Cerralvo Island, February 26th 2005
Jonathon:
It’s 4am, my alarm activated, it can only mean one thing… Fishing! And early morning heartburn. As fond, and furious, as I am about fishing, 4am is much less enjoyable to wake up to than it is to go to bed to. Clive, also awake, having set his own alarm in case mine failed, seemed to be fine with being awake even though we had only gone to sleep 3 hours prior. Regardless of everything we knew today was a fishing day and once on the water nothing else would matter. We packed up the buggy, I chewed on a few facidex (the local antacid), and off we went…
We arrived at Fishermen’s Fleet after a 15 minute drive from our house. It’s a short and rather uneventful ride down one of the main roads here in the small city of La Paz. David Jones, owner and founder of Fishermen’s Fleet, awaited our arrival at the front doors inviting us in for some coffee and breakfast before we headed out. After a few cups of coffee and some great blueberry bread, the rest of todays fishermen arrived. They were four trout fishermen from Colorado, two wielding some very nice four piece fly rods. We shared a bit about ourselves, and a few fishing stories. They seemed to be rather impressed with our resourcefulness and ability to be living here in La Paz, or anywhere with an Internet connection, but more so (I think) was the realization that we were probably 10 years younger than them. “We must be in the wrong business†one of them said.
At 5:15 we crammed into the van and headed out of La Paz, it wasn’t long before we were beyond the city limits. Now traveling on a seemingly treacherous road encompassed by the rolling blackness from horizon to horizon. The paved serpentine offered no warnings of its perilous nature, instead scattered roadside crosses marked the casualties in a much more meaningful way than any sign could convey. Our veteran driver must have tamed this beast innumerable times as he dodged unseen potholes, crevasses, and the sinuous cliff side turns. I tried to sleep, but the sounds of the road, and those few cups of coffee, were forbidding me from doing so.
The sky, now turning from a pale grey to a wondrous blue in announcement of the rapidly approaching sun illuminated our mountainous silhouette surroundings. As the sun ascended over the mountain tops the desert awoke reaching upwards with an infinite number of cacti fingers. It was a marvelous spectacle to watch as small flocks of birds darted out of their nests and larger predatory birds appeared soring above. It was as if that single ray of sunshine swept the desert with a breath of extraordinary life.
When we arrived at our destination, Las Arenas, the moon was still high in the sky and I could taste the salty air. David introduced us to our guide for the day, Cayo. Most, if not all of the guides working for David fish for a living and have been fishing this area for 10-20 years. These fishermen rely on their memory and expertise, there is literally no extra technology involved. With many of the charters and guide services you’re very likely to see things like fish finders, depth finders, GPS and the like. I was very impressed with their lack of reliance on fancy technology, only knowledge and experience.
Clive:
We jumped in a twenty foot panga boat, sixty-five horsepower motor on the back, and began our adventure. As we raced along the shoreline needle fish skipped across the top of the water on all sides. Seeing fish early in the day had always meant good luck for us, and today would be no exception. The shore line here was breath taking, something right out of Plant of the Apes, the Statue of Liberty could have been around the next point.
About thirty minutes later we pulled up near shore and Cayo began throwing a cast net to catch bait fish. Jon and I took turns maneuvering the boat for him as the strong wind continued to push us closer the the rocky beach. It didn’t take long for our guide to catch a good supply of bait and we headed to some deeper water near by.
As we got to some deeper water Cayo took our rods and tied on small Mustad hooks. He baited the hooks with a minnow, hooked through the mouth, and signaled to us to release line. Only a few minutes later I had a hit! I set the hook and line started peeling off the spool. I put my thumb down to try and slow the line which immediately resulted in layers of skin tearing off my thumb. Within seconds my forty pound line snapped and I was left with nothing but a sore thumb. After taking a look at where the line broke, I noticed that it hadn’t broken, but rather the knot failed. I was using my freshwater muskie reel with PowerPro, which is not used much here due to cost. I tied the next knot myself as Cayo explained that he could tie mono much better then he could tie braided. Soon afterward, Jon had a hit, and after also burning his thumb the forty pound mono he was using broke. Two big fish lost with in ten minutes of fishing, this was certainly not something we are familiar with.
We watched as some of the people fishing near us pulled up some good sized fish after enduring battles that seemed to last a long time. Finally, Jon brought in the first fish. It was a five pound snapper, called huachinango (wha chee nango) locally, this seemingly small fish put up a better fight than most of the muskie we caught last season.
After netting more bait Cayo took us back toward the launch area to try a new spot. The water was shallower in some areas here and I could see large rock formations on the bottom. From what I understand, the bottom is mostly large rocks even in deeper areas. The larger fish will often come from depths of one hundred feet or more to hit bait near the surface and then head straight back down, often cutting the fishermen’s line on the rocks below. We circled the area a few times and then I felt a tap on my line so I set the hook. The battle began, and I felt more power from this fish then I had ever felt on my small freshwater equipment. After a few runs I managed to get the Sierra (Spanish Mackrel) to the side of the boat, Cayo gaffed, and lifted it aboard just as the sierra’s sharp teeth cut through my Power Pro. The fish had a very metallic look with a dark green/blue colour along the back and a set of the meanest looking teeth I have ever encountered. I posed for a couple pictures and we began fishing once more.
Jonathon:
I managed to hook in to another fish, but this time it was different. It didn’t seem to be very strong, no long or deep runs, in fact not much other than a bit of weight on the end. Sure enough when we pulled it up it was just a trumpetfish, while very cool looking it was kind of disapointing. Unfortunately, that would be the last fish for the day as we soon ran out of bait and headed back to the beach. The ride back was just as fantastic as the ride out, a few large homes probably worth at least a million dollars scattered the rocky shore and cliffs. Though it was a slow day of fishing and the big ones got away, we are now starting to understand that we were a little unprepared for the mighty force of these fish. A mistake that won’t be made twice.
We arrived back at the beach where David, who was also out fishing with the group, had already arrived only minutes ahead of us. He asked us all about our time and wanted to hear the stories of the ones that got away and the ones that didn’t. Unfortunately for David his boat didn’t manage to pull in any of the monsters they hooked in to either. Luckily for us, we aren’t here on a quick vacation, so we’ve got plenty of time to hunt the leviathans. Soon after the Colorado guys came in, seeming extremely pleased by the looks on their faces. And sure enough they managed to land 4 mullet snapper approaching 20 pounds, 2 trigger fish, and a 5-7 pound grouper between the four of them. A single day had made their entire trip.
The guides pulled out all of the fish to be cleaned and filleted and the Colorado guys took a few photos with their monstrous red snappers. As soon as the guides laid the fish out on their cutting boards a large crowd was surrounding us in excitement. Not a crowd of people, a crowd of pelicans, at least 20-30 of them split up amongst the four boats waiting for any discarded scraps of flesh or skin. They were clearly greedy animals that were no longer afraid of us as they came within feet, and sometimes inches if a piece of food enticed them enough.
Watching one of the guides fillet the huge snappers reminded me of watching Japanese chefs. The knife is not a tool, but an extension of the arm. He sliced through the flesh with amazing precision pulling back the finest cuts of thick red meat. The fillets were beautifully cut without a single jagged edge.
As we all packed in to the van the excitement and sun exposure of the day took its toll and most of us soon drifted off to sleep thinking of todays events and dreaming of tomorrows. We’ll be back, and we’ll be ready. I assure you.
You can contact David Jones of Fishermen’s Fleet via his website. He offers complete packages including hotel, boat, transportation, and more. Check out his website for more info.
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