That's My Story

SIZE MATTERS – Published March 2006 – Western Outdoor News

I’m actually writing this from inside my booth at the Fred Hall Fishing Show in the Long Beach Convention Center. Day 2 (Thursday) is just about done and wow…it’s been a crazy fun show so far and it has been great hearing from so many of you. I’m losing my voice. Once again, I look behind me in my booth and I don’t know where all the food came from. There’s several bags of Spam musubi (Hawaiian style rolled sushi); shrimp cocktail; beef jerky; birthday cake; teriyaki chicken; rice; Maui onion potato chips; Subway sandwiches; Chinese pork and peanut butter cookies. There’s STACKS of it in here. The food fairy visited me again!

Anyway, one of the fun things about these shows is listening to the Baja stories that all of you bring by and tell us! Leonard Philips, from my friends and competitors at the Pirate Fleet was by and telling me about a guy who came by their booth and told them about the one-hundred-ninety-two-pound-dorado he caught. Let me say that again…ONE-HUNDRED-NINETY-TWO-POUND-DORADO!

Folks, that’s one helluva lot of mahi mahi. That’s the mother of ALL dorado. If a 5 foot dorado is about 40 pounds, well…do the math! It either had to be the longest dorado ever or the fattest. The world record isn’t even half that size as I recall.

Of course, Leonard, Pancho Aguilar, his partner and the others in the booth rolled their eyes but this guy swore with a straight face on a stack of tortillas. He said he could prove it and had a photo of the great fish. He whipped out his cell phone and said he had a photo of it in his camera…uh somewhere. They waited. It was there somewhere.

They waited. Uh-huh. Sure. Thank you, sir. I’m sure you’re right. Here’s your lovely parting gift. Next contestant. The guy walked away still insisting he had caught the biggest mightiest robo-dorado on the planet…that had ever existed. That was HIS story and he was sticking to it.

Now, I’d never say that anglers are prone to exaggeration, and I’m sure the amigo certainly believed he caught a 192 pound dorado, but even if he was stretching it a bit, that’s pushing it. You gotta have standards!

Listen, I’d be a rich knucklehead for every time I’ve heard that someone got a 50 pound dorado. In fact, I’ve heard that one so many times, you’d think that the whole Sea of Cortez was filled with nothing but 50 pound dorado. In reality, if you pull one that’s over 30 pounds, that’s a pretty nice chunk of fish.

Ah, but who am I to bust people’s bubbles? Especially when it comes to fish, if a guy just had one of the best fishing days he’s ever had in Baja and is high-fiving and hand-jiving his buddies up and down the beach, then good for him!

I try to be on the beach daily when our boats pull up. If I couldn’t be on the boats that day, then I want to see first hand what got caught; who caught it; and how my skippers did. In addition to my clipboard and camera, I ALWAYS have a small digital pocket scale with me.

“Hey Jonathan, bring your scale, I got a huge fifty-pound bull dorado!” I’ll hear from way down the beach among a cluster of guys happily hoisting beers and back-slapping. I start to pull out my scale as I walk towards them and then I see the fish in the distance. Uh-oh. It’s awful long and impressive, but I’ve been around long enough to know it’s not a fifty pounder. The scale slips discreetly back into my pocket.

“What d’ya think, Jonathan?” asks the angler expectantly as the group parts and I look at the fish. A bit of reverent silence descends as they wait for me to pronounce judgment. I study. I look. I rub my chin and cock my eyebrow. Pause…

“ Wow.That’s a dandy! But for some reason, my scale isn’t working dangit, but let’s call this a 50 pound class fish! (I emphasize the word “class”when I make my pronouncement).

“Huzzah! Huzzah!” Goes the crowd. Jonathan says it’s a 50 pound class fish! Fists pump in the air. Cameras snap. The anglers and his buddies mug and smile. The captain smiles with the fish and a fat tip in his pocket. Everyone gets their picture with the fish. The angler has never won the jackpot, but today by-golly he wins the pool money from his buddies. Later back at the hotel that night, they will gleefully and secretly all put their bar bill on his tab. Indeed a great day.

I smilingly fade back from the crowd. OK, so maybe I fudged a bit by 10 or so pounds. Sue me. It was still a big fish and a trophy to be sure. He should be proud of it. It took him 45 minutes on light tackle. It smoked his drags and kicked his butt. Chignon, ‘Mano! Eres el campion! (Dude, you da man!)

I’ll weigh it later back at the hotel and tell the guy that the fish “dehydrate real fast” after they die and that’s why it shrunk so much. I”ll tell the truth in the fishing reports. He’ll be happy and he’ll believe he caught a 50 pound class fish that dehydrated. At least I didn’t tell him it was a freakin’ 192 pounds! Sheesh…I got standards!

That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.

Jonathan