We’re Hunting Rabbits

I wrote tomorrows date on the chalk board, hopped inside a Nissan four door, and was driven off in search of a particular Country Mexican.  The Indian we were going to see held the title to a particular piece of land that myself and a few others have had our eye on for the past couple of years.  We brought along a translator.  Spanish just wasn’t going to cut it.  It was 8am on Friday, February 24th, 2012.

We stopped for tacos along side the road just outside of Huatulco.  There was a skinned cow in the back of a nearby pick up truck.  Talk about gnarly.  We arrived to the secret estate around noon.  I had been there two times prior, yet this was my first time actually meeting The Jefe.  I counted five teeth in his mouth.  His expertise with the machete was mind blowing.  The coconut water was air temperature.

They sat and spoke.  I just half listened and nodded.  I was picking up some stuff, but like I said, this was country spanish.  Not to be confused with country music.  The meeting lasted about 30 minutes.  We then walked out to the point break.  A pitching right hander that breaks directly in front of a jetty hip of sorts.  In the summer months, this place goes off.  That’s about all I am allowed to tell you.