Gayne Young visits the small fishing village of San Quintin, Baja, Mexico.
The Panga is the most popular boat in San Quintin. I’m guessing it’s also the safest as the one I rode in had no lifejackets, no safety equipment, no lights, and a wad of duct tape as a drain plug.
This boat went out for a three hour cruise.
Although San Quintin Bay is renowned for its seafood all I managed to get was crabs…er,…this one crab.
“Check out this fish I got.” “No Habla Ingles.” “I SAID CHECK OUT THIS FISH I GOT!” “No Habla Ingles.” “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? DON’T YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?”
“So you serve more lobster than any other place around?” “Si Señor.” “So your lobster is pretty good then I take it?” “Si Señor.” “Guess I’ll have one then.” “We no have today.”
Before a night of tequila shots.
After a night of tequila shots.
I finally get lobster and I’m stuck taking pictures.
“So these rib bones come from a baby whale?” “No Señor, they are from a full grown whale.” “Damn I gotta lose some weight.”
“You’ve been shelling oysters for ten years and never cut yourself once?” “No Señor. Never.” “LOOK OUT! THERE’S A CHUPACABRA BEHIND YOU!” “What?” Knife slip. Blood squirting. “iCaramba!”
“How long’s that truck been stuck out there?” “I dunno know.” “A year?” “I dunno know.” “You speak English right? I mean, you understand what I’m asking?” “I dunno know.”
The owner of this boat had been marooned in a small hotel room with no TV for over two weeks while waiting for a part to arrive. I really felt sorry for him until I met his tan, blonde twenty-something girlfriend. Then I hated him.
“You’ve been shelling oysters for five years and never cut yourself once?” “No Señor. Never…And if you pull that Chupacabra crap like you did on my friend it won’t be my hand that gets cut.” “Uh, got it.”
“Is tacle a Spanish word?” “No. Why do you ask?” “Oh, no reason.”
One of the main exports from San Quintin is beach rocks. Before they are sold to U.S. companies the rocks must be sorted by size. I’m guessing that job’s about as fun as it sounds.
Another fun job in San Quintin is sorting and bagging oyster shells. On the day I visited, the job also involved putting up with an annoying Outdoor Life correspondent who just sat around drinking beer, taking photos, and asking questions.
Mark from Big Bore Productions looks so haggard because a. He’s been drinking too much b. He doesn’t use enough moisturizer c. He’s had to spend the whole weekend with Gayne, the annoying Outdoor Life correspondent d. All of the above
“How’s the SLIME? Is it fresh?”
“So if I get the dog, I get the beer too? Is that how it works?”
“No. I want two turtles.”
This soldier is checking a trailer of crushed oyster shell for cocaine by jamming a long metal road into the each bag. If the rod gets covered in white powder then the bag is full of shell. Or cocaine. I didn’t understand the test either.
Good night San Quintin.

Gayne visits the small fishing village of San Quintin, Baja, Mexico–nonsense ensues.