That's My Story

NOT MUCH BETTER THAN THIS! AND NEVER VERY FAR AWAY! THAT’s BAJA!

JUST FIVE MINUTES!

Originally published the week of Oct. 21, 2008, in Western Outdoor News

“I can’t believe all the changes I’m seeing.” How often that starts a conversation when I run into a fisherman who hasn’t been down here in a long time. “I remember back in the day…” Is where the conversation heads down the road of reminiscing with squinted eyes towards a vision of a long gone Baja of the past.

You can fill in the blank to whatever memory you happen to hold closest. Whether it was the day you and dad saw a mile of yellowtail breaking the surface with schools of bait leaping for their lives around Santa Rosalia or perhaps you remember Cabo San Lucas before the marina (Yes, there really was a time before Squid Roe!)

Perhaps you remember your first trip when Tony Reyes was in his prime and the grouper were huge at the Midriff Islands. You might remember when the Van Wormers had a pet lion on the premises at Palmas de Cortez. Or you remember flying into the old Serenidad Hotel in Mulege with the Johnsons for long days of fishing and that great barbecue they had at night.

Or how about the Old Mill in San Quintin when Jimmy got up on the table with the mariachis playing into the night and giant clams and fresh fish piled on the table? And the senoritas from town with their dark eyes and dancing hips. Ahhhh…the old days when schools of roosterfish could be seen in the shallows off the old Hotel Las Arenas, but you were already too tired to do more than lift a cigar and a tequila after a full day of fishing.

Dirt roads and skiffs. Busted axles and warm beer. Dust and fresh grilled tortillas. Panga captains with rolled up dungarees and fish that had never seen a hook and line.

And now the face of Coronel Sanders smiles down at you. Walmart greeters in blue vests welcome you through their doors.

Drive through even the seemingly smallest pueblito and there’s a crowd. There’s a little real estate office. There’s another house going up. The little marcado is adding a new wing with a a coffee bar serving expresso! They are paving the main road. More fenced-off lots saying, “Private Property.” Are those new street lights going in? Little dots on the landscape are no longer drive-by blinks.

Can’t say I really like it, but I’m speaking hypocritically. I’m craving some KFC extra-crispy and I’ll be the first one through the door at Walmart too when they build one in my town looking for that blue light special (or is that the other chain?)

But it gets discouraging. Until I remember my “Five Minute Rule” and remember where I am.

Five minutes from any beach, I am once again in the best fishing waters on the planet. I’m on the same waters that captured the imaginations of Ray Cannon, JohnSteinbeck and even Gene Kira. I am not surrounded by tourists off a cruise ship. I am surrounded by a school of dolphin or swarming dorado.

Five minutes from any strip mall, I’m in the desert of Hernan Cortes and Juan Cabrillo. Desert flower and boojum trees grow thick. Some of the same cactus in front of me may have witnessed the passing of a mule train of conquistadores, padres and other settlers hundreds of years ago. That old dirt road we take for granted up the arroyo follows the same path used ages ago by the indigenous natives who lived in the mountains and whose descendants still scratch out a living up in those crags.

Five minutes from the latest trendy coffee house, I am on a hill watching a Baja sunrise tear away the darkness turning grey and purple into a blaze of orange as it percolates up like a giant bubble from the eastern horizon. Schools of baitfish can already been seen in the ripples of “nervous” water near the beaches below as the sea creatures wake to a new day of survival.

Within 5 minutes of any new “fast food” joint, I can walk up a little side street and still find the best carne asada or shrimp tacos on earth. It’s easy. There’s a line around the place and the aroma of salsa, onions and sizzling meat on the grill grabs you by the nose like an aromatic gaff and seduces you to try one! Locals only! No tourists would ever find this place. Don’t go looking for any “board of health” paper tacked to the walls. There are no walls! Don’t expect napkins either or a menu. Use your sleeve. Pay as you go. Point at what you want!

Old Baja isn’t gone. It’s just a few minutes off the beaten path. Hopefully never more than 5 minutes away.

That’s my story.
If you ever need to reach me, I’m at riplipboy@aol.com