Be careful what you wish for - or a fish story by bruce evans

Hey Everybody,

Just had to share this story I wrote yesterday. Tied into a nice Marlin in my buddy's kayak. Don't laugh at my fruity writing style....

Bruce

PS here's my second draft (12/18/2010).

BE CAREFULL WHAT YOU WISH FOR
BY BRUCE EVANS

Have you ever heard the expression “Be careful what you wish for, it just may come true?”. Well that happened to me yesterday. After two weeks of carefully preparing Baja legend Chuck Sardo's kayak for some serious fishing, I finally got to take her out for sea trials. Armed with proper pole holders, a fish finder, gaff, extra storage, and a cooler amongst other goodies, I launched her before the sun had risen. My destination was a local hot spot roughly halfway between Spa Buena Vista and La Ribera. I am, and always have been keenly interested in getting to this honey-hole where the locals catch snapper and other bottom fish throughout the night. It’s a spot a couple miles away from shore and was a cinch to get there using their boat light as a homing beacon. I paddled in the dark for fourty five minutes or so, trailing a four inch weighted hoochie astern. With no takers, my attention got quickly averted to experimenting with the garage sale ($10) depth sounder I mounted. It’s illuminated face giving me my depth, and a beeping chirp every time a fish swam through it’s cone. As dawn approached, I stayed on my southeasterly course and approached two Mexicans in a panga, each tossing handlines from their respective gunnels. The Hummingbird let me know they were in one hundred and fifty five feet of water. It wasn’t long before I spotted a nice Dorado being gaffed, and two more within fifteen minutes. I smartly changed over to whole Ballyhoo as my bait, and marveled at the evolving sunrise and glass-like water. I mingled close, but did not say hello. I was afraid they would laugh at my fragmented Spanish. With no bites, I paddled out further into the Sea of Cortez. If you are familiar with the East Cape, you know from Punta Pescadero down to La Ribera, the underwater topography is virtually flat. It’s a big sandy bay, gently sloping to three hundred feet. Beyond there, it grades dramatically to depths of five thousand feet. It’s what makes this place one of the top fishing spots in the world. That ledge is a pelagic super highway, where marlin (Blue, Black, and Striped), shark, and twenty nine species of whales use to get to their spawning areas spread throughout the Sea of Cortez. The same ledges where Megladon sharks roamed a million years ago (more on shark tooth hunting later…). Having been out in the kayak several times and not known exactly where that spot was, I was excited to see the numbers gradually increasing on my sounder. The first strike happened around that three hundred foot line. My new Avet MXL 6/4 reel screamed into action. I was giddy bringing in that first fish. It didn’t take long to find out it was an immature Dorado. He swam right to me after the initial tussle. I wondered for a moment about keeping him for lunch, but thought better of it. I decided to grab the camera and snap a quick pic before it's release. It’s pectoral fins were lit up neon blue with purple highlights. Little yellow dots littered his flanks. It’s bright green body shimmered in the morning sun... I placed the rod in it’s holder and reached for my Sony. As I readied for the shot, I peered over the side just in time to see him spit the hook and swim away. Well that made up my mind for sure about keeping him! With an easterly puff of a breeze assisting me, I continued further out. I secretly hoped in the back of my mind, that a giant might swim by and make my day. I tried different baits and changing speeds but could only manage a few strikes from the abundant Dorado in the area. It was funny, at one point, I lowered my line over the side only to see two green slivers waiting for it. One pawed at it for a moment, and then his swimming buddy darted in and stole it away from him. I knew the whole Ballyhoo was more than a mouthful so I put the reel in free spool and let him take it for at least thirty seconds. When I finally swung on him, I yanked that bait right out of his mouth. Oops! With six hundred and twelve feet on the sounder, I finally gave up and decided to come back in. Chuck says I was seven miles out but it didn’t seem like that to me. He mentioned that even with his high powered telescope, he could not spot me. I guess I was really out there….I lost another bait to the green marauders before getting back to the original bottom fish hole. The Mexicans had moved off, and over near the “Shark Shack”. I felt pretty smug honing in on their spot. This time, I clipped on a weight and lowered my offering right to the bottom. I felt it bump at the one hundred sixty foot mark. I gave the reel a few cranks and resumed paddling. My goal was to give the bait a slow roll, mimicking a wounded baitfish. Well, it worked. Within seconds, the reel gave a buzz and my pole doubled over. I grabbed it, and gave a couple hard yanks to set the hook. I was surprised to feel some real weight on the other end. My first impression was that I’d finally hooked a bull Dorado, or perhaps a heavy Grouper. But right away, things felt strange. Whatever had grabbed it was heading straight up, and fast. He went from one hundred and sixty feet, to the surface in four or five seconds. I’m no fish expert, but I don’t think Dorado can sustain speeds like that for very long. It turned out to be something else. Remember that thing about wishing? Well let’s just say another item has been checked off my bucket list, another surreal moment in my life that will be burned into my memory forever. The clear blue water was like a giant pane of glass as a three foot long marlin spear crashed through to the atmosphere. A big Blue or Black Marlin had inhaled that Ballyhoo right off the bottom! It gave three or four headshakes before half it’s body cleared the surface. I knew it was a lunker when he had trouble getting his entire body airborn. It lacked any stripes, but the blue hue of it’s sides were stunning. It took my brain a few seconds to comprehend what was happening. I had wished for this moment since I started kayaking, and now, “it was on”. Right from the start, I had questions concerning my gear. With only thirty pound test line and leader, I was against it from the get-go. The new Avet reel was performing great though. The lever drag had awesome adjustment, and the line was stripping off nice and smooth. The goliath was bending my flexible offshore rod as he went on his runs. The hookset was right in the corner of his mouth, and I felt good after we settled in for the battle. He eventually stabilized around fifty feet deep, then proceeded to tow me out to sea… I was surprised to feel his power, and how quick he could get that kayak through the water. Locals call it a “Mexican sleigh ride”. It didn’t take long to figure out that pointing your rod perpendicular to the kayak made him pull you sideways, increasing the drag coefficient. It was funner to point it at the bow, swing myself around, and go full speed! After ten minutes or so, I gave a few tugs and he decided to surface again. Like before, I watched my line go from straight down, to straight out in a heartbeat. This time, he tailwalked for what seemed like forever. I got a good look at him from twenty five yards away. He had to go at least three hundred pounds. I applied just enough pressure to irritate him, but not so much as to break the line or the pole. He didn’t like the surface much and went back down. It was a stand-off for another ten minutes before his third and fourth aerial displays. Twenty minutes into the battle, I could sense he was weakening, and after turning him for the first time wondered what the heck am I going to do if I ever get him alongside? I thought about getting out the camera, but after losing fish before by not paying attention, I thought better about it, and left it alone. With him being only a few feet shorter than the kayak, I knew I had better enjoy this while it was happening. Little did I know, my puny leader was chafing hard against it’s head and body. It took only twenty five minutes to wear through. With him a few feet underneath me, the leader finally gave way and parted two feet under my swivel. I could plainly see him glide away, no wear for the worse. I dropped my head in disappointment, but only for a moment. I lifted it and thought “oh well, that’s fishing”. It didn’t take long to bait up, and try again. I paddled slowly home and got a little thrill when another Dorado came in for a strike. Wouldn't you know it, I lost him as well. I brought home no lunch and failed at getting proof of the one that got away, but still had one of the most memorable times ever on the water. I did everything right with the exception of one thing. If you are going to go play with the big dogs, you had better get a leader that can't be worn out so easily. If I had used a hundred twenty five pound mono, that fish would have been mine. God only knows what that would have been like? Was it scary to hook up with a monster? You bet! I can’t wait to do it again. Sure, he won our bout, but I can guarantee you, he had his fins full with the fisherman. Until next time Mr. Marlin…

(two months later) And now, after thinking about it over and over again. I keep recalling what really happened that day. It's now an indelible impression burned onto my hard drive. I recall the entire episode from start to finish. From hookset to break-off, I keep replaying the same scenes again and again. The thoughts that linger are of how calm and benign the water was. How ideal the tempature and wind were . The feelings of utter isolation from everything on land. The astonishment when I realized what I'd hooked when he appeared almost slow motion like during his first jump. And most importantly, the private duel between me and my tiny plastic knife-like craft against him, a shiny color changing twelve foot long chameleon who swims at thirty miles an hour! Who, even being collard by a size 10-0 circle hook and modern reel technology didn't seem to bother him in the least. It was like having a tiger by the tail. Did I have him, or did he really have me? I did some research a few weeks later and tried to establish just how far out he towed me during the fight (We started in one hundred sixty feet of water, and ended it in two hundred twenty five feet). With the underwater topography gently sloping, I used the depth finder to calculate that it takes exactly one hundred strokes of the paddle to increase the depth by ten feet in that area. With a difference of sixty five feet, that equates into at least six hundred and fifty pulls of the oar. At approximately three yards per stroke, it adds up to nineteen hundred and fifty yards, or 1.1 miles (I googled it). That bully dragged me around his backyard at an average speed of over two m.p.h., for over a mile! I remember the sound of it all as well. Initially, there was the wirring of the reel clicker. The sound every fisherman waits for. The sound that snaps you out of your daydream and back to reality. Sometimes a guy hears it in a nano second, others take two or even three seconds to comprehend what's happening. In addition to the reel, there was the banging thump of the rod butt in it's holder. The whole strike thing is noisy compared to the usual wave lapping against hull lullaby. Being so far out, the only noises you hear come from the sea. Most coming in the form of something breathing. Either yourself, or perhaps a whale, sea lion, or pod of dolphins. Other sounds include various splashes. In Baja, you got the jumping Bat or Manta Ray slap, or the unnerving whoosh when a school of a thousand Jack Crevalles are chasing a bait ball of sardinia down, and you just happen to be in their way. Definately the most unique sound comes from the wings of birds. It's so quiet, you can hear their flapping from a long way off. Some come by squawking at you, while others like Egrets dance on the surface without a peep. I recall how after experimenting with various positions, settled in on a quartering stance with my pole and the kayak in relation to the marlin as he spent most of the time greyhounding down and away. Holding the rod out to your side puts the most pressure on him and the equipement, but may lead to a quick break-off. While pointing to the bow garners awesome speed, but allows the pelagic to pull line off the reel easier and a lot faster. In a kayak, unlike a boat with power to follow, you must be very careful about getting spooled. No one wants to put the pole back in it's holder and paddle as fast as humanly possible in order to catch up! I've had time to think about things and ways to be more successful should an encounter like this happen again. Top priority is safety. A floating kit containing a handheld VHF, cell phone, flares, signal mirror, whistle, paddle tether, water, and first aid should be standard as is a decent life vest. You just never know what may happen out there. If that marlin had turned and charged at me, it would have been too easy to get knocked out. Literally and figuratively! There's also the occasional charter boat coming back to port in the afternoons. Skippers become complacent and don't identify the seek silhouette of a kayak. Getting run over is not high on my things to do list! I've since fabricated what I call a "Plunge Gaff". It's made from a four foot long piece of rebar glued inside 1/2" pvc tubing. It's got a tee with two caps forming a handle. At the business end, I've got a flying harpoon head attached to a fifty foot long nylon rope. If a big Tuna, Grouper, Wahoo or Dorado swim in, I'm taking a gun to the gun fight. Using a small gaff on a big fish is very hazardous. With one flick, the gaff comes out of your hand and bonks you right in the melon. Just another way to wind up unconscious and away from your vessel. I haven't even mentioned incorrect leadering techniques, or quick weather changes. You had better be prepared for anything out there. As for my foray into shark tooth hunting??? I did have a chance to search three times and came up empty each time. You'd be amazed at where they are found though. Not by the playa like one would think, but far inland and high atop the surrounding hills. Millions of years ago when the Baja peninsula was formed, sea levels were much higher than they are today. Sharks back then, like today, lose teeth while feeding. The thing about sharks back then is that some were seventy to perhaps one hundred feet long and ate whales for lunch. They are known as "Megalodons". Those teeth settled into the sandy bottom which with time petrified and encased themselves in the ground. Now fast forward two million years and low and behold, the sea has receeded hundreds of feet exposing those hills to a continual pelting from hurricanes and tropical storms. Eventually, the teeth reveal themselves to the trained eye. One must look for the proper sedimentary layers. It may mean hiking up a sheer face or crawling under a cactus, but they are there, just waiting to be found. Some are already washed out and fall to the valley floor. It's like Christmas for the experienced hunter. Some teeth are as big as a dinner plate, while others are the size of your fingernail. I think meteorite hunters and shark tooth hunters would get along great. It's gotta be a similar feeling finding something nobody has ever seen before. One of these days, maybe I'll get lucky...