“Buena onda.” Joshua tells me this means “good vibes” in Spanish, and it sets the tone for the week to come. I’m sitting in a packed shuttle bus on a gnarly dirt road, about an hour into our 3-hour drive from Cabo San Lucas to Ensenada Los Muertos in Baja on the Sea of Cortez. Arriving at the airport in Cabo, I can’t help but realize how different the trip we’re embarking on is from all of the tourists around us. Bikinis, margaritas, souvenirs, and drunk tourists here for a weekend getaway surround us as we leave the airport terminal. I just got fleeced for a bribe in exchange for allowing my drone to enter Mexico. I had three choices: leave the drone with customs to never see it again, pay a heavy fine along with official paperwork, or pay a slightly less fine in cash. I chose the latter, and it feels greasy as I hand the money to the customs agent. He slaps my hand and in a stern voice says, “Pay in the office!” It’s an understatement to say that I’m thoroughly relieved to finally be here on the shuttle bus, as even a long drive on a dirt road in the summer with no air conditioning seems like a cakewalk when compared to dealing with customs in Mexico.

We’re on a trip with Travel Creel Hospitality, a pop-up fishing lodge run by Michelin-star chef Joshua Schwartz. Joshua also values good food and fishing above most all else in life. He’s worked in fine dining along with guiding fly fishing in California for decades. His right hand man in the kitchen for this trip and many others, Patrick Mackenzie, has had a very similar career split between cooking and guiding for striped bass on the west coast. They have both worked under Thomas Keller at the world famous French Laundry and Bouchon restaurants in Napa, California.

We finally arrive at the house that Travel Creel has lined up for the trip, an amazing property right on the shore of the Sea of Cortez. I’m blown away by the beauty of this area, a mix between austere and remote desert lined with saguarro cacti that is greeted by the deep blues and greens of the Sea of Cortez. The color of the water is hard to put into words. I’ve been to many beautiful waterways, but this is on another level. I’ve read about the sheer number of fish that call this home, some describing it as an aquarium. I’m anxious to get on the water the following day - our target species being roosterfish, dorado, jack crevalle, and whatever else is willing to eat a fly.

The house is buzzing with excitement during the first night as everyone is prepping their rods and reels to be tested over the course of the next four days. We’re fishing with Juan Lucero, his son David, and a crew of guides that are all related to the Lucero’s. Juan has built up quite a business down here in Baja, specializing in throwing bait fish flies from small panga’s on 10wt rods to roosterfish crashing the surface. Pez gallo, as the locals call them, is an incredible fish with a large comb on the top of their body in place of a dorsal. This comb is what gives them their name, as they look like a rooster crossed with a saltwater fish. Some say the comb is used to disorient their prey by creating a wall of bubbles as the circle baitfish, and I can attest to witnessing this spectacle.

The following morning we’re up bright and early - fishing here is a morning game to avoid the heavy afternoon winds. Days start off with a long boat run out to an island in search of small boats that are netting baitfish to be sold to us fly anglers. The sea is full of fish, but it’s full of far more water, so the need to chum with baitfish exponentially increases your odds of finding our target species. The boat ride over is littered with dolphins and manta rays. Some of these rays blast four feet or more out of the water. There’s no lack of amazing views as we rubberneck on our journey to the island.

Juan and David speak fairly good English, however most of our guides this week do not -  which leads to an interesting rapport as we try to communicate. We soon realize how humans communicated thousands of years ago before any language was established, through smiles, nods, hand gestures, and even our tonal shifts in excitement. We’re trying our best to use the limited Spanish we know when asking which flies to tie on, how to retrieve the flies, and so on.

The fishing on our first day is a bit tough. I’m down here with my dad on his first saltwater fly fishing trip which is special in itself, but it certainly comes with a steep learning curve. As we pull into one of our last spots for the day, we’re greeted by a beautiful cove of blueish green water. Out of seemingly nowhere, an equally blueish green large torpedo of a fish darts near the boat hunting baitfish. “Dorado! Dorado” I yell to my dad on the bow of the boat. Dorado, otherwise known as the dolphin fish or Mahi Mahi, is an amazing animal. As they chase bait around, and in some cases fly patterns, they become an electric shade of blue as blood pumps through their body. My dad lays a cast out in front of the fish boat side and the fish inhales it. Within seconds, the fish peels off a hundred yards of line and jumps over and over on the horizon in a series of incredible acrobatics. My dad is absolutely losing his god damned mind. “Holy shit!” He yells, trying to regain the now hundreds of yards of backing. In the midst of all this chaos, I make a cast towards another dorado, get an eat, and we’re doubled up. I put the wood to this fish and land it quickly. As the fish comes to the boat, he’s followed by two even larger dorado. Without thinking, I quickly unbutton my fly from the first fish and throw a short cast off the back of the boat and am immediately getting my ass kicked by a second even larger fish that took the fly with reckless abandon. We’ve just now hooked three dorado in a span of five minutes, although it could have been three minutes or twenty minutes - my mind is blurred by the chaos of the moment,  making it hard to process the passage of time.

Our guide looks at me with a smile and says “comida?” I nod and say “si, comida,” meaning yes, food. The only thing more stunning than the sheer beauty of a dorado is the way they taste. With a Michelin Star chef waiting for us back at the lodge, this isn’t an opportunity to be missed. The guide grins and grabs the gaff, taking a stab at each of the two fish with the precision of someone who has done this thousands of times.

My dad is utterly beside himself as he lets out a loud “Woo!” - nearly falling as he slips on the bow of the boat as a result of being more excited than I’ve ever seen him in my thirty-four years on this earth. High fives and hugs ensue, we’re both well aware of just how special this moment is. Our guide Mauricio, has a larger than life voice that’s equal parts raspy, rapid, and energetic. “Good day! Good fly!” Mauricio lets out, knowing this day could have passed by with far less action, or actión as he puts it.

Watching a trained chef clean a fish is like witnessing an artist paint a masterpiece. Talk about precision… The dorado is stripped of its flesh and meat, eventually resembling a dorado-shaped pane of glass after being reduced down to its skeletal structure. “Chorizo and Mahi enchiladas.” Joshua says through a smile when I ask how he plans to use this meat. The second of the two fish we harvested was left with the guides, and it feels good knowing that their families are eating well tonight. Dorado are a readily available quarry throughout the year with a very sustainable and healthy population - a welcome change from the dismal state that seems to plague most species of gamefish nowadays.

As we sit around the dinner table sipping margaritas and eating our expertly prepared success of the day with a side beautiful sunset on the horizon, I can’t help but smile. It’s pretty special to be able to throw a fly rod in the aquarium that is Baja, but to expose my father to the experience after all the amazing fishing he’s shown me over the course of my life is quite possibly the height of my fishing career which is saying a lot given that I’ve dedicated my adulthood to chasing fish with a fly rod. I’m in my mid-thirties and feeling exponentially older year after year, and I’m trying my damndest to soak in as much of what the world has to offer alongside my dad before he’s someday inevitably unable to do so. None of us are guaranteed another day, let alone another day of being able to stand on the bow of a tiny panga waving a stick with a fly line attached to it.

We end up catching many more species throughout the week including our primary target species in the roosterfish but I won’t bore you with all of that as it doesn’t hold a flame when compared to the rush and excitement of seeing my dad get his ass kicked by a dorado in the best way possible. Do me a favor - if you have someone in your life that you share a passion with and have a bucket list trip or experience yet unchecked, make it happen.

One of the last things that Patrick tells me on my way out of Baja is “There's a saying down here in Baja amongst the guides that we use that when you’re fishing for roosterfish, you're on the panga, or you’re on the beach, wherever you are.. No bad days.”