Busy.

That single word is the most common answer I receive when I ask the people in my life how they’re doing.

Some folks wear the pulls of a busy life like a badge of honor. Proud of their imbalanced work-life balance, of burning the midnight oil, of missing calls and commitments. They’re just too busy. 

I’m tired of that word. I need an escape. An adventure.

Adventure is subjective. My definition of adventure is surely different than yours. While one person may strive to travel to the other side of the planet and embark on a 10-day liveaboard trip down the Great Barrier Reef, another might be just as happy loading the truck with gear and investigating a new blue line they found on a map. One is not better than the other. They both open the door to new experiences and discovery.

Fishing is always an adventure. You never know what might happen on the water or what you will catch. You don’t know what may go wrong, or go right. You can prepare and eliminate some of the possible hiccups, but when you’re on the water, you are not in complete control. You have to adjust to conditions. Take what’s offered.

One of my most memorable trips was one of my worst adventures. It was my first travel assignment as a young editor in my mid-20s. I was sent to San Carlos, Mexico, halfway down the Baja California peninsula, to fish Magdalena Bay. The man who invited me was running several surf camps scattered throughout the area. He would shuttle surfers from break to break on pangas, and wanted to run similar trips for anglers on the opposite end of the surf season. The camps were constructed on islands amid an arid landscape with more rock and sand than vegetation. We slept in wall tents and took Navy showers with a jug full of hot water that was warmed over a fire.

We fished inshore for three days without much luck. The snook and corvina populations were in rough shape. On the third evening, a San Diego-based long-range boat was going to pick us up and motor us offshore. We were to spend three additional nights on board, fishing Mag Bay’s famed striped marlin bite.

After a meal of locally caught spiny lobster, we spotted the boat, named Champ, making the turn from the harbor and heading our way. With mast lights beaming, Champ was easy to spot. The plan was for the boat to drop anchor, and we’d use pangas to shuttle people to camp and back. When the boat got so close to the island that its massive lights went dark under the shadow of the mesa we were sitting upon, I hollered to the camp owner that we had a problem. He ran to the camp’s VHF to call the boat.

“Champ, Champ, Champ, you’re too close to shore. Reverse course!”

No answer. He hailed the boat several times before the captain responded. “We’ve got a serious problem,” he said. “We ran aground, and we’re taking on water. We need you to come get us.”

We scuttled down the cliff side to the beach, where two pangas were tied off. We ran the boats toward the point of the island to rescue the crew. Champ was pinned on the beach by waves and laying on its side. The vessel was done for. The captain, engineer and mate began handing us whatever valuable gear they could grab — electronics, tackle, food, clothes, gaffs.

We made several trips back to camp to unload items before the crew was ready to leave the boat. They knew whatever was left on board would be salvaged by locals.

By the time we got the crew to camp, the sun was starting to rise. I walked out to the point to take some photos of Champ on the beach. When I got back, I fell into my tent for a few hours of sleep. When I awoke, the owner of the camp was making breakfast. He poured me a cup of coffee, and we sat in silence until we heard the whine of an outboard. A panga with two local commercial fishermen on board cruised by. In the boat were three towers of stacked patio chairs with Champ’s name on their backs, and sticking off the stern was Champ’s transmission.

“You want to go snook fishing today?” the camp owner asked.

“I think I’m ready to go home,” I replied. It was time to get back to being busy. 

Life is better with a little adventure.