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Sea of Cortez/Whales |
Eskape
Sea Kayaking
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| ARTICLE: PROFILE OF PANCHO MAYORAL |
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A fisherman finds that a new career as a kayak guide provides a way of making a living that preserves the environment that has shaped his life.
When Francisco “Pancho” Mayoral’s father Pachico
reached out a shaking hand on one breezy February afternoon back in
1972—
When
he reached out to touch that first
gray whale’s back—the first known contact of its kind between human
and whale—Pachico Mayoral
San Ignacio Lagoon, the site of the world’s only “undeveloped” birthing ground of the East Pacific gray whale, once faced a serious ecological threat. There had been a plan to build a giant saltworks in this lonely site. Its operation would have disrupted the natural workings of the lagoon and could have destroyed it as a birthing ground. Pachico was instrumental in creating the eco-friendly tourist industry that led to the preservation of the lagoon.
Before
that day—the day of the miracle, as some call it—grays were
still known locally not as the “friendly whales” of today, but as
“devilfish,” a relic moniker of the whaling days, earned for their
unparalleled ferocity when fighting back against the harpoon. And
until that day, a child from a remote fishing village such as the
one at San Ignacio Lagoon
After
his father had fallen ill when Pancho was 14, he left school to fish
and help support his family. Even after his dad had recovered a few
months later, he’d decided to continue fishing. “I guess
So he continued fishing for the next several years and eventually bought his own skiff, Suzy Q (after the song by one of his favorite bands, Credence Clearwater Revival). It was a tough way to earn a living. Always hard work, he explained. “Some days, no matter how hard you worked, you still came home, you know, empty handed.”
Sensing that I hadn’t appreciated the full impact of his statement, and apparently deciding he was ready to take me further into his confidence, he elaborated. “‘Empty handed,’” he spelled out, “means you go to bed hungry—” and then, after a slight pause added quietly, “again.” The way he said it, matter-of-factly with no trace of self pity, made me certain that he was no stranger to missed meals. That, apparently, was how he got started poaching.
“At first you do it out of necessity, during a slow time of year or after a streak of bad luck…” he trailed off, letting me connect the dots. “Later it becomes like a vice, and you start doing it even when you don’t really need to because the money is better.” He laughed at my naïveté when I said it must be difficult to sell an illegal catch. Whether simply something like lobster out of season or an endangered species, he explained with a mix of regret and sadness, “There’s always a buyer.”
This all changed abruptly one autumn some nine years ago when a RARE (Rare Animal Rescue Effort) volunteer came to the lagoon. I’d noticed Pancho’s T-shirt a few days earlier: “Keeping what’s rare, there,” it said simply. Begun in Costa Rica to protect sea turtles, the organization had spread to southern Baja. “They actually offered to pay us for three months to learn English.” As his English improved, the lessons turned to natural history, ostensibly to make the fishers more employable as eco-tourism guides. That led inevitably to education about ecosystems and reasons why not to fish out of season, in order to allow stocks to recover so that they could be fished sustainably.
“It all
started to click,” he explained. The training provided him and other
local youths with good reasons not to poach, as well as ways to earn
a living. That spring, instead of returning to fish, he sought work
with a local kayak company on the Sea of Cortez. Within a year he’d
learned to
Over
the next several years, he worked as a kayak instructor for a
U.S.-based outdoor school and got further training as an
environmental educator—including becoming a trainer for Leave No
Trace, an international organization promoting responsible outdoor
recreation. He began teaching others, from his clients to his peers,
ways to minimize their impact on this fragile, desert-sea ecosystem. Pancho also became a RARE volunteer, helping to teach the same course he’d once taken. He hoped he could be a mentor for others in his community. “I looked at them and saw myself two years earlier, working harder every year to catch fewer fish, and feeling like I had no options.” He now has his own
tour company and is among a vanguard of Baja locals claiming their
places in a kayaking industry once dominated almost entirely by
guides and owners from north of the U.S. and Canadian borders.
Rather than detracting from his role as an environmental educator,
his past experiences as a poacher only seem to lend him credence
among his peers, and his success offers a model: It is
possible to earn a living from the sea in a way that does not
threaten to destroy it.
Francico "Pancho" Mayoral, grew up in San Ignacio Lagoon, and
was literally born into being a whale watching guide under the legacy
of his father's "first contact." He has also worked as a kayak
instructor for 9 years, including working as the sea kayaking program
coordinator for NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School) Baja. He is
a Wilderness First Responder and a Licensed Whale
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coincidentally,
the very month Pancho was born—and dared to make contact with one of
the largest wild creatures on the planet, he had no idea that he
would be opening a door. His fishing skiff was surrounded by whales
in San Ignacio Lagoon for over an hour. One of the whales would not
stop rubbing itself against the bow of his boat, so Pancho’s
frightened father finally decided to take matters quite literally
into his own hands.
not
only opened a portal between two species that had previously been
hunter and hunted, he also cracked open a door of opportunity. It
was a door that his son Pancho would eventually help to kick
entirely off of its hinges as he worked to change the face of the
local kayak industry in Baja.
where
Pancho grew up, had two choices in life: Fish or flee. Accept the
increasingly difficult fishing life, or leave home to find work
elsewhere. Not that “seasonal whale-watching guide” is any sort of
economic panacea, but in a land of so few options, just about any
legal occupation is welcome; and it beats poaching endangered
species or running drugs—both ever-present temptations for a hungry
fisherman struggling to feed his family during a slow season.
you could say I was hooked,” he deadpanned. His slightly pursed lips
concealing that increasingly-familiar hint of a smile was my only
indication that his bilingual pun was indeed intentional. “It was
hard work, but I was only 14 and making my own money.”
paddle well enough to become a lead guide. Although guiding, like
fishing, is seasonal, the going rate is around $50 to $100 a day—not
bad for an area where minimum wage earned by many is closer to $50
per week.
Watching
Guide. Along with his father and brothers he continues to help run
the family business, Pachico's Eco Tours, sharing the ecological
wonders of his beloved home lagoon as a way of helping to preserve
it.Top Back to Baja Trips Page for General Info