When Walt Moeller was inducted into the Fukarwi’s, his identity became Rocketman and as it is with most Fukarwi’s past deeds, disclosures, or even geographic location, are likely to be used in your tribal identity. I will give you some examples; every year my youngest brother gives away a number of turkeys that he wins in shooting contests and he is known as Shooter. A big old boy, and I am very thankful that he is docile, got the name Scottie Ann because he confided that had he been born a girl that name had been selected. The guy who carves Fukarwi in one of the canoe thwarts for most Fukarwi's and does a lot of other woodwork is Termite. A series of corporate events, beyond my control sent me to California in January of 1964; my name is Valley Boy. I am very grateful for the Termite, during a Fukarwi outing as the day wears on and the cooler gets lighter, I can always tell if I have the canoe going the right direction. If I can read Fukarwi from where I am seated everything is OK.

Walt and I have been going to Baja for several years. At one time there was a group that was fairly stable in making return trips to Baja. Changes occur over time, some have moved, some have retired, and others just got tired. The wheels of progress don’t turn as swiftly in Mexico as they do in the US but unfortunately they do turn. Human encroachment makes the places where we camped 20 years ago no longer suitable. I have never felt comfortable taking a dump in someone’s backyard unless I knew them. We had selected another primary camping location but Walt has trouble locating the new site. It is a popular site and it is not uncommon for it to be occupied when you arrive. It is very secluded behind a 30-foot cliff and it can not be seen from the road when approaching from the north. In order to know if it is available, you must go down to the site.

On one particular occasion Walt wants me to leave a marker at the turn off. It was a time when I was fond of Mickey’s Bigmouth. There is a current beer commercial that casts aspersion on beer that provides a wide mouth bottle. There were two reasons why I liked it; Mickey’s delivers more kick than most beer and I figured that the larger opening helped in getting that kick unleashed. Another thing about it the name fits, after downing a couple I am definitely a lot more vocal. The Mickey’s bottle is green and the label has a lot of gold in it that makes a good reflector. I tell Walt that I will leave a Mickey’s bottle at the turnoff. That worked fine.

At a time when it seems everyone wants their beer in a "longnecker" Mickey's is packaged in a short squatty bottle. My advice; if you want the best taste that the "longnecker" provides, go to an emporium of fine beer, sit at the bar and have one. The taste and quality can not be transported. The shorty takes up a lot less space in the cooler and is less likely to spill during automotive gymnastics below the degree of difficulty known as “hold-my-beer”. I am somewhat of a contrarian for instance I am single handedly leading the male world back to white socks that at a minimum cover your ankles when wearing low cut sneakers. Men take a look at your ankles, if you think they look attractive take a picture and send it to me. This has been a long campaign and there are times when I actually fear that I will not win this one.

Walt has always announced his late arrival by firing a bottle rocket into or near camp. He always bought the largest size making them beyond what any bottle could support. These need to be leaned against rocks or boat trailers, something of substance. The second day of camping he was likely to develop some lame excuse to return to Puertocitos. When he came back he would light us up again. I liked the game a whole lot better when I decided to steal a couple of his rockets and take a shot at him with his own ammunition while he was attempting to sneak into a suitable position.

Another engineer and I have been required to travel together to the extent that we become friends. He likes Baja and his wife will not go (we need a lot more like her). I invite him to come with me on a trip that was already planned. He is extremely tall but somewhat of a wimp. I blame his mother. She dressed him as a girl until he was eleven at which point he was already 6'1" and she was simply unable to find suitable dresses. He is very smart and in firm possession of the trait of forgetting. He is the only person that I have ever seen that bumped their head on every single monitor when exiting an airplane. He sits within hearing distance of my phone calls at work so I tell Walt to let us know of your arrival in the usual manner. Walt wants us to put up a sign; I reply we will be in the same spot unless it is already occupied. He insists on a sign and since the other fellow is also an excellent artist I agree.

We are all in the electronics industry so the sign that we made advertises Broken Connectors, Old Backpanels, and Fish camp with a large arrow pointing to the wrong ocean. The day arrives and when we get to the campsite it is indeed occupied, fully occupied. Several yuppie vehicles 20 kids, I’m out of here. We go another ¾ of a mile and find a suitable site. We put up the sign. I had noticed a green bottle at the turnoff to the camp we had departed. It was not a Mickey’s, it had no label, and in fact I think it was one of those bottles of cheap sweet wine with the screw on cap, the 99 cent stuff.

Walt is very late and about 10PM the fellow with me says what is that? I had already heard multiple reports from the big rockets and I must now confess to him. That is Walt and he is tearing the hell out of the wrong camp, it was all meant for you. Another thing you need to know about Walt, you can give him a thousand horsepower 4-wheel drive and he can get stuck going downhill on an asphalt road. After the wake up call Walt, who is towing a dune buggy, drives down into the camp to get a very big surprise. Many people are walking out to greet him and he doesn’t recognize a one of them and it is easy to tell they ain't happy. He then attempts to make an escape but gets stuck trying to execute a U-turn. Children are crying and the mother’s want his head for the purpose of shrinking later. Walt decides truth is his only salvation. After the men get the women calmed and they in turn calm the children, and return to the camp the men are finally able to enjoy some of the humor. They manage to get him mobile again. Walt claims the only thing that saved his life was the fact that some of them remembered a van pulling a boat coming down and turning around without getting stuck.

Walt has two teenage boys with him. When they see our sign the boys do not want to leave the main road and drop off onto the descending road where we are camped. We assure them that this is the right place. Walt blamed me because of the green bottle. I have later learned that Walt doesn’t like to walk two steps unless absolutely necessary. I suggest that any green bottle in that vicinity would have been sufficient cause for him to unleash a rocket attack.

Recently fire and explosions completely leveled one of the towns in Mexico that manufacture fireworks. A law was passed prohibiting fireworks through out Mexico. Damn, another piece of America gone!