Postcards

Visiting the pilot’s Mexican paradise

How can this be? Ice…in Southern California? It’s supposed to be warm and balmy here.

Perhaps the only thing worse than being in a heavily loaded Mooney picking up a trace of ice is to be in a heavily loaded Mooney in ice with three pilots, each with his own idea as to what we should do—turn around, descend, climb. Ralph, in the right seat, looks over at me. Ken, in the back seat, leans forward to offer his opinion. I look up and see the tops. ATC quickly grants my request for a climb to 9,000 feet. We’re soon on top, the trace of rime ice dissipating as we head south toward thinning clouds and a Baja adventure. The clouds disappear as we approach the Mexican border. For the next four days of fishing and flying, we will see nothing but clear blue skies above the rugged terrain of Baja California, the peninsula south of California bordered by the Sea of Cortez on the east and the Pacific Ocean on the west.

Stretching about 650 nm from north to south and 135 nm across at its widest, Baja is remote to most of the population but is an easy adventure for general aviation pilots. The airlines serve only a few airports, but GA has access to dozens more strips, often located right next to secluded but comfortable—and often luxurious—resorts. Our destination, Hotel Punta Pescadero, is perhaps the most beautiful, especially in the eyes of a pilot. A well-maintained 3,500-foot airstrip sits a few hundred yards from the 21-room inn. If you don’t arrive by GA aircraft, you’ll be slumming it via the airlines through San Jose del Cabo’s Los Cabos International Airport. It’s a 1.5-hour cab ride from Los Cabos—the last eight miles of rutted, rock-strewn dirt road will take you 45 minutes (watch out for the cows). The place is worth the effort, but why bother when you can so easily fly the trip yourself?

Approaching the Mexican border, and in the clear, we cancel our IFR flight plan with ATC and call up Hawthorne Flight Service to activate our border-crossing flight plan—necessary any time you cross the U.S. Air Defense Identification Zone (ADIZ). We had actually filed a round-trip flight plan, with the second leg scheduled for our day of return and the approximate time for re-crossing the border back into the United States. We’ll update the time on the way home.

Across the border, we call Mexicali Tower and advise them of the number on board, our departure point, destination, ETA, position, and altitude. Leaving Mexicali’s airspace to the south, we report in again. The Mexican controller gives us the frequency for the next tower to the south—San Felipe. We make a similar position report transitioning San Felipe’s airspace.

The journey might as easily be through the Desert Southwest of the United States. Instead of the Sea of Cortez on our left, it might as well be Lake Powell or Lake Meade. The craggy, barren mountains seem to heave themselves out of the deep blue water. Hour after hour, there is almost no sign of human habitation. Occasionally we pass over a small fishing village or resort clinging to some quiet inlet, connected to the outside world by either a very winding dirt road or a small runway.

The transponder takes a holiday; the reply light that blinked furiously in Southern California remains uncharacteristically dark. There is no one around to query it. Our only link to the rest of the world is the occasional radio chatter among our group. A Beech Baron is a few miles ahead; a Beech B36TC is behind, but gaining rapidly—everyone lying about their groundspeeds. Our M20J, rented from an FBO in Van Nuys, California, flies well and—uncharacteristic of rentals—most everything works. We look at each other and declare: "Not bad…for a rental."

Four and a half hours after departing Van Nuys, we touch down on Loreto’s 7,200-foot runway. Your first stop in Mexico must be at an airport of entry, which Loreto is. It also has fuel—100 octane. There is no 100LL. Once on the ground, we divide up the paperwork duties, of which there are plenty. Ralph heads over to an office at the base of the tower to close our border crossing flight plan, file the flight plan to Punta, and pay the airspace use and landing fees, which amount to $44 and $7, respectively. (Since our visit, the Mexican government has also implemented a $15 passenger tax; pilots should not have to pay the fee.) You needn’t bother with pesos; U.S. dollars are welcomed.

Ken pumps the fuel, and I begin the process of paying for it. Knowing we have only an hour’s flight to Punta and that we’ll be clearing customs outbound in Loreto, we take on only 120 liters of fuel—about 32 gallons—and pay $83, or about $2.59 per gallon. The price includes taxes that pay for Mexican air traffic control fees. This process takes 20 minutes, two signatures, and the showing of my pilot certificate. I am handed two carbon copies of official-looking forms. Apparently all of those companies that used to make carbon forms in the United States—prior to photocopy machines and laser printers—have set up successful businesses in Mexico.

Ken and I wander across the ramp to visit Ralph, who is immersed in his own paperwork exercise. The government official slides carbon forms into and out of a manual typewriter with a great deal of fanfare. Each is then grandiosely stamped and signed. We later decide that Y2K shouldn’t be much of a concern in low-tech Baja. A customs agent says that we’ll have to unload the entire aircraft and cart our possessions a hundred yards across the ramp to his office. With the offer of a tip, he agrees that perhaps he could do the inspection right at the airplane. The agriculture inspector follows suit. Two or three dollars to each person seems to keep the system moving relatively quickly.

A little more than an hour later we are southbound again with the only important piece of paperwork—the green sheets—in hand. The green sheet is your official paperwork that you must carry with you while in Mexico. It must be surrendered before you depart the country.

About an hour after leaving Loreto, the panel-mount loran and the three handheld GPSs on board (it’s a pilot thing) all say that Punta Pescadero (translated: Point of the Fisherman) is just ahead. We soon see a collection of large homes hugging the cliffs along the water. A brown paved runway materializes just behind them next to the towering hills. We fly low over the hotel with the gear down—the universal "come pick us up" signal—and swing around over the water for the final approach. The van is waiting as I park the Mooney among 10 other GA airplanes. Some of the crews are staying at the hotel; others belong to pilots owning or renting the dozen homes along the point.

The hotel is literally built around a point of land near the tip of Baja. Perched 50 feet above the beach, the rooms all have a view of the water. Impeccably clean and neat, the facility is as modern—almost—as anything you’ll see in the United States: air conditioning, tile bathrooms, refrigerators, satellite television. But don’t expect a telephone in every room. There’s a single rotary pay phone near the office. You can arrange to have your e-mails forwarded to the hotel’s computer, if you must, or bring your own satellite phone. Reportedly, you’ll soon be able to use your cellular phone at Punta, so hurry down now to enjoy the last bastions of isolationism.

Type-A personalities might prefer to visit San Jose del Cabo to the southwest, which is becoming the Cancun of Mexico’s west coast. There you’ll find all of the accoutrements of any resort town—from high-rise hotels to shopping to parasailing. At Punta Pescadero, your day will consist of a relaxing fishing trip, snorkeling, collecting shells, swimming in the sea or the pool, reading, and maybe a stressful game of ping-pong or horseshoes.

For me, at least, the fishing is particularly relaxing, since I have only one bite in two days of fishing. The helpful desk staff can arrange daily fishing trips in a variety of boats. While I go fishing, a few of the others actually go catching. One in the group lands a blue marlin; others reel in dorado (mahi mahi), roosterfish, snapper, and various other species. The kitchen staff cooks up the dorado and snapper for dinner one night. You don’t know fine dining until you’ve eaten freshly caught dorado on the patio at Punta as the sun sets and the stars come out. A school of dolphins plays tag a couple of hundred yards offshore.

After dinner we stroll over to the open-air cantina for a drink and to let the hangar tales begin. Occasionally we tip the chairs back and stare up at the stars, watching satellites zip from horizon to horizon in just a few minutes. Bring your telescope.

The place is full of pilots and everywhere you listen you’ll hear others sharing their aviation adventures; join in any conversation. No matter where you come from or how many ratings you hold, you will be welcomed as a pilot. We meet everyone from retired airline pilots to a student who is flying with a friend who owns an airplane. The place isn’t reserved for oldsters. By the weekend, several families with small children show up.

Considering the setting, the rates are affordable. During the high season, which is October and November, the Christmas season, and March through May, the rates are $115 per night for two adults. Other months, you can expect to pay $100. Meals, which are excellent, run from $8 for breakfast to $15 for dinner. Prices do not include taxes of about 25 percent and gratuity.

There is no fuel at Punta Pescadero, so plan accordingly.

Departing the country is as easy as getting in. Turn in your green form at an airport of entry and be sure to notify U.S. Customs of your arrival time. AOPA has a kit that explains all of the procedures for flying to and from Mexico (see " Answers for Pilots: Border Crossing"). You can an order the kit by calling 800/USA-AOPA, or you can download the information off of the Web site ( www.aopa.org/members/pic/intl/mexico/). Details about the hotel also can be found on the Web ( www.punta-pescadero.com).

E-mail the author at [email protected].