Candid shot of Scotty at El Marron Fishing Camp. On our way back to camp we stopped and chatted it up with a local fisherman Pancho Maclish. Pancho was 72 years old, but they were as hard a 72 years as you will come across. A lifetime of fishing and smoking cigarrettes had left his face dark and leathered, and a stomach condition that made ingestion very painful had turned his legs and arms to twigs. He lived by himself in a small house for weeks at a time with only his TV digest magazines to entertain him in the evening, even though his house had no electricity. On his right hand was a noticeable scar, a leftover from a stingray incident. Though we didnt him ask him about it, someone from neighboring Santa Rosalillita told us that Pancho was involved in an ongoing legal dispute with his brothers over the rights to his father's inheritance. His faint smile appeared throughout our conversation, and he laughed like a kid when we told him about the neighbor's dog marking its territory all over Scotty's tent.
Day shot from our campsite near the Bufadora. We thought long and hard about checking our beer consumption for the evening considering our proximity to such a precipitous ledge. We decided against it.
The Meling Ranch in San Pedro sat on very old property, with the house in the background being over one hundred years old. The pool looked so inviting that Scotty and I, moderately dirty from not showering for several days despite numerous hiking adventures, spent half of an hour trying to convince the employees who worked there. I must also admit that our best efforts to charm the two young women working there into letting us use the pool were not in vain, because after falling short with them we moved onto the father and owner of the ranch who finally permitted us a dip.
Scotty opining in front of the birch tree forest 4000 meters above sea level in San Pedro de Martir national park.