by Sonya Bradley | Blog
Las Guardianas del Conchalito
It was 2010 and El Manglito had a reputation as one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in La Paz. Outsiders perceived it as a place where trouble thrived. Taxis often refused to enter. “When we decided to set up our office there, I really thought it was a crazy idea” recalls Liliana Gutierrez, the former program director for Noroeste Sustentable (NOS) in Baja California Sur. “NOS director Alejandro Robles stood in the middle of this maligned place and talked about building a sustainability demonstration center so that people could really see what sustainability could look like in La Paz. Sam Walton wanted to have organic gardens and fisheries restoration projects. He wanted to bring in experts from all over the world to meet the fishermen. Really smart people shared this vision with them, and all I could think is that all these people are completely crazy.” As it turns out, she was right. Continues Liliana, “They were crazy. They were crazy in the most needed way that we need crazy people in the world because from that moment began an amazing story.” And everything they envisioned has come to pass. But that was only once the women got involved.
“Our first communication from the fishermen in El Manglito was a rock through the window of our offices” recalls Liliana. Like the rest of their neighborhood, the fishermen of El Manglito had a particularly bad reputation and were infamous for illegally poaching fish in the protected waters around Isla Espiritu Santo. NOS was part of an Espiritu Santo surveillance alliance that had been literally chasing them in boats in an attempt to restrict their nocturnal thievery, so the rock was not a total surprise. “It was a time of high polarization” notes Liliana with a nod to understatement. “Conservation NGOs like NOS had very strong ideas against the fishermen and the fishermen against the NGOs.”
NOS adapted its thinking. They started reaching out to the fishermen through their children by supporting local soccer teams and eventually the fishermen agreed to meet with them. “When we first went into El Manglito we thought we knew everything about fisheries conservation and all we had to do was convince the fishermen” recalls Liliana. “But we soon realized our approach was not working so we started talking in a very different way. And by that I mean we, NOS, stopped talking. We started listening. And it was beautiful how the whole idea of restoration emerged from them.”
Many of the fishing families of El Manglito are descended from the Yaqui Indians who left Sonora at the turn of the last century to escape government persecution. The Yaquis are renowned freedivers and used these skills in La Paz to fish for the huge scallops called callo de hacha in the Ensenada de La Paz, a lagoon inside the Bay of La Paz whose shores reach El Manglito. But by 2008 their lagoon was dead and their callo de hachas with it. Raw sewage from the city was being pumped in, and tons of the city’s garbage was being picked up by hurricanes and dumped there. The fishermen therefore started going to the rich waters around Isla Espiritu Santo to fish. But in 2010 the Espiritu Santo Archipelago was declared a marine national park, and the fishermen of El Manglito were transformed overnight from legal actors into illegal poachers. They had not been consulted on the process.
But they were resilient. “The fishermen knew it was possible to bring the callo de hacha back, to restore their original fishing area” says Liliana. “We didn’t know it, but they did.” The fishermen knew where the richest points in the bay were for the scallops and knew what needed to be done. “We had assumed that they were evil fishermen and that we were going to save them. Turns out, they knew exactly how to save themselves.” Thus started the callo de hacha restoration project that took seven years and attracted people from all around the world – biologists, conservationists, impact investors. “Everything was happening as Alejandro and that team had dreamed. It was beautiful.”
But only once the women showed up. NOS, with the support of key funders, had made the controversial decision to pay the fishermen during the restoration period while fishing was suspended. Some of their wives were not impressed with the results. Martha Garcia, speaking for herself and her friend Araceli Méndez says, “As soon as our husbands started receiving payment for not fishing during the restoration, our dream of transforming El Manglito into a beautiful, healthy community became just a job for them. They lost the dream.” Araceli didn’t think their husbands were performing particularly well at the job either. El Manglito had instituted a surveillance system at the Conchalito scallop banks to keep the poachers out, and the men were approaching the banks by boat. Notes Araceli, “It gets really shallow there so the boats would get stuck in the mud and the men would just end up having shouting matches with the poachers who would always get away with the scallops overland.” Their friend Graciela Olachea designed a new approach. “We could tell where the poachers were accessing the banks by land” continues Araceli, “So me, Graciela, Martha, and several other women started patrolling the land around the banks and scaring off the poachers that way.” The women achieved in 3 months what the men had failed to achieve in 3 years. The poachers were gone. Liliana sighs ruefully, “We should have started with the women.”
“In 2016 we joined OPRE, the fishing cooperative NOS helped the men create, and in 2018 we named ourselves Las Guardianas del Conchalito,” recalls Martha. “We wanted to do this our own way, for what we believe in. El Manglito had a bad reputation to the outside, but inside we were a strong, vibrant community. We wanted to build on that.” They were so dedicated that even though NOS had funding to pay only 5 women, 14 joined Las Guardianas and shared the pay. They have been sharing triumphs and trials in a similar fashion ever since.
Las Guardianas take turns telling some of their story. “The mangrove area at Conchalito where we ran off the poachers was a disastrous eyesore that served as a drive-through hotel, a drug dealers’ office, and a neighborhood dump” notes Daniela Bareño. “We reclaimed that land for the neighborhood.” Her colleague Claudia Reyes continued. “The first thing we did was push huge stones across the entryway to stop vehicles from entering, then we organized massive trash cleanups in which we got all segments of the neighborhood engaged. We were taking out 3 tons of trash at a time.” Daniela continued, “While we were cleaning the area, a woman came running in who was being pursued by some scary men. Araceli, Marta and I chased those men away. That incident made us realize that women come here because they know that we are women creating a safe space for women.” El Conchalito is now a beautiful public space for the people of La Paz where people come to walk their dogs, go bird watching, and enjoy the mangroves. Rosa Hale, who tracks usage of the area is particularly proud of one statistic, “The number of women using the space has increased by 70% since we started.”
Liliana nominated Las Guardianas for a National Geographic grant. They won and received training in birdwatching to further their dream of guiding people on birding trips through the mangroves. Inspired, Araceli pondered why the women never dove, only the men. They all sent letters to the Women Divers Hall of Fame in the US which awarded a scholarship to each Guardiana who wanted to learn to dive. The photo of Araceli, Martha and Claudia diving with the National Geographic flag is now the stuff of legend.
And this is how Las Guardianas get things done. They support each other to pursue their own passions, and they inform the NGOs about what support is most beneficial to them. While there’s scarcely a high school diploma amongst them, Araceli is now the “biologist” and is the first woman oyster farmer in La Paz; Daniela is the “engineer” who is working on restoring the Conchalito mangroves in conjunction with WildCoast; Claudia is the “Professor” who teaches people about El Conchalito and takes courses on sustainable business initiatives; Rosa is the “Secretary” who generates use statistics for the estuary; and Martha is the “lawyer” who negotiates deals and recently got Las Guardianas incorporated as their own legal entity. More importantly, she negotiated the permit for the group to restore the Conchalito mangroves, the first time such a permit has ever been issued in La Paz.
“This is the paradigm shift that we are seeing in Baja California Sur now” says McKenzie Campbell, the International Community Fund’s Director of Programs. “Local groups like Las Guardianas have clear hopes, goals and solutions for the future of their communities and ecosystems they steward. They know what they need, and our job as a foundation is to support them in their visions and help provide the tools for their success.”
Liliana is now the director of the Mexican Initiative for Seas and Coasts* and continues her work with Las Guardianas. “Las Guardianas take full advantage of the courses offered by local NGOs, and I gave one on Systemic Thinking. But they really didn’t need it” she recalls. “Las Guardianas are systemic by nature. They embrace the idea that their children, the mangroves, the scallops, the ocean, conservation are all one single issue that can’t be separated.” Liliana, once so skeptical of El Manglito, learned what the women always knew: El Manglito is a strong and dynamic community. It just needs tough, loving guardians to continuously defend, protect and transform it. Las Guardianas.
*TRANSLATOR: Iniciativa por los Mares y las Costas de Mexico
by Sonya Bradley | Blog
Notes for translator:
Bighorn sheep = Borrego Cimarrón
Field Technician = Tecnico
Ecologist = Ecológo
“It was so hot and the terrain was so steep and challenging” recalls La Paz-based bighorn sheep hunting translator Angel Antonio Marquez. “We had to stick to the shadows so the sheep couldn’t see us, making the walking even more difficult. When we were 850 yards from the ram the hunter decided to take the shot. We all thought he was crazy since it was so far and we were not at all surprised when he missed. The bullet went right between that sheep’s legs.” Angel continued, “Now this would have scared away most animals, but there was a female sheep nearby and this male was trying to be macho for her so he just stood there. The hunter got him on the second shot. 850 yards. It is the record for the farthest shot in this area.”
According to CONABIO, Mexico’s National Commission for the Knowledge and Use of Biodiversity, in 1800 over 1 million bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis) roamed across the western parts of the US, Canada and northern Mexico. But the introduction of livestock and uncontrolled hunting led to a major decline, and by 1950 there were fewer than 25,000 individual sheep left. The population in northeast Mexico was extirpated and the remaining population in the northwest around Sonora and the Baja peninsula was small and fragmented. It might seem counterintuitive, but hunting is now the main activity, regulated by the Mexican government, helping to stabilize the bighorn sheep population and preserve their habitat.
“This program is an amazing idea” states Biól. Gabriela López Segurajáuregui, the Mexican CITES Scientific Authority Coordinator. “Mexico is a megadiverse country with over 10% of all species in the world. Our conservation challenge is to incentivize people to care for their resources so that they can make a living from them in an ongoing, sustainable way. Bighorn sheep trophy hunting is a major conservation success story in Mexico.”
Gabriela’s colleague M. en C. Luis Guillermo Muñoz Lacy, Chief of the National CITES implementation on Fauna Department, elaborates. “Mexico allows trophy hunting across many species, but bighorn sheep is the most valuable species for hunting in the country, meaning that hunters are willing to pay the most for those permits. The money generated by this program has a tremendously positive economic impact on local communities as well as a tremendously positive conservation impact on the sheep themselves and the lands they roam.” How much money are we talking about? Guillermo explains, “Each bighorn sheep permit in Baja California Sur (BCS) can be sold for USD 50,000 to 90,000. Sonora holds the record at USD 250,000 for one permit. BCS exports about 18 trophies per year.” In other words, it’s a game changer for the rural communities who manage the land and the hunts.
Here’s how it works. In the 1995-1997 timeframe the Mexican government created Conservation Wildlife Management Units (UMAs) to regulate wildlife harvest and non-harvest activities in Mexico, including habitat and species restoration, protection, research and environmental education. In the case of bighorn sheep, UMAs cover most of its habitat. 10 of the UMAs are in BCS and are managed by ejidos, or local communal farmers, and the remainder are across the Sea of Cortez in Sonora, Chihuahua, Coahuila and Nuevo Leon. Bighorn sheep trophy hunting is carried out within the UMA system in the states of BCS and Sonora. Baja California, the state that occupies the northern half of the Baja peninsula, does not allow hunting.
In 1975 twenty bighorn sheep were reintroduced to Tiburon Island in the Sea of Cortez off the coast of Sonora, and by 2012 that number had grown to 650. Many of those were transplanted to Sonora for repopulation and captive breeding programs and by 2019, the last year for which Sonora published its data, the continental population of bighorn sheep had recovered to 3,829 wild individuals and 4,500 in captivity. By contrast, BCS has only had a couple of reintroduction or reinforcement events and the last aerial survey conducted by SEMARNAT in 2022 estimated about 1,100 individuals in BCS.
The UMAs of BCS pay for a team of technicians to regularly monitor the bighorn sheep population on land, participate in the hunts, and accompany the aerial surveys that are conducted every three years. The technicians are extremely clear in their minds about the value of the trophy program. “If it were not for the economic power of the trophy permits, the Bighorn sheep population would almost certainly have been decimated by now and the ejidos would have sold off most of the land” observes Ing. Antia Duarte Camacho, Field Technician of de Ejido San Jose de la Noria and Ejido Lic. Alfredo V. Bonfil. “The bighorn sheep habitat is all along the Sea of Cortez, making that land extremely valuable.” Her colleague Ecologist Miguel Angel Aguilar Juárez, Field Technician of Ejidos Ley Federal de Aguas 1, 2 and 3 adds, “By 2014 the ejidos, many of which had been impoverished, were really starting to understand the huge, sustained, economic lift flowing from the trophy program. They developed a deep appreciation for the value of the land that they own and the sheep that inhabit it. That is when they all really started working together to make the program work as a whole in BCS. Bighorn sheep move seasonally across a vast territory so corridors are important. Income from bighorn sheep hunting started motivating the ejidos to work together to maintain these huge areas with no other human activities, including the raising of livestock.” CONABIO points to the resulting large-scale habitat conservation and improved connectivity as a major achievement of the trophy hunting program.
Bighorn sheep are extremely desirable among trophy hunters and are part of the sheep Grand Slam. Which leads to the question: how many sheep can you hunt without hurting the species? This is one of the critical questions that Gabriela López of the Mexican CITES Scientific Authority (CONABIO) and her team focus on. The UMAs organize to finance an aerial census of the bighorn sheep habitat every three years in the September-December timeframe. The survey is done in coordination with SEMARNAT, CONABIO and key experts. It is this survey that serves as the basis for issuing the harvest rate. Gabriela explains further, “We estimate that the aerial survey team makes visual contact with roughly 30% of the total population. As a precautionary measure we determine the number of trophy hunts that will be allowed based solely on the number of individual sheep actually observed, not the extrapolated number.” Only males that are 6 years or older can be hunted – an estimation made by the size of the horns – and the number to be hunted cannot exceed 10-20% of the observed population in each region. (The hunting guides note that hunters are not tempted by younger rams as they are going for the largest horns possible and those are, by definition, found on the oldest males. Males can live 9-12 years in the wild.) Based on the aerial survey of 2019, 18 trophy (harvest) permits were issued per year to the UMAS of BCS by SEMARNAT based on the technical and scientific advice of CONABIO. That number increased to 19 trophy permits per year based on the 2022 aerial survey. The next aerial survey will be conducted in December of 2025.
Once SEMARNAT issues the number of CITES permits to export trophies (CITES is the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora) the UMAs work with brokers based in the United States to auction off the permits in places like Las Vegas and Reno. The brokers retain 15% of the permit fee and the remainder goes to the UMA and its ejido. The UMAs would like to see the auctions moved to BCS.
The horns and skin of the bighorn sheep shot by the hunter at 850 yards are still in the office of the technical team in La Paz. Issuance of the CITES permit for the trophy to be transported across international borders to the US-based hunter could take 3-4 months (SEMARNAT must also be consulted). CITES is a legally binding agreement between governments that works to ensure that international trade in specimens of wild animals or plants does not threaten the survival of the species. Only Mexico’s bighorn sheep population is listed on CITES Appendix II which covers species that are not necessarily threatened by international trade but that are deemed worthy of a close eye so that they do not slip into the highest category of endangerment, Appendix I. When weighing the permit to send this hunter his trophy they will carefully review, among other things, the report of the UMA technician who accompanied the hunt and took detailed notes on the geographical coordinates of where the sheep was hunted, estimated age, days taken to carry out the hunt and so forth. The technician also took biological samples for disease analysis.
Gabriela, Guillermo and the technical team for the UMAs all note that trophy hunting is extremely controversial in Mexico. Even some of the very officials whose offices support trophy hunting personally speak out against it. The IUCN, the International Union for the Conservation of Nature, has long supported sustainable, properly managed trophy hunting in conservation when it provides incentives for people to conserve the trophy species and their habitats. Sacrificing a few for the many is a concept that will never unify humanity, but by the IUCN’s measure – and that of CONABIO, CITES and the UMAs – the bighorn sheep trophy program has been a success in BCS, for the species, its habitat, and for the local communities.
How the permit funds are used:
Del pago que se hace a las UMAS por la venta de los permiso para la caza de borrego cimarron el 70% es entregado a las ejidatarios dueños de las las tierras donde se encuentra la UMA y 30% es dedicado a la conservación, donde se realizan las siguentes actividades:
Actividades de conservación implementadas
Colocación de letreros, puertas de acceso
Placement of signs, gates
Censo aéreo
Aerial Census
Plan de Acción para la Conservación y manejo de las Sierras Borregueras de B.C.S.
(Con apoyo de SEMARNAT)
Limpieza y rehabilitación de aguajes
Cleaning and rehabilitation of Aguajes
Monitoreo y Vigilancia
Monitoring and surveillance
Capacitación
Training courses
Delimitación de las áreas de distribución e identificación de corredores biológicos
Delimitation of the areas of distribution and identification of biological corridors
Identificación de la problemática con la fauna feral
Identification of the problem with feral fauna
Entrega de reportes anuales a SEMARNAT
Activity Report
Construcción de corrales para el manejo de fauna feral
Construction of corrals for feral wildlife management
Programa de manejo de fauna feral
Program implementation of feral animal management
Mejoramiento de hábitat
Improvement of habitat
Diversificación de actividades: ecoturismo, cabañas, aprovechamiento cinegético de otras especies
Diversification of activities: ecotourism, cabins, hunting of other species
by Sonya Bradley | All Media, Media
by Bryan Jáuregui | Adventure, Culture, Travel Industry
This article by Bryan Jáuregui of Todos Santos Eco Adventures and Mario Becerril of Mario Surf School was published in the Summer 2012 issue of Janice Kinne’s Journal del Pacifico.
In the age of jet-setting surfers pursuing monster waves across the globe for fame and money; of California surf breaks so crowded it is not uncommon to see 100 boards or more in the water; of jet skis towing surfers to catch waves that the human body could never conquer on its own, it is wonderful to hear Todos Santos resident Steve Merrill recall the age in which he first saw a surfer. “It was 1956 and I was six years old. My parents were driving the car along Pleasure Point in Santa Cruz, California, and I saw a guy standing on a giant wooden board gliding across the waves, completely alone on the water. It is impossible to describe the impact that vision had on me. I knew then and there that surfing was what I had to do.” Steve’s immediate enthrallment with surfing is echoed in the voice of the young narrator in Australian writer Tim Winton’s surfer-coming-of-age novel Breath, “How strange it was to see men do something beautiful. Something pointless and elegant, as though nobody saw or cared…as if dancing on water was the best and bravest thing a man could do.” Back in the day, Winton tells us, surfing was the closest a man could get to poetry.
If surfing is akin to poetry then Todos Santos today is the City Lights Bookstore and the Beatniks are having a poetry slam. “We’re living the bonus years here in Todos Santos” says surfing resident Billy Girvan. Like many expats in the Todos Santos surfing community, Billy grew up in California just as surfing culture was taking root. “In 1959 I was 12 years old and saw these guys surfing in Santa Barbara. All I wanted was to be like them. It wasn’t just the surfing, it was the life style that was so appealing, the beach life, the freedom. They were so different from everyone else. I traded my go-cart for a surfboard and never looked back.” Todos Santos surfer Jim McRoberts knows just how he feels. “In 1962 I was 15 and living in Sierra Madre, California. My uncle was a founding member of the San Onofre Surf Club and took me with him to the beach one day. That first time riding a wave, the sensation was simply amazing. It took hold of me immediately and I couldn’t think of doing anything else. My passion has never lessened from that day to this.” Like Billy, Jim was just as in love with the surfing culture as with the surfing itself. “Everything important was happening at the beach.”
Billy, Jim, Steve and countless other expat surfers living in Todos Santos went from being “grommets”, or “gremmies” – slang for young surfers – to embracing the full surfing life as older teens and adults. A lot of school was missed, a lot of pretty girls chased, a lot non-food items ingested and a whole lot of waves caught. Poetry? Absolutely. “Poetry is not only dream and vision” says poet Audre Lorde, “It is the skeleton architecture of our lives. It [is] a bridge across our fears of what has never been before.” For these boys surfing was the bridge to embracing nature in a most intimate, thrilling and terrifying way. Surfing was the bridge out of an ordinary life into something sublime. Surfing was the bridge to salvation. “Going to the ocean is like going to church for me.” says Jim who went on to get a Masters in English and is currently writing a novel about surfing. “If it wasn’t for surfing I would have been a drug addict or alcoholic like a lot of my friends. You have to stay physically fit to surf. It saved me.” Billy, who went on to become a founding member and bass player for the hard rock band NoXit, agrees. “I was in the midst of living this rock star’s life and surfing is definitely what kept me healthy, what kept me alive.”
Steve Meisinger and Friends in Baja in 1975
As countless movies and songs throughout the 1960’s and ‘70s glamorized surfing culture, the surf breaks in California inevitably became more crowded and surfers became more territorial and protective of their breaks, often resulting in a tense and aggressive atmosphere. Some surfers, like Steve Meisenger, or “Meisy”, started looking elsewhere and in 1973 at the age of 18 the Morro Bay, California board shaper started coming to Baja to enjoy the peninsula’s stark beauty and uncrowded breaks. “I was getting a degree in Ornamental Horticulture at Cal Poly and would save all the money I made shaping boards during the year to come to Baja in the summer. We would live in the van and camp on the beach. We never went out to eat, we never stayed in a hotel. All of our money went to surfing and survival.” Meisy started a successful, 30-year career as a housing contractor but continued to come to Baja at least once a year. He stumbled upon Todos Santos in 1981 while looking for a mechanic. He was captivated. He found himself returning to surf the breaks here every year, and by 1990 had bought property and started building his house. “The environment in most of Baja is so harsh, but in Todos Santos we get the great waves as well as this lush environment, great weather and wonderful creature comforts.”
Steve Merrill Surfing in Todos Santos. Photo by Sam Belling.
The magic of Todos Santos surfing has a powerful pull. By the time Billy first visited Todos Santos in 1994 it had been 14 years since he’d last been on a surf board. But much to his joy he found that he could still ride the waves. Much to the consternation of his wife he also found that he really wanted to surf all the time, once again. “But luckily that beautiful woman really loves me so when I said I wanted to move to Todos Santos to surf she backed me 100%. We sold all of our property and here we are.” Jim knows just what he means. When he and his wife married in 1989 they moved to the mountains of Oregon so they could pursue her love of horses. “But I thought about surfing every single day, and even carved a sculpture of a wave to put over the mantel.” A 3-year road trip throughout the North American continent brought them to Todos Santos in 2009. It had been 20 years since Jim was last on a surf board, but the magic returned immediately. “Every good wave that you ride is like a gift. It is this energy that is there for you personally, energy that has come 2,000 miles for you to merge with and take to the Todos Santos shore.” Jim and his wife sold their Oregon property and have been in Todos Santos ever since.
No matter whether they surfed every day for the past 5 decades or abandoned the waves for years, surfing still provides the “skeleton architecture” of these men’s lives as they move through their 60s. And one of the key reasons they love surfing Todos Santos is, as Steve says, “This is as nice a surfing community as anyone could ever hope to find. There is hardly any localism and everyone on the waves is respectful and supportive of each other in the water.” While they may not have the stamina and moves of youth, the men don’t seem to mind (much). “Let’s face it” says Billy, “the best surfer out there is the one having the most fun. And that’s usually me!” Coming from a guy with 2 titanium bars, 4 screws and 3 vertical spacers holding his back together, that’s no mean feat. Billy already has days on the water when his back prevents him from getting up on the board, and he can see a time coming when he won’t be physically able to surf any more. “But I’m just not that worried” says Billy. “There is always mind surfing!” Poetry? Oh yes indeed.
