Caborca: Pigs, Planes, Gold, and Businessmen

By Lee Dusa

The trip began with a plan, a few dollars, and a few days. What could possibly go wrong? Seven men find themselves deeply involved in a life-threatening foreign experience of their own making. Six are family-centered, conservative, corporate, button-down types. The seventh, a rugged individualist, is driven by gold lust like a '49er in early California. Each of them has frailties and strengths, and each has a unique approach to leadership and respect. At times, they're foolhardy, and at other times, they're heroes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667851389

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

While writing this story, I was continually encouraged by my wife of fifty-five years, Gail Sue Dusa. As an ex-teacher of high school English, she was instrumental in helping me with action verbs, proper tense, and punctuation. But beyond the English part, she felt that this story needed to be told, as it might help future family members better understand their ancestors. And as the story took shape, she also continually sought reassurance that the statute of limitations would protect us from any untoward intrusions into our wonderful, long and happy marriage.

INTRODUCTION

Seven guys, six of whom were family men, conservative, corporate, button-down types, found themselves deeply involved in a very uncomfortable foreign experience, even life-threatening, much of which was of their own making. The seventh, a rugged individualist, driven by a lust for gold like a ‘49er in early California, was different from the others. Each of the seven had frailties and strengths. Each had an opportunity to demonstrate these qualities during this amazing five-day episode. Each showed how their approach to leadership and respect would manifest itself in saving the whole group from potential disaster. At times, each was a hero, and at other times, foolhardy.

This story can be compared to the movie City Slickers, where a desire for adventure takes reasonable businessmen to a place outside their comfort zone. In this story, that happens somewhat by design and somewhat by accident. Another comparison is the movie American Graffiti, which takes a deep dive into the personalities of four individuals through their antics on one summer night. In this book, you will meet me and my two brothers, Jerry and Jim, senior executive Robert, and brothers Don and Leonard.

Jim, the youngest of the group, was the main driver for the hunt and the trip. His desire to return with a trophy was almost as strong as Leonard’s desire to enrich himself with his gold-mining operation. The year before, Jim had led a hunt in northern California. In that venture, he’d talked Jerry and me into spending a long night tied up in trees in an attempt to shoot a bear with archery equipment. Similar stories of Jim’s creative hunting ambitions also merit telling.

Jim has unbridled energy, a healthy zest for new adventure, and the keen sense of a hunter. He is a large, robust man in appearance and stature, but as you get to know him, it is apparent that he is a teddy bear, kind, thoughtful, and sensitive. He has an uncanny ability to see the humor in many situations, and he reveals that insight through his creative quips. He is very funny, but more significant than his sense of humor is his sensitivity to others’ feelings and his ability to understand the position they may find themselves immersed in. He is one of those guys everyone likes; people naturally flock to him. He instantly becomes everyone’s best friend.

Somehow, in his unassuming way, he convinced the rest of us to go on this trip. It would be one of the only vacations we would get from our jobs that year, and it would be expensive, costing more than we would like to admit to our wives. Yet, in his humble, convincing way, Jim sold us on the idea that it would be a great adventure, worthy of our time and money. The idea that our professional reputations might be at risk was a secondary concern, as Jim indicated that nothing could go wrong because of the solid people making up the rest of the team.

We were all behind him in his desire to bag a javelina because we liked him. We even stayed supportive when he stepped over a legal line by bagging his surprise trophy. In addition to supporting Jim in his hunting objectives, those of us who had more experience at IBM worked with him to move his job performance forward. We wanted to do it because Jim was that kind of guy.

At the time of this trip, Jim was in the process of transitioning from a young, somewhat wild single lifestyle to a position of responsibility at IBM and the role of a new husband. It was a time of turmoil for him, but it would be difficult for anyone to see his inner struggle, as he carried himself in a consistently positive manner. Jim is a natural leader of men, a monument of decency and goodness, except for a few transgressions in the wild, which not too many people know about.

In terms of age, the opposite of Jim was Bob Padgett. Bob played a key role on this trip due to his steady, reasonable, and thoughtful decision making. He was not an exciting person, but he was very, very likable. He carried a constant smile, made funny quips non-stop, and never offended anyone. He was looked upon as a respected authority, kind of like a father figure, and he quietly guided a number of decisions the group had to make, as we would defer to him on many issues.

But Bob had his limitations, primarily due to the fact that he led an upscale life where getting his hands dirty never was a requirement. In that sense, he was kind of a pretty man compared to the aggressive and wild Jim and the hands-on get’er done Gilbert. Bob’s claim to fame was that he had never changed a tire on a car. He was always well groomed and clean shaven, and around the IBM office, he always wore a dark-blue three-piece suit, wingtip shoes, rep tie, and button-down white shirt. Of course, that was the IBM uniform at the time, but Bob wore it very well.

He had an important position at IBM Sacramento in that he was responsible for the company’s relationship with the state of California. After spending his whole career with IBM, he was nearing retirement. On this trip, Bob was thrust into situations that were extremely foreign to him; we were amazed at how he survived what he faced. It was like an angel visiting hell.

Opposites as they were, Jim and Bob were close personally. While it was true that they were both likable people, they also genuinely liked and respected one another. They had kind of a father-son, mentor-mentee relationship. I guess Bob wished he could be carefree like Jim, and certainly, Jim knew he could learn a lot from Bob.

On this trip, they were like bookends to the story. Jim dragged the group into this crazy adventure, convincing us to pursue javelinas in a once in a lifetime opportunity. Then he complicated the whole adventure by spontaneously reacting to a temptation that he couldn’t suppress. His transgression colored the whole trip, but he eventually led us out of the trouble he created by reaching into his own soul for the answer to what was right.

Bob, on the other hand, demonstrated a side of himself that none of us could imagine. His willingness to step out of his comfort zone, riding a horse for the first time, staying out late at night in the wild, and more, demonstrated that there was more to this man than we thought existed. Did that surprise Bob? I think so. Both men faced tough decisions, and both men made them. Both men profited as a result. In a way, this is their story. But there are others.

CHAPTER 1

PIGS AND BUSINESSMEN

When I opened our front door at 5 am, the fog was exactly as expected. I could hardly see my car parked in the driveway. I had just finished a hastily eaten light breakfast, prepared by my wife, Gail. She was not happy with my decision to go on this trip. Obviously worried, she did not say much as I looked in on our two-week-old son, asleep in his crib, and our four-year-old son, asleep in his room. She was tired, having been up most of the night with our newborn, Steven. When our eyes met, she firmly pleaded once last time, Don’t go. Those two words would ring in my ears frequently over the next five days; on many occasions, I wished I had heeded them.

I picked up my packed duffel bag and walked out into the dark, cool, foggy Sacramento morning, striding resolutely to ward off any indecision about my decision to go. I felt I had to quickly escape any last-minute pleas from my wife. This was one of those hastily planned ventures with only a few details ironed out. Agreeing to embark on this trip, while thrilling in concept and short on specifics, was not like me. Or was it?

The headlights coming down our street at that hour could only have been my brother Jim arriving to pick me up. He had arranged to take a few days off from his job at IBM without telling his manager exactly what he would be doing. In fact, for various reasons, none of us had told our managers about this crazy trip. One reason was that they would probably have thought we were a little whacko and our corporate futures might be negatively affected; secondly, it was just embarrassing to reveal to others what we were planning to do.

My younger brother, Jim, was one of the instigators of this trip. Just embarking on a new career in sales with IBM, he was an avid hunter. His trips afield had resulted in many stories about his successful hunts, and he dreamed about quite a few yet to be experienced. This trip was one of the latter for him. He was a big, strong man and a skilled hunter. He really wanted to bag a wild javelina, and Northern Mexico is an excellent place to do just that.

He and I did not talk too much as we struggled to find our way up Highway 50 in the thick fog. We wondered whether the morning fog, typical in the winter months in the valley, would extend high enough to reach Cameron Park, where our planes were parked. We had flown the two planes up the day before and parked them at this higher-elevation airstrip in hopes that they would be above the valley fog in the morning. That was important because none of us were licensed to fly in zero-zero conditions, and our planes weren’t equipped for it, either. If the fog was heavy at this higher-elevation airport, we would have to wait to take off until it lifted or abandon the trip completely. We wouldn’t know for sure until we got there.

All three of us brothers hunted, but Jim was the most devoted to the sport. He relished his reputation as an excellent hunter, enjoying every day afield he could muster, and felt comfortable seeking all kinds of game. He had taken whitetail deer in Minnesota, antelope in Wyoming, elk and mule deer in Colorado, and even a feral pig in California. He planned to go to Alaska for a brown bear at some time in the future. In later years, he did bag a huge grizzly bear in Alaska and an equally impressive polar bear in the Arctic Circle. Today both full-body mounts are standing on their hind legs on either side of his fireplace.

On many early mornings in the fall, he would call ducks and geese over decoys in the rice fields in Northern California. He was a big man with a huge smile and twinkling blue eyes. His size and strength had been instrumental in his athletic achievements, such as setting his high school shot put record, which stood for over fifty years. His strength and endurance would come into play over the next few days as this big adventure unfolded.

We gained elevation as we drove up the freeway into the first early rays of light. As we neared our destination, it was obvious we would be able to take off; the air was crystal clear at this elevation. Just a few hundred feet below us, the fog filled the valley like a dirty gray flood.

Bob’s car was in the parking lot, and he was busy out on the tarmac, using a towel to wipe the early-morning dew from the windscreen of his blue and white Cessna. He was meticulous in everything he did. He was well groomed, tall, and impressive, and he completely looked the part of the corporate executive at IBM. His quick wit and friendly manner made him easy to be with, and his solid decision making made him respected by all those around him.

That morning, he was the oldest of our group of six. His reason for going was not to hunt, as he had only a passing interest in pursuing wild game. Bob wanted to fly. He often offered to fly friends on sightseeing trips around the Sacramento Valley, and he would seize opportunities to fly down to the well-known steakhouse at the Napa airport. Nearing the end of his career at IBM, he devoted more and more time to flying. Around the office, he would talk about planes, airports, instruments, weather, or anything else related to flying to anyone who would listen.

His wife, Renee, did not participate in his hobby. The two enjoyed a socially oriented lifestyle, had a big, beautiful home, and had workers do much of the menial work of supporting their upper-class existence. None of us could imagine Bob ever changing a flat tire or raking leaves. That’s why we chided him that early morning for not having someone wipe down his plane for him.

Bob’s plane was in perfect condition. It was not brand new, but it was well cared for, typical of everything we came to expect of Bob. It was a Cessna 182, which has a high wing design, single propellor, and tricycle landing gear configuration. It had seats for four people and a small area for luggage. The dashboard, or panel, in aircraft parlance, was well equipped with electronics, including two radios, a transponder, an ADS direction finder, and an array of navigation and engine instruments. All in all, it was a well-equipped airplane. Its engine required 180-octane gasoline, which is colored green to distinguish it visually from other types of avgas.

Bob was justifiably proud of his plane. He had owned it for many years and had hundreds of hours behind the wheel. We knew that his flying style was very conservative. He would not challenge marginal weather conditions. He was wary of flying in the mountains, as that generally requires additional training and special equipment. He was also careful about loading his plane too heavily with passengers and fuel, and he rarely flew at night. He was one of the most cautious aviators any of us had known. We had faith in his capability as a pilot.

We did not have that same level of confidence in Gil, the pilot of the other plane on that January day in 1973. I knew Gil to a greater degree than the other guys, as he and I owned the Mooney as partners. I had flown with him at the controls on one previous occasion. He had demonstrated a basic ability to operate the plane on that flight, but I had learned that he tended to make quick decisions. He would gather only easily and quickly obtained information before taking action and then, so informed, felt strongly that he was in control.

He and I were about the same age but came from very different backgrounds and professional pursuits. He was a dairy farmer; I was an IBM salesman. Gil had inherited a very large dairy operation near Stockton, south of Sacramento. He was responsible for feeding, caring for, and milking nearly five hundred cows twice every day. It was a big operation with quite a few employees, tons of heavy equipment, and lots of land, all of which required his focused attention. He had worked on this farm from an early age and had very few opportunities for time off over the years. His experience around animals would come into play in a very useful (read lifesaving) way in the next few days. Recently he had established an interest in flying as a hobby and contracted for flight lessons with Doug Stark, the same instructor I had used. It was through Doug that we had met, and we’d ended up purchasing the Mooney as fifty-fifty partners.

Gil arrived at the airport about the same time Jim and I drove up. His recent-model pickup was dirty and slightly banged up from hard work on his farm. I introduced Jim to Gil, and then the three of us walked over to join Bob at his airplane.

Gil did not look like the rest of us that morning. He had long hair, a mustache, and a short beard. His clothes were more casual, blue jeans and a denim jacket, and if you got close, you could smell that he had just been in the milking barn with his cows. His strong comportment revealed a person used to hard work. He was more serious, apparently focusing his attention on the action of the moment than on personal relationships. He might have felt a little like an outsider among the rest of us, who knew each other well. We welcomed him warmly, and he assumed his role as the pilot of the Mooney