It feels like the Baja trip was ten years ago. Such is life in the COVID age and such is life when you turn 53 and the world seems to shift into sixth gear. It’s already March people. Do you realize that? I simply can’t believe it, and yet here we are. Baja was about observation and participation. That’s it. No lofty goals of shooting the world’s best photo essay or gaining some sort of pseudo, online celebrity based on my “cinematic” content, which as you can see, isn’t very cinematic. I woke to falling snow and the utmost quiet. Now the high desert sun shines and begins the great burnoff.
I will admit, even I am surprised by my lean toward birds. Baja is a birding paradise, something I would love to explore further if and when I get a chance. A friend is rumbling about a motorcycle trip through Baja. TW200s and lucky charms. I envision myself aboard my trusty steed, buzzing like a saw, with binoculars around my neck and a 1000mm-5000mm lens welded to the rear rack. Stop, deploy lens, reap birding reward. I could happen.