FISHING YELLOWTAIL ON THE YO-YO IRON

From Western Outdoor News Magazine Spring 2007



Photo: Ross Yamamoto of Los Angeles CA holds up a nice El Bajo yellowtail taken "on the iron." He was using a green and yellow jig "yo-yo'd" off the bottom.

Yo Yo Iron Yellowtail

About the time you’re reading this, it should be “yellow fever” time up inside the Sea of Cortez. If you’re into catching yellowtail, these bruising members of the jack family will probably be bending rods at a number of places up and down the inside coastal areas.

Arguably, some of the meanest sluggers on rod and reel, some anglers might tell you that tuna are tougher pound for pound as they can rip line awfully fast, but for short powerful runs to cover and sheer doggedness, it’s hard to beat yellowtail, especially in the spring.

You won’t usually find these jacks where the waters get too warm, but areas around the middle of the Baja with more temperate waters such as Loreto, Bahia Concepcion, Mulege, Santa Rosalia, and Bahia Los Angeles are legendary for this type of fishing. Mothership trips to the Midriff Islands are also mecca for this type of fishing.

Often, you’ll see the “forktails” boiling on the surface pushing up baits into a foam. The key is often finding the birds working the waters, but so often, they’re hunkered down in the “bad neighborhoods” where they favor deep rocks, jagged reefs and other structure where the schools will hang out. This makes it doubly troubling for anglers as even the smallest jack will make it’s first move right back into the cover from where it came and shredded lines are just one more aspect of the sport.

While deep looping bait is often preferred, one of the most fun ways to take these fish is with “yo-yo iron.” If you’re not already an “iron thrower,” it has nothing to do with kids’ toys on string or throwing a household appliance at the fish!

Rather, “iron” refers to the heavy candy-bar style lures favored by many lure and jig fishermen. Famous brands include those made over the years by Tady, UFO, Candy Bar, Salas, Ranger, Fire and others as well as some of the newer jigs like the Butterfly style lures recently developed by Shimano and several other companies.

If you’re a party-boat fisherman on the West Coast, you may have seen the guys with the long rods up at the bow of the boat amazingly zinging these deadly missiles great distances then jigging them back to the boats. Very often with killer results it’s no surprise that often the jackpot fish is caught by some strong-armed jig fisherman. Like cats that ignore a stationery ball, but will pounce if the ball is rolled by their nose, big fish often cannot help themselves in slashing at a lure skipped tantalizingly by their faces.

“Yo-yo” refers to a technique used in fishing the “iron.” It actually has to do with the “pumping motion” used when retrieving the lure and, when done right, can result in bites severe enough to almost yank your arms out’ve their sockets!

Personally, before I learned how to throw iron myself, I always envied the guys who could cast these great distances. These “iron men” often seemed to have a bit more swagger as they stood apart from the “bait fishermen” in the stern. Like a kid wishing he were a kung fu martial artist or a great gunfighter, I wanted to be like them and wished someone would show me how to “throw iron.”

Eventually, that happened, but one of the neatest things about using iron on these yellowtail is that you didn’t need to cast a zillion yards away from the boat to get bit. Often the yellowtail are straight up and down… vertically below the boat. So, even an underhand cast or simply putting the reel into freespool and letting the lure wobble down to the depths is just as deadly as casting halfway to China!

The “yo-yo” retrieve is the trick! Let your lure drop down to the desired depths. Don’t be surprised if sometimes the fish are several hundred feet down. If you hit bottom, reel up a few cranks. Sometimes the fish will hit on the fall, but that has not usually been my experience. As mentioned, like cats, they like it when something runs by their faces.

The idea is basically to wind as fast as you can. Wind like your arms will fall off! They will feel like it you’re doing it right. If your arms aren’t tired, you’re probably not winding fast enough! The faster you crank, the better the chance to get bit and this is one time you’ll wish you had a fast retrieve reel that’s in the 5:1 or 6:1 gear ratios.

If you’re able to cast out, crank like the devil! Then stop before it gets back to the boat. Throw the reel into freespool and let the lure flutter down again. Then wind back like crazy again. Stop and let the lure flutter back down. In effect, you’re fishing a “Z” pattern zig-zagging the lure back to the boat. Some anglers like to “sweep” the lure back as they retrieve so that the lure jerks it’s way back to the boat erratically like a fast-swimming wounded baitfish.

If you’re fishing more or less straight up and down, do something similar. Again, the idea is to wind that reel like a madman. Sweep the rod bringing it up quickly, then dropping it back as you wind so that you’re making your lure swim back to the boat in vertical “Z” patterns. Before you get the lure back to the boat, put it in freespool and let it flutter back down. Often a trailing fish will take that opportunity to pounce on the seemingly injured baitfish that simply ran out’ve gas!

When you get a bite, hang on! Often, your rod won’t go bendo. On the contrary, you’ll be cranking furiously and the lure will just stop. It will just stop right in it’s watery tracks like it got hung up on something. This is where anglers make the biggest mistake. They get excited and simply stop winding and try to set the hook by swinging their rods. This is how so many fish are lost.
The fish may have the lure in it’s mouth and simply drop it. Unkown to you, the the fish might have the lure in it’s mouth and be swimming towards the boat and you never get the hook set because the line isn’t tight.

The trick is to keep cranking even when you get bit. Do not stop. Cranking effectively tightens the line and buries the hooks into those tough jaws! Fish on! Now you can set the hook a second time and battle your fish up from the depths.

Just get ready for those first few searing runs and keep that rod tip up to exert as much pressure on the yellowtail since it’s first move will often be to head back to cover. Those jagged volcanic rocks and reefs in the Sea of Cortez will separate you from your fish and your expensive lure like you’d touched your line with a sharp scalpel.

If you’ve never tried this style of fishing, give it a whirl. Yellowtail and their cousin the larger amberjacks are two Baja species that will often bite the iron when no other species will bite and bait can’t seem to produce even a nibble.

Everyone has their favorite lure colors, but I prefer combinations of blue/white; yellow/green; all white; “scrambled egg” (mix of white, yellow, red and brown) in the heavier styles. Most of these come with treble hooks. I will often remove the trebles in favor of a single larger hook which I believe gets a better and deeper hookset and prevents the fish from being able to torque itself off. But, you’ll hear plenty of veteran yo-yo anglers who will say it doesn’t matter.

Fast retrieve reels are a plus to save your arms, but remember, often the higher the retrieve ratio, the lower the torque ability of the reel to pull in a fish. For instance, a reel with 3:1 ratio generally has better pulling power than a 6:1 ratio. It’s much like the lower gears on a bicycle allowing you to pedal up a hill. Same idea. That’s the trade off: higher gear ratio saves your arms. Lower gear ratio helps you once the fight is on! However, many of the newer high-end reels mechanically compensate for the higher ratio with better gearing to diminish the loss of torque.

Rods don’t need to be too long. Remember in fishing the Baja, you’re not usually on an immovable party boat. Often, anglers are on pangas or cruisers. If you can’t cast far enough to a spot, simply move the boat. Or, as explained earlier, simply drop the lure straight down! It’s more important to have a shorter rod with plenty of backbone to stop the power of these hard chargers!

That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.

Jonathan

THE LAST BAIT

Originally published in Western Outdoor News the week of February 18, 2006



Photo 1: You don't get many chances to be kids again with your buddies!

Photo 2: Life is full of "Kodak Moments" when, for a split second, the camera captures something that will always make you smile.

Photo 3: Priceless times that you only get one shot at

Photo 4: Dad's and sons. What could be better?

THE LAST BAIT

In the past six weeks, I’ve talked to hundreds and maybe thousands of amigos who have come up to our booth in Denver, San Mateo, Sacramento, and Portland. It’s great “talking Baja” to so many and the best part is talking about Baja to folks who have never been there or others who have not even heard about it! (“Where in California is Baja California? I can’t believe it’s part of Mexico!”)

There’s nothing like making someone’s eyes go wide when they find out about some of the great wonders to be had, not just in fishing, but culture, history, food, watersports and so many other things that all of us “Baja rats” already know. “It’s that close?” “The fish are how big?” “I can catch a marlin right next to the shore?” It’s really safe to eat the food?” “They don’t hate Americans?” “ It’s really OK to bring my kids?”

You old-timers know exactly what I’m talking about. That Baja grit, dust, sand and salt get into you and under your skin and it somehow never leaves. We revel in it.

You remember those sunrises and the anticipation of boiling fish. You can still feel that sun warming your back and those bare legs that hadn’t seen short pants all winter. Darn sand feels mighty fine between the toes. And that salsa and cold beer…ahhhh…. the one that smokes when you pop the top and the first sip burns the back of your throat…nectar of the gods!

And so many "Kodak moments" with Joe who fell in the pool with his clothes on and Jimmy, Jr, who got so excited with his first tuna he wanted to bring the whole thing back to school for show-and-tell. Remember those great shrimp you ate at that romantic sunset restaurant with your honey? Life just couldn’t be better

And your buddy, Ralph, who passed out and you drew stupid things on his face with shaving cream. There was that pretty local gal with the enchanting smile who made you wish you were 20 again. And there was that wonderful captain Miguel who invited you home to his place for homemade tacos after you gave him some t-shirts and fish. And the mile of dancing dolphin that just wouldn’t quit. Priceless.

Most of us who frequent the Baja can sometimes take it all for granted until we step back and think how danged lucky and blessed we are to be able to experience something that most folks who walk this planet will never see in their wildest dreams. I’m doubly blessed because I get to share this with so many others and get to tell them all about it.

Well, at one of the recent outdoor shows, I had two amigos come up to me. Each year they had come to my booth; picked up my materials; and we chatted. Great guys. Lifelong buddies. The years had been good to them. Both had been Korean war veterans. Stand-up guys.

“Not this year, Jonathan! But for sure ‘one of these days’ we’ll get down there. We’ll bring our wives and have a great time. Someday!” They’d laugh and continue walking down the aisle to the next booth with my brochures tucked under arms.

Each year, same smiles. Same conversation.

Until this year. Two weeks ago, they came up. But there was something different. Something in their eyes. This time they were in earnest. They were going to come down to Baja this year, but it was sad this time. You see…One had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The other amigo had lost his wife in the year since I had seen them last. “Someday” had caught up with these two lifelong buddies.

“We waited too long,” said one, a bit sadly and wistfully. “But while we are still buddies, we’re gonna finally take this one trip together. It might be our last. ” In that nano-second, I caught that “look” between “brothers” who had seen a lot together. It’s the “look” that transcends time and bridges spirit and emotion. The way “our last” was said. One last road trip…

Exhale…take a breath. Hearth in throat. What do I say?

I’ve been coming to Baja for almost 30 years. I’ve been living in it for almost 12. I made a decision long ago that I was gonna try something off the path. I was younger then. A lot younger. It’s been a helluva ride… a great ride. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. But looking back, I don’t think I’d go down that same path again had I known better! But that’s just being younger and dumber. But, I’m danged glad I did it. No regrets.

But why is it that when we’re young we have no fear? The world is a wide open Baja beach beckoning with possibilities. But as we get older, all this “adventure” is suddenly tempered. We’re not sure anymore!

“Are there bathrooms?” “Will it be too hot?” “Do they have diet Coke?” “Are the police friendly?” “Is there shade on the boat?” “Will my cell phone work?” “How’s the toilet paper?” “Can I get “Desperate Housewives” on the hotel TV?”

I will admit that life is full of things to do that have a lot more priority than trips to Baja or anywhere else. We have to do what we have to do. Jobs are important. Kids gotta get fed. Air Jordan’s gotta be bought. There’s that mortgage and the car payments.

But at what point in our lives did we start asking so many other questions? What prevented us from stepping outside our hermetically sealed box for one great glorious breath of real fresh air that wasn’t manufactured and purified by a machine or tinged with exhaust fumes? From sharing smiles with folks from another culture or speaking a different language? From having an experience with our families, kids and friends that would sear a lifetime of memories in our hearts?

“Someday” is already here. Don’t live life like your hair is on fire, but at least live it like there’s just one last bait in the tank and time to make one last cast. You know the feeling. Sun’s going down. The boat has to head for shore soon. It can’t be changed.

Let’s dance! Let’s make that last cast! Each year there’s a few more empty spaces at the rail and you only get to ride this boat one time.

That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.

FREEZER BURNED FISH

Originally Published in Western Outdoor News the Week of Feb. 14, 2006

It’s not an easy place to find. It is an easy place to forget. Many folks do.

I can’t tell you the address. There is none. The calles (streets) have no names. You just drive through the various barrios and colonias with names like “Colonia Leon” and “Barrio Trabajadores”. . .Names ten times grander than the little shanties and casitas staked out within and way on the other side of whatever hotel you’re checked into.

Take a left from the super mercado grocery store near the marina where dock workers laze the afternoon passing the time with cans of beer or bags of chicharones waiting to clean the fishing boats and pangas,

Head up the dirt street in a permanent haze of traffic dust and go past the old church and the barbershop advertising haircuts for 30 pesos. At the Pemex gasoline station bear left. Those ruts in the road from the last rains can bust an axle. Head straight past the line of faded pastel concrete houses with graffiti walls and patchwork fences of plywood, corrugated tin and chicken wire. Sunning dogs too lazy to get out’ve the road barely blink an eye as you thread past. Be careful of the kids playing soccer kicking up their own clouds of ever-present powder-fine dust.

Past the crunching gravel (or is that broken glass?) of the dry and trash littered arroyo and you’re there. It’s against the hillside. There’s no sign, but that’s the one.

In it’s day it might have been someone’s fairly grand house. Somewhere under the dusty faded pastel green, a coat of fresher paint once lay, but now muddy splashes go halfway up the sides where they dried from the last rains. Windows too caked with soot and plants long in need of those rains cling precariously to the planters.

It’s a metaphor for the folks inside the big steel gates. The air changes as you go inside. Quiet except for the suble whirring of an old ceiling fan. Vacant shadows. In their day, they were grand, vibrant, colorful, but like the house itself and the directions to get here, they are forgotten and not easy to find. They sit in chairs along the walls. They stare. They don’t talk. Rows of sitting silent people. Eerie.

Every town in Baja has it’s Casa de Viejas. Old folks home. Too old or infirm to be with families. Or more tragically, simply forgotten or left behind, this is where you’ll find the folks that never get a mention in the travel brochures; the humanitarian projects; or the donation drives from “sister cities.”

Understandably, everyone remembers the kids. But even the locals can’t remember what happens to the old or even how to find them.

No gringo fishermen bring bags of extra clothing and old toys here. No fishing tournaments are being held to build a new “recreation center.” Benevolent church ministries aren’t having bake sales in the U.S. to raise money for a new computer or re-building the baseball diamond. Good hearted doctor groups aren’t usually donating vacation time to come fix teeth or eyes.

In our own wealthy country, we often forget our seniors. In Mexico where 50 percent of the population is below the poverty level, you can only imagine what it’s like to be in a facility here. This isn’t the “Golden Years Retirement Villa for Active Seniors” or “Leisure World.”

But, wherever, I’ve lived in Baja, we often brought the excess fish left by the fishermen to the casas de viejas. No shuffleboard. No “group exercise.” No trips to the beach. No senior dance night. Wednesday afternoon, there’s no cookie social in the parlor. No TV. No books. Just the silence and the occasional creak of someone gently rocking. And that awful tinge of pine cleaner and Clorox that clings to everything. They sit and sit some more. And wait. And the air sits heavily.

I was told once that the bags of bonito, roosterfish, and jacks I brought were the first they had eaten in months and the only “meat” they had eaten in weeks. This was the “junk fish” that didn’t fit in the coolers headed back home. I didn’t ask what these folks were fed the rest of the time. So, if you ever wondered what happened to that extra fish you left behind, now you know.

As I leave, the tired but grateful director always says, “Te Dios te bendigas” (may God bless me) and that they will say a prayer for me.

I get back into my own dusty car. I slam the door and wend my way back through the trash and dust. Criminy. It’s me who says the prayer for them…the forgotten. And I’m the one who’s thankful our fishermen were lucky today and their coolers were too small to fit all the fish they caught.


That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.

NO TACO LITE!

Originally published in Western Outdoor News the week of Feb. 6, 2007

Photo 1: Rows of salsas and other condiments lined up next to the grill to fill your tortillas!

Photo 2: Always good to taste a bit before you slather your food with something far too hot for your palate! Don't judge by looks!

Photo 3: Pile it on! Street eating in Baja is a fun adventure in culture and inexpensive dining. The rule of thumb is to eat where you see everyone else eating!

Well, by the time you’re reading this, I’ve officially been “on tour” for over a month now and have yet to be out of weather that wasn’t freezing or below. From California to Utah and Wyoming to Colorado, we’ve been under snow and ice every single day. By the time you’re reading this, we’ll be in the “warm rain” of Portland. Oh sure…

It’s been outstanding meeting so many of you who come by our booth just to say hi and tell me you’re enjoying the column or even to tell me you don’t like what I wrote. But at least you’re reading the Baja columns and Pat McDonnel and Rich Holland are happy you’re not canceling your subscription!

As one amigo told me in Denver, “I disagree with most of what you say and think you’re most writing goofy stuff but I read to your column first thing when I get my subscription every week. Then my wife gets to hear me get pissed at you!” (He said that laughingly…I think).

Anyway, when you live in Baja like we do, you’ve often heard me crave for things like In-N-Out double double burgers (animal style of course!) or slices of Round Table Pizza. And I’m danged grateful when you amigos bring them down to me…cold, greasy, soggy and sometimes even floating in melted ice. It’s the THOUGHT and I’m danged grateful for these morsels of America. Yum!

But, for the last month, we’ve basically lived on fast food. Try it sometime. Ever thought you couldn’t get enough Big Mac or Krispy Kreme donuts? Ever thought you would get tired of Kentucky Fried extra crispy? That’s two to three meals a day ordering from some poor shmoe doing his best efforts with a paper hat on his head. (Been there myself!)

These days when you walk into one of those places you have to actually stand in line and STUDY their “menu!” They have parfait yogurt breakfast now? What’s a “carb free burger lettuce wrap”? What do you mean do I want my catsup “on the side?” Side of what? And no, I cannot understand what the heck you’re saying out’ve that little speaker! It’s snowing on me for criminy sakes and I do NOT want an action figure. Just gimme the danged burger! I don’t care if the steak sandwich lite comes with a cartoon cup!

This is where I long for the sunny carritos of Baja! The little carts you find on just about every street corner in every barrio (neighborhood). You can smell the grilled carne asada beef long before you see the smoke emanating and surrounding the grill cook. He’s the neighborhood Benihana meistro chopping, flipping, and filling tortilla after tortilla. He stands in a fog of smokey delicious haze under a single light bulb and a radio rhythmically booming words you don’t understand from a tiny speaker long blown out by music played too loud.

The best carritos usually have a crowd around them every night and the smell of spices, onions and garlic hook you like a dorado come to feed. At night, the grillman orchestrates the sizzling meats and his assistant takes the orders and money like a carnival barker.

Old friends and neighbors greet each other. Kids chase around in the dirt and there’s always a dog somewhere looking for scraps. But step right up. Que quieres? (What do you want?) Just order. Start with two tacos. Chunks of the savory meet is piled on open soft homemade corn tortillas that are still steaming hot. Nothing fancy. What silverware? You wont’ find a menu. Forget the low carb thing. What’s medium rare? No substitutions, por favor! You want what on the side? Sure…everything is “on the side.”

This is where the fun begins. Every cart worth it’s pesos has bowls of chopped marinated red onions, crispy green cilantro, creamy guacamole, sliced Mexican limes, radishes and fiery jalapeno chiles. And the salsas! Always a good idea to taste before you proceed with a little on your finger, but be adventurous. Salsa fresca with sweet fresh tomatoes and green chiles. Salsa verde made of roasted chiles and peppers. Tart salsa verde made from fresh green tomatillos or the one on the end made of ground peanuts, chiles and peppers that looks like spicy peanut butter. Sabrosa y muy rica!

It’s not a question of where you start? It’s where you end. When you finish two, go to three or four or sit for awhile and visit with your neighbors. Then order two more. The cart folks trust you to keep track. Pull a frosty orange or strawberry soda bottle out of the ice chest and try to cool that last jalapeno. Then order more. No rush. No waiters. No waiting. No happy cups or Spiderman action figures. But please pass the napkins!

When you’re done, they trust you to tell them how many you ate! 40 pesos? That’s all? No menu choices. No extra grande super size. No calorie counting. Waddle away. Just step away before you hurt yourself! Ahhh…simple. Just great Mexican eating! Vamos a comer!


That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.