Iris Publishing	Baja Paddling Epic Day Four
The Beginning Day One Day Two Day Three Day Four Hole in the Rock Palms Cooking Dinner Day Five Day Six The End	This view through a hole in the rocks was our beach underneath the osprey nest's rock. My writing is shaky now because we paddled all day, over 10 miles. Lucky for us it was downwind with a northerly blow, so with a push on our backs we made it in record time. We are perched on a long, terraced beach. Not much sand, but plenty of wonderful flat, rounded rocks which we called "zen stones." We pitched our tent on these rocks, thinking that they may be smooth enough to shift comfortable as we slept on them. That turned out to be wishful thinking. Palm trees are rare in this countryside. They are an indication that people have spent enough time in a location to plant the trees - they are not indigenous. Two of our group are taking a bath. I can see the pinkness of their bodies as they wash themselves in the cove. Jan is sitting in the kitchen, looking out over the water. The rest of the people seem to be in various stages of settling in, pitching tents, rinsing socks, and lathering hair with a special salt water sudsing soap. I'm sucking the tangy sweetness of a lemon drop that Chris just gave me in her mission of mercy to us weary travelers. My forearms and hands are burnt, so I feel quite crispy with sunburn and dried salt on my body. The coastline on this stretch is fairly straight. There's not much shelter to beach for lunch. After snoozing in the sun on the "zen stones" for a while, we had a nice meal of clam linquine and some wine. This was momentous, because the bag with the wine had been the one forgotten in the van, so it's been a low alcohol trip. My spirits improved a lot after a cup or two. Jan and Roger would prepare great meals out of what seemed like very little. The rest of us would help with cleaning up afterward. Greg had piled palm tree castoffs onto a heap by the water and as people were finishing washing the dishes, he lit the bonfire. Sparks flew up in the air, and Roger worried that someone would try to rescue us. No one did. Maybe they should have because Greg regaled us with snippets of partially remembered Neal Gladstone songs. For those of you who haven't lived in Corvallis, Oregon, Neal is a singer/songwriter of some quite beautiful but mostly very funny songs. Al hadn't been feeling well today. We are suspecting he's having a reaction to the combination of sun and the medication he has to take. We decided it would be best to take it in the evening, rather than morning, so this was the only day he felt bad. We are all getting better at paddling. It's fun to watch our improvements.