Seven years ago, Nancy Hyzer, who was then 63, chucked it all. She told the clients of Hyzer and Associates, her Chicago public relations and marketing firm, that she was off to cook for her daughter, Libby, and son-in-law, Jose Louis “Pepe” Murrieta, in this dusty village on the Sea of Cortez.
She gave up her loft apartment near Navy Pier, loaded her vehicle with some of her mother’s fine china and sterling silver, one broken-down table, a few pairs of shorts and a couple of bathing suits, and began the 3,500-mile trek to Baja California.
If her clients thought she was running away to play and relax in the sun, they should have seen her just a few months later.
Almost immediately, she began serving three meals a day to scuba divers who had come from as far as Australia to explore the reef that fingers in just off shore here.
“We had two tables and a dirt floor,” she remembers with a quick laugh, looking around what is now a world-class restaurant that easily seats 40.
She also became immediately involved in the often politically heated debate, spearheaded by her son-in-law, over how to preserve the reef and its watershed. That environmental struggle pitted her and her family against development and political interests in Mexico, not to mention one or two neighbors.
On any given sultry Baja evening Hyzer simultaneously oversees her busy kitchen, keeps an eye on the revelers in the music-filled cantina, and supervises the serving of dinner guests in the open-air palapa of Nancy’s Restaurant, which in March received recognition by Bon Appetit magazine.
Her blond hair flying, Hyzer leans across a platter of fresh-baked flan to plant a kiss on the foreheads of her grandchildren, Nico and Natallia, then takes a deep breath.
“We’ve come a long way,” she says looking across the candlelit tables toward the Sea of Cortez. “It’s been a struggle but we’ve done it.”
Hyzer is not just talking about the evolution of her restaurant. The environmental campaign to protect the 12.4-square-mile reef, the only living coral reef system in western North America, has had considerable success.
Murrieta, Hyzer’s son-in-law, began the struggle in 1993, when he moved his diving center from what he describes as “the polluted waters” off Cabo San Lucas to Cabo Pulmo. A native of Mexico, Murrieta had obtained his Professional Association of Dive Instructors certification during a brief stay in Chicago. When he returned to Mexico, he joined the University of Baja California Sur’s project to protect the reef.
For her part, Hyzer enlisted the small expatriate community to join the struggle. Their major opponents included the large and politically powerful mainland commercial fleet, which fished Cabo Pulmo’s teeming reef.
At the same time, Murrieta slowly convinced the resident fishermen that protecting the reef would benefit them and help create a sustainable fishery. And also at the same time, government-backed development interests, which had created Cancun and other resorts, were said to be looking at the white sand beaches of Cabo Pulmo with hotels in their eyes.
“We had to convince local fishermen to think of their own future,” Murrieta remembers. “That wasn’t easy. And we had to convince everyone of the value of this reef.”
After several years of working to prove his case, in June 1995 the Mexican government declared Cabo Pulmo a marine preserve, putting it off limits to everyone but the local fishermen. Hyzer and other allies had played a crucial role in persuading political and business interests to support Murrieta’s effort.
Outgoing Mexican President Ernesto Zedillo last year appointed Murrieta director of the Cabo Pulmo Parque Marino Nacional, a position without pay.
For Hyzer, the payoff is clearly not about money.
“Sometimes you just have to brush away the fish to see the coral,” says the indefatigable Hyzer as she pulls a bottle of vintage wine from behind the cantina bar, glances quickly at the dishes leaving the open kitchen, and rhapsodizes about the reef.
Uncorking the wine, she tells of the afternoons with her family watching giant manta rays glide over the reef while parrot fish, king angel fish and sea horses fed below. She’s had humpback whales circle her small boat and dolphin are commonplace.
“We’re all protective here. We do not want Cabo Pulmo to be turned into another Cabo San Lucas,” she grimaces, referring to the American-jammed beaches and discos of the nearby tourist destination.
Hyzer continues to lobby neighbors and guests to protect the watershed, the adjacent beaches and nearby mountains. She takes on anyone she thinks endangers the reef and watershed and has a serious feud running with one tractor-riding neighbor, a builder from the U.S., who she says, “Just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand how fragile this place is.”
Remote and not easy to reach, Cabo Pulmo sits between Cabo San Lucas and La Paz on the Sea of Cortez, some 40 miles off the narrow and mountainous Mexico Highway #1.
There are no condominiums, no bright lights, no discos, and no street vendors to mark Cabo Pulmo. The only electricity is supplied by the solar panels on most roofs. Usually there are a few tenters and RVers camping along the beach. Otherwise the dusty road, generally filled with wandering groups of cattle, donkeys and horses, meanders between several fish camps, two dive centers under modest palapas, a beachside fish taco stand, three eating establishments, several outlying ranches, and two small “resorts” with casitas (small houses) for travelers.
Near the middle of the small settlement, across from Pepe’s Dive Center, a hand-painted sign hangs, often at odd angles, with an arrow pointing to Nancy’s Restaurant. Nightly the cantina is filled with local ranchers and occasional Americans who sip beers, swapping stories in time-honored fashioned.
“We do give locals a price break,” Hyzer admits. “We want people to feel we are a part of this place, not just for gringos.”
The bar looks across the open kitchen and cantina into the restaurant, which fills quietly with divers and boaters. Most are Americans but a smattering of French and German is heard, and most try out their Spanish on the tolerant staff.
Hyzer’s menu is a mix of Mexican and international cuisine. Stuffed chiles, quesadillas and tacos are regulars along with garlic shrimp and lobster, the catch of day, barbecued pork and a seriously expensive imported steak. No longer cooking herself, Hyzer oversees every meal, tests and teaches recipes, and still helps bake her famous soda bread.
Ever vigilant, Hyzer seeks opportunities to discuss the reef and the surrounding park. The back of every menu carries a small paragraph explaining the importance of the marine preserve. She passes out brochures outlining the geology, oceanography and ecology of the park. The brochures admonish vistors: “We are guests in one of the few parts of the world that is still undisturbed . . . Take nothing but pictures and leave nothing but footprints . . .”
“Most people want to learn,” Hyzer says. “They see how this place is different, why we should preserve it.”
While fundraising has brought in about $7,000, Hyzer and her daughter Libby figure they have spent about $38,000 of their own money over the last three years to support the park.
The tireless Hyzer has also just completed negotiations with investors to construct an eight-room adobe inn around a small swimming pool on adjacent property.
“We’re going to keep this affordable,” she says. “Haven’t we come a long way from those two tables on the dirt floor?” she laughs. “Sure I miss Chicago. I miss my 8-foot-high windows. I miss my family. And so I go back once a year.
“But this has been great. I’ll do this as long as it’s fun.”
