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July 4, 2006 by riplipboy

FISHING THE SOUTHERN BAJA – Published Jan. 2005 – Feature Article Western Outdoor Magazine

FISHING THE SOUTHERN BAJA
For many anglers, mention fishing the Baja, and chances are, it conjures images of blue water and big colorful fish; palm trees and white sand; balmy boisterous party nights; and miles of serene beaches. All of these are inherent in just about any fishing trip or visit involving fishing the southern waters of the Sea of Cortez. It’s a place where contrasts abound, but sun and fun are generally the name of the game whether you’re looking to mix it up with the party crowd and chase your fish on a gleaming cruiser or scaling back to go mano-a-mano on a panga then retire for the evening to a quiet dinner on the beach and counting shooting stars with only the noise of the ocean as nature’s mariachis. Whatever your choice, the one underlying truth is that there are few places on the planet where world-class and world-record gamefish abound and yet are only a few short airline hours away.

Indeed, these are the waters of legend where just two-hours south of Los Angeles, anglers can bust their tackle and test their backs on probably more types of game-fish than any other place on the planet. Jacques Cousteau called the Sea of Cortez “the aquarium of the world” with more than 700 identified species of fish and some days, it seems like just about that many fish are available to catch. Certainly, year-round action on dozens of species can be had and, although, there are seasons for various fish, you really just never know what’s going to hammer your line whether it’s January or July. The area is a mecca for both inshore and offshore species and for all different styles of fishing whether from cruisers, multi-day boats; pangas, kayaks, flyfishing or surf.

From thousand-pound blue and black marlin to giant tuna; grey-hounding sailfish to the acrobatic dorado; exotic roosterfish to menacing-looking dog tooth snapper; torpedo-shaped wahoo to grumpy amberjack and yellowtail; the waters from picturesque La Paz to the north down to the the East Cape city of Los Barriles and over to San Jose and the electric city of Cabo San Lucas, sun, fun and fish are inherently entwined. The result is that these waters have become one of the premier fishing destinations in the world.

Generally speaking, like most of Baja, the land consists of rugged volcanic and pyroclastic formations reaching from the mountains and descending to the waters edge. This land mass was formed eons ago when the peninsula separated from the mainland of Mexico. It left the deep nutrient-rich rift now known as the Sea of Cortez. The semi-arid desert landscape is a stark contrast to the teal, turquoise and cobalt waters which kiss it’s beaches. Baja is a harsh land where water is scarce and daytime temperatures range from the 60’s into the low 100’s. The key to success is often recognizing that what’s “above the water” often mirrors what’s “below the water.” Steep cliffs dropping into the ocean probably continue below the surface. Arroyos (washes) where alluvial materials like sand, gravel and rock come cascading down to the ocean during seasonal rains probably create a similar “fan” below the surface and can extend for miles out to sea. A series of mountain or volcanic peaks near the coastline often extend out into the ocean and, over time, have become “seamounts” and “banks.” Tips of islands often have submerged reefs and ridges. Saddles between hills and mountains are often indicative of an underwater canyon extending out from the shore to the open water. All of these are excellent areas to chase your fish. If anything characterizes fishing the Southern Baja, it’s knowing where and when to fish the numerous banks, canyons, steep submarine escarpments and other structures that may be beyond your vision, but hold the kind of gamefish that make for a lifetime catch.

CABO SAN LUCAS and SAN JOSE del CABO

These two cities have been like brothers each with a mind and style of their own. Situated at the very tip of the Baja Peninsula, they were often as different as night and day. Cabo developed from a sleepy pueblito into a jet-setting-party-town where pricey real-estate joined hands with a year-round “spring-break” attitude of fun that attracts an international crowd of fun-seekers. In contrast, San Jose del Cabo (as well as nearby La Playita) retained it’s colonial character of small shops, boutique hotels and sidewalk cafes. (It will be interesting to see what the future holds with the new construction of the San Jose marina which brings many of Cabo’s characteristics with it to the excitement of some and the disdain of others).

Both cities are accessed by generally flying into the international airport at Los Cabos. The two cities are connected by the 10 mile umbilical stretch of beach highway seen on maps as Highway 1, but more commonly called “the corridor.” This is because of the seemingly endless expanse of condos and time-shares, hotels, developments and golf-courses that are becoming the hallmark of this toney stretch of beach. It’s the fishing, however, that really ties it all together.

As mentioned, it will be interesting to see the effect of the advent of the new San Jose Marina, but generally panga fishing from La Playita or from one of the nearby coves was the preferred method of fishing the local waters near San Jose. By comparison, although pangas are certainly available, there are few fleets as impressive as the “navy” of cruisers sitting in the Cabo San Lucas Marina. There’s a reason Cabo San Lucas is called the “Marlin Capital of the World” and if you’re going hunting in these waters, most anglers seem to prefer heading out in the cruisers. That’s not to say that pangas are ineffective. On the contrary, pangas get their share of fish and some of the largest fish every year from this area are taken on these amazing skiffs in the hands of some of the best skippers around. It’s a lot of fun and the panga skippers around San Jose will take a back-seat to no one. However, to reach some of the offshore banks, cruisers are the fishing machine of choice for offshore hunting the bad boys. Not only are the fish big and the waters sometimes distant, but facing the open Pacific ocean, even these relatively tranquil waters can become rough.

The banks off the southern cape are prolific. Facing straight south from Cabo, boats will head west then north into the Pacific Ocean towards the Jaime Bank and Golden Gate Bank where winter marlin and summer tuna, wahoo and dorado can hold court. Directly south, the submarine topography is marked by the steep sides of the San Lucas Canyon and an underwater escarpment that drops from 10 to more than 7500 feet deep in matter of a few miles. Heading east from Cabo but directly out from San Jose are the famous Inner Gordo and Outer Gordo Banks as well as the Gorda Trough that separates the Cabrilla Seamount approximately 10 miles from shore. These are the banks where the San Jose pangas hold homecourt serve as they are easily accessible from the nearby beaches yet are incredible fisheries for all Baja species. Inshore, numerous ridges, canyons and reefs mark the shoreline and the many arroyos visable from the ocean lead to underwater fans and banks that are perfect habitat for numerous inshore species such as pargo, roosterfish, cabrilla and grouper.

THE EAST CAPE

Like everything else, the little pueblos of the East Cape (the rounded hump of southern Baja jutting like an abbreviated “heel” into the Sea of Cortez) with their sugar-sand beaches; palm trees; palapa-roofed homes and “manana” life-style are giving way to multi-home developments and the sounds of “progress.” However, there’s a certain attitude on the East Cape. It contrasts sharply with anything else found in the Baja especially with their nearby city neighbors of La Paz, San Jose and certainly Cabo San Lucas. The little towns, especially Los Barriles, are connected to their civic brethren by Highway 1, but seem to exist in somewhat of a secluded state of self-existence where the folks who live there and visit there crave the perceived isolation of being away from the cities. Call it a bit of a pirate attitude mixed with a dash of Jimmy Buffet soundtrack and you get the East Cape. Ditch the highway. Hit the dirt road. Take off the loafers and Docker shorts and grab an old straw lifeguard hat and flip-flops. An unbloodied t-shirt is formal attire for dinner. Sushi bar? Only if you’re making it yourself. Cabana boy for your pool towel? Better ask your fishing buddy if he’s headed back to the room.

That’s not to say that a visit to the East Cape is san-luxury. On the contrary, some of Baja’s most famous fishing hotels are on this wild-stretch of land and most all amenities can be found from high-tech swimming pools to relaxing massages and air-conditioning to gourmet restaurants. If there’s something missing you probably didn’t need it. Just don’t expect a lot of nightlife. That’s in Cabo or, to a lesser degree, La Paz. Fishing, relaxing, good times with other anglers, and a fat cigar and a beer at night are a typical daily agenda. And, if you’re going to fish, you’d better lock and load.

The boats of the East Cape seem to work the whole ocean at times. As far south as the Gordo Banks and as far north as even Cerralvo Island and sometimes even further, the East Cape fleets seem to go as far as a tank of fuel and a tank full of bait will get them with both super pangas and cruisers available to visiting anglers. East Cape crews may acquiesce and let Cabo be the “marlin capital” but you’ll get a mouthful of argument if you challenge the East Cape’s claim to being “marlin alley.” Also marked by deep underwater canyons, and steep submarine topography, miles of deserted beaches and the only living coral reef in the entire Eastern Pacific (Cabo Pulmo); there’s no shortage of fish. Huge trophies are as easily caught inshore as cruising offshore where waters are generally calmer than those found off Cabo San Lucas since the East Cape marks the entrance to the more placid waters of the Sea of Cortez.

LA PAZ

For many anglers, La Paz is only a recent discovery. Approach any group of Baja veterans and there’s a good chance most if not all of them have been to the East Cape or Cabo San Lucas or other spots. Yet, few, if any will tell you they have fished La Paz. It’s often the last destination Baja anglers attempt to fish.

Surprisingly, La Paz is the largest city in Southern Baja, yet retains much of it’s “Old World” charm. It’s the capital of the state of Southern Baja and the location of the seat of government; the university; and much of the business economy, yet it’s an interesting mix of both the old and the new. It’s modern like Cabo San Lucas, without the glitz and glamour. (Half the city still takes a siesta at mid-day). On the other hand, it’s not quite as tranquil as the East Cape to the south or Loreto to the north, but strolling along the waterfront and eating tacos under a waving palm tree in the evenings are local pastimes. You don’t go to La Paz to do your souvenir shopping nor will you find time-shares on every corner or a Big Mac on every street. Tourism does not turn the wheels of this city-by-the-bay.. However, fishing certainly drives the wheels of tourism. It just doesn’t get all the publicity.

Reached by direct flights into it’s own Marquez de Leon International Airport, La Paz is a fishing anamoly. Anglers to the area actually get two choices to mix and match. They can either fish straight out from La Paz heading directly north out of the Bay of La Paz towards Espiritu Santo Island; the famous El Bajo Seamount; Punta Coyote, the Charro Bank and north Cerralvo Island. These waters can be prolific, especially during the warmer months for dorado, big marlin, sailfish and world-class tuna.

The other choice is a 1 hour van ride towards the southeast. Fleet operators pick up their anglers from hotel lobbies and shuttle them to Punta Arenas and Muertos Bay, which lays it’s own claim to being the “Roosterfish Capital of the World.” (Hard to argue with a 114 pound world record). Boarding pangas, anglers work Ventana Bay; Punta Perrico; the shark buoys; the famous “88 Spot”; South Cerralvo and many others. This area has been described in some publications as one of the finest “light tackle fisheries in the world.” But don’t let the extensive use of pangas fool you. These waters are ripe with billfish, tuna, dorado, wahoo and many much-sought-after inshore species such as dog-tooth snapper (pargo); pompano; jacks; sierra; cabrilla, amberjack; and of course, roosterfish which can all be caught literally just off the beach. In fact, the common denominator with all fishing in the La Paz area is that most all the fishing is close. Anglers are never out of sight of land and much of the fishing, for even the largest species, is extremely close. Being almost 100 miles up into the Sea of Cortez, waters are generally calm and, in some cases, flatter than many inshore lakes. There are some cruisers available, but the majority of anglers opt to use the experienced panga and super panga fleets because of the proximity of the fishing. In fact, even the fishing is fairly uncomplicated and is done primarily with dead or live bait with very little trolling so don’t bring a lot of gear.

As with San Jose del Cabo to the south, it will be interesting to see the affect of construction of the new Costa Baja Marina north of the city and new construction currently taking place at Muertos Bay (recently renamed Bahia de Los Suenos).

Whatever the choice, it makes for good variety; different species of fish; different styles of fishing; and a great location to return to after a fun day of fishing.

SIDE BAR

You don’t need a whole garage full of stuff to fish the Baja, but gear your equipment towards the time of year you will be traveling and the type of species and fishing you will be doing. Talk and get details from your fleet operator or booking agent. Talk to other anglers. Just remember, you don’t need EVERYTHING, but what you don’t bring you may not be able to purchase in Baja. Rental gear ranges from the very good to basically serviceable and pedestrian gear that takes a beating day-in-and-day-out. Personally, whenever I can I bring my own gear unless I know the rental gear very well. There’s an old rule: “Don’t go to war with someone else’s rifle.” If you have ever been on a trophy fish for a long long time, you’ll know what I’m talking about. That being said, here’s a very basic list for a first-timer that can be expanded to your needs.

Outfits

Short rods with a lot of backbone preferred over long rods. A thirty and forty pound outfit for live and dead bait are a good start

A 50-60 pound trolling outfit with roller guides that can also double as a “meat stick” for bigger or deeper fish using bait is a good 3rd stick.

Terminal Tackle

Assortment of live bait hooks to match sardines, caballitos, mackerel or other dead or live bait
Leader material plus several large hooks already rigged on heavy leader
Swivels (dark preferred over silver)
Lead (don’t go crazy. Unless you specifically know you’re going to be working deep waters. If not, a few torpedo and rubbercore sinkers is enough)
Iron – 2 heavy and 2 medium for yo-you and jigging. Make sure one of each has some chrome. Other colors would be blue/white; scrambled egg; dorado; all white
Feathers – one dark and one light small feather and one dark and one light larger jig (if you’re hunting billfish). Make sure the leader is appropriate to the fish

DON’T LEAVE HOME

Rod belt
Hat
Sunscreen
Dikes and Pliers
Camera
Zip lock bags (for fish as well as temporary splash guard for gear like cameras)
Windbreaker or Sweatshirt (just-in-case)
Small bills for tips

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July 4, 2006 by riplipboy

NEEDLEFISH – published Feb. 2005 – Western Outdoors Magazine Baja Backbeat Column

NEEDLEFISH

In all my years of reading about Baja fishing, I don’t think I’ve seen anything written about one of the great scourges of Baja sportfishers. I’m not talking about sharks or sealions. I’m not even talking about bonito or even (yak!) mackerel. Instead, let’s focus on a fish that no one even thinks about unless these fish are already well on their way to getting the goat, not to mention the bait and tempers of most Baja anglers.

Called “marciel” or “agujon” by locals, the needlefish…yes needlefish… has to rank right up there with some of the most reviled fish in the Sea of Cortez. Technically, there’s a small needlefish (about 18 inches to 3 feet long) and there’s a large needlefish species (up to 5 or 6 feet long), but since I’m not a technical guy, mostly they are a muy grande pain in the nalgas no matter what their size.

Ranging through most of the Cortez, but especially in the lower sections, these fish are long powerful critters that are almost tubular in shape marked by a long gator-like head full of needle like teeth. Normally silver or blue in color, they can arrive in packs out of nowhere. I have found them in the shallows up near the beach and rocks but it’s not uncommon to find them in blue water as well. However, when they arrive, their aggressive attacks on your lure, bait and tackle can only be described as something a tackle-manufacturer could love. With their rows of needle teeth they will grab and grab and grab s’more until there’s not much left of a slow trolled dead or live bait. If you have a feather, lure or lipped-lure, they will continually shred and rip at the jig until you reel back at best a tooth-marked lure or at worst, merely a head and a hook. Even moreso, the continual attacks can and will shred line so that when a true gamefish hits, you stand the chance of breaking off.

When you hit a “needle zone” , it will appear as though everything thrown into the water gets hammered. Often, you can see long silver “packs” of these predators following the lures or harassing a fly-lined bait. At this point you might as well move somewhere else. Needlefish have a very high nuisance quotient. Inexperienced anglers will think that they are getting bit by gamefish as the needlefish will grab a bait; run; then drop it as the angler tries to set the hook. Larger needles are strong enough to yank a trolled line right out of the outrigger resulting in a false bite and the need to re-set the lures or at least tighten the tension on the rigger clips.

When hooked, they can be incredible fighters on light tackle (but so are mackerel) and will launch themselves out of the water with surprising speed and agility almost like torpedoes leaping and skimming the water for10, 20, 30 or more yards. In fact, they have been known to come zooming at pangas, sportfishers and anglers with blazing rapidity and a mouth full of teeth causing more than a few nervous moments as anglers duck. Countless times, I have seen them move with such speed that they hit the boat and broke their necks or slightly embedded the point of their snouts into the fiberglass side of a panga. If one is coming at you, like a wahoo, it’s best not to be in the way! However, despite the initial fun, after awhile levity inevitably turns to frustration and choice words as anglers realize that the needles are depleting bait supplies; breaking lines; tearing up valuable tackle or preventing baits and lures from getting into the mouths of more glamorous quarry. Terrible is the price I have seen anglers and Mexican skippers alike exact on a captured needlefish treating them like the proverbial red-headed stepchild or worse.

If the needles are hitting, I know it’s going to be “one-of-those-days” when I’ll probably hear about it from my clients (as if I could control the needle onslaught). I don’t like them anymore than the next guy, but perhaps we need to adjust how we look at them.

As mentioned previously, needles are exceptional fighters. On light tackle or a flyrod, the battle can be fast, furious and sometimes one-sided as the needles will slash and tear off huge runs. Get tied onto one of the larger models with a girth comparable to some angler’s thighs and you could be in for one heck of a battle. They are certainly easy to catch. I have seen them take bites out of sardines, squid, mackerel, lures, feathers…even a piece of tortilla I once dangled behind the boat. If you throw a shiny spoon at them, they’ll jump all over that as well. Out of boredom on a slow day, I’ve had hours of fun with needlefish using my fly rod or spinner with one perk being that there are often other species around too such as jacks, bonito and tuna.

As for edibility, most anglers cringe when needlefish are mentioned as food. I think long cylindrical fish make many anglers think of snakes and they disdain needlefish even worse than some anglers turn up their noses at barracuda. As one angler told me, “Needlefish are meant to be disposed of , not eaten!” For many years, I felt the same. However, it was a group of my Chinese clients who enlightened my palate. I discovered that cut into chunks the meat has a slight blue tint to it much like some of the rockfish found in the states. When cooked up, the meat turns flakey white color with the only drawback being the copious number of bones. Nevertheless, it was some of my panga skippers that told me that the chunks can be put into a soup and the meat simply boils off the bones. Add some cilantro, chile peppers, carrots and onions and one angler’s trash fish becomes another angler’s delicious cioppino. Top with fresh tortillas and serve with good friends and tall fishing tales.

That’s my story…
Jonathan

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July 4, 2006 by riplipboy

GREEN ANGELS OF THE BAJA – published Sept. 2005 – Western Outdoors Magazine Baja Backbeat

THE GREEN ANGELS OF THE BAJA

Where we live down here we have a unique fishery. Despite having a big ocean right in front of us here in La Paz Bay, we also shuttle anglers daily about 45 miles SE of the city to the beaches of Las Arenas. If you’re not used to it, the drive can be long, dusty and hot, but every fleet in town does it and most anglers really don’t mind it too much considering how good the fishing can be.

Well, the trip requires that we go over a set of fairly sizeable mini-mountains from the city and descend down onto the Arenas peninsula. It’s a pretty sight coming down the grade and seeing Cerralvo Island in the distance nestled into Ventana Bay that’s still 20 miles away when first seen. We coast down into the flatlands and down to the beach.

Well, “coast” implies there’s a downhill which conversely implies that at some point to come back to town there’s an “uphill” that must be dealt with. What is a nice morning “glide” down the cactus and mesquite covered grade becomes the “Nine Mile Hill” coming back…it’s the Mt. Suribachi of hills for all the vans laden with tired fishermen, full ice chests, and tons of gear trying to get back to La Paz in the mid-afternoon heat. And for the nice morning descent, it’s the afternoon climb where the mountain exacts is toll. Evidence is scattered along it’s shoulders…burned out chassis’…the rusted carcasses of vans and cars that never made that last climb up the mountain the local fleet drivers have called “the van killer.” The “Nine Mile Hill” devours vans and spits them out so often that the hill is approached with reverence. Air conditioners are turned off; windows opened; low gears are engaged; clients nodding off for the long ride home are warned that ,”We just need to make it to the top then it’s downhill all the way back home.” Climbing it is like the agonizing chug and click of the rollercoaster as it pulls it way to the top of that first big dip. Amaciated Mexican cattle on the side of the road, walk faster than the vans that have to climb back up that hill.

I have personally broken down so many times over the years on this hill that I don’t even panic anymore. It can be pretty desolate on those slopes with nary a vehicle passing by to flag down and the nearest town at least 10 miles away. In the last 2 weeks alone, I’ve seen 6 vans go down, “sacrifices” to the appetite of the mountain monster.

I’ve seen some folks get pretty freaked out getting stuck in the Mexican desert. But that’s where the Green Angels come in. Driving up and down the Mexican highways, these solo drivers can be lifesavers. Provided free of service by the government, the Green Angeles jockey small utility trucks similar to what you’d see the paramedics use in your town. There’s a special relief you get when one of these green trucks pulls up next to your disabled sled.

On several occasions, I’ve been fortunate to get “visited” by one of these guys. I’m not sure they necessarily have a lot of mechanical ability…at least not that I’ve seen, but they know enough. Moreso, they carry stuff you need and wish you had brought: basic tools, duct tape, rope, water, gas, jumper cables, some engine belts, a phone, a shovel…even toilet paper which can sometimes be the most needed emergency necessity of all. They may not always get your vehicle underway, but it’s comforting to see the man in the uniform step out with a smile asking, “Puedo ayudarte?” (Can I help you?)

For the second time in as many weeks, the van I was driving busted a belt on the long climb up the monster hill. Two passing motorists stopped to assist and couldn’t do much. But they stuck around. Then, the Green Angel showed up. He wasn’t able to do much, but it was good to have him there and he radioed for a tow vehicle. We now had 4 vehicles and about 10 people hanging out and things were taking on a festive mood. We had beers in one of fisherman’s ice chests. Someone else had some bags of chips and one of the original vehicles had some barbecued goatmeat. The makings of a party were brewing. Might was well. No one was going anywhere.

The tow vehicle showed up. They couldn’t do much either so they attempted to tow my van up the hill. They overheated within 200 yards of where I had gone down. Another vehicle came up and tried to tow the tow vehicle. It too went down. The mountain was having a vehicular bacchanalian feast! So, now, there were 6 vehicles stopped roadside of which 3 weren’t going anywhere soon. We eventually got off the mountain, but spent a good 2 hours with our mini-fiesta as the beer, chips and goat meat fueled the levity. At this point, the Green Angel came over to me and smilingly joked, “I know everytime you break down on this hill, I can never fix your vans, but you always have great parties on the side of the road. Next time I will bring the tortillas!”

Andale! Like the Lone Ranger of the highway, the Green Angels ride to the rescue where a little humor always goes a long way, even in the middle of the Mexican desert.

That’s my story…
Jonathan

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July 4, 2006 by riplipboy

PEZ FUERTE THE AMBERJACK – published March 2006 – Western Outdoors Magazine Baja Backbeat Column

PEZ FUERTE THE AMBERJACK

We had dropped jigs on a high spot in perhaps 80 feet of water. The early morning sphere if heat called “el sol” still wasn’t at it’s apex, but already we had shed the light windbreakers hours ago. Actually, looking over at my client, Phil, the last thing he needed was something to cover up unless it was to protect against sunburn. Beads of sweat tinged with melted sunscreen were already stinging his eyes behind his sunglasses. and the strain of the moment was evident from the darkening circles of moisture on his grey t-shirt and straining arms.

His eyes were pretty wide too and I suppressed a grin and giggle. I told him to bring a shorter beefier rod! Instead, being a Southern California “iron man” who loves throwing iron jigs and is proud of his ability to fire ‘em half a football field, Phil was paying the price. His 9-foot jig stick was triple bent and I could tell he was silently praying to the fish gods. I half-expected him to take a knee! OK…don’t listen to me. Have fun!

Actually, we were about ¼ mile of the beach fishing the panga just south of Los Frailes on the lower East Cape. Being a divemaster, I knew this high spot and what could be on it during the early spring months. Our first drop of yo-yo of the jigs were promising.

On the first drop and fast retrieve…WHAM! I didn’t get bit, but Phil was stopped, bent and… (exhale) …UNBOTTONED! He wasn’t expecting that and I laughingly reminded him that when that happens you MUST keep winding to set the hook. Many anglers make the mistake of stopping the grind and trying to set the hook by swinging on the stick. That’s what Phil had done.

Second drop. Settle. Hit bottom. Stop. Wind like hell. Three cranks and WHOAAAAAAA! This time, Phil kept winding until the fish was stuck. Maybe he wished he hadn’t. He high-sticked the fish and fortunately his pressure stopped that first run. I knew there were rocks down there and the first charge was blunted, but his long rod was now helping the fish beat him up on a prolonged fight that had already lasted 20 minutes.

“Yellowtail or grouper?” He asked? “It doesn’t really fight like one!”
“You’ll see,” I grinned back as I rummaged through his ice chest for a beer. (Might as well…not much I could do at this point except verbally coach him!)

When the big bronze fish hit the deck with a thud and two gaffs in it’s flanks, he gasped, “What the hell is THAT?” His forearms were still shaking and he collapsed on the seat.
“Amberjack. About 80 pounds, I’d say.” Was my reply.

Yellowtail gets most of the headlines in Baja but it surprises me that you rarely hear about amberjack. Until someone gets one or a run of these feisty members of the jack family (like yellowtail, pompano, jack crevalle) shows up. Maybe “feisty” is too soft a word. The Mexicans call them “Pez Fuerte.” (The strong fish) If you’ve ever fought the other members of the family or say…a 30 pound yellowtail…imagine a big cousin that can go over 100 pounds. That gives you some idea. The world record is 114 pounds, but I’ve seen larger fish that we just never got to a scale or got eaten before anyone realized.

Technically, seriola rivoliana, the amberjack is not only a great fighter but many folks consider it an even better eating fish than the popular and delicious yellowtail. I’ve had anglers describe it’s flavor as having a tinge of crab or shellfish in it, perhaps because of it’s own varied diet. The bad boy is found in tropical and subtropical waters, often around deep drop offs, high spots and ridges, but in my own experience, it seems that they are more prevailant in Southern Baja waters where waters are a few degrees warmer than say, Loreto and Mulege, famous for it’s yellowtail fisheries. Spring, especially, the late spring then again in the fall seem to be prime time for getting amberjack to go.

When they are running, they will school up. They will eat a bait or chase a jig all the way to the surface. Sometimes they will school up in masses.

I ran a panga for some of my freedivers once. They were in the water and came up empty. I was puzzled because I knew there were amberjack down there for the spearing. However, as one of the divers explained to me with a smile, “The amberjack are in huge schools down there only about 40 feet down. However, they are so thick and curious that they are virtually coming up to the point of the spear and looking right at it. Shooting a fish right between the eyes isn’t sport!”

That may be true for freediving spearfishermen, but I grabbed my handy rod and fired a jig and quickly hooked up. Far be it from me to pass up a quick dinner!

That’s my story…
Jonathan

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July 4, 2006 by riplipboy

BAJA LOST AND FOUND – published Feb. 2005 – Western Outdoor News Baja Backbeat Column

BAJA LOST AND FOUND

Who of us at some point haven’t had the urge to tell the boss just where to put the stapler; exactly what we think of our significant other; or wanted to be able to flip the national digital one-finger bird to every driver as we sat in gridlock with total impunity? Usually good common sense; morals; the need for the paycheck or our own sense of self-preservation restrain us from doing anything quite so drastic.

However, the other day, we were sitting on a waterfront adobe wall here in La Paz eating some street tacos with a few friends. In one way or another, all of us are retirees, ex-patriates or pirates from another life…a former attorney…softwear developer…fireman…truck driver…car salesman. You get the idea. Flip flops; fishing shorts; and raggedy t-shirts…basically “Baja Formal.”

Taco in one hand. Beer in the other. The warmth of the late afternoon rolled up on us as easily as the afternoon corumel breeze flitted and began it’s customary dance along the waterfront’s coconut trees like a little kid just released from the confines of the school desk. As we stuffed our faces with the succulent marinated pork and tortillas, the smell of the meat and onions roasting on the grill wafted around us and in the distance the boom box on a waiting taxi cab provided a nice soundtrack.

Sitting there dangling our legs, a dusty car briefly pulled over. A young man jumped out and stapled a yellow printed sheet on the nearby wooden phone pole before jumping back into the car which sped down the block and performed the same ritual at another telephone pole.

A concert? A social meeting? Half-eaten tacos in hand, several of us stepped up to read the construction paper notice.

Beneath the black and white grainy photocopy of a smiling gent in shorts with receding hairline and sandy beard and mustache were the words from a worried family. It looked like the photo was taken on some beach. He was shirtless and smiling as if on a family picnic. He looked happy, like some exec on a welcome 3-day-weekend. Apparently, the guy was missing. The 58-year-old was “last seen north of Ensenada about 2 months ago riding his motorcycle on a trip from San Diego CA.” It went on to describe the man in more detail but what hit me were the words at the bottom of the page: “Foul play suspected. Please call worried wife.”

The group looked at each other. I guess in the U.S. such a notice would have drawn some concerned looks like when you see those photos in the post office. Maybe it was the effects of beer and full tummies, but we all looked at each other and smiled thinking the same mischievous thought.

This guy wasn’t “missing.” He was GONE! He didn’t want to be found!

“Probably found a house in Loreto,” grinned Dave.
He’s working on his hook tying, “said Rod.
“He’s probably doing what we’re doing right now,” added Billy
“Got himself a dog named ‘Pancho,’” smirked Joe
“And a girlfriend named Veronica,” laughed Terry. We all laughed.

Hopefully, nothing bad had actually happened to this guy, but all of us know that Baja has that seductive power over people and if he “lit out” for the cactus mountains and sugar-sand beaches, he wouldn’t be the first. Like shedding an old skin, Baja is populated by folks who just took that one step across the San Ysidro border and decide, they weren’t coming back.

On the Baja license plate it says, “La Frontera” (the frontier) where normally you would see the state name. Despite many changes, Baja is still the wild frontier in our little brains that tell is there’s a simpler easier life if we just keep walking south towards where the land ends. Some call it a disease. Others call it magic. Some run away from things. Others run after something.

Yes, it’s possible to only have one set of clothes again and none of them have buttons or extend beyond your elbows or knees. It’s possible to actually know your neighbors. It’s possible to have everything you need within walking or biking distance. That’s real sunshine you see every morning and the ocean water isn’t blue because the pool guy has the chlorine set correctly. You don’t really need a store with 20 types of toilet paper to survive or 10 brands of mayonnaise. One will do thank you.

About a week later, I was again sitting on that same adobe wall indulging in one of my favorite and cheapest pastimes… eating an afternoon taco. A dust-caked Sukuki motorcycle pulled to the curb and the long-legged rider with the shorts walked into the little mercadito (convenience store) and came out with a bottle of water pausing briefly to read the now torn yellow notice which was now dog-eared and slightly ripped from a week in the Baja sun. He studied it intently lifting his sunglasses so he could read it. He then laughed. Looked at me; dropped his sunglasses back on his nose; grinned and got back on his motorcycle. I could see from his shoulders he was still laughing as he rode away.

And I laughed too. Bienvenidos, amigo. Welcome to the ranks, Mr. “Last Seen North or Ensenada.” You’d obviously made it as far as La Paz! Call home to let ‘em know you’re not coming home for dinner.

That’s my story…
Jonathan

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July 4, 2006 by riplipboy

THOSE PEOPLE – published May 2005 – Western Outdoor Magazines Baja Backbeat Column

THOSE PEOPLE

Recently, I was seated on a flight back from Baja to S. California doing my usual commute between my two offices. As luck would have it, I was thankful that for once, I wasn’t seated next to a crying infant. There are times when I think the gods of aviation must have singled me out to be seated next to the screamer or, just as annoying, the tyke who kicks my seat from behind or plays with his/her tray the entire flight.

No, this time it seemed as though I was in the middle of two or three families all returning from their Baja vacation. They weren’t fishermen…or at least maybe they had fished a few days, but at least the 3 or 4 guys and older boys didn’t look like fishermen. You know how us fishermen look after a few days in the Baja! Our usual traveling “ensemble” consists of shorts; sandals, 3 day old souvenir tank top with fish picture complete with weird looking suntan; lifeguard hat and bleery-eyes from lack of sleep and too much beer. Either we’re real loud and still on a roll or can’t keep our eyes open.

On the contrary, the folks sitting around me were “dressed” the way folks used to dress if they were going traveling. The men had on khaki slacks and docksider shoes. They had the kind of perfect hair I used to aspire to before my scalp grew through my haircut. The ladies were all “designer” as were the kids. Even their grungy beach clothes had designer labels. Every kid had an iPod. I imagined the moms spent a lot of time fund raising and doing lunches at the country club. It was kind of nice to be in the middle of this for once. I’m admittedly a natural evesdropper and I’m normally used to traveling companions telling “pull-my-finger” jokes or trying to remember how many tequilas they had the night before. I learn a lot from what I hear.

This is one time, I wished I had had the screaming baby next to me.

The talk flew buzzed around me consisting of them talking about the…

…the properties they had bought
…the new houses that were almost finished
…imported furnishings for the ones that were already finished
…the yachts that were going to be brought down
…which restaurants served the best wine
…complaining that they would have to decide between Aspen or Baja in the winter
…finding a nanny and housekeepers
…which beach would make the best investment for the future

OK…it was clear that I wasn’t in this particular social strata. But, this is what I also heard snippets of…

“….that lazy…….THOSE lazy…that ridiculous service… slow…THOSE people…taking advantage of us…corrupt system…not service oriented…THOSE unsanitary conditions…THOSE people…speak no English…no cell phone…THOSE people take their time…but we’re Americans…robbing us blind…our money…THOSE uneducated…”

You getting the picture? It was all I could do to grit my teeth and shudder. One part of me wanted to yell and another wanted to hang my head in shame. As the peppered conversation was loud enough as they spoke from seat to seat and across the aisles over the roar of the engines as if they were sitting at a big family dinner table.

Being an international flight, I know that the Mexican travelers sitting around the families could clearly hear the conversation and whether they spoke English or not, there was no way to mistake the condescending tone. But the group chatted on in self-centered oblivion. I prayed that I don’t sound like that, but admitted that there were certainly times when I might have been unthinkingly inconsiderate.

The sad part is that these are the types of conversations I’m hearing with increased frequency as the real estate boom in Mexico brings new people and new money to the land. It’s growing exponentially especially as we snap up more and more of the land and resources owned by THOSE people. (yes…we took their water when we sucked up the Colorado River a few decades ago!) Just who are THOSE people?

They’re not much different than us. There’s good and bad and most are trying to scratch out an honest living like the rest of us. They build the roads so we can come visit. They build the hotels and marinas so our boats can be as comfortable as our families. They cook the food; run the boats; clean our condos; wash the sheets; serve our beer with a smile. Mostly those were MY friends they were talking about and it pained me to hear them painted with such a broad brush as much as it pains me to hear some Mexicans call us all war mongers because of the Middle East.

I know we have our own problems in the U.S. with “visitors” from Mexico as well, but conversely, it’s so easy to forget that when we’re in Mexico we are also guests and welcome ones at that! The country belongs to THOSE people, but it seems as though because we have the deeper pockets, ownership breeds entitlement.

I was once asked by a client, “How come everyone in Mexico speaks Spanish?”

I could only shake my head. Yes, it’s all about us. Wish I had the screaming baby next to me instead.

That’s my story

Jonathan

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July 3, 2006 by riplipboy

DECKHAND KNOWS ALL – published Oct. 2005 – Western Outdoor Magazine Baja Backbeat Column

DECKHAND KNOWS ALL

We all know what a “tell-all” book is, right? Basically, some “insider” writes a book about what “really happened” to such-and-such. Elvis must have had a zillion insiders judging from all the books his life spawned. Princess Di comes to mind. So does Marilyn Monroe. I think someone somewhere even dug up dirt on Adam and Eve if you checked back on it. Something about an apple and a snake or somesuch.

I’ve been writing for a number of years and sometimes having a journalist aboard a fishing boat isn’t always looked on with great favor. Think about it. What if someone followed you and the boys to Vegas on your next bender and jotted down all the highlights? Think about your fishing trips. Think of all the goofy things you did and said and heard that really weren’t meant for publication or anyone else who wasn’t on the trip. Even here in Baja, I hear folks say (men and women both), “What happens in Baja stays in Baja!”

Well, picture this. Think about all the things a deckhand on a long range trip might see and hear. Imagine what might come of that. Well, that’s exactly what happened on one memorable trip.

John Steinbeck is one of the pre-eminent American authors, a virtual icon of the American literary scene with award winning books such as “Tortilla Flat,” “Of Mice and Men,” and “Grapes of Wrath” which won the Pulitzer Prize in 1939. (Remember those high school book reports?) As a novelist, adventurer and social commentator, his name is right up there with contemporaries such as Hemingway and Zane Grey. The guy had some clout and literary brass. However, he also contributed to the literary lore of Baja in the manner of Fred Hoctor and Ray Cannon.

In the pre-war year of 1939, Steinbeck pushed off the docks of Monterey in the Western Flyer, one of those wooden fishing boats you can still see tied to the fishing docks along cannery row. At the helm was Captain Tony Berry and crew. Accompanying him was biologist Ed “Doc” Ricketts. The 6 week trip would cruise down the Baja peninsula and up into the Sea of Cortez collecting marine specimens and enjoying “comeraderie and conversation.” The trip would result in one of the most dispositive Baja books of the era, “Sea of Cortez – A Leisurely Journal of Travel and Research” published in 1941. (New York Viking Press)

It’s a marvelous read and a MUST in any Baja book collection. It speaks of a different time and place when it was actually hard to find Cabo San Lucas; when a harbor master had to guide boats into La Paz; about dust; dirt; mule carts; warm beer; and spearing “devil fish” manta rays because they were dangerous.” Like I said, it’s a good read that you should pick up and add to your collection. Steinbeck had an obvious gift for memory and writing. However, it wasn’t a “perfect” memory.

He forgot about the deckhand!

In 1991, a book was published called “With Steinbeck in the Sea of Cortez” (1991 Sand River Press, Los Osos CA). It was published 50 years AFTER Steinbeck’s book and 23 years after his Steinbeck’s death in 1968. It was written by Sparky Enea, a local Montery fisherman who was the deckhand on the Western Flyer with Mssrs. Steinbeck and Ricketts. It’s a paperback that reads quickly but it has some incredible insight into the trip that was interestingly “missed” when Steinbeck wrote his book. You have to be careful about those deckhands.

For instance, the most glaring thing mentioned by Enea is that Steinbeck’s wife Carol was on the trip! She was supposed to be the galley cook but only cooked one meal in six weeks. In those close quarters 24 hours/day, it’s interesting that the award-winning author never mentions his wife was aboard. However, in the deckhand’s book, it is notable that Carol might have been doing a bit of wenching with good old Capt. Berry in the wheelhouse and on at least one occasion came onto deckhand Enea and flashed him and she had a tendency towards wearing wet shirts on deck with nothing underneath or playing “feely hands” under the galley table. The plot thickens. Ahhhh…a true pirate trip!

That’s exactly what it was. Research be damned. Mostly, Enea writes about a great “guy” trip worthy of an MTV reality show. He talks a lot of getting drunk and basically, “we signed on for a six week party!” They would sit on the deck drinking and telling stories about hookers and “weirdos” and how Steinbeck could tell a good yarn over beer and were disappointed he left out so many details in his books.

They got in bar fights and crew fights. They would pull into little “pueblitos” like Mulege and Loreto and and Guyamas and immediately find “Carta Blanca” beer and cheap whorehouses and party all night. They discovered the medicinal purposes of the alcoholic Damiana drink as well as it’s supposed aphrodisiac properties. The ate pots of spaghetti on deck and dug for clams. They had a tempermental outboard motor. They bought bottles of tequila for 30 cents and learned that you had to pay extra for girls on Good Friday.

But they also talked about beautiful sunsets; enchanging warm blue waters and going to Mass in La Paz and enjoying the all the singing. And they talked about dropping everything and never going back to California and moving permanently to Mexico. Like all guys, they talked about having “gas.” You can almost hear Steinbeck telling someone to “pull my finger.” Sound familiar? The more things change, the more they stay the same. Road trip! Just watch out for the deckhand!

How could John Steinbeck miss all this in his book?

That’s my story!
Jonathan

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July 3, 2006 by riplipboy

BLOOD ON THE BEACH – published March 2005 – Western Outdoors Magazine Baja Backbeat Column

BLOOD ON THE BEACH

I came up on the beach a few weeks ago with some clients while out fishing in our pangas. What a great glorious Mexican day. It was the kind of day that makes my job easy and clients think that they caught a lot of fish because of my (perceived) “talent and experience” ! Ha! The nice thing about working in the Sea of Cortez is that the ocean usually takes care of everything and I’m just a grateful bystander. I was guiding the client and his wife and we were returning from a good day on the water…good sun…good company…good fish. All the combinations were there. Lots of smiles… at least, until we got back to the beach and saw all the bodies on the beach.

“Oh my Gawd! What’s that on the beach? What’s all that blood?” shrieked my client’s wife squinting in the bright early afternoon sunshine as we gunned the panga, Mexican style, right through the surf and up onto the sand to a sudden halt.

I tried to tell her those were manta rays (actually mobulae…smaller cousins to the giant mantas) but she immediately hopped out’ve the panga and was walking quickly to where the commercial pangeros (skiff captains) were cutting up and selling their catch to the truck from the market down the beach from where we had beached out boat.

Although I was still in the panga, I could easily see the carcasses of rays, sharks, and rockfish being cut and stacked. The wind was running out’ve my sail as I could already tell from her comments where this was all heading. I looked at my client who cocked an eyebrow and shrugged.

The clients’ wife came back in a rage of tears. “Those men should be shot!” She screamed. “They are butchering those fish! Can’t we stop them? Can’t we call the police or something?” She was almost shaking with anger.

“What they’re doing is perfectly legal,” I tried to explain as calmly as possible to diffuse the situation. This was not the first time I had heard this. I told her I didn’t like seeing animals like manta rays and sharks cut up like that either. Heck, people pay me money to take them scuba diving so they can see these great creatures in the water. However, there wasn’t much I could do about it. At least not here on the beach. I also tried to tell her that these pangeros out here are just guys trying to make a living and feed their families.

“Well, then YOU are partially to blame too!” she screamed. I could feel this one coming. Here we go… zero sixty in one sentence. “People like you with YOUR attitude are the very reason the world’s creatures are being destroyed! You should be out there forming up a group of captains or something or forming an eco group to be saving those animals!”

She had now turned on me…the fishing guy. I looked at her husband who smartly had moved out’ve the line-of-fire and had turned his attention to busying himself gathering up his gear in the boat. However, I knew he could hear.

I tried to tell her that these are just simple captains. Most of them don’t even own their own boats. They scrape to buy gas for the boats. They are at the whim of weather and currents. They hold their trucks together with duct tape and spit (well, I didn’t exactly say “spit!”) They make pennies while fishing. When not fishing, they are working in the chili farms for 2 dollars/day. They live in homes that might have a dirt floor and a blue tarp for a roof with chickens having as much a right-of-way as a visiting neighbor. They were about SURVIVAL, not forming eco groups! (I tried to say this in a calm matter-of-fact way to try to keep a lid on this).

I told her, that I’m no tree-hugger, but I didn’t like seeing all those carcasses on the beach and in the surf either. But, I tried to tell her these guys aren’t part of a big ocean-raping corporation. Their names are “Jose” and “Ramon” and “Victor” and they were just “guys” trying to live day-to-day from whatever the ocean gives them. No malice intended towards the environment. They weren’t “sportfishing” for fun like us (I pointed to the rather full fish box in the panga that had a nice limit of dorado and cabrilla). I told her I couldn’t fault a guy for doing what I would do in the same circumstance…trying to eat!

That did it. Maybe I put too much emphasis on that last part.

At that she stormed off up the beach in a huff. There’s a disturbance in the force, Luke. It’s like when your girlfriend thinks she caught you in something you didn’t do. The silence is deafening. I was left being the bad guy. Her husband looked at me and just said, “I didn’t want to get in the middle of that, but why exactly are they killing all those sharks and mantas?”

I looked at his quiver of gold reels. I looked at his expensive designer shorts and L.L. Bean shirt. I remembered his wife’s diamond ring (the size of a 1 oz. egg sinker) and designer sunglasses that alone must’ve cost more than some captains make in a month.

What I wanted to say is, “With all due respect, have you ever been hungry? I mean really hungry? Have you ever looked at your kids and not had enough milk to go around or dinner was the same beans you had 3 nights in a row? No catsup. No salsa. No cheese. It’s beans and tortillas and if you’re lucky…maybe some rice or a piece of fishy bonito that one of your “generous” clients gave you instead of a tip.

Have you ever been in a situation where you really didn’t know where tomorrow’s meal is coming from? In my worst college days of eating hard boiled eggs and Top Ramen until it was coming out’ve my ears, I didn’t miss a lot of meals. That’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I said, “They’re just trying to make a living.” He was good with that and walked somberly to the waiting shuttle van with his gear. So much for a bright-cheery day. His wife didn’t speak to me again the rest of their vacation.

That’s my story…
Jonathan

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July 3, 2006 by riplipboy

BLOOD ON THE BEACH – published March 2005 – Western Outdoors Magazine Baja Backbeat Column

BLOOD ON THE BEACH

I came up on the beach a few weeks ago with some clients while out fishing in our pangas. What a great glorious Mexican day. It was the kind of day that makes my job easy and clients think that they caught a lot of fish because of my (perceived) “talent and experience” ! Ha! The nice thing about working in the Sea of Cortez is that the ocean usually takes care of everything and I’m just a grateful bystander. I was guiding the client and his wife and we were returning from a good day on the water…good sun…good company…good fish. All the combinations were there. Lots of smiles… at least, until we got back to the beach and saw all the bodies on the beach.

“Oh my Gawd! What’s that on the beach? What’s all that blood?” shrieked my client’s wife squinting in the bright early afternoon sunshine as we gunned the panga, Mexican style, right through the surf and up onto the sand to a sudden halt.

I tried to tell her those were manta rays (actually mobulae…smaller cousins to the giant mantas) but she immediately hopped out’ve the panga and was walking quickly to where the commercial pangeros (skiff captains) were cutting up and selling their catch to the truck from the market down the beach from where we had beached out boat.

Although I was still in the panga, I could easily see the carcasses of rays, sharks, and rockfish being cut and stacked. The wind was running out’ve my sail as I could already tell from her comments where this was all heading. I looked at my client who cocked an eyebrow and shrugged.

The clients’ wife came back in a rage of tears. “Those men should be shot!” She screamed. “They are butchering those fish! Can’t we stop them? Can’t we call the police or something?” She was almost shaking with anger.

“What they’re doing is perfectly legal,” I tried to explain as calmly as possible to diffuse the situation. This was not the first time I had heard this. I told her I didn’t like seeing animals like manta rays and sharks cut up like that either. Heck, people pay me money to take them scuba diving so they can see these great creatures in the water. However, there wasn’t much I could do about it. At least not here on the beach. I also tried to tell her that these pangeros out here are just guys trying to make a living and feed their families.

“Well, then YOU are partially to blame too!” she screamed. I could feel this one coming. Here we go… zero sixty in one sentence. “People like you with YOUR attitude are the very reason the world’s creatures are being destroyed! You should be out there forming up a group of captains or something or forming an eco group to be saving those animals!”

She had now turned on me…the fishing guy. I looked at her husband who smartly had moved out’ve the line-of-fire and had turned his attention to busying himself gathering up his gear in the boat. However, I knew he could hear.

I tried to tell her that these are just simple captains. Most of them don’t even own their own boats. They scrape to buy gas for the boats. They are at the whim of weather and currents. They hold their trucks together with duct tape and spit (well, I didn’t exactly say “spit!”) They make pennies while fishing. When not fishing, they are working in the chili farms for 2 dollars/day. They live in homes that might have a dirt floor and a blue tarp for a roof with chickens having as much a right-of-way as a visiting neighbor. They were about SURVIVAL, not forming eco groups! (I tried to say this in a calm matter-of-fact way to try to keep a lid on this).

I told her, that I’m no tree-hugger, but I didn’t like seeing all those carcasses on the beach and in the surf either. But, I tried to tell her these guys aren’t part of a big ocean-raping corporation. Their names are “Jose” and “Ramon” and “Victor” and they were just “guys” trying to live day-to-day from whatever the ocean gives them. No malice intended towards the environment. They weren’t “sportfishing” for fun like us (I pointed to the rather full fish box in the panga that had a nice limit of dorado and cabrilla). I told her I couldn’t fault a guy for doing what I would do in the same circumstance…trying to eat!

That did it. Maybe I put too much emphasis on that last part.

At that she stormed off up the beach in a huff. There’s a disturbance in the force, Luke. It’s like when your girlfriend thinks she caught you in something you didn’t do. The silence is deafening. I was left being the bad guy. Her husband looked at me and just said, “I didn’t want to get in the middle of that, but why exactly are they killing all those sharks and mantas?”

I looked at his quiver of gold reels. I looked at his expensive designer shorts and L.L. Bean shirt. I remembered his wife’s diamond ring (the size of a 1 oz. egg sinker) and designer sunglasses that alone must’ve cost more than some captains make in a month.

What I wanted to say is, “With all due respect, have you ever been hungry? I mean really hungry? Have you ever looked at your kids and not had enough milk to go around or dinner was the same beans you had 3 nights in a row? No catsup. No salsa. No cheese. It’s beans and tortillas and if you’re lucky…maybe some rice or a piece of fishy bonito that one of your “generous” clients gave you instead of a tip.

Have you ever been in a situation where you really didn’t know where tomorrow’s meal is coming from? In my worst college days of eating hard boiled eggs and Top Ramen until it was coming out’ve my ears, I didn’t miss a lot of meals. That’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I said, “They’re just trying to make a living.” He was good with that and walked somberly to the waiting shuttle van with his gear. So much for a bright-cheery day. His wife didn’t speak to me again the rest of their vacation.

That’s my story…
Jonathan

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July 3, 2006 by riplipboy

THE GIANT SQUID OF BAJA – published Nov. 2005 – Western Outdoors Magazine -Baja Backbeat Column

THE GIANT SQUID OF BAJA
My client was in freespool dropping down the heavily weighted jig into the early morning waters lightly feathering the line as it spun deeper and deeper.
“Deeper?” he asked.
“Yea, you got a bit to go, ” I responded.
“How deep do I need to get down? I have about half my spool down already,” he said looking up at me just watching him with a bit of a bemused smirk.
“Oh, you’re just about there. I”ll tell you when,” I said knowingly.
“How about now?” was his anxious reply by now his 4/0 two-speed well into the spectra.
“OK…that ought do it. Now. Stop and slowly jig and wind up.” I think he caught my wink but he smiled and dutifully did what I suggested anxious to get into something.
Two cranks. Lift. Three cranks. Lift. Four cranks…”WHOA! Dangit, I’m hung up on the bottom!” he complained as the thick meat stick almost went parabolic and his hand froze in mid-crank.
“The bottom is 800 feet below the hull of this boat and when was the last time, the bottom pulled drag?” I laughed.
It suddenly dawned on him that his rod was abruptly pinned to the rail and he was straining mightily to fight whatever it was that had the end of that line. Arm and neck muscles bulged and he looked at me with a mixture of confusion and resignation.
“You said you wanted to catch some giant squid, amigo! I told you that even with your two-speed these critters are beasts!”

If you ever get around a fat-chewing session with some Baja fishermen, nothing with maybe the exception of man-eating sharks, seems to grab everyone’s attention like the topic of giant squid. Like sharks, there seems to be something inherent in our collective psyche that draws us to them. One man’s myth is another man’s monster; is another man’s bait; is another man’s dinner.

Whether your first encounter with them is playing with them in the bait tank; seeing them under the lights; finding them washed up on the beach or eating them with garlic bread and wine, there’s simply something intriguing about them. This is especially true of the giant squid that has mesmerized those of us on dry land for eons or any little boy who read Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

Architeuthis (ark-ee-TOOTH-us) is the scientific name for the big critters and perhaps part of the fascination is that we really know so little about them. Most of our knowledge basically comes from the smaller ones that are caught and the larger ones where we can only speculate by examining tentacles or carcasses washed up somewhere or recovered in the ocean. None has ever been raised or kept in captivity. Where do the live? What do they eat? How do they feed? How big do they grow?

In fact only recently in September 2004, Japanese scientists were the first to photograph an animal estimated at 25 feet long 3000 feet below the surface as it attacked a baited jig in the northern Pacific Ocean. Reported in National Geographic http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2005/09/0927_050927_giant_squid.html, the photos are downright amazingly spooky if you consider the power of a giant parrot-like beak and tentacles that have grasping (not suction) cups long them. Using basically, the same methods used by squid fishermen around the world, the Japanese researchers were amazed at the animal’s predatory abilities as well as how tenaciously it fought when hooked. (Obviously, these guys weren’t fishermen.)

Previously, they had thought squid just “hung out down there” but now conjecture that these bad boys can HUNT. During the struggle with the hooked squid, one of the longer 18 foot tentacles was broken off and brought on board. (A squid has both long and shorter tentacles.) Based on that measurement, they speculate the owner of the arm was about 25 feet long, but “caution” this assumes the tentacle was broken off at the base near the body! For the records, the longest recovered squid was measured at about 59 feet long.

In my professional career in Baja I’ve caught a lot of squid from 12 inchers to 80 pounders. They’re a lot of fun. I’m also a professional diver and although I will fish for the squirters, I can’t think of too many other professional divers that will take clients diving with squid. I have no problem diving with sharks, but if squid are around I’d rather we all get out’ve the water. There’s a saying that there has never been a recorded shark attack in the Sea of Cortez, but there have been a number of deaths related to squid attacks especially among the squid fishermen in the middle areas of the Sea of Cortez and the Baja.

I look over at my client who is now 20 minutes into his squid. Beads of sweat are running down his face and his t-shirt is already sweat-stained in the early Baja sun. He’s learned that an easy grind beats the “lift-and-wind-down” method used to fight fish. But this squid is kicking his butt.

“This is incredible. I had no idea these things were such fighters. I’ve caught 5 pounders off California, but this is like dangling a small refrigerator over the side of a building with a piece of string!”

“These things are usually further down…waaay down,” I tell him. However, the last few weeks, they’ve been at 200-400 feet so we’ve been fishing them because it’s fun and most guys have never seen anything like this. Plus they make great bait when chunked up or trolled.”

He’s still going to be a few more minutes judging by the bend in the rod, so I tell him I’ve been hooked on small tuna or bonito that swam through a school of squid and had the squid just rip the fish off the hooks. I mention to him that I’ve read stories of divers that have been attacked and nearly drowned and hacked by squid. I heard a story from one diver who saw a blue shark swim through a school of squid and come out with some orange-sized chunks missing from it’s body and about some underwater divers who went down in a cage to do some photography of the squid and had to wrap that yellow plastic police mesh around the cage to protect themselves from attacking squid. I tell him that just last month, some spearfishing free divers near Cabo San Lucas had to leave the water when giant squid came after them near the surface.

“How big do these things get?” he says between grins and huffs.

I tell him mostly we see 20-40 pounders, but that squid up to 80 pounds have been caught recently. Most are about 3-5 feet long. I tell him that unlike an octopus that has a small head and long arms, the squid has tentacles that are about a third the length of it’s body, i.e, a three-foot squid has arms about a foot long.

“About a month ago, I came across a 6 foot tentacle floating on the surface with birds diving on it,” I recount. If my ratio of 1:3 is correct then that arm was connected to some 18 foot creature, right? Even more intriguing, I’d sure hate to run into the beast that tore that 6-foot-arm off!” I said with emphasis like a camp counselor telling a fireside ghost story. I’m not lying, but I sure love this stuff and watching the reaction.

I can see his eyes widen with each story. Somewhere in his head, he’s thinking, “We need a bigger boat!” like that scene from the movie Jaws. He’s breathing heavily now… a combination of the squid’s power and too many beers last night in the cantina. He’s whupped but so is the squid as it comes darkly to the surface and we stick a gaff in it. We leave it on the side momentarily to protect ourselves from jets of water and ink that can hit you like a firehose when shot from the body of a 50-pound mollusk. It’s then lifted into the boat and into the fish box.

“Oh my gawd!” says the client sitting himself down in resignation. “That was incredible. Holy…I’m beat!” he adds exhaustively as I toss him a cold one from the ice chest.
“Well, we need 4 of those big things for bait to go chase the tuna today so drop down again!” I tell him with a laugh.

“You’re kidding, right?” he says as he reaches for his rod again and starts the process over.
“Nope. No bait no fish.”

Well, we do need a few more for bait, but these things make great calamari salad and fried squid rings too and whatever isn’t used for bait is coming home to my casa for a bath in some garlic, beer batter and hot oil! One man’s bait is another man’s dinner. Mine. I love my job. Ole!

That’s my story!

Jonathan

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