Saved by the Lens #22

Fish, Faces & the Heart of Ensenada

Ensenada smells like salt, stories, and fried fish — in that order.

I went down there with my camera thinking I’d photograph boats and maybe catch a sunset. Instead, I found a whole world stitched together by weathered hands and community deeper than any ocean.

I was blessed to be hosted by Brother Manny and his wife, Ruth, whose beachside home became my basecamp. Their place was safe, peaceful, and kissed by ocean breeze — the kind of spot that quiets your nervous system before you even unpack your bag. Ruth made sure I was fed. Manny made sure I was seen. Their kindness was a steady anchor in a trip full of wild beauty.

The fishermen of Ensenada were already out before sunrise — hauling in their catch like it was just another Tuesday — because it was. But to me, it felt sacred. A kind of unspoken ceremony: the hum of engines, the focused flick of fishing poles, the way everyone moved like choreography passed down through generations.

These men — faces lined by sun and salt — weren’t just pulling fish from the sea. They were feeding families, sustaining traditions, holding a community together. There was grit. But there was joy, too.

Oskar’s relentless pursuit of finding fish ensured we brought back plenty to share. While he expertly filleted the catch, I was able to donate my portion to different members of the beach club — like the charro, who was quietly enjoying life with a new girlfriend after his wife passed away. It was a small gesture, but moments like that made the trip feel deeply connected and meaningful.

But while these families rise early and scrape by, just offshore looms a different reality — one of massive, industrial-scale tuna traps laid by Japanese companies. Strategically placed, highly profitable, and virtually untouchable. These underwater cages stretch for football fields, corralling tons of bluefin with efficiency that no small boat could match.

The local fishermen know it. They see it. And they feel it. The sea is still generous — but she’s been claimed.

And yet, they continue. Not because they’re naive, but because this is who they are. This is how they honor their ancestors. Feed their kids. Find purpose. It’s not just work — it’s identity. A living prayer cast with every pole.

That night, I stumbled into The Horny Toad — a bar that wears its name with pride and its patrons even prouder. Inside, a group of retired Americans danced like nobody was watching — but everybody was. Wrinkled knees, tequila-fueled twirls, live music blasting soul and rock ’n’ roll.

There was something beautiful in it: silver hair catching stage lights, lovers moving like they’d just met, freedom in every misstep. They weren’t trying to impress anyone. They were just living — maybe for the first time in years. It felt like a reminder that joy doesn’t retire.

And then came my deep sea fishing trip — my first.

I boarded the boat feeling completely in sync — every moment intentional, every movement purposeful. Time seemed to slow and then fly all at once, carried by the rhythm of the sea. There was no worry, just presence. The bait was... slimy, and the fish? Well, let’s just say they kept me humble.

Back on land, I met a lesbian couple who owned a humble shop with a truck bed full of what most folks would call “junk,” but what they call inventory. I helped them unload boxes: mismatched shoes, salvaged tools, stoves, refrigerators, plastic containers — the kind of stuff that somehow always finds a second life in the hands of someone who needs it.

They do more than hustle. They create space — literally. Outside their storefront, they’ve carved out plots for locals to sell their own goods. Clothing. Produce. Handmade crafts. No rent, no fuss. Just trust and a quiet system of mutual uplift.

“This isn’t just about money,” they said, wiping the sweat from their brows. “It’s about survival. About dignity. About giving people something they can truly call their own.”

I didn’t photograph them right away. I listened. I lifted. I learned.

Later, they stood proudly in front of their storefront, arms around each other and their dogs at their feet — a quiet, powerful portrait of resilience and partnership.

That photo might not win awards, but to me, it’s the soul of Ensenada.

This trip reminded me why I pick up a camera in the first place: to witness. Not just beauty, but being — the way people show up for each other, day after day, with cracked hands, open hearts, and an unshakable sense of place.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not about perfect light or award-winning composition. It’s about truth. Humanity. A shared breath between strangers. And maybe — if you’re lucky — a free fish taco.

Last night, the moon was full — or so they said.
I wouldn’t know.
The clouds never parted.

Just like life, sometimes.
You can feel something luminous above you, pulling at your tides...
You just have to trust it’s still shining, even when it’s hidden from view.

Sometimes, the brightest lights are the ones we can’t see. They guide us quietly, from behind the veil of uncertainty, reminding us that even in the foggiest moments, there’s a steady glow holding us steady. Maybe that’s what travel really teaches — not just to witness the world, but to trust the unseen forces that keep us moving forward.

As I packed up my camera and prepared to leave Ensenada, I realized this trip was less about the perfect shot and more about the connections — the shared stories, the laughter under the music’s pulse, the hands that fish and the hands that help. And if I carry nothing else home, it will be that luminous, unshakable thread of humanity weaving through it all.

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Thank You

I want to extend my deepest gratitude to the incredible people who made this trip truly magical:

- Manny and Ruth Blanco — your hospitality and kindness were a safe harbor in every sense. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
- Pete and Netty Serbantes — the time we shared is something I will cherish forever. Your stories and laughter enriched every moment.
- To the Brethren, Mike, Diego, Ivan, Ivan (yes, two Ivans!), Oskar, and the Brother fishing alongside his dad on Father’s Day — your camaraderie and spirit made this experience unforgettable.
- And of course, to Monchichi, Ramon, and the lively crowd at The Horny Toad — thank you for reminding me how life’s simplest joys are found in dance, music, and shared smiles.

Are you looking to get in touch with an experienced commercial photographer in Los Angeles ? Contact Daniel Acuña today. Acuña is accomplished in several types of commercial photography, including corporate, documentary, lifestyle, portraiture and travel. For more information, call (818) 900-5940 or send an email to info@danielacuna.com.

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