Saying Goodbye to Dad

Troncones: Long boards, Surf Talk
and Saying Goodbye...

The next day the three of us sardined ourselves and our mountain of gear into what I now privately referred to as the 'Clown Car', aka the PT Cruiser, and drove north from Zihuatanejo to Troncones. Gerry and I bickered heatedly and non-stop the entire trip about everything from navigation to watching for topes. Our sparring eventually ignited Gerry's Irish temper and culminated in him bringing the "C-Car" to a screeching halt in the middle of the highway. (not recommended) Daniel gently reminded us, while nervously scanning the stretch of highway behind us, that Troncones was very easy to find and that we had nothing to worry about. His soothing manner, as always, defused our escalating bad humor and off we went. By the time we hit the bumpy dirt road in Troncones Gerry and I were cooing and groping across the seats like young lovers.

We had booked our stay again at the wonderful Inn at Manzanillo Bay. Some new people were on staff this year including a very pleasant American assistant named Randall. He insisted on helping us haul luggage, boogie boards, coolers and at least 18 sacks of groceries to our bungalows. (Note: there are no kitchens in the bungalows - but I like to have a "few" snacks and beer and wine on hand) I was more than a little embarrassed about our undisciplined packing but Randall, though obviously struggling with our enormous pile of junk, was simply too polite to comment on it. We quickly got settled and nosed around the compound. A large group of older male surfers from Laguna Beach had rented the bulk of the rooms and a forest of long boards were oh so casually leaning up against every wall. Gerry, who has to settle for body boarding, was looking forward to some 'surf talk' with the California crowd.

While he tried to think of an excuse to join the cool gaggle of OC cast look-a likes Daniel sat smoking and engrossed in his book so I took off for a walk around Troncones Point. January of this year my father died. He and my mother were passionate fans of Mexico and for many years had wintered on the Baja. I had taken a portion of his cremated remains with me with the idea I would leave part of him in Mexico. As IÂ wandered along this stretch of beach, past the naked sunbather and the straggling line of riders on horses I eventually came across an isolated section of shoreline studded with huge boulders and crashing waves. A turquoise colored tide pool was adjacent to it and vivid blue fish swam and darted between the rocks. It was peaceful , beautiful and tears stung my eyes as I realized this was exactly the right spot. The next afternoon, Gerry, Daniel and I returned silently back to this place with a bottle of champagne and Dad. Incoming sneaker waves and unsteady footing made for a little comic relief in this somber moment but eventually I was able to reach a place on the edge of the rocks. I tearfully (and quickly) said goodbye and with glasses held high we all watched as the little cloud of white dissipated into the crashing waves. I will always think of my father when I return to Troncones Point and am happy in knowing he will forever be near a place I dearly love.