By Ann Hazard
My mother, Dorothy Hazard, 
passed
away on April 27, 2001 after a six-year battle with cancer. Mom made her
first trip to Baja in 1949, right after she and my dad got married. He
was so excited, she told me. After all, he was taking her to one of his
favorite fishing haunts and showing her his little Baja "casita," near
what is now Campo Arnaiz in Punta Banda.
My mom was raised in Beverly Hills. She'd rarely had her toes off Melrose Boulevard, she liked to say, whenever she recited this story. Just imagine her shock when he drove her down a long, winding dirt road and pulled up in front of a tiny, one room, dilapidated fishing shack with an outhouse in back! There were dust bunnies, daddy long leg spiders and spider webs everywhere. It stunk ... like very old, very dead fish. She shook the smelly sleeping bags that were lying on the iron cots. They were full of sand and reeked of stale sweat and dead fish. She doubted that they'd ever been aired out. When she tried to sweep the floor, scorpions scurried out from the corners. Not a pretty picture....
Obviously, my dad learned something about places that are and are not "chick friendly" that day! He never took her back to that shack. But he took her plenty of other places. She grew to love Mexico, and Baja in particular. Our parents began taking me and my sister, Nina to Baja when we were quite young. They taught us to love and respect the people and places of Mexico. We flew into La Paz, Bahía de los Angeles and so many other places with renegade Baja pilot, Francisco Muñoz in his old World War II converted cargo planes. As soon as RVs were introduced onto the market, my parents bought one. Then, during spring and summer vacations, we camped at places like Kilometer 181 just south of Santo Tomas, the Meling Ranch, Pete's Camp at San Felipe and right on the beach just south of La Misión.
After my sister and I left for college, my
parents, along with my Aunt Hope and Uncle George Wick (who are both in
heaven now) 
trekked
in their motor homes up and down Baja, ferried them across the Sea of Cortez
and continued on south as far as Guatemala. They had some incredible adventures.
I remember hearing about when they were in a hotel (every once in a while
my mother commanded a good, hot shower and hotel bed!) in Mazatlán.
A hurricane roared in. They woke up in the morning to see their shoes floating
by. Their room had a good four inches of water in it!
She was a trooper, my mom. Right up to the
end. She wasn't able to get to Baja the last four years, but now my dad
is coming back, to celebrate his 79th birthday on May 12th in La Bufadora
with our family. His name is Togo Hazard. He's been coming to Punta Banda
since 1934, to the best of my knowledge. I know this because I have a photo
with that date on it. 
It
was back when it took all day to get there from San Diego. The road from
the estero west was passable only at low tide. He loved it then, as a young
boy. He loves it now.
My mom didn’t want an obituary, but I guess
she’s getting one anyway. She isn’t having a traditional funeral either.
Instead, next month we will spread her ashes from the back of a fishing
boat in the Sea of Cortez, right off the coast of Buena Vista—a place our
family visited at least once a year for over 30 years—with Mariachis playing
her favorite songs. 
We will all miss our mother very much. We are also so very grateful that our father will be revisiting his Baja roots in the near future.
Reprinted from the website for the American & Canadian Retirement Community of Ensenada, BC, Mexico and The Coast News newspaper, May 10, 2001 edition.