About 20 years ago, we lived at Ana Capri on the south shore of Lake Chapala near Mismaloya. In those days, the sparkling blue waters of Lake Chapala were so high that the surrounding mountain slopes seemed to rise directly out of the lake. Every morning we could see a dozen or more small fishing boats from our front window. Occasionally a large trawler dragging nets for charales, would wend its way through deeper water. White garzas flocked around the schools of charales and mojarras swimming nearer the shore.
Our gardener, Salvador, was also a fisherman. He made his own nets using a kind of spindle made from zapote wood. A net could take two weeks to weave together, depending on the size of the mesh - larger for carpa, bagre and pilapia, smaller for charales and mojarras.
Salvador's boat was a leaky home-made affair, which we helped him replace. The grand launching took place from a small harbor made from stones gathered from the beach. The entrance was just big enough for the fishing boats to pass in and out, while providing shelter from the high waves common at certain times of the year.
Our fishing nets stretched in a long line parallel to the shore just in front of Ana Capri. Not a day went by without a good catch. Once I pulled in a section of net that had been torn up by a large turtle caught in the meshes. I thought Salvador would be annoyed. Instead he laughed and said, "No hay red aquí (There's no net here)." To him it was a joke. When I asked him how long it would take to make another, he answered, casually, "Oh, a week or so." No complaints, not a hint of annoyance, just a quiet acceptance of things as they are. Besides, there's always mañana.
Small pueblos around the lake had their own specialties. Baratillo was a farming community, Las Coronas a local dairy, Mismaloya a fishing village. Fishermen brought in their boats laden with fish to the beach directly in front of Mismaloya. Many local women worked in the fish-cleaning huts along the beach. Once the fish were cleaned and filleted, they were taken to Petatan farther on down the lake for packaging and distribution to stores in Guadalajara, Mexico City and elsewhere. Piles of charales could be seen drying on rooftops. The streets were filled with people and the local Casa de Cultura was open and operating. We gave many English classes to eager students before the building was even completed.
But that was then. Three years ago we returned to Mismaloya to report on the condition of Lake Chapala for this publication. Even then the original shoreline had completely disappeared. A row of tule, tall green reeds, could be seen far in the distance marking the muddy edge of the rapidly receding lake. But the industrious fishermen had dug a long, deep canal leading from the edge of the lake almost as far as the original beach line. Boats were drawn up along the edge of the canal and fish were still being unloaded near the fish-cleaning huts.
Just recently we returned to Mismaloya. What a sad spectacle! The canal was completely dried up, the former lake bed now a dust bowl dotted with a few cultivated areas. Men on horseback herded cattle where fishermen once set their nets. The farther we went in this manmade desert, the farther the water seemed to recede. Where there was once a bustle of activity, there was now only silence and the sun beating down on the brush, rocks and cracked earth that was once Lake Chapala. Forced to change their method of fishing, the fishermen had moved farther down the lake looking for access to open water. A few women were still busy cleaning fish, but the catch was much smaller. Even the fish seemed smaller than in the old days. Charales can no longer be caught from the shore with a casting net. Instead, special traps have to be set farther out in the rapidly sickening lake.
The people we spoke to were bitter and disillusioned with all the promises to "save the lake." The efforts of many well-meaning persons and organizations to avert an ecological disaster mean little to local residents who have seen their way of life evaporating with the receding waters of Lake Chapala. Not only has the lake been shamefully neglected, but its most vulnerable inhabitants have been all but abandoned.
