The plan is simple: bridge the language gap, convince the Federales that you’re not trying to smuggle cooking oil into the country to corner the market on cheap fish tacos and at the same time, spend little money, sponge off the local delicacies and see if you can kill stomach cramps with a combination of tequila and lack of sleep. Trying their best to avoid break-ins, break-downs, break-ups and broken rods, join four fish bums as they cover 8,000 miles of mexican dirt in hopes of finding out-of-the-way locations—with fish, and escaping with captured memories.