Phil and I ate at Ernie Tomatoes in the Zona Dorada last night. It is a moderately priced restaurant across from Pancho’s. I ordered the Macho Beef Burrito and Phil had Quesadillas. Both were wonderful. The Burrito must weigh-in at three pounds. I brought half of it home for breakfast or lunch. We rode the city bus from PB Mazatlan to the Zona Dorada. The cost: ten pesos each for the round trip.
Returning to Emerald Bay we checked in with Drew. He had set up a bird hunting trip for us for today, so we needed to check on our departure time. We found that we were to leave at 6:30 am from the Villas at Emerald Bay. Phil was considering the trip, but undecided. We returned to our room, set the alarm, watched the Friday night baseball game on TV for awhile, and then fell asleep.
I awoke this morning. Phil didn’t stir, so telling me that he had made a “no go” decision regarding the hunt. I make coffee, shower, dress, grab my camera, and head out into the darkness.
At the Villas I am greeted by Marco and Ramon our guides. Drew is inside gathering his jacket and coffee. Range is raring to go, flying out the door and into the van, in one swift move. Marco greets Range with a “Hola, Range!” and asks him if he wants to sleep a little more in the back seat. Range says “No”. He’s far too excited to sleep. He has fond memories of this same adventure last year.
Drew comes out of the Villa, coffee in hand. We hop in the van , and off we go. Marco tells us that we need to stop by Ramons’ to pick up another shotgun. After 15 or 20 minutes and a few dirt roads we arrive at Ramons’. Ramon hops out of the van, runs into a modest looking country home and returns within a minute with a “well-used” Beretta 12 gauge over/under. This will be my gun for the day. Drew has a 20 gauge pump. Marco settles for a 12 gauge single. The “guides” have brought along a .22 rifle, so Range can do some supervised plinking. Ramon will “thrash” the brush, cutting through the mess with a machete. I’m beginning to understand that this hunt is going to be “unsophisticated” and without structure. More like hunting with your high school buddies, than a Cabela’s trip. The huge blue and white cooler between the front van seats is another clue. It’s full of water, soda, cervesa, and sandwiches made by Ramon’s esposa.
We arrive at the “ranch” we are to hunt and turn down a dirt road. Ramon starts rattling off something to Marco while gesturing to Drew and me. Marco translates. We are to keep our eyes open for Chakalakas, a fairly large, chicken sized bird, with dark wings, rusty breast, and long, dark tail. They are generally on the move this time of the morning. Marco tells us that we will likely see the birds sitting high in the trees that line the road. We spot four Chakalakas gathered in a large tree ahead of us, and off to the left of the van. Drew and I eject ourselves, load our weapons, and start walking toward the trees. As we approach, they appear to get nervous, then take flight. I let loose with a shot and miss. Drew has forgotten to release his safety, and shoots a blank. Marco backing us up with his single downs a bird. A few seconds later we spot two more in another tree. They take flight. Settled now, after my first miss, I zero in and drop a fat male. He hits the ground with a loud thump and Range is on him like a thousand dollar bird dog. That was fun!
We load up and head down the road where we are to “take stand” around a small reservoir, where will hunt Paloma Blanca (white winged dove). I am dropped off first. Marco tells us that there is another hunter in the area. Apparently the farmhand we had briefly spoken with on the way in had informed him of this. The other hunter is a Canadian, who is somehow tied in with the landowner. I find out later, that his name is Claus. He is originally from Germany, but lived in Vancouver B.C. before moving to Mazatlan with his wife, six years ago. He is a “legal representative” for the Holiday Inn in Mazatlan. Claus hunts at the ranch about twice each week. Nice deal!
So, I’m dropped about 100 yards off the reservoir, and above Claus. Drew, Marcus, and Range drive down the road another 200 yards. They spread out below. Ramon grabs his “weed whacker” and heads out into the thorns and scrub. The Paloma are visible around me, but coming in at my location high and fast. When they are close to the reservoir they dive for the water and begin to flare and slow. Claus shoots the crap out of them. He’s getting shots I don’t get, and hits four birds for every one that I get. Over the course of an hour I take five birds, losing one in the heavy brush. I keep tally on Claus. I estimate his final count to be somewhere between eighteen and twenty. After the flights stop abruptly, about 9:00, Claus climbs out of the hole and comes over to me, introducing himself and telling me his story. I harbor no ill feelings. He was there first. He says he dropped twenty birds, and that’s where he stops. He will take some home with him, the others he “donates” to the farmhands.
Ramon appears out of the brush and asks me how I’ve done. I say “Okay” and give him a positive, not ecstatic, nod of approval. Claus and Ramon exchange “Holas’”. They, of course, know each other. Ramon gestures for me to follow him toward the van. I wish Claus a good day. Ramon and I start hoofing along the fence line through the brambles and cactus. A few minutes later we pop out at the van. I walk a little further and spot Marco and Range seated in the shade under a tree. I walk to them, and ask how they did. Marco shot one, and Drew two.
Drew returns. We sit in the shade to eat breakfast. Meat sandwiches, with lettuce, tomato, jalapeños, and mayo, on white bread. They are good. After breakfast, Marco and Ramon pack us up for more Chakalaka chasing. The doves are done for the day. We drive back in the same direction we came. Ramon parks the van next to a maize field. We get out. He stations Drew and me at the end of the field. This “clearing” abruptly stops and turns into a thick forest of 30 foot trees, cactus, and generally thorny stuff that will scratch the heck out of you. Ramon walks down the road about 100 yards and turns into the thicket, working his way back to us. He is driving the now ground bound Chakalaka back to us. Soon we hear the cluck..cluck..cluck of the approaching “herd”. Good God, it sounds like an army, with all the racket they are making! I’m on the far edge of the field. Drew is nearer the road. I notice movement. More clucking. Suddenly, one takes flight, thrashing his way into the air, and from my right to left, past a 15 foot clear opening. I pull up, try to follow, take a shot I shouldn’t have, and miss clean. Two seconds later, and second bird, and then a third, take to the air. I am ready. Firing top and bottom, I drop both Chakalakas. That’s better. I reload. As I look up, another bird, but too late. Ramon appears out of the brush. Drew yells out, “Good deal! Shooting gallery, man!”Shortly after, Marco appears. We all gather to admire our birds. Drew and I agree to “call the hunt”. We’ve had our fun and we’re ready for a cervesa. The day is hot.
Ramon drives us to some ranch buildings a short distance away. There we disembark to have a beer in the shade, and to let Range fire off some .22 rounds at cans. After plinking a bit, Ramon takes us down to the milking shed where there are three hired hands taking their siesta. Ramon greets each of the hands, and then gives us a tour of the open air shed. He points out 12 feeding/milking stations, complete with mechanical milkers. He then takes me to a huge “heated cauldron” where the help is brewing up a mixture of milo (seed plant) and frijoles (beans). This is what they feed the cows. All I can think of is all the “tootin’” that must go on in this place with all living things eating beans two or three times each day. Holy frijole!
Eventually, we pack up and start our drive to Mazatlan. Marco asks us if we want lunch. We say “Yes, that would be fine.” Ramon pulls over at a local “truck stop”. It is a large open building; nondescript; clean; yellow and red signage; smoke lightly billowing from the grill. Drew, Range, and I wash our hands at a sink in the open dining area. Marco and Ramon order. We soon have a table lined with grilled tortillas, soft white cheese, guacamole, grilled beef strips, and spicy salsa. Coca-cola and orange drinks are served in the old style, glass bottles. We enjoy our meal and conversation. After we are finished eating, the waitress approaches Drew and asks to “feel” his biceps. We all laugh. Marco has told the kitchen staff that Drew is a famous U.S. wrestler. I snap a photo. The bill arrives and Marco tells Drew that it’s 480 pesos. Drew and I give each other “the look”. I think both of us were thinking lunch was “included” in the cost of the trip. I split the check with Drew, and we “buy” lunch.
We get in the van for the last time and drive toward Mazatlan. Arriving at Emerald Bay, we thank Marco and Ramon for the hunt and tour. We settle up. Donna meets us at the door of the Villa. I tell her we had a good time, and she seems pleased about that. She tells drew the rest of the family is at the pool. I excuse myself, telling Drew, Donna, and Range, thanks for including me, and that I’d see them later. I return to the room. Phil is gone. I think he’s gone to Centro and the Plaza today. I pick the burrs out of my socks, and wash cow shit off the bottom of my shoes. After admiring my black and blue right shoulder in the mirror, I hop in the shower. It doesn’t get any better than this.
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