That's My Story

BEE DANCE – November 2004

I know this column is supposed to be about fishing and the story I’m about to relate is definitely about fishing. It’s definitely about the Baja experience and while this account is not about catching, it is certainly about “biting.”

At the behest of the fishermen who were there that day and my captain who all promised NOT to tell anyone, I figure I might as well tell you since about half the city of La Paz came up to me the next day offering either (a) condolences (b) remedies (c) ideas on how NOT to let it happen again…as if this were a regular occurrence or (d) all of the above PLUS laughingly assaulting my manhood by calling me names like “wussie” and “little girl”. Believe me, as you’ll see, my manhood had already been abused.

This story is about the dorado and the African killer bees. . .

Last week I was working a super panga off Espiritu Santo Island with two of my amigos/clients, Don Meluci and Mitch Chavira of San Diego. As stories go, we were into a pretty nice dorado bite and had a couple aboard. For November, this was pretty incredible fishing. Don and Mitch had brought a nice group of guys down to fish with us and instead of the usual blustery November days with scratchy fishing, waters were flat and warm. The sun was out the and dorado had come to play. There were lots of easy smiles. We were into the early afternoon and already had a nice box of dorado and had released a handful of others.

But, as I said, this story is not about catching. It’s about biting…

My memory is a bit foggy at this point, but I recall that I was leaning over the rail about to gaff a fish for Mitch when an incredible pain radiated from between my legs. Imagine someone holding a lit cigar to your nether regions where the sun rarely shines. Use your imagination on exactly WHERE this was coming from, but I’ll tell you it was on the LEFT twin! I yelled and immediately started tearing off my shorts doing the craziest panga dance ever seen in the Baja.

I knew what it was. A bee had flown up my shorts and decided to put it’s stinger to MY stinger! I could still feel “it” buzzing in there because as someone told me later, these are African killer bees with little claws that hold on and they DO NOT DIE, but repeatedly sting and sting. On one leg…then the other leg…grabbing at my crotch and tearing at my shorts…oh the pain. Now up and twirling from stern to bow. Yelling and whooping like a man with well…a bee in his shorts! My friends got to see that I was not born this tanned and why some call me “Casper Butt” as my shorts end up around my knees.

Needless to say, my amigos had no sympathy (you are paying double price next year, my friends, for the extra entertainment) and could not stop laughing. I do not know what happened to the dorado I was supposed to gaff. It probably knocked itself off the hook laughing as well.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m settled down, at least enough to sit down and breathe again. I’m still in pain. It feels like a burn that travels down my left thigh radiates up my mid-section and throbs like heck “down there.” Don’t you bet that I can still hear the snickers from my friends who are expressing sympathy, but deep down cannot wait to spread the story. Good thing the dorado kept biting so I wouldn’t have to listen to more laughs.

But, as I said, this is not about catching. This is about biting…

An hour later, we’re hooked up to another feisty dorado. This one should put us at about limits and we’re hooting and hollering again when WHAM!!!! I’m still feeling the pain in one spot when another excruciating pain shoots up the inside of my right nalga cheek about 4 inches below the waistband and just west of the longitude line. Yeow… Another bee has flown into my shorts and I’m off on the panga two-step again clawing and yelling and using moves like Jerry Lewis as the nutty professor. OUCH that hurts and again, I’m tearing at my shorts, but butt, my crotch trying to get that guy outta there as I do a pirouette at the stern bait tank all the while screaming and see a bee fall outta my shorts, onto the deck and fly away. Rat bastard bug.

I can already feel the painful swelling on my butt joining the painful swelling on my left twin. Yes, I yelled like a little girl. No, I cannot dance. No, I have never ever been afraid of bees and in thousands of hours on the water year after year this has never happened to me. I’ve cut fingers, busted bones, twisted ankles and knees, had gaffs and hooks go through my hand, but never ever had not one…but TWO bees fly up my shorts. And yes…it hurt worse than any of those other mishaps. In fact, it hurt for about 2 days.

By the way, about an hour later, another bee flew into my t-shirt and stung me under the right arm pit. That’s me the human pin-cushion. My amigos did not get a single bite. However, by evening dinner word had spread through La Paz about why Jonathan wasn’t able to dance at the beach barbecue I threw that night. I was as useless as a one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest. Dang bee stings hurt…A LOT, especially in a very tender area.

As I was to find out over the next few days, for some reason there had been an infestation of African killer bees around La Paz that week. Interestingly, they have only been over the water and there were reports of swarms of them following dive and fishing boats for a few days. Then, they were gone. A few people got ONE sting. I got THREE. Only in Baja. Just when I thought I had seen everything.

That’s my story.
Jonathan

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WHO ARE YOU ANYWAY? – published Sept. 2005 – Western Outdoor News

Well, I survived the award ceremony last week. If you remember my column, I went all out and paid 35 pesos for a haircut and surprise…I got exactly what I paid for…a 35 peso haircut that I am still trying to hide.

I know this isn’t about fishing, but what I experienced at the event was certainly a great honor and getting awarded something special is certainly something that most of us Baja rats never get to see or experience. It’s something I’d like to share with you if you’ll indulge me for a bit. I really didn’t know what to expect. It was quite a rush that morning as I still had about 20 boats to get out in the early dark off the beach plus load up about a dozen clients into vans off to the airport. Then, with 15 minutes to spare, run off and shower and climb into something presentable.

Something “presentable” for me meant spending about a whole day running around town trying to find something other than the shorts, flip flops and fishing t-shirts everyone sees me in. What I thought would be easy turned into a 200 dollar mission to find stuff that fit and that wasn’t going to be too hot. Wow…Dockers slacks in Mexico cost about 60 bucks! A silk tie was over 30. There goes the budget. And because I’m short and would not have time for alternations, a pair of decent boots were topped off by the aforementioned bad-haircut. That’s what happens when you wait until the last minute.

Anyway, I was shuttled off to the civic center in La Paz. About 400 people were there as well as about 200 uniformed police officers and military standing at parade rest in the hot sun. I felt sorry for these guys having to listen to all the speeches (of which I barely understood anything so I nodded and smiled a lot) while standing at attention as it was over 100 degrees that day. Looking around, after all my shopping the previous day, I was the ONLY guy wearing a tie. I was the ONLY guy in long sleeves. Even the mayor, Sr. Victor Castro, El Presidente de La Paz, was in his “casual Friday best.” I guess it’s good to be king.

The band played. The bugles bugled and the drums beat. I loved watching the soldiers and police march. It’s a bit like a goose-step but rather funny and I couldn’t help grinning. Right leg up and out. And hold. Just like someone striding over a water puddle or navigating a yard full of dog poo and wondering when to put their foot down. They would hold it for a split second, then put it down in a very erratic march step. They played the Mexican National Anthem which by the number of people singing it is sure a lot easier to sing than our own difficult Star Spangled Banner. It also has a nice beat to it when all the tubas in the band are playing much like a good oompa tune you’d hear at October fest. I liked it. I can only imagine what Mexicans think when they hear, “Jose can you see?” from own national anthem.

I was seated at the main table with all the dignitaries. I was the only gringo and feeling pretty important because I heard them mention my name in one of the speeches and say something about me being from the United States. However, at one point the guy on my right, who reminded me of the Robert De Niro’s ex CIA character father-in-law in “Meet the Fokkers” leaned over and in Spanish whispered quizzically , “What are you doing here?” I said I was receiving an award for bringing business to the city. (pause) After several minutes, he leaned over again and said, “And just who are you, anyway?” (sigh) So much for being a big celebrity! As I found out later he was the former mayor and now acting head of central security. Just doing his job, no doubt.

Anyway after a lot of speeches, I got a nifty plaque and gratefully shook a lot of hands. Police officers came by to also shake my hand as well. All my friends in La Paz say my life will change now that I have been recognized by the mayor of the city. I just hope the cops remember me next time I get pulled over for running a stop sign. But I’m sure I’ll just get, “And who are you anyway?”

That’s my story…
Jonathan

Read Full Post »

WHO ARE YOU ANYWAY? – published Sept. 2005 – Western Outdoor News

Well, I survived the award ceremony last week. If you remember my column, I went all out and paid 35 pesos for a haircut and surprise…I got exactly what I paid for…a 35 peso haircut that I am still trying to hide.

I know this isn’t about fishing, but what I experienced at the event was certainly a great honor and getting awarded something special is certainly something that most of us Baja rats never get to see or experience. It’s something I’d like to share with you if you’ll indulge me for a bit. I really didn’t know what to expect. It was quite a rush that morning as I still had about 20 boats to get out in the early dark off the beach plus load up about a dozen clients into vans off to the airport. Then, with 15 minutes to spare, run off and shower and climb into something presentable.

Something “presentable” for me meant spending about a whole day running around town trying to find something other than the shorts, flip flops and fishing t-shirts everyone sees me in. What I thought would be easy turned into a 200 dollar mission to find stuff that fit and that wasn’t going to be too hot. Wow…Dockers slacks in Mexico cost about 60 bucks! A silk tie was over 30. There goes the budget. And because I’m short and would not have time for alternations, a pair of decent boots were topped off by the aforementioned bad-haircut. That’s what happens when you wait until the last minute.

Anyway, I was shuttled off to the civic center in La Paz. About 400 people were there as well as about 200 uniformed police officers and military standing at parade rest in the hot sun. I felt sorry for these guys having to listen to all the speeches (of which I barely understood anything so I nodded and smiled a lot) while standing at attention as it was over 100 degrees that day. Looking around, after all my shopping the previous day, I was the ONLY guy wearing a tie. I was the ONLY guy in long sleeves. Even the mayor, Sr. Victor Castro, El Presidente de La Paz, was in his “casual Friday best.” I guess it’s good to be king.

The band played. The bugles bugled and the drums beat. I loved watching the soldiers and police march. It’s a bit like a goose-step but rather funny and I couldn’t help grinning. Right leg up and out. And hold. Just like someone striding over a water puddle or navigating a yard full of dog poo and wondering when to put their foot down. They would hold it for a split second, then put it down in a very erratic march step. They played the Mexican National Anthem which by the number of people singing it is sure a lot easier to sing than our own difficult Star Spangled Banner. It also has a nice beat to it when all the tubas in the band are playing much like a good oompa tune you’d hear at October fest. I liked it. I can only imagine what Mexicans think when they hear, “Jose can you see?” from own national anthem.

I was seated at the main table with all the dignitaries. I was the only gringo and feeling pretty important because I heard them mention my name in one of the speeches and say something about me being from the United States. However, at one point the guy on my right, who reminded me of the Robert De Niro’s ex CIA character father-in-law in “Meet the Fokkers” leaned over and in Spanish whispered quizzically , “What are you doing here?” I said I was receiving an award for bringing business to the city. (pause) After several minutes, he leaned over again and said, “And just who are you, anyway?” (sigh) So much for being a big celebrity! As I found out later he was the former mayor and now acting head of central security. Just doing his job, no doubt.

Anyway after a lot of speeches, I got a nifty plaque and gratefully shook a lot of hands. Police officers came by to also shake my hand as well. All my friends in La Paz say my life will change now that I have been recognized by the mayor of the city. I just hope the cops remember me next time I get pulled over for running a stop sign. But I’m sure I’ll just get, “And who are you anyway?”

That’s my story…
Jonathan

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SNIP-IT OF MEXICAN LIFE – Published September 2005 – Western Outdoor News

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SNIP-IT OF MEXICAN LIFE – Published September 2005 – Western Outdoor News

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PIRATES I HAVE KNOWN – Published August 2004 – Western Outdoor News

As I write this, it’s one of those screwed up days when the weatherman predicted “partially cloudy” and we got a decent Baja cloudburst instead that’s great if you have a hot cocoa and a good book, but not when you’re out trying to fish.

Once after a fairly sizeable storm, we were walking along the beach checking to see what might have washed up and came across some plastic kitchen stuff, a battered cutting board and part of a boat’s broken wooden name plate that only said, “The Re…” and nothing else. It got me to thinking what poor bastard might have been out there as is so often the case just sailing around the Sea of Cortez. No registry. No real plan, just living the sailing life of so many ocean-bopping folks from port to port as wind, tide current and whim might allow. You know. You’ve seen these guys all over. There’s usually a faded tarp covering part of the boat; laundry hanging helter skelter; a rusty barbecue on the transom; maybe a rusty bike on deck; an old kicker motor and a dinged-up trolling rod with a Penn 6/0 lashed to the starboard rail. Man…this guy goes down and there really is no one looking for him and nothing ever remains except part of a nameplate and some things that floated out of the kitchen before the boat takes the big dive with all hands.

It reminded me of one motor sailor that dropped anchor in front of a little hotel I worked for on the East Cape. Often folks would do that and come into the little restaurant for a land-based meal and some terra firma. They all had stories, but I never forgot this one gent. Tall, lean, tanned and actually for a guy who looked to be in his late 50’s he’s one of those guys who actually looked OK in his speedos like a swimmer and not like a European transplant trolling the playas with a mis-placed self-confidence for chicas.

Turned out this amigo was almost 70 and I never forgot his story. He started in New Jersey. He had been a retired insurance exec.who went out on his weekend sail. Monday came along and he decided to keep sailing south. Called his wife and said he was going to stay out a few more days. A few days later, he kept going. Just felt there wasn’t much reason to turn back…just yet. Virginia and the Carolina coasts went by and every few days he’d call into his wife who never objected.

By Florida, he deciced to stay out another two weeks as the reggae music and trade winds pulled him along. “I never sailed out of sight of land,” he said. “I hugged the coast because I’m not that good a sailor and besides, there’s nothing to see ‘out there.’ After 3 weeks, I called my wife. We really had lived separate lives for many years. Kids were grown and gone. I told her to prepare divorce papers and she didn’t object. Except for a quick run back to sign some papers, it was all amicable and I kept sailing south.”

He kept going keeping the land to his starboard side then went through the Panama Canal and then north up Central America then Mexico and finally into the Sea of Cortez where I now found him having a big fat steak; some red wine; and a good chat as we watched the sun go down next to the big blazing fire we always had on the patio.

“What now?” I asked.

He planned to just keep sailing…maybe up the California coast and north to Canada and finally Alaska.

“Then what?” I asked.

“Then I’ll sell the boat ; buy another one and sail the other way, of course!” he replied with a grin and a twinkle in his eye.

Fairwinds, amigo, wherever you ended up.

That’s my story…

Jonathan

Read Full Post »

PIRATES I HAVE KNOWN – Published August 2004 – Western Outdoor News

As I write this, it’s one of those screwed up days when the weatherman predicted “partially cloudy” and we got a decent Baja cloudburst instead that’s great if you have a hot cocoa and a good book, but not when you’re out trying to fish.

Once after a fairly sizeable storm, we were walking along the beach checking to see what might have washed up and came across some plastic kitchen stuff, a battered cutting board and part of a boat’s broken wooden name plate that only said, “The Re…” and nothing else. It got me to thinking what poor bastard might have been out there as is so often the case just sailing around the Sea of Cortez. No registry. No real plan, just living the sailing life of so many ocean-bopping folks from port to port as wind, tide current and whim might allow. You know. You’ve seen these guys all over. There’s usually a faded tarp covering part of the boat; laundry hanging helter skelter; a rusty barbecue on the transom; maybe a rusty bike on deck; an old kicker motor and a dinged-up trolling rod with a Penn 6/0 lashed to the starboard rail. Man…this guy goes down and there really is no one looking for him and nothing ever remains except part of a nameplate and some things that floated out of the kitchen before the boat takes the big dive with all hands.

It reminded me of one motor sailor that dropped anchor in front of a little hotel I worked for on the East Cape. Often folks would do that and come into the little restaurant for a land-based meal and some terra firma. They all had stories, but I never forgot this one gent. Tall, lean, tanned and actually for a guy who looked to be in his late 50’s he’s one of those guys who actually looked OK in his speedos like a swimmer and not like a European transplant trolling the playas with a mis-placed self-confidence for chicas.

Turned out this amigo was almost 70 and I never forgot his story. He started in New Jersey. He had been a retired insurance exec.who went out on his weekend sail. Monday came along and he decided to keep sailing south. Called his wife and said he was going to stay out a few more days. A few days later, he kept going. Just felt there wasn’t much reason to turn back…just yet. Virginia and the Carolina coasts went by and every few days he’d call into his wife who never objected.

By Florida, he deciced to stay out another two weeks as the reggae music and trade winds pulled him along. “I never sailed out of sight of land,” he said. “I hugged the coast because I’m not that good a sailor and besides, there’s nothing to see ‘out there.’ After 3 weeks, I called my wife. We really had lived separate lives for many years. Kids were grown and gone. I told her to prepare divorce papers and she didn’t object. Except for a quick run back to sign some papers, it was all amicable and I kept sailing south.”

He kept going keeping the land to his starboard side then went through the Panama Canal and then north up Central America then Mexico and finally into the Sea of Cortez where I now found him having a big fat steak; some red wine; and a good chat as we watched the sun go down next to the big blazing fire we always had on the patio.

“What now?” I asked.

He planned to just keep sailing…maybe up the California coast and north to Canada and finally Alaska.

“Then what?” I asked.

“Then I’ll sell the boat ; buy another one and sail the other way, of course!” he replied with a grin and a twinkle in his eye.

Fairwinds, amigo, wherever you ended up.

That’s my story…

Jonathan

Read Full Post »

BETTER HOO’ING – Publshed August 2004 – Western Outdoor News

You hopefully heard about it or saw it here in WON. A few weeks ago a 184-pound wahoo was taken off Cabo that is a pending world record. If you saw the photo, it’s pretty hard to call that a “skinny.” That would be like calling a Sequoia redwood a sapling.

Here in La Paz, we’re having a banner wahoo season ourselves so let me throw in my own two-cents about how I fin- tune my own wahoo fishing since I get asked about it quite often. In fact, several of us were sitting around the other day, including my amigo, Sheldon Bergman of Ojai, who’s been wahooing all over the world. Put a couple of wahoo people together and you get all kinds of opinions.

Wahoo, not normally being schoolie-type fish, are gotten on the troll so that means rigging up to drag stuff through the water. I get away with 40 pound outfits quite well on short sticks, since most wahoo are going to be in the 20-50 pound class. I guess I could even go lighter but a smarter angler would say I’m crazy because around Baja you never know what will bite and I could easily be outclassed with a 40 pound rig. But let’s assume we’re only chasing Mr. Hoo.

Lure? I have a battle scarred Marauder-type lure that is missing an eye. It is criss-crossed with teeth marks and half the paint is missing as are various chunks of the body. From the left-over paint, you could tell it was once an orange/yellow “Tony-the-Tiger” pattern. I love this rig. I will never ever let you borrow it! I also have two extremely heavy chrome jet-heads. I bought one in Hawaii where they have turned lure heads into an art form, especially heavy chrome heads. The other deep runner was made for me by Jorge, the old-battlehorse chef on the “Red Rooster” out of San Diego who is a wahoo magician. Both of these have dark purple skirts with flashes of orange and hot pink (Goblin colors). I won’t let you borrow these either (sorry) and they catch fish. Someday, I will lose these and it will be like losing a best friend. I guard these like I’d guard my little sister on her first date. My captains, who catch lots of wahoo themselves hate them.

They prefer Rapala-type crank baits. Crank baits being “lipped” baits made by a number of great manufacturers that dive when trolled. They work too. Very well. A lot of cruiser guys won’t run them as they can be dangerous and a nuisance when you’re trolling a number of lines, especially if they don’t track correctly, but they work great on pangas. There are two problems with these types of lures. First, you want to change out those treble hooks. From experience, we’ve found that your hook-up-to-catch ratio is diminished with treble hooks. They sometimes don’t bury themselves very deep into that hard wahoo mouth. Second, wahoo are like snakes. They twist and turn when they are fighting and can torque that lure right off and it’s “seeeee-yaaaaa!” Instead I prefer putting on a single Siwash style hook. Don’t make it too big because if it’s too big it will affect the swimming ability of the lure as the hooks will act like mal-adjusted rudders. The single hooks bury deeper plus often the second or third hook will swing around and plant itself in the fish’s noggin or jaw for an almost inescapable hookset. (Don’t lie. You weren’t going to release that wahoo anyway, were you?)

Ever heard the term, “once bitten twice shy?” The problem with the metal-lipped lures, like the Rapala, is that while they work like gems, once hit, they often never run true again no matter what they say on the box about adjusting them. That’s what makes them difficult to troll from a cruiser. It’s like having the proverbial “loose cannon” on a ship. If you have your spread of lures behind the boat and one wayward Rapala decides to run to starboard instead of straight….holy mackerel what a mess it can create! It’s almost as if you need a degree from MIT to make them go straight so I almost always have to toss them away or give them away to someone who has the time to figure it out. I”d love a Rapala rep to come out with me one day and show me what I’m doing wrong. Hence, just as a matter of economics, much as I love my Rapalas, I often find myself using the plastic-lipped Yo-Zuri style instead.

Lastly, a word on how to troll these things. I know there’s a world of controversy here too. Working boats out’ve San Diego, I had always been taught to literally “run ‘em in the wash” up close to the boat. Down here in Mexico, every one of the captains and crews tends to want to run them back the the length of a football field. Me? Old Brooks from Doorknob lures taught me something years ago that has served me well. I run my darker colors up close and in the wash where they make a silhouette in all that white water. I run my brighter colors and patterns out around the 4th or 5th wave just beyond the last of the foam, especially in the brighter Baja sunlight where the sunshine bounces off those chrome heads, chrome lips, shiny paint patterns and lights up those bright colors.

Then, I just wait for that sweet sound of a smoking clicker…hopefully followed by the sweet smell later that evening of ‘hoo sizzling on the barbecue with lots of lime, garlic, tortillas and long-necks on ice.

That’s my story…
Jonathan

Read Full Post »

BETTER HOO’ING – Publshed August 2004 – Western Outdoor News

You hopefully heard about it or saw it here in WON. A few weeks ago a 184-pound wahoo was taken off Cabo that is a pending world record. If you saw the photo, it’s pretty hard to call that a “skinny.” That would be like calling a Sequoia redwood a sapling.

Here in La Paz, we’re having a banner wahoo season ourselves so let me throw in my own two-cents about how I fin- tune my own wahoo fishing since I get asked about it quite often. In fact, several of us were sitting around the other day, including my amigo, Sheldon Bergman of Ojai, who’s been wahooing all over the world. Put a couple of wahoo people together and you get all kinds of opinions.

Wahoo, not normally being schoolie-type fish, are gotten on the troll so that means rigging up to drag stuff through the water. I get away with 40 pound outfits quite well on short sticks, since most wahoo are going to be in the 20-50 pound class. I guess I could even go lighter but a smarter angler would say I’m crazy because around Baja you never know what will bite and I could easily be outclassed with a 40 pound rig. But let’s assume we’re only chasing Mr. Hoo.

Lure? I have a battle scarred Marauder-type lure that is missing an eye. It is criss-crossed with teeth marks and half the paint is missing as are various chunks of the body. From the left-over paint, you could tell it was once an orange/yellow “Tony-the-Tiger” pattern. I love this rig. I will never ever let you borrow it! I also have two extremely heavy chrome jet-heads. I bought one in Hawaii where they have turned lure heads into an art form, especially heavy chrome heads. The other deep runner was made for me by Jorge, the old-battlehorse chef on the “Red Rooster” out of San Diego who is a wahoo magician. Both of these have dark purple skirts with flashes of orange and hot pink (Goblin colors). I won’t let you borrow these either (sorry) and they catch fish. Someday, I will lose these and it will be like losing a best friend. I guard these like I’d guard my little sister on her first date. My captains, who catch lots of wahoo themselves hate them.

They prefer Rapala-type crank baits. Crank baits being “lipped” baits made by a number of great manufacturers that dive when trolled. They work too. Very well. A lot of cruiser guys won’t run them as they can be dangerous and a nuisance when you’re trolling a number of lines, especially if they don’t track correctly, but they work great on pangas. There are two problems with these types of lures. First, you want to change out those treble hooks. From experience, we’ve found that your hook-up-to-catch ratio is diminished with treble hooks. They sometimes don’t bury themselves very deep into that hard wahoo mouth. Second, wahoo are like snakes. They twist and turn when they are fighting and can torque that lure right off and it’s “seeeee-yaaaaa!” Instead I prefer putting on a single Siwash style hook. Don’t make it too big because if it’s too big it will affect the swimming ability of the lure as the hooks will act like mal-adjusted rudders. The single hooks bury deeper plus often the second or third hook will swing around and plant itself in the fish’s noggin or jaw for an almost inescapable hookset. (Don’t lie. You weren’t going to release that wahoo anyway, were you?)

Ever heard the term, “once bitten twice shy?” The problem with the metal-lipped lures, like the Rapala, is that while they work like gems, once hit, they often never run true again no matter what they say on the box about adjusting them. That’s what makes them difficult to troll from a cruiser. It’s like having the proverbial “loose cannon” on a ship. If you have your spread of lures behind the boat and one wayward Rapala decides to run to starboard instead of straight….holy mackerel what a mess it can create! It’s almost as if you need a degree from MIT to make them go straight so I almost always have to toss them away or give them away to someone who has the time to figure it out. I”d love a Rapala rep to come out with me one day and show me what I’m doing wrong. Hence, just as a matter of economics, much as I love my Rapalas, I often find myself using the plastic-lipped Yo-Zuri style instead.

Lastly, a word on how to troll these things. I know there’s a world of controversy here too. Working boats out’ve San Diego, I had always been taught to literally “run ‘em in the wash” up close to the boat. Down here in Mexico, every one of the captains and crews tends to want to run them back the the length of a football field. Me? Old Brooks from Doorknob lures taught me something years ago that has served me well. I run my darker colors up close and in the wash where they make a silhouette in all that white water. I run my brighter colors and patterns out around the 4th or 5th wave just beyond the last of the foam, especially in the brighter Baja sunlight where the sunshine bounces off those chrome heads, chrome lips, shiny paint patterns and lights up those bright colors.

Then, I just wait for that sweet sound of a smoking clicker…hopefully followed by the sweet smell later that evening of ‘hoo sizzling on the barbecue with lots of lime, garlic, tortillas and long-necks on ice.

That’s my story…
Jonathan

Read Full Post »

BAJA BIG DEALS – Published August 2005 – Western Outdoor News

We were on our way to Todos Santos for a birthday party a few days ago. Unlike taking the picturesqu road towards the East Cape that snakes through the mountains, the way to Todos Santos is pretty much one continuing monotonous carpet of cactus and brush. Not having a whole lot to look at we got into a discussion about the things that made the biggest changes or impact in Baja. You get like that passing cactus after cactus and watching cara cara buzzards eating road kill. These are in no particular order, but I present these for your submission as my top 4 list.

THE TRANSPENINSULAR HIGHWAY – Any civilization rolls on it’s ability to move people and the famous highway that ribbons some 1200 miles from Tijuana through the Baja frontier down to Land’s End at Cabo San Lucas has to be right up there. It’s to Baja what the Appian Way was to the old Roman empire. If you ever get a chance, talk to one of the old Baja veterans. They’ll tell you stories of washed out arroyos; goats; busted axels; burros and gasoline These days, you can ponder whether the next pueblo will have a MacDonald’s so your kids can have a happy meal, but back in the days of Ray Cannon, Fred Hoctor and (sorry Gene) even Gene Kira, there really was an issue about whether you and your vehicle would make it back across the border. You can still see the rotted corpses of Detroit’s finest scattered along the roadway and at the bottom of sharp turns they failed to navigate.
Today, it’s still not your favorite U.S. freeway, but a double-lane-paved road now gets you just about anywhere. The Mexican Government has the “green angel” emergency vehicles zipping up and down providing assistance to any travelers in trouble and multi-level hotels now dot the adjacent landscape. I guess the latest news is that they are now going to make it a 4 lane highway from Cabo to La Paz which will certainly open things up and usher in even more development along those areas as well as the once “sleepy” East Cape. As they said in Kevin Costner’s flick “Field of Dreams”…”If you build it they will come.” Well, the floodgates opened and haven’t stopped since.

THE PANGA – What Henry Ford’s Model T did for the United States, the fiberglass skiff or “panga” must take the credit for it’s impact in Baja and the rest of Mexico. The question is where did the panga come from? Previously, skiffs were not uncommon in Mexican waters, but they tended to be hand-made wooden watercraft slender in the stem and stern. The story I’ve always heard is that the Mexican government realized it had a valuable resource with all this ocea front along the Baja coast. To that end, they requested bids from boat makers to come up with a simple design; easily moved; economically priced that just about anyone could afford. Sounds just like a your grandpa’s old Ford, doesn’t it? Well, story has it that the bid was actually won by an American named Max Shroyer who had a fiberglass company in La Paz. That’s right, the famous Mexican panga is actually an American design. However, the advent of this craft allowed just about anyone to scratch out a living. It allowed a guy to feed his family or go into business as a commercial fisherman, not to mention what it did to sportfishing in the pristine waters of the Baja and the economic impact of the sportfishing industry. Think about how many pangas you see now, not just in Baja, but all over Latin America. I have spoken with some of the older skippers and they have told me that 25 years ago, you could buy a fully outfitted panga for about $3000. That same panga now, absent a motor, would run between $7,000 and $11,000 dollars which still isn’t a bad deal given how most things have increased in 25 years.

FAST FOOD – I have seen stat sheets showing that 70 percent of Baja’s population still eats at streetside taco stands the majority of the time. However, it is amazing what happens to a community once the Golden Arches pop up or the Colonel starts smiling from his twirling red bucket. Look at Cabo San Lucas and just about every known fast-food chain on the planet is there, complete with kids meals and various versions of playland. The arrival of the fast food operation basically heralds that a place is ready to take it’s place on the map. It says it’s population is no longer rural. It’s people now are so busy, sometimes with both parents now working, it’s a whole new ballgame. Ergo, consider the pro and con issues that raises for culture, society, economics and certainly the family nucleus that has been such a bastion of Latin American culture for ages. Jose and the family aren’t sitting around the table each evening with los abuelos (grandparents) for the family supper any longer.

COSTCO and WAL-MART – Yes, those fortresses of Americana have landed or at least some form of them is here. In fact, I have heard the largest Wal-Mart on the planet is in Mexico City. A little over a year ago Costo arrived in Cabo and talk about impact! It continually pops up in conversation even here 100 miles to the north in La Paz. La Paz itself has the Mexican version of Costco called City Club and it is such a fixture now that people plan their whole weekends around visits to these stories. It has become a social event to visit Costco. People living on the fringes get laundry lists from their friends and neighbors and make Costco runs. You can now buy EVERYTHING and you can buy it in bulk! You can even buy that “hot dog combo” so popular in your own home town. While many people whine about all the growth, including me, no one seems to complain about the convenience of now being able to buy #10 cans of olives or cheese by the brick. The impact was immediate. Surrounding businesses had to drop their prices to stay competitive. Some businesses could not keep up. It’s the way of the world. However, here’s a footnote. For the same reasons Wal-Mart is having problem in the U.S., Cabo San Lucas recently denied the retail giant’s attempt to build another center in the city. I guess progress does have it’s limits.

That’s my story…
Jonathan

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