On August 3rd and 4th, 2001 I went to Cactus Stock—a weekend-long party
on a lunar mountainside at the edge of the Pacific in Baja. About 500 people
showed up. Musicians jammed in the afternoons on the Back to the Cliff
Stage—with the ocean a startling 150 feet below—their backdrop only sea,
hills and sky. We parked ourselves under the shade of a Eucalyptus tree
and listened. Leaves rustled above me. My head was cool, my legs warm from
the sun. Although I wouldn’t have guessed it, some of these folks had never
played in “public” before, and most had never played together. People wandered
by, in shorts and bathing suits, sipping beers or bottles of water, checking
it all out, even dancing now and then. We visited with old friends and
made new ones. We hiked up and down hills, checking out the view from every
different angle. Cars snaked up and down the twisted, steep road next to
our campsite all day long. “Hey, you’re here now, man. Be easy,” called
the guy next door to a pickup driving too fast and stirring up too much
dust. 
Cactus Stock. Intimate. Friendly. Mellow. The sticker they passed out when people paid their $30 entry fee was straight from Woodstock. It read: “Music - Love - Peace.” It was a party-friendly zone with the underlying attitude that it was not cool to be uncool. Sort of like a high school reunion—Baja style.
Only 20 minutes from La Bufadora, and just around the corner from Punta Banda, the landscape seemed from another world to me—the greens and blues of the sea a stark contrast to the steep, carved, almost-white cliffs that rose so dramatically above it. From above, we watched kayakers take off in groups of two to ten, paddling out to Zeppelin Rock—a long, low, guano-encrusted outcropping that stands guard at the entrance to the tiny bay, then north toward La Bufadora or south toward La Bocana—darting through any one (or more) of at least a dozen volcanic arches dotting the coastline. I was outwardly sorry my kayak wasn’t with me—but secretly glad not to have to haul it down and up that gnarly bluff. Overheated, dirty and sweaty by late Saturday afternoon, Terry and I made the trek down to the beach, climbed out onto the rocks and dove, hollering, into the crystal clear 58-degree ocean. I have a theory that the Fountain of Youth is right there, on the southern edge of Punta Banda. The water jars me. It refreshes me. No matter how hot and tired I am, it wakes me up. When I’m in it, I feel more alive than at any other time. The ocean is so clean and transparent that sometimes I can see my shadow below me on the ocean floor as I swim along.
A big part of being at Cactus Stock is making the traditional Sunset Walk
(Hint:
There is no level ground here, so every “walk” is really more of a hike.)
to the Crow’s Point to cheer the sun as it settles into the horizon. 
At
least 300 people made this walk on Friday and Saturday evenings. The camaraderie
was magical; spirits were high. One of my favorite parts of the weekend
was catching the moon as it rose up like a celestial pearl over the mountaintops,
dazzling my eyes while strains of music and laughter drifted up the hillside.
Afterward, each night there was dancing to North County (as in San Diego)
bands playing surf music, Ska, country swing, original creations, rhythm
and blues and classic rock until the wee hours of the morning. I never
made it past 1:00 a.m. Our friend Sue boogied the night away—until after
four—both nights.
Cactus Stock—love child of Encinitas residents Jimmy Joe Gooding and Miles Kenney—happens every year, in late summer or early fall. A full moon is required. It started out in the desert east of San Diego, near Ocotillo, back in 1987. There were two events a year at first. Cactus Stock 7 was in Julian, but it got too huge. About 1200 people showed up, and preferred size is under 700. It was then that Miles and Jimmy Joe decided to try doing it in Mexico. Jimmy Joe knew the perfect place. They figured the logistics of getting there (the last couple of miles are on a somewhat tricky dirt road) and the rustic environment would keep the numbers down to a manageable level. Cactus Stocks 8, 9 and 10 were first known as Mex Stock 1, 2 and 3. By the time Cactus Stock 11 rolled around, the event was permanently moved south. There are other challenges beside the road. There’s no electricity or running water at the Kennedy Ranch at Campo El Zeppelin. For this reason, there are far more guys than gals present.
When I asked them what motivated them to throw a party of this magnitude, they laughed. “I was playing in party bands in Del Mar,” Miles told me. “But the cops always showed up after about the second song and broke up the parties. We got sick of it. I was studying geology at the time out in the desert and thought, ‘Wow, all this land ... we should be playing out here.’ I book the bands, do all the promotional stuff and M.C. Jimmy Joe takes care of everything else—getting the permits, having the road and campground graded, working with the Kennedy family (who owns the land), trucking in the generators and porta-pots, setting up the lights, maintaining the site and checking people in and out. It’s a huge undertaking....” I can attest to that. My first morning there, as I staggered down the hillside at 8:30, coffee cup in hand, I ran into Jimmy Joe and his bride, Lisa. They were doing latrine
duty—cleaning
three of the many porta-pots. In true Baja style, they strung rolls of
toilet paper onto rebar and duct taped them to the side of each unit, so
that there would be no shortage of the stuff later on. Good move. Serious
dedication.
“How’d you meet each other?” I asked the two guys.
“We don’t even know,” said Jimmy Joe. “We both grew up in Carmel Valley. I think our families have always known each other. Even our grandparents. My grandfather owned the country store there ... where Roberto’s is now.”
The two guys officially met at a backyard party in Del Mar in the late ‘80s.
I was invited this year to write about it, because this may have been the last festival to be held at Campo El Zeppelin. The land is owned by Estela Kennedy’s family, and she’s in the process of passing it on to her heirs. Jimmy Joe has been coming here for 18 years. He built a house here with his buddy, Mark Livesay with leftover materials from construction jobs. He also put together the platform for Cactus Stock here, little bit by little bit. The first year the event was held in Baja, there was no palapa, no stage and no dance floor. The generator was iffy. But by this year, which was the eleventh time the event was staged at Kennedy’s, there was a main stage with a huge palapa, a dance floor, the second stage on the cliff and “Estela’s Cantina” where revelers could buy mouth-watering tacos of fresh fish or carne asada, served on home-made tortillas with salsa made from just-picked produce off their farm.
The music lineup was impressive and diverse. Friday night there was Anthony (a deejay), Humpster, The West Coast Pin Ups and The Sub-Standards (a reunion of Miles’ old Del Mar party band). Just prior to the Sunset Walk and infamous “Group Photo” on Saturday, Full Circle played. Later on, Surface, Skanic and Scott Blinn and The Tiki Torches took turns rockin’ the stage. The bands, according to Miles and Jimmy Joe, love the venue. The audience is filled with their friends. It’s more relaxed and less professional than doing a gig at somewhere like the Belly Up, and less hassle than trying to play a backyard party.
This year was actually my second Cactus Stock. I went three years ago too. Both times I have to say, it was an adventure ... an experience such as I haven’t lived since the early ‘70s. But then, I’m not afraid of dirt. I’m not afraid to hold my breath when I use an outhouse. I’m not afraid to jump in the cold water in lieu of bathing. And I’m certainly not afraid to listen to great music played in a spectacular location ... with peaceful, happy people. I hope Cactus Stock lives on ... for many, many years.