OVERLOOKED HONEY HOLES

Originally published the week of January 3, 2007 in Western Outdoor News

Sometimes, you just gotta make do.

People…especially fishermen, can get pretty snarly and grumpy after a few days not being able to fish which sometimes happens during the winter months. Sometimes the water is too big or it’s just too windy or some other seasonal thing.

Usually after the first day, most guys are pretty understanding and you hear a lot of “ Well, that’s fishing!” By day three, you’re usually getting blamed for not only the weather and water but the restaurant food, water in the hotel shower, and even the lack of English spoken by the bellman in the lobby becomes MY fault.

Several seasons ago, I had a small group that was in just such a tizzy and with each passing day their shorts were bunching up tighter and tighter. I warned them that coming down in January was hit-or-miss, but they insisted on traveling and now we had been holed up for several days. I had already promised them refunds, but that wasn’t the point. If I couldn’t find the magic wall switch to turn off the winds and make the ocean flatten out there would be hell to pay.

What I did out’ve desperation became a lesson I’ll never forget. I rounded up a bunch of my freshwater rigs; went to the fish market and bought up a bunch of scraps and stopped off at the local variety store and bought a pack of balloons.

I gathered up my grumpy anglers and told them I was going to do one of my special “inshore fishing seminars.” I told them I usually charge as much as $75 a head for this, but was going to do it for free. Of course, there was no such thing as an inshore fishing seminar, but I had to think of something. So I trucked ‘em all down to the local marina. With an additional FREE ice chest of beer, I could tell spirits were rising.

I had all of them go into my tackle box and rig up plastic swim baits; crank baits; chrome spoons or bait rigs. I pretended I knew what I was talking about but I had remembered something Dick Gaumer, one of the masters of bay fishing had told me years ago. He said, “Lots of people are put off fishing in marinas, jetties and docks. You should always look at a body of water like that as a goldmine of structure. Each boat; piling, or dock is one more place for a fish to hide.”

OK, Dick…here goes nothing because I knew as I looked at that brown/ green water that I was winging it.

I told my anglers I had a secret “honey hole” here at the marina as they rigged up and I embellished the “seminar” with all kinds of “bits and pieces” of information; stories and tackle tips. While talking I chopped up the scraps of fish I had bought and gave each angler a little zip lock bag of “goodies.”

I also took a few larger pieces of bait and tied each to a balloon with a piece of mono. I finished my little talk then started tossing a few handfuls of “chum” into the little side basin of moored boats. I took a few of the “balloon baits” and heaved them in as well and dropped a few into a few empty slips.

I told the guys, “Just watch what happens!” Of course, I had never done this, but I had my fingers crossed and I prayed like heck but at least, I could tell I sure had the attention of my anglers!

Within minutes, there was a splash; then ripples and breaks. Dark shapes started to materialize in the greenish marina water. Several of the balloons dipped, bobbed and would run then stop and run again! The little basin was suddenly alive with fish!

“Go to it, guys!” I said. And each guy happily found a spot and started casting. Amid whoops and hollers over the next 2 hours, I think the guys must’ve hooked over a dozen different species of fish. At times, it was like a stocked pond! Where’d all these fish come from? Sometimes, it was non-stop action catching and releasing as quick as they could go. It was like some of these fish had never seen a hook or lure! The best kind!

Small jack crevalle, roosterfish, bay bass, barracuda, snapper and pargo were just a few. Several fish, like some of the jacks and roosters went over 10 pounds and the guys yelled and laughed like they were hooked on big blue water sluggers. With the light freshwater gear some of the fish gave ‘em quite a tussle and keeping the fish outta pilings and other structure really tested fishing skills.

Of course, I grinned like the amateur magician who pulls does the card trick and it actually works! And yes, I gladly took all of the credit for being the “best thing since slicked bread” from my anglers! Hey, if it’s my fault the wind’s blowing then I can certainly take credit that I just found a honey hole full of fish!

It was the first, but hardly the last time I’ve taken frowning anglers to the marina to fish, but you gotta do what you gotta do to keep ‘em smiling.


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

YOU SAY "POTATO" AND I SAY "PAPA!"

Originally published in Western Outdoor News the week of Dec. 25, 2006

PHOTO: "I did not say you looked like a horse!" Spanish class was never this fun nor were the study groups this entertaining. Ok, try this..."Yo quiero Taco Bell!"


I was thinking about some unusual gift-giving this holiday season. I like doing stuff that’s out-of –the-ordinary. I know you’re reading this and Christmas is already over, but the new year is still coming up. I hope you got your new reel or found that gift coupon for the rod you’ve been drooling over but how about something that’s going to give for a long time to come?

One of the funniest things I enjoy about living in Mexico is listening and watching gringos (me included) butcher Spanish. It’s not even “Span-glish.” It’s just non-sense that even makes my Mexican friends cringe, grin and laugh. They love hearing us speak Spanish and love our attempts to speak it. However, sometimes they don’t want to seem impolite by correcting us or are merely entertaining themselves listening to us hack away!

For example, I’ve heard tourists merely add the letter “O” to the end of every English word and “El” to the front and think they are speaking Spanish like some mangled form of pig Latin. “Can-O you-O bring-O me-O El glass-O of El water-O?” Or the never-fail classic, simply saying it LOUDER will mean that the other person will understand you.

After 11 years living in the Baja, I admit that even my own Spanish has a long long way to go. I should be more fluent and I can get sufficiently to handle my business and most mundane things. However, in a social situation where folks start talking about something else beside tuna or the ocean or how many beers are in the cooler and I’m lost!

Look, I had the usual few years of Espanol in high school like most of us and even a year in college, but still couldn’t talk my way out’ve a Taco Bell. Even living and working in Baja, my exposure to the language beyond my captains and immediate circle of associates was limited.

That’s where actual language immersion school comes in. I don’t have an ear for language like some folks. I don’t have the time to go back to school either. Forget books and memorizing conjugation. Several friends who had become fluent originally referred me to the school in La Paz appropriately named “Se Habla. . . La Paz.” http://www.sehablalapaz.com/

Operated by the personable director, Juli Goff, they specialize in small and private classes. Usually the ratio is 4 or 5 students to 1 professor with a focus on conversational Spanish as well as specialized Spanish for the medical and legal fields. Private classes or couples packages are also available. A week of classes is a couple hundred bucks. They can even arrange staying in a local home with room and board for a few hundred more so you can really immerse yourself in the language!

I took a few private classes myself and what an eye-opener! My professor was fully trained and spoke “gringo English” and stopped me from mis-pronouncing words; cleared up phrases; went over questions I had always had about the language as well as slang, not to mention finally telling me a certain phrase that my captains were always using when they referred to me! A-Ha!

For example, I learned that when I thought I had been ordering “onions” (cebollas) with my meals, I had actually been ordering “horse” (caballos). I learned that certain hand gestures, perfectly acceptable in American culture are considered bad manners in Mexico. Stuff like that. Little nuances like that make all the difference…especially if you have to eat it! I think I learned more in a few hours than in many weeks back in school.

Several friends have taken the course for a week then vacationed for a week then gone back. Some people visit the city yearly and make a point of taking a few weeks of classes or brush-up classes. In the evenings, Juli arranges things like going to the movies for all the students or having barbecues or other social activities where the students can more fully practice their Spanish. It’s a lot of fun.

I know this is a pretty shameless plug which I try to avoid in this column, but the point I wanted to make is that Se Habla. . . La Paz is one of a number of growing language schools popping up throughout Mexico. I have friends that have attended immersion schools in Mexico City, Acapulco and Puerto Vallarta. Imagine.

As the lines between countries become blurred, as we become more multi-ethnic and the boundries of commerce and society become more enmeshed, think how great it would be to have a “new code of communication!” Be able to chat with employees and friends better. Travel and order at a restaurant without nervousness. Be able to read signs. Have an actual conversation about the weather and politics and families with your next fishing captain! The possibilities are endless. For the cost of a day or two of fishing, you’ve opened up whole new worlds. The gift of language is a great thing!

Final thing: Don’t forget that in 2007, you need a passport to travel to and from Mexico and the U.S. Don’t wait until the last minute! Happy Holidays everyone!

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

SILENT MIGRATIONS

Originally published the week of Dec. 19, 2006 in Western Outdoor News

Photo 1 : The calm shallow waters of Bahia Magdalena in Baja Mexico is the winter ground for the might grey whales. Vistors in pangas seen in the background come from the months of January to March.

About right now like clockwork, they’re moving south. Thousands of them. It’s the largest migration of mammals on the planet. In fact, it’s probably the largest migration of the largest mammals too!

There’s no thundering herd or giant swaths cut through the plains like buffalo or elephants nor, like lemmings, is there any intent towards self-destruction. In fact, most folks never even know it’s happening. Many folks nearby the migration path never even see a thing or know that the “grey whale superhighway” literally swims either below them or right out in front of their Pacific beaches unless someone points it out.

There was a time when these huge creatures had pretty much disappeared from the planet and hunted into oblivion by whalers hungry to feed the public demand for the oil, cosmetics and other things that whales provided. Even the teeth were valued for their ivory. They’ve rebounded in spectacular fashion.

Starting a few months ago, the California grey whales began swimming south from their grounds near Alaska’s Bering Sea. In about a month, they’ll be taking up their winter residence along Baja’s Pacific coast where they spend the months of January to March in areas such as Magdalena Bay, San Ignacio and Scammon’s Lagoon near Guerrero Negro.

Photo 2: "Scratch my nose!" Often the gentle whales which can reach lenghts of 20-30 or more feet will come right up to the pangas for a scratch and a pet and mug for the cameras!

For about 3 months in these shallow, calm and protected coves, the whales will feed, mate, and calve before heading back north in March or early April. If you’ve never taken the opportunity to check this out, it’s pretty incredible and a lifetime experience. It’s not like chasing whales on a “whale watch” boat. On these tour boats you’re lucky to see a whale or two and everyone suddenly rushes from one side to the other hoping to glimpse one of these great creatures. Then, all you may see is some spot on the ocean where someone says, “Aww, you just missed it!”

On the contrary, most of the whale watching in Baja is done from the same type of pangas we all fish from and in these sheltered waters, it’s not uncommon to see dozens of whales in the span of a few hours. More importantly, as the mothers and younger whales get more used to the pangas, it’s not unusual to have whales come right up to the pangas to be scratched and photographed.

Photo 3: Dozens of whales can be seen daily and it's not unusual to have the females allow their calves to come up to the boat. Often it's like the whales are watching us!
Photo 4: They seem often as curious about the funny colored little things in the blue and white objects as we are of them. Kids and adults alike have a great time!I didn't take this photo. It comes courtesy of our amigo, Enrique Vargas of Baja Life Magazine. He's a geat photographer!

We all want to save the forests and the turtles and the dorado and the spotted-purple-doodle-bug, but until you make it economically feasible to save them, it’s not going to happen, especially in 2nd and 3rd world nations and even world leaders.

If a man has the choice between feeding his kids by killing something to eat or sell versus watching it swim by, guess which choice he will make? Before we curse the folks who kill manta rays and sharks and turtles and burn rain forests, what would we do in a similar situation if our kids were hungry? He loves seeing black-tailed horn swimmers, but hey….kid’s and momma gotta eat!

I sit on the beach at Lopez Mateos in Magdalena Bay each year and watch panga after panga load up with school kids and retired guys wearing shorts and black socks; school teachers and honeymooners with cameras dangling from their necks and it’s simple math!

The pangero fisherman in the past might have hunted these whales. He might welcome the construction of a polluting foreign salt factory or a new hotel being built. But, at $30 bucks a head and 12 people in the boat for 3 hours of work. He runs out 2-3 times a day. Uh, let’s see… Not a bad payday 7 days a week for 3 months when the daily wage in a Baja City is about 6-10 dollars/day. Yes, indeed. Save the whales!

Places like Costa Rica figured it out. If you can make people pay for it and you can make a buck off it, then it’s win-win. By golly! Save the rainforests! All the marches and protests and petitions are not as motivating as the desire to make a buck to turn anyone into a tree hugger. When it becomes economically more feasible to save something than to destroy it, that’s when change happens.

Unfortunately, I’m not seeing a whole lot of that in Mexico. If we can figure it out for whales, why can’t we find a formula to stop illegal commercial fishing; un-fettered longlining and gill-netting? Unfortunately, I just don’t think there’s that much interest. Everyone want’s to eat fish. Populations grow. The seas shrink. Every mom and pop and kid wants to see whales or loves to chow down at their favorite Red Lobster Restaurant (me included!) Fewer and fewer could care less about tuna or dorado and the economics just don’t balance out anymore.

But, thankfully, at least the whales still come back every year. Get out and see them before someone changes their minds!

We're booking trips now for the coming year. If you'd like us to set up an adventure like this for you or your family or friends, contact us at rplipboy@aol.com or check out the webpage at: http://www.tailhunter-international.com/activities.htm We can set up everything from hotels to transportation to guides! Make a great gift!

That's my story! If you need to contact me, again, the e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com

LIFE BY THE SLICE

Published in Western Outdoor News week of Dec. 12, 2006

If you ever want to see the differences between Mexico and the U.S. stop in a little country store sometime. If you’re driving the Baja or down the mainland they dot the countryside in every little pueblo. Sometimes you see so many of them you have to wonder how such tiny communities can possibly support so many mercaditos (little stores). But there they are on every street corner and out into the countryside.


Sometimes, the Corona signs and the dusty rusty pick up truck parked outside are larger than the store itself.

I had been to Baja many times before moving here but most of my experiences with local stores had been the ones “in-town” in Loreto, Cabo, San Quintin and other relatively large towns or cities and usually it was for the inevitable run for beer and ice to rejuvenate the ice chests.

It wasn’t until I moved down that I had my first experiences in the mom and pop “super marinos” that most folks actually shop for daily necessities.

At the time, the little pueblo of La Ribera had maybe two of these stores. At times, the village itself was so sleepy that it seemed the only 4 or 5 people in town worked at those two stores and the little Pemex gas station and that was it! However, considering I had moved in 10 miles down a dirt road, coming to “town” for the first time in several weeks was quite an event and I had a grocery list of goodies I either needed or craved.

The dusty little white store was lined with wooden and cardboard boxes on a dirty concrete floor. A dog lolled lazily in the sunny doorway and couldn’t be bothered to move out of the way so you had to step over him.

Light came in through dusty glass windows. Fruit and vegetables were stacked in old weathered boxes. No shiny wax or spray jobs here! Dirt still clung to yellow onions and dried red chilis nestled next to a crates of limes, tomatoes and platinos (sweet bananas) that emitted that sweet over-ripe banana smell at that dark end of the store. No fancy displays. Bottles of staples like Spam, salsa, soup, salt, bottled water, canned milk toilet paper and light bulbs could be found on the same shelves in no particular order. “Essentials” like beer, tequila (in plastic bottles!) and potato chips; tobacco and tortillas were closer to the counter which contained no cash register, just a smiling older senora.

“Puedo ayudarle, Senor?” (Can I help you sir?)

The first thing I asked her for was some paper for my typewriter and she responded that she kept the paper behind the counter and asked how many sheets I needed. In bad Spanish, I told her I need a “reem of paper.” She looked at me quizzically. Having only recently transplanted from the wonders of such icons as Staples and Office Depot, I thought perhaps she had misunderstood my Spanish. I smiled back. Of course I want a ream. Yes, the whole thing!

She told me no one had ever bought the “todo” (everything) before. She didn’t have a whole packet, so she asked me how many sheets I wanted. I told her 200. She smiled and brought out her daughters and they counted them out 1, 2, 3,…38…65…

In the next hour, I also found out you cannot buy a “pack” of cheese; a “six pack” of beer; a “bag” of hotdogs; a “carton” of cigarettes; any more than you buy a “pack of paper.”

For instance, when I asked for hot dogs ( I was still very “gringo-fied” in those days!) they got a pack, cut them open and pulled out ONE uncooked hot dog, dropped it in one of those thin plastic produce bags and handed it to me. I laughed and she grinned when I told her I wanted “todo” again.

The packet of yellow American cheese got the same treatment, she peeled off one slice from the packet until I again smiled and requested the whole thing. Cigarettes for my amigo neighbor were the same, they were willing to sell me just one single smoke and beers and sodas were not attached by six-pack plastic bindings. You put them in your bag one at a time jangling way as you tried to carry them. Why would anyone want to buy less than one cookie? One piece of baloney? One fishing hook? One piece of paper or one nail?

It’s because that’s what most people could afford as I was later informed by my neighbor. It’s a day-to-day and hand-to-mouth existence. Cheaper by the dozen? Buying in bulk? Some for now and some for later? Buy the “large economy size?” These were concepts as foreign in these pueblo “super markets” as if I had decided to talk about stock options (which I don’t understand either!).

But that first day, I have to say I was charmed and enlightened by my experience and by the grins and giggles of the senora and her two daughters helping me not to mention their delight as I handed over 21 dollars American cash. I walked out with two armloads of groceries and they must have thought it was Christmas.

As I was to find out with each growing month of my tenure down the road, you actually can get by on one fish hook, one piece of cheese, a hot dog and a tortilla. In time, I could bring in some of my fish and trade it for some Cokes or I could barter some of my tomatoes for slices of homemade goat cheese. Life before B.C. (before Costco) was so much simpler out in the Baja countryside.


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

JO! JO! JO! (HO! HO! HO!)

Originally published week of Dec. 4 in Western Outdoor News

My Mexican friends laughingly call me “El Burro Hawaiiano.” (The Hawaiian donkey) It’s because I’ve been known to bring so much gear back over the border for them that I am literally a beast of burden! Or, maybe they’re just calling me a jackass or donkey.

While most of you traveling to Baja have your ice chests stuffed with reels and beef jerky, jigs, freezer bags and fishing t-shirts, my huge white marine chest usually has parts for radios; a CD; a toy; repaired fishing reels; throw nets; and magazines. I usually get quite a smirk from the guys at customs whenever I fly into Mexico.

I was in the U.S. for Thanksgiving but am heading back to Baja shortly and my ice chest has so much chocolate candy stuffed into it that I’m gonna have one helluva mess on my hand if it gets stuck on the tarmac and melts!

Anyway, my point is that lately the “requests” I’m getting from my amigos has been changing lately and it’s a microcosmic reflection of the changes taking place in Baja. Especially with Christmas coming this is what my numerous phone calls sound like lately.

Your kids wants a what? He wants the “Smash Brothers” game for his Game Cube? Uh, what’s a Game Cube? Oh, sure. It’s a video game. Sorry, sure I knew that!

And you want me to bring a pair of small-sized Crocs? You mean those plastic Dutch boy designer shoes? And they have to be light blue. OK, sure I”ll see what I can find. Sure, you can pay me later (oh, right!).

What? See’s candy? Regular chocolate won’t work? Oh, it has to be See’s California Brittle. You liked the Almond Roca but your abuela (grandmother) prefer’s See’s chocolate. Sigh…OK.

Nike Air Jordan’s? You gotta be kidding. Size 10. Oh sure, I can go to the mall. I have nothing else to do. Do you know how expensive they are? Right. You’ll pay me in installments, but you must have them. The ones they sell in Mexico are fake? Who will know? Oh, you want real Air Jordan and they must have the Nike label on them. I’ll do my best to find them. Yes, the 2007 model not the 2006 model.

What the heck is an “EEEE-pod?” Oh, you mean an iPod. Those aren’t cheap. Will a Sanyo MP3 player work. Cost about 50 bucks. Oh, your daughter doesn’t know what a Sanyo is and it MUST be an Apple iPod. With headsets in white. You can afford to give me 100 dollars by December for it? It’s a little more expensive than that. But she must have it. I understand. OK, your wife will make me homemade tamales for a month…and light a candle at church for me. Right.

And a laptop computer. What? Now hold on. OK, you can wait until next time. Gee, thanks.

Whatever happened to the days of bringing down t-shirts and a box of candy canes and maybe a good kitchen knife for mama?

Con su permiso (excuse me), I have to load my sled…uh ice chest.

Jo! Jo! Jo! (Ho! Ho! Ho!) from Baja! Here comes Santa Claus.

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