We were checking the surf outside of a little town named Ejido Erendira. Driving south out of town and ascending one of the many arroyos the Chevy Apache 10 suddenly let out a loud clank and rolled backwards to the bottom of the arroyo.

It took us some time to figure out that the right axle had broken. It took us a few days with our limited tools to remove the axle. So there we were, living in a ditch. Nights were spent drinking beer and tequila (of course).

I was not too fond of drinking straight tequila. After a few shots I decided to test my chemistry class lessons and poured some tequila into my Corona to see if it would float. It is supposed to float, alcohol being lighter than water, right? It floated. Next I decided to test the lime juice and discovered a colloidal suspension. Hey, it looked like a fog?!

Chugging the tequila/limed topped Corona I discovered it tasted damn good. Soon everybody was trying it out and we all agreed it was an improvement on straight shots.

Returning to the USA, my Baja compañeros and I naturally shared this amazing discovery with anybody who would listen. Baja Fogs became a popular drink with the staff and locals at Jasper’s Saloon in the Fairview Shopping Center of Goleta, California. OK, I bar tended there. It was a no brain er. Moving from the Santa Barbara area up north to the mountains and snow, I put away my surf board and picked up a pair of skiis; Rossingnol SM 220cm. Bar tending again, this time for the Rafters restaurant, the Baja Fog extended its grip on sporting humanity. From there further north into June Lake, where The Sierra Inn gained the pleasure of my bar tending talents. Finally, things really kicked off when I moved and settled in Cambria California on California’s Central Coast.  I shared the Baja Fog with the staff and locals of Mustache Pete’s Italian Eatery. I waited tables there.

Clay Feeter Makes the Fog Famous

An issue of Clay Feeters magazine West Coast Windsurfing prominently featured the Baja Fog. A photo I snapped of my best friend Dave Buddy and brother in law Rob Wilson, drinking and driving down Baja 1. I think that was legal back in the 70’s. We had an unofficial rule of two cases of Corona per person and one liter of tequila when ever we would leave any town where we had stopped for supplies. Being able to score fresh limes was a bonus. Guerro Negro was alway the best stop for fresh fruits and veggies, plus they had a big Pemex station there where the odds of getting Dave’s Toyota and Jan and I’s Vanagon filled up were much greater than in lesser towns. Oh, lets not forget the dulces and pasteles 🙂

When I left that job and moved on to The West End Bar and Grille I naturally shared my discover there too. It wasn’t long until every bar in town knew the recipe for a Baja Fog. This was due in large part to my good surfing/windsurfing pal Carl Radke who enjoyed Baja Fogs and Cambria bars.

Windsurfing became the thing to do and was the primary reason we had moved to Cambria. Every fall my wife Jan Baby and I would pilgrimage back down to Baja, spending a good month or two and hitting all the sailing spots. We had a blast in Punta San Carlos. I think it was there we met Kevin Trejo of Solo Sport Adventures. He too became a big Baja Fog fan.

Several years had gone by since I’d been to Baja so Jan Baby (the wife) and I loaded up the new Vanagon with all our toys and the dog and headed south. We made one of our favorite destinations, Bahia de Los Angeles, or LA Bay for short. Our first night there we ended up chatting about the pletora of sting rays in the bay with a cute young asian woman who was camping near by. Jan and I invited her to have a cocktail and when I started pouring the tequila into the neck of the Corona she burst out: “Your making Baja Fogs!”

The Baja Fog has come full circle back to me. Here was somebody from northern California (as I recall) who intimately knew and enjoyed Baja Fogs. Sometime later I discovered my recipe in an online bartenders guide; that says it all.

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After a hearty breakfast of Quaker Oats we outfitted ourselves with hiking boots and canteens; off we went to explore the arroyo and find out if it was our liquored imaginations or realty that was sneaking around our camp. A couple hours later we discovered a 55 gallon drum with burning yucca cactus under it. The barrel was full of water and stinking starfish. Farther along we found visqueen plastic following the contour of the tilted sandstone layered rock and on the other side were someones belongings. Whomever it was had a oil lantern, various paperback books (Mexican novellas of romance, drooling hombres and busty muchachas), an old tattered sleeping bag and a bucket of water.

!Que estats haciendo! There was our leprechaun from the night before. He introduced himself as Pedro when he was sure we meant no harm. He apologized for stealing our beer but explained that American cervesas were very hard to resist.

Rocks served as stools and we sat around and practiced our Spanish while trying to find out what this guy was about. He must have been around sixty years old; he looked ninety – a lifetime under the hot Baja sun.

Pedro lived under a plastic covered rock up on the north wall of the arroyo. He explained his life consisted of collecting starfish at low tide and boiling them and drying them. He would store them until a gringo would arrive to purchase what he had collected. This happened once or twice a year. Pedro would earn .75 per starfish. A multi-legged genetic freak would fetch a couple bucks! All in all he made enough to buy food, oil for his lamp so he could read at night, and new Mexican paperback books. He loved those books.

We were not the first gringos Pedro hung out with. He would regularly approach ‘surfers’ (cause they were muy simpatico) and see if they had any pot they could give him. While he grew his own up the arroyo where there were natural springs to water the plants he knew it was good to have a backup.

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