Thursday, May 16, 2013

King Jack

It had been a pretty decent morning off the northern end of the island. Dropping blue and white irons and jigging, some heavy “winding and grinding” and elbow grease had produced a nice brace of five solid 20-pound-class yellowtail in the box.

Danny just finished pulling his jig out of the water and took a break to wipe his brow and crack a chilly Pacifico can from the ice chest. The sun was at it’s mid-morning blaze already promising to get hotter.

“Whew!” he sighed with a laugh. “This is hard work fishing the yo-yo iron for these yellows. These things are tough fish!” he added with a bit of exasperation.

“And the faster your crank the better the chance to hook-up!” responded Tony as he dropped his jig over the side and watched it flutter into the indigo blue water. “It’s still better than working!”

Tony’s jig stopped slipping down. Tony quickly put the reel into gear and took a few cranks up off the bottom so as not to hang the jig on the craggy reef below.

“Here we go again," he grinned as he started the strenuous arm-aching crank back to the boat.

One crank…two cranks…three cranks…

SLAM! The rod doubles over in an abrupt halt. It’s almost yanked from Tony’s hands. He adjusts and is nearly jackpoled over the side ramming his knees into the side of the panga to anchor himself in! The rod is bucked straining on the gunwale of the boat and Tony is almost crouching down to get leverage unable to turn the handle of the reel.

Danny drops his beer which clatters to the deck…

“Oh man! This has gotta be a monster yellowtail! WHOA!!!” grimaces Tony as he struggles to get upright and get the butt of his rod into his rod belt still unable to get a turn on the reel handle. It’s all he can do to hold onto the rod and keep his feet in the panga.

“Pez fuerte!” says their panga captain excitedly. “Amberjack grande. Jale! Jale! Pull hard!”

“Pez fuerte means ‘strong fish,’” said Danny as he watched his buddy.

“Uh yea…no kidding…yeah..this is a horse!” replies a tight-lipped Tony as he struggles to turn the big fish one slow lift and turn of the handle of his reel at a time Repeatedly, the rod would dip again and the exhausted sweating angler would have to lean into the stick to keep the fish turned.

After 15 grueling minutes, the big fish came up and a quick gaff was put to the fish.

“Dang, that looks like a yellowtail on steroids! Holy cow, it’s golden copper what a pig of a fish!”

“Maybe 30 kilos…60 pounds,” says the captain grinning.

There’s a lot of confusion over amberjack. People either “sorta heard of them” or scratch their heads because they’ve “never heard of them.” Or it’s quickly followed by the question, “Is that kinda like a yellowfin tuna?”

Well, Elmer…no it’s not. But, it’s a fair question nonetheless.

They’re actually part of the jack family. It’s that same feisty set of brawling sportfish that give us the jack crevalle (“toro”), roosterfish (“pez gallo”), pompano (“pompano”…of course) and a whole host of other fish with “jack” in their names. Including the much-prized yellowtail (“jurel”).

The amberjack (“pez fuerte…which does indeed mean “strong fish” in Spanish) is the king of them all. He’s the big boy cousin. Broader and deeper in body, shoulders and head with a copper-orange-yellow-silver patina, they’re impressive. And yes, powerful.

Where we are here in La Paz, they range as small as 10-20 pounds, but 40-50 pounders are not unusual and the bigger models will go 80 or more pounds. We’ve taken several fish over 100 pounds in recent years and have lost many large fish over the years that broke tackle as well as the hearts of some very strong anglers.

We seem to get them during that “shoulder time” when the waters aren’t really spring and aren’t quite summer…like May or June…just as our yellowtail bite starts to taper off because of warmer waters. The yellowtail move on and the amberjack move into those same spots. These include high spots like reefs and shallow seamounts as well as boulder and rocky areas plus the edges of drop offs.

Basically, you won’t usually find them in open water, but rather in areas of structure. The largest one I ever saw was while scuba diving a wreck and I saw several ambers in the dark hold that were well over 100 pounds.

Like their smaller cousins, the yellowtail, amberjacks will often school so, where there’s one you’ll often find others. Additionally, you fish them in much the same way. That’s why anglers dunking for yellowtail are often surprised when they get slammed by something much bigger and more powerful…an amberjack.

The fish readily take a yo-yo jig in the traditional colors of blue/white, green/yellow, brown/white and others dropped down and taken in on an ultra fast retrieve…like the two guys fishing at the beginning of this column.

As well, they love baits like sardines, mackerel, squid and especially zebra fish for some reason which are the little blue baitfish with black stripes we catch on reefs with mackerel rigs. When I have some zebras and the amberjack are in the area, it’s almost instant hook up!

Best of all, they eat just like yellowtail…only better!

Posted By Sally On 05/16/2013 At 11:16 AM Comments (0) TrackBacks (0)

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Facing forward, looking back

One of my esteemed predecessors writing this column for Western Outdoor News was the famous Fred Hoctor. People described him in many ways. A curmudgeon. A crank. Crusty. Or worse!

Even he admitted to it. Always with a laugh.

But he was a helluva writer and one of those guys who just had the knack for spinning yarns and telling stories. He wrote columns and books including the iconic, “Baja Ha Ha” that can still be found in many bookshelves. Say what you want, but “Old Fred” was prolifically brilliant and witty and one of the original Baja rats.

I started writing outdoor pieces about 30 years ago myself. I don’t know where Fred got a hold of me or how, but he would call me up now and then. To me, it was like Papa Hemingway or John Steinbeck calling. I never really knew what to say or how to engage him in conversation.

Usually, though, it seemed as though he was calling to get something off his chest.

I’d pick up the phone and I’d hear, “Kid…this is Fred. (Never give his last name unless I asked it …so the first few times, it was just “Fred” as if no one else named Fred would have called me).

He’d say, “Kid, I read what you wrote in such-and-such a magazine.” He’d say this in a his gravelly voice that sounded like central casting for a guy who smoked too many cigarettes…sucked the dust off too many Baja backroads… and raspy from tipping the bottle…sometimes I would swear he was tipping while he was talking.

He’d usually cuss at me a bit and then launch into a story. The story had nothing to do with anything I’d written. He wouldn’t even comment on my writing. He’d laugh. Cuss s’more and just hang up. Never asked my opinion or try to converse. Never said good-bye or drop a salutation. Just hung up. Zzzzzz…dead air. Dial-tone.

Uh…thanks for the call, Fred. Nice to hear from you.

But, I always liked that he called me, “kid.” It was nice to know that I was being read by someone! It was like knowing that someone cool was watching me. Someone older and wiser...(Fred passed away in 2001 and I’m sure being called “wiser” makes him just spin and hoot from the other side).

Somehow, I’ve always thought of myself as “the kid.” I was always the younger guy around. In the industry, there were all these older guys that I looked up to and who took me under their wings. I felt like I was always sitting at the “kids” table at Thanksgiving and the grown ups were at the big table.

But a sobering thought hit me while pondering what to write for this week’s column. That was 20-30 years ago and I’m on the near side of 60 years old now. I’m not a kid and somewhere and sometime, I moved up to the big boy table. And somehow more and more spaces kept opening up there. Little-by-little, the grown ups passed on.

Mentally, I still feel like one of the young guys, but my salt-and-pepper beard and creaky joints tell a different story. All my friends are this old, too. And there’s not too many ahead of me.

But, the sad thing is that there aren’t too many behind me either.

The kids table isn’t very filled anymore. My generation seems to be the YOUNG generation even tho’ we’re retiring and having kids in college and seeing grandkids. There isn’t much of a “younger generation” filling in the gaps behind us.

At all the hunting and fishing shows we attend with our booth, most of the operators and outfitters are about my age or older. Most of the charter boat operators are my age or older. At the seminars I do for fishing clubs…again…my age or older.

And the ones leaving the sport and leaving the industry simply fold up. Their kids do other things. It’s a hard life making ends meet relying on skill and the whims of Mother Nature. The kids of the guys who participate in the sports have other attractions…X games…video computers…social media. Heck, how many kids these days even go outside?

Even here in La Paz. The kids of my captains, even though many go onto other jobs and professions, don’t come back to the water let alone wanting to do what dad does.

And the same for our fishing clients. We’re all aging together. I saw one group of firefighters several weeks ago who have come fishing with us for over a decade.

At dinner one night, I said, “Years ago, you guys would tear up the hotel. You’d streak through the halls and do naked cannonballs into the pool. I’d find you on the beach in the mornings passed out and drag you onto the pangas. Now by 8 p.m. you’re all in your rooms watching CNN and asleep by 9 o’clock!”

We all laughed through our “reader glasses” we all bought from COSTCO. Very simply, we got older! The telling thing is that of the 20 or so guys, not a single one of them has kids that like to go fishing, nevermind coming to Baja.

Unfortunately, I think that bodes poorly on so many levels. Wow. I’m close to being the last of the generations to remember when the roads were all dirt…the tumbleweeds blew across a beach without high rise hotels…ice was non-existent…air-conditioning meant opening a window or opening a tent flap…gasoline was filtered through a t-shirt…the dinner menu was tortillas and whatever you caught…and you opened a beer with your fishing pliers.

After me…after us…the ranks are thin and thinning.

Posted By Sally On 04/30/2013 At 11:26 AM Comments (0) TrackBacks (0)

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Need not greed

I’m reminded of a father and son who attended a fishing school I had been giving many years ago at the old Hotel Las Arenas near La Paz. We were fishing along the shallows on the east side of Cerralvo Island and my fishing school was all about fishing for rockfish like pargo (snapper) and cabrilla (seabass).

Papa Fred and young adult son, Todd, were with me on the panga that day. It was their first time fishing in Mexico and it had been a number of years since they had fished together.

It was early morning and we were slow trolling the shallow reefs that ring the eastern side of the island. Dad had taken several nice three or four-pound cabrilla and had flipped a few smaller ones back into the water.

Todd, the son, hadn’t caught any of the the larger ones, but had kept several of the smaller ones. He had just hooked another and deftly popped it off the hook and tossed it into the fish box.

“Why don’t you let some of those smaller ones go, son?” asked Fred.

“The smaller ones are good to eat, dad,” replied Todd. “And besides, if we let them go, commercial guys or someone else is going to catch them anyway so we might as well keep them,” he said with a smile and a shrug.

The older gent squinted into the rising morning Baja sun and said, “There’s this story I once heard about a big nighttime storm on the gulf coast. In the morning, the beach was littered with starfish. As far as the eye could see. The storm had washed all these starfish up on the beach above the water line. With the sun climbing into the sky surely, they’d start to bake and die off."

A morning jogger came upon a young teenager walking from starfish to starfish picking them up and tossing them as far into the ocean as he could. One at a time.

“What are you doing?” asked the jogger casually, as he pulled up to catch his breath.

“The storm washed all these guys up here onto the sand,” replied the youngster. “I’m saving starfish,” as he picked up another and pitched it seaward.

“You’re crazy,” laughed the jogger standing tall and surveying with squinted-eyes all the starfish dotting the sand. “There must be thousands. You can’t hope to make a difference!”

“It makes a difference to this one…” said the teenager as he smiled at the jogger and picked up another starfish and tossed it back into the waves.

Little bits make a difference.

I will readily admit that in my fishing career, I’ve taken more fish than most. That “career” has now spanned more than 50 years (ouch!) and started with my first bamboo rod and some shrimp for bait. I’ve had the “bloodlust” where excitement over-rides better judgment and nothing is as important as hooking fish.

In those early days, it was about chest-thumping and high-fives. It was about catching more fish than the other fella and big heavy stringers. Who hasn’t gone down that road a time or two…or more? For me, that “road” was often a four-lane expressway and I was at the helm of a mack truck.

But somewhere in the last few years, that changed. I don’t know when or where fishing became more important than catching.

At some point, a day with my wife, family or friends on the water and a bit of sunshine has become more crucial to my well-being and self-esteem than tight lines. Reveling in a simple day when four walls, cell phones, and the internet weren’t sucking my soul dry were the best 5-star vacations ever invented.

Need vs. Greed. My need to just take a breath and put my toes in the sand trumps my former greediness to be putting fish in the boat…every time…all the time.

And, although I still love catching fish and can do it with the best, maybe keeping just one or two for dinner, is enough. Especially if it means breaking bread…er…tortillas to share with family and friends!

And more than it ever did…releasing fish to swim away is even more of a kick and makes a big difference in a small way…to that one fish. And yes…to at least this one fisherman as well.

Posted By Sally On 04/16/2013 At 9:26 AM Comments (0) TrackBacks (0)

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

The big ugly

The Captain Victor tied on the heavy leaded lure and handed it back to the angler who looked at it curiously. He hefted it in his hand and like a weapon. And indeed, it looked like one.

“Pretty much looks like a medieval club or a torturing device,” he smiled. “a knight could do some damage with this sucker!”

He turned it around in his hand. The heavy leaded pipe was about a foot long and filled with cement. It was painted white. The line was tied to one end. At the other, it looked like a multi-pronged grappling hook with about a dozen 2-inch long up-turned sharpened spikes.

“Whatever bites this is gonna be interesting,” he said as he put his heavy 4/0 reel with 60-pound test into free-spool and dropped the lure over the side. Weighing about 2 pounds, it dropped quickly into the depths about 500 yards off the rugged Baja coastline.

“Mas linea..more line...more line,” said the captain with a mixture of hand gestures and broken Spang-lish. “Muy profundo aqui...very deep here,” as he pointed down into the cobalt morning waters.

“Ok-dokie, amigo” said the angler with a shrug.

The heavy rod and reel continued to play out line.

The captain touched the rod as a sign to stop. The angler put the rod into gear and figured he was about 400 feet straight-up-and-down.

The Captain Victor motioned for the angler to reel slowly, but at the same time raising and lowering the rod in a sweeping motion stopping the retrieve and letting the heavy jig drop back and winding a few cranks more.

The angler took about half a dozen sweep-and-cranks and suddenly the heavy beefy rod went over double nearly pulling the angler to his feet!

“WHOA! WHAT THE...???”

Grunting he struggled to turn the handle of the straining reel. He looked up at the grinning captain now smiling smugly.

“Big squid! Calamar grande!” said Captain Victor with a big satisfied grin and arms folded across his chest.

Sometimes you really have to watch what you ask for. Often folks want to know if the squid are biting and this just happens to be about that time. They’re not always “on time” and the bite is cyclical, but at least for us in La Paz, we get a run of squid in the spring and summer.

Like other sea creatures, it’s not like they send out a memo or anything.

But, when they show up, they generate alot of excitement. Not only are they fun to catch and extremely feisty when hooked, but they are just plain fascinating. They’re the stuff of story, legend and sea-monster!

When folks come down, they normally, aren’t quite ready for what awaits. The “Humboldt” squid we normally get can be as small as 5 pounders, but 40-100 pound beasts are not uncommon.

When the squid “float” (come near the surface from the cold depths) to where they can be caught, often many boats and pangas will pack the area. If the big squid are there, it’s not long before heavy rods and double-bent anglers are pulling mightly as if small refrigerators are hanging on the ends...which isn’t too far from the truth!

The vessles are often quite close and once the bite starts, it can get pretty crazy as the wiggling-squirting cephalapods get close to the boats. A good tip is to let the struggling animals finish their squirting BEFORE bringing them aboard! Between the vessels, big firehose-sized geysers of water and ink are often seen raining down and spraying anyone within range. Yells and laughs as well as choice bits of profanity often permeate the scene.

In fact, it’s often a good idea to dispatch the big uglies before bringing them aboard at all. Squid are voracious and aggressive. Just because they’re hooked doesn’t mean they’re beat.

A third of their body length is a mass of tentacles. An, unlike an octopus, the “suckers” on a squid’s tentacles aren’t little suction cups. They are concentric circles of teeth surrounding a little beak that can easily break skin when wrapped around the nearest leg, arm or finger.

Certainly, you don’t want to get an appendage near its parrot-like beak which is capable of really doing damage and can take off a finger. Or they can quickly gouge out a chunk of an angler.

Make no mistake, while small squid in a bait tank can be fun to play with, the Humboldts are dangerous critters. They are opportunistic feeders and the large ones have been known to attack sharks, tuna and even the occasional diver...not to mention each other.

In fact, the heavy jig used to catch them is painted white to resemble a smaller squid enticing a larger squid to attack it. Indeed, the squid are cannibalistic and many times, as you’re bringing a squid to the boat, it will often feel like it’s no longer struggling and has turned to dead weight.

If the water is clear enough, you can often see other squid attacking and hacking the one squid impaled on the jig. There’s no fraternity below the surface. Eat and get eaten!

It took some grunting and no shortage of sweat and elbow grease to get the big 50-pound squid to the panga. As per the captains instructions, the angler let the big animal empty it’s jets of water and black ink before bringing it into the panga.

Wiping his brow, with the back of his fist, the angler laid down the rod in exhaustion.

“Muy bueno por carnada...good for bait,” smiled Captain Victor as he hacked off one tentacle and wrapped it around a larger bait hook ready to go look for some real fish.

“Like heck!” laughed the angler, cutting off a huge chunk himself and bagging it for the ice chest. “It’s going into some beer batter for fried squid dinner tonite!”

“But first, let’s catch a few more!” he added tossing the heavy jig back overboard.

Posted By Sally On 03/26/2013 At 10:08 AM Comments (0) TrackBacks (0)

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

An uphill battle

Turn back the time machine about two to three seasons ago and it seemed that every other persons was asking me about the “violence in Mexico” or telling me they’d “Never go there again” or “I’d be in fear of my life!”

It seemed everyone had seen the news clips. Everyone had read the headlines. Everyone had a friend-of-neighbor-of-an-uncle-of-a-classmate who knew someone else who had been beaten, robbed, killed or eaten a bad taco.

Speaking at seminars and appearing at countless trade, travel, hunting and fishing shows over the years, it seemed the negativity was endless. Protest as I might...how could any of us who enjoy living and working in Mexico ever overcome the omnipotent power of the broadcast and print media?

We’re just little old us...mom and pop operations in Mexico...

How does one prove a negative? How do you prove something is NOT happening? How do we go up against CNN and FOX and the others and say, “Hey, thousands of tourists are NOT getting murdered!” “Hey, 200,000 Americans crossed the border today and NOTHING happened to them!”

Sigh...wring hands...shrug shoulders. Exhale. And hope.

But maybe things are changing. Lately, people specifically ask me if Baja is safe. Or is La Paz (where we live) or Cabo San Lucas safe. Things like that.

I tell them yes. Maybe show them some statistics and they’re fine with that. “I thought so,” they’ll usually say. Then, they move onto the good stuff like, “So, when’s the best time to come fishing?”

A few years ago, people would argue with me. Not so now.

Or, in the alternative, they affirm what we’ve been telling everyone.

They come out and pointedly tell me, that they’ve visited Cancun and Cozumel and Puerta Vallarta and Loreto and other tourist destinations and found them to be safer or at least as safe as being home. And enjoy traveling to Mexico. It’s a great value. The people are great. Love the food. Blah...blah...blah! Stuff we’ve always known, right?

Now, no one is saying Mexico doesn’t have a problem. Far from it. Mexico has some serious crime problems. But folks have been quick to point out that, “Hey, it’s not directed at tourists.”

“It’s in places we shouldn’t go anyway...like back alleys of Ciudad de Juarez!”

“Don’t do things you shouldn’t be doing and going to places you shouldn’t be going and you’ll be fine...like American cities. Every place has it’s bad areas. Don’t be an idiot. Stay out of bad areas!”

“I go to Mexico all the time. I feel safer there on the beach in San Carlos or Los Barriles than I do where I live in Phoenix and my car gets busted into all the time and several of my neighbors have been burglarized.”

“I’m tired of all the negativity. It’s in the news every time an American or tourist gets his wallet stolen in Mexico. How often does that happen in downtown New York and it never makes the news.”

It’s kind of refreshing in a strange way to have people trying to convince ME that it’s OK to be in Mexico. People are figuring it out on their own.

Unlike many tourist destinations, Mexico took 3 big strikes to its travel sector. First, was the economic downturn that seems to have hit the whole planet.

Second, of course, is the nervousness over violent crime.

Third, was the swine-flu scare. (Don’t get me started on that fiasco! Again... everyone knew a friend-of-a-friend-of-friend who had been stricken...sheesh).

But, Mexico’s on the rebound.

I’m not completely convinced yet that it’s due to an overall economic recovery for everyone. There’s still a lot of bad stuff going on and we’re far from over. But, maybe folks are just adjusting to it all. Maybe they still know Mexico’s a good value and it’s close and yeah...they’ve adjusted to the fact that it’s a pretty safe place to hang out with the bros and the family.

Indeed, statistics show that Mexico has one of the fastest growing tourist economies in the world. In excess of 24 million visitors take to Mexico yearly now. Americans make up the majority of Mexico’s tourism base as something like 4-8 million Americans visit annually. And suffer nothing more serious than a self-induced margarita hangover or a bad sunburn.

As a matter of fact, the fastest growing segment of Mexico’s tourism is coming from places like China, Russia, Columbia, Brazil and the Ukraine. And for years, having lived in Baja, the Italians, French and Japanese have been constant visitors as well.

This is all good news for Mexico and should be an assurance to those contemplating a trip south of the border where the most violent thing you encounter might be in the salsa you spoon into your tacos! Andale!

Posted By Sally On 03/19/2013 At 10:43 AM Comments (0) TrackBacks (0)

CALIFORNIA'S ONLY SPORTSMAN'S NEWS SINCE 1953

Most Recent

Jonathan Roldan's Blog