Baja With Alex, 2004
Lost at Sea

by

September 2004

Our summer baja trip this year started out ominously. We were driving on an open highway north of Guerrero Negro without a vehicle in sight when there came a bang from the rear and the camper shuddered. A gargantuan motorhome passed me and as I peered, our rear view mirror showed an outsized mirror bouncing on the pavement behind us. We eventually caught up to the driver who claimed I had drifted into his lane. After several tense moments we parted company feeling grateful for our fortune and angry at our misfortune.

We reached San Lucas Cove RV park in record time and Alex proceded to renew his acquaintance with all the locals. He gravitated to Larry's motorhome where the owner had established a veritable zoo by leaving seeds, fruits, and water at strategic locations for the resident wildlife.

White winged doves would eat from the hand and cottontail rabbits would nibble your toes. Alex befriended an oriole chick which he fed for a few days.

Alex was impatient to start fishing. We loaded the boat next to our palapa and headed for the mouth of the cove. Alex made a remarkable catch of a fish that I have never seen before in Baja. The Australians call it 'Queenfish' and it occurs primarily in the Central Pacific. I had caught them at the Gilbert Islands while stalking bonefish. It put up a great battle on light tackle.

Rumor had it that dorado were abundant 'outside' the island of San Marcos. We searched far and wide for them, but, with the exception of a longliner whose baited hooks ensnared our motor, we saw scant evidence of anything. The mornings at sea, however, were particularly enjoyable. The channel was full of manta rays, each the size of a dining room table. It was delightful watching these creatures flipping through the air in the morning light, ending with a loud splat.

It was our habit to take a siesta each afternoon after the fishing. Alex never enjoyed this quite as much as I. One afternoon he heard a loud squishing noise just outside the camper and ran out to investigate. A lot of shouting ensued. Well, it turned out to be a large humbolt squid that was attempting to beach itself next to the palapa. I picked it up and marveled at its beauty as it kept changing colors, from pale white to deep purple and back again. I couldn't help but feel that it was undergoing emotional changes - most likely fear and anger. Eventually my interest waned and I got out the fillet knife. The mollusk turn out to be excellent table fare, but a bit tougher than our local species.

The following morning I packed the boat with the intention of moving to more fertile waters. Plans were being made when our neighbor, Boyd, pulled up to our left and proceded to display, clean, and freeze about 15 good sized dorados. He was even kind enough to share his GPS coordinates of the schools he encountered. "Finally! Success", I thought.

Meanwhile, the weather had changed and the next day we encountered a stiff wind at the island on the way to the newly acquired locations. We turned back and started a slow troll across the Craig Channel when the rod doubled over from a dorado bite. Alex celebrated our good fortune.

I subdued the fish and tried to start the motor. It wouldn't budge. I freed it and spent the next 20 minutes trying to restart it without success. I started to feel a mild form of panic overcoming me. I took a long look at the horizon. The sea glistened with an oily calmness and there wasn't a soul in sight. I felt a shudder run up my back. Alex was still excited about the catch: "But dad, we caught a DORADO!". I got out the oars and started rowing towards Haystack. A blue whale appeared next to us out of nowhere, sighed deeply, and sank into the abyss. After a while we started to see the outline of a panga fishing at Haystack. We stood up on the seats and waved shirts and oars to get their attention. There was no response. The boat remained stationary. I rowed on. At first I rowed vigorously, but the sun was so strong I started to feel an intense heat in my head followed by a nauseating headache. I slowed down and stopped frequently to douse my hat in sea water. As I rowed and got closer the panga morphed into a commercial fishing boat and Alex waved and shouted still louder, again without response. Two hours later, hot, thirsty, and exhausted I pulled up to the vessel. A man appeared at the rail and threw a rope over the side of the squid fishing boat. Three young men lay dozing on deck under the awning while the remainder slept in the cabins below. "Didn't you see us?", I stammered between gulps of drinking water. "Yes, of course we heard you but we can't weigh anchor until the Capitano wakes up". I just couldn't believe it, but was so exhausted that I, too, slumped on deck amid the squid slime of last night's catch and kept drinking. Alex, on the other hand, was full of energy. The crew took a liking to him and, to his pleasure, taught him how to fish with a handline. We had the motor examined by a deckhand who concluded that we had blown a head gasket. By late afternoon the capitan awoke and towed us back to the cove. We thanked him profusely and I gave him our prized catch in gratitude (over Alex's protests). Our friends at the campground were relieved to see us and called off next day's search party that was being organized.

CONTINUE TO PART 2 >>

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