Deep en Mexico: two tales of Pescadero.

TRAVELING TO UNCHARTED TERRAIN is a natural part of skateboarding--whether it's finding a backyard pool on your own, checking out that new office complex for street spots or going to a foreign land to see what you can find. But not everyone feels the need to search the stuff out. Some are content to let others go first and make sure it's safe. A proper crew is essential to a search and destroy mission, where no one is content with waiting for others to suss it out. For that reason, I was stoked on the crew that went to check out a relatively new skatepark in Pescadero, Mexico.

There had been several word-of-mouth reports about the "Super Bowl" in Pescadero. A few people here and there had skated it while on surf trips to the area, but never before had a crew of rippers made the journey to specifically skate Pescadero. So when Jessica Swim sent back a report telling of good times at the park--along with a few other things to skate down there, it was time to assemble a group.

At first only Peter Hewitt, Lance Conklin and Ryan Wilburn were confirmed to go. Then Navarrette cleared up his schedule of staying out all night and sleeping 'til mid-afternoon long enough to make the trip. Bolt Cutter winner and 88 flow team rider Alex Horn sold his box of shoes to get a plane ticket. Ben Krahn decided that he wanted to get out of the Portland rain for a while. Sam Hitz was a last minute addition--but also an essential one, with his ability to bond with locals anywhere.

Our original plan was to camp on the beach for free, but we were informed that the local crackheads tend to heavily tax the tent population. Since Lance and I didn't want to lose our camera gear and no one wanted to have their skateboards stolen, we opted to stay at the Pescadero surf camp. The surf camp had hot showers, a swimming pool, and a kitchen, all for eight bucks a night. Plus it's within walking distance of the skatepark. Don, the surf camp manager, was very helpful on filling us in about local customs, where to eat (and more importantly where not to), along with anything else we needed to know. But alas, the most important info came on the last day, when he informed us that a bus would take us back to the airport for only five bucks. We all wished we had known that when we first arrived, instead of risking our lives in the back of a truck.

Road log: LA to TJ to Guerrero Negro, 3:00am

Bleary-eyed run to the border, speeding through Tijuana and down the coast to Ensenada. "Coffee" turns to "cafe" as the sun rises over the hills to the east. After Ensenada, we enter the real Baja, bumbling down the transpeninsular highway passing big rigs and RVs loaded with sunburned (already!) Canadians escaping from winter misery. At El Rosario the road turns east into the desert of insanity. Giant rocks littered and stacked upon each other are everywhere; cacti and Sirio trees grow in twisted, grotesque formations. There are roadside shrines every other kilometer. Did Tim Burton have a hand in creating this place? Evening brings us to Guerrero Negro, The Black Warrior. Weary slumber overtakes me as soon as I enter the tent. Day one is done. Terminado.

Road log: Guerrero Negro to Todos Santos 

Twisty-turn; the turns and the winds are too gnar for some of the big rigs. More shrines, more evidence of road death. Why don't Americans put crosses on the shoulder to mark the demise of loved ones like the Mexicans? Simply put: Americans don't believe in ghosts. Mexicans do. Past the oasis of San Ignacio, and on down to the Sea of Cortez at the rusty mining town of Santa Rosalia. Filthy town, but in a cool way. The drive along the Cortez is trance-like; shimmering flat azure blue pocked with stark islands violently piercing the calm surface. Down, down, down we go, past Mulege, past Loreto, through the pulsating evening streets of La Paz. Lost for a half hour and then on to Highway 19, headed toward Todos Santos and the Pacific Ocean.

12.24.03 Playa Los Gerritos, near the town of El pescadero

It's Christmas Eve, la noche buena, and the water's temp is a sweet 75 degrees. The beach here is about as good as it gets right now-warm water, free camping, good surf, and fish to catch right outside the surf. Surfed in the morning, then paddled back out with my fishing rod and caught a fish called Sierra on my very first cast. Christmas Eve dinner. The skatepark is literally less than a mile from our camp. Heading over there this afternoon.

12.25.03 La Navidad

I skated with the guy who built it today, and he has no problem getting upside down in the cradle here in Pescadero wearing wet surf booties. We skated for a bit and then he was off on some other quest. I stayed and skated with the local kids, two of which had no shoes. The Portuguese lady in the RV next to our camp made homemade donuts on the campfire for breakfast this morning. Yes! Even better, the Pacific gave us a nice Christmas present-whales in front of camp today.

12.23.03 Los Cerritos

The days have been filled with good surf. The waves got good over the last few days, and I've not seen a soul at the skatepark during my daily drive-bys to get supplies in the town of Pescadero or further north in Todos Santos. I want to skate, but the lack of fellows is dulling my drive. The girl and I have been living on beer, water, bean burritos and fish for about a week now.

12.29.03 Pescadero skatepark

This fucking park is crazy. I'm marveling at the fact that it's sitting here in the middle of tomato fields and banana tree groves. A huge, deep bowl, with a weird curvy extension of about four-feet straight vert. Huge speed coming off that bitch. The turquoise cradle has these orange cockroaches painted inside to-I'm assuming-provide depth perception within its gaping mouth. I've been using them as gauges to see how high I've gone on each consecutive run. I skated for about an hour with these surfers from OC that have homes in Todos Santos. The oldest of the crew, Jeff, threw back some layback frontal rocks and inverts. That cat had style. The other guys Just wished they were in four-foot surf. This place is Just too hairball for your average bro-brah.

01.02.04

New Year's blowout a couple nights ago back at camp. We've seen whales every day since Christmas. I have definitely spoken more Canadian on this trip than Spanish. I had my last session at the park today, as well as two surf sessions-one morning, one evening. I guess I'm in shape or something, Gave the local kids some product, slashed the corners, flew the hips and tried to see God in the cradle one more time. Tomorrow we head north to rent, work and struggle. Today we live as we wish, as we should.

Note: The town of Pescadero and its skatepark are about 900 or so miles down the Baja California Peninsula. You can fly to Cabo San Lucas, rent a car, and it's an hour's drive north on Highway 190 Driving down from California is way more of an adventure, though. You should give yourself at least a week-and-a-half, as it's a good three-day drive ore way, Driving the roads of Baja at night is a death wish-cows sleeping on the road, tweaked out truckers weaving on the two-lane highway, Sketchy shit. Be a hero and bring product for the kids, and girls' clothes for their sisters. Have fun, que le vaya bien.