That's My Story

THE LAST BAIT

Originally published in Western Outdoor News the week of February 18, 2006

Photo 1: You don’t get many chances to be kids again with your buddies!

Photo 2: Life is full of “Kodak Moments” when, for a split second, the camera captures something that will always make you smile.

Photo 3: Priceless times that you only get one shot at

Photo 4: Dad’s and sons. What could be better?

THE LAST BAIT

In the past six weeks, I’ve talked to hundreds and maybe thousands of amigos who have come up to our booth in Denver, San Mateo, Sacramento, and Portland. It’s great “talking Baja” to so many and the best part is talking about Baja to folks who have never been there or others who have not even heard about it! (“Where in California is Baja California? I can’t believe it’s part of Mexico!”)

There’s nothing like making someone’s eyes go wide when they find out about some of the great wonders to be had, not just in fishing, but culture, history, food, watersports and so many other things that all of us “Baja rats” already know. “It’s that close?” “The fish are how big?” “I can catch a marlin right next to the shore?” It’s really safe to eat the food?” “They don’t hate Americans?” “ It’s really OK to bring my kids?”

You old-timers know exactly what I’m talking about. That Baja grit, dust, sand and salt get into you and under your skin and it somehow never leaves. We revel in it.

You remember those sunrises and the anticipation of boiling fish. You can still feel that sun warming your back and those bare legs that hadn’t seen short pants all winter. Darn sand feels mighty fine between the toes. And that salsa and cold beer…ahhhh…. the one that smokes when you pop the top and the first sip burns the back of your throat…nectar of the gods!

And so many “Kodak moments” with Joe who fell in the pool with his clothes on and Jimmy, Jr, who got so excited with his first tuna he wanted to bring the whole thing back to school for show-and-tell. Remember those great shrimp you ate at that romantic sunset restaurant with your honey? Life just couldn’t be better

And your buddy, Ralph, who passed out and you drew stupid things on his face with shaving cream. There was that pretty local gal with the enchanting smile who made you wish you were 20 again. And there was that wonderful captain Miguel who invited you home to his place for homemade tacos after you gave him some t-shirts and fish. And the mile of dancing dolphin that just wouldn’t quit. Priceless.

Most of us who frequent the Baja can sometimes take it all for granted until we step back and think how danged lucky and blessed we are to be able to experience something that most folks who walk this planet will never see in their wildest dreams. I’m doubly blessed because I get to share this with so many others and get to tell them all about it.

Well, at one of the recent outdoor shows, I had two amigos come up to me. Each year they had come to my booth; picked up my materials; and we chatted. Great guys. Lifelong buddies. The years had been good to them. Both had been Korean war veterans. Stand-up guys.

“Not this year, Jonathan! But for sure ‘one of these days’ we’ll get down there. We’ll bring our wives and have a great time. Someday!” They’d laugh and continue walking down the aisle to the next booth with my brochures tucked under arms.

Each year, same smiles. Same conversation.

Until this year. Two weeks ago, they came up. But there was something different. Something in their eyes. This time they were in earnest. They were going to come down to Baja this year, but it was sad this time. You see…One had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The other amigo had lost his wife in the year since I had seen them last. “Someday” had caught up with these two lifelong buddies.

“We waited too long,” said one, a bit sadly and wistfully. “But while we are still buddies, we’re gonna finally take this one trip together. It might be our last. ” In that nano-second, I caught that “look” between “brothers” who had seen a lot together. It’s the “look” that transcends time and bridges spirit and emotion. The way “our last” was said. One last road trip…

Exhale…take a breath. Hearth in throat. What do I say?

I’ve been coming to Baja for almost 30 years. I’ve been living in it for almost 12. I made a decision long ago that I was gonna try something off the path. I was younger then. A lot younger. It’s been a helluva ride… a great ride. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. But looking back, I don’t think I’d go down that same path again had I known better! But that’s just being younger and dumber. But, I’m danged glad I did it. No regrets.

But why is it that when we’re young we have no fear? The world is a wide open Baja beach beckoning with possibilities. But as we get older, all this “adventure” is suddenly tempered. We’re not sure anymore!

“Are there bathrooms?” “Will it be too hot?” “Do they have diet Coke?” “Are the police friendly?” “Is there shade on the boat?” “Will my cell phone work?” “How’s the toilet paper?” “Can I get “Desperate Housewives” on the hotel TV?”

I will admit that life is full of things to do that have a lot more priority than trips to Baja or anywhere else. We have to do what we have to do. Jobs are important. Kids gotta get fed. Air Jordan’s gotta be bought. There’s that mortgage and the car payments.

But at what point in our lives did we start asking so many other questions? What prevented us from stepping outside our hermetically sealed box for one great glorious breath of real fresh air that wasn’t manufactured and purified by a machine or tinged with exhaust fumes? From sharing smiles with folks from another culture or speaking a different language? From having an experience with our families, kids and friends that would sear a lifetime of memories in our hearts?

“Someday” is already here. Don’t live life like your hair is on fire, but at least live it like there’s just one last bait in the tank and time to make one last cast. You know the feeling. Sun’s going down. The boat has to head for shore soon. It can’t be changed.

Let’s dance! Let’s make that last cast! Each year there’s a few more empty spaces at the rail and you only get to ride this boat one time.

That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.