Baja Adventure
This is a Baja Adventure written by my wife:
[Edited on 9-17-2005 by comitan]
[Edited on 9-17-2005 by comitan]By Carol Stagg
We had past San Juan De La Costa and the paved road turned to dirt waves. It?s the kind of road every twenty miles you grab the pliers and a
screwdriver to tighten the nuts and bolts. When the road gets rough Moxie, our brave little sixty pound boxer, crawls onto mommy?s lap and digs her
toenails into my knees.
Wiley had told me the night before, "The Dorado are running at San Everisto. If we get an early start, we can put the boat in on the last beach before
the four-wheel drive part of the road."
Sounded pleasant enough. It is a couple of hours drive but we planned to be back by c-cktail hour.
Ten miles past San Juan De La Costa I started to suggest this was too far to drive for one day of fishing. I have to admit twenty miles past San Juan
De La Costa, let?s say, I am not the jovial heroin of this tale, in fact, that is the point I started to get ? b-tchy.
Thirty miles past San Juan De La Costa, we had a flat tire. Irritating but we always say, thank God for the small problems they keep big ones at bay.
Tire changed, we were on our way.
Finally the beach and the boat launched swiftly with no problems. We had our flat tire behind us no more problems expected. I began to relax.
I?m the kind of fisherman that does not have to catch a fish, as long as the boat catches fish that?s fine and for some reason Wiley, my husband
caught all the fish that day, trolling very close to the rocks catching cabrilla.
As I said, I don?t mind just taking a boat ride, but I hate to reel in again and again because I have caught a rock and I did that about five times in
rapid succession. Rocks!
Usually when trolling the snagged lure releases when you return to the rock and pull from the other direction, but the last time we were caught the
lure refused to release. By looking over the side, we could see it, glittering against the dark rock.
Wiley grumbled about his favorite lure. "Get my mask out" he said. His dive bag was close to my feet.
He jumped in to rescue the lure. On the way back the hook caught in his cutoffs. He came to the side of the boat. And hollered for me to help him. I
hung over the side trying to release the hook, on cue the wind came up just hard enough to send chop over our two struggling figures.
Then wave formed just to splash over us. Wiley, wide eyed, said, "I?m getting stung. Let go, I?m coming in."
He swam to the back of the boat attached to my line and climbed in. It was easy to free the lure once he was out of the water, but we were both shaky
more from the shock of the agua malas stings than the warm breeze on our wet bodies. The last wave that had hit us was full of agua malas, Jelly fish
segments.
Since the chop was building and we had eight nice-size cabrillas we started our run back to the beach. The choppy water gave me the opportunity to
tease Wiley about his dry boat, which is the wettest boat we?ve owned. Moxie braved the splash to stand in the bow and let her unclipped ears wave in
the wind.
When we reached the beach we loaded the boat onto the trailer and had lunch while Moxie, chased the pelicans. Don?t think poorly of her, she just runs
at them so she can watch them fly. She watches as one would fly a kite. Wiley cleaned the fish and we were under way.
The car was an old 4X4 Suburban that has no doors and the top has been cut off from the drivers seat back. It?s a dune buggy, we call the Magoti Bus
because with the back seat in it seats nine. It?s our oldest most dependable vehicle.
Half an hour down the road, I was feeling more pleasant, the road was still rough so Moxie was on mommy?s lap.
Suddenly a horrendous ?bang? startled us. We stopped the car and got out to explore the damage. We found that the trailer had divorced the hitch and
left the boat to surf the road.
We ran up the road to drag the trailer back to the car. Looking like a skeleton structure of a weird bird the trailer had stopped to peck a grassy
slope. It still had its wheels and was in tact except for the portion that attached to the hitch. Wiley said "I?ll go see if I can get a welder in San
Juan I don?t know how long I?ll be."
Our old-faithful Suburban refused to start ? to even groan ? Wiley buried his head under the hood for awhile, while I was turning the key. Nothing
worked.
We took everything loose out of the boat, including the back to back seats. We put that on the shady side of the car and sat for a few minutes.
Over the next three hours we sporadically went back to the boat and did a little more to ready it. We had decided we would have to put it in and on
top of the Suburban. We could only work in spurts. It was the desert part of the road in June. We were lucky the car made shade and that it was a
moderately hot day, not a scorcher.
We checked our emergency boat supplies and found a can of tuna, a small can of cream corn and for Moxie a large can of sardines; we would eat.
At about four-thirty Wiley said, "You know it?s conceivable we won?t see a car until tomorrow morning."
I said, "In about fifteen minute a truck full of Mexican fishermen will come by with one mechanic and they will load the boat for you and fix the
car."
He laughed.
About fifteen minutes later a truck with eight young fishermen came by and loaded the boat onto the Suburban.
Wiley looked at me when they left and said, "No mechanic?"
At eight o?clock we were still sitting in our boat seat. Wiley had lashed the trailer together. It could be towed home carefully. Everything was ready
to go if we could get the car started.
A truck came into view, headed toward La Paz.
Wiley said, "If this guy is going to town I think I should get a ride. I?ll go home and pick up the camper. We?ll have a place to sleep and a car in
the morning."
In moments Moxie and I were waving good-bye to Wiley, who was buried in fish nets and water barrels.
Darkness started to move in as soon as the car was out of sight. Two coyotes crossed the road a hundred yards ahead of us. Moxie didn?t see them, but
two other coyotes started conversing to our left and that sent Moxie half way across the road to check it out. Fortunately she responded to my call
and came back to me. She must have heard the desperation in my voice. I put a leash on her to keep her in tow; she is impulsive and bullheaded; it
runs in the family. I looked at the Suburban with no doors or windows, and assured myself coyotes don?t attack people.
Mars was in the heavens, traveling its closest orbit to earth. There was a moon lighting and shadowing the area. I was grateful for the light though
it made the shadows more ominous. I have lived in the Baja too long to be afraid of the people. They are warm and helpful by nature.
After two hours of waiting the first of the light tricks occurred. A flashlight appeared a hundred feet away. Moxie gave a low growl. The light went
off to the right. Then the light of a motor scooter came charging at us, I was ready to jump out of the way when it disappeared. Then about five miles
down the road headlights rose from a deep dip in the road. They kept coming. This unnerved me temporarily. I do believe in ghosts.
The headlights belonged to an English couple that was staying on a beach down the road. They stopped to help and chat. They assured me I had nothing
to worry about being alone. I appreciated a few minutes of talking to a person especially when they told me it was about an hours and a half to the
CIB turn off, our road. I figured Wiley would be back by midnight.
Twice more the lights played their tricks, flashlight to the side, motor scooter light running us down, then disappearing to come up headlights five
miles down the road. A fish truck slowed and went on when I wave casually. The next light show my camper. Wiley and I celebrated his return with a
drink and a snack. At last c-cktail hour!
From six a.m. to noon the next day I pulled Wiley and Moxie in the Suburban, with the camper. It was a long hard haul, but only minor mishaps. We were
home.
Thank God for little problems that keep the big ones at bay.
[Edited on 9-17-2005 by comitan]
Strive For The Ideal, But Deal With What\'s Real.
Every day is a new day, better than the day before.(from some song)
Lord, Keep your arm around my shoulder and your hand over my mouth.
“The sincere pursuit of truth requires you to entertain the possibility that everything you believe to be true may in fact be false”
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