Yeah, I know. It's the middle of May. About time.
As you can imagine, most of the images that fell out of my cameras last month were taken south of the border. Sadly, not enough were of fish. It wasn't because we didn't try. But if you've been following along you know that fishing trips are not always defined by the catching. This one sure wasn't.
Above, my travel buddy Chris contemplates whether or not to push a kayak into the rising sun on our last morning at the Buena Vista. It was the kind of morning that you could simply sit and enjoy, especially if your feet are burned to a blistery crisp, but the big guy sucked it up and paddled quietly out into the Sea of Cortez. He's a trooper.
As we traveled along Mexico Highway 1, I was struck by the number of small memorials that dotted the roadside. Elegant monuments, more elaborate than the simple crosses we see around the States, well and actively maintained, many with glowing candles among the numerous relics they contained. I was quite certain that I understood their significance, but was none-the-less moved to ask my driver of them. He confirmed my notion with a solemn pause, then a simple response.
"Suceden cosas malas, amigo." Bad things happen.
I know this all too well.
For the most part, every roadway branching off Highway 1 was dirt. Well traveled, well defined, but simple packed sand byways. And the soft colors of the structures that sat along these stretches provided a constant warm palette.
Chris noted that he wished he had the cinder block and rebar concession as most every structure we saw was built in this manner.
Our last day in the Baja was spent in Los Barilles at the Playa del Sol. A fancier place than the Buena Vista, but without the lovely gounds and fisherman's soul. This shot, taken across the pool deck, looks like something out of a travel poster.
Our last glimpse of the Sea of Cortez as we headed for the airport and flights home. The ocean turquoises and blues in this image don't begin to do justice to the real thing.
We'll be back.
It's only fair to show that other stuff happened in April. A shot, here, from the F3T's (Fly Fishing Film Tour's) stop in Asheville, conveniently held at Highland Brewery's wonderful facility. I had a great time hangin' and sampling Highland's wares (two thumbs up on the Kashmir IPA) with Cameron Mortenson of the The Fiberglass Manifesto and Dave Grossman, Steve Seinburg and the crew from Southern Culture on the Fly.
The flicks weren't bad either.
The most important event of the month, however, was the now annual Live Free Cornhole Tournament. More than most anything else, my step-son enjoyed a gathering of friends, of which he had many, and every spring he held an impromptu cornhole tournament in his back yard, complete with competition brackets, homemade trophy, and plenty of malt beverage. It was loved by all who attended, as was he, and it continues on in his absence with the addition of a nominal entry fee which goes directly to the Freeman York Memorial Scolarship Fund at Georgia Tech.
We gather to honor him and enjoy the day as he would have us do so.
My favorite little bean bag thrower.