Stop bashing México

A ver panda de cabrones me avisan a ver si yo puedo ir también eh.:cool2:

Muy buen post Toño.

Quote from hank

Bad roads, crazy drivers, corrupt police, cheap beer, great food, unreal diving.....what are we waitin' fer? Sounds like my kinda place.

I'm in the Philippines right now. Just flew back from Thailand. Life in "civilized" countries? Never mind....haha. Can't wait to get home to Belize though.

Hey Hank! Let's plan and head together to Toño's place!

Maybe we can organize some freediving spearfishing clinics over there... :rolleyes1:

Toño: Gracias por tu hospitalidad y ofrecimiento. Lo tomaré en cuenta. EN SERIO!

Sadot: Para cuándo puedes acercarte?

It seems that we have a plan...

Quote from Marco

The problem with standard americans (not everyone! but most..) is that they want to find abroad same things they have in they homeland. I/E: Go to Walgreens and find Tylenol at the 3rd isle...

Funny as I find it true, here, too for the emigrants that live in the US and come visit with their relatives

Quote from Marco

Hey Hank! Let's plan and head together to Toño's place!

Maybe we can organize some freediving spearfishing clinics over there... :rolleyes1:
..

I can see it now.

" yep, these spearfishing techniques work so well, that even that old gray haired fart (at this point, I stand up and smile) gets snappers every now and then".

Roads, I keep hearing roads... Really Roads.....

There are messed up roads everywhere. The degree of "messed up" in the question...

I have travelled a many a road, some great, some fine, some are slow travel.

Had to travel with chainsaw to clean timber, shovels, axes and picks to do road repair to get thru, Still a road, just takes a little longer.

Back in New Mexico in my younger days, we would go hunting Deer, Elk, and sometimes just rabbits on a mesa called San Mateo. To get up on the mesa there was a ancient road chiseled in to the side of a cliff.

I was probably made in the 1940-1950. I was going up it in the 70-80's and it had sense no repairs.

We would stop at the bottom, unload all the horses and walk them up to the top, then have one person walk and guide driver up to the top. Then reload the animals and move on. slow travel for 1/4 mile

In the winter when we had a couple foot of snow, it seemed to be easier cause you couldn't see how bad the road was.

I hear bad roads, and do an "eye roll" , perhaps the roads down there can't handle typical sedans.

Anyway, Had to roll down memory lane, Sure was lots of fun.

Monster Slayer I could post the back story to what Richard is referring to ...I had friends that were on the trip as well.

Sincerely, Don

I love Mexico like a mischevious brother...he's sure a lot of fun to hang , with , fun to visit. Might even get you into a little trouble, but damn sure is fun.

Should probably visit him more often. Lol.

Quote from Marco

1:

Toño: Gracias por tu hospitalidad y ofrecimiento. Lo tomaré en cuenta. EN SERIO!

Sadot: Para cuándo puedes acercarte?

It seems that we have a plan...

Display More

Solo necesito meter la papeleta de vacaciones 15 días antes de la fecha por política de la empresa, con un aviso de poco mas de ese tiempo cuando sea, me deben 16 días de vacaciones :thumbsup2:

15 days before date by company policy, with a notice of little more of that time whenever, they owme 16 day vacation :thumbsup2:

Let's plan for a week.

When's the best time Toño?

I don't mind the kind of species, but better visibility?

Monster I personaly know Balta very well and I know he loves Baja very much, I was very close friends with Peppo and Jeff ( a police man) . This is Paul's account of the terrible day.

The Last Word
By Paul Romanowski
I have written many articles for Cisco while he has
published our newsletter, and very unfortunately, this is
the saddest, and last, article Cisco has published on my
behalf. Thank you, Cisco.
After the stunning success of our trips to San Francisquito
last year, the only question was “When do we
go back?”.
Everyone decided to do it again at the same time; but
we tried a week earlier. The Baja 1000 was on our
original date; no rooms, no boats, no space available.
So, we rescheduled for exactly the same week as our
first trip last year; the weekend prior to Thanksgiving.
I planned the trip; set the date, recruited divers from
all 3 spearfishing clubs, got all the food for a small
army, and, as usual, was working on my truck when the
guys all showed up at my house. We were all set, and
the guys to the south were all set. We were even on
schedule – a rare occurrence. With much space juggling,
we packed our 3 trucks, and headed south,
around 11:30 p.m., November 18 1998.
Our first stop was to pick up Gil Aja, a good friend
who introduced me to all my friends in San Diego, several
of whom were on this trip. We cruised into La
Jolla to meet up with the rest of the group, and for everyone
to get acquainted.
And what a group it was! There were 4 divers who
had done this trip last year: Bob Dawson, Gil Aja,
Cisco Serret, and myself. We had an unbelievable 8 divers
who had never been to San Francisquito; although
many had dove all over the world.
There was Jeff Wright, an experienced diver who
had come to some Fathomiers meetings, Tim Driskell,
who is an experienced scuba diver who recently began
freediving, and Richard Balta, one of our club’s newest
and most dedicated members – Steve Castro, who was
to have been our lone diver from the Neptunes, was
buried in work on one of my jobs and could not make
it, and then there was the rest of the guys from the San
Diego Freedivers. Peppo Biscarini had signed up, and
so had his 19 year old protégé Tommy McCain. The
San Diego group would ride in the beautifully prepped
Suburban of Adi Davidesco, and his 13 year old son,
who is a big part of his life, Elan, was skipping school
to run away with Dad for the weekend. We were ready
and we were fired up.
I still can’t believe that we were on schedule, as we
topped off gas and got insurance. Good! No flying to
make up time! We would have the luxury of cruising in
the dark. About an hour and a half into Mexico, I got
really tired, and passed the driving over to Jeff. I tried
to set the trip up as safely as possible, warning everyone
to get all the sleep they could, to pass off when
tired, and we made sure that every truck had an experienced
baja driver on board. Jeff woke me at sunrise
asking about gas, and I told him to switch tanks. We
were just north of San Quintin, and I was geared up for
a long, long day.
After gassing in San Quintin, we all touched bases at
El Rosario. Peppo had taken over, I was back at the
wheel, Cisco was driving, and Tim had gotten ready for
his day shift. I told them in about 2 ½ hours the real
driving would begin, on the long, 80 mile kidney killer
to our destination. The jokes were flying, and we were
on our way. At the last chance gas stop at Catavina, gas
came from drums. No big deal to Cisco and I, but Tim
and Adi were leery. I told Adi “Top it off – it’s a Long
walk back from San Francisquito.
We hit the banos, and hit the road. It was 9 a.m., November
19, and we were just cruising down the road. A
stiff reminder came in front of me as a trailer with a
dune buggy on it crossed into my lane, causing me to
do a major brake test; that or go off a cliff. I explained
to Jeff in some detail how I would repay that guy if we
ever met again, but the rest of the road was empty, and
we made it through.
At 10:15 a.m., November 19, 1998, our convoy was
headed south on Mex 1, 17 ½ miles from the L.A. Bay
Turnoff at Punta Prieta. I was the lead truck, with Jeff,
followed by Cisco and Richard, followed by Peppo,
Adi, Tommy, Gil and Elan. They, in turn, were followed
by Tim and Bob.
2 FATHOMIERS NEWSLETTER DECEMBER 1998
I approached an uphill, left hand corner, off camber,
at 60 m.p.h. I let off the gas, and got ready to glide
through the corner, just like so many others, when a
big, white van (I’m not sure what kind, or where it was
from) came over the hill quickly, and he was in my lane
about a foot.
I moved over as much as I could, but did not yield
the entire road, thinking it would push him back in his
lane. It did not work. I knew we were really close
(Cisco later told me that our mirrors were only an inch
or so apart) and as I went over the hill, I saw some
swerving in my mirrors; but I only thought “Maybe
some gear had shaken off, and they were avoiding it.
“One truck had already lost a boogie board, and the
wind was going like 15 or so.
But when Cisco hit the top of the hill, he was sideways,
and stopped. I thought “That’s pretty stupid of
you, Cisco”, but then it hit me. Something really bad
just happened. I spun my truck around as soon as I
could, and raced back over the hill, and it looked like
Beirut. Croatia. Yugoslavia. You name it. It looked like
a bomb went off – stuff everywhere.
I thought for a second “Whoa! Somebody FU*#!ed
up! Wonder who it was. Where is our Suburban?
OH-MY-GOD!
It wasn’t the van, or some other truck, like the other
times. It was US.
People were everywhere. Gil was standing at the
roadside, looking down. His hands were on his head.
Richard, Tim, Bob – a blur, moving all over at once.
Screaming – “I’ve got a pulse.” Jeff and I move in. It’s
almost surreal – like Hollywood, or a dream. But at 170
m.p.h.
I scream “Where are the kids?, Where is the kid?!”,
Bob yells, “He’s in Cisco’s truck.” “Okay, but where is
Tommy? Where in the FXXK is Tommy?” Again Bob
answers. “He’s over here. He was thrown.”
“Oh no. Oh no – On NO!”
I ran over to Tommy. Unconscious; but breathing.
“Cisco – go for help!” I did not yell it – but they were
so right. We needed help, like we never needed help
before in our lives.
Bob stayed with Tommy, and I went back to the
wreck – Peppo was out in the drivers seat, and Adi –
Words do not even describe – Adi was strapped into
the passenger seat. There was more carnage there than I
have ever seen with a friend – if you never, ever believe
me again, believe me now – this was horror. Adi
was losing blood like blood never flowed before, and
his gigantic body shook softly. My whole program
failed; as I’m sure everyone’s did, for even a hardened
combat surgeon would have stalled. A big part of Adi
was missing – as Gil put it “I saw something you just
don’t see.” When I finally realized that Adi was out of
my hands, and in God’s hands, I concentrated on
Peppo.
I screamed at Peppo, just as I had at Adi – Loud. But,
Peppo responded.
“Oh, thank God!”
“Peppo, do you hear me??”
“Yes, I hear you.”
It was weak, but I’ll take it.
“Can you move? Can you move?”
“No”
OH Shit! Maybe he’s paralyzed – Check him first.
“Peppo. Do you feel this? Or this? How about this?”
I went from his neck to his legs, and he felt all of it – so
maybe he would be okay.
Someone yelled we should send a truck south for
help – Cisco had been gone about 5 minutes, and we
were way beyond desperate. I knew the road, so I went
south.
If you’ve never seen a truck fly, I can tell you that I
flogged that poor machine for 17 ½ miles like it had
never been beaten before. And while I went for help,
Richard and Jeff had the unenviable job of rebuilding
Adi, and trying to stop his massive bleeding.
A paramedic showed up, and told them to move the
victims – Taboo here at home, but the only way in the
desert.
A good samaritan gringo was at the yard where I
stopped, and he offered to help. We emptied his truck,
and flew north to the accident scene, where we loaded
Adi and Tommy into the truck, and I followed with
Peppo on board.
Laurenz, the driver of Tommy and Adi, simply flew
off down the highway, and I was close behind.
Gone is the feeling of Guerro Negro being an
‘almost there’ marker.
For me, it will be a hopelessly stranded marker, the
place where my friends and I forever parted.
The doctors did all they could, and Jeff worked like
an animal on the phone to secure life flights for Tommy
and Adi.
I watched, and checked, and watched for Cisco and
Elan. I went to the border checkpoint, and explained
our situation. They said no white truck had come, and
if it did, they would send them to help.
DECEMBER 1998 FATHOMIERS NEWSLETTER 3
It was now 2:30 p.m., 11/19/98. The afternoon sun
was running away, the planes were being arranged, Jeff
and I were going nuts, and our friends were firmly entrenched
in their positions. Adi was now on a respirator,
still unconscious. He had awoken and spoke a few
words, vowing to fight but he had since succumbed to
his massive injuries. Tommy was still unconscious, and
he had never shown any real signs of improvement.
The best response we ever got from Tommy was when
we talked to him.
His breathing was short and very ragged. As we
would talk to him, and hold him, his breathing would
soften, and he would quit shaking. I would rub his forehead
softly, and tell him he needed to open his eyes,
just once, to show me some sign.
His eyes would dance under his eyelids; they would
crack open the slightest bit, . . . but he was too injured
to respond. Then, his pain would return, and his breathing
would go hard again, and he would begin to shake a
little. It was too much for me to take, and I would have
to leave and go see Adi or Peppo. As each of my
friends slipped, I would have to move to another, until I
was just choking on my feelings and spinning from bed
to bed.
I left the hospital – I had to. It was the worst feeling I
can remember. I was useless. I’m not used to that. I had
invited them – what on earth had I done?
I had invited more – many more.
Where were they? Where was Cisco? Where was
Elan? How were the guys – all 6 or 8 of them?
What in the hell happened?
I located Jeff. I found Laurenz – our makeshift ambulance.
We discussed our lousy position, and I expressed
the feeling that we needed to check on the others,
and especially to find Cisco and Elan. We couldn’t
figure out why they had not come. Another accident?
Heart attack? Why no kid, no Cisco?
We agreed that very, very soon, Jeff and I would
have to leave. No food and no sleep make for a bad
trip, and we were already way beyond our limits.
Jeff made one last phone call, and I went to see our
friends. Laurenz had agreed to stay until the planes had
come and gone.
I went to Adi. He was all wrapped in bandages, and
he was resting, out cold, but his body was relaxed. I
laid a kiss on his cheek, and said goodbye. I moved
over to the room where Tommy was. I talked to him –
cleaned his forehead, his cheek. He was much more
subdued, in a deep shock. Still, he was in there, trying.
His breathing changed again, but this time I could only
tell him to rest – a plane was coming; soon he would be
home. He was more calm, and I cleaned his left cheek.
I gave him a kiss; told him how sorry I was, and told
him goodbye.
I hugged Peppo, and fought back my tears. We both
knew that our lives were changed, and all we could do
was to soldier on. There was still lots to do.
…. Meanwhile, Cisco sat with Elan on the side of
the road in his truck, roughly 13 miles north of the accident
scene. His truck had mysteriously lost all of its oil
pressure, and the emergency lights came on. He limped
his injured ride to a safe spot, and pulled off the road.
Oil was everywhere. What had gone wrong? Well, fate
has a strange way of playing your cards out to you.
Cisco’s truck had an aluminum oil line which had
chafed on the truck frame, and was now ruined. The
good news was that he was okay, and he didn’t fry his
engine, but the bad news was that he was stranded, in
the middle of nowhere, with a broken truck and a hysterical
13 year old boy who’s father was in unknown
bad shape. I do not know what was going through
Cisco’s mind, but I’m certain that the words hopeless
and miserable topped the list. I can’t believe that he
didn’t lose his temper and kill the truck. As he waited
for the tow truck, he did his best to save face with Elan,
and the both of them just hunkered down and accepted
that this was the worst day of their lives.
I think that this was one of those terrible road days –
hell, I KNOW it was. And to prove it, some idiot in a
truck cut Jeff and me off when we were going north to
Punta Prieta, forcing me off the road. My gut instinct
was to kill this guy, but then my logical side took
over – I would beat him to death slowly, and rip him to
pieces. Jeff did not agree, and I had to settle for throwing
a fit. Anyways, we got to the guys with no more
surprises, and believe me, we were done driving for the
day.
We were all full of questions – where were the
guys – on a plane? Were they alive? Why didn’t Cisco
bring the kid? What do you mean Cisco’s truck is
dead? We gotta get home. We’re stranded ‘till at least
Saturday afternoon? Really? Ouch. That hurts.
Amid our wild ideas, we realized we had shot our
wad for the day – we were all crazy on adrenaline, and
now we were coming down. We needed to rest, and
rest – and eat. I felt sick – but I knew food and sleep
would help.
The guys set about a makeshift camp, and I made the

4 FATHOMIERS NEWSLETTER DECEMBER 1998
best dinner I could muster up. I had been looking forward
to cooking for an army. And I did. But cooking
for a defeated army is no fun. We ate, and made a fire,
and sat around in disbelief, waiting to hear from
Laurenz and Michelle.
When they returned, they told us that Peppo and
Tommy had gone first, and the second plane had to
come from New Mexico for Adi. We were shocked!
That’s like 1,200 miles for a rescue plane – the only
one available. Our spirits were sinking, and we told
Laurenz that Gil and Elan would be taking a bus back
to the border. Laurenz was pissed off instantly, and understandably.
To take the bus was crazy, he said. Why
didn’t we go home? He asked.
“We can’t. Cisco’s truck is down for a while.”
“So what,” he said, “Send someone else. Take him
yourself.”
Well, I would have liked to. Really. I trust me on the
road most. And if someone were to split for a couple of
days, and drive back, I would nominate myself.
But I couldn’t, you see, I invited everyone I knew to
go on this trip. Almost a dozen of my friends had come
down, and now 3 were missing. 2 more needed to get
home, but there were five others, 3 of which were new
to our trips, new to this part of Baja, and there was no
way I was stranding them any further. Tim had the
other working truck, but Tim was in no condition to
challenge Mex 1 with a 13 year old kid who was in a
panic. We had to think about what was safest for the
survivors, and splitting up again was not acceptable.
Besides, I had the tools, and the most mechanical experience,
and the most miles on those roads. I also have a
cargo boat that doubles as a truck – and there was lots
of stuff to haul out. So, Laurenz agreed to take Gil and
Elan home for us, although he had trouble believing we
were going to try and soldier on. Well, what else were
we going to do? Stay there for 3 or 4 days, looking at
the suburban, waiting? We would all go insane. We
gave Laurenz $50 from the Fathomiers for gas, and
parted ways. Gil and Elan headed home, and we headed
to our destination, San Francisquito.
But why go to dive? I’ll tell you why. Lots of us use
diving as a form of therapy, for a type of release. We
needed, and still need, a way to work this out of our
systems. So, we went to a familiar place where we
could rest and regroup, and get ready for coming home
to all the problems and questions which were now festering
and eagerly awaiting us.
All our divers did well, especially the new guys. Not
many fish were taken, and no giants. The opportunities
were there, but you have to be at your best. We all
were; back on the highway. But now, we were more in
a survival mode, and we all had on our poker faces. So,
we trudged through, got several new species, which is
always a good thing.
I was just happy to have everyone come up breathing
after every dive.
We got lots of sleep – as much as we could, but we
knew, and talked a lot, about what we would face when
we returned home. We packed up, settled our tab, and
went up to the boneyard on Sunday eve. At night, the
desert was so peaceful, it was hard to believe that so
much terror had come to us. The road is very, very
rough. 3 ½ hours. I could cut an hour, but my back and
tires would definitely suffer. Forget small trucks. It’s at
least twice as bad as last year.
We slept in front of the boneyard, and in the morning
we woke the guys who ran it. Let’s just say they were
much less friendly than last time.
They rousted Cisco for more money, argued about
everything, and had not fixed Cisco’s truck. Also, it
would take 3 or 4 more days to get the part. Wonderful.
I got under Cisco’s truck, and started thinking about
how to fix it – soon I figured it out. Flange the pipe
ends, used double clamps, tighten the hell out of it . . .
and it held. Time to get out of here. So, with our tails
dragging, we took 3 heavily loaded trucks and split for
the border. My truck was such a mess, the border
checks just gave up on searching me. Imagine – 20 or
so spearguns on my lumber rack, about 8 or 9 large ice
chests, 10 weight belts, 8 gear bags, tools, every form
of crap you can think of! Tim and Cisco’s trucks have
mountains of soft luggage, sleeping bags, tents, gas
cans, more junk, and 6 very heavy hearts.
The girl at the border debates secondary; my truck is
a nightmare. But she realizes we want to go home, and
passes us. Good.
We start burning the phones. No one is home, and I
don’t want to talk to Tommy’s parents, but no one else
is home.
His father was very nice, and understanding, and
when he told me Tommy had gone home with Jesus, I
choked. I knew, deep inside, that one of my friends
would probably pay the ultimate price, but to hear it, to
know it, burned inside me. My heart dropped. My
poker face folded, and all this pain overflowed. Jeff
stayed pretty calm, and reminded me that I was driving,
and I had to stay on the road. I pulled over in San

Cont....

Clemente for a minute, got myself together, and went
home.
When the guys all met up at my house, we stored all
the extra gear in my garage, and it hit us like a bomb.
Seeing it all, knowing that Tommy and Adi would not
be calling for their gear they would never go again
with us; knowing that we lost this one . . . Some guys
left, some cried, we all faked it till we were alone. I
cried for a long time, and then I felt better. I wanted to
talk to someone, so I called Gil. He was finally home.
We talked for a while I felt so bad I had invited
them What had I done?!
I Asked them to go. Told them how beautiful it was.
Told them how much fun it would be. I felt as though I
had suckered them in, then betrayed them.
Yeah, I know. Its a car accident. It just . . . . happened.
But I still cant shake the bad thoughts, and I
feel so sorry and so helpless. Gil tried to comfort me,
and told me something that I figured would be coming.
A diver called Gil and said they were sorry, and they
were sorry that the rest of the group hadnt helped.
What?!? Where in the hell did someone get that
idea? Where did they hear that crap? As Gil explained
how he had explained what happened, and how someone
had told the story without the facts, but for me, for
Monday night, it was too much.
It left me on the floor, until I was too sore to scream
or cry. Then, I went to bed, and did it all over again,
while my wife tried to make me feel a little better.
Tuesday, November 24, 1998. We joined Tommys
family in laying him to rest. Way over 500 people came
to say goodbye. We met Adis daughter, and his wife.
We met Tommys brothers, his sister, his parents. They
wanted to know what happened, all of it. Why the
crash. Why the planes. Why did we stay behind.
All of the guys on this trip came together in a desperate
time, and they stayed strong. But we, like the rest of
you, need to try and put this to rest, and learn from this
tragedy all we can. It was not easy for me to write this,
but I did it for the families, so, when they are ready to
hear it someday, I can tell them without forgetting anything.
And, I wrote it so that you may understand what
really happened, from those of us who were there.
So, say a prayer for Tommy and Adi.
- Paul Romanowski 12/1/98

This accident could have happened on any country road above or below the border. I too love Baja but have had close calls with head on crashs 3 times in the mid day.(steered off road on 2) I was driving very carefully and on my side in the lane marker. I love flying into LaPaz now that time is more impotent.

Dive and drive safe guys.
Don

Quote from monster slayer

Uff, I have read the whole article and I´m in shock, what a new perspective when you get involved in more than just words. I Feel very sorry for the loss of human lives, even more for the loss of members of our tight tribe. My condolences and Sympathy for your loss too.

I now see his statement under other perspective. It´s up to you or the admin to close or get rid of the thread.

Rest in Peace.

I really didn't want to post this, I'm not going bullshite you guys, I was crying as I re-read it after all these years. Peppo Biscarini was a world ranked swimmer, and long distance fin swimmer, he and his wife Jane were
very close. We were going to swim to catalina with fins for charity, he had a very long time before he could walk again and quite diving as a result. He is now home in Italy where he is a man of the cloth, I hope to go over and see him after I retire. What I want you guys to know is me and my clan (Neptunes and Fathomiers)
love Baja, the people, the life, all of it. When she gets a bad rap we feel sad. Some of my friends are buried there and our blood has been spilled on her roads and beaches.....for many she is home. I will never quit diving the places I love and many of my friends will be there with me.

Don

Don - I just want to say thanks for the new perspective. You are a classy person and I respect you and mourn your loss. Thanks for the telling - obviously very difficult for you. Gracias amigo.