That's My Story

BAJA BLUES – Published April 2005 – Western Outdoor News

Baja is a great place to fish. It’s one of the best, but sometimes there are those days when the fish gods do not smile; the wind blows; the bait doesn’t show up; the moon is in the wrong phase and you can’t make a cast or tie a knot if your life depended on it. Things are just out of synch for whatever reason. Happens to the best.

Michael Jordan made a lot of winning shots, but he always said the ones he remembered the most are the ones where the big orange ball clanged out or he tossed a brick that bounced off the backboard. You know, poop happens sometimes no matter how hard you want to change it or how prepared you are or how many fishing magazines you read. I sure hate to see frowns and take it from the guy who has to see all the long faces at the end of the day. I wish I could wave a magic wand or a magic graphite rod over the hurt and make the ouch go away.

Several of the skippers and I were talking one day along with some of my friendly competitors. Just a casual bull session after a long salty day working the islands and it hadn’t been all that great. Over cervezas we were all licking our collective wounds because there sure had been a lot of grumbling. We take a lot of pride in our work and somedays no matter how hard we try, we can’t make the fish jump in the boat.

Believe me, skippers, operators, agents…we take it as hard as the fishermen sometimes. Everything on a trip can be superlative. We can have great transportation, great rooms, awesome food, great friends, and great weather, but nothing can ruin it faster than not catching fish.
Most anglers take it pretty well in the long run, but every now and then, there’s that one guy in the group who just can’t let it go. Sometimes, even when the fishing is pretty good, that person will still make it a point to tell you what’s wrong with the situation. It will never be good enough.

That’s when I tell him about the “Baja Blues” or the “BB Syndrome” as I have named it. When the guy is calmed down enough, I ask him if I can call him in a few days or if he will call me once he gets home.

It usually goes something like this:
“Hey, Joe, it’s Jonathan calling you from Baja.”
“Hey, Jonathan, what’s up?”
“Just calling you like I said I would. What are you doing right now?”
“Oh nothing, I’m in my (pick one) (a) stuck in traffic (b) working in my cubicle (c) mowing the lawn”
“I told you I’d call. Let me ask you something. Where would you rather be?”
Three out of four times, I get just a moment of silence right about then as they ponder the off-the-wall-question. Sometimes, I can ever hear the “lightbulb” go off silently on the other end of the line.

At this point, I explain to them about the “Baja Blues” and how even someone like me who spends the better part of the year in Baja get its. It’s the feeling you get about 24 to 48 hours after you come home where you realize that only a short time before you were in a pretty special place.

You may have been on a sunny veranda soaking up some rays and holding a frosty cold one under a shady palapa like those folks in the Corona Beer ad. You may have been poolside laughing your head off with long-lost buddies while the sunset dipped below the horizon or enjoying a candlelit dinner seaside with your best gal or watched your kids having the time of their lives splashing in the waters and you thanked God you had the ability to bring them something special. You may have even been bobbing around on a boat not catching a fish and were so frustrated you forgot to enjoy the special moment of just being there. And all that was only a few hours before and now you’re stuck in traffic and you’d give anything to be back in the Baja again sporting those raggedy shorts; worn huarache sandals and faded fish print shirt…even if you weren’t catching a single thing. That’s the Baja Blues. For those few precious days, dangit, you were in the Baja, dude!

And hopefully, you didn’t waste your time griping about what didn’t happen and what you didn’t catch and what you didn’t do and took the time to savor what did happen and what you experienced. Because despite what looks like Baja being overrun with people, most people in this life do not get to come to this special sandbox. They will never see the dolphin schools outside Mag Bay or watch the sun come up blazing behind Carmen Island or smell the first whisps of fresh corn tortillas coming off the fish camp fires or see the commercial fishing boats push off the beach in the mornings or experience a day that seems like it lasts 36 hours long. Fishing is what it’s all about, but excuse the blasphemy if I say that if you only come for the fishing, you really missed something and it’s those things that you really will miss when the Baja Blues strike. It’s also why we can’t wait to come back.

And sometimes…the person I’m calling “gets it.” You can hear it in their voice. They’d rather be back. Even if the fish don’t bite. Baja does that to you if you take the time to listen.

That’s my story…
Jonathan