They still let the birds in

Border Fields State Park, which runs along the U.S.-Mexico border near Tijuana, acts as a serene buffer between the two countries. The aging bull ring and lighthouse tower above, and the white pillars that mark the international line as drawn by the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, which brought the Mexican-American War (1846-1848) to an end, recall a day before the border clampdown. The pillars, at least the verbiage on the U.S. side, also try to soften the rhetoric of past battles.

The park, which is part of Friendship Park, where Mexican and American neighbors can meet and greet on weekends, is about to get a fencing upgrade courtesy of the U.S. government, after an earlier plan for 14 miles of fence was challenged by environmentalists. The Border Patrol says the new fencing is needed to enhance the layer of fencing already in place, which includes the old numbered landing pads from the first Gulf War that thrust into the Pacific Ocean and climb the scrubby hills above the Tijuana River Valley.

I visited Border Fields State Park, and directly across the fence in Playas de Tijuana, several times while reporting a story I did on the business of human smuggling. The first time I drove my black Hyundai rental car into the park with an out-of-work TV reporter for our first stop on a tour of Tijuana.We weaved past pot holes and fencing before curving up a hill to reach the upper parking lot that overlooks the Pacific Ocean, Imperial Beach and Playas. We parked the car and walked down to the beach to see the crooked row of iron teeth that sink into the ocean. Stadium lights and cameras reached up overhead, a constant eye in the sky watching the beach, while smugglers or their crews did their own counter-surveillance on the other side of the fence.

Alerted to our presence, a Border Patrol helicopter, or what we presumed to be a BP bird, whizzed by and then flew away. We watched the few beachcombers and walkers on the other side before we continued on our tour.

Although I didn’t see much at Border Fields when I returned a few weeks later with the Border Patrol, there had been plenty to see during a tour and chat earlier in the day at San Ysidro port of entry, the busiest land border crossing in the world. My timing — or CBP’s scheduling, anyone’s guess — couldn’t have been better.

After parking the car, my tour guide and I walked through secondary inspection to see two or three agents pulling bale after bale of marijuana out of every conceivable hiding spot in a maroon mini-van. After touring the port, which included seeing some of the detention cells and a demonstration of the keen sense of smell  possessed by a K9 drug dog, and just before we took up with the Border Patrol to traverse the rugged terrain parallel to the border, I turned around to see four Mexican nationals – three women and a man — sprung from the back of a white Mazda. They’d been packed in like soaked cigarettes, perspiration dripping from them. We saw plenty more drug busts in our various visits to the San Ysidro and Otay Mesa POEs, but never another human smuggling bust.

The next couple times we went out were during production, the first time to scout and film b-roll. As our cameraman voraciously shot the pretty morning light and the usual walkers and combers, we spoke with a sleepy Border Patrol agent who neared the end of his night shift. With the soft morning light and lulling, peaceful drone of waves, he seemed at ease with our presence, and spoke freely with us about guarding — or babysitting — the border. This wasn’t the case when we returned a week or so later for a stand-up interview. Greeted by a different agent, we were merely tolerated, even though it was the first time we’d actually called ahead to give the BP notice we were going to be out there.

What struck me most was, despite the polluted beach and river valley, was the serenity of the place, and how the Border Patrol had it all to themselves on the days we were there (vehicles are only allowed into the park on weekends and holidays, although pedestrians and equestrians have access to the park; also, cars aren’t allowed in if it’s rained within the last three weeks because the area is prone to flooding and nasty run-off from Tijuana.)

During the weekdays we were there no one was in sight. But the wildflowers were riotous and the birds wouldn’t shut up. The waves came and went as they pleased.

As Michael Fisher, the chief patrol agent for the Border Patrol’s San Diego sector, told the NYT’s Randy Archibold for an article that appeared today, “It’s a real shame,” that they have to block off Friendship Park.

“It’s a real shame,” Mr. Fisher said, gazing down as a young boy playing on the beach darted briefly across the border, then back again. “It is a nice area with the historical marker. Having people meet and mingle is good. But unfortunately, any time you have an area that is open, the criminal organizations are going to exploit that.”

They were certainly watching what was going on. We filmed in Playas, and the former smuggler we spoke with pointed out the various other smugglers making arrangements, minding the fence, doing business, aka the Game.