That's My Story

LOST FISH CAPTURED MEMORIES

Originally Published the Week of Sept. 22, 2011 in Western Outdoor News

I think I was about 9-years-old and my uncle had taken me out on my first real trip in Mexican waters.  It was a multi-day trip on the old party boat “Holiday.”   I had never fished the big boys before and was obviously thrilled like any little boy. Sky high and feet off-the-ground-excited. 

 

That day we got into a big bluefin and albacore bite.  It was exciting and like a proverbial three-ring-circus.  Bent rods. Screaming reels. Blood splattering. Guys cursing and yelling and big thick fish bodies hitting the deck! Oh man…pandemonium like a little kid had never seen!

 

I didn’t know what I was doing.  My uncle got lost in the melee.  I had an old Mitchell Garcia ocean “coffee grinder” spinning  reel as I hadn’t yet learned how to use conventional gear.  I think I had 30 pound line purchase from Thrify Drug Store.  I had a beat up Roddy fishing rod.  Being a little brown kid,  I wanted to stay out’ve the way so I wandered to the bow all by myself and cast an anchovie as far as I could!

 

As soon as it hit the water, there was a huge splash.  The reel was in gear so it was almost launched out’ve my hands!  I remember digging my heels in and slipping down on my butt but still holding onto the rod which was now torqued against the gunwale with my knees arched and my feet braced against the Holiday’s white fiberglass…and holding on for dear life.

 

I somehow managed to stand up.  I did the best I could to just hang on.  I turned the handle when I could.  Gritted my teeth and remembered the butt of that spinning rod digging into my chest and hurting under my armpit. Forget backbone!  That rod was like a big noodle in my small hands and almost doubled with the big fish!

 

Oh, please! Oh please! I remember frantically looking around hoping someone would come help me. But everyone was jammed back in the stern.  No one missed the 9-year-old by himself up at the bow.

 

I don’t know how long I held on up there.  Maybe 15 minutes?  Time has little relevance when you’re on a big fish let alone when you’re 9 years old and can barely tell time!

 

I really didn’t know what else to do!

 

“Hey, there’s a kid in the bow with a fish!  Someone go help him!” I heard a booming voice yell from the wheelhouse above me.

 

Bodies came running up.  Hands wrapped around me and around my rod. I didn’t look up.

 

“Hang in there, kid! Oh man, you have about a 50-pound bluefin on there!  You been up here all alone?  That’s the wrong outfit to be using for these fish!”

Certain things get etched in your brain.  I remember those words to this day more than 40 years later.

 

I was straining for all I was worth.

 

“Hey, it’s coming up!  It’s coming up!  Get the gaffs! “

 

I turned the handle of that old Mitchell.  It was like pulling a refrigerator up the side of a building. 

 

“Oh wow.  It’s a big one, Kid! Just a little more.  Just a little more!”

 

I peered over the side of that tall rail.  What I saw was the fat blue and silver body that seemed close enough to touch.  The eye of that massive fish must have matched my own that were the size of pizza plates.

 

That fish looked right at me.  Then it surged with one last burst.

 

The rod dug into my groin and chest and I remember my knuckles getting slammed against the wooden rail.

 

And the line popped…then and there.  KER-SNAPP!

 

Where?  Where’s MY fish? 

 

I found myself crumpled on the deck.  Alone.  All I remember was people walking away and I think I heard, “Tough luck, Kid.”

 

Looking back, the deckies were busy in the stern with other bent rods.   They had other things to attend to, but for a 9-year-old, I wanted to cry.  I wanted someone to tell me how I lost that fish.  And why? 

 

I wanted someone to pat me on the back or give me some props.  I wanted an “Attaboy.”  But you don’t get an “attaboy” for losing fish.  My uncle didn’t even know I had been up there in the bow. Where was my mom, dangit! She’d understand. 

 

To this day, I remember that eye still looking at me!

 

I remember Micheal Jordan once saying he won alot of basketball games with last-second shots.  But he also said that there were other games when his last-second shot clanked off the rim.  He said he remembers those games he lost more than the games he won.

 

I have caught many big fish over my fishing career.  But…I remember more every big fish I lost.  Perhaps none more than that first one adventuring into Mexican waters almost 50 years ago.

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Jonathan Roldan has been writing the Baja Column in Western Outdoor News since 2004.  Along with his wife, Jill, they own and run the Tailhunter International Fishing Fleet in La Paz, Baja, Mexico  www.tailhunter-international.com.  They also run their Tailhunter Restaurant Bar on the famous La Paz malecon waterfront.  If you’d like to contact him directly, his e-mail is riplipboy@tailhunter-international.com  or drop by the restaurant to say hi!           

 

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