put his hands on my leg. He was lost in prayer and seemed to forget that the leg he gripped was broken which scared me some. But the air was charged with hope and joy and when he left I was thinking about that angel.

Sometime around 12:00 A.M. the nurse stopped coming to check on me. There was a thunderstorm and after one extremely loud crash of lightning just outside my room the lights went out and never came back on. Mysteriously the air conditioner continued to run. Another flash of lightning revealed a mouse scurrying across the floor.

As the painkillers wore off, I was wide awake and began yelling for help. The nurse call button was several feet behind me where I couldn't see it and I didn't even try to reach for it.

The sand pressed against my bare body felt as if it was biting me. I could feel every grain and for hours labored relentlessly to remove each one. It was impossible. I feared that if I moved my broken leg just a hair the wrong way it would trigger a spasm, but the biting sand was maddening. The sense of desperation coupled with the pain caused me to wail as loud and long as was physically possible as often as I found strength to do so.

No one ever came.

At about 5:OOA.M. the nurse finally responded to one of my wails. He had obviously just woken up. He checked my plasma before going for another dose of painkiller to feed into the plastic tube stuck in my arm.

At 6:00 A.M. I was put on an ambulance and shipped to the airport where the Air Care International turbo prop airplane took off shortly after 7:00 A.M. carrying me back to the States. The ambulance ride that morning was $180.00 U.S. dollars. Some palms also had to be greased at the Mexican airport where we stopped for fuel.

The plane ride was smooth enough and the male nurse administered pillows, blankets and painkillers until we reached Palomar Airport at noon. My last memory of the flight was the wide-eyed and open mouthed 1-wish-there-was-something-I-could-do-to-help-you expression on the nurse's face when I started screaming at the top of my lungs as I went into the last and worse muscle spasm before I passed out from pain.

After a three and one half-hour operation in which the orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Satish Kadaba, utilized a rod, a plate, nine screws and three wires to put my shattered bone back together, I woke up in a U.S. hospital bed on Wednesday morning. He said it was one of the worse comminuted fractures he had ever worked on.

However the battle wasn't over. The broken bone had released fat emboli into my bloodstream, which went into my lungs clogging them. I was breathing at a fraction of my actual lung capacity and the pulmonary doctor explained the situation most poignantly when a few days later he calmly stated, "Either they expire or they don't."

I survived the ordeal and at the time of this writing I am fully recovered from the accident.

I am eternally grateful to God as well as all the family, friends, doctors and other people who helped me survive this ordeal and helped me rehabilitate. But much to their dismay, I'm planning to go back to the same beach, paddle out to the same sandbar and ride the same waves again!