My Spanish dictionary says “mogote” means “wooded hill” or “antler,” and I can’t for the life of me figure out how this peninsula of rippling sand dunes and patchy desert scrub could have inspired that name. It’s one of many head-scratchers that has followed me home from El Mogote, a deserted sandbar just across the bay from sleepy La Paz. 

My friend Shantel and I had gone to Baja with hopes of camping on an offshore isle in the aquamarine Sea of Cortez, but every outfitter in the region was either closed for the New Year’s holiday, or booked. So we made the best of it by renting a couple of kayaks, wheeling them to the stinky La Paz marina (diesel exhaust, rotting fish, mysterious sea sludge) and paddling through the harbor to El Mogote.

The tide was falling, so we hurried to explore the secluded nooks where naked mangrove roots dangled beneath the clumps of leaves, crackling and popping with the subtle motions of the water. A beautiful bird with a blue beak and a black mask (a cormorant?) waded in a narrow inlet, and herons, terns and egrets hovered nearby.

As the tide bottomed out, we returned to the shoreline, paddling around the bend past a crowd of brown pelicans that squawked at us from the beach. We pulled the kayaks onto the sand and climbed a coastal dune for what we thought would be a quiet hike across the empty peninsula.

From the top of the dune, we were surprised to look down on a massive construction zone where workers were busily erecting a 1,700-acre golf resort community. A sign in the sand said “Paraíso del Mar,” and on the attached map I counted 24 buildings. We paddled home with the sad realization that we had happened upon an imminently endangered place.

Back at home, I checked the developer’s website, which says the project is an Audubon International Signature Development. “The expansive mangrove ecosystem on the south shore remains intact,” the site promises. “A thousand acres have been set aside for wildlife sanctuaries and open space. A desalinization plant will provide ample fresh water.”

Though the Audubon program mandates wildlife conservation, waste management, energy and water efficiency and water quality management, I have a hard time believing that such a development won’t have a negative impact on the resident birds. It will certainly put an end to spontaneous walks amid the dunes by kayakers who wander over from the mainland.

My Spanish dictionary says “paraíso del mar” means “paradise of the sea.” Let’s hope that future visitors won’t wonder how it got that name.