Above, the air is already filled with seabirds everywhere. Nothing in the guidebooks can prepare you for the bird life here. It is spectacular and varied.

At the tide line are brown pelicans, their ancient faces and awkward postures belying their elegance in flight. Some are bobbing offshore in small clumps, hunting in the channels for abundant fish as we slip past. The brown pelican is tolerant of humans. In harbors and beaches along the Sea of Cortez they are the great opportunists, quick to grab a discarded fish head. You can approach within a few meters of them with their two meter wingspans. Zoom lens not needed.

February is a good time to be here. Winter has most of North America firmly in its grip, and cabin fever is breaking out at the prospect of shoveling another sidewalk. It's time for somewhere warm and remote. The guidebooks on Baja California talk a great deal about Mulege and Baya Magdalena and Loreto, but very little about La Paz.

The downside of choosing February is that the wind blows. Not all the time, but often enough that you must plan to expect it. Sometimes it blows steadily from the north for three days. The seas are whipped into a short chop that makes kayaking almost impossible. On the remaining days, the mornings are calm, with the wind strengthening at noon, blowing a steady 10-15 knots for most of the afternoon, before settling down at dusk. When crossing exposed channels such as the Canal de San Lorenzo, start early, and watch for ferries.

It's not foggy. The sun is up and we pass Balandra Bay in the early hours. A popular beach for the residents of La Paz in the summer, at this time of the year it's deserted. Only mad dogs and gringos would waste their time on a beach like this in 'winter'. The weather is looking so good we take a detour into the bay to visit the famous standing column, a mushroom of conglomerate taller than a man, balanced on a narrow stalk.

The first large bay on the west side is deep, cutting through almost to the eastern coastline. There are two beaches to choose from. A mangrove forest provides an incongruous strip of emerald in a world that is otherwise devoid of green. The annual rainfall here is highly variable, depending on summer tropical storms, known as aguaceros. We are almost on the Tropic of Cancer. On the Pacific side of the Baja, the cold ocean current from California meets the warm current from Peru, mixing with the saline current from the Sea of Cortez (Gulf of California). Mists, fogs, and storms occur in September-November. If they miss this area, and they usually do, the resulting precipitation can be as little as a centimeter (half inch) a year. If a summer storm does hit, the resulting deluge can often cause more destruction than no rain at all.

Then there are winter rains, known as equipatas ("horses hooves", because of the sound the droplets make on a metal roof). These can add a few centimeters over a period of several days. The locals value the water, but dislike the northern rain because of the cold that accompanies it. John Steinbeck wrote about it in his Log from the Sea of Cortez (1951), with marine biologist Ed Ricketts. This is not an area where nature is kind; even the rain is harsh.

In the cool of the evening we swim in clear seawater, above white sand. Fish dart and glide. Below you, your shadow bends and folds along the sea bed, sharp and magical. Is there a person who doesn't hold a secret wish to camp on the deserted beach of a tropical island? It is a dearly held fantasy. Beaches like those on Isla Spiritu Santo are what dreams are made of. In the dusk, the sea between the island and the main peninsula turns orange, gold, pink and finally gray. The Sierra de la Giganta (the Giant Range) on the Baja Peninsula fuses into lilac. The wind has dropped and birds are spiraling down in their hundreds to roost on a cluster of offshore islets, stained white by countless others before. Black against the evening sky, they look like sooty flakes settling in the aftermath of a great fire.

Darkness falls suddenly. Stars emerge quickly, and in the dry air they shine with a brilliance that is seldom seen in the moister latitudes to the north. Far off, the lights of La Paz glow in the sky. The city has a long history, and is closely connected to Hernan Cortes, the conqueror of Mexico.

Scurvy is not part of our plans. Fresh grapefruit and orange juice appear from hatches in the dawn. On the main peninsula, coyotes have a habit of raiding food stocks at night. There are none here but, out of habit, we store our food in the kayaks overnight anyway.

Heading north, we turn a pelican-smothered headland. Just off the main island, the islets of Gallo and Gallina appear … pink, red, with a few cardon cacti surviving in the highly acid but rich guano. Cardon (P. Pringlei) is the commonest and most recognized of the 120 cactus species found in the Baja. In arid places, it sends a single tall column vertically upwards. In more favorable environments, the side arms sometimes make them look quite human. Here, great blue herons have claimed them as nesting sites, leaving the few smaller "organpipe" cacti for the great egrets.

On Espiritu Santo, the few plants that manage to survive, are spaced widely. You aren't exactly overwhelmed by the quantity or variety. It's almost as though they've been laid out as a beginner's guide to the desert. Here's an elephant tree, with its thick trunk all covered in flaking paper-like bark. Another 10 meters, and there's a Tree of Adam, looking burnt to a crisp after the long dry winter, yet with a few crimson flowers that confirms it's alive. Another ten paces, and there's a cluster of fluffy cacti, each no larger than an apple. On closer inspection, the 'fluff' turns out to be a mat of spines so dense, not even a suicidal desert rat would attempt an attack on its sweet tasting flesh.

We camp in the back of another deep bay. There is no one around, but a large lean-to made from palm leaves provides welcome shade from the afternoon sun. What this place must be like in summer, when temperatures hit 45 centigrade (112F), is hard to imagine. At night the air is cold and we huddle close to a driftwood fire, grateful for our down sleeping bags.

Between the two islets is a wave-splashed rock shelf, on which a colony of California sea lions are barking and otherwise carrying on. Two tourist boats are anchored just off the shelf, and people are diving and snorkeling. The young sea lions are ecstatic, playing with their guests at every opportunity.

We turn to head south again, down the more exposed eastern coastline of the island. The surface comes alive with the long swells from the north. With the wind on our backs and a chop in the sea, we are startled by a line of brown pelicans, one behind the other, flying their characteristic flight … a few flaps on lazy wings just above the sea, then a long glide, their tummy feathers almost touching the water for an impossibly long time … then a few lazy wing beats again … followed by another glide.

Back at the beach, large red crabs with curious stripes scamper across the rocks. The tides in the Sea of Cortez are small (seldom more than a meter), so the inter-tidal zone is not extensive. On a positive note, it means that there are no long kayak carries in the morning when the tide is out, nor the worry that a high tide might float one off in the dark.

Tomorrow is our last day. Pacifico beer and tequila are the order of the evening. There are scorpions in the driftwood for the fire, but no one seems to mind. They scuttle away across the sand into the dark. Out in the bay, the lights of a ferry pass slowly, bound for the Mexican mainland.

Rules:

• Rule Number One: bring lots of fresh water, and have it easily available. Bottled water in plastic jugs can be bought cheaply at the CCC Supermarket in La Paz. (Just don't dispose of the containers in the same way as the locals.)

• Rule Number Two: cover up. Wear dark glasses, long sleeved shirts and a wide brimmed hat. And bring plenty of SPF30 sunscreen.

• Rule Number Three: wear runners to avoid standing on spiny urchins or sand rays. They are slow to leave when you walk out into the deliciously chill water after the heat of the day.

Where to start/finish: Next to the ferry terminal, the Hotel Cantamar offers kayak rentals, a full diving service, fishing charters, boat charters (handy, if the wind is blowing and you must get across the Canal) and snorkeling rentals. Call (112)21826.