Author: Karl Kannstadter
The morning before boarding UnCruise’s Safari Voyager, I woke up before my 4:30 am alarm because I was so excited. By 5:00 am I was on a local bus out of San José del Cabo, watching the dark outline of the Baja California Peninsula slip past the window on the way to La Paz and a date with whale sharks.
La Paz was much busier than I expected, and traffic was making me late. An Uber sprint later, with ten minutes to spare, and I was wriggling into a wetsuit on the dock. The marina was equally busy: snorkelling and dive boats loading up for the day, crews calling to each other over the thrum of engines, and the sharp smell of outboard exhaust hanging in the air.
The water that morning was shallow, murky and a balmy 75°F, which made entering the water more like easing into a bath than plunging into an ocean. My dominant feeling as I slipped over the side was simple trepidation. I knew it was perfectly safe, but whale sharks are big animals. We saw three in total - one cruising just outside the protected zone and two within it.
The second shark we swam with was over seven metres long, a gentle giant patterned with white spots and faint pale bands scattered across its back. Its movement was so steady and unhurried that I didn’t have to kick hard, just hold my place between its eye and dorsal fin and match its rhythm.
That morning in La Paz set the tone for everything that followed: a desert, an ocean, and a lot of life in between.
A Horse with No Name
I hum when I snorkel. It’s weird, I know, but it’s a subconscious habit. So while I was floating in the clear, jade-colored waters of the Sea of Cortez on the last day of our UnCruise voyage, my underwater soundtrack was America’s “A Horse With No Name.” It turns out, the classic song was a surprisingly fitting anthem for our expedition in Baja California.
We had flown down from Canada in mid-April, leaving near-freezing temperatures for the Baja Peninsula’s reliable 80-something-degree warmth. The contrast was staggering. We were sailing on the 66-guest Safari Voyager, and the trip echoed the song’s lyrics about “plants and birds and rocks and things” almost too perfectly.
On our first evening out of La Paz, our captain, Shep, set the tone for how we’d experience it all. He told us the itinerary was “a plan from which to deviate,” explaining that while we had a route on paper, wildlife and weather would be our true guides. Over ten nights, that philosophy proved itself again and again as we traveled close to 900 nautical miles, tracing a looping path from La Paz all the way up to the northern tip of Isla Ángel de la Guarda and back again—a reminder that this “desert and an ocean” is far bigger and wilder than any brochure or website could capture.
To truly appreciate this landscape, it helps to understand its scale. The Baja California Peninsula is an incredible geographical marvel, a roughly 775-mile-long strip of arid land stretching from the US border near Mexicali and Tijuana down to Cabo San Lucas. Tucked between this narrow peninsula and mainland Mexico sits the Sea of Cortez, also known as the Gulf of California, studded with islands so pristine and ecologically rich that many form part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is an environment where stark, untamed desert cliffs crash straight into a vibrant, glittering sea.
Our cabin on Deck Three was compact and cozy, with a hook, drawer or cupboard for everything. A walking track wraps all the way around that deck, so there’s a prominent sign on each cabin door reminding guests to open it slowly in case someone is power-walking past.
The main lounge just down the walkway quickly became our living room at sea: lectures and briefings in the afternoon, card games and quiet conversations in the evening, always with big windows framing desert mountains or open water.
Between outings, the Deck Three lounge became our social hub: lectures on natural history, impromptu games of Mano Tazo, and animated recaps of what each skiff had seen that day.
One blustery morning, Shep’s “plan from which to deviate” became more than a clever line. I was scheduled for an all-day kayak, and not long after we launched, our guide was on the radio with the bridge. The wind had picked up. Instead of crossing to a nearby island as planned, Shep advised us to hug the shoreline. An hour later he appeared in a Zodiac to check on us, calm and matter-of-fact, and suggested we start heading back: the anchor wasn’t holding, and we needed a more sheltered anchorage. It was a small decision in the grand scheme of a ten-night voyage, but it captured the essence of a true expedition - nimble, responsive, and always erring on the side of safety.
Each evening, before dinner, we gathered in the lounge for Shep’s daily briefing and “What’s Next,” a ritual that quickly became part of the ship’s rhythm. Charts would appear on the screen, pencils would trace options, and we’d get a glimpse of tomorrow’s possibilities - always delivered with the caveat that whales, wind or photo-ops might have their own ideas.
Hiking, Burros, and the Real Baja
Our days were packed with desert hiking through arid expanses dotted with cacti and steep red bluffs. UnCruise offers three tiers of hikes - Eco-meander, Moderate, and Hard Charger. My 13-year-old son made it his mission to conquer every Hard Charger hike available, and my wife joined us for a few of these epic ridge climbs. On one high vantage point, I tried to capture a panoramic photo of the bay below. My son stood at one end of the frame, then sprinted behind me as I panned, reappearing at the other side. In the final image he shows up twice, grinning at both ends of Baja’s skyline.
We even tackled an all-day exploratory kayak/hike adventure along the wild coastline, skimming past volcanic cliffs and empty pebble beaches.
Then there was the literal “horse with no name” moment. When we anchored in Bahía Agua Verde, a quiet beach scene was waiting with a line of patient burros and mules led by local rancheros. While we opted out of the ride ourselves, other guests in our group hopped on to explore the green-hemmed canyons of the “real Baja,” which felt like a perfect nod to the old song.
None of these activities would have been possible without the tireless UnCruise expedition team and the hardworking sailors. The expedition guides didn’t just lead the way; they shared their immense knowledge and infectious wonder for the environment. Whether they were coordinating our kayak launches, narrating the area’s rich history, or safely navigating the ship’s skiffs into hidden inlets, the team was remarkable. The sailors, too, were always right there to lend a hand, ensuring that exploring this rugged, off-the-radar coastline felt completely safe and accessible.
One guide in particular, Erika - everyone called her Keka - made a lasting impact on our family. My wife has some anxiety around deep water, and Keka stayed right by her side, patiently coaching her through each snorkel session. By mid-trip, the fear of snorkelling was gone, and snorkelling had become something to look forward to. And now my wife is a snorkeler! Next stop, SCUBA.
Life Underground: The Aquarium of the World
For me, the absolute magic was in the water. The song notes that “the ocean is a desert with its life underground,” and Baja’s marine life did not disappoint. The Sea of Cortez has rightfully earned its legendary reputation as “The Aquarium of the World,” a title often linked to Jacques Cousteau, and after a few days here it’s easy to see why.
At Los Islotes, we slipped into the water alongside a colony of more than 400 California sea lions. The curious juvenile pups were incredibly active, swimming right up to my mask and taking playful nips at my wetsuit and fins. One especially enthusiastic pup darted beside me and gave a quick nip at my neck - not enough to hurt, but enough to make me yelp into my snorkel.
Earlier in the trip, we’d had a wonderfully close encounter with a humpback whale, catching two spectacular views of its iconic tail as it dove.
Kayaking along the coast, we glided past huge flocks of pelicans and frigatebirds, while beneath us rays ghosted along the sea floor. Our snorkelling sessions were filled with small and medium-sized reef fish, a lone turtle surfacing for air, and the occasional bait ball roiling like an underwater storm - plus one very resilient trumpet fish missing a bite-sized chunk from its side.
Farm-to-Table Fare on the Open Water
Back on board, the food was just as memorable as the scenery. UnCruise is known for carefully crafted, farm-to-table meals showcasing fresh, seasonal produce and local seafood from partner fishermen. The meals were healthy, plentiful, and a massive hit with the family. Two dishes still stand out: a tuna poke bowl with the freshest fish I had ever had (because it was), and a beautifully done ropa vieja. Because there was a pastry chef on board, every meal began with homemade breads and was was rounded out with homemade desserts.
Mealtimes became natural debriefs. Each breakfast, lunch and dinner was a chance to trade sightings and small triumphs with new friends: Who saw dolphins off the bow? Who finally mastered a skiff dismount in the surf? Who got the best photo of a pelican in mid-dive?
A Captain Who Cares
To top it all off, we had some very special company on this sailing. The owner and CEO of the company, Captain Dan Blanchard, was sailing with us, alongside Julie Quarry, the Director of North American Sales. Their presence made an already intimate, off-the-radar cruise feel even more like an expedition with family.
Captain Dan’s presence wasn’t a corporate drop-in; he genuinely embodies the company’s ethos of responsible travel. He loves to use shore landings as an opportunity to leave places cleaner than we found them. Over lunch breaks, he would often stay ashore with a large garbage bag in hand, spending a few hours cleaning up the beach. On any of the activities he joined, arrival or departure from the landing site meant helping him collect trash from the storm-tide line. There isn’t very much of it - the beaches of the Baja Peninsula are blessed that way - but previous storms had deposited bits of plastic and debris high up the sand.
In conversation, Dan made it clear that these cleanups aren’t just a Baja project; they’ve been part of how UnCruise operates, wherever they take guests, since the company’s early days. My son threw himself into it, roaming the beach far and wide to find stray bottles or fragments of rope to add to Dan’s bag. Watching a teenager, a CEO and a handful of guests quietly comb a remote shoreline together said more about UnCruise’s values than any sustainability statement ever could.
When I think back now, the image that comes first isn’t a single whale shark or sea lion. It’s a line of guests in beach chairs at the water’s edge, feet and ankles in the sea, kayaks all linked up and being towed back to the ship as the light softens and the desert cools. I stepped off Safari Voyager feeling relaxed yet energized - and hopeful that one day I’ll be back in Baja, humming into my snorkel, following another plan from which to deviate.
